Spirits of The Only Whiskey Show
Add water or ice, just enjoy it how you want
KEVIN RITCHIE
THE attendees are like supplicants at a eucharist, concentrating hard as they prepare to taste the water of life. Uisge-beata means exactly that in Scots Gaelic, but the world knows it best as uisge – or whisky.
The amber spirit these days is light years beyond five brands in a South African bottle store five decades ago. Single malt whisky, once the staple for blended whisky that ruled the world, is now not just a force in its own right, it’s starting to command stratospheric prices among the aficionados.
One of these is former finance services expert Marc Pendlebury who turned his hobby into a business – first blogging about his passion, then opening Whisky Brother to sell exclusive whisky in Johannesburg’s exclusive Hyde Park, 7½ years ago, adding an online portal in 2015.
Eighteen months ago, Pendlebury opened a bespoke bar in Morningside with more than 1 200 variants in stock. Today Whisky Brother runs “The Only Whisky Show” once a year for two nights only, in a converted print shop called the Mustang Room, abutting the M1 north. Last week, was the show’s third iteration.
Pendlebury is unabashed; his show is for the purists, those who have already taken the plunge through the bigger introductory annual shows that have now morphed into becoming showrooms for other spirits, showcasing luxury items from cars to watches. His show only runs for two nights; only 450 people can get in – and tickets cost R450 each. Exhibitors are limited to one stand only, enforcing equality by prohibiting the big distributors from creating beach heads by buying multiple stands in the exhibition hall. There are also master classes for the purists; special tasting sessions in a side room hosted by brand ambassadors.
Stewart Buchanan of the small east highland distiller Glendronach is one of the drawcards this year. Kilted and waist coated, there’s an impish sense of humour that wells up through this minister of the spirit. He’s worked his way up from the very bottom of the industry as a stillman overseeing the heating of the whisky mash as it evaporates into the still, all the way to production manager, including revitalising the Ben Riach distillery piece by piece after it had been mothballed for two years.
For the last seven years he’s been global brand ambassador for Glendronach. It’s a calling more than a job, evident from Buchanan’s patter; from the distillery’s backstory to the description of each whisky “expression”; from its “legs” to its “nose” and ultimate taste derived from its aging in Pedro Ximénez and Oloroso sherry casks.
The distillery is an old mill that was converted back in 1826 by landowner James Allardice at Glendronach. It was an illegal still at one stage, as were so many at that time, saved from the predations of the British version of SA Revenu Service – the “excise men” – by the early warning system of a parliament of rooks nearby that would flock into the air and caw at their approach, giving the workers enough time to hide their work.
Once the process was legal, Allardice tried to sell his casks in Edinburgh, but having arrived after all the pubs had stocked up for the season, found solace in prostitutes, doling out his stock to liven up the evening. It was a marketing master stroke, soon Glendronach was the dram of choice in the Scottish capital’s best whorehouses and pubs – even though Allardice would squander his substance on riotous living within 20 years.
The two stories underpin the naming of two of Glendronach’s current products: the 18-year-old Allardice and the 21-year-old Parliament – “not after Boris Bloody Johnson”, expostulates Buchanan – which with the Glendronach Original 12-year-old, make up the trifecta.
He’s particularly enamoured of the Parliament.
“I think you get two whiskies here,” he explains, “which is great news, you get bang for your buck on a bottle that will retail here for around R2000. You can drink it normally and you might get some pepper, but you know the Scandinavians, those Vikings, always like their drinks with a bit of a punch, so I tell them to savour it, hold it under their tongue for a wee bit. I guarantee you they’ll be tapping out in about 15 seconds.”
He’s right. It’s like setting fire to your mouth.
“No pain, no gain,” he laughs delightedly, “it’s good to challenge your palate.”
The suits, the puffer jackets, yarmulkes and the odd kilt look up with streaming eyes and nod in reverence.
Buchanan’s passion is matched only by his lyricism. The Glendronach original, is the “double espresso” of single malts, its mahogany colour from the sherry cask maturation “like a stained-glass window”. The supplicants are enjoined to find the top notes of berries and Seville Oranges and the bass notes of chocolate, leather and tobacco from the distillery’s saxophone shaped stills.
He’s particularly enthused about the peated Glendronach; “it pops and doesn’t punch you, and then it creeps back,” he says comparing it to the typical, almost antiseptic teste of Islay peated whiskies.
“The peat here is deforested, rather than bog and seaweed. There’s no iodine, rather a chargrilled barbecue.”
Having dealt with the ecology, there’s time for a bit of social anthropology – the existence of distilleries shows how the landowners felt about the tenants who lived on the land.
“If a landowner was a nice guy, rather than clearing land for sheep and packing the people off to the US – you’ll find more distilleries,” he says, before going off on another riff about the lighter sultanas and raisins that you can taste, rather than the dark prunes of others.
“It starts light but as it goes back you feel the almost dry oily thumbprint on the back of your tongue.
“People ask me, should I add water or ice? If you buy it you do what you want, I say, as long as you enjoy it,”, and with that it’s time for the faithful to get a little ecumenical and sample – or buy – some of the other exotic and rare whiskies on offer in the hall beyond.