The liquid adventures of Nicholas Coldicott

Give me just a little Octomore

Published on 09/04/10
by Coldicott

I promised my three Scottish pals that I’d wait for them before opening my Octomore Orpheus. I told them we’d crack it open together. It seemed only fair, since one of them introduced me to Scotch many years ago, another introduced me to Octomore last year, and the third could kill me without blinking.

As it turns out, I value rare whisky more than those three, and the bottle’s half empty now.

Octomore Orpheus sold out in Japan within a few hours of going on sale.

What’s so special? It’s the uber-ultra-peaty malt from Bruichladdich. Where regular Bruichladdich is around 5 ppm of phenol (by which you measure the smoky flavour), and Ardbeg clocks in at a not-for-you-ladies 40 ppm, Octomore claims to be a walloping 140 ppm. The first time I tried it, in its earlier incarnation, I found it green, brutal and almost undrinkable. The reason I was so keen to drink this version was that it was finished in a Petrus cask.

Some people dream of drinking Chateau Latour, some dream about Romanee Conti, my fiancee dreams about La Tache, but for me it’s always been Petrus. I can’t explain why. Maybe when I was young, that fake seal on the label made it look fancy.

Near my house there is a wine store with a Petrus from the year I was born. Every time I go shopping I check that it’s still there. One day, I know, I’ll buy it. Fortunately I was born in a terrible year for grapes, so the bottle costs only ¥200,000. Yes, that’s still insane for a bottle that might be corked. But, one day, I’ll buy it.

Until then, the closest I’ll come to Petrus is the finish on this Octomore. So the importer sent me a bottle and I waited for my friends to come around. I waited for about 4 days, then thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a dram from the top, just to check that it’s OK.

The thing is, I loved it. 140 ppm is the kind of thing you make as a gimmick. Like those platinum and diamond encrusted Hello Kitty calenders, or the 1.8 million yen martini at the Ritz Carlton, Tokyo. You make it, and hike the price, because you know someone’s always going to want the superlative version of anything.

But this tastes phenomenal. Something like:

Nose: smoke with a touch of toffee

Palate: smoke

Finish: smoke

But it’s not a one-trick, two-dimensional smoke monster. My soon-to-be-father-in-law drinks Old Parr, so Octomore ought to have socked him right up the nostrils, but he loved it, as did the gonna-be-mum-in-law. It’s still brutal, unforgiving and feisty as hell, but even a pair of septuagenarians could appreciate its personality.

If you want to grab a bottle, the importer has sold out, but I spotted one or two for sale yesterday in Big, the liquor store on Sotobori Dori in Ginza, priced ¥9,800.

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