Denmark was smørrebrød, bikes, bacon-wrapped dates, Carlsberg, chocolate-covered liquorice, green fields, grand architecture. And great people.
Our camino memories came flooding back; the laughter, pain, churches, pilgrims, bedbugs and blisters – enhanced, perhaps, by the Spanish vino tinto on the table and a dram of Benromach, the malt from my “home” distillery in Moray.
No matter where in the world you are, everyone is prepared to try whisky at least once and this one evokes memories.
I grew up near Speyside and when I was little I’d sit on my father’s knee as he drove a tractor and trailer the five miles from our farm to Benromach distillery to collect draff, the distillery by-product that’s used for cattle feed. And as we waited for the trailer to be loaded a half glass of clear liquid would be poured out by the distillery manager for Dad.
Back in those days a bottle would last a year in our house but Dad drank this full-strength alcohol neat every time. And then back on the tractor and on his knee, driving at 20 mph up the road to home, he would be so happy! It took another ten years before I equated that merriment with the liquid that looked like water.
Benromach closed down for a few decades but has re-entered the market with whisky that’s distinctive amongst the other Speyside malts. That’s why I always take it as a present on international adventures.
Well no, if I’m honest, it’s all about the memories; it’s link to the best of times in a blissful childhood.