by tashmcgill | May 2, 2016 | Culture & Ideas
It is Sunday afternoon and the song of tui has caught my attention. That is not unusual – I hear the tui every morning when I wake up. But to hear the tui chattering in the middle of the day instead of dawn or dusk is different. So I heard her singing and walked into the backyard to see what she had to show me. After all, a tui is a messenger and I am constantly on the lookout for signs.
“Time passes in moments… moments which, rushing past define the path of a life just as surely as they lead towards its end. How rarely do we stop to examine that path, to see the reasons why all things happen, to consider whether the path we take in life is our own making or simply one into which we drift with eyes closed. But what if we could stop, pause to take stock of each precious moment before it passes? Might we then see the endless forks in the road that have shaped a life? And, seeing those choices, choose another path?” …… “What if there was only one choice and all the other ones were wrong? And there were signs along the way to pay attention to.” – Dana Scully, The X-Files, ‘All Things’.
Why look for signs? There are some people who don’t believe the world is a magic place anymore, if it ever was. It is all construction of our own will and coincidence. I prefer to believe there is an element of mystery. That we create from the hand we are dealt and the opportunities that come our way. Each choice is a signpost on the way and there are signs everywhere, if we choose to look and if we choose to see.
It’s a dance, I think. The more you look, the more you’ll see the language the universe is speaking in. It is no coincidence I have three messenger birds tattooed on my arm. The world is full of messages, if we will learn to tune in.
Some people say ‘when feathers appear, angels are near’, an assurance that someone is watching over them. I see feathers from time to time, almost always in the seasons of life that are challenging and chasing me. The first one I remember was in New York, when I needed someone to be watching over me perhaps more than I ever have before or since. That trip, I came to believe that no matter where I went in life or whatever happened next, I was going to make my own pathway through it.
And there were signs along the way to pay attention to.
Rolling down long stretches of American highway in the dark night, a green glow lights up in the distance. Eventually it comes barreling past me. The same destination written on the sign, just 50 miles closer than the last sign. 50 miles is a long way to drive in the dark without a single assurance that you’re still on the right road. Even though you haven’t met an intersection for hours, that road can be daunting and lonely. Fear and frustration like to turn up too, but all you need is another signpost to let you know you’re still heading in the right direction and therefore getting closer all the time.
I see a feather and my mind whispers to my soul, ‘You’re on the right path still, just keep going. Stay the course.’
Is it an angel, the universe or my desire to find evidence that supports what I believe to be true? It doesn’t matter. The meaning of the sign is for me and me alone. But I prefer a world with magic in it. I look and listen for the signs while I wait.
I’ve learned that things take time; these tiny fragments of life that rush past but when compressed together move like glaciers. I am never patient enough at first. Slowly, because time will teach you that slow is sometimes good I have realized the value in taking the long, dark road despite how lonely and daunting it appears. There are some things you can only learn on the slow road.
There are some dreams you simply can’t make happen yourself, you can only get ready for when the moment is right and the choice appears before you. I think there is a serendipity between getting ready and when the moment arrives. Few of us are born ready for the things we aspire to, let alone born with the vision to see the true possibilities. You have to learn how to learn what you discover you need along the way. And then learn to see the signs along the way so you don’t lose your path. In fact, some of us need to learn to see in entirely different ways.
A long time ago, I had a dream and I learned I needed to let it go – so my fragment of a vision could grow and become something new. I buried the seed and let it go. For a long time, I’ve been walking down the highway of that dream, realizing at times what the collection of moments have given me in wisdom, understanding and personal growth. So I am closer, but I have no idea where or if the road will end.
Today, the tui sang and I walked into the backyard to see it eating from the ripe, sweet fruit on the apple tree. It looked up at me and sang again. We share a moment and then a moment more. The tui flew into the tree behind the apple tree in the far back corner of the yard. I walked quietly and encountered the most amazing fragrance. It was sweet and tart and almost tangy. I looked at the tui, sitting in the tree that has never borne fruit in the 6 years I’ve lived in this house.
The fragrance was intoxicating and coming from the corner of earth littered with dark red fruit, the grass and dirt stained pink from the bursting skins. The tree itself was still heavy laden on every possible branch. The tui sang once more and took flight back to the apple tree, message delivered.
The winter is over. The tree that was bare has borne fruit. Stay the course, don’t give up.
Seeds buried might grow to trees and even then, you might wait another season before the tree bears fruit. But keep reading the signs along the way and you’ll be ready, when the moment comes. Pay attention.
by tashmcgill | Apr 29, 2016 | Tasting Notes
There are several types of whisky drinkers you will encounter on your whisky adventure. A dozen variations on each, but there are a few core characteristics that emerge again and again. The Big Man, The Brand-lover, The Brand-geek, The Booze Head, The Booze Bargainer, and The Big Spender. You can read more about those later, but not a one of these stereotypes was worthy this week.
But by chance or orchestration, I was.
By many definitions (most of them humanitarian), I am a wealthy woman. But not in the world of whisky. I choose my bottles for home carefully, I drink to a budget – most of the time. Some of the most extravagant and delicious treats I’ve enjoyed through the generosity of a kind friend. But sometimes, you know something precious is within your grasp so you make a plan to have it. I am the determined type of girl that usually finds a way to achieve the goal. So since I learned there was a bottle in the hands of my local bar, I’ve been making a plan to taste a once-in-a-lifetime whisky and hoped to be … worthy of it.
The Once In A Lifetime Unicorn Whiskies.
Not everyone has the same definition of once in a lifetime. Nor do they have the same requirements for a unicorn (so rare or hard to find it may not exist or come close to your hand during your lifetime) whisky. You probably know by now, how much I love the sherry cask. And the PX sherry cask is the favourite of them all. I’m drawn to those initials like a child in starlight, eyes wide and hopeful. I also love Speyside whiskies and I especially love unusual techniques and experiments. So drinking from the cask at Bruichladdich or tasting a rare, old malt in a hotel pub with the proprietor, these are experiences I treasure. My unicorn experiences and then, there are the unicorn bottles.
A Port Ellen 1979.
An original Octomore.
A Mortlach 25 year old single malt.
And a GlenDronach 1972.
The Facts.
GlenDronach is on the edge of the Speyside and Highlands region. Distilled on the 28th of February, 1972 and put to bed in a Pedro Ximenez Sherry Butt for 43 years, before being bottled in August 2015. Bottle 171 of 414. The oldest bottling in the 12th batch of single cask releases. It was bottled at 51.1% ABV.
Until Wednesday, GlenDronach was part of the BenRiach Distillery Company, which also owns Glengassaugh. Under the watchful eye of Billy Walker, they have produced fascinating wine finishes and explored new territories. Wednesday night, it was announced that BenRiach will be purchased for a large sum by Brown-Forman. You may not know Brown-Forman by name, but you will know it’s cornerstone brands; Jack Daniel’s and Woodford Reserve.
This whisky by virtue of its heritage, age, cask and region was always going to be delicious. I’ve read of previous cask releases and it was going to push up my vertical understanding of what GlenDronach is all about.
There is plenty of chat in the whisky world right now about what will happen to these distilleries. Of course I’m curious about the old remaining stock – but for now, here’s what I tasted, on the night GlenDronach’s future changed again.
Nose: Tobacco, herbs, spice and warm chocolate, on a base of soft plum and raisins.
Palate: Buttery fruit cake with deep, rich raisins, graced with smoky orange notes and gentle round hazelnuts with that chocolate hint again.
Finish: The oak emerges from a deep, sweet cream finish and the tobacco returns gently.
The Story.
The Jefferson announced the bottle was ready to be sold, so then it was just a matter of timing. This cask is sold out worldwide, at a regular bottle price of £780 thereabouts. You can imagine the dram price and enquire at the bar if you need t0.
To indulge, I needed to find myself worthy of it first, so achieving a wee personal milestone was an internal mark. Then the moment needed to be right – I, at peace, and the price set aside having earned it literally and figuratively. In the end, all it took was a little provocation. The right set of witnesses (I do love an audience) and the appropriate mood.
What is worthy? To understand the value of this whisky is not the price. Not the admiration or disbelief of the observers, or the approval of the owner, who had to retrieve it from safe-keeping. Although, momentarily I wondered if he would allow me the pleasure. ‘Are you sure?’, he asked several times.
Yes, I’m sure. Certain that the small, slow rotation of opening that bottle will stay with me like every other small triumph. I had hoped the fates would align that I could claim my taste of the GlenDronach before it sold out. Turns out, I was the first and then in quick succession they sold four more pours.
I want to say ‘Of course, because I made magic in the air with my desire and knowing of it. Of course, they were drawn to taste it too.’
It was probably coincidence.
Those tasting notes are just flavours. To me, it was magic under the guise of a regular Wednesday night. My secret desire of that molten paradise, taste of indulgence, the thrill of earning this pleasure and having it mine alone for a moment. The certainty and cementing of a recent lesson learnt with the aroma and taste of something magical on my tongue. That is worthy. The realisation of my intention and sheer celebration of something beautiful, fleeting and momentarily mine.
The bottle is now open at The Jefferson. Go be worthy and enjoy some magic, too. It won’t last long.
by tashmcgill | Apr 27, 2016 | Culture & Ideas
‘You can read it, if you like.’
(The story written to explain the chapters of life before now, where we intersect.)
He said it with nonchalance and maybe because the words were light leaving his tongue but heavy by the time they landed in my ear, I was struck off-balance. I imagine at least, that the words were not heavy with meaning for him, because how would I imagine that those words leaving his lips are as costly for him as they are valuable to me on hearing them?
They landed in my ear and my hand at the same time, little stones dropped into a lake and their ripples sweeping out and down my limbs.
I do not trade in stories lightly, I want to tell him. I hold the stories of others as precious as I hold my stories close. Stories are secrets and trust and truth.
Truthfully, my stories are kept safe behind a tall, brick wall. Stories of my doing, they are like climbing roses on the outside of the wall. Pretty, sweet and sometimes funny I can tell these stories easy and only those who pay close attention will see the bricks behind the flowers.
Lately, I have been thinking about taking some of those bricks down.
Beyond the brick is a wild garden. It is fragrant and sweet, full of fruit and nut trees. There is a river through one corner and the sun falls nicely on the grove of trees. It is both wild and well-tended and it cannot be defined as one thing or another. It is not English nor tropical. It is all things, all being, all stories in their raw and imperfect state. Unfiltered, unrestrained.
Lately, I have been thinking about taking some of those bricks down.
It means something to me, this exchange of the wild, unbound stories. Stories are trust; credit in the bank of understanding. Not understanding as assurance of anything but acceptance and the safe bravery of being Known.
Grace and meaning come from trading stories in my world. Knowing your stories is one step closer to knowing you, the real you – outside the carefully polished mannequins we live inside. At least, I assume it is that way with others, as it is that way with me.
It is a precious thing to hold somebody’s story in your hand. And it is never one story but a collection of tales that weave together one and then the next and the one after. You can traverse sideways, backwards and forwards through the story of another; moments of history and glimpses of the future. So one story could mean all the stories, if you navigate well.
“All art is a kind of confession, more or less oblique. All artists, if they are to survive, are forced, at last, to tell the whole story; to vomit the anguish up.” James Baldwin
I keep a rose garden, that grows on a brick wall. The roses thrive on the sun, strapped in obedient lines against a sturdy spine. Well-practiced stories chosen for each moment. A careful selection of which practiced line is safe to use.
Here is the secret, buried in the brick. If I say the wrong thing, tell the wrong story, express the wrong feeling or tell you what I think before I know what you expect, need or want for me to say – then you, whoever you are, will disappear. A terrifying fear that I am responsible for my aloneness by never being the right thing; good enough, funny enough, wise enough, sweet enough, fierce enough, never enough.
Not an uncommon secret, but mine nonetheless.
Beyond the brick, there is a garden I have come to love. I’ve been living in it, behind the wall my whole life. And lately, I have been thinking about taking down the bricks.
There are some brave and patient ones who have made it far beyond the bricks. They have found crevices through which to crawl. For them, the wild and untamed self delights uninhibited. The storytrader gives freely there and the garden is bountiful. People eat and find shelter and laugh and love is made the whole day long and into the night. The land is good. I peek over the wall and through the window in the gate I hid so well and wonder now, whether I dare wait for those intrepid enough to make their own way through the wall.
Life beyond the brick is good and sweet and sensual and gritty. Lately, I have been thinking about opening the gate or taking down the bricks.
by tashmcgill | Apr 27, 2016 | Tasting Notes
The sun is shining out of a brilliant blue sky as I wind through the curves of lower west Scotland. I have driven north and west from Glasgow, through the towns my forefathers and mothers came from and now I am heading down the Kintyre Peninsula. Already I have crossed a high pass and seen mountain lakes glistening in the light, which is cool and warm at once. Eventually, I’ll arrive at Kennacraig to catch the ferry to Islay, but first I have an appointment with history.
My soul is leaping, dancing with recognition – my ancestors have left their sight of this place in my DNA and bloodstream. I have come home to the place we departed from and my body recognizes the land from which it came, both sides of my family from this Scottish soil. When I first began my independent journey into whisky, no longer guided by patriarchs, I encountered a Campeltown whisky that I was too inexperienced to deserve but I enjoyed it nonetheless. It was a rare bottle of the Springbank 175, an anniversary bottling from 2003. The family-owned stalwart and remnant of the once vibrant distillery community. Now one of three that remain of some 28 or so distilleries, Springbank produces three distinct malts; Spingbank, Hazelburn and Longrow. Glen Scotia remains also, with Glengyle reopened and producing Kilkerran malts.
I visit Springbank and Glen Scotia on that day, driving hours through shared one-way roads to reach the harbour of Campbeltown and the vestiges of Skipness Castle. The coast is isolated, the grass is green. The land is slowly waking up after a long, cold and wet winter but the landscape is achingly beautiful. I dip my hands in the salty, brittle ocean and smell the sea. With my eyes, I see what I imagined when I first tasted that remarkable Springbank malt. A hard place, touched by economic struggle but with a strong spirit. A place that makes beautiful things from what they have in their hand.
A few weeks later, I’ve crossed over that ocean west-ward even further and returned to the land my forefathers finally called home. They sailed, I flew but we land in New Zealand all the same. I still smell the ocean in the morning when I walk to work and as the skies darken on winter’s approach, I taste the sweet persistence of Campbeltown malts again; at the monthly House of Whiskey tasting.
There are the usual suspects gathered and a few new faces but the evening is full of laughter and stories. Sam and Nigel have trod the same path to visit these remarkable places.
#1 – Glen Scotia 10 year old, 46% abv: It’s the colour of a heavy, oily chardonnay with a nose of salted caramel, taffy and creamed honey with a hint of white pepper and rose. The palate opens up with pears and apples, green juicy fruits, light smoke and green grass. Finishes with a peaty grain on the back of the tongue.
#2 – Kilkerran WIP Sherry finish, 46% abv: Light amber in colour, the nose is initially smokey, giving way to instantly recognisable cream and butterscotch over rich fruit. It’s a sherry cask after all. On tasting, it becomes much spicier – but more confusing with less distinguishable fruit characteristics. I couldn’t pick berries from cherries, but it was rich and dry before becoming nutty on the finish.
#3 – Kilkerran WIP #7 11 year old, 46% abv: Delivers a big bourbon nose with vanilla, honey and orange peel. I’m imagining old-fashioneds already, but this probably wouldn’t stand up to it. The palate is a brief dance of light cinnamon, caramelising sugar before racing to a grainy finish and almost evaporating in the mouth. It promised so much more on the nose than it delivered on the tongue.
#4 – Glen Scotia 1992/2011, 43% abv: First nosing is perplexing with the high contrast of oils and floral notes but on the tongue it gives so much complexity. Crisp pastry (high butter content) with toasted oats and the grain coming through. There’s a faint creamy sweet note around the edges but this is a decidedly savoury-sweet whisky, It finishes toasty and warm. I would drink it all night long for it’s uniqueness.
#5 – Springbank 18, 46% abv: We’re at the gritty end of the tasting and my memories come flooding back. This is made using the Springbank 2.5 distillation method and it’s peated to around 22-25ppm. The nose is smoked cheddar (I’m not joking), followed with subtle toffee and creaminess. Into the mouth and it explodes with nuttiness, butterscotch, dried fruits – raisins on the deep end and then the re-emergence of pears and green grapes. This whisky finishes with its big peaty profile and it feels like a bridge between the Highland style and Islay. And that’s Campbeltown, in so many ways for me.
#6 – Longrow 18, 46% abv: The Longrow is still a relatively new romance for me, but we’re getting closer. 100% Oloroso casks so it was easy to predict my attraction. The nose is vanilla and a hint of spice, which delivers on the palate with spiced stewed pears and apples, raisins soaked in rum and a honeyed sweetness. The finish is all Oloroso – long, smooth, creamy til the last moment.
by tashmcgill | Apr 26, 2016 | Opinion
Whisky tastings are a vital part of whisky culture, whether you are brand new to the water of life or nearly embalmed in it.
Think of it as foodies going to dinner at new restaurants: it’s the only practical way to experience a broader range than what most of us have either the cashflow to support, the cupboard space or the company to indulge us.
Firstly, the best thing about any whisky tasting will always or should always be the stories. Tastings are a chance to really indulge in the history, quirks, legends and rare tales. A great host will both inform and entertain, as well as answer your questions. But there are a few kinds of tasting out there and people seem to want to know what to expect. I’ve tried to break it down to the style of tasting as well as the types of whiskies you might be trying.
Whisky Girl Fact #13: I’m most interested in helping you enjoy whisky whichever way you like, but you’ll struggle to convince me there is a better way of enjoying whisky than in the company of other whisky lovers.
There are group tastings and individual tastings but for the most part, I’ll talk about those ticketed events where you pay a set fee, for tasting a set number of whiskies. You’ll be in a group tasting and usually it’s pretty easy to either bring friends or make them at the event. I still believe firmly that a great introduction to whisky is best done at a bar one on one, so you have the chance to learn your own palate and taste, but a group tasting is a fun experience to share.
Expect 5 – 6 whiskies to be served in tasting drams. These are usually a half pour, because host responsibility matters. In fact, at some distilleries in Scotland recently, I was offered takeaway drams for tasting in plastic pottles. I have an opinion on that but it’s not for now.
You should also expect the host to guide you through the tasting process on the first dram, whether you’ve been tasting for years or it’s the first time. Whiskies will usually be tasted from the lightest and subtlest to the heaviest. Makes sense right? You don’t want to overwhelm your palate with peaty smoke and then taste a light Highland floral malt.
Expect some nibbles but nothing that will overwhelm the palate. Most common, cheese and crackers or breads. My preference when running a tasting is for a combination of dried fruit, contrasting cheeses, nuts and dried fruit – but I like to help the palate out a little.
Your average whisky tasting will cost between $50 and $85 in Auckland City. I’ve paid an overrated $US95 in Las Vegas and a distillery tour and tasting is usually in the vicinity (whether Scotland, Ireland or Kentucky) of $10-15 NZD.
What to look for: hosts and venues that make you feel comfortable. As I’ve written before, most whisky-lovers love to share their passion for the water of life with people. So look for those people. Facebook and Google will give you a good guide or find a local whisky lover to point you in the right direction.
How do you do it? The crux of it is, you pick one and go for it. Whisky lovers are a reasonably welcoming and accepting bunch. We are still basking in the relative joy of whisky being accepted as mainstream and cool again, thanks to Mad Men, Californication and Denny Crane. Pick a tasting and head along. Or take a friend and commit to learning as much as you can.
The 101 Tasting
These are great for learning the basics of how to nose a whisky (whisky-wank talk for smelling it), how to taste a variety of flavours. You’ll learn some language and the basics of how whisky is made or varies from region to region. However, pick wisely and remember that any good bar can give you the same personalised experience too. The danger of the 101 is the inevitable attendee who knows, or fancies they know just a little bit more than anyone else and feels the need to prove it to the host. In fact, this person is the antithesis of a good time at any whisky tasting but they appear like clockwork.
The Vertical Tasting
This is perhaps my favourite kind of tasting. A single distillery but a range of their expressions. I recently had a Jack Daniel’s vertical tasting that really opened my eyes to something new in the Rested Rye. Each distillery usually has a core flavour profile and unique finishes or small modifications to the recipe can provoke interesting new perspectives on that core story. Often, this is a beautiful way to get to know the work of a single master distiller. A vertical tasting might still include an independent bottling too. This is an ideal tasting if you’ve found a distillery you like, or to really learn in depth about a particular range.
The Regional Tasting
More particular to Scotch and world whiskies than the Americans, it’s not uncommon to gather a cluster of whiskies from the same region to compare and understand what nuances are happening between the distilleries as well as seeing their commonalities expressed side by side. Last week, I tasted several of the few remaining Campbeltown whiskies at the House of Whiskey monthly tasting. These tastings are interesting to pull together, to choose a range that can represent the region’s iconic profile (Islay’s is peat and phenols, Highland’s heather and honey, florals) and still tell a compelling story. Again, these are a great way to introduce yourself to a particular region and learn what you like or don’t like. In here, I bunch the Japanese or Irish tastings as they are generally not as broken down as the Scotch regions.
The Style/Cask Finish Tasting.
I’ve only ever been to one of these, but it was a mind-blowing flavour ride.
Whisky Girl Fact #12: I love sherry cask finishes. Love them beyond imagining. My favourite finish of all time.
A tasting of five sherry finished whiskies could be a regular Friday night, but this was also matched with chocolate, nuts and semi-dried fruits. We tasted rare independents. These tastings are good if you know what you like or if you are feeling brave. Not a place for starters, unless you like a place to prove your poker face. In this instance, I loved how exploratory the tasting was and the chance to try things super unusual.
The Distillery Tasting
There is nothing that compares to the thrill of opening a cask and pushing the valinch deep into the dark depths of that barrel to extract liquid gold. Or sitting with a master distiller who is introducing the new spirit or an experimental cask. Once you love whisky and it’s inside your bones, you must find a way to taste from a distillery whether in New Zealand, Scotland, Ireland, the US or Japan. There is nothing like drinking from the source.
Where to get started? Visit The Jefferson for their monthly social club tasting or the House of Whiskey for their monthly events in Auckland. In Christchurch, check out Whisky Galore’s schedule. Connect with Glengarrys Malt Club for more regular tastings too.
