Lone Wolf's new pack

"Yes, I promise I will call you more. I'm just really busy at work these days ok. OK, love you too."

Well it's Sunday, and being Sunday, it's another fine day for some sipping' n' samplin'. And because it also happens to be mother's day, I thought what better reason than that to get a little extra glow going on. Mom should be arriving at the ol' jackashack in a few hrs for diner and to remind me of how dirty the floors and counter tops are.

Today also happens to be perfectly miserable outside. It's the middle of May and we have an icy drizzle pelting the ground. This is Islay weather. Time for some Ardbeg yes? You see, weather affects mood and mood affects your reactions to pretty much everything. So if you're going to do an Ardbeg day, well, do it on a cold, wet, crappy, rainy and cloudy day. From henceforth we will refer to these grey depressing slabs of despair as "Ardbeg Days" A wee bit of man-made liquid sunshine to counter an undeserved F.U. Mother Nature blessedly bestowed on her mortal offspring.

Let's get mentally prepared shall we? 4 drams today kids; and all Ardbeg.

Just the anticipation alone was enough. I'm a peat addict, admittedly… so when I set up a proper dramming I go all out. I dim the lights. I prep the table with my geeky charts and waters – and depending on mood and/or budget you'll see either Kitchener's finest tap, or Tuscany's mineral gem from the Apennine Mountains (roll eyes here) So let's get to it then:

Maxwell House ain't got nothin.

Ardbeg 10: The Lone Wolf

I've said it all here.

Colour:
Light, like the sun

Nose:
Intense, bright brine, citrus, cutesy in a femme fatale sort of way. My grandfather's shoe shine box from the 50's (i.e.; mothballs & formaldehyde)  Smell of the sea; this is ALL Atlantic.

Palette:
Everything the nose is, just translate it to your mouth, then add a bag of sea salt and attempt to crush it with your pathetic-weakling man teeth.

Finish:
Strong. Everything an Islay whisky should be. This Scotch shows the rest of the world what it means to be a whisky.

Mmmmm, swampy goodness.

Ardbeg Uigeadail: The Lone Wolf's mother

Colour:
Red, bloody, lone wolf with blood stains on it's woman claws.

Nose:
Everything the 10 yr old is but with an intense woodsy brine. Christmas combined with play-doh? Peat… duh. Correction: peat x5. Corryvreckan's little brother (we'll get to it). A little less femme fatale than the 10 yr old for some reason.

Palette:
If you could strap a nuclear fusion impulse drive from STTNG to the lone wolf using nothing but reclaimed leather straps from some steam punk side show, then you would basically have the palette of the Ardbeg Uigeadail in your mouth. Nuff said.

Finish:
Warp 9

Scotland's death pool of love. ahhh, the romance of viking stupidity.

Ardbeg Corryvreckan: The Lone Wolf's viking lover.

Colour:
Deeper than the others but still lighter than a Speyside.

Nose:
Uigeadail's 'older' brother. More mature, subtle and not as desperate to impress, but does anyway (and knows it). No formaldehyde scent like the 'lone wolf' but still a deep sense of impending doom; just more 'at your front door' kinda way.

Palette:
Chewy. Seriously… chew this scotch. It's a food, not a liquid. The vikings have sowed their seed among many a port, but the Corryvreckan bore the man-fruit of their, ahem, labour.

Finish:
This particular part of the viking in Ardbeg is from Denmark. Not as long as the Uigeadail. Still it persists, but let's be honest; the Dane's are kind of like teenage boys: all rah-rah with no lasting stamina. (This isn't really a slight) a viking is a viking, but it's just not a Warp 9 kinda viking.

"BANG, ZOOM! Straight to the moon!"

Ardbeg Galileo: The crazy italian uncle.

Winner of World Whisky Awards Top prize for 2013. This 13yr old special release commemorates Argbeg being the first whisky in space. (Trekkies take note.)

Colour:
softly goldenly soft.

Nose:
Lots of reviews mention pineapple… there's a reason for that; it's absolutely true. It softens the creosote volcanic-punch a bit with these heavenly Hawaiian hula girls.

Palette:
Aged in Marsala casks (Italian) I'm going to put this one in-between the 10 yr old and the Uigeadail for sweetness. The Corryvreckan feels like it has the richer note of the 4 sampled here. Coal fire drizzled with lemon is ever present, as in any Ardbeg so don't fret.

Finish:
Soft landing. Touch down.

*********************

Final Warning Note: You can't drink Ardbeg endlessly. It's a wolf; its nature is to bite and gnash and maul you until you stop kicking. It's the kind of scotch that needs breaks in between pours… unless as previously mentioned... it's mothers day.

Cheers.

Spirit Guides

Lace em' up boys, tonight we'll fight for it.

Managing a Whisky Bar is like managing a hockey team; you won't get good results if the players aren't movers and shakers. And with too many players on the bench, the good ones won't get enough ice time. So picking your roster is pretty darn important, and at the end of the day if a player doesn't perform, you don't pay them, you cut them – that's just business. For a hockey team, 23 players will do, for a whisky bar, I've seen a roster of hundreds, but to what end? To carry any more than 50 whiskies at a time takes the spotlight off of the stars and completely overwhelms the fans.

Enter the rotating roster method. Perform or die. Why should a whisky have it any easier than a pro hockey player? You hire them to do a job, (making people warm and fuzzy inside) and they better dram well deliver. The problem is, some whiskies that don't sell well aren't necessarily 'bad' whiskies. Without naming names and pointing fingers, I can say we have some great whiskies that don't sell well. So what makes that happen? It's not price – I have some inexpensive ones that sit a lot longer than the more expensive ones. For whisky to perform well it comes down to one important factor: the coach standing on the bench (AKA our staff). Whisky patrons want to be steered in the right direction and they look for that from the guys and gals on the other side of the counter. And rightly so. But they're not just whisky coaches, they're your spirit guides to dramland.

DVLB's Dr. Dramstein workin' the Peat

 Now most people that visit us at DVLB have seen the whisky wall and paid their due respects. But not a heck of a lot of people have had a chance to visit our secret whisky lab. (The whereabouts of said lab will remain undisclosed for fear of mass looting and rioting in our fine town), but rest assured we in management are hard at work toiling away, dram after dram, day after day to bring you the best of what seems like an endless golden utopia of malt madness.

When building and destroying a whisky collection, one should search for a diverse set of skills from your players. Consider light ones, sweet ones, and some with that quintessential mark of St. Andrew: Peat. Let's look at some new and bright stars in the line up shall we:

Where's the Peat? haha.

Port Charlotte An Turas Mor
Speaking of player performance, I've had an on and off again love affair with Bruichladdich. When first I looked at the Laddie Classic I thought it must have been a printing error. The Tiffany blue bottle screams of desperation in the not-so-sublte art of peacocking. The pale liquid inside didn't offer much more. The Laddie Organic is tolerable, offering up a unique approach to the market by jumping on the 'green' wagon. But it was the Port Charlotte sub-brand of Bruichladdich that finally did justice to a distillery that for many years waved it's proud flag of independence (recently sold out to Rémy Cointreau). Hmmm. To most, Islay = Peat. And Port Charlotte is Bruichladdich's answer to that question: 'where's the peat?'

Found on our flavour map just below the 'Lone Wolf' (Ardbeg) and it's shyer half-beast cousin (Laphroaig) the PC An Turas Mor (Gaelic for 'the great journey') is just one peated single malt in a long line of other PCs that are leading up to the release of a 10 yr old… probably within a year. The concept of releasing several underaged malts to the public so they can experience the maturation process is, well… pretty cool. One thing we can't take away from Bruichladdich is their tenacity to be inventive. Let's hope their new Parisian overlords let them keep playing in that sandbox.

The Balvenie Peated Cask 17 yr old
Innovation isn't shipwrecked on Islay though. Master Distiller of The Balvenie, David Stewart has his own brand of sorcery. From the stunning 14 yr old Caribbean Cask (in our top #5 for sales) to another malted mutation: The 17 yr old Peated Cask. 'So what' you say? Well my darling deerbunnies, as you know, The Balvenie is a Speyside whisky and as such is more known for its focus on honey and vanilla notes. Peat is very atypical for this distillery (see sister: Glenfiddich) here's the low-down: In 2001, he produced some heavily peated Balvenie whisky and put this in to ex-bourbon casks. In late 2009, after eight years of maturation, he decided to transfer this heavily peated whisky to some fresher casks and had planned to experiment and put some other suitable whisky in the old casks. Stewart selected some 17 yr old and transferred it to the casks that had previously held the heavily peated whisky and monitored its maturation progress. The result was then blended with some other 17 years old whisky that had been part matured in new American oak casks. The result is this Balvenie 17 years old Peated Cask. Got all that?

This is the only whisky on our flavour map that has a multi-coloured rating. Starting off with honey notes and easily tricking you into a calm and collected serenity before smacking you upside the head with it's open fist of peated prowess, this dram is unapologetic - The way a Scot should be. Thanks Davey.

Don't' F#@! with the Lone Wolf

Ardbeg Brand Ambassadors circa 1983

Did I just cross the line, go against all I've been taught, soil the purity of our spirit? Yes, I broke the law. My head held high and my chin sticking out like a middle finger to the guy who just cut me off on the parkway.

Why the rebellion? No real reason actually. It was a fluke. Born the way all evolutionary moments are born; chance, accident, right place/right time… with a small peppering of laziness. I had just enjoyed a glass of fine ruby port that I happened to win in a draw the other day. The glass being as empty as a glass can be without a proper washing, when the 'Lone Wolf' (Ardbeg 10 yr old) caught my eye from the corner of the cabinet. The kitchen being 10 feet away from said cabinet, a distance much too far for this slothful half-Scot, I made a Darwinian decision to pour a dram into said contaminated vessel.

I think I could go for some Meatloaf actually.

The 'Lone Wolf' is named as such for a reason: he doesn't play well with others in games of taste, he doesn't like to be compared to others, and most of all, he despises other Islay malts. They are weak to him, and he knows they cower in his glorious light. So when embarking on the path to malt madness, and when Ardbeg is your companion, you don't mess around – he'll go straight for your jugular if you don't respect his power. But of course, like most Scots, I shrugged my shoulders at the beast and poured away. The ruby-throated port residue in my glass immediately stained the wolf to a hue of blood and anger. Now, you'd think any contamination at all would devastate a single malt, destroy it's long journey of singleness and singledom. But all I did was wake the beast. He came out with renewed vigour and gnashed his teeth.

How about a nice ham sandwich instead?

A delight! A joyous delight the wolf brought to my mouth. 'On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with red roses?' …sure. Did the ruby port add anything? I'd answer by saying it added resolve. Resolve that you can't tame the wolf. (Ned Stark would grin about now) The port only made our wolf bolder. Stronger. More cantankerous. What's the lesson? That allowing our sacred spirits to mingle may give us a glimpse of what a single malt may have become if allowed into wedlock, but also that a defiant single malt can withstand a wee bit of swill. They are after all, from the land of the thistle, not fairy fluff.