When it comes to folk remedies, there are few better or more succinct than the Irish belief that “what can’t be cured by whiskey or butter has no cure”.
That was certainly my dear, aged mother’s approach to illness many years ago on that misty, mythical island. According to her, she rubbed my gums with whiskey when I was a teething infant and “never gave a bit of trouble” as a result. (This also may explain a fair amount about my subsequent enthusiasm for both grape and grain and it is certainly my response to her whenever she questions the presence of a wine bottle at the dinner table.) Butter was used to ease sunburn and the like, which I don’t remember working that well, although I’m sure I smelled appetizing during summer.
It’s a lovely yarn, a tale to warm the cockles of your heart, especially if you are the sort of person who looks to earlier times with perhaps more fondness than those times deserved. But the slightly annoying thing about it is that is works. Whiskey – indeed all alcohol – has a mild anesthetic effect, and subsequent experiments I have carried out have proved it to be an excellent topical application against toothache. Certainly better than brandy, I’ve found.
The problem with ascribing medical qualities to drinks is that such practices are fraught with danger, especially if you aren’t a medical professional. The internet – and the ostensibly more “responsible” media – is waist-deep in snake-oil stories about the benefits and perils of imbibing; often in the same story.
However, there are two whiskey-related “cures” that do bear further investigation, and both are to do with colds.
The first is what I refer to as the Irish cure. This involves the consumption of a certain quantity of “hot wans” as we refer to them where I come from, or hot toddies as the rest of the world knows them. I say “certain quantity” because this will, obviously, vary hugely from person to person and I’d hate to think I had led anyone astray; my mother would never forgive me.
The construction of a “hot wan” is a many and varied process, of course. Everyone has their own recipe, but this one – handed down the matrilineal line in my family, naturally – really hits the spot. I’ll give you my measurements, but please adjust to your own taste/capacity.
Take two ounces (60ml) of Irish whiskey and place gently in a glass. The sort of whiskey you use is up to you. Many swear by White Bush, others by Tullamore Dew. Still others will countenance nothing but Jamesons in the glass, and Paddy is a popular option in many parts of Ireland. For myself, though, I prefer Powers, as it has a spicy, green apple note on the palate that appeals.
And whiskey is the place where the medicine starts. Made from barley – a rich source of niacin, manganese and zinc – once converted into alcohol it assumes extra anesthetic and antiseptic qualities – if taken in moderation, of course. Also, being aged in oak, it contains traces of ellagic acid, one of those antioxidants that are so popular these days.
The next ingredient is a good dollop of honey, which is a natural wonder medicine in its own right. Useful for ailments as diverse as burns, chemotherapy reactions and soothing sore throats, it has been a fixture in folk medicine since the dawn of time. Manuka honey adds more flavor, and it is also being researched as a possible antibacterial agent.
Next is a thick slice of lemon, studded with five cloves. This is a double whammy; lemon provides ample vitamin C, which is probably the oldest cold medicine in existence, and is vital for regulating the immune system. Cloves have historically been used for their analgesic effect, a result of their eugenol content.
Finally, add hot water to taste and you have a warming, relaxing, pain-relieving drink. It’s important to add the hot water, as a medical study (The effects of a hot drink on nasal airflow and symptoms of common cold and flu by Sanu and Eccles, published on PubMed.gov in 2008, if you’re curious) found that a “hot drink provided immediate and sustained relief from symptoms of runny nose, cough, sneezing, sore throat, chilliness and tiredness, whereas the same drink at room temperature only provided relief from symptoms of runny nose, cough and sneezing”.
The Irish legend is to prepare sufficient hot wans and repair to bed. Then put your hat on the bedpost and drink hot wans until your hat starts talking back to you, although I must stress that this is purely optional.
© Visit Scotland | Islay’s soil gives Lagavulin some very special qualities.
The Scottish option is much simpler. At the first tickle in my throat I reach straight for the Lagavulin 16-Year-Old Single Malt and gargle a glass of it. If this sounds like a rude way to treat a fine whisky, let me explain.
Islay whisky is unique, as is the island that makes it. As well as the benefits listed above, Islay whiskey has one big advantage over other regions – iodine. Much of the soil of Islay has higher levels of iodine because of the island’s very make-up – and its peat content. Seaweed, a major source of iodine, makes up a good proportion of the peat on Islay. Peat is the substance that is used to heat the barley enough to spark germination and produce the maltase sugar that will eventually convert to alcohol.
The seaweed element gives the peat a strongly medicinal, iodine-and-brine character that is then transferred to the barley during malting. Also the water that is used to cut the whisky’s strength once it comes off the still has percolated through that same peat, imparting its characteristic flavor. Indeed, Islay is the only place on earth where the water tastes like whisky.
Iodine is noted for its disinfectant and antiviral properties, meaning it can help fight infection, especially if caught early enough. And peat is a great source of phenol, which is the active ingredient in throat sprays and pharyngitis treatments, so you get a doubly effective glass of medicine, further improved by alcohols analgesic and relaxant properties.
Using Lagavulin is optional, although I find it a particularly iodinic malt; Laphroaig, Ardbeg, Bowmore, or Caol Ila have their advocates too.
So, if you fall victim to that cruellest of all infections – the summer cold – step away from the rosé and pour yourself a glass of the drop that warms. Sláinte.