Last Tuesday, my wife and I joined some friends at the Brown Palace in Denver, where Macallan (or is it The Macallan?) was hosting a free tasting of their product. They couldn't have chosen a better venue for the tasting, as the Brown is a Denver landmark--an elegant, historic hotel that has been in constant operation since 1892.


Waiting for the tasting!


Once the doors opened, we were allowed to wander about and gawk at their product displays while sipping the 10-year Sherry Oak. One of the hosts must have thought my wife quite thirsty; he managed to saunter by several times to top off her glass...


Some of the displayed malts:



This one, sadly, wasn't available for sale that evening. All those extra quarters I brought were just bouncing around in my sporran the entire evening. Disappointing and embarrassing.



An interesting story: Apparently in 2010 they uncovered a cask that had been filled in 1946. The resulting Macallan 64 was taken on a 12-city tour where a teaspoon-sized taste was auctioned off at each stop, raising $146,000. A unique Lalique decanter containing a much larger sample was sold for $460,000. The total proceeds were donated to Charity:water, which provides drinking water to people in developing countries. The cynic in me views this simply as a brilliant PR move, while the mushy Pollyanna gets all gooey about it. Either way, the end result is what counts: they dug wells so some folks could enjoy clean water.

Once we were seated, the presentation began. It was well-crafted, as it successfully brought the uninitiated up to speed without boring the pants off experienced tasters. Landing somewhere in the middle, my wife and I benefited from the parts that were review as well as the more advanced aspects of tasting. Our presenter was engaging and humorous, but not so informal as to turn the event into a fraternity shot-fest.






Here were 3 of the four malts we sampled:
L to R: 12-year Sherry Oak, 15-year Fine Oak, 17-year Fine Oak (off to the right is my leftover warm-up drink). After going through each, they brought out the 18-year Sherry Oak. Tasting notes to follow.


Since I was the only guest out of nearly 150 that was kilted, some of the organizers came by our table to chat and compliment my lack of pants. We ending up staying well past the official end of the presentation talking tartan and scotch with some very gracious gentlemen.

We shared our notes, and my wife truly impressed one of the Scotch Masters we talked to. Her eye was good and her palate was "spot-on."



He just laughed at my tasting notes. Now, in my defense, I do not attempt to emulate the form you'll find in Jackson's books. Yeah, once in awhile I can figure out a note of vanilla or pear or marshmallow, but I'm more an impression guy--I go for the imagery, the mental picture that tastes and smells paint on my brain. Maybe it just allows me to be a terrible taster and not feel bad about it. Maybe I'm a genius. Observe...

LitTrog's Tasting Debacle:

12-year Sherry Oak: Like having a conversation with an old friend, an ex-salesman turned neo-hippie who spends too much time outside. Smooth but not oily.

15-year Fine Oak: Imagine Don Rickles morphed into an orange and covered in sawdust. Now imagine you're at one of his shows and he just noticed you're wearing a kilt.

17-year Fine Oak: Tounge-kissing a wood nymph who just gargled with vanilla-infused honey.

18-year Sherry Oak: You're in middle school and you have a friend that invited you over to his house. Turns out he has a beautiful sister who's a senior in high school. You all decide to swim in their pool. The sister doesn't swim, she just wants to work on her tan, making it impossible for you to leave the pool. This malt is that sister.


Since I was driving, I took just enough from each glass to taste, giving the balance to my wife. At a certain point, it became clear that it was time to go home.