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 many Scotsmen will tell you that it's an absolute desecration to dilute Scotch by adding ice or anything to Scotch other than maybe the tiniest dribble of tap water. They will tell you that if your preference is to add anything other than that to your whisky then do not waste good Scotch or your money but instead buy any other brew that catches your fancy. 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?  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 mists of time.

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

It's humble thatched abodes and stately ancient castles.

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 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 a lighthouse as its reassuring beam of light sweeps the darkness.

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

It's the silence that prevails when the sea is dead calm.

It's the sight of brave men on their fishing boats as they head out to sea.

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 "flingin fleas" on a loch.

It's the lonesome cry of a curlew on a rocky seashore.

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

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

It's battles won and causes lost.

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

It's the remembrance of 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. 

To relish the moment in time.

When the moon is high, turn the lamp low. Slide down into your favorite armchair, gaze into the flickering fire and into a wee hand warmed finely cut crystal glass, decant a generous jigger and a half of either a single malt or a blend.  Take a sip that's only enough to dampen the lips and the tongue. Sip it slowly. Ever, ever so slowly. 

My favorite toast.

 "Till a' the seas gang dry"  which means. "Forever",--- Till the end of time.

Now a few words about single malts and blends.