Scarabus 10yo
Islay Single Malt, Hunter Laing | 46% ABV
Score: 6/10
Good stuff.
TL;DR
”Only those who seek shall find” …perhaps not political wins, but a good malt, yes
Political Fear Porn
Here in America, election night – and the build-up to it – is a strange landscape. For months the rhetoric has been building.
The final three weeks prior to Election Day, this rhetoric sadly putrifies into wall-to-wall vitriol. All is exacerbated by attention-craving social media posts of ever-heightening levels of rants, screams, tears, and threats – by talking heads who are paid to fill air time with all manner of unhinged predictions that should be believed simply because…well…they’re talking heads. And they’re listened to by millions of my fellow citizens who refuse to listen to more than one side of a point; any point, or debate. A sad state of affairs, really.
Every four years – especially since the turn of the Century – we Americans put on the most financially wasteful and egregiously self-righteous of mud-slinging events. It has become progressively worse over time, and I fear what 2028 and beyond will look like. That said, every four years it becomes ever-more trying to make it through days being subjected to incessant “fear porn” (a fabulously accurate phrase, though I can’t take credit for it).
I have always been an Independent – and every four years (at least), I need to remind people that the words LISTEN and SILENT use the same letters…and I doubt it is a coincidence. Unfortunately, the grip of social media and algorithms whips up hysteria to pitch one side against the other, to keep people focused on hate and mistrust instead of speaking to positive and uniting dialogue.
On November 5th, I went to bed not knowing who would garner the votes to become our new president, but as my head hit the pillow, I was relieved that I had survived, once again, the vitriol of the American electoral cycle. The election came and went, and I gave a deep sigh of relief. It would be the calm after the storm, or so I hoped.
While there was belly aching and chest beating after November 5th, the balance of the week was largely an exercise of breathing freely once again. Whether I was in a diner, or at the grocery store, or at the pharmacy, everyone – regardless for whom people voted – it was palpable that, for everyone, we were all thankful for the madness to have come to an end.
As it turns out, the weekend after the election, I hosted friends and family here in the South. We had a family celebration and it was a glorious day with glorious weather. The event was full of appreciation, deep meaning, and community. People attended from near and far – and we had a wonderful time from the service, to lunch afterwards, to an after-party at the new Casa Shaw here in North Carolina.
People arrived at my house in the mid-afternoon, and the whisky cabinet was thrown wide open (as well as the bourbon cupboard) and this was met with many “oooohhs” and “aaaahhs” when folks were told they could sample whatever they wanted. Whisky is for sharing, don’t ya know.
Discussions about flavor, histories of distilleries, and processes abounded with laughter, toasts, and breakouts into different discussions. Someone even asked me if I had heard of this really cool website called “Dramface”...
It was a great gathering. This lasted through the afternoon, through dinner, and through the evening. The crowd thinned, and ultimately, around 9:30pm, on the screened-in back porch were the final three. Actually, there were five of us, as Mrs. Shaw was inside chatting with her sister who was staying with us for the weekend and neither wanted to be near cigar smoke. The other three were me and my two buddies of whom I had mentioned previously in my Balvenie DoubleWood 12 review, Chris and Jeff.
I will point out that while we are brothers from other mothers, Jeff is decidedly leaning one way politically and Chris is decidedly his political opposite. There is no Venn diagram overlap here. Not unlike the barbeque I discussed in my first review [BenRiach The Smoky Twelve], we three did our best to not engage in political sparring or throwing grenades over philosophical hedges. The election crap was over and I was thoroughly enjoying the respite. For Chris and Jeff, it appeared mutually assured destruction was minded and they appeared careful to avoid landmines. It was great. Good times, good chats, and no political nonsense… until about 10:45pm.
With the combination of fatigue of a lengthy day, the sizable number of drams imbibed (even with good hydration), and the very good Nicaraguan cigars we were enjoying, the inevitable lit match was thrown towards the other’s ammunition dump. It mattered not whether the match came from the left or the right, the match landed in dry grass that easily started into flame.
Jeff and Chris started with barbs that quickly escalated. I, however, would have none of it. Before the flames could spread, I doused them with a thick layer of humor (very bad jokes, if I am honest) and more than a bit of blunt admonishment to have them shut their pie holes. There would be no political shenanigans!
I didn’t make it through my quadrennial slog through the mud only to have it reappear in my house less than a week after it all was to have come to an end.
There was a stunned silence with my less-than-subtle admonishment. And, after a few moments of reflection, there appeared to be a most welcome return to good-natured poking and ribbing without any personal shots.
Chris reverted to being the best Friar Tuck this side of the Sherwood Forest. Jeff, however, a litigator who never met a fight he didn’t like, ultimately couldn’t mind himself. It was as if he couldn’t help it. Barbs and political jabs came from his lips once again, and before the last syllable was uttered, I shifted my chair toward him lest Friar Tuck turn into Mad Max. “What the heck, Jeff?!”
He stopped. I asked why he was so eager to incite a fight. It had been a great day, I had my brothers from other mothers with me, and I was enjoying my whisky and cigars – and all that was being flushed down the toilet because he was looking to pick a fight.
Jeff exhaled and lowered his head, not unlike a child having a talking to after being caught misbehaving. After a pause of recalibration, he mentioned that this had been a bad week.
First, he told me of a particularly bad client who didn’t take Jeff’s strong advice to accept a settlement the month prior, and wound up taking a much lower settlement when, immediately before trial, Jeff discovered that his client had posted some…shall we say…inglorious photos in compromising positions that were contrary to the narrative of the case. Next, his preferred candidate had lost the election, and Jeff was among many who had not been able to process that fact. And, as icing on his depressed cake, he paused and then apologized to me. I thought he was going to apologize for continuing the barbs, but no. He apologized that he was unable to find a bottle of his favorite single malt to bring to the festivities. He tried finding it, but he could not before he made his way to the airport. Hence, he said, he was legitimately and unapologetically, a bit in a sour funk.
Of course, Chris heard all of this and told him that he would feel better if he simply admitted that Chris was superior in all ways under the sun, including the fact that he was the better friend by having brought a bottle of Blanton’s bourbon. (By the way, thank you, again, Chris for the Blanton’s!) This had its desired effect of eliciting some playful and colorful back and forth with much laughter. Crisis averted.
As I re-positioned my chair, I remembered Jeff’s favorite single malt – for God’s sake, I was the one who had introduced it to him years ago. At that time, he initially would not try my recommendation because he had been told by a former boss that the only whisky worth his while was a Macallan 18.
If I remember correctly, after much prodding for him to take a sip, he did so and looked up at me with astonishment in his eyes. He stared at me, unblinking, for what seemed like a full sixty seconds before he uttered the phrase, “I want to rub this all over my body!” and returned to sip some more and leaned back with eyes closed as he savored.
The whisky I gave him was a Caol Ila 12.
So, back to the emotionally smarting fellow with cigar ashes all over his jeans (evidently, he had forgotten the use of an ash tray). I put my hands on his shoulders and said, “give me a minute”.
I walked into the house, went to the cabinet, pulled out the bottle that is being reviewed here, and poured Jeff a dram. I walked back out and handed him the glass. He thanked me, rolled the liquid in the glass for a few seconds, and brought the glass to his nose. His eyes widened and he looked at me. Without breaking the stare, he took a sip, closed his eyes, and muttered, “you’re a saint.”
Review
Scarabus 10yo, Islay Single Malt, Hunter Laing, 46% ABV
USD$60 paid, typically £42 and widely available
Scarabus is an expression created by independent bottler Hunter Laing. It is a peated Islay whisky. The Scarabus Collection comprises three releases, all of which are non-chill filtered and of natural color. There is a non-aged standard release at 46% ABV, a Scarabus cask strength release at 57% ABV, and this 10 year old release at 46% ABV.
This Collection are Islay single malt whiskies. As a single malt, it must necessarily come from a single distillery. Hunter Laing’s website and the label on the bottles do not mention from which distillery the whisky is sourced, but rumor has it – the rumblings and reports on the internet – that the liquid is Caol Ila.
Over the years, I have thoroughly enjoyed a Caol Ila 12, as well as had the pleasure of some samples of independent bottlings of Caol Ila. And when I grabbed this Scarabus 10 year old, I was looking forward to a solid peated Islay experience.
Score: 6/10
Good stuff.
TL;DR
”Only those who seek shall find” …perhaps not political wins, but a good malt, yes
Nose
Oh my goodness, is this lovely. Fatty cracklings cooking over an open fire. Briny pepper. The scent of new leather gloves. Smoke from a campfire in which fat drippings have been spilled onto the wood below. That wood used for the campfire had moss or lichens on it – as opposed to a bonfire (sans cooking fatty meats) stoked by dried and seasoned wood. The smoke here is sweeter and a bit earthy. A slight hint of an overly flambéed banana. A smidge of iodine. This is rich, peppery, leathery, briny goodness.
Palate
Fatty burnt beef tips from a barbeque pit. Vanilla. Oak and cacao. Not cocoa, but cacao – at least 90%. Underlying sweet malt. Floral honey hints come through, but that sweet and rich smoke is an ever-present blanket. Not a blanket that smothers, but rather one that comforts. This is a richly layered dram. Toward the mid-to-finish, some medjool dates are present along with some more wafts of vanilla. Graham crackers? More oak, but not overpowering. I am pleasantly surprised.
The Dregs
This bottle is quite good. I am not sure how successful this expression has been globally, but I have regularly seen Scarabus on shelves in America (outside of ABC control states). As I mentioned, it is widely speculated online that Scarabus is, in fact, sourced Caol Ila whisky. And, while I have had a few examples of Caol Ila and do think there are overlapping characteristics, I keep coming back to the thought that this may be, just may be, a Moine expression from Bunnahabhain.
In fact, I went to the whisky cabinet and pulled out the last dregs of my Cadenhead’s 9 year old Bunnahabhain that I snagged at auction earlier this year. That bottle had its last two years finished from an Amontillado hogshead. Those two years did give the spirit a good deal of sherry notes, but the underlying Bunnahabhain Moine spirit still shines through, and it isn’t a huge leap to make the connection to the Scarabus 10 in my glass. Yes, I am fully aware that the Scarabus 10 distillate is aged in refill, ex-bourbon and virgin American oak casks, from which those glorious vanillas and oak tannins derive. And, yes, the ABV difference is significantly different between the Scarabus 10 (46%) versus the Cadenhead’s peated Bunna (55%). But, again, the underlying spirit is not far from the Bunna.
Sadly, at the time of writing, I do not have a Caol Ila in my cabinet, as that would be the first logical comparison. For now, all I can do is to recall my memories of the Caol Ilas that have crossed my tongue. My tasting notes from prior bottles do have a considerable overlap with the Scarabus 10, as well.
All that said, whether it is a Caol Ila or a Moine, this is a well layered and balanced bottle. I had a bottle of their regular, non-age stated Scarabus a year or two ago and thought it a great bottle for the buck. This 10 year old is noticeably better – more rounded and layered. But, let’s be clear, the entire Scarabus Collection is a great value proposition. All are naturally presented. The regular, non-aged stated Scarabus at 46% ABV retails presently for $38 USD. The cask strength expression at 57% ABV retails presently for $45 USD. And, this 10 year old expression at 46% lists for $60 USD. I am not sure what other peated bottles of this quality – speaking specifically as to the 10 year old – you can find for this value. Kudos and thanks to you, Hunter Laing.
The scoring was very close to a 7/10. However, after spending a good swath of time with the bottle and comparing it to other scores I have given single malts in the past, I think this just barely misses out on a 7 score. It is a high 6 – good stuff; “encouraged as a solid purchase”. Indeed. This, as said, is a tremendous value proposition. But, as is my habit, I do not factor price into the scores. The score is on the liquid, alone. No doubt this would have garnered a 7 if I did factor in the price, but on the whisky in my glass this is a high 6. A well crafted whisky, and a bottle that I will replace. As it turns out, my buddy Jeff will be buying a bottle for himself, too.
After a return to civil discussion and laughter – even about politics – Jeff asked me where I had hidden the bottle of Caol Ila. I told him I hadn’t hidden any bottles. He sat up in his chair and swore that I had handed him a great pour of Caol Ila. I got up from my chair – albeit a bit wobbly; those cigars will do that to you! – and came back with this bottle of Scarabus 10. I explained to him what Hunter Laing was, that as an independent bottler, they had created an entire collection of three different Scarabus bottlings. And, yes, I told him that he was not alone in believing this was sourced from Caol Ila.
“F_____ing brilliant” was all that he could muster.
I also told him that the bottle he was examining was materially cheaper than getting a bottle of Caol Ila 12. His eyes opened a bit wider. I told him I snagged this bottle when I drove to South Carolina and found it for $60 USD. Jeff nearly gasped.
“I usually pay $80 to $90 for a Caol Ila 12 around Boston.”
At this point, Jeff poured himself some more, and said to no one in particular, “I feel better.”
Chris chimed in, “I’m not sure what was in that glass, but if it got Jeff to shut up and smile, I’ll buy a case of it!”
A great night. A reprieve from the political fear porn. Great friends. Great whisky.
Doesn’t get much better.
Score: 6/10
Tried this? Share your thoughts in the comments below. OS
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