Ardnamurchan 5yo
Single Cask Nation Release | 58.3% ABV
Score: 8/10
Something special.
TL;DR
Definitely worth inviting to dinner
Self-doubt, psycho-pixies and good whisky
Writing whisky reviews is fundamentally an enjoyable process. After all, you get to spend time tasting and contemplating whiskies that are often very good and, not infrequently, among your favourites.
I think most of us have a tendency to review whiskies we like as it gives us the chance to share that enthusiasm and go deep on something that moves us.
But even with something familiar – something I’ve thought about and savoured many times – I still find that the spectre of imposter syndrome tends to lurk nearby, picking away at whatever confidence I have in my thoughts and words about the dram in question.
It’s like some faintly creepy and unsavoury old man who sits in the corner casting doubt on anything you say or do. You know; the kind of relative or quasi-friend that just has to criticise anything anyone does, cast a gloomy pall of negativity over it all, and generally piss and moan about whatever you’re enthusiastic about.
I learned a very long time ago to mostly ignore and discount the mutterings of these sorts of people. Negativity as a default filter through which to view the world is a pretty toxic perspective. And if you let it, it will infect your own thinking and even prevent you from exploring your ambitions and enthusiasms on the basis that you’ll never “get it right” (whatever that means).
But that’s other people. Dealing with your own internal demons and the sense that maybe your ideas or perspective isn’t fully informed is an altogether more tricky business. The sense that maybe you don’t know as much as you need to – that you aren’t qualified – festers away quietly within, and pops its ugly head up at the most inopportune moments.
It's like an evil psycho-pixie whose one delight in life is undermining you.
In the realm of whisky reviews, the logical response to the voice of the evil pixie lies in the knowledge that any review is entirely subjective. No palate is the same as another and no memory-fuelled emotional response to the taste and texture of any dram can be matched exactly by any other human.
So how can we be in any way wrong when what we speak or write about is so inherently personal and unique?
It’s a reasonable question, yet somehow the logic and inevitability of the answer still doesn’t manage to banish the voice of doubt. At least it doesn’t with me.
But as long as I feel I’ve done a half-way decent job of communicating whatever my particular truth is with my chosen dram, then I forge ahead and get things to some version of finished and hit send before I change my mind. And thus it finds its way to Dramfaceland.
Now, to be clear, I really don’t want to give the impression that writing these reviews is some kind of angst-ridden psychological torture. I really like to do it (and not just for the drams!).
And on this occasion all this pontificating has led me to think rather more deeply about why it is that I have such a deep and abiding affection for the whisky of Ardnamurchan. Why I have more bottles of Ardnamurchan than any other single distillery, and why I am willing to pay to have it shipped across the Atlantic to feed my Ardnalust.
Yup – I’m hooked.
All this naval-gazing and rumination has actually helped me find an answer to this question. And it’s pretty straightforward; I like my whisky the way I like my people. That’s why I like Ardnamurchan.
Very often when I’m talking or writing about a whisky, I’ll talk in terms of very human characteristics. I’ll describe something as feisty or assertive, ballsy or confident. Maybe the dram will be seductive or reticent. I reviewed a Springbank release as “good in a fight”.
I also assess a whisky – in part – by asking myself, “If this dram was a person, would I invite it to dinner?”.
And with Ardnamurchan, the answer to date has always been a resounding “Yes!”.
The bottom line is that if Ardnamurchan came to dinner it would add value and make it a more memorable evening. It would be lively and energetic. Witty and wise all at the same time. Its laugh would be hearty and infectious. Some of its jokes would be a little risqué, but not too much for the assembled throng. It would express interesting and non-obvious opinions and could argue for them well. It would be gregarious and assertive, but also charming and thoughtful. Thought-provoking even.
Above all, it would make you think. And you’d want to invite it back again.
By way of comparison, the modern core range releases from, say, Macallan wouldn’t make the cut. Or if they did, it would be because they came as somebody’s “plus one” and I wouldn’t invite them back for a second chance.
Macallan would come off as a little bit too full of itself. Rather self-important and too try-hard, expecting everyone to swoon at its unfunny jokes and dull stories. And it probably wouldn’t express an original thought all night. But it would still do its best to monopolise the conversation.
And it would bring a shit wine too.
So while I really love the flavour profile and taste of Ardnamurchan’s releases – both the spirit itself and how it plays with an array of cask maturations and finishes – the consistent throughline for me is that it never fails to surprise and intrigue me; to make me think. And to want to spend more time with it. Like a really charismatic and interesting friend.
And that – I think – is why this relative newcomer on the whisky scene has captured so much of my attention and admiration. Whether bottled by the distillery itself or the growing number of independent bottlers who have turned their attention to this most compelling of distilleries.
Review
Ardnamurchan 5yo, Single Cask Nation, first-fill oloroso hogshead, 250 bottle outturn, 58.3% ABV
US$130 paid from Single Cask Nation
Ardnamurchan was the spirit that changed my perspective on what a young whisky could be.
Like many others, for years I’d blithely accepted the mantra about older whisky being better and nothing under ten years old really caught my attention. I hadn’t actually thought about it much – if at all. Instead, I’d been carried along on the wave of conventional wisdom and focused on other aspects of single malt scotch while merrily getting acquainted with as many distilleries as I could.
It was only when a friend and fellow whisky lover gave me most of a bottle of the first Ardnamurchan Maclean and Bruce release that things changed. She had found it a little too peppery and assertive for her liking and, being a generous soul (and in need of the shelf space for other bottles), she passed it off to me.
I was smitten before I’d finished the first dram.
Since then, I’ve had other young whiskies that have impressed, but Ardnamurchan has consistently delivered bottles that, regardless of any consideration of age, have been outstanding. Always multi-faceted and nuanced, strikingly flavourful and a match for some of the best whisky I’ve had anywhere.
So every time I have a new bottling, the bar is high. I assume that eventually I’ll drink one I don’t care for. At least that’s the theory. But for now, I’m perfectly happy to wait for that unlikely time.
Score: 8/10
Very Good Indeed.
TL;DR
Definitely worth inviting to dinner
Nose
If you could smell texture or mood then this would be a good time for it. Right off the bat, the dram comes across as lush and luxurious. Silky and velvety at the same time and somehow wonderfully sticky – in a really good and scrumptious way.
I’ve no idea how I got that on the nose other than maybe my brain went on overdrive with a bunch of associations with whatever aromas it picked up before my consciousness could work out what was going on. This – for me at least – is an evocative dram.
There’s black treacle, sticky toffee pudding (with dates), varnish and wood polish mingling happily. Raisins stewed in dark rum, burnt muscovado sugar, clove and that boozy Christmas cake from your childhood. And there’s a note of Spanish dark chocolate laced with chilli that rounds it out.
Palate
Chilli flakes and white pepper come out to play along with a more pronounced fruity note than I found on the nose. Juicy plums and soft, ripe strawberries splashed with an aged balsamic vinegar. Maybe some fig. And the raisins are still there. The clove and muscovado sugar have carried through from the nose, as have many of the boozy Christmas cake elements, though now it’s more obviously malty on the palate than it was on the nose. And it’s jammy.
There’s a pleasingly syrupy mouthfeel to this dram. In fact it doesn’t so much coat the palate as wrap it in a warm and spicy embrace. The peppery heat lingers throughout on the tip and the edges of the tongue, but not across the whole palate, leaving the other, rather resinous and unctuous, flavours to party in the rest of your mouth.
And as I spend more time with it, (I’m now a third of the way down the bottle), the heat and spice has mellowed from the initial pour. It was a little bit stroppy at first, but has evolved into something altogether more succulent and sultry - which adds hugely to the experience. And while it’s definitely got the sweet sherry notes from what seem like a rather active first-fill cask, it’s in no way cloying, with the characteristic savoury, salty and – to my mind gloriously grubby - nature of the Ardnamurchan spirit, asserting itself beautifully to dance with the Oloroso and oak influences.
I often get meaty notes from Ardnamurchan that’s been sherry cask matured. Think of the bits left on the bottom of the roasting pan when you lift a joint of beef out of it. That’s what is offsetting the sweet sherry notes for me and it’s a wonderful mashup of flavours.
Water takes the pepper back just a smidge and uncovers a hint of nuttiness on the finish – which, by the way, is long and lingering.
The Dregs
Well it didn’t disappoint. With loads of savoury and resinous notes layered in among the sweet, syrupy suggestions of fruit this is a whisky that makes me happy. It’s also a slightly dangerous dram as the first sip tells me that one glass of this will not be enough. It’s a bottle that isn’t going to last for long.
I’ve had other good bottles from Single Cask Nation that have benefited from some deft stewardship of Oloroso casks. A particularly good Dailuaine comes to mind, and right now I’m staring at an 11 year old Inchgower that’s as dark as night after all that time in another first-fill sherry hogshead. This Ardnamurchan seems to continue the theme.
I’ve spent a lot of time pondering this bottle. Each time I’ve come back to it, I’ve liked it more. At the time of writing it’s been open for a couple of months and the level is flirting with the top of the label.
I’m wondering how I’m going to feel about it when it’s flirting with the bottom of the label.
Either way, this is another fine addition to the pantheon of Ardnamurchan bottlings. And it’s another reminder of just how well whisky gets on with Oloroso.
My final note is that I’m now finishing this review while nibbling on some delightfully dark and bitter chocolate, and sipping on some of this whisky. It’s a match made in whatever your own personal version of heaven might be. Highly recommended.
Score: 8/10
Tried this? Share your thoughts in the comments below. NF
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