This bottle came to me via my friend Christofer, who in turn inherited it from an older relative. One of those people who, when travelling around in the 1970s and 80s (if memory serves), would always bring back small travel-sized bottles of whisky. Not for collecting in any modern sense, but rather as keepsakes – or perhaps liquid postcards from places visited and times gone by. This bottle of Bell’s is said to be one of those. The exact date of purchase is unclear, but my guess would be sometime during the 1980s. If anyone looking at the photos can help narrow down the timeframe further, I would be very grateful.
Bell’s Old Scotch Whisky Extra Special is, at its core, a blended whisky designed to be accessible, consistent and easy to enjoy. For much of the 20th century, Bell’s was one of the best-selling whisky brands in the UK, and during the 1980s it was close to ubiquitous in many British homes. This was the whisky kept on hand not to be analysed, but to be shared. Today, the brand is owned by one of the large multinational spirits companies, and the product exists in a whisky landscape very different from the one in which it was originally shaped.
Like many blends of its era, it relies on a relatively high proportion of grain whisky, supported by malt whisky from several distilleries – historically including Blair Athol, often cited as an important component. The exact cask types are harder to pin down, but it is reasonable to assume a combination of ex-bourbon and sherry casks, with the wood kept firmly in a supporting role rather than allowed to dominate.
Bell’s is hardly a hot collector’s item today, but older bottles from the 1970s and 80s do appear at auction from time to time. Prices seem fairly modest from what I have seen – sometimes a few hundred kronor, sometimes a little more depending on condition and release. This is not a whisky that attracts interest through investment potential, but rather through its ability to function as a kind of time capsule, especially if, like me, you approach whisky as a historical document as much as a drink.
For this whisky, I chose a glass with a very large bowl and a narrow opening, designed to concentrate aromas as much as possible. The glass is called the Amber Glass, and can be found here. The whisky is bottled at 40% ABV, and I was slightly uncertain how well the cork had held over the years. As it turned out, it was very firmly in place – so firmly, in fact, that I had to ask my spouse for help. The bottle and I were about two minutes away from an emergency caesarean section involving a hammer, so it was a relief when someone with stronger hands came to the rescue.
Now, on to the nose and palate!
The nose is restrained and gentle. Earthy cellar notes, stored winter apples, and honey leaning more towards beeswax than florals. I am glad I chose a glass that really gathers the aromas, because this is not a whisky that shouts. After a while, Brazil nuts appear, followed by a hint of burnt sugar and, eventually, a cautious note of sweet liquorice. Everything is muted, almost polite.
The palate is more surprising than expected. There is a lot of honey here – more than I anticipated – and the liquorice returns more clearly. Hazelnuts and crème brûlée emerge, and the overall impression is noticeably sweeter than expected. At the same time, it is extremely easy to drink. The flavour intensity is not high – it is rather finely grained, almost microscopic – but that hardly matters. This is a whisky one happily sips while conversation flows around the table. It demands absolutely nothing from you; it is a pure (and unpretentious) pleasure whisky.
This is certainly not a complex whisky, but it is far more balanced than I had expected going in. And perhaps that balance is its greatest strength. There is a clear nuttiness, and what surprises me most is how little oak it actually tastes of. In a time when I often feel modern whisky tastes very much of cask – sometimes overwhelmingly so – this feels almost refreshing. The wood is there, but quietly, in the background, and very restrained.
I do not yet know exactly what a bottle like this might fetch at auction today, but I did see a 1.5-litre bottle sell for around 400 SEK at auction (see here). And at that price, it is easily worth it – because I would buy it to drink and to share. This was, quite simply, good. Cosy. A comfort whisky in the most uncomplicated sense of the word.
And perhaps that is where Bell’s from the 1980s belongs today: not as a rarity, but as a reminder that old whisky does not always need to be treated as a sacred object. Even when the bottle is unusual or historically interesting, whisky can still be something we drink together – rather than something we measure, weigh, collect and assign value to.
