Kilkerran 8yo Cask Strength 2017
2017 Release | 55.7% ABV
Score: 9/10
Exceptional.
TL;DR
An unsurprising modern classic
The malts that build a distillery’s empire.
I usually try to focus on the production aspects of whisky in these reviews - some process that acts as a controllable variable in the flavour of the final whisky. This time though, I think we should discuss a much more complex and inconsistent aspect of flavour; organoleptics itself.
This has been touched on many times by a multitude of bloggers, YouTube channels and other Dramface writers, but I think a deeper study of this topic may be warranted.
First, we should note variability in physiology. It’s well discussed that different people have genetic predispositions regarding flavours. Some folks are entirely blind to particular aromas such as certain organosulfurs, while others are particularly sensitive to them. About a quarter of the population are so-called “supertasters”, while about half are average and the last quarter “non-tasters”, with below average sensitivity. This only relates to flavours via the tongue, however, which we know to be a functionally small aspect of flavour. There’s also some evidence to suggest that taste sensitivities vary by ethnicity, which is likely compounded by other factors such as diet and environment, leading us to our next topics. Yeah, I know, segues smoother than Rosebank.
At the risk of stating the extreme obvious, diet impacts organoleptics in two distinct aspects. First, our baseline reference for flavour. It’s pretty difficult to pick out notes of lapsang souchong if you’ve never had the tea. The inference can be made from context of course, but only through some knowledge of similar flavours one’s actually encountered. The diets we maintain also help to set the default for our tastes. Someone with higher sugar intake might have a predisposition to sherry bombs or other sweet fortified type casks. Ralfy talks about this frequently with mentions of “institutionalised palates”, which is to say it’s a kind of sensory tolerance, reducing sensitivity. In some cases this might be viewed as a positive; an organoleptic hormesis if you will.
The second mechanism by which diet impacts taste is situational; what physical state our palates are in before enjoying a glass of amber. Are there residual oils coating the tongue? Food digesting in the stomach releasing gases which may pass through the nose via retronasal action, carrying aromas with them? Master blender for Dewars, Stephanie Macleod, speculates that the pH our mouths reside at while drinking whisky has a significant impact on our perception of flavour. This makes good sense considering the number of molecules which are sensorily pH dependent. A prime example from fermented goods is the family of THPs (tetrahydropyridines). In wine and mixed culture beers, THPs aren’t generally detected on the nose - see my Springbank article for an explanation on pyridines’ pH dependent behaviour. THPs are generally detected in the finish after a sip of the affected beverage. As the functional buffer of saliva raises pH levels from the beer/wine, enough of the THP can volatilise through the sinuses to trigger an odour active value (hereon OAV) response- depending on concentration, individuals’ sensitivity and presumably their mouth pH it can be described as something like bread, crackers or Cheerios cereal at lower levels and as unpleasantly mousy or uric at higher levels. The diets we occupy affect mouth pH, and thus probably how we experience certain flavours.
These dietary variables are why many distillers and blenders restrict themselves to such ascetic foods before making any evaluations. Gareth and Angela Andrews of Fleurieu whisky have frequently recounted the laborious task of eating unflavoured porridge every working morning for the best part of a decade in the pursuit of both a consistent organoleptic framework and minimal sensory interference. It’s only after their sensory obligations are complete that they indulge in the luxury of coffee and other foods.
Our second major factor is environment. There are the obvious considerations, such as proximity to strong odours and other distracting or interfering stimuli. Other more nuanced details also play a part though - the lighting in the room affecting our perceived colour of the dram. How comfortable we are while nosing and tasting. What kind of mood we’re in and the amount of mental energy we have available to expend on analysis. A good example of this situational bias was a study (Brochet, F. 2001) done into wine sensation; when Brochet dosed white wines with red food colouring, the subjects exhibited consistently higher rates of language which would usually be applied to describe red wines. This study is still referenced today as an indication that visual stimuli which we know to have a rate of cognitive processing about 10 times greater than olfactory stimuli, can override our sensation, thus changing our perception and descriptive language.
This raises yet another important factor in the experience of flavour - how we use language directly changes our cognition, an idea referred to as Whorfianism. Many studies have been done in this arena, however probably the best example I can think of is a study of the Piraha tribe in the Amazon; essentially, without a language that encodes strict definition of counting numbers, the Piraha are unable to equivocate same sized numbers of things with exactness above about three. In a similar fashion, the Whorfian argument would state that the language we use to describe flavour directly impacts our sensation of those flavours.
That’s all well and good, except that in many cases descriptors are prototypical. Most accepted descriptors are handed out as some representative of an experience, rather than introspection of the flavour driving language choice. This becomes problematic when multiple individuals are given the opportunity to interpret prototypical terms openly- the term “smooth” comes to mind. It’s not inherently a bad or useless descriptive tool, but requires enough individual context and elaboration to properly express intent so as to be utterly interchangeable with a host of other more specific terms.
This is one of the reasons some (myself included) advocate the integrated use of more rigid language with traditionally romantic language. For instance, using the names for types of flavourful molecules to somewhat bypass the subjective associations brought to that sensory experience. Of course, the issue we then encounter is distinguishing those particular molecules, especially since compounding OAVs can have attenuating and compounding factors between one another. Some esters have synergistic effects; equal mixtures of propyl acetate and ethyl propionate can be sensed when both concentrations are well below their individual OAV. Opposingly, tert-butyl acetate and ethyl propionate show suppression such that equal mixtures of both compounds well above their individual OAVs doesn’t trigger sensation. Another poignant example of these complex interactions is ethanol concentration; for instance syringic acid (an oak derivative) has an OAV of 210ppm in water, 15ppm in 10%ABV and 10ppm in 40%ABV.
“The review from a palate we trust, or just as much a review from someone’s palate we consistently don’t trust carries heft. I can’t remember how many times I’ve checked Distiller for a review of a potential new bottle only to be dissuaded by a particular reviewer’s acclaim for it.”
This is where a combination of fixed and romantically descriptive language comes in handy; Dallas has quite an aversion to the descriptor “grassy”, which is in a sense understandable. However, when using this term with modifications and in a pairing with fixed language. “Green grass, aldehydic/hexanal”, the description becomes much more usefully objective. Certain tasters will also develop their own dialects for flavour descriptions, myself included. How many times have we read Serge mention a “razor blade” or other cutting implement to mean a pleasantly austere style, or call for the “anti-maltoporn brigade” as a Shibboleth for his mark of top quality?
In my very personal opinion, the description and conveyance of flavour is like the execution of the law; there is the letter and the spirit thereof. Art and science - both are required, hopefully in balance, to properly express the meaning and intended interpretation.
Aside from the tricky mechanics of actual sensory cognition, we must all navigate the intricacies of bias and preconceptions. The review from a palate we trust, or just as much a review from someone’s palate we consistently don’t trust carries heft. I can’t remember how many times I’ve checked Distiller for a review of a potential new bottle only to be dissuaded by a particular reviewer’s acclaim for it. Unfortunately we are social creatures that have survived for a long time using biases as valid tools to navigate group settings.
Similarly as soon as we know the value, either by peer estimation or money paid, our mental leavers are pulled. The issue of course is then trying to wrangle back any significant degree of objectivity after the fact, which becomes extremely difficult since the only other yardstick for evaluating the whisky is to use external validation of opinion, at which point one either joins a cacophony of sameness or chooses to stand as a contrarian. Even without external impressions, the previous experiences we have with distilleries, brands and bottling styles (ie wine casks, the ABCDs, single cask vs blended etc) can’t help but colour how we approach a new whisky. These factors may be very good predictors for our preferences, but there are always exceptions to the rule.
Review
Kilkerran Batch Strength #2 ex-bourbon cask, 55.7% ABV
2017 release. Long since sold out.
First impressions are a tricky thing, and whisky is no exception. How we first encounter a particular distillery can make or break our relationships with its liquid for long periods of time. My first swish’n sniff of Glen Moray was their NAS sherry cask. Now I don’t know if there’re batch consistency issues at play there, but my bottle was riddled with cask sulfur to the point of suppressing any real discernible distillery character; vulcanised rubber, raw potato, cruciferous vegetables and cheap vinous nonsense. The first taste was at least as bad, and I have since sacrificed that bottle to a re-distillation experiment of far more value than the liquid itself. It took me more than a year to reassess any OB Glen Moray, which is a shame since there’s a bright orchard fruit estery character to their Elgin Classic bourbon cask release that has become my touch stone for their distillate. That sherry cask release still lurks in the crags of my mind though, steering me away from any of their fortified style casks entirely (unless I can try over the bar) for fear of another tainted bottle.
Other experiences are far more pleasant, and they also tend to linger. The very first bottle of Scotch I ever bought for myself was an Ardbeg Uigeadail from 2016 (purchased in 2020). Though I had no clue at the time, the near obsessive love I developed for that bottle would propel me from a staunch craft beer fan down the rabbit hole of whiskydom and into my current state of wretched malt-researching hermitage. Although Ardbeg have continued to disappoint me multiple times with their cringe-worthy marketing, overpriced limited releases and baffling fascination with alternative currencies, I am at heart an unapologetic fan. Their 10yo core release remains the metric by which I measure all other heavily peated drams, and frankly I can count on one hand the number of its contemporaries that even challenge it at all for value. This is, of course, just my opinion, but I would argue the case in a quasi-objective fashion there are very few other bottlings in the category which exemplify the geography’s peat, the depth of distillery characteristic, minimal oak intervention without a lack of maturity as well as overall poise and class. All of this in an enthusiast-friendly presentation for about $95AUD retail.
At the end of the day though, I’m clearly biassed on the matter- though it’s worth noting that it’s done extremely well for me in blind line-ups of Islay malts, to the point that I’ve picked it out with surprising frequency. That first dalliance with the Uigeadail has set me up probably for the rest of my life as a staunch fan of the distillery, and I am entirely grateful for that fact.
Now, this is in fact a Kilkerran review despite the prelude we’ve just swept through. The context now being laid, I can adequately explain my relationship with Kilkerran; for most of the world, the first encounters made were the 'Work In Progress series that lead up to their age statements. In Australia, however, there was for a miraculous period of time (essentially up until the beginning of last year) where there was a delay on the fanatic attention for everything coming out of J&A Mitchell & Co. Due to this delay the 12yo core was the first bottle I ever bought or tasted from Glengyle, and needless to say that’s a heck of a first handshake. The distillery character was exemplary, different to Springbank’s but with some family resemblance and undeniably of Campbeltown ilk. Possibly the only accusation that could be levelled against it was the sheer drinkability. That’s not to say it’s thin or anaemic, but one could drink multiple glasses in a session with great ease right up to the point of karaoke and other acts against the Geneva convention. So when I found a bottle of this 8 year old cask strenth sitting on the shelf at one of my local shops a few months later, the temptation was undeniable. Needless to say, a backup bottle was bought not long after first tasting and still resides in my collection. My only regret was buying a bottle instead of a case, but that plight is so common it barely merits mentioning.
Nose
Brilliantly composed- distillate driven but showing none of the hallmark issues of under-maturation. Campbeltown funky thiols via wet plaster, fresh yeast slurry, mild vegetal and farmyard tones as well as some coastal brine and terpenes a la tropical citrus oils with smouldering herbes de provence and faint menthol. Well-poised esters/thioesters with pineapple, mango, grapefruit, passionfruit, red apple and pink bubblegum. The peat is restrained but adds a moderately savoury soot and kippers feeling, while some nice vanilla, clove and burnt butter contributions signal the bourbon casks.
Palate
Stunning. The funk is just as present but with enhanced fruits- fabulous spritzy lemon oil plus the same ester/thioester components dialled up plus mild ethyl acetate. The peat is light-moderate with sooty phenols and a few quiet fishy pyridines complementing the coastal/chalky minerality. You’ll not hear me say salty, others probably would. The malt shines too, somewhere between Pilsner-like crispness and Helles Bock richness. Otherwise there’s some wax candle fumes, boot polish, musty and mild oak with more vanilla lead spices and generally good lactones.
The Dregs
Sitting here and writing this review, my glass has emptied regrettably quickly. The lingering finish is suggestive of a few good roasty, dark chocolate-esque pyrazines that weren’t readily apparent earlier in the melange of other flavours, and it’s the first time I’ve noticed them. They integrate with the lingering smoke brilliantly, and it’s nearly beyond my willpower to refill the glass. What a gorgeous surprise.
This bottle borders that uncomfortable edge of an 8 vs a 9. I don’t wish to award marks willy nilly, but in terms of quality, value and uniqueness it certainly qualifies itself. That said, it’s not necessarily a better malt than the SMWS Bowmore 17. Of course it’s a little over a third of the price I paid for that, so again the value is ridiculous. I still maintain there’s a certain intangible magic to the Springbank 12 cask strength batch 20 that edges this out by my preferences, but really that’s splitting hairs. They’re both great bottles that I’m incredibly happy to own, teasing them out as long as I can with great infrequency. In this sense, I stand resolutely by the score.
Score: 9/10
Tried this? Share your thoughts in the comments below. TK
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