Review: Sheep Dip Scotch Whisky

A key marketing task of every drinks company that owns a distillery is to 'discover' a quaint story that can somehow be related to their whisky wares.  Some companies do this very well.  The little story behind Wild Turkey is a prime example.  Other 'tales' are pretty weak like Diageo's suggestion that Johnnie Walker Gold Label is made up of a single malt (Clynelish) composed of water drawn from springs that run through veins of gold, hence: "Gold Label." 

The Spencerfield Spirit Company have come up with a charming tale of their own to associate with one of their scotch whiskies.  Settle down in that wing back, red leather, upholstered chair of mine, warm yourself by the fireplace, as it is story time:

A long time ago, way back to 1830, a George Wilson, developed an arsenic powder that when mixed with water was a great solution to dip sheep into for the purposes of ridding the creatures of pesky mites, ticks and lice.  The sheep were run through a trough of this nasty solution.  I am not so sure the depiction on the box for this whisky is accurate.  I would imagine it would be pretty hard to plunge sheep into a barrel.

If you visit the Spencerfield Spirit Company website (click here) and click on Sheep Dip for product information, they will mention that Scottish farmers were in the habit of marking their barrels of whisky as "Sheep Dip" in order to avoid paying taxes on it.  I guess barrels of sheep dip did not attract taxation, and the tax man was not going to taste the barrel to confirm it was sheep dip.  A drinks company takes a really big risk drawing any comparison between their whisky and a liquid insecticide, but hey, it's a free world.  If the whisky is bad the jokes abound . . .

So, is Sheep Dip any good?  It's a blended malt meaning no grain whiskies present.  Specifically, a blend of single malts aged 8 to 12 years.  Those single malts are sourced from the four major whisky producing regions of Scotland:  Speyside, Islay, Highlands & Islands and Lowlands.  The master blender is Richard Patterson, a fellow of well earned respect in the industry.  So, is it any good?  Or is tantamount to drinking liquid pesticide?

Nose (undiluted)
Malty and sherried.

Palate (undiluted)
Soft, sweet start.  Malty, cantaloupe, melon and some light tangerine.  Good quality flavored Oloroso sherry appears late.

Finish (undiluted)
A little drying malt while the sherry gathers strength and a fine line of sea salt and pepper tang at the very end.

General Impressions
 I enjoyed this blended malt.  Very friendly, slightly warming.  It would make an excellent starter scotch for someone who wants to explore this type of spirit for the first time.  It is also a nice graduation from blended scotch.  Want an affordable gift for the holidays?  Sheep Dip works.  It is reasonably priced.  Criticisms?  Virtually no peat in the flavor profile.  Flavor profile is not complex.  This is comfort scotch.

I stumbled on this through trading emails and chats with one of this site's readers, Adam Morin.  Adam has been working his way through this bottle and inspired me to pick one up.  Below is Adam's review:

Nose (undiluted)
Nothing whatsoever to write home about. A slight grassy graininess, tempered by the richness you'd expect from a malt comprised of sixteen single malts. Grass, shrubbery, um, juniper bushes. That's it.


Palate (undiluted)
A little more exotic. Ginger/clementine notes dominate what is a surprisingly light-bodied entry. You get the richness of single malts with none of the flavour differentiation. O Boy. It claims to use sixteen different single malts from the four distilling regions of Scotland, but there isn't the slightest hint of peat anywhere. Maybe R. Patterson used a Bunnahabhain, or a Cambeltown malt. Sugary, malted Speyside notes form the dominant palate expression here.


Finish (undliluted)
Not dry in the least. You can tell both bourbon and sherry casks are at work here, but it's hard to identify exactly which is which. The wetness of finish suggest a premium given to sherry aging, but as to the exact identities of each single malt, I'm in the dark.


Conclusions
Not dissatisfying, in the least - but light, airy, grassy and frankly inconsequential. If given sixteen single malts to play around with to my heart's content, even I could come up with something weightier than this. That said - the kind of milk chocolate flavour you get with blends is entirely absent, so Richard Patterson is true to his word. But it seems rather like he vatted the sixteen most inexpensive malts he could lay hands on, in an attempt to create something greater than the sum of its parts. You read every review of this stuff, including Jim Murray's, and they all say the same thing - "grassy". It tastes like a "freshly mown lawn". Well, Jim, that's fantastic. I could consume my lawn mower's shavings for a fraction of the price. Tell me something I don't know. Orange marmalade and ginger is something that is clear. There is also a clear cinnamon spiciness, which is not at all unwelcome.


Adam Morin
. . .
 
Adam has astutely pointed out that for a whisky that purports to draw single malts from all of the four major regions of Scotland, it sure doesn't taste like it did so.  For me and Adam, it is a big Speyside flavor profile with hardly any peat or smoke.  I would say there is no Islay presence at all in this dram.  It is better than Strathisla 12 years.  While the flavor profile is not very similar to Glenfiddich 12 yrs, I still prefer Sheep Dip.  So, that is saying quite a bit for this blended malt.  It is not every day that a blended malt trumps a few 12 year old single malts.  To put it in more perspective, this tastes like a young Glenfiddich 15yrs Solera or flatter Johnnie Walker Green.  Nevertheless, it is most enjoyable for the price if you are a big Speyside fan.  I recommmend it!  As for Adam, he is less enthusiastic.  He thinks it's just ok.
 
Cheers!
 
 
Jason Debly

Jack Daniel's Old No. 7 - Tennessee Whiskey Review

I spent the past week in Halifax, Nova Scotia for a work related conference.  Trapped in a meeting room by day and bored by night, my habit when travelling for work is to seek out great restaurants and the best purveyors of fine whiskey.  My trip to Halifax would not deviate from this practice.

I landed in the early evening, hopped in a cab and headed for the hotel down by the harbor.  Check-in involved slapping down a credit card, tossing my luggage on the bed and a quick double-back to the concierge's desk.

"Where's nearest liquor store?" I inquired.

"They are all closed," the blue blazer wearing early sixties gent replied with a Magnum P.I. Higgins character English accent.

"There is of course our mini-bar . . ."  His voice trailed off as precipitously as Thelma and Louise headed off that cliff in the closing scene of that stupid movie that I had to endure with some long forgotten girlfriend in a living room with red shag carpet, wood paneling on the walls, and her ever watchful, military, father down the hall. 

"Mini-bar . . . mini-bar" I fumed as I headed back to my room.  As I unpacked, I debated whether or not to wait until tomorrow, find a nice liquor store, select a great whisky and enjoy it in the evening.  On the other hand, I said to myself, "ya never know, there could be a real gem in the mini-bar just like that time I was in Maine and in a grocery store and all they had for whisky was Jim Beam Black.  That was a gem!"  More than a gem, it was a revelation of the tallest order, up there with Moses coming down Mount Sinai.  Anyway, you get the picture.  I was a tortured soul.

To distract myself, I flicked on the television, started unpacking and thought about going to the gym and doing some running.  One time I was in Vancouver for a meeting and was up every morning at 4am, ran for an hour on a treadmill, did a day of meetings and still had pep for a restaurant at night and touring that delightful city.  This time around, the urge for running didn't seem to come so effortlessly.

To make a long story short, I opened the mini-bar, peered in and saw the usual array of light beer for middle aged men worried about carbs and calories.  I surveyed some spicy Clamato juice, Grey Goose Vodka, yeesh!, and a 375 ml of Jack Daniels Old Number 7.  My first thought was "what the hell is Tennessee whiskey doing in a refrigerator!"  What depraved soul could commit such an inane indignity upon a bottle of this American whisky?  I knew what I had to do.  God himself would have commanded me to do it if I asked him.  Matter of fact Moses probably had it chiseled into the tablet, "Thou shalt rescue all Tennessee whisky from bowels of any refrigerator!"  The commandment or mitvah must have got lost at some point.  I am sure of it.  It is such a self-evident truth.

Of course, I did what any God fearing man would do, I plucked the chilled bottle from the fridge and set it down on a table next to a rather comfortable wing-back chair.  It needed to warm up.  Coincidentally, so did I.  I retrieved two glasses, one filled with ice water, the other empty, waiting for Ol' No. 7.

The last time I had Jack Daniels was in a trendy wine bar a couple of years back that was so trendy they didn't have any scotch.  I reluctantly asked the waitress repetitively "what else do you have?" until she finally remarked there was Jack Daniels.  I said sure and tried it on ice.  It was not what I expected.  First of all, I was ready for a snake bite taste coupled with a burning sensation that would leave me writhing on the Italian tile floor winded like Dustin Hoffman in the Marathon Man.  That was not the case.  I recall it was corn sweet with no burn.  The ice softened it nicely and there was some vanilla and charcoal.  In a flash it was gone.  Tasty drink.

Once the bottle warmed up, I tasted it neat.  The ice water was for drinking in between sips of Jack Daniels.  Over the course of the week, (except for one night when I went to a sushi restaurant and enjoyed some Yamazaki 12 and 18), I sampled this Tennessee whiskey and finalized the following tasting note:

Nose
Damp leaves; big American oak; a whiff of turned over earth with a spade in the early morning in search of worms to take brook fishing; big time vanilla.

Palate
Starts on sweet, that's the corn.  Moves to oak, charcoal and vanilla.

Finish
It's short.  The sweetness leaves and it dries across the palate.  Flavors of oak and vanilla dissipate almost instantly.  Nothing lingers very long.

General Impressions
I was again surprised at how mild this whiskey turned out in the glass.  No burn, rough or out of balance flavors.  It's very easy drinking.  Kinda reminds me of Basil Hayden's bourbon, but without the complexity.  If you drink Jack Daniel's Old No. 7 with ice, it is about as easy drinking as one can get.  Trouble of course is easy drinking runs the risk of not being overly interesting.  That would be the weakness of this whiskey.  It is not complex.  The flavors roll out in a straight forward manner.  Mind you, this is the entry-level, standard bottling of Jack Daniels, and so this observation has to be tempered by that fact.  Just as we do not expect wondrous complexity from Jim Beam White Label, or moving across the pond, from Famous Grouse, Johnnie Walker Red label and others, it would be unfair to place such demands on this standard, entry level offering from Jack Daniels.

For my tastes, I enjoyed it for what it was, a simple, mild American whisky.  Would I buy it?  No.  I require some complexity, even when I want an easy-going whisky.  Accordingly, I would buy Jim Beam Black Label but that is an 8 year old bourbon.  I am sure that Jack Daniel's premium lines like Gentleman Jack and Single Barrel would offer the complexity I seek. 

Do I dislike it?  No.  Would I recommend it?  Sure, for someone who has never tried American whiskey.  This is a good place to start.

Cheers!

Jason Debly

Copyright © Jason Debly, 2010. All rights reserved.

Johnnie Walker Blue Label - Revisited!

Note:  This is an update of my previous, more detailed review.  For the tasting note of Johnnie Walker Blue Label, click here.


Well, I am sipping some Johnnie Walker Blue Label. The bottle came from my wife, as a gift for Father’s Day, and I just got around to opening it a month or so ago.

I like this less and less, the more I drink it. It’s not bad, but gee, is it ever overrated or what? On the plus side, it is smooth, a bonus for hack amateur whisky critics like myself. It seems that only really strong, throat burning whiskies, at cask strength (read over 80 proof) attract the praise of whisky critics these days. If a whisky, scotch or bourbon is a mere 80 proof, it is somehow, automatically lacking in some way. Gimme a break! I hate dogmatism in politics, economics and religion and also in scotch appreciation.

I recognized a similar phenomenon in the world of wine criticsm a few years ago. Robert Parker, the esteemed wine critic, heaped praise on wines that were bold, robust and generally dominated by oak on the palate. So, powerful was he that sales of delicate, non-oakey (not a word, but I just invented it this very moment) languished while Napa Valley oak bombs like Silver Oak flourished. Delicate and complex French Pinot Noir (ie. Louis Jadot) sales suffered because ol’ Robbie Parker scored them lower due to a lack of oak and robust flavor profile.

Similarly, the scotch whisky critics like Jim Murray, (I really do pick on him too much, but he’s such an easy target) seem to heap the praise on those cask strength whiskies that are 114 proof and up! You need to water them down with a fire hose, otherwise you essentially sear your mouth with a flame-thrower.

So, on the plus side, the ol’ Johnnie Blue Label is smooth, which in itself is not a problem. What else can I say? I dunno. I taste white cake bread and caramelized onions. On the con side, I am really not impressed. There is some smoke and peat, but not very interesting. I would not buy this. If I am going to drop a lot of money for a high end blend it will be Ballantines 17yr old, Famous Grouse 18 or 30yrs, and Royal Salute. Famous Grouse 18 and 30 year old blends offer up more complexity and interesting flavor profiles than Johnnie Walker Blue. The difference between the Famous Grouse bottlings and Johnnie Blue is the amount of marketing dollars involved. I really believe that Johnnie Walker Blue is all about marketing. The silk lined box, blue-green colored glass bottle, the quaint little booklet, individually numbered bottles and the snobby advertisements are what sell this blended scotch. If you put those same marketing dollars behind Famous Grouse 18 or 30 year old blended scotch whisky, they would achieve the same level of sales, if not better, as they are better blends.

I want to review Famous Grouse 18 and 30yr old, but just don’t have the funds right now to purchase them. The 30yr old, in particular, blows Blue Label out of the water, based on my recollection. Anyway, that’s all I have to report for now.

Cheers!


Jason