Unpeated, Unbothered, and Unapologetically Seductive: Bunnahabhain Charms Australia Thanks to The Whisky List.

If most Islay distilleries are raucous sailors in tartan shouting about peat and sea monsters, Bunnahabhain is the ex-naval officer who now writes sonnets by candlelight and hand-grinds his coffee beans. Unpeated, understated, and unfairly elegant, Bunnahabhain has always played the long game - less about setting your mouth on fire, more about seducing your palate until you forget your own name.

And yet, for a long time in Australia, it felt like Bunnahabhain was the distillery everyone respected, but few truly knew. That’s changed - thanks largely to The Whisky List, the country’s preeminent whisky tastemakers. More than a retail platform, The Whisky List is like that friend who always knows the good bottle before it trends, and somehow also has it in stock. With their nose for quality and disdain for marketing fluff, they've stepped into the spotlight as the exclusive Australian distributor of Bunnahabhain, making them not just purveyors, but curators of taste.

What elevated the experience even further was the venue - Le Pont Wine Store, whose deep expertise in wine brought an added layer of sophistication. Their team didn’t just pour the whiskies - they also curated a parallel tasting of the wines whose casks had once held court over the spirit. It was a rare opportunity to taste the ghost in the barrel, and to understand how character seeps from grape to grain with patience and craft.

David Ligoff, the quiet conductor behind Australia’s most spirited gatherings. Whether orchestrating a tasting or unearthing a rare bottling, he moves through the whisky world with the poise of a diplomat and the mischief of a man who knows where all the good casks are buried.

And who better to lead this liquid pilgrimage than David Ligoff, whisky showman, evangelist, and possessor of a seemingly bottomless bank of anecdotes (most of which are true, and all of which are entertaining). More than a decade ago, Ligoff inspired us to stop just drinking whisky and start thinking about it. Writing about it. Arguing over tasting notes like they were politics. He’s part master of ceremonies, part whisky whisperer - and watching him guide a room through a lineup of drams is like watching a conductor lead an orchestra of polite, tipsy adults.

We began the evening with the Bunnahabhain 12 Year Old - and let’s be honest, if this were Tinder, it would be an immediate right swipe. Toasted hazelnuts, dried apricots, vanilla pod, and that telltale touch of sea spray. The palate walks the line between comforting and compelling: think raisin-studded oat biscuits dipped in marmalade, balanced by a faint maritime tang. It’s the sort of whisky that says, “Relax, I’ve got this,” and you believe it.

The 18 Year Old shifted the mood: deep leather chairs, rain against a windowpane, and the ghost of someone you loved too briefly. Dried cherries, bitter orange, antique wood polish, and that familiar tobacco-spice-sherry trinity. A little austere at first, but then it melts - like a recluse who finally starts telling stories.

The 25 Year Old was where things got unapologetically lush. This is Bunnahabhain in cashmere: dates, marmalade, toasted almonds, cinnamon dust, beeswax, and a kind of quiet confidence that says, “You’ll remember me tomorrow.” The texture is exquisite - not just smooth, but layered like old satin and forgotten secrets. The finish? Long. Reflective. Possibly existential.

And then came the 30 Year Old, which didn’t so much enter the room as materialise like a memory from a past life. This is not a whisky you drink - it’s a whisky you commune with. Candied orange peel, saffron, manuka honey, old leather-bound books, and a maritime note that tastes like wind over stone. It's less a whisky and more a character from a Merchant Ivory film: beautiful, melancholic, and devastatingly composed.

The Cask Strength 12 (2023 Edition) followed - the same DNA, but it’s been hitting the gym and quoting Bukowski. Bottled at a chest-thumping 60.1%, it lands with authority but not aggression. Black cherries, dark chocolate, espresso grounds, and ginger cake smouldering on the finish. It’s loud, yes, but articulate. The sherry is more forward here, but like a good dinner guest, it knows when to let the barley speak. A dram for when you're feeling emotionally resilient or wearing velvet.

Looks innocent, drinks like a velvet rebellion. The Bunnahabhain Feis Ile 14 Year Old Ruby Port Cask knows exactly what it's doing - and so will you after the second sip.

Then things got flirtatious with the Feis Ile 2024 14 Year Old Ruby Port Cask Finish - and let’s just say, this was the dram that made us lean in a little closer. Of the entire tasting, it was my undisputed favourite - the kind of whisky that doesn't shout, but makes you hang on its every sultry word.

On paper, it sounds like it might be too much - ruby port, after all, is red wine’s operatic cousin, full of flourish and drama. But Bunnahabhain, ever the master of nuance, speaks in soft, layered tones - and here they’ve delivered something seductive without being showy. I genuinely couldn’t stop nosing it - each swirl of the glass felt like eavesdropping on a particularly decadent secret. Raspberries, stewed plums, rosewater Turkish delight, a whisper of cocoa powder, and that final, lingering note of fresh pipe tobacco - rich, warm, and slightly melancholic.

Thanks to The Whisky List, Australians are blessed with access to this Feis Ile gem - no windswept pilgrimage to Islay required. Rare, refined, and just a little bit wicked - this is Bunnahabhain at its most beguiling. Dessert in a glass, poured by someone who probably quotes Baudelaire and knows exactly when to disappear.

And then: the Feis Ile 2025 15 Year Old “Turas Math”, a whisky so complex it should come with footnotes. Finished in Manzanilla and Amarone casks, it’s both brainy and brooding. The Manzanilla brings saline snap and minerality - a whisper of green olive brine - while the Amarone introduces brooding fruit depth: figs, blood orange, spiced plum compote. Somehow it’s all held together by Bunnahabhain’s textural grace. It's like eavesdropping on a debate between a flamenco dancer and a winemaker. You don’t catch every word, but the energy is seductive.

By the time we reached the final sip, the room had gone from banter to near silence - not out of reverence, but because no one wanted to break the spell.

What made this night sing wasn't just the whisky (though, let’s be clear: it sang), but the quiet alchemy of curation and context. Through The Whisky List’s meticulous palate and Ligoff’s theatrical precision, Bunnahabhain’s range was allowed to breathe - and like all good characters, each expression revealed something unexpected. A whisky that eschews peat on an island defined by it? That's not just brave. That’s romantic.

And what Bunnahabhain reminds us - dram after dram - is that whisky doesn’t always need to shout. Sometimes it can simply whisper, “Come closer,” and trust that you will.

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Words and photo of David Ligoff by AW.