The Queen of Whisky

I couldn’t drink whisky for years. Tried and tried—seemed like something I had to grow into, like an acquired taste that everyone said was worth the effort but felt more like penance. Then one day I stopped fighting it and just started drinking it neat in dim bars, and it clicked.

There’s a story behind Cardhu that beats most whisky backstories. John and Helen Cumming were making whisky on their farm, but it wasn’t quite legal at first. They ran the operation in secret for a decade before getting their license in 1824. Helen did most of the clever work. When tax inspectors showed up unannounced, she’d have her fermentation vats disguised as bread dough containers and she’d dust flour on her hands, play the baker’s wife, serve them tea while she was at it. If the visit looked official, she’d raise a red flag on the shed to warn the neighbors. Just a woman keeping her business running the way she knew how.

Helen’s daughter-in-law Elizabeth took over after her and actually became known as the Queen of Whisky. She turned Cardhu into a recognized single malt at a time when most people didn’t know what that meant. By the 1800s it had a reputation as one of Scotland’s best distilleries, and it’s held onto that. Jim Murray wrote about it in his Whisky Bible—said it was probably the most balanced, least overwrought pure sweet malt you could find. That’s a compliment that actually means something.

I drink it neat. No ice, no mixing, nothing that gets in the way. There’s something satisfying about respecting what someone took that much care to make.