Mabon - Part II: Craigellachie 13

In the last post I talked of the pleasure of familiarity. A continuation from that idea are the concepts of tradition, ceremony, and ritual. Our psyche craves these things, and in our modern world they become harder and harder to find. For our ancestors, however, these things were tightly woven into their existence.

Understanding the cycles of nature was essential to life. Their lives were very literally dependent on knowing when to plant and harvest, and when to store and conserve for the coming winter. The holidays that were celebrated in those days were intricately connected to the seasons, the sun, and the moon. Back in the day of oral tradition, stories of gods and myths were often the entertainment at gatherings and festivals. In a time when survival was much less certain than it is today, the familiar ceremonies and rituals such as those of Mabon brought a comfort to the people and a strength to their community.

One of the songs The Boys From That Band sang that night was written by Damh the Bard and pays homage to the old ways - Taliesin's Song:

Although our lives do not seem as connected or dependent on nature these days, there is still a yearning to feel that rhythm - of the seasons, the cycles, and the mystery.

For me, this journey to find the perfect Scotch is a type of a ritual, or perhaps a pilgrimage of sorts. I was delighted to combine my modern day ceremony with a tradition rooted in a much older time. Before nightfall, and the start of the festivities, I was able taste a new Scotch - Craigellachie 13.

He's a Speyside whisky, and of an unusual age apparently, as 13 is often considered unlucky. Another unusual thing about this guy is the use of "worm tubs" in the distillation. These long snake-like tubes help impart a deeper flavor into the whisky than one would expect for the age. 

This is an older process of distilling whisky, and most have moved on from it. It seemed fitting to be tasting a Scotch made in the way of an older tradition while honoring the equinox in an older way as well.

At first, before the water, I thought his nose light and fruity. I did sense a small bit of smoke, and on tasting I noticed an acidic bite. 

To be fair, I couldn't really focus on really getting to know Craig. I was so excited and distracted by the atmosphere and energy of the event that I didn't really give him my full attention. Also, the ball jars aren't the best tasting glasses I realize, so I may have to plan another day with him. He was very interesting though, despite my flighty mood. There was a flavor to him I couldn't really identify, but it was different than I have noticed in others. He was complex, but still maintained a light quality. It really was great to meet him.

When the elements of ritual, ceremony and tradition are at play it opens up a space for a certain kind of magic to happen. Perhaps it is a synergy where the things that are familiar help us find a sense of communion and grounding, while the pieces that are unique catch our attention and bring us joyful delight. It is in these moments, the best memories are made.

I experienced one of those moments at this festival: The weather was perfect with the awesome fire blazing at the center of a sand circle. A dozen or so drums were pulsing rhythms into the air, and the community of kind, accepting people were all around. My senses were heightened; the air had a slight chill, but the heat of the fire kept my muscles and my soul relaxed. At one point I had raised my hand up while dancing and felt a single rain drop in the center of my palm...it was beautiful.

I was outside dancing, with drums, fire and friends. So much perfect...and then one of the band folks left the drum circle to play a short tune on the bagpipes - and my perfect overflowed into exquisite magic. It was all of the elements, all of the things that I loved and were nourishing to my deepest self, all present in a glorious mix of comfortingly familiar, and excitingly distinct. 

It is moments like these that become the stuff of myths, legends and future fireside stories forever. Blessed Be

Mabon - Part 1: Standoff

I went to a Mabon festival this weekend.  A pagan holiday that marks the Autumn Equinox, Mabon is a harvest festival. It is the time to acknowledge the transition into longer periods of dark vs light. From this point until the Winter Solstice, the days will grow shorter and the nights will grow longer. Despite the turn to longer darkness, it is a celebration of the fruits of our labors.

The Boys From That Band were the entertainment for the evening. They are a fun group of musicians that play alternative Celtic rock. They have a more steampunk themed song about a magical airship. "We never know where we'll go until we're finally there..." Take a listen to Professor James and feel the joy of freedom from expectation:

At the festival I tried a new Scotch, but I also had a chance to put Caol Ila to the test in my first side-by-side tasting. A friend of mine knew of my recent interest in Caol and offered to bring what remained of his bottle to the festival so I could meet him again - this time next to Talisker Storm.

 
We were camping, so we were using 8oz ball jars at a picnic table for the tasting. The small cooking fire crackled nearby, paying homage to one of one of my favorite flavors in a Scotch.

In color, there was an immediate difference. Caol Ila was much paler that Talisker. I noticed a harsher and more floral nose in the Caol than I did when I first met him. I didn't sense the usual strong smoke from Talisker, but I think it was partly the glass. After adding the water, Caol's nose seemed more fruity, and the taste was good, but there were flashes of flavors that I did not like. For a brief moment something reminded me of the smell of hospital plastic. Thankfully, that faded quickly.



Talisker...was as wonderful as I remembered him. Smoky, sweet, spicy, and alive.

Caol really didn't seem to be much competition after all...but how could I have thought them so close the other day, when it was just him that I was tasting?

There is something that happens when you become familiar with a flavor, or a circumstance, or probably even a person. I call it the pleasure of familiarity. It is said familiarity can breed contempt, but there is also comfort in it (at least for a time). It's the stuff of home court advantage, and the flip side to expectation.

When something is new and we are still learning about it, expectations can be "premeditated disappointments." But after we already know a thing, a different kind of expectation settles in. When we know something, we expect it to continue being as we know it, and that is the pleasure of familiarity. 

It's the satisfaction of an expectation - 

the expectation that a thing we enjoy remains as we know it to be.

The more familiar we are we something,

the stronger this effect can be. I think this is a big reason why, when placed side-by-side, Caol seemed much different than I remembered. While I'm sure he is a fine and fun fellow, I think at our first meeting I was only picking up on the aspects of him that reminded me of the one I am most familiar with - that being Talisker.  But when the original creator of the familiarity of those flavors was available for immediate comparison, the subtle differences became vast and undeniable. 

This begs the question though - do we enjoy something in and for itself, or do we enjoy it because it is familiar and therefore satisfying of expectation? And if the latter, how far can something stray from true enjoyment before we realize it through the rose-colored glasses of familiarity? Or am I putting an unfair twist on the pleasure of familiarity; does it matter why we feel enjoyment from something or only that we do?

I think the answer, as with most things, lies somewhere in the middle. As the length of the days and nights wax and wane through the year, so does the effect of the familiar on our enjoyment of something. I believe the effect is powerful and honest, but it can delay the awareness of a fading pleasure. Something like how even after the Winter Solstice, when the days begin to grow longer again, the weather will still get colder at first. It takes time for the shift to bring the days and nights into balance again and allow for the warmth to return.

The Solstice is still months away, though, so we have only just begun our journey into colder days. For now, we celebrate the seasons, the harvest, and all the joys of life, no matter how fleeting they may be.

When Fallen Angels Fly

I was on a group retreat of sorts this weekend. We each had our own things we were working on, and different issues we hoped to gain some clarity on. There were, however, some common themes that ran through many of our journeys. One of these was the idea of brokenness. More specifically, the opportunity that can be found in our trials and tragedies for a breaking open - making room for growth or the chance to become something greater. 

The japanese art of kintsukuroi does just this, and it is a beloved metaphor for the alchemy of the heart. We can take what was is broken and lost within us and mend it with gold - becoming greater in value and more beautiful than before.

Patty Loveless sings here of Fallen angels and mended wings; if you can relate, break open a bottle and pour yourself a glass of golden elixir as I tell you of the tasting of Caol Ila 12.

My housemate and I had gone salsa dancing, and upon returning home decided to have a snack and some whisky. I introduced him to Talisker Storm since they hadn't met. For myself, I opened the second single-dram sample from the gift set my friend bought me.

Bringing the small bottle to my nose upon opening, I found that strong bacon smell, just like Talisker Storm had when I first met him. After pouring into the glass, the nose was softer with perhaps some fruity tones. The first sip and my immediate thought was silky. Caol Ila was smooth and hot; I was impressed.



Adding the water opened him up a bit, and I found him sweet and smoky, with a bit of briny flavor, and still so smooth. While I don't remember Talisker being smooth like that, in so many ways Caol reminded me of him. "Gosh," I thought to myself,  "if someone told me this was Talisker I was drinking, I would believe them."

As my housemate and I conversed over whisky and fruity-tasting avocado, the idea of "faking it till you make it" came up. He offered this nugget of wisdom:

"No one really knows how to do anything; we're all just faking it. But if you know how to start something, you have an advantage over most."

Is that true? Is that the key to succeeding at anything - just jumping in and figuring it out as you go? It may very well be. Something I've learned in life is that you need to set goals, and start down a path to reach them. Another thing I've learned is that life will almost always make that road shift, and you better be ready to change your goals.


It's a fine, faded, and sinuous line between which is the better quality on this journey - determination or flexibility.  And it's that very elusive line that life challenges us to travel on.

Something can seem so sure and real and lasting, and then we come around a bend, and our entire perspective has shifted. What seemed entirely un-doubtable becomes suddenly that, and as the small cracks form in our faith, our confidence, and our resolve...we have a choice.

Do we leave the broken dreams there in the dust, or do we carry on with them, and fill the cracks with gold?

I'm not ready to move on from Talisker quite yet, but as I more frequently am finding Scotches that I want to explore further, I realize part of his mystique is being challenged. I at least need to taste these two side by side; the similarities to me are too close. Talisker was right there, and I could have done it then, but since this was my first meeting with Caol, it didn't feel right. I think Talisker has more of sarcastic bite to him - Caol is probably smoother, and Talisker may be a little deeper in complexity, but I'm not entirely sure which of the two I would prefer. 

 

It's been a while since I bought a bottle to take home with me, but this one is next in line for sure. One step at a time on this journey, and I'll see where it takes me.

Bowmore Tempest

A dear friend of mine gifted me with an Islay Scotch tasting sampler from Master of Malt. There are five separate individual drams - only one of which I've already tasted.

So this begins a short series in single-dram-bottle samplings. Quiet nights at home with the music, myself, and the Scotch-of-the-evening. Tonight the lucky fella was Bowmore Tempest - 10 year old - Batch 5. I'll admit the "Tempest" in the name is what got me on choosing him to be the first. 

I've been hearing a lot of great music lately that I've wanted to share, in case you haven't heard. Cozy up with your chosen dram and listen to Song for Zula by Phosphorescent:

The lyrics begin with talk of fire, as the first scent of Bowmore calls to mind - with the solid peat that reminds me of Talisker Storm. In the glass, Bowmore is a pretty golden color. As I took a moment to get to know his nose, I lost the sense of the smoky for a bit. There seemed to be an overtone of (dare I say it?) ... acetone.  Nail polish remover? That wasn't a hopeful first meeting thought. The scent also had a hint of sweetness as well, though. I swirled the glass, hoping the sweet smoke would drown out the more unpleasant associations, and I took my first sip.

Before he barely touched my tongue I tasted spice, and quickly after, a melt-in-my-mouth warmth that washed away all sense of anything else. Then the spicy hit again at the end. This was all before any water was added; after a few drops I didn't notice much change, although I tasted a creamy vanilla note. Adding a wee bit more water still didn't make a big difference, but the smoky scent and flavor seemed to return.

I found Bowmore to have a very clean finish, once the melting sensation was gone, not much was left to linger.  He reminded me of some of the other, stronger lads I've tried - Octomore and Corryvrecken. Bow isn't quite as strong as either of those, but at 55.9%, he comes very close.  As our conversation continued I found notes of pepper, and was distinctly aware of the ever-present heat of him.

I've heard that if you leave a Scotch sitting for a bit, it allows more of its flavors to come through...so I took my time with Bowmore, pausing for long stretches of time between sips to see what else might be revealed.

It's all so personal. The way we taste the flavors, of course, but the way we describe them as well, and so much of it is directly dependent on our mood. Just as a favorite Scotch might seem off-putting and unfamiliar in certain states of mind, so can an average one seem more alluring if the stars align and the setting is right.

I pondered these things as the music played and found myself quite enjoying the nuances of Bowmore. I found that his nose had a soft smoke:

Like coming upon the last embers on a beach walk, in the early morning at sunrise, - the sea-salt breeze playing cats cradle with the remnants of firesmoke from the night before - twirling it in and out of perception.  

There is a beautiful moment when something clicks. Often involving a comprehension of sorts - whether it be of a joke, a logical problem, or a physical or artistic endeavor that one has worked at mastering for years - this moment of settled clarity is truly awesome.

It can be as simple as the moment of having something on the tip of your tongue, just out of reach, and then finally recalling it. Or in writing, it can be the moment when you find the exact right word or phrase to describe what you are wanting to express.

And sometimes that moment is in the shift that happens when you have finally let go of something or someone that you had held on to for far too long. A spell is broken. Or a spell is cast. Whether the beginning or ending, once something clicks - it's rare that you can ever go back. Take a listen, and let B.B. King explain...

When I finished the dram of Bowmore, there was a taste of sweet salty smoke that remained. I've finally settled into identifying that certain flavor I have tasted as brine - or sea salt. It's a flavor note I love to have in my Scotch. 

Bowmore was lovely, but he wasn't my Talisker. A sweet Islay I would enjoy dancing with again, but lacking a certain depth and balance that I find in the Storm. And so the journey continues...