Lagavulin vs. Laphroaig: The ultimate peaty whisky battle

Lagavulin vs. Laphroaig. Two titans of Islay. A land where the air smells like barbecued seagull, hospital corridors, and fine whisky. 

Two distilleries, founded a year apart, separated by a footpath and a different philosophy on what peat should do to your soul. 

Strap in. The air’s thick with iodine, TCP, and existential dread. Things are about to get pungent.

Origins: Brooding Poet vs. Sooty Punk

Lagavulin – Founded in 1816, Lagavulin has spent the last two centuries perfecting the art of restrained power. Now under Diageo’s wing, the distillery is known for its unapologetically old-school Scotch whisky and for being Ron Swanson’s go-to dram, with good reason. Its house style is all dragon’s breath: brooding Lapsang Souchong smoke, salty driftwood, smoked apple, and Victorian study. 

Laphroaig – Founded in 1815 (though depending on which archivist you ask, that date may waver), Laphroaig is the wild child of Islay. Despite having a Royal Warrant and being backed by the artful Suntory Global Spirits, this distillery has proudly stoked its reputation for being the “Marmite of Whisky”. Loud, lairy, and proudly divisive… You love it or you hate it. While Lagavulin writes poetry, Laphroaig sets it on fire on a medicinal peat reek while roaring through a megaphone.

Production: Patient Precision vs Phenolic Fury

Lagavulin – Long fermentations (though shortened in recent years), slow distillations, and narrow cuts define Lagavulin’s measured approach. While the peat comes from Port Ellen maltings, its expression is softened by a reflux-heavy spirit still and patient ageing. The new make has evolved, showing more cereal character due to those shorter ferments, but the core DNA remains: structured, smoky, and surprisingly elegant. Refill American oak dominates maturation, preserving distillate character, though dabbles with sherry casks in limited runs have added depth and weight for those paying attention.

Laphroaig – Still clinging to a rare tradition, Laphroaig floor-malts a portion of its own barley (around 15–20%), creating a deeply creosote-heavy smoke. The balance comes from malt sourced from Port Ellen, which gives a cleaner phenolic profile. The distillery’s uneven still setup (seven stills, including a notably larger spirit still) creates different characters of new make, all vatting together to form its unmistakable fingerprint. A very long foreshot run suppresses fruity esters, while a deep cut into the tails ramps up the heavier phenols. The result? A dense, medicinal, tarry distillate that thrives in first-fill bourbon barrels. It’s strategically brutal.

Signature Bottles: The Heavy Hitters

Lagavulin 16 Year Old – Arguably the benchmark for peated single malt whisky with polish. Aged predominantly in refill casks, it balances smoked meats, maritime salt, dark fruit, antique leather, and that trademark Lagavulin smoulder. Its suave, smoky elegance is tinged with quietly devastating complexity. Like an old cigar burning through a crumbling seaside manor. 

Laphroaig 10 Year Old – For all the posturing, a more gentile intro to the Laphraoig staple. This is an approachable whisky for those who already know the scorched earth of peatdom. But newcomers can find it a high-phenol gut-punch. Think seaweed, elastoplast, bonfire, diesel, and sweet medicinal malt. A cult classic that seems designed to polarise with smoke that doesn’t seduce but confront. And yet, beneath the brutality is the softness that will keep you coming back: with elegant fruitiness and vanilla sweetness from those bourbon casks that somehow stitch the chaos together. Still, it’s less a dram than a dare.

Lagavulin vs. Laphroaig: Who Wins?

Lagavulin is for those who want depth, dignity, and just enough danger.

Laphroaig is for thrill-seekers and those blessed with the certainty of knowing what they want. 

But here’s the twist: this isn’t a fight. It’s a love letter to peat in two dialects. 

Whether you crave Lagavulin’s smoky sophistication or Laphroaig’s medicinal madness, you’re still drinking whisky that honours tradition while setting your nostrils on fire in the best possible way. 

I love my Laphroaig, like good shellfish roasted on a bonfire built from surgical tubing and seaweed. And yes, that’s a good thing.

Yet it’s Lagavulin I find myself eternally drawn to. It has always represented something, an ideal of what serious whisky is, perhaps, a promise of the proper, authentic side of the spirit that I still find alluring. It tastes how imagined whisky was supposed to, I guess. 

What about you, dear reader: Lagavulin vs. Laphroaig. Which side of the smoke do you sit on? 

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