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.

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. 

Whiskynotwhisky

I've been on several adventures since I last shared my stories here. This journey I'm on - to find the perfect Scotch - seems to be taking a turn. But I'll leave that until next time... Meanwhile, my most recent travels took me to California, where a friend and I stopped by a local watering hole called the Jaded Toad.

You have to love this name. I didn't ask the folks working there where the name came from, but it offers much to the imagination. Is it a twist on the fabled frog prince, who himself has grown bored with the princess? Or perhaps the twist is seeing the perspective of a toad who is just done waiting for the right princess to come along - the one that will turn him into all he knows he can be. This reminds me of Rilke's dragons - who are all just "princesses waiting to see us once beautiful and brave." But I digress...

More likely the name is not so philosphical or estoric; it is probably just a result of a random conversation from two old friends one night sharing a bottle of wine, but humor me - it's been a while, and my muse is restless...

It was a gorgeously sunny day, and the rays glimmered through trees into the comfortable "beer garden and sanctuary" of this toad-of-a-different-temperment's namesake. The tunes on the soundsystem were varied and classic. One particular song especially made my friend smile. Check out this cool version of Wild Horses...

I didn't see liquor at the outside bar, so was figuring that I wouldn't be meeting any new scotches this afternoon. But when I looked at the menu, they had a list of cocktails, so we thought perhaps they had a full bar on the inside. Our server, Kevin, soon came over to answer all of our questions

He was very friendly, and proceeded to explain that although the ingredient lists contained things like whisky, tequila, rum, etc., they were not, in fact, actual distilled spirits, but merely fermented from whichever substance was called for. Upon closer inspection, I saw that all of the items listed on the menu had an asterisk next to them which explained this. I was suspicious....yet intrigued.  So I asked if I could order a taste of their "whisky".


Okay, so when it arrived, the color looked right enough. There was only a small bit in the ball jar glass, but that turned out to be for the best.

I tasted gently, and I'm sure my eyes widened with surprise as my mouth puckered, not from sour, but sweet! Like iced tea, or dessert wine, this did not taste like any whisky I had ever met, except maybe Fireball, which can hardly be considered true whisky at all!

There was a strong flavor of cinnamon, and truly I could taste no other notes. Just like red hot candies, and the more I sipped, the closer my mind settled in. I decided that it tasted just like Goldschlager liqueur. Very interesting.

Finishing that off with a shake of my head, I consulted with my friend on our next course of action. We decided to order some mixed drinks and try them out. They arrived looking lovely and fruity - not at all like whisky, but that was okay. (They were never trying to be something they were not.) 

We sipped and shared - taking turns telling stories about life and lessons learned, choices made and those yet to be decided.  The drinks were fitting for the hot day and the time passed easily as we relaxed into the afternoon. At one point when Kevin passed by, my curiosity perked up and asked him more about the whiskynotwhisky. If it was only fermented, not distilled - what was it fermented from? His reply was, "oranges." In response, my brow furrowed in confusion, and I'm sure a quizzical look took over my face. He went to the bar just to double check, and came back with confirmation. The Jaded Toad has some magic in its midst which turns fermented orange wine into something they somehow feel comfortable calling whisky. There are certain things so mysterious one cannot dare to question further.

The drinks were delicious, and beautiful, and absolutely not whisky. 

The sunlight was strong though, reflecting an almost blinding light off of every surface it could. When something shines so brightly, it tends to put folks in a forgiving mood. Go on and shine with your awesome selves, drinks. You do you. It was a gorgeous day in California, and I was sipping and chatting with a friend. 

Sure, there were woes on our minds, and troubles in the world, and sure my whisky wasn't whisky, and the tequila wasn't tequila, but in that moment then, in the bit of world that we could see, all was well.  I'll let Mick finish this out...

"You can't always get what you want."

Lagavulin 8

When I first went to Alley Light a few weeks ago, I met a man who was drinking a bourbon, but was a little familiar with Scotches. He told me he was the sous chef at Tavola, which is a restaurant in town I had never been to. I told him of my Scotch-tasting journey, and he told me that his spirit of choice for exploring different flavors and nuances was Amaro. I've never tried an Amaro, and despite years of bartending, actually didn't even know what it was. He also told me that at his restaurant they had the 8 year old Lagavulin; meeting the younger brother of Lag 16 was a long awaited moment that finally happened the other night.

There were no particular songs I was able to hear that evening, but the next night some neighbors and I had an impromptu 80's dance party around the firepit, and I heard the classic, Take On Me. It had been a long time, but this song is always a favorite. It's just an all around feel-good song, and it pairs well with the Lagavulin 8 tasting at Tavola - an overall feel-good evening.

Tavola is a very classy little restaurant in the Belmont area of Charlottesville. All of their bar tools are copper; I absolutely love copper, so I was quite impressed with this place immeditely. McCraigan and Steve also work at this bar, and they were both there that night. I don't usually like to go out to meet a new Scotch on a weekend evening, but since two of my friends were joining me, it just worked out that way. They were very busy, but thankfully we arrived after the big rush of the evening, and there was just enough room for us at the bar. 

Steve gave in to letting me take his pic this time; he poured me and one of my friends a dram of the Lagavulin 8, while my other friend went with a cognac. There was only one Glencairn glass left, so I got that one, but the other glasses were beautiful in their own right.

The first thing we noticed about Lag 8 was the color. Pale and golden, his appearance was much lighter than most of the lads I've met. The nose was a beautiful balance of smoky and sweet, with a strong presence of pepper.

First taste revealed a warm and smooth personality with a touch of iodine, and a hint of sour or citrus. Overall there was a light creamy sweetness that I found absolutely delicious.

Adding water softened his nose a bit and brought more sweeetness and vanilla to my attention. For the tongue, the water only made him hotter. The smoke was present, but not overpowering, and he was definitely sweet, but not too much so, as I found his older brother to be.


Lagavulin 8 is one of those Scotches that is only around for a short while. The distillery released this younger version for their 200th anniversary, and I know they won't last for long. I really want to find a way to put him and Talisker Storm side by side though. Regardless, Lag 8 is one of my favorites, for sure. My friend who tasted with me also found him to be a good lad to hang out with. My other friend was not interested in meeting him at all.

She and I started talking about Amaros and I explained to her the very little I knew from what the man at the bar had told me. We got Steve in on the conversation and started asking about all the ways of this bitter, herbal spirit. From the way he described it, it seemed like something right up my friend's alley, so he poured us a taste of a good introductory Amaro.

I found it very sweet and lemony up front, but with a strong bitter aftertaste, that I wasn't quite ready for. I was grateful for the introduction, but quickly returned to the conversation with Lagavulin, not wanting to interrupt the chemistry that I was enjoying with him.

My friend liked the Amaro better than the cognac she was drinking though, and she thought she might really get into this type of drink, so we decided we'd come back soon to try some more.

It was a fun, relaxed evening overall - with good friends, great bartenders, fantastic whisky, and a very cool place to be with them all. I'm looking forward to our next visit and seeing what else may be in store.