Oktoberfest beers bring a sparkle of Bavrian sunshine, and help lift the autumn gloom

September was a pretty lean month as far as articles were concerned, with just seven posted on the blog, which constitutes the lowest monthly total for a long, long time. I’m not sure of the reason, especially as our trip to Northumberland provided plenty of material for blog articles, but if truth be known I ended up with a mild case of “writers block.”  

The rather sudden end to summer, also put a stop to some planned outdoor activities, including starting out on a couple of local, river valley walks. It also induced a general feeling of lethargy and loss of interest that probably has more to do with the changing of the seasons than anything else. I’m possibly working too hard as well, something that was almost inevitable given my current part-time working regime. Trying to cram five normal days into just three, was always going to be challenging, and at times it can be quite hard, even if it does have its rewards come Wednesday afternoon.  Life goes on though, and the world of beer and pubs never stands still.

In Munich, the world-famous Oktoberfest is getting into its second and final week. I haven’t seen the attendance figures, although they wouldn’t mean a lot to me anyway, but here in the UK, as in many other parts of the world numerous "copy-cat" events have been taking place. I have written about some of these before, so I won’t be repeating myself, as whilst a small number of home-grown Oktoberfest happenings are taking place locally, most tend to be rather kitsch, stereotypes of what the organisers imagine this "Bavarian Folk Festival" to be.

I’ve so far managed to steer clear of these faux events, and for good reason, but local beer café Fuggles, who have outlets

in both Tonbridge and Tunbridge Wells, have been running their own Oktoberfest tribute-cum-promotion featuring Märzen style Festbiers from both home-grown brewers, and also from Bavaria itself. Most importantly, and in a tribute to the main event, they have featured a rotating range of the genuine Oktoberfest beers imported directly from Munich. Ranging in strength from 5.7% to 6.3% abv, these are not beers to be trifled with, even if you drink them by the pint. For the brave-hearted, or foolish, the beers are also sold by the one litre Maß, the traditional measure at Oktoberfest, as well as other parts of Bavaria.

Fuggles are retailing these beers at £7.00 a pint, but considering their strength, and the lengths that to which Fuggles have gone to obtain them, then it’s probably not too bad, all things considered. At Oktoberfest itself, all beer sold at the event must be brewed within the city limits of Munich, and the "Big Six" breweries that supply the festival are: Augustiner, Hacker-Pschorr, Hofbräu, Löwenbräu, Paulaner and Spaten. All the Oktoberfest beers will be good, full-bodied, well-rounded and with the right balance between malt and hops.

There are tie ups between certain members of the "Big Six", as Hacker-Pschorr are part of the same group as Paulaner, and the same applies to Löwenbräu and Spaten. Augustiner are still family owned, whilst Hofbräu are owned by the state of Bavaria. Other brewers have tried to get round these limitations by opening breweries within Munich, but the city council moved the goal posts by stating only those established before 1970 could supply beer to Oktoberfest.

I’ve been slowly, and I mean slowly, working my way through the beers on sale at Fuggles, and as they haven’t all been available at the same time, it’s been an enjoyable and interesting exercise. So far, on three separate visits, I’ve enjoyed Oktoberfest beers from Paulaner, Spaten, and Hofbräu. I had planned on calling in today, but that didn’t quite work out (I was too early, if truth be known, but as a consolation, I picked up three short-dated bottles of Schlenkerla Rauchbier, from the nearby, well-stocked Organic Market store. This establishment sometimes has bottles of Samuel Smith’s, on sale, and I did spot a few bottles of Pure Brewed lager on the shelves, but this time around, Bamberg’s finest, won out.

Returning to Oktoberfest for a while, the Bailey family attended the event, back in 2017, albeit only for half a day. We were en route to Regensberg, a city we had visited the previous year, and had spent the night, and part of the following day in Munich. Having arrived early at the Wiesn (Oktoberfest site) things were pretty quiet. But we were still able to get a “feel” for the place.

The first thing to note is, the event is free. Obviously, you will have to buy your beer and food, but unlike most British beer festivals, including the “look alike” Oktoberfests, there are no admission charges. The costs involved in providing the “temporary” infra-structure (the so-called tents), paying the staff and the all the other ancillary charges involved in putting on this mammoth festival, are recouped by the price of the beer (and to a lesser extent the food).

We visited the Hacker-Festzelt, which can accommodate up to 9,300 people, a similar number to the other large “tents”. There are fourteen of these; seven of which are operated by the breweries, and the rest by independent landlords. There are also around 10 smaller “tents”. We actually sat outside, and whilst we perhaps missed out on the feel of the event, it was very pleasant sitting out in the warm, late-September sunshine, taking in the atmosphere and enjoying the general ambience.

It is worth noting that unless you have a seat; either inside or outside one of the tents, you will not be served. There is none of the vertical drinking common at UK beer festivals, and you will not be allowed to wander around carrying your mug of beer. By “seat” I mean a long bench, in front of an equally long wooden table. Typically, there will be room for 10 average sized people, on each table (five along each bench.).

Our waitress brought two foaming Maβ Krugs of Hacker-Pschorr Festbier for Matt and I, plus an equal measure (and an equal price), of alcohol-free beer for Mrs PBT’s. We also had something to eat a plate of local (Fränkische), sausages, with potato salad for Eileen and I plus roast pork in gravy, with one of those spongy potato dumplings (Kartoffel-Knödel) for Matthew.

At Oktoberfest, you pay for your food and drink when they are brought to your table; unlike the practice in most German pubs and restaurants, where you pay before you leave. This makes perfect sense, given the high numbers of people coming and going, and I prefer this anyway, as it saves hanging around waiting for the final bill to appear.

There is a lot more to the event than the drinking of copious amounts of beer. We enjoyed just walking around, looking at the stalls selling snacks and souvenirs, the various side-shows, shooting galleries plus other fairground attractions. We personally steered away from the latter, as none of us enjoy being spun round at high speed, turned upside down or dropped from a great height, but if this sort of thing floats your boat, then do give the rides a try – preferably before you’ve had a skinful of beer and a roast pork knuckle! The main thing we discovered about  Oktoberfest was just how accessible the whole thing is and,  having now “learned the ropes”, I would definitely go again but this time spend a bit longer there. 

 

Back to the local - a trip back in time

It’s good at times, to stumble upon a book that strikes a real chord with one, especially as it doesn’t seem to happen that often. “Back to the Local” is such a book, even though I can’t recall which news source or information service it was that first brought this excellent publication to my attention. Published in 1949, just four years after the end of the Second World War, this little gem of a book was written at a time when the licensed trade was slowly returning to something resembling normality. 

After the dark days of wartime, with its bombings, deprivations, pub closures, rationing, and associated beer shortages, “Back to the Local” must have seemed like a breath of fresh air to a populace whose lives had been blighted, and in many cases deeply affected by a conflict that hadn’t long ended. “Back to the Local”, explores pubs, as they were during the 1940’s, although it must be pointed out, the pubs in question were all in London, the nation’s capital.

The book was a follow-up to an earlier publication that had the simpler title of “The Local” which appeared in print during the1920’s. Unfortunately, the London premises of the book's publishers, Cassells, were destroyed in a bombing raid during the blitz, along with all stocks of the publication. Worse still, the printing plates were destroyed as well. Undeterred, the book's author Maurice Gorman, along with its illustrator, Edward Ardizzone decided to try again, with a revised version of the original book, titled "Back to the Local",  published in 1949.

Maurice Gorman was an Irish journalist and broadcasting executive, whilst Edward Ardizzone, who was one of the outstanding book illustrators of the 20^thcentury, was responsible for the atmospheric drawings. The subject matter was the various pubs, taverns, gin palaces, and bars that act as “locals” for a substantial proportion of London drinkers. The descriptions of the various pubs, their clientele and the staff are the real stars of the book, at a time of rambling interiors, dark wood, and dark beer.

"Back to the Local", is a fascinating nostalgic ramble around the post-war pubs of London, and whilst it isn’t a pub guide as such, it contains some very good descriptions. It covers the customs, habits and etiquette that existed in pubs at the time, along with some absorbing observations on the people who used them. It is important to remember that 80 years ago, pubs played a much more prominent role in the lives of ordinary people, than they do today.

To illustrate this, the book introduces us to the regulars, licensees and barmaids, as it explores the once familiar surroundings of the public bar, saloon bar, and lounge. It then squeezes us into the snug, and the lesser-known bottle and jug bar, where customers were able to buy beer to take away, and drink elsewhere.

The pubs of the 1940’s, whilst light-years removed from those of today, were not that dissimilar to those which existed in the 1920’s, when “The Local” first appeared in print. Back then, the Local’s main enemy was not the Luftwaffe, but rather the bureaucrats, property developers, and temperance campaigners, along with those brewers keen to “modernise” their tied estates. This sadly led to the disappearance of many familiar and charismatic backstreet locals, swept away in a tide of mis-guided modernisation. Strangely, several of the concerns voiced in this book - in particular, those of pub closures, still ring true today.

Whilst the war called a halt to this process for the best part of a decade, pubs were still being rationalised when Gorman was researching his revised book, and sadly a lot of the pubs he writes about have gone the way of the great London brewers, who not only owned most of these establishments, but whose beers were sold, therein. We are talking here of brewing giants such as Barclays, Charrington’s, Truman’s, Whitbread and Watney’s, who have all vanished, along with the beers they once brewed.

The type and styles of beer these companies produced, and served in their pubs, is also worth considering, especially as all draught beers were cask conditioned and dispensed mainly by hand pump or, in a few cases by gravity, direct from the cask. Bottled beer was more expensive than draught and, given the shortage of glass during the 1940’s, was comparatively rare.

Mild ale was by far the most popular draught beer and was stocked in virtually every Public Bar in the city. Bitter, described in the glossary as “yellow” in colour (think Boddingtons or Theakston’s), was more popular in the saloon, or lounge bar. Old ale, known then as “Burton”, despite having little or no connection to the famous brewing town, was a strong, and slightly sweet, brown-coloured beer. The nearest equivalent today, is Young’s Winter Warmer – assuming that is still brewed.

At that time, virtually all London pubs had a Public Bar, where the beer was a few pence a pint cheaper than in the Saloon Bar or Lounge, where the surroundings would be less basic and the décor more opulent. This was reflected in the respective clientele that used each type of bar. Although these distinctions have long vanished (sadly in my view), they remain in the memory of someone like me who started drinking during the early 1970’s, when many pubs still had some of these divisions (public and saloon bars).

Maurice Gorham’s book is a lovingly compiled story of the public houses and hostelries that still remained in 1940’s London, written with the charm and old-fashioned feel of someone who seems to know every pub in town, from the most opulent gin palace, to the most basic of backstreet locals. It is clearly a lifetime's labour of love, full of great anecdotes and opinions -some of course dated, but reflecting the time in which the book was written.

London itself is a city undergoing constant change, and one that is regularly re-inventing itself, but what is remarkable and indeed loveable about "Back to the Local", is just how much of it still applies today, despite being written over 80 years ago. You could still use this book as the basis for a pub crawl because many of the old and famous houses that Maurice loved so much, are still with us today.

The interiors may well have changed, along with the beers and other drinks stocked (lager barely gets a mention, back in the 1940’s), and the strict social divisions of the Public and Saloon bars have also gone. Food too is much more important today, with the booming gastropub having the pork pie and pints of mild lunches, enjoyed by the pub-goers of 80 years ago. You can also get decent wine in virtually every London pub, instead of the glass of sherry, or port for the ladies. Cheery landlords, attractive barmaids, mahogany bars, dark beers, good manners, common courtesy plus a community spirit can still be found in many parts of London, if you know where to look, and online guides, such as CAMRA’s What Pub can help you here.

I’m not sure exactly when and where I first came across this little book, but having read the reviews I ordered myself a copy and am pleased that I did. It is an absolute joy and although this modern edition is an obvious re-print, it remains true to the spirit of the first half of the 20^th century, and is a “must have” for all connoisseurs of good pubs.

 

It's the little frustrations that cause the most hassle in life

It’s been a peculiar summer really, and one that I would describe as “bitty”. It's been characterised by a sense of things not quite going to plan, although it’s difficult to pin-point exactly what has brought this feeling on. Frustrating, might be a more appropriate term, because it's been a summer of breakdowns, and system failures. Nothing has been too serious, and these issues have mainly been caused by equipment in need of repair, or components in need of replacement. They have included a problem with the central heating, a toilet cistern not refilling after flushing, plus a scaled-up shower that had ceased functioning.

The latter was the mixer shower in Matthew’s en-suite bathroom, and whilst the issue was quite easily resolved, there was a frustratingly long wait to obtain a replacement for the failed component. These irritating jobs have necessitated searching around for plumber (fingers crossed, we have finally found someone, who is both knowledgeable and reliable). Finding the right tradesman is only half of the battle, the hard part comes with the waiting in at home for him or her to turn up and do their work. This is time when I could be out enjoying a walk in the countryside or even better, a few pints of good beer, in a nice country pub!

Much of this Is to be expected, as we have now lived in our current property for 30 years. This is by far the longest period that the pair of us have lived anywhere. We extended the property nearly 20 years ago, but now there a few things that are starting to require additional maintenance, or even replacement due to age (heating system, showers, and sanitary ware amongst them). Obviously, nothing lasts forever, but there’s a general feeling that things are falling apart.

These annoying failures and breakdowns began back in June, when we returned from our most recent cruise, and then reached a crescendo in August. I don't want to tempt fate by thinking they are over, but these niggling little things take up a disproportionate amount of time and effort that ought to be applied to more productive and enjoyable activities. (Going to the pub!)

The weather too has been up and down, although on the plus side, I finally managed to complete the Tunbridge Wells Circular Walk. I've now got my sights set on a series of walks along three, quite different river valleys, as detailed in a guide, published by the Kent Ramblers Association. I was all set to walk the first stage of the Medway Valley Walk this Friday (today), but the past week has seen lots of heavy rain. I haven't ventured out to see the effect this has had on local footpaths, but I really don’t fancy having to wade through mud that's potentially ankle deep.

One activity that will be getting the chop is my vegetable garden. Mrs PBT's has described herself as a “garden widow” although it would be more beneficial to me if she was a “pub widow!” She does have a point, especially as a lot of time and effort goes into growing vegetables. It’s nice to have a source of ready harvested vegetables, but you often end up with a glut, when they ripen or mature at the same time, and there’s only so much you can freeze. As my dear lady wife likes to point out, it's far easier to take a trip to the local supermarket and buy exactly what you require.

There’s a lot of time and effort involved in digging and preparing the ground, and then there’s weeding on top of that. I can't say I shall miss these activities, even though they do provide plenty of exercise. I shall be going out on a high, as this year, I had considerable success with runner beans aplenty, and we were picking them, at one stage, faster than we could eat or freeze them.

As well an overseas cruise, we managed a UK holiday, with a week spent in the lovely unspoiled county of Northumberland, in the far northeast of England. This was a part of the country that neither of us were familiar with, and it proved to be a real eye opener. Any suggestions for further, stay-at-home holidays will be gratefully received, although I’m looking at places such as the Cotswolds, Shropshire and the Welsh Marches for next year. There’s also Dorset and Somerset to consider as well.

One thing that's been missing this summer, are those long-distance train trips out to towns and cities blessed with a fine selection of heritage pubs. The only places I recall visiting this year have been Salisbury and Wolverhampton – the latter being the start and finish of a glorious tour, by bus, around several classic, Black Country's boozers. These were pubs that have changed very little, since the 19^th century. My guide for this journey was none other than Paul Mudge, aka Stafford Paul, whose company and local knowledge, made for one of the best days out I have experienced in a long time.

Of course, 2024 is not over yet, but with October just around the corner, there are only three months remaining, and before we know it that dreaded “C-word” will be upon us. The Christmas tat is already in the shops, a fact we noticed during our Northumberland trip, at the beginning of September, and to help brighten up the coming darker days, and give us something to look forward to, we have booked a cruise for next year.

In a break with tradition, we have opted for a voyage that is confined to home waters. It entails a 14-night, round Britain cruise, sailing out of Southampton, in an anticlockwise direction, right around mainland Britain. It includes a diversion, across the Irish Sea, for visits to both Dublin and Cork, before sailing serenely back to Southampton. It will be nice to see parts of the British Isles that we're not familiar with, including Inverness, the Western Isles, and Cork but we will also be re-visiting a few old favourites, in the form of Edinburgh, Dublin and Liverpool.

That cruise is still 8 months away, which allows plenty of time to squeeze in a couple of long weekends away, as well as a mini cruise, in the New Year. I like to feel that, by the end of each year, I have accomplished something of both merit and note. These achievements might not all be life-enhancing, or even life changing, but as the years march on, they become increasingly more important. I shall be turning 70 next spring and am becoming acutely aware of my own mortality. The motto has to be then, enjoy these moments whilst you still can and make the most of the time that is left to you!

 

A drop of the hard stuff - single malt, Scotch whisky

There’s absolutely no mistaking the fact that I’m a dyed-in-the-wool beer-lover and have been so since my late teens. Beer is my go-to drink, regardless of situation, location or occasion, with the obvious provisos that I don’t mix beer drinking with work, early mornings (the sun needs to be at least peering over the yard arm, before I reach for a glass), and I don’t have a beer either if I’m getting behind the wheel of a car – although I will partake of a single pint of low-gravity, bitter or pale ale, if I’ve driven to a pub where the surroundings and/or the beer demand it.

Occasionally, I will have the odd glass of wine – preferably red, although a decent white Burgundy will do instead, but these occasions are rare, and likely to involve posh dinners, or business lunches. There are other drinks that I seldom, if ever imbibe, and these include vermouth's (quite rare, these days), fortified wines (apart from port) and, of course, spirits.

Gin, vodka, brandy and bourbon, are virtually no-go areas for me, as are grain and blended whisky’s, but I make an exception for single malt whisky. I don’t wish to sound like a snob, but single-malt, Scottish whisky’s are up there amongst the giants, when it comes to the world’s greatest and most memorable drinks, but when you are aware of the skill involved, plus the care and time taken to produce these drinks, you realise the influence these factors play on the prices of a decent bottle of single malt whisky.

Before going any further, it’s worth noting that malt whisky can only be made from malted barley, whilst grain whisky can be produced from any grain, including un-malted barley, wheat, corn, and rye, and this is one of the main reason for the high price of malt whisky. In the initial stages of production, single malts, undergo a process that is very similar to beer making, whereby high-quality malting barley, is steeped in water, allowed to germinate before being kilned. Despite this commonality I have never visited a distillery, even though I've seen around in excess of 30 breweries, across two continents.

Highland water, fresh from the glens or the moors, is used to steep (soak) the grain, as well as later on in the brewing/distilling process, and given the location in the Scottish Highlands, where there is an abundance of peat, the latter material acts as fuel for the drying process. In doing so, the peat imparts a rich, aromatic, smokiness to the finished malt, which is carried over into the finished whisky. After drying, the kilned malt is crushed and mixed with the same pure Highland water and fed into a mash tun – very similar to those found in breweries, up and down the land.

Enzymes in the malt, convert the starch in the crushed grains, into sugars such as maltose and dextrin’s, and after sparging, the sugar-rich “wort” is run-off, via a chiller, into fermenting vessels, where yeast is then added. Those of you that have been paying attention, may well ask why there is no boil, but as the bittering and other flavouring compounds provided by hops are not wanted in whisky, boiling is unnecessary. Once cooled, yeast is added, and fermentation begins. This typically lasts 48-96 hours, and results in a wort with an abv between 7-10% and a diverse range of flavours that is related to the fermentation time and the type of yeast strain used.

The fermented liquid, now known as “wash”, is then distilled, a process which increases the alcohol content of the liquid and removes undesirable components, left over from fermentation. The wash passes through a series of stills (“wash” and “spirit” stills), that are typically made of copper, which supposedly helps remove undesired aromas and flavours. Most whiskies go through distillation twice, but some go through this process three times. A high-quality spirit results, but it cannot legally be sold as whisky until it has undergone a maturation process that involves ageing the product in wooden casks, that are typically made from oak. The casks give the whisky its colour as well as other characteristics. Casks are stored in cool and well-aerated warehouses for the whisky to mature.

By law, Scotch Whisky must be aged in oak casks for at least three years, prior to bottling, although other whiskies may have different minimum maturation requirements. Once it has matured, whisky is bottled at a minimum strength of 40% abv, although some might be bottled at a higher strength.

That’s probably more than enough technical information, and much more than I originally intended, but to conclude I want to recount some of my experiences relating to single malt, whisky, and explain why I’ve got four bottles of the stuff sitting on top of my bookcase, and why two of them are unopened.

I shall deal with that last point first, by running through what these whiskies are, and why I appear to be hoarding them. My favourite amongst these bottles is Laphroaig, as mentioned above. It also happens to be the only one of the four I bought for myself, even though I paid for two of the others. If you look at the two bottles in the blue packaging, in the top photo, you will see that both of them are Speyside malts. Glen Morray, from Elgin, is in the darker blue box, whilst Singleton, from Dufftown distillery, is packaged in pale blue, almost bordering on turquoise.

Both were purchased as Christmas presents for young master Matthew, with the aim of weaning him off the cheap, rot-gut scotch that he pours his coke into. He is notoriously difficult to buy Christmas presents for – hence the single malts (both on offer, in different years, at Tesco), but purchased with the aim of broadening his horizons, by giving his taste buds a treat. All to no avail though, and he hasn’t noticed (so far, at least) that I have moved the bottles from the sideboard, downstairs, and up into my room.

Seeing as these bottles remain unopened, let’s take a look at what the experts have to say. First, the Singleton of Dufftown Malt Master's Selection Single Malt Scotch Whisky. Hints of honey and vanilla, on the nose coupled with fresh pear on a faint base of wood ash. As far as taste is concerned, Its smooth flavour make it the perfect gift for new single malt whisky drinkers.

Second, Glen Moray Elgin Classic. Glen Moray started life as a brewery, before being converted into a distillery in 1897. Glen Moray Classic is the distillery's entry-level single malt, aged for an average of seven years in ex-bourbon casks, of which a high percentage are first fill - easy drinking, honeyed and excellent value. Those end statements confirms that I chose well for young master Matthew, but if he doesn’t open one of these bottles soon, I might have to take back ownership.

The fourth bottle, a 12-year-old, single malt whiskey from the Tobermory Distillery, on the Isle of Mull, has a rather sad tale attached to it. The bottle was given to me by my late brother-in-law, David’s girlfriend. He had purchased the whisky, during a visit to Mull, as part of a Round-Britain Cruise. It was David and Lynn’s first and, as it happened, only cruise because the following Christmas David was struck down by a bad bout of Shingles, which left him in a lot of pain. He was hospitalised, and the care he received whilst there, was less than exemplary – stuck on a trolley, in a hospital corridor, for a day and a half, whilst waiting for a bed. Two weeks later, he passed away, the official cause of death being atherosclerosis, although Eileen and I are convinced that his brush with shingles, didn’t help the situation.

David had gone to some lengths to secure that 12-year-old bottle of Tobermory whisky, and had been looking forward to cracking it open over Christmas. I therefore felt rather honoured and also humbled, to be opening and sampling the contents, on his behalf, and in his memory. Tobermory is described as light, delicate and herbal with a malty barley grainy base. There is only one distillery on the island and that is Tobermory. The distillery produces a peated version and a non-peated version. The latter is marketed as Tobermory whilst the peated version is sold under the brand name of Ledaig.

I would probably prefer the Ledaig, as I am quite partial to a touch of “smoke” in my drink -as witnessed by my fondness of the smoked “Rauchbiers” of Bamberg, and my enjoyment of the heavily peated Laphroaig, from the island of Islay. However, that bottle of Tobermory was a generous gift, and every time I pour myself a dram of it, I am reminded of Eileen’s brother, in happier times.

Now it’s not that often that I pour a dram of any of these whiskies, and I have to be in the right frame of mind, when I do so. The best time is when I’m feeling contemplative, because at these moments, a glass of single malt whisky is the perfect accompaniment. I’m also partial to a drop of single malt, when I’ve either got a cold, or can feel one coming on. There’s more than a hint of truth in the saying “for medicinal purposes” because the warming mouthfeel, along with the accompanying and equally important aromas, does make one feel better, even if there is no real scientific or medicinal basis behind this effect.

Finally, if you’re considering dipping your toes into the single-malt whisky scene, it’s worth noting that there are five Scotch Whisky regions - Speyside, Lowland, Highland, Campbeltown, and Islay. Each offers a different take on Scotch Whisky, as these guidance notes from the trade, demonstrate.

Speyside is the most densely populated of the Scottish whisky regions, famous for fertile glens and the River Spey. Its whiskies are known for being frugal with peat and full of fruit. Apple, pear, honey, vanilla and spice all have a part a role in expressions from this region, which are commonly matured in Sherry casks.

Lowland malts are characterised by both their softness and smoothness, and whiskies from this region, offer a gentle, elegant palate reminiscent of grass, honeysuckle, cream, ginger, toffee, toast and cinnamon. The whiskies are often lighter in character and perfect for pre-dinner drinks.

Highland this region, which also takes in the islands, has a huge diversity of flavours and characters. From lighter whiskies all the way through salty coastal malts, the Highlands offers a Scotch for all palates.

Campbeltown whiskies are varied and full of flavour. Hints of salt, smoke, fruit, vanilla and toffee mingle in whiskies of robust and rich character.

Islay (pronounced "eye-luh") is an island where the majority of its population are involved in whisky production. Famous for fiery, heavily peated whiskies, and home to my favourite distillery, Laphroaig.

I trust you’ve enjoyed this whistle-stop tour around the world of single-malt, Scotch whisky, and if you want to learn more, there are plenty of books, and online information to guide you, so in the meantime, Slange Var.