Whisky

by Aeneas MacDonald

  The Ettrick shepherd is indeed James Hogg, one of an Edinburgh literary circle and today best remembered for his novel The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner. He was less than amused by the satirical portrayal of his alter ego though it seems that he did on occasion enjoy Glenlivet with some enthusiasm.

  As a minor curiosity there was once a real Ambrose’s Tavern in Edinburgh, on Gabriel’s Road near the Register Office, though it was not the scene of North’s stories.

  26 This humorous poem, mocking the stereotype of the Highlander and his pronunciation of English, is by William Edmondstone Aytoun (1813–1865), an Edinburgh lawyer and academic. According to the National Library of Scotland it appeared in print as a broadsheet ballad published by the Poet’s Box, Glasgow. NLS date this to 1880–1900, which seems late as by 1891 it had appeared in the Scottish Student’s Book of Song, which remained in print until at least 1939. MacDonald presumably encountered it during his student days, but it is still recorded as being sung by Scottish students at Cambridge University in the early 1950s. The verse concludes:

  ‘This is all my tale

  Sirs, I hope ’tis new ’t ye!

  Here’s your fery good healths

  And tamn [alt. hang] ta whusky duty.’

  27 Glenlivet perhaps needs no further praise from literary men but its qualities were also noted in the technical literature. For example, in The London Dispensatory of Anthony Todd Thomson (1837) he baldly states, ‘The best Scotch whisky is Glenlivet’.

  28 Fashions change: today such a list would undoubtedly include one or more Islay whiskies and probably Springbank from Campbeltown. Both Glenburgie and Royal Brackla, which have been extensively remodelled and are now used virtually exclusively for blending, would be unlikely to appear, and the same is true of Glenlossie and Balmenach; both are now rather obscure. Cardhu might find a place, but I rather doubt it. Amongst the notable absentees we might list Glenfiddich, The Balvenie, Aberlour and Glenfarclas. MacDonald is here rather careless of his own geographical boundaries; neither Highland Park nor Talisker could properly be considered Highland whiskies, fine though they undoubtedly are.

  29 With the exceptions of Glenkinchie, Auchentoshan and Bladnoch, all of these distilleries are now lost. Rosebank and St Magdalene in particular are sadly missed.

  30 MacDonald had presumably not tasted grain whisky. There is indeed a marked difference between the various makes; possibly not as wide as between single malts but clear and discernible nonetheless.

  Much has changed since this list was compiled. Cameronbridge, Strathclyde and North British remain open and new grain distilleries have been constructed at Invergordon, Girvan, Loch Lomond and Starlaw (Bathgate) since MacDonald was writing, making seven active plants at present.

  Grain whisky is now actively promoted in its own right, most notably by a former English footballer and ‘fashion icon’. What MacDonald would make of this is a line of enquiry perhaps best not pursued.

  31 Irish whiskey had indeed failed to hold its place in the world market and, regrettably, had a lot further to fall in the years following publication. Once arguably the greatest producing nation in the world, Ireland is only now recovering its position with a spirited revival of production being reflected in a number of distillery openings, both large and small.

  The five Dublin distilleries that he mentions have now all been closed. Until very recently there was no distillery in Dublin, a tragic state of affairs, but recently two have opened in the historic Liberties district.

  32 All four are gone and it would be a generous man who would suggest that they are greatly missed. Of course, gin is distilled in England in considerable quantities and very successfully so. However, the UK’s best-selling gin, Gordon’s, is distilled wholly in Scotland.

  English whisky is now made in Norfolk, London and the Lake District and finding some success, albeit the quantities are very small.

  33 As regards Whisky and Prohibition see my notes on the publishing history in the Appreciation.

  34 I have been unable to trace this poem elsewhere. Perhaps it was MacDonald’s own and, conscious of its limited literary merit, he preferred to cloak his authorship in anonymity.

  V

  JUDGING, PURCHASE, AND CARE

  THE EARNEST student of whisky who has learned that there exist only a hundred and twenty-two Scotch whisky distilleries and twenty-one Irish may be inclined to think that he has exhausted the subject and that it now only remains to transfer his geographical and technical knowledge to the field of practical experiment. If so, a sad disillusionment awaits him. He has left out of account the ingenuity of the blenders who, he will speedily discover, are far more important persons in the commerce of whisky than are the distillers. The measure of their power may be set down with a mathematical exactitude by reference to the current Directory of Whisky Brands and Blends,1 which reveals the astonishing fact that there are no fewer than 4,044 brands of whisky (3,428 Scotch, 487 Irish, and 128—crowning horror!—Scotch and Irish) which have acquired by usage an established name and proprietorship. This is what the resourceful blenders have done with the products of those hundred and forty three distilleries! It has to be admitted, too, that there are remarkably few signposts to guide the would be buyer of whisky through the labyrinth of this senseless multiplication. There are hundreds of whisky-bottle labels bearing ‘Finest old liqueur’, ‘a blend of rare old Highland malts’, ‘matured in sherry casks’, ‘the finest Scotland makes’, and suchlike heartening but uninformative legends, but there are remarkably few which state what is the age of the youngest constituent in the blend, or what is the proportion of grain spirit to malt whisky, or in what distilleries the ingredient malts were made.2

  There seems, in fact, to be something rather like a conspiracy of silence among the proprietors of the different brands of whisky, a conspiracy to prevent the consumer from knowing what he is drinking. There are even cases where the wording of the label appears to be definitely misleading. Thus for example, it may be taken as axiomatic that no Scotch whisky bought by the bottle is a single whisky. Yet there are instances where the name of one famous distillery is prominently displayed on the label. The obvious inference is that the contents of the bottle consist entirely of the malt spirit of that one distillery—and this inference is, of course, normally without foundation. Again there is a deplorable looseness in the use of terms like ‘fine liqueur whisky’. What does the expression mean? Popularly it is supposed to indicate a whisky containing a slightly higher proportion of alcohol than usual. If this is so— and there is a wide difference of opinion in the trade on the subject—then it is no doubt a sufficient reason for the additional charge of half-a-crown or what not that the consumer is asked to pay. But it would be infinitely more satisfactory to know that the half-crown was buying not so many units of alcoholic content but an extra year or so of maturation, or a higher percentage of one or the other of the first-rank malt whiskies in the blend. After all, whisky is not firewater, and whisky-drinkers are not yet mere soakers, in spite of the scant attention paid to their enlightenment by the trade. It is not without extreme circumspection that one dares to address a few words of mild criticism and suggestion to a body of men so assured of their own commercial acumen as those who compose the whisky trade, but the present status of whisky may perhaps incline them to hearken to suggestions from a disinterested outsider.

  The most urgent need of the industry would appear to be some form of trade legislation (carried out, of course, by a trade association) designed to secure a closer definition of trade terms. For example, the words ‘finest old liqueur’ should not be at the mercy of any unscrupulous dealer with a job lot of grain spirit to dispose of. There ought to be a specific minimum strength and also a minimum age in the cask attached to the phrase. It might be possible, too, to establish a distinction between ‘fine old liqueur’ and ‘finest old liqueur’. Again, it should not be permissible to describe a brand as ‘a brand of rare old Highland whiskies�
� unless there is a recognised minimum proportion of Highland malt present. Leaving considerations of commercial morality aside, some such definitions seem to be recommended by expediency. The present chaotic condition of the trade is affecting the good name of whisky and is tending to array against it ever stronger forces of snobbery and contempt. The present policy of mystification only arouses the suspicion and wrath of the intelligent consumer and gives the unscrupulous proprietor an unfair advantage over his honest rivals. In the interest of the trade, as a whole, the far-sighted plan would seem to indicate a control of the trade’s adjectives.

  There are other matters which might be recommended, if not as suitable for internal legislation, at least as worthy the attention of individual proprietors. Thus each label on a whisky bottle ought to bear the names of the malt whiskies (grouped as Highland, Islay, Campbeltown, and Lowland) in the blend, and the exact percentage of grain spirit contained in it. In addition, it should state the number of years and months that the blend and each of its constituents has matured in cask.3 This will seem a somewhat drastic proposal, but the sound whiskies would only gain by it. After all, no one in his senses would dream of buying a bottle of wine if he did not have some guarantee of its age. There are, also, certain penalties attached to falsifying marks of this kind. And why should the buyer of whisky be less intent than the wine-drinker on getting a fair deal? It is not as if age were less important in whisky than in wine. The substitution of a variety of patent metal ‘caps’, stoppers, and what not for the familiar corks is a ‘reform’ which in my opinion has been taken without due consideration. The cork helped to soak up the last traces of alcohols which ought to have been lost in the cask. And it was an insurance against contamination from outside. But are the new caps?4

  In the meantime, while we await a change of heart— or of head—in the whisky proprietors, what are we buyers of whisky to do? We may give up the fight and fall back on the counsel of despair which dictates the careless command ‘Bottle of Scotch, please’ and trust that plenty of soda will drown the worst effects of our surrender. Or we may ask for one of the more loudly advertised concoctions, acting on the assumption that what is said in big type and said often enough cannot be false, or on the observation that, if we do not get a very good whisky thereby, we shall not get a very bad one. And there are some brands of whisky which are very bad indeed. But this policy is again something in the nature of a surrender, and, while removing us out of the range of definitely lethal whiskies, it will not take us very far along the path leading to the higher joys of usquebaugh.

  A more adventurous programme, which may involve some disappointments on the way but is certain to contain more than one delightful surprise and to have a happy ending, would begin with the happy traveller leaving the beaten track of the more-advertised brands (remember, they are intended for the great public and therefore have usually been emasculated by over-doses of grain spirit). He is now in an unmapped terrain with only his mother-wit, his nose, and his palate to guide him. The first will take him either to a wine and spirit merchant of unimpeachable repute or to one of those lesser-known brands such as Macdonald & Muir’s Highland Queen, which supply some definite information as to origin, age, etc., on their labels. If he should go to a good merchant his exploration will in all probability have begun well. Let him ask for the firm’s own blend; it will surprise him what pleasure will be shown on the other side of the counter at the advent of one who does not come bustling in with a loud demand for any one of those brands that are household words. Perhaps he will be unlucky—not all wine merchants take this matter of whisky with the gravity that it deserves. But on the other hand, he may (supposing him to be in London) come upon Justerini and Brooke’s ‘Club’ Whisky or Hedges & Butler’s ‘Coronation Vat’ or Chalie, Richards, Holdsworth’s ‘Old Matthew’ or any of some scores of excellent blends.5 If he take the more speculative course of independent investigation among the lesser known proprietary brands, he may have the luck to hit upon one of the better whiskies such as ‘Abbot’s Choice’ or Crawford’s ‘Three Star’. But even if he is not so fortunate in the beginning, he should persist. All the time he will be training his palate and discovering, if not new paradises, at any rate the adumbrations of them. For it cannot be said too often that whisky is not the uninspired humdrum thing that a visit to the average public house would lead one to suppose.

  This matter of the public-house supply of whisky is one that ought to be taken up by an organized and determined public opinion. For in most public-houses you are offered the choice of three (sometimes, with luck, four)6 well-known brands—and a request for something different is apt to evoke an exhibition of that frosty and supercilious manner in which the British bar-maid excels. The adventurer who is not discouraged by these Arctic divinities nor disheartened by one or two almost inevitable mishaps will be richly rewarded. He should get into the habit of tasting whisky, a practice which, odd as it sounds, has now quite gone out of fashion. He will find that soda-water has the effect of destroying any distinction a whisky may possess and of reducing the complex and subtle massing of flavours in a fine blend of Highland malts to the level of an ordinary grain-plus-a-little-malt combination.7 Let him eschew the enticing ‘splash’, at least until he has put each new whisky to a severe test. Taking a small wine-glass, preferably one with a generous belly and a narrow rim, let him warm it slightly with his hand and then pour in a little of the whisky. Having assisted the process of evaporation with a gentle rocking motion of the glass, let him sniff the vapour at the rim. It should be mild and yet potent, round and ‘warm’, with no trace of the objectionable acridity of raw spirit. Then he should take a sip—only a drop or two—and allow it to remain in the mouth for a few moments. There ought to be no harshness in the liquor’s assault on the palate; ‘kick’ only indicates a young or badly mannered spirit. It should be gentle, with nothing of that ‘mineral’ taste about it which causes all but hardened and careless drinkers to shudder a little and contract the facial muscles; and it ought to possess a smooth, elusive, and varied flavour in which it is difficult to distinguish a dominant constituent. Having performed this operation, the experimenter should add some water to the remainder of the spirit and drink thoughtfully; it will be found better to use soft water for diluting, where this is possible, but it is a refinement which the beginner can spare himself.

  Having satisfied himself by this simple test that he has encountered a superior whisky, the student should acquire a bottle in order, by a more prolonged association, to determine whether he and the spirit suit one another. He may, for example, find—and this will apply especially to men leading a sedentary life—that a generous content of Highland malt whiskies has the effect of making him liverish.8 He will then be well advised to keep the blend for special occasions, buying for ordinary use a whisky with a somewhat larger grain admixture.

  The most important thing about whisky—its place of origin and malt-content apart—is its age. The student should never buy a brand whose age is not stated and guaranteed. He ought to do more, for there is no reason why he should not take a hand in improving the quality of the whisky he buys. Let him remember that, unlike wine, whisky does not ‘age’ in the bottle. Even if he is buying only a few bottles at a time, he can improve a very ordinary spirit almost out of recognition if he buys one of those small sideboard casks of sherry-cask wood which cost forty shillings or thereabouts.9 He need not grudge the price, for it will put shillings on to the value of every bottle he drinks. As a rule the casks hold three bottles and must be refilled when they are half empty. The selective, ennobling processes of time and absorptive wood can play their part on his sideboard just as well as in the bonded warehouse, and after a few months he will begin to notice an undeniable ripening and mellowing in the whisky. This will tend to grow ever more apparent, for the older whisky will ‘doctor’ the newer, smoothing out its rough corners and speeding up maturation.

  There is, indeed, no reason why a man equipped with even a
small cask of this kind should not make some blending experiments on his own account. He may, for example, begin by trying the effects of a mixture of a blend containing a large proportion of Highland malts with one of the common mostly-grain types. Or, growing bolder, he may write to one or two of the better-known Scottish distilleries and ask for a few bottles of a mature single whisky. My own experience is that he will usually be lucky. With a few bottles of a Speyside, an Islay, and a sound Lowland malt he will be well embarked on his career as a blender, to his own edification and the delight of his friends.

  A warning should be uttered here about the age-factor in whisky. The best opinion holds that a whisky which has been more than fifteen years in the cask tends to deteriorate.10 It becomes ‘slimy’—not in every case but frequently enough to make one treat with some degree of critical detachment the blind worship of seniority in whisky.

  If the student has more time and means at his disposal than we have hitherto presumed, he may carry out his experiments on a somewhat larger scale and, in the fashion of the Scots gentry of an older day, get him a ten or fourteen gallon cask. This he should fill with a six-to-eight year-old whisky, putting a tap in half way down. When he has drunk down to the tap he will then fill once more with a potable but not too venerable spirit. He will soon find himself the happy owner of some quite unusually good whisky, even if he cannot in a day or two utter the words spoken to Professor Saintsbury by a member of an old Scottish family, ‘It should be good. It comes from a hundred-gallon cask which has never been empty for a hundred years’. At the very thought of such riches and antiquity the least impressionable lover feels impelled to doff a respectful if covetous hat. A concise account of the true technique of the care of whisky was given not long ago in the will of a gentleman who left to an ‘old and dear friend’ a ten gallon cask of Scotch whisky: