Some Whiskey Royalty

Got some whiskey royalty today. I've got Chivas Regal 18 year old, the latest – and last? – release of Crown Royal XR, and the newest wrinkle in the rags-to-riches Elijah Craig story, the new Elijah Craig Rye.

Crown Royal XR – We've been thrilled by the XR releases since 2012, when I had the opportunity to taste this exceptional whisky at WhiskyFest New York. It was one of the short-list, fingers-on-one-hand, if-you-only-have-one-tonight pours of that festival. Crown XR is blended using the very last barrels produced at Crown's LaSalle distillery in Montreal, which closed in 2003. These are old barrels, and we're told they're “the last of the last, the best of best. The barrels are empty, the final bottles are filled, the remaining traces of this spirit never to be tried again.”

They even sent out special glasses with this sample, the Sempli Cupa-Rocks. I have to admit, it may be helping launch this pour into the air, because I'm smelling caramel and dried fruit already. Time to get to it. 

Crown Royal always smells rich and sweet, but the XR has been blended with those LaSalle whiskies to a deeper level, a more complex composition. These whiskies are the master works of the Crown Royal blenders, and the results are obvious. There's light caramel (no burnt sugar, just browned), sweet nut aromas verging on marzipan, and a blend of wood aromas: cedar, aged oak, a hint of cherry. The sweetness that comes across in waves is a melange of the caramel, vanilla, salt water taffy, and a teasing hint of Juicy Fruit gum, like a cocktail in a candy store.

That is one of the sharpest Canadians I've ever tasted. This Crown doesn't pillow your palate, no lush sweetness to fill your mouth. No, the first thing that hits your mouth is structure, a squared wooden framework for the whisky to follow and fill. There's a heat and spice that would be expected in other whiskeys, but comes as a bit of a shock for Crown Royal. The rye is forward, the oak is firm. But the familiar Crown lushness, the beauty of the blend is there, behind closed doors that teasingly open as the whisky warms on your palate. There's a long finish that is warm, peppery, and lined with more of that oak, verging on astringent but not quite reaching it, then relaxing to a lingering note of cedar and, right at the end, some dry cocoa.

If you avoid Canadians because you find them too soft, or one-dimensional, if you find them too apologetic... this may be what you're looking for. It's almost unCanadian, but in a most beguiling way. Farewell, LaSalle. You did your work well. (The glass is fun, by the way, but the way it spins on the table requires some thought about where you set it down!)

Tom, the Chivas, and Pippin

Chivas Regal 18 – This bottle of Chivas just showed up in my mail back in December, unexpectedly. Usually I get samples with the expectation that I will try to write about them somewhere (hey, it's not my fault if these people can't manage their expectations), which I either do or don't; stories happen, they can't be forced. When I queried what was up with this – re-launch, new cocktail recipes, change in concept? – I was told, quite pleasantly, that no, they'd just sent it for me to enjoy during the holidays.

Well, I did, sharing a pour with my buddy Tom Linquist while smoking some salmon for our Christmas celebration. It was good, but shortly after that I was hit again with the sinus infection that's been at me since November. Now that I'm clear, I thought I'd have another look. Good blends are a good thing. (The Chivas 18 Gold Signature has a suggested retail in the $60-$70 range, so we're definitely not talking about buying it because it's cheap.)

Layers of fruit in the nose: dried pear, a bit of berry brightness, even a hint of quince jam. There's some chocolate-honey brickle in there as well, fresh and sweet, along with the maltiness – and just a bare wisp of smoke that I thought I smelled while doing that salmon, but how could one be sure? – that would have Ron Burgundy mumbling about scotchy-scotch-scotch.

Smooth and roly-poly on the tongue, this has a bit of heft to it, not light and skittish. The malt bedrocks things, with a light woodwork of oak about it. There's heat, and that tap of peat, just a nudge to let you know it's there. But you know what I like about this? A quality I've noticed in the Jameson 18, and, come to think of it, in the Wiser's 18 – is there something about 18 years in the barrel? – that could be called roundness, or integration. There's nothing that gets in the way of your enjoyment here, nothing that calls out “Looka me over here, isn't this cool?!”, nothing that irks or particularly pleasures to the point of distraction. Like those other two bottles, I could drink this stuff all day, and never get tired of it, or bored. There's something to be said for that. Actually, there's a lot to be said for that. That's well-made whisky.


Elijah Craig Rye -- Elijah Craig bourbon has been part of my regular drinking rotation for a long, long time. It was the first whiskey I "discovered" on my own, without it being recommended to me, and I told a lot of people about it. I was accidentally responsible for getting it booted out of the PA State Stores for about a year, 10-odd years ago, and for that, I apologize (less said, the better). It's one of the few whiskey's I've "bunkered": when the change was made away from a 12 year age statement, I bought some up (I have one bottle left). It's a favorite, and I've watched every change.

This one is clearly a big change, bringing out a rye under the EC label. I've always seen this as a "step up" line for Heaven Hill, and we'll see if it's a step up from Rittenhouse and Pikesville. Heaven Hill sent samples out with a small loaf of rye bread, which is cute, and interesting. It's also kind of special, because the bread was baked by their master distiller, Conor O'Driscoll. (I've had his baking chops independently confirmed; this was not a stunt.)  I noted on Twitter that when I took a bite of bread, and then a sip of whiskey, that "The whiskey positively detonates with flavor when it hits the bread; first time was shocking…now I'm hooked." Lets get a bit more detailed.

I'm out of the bread; too good to waste. The whiskey, however, does smell like Heaven Hill: lean, pared down, Parker Beam-style. The rye is there, with the mint and spicy hard candy notes I'd expect, and some oaky flooring under it. There's some sweetness that comes with the hard candy, but it's bright and almost brittle.

The rye flavor really blows up on the tongue, but it's not hot, even at 94° proof. The Crown XR at 80° is hotter. This rye is quite pleasant, actually, bouncing around your mouth with bountiful mint, grass, rye oil bitterness, and oaky spice. The finish goes on and on, barrel-rolling flavors as you breathe it home: mint, now rye, now oak, now spice candies, back to mint, more candies, and finally whispering away on dry mint and oak.

Folks, I gotta tell ya...at an MSRP of $30, I may have found my new house rye. I'll have to try this in an Old Fashioned, but I'm feeling like Bo Peep in Toy Story...

*You asked for Conor's recipe, and Heaven Hill was good enough to send it. Enjoy!

Ingredients
1.5  cups rye flour
3 cups unbleached bread flour
1.5 tsp salt
1.75 tsp instant yeast (1 sachet)
1 to 1.5 tsp caraway seeds (optional)
1 tbs molasses
2 tbs butter, melted
1 cup buttermilk at room temperature
0.25 - 0.5 cups water at room temperature

Method

Mix both flours, salt, yeast, and caraway seeds in the bowl of an electric mixer.
Add melted butter, molasses, buttermilk, and 0.25 c water
Mix with the paddle attachment until the dough comes together in a rough ball. Add another 0.25 c water as necessary to ensure all the loose flour is collected in the ball.
Switch to the hook attachment and mix on medium-low speed.
Continue to knead for 5 to 6 minutes. The dough should be elastic and tacky but not sticky.
Lightly oil a bowl with oil, then transfer the dough to the bowl. Roll the ball in the bowl to coat it with oil.
Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and leave to ferment at room temperature for 1.5 to 2 hours. The dough should double in size.

Turn the dough onto a lightly floured surface and knead gently to degas.
Form the dough into a loaf shape, then transfer to a lightly-oiled and floured loaf pan. The dough can also be formed into a boule for subsequent baking on a pizza stone.
Loosely cover the loaf with plastic wrap. Dust the wrap with flour first to prevent it from sticking to the dough.
Proof the loaf at room temperature until it doubles in size and rises a couple of inches above the rim of the pan.

Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 350°F and position a rack on the middle shelf.
When the loaf has proofed, bake it for approximately 45 minutes, rotating it front-to-back about halfway through.
Remove the loaf from the pan as soon as it is finished baking. It should sound hollow when tapped on the bottom. Cool the loaf on a rack for at least an hour before serving.


Enjoy!

Why You Don't Like Canadian Whisky

Five years ago, I didn't know much about Canadian whisky. I thought I did, and I wrote about it like I did, and I'd been to one Canadian distillery (the Canadian Mist distillery in Collingwood, Ontario). Mostly though, I had written Canadian whisky off, with the exception of the stuff John Hall was making at Forty Creek. I was just another smug whiskey snob: Canadian? Brown vodka.

Then I read Davin de Kergommeaux's Canadian Whisky: The Portable Expert. If you haven't read it, you really should click on that link, go to Amazon, and buy it. I'll wait.

Done? Great, because it's fascinating. Canadian whisky has every bit as interesting (and long) a history as American whiskey, and — remember — they made most of the whisky that was consumed in the U.S. during Prohibition...and a hell of a lot of the whisky we drank during the Civil War, too. But Canadian, like the majority of Scotch whisky, is blended, and that's led whisky snobs to ignore it.

After reading Davin's book, though, and visiting more Canadian distilleries with him and Dave Broom (you really should read his The World Atlas of Whisky, too), and talking to Canadian distillers and blenders...that's when I really got it. First, they've only recently started sending the good stuff down here. We've been getting the Canadian equivalent of Jim Beam White and Johnnie Walker Red: big-selling stuff that goes in a glass with ice and soda. Fine, for your grandfather, and your father (and likely your mom, too), but you want more, right? I know you, I am you: we want more, and the Canadian distillers are finally getting it.

The second part, and this is the key, is that Canadian whisky makers just don't think the way American whiskey makers do. Everything is blended to them and they really don't look at the whiskies they're blending in the singular, as possible soloists stepping aside from the choir; "it's a unique landscape," as one of them told me.

A moment that really brought it home to me was when Don Livermore, master blender at Hiram Walker, was having us sample various whiskies at various ages, all the way from fresh new make to Wiser's 18 year old. He'd done some experiments with red oak, and we tried some at, I believe, 4 years old. It was blastingly woody, like vodka lapped off a deck; I'm afraid I made a face. What are you  going to do with that, I asked him. "I'm going to blend it," he said, with a slight emphasis that almost sounded disappointed, like, 'I've been telling you for three hours that we blend whiskies; don't you get it?'

I didn't...but now I do. I get that blends are what they're making, that the package of flavors is what they're thinking about, and that really, they're making whiskies for drinking, not delicately tasting. Highballs, simple whisky on the rocks, cocktails; that's what Canadian's made for. If we don't get that, if we try to force it to be a sipping whisky, we may as well be putting Islay whisky in a Manhattan. I mean, you can do that, but it's hardly what it's meant for, is it?

So when I taste Canadian whiskies now, I do try sipping them...and then I try them in a highball, or I make a Manhattan (with two cherries, and a full measure of vermouth). Some of them are fully delicious as sippers, like that Wiser's 18 Year Old, and some of the latest Crown Royal variants, like the wholly excellent Monarch (75th Anniversary), and yes, the Northern Harvest Rye.

I also like the Alberta Rye Dark Batch, which is made with 1% sherry...which is allowed in Canada. The folks at the distillery followed up with me on that, and they asked: if you were going to make a cocktail with it, what would you do? I thought about it, and told them that I'd like a Manhattan balanced to Dark Batch's flavor profile, something that calls out the sherry, and isn't afraid of the whisky's lush sweetness. I usually like a more austere Manhattan, a rye Manhattan, but sometimes I like to play Dean Martin and have something sweet and fun.

And you know, they got hold of Chris Goad at Canon, in Seattle, and gave him that description to work with, and here's what I got; they call it

The Prairie Triangle

7 parts Alberta Rye Whisky Dark Batch

1 part cream sherry

1 part Pierre Ferrand Dry Curacao (go find it; play with it; worth it)

2 dashes bitters (the recipe called for 4 dashes; that dominated the drink, IMO)

Add all ingredients into a mixing glass with ice and prepare your glass, letting the ice slowly melt in the mixing glass to reduce your stirring time. Add a large ice cube to your double rocks glass and garnish with a wide orange peel, cut and trimmed clean. (Don't hate me: I added a brandied cherry.) Finish mixing your drink and pour into glass. Cheers!

I found it wonderfully juicy, and the actual add of the sherry was, I thought, ballsy and brilliant. It's a great drink, and it needs Canadian to make it...and it needs verve to make it the right drink for Canadian. Thanks, Chris; thanks Alberta Distillery!

So think about Canadian as Canadian. And go out and pick up the latest copy of Whisky Advocate, where my latest column talks about the eureka moment I had with Canadian whisky at a tasting I did last year, and the happy results that came out of it. If this didn't show you the Canadian Way, that column will.

Whiskey Wednesday #4

Feeling better, but pressed for time, so no music this time. Just two recent Canadians.

Alberta Rye Dark Batch, 45%

A couple things to note right away. First, 45%. This steps up for Canadian, which was mired in an 80 proof/40% swamp for years. That's how you got Canadian, son, and if you wanted something stronger, you had to go searching. The higher proof proves that the Canadians are taking cocktails — not highballs, cocktails — seriously. Second, this whisky takes the curious 9.09% law (which says that one part in eleven (9.09%) of Canadian whisky can be...other) and uses it to a flavor advantage, rather than as a tax advantage, or a flavor stretcher, by adding 8% bourbon and 1% oloroso sherry to aged, 100% rye whisky.

To clarify, Alberta Distillers are old hands at making whisky from 100% rye grain, it's their thing (they use enzymes for conversion, not malt). The Canadian rye in this is about half "flavoring whisky" — distilled to relatively low ABV in a pot still, aged about 6 years in new barrels — and about half of it is "blending whisky" — distilled to relatively high ABV in a column still and aged 12 years in used barrels. Davin de Kergommeaux explains it in more detail in this Whisky Advocate blog post. But the key is that this is 91% Canadian whisky, 8% bourbon (guess where it comes from...Alberta Distillers is owned by Beam Suntory), and only 1% sherry. Is that weird? A little? Is it interesting? Yes. But does it work? Let's see.

The nose has wads of dried fruits — apricots, raisins, "craisins" — and a paneled woodiness of cedar and oak; very Canadian, that, as is the underlying sweetness. The whole thing smells like an enchanted forest. The 45% strides strongly into the mouth, carrying armloads of wood, baskets of fruit, and big trenchers of warm, sweet cereal, wreathed happily with the spiciness of all that rye. That's the dominant feature of the finish, too, that spiciness.

I can tell you this: pleasant as it is to sip this stuff (which it is, despite what I'll be telling you next month...wait for it!), it's also the basis for a Manhattan variant that has been my go-to for the past few months. This has been the darling of Canadian mixologists since it came out (it's labeled "Dark Horse" in Canada, and whether that's the only difference or not depends on who you ask, but the bottle of Dark Horse I have sure smells and tastes a LOT like this one).

Seriously Canadian, but in a way that takes advantage of everything the Canadian whisky category offers...including the very reasonable price. Get a bottle and start playing around with it and some cocktail ingredients. You'll find it's quite fun.

Verdict: Good


Canadian Club Chairman's Select 100% Rye, 40%
I've been drinking a lot more Canadian Club recently. Mainly because I've been going to a lot more dive bars, and cash bars at events. When you're at places like that, the beer selection often sucks, and the whiskey selection ain't much better. But you can almost always count on a bottle of CC, and a supply of club soda, and that's my dive bar go-to.

But this is a big change for CC, going 100% rye. Is it worth it? Let's find out. Nose is sweet, spicy, minty, with a hint of cedar/pencil in the background. Smells like a good young craft-distilled rye: sweet, spicy, simple, not overwhelmed by wood. Hmmm...not goopy sweet at all. Balance of rye and sweet grain, some of that rye oiliness, but a nice light finish that hangs on and flavors things. I'd take that in my club soda, and it's nice...but I think I'd rather have the Crown Royal Northern Harvest.

Verdict: Okay

Whiskey Wednesday #1

No theme today, just a few whiskeys that I've put aside for this first round of reviews.

Here's how I'm going to do this. Unless otherwise noted, these are all samples provided by the distiller/importer/bottler. I'll be sampling them from a Glencairn glass.

Maker's 46 Cask Strength, 54.45%
I've been drinking more Maker's lately; never really took to it much in earlier days, but I have found that I really do like it in an Old Fashioned. I liked the Maker's Cask Strength, as did a lot of folks, which I suppose led to the decision to release a cask strength version of the stave-soaked Maker's 46. Overproof bourbons have more punch, but not just in alcohol strength; there's more flavor, too. Most times that's good, and there aren't many 80 proof whiskeys I'm really nuts about. Let's see how it works here.

Lots of caramel, corn pudding, and sweet orange/candy in the nose, and plenty of heat, too. It's not crisping my nose hairs, but you know it's got some crack to it. The heat's there on the tongue, too, spreading tree-wise across the surface and waking up the flesh as it goes. The extra alcohol is doing weird things with the soaked-up stave content, though: it's emphasizing it, giving it the mike, amping it up. As the whiskey warms, the extra wood hammers at the roof of my mouth. The finish is hot, and a bit bitter, almost astringent. The wood's won, and it's not a great victory. This doesn't taste like the big wood in a nicely aged 18 year old bourbon; it's like an over-oaked 7 year old. Tain't right, tain't fitting.

I like this one much better as Maker's 46. This is unbalanced, and at $40 for 375 ml, overpriced.

Verdict: Flawed. 


Collingwood, 40%
I reviewed Collingwood about five years ago, when it first came out. Since then I've learned a lot about Canadian whisky, and I've honed my tasting skills, so I thought I'd give it another run.

The nose is brightly sweet, with strawberries, red raspberries, taffy, and — with some vigorous swirling — caramel and some maple. Interesting flip of the switch as it enters my mouth: there's definitely a caramel sticky richness here, but then flick I'm getting those berry and candy notes. It all dances around, then swirls together in the finish, where it finally gets a bit woody. The bright bits lift this up out of the ordinary, but there's so much berry, I'm almost suspicious.

Canadian that's clearly worth sipping. Not mired in sweet glop, not begging for ginger ale, and cheerfully bright. But am I going to reach for it? Well...if it's poured for me, sure. But if I have to reach past a whole bunch of other whiskeys I can think of? Not really.

Verdict: Okay.


Hochstadter's Slow & Low Rock & Rye (Limited Release), 50%
Now that caught my eye right away: 100 proof, 8 year old Rock & Rye. Straight rye, honey and orange peel, "and a pinch of rock candy." Now...speaking as a Pennsylvanian, "Rock & Rye" means that glass-brick Jacquin's bottle, with the sugar-encrusted fruit slices inside and a plastic pouring spout inside the neck. North Philly Cough Syrup, and almost all of us have seen Uncle Jimmy working that spout with a knife, trying to get the fruit out and suck the last sweet drops of questionable booze from it. Well, one of the neat little things about the craft distilling and cocktail movements is that little niche bottlings like rock & rye are getting a serious look, and let me tell you: 100 proof and 8 years old is serious!

Let's give it a try. The nose seems to be all honeyed orange, until you realize that the bitterness isn't orange pith, it's rye oil. Keep in mind that Hochstadter's also released a "vatted" rye whiskey, with good stuff from all over (including, maybe...some rye from Jacquin's), and I suspect some of that wound up in here. Mmm...sweet, but not syrupy, and that 100 proof kick grabs your attention. It's all honey and orange and grain sweetness up front, pretty much tamed only by the alcohol, but the rye starts to have a say toward the back of the mouth, and by the time we're sliding into home, it's standing bitter rye and orange, like somehow someone mixed a cocktail in your mouth while you were taking a swallow.

Flavored whiskey: let's not mince any words. But exceptional flavors, and pretty damned good whiskey. I'm already thinking about how good this would be while shoveling out my drive (body-warm from the flask, warming my cold nose), or with a cube of ice and a pipe, or the next time I have a sore throat and Nyquil just sounds yucky. I'm going to be reaching for this solid, square bottle.

Verdict: Good.

The Week, plus the STAG Rating Scheme

Here we go...

A look ahead to what's coming this week. Tomorrow, January 4th, is my first full workday back as a freelancer, and I promised myself that on that first full day I would hop in the car and go do what I used to do a LOT when I first started writing: go take the tour at Yuengling. But since I'm working, too, I'm going up with All About Beer editor John Holl (and my old friend Scott Fasnacht), and I'm going to write about the trip, and the 'then and now' aspect of it all, as the first installment of my new web column for AAB. I'll let you know when it's up. Meantime, I'll probably throw up a few pictures and comments here, just for fun...since I doubt that's all we're going to do.

Tuesday I'm going to keep up with the beer then-and-now thing with a report on my visit to Selin's Grove Brewing on December 21st, their 19th anniversary. What changed and what didn't was delicious, and so was the Solstice Dubbel. If I have it finished, I may also drop my thoughts on the new challenge to "craft" beer: I think it's big enough to fail.

Next? I'm going to be doing regular tasting here on STAG for the first time. I'm going to commit to doing at least one whiskey/spirits review every Wednesday, and at least one beer review every Friday...until I decide it's not what I want to do. But I'll be at this for a while, and I'd like to explain my "system." I used to "recommend" or "not recommend" drinks, I've worked with the Whisky Advocate ratings scale, I've done the 5-star thing, and I've struggled with Untappd's 5-star with quarterly gradations system.

I'm not going to do any of that here. Instead, I'm going back to a system I made up in the dark days after 9/11, at a time when we desperately needed something to laugh about. A small number of my friends will recognize the term "GOOD or SHITE?", a snarly response to someone who trashed a friend's thoughtful tasting notes about Marston's Double Drop (remember that, Peter?). 'Who needs all those fancy tasting notes anyway,' I shouted, 'is the beer GOOD, or is it SHITE?' It evolved a bit, into a four-grade system: F****** Shite, Shite, Good, and F****** Good. We had some fun and then moved on, but every now and then...I thought about it, and considered actually using it. But, you know...swearing. Some of you are probably uncomfortable with this much.

I now believe its time has come, with one important addition. I'll be grading the reviews on this scale (the illustrations are provided to give you an idea of just how bad or good things are):

Crap

Few to no redeeming qualities. Notably flawed in concept or in execution. Examples: Cave Creek Chili Beer (undrinkably spicy and one-dimensional), Ten High bourbon (too young, too hot, too thin).

Flawed 

Not undrinkable, but with at least one serious flaw that should keep you from drinking again. Examples: most light beers (no flavor), Brenne (just too sweet).

Okay

Drinkable, even tasty, won't pour it out; but not something I'm going to look for. So standard as to be overlooked. Examples: Yuengling Lager (I drink it if it's the choice, but...), Johnny Walker Red (okay mixer, but...) Note: this is a change from "Yawn," which I eventually realized sounded too judgmental for drinks that I was essentially grading at C+ to B. I'll be changing the reviews to reflect this.

Good

A definite cut above, a small grin when spotted, yes please. Examples: Penn Kaiser Pils (zesty and well-made), Wild Turkey Rare Breed (overproof in such a proper way)

Stellar 

Conversation stopper/starter. Easiest choice on the menu. Examples: Great Lakes Edmund Fitzgerald Porter (archetypal stuff), Redbreast (the standard 12 YO; such as dreams are made of)






It's a bell-curve, like many things, so don't expect too many Crap or Stellar grades, and most are likely to fall in the middle three...probably fewer Flawed, because those don't tend to be the ones I grab anyway. "Yawn" is, I think, the addition that makes the system work. Good...just not good enough to go looking for it.

I'll be accepting samples and buying off the shelf/bar, but I won't double-review; Whisky Advocate gets first dibs on all craft whiskeys, for example, and if I review them there, I won't be doing them here.  Some reviews will be long, some will be brutally short; some will just be tasting notes, some will be more. We'll have some fun, and I'll be as honest and objective as I can.

Thursday? I'm thinking about something on Canadian whisky. I've learned a LOT about Canadian in the past three years, and I've got some thoughts I want to pass along. Don't assume you know what there is to know about Canadian.

Let's see...next Saturday? I have nothing planned. Let's see what happens.

Parker's Heritage Collection 2013, J. Walker Platinum, and some Monkey Shoulder

Got a sample of the latest Parker's Heritage Collection, the Promise of Hope single barrel bottling. 10 years old, 96 proof, top floors of Rickhouse EE (Parker's favorite), no barrel number. And I gotta say...just smelling this after having some Elijah Craig 21 last night (a pretty good night; more on that shortly) reminds me that I just plain like bourbon under 15 years old better than the older stuff everyone's peeing themselves over these days.

If you're expecting tasting notes... I'm minded not to say. Parker told me once that he doesn't understand how people can taste things like mangoes, or leather in whiskey; 'I only put two things in it,' he said, 'corn and oak. I taste corn, and oak.'

Cheers, Parker. I taste corn. And oak. It's just...you made them taste so damned good!

Now, about last night... I got a sample of Johnnie Walker Platinum, too. But they wouldn't ship it to Pennsylvania because of our stoopid liquor laws, so my friend Jim Carlucci agreed to receive it across the river at his home in Trenton, and that's where I went to pick it up, and, you know, have a dram with my man Jim!

I don't usually include schwag shots, but this is just too cool; they sent the bottle (and a flydrive with pix and descriptions, and a coaster) in an aluminum briefcase. Nora's lusting after it, I think.

Platinum is an 18 year old blend, and has a suggested retail of $110...roughly halfway between Black and Blue, so to speak. Jim's not a big Scotch drinker, but he was eager to try it; score one for the metal briefcase and the sharp-looking bottle. I poured two drams. Sherried malt, toffee, fresh fruit pie, and a sophisticatedly reserved smoke. An elegant dram on the palate, as the malt and toffee/fudge comes out more, and that smoke curls around at the back. Could be just the right drink at some moments; probably quite good with cheese and nuts. Only thing is...I kind of have the sneaking suspicion that Platinum is for people who can afford but just don't understand Blue. Maybe I'm wrong, but it tweaks at the back of my mind. Not going to stop me from finishing the dram, though (I've poured another tonight...)

Next we had Grant's Monkey Shoulder, a blend of their three malts: Glenfiddich, Balvenie, and Kininvie. I tweeted on this: "Fruit, spice, baked desserts, dry malt." I'll add that it had a very pleasingly full mouthfeel, a real roll-around-the-palate sensation. An enjoyable dram indeed, and Jim was smacking his lips; hey, maybe I do like Scotch! It's like beer: if you think you don't like it, here, try this...

Then I hit him blindside: Danfields 21, a delicious bottling from Black Velvet that doesn't come to the U.S. market, and man, that's a shame. Luscious, sweet, with a spicy soupçon of rye; when we toured Black Velvet back in June, and went out for dinner with the distillery staff, we tore into doubles of this at dinner, and just loved it. If you see it at Duty Free, get it, or get a Canadian friend to mule some in.

We wound up the night with the Elijah Craig 21 I mentioned above (Barrel 41). I've never been a huge fan of the EC 18 year old; I'm unabashedly in love with the EC 12, and have said so frequently. This 21 year old reminded me why. Good, but...strong oak in the nose, pinching wood on the palate. The broadness of it saves it, but it's not one I'd reach for...like I will for that Parker's Heritage 10 year old. I've gone back to that, and I'm drinking it now. I do like that.

Join me at Tales of the Cocktail: Mister Smooth's Wild Ride

Hey, I've been remiss: if you're going to be at Tales of the Cocktail in New Orleans next week, there's still time to sign up for a seminar I'm participating in on...Canadian Whisky. No, really, and it's run by every beer drinker's favourite Canadian, Stephen Beaumont.

Stephen's calling it The Many Faces of Canadian Whisky, and it's a panel discussion of how Canadian whisky, long derided as "brown vodka," is finally stepping out into the brave new whisky world of small batches, single barrels -- an odd concept with Canadian, and one I'll be discussing in my part of the presentation -- extra aging, and all that jazz. The third panelist is Sazerac taste/blending master Drew Mayfield, who'll be presenting Sazerac's two new special Canadian bottlings: Caribou Crossing and Royal Canadian.

Here are the seminar details: if you're going to Tales, drop in and get some Canadian learning. We will have cocktails, of course, and anyone who knows Steve Beaumont knows they'll be innovative, different, and delicious.

Two Whiskies: Wiser's Very Old; The Antiquary 21 Year Old

I've got two somewhat unusual bottles of whisky on my kitchen table right now (that's actually my dining room table in the picture, but...): Wiser's Very Old Canadian 18 Year Old and The Antiquary 21 Years Old Superior Deluxe Scotch Whisky. The Wiser's I got at Duty Free in Niagara Falls on the way back from Steve Beaumont's wedding celebration back in August; the Antiquary was a Christmas gift (a very nice one) from John and Amy Hansell at Malt Advocate. The Antiquary was our Blended Scotch of the Year award winner for last year, and I'd been quite taken with it when we were doing tastings for the award...so John found a bottle for me. Like I said: very nice.

Anyway, these aren't whiskies you see every day. The availability of Wiser's in the States is quite erratic, but I get an e-mail every month or so asking me if I know where to buy it in the U.S. (hint: I got my bottle at Ontario Duty Free...), more than any other whisky or beer. That's why I wanted to get a bottle, because I only ever tasted the Wiser's Very Old once, a small sample amidst 8 other Canadians, and I wanted to get a clear judgment and memory of it. The Antiquary just isn't that common, and the idea of a 21 Year Old blended Scotch whisky that costs around $100 a bottle is an anomaly to most people, even scotch drinkers. So I thought I'd tee them up and take a swing.

The Canadian first, to be fair (Canadian's generally a smoother, lighter whisky, and I know The Antiquary has some peat to it). As you can see, it's fairly dark...but with Canadians, that's not necessarily significant. Canadian whisky is blended, and can be blended with a variety of liquids, including fortified wines, like port, so...color is not necessarily indicative of age. The nose is Canadian: sweet, oatmeal grainy, a hint of cookie, and just a slight whiff of sesame oil. It's oaky in the mouth, and not nearly as sweet as promised by the nose; there's spice, a dry cocoa sweetness, some light vanilla rounding a nip of char, and... Could that actually be rye? I think so, and that's a great thing to taste in a Canadian. There is some heat high in the back of my mouth, but it's not completely unwelcome. There is also a slightly medicinal taste, but again...not completely a bad thing. Very sippable as a neat dram, which is great for a Canadian. I suspect this would be a good mixer in a highball or "long drink." Not sure if it's really worth the C$44 price for me -- I'd likely buy another bottle of Evan Williams Single Barrel instead -- but it's head and shoulders above most Canadian whisky.

Now, The Antiquary. As John said in his review, expect to find a fair amount of Tomatin in this blend: they own it. Also dark, and in a 21 year old Scotch whisky, that actually means something (that it's aged...or they used some spirit caramel!). It smells summery, even at this age, like sun-warmed fields, with a whiff of peat floating in from down the valley. There's clean malt coming in as well. A soothing, promising smell. And the follow-through in the mouth is just terrific. Imagine a nice Speyside, with a gentle but firm malt base, marrying something like a Talisker to get just a certain amount of peat. It just rolls around, full on the palate but drying on the finish, not too big in any direction, reminiscent of Highland Park in its ability to ring all the bells. A wonderful dram at any time. Merry Christmas, Mister Bryson. Thanks, John and Amy!