Bowmore: Water of Life, Stuff of Legend

Iain asked how many of us were whisky drinkers; a collection of hands rose. He asked if any of us weren’t whisky drinkers; a lone hand was raised reticently. Mine. Then, thankfully for me, we went through the ABC of whisky. Before we sipped, we were instructed to swirl the liquid in the glass, much like wine, cover it with our hand, and then take a big sniff. I nearly passed out with the fumes that came off it but there were indeed oranges in there. Then came a curious exercise. As we were told of Islay and the distillery and introduced to all of the influences in the whisky – the peaty water, the influence of the sea, the smokiness from the barrel – we were told to cover the glass and shake it. Then, putting the glass down, we rubbed our hands together and then took another whiff. No alcohol, no biting tones, just all those elements he’d described, in a fragrance that summed up Islay. I’ve not been there but I could well believe it.

Then came the taste. I took a sip and was caught by one of the biggest clichés imaginable: I coughed. And, naturally, I was singled out. We were warned that there would be a coarse hit of alcohol but that we should run the liquid around our mouths to cut through that as quickly as possible; the subsequent sips would be better. And they were. I was starting to get it. The 12-year-old, matured in sherry barrels, which accounts for the citrus notes, still had the harshness of Scotch I’ve never really warmed to, but I was starting to get it.

We moved across the room to the next one, Bowmore’s 15-year-old single malt. Part of the tasting in this instance involved whisky’s partnering with food and, as waitresses introduced trays among the group, we were told that there was one foodstuff that complements a single malt perfectly: oysters. Oh dear. I watched in horror as everyone reached for the devilish little blighters, fighting the temptation to snatch them out of people’s hands just before they tipped them into their mouths. I made my way over to Jonesy and Stirls, craving the company of the only others in the room who seemed to be in on the secret. “Good job we didn’t go there, eh, boys?” Jonesy looked sheepish. I spied two empty shells on the counter and threw them a look of horror. “I’m quietly panicking here,” Jonesy said, coughed again and grimaced as he took another sip.

Oysters and whisky may seem like a decadent match for those of cast iron constitutions, but there was another tray of delectables that was being passed round, skewers of venison. I grabbed one, greedily. The sip of the 15-year-old I took with that mouthful, I have to say, was divine. And I was starting to see where the subtleties were coming into play. The 15 has more of the smokiness of the bourbon barrel maturing, and was less cutting than the 12. This malt was, by now, really firing my imagination. As I sipped I was mentally measuring up a tweed hunting jacket and looking forward to tramping through rain-swept heather clutching a canvas gunbag and a pair of Purdeys.

With the 18-year old, chocolates were offered. Sumptuous confections from Islay, too, naturally. Another idyllic marriage, although by now I was struggling to keep pace with the assault of indulgences. And we still had two more to go, including the much-anticipated amber ambrosia itself.

As that anticipation built and yet more was made of the tasting experience, we were invited downstairs to sample – nay, experience –the second of their new offerings, the 1981 vintage, at a mere £250 a bottle. What was happening was that the price tag was no longer influencing my appreciation of what we were experiencing, I was becoming unaffected by the monetary value and rather enjoying the adventure.

Arguably, during this part of the proceedings, they went a bit far. With our sample glass in hand, Iain explained we were going to experience what it was like to drink whisky in more ‘Scottish’ conditions. I couldn’t think what he meant until we formed a line and were taken into a ‘cooling room’. Quite why the Nat Geo store had a cooling room in the basement of their building I couldn’t say. And as we waited our turn, Jonesy began to feel they’d singled him out for suffering, what with the oyster and now, having been asked to leave his jacket upstairs, fearing that the arctic blast to which he was about to be exposed might finish him off.

We stepped inside, and the fans started. Above the roar, Iain invited us to take a sip. Yes, it’s scientific fact that alcohol opens the capillaries and cools the body quicker in cold extremes but, for a moment, the warmth that came off that glass spelled bottled pleasure. It may have been extreme, but this was the way to do it. There was a lovely subtle fruitiness to this single malt, something I’d never experienced in a whisky – I know, I know, it’s not as if I’ve tried many – but, amid the peatiness characteristic of a solid single malt, I was starting to sense the layers of a good Scotch and I could see why we were going to such extremes to get the very best out of this tasting session.

Invigorated by our session in the chiller cabinet, and while Jonesy paled considerably, Stirling was virtually skipping up the stairs at the prospect of the evening’s highlight still to come. Evidently, this was nothing more than the ‘cold’ setting on a hair-dryer compared to the Tough Guy competitions he’d fared before. As we made our way back upstairs, there was a sense of anticipation that we were in the presence of greatness for the great unveiling. We were invited to take our seats again.

At this point, I have to turn to Iain to give you the real sense of what happened next.

“What you’re now about to see is a whisky that not many people around that world have had a chance to see,” he began. “With the exception of myself and my boss there are only 50 people in the world who have actually drunk this whisky. And that will include the 23 of you here in this room today.” There was a frisson of excitement in the room. “When a whisky gets to 40 years old it becomes a very, very special experience to drink. It becomes a sensation on the palate.

Concludes on Page 3…