Are Craft Breweries Selling Out?

Some folks at the Atlantic are afraid of what the future of craft brews are, especially as larger conglomerates get in the game (er, Killians is actually a Coors product, so they are already in the game). You can see the commentary here: Are Craft Breweries Selling Out? - Food - The Atlantic. My take? Let's only worry about this when the quality of the beer suffers. And I don't think this is going to happen, because the conglomerates know there is a market here that is willing to pay more for quality and is not the Bud or Coors Light kind of crowd. If we look at the whisky industry, especially in Scotland, we can see that there is significant room for optimism. On the one hand, a number of small producers and non-conglomerate partnerships are around and doing well (Glenfarclas is still family owned, Bruichladdich is doing well under independent ownership) and the conglomerates (Diageo, Suntory) know they mess with a good thing at their peril, especially these days when a much broader consumer market is sophisticated and well-informed.

My first sourdough rye

Inspired by the Kneading conference, I started my own rye sourdough this past week using Daniel Leader's recipe ("formula" in the trade). This is a transitional bread in the sense that it uses some commercial yeast in addition to the sourdough starter, which I think is a good way to test the waters. It turned out quite well, as you can see. Hopefully as the starter matures more I can get stronger flavors and some more rise out of it.

Visiting Bowmore

Picking a favorite is often an arbitrary thing. Why is that your favorite book or movie or place to go on vacation? And favorites are fickle things -- they can change so often, though some are fanatical in their choices and hold onto them like rabid dogs. My favorite Scotch is Bowmore, though why it is so is a difficult thing to explain. I often find myself reaching for another whisky. Ardbeg is bolder. Aberlour is often more refined. Highland Park's saltiness is heightened. But Bowmore somehow speaks to me in ways that others do not. It is not as peaty as Ardbeg, but it is not as mild as Bunnahabhain. But being in the middle does not make Bowmore boring by any stretch.

When we took our recent vacation to Scotland, number one on my list was a visit to this "favorite" of distilleries on School Street in downtown Bowmore on the island of Islay. I signed us up for the exclusive tour, which originally was designed for corporate clients, but has now been opened up to the general public to choose. This is no ordinary distillery tour, and the price tag is the first to tell you this. I gladly signed Leslie and I up for 40 GBP per person to spend what ended up being more than three glorious hours touring the distillery on a bright, sunny day, tasting two Bowmores straight from the barrel in the famous warehouse number 1, and relaxing with almost the full range (up to the 25 year old) overlooking the bay.

The highlight of the tour for me, though, was indeed trying two Bowmores straight from the cask (see picture below of the two drams). One was an 11 year old bourbon matured in Heaven Hill barrels, the other a 15 year old oloroso sherry butt matured Bowmore. The color difference is striking and shows the influence of the wood on not just the taste. As the warehouse manager, Ginger Willie, said -- it just tastes better straight from the barrel (and I don't think that's because it is pre-tax whisky!).
The Bowmore line-up is more than the standard Legend, 12, 15 and 18 year old one sees in most stores. Also available to taste were the Feis Isle bottlings from the last two years (an 8 year old Bordeaux-finished Bowmore that was very pleasant and sweet and a 9 year old bourbon and wine matured whisky that was not my favorite, respectively), a 16 year old wine-finish (a bit strange) a 21 year old port-pipe matured whisky that was phenomenal, the maltman's selection (also fantastic) and the 25 year old. Sadly (but not surprisingly), the Bowmore gold, white and black were not available for tasting.

Kneading Conference

A few months ago I received an email from King Arthur Flour announcing they were a sponsor of this year's Kneading Conference in Maine. I thought "that looks interesting" and promptly moved on to other things. After casually mentioning this conference, geared towards a diverse audience of home bakers, small businesses and farmers interested in raising artisanal wheats and other grains, to my wife, she encouraged me to go, and I am glad I did.

The conference probably had 100 to 150 participants of diverse backgrounds and interests, though my unscientific calculation estimated the majority were home bakers (very advanced ones, though). It combined keynote addresses (one on each day), lectures, and demonstrations. And there were some minor celebraties (bakers are not quite in the Mario Battali celebrity chef orbit, but everyone knows Jeffery Hamelman and Ciril Hitz who is truly interested in baking.

Jeffery Hamelman delivers a keynote address

Ciril Hitz demonstrates how to use a cooling wood-fired oven

I came away from the conference inspired to try new things, with some good tips on a variety of issues, such as what to do with all that sourdough starter rather than throw it away (thanks Dusty -- the pancakes were awesome!) and how to calculate to achieve the proper dough temperature.

Dusty Downs explains sourdough starters

So what's your problem with blends?

I realized after my recent post on a few blended scotches that I probably needed to lay out more explicitly and coherently my take on blended scotch. Let's start with the purpose of a blend. You might think that it is obvious -- to be drunk. And you would be right, but only to a limited extent. The nature of a blend is to reflect its original purpose -- to provide a consistent and balanced product with a broad appeal. When Mr. Walker took over from his father in the grocery business, he realized that customers wanted a product that was consistent, not variable, from week to week. As the business of blends took off in the 19th century, and drinks like gin were seen as inconsistent and, potentially, lethal, the idea of a beverage accessible to a broad drinking public took hold. Hence the use of grain whiskies to provide a back-bone for blends that helps even out the fiery malts.

All of this is to say that blends create an enjoyable, drinkable beverage that can contain complex flavors and aromas, but generally are prized for the melding of flavors, not allowing them to stand out or dominate. But unique flavors and aromas are what draw me to a single malt. The smoky peatiness of an Islay. Talisker's pepperiness, which even the new make spirit has, announcing to the world exactly where it came from. The floral and honey notes of a Speysider. All of these announce a unique character and provide a medium to enjoy a slower pace of life contemplating its richness. Or just enjoying it with a good book. Blends, on the other hand, strike me as an "after work" de-stressor, something to be drunk neat or on the rocks or with water or soda, but to be drunk as an enjoyable, but often quickly consumed (not that I am advocating quick consumption) transition from the work-day to the after-hours, or to get things going at a dinner. And finally, they often just seem tad, well, boring.

So, take this all with a grain of salt and enjoy what you want to enjoy, when you want to enjoy it. These opinions are mine own, and therefore subject to reflect all my personal predilections and foibles.

Two Methods for Winning a Pie Crust Bake-Off - Food - The Atlantic

I am bad at making pie crusts, and deeply suspicious of people who claim to have fool-proof methods. Here's another attempt to give us ham-handed cooks a means to create the perfect crust: Two Methods for Winning a Pie Crust Bake-Off - Food - The Atlantic.

One other secret that I have heard works well to create a light, flaky crust is to add about a tablespoon or so of Vodka to the dough. When the crust bakes the alcohol evaporates, lifting the crust and causing flaking. No idea if this is true, but I think I got it from Cook's Illustrated, who are usually reliable (because they actually test their recipes... over, and over, and over again).

Three Blends

As a general rule, I tend not to drink blended whiskies all that often, the reason being traceable to the very reason blends gained their popularity in the first place. Since Ayrshire's John Walker developed the eponymous blend in the 19th century, blended whiskies have dominated the market-place, accounting for 90% of Scotch whisky sales by most reckoning. The advantage of blends is their consistency, and their smoothness next to the often fiery and volatile single casks. In fact, the popularity of single malts and single casks is a relatively recent phenomenon. All this is introduction, of course, to the tasting of three blended whiskies, which still dominate the marketplace. If you are looking for a good, quality drink that will consistently delivery the goods, then a blend is for you. (Which one is a different question all-together). The reason I tend not to drink them is that I find it difficult to pick out striking flavors and smells in them, which shows how well the different characteristics have been brought into balance.

The three blends I am writing about today, unfortunately, are not available in the US to my knowledge. First up is the Black Grouse, a peated version of the Famous Grouse that I picked up a few months ago in the duty free in the Netherlands. Bottled at 40% ABV, the Black Grouse is a peated version of this blend. It has a some phenolic qualities on the nose, wisps of smoke, green veg, and perhaps some mint? This is definitely Grouse, though, no doubt about it. It is sweet tasting, with light spice, oranges and marmalade. With water it dies a little bit (at 40% ABV to start, one should be careful when adding water). The spice kicks in a bit and there are more jams and marmalade. Quite a good drink; one to rival Johnnie Walker Black Label.

Next up is the famous (in some quarters) Black Bottle, which is apparently a blend of the Islay whiskies, and claims Bunnahabhain as its spiritual home. Also bottled at 40% ABV, this one has a buttery chardonnay color. The nose is yeasty, and masculine. There's some savory candy, but it seems a little watery and washed out (might be because of its 40% bottling strength). On the tongue it is round, with a lighter body, smokey and drying flavor. It is quite nice; a warming dram in which I can definitely detect the Bunnahabhain (it's at this point that someone is supposed to pop up and tell me that the bottle I have is a mistake that contains no Bunnahabhain... no one? Okay, on we go.)

Finally we have a smaller-scale blend from Loch Fyne whiskies in Inverary, Scotland. Own-label whiskies are quite common across the pond, and this one in particular was surprisingly good. Surprisingly? Well, perhaps I wrote too soon, because this small shop in the middle of the Inverary high street (which is a bit garish and touristy) is a gem in its own right and a serious place to buy whisky (not least demonstrated by the 20cl bottle of 70 year old Mortlach on sale in a locked, glass case). The Loch Fyne blend is a darker whisky than the Black Bottle, more a golden-copper. It has a light floral nose, with more alcohol, even though it is also bottled at 40%. There's some honey, and it is much thicker on the tongue than the Black Bottle, and chewy. I think there might be some young Bowmore in here because I get some chewy, bourbon-aged Bowmore with plastic and rubber hose. This is lovely stuff actually that I dare not dilute, because it is so drinkable straight from the bottle. It leaves just a bit of fire and spice on the roof of my mouth. With water it gets more honey and smoke on the nose. This one is very close to being like the Johnnie Walker Black -- it's the smoke that does it, see?

Each of these is an enjoyable blend in its own right, and would find a welcome place in my glass at the end of a long, hard day.