Bowmore 12YO - Less is more?

[jazznut]

Less is more?

My friend and I bottom-up the last of the 15-year old Bruichladdich. There couldn’t have been enough of the McEwan brew to begin with, as we’re both still feeling the need for further Islay sustenance. Some recently acquired 12-year old Bowmore thankfully comes to the rescue.

The cannister, bottle and label all possess an unfamiliar novelty. I like the appearance, though I’m wary of the 3-point dissipation in alcohol level to 40 percent. I usually prefer a standard-strength whisky to clock in around the 43 to 46-octane range – at least! My friend and I pour away, anyway.

All is not lost. A subtle smokiness wafts from the glass. More than sufficient Sherry-cask roundness encapsulates the clean malt, dashes of salt and relatively gentle peat. There’s even some length to the balanced finish. On the surface, this golden liquor seems to be Bowmore as it’s meant to be.

But is the new incarnation as good as or better than its predecessors? My take runs to the nothing-much-gained-and-something-definitely-lost scenario. I shouldn’t say, “Nothing-much-gained.” Simple mathematics dictates that there are more bottles to be had from each cask than previously. The price hasn’t increased, either. You just have to love those marketing gurus.

What do I miss? More than anything else, I suppose, that little extra Islay bite. Crisp, spicy, enlivening Hebridean finishes always make me come back for more. Above and beyond the flavour, you see, I enjoy the tactile aspect of a malt that doesn’t simply sit and beguile the taste buds, but also fights back a tad. Here, I almost feel as though I have the whisky pinned against the ropes.

The two of us manage to make a fair dent in the contents, regardless. The evening unfolds as it should. And the morning brings no ill effects, except for that lingering sensation that the marketing men have also made a dent in the contents. Where are those old dumpy brown-hued Bowmore bottles with the gold labels? Long gone, alas. Oh well.