Scotch

Now to serious stuff, the Scotsman's staff of life, whisky that's been brewed from peat stained water that's trickled through the heather and rumbled down a mountain burn. Brewers the world over have tried to imitate Scotch and all have failed miserably. First and foremost it's an absolute desecration to add ice tae guid Scotch. If ice is your preference in a drink then dinna waste guid Scotch and your money but buy any other brew that catches your fancy. Of course Scotch is best imbibed in the company of a good friend as after a hard day the shoes are kicked off, you settle in to comfy arm chairs, lay back, close your eyes and reminisce. I've often been asked what is it that's in Scotch that makes it so different and sets it apart from all other drinks?  Would the questioner even understand if I were to tell him?  There's a very good reason why Scotch is called Scotch but every Scotsman would answer the question a little bit differently. I'll let you in on a few of the ingredients of what's intilt for me besides malted barley and peat stained water.

It's the ancient people, the Picts, who inhabited the country.

It's the mists of time and the character of the land.

It's majestic snow capped mountains and lonely heather clad moors.

It's the red grouse calling go-back, go-back, go-back, go-back as a covey skims low ower the heather.

It's humble clachans and majestic castles.

It's the camaraderie of the gowf.

It's the trill of the skylarks as they hover above their nests in the bent grasses.

It's the sight of artic terns in flight at Ruddons Point.

It's the 12th of August when the heather is in bloom.

It's the flash of the lighthouse as its reassuring beam of light sweeps the darkness.

It's the roar of the sea as the the waves from a North Sea gale crash on to the beach.

It's the sight of brave men on their St. Monans fishing boats, the Paragon, the Morning Star and the Green Pastures, heading out to sea.

It's finding lobsters among the tangles at low tide.

It the sound o' the geese flying high on a moon lit night.

It's the cackle of  water tumbling  over boulders and the flash of a trout in a hillside burn. 

It's a salmon leaping up the falls as it heads for home.

It's two men in a wee boat flinging a flea on a loch.

It's the lonesome cry of a curlew calling to it's  mate on a rocky seashore.

It's the significance of the thistle that Wallace gave to Marion, his betrothed.

It's the far away skirl of the pipes drifting on the wind.

It's the swing o' the kilt.

It's causes lost and battles won.

It's the snow that in winter covers the hills.

It's a fine warming fire on a cold winter night.

It's the remembrance o' absent friends the world over.

These are some of the magic ingredients that's intilt for me that sets Scotch apart and worth its every bawbee. 

Turn the lamp low. Close your eyes. Slide down into your favourite chair, gaze into the fire and from a wee hand warmed finely cut crystal  glass, sip it slowly, very, very slowly.