Sensory Evalutation

A sure sign of over-zealous indulgence is (of course) drinking alone. Another is (of course) drinking in the morning.

This should concern me, I suppose. Solitary drinking is part of my job, and the best time to taste is late morning, when the palate is fresh. But though solitary, I am not alone: the professional tasters and blenders in the whisky trade do the same thing as me day in, day out. A few of them do not even like the taste of whisky. They keep their jobs, and their sanity, by evaluating whisky with their noses alone.

For 'tasting' read 'nosing'; whisky 'tasters' are referred to as 'noses' in the trade. (Likewise, a 'whisky tasting' is a 'nosing' and the 'tasting room' a 'nosing room'.) The tastebuds are of secondary importance when it comes to the sensory evaluation of any whisky.

The implications of this are twofold. First, you don't actually have to like the taste of whisky to participate in a tasting. Second, whisky is best tasted in glasses that will bring out its aroma.

Forget, therefore, about using traditional cut-crystal whisky tumblers: they're hopeless for nosing purposes. They were designed for swilling whisky and soda, and are perfectly adapted to this purpose, but they neither catch the delicate aromas of malt nor permit the spirit to be properly agitated (which helps release the aromas). A good nosing glass performs both these functions. It is tulip-shaped, with a decent bowl (for swirling the spirit) and a narrow lip (to catch the aromas). Ideally it is made from crystal (so the lambent colour of the spirit can be considered) but not cut crystal, which distorts the hue in its facets. A tulip-shaped wine glass is ideal, but not a Paris goblet. The Riedel malt whisky glasses are designed to show the whisky at its best; if for any reason you don't want to flatter the whisky a tulip-shaped glass is more likely to lay bare any faults.

The next consideration is water. Whisky always benefits from a little water. It opens up the aromas Ð you can actually see the little oily chains of aroma-bearing compounds swirling in the glass, and your nose will give you ample proof.

The question is: how much water? This is a delicate matter. I once ruined a glass of whisky from a bottle which cost £500 (Whyte & Mackay's award-winning The 500 to be precise) by drowning it, and I only added a teaspoon. As a general guide you should dilute to around 30%Vol, but some whiskies take more water than others and some take less, so add a little at a time. The optimum point of dilution is when any prickle or burning sensation you might feel on the nose when you sniff it straight disappears.

The ideal water to use will be drawn from the same source as the production water for the individual malt you are sampling. This may be difficult to obtain. At any rate, it should be still and soft. Bottled Scottish water meets these criteria; ordinary tap water, so long as it is completely odourless, is perfectly adequate. It should be cool but not chilled (say 15°C); if the water is chilled it closes down the aromatics. The same is true of ice, of course, which should never be added during a tasting. Indeed, warming the glass in the palm of your hand helps to bring out the aromas.

The next question is that of exactly what you can tell from the nose of a whisky. If you're a professional blender you can probably tell all you need to know; the rest of us should note that while you can judge smokiness, fruitiness, peatiness, woodiness and age, you can't judge alcohol from the nose, nor acidity, nor structure.

Should you taste alone, or with friends? The latter, obviously, can be more fun. Tasting with other people also allows you to realize when you are imagining scents. There is no surer way of determining whether or not an aroma is present in a whisky sample than receiving the enthusiastic agreement of other people when you come up with a descriptor. But bear in mind too that nosing or tasting is subjective, and your seaweed may be another person's kipper boxes. People don't have to agree; indeed, I'm looking forward to some spectactular disagreements between Jim Murray and Michael Jackson on our tastings pages over the next few issues.

To avoid sabotaging your senses, don't taste in a room with a wood fire which is blowing back, or a kitchen in which you are cooking a curry, or a freshly painted bathroom. Encourage your panel not to wear scent or after-shave, and not to smoke while they are tasting, or for half an hour before the tasting. Speaking as an enthusiastic smoker, I am pleased to report that smoking does not impair your ability to nose and taste. Some of the best noses in Scotland (let alone France) are heavy smokers. However, your smoke can play havoc with the tasting ability of anyone who is not a smoker.

The huge majority of people (around 80 per cent of us) have first rate noses. Noses equipped with some five million olfactory cells, which can detect aromas diluted to one part in a million - in the case of especially pungent compounds, one part in a trillion. The main drawback to being able to smell is age: one's sense of smell deteriorates in time, like the rest of one. Also, be aware of a phenomenon called 'anosmia', 'odour blindness', occuring among your panel. This is identified when one member simply
can't smell certain groups of aromas. It can also work the other way, where an individual is acutely sensitive to certain scents.

There are only three primary colours (yellow, blue and red) and four primary tastes (sweet, sour, salty and bitter), yet there are 32 primary aromas from which we build our sensory universe. Even when you think you are tasting with your palate it is in fact your olfactory cells that are doing most of the work: if you don't believe me, hold your nose when you next take a sip of whisky, and see how much flavour the whisky has.

The first two pieces in this series have stressed the importance of smell in the evaluation and enjoyment of Scotch whisky - hence the use of the rather ponderous 'sensory evaluation' rather than simply 'whisky tasting'. So when we address ourselves to the question of how to describe whisky, we are talking mainly about putting words to smells. Compared to this, describing taste is simple, and I will say something about it later.

It is notoriously difficult to describe aromas, yet they are the most evocative dimension in our sensory universe. Think how memories of childhood can be awakened by certain scents; think how a place or a time, a holiday or a meal, can be vividly brought to mind by a smell - for good or bad. Remember, while there are only four primary tastes (sweet, sour, salty and bitter) there are 32 primary aromas, and we can detect some of them diluted to one part in a trillion. Every sample of malt whisky presents a bouquet of aromas - in some cases 20 or 30 identifiable scents - and although it is now possible to
measure trace quantities of aromatic compounds scientifically, the only means of assessing the overall impact of a whisky is by nosing and tasting.

Professional tastings for the trade set out to be as objective and analytical as possible. The conditions in which tasting takes place are carefully controlled, and members of tasting panels are rigorously trained: if the human instrument is the best available, training is the standardisation and calibration of that instrument, in terms of both the language to be used and the measure of aromas discovered.

This does not concern us, as consumers. We are tasting for pleasure and the language we use to describe what we find in a whisky can be as subjective and as imaginative as we choose.

The most obvious figures of speech to use in describing smells are allusive:
similes ('smells like Parma violets/new-mown hay') and metaphors ('a barber's shop'; 'a beach bonfire'). Communication here relies upon your audience having smelled whatever it is you are alluding to. Hens' mash is an oft-encountered descriptor, but it may be meaningless to people who have never fed chickens. Likewise with very personal allusions like' the inside of my grandfather's car'. But the broader your experience of and exposure to different aromatic groups the better: flowers and herbs, cooking and
cleaning, babies and hill-walking ... Generally speaking, women are better at coming up with allusive descriptors than men, and some of the best noses in the whisky trade are women.

Many of the words we use to describe sensations are abstract - general concepts, rather than strictly objective descriptors. These are as legitimate as similes and metaphors, but they describe an overall impression - the whisky's construction (to borrow a wine term), general style, character and quality - rather than specific aromas. As such they are useful. But they are not precise, and since they cannot be defined by reference to a standard, they are not strictly scientific.

Think of terms like 'smooth', 'clean', 'fresh', 'coarse', 'heavy', 'light', 'rich', 'mellow' or 'young'. Some are relative terms (smooth compared to other malts, or perhaps other Speyside malts? Heavy for a Lowland malt?). Others have double meanings (soft can mean a suppression of alcohol and pungency, or it can mean gentle mouthfeel; young can mean immature or lithe and well-shaped). Many more are imprecise (rich can imply an intensity of character, or can mean rich as a fruit cake; fresh can mean acidic or vibrant). Such loose descriptors should be used with caution.

The first systematic attempt to define the language of whisky tasting was undertaken in the late 1970s by a group of sensory scientists in Edinburgh, Pentlands Scotch Whisky Research (now The Scotch Whisky Research Institute). They displayed their findings in the form of a wheel. This is now the accepted way of tabulating aromas and flavours, but at the time it was novel.

The Pentlands Wheel was for the use of the whisky industry, not the consumer, and could be applied to new-make spirit as well as mature whisky. With Dr Jim Swan (one of the wheel's original authors) and Dr Jennifer Newton (his partner at Tatlock & Thompson, Chemical Analysts to the Whisky Industry), and drawing upon a vast lexicon of descriptors gathered from tasting panels over many years, I am currently working on Pentlands' findings to produce a wheel which will be more useful to the consumer; the wheel you see here is work in progress.

The wheel has eight segments and three tiers. Users can begin from the outside rim, with the kind of vague aroma description which often arises spontaneously during a tasting, and work inwards to the core aromas on the first tier, or vice versa.

The order of the segments broadly reflects the development of aromatics during production (sections 1-6) and maturation (sections 6-8).

Aromas arising during production are:

1. Cereal: these aromas come from the malted barley, and are usually modified by the later stages of
   production (fermentation and distillation).
2. Fruity (the scientific term is 'estery'): the sweet, fragrant, fruity, solvent- like scents which characterize Speyside malts in particular, arise during fermentation and distillation.
3. Floral (or 'aldehydic'): leafy, grassy or hay-like scents, sometimes like Parma violets or gorse bushes, and often found in Lowland malts.
4. Peaty (also called phenolic) - these scents are abundant in Islay malts and range from wood-smoke to tar, iodine to carbolic. Almost all phenols are imparted to the malt during kilning.
5. Feinty: this group is the most difficult to describe, yet feints give whisky its essential character. They start coming in halfway through the spirit run, beginning as pleasant biscuity, toasted scents, then build through tobacco-like and honeyed to sweaty. The wise still-man stops collecting spirit at the honeyed stage, for the deterioration can be dramatic thereafter. Feints are mellowed and transformed by maturation in good casks.
   
6. Sulphury (from organosulphur compounds): these arise during both distillation and maturation. Copper plays a crucial role in removing such aromas, which are generally unpleasant. Maturation introduces the last two key aromatic groups:
7. Woody: the vanilla-related aromas in this group derive from American white oak. Some woody aromas are directly related to age: malts can become woody when they have been in cask for too long. Oak increases complexity, enhances fragrance and delicacy, creates astringency, lends colour and develops roundness.
8. Winey (also called extractives): if the cask has previously been filled with wine (mainly sherry, but sometimes port or others), the wood absorbs wine residues, which are extracted by the spirit and become part of its flavour.

The descriptive language of whisky tasting sets out to be as objective as possible, and to use precisely defined terminology. But the descriptors are a guide only. Use your own words and, if you like, group them under the various primary tier headings. Hold your own whisky tastings; see how colourful and original you can be in describing the whiskies. You will know your descriptions are accurate when the other members of your panel nod enthusiastically and exclaim, 'Yes! Yes! I Know just what you mean - tea-time on a fishing boat stormbound in Mallaig harbour'