Waiter! For Peat’s Sake, There’s Smoke in My Whisky

How that peaty flavor got into your whisky is one of the fun stories about how smoky whiskies are made. It starts with bogs that are all over the planet, mostly in the Northern Hemisphere and for our purposes in Scotland, especially the Isle of Islay. You can see fifty of them bottled here, and for your convenience, one of the best places to buy them online, if your local liquor store doesn’t carry them.

The next step is cutting or digging for peat, or turf, as it is known in Ireland. Turf is an important cultural and practical living part of life for many in Scotland and Ireland. Here we dig a little into both.

This is one of Ralph Steadman’s playful illustrations about whisky that he has contributed to us and we post regularly on these pages.

Now how does peat get into your whisky and give it that smoky taste? Here is the short version. Here is the longer version, a wee dram’s worth with lots of videos and links.

Just Taste It

The best way to tell if that smoky taste is to your liking is tasting it. After all, your tastebuds may be different from mine, so you can’t take my word for it. I started with Laphroaig in 1986 when it was first imported to the US. I am now an Ardbeg 10 Year Old drammer, best whisky by value for my taste. And they come in miniature bottles, good for one dram, about six bucks each.

Another way to tell is looking at the label for a clue.

To my knowledge, anCnoc, a Highland single malt, it is the only distillery with a cutter on the label. It may not look like the one you have for your garden or the one you use to hedge your grass, but it is a hand tool that is used for cutting turf (peat). Like whiskies, no two cutters are alike.

Not all digging is about cutting turf for whisky. Turf is used for heat like coal or wood is. The rural Irish, like those who live in County Kerry, are the outlaws of cutting turf in a world focused on climate change, with the European Union “turf police” trying to clean the airs.

Many of us dig for potatoes we plant in our gardens. We all dig around our closets for a lost item of clothing as winter approaches. If you say “I dig you” that means you like me, in an old-fashioned kind of way. So digging is part of life.

Seamus Heaney Digs Poetry

Seamus Heaney won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1995. “Digging” is one of his better-known poems.

Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.

Under my window, a clean rasping sound When the spade sinks into gravelly ground: My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds Bends low, comes up twenty years away Stooping in rhythm through potato drills Where he was digging.

Now if you “dig” poetry and want to read it at the multiple levels Heaney intended and analyze it on your own, this one will challenge you. If you need some help, here is a great line-by-line, word-by-word walkthrough.

If you can skip the reading of the poem and start at 2:40 that would be great. Otherwise, it is a repeat of the poem in the link above and feels like a lecture.

Cheers, Sláinte, Budmo! (Ukrainian for “let us be,” the shortest and most popular toast in Ukraine.)