No, it’s not the latest novel from Ian Rankin. It’s just a quick note about the new range from Edinburgh’s own Holyrood distillery: the Noir “trilogie“.
I last visited the distillery a couple of years ago—completely neglecting to take any photographs while I was there. At the time, they were doing some really exciting experimental stuff, distilling with different yeasts and malts. There were some fascinating and unconventional flavours coming through in their new-make spirit, but none of it had had the time to turn into whisky yet.
That fateful day has now arrived, and the first three more experimental releases are now out. I’ve been very impressed with their more traditional expressions to date, but this is new and weird and exciting. I’ve heard good things already about the bordeaux yeast whisky, and this week I was on one of my all-too-rare-these-days visits to dramb’s very good friends at the celebrated Bow Bar, so it was time to dive in.
Here we go then with the Holyrood Noir premier cru yeast. I’d mentioned it to the barman specifically as something I was hoping to try, so the absolute darlings had popped downstairs to fetch me a fresh bottle. This means that a) they’ve had a bottle and sold out already, and b) the dram I got was still at cellar temperature when I got it.
Immediately, the champagne yeast brings all those marvellous biscuity, buttery, croissanty notes to the nose. All the memories of my WSET champagne training came flooding back. (We blind-tasted with a bottle that was clearly of exceptional provenance, only to be told at the end that it was Tesco’s own brand. Good champagne is where you find it. Since then I’ve rarely drunk any other kind, and I tend to drink it out of a mug just to frighten the traditionalists.)
A pronounced hint of raspberry ripple. I could sit here all day, with my nose shoved in the glass, reminiscing. As the glass came up to room temperature in my hands, the whisky did what champagne does when it goes flat: the carbonic acid dissipated, some of the sour tang wafted away, bringing a suggestion of warmth and cosiness which just highlighted the biscuitiness from the whisky. A touch of hot tea, but that might be an association based on the way I drink champagne from a mug.
Toffee and fudge on the palate. Smooth, almost too smooth—I was just deciding that I could happily live on this when I looked at the ABV. A drop of water makes some crystal sparkles coalesce out of the liquid and then the raspberry ripple flavours come back stronger, this time with a hint of pear.
I absolutely adored this whisky and I will defend to the death my use of the word ‘biscuitiness’. Get that weak-ass wavy red line out of here, Wordpress.
I can see myself enjoying several more of these but I’m already looking forward to whatever the boys and girls of Holyrood come up with next.