What Whisky Taught Me About People
I’ve worked in whisky for three and a half years now, and living on Islay, you quickly learn that whisky isn’t just a drink — it’s a lifestyle, a conversation starter, and occasionally a very polite excuse for being late. But the thing that’s surprised me most over the years isn’t the flavour profiles, the casks, or even the endless “Islay vs. Highland” debates. It’s what whisky has quietly taught me about people.
Take Feis Ile, for example. Every year, it hits like a family reunion — if your family were mostly in kilts, smelled faintly of peat, and could debate the merits of triple distillation for three hours straight. Same faces appear year after year, same hugs, same laughter, same shared awe over a new release. One year, I watched two grown men argue very passionately about whether a cask finish should have hints of vanilla or coconut — only for them to reconcile over a dram of 12-year-old Bunnahabhain. Moments like that are heartwarming, and they taught me that people, like whisky, are best appreciated slowly. There’s a joy in seeing them return, unchanged yet subtly richer, year after year.
Working for Bunnahabhain and Bruichladdich gave me a deeper appreciation for human complexity. At Bunnahabhain, it’s the patience and care in every step — from mash tun to spirit safe — that mirrors the patience you need in people. Some need time to open up, some need a gentle nudge, and some simply need to be handled with care. At Bruichladdich, it’s the creativity and boldness — that fearless energy that turns what seems a bit mad into something magical. I’ll never forget the time we decided to blend two completely mismatched casks “just for fun,” and somehow it worked. Kind of like people: sometimes the oddest combinations are the ones that surprise you most.
And then there was Bevvy, the world’s best whisky app (seriously, don’t argue with me on this). Even though I only worked with them for a week filming, it was a masterclass in human connection. Watching passionate people geek out over whisky, share knowledge, and laugh at tiny absurdities of the industry made me realise that enthusiasm is contagious and curiosity irresistible. I spent a solid hour trying to explain to a camera why you should never, ever underestimate a sherry cask. By the end, I think even the cameraman had a slight glint of whisky enlightenment in his eye. That week was short, but it left a lasting impression: people are like tasting notes — subtle, layered, occasionally nutty, and always worth paying attention to.
Now, I’ve moved to Edinburgh and work at The Abbey Whisky Bar, surrounded by people whose love for whisky is as diverse as the bottles on our shelves. Here, strangers become regulars who share their lives over a dram, friendships spark across the bar, and sometimes, conversations about peat levels turn into heartfelt stories about heritage, home, and passion. Whisky has a way of breaking down walls like that.
Most of all, whisky has taught me that people are like distilleries themselves. Some are patient and slow to reveal their depth. Some are bold and unapologetically vibrant. Some are a bit smoky, mysterious, and leave you thinking about them long after the first encounter. And, like the best drams, the ones you invest time in are always the ones that reward you most.
So, if you ever feel stuck trying to understand someone, pour yourself a dram, raise your glass, and listen. Because just like whisky, people are worth paying attention to. And who knows — you might find yourself at a festival, or a bar in Edinburgh, laughing with strangers who feel like family, and realise that’s exactly what it means to be human.
