Scotch

Now to serious stuff, the Scotsman's staff of life, whisky that's been brewed from either water that gushed up from a deep underground spring or peat stained water that's trickled through the heather and rumbled down a mountain burn. Brewers the world over have tried to imitate Scotch and all have failed miserably. First and foremost many Scottish men will tell you that it's an absolute desecration to add ice or anything to Scotch other than maybe the tiniest dribble of tap water. They will tell you that if your preference is to add anything other than that to your whisky then do not waste good Scotch or your money but instead buy any other brew that catches your fancy. Scotch is best imbibed in the company of a good friend as after a hard day the shoes are kicked off, you settle in to comfy arm chairs, lay back, close your eyes and reminisce. I've often been asked what is it that's in Scotch that makes it so different and sets it apart from all other drinks?  There's a very good reason why Scotch is called Scotch but every Scottish man would answer the question a little bit differently.  I'll let you in on a few of the ingredients of what's intilt for me besides malted barley, peat stained water and the subtle clear amber of a Cairngorm gem stone.

It's the mists of time.

It's the ancient land of the sun worshipping Picts,

Its my ancestral homeland that never lets go of its own.

It's stately medieval castles and humble thatched abodes.

It's majestic snow capped mountains and lonely heather clad moors.

It's the red grouse calling go-back, go-back, go-back, go-back as a covey skims low ower the heather.

It's the camaraderie of the gowf.

It's the trill of the skylarks as they hover above their nests in the bent grasses.

It's the sight of Arctic terns in flight at Ruddons Point.

It's the 12th of August when the heather is in bloom.

It's the flash of a lighthouse as its reassuring beam of light sweeps the darkness.

It's the roar of the sea as the waves from a North Sea gale crash on to the shore.

It's the silence that prevails when the sea is dead calm.

It's the romantic and the nostalgic music of the people and the land.

It's the sight of brave men on their fishing boats as they head out to sea.

It's the sound o' the geese  calling  to one another as they fly high on a moonlight night.

It's the cackle of  water tumbling  over boulders and the flash of a wee troot in a hillside burn. 

It's a salmon leaping up the falls as it heads for home.

It's two men in a wee boat "flinging fleas" on a loch.

It's the shiver that runs thru my being when I hear the haunting, lonesome cry of a long billed curlew as it calls and is answered by its mate on a rocky windswept seashore.

It's the significance of the gift of a thistle. 

It's the swing of the kilt and the far away skirl of the pipes drifting on the wind.

It's the shepherd with his ram's horn crook and his collie dog keeping their flock in control.

It's battles won and causes lost.

It's a cozy warming fire and the smell of peat reek.

It's the remembrance of absent friends the world over.

These are a few of the magic ingredients that can not be bought that are intilt for me that sets Scotch apart from every other libation and worth its every bawbee. 

To relish the moment in time.

When the moon is high, turn the lamp low. Slide down into your favorite armchair, gaze into the flickering fire and into a wee hand warmed finely cut crystal glass, decant a generous jigger and a half of either a single malt or a blend.  Take a sip that's only enough to dampen the lips and the tongue. Sip it slowly. Ever, ever so slowly. 

My favorite toast

Till aw the seas gang dry, which means--- Forever,  till the end of time.",

Now a few words about single malts and blends.