The big question: ‘How did you get into whisky?’

It's a question I get asked a lot. Even tonight over dinner on Islay. From taxi drivers to old friends. Sometimes takes the form of ‘why do you even like whisky?’. But for the most part it’s good natured. For 13 years now I’ve thrown myself into a career that’s been drenched in the spirit. Why? It’s an easy question to answer – but also one that’s fragile. It’s filled with ‘what ifs?’ and immense gratitude. Like my own Sliding Doors moment. If one thing had been different, this would be different. And I’m so glad I’m in the place I am today.

How did I discover the joy of whisky? As a young journalist, I was sent to cover the Viking Line Cinderella Whisky Fair. It’s best described as a floating fiesta for the spirit. And I did not want to go.

Setting sail from Stockholm to the Arland Islands and back (you’ve got to get those tax-free benefits!), it’s the cruise for Scandinavian whisky lovers. I was assistant editor at the now-defunct business-to-business magazine, Frontier. It was 2012. I was 24.

I was far more interested in fragrances, beauty and fashion. Whisky was not for me. “It’ll be full of drunk men!” I cried to my then-editor, Marek. “Whisky isn’t for women!”. My protestations fell on deaf ears. Marek was adamant. The advertisers needed the coverage. Off I went to Sweden.

As you’ve probably already guessed, this was where I fell in love with whisky. Tasting it for the first time shattered all my preconceptions. Single malt could be bold, sweet, smoky, earthy, mouth-coating, light, spicy, hot – and everything in between. I’d unlocked this world of flavour, and from that point I became obsessed. 

I was a guest of Maxxium Travel Retail – at the time, the joint-venture between Edrington (think: The Macallan, Highland Park, The Famous Grouse), and Beam (Laphroaig, Bowmore, Maker’s Mark). I remember sitting in a shadowy bar in sleek Stockholm before we’d even boarded the boat. Joy, The Macallan brand ambassador, took us through the 1824 Collection. I was confused. Why did whisky taste not of whisky, but vanilla, caramel, nuts, raisins? Why was it warming and not burning? Why did it remind me of chocolate and roses, and morning tea at my grandma’s house? It was powerful and evocative and intricate. And then we were treated to something extraordinary. The Macallan in Lalique IV.

All of a sudden that plain Stockholm bar on a cold, snowy street came alive with springtime forest notes. There were florals and fir trees and honey. There were plums and walnuts and petrichor. There was a profound mossy, herbal quality – like rosemary and mint and old rooftop tiles. These are all tasting notes from memory. They’ve stuck to me like the grippiest velcro. How can whisky possibly taste like this?! It’s WHISKY?!

I don’t namedrop that expression to brag – I believe that all whiskies have the potential to make a powerful impression. There’s something about human-whisky compatibility that I’d love to unravel. I think it’s tied up in personal experiences, individual perceptions of aroma and flavour, the way whisky can conjure up memories. I know I’m not alone in this. Like no other food or drink I know, whisky has this ethereal ability to stir up nostalgia, which I think makes it so powerful. Both at first sip, and when reminiscing about that moment over a decade on.

That whisky marked a changing point not just in my career, but my life. There are many others to thank who were on that press trip who this new drinker navigate my senses and plot them on a map of taste, experience and recall. John at Laphroaig. The late whisky writer, Dominic Roskrow. My fellow journalist, Caroline. Would I find so much joy in my work today if they hadn’t patiently shared their knowledge or sat with me while I tried to figure it out?

I’ve gone on to write about whisky full-time. I’ve judged thousands of samples in competitions. I’ve hosted education sessions and fundraisers. I’ve presented on live broadcasts. I’ve made it my mission to tell others that there’s this incredible world of flavour to savour – and they can be part of it, too. Thank goodness Marek didn’t cave that day. Because there’s a whole world of whisky still to shout about.