Since 1870 we’ve lived and breathed malting. With this passion and expertise, and by combining traditional and modern techniques, we create an impressive range of malted and non-malted products, including several unique and exclusive barley malts.
There is nothing more we love than talking to brewers and distillers so if you have any questions, or would like to arrange a call with a member of our team, please feel free to get in touch – we would love to hear from you!
You can read my bio by clicking the button below
The first time I tasted peated whisky, I hated it. Every January, when Burns Night rolled around, our kitchen cupboard would swell with whisky bottles like some tartan-scented tide. My dad—an English teacher by day, amateur thespian by night—was something of a local celebrity, called upon each year to deliver The Immortal Memory or perform Tam o’ Shanter in local hotels and church halls. My mum sat loyally beside him at these dinners, mouthing along to punchlines she’d heard a dozen times before.
Though neither of them drank whisky regularly, my dad was always sent home with a bottle as a thank you for his services to Scottish cultural tradition. Year after year, the collection grew, mostly unopened. Occasionally, one would be sacrificed to a school fete or re-gifted to a whisky-loving friend or relative. I was curious, sure—but intimidated. These were grown-up liquids.
It wasn’t until university in Glasgow that I got my first proper taste. The union bar offered a weekly “dram of the week,” and before long, my friends and I were ordering that most Scottish of pairings—a “hauf and a hauf,” half-pint of lager and a shot of whisky—mostly because it was cheap. Quickly, I learned to avoid the Islay ones. They were… aggressive. Medicinal. The flavour reminded me of the antiseptic my mum used to apply to bloody knees; perhaps a painful reminder of childhood scrapes.
But, as with olives, jazz, and algebra, repetition breeds tolerance. By the time I started working in the malt industry in my thirties, I found myself circling back to those smoky expressions with something like fondness. They hadn’t changed—my palate had. That, and I’d developed an appreciation for the craft behind them.
So… What Is Peat?
I vaguely remembered peat from school as something like junior coal. That’s more or less right. Peat bogs form when layers of plant material accumulate over thousands of years in cold, wet places—Scotland, Ireland, Siberia, Yorkshire. It’s not as old as coal (which takes millions of years to form), but it’s burnable and, crucially, plentiful in places without forests.
Before fancy kilns and radiators, peat was the go-to fuel for drying malted barley. You had no choice—if you wanted whisky, you got smoke. Today, only a few distilleries still malt their own barley—Bowmore, Laphroaig, and Kilchoman among them—and use peat in the traditional way. Most rely on commercial maltsters (like us) to do the smoky work.
How the Smoke Gets In
The secret’s in the phenols—chemical compounds released when peat is burned. On their own, a lump of peat smells like wet compost. But set it alight, and it transforms. Think campfires. Bacon. A hint of scorched seaweed. Different bogs, depending on their plant life, release slightly different phenols. Some call this “peat terroir.” I’m sceptical—the distillation process overwhelms most of those subtle differences—but it’s a romantic notion.
At Crisp Malt, we prefer to “cold smoke” wet, green malt—barley that’s been germinated but not yet dried. We burn peat in an external kiln, draw the smoke into a chamber where the grain sits, and let it soak for 24 hours. The idea is to penetrate the whole kernel, not just coat the surface. After smoking, we dry the barley down to about 5% moisture and blend it to meet distiller specs: lightly peated (12 ppm), medium (25 ppm), or the big guns at 50 ppm.
The Peat Problem
Here’s the part where we stop being whimsical for a moment: peat is a finite resource. Peatlands act as natural carbon sinks—draining them releases stored CO₂. In recent years, environmental groups and the Scottish government have begun efforts to protect and re-wet bogs to restore their function. Most peat in Scotland is still cut for horticulture and domestic fuel, but legislation is on the way to restrict this. The malting industry uses less than 1% of what’s cut annually, but that doesn’t give us a free pass.
As producers of a luxury good, we have a responsibility to treat peat with care. Our approach is to use it efficiently—more phenol from less peat—through careful process control and technology. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start.
Coming Around
On a recent visit home, I rummaged through the old cupboard. The collection was mostly gone—whittled down after my dad passed nearly a decade ago—but one bottle remained: a cask strength Laphroaig. I cracked it open, and the unmistakable scent of smoke hit me square in the face. I poured a dram and raised it in silent toast.
It’s funny. The thing I once thought smelled like antiseptic and regret now smells like memory. Like craft. Like home.
Our Scottish Peated Malt
It’s funny how taste evolves—how something once off-putting can become something cherished. Today, that smoky aroma doesn’t just evoke whisky; it speaks of craft, care, and connection to a place. At Crisp Malt, we’re proud to play a part in that story, producing Scottish Peated Malt with precision, responsibility, and a deep respect for tradition.
If you’d like to learn more about how our peated malt is made, or how to use it in your own distillery, head over to our Scottish Peated Malt page. And don’t hesitate to get in touch with our friendly, knowledgeable technical support team. We’re here to help you make something unforgettable.
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