Mortlach 16yo
Distiller’s Dram - 2.81 Distilled| 43.4% ABV
Does Anyone Have a Time Machine?
In the run up to our wedding, tensions were understandably high – it would be the first wedding of our generation in both our families, and owing to the general ridiculousness of wedding preparations, it was a traumatic period for all involved. There’s something about the concept of a wedding that brings out the devil in us. Anyway, as a breaker of ice, an olive branch extended or any other peace-bearing metaphor you would like to insert, a dinner was arranged where the two fractious family factions would come together over good food and fine wine, settling the rising disquiet among the elders.
At this point we had the big moves down: venue, dresses, kilts etc – it was just the details that remained and the dinner would be used as a mechanism to iron these kinks out. It would also help build the relationship that would outlast the elders and align our families on a collective path to happiness. The dinner day arrived and I was nervous. My parents are a bit liberal and loose around the edges – my dad in particular enjoys a good-old knees up to get the intricate mechanics of diplomacy lubricated.
My soon-to-be in-laws were, at that point, slightly less loose. To cut a long story short, the dinner went smashingly, everyone had a riotous time and my fiancée and I were bolstered by the joviality of it all – maybe we would get through this in one piece after all.
During dessert, my future father-in-law asked my dad, in what will surely be regarded in retrospect as the worst decision he’s ever made, if he’d like a nightcap. I knew dad enjoyed his whisky and suffered from periodic bouts of “tiredness” after an evening of frivolity that happened to include the amber nectar. A nightcap seemed like a nice thing to round off a pleasant, and successful evening. At that point my alcohol enjoyment was restricted to the odd liqueur, but I was getting into wine. When the nightcap whisky was produced, I didn’t really notice what it was, apart from the excitement when it was announced as a special, limited edition – and that he had two bottles of it.
The next day we awoke with a triumphant skip in our step and a rare smile upon our pre-wedding-turmoil faces. The evening before was a belter. With only a few weeks to go before the big day, the path that was laid over hours of laughter and human connection was surely strong enough to bear the weight of expectation – of the big day and of us, as a couple and what was required post-marriage.
Eventually the big day arrived and everything went to plan and a great time was had by all. But there was something afoot, a needling that was covertly whispered; a word said and a knowing wince induced. What was this all about? I didn’t really grasp it at first, but had some grounding in reports that the universal nightcap measurement wasn’t adhered to. It transpired that the nightcap bottle had almost been depleted, and my new father-in-law was a bit miffed, given the fact the majority had been depleted by my dad. Forcibly. Through his facehole.
Unfortunate, but there we go. Water (of life) under the bridge. Dad can be a bit wild, I reasoned, and that he’ll never do it again. Life carried on and our post-marital expectations were fulfilled when my little red-haired beauty arrived and her appearance ushered in a new perspective on what it means to be alive. Relationships took on new perspectives too, in a massively positive way – my father-in-law and I are now good pals – and in 2021 at the start of my whisky odyssey, I sheepishly asked him what bottle it was, that my dad had enjoyed so much that night.
I value whisky quite a lot now. It shapes my memories more and more because it factors into my activities more and more. Whisky is a wonderful thing and I really do take my time to enjoy it, share it and, as you are witnessing, waffle on about the wondrous magnificence of it. My father-in-law is an infrequent whisky drinker. Now and again he’ll open a bottle in company and have a dram, at a push two. He recently dropped in at my house to leave a bottle of Ledaig 10yo that he bought in 2014 and it was only just past the shoulder eight years on. It transpired the bottle in question was the revered, wildly delicious and ultra-expensive Mortlach Flora & Fauna 16 year old. If ever there was a whisky that could derail a very tender diplomatic wedding situation, it would be the old-man rinsing a bottle of Mortlach. Sixteen. Flora and Fauna. On that warm summer evening, unknown to all at the dinner table, the giant hand of the doomsday clock solemnly, and regrettably, moved one minute closer to midnight.
Review
Chill Filtered, Coloured, 43.4% ABV
Bottle code: L1174DM002 00000443
£66.33 at point of purchase - £80+ now | patchy availability
After asking this question and realising in utter horror (after Googling the bottle) what an unforgivable crime my dad had perpetrated, I apologised again, some 10 years later, and asked if he had any left. About 1/3rd of his final bottle remained and he gave me a dram. I’d only experienced a few whiskies by this point – Glengoyne’s delicious 18 year old which was my gateway whisky – along with a few others such as Singleton of Dufftown, Edradour Straight From The Cask Bordeaux Finish, and a few other soft arrivals besides. When I did sit with this Mortlach, I realised just how much of a shame it was that the majority of the bottle had been consumed in a blaze of rapidly congealing sentences and an increasingly flamboyant wobbly head.
What I would give now to have a bottle of that whisky and explore it with my more developed palate. I remember sitting for about an hour in silence, enjoying that dram and surfaced with a new-found appreciation for the act of drinking and enjoying whisky. It showed me for the first time that enjoying and appreciating whisky as a hobby was a tangible thing. Doesn’t matter now – it’s all gone and a bottle at auction now commands upwards of £180 – a price I’m not willing to pay.
However there is, in general availability and abundance, something rather wonderful – Mortlach 16. When I realised there was a bottle of stuff that said Mortlach and 16 on the bottle that I could buy for £66.33 in August 2021, I pounced. Yeah it has a different label and looked a bit squarer, but surely the stuff inside is Mortlach and is aged 16 years, just like the Flora & Fauna? I thought this was true for about six months as it sat, unopened in a box inside my garage. Each time I brushed past it on the way to another, less historically significant bottle, I would instantly think of that dram – the last dram of the bottle as it turned out – that was gifted to me in an act of generosity. When the whisky supershelf was completed, the Mortlach 16 was one of the first to go on display.
So despite it obviously being the very same liquid, Diageo had decided for some reason to present it differently this time, in a monolithic, slab-sided behemoth glass bottle that’s so unwieldy that each time I pick it up, I can hear the squeak of the glass as it slips from my vulcan grasp and closer to smashing into smithereens. Smooth, flat and awkwardly shaped enough to prevent a digit wrapping around the other side, it’s an exercise in mental agility and physical prowess to hold on to the bloody thing, as you tilt it upwards to get some whisky into a glass. But pour I would and sit I did. A minute in the glass for each year in the cask, etc, but the reason for me sitting for so long was because I was trying to decipher the packaging and how this stuff is made. It almost requires a doctorate in rocket science and the patience of a Tibetan monk.
I’ll try and explain it, but forgive me if I fall short. The Mortlach spirit is distilled 2.81 times – already I’m on the backfoot, for how can you distil something 0.81 times? it's either distilled, or it isn't. Mortlach can differentiate apparently, and the way they go about it is through the use of six stills - three wash stills and three spirit stills. In a quick confirmation check of the distillation process in general: the fermented mash liquid from the washbacks is placed into the wash still and boiled, which separates the alcohol through vapours, from the other stuff – the pot ale – and, at 20% alcohol, condensed back into liquid form, heading into the “low-wines” tub.
This liquid is then fed into the spirit still where it’s boiled again, distilling it up to a final ABV of around 70% and, after condensing into liquid again, is thrown into casks. Rudimentary at best, but there we go - one times distilled.
Mortlach’s method involves a mess of interconnecting pipes and loops that, on the face of it, could reasonably be a challenge inside the Crystal Maze. They’ve handily printed an illustration explaining this whole thing on the box, but it does nothing to help. A Google search shows that two of the wash stills separate the heads and tails of the distillation, with the heads thrown to one of the spirit stills and the tails sent to another. The first still with the tails completes two “blank runs” of distillation and the heart of that run is sent to the worm tub. The second still with the heads completes what looks like a single run, and this is sent too, to the wormy tubbage.
Meanwhile, as this is happening, the third wash and spirit still do their own thing, in a more straightforward traditional distillation manner. Once all three distillates are combined in the worm tub and condensed, it heads off to be pumped into casks for maturation. Where the 2.81 figure comes into play, I currently have absolutely no idea.
There’s three sets of distillation happening that I can see, if distillation means taking a wash through to casked new-make spirit via two stills and some heat. That would equal 3x distilled, not 2.81. It’s not nearly as simple as that, for a bit of advanced Googling delivers such complicated, ludicrously elaborate processing that I’m tempted to give up and stick a pipette up my nose, for it would be less painful. It’s approaching Sherlock levels of disassembling and analysis to work out what’s happening – there’s even talk of a cut taken every third distillation run, but if I know anything. I do know this however, the spirit in this bottle is definitely going to be the same beautiful stuff my dad knocked back without regard 10 years ago, and the same whisky that opened my eyes to the joys of drinking uisge beatha in silence. Let the ceremony commence.
Nose
Rocks and light spice. A long dusty cupboard with a distant open toffee tin on a shelf. Thus concludes the nosing of this whisky.
Palate
Bright mineral arrival with very mild honey sweetness. There’s a spiced note of some sort but it’s subdued, vapid. Sharp and dry, with a bitter finish leading you out the draughty door. Thus concludes the tasting of this whisky.
The Dregs
Well this is awkward. My memory of the Mortlach 16yo F&F bottling was that of mouth-coating rich fruity spice and potent honey-toffee set to a slightly mineral foundation of nuanced loveliness. Moist Christmas cake bursting with fruit served on a slate tile. I wish I could transport myself back to that time and analyse it properly, for I didn’t take any notes while drinking it. I did retrospectively jot down a memory of it a month later when I bought a notebook, but I know that it was nothing like this version of Mortlach 16. Gone is the richness and spice, replaced by rocks and resentment.
I first opened this many months prior to this review, and my mood was buoyant; ready for the thrill of magnificent whisky. My mood was not buoyant afterwards and, over the intervening months, I’ve looked askance at it, glowing squarely, stupidly on my shelf, and thought to myself: “I’ll come back to you soon and find greatness, I’m sure of it.” I’ve then departed on a journey through many regions of whiskyville and found some absolute beauties on my travels, most recently of which is a distillery close to Mortlach – five miles close – that also uses worm tubs and was also used to provide fodder for blended whisky, before being unleashed into the world as a single malt. Yes, that other whisky, discovered by chatting with a new shop owner, delivered such joy that my interest in Speyside, waning on account of my involvement with this Mortlach, was suddenly reignited. Speyside whisky needs more love from Dougie, because stuff like Craigellachie 13 is worth every penny asked of it.
The Mortlach 16, on the other hand, is not worth half of the pennies asked of it. I do not think, and I’m sorry to say this, that it’s very good at all. There’s flatness – a meandering nothingness to this spirit that makes it a muted experience. I find no thrill of spice or sunlit uplands of fruit. I look for bursts of anything but am met with flatly rendered stone-built walls. Looking at the history of this whisky, I read that Diageo, upon realising the success of the Mortlach Flora & Fauna bottling, decided to kill that line of gorgeous whisky in favour of re-launching it as an ultra-expensive, reduced capacity uber-bottling. Whiskymob rejected it flat-out. Forced to reconsider this flagrant example of extorting the goodwill of the people, Diageo relaunched Mortlach once again, in its current guise, mathematical charts and marketing mince included.
On the bottle there’s a number of phrases deployed. One is “The Distiller’s Dram” and for this I can only say “yes” – for you need to be a Master Distiller to understand what the hell is done to produce this pedestrian product. It’s also got “The Beast of Dufftown” emblazoned on the neck, and I cannot think what’s beast-like about this whisky. But the longer I think about this phrase, the more it becomes clear in my head. It’s not the whisky that’s referenced, but rather encapsulates the emotional journey that most, who arrive at the gates of Mortlach 16 will shortly embark upon. You are lured into The Distiller’s Dram 2.81 Distilled, at its premium price point, thinking it’ll replicate at least in part, the swooning, lip-smacking yum-yum of the Mortlach 16 F&F. You pop the cork with smiles of reacquaintance and, tapping yourself on the back, pour a healthy dram before being forcibly ripped through an inert, medium-gauge piss-take on not just Mortlach as it was, but whisky as a pastime. And that, to my abject denunciation as a taste and smell experience based upon memories of greatness, is the most beastly act imaginable.
Score: 4/10
Mhor’s Review
Bottle code L833ODMOO 00001989
Nose
Raisins and a pleasant mix of orange zest, honey, pecans and a touch of cigar smoke. There’s chocolate caramel, ginger root and cinder toffee. An enjoyable balance continues with rubbed brass, prunes and well-fired toast. Water isn’t required.
Palate
A gentle patting of sherry gives us a moreish malty vibe without being too demanding or robust. Walnuts, leather, currants, more subtle orange and cracked black pepper. Some apricots, cloves, toasted oak, cherries and brown sugar. No need for water in this underpowered experience.
The Dregs
This is a hard sell, even with the batch variations that I’ve heard about. A Speyside distillery that still remains more of a cult than an actual formidable presence; one you’ll hear about without getting to know greatly, as it’s priced out of the reach of many. Sure, plenty will lament the ending of the F&F edition and I get why. To be honest, I wasn’t too hung up on the F&F bottling. The range remains too engineered and tinkered for in my mind. Mortlach is a great distillery, rich in history and some of the most memorable drams I’ve tried have come from its efforts – thanks to Gordon & MacPhail.
Perhaps Diageo would be better suited in selling the distillery to G&M? There’s a respect and appreciation that goes back generations. Something that doesn’t compute on a spreadsheet or accounting file. It deserves respect and a greater presence. Fact is, we don’t see too much Mortlach otherwise nowadays. That’s a shameful situation. Despite some tinkering internally over the years, it remains a wonderful thing with good sherry maturation. But like Macallan, GlenDronach and their ilk, Mortlach is out of the reach of many enthusiasts nowadays despite being king of the hill in my humble opinion.
This does feel too engineered for my liking and as a concept, seems destined for tumblers and those types who’d rather be seen with a whisky than actually appreciating it. Diageo has thrown a considerable amount of money at the distillery, spoiling its classic looks and revamping the range to the degree where I’ve lost count and no longer care. Hiring a brand ambassador, wasting huge sums of money trying to establish it as a high-end whisky in foreign markets. What you’re left with is a whisky that no longer has a soul or direction.
The label suggests it was originally made for a fortunate few? Funny how history has a way of repeating itself.
Score:6 /10
Tried this? Share your thoughts in the comments below. DC