Single malt prices soar, but scotch should be fun and affordable
W
e have Robert Burns to thank for perhaps the greatest poem about any dish ever – a poem so good that it inspires an entire nation to dedicate an evening of each year to eating haggis, even though most people find it kind of gross.
No? If the “Great Chieftan o’ the Puddin-race” were that delicious, we’d all be eating it all the time, surely? And yet Burns’ Address to a Haggis is enticing enough to dispel any such doubts just once a year. I especially like the bit about slitting it open so the bright entrails spill out: “And then, O what a glorious sight / Warm-reekin, rich!”
The poem is, really, an argument against culinary snobbery, and in favour of a sensuous appreciation of the here and now. So it’s strange how, when it comes to scotch whisky – the traditional accompaniment to Burns Night feasting – something approaching the opposite attitude prevails. It wasn’t so long ago that single malt scotch – “as noble a product of Scotland as any burgundy or champagne is of France,” as the Highlands writer Neil Gunn had it – was, like haggis, little appreciated outside Scotland. However, over the past few decades, the style has rebounded so successfully that single malt (that is, whisky produced from malted barley in one distillery) is almost a luxury marque in itself. When Tom Hiddleston’s agent poses as a sleazy investor in The Night Manager, this is the drink he demands. Distilleries such as the Macallan have meanwhile leaned into the premium market with fashion collabs and elaborate packaging. Prices have inflated. Snobbery, too. And, along the way, a certain Burnsian gusto has been lost.
