A lot of the old whisky mania has to do with marketing and perception – we assume older means better, more flavorful, and frankly, whether out at the bar or home with friends, a big number tends to get some oohs and aahs.  But at the end of the day it’s the liquid that counts, not what’s printed on the label.

It helps to think about whisky in two parts: spirit and cask.  The spirit already has a ton of flavor when it comes off the still, but it’s fiery, aggressive, and rough around the edges.  What the wood-aging does is smooth out those imperfections, while also giving external flavor to the liquid.  Over time, you start to lose some of what was in the initial spirit as you gain barrel qualities.

So aging is a give and take.  When you want tannins, oaky flavors, and the deep, delicate taste of traditional earth-floored warehouses, old is right.  But in young whisky you’ll get brightness, crispness, and vibrancy that old whiskies just can’t maintain after 20, 30, or 40 years in wood.  In particular, peaty whiskies lose a lot of their smoke in the first decade or two of maturation.

Finding single-digit age stated bottlings can be tough, since whisky producers know young whisky doesn’t sell overly well for the reasons outlined above.  Turning to independent bottlers, like Gordon & MacPhail or Signatory, can be helpful, since they’re more connoisseur-driven.

Gordon & McPhail offer a whole range of whiskies at 8 years old, which is quite unusual.  Tamdhu, The Glenrothes, and my personal favorite of the bunch, Highland Park.  I bought this bottle a year or so ago, but you can see I’m almost through it.  Honestly, I’m surprised it has lasted this long.  There’s something of a fresh sea breeze about it, which perfectly compliments the grilled pineapple and floral-honey that you also get on the nose.  The taste is pretty similar, with some slightly burnt toffee, still green peat, and a gentle rolling smoke in the finish.  Great stuff, and at $35 I’ll certainly be buying another bottle when this one sees the recycling bin.

As for young distillery bottlings, the Springbank, Longrow, and Hazelburn CV collection are all on the young side, though show no concrete age statement.  The Longrow in particular packs quite the punch, and I mean that in the best way possible.   Islay’s newest distillery, Kilchoman, is bottling stuff between 3 and 5 years because frankly that’s all they’ve got.  All the better for us.

Whether you follow my lead and go for the Highland Park 8 or decide 8 years is still too far our of your comfort zone and buy an Old Pulteney 12 (the best Pulteney), drink the young stuff.  Cheers to youth!

Like many producers in Scotland, The Glenrothes was founded in the late nineteenth century – 1879 to be exact – and has changed hands a number of times since. It started out under control of the same gent behind The Macallan, but is now part of the Berry Bros. & Rudd portfolio. Unlike with big multi-national brands, I’d be happy to hear of a Berry Bros. takeover anytime.

Unusually, the whiskies are not released in age-stated batches, but instead by vintage. 1998 was the first vintage to be released that had been designed this way, and the new 1995 was the first distilled to be released as a vintage. It just took a little longer to get there – what we’ve got here is a sixteen year old whisky that was aged in 30% sherry-treated casks (mix of Spanish and American oak) and 70% refill casks that to my nose smell of ex-American Bourbon. It’s a sort of odd-ball wood profile, but John Ramsay knew what he was doing.

They’ve bottled it at 43% and the color is all natural, which is great, though it is chill-filtered. 46%, non-chill-filtered would be better, but this is still heads and shoulders above most of what you’ll find on liquor store shelves. The bottle is the distinctive Glenrothes bottle, and the stopped has a sturdy wood cap on top. Well done.

Now for the best part. On the nose the Glenrothes 1995 is exceptionally creamy, with a floral-honey and fruit backbone, but if you let it sit in the glass for 10-15 minutes the fruit really explodes and the creaminess begins playing the supporting role. Partly due to being 43% it’s a little peppery on the tongue without water, but the arrival is rich and mouth-coating. The mid-palate is fruit-dominated and on the sweet side, but you get a great burnt caramel note at the end that dries everything out. A little water turns the custardy note into butter and the apricots into raspberries – sort of like swapping a fruitcake for a tart.

Overall, I wholeheartedly recommend the stuff. Looks like it will be going for $82 when it hits shelves next week in time for reciting the words of the Poet Burns. Definitely a good value in this price range. Really soft and rich in the mouth, good clean fruit flavors, and a nuanced honey note that avoids that sickly generic honey-bear flavor. Exactly what good Speyside whisky should be, and a new favorite on my bar.

Thanks to The Glenrothes for supplying a review bottle.  Check out their Vintage Maker video as well.

It’s been a while since I’ve done a drink post, and since I spent much of the last week nursing a cold I thought I’d share my Hot Toddy recipe.  When you’re all stuffed up nothing has much smell or taste, and this traditional remedy is the quickest way to recover both.

The Scots are hands-down the best at keeping warm.  Between Tweed and Whisky, could you really ask for a better remedy to a cold day?  Didn’t think so.  Some days though, when a cold, not the cold, gets the better of you a great glass of single malt is a complete waste.  If you can’t smell, can’t taste, and can hardly breathe, don’t waste the good stuff.  Grab a basic blend, some hot water, and a few other ingredients you probably already have around the house and mix yourself up a hot toddy.

There’s no standard recipe, and there’s a lot of debate as to whether you should fortify the concoction with butter, creme, egg, or other protein.  The traditionalists say that creme was too scarce in the old days on the moors and the health nuts say you shouldn’t eat raw egg yolk.  I won’t make claims either way, but butter is my thickener of choice.  I think it adds texture without making the drink sit like a rock in my stomach.  The idea is to feel better, not skip dinner.

Without further ado, here is my extremely rigid recipe for the Hot Toddy:

-Mix in a jar or large glass a pinch cinnamon, a pinch nutmeg, a pinch raw or brown sugar, a teaspoon or so  lemon juice, a teaspoon or two honey, and a splash of boiling water.  Stir to dissolve.

-Add a small pat of butter and another splash hot water.  Stir until fully incorporated.  If using a jar, put on the lid and shake vigorously for a few seconds.

-Pour an ounce of blended scotch whisky (Teacher’s is my personal favorite) into a glass, add half a teaspoon of ginger liqueur or syrup, and finally add butter and spice mixture.

-Top with another few ounces of hot water to taste.  An ounce and a half if you want it strong, up to three or four if you want it softer.

-Allow it to cool briefly and then either shoot or sip before it cools off.

-Get better and get back to the really good stuff.

Summer’s over and with it the days of sitting in the sunshine sipping on a cold beer.  It’s still a little warm to be tucking into a stout or barley wine over a book in the evening, but I don’t exactly want a pilsner either.  Luckily, current hometown hero Goose Island comes to the rescue with Pepe Nero.

For those of you who still think beer is beer – fizzy yellow stuff – think again.  Goose Island makes your standard American craft-brews (IPA, Stout, Wheat, etc.) but they also turn out some of the best Belgian-style ales outside of Belgium.  Along with breweries like Ommegang in New York and Allagash in Maine, they’re bringing classic continental styles to the states, but often with their own little twists.

Enter Pepe Nero.  It’s officially classified as a Saison, or farmhouse style ale.  Typically these are lightly golden in color, tart and fruity on the palate, and my personal favorite way to celebrate the arrival of spring.  As you might get from the name, Pepe isn’t so light on the eyes or the tongue.  The good folks who brew it decided to use a dark-roasted malt in place of the typical pale malt, giving Pepe Nero a nice roasty backbone.  And if that wasn’t enough, they toss in a hearty portion of black peppercorns to compliment the natural spice from the yeast.  What you get is one part traditional saison, one part porter, and one part inexplicable.

The nose has the roastiness you’d expect judging from the color, but it’s not heavy on the palate.  The taste is much more fruit-heavy with those peppercorns coming back after you swallow.  It’s surprisingly more-ish.  At 6% abv you don’t exactly want to chug the stuff, but you’ll have a hard time not taking sip after sip.

This is one of those beers you’ll either love or hate.  Obviously I’m in the former camp.  Keep a look out, I’ve got some other treats from Goose Island in store for you here at Simply Refined over the next few months.  Cheers.

There was a lot of buzz last year when Ralph Lauren opened his eponymous Paris restaurant, Ralphs, but let’s not forget that Mr. Lauren’s been doing food for over a decade.  The RL Restaurant in Chicago opened in 1999 attached to the Michigan Ave. flagship, and earlier this week I settled into a banquet for a lovely lunch like only Ralph can provide.

Strolling down the busy-as-can-be Michigan Avenue, it would be easy enough to walk right by the largest member of the Ralph Lauren flagship-Mansion family.  But you’d be missing out.  Duck in, and when you’re done exploring the four floors of menswear, womenswear, made-to-measure, home decor, and vintage collections (which almost always include some really amazing 20s and 30s watches and cufflinks), pop next door for a restorative drink and bite.  If you don’t have a reservation in the dining room, a sales associate can usually call down and have a bartender try to hold you a place in the no-reservations bar while you walk down.

If you do plan ahead, or are among the lucky few to get a table in the dining room without a reservation, you’ll find yourself either cozying up in a plush banquet or studded-leather chair. Both are redolent of a luxurious gentleman’s club tempered with just the right soupçon of American diner kitsch.  The walls feature the usual Ralph Lauren mix of oil paintings of horses alongside stark black-and-white photographs of Bugatti and beautiful women.  A mahogany ceiling and warm dome lights casts a welcoming glow on the inky blue walls, and create a feeling at once homey and luxurious.

As with the rest of what he does, Mr. Lauren has taken simple, comforting food and made it feel unbeatable.  The service might be the best of any restaurant I have ever had the pleasure of dining at, and I was so relaxed I had my camera sitting right next to me and didn’t take a single picture (hence the lack of photos here).

You can also always slide a club chair up to the fireplace in the bar and enjoy the same menu and service as the main dining room.  With the walls of books, ability to watch the bar-men at work, and warming fire in the cold Chicago winters, I might even prefer this to the dining room.

The menu is diverse, but I find myself ordering almost the same thing every time.  It just seems the quintessential Ralph Lauren meal.  Start with a Manhattan and a bowl of the lobster bisque, the texture of which I can’t even begin to describe here.  Then the discretely superior RL Burger.  Yes, it’s a hamburger, but it’s a really good hamburger.  After the uniquely American classics, finish with a macchiato and a crème brûlée for a touch of France and Italy, and you’re good to go.

Photo Credit: Walker House