John Sumners

There has always been—and always will be—some serious swank factor about older age-statement single malt Scotch. The numerical pedigree is built into its shelf presence. If somebody asks, “You want a pour of 25-year single malt?” the answer is always “Hell yeah!”—as long as someone else is buying, of course. But over the past decade, rapid changes have shaken up the international spirits landscape.

My underpowered little rental car revved with all its might to ascend a comically vertical, single-lane road up the mountain. In the passenger seats sat two of my closest friends—usually chatty but now both wide eyed, white knuckled, and completely silent. “Please, please,” I muttered, “no one drive down and make me stop.” Before coming to Madeira, I had considered myself thoroughly competent at driving manual. But in Funchal, on this excruciatingly slow, endless climb, I had met my match.

There’s just something different about Portugal. Compared with the charismatic Mediterranean cultures of Spain, Italy, and Greece, the Portuguese temperament feels more reserved and introspective. They attribute this aspect of their personality to saudade, a beautiful sort of melancholy woven into the culture stemming from centuries of saying goodbye—maybe forever—to loved ones setting out into the vast Atlantic. Only about 135 miles separate Portugal’s coast and the Spanish border.