I've struggled with Story on many of my writing projects, but last week was terrible. Almost terrifying.
I'd like to think I'm fairly decent at the screenwriting process. I've been doing it for many years on many many projects. I know that working the story through usually takes shape in the form of a puzzle. And I work on it and work on it and work on it, then I move on to the next step.
But last week, ugh. I woke up every day facing a project that I couldn't crack. The puzzle had become multi-dimensional, its instructions in a language not yet invented. Every day. Going at the problem from multiple directions. Deconstruct, reconstruct, visualize, literalize, simplify, expand. Silence. Panic. Try again. Try again. Try again. Weeks like that shake one's confidence in one's ability, skill, and general mental acuity.
But this is a new week now. I look forward to new and better challenges. And I can look back with some objectivity thanks to this video which clearly illustrates my last week of writing. A baby porcupine's breakfast sits at the bottom of a mug...
(Discovered via The Daily What)
Monday, January 23, 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Single Malt Report: Bidding Bye-Bye to a Bowmore Bottle
My favorite new single malt that I tried last year was the Bowmore 16yr 1994 Signatory bottling that I'd purchased at Royal Mile Whiskies (London) last May.
I completed the bottle on Friday to celebrate the end of a crummy week. There was one (sizable) drink left in it:
Because the bottle had been open for about eight months, the whisky had plenty of time to settle and because it was less-than-half-full for at least three months, there was a chance for oxidation to set in and change (some say ruin) the whisky. So, this final drink would also be a chance to document the flavor changes caused by these chemical reactions.
Here is a recap of my notes from early October:
Color - between ginger ale and chardonnay
Nose - (neat) softly peated, medicinal/band-aids (but less so than Laphroaig), cowhide leather; (w/water) peat and medicine fade, but menthol moves forward
Palate - (neat) Peaty but smoothly so, light cream and sweet potatoes; (w/water) Peat smoke
Finish - (neat) hot stuff, cayenne pepper hot, lingers and lingers and lingers; (w/water) cools down, black peppery
I enjoyed it because the elements were so well integrated into the whole. It actually taught my taste buds how to like peat.
Now at the tail end of the bottle, eight months after it was opened, it had clearly transformed into a whole new creature. Now keep in mind, I only drank it neatly, but did so over a period of 60 minutes.
The color remained the same. Thank goodness. I'd be worried if that had changed.
The nose had grown, if you will. It was spirity and grassy. Sea air had joined the soft peat and band-aids. It was oakier, some burning paper. Around the edges there was some rotting fruit sugars as well.
But all of that did not prepare me for the flavor.
The palate was enormous. Barbecued peat and barbecued seaweed were massively upfront. Something like salted pork, too, and maybe maybe some weed (if I knew what weed tasted like...).
The finish was sweeter than the palate. Some of that BBQ lingered, but there was regular peat smoke too. It was very dry, very vegetal.
Wow, it had really changed! It's not just my developing taste buds. The nose was softer. The palate was rougher. The finish was drier. It had developed a completely different character than any other Bowmore that I've tried. It was like an Arbeg, but barbecue as opposed to soot.
Very complex and enjoyable. It was an excellent final act.
(ratings remain the same)
Pricing - Bargain at $70
Rating - 93
I completed the bottle on Friday to celebrate the end of a crummy week. There was one (sizable) drink left in it:
Because the bottle had been open for about eight months, the whisky had plenty of time to settle and because it was less-than-half-full for at least three months, there was a chance for oxidation to set in and change (some say ruin) the whisky. So, this final drink would also be a chance to document the flavor changes caused by these chemical reactions.
Here is a recap of my notes from early October:
Color - between ginger ale and chardonnay
Nose - (neat) softly peated, medicinal/band-aids (but less so than Laphroaig), cowhide leather; (w/water) peat and medicine fade, but menthol moves forward
Palate - (neat) Peaty but smoothly so, light cream and sweet potatoes; (w/water) Peat smoke
Finish - (neat) hot stuff, cayenne pepper hot, lingers and lingers and lingers; (w/water) cools down, black peppery
I enjoyed it because the elements were so well integrated into the whole. It actually taught my taste buds how to like peat.
Now at the tail end of the bottle, eight months after it was opened, it had clearly transformed into a whole new creature. Now keep in mind, I only drank it neatly, but did so over a period of 60 minutes.
The color remained the same. Thank goodness. I'd be worried if that had changed.
The nose had grown, if you will. It was spirity and grassy. Sea air had joined the soft peat and band-aids. It was oakier, some burning paper. Around the edges there was some rotting fruit sugars as well.
But all of that did not prepare me for the flavor.
The palate was enormous. Barbecued peat and barbecued seaweed were massively upfront. Something like salted pork, too, and maybe maybe some weed (if I knew what weed tasted like...).
The finish was sweeter than the palate. Some of that BBQ lingered, but there was regular peat smoke too. It was very dry, very vegetal.
Wow, it had really changed! It's not just my developing taste buds. The nose was softer. The palate was rougher. The finish was drier. It had developed a completely different character than any other Bowmore that I've tried. It was like an Arbeg, but barbecue as opposed to soot.
Very complex and enjoyable. It was an excellent final act.
(ratings remain the same)
Pricing - Bargain at $70
Rating - 93
Friday, January 20, 2012
Single Malt Report: Two quickies about a pair of sweeties
Most bars seem to come with a "Whisky Kit": Glenlivet 12, Macallan 12, Chivas, and Red & Black Label. But sometimes on nights when I'm out and about, I'm blessed by the Whisky Spirits to find a bottling I've never tried before. I grab that glass, head to a quiet spot, and do my best Whisky-Nerd-nose-in-the-glass routine. I type notes into my turrible Blackberry and then try to figure them out the next day.
Here are two new whisky experiences that I had amidst good nights out.
#1 - Oban Distillers Edition 1993
I had this on the Westside (LA) on June 16th last year. I'm a serious fan of Oban 14yr, so I promise to do a report on it during this calendar year. At that point, I'll provide the full rundown on the Oban distillery.
It was nice to see this bottling. And I really had no idea what to expect.
Distillery: Oban (yay!)
Bottling: Distillers Edition (1993/2008)
Age: minimum 15 years
Maturation: Montilla Fino fortified sherry cask
Region: Highlands (Western)
Alcohol by Volume: 43%
Oban takes their lovely malty malt and finishes it in a very rich sherry cask, creating a thick desserty whisky. Diageo releases one of these Oban limited special editions almost every year, right now their DE is a 1996.
This is one of the darkest whiskies I've seen. That photo above doesn't do it justice. The color is a dark mahogany, almost cherrywood. The nose is nutty, toffee-ish, big on the sherry. Has a hefty texture. The palate -- miles and miles away from the 14 year -- caramel hard candies, more sherry, lots of amaretto, and dried fruit. A great long finish with the amaretto (with maybe a pinch of salt?) holding out the whole way through.
My notes show that I only had it neat, so I can recommend having it that way. It's a heavier malt than the 14yr, so this would work better as a digestif rather than an aperitif.
Eating establishments and places that serve whisky in wide mouth tumblers ain't the money spots for proper nosing/tasting notes. But, you know, it's whisky. No, even better, it's new whisky.
Here are two new whisky experiences that I had amidst good nights out.
#1 - Oban Distillers Edition 1993
I had this on the Westside (LA) on June 16th last year. I'm a serious fan of Oban 14yr, so I promise to do a report on it during this calendar year. At that point, I'll provide the full rundown on the Oban distillery.
It was nice to see this bottling. And I really had no idea what to expect.
Distillery: Oban (yay!)
Bottling: Distillers Edition (1993/2008)
Age: minimum 15 years
Maturation: Montilla Fino fortified sherry cask
Region: Highlands (Western)
Alcohol by Volume: 43%
Oban takes their lovely malty malt and finishes it in a very rich sherry cask, creating a thick desserty whisky. Diageo releases one of these Oban limited special editions almost every year, right now their DE is a 1996.
This is one of the darkest whiskies I've seen. That photo above doesn't do it justice. The color is a dark mahogany, almost cherrywood. The nose is nutty, toffee-ish, big on the sherry. Has a hefty texture. The palate -- miles and miles away from the 14 year -- caramel hard candies, more sherry, lots of amaretto, and dried fruit. A great long finish with the amaretto (with maybe a pinch of salt?) holding out the whole way through.
My notes show that I only had it neat, so I can recommend having it that way. It's a heavier malt than the 14yr, so this would work better as a digestif rather than an aperitif.
Pricing - Acceptable at $90-$100 (oddly it's cheaper to buy it from the UK and have it shipped)
Rating - 84
#2 - North of Scotland Single Grain Whisky 1964 (bottled by Scott's Selection)
(Please note: You can find a second, updated report on this whisky here.)
SURPRISE!!! A single grain whisky. And yes, you read that right, a 1964.
So why haven't I been shouting from the rooftops about the miraculous god I found in a class of 43-year-old whisky? Well, there's kind of a reason why a 43yr grain whisky sells for less than 1/10th of a 43yr malt whisky. And also a reason why I got it for EIGHT DOLLARS a glass.
The industrial continuous column still distillation process doesn't create whiskies with complex consistencies. Nor is it intended to. I'm not saying that grain whisky is usually filler for blends, but it's supposed to be a mellower milder fluid ready to be used in mass quantities at 3 years of age. A micro fraction of grain whiskies turn out to be decent on their own so they're racked up in a cask to age. (For some more whisky edjuhcation please see my recent Whisky 101 post.)
This whisky from the North of Scotland distillery was one of those deemed consumable.
Distillery: North of Scotland
Bottler: Scott's Selection
Age: 43 years (1964/2007)
Maturation: Bourbon cask
Region: Highlands (Southern)
Alcohol by Volume: 44.7%
The North of Scotland distillery was built in 1957, closed in 1980, dismantled in 1993. It was originally built to distill malt whisky via the Coffey column stills. Apparently that wasn't very successful because they switched to grain whisky two years later. After its closing the distillery building became a storage house for the Cambus (also grain whisky, also now out of order) distillery.
How about this old dram? It's like a soft sweet light-bodied bourbon. The color is dark, though not as dark as the pic above shows. The nose was the best part, like rich vanilla ice cream. The palate was vanilla bean, chocolate, almonds, and (maybe?) coconut milk. The words read more exciting than the whisky tastes, mostly because the finish was oddly brief.
Honestly, the Redbreast 12 I had that night blew this grain whisky out of the water. BUT, this old brown stuff ain't bad. I might even go back to the Long Beach pub that had served it to see if they have any left, then do a slower tasting. Again, $8 for a whisky that was distilled during LBJ's first administration...
#2 - North of Scotland Single Grain Whisky 1964 (bottled by Scott's Selection)
(Please note: You can find a second, updated report on this whisky here.)
SURPRISE!!! A single grain whisky. And yes, you read that right, a 1964.
So why haven't I been shouting from the rooftops about the miraculous god I found in a class of 43-year-old whisky? Well, there's kind of a reason why a 43yr grain whisky sells for less than 1/10th of a 43yr malt whisky. And also a reason why I got it for EIGHT DOLLARS a glass.
The industrial continuous column still distillation process doesn't create whiskies with complex consistencies. Nor is it intended to. I'm not saying that grain whisky is usually filler for blends, but it's supposed to be a mellower milder fluid ready to be used in mass quantities at 3 years of age. A micro fraction of grain whiskies turn out to be decent on their own so they're racked up in a cask to age. (For some more whisky edjuhcation please see my recent Whisky 101 post.)
This whisky from the North of Scotland distillery was one of those deemed consumable.
Distillery: North of Scotland
Bottler: Scott's Selection
Age: 43 years (1964/2007)
Maturation: Bourbon cask
Region: Highlands (Southern)
Alcohol by Volume: 44.7%
The North of Scotland distillery was built in 1957, closed in 1980, dismantled in 1993. It was originally built to distill malt whisky via the Coffey column stills. Apparently that wasn't very successful because they switched to grain whisky two years later. After its closing the distillery building became a storage house for the Cambus (also grain whisky, also now out of order) distillery.
How about this old dram? It's like a soft sweet light-bodied bourbon. The color is dark, though not as dark as the pic above shows. The nose was the best part, like rich vanilla ice cream. The palate was vanilla bean, chocolate, almonds, and (maybe?) coconut milk. The words read more exciting than the whisky tastes, mostly because the finish was oddly brief.
Honestly, the Redbreast 12 I had that night blew this grain whisky out of the water. BUT, this old brown stuff ain't bad. I might even go back to the Long Beach pub that had served it to see if they have any left, then do a slower tasting. Again, $8 for a whisky that was distilled during LBJ's first administration...
Pricing - Good at $150-$160 (a 1964 Springbank costs $2000, a 1964 Highland Park costs $5000)
Rating - 77
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
The things I collect
Yesterday I had 60 T-Shirts. 60. We have our own washer & dryer. There are 7 days in a week. 60 T-Shirts. I threw away 10 and that was a chore. I won't even tell you what the sock drawer looked like.
To be fair (to who? myself?) a third of those Ts were for the gym. For those folks who don't know, after I exercise I look like I've just jumped in the pool with my clothes on. So I set aside specific Ts for that abuse. About 16.
Clearly, I like T-shirts, but there's more to it than that. I collect things, often without knowing it. There's a genuine Hoarder gene in my family so I have to be on the lookout for signs of its prevalence in me.
The act of accumulating non-perishable consumer goods outside of wartime is connected to other existing human psychological complexities. Don DeLillo might say that it's part of our desire to postpone death. Freud would probably agree then loop in issues with libido. Jung might reference a disconnection with a spiritual center. Psych 101 would likely suggest depression or repression; holding onto physical things provides the illusion of control. A good communist scholar could say that it's one of the end results of capitalism, the unnecessary and imbalanced accumulation of goods.
So here are some things that I may or may not have collected:
Yes - T-Shirts. I'm now down to 50. In my defense, 16 are for workouts only (as mentioned above). I can't wear those out into public because after a couple of hours The Ghost of Sweat Past haunts them. 8 more are white undershirts for winter or work wear. Another 6 are long sleeve Ts. That leaves 20 normal-wear short sleeve Ts. In my defense, I live in Southern California so it is T-shirt weather for seven (or more) months of the year. Thus one T a day for about three weeks. Not in my defense, we do have that washer and dryer inside our condo...
No - Canned food goods. We eat them within two weeks after buying them.
No - Boxed food goods. I don't even buy 'em.
Yes - Baseball cards. I had 22,000. Now I have 5,000. See here for my considerable efforts to rid myself of the 17,000. I started collecting cards in 1985. I stopped in 1993. Then a haze of depression reignited this flame from 2001-2003 as I sought something that I could control. That was an illusion, I never had control <-- to paraphrase Jurassic Park. I stopped collecting permanently because I wanted to be more mobile, not wanting to haul countless boxes of cardboard behind me wherever I went.No - Toilet paper. We may buy big packs of it, but it is used and flushed with regularity.
Yes - Books. Every few years I go through my shelves packing a box of books to go to a donation center. I don't buy too many books anymore, but the shelves keep filling up past the bursting point. Maybe the books are breeding. The thing is, I'm not reading all of them right now. I couldn't possibly read all of them again in this lifetime. So why are they there? To make me look cultured?
Yes - Movies. First it was VHS tapes. Then it was DVDs. I have a 7-foot shelf packed solidly with the thin rectangle cases. It used to be something I could be proud of. My collection is of nothing but the best. But with digital video on the rise, and constantly getting better quality-wise, the collection is beginning to look like an anchor rather than a creative skiff.
No - Wives.
No - Cats. But to be honest, I understand The Cat Lady. Go ahead, walk into a pound. See the dozens of caged little domesticated animals who are there through no fault of their own. Dozens of clean, self-reliant little buddhas who will die if I don't adopt them all. Go ahead, pick just one. Or two. Or three.
Yes, sorta - Coins. I wasn't responsible for their collection. They're from family and old family friends. It's a very impressive lot. It's swell to have stuff from the 19th century. Money that's been in America longer than my family has. I don't add to the collection, but I do keep it. It weighs about 50 pounds. It's odd and hideous to move.
Yes - CDs. Dear G-d, I've been trying to move these things out of my home. Every CD that has intact liner notes and cover has been shuttled out to Amoeba in exchange for store credit. But I still have 200-300 of 'em. They've all been digitized, but I don't have any of the stuff that came with them. So they sit, lined up like cells in a silent organism. I will seriously sell them all for $200 (or best offer).
Yes - Items in my Amazon "Saved for Later" cart. Yep. Guilty as charged. That's more an act of sloth than any sign of neurosis. Right?
 |
| "No." |
No - Video games. Probably healthy.
Yes - All of my hand-written writing. And...
Yes - Printouts of every draft of every script. I'm sure this stuff can really be disposed of, but part of me can't let go. I created it, now I'm going to throw it away? What kind of parent would I be? A parent of paper, I guess.
No - Shoes. Can't afford to keep buying new ones. The old ones look and smell bad.
Yes - Photos. I think I can defend this as a human thing.
Yes - Receipts. I can't defend this as a human thing. More of a financial thing. Luckily, I part with a pile every year.
No - Scalps.
No - Recipes. Though I probably should. They don't take up much room.
Yes - Internet Bookmarks. Holy Sh*t! I have hundreds of them! What are these sites? When did I go there? Why did I go there? Why did I think that I would need to go back there again?
Maybe - Whiskies. I can't afford to collect whisky. But if I could, THAT WOULD BE AWESOME. And...And...And in defense: Whisky can be consumed. Whisky can be shared. And then bottles can be replaced by new ones! Sweet! Oh wait, that's just my fantasy. In reality, yes, I have twelve bottles. Soon to be eleven. As mentioned in my year in whisky post, I'm not trying to make money from them. And I'm not saving them until eternity. But I spent some good money on them. And I don't drink to excess. So they'll last a little while. And occasionally gain neighbors.
I guess that's it, though I'm sure Kristen could enumerate those I've missed. Moving from home to home puts one's collection habits in check......depending on the size of the home. We've been living in apartments and condos, and we pay professional movers to haul our stuff, and I'm married to a woman who dislikes clutter. Thus I have the motivation to reduce. So, I feel like the collection gene is in control. For now.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Single Malt Report: Laphroaig Quarter Cask
How about some whisky? How about some great f**king whisky? Let's talk about some Laphroaig Quarter Cask.
Laphroaig (le-froyg) and I have had a checkered past, as documented in my report on the 10 year old. But we've been on good terms since we were reunited last year. So I thought I'd explore the range a little further.
A quick recap of the distillery's history:
Sometime around 1815 the Johnston Brothers started distilling whisky from the barley on their property near Loch Laphroaig (the actual meaning and source of the word is disputed). Ownership was passed down through the Johnston family for a long time.
[The Laphroaig website claims that there was a running dispute between their distillery and their neighbors, Lagavulin, throughout the 1800s. I hope that's true, because that would be great! I'd root for both sides.]
Ian Hunter, a relative of the Johnstons, continued running the family business from 1921 until 1954, when he died without any heirs. So he did the unthinkable. He left the distillery to his secretary, Bessie Williamson. A Woman!!! Bessie ran the place for the next 18 years, almost doubling Laphroaig's capacity and output.
She then sold the business to Long John International (real name), who then sold it to Allied Domecq in 1990. In 2005, Laphroaig was acquired by its current owners Beam Global.
A few years ago, the distillery started to experiment with recreating the maturation process that they'd used in the 1800s. That required the whisky to age in smaller traditional barrels called Quarter Casks. The casks are considerably smaller than the normal casks used for maturation. Because of their size, the whisky inside makes 30% more contact with the oak, thus changing (and possibly speeding up) the maturation process.
Here's the thing, though. Quarter Casks weren't always used back in the 19th Century. Why did some whisky makers choose these smaller barrels back in the day? Well, it depends on who you ask.
Here are the top four reasons why Quarter Casks were used in the 1800s:
No matter what the truth is and was, I'm glad they brought the cask back.
Distillery: Laphroaig
Bottling: Quarter Cask
Age: 5 to 11 years
Maturation: American Oak ex-bourbon barrels then Quarter Casks (see above)
Region: Islay
Alcohol by Volume: 48%
I bought a 3cL (30mL) sample of this from Master of Malt a few months back. A couple Fridays ago, I opened it up, poured the dram and let it sit for about 15 minutes. Tried it neat. Let it sit for another 20+ minutes. Tried it neat again, then with water.
NEAT:
The color is light gold with rosy highlights. It's that rosiness that differentiates it visually from the 10 year. The salty Atlantic Ocean hits first on the nosing. Then an excellent merging of sweet & peat. Some oak and cheap toy plastic linger in the background. Palate-wise, up front, it's like drinking a meadow: fresh grass and hay drying in the sun. Then some notebook paper followed by a wet seaweed peat. And it is HOT, with the 48% ABV flexing its brawn. But this dram saves its real thrill for the final act. My finish notes are all stream of consciousness: "Whole wheat bread, whole grains, digestive biscuits (money!), smoky, cigar smoke, nice & warm, phenolic, dry, it's still going..."
WITH WATER, around 30-32% ABV
Hydrating the whisky slightly shifts its pieces all around. The nose is now peaty, peaty, peaty. Like Ardbeg 10 with brown sugar. Toffee with some of that ocean brine. The texture stays very creamy. The palate goes from frapuccino to espresso. Sweet to bitter. Heavy on the peat smoke. The straight coffee grounds linger throughout the finish, and the heat has mellowed out.
A terrific dram. It was one of those that I knew I liked the moment it came out of the bottle. And then it got better. It's definitely in the Top Five of the whiskies that I've reported on (at this point in time), easily in my all-time Top Ten. [Ed. note: as of 2014 these statements are technically no longer true; top 20 in the first case, top 40 in the second.]
It's not an easy drink, but it is less medicinal than the 10 year. It's complex, but it's not for all seasons. It's a colder weather whisky, probably suiting an Islay evening very well. It would be fun to do a Taste Off between this one and Lagavulin 16. Someday...
Laphroaig (le-froyg) and I have had a checkered past, as documented in my report on the 10 year old. But we've been on good terms since we were reunited last year. So I thought I'd explore the range a little further.
A quick recap of the distillery's history:
Sometime around 1815 the Johnston Brothers started distilling whisky from the barley on their property near Loch Laphroaig (the actual meaning and source of the word is disputed). Ownership was passed down through the Johnston family for a long time.
[The Laphroaig website claims that there was a running dispute between their distillery and their neighbors, Lagavulin, throughout the 1800s. I hope that's true, because that would be great! I'd root for both sides.]
Ian Hunter, a relative of the Johnstons, continued running the family business from 1921 until 1954, when he died without any heirs. So he did the unthinkable. He left the distillery to his secretary, Bessie Williamson. A Woman!!! Bessie ran the place for the next 18 years, almost doubling Laphroaig's capacity and output.
She then sold the business to Long John International (real name), who then sold it to Allied Domecq in 1990. In 2005, Laphroaig was acquired by its current owners Beam Global.
A few years ago, the distillery started to experiment with recreating the maturation process that they'd used in the 1800s. That required the whisky to age in smaller traditional barrels called Quarter Casks. The casks are considerably smaller than the normal casks used for maturation. Because of their size, the whisky inside makes 30% more contact with the oak, thus changing (and possibly speeding up) the maturation process.
Here's the thing, though. Quarter Casks weren't always used back in the 19th Century. Why did some whisky makers choose these smaller barrels back in the day? Well, it depends on who you ask.
Here are the top four reasons why Quarter Casks were used in the 1800s:
- The small size made it easier for a pair of men to lift the product when it needed to be transported.
- When whisky was brought to market on a mule, it allowed for two barrels to be strapped to one animal. One cask on each side.
- By transporting via one mule, the seller could take smaller paths, avoid the main roads. Avoiding the main roads meant avoiding the duty officer. Avoiding the duty officer meant avoiding taxes.
- The cask size (known as "firkin" for the Old English measurement) was much easier to obtain than larger barrels.
No matter what the truth is and was, I'm glad they brought the cask back.
Distillery: Laphroaig
Bottling: Quarter Cask
Age: 5 to 11 years
Maturation: American Oak ex-bourbon barrels then Quarter Casks (see above)
Region: Islay
Alcohol by Volume: 48%
I bought a 3cL (30mL) sample of this from Master of Malt a few months back. A couple Fridays ago, I opened it up, poured the dram and let it sit for about 15 minutes. Tried it neat. Let it sit for another 20+ minutes. Tried it neat again, then with water.
NEAT:
The color is light gold with rosy highlights. It's that rosiness that differentiates it visually from the 10 year. The salty Atlantic Ocean hits first on the nosing. Then an excellent merging of sweet & peat. Some oak and cheap toy plastic linger in the background. Palate-wise, up front, it's like drinking a meadow: fresh grass and hay drying in the sun. Then some notebook paper followed by a wet seaweed peat. And it is HOT, with the 48% ABV flexing its brawn. But this dram saves its real thrill for the final act. My finish notes are all stream of consciousness: "Whole wheat bread, whole grains, digestive biscuits (money!), smoky, cigar smoke, nice & warm, phenolic, dry, it's still going..."
WITH WATER, around 30-32% ABV
Hydrating the whisky slightly shifts its pieces all around. The nose is now peaty, peaty, peaty. Like Ardbeg 10 with brown sugar. Toffee with some of that ocean brine. The texture stays very creamy. The palate goes from frapuccino to espresso. Sweet to bitter. Heavy on the peat smoke. The straight coffee grounds linger throughout the finish, and the heat has mellowed out.
A terrific dram. It was one of those that I knew I liked the moment it came out of the bottle. And then it got better. It's definitely in the Top Five of the whiskies that I've reported on (at this point in time), easily in my all-time Top Ten. [Ed. note: as of 2014 these statements are technically no longer true; top 20 in the first case, top 40 in the second.]
It's not an easy drink, but it is less medicinal than the 10 year. It's complex, but it's not for all seasons. It's a colder weather whisky, probably suiting an Islay evening very well. It would be fun to do a Taste Off between this one and Lagavulin 16. Someday...
Pricing - Great at $55-$60 (if I ever find it at 50, I'm scooping it up)
Rating - 92
Monday, January 16, 2012
Monday's Movies (from 2011!)
I've seen very few movies this year, in fact I'm working on this post instead of watching the Golden Globes (big sacrifice, I know). There are about a dozen films that I would have loved to have caught before they left the big screen. Drive, Melancholia, A Separation, and A Dangerous Method are the first ones that come to mind. None of which will qualify as uplifting experiences.
But, I would like to share with you three lighter films from this year's crop that I did view, courtesy ofQwikster Netflix.
The Help
I didn't read the book. I didn't see the trailer. I didn't peruse any of the reviews. I saw this one cold.
PLOT: A young writer, Skeeter (Emma Stone), writes a book from the point of view of the black women who serve (almost slave for) the wealthy white families in Jackson, Mississippi in the early 1960s.
I'll start with the good stuff. It was better than I had anticipated. Viola Davis is AWESOME as Aibileen, a black woman raising generations of white children. The film, swirling with broad stereotypes, feels like it's held together by her quiet reserved performance; a cinematic center of gravity. The final emotional payoff succeeds so well because of her. At the same time, Jessica Chastain, who gives the loudest performance, lights up the screen whenever she's on it. Chastain, who was so angelic and serene in The Tree of Life, zips and bounces and shouts like Marilyn Monroe in a screwball comedy.
On the other side of things, the film is way too long. A lot of the comedy hijinks feel like they belong in a different film; one that isn't trying to sell the viewers of the importance and weight of the drama. The male characters prove superfluous and could thus have been trimmed right out -- thus giving us a film with an entirely female cast (a good thing). Because there are so many characters, there are a ton of ending scenes. Cutting these things back would have delivered a much tighter, more effective film. How this got by nine executive producers, I have no clue.
As I'd mentioned above, most of the characters (black and white) are written as stereotypes. The antagonist (played by Bryce Dallas Howard) is one-dimensionally demonic, from start to finish. That's a shortsighted choice for any film to do that today. Watch any successful drama on television and you'll see that the bad guys have as many dimensions as the good guys. Without shading, The Help's antagonist comes across as a psychotic cartoon which in turn weakens the drama.
The film largely glosses over the lynchings and terrorism of the time period, which is more of a fact than a fault. The movie isn't trying to be Mississippi Burning. That's not the story it's telling. But it did make me wonder if Skeeter understood the real danger of her act. I never felt that she did. Had she seen real blood and death, if her own life had been in constant danger, then her character's actions would have carried more weight and she would have shown courage in alliance with the ladies she interviewed. And she would have understood what those ladies risked by telling their stories. Instead, she's a blank slate from beginning of the picture to the end. Her safety is never in danger, it's just her ability to hit the publishing deadline that's at risk. As a result, the strength in the drama of Aibileen's struggle pushes Skeeter's drama to the far periphery of the story.
With some trimming and some beefed up character work this could have been a stunning work. (Wow, that sounds like I'm giving script coverage.) But, I guarantee you it was better than three-quarters of films with which it had shared the multiplex.
Midnight in Paris
Everyone told me to see this. From all directions and segments of my life: family, friends, co-workers. But because I lose interest in a film whenever one person recommends it to me (I'm a bit of sh*t), the constant "You'd love Midnight in Paris" did not inspire me to see Midnight in Paris. On the other hand, with such an odd cross-section of folks from my life suggesting it, I was intrigued.
So now I've seen it.
I get it, y'all. You see in me the writer who has been obsessed with other times and places. A writer uncomfortable with his cosmic lot. And I'm Jewish and apparently speak in Woody Allen cadences.
But that was me, 10-15 years ago. The romanticism is gone. The illusion of a better time is dead. Every era is suffused with great struggle and pain. Beautiful art isn't borne from pleasure.
Oh yeah, so the movie...
(PLOT SPOILERS ALERT!)
Gil (Owen Wilson) is a screenwriter who yearns to be the great novelist that he'd once dreamed of being. He loves Paris, inordinately, especially the Paris of the '20s and the Lost Generation. One night, during a Paris visit with his fiancee and future in-laws, an old Rolls Royce picks Gil up and deposits him in the 1920s. He hangs out with Hemmingway, Dali, Eliot, Gertrude Stein, the Fitzgeralds, Cole Porter, Picasso, and countless other famous artists. He falls in love with an 'art groupie'. And he's forced to reconcile these experiences with his modern day life.
I wish, I wish I wish I wish I wish that this would become an HBO series so that Woody Allen could write up 10 hours of material so that we could hang out with Gil in the 1920s. Every moment the film plays out in the past is lovely and funny. It shines and glows and hums. All of the famous folks play out according to their archetypes. Hemmingway speaks like he writes. Dali loves rhinoceroses. Zelda is a manic-depressive party girl. Gertrude Stein plays mama to all of the artistes. Oh, but it's all over so quickly!
Conversely, almost everyone in the contemporary scenes is a stereotype. All of the Americans are jerks. All of them. His in-laws are wealthy Republican tea-party supporters out of a Liberal nightmare. The American intellectual is a dick to everyone. While Gil's fiancee (an unforgiving role for Rachel McAdams) is shrill, spiteful, and shallow, his mystery woman from the past (Marion Cotillard) is luminous, thoughtful, and complex. Curiously all of the contemporary French (including a great Carla Bruni!) are portrayed gentle and selfless.
As a result, the contemporary scenes come across very thin. Allen has created so many great roles for women; why couldn't he (at the very least) have given the fiancee a three dimensional character? It may have made Gil's final decision more difficult, but it would have struck a more honest note.
Despite these issues, the heart of the movie is fantastic. It moves lighter and faster than anything Allen has done in decades. Wilson's slow sleepy persona makes for an unusual but giddy match for Allen's rhythmic cadences. Darius Khondji can do no wrong as cinematographer.
I do recommend this to all. Even if you're also a bit of a sh*t, go see it.
The Trip
I love this movie. Now that I've become a burgeoning Anglophile, perhaps I was predisposed to appreciate it. But one doesn't have to be a fan of all things British to enjoy this comedy by Michael Winterbottom. It is a deceptively well structured, acted, directed, and edited film that is above all else very very funny.
Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon play Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon, two characters they'd previously portrayed in Winterbottom's 2005 post-modern self-reflexive smart-silly whats-it Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story. The Trip goes the opposite direction of Tristram, simplifying and relaxing the storytelling. Steve and Rob travel the UK countryside, hitting a half-dozen restaurants for Steve's cuisine-based guest writing gig. Between the dishes and quarrels, there's constant actor-y oneupsmanship.
Despite the fact that Steve plays Steve and Rob plays Rob, the film doesn't try to be a mockumentary; it's just a film about Steve and Rob.
The Trip can be appreciated on a number of levels. Again, it's damn funny and comedy is its prime target. (The trailer does not give away the best stuff.) Further, if one desires to be nerdy about it, there are all sorts of great British tweaks and jabs about the Welsh, actors, Colerige, Wordsworth, and Alan Partridge. Then if one (read: moi) desires to dig further there's an undercurrent about 40-something men emotionally adrift within their lives. But it's NOT DEPRESSING. Winterbottom seems to know that constant navel-gazing only results in a finger full of lint. So he happily blends the bittersweet with the whimsical and wonderful.
And, yes, Kristen must hear me quote lines from The Trip while I'm cooking or driving or just breathing. Luckily she likes the film too.
But, I would like to share with you three lighter films from this year's crop that I did view, courtesy of
The Help
I didn't read the book. I didn't see the trailer. I didn't peruse any of the reviews. I saw this one cold.
PLOT: A young writer, Skeeter (Emma Stone), writes a book from the point of view of the black women who serve (almost slave for) the wealthy white families in Jackson, Mississippi in the early 1960s.
I'll start with the good stuff. It was better than I had anticipated. Viola Davis is AWESOME as Aibileen, a black woman raising generations of white children. The film, swirling with broad stereotypes, feels like it's held together by her quiet reserved performance; a cinematic center of gravity. The final emotional payoff succeeds so well because of her. At the same time, Jessica Chastain, who gives the loudest performance, lights up the screen whenever she's on it. Chastain, who was so angelic and serene in The Tree of Life, zips and bounces and shouts like Marilyn Monroe in a screwball comedy.
On the other side of things, the film is way too long. A lot of the comedy hijinks feel like they belong in a different film; one that isn't trying to sell the viewers of the importance and weight of the drama. The male characters prove superfluous and could thus have been trimmed right out -- thus giving us a film with an entirely female cast (a good thing). Because there are so many characters, there are a ton of ending scenes. Cutting these things back would have delivered a much tighter, more effective film. How this got by nine executive producers, I have no clue.
As I'd mentioned above, most of the characters (black and white) are written as stereotypes. The antagonist (played by Bryce Dallas Howard) is one-dimensionally demonic, from start to finish. That's a shortsighted choice for any film to do that today. Watch any successful drama on television and you'll see that the bad guys have as many dimensions as the good guys. Without shading, The Help's antagonist comes across as a psychotic cartoon which in turn weakens the drama.
The film largely glosses over the lynchings and terrorism of the time period, which is more of a fact than a fault. The movie isn't trying to be Mississippi Burning. That's not the story it's telling. But it did make me wonder if Skeeter understood the real danger of her act. I never felt that she did. Had she seen real blood and death, if her own life had been in constant danger, then her character's actions would have carried more weight and she would have shown courage in alliance with the ladies she interviewed. And she would have understood what those ladies risked by telling their stories. Instead, she's a blank slate from beginning of the picture to the end. Her safety is never in danger, it's just her ability to hit the publishing deadline that's at risk. As a result, the strength in the drama of Aibileen's struggle pushes Skeeter's drama to the far periphery of the story.
With some trimming and some beefed up character work this could have been a stunning work. (Wow, that sounds like I'm giving script coverage.) But, I guarantee you it was better than three-quarters of films with which it had shared the multiplex.
Midnight in Paris
Everyone told me to see this. From all directions and segments of my life: family, friends, co-workers. But because I lose interest in a film whenever one person recommends it to me (I'm a bit of sh*t), the constant "You'd love Midnight in Paris" did not inspire me to see Midnight in Paris. On the other hand, with such an odd cross-section of folks from my life suggesting it, I was intrigued.
So now I've seen it.
I get it, y'all. You see in me the writer who has been obsessed with other times and places. A writer uncomfortable with his cosmic lot. And I'm Jewish and apparently speak in Woody Allen cadences.
But that was me, 10-15 years ago. The romanticism is gone. The illusion of a better time is dead. Every era is suffused with great struggle and pain. Beautiful art isn't borne from pleasure.
Oh yeah, so the movie...
(PLOT SPOILERS ALERT!)
Gil (Owen Wilson) is a screenwriter who yearns to be the great novelist that he'd once dreamed of being. He loves Paris, inordinately, especially the Paris of the '20s and the Lost Generation. One night, during a Paris visit with his fiancee and future in-laws, an old Rolls Royce picks Gil up and deposits him in the 1920s. He hangs out with Hemmingway, Dali, Eliot, Gertrude Stein, the Fitzgeralds, Cole Porter, Picasso, and countless other famous artists. He falls in love with an 'art groupie'. And he's forced to reconcile these experiences with his modern day life.
I wish, I wish I wish I wish I wish that this would become an HBO series so that Woody Allen could write up 10 hours of material so that we could hang out with Gil in the 1920s. Every moment the film plays out in the past is lovely and funny. It shines and glows and hums. All of the famous folks play out according to their archetypes. Hemmingway speaks like he writes. Dali loves rhinoceroses. Zelda is a manic-depressive party girl. Gertrude Stein plays mama to all of the artistes. Oh, but it's all over so quickly!
Conversely, almost everyone in the contemporary scenes is a stereotype. All of the Americans are jerks. All of them. His in-laws are wealthy Republican tea-party supporters out of a Liberal nightmare. The American intellectual is a dick to everyone. While Gil's fiancee (an unforgiving role for Rachel McAdams) is shrill, spiteful, and shallow, his mystery woman from the past (Marion Cotillard) is luminous, thoughtful, and complex. Curiously all of the contemporary French (including a great Carla Bruni!) are portrayed gentle and selfless.
As a result, the contemporary scenes come across very thin. Allen has created so many great roles for women; why couldn't he (at the very least) have given the fiancee a three dimensional character? It may have made Gil's final decision more difficult, but it would have struck a more honest note.
Despite these issues, the heart of the movie is fantastic. It moves lighter and faster than anything Allen has done in decades. Wilson's slow sleepy persona makes for an unusual but giddy match for Allen's rhythmic cadences. Darius Khondji can do no wrong as cinematographer.
I do recommend this to all. Even if you're also a bit of a sh*t, go see it.
The Trip
I love this movie. Now that I've become a burgeoning Anglophile, perhaps I was predisposed to appreciate it. But one doesn't have to be a fan of all things British to enjoy this comedy by Michael Winterbottom. It is a deceptively well structured, acted, directed, and edited film that is above all else very very funny.
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| (Source) |
The Trip can be appreciated on a number of levels. Again, it's damn funny and comedy is its prime target. (The trailer does not give away the best stuff.) Further, if one desires to be nerdy about it, there are all sorts of great British tweaks and jabs about the Welsh, actors, Colerige, Wordsworth, and Alan Partridge. Then if one (read: moi) desires to dig further there's an undercurrent about 40-something men emotionally adrift within their lives. But it's NOT DEPRESSING. Winterbottom seems to know that constant navel-gazing only results in a finger full of lint. So he happily blends the bittersweet with the whimsical and wonderful.
And, yes, Kristen must hear me quote lines from The Trip while I'm cooking or driving or just breathing. Luckily she likes the film too.
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