Free Raw Spirit by Iain Banks Page B

so you can watch what’s going on, live, from anywhere in the world.
    It later turns out, as I discover through a
Guardian
article in early June, that Bruichladdich only got the broadband connection that makes the webcams possible due to a mistake by British Telecom. The contract was signed and legally binding before BT realised that the distillery wasn’t where they thought it was. So the outgoing signals have to be bounced from Islay to Northern Ireland – admittedly only about 20 or so miles away – then away back over to Edinburgh before disappearing into the Web.
    It’s this mixture of tradition and newfangled that’s going to keep cropping up over the next few months and (nearly) one hundred distilleries; very old tech and very new tech existing together and helping, in the end, to make and promote a drink that has itself changed and evolved over the centuries, sometimes with the grain of change in society, sometimes not.
    Evolution, in the way the stuff is made, marketed and appreciated and indeed in the taste of the finished product itself, helps keep whisky interesting. At one of the earliest stages of the process at Bruichladdich we’re invited to taste some of the heavily peated malt they intend to use for a future expression. This comes as a surprise because the Laddie – as it’s sometimes known – is not a very peaty whisky at all, certainly not compared to the reeking giants of the island’s south coast.
    The peatiness of malt is measured by the parts per million (p.p.m.) of the aromatic chemical phenol it contains, and modern maltsers are able to produce accurately and consistently pretty much any degree of peatiness a distiller requests. Of the Islay whiskies, Bunnahabhain has the least peat at 5 p.p.m., while Ardbeg has the most; 50 p.p.m. In between come Bowmore with 20, Port Ellen (as was) with 25, Caol Ila with 30, Laphroaig with between 35 to 40 and Lagavulin with 40. Bruichladdich is usually the second least peated whisky, with 8 p.p.m. of phenol in the mix, but the malt we’re given a few grains of to chew on is absolutely loaded; it has ten times as much as they’d usually use here; fully 80 p.p.m. It’ll be a while before this monster of a dram thumps onto a bar or counter near any of us, but – always assuming that it doesn’t overwhelm the seaside freshness Bruichladdich is famous for, but works with it and adds to it instead – it should be a mighty piece of work, worth waiting for.
    While we’ve been here, a couple of guys and a digger have been tearing up a large part of the central courtyard Bruichladdich is built around; demolishing old foundations in preparation for putting down new ones, allowing glimpses of old brick-lined drains and sections of ancient wall. They’re still doing this when we leave, late, to head for the south of the island, where we’re due to meet Toby for lunch and have a look round Ardbeg.
    If Bruichladdich feels like a place still very much in development, Ardbeg exudes an air of having already achieved the sort of transition the Laddie is aiming for. They produce a lot more whisky here (I’m not going to mention the bottles-per-whatever much more, honest); 35,000 bottles per week, or over six times what Bruichladdich does. This is the result of a lot of rebuilding, both physically and, more to the point, promotionally. Quiet through most of the eighties, Ardbeg is now owned by Glenmorangie, who have built the Ardbeg brand into something accepted (once more) as being worth mentioning in the same breath as Laphroaig and Lagavulin. They spend 35 per cent of their budget on advertising and promotion – most companies spend about sixteen per cent – and this has to make a huge difference. This all makes it sound a bit too corporate, though; the feeling you get when you’re in the place is that it’s been lovingly restored to and beyond past glory.
    The restaurant in the Visitor Centre is exceptional; we meet Toby, apologise for being late, and have