Benriach 10yo Plavac Mali
Berry Bros Release | 62.2% ABV
Score: 6/10
Good stuff.
TL;DR
Build a rocket boys, for we already have the fuel. Fascinating, if one dimensional.
A trip to the city
It’s always an exciting prospect. It was meant to be a four-ball evening but due to burn out and a reluctance to whizz on the ”loser cruiser”, our party was cut at the 11th hour to a two-ball – just me and Mrs Crystal.
I didn’t mind because travelling to our capital city Edinburgh - for an evening of drinking, dining and loitering - is exciting no matter which way you cut it. It’s been an age since the two chief Crystals spent alone time together - kids and work and life and everything else seems to have a really efficient way of putting a big concrete wedge between fun and us.
Well stuff it, we could be dead tomorrow. Loser cruiser electric bus tickets booked in advance, we wandered down to the park & ride in glorious sunshine. Nothing makes my excitement scale swell quicker than the prospect of an Edinburgh wandersesh in the early summer sun. Not only that, but we were heading in many hours before our reservation to maximise the wandering potential. Those who have small people at home will testify to the elation one feels when, upon seeing something you want to look at you can go, unobstructed and undisturbed, and actually look at it for as long as you want.
We jumped off the cruiser at Haymarket and wandered over to the west-end, “grabbing” as the kids say, a wee oatie flattie at the trendy-loafed Swedish Superhouse Söderberg. One tiny flat-white and a cross-contaminated cardamom pod Cinnamon Twirl each, and 22 little pounds squirted from my contactless card like the expertly whipped icing from the Swedish organic linen piping bag. “It’s good coffee though…”. Weak justification for daylight robbery.
Johnnie Walker Princes Street appeared gleaming and golden in the evening light like a giant totem to whisky that isn’t for us, and we looked through the towering glass to see many smiling customers with gift-bagged goods congratulating each other on being so trendy. Sour grapes aside I was glad the metal flask in my pocket contained nothing from the walking man portfolio.
For the next few hours we would wander up and around the castle, take in the ambience at the Lawnmarket, have a drink or two at a pub on the Royal Mile, enter and exit expensive whisky shops quickly and generally soak in the multi-cultural magnificence that is sunny Edinburgh. There’s an enveloping fizz of joy that wafts around the cobbled streets, mingling with myriad scents from grills and pubs, aftershaves and city air. Standing in the sun, basking in the time we have been afforded with Mrs Crystal contentedly nosing in a boutique soap shop, I swear I could live in this scene forever. I have the presence of mind to breathe in deeply and soak it in, which only serves to amplify and expand the sound of my slowly beating heart.
We pass Loch Fyne Whiskies. I’m not buying but I nip in for a look anyway and get offered a wee snifter of a Loch Fyne single cask Ledaig 11 year old because I happened to point at a Ledaig 9yo thinking it was a Sinclair Series bottle. The young guy is putting on the big sell as I stuff the wee plastic dram into my excited face, but resolves very much like a generic creamy peaty whisky. It’s too hot, too small a pour and too expensive (£95) for me to get on board right now. Mrs Crystal doesn’t get offered anything and we discuss this shun, and the many issues that face women in whiskyland at our destination - the Thai restaurant of international repute: Dusit.
Before we get there though, we head along George Street and find that half of the length is closed to accept the fluorescent, testosterone injected, gleaming teenage nonsense known as the Gumball Rally. We wondered why there was a McLaren P1 sitting revving its giant purple engine outside “The Dome” to bewildered looks from the patrons, but now it all made sense. Mrs Crystal was disinterested, but I played along and jostled with the camo-shorted flip-floppers gushing over a Koenigsegg. All that money spent on carbon fibre personality replacements; just smash your right foot down, watch the rev needle shoot around the dial and suddenly everyone’s your friend. Different 4-strokes for different weird folks.
Our dinner at Dusit was utter filth. It’s the sort of food that, when it first hits your tastebuds, causes an involuntary reaction so powerful as to make the remainder of the dish enter your face quicker than the Ferrari ripping past the open window. Every bite is better than the last and it’s a mystery how a combination of ingredients can taste this good. We are in flavour heaven, much like everyone else in this wee place going by the chorus of groans randomly bursting from each table. An hour and a half later we’re back outside, stuffed full and completely content. We nip into the adjoining wine shop and marvel at bottles costing £90, contemplating just who can afford such opulence. Right next to it sits a bottle of Craigellachie 17yo for £100, and I’m almost reaching for my wallet.
We’re sitting on the bus home before long, glowing in the setting sun filtering through the tinted windows, absorbing our evening of wonders. Mrs Crystal suffers horribly from carcolepsy, so is reliably catching flies as soon as the bus whines its way off from George Square, only to wake with a start when the bus driver clumsily halts at each traffic light. That little metal flask, sneakily filled earlier in the day and carried with intent, is now produced in sleeping safety, unscrewed and sipped as my reward for burdening the weight of it all this time. Inside is a recent acquisition that, going by the numbers on the label, could very well be a showstopper.
Review
Benriach 10yo, Berry Brothers & Rudd, Plavac Mali Finish 62.2% ABV
£110. £55 paid at auction.
The Whisky Auctioneer was coming to a close and despite having 12 unsuccessful bids brewing already, I fancied my luck at a Hail Mary, so I scrolled diligently through the plethora of Bells and Bams cluttering up the £15 mark to get to the listings that dangled like ripe fruit for the picking. I tried my hand at a few Benriach bottlings of pre-rebranding fame, only to push the bidding up without leading any. Sorry about that, everyone.
I was early to the auction this time and bid retail on a Thompson Bros. TB/BSW Batch 001 which was looking like a sure thing, and knowing I was soon to depart for the Wee Toon I didn’t fancy getting my powder wet, so was happy at that one lot. But then a Berry Bros. & Rudd Benriach caught my eye because it looked like cranberry juice. I stuck a bid in and went to sleep. Waking the next morning I was surprised to see I’d won it for £55.
It’s a 10 year old Benriach, distilled in 2010 and bottled in 2020 - fair dinkum. It’s been finished, not sure for how long, in a Plavac Mali Dalmation wine cask. I’ve got so many images floating through my brain with that congregation of words, but Google reveals this to be a Croatian wine varietal, with the translation of “Plavac Mali” being “little blue one”. Be still my beating heart. Dalmatian isn’t the wee spotty dug, but a region of Croatia called Dalmatia. Within this region is a stretch called the Dalmatian Coast and it looks, going by Google’s picture search, like a dreamland - vivid terracotta roofs above whitewashed walls, beside azure waters dotted with lush green islands. Holy Christmas.
The Plavac Mali grape seems to be the most popular of Croatian varietal, coveted for its rich ripe cherry and peppery spice pop. It’s easy to see why a whisky would fit nicely inside one of the freshly decanted oak casks and no doubt why this whisky looks like cranberry juice. I think the only whisky I’ve seen this colour before was the Ardmore 13yo Syrah finish, from Fib Whisky’s Permutations Series 1. The buzz surrounding it at the Fife Whisky Festival was magic and this whisky looks even more bright and vivid.
It’s offered to us at 62.2%, which is a mighty ABV. I’ve tried a few whiskies just past the 60% mark recently and it’s been a visceral experience each time, often requiring immediate watery flame control before the head combusts. The Little Brown Dog Ardnamurchan was 61.1%, the SMWS “A Walk in the Woods” 60.6% and the Ardnamurchan distillery hand-fills were all powerful drams. This will be a rare non-Ardnamurchan blunderbuss and I’m excited to know if it’s drinkable at that level or if it requires some serious dousing. As someone noted on Twitter beneath a response to the Daftmill review - “Only the most distinguished folks drink at 60% plus.”
Score: 6/10
Good stuff.
TL;DR
Build a rocket boys, for we already have the fuel. Fascinating, if one dimensional.
Nose
Big and red. Malty though too. Nice sweet cedar wood, a hint of balsamic and light butter. Dark tannic wood and wine. Empty red wine glass - bit of sharp, bit of sour. Cherries and berries. New pour - burnt wholemeal toast. Big apple juice too. Water mutes things. Freshly baked baguette. Apple bread.
Palate
Unbelievably hot. Like a white hot poker to the facehole. My mouth combusts. There’s semblance of reds and some very clear tannic stuff happening once the flames die down. Cherries, dark cherry compote in a triangle yoghurt. The more the palate adjusts to the power, the more the cherries and blackcurrant is taking prominence. Big berry beauty. I’m almost reluctant to water it down. Souring on the finish.
Water: malt kicks in. Berry cracker. Slightly sour and tannic, but with a cherry sweetness throughout.
The Dregs
It’s, as to be expected, like a wildfire erupting in the face - 62.2% Benriach is legitimately fuel for spaceships. While being incredibly powerful there is, among the white-hot flash of the flame, little flecks of colour. If you can sustain the relentless assault on your entire head, there’s potent flavour to be found - bright reds beside almost pitch black purple.
A heavy dousing is essential to make this both enjoyable as a drink and save your liver from screaming in protest. With water comes the arrival of really interesting bread notes on the nose, baked and crispy. The apple side of things appears both in smell and taste. A bit of tinkering and soon the whisky is tamed and resolves as a tasty bright fruity dram.
We’re talking a lot about cheese pairings right now for an upcoming podcast episode and I can’t help but equate this to a cranberry studded Wensleydale - not necessarily in the funk or creaminess department, but the bright pops of sharper fruits that appear now and again - sour, tannic perhaps - to offset other flavours. It’s certainly not boring. Where it does match the Wensleydale though is the drying effect of the finish - I’m reaching for the water afterwards.
What to make of it though. This is a fascinating and fun whisky to fiddle with. At full power it’s an obliteration. I’d welcome anyone to take a regular sip of this and not feel like they’re cruising across the surface of the sun with their mouth open. Isn’t it amazing how some spirits can be sipped quite the thing at 60%+ but others make your eyeballs glow. The magic of the uisge beatha. This Benriach is the latter and demands a lot of water to bring everything under control. By how much, well that’s up to you: legitimate customisation of experience. I poured a few drams of the Benriach in one evening and found that, returning to a fresh, unwatered pour, I was able to weather the onslaught for a while longer, but eventually I had to relent. There’s a very real risk of wiping out your palate with this sucker, so tread carefully.
I can’t speak of the price at RRP because it’s a fairly obscure bottling imported into the German market in 2020. I’ve tried looking for some prices, but the few I found are surely inaccurate - €127 is a lot of money - £110 at current exchange rates. If I’d paid that for this bottle I’d be disappointed. It’s not that it’s lacking in flavour or that there’s a lack of quality. It’s more that this is fairly one dimensional in experience. Like whack-a-mole or the coconut pitch at a funfair - it’s really fun to have a go and there’s a focus, technique and determination to nail the shot, and when you do it's both arms in the air and wahey!
Eventually the challenge is passed and the dedication of pursuit wanes - fiddling about with a whisky only lasts so long if, eventually, you find that the efforts reveal good yet not exactly endearing flavours.
£55 for this experience is money well spent, if only for a chance to expand my whisky vocabulary in the “nuclear meltdown” section.
Score: 6/10
Tried this? Share your thoughts in the comments below. DC
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