Bushmills Irish Whiskey, My Christmas Mortar-Dram

Posted by clarkeboyer on December 3rd, 2010 | 2 Comments

Christmas is a nostalgic time of peace and reflection on the three most important aspects of our lives: family, friends and Irish whiskey.  Christmas and Irish whiskey share many underlying themes.  Like Christmas, Irish whiskey is always there for us, year in and year out.  Further, both are consistently predictable, both are based on tradition and both make us feel so darned good.

My Christmas Dram of the Moment

Bushmills Irish Whiskey.  The Santa Claus of Whiskey, known to deliver joy all over the world at Christmastime.  Bushmills is also a Boyer Family tradition.

I can hear some of my surly bar acquaintances already, with their fake Irish accents, “Clarke, you should be drinkin’ Jameson my boy, not that English crap.”  To them I respond, “Don’t get your panties all in a bunch, Jameson could well be my next Christmas Dram of the Moment.  Moments pass on to other moments, you see.  And the next moment will certainly call for a different whisk(e)y.”

Here in Denver, it is sad to see many pubs with a nice bottle of Bushmills behind the bar left untouched in favor of the ever-pervasive Jameson.  I believe this is largely due not to taste preferences, but to the common belief that Jameson is somehow more Irish.  It is obvious that the folks over at Pernod Ricard just have a more iconically Irish-looking bottle, it is green after all.

Most of the Jameson I see cross the bar around here is consumed in quick shooter fashion due to its light and easy character.  The few Bushmills drinkers I’ve spotted out there prefer their whiskey in a cocktail or on the rocks.  Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of good reasons to drink Jameson.  I just recommend that you not drink Jameson with ignorance to the many other delicious Irish whiskies available out there.

It Must Be Said

Most of you barstool historians believe the urban lore that Jameson is Catholic, and therefore the real Irish whiskey, and that Bushmills is Protestant, and therefore English.  Truth be told, Jameson was actually founded by John Jameson, a Scottish Protestant.  We are all aware that the Celtic peoples fought bitterly against the Saxons for a very long time, and for good reason.  Yet those who sit at pubs in America bathing in Jameson while verbally bashing the English are fighting a proxy battle that most people in Ireland have made a concerted and laborious effort to put behind them.

Besides, if you want to be a true Irishman, actually BE from Ireland, and drink Powers.  Better yet, if you’d really like to support Ireland, drink Kilbeggan from Cooley Distillery, the only Irish-owned distillery in Ireland.

Most whiskey companies love to portray their products as virtually unchanged over hundreds of years of existence.  The reality is that most of the great whisk(e)y brands in existence today are owned by a multinational corporation headquartered miles from any actual distillery.  Most of the whisk(e)y you drink is produced by brewers and distillers who push buttons and look at computer monitors all day, not the leather-faced pipe-smoking men often portrayed in marketing.  Take Bushmills, for example, which is owned by Diageo—the largest spirits producer in the world.  Despite this fact, I am still going to drink Bushmills because it is consistently good and affordable.

No, I am not a corporate shill, I am just a whisk(e)y lover who chooses not to get wrapped up in the artificial lore that many consumers and corporations like to perpetuate. I will continue to enjoy independent and family-owned whiskeys such as Bruichladdich and Glenfarclas as well.

Raise Your Bushmills for a Toast:

To all the historically misinformed Irish whiskey historians out there wearing down barstools across America.  You are none more than misinformed wannabes.  Your hatred for the English was learned from a movie directed by and starring Mel Gibson, a man we now know to be a complete douche.  You are the same hypocrites who would probably be buying a pint for an Englishman if he paid a visit your local pub.  And if that does happen, make sure you teach that fine lad the American art of tipping the bartender.  Hear hear!

A tasty dram, is it not?  I like to enjoy a whiskey for what it is, not what image it projects.  Bushmills is a nice full-bodied sipping whiskey with a refined oily mouthfeel and an undeniable malty structure—a whiskey assuredly fitting for this Christmas moment.

Bushmills is not too taxing on the taste buds.  It is an atmospheric whiskey—strong enough to sing along to sometimes, harkening that endless loop of Christmas music you hear everywhere this time of year.  This an old standby Irish whiskey that stirs up a pot of nostalgic chestnut soup in my mind, steaming away on Christmas Eve…

My Great-Uncle Bud Was a Bushmills Man

Bud Clarke was my Mom’s Uncle and a long time Hollywood film editor.  He was always armed with a bottle of Bushmills upon arrival at our house on Christmas Eve.  Our relaxing evening around the tree always gave Uncle Bud plenty of time to get schnockered on Bushmills.  My brother and I also discovered its benefits at an early age.  We learned to sneak drams in the kitchen while the adults lazed around after dinner in the living room.

Coffee was served after dinner, and Uncle Bud used Bushmills in lieu of cream.  The caffeine ensured he would have enough mental acuity to make the drive home to North Hollywood, while the whiskey kept him warm on those chilly L.A. nights.  We said our goodbyes, and Uncle Bud stumbled out to his ancient silver two-door Honda hatchback with exposed foam under the cracked red vinyl upholstery—just a great car, in his opinion.

As the rest of the adults faded to bed, my Brother and I gathered steam and readily hit the remnants of the Bushmills along with measures from the handle of Granny’s Dewar’s.  Sometimes, we would even spoil ourselves with tastes of the forbidden fruit: our Dad’s bottle of Balvenie Doublewood.

Bushmills blend is the go-to Christmas “Mortar-Dram” at the Boyer house.  It is the mortar that holds the many more rare and challenging “Brick-Drams” together.

The senses are dulled, in my opinion, if one consumes dram after dram from Dad’s now veritable arsenal of fine whisk(e)y on Christmas Eve.  For example, why hit a Glenfarclas 30, a Highland Park 18, a Pappy Van Winkle 20, an Ardbeg Uiegdale, then a Laphroaig 30 without a steady intake of Bushmills in between and throughout?  The aforementioned products are infinitely more enjoyable when the palate is cleansed with a subtle yet respectable Bushmills.  One can even throw some rocks in there and not be a sinner.

It just makes sense to challenge your palate with the expensive stuff, and then go back to something simple and good like Bushmills.  Add all these whiskies together and you have a solid brick wall Christmas Eve buzz being carefully nurtured throughout the night, and the next day.

There you have it, a virtual United Nations of whisk(e)y on Christmas Eve.

Uncle Bud is no longer with us, but I hold a special Christmas spot in my heart for Bushmills in homage to him.  If Uncle Bud were here today, he would certainly enjoy some of the other Bushmills products as well.  Black Bush and Bushmills 10 Year Old are certainly on my whisk(e)y greatest hits mixtape.

Stay Tuned for the Next Installment of re: Whisk(e)y / Christmas Edition

All this talk about Christmas, and I’m sure some readers must be highly offended.  Stay tuned for my “Ode to the Anti-Christmas Nazis of 2010.”

First Post: The Peat Proposal

Posted by clarkeboyer on December 1st, 2010 | No Comments

It occured to me that brilliant whisk(e)y cannot exist without deep thought.  Further, deep thought cannot exist without a dram of brilliant whisk(e)y firmly in hand.  Therefore, this new blog, titled re: Whisk(e)y, will chronicle my thoughts as they swirl around the enjoyment of the finest brown spirits the world has to offer.

Arriving home from work this evening, I rummaged through the liquor cabinet looking for the proper dram for this, my inaugural post.  What better commemoration dram than the last vestige of an old bottle of Bruichladdich 3D: The Peat Proposal?

Fitting indeed since Bruichladdich is ever-vividly-present on my mind.  My mind often floats into the Gulf Stream and on up to the Isle of Islay.   I recall the greatest experience of my life as an intern of sorts at the distillery just a few years ago.  It was there that I met some of the most kind and creative people making whisky today.

The tale behind The Peat Proposal is a roadmap to the history of the distillery itself.  You see, when Bruichladdich was miraculously resurrected from 10 years of closure in 2001, they decided to make waves across Loch Indaal.  These waves gathered energy and sent a Peat Tsunami across the world.  It was then that the new owners, guided by expert Jim McEwan (not a stranger to Islay), used different levels of peated barley to make three distinctly different spirits: Bruichladdich, the classic house style with low-level peat, Port Charlotte, the mid-range peat recipe, and Octomore, the peat monster coming in at over 100 ppm!

In recent years, the distillery has also run all organic and all Islay-barley batches.

Bruichladdich’s first release of peatier things was this dram, which I delicately grip, 3D: The Peat Proposal.  Instead of being bottled from a single spirit type, as was produced there before at a low peat level, this dram was a mixture of two mature and classic Laddies from the old days as well as a healthy measure of the brash new peatier whiskey.  This dram is indeed three dimensions of peat.

Now, the peaty part of this triumvirate was quite young–probably only about 3-4 years old upon bottling.  Smokey flavors tend to decline (or perhaps refine) during maturation.  Vatting at this age allowed a peat punch to feature prominently.

I am reminded of a unique series from another Islay distillery, Ardbeg, where they expertly bottled an extremely peaty whisky over a sequence of time to showcase the effects of maturation.  This was Ardbeg’s Very Young, Still Young and Almost There.  I tried all three and experienced the peat meandering through time.  In the younger years, peat was like a punch in the face (a pleasant one).  After some time in wood, this more mature peat had put on its top hat and tie, ready for a saunter across the ballroom floor.

Dear Bruichladdich: I have reviewed your recent Peat Proposal, and gladly accept.  I don’t believe it was a great service to this bottle to take more than 4 years to drink it, especially since many peaty products have come to follow.  Yet, had I not savored it like this, maybe this dram would not be in hand at this moment.  Then how could I tangibly reminisce about the history of peatiness at Bruichladdich?

Dipping my honker deep into the Glencairn glass to nose this dram delivers me to the shores of Loch Indaal with nary an enhanced patdown by TSA.  I’m sitting on the rocky shore skipping the most perfectly round and flat stones into the lapping waves.  The air is rank with salt and seaweed rot.  There is burning peat in the air likely carried from the maltings factory not too far away.

The smoke emitting from this whisky is a veritable firework shooting to the sky and exploding with peat, peat that soon sizzles into beautiful falling sparks full of other rich and floral flavors.

Sipping this dram, it is hard not to notice fantastically more smoke than a Laddie 10 or 15 year, yet the classic house maltiness is the backbone here.  This is a hardy peat, still fondling my tastebuds after years of oxidation in the bottle.  But wait!  A message is being sent to my brain from the vanilla regions of the tastebuds.  I’m also getting a call from seaweed dipped in honey, and a blip on the radar screen from an estery bucket of fresh maple syrup.  What a dram!

Upon two visits to Islay, I noticed something very important: many of the visitors were there on their umpteenth Islay holiday.  I even met a couple who travel there every year.  Sure, whisky is a great compliment to any visit to this Isle, admittedly a magnet for my first visit, but the beauty of the land and the character of the people are the real zest and allure of the place.

Duncan’s warm smile.  That lorry driver who bailed me out of an embarrassing stall in the middle of one of Islay’s busiest intersections.  The fishing crew I got into a pint-buying war with at the local pub in Port Charlotte.  Grant and the boys at the warehouse who wrangle thousands of casks with gusto.  The latest crew from all over the world moving into the Academy house for a week of whisky-school.  The weathered Feolin ferry operator who looks like he needs a wee nip from my flask of Octomore spirit.  The Academy house ladies treating me like their own son.  The bike ride over the hill to Kilchoman.  A foggy morning on Loch Indaal.  Boarding a plane at the Islay airport with a heavy-heart, hoping to return again soon.

3D: The Peat Proposal.  Bruichladdich’s preview of coming smoke from around 2005.  A delightful and important dram to kick off this blog properly, with peat and with dignity.

I hope that whisk(e)y lovers from all over the world, like those who have made the pilgrimage to Bruichladdich, will enjoy the musings of this blog.

Now, to finish this bottle…  Slainte!

Addendum: the author will use the spelling “whisk(e)y” in reference to the product of no particular geographic place, until this spelling becomes cumbersome or annoying.  In direct reference to Scotch, Japanese, Canadian or other applicable locales, I will use the spelling “whisky.”  In direct reference to most American and Irish products, I will use the spelling “whiskey.”  Hope this does not create too much confusion.  In the event that it does, I will eliminate all together “whisk(e)y” and replace it with “whiskey” due to the fact that this author resides in the United States of America.