Teacher’s Highland Cream

I was thinking earlier about how I came to be introduced to the world of whisky.

It all began somewhere in the nineties, in the beautiful city of Kampala. We had just left university, and were navigating life with the confident insouciance that belongs to that age.

During the evenings, we would meet at City Bar, a trendy, bustling hangout in the middle of the city. I remember now the leather sofas, the loud music, and the relaxed air.

My friends all drank beer, but I couldn’t abide the taste. But there was only so much soda I could drink in one outing, and so, one evening, I reached for something else. On a whim, I ordered a whisky, and Reuben the barman brought me a Teacher’s Highland Cream.

I knew nothing about whisky, but I realised then that I liked this one. Even now, I recall the smoky taste and the spicy finish. From then on, Teacher’s Highland Cream became my go-to dram.

It’s been decades since my last taste of Teacher’s, and perhaps also decades since City Bar closed its doors for good. I drink mainly single malts now, but, as blends go, Teacher’s remains a truly great whisky.

It has a long history too. It began life in 1830, created by a man named William Teacher. His wife had a grocery store in Glasgow, and he used to make blended whiskies and sell them through the store. Eventually, he created the Highland Cream, and things took off from there. His sons joined him in the business, and carried it on after he died. Over time, the business expanded operations so that they could have greater supplies of single malts that could be used in the blends - first, they set up the Ardmore distillery, and then, much later, acquired the Glendronach distillery.

Teacher’s Highland Cream is a great whisky, for sure. However, what makes it special for me transcends the whisky itself. Rather it’s about everything that those days meant for me. I was young and idealistic, in a city that I had adopted, and surrounded by a tight-knit set of likeminded friends. There was music, poetry, and live bands. There was laughter, but there were also sombre moments. There were charming waitresses, drunk patrons, and a kindly, avuncular barman who always gave us the time of day. It was a time of personal growth, of adventure, and of settling into friendships that have now lasted decades.

We thought we were older than we were. We certainly thought we acted older than we were. That was a period of idealism and of creativity. We held forth, spoke without hesitation, diagnosed the world’s ills, and freely dispensed our views.

This is what comes to mind when I remember Teacher’s. These memories have lasted for thirty years now. May they go on to last a hundred years.