Fifty-two malt whiskies, two and a half hours and a blind tasting. It was a tough job but someone had to do it.
The occasion was the Spirit of Speyside Whisky Festival annual tasting. One of the judges couldn’t make it so the organisers turned to the nearest enthusiastic amateur they could find - me.
“Wey hey,” I thought. “Could there possibly be a better way to spend an afternoon?”
But it wasn’t as easy as I had first - rather naively - believed. For a start, all the other judges knew what they were doing. I mean really knew what they were doing. At least two were professional whisky makers and another four were very experienced whisky writers.
I do profess a deep affection for Scotland’s national drink, particularly its almost limitless variety and although I like to think I can tell the difference between an island and a Speyside, a Lowland and a Highland and even between different Islay malts, this was rather different.
All 52 whiskies were from Speyside so finding tell-tale characteristics to differentiate each from the others from just this one region was not very easy.
Also, I arrived a few minutes late. By which time my fellow judges were already holding malts from the first "flight" up to the light (the whiskies came in flights of six at a time, maybe it has something to do with angels and their share, but I’m not sure).
Anyway, keen not to fall behind I decided to dig straight in. Then, the first problem: to add water, or not to add water? I do like a splash of water in a dram. I feel it opens out the flavours and stops them crashing in on each other but no-one else seemed to be doing it.
Then another conundrum: to spit or not to spit? That indeed was the question. No-one else appeared to be spitting but here I was, about to sample more than 50 whiskies, some of them cask strength. If I didn’t spit them out, I really doubted whether I would be able to mark the scores let alone make a reasoned appraisal of a whisky by half way through.
Then, if I did decide to spit, where to spit? There was a silver ice bucket in front of me, but what if it was designed for something else? What if I spat in it and it was the wrong thing to do?
Confused and more than a little intimidated, I took my first malt. I held it up to the light, noted it was a dark golden colour, decided not to add water, took a sip and swallowed. It was lovely. The flavours stayed around in my mouth for quite a while afterwards but what score to give it?
We had been told to mark each one from one to ten. Fractions of a half, a quarter or three quarters were also allowed. I liked the whisky I had just tasted but was it good? And, if was good, how good was it? What if I gave it nine out of ten and my, more professional, fellow judges saw it for what it really was and gave it only two or three? Maybe they could tell that there wasn’t as much oak as there should have been? Maybe the burnt honey taste was too over the top?
So, what did I do. I gave it the ultimate cop out and gave it five out of ten.
I followed this same procedure with the other five malts of the first flight. Taking tiny sips (to make sure I didn’t get too plastered) not adding water because no-one else seemed to be doing so and not being too adventurous with my marking, even with whiskies I really enjoyed.
It was only at that point that I decided, first to do what I wanted to do and not be intimidated by those around me and also to read the guidance which had been left by my side but which I had been too pre-occupied to notice.
The guidance suggested nosing first, then tasting without water and lastly tasting with water. It also said that we could taste with water from the start if that was what we wanted to do. It also stressed the need for us to make our own judgements based on what we liked and not to be swayed by others.
Feeling more reassured, I settled down and started to enjoy it. I added a splash of water to each subsequent malt. I took a decent swig to make sure I actually had something to taste and I also spat them all out in the ice bucket – however hard that was to do and, believe me, for some of them that was very hard indeed.
That gave me the chance to go back and re-taste some from early in a flight and compare them with later ones. I also started being more assertive in my marks. I started marking up whiskies I liked, whiskies with interesting and complex flavours. And, because I have a fondness for Islay malts, I gave good marks to the small number of peated and smokey malts – which is not a usual Speyside characteristic.
There were others I didn’t like, which were a little plain or a little bitter and they were marked down. Suddenly I had a score card with nines and three on it, rather than all the scores around the five mark.
I found I could differentiate between the malts and started to believer that my judgement was worth the same as any of my colleagues – however experienced they were.
And then it was over. Fifty-two malt whiskies tasted in three categories: whiskies aged for 12 years or fewer, whiskies aged for between 12 and 20 years and whiskies aged for more than 20 years.
Some of the last category were truly spectacular whiskies: packed full of flavours and scents which stayed in the mouth for a considerable time afterwards.
Our job was to select two finalists in each category and, when the marks were allocated, these were the ones which emerged on top. In the up to 12 years category: the winners were Aberlour a’bunadh and Balvenie Signature 12 year old, in the 13-20 category, two Glenlivets emerged on top - the Glenlivet 15 year old and the Glenlivet 18 year old. Finally, in the more than 20 year category, the Balvenie Portwood 21 year old and the Glenfiddich 30 year old triumphed.
My favourite? I haven’t got a clue. I had no idea which whisky I was tasting at any particular time because the names were all kept from us.
It might have been whisky D in flight B2. No, wait. I think it was whisky C in flight C3. No, come to think of it, it was certainly ....
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