Growing up in Ontario's agriculture belt, I grew up to fascinating display of supply and demand in the most grassroots fashion. There is without a doubt, 2 types of farmers in the influx world of agriculture. Leaders and followers. While I was too-smart-for-his-own-good slacker teen drinking up the lyrical insight of Bad Religion's anthem of the same title, a game of leaders and followers was afoot in the field many of my friends were busy toiling in, to the ends of saving up tuition for their upcoming journey's into higher learning. Tobacco was king in Norfolk County for as long as I could remember. Delhi was home to the Tobacco Museum. Working harvest was a right of passage for high school kids looking to sock away some cash for the years to come. You weren't a kid from the County if you didn't know what a boat driver was (note: had NOTHING to do with ANYTHING associated with the water of nearby Lake Erie).
Yet nearly a decade before the political tides were to win the war against Big Tobacco, complete with indoor smoking bans, full censorship of tobacco advertising and mandatory grotesque labelling mandates from the feds, a small group of Norfolk farmers were onto something much bigger. Ginseng.
Long before tobacco was a dirty word, and before anyone knew what Gingko Biloba was, a handful of families uprooted their entire tobacco fields and planted Ginseng in every acre they could find. Almost overnight, tobacco fields were replaced with a rotating set of ginseng enclosures that were more like trampolines than farmers fields. In truth, "tramping" was more a rural Ontario reality than "cow-tipping" ever was. My dorm roommate, Brent Mels, was amongst these families who got in on Ginseng's ground floor. He once mused that at its height, Ginseng would earn up to 1000% more per acre than the tobacco plants they had uprooted.
By the time the rest of the world caught on, the followers were hurrying to plant ginseng. Meanwhile, the glut of new supply was catching up with the demand, burying the price of this suddenly sacred calf, and the leaders simply stood back and bought out farm after farm that failed once ginseng had bottomed out.
These days similar battles are played out, as Norfolk's agricultural set chase the new leaders, ahead of the curve planting Vitus Vinafera grapes or cultivating the palates of hippie friendly organic fanatics.
A similar game is afoot in the world of whiskey, as I discovered this past week at Spirit Confidential, a sprawling display of the finest brands in the Beam Global portfolio at the Evergreen Brickworks. Macallan, THE icon of scotch whiskey had unveiled their new 1824 line. While new lines of product are an every day kind of thing, this was no mere debut of some small batch offerings, but in the words of Scotch Ambassador Marc Laverdiere, "a complete paradigm shift." Macallan's new whiskeys will not compliment the familiar faces of 12, 18 and the lot, rather will be replacing them altogether. Taking a page from their American counterparts in bourbon country, Macallan will no longer be age designating their scotch.
Its the boldest of moves from such an iconic brand, already in the pole position in their market. Macallan 12 and 18 particular, have been amongst the most cherished brands in all of the world of whiskey. Tossing aside such established brand loyalty and guaranteed market share is wholly unheard of. Imagine Grey Goose abandoning their flagship vodka to dedicate themselves entirely to new , flavored styles.
Officially this shift is Macallan's response to the surging worldwide whiskey demand. Demand is rapidly outpacing many distiller's abilities to properly age their whiskeys. As age designation requires the listing of the youngest whiskey in the blend, its a much more tactful way to deal with this problem than the initial response of Maker's Mark, who were on the verge of lowering the proof of their own iconic brand (that is until public outcry instigated an almost overnight reversal of the new policy, with Maker's drafting an open letter to their fans, promising to maintain their original recipe in the face of eventual shortages over the years to come until their new distillery comes into full production). BY dispensing with the age designation, they are free to blend some younger whiskey into the mix, stretching their capacity without, in theory straying too far from the expected final product.
Having talked to a few whiskey insiders however, there seems to be more to this than mere optics in dealing with supply shortages.
First age designation itself is a bit of an outdated concept for whiskey purists. One has only to look as far as the explosion of Bourbon and Irish whiskies in the glasses of the new generation of discerning whiskey drinkers. Many of the most coveted and well crafted of worldwide whiskey thrives without the shackles of age designation. While the old school buyers continue to shell top dollar for the oldest of whiskey, the future of the market seems more concerned with the quality in the spirit rather than its age.
Second age designation leads to alot of confusion about what are the best whiskies available to the market. A recent conversation with Ruaraidh MacIntyre, brand ambassador for Islay giants Ardbeg revealed that next to people mispronunciating the brand ("its NOT ARBERG"), his biggest challenge in educating consumers about his brand was that older does not equate to better. Ardbeg in particular has a style that expresses itself best between the ages of 10-12 years old. Yet so deeply rooted is the concept of age superiority, that it has been problematic to explain to the public, their best whiskies are not their oldest.
Finally, while there is undoubtedly a worldwide surge in demand for whiskey, as pretty much all segments outside of vodka are enjoying a little game of Pacman against vodka's untouchable marketshare, SCOTCH sales specifically have not seen that same surge. Sales are higher, but nowhere near as astronomical the ascendancy of their peers in whiskey. IT takes an astute assessment of a marketplace to realize that in the face of success, there are cracks in the foundation. For the leader in scotch whiskey, there may be no better time to change the game in the most fundamental of ways.
It was only a short time ago when Courvoissier CHASED that age designation success story with their "21" label. A fantastic cognac, yet the followers seemed unable to capture the imagination of the marketplace in the way a leader could. Like some sharp forward thinking tobacco farmers in a couple of decades back, Macallan might just have the recipe to flourish for the next generation.
As to the whiskies themselves, my tasting leads me to believe that the product will not disappoint The Gold, Amber and Sienna labels all come in pricepoint at the Macallan 10 and 12 range, and offer 3 unique expressions. Indeed there is a good opportunity for fans of Macallan 12 to discover a preferred product, at a better price than they were used to paying. For the fans of Macallan 18, Ruby comes in to that pricepoint and is an absolutely astounding tasting experience. It requires almost immediately a fireplace, a Captain's chair furnished from the hide of some exotic animal on the brink of extinction, and glassware costing in the neighborhood of what most of us spend on a motor vehicle. And the $1000 a bottle set can rest at ease, as Macallan will continue to issue the familiar friends of 25 and 30 to those clinging to the world which they conquered.
My feeling is that this is brilliant. Its a turning point orchestrated by the greatest minds and palates in whiskey. It may not come without a bump in the road, but Scotch is now speaking the language of the next generation of whiskey lover. Farmers in Norfolk once spoke the language of kilns and leaves, and now the distillery rats in Scotland are talking Snow Phoenix and Ruby. Leaders and Followers. Greg Graffin speaks the truth.
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