Hugging heaven

It’s not unusual for a Scotsman to be named Tom Jones.

Nor would it be for us to meet up with him on the high road — for a single malt whisky tasting session, let alone have the six separate vessels with six different single malts paired with specific cheeses, ham, and nuts, thence benefit from “mentoring.”

This all happened on a fine Tuesday evening, on the 3rd of December, at a wonderful new venue for such spiritual pursuits: the recently opened Black Sheep resto-bar on the penthouse of the W Bldg. on 5th Avenue at Bonifacio Global City.

First off, the top view through large glass window-walls can be resplendent and uplifting, especially at the right hour — once you find the right W. We learned that there are actually four such edifices with the distinctive W mark at BGC. The one we were familiar with has Skye Lounge on its top deck. But that isn’t on 5th Avenue, which turns out to be near that main artery that runs alongside S&R and St. Luke’s towards the flyover beyond EDSA.

Even with the corrected directions, we were thankful to arrive at the venue still rather early — for the invite from Diageo Philippines, which markets Johnnie Walker whisky in all of its expanding permutations. And now, also six of the finest single malts from Scotland. 

We were instantly impressed with Black Sheep, from its high ceiling and elegant appointments to its three-wall bar with nearly floor-to-ceiling shelves. A small loft reached through a spiral staircase allows one to have an even loftier view — of the sprawling cityscape towards the west, with Rockwell’s distinctive cluster of buildings laced with lights beckoning in the far horizon, while towards the foregound were some of BGC’s nearby high-rises, snaking past which was a glittering trail of red and yellow lights that marked vehicles going to and from at dusk.

It made us even gladder to be up there, rather than have our bladder stuck in snail-paced traffic.  

On the high table we chose facing the bar were settings of five tulip glasses each, each with light golden to amber liquid of about an inch deep to the bottom, or close to a double, certainly more than a wee dram.

The early arrival privileged us with being the first among the expected score of whisky aficionados to be introduced to Johnnie Walker Brand Ambassador Tom Jones, he whose globe-girdling profession we can only envy.

His last stops had been Seoul and Kuala Lumpur. Now he was back for a few days in Manila, where he had launched the special bottle of Johnnie Walker Odyssey some months back, an event I had missed due to a rare bum tummy, and which I heard had been fabulous. It was held at dockside off the Mall of Asia, replete with a schooner for the “mentoring” — as I saw in the enviable photos and selfies taken by our buddy Wig Tysmans.

But now we had Tom Jones all to ourselves for what turned out to be a half-hour at least of a private tutorial, where a lot of what I thought I knew of single malts, with all their infinite lore, were dismissed as apocrypha or conventional wisdom turned errant. 

To begin with, when I made the point that much as I would treasure the one-on-one across that table, nothing short of criminal would be the sight of five glasses with some of my favorite spirits that would have to be left untouched until everyone was in.

The gracious ladies of Diageo thus asked what particular bottle I would like to start on, in my own personal preview before the whisky lecture by Mr. Jones. I chose Caol Isla, an Islay malt. Tom quicky corrected the way I identified it. So now I know, after all these years, and I’ll take it from a Scot to the manner born, that it’s pronounced “Ka-li-la.”

I asked questions that had long been unresolved. What exactly was the difference between single malt and “pure malt,” as I had known the commercially pioneering Glenfiddich to have been called, before it became marketed in the last few years as a single malt? 

 Mr. Jones patiently explained that the confusing terminology was all on account of marketing. As we already know, single malt whisky is the product of a particular distillery, while the more commonly imbibed blended whisky, such as JW Black, and now Double Black, Green (which is being phased out), Gold, the recent Platinum, and Blue, ditto Chivas Regal, Swing, Royal Salute, Old Parr, Passport, J&B et al. are the creations of a blendmaster who relies on the produce of various distilleries for mixing up, and of course ageing.

In achieving its breakthrough distinct from all the blended whisky, Glenfiddich had simply termed its single-distillery produce as pure malt. But recent determination by the Scottish government had done away with the free-form promotion of each bottle as an arbitrarily preferred description for marketing purposes.

There are now only five official classifications, as recently been laid down by law: single malt, blended malt, single grain whisky (from wheat), blended grain, and blended Scotch whisky. Most blends fall under the last category.

The JW Platinum, which we said we liked as much as Island single malts, and had presumed to be a blend only of such as to have that peaty, somewhat smoky flavor, turned out to be a blend of both single malt and grain whiskies.  

Technically, Tom explained further, even the single malt and the single grain are not taken from the exact same barrel (of oak, as Scotch whisky requires) where they have been stored and aged. And since the final bottled liquid comes from different bottles, then they may lso be said to have been mixed, or blended. If one were to split hairs, that is.

All of that knowledge and experience further confirmed Tom Jones’ status as a true expert. His public mentorship or lecture that finally started with the arrival of other whisky journalists also established him as quite the performer, too.

There were five tulip glasses of different single malts on each of the table settings; tulip, he said, for preferred nosing or sniffing at the gold, just as one does with good wine.

He then introduced a quaint method of familiarizing oneself with the olfactory characteristics of a particular drink. That was to cover the glass with a palm while rolling the glass to make sure a little of its contents would wet that palm. Then, laying down the glass, one joins and rubs both palms together vigorously, before lifting both up to one’s nose. As an added feature, one could then also apply both palms to one’s ears and cheeks, the way you do perfume. Oh well, that placed him in our pantheon of comic stand-uppers, too. 

The whiskies we would have, in this particular order, were Glenkinchie, Caol Ila, Cragganmore, Dalwhinnie, The Singleton, and Oban. They were to be paired respectively with — and here the servers brought out individual stone trays with the following tidbits of delight — Parmesan, Pecarino, Fourme d’Ambert, Jamon Serrano, Gruyere and Pistachio.

The reason there were only five tulip glasses before us was that the fourth tipple, of Dalwhinnie, would best be accomplished

by having the bottles taken out ftom the chiller. That is because the mountain water used for Dalwhinnie is freezing cold.

“We mature it longer to achieve the balance. The longer it takes to convert the steam in distillation, the more contact with the copper used for the stills, and so the whisky comes out lighter. It’s only appropriate to drink it as cold as when that water gushed down from the mountains.”

Our first drink, the Glenkinchie, which Tom described tantalizingly as like smelling “grass on a spring day, hold it up to the light, gently roll the glass up to your nose,” was best paired with Parmesan. It was a Lowland malt, lowland being close to England (did we detect a bit of a snicker?). Parmesan with its crumbly rich texture goes well with whisky that is light and citrusy.

Pecarino with its toasted taste was paired with Caol Ila of the heather honey, etc., while Dalwhinnie when we got to it introduced us to the curled sliver of Jamon Serrano. And as each tipple lifted us higher in our hog heaven, the rest of the mentoring also flowed like golden/amber streams of prose:

“The black isle… lovely valley… the muir of Orr surrounded by barley peat marshes… old oak casks used for sherry… the 500- liter American oak cask brings a vanilla flavor… woody remnants of cedar and sandalwood… hot crispy pistachios for the Oban, from that little bay of caves… with a little bit of peat smoke… the sea and the small jetty and you behold the two giant mountains of Jura… the eight distileries in the Isle of Islay (pronounced as “Aila”)… smoky blue cheese, pungent aroma, how magical the smoky flavor…   

Ahh, aye, aye, ’tis a continuing education with whisky, or what was originally called “uisge beatha” (pronounced “wisge bah”!) — or what we like to say is the “water of life.” But Tom Jones would discount that as romanced lore, too. 

And we believe him, as we do in the fabulous range of Scottish spirits he offers with all their literature as well as science factoids — this all over an increasingly civilized if randomly religious world.