I’ve never been very good at scheduling so my dry January actually started in December. Despite the usual listicles touting better sleep and improved memory, the one benefit I consistently reap from a dry spell is the heightened acuity of my palate, which in turn enhances my appreciation of whatever I pour to break the fast. It also becomes an opportunity for a bit of housekeeping as I take stock of the bottles that have started crowding our shelves, and oftentimes our floors.
With my latest hiatus scheduled to end on Burns Night, January’s rummaging initially focused on Scotch whisky, in anticipation of revisiting some open bottles that I hoped to reassess with a more sharply attuned palate. Top of the list was a bottle of Glenmorangie Palo Cortado 12 Year Old that felt weak and insipid on my first pass, but no one knows wood like Dr. Bill so I was eager to give it another chance.
I wondered if a head-to-head with an open Benrinnes 14 Year Old from Goldfinch Whisky might not make for an interesting comparison as it was also finished in a Palo Cortado cask, a wee gem that was recommended to us by the whisky lovers who run the excellent Carnegie Whisky Cellars in Dornoch in the Scottish Highlands. A quick scan of the dining room cabinet turned up the Benrinnes, and to my dismay it was less than half full, though I shouldn’t have been surprised. Charles can't get enough Benrinnes and in this instance I couldn’t blame him: this is a beefy, strapping hunk of a whisky on its own, but the Palo Cortado cask really did this malt justice with a juicy, fruity sheen. On second thought, perhaps this wouldn’t be the best match-up for a Glenmorangie, though given how much of the bottle was left, I made a mental note to get in another turn before it was too late.
Without fail, rifling through bottles always turns up heels that really should have been emptied and recycled long ago. Worst of these offenders are miniatures. Like many whisky geeks, we have no shortage of sample bottles strewn about haphazardly, and in theory it would have made sense to work through a few. The reality, though, is that these small, awkward containers always manage to grate on my nerves as they clutter valuable shelf space. I’m an unapologetic sucker for pretty packaging, and samples — with their sterile white labels — make for an underwhelming prelude, no matter how amazing the contents. That said, two in particular were calling out to me: a 2013 Williamson (aka 9-year-old Laphroaig) and a Tasmanian whisky from the Killara distillery.
The 2013 Williamson was a store exclusive for Keg’n’Cork in Edmonton bottled by Carn Mor at an intimidating 64.1% abv. But I was intrigued enough to open the cap, and OMG what a nose! I couldn’t wait to dissect this in a proper glass, even more so given our recent visit to the distillery.
Seeing the sample of Killara Single Cask Single Malt Whisky brought back pleasant memories of hanging out with its distiller, Kirsty Lark, in Belfast last summer. I’ve been impressed with many of the whiskies coming out of Tasmania at the moment, and Kirsty is essentially Tassie whisky royalty: the governor of Tasmania had banned domestic distillation in 1838 until her father, Bill Lark, opened the Lark Distillery while helping to establish the industry as a whole over the past thirty years. Having followed in her parents’ footsteps makes Kirsty Tasmania’s first ‘second-gen’ distiller, and she’s damned good at it from what I’ve tasted. The sample that she handed off when we said goodbye is finished in a Tawny port cask, so I was especially excited to break the seal. Being a progressive for his times — not to mention a fan of the ladies — I was certain that Burns would approve.
As fate would have it, Burns Night came and went, and my thirst continued unabated. Burns himself rightly observed that, “the best laid plans of mice and men oft go awry”, and as it turned out mine were no different, waylaid by an emotionally-fraught week better suited to beer-and-shots than cerebral imbibing. But it felt like a shame to ‘waste’ a freshly honed palate when my mood was sour and my mind distracted. Charles suggested that something long might be less taxing, and I immediately thought of a Negroni served neat in a chilled coupe. It’s an easy and reliable classic that’s been greatly improved by Compass Distillers’ Aperitivo, a bitter, herbaceous and absolutely brilliant alt-Campari perfected by their boy-wonder distiller Alex Wrathell. This has been my go-to since Del Professore Bitter was discontinued (thanks to Campari buying the company and eliminating their one competing product.)
Recent kitchen renovations had relocated the bulk of white spirits onto the floor next to the radiator, easily the worst place to store any alcohol, confirmed by a nearly empty bottle of Tanqueray Ten, the only bottle of gin at hand. So to quote Burns once again, the best laid plans of mice and men oft go awry. And as such my dry January rolled into February, which seemed fitting given how poorly I do with scheduling.