The Boozehound Diaries: Keep Walkin', Johnnie
A friend of ours asked us if we wanted to attend a Johnnie Walker scotch tasting last night, and we had a few hours to kill before the Lost season finale, so we ended up in a studio space in Fremont, where a covey of absurdly buxom young women in slinky black cocktail dresses had us produce ID and cough up contact information before they handed over a drink token good for the cocktail portion of the evening. (You have to be invited by email; we have no idea how to get on that list.)
The hors d'oeuvres were tasty, and so was the Black Label, very smooth, with an aftertaste that vanishes like someone hit the off switch. For the tasting, we were herded into an expanse of room for a deluxe time-share-type presentation featuring 12 projection screens and a perky master blender from Florida with a headset mic. We were seated next to this UW frat-boy sausage who tried to get us to leave an extra set of tasting shots open for his use. (Later, as they handed drinks down our row, we noticed he'd hide an extra glass or two at his feet. Classy.)
In between introductions to each label, there were thumpy-bass, aspirational-image video presentations that seemed torn from ads in Playboy. Apparently this is an update to an earlier, more educational trial.
We don't normally drink blended whiskeys, so we were unfamiliar with Johnnie Walker's color-coded labeling: black, red, green, gold, and blue. We understand from the presentation that Cardhu, a light sweet Speyside, forms the base of most of them.
The Black, a blend of at-least 12-year scotches, is remarkably well-balanced, but in a way that (to us) tastes like an average: it's got a bit of everything and nothing predominates except perhaps sweetness. Forget about the Red. It's a blend of young, impulsive scotches with nasty tempers you're supposed to use to create mixed drinks. The Green is a "pure malt" blend (no grain-based whiskeys) of at-least 15-years. Our presenter told us she liked to carry this around in her flask to swig on in the grandeur of natural landcapes. Huh.
At the high end were the Gold -- a "dessert" scotch served fresh from the freezer -- and the Blue, which you'd drink out of a snifter at the Club while bemoaning the state of the Empire. At about $200 a bottle, that was likely the first and last time we'll ever taste Blue Label's restrained blend of elderly scotches -- much to savor, nothing untoward.
Overall, the Walker palate is a bit too honey-and-vanilla for us. But then we get a charge out of Islays and announcing, "You can really taste the peat!" Our friend, an Old Grouser, was impressed. We compared notes at Fremont's Flemish Brouwer's Cafe, with their prodigious selection of Belgian beers: 50 taps, 100 bottles -- and 40 scotches. From a quick glance, they were as attentive to the decor as the menu. We'll have to stop back in and get a better feel for the place.
