First, I would like to underline that I am not a Japanese-whisky aficionado. There is no doubt the Land of the Rising Sun produces good whisky, to be clear. After all, Taketsuru and, through him, Tory, learnt at the source (chiefly Hazelburn and Strathisla) and made it a life's mission to constantly perfect their craft. My lack of enthusiasm is the direct result of the hype around Japanese whisky.
In the early-to-mid-Noughties, it was seen by many Westerners as a novelty. For those who started their whisky journey then, it was tempting to follow that path, rather than that of the more traditional Scotch whiskies. Why? Instead of around one hundred and thirty distilleries to choose from, a newcomer only had half a dozen to explore. Collectors and completists (most men are to some degree, and generally speaking much more so than women) could have a field day with J-hisky for a much lower effort (and cost) than with Scotch. As a consequence, a vast number of collectors tried to procure a very finite product, driving the prices through the pagoda and removing it from most whisky drinkers' grasp. When it came to closed Japanese distilleries' offerings, amounts took a very fast lift to beyond the furthest stars, with no correlation to the quality of the liquid inside the bottle. Is Hanyu any good? Sure. Is it good enough to justify its £10,000 price tag for a 30yo single cask bottling? You would be forgiven for reckoning not many people would think so.
Unfortunately, businessmen saw opportunities. Big cats first, who secured existing stocks, as well as import and distribution monopolies. Smaller players second, with many hoarding bottles with the clear intention to flip.
Really, J-hisky is not high on my priorities' list. Dave Broom's latest book, therefore, was probably never going to rock my boat.
And then in October 2017, Broom did a mini masterclass at Whisky Show to showcase J-hisky. That was good. The week after, he did a tasting to promote his book, which I also went to. That was good. I like supporting the artist, so the book came home with me.
Most whisky books are the same. They talk about the whisky tradition in Scotland for a couple of pages, the whisky-making process for a few pages, and give details about distilleries, with or without tasting notes for selected bottlings (these days, mostly with) for the rest of the book. The formula is tried and tested, it works. The most notable exception is Peat, Smoke and Spirit, which is an excellent read about Islay folklore, more than a whisky book.
The Way of Whisky joins the ranks of the exceptions.
To say Broom carries on Michael Jackson's legacy would be stating the obvious. Broom first travelled to Japan with Jackson; Jackson was his mentor and a clear influence. Broom gladly recognises that himself. He has a similar stance on knowledge too: learn and humbly pass on.
In my opinion, he does better than his master, though. His style is more structured and clearer to follow. It is light and to the point, yet not shy with anecdotes. It pauses to spend a couple of pages defining a concept or a thought, yet it never drags on, nor does it ever lose the reader. It has technical details, but is not an encyclopedia. Many books about whisky are clinical and sterile, works of reference, rather than bedside-table material. Not this. In fact, this book is not about whisky. It is about Japan. About meeting its people and discovering its culture. About deciphering the differences and nodding at the similarities. About how Japan the land shapes Japan the nation. It takes the reader on a passionate journey and initiates them without their noticing. Humbly. The book is alive and Broom tells the story in a way that transports the reader. To Japan. That, to me, is the mark of a talented writer. Far from stone-cold factual Misako Udo, Dave Broom, here, is Henry Miller.
The Way of Whisky almost made me fall for Japanese whisky. If shelf space and money were no object...
I am not a J-hisky fan, yet we will have one all the same. From Karuizawa, no less. I unfortunately do not have the details of this sample -- I only know it is a 30ish yo Karuizawa distilled in the 1980s.
Unknown Karuizawa (unknown ABV, unknown bottler, unknown cask, d.1980s, b.2010s): nose: one thing is certain: it is truly a Karuizawa. No other whisky is that concentrated, as far as I know. It reeks of strong, exotic wood, resin, pine sap and cigar boxes. It also has ink on blotting paper, menthol, carbolic, wood varnish and industrial glue. I would like to say some fruit appears in the background, but it is almost impossible to say which one(s). Pine cones, certainly, and maybe unripe ginkgo (an Asian, peculiar-smelling fruit). Burning oakum and fresh leather join the dance. In fact, a peaty note grows and grows until it is a mound of dried peat, left in the wind. Mouth: much peatier than the first nose suggested, it has earth, boggy turf, bonfires, extinguished with a bucket of moss water, wormwood. Here too, the concentration is remarkable, and the ABV seems rather high (high 50s, in my opinion). That makes for a woody mouth, as soon as the peat calms down -- resin, old books, bung cloth, gingery tablet. At second sip, tincture of iodine, stencil alcohol, mentholated cigarettes and a smoky bothy on a rainy day. Finish: big, smoky and rich, with Marmite, dried shellfish and a medicinal touch. On top of that, some paint, sawdust, pencil lead, spent incense, cassia bark, gunpowder tea and fishing nets. It still has lots of wood (see: paint and sawdust) and spices (ginger powder), but the dominant is now the smoke. The leather has all but gone, making room for mentholated mouthwash, 95% dark chocolate melted over a log fire. This is a very good Karuizawa, I have to admit. As usual, though, it is not something one can drink all night: too intense, too spicy, too woody. I like how the smoke plays with other notes, in this particular winner. Kampai! 8/10 (Thanks for the sample, SW)
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