by tashmcgill | Apr 26, 2016 | Tasting Notes
It’s a Thursday night and I’ve just finished my first day back in the office after a month overseas. I’ve been landed for just over 24 hours. If you don’t need a whisky then, I don’t know when you do. Except tonight, I’m not drinking whisky, I’m drinking whiskey.
Whisky Girl Fact #17: I’m not precious, I treat all spirits equally. In fact a fair portion of the time, I reach for bourbon or rye before Scotch. I go on Bourbocation with my friends that live in the South of the US. I’ve been to a decent chunk of the Bourbon trail. Whisky or whiskey, with or without an E, whisky by any measure is just fine with me.
Where was I? Oh, yes. At The Jefferson, getting reacquainted with a favourite watering hole and sitting down to taste a selection of Jack Daniel’s finest. Tennessee Whisky holds a special place in my heart, after all, Nashville is a home away from home.
The joy of doing a vertical tasting like this is getting to experience several of the expressions side by side. I always think of Jack Daniel’s as the sweeter, more mellow and rounded than other bourbons. That probably comes from the unique charcoal filtering method they use. Sometimes they even use it twice. Despite the insane 1980s and 90s product placement that saw ‘Jack’n’Coke’ reach iconic popularity as beverage of choice, Jack has always had a little more story than that. The legends are numerous and that’s my other favourite thing about tastings. You get to hear the stories, not just from the hosts but often the punters too.
I was not disappointed – people talked about old buddies who traded for bargains during the war, speculated on where Old No.7 got it’s name and passed conjecture on the smaller details of Jack’s life. He was an interesting character for sure, essentially inheriting the business and way of life as a boy, never marrying and working his way around regulations and restrictions. Jack Daniel’s still resides in a dry county today. America can sure be weird sometimes.
To tasting; brief notes this time.
Gentleman Jack: From time to time in winter, I’ve been known to keep a bottle of bedside bourbon. This boy has made the cut a few times. Sweet, mellow and smooth, it benefits from double charcoal filtering but carries a rich complexity with fruit and spice notes.
Single Barrel Select: One of my favourites of the night, these barrels are individually selected as the name suggests, usually for their pronounced and distinctive notes. Vanilla, toasty oak, caramel. These are achieved at such depth because the selected barrels are aged in the highest heights of the warehouse, where more extreme temperatures pull every micron of flavour out of the wood and into the spirit.
Old No. 7: The traditional Jack. Sweet vanilla and a hint of oak coming through that first fill. Lighter and less rich than the previous two examples but still smooth. Not a go-to whiskey for me, but when tasted in the line-up you can start to see the distinctive Jack Daniel’s flavour profile pulling through.
Rested Tennessee Rye: (Whisky Girl Fact #18: I love rye. With a passion. Could drink rye and only rye for months at a time.) This was my other favourite of the night. The traditional Jack Daniel’s notes are there – vanilla and caramel. But the rye gives a nutty spice to it. This release follows an earlier 2012 release of unaged rye. It caused quite a stir at the time, but these barrels have aged for two years to unarguably qualify as straight rye. It was delicious. Lighter in colour than you’d expect, but very sumptuous. It’s made it to my ‘buy it if you see it’ list.
Jack Daniel’s Sinatra Select: Possibly one of the greatest brand partnerships to ever be created from the age of Mad Men, Frank Sinatra was rarely seen without Jack Daniel’s to hand. The Sinatra Select is a special release. To be honest, it didn’t wow me – because it stood out as so different from the flavour profiles we’d been seeing elements of the whole night. Big, robust and spicy in parts – it did feel like kissing Sinatra on one of his bad days.
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by tashmcgill | Apr 26, 2016 | Tasting Notes
Edradour is one of those whiskies for me. From first taste of their Natural Cask Strength bottling, I fell in love with what was once the smallest distillery in Scotland, until it was outshrunk by Strathearn. That expression is an Oloroso-cask aged for about 13 years, leaving a sweet, creamy and delicious dram with caramel and dried fruit notes. Hits you with orange peel and Christmas cake.
Edradour also happens to be the oldest working farm distillery and there are some that say being a smaller distillery is actually an advantage. No matter how the economy turns or what challenges you face, you can adapt and move with the market quickly. That certainly seems to be the case for Edradour. She has passed from owner to owner with a fair amount of history and intrigue, but now is shepherded by Andrew Symington, a Master of the Quaich. Edradour continues to make traditional ‘farm whisky’, in addition to some innovative and interesting malts.
One of which is this, the Ballechin 10 year old. Edradour is a typically unpeated malt, so interesting things always happen when you take something standard and mess around with it. The name ‘Ballechin’ is from another distillery from the same area as Edradour, Pitlochry in Perthshire. It’s nice to not lose these names entirely to history.
Colour: Light, pale gold.
Nose: Smoky. Edradour are not just waving the malt over the peat fire, they’ve given it some time and love. It moves to something green and herbal on the nose too.
Palate: Hello grain and smoke. Then it rounds out around the edges, the sweet sugars kick in. At one point, it was almost like tasting a tequila, the sense of agave sugars so present. Then a little sweet almond until the grain comes in. Chewy, like a good sourdough. Nutty and toasty and oaty.
Finish: Long, smoky grains. Like cracking barley between your teeth.
by tashmcgill | Apr 26, 2016 | Comedy
Every year around this time, my nights grow even longer and usually with less whisky involved. Why? Umm.. The NZ International Comedy Festival. Each year, I try and make it to as many shows as possible to let you know what’s funny or just plain ridiculous so you too, can enjoy the Festival.
And it’s already begun! Let me tell you briefly about the show I saw on Saturday: Brendon Green: Eggs and Ham. Look at that, you get a laugh for free just reading the name of the show. I’ve been watching Brendon’s comedy since he debuted at the Festival in 2012 and even slightly before that a time or two. His brand of intellectual but casually off-hand observational comedy will have your cheeks hurting, particularly if you don’t mind a bit of comedy at a funeral. He also brought back the guitar for a little musical interlude. Nicely done. Many laughs had and a nice way to meet the newest venue of the Festival, Montecristo Comedy (basement rooms next to Toto’s).
Here’s the keyword review: intelligent, funerals, not too clean but not too obscene, take your mates, you’ll appreciate the quick wit, cheeks will hurt, there’s a guitar, brand new show!
I’ve just been to see Stuart Bowden, in his show ‘She Was Probably Not A Robot‘ at the Herald Theatre. This theatre is one of my favourite venues in Auckland to see any kind of live performance because it’s so intimate and personal. It should suit a show that has been described as ‘a lo-fi, DIY, off-beat, sci-fi storytelling experience; a surreal, soulful comedy about a decomposing world and a cosmic visitor.’
The plot description of the one-man show goes on to say, “When the world ends in flood and fire, one man, asleep on his air-mattress, floats out of his bedroom window, through burning debris and out to sea to be the sole survivor and last hope for humanity.” Suffice to say, there is an air mattress in the show and it plays a vital role in the physical comedy of this show! I was with a couple of friends tonight, who kindly offered their words!
Sarah said: weird and interactive, and wonderful. Pretty hard to describe actually, a combination of many things that assault your senses, generally in a good way. Kind of heartwarming but also strange.
Arjun said: I liked how it was still very funny but it wasn’t traditional comedy. He was clearly a natural comedian. He didn’t descend into cheap gags and was genuinely there to entertain.
Here’s the keyword review: physical, intimate, human and heartfelt, laugh out loud but not in the usual fashion, air mattress, aerobic, energetic, dynamic, creative, magnetic.
I thought Stuart Bowden’s show was everything I could hope for from a Fringe show – a little bit weird and a little bit lovely. Both shows are playing this week so get out there and have some laughs!
Meanwhile, you can check out everything the Comedy Festival has to offer and book tickets via the website. My advice is get in early, book two shows per night and allow an hour between to march over Auckland. Most shows are doing short runs, with the big names sometimes only doing one or two. So be quick and get in now!
by tashmcgill | Apr 20, 2016 | Culture & Ideas
I live according to a few basic guidelines. It’s a way of navigating through life, which is as complex as it is beautiful. More than mottos, these are principles that help guide my decision-making and my responses to what happens around me.
What’s for you will not pass you by.
I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul. (Henley)
There’s a lesson in everything.
There is something gold and loveable in everyone, even if you have to dig.
Actions speak louder than words, but if you speak let your words be true.
Don’t waste energy or thought on what can’t be changed.
Don’t waste energy or time on negativity.
Assume positive intent always.
Hurt and disappointment are the result of unmet expectations.
You have everything and everyone you need to solve the current problem.
Everything is working together for good.
They are a good way to live, but not perfect. Sometimes you learn a principle no longer works because you outgrew it or your circumstance changed; sometimes it ceases in relevance. Sometimes you add new ones, as you grow and face new challenges.
In 2015, I had a principle: true hair, true feelings. I’d been a redhead (again) for a year or so, but the more time wore on, the more the Ginger had a personality of her own. She helped me try a lot of new things, but I wasn’t entirely myself. I became brunette again, and concentrated on understanding what it is I really felt, really wanted, really desired. Confession: I miss the Ginger.
So here’s another confession: I didn’t just outgrow one of my biggest principles, I was dead wrong about it. There, I said it. I’ve been walking around with a false belief for almost my entire life.
You have to give people your trust first to let them prove it.
So very wrong and now you know I was, too. The map of how I got to that belief is not a story for here, but I have always thought the best way to discover if someone is trustworthy was to trust them first and see if they earn more trust. I always thought it was too much of a tough ask to earn trust from a blank canvas starting point. Call it a fatal weakness of my optimistic outlook, but I have hoped for the best in people. Hoped for the best in workmates, in friends, in people I admire and in relationships too. I was hoping they were trustworthy and hoping I wouldn’t be wrong about it.
I’m an idiot.
I have always taken a certain amount of pride in being to face any circumstance with ease. In business I’m adaptable, a fast and sure-footed decision-maker and as an empath, I can navigate the complexities of many social situations, putting people at ease with a little friendly conversation and banter. (When other people are at the center of my attention.)
I can make easy conversation with a stranger at a bar. I can walk into a variety of situations without fear. I have broken curfew in Haiti to buy rum from a gas station, the only woman within miles. I have used my kickboxing training to wrestle my way free from a late-night carpark attack. (I have the scars to prove it. Concealer is a miraculous thing, when you need it.)
But I have other scars too, ones that require a different kind of cover-up. The ones left behind from getting it wrong when it comes to trust, mistakenly vulnerable with those things I value most.
Sometimes you choose to trust someone and if they let you down, it doesn’t matter at all. There’s no high stakes and no skin in the game. Other times, you choose to trust but you’re not only trusting another person, you are also trusting yourself. Trusting your own intuition, your ability to judge the character of others but also to make your own wise choices and avoid poor assumptions. You trust yourself to hold yourself safely together while giving parts of yourself away at the same time. You have to trust yourself to be vulnerable, but to do so wisely and in safe places.
You can trust yourself until you make a mistake, until your intuition fails you. Until you realise maybe you can’t be trusted to choose wisely who to be vulnerable with. You become very afraid.
Within me the battle goes on; a child-like girl who opens her vulnerable heart to the world over and over against the terrified one who holds herself back at every turn. Most of the time, the child-like girl hopes and the fearful girl hides.
The result is I become a little bit vulnerable with everyone, but I don’t know how to move past fear of being truly vulnerable with those I know I can trust. There are, of course, exceptions – my childhood best friend, my trainer and those that have proven themselves over time.
I must choose to trust others again, but I must also learn to trust. Trust has a shape and a form, a sound and a fingerprint created over time. And this, the hardest thing to learn: trust doesn’t look like hope – hope is an altogether different thing. Hope is the belief that everything will work out in the end, but trust is the platform for vulnerability, the vital connection that helps us get there. Hope sustains us, but vulnerability strengthens us to have real connection.
I have confused hope and trust over and over again, because I am so drawn to hope. But trust is built and proven over time, earned in a series of small actions and intimacies that demonstrate what is safe and good and kind. Best summed up by Charles Feltman, who wrote The Thin Book of Trust, trust is “choosing to risk making something you value vulnerable to another person’s actions.”
Brené Brown says that without trust there can be no meaningful connection between people. And people are the most important thing in my world, connection the only thing I long for. So in learning to trust myself again, I can trust others, which leads to true vulnerability and connection. Simple!
And this, the hardest thing to learn: trust doesn’t look like hope – hope is an altogether different thing.
Trust looks like unpacking those scars and reversing them. Trust looks like paying attention to the small things, making the calls and knocking on the door. Asking the questions and answering them too. Following through on the gritty conversations, letting your actions speak louder than words, but your words also being true. Trust is not accidental or insecure. Trust is persistent and optimistic.
Do you know what hasn’t changed? I still go looking for the gold in everyone. I still tend towards trusting more than distrusting. I am still an optimistic idealist and there is a lesson in everything, even the most painful mistakes I’ve made. What’s for me will not pass me by, whether by the fates or the winds I choose to sail by. I find myself in the waiting space, because trust takes time. It will take time to trust myself again, now I realise where to begin and I will keep digging up the gold within.
Hopeful, optimistic and willing to trust beyond fear.
by tashmcgill | Apr 18, 2016 | Tasting Notes
There aren’t many whiskies that send me scurrying into research mode, but this Dailuaine did. Was is the pineapple nose that teased me with Piña Colada notes or just the sumptuous flavour profile that was so different? I’m not sure, but I can tell you this much – I went back for a second dram in the same sitting, which is nearly unheard of.
Dailuaine Distillery is in the Spey valley in, yes, Speyside. One of dozens of distilleries that have produced malts for years but that remain relatively under the radar of the average whisky drinker. I confess, I’d never heard of Dailuaine prior to tasting this morsel. But, her history is actually peppered with lots of names we do know – Aberlour, Talisker and now, principally, Diageo. Dailuaine provides some core backbone services to the whole Diageo line, including producing the bulk of it’s single malt for Johnnie Walker blends. But enough of that for now, let’s focus on Cask #10742. One of 773 bottles from a big ol’ Sherry Butt, this whisky is one of the most interesting I’ve tasted for a long, long time.
Nose: Like I said – almost like a Piña Colada. There’s sweetness of pineapple, but a smooth, well-balanced roundness that left me thinking of coconut cream and buttered rum. Then this light citrus note, almost lime-y. At this stage, it’s hard to believe I’m nosing a whisky.
Palate: Let’s get more interesting: sliding from creamy pineapple and citrus to big cherry flavours, vanilla icecream and toasty biscuits. Later, I read the formal tasting notes which suggest disgestives are the note, but coconut is still screaming at me so I’m going with Krispie biscuits. There’s an almost coffee-bean quality to the emerging finish.
Finish: The oaty, coffee bean dryness starts to emerge and now it’s tasting like a more traditional sherry finish. Fruit is back, dry and sweet and round almond and nut flavours hang around. It’s a medium dry finish that left me wanting more. So I did.
I’m almost certain I’ll be back to the Jefferson to try this again before the bottle is gone. It’s simply so unique. When you taste something like that and realise that same distillery is producing the lion’s share of it’s malt for one of the world’s biggest blends, it just makes me curious as to what the master blend has going on at Johnnie Walker.
