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.

Trøllabundin

The first morning after the equinox I awoke in my tent to a cool morning, the air full of moisture. I suspected this was the new norm for the festival, being so close to the lake at the new campground. I thought of the balance between elements of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water. There seems to be a progression of their states - Earth is the most stable and heavy; Water flows and moves easier, but is still bound by gravity; Air moves quickly and freely, and Fire is the most chaotic and unpredictable. Fire is the quickest to bring about transformation, yet in its realm there is only a fine line to cross into destruction.

On the first night of festival, after the planned music for the evening ended, the night's breath seemed to hold for a space before turning. Echoing the shift of equinox, things were balanced in the moment, but we all knew that moment was fleeting. These are times between. Threshold times. Magic times.

It was in this moment that one of the women there, who I had yet to meet, picked up her simple round frame drum, and began to sing a song. She beat an urgent and steady rhythm while slowly moving around the fire. Passion filled her being as she sang the words in a language I had never heard. At one point she paused to tell us what the lyrics of the song meant.

"This song is about a woman who falls in love with a wizard. And this wizard lights a fire in her soul. And now the wizard has gone and left her...but the fire remains."

This image, alongside the visceral resonance of the melody she sang, sent shivers through me. I watched, captivated, as she continued with the different parts of the song. Lyrics dissolved to melody which then transmuted into primal and powerful sounds. 

Several people came to her by the next day and she decided to offer an impromptu workshop on the song. From what I understood, it is a song originally recorded by Eivør. Yet there is a suggestion that it is much, much older. It is a song sung to the fire, and clearly - as whenever you are working with the flames - it is not something you do lightly.

So if you so dare, and you feel a fiery movement in your soul, and you have a fiery dram in your glass...light a match in the darkness, and listen to Trøllabundin:

When she finished singing, everyone listening cheered and hollered. We were all moved, and it set the night off in a fantastic fashion. Starting a night with a song like that is bound to make it memorable. Among many of the awesome things that happened, was the meeting of many whiskies.

A friend of mine at the festival had recently begun to attempt his hand at crafting single malts. He had mentioned this to me weeks before the festival and told me of several lads, in fact, who would be coming along for the trip. Knowing they would be there lessened the sting of not having Talisker Storm with me. At least I'd meet some new fellas, and maybe have some fun with them.

Of course, all of these lads were way too young, and none were from Scotland, but they were all single malts. My friend tried six different recipes, and labelled them all to keep track. I was humbly delighted to see my image on one of the labels, in honor of my journey. He turned out to be one of my favorites.

The first night as folks danced around the fire, we shared and tasted the spirits we had with us. My friend poured samples of his crew and many people partook in the meeting. But there was music and song and passion all around, so it was hard to keep any organized sense of which we liked the best.

Also, I was quite impressed with several of these lads, and yet my friend did not believe the worth of his new endeavor. So we planned a blind tasting for the next day, where we would take the Irishman single malt that I had brought, and mix it in with the six new lads from his crew. I was determined to convince him that he must continue distilling this whisky. If they were making such an impression at a mere several months old, I could only imagine what a few years would do.

The weather was perfect. The cool wet morning had ripened into a gentle breeze that danced in and out of the wonderfully warm first day of autumn. Around dinner time, my friend and I (and his flock of fellows) gathered around my picnic table for the tasting. We tried to keep everything as objective as possible. The cups were lined up and we proceeded down the line, sipping each, and sharing our perceptions as we went.

I recognized a few of the lads from the night before. Two were considerably sweeter than the rest and of those, one had a little more complexity to him.  Two others had the earthy peat flavor - one considerably more gentle than the other.  Most of them I got along just splendidly with. There were a couple, perhaps, that I wasn't that interested in for anything long term; but none I would mind dancing around the fire with.

Something that was common with all of these lads was that adding water actually made them less appealing. I chalked that up to their young age. They were simply too young yet to develop the layers and depth that adding the water releases.

When we finished tasting them all and grouping them into categories we revealed which was which. To be honest, tasting and comparing seven different whiskies at once is a little much. I actually lost track of a few and in some ways their personalities blended in to one another.

The important thing, however, is that my friend realized that his favorite of the seven was one of his own. This means, he will keep pursuing this craft. I'm excited to meet some of these lads again, when they have a little more time in the world. Good things come to those who wait, or so I hear.

The process of experimentation is an interesting and thrilling one. There are so many unknowns, so much potential, and yet no matter how much time you spend and how much work you put in - an experiment is never guaranteed to yield good results. There is a fine line there, as well, between something going so right and so wrong. Just like a fire's line between transformation and destruction. In fact, it seems there is an inherent component of destruction, and of failure - within the nobler goals of creation and discovery.

In order to tread into these fires, one must be brave, determined, and unafraid of failure. And perhaps just a little bit mad.  It is a magical alchemy, the realm of wizards...and too the realm of love. Abandon all certainty, ye who dare to fall in love. For you may find yourself left alone, spellbound by the fire burning in your soul.

Mabon Part I - Nothing Else Matters

The night air shifts before the signs of Autumn are noticeable during the day. While the days can still be hot and full of force like any other time in the summer, the evenings grow cooler and longer. The night knows what is coming...and pays heed to the turning of the seasons.

The Mabon Autumn equinox festival is one of the two times I have during the year to escape to the woods and frolic among friends, fire, and faerie. It is always a mixed gathering of old friends, past lovers, and friends yet to be. I was very much looking forward to this much needed reprieve, and I was excited to bring a brand new bottle of Talisker Storm with me to share. Only, when I went to the store, he was not there.

The woman behind the counter told me they weren't expecting him to return; she called around for me to the other places, but to no avail...  He had gone off, without a word, and with no indication of when I could see him again. All this so soon after I finally admitted my true feelings, proclaiming him to be my perfect Scotch. I was a bit taken aback, and surely disappointed, but life has trained me to take things like this in stride. The journey continues, indeed...

So instead of my beloved, I took with me two of the lads that had been hanging around for a bit - the Irishman and Wasmund's. Not Scotches, but single malts from Ireland and Virginia. Another friend was also bringing a group of boys he wanted me to meet, so I knew there was fun in store. Even without Talisker Storm.

On the first evening, an impromptu gathering assembled around my picnic table. Friends and whisky lovers with cups and mugs of all sizes, and with them the gentlemen of various styles from many parts of the world. We laughed and chatted as the sun set over the lake, bringing a close to the equinox day. In conversation, someone mentioned the band Iron Horse. Classic rock and metal songs done in the style of bluegrass.  And why not? Who says certain combinations shouldn't be? I'm beginning to think that attitude simply denotes a lack of creativity...

So I checked out this version of one of my favorite Metallica songs. It was different, for sure, but it suited me. When you're riding the chaos, it seems the unexpected becomes the norm in life.

These thresholds are for crossing. 

If your dearest beloved has left or disappointed you, then find another and pour a dram. Listen to the song and sip slowly, tasting the unfamiliar flavors with an open mind for a different view. Listen to the familiar song in a new way, and forever trust in who you are... for Nothing Else Matters.

Among the offerings to try from friends were Crown Royal Caramel and a new dark and mysterious Highland Park who I had never heard of - Einar. He is from the warrior series that this distillery has released, to honor the viking history of their island. I was excited to meet him.

I only had a short time with him, with all that was going on, but I found him very interesting. He was sweet and pleasant overall, at times with a note of powdered sugar! But he had an edge as well once he opened up - spicy and powerful. He was no Talisker, for sure, but that one was no where to be found. I'd say Einar is one of the best Highland Parks I've had, and I would love to spend more time with him soon.


As the dark night stretched a farewell caress over her dearest day, the waxing moon rose in the sky. The music was starting down at the pavilion, and the fire was calling us to play...

This festival marked a new chapter for us. The campground these folks used to gather at, some for over fifteen years, had closed; the group and this new campground were strangers to each other, and so in many ways this was like a first date.  We could not have near as big fires as in the old place, but there was a great big beautiful lake, which was never a part of our festivals before. Some good, some sad. Such is the way of life, growth, and change.

The most important piece though, of course, is the community. The history of stories and shared experiences weave a thread through all of the festivals, in all of the places, and gathers with it pieces of each of our lives in the mix. The faces are the same, and some of the tents and rituals, so it wasn't that everything was unfamiliar. The two sides melded, like night and day do at sunset, into a beautiful expression of paradox - both, yet neither.

The duet that played that first night was lovely, singing songs of just the right style and energy. There was a vibe of giddiness as we hesitantly explored our new festival home. Happy, joyful, but just a bit cautious.

Surprisingly, we all seemed to find ourselves comfortably settling in. The night became alive with music and passion, singing and dancing. Things were not the same, but they weren't entirely different either. The new always has seeds of the old, and the old lends and informs the new, and the new learns and renews the old. These are the cycles, like those of nature that we gather to honor.

I think of wooden whisky barrels as they flavor the spirit, and then in turn are seasoned themselves; the flavors meld with each batch, so there bits of every cycle that came before. The wood flavors the whisky, the whisky flavors the wood, and again and again, as the seasons turn.

And this was only the first night...

There Will Never Be Another You

This has been a month of many things. Astrologers say it is a time of introspection and self-care. Of resting and finding the stillness amidst the inherent chaos of life, as we wait for the dust to settle. Like the morning glories that close themselves up at night - or the bears and squirrels that hibernate in the winter -  sometimes we need to withdraw from the world to build and conserve our energy, awaiting whatever adventures are in store just up ahead.

After a period such as this, the other night I finally made my way to the Whiskey Jar to try another pairing I've been anticipating - Laphroaig 10 and Octomore. I remembered being highly impressed by both of these lads, and it had been a while since I'd met them. To my happy delight, there was a jazz group performing at the pub, and I found a seat at the end of the bar right up near the music.

The group was called LG & Friends and apparently has rotating members. I got the impression that there are two constants when they perform: Lesly, the bass player and Nadine, the singer. Joining them that evening were Roger on guitar and Jim on the drums. I couldn't find a video of themselves performing, but here is a classic recording of one of the songs Nadine sang that evening, There Will Never Be Another You. Take a listen and enjoy a dram of one of your irreplaceable favorites:

Brett, a bartender I hadn't met yet, took my order and kindly allowed me to take his pic. Octomore and Laphroaig are such different lads in character and personality that I had no doubt I'd be able to tell them apart from each other, but I still asked Brett not to let me know which glass was which until the end.

The lad on the left had a sweet nose, with a peatiness and an overlay of smoke. In strong contrast, the one on the right's nose was a bit exotic - musky and astringent. I already had a strong suspicion that this was Octomore.

To taste, the Scotch on the left had a smooth character with soft edges. The right was clearly stronger and velvety, with notes of dark chocolate. When I originally met Octomore many months ago, his strength stood out beyond all of his other traits. On this recent evening, when the slightest sip had so much intensity, especially in comparison to the other, it left no doubt at all that it was Octomore on the right side of the pair. 

I continued the conversation with my two partners for the evening, and alternated my focus between them and the wonderful music being made behind me. Nadine's voice was rich and beautiful, and it was perfect for the style of music. I've always considered jazz to be one of the highest displays of skill for musicians, and I've always much preferred to listen to it live vs. on a recording. So much of the experience of the genre is found in the energy that the musicians convey, and in seeing how their personality comes out in improvised solos or embellishments to the songs.

I love the idea of groups like LG & friends - ones that regularly rotate in new folks to play with. I think people who make art and creativity a central part of their lives seem to thrive off new experiences. Collaborations between artists who don't usually play together can lead to some of the most amazing results. Shifting the status quo pushes us to reset our thinking, bringing us to that edge of comfort where chaos meets form - and lightning can strike. I suppose that is part of the reason why I keep seeking out new Scotches to meet. The allure of what wonderful things are yet to be discovered.

When I added a bit of water to the drams, I used more for the Octomore in an attempt to bring them to more of an even playing field in terms of strength. I relaxed a little too much into the first sip of Octomore after that...caught off guard, perhaps drifting on the daydreams of jazzy melodies, suddenly my throat was burning.

I forgot that water just brought out the spiciness of this particular lad. He was firey and needed some time to cool off. Laphroaig continued to be his easy-going self - light, gentle, and grounded. A taste of earthy bitterness became apparent, but I was surprised because he wasn't as great as I remembered from our first meeting.


I struck up a chat with a fellow patron there that night, who also was a fan of Scotch. We shared observations on our favorites, and I told him of my constant returning to Talisker Storm. As I described what my beloved was like to me, it occurred to me that I will probably never feel about another Scotch, the way I do about Talisker. My scotch-drinking friend offered the phrase "the standard you judge all others against." And I agreed.

As the evening continued, and the night was almost over, I started tasting more of the different flavors and complexities that I remembered from these two lads. Perhaps they too were feeling the shifts of the season - needing a little more time to come back to themselves than usual. I did enjoy them both, but neither really felt comparable to Talisker Storm.

Perhaps my journey was completed the moment it began. Perhaps my perfect Scotch was found in the beginning, and has been with me all along. Yet I realize the importance of striving for new experiences, and never ceasing to accept the call for adventures. With this in mind, I realize the journey may be ever-renewing.

To quote the lyrics of the song:

There will be many other nights like this,
And I'll be standing here with someone new,
There will be other songs to sing, another fall, another spring,
But there will never be another you.

'Tis true, but even so - the journey, or at least *a* 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!

 

Parachute

Two of my friends recently went sky diving. They were telling me about their experience and how much of a rush it was. They loved it so much that they booked another date to do it immediately afterwards. While I can appreciate how amazing this was for them, it's not something I'd ever want to do. I'm a huge fans of rollercoasters and the like, but the whole sensation of free fall? I'd pick scotch sipping over free falling any day. There is something to be said, however, in getting comfortable with the panic sensation that comes in thrill-seeking activities like that.

Fourth of July weekend was a long one this year, since the 4th is on a Tuesday. The Sunday before, my friend was having a wineberry picking party. Earlier in the day, I stopped in the Whiskey Jar for another blind tasting. One of the songs I heard while I was there was by Chris Stapleton. I hadn't heard of him before, but one of the lyrics caught my ear: "you only need a drink when the whisky is the only thing you have left to hold." Listening to some of his other songs, a lot of them have the whisky theme; I definitely approve. The song with that lyric I mentioned is called Parachute. If you're curiosity is peaked about that free-fall feeling, pour yourself a hearty dram, kick your feet up, close your eyes, and take a listen:

When I got to the bar it was completely empty. Codi was bartending. I think she was also on duty several months ago when I first met one of the lads I was putting up to the test that afternoon - Ardbeg Corryvrecken.

Corry's challenger was Bunnahabhain 12. Both of these lads I have very fond memories of, yet each I had only spent time with once or twice.  Codi poured me a taste of each, and I chatted with them side by side.


The first thing I noticed as a clear difference between the two of them was in the nose. The one on the left had a strong smokefire scent, while the one on the right was definitely more earthy. The left brought to mind more ash, while the right had a bit of fruit and butter.


The first sips before adding water, showed the left lad to be spicy, rich, and warm. He had a bit of a sharp bite to the tongue and some citrus notes. The lad on the right was also rich and warm, but smooth and fuller, with a hint of bitter on the finish. After a few sips I sensed they both had a creamy feel, and I started to notice a bitterness in the one on the left as well. Overall so far, the right lad was sweeter, and the left lad a bit on the rougher side. At this point I was thinking the one of the left was Corryvrecken, but I wasn't entirely sure. I added a bit of water with the dropper bottle Codi was so kind as to provide, and watched how their personalities developed...

The nose for the lad on the right became more inviting. He was very pleasant, and I sensed notes of sweet vanilla and fruity caramel. The lad on the left retained more smoke on his nose, and it made me think distinctly of barbecue. There was also notes of banana and more astringent elements.

Water intensified the left lad's character - he became hotter and spicier, especially on the finish. He was clearly stronger, and had a dry citrusy bitterness overlaying his personality. The lad on the right was softened by the water - the smoke faded, but I did sense new notes of pepper and brine come forth.


As I let the lads reveal themselves in sips and starts, the bar filled up with a few other customers. John, one of the other bartenders was also there (off duty) and we chatted a bit about writing and life. He is also a writer, and has developed a strong love of screen writing, which is something I've never gotten into. It's remarkable that even among interests and preferences, there is still a vast world of differences. Regardless of what the medium or forum may be, it becomes more clear to me everyday that you really have to know not just what you like, but also which of the many things that you may like, fits best to who you are.

As I continued the conversation with Bunna and Corry, trying to discern which of the two I preferred, it was clear to me that I didn't have a strong preference for either. They each had their pros and cons. In some ways I liked the one on the right better, and in some ways the one on the left. Another interesting thing was that at times things seemed to switch back and forth. I had started to think I preferred the one on the right, but by the end I realized this wasn't the case.

The one on the left had a better overall mix of flavors, and also was the only of the two to retain any strong sense of smoke in nose or to taste. He was warmer and more welcoming when it was all said and done. The one on the right seemed to become more bitter as the night progressed, and this flavor appeared at the end that I couldn't identify. He seemed more aloof and a little more harsh by the time the glass was empty.

When I was ready to leave, Codi revealed to me who was who - and Corry was the one on the left, which is what I had guessed. I wasn't completely sure, and there were moments that I thought the opposite as I spoke with them both, but I had a strong sense by the end. He was definitely the one of the two I preferred, if not by much.

For a large part of my younger years, I questioned what I liked if it didn't fit with what was expected, or I allowed myself to be influenced by the likes and preferences of others. A gift and sign of maturity is being able to appreciate the value in things, and perhaps even delight in them yourself, but also be able to know with a strong conviction whether or not those things are right for you. That's a lesson I think that can also be found in drinking Scotch.

There are hundreds of lads, and thousands of opinions for each one. There are so many things that come into play in determining which is a fit for someone, and so often it doesn't follow the rules. Sometimes, you just have to close your eyes and jump, trusting that your heart, like a parachute, will open up just in time.

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.