2012 Flaming Heart is Here

Always one of the most anticpated bottles of the year, the Flaming Heart is now in stock!  The Fourth Edition is no slouch, comparing very favorably to the Third (which I just sipped on last night to do a comparison). Anyone who likes Talisker 18, peated Brora, or any combination of oily, fruity, waxy flavors combined with peat and brine should jump in - fast! It's got all the sweetness, texture, and smoke in perfect balance.  Glaser always delivers with this whisky and this edition is another notch in his belt.  We've got a healthy supply between our NorCal and SoCal allocations, but this whisky will never make it to the big K&L email.  We sold a bunch yesterday via the insider's email list and I expect this blog post to put it over the edge.  I'm in for one - at least!

Compass Box Flaming Heart Fourth Edition Malt Scotch Whisky $89.99 - Here we go! The wildly popular Flaming Heart Series is back with one of the years most anticipated new blends. Coming from  four of the official Scotch Malt regions, we all know that our dear friend Mr. Glaser tends to knock this out of the park. Serge Valentine writes, "Colour: dark straw. Nose: impeccable start, on a rather more refined peat than elsewhere (I mean in youngish single malts) and touches of agave and cane juice on top of an elegant Laphroaigness. Beeswax and seawater, antiseptic and overripe apples, bandages and damp clay, Japanese green tea and linseed oil. Then fresh mint, lime, oysters and just touches of diesel oil. Lovely lovely lovely. Mouth: the first thing I like here is the strength. Sounds odd, I know, but these 48.9% work extremely well, it’s nervous and big but approachable and, well, drinkable. Other than that, it’s a superb combination of pink grapefruits, shellfish, olive brine, marzipan, lemon, touches of fresh coriander, lemon balm, some kind of waxy citrons and plain green olives. Passion fruits, cough syrup, liquorice... It’s very smoky too. Finish: great as well because it remains elegant, zesty, even kind of ethereal despite all the oomph. Leaves your mouth a fresh as a baby’s! Comments: no, really, this is truly excellent. The bottle’s lovely too, it’ll be hard to throw it away once it’s empty (which will happen fast). Potential lamp stands? Nah, too narrow" 91 points

-David Driscoll


When Hyperbole Goes Too Far

I've seen this on TV about ten times now and every time I cringe. Yesterday's interview with Rachel Barrie, however, got me thinking about how we describe whisky. Rachel's descriptions are like dreams or memories, a bit too much for some perhaps, but they come from a real place. I experienced it first-hand while visiting Glen Garioch distillery.  With the exception of her "grandmother's kitchen," I can vouch for the sights, sounds, and smells she describes. Personally, I try to tell an entertaining story when it comes to whisky, rather than sell you just tasting notes. While it's fun to wax poetic about booze, I sometimes find the enthusiasm expressed in our descriptions just a bit too over-the-top. I'm a pretty enthusiastic guy, so one might be surprised by my annoyance for this phenomenon (that's hypocritical, some might say!).

Enter Taco Bell – a restaurant I grew up on and have nothing against.  There's nothing like a double-decker taco at 1 AM.  Now they have this new "Cantina Bowl" menu, however, and they're trying to talk about their food like it's art. I don't know who Chef Lorena Garcia is, but this made me laugh, as did the above commercial. You'll see what I mean.

I hope I don't talk like this when you come ask me about whisky.  I'd be really embarrassed if I did.  Two fast-food ingredients are described as "beautiful" and the canned black beans are "amazing." This is where we're headed.  Everything is "amazing." It's partially my fault.  I'm a part of this growing trend and I feel terrible about it.

-David Driscoll


K&L Spirits Journal Podcast #23 - Rachel Barrie

Since I knew I would be heading down to Los Angeles this week, celebrating the release of our first-ever, distillery-direct import from Morrison-Bowmore distillers, I thought now would be the perfect time to sit down with their head of whisky creation, Mrs. Rachel Barrie. In November of 2011, Rachel, who had been celebrated for her role in creating the Uideadail and Corryvreckan single malts, left Ardbeg Distillery and moved over to Morrison-Bowmore. Now in charge of Bowmore's whisky creation, as well as Glen Garioch and Auchentoshan, Rachel has an entirely different palate of colors from which to paint. Listen as she discusses the memories and moments that each whisky represents to her, how whisky is inevitably linked to a place and time, and how slowing down and enjoying each of these moments eventually helps us all become better tasters.

This podcast episode can be downloaded here (right click or hold down "control" if you have a Mac) or on our Apple iTunes page.  Previous episodes can be found in our podcast archive located on the right hand margin of the page.  You can also listen via our embedded Flash player above.

-David Driscoll


(E)valuation of Booze

I just finished reading a truly fascinating article in the most recent New Yorker about a man named Bernard Berenson, once the most-respected art attributor in the world. As someone who made expert decisions about whether a painting was or was not the work of Raphael, Berenson could single-handedly determine the market value for these old masters. This was at the turn of the 20th century, before technology could give us a more scientific answer about authenticity. Berenson relied on his expertise, a sixth sense so to speak, that could not be described or put into words, but would nevertheless guide him to his decisions. Despite his more than adequate salary, Berenson's hatred of the emerging commerce for art was clear. He once wrote in a letter to a friend:

It seemed so much greater than ever, and an everlasting rebuke to people that want to submit art to newspaperology...You can say that it is beautiful of course, you can call people's attention to the transparency of color...but you can't "give away" the secret of the picture.

Berenson was tired of struggling for his income. He had hoped to become a curator or art history professor, yet his income was mostly tied to sympathetic female benefactors, for whom Berenson purchased and collected artwork privately. His eventual inability to sever his financial relationship with the dealers lead to the demise of his reputation and a world-famous court case. Berenson's opinion that a Kansas man's Leonardo was not the actual work of the Italian master cost the owner a deal with the Kansas City Art Institute. The case went to court and the idea of art expertise was on trial for the world to see. Could someone actually sue an "expert" because of an opinion that was detrimental to a financial transaction? Could a court decide which paintings were authentic and which were not?

You'll have to pick up the latest October 8th edition of the New Yorker to read more about the case (and I would advise any serious whisky collector to do so), but the parallels to the booze world and its ever-expanding collector's market are clear. On one hand, art collectors never would have made their gigantic fortunes had men like Berenson not offered up their expert opinions. On the other, as soon as they made an evalution that didn't favor the side of the market, these collectors wanted their heads! Sounds kind of like the Bordeaux market right now!

We've already seen this exact same thing happen with the Parkerization of wine. Collectors want a guarantee that something is good.  They feel better knowing an expert has given it a numerical score. They invest. When the wine sells out, it's worth even more on the secondary market, mostly because it got 98 or 100 points. These collectors selling their Bordeaux bottles for hundreds to thousands of dollars would never be getting this kind of cash were it not for critics like Parker. Yet, it's still the same catch 22. As Clive Coates writes in his book, The Wines of Burgundy:

The trade has allowed itself to be emasculated. Instead of continuing to buy and sell based on their own professional judgement, they have consigned themselves to the role of mere purveyors. They buy what the Wine Spectator and Wine Advocate score highly and then sell their wares by proclaiming the magazines' marks. It is totally crazy.

Yet, imagine if Parker rated a wine 88 points and the Chateau sued him for costing their wine its reputation for 95-100 point scores?  Now that is totally crazy! Nevertheless, much like Berenson wrote, people who don't understand wine or whisky depend on experts for an evaluation of quality and therein a valuation of their worth. You can't make people understand why a wine or whisky is special, especially when their finances are on the line. Once those opinions start costing these collectors big money, who knows what the future will hold?

-David Driscoll


Terroir in Booze

I really, really like drinking wine. I started working at K&L because of my interest in Bordeaux and Burgundy, rather than Bourbon or single malt. The spirits thing kind of fell into my lap. My current fascintation with booze was the rediscovery of an old passion, a nostalgic look back to my roots as a Scotch and gin guy in college. The thirst I had for wine, however, was as much pedagogical as it was literal. It was all so new! There were so many grapes, so many traditional ways of fermenting them, and so many different countries all participating in the fun. I love to learn and wine presented me with a whole lifetime's worth of educational work. What really got me hooked, however, was Loire Valley Sancerre and the sauvignon blanc that actually tasted like limestone and wet rocks – just like the soil in which the grapes were actually grown. It was terroir, as the French call it – the idea that a sense of place is actually palatable in the final product. That really blew my mind.

The idea of the land influencing the flavors of a grape isn't too difficult to comprehend. If you put an onion on your kitchen counter right next to the bananas, you end up with onion-flavored bananas. However, to think that these terroir-driven flavors could actually grow inside of a fruit, then maintain their influence through a fermentation process is hard for many to fathom. Add distillation and further maturation to the formula and you're really pushing it, but nevertheless it's there. Smoky Islay single malt, for example, maintains the earthy flavor of the peat phenols all the way through the fermentation, distillation, and maturation processes. The water used to ferment the mash, as well as proof down the whisky can also add local flavor to the finished product (which doesn't always cross one's mind when clamouring for more cask strength expressions). Despite these clear and palpable influences, terroir isn't really a term that gets brought up when people discuss spirits.

With booze, terroir isn't always a product of the source material. Most single malt distilleries use the exact same barley, malted at the same commericial plant, so there's nothing uniquely "Islay" or "Highland" about the barley. Even Kilchoman's 100% Islay single malt, made from home-grown barley right next-door, doesn't necessarily scream "Islay" the way its salty, peaty flavors do.  While it's a cool idea and a wildly-different flavor profile, the difference in barley isn't really terroir because its flavor doesn't speak to a sense of place.  Terroir doesn't have to be grown into the grain, it can make itself known via the fermentation or maturation stages. Campbeltown's Springbank distillery, for example, has the moldiest, muckiest warehouse I have ever seen. There are pools of blue, green, and white mud all over that building, sometimes swallowing your shoes if you step in the wrong spot. That earthy funk makes its way into the whisky and you can really taste it in some of their single barrel expressions (like our 14 year Madeira-finished cask). It's a flavor that can only occur in whisky aged in that particular place, which is the whole point of terroir. 

ArteNOM's 1414 Reposado Tequila uses all native yeast to ferment its mash – a risky move considering that the various strains of yeast can produce all kinds of flavor variation (see the Four Roses' mashbill guide with its talk of yeast). Most winemakers and distillers ferment in a hyper-sterilized environment with commercial yeast they have evalutated and purchased. Feliciano Vivanco's distillery, however, lets the local yeast hovering freely within their environment do its work on the agave sugar. The result is sensational – a delicate, slightly-earthy flavor that could only come from a tequila being produced in that particular place. Flavoring a spirit with ingredients that are sourced from a specific area also speaks to the idea of terroir. St. George's Terroir gin is actually named after this very point! Using botanicals and plants taken entirely from California's Mount Tam region, they've created a flavor profile that represents one very special place. Even gin can be site specific!

Perhaps the most amazing example of terroir in booze I've ever tasted is in our very own Commandon Petite Champagne 30 year old single barrel Cognac. Our trip to France last year really opened my eyes to how difficult it is to be a brandy producer.  You have to be a farmer, a winemaker, and a distiller!  It's literally triple the work! Cognac's Petite Champagne region has calcareous, mineral-rich soil, which results in a mineral-driven white wine (much like I discussed above with Sancerre sauvignon blanc). While I've tasted eau de vie, grappa, and brandy that managed to beautifully translate the essence of fruit, I've never tasted another spirit that brought the mineral notes with it. Concentrated inside the Cognac, along with the caramel, vanilla, fruit, and wood, is a very clear, very precise, and very distinct mineral flavor that somehow made it up out of the ground, into the grape, into the wine, into the spirit, and lasted for thirty years inside of a wooden barrel. Absolutely amazing.

-David Driscoll