Mannochmore 13yo
Murray McDavid Benchmark Series | 50.9% ABV
There’s more to whiskey than bourbon?
Being a life-long Northerner, moving to Dixie has been quite a shift of body and mind. For those in the UK, perhaps a good comparison would be moving from the suburbs of London to Orkney. OK, perhaps not as severe, but you get the point.
If I were to have relocated to one of the larger cities of Raleigh or Charlotte, I imagine my Yankee-ness might not stick out as much, as I understand that, for better or worse, many northerners have relocated in the past decade to those larger areas. I also understand the locals are none too pleased with the hybridisation that is occurring – in language, attitudes of social concerns, as well as the pace of life becoming more hectic.
Thankfully, I don’t live in those areas. I didn’t move eleven hours south to wind up in another New England-type town with New England-type people. I am in a largely provincial and enjoyably stuck-in-time part of North Carolina. The drawl is sharper, the pace is slower, people stop to talk to one another, and you ought not get in a fuss over things.
Outside of work, I enjoy the difference and embrace it. During work, however, it has taken me months to adjust to the changes in the manner by which court is conducted. Leave it to say that the unwritten, local rules have provided quite a bit of consternation. Much of the local process and procedure makes no sense to me as to why it is done, and when I pipe up and question things, I am routinely told, with a wry and paternalistic grin, that I simply ought not fret about it.
“This [insert process or procedure here] is what we’ve always done, and it fits us right.” That is inevitably followed up with a reminder that – as our county is on the water – things are “different at the beach”. Perhaps you can appreciate that, in my head, I am constantly hearing “Sit Down You’re Rockin’ the Boat” from Guys and Dolls.
And so it is with me finding my niche. In Connecticut, among the things I did as a family law practitioner was to serve as an arbitrator. I have arbitrated cases for more than twenty years. In my new locality, I quickly found there were no arbitrators anywhere near my office. I knew this was a niche I could fill. And so, I started plans to advertise my office for arbitration work. When I mentioned this to my new colleagues, they all cautioned me. I was reminded that this is “old school” territory. I was told that there was an “OG” for family law arbitration and mediation in the next county. With that, I thought it best to meet this OG and obtain his blessing before I hung out a shingle and dipped my toes into the arbitration waters. And so, I found the OG’s name and reached out to him.
The name – steeped in Southern history – is Leventhorpe Chase Ramseur, III, more formally known around these parts as Lev. After a few calls, I was able to chat with him directly. A more pleasant, polite, and engaging person I had not ever encountered. He, a descendant of a family steeped in roots of this area since prior to our Civil War, carried dialogue as one would expect from a true southern gentleman. He has been practising law in these parts for fifty years, and has carried the mantle of the law office started by his grandfather. He was lovely and engaging, and after I explained who I was and relayed some of my history, I told him I wanted to treat him to lunch to chat about his views of the local legal landscape and how I might best fit in. He was gracious to carve out some time. I expressed my appreciation and said I would drive to him, so as to help facilitate our chat.
When the day came for our meeting, I drove an hour to the appointed place for our lunch. I half expected to see someone out of central casting for a “true southern gentleman” – a robust man in a seer sucker suit, striding along slowly yet gracefully with a walking stick, and a straw fedora. As I walked up the stairs to the restaurant’s doorway, I heard the holler behind me of a man saying, “Ogilvie? It would say you must be Ogilvie, I believe?” I turned to see a lean, grey haired gentleman ambling up the walkway behind me with the most neatly trimmed van dyke beard I have ever seen. He had narrow glasses and was wearing a sweater and a large coat.
“Lev? It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I said. “How did you know it was me?”
A chuckle came as he pointed at me. “Easy, son. No true Southern gentleman goes out in 50 degree weather without bundling up!” The southern drawl and smile was disarming and we had a good laugh.
Lunch was only supposed to be an hour. We hit it off. Swapping war stories from our respective histories in the law, sharing family history, discussing my move from Connecticut, as well as speaking to what I have encountered since arriving in North Carolina. The late lunch turned into an early evening meeting.
It being close to 5:00pm as we were wrapping up our chat, Lev sat up, paused as he looked me over, and gave me one of the best compliments I have ever had.
“Ogilvie, I haven’t had as enjoyable a time with a Yankee since …well…ever.” Lev bellowed with laughter. “So much so, it is time, if you are up for it, to have a nip of whiskey.” The smile on my face spoke volumes.
Of course, I couldn’t resist, and asked him what kind of whisky he was referring to. He looked at me quizzically, and I told him about my affinity for single malts. I went on speaking about my whisky journey and my whisky club. Lev remained quiet. He listened, and when I was done, he calmly shook his head, again with that devilish grin, and said, “Scotch? That Johnnie Walker water? Good Lord. No, sir. There is only one whiskey worth your time, and that, my dear misguided friend, is bourbon.”
We continued good banter and ribbing at each other about our preferred whiskies. Along the way, I impressed him enough with my knowledge of bourbon and bourbon labels that he allowed me to select our whiskey pour. I scanned the restaurant’s bar, and ordered two pours of a Bardstown Discovery bourbon. Lev was impressed and quite happy with the selection, saying it reminded him a bit of Christmas with spiced cookies and a candied plum compote his grandmother used to make.
While we were finishing up our long lunch and bourbons, Lev kept reminding me that there was only one kind of whiskey worth talking about, and that was bourbon. As he kept going on about bourbons, I asked questions to know what kind of bourbons he enjoyed. To my surprise, he didn’t like ones that were too oaky, didn’t like ones that were all brown sugar – he liked hints of fruit and spice. As we finished our bourbons, I kept pushing back with stories of Scotland, the array of flavour profiles from various bottles of single malt I have sampled, etc.
As Lev finished the last sip of his bourbon, he slapped the table, paused for a second, and said, “Ogilvie, my friend, if you are so convinced that your Scotch would impress me, I will buy you dinner if you can show me one that will make me smile.”
“Challenge accepted, my friend.”
“So…”, Lev continued, “next time you’re up ‘round here, give me a call and we’ll meet up again.”
As it turned out, shortly after my meeting with Lev, I had to schedule a deposition. That deposition, much to my surprise, would be near Lev’s office. I reached out to Lev to see if he was free for dinner thereafter. He was, and we scheduled the time. Before I could remind him of the challenge, he jabbed at me saying I’d better not bring any “of that Johnnie Walker water”. I laughed, and assured him he would be paying for the dinner.
After my deposition, I drove over to the restaurant selected by Lev. We met up, shook hands, and laughed as if we had known each other for years. We were seated and had a great dinner, again spinning yarns from our respective histories. After dinner, he placed both of his hands on the table, smiled, and told me there was ample time for me to repent my sins of speaking against the holy word of bourbon as king.
I smiled back at him, leaned back in my chair, and grinned. I reached down to my satchel, and pulled out a flask. Two empty glasses were procured, and two pours made.
As he raised the glass to his nose, he breathed in the aroma and reacted with surprise. I wasn’t sure which way this was going to go, but quickly he returned to nose the glass as he closed his eyes, and I saw that as he closed his eyes, I saw what clearly appeared to be a smile.
Review
Mannochmore 13yo, Murray McDavid Benchmark Series, 286 bottles, Ximénez Spínola PX cask, UK Exclusive, 50.9% ABV
£45 paid at auction
This bottle came to me due to a bit of kismet. I had been eyeing Scotch whisky auctions to satiate my whisky wishes, but I had not followed through as the cost of shipping from Caledonia to American shores was, to me, cost prohibitive. And then, out of the blue, I had a windfall of $200.00 land in my pocket from an office football pool. I was quite surprised and quite happy, to be sure.
With that unexpected $200 in my pocket, and knowing it would cover shipping costs, I delved into the auction waters. And so it was – after Ogilvie scored five bottles in the last Scotch Whisky Auction, the shipping costs were covered. To be sure, and nauseatingly so, there wasn’t much left over after spending that $200 on the shipping costs. But I digress. Among the bottles, I landed this IB Mannochmore for £45.
When I was targeting bottles from the auction, I wanted to spread my horizons to new, to me, expressions. When this bottle came into view, I examined it carefully. I had never had a Mannochmore before this bottle. Also, I had never seen a Murray McDavid label with its crazy metallic aqua labels on these North American shores, either.
From what I could see, the box and label gave some information, but not comprehensively so. Non-chill filtered and natural colour. This is one of 286 bottles that was distilled in 2008 and bottled in 2022. A UK Exclusive, the remainder of the information states this whisky has the benefit of a Ximenez-Spinola PX cask finish. Only after some online digging did I come to find out that this bottling was initially filled into a standard hogshead, and had its final two years of maturation in a PX sherry cask from Ximenez-Spinola.
Nose
An initial waft of fortified wine gives way to plums and baking spices. Dark fruit. Cloves and stewed apples. A burned caramel comes forward with scents of a scraped vanilla pod. Oak and cranberries. Dark chocolate with almonds. Capping it off are hints of cinnamon and ginger.
Palate
A robust heft and oiliness with golden raisins and stewed fruits. Pralines with cloves and cinnamon. A mellowed dark chocolate underlies it all with butter toffee covered cashews. Lovely equilibrium of tasting experience among the oiliness feel, the dark fruits, baking spices, and nutty dark chocolate squares. The mid-palate moves to a long finish with a building ginger prickly spice that is a great counterbalance to the first portion of the tasting experience.
The Dregs
Even knowing that this whisky had two years in a PX sherry cask, I did not truly know how the cask influence would affect the whisky. For that matter, I was unsure what Mannochmore spirit tasted like, and I couldn’t refer to my Scotch Malt Whisky Yearbooks as they are still in a storage locker while Mrs. Oglivie and I find a new residence. So, I kept digging online.
My research told me that Mannochmore is a relatively new distillery. It was opened in 1971, and like so many other distilleries it was decommissioned for a period in the 1980s. It came back to life around 1990. For a time, it shared personnel with its neighboring distillery, Glenlossie. Since 1997, it has been under the ownership of Diageo, and the distillery has been run year-round with its own personnel since 2008. Aside from a release as a Flora & Fauna, and a regrettable expression called Loch Dhu, Mannochmore is a workhorse distillery used by Diageo as a major component of the Haig and Dimple blends, as well as used for Johnnie Walker. As such, it appears that the IB route is the only route to go if you want to sample what it might bring to the table.
In reading about Mannochmore online, its house style is described as “flowers…to the fore here, with delicate fruits that gain in weight when matured.” One outlet said that Michael Jackson had described Mannochmore’s spirit as “Fresh, flowery, dry. Aperitif.”
As said, this is a first for the distillery and the IB label for me. I am not sure if this is representative of either/both of their wares, but this combination, in particular, is well done and I am truly enjoying the whisky in my glass. I am not getting anything that would be considered as flowery or akin to an Apertif.
The description of fruits that gain weight when matured might be more accurate – and that weight has been complimented and perhaps more fully developed with the two years of PX cask. The whisky I am enjoying has good oiliness and body. The sherry finish is done very well as not overpowering nor faint – to me, it strikes a great chord within the flavour profile. Those sherry tones of dark stone fruits, cloves, along with spice that would (and did) give hints of the ginger and clove in Christmas cookies and the hints of stewed fruits and mulled wine.
I had not previously had a Mannochmore, nor had I previously had anything from Murray McDavid. I am particularly glad to have become acquainted with them. Both have impressed.
And, yes, it has impressed another with whom I have since shared a few drams, which brings me back to Lev.
That smile lingered on his face as he finished nosing the glass. Without opening his eyes, he brought the glass to his lips and took a sip. His face was in deep concentration for several moments. He swallowed, stayed stoic, and then opened his eyes and started to nod a bit.
“I know this isn’t bourbon. Are you telling me this is Scotch?”
“Yes, Lev. It’s single malt.” Lev looked quizzically at his glass. “Nice Christmas spice, eh?”
Lev brought the glass to his lips again, and after a second sip, he sat back and smiled. “No smoke. No burn. I swear this reminds me of my mother’s Christmas date pudding. She also used to make molasses crinkles. Ever hear of them?” I had to admit I had not. “Well, it’s a southern thing; cookies with ginger and cloves. And, so help me, I got ‘em in that glass.”
At that point, Lev sat up, smiled, and pointed at me. “That’s why you were asking all those questions about the bourbons I like. You set me up!”
As I laughed I admitted I was guilty as charged. I then spent some time going over different single malt flavour profiles. It was clear that despite my prior statements to the contrary he left our first meeting still believing Scotch was either smokey or no specific taste other than an alcohol burn. To his credit, after sampling the Mannochmore in his glass, he said he needed some single malt education. I told him about this Mannochmore expression. I explained a little about the PX sherry cask maturation but, as I was about to talk about other expressions, he put the glass to his lips again with one hand and held the other up to politely tell me to stop talking.
He sat back and let the liquid sit on his tongue for a bit, and swallowed.
“Let me be clear, I’ll never admit to being schooled by a Yankee about whiskey,” Lev said very slowly with that lovely Southern drawl, and then after a pause and a growing smile, “but you better bring more of these sherried whiskies to sample when you come next. Y’hear?”
“Understood, my friend.”
And I am very glad to say, that was a lovely dinner I didn’t have to pay for.
Score: 7/10
Tried this? Share your thoughts in the comments below. OS