Valentine Dram
19 Feb
So, Valentine’s Day. The annual Hallmark-sponsored schmaltz festival. I’ve never had much time for Valentine’s Day, many people bemoan the memories it conjures up of school days and the associated adolescent angst. Sitting in corners watching the same people getting the same cheap chocolates and awful cards, year after year. Some people on the other hand adhere to it with a sweaty romantic fervor. I find myself fitting into neither camp. If you have a friend/partner/lover, then it seems that each and every day is as appropriate as the last for extolling their virtues and bestowing upon them your love and affection. Romance by its nature should be an endless and spontaneous pursuit. National ‘be romantic’ day, which is what Valentine’s Day feels like if you allow yourself to be consumed by the sea of corporate hijackery, seems more than a little oxymoronic. Likewise, I have no resentment of those who flaunt their entanglements so brazenly for one day of the year. The streets of Glasgow were last night well-decked in couples, hand-in-hand, dolled-up to the nines, arguing and bickering as only people in committed relationships know how. I felt no bitterness or resentment, no jealousy. If I am going to feel miserable at lacking love or a partner in my life, then that, like its antithesis, is something I can entertain and indulge each and every day of the year. Self-pity, morose and middle-distance gazing introspection are national British past times, something that should not, like love, be relegated to a single card-saturated day of the year. For me, Valentine’s Day is more of a fleeting inconvenience, something that brings unwarranted expectations, unwelcome awkwardness and a smorgasbord of corporate clap-trap. The shops of our High Streets bulging at the gills with yet more fetid shiny drudgery, like bloated dying fish entangled in plastic on a cold beach. Valentine’s Day is like a volcano, annually letting off steam in the form of pointless and commendably shallow trinkets. Nothing says “I love You” like a helium-filled, heart-shaped balloon, an item whose unique romantic potential is unleashed when you puncture it and dance around the park singing your lover’s name having recently inhaled the contents. In short, I don’t particularly like Valentine’s Day, it just exists and I grudgingly tolerate it.
Prepare the sick bucket!
It did make me think however about what people drink on their Valentines date. Or more to the point, what do we drink in general when in a romantic situation? One thing can be certain, it’s not whisky. At least not historically, I’m sure there are trends being bucked these days by those with a taste for something smoky or strong. There’s no doubt whisky is a romantic drink but it will never topple the dominance of something like champagne. People in love seem to want to drink fizzy things, especially when they’re out and about, going for dinner and making a big deal out of each other. If they’re flirting maybe they lean more towards cocktails, or if they’re being quiet about it and are serious about what they eat or drink they’ll probably have a decent bottle of wine, red being the obvious preference of the romantic gastronomist. When you consider these trends for a moment it highlights quite succinctly the deeply solitary nature of whisky as a drink. Sure we share it as friends, in fact the only times I really drink whisky are in very specific social situations with particular friends, the ones who are comfortable with a similar level of geekery about the drink as I am. But it is not the same as the urge that compels us to order champagne on a date. The urge for whisky is often born of darker hours and moments. It is a soothing and deeply contemplative drink, one to nullify the senses, to mull over, to brood with alone while allowing it to allay the storms of a hurried and worried mind. Whisky has a power almost no other drink can match in these instances. Brandy comes close but it is too elegant, it lacks sinew and bite, just as Rum is too playful in character and Tequila too brutish. Whisky strikes a potent and seductive pose between raw power and an intellectual ferment of flavour and distractive depth. We drink with friends but Whisky’s most glorious hours have probably been at the helm of lone drinkers as they sail though wild oceans of mental turmoil.
Burns was a man consumed by romanticism, to the extent that he sought nourishment in whisky in the darker and lighter hours of his life.
Fitting then that the reality of Valentines Day in the majority of other countries is as a celebration of friendship. A festive idea that I can get on board with, something to encompass more that two people, something that does deserve to be hit home once a year. An excuse to purposefully gather many people who are dear to each other and let them remind one another why they matter. It seems a shame that whisky has not been seen as more of a drink for lovers, that there cannot be classical romance over a dram or two. Of course there can be, the scents and aromatic qualities of great whiskies are often seductive in nature. Perhaps it is simply the age old fact that whisky is still largely misunderstood by the majority of the world’s drinking population. It will always be a drink that lends itself to the fusing of friendships and minds, a sociable spirit of great magnitude. Though I suspect its deepest , most honest power will always remain in moments of quiet solitude. That is not too say the realm of the alcoholic by any means, simply that it is a spirit who’s depth demands concentration and inner flights of thought, it is a drink that nourishes in a way that few others can ever hope to. Where a mouthful of good whisky sinks into your soul like a boulder, others so often skim the surface like fleeting pebbles.
Lets finish up with a tasting. A Coleburn methinks, for no other reason than I’m in the mood for something a bit different…
Coleburn 1971-1999. 28yo. Douglas Laing OMC. 198 Bottles. 50%. 70cl.
Colour: Dull gold
Nose: Beautiful, a stunning and nervous bubble of wax, minerals, honey, garden fruits and ground white pepper. Classically old highland in style, the kind of aroma that can only be found in these old style distillates that have a healthy amount of age in refill wood behind them. Further notes of pollen, wild flowers, an extractive saltiness, linseed oil, wet rags, more flinty mineral qualities and white stone fruit aspects. Very reminiscent of Clynelish, or possibly Banff, from the same era. If only there were more Coleburns around to see how consistent this character was. It goes on with putty, boiled cereals, pencil shavings and little touches of wood smoke. Resinous, complex and pretty spectacular in all.
Palate: Hmmm, that’s a shame, the palate is immediately quite over-extracted, lots of notes of black tea, mushrooms, cardboard and earth. Hits of wax, mould and olive oil as well. Very big notes of tea here, milky tea and soft spices with some quite aggressive tannins in there as well. Not particularly enjoyable it’s sad to say. Butter, rotten orange peel, muesli, sultanas, sour dough, marmite and wood. It’s very bitter and quite astringent really, I think a dodgy cask has been at play here or something.
Finish: Long but still very extractive., cardboardy, teaish and bitter.
Comments: What a shame. The nose was enthralling and beautiful, it’s so bizarre how utterly different the palate was. Everything about the nose said this was going to be 92/93 points material but the palate really dragged it down. It’s a great shame because I have a big soft spot for Coleburn, I have tried several others that are pretty fantastic, if there was an award for greatest indifference felt towards a closed distillery then that would surely go to Coleburn.
Score: 75/100 (but the nose is 92 easily)
Big thanks to Tobias & Dennis for this dram.
