My favourite and why

My first proper encounter with a proper single malt (a guided tour to the Glenfiddich distillery with my family when I was 15 doesn't count) was in 1995. Strenuous field work in Norwegian mountain valley starting early May ending mid-June. The road and the car (or bus passing once a day) about three hours skiing away (shorter trip when lake-ice melted, then we used a boat most of the way). No fresh bread unless we had visitors. Not much space in our backpacks for unnecessary stuff like booze. Out of bed at 0300 in the morning, working till 09 or 10, then some sleep before afternoon work. Water only from the creek outside (awesome taste but pretty cold), no electricity except in a primitive lab (by a noisy diesel-fuelled power unit), eight to ten people sharing a two-bedroom cottage. Outhouse or simply the great outdoors (both alternatives had about the same temperature).

The joy was always enormous when someone pulled out a surprise bottle of something after dinner. Once this someone was a then PhD student, now established in the UK. A person whose company I miss very much, but that's another story. The bottle was a Laphroaig 10 yo. Just the smell of it hit my nose like a fist, reminded me of sheep, rotten seaweed and tar-impregnated wood. More than enough to disguise the smell of a handful of field biologists who hadn't seen a shower for a few weeks. The attack on my taste buds was fierce. The salty iodic peatiness was something I had longed for without knowing it. A kick to the tongue and gums I'd never had before. I remember thinking "Where have you been all my life?" It was love at first encounter and it hasn't faded since.