Loch Lomond 12yo
‘Perfectly Balanced’ Official Bottling | 46% ABV
Retrospective Illumination.
A few weeks back, I decided to take a moment to take stock of my whisky collection. I knew that I had already bought way too much in 2024, fuelled by the curiosity of someone who’s wasted too much time on the whisky sidelines (more on that later) and by FOMO.
Unsurprisingly, this enthusiastic approach yielded some delightful surprises, but also some pretty big disappointments. I don’t mind; you have to take a punt or two to discover what rocks your boat. But sometimes a moment of retrospection can be illuminating.
However, I needed a pause. Not because my desire to buy whisky had subsided or to boycott the ever-increasing prices, but because I felt it was time to be more focused when planning my future purchases. I won’t stop taking a risk or two on bottles that tickle my curiosity, but I expect most of my future purchases will be more targeted to what I love drinking. After all, I only buy to drink (sooner or later), and there’s only so much a person can consume in moderation, even when sharing with friends.
I started by reviewing my metaphorical permashelf - and that’s all I needed. It was enough to look at that list of 12 or so bottles (it’s my permashelf, and I’ll make it as big as I want) to realise two facts that had been staring me right in my face.
The first one was not too surprising and something any other whisky botherer could guess by looking at my permashelf list. As much as I have tried to keep my exploration of single malt as wide and representative of most styles, there is a clear thread linking my favourites. I love those whiskies which come with those tasting notes often accompanied by the qualifier “…in a good way”. Notes like “hospital waste bin on fire” from Laphroaig. Or like the lactic “baby sick” in Bruichladdich. The “just about to rot fruit” I always seem to get from Kilkerran. Or even the “wet sheep” lanolin notes in some 100% ex-bourbon cask aged drams. But most of all, the “dirty, oily workshop rag” funk I find in Campbelltown whiskies and Benromach.
Part of me loves these descriptors for what they say about us. They show the ever-surprising creativity we human beings demonstrate when describing physiological sensations via memories, heritage, psychological associations and emotions. But more than anything, I love the personality those whiskies take on thanks to those notes. Given the choice. I’d rather have an imperfect (whatever that means to you) dram with a bit of an edge than one which is technically perfectly balanced but forgettable. It’s the quirks that make whisky interesting for me, in the same way as they do for people.
The second realisation hit me a bit harder. Browsing through my permashelf bottles I realised that without those oddball “in a good way” notes, I wouldn't be here. And I don't mean here on Dramface. I mean here as a whisky botherer.
When I mentioned I spent too much time on the sidelines of whisky, I was not joking. For 25 years I was a whisky-curious casual drinker, never really taking the plunge into full whisky enthusiasm. As every good Italian who has had to study the classics in school, it is embarrassing to think it took Ulysses less time to get back to Ithaca than for me to find my home in whisky.
It was not for lack of trying. Over that time I had multiple moments where I was fascinated by whisky, mostly single malt whisky, but occasionally by bourbon and rye, too. Each time I started exploring it with studious intent. And inevitably, after a few months, my interest would wane and almost disappear. A small grain of curiosity always remained, but I started to convince myself that this whisky thing just wasn’t for me. And at the same time, it always felt a bit like a personal failure.
I could look for hundreds of excuses to explain those missed chances: the truth is my problem was fully self-inflicted. Being raised in an academic family and going into academia myself before running away to suckle at the teat of Corporate America, I have always been a methodical person. Again and again, I dipped into whisky with a methodical approach following one piece of advice I wish, in retrospect, I had ignored: start slow and explore the main categories of Peated whiskies, Bourbon or Sherry cask-aged malts first. Only once you have educated yourself on the basics can you move to the more challenging stuff.
Unfortunately, I never got there. By the time I had explored the entry-level standards, my interest was already on a downward spiral. Sure, the fact that I picked mostly the usual 40%, chill-filtered, mass-distributed single malts - which are too often suggested to newbies - probably didn’t help. But the truth is that looking back, I was a fool. I was approaching whisky as an arranged marriage but instead, I needed the burning passion of love at first sight.
A love at first sight, which only arrived when I finally smelled and tasted those oily workshop notes. But not, as you might expect from a Springbank, Benromach or even Ben Nevis.
It was the humble Loch Lomond 12 years old that did it.
Review
Loch Lomond 12yo, Official ‘Perfectly Balanced’ bottling, 2023 release, 46% ABV
€37 paid (£31) usual retail around £40 and often on offer
My first purchase of Loch Lomond 12 over two years ago was purely by chance. I had just started getting curious about whisky once more, and I was looking to order a few “beginner” bottles. I found a reputable online store, and after picking the three bottles I wanted, I still needed an affordable bottle to qualify for free shipment. Aside from the obvious mass-market “Glen” offerings, Loch Lomond’s price was just enough to avoid paying that extra cost. The visually striking label might have also helped, and I don’t necessarily mean that in a good way. Into my basket it went.
It took me a few weeks to get to it. In case you are curious, I spent more time with the other bottles in the order: Old Pulteney 12, Caol Ila 12, and Glendronach 12. These are serviceable bottles to a variable degree, but none of them lit a fire under my whisky curiosity.
I finally got around to the Loch Lomond 12, with low expectations. I had my first sniff. After the initial sweet vanilla hit, I was puzzled. Was that odd smell a tinge of dirty motor oil? I should have been repulsed. Instead, I got more and more intrigued. Over a few days, I went back to it again and again. Suddenly I realised, in those dirty workshop notes, I had found my whisky North Star.
Ironically, considering my past experiences, once I found that special place that felt like “my style,” my whiskey journey accelerated. I revisited those foundational styles that had failed to light the spark and started appreciating them more and more. Beyond the classics, I felt emboldened to discover the wide range of flavours whisky offers today from new and established distilleries alike.
And if I ever feel a tinge of disinterest or fatigue creeping in, I know I can go back to my funky drams. That first 2022 release bottle was followed by the 2023 release I am reviewing today and, recently, a further replacement bottle - which I cracked open shortly after I took the shots for this article. My preference for characterful whiskies has evolved, and today Kilkerran is the brand I look to for my funky fix. I have become more critical of what is in the bottle, and the lack of the natural colour statement in this Loch Lomond 12, like many other core range releases from the Loch Lomond group, has become frustrating and hard to understand. But Loch Lomond 12 will always have a place on that permashelf. Because it brought me to whisky and the welcoming community around it.
Note: the tasting notes come from my 2023 bottling, but I also tried the more recent 2024 purchase to make sure I accounted for air exposure. The differences were minimal, but I highlighted them where I felt it was something noticeable.
Nose
A big wave of dirty vanilla hits me first: vanilla essence, vanilla custard and a dollop of motor grease. In the freshly opened bottle, that funky note is a lot more prominent, giving it a more petrol-laden character. With time and oxygen, it mellows out. Then, a sweet, malty and fruity note, not something I can pinpoint to a specific fruit, more like sniffing a bag of Haribo gummy bears and barley sugar mixed together. After a few minutes in the glass, the fruity notes start to turn into overripe apples and lemon drop candies. Almost lost in the background, there is just a hint of spice, maybe white pepper and cinnamon, and a touch of rooibos tea. Knowing this is slightly peated, I always look for some smokiness on the nose, but consistently I get nothing at all. That might be me - I am a proud owner of a peat-blind club card.
Palate
It manages the unique trick of coming across as oily and, at the same time, having a medium-light mouthfeel. The taste is very malt-driven: barley sugar, malted biscuits and just a hint of rolled oats. The peat I couldn’t detect on the nose is noticeable on the palate but not intrusive, bringing notes of woodsmoke and a hint of ash. Similarly to the funkiness on the nose, the freshly opened bottle shows more prominent peat, smoky and slightly phenolic. The funky grease note is still there but more like a quiet base note in a perfume than a top note. While it is still pretty sweet-leaning at its core, there is a touch of citrus freshness, orange more than lemon, which balances things out. The finish is of medium length, relatively simple but slightly dirty, fruity and with just a touch of bitterness to round things off.
The Dregs
It is tough to judge a whisky which has meant a lot for my journey objectively. The temptation to bump up the score to a 7, because of affection or even just because of the great value it provides was strong.
On the other hand, in the two years and something that have gone by since my first taste of Loch Lomond 12, I have been privileged to sample what Loch Lomond can deliver at its best. I am obviously referring to those Chardonnay yeast releases, which everyone seems to rave about. And I have become a Michael Henry fan.
The whisky helps, but it was listening to him talk about his whiskies at Aqvavitae’s Under the Table Tasting during last year’s Glasgow Whisky Festival that did it. That Loch Lomond Distiller’s Edition was arguably the dram of the night. The humble and down to earth way in which he presented it to the crowd, without any arrogance or hype, won me over.
Now, comparing Michael Henry’s pet projects to what is a standard entry-level expression of Loch Lomond’s unique stills is blatantly unfair. But just like a great actor known for their artistic indie films who manages to lift a simple holiday blockbuster thanks to their craft, there is enough craft in the Loch Lomond 12 to elevate it from the sea of single malts which can be bought under or around €40/£40.
Take my vote in that context. It is a relatively straightforward single malt at its sweet, fruity, and malty core. However, the light peat and that hint of funk give it a boost of character that I often miss in many whiskies in this price range. And, if like me, you are looking for a daily dose of machine workshop funkiness, this is arguably the most affordable choice out there.
Just one thought before I close things off. If, by sheer luck or chance, you are new to whisky and reading this, let me share one piece of advice from an old newbie.
Break the rules of whatever newbies should or shouldn’t drink. Be a rebel. Taste with reckless abandon. Go to a whisky bar, or a festival and sample (in moderation) whatever tickles your curiosity.
You might just meet the dram that makes you fall in love and become part of this beautiful tribe- hopefully faster than I did.
Score: 6/10
Tried this? Share your thoughts in the comments below. HC
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