What do I mean when I say that liquids – especially distilled spirits – have textual characteristics? I didn’t exactly boss the literary theory module I took at university – don’t worry, I’m not about to invoke Habermas or Lacan.
In simple terms, therefore, drinks are made by people and reflect their creative decisions. The more creative decisions that underpin a brandy, whisky or rum, the more complex and communicative that liquid becomes to someone like me, a person perhaps a little too willing to read more deeply into things.
My thesis emerged in the course of blending Scotch whiskies. The moment you consciously combine one spirit with another, you have created a drama with two characters. The potential for conflict and transformation is vast but not entirely predictable: the blender gives a degree of autonomy to her creations.
Whisky, just like everything else we humans make, has context. The phrase ‘liquid history’ is so often used of older spirits, or those from long-lost distilleries. Truly, however, every liquid tells a story. Some stories just happen to be more nuanced, powerful and enchanting than others.
While the objective principles behind distillation and cask maturation are of course scientifically understood, liquid creation remains an experiment in self-expression.
Below is my own taxonomy of liquid texts, based on a lot of thinking around whisky.
Single Casks = Tweets
A given percentage are amusing, rich with reference; a handful can be dazzling and draw the eyes of the world. Most are insipid and interchangeable, lacking in originality and promptly forgotten. Brevity may be the soul of wit but, as Twitter shows, not in all cases. As I shall discuss at some length in a future post, single casks rarely need more than the original 140 characters in which to say their piece because wooden containers are not intrinsically eloquent. Owing to the fact that most barrels and butts originate from the same three or four cooperages, a lot of single cask bottlings tend to have tremendously similar backstories when left to their own devices. What meaningfully separates this cask/Tweet from another?
Mainstream Single Malt Bottlings = Haikus
Though targeting somewhat different people, your standard core range single malts and conventional single cask releases have some commonalities. Both tend to do two or three things quite well. Mainstream single malt bottlings, however, benefit from humans arranging those three tricks so they perform reliably; they are precise, measured, allusive. They are designed: to capture a mood, to fit a particular moment. A good example would be Ardbeg Wee Beastie 5YO, for which my haiku would be:
This peaty caper,
A comic book printed on
Pear Drops with squid ink.
Limited Editions = Short Stories
Whisky is almost as awash with special, ‘limited’ releases as it is single casks. I don’t share the suspicion of many towards these latter bottlings because I care about the context as much as the liquid character. Chances are the release in question has been a dedicated project, worked on by a specific team of people, maybe bringing some new creative thinking to bear on a liquid. Going back to Ardbeg, Scorch is a short story, just as Blaaack is. They are pacy, fun, with an often singular intensity. Ardbeg is a prime example of a producer creating liquid texts.
Recurring Limited Editions = Sci-fi and Fantasy Novels
Certain releases come about regularly. Compass Box Flaming Heart is one example, Ardbeg Supernova or 19YO Traigh Bhan are others. Each instalment refers to and builds upon characteristics and plot lines introduced in prior releases. There is a heavy reliance on mythmaking and the kind of easter eggs beloved by Trekkies. If you are scouting out these bottlings, chances are you are already some distance down the rabbit hole – and loving it.
Aged Blended Scotches = Modernist Novels
There is something truly powerful to me about the allure and mystique of aged blends. The interplay between malt and grain is usually a mystery, the cast of characters dimly perceived. Plot is more a function of taster interpretation. Nevertheless, when faced with a glass, you know you ought to be impressed. The more deluxe expressions from Johnnie Walker, and others such as The Last Drop, all play with signs and symbolism; they are as much about aura as aroma.
Small batch blends of aged spirits, especially French brandy and malt whiskies = Palimpsests
The highest form of textual intrigue in my book (!). Dave Broom was the first writer, that I observed, to bring the concept of palimpsests into whisky. He discussed it in relation to the ghostly, pyrrhic presences of closed distilleries – I mean to show that palimpsest spirits can be very much alive. To my mind, they are more common in the independent bottling space, where a third party reconstructs spirits, drawing on their own sensibility to add layers of annotation and, occasionally, doodles in the margin. What’s important is that specific makers layer their creativity on top of one another, interacting across different moments in time through spirits. Samaroli’s blended malts from the 90s and early 2000s are great examples.
Armagnac Sponge No. 1 from this year is another. Grapes were grown in two regions, over two separate vintages; the wines were possibly distilled using equipment loaned from a cooperative rather than owned by the domaines in question; the spirits were put into casks of who knows what antiquity from specific black oak forests, then somehow acquired by Grosperrin in Cognac. Thanks to a long-standing relationship with Grosperrin, a Scottish independent bottler and satirist tastes through a range of spirits and, subject to his own creative caprice, blends them together. Stories accrue like lacquers, on the bottle and within it. The label shows that this is very much a work of the moment, but the traditions and statements of the past flow in constant colloquy behind it.
