Tag: Islay
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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Lagavulin Distiller’s Edition 1991/2007
Of all of the Islay whiskies, I always find Lagavulin to be the most exciting. I’m a devoted fan of scotch from Islay and have been lucky enough to try several expressions from each of the 7 (or 8 if you count Port Ellen) distilleries. But I always know a Lagavulin from the nose alone. There’s something about the nose and flavor of a Lagavulin that is wholly unique.
Lagavulin is by far the most pungent of the Islay whiskies. Not merely smoky, given that Laphroaig is probably the smokiest Islay scotch, closely followed by Ardbeg. In contrast to these scotches that are very heavily smoky, the nose of a Lagavulin is rife with a panoply of flavors: smoke, gunpowder, brine, fruits, and sherry. When contrasted with a smoky scotch such as Laphroaig or Ardbeg, the difference can be striking. Whereas those are definitively smoky, and to great effect, the nose on a Lagavulin will exhibit more depth and intrigue. The same goes for the palate. Whatever Lagavulin may occasionally lack in smoky intensity compared to some of its Islay brethren it makes up for in sheer personality.
This is where Lagavulin really shines and really sets itself apart from other scotches, the fact that it is unabashedly unkempt and rough around the edges. There is no sense of elegant harmony in a Lagavulin. The nose has a gaggle of elements competing furiously, duking it out with one another for supremacy. The palate is littered with flavors that brashly antagonize your palate: one moment it’s tremendously smoky, the next brown sugar and sherry step in, the moment after it’s flavors of caramelized pork that soon gives way to crushed black peppercorns.
It’s quite interesting to look more closely at why this is the case. For this, you can turn to a couple of wonderful books on scotch, Andrew Jefford’s excellent depiction of Islay and its whiskies Peat Smoke And Spirit and Misako Udo’s masterly reference tome The Scottish Whisky Distilleries. Each of these books contains a wealth of information about the Islay distilleries (Udo’s book contains information about every distillery in Scotland, active or otherwise), including vital facts such as the peating levels of the malt, the size of their spirit stills, the length of their fermentations, and loads of other details. Here are the most important details to look at concerning the pungent qualities of Lagavulin:
Peating Levels
The peating levels of the Islay whiskies vary considerably, and have a clear relationship to the smokiness of the finished product. Here are the peating levels of the malt used by all 7 Islay distilleries, measured in phenols parts-per-million (the list excludes unique one-offs such as Bruichladdich’s Octomore):
- Ardbeg: 54ppm
- Laphroaig: 40-43ppm
- Lagavulin: 35-40ppm
- Caol Ila: 30-35ppm
- Bowmore: 20-25ppm
- Bruichladdich: 3-4ppm
- Bunnahabhain: 1-2ppm
So Ardbeg and Laphroaig, scotches that are more demonstrably smoky than Lagavulin are number 1 and 2, not a big surprise there. But here are the phenol levels of the new make spirit from the seven distilleries:
- Laphroaig: 25ppm
- Ardbeg: 24-26ppm
- Lagavulin: 16-18ppm
- Caol Ila: 12-13ppm
- Bowmore: 8-10ppm
- Bruichladdich and Bunnahabhain both have negligible levels of peat in their new make spirit
So no change in order of the distilleries relative to one another based on the new make spirit. But here’s where it starts to really get interesting. Let’s look at the percentage charge they fill their spirit stills to when distilling the new make spirit:
- Ardbeg: 81%
- Bowmore: 92%
- Bruichladdich: 58%
- Bunnahabhain: 58%
- Caol Ila: 41 %
- Lagavulin: 95%
- Laphroaig: (information not available)
Lagavulin fills their spirit stills to 95% of capacity. Add to this the fact that the lyne arm on their spirit stills descends at a 45 degree angle and has no purifier attached to it means that the vaporized spirit very quickly moves up and out of the still, giving it little contact with the still’s copper sides. Lagavulin also has one of the widest middle cuts of the island’s distilleries, from 72-59%.*
And lastly, Lagavulin fills almost all of its spirit into third-fill American oak barrels (meaning that they’ve been filled with other distilleries’ scotch 3 times before being used by Lagavulin). This means that there will be less smoothing influence from the wood during the whisky’s many years of maturation.
What this info reveals is that while Lagavulin may be less peaty in terms of the PPM of its malt and new make spirit, but creates its decidedly pungent scotch by employing the biggest spirit stills charge on the island, using the widest distillation cuts, and choosing to use older barrels that will not smooth out or subdue the wild characteristics inherent in the new make spirit.
Exciting stuff, but what about the scotch itself? Does pungent translate into a great winter night’s dram?
The answer is a definitive yes when considering any Lagavulin bottling, but even more so when its the 16-year Distiller’s Edition. This bottling is finished in Pedro Ximenez sherry casks for several months, after nearly 16 years in its initial bourbon cask. The sherry cask (Pedro Ximenez being the most unctuous and sweet of all sherries) has the effect of adding body, flavor, and color to the already very, very good Lagavulin 16-year (their most common official bottling).
The scotch is orange-amber in appearance with occasional greenish glints on the surface. The nose is a mix of bonfires, smoke, barbecue roasted pork, caramel sweets, and the smoky smell that lingers on your clothes the day after you’ve spent all night sitting in front of a bonfire beside a lake on a cool summer evening. The palate is dense and textured, with flavors of smoke and bonfires, overripe, melt-in-your-mouth raspberries, crushed black szechuan pepper, and caramel. The finish starts bitter with abundant smoke that gives way to savory toffee sweetness which itself slowly gives over to cotton candy.
No doubt about it, the Lagavulin Distiller’s Edition is a special scotch. The only thing that would really put it over the top is if it was cask strength. As it is, it is bottled 43% which I believe takes away somewhat from how good it could be. Nonetheless, it is a pretty fabulous dram. Highly recommended.
*Distillation Cuts: this term refers to the three stages of the second distillation process, when the runnings are collected from the spirit still. The runnings from the first stage are referred to as the Foreshots and include the less pure alcohols and oils that are too strong, cloudy, and oily to become whisky. Typically the strength of the foreshots is greater than 72%. The second stage referred to as the Middle Cut includes the spirit that makes up the bulk of the new make whisky, and typically measures between 60-72% alcohol. The third and final stage is referred to as the Feints (also sometimes “Tails”), and contains spirit which is too low in alcohol and too rich in undesirable flavors and aromas to be used for whisky. The wider the middle cut used by the distillery, the more rich and pungent their whisky will be because it will include more of the foreshots and feints. Likewise, the narrower the cut, the more clean the distillery’s whisky will be.
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