At Glenrothes, time is not a marketing word, it is a working principle. The mash is hustled along and fermentation is kept on the shorter side, handled in a considered mix of wooden and stainless-steel washbacks, with more timber than metal to soften the edges. Then the tempo changes. Distillation is drawn out through very tall stills fitted with boil bulbs, encouraging reflux and letting a broad spectrum of flavours be teased into order. Most of that new make is then asked to wait again: ex-Sherry casks, in both European and American oak, do the bulk of the work, with ex-Bourbon used alongside. It is a slow whisky, and in the glass it can take longer than most to open properly.

The distillery’s own beginnings were no less turbulent. Started in 1878, it almost foundered before completion when the collapse of the Glasgow Bank and wider economic jitters wrong-footed its original investors, who were connected to Macallan at the time. The project carried on under William Grant (not the Glenfiddich one), Robert Dick and John Cruikshank, and, in a peculiarly Presbyterian subplot, a timely loan arrived from the United Free Presbyterian Church of Knockando, teetotal in doctrine but charitable in practice. Prosperity followed, and an amalgamation with Bunnahabhain in 1887 helped bring Highland Distillers into existence.

From Rothes, the whisky became prized by blenders, notably in Cutty Sark and The Famous Grouse, even as the stillhouse expanded to ten stills. Berry Bros & Rudd later championed the single malt through vintage releases, single-year parcels selected to show maturation’s changing moods. After a period where brand and distillery were separated by corporate deal making, Edrington bought the brand back in 2017, leaving Glenrothes quietly industrious and, for the most part, closed to casual visitors.