Wait, I just wanted to get your attention with that dramatic, feisty start. No, this won’t be Dickensian in tone or scope, or even content. One need not gloat over an institution’s demise, even as one toasts long life to another.
In the early ’90s a few friends and I started frequenting the Forth & Tay cigar and single malt bar in what was then New World Hotel, now Renaissance. It was a small place that could seat only a little over a dozen people comfortably, although there were nights when that number would be topped, with some not minding having to be on their toes till a "sala" set or part of it was vacated.
The company was good and diverse: businessmen, retirees and expats, and one politician from Batangas who often parked a snazzy car on the curb outside that curved right from Makati Ave. to Arnaiz Ave. The common ground was a passion for cigars, especially from Cuba, and single malt whisky from Scotland.
Forth & Tay got its name from two rivers in that blessed country – blessed for its burns or little streams that gave of its sparkling waters for the sacred manufacture of the "water of life" or uisge beatha – what became whisky.
Here, when you say whisky, and you associate with a relatively sophisticated demographic, it’s usually taken to mean Johnnie Walker Black, or Chivas Regal, the closest rival among the blended stuff. Ballantine’s and J&B come next in line for being a little cheaper by the bottle. Then there’s Passport et al. down to Teachers, etc., while some Amboys opt for sour mash or bourbon, in these parts led by Jack Daniel’s.
Of course you have extra-special blends like Royal Salute and Swing, Pinch and Old Parr. And Johnnie Walker has come up with certain grades to appeal to snobs and faux malters. Johnnie Walker Blue, top of the line, joins Royal Salute on the P5-6 thou level. A little cheaper is Johnnie Gold. Then there’s the Green, which comes up against Glenfiddich, an independent label that would have innocents believe it’s a single malt. It’s actually a pure malt, like Johnnie Green.
The lady who first explained the difference to me was Barbara Cumagun, a Scots lady who settled down here, and who served as Forth & Tay’s manager. Now don’t ask me to repeat what she said, in detail; the distinction fills a gap between science and art. Suffice it to say, simplistically, that blended whiskies mix up different single malts produced by independent, age-old distilleries. Whereas what remains unblended are the single malts of variegated, distinguished character.
In any case, for years we enjoyed the assortment of single malts at Forth & Tay – Glenlivet, Glenmorangie, Lagavulin, Laphroaig, Oban, Talisker, Dalwinnie and the like – as we picked through the local plenitude that was the hotel’s crispy pata.
A breakaway faction of habitués established a new single malt bar at Mandarin Hotel, and christened it Kipling’s. By that time there were actually four cigar and single malt bars within a radius of a kilometer along Makati Avenue – the two others, now gone defunct, at Shangri-La Manila and the Manila Peninsula. Another one, Churchill’s, still exists in the Ortigas Center area, at EDSA Shangri-La.
We began to patronize Kipling’s because it was more spacious and had better air-con and an exhaust system. And Barbara also moved to lend her considerable expertise and charm to the fledgling edition.
There were times when we shuttled between the two, divvying up our loyalty or years, until eventually, Kipling’s became the sole regular venue.
It’s not without a hint of sadness, however, that we reacted to recent news that Forth & Tay had closed down. It had changed ownership sometime back, and maybe the new one didn’t think there was need to upgrade conditions. In any case, here’s to the memory of Forth & Tay, where the wee dram turned into whole nights of bottle-killing. Hail uisge beatha!
Now I’ve just gotten word that, indeed, when a door closes, a window opens. Barbara of Kipling’s recently received the following communication:
"On behalf of all at Whisky Magazine I would like to congratulate you on being selected as one of the Great Whisky Bars of the World.
"To acknowledge your inclusion in this international ‘club’ I am delighted to enclose your Great Whisky Bars of the World certificate and hope you will find the space to display it in your bar.
"Your selection into the Great Whisky Bars of the world will be announced in Whisky Magazine and will be listed on www.whiskymag.com...
"Yours sincerely, Damien Riley-Smith, Publisher."
Last week I was among the old clientele who viewed the letter and accompanying certificate as both, now elegantly framed, were hung up on a wall by the bar of Kipling’s.
What an honor – to be named among a select roster of 41 of the planet’s great whisky bars, and to be thus cited in Issue No. 60 of a prestigious publication.
Kipling’s thus joins only two other whisky bars in Asia – Gemor at Toyohasi City in Japan, and Tuanchaubar at Halong, Vietnam – in that special list, which counts seven in Scotland (but natch!), five each in Canada and the US, four in Italy, two each in England, France, Ireland, Norway, Spain and Sweden, and one apiece in Australia, Belgium, Netherlands, Slovakia and Switzerland.
That’s a total of only 17 countries with great whisky bars. Hey, we’re in great company. And it feels particularly good to see on a page of Whisky Magazine how one of the three bars cited for Asia is in Makati, Philippines!
Hey, maybe something good did come out of that strict smoking ban.
Here’s to Kipling’s, where West meets East, and how – in the palate and the gullet, where that amber to golden brew makes gods of us all.