With Burns Night approaching, thoughts turn to whisky, and a peated dram is the favoured choice for many. But what is peat, and how does it get into whisky? Barbara Drew MW digs in to find out.
In the sometimes gloomy depths of winter, there are treats aplenty. Evenings spent close to the radiator, with a good book. Hot chocolate after a brisk walk in the cold air. And a smoky, iodine-tinged dram of peated whisky, at the end of the night. But what sets apart peated whiskies from their more common, unpeated counterparts? And how, exactly, are they made?
What is peat?
Peat is partly decomposed organic matter, formed in the damp, acidic conditions of bogs and fenland. It takes thousands of years to form, at the rate of just one millimetre per year. Because peat is organic though, it burns quite well and has been used for decades as a fuel source, when trees aren’t available.
It’s found in the aforementioned peat bogs, enormous areas of (often) wind-blasted heath, desolate and damp. It’s cut in the summer and laid out in bricks to dry. If you walk through the wilds of Scotland you’ll often come across such cuttings – some legal, some less so – in the summer months. A huge 20% of Scotland’s land area consists of peat bog.
How is it used in whisky?
Peat can be used in the malting process in whisky production (though it is optional). Once the barley has been malted (tricked into germinating with heat and water), the barley is then dried in a kiln. If this kiln is fuelled with peat, it adds a rich, smoky flavour to the malted barley. This smoky flavour follows the barley throughout the entire distillation process, eventually ending up in the finished whisky.
The intensity of the peat flavour varies depending on how much peat is used; and only a tiny amount is needed to leave its signature smoky kick. Peat level is measured in parts per million (ppm) of phenols, and even the smokiest whiskies may only have 50ppm – a tiny amount. Others may have just one or two ppm – just enough for a faint whisper of bonfire on the finish.
Scotland, and particularly the island of Islay, is often associated with peated whiskies. There is no monopoly on this style however; far from it. In fact when the Japanese whisky industry launched in the 1920s, modelled very closely on the Scotch industry, peat was just one of the many aspects borrowed from Scotland. Many classic Japanese whiskies now have the tiniest hint of peat to them, amongst them the Yamazaki.
As whisky production has expanded around the globe, peated (alongside unpeated) styles have taken off in regions as diverse as Sweden, Tasmania and India. Some new-wave US whiskies also use peat to add complexity and a smoky kick. But is all that about to change?
Sustainability
Due to how long it takes to form, peat is increasingly viewed as a finite resource. The truth is that anything is sustainable if it is used at a pace at which it can be replenished, and the amount of peat used in whisky production is slight indeed (and represents less than one percent of all peat use across all industries). Nevertheless, distilleries are increasingly looking to the protection and preservation of these landscapes as part of their overall sustainability approach.
In 2023, the Scotch Whisky Association launched its Commitment to Responsible Peat Use (CRPU) to promote responsible extraction, efficient use of peat during malting, and restoration of peatlands. With over 80% of Scotland’s peatlands degraded, the Scottish government has committed £250m to restore 250,000 hectares by 2030. And by creating the CRPU, the industry has taken its first collective step towards sustainable peatland management.
Of course, this is limited to Scotland for now and better control over third-party suppliers of peat is required. But this topic is moving up the agenda and distilleries around the world are now reviewing their peat use to ensure they are only using it when necessary, and maximising the peat they do use.
This doesn’t mean that your favourite smoky whisky is on the endangered list. But it does mean these products should be truly savoured; we’re unlikely to see the market flooded with a huge number of peaty styles in the future.
A great introduction to peaty flavours, this has a lovely gentle but persistent smokiness on the nose. The palate has a soft, creamy texture, with notes of orchard fruit and honey, offset by hints of kippers and iodine. A classic taste of Islay.
Peat is not just found in Scotch whisky and this bottle beautifully illustrates how this smoky flavour can enhance bottlings from around the world. This is a blend of five different types of malted barley, some unpeated and some which have been peated. The result is a balanced whiskey, with soot, orange peel and ginger alongside cocoa and spice flavours.
This does what it says on the tin and is delightfully smoky and intense. Finished in Pomerol wine casks, there is a light red-fruit flavour underlying this whisky though. The Port Charlotte bottlings have plenty of peat flavour but are always beautifully balanced nonetheless. This is a treat for fans of a smokier dram.
Last autumn, we had the great fortune of visiting Campbeltown – the remote fishing town on the west coast of Scotland, and once the whisky capital of the world. With storm clouds gathering overhead, we sought refuge in the three remaining distilleries, delving deeper into the town’s fascinating history of decline and resurgence. Photo credit: Glengyle Distillery.
Campbeltown. The mere mention of the name will light up the eyes of the most passionate whisky collectors. Its spirits are highly coveted, revered and cherished – if you are lucky enough to get your hands on a bottle.
But behind the whisky, this is a thoroughly unassuming town. It is located at the far end of the Kintyre Peninsula, overlooking the Firth of Clyde. There is only one road into Campbeltown, stretching down the length of the peninsula, overlooking the sea lapping the shore. The Northern Irish coast looms on the horizon, almost within touching distance.
Around 4,600 people live here, and there are three working distilleries: Glen Scotia, Glengyle and Springbank. Here, the hotels and pubs have a faded air, as if you’ve slipped back in time. Red leather and tartan, proper but unfussy. Ghost signs remain legible on the side of buildings. Fishing boats are moored in the harbour. There are hints of a colourful past everywhere you look, because this was once the whisky capital of the world.
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Records tell us that at the turn of the 19th century, Campbeltown had 31 distilleries. This figure would grow to 37 throughout the 1800s. Two major industries blossomed here: whisky and herring. Picture a bustling hub of rolling barrels, fishing boats pulling into shore amid the market calls of the fishmongers. Distillery workers in their flat caps, the stench of fish curing in the sun. Smoke billowing from the pagoda chimneys.
These appear to have been times of prosperity, abundance and industry. Turning the clock a little further back, there were reputed to have been 31 illegal stills operating in the town by the end of the 18th century. Distillers no doubt found resourceful and canny ways of hiding their spirit from “the exciseman” – the bogeyman of the 1700s. Then, in 1823, the Excise Act made it easier for distilleries to become licensed, and a legitimate whisky industry began to bloom. It may seem like one of Scotland’s most isolated outposts now, but in the era of the steamship, it was primely located between the rest of Scotland and Ireland, with an easy route south too.
We are told all this by our guide, Aly Anaut, who is showing us around town on a drizzly grey Wednesday. Aly is an animated guide with a clear passion for whisky, which has brought him here from Cusco, Peru, with his family.
As we walk, Aly points out the dark red and black bricks that the buildings are built from. These came from all over the world, brought in on steamships as ballast. We turn a corner, and he draws our attention to the shape of the windows in residential flats, speaking to their former lives as distilleries. Even the Tesco in town is an old distillery.
He tells us how the town’s whisky used to be nicknamed “stinky fish” hinting at the casks’ former lives. A little further north, the Duke of Argyll’s castle in Inveraray was built with funds earned from selling the loch water to the town’s whisky-makers. These are small, almost incidental, details, but each one is a brushstroke building a larger picture of a thriving past.
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Our first stop is Springbank, the oldest remaining distillery in town, dating back to 1828. Its whiskies are among the world’s most desirable. They’re released by ballot, so it’s luck of the draw if you will get one. Even when we arrive at 8 o’clock in the morning, there is already a long queue of tourists forming outside.
Springbank has an old-school production philosophy, retaining a malt floor for the entirety of their barley. The barley is raked and turned manually at regular intervals. This is the traditional way of converting the starch into sugars, but is a labour-intensive and backbreaking process. Less traditional are the fairy-lights strung along the walls of the malt room, casting a golden glow over the grain. The pillars are painted in vivid hues: pillarbox red, mustard, forest green, violet and gold. It’s charmingly quaint, as far as traditional distilleries go; apparently, the local mice are keen on the ambience too.
Craig, our distillery guide, tells us that 110 people work here, many of them graduates from Herriot-Watt University. A deliberate effort is made to keep the old skills alive (a particular interpretation of “sustainability” that seems to chime with many distilleries). Everyone here is local: after the NHS and the government, Springbank is the biggest employer in the area. The distillery has always been driven by a desire to bring employment to the area – a legacy of its late owner, Hedley G. Wright.
When Wright passed away in August 2023, he had been part of the Scotch whisky industry for over six decades. It wasn’t just about making whisky; it was just as much about creating employment and security for the families of Campbeltown. He is spoken of in warm, reverent tones, and it’s already clear his legacy will be upheld with pride here.
Springbank produces three key expressions: Longrow and Hazelburn (named after historical distilleries), and the eponymous Springbank. Simplicity and tradition are paramount in their whisky-making approach. Analogue technology fills the distillery, from the postbox-red Porteus mills that grind the grain, to a cast-iron Victorian mash tun in which the grain is steeped. What they refer to as “the computer” is an old-fashioned tablet hanging on a pillar.
Springbank backs onto the second of Campbeltown’s surviving distilleries: Glengyle. The history of Glengyle echoes that of many of the town’s other distilleries. It opened in 1872, then closed in 1925. Almost 80 years later, it was brought back to life by Hedley Wright, and it remains under the same ownership as Springbank. Glengyle produces a whisky called Kilkerran, which is also named after another historical distillery.
As we move between the two distilleries, rain falls in sheets on the corrugated iron roofing, and the wind howls. The smell of sweet cereal and fruity spirit lingers in the air. Talk turns to the future. Planning permission has just been granted for another three distilleries. Business is booming in Campbeltown.
“The more the merrier,” says Craig. “It’ll attract more people to the town.” With people come more hotels, more golf courses. In this way, the whisky trade is deeply entwined with tourism and other industries – which, for now, is a welcome development in the town.
The conversation turns to more immediate challenges. There’s rough weather ahead: landslides on the roads, cancelled ferries. In a town as remote as this, these are big – but not uncommon – considerations. The possibilities of being stranded are very real. When the tourists come, they will no doubt brave these storms, but how will the locals fare? Time will tell.
We warm up with a tasting of a couple of drams, starting with the 23-year-old Hazelburn. It’s drawn straight from the cask and released into our glasses, and it enlivens us with notes of sweet toffee, red apple, melon, vanilla and sweet wood.
Then we move onto the Springbank 32-year-old. It’s always a privilege to taste something that’s been maturing in a cask for this long. As you might expect, it has a beautiful integration of flavours, softened with time. Golden apples, pear, sweet wood and vanilla. Chamomile, peach, toffee and elderflower. Each sip offers so much, lingering on the tongue as our time at Springbank reaches its end.
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Next, we visit Glen Scotia, the last of the three remaining distilleries. Since it started making whisky in 1832, it has changed hands many times, and it closed twice in its chequered history: the first time in 1930, with its owner Duncan McCallum sadly taking his own life; the second time in 1984. The distillery in its present iteration has been running since 1999 under the ownership of the Loch Lomond Distillery Group, based up the road towards Glasgow.
Master Distiller Iain Macallister has been here for 17 years, coming from a background in engineering. He brings a scientific and experimental approach to the process, while paying homage to Campbeltown’s heritage. “The process is simple,” Iain tells us, “but there’s so much complexity built into that simplicity.”
The whiskies here are made in a classic style, with a subtly sweet and saline character, and a certain delicacy about them. They produce a range of age-statement expressions, but their most remarkable bottling is the Victoriana. This is inspired by a more robust Victorian style of whisky, full of rich spiced fruit, cinnamon and nuts, with a hint of subtle smoke.
We’re standing in the old warehouse where the barrels are kept, wrapped in warm layers with a glass of whisky in hand. It is easy to imagine what it must have felt like here in the 1800s. Little has changed, apart from the installation of electrical lights. Grey stone walls reach high above us, covered in centuries’ worth of black mould – which isn’t as undesirable as it sounds. Iain tells us the fungus creates a layer of insulation, adding a certain character and richness to the liquid as it matures in the casks. Such a unique patina is only gained with time.
Iain draws some whisky out of a barrel and pours it into our outstretched glasses. We are tasting a first-fill Bourbon cask from 1991. The liquid has a beautifully mellow character, with notes of cinnamon, vanilla, sweet wood spice and caramel, all woven together like silk.
After this, we taste a Guyana rum cask from 2003. It’s brimming with tropical fruits, with a gentle coil of peat smoke. Pineapple, mango and juicy apples, with a flash of coastal brine. It is warming, soothing and invigorating at once.
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Above us, the rain beats harder. The wind whistles an ominous tune through the wooden beams. The storm has arrived. We were meant to be visiting Lochranza and Lagg distilleries on the Isle of Arran, but our ferry has been cancelled. So instead, we leave Glen Scotia behind us and begin the long journey back to Glasgow, hoping for a smooth passage.
We drive carefully up the long, lonely road that extends along the flank of the peninsula, watching the sea crash against the rocks and the wind drag the waves askew. The sky is the same colour as the distillery walls, thick and furious.
Campbeltown has been shaped by its history, but it has also been shaped by its landscape. The whisky, for all its smoothness and richness, still contains a little of this character. Something hard, weathered and timeless; capable of enduring all manner of storms, and returning from what seems like the end.
If you are lucky to taste a dram from Campbeltown, dig under the surface and you might find it.
Christmas feasting doesn’t have to end once the day itself is over. Here, Elisa De Luca describes the joys of using up Christmas leftovers and explains what she’ll be drinking with them.
Leftovers are one of the best parts of Christmas, so much so that my family purposefully scales up our festive shopping list each year – often to such an extent that you’d think there were fifteen of us, rather than five.
Turkeys so heavy you totter under the weight of them; mountains upon mountains of potatoes; a good two hours dedicated, every Christmas Eve, to wrapping hundreds of pigs in blankets.
Half of this doesn’t get eaten on the day. By the time we’ve worked through breakfast platters of eggs and bacon, then an assortment of “picky bits” accumulated from the shelves of M&S, we’re not all that hungry when it comes to Christmas dinner itself.
And yet, we continue to cook – because, as we settle ourselves into the Betwixtmas slump, often to be spent entirely on the sofa, we know that we’ve set up a series of fantastic leftovers feasts to look forward to.
A tradition: the Christmas pie
It’s something of a ritual. The morning after Boxing Day, we clear the detritus of wrapping paper, stack up empty Quality Street tubs for recycling, and get to work on pastry for a Christmas leftovers pie.
Turkey, of course, is the star of said pie – accompanied by whatever might be left of the pigs in blankets. In the all-too-common case that we’ve managed to work our way through these already, no matter. Gammon will make up the shortfall, and bacon too.
The filling: the meats, parsnips, stuffing – but not a sprout, never a sprout – all in a simple, creamy roux. Then, a whole bulb of garlic, roasted for an hour; fresh tarragon, finely chopped; an unholy amount of Dijon and wholegrain mustard. One quick egg wash for the lid and 40 minutes later, we’re back to the sofa, cradling plates of hot, fresh pie.
It’s not light. Not at all. A heavier wine alongside this will kick you firmly back into post-Christmas lethargy. Instead, we tend to have a specific bottle set to one side for this annual treat: a bone-dry, mouth-tinglingly acidic Riesling.
The Riesling Trocken from Eva Fricke is a new favourite of mine this year, and – with its incredibly fresh flavours of green fruit – is a strong contender for a pie pairing. Alternatively, the Riesling Réserve from Trimbach is always a hit, with enough zip to cut through the cream and salt, while packing the power to hold up against a combination of garlic, mustard and tarragon.
A croque-ing Christmas
It’s an excellent problem to have: what to do when you’re left with an excess of cheese and cold cuts, and haven’t quite mustered the energy to start cooking again?
I’ve only recently discovered the joys of a homemade Croque Monsieur. A few extra steps to a classic ham-and-cheese, and all of a sudden you have a sandwich of the gods. Well-buttered bread, layers of whatever cheese you have left – ideally something that will melt well, for full gooey pleasure – topped with slices of cold cuts and another slice of bread. Pan fry both sides in a healthy (or not) amount of butter, re-load with more cheese, béchamel sauce and grated nutmeg, and bake until melted to perfection. I challenge you to stop at one. Your leftovers will be gone in no time.
For this – and, let’s be honest, for anything that’s seen a well-oiled frying pan – a sparkling wine is what you want. The high acidity in these cuts through fat on your palate – as does the texture of the bubbles, which will stop your tastebuds feeling overwhelmed by the butter and cheese.
This year, I’m opting for Pol Roger’s Réserve Brut – the weight and complexity in this will mean you can load up on all the cheese combinations you want, and still have a wine that’s powerful enough to match. If you’re planning on a Croque-Monsieur feast and are looking to stock up, the Own Selection Crémant de Limoux is a fantastic alternative that won’t break the bank: all tangy orchard fruit, with a wonderfully cleansing finish.
A farewell to Christmas flavours
Believe it or not, it can happen. After months of anticipation, an excess of Christmas food can put you right off the time-honoured flavours of sage, onion and spice. But what to do if you’re still working your way through an excess of turkey and roasted vegetables? In my house, the answer is simple – it’s time for a curry night.
A turkey curry can come in many forms. A biryani is a staple for me – the key to the flavour lying in four or five onions, thinly sliced and slowly caramelised to bring maximum flavour. Parboiled rice; diced turkey mixed with garlic, yoghurt and spices; milk and butter and a touch of saffron – all slow-cooked in one pot until ready. If there are still leftover vegetables lying around, put these to use too – generally in a fragrant tomato-based curry to be served alongside.
Wines for spicy food can be a little more of a challenge; the heat of chilli can highlight certain elements of wine that do far better when they’re nicely integrated and less noticeable. Some wines, though, stand out. I always enjoy a Gewurztraminer like this one from Domaine Rolly-Gassman. Gewurztraminer’s a singularly unusual wine: powerful and aromatic, with a blend of rose, lychee, white pepper and ginger flavours that work with spices in food, rather than against them.
Of course, by this point you might also be looking forward to the days of Dry January – and starting that a little early may be welcome. Experimenting with something new could be just the ticket; our Sparkling Tea offers up all the dried flowers, soft fruit and spice that will intertwine with the spices of curry, with none of the alcohol.
Looking for inspiration for what to eat on the day itself? Find our guide to Christmas food and wine here.
Marta Rich works in our Digital Trading team. Every Christmas, she travels home to Washington D.C. to celebrate with her family. There is one tradition she looks forward to, most of all: the sharing of a magnificent cheeseboard, alongside delicious Champagnes.
In my household, the Christmas season is centred around traditional dishes from my parents’ European and American heritages. But there is one meal, in particular, that we are all equally devoted to: an impeccably constructed cheeseboard.
Christmas Day is always an early start, with steaming cups of hot chocolate for me and black coffee for my parents, sitting cross-legged and huddled around the tree exchanging presents and watching our two cats frolic in the wrapping paper. We all have our ceremonial plate of a traditional Panettone – meticulously chosen by my mother weeks before – but before long, we are waiting for the real feast to begin.
Since moving to the UK when I was 18 for university, one of the token “British things” I have been bringing back to the suburbs of Washington D.C. is a delicious and sweetly packaged potted Stilton. This, along with a colourfully waxed Cheddar truckle and a variety of chutneys – recently the favourite has been a caramelised onion marmalade – are ceremonial presents for my father, who upon opening, officially begins the creation of our cheeseboard.
Our Christmas Day cheeseboard is a collaborative family effort, and the result of countless grocery store visits, trial cheese-and-cracker pairings throughout the year, and vigorous samplings of other charcuterie staples. This spread is no laughing matter; the 2023 Christmas Day cheeseboard stretched across our entire kitchen island, and we even needed to write down the names of each one to remember the extent of our offering. Picture carefully mapped-out groupings of soft Brillat-Savarin, sharp Neal’s Yard Cheddars and a Humboldt Fog from California. These are surrounded by wafer-thin water crackers, rosemary and truffle assorted nuts, slivered Marcona almonds, pecans roasted in butter and tossed in our local Old Bay seasoning. A line-up of English jams. Among all these delicious treats, our potted Stilton sits proudly in the centre.
Now what else is there to drink at 10 o’clock in the morning, surrounded by the very finest cheeses, than Champagne? Like the charcuterie, our selection of sparkling varies from year to year; as a family, we’re passionate about exploring everything this magnificent region has to offer. Champagne is one of my preferred wines to drink at any point in the year, but I always look forward to taking that first deep inhale of the glass on Christmas morning, breathing in all those delicious toasty biscuity notes.
Here are some of the highlights we’ve had over the years. The Champagne Pol Roger, Réserve, Brut is everything I want from a Champagne. Brilliant sparkling bubbles, toasted brioche, and crisp orchard fruit: sipping this in one hand with a Stilton-and-chutney laden cracker in the other is exactly what Champagne dreams are made of.
One of my mother’s longtime favourites is the ever-elegant Champagne Billecart-Salmon, Réserve, Brut. Full-bodied with ripe and cooked fruits, our mouths begin to water at the pop of the Billecart’s cork. It has delicious pastry notes, and a distinct silky creaminess, making this a Champagne of wonderful richness and balance. Each sip is absolutely magical.
Then, there’s the glamorous 2015 Champagne Louis Roederer, Rosé, Brut. While our Stilton has undoubtedly been the star of the show each year, this Champagne is definitely the main contender for “Christmas Day diva”. This is my favourite kind of rosé: bursting with red berries, peach, and citrus fruits, but bone dry. This is the perfect wine to cut through our magnificent cheeseboard.
While not technically a meal, I always look forward to this Christmas morning tradition. All the preparations – like braving Fortnum & Mason at rush hour during peak season to purchase the Stilton – officially mark the Christmas season for me each year, counting down the days until I am with my family celebrating. Toasting with our Champagne on Christmas morning is a celebration of the year that has passed, but also something of an auspicious act, ushering in some good luck for the new year.
