The Whisky Guy Blog

A few days ago, I took a four mile walk from my cottage on Persabus Farm to the end of the coastal road on Islay’s northeastern shore.  The weather was unbeatable – no rain to soak me, no wind to knock me about and plenty of sunshine to give me stunning views of Jura’s snow-covered mountains and to bring out the brilliant blue of the North Sea.

The walk to Bunnahabhain gives incredible views of the North Sea and the Isle of Jura.

Along the solitary way, I was only passed by a fishing boat, heading out for the afternoon’s catch.  The boat slipped out of sight as my destination came into view: Bunnahabhain Distillery.  The visual transition was most appropriate, as Distillery Manager John MacLellan gave up a career as a fisherman and a life on the water to work in the world of whisky making the water of life.

Bunnahabhain is the Islay distillery I am least familiar with, so it made for an appropriate first stop.  The distillery is nestled in a little cove along the Sound of Islay, within shouting distance of the Isle of Jura on the other side.  If you jumped on a raft at the distillery’s dock and let the current take you, I don’t think you’d stop until you hit Santa’s icy beach – it’s just open water as far as the eye can see once you are through the sound.  The place is quiet, secluded and large – Bunnahabhain produced more than two million liters last year – but still intimate.

 I’d only had a couple of tastes of Bunnahabhain through the years – their standard 12-year-old and an independent bottling that was around 32-years old.  What I remembered from both was how faintly peated the malt was.  This is significant because Islay’s malts are known for being at the peak of single malt peatiness.

Bunnahabhain Distillery is home to Islay's lightest peated malt.

John told me the faint peatiness is intentional.  Bunnahabhain has served for many years as a primary malt in the Black Bottle blend, and as such is distilled to complement that blend and others (Cutty Sark, Famous Grouse), rather than stand out as a single malt.  It wasn’t until 1979 (the distillery was founded in 1881) that Bunnahabhain’s 12-year-old came on the market as a single malt.  In the past few years, they’ve added 18-year-old and 25-year-old bottlings. 

With only a 2ppm phenol count, the light peatiness allows Bunnahabhain to use primarily sherry casks in aging.  The spirit itself has the fruity flavor of apples and a citrus tinge of lime that seems drawn through cereal.  The result is a light, fruity flavor that has hints of grain, peat and is frosted with sherry nuttiness.  The sherry influence is richer in the older bottlings, in part due to more years spent in the cask, but also due to the inclusion of more first-fill sherry casks in older bottlings. 

MacLellan says the key to Bunnahabhain are the water, which is collected at the source in order to reduce the chance for the natural peatiness of Islay’s soil to infiltrate the water, and the mash cycle of the grain.  The distillery uses a significantly longer than typical mash cycle to maximize spirit yield from each batch of barley.  The longer cycle helps maintain spirit quality even when the quality of the grain is lesser due to a poor growing season.

Bunnahabhain was the first Islay distillery to make a special bottling for Islay’s hugely popular yearly whisky festival, and each bottle is signed by MacLellan and at least one other member of the 11 person workforce.  Fans that purchase the autographed bottles are getting a real prize of whisky-making history.  MacLellan has more than 30 years in the industry, and several other staffers have up to 40 years experience, mainly at Bunnahabhain.  It’s this consistency that is the hearth fire fueling the fine malt.

I was quite surprised by Bunnahabhain and their bottlings.  The 12-year-old is a great any time dram, and the 18-year-old is a wonderful winter drink or end of the day tipple.  In my minimal previous exposure, the malt didn’t make an impression one way or another.  Now that I’ve taken a serious look at the distillery and truly earned a taste (four miles walk for a dram!), I find Bunnahabhain is an unexpected delight.  It’s a nice bridge between Islay and the mainland malts.  Enjoy it if you get the chance!  www.bunnahabhain.com

After long last, I am comfortably at my new home for the foreseeable future: Islay, the Scottish island of the peated malts.  My arrival here brings my whisky experience full circle in some ways, as it was Fergus Hartley, formerly of Bowmore, who took the time to give me a personal tasting introduction to Scotch several years ago that drew me into this wonderful world.

Bowmore was the first distillery I stopped in after I arrived, and I enjoyed a fantastic distillery-only release that was reminiscent of holiday spices and aromas like pine, nutmeg and cinnamon.  I was there briefly, just stopping in to stay warm during a short visit to Bowmore for lunch and groceries.  I’ll get more details about the malt and post them after my next visit.

Currently, I am at the home of the renowned whisky writer/gourmet Martine Nouet.  Like several others who are passionate about whisky, Islay called to Martine for many visits and eventually a home.  With views of two distilleries and Ireland on a clear day, her place is a magnificent location for enjoying a dram, along with her wonderful cooking. 

I am finally settling into island life and over the course of the next couple of weeks look forward to visiting some of the distilleries, renewing old acquaintances and making new friends.  And, of course, tasting a wide range of malts to share with you.

Recently, I returned from a lengthy journey in India (and several weeks away from solid Internet access).  As previously mentioned, I brought several mini-bottles of fine whisky to enjoy with me when the occasion called for it: such as floating on a rice barge I rented for a backwaters tour in Kerala; playing a borrowed acoustic guitar on my balcony overlooking Lake Pichola in Udaipur; and having a lovely conversation with a Swiss woman at a rooftop restaurant as we waited for the rising moonlight to cling to the Taj Mahal.

The single malts I brought weren’t the only whiskies I drank in India, however.  Jim Murray (www.whiskybible.com) suggested that I try a few Indian whiskies while in that land of curry and cows.  So, while I spent seven weekdays in Anjuna, Goa, soaking up the sun on the beach, I spent seven weeknights sampling several whiskies that were available in the area.

The whiskies I enjoyed, ranging from a Seagram’s blend made in India, to McDowell’s Number One Blend, were all drinkable, which considering the price - under $2 U.S. for about a fifth - was one of my main concerns.  The impact of English “influence” during the 19th and 20th centuries brought whisky to the attention of Indians.  But, as with many external influences from various uninvited “visitors” throughout its history, India seems to have adapted whisky in its own unique way.

Take McDowell’s, for example. Certainly there was a malty dryness one would expect of someone trying to replicate or imitate Scotch.  However, there was also a subtle tropical fruit, even syrupy flavor - almost to the point where I wondered how it would taste poured over the galub jamon fried milk dessert balls that I inhaled on a regular basis.  McDowell’s ages their water of life in Scotch oak barrels, so that kissing-cousin malty/woody flavor is explained.  But that hint of pineapple, even a bit of a snappy spiciness, where did that come from?

Sadly, I didn’t have the chance to take a planned tour of McDowell’s distillery to have that question answered.  My distillery visit was scheduled a week after the terrorist attacks in Mumbai and due to security measures, it was canceled at the last minute.  I have no idea why I was wrapped up in that security clamp-down.  I mean, I was more of a threat to get bombed sampling their whiskies than I was of bombing their distillery. 

So, is that exotic fruit and rich spiciness a result of the warm tropical climate where the casks age?  Does it come from water infused with the flavors of every day dining in the region? Or is there a factory next door that cans curried mango and pineapple and the aroma filters over? I’ll never know the answer. 

But, I’ll forever remember sharing a dram with an English traveler I met at dinner as we discussed the shifting tide of world politics and economics in his country and mine.  And I know the McDowell’s blend provided plenty of familiarity tothe kind of whisky we each knew and loved, but added enough local pizazz to be the perfect drink for that beachfront conversation.  And as I stress and will continue to stress, having the right whisky at the right time is half of what makes it enjoyable.  So, McDowell’s, thank you for that memory moment. 

Now, if I could just get off your terrorist watch list…