Dark Storm, Dark Night

Time has shifted. Times have changed. The world is not the same. And yet, still, there can be a returning. It's not that I haven't had the taste of a lad's company at all in this time, it's just that for so long the soul of it all seemed to be ... missing. 

A while back now, a friend of mine happened to meet a new fellow. This was a lad I knew of and had tried to cross paths with, but to no avail. My friend, knowing how much I longed to meet this particular lad, took measures to make it possible. And so I came one evening to find myself alone with my beloved's brother - Dark Storm.

We spoke briefly, this elusive lad and I, and I was intrigued. He stayed with me for a time, but I didn't have the space to really sit down and get to know him. At least not until now.

What was different? What shifted on this singular evening to open the invitation into a deeper intimacy with a lad who had been around for months and months? I'm not sure if I can say. Maybe it was the moon or the stars, maybe it was a divine calling I finally could hear, or maybe it was simply the muse - deciding on just a whim - that tonight would be the night.

But there is a fine, faded line between the muse's call and the divine's. I'm not entirely convinced they are not one in the same. St. John the Baptist wrote a poem hundreds of years ago about the call of the divine and the hidden way it works in a soul. It has been called the Dark Night of the Soul. Loreena McKennitt lent to this poem the haunting beauty of her voice and so I offer it here: if you are lost, in a dark place, or simply craving the inspiration and passion you know life must hold for you somewhere - light a candle, pour a dram, and listen to this story... 

Whatever the cause, there was no denying what my senses were telling me - that this night was special. And I felt a deep drive to protect the sacredness that seemed to be shimmering on the edges of my awareness. There has been so much heartache and confusion lately and to trust in the hope of something different was simply terrifying. My eyes closed, wanting to blur the harsh truth of reality into the gentler truth of the heart - which sometimes is more painful in its poignancy.

And yes, something was different - but only for the sake of time. Because as I sat, with candle, music, and a fiery dram of a lad in hand, breathing the scent of him in gently - one word floated to the top of my mind ... homecoming. And soon to follow was a sense of welcoming - a warmth, love, and memories. 

I spent long moments exploring his nose. It reminded me of Storm's smoke. But unlike a roaring blaze, Dark Storm brought to mind instead the potent tendrils rising from red-hot embers, and the afterglow of a night well-lived. 

Scent of a smokehouse and peppery sea spray mingled with hints of apple and a touch of sour. 

I realized I was feeling shy. I took my time before bringing my lips to the glass. Had it been too long? There was magic here once and I had forsaken it, unconsciously. How could I know if my return would be welcome? 

There is sometimes a resistance to returning - even when we know we want to, we need to. Perhaps it's the underlying fear that we'll once again have to leave that which we love. 

But with my first small sip, the chill in the winter's air warmed in my glass immediately, and I found myself smiling and trusting - such a forgotten feeling. 

Dark storm had a buttery, shallow flavor at first. But as we spoke, I realized there was more to him. A whiff of ash here, a sense of sea salt there. After adding a bit of water, he showed me his sweet side, softening a bit and becoming playful and fruity. He had all the layers of complexity of his fairer brother's. But there was something else.

As the conversation continued, I discovered a hint of bitterness in his demeanor. At one time, this would have turned me off. But now, in these times, after these days, understanding gathers up discomfort like a nest. And I have learned that bitter notes often don't mean what I think. There is something nourishing and healthy within the bitter, just as there is within the darkness.

Perhaps it is the rich truth of deep authenticity - which can be a balm for the heart's pangs of poignancy. Dark Storm spoke to me of imperfections integrated, saying yes, this is where my fault lines lie. I neither wallow in them nor gloss them over. Take me as you will. 

There is power in returning. We can find it in traditions, rituals, ceremonies. And in the way our hearts resist. I suspect that sometimes it's not the fear of having to leave again that gives us pause, but the deep knowledge that truly, once we return, we will never at all be able to leave again. 

Winter's Night

Having been reunited with Talisker, I was enjoying having him at home with me on these winter nights. But for a woman who hates the cold, winter can lead to stir-craziness. So, when a friend of mine invited me to a whisky mixer, I jumped at the prospect. There would be lots of folks and lots of new lads to meet. Naturally, I brought Talisker along to the festivities.

Besides great conversation and new whisky to meet, there was a beautiful pot-luck spread of delicious foods. It turns out it was the host's birthday, so there was also chocolate cake. We lined up all of the bottles in general order of strength and smokiness. Talisker was at the smoky end, second only to a new Lagavulin brother I had yet to meet.

Winter nights have long been a source of inspiration and stories. There's a song that I've recently learned that speaks to this. The lyrics mention drinking wine, but I'm sure Scotch would suffice for the same purposes. Hopeless romantics everywhere, grab a dram of your best and listen to Kent Gustavson's version of Rovin' on a Winter's Night:

I started with Knob Creek, the first in the line-up. A bourbon in a short bottle, he was mild and sweet. He had a bit of a bite, like burnt sugar and a little bit of salt and pepper to him. While I was chatting with KC, I met Margaret who was actually on her first official whiskey date. Having never really met any of the Scotch lads, bourbons, or Irish whiskeys, she was jumping in with both feet and having introductions to all of them this evening. I briefly reminisced on my first whisky tastings, and assured her she would have a wonderful time.

There were a couple of other bourbons besides Knob Creek, and even though I knew I wouldn't really hit it off with any of them, I didn't want to be rude. So, I introduced myself to all of them, in turn. Old Forester was distinguished looking in his simple, straightforward bottle. He was mild and kind, but I didn't spend much time with him before moving on.

Next there was a local fellow from Kopper Kettle. He and his brothers were at the Women Who Whiskey event back in November, but I didn't really get a chance to speak with them. His nose was a bit floral with notes of cream. I enjoyed our chat and he was sweet, of course, as most bourbons are. I also noticed a musk overtone and hints of pine. Overall he was a lovely gentleman.

While I was getting to know the last of the bourbons in the line up, I met one of the other guests at the gathering. Aaron, a true bourbon fan, told me fun stories from his childhood growing up in Kentucky. We exchanged praises of our favorite liquors, and when I told him of my love for Talisker, he admitted that he wasn't much for the Scotch lads.

This made sense though, since the distillery was such an integral part of the area he grew up in. During Christmas time, he and the other children would travel there to meet and take pictures with Santa. You can't really compete with the notstalgia of childhood memories when it comes to picking a favorite spirit. When I asked his personal favorite? Aaron had a hard time choosing, but picked 4 Roses Bourbon. Sadly, that particular whiskey wasn't at the party, but I made a mental note to keep an eye out and have a chat with him should our paths cross.

Next up was a very exotic specimen. The tallest and thinnest of the line up was Brenne French Single Malt. I didn't even know you could find a single malt from France. I didn't think they did that kind of thing in the country, but there he was, looking smart with his blue label and standing proud with his neck stretching far above the others.  I doubt I'd find the chance to meet such a one as him again, so this was a wonderful opportunity. He was very different from any of the other single malts I've ever tried.

A fresh pineapple and banana nose flowed into a soft and complex flavor of fruity vanilla. Adding water strengthened his nose and revealed more flavors such as citrus and peanut. It almost made me think of juicy fruit gum. He was lighthearted and shy - very surprising, but such a delight to chat with.

It was time for birthday cake, and I thought it would be wise to take a break and enjoy some of the fantastic looking food. There were still several lads to meet, and I knew things would get interesting. I realize that Lagavulin 16 didn't impress me much, but I was fond of his younger brother - the 8 year. So, all night at this party I couldn't keep myself from eyeing their older brother, the Double Matured Distiller's Edition. At the end of the line, next to Talisker Storm, the Lagavulin stood patient and nonchalant; but I couldn't wait to meet him...

End of the Jedi

The end of year holiday season always brings a bustle of activity. Parties, shopping, travel, family, decorating, baking, eating, drinking...

It's quite the whirlwind, even for the most grounded of people. And being grounded is not something I'm usually accused of. Even though I've been working on simplifying my life, I did not quite escape the frenzy. However, as I found myself whisked about here and there between the currents of traditions, obligations, and nostalgia, I was somehow able to maintain a sense of calm through it all.

One of the highlights for me from the past couple of weeks was seeing the new Star Wars movie - The Last Jedi. In listening to bits of the soundtrack, I stumbled upon a young composer who writes his own music in the style of various popular culture themes. This poignant piano piece touches that calm, soft place within that is perhaps what allows us to find guiding stars in the swirling night: End of the Jedi by Lucas King.

I met with a few friends at the new Alamo Drafthouse. I had never been to one of these movie houses before, and I was looking forward to being served a dram directly at my seat while I watched the story of the Resistance unfold.

The theatre was bedecked appropriately with a blow-up R2D2 and Darth Vader and a Christmas tree covered in various Star Wars themed ornaments with several mini light sabers, to boot. There were also several fans dressed in various costumes milling about.

I had read the menu ahead of time and was excited to enjoy the company of a good ol' Islay - Oban 14. When we originally met I knew that nothing significant would come of it, but it was good to reconnect with him -  a stout and smoky lad. The lights went down before I had a chance to snap a picture, but he was a warm and delightful companion to watch the movie with.

A couple of days later, it was time for Potter's Craft Cider's annual Wassail. This event is a young tradition that I am proud to have been a part of since its creation, four years ago. In past years it has been very rainy, but this year the sun was shining and the skies were clear. It was cold, but more brisk than bitter - the perfect weather to enjoy the last bit of autumn with the fresh scent of apples and cider drifting in the air.

  

This perfect day was made more so by the delicious food provided by Bo Hatchet Catering. This was my first time trying their food, and I was thoroughly impressed. Their veggie option was butternut squash soup, topped with cream and roasted sage, and served with jalapeño corn bread. It was superb.

For drink, I opted to go with Potter's Craft Highland Cider, which is aged in VA distillery's Highland Malt Whisky barrels. Those barrels initially hold bourbon as it ages, then the sweet seasoned wood is filled with whisky brewed and distilled in Scotland, and finally the barrels give of themselves again to age the cider.

I sipped slowly, and contemplated the molecular level swirls of interactions - between whisky, wood, and cider. The sun began to set, and I found myself in one of those moments of calm. Grateful for the nourishing comfort food, the music, the friends, and the festivities - I marveled at the beauty of tradition and connection.


That same night was a work party that I wasn't exactly excited about attending, but I promised one of my coworkers that I'd introduce her to a Scotch. The menu wasn't extensive, but Glenlivet would be there. I knew he was a decent enough lad to enjoy a conversation with, and I thought he was also mild enough for a first timer.

The party was at Wild Wing Cafe and the kind waitress, Jeanie, obliged me by posing with the Scotch. She poured two drams and I brought one over to my friend. My friend took one small sip...and then walked the other way. She had no interest in him.

I sighed, remembering a phrase I often say: you don't develop a taste for whisky until the burn of your life makes the burn of the whisky pale in comparison. I wouldn't say she's had an easy life, but she is young yet and clearly not ready for the whisky.

I also drank a beer that night - Goodwood's Bourbon Barrel Stout. It was quite delicious, and again I thought of those currents that run between. I wondered if the barrel used to age the beer I was drinking then might have also crossed paths with any of the other spirits I'd had in the past days.

The next week things ramped up: to-do lists grew while the time passed quickly. Thankfully, life - as does nature - provides us up with opportunities for balance. As I swirled through the days and activities, I found myself tapping into a deeper rhythm. Like the eddies in rivers and rapids, the hectic pace of our days naturally will ebb and flow, and if we pay attention we can catch those little calm spots where sometimes the current stands still or even flows back.

There are respites built into the fabric of things, if only we decide to find them. 

I found one of these eddies at an impromptu meeting with another friend of mine. We stopped by BJ's, a new taphouse in town, and it turns out they had a Scotch I hadn't yet tried - Glenfiddich 14 - Bourbon Barrel Reserve. I also ended up running into another friend I hadn't seen in a while, completely randomly.

It reminded me of how we need to make space in our life for the hands of serendipity to reach us. It's not just for our sanity that we must find the eddies amongst the rapids, it's for our greater destinies. It's in the calm and gentle swirls of quiet moments with friends, with our thoughts, with our dreams - that's where we find the resources to leap back out into the fray and continue on our journeys.

Perhaps it was the influence of the season, but this Glen tasted a bit like Christmas to me. The smoke and spice were there, but also a bit of salt or brine, and a hint of pine. 

The next day I traveled back home. I found that even the time spent there, while generally hectic and overwhelming, did not seem to unsettle me as much as it usually did. In fact, I had a wonderful time seeing family and friends, filled with laughter and love.

On Christmas morning I was surprised and warmed by the sight of Talisker Storm under the tree - he had come home to me, and I was so happy to see him.

Perhaps it is the impending end of the year or perhaps it is the poignancy of traditions, in general. But it seems there are pauses and moments that want us to find them. Those little safe havens amidst the rapids of life that we long for - somehow also seem to long for us. Don't deny those moments, because then you deny yourself, as well. Go to them, take a bottle of your favorite dram, and rest in those spaces before heading out into the rapids of life again.


 

I Could Write

Recently, I was introduced to the singer, Ayla Nereo. I've come to love her songs for their upbeat, yet sometimes haunting melodies and also her thoughtful lyrics. I found this one song of hers, I Could Write, that speaks to me as a sort of stream-of-consciousness processing. Partly the process of writing, but more so the process of understanding events and making sense of this mixed up adventure of life.

Should you find yourself in a thoughtful mood, perhaps feeling a bit lost amidst the ways of loving and learning - find yourself a friendly dram and sip along, finding comfort in knowing you are not alone.

Although not in this one, there is mention of the moon in many of her songs. The moon has always been a source of comfort for me. We take it for granted, of course, but what magnificent miraculous beauty is this glowing orb that graces our skies! For those of us who are feeling creatures - sensing the emotions and thoughts of others, drawn to interaction and understanding, absorbing all - the moon's gentle reflected light is a precious respite from the torrents that come.

I think part of this comfort lies in the cyclical nature of her phases. Full moons are generally the most popular, but they fade. Yet they do so gradually, and when the new moon's darkness leaves our nights devoid of light, we can be sure that the waxing will return the radiance to us once again. Wouldn't it be lovely if more things in life were like this? What solace might we find, at each closing of a wonderful experience or relationship, in the certainty that it will come around again?

A week had passed after festival before I finally made it to the store to see Talisker Storm. Surely he would be back by now. I just assumed, and I didn't even consider the possibility that he might not be there.

When I entered the store I saw that they were doing tastings of Dr. Stoner's vodka and whisky. I was intrigued, and decided to meet this young gentlemen. Crystal, the woman hosting the event, told me a little about them as I tasted. Upon first sip of the smoky herb whiskey, I was delightfully surprised. He seemed like a very cool character. 

Crystal mentioned that he is quite popular with folks who like Scotch. I smiled, and started to tell her of my journey. We chatted for a bit as I got acquainted with the Doc. Then we said farewell and I went to find my beloved...but he was not there.

Things were more serious than I had originally thought. There wasn't much I could do though - if he wasn't there, he wasn't there. I considered buying a bottle of Dr. Stoner's, but it was too soon. So I left the store and went about my business. 

Another week went by, and another phase of the moon arrived. A friend I hadn't seen in a while wanted to meet for a whisky. He recently had heard of a mysterious speak-easy downtown, so we ventured there to find it. Sadly, it turned out that it had closed a long time ago.

So we ended up at Fellini's, where a new bartender was serving the drinks. Justin was very friendly and helpful. They had a limited number of Scotches there, but when he told me of Glenfiddich, I remembered the lovely meeting with him right around this time last year.

My friend and I chatted, and then another friend joined us. The three of us caught up and talked about dancing, relationships, and adventure. All the while I enjoyed the company of Glenfiddich.


Although the Islays and Talisker are my favorites, I would be lying if I said I didn't have a soft spot for the Speyside lads. They might not make things too exciting, but they always seem to make the night enjoyable.


He was as delightful as I remembered. A little bit of spice to highlight his sweet nature proved him quite balanced. And he was grounded in the slight hint of smoke and perhaps the faintest bit of ash. He's a lad I know I can count on and I hope to get to know him better.



Our conversations soon ended - between myself, the lad, and my friends - and we all went our separate ways. Walking back to my car on that mild autumn night, I saw the glorious moon in all her splendour, so I stopped for a while to enjoy the sight. 

After that night the swells of life carried me off to places where I had little time to worry about Talisker Storm, or even spend time with any of the other wonderful Scotches I've met.

But just as the moon, many things do tend to come around again...  The other night a friend messaged me to let me know that Talisker Storm was at the Whisky Jar. So we made plans and met up there a few nights later.

To be honest, I wasn't even sure how I felt about seeing him. Was his absence from the store a sign that I should move on and find another? Or should I have faith that he will return. I would love to have him home with me through the cold winter nights, but I know better than to trust too deeply in sands that are shifting.

Regardless of what musings I pondered for our future, that evening I decided to invite Talisker Storm to be with me at the bar, while I chatted with my friend. He was wonderful, of course. The smoky salt nose, the sweet spicy character, all of the complexities and traits that I love dancing on my tongue in perfect balance. "If I have to find another," I thought, "it is not going to be easy."

Enjoying the quiet sips of Talisker, reveling in the reunion, I continued the conversation with my friend. It was a great night overall and a much needed break from the busy rhythm that has dominated my days.

The full moon had returned again, and I thought of her cycles, her steadfast returning again and again. We humans have patterns we tend to follow as well, it seems, even if they are not as regular or obvious.

The best we can do is try to notice them, and understand them, and hopefully learn from them. A line from Ayla's song goes, "...and in the dark I see the spiral of my trail..."

Perhaps that is another comfort of the moon - to bring us just enough light in the darkness to see where we have been, and to know where we are going. Be it in cycles or spirals, without or within, the journey continues.

What the Water Gave Me

Some time ago, I had this notion of learning to live life by embracing the chaos. It was a simple enough deduction - life had proven chaotic and unpredictable, and fighting against it proved fruitless time and again. So I asked myself - what if I just lean into it?  It's a lot like the eye of the storm, or surfing a wave. The chaos is a given, and you can't escape it, but the surest way to make it harder and more miserable for yourself is to try to fight it.

It's a lesson I often forget, but life kindly reminds me - time and time again. I've recently moved, am still trying to get a new business off the ground, have started a few other creative projects, and also...I'm approaching a milestone birthday that I'm not quite sure about. Right on time, life steps in with the reminder...and while embracing it may have worked at one time, I think it's time to step up the game.  I am now learning to surf the chaos.

 

In alignment, this post is a bit chaotic in nature. It's been a long time since my last post, and I have been questioning which path this journey should continue on. I am fairly certain that I will remain constant to my adoration of Talisker Storm...yet...there still seems to be unexplored horizons calling.

In honor of chaotic mystery, here is a taste of one of my favorite artists, Florence and the Machine. If you've never heard her music before, I am honored to introduce you. She's a passionate muse herself, and I invite you to take a spicy dram that challenges your status quo and let the spirit and the song sweep you into that beautiful dervish where imagination and the moment collide...

My tasting has been long overdue, and I had to make my way to the Alley Light to have another showdown between two of my preferred Scotches, continuing to narrow down the competition for my beloved. The options at the bar presented me with a clear pair to test side by side: Talisker 10 and the young Lagavulin 8.

There were bartenders there I didn't recall meeting before. Micah ended up pouring my drams for the evening. He seemed unsure of my purpose there that night, but he was kind and obliging to my requests for pictures.

 

I suspected this would be an easy pair to tell the difference between, and I was right. Their noses gave them away from the start. I never doubted which was which, but I still enjoyed comparing them with each other, and noticing the little things about them I may have missed in my previous meetings.

The Talisker was on the left, and his nose was much stronger compared to the Lagavulin. Bold, with the spicy sea smoke that reminds me of Storm. Iodine and vanilla notes crept in as well after we sat for a bit. The Lagavulin had a very muted and almost imperceptible nose at first, with a soft hint of nuttiness. To taste, the Talisker had the sharp smoky ash that is familiar to me. Lagavulin was creamy, with a spice at the end and a hint of sweetness.

As I began my chats with these lads for the evening, I realized that I was enjoying the Lagavulin a bit more. Talisker has a lot of similar traits to his cousin Storm, but there is something absolutely lacking. And it's all of the things together that have kept Storm my favorite all this time.


Pondering the subtle differences between these lads, and all the experiences to be found within a sip of Scotch, I recognized a bit of chaos in the act of tasting as well. Each sip is a virtual tornado of sensations and flavors that to the untrained can seem like an overwhelming cacophony. But leaning in, you can learn to discern the different nuances, as elements continue to reveal themselves in ever-unfolding layers - much like the experience of life.

The choice is always there: do we turn away or go towards? Do we grow or wither? Do we try to control the chaos or learn to ride its waves, and perhaps discover new heights we'd never achieve without it?

In tastings as well as living, we must expect that certain layers will be unpleasant. In my recent move, a plant that I own might have been traumatized beyond recovery. I've had this money tree since it was a wee 8 inches tall. It grew over the years into into a 5-foot plus thriving example of flora. It's huge 5 petaled leaves and entwined branches became a constant companion of my dwelling, always welcoming me home after a long day or a stay away, and greeting me in the mornings with gentle reminders to feed and water it.

During the move, the tree accidentally got left outside in the too-hot sun for a few hours, and by the time I realized what had happened, most of its leaves were bleached white or half burnt to a crisp. It was such a sad sight to see. I took it inside and have been trying to nurse it back to health; while I was slighlty hopeful at first, as the days go by, the prognosis does not look so good. Its leaves are slowly falling off, one by one. I hear them throughout my day, gently falling onto the floor, whispering a subtle shudder of release.

As the metaphor becomes apparent, I wonder - when is it time to let go? Is this a shedding to allow for new growth, or a helpless clinging to life? Time will tell for sure. And I will do what I can in the meantime, raising a dram to the honor of this tree and life it has lived.



I continued to compare the Scotches at the Alley Light; After adding water they didn't change too much, but opened up a little. Talisker revealed a banana scent, and Lagavulin's earthy notes came forward more. The water seemed to intensify the spiciness of Talisker, and as I continued the conversation I discovered a center layer that reminded me of a Ferraro Rocher candy. It was like a crisp shell of spice breaking open to reveal the sweet creamy center and, like the hazelnet at the center, a strong presence, like a pepper-nut. And just as quickly as it came, that flash of flavor was gone. Such is the way with these tastings.

Lagavulin was darker, richer, sweet and warm. Of the two, he is the one I prefer, and I will one day have him beside Talisker Storm to see if he can compare. To be honest, I doubt that he will, but you really never can be sure. Life is unpredictable, of course, and we never know what the next wave will bring. Good riding to you on your journey - Sláinte!

 

Storm vs Uigeadail

It has been a year since I started the journey for the perfect scotch. While I have discovered many enticing lads in this time, I still hold Talisker Storm close to my heart. For those scotches that have come close to replacing him, I've decided it is time to truly put them to the test and do blind tastings, side by side. This series of standoffs began the other night, after I went to a dance class in one of the styles I have longed to learn for years.

I grew up familiar with flamenco dancing and the fiery spirit of duende that infuses Spanish culture. At family gatherings, dancing was a constant; although we didn't know the steps or patterns of actual flamenco, we all honored our heritage well - never lacking in passion and soul. Most of the women in my family had at least one traditional decorative doll styled as a flamenco dancer with beautiful ruffled dresses and silky, fringed shawls that draped elegantly over their shoulders. Each was different, but all were beautiful. 

To one degree or another I've always wanted to learn flamenco, and have searched for classes on and off through the years to no avail. Recently however, with the help of a couple of friends and perhaps some providence, I found out about a teacher offering flamenco dance classes at a studio here in town. I'm excited to learn and would love to study it seriously and make it an integral part of my life. This is a part of my heritage that calls to me strongly, and it seems I'm finally able to listen...

If by some chance you are unfamiliar with flamenco, here is one of the many examples that gives a good sampling of the dancing, song, & soul - filled with the passion that is so integral to this tradition.

Whisky Jar is the only bar in town that I can find both Talisker and a wide selection of other scotches. I've been there several times before to meet new lads, and I expect the bartenders there will be seeing a lot more of me in the coming months.


The first challenger was Ardbeg Uigeadail who I met in February. I was excited, but also nervous. What if I couldn't recognize Storm, and what if I liked Uigeadail better? My commitment to know my true favorite led me on though.


John, the bartender, poured me a dram of each and, at my request, did not tell me which was which. I took them both outside and began the conversation.

I began with the one on the left - and found his nose to be like the sea brine, sweet, with fire and spice. I thought immediately that this was the Storm. The one on the right had a milder nose that was hard to sense and seemed more astringent and medicinal.

I took time to taste each slowly, alternating and sipping water in between to keep my senses fresh. Before adding water, the one on the left was strong, spicy, and creamy. I tasted smoke, a bit of ash and a slightly bitter finish. The right side dram was sweet, smooth, and a little spicy. I tasted cinnamon, and on the finish - citrus.

I added equal drops of water to the two glasses, and approached them both again: the nose for the left one softened and unveiled a sweet, peppery, vanilla aroma. On the right the nose did not seem much different except for a hint of brine.

Something that I realized as the conversation progressed is that I did not sense the very strong smoke that I usually do with Storm; this, coupled with the fact that I had remembered Uigeadail being very strong (which the one on the right was not), made me wonder if my first impression was wrong.

Perhaps the one on the right was Talisker - and did not really stand up in depth and character to the Uigeadail when in such close proximity.


I pondered this, but then tried to push those thoughts out of my head. I wanted to experience them both as if it were the first time with them - no preconceived notions or expectations - just honest, authentic reactions. Which, in this moment, did I prefer?

Keeping this in mind, the tasting continued: I found flavors of pepper, ginger, sea salt, and pineapple in the one on the left. On the right, I tasted creamy sweet vanilla, with hints of smoke and ash, spice, apple, and a citrusy lemon nuance. The right side dram was smoother but flatter; the dram on the left had a much nicer nose, a spicier and stronger finish, and was more complex.

As the bottom of the glasses got closer, and the conversation was drawing to a close, I was not confidant that the one I thought was Talisker Storm at the first sip, actually was. There were things I definitely liked better about the one on the right, and I had to really be present with them both, and myself, to decide which of the two I liked better. My thoughts drifted back to duende...

Something that is different about flamenco than most of the other types of dance that I've done is that it's so much more than just the steps, and the movement of the body for fun. Flamenco is a being onto itself - the music, the dance, and the song all come together in a synergy of expression - to tell a story. And unlike much performance dance, where plastering a large smile on your face is good form, this is not so with flamenco.

I once had a teacher years ago who, after I asked a question, suddenly blurted out a comment about how severe the expression on my face looked. I was quite taken aback, and not really sure of what he meant. In the years since, I've had many occasions of people misunderstanding my demeanor or expression - often thinking I was angry or stressed when I was not. Recently I've noticed that when I look at pictures of myself where I am not smiling, even I think the look is pretty intense. Watching videos of flamenco dancers, I think the same thing of them; their faces and my face, they are intense - they are filled with the all the passion, experiences, and emotions of life - and they tell a story, for those who are able to listen.

I realize this isn't for everyone, and I'm coming to a place where I am okay with that. A friend of a friend at the bar had a t-shirt on that conveyed this message in perfect metaphor:

I realize I like my whisky like I like my dance. I don't want just the simple, sweet, and straightforward enjoyment. I want the fire, the complexity, and the intensity too. I want my whisky to tell a story. During this standoff I became unsure as I sipped them in turn, one and then the other. Eventually, as I finished the last bits with each of them, I realized that I very much enjoyed the one on the right - and might choose him over the other on a hot summer day. But the deeper truth was, I preferred the one on the left - he was more intense, for sure, but it seems that's the way that I like it.

When I returned to John for the unveiling of the two drams' identities, he confirmed that the one on the left was Talisker Storm. I stayed true to my favorite...at least for another day.

Beltane

The fire festival of Beltane brought me to the woods again, to celebrate with friends and nature, and of course...with scotch and song. Beltane is the festival that celebrates fertility - of the land, of the livestock, of the people, and also of those people's dreams and goals.

I met a new scotch at the festival, and tasted my beloved Talisker Storm again for the first time in too long. It's intriguing how things can seem different with the passage of time. Most things change continually, of course, but even those things that don't - they generally seem to have shifted when we are away from them for enough moments. Because each moment generally alters us, if only in slight, imperceptible ways. Add enough of them to the mix, and our perspective may become completely different.

The first night I arrived just in time to set up my tent before sunset. The young moon was starting her decline for the evening as I collected my things to head down to the gathering.  I took a moment to pour myself a dram of Talisker Storm - he who I had missed. I opened the bottle slowly and approached him shyly, at first. It had been a long time, and I was afraid of what might have changed between us. His nose seemed unfamiliar at first pass, and within my chest apprehension swirled together with the excitement of reunion. His taste on my lips seemed different than I remembered, but within a few sips the warmth of his character and spice in his personality made me remember...all of the things I fell in love with were still there, and I was comforted by his presence once again.

I introduced him to folks who hadn't met him as I passed by groups of friends here and there. Most were impressed. The first night of festival is usually sparse, and it generally ends up being fairly low key. This seemed to be a fairly typical evening in that regard, and then suddenly the skies opened up with thunder and lightning, pouring rain all over the campground in a blessing fitting the season. All of the folks there gathered under the main tent and we felt the magic of community fill up the night as food and drink were passed around, and laughter and stories were shared. The storm calmed, but the rain kept to a steady fall, encircling the group of friends who also, for the most part, hadn't seen each other in too long.

The rest of the weekend ended up being dry, hot, and beautiful. The nights cooled down just enough to allow everyone to enjoy the bonfire - whether dancing, drumming, or just being there near the pulsing flames. On the last night, we had the pleasure of Kindred Crow's performance as the main headliner. Beautiful voices and a variety of instruments created an alchemy of sound that was both energized and mysterious - a perfect accompaniment to the fire and mood of the evening. Here is their song, Wild Green Magick:

A friend and fellow Scotch lover brought a bottle of a new one he had for me to meet. Glenkinchie 12 year. I hadn't heard of him, and we weren't sure where in Scotland he was from. It turns out he's one of the few remaining lads from the lowlands. The only other I had met from that region was Auchentoshen, but that was a long time ago.  We only had a short conversation, as there was much to be distracted by, but I found him warm, strong, and sweet. His nose had a light floral sense to it, and the flavors seemed complex to me. I tasted notes of lemon and vanilla, and was quite impressed by this lad, despite the lack of peat that I usually look for. He had a deep spice to his character and I felt he could truly hold his own. 

It was lovely to meet this Glen, and I'd like to have another conversation with him again one day, but Storm was there at this festival, and it had been so long... I wanted the fire of Beltane to fill all of my senses - 

to see the flames with my eyes, in all their magical colors; 

to hear the crackle and hiss, like music to my ears; 

to feel the heat, in waves upon my skin; 

to smell the smoke and ash, to my nose, from the fire and from the scotch; 

and finally to savor the taste upon my tongue - the particular flavor of fire, that with Talisker Storm, always comes. 

Blind Love

A friend has been telling me of this Whisky Bar out his way, so the other night I ventured out to meet him and his wife and a coworker of ours at Jimmy Madison's Southern Kitchen & Whisky Bar. It was a cold night, and we haven't had too many of those this winter, so it seemed surprising. Inside the bar it was warm and welcoming, however, and there was a great lively feel in the air.

We sat down and were greeted by our server, Becca. Looking at the whisky menu, I was disappointed to see that there wasn't a large Scotch selection, but at least Talisker was at the top of the list; not the storm, but the 10 year. I stopped for a minute and realized that he was actually the one who made me fall in love with Scotch. Although I give Storm the credit of being "the one that started it all," it was the sweet and bonfire-smoke taste of Talisker 10 that led me to Storm in the first place. Talisker 10 was the one who initiated me into this wonderful world and opened the door to the journey that has introduced me to so many more intriguing and delicious whiskies. 


When we first arrived, we weren't sure if a band was playing, but soon folks arrived to start setting up the stage. The group was Hard Swimmin' Fish, a classy blues band with old radio-show look. They were all dressed in shirts, ties, and hats. The stand microphones were retro style, and there was an antique radio set up as a speaker to an old-style telephone converted into a microphone. The lead singer would alternate between these mics, and the telephone gave such a cool sound to his voice or the harmonica. The whole setup was just very well done, and full of class and creativity.

One of the original songs they performed right before we left was called Blind Love. It's apparently the first part of a story that continues in a later song of theirs. One of the lyrics especially struck me: "It's those little imperfections, that are so often times, just a mirror reflection.." So think back to the first Scotch you ever loved, pour a dram if you have one nearby, and ponder on the different kinds of love...

It's been quite some time since I've had any of the Taliskers, so I was glad to see his brother at the bar.  I actually forgot to take a picture of the bottle while I was there, since we were sitting at a table for dinner, but here is one I found to show you what he looks like.  I was surprised when I saw him, because I forgot how reserved and classic his style is compared to the bright blue and image-filled trappings of Storm. He looks more like the older brother, the 18. Very refined.


Our lovely server, Becca was very helpful in helping us all figure out what we wanted off the menu. The rest of my party was drinking Bourbon, and the selection of that whisky style was quite long and varied. I think everyone was happy with their selection. For dinner I ordered a beet salad that was delicious, and the greens looked like a bunch of mini shamrocks to me - fitting for March I suppose.

The topic of synchronicity came up in our conversation, and that's a topic I've talked about over Scotch sipping before. It's an idea that fascinates and excites me, but many skeptical people would say that synchronicity is nothing more than coincidence - you notice what you pay attention to. The argument for this, I believe, is supported by the phenomenon that happens to many when they buy a new car, or something of the sort - suddenly everywhere they go they start seeing cars of that very same make, model, and color.

After we all took turns passing our glasses around the table to test out the nose of all the different whiskies, I turned my attention to Talisker. His nose had the perfect smokiness I expected, yet was softer than Storm's - not having that strong meat association. It was more bonfire than smokehouse, and I actually prefer that. All of the flavors I love showed up in the first sip - sweet, smokey, and a touch of brine. There's a reason why this whisky made me go all in when I first met him.

The thing about synchronicity, is that sometimes it's easy to recognize that it's just our attention heightened for a certain thing, but sometimes it truly seems out-of-the-blue and much more than just coincidence. Could it all be just what we're attuned to though? And maybe the difference is that sometimes the awareness is just so below our consciousness that it seems unconnected?

Usually when people talk about synchronicity, there's a positive connotation. But folks can become hyper-senstitive to things they don't like as well. Sometimes especially if they try to ignore it. This starts crossing into the territory of the Shadow - the idea that what we hate most in others is what we don't like about ourselves; as the lyric says: "those little imperfections...just a mirror reflection."

The real question, though, is - does it matter? If there is an explanation for why we're noticing something, does that make it less important? Our brains are wired to notice things that are helpful to us - that's how evolution and survival work. The best things and the worst things - we're designed to notice what will best enable us to live the life we want. 

On a deep level, whether mystical or not, there has to be some knowledge of the path that would best fit with who we want to be in this world. It's the connection to that knowledge that can wax and wane. I think that's why people so often enjoy synchronicity - it helps them feel connected to something that is at the same time deeper, but also more vast. We like to look back and find connections between events and decisions and find a path that leads us to a better place.

Nine months ago I met Talisker 10 for the first time - enough time ago to grow a whole new life. In some ways this journey has created a new life for me; I've met many new Scotches, and had many new experiences that I never would have if it were not for that first sweet, smoky sip of Talisker. And the journey continues...