Official Bottling | 43% ABV
Score: 5/10
Average. In a good way.
TL;DR
Promising whisky from our neighbours
The gift of whisky keeps on giving.
I don’t have many friends. It’s not that I’m a loner, or have temper control issues. I don’t smell (I don’t think), and I have a pretty level-headed approach to most things. So why no pals, Doog?
Life is busy. That’s the answer! When I’m not consumed by work, I’m spending time with the fam or cycling or watching films or listening to music or drinking whisky and writing swathes of words for Dramface. That’s my deal, packaged neatly with a bow.
We tried, my few pals and I, to get a whisky club going last year — we managed two meet-ups. One of us is a recently retired and decorated Olympic rower, another a successful financial director for an architectural practice — also decorated — and the other was a current (now retired) decorated Olympic sailor. And me, a discarded brick. A strange group, all interested in whisky, but all suffering from the same lack of free time to get together and shoot the breeze about the uisge beatha.
I’ve had very few social dalliances with other whisky fans; I’ve been sending and receiving samples through the post and messaging with loads of people, which is really good fun and very affirmative, but there haven’t been many face-to-face “sessions”. However, my business partner is becoming the one constant whisky pal who, like me two years ago, is just getting into whisky.
He was historically part of the “all whisky tastes like whisky” group and would take the piss out of me for saying that I could taste oak and fruit in whisky. Yet one evening, when we were enjoying Arran 10, he sat bolt upright and announced to the room that he had just tasted apples. His face was ebullient and alive, startled even: the whisky fist had registered its first blow to his tastebuds.
Since then, whenever we meet up, the main topic outside of business is whisky. He brings me bottles he’s heard are good, or whisky he is enjoying, and I try to expand his palate and experience rapid-style with the more enthusiast-oriented bottles. He brought me the Arran Quarter Cask, and I showed him the magnificence of Glen Scotia Victoriana. He brought me Cotswolds Odyssey and I placed Arran 21 before him — he still talks about it every time we speak of whisky.
“It’s also cinematic in its visceral imagery — those facial expressions of utter disbelief when they realise that this golden liquid has the power to unlock hidden memories deep within their brains.”
And so we go, each time expanding our palates and vocabularies with what we’re enjoying, and I take maximum thrill in watching him discover whisky flavours that, until recently, he’d used as bullets to fire back at me.
There’s something really fulfilling about exploding a naysayer’s head with a flavour bomb whisky and watching them realise how utterly magical whisky can be. It’s poetry in motion. It’s also cinematic in its visceral imagery — those facial expressions of utter disbelief when they realise that this golden liquid has the power to unlock hidden memories deep within their brains. Shouts of “WOW that reminded me of that time when…” come thick and fast and we, as the enablers, sit back and enjoy the show, knowing that we too went through this experience not that long ago.
Yes, it’s fair to say that I love the gift of whisky, and what it can give to people — especially the debunkers. So when he turned up recently with The English Original in his hands, saying that he’d heard it was a great whisky, I was intrigued. I’d never tried this brand and, to be honest, hadn’t really registered their existence. Cotswolds and Bimber was the limit to which I’d stretched my English whisky ventures, so another chance at expanding that net is always welcome.
Review
The English Original, Official Bottling, 43% ABV
£40, wide availability
The English Original is a nicely presented whisky, with vivid blue labels and copper-foiled details. The statement of non-chill filtering is upfront and centre, which is a good indication of their approach. No mention of colouring, but given the lightness of the whisky I’d hazard it’s not coloured, or if it is, it’s done with a very light touch.
Presented at 43%, this probably won’t knock the tastebuds out of the face, but judging whisky based upon stats is akin to judging a book by its cover, and we all know how that auld adage pans out. So we crack the seal and we pour the liquid, discussing it over an hour or two.
Nose
Bright and malty: there’s farmyards and hay fields on the wind. Sweetness — boiled sweets. Almost a chocolatey note somewhere in the background. Some zest and some liquorice.
Palate
Flavourful! Vanilla and an interesting hint of Murray Mint thing going on. Sweet caramel and sugar, but a farmyard note persists in the distance, much like the chocolate note in the nose. Very enjoyable — very youthful but exhibiting some interesting notes.
The Dregs
I’m starting to get more of these new release whiskies under my belt now, things that have been put to market at the minimum age required by law. There’s only so much influence a whisky gets from wood casks in that time period, so such whisky offers a window into the character of its unique new-make spirit, the foundation alcohol that comes out of the bespoke stills. Some distilleries like Kingsbarns and Lindores offer this liquid, often called “New Make” or “Spirit Drink”, and, having tried many of these (including a mind-bending new make at Glen Scotia and the Killowen Poitín), I can safely say I really enjoy tasting them. They’re potent and hugely flavourful, but I can see why many dislike the raw, slicing edge they deliver. You can easily cut your tongue on them; most are up there in the high 60% ABV range. For this liquid to be called whisky it must, in Scotland, have been matured in oak for a minimum of three year. Owing to economies of scale, it’s also often watered down to 46% or lower.
The English Original, age unspecified, has been taken further in dilution to 43%. The reason for such low ABV is again that of quantity: new distilleries need to recoup that initial investment in gear, expertise and premises quickly, and that means getting as much whisky out into the world as possible. Diluting the whisky from its cask strength of 60-67% to 43% gets you more bottles to sell; it’s as simple as that.
Despite this low ABV, the Original is flavourful and has sparks of interest: it has the typical young flavours of new-make farmyard and hay fields, but here they’re amplified just a touch more than in other whiskies of the same age (Clydeside and Lindores, Kingsbarns and even Dingle). That’s not to say that I’m finding this more enjoyable than those whiskies, but it’s certainly not a damp squib. There’s flavour here that belies the 43%: given my disagreement with GlenDronach 12, which felt like weak sugar water, or even Aberlour Triple Cask, which felt like a slap in the face, this Original has bucket loads of interest compared to those.
Yes, I think it’s fair to say that I was impressed by this offering from The English Whisky Company, and I’m keen to try more of their stuff now. It’s not going to win the hearts and minds of the whisky exciters, but for a new distillery outputting whisky that’s more interesting than some higher aged whiskies of the motherland, it’s an exciting prospect. It has multiple flashes of promise, and that means it’s a high 5 — a great continuation to another English whisky challenging complacent Scotch distilleries.
If it was offered at 46% and gave me a bit more bite and grip, I think it would’ve been a 6, but understand why it’s released at this lower ABV — it’s a difficult balance of accessibility, profit and market exposure.
Score: 5/10
Tried this? Share your thoughts in the comments below. DC
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