Whisky
Page 13
‘It is my desire, but without imposing any condition, that he shall from time to time, when the contents of the said cask shall reach the level of the tap now in the middle at the end of the cask, refill the said cask with five gallons of Scotch whisky, so that the said cask shall not from time to time be tilted to draw off the contents.’
I am told that it is now no use saying that there are only two correct ways to drink whisky: neat and in small quantity as a liqueur after a meal (but for that you must have something better than grain spirit), or diluted with plain water. The world asks for whisky— and soda, and the syphon destroys the work of the still. No more effectual way of ruining the flavour of a good whisky could have been imagined than this one of drowning it in a fizzing solution of carbonic acid gas. For people who like the taste of soda-water it is no doubt an excellent combination, though one may ask, why do they add whisky to it? Only the other day I heard someone who ought to have known better say that he found whisky-and-water ‘a dead drink’ after whisky-and-soda. On the same principle one would be entitled to describe, say, Montrachet as ‘a dead drink’ after a liaison with cheap champagne.
The Scots recognise one or two additional methods of imbibing whisky and, as few of them destroy the fine flavour of good malt spirit, they may appropriately find mention here. There is, to begin with, toddy, a potent and stimulating compilation too often used as medicine and too rarely as the crown and climax of the festival. Its ingredients are simple and few: whisky (and for this and all other hot whisky drinks the whisky must not be the commonplace spirit of the hoardings, otherwise the fumes may be too unpleasant to be penetrated by the nose), sugar, and boiling water. The last should be poured into a tumbler until it is half full; it should be kept there until the glass is well warmed and then poured out. Loaf-sugar (the quantity depending upon taste and past experience) should now be melted in the tumbler with a wine glassful of boiling water. It should, nay, it must, if sacred traditions are to be observed, be stirred with a silver tea-spoon. Now add a half glassful of whisky; stir. Some more water; another half-glass of the spirit. Stir, and serve hot.11
Athole Brose is a beverage of a different character, its constituents being whisky, cold water, and heather honey, though as a matter of fact it is said to have consisted originally of oatmeal and whisky! A formidable association! Put a pound of honey into a bowl and dissolve it in cold water. About a teacupful of water will suffice. Stir—once more with a silver spoon— and when the water and the honey are intimately mixed add one and a half pints of whisky. You must now stir until a froth rises, upon which you bottle and keep tightly corked. On the authority of Meg Dods,12 the supreme arbiter of the Caledonian kitchen, ‘the yolk of an egg is sometimes beat up with the brose’. This drink, which has the honour of being mentioned in The Heart of Midlothian, is carried into the sergeants’ mess of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders on Hogmanay, borne by two subalterns and escorted by a piper and all the officers of the regiment. A quaich is filled for every officer and sergeant.
Other ancient whisky recipes are Auld Man’s Milk, Highland Cordial, Highland Bitters, Het Pint and Caledonian Liquor. Auld Man’s Milk is made by beating the yolks and whites of half a dozen eggs separately. Add to the yolks sugar and a quart of milk (or thin cream), and to this about half a pint of whisky. The whipped whites are then united with this mixture and the whole is gently stirred in a punch bowl. Flavoured with nutmeg or lemon zest, this makes an admirable morning dram.
Highland Cordial is a somewhat more elaborate decoction whose foundation is a pint of white currants to which are added a bottle of whisky, the thin peel of a lemon, and a teaspoonful of essence of ginger. These are mixed and allowed to stand for forty-eight hours, when the liquid is strained. Then a pound of loaf sugar is added and given a day to dissolve. Now bottle and cork, and, in three months, begin to drink.
Highland Bitters is an extremely ancient beverage with a recipe somewhat difficult to assemble on short notice. First an ounce and three-quarters of gentian root and half an ounce of orange peel should be cut into small pieces and bruised in a mortar with an ounce of coriander seed, a quarter-ounce of camomile flower, half an ounce of cloves, and a quarter of an ounce of cinnamon stick. Now put in an earthenware jar and empty two bottles of whisky over it. Keep the jar air-tight for about a fortnight and then strain and bottle.
Het Pint was once—so Scottish legend runs— made with light wine and brandy. But ale and whisky have taken the place of these exotic ingredients in the beverage which was once carried (in a copper kettle) about the streets of Edinburgh and Glasgow on New Year’s Morning and was also consumed on the night before a wedding and at a lying-in. A nutmeg is grated into two quarts of mild ale and brought to boiling point. To a little cold ale add some sugar and three well-beaten eggs. This is now slowly mixed with the hot ale, care being taken that the eggs do not curdle. A half pint of whisky being added, the whole is brought to boil again and then briskly poured from one vessel to another until it becomes smooth and bright.
This discerning whisky drinker looks askance at the soda siphon and offers it a cold shoulder—just as MacDonald recommends!
Perhaps these hardy gentlemen are searching for the perfect blend—which one presumes would be made by Dewar’s
A simpler beverage is Caledonian Liquor, which is made by dropping an ounce of oil of cinnamon on two and a half pounds of bruised loaf sugar; a gallon of whisky—the best you can lay hands on—is added to this and, when the sugar is dissolved, the liquor is filtered and bottled.
For the serious-minded lover of whisky, however, recipes taken from antique household books will have small attraction. All his time will be devoted to that romantic, unending quest of the true participator in the mysteries of aqua vitae—the search for the perfect blend.13 To some men it has been vouchsafed to put lips to a glass of this legendary liquor—there was one occasion in my own life when I thought that the luck was mine— but never has a man been known to possess a bottle of the peerless distillation at the moment when he is—no, not describing its graces—but faintly adumbrating them by fantastic and far-fetched analogies, apologized for even as they are uttered. Most of us are content to believe that such a whisky exists—must exist—and to go on looking for it. One day before we die some unknown fellow traveller in a railway compartment, some Scots ghillie or Irish rustic, may produce a flask or unlabelled bottle and we shall find ourselves at last in the presence of the god himself, Dionysos Bromios, God of Whisky. And then our sensations, rewarded after years of disappointment and imperfect delight, may share the ecstasy of him who, in C.E. Montague’s Another Temple Gone,14 tasted the whisky of the priestly Tom Farrell:
‘Its merely material parts were, it is true, pleasant enough. They seemed while you sipped, to be honey, warm sunshine embedded in amber and topaz, the animating essence of lustrous brown velvet, and some solution of all the mellowest varnish that ever ripened for eye or ear the glow of Dutch landscape or Cremona fiddle. No sooner, however, did this probable sum of all the higher physical embodiments of geniality and ardour enter your frame than a major miracle happened in the domain of the spirit: you suddenly saw that the most freely soaring poetry, all wild graces and quick turns and abrupt calls on your wits, was just the most exact, business like way of treating the urgent practical concerns of mankind.’
1 Presumably a trade directory such as Harper’s. Scotch and Irish blends have, thankfully, largely disappeared, though from time to time a new one is attempted. At this time the probability is that these were an opportunistic attempt to use the large stocks of Irish whiskey which had built up but proved near impossible to sell in their own right as the Irish industry declined.
2 Much of this could be written today—and indeed the current campaigns for ‘transparency’ are anticipated by MacDonald. His extraordinarily prescient commentary illustrates the book’s continuing relevance, compelling the attention of today’s whisky lovers, though one cannot escape the irony, presumably unintent
ional, of a pseudonymous author calling for transparency.
3 Nearly ninety years on from this book’s publication, the question of age statements on bottles of whisky remains a controversial one. As the industry confronts the consequences of its own unanticipated global success stocks of aged whisky have run short and marketers have responded with the introduction of so-called NAS (‘no age statement’) whiskies.
Space does not permit a discussion of this vexing topic, which has been the cause of much controversy on whisky blogs, in social media and elsewhere. It is probable that the trend to NAS whiskies will accelerate, not least for the freedom this gives the producer in formulating the final product.
4 A number of producers will assert, privately, that the screw cap closure (‘ROPP’ in trade jargon) is greatly superior to the cork stopper, which today is often preferred for marketing reasons. However, MacDonald is presumably referring to driven cork closures and few would wish to return to that awkward and inconvenient system with its ensuing risk of TCA contamination.
5 Justerini & Brooks is today part of Diageo. Their Club brand was created by Andrew Usher; today they are known for J&B Rare, the blend for which was first developed by another renowned blender Charles Julian around 1930.
Hedges & Butler was established in 1667 and were once a significant wine and spirit merchant. The whisky brands are owned today by Ian Macleod Distillers. Chalie, Richards, Holdsworth & Co. were London wine merchants, first established in 1775. By 1930 they had premises on New Bond Street but the business seems to have closed shortly after the end of the Second World War.
Abbot’s Choice and Crawford’s Three Star are both today Diageo brands. Crawford’s Three Star is available in limited quantities in South Africa and some Latin American territories. However, it appears that Abbot’s Choice has not been bottled for some years and its future must be in doubt.
6 Here, at least, the situation has improved; the drinker faced with a public house offering just four whiskies would be well advised to take their custom elsewhere!
7 Sound, practical advice which has stood the test of time, especially the recommendation to avoid soda water.
8 This stricture on single malt whiskies appears in a number of books from this period on, but I have been unable to determine where it originated—possibly here. It appears twice in his text and it is surprising to find MacDonald giving space to this suggestion, given his manifest enthusiasm for ‘single’ whisky.
9 While the cost has increased, the advice remains sound. Small casks can be easily obtained from a number of online suppliers.
10 This was for many years the prevailing orthodoxy in the whisky industry. Until relatively recently, twenty-five or at most thirty years was thought the absolute limit for cask maturation. Today, either consumer taste has changed or wood management and the understanding of the underlying chemistry has evolved. Possibly both are true, for it is no longer unusual to see whiskies of fifty or more years of age offered for sale, albeit at stratospheric prices.
11 Observe the satisfied smile of the gentleman in the Mutter’s Bowmore advertisement (page 143). A whisky toddy has clearly worked its wonders. I will eschew discussion of the cocktail recipes, though readers may care to conduct their own experiments.
12 The reference is to the fictional Mrs Margaret Dods, chatelaine of the Cleikum Inn in Sir Walter Scott’s novel St Ronan’s Well (1824 evidently a favourite of the author—see page 111). Inspired by the character’s culinary expertise, some two years later Mrs Christian Isobel Johnstone was to produce a cookbook under the title Meg Dods’ Cookery: The Cook and Housewife’s Manual by Mistress Margaret Dods. This proved phenomenally successful, remaining popular for the next hundred years or so!
Mrs Johnstone was married to Scott’s publisher; the opening chapter is reputed to have been written by Scott himself, who cheerfully recognised the production in later editions of his novel; Thomas de Quincey praised her work and Heston Blumenthal has acknowledged the book as the source for his Cucumber Sauce.
13 A strange contradiction to find the search for the perfect blend concluding a book praising single malt whisky. It exemplifies the pleasure and frustration; the elusive pleasure of reading Aeneas MacDonald—first poet of whisky.
14 Charles Edward Montague (1867–1928) is hardly remembered today and, I daresay, not read at all. But in his day his work was both popular and critically acclaimed, with his interest in moral and philosophical problems compared favourably with that of Joseph Conrad.
Another Temple Gone is from Fiery Particles, a collection of short stories published in 1923 which remained in print until the early 1950s. Robert Bruce Lockhart mentions it favourably in his Scotch: The Whisky of Scotland in Fact and Story. Copies can be found on the web for a few pounds: it is well worth tracking one down to enjoy a superbly written tale by a fine if neglected writer.
Tom Farrell is an Irish distiller of poteen whose still is detected and destroyed, albeit reluctantly, by Maguire, a sergeant of the Gardai. Later he assists Farrell in escaping justice but not before he has tasted his whiskey. ‘Mother of God!’ the sergeant exclaimed. ‘What sort of hivven’s delight is this you’ve invented for all souls in glory?’—the very lines which preface Whisky.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A number of people have helped with the Appreciation in this edition of Whisky. Fellow whisky writers Dave Broom and Charles MacLean and Dr Nicholas Morgan (Diageo) and Doug Stone assisted in some tricky points of detailed identification, and I am grateful to them for their learned assistance so readily given.
Particular thanks are due to the late Mrs Anne Ettlinger, George Malcolm Thomson’s daughter and literary executor, who shared reminiscences of her father, allowed access to his private correspondence, and provided the picture of him.
FURTHER READING
Alistair McCleery
The Porpoise Press 1922–39
Merchiston Publishing, 1988
George McKechnie
George Malcolm Thomson: The Best-Hated Man
Argyll Publishing, 2013
J.A. Nettleton
The Manufacture of Whisky and Plain Spirit
Cornwall & Sons, 1913