I’ve written before about the constant challenge, at least for me, of finding enthusiasm to write about a lot of things that I know merit a “one star” review around these parts.
I’ll admit it for the world to hear: even Spirit Animal is subject to voluntary response bias. I like a lot of stuff, so two star reviews are fairly common. I also don’t mince words when I want to rip into something. If I absolutely fall in love with a product, I’ll want you guys to know. But the one star things are tricky. I’m no different from anyone else who isn’t in a rush to pick up the phone and tell their friend about an experience that was just okay.
The Buchanan’s 12 lands in a weird place for me, as it’s actually a strange mix of qualities I think are pretty impressive and outstanding, and a few qualities that drag the experience down significantly. And in that regard, let’s give credit where credit is due: Buchanan’s is at least interesting in that it lands outside of the typical kind of “boring” one might expect of a bottle of this type.
“Buchanan’s 12 is most definitely not boring, and brings an unexpected sophistication and elegance to blended scotch. However, it shares too many clear faults with other also-ran bottles in the category.”
First, Buchanan’s is one of those blended Scotch whiskies that could either be described as “classic” or “stodgy.” That ovoid green bottle has been on my radar since I first started drinking whisky, staring at me alongside the usual shelf stalwarts for the better part of twenty years. However, it was only recently I rolled the dice on it.
Price-wise, Buchanan’s 12 is an echelon above the really ubiquitous grocery store or “corner liquor” products like Cutty Sark, J&B, and Dewar’s white label. And yes, Johnnie Red. Instead, it falls into the next higher quality rung, sharing shelf space with things like Teacher’s, Black Bottle, Johnnie Black, and other whiskies that are generally unavailable by the handle. Probably the closest facsimile is Chivas Regal 12. (If your grandfather is still alive, you’ll find a bottle at the back of his cupboard covered in dust.)
A lot of those products — especially Chivas 12 — can be described fairly accurately as “Decent, but boring.” They also follow a fairly predictable playbook: age grain whiskey at least a decade to take out the bite, combine it with a little bit of malt that punches above its weight class, and round it off with enough peat to taste. Because it’s scotch, apparently.
Buchanan’s 12 does a lot of this, but it’s oddly the most tropical blended scotch I’ve ever had. There’s a really intriguing note of pineapple that runs through the entire tasting experience, along with a big hit of orange in the aroma and on the palate. I normally haven’t ever described a scotch as being juicy, but that’s by far the best descriptor of the Buchanan’s 12.
Once again, it is most definitely not boring. It has a better bouquet than just about anything else it competes with. And, at a price point of about twenty-seven bucks, it brings a sophistication and elegance to blended scotch I was not expecting.
Shame about that other stuff. And by “other stuff,” I mean the peat, which makes up the bulk of my bellyaching. Too many distillers are operating under the assumption that God will put his fist right through the clouds and smoosh your distillery flat if your blend doesn’t have some amount of peat in it. And if there’s ever a time when I really didn’t want to have a highland style of ashy, dry peat get in the way of things, it’s here. On paper, grilled pineapple is delightful. In the glass, it tastes like someone put some guava and orange slices in a hickory smoker and the experiment isn’t quite working.
Past that, Buchanan’s 12 does mirror the shortcomings of a lot of what lies in this price range. Twelve years is a long time to mellow things out, but it’s just barely on the end of adequate for the grain whiskey they’re using. Buchanan’s 12 is still not quite at the point where the grain becomes buttery, soft, and mellow. The finish is where you’ll find the limitations in this dimension: you’ll still get a smooch goodbye from the pineapple (along with peat, again), but mainly you’ll be left with that sour astringency a lot of people complain about in blends.
In the end, the experience is more up than down, but that down is enough of a bummer for me to keep it from a solid recommendation. I’ll end with the caveat, however, that I can see how some people might really dig it.
Also, if you do try it: my bottle came with a slow-pour / anti-refill stopper that was so effective that it stopped all of the scotch from being poured. I stopped its stopping by pulling it out of the bottle with a pair of needle-nosed pliers. Dumb that the device exists in a $30 bottle; dumber still that I had to remove it.
