Strathisla 40yo
G&M Distillery Labels | 43% ABV
Score: 9/10
Exceptional.
TL;DR
Good enough to affirm the privilege of life
We’re alive.
This isn’t a piece intended to encourage (bully?) folk into opening bottles, especially precious bottles. It’s about me and my own attitude towards them.
I’ve never been one to hold onto bottles: I’m too curious, too impatient. I always want to know the liquid - I need to know how it tastes. That’s not down to strategy - whether to buy another or not, for example - it’s down to pure giddy excitement.
Sealed bottles literally get ripped and popped as soon as they pass the threshold. On rare occasions they may survive the first few hours, only to live large in my consciousness, clouding my focus, shouting and screaming at me from across the room. With willpower weakened, it’s only a matter of time before the foil is ripped and it’s tumbling into the glass.
But it’s also got a lot to do with the fact I’m here and I can. Perhaps, all too soon, I’ll be gone and I can’t.
The thrill of whisky always makes me glad to be alive.
Now that this one is finally open, I’m not sure which sealed bottle in my collection has been around the longest but I suspect, whatever it is, I probably already know what it tastes like. It’ll be a back up bottle to something I’ve loved and wanted to ‘tuck away’ for a rainy day. I do have a few of these and, despite more-than-sufficient rainy days in Glasgow, they’re still here. Probably only because I know them.
The bottle under review today is special, because I kept it sealed for fifteen years, despite not knowing what it tasted like. This is an uncharacteristically exceptional dedication to patience from me, something I’m almost proud of. But there’s a flicker of regret.
This 40 year old was gifted to me on my 40th birthday which, to overshare a little, was in 2010. My brother-in-law took time to seek it out and bought it from ‘somewhere in Glasgow’. It transpires he paid £140 for it. Sipping it together fifteen years later, I show him the Whiskybase valuation and he thinks I’ve lost the plot. “Why have you opened this? You can buy a car for that!”
That could be true, but honestly it’d be a crappy car. Still, his point stands.
My 40th went in a flash, and i didn’t open it. The special bottle I opened to mark the day cost more than I’d personally ever spent previously on myself: £60 - an official Highland Park 18yo. A pal bought me an even more expensive bottle, a Glengoyne 21yo, which was an eye-watering £69!
We have to remember that back in those days, most indie bottles - including from SMWS etc, with up to teenage age statements - were less than £40. Supermarket whiskies, which still made up a chunk of my whisky enjoyment at the time, hovered around the £18 to £25 mark. So while these £60 - £70 prices seem ridiculous now, they were big, big decisions back then.
According to the BofE inflation calculator, the Highland Park today should be £93, it’s currently £140. The Glengoyne’s modern price tag - all else being equal of course - should be around £107, yet it’s £200. Silly billys.
Let’s leave the discussion of whether or not the quality is the same for another day shall we? I share all of this to try and justify why I kept this bottle locked up tight for so long, and it comes with a confession. After being gifted such a marvellous thing - I immediately checked the price online (no class - I know) and I froze with fright. This perhaps sealed its fate; the bottle instantly became adorned with a metaphorical ball-and-chain.
Back then, I couldn’t have foreseen where my whisky journey would take me; to a maniacal place where a £60 bottle would suddenly seem mid-range, or even inexpensive. That I’d regularly pick up desirable bottles for north of £100 and more, only to think nothing of rinsing them with friends. Meanwhile, as my whisky budget found miraculous ways to expand itself, this wee bottle just continued to become evermore valuable. The ball-and-chain stayed firmly in place.
When should I have opened it? My 45th? My 50th? Both have come and gone. So too my 55th. Still, it remained sealed. Anniversaries, the birth of my son, graduations, professional successes, milestones and qualifications - all of it and more, but the bottle wasn’t even dusted off. Then my wife lost her mum.
The world tilts. Everything becomes a focus on what’s actually important. Dealing with a new outlook through loss is incredibly sobering. Still now, I don’t think any of us fully recognise that she’s actually gone.
Isobel was incredibly stoic and quiet. She was 85 when she passed. Born during wartime, she didn’t know her father until she was already at school. Her aura was built through tougher times. She didn’t say much, usually preferring to listen intently. When she did speak she could cut through with succinct precision; no air wasted. She didn’t suffer fools very often either, although she seemed to occasionally tolerate this one. She adored her grandkids.
On rare occasions, she would enjoy a whisky. She preferred soft and sweet, with a lick of sherry spice. Her favourite, discovered through Spanish holidays over the years, was Diageo’s Cardhu. I remember hosting a wee informal tasting at home one New Year’s Eve. Our house was full, but we commandeered the dining table to cobble together a blind tasting with a mixed company of newbies and old hands.
All were men. Annoying as that is, it wasn’t designed. All that is, except Isobel. She took her place amongst the men and held her own with wonder and charm; enjoying the glow of conviviality that fun tastings afford. Enjoyment is inevitable, knowledge is optional.
I’ll fondly remember her in that chair, in that environment, and in that mood; unfazed; sleeves up amongst the boys. She was tiny and strong and witty and smart and powerful.
After the funeral, I knew this was the whisky to open. To raise a glass of something special and think of her. But also to demonstrate the profound impact of how her passing reminded me about what actually matters.
She’d have enjoyed this whisky.
Review
Strathisla 40yo, Gordon & MacPhail Distillery Labels series, 1968 vintage, bottled 2008, Bottle code JH/CDD, 43% ABV
£140 paid in 2010, secondary only
This Strathisla is part of Gordon & MacPhail’s Distillery Labels series. These were available long before any official releases from any of the distilleries in the line up: Ardmore, Scapa, Linkwood, Mortlach, Longmorn and others.
As an aside, owners Chivas Bros/Pernod Ricard have all but abandoned Strathisla as an official bottling. Sales peaked at 25k cases annually, but in 2022 that was down to below 500, and I can’t tell you the last time I saw an official release.
Looking back over the years the G&M Distillery Labels artwork has retained an admirable consistency, something that gives all of them - not only the Strathisla - a charm; a genuine modern-yet-retro vibe. They’ve upped the presentation over the years too, all are 46% and above, which is to be commended. On occasion, they release a really beautiful batch, although the modern Strathisla pictured in the images here is bang average, and that’s not because I’m comparing it to a 40 year old, because I’m certainly not.
I suppose in time, of course, these distillery labels will continue to be gradually discontinued. Unless Gordon & MacPhail do as I predict; and reverse their decision to stop buying fillings.
Score: 9/10
Exceptional.
TL;DR
Good enough to affirm the privilege of life
Nose
Sawn cedar wood, oak spice and dunnage wood, but the ‘woodiness’ fades to treacle, coffee, figs, warm Christmas pudding, baked apples in cinnamon, with an aromatic dive into a tin of Golden Virginia tobacco, with a little fresh spearmint sprinkled too. Gorgeous, actually.
Palate
Gratitude. A surprisingly bright arrival after the moody nose. Soft citrus brightens the vibrance, a nice surprise before it gives way to cool coffee, sweet strawberries, cola, maple butter, that Christmas pudding density with clove, liquorice and a long dry finish.
A drop - a literal drop - of water wakens things and brightens, but it’s perfectly settled and complex on its own. I choose not to add any more water. I’m afraid to test for potential fragility, what’s to gain?
The balance is perfect: sweetness, acidity, oils and spice. It’ll even offer up a few spikes of savoury now and then, especially though the long, drying, lightly spiced finish.
Is it petty to yearn for this at 48%?
The Dregs
Regardless of what I think this tasted like, there’s an argument that a Dramface 8/10 score “Something special” writes itself. I can count on two fingers how many bottles I’ve owned where the liquid inside has been older than me. It’s a ridiculous privilege. It is, by definition, something special. But this is better still. I’m scoring this purely based on how good it is. I’m not factoring the price back then, or now.
The notes are, arguably, all from the first-fill and refill sherry casks, yet it’s not what anyone would call a sherry-bomb. A sherry sparkler maybe, but it’s not anything close to a ‘bomb’. It’s light and poised and balanced, and it certainly isn’t over-done. It’s elegant and decadent, lightly fizzy and, somehow, subtle and bright.
I will make sure the pours from this bottle are contemplative, occasional, small and solemn, but it’ll be hard to ignore now it’s open. It’ll surprise no one that, despite hundreds of open bottles littered around the pit, I don’t have anything else quite like this.
I’d be lying if I said I no longer have anxiety about it; the ball-and-chain spectre still hovers. I need to banish it. But, now that it’s open, I know I’m now on the fast-track to it being gone. And then I don’t have it anymore. I certainly can’t afford to replace it. But, what if it had stayed sealed?
Sure, I could’ve left an ‘inheritance’ bottle and passed on the ball-and-chain. But I doubt my kids would want to sell it either. Maybe I could’ve left it until my 60th, my 70th, more? But there are no guarantees I’ll get there.
This bottle was a gift - something to celebrate - and that was always its destiny. Yes, it’s truly a rare treasure, but it’s not unique. While it’s expensive, there’s enough of it around. In the end, we’re grateful to those who have kept things sealed - and had the courage to sell on.
But let’s be honest, these things are created to be consumed. This is pretty to look at while sealed, but it’s life-affirming when open.
Isn’t it strange when you think about it; with no nutrition or sustenance inside, there’s no reason to drink this other than for the pure pleasure of it. To have it fire our sensory receptors - while they still work - and remind us of what it is to be alive.
For Isobel.
Score: 9/10
Tried this? Share your thoughts in the comments below. WMc
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