The Original Stories O.B. | 48% ABV

Plus: Tyree’s Port Ellen 25yo

Echo Chambers

The term “echo chamber” has a lot of applicability these days, as my superbly astute colleague Dougie explored in the recent OSWAs article.

Anytime some group or another’s opinion needs invalidating, it’s one of the first verbal stones cast in an “us vs. them” debate. That said, it does have some usefulness, especially when niches are concerned. The more isolated and specific the interest, the better the applicability. It’s worth genuinely considering, then: is whisky nerdism at large an echo chamber?

Well, I consider myself a member of said whisky nerdism, and I honestly think the answer’s no. Of course, I have about as much credibility and objectivism on this subject as Trump does on the reinstalled use of asbestos — less than a flea’s fart. Still, please allow me to argue the case.

The enthusiasm whisky is enjoying at the moment among a populace increasingly educated on the subject is, in my opinion, just a symptom of the larger interest in quality foods and beverages across the board. Our good leader has touched on this in many vPubs: the correlation is high between modern whisky drinkers and craft beer enthusiasts, the slow food movement, lovers of other quality crafted spirits, wine appreciators… (although I think the stuffiness of whisky is far less than wine’s elitist, romanticised toffish-ness). Basically, it’s about all of the virtues that our dear Michael Jackson — vale, good sir — espoused 45 years ago. How ahead of the curve he was!

As quality foods and drinks move further into mainstream society, the less these otherwise seemingly niche interests exist in a cultural vacuum. If we were to survey the readership for this site, I would dare to say it’d be a relatively small percentage that are singularly interested in whisky as an exploratorily flavourful endeavour. Aside from the impact this has on palate diversity and experience, it also diversifies the knowledge base for many.

Seeing the impact of a bourbon cask on an imperial stout as well as on a whisky gives a better context and richer understanding for the range of flavours that cask type contributes. Tasting the difference between a dry flor-style Fino sherry and an old, heavily oxidative Oloroso informs part of the experience we enjoy from casks which held those contents. Enjoying rich beer styles like barley wines can guide some of our understanding of the intertwined malt and maillard flavour spectrums. (Is my point sufficiently laboured?)

As well as the understanding of flavours, a diverse knowledge base for those that have geeked out in other areas can translate to whisky. I come from a brewing background, which helps to inform my understanding of whisky up to the point of wash production. For many, it will be the wine world that has been the first touch point for exploring what tannins are, the technical aspects of a sweet/sour balance, oak structure/chemistry, and many other relevant facets.

Again, all of this is to say that whisky enjoyment doesn’t occur in a vacuum, and neither do our perceptions and purchasing decisions; in a time where so many brilliant drinks thrive, it is easier than ever for us to gauge and weigh how far our hard-earned coins stretch across multiple categories. The state of our widespread drinks industry has real industry importance: not just regarding where we spend our money, but also where the industry predicts, from incoming data, that we will spend our money.

From the big brands’ perspectives, are we enthusiasts making much ado about nothing, or are we a real, fiscally significant group influencing wider purchasing habits? These metrics will be held under a pretty tight lock and key, so the best we can do is guess based on how these companies do or do not respond to us through their products and marketing.

Continuing to spew the bleeding obvious — whisky is a business, just like everything else. There is only one language that all brands and their owners understand, and it’s money. For the moment, blends still dominate the market, and so the majority of production will still need to cater to that demand; fine. But for the single malt market segment, which grows year on year arguably through the cannibalism of blends, there is room to dictate the rules of engagement. The way we tell producers what we want and whether we will accept its pricing couldn’t be clearer: we buy it or we don’t.

The same goes for marketing. Basically, if they spend more on their marketing departments and see increased sales, they’ll continue to lean on marketing for the heavy lifting. Not to sound overly dramatic, but the sector that you and I occupy, dear reader, increasingly holds the multinationals at a very pointy tip. As I write this piece (currently the 5th of November) with “V For Vendetta” on in the background, I’m feeling particularly rebellious

It really is up to us where we spend our money. So many new independents have sprung up with astounding quality for their age; there’s really no excuse to suffer poor or overpriced bottlings. There’s whisky that’s meant for us, and even beyond that, many members of the community are liable to possess enough whisky for the drowning of entire savannah’s worth of flora and fauna. If I stopped buying bottles today, at the current rate of drinking, I’d probably make it to my mid-sixties without any issue at all. There is no pressure to buy. Compounding this are all the other brilliant aged spirits out there — times have never been better for rum and Armagnac drinkers.

Review

Glenlivet 12yo, The Original Stories, Licensed Dram, Official Bottling, 48% ABV
£50 / AUD$80-85, sometimes on offer and generally available.

As it stands, a number of brands have already taken their side regarding enthusiasts: Remy Cointreau has maintained the quality of their bottlings when taking over Bruichladdich. Distell continues with their spiffing presentation bottlings for Deanston, Bunnahabhain and Tobermory. On average though, it looks like most of the larger groups are hedging their bets while they watch the market shift.

Edrington are experimenting with a number of new lines, such as their Glenrothes Whisky Maker’s cut and Highland Park limited releases, including cask strength batches. Edrington has a poor habit, though, of charging aggressively for the privilege of these bottles, but at least they’re observing the importance of ABV (if not always the other bottling details we crave). We also have the full Glenturret line up as well as most of the Tamdhu core bottlings.

Pernod Ricard seem to be dipping their toes ever so gently — Scapa sees atrocious representation and Aberlour maintains many of the core bottlings at under 46%, though the A’bunadh, 12 NCF and Casg Annamh counterbalance this somewhat. For our consideration, though, Glenlivet has the Nàdurra bottlings (their more eclectic version of the A’bunadh, of course) and the latest series, “The original stories”.

Many of us gave the Illicit Still bottling a red hot go: it came to the market well priced, age stated and with that satiating 48% ABV, if not the rest of the enthusiast’s stable. Largely, the consensus seems to have been positive; certainly the market response has been adequate enough to see Pernod Ricard release this second instalment in the series. As an added bonus, Pernod Ricard have pretty well maintained the pricing and still see fit to use exclusively first fill casks. So while there’s almost certainly E150 added, it may be less cynical than with other bottlings. Despite the higher ABV, we have no indication of the filtration status, although it would be baffling for them to add the expense of doing so.

Nose

The casks are apparent but not pushy — wood stain, oily nuts, cinnamon, vanilla, nutmeg, marzipan, some mild allspice and a pleasant earthiness. The French oak component speaks well. The sherry influence becomes more apparent with some red berry syrups, figs and dates. The distillate creeps out after a spell, bringing cooked red apples and other pome fruit esters, a mild Vienna malt sweetness and some floral orange-blossom honey.

Palate

Bigger floral honeys and some caramel, orange oil, then again that same multiplex of cask-derived spices and fruits, plus a wee glimmer of Belgian chocolate with almond and hazelnuts. The American oak is more prominent here — vanilla and clove — but I maintain there seems to be some French in the mix. The distillate isn’t particularly pronounced, integrating the malt sweetness quite well with the casks. There’s a moderate grippy tannic finish which I find pleasantly balances the sweeter oak notes, even if it is a little drying.

The Dregs

To me, this is a perfectly good whisky. It’s not my style, being pretty clean with a non-expressive distillery character and straight-down-the-line profile, as well as fairly cask driven, and really I doubt it’ll blow anyone’s mind. All that said, it makes for an entirely more interesting and flavour dense experience than the core Glenlivet 12YO. What’s more, here in Australia it’s just over 20% more expensive per bottle; not bad considering the 20% comparative increase in ABV and exclusive use of first fill casks.

The first time I opened this, I was at a whisky club tasting and poured probably a fifth of the bottle for folks to try. Most seemed to enjoy it pretty well, and at the price point, it caused no anxiety to do so. If I feel like turning my brain off and having a pleasant dram after a meal or just before bed, this will do the trick nicely. Purely on organoleptics this really falls within the realms of a 5 for me, but given the quality of bottling and price point I think it earns the nudge. Pernod Ricard are in my naughty corner a bit for their general price/quality ratio, so from my view we should take the time to celebrate their better decisions. Remember, folks — hold them accountable.

Score: 6/10

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

The team at Dramface would like to wish Tyree and his bride-to-be all the health and happiness life may afford and we hope your wedding day is full of joy!

(And maybe a little Port Ellen!)

Bonus Review

Port Ellen 25yo, Douglas Laing Old Malt Cask, 50% ABV
Secondary only. £800 and upwards…

I can be a bit of a grumpy git at times.

Working in retail occasionally stretches my capacity to deal with folks a bit thin, which doesn’t bode well for suffering rudeness or fools the rest of the time.

However, I must remind myself that there are plenty of good souls out there, and for whatever reason there may be, a disproportionate number of them are in the whisky community.

Pardon the sentimentality that follows, but I can’t help it; after seven wonderful years with my partner, I’m finally getting married.

As I close in on the big day, it becomes clearer and clearer how much I have to be grateful for. Friends and family pitching in to help organise things, a generous workplace helping to secure enough alcohol to survive another prohibition and of course, my darling fiancée. I won’t say anything else on that latter subject, except that most of you dear readers will probably never meet her, and for that I am so very sorry — she’s a hoot.

Whilst I write this piece and consider all else I am incredibly thankful for, I remember so many fine whisky folks I’ve had the pleasure of crossing paths with. People that were once acquaintances that are now good friends, mentors and members of mine and other local whisky clubs. There is a conviviality and shared merriment whenever these groups of people congregate which, as with so many other groups, is surely as much of a reason for aggregating as the liquid being drunk (perhaps even more of a reason).

One particular individual occurs to me as I write this. He is the inspiration and facilitator for this whisky being reviewed, having gifted it to me last year. I won’t name him for anonymity reasons. We know each other reasonably well, and all I can say if he’s reading this is a profound and deep thank you.

You see, it isn’t just the generosity of the gifted liquid itself which is moving, though surely that is an enormous part of it. No, the real cherry on the cake is that at the time it was gifted, this gentleman and I were really only acquaintances, having seen one another just a handful of times either at the shop I work at or at local whisky events. He has a yearly tradition (being an expat from the States) of opening a special bottle to enjoy with friends and family at Thanksgiving. This wondrous chap had just opened a bottle, and though he had very little idea of who I was or even which whiskies I particularly enjoyed, he knew that I was passionate and keen to learn; that was enough.

I still struggle to believe the magnitude of the gesture, and am left only able to sing this man’s praises, as well as the praises of a community fostering such gobsmacking kindness. It is a testament to the culture of whisky appreciation that stories like this are far from novel. Hugs all around!

Right, enough sappiness, let’s proceed to the review, shall we?

Nose

Unexpectedly alive for the time in cask and glass. Excellent fruits plus terpenes up front with some lemon oil, candied pineapple, under-ripe rockmelon rind, cucumber water and gooseberry, before crushed green peppercorns and other savoury Asian herbs and spices. Then, embrocations à la tiger balm and other good menthols with some soft chamomile tea. As it breathes in the glass, there’s a beautifully soft dirtiness like certain elegant Longrows: low-level farmy/barnyard tones, lambics with subtle thiols (pickled onion) and grapefruit thioesters, then traces of the old sherry influence with some worn leather and old humidor. The peat has laid a thousand tiny rootlets which shift nervously between bike chain grease, diesel engine, chimney soot, light medicinal disinfectants, stir fried crustaceans, lit cigars, and game meats cooked over a charcoal grill. All of this with minimal oak for the age, the sherry cask having devolved and integrated into those tertiary leather, spice and fruit notes with just the lightest vanilla toffee.

Palate

I almost gave up writing this review, seriously.

Pretty well everything on the nose again but in such splendid unison, yet with enough separation to enjoy the components as they flit past at the speed firing synapses. I am utterly unconvinced of salt in whisky due to a lack of data, but by all that is holy it feels salty. Spritzy lemon, fusty oxidised oils and fats with ancient textbook pages (wee hint of complementary OBE?) plus some mild lanolin join the fray, whilst every now and then a hint of tropical rum fruitiness appears with some pineapple here or mango there, along with touches of almost agricole-esque fresh-mown green grass plus wasabi pea, only to snap back out of existence like some quantum-mechanical lunacy. The medicinal tones are up a touch too, with some natural tar and creosote plus hints of brominated phenols and ash, then zips of potting mix, smouldering mulch and carbon paper, but it all continues to play sinuously with the other peat aspects as well as that slight thiol dirtiness. Again, the casks maintain a humble quietness in the background, tying other elements together with far more subtraction and interaction than addition.

The Dregs

Every flavour ricochets off the last and cascades into something new, fading away and then morphing back in a new shape. The definition of dynamic complexity, nuance, detail and “nervousness”. The finish revisits so many elements of the palate and gives a minor reprise to those peppery and phenolic concertos. One could almost imagine some genius made this from a vatting of Springbank, Bowmore, good Ardbeg and Clynelish in an extremely careful ratio, then let it mature for a decade or three. Just marvellous — stunning, in that I am stunned.

This entire review is as biased as they come. I know what I’m drinking, how unlikely I am to drink this era of Port Ellen with any frequency, as well as what it costs and how generously it’s been given. I’ve set aside some time (four hours from pouring to last drops) to drink it as mindfully and quietly as possible in a neutral setting. And I know this is what I will be drinking on my wedding day, not long before I get to spend what I desperately hope is mine and my best friend’s long and healthy lives together. Everything has been set up in context and precognition for me to enjoy this more than I probably would in a blind setting. And yet, this is still, I think, at least the equal best whisky I have ever had, sharing the podium with precious few other drams and probably beating even those out for the top spot. The definition of a 10/10 in our scoring guide is a whisky which has brought a tear to the eye. Well, I have been brought to sweet, sweet tears, whatever the cause. I stand by the score. Slàinte mhath dear friends — thank you.

Score: 10/10 TK

Other opinions on this:

Glenlivet Licensed Dram 12yo
Gwhisky

Words of Whisky

WhiskyJason

Whiskybase

Port Ellen
Whiskybase

Got a link to a reliable review? Tell us.