Lifestyles
A Rich Pour - Column No. 21: Scotland - A One Week Odyssey, Part 3
Doug Kuebler (jazznut)
Cigar Weekly Managing Editor
Monday January 4, 2010
Last time (in the November 30th, 2009 installment of A Rich Pour), I described the middle portion of my friend's and my autumn trip to Scotland, as we explored the western coast, the Isle of Mull and the Trossachs lake region of the country. Here, in Column No. 21, the adventure continues and, alas, finally comes to a close...
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Day Five: Thursday October 1
My friend Ian and I awoke Thursday refreshed and ravenous. The first day of October shone brightly through the window of our suite. Stepping down the stairway of the Bield and entering the dining area, I noticed Alison had already set out a variety of fruits, juices and cereals. Within moments, she appeared and took our orders for cooked dishes. I couldn’t resist the offer of scrambled eggs with smoked salmon or the promise of freshly made coffee.
A German couple shared the breakfast table with us that morning. The husband just happened to be a bit of a Scotch fiend. In fact, he’d taken in the Highland Park and Aberlour distillery tours, and enjoyed both. I envied him those experiences. Speyside plus the Orkneys - what a fabulous excursion that would make!
Ian and I had our own plans, however. Time to hit the road once more. The two of us headed south and then east through the nearby localities of Braeval and Port of Monteith before veering slightly northward. We’d come a long way from the rugged terrain of the west coast and Glencoe. Here, the scenery displayed a more benign side. Dairy cows competed with the ubiquitous herds of sheep in terms of numbers, and forest-edged pastures rolled gently over much of the landscape.
We reached Callander by mid morning, parked the car and began to take in the relatively quiet Old-World ambience of the town’s principal street. In the middle of the municipality stood the Rob Roy Tourist Center, housed within a stylishly converted church.
Ah yes, Rob Roy MacGregor, at various times during the late 1600s and early 1700s husband, father, participant in the Jacobite uprisings, successful cattle driver turned rustler, Laird, bandit, kidnapper and, last but not least, escaped thence pardoned prisoner. This fine fellow even had well known stories and poetry written about him, not to mention the fact that he ended up lending his name to a wonderful whisky cocktail.
Ian and I wandered inside the Center and browsed around. New-Age Celtic music wafted serenely through the interior, providing fitting accompaniment for the blatantly tourist-oriented items on the shelves. I succumbed to purchasing a heather key ring and a couple of coasters before managing to escape back outside. It wasn’t even noon-hour yet, and I already felt as though I needed a Rob Roy.
Fortunately, The Whisky Shop lay just a few doors away. I made a beeline there and began to eye the establishment’s fine selection of spirits. Momentarily tempted by the sheer variety of single malts, including rare and outrageously expensive limited edition issues of Bunnahabhain and Springbank, I finally settled for an Old Malt Cask advance sample of 25-year old Port Ellen drawn from Sherry cask. “Not a bad nab at all,” I thought to myself.
Our next destination, Doune Castle, snuggled up beside the River Teith on a rise of land just outside of the village of Doune. Built over the final years of the 14th-Century for Robert Stewart, the Duke of Albany, Doune Castle later served as a countryside royal retreat and hunting lodge for James I, James II and James III.
When we approached the entrance gate of the castle, a cat mysteriously appeared out of nowhere and proceeded to coax Ian and me inside. We dutifully followed.
Doune Castle is also renowned as one of the sites used during the filming of Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Anyone familiar with the movie will doubtless recall the taunting words hurled from the ramparts at Graham Chapman’s ‘King Arthur’ and Michael Palin’s ‘Sir Galahad the Pure’ by John Cleese’s caustic French guard: “You don’t frighten us, English pig dogs. Go and boil your bottoms, you sons of a silly person… I don’t want to talk to you no more, you empty headed animal food trough water. I fart in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelled of elderberries.” Ouch! I think I might have opted for the plummeting stones or flaming arrows instead. But wait a minute. Doune is a truly historical site, isn’t it?
Certainly, as we toured the grounds and investigated the various chambers, real history began to eclipse comedic fiction. The Great Hall and Lord’s Hall, in particular, impressed with their grandeur.
Onward ho, next stop Stirling. We temporarily got tangled up in a commercial area on the outskirts of the city after taking one wrong turn, but quickly recovered and found our way to Stirling Castle.
Where Doune Castle had come across as very much of a piece design and time line wise, Stirling Castle, sited majestically atop a volcanic outcropping, almost overwhelmed. Here, we were dealing with a sprawling complex of edifices dating, essentially, from the 14th-Century and the erection of the north gate through the 16th-Century, when much of what now stands was built, to the 19th-Century and utilization of the site by the British military.
Entering this complex under the watchful gaze of Robert the Bruce, the two of us agreed it would be best to join in with a tour group. Good decision. Our female guide proved both enlightening and entertaining, even pointing out that the thrones in the Great Hall, in a pinch, could perform more than a single function. Of course, the royal couple were the only ones privy to this convenience. Everyone else would have had to walk or hold. Yet another interesting tidbit of information concerned the restoration of the outer walls of the Great Hall to their original lime-washed state, a move that apparently aroused much controversy among scholars and the general public. Personally, I thought the exterior looked fabulous, if a little ‘French’. Any way Ian and I sliced our experience of Stirling, though, the breadth and scale of the place definitely constituted architecture on a grand scale.
Dropping into the castle gift shop briefly, I immediately cast my eyes on a small glass encased collection of single malts from the Dallas Dhu Distillery, which had ceased making whisky in 1983 prior to being transformed into a museum administered by Historic Scotland. Only one of a total of 590 bottles of cask strength 24-year old, distilled not too long before management shut down operations for good at the Forres site, remained in the store. I knew that bottle needed a new friend, damn the extravagance of the transaction.
Feeling mildly fatigued and majorly peckish, Ian and I drove into the center of the city of Stirling, parked the car near a statue of Robbie Burns and began to seek out an eatery. A quick reconnaissance of the urban core landed us at a franchise restaurant entitled the Filling Station. We were more than ready to be filled. I wolfed down a bowl of soup as well as a tasty burger and fries, chasing everything back with a pint of Tennent’s Special Ale. Oddly enough, the meat in the burger consisted of 100 percent Irish Angus beef – Celtic crossover in the heart of Scotland.
Late afternoon saw sizeable crowds emerging from work and hitting the streets to shop and socialize. Given its short distance from Edinburgh, Stirling functions both as a metropolitan area in its own right and as a sort of bedroom community for its larger Lothian neighbour. We did some sightseeing for a while before hopping in the automobile and leisurely wending our way westward along Dumbarton Road, then northward and back to Aberfoyle for a late day break.
Alison’s husband Michael greeted us as we pulled into the Bield and got out of our car. Saw in hand and ladder at his side, he was in the process of bringing down a tree in the backyard that had seen better days. The three of us chatted for a short while. Michael was obviously a skilled handyman. He had, in fact, carried out the majority of the renovations - including remodelling and rewiring as well as new plumbing installations - in the house over the last few years. And the quality of his work was evident everywhere. Impressive, to say the least.
In the early evening, Ian and I headed on foot over to the Wallace Bar at the Forth Inn for a light dinner. Walking in through the front door, I instantly felt as though I had been thrust into a Scottish episode of Coronation Street. One group of older ladies sat at a window-side table chatting while men of various generations huddled around the pool table and bar engaging in friendly back-and-forth banter. Although the pool players seemed to be missing more than their fair share of shots, the bar’s menu and service were spot-on. I ended up ordering a delicious smoked local trout platter along with some thirst quenching Deuchar’s India Pale Ale. The perfect end to a perfect day.
After our meal, the two of us walked back up Trossachs Road in the dark. We rounded the corner of the driveway at the Bield only to encounter Michael, as well the children, standing beside a beautiful bonfire. The dying tree in the backyard was history, its brittle legacy now blazing magically upward into the autumn night.
Day Six: Friday October 2
Friday morning. Fresh memories of Loch Fyne, Oban, the remote west coast, Mull, Glencoe, the Trossachs, Doune and Stirling still danced in our heads.
A full Scottish breakfast was definitely in order. Alison ably indulged our gustatory desires. I feasted on cereal, yogurt, fresh fruit, juice, toast and marmalade, bacon, poached egg and, most importantly, coffee. A quick pack and…
Edinburgh, here we come!
It took next to no time for us to hit the M9 and M8 motorways, headed toward the outskirts of Edinburgh. Getting into the center of the city proved another matter altogether. After encountering mid morning rush-hour and a multitude of traffic lights, we finally managed to park near Edinburgh Castle and hit the streets on foot.
This day marked the first for which Ian and I had not pre-booked overnight accommodations. We therefore circumscribed a loop around the base of Edinburgh Castle over to The Royal Mile, turned left onto North Bridge and then left once more onto Princes Street, where the Scottish Tourist Board center was located.
After a brief wait in line at the S.T.B., the two of us were aided by a very pleasant young lady. She quickly managed to find and reserve us a reasonably priced room not too far from the core of the city, in the Wester Coates area. We walked back to the car, intending to head right over to the Cumberland Hotel, dump our bags there and then return to the center of Edinburgh. Not so fast, guys.
Although the route from downtown to the hotel appeared straightforward enough on the map, Ian and I became a couple of wayward tourists in no time flat. Darn those tortuously curving streets and one-way roads anyway!
We pulled over and asked a local bloke for directions. His explanation sounded as convoluted as his accent was thick, and we struggled to decipher the gist of his ale-enhanced response - something or other about going down a hill, looking for a pub, making a right and then a left, I thought. Of course, we never did come across that pub.
Time for a second try. Ian and I asked a young gent, spiffily attired in business suit and tie, for help. The desperation on our faces must have been obvious.
“Are you fellows from Canada then?” the kind man inquired.
“Why yes,” we sheepishly replied. “How did you know?”
“I was born in Canada, and lived there for many years,” he said. An Edmonton, Alberta boy, in fact. I didn’t ask him if he had been an Oilers or Gretzky fan.
“But your accent is very Scottish,” we responded.
“Yes. Funny how that happens.”
We thanked the kind man and pulled out into traffic, finally knowing where we were going. The sensation of regaining some semblance of control over our actions was palpable, if short lived. We whizzed toward the Cumberland and mistakenly parked in a neighbouring lot.
No sooner had we realized our small error when sounds of glass being shattered and a car alarm beeping loudly emanated from close by. Ian caught a glimpse of the perpetrator running off, and called the police. Within five or ten minutes, Ian was being questioned by a young male officer, who wrote out a very detailed report before assuring Ian that he wouldn’t be called back later as a witness. Edinburgh was turning into a wee bit of an adventure after all.
“So I’m not going to get a free trip to come back to Scotland?” Ian joked.
“I’m afraid not,” the policeman answered, grinning.
Back out on the street, the owner of the damaged automobile arrived. He didn’t seem too upset by the whole affair, and smiled as he conversed with the first officer’s female partner. She shyly consented, at the suggestion of her associate, to allow Ian to take her photograph.
Ian and I came away from this event a little stunned by the politeness, pleasantness and thorough professionalism of the two police officers. In fact, they continued to comb the area, likely knocking on doors to find out if other individuals had noticed anything unusual, even as we began our roughly ½-hour return trek downtown.
Such a minor crime would likely only warrant quick questioning and dispensation of a file number for insurance purposes in our North American necks of the woods, we thought. But here, in the middle of one of Scotland’s major cities, no illegality seemed too trivial for careful investigation. We were impressed.
Walking along Wester Coates, Ian and I passed the mid 19th-Century baronial buildings of Donaldson’s College, formerly home to a school for the deaf and those with severe speech impediments, and now an upscale real estate development. We then continued on past the stylish row houses of Coates Crescent and Atholl Crescent toward Princes Street.
A common Old-World architectural thread wove through much of what we viewed - the narrow and winding streets, residential enclaves, academies, galleries, shops, churches and monuments, including the imposing spire-covered statue of Sir Walter Scott located in the Princes Street Gardens. Perhaps it was due to the increasingly gloomy weather of the day, but I couldn’t recall having seen quite so many shades of grey stone before. Especially interesting were the closes and wynds, tiny passageways that permit access to buildings and courtyards or that connect one street level to another.
Ian and I pretty much stuck to the central hub of Edinburgh, exploring the funky Grassmarket area and walking along most of The Royal Mile. The Scotch Whisky Experience, situated a stone’s throw from Edinburgh Castle, proved an in-and-out venture - too many people mulling about for our liking. We quickly browsed the store there before deciding to take the plunge and visit Edinburgh Castle.
Edinburgh Castle provides a unique window into Scottish history, its buildings spanning a period from the 1100s right up to the present day. It is huge, imposing, and way too much to digest in a single tour. Nevertheless, the two of us valiantly attempted to cover as much of the castle grounds as we could manage in a couple of hours. We were certainly thankful not to be visiting the site in peak season, as we imagined the hoards of summertime tourists would make for a horribly congested time. As it was, there were more than enough camera clickers, including us.
By late afternoon, the calorie surge of breakfast had long since worn off, and we required replenishment. Entering Deacon Brodie’s Tavern, we marched through the bustling downstairs bar and climbed the stairs to the second floor dining room. Dark oak, warm lighting, coffered ceilings and comfortable chairs made us feel right at home. Roast lamb was listed as the special of the day, and Talisker 10 Year Old was to be had from the Scotch list. My taste buds and stomach soon grew happy.
Sated and revitalized, Ian and I exited the tavern. I bopped into Royal Mile Whiskies barely a minute or two prior to closing time, and left with a couple of miniatures of high-proof Bladnoch 17 Year Old from the Lowlands in my jacket pocket. Not cheap, but worth it!
One facet of the city core, which stuck in my mind, revolved around the sheer number of business establishments dedicated to the sale of liquor, wine or beer, either in poured or bottled form. It seemed as though I couldn’t pass more than two or three addresses without encountering a purveyor of alcoholic beverages. Having listened to a radio panel discussion on the pervasiveness and potential dangers of drink in Scotland only a day or two earlier, I began to appreciate just how much alcohol and social interaction intertwined here in Edinburgh. Pub crawling heaven indeed! - or perhaps hell, depending on your viewpoint. “There’s always room for moderation AND enjoyment, though,” I say.
The daylight hours waned, and darkness descended on the city. The two of us wandered over to Edinburgh’s most famous department store, Jenners. Established in 1838, Jenners offers just about everything under the sun. And the open central hall of the store, rising elegantly upward to a glass ceiling, is strikingly beautiful.
Ian and I perused a few of the boutiques, bagged some linens and sweets, and then walked outside onto Princes Street. Edinburgh Castle glowed in spotlighted splendour high on its hill. The ubiquitous sounds of pre-recorded bagpipes blared from many a storefront, creating a cacophony of traditional and contemporary music in the process. A young street person sat against a wall and plied passersby for change while his dog, supposedly in a tuneful manner, howled in competition with the bagpipes. I elected not to ask the dog’s owner if the two ever sang duets.
We slowly sauntered back toward our hotel, passing restaurants offering a variety of international cuisines along the way. Despite this fact, both of us sensed a somewhat insular homogeneity in the populace, and wondered how difficult cultural minorities might find day-to-day life in Scotland. This is one very Scots-conscious nation!
Ian and I returned to the Cumberland and our third floor room, packed up most of our paraphernalia and then bedded down. During the night, I awoke to the noise of strong winds howling outside. They sounded so forceful that I feared the roof tiles above my head might be ripped asunder. The good news was that those very same winds had, by early morning, blown away all of Friday’s grey. The bad news was that Saturday would mark our last hours in Scotland.
Day Seven: Saturday October 3
Following a hearty buffet breakfast in the hotel dining room, we lugged our baggage to the car, started up the engine and pulled out onto Wester Coates. The route along the M8 highway to Glasgow proved a breeze, and we arrived at the International Airport with plenty of time to spare - time enough, in fact, to leisurely browse the shelves of the duty-free store.
I nabbed some tins of single malt infused fudge, a couple of tee shirts and a wine magazine. Ian opted, at my suggestion, for a bottle of 25-year old cask strength Talisker. Somehow, I think he did a little better.
As we took off from Glasgow and flew out over the Atlantic, I took one last look back toward the western coast of Scotland. It had been a whirlwind week for the two of us, to be sure. Yet all in all, we had managed to cover a lot of territory, to see some absolutely amazing sights, to meet some very interesting people, and to enjoy a wide variety of activities, foods and drinks. Who could ask for anything more?
The next land I viewed out of the airplane window was the east coast of Canada. I’m not sure, but it may have been Sable Island. The skies gradually became more overcast from there to Ontario. And by the time Ian and I landed at Pearson International Airport in Toronto, fine drizzle was falling on the tarmac. Weather wise, we had come full circle.
At Ian’s recommendation, we joined his better half for dinner at one of their favourite Toronto haunts, Allen’s on the Danforth. There, I feasted on delectable beef tenderloin served with sweet potato fries. The whisky list proved every bit as enticing, and I ended up ordering back-to-back drams of Ardbeg’s sensational Uigeadail cask strength single malt and 1989 North British single grain, which had been bottled after spending 18 years in Sherry wood. The first exuded a room-filling fragrance that had people at adjoining tables turning their heads, while the second went especially well with my dessert of rhubarb crisp and vanilla ice cream.
And there we sat. Seven days earlier, Ian and I had departed for Scotland, little knowing what actually awaited us. Now, our memories of the week just past swirled in a vortex of almost dreamlike images. It had indeed been magical.
At this time, I'd like to wish all of my readers and fellow Cigar Weekly members the very best of health and happiness as well as the finest of libations in 2010.
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Tasting notes on some of the single malts profiled in this series:
Aberfeldy 12 Year Old – 40% A softly conveyed sensation on the nose. The faintest liveliness on the palate to start. Then plush and pure honeyed Highland malt. Gently dries toward the finish. A balanced and tasty middle-of-the-road whisky.
Ardbeg Uigeadail – 54.2% More than fragrant. An assaultive, room filling Islay aroma. Very sweet and earthy on the palate. Fantastically intense, layered and ultimately alluring stuff. A huge whisky, this one.
Ben Nevis 10 Year Old – 46% Sweet on the nose. Unbridled Sherry wood presence on the palate, then drying toward the finish. A simply massive mid-palate mouth feel to this one before the flavours fade.
Bladnoch 17 Year Old Spirit of the Lowlands (Beltie Label) – 55% Predominant scents of citrus and menthol. Delicately sticky and sweet to begin, followed by a series of flavour bursts. A veritable garden in the glass. This is an invigorating and complex Lowland whisky.
Dallas Dhu Limited Edition 24 Year Old Cask Strength, Distilled 1982 & Bottled 2007 – 56.3% Cask Ref: 3739, Bottle No. 544 of a total of 590. A dessert-like aroma. Essence of Sherry seasoned oak on the palate. The malt grows slightly more medicinal toward the finish. A lot of wood to digest here. Shows at its best with little or no water added.
Edradour 10 Year Old – 40% A sweet malt to nose and taste. The finish is crisper. Hard to tell if this newer edition offers anything special when compared with the Campbell Distillers era bottling, notorious for inconsistency though that one became. Perhaps I was simply lucky back then.
Highland Park Cask Strength, Distilled 1995, Matured in a Refill Sherry Hogshead & Bottled 2006 by Gordon & MacPhail – 57.2% An exuberant seashore aroma. Spicy on the palate at the outset, then settling into a broader, softer presentation. A little disadvantaged by youth, perhaps. Better as a late afternoon or pre-dinner treat rather than as a post-prandial pour.
Kilchoman New Spirit – 63.5% Distilled April 23, 2008 and bottled September 26, 2008 from an ex-Bourbon cask. Peaches and peat in abundance. Very balanced for such a youthful spirit, and exceptionally smooth despite the high alcohol. Not technically a whisky? It matters little!
Oban Cask Strength, Distilled 1996 – Approximately 54% Tasted at the distillery on Monday September 28, 2009, this sample was drawn straight from a refill cask. Saltiness to the fore, both on the nose and palate, doing battle with the honeyed malt. Any way you slice it, scintillating whisky.
Port Ellen 25 Year Old Douglas Laing Old Malt Cask Series, Distilled February 1982 & Bottled March 2007 – 50% Cask Ref: 3400, bottled from a Sherry butt. A lovely fragrance. On the palate, honey and peat with an oak sheen and a lingering aftertaste, both sweet and not. Before dinner by preference, with little or no water.
Talisker 25 Year Old Natural Cask Strength, Bottled 2007 – 58.1% Bottle No. 4938 of 6894 from refill casks. A most distinctive aroma. No reticence or lack of uniqueness on the palate either. Very subdued malt sweetness meets citrus oils, peppery heat and oak. Medium bodied, but with strong bones. Give it a chance. It will grow on you.
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Doug Kuebler (jazznut) is an inveterate aficionado and collector of wines and whiskies from around the world. Doug has organized wine and food seminars as well as written extensively on wines and liquors. His well-received book set, The Tumbler's Guide to Single Malt Scotch Whisky, is available from Topeda Hill Publishing.
