Guillon No.1 – The Champagne of French Whisky

I’m back!!! Many excuses and reasons why I took a long time off from this blog. Lets just say it is easier to just start writing about whiskies rathar than talking about me. We have a special-special bottle today in front of me, it comes from Champagne the region in France that is globally know for champagne. This is the first time for me for drinking a french whisky, I’ve drank many products that have been produced there – let’s see if I can find some similarities.

Is it whisky or whiskey if we are in France and drinking liquid gold? If it’s not from Ireland or America then no “e”. Whisky in France sounds unfamiliar because we imidiatley think about wine, brandy, cognac etc. not whisky… well this is not entirely true. Let us dive deeper into the history of French whiskies before we can judge the Champagne of Whiskies.

Whisky in France… sounds wrong at first, right? We think Champagne, Cognac, Bordeaux — not malt. But the French have been quietly distilling a story since the ’80s: Brittany’s Warenghem kicked things off by launching WB Breton whisky in 1987, marking the first French whisky. Armorik dropped the first French single malt in the ’90s, and boom — 2000 France had 7 destilleries and in 2025 they have over 130 of these magificant places.

You think only Champagne and Cognac are special for their regional identity? Whisky from Brittany (Whisky breton) and Alsace (Whisky d’Alsace) received official Indication Géographique Protégée (IGP) status in 2015, giving them protected regional identity similar to Champagne or Cognac.

And the punchline: France doesn’t just make whisky; it drinks it. Hard. Biggest per‑capita whisky lovers on the planet. So when I pour Guillon No. 1 from Champagne region, I’m not just tasting a bottle — I’m tapping into a new French chapter that has emerged.

Now, let’s see if the glass agrees with this new experience.

Copper in the glass, warm and autumn‑like, legs holding steady at 46% and a bottle that already sets the mood before the first sip, one of a kind in its presence. The nose greets lightly floral, almost polite, but then shifts into something stranger and more compelling, fried boletus mushroom drifting in, damp oak and cellar air that feels moldy yet oddly inviting, a faint mandarin way off in the distance, and the image of old furniture that keeps surfacing as if memory itself is part of the aroma.

On the palate it slides in silky, floral and earthy but quickly turns spicy, the balance leaning acidic, Champagne‑country fingerprints showing up as mineral that you find in wines produced there, and a whisper of black truffles that makes you pause and wonder if you really caught it. Mushroom runs the headline here, not as a gimmick but as the backbone of the flavor.

The finish is short, dry mineral and warmth before the curtain drops, and that brevity forces the mind to chase the experience, sparking thoughts I’ve never had on DWB before, pushing me to connect taste with past visions and experiences. Pairings need strength, not casual snacks, so I’d reach for strong cheese, moldy and bold, or a mushroom steak that echoes the earth, maybe even a square of dark chocolate to reset between sips. This is not for comfort seekers, not for the Jameson‑and‑chill crowd, but for explorers who want to be challenged, who want to taste terroir as forest, cellar, and spice. Its signature trait is mushroom, and that word will now always stick when I hear “French whisky.”

Good to be back, really! This is what I love about whiskies, so much to discover. I’d revisit the Guillon No.1 on a French‑cuisine night, with cheese and mushrooms in play, but not as a casual pour. DWB rating will be 8 out of 10. To summaries the experience: it’s like your first oyster or snail, you either love it or hate it, but you never forget it.