I’ve tried a lot of whisky before from all over the planet, be it bourbon, Scotch Whisky, and whiskey, and always preferred that as my drink of choice over anything else.
Just whisky in a glass, usually with some ice.
But just whisky in a glass.
Sure, cocktails can be delightful, and an ice-cold beer is refreshing on a hot Texas day, and a glass of wine is pleasant with dinner.
But when you’ve closed down the distractions of life and can embark on a great conversation with a wise friend or simply have time to reflect on how you’ve been invincible to this very moment because nothing has managed to kill you… That’s when you pour that glass and savor the time and the sensory flavors.
I landed in Edinburgh yesterday, and Peter from Fort Glen picked me up and we went down to the village of Duns, around an hour south of the airport.
Yeah, the scenery was sublime. Green rolling hills, ancient stone walls, ancient stone houses and even the assorted country estate and castle.
Pure Scotland.
We went to the secretive Fort Glen headquarters where they store, age, and blend whiskies from all over Scotland.
It’s a remarkably impressive operation, featuring casks that range from nearly new to ancient. We talked about the operation, whisky, the world, and their processes, and I’ll get to all that over the next couple of weeks, but my first piece here, I feel the need to explain how I became a Whisky Cognoscente.
First off, I’ve always figured all the flowery language wine and whisky experts use to describe a flavor was just flowery marketing bullshit.
I’ve spent my life knee-deep in marketing bullshit, so I recognize it.
So right or wrong, when I hear “forward notes of unbraided piraucau and cat liver with hints of apricot, radioactive treacle and Pacific Ocean foam,” I roll my eyes.
Maybe until now.
Because until now, I’ve never tasted ancient whiskies right out of the cask.
Matt used the whisky taster thingy to draw an ounce out, maybe a dozen barrels, from three years old (just kids) to one cask that dates back to when Mister Trickle-Down Reagan was President.
There aren’t words.
And I can bandy about “caramel” and “apricot” and “vanilla” and “honey,” blah, blah, blah, but I’ll never describe for anyone those flavors.
First off, it was just sips from a Glencairn Glass. If you don’t know (and I didn’t), a Glencairn Glass is a tulip-shaped glass designed for tasting whisky. It’s an elegant little bastard that lets you see the color, embrace the scent, swirl it around and tilt it back for a sip.
And this sip is pure, complex 120 proof or more real thing.
You’re not prepared for it. One little sip, a half teaspoon will fill your senses. Your eyes will open wide all by themselves. Yes, it’s powerful and strong and overwhelming and when it slowly fades, you want another because you remember but you want to be reminded again and you take another sip.
Some jobs are beyond mere mortals.
These guys live with these ancient, oak barrels of organic alchemic magic, and they taste them and watch them and get to know them and like a great chef who adds a missing flavor to a dish by imagining that’s missing and with a swift hand, adds a spice from regions beyond imagination and adds another layer to a dish that makes you cry at the table.
I’m just not smart enough to throw out that flowery language, but as I write this, I realized those flavors can be a song.
1952 Vincent Black Lightning by Richard Thompson.
“Says Red Molly, to James, “Well that’s a fine motorbike
A girl could feel special on any such like”
Says James, to Red Molly, “My hat’s off to you
It’s a Vincent Black Lightning, 1952…”
It’s soulful magic with a beginning and a middle and an end and you get to peek in and savor it for a moment.
“And I’ve seen you on the corners and cafes, it seems
Red hair and black leather, my favorite color scheme”
And he pulled her on behind
And down to Boxhill they’d Ride”
So maybe that’s how you describe the whisky these fine gentlemen are creating. And maybe it’s THIS song or maybe it’s a new song for every cask. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll figure it out. Maybe you’ll figure it.
“Says James, to Red Molly, “Here’s a ring for your right hand
But I’ll tell you in earnest I’m a dangerous man
For I’ve fought with the law since I was seventeen
I’ve robbed many a man to get my Vincent machine
And now I’m twenty-one years, I might make twenty-two
And I don’t mind dyin’ but for the love of you
But if fate should break my stride, then I’ll give you my Vincent, To Ride”
Of course, it’s hard to get a Glencairn Glass of the magic Fort Glen is creating. It’s hard to get an actual bottle. Maybe some day you’ll get lucky, but till then you’ll just wonder if this is the truth or marketing bullshit.
Here’s a hint.
It’s not marketing bullshit.
“Said James, “In my opinion, there’s nothing in this world
Beats a ’52 Vincent and a Redheaded girl
Now Nortons and Indians and Greevses won’t do
Oh, they don’t have a Soul like a Vincent ’52”
Well he reached for her hand and he slipped her the keys
He said, “I’ve got no further use for these
I see Angels on Ariels in leather and chrome
Swoopin’ down from Heaven to carry me home”
This has been quite an epiphany for my first damned day of what will be nearly three months of this new life I’ve managed to stumble into.
And he gave her one last kiss and died
And he gave her his Vincent
To Ride
