The Balvenie Doublewood

Distilled at The Balvenie Distillery, Dufftown, Banffshire, Scotland. 

My late dad worked as a mash man in many of the distilleries up in that neck of the woods when he came home from the Far East after WW2.  After a while he felt like a change of scene, and came down to work in the distillery at Ballinluig, and then moved to Tullibardine Distillery in Blackford, about 20 miles from here. 

That's where he met my mum, and they courted for a wee while before marrying.  My mum's parents were retired farmers, and very religious (well, very church-going at any rate - not always the same thing!).  Granny Robertson was incensed at the idea of Mum marrying a man who both liked a drink, and worked in a distillery.  She tried her hardest to make Mum change her mind, but in the end had to bow to the inevitable.  In the end, that switch of distillery was responsible for 5 of us, 3 boys and 2 girls. 

I never liked whisky, both the smell and the taste of it revolted me when I was younger.  Also, in the many years I worked as a barmaid I often  noticed that some men, usually pleasant and kind, could turn nasty and mean when drunk on whisky. G has always hated it too, and so we both avoided it easily and with no sense of hardship. 

Then, a few years ago I took a liking to Jack Daniels, which led me on to wanting to try out my (older) tastebuds on the occasional malt whisky. 

Now, we have both grown a moderate and refined habit for the stuff, where we buy a bottle of something and assess where we stand on it.  A wee dram of it on a Saturday night is pretty much our limit, sometimes two - seriously.  It's a new treat, not an excuse for a booze up. 

So far, over a pretty extended period we have sampled a few: a Glenturret from along the road in Crieff, The MacAllan, from Craigellachie in Speyside, and The Spey from Speyside. 

They all have something to commend them, but so far it is The Balvenie Doublewood 12 year old that is my favourite; it's like spicy butter on your tongue. Golden and smooth, mellow and full, it rolls around your mouth like the memory of something good happening on a summer day. 

I don't know which of the distilleries up in that part of the country Dad actually worked in, but I like to think (as he was Dufftown born and bred) that one of them might have been The Balvenie. 

 And sometimes on a Saturday night, while G and sip our wee whisky (straight, none of your water or ice or lemonade, thank you very much) I like to remember that many years ago Charlie Burgess was tramping the floors of those same distilleries with my Uncle Dougall from Tomintoul.  

Cheers!