When I was younger I
knew this chap who, well, let's just say he wasn't very bright. One
day he was indulging in that quintessential teenage activity; playing
with fireworks. He lit the fuse and went to throw this really quite
powerful explosive and the fuse went out. So he relit it and went to
throw this really quite powerful explosive and it blew most of his
hand off. Raining bits and pieces, quite a lot of noise, traumatic
experience all round. The point is that just because you're
performing the same action with the same object you probably
shouldn't expect the same reaction. Also, never ever play with
fireworks.
This applies, just
barely, to whisky. The object of today's review is the 15 year old
French Oak Reserve The Glenlivet. The Glenlivet distillery is located
near Moray in Scotland, in the Spey region and opened in 1824 –
making it one of the oldest still active whisky producers. Located in
the glen of Glenlivet the distillery was so successful that a huge
number of smaller producers started calling their produce Glenlivet,
resulting in it being called the 'longest glen in Scotland'. As a
result of a pretty major legal challenge the distillery earned the
right to call its, and only its, product The Glenlivet.
Hopefully that's cleared up any confusion over its grammatically
horrible name. I've sampled this particular scotch twice and have to
say that it seems to be a real inconsistency between bottles.
In
keeping with the rather dubious firework theme the first occasion was
at the Lewes Bonfire, I'm not sure how many people have been to –
or heard of – this event but it has to be one of the most
staggeringly insane things England has managed to produce. After
actually wanting to host the Olympics and Desperate
Scousewives, of course.
Essentially, in remembrance of both the Gunpowder Plot and the
burning of seventeen Protestant martyrs, the entire town dresses up
in costumes and marches through the streets carrying burning crosses
and flaming torches while towing lit barrels of tar and torching
effigies of the Pope and other disliked public figures while
generally blowing stuff up with gunpowder.
See? Insane. When sampled
in this smoke and fire filled environment the scotch came across as
light, sweet and fruity with only a slight hint of smokiness.
Somewhere between plum brandy and a cigarette, in fact. It was also
incredibly smooth and even refreshing, we may have drunk the entire
bottle in less than an hour. I have since come to the conclusion that
since we were drinking it while essentially passive-smoking twenty
cigarettes, a bonfire and the gun deck of HMS Victory in October 1805
our impressions may have been a little bit off.
So,
if on first tasting the whisky comes across as mellow, smooth and
even a little underpowered – a malt one could happily spend an
entire evening drinking – then the second tasting, with a different
bottle; in the rather less insane confines of my own home, was
something of a shock. Whether it was a different casking, an
over-strength bottle or just the lack of a persistent cloud of smoke
I don't know but the second bottle of this fine spirit figuratively
blew my hand off. The smoothness was still there but the lightness of
body, the sweet fruitiness, had been utterly smothered by a raw,
fiery spiciness and incredibly dry finish which just seems to come
out of nowhere. Not necessarily unpleasant, but it undoubtedly seemed
in many respects closer to a Highland malt than the balanced Speyside
I was expecting. This is one of the things I find most appealing
about whisky; despite the industrial quantities in which it is
currently being produced there is still something of an art, rather
than a science, to it. Hopefully my third opportunity to indulge in
this particular expression will strike a balance between perfectly
nice fizzle and fiery explosiveness. In conclusion; do try this malt,
and don't go back to lit fireworks, chaps.
James
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