Spirit of Toronto turns twenty this year, and if there’s one thing I miss since becoming involved in whisky as a business, it’s the geeky kinship of other whisky enthusiasts, the kind of fast friends I used to make standing shoulder to shoulder in mosh pits such as the Limburg Whisky Fair. One year, having parked myself at a given table for more than hour, I confided to the person on my right that I had found a whisky Jedi whose collection closely mirrored what I had at home, and was availing myself of the opportunity to preview a number of my own closed bottles. Lars, by now my new BFF, smiled at me knowingly and whispered, as one whisky geek does to another: “It’s quite exciting, isn’t it?”
By contrast these days I find myself on the sidelines of whisky as a subculture, and given the current climate of hoarding and extortionate pricing, I have to admit to preferring this vantage point. The cumulative din of reviews, scores, freebies, threads and influencers – or effluencers, to quote Charles – can be exhausting, while a toxic retail landscape of flippers and lotteries has turned the thrill of the chase into something out of The Hunger Games.
In short, social media – for the most part – is harshing the vibe, and undermining any sense of community that may have originally connected whisky enthusiasts from different parts of the world, and different walks of life. When everyone online becomes your competitor in snagging a bottle of Springbank 10 Year Old, it quickly siphons the fun and camaraderie out of your hobby, even more so when these strangers would happily drive over your pets to bag the 15 Year Old.
I suppose this is why a random email from one of our virtual clients was so compelling: here was a newly minted whisky geek eager to spill the beans. The guileless innocence of neophytes! The thrill of being the first to spot Wally and then sharing their find! Of course we all want to be trendspotters, first on the train of the next ‘it’ distillery (is that you Ardnamurchan?) or the one bragging about finding a secret stash of Springbank, which we’re only too happy to share once the shelves are picked over and our credit card has begged for mercy.
The subject line alone said it all – “Psst, wanna try something splendid?” – and spoke of unbridled enthusiasm, the excitement of discovery and that wide-eyed urge to share with others, hallmarks that so many self-professed whisky lovers quickly shed once their inner Gollum takes over and the compulsion to buy, brag and hoard outweighs the desire to dram in community with like-minded folk:
“Cooper’s Choice Caol Ila ‘Creosote & Candied Fruits’ is freaking phenomenal! BSW have some bottles left - there’s only 340. It’s sweet and tarry, and very intense. Yet unbelievably smooth. I got myself three bottles and got two other friends hooked on it. I shouldn’t even be sharing this!! LOL!”
Being social creatures, whisky really does taste better when shared, and by which I don’t mean posting a photo online. But here’s the rub: I hate Caol Ila, and say so in full acknowledgment that hate is a strong word. That said, just the thought of Caol Ila’s ubiquitous combination of creosote and lighter fluid is enough to make me wince, so visceral have been my reactions to much of what I’ve tasted over the years.
But, exceptions to every rule: the sumptously sherried Caol Ila 15 Year Old Manager's Dram, 63% is one of the dreamiest whiskies I've ever tasted, full stop. I also have happy memories of an Easter weekend spent pairing the Caol Ila 2013 Feis Ile, 56.5% release with chocolate bunnies. And hope springs eternal; only a Sith Lord deals in absolutes, so I prefer to keep an open mind and palate, rather than write off all output from one distillery. But truthfully, in hindsight, it was the excitement of someone pointing me in the direction of their secret treasure that tugged at my heart strings, and spurred an otherwise irrational purchase.
There was no age or distillation date to be found anywhere, and my tipster admitted that it was probably a young whisky. I don’t get out much so found the idea of bottling a single cask without an age statement intriguing, if a little cheeky. A quick email exchange with Cooper’s Choice confirmed that this was in fact bottled at 6 years of age, finished for the last year in a Madeira cask. “Personally I am a big fan of younger Islays as they have so much character,” relayed their director, “and Caol Ila in particular works well with a variety of different casks types.”
This will undoubtedly be Caol Ila with a thick coat of paint, a modern whisky as the cognoscenti like to damn with faint praise. But in my experience Caol Ila and I can’t seem to get along without a heavy-handed finish. I also agree that Islay whiskies are often best drunk young. And with Madeira in high rotation on our travel itinerary these past few years, I’ve developed a soft spot for both the island and its underappreciated fortified wine, their casks included.
Come to think of it, I’m contemplating an island theme for this year’s show, so maybe this will be the right occasion to open this bottle for others – and pay it forward in the spirit in which it was originally shared.