“Whisky and freedom gang together.” Scottish poet Robert Burns wrote that in the late 18th century, and its recitation still rattles the timbers of pubs on high roads and low roads in Scotland, from John o’ Groats in the Highlands to Kilt Rock in the Islands.
Called the Ploughman Poet, the lifelong farmer wrote about love, country, politics, women and whisky — an evocative cocktail to be sure. Like all Scots, he particularly embraced the befuddling effects of whisky, called usquabae (Gaelic for water of life), and invented the art of liquid courage when he wrote: “With usquabae, we’ll face the devil!”
While the hated English solved life’s problems with a spot of tea, the romantic Scots have always sealed deals, untangled disputes and cured ills through a wee dram and a broguish bellow of “slàinte!” (cheers to you and me).
In preparing for our whirlwind tour through Scotland, we found few relevant examples of Scottish culture on the Monterey Peninsula. In August we attended the 50th Monterey Scottish Games & Celtic Festival, of course. We found time to listen to the wail of the piper from the misty dunes at Spanish Bay. We drank whisky at the bar at Montrio Bistro, poured by brown-water savant Anthony Vitacca. And in desperation, we even watched the 1995 film “Braveheart,” chronicling the life of Scotland’s rebellion hero William Wallace.
Researching Scottish food on the local level is simply not possible, and British pubs provide a different lilt, if you will — along with a slanted perspective on Scottish history and lore. And I’ve yet to find anyone in our backyard serving cullen skink, Scotch broth, haggis, stovies or clootie dumplings.
The only thing left for us to do on the research front was to drink whisky — without the “e.” I’m referring to scotch, single malt, the good stuff from the old country — where barley, salt air and pure, clear, peaty water flowing from mountain to glen help define Scotland’s history, tradition and culture.
Our whisky education started at the seaside distillery in Oban, evolved through the Isle of Skye (Talisker) and ripened in the Highlands (Dalmore).
Everyone in Scotland, young and old, seems adept at explaining whisky and its epic rumble through your palate. They speak of honeyed finishes, aromas of lavender and heather, essences and esters of salt, pine, nutmeg, tobacco, smoke, and licorice. They wax poetic about tinctures of topaz, amber, pale straw and mahogany. They coax out of you adjectives you never knew related to whisky — floral, malty, medicinal, fruity, nutty, spicy, winey.
In Scotland everything and anything goes with whisky. We checked into a guest house in Inverness, and the host greeted us with two pours of Glen Moray. “Awfy waither oot thare. Betta hae a wee dram.” And we did, happily.
Universities even offer fields of study in the history of whisky making, the production process, tasting skills and marketing of the billion-pound industry. Makes one yearn for the old college days.
It’s easy to see why the Scots, rugged and resilient, reach for a dram now and then. They drink to fuel fun, as we all do, but also as almost a ritual that brings forth national pride. It’s that respect for tradition that provides rock under their feet, buoyancy in rough waters.
Outlaw distillers spent generations evading the English taxman, and in the 18th century alone there were 400 illegal distilleries. The Scots will never let anyone else tell them what to do ever again, and will always fight for their culture, their country, their independence and their whisky — appropriately one would say, a drink best described as bold, strong and fiery.
It’s a dreary autumn day in Edinburgh, and we find ourselves in a tiny pub well off the tourist-trodden Royal Mile. It’s a local place, stuffed to a haddock’s gills for the Scottish national soccer team’s televised match against Slovenia. The whisky flows, and so do the emotions. Scotland’s first goal induces a type of bedlam we’d never witnessed before, and the resulting 2-2 draw causes a few grown men to silently weep.
Much later, all is forgotten, and the locals dance and sing the words to Scottish folk songs — many written by Robbie Burns himself. Long into the night their candles burn brightly at both ends.
“You’re a long time deid,” they say to explain their passion for life.
If these images have whetted your appetite for Scotland and its water of life, the above-mentioned Vitacca, the leather-aproned barman at Montrio, can point you in the right direction. It’s not a pub in Portree on the Island of Skye, but it’s a fine place for a spirited whisky education.
Like the Scots, Vitacca is persnickety, and driven. He’s researched and written tasting notes for every one of Montrio’s whisky selections, a tome that includes descriptors and reflections on each spirit.
Vitacca finds fascinating the stories behind each bottle he curates. He surely knows the blood-soaked history of the Highlands, why Irish whiskey is triple distilled, and how “angels” steal 4 percent of all whiskey in a barrel every year.
His well-researched entries tell the story of each spirit: Arbeg from Islay has “rich aromas of ocean air, taffy and an undeniable peat smoke”; George Dickel #12 has a finish that’s “deep and complex, with touches of roasted corn, charcoal, citrus and raisins.”
A bourbon man himself, specifically rye, Vitacca sources rare and interesting whiskies. There’s Jefferson’s Ocean, a bourbon loaded onto ships and left to weather the extreme elements: temperature fluctuations, salt air and the rocking of the ship. Each cask crosses the equator four times, visits five continents and more than 30 ports before bottling.
He sources a single malt whiskey from Tuscon, Ariz., called Del Bac, and searches for artisan producers who grow their own grain. And he pours a wide variety of tasty whiskies from Japan.
You leave the Montrio bar perhaps a bit wobbly, but clear-headed enough to quickly remember the advice posted on the exit of every Scottish pub: Haste ye back.
After all, we’re all a long time deid.
Mike Hale can be reached at thegrubhunter@att.net. Listen to his weekly radio show “Food Fodder” at noon Wednesdays on KRML, 102.1 FM.
