Saturday, 8 October 2011

Of Whirlpools and Vikings - Ardbeg Corryvreckan

The whirlpool at Corryvreckan
Well once again it seems the economy is turning its back on us. Having gorged itself on sub-prime mortgages it fancies a more continental treat and is pulling its emaciated frame towards the Eurozone like a thirsty man towards a mirage in the desert. It smacks its lips, revealing teeth as jagged as the peaks and troughs in a chart in the FT. It bears more claws than all the backbenchers in parliament and its sight is as blurred as any fiscal strategy seen this quarter. What treat will this monster fancy? A Bassatt's Double Dip or a QE Gobstopper? Who knows? But I can tell you that you could be worse off, you could be a viking called Breacan.

Techno Viking
Breacan was the kind of chap that would do stupid, life endangering things to impress the fairer, and let's face it - compared to Breacan, more intelligent sex. Breacan being a hopeless romantic fell in love with the beautiful daughter of the Lord of the Isles but he knew like any boy in a teen flick that she could never love him. So he decided to show off his bravery and sailing prowess in one foul stroke. So one day he sailed out to the mighty, churning whirlpool ominously named the Corryvreckan. He pledged to stay three whole days within its surf. So in he went and in he tossed the first of three anchors to hold him in place. An entire day passed until the rope could no longer take the strain and snapped. With not a moment to lose Breacan threw in the second anchor and another day passed before it too gave in and the third and final anchor was deployed. Then as this foolhardy viking approached his deadline with the wind ruffling his mane of hair, the final anchor broke free and Breacan was swept down into the eye of the whirlpool never to be seen again.

So although the economy may be tumbling down to a watery demise like Breacan at least you're not the one swallowing water like there's no tomorrow. There is however a whisky from the guys at Ardbeg, aptly named the Corryvreckan, that could make financially hard times more bearable. This whisky is a tidal force of smoke and flavour surfing down the gullet on some cask staves lashed together. Definitely a dram for stormy times.

Ardbeg Corryvreckan
57.1% - No Age Statement
Nose: Peat and pepper battle this one out using sugar and vanilla as shields.
Palate: Masses of smoke rising from a fiery bed of red peppers and chilis with peaty water lapping the edges.
Finish: A charcoal pit in a peat bog. One to make you cough.
Overall: Very peaty, a stormy malt that would appeal to peat-lovers out there. I'd argue the Uigeadail or the Supernova have more structure. However this dram has more teeth. Here's to Breacan, slainte!

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