Hmm. Perusing the ever-excellent malts display in Morrisons in Byker, I come across a bottle I haven't seen before. Tormore 12. Case notes as follows.
It's the label that catches my eye. A beautiful blue, with a design that's elegant but slightly amateurish, in a good way. It suggests a minimum of faff and a general disinclination to bugger about. Marvellous. I'm looking forward to this. Glenmorangie, stop messing about at the back there and pay attention. This is how labels should be done.
There is one mystifying detail. The label bears the legend "the pearl of Speyside". Apparently this is in tribute to the molluscs of the river Spey. Well, er, OK then. I can roll with molluscs. I have no beef with molluscs. No disrespect to my shelled brethren. (Apart from when they get all up in yo face an that, obviously. Then I lay the smackdown on their bivalve asses using a bit of garlic and half a bottle of cheapo Chardonnay. I ain't takin' no dis from no gastropod, mm-mm.)
Nice enough bottle. A bit like a Laphroaig bottle only not green. I was going to say "a bit like a Laphroaig bottle only not green and taller and thinner", but when I come to look carefully it doesn't look that much taller and thinner. No taller or thinner at all, in fact.
Hold on, let me get a bottle of Laphroaig.
It is a Laphroaig bottle! Tormore have clearly been rootling about in Laphroaig's recycling bin. Only it's not green. Well, the copyright lawyers will be thrown right off the scent by that little trick, I'm sure.
Hooo. Anyway, back to the whisky. It's pretty spiffy, in a kind of burnt-tasting way. Not smooth like Glenmorangie or rough like Glen Moray, just sort of assertive.
But burnt.
It's like one of those weird little toasted coconut sweets, only someone's grilled it some more and now it's a bit burnt. No, I don't know why they grilled it, I always thought those sweets were fully cooked before purchase. Otherwise they'd have a label or something, and be sold off the bit of the deli counter where they have bacon and sausages rather than off the sweetie shelf. And obviously if they are already cooked but you grill them some more then they're likely to burn, or at least taste a bit worse than they did when you bought them. The sweetie company has spent a lot of R&D money getting them to the perfect degree of burntness - what makes you think you can improve on it, you dolt? For God's sake.
Sorry, got off the point a bit there. And the point was... er... Tormore 12 is a pretty nice whisky that tastes a little bit of burnt coconut sweeties? Yeah, that'll do.
Score: 8 out of 12
Sunday, 16 November 2008
Wednesday, 23 April 2008
Glen Moray Classic
I've got people coming round for a haggis dinner later and Glen Moray is only 14 squid a bottle in Tesco. The choice is an easy one. Case notes as follows.
First thoughts first. There must be a reason this is half the price of every other single malt in the supermarket. It wasn't on special or anything, it's just a really cheap whisky.
Now, I don't have a good record with the bargain bucket. Cheap crap breaks, bends, dribbles, goes blunt, shrinks in the wash, snaps off in your hand when it encounters hard things, or ruptures months after the procedure causing internal leakage and a trip to A&E. A single malt is not something that should be done on the cheap, and I'm wary.
First impressions are not good. The bottle, let's be honest, looks a bit naff, with more than a hint of B-movie Transylvanian lab glassware about it. I keep expecting the contents to bubble and smoke. Nevertheless I pick it up, fight the urge to cackle like a wild-eyed megalomaniac scientist, and pour myself a drink.
Hm. Actually that's not bad. It's very in-yer-face, but by the third sip it's quite refreshing. I hope they never advertise it with any of that glen-of-tranquilliser type nonsense, because this isn't that kind of drink. It's a bit harsh, lairy, rough around the edges, and it probably swears like a blue-arsed fly in the privacy of its bottle. But it's 80% of a good whisky at 50% of the price, so it gets a hearty slap on the back from me.
Not that that will stop it calling me names as soon as it's back in the cupboard, of course.
Score: 7 out of 12
First thoughts first. There must be a reason this is half the price of every other single malt in the supermarket. It wasn't on special or anything, it's just a really cheap whisky.
Now, I don't have a good record with the bargain bucket. Cheap crap breaks, bends, dribbles, goes blunt, shrinks in the wash, snaps off in your hand when it encounters hard things, or ruptures months after the procedure causing internal leakage and a trip to A&E. A single malt is not something that should be done on the cheap, and I'm wary.
First impressions are not good. The bottle, let's be honest, looks a bit naff, with more than a hint of B-movie Transylvanian lab glassware about it. I keep expecting the contents to bubble and smoke. Nevertheless I pick it up, fight the urge to cackle like a wild-eyed megalomaniac scientist, and pour myself a drink.
Hm. Actually that's not bad. It's very in-yer-face, but by the third sip it's quite refreshing. I hope they never advertise it with any of that glen-of-tranquilliser type nonsense, because this isn't that kind of drink. It's a bit harsh, lairy, rough around the edges, and it probably swears like a blue-arsed fly in the privacy of its bottle. But it's 80% of a good whisky at 50% of the price, so it gets a hearty slap on the back from me.
Not that that will stop it calling me names as soon as it's back in the cupboard, of course.
Score: 7 out of 12
Tuesday, 22 January 2008
Glenmorangie Original
The best selling single malt in Scotland, apparently. At the moment it's more important to me that it was the most-often-given-as-a-Christmas-present single malt in the Porpoise household this year. Either way, case notes as follows.
Smooth. Not in a bland way, there's plenty of substance to it. But whereas, say, Laphroaig tastes of clambering over rocks amid crashing waves, or Bowmore tastes of standing atop windswept castles, Glenmorangie tastes more of leaning against a white piano with your bow tie undone.
Not that there's anything wrong with a bit of soulful elegance. Dean Martin managed perfectly well without tossing any cabers or wrestling any walruses or whatever, and 'tis much the same with Glenmorangie. This is a classy beverage.
The only slight worry is a hint of corporateness about the whole thing. The taste is perhaps a fraction too refined, the bottle a little too "designed". The website is a riot of highly-polished kaleidoscopic animations, and precisely not what you want to try and focus on after a couple of glasses of whisky. And the full-colour label looks as though an expensive design agency wanted it to look traditional and trustworthy, but the focus group they consulted had just finished analysing the brand image of Tia Maria. My advice would be to get the stuff into a glass as quickly as possible, relax, take a snorting huge sip of the stuff, and forget all the branding and corporate trimmings. Oh, and undo your bow tie.
Score: 9 out of 12
Smooth. Not in a bland way, there's plenty of substance to it. But whereas, say, Laphroaig tastes of clambering over rocks amid crashing waves, or Bowmore tastes of standing atop windswept castles, Glenmorangie tastes more of leaning against a white piano with your bow tie undone.
Not that there's anything wrong with a bit of soulful elegance. Dean Martin managed perfectly well without tossing any cabers or wrestling any walruses or whatever, and 'tis much the same with Glenmorangie. This is a classy beverage.
The only slight worry is a hint of corporateness about the whole thing. The taste is perhaps a fraction too refined, the bottle a little too "designed". The website is a riot of highly-polished kaleidoscopic animations, and precisely not what you want to try and focus on after a couple of glasses of whisky. And the full-colour label looks as though an expensive design agency wanted it to look traditional and trustworthy, but the focus group they consulted had just finished analysing the brand image of Tia Maria. My advice would be to get the stuff into a glass as quickly as possible, relax, take a snorting huge sip of the stuff, and forget all the branding and corporate trimmings. Oh, and undo your bow tie.
Score: 9 out of 12
Tuesday, 11 December 2007
Aberlour 10
Righto, here we go. A proper review of Aberlour 10. Case notes as follows.
Mm. Not bad at all. Very mellow, almost like a lowland whisky. Bit sweet, bit spicy, generally quite pleasant in a bland sort of way. Not the most memorable of drams, but it's certainly nice enough.
Anyway, being memorable is often overrated. It makes you a moderately crap spy, for example.
Sorry, what was I reviewing? Oh, here's a glass of Aberlour. It must have been that. Let's have another drink.
Mm. Not bad. Very mellow, almost like a lowland whisky. Bit sweet, bit spicy, generally quite pleasant in a bland sort of way... Oh, it's all gone. The glass is empty.
Aber what?
No, sorry, don't think I've tried that one.
Score: 6 out of 12
Mm. Not bad at all. Very mellow, almost like a lowland whisky. Bit sweet, bit spicy, generally quite pleasant in a bland sort of way. Not the most memorable of drams, but it's certainly nice enough.
Anyway, being memorable is often overrated. It makes you a moderately crap spy, for example.
Sorry, what was I reviewing? Oh, here's a glass of Aberlour. It must have been that. Let's have another drink.
Mm. Not bad. Very mellow, almost like a lowland whisky. Bit sweet, bit spicy, generally quite pleasant in a bland sort of way... Oh, it's all gone. The glass is empty.
Aber what?
No, sorry, don't think I've tried that one.
Score: 6 out of 12
Aberlour 10
Oh, for heaven's sake. Look, I haven't tried yer bleedin' Aberlour. Now get orf my property before I get annoyed and pummel you to the texture of Branston pickle.
Sorry, what's that you say? There's a bottle of Aberlour open on the desk, and a whisky glass with dregs of Aberlour in it? Well, that's odd. I don't remember how they got there.
Hm. I surely can't have forgotten the entire experience of drinking it, can I?
This is worrisome. Tell you what, I'll pour myself another glass and attempt a blog post while I drink it. Then there's no risk of me forgetting anything.
Just wait there. Back in a minute.
Sorry, what's that you say? There's a bottle of Aberlour open on the desk, and a whisky glass with dregs of Aberlour in it? Well, that's odd. I don't remember how they got there.
Hm. I surely can't have forgotten the entire experience of drinking it, can I?
This is worrisome. Tell you what, I'll pour myself another glass and attempt a blog post while I drink it. Then there's no risk of me forgetting anything.
Just wait there. Back in a minute.
Thursday, 6 December 2007
Aberlour 10
What the... You again?
Look, just leave me alone about this Aberlour thing, will you? I haven't tried it.
Look, just leave me alone about this Aberlour thing, will you? I haven't tried it.
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