barley and water and peat...oh my
[I recently traveled to Scotland and have written up some of my thoughts about the trip. This is the first of three posts.]

It wouldn't have been a real trip to Scotland without a wee dram of the water of life, now would it? We limited ourselves to the purchase of a mere 5 bottles of various single malts, plus an assortment of little tiny bottles, nearly the lot of which were consumed in the lovely gatehouse/cottage we were staying at.

Oh yes. Where were we, you ask? In a region called Kintyre, on the west coast of Scotland. We had a cottage on the estate of Torrisdale Castle - it seemed to be the gatehouse. Across the road was our beach (on Kilbrannan Sound), and beyond that, a view of a mountainous and dark isle continually shrouded in clouds, even though we had sunshine on our side of the sound. To us, it seemed that those foreboding hills must surely be Mordor, although we found out later that it was the summer-cottage-strewn Isle of Arran.

But let’s go back to the whisky, shall we?

The first distillery we visited was the Springbank Distillery in Campbeltown. Keith drove, as the single track road intimidated me. Just one lane, so you must pull aside as you meet oncoming traffic. Or sheep. But neither were in great abundance, the ride was smooth and the scenery gorgeous. We stopped at the tourist information office in Cambeltown, got the sweet Scottish lass behind the counter to make us a reservation on the afternoon tour and headed off for some lunch and shopping.

The distillery was obviously old. Buildings of many shapes, sizes and uses, all cobbled together with a network of little alleys and walks. This was the real deal, folks. Springbank whisky is made start to finish, all on site. Most distilleries subcontract their barley malting these days, but Springbank does it in-house. As we looked over the malting floor – wall to wall barley, 4-5 inches deep, each kernel adorned with little whiskers of germination – I found out that my intended is a most excellent companion on tours of this sort. “Do you have a problem with mice?” he innocently yet shit-stirringly asked. The tour guide glared over his forced smile and confidently told the group that no, they don’t have a problem with mice. Yeah, right.

The rest of the tour showed us the whisky-making process and the guide crowed about their old world methods and small batch system. Only 175,000 bottles made each year. I took home a bottle of 15 year old, and some tiny bottles of 10 year old. I didn’t open the big bottle – it was a spendy treat for special occasions – but the 10 year old is very good. Extremely smooth, only a hint of peat, almost sweet – tastes of sea air, too. Keith bought another bottle in the shop – a cask strength Cadenhead somethingorother, from a distillery somewhereorother. Fiery!

Distillery number two was the venerable Oban Distillery, which was rather a hike from our homebase. But we had been out on the Isle of Bute the night before, and that cut some time off the drive. Oh yes – I drove a fair portion of this one as it was mostly on a two lane road. Keith didn’t say a word about my driving, but the white knuckles were a giveaway. I turned over the wheel as we reached the town of Oban; I’m not yet ready for in-town driving on the wrong side of the road.

Oban was a much more commercial establishment, although the guide seemed very proud of their small size, bragging that they only made a million bottles a year. Seeing as that was an order of magnitude bigger than the last, we giggled to ourselves. It was a much bigger facility and it was interesting to note the slight differences in method; a few degrees of temp here, a few percentage points of alcohol content there. Mr. Impertinent stirred shit here, too, asking why each and every step of the distillation process was locked up tight by customs and excise, yet there was essentially an open hose out of the still in the cask filling facility. The guide smiled a much more wry smile than the Springbank guy, saying that there was ‘always’ a customs and excise man hanging around so it wasn’t a problem. I think he might have actually winked when he said it.

This guide taught us much about the different styles of whiskies and also about the effects of water added to whisky. Just a few drops change the character of it so dramatically! (We tried Keith’s fiery buy with a little water when we got home. It was delightfully more drinkable that way. He tells me the bottle may not make it to the States with him.) Unlike Springbank, Oban gave us a free dram. Well, they gave us coupons worth the price of admission – which we used on a bottle of Cragganmore (a sister distillery) and a bottle of Oban 14.

The next day we took the ferry to Mordor, er, Arran. The ferry ride was chilly, but it was remarkably sunny and pleasant when we got there. No gloom, no doom, just winding narrow roads, incredible vistas and summer cottages galore. The distillery itself was surreal. It is the newest distillery in Scotland, opened in 1995. (Whisky must be 3 years old to be called scotch whisky – are you counting?) The tour began with a video shown in an oddly Disney World-esque room decorated with various ‘authentic’ props. There were only three of us on this tour, and Mr. Impertinent did not make an appearance. Shame, really, he’s a fun guy. The distillery had been designed specifically for tours and all the production was carried out in one room. It was a marvelous juxtaposition of old and new – modern architecture, old style whisky production with wooden washbacks and everything.

Being new, they couldn’t really trade on tradition so they had a gimmick. You see, after whisky has spent its time in the cask aging, the contents of many casks are mixed together to make a consistent batch and then that batch is watered down to bottling strength. Sometimes a distiller will bottle some whisky at cask strength (see the fiery bottle above). Well, the fine distillers at Arran decided to pull a cask, set it up in the gift shop and let people bottle their own, cask strength. They carried the gimmick so far that we even had to write the label and stick it on. The guide took down our information (provenance, dontcha know) and assured us that whether we chose to drink it or save it for auction, we would be delighted. We had had a chance to taste the 6 year old they're selling now (incredibly smooth for its young age, with lime overtones) and we were pleased; the one we bottled was nearly 8 years old, so it should in theory be even better.

We left Arran on the next to last ferry, picked up a langoustine salad to add to our fresh trout supper and toured the centuries old castle nearby before the sun started to set. It was our last night there. But the 5 bottles will linger, at least for a while. That’s my kind of souvenir.