Perhaps the greatest compliment you can pay them, is that the smoky Islay whiskies are nothing but themselves. They are difficult, brash, and challenging to the palate, and they make no bones about it. They brook no compromise. You take and appreciate them for who they are, and they expect no less.

I’m not talking of smoky whiskies tailored for an audience that thinks they’re the exciting next thing. There are a range of recently released whiskies whose goal is little more than to be the smokiest beast of them all, boasting ever higher PPM numbers. But these are not true smoky Islay whiskies. They’re whiskies devised to appeal to a current taste in Scotch and to compete for notoriety. This is very reminiscent of the way that brewers recently went through a spate of competition to see who could create the “hoppiest” IPA. Concerns over balance and drinkability went out the window as brewers succumbed to the lure of IBUs.

But a true smoky Islay whisky is one that seeks simply to express its true self. It is a whisky whose smoke is an aspect of who it is, and not its sole reason for being. What’s more, the smoky element that inhabits each distillery’s product is wholly unique from the island’s other distilleries. And alongside the smoke you’ll find a range of other flavors. What those are will depend on the distillery, and (in the case of a single-cask whisky) the cask that it was aged in. But the flavor profile and the experience will speak of that distillery and its whisky. No two are alike, and someone whose thoroughly immersed themselves in each can readily identify them by their nose alone.

This bottle from Caol Ila perfectly demonstrates this, as it captures the experience and range of flavors so intrinsic to their whisky. I’ve never drunk a Caol Ila without immediately being transported back to my days on the high seas, the spray of seawater all around me, the visceral sense of brine, ocean, seaweed, and salt…or something like that. Anyone who’s spent any time around the coast, salt water, and beaches will recognize that experience in a glass of Caol Ila.

That’s what makes their whisky so unique, and so amazing. Every glass of Caol Ila speaks to its origins in that distillery, is so distinctly and unequivocally a Caol Ila whisky. This is why it’s a special distillery and a big part of why their whisky is so good.

Of course, once you venture into the realm of single-cask whiskies, things can become a bit more dicey. Each cask is so unique, and can oftentimes be a very different expression of what is typically a very consistent whisky*, and in that respect Blackadder has done a good job selecting this cask for bottling. This is one of their Raw Cask series, a range of single-cask whiskies bottled at cask-strength, and with the pretense that the flakes of char in the bottle are from the barrel it was aged in (although I now believe quite firmly that this is not true). Each of the bottlings in this series that I’ve had has been very good, and it’s clear that they choose the casks for it quite seriously.

This particular whisky was distilled in 1996 and aged for 14 years in a refill bourbon hogshead. It was bottled in February 2011 at 60.3%, and produced only 268 bottles.

Tasting Notes

The whisky has a lemony green hue. The nose has salt, smoke, brine sweeping over the bow, lime sherbet, and charred beach wood – picture yourself standing on the beach, on wet sand, with sea spray all around you, and the charred remains of last night’s bonfire at your feet, while you ponder the bowl of vanilla lime sherbet in front of you.

The palate has a voluptuous mouthfeel, full and viscous, with flavors of smoke, salade frisée, lemon ice, simple sugar, and crispy salt pork. All in all, very smoky and surprisingly sweet, pork ribs, heavily charred and smoky on the outside, giving way to sweet, moist pork on the inside, all flavored with a chili lime marinade.

The finish brings to mind the lingering remnants of a beach bonfire: salt, ash, and seaweed suffusing the air around you.

Blackadder whiskies are top notch, and this one is no exception.

*Note: Single cask whiskies are often very different from the typical bottlings released by distilleries, given how different one cask can be from another. This is why distilleries initially insisted that the Scotch Malt Whisky Society could only bottle their whiskies if they refrained from naming the distillery on the label. This is where the Society’s unique numbering system came from.

Here it is, mid-March in Portland, and I’m watching snow fall outside my window. This may be a passing snow shower, but the face remains that it’s one of several that we’ve gotten this week, and that’s just not right. We’re not supposed to get snow in March, especially out here in the PacificNorthwest.

It’s on afternoons like this that my mind most readily turn to thoughts of slow-roasted dinners and steaming carafes of french press coffee. Which, thankfully, are both occurring at this very moment. And the coffee in that carafe is from our local favorite, Coava Coffee.

Located in southeast Portland, we’ve developed a ritual of starting off every Friday by going to Coava for coffee and a pastry before making our way to work. Their space is perfect for this, and the coffee is always great. And nearly every Friday we finish up our visit by picking up a pound of coffee to last us through the weekend.

This week we opted for their current offering of Ethiopian coffee, sourced from the village of Rophi in southern Ethiopia. The village is located in the Borena Hagermariam District, in the Sidama region of Ethiopia, and entirely subsists on coffee farming. The beans are grown at altitudes of 1750-1800 meters and are all heirloom varietals. This is the same area from which Coava sourced the Kilenso coffee that they were roasting last year.

The coffee is naturally processed, meaning that the coffee cherries were left in the sun to dry for several weeks before they are sent to a mill to have the dried cherry pulp is removed via a process called hulling. This is the typical method for producing African coffee, and is a part of the reason for these coffees having a reputation for being deep-bodied, fruity and sweet coffees. Because the cherry pulp remains in contact with the bean during the long drying process, the idea is that flavors from the cherry influence the final flavor of the coffee beans themselves. This is in contrast to the wet process, whereby the cherry pulp is washed from the bean prior to drying, which produces a brighter and cleaner coffee.

We’ve had this coffee several times from Coava, and it is quite good, if somewhat different from the expectations you may have for an African coffee. Their tasting notes kind of say it all, “Taste Notes: Strawberry / Hibiscus / Carob”. These aren’t your typical descriptors for an Ethiopian coffee, which more often features more deeply fruity flavors. I attribute much of this to Coava’s roasting process, which favors a lighter roast for all of their coffees, and I suspect they look for coffees that work well with this approach. In this case, the Rophi works quite well, displaying a pleasing range of flavors and a harmonious cup of coffee.

Tasting Notes

Right after being ground, the distinct aroma of blueberries rises up out of the french press, and at first pour the coffee does too. This transitions to notes of almonds, raisins, and berries. The palate is lightly sweet and mouth-filling with soft acidity. Flavors of raisin, and cocoa nib are balanced by a smoky herbal element, something along the lines of smoked paprika and curry leaves. All in all, the coffee is delicate while still being full bodied, not heavy at all. The finish wraps up with more lingering sweetness, and flavors of cocoa and licorice.

Choosing your favorite Islay distillery can be a difficult proposition. With the exception of Bruichladdich and Bunnahabhain they are all so clearly related to one another in style that the differences between them often come down to nuances – how much and what character of smoke the whisky displays, how sweet or dry the palate, how much ocean comes through in the finished whisky. Choosing your Islay whisky may come down to knowing whether you are someone who relishes the experience of a good beach bonfire or a smoldering backyard grill.

Bowmore, Caol Ila, Laphraiog, Lagavulin, and Ardbeg are special whiskies, no doubt about it. They were intensely smoky before smoky became hip.

Today, I lean towards Ardbeg as my preferred Islay whisky. There’s something about its smokiness that really calls to me, and if you ever have the chance to taste it paired with a sherry  cask, you’ll find the mixture to be utterly sublime. And with its deep roots in history – founded in 1794 (as an illicit distillery), or 1815 (as a legal distillery) – there is a lot to ponder while enjoying a dram of it.

Since its purchase by Glenmorangie in 1997, Ardbeg has released a handful of whiskies that represent variations on the distillery’s typical character. First came the series of young Ardbeg releases leading up to the new owner’s first 10-year old whisky (Very Young, Still Young, Almost There), then Supernova (the very heavily peated whisky, even for Ardbeg), Blasda (very lightly peated), Corryvreckan, Airigh Nam Beist, etc. All of these were interesting whiskies, and each was clearly a variation on a theme, with the classic character of Ardbeg coming through in each of them.

Ardbeg Alligator is another in this range, differentiated by the casks in which it was aged, and that it gets its name from. In 2000 they laid down some whisky to age in casks that had been charred to an unusually high level, referred to as “alligator charring” by Bill Lumsden. You can see why in the photo below.

After 10 years, this whisky was vatted with some of the regular 10-year old, set down to marry for a while in refill casks, and then bottled at cask strength. The result was released in 2011 as Ardbeg Alligator.

Tasting Notes

Alligator was bottled at cask-strength, at 51.2%. This dram is from a 3cl sample  from Master of Malt.

The color of the whisky is soft gold. The nose brings a warming blend of custard, sugar cookies, and smoke. The palate is far, far smokier than the nose, with pungent smoke bursting through every sip. The velvety texture delivers an initial burst of intense smoke that quickly transitions to deep, warmly sweet flavors of shortbread and vanilla, with some interesting notes of bay leaf and clove thrown in for good measure. The lingering notes of smoke are subtle, with custardy sweetness most prominent. The finish is long and gradually tapers off to a sense of youthful, vibrant, sweet whisky.

Tasty whisky. Lots of sweetness delivered by those alligator casks, nicely offsetting its brash smokiness.

*This sample was graciously provided by Drinks By The Dram by Master of Malt.

I was recently leafing through an old book of mine entitled Scots On Scotch. It was edited by Pip Hills, founder of the Scotch Malt Whisky Society, and in his introduction he recounts the colorful story the Society’s origins. The book on the whole is quite good, but this chapter alone makes it a must-have for any fan of Scotch whisky.

But as I read it, I got to thinking…

Pip Hills was the founder and director of the Society until 1995, at which point he and the Society parted ways. But why did he leave the Society? What happened that precipitated this? If you’ve read any of his books (such as this one or Appreciating Whisky) or listened to his CD The Sound of Whisky (highly recommended), or visited the Malt Masterclass site you’ll come away with the impression that his passion for Scotch whisky hasn’t dimmed at all. So why did he leave the Society that he founded?

I did some quick searching and turned up no more info than I had previously (in other words, none), but did run across a chilling bit of news that made my heart quail:

Please be aware that the Society is no longer taking bookings for the flats at The Vaults – sorry for any inconvience that this may cause.

You don’t know how sad this made me! From the day I joined the Society (since probably before that day!), I’d looked forward to staying at the Vaults*. This was the Society’s first home, right in Edinburgh, and their 3 flats were available only to members. You could call ahead with your reservation, and they’d have a bottle of whisky waiting for you in your room. And after sampling a wee dram or two of that, you could slide downstairs to the members’ rooms for a wee dram before dinner in the members dining rooms, and then…well, I could go on. Clearly, I had a vision for this visit!

Alas, the flats at the Vaults are no more. The Society is selling them off.

Let’s face it. Things change. I’m quite sure the Society today is very different from the Society of 1995, or 1985, or even 2005. It’s sad to me that the Vaults are closed. But at least the members’ rooms remain, and so a visit to them is still a Scotch dream that I can look forward to.

But it’s hearing of a change such as this, or in 2006 when Bob Dewar* stopped illustrating their labels and newsletters, that makes me wonder all the more why Pip Hills parted ways with the Society. Was it decisions like this one? Was the Society moving too far afield from the vision he had for it? Or was he moving in a different direction than the Society?

I like being a member of the Society, and intend to continue as one. I look forward to visiting the members’ rooms in Edinburgh and London in the future, and will continue to enjoy their whisky. But I would like to know why he left in 1995, and would generally like to know more about the Society’s history, and how it came to be what it is today. It’s a fascinating organization, one that I’ve always been keen to know more about. Pondering the question of what happened in 1995, whether this was a pivotal turning point for the organization, and why its founder left at this point is just one aspect of this curiosity.

So, if any of you who read this happen to have some good info that you can send me way, I’d love to hear it. All info is welcome: anecdotes from your years as a member of the Society, tales of its early years and growing pains, and stories of the ways its changed over years. Please leave a comment! Maybe we can create a sort of people’s version of the full history of the Society, compiling our notes and anecdotes into a full picture…

Notes

*Read the history of the Vaults here and here.

*You can see some of Bob Dewar’s great illustrations for the Society on their old website, such as here.

Ridge Vineyards is a winery that has fascinated me for much of the time that I’ve been interested in wine. Their wines, methods, and story are all a compelling source of interest for oenophiles.

Ridge’s history dates back to the late 1950s, when the property the winery and some of its vineyards reside on in Santa Cruz was purchased by a group of Stanford researchers. At the time, this didn’t include the Monte Bello vineyard, which was not purchased until a few years later. In the meantime, Dave Bennion and the rest of his partners had begun holding back some of their grapes to make wine themselves (the rest were sold to other wineries) and were becoming increasingly interested in using all of the harvest for their own wines.

In 1969 they hired Paul Draper, and the rest, as they say, is history. Draper became their chief winemaker and has remained at the helm ever since. The 1971 Monte Bello Cabernet Sauvignon that he led the making of was part of the historic Judgement of Paris in 1976, where it came in 5th. Over time, Ridge became one of the leading proponents of vineyard-designated wines, particularly with the range of single-vineyard Zinfandels the winery began releasing in the 1970s. The winery, led by Draper, also become a strong advocate for making wines with minimal intervention, allowing the grapes and their natural terroir come through.

While their wines are all excellent, it is this commitment to “natural” methods of winemaking that I find the most fascinating about Ridge. In a market favoring big, bold, often highly alcoholic red wines from northern California, Draper has continuously produced wines according to his own specifications. His restrained use of American oak, low yields, natural fermentations, and devotion to letting the unique characteristics of a specific site come through in the finished wine are all reasons that Ridge wines are both so compelling and so unique.

Draper’s note on the back of the label for this 2008 Estate Cabernet sums it up nicely: “The distinctive character of the world’s great wines has always been determined by their site – not by man.”

I really enjoy reading about Ridge Vineyards and the work that Paul Draper has done there. You may as well, so here are links to a few good resources. Most are interviews with or profiles of Draper, but at this point he is nearly synonymous with Ridge itself:

• “History and Philosophy of Winemaking at Ridge Vineyards, 1970s-1990s.” This extensive interview with Paul Draper is one of a series of oral histories that were collected by UC Davis.
• “Letting a Grape Be a Grape.” Very good profile of Draper and Ridge by the always interesting-to-read Eric Asimov of the New York Times.
• “A Non-Action Approach to Winemaking.” Another brief profile by Asimov.
• “Paul Draper.” Profile of Draper by Wine Spectator writer James Laube.

Tasting Notes
This 2008 vintage of the Estate Cabernet Sauvignon was produced from 66 tons of grapes harvested from 34 acres of vineyards, resulting in 24 parcels of this wine. The grapes are all from the Monte Bello vineyard in the Santa Cruz Mountains, where the grapes for the famed Monte Bello wine are also grown. This bottling includes 75% Cabernet Sauvignon, 20% Merlot, 3%, Petit Verdot, and 2% Cabernet Franc.

The wine itself is a deep, black red. The nose has notes of black licorice, raspberry, cherry, oak resin, and an undercurrent of vanilla. The palate’s texture is soft and supple with medium tannins supporting dense flavors of tart black cherry, rich plum, tobacco and a healthy dose of spicy, resinous oak. The lingering finish is rich with tart, dark fruit. All in all, this is a big wine that deftly blends rich fruit flavors with tart ones and has a strong current of oaky flavors running through it.

On the label, Eric Baugher (vice president-winemaking) writes this note about the vintage:
“A severe winter ended In early February, leaving the vines short of water by late August. Moderate summer weather ripened the small crop during the first three weeks of October. Color and tannins extracted rapidly from the small berries. Parcels that make up the Estate Cabernet consistently produce wines that are more accessible and elegantly structured than those dedicated to the Monte Bello. Typically, we reduce pump-overs and press early, balancing tannins to fruit.”