April may be the cruelest month, but for those of us wishing the weather could nudge from arctice to Tampa temperate, February isn’t far behind.
But it’s perfect Scotch whisky weather.
Of course, it also doesn’t hurt when your drinking buddy is Dalmore whisky’s master blender Richard Paterson. He recently invited me to join him for a lesson in whisky appreciation at the Capital Grille at Tampa’s International Plaza. And if ever you’re as preposterously lucky as I was to be asked to taste whisky (or hell, tepid bath water) with him, go. Don’t walk, run.
Happening upon a guy with his charm, passion for teaching and encyclopedic whisky wisdom is about as likely as discovering Sean Connery has Yoda’s Jedi powers.
Which is probably why after sitting down with Richard – and sniffing, swirling, swallowing and curiously if deliberately slinging small amounts to the carpeted floor – a handful of world-class single-malt whiskies I had what I can only describe as an epiphany.
I’ve had my share of whiskies, but it wasn’t until I got some pointers on just how to go about the seemingly straightforward business of tasting whisky that I began to see just what a variety of subtleties and pyrotechnics a dram of this highlands hooch can hold.
I can’t do the ritual of approaching and tasting whisky that Richard showed me justice here, though the steps for properly nosing (sniffing) and tasting of whisky reminds me of dancing – with all its peculiar gestural vocabulary and carnal suggestions. Of course, with Richard’s wit, my sex-ed teacher was John Cleese.
(Here’s Richard in a YouTube video that should give you an idea of what I’m talking about)
My education starts with Dalmore’s 12-year-old ($45 a bottle), the youngest I try today, though hardly rushed to market; it gets two more years of aging in casks than most competitors’ offerings. Following Richard’s tips for proper tasting – that is, semi-competently mimicking him – I first begin to see what whisky is capable of. Here I discover, just as he’d said, hints of marzipan and chocolate, crushed almonds, other exotic spices, even honeyed vanilla.
Next comes Dalmore’s Gran Reserva ($65), a mix of whiskies ranging from 10 to 15 years old that’s also known as the Cigar Malt for being simpatico with high-end stogies. I don’t fire one up this day, but I can see how this whisky’s hints of coffee, dark chocolate and marmalade would make for a nifty pairing. My smokeless experience is plenty pleasurable.
Traveling further back in time, we taste the Dalmore 15-year-old ($80). Older may mellow qualities of whiskies, but it sure doesn’t dull them. This is a wonderfully complex whisky, with spice and sherry and lovely hints I can’t find a name for (yet).
Meeting – I’m starting to anthropomorphize booze! – Dalmore’s 1263 King Alexander III is a little like bumping into Sophia Loren at a party. Sure, she’s a lady of a certain age; but I bet you’ll stutter and blush more in front of her than you would next to most any 25-year-old hottie.
Here’s a whisky that fairly smolders with passion, revealing new flavors, familiar and exotic, with every taste. Just amazing. And at $200 a bottle, not for the faint of wallet, though you won’t regret it.
Just when I think we’re out of bottles to try, Richard reaches into his jacket pocket and produces a small, unlabeled glass bottle of golden-brown liquid. He pours a dram and hands it to me. I taste.
A grenade of flavors detonates in my mouth.
What is this stuff? I stammer.
62-year-old Dalmore whisky, he says. A couple bottles were recently discovered in the distilleries cave-like stores. A bottle goes for a tad more than $60,000.
I quickly try doing the math. I’ve just downed about five grand worth of one of the world’s rarest whiskies in a single, mind-blowing gulp. Like I said, if Richard ever invites you to come share a drink, I suggest you answer yes.
This article appears in Feb 24 – Mar 2, 2010.