Giuseppe Quintarelli: Never To Be Forgotten

Giuseppe Quintarelli

Giuseppe Quintarelli, the incomparably gifted and inspirational maestro of the Valpolicella region, has passed away aged eighty-four after suffering from Parkinson's disease for some years. Each of his wines, from his Valpolicella to his Amarone Riserva, has such effortlessly beautiful poise, concentration and sense of place that it is easy to overlook the dedication, the skill and the love that the quietly unassuming "Bepi" lavished upon them. A deeply religious man, he believed in patience, diligence and the pursuit of perfection in the vineyard and the cellars. "The secret of my wine? I follow my rules, I do not run behind the fashions. You must have rules, but also update without abandoning traditions.”

Never one to latch onto a current trend, at times he struggled to sell his wines. As Burton Anderson observed: “It’s simply that the philosophical Bepi, after travelling and observing the progressive techniques of others, decided that there was nothing to be gained from changing the methods learned from his father and grandfather.”

A label from Giuseppe Quintarelli's
Amarone Della Valpolicella 1997

His approach was renowned as being strongly traditionalist, with only a few concessions to modernity. Although his Amarone spends seven years in Slavonian oak botti, and it was only relatively recently that labels ceased to be hand written and hand applied to bottles, S. Quintarelli was relentlessly experimental even as he adhered to the traditional techniques passed down to him. He was the first in the region to plant Cabernets Sauvignon and Franc, using them to brilliant effect in his barrique-aged appassimento wine Alzero, as well as blending them with Corvina in his Primofiore. He began production of a dry white wine, something very unusual in the Valpolicella region, and he was also the first person in the area to experiment with Nebbiolo.

Strict grape selection resulting in uncommonly low yields for the Veneto, combined with painstaking attention to detail and the patience to allow his wines to evolve in their own time, means that a bottle bearing the Quintarelli name is never going to be cheap. Prominent Italian wine journalist Franco Ziliani puts it far better than I ever could when he states “the wines of Quintarelli are completely different from the standardised, repetitive and boring wine commodities that you so often find among Amarones today. They are very expensive, rare and not so easy to understand. They are wines that require intelligence, experience, culture, patience and time, all elements so different from the simple, fast appreciation of wine today.”

The last time I visited S. Quintarelli, I was fortunate enough to taste most of his then available wines. His 1995 and 1997 Amarone were nostalgic delights: powerful but fresh, ripe and voluptuous without being at all overblown, yet with the rustic, spiced, earthy character once so typical of the region. The stunning 1995 Recioto was one of the most shockingly complex, harmonious and beautiful wines I think I will ever taste, sweeter and more approachable in its youth than the Amarone and surely the wine that completely defines the phrase vino di meditazione.

“Quintarelli was the guru of Valpolicella,” says Romano Dal Forno, who studied under Quintarelli whilst establishing his own winery. “He was an example, especially in those years where quality was not the main concern of winemakers in general.”

In a world where science and technique so often supplant passion and respect, I can only hope that the uncompromising, obsessive and perfectionistic devotion that drove S. Quintarelli will be continued by his successor and nurtured in the way that its unique results demand.

I send my sincere condolences to all of S. Quintarelli’s family, and to everyone fortunate enough to have had their lives enhanced by the man and his wines.

Smoking Profusely

My new toy

I’ve just spent most of the day trying out my new smoker. Keeping the sawdust smouldering (as opposed to flaming furiously or grumpily going out) seems to be a rather hit and miss affair, but I’m hoping to climb a steep learning curve over the course of my next few attempts.

The best news was how cool the smoke actually was. The only way that I could keep the sawdust alight was to build a small fire out of kindling in the firebox and then place charcoal on top of it once it was lit. When the charcoal started to glow white hot, I just added oak shavings to the embers and checked on the smoke production every twenty minutes or so. I’d assumed that this would result in a hot, or at least a warm, smoking, but it was just not the case. It was only when the sawdust or coals burst into flame that any heat was produced, but I'm equally prone to believe that a chilly, blustery January day didn't hurt one bit in maintaining a low smoking temperature.

It did seem as though I used a lot of sawdust, but after twelve hours of dry curing and about five hours in the smoker, this was the result:

Not bad for a first attempt

It certainly smelled smoked and it was cured but not cooked. It was not sufficiently cured and smoked to be kept for any length of time, but it was going to be fine to keep in the fridge for a day or two or to freeze either whole or sliced.

As it happened, this piece of meat was earmarked for a choucroute garni the following day and was washed down with a particularly pleasant bottle of Leitz Riesling Rüdesheimer Magdalenkreuz Spätlese 2003.

Leitz, Riesling Rüdesheimer
Magdalenkreuz Spätlese 2003

This pale lemon gem was just 8% ABV and was a delight from beginning to end. Baked apple, lemon and lime citrus and gentle kerosene aromas wafted across the nose. The palate was sweetish but with balancing acidity – possibly lacking a little zip due to the heat of the vintage – and was flavoured with citrus and honey dipped green apple fruit. Rich and ripe, with a touch of minerality in a supporting role. Just starting to show its age, but very pleasant nonetheless.

And the meat? It was somewhat short of salt, but this was easily remedied during cooking. I’ll double the curing time for my next attempt. The smoke was subtle, its presence noticeable and enjoyable without being overwhelming. After simmering for two hours it was beautifully tender and a joy to eat with the choucroute, a selection of wurst, a boiled potato or two and a charming glass of Riesling. Truly a meal fit for a king and an inspiring start to my smoking career.

The proof of the pudding...

Wood You Believe It?

It doesn’t take much to make me want to open a good bottle of wine, but reminiscing about great bottles past is a sure fire way to make me grab a corkscrew and head down to the cellar. Mention of the bottle of 1992 Yalumba Octavius Shiraz that returned with me from Australia (see “An Old Flame” 05/12/11) started me thinking that it was about time that I tried a bottle from the case of the 1996 vintage I bought ten or twelve years ago. Is it a bit weird to buy a case of wine on the basis of its reputation and then not to try a bottle for twelve years? You can at least start to see why I have a problem with bottles falling off the far side of their maturity plateau.

The Yalumba Octavius Shiraz 1996 (14.5% ABV) was a deep blood red, turning pinker at the rim. It didn’t leave tears, it just coated the glass. Talk about growing old disgracefully, this was a real rock ‘n’ roll wine: if some fruit and oak is good, then the most of both that can be squeezed into a bottle must surely be better. The full, powerful and complex nose saw sweet, ripe fruit matched blow for blow by the sweet vanilla of American oak. Raspberry and blackberry fruit, coffee, a medicinal menthol/eucalyptus edge (it reminded me of Vicks Cough Syrup) balanced by a faintly meaty or leathery undertone all swirled around my nostrils. Pretty much every box was ticked in the Barossa Valley Shiraz handbook. There was a tickle of alcohol as you might have expected, but it was in no way overwhelming.

Yalumba, Octavius
Shiraz 1996

After the sweetness suggested by the nose, the palate was dry yet rich and voluptuous. Dark fruits, coffee and Vicks reappeared, as did bags of soft sweet oak, all held in check by plenty of firm but refined tannins. There was so much of everything that this was wine². The drying tannins, the gentle warmth of alcohol and a salty, mineral core combined with the moderate acidity and tamed the fruit and oak. All of the flavours lingered and melded throughout the long finish. 

The amount of oak was hardly surprising given this wine's 26 months in American oak hogsheads (100 litre barrels); the surprise was that it was not only balanced and well structured but really rather splendid. This easily has another ten years or more of life left in it and, although it is not my usually preferred style of wine, I do look forward to drinking the rest of the case in the coming years.

Let It Snow

I’ve wanted to try to make this for a while, and what better time to have a go at Oeufs á la Neige (“Snow Eggs”) than on Christmas Eve? This dish of poached quenelles of meringue coated with caramel and floating on crème Anglaise is a favourite of my brother, and anything involving custard always wins my vote. Although my quenelle-forming skills may have been a little rusty, I have to say that I’m rather pleased with how it turned out. And hey, the proof of the pudding and all that! We could have drunk a Sauternes, a Tokaji or even a Cognac or a Grappa with it, but I have to admit that we enjoyed it on its own in anticipation of the overindulgence that is so typical of the following day.

Happy Christmas everyone!

The Flip Side Of The Coin

I know it’s hard to believe, but this job isn’t always as glamorous as my writings would have you think. It’s not all plain sailing, you know. Only my dedication to the public service that is this blog enables me to cope with the good, the bad and the ugly faces of the wine world with such impunity. In this instance, it was il brutto and il cattivo that I suffered on your behalf, although I probably should have known better from the outset.

I’m in no way an ingrate, and I heartily appreciate the kindness and the generosity of whoever brought me this bottle as I’m certain that it was given in good faith. That being said, the contents did make me question the statements I have just made in the previous sentence.

As I’ve said, I really should have known better. Any wine which features on its label the phrase “Selección 15% Especial” as its most extollable virtue is quite likely to rub me up the wrong way. If, as I fear it does for many, quantity does indeed equal quality, I’d far prefer to drink two bottles of Mosel Riesling Kabinett at 7.5% to ingest the same 112.5ml of alcohol. The experience would be both far more agreeable and would leave me with far less of a hangover. So what was this incredible intoxicant, I hear you cry? Called simply El Bombero (2010, 15% ABV), this straight Garnacha from Cariñena in north-eastern Spain was, I’m certain, as flammable as its name implied (El Bombero translates as "the fireman").

Bodegas San Valero,
El Bombero 2010

The brightest and most ludicrously purple wine I have ever seen (the result of carbonic maceration, surely?), the nose fortunately gave little away. Just a suggestion of darks fruits and graphite were discernable, but I’m sure I noticed a faint, acetic twang lingering worryingly underneath. Where to begin with the palate? Sweet, fiery alcohol assaulted my tastebuds initially, followed by a dull pounding from soft yet slightly bitter tannins. The berry fruit wrestled to poke its head from under the blanket of sweet alcohol and bitterish tannins, and it was difficult to tell if some or all of the wine had been exposed to oak of any sort for any length of time. The low acidity and modest levels of tannin again suggested carbonic maceration. The finish overstayed its welcome, flavoured as it was with the sweet heat of the alcohol and the piquancy of burning plastic.

Overall, the sweetness of the alcohol swamped whatever character this wine may have had, although without all of that alcohol I’m not sure what else it might have had going for it. I’ve subsequently determined El Bombero to be a Laithwaite’s wine and rather too many of the reviews posted on its website tend to agree with my less than complimentary verdict. I can’t help but worry about the quality and style of future wines produced for the UK market if this is in any way indicative of what Joe Public buys and enjoys. Do we need a bottle of wine at an everyday price point that contains almost twelve units of alcohol?

Where There's Smoke

Now that I’m all too close to being forty years old, I think I’ve reached the right point in my life to start smoking. To hell with the consequences.

I’ve jerry-rigged a hot smoker and, as you can see, some salmon was the first thing to feel the heat. My initial attempt was nicely cooked but only very lightly smoked, definitely more of a match for a Riesling Kabinett than a foil for an Islay malt (this is a wine blog, after all). Next time, I’ll try to lower the temperature and lengthen the smoking time.

Ultimately, I’d love to try cold smoking, but it’s baby steps and handy fire extinguishers for the time being.

An Old Flame

Common wisdom states that you should never return to a past love, and so it was with a degree of trepidation that I opened a bottle of wine which I had tasted (and loved) only once before, almost twelve years ago to the day.

It all began with a couple of interesting bottles I bought as a gift for my old man whilst I was in Australia, around the end of 1997. One was a 1992 Yalumba Octavius III Shiraz and the other was a 1986 Dorrien Cabernet Sauvignon by Seppelt. Both were around £30 or AU$60, but Australian wine was expensive in Australia then and even well known brands cost around 25-30% more than they did back in the UK.

As the older of the two, it was the Dorrien that we tried first, on my birthday as it so happened, way back in 1998. I was nominally studying for my WSET Advanced Certificate at the time, but the sum total of my academic effort had been to write tasting notes about the occasional great, good or interesting bottle I opened. This was one such bottle, hence my accuracy with the tasting date.

To cut an overly long story short, it was a fantastic wine and I actively sought out a UK stockist so that I could buy some more. Walter S. Siegel Limited, then the importer of the Seppelt wines into England, had a few cases of the 1993 and 1994 vintages of Dorrien Cabernet Sauvignon still available, and, before I snapped it all up at the crazy price of £12 per bottle, they very kindly sent me a bottle of the 1993 and a bottle of its sibling 1994 Drumborg Cabernet Sauvignon as samples. The 1993 Dorrien was, and still is, one of my favourite Australian wines, but the Drumborg also left a lasting impression.

I don’t know why I never bought any of the Drumborg, although I suspect it was because I had spent up on the Dorrien after purchasing everything Siegel had left. About that time, the Seppelt agency passed to Matthew Clark and, in 1999, I purchased several cases of the 1996 Dorrien at the even more ludicrous price of just £10 per bottle, receiving with them a mixed half case of samples for my trouble. Three were everyday Seppelt wines that I’m sure were perfectly pleasant but which passed without note; one was a 1996 Dorrien that was tried quite promptly to get a handle on the latest vintage of my new favourite; one was a 1996 Great Northern Shiraz (something of a legendary bottle of Australian wine and so I held onto it, eventually enjoying it greatly a year or two ago) and the final bottle was another 1994 Drumborg Cabernet Sauvignon.

Having been so enchanted by my previous bottle, despite its youth, I decided to cellar this second one and save it for a rainy day. As is so often the case, I never really got round to opening this second Drumborg, but after losing too many bottles recently to the ravages of time, I’m now making a concerted effort to drink up anything that might be passing its peak of maturity.

Seppelt, Drumborg
Cabernet Sauvignon 1994

My notes from 1999 describe the deep purple 1994 Seppelt Drumborg Cabernet Sauvignon (13% ABV) as having leafy, tobacco, woody and earthy fragrances along with berry fruit and more exotic aromas of mint, eucalyptus and spice. The palate had similarly mint and tobacco infused berry fruit, with earthy notes and fine but firm tannins. I noted a beautiful, cool climate elegance and a very long finish, but also an austerity that needed time to soften.

Skip twelve years and, whilst still an imposingly deep ruby, the brick-tinged hue of the rim suggested maturity. An unmistakable Cabernet Sauvignon nose: dusty cassis fruit laced with herbaceous, green pepper notes that became more celery leaf in character with air. A gentle whiff of oak rounded things off.

Smooth and mellow, bright blackcurrant and bramble fruit merged with delicate oak spice and plummy, cedary flavours. The slightly firm acidity, an indication that the wine might just have been starting to dry out, and the fine-grained, chalky tannins provided a harmonious and elegant frame for the fruit. The finish was still long and sophisticated.

Seppelt pioneered Drumborg as a grape growing region in 1964 when it planted its Drumborg vineyard near Portland in Southern Victoria. Facing the Great Southern Ocean, the area’s southerly latitude, together with icy winds that blow up from the Antarctic, make Drumborg an extremely cool climate region and result in small harvests, often occurring as late as mid May. So marginal is the region that the single vineyard Cabernet Sauvignon was not bottled every year, only when the quality of the grapes warranted.

A prolonged period of terrible management of the Seppelt brand by the then owners Foster's meant that the difficult climate was a perfect excuse to re-allocate the resource of the this vineyard. The last vintage of Drumborg single vineyard Cabernet Sauvignon was 1998; regrettably the old vines were then grafted to Riesling. The shame of the matter is that a degree of sense is now returning to Australian wine producers, and elegant, cool climate red wines of 12% ABV are currently their holy grail. The Drumborg Riesling is supposed to be very good, but I’m still mourning what has been lost.

The Dorrien Cabernet Sauvignon suffered similarly from misguided management at this time, and was deleted from the Seppelt portfolio as a single vineyard bottling. What was once an iconic Australian wine, spoken of in the same breath as the finest wines from Penfolds, Henschke et al, sadly saw its last vintage in 1999. Its fruit is now used elsewhere, uncredited in nondescript blends.

I love both the Drumborg and the Dorrien dearly, but, as with whiskies from long-closed Scottish distilleries, I’m torn between a desire to drink and enjoy my remaining bottles, as is their raison d’être, or to respectfully hold onto them as the museum pieces they have now unfortunately become.

Q & A

Why don’t we drink more Alsatian Pinot Noir? I have no idea, it's great.

The Day Today

Although today began pretty much like any other day, a fortuitous visit to Majestic on my way home from work for a couple of alarmingly premature Christmas presents jogged my memory about the significance of the date.

Any ideas? I’ll give you a clue. Today was the third Thursday in November.

Still nothing? Well, I was looking for a simple and honest bottle of red to enjoy with a ragu of mushrooms and polenta. The northern/central Italian food had me thinking about Dolcetto, Barbera or Montepulciano D’Abruzzo, which are all old favourites, but after a long day I was having trouble working up much enthusiasm about any of them.

Wandering round the shop, I was waiting either for inspiration to strike or for closing time to catch up with me so that I had an excuse for an impulse buy. Over by the till, I chose the gifts I wanted and began a final circumambulation of the stacks. I’d ruled out a Provençal rosé and an Alsatian Pinot Noir, and I was heading back to the Italian section when my eyes fell upon the bottle that I just couldn’t walk past.

As I’m sure you’ve all guessed by now, the third Thursday in November is Beaujolais Nouveau day and I’m happy to admit to having a soft spot for a good Gamay. The bottle I spotted was from the ever dependable Georges Dubœuf and it was a wine I knew well from my on-trade days. It also happened to tick all of the boxes: simple, honest and easy to drink. And only £6.99.

Georges Dubœuf,
Beaujolais Nouveau 2011

There’s not much I can say about the 2011 Dubœuf Beaujolais Nouveau that is likely to surprise you. It was a vibrant violet-tinged ruby colour, as youthful looking as grape juice. The nose wasn’t complex, but it had lovely dusky, blackcurrant fruit and floral aromas, it was slightly smokey and had a whiff of oil paint that wasn’t at all unpleasant. The palate had light, very fine tannins, fresh acidity and the same blackcurrant and violet notes that carried through from the nose. The finish wasn’t long, but it was such an effortlessly easy wine that this didn’t matter at all.

In many ways it was a real blast from the past, an almost forgotten European style: “only”12.5% ABV, no oak, delicate extraction, zippy acidity and an overall lightness that many people would do well to emulate. I know that Beaujolais Nouveau's reputation, not entirely undeservedly, has taken something of a pounding over the last twenty or so years and that sales are generally plummeting, but when it's done right it can hold its own with any similarly priced wine. I enjoyed it even more than I thought I would!

A Moan And A Wine

I always try my best to support tastings up here in the north west, even if I have to pay for a ticket so to do! A recent, and rather high profile, event caught my eye and I thought that I should pop along to see what it was all about. This was the second in a series of three tastings hosted by the Three Wine Men: Oz Clarke, Tim Atkin MW and Olly Smith, all of whom are perfectly charming and frighteningly knowledgeable.

After perusing the online catalogue from September’s London event, it seemed that a little organisation was called for. With 587 examples on offer from 51 exhibitors, it would have been easy to spend a couple of days tasting my way through them. A list of the tables and the wines that I wanted to make a beeline for hopefully meant that I wouldn’t miss anything exciting in Manchester.

Saturday duly rolled around, I wound my way to the Museum of Science and Industry and I bought my ticket. It would be something of an understatement to say I was a bit disappointed when I opened the Manchester brochure to see only 284 wines listed from 26 exhibitors. Although a reasonable showing by anyone’s standards, nigh on all of the more esoteric and higher quality wines, not to mention a significant number of exhibitors, from the London show were all absent.

As I’ve said, I’m always happy to support any of the all too infrequent tastings that take place in Manchester, but I can’t help feeling that it was misleading and unfair to advertise this as the same event as the two London versions, to charge the same price for tickets and yet to offer only half the number of wines and exhibitors. Was it a lack of space at the Manchester venue or are London wine merchants simply not bothered about the fifty million or so people who live outside the capital who might like to try, and who might want to buy, their wines? Or are they just so London-centric in their focus that the rest of the country doesn’t even register on their radars? Maybe I should move to Hong Kong…

I hoped to be writing about thirty or forty thrilling and new (to me) wines that I had had the chance to try, but absenteeism severely whittled this number down. Fortunately, I had the chance to catch up with a few people I hadn’t seen for quite a while, so the afternoon wasn’t a total write off. Of the wines I did try, there were some great new finds and some welcome old friends, plus a couple of really fine beers that impressed me so much I bought some there and then.

Dönnhoff, Kreuznacher Krötenpfuhl
Riesling Kabinett 2009

The best way to start any tasting is with a page full of German Rieslings, so naturally my first stop was the Tanners table. Seven Rieslings in a kaleidoscope of styles were an ideal way to fire up my tastebuds. From a toasty, slatey, bone dry 2008 Bürklin-Wolf Wachenheimer Trocken, via a lovely dryish, white fruit and citrussy 2009 Feinherb (the new name for Halbtrocken) by Weiser-Künstler that just made me smile, to a surprisingly youthful 1998 Hochheimer Kirchenstück Auslese from Domdechant Werner with its honeyed nose and its citrus and spice, stewed apple palate. How can anyone not like this grape? It’s an always too rare pleasure to taste a genuine Piesporter (Einzellage, never Grosslage), and Kurt Hain’s 2007 Goldtröpfchen Kabinett was a grapefruit scented, off dry gem that made the oceans of filth that share its name even more lamentable. The outright star for me was Dönnhoff’s 2009 Kreuznacher Krötenpfuhl Kabinett which was restrained and structured, just off dry, with beautiful green apple fruit, complex minerality, excellent acidity and a long, long finish. Brilliant and food friendly, only 8.5% ABV and just £15.

Marqués De Murrieta, Capellanía Rioja
Blanco Reserva 2006 (right) and Castillo Ygay,
Rioja Gran Reserva Especial 2004 (left)

Conveniently, the table next door was that of Marqués De Murrieta, one of my favourite Rioja producers, which meant that I didn’t even have to walk very far for my next set of treats. An unexpected and interesting 2010 Albariño (13% ABV) from Murrieta’s Pazo De Barrantes estate in Galicia kicked things off. Full and rich but fresh, lemon and grapefruit citrus was countered by a floral and white fruit character with whiff of peppery spice on the top. This was a lovely precursor to my wine of the day, Murrieta’s own 2006 Capellanía Blanco Reserva (13.5% ABV), a 100% Viura wine that filled me with hope for white Rioja generally. Matured for 15 months in new French oak barriques, this was bone dry, just a touch oxidised (in a good way), citrussy yet creamily textured and with a long, lemon and vanilla finish. At a time when so many white Riojas are being dumbed down with Chardonnay or are eschewing lengthy oak ageing, this was a fantastic wine that I will be actively seeking out.

The reds on show were more of a mixed bag for me. A 2005 Marqués De Murrieta Rioja Tinto Reserva (14% ABV) had fine tannins, bright strawberry and red berry fruit with a toasty edge, but it just lacked a little soul. Time might be what it needs. The 2004 Castillo Ygay Rioja Gran Reserva Especial (14% ABV) was also still a baby, showing rich berry fruit and plenty of savoury oak influence. Complex, balanced and well structured, definitely an iron fist in a velvet glove; there will be plenty more to come from this wine. Buy it now, drink it in a decade or two.

Yalumba, The Virgilius
Viognier 2008

Yalumba is a producer that stands out for several reasons, one of the most commendable of which is their long standing commitment to the left field Viognier instead of to the ubiquitous Chardonnay. Their 2010 Eden Valley Viognier (13.5% ABV) had a huge jasmine and ginger scented nose which led into a dry and elegant apricot and ginger palate. Not at all blousey, the alcohol was held firmly in check and the creaminess imparted by the oak aged portion was balanced by fresh acidity. Its big brother, the 2008 The Virgilius (14% ABV), had a less obvious nose and was less flamboyant overall, concentrating on the savoury and spicy aspects over the floral and white fruit. Toasty, minerally and multi-faceted, gingery spice was more the focus than apricot fruit. A great and a great value wine, although this vintage is reaching the end of its useful life, enjoy it now with food.

Innis & Gunn: Blonde, Original
and Rum Cask (left to right)

The one table I definitely wanted to visit was that of brewer Innis & Gunn. They began by brewing beer to season barrels for a William Grant ale cask conditioned whisky, but the resulting beer was too good to throw away. I knew of their oak aged beers, but I had never had the chance to try them. I wasn’t let down.

The Original (6.6% ABV) was mellow, complex and had a great depth of flavour after its 77 day maturation period. It had a sweet toffee and vanilla oak character that countered the fruity, gently bitter hoppy notes in a very easy to drink fashion. The dark Rum Cask bottling (7.4% ABV) was richer, sweeter and softer than the Original, with a sprinkle of Christmas spice from the navy rum casks. The Blonde (6.0% ABV) was the lightest and freshest of the three regular bottlings, crisp and hoppy with a delicate vanilla character.

Innis & Gunn, Highland Cask
Limited Edition

These three were all very good, but the two limited editions were the ones that well and truly took my fancy. The slightly mysterious Triple Matured beer (7.2% ABV) was another darker offering, with delicious treacle toffee flavours and a dusting of bitter cocoa. The Highland Cask (7.1% ABV) was my favourite, having been finished in casks used to mature an 18 year old Highland single malt. It had a firm, warming backbone and was a touch drier the other bottlings, the definite spirity, fruity and smokey/oaky character I assume came from the whisky. The Original, the Rum Cask and the Blonde are all widely available, but I haven’t managed to find the limited editions anywhere yet.