Wednesday, July 26, 2006

A Dram and a Pint

After walking to the east end of the picturesque town of Pitlochry and then up along a cool forested track we stopped at the Black Spout waterfall. We’re into waterfalls big time. I’ve never attempted to figure out what universal attraction waterfalls hold—nor shall I. But we like them. So we enjoyed Black Spout, took some photos, and walked on. Through some more woods. Along some low stone fences covered with moss. Under huge beech trees. Past cows and sheep lazing in the hot late morning sun. Up the lane to Edradour Distillery.

Edradour (pronounced EH-druh-DOW-ur with a Scottish brogue) is Scotland’s smallest whiskey distillery that produces the bottled spirits for commercial sale. (Moonshiners don’t count in the rankings.) The fact that every step of the process happens under the same roof is a point of pride for these Scots. Edradour is a small cluster of bright white buildings with red doors and trip nestled on the bright green slopes of the lowlands.

If you pay attention to the tour, you discover that to say “every step” happens under one roof is a bit deceptive. You see, Edradour is a non-mechanized, non-computerized distillery. Not one distillery of this type still malts its own barley (the process of getting the barley to germinate and producing a sugar mash). They just can’t afford to, because that’s the most labour-intensive part of the process. About 40 years ago (Edradour’s been in business since the 19th century) this cottage distillery had to outsource its malt process. Only those distilleries that have mechanized or computerized their production—that is, the large distilleries—malt their own barley. So now the malt barn at Edradour is a reception area and museum. It’s where our tour guide, Ian, gave us the full run-down of the types of Scotch whiskey and what makes them what they are.

But the malting is still important. Part of the malting process is the drying of the barley over a fire. In Scotland those fires are made with peat, a black, slightly oily substance from the fens of Scotland. The barley, as it dries, picks up the smoky flavour of the peat and will then transfer it to the finished whiskey.

Everything after malting is done under one roof, though: the fermentation, cooling, double-distilling, and bottling. Edradour produces a tiny 15 casks of whiskey per week, which are then stored for at least 10 years to mature. Edradour uses casks imported from Spain and Portugal—wine, sherry, and port casks in their former lives—to store the whiskey and give it its distinctive flavour. We had some at the opening of the tour. I’m not a whiskey drinker by habit, but I did appreciate the smoky-woody-sweet flavour of the wee dram.

“Beer” Tour #6: Edradour Distillery.

After our tour of Edradour we sat down on a little bench overlooking the babbling brook and gardens of the distillery. Then we were off through more fields, forests, and fens to Moulin, the original village of the glen that gave birth to Pitlochry. In Moulin is a small brewery where we got a brewery tour—that’s right, the second encounter with alcohol production in one day. Now, to be honest, “tour” is a bit of an overstatement; Moulin Brewery is one room, about twelve feet by fifty feet, that used to be a stable for riders going north from Edinburgh. But the size of the brewery did not keep the woman working there from giving us an exhaustive description of the brewing process, complete with the unique details of Moulin Brewery.

Most of Moulin Brewery’s output is tapped right across the street at the Moulin Hotel, a posh little establishment that’s hosted travellers since about 1695. A few bottles make it out of town, but since their bottling machine can only fill six bottles at a time, it doesn’t go very far. The kegs can’t go very far, either, and our spokesperson explained why.

Moulin ales are all natural—no preservatives. But the ale comes out of the fermentation casks with too much yeast and such in it for the taste of most Scots. Normally this problem would be taken care of with some manufactured chemical—but Moulin’s all natural. So the brewer adds a little packet of fish swim bladder and crushed eggshell to each keg. That combination acts as a “magnet” for all the cloudy stuff in the ale and sends it to the bottom of the keg. However, because this little precipitate is all-natural, it breaks down with time. That means the keg can only be moved ten times before it’s got to be tapped and drunk. (It also means the keg has to be finished in one week in summer, three weeks in winter.) So unless Moulin goes chemical, it might be hard to set up an export market.

I want to know who figured out that putting fish and eggshell in beer took out the particles. I should have asked.

After the tour we crossed the street and had a couple of pints. Sara had the Braveheart, a light blonde ale. I had the Old Remedial, a stout with some honey added in the brewing process. It was a bit like a sweet Guinness or Murphy’s, and with a solid alcohol content. (That’s why the lady at the brewery called it their “winter warmer.”) I just hope “remedial” means something different here.

Beer Tour #7: Moulin Brewery.

~emrys

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