Highland Park
I had been planning to post on Training, which seems to be the Master’s departure point both for self-reflection and his legacy of writing about this process of self-observation. Montaigne’s Madeleine if you will. But I’ve become distracted, and that posting will have to wait. Because right now it seems more pressing that I write about Highland Park and its underappreciated virtues.
I’ve been tasting Highland Park 12 with some regularity lately, because Tony G has it behind the bar at Max. Highland Park, as we all know, is produced on Orkney Island, at the northernmost scotch distillery. And although it’s often lumped together with the Islay scotches, it really resembles the highland malts, smooth, flavorful, but not in the least bit peaty or smoky. And even lacking the bite or spice found in a Talisker. Just good scotch whisky.
Tonight, just for the hell of it, I sampled the 12, the 18, and then a taste of the incomparable 25. From this comparison, I could discern only a slight improvement in how smooth and drinkable the whisky is as it moves up in age. That’s not a knock on the older malts; rather, an indication that the 12 is remarkably smooth and mellow for its age. As one moves up to the older malts then, the big change is found not so much in texture, but in flavor.
The 18 opens slowly; at first, it tastes much like the 12, but after a moment the flavor expands, grows, enlarges, and lasts. One great thing about the older Highland Parks is the long aftertaste. Some whiskies lose their taste almost immediately; or worse, leave an aftertaste with a totally different character, medicinal, or bitter. Highland Park 18 leaves a smooth and consistent taste even after the whisky is no longer on your palate. For my money, the 18 is a far better malt than the much acclaimed Macallan 18, and at only half the price of Macallan. But the 18 is nothing compared to the 25, which opens up with a veritable explosion of flavor, the taste of which seems to linger and linger forever, or at least until the next taste. The 25 remains the best whisky I’ve ever tasted. And after all, it’s really about the taste, not the name, not the reputation, and not the price.
I’ve been tasting Highland Park 12 with some regularity lately, because Tony G has it behind the bar at Max. Highland Park, as we all know, is produced on Orkney Island, at the northernmost scotch distillery. And although it’s often lumped together with the Islay scotches, it really resembles the highland malts, smooth, flavorful, but not in the least bit peaty or smoky. And even lacking the bite or spice found in a Talisker. Just good scotch whisky.
Tonight, just for the hell of it, I sampled the 12, the 18, and then a taste of the incomparable 25. From this comparison, I could discern only a slight improvement in how smooth and drinkable the whisky is as it moves up in age. That’s not a knock on the older malts; rather, an indication that the 12 is remarkably smooth and mellow for its age. As one moves up to the older malts then, the big change is found not so much in texture, but in flavor.
The 18 opens slowly; at first, it tastes much like the 12, but after a moment the flavor expands, grows, enlarges, and lasts. One great thing about the older Highland Parks is the long aftertaste. Some whiskies lose their taste almost immediately; or worse, leave an aftertaste with a totally different character, medicinal, or bitter. Highland Park 18 leaves a smooth and consistent taste even after the whisky is no longer on your palate. For my money, the 18 is a far better malt than the much acclaimed Macallan 18, and at only half the price of Macallan. But the 18 is nothing compared to the 25, which opens up with a veritable explosion of flavor, the taste of which seems to linger and linger forever, or at least until the next taste. The 25 remains the best whisky I’ve ever tasted. And after all, it’s really about the taste, not the name, not the reputation, and not the price.
posted by pops | 10:29 PM
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