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Apogee 12yo from Bimber

Pure Malt Finished in Bimber Casks | 46.3% ABV

You Won’t Believe This Tale

I walked into my local spirits shop and was immediately distracted by two grown men in a half stoop, staring hard at one of the shelves.

Stepping a little closer I could see they were looking at a clean spot of wood - a gap in the shelf between an Auchentoshan and an Ailsa Bay. Under the gap, there was a price tag which said “£95”. Curious, I tried to make light conversation: “Found something?” Nothing. Just silence and goggle-eyed staring.

“Ummm… are you boys okay?”

A long, awkward pause before one lifts a slightly shaky index finger and points to the gap, “There… just there,” he muttered.

“Yeah? Ummm… the… the gap?” I enquire, worried they’d think I was doubting their sanity. Which I was.
“Yes. The gap. It’s… it’s incredible!” he replies. Now I’m in for the long-haul.
“How do you mean?” I enquire.
“That shelf, right there. That’s the shelf, the very spot, that held the bottle of Daftmill!”

I was incredulous.

I barged between them and held my arm and finger out arrow-straight, pointing: “You’re telling me – and I can’t believe I’m saying these words out loud boys – that you’re standing there in frozen awe, staring at a spot on a whisky shelf that once… held a bottle of…of… Daftmill?!”

“Yes.”
“Is this for real?”
“Yes.”

I placed my fingertip on the spot, and immediately felt the electricity flow. Wow. Daftmill had actually been here. On this . Very. Spot.


We live in crazy times, we really do. When whisky desire can be created by mere association.

As the whisky hype-train steams forward with its control lever locked in fast forward and the throttle clamped open, a half ton of peat under the boiler and a smoke screen of reek drenching all in its wake with an unshakable sense of needing something; some of that sweet, illusive, amber vapour. More than a sense of need, perhaps for some, it’s verging on an irresistible desire. This train takes all shapes and forms; steam, electric… London Underground.

It’s crazier that I find it difficult to remember the times we simply walked into the source for our whiskies – a shop, an actual shop – and everything was just… there. Doing its shop thing. Waiting to be bought; core ranges, limited editions, batches; all of it. Weirdly, there were far less of them too. Nowadays, they dwell on pallets in nondescript warehouses, either already pre-sold or waiting in the knowledge they’ll all be snapped up in seconds by mouse clicks and finger taps. Things are in such demand that we need to be connected to the source by a fibre-optic cable with single-digit ping times or, even better, connected by blood.

It’s an amazing thing to witness. It’s not all bad; there’s a buzz of incredulity, maybe, but it’s still a buzz, a whisky buying zeitgeist. These tracks we’re barrelling along on though, they’re already headed deep into unchartered territory and no one has a clue when the buffers may appear.

Taking a breath to jump off the foot-plate of this overstretched metaphor, this clamour for the latest and greatest leaves such a vacuum that there’s an inevitability that any driven producer will attempt to fill it. Sate the demand. Make hay.

These were exactly my thoughts when I heard Bimber were releasing a sourced ‘Pure Malt’. My inner cynic kicked in. My eyes narrowed and, as I heard it was 12-years old and £60, they shut.

If we think about it though, we realise Bimber are, like so many other small – nay; tiny – distilleries right now, screwed if they do and screwed if they don’t. They didn’t create or make any of these dynamics because, if they did, they’d have scaled it bigger from the get-go. So they either try to do as well as they can and fund their future passions to make great English whisky (and Scotch), or they sit back and let other brands step forward to scoop up the sacks of cash presently being thrown into bottles and casks of anything shiny and amber. That sweet, heady vapour is alluring and lovely to drink. And a seemingly triple gold-sealed investment should you not care about that all-important drinky bit.

So let’s forget about the trains we’ve missed (sorry!) and the Bimber we can’t buy, and instead look at the only whisky available to purchase on their website today (at the point of writing, although we hear there are around 15,000 bottles of this outturn). Some sources online have this listed as a Speyside blended malt, but checking the Bimber website it’s Highlands and Speyside in the mix. It’s named Apogee, which I think is akin to zenith, or something. So humility isn’t a thing here. It says “Aged 12 Years” in tiny writing, but does declare a bold Roman numeral XII in Japanese-style, brush-stroke calligraphy. A Land-Of-The-Rising-Sun theme continues with the not unattractive, dimple-textured, decorative bottle. As you scan the label you find it’s 46.3% ABV – great. On further investigation, to discover if it’s been delivered at natural colour and been spared the chill-filter stripping (it has been!), you’re distracted by a statement made twice, once on the front, once on the back; “maturation in ex-Bimber oak casks”. Ooft.

So what are we saying here? Are we saying that mature Scotch malt whisky has been improved by additional maturation in refill casks that previously held very young Bimber whisky? I think we are. This cute wee bottle has a lot of living up to do… but it gets better.

As mentioned previously, annoyed by the £60 price tag, I had bowed out. However, some time later, I clicked through after their website suggested it was £49.95. Fair enough, a fiver too salty, but ooh it’s pretty and the specs are good. I clicked ‘add to cart’. Paypal asked me for £6 shipping. Hmpf, not bad. I click through and get charged £67.14.

I’m not kidding. I’m bad at maths but not that bad. The tale about the empty Daftmill shelf was made up, but this isn’t.

I guess they’re listing it as ex-VAT. Perhaps that’s how they sell to trade all the time and this is normal practice? (It’s not). I don’t know what’s going on here but it does not tell you it’s ex-VAT before you click that PayPal button. Feeling slightly aggrieved I let it process. A week later, it arrived and I placed it on the naughty step.

It’s a pretty thing, but I don’t know what to make of it. We haven’t really started out on the right foot. In time, I uncork and pour while I’m in company, distracted. Yet, it grabs my attention somewhat and I’m able to discern, right from the off, it’s a nice pour. I stay quiet. It’s still in the bad books.

I’m a third of the bottle down now and each time I go to it I’m reminded; this is a nice whisky.

How nice? Well, we’ll get to that, but it could’ve been nicer. So much of it is clumsy that I’ve got to wonder… why? This isn’t Scotch – it can’t be under SWA regulation– nor is it English. It’s labelled “Pure Malt” which would also have SWA reaching for the brake lever (ok, last time). The aesthetics are Japanese-not-Japanese Roman numeral-ey and the purchase experience is back-alley anywhere. There’s transparency on the label and it’s pointed straight at the enthusiast drinker, of that I’m sure, so it could’ve all been much better. How?

Well, how about: “We know you can’t buy our Bimber malt for a bit, but here’s something we think is fun and we’ve given it a sprinkle of the Bimber experience, it’s unique and honest. The price is the price because we put great whisky in it. I hope it can keep you in good spirits until our stocks catch up a bit. Thanks for helping to make us a barnstorming success Mr & Mrs Whisky Enthusiast!'' That’s how.

Naive? Probably. Not fully aware of what’s created this tasty pour and therefore in a difficult place to appreciate the cost? Definitely.

It matters not because, now, we’re not judging a 12 year old blended malt, we’re now judging £67 pounds worth of whisky (delivered) which is finished in re-fill casks where the pedigree of the cask is, well, other whisky. Young whisky. A refill, then. Let’s pull on our engineer’s overalls (oh come on).

Now, I could reach out to Bimber and get all the details. I have a relationship there and I could leverage that to inform you. But if it’s not on the bottle or the box, why bother? You all can’t do that, can you? This is 2022, there are many ways to share the information, but sticking the salient points on a label remains the best way to instil a sense of transparency, especially when we have something that’s both interesting and pretty difficult to define.


Review

Apogee 12yo from Bimber London, 46.3% ABV
£59.95 at Bimber online (don’t fall for the £49.95 - it’s a trap)

The colour is perhaps just a notch darker than Bimber’s Re-charred release, my favourite of theirs to date. It’s inviting.

Nose

Dessert whisky! Sweet caramels and allspice. Nutty; like marzipan perhaps or something darker, sweet chestnuts? There’s a sweet-toasted thing, nuttiness for sure. Some cake icing along with that suggestion of marzipan and if it’s a cake, it’s ginger cake!

Palate

Pretty pleasant all round here. The arrival is soft at first and hints at a sweet sherry cask, but it quickly goes all ex-bourbon; charred American oak with sweet caramels and nutty fudge before spices gather; warm nutmeg and cinnamon which linger for a medium finish. There are some details here, some little spikes and vibrant, jagged edges which may have been introduced by that busy ex-Bimber wood. Overall, there’s a nice weight; think Dailuaine or a restrained Benrinnes. It’s interesting and it flashes signals around your palate nicely, even if they are mostly cask derived.

The Dregs

It might be a challenge to get your head around and impossible to categorise. If you arrange your bottles like I do, you may not be sure where to place it. But this is a good whisky. It’s a real crowd-pleaser that sits in that perfect spot of being easy-going enough to please someone just looking for a pleasant drink, but also with enough meaningful interest and impact to keep the maniacal curiosity of a malt fan searching the glass at each approach, with glee.

As long as they didn’t buy it.

If this was on the market at £45 I think I’d be excited enough to bump the score a digit and rave about it. If it were £50 I’d still be happy with this rather attractive oddity. But it isn’t. I should’ve caught the next train; the number 12 headed for Glenturret. The carriages sport a different livery, but they arrive at the same time and the fare is the same.

Score: 6/10

Tried this? Share your thoughts in the comments below. WMc

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