Kavalan Fino Arrives

Finally available here in the U.S. is the outstanding jewel of the Kavalan collection: the Fino Sherry Cask expression bottled at 57%. If you remember from my visit to the distillery earlier this month, Kavalan utilizes sherry butts from the most restrained and elegant style of Jerez wine and puts them on the top floor of their warehouse, where the heat is at its most intense. Known as the "the church", partly because the vaulted ceiling resembles a cathedral and partly because miracles seem to happen within the sherry butts resting in this room, the temperature reached inside this chamber helps to excrete more nutty, almond flavor out of the fino barrel and into the Kavalan single malt resting inside of it.

A number of Scottish distilleries have used fino sherry butts in the past, but few were able to capture the essence of the sherry so intensely in their whiskies due to the colder aging conditions in Scotland. Taiwan, on the other hand, with its tropical climate has proved to be holy ground for this type of cask maturation. The Kavalan Fino is indeed heavenly. Rich and malty, with a turn towards salted caramel, toasted almond skins, toffee, and creme brulee, this is a side of sherry-aged whisky that we rarely ever see. Hedonistic and other-worldly, indeed.

It's expensive, but man is it good.

Kavalan Fino Cask Taiwanese Cask Single Barrel Strength Single Malt Whisky $359.99

While I'm not normally in the market for $350+ bottles of single malt, I will forever hold a special place in my heart for the Kavalan Fino. At the final dinner in Taipei, we spent hours toasting one another with little thimble-sized glasses. Mr. Lee would yell "FINO!" and make us all pour the good stuff when he wanted to say something serious and sentimental. Regular speeches, jokes, and general banter were all met with a small shot of Kavalan Classic.

If you were going to preface your toast with "FINO!"at that meal, then you needed to make sure you were going to say something of value. You'd better not waste a "FINO!" toast on some stupid observation you had, or some dumb attempt to make everyone laugh. I thought that was awesome. It helped to reinforce the respect that Ian and Mr. Lee have for this liquid, which in turn increased my respect for both them and their whisky. In essence: the Kavalan Fino is only something you drink during life's important moments.

I really like that way of thinking (and drinking). I enjoy the reverence.

-David Driscoll



I spent the whole day in the city on Sunday; starting with brunch at Fog City, a walk through Union Square, and a three hour spell at the Metreon watching the new Christopher Nolan sci-fi epic Interstellar. What a mindtrip that movie is! Not only with the physics and the relativity issues, but also with the humanistic struggles. I'm still thinking about everything that happened in that film. After the show ended, we decided to finally head over to my friend Jennifer Colliau's new bar: The Interval at Fort Mason. Part of the Long Now Foundation, a group devoted to long-term thinking and curation, Jennifer's incredible knowledge of pre-Prohibition era drinks was put to use; creating a cocktail menu that brings old libations out of extinction, with a full explanation as to the origins.

I wasn't planning on doing a blog post, so I didn't have my camera on me. The iPhone images would have to do. Jen started us off with a Kopstootje, or "little head butt"; the Dutch way of drinking genever that involves filling the glass to the brim, so that the only way to take the first sip is literally to lower your head to the glass. That way two friends have to nod to one another before beginning their drinking session. Jen accompanied it with a small bowl of brandied raisins, which are eaten in between each sip. it's part of her educational "Drinks From Around the World" feature. The raisins are to die for.

We were told that Jen's Navy Gimlet, made with lime cordial (which involves infusing lime zest into the syrup, rather than just mixing juice and sugar), is a pre-batched cocktail delight and maybe the best drink at the Interval. Mixed over ice with a thermometer, so that the temperature is a perfect 25 degrees, the flavors are incredibly pure and delicate. It's the first thing you should order when you go.

In an homage to Cuba's legendary Bar La Florida, a Prohibition era escape for Americans where Hemingway once drank and wrote numerous stories, Jen has five Daiquiri variations which you can see on the menu here. We drank three of them; the orange-flavored #2 was maybe the best.

I would encourage all of you locals to go check out Jen's new project and indulge in her incredible cocktails. You need to get over to Fort Mason and see the place for yourself. I didn't even cover the aesthetics. An iPhone camera can't do it justice.

-David Driscoll


Japan's National Treasure

I went back to the photos from my recent Japan trip after Tiffany Soto, the master sake sommelier working with Ichishima, told us about the Niigata prefecture. What was it she said? Something about the western coast of Japan, tucked between snowy mountains and the ocean, I think. That sounded familiar. Then I remembered why.

When we were descending in the Hello Kitty plane, getting ready to touch down in Sapporo, we flew over the western part of Japan and I started snapping photos through the window just to test out my new lens. Sure enough, I had taken a photo of Niigata—the region of Japan known for its pristine sakes (not a great photo, but at least one that shows the region in the bottom right, locked between the mountains and the sea). I've been very curious about Japan's national drink since my visit last week, so I've been doing a bit of research lately, hoping to find some answers to the questions I had. Beau Timken's book Sake: A Modern Guide has been a big help.

First off: does Japan really drink that much sake? Apparently, yes. Tons. By the beginning of the 18th century there were more than 27,000 breweries around the country. That's in the year 1700. That's crazy! Rice was and continues to be everything to Japan, and sake respresented both the spirit of rice and of the people eating it. It's around that time that regionally specific flavor profiles began to develop, matching the cuisine of each particular locale. Since Niigata is close to the sea, the sakes made there are light, elegant, and perfect for pairing with delicate seafood flavors.

If sake really is that big in Japan, how did it become so diverse? Good question. The answer lies in the first national sake competition, sponsored by the National Research Institute of Sake Brewing in 1904, that challenged brewers from around the country to create the best possible sake they could. The competition not only became the biggest thing Japan had ever seen, it also helped to classify and categorize sake into different grades and types. It was like Japan's version of the 1855 Bordeaux Classification. Then in the 1970s, in response to an artisanal shift, the brewers who normally reserved their best sake strictly for the yearly national competition began producing their special sakes year round. Now I understand why our new Ichishima Ginnoyorkobi Daiginjo sake is called "Competition" on the label. It won the contest in 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, and 2014. Six times (so far)!

Why is some sake fortified (honjozo) and some not (junmai)? Apparently all sake was unfortified up until WWII when rice suddenly became a precious commodity—too precious for making sake. It was discovered, however, that by adding inexpensive distilled spirits to sake it was possible to create a different style that used far less rice. So why didn't the more alcoholic honjozo sake die out after the war ended? Because an entire generation got used to drinking that style of sake and didn't enjoy the lighter, crisper sakes that came back around after the conflict. Tastes had changed by that point.

Booze is fascinating. I'm really starting at the beginning here with sake and it's giving me the same type of excitment I felt when I first began my whisky education.

More later.

-David Driscoll


I Love the Label

I saw a customer in the store yesterday just staring at the whisky shelf in awe. He was pouring over every label, inspecting the artwork with extreme care, with a level of reverence that was almost ceremonial. I asked him if he needed any help, to which he asked, "Have you ever had this whisky?"

"I have," was my answer.

"Is it good?" he responded.

"That depends on what you're in the mood for," I said. We talked for another few minutes and, after listening to a story of mine, he smiled, shook my hand, and walked away without buying the bottle. I had talked him (purposely) out of the purchase.

"I just love the label," he told me before leaving.

I know what it's like to be obsessed with the artwork and the idea of a product. The lust I see in the eyes of today's whisky drinkers highly resembles the unabated, feverish craze I once had for music. There was a time in my life when I had over 1,000 CDs (all purchased, none copied), arranged on a gigantic wooden rack by genre, and no dollar amount spent was ever enough to break my spirit. I would buy CDs instead of food, if it came down to a decision between the two. When I was 21 and working as a waiter in San Francisco, I exacerbated the issue by taking a second job at Tower Records in the evenings. It was pretty much indentured servitude.

With a gigantic selection at my fingertips and a staff discount by my side, I expanded my musical selection like never before while working on Market St. I would talk for hours with my co-workers about my favorite albums and they would say things like, "Well if you like that, then you should try this." Then, of course, there was the artwork that would catch my attention while I stocked. I loved looking at the images on each jewel box, wondering what was happening on every disc that passed through my fingers. There were times when I wanted to buy albums based purely on the imagery; none more tempting than Bitches Brew by Miles Davis. I wouldn't call myself a serious jazz fan, but I had enjoyed works like Giant Steps by Coltrane, or Davis's earlier masterpiece Kind of Blue. I had heard of acid jazz and read about Miles's experimental foray into rock and electronic fusion, but it wasn't something that intrigued me all that much. For some reason, however, that cover just called to me.

Anyone who tells you the label on a bottle of whisky isn't important is crazy. A great label will sell a bottle of anything faster than a good review. A bad label will require the whisky to taste twice as good just to overcome the terrible aesthetic (as one of my customers once said, "I like the whisky, David, but I don't want to look at that ugly piece of shit on my bar every night.") I probably stared at that Bitches Brew cover every day for three weeks. And it was a double album! Not one, but two discs worth of enlightenment. The first side only had two songs and they were both over twenty minutes a piece. "That's a classic," one of the Tower customers said to me one day as I was holding the album.

"Really?" I asked. "I've been thinking about getting it for weeks."

"You should," he said. "It's one of the most amazing jazz accomplishments ever recorded."

That was all the motivation I needed. Sure, it was an expensive leap of faith (it was about $27 after my discount, which was a lot for a young waiter paying an outrageously high rent in the city), but I justified it by calling the purchase "a necessary growing experience." It was a classic, right? And if the genius of Miles Davis inspired the incredible mural on the cover, then it must be amazing. I couldn't wait to get home that night and pop that thing in my stereo (remember those?). I had finally found the courage to just pull the trigger and take a risk.

I think I got about halfway through "Pharoah's Dance" before I got totally bored. Then, during the title track, I got a little bit scared. What the hell was this? Was this jazz? I couldn't unwind to this! Bitches Brew was one of the least utilitarian albums I had ever owned. Like a number of whiskies I've experienced, one sip was more than enough. The drum beat kinda flowed, but the electronic keyboard was disjointed; the horns more like those honking in a car than the bebop sound I was expecting. I stared at the cover again. Maybe I just didn't get it. "Actually, maybe this isn't that bad," I said to myself, trying to convince the buyer's remorse away. I finally gave up and stopped listening about halfway through "Spanish Key." I made room for the album in the jazz section of my gigantic collection and went to bed.

Today, listening to the album again (for maybe the fifth time ever), I can appreciate it more than I did thirteen years ago, but it's not something I would ever choose to listen to. I still love that artwork though. In fact, looking at that Mati Klarwein mural right now makes me curious. Maybe I should give Bitches Brew another shot. Maybe I just wasn't in the right spot mentally back them. Maybe I'm the one who's missing something. I mean, everyone says it's good, right? It has an almost perfect five star rating on Amazon. Critics everywhere agree it's a classic. Here we go again.

Now let me tell you about the time in college when I got high, went to the record store, and tried to buy every No Limit Records hip-hop album because the glitzy, embossed artwork they used on the covers made each one seem like an incredible adventure. Thank God my credit card got declined.

-David Driscoll


More New Sake

When I was in Japan last week, I could not get over how much sake there was everywhere. We'd walk through the subway stations and there would be huge storefronts full of sake, as far as the eye could see. Shelves and shelves of different selections that numbered into the hundreds at some establishments. "Who the hell is drinking all this?" I thought.

"More importantly, why am I not drinking all of this?" I thought immediately following.

 I don't know anyone in the U.S. who drinks sake regularly. Why not? Because we don't know anything about it, that's why. If we all knew a little bit more, I think we'd be more interested in giving it some attention. Why? Because it's delicious, distinct, and different from what we're usually choosing between.

Ichishima is a family-owned brewery in the Niigata prefecture that has been making sake since 1790. Located on the western coast of Japan, it's nestled in between the ocean and the mountains, and can receive more than 30 feet of snow annually. The cold temperature allows for an incredibly long fermentation times (roughly five weeks), resulting in light, delicate, and elegant sake flavors that bring new meaning to the word graceful. Niigata sakes are meant to pair well with seafood and sushi; two specialties of the coastal region. Jeff Garneau and I met with Tiffany Soto this week to taste through the entire Ichishima portfolio and we were really taken aback by the quality. We're still roughly new at this, so while we liked everything we tasted, we went with three of the most distinct and different expressions in the line-up.

Ichishima Tokubetsu Honjozo Sake 720ml $26.99- The Tokubetsu Honjozo sake is made from Gohyakumangoku and Koshiibuki rice, polished down to 60%. Technically, the milling percentage would allow Ichishima to classify it as Ginjo, but in order to save on export tax, as well as provide value to their customers, they declassified the sake to Honjozo. Tokubetsu Honjozo means a small amount of rice spirit is added late in the fermentation process, stimulating the yeast cells into making a second round of aromatics. Those flavors do indeed show up on the palate, as the crisp melon and pear flavors see just a bit more richness and tanginess than the standard Ichishima expressions. For the price, this is one of the most-dynamic, interesting, and high-quality sakes we carry at K&L.

Ichishima Ginjo Koshu Sake $69.99- The Ginjo Koshu sake is a bit of a twist on the Ginjo classification, as the liquid is matured in an enamel-lined tank for five years after it is brewed (a tank that sits in sub-zero temperatures, is denied of oxygen, and sees no light whatsoever). The effect the aging process has on the sake is profound. The aromas are mushroomy and earthy, with umami galore and a pungent richness. This is a sake to pair with braised meats and fragrant cheeses. It's a savory delight that really transcends what we normally consider sake to be.

Ichishima Ginnoyorokobi Daiginjo Sake $149.99-  The Ginnoyorokobi Daiginjo is the top of the Ichishima line and is easily the most amazing sake we carry at K&L. Using koshitanreii rice (a proprietary hybrid of yamada nishika & gohyakumangoku that can only be grown in Niigata), this is one of the only truly regional sakes on the market. The palate is creamier with hints of white chocolate and mint. The flavors meander from crisp melon to soft vanilla, and the sake finishes with an herbaceous flutter. One of the most complex and full-flavored sakes I've ever experienced, while simultaneously remaining restrained and delicate in nature. Simply stunning.

-David Driscoll