My family spent 2 weeks in Scotland in late August, 1993. There is much to tell of the trip, but for this beer-related post, what I learned about single malt Scotch whiskies might be of interest, since they are little more than distilled beer whose malt has been smoked with peat.

We drove from London up and around Scotland. Along the way we stopped in the Highlands in the east and the Islands in the west. We saw many distilleries but toured only two: Glenlivet in the Highlands, and Laphroaig on the Isle of Islay (ponounced “eye-luh”). These are notes taken at the time.

August 26, 1993

Got to The Glenlivet distillery about mid-afternoon. The distillery sits on a large estate with rolling hills in the glen (long valley) of the River Livet. The country and distillery grounds are magnificent.

The three of us had a tour (essentially a personal tour as there were no others in the party) led by a very knowledgeable and entertaining man. The distillery was just starting back up after several weeks without production while maintenance work was being done. The place was beautiful, spotless. Here is what we learned.

Water rains on the peat-covered hills nearby, filtering through the peat into wells. They use that water to make the whiskey since it is very clean and very acidic. They buy malt (some German, some English) from some maltster elsewhere, already kilned and peat smoked. There are very few distilleries that still malt, kiln and smoke their own barley. Laphroaig, described later, does so, but only with about 30% of the total malt they use. One ton of malt produces 400 liters of alcohol or, at 40% by volume, 1000 bottles of whiskey.

The malt goes into large storage hoppers and is transported everywhere in the process by screw/auger conveyors. The grinding mill runs unattended at night (to avoid human contact with the inevitable dust). First roller cracks, the second crushes the malt. Fairly fine grist; finer than needed for beer brewing.

The large mash tun is filled with the peaty water that is heated to about 68 C by steam, which is heated by burning coal. The mash tun has revolving blades that stir the mash. Two hours later, after some more additions of hot water (11,000 gallons total), it is filtered through the bottom of the tun and the blades scrape the tun clean. The wash is then cooled to about 20 C with water that is recirculated through their outside pond and cooling towers.

This then goes to large fermentation vats made of pine. The wooden vats have a life of about 40 years. Two yeasts (one a beer yeast, one not, both dry) are added at the rate of 1% to the wash as it enters the tank; a total of about 500 lb.. of yeast per tank. Fermentation begins within 2 hours and lasts a total of 8 hours. The foam is a full six feet high at peak fermentation but is prevented from rising higher by the revolving blade at the top of the vat, which disrupts the very top of the foam without disturbing the fermenting liquid below. Each area in the building had its own wonderful aroma: the storage area with malted barley, the mash, the fermentation, the still area. We all sniffed one fermentation vat that was at the height of fermentation. Liene stuck her head a little too far into the top of the tank and was assaulted by the aroma and CO2 of 11,000 gallons of wash at peak fermentation. There are eight tanks. Seven going at any one time, one being steam cleaned, all done on six hour cycles, repeating every 48 hours.

Next, into the stills. Copper of course. Four pairs of pots for the two part distillation done in four shifts. Interestingly, the shape, size and height of a still pot determine as much of the character of the distilled spirits as just about anything else. (According to M. Jackson in his book about single malts, when a still pot needs to be replaced, they make an exact copy of the original even down to banging a dent exactly where there had been one on the original pot.) The fermented liquid is heated to 75 C, the boiling point of alcohol, and the spirits are captured into a storage tank overhead. The leftover (full of dead yeast, etc. left over from the fermentation) goes off to a building next door where it is mixed with the mash filterings. There it is made into pellets of cattle feed supplement (about 27% protein) and fertilizer. Waste not want not.

The spirits from the first distillation (about 17% alcohol at this point) are put into the second still pot where the temperature is about 60 C. In this pot, there are 3 separate cuts of the distillation. That is, as the vapors rise up, the distiller directs them into different storage areas so as to separate them. The first cut is very light, too light and without body to be included in the final product, and is called the foreshot. The foreshot is put back into the storage tank above. The second cut is called “the heart” (this is about 63% alcohol) and is taken away to become Glenlivet whiskey. The third cut, the feints, is composed of oily, heavy alcohols. This also goes into the storage tank. After the next batch of fermented wort is distilled and put in the second still for its secondary distillation, the stuff in the storage tank from the first batch is added to it to go through the process again.

The heart is mixed with more of the original peaty water to reach a 57% alcohol content and put in casks to age. The casks must be made of oak. A few come from sherry makers in Spain. Most of them come from Kentucky after having been used for 3 years in the making of bourbon. Scotch makers prefer these casks to new oak since the wood has been conditioned. Bourbon requires that its casks be new oak. (I believe that FDR had that written into the law as a way to keep people employed.) A perfect symbiosis: bourbon by definition needs new oak, Scotch should not use new oak. The casks are used 2 or 3 times for aging Scotch before they are retired. Some distilleries use a higher proportion of sherry casks to bourbon casks; each imparts its own flavor. Oak breathes so that some alcohol is lost but the atmosphere, which in the case of the malts from the western islands is salty, iodine-y, etc., is also let in, imparting its own characteristics. The oak also imparts the characteristic color. Since the distillate is essentially clear, the different colors of different single malts are due partly to the water they are mixed with prior to casking [in Islay the water is very, very noticeably brown] but mostly to the time spent in cured oak casks. The stuff must age at least 3 years before it can be called whiskey. Before that it can only be called spirits. We had a taste of the 12 year Glenlivet before leaving; rather light and vanilla-like. The operations of the entire distillery are run by about 12 people but there are a total of about 22 employees including the grounds-keepers, etc. As we were leaving, in the parking lot which gave a wide view of the lovely countryside, we met Sam, a border collie from a nearby farm, who entertained us with tricks and a drool-soaked rubber ball. August 30, 1993

The ferry ride from Kinnecraig on the mainland to the Isle of Islay took two hours. Wind blowing strongly, sun shining. Upon arriving at Port Ellen, immediately headed east a couple of miles to the Laphroaig distillery and another mile to the Lagavullin distillery. They both had tours at 10:30 am. Is there some rivalry here? No doubt (their histories are rather intertwined and being as geographically close as they are, a certain rivalry is to be expected). After some discussion, we decided on Laphroaig since they still malt some of their own barley. Took the tour with several other people.

The man who guided the tour (I believe he was Ian Henderson, the distillery manager) was of course very knowledgeable. Here is what he said. Much of the barley used in Laphroaig comes from Fife. They do DNA checks of the barley from time to time to verify that it is indeed the proper variety of barley needed. Consistency is of course all important. What they look for in a barley is the combination of low nitrogen and a large seed. The barley to malt phase of the process is very labor intensive and costly. Therefore, they malt and smoke only about 30% of all the barley they use on premises, more for tradition’s sake than anything else (the other 70% is malted to their specifications at the large maltster in nearby Port Ellen). There are 3 concrete floors in one building that can each hold 16 tons of barley while malting. Two floors were in the process of malting during the tour. Here of course they achieve the same yield of 400 liters of alcohol from 1 ton of barley. They use about 5000 tons of barley per year. They are at about 75% of production capacity.

After malting comes smoking, and that means peat. The Laphroaig distillery owns about 650 acres of peat fields. (By the way, about 15% of the land on Islay is covered with peat. When cutting peat, the topmost layer of live plants is of course not used; however, the next two layers are cut out and left to dry. The deeper layers are left undisturbed.) The guide said that under current production and peat cutting activity, they believe they have about 600 years worth of peat. That works out fine since it is estimated that it takes about 600 years for peat to be formed. The cut peat is left to dry for 6 to 8 weeks (which is less than if the peat were being used as fuel). They use one and a half tons of peat to smoke 16 tons of malt. A lot of peat that had been cut in recent weeks was still out in the fields (we saw them later as we drove through Islay) because of the very wet summer they had had.

The kilns smelled rich and quite intense, the wooden walls impregnated with decades of peat smoke. We were able to enter them and stand on the grates through which rises the smoke from the peat burning in the ovens below when they are being used. The malt is left for 18 hours on peat and 12 hours on air. The cooling makes the kernels go dry.

The whole process to this point was quite human, as had been all of the Glenlivet. However, here the entire mill to mash to wash to still portion of the program is totally computerized and automated. Nevertheless, it was quite interesting. The transport of the grain, the grinding mill, the grist, the water, the mash, the introduction of the yeast, the fermentation, and the preparation for distillation are all computer controlled.

As in all single malt whiskies, the distillation is a segmented process. After the first distillation, an experienced distiller decides when to direct away the foreshot (the early distillates that are too harsh), thespirits (what will become the whiskey), and the feints (weak but recyclable) into their respective paths. This immaculate distillery building has glass-enclosed areas where the alcohol (about 70% strong) pours off in such volume that it might be emerging from a garden hose. From here, the spirits will be casked (in used Kentucky bourbon oak casks) for the proper number of years.

A cute story from the tour guide: As we all know, the word whisky comes from Gaelic uisge-bha, the water of life. It is said that if you drink the right amount, you will live forever. Unfortunately, no one knows exactly how much the correct amount is. So, every day is a new experiment.

From the tour guide’s remarks, it was clear that Laphroaig was far and away the only whiskey worth bringing to one’s lips. It had always been our favorite. Little did we know that Lagavullin was beckoning. Our friend in Cambridge had raved of its charms. We would soon know them too.

We bought two bottles of Laphroaig 15 year, since it is $100 a bottle in the US (and, we hear, soon no longer to be imported). They said it was about £40 in London. At the distillery, £28 (about $42). Proceeded to Lagavullin, a clean and ever so stately distillery, not for the tour but for a bottle. The shop was closed for lunch and so we visited Dunevyn’s Castle ruins, a couple of hundred yards from the distillery, right between Lagavullin and the sea. Climbed among the 14th century ruins and rocks on the shore. At 1:00 pm, bought a bottle of Lagavullin 16 year, rated 95 in M. Jackson’s book.

On we went to enjoy the rest of the trip. Altogether we saw the following distilleries: Glenlivet, Glenfiddich, Dufftown, Oban, Talisker, Port Ellen, Bowmore, Ben Nevis, Bruichladdich, Laphroaig, Lagavullin, Ardbeg, and Caol Ila. Every one we saw was painted white or white and gray. Smoke stacks. Immaculately clean. Every inch tidy and all with a stately air.

September 10, 1993

Back in Ann Arbor, we invited some friends over and laid out six different bottles of single malt Scotches (the Scottish just call it whiskey. Is there anything else?): Glenlivet, Cragganmore, Talisker, Laphroaig 10, Laphroaig 15, and Lagavullin 16. We sat down with Michael Jackson’s guide to the single malts and proceeded to analyze what was before us. As with beer tasting and the like, one needs to learn the taxonomy of important characteristics of the taste and the experience. Armed with the vocabulary, one can begin to distinguish what’s going on in the glass and on the tongue.

Glenlivet and Cragganmore are from the Highlands and therefore, although peaty, are mildly so. Glenlivet drips with vanilla taste but is not really terribly interesting. Cragganmore is the most complex in aroma and very wonderful.

The rest are from the Islands and therefore are the essence of peat smoke and sea water. Talisker is the only distillery on the Isle of Skye. We saw it in the mist; Skye is wild and it is no wonder that the whiskey is wild and so peppery as to be hot.

Laphroaig 10 is iodine and peat smoke with some malt thrown in for completeness’ sake. On a scale of 1 to 10 of in-your- face-peatiness-smokiness-and-wildness, Glenlivet is a 2 and Laphroaig is 23.7. Having aged another 5 years, Laphroaig 15 is the same, only it pretends to be smoother. Why bother? Go with what you got. Nothing reminds me more of the time we spent in Islay than the finish and the smokiness that remains in my sinuses after a sip of Laphroaig 10.

Lagavullin is all Islay but with class. Rich and complex, much more balanced between malt and smoke, but no less the essence of Islay peat, Islay water, Islay weather and Islay wildness. Wow.

It’s nice to know that I don’t have to spend money on a ticket to Scotland to appreciate its landscape and character. I just imagine them by closing my eyes and taking a sip of an Island single malt. Or, to paraphrase the Everly Brothers, … all I have to do is dram.