Tuesday, March 22, 2016.
Fifty-Year-Old Single-Malt Scotch.
Fred Holley is a friend from the wine and spirits wholesale world. Our paths cross often enough in our overlapping careers that we keep up on our sons. They know one another from their Jesuit years. (Further proof that only 500 people live in New Orleans.) Fred's two are either in or just graduated from med school. I'm happy to hear that, because sometimes I feel boastful about all the great achievements my son Jude has registered.
Today Fred invited me to an industry tasting of single-malt Scotches at Kingfish. It was the kind of event that brings in the best retail and restaurant customers, with a scattering of serious Scotch geeks.
[caption id="attachment_51040" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Balvenie single-malts, 173 years worth. The wooden cylinder at right is the Balvenie 50-Year-Old package. [/caption]
I learned everything I know about single-malt Scotch about thirty years ago, when the product was beginning to change the entire brown-spirits world. A single-malt comes from one distillery using one batch of locally-harvested and smoked barley. It differs from the mainstream Scotches in not being a blend with "neutral spirits"--the code word for vodka and other tasteless additives.
Another way to explain the difference between a blended Scotch and a single malt is to say that if you don't like blended Scotch, you will really hate a single malt.
To shorten a long story (no details or anecdotes were left out of the presentation), we were here to taste three Balvenie whiskies that were twenty-three, twenty-six, and fifty years old. To call them rarities is reverse exaggeration. Only one bottle in the world exists of the forty-year-old, and we drank it. There's more of the fifty-year-old, but it sells for $38,000 a bottle.
[caption id="attachment_51041" align="alignright" width="303"]
The pouring of the fifty-year-old Balvenie.[/caption]Even greater scarcities are the table. "Kininvie," a minor variation on Balvenie (long story), does not officially exist. Yet we had some of that, too. We also had a twenty-six-year-old "Ghosted Reserve. What that means exactly is fuzzy And a forty-year-old Glenfiddich. That single-malt is imported by William Grant & Sons, under whose umbrella all the other drams here are sold.
My notes say that I found the Kinvinie, Balvenie Tun 1509, and Glenfiddich 1978* had in common the aroma of a very old, thick, rarely-opened, leather-bound book. Which was pleasant. More so than the actual flavor of the liquor, which is at cask alcohol levels--around 120 proof. It burned on the tongue.
This changed when we got down to the two oldest malts. The forty-year-old Glenfiddich had behind the subtle smokiness a curious stinky aroma reminiscent of freshly-washed but long-used gym socks. I can't explain how that can possibly be pleasant, but it actually was intriguing.
The big star of the evening is in a class of its own. An aroma of vague sweetness is backed up by an unmistakable sweetness in the taste. Chris Ycaza--the general manager of Broussard's, who sat at the same table--said it reminded him of Madeira wine. Yes, I can see that. Don't some single-malts get aged in former Madeira barrels?
*What do all the numbers mean? Trust me, it's more complicated than you will be able to keep up with. One opinion held by most of the twenty-something attendees is that all of the data, both verbal and participatory--was overwhelming our mental and gustatory computers.
The tasting and lectures come first, followed by dinner, with a musical intermezzo in between. The notes are supplied by Doreen Ketchen, who plays an astonishingly deft jazz clarinet accompanied by a tuba. She and her group play in front of the Rouse's store on St. Peter and Royal every Saturday. I'll bet she draws a big crowd. I don't know if I've ever heard better licks on the licorice stick. She ought to be famous.
Dinner begins with a good salad filled with unusual ingredients. Then a thin chicken gumbo that needed further work. Then seared hanger steak with pingerling potatoes. Just right. A very light bread pudding wrapped it up.
I keep close track of my intake all night. I don't think I drank more than two tablespoons of Scotch total. The flavors were so emphatic that one didn't need to ingest much more to get the full aroma and flavor. That's what happens when you bring 173 years of aging to bear on half a dozen whiskies in their respective casks.
Kingfish. French Quarter: 337 Chartres St. 504-598-5005.
Balvenie single-malts, 173 years worth. The wooden cylinder at right is the Balvenie 50-Year-Old package. [/caption]
I learned everything I know about single-malt Scotch about thirty years ago, when the product was beginning to change the entire brown-spirits world. A single-malt comes from one distillery using one batch of locally-harvested and smoked barley. It differs from the mainstream Scotches in not being a blend with "neutral spirits"--the code word for vodka and other tasteless additives.
Another way to explain the difference between a blended Scotch and a single malt is to say that if you don't like blended Scotch, you will really hate a single malt.
To shorten a long story (no details or anecdotes were left out of the presentation), we were here to taste three Balvenie whiskies that were twenty-three, twenty-six, and fifty years old. To call them rarities is reverse exaggeration. Only one bottle in the world exists of the forty-year-old, and we drank it. There's more of the fifty-year-old, but it sells for $38,000 a bottle.
[caption id="attachment_51041" align="alignright" width="303"]
The pouring of the fifty-year-old Balvenie.[/caption]Even greater scarcities are the table. "Kininvie," a minor variation on Balvenie (long story), does not officially exist. Yet we had some of that, too. We also had a twenty-six-year-old "Ghosted Reserve. What that means exactly is fuzzy And a forty-year-old Glenfiddich. That single-malt is imported by William Grant & Sons, under whose umbrella all the other drams here are sold.
My notes say that I found the Kinvinie, Balvenie Tun 1509, and Glenfiddich 1978* had in common the aroma of a very old, thick, rarely-opened, leather-bound book. Which was pleasant. More so than the actual flavor of the liquor, which is at cask alcohol levels--around 120 proof. It burned on the tongue.
This changed when we got down to the two oldest malts. The forty-year-old Glenfiddich had behind the subtle smokiness a curious stinky aroma reminiscent of freshly-washed but long-used gym socks. I can't explain how that can possibly be pleasant, but it actually was intriguing.
The big star of the evening is in a class of its own. An aroma of vague sweetness is backed up by an unmistakable sweetness in the taste. Chris Ycaza--the general manager of Broussard's, who sat at the same table--said it reminded him of Madeira wine. Yes, I can see that. Don't some single-malts get aged in former Madeira barrels?
*What do all the numbers mean? Trust me, it's more complicated than you will be able to keep up with. One opinion held by most of the twenty-something attendees is that all of the data, both verbal and participatory--was overwhelming our mental and gustatory computers.
The tasting and lectures come first, followed by dinner, with a musical intermezzo in between. The notes are supplied by Doreen Ketchen, who plays an astonishingly deft jazz clarinet accompanied by a tuba. She and her group play in front of the Rouse's store on St. Peter and Royal every Saturday. I'll bet she draws a big crowd. I don't know if I've ever heard better licks on the licorice stick. She ought to be famous.
Dinner begins with a good salad filled with unusual ingredients. Then a thin chicken gumbo that needed further work. Then seared hanger steak with pingerling potatoes. Just right. A very light bread pudding wrapped it up.
I keep close track of my intake all night. I don't think I drank more than two tablespoons of Scotch total. The flavors were so emphatic that one didn't need to ingest much more to get the full aroma and flavor. That's what happens when you bring 173 years of aging to bear on half a dozen whiskies in their respective casks.
