Scotch Is a Summer Drink—Just Ask the Scots

Yes, it's hotter in your backyard than in the Highlands. Throw in some ice and fire up the barbecue.

Whisky in sea background
Jay's photoGetty Images

There's a saying in the wild lands north of Hadrian's Wall that there are just two seasons in Scotland: winter and July. In the States, we're not accustomed to thinking of Great Britain's northern outpost as a place that gets warm at all. Up there, it seems like a year-round enterprise to curl up in a tartan blanket by the hearth, the wind and rain beating at the windows, sipping a scotch whisky as much to feel the fire in your blood as a smokey bite on your palate.

As it turns out, drinking scotch is indeed a year-round activity. It's just that Scotland really does have a summer—or at least a July—and it's as good a time for tipping back a dram as any other.

The North Sea off the Carnoustie Golf Links
Jack Holmes

"When I'm at a barbecue I'll have a glass of the 18-year-old, and I think that, with the wood character on that, the structure that it gives, the peat and the smoke on it—it goes very well with grilled meat," says Michael Henry, master blender at the Loch Lomond Distillery. "And I use the 18 for cooking with. So If I'm doing ribs, I'll do a honey-18-soy sauce."

As it happens, I attended my first Scottish barbecue with the folks from Loch Lomond, who flew me out to have a look at their distillery and their process on the occasion of the 147th Open Championship, golf's oldest major competition. At the legendary Carnoustie Golf Links on Scotland's eastern shore, as Tiger Woods stormed towards redemption only to falter, the sun beat down through billowing wisps of clouds and temperatures ticked up to at least the mid-70s. A bonnie Scottish day, and a great one for a barbecue—where we headed after the Claret Jug was presented to Tiger's final-round partner, Francesco Molinari.

The Loch Lomond distillery
Jack Holmes

Scottish barbecue is a lot like an American barbecue—grilled chicken, corn-on-the-cob, burgers, pasta salad—with some intriguing additions, like venison sausage. There was also plenty of scotch, and not just because many in attendance were professionals in that area. Summer scotch is on the table because, unlike many of us are taught coming up, you don't need to drink scotch neat—and room temperature—out of some formalized respect for the liquid. In fact, even the masters throw some water in.

"On a technical level, putting water in actually helps you taste more," says Henry, who has been distilling whiskies and beer for 20 years. "It releases the flavor, so when the liquid hits your tongue it evaporates and hits the back of your palate more. When I'm drinking at home, I'll add a bit less. But it's down to personal choice. Drinking whisky is a positive experience, and it's how you want to play that out."

Golfer Paul Lawrie, who has partnered with Loch Lomond on a limited edition bottle, had a similar take when I caught up with him on Sunday at Carnoustie, where he won the '99 Open in one of professional golf's most memorable finishes. His reasoning was a bit less technical. "I like it with a little bit of water," Lawrie said. "I'm not an expert, to be honest. I like drinkin' one or two."

Lawrie digs out of a bunker at the 1999 Open.
Stephen MundayGetty Images

Summer scotch is one thing in Scotland, where a mid-70s day is just about the ceiling. But it turns out it's not just a dash of water that plays. You can throw in some ice, too, which can open things up to even warmer conditions. And though it might first register as verboten, you can even mix up a cocktail—if you do it right.

"For me, it's that light, fruity, zesty [flavor]," Henry says. You can pair a younger liquid with soda and fresh fruit, especially lemon for a citrus kick. You just have to pick the right flavor profile. "Scotch needs to have enough character that you can taste it when it's mixed," Henry says, "But not so much that it clashes with what you're mixing. The likes of the fresher, fruitier styles of whisky, rather than heavily peated or the really strong sherried. So the likes of Loch Lomond 12, Glenlivet, some of the Speysides."


If the laws against mixing scotch emerged as Scottish distillers shifted to single-malts from blends, the Scots seem to have abandoned them just as readily. There's a rebellious spirit coursing through the northlands, from the hard streets of Glasgow—Scotland's informal capital of art, football, drinking, and hard-nosed grit—to the savage beauty of the Highlands. It's a kindred soul, then, to the fierce independence of America, a default resistance to being told what to do by anyone—but especially the bloody English. That connection is a tangible one, as well: Like some other scotch distilleries, Loch Lomond imports used barrels from Jim Beam and other Kentucky bourbon shops to age their liquids, looking to siphon off some of the sugar ingrained in the wood to add another dimension to their flavor background.

The statue of the Duke of Wellington—who defeated Napoleon at Waterloo—is one of Glasgow’s most iconic landmarks. It is permanently adorned with traffic cones to indicate the locals’ penchant for knocking everyone down a peg—with a smile.
Jack Holmes

But if Scotland shares the stubborn thirst for self-determination you'll find in the States, it's also home to a far more robust culture of egalitarianism. In 2003, the Scottish parliament passed the Land Reform Act, which codified in Scots law the ancient tradition allowing Scots the universal right to roam freely across the land and inland waters of Scotland for "recreational, educational, and certain other purposes." This even applies to golf courses, where you can find people strolling and hiking so long as they don't interfere with play.

Following that tradition, only a handful of Scottish courses are private, country-club deals—whose participants were among the few to bristle at the developments of 2003. The site of the 147th Open, Carnoustie Golf Links, is a set of courses on the shore of the North Sea that anyone, including you—yes you—can get a tee time on if you're patient. It's not cheap, but no membership guidelines or other obstacles of class and privilege can stop you from playing the same Championship course that hosted Tiger and Co. this month.

"If you want to play, you can play," Lawrie says matter-of-factly. "I think Carnoustie's always been good with that. If you want a tee time, you can get it. And that's what it should be. It should be available to everyone, shouldn't it? It's a game that we all play, whatever your level. You should have access to the best courses."

It's hard to see anyone throwing open the gates to Pebble Beach or Augusta anytime soon, but maybe we could take a page—or just a paragraph—out of Scotland's book. Certainly, we can get on board with Summer Scotch, and living with a few fewer rules about how we drink our whisky. I experienced one quintessentially Scottish day over there, as I toured the winding passages of Loch Lomond—Great Britain's largest inland body of water—amid a low fog and intermittent misty rain. The other days felt like All-American summer, and scotch felt right on all of them.

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