Category: Scotch
Laphroaig 10-Year Cask Strength
For me, Laphroaig will always represent the most elemental aspects of whisky that first blew my mind several years back when I was just getting to know scotch. It was the first crazily smoky, peaty whisky that I drank, and the first cask strength too. On both accounts, my palate was altered for good, and to this day I’m still not sure if it was for the better!
It’s with good reason that each bottle of Laphroaig carries the seal of the Prince of Wales himself, as this is no ordinary whisky:
By appointment to HRH [His Royal Highness] the Prince of Wales, distiller and supplier of single malt Scotch whisky, D. Johnston & Co., (Laphroaig) Isle of Islay.
I still remember giving my mother a taste of Laphroaig 10, and hearing her horrified remark that it tasted like someone had filled her mouth with charcoal. Definitely not everyone’s cup of tea, or whisky for that matter. Laphroaig is one that you have to adapt to and be ready for, not the other way around. In contrast to many whiskies, Laphroaig is an uncompromising malt. It’s really love it or leave it.
The 10-year cask strength embodies the Laphroaig character more so than any of their other bottlings. Bottled at 55.7%, it captures Laphroaig at the height of its youthful exuberance. It’s tempestuous and fiery, and threatens to knock you around a bit if you’re not ready for it. It’s the deepest night compared to its more mild-mannered 10-year old non-cask-strength sibling.
The whisky pours reddish gold with tight beads. Leaping out of the glass is that characteristic Laphroaig smoke, reminiscent of a smoldering woodfire. The briny smoke dominates the nose, with undercurrents of burnt caramel and seaweed thrown in for good measure. The palate leads off with mouth coating sweetness, followed by waves of peat smoke and char. The flavors then swing back round to caramel, bits of toffee, and sweet bready flavors. The whisky is medium bodied, not as thickly textured as some cask strengths are, with bracing, hot alcohol. To really experience it to the full, it definitely asks to be toned down. In fact, adding water really brings out the smokiness in the palate. The finish has a lingering bit of smoke, burnt sugar, and custard, warming and sweet.
Overall impression: very tasty, and great for sipping while sitting in front of a fire. Hot from the alcohol, but much more pleasant after toned down with water. Definitely for the lover of smoky whiskies, who can stand up to the brutish challenge brought on by the cask-strength bottling.
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Ardbeg 10-Year
It’s hard to believe that just over a decade ago Ardbeg nearly closed for good. The whisky is so remarkable and so unique, and so emblematic of the image of an Islay whisky, it’s unbelievable that it came so close to disappearing for good in 1997. Yet, I suppose this is just another way in which it is emblematic of Islay whiskies – the island’s distilleries have historically struggled to keep their doors open, with several of the remaining distilleries suffering near-permanent closures, and one giant – Port Ellen – having permanently closed in 1983.
There are interesting parallels in telling the stories of two of Islay’s recent success stories, Ardbeg and Bruichladdich:
- Both weathered very serious downturns and closings in the 1990’s before being bought by new owners around the turn of the century. In the case of Bruichladdich they were purchased in 2001 by a group of partners spearheaded by Mark Reynier of Murray McDavid, and Ardbeg was purchased in 1997 by Glenmorangie.
- Bruichladdich had been closed for 5 years from 1995-2000. Ardbeg only went silent for one year, 1996, but from 1990-1996 had operated at only 33% of its capacity.
- After being purchased by their new owners, both distilleries required significant refurbishing before returning to full production (Glenmorangie invested £3.5 million rebuilding Ardbeg).
Yet, while their history is similar in these regards, their whisky couldn’t be more different. In contrast to Bruichladdich’s delicate, lightly-styled spirit, Ardbeg’s is an explosively smoky dram. Ardbeg is one of the big three, the peaty beasts that Islay is so famous for, along with Lagavulin and Laphroaig (Bowmore produces a pretty smoky whisky as well, but I don’t think they’re in the same league). But despite sharing a smoky profile, their whiskies are totally distinct from one another. Much of this is explained by the methods they use for producing their whisky. Here are some basic facts comparing the three:
1. PPM of the malt – how smoky the malt is before they use it to produce whisky:
- Ardbeg: 54ppm
- Laphroaig: 40-43ppm
- Lagavulin: 35-40ppm
2. PPM of the new make spirit – how much smoke from the malt is carried through into the final whisky:
- Laphroaig: 25ppm
- Ardbeg: 24-26ppm
- Lagavulin: 16-18ppm
3. Percent their spirit stills are filled to – the more full the stills are filled, the more pungent and full-bodied the final whisky will be:
- Lagavulin: 95%
- Ardbeg: 81%
- Laphroaig: unknown
There are other differences as well, in their fermentation schedules, when they make their cuts, et., but the end result, in Ardbeg’s case, is a profoundly smoky whisky that retains an almost delicate, subtleness. The degree they fill their stills to – 81% – plays a big role in this. While that’s still a high percentage, it’s low enough for the more pungent aromatics and flavors to be stripped out of the whisky, leaving the spirit in the glass more able to express the balanced combination of smoke and sweetness that is Ardbeg’s calling card.
Today, the Ardbeg distillery works 6 days a week, 24 hours a day, to produce right around a million liters of whisky a year, and nearly all of this goes into singe malt bottlings. 98% of their whisky is aged in Jack Daniels Tennessee Whiskey barrels, with the other 2% being sherry casks. All of the barrels they use are first or second fill. Curiously, while 100% of Ardbeg’s whisky is aged on Islay in their own warehouses, none of it is bottled on Islay at all, but is shipped to the mainland and bottled in West Lothian, in central Scotland.
One last note of interest about Ardbeg: they’re owned by Glenmorangie who purchased them in 1997 (Glenmorangie themselves were purchased by Louis Vuitton Moet Hennessy (LVMH) in 2005). Glenmorangie also owns the Scotch Malt Whisky Society, that venerable Scottish institution who buy single casks of whisky from distilleries and bottle them at cask strength for their members. The takeover took place in 2004 when Glenmorangie paid £2.2 million to gain a controlling interesting of the independent bottler whose products are available only to its members.
The Society’s board argued the merits of the decision by saying that the change in ownership would give them greater access to a wider range of whiskies, so that they could offer more and better whiskies to their members. Glenmorangie in turn looked at the purchase as allowing them to play a greater role in whisky education, enabling them to reach out to the Society’s 24,000 members worldwide.
I remember a great degree of initial skepticism when I heard about the deal, and couldn’t help but think that the ownership of an “independent” bottler by a major drinks conglomeration that also owned 3 distilleries (Glenmorangie, Ardbeg, and Glen Moray) couldn’t bode well for the future. But I’ve been a member of the Society for a few years now, and must say – especially as a member of the U.S. chapter – that I’ve seen the number of bottlings and number of distilleries represented consistently grow, and the quality of the membership continue to improve as well. So, while I’m sure the relationship between Glenmorangie and the Society is in some ways a curious one, I don’t see any outwardly ill effects from it.
But, on to the whisky! I haven’t had the Ardbeg 10-year in a long while, and was a little nervous given my recent disappointments with other smoky whiskies. My memory was of a singularly smoky dram, with just a hint of sugary sweetness to offset the smoke. This particular bottling was from 2007, and so is likely from the previous owners (the new owners began distilling again on June 25th of 1997, but only until October of that year before further repairs had to be made, and distilling did not resume until the following spring). It is bottled at 46% and is not chill-filtered.
The whisky is greeny gold in the glass. The nose is raw and smoky, with heather and simple syrup offsetting the smoke. All told, the nose is really equal parts smoky and sweet, and with time in the glass the sweetness grows, gaining depth. The palate opens up with charcoal and peat smoke, then unfolds with flavors of whipped cream and lemony sweetness. It’s lightly textured and soft, very drinkable. The finish is intriguing, with distant whiffs of smoke that just linger, like the remnants of last night’s fire in the hearth.
I wasn’t expecting Ardbeg 10 to be as complex as a I found it. My memory of it was as a much more one-dimensional whisky, smoky with the slightest bit of sweetness to offset it. Instead, I found a dram that had a layered, complex nose, and a palate that really opened up and developed with some time in the glass. The finish was a bit wanting, not as interesting as the nose or palate, but overall a very satisfying dram.
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Laphroaig 15 Year
My introduction to scotch was a Caol Ila 12 year old, to this day one of my favorite whiskies for its singular smokiness. I remember being stunned by the brine and smoke, and having difficulty figuring out exactly what it was that I was drinking. Before long I’d worked my way across the spectrum of Islay whiskies, reveling in the smoky beauty of Laphroaig, Lagavulin, Caol Ila, Ardbeg, and Bowmore.
I stayed “on the island” for quite a long time. I was so enamored with smoky whiskies that it was ages before I really began to appreciate other types of scotch. Yes, my scotch horizons were limited, but you’ve got to admit that some pretty incredible whiskies are distilled on that island.
As time passed I began to appreciate the subtle differences in the smoky whiskies produced on Islay. On the one hand you have the briny smokiness of a Caol Ila, on the other the naked, straight-out-of-the-fire smokiness of an Ardbeg. There’s the ribald smokiness of a Lagavulin, and the restrained, fiery beach-wood smoke of a Bowmore. And then there’s Laphroaig, whose smoke is wholly singular, a remarkable expression of smoldering, centuries old peat. You may at times be able to confuse the smokiness of a Lagavulin with a Bowmore, but you could never confuse the smokiness of a Laphroaig with any other whisky.
Why is that? I suppose there are any number of reasons that you could point to – the peat they use, the fact that Laphroaig is one of the few distilleries still producing some of their own malt, the way they distill their whisky. But in the end, no one really knows for sure. What it comes right down to is being willing to simply accept that there is something unique taking place when Laphroaig whisky is created that imparts this most astonishing smokiness.
A friend of mine once described Laphroaig whisky as akin to stuffing a wad of peat in your mouth. I’d have to concur with this, there is something entirely unique that takes place when you plunge into a dram of Laphroaig. The smoke slowly rises out of the glass, filling first your nostrils, then the room your in. It gets into your clothes, and I swear it leaves an imprint on your senses, leaving you with a lingering memory after you reach the bottom of the glass.
But what’s best about Laphroaig is that it isn’t all about the smoke. Yes, the smokiness is astonishing and unique, but it is coupled with layers of other flavors that can – depending on the age of the whisky you’re drinking – actually cause the smoke to play a secondary role. I’ve been lucky enough to try the Laphroaig 30-year on a handful of occasions and can say, without hesitation, that this is one of the most amazing whiskies I’ve ever drunk. The smoke is more subdued, an ethereal element layered amidst a plethora of other flavors. In many ways, this to me was the ultimate expression of Laphroaig, demonstrating just how dynamic a role the smoke can play.
So in the end, I do think Laphroaig is defined by its smoke, much as I think other of the Islay whiskies are uniquely defined by their unique smokiness (Ardbeg and Lagavulin most prominently so). But Laphroaig is much more than just its smoke, there’s something else, something intangible that it expresses.
Yikes! This post is turning into some sort of homage to Laphroaig, which is not really what I’m aiming for. Instead, it’s really an homage to how smoke is never the same from whisky to whisky, and may well be the most romantic and remarkable flavor that any whisky exhibits. Only a few whiskies in the world really embrace smoke as a principal flavor component, and in only a fraction of them does the smoke really define that whisky, smelling and tasting like no other smoke you’ll find in another whisky.
The Laphroaig 15 year has always been one of my favorite Laphroaig expressions. It’s left behind the brash, raw smoke of youth and begun to segway into the more restrained, well-balanced smokiness of middle-age. It’s bottled at 43%, and so retains some of the explosive flavor that you’ll find in cask-strength versions.
The 15-year pours gold with a lightly coppered tinge. The nose is dominated by smoke - that peculiarly specific Laphroaig smoke – , accompanied by mint, red berryish fruit, and a hint of butterscotch. The palate is a mouthfull of peat to begin with – a rich, elemental combination of smoke and earth – accompanied by an undercurrent of sweet poached pears, apple and cranberry pie, and crushed mint. Smoke is again dominant on the finish, accompanied by apples and pears and a fine layer of citrus.
A great, classic, go-to whisky, the perfect bridge between the younger 10 year and the older, 25 or 30 year bottlings. What fun it would be to taste through the range, kicking off with the Quarter Cask, making your way to the 10 year and then the 10 year cask-strength, moving on to the 15, the 18, the 25…the 30.
Problem is, that 30 year stole my heart away, and left me with a taste for older, well-aged Laphroaigs. I’m jaded, prevented from fully appreciating such a fine whisky as this 15 year by my dallies with its older siblings. Whither my smoky palate?!
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Aberlour A’Bunadh Batch #21
When it comes right down to it, I’m not sure that I’m much for subtlety. Smoky, heavily-peated whiskies were my starting point in the world of scotch. The smokier the better, and it took me a year or two to get ‘off the island’, as it were. Slowly my palate adapted and I was able to discern the nuances in a wider range of whiskies, from peaty-beasts to delicate, unpeated whiskies. And so next I turned my eyes toward heavily-sherried whiskies. Nuance be damned.
Whereas smoky whiskies are relatively common, heavily sherried whiskies are relatively more rare. Many are one-off single cask bottlings, such as the 25-year single-cask G&M Strathisla or the 24-year single-cask, cask-strength SMWS Inchgower that I tried recently. Whiskies such as these, great though they are, are both hard to find and expensive. And this is where the beauty of the A’Bunadh comes in.
Yet here is a massively sherried whisky, up there with some of the most heavily sherried ones that you can find. But instead of being scarce it is one of Aberlour’s regular bottlings, nearly always available. And what’s more, it is very affordable. For a whisky of this impact and quality, that’s a tough combination to beat.
Aberlour was originally established in 1826, and since then has been rebuilt a couple of times following massive fires. Today, it remains one of the few whisky distilleries using a very high proportion of sherry casks, ranging anywhere from 25-50% of their casks in use at any one time. Today their regular bottlings are a 12-year and a 16-year, alongside the A’Bunadh. The 12 and 16-year both use a process that Aberlour calls “double-matured”, whereby the whisky from two separate casks, one sherry one bourbon, are blended together and then left to age for an additional period of time for the flavors to marry. Both of these are also quite nice whiskies, and also great values.
A’Bunadh translates as “the origin” in Gaelic, and this whisky definitely gives the impression of coming practically straight from the cask. A’Bunadh was first released in 1997, and since then Aberlour has released 25 different batches. Each batch is drawn from a single sherry cask (sherry casks, known as “butts”, can hold up to 500 liters, or 132 gallons, or somewhere in the realm of 600+ bottles), and bottled at cask-strength. As a result, each batch is slightly different from others, due to the nuances of single-cask aging. The A’Bunadh has no age statement on the bottle, but indications are that it is generally around 8 years.
This bottling, from batch #21 was bottled at 59.5%.
The whisky pours with a wonderful viscosity, and is a dark, amber red, the color of polished mahogany. The nose is rich with classic sherried whisky notes of almonds, red wine, raspberries, and melted brown sugar. This is a whisky that I could thoroughly enjoy just nosing all day long. The palate is velvety and unctuous, heavily textured with mouth-coating oils and flavors. The flavor profile is similar to that of the nose, with brown sugar, candied almonds, creme caramel, and unfiltered honey. The palate is just teeming with flavor, and the high percentage really makes it buzz with activity. A little water mellows things out, but you really have to start at full-throttle, to experience all of the whisky-goodness of the A’Bunadh. The finish is very long-lasting with flavors of marzipan, honey, and red fruit. Very lingering and enticing.
Wow. The A’Bunadh is just a fabulous whisky. If you enjoy sherried whiskies, or just whisky in general, you simply must grab a dram of this. Even better, make sure that you have some time and good company to sit with this whisky and really enjoy it to its fullest.
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Glenallachie 13 Year SMWS Cask #107.6
It’s a rare treat when you have a chance to sample a bottle of Glenallachie whisky. This is because, of the roughly 3-million liters of whisky that they produce each year, almost none of it is bottled as a single malt. I’ve definitely never seen it bottled on its own before, and so was pretty excited at the prospect of trying this offering from the Scotch Malt Whisky Society.
Glenallachie is a Speyside distillery that was built in 1967 by Mackinlay Macpherson Ltd., one of the big scotch whisky conglomerates of the time. According to Robin Laing they were looking for “a fine, subtle, delicate, complex malt for blending purposes.”* It later passed into the hands of Invergordon Distillers Group, and is now part of Pernod Ricard’s portfolio of distilleries. Today it serves the same purpose that it did back in 1967, producing millions of liters of whisky that is used almost entirely for blending purposes. Specifically, it is a part of the following blends: MacKinlay’s, King’s Ransom, Clan Campbell, Legendary, White Horse, and House of Lords. Phew!
The SMWS has named this bottling “A Summer Meadow”. It spent 13 years aging in a refill bourbon hogshead, and was bottled at a whopping 59%.
The color is very light gold, reminiscent of sauvignon blanc. The nose has elements of vanilla saltwater taffy, sugar cookies, and citrus, underscored by warm, malty notes. The palate kicks off with zinging, tart citrus flavors, prickling above an undercurrent of creamy lemon pudding. There is a slightly smoky note kicking around as well. The body has a plush, soft texture, and a nice, mouth-coating oiliness while not being too heavy. The finish is lithe but rich, with citrus, taffy, and mineral flavors.
This is a wholly satisfying and easy drinking whisky. I was particularly taken with the surprising amount of body that it had considering its very light color. As well, the flavors that it presented were intriguingly contrasting and eye-opening. It really is a “subtle, delicate, and complex malt”!
*Laing, Robin. The Whisky River, p. 116
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