Ten years ago, I arrived at my parent’s house during the Christmas season to discover my father and one of my brothers enjoying a glass of whisky together, and they offered me a dram. I enjoyed its ritualistic, bonding nature, but I found the whisky itself to be a bit of a chore to drink, me being an absolute novice to the activity.
To be quite blunt, the whisky tasted like ointment, or TCP or some other medicinal fluid that made the eyes crunch. The whisky itself was not just budget fare, such as Bell’s or Famous Grouse, but aesthetically elegant and high status. Yet the medicinal flavour was so intense I thought perhaps it was the detergent my mother was using on the tumblers. I kept my silence and didn’t bother with whisky again for years.
During my trips around the United Kingdom and Ireland in recent years, I (naturally) turned my attention back to whisky and discovered that what I was drinking didn’t have the ointment taste; indeed, it was pretty sublime. There was a mystery here.
This year, I finally uncovered the answer to the riddle. The whiskies my father and brother favoured were all heavily smoked or peated, which means the malted barley is dried over peat smoke. Brands such as Laphroaig, Lagavulin, or Ardbeg are all heavily peated, and this is precisely what would be found at my father’s table.
Given that this is an indulgent season and enjoying drinking is an obvious indulgence, here are a few fine whiskies I’ve discovered with a clear bias against the peated ointment taste.
Oban Little Bay
As noted in my post on my trip through Scotland, Oban on the West Coast of Scotland is a place dear to me and with which I have deep familial and personal ties. The Oban distillery sits just a street back from the lovely promenade and is hemmed in on all sides by modernity, and cannot expand any further. The branding and blurb lean into the idea of smallness, small casks, small operation, small batches. Oban itself is Gaelic for ‘‘Little Bay’’.
It was during the distillery tour that I asked the guide whether Scottish whiskies had to have a medicinal flavour because of the process, and was told, flatly, no. Indeed, the very nectar he was selling proved this point.
Little Bay is smooth and fruity, with only a hint of peat, nurtured in oak casks. The website Malts describes it as:
Oily, waxy and nutty, balanced by ripe orchard fruits. Notes of almond fruit cake on denser Christmas pudding, with cereal and orange behind
I certainly didn’t get any hints of Christmas cake, but in my imagination at least, there was seasalt and a splash of brine. Little Bay is a zesty, too-easy-drink whisky that aims to please. It’d make for a great crowd pleaser, and I’ll be showing up at the family get-togethers over the holidays with a bottle.
Bushmills 12 Year Old
The Bushmills distillery in County Antrim is the oldest licensed distillery in the world, having been in operation since 1608. Despite cultural tropes, Irish whisky hardly uses peat at all, and as a result, Irish brands tend to be far smoother. I visited the distillery with my father back in the spring. It is located near the Giant’s Causeway and the beautiful Irish Sea coastline, in a somewhat forgotten corner of the United Kingdom.
The freebies on the tour were divine, spurring the old man to say he felt like ‘‘angels are dancing on me tongue’’.
The 12-year-old matures in bourbon casks brought in from America, and then slumbers still longer in marsala casks (barriques) from Sicily. Like Little Bay, Bushmills has a fruity zest, but it is decidedly more Christmassy, with notes of honey, brown sugar, cinnamon and ginger.
Unlike many other brands, there’s something workhorse and earthy about Bushmills, something grounded. The well-advised festive walk to offset cardiac problems and general bloating during the festivities would be complemented perfectly by a dram of the nutty, no-nonsense Bushmills 12 Year waiting at the end with just enough seasonal spice to keep you in the spirit, so to speak.
The GlenAllachie
Having reached a rather depressing milestone this year, my wife bought me a bottle of GlenAllachie 12 Year, and it is without a doubt the nicest whisky I’ve ever had.
Situated in Aberlour, just north of the Cairngorms, GlenAllachie offers a sumptuous, indulgent, rich whisky matured in virgin oak, and casks of sherry, port and rum. In 2025, it won the ‘‘World’s Best Single Malt’’ at the World Whiskies Awards, and I can see why (As well as why my other half came across it).
The GlenAllachie is about as close to a Christmas cake in a tumbler you’re likely to get. It’s sherry, chocolate, figs, dark roasted coffee and stewed apples all squabbling for attention in your mouth.
Thijs Klaverstijn, over at Words of Whisky website, gives his take on where blender Billy Walker has taken his brand:
However, Walker is also giving the people what they want. These kinds of profiles have now long been popular with a large contingent of drinkers. Big, bold, brash flavours are often favoured over a certain delicate complexity. And I will say, his whiskies are never boring, which would be a cardinal sin, and there’s always a base level of balance. Especially the latter is a testament to his skill as a blender.
There’s certainly nothing boring about GlenAllachie; it’s a banquet.
Yet, I would savour it for a quiet moment over the festivities. That reflective time when the kids, in-laws and wider family and social circle have shuffled off, and that odd downtime arrives. Perhaps with an old friend, recounting those who have passed and any suffering that has occurred over the year.
GlenAllachie is opulent and luxurious, yet, like all whisky, it carries a certain melancholia. The aura of cold desolation and damp sea frets nestles within the cinnamon, figs and caramelised brown sugar notes. It is this odd juxtaposition that we feel over Christmas, luxury bound with loss, heartburn and heartache.
I mentioned at the start of this piece that I first drank whisky by walking in on my father and a brother. Perhaps this is at the root of it, not drinking per se, but ritual.
Merry Christmas, and why not treat yourselves to a wee dram?
Addendum: I may yet discover a fondness for peaty whiskies next year…
After a trying year, let us wind down with a warm fire and a little tot.
ha ha! Peaty whiskies are my fave. Ardbeg, especially the specials through the committee. I also found on my travels around Scotland that local whiskies to the place seem to taste better, not sure why that is, but it makes magical sense. So at some point, I need to get myself over to Islay.