Is Scotch whiskey on ice so wrong?

Actually, what's so wrong is my spelling of "whisky" as "whiskey."

Anyway, the following story was in The Wall Street Journal today.

The article essentially revolves around the appropriateness of adding ice to scotch whisky. As most folks who know me realize, I generally do, although in keeping with my nature as an anti-absolutist, sometimes I don't.

Some fairly snarky remarks in the comments section, but I suppose when those folks start paying my liquor bill I will start to worry about it.

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HOW'S YOUR DRINK
MAY 16, 2009

A Chill to Scotch Purists' Hearts

By ERIC FELTEN

Richard Paterson -- renowned whisky blender with Scotland's Whyte & Mackay Ltd., home of such single malts as the Dalmore and Isle of Jura -- has come to dread ordering whisky in America: "Ask for Scotch in the U.S. and before you know it you hear that horrible clink, clink, clink of ice going in the glass," he says in a voice that's two parts exasperation and one part burr. "As far as I'm concerned," says Mr. Paterson, "if you've got a nice 12-year-old Scotch whisky, there's nothing more ridiculous than putting ice in it."

Mr. Paterson is hardly the only whisky purist to rail against the pernicious effects of ice in Scotch. Kevin Erskine, who writes about whisky at theScotchBlog.com, says that when drinking Scotch neat "I may add varying amounts of water depending on the whisky, the weather and my mood -- but never an ice cube." But it is Mr. Paterson who, in the Scotch tasting seminars he hosts around the world, expresses his aversion to the practice by flinging a bucket of ice across the room.

The purists' complaint is that whereas a small splash of spring water seems to open up a whisky, releasing its full bouquet and flavor, ice tends to do the opposite. The tongue is anesthetized by the cold, and the whisky itself acquires a smoothness that glosses over the deeper complexities of the dram.

But that particular sort of frigid gloss is just what many, perhaps most, Americans are looking for in their whisky. And it's worth noting that, in the U.S., the taste for drinking Scotch on the rocks was itself a move toward a more pure whisky experience. In the first half of the 20th century the standard way to drink Scotch in the States was in a Highball -- a tall glass of whisky, ice and soda water. It was toward the end of the 1940s that the phrase "on the rocks" emerged to describe doing without the fizzy dilution of seltzer. By 1950 Whitney Bolton, a New York Morning Telegraph columnist, wrote that "in the last six months sales of sparkling water in all brands have dropped alarmingly."

Before long, Scotch brands such as the Famous Grouse were promoting their whiskies as being well suited for drinking with ice. Even now, after a couple of decades of emphasis on single-malt connoisseurship, Scotch ads in the U.S. still tend to feature ice in the glass.

But that doesn't mean Scotch professionals are happy about the way Americans drink their product. The Islay single-malt distillery Bruichladdich nods to the durable U.S. preference by offering a "Rocks" version of its whisky specially selected to hold up to the icy onslaught. But Bruichladdich exec Mark Reynier still complains: "We go to all the lengths to provide hand-selected, natural whisky, unadulterated by additives, sweeteners or colorings," he says, "only for the drinker to go and add chlorine and fluoride," chemicals commonly found in frozen tap water.

So there is a move to elevate Scotch on the rocks by improving the rocks. Most ice at home suffers from chlorine and/or the smelly taint of frozen foods. Ice at bars and restaurants tends to be in little chips or discs that melt too fast. The best bars have machines that produce big, square-sided cubes. The Macallan distillery is taking it one step further by encouraging bars to acquire its "ice ball" machine, which crafts a crystalline sphere of frozen water slightly smaller than a baseball, served one to a glass. At home, the best bet is to make fresh ice using spring water in a tray that makes big cubes.

Less persnickety about ice is Heather Greene, who has made an unlikely name for herself in whisky circles. It's rare for an American to gain credibility in the world of Scotch, and rarer still for a woman to do so. She earned a reputation for having a smart palate while working in Scotland on the Scotch Malt Whisky Society's tasting panel. Now she's back in the U.S. as a "brand ambassador" for Glenfiddich, and her return home has challenged some of the notions she acquired in her apprenticeship.

"When I first came back from Scotland, I was in a traditionalist mind-set, steadfast and stubborn against the idea of ice in whisky." But that changed after she hosted a promotional tasting last summer at a New York bar where the AC was on the blink. In the sweltering summer heat, the guests were fading -- until she got a bucket of ice and started serving 12-year-old Glenfiddich on the rocks. "You lose richness and depth of flavor," she says, "but you gain refreshment and smoothness."

American culture's emphasis on refreshment has something to do with the climate. "That's what we do in America," says Ms. Greene, embracing her patrimony. "We put ice in our drinks."

Even Mr. Paterson grudgingly acknowledges that people should, at the end of the day, drink their whisky the way they like it. He just asks that, before you decide that you prefer Scotch on the rocks, you try it his way as well. Start with a decent room-temperature dram: "You should hold the whisky in your mouth, first on your tongue, then under your tongue, then around your mouth," and only then let it slip down your throat. As an exercise in tasting, it's not a bad routine, though I suspect most of us would rather relax and enjoy the whisky than make the experience an exercise in sensory analysis.

Still, I think the ice-dependent drinkers among us will find it illuminating to do their own side-by-side tasting. Take a good, straightforward single malt (any of the standard drams represented by the partisans I consulted -- Macallan, Glenfiddich, Bruichladdich, or Dalmore -- will do admirably). Pour two glasses: one without ice, and another embellished with a large cube or two of ice made from spring water. Take a taste of the tepid malt. It will seem at first sip rather fiery. Then taste the iced whisky. It will seem soothing, a respite from the spirit's alcohol burn. But then go back to the neat Scotch. You'll find that it blossoms with flavor in your mouth. If you keep going back and forth, I suspect you will perceive the taste of the Scotch on the rocks as narrower and perhaps even thinner with each sip.

Which isn't to say you won't want to drink your whisky that way. For me, Scotch on the rocks tastes more like a whisky cocktail than like whisky per se. And I just happen to like whisky cocktails.

Mr. Felten is the author of "How's Your Drink?" (Agate Surrey), now available in paperback. Email him at eric.felten@wsj.com.

Printed in The Wall Street Journal, page W11