With the release of the first series in Diageo’s new Prima and Ultima collection, a set of 8 extremely rare whiskies, an old thought entered my mind. What is the true value of rare, vintage spirits?
By their very nature, whiskies are consumables. To collect them- to preserve and store them is to deprive them of their original purpose; why make a drink that shouldn’t be drunk? What is their true value and where does it come from?
I believe that I have at long last found the answer: their value is locked inside their stories.
Table of Contents
Setting the Scene
The first set in the Prima and Ultima collection, the description read, consisted of eight whiskies themed around being “the first and last bottlings of exquisite and elusive single malts”. Selected personally by Dr Jim Beveridge, one of the world’s most distinguished whisky blenders, it promised greatness by its pedigree alone.
Dr Beveridge spent decades in Diageo’s distilleries, doing the tour of duty as it were. As the man who selected, and in many cases helped to make, the whiskies, the collection has a personal touch to it. I read his comments on it with more than passing interest. See what you make of it:
Over the past forty years I have worked intimately with our distilleries across Scotland and I’ve been fortunate enough to witness great change in the whisky industry. Each of the eight whiskies I’ve selected for Prima & Ultima tells a tale of heritage and craftsmanship and I’ve chosen them from distillers of great personal importance to me.
This innocuous paragraph started my journey to the center of the mind. There’s a revelation in there that might not jump out at you immediately- it certainly took a while for me to realise that- but when it revealed itself, it was like watching the ending of The Sixth Sense. It cannot be unseen.
There is absolutely no mention of flavour whatsoever.
In a product which is, at its basic building blocks, a beverage, the flavour was not the foremost reason that the whiskies were chosen. Why? I think the clue is in Dr Beveridge’s own words. The collection is more an anthology of stories than a set of flavourful whiskies (though yes, they are all excellent).
An Inciting Incident
I am reminded of something I heard about recently. A close friend of mine mentioned in passing that holy grail of womens’ accessories: the Birkin bag.
Being something of a philistine, I had never heard of this Birkin bag. Said aloud, this particular pronouncement sparked in my friend shock, incredulity and pity, in that order. My ignorance in this matter was something that had to be rectified immediately. Therefore, I was treated to a loving lecture on the merits of this particular piece of arm adornment.
The Birkin bag, made by Hermès, is perhaps the most desired handbag on the planet. Many women spend their lives lusting over owning a Birkin.
To buy one directly from the boutique, be a person of exceptional status such as a film star- incredibly unlikely- or get into a waiting list, and wait to be offered the chance to buy one directly from Hermès-only highly unlikely.
To get on said waiting list, one must be a valued client of Hermès, which means regular and liberal application of the chequebook is required. Even then, there are only seventy thousand bags made in a whole year, and the waiting time is reportedly six years long on average.
The asking price ranged from a cool thirty grand to half a million, depending on the exact bag, she finished matter-of-factly.
At this point in the explanation, it was my turn to be incredulous. I believed, and still do, in paying for craftsmanship, skill, and quality. While undoubtedly exquisite, the leatherwork was surely not that good. The materials, though probably of impeccable pedigree, were probably not the equal of those that went into making a car (which, I hasten to remind you, might actually be cheaper than that of the Birkin bag).
Like I said, I was something of a philistine.
It all clicked for me, though, when I realised that the bag’s physical value has only a little influence on the price itself. The price exists to make it hard to attain- to restrict its customer base and make it exclusive. The materials and craftmanship, though exquisite, are not what sends the price into the stratosphere.
The physical attributes of the Birkin bag are, ironically, almost immaterial. The value of the Birkin is by telling the story of how one got it, simply by carrying it around. Wordlessly, a Birkin’s owner can regale a mute audience with the tale of trials and tribulations on the quest to obtain this most modern of holy grails. She carries a piece of the Birkin’s legacy; the story of the bag, its history and the endorsement of all its other owners.
I believe that there’s plenty of similarities between the Birkin and the highest rung of Scotch Whiskies,
Rising Action
Consider this: the chance of actually tasting any of the whiskies in the Prima and Ultima collection are slim to none. There are only two hundred and thirty eight sets available worldwide, and because these are single barrel releases- unblended- the chance of finding an exact match of these spirits range from slim to infinitesimal.
So few people have actually tasted it that it becomes difficult to rely on hard data- facts- to make a decision. People will often have to buy the rarest whiskies based on what they believe it tastes like.
Is the price fair for the taste? How do we know what’s fair when there’s really nothing that whiskies this rare can truly be compared to? Is taste the main reason why anyone should pick up the collection? Should it be?
In a material world based on taste and touch and smell, it’s easy to dismiss the power of stories and myth. Before we had the scientific method and cold facts, however, we had stories. Before we had reason, we had emotions and beliefs. Myths are no less real- but they live in the human mind, not the material world.
Think about it. Do fact sheets and statistics set your heart racing? Are your most precious memories expressed in bullet points? Do you dream in Powerpoint slides?
Our entire lives are made out of stories. Humankind’s attempts to explain how we were created comes in the form of stories. The best guesses at what happens after we die comes in the form of stories. What is the history of mankind- our collective cultural memory- but a collection of stories?
The story of the Birkin bag isn’t that of a Scotch whisky. Yet, the thing that links them is that they have ascended from their material existences into a kind of modern mythology. Without the power of myth, the Birkin is just an expensive bag, and whisky is just another beverage. Yet neither of them are valued solely for their physical attributes,
I still believe that a Scotch whisky’s mythology is born of craftsmanship. All the marketing dollars in the world can’t make us wax lyrical over drinkable turpentine, and no songs were ever sung about the glory that was tepid swill.
Still, great quality is no guarantee of success. Gems have remained undiscovered. Though the raw material exists, there’s a still a journey to go before a stone becomes a jewel.
Like some sort of liquid superhero, the spirit starts with the power, but it doesn’t become legend till it emerges into the world and starts dispensing justice. Without deeds to recount, there can be no saga of their accomplishments, By building this story through feats of skill and daring, our protagonist can slowly garner admirers. Impress one person. One fan turns into two, two into four, and then so on and so on till the devotees become legion.
With the voice of the whisky spoken through numberless lips, chances are that even those who have never tasted a single drop of it know its name.
I believe that for a story to seize the imagination, it needs two elements: interesting characters doing interesting things. There is great conflict or change on the part of our spirited protagonist, else there is no story at all. The origin story and its opposite, the end of a journey, in particular, are the very embodiments of change. The creation myth and the end of the world.
The Prima and Ultima collection draws from the well of Genesis and Ragnarök.
Climax
On most bottles of whisky, the age of the liquid represents its passage from bushel to bottle. To say that a whisky is thirty years old conjures images of its journey- how the long years in the cask have shaped it. The liquid is the most important element.
The distilleries featured in the collection have already proven themselves. We already know they make good spirit. They are interesting characters.
The collection is not offering up Cragganmore whisky. It is offering physical manifestations of the greatest, most interesting things that happened at Cragganmore. Mementos.
For the bottles of Prima and Ultima, the year the whisky was made- its origin- is proclaimed on the label alongside how long it waited in the cask- its ending. The years of distillation were not chosen randomly; great or terrible things happened during those years.
Every bottle in the collection bookends one of the eras of its distillery of origin. Some are these whiskies are the first of their kind, marking changes in a distillery’s style. The 1988 Singleton, the 1991 Lagavulin, the 1993 Clynelish and the 1984 Caol Ila are pioneers and forerunners, produced at the turning point in the distillery’s flavour profile.
1984 Caol Ila: 35 Years Old
A 1984 Caol Ila from a single refill cask (#5773) – the first release of a new style at the time, this particular cask was recovered after initially being sold.
Nose: Very smoky. Reminds me of the smells I get when I actually man the grill. There’s barbecued meat- bacon, beef skewers and even prawns. Salt and brine mixed with a medicinal layer- burnt pine and iodine.
Palate: Sweet, almost candy-like to start. Honey, cotton candy, Chinese malt candy and even lemon biscuit. Banana, vanilla and burnt Basque cheesecake. Peat and smoke, but lighter and more medicinal in nature. Reminds me of a heavily roasted Wuyi oolong- lapsang souchong or a qilan.
Finish: Very long, and dominated by medicinal smoke.
1988 Singleton of Dufftown: 30 Years Old
From three of the last remaining casks filled in 1988, at a time when the new grassy, fruity flavours were uncovered from a new slow-craft technique at this Singleton distillery. The first 30Y.O released of this kind.
Nose: A light and airy aroma. Grassy, with freshly sliced green apples to start. Time in the glass reveals white peaches and dried apricots. A whiff of hay and pine, with light vanilla and white pepper undertones.
Palate: Sweet and fruity. Flavourful but more refreshing than rich. An initial light honey, apricot and peach profile evolving to something a little grassy, but not herbal. Eventually culminates in fruity green apple and guava. Underpinning it all is light pine.
Finish: Long. A light wood-and-spice affair that doesn’t so much cling to the tongue as gently rest upon it.
1991 Lagavulin: 28 Years Old
Distilled not long after Lagavulin’s true distillery character was refined and perfected to today’s profile.
Nose: Instantly recognisable as a Lagavulin. Cream and hay. Apricots, lemon and tinned peaches. Vanilla and golden honey. Smoke, of course, mixed with iodine and the salt tang of the sea.
Palate: Sweet and clean-tasting. Honey, barley, cooked oat porridge with an egg scrambled in. Darjeeling and cotton candy. The smoke sits firmly in the middle tones – it’s ash and campfire rather than light roast.
Finish: Long and smoky. Almost licorice like.
1993 Clynelish: 26 Years Old
One of the first casks filled after the mysterious waxiness of Clynelish was understood and perfected.
Nose: Tangy and fruity. Green apples and green Belgian pears. It waxes tropical- young papaya and a bit of greenish mango. Eventually thickens into sweet white grapes, and a little bit of vanilla. A mysterious marine note appears to the end. Curious.
Palate: Wow. Green and gold apples and green pears to start. Fresh, juicy apricots and white peaches to sink the metaphorical teeth into. A drop of honey, lemon zest and oats. The trademark waxiness appears around the 3/4 mark, with a slight grassiness. A slightly savouriness completes the profile.
Finish: Dry and clean with remnants of the waxiness. The spice is very light. White pepper and cumin. The overall effect leaves the tongue tingling.
The other whiskies are the last of their kind- a 1971 Cragganmore, among the last to be made in coal-fired stills. A 1994 Mortlach, from one of the last remaining first-fill Pedro Ximenez butts. A 1988 Talisker- the last remaining with an atypical gentle peatiness. Even these pale in comparison to a 40 year old Port Ellen distilled in 1979, among the last of the stock of whiskies from the closed distillery.
1971 Cragganmore: 48 Years Old
This is the very last cask of whisky which was made at Cragganmore on coal fired stills – cask #2301 – before the switch to oil-fired steam heating.
Nose: Incredible. A remarkable nose even among its remarkable peers. Vanilla, hazelnut, caramel and roasted coffee to start. Buttered, cooked sweetcorn. Dried prunes and both Medjool and Red dates. Chestnuts roasted over coal, Asian style. Sweet Moroccan tea- sans the mint. Burnt manuka honey and a hint of oregano. Unbelievable. Worthy of legendary status.
Palate: Meaty, heavy, rich- a match for the nose. Fruit. Red apples, really dark marmalade, figs and dried prunes. Caramel, black coffee and dark chocolate. Roasted chestnuts fresh from the pan. Licorice- herbal and sweet. A pinch of umami- sea-salt and dashi as well.
Finish: Dry and long, though not seemingly eternal. Coffee, primarily, thought I do get drying tannin and cocoa.
If there’s a whisky that captures and crystallises the flavours of an older era, this is it.
1979 Port Ellen: 40 Years Old
One of the very last 1979 European Oak butts from Port Ellen, selected from the few casks remaining, long after the Islay distillery closed in 1983.
Nose: Briny. Fresh oysters and sea spray. Iodine and gravelly. almost petroleum-like Riesling. Ashy medicinal smoke and eucalyptus. Light fruits- green apples and fresh guava. Bitter grapefruit. Some oat cake and honey, though they are largely buried beneath the waves.
Palate: Nice honey sweetness to start. Some white fruit. Guava and white peach. White pepper. Green olives, seaweed and golden dashi stock. Wood smoke tinged with saltwater. some spicy bitterness. Vanilla, pine and honey, with a bit of oatmeal.
Finish: Smoky, sweet ash. Stretches on forever.
1988 Talisker: 31 Years Old
A 31-year-old Talisker from the last 6 casks that showed an unusual less peaty, more rounded character, specially put aside in 1988 to mature.
Nose: The maritime note is clear. A first hit of sea breeze. Smoke and some barbecued meat; bak kwa or baked candied bacon, and a distinct impression of cotton-candy sweetness to pair. Not overpowering at all. There’s some botanical elements too. Green apples, freshly cut grass and canned peaches.
Palate: Thick and rich, but balanced astonishingly well between fruit and smoke. Hay sweetness. honey, barley. apricots. gold apples, yellow peaches and some orange marmalade add depth to a fire-and-smoke base.
Finish: Long and dry. A pleasantly light expression of white pepper and gentle smoke. Really lovely.
1994 Mortlach: 25 Years Old
One of the last remaining first-fill Pedro Ximenez / Oloroso seasoned oak butt casks from 1994.
Nose: Coffee beans, dark chocolate and toffee; a rich roasty aroma. Sultanas. dark, dark prunes. figs. ripe nectarines and some green coffee as well. Layered on to both are the scents of toasted-waffle confectionery, burnt honey, cloves and star anise
Palate: Fruity, thick and very rich, almost decadent. A definite flavour of charred toast, paired with toffee and coffee. The breakfast notes are layered with heaving portions of dark fruit. Prunes, sultanas, dried apricots and cooked peaches. like having a fruity breakfast perhaps. I can visualise slightly burnt waffles with fruit jams, and a nice espresso on the side
Finish: Fairly dry and extremely long. There’s a tannin and lots of spice. My impression is that of a well roasted espresso.
Resolution
So what was the point of me telling this story of telling a story?
Well, it’s simple. I’m figuring out what the value of the Prima and Ultima collection is. And, I think, it’s not about money at all.
Diageo is trading in mythology. These are the first eight members of its pantheon. The collection offers the individual whiskies- but only as a tools to tell the story of the distillery behind it.
If you’re one of the lucky ones who can afford the £20,000 (S$33,000) asking price, you can hold what I consider to be artifacts- relics of a great story. The value of the whisky is not what you paid for it. The price paid for the collection represents your desire to be part of their story. The value is the ability to hold these in your hands, consummating the marriage of material and mythological.
As for the rest of us, we can still enjoy the stories of these whiskies. Imagination lives in the mind. Even if we can not touch the divine, we can at least bask in the legend, take pleasure from it.
All it takes is a good story.
If you’re in picking up a set of Prima and Ultima, you can head down to either of these websites to enquire about availability. If you’re already in love with the distilleries and want to look for some rare and exceptional whiskies from them, Diageo has just recently launched their new site, diageorareandexceptional.com, which I recommend you check out even if it’s just to see what’s available.
