Scotch blast from the past

My memory of Scotland has nothing to do with its wish to be independent. Woody, fruity, flowery, smoky are what I remember the most from my trip seven years ago. I was there on an assignment (from my previous organization) to write stories on the business of Scotch whisky. My worry was whether I could do justice to the national drink of Scotland as I preferred getting high on the softer blacks, oranges and whites. Soon after, I learnt that knowing Scotch was more about smelling or nosing, as they called it. So, it turned out like some kind of a chemistry laboratory test, without of course the risk of burning the corner of skirt or shirt with acid, which I did regularly when in school. 

 

The charming Scots, mostly from the high-brow whisky brands, asked a group of journalists including me to smell a range of malts and blends, first undiluted and then with just a few drops of water and finally with more water. We had to clear our heads of any other thought and concentrate on the glasses before us. Then the question followed—is it woody, flowery, fruity or smoky? One could be adventurous and guess any other flavour too, without tasting the fluid at all.  Experts pointed at more than 30 smells linked to the drink, and the aromatic range could be detected by olfactory epithelium at the back of the nose and connected to the brain. Then, there was tongue tasting too for the flavour of the fluid—you had to choose between sweet, caramel, bitter, pungent, etc etc.   

 

Of course at the end of the experiment, we could drink up the entire sample and offer our overall sensory verdict. This experiment carried on from one city to another, one factory to the other, in between learning all about whisky distilleries, malting the barley, size of the stills, the art of blending whisky and malt and even about the wooden casks from where Royal weddings and coronations were catered to. 

 

We were not really on a Malt Whisky Trail that takes tourists and students of Scotch across Speyside, Strathisla, Glen Grant and other distilleries, but almost, as far as travelling goes. In less than a week, we took in Edinburgh, Aberdeen, Glasgow, Inverness, Keith and some others which are still etched in the mind for their quaint houses but hardly any inhabitants, lazy corner shops, windmills, Highland cattle with long horns and wavy coats, grass that’s greener than our best pastel collections and clear lakes. 

 

But if I had to rank, a living room concert performed by school children dressed in kilts and armed with bagpipes would perhaps be a close second to the Scotch experiment with nose. A music CD of that concert is a memento that I treasure from that trip. The unusual hotels, many of them converted from castles built centuries ago, with no elevators and in some cases no bellboys, are also top of the mind for the luggage that one had to carry up through the spiraling staircases. Tales that some of these were haunted properties made the stay even more memorable. The princely rooms, the antique beds with flowing curtains enveloping them, century-old radios the only source of modern entertainment, and clock tick tock in the silent night gave us the perfect setting to stay huddled and keep a watch on any free-roaming spirit. This was a castle experience even sharper than the Edinburgh Castle, which was the first stop during the visit.

Short bread in that signature red pack, listening to Abba all night on a juke box, the lazy evenings around the serene lakes, the local herbs and roots only added to the charm of Scotland. On the final day, however, I was heart-broken when by mistake I carried a bottle of Scotch for home in my cabin baggage, only to be told to keep it back at the airport counter due to aviation rules. The sorrow was short-lived. A few days later, I got the bottle at my residence in Delhi, couriered from Scotland !