If there’s one constant in life it’s time marching on, as tempting as it can be to resist the current. It’s an easier pill to swallow when softened with platitudes — ‘invariably it’s for the better’ — though the 24-hour news cycle would have us believe otherwise.
Relationships are probably the most malleable jellyfish in its flow. Even those that manage to stay the course – especially those that do – shape shift through the years as their protagonists necessarily grow, change, evolve. And relationships are continuously being redefined; it takes but a few quick years for fast friends to become near strangers. Certainly a pandemic doesn’t help. Sure, Facebook has miraculously extended the shelf life of those ‘friendships’ that would have extinguished themselves much more quickly in the wild. Personally I’m not convinced that we’re better off for this.
Being part of the ‘whisky business’ has taught me – with both reluctance and difficulty – that there are few genuine friendships to be found in this space. The combination of salesmanship, personal agendas and a social lubricant (which – for all our analysis and tasting notes – is whisky’s magic spell) can be intoxicating in more ways than one, and frequently gives the illusion of friendship. In reality the majority of these associations are born out of a quid pro quo – ‘I’ll scratch your back, you scratch mine’ – whether they be as innocuous as networking to score freebies and likes, or as ambitious as promoting a new book, new event or new distillery, as we climb to the next rung of our metaphorical ladders.
Revisiting Bruichladdich earlier this year brought all this to mind as our tour guide offered a poignant hagiography of Mark Reynier and Jim McEwan, and their heroic revival of the distillery in the early aughts. Having witnessed firsthand the pomp and fanfare of Scotch whisky’s first disruptor brand, it was amusing to hear. It was also an unexpected reminder that as Spirit of Toronto turned twenty this year, Bruichladdich’s brave new era was in fact the vector for our very first show.
Having established strong ties to Canada by hosting various whisky clubs during his tenure at Bowmore, Toronto was one of Jim McEwan’s early stops on the hustings to promote his new venture. When his importer invited us to meet Jim in person, I jumped at the chance and we drove four hours to his hotel. In an era before brand ambassadors Jim was easily one of Scotch whisky’s first celebrities, having graduated from distillery manager to the face of the ‘brand’, first Bowmore, and now Bruichladdich.
I was starstruck as I hung on Jim’s every word, listening to fantastical tales of derring-do as he recounted how the Three Wise Men of Islay — himself, Mark Reynier and Simon Coughlin – were ushering a brave new era of independently made single malt Scotch for genuine whisky lovers. ‘Clachan a Choin’ as they say in Gaelic!
Jim was an incredible showman, enthusiastic, passionate and animated; if there was an off–switch I certainly couldn’t see it. When I casually mentioned that I had been thinking of organizing a whisky ‘something’ — I truthfully didn’t know what at that time — Jim leapt on this, and was emphatic that what Toronto needed was a whisky festival.
“This is a great city of great people: people with money, people who speak English, people who know Scotland, people who understand whisky! In my opinion Toronto is one of the last great cities in the world that doesn’t have a whisky festival, and you Johanna — (me?) — yes, you! You are the one who needs to organize this!”
It all felt surreal given that save for a few email exchanges, Jim didn’t know me from Adam, yet here he was handing me a stone tablet and sending me back down the mountain. The enormity of being Jim’s Padawan was a lot to take in so I simply sat in stunned silence.
As we prepared to take our leave Jim showed me a piece of paper. It was the tasting note he’d written that morning for a sample of Bowmore 1968 being bottled as one of ‘Jim McEwan’s Celtic Heartlands’. He pointed to stains of the tears he’d shed while nosing this precious elixir, sharing poignant memories of the dearly departed mentor who helped him build this very same cask when he had been an apprentice cooper at Bowmore thirty-five years earlier. Jim carefully placed the paper in my hands. “You keep this,” he said, as I nodded solemnly, “but remember one thing: Toronto needs a whisky festival. You’re the one who can make it happen. And Bruichladdich will be there!”
A year of blood, sweat and tears (my own) passed, and I was genuinely crushed that my Messiah never made it to our inaugural event on October 29, 2004. Even more so when he stopped returning my emails and calls, and avoided eye contact altogether when I would approach Bruichladdich’s stand at festivals in Chicago, Paris, London. As the kids say I’d been blanked, though it took me awhile to figure this out as I was still a part of whisky fandom, having yet to squarely place my feet in the ‘whisky business’.
A mutual friend — and a true friend, looking back — took pity and helped ease the sting with some insight from behind the scenes: “Put yourself in Mark and Simon’s shoes, having to manage Jim’s expense account and grandiose promises as he signs cheques they can’t cash, gallivanting the world like he’s Tommy Dewar. Trust me, it’s not been easy!”
Cue Bruichladdich’s absence from Spirit of Toronto for the next twenty years, though on one occasion their importer of the moment dangled a carrot with the suggestion that Jim McEwan (the man, the legend) would be in town that week, and may possibly be able to grace Spirit of Toronto with his presence to — and I quote — “circulate the room to chat with your guests and show them a price list of whiskies available for private ordering.” (You can’t make this stuff up.)
After a few years of chasing and pleading like a jilted lover, Bruichladdich eventually fell into my blind spot as much as Spirit of Toronto had fallen into theirs, save for a case of the inaugural Bruichladdich 10 Year Old that I purchased for our cellar. It was a brilliant, invigorating whisky, bracing and slightly cheeky, a perfect summation of the distillery’s revival. It was also labelled with a tagline that echoed my own experience: ‘The first ten years are the toughest!’
They say never meet your heroes, but I would counter that’s only the case if you can’t stomach the lessons that disappointment has to offer. In hindsight meeting Jim McEwan not only spurred me to do a thing, but provided invaluable tutorials in rejection, deflection, and bullshit, early lessons that forced me to put away my rose-coloured glasses, and grow the outer shell that has served me well over the past twenty years.
They also say that time heals all wounds. Here I would agree, and I am also thankful: we revisited Bruichladdich recently for the first time in ten years — as a part of whisky fandom, not the whisky business — and couldn’t help but be impressed by how the current master distiller Adam Hannett has taken control of their inventory and truly spun some gold. Equally impressive was the staff’s in-depth knowledge, a clear benefit of working alongside the production team during quiet seasons. More palpable still was their enthusiasm for all things Bruichladdich; it was contagious, and drew us to the distillery three times in as many days, with a pitstop on our way to the ferry for a last minute purchase.
Yes, time can be a cruel mistress, but she rewards the patient with new perspectives, a useful tool for letting go of old hurts and making peace with the past. In hindsight I’d been boycotting Bruichladdich for far too long, so it was good to finally see it poured at Spirit of Toronto last month. No, not by Rémy Cointreau (management still won’t take my calls) but as part of Spirit of Toronto’s 20th anniversary showcase where we poured a selection of vintage whiskies from the distilleries that we most admire.
In the case of Bruichladdich we offered our guests a chance to sample the first edition of Bruichladdich Infinity bottled in 2005: a vatting of refill sherry casks from three different vintages that included some young Port Charlotte, Jim’s hugely successful take on making a heavily peated whisky at Bruichladdich. The liner notes call this a “perfect combination of peat, sherry, spice and pepper with bags of fruit gum sweetness”. I concur, but my own notes have something more to say: “A clever whisky that capably demonstrates the ingenuity and creativity required to get a new venture off the ground; traits I admired, and ones that drew a fanbase to a nascent distillery. Relatable.”
Too long, didn’t read; it feels good to be a Laddie fanboy again. Twenty years on and I don’t drink at my own show — true story — but before the doors opened this year I did manage a small sip of this Bruichladdich Infinity, offering up a silent toast to the mentor I never knew I had. Clachan a Choin Jim.