AnCnoc 12yo Vintage Bottling
Bottled late 1990s | 40% ABV
Score: 7/10
Very Good Indeed.
TL;DR
They’re not made like they once were
Shedding what impedes happiness
After some thirty years practicing law in Ohio and Connecticut – and also participating in cases in Massachusetts and Rhode Island – one thinks one would be prepared for relocation to eastern North Carolina and practicing law here. Or so I thought.
The journey here started two years ago, and just wrapped up.
I moved to eastern North Carolina on December 2nd, 2023. Mrs. Shaw was at home packing up the house and she, along with my whisky collection, wouldn’t come down for another month. Among the few bottles I brought with me in the meantime was an Oban Little Bay, a Glenlivet 12yo and another humble and overlooked OB, an AnCnoc 12yo. All three were gifts from well-wishers for my new life in North Carolina. I started my North Carolina journey with an AnCnoc. Something to remember.
I started work immediately on December 3rd. On my second day on the job – December 4th – I went to the court as I had no clients to meet and I wanted to get a feel for my new courthouse, and I needed to meet the most important people in the court; not other attorneys nor judges. The most important people in a courthouse are the Deputy Sheriffs, sometimes referred to as Marshals, and the courtroom clerks.
I arrived early and spent time chatting with the Deputy Sheriffs at the front door metal detector. Really good folk and, as we are in Dixie, we chat to get along. And chat, we did. After thirty minutes, I had to excuse myself as I needed to get to the courtroom where I had learned a family law case was to be heard. They provided me direction, and I made my way up to the courtroom and walked in. This secondary courtroom was particularly small, but regardless of the size of the courtroom the dynamics are always the same – judge’s bench, plaintiff’s table, defendant’s table, witness box, and the courtroom clerk’s desk. Muscle memory.
The clerk was at her desk. The judge had not come out to the bench as it was 9:20am, and there were still ten minutes before court was scheduled to commence. I walked up to the clerk who watched me suspiciously, as she didn’t know who I was. I introduced myself, and explained I was the new attorney at my office in the town over. I told her that I had relocated from Connecticut where I had practiced family law. She was polite, but unlike the Deputy Sheriffs, she was a bit reserved and clearly sizing me up.
While I have a big mouth, I do have sense in my head to read the room and not drone on and on. I confirmed that the court’s calendar would be a week hence, and in sizing up the clerk I knew the best step to take would be to thank her and then take my leave.
December 11, 2023 was the first court calendar in my district that I would attend. As this is a relatively small county, we only have court calendars every other week – as opposed to the weekly court calendars I was used to elsewhere. I arrived at court early, and chatted up the Deputy Sheriffs. I felt confident heading up to the courtroom as this – a lawyer in court – was supposed to be the easy part. Over the course of several states and three decades, I have been in more courtrooms than I care to count. For a litigating attorney of any measurable timeframe, going to court and navigating a court docket is routine; much akin to muscle memory.
When the judge enters the courtroom, everyone rises as the Deputy Sheriff opens court. Likewise, when the judge exits the courtroom, everyone rises. When the judge is on the bench, everyone else in the courtroom is silent. And, to ensure there is no concern or suspicion of bias of any kind, attorneys and the judges never socialize in open court (when we’re in chambers that’s a whole different story, but that’s a topic for another time…). Muscle memory.
After a while, litigants started to appear and sat in the back rows and a few attorneys lazily made their way into the courtroom and sat in the side jury box where I had figured counsel would be sitting, as they do everywhere else. Muscle memory. I introduced myself to each attorney as they came in. Most were friendly and receptive, and some a bit more reserved.
The court clerk came in and I nodded to her when she looked up and scanned the jury box. She looked at me and it took a second for her to register that I was the new guy that she had met the week prior, and nodded back.
At 9:30am, with roughly seven attorneys in the jury box and a good number of litigants and assorted persons in the back benches, the judge walked out from her chambers and onto the bench. “All rise!” the Deputy Sheriff dutifully and strongly opened court. As Pavlovian as it is, as said, when a judge enters or exits the courtroom, you stand. We all did. Muscle memory.
After the Sheriff finished his statement to open court, everyone sat down. The judge greeted the people in the courtroom and discussed how she would be conducting the call of the cases. There was a pause as the judge scanned her desk and realized she was missing something, leaned over to the clerk, and then went back into chambers. At this moment, Ogilvie instinctively stood when the judge rose and went into her chambers.
I was the only one in the entire room to stand. So much for muscle memory.
I looked around and everyone stared. The Deputy Sheriff made a gesture to sit down. So, rather awkwardly, I sat. No sooner had my rear touched the chair, when the judge re-appeared onto the bench. Pavlov kicked in, again, and I stood. And, again, I was the only one to do so. The Deputy Sheriff just smirked and shook his head. The judge took notice of this, and she looked at me, cocked her head a bit, and smiled. I smiled back, and in open court, the big mouthed Yankee blurted out, “clearly a stranger in a strange land, your Honor” as I shrugged, grinned, and sat back down. The judge grinned and replied, “thank you, counsel.”
The judge completed her statements and then went through the court calendar. I sat and dutifully listened to the unfamiliar nomenclature and made efforts to make notes of the new language and how the new rules were discussed. After the judge made her way through the court calendar, the attorneys would provide the clerk with documents and proposed orders for the judge to consider and sign during what would be a short recess before she would start hearing cases.
I thought the judge would go back into chambers to review the pleadings and documents, however, the judge remained on the bench. While she attended to her tasks, and much to my shock, the attorneys got up and began chatting, using their cell phones, walking in front of the bench (in front of the judge) crossing from one side of the room to the other, and began chit-chatting with the judge. Muscle memory was now flushed down the toilet. None of this was ever allowable in any other court in any other state I had practiced in over the course of three decades. None of it. Talking in court while the judge was on the bench? Using your cell phone? Walking in front of the judge while she was on the bench? Chit chatting and socializing with her on the bench? I truly was flummoxed beyond words.
After ten minutes of watching this bizarre behavior, the judge finished reviewing her pleadings and appeared to be waiting for the clerk who had left her post temporarily. At that moment, I stood up and embraced the meaning of the phrase, “when in Rome…” as I walked out of the jury box and walked toward the judge.
She happened to see me walk toward her, and as we looked at each other we both grinned. I walked up to the bench and introduced myself to the judge. In open court Judge Milley could not have been more gracious. In her very deliberate Southern drawl, she said “I am so glad to meet you as I did not recognize you when you stood up. What brings you to our humble court?”
We chatted for approximately five minutes. Not only was this experience mind-blowing but I am not exaggerating when I say that this is never done in any of the courtrooms over many states I have been in. Never. And yet, here in my corner of eastern North Carolina, all was good. The experience was wonderful. Judge Milley was utterly gracious and welcoming. Quite the first court calendar in my new courthouse.
Judge Milley has continued as the presiding judge in my district and I have tried a good number of cases in front of her. She is as good a judge as she is a person, and it has been my amazing fortune to have her as my local judge.
2025. On Wednesday the 17th December, I made my way to the courthouse. Seemingly no different than any other trip to court in the last two years. As always, I had fun chatting with the Deputy Sheriffs and then made my way to the smaller courtroom. I didn’t have a case on the day’s schedule, but I knew the judge would be hearing another matter and I was hoping to catch her before she started the case. Unfortunately, she was running late and arrived a few minutes before the case was to start. I sat in the side jury box as she took the bench. After she set up her laptop on the bench, but before she directed her attention to the case before her, she turned and said, “Well, good morning, Attorney Shaw. Are you involved in the case before me?”
“No, your Honor. I am not here regarding any cases on the docket. I was hoping to have a few minutes when you have the opportunity.”
“That’s perfectly fine, but I’m going to start this case. We can chat at break.”
The judge smiled and then proceeded to deal with the case on her docket. As she proceeded, I figured I would have a while before the mid-morning break. I pulled my cell phone from my jacket pocket and paused. This had become something I now did without concern – and it was not lost on me that it was rather apropos to reflect on this, knowing the purpose of my trip to court.
I had become immersed in this new, strange, and at times backward court microcosm. Prior to coming to this place, I would never have dreamt of handling my cell phone in a courtroom. And yet, as I smirked in reflection, I brought up Dramface on my browser and read the review for that day, which was Hughie’s review of AnCnoc 12.
Hughie’s review was terrific, and it aligned with my experience of that bottle I had brought with me to Dixie two years prior. I had really enjoyed my first experience with AnCnoc 12 three years before coming to Carolina. I remembered it as being fruity, malty; not complex, but a good sipper. Much to my chagrin, my bottle from two years ago was not as good. I sat in that jury box reading Hughie’s review and was admittedly lost in the text until I heard my name uttered from the bench.
I looked up and locked eyes with the judge. She indicated that as there was a request made for her to review a slew of subpoenaed records before the trial would commence, she would be glad to meet with me in chambers before she began her review of the documents. I slipped the phone into my jacket pocket and followed her into chambers and closed the door behind me.
“Well, how are you, Attorney Shaw? So good to see you.”
“I am fine, and I hope you are.”
I took a deep breath and told Judge Milley that I had made the decision to retire.
I had had enough of divorce litigation. I told her I had given my notice at work and would have my last day in the not-too-distant future. As she was when I walked across the courtroom to introduce myself to her in open court, almost two years ago to the day, Judge Milley could not have been more gracious and kind. We sat in chambers for a good while talking about our mutual admiration for each other; thoughts about my next steps, our shared thoughts about what we older folk wanted to do when we grew up. It was a conversation I will not soon forget.
I stood up to leave. The judge made me promise that I would visit her regularly so we could catch up and chat. It was an easy promise to make.
As I walked out of her chambers and then the courtroom, it was as if I was closing the loop on a circle. I thought about how I have grown and adapted, and then considered how things were when I started versus where I am today.
Review
AnCnoc 12yo, late 1990s vintage official bottling, 40% ABV
£35 paid at auction (without fees & shipping)
It’s a strange simile, but when I returned home I was still thinking about my conversation with the judge and, considering how things today compare with how they were when I first arrived in Dixie, I thought about closing the loop of time since coming to Carolina.
I stopped in my tracks and started to chuckle. It suddenly occurred to me that it was no coincidence that Hughie’s review was published on the day I told Judge Milley I would be retiring. My thoughts turned to an older AnCnoc 12 I had recently sniped at auction. It remained sealed and in its canister in the Shaw whisky cabinet. I had purchased it as I wanted to, as I did with sniping a vintage Bunnahabhain 12yo a few months back, to compare distillate from present time to that from “back in the day”.
All of these were signs. Things had fallen into alignment, and it was a sign I needed to open my older AnCnoc 12yo and compare my bottle with my memory of the bottle I had when I first came here; that bottle as detailed by my friend, Hughie. Work and whisky both have made their loop and come full circle.
Score: 7/10
Very Good Indeed.
TL;DR
They’re not made like they once were
Nose
Such a difference from the bottle I had in 2023. To be clear, the dram in my hand was distilled in the 1980s and bottled in the late 1990s. It is vintage distillate, and it is clearly a different and better animal than the present-day imitation.
Bright banana creme. Vanilla icing. Honey Nut Cheerios. Hints of lemon. Malty pancakes with butter. A sense of waxiness is here. Very inviting – and I have to remind myself that this is only 40% ABV. Pillsbury biscuits.
Palate
A lovely and easy dram. Fruit, vanilla, honey, and malt – one does not overpower any of the others as they work in concert. That banana creme is here along with ripe Bartlett pears. The vanilla on the palate is more akin to melted vanilla ice cream as opposed to the vanilla icing from the nose.
The Honey Nut Cheerios flavor weaves lightly in and through the tasting experience. All the while there is a hint of malty pancake batter. And, remarkably, for a 40% ABV whisky, there is noticeable mouthfeel. When I went through my first few drams from the bottle I looked for waxiness. It was slight. It was nowhere near a Clynelish or Deanston, but it was present.
However, as the bottle has now had some air and it has opened, one of the first noticeable changes is a broader sense of waxiness. Again, not Clynelish, but it makes itself known. The finish isn’t tremendously long, but it is not insignificant. All in all, this distillate makes me wonder how and why the present day AnCnoc 12 is so wispy in comparison. This bottle is, in short, an amazing sipper.
The Dregs
If my experience in snagging an older Bunnahabhain 12yo didn’t convince me, then this AnCnoc 12 bottled in the late 1990s cements my view that the older official bottlings appear to provide materially better distillates than their present-day progeny. Deeper stock? Better casks? No doubt there are outliers – as I recall stories told by Andrew Symington of Edradour during a recent vPub.
He mentioned that the three or four distillers that were employed some twenty years or so ago were all alcoholics and, unfortunately, their habit of improperly cleaning distillery wares would result in a good number of soured/ruined batches of Edradour whisky being released. I am also not naive to believe that such a broad-brushed claim that “older vintages of whisky were always better” can hold water.
That said, from my reading through whisky books, speaking with whisky folk, and also from my own Bunnahabhain 12yo and this AnCnoc 12yo experience, I am hard pressed not to believe that most OBs from a generation ago were simply better. Whether better stock, better casks, or some other factor. Generally speaking, I believe materially better whisky was in the bottle back in the day, but certainly from 1980 through 2010.
The AnCnoc 12 I had roughly five years ago was, from memory, nice but simple. The AnCnoc 12 I had in 2023 was a shadow of the experience I had had previously. The modern/recent AnCnoc 12 wasn’t watered down, but it was thin and I was frankly disappointed. My 2023 bottle was reminiscent of the description relayed by Hughie – the whisky was fair, but lacking.
In stark contrast, this 1990s bottling is simply delightful. Full of flavor, easy but slightly robust, and wholly enjoyable. Comparing my 2023 experience to what’s in my hand is experiencing night and day. This dram, even at 40% ABV, is not just delightful – it is utterly delightful. It isn’t the best whisky, but it is a damned good and flavorful sipper. The flavors are bright and expressive, and aside from a shorter finish due to its light ABV, this time capsule is remarkable.
I listened to the Colonials podcast and I reflected on Mike’s proclivity to search out older, dusty bottlings. While I most certainly will not match his example of snagging 30 year old Laphroaigs bottled in the 1980s (or other such examples he has mentioned), this experience with my Bunna and this vintage AnCnoc makes me want to scour sites for more bargains of older OB distillates. Just like the old slogan: I want to be like Mike.
Anyway, I find sampling older distillates to be fascinating. This opens my mind to what these labels once were; and in the case of AnCnoc, I realize what a crime has been committed to have the flagship OB diminish as it has. The proof is in my glass.
Some may have raised their eyebrows after seeing I have scored this 40% ABV whisky as a 7/10. I wish I could share this bottle with you all. As much as it shocked me, as well, the definition of a 7/10 is spot-on here: “This is well above average. This has given us real pleasure and is considered very worthy of your time.” Perhaps crazy, but true. I am enjoying this bottle more than I ever expected.
As I pour another dram of this AnCnoc, I am reflecting on present vs past and the closing of the loops. I am looking forward to new opportunities and will try to find out what I want to do when I grow up.
In the meantime, I will savor this vintage AnCnoc 12 as I raise a glass to the gracious Judge Milley. It’s time to turn the page, and explore new horizons.
I wish all of you Dramfacers health and happiness now and throughout this new year – and I hope you are able to shed things that have impeded your happiness. Follow your heart and take steps to fulfil your soul. Be good and be well. I am raising a glass to you all.
Score: 7/10
Tried this? Share your thoughts in the comments below. OS
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