Bunnahabhain 12

I went to see the new Star Wars movie the other night with a few friends. Rogue One - it's the first of the Star Wars Anthology that stands alone from the trilogies, and while it is part of the story, there are only very few character cross overs. It's the type of movie that may well be enjoyable on its own to someone completely unfamiliar with Star Wars (who are those people anyway though?!) but is rich with gems of delight only recognized by those who have seen the others, and are familiar with the greater saga. Like a well-crafted single malt, there are layers that build upon each other in these kinds of stories. Their beauty and potential for enjoyment blooms exponentially with each new element.

The Star Wars soundtracks have never disappointed. Pour yourself a dram of a most complex favorite, and take a listen. Be sure to pay attention to all the layers - from the quiet and the subtle, to the glaring and potent, and remember that a symphony's magic arises from the synergy of all the pieces working together...

Before the movie, we visited Miller's downtown where I tried a lovely new Islay Scotch - Bunnahabhain 12. It was wonderful after so long, to meet a new fellow from that region again - the region so known for bestowing unto the spirits born there, the smoky flavor I love so much.  At the tail end of a cold, my tasting was impaired so I knew there was more to this one than I was able to experience at the time. Even so, I found him deliciously enticing and completely satisfying.


He was warm and inviting, with a deep flavor that kept drawing me back in for another sip. I tasted cinnamon and spice, but couldn't discern any other specific flavors due to my cold. Bunnahabhain was strong, but softened slightly by a creamy texture. After spending so much time with the Highland lads, or those from Speyside or other regions, it was such a pleasure, and almost a relief to be with one of this kind again. Even in the fun, lively conversation with my friends, I found myself entranced by this Islay each time my lips touched the glass.

I couldn't even actually taste the characteristic peatiness, but somehow the effects of its flavor still pervaded my senses, and I found myself ordering another glass...

It was a varied group of folks I had with me: one of my closest friends who knows me very well; her boyfriend, whom I've only started know; another friend, much younger than me, whom I only know a little; and one friend I've known and worked with for years, but haven't seen in a quite a while. Despite the difference in age or familiarity, we all seemed comfortable and relaxed in each other's presence, perhaps aided by our shared anticipation of seeing the movie.

I've been thinking a lot about friends and friendship, and how they may hold the key to a powerful opportunity. We each have a story which weaves in and out of connection with the stories of others.


Some threads stay obviously joined and some drift apart. There are others too, that may seem disconnected, but if you follow back far enough, may be found to have strong ties with, at times, the most unexpected of others.  

We begin our journeys with an almost infinite number of possibilities ahead of us. But for each choice made, countless others are turned away from. The choices we make carve our paths, and inevitably involve sacrifice. We may find ourselves one day asking all the "what ifs," knowing we will never have an answer. And yet, we have friends...

Sometimes as the seasons of our lives shift, certain friendships will wax or wane, but true friends seem to have a bond that outlasts these changes. Even when life takes two people on such different paths that their known worlds and existences vary so vastly from one another, a true friendship will overcome these circumstances.

It has occurred to me, that there is a beauty to be found in the parting destinies of such friends - for therein may like the key to "having it all."  The way to live many lives, and satisfy all the "what ifs." is to have a diverse group of true friends. I am not a mother, but I have a deep friendship with a few mothers, and I can share in their joys and woes to taste what motherhood might be like. I am not married, but I have good friends that are married, and some that have been divorced, and some even that have married again. I did not live these things, but I have experienced vicariously through my friends, just as they have shared in my experiences of things they have never known.

Our time in this world is finite, and no matter how much we may want to try new things and live new experiences, there is a limit to what is possible. There are only a certain amount of hours in the day, and a certain amount of days in our lives.

In the greater picture, as our stories are written by the fates, or god, or chance - to welcome the importance of each character's individual tale is to discover a wealth of meaning that may be missed otherwise. Knowing my friends' stories enriches mine, and this continues, layer upon layer, enriching and intensifying, and deepening as it goes.  Just like a perfectly aged Scotch, or the epic stories of the ages - distilled through years of tradition into a perfect experience incapable of being put into words, but undeniably rich with wonder. I'll drink to that.

Stroopwafel

I've been traveling for about two weeks. This particular adventure is soon coming to an end, and I've been thinking about the nature and effects of travel. I'm sure I've heard this song before, but I happened upon it again the other day, and it's simple beauty struck me. Although the lyrics suggest a more somber mood than I identify with at the moment, when paired with the melody, the song conveys a sense of life's movements to me - dancing between the bitter and the sweet, and throughout it all, buttressed by a solid sense of faith and hope. Here's the instrumental version that I came upon:

I've tried a few new Scotches in this time, and most of them were lovely enough. While I was still in New York, I stopped by the liquor store I used to work in when I was younger. After catching up a little, and learning of my newfound love of Scotch, the owner offered me a sample of a bottle he had open. Singleton 15 year was a lovely smooth character that I intend to meet with again. It was only a small taste I had with him that day so I couldn't really get more than a first impression.


After spending time with family in New York, it was time to fly to California for work (and some play). I was very happy to discover that United Airlines offers a single malt Scotch on their flights, and it was one I hadn't tried yet but had heard good things about.




Glenfarclas 12 year is Speyside Scotch. The little airplane bottle is a lovely miniature of the full size. Coming straight out of the airplane storage, this fellow was a little cold at first, but I gave him time to warm up and tried not to rush our meeting. From the bottle his nose had a vanilla sweetness that flowed smoothly into the scent of caramel once poured into the plastic airplane cup.


I did wonder if my perception was influenced by another gift from United Airlines - a stroopwafel. This tasty little treat is filled with the buttery sweetness of caramel, meant to be laid upon a cup of coffee or tea and warmed till soft. A lovely idea.



The Glenfarclas was warm and gentle from the first sip. Adding water dulled the nose a bit, but the creamy feel remained.

I sensed a hint of smoke or ash, perhaps a nutty flavor. He was light mannered gentlemen, with a bit of spice and dark overtones of something like ash.

I took long pauses between sips, letting him breathe and warm up to the conversation. Our chat called to mind for me the freshness of a foggy day - opaque, but clean and crisp.


After a bit, a little more of his spice became apparent, but the smooth buttery characteristic remained; his sweet demeanor and character reminded me of Macallan. I think I have a soft spot for the Speyside boys.

Traveling is a way of resetting perspective sometimes. When I travel, in some ways I forget my everyday life. In such a short time span, my comfortable, familiar existence can grow so distant in my mind, almost as if a dream. I remember it, but at the same time feel very detached from it.

At some point - say, after I've lived in a place for a while, this feeling fades and the new becomes the norm. I'm sure at some point a new place becomes "home" in the sense that no matter how long you may leave for, there will always be a resonance and comfort to it when you return, but how long do you need to be in a place before this magic happens? I don't know when that point is - how long it takes, or if it's spectrum. I've been to San Francisco before, many years ago; I lived in the city for a summer, and I knew it fairly well, but it never settled into my soul to become a home. Flying into the city and traveling over its iconic bridge, I recognized it, but it might as well have been completely new to me. 

While traveling, I listened to Michael Meade's The Water of Life. At one point he says: 

"you must get stuck before you can ask the real questions,"

- one of those being - "am I going the right way?" 

It's a perfect question to ponder on trains and planes.

During some of my down time out west, I went with a friend to The Whisky Tip - a local bar, complete with resident cat, and a whole slew of whiskies. I was missing my smoky Scotch, so despite the variety of new fellas available, I went with one I knew I'd get along with - Laphroaig 10. It was nice to spend the night with him again. He did not disappoint, but was as warm, spicy, smoky, and delicious as I remembered. My friend wasn't as sure about this as I was. After one sniff, she quickly returned to her wine. 

                                                                                                              We were also able to visit a couple of wineries. Korbel offered as part of their tasting a cream Sherry. I never used to be much of a sweet wine drinker, however, that is changing. As Scotch is traditionally aged in Sherry barrels, and Sherry is much less popular than it used to be, many of the crafters have had to turn to Bourbon or other barrels to age their spirit in. This is the thought behind a friend's advice, "If you like Scotch, drink Sherry." I can only do my duty...

I've been in a bit of transition for a while now, and I have found myself asking Michael Meade's question even before he suggested it. Honestly, I think my nature prompts me to have this question constantly lingering in some part of my awareness... Am I going the right way? Michael Meade says most people need to get stuck before they can hear this question being asked of themselves. Although travel is pretty much the opposite of being stuck, I think it can have the same effect on a person. It's a reset of our psyche in certain ways to be taken from the habits and routines we are used to and be placed firmly in the center of so much new. Some folks are overwhelmed by this; for myself, it is usually quite refreshing. 

To ask that question though, implies that there is a "right" way to be going, and therefore also, a "wrong" way. I interpret the right way to mean the path that allows a person to live in alignment with their truest self; reality forces the addition of the caveat: "as much as possible." It's a pretty important caveat to include, and changes what might have been a simple answer to a sometimes life-long quest peppered with existential crisis. Ah...life. 

For me, there is a beauty and rejuvenation that comes hand-in-hand with the asking of difficult questions - at least while traveling. I may not have the answer yet, but maybe it is enough now to be asking the questions. As one of my favorite writers, Rainer Maria Rilke says:

"Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer."

"The point is, to live everything." As my travels come to an end, I think on my journeys and all the wonders I've seen. From the ancient mysterious redwoods, to the powerful crashing seas, and all the simple beauties in between. For now, I am loving the questions, and living all the things. 

Thanksgiving 2016

November was a long month. I took a break from meeting any new Scotches for a little while. Now, with the holiday season beginning it seems that my return home has partnered with the winds of change in the air to bring a refreshing gust of the familiar comforts back into my life. Thankfully, I return to my single malt muse.

I revisited Deks in Rocky Point the other night. None of my friends in the area were able to join me, but I heard there would be good music, and I knew they'd have a Scotch I hadn't met. When I arrived, I saw that Rory was bartending again, and I met a man at the bar named Will. He had been there for a while that evening, and wasn't sure what to make of me and my mission. The band had yet to start, but the radio played a powerful version of The Sound of Silence by Disturbed. As I waited to order, I listened to the music as Will sang along to the well-known lyrics: "...and no one dared... disturb the sound of silence..."

As I ordered, Will offered to buy the Scotch for me. I thanked him and decided randomly on a fairly nice looking bottle in the middle of the selection - Glendronach 12 Year.

The cork was dry and fought with Rory as she tried to pour my dram. I guessed the bottle had probably been there for a while. Perhaps this Scotch had gone unnoticed for a while. His nose was a little sharp, and the first taste reflected the same - a bit astringent. There was a strong reserved quality to this Glen, and there wasn't much change after adding a bit of water. A few more sips and I was noticing more spice, and a slight scent of banana. This fellow was from the Highlands. All in all, he was fine, but mostly unremarkable.  I finished with him fairly quickly with nothing else standing out about him, and turned my attention to the band who had begun to play.

The band was named Deal - A Jerry Garcia tribute band with Matt Levine and Lou Guisto. They kept the vibe of the evening alive and inspired with all sorts of songs ranging from "How Sweet It Is" to "Fire On The Mountain" to "Teenage Wasteland." I couldn't find recordings of themselves playing any of the songs they performed that evening, but here is a recording of an older show of theirs with some extra folks:

Will was watching me as I took notes and tasted the Glendronach. He kept shaking his head, and asked me what I was doing. When I told him, he just shook his head more, perplexed. Finally, he asked very directly, "why would anyone want to see those pictures, or be interested in what you have to say about Scotch?" I laughed in response. It was a fair question to be sure, and I'm fairly certain I couldn't have given him an answer that would satisfy. So I simply replied, "Why not?"

Despite his disbelief-bordering-on-dismay at my process, he offered to buy me another Scotch and join me in the tasting. This time he chose, and we ended up with Wasmund's single malt. I had never heard of it, and neither had he. We both drank and noticed the strength of the whisky immediately. It had a very different flavor, and I wasn't exactly sure what to make of it. I kept looking at the bottle, and recognized the distillery name of Copper Fox, but didn't figure out until later that this was not a Scotch at all. A single malt whisky, but actually distilled in the very state I live in - Virginia.

The flavor was very floral, or perfumey. The only word I kept returning to that would identify what I was experiencing was - weird. It made me think of paint, or gin - something semi-familiar, but not usual in the flavor of Scotch. As I sipped and listened to the music, I realized if nothing else, Wasmund had a solid personality going for him. 

He's the type of fellow that I may not necessarily seek out, but I wouldn't forget. In some ways it felt as if he was trying too hard - like he wanted me to like him. He came on strong and distinctive - as if knowing he wouldn't leave the most favorable impression, he at least would contend for most memorable. He reminded me of someone who might keep showing up in a circle of friends, with a slightly abrasive demeanor and full off-color jokes, but who would become such an expected presence, that one would miss him when he wasn't there. 

It was a fairly busy night, being the Friday after Thanksgiving. I watched as Rory interacted with the other patrons, remembering my days as a bartender. There are three topics you're never supposed to bring up at a bar: family, religion, and politics - the three topics that for sure were blended for many in a challenging mix at Thanksgiving dinners the night before. But bars exist outside of these topics. They are the havens of music, emotions, good friends, good stories, and good spirits. November culminates in reconnections with family, and in this month there was an added element of a religious and political tension that has become quite palpable in our country. As I sipped my Scotch next to a stranger, watching folks of various places in life dance and move to the music, I was humbled to be reminded of the humanity that underlies it all - and which may well be the only thing that will help us rise above it.

At the end of any day, at the end of any month, and especially at the end of a November in an emotionally charged election year - at the end of it all, we are all just products of our upbringing, our lives, and our experiences. Perhaps a bit of our own true selves gets into the mix as well, if we're lucky. We make do with what we've got. I truly believe that if each person was able to live safely and securely, with a loving community, and a chance to explore their dreams and creativity, there would be no place for hate to take root. Although this belief may be naive, my innocence only goes so far - I know this type of world is the furthest-thing-from-easy to achieve.

There are battles that must be fought, but it is important to remember that our humanity is a mottled mix of things, and these thoughts and shades of passion run through our days alongside the struggles of survival. I still see, in so much of what I witness - an ever present, pervasive and powerful - desire of people to connect with others. I wonder if there's any way to foster strong connections and feelings of belonging without inherently creating disconnect and exclusion in their shadow? They may be two sides of the same coin. Maybe the best thing to do would be to just keep flipping the coin, and learn to celebrate the joy in anticipation, instead of basing our decisions and our fate on how it lands...and which side is facing up when the spinning finally stops.

Glendfiddich 12

Yesterday was the last night of the Levitt Amp concert series at the IX art park. The Bumper Jacksons were the headline band, and there were many folks swing dancing throughout the evening. The band also sang some blues style songs. Here's one warning women not to marry...

After the music, I went down to Bang! for dinner and a Scotch. Of the five they had, the one I had yet to try was Glenfiddich 12, so I ordered a dram.

His nose was mellow and a little fruity. The first sip was warm, sweet, and creamy. Glenfiddich was a smooth character, for sure. As I continued sipping I tasted a gentle cinnamon and spice. Adding water didn't seem to change him at all except for becoming more bold with the cinnamon flavor.


My dinner came quickly, and one of the dishes was spicy, which seemed to bring out the spice of my Scotch in a stronger way.


A word that came to mind as Glenfiddich and I continued our conversation was "slick." He was very smooth, and mellow...charming really, but also had another taste to him that became more apparent as the evening drew on. I couldn't quite place it; I thought perhaps nutty..maybe tobacco or ash?  Slightly bitter - not unpleasant, but rather distinctive. It made me stop and notice that there were more layers to him than I may have originally thought.


As I ate my dinner and sipped my Scotch, snippets of the conversation between the bartender and another patron made its way to my ears. As I listened to the talk of love and life, my thoughts turned to gratitude. How we often find solace and joy in the little things of life to help us deal with the larger, more difficult things. Or at times we must remember to take a broader perspective when the bigger elements of life are going very well, and it is only the smaller issues that burden us.

As busy as most of us have become these days, it's hard not to get caught up in our own lives and challenges. But there's a lot going on in the world right now, and sometimes we need to change our focus in an intentional way - to keep from being overwhelmed, and to maintain a connection to why we're trying so hard in the first place.

In my work with emotions, I've come to think of gratitude as a re-calibration of sorts. It is a mix of many emotions, possibly even incorporating all of them. From sadness and envy to anger and joy, I see a mix and a re-balancing of the emotions occur when gratitude is present. It can be a very helpful practice. Turning my attention back to my meal, thankful for the small joys of food and drink, and the many other ways I am lucky as well, I decided to do some reading up on this new fellow...and I found some very surprising news.

Glenfiddich is married. How can a single malt be married, you wonder? I wondered too. This led me to finally find out something that's eluded me so far in this journey - what exactly does "single-malt" mean? Apparently, it is simply that a whisky is made from malted barley, and aged at a single distillery. Many different ages and barrels of a distillery's whisky are mixed together (often in steel, but sometimes in oak) before bottling. This is done to create consistency in a many-variabled production process. Unless a whisky specifies "single-barrel" it has, in fact, been mixed with many other batches of whisky.

So what to make of this new information? Not much will change, I imagine. It might be exciting to try and seek out some single-barrel Scotches, but I'm not sure if that's a route I want to take at the moment. I've been staying away from blended Scotches intentionally, but now I know that even the single malts are technically blended. That's okay, because there are still elements that hold single-malts apart. They are still only made from malted barley, and there is still the art to their creation that remains unique to each distillery, so the magic of the journey is still there. Unlike with what a single-barrel Scotch could promise, I'm grateful to know that if I find the perfect bottle of single-malt, it won't be the only one of its kind.

To quote this Bumper Jackson song: "Live and Learn."

Trip to Skye

I was practicing some tunes yesterday with a friend, and I saw that he knew a tune called "Trip to Skye." The Isle of Skye, of course, is where Talisker is made, and I sighed thinking of how lovely it would be to take a trip there myself. I decided that I at least needed to learn the tune. It is written by John Whelan, and I found a recording of himself playing this beautiful waltz on youtube. It is poignant, to say the least. If you find yourself in a wistful sort of way, take a listen and sip a sweet scotch for solace...

Sadly, my bottle of Talisker Storm is now empty. I went to the store to buy another, but thought I should try something new - perhaps put some space between myself and Talisker for a little while. The store didn't seem to carry the Storm anyhow, so I looked through what they did have to find a good choice for my next bottle. Of the many Scotches I've met already, there are quite a few I wouldn't mind having at home, but they didn't have any of those either. So after much deliberating, I decided on Old Pulteney 12 year. I hadn't heard anything about him, but asked around and found good reviews.

While still in the bottle, his nose appeared very nice - fruity, mild, and inviting. I poured into the glass and saw that Old Pulteney is such a pretty amber colored Scotch. His nose still remained appealing, with a sense of freshness about it.

The first sip...was very good. Gentle, smooth, a little spice. I also tasted a solid briny flavor, and a little something in the finish. He was sweet and I thought that flavor at the end might be almond perhaps?  There was not a hint of smoke to be found in Old Pulteney, but I didn't mind. I found that I had taken several sips and kept going back for more before realizing that I hadn't added any water yet.

The water didn't change his nose too much, but maybe brought that unidentified flavor forward. The flavors seemed to shift - perhaps a citrus? A brief flash of cocoa? Whatever the name, it was tasty, and I was having so much fun.

I must say, I wasn't expecting much when I bought this bottle. As I was checking out, I saw that the store did indeed have a single Talisker Storm behind the counter, and I almost switched at the last minute. I didn't, and I had buyer's remorse when I walked out of the store. I was telling myself "Old Pulteney isn't even an Islay," wondering if I should go and exchange it, afraid that I'd regret my choice...but I was very pleasantly surprised. Old Pulteney is lovely.


The bottle is simple, but beautiful, with a ship etched on the back so you can see it through the whisky, almost in 3-D, calling to mind the sea...

When I visited the distillery's website I noticed they talked much of food pairings. Folks after my own heart! Their suggestion was that the lighter, fruitier Scotches be paired with spicy foods. I just happened to be eating a small spicy snack, and as I played with taking sips and nibbles back and forth...wow! Having a sip after the bite of spicy brought the citrus out strongly. Old Pulteney's flavors became bigger and bolder. After a bit it became too much though, and I went back to separating the flavors so I could really enjoy and identify them.


As I listened to Trip to Skye, and continued the conversation with Old Pulteney, I found that the music and the Scotch seemed to match. The tune has a rhythm that feels like the rocking sensation of being on a boat at sea... I imagined staring at the shore, watching it grow more and more distant as the ship carries us to a different land. The harbinger of adventure - a departure from all that is known.

The excitement of what may come buoying our spirit from the undertow of longing for what we are leaving behind...

I took the last sip of the Old Pulteney and marveled at how the evening turned out. Sometimes, things just fall into place...just so, and seem just right. Those times are to be cherished, and enjoyed to the fullest. For wherever we are in life, there is usually a lost shore we pine for, and almost as sure is a hopeful future in store...as long as we are brave enough to begin a new journey into the unknown sea of what lies ahead.

Scotchtoberfest

A friend of mine is a fellow lover of Scotch. He's been tasting and exploring the expressions of this fine spirit for much longer than I have, and was one of my first introductions to the vast number of possibilities that become open to you once you enter this world. The last time he had a gathering I had not yet had my senses enlightened to the love of this liquor, but this time...things were different.

Just a small sampling of his collection scattered about the table...

The night before the party I had gone to a free concert at the IX Art Park and heard this amazing band for the first time. Their music was passionate, the vibe was thrilling, and the night was perfect. One of their songs that struck me especially is called Love is Better. A line from the lyrics says: "I don't know, but I think I feel alright, there's something about tonight that makes me crazy...I don't know, don't think about the future, don't wonder where it's going, I just hang on..." Take a listen to the feel-good in-the-moment groove of Baaba Seth:

I ended up meeting five new Scotches that evening. One I didn't really like, one I spent the most time with, and one was a mysterious stranger that I only crossed paths with just as I was leaving...

Laphroaig Quarter Cask was the first. A night like this, where I meet so many new whiskies in such a short period of time and when there are other things distracting me from giving them my complete attention, always presents a challenge for really getting to know a Scotch. But in many ways it's fun to not have to focus in, but just let the night flow as it will.  As Baaba Seth says, "don't think about it...just do it...do what you want."

I liked the Quarter Cask, but I remember feeling like he was different from my first memory of Laphroaig, just as I found with the Triple Wood a few weeks ago. It may be that I need to look up the original Laphroaig again and spend some quality time really getting to know him.
 


The next one I tried was Oban Little Bay. I remember liking Oban 14, except for an after taste that I just couldn't agree with. The Little Bay was pleasant all around. I  don't remember any specifics, but he didn't have that disagreeable flavor that I remember from the other Oban I met. I'd like to hang out with the Little Bay again.




When I arrived at my friend's house, folks were mostly gathered around a bonfire outside, and the moon had only just begun to rise. With a little prompting, our host graciously played us a few tunes on his highland pipes - to honor the birthplace of the sweet spirit that was our gathering's namesake, and to serenade the rising moon...

The night of the party was a full "supermoon" in Aries. From what I've read, the astrological implications of this involve an acknowledgement of the past influences for clearing out old energies and old wounds, and a welcoming in of  the "wildcard" rebirthing energy of this moon. Sounds like a perfect combination to me!

mmm..pumpkin spice

The next two Scotches I met were a hand-imported Scapa 12 year old cask strength, and Balvenie Caribbean Cask 14 year. The Scapa was strong, and that is always exciting, but I wasn't that impressed with him otherwise. The Balvenie intrigued me because of the Rum Casks, and I kept returning to him throughout the night for more conversation. 

My friend, apart from his many other talents, also is a creator of delicious alcoholic ice cream. I had the privilege of trying a brand new flavor that evening: pumpkin spice. Always a seasonal favorite, the characteristic flavor for the ice cream came from Baily's Pumpkin Spice liqueur.  It might have been the pumpkin spice, or it might have been the gourmet s'mores we had (complete with sea salt chocolate and cinnamon graham crackers), but later in the evening I started to taste cinnamon in all the Scotches I was meeting. It might not have given me the most accurate impression or representation of the different whiskies, but it was a beautiful thing.

The evening continued with laughter and stories. It was such perfect Autumn weather, with just a hint of chill in the air, a beautiful moon, a welcoming fire, and friendly, interesting folks to share it with.

As the moon climbed higher in the sky and the hour grew late, it became time for me to head home. As I was leaving, my friend brought out a special bottle that had been hiding in the back for most of the evening. This one was also hand carried from Scotland, and I had heard stories of the legend behind the distillery, but had never heard much else about the whisky itself.


It was such a small taste, as I was about to drive home, but it was so good, and I was very sorry that I couldn't stay and learn more about this one.

The night was wonderful, and I was so grateful as I drove home thinking of all the elements from the evening - the Scotch, the Song, and the Soul.


Perhaps it was the unfair advantage of the mysterious, and the allure of the just-out-of-reach...but of all the Scotches I tasted that night, Cù Bòcan is the one I most want to meet again. Hopefully I will have that chance before too long.

Kilchoman Machir Bay

When my grandparents were young they loved to swing dance and they were really good at it. Someone once came up to my grandmother to say, "Excuse me, but I wanted to tell you that you dance divinely." I learned some steps from my grandfather and would jump at the chance to dance to the music of that time whenever I could. I loved it. One of my all time favorites is the well known classic, In the Mood.

I never really learned more than the few basic steps. I could follow well enough, and so with spins and turns that's all I really needed to know to have a great time dancing with my family. However, as everyone got older, and especially as my grandfather's health declined, the dancing grew sparse.

I've always wanted and intended to take lessons and learn how to swing dance really well. I've also wanted to find people I could dance with to this music! (Instead of always being the one to teach the very little I knew to whoever was willing to dance.) There were always obstacles: schedules, time, money, someone to dance with...

But after life's great quantity of ado...I finally went to a swing class last night. It was wonderful. Very laid back, a brand new dance space, really nice people, and great music.

Having mainly been doing salsa lately, it was a little rough getting back into the "swing" but I loved every minute of it.

It was a very long day, but dancing gave me a second wind and upon returning home, I cracked open the second to last single dram bottle for a tasting. Kilchoman Machir Bay - 2014 bottling.

He was much paler than the previous whiskies I've had. Definitely more yellow than gold, but a beautiful color. I learned that although there is no age statement, this Scotch is only about 5 years old. I'm sure that's part of the reason for the light color, but I've also recently learned about the process of caramel coloring, and that many distilleries use it in their Scotch. I don't have strong opinions on it currently, but Talisker is one that has the caramel added, and his color is darkened by it, I'm sure.

In the bottle his nose was strongly smoky, but with a perfumey floral scent as well. In the glass, I sensed banana, smoke, and pepper. The first sip was complex, but light - spicy, and also a bit tart. Adding water didn't change him too much in nose or flavor, and that was ok; I liked him.

I relaxed into the enjoyment of the evening, eating my late dinner and sipping my new Scotch. My dinner was a gruyere cheese-filled veggie "chicken" cutlet. Savoring the creamy, salty, crunchy tastes and textures, I recalled a memory...

Years ago I gave some friends an analogy of life's good experiences either being like a sunset or a chix patty. Chix patties, for the uninformed, are vegetarian friendly creations that imitate a fried chicken patty and are wonderfully delicious. They are perhaps a little addictive, as when you finish one, it's a very sad thing and you find yourself wanting more. Contrast this to a sunset: no matter how amazing and beautiful a sunset is, we generally don't wish for more of it when it is over. We let it pass gracefully. Certain moments in life are like sunsets, and certain moments are like chix patties. When the latter ones end, we're not quite ready to let them go.

I realize that in these types of moments, as with the chix patties themselves, part of our enjoyment is in the wanting of more.  Like being in love, which gives us the hope of a future together, it's that longing for it to last which affects the pleasure in the moment. So perhaps the difference is simply a matter of faith. Of all things in this world, one thing we can be certain of is that the sun will rise and set tomorrow. As long as we are alive to see it, there is no choice we can make or path we will take that will stop us from having another chance to see that beautiful sight. However...

If sunsets weren't guaranteed, would you cry when they were over?

Most things in life are not guaranteed, and even with sunsets - we can never know for sure if this one won't be our last. Part of the trick is probably acceptance of this fact. Understanding that change is the nature of things, and therefore endings inevitable, helps us not take things for granted. We want to be present and engaged in all the good moments of our life so we can get the deepest and fullest enjoyment of them. But if we can temper this with a bit of faith - knowing that even if we may never have a "chix patty" again, there will probably still be things just as delicious and enjoyable somewhere in the future - perhaps we can find a way to let go with more ease.

I finished my dinner, and still had a bit of Kilchoman left in my glass. His spice was the most prominent flavor, being very mild in all other ways. Although this one is an Islay, he reminded me a little of Macallan. Kilchoman was a little smokier, not as smooth, and definitely spicier, but they both had that slightly reserved, gentlemanly feel to them.

I am glad to finally be taking swing dancing classes. During the class, one of the folks who organizes it talked about how a lot of the volunteers who run the club are leaving soon, and so it may be harder to hold as many events. He put out the request for others to step up if at all possible. Another reminder of the ever-shifting nature of life and circumstance. Who knows what will happen, but I will enjoy it with the awareness of change, do what I can to help, and have faith that one way or another, I will swing dance again.

The night passed quickly, and as I took my last sip, I realized I wish I had more Kilchoman to chat with. He may not be "the" perfect Scotch, but tonight, he was absolutely the perfect Scotch to Swing Dance to.

Beeswing

As the season turns, so I return to the series of single-dram tastings with Laphroaig Triple Wood.

The equinox has come and passed, and the days grow cooler and shorter, turning fully towards Autumn. I feel like it's been a long time since I've spent time with any of the Scotches, so it feels good to meet someone new tonight. It's been longer still since I've met a new fella out and about. These single dram tastings at home are lovely, but I think it does take a certain element out of the experience. In a way it's like internet dating: I get to know the Scotches in many ways, but it's not quite the same as meeting them in the traditional way.

For one, I don't get to see the Scotches in their bottles; this doesn't affect my impression too much, but I do like to know how they present themselves. There is also the excitement of being in a different environment surrounded by strangers, but creating a little world unto myself, my Scotch-of-the-evening, and whatever chemistry may be sparked between us...

The song for tonight is called "Beeswing." For those who have known the spirit of restlessness, whether in themselves or those they have loved and lost...pour a dram and listen to this bittersweet timeless tale:

Triple Wood. At first, from the bottle, I smelled the sweet smokiness I love. It was good to be savoring it again. Once in the glass, his nose seemed a bit sharper. At first sip, he was warm and sweet. The smoky flavor was strong, and there was a bit of salty brine in the finish.

After adding a bit of water it opened him up so I could sense more smoke in the nose. He had a bright, exciting feel, and a light, fun sense to him. He was very enjoyable.

 

As the night went on, I noticed a strong creamy flavor in his sweetness. Throughout all there was that finish of salt or brine that became stronger the longer it lingered. It may be a flavor I have yet to name. Almost a bit bitter, it wasn't unlikable - just notable. 

I was surprised to not taste any of the cinnamon that was there in the first Laphroaig I had tried. There was definitely spice to the Triple Wood, but not distinct enough for me to identify. 

Overall, Laphroaig Triple Wood was a great Scotch, and such welcome company on this quiet Autumn evening. I'd love to spend another night with him sometime, and would probably choose him over many of the others I've met should we cross paths out at a bar somewhere.

I've been told there is gypsy blood in my family line. I cannot deny the restless spirit and longing for new experiences that comes with that. Often life forces us to choose between two desires: do we embrace the security of stability or take the risk inherent in freedom. A line from the song says:

"Maybe that's just the price you pay for the chains that you refuse." 

It is left to us to decide if that is a worthwhile price. Or for folks like myself, who want the best of both worlds, perhaps there is a way to find a security in the freedom itself...

It will be good to get back to the nightlife scene out-on-the-town, but I won't pretend I didn't enjoy the comfort and relaxation of sipping Scotch in my room with the cool night breeze gently carrying cricket song past my window.

Mabon - Part II: Craigellachie 13

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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