Tag: History

Whiskey Wednesday: The Three Chamber Rye

Alright, let’s get this out of the way: I am a Leopold Brothers fan, I’ve been a fan of their work for years. They are one of the best examples of what a mid-sized distillery can offer to the larger spirits world. They’re not trying to grow beyond their capacity and that capacity is often defined by quality standards, not production goals. They once said that what they make is liquid food, and their products back it up.

But with all of those standards and expectations comes a pressure to deliver. Especially when it comes to the Three Chamber Rye.

The Three Chamber Rye journey is one that I have followed for years, for at least as long as I’ve been writing Bottled-In-Bond, LA. In fact it was something that I was able to taste right off the three-chambered still before it had ever been bottled. The pressure of those years since tasting the white dog on my expectations has been enormous but to truly understand why we need a history lesson.

The Three Chamber Rye takes its name from the still used to produce it. While many people these days are familiar with the difference between a pot still and a continuous still, chances are they’ve never heard of a three chamber still. That’s because the last one was decommissioned just after the end of Prohibition. 

But before Prohibition the three chambered still was the tool for making rye whiskey in the United States. We know this because of the Crampton and Tolman papers. These were two reports commissioned by the IRS after the passing of the Bottled In Bond Act of 1897. These papers would become the basis for the standards of identity for what would define a bourbon, a rye, or other spirits aged in wood in the US. Every distillery that was surveyed that produced rye whiskey, except one, used a chamber still.

The three chamber still works much like its name suggests, there are three chambers stacked on top of each other. Each chamber is separated by a valve to prevent wash from each chamber from flowing into the other. The best way to understand how it works though is to start at the end with the third chamber.

This is where the mash from the last run will have ended up as the last stop of the process. Stripped of almost all alcoholic content and essentially stillage, this spent mash is pumped out of the chamber. 

The valves on the other chambers are opened one by one and the mash from chamber two flows down into the third by gravity, the mash from chamber one flows into chamber 2 and the first chamber is refilled from the pre-heating chamber.

Once all of the chambers are filled the steam valve is opened. It rises through the bottom (third) chamber, extracting oils and flavors, passes up into the middle (second) chamber, extracts alcohol and more flavor, continues up into the first chamber continuing its extraction before passing into a heat exchange in the preheater charger to warm the waiting mash without interacting before the vapor passes into a thumper and condenser to become new make. 

Each of these chambers operates at its own temperature, pressure, time, and inefficiencies. Each extracts different flavors and compounds.

If you’re familiar with how a continuous still works this may sound like a more difficult, less efficient version of that. And for many years that’s how this still was considered: as a transitory technology between the pot still and the continuous still.

Todd Leopold’s research into this forgotten technology however, led him to an article about the Hiriam Walker distillery in the 30’s. At the time this distillery was the largest distillery in the world and rather than instill another continuous still the very deliberately had a three chamber still limiting their production numbers. This told Todd that this still must have been producing a whiskey of such a unique flavor that the average consumer would notice its absence. And this led the team at Leopold Bros to commissioning Vendome to make the first Three Chamber Still in 100 years.

I don’t think Vendome would have agreed to make this still for any other distiller, as it was the first still they ever made that they couldn’t guarantee would work, or even not explode. Yet once it was functional and paired with Todd Leopold’s skill as a distiller it became clear that the resulting whiskey, even before being aged, was incredibly unique. The Chamber still essentially worked as an oil extractor. 

By the time the mash hits the third, bottom chamber almost all of the alcohol has been stripped from it. This means that the steam is extracting oils, flavors, and other compounds that it carries into the other chambers that are then slowly mixed with the alcohol being pulled from those chambers before being passed into the condenser to be collected. This allows a lot of time for compounds to interact and to add in compounds that don’t usually have time to exist in more familiar distillations.

The production goes beyond just the technology though. When you look back at production in the late 1800’s you quickly realize that the grains grown then are drastically different from the grains grown now. Over the past 150 years we’ve bred grains to produce more yield, meaning more starch. This is efficiency at the cost of flavor.

To solve this, Leopold Brothers worked with local Colorado farmers to start growing essentially extinct Abruzzi Rye grain. This rye has a starch content of about 60-65% which is much lower than the 75-80% starch content of modern, comercial rye. This unlocked yet another key to the flavor of this bygone whiskey. Add this to the fact that it’s distilled to 100 proof, goes into the barrel at 100 proof, and five years later comes out at 100 proof and you have a whiskey that hasn’t been tasted in literal generations.

I’ve now been fortunate enough to taste this whiskey as a new make straight off the still in the first year of its operation, to be able to taste the first bottled release, and now the first single barrel release. It has a unique character worthy of the wait; floral, fruity, bready, unctious, and heavy.

That term heavy is important because it leads us to the next stage of the conversation. That’s right, we aren’t done yet! While doing more research, and examining the blueprints laid out by the Crampton and Tulman papers, as well as the flow charts of the Hiram Walker Distillery it became clear that this Three Chamber whiskey, this “heavy” whiskey, was a component. Just a part of the standard bottle of rye. It would be blended with “light” whiskey to create a completely separate flavor.

This “light” whiskey would now be what we consider rye whiskey distilled on a continuous still. To truly recreate pre-Prohibition Rye the Three Chamber Rye would have to be blended with a continuous still rye.

Without a Continuous Still of his own, Todd reached out to Nicole Austin of Cascade hollow, formerly George Dickel. If you haven’t heard of Nicole or her work at Cascade Hollow go Google her now. She deserves her own full breakdown for her innovation and creativity as she’s doing for a macro distillery what Todd has done for an independent distillery. (Which is why she happened to have a four year old, experimental, column distilled rye already on hand.)

The two were able to collaborate. Not just as individual distillers, but as a mid-sized distillery working with the largest liquor company in the world. They produced a collaboration bottling that equally featured the work of both distillers while recreating a historic flavor profile.

The result is one of the best, most versatile rye whiskeys I’ve ever tasted. It is bright, spicy, weighty, fruity, delicate, and slightly floral. While this is a whiskey to sip it is probably one of the best cocktail Ryes I’ve ever worked with. A Manhattan or Sazerac with the Collaboration Rye is stellar. 

*If only the price were.

As you can imagine recreating a century old style of whiskey, and doing it right, doesn’t come cheap. Getting a bottle of the single barrel Three Chamber Rye is a couple hundred dollars. And depending on where you live getting a bottle of the Collaboration is 100+.

I absolutely believe that the price is worth it for experienced whiskey drinkers. They both explore something new, unexpected, and delicious. I want to open that door to appreciate the complexity of this whiskey to more people. And the easiest way for that is with cocktails. But the price point, for now, is aspirational rather than available.

Leopold Bros might think they’re making liquid food, but with the Three Chamber Rye they’ve made a whole meal.

TASTING NOTES:

Leopold Brothers Three Chamber Single Barrel Rye
NOSE: Malt, Baking Spice, Light Oak, Herbs
PALETTE: Stone fruit, oily, lavender, bright spice, bready
FINISH: Long, floral, roasted peach, tobacco, oak

Dickel and Leopold Bros. Collaboration Rye
NOSE: Dried fruit, citrus zest, rye spice, vanilla
PALETTE: oak, caramelized pear, floral, stone fruit, dill, baking spice
FINISH: Long, honied, spiced apple

Whiskey Wednesday: Repeal Day

With all the excitement, food, and celebrations that are crammed into the space between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day you can be excused for not noticing that noted scoundrel and always bartender Jeffrey Morgenthaler managed to squeeze a completely new holiday in there: December 5th, Repeal Day.

Repeal Day is the Hallmark Card Holiday of the booze world.

Repeal Day marks the anniversary of the passing of the 21st Amendment to the U.S. Constitution on December 5th, 1933. The 21st Amendment acknowledged that the previous 13 years of alcohol prohibition were in fact a terrible idea. It reinstated the constitutional right of every man and woman (of legal drinking age) in these United States to raise a glass in celebration, in mourning, or simply because its Happy Hour damn it. Wander into any “serious” cocktail bar on December 5th and odds are you’ll find a whole Repeal Day cocktail menu.

But here’s the thing, Repeal Day is the Hallmark Card Holiday of the booze world.

Hindsight, even when drinking, is still 20/20. Through the lens of history it is easy to see that Prohibition was an outright failure but its repeal brought its own host of issues that still reverberate 85 years later.

According to proponents like Molly Hatchet, Prohibition was going to reduce drinking, reduce domestic violence against women and children, reduce crime AND cut government spending. That’s a tall glass that never got filled.

Spending, taxes, and crime, especially organized crime, all took an uptick. People actively flaunted their lawlessness to the point that a wealthy Prohibitionist by the name of Delcevare King sponsored a contest to create an appropriate word to describe these “lawless drinkers.” The winning word was independently submitted by two different people and the term Scofflaw was born followed shortly thereafter by a mixed drink of the same name.

Prohibition broke bartending…And then even worse for the profession of bartending, Prohibition ended.

Prohibition also indirectly gave birth the Federal Income Tax. Before Prohibition 30-40% of the Federal budget was generated from taxes on alcohol. A Federal Income Tax was technically un-Constitutional and needed a Constitutional Amendment to make it legal. The 16th Amendment legalizing the Federal Income tax was passed in 1913 with direct help from Prohibitionists.

I also feel like it caused a cultural disconnect. Every civilization has learned to ferment and distill eventually developed their own native spirit and their own drinking traditions to go with that spirit. These traditions are passed from parent to child and a respect for alcohol becomes a part of everyday life. Prohibition pushed alcohol into the dark, demonized it yet also made in alluring. You can still see this destructive relationship play out in our modern binge drinking habits.

On the other hand, we are a nation of immigrants. A hodgepodge, mish mash of different cultures and booze. Maybe Prohibition just sped up the naturally occurring separation. The Italians know how to drink amaro, the French know how to drink brandy, and the Scandinavians know how to drink aquavit but what the hell does the English colonist do with any of those? The art of mixing drinks is a distinctly American art and I’ve always believed it had it’s roots in the Irish barman having no idea what to do with the Dutch Genever and the French Vermouth so fuck it, let’s mix it together until it’s delicious.

Which leads naturally into Prohibitions effect on the craft of tending bar. Prohibition broke bartending. While popular culture glorifies the idea of the speakeasy and the great mixed drinks of Prohibition the truth was that while people drank gallons at speakeasies what they drank was terrible.

Before Prohibition bartending was a skilled and respected trade. Bartenders would apprentice and learn their craft just like any other skilled tradesman. Now and entire profession was made illegal and those that knew how to bartend moved overseas and taught the rest of the world how to mix drinks.

For 13 years the trade languished with no one to train the next generation and basic skills and knowledge was lost. And then even worse for the profession of bartending, Prohibition ended.

Scofflaw:

2 oz Rye Whiskey

.5 oz Dry Vermouth

.5 oz Grenadine

.5 oz Lemon

2 Dash Orange Bitters.

Shake with Ice, Double strain into a Sour Glass

The moment selling booze was legal again everyone wanted to open a bar, which means you need bartenders. The old skilled tradesman had moved on. There were no young professionals so it became a job for amateurs. The end of Prohibition was arguably the worse thing that could have happened to the American “mixology” tradition. 80+ years later and the professionalism that was taken for granted is still viewed as aloof or fussy today.

And all of this is before we even get into the how the disruption in alcohol production eventually to lead watered down, blended whiskies and eventually the rise of gin and then vodka over the US’s own native spirit: Bourbon. A cascade effect that changed how an entire culture drank. Prohibition and the compromises that needed to be made to for its repeal still shape how, where, and what we drink to this day. (Not to mention the abhorrent three-tiered system.)

Yet, because of Repeal Day I’ve had steady, good employment for most of my adult life and have gotten to travel the world all because I can but booze in a glass in a way that makes other people want to drink it.

So, should we be celebrating? Absolutely. But when you find yourself saddled up to the bar this December 5th ask yourself, are you celebrating some mythological golden age through boozed tinted glasses? Or are you celebrating the triumph of personal freedom and rational thinking? Either way, once you’re done with the inevitable brand-sponsored Old Fashioned throw the barkeep a curve ball and see how good a Scofflaw they can make.

Drinking Poetic: The Old Fashioned

“I prefer things the Old Fashioned Way!” said every generation ever as things changed around them.

The Old Fashioned is my favorite cocktail. It appeals to me on such a deeply intellectual level that it rivals the psychic imprint that Lord of the Rings had on me in the third grade. And the imprint this simple drink has had on the world of cocktails is just as deep. But what exactly is an Old Fashioned?

Due to the past 15 years of the Cocktail Resurgence and the dissemination of information on the Internet, most bartenders outside of Wisconsin will tell you that an Old Fashioned is a basic cocktail comprised of Spirit, sugar, bitters, and water/dilution. If they’re particularly good they might ask if you have a preference on Bourbon or Rye but most would balk at the idea of making it with a different spirit or, god forbid!, serving it up instead of on the rocks. Yet all of these are part of the innumerable variables that are a part of the drink’s history.

Over the past 200 years the drink has survived, thrived, been basterdized, been reinvented, reimagined and misunderstood. But why does it work?

An Old Fashioned is quite simply the Ur-Cocktail. The original, OG, never to be replicated, cocktail. Once upon a time, when words and facts still meant something, a cocktail was just one of many mixed drinks families that each had their own rules and regulations for entrance to the family retreats.

The original definition of “cocktail” first appears in a newspaper in Hudson, New York on May 13th, 1806. In answer to the question, “What is a cocktail?” editor Harry Croswell responds, “Cock-tail is a stimulating liquor, composed of spirits of any kind, sugar, water, and bitters—it is vulgarly called bittered sling, and is supposed to be an excellent electioneering potion, in as much as it renders the heart stout and bold, at the same time that it fuddles the head. It is said, also to be of great use to a democratic candidate: because a person, having swallowed a glass of it, is ready to swallow any thing else.” Sounds familiar doesn’t it?

While later generations of bartenders would claim the drink was invented at The Pendennis Club in the 1880s the etymological roots of the drink have always been more believable to me. As you may imagine drinks were made very differently in the early 1800s from how they are now, no matter how “pre-Prohibition” a place claims to be deep down we know it’s not the same. Now imagine that you actually did know what it used to be like and all these new changes, changes like plentiful ice and clean water for making simple syrup, are ruining your favorite drink. So instead of getting it done with all these new age techniques you would ask for your cocktail “the old fashioned way.”

It all starts with that base spirit. Forevermore this drink will be linked to whiskey but it works with any base spirit, any at all.

Over the past 200 years the drink has survived, thrived, been basterdized, been reinvented, reimagined and misunderstood. But why does it work? Why has this drink lasted through the centuries why so many others have disappeared to never be drunk again? This is what triggers my intellectual arousal.

What this drink does is trick our brains. It takes basic tools, and basic culinary science, and polishes the rough edges off of a spirit allowing the heart and magic that is the core of it’s flavor. Unlike a sour or a daisy that seeks to fully incorporate a wide range of flavors into one cohesive whole, essentially masking the alcohol, this seeks to enhance the elements that are already there. It highlights the spirit.

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It all starts with that base spirit. Forevermore this drink will be linked to whiskey but it works with any base spirit, any at all. Into the glass goes a fiery, untamed, uncultured pour of pure unadulterated water of life in what ever form you please. The base is laid and everything that emerges from this drink is birthed from this primordial ethanol ocean.

Bitters.jpgNext is added a few short dashes of bitters. Bitter is an interesting flavor. Science still debates why exactly we taste bitter but the general consensus is that we evolved the capacity as a way to detect poisonous plants. This is also why a little bitter goes such a long way. Our brains are hardwired to recognize the bitter before anything else. It doesn’t matter how mouthwatering delicious something is if it’s going to ultimately kill you. Now couple this with the fact that pure alcohol is actually poison but doesn’t actually taste like anything. What we often recognize as “alcohol” is really just the upfront burn. This touch of bitter is a stage magician. We’re so focused on the bitter that we don’t notice the alcoholic burn that it just slipped past our taste buds.

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But bitter tastes are unpleasant and while it only takes a splash to fool our monkey brains the end drink shouldn’t taste bitter. This is where a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down. A touch of sweetener rebalances the added bitter element. It should not be sweet, it should not be cloying, it should be just enough to balance the flavor scales.

Ice.jpgNext up is dilution. While alcohol itself has no flavor it acts as a great transport for flavor. Ethanol caries those flavors molecules in a magical solution but it keeps them locked up tightly. A little dilution opens those locks and lets the heart, the true flavor burst through.

Then the drink is finished the same way it’s started with a touch of aromatic, these days in the form of expressed citrus oils to enhance the newly awakened flavors but in the drinks proto-form nutmeg was also used. The idea is once again to sneak past that alcohol burn, except this time we’re pulling a fast one on our olfactory sense.

All of this combines for the perfect cocktail. All of the parts are interchangeable. Change the sugar for vermouth and you end up with a Manhattan or a martini. Swap the dash of bitters for a grand bitter like Campari, a bottled form of that bittersweet, and you end up with a negroni or a boulevardier. Or simply take the sugar, turn it into a simple syrup, fully dilute the cocktail and serve it up and you end up with a New Fashioned Cocktail. The very process and innovation that the first drinker shook their fist at and declared that they wanted an Old Fashioned with their muddled sugar cube and ice IN the glass.

So, after all that how do I drink my Old Fashioneds? Intellectually.

But also with a small brown sugar cube soaked with Angostura bitters, just enough to saturate the cube, then dropped into the bottom of a rocks glass. Add a splash of soda water, just enough to allow the bitters soaked sugar to be easily and fully muddled. Add two ounces of Bonded Rye whiskey, a large ice cube, stir, and then express the oil from a small slice of lemon and of orange over the top. Sip, drain, and repeat until the dawn comes.

Whiskey Wednesday: Overholt’s Bond

Bottled in Bond has jumped the shark. Before what’s sure to be Jack Daniel’s latest premium priced bottled in bond hits Duty Free shelves worldwide let’s look back to a much more innocent time when a BiB release truly excited me. A time known as six months ago…

Before we jump in the Short Way Back Machine what exactly does Bottled-In-Bond mean? Well, here’s a link to a video of some fools talking about it, but here’s a quick refresher. The Bottled in Bond Act of 1897 was spearheaded by a group of distillers, lead by Col. E.H. Taylor, to instate a form of quality control on products calling themselves whiskey, as well as to give consumers the confidence that whiskey sold in this new contraption known as a mass produced glass bottle was reliable and un-tampered with.

Working with the U.S. Government they came up with a list of regulations to be labeled as Bottled-In Bond.

  • The spirit must meet all the legal requirements for that spirit.
  • It must be the product of a single distillery in a single distilling season.
  • It must be aged for a minimum of 4 years in a government bonded warehouse.
  • It must be bottled at 100 Proof
  • Every bottle must list the DSP (the distillery identification number) for both the location of distillation and location of bottling.

Follow all these rules and you get a tax break and US government slaps its seal of approval on the bottle in the form of a tax stamp to show that the liquid has not been tampered with after it was bottled.

The bonded warehouse is an interesting thing to note. In the olden days this meant that the warehouse was physically locked and could only be accessed by a tax assessor (see the above tax breaks, to ensure that there was no “unauthorized removal.” This Tax Man had the keys to the warehouse and it could only be opened with their help, which is how we end up with such delightful stories as that of Old Fitzgerald.

Bottled in Bond began to thrive. It was a mark of quality, and a mark of the distiller’s skill. However, after prohibition when stocks and profits were low distillers looked for ways to stretch out the remaining supply and to reduce costs. See: blended whiskey and applejack. The required aging and proof of bottled in bond raised the quality but also the price, and being unable to blend across distilling seasons meant there was less ability to utilize backstock. Brands that were once proudly Bottled-in-Bond began reducing proof and age and slowly disappeared. Most of those that survived have been consolidated under the ownership of Heaven Hill but also lost their premium status and became your “Granddad’s Whiskey” which despite what the current whiskey boom will tell you used to be an incredibly uncool thing to say.

On the flip side, the current whiskey and cocktail boom has reinvigorated interest in Bottled In Bond as a mark of quality and in mixing. This has lead to a rash of reintroduction of Bottled In Bond products but often at a steep mark up, which I believe misses the point and utility of Bottled In Bond. They’re meant to be versatile and approachable. One of the rereleases that got this right was Old Overholt.

Old Overholt is owned by Beam Suntory, which is the parent company of the largest Bourbon producer in the world, Jim Beam. And while Overholt is truly an old brand it doesn’t usually stand out for me.

It’s a barely legal rye, meaning it’s 51% rye in the mashbill, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Rittenhouse Rye is also barely legal and is a bottle I can’t live without. But bottled at 80 proof I’ve often found the Overholt to be oily and incredibly earthy. However, this past January Beam Suntory added a Bottled In Bond version of the Overholt, so lets see how it stacks up.

On the nose it smells definitively like a Jim Beam product. I associate this smell with the Jim Beam yeast strains. There is a woodsy, yeasty, nutty quality that carries through almost everything in the Jim Beam lineup. There is also an oakiness and dark wood scent that lingers.

On the palette the oiliness is still very much present, but it’s cut through with a heavy alcohol burn that dries out a vanilla and caramel while complimenting the rye natural spiciness. The finish is surprisingly short, leaving an alcohol tingle and a touch of green apple.

This new Overholt is a vast improvement over the old Overholt. However, this new bottle is undeniably a whiskey drinker’s whiskey. It is mean and uncompromising and honestly tastes a lot like what I would get if I blended the 80 proof Overholt with a bottle of Rittenhouse. Its price point makes it incredibly versatile as well. The new proof boost lets it stand up in cocktails while offering a flavor profile the is unique enough to justify including it on the back bar. Bottled in Bond is clearly becoming a hip term and producing a bonded version of a known branded may help boost sales, but that boost doesn’t mean it has to come with an inflated price tag or loss of character.

Just remember, not every reboot is terrible. And while something may jump the shark it doesn’t negate the quality of everything that came before the leap.

Whiskey Wednesday: Willett Of The Past

Age adds value.

That doesn’t just mean a dollar value, I personally own dozens of books, papers, and social media accounts that only still exist because they’ve essentially become a time capsule. They’re important simply because they’ve survived.

Before NDP, Non-Distilling Producer, was short hand for overblown marketing these producers were some of the most celebrated.

I started collecting whiskey when I got back into bartending in 2011. I suddenly found myself with income surplus for the first time in years and set about recreating the back bar I had at work in my tiny Venice apartment. I ended up with more whiskey then I conceivably drink on my own, which leads directly to the fact that I have dozens of bottles in my overblown collection that are there because anytime I pick them up I think to myself, “I can’t drink that! I’ve had it forever.”

This is directly antithetical to my belief that all whiskey is for drinking, not hoarding. So I thought it was high time to revive that spirit and open some “old” spirits.

Before NDP, Non-Distilling Producer, was short hand for overblown marketing these producers were some of the most celebrated. And none have reached the cult status of the Willet Distillery.

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Officially know as the Kentucky Bourbon Distillers the distillery is most closely associated with it’s Willet Family Reserve line of premium whiskies. And that’s not marketing. The distillery was founded in 1935 by the Willet family as the Old Bardstown Distillery, which produced its first bourbon in March of 1936. Flash forward to 2016 and the old distillery is still family owned and some of the first whiskey distilled on site rolled down the line all over again.

How do you do something for the first time twice? You stop producing whiskey in the 70’s to make ethanol during the fuel shortage. Then the fuel prices drop, the bottom falls out from under the market, and you’re left flat footed.

From the 1980’s until about 2012 the “distillery” was just in fact an independent bottler, a NDP. They began by relying on the back stock of their own product that was still aging and began to source excess whiskey from neighbor distilleries. Most notably they were sourcing from Heaven Hill, which is so close you could roll a Bourbon barrel down the hill and hit a rickhouse. During this time Willet/KBD continued to produce award winning whiskies like Noah’s Mill, Rowan’s Creek, the formerly eponymous Old Bardstown, and turned the Willet brand into a coveted line of old, premium, single barrel whiskies.

While they may not have been producing liquid in-house the team at Willet showed

The Willet Pot Still…was incidentally also how I thought anyone who sat in front of my bar for years about what a “Pot Still” looked like.

remarkable skill in aging. The single barrels and older expressions of whiskey that they put together have long stood out as some of the best bottlings of the past two decades. But as the Bourbon boom ramped up the writing was on the wall for people trying to source whiskey. More was going to the in house brands and in 2012 KBD fired up its own set of stills and now 6 years later we are seeing bottles of old brands with new juice.

But lets get back in the way back machine to right before these stills started producing to when I bought this bottle of Willet Pot Still Bourbon.

The Willet line was already well established as a premium category but they were also pricey. The Willet Pot Still, introduced in 2008, was a non-age statement variation that could introduce people to the line with out breaking the bank. It was incidentally also how I thought anyone who sat in front of my bar for years about what a “Pot Still” looked like.

This bottle is a Single Barrel versus its modern counterpart, which is simple a “small batch.” Bottled at 94 proof, 47% alcohol, this whiskey has nearly as many awards for its packaging as it does for the Bourbon itself. So, after 7 years how does it taste?

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On the nose is a sweet corn, yet dusty oak presence. The alcohol burn is larger than I would expect for something bottle at 94 proof, and for something that’s been in the bottle for three quarters of a decade. But under that burn is a touch of coffee and toffee.

On the palette the alcohol is much les noticeable. A large oak, vanilla, and slight char carry all the way through the dram with some darker fruit, a touch of cherry and almost blackberry, before giving sway to a musty, earthy, barn house sense.

The finish is light fades quickly leaving the oak on the tongue and the alcohol on the sides of the mouth.

It’s a good whiskey, something I wouldn’t be upset picking up off the shelf and drinking today but it’s not transcendent on its own. What is transcendent is the act of opening the bottle, pouring, and reminiscing as I sip on where I was at in my life when I bought this bottle and on all the events that have transpired since.

Nothing is precious on its own, the spirit we imbue it with verifies that value. And for something to have value it must have some use. So let’s raise a glass and reminisce.

Drinking Poetic: The Hemingway Daquiri

I feel a certain kinship with Hemingway. I’d like to think it’ because we both have an affinity with words but there’s no denying that the legend of Hemingway has been at least as influential as the man himself. And just like the man himself the truth is always more complicated.

Hemingway was, like most people of his time, an equal opportunity drinker. While in contemporary imagination he’s associated with whatever the masculine drink of the time is, his own writing talks about him drinking absinthe, brandy, champagne, wine, beer, and whatever else the local drink of choice was. But to modern day bartenders Hemingway equals rum.

In his later days Hemingway became synonymous with Cuba, Havana, and La Floradita. If you believe bartending myth La Floridita may have been the first bar to serve a Frozen Daiquiri but it is with out doubt the first place to serve the Papa Doble. Which is a drink better known as the Hemingway Daiquiri

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Hemingway was convinced he was diabetic, though it was probably a larger underlying health issue, and insisted on his drinks being sans sugar. He also insisted on them being quite stiff to counteract the pain caused by the same underling condition. In an effort to accommodate the prolific drinking of the Nobel Laureate the Papa Doble was created. Crafted with a double shot of rum per Hemingway’s request, subbing in Maraschino Liqueur for the sweetener, and adding grapefruit juice to make the concoction more palatable. Hemingway probably drank it with Bacardi at the time so we know it was with light rum and the pretty standard recipe these days goes as follows:

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2 oz Light Rum
1 oz Fresh Grapefruit
.5 oz Maraschino
.5 oz Fresh Lime
.25 oz Simple Syrup

Shake with ice, Double Strain into a stemmed cocktail glass.

For many who do see Hemingway as the pinnacle of the uber-masculine this drink doesn’t jive with their expectations. The drink is citrus and fruit, it’s served up, and despite the adjustments still has a certain sweetness. Also, it ignores the fact the citrus in Cuba is simply different than what we get in the States.

I think this juxtaposition comes from the never-ending misconception that somehow drinks have gender, as well as a misunderstanding of masculinity. In addition it shows a lack of experience with how drinks can have a time and place. They’re not a one-size fits all occasion. I believe it also ties into a basic misunderstanding of rum itself.

“The chief fuddling they make in the island is Rumbullion, alias Kill-Divil, and this is made of sugar canes distilled, a hot, hellish, and terrible liquor.”

Unlike spirits like whiskey, tequila, or cognac the rules for making rum are wide and varied. Rum can also literally be made anywhere. New England used to be the rum capitol of America for Christ sake. So from island to island, distillery to distillery, and drinker to drinker “rum” means something different.

Let’s start with the basic misunderstanding of color as a classification. For much of the world rum is Light, Dark, or Gold. But that doesn’t actually tell us anything about the process being used to make the rum. A much better, but equally challenging, classification can be made using history.

The history of rum is in many ways the history of the sugar trade in the Caribbean, which also ties it deeply to the slave trade. The Triangle Trade would bring slaves to work the sugar plantations in the Caribbean, take sugar and molasses to the colonies, and return to Europe loaded with rum and tobacco ready to start the process all over again.

The life of slaves in the Caribbean was truly torturous. Life expectancy on the plantations was a mere 7-9 years after being abducted. Harvesting and refining sugar cane was an extremely dangerous proposition so who would blame someone trapped in that kind of life for take this by-product, this molasses, and starting to ferment and distilling it. Anything to take the edge off, even if the end result was that, “The chief fuddling they make in the island is Rumbullion, alias Kill-Divil, and this is made of sugar canes distilled, a hot, hellish, and terrible liquor.”

As the trade grew, sailors, and yes this included pirates, had a need for spirits for their journeys and this “Rumbullion” started to become more refined as the disparate cultures brought their own distillation traditions and practices to the islands they controlled. This styles roughly correlate to what islands were colonized by the English, The French, and the Spanish.

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The English style is often labeled as “traditional.” This are the rums made from molasses fermented for 2-3 days and distilled using pot stills. These pot stills are inefficient, meaning they don’t distill to as high a proof as modern column/industrial stills, but they also strip out less flavor leaving behind a lot of the “hugo” or rum funk that is incredibly noticeable in Jamaican style rums. These are typically big, powerful, funky, full flavor rums and many are left at a higher proof.

In contrast, the Spanish style can always be described as “light rum.” And this is wheredownload-1.jpg that confusion comes into play because the use of the word “light” here has nothing to do with color, it’s all about the flavor. “Light rum” is a rum that is lighter in flavor than a traditional pot still rum. Still molasses based but with a shorter fermentation time, often times only a scant 24 hours, and then continuously distilled on column stills. This was a style that was developed in Cuba in the late 19th century and is the style still practiced by Havana Club and Bacardi. These are the majority of the rums on the market. They’re easier and cheaper to make it bulk. But because they carry less flavor it doesn’t matter what color they are or how long you age them they will always be light rum.

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Then there’s the French. Always doing things their own way. The French style of Rhum Agricole developed as mainland France moved away from importing sugar due to events like the Haitian slave rebellion and the English navy making the process too problematic. So, they began refining sugar from sugar beets on the mainland. This left the French controlled Caribbean islands with less reason to refine their sugar cane nectar and they began distilling it instead. This results in a grassier, greener spirit that has more in common with Brazilian cacchaca than its traditional or light rum island cousins.

And these are just the baseline styles of traditionally made rums. We haven’t even gotten into blended rums, heavy rums, or god forbid Inlander Rum. Confusion is almost inevitable.

Back to the Papa Doble, when you take into account the fact that this was being made with the Cuban style light rum the double shot request seems less the demands of an alcoholic, and more the demands for more flavor from a man used to massive flavors. The same can be said for the substitution of maraschino for the sweet and the grapefruit juice, all of this meant to soften the edges of that fiery Rumbullion and results in a drink that is flavorful yet relatively dry.

Trust a nerd to use science to try to get drunk like their literary hero.

You’ll notice that the modern recipe above adds back in a touch of sugar. This probably happened to address modern palettes but also as an attempt to balance the inconsistencies of the fresh juice being used. Balancing bright, fresh squeezed lime and grapefruit is always a different story than balancing day old juice. This is where my problems with the drink start to emerge from the literary shadows. Honestly I find it a sugary mess. Maraschino liqueur has a funk of it’s own, but is also relatively sweet and wars with the grapefruit in my opinion. I also find that for a drink that was designed to be dry it comes often comes out too sweet with the balance of the grapefruit and lime often not being balanced. My solution? Kirschwasser.

A true, traditional German Style Kirschwasser grants all of the cherry flavor but none of the extra sweetness of the Maraschino making it an easier drink to balance. Kitschwasser was also another favorite tipple of Hemingway so it keeps it all in the family. I also like something a little punchier so I like to add a splash of a more traditional pot still rum to the mix. My standard recipe for this is:

1 oz Light Rum
.5 oz Over Proof Jamaican
.5 oz Kirschwasser
1 oz Fresh Grapefruit
.5 oz Fresh Lime
.25 oz Cane Syrup

Shake with ice. Double Strain and serve up.

The cane syrup adds just that touch of sweet to balance what is truly a very dry, very funky little sour now.

But being the nerd I am I can’t stop there. While trying to correct the balance issues of the drink I’ve made it more complicated to make in the moment. And it can still be thrown off by one person solera aging your juice bottles so I solved the problem like I solve all problems these days, by throwing a centrifuge at it.

Well, technically it’s clarifying the day old grapefruit juice, creating a cordial out of it and then acid correcting it to lime strength. This means balancing the acids inherent in grapefruit juice to the same as lime juice which balances out at 4g citric and 2g malic acid per liter of juice. This way the balance of sweet to the sour is always exactly what I want it to be, and has the bright consequence of turning this light rum drink into a light looking drink. In this form the Jamaican rum becomes a bit overpowering so the last tweak is subbing in some high proof agricole for a more floral punch.

Trust a nerd to use science to try to get drunk like their literary hero:

1 oz Light Rum
.5 oz Rhum J.M. 100 Proof
.5 oz Kirschwasser
1 oz clarified, lime strength grapefruit cordial

Stir with ice. Strain Up and serve with a Lime Twist.

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Whiskey Wednesday: Decanting Old Fitzgerald Bottled In Bond

Growing old is an interesting proposition.

It’s right there in our language. We GET older, we GROW up whether we like it or not. But these phrases imply a gift. The imply that it is a privilege to age and that we are constantly changing and growing.

Contrast that with the utter fear of aging that our culture exhibits. It’s also right there in our language. We don’t just develop. We deteriorate, mellow, and mature. And at every point along the journey we can’t help but express disbelief at how many chronological ticker marks we’ve accrued. Our own experience is that we are always the oldest that we have ever been, so exclamations like, “I can’t believe 90’s kids can legally drink!” or “Holy Shit, it’s been nearly five years since Old Fitzgerald Bottled-In-Bond was discontinued!” make us feel old and make those older than us roll their eyes at the young ‘uns.

Even in whiskey we want our spirits older, but not too old. Age at a certain point becomes a novelty act, reacting to a new release almost as if to your great-great aunts 97th Birthday, “A 27 Year old Bourbon you say? That’s adorable.” Yet we bemoan the loss of every single age statement, and doubly so when it’s a rocksteady brand that’s stood the test of time yet is still dropped in favor of something new, young, and millennial.

The loss of the Old Fitzgerald Bottled-In-Bond was a loss I felt personally and deeply. While never technically discontinued the Old Fitz was removed from most markets over the past five years in favor of it’s cousin Larceny. Same liquid inside, even still has the Fitzgerald name on the bottle still. It’s technically John E. Fitzgerald’s Larceny, referring to the legend that the original brand was named for.

In short, this tastes like Old Fitzgerald, which is a blessing and a curse

John E. Fitzgerald was a tax bondsman for the U.S. government, which meant that he was one of two people on site at the Old Judge Distillery to have keys to the bonded warehouse. This ensured that there was no theft, since no one could enter the warehouse with out him, and that the government was properly collecting it’s taxes on the whiskey production. However, the workers kept noticing certain honey barrels, the especially tasty ones, were coming up short and that Old Fitz always seemed to have some extra tasty liquid on hand. These barrels became known as “Fitzgeralds” and a brand of whiskey was eventually named after the man and his harmless acts of larceny.

The brand went on to become a working class hero. Bourbon Legend says that the brand was originally sold only to steamships, rail workers, and private clubs. After Prohibition the brand was purchased by Stitzel-Weller, the famed distillery owned by the notorious Pappy Van Winkle. In fact, during his tenure at the Stizel-Weller Distillery Pappy didn’t sell any Pappy. He sold Old Fitzgerald and it was by far their most successful brand. Like all the whiskies made at Stitzel-Weller Old Fitz had that “whisper of wheat” in the mashbill that made their whiskey so unique at the time.

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During the whiskey dark ages of the 70’s and 80’s the brand was purchased by United Distillers, which through several mergers and acquisitions eventually became the behemoth that is Diageo. United Distillers/Diageo closed the Sitzel-Weller distillery in 1994, moved production of Old Fitzgerald to the Bernheim Distillery. Then in 1999 they sold the Bernheim Distillery, and the Old Fitzgerald brand, to Heaven Hill. Heaven Hill continues to make wheated bourbon and releases it under the Old Fitzgerald name to this day.

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The story hasn’t changed. The whiskey hasn’t changed. But the age, the label, and the price certainly have. While Larceny is still a very reasonably priced bottle of whiskey it doesn’t carry the massive bang for your buck that the old Bottled-In-Bond did. And by freeing up the Fitzgerald name from a bargain priced Bottled-In-Bond the team at Heaven Hill have been able to make attempts to push the premiumization of the brand. Some of them more successful than others.

They tested the waters with the one off release of John E. Fitzgerald’s 20 Year Old Bourbon which was some of the last whiskey actually distilled at Stizel-Weller which was released to mixed reviews. And now comes the release of the long awaited Fitzgerald Bottled-In-Bond Decanter Series.

The series will be a limited release each Spring and Fall for the next few years. The throw back to the old label name also comes with a throw back to another old Bourbon tradition: fancy decanters. More important than the glassware though is that this is a Bottled-In-Bond whiskey, it’s 11 years old, and it’s got the price tag to prove it with a suggested retail price of $110.

So how does it stack up?

20180602_164023The packaging and labeling are fantastic. It’s like seeing an old friend after the divorce now that they’ve started working out and gotten a haircut. It still looks like them but a cleaner, fitter, more attractive version of them.

The nose has all the oak you’d expect from an 11-year old, but also a touch of apricot and butter. On the mid palette is black pepper, stone fruit, a hint of nuttiness and a slightly thin caramel which leads into an aggressively woody finish that lingers hot and with a slight exhalation of cherry.

In short, this tastes like Old Fitzgerald, which is a blessing and a curse.

On the one hand I’m incredibly happy to have something that tastes like my old timey Bottled-In-Bond back but at the rarity prices it’s not something I would necessarily pick up off the shelf, and it’s certainly not an every day drinker like it used to be. The extra aging has made the product deeper and mellower but it’s also made it richer and pricier. Much like your recently divorced friend it doesn’t seem interested with hanging out with the same crowd it used to.

In the end I’m happy to see the return of Old Fitzgerald in a semi regular release but it does feel like the difference between hanging out with your college buddies and your great-great aunt. The one you want to see every weekend, the other you’ll drop in on at the holidays. Maybe. If the plane tickets aren’t too expensive.

Whiskey Wednesday: The Old Forester’s New Clothes

It’s time for the same old song and dance but with a brand new look. The first entry in a new chapter of house single barrels with the first Faith and Flower edition single barrel of Old Forester.

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Old forester is an old brand, introduced by Gavin Brown in 1870 as the first bourbon brand sold exclusively in sealed bottles. Being sealed gave consumers assurance that the product hadn’t been tampered with or adulterated which made it the fan favorite of pharmacists who stocked it for its “medicinal qualities”. This reputation probably helped with Old Forester being granted one of six legal licenses to produce medicinal whiskey throughout Prohibition.

Unfortunately, over the century and a half of its existence Old Forester has been over shadowed by the Brown-Forman corporations other whiskies, like Jack Daniels or Forester’s mashbill twin Woodford Reserve. But recently the company has been trying to inject some new life into the old horse.

To kick things off the new Old Forester distillery is slated to open in downtown Louisville this year, And a few years back Old Forester was made the official bourbon for mint juleps at the Kentucky Derby (replacing Brown-Forman’s Early Times whiskey which is not technically a Bourbon) and around the same time they started rolling out their Whiskey Row Collection. The Whiskey Row is a series of Old Forester Bourbons meant to highlight milestones in Old Foresters history and the style of whiskey being made at that point in time. The Whiskey Row series are hence named with a date and a style like the 1870 “Original Batch” or the 1920 “Prohibition Style” and they also came with fancy new bottles and labels that set them apart from the classic Old Forester bottlings. And now all that fancy bottle and label goodness has found its way to the single barrel.

The Old Forester Single Barrel has always been a bit of a rare breed and been at least marginally separated off from the main bottles so it makes sense to align it more closely with its Whiskey Row brethren. The bottle is sleek, black, and just a little sexy.

510BA05C-43B6-4957-BAD0-F3DB91AEA44B.JPG  The single barrel offerings are at a solid 90 proof, one of the things that set them apart from the standard bottles, but the color scheme on the new label is an almost complete palate swap. Where the normal Whiskey Row bottles harken back to the old white/cream style labels of the brands history the new single barrel is jet black with silver lettering. And clearly looking to scratch the whiskey intelligentsia’s need to know everything the rickhouse and floor where the barrel aged are large and center.

 

But packaging doesn’t improve the whiskey in the bottle. So what about the actual whiskey? This inaugural Faith and Flower barrel comes from the first floor of Warehouse K. It’s the classic Old Forester/Woodford

mashibill 78% corn, 12% Rye, 10% barley that can too easily come off as a sweet corn bomb, but here it’s taken on a darker tone. Deep, red, ripe cherry winds its way through the middle of the palette while cinnamon, nutmeg, and woody sweetness lingers on the nose. The finish is medium yet weighty leaving the rough edge of the barrel mingled with the caramel sweetness.

Seeing this single barrel dressed up and tasting like this is like seeing a old friend the you’ve long felt to be predictable suddenly dressed to the nines and just dripping with an heretofore unseen sex appeal. The bones are the same but it’s a reminder that everything, and everyone, has a unexpected side that can make you sit up and take notice.

Open Bottle: Chartreuse V.E.P and #1605

If you haven’t noticed America is a little odd. We like doing a lot of things backwards. Like our current administration- or how in most of the world writes the date as day/month/year, which helps explain why May 16, or 16.05, is world Chartreuse Day.

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If you’re unfamiliar, Chartreuse is a liqueur made by the Carthusian Monks in the French Alps and is often considered bottled magic by many in bartending community. It’s a thing of myth, medicine, and history. It’s history starts in the year 1605.

The Carthusian Monks are an order of working monks, which means that rather then devoting themselves to missionary work they devote themselves to contemplation, prayer, and solitude and maintain that lifestyle by working.  Since the order was founded in 1084 they’ve made many things but the one they have been world famous for making for centuries is Chartreuse.

The production of Chartreuse carries all the mystery you would expect from an organization a thousand years old and devoted to quiet prayer and meditation. The recipe is based on a manuscript thought to be gifted to the monks by Francois Hann

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Élixir Végétal de la Grande-Chartreuser

ibal d’ Estrées, a cousin of the king at that time, which supposedly contained the recipe for “the Elixir of Long Life.” It was the high time of alchemy and the monks went to work decoding the manuscript of 130 herb and botanicals, yet the first Élixir Végétal de la Grande-Chartreuse didn’t appear until 1737. This seems like quite a gap but keep in mind the world wasn’t as connected as it is these days. Ingredients listed in the manuscript weren’t all native to the French Alps, and once the spice trade brought many of them into circulation it wasn’t a simple matter of following a tried and tested recipe. It was a lot of “a pinch of this” and a “bag of that” things that required balance.

The first Elixir, at nearly 140 proof, was sold as medicine, and is still available in French drugstores as such, and was sold from the back of mules in very limited supplies to the villages around Grande-Chartreuse. However, despite limited availability it proved so popular that the monks set about to create a more “mild” drinkable version. A liqueur of green color, at a mere 110 proof, began to be sold in 1764 and its legend grew from there. A yellow version was introduced in 1838, a defunct “white Chartreuse” was sold from 1886-1900, the monks were forced to flee post

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The O.G. St. Germain Cocktail: Green Chartreuse, Grafruit, Lemon, and Egg White

Revolution France and moved operations  to Tarragona for several years before returning to France, and then the V.E.P. (“Viellissement Exceptionnellement Prolongé”) was released in 1963. And this doesn’t account for the varieties available overseas that aren’t available in the United States. Most of which aren’t available because the F.D.A. wants to know what goes into Chartreuse and the monks are understandably closed lipped about a 400 year old recipe. The sales of Chartreuse fund all of the Carthusian Monasteries across the world and the U.S. is the second largest market for Chartreuse in the world. Understandably the company in charge of selling Chartreuse for the monks didn’t want theTTB to pull the product so they have a stalemate. The TTB grandfathered the Yellow, Green, and V.E.P.s into the country with the understanding no other Chartreuse iterations would be imported.

But what makes Chartruese so compelling in the first place? First, is the romance. Who doesn’t love a product made based on an ancient manuscript, containing 130 different botanicals, from a recipe known by only two monks who have taken a vow of silence? It’s the Coca-Cola of the booze world. But, also it’s the complexityIMG_3610.JPG of the spirit.

Chartreuse is made from 130 different botanicals. The Green uses a sugar beet base distillate while the Yellow uses a grape- spirit base (the Yellow also lowers the proof to 80, and uses more saffron and distilled honey as a sweetener). These herbs and botanicals grant a natural complexity but because Chartreuse is created by distillation and maceration it is the only spirit in the world to continue to evolve inside the bottle. Those ingredients continue to interact in unknown ways making old bottles truly unique and sought after.

Standard Chartreuse is aged for 3-5 years in the largest liqueur aging cellar in the world (read: ONLY liqueur aging cellar in the world)  The V.E.P.s are aged from 11-20 years and while they carry no age statement you can determine a least the date of the bottling by adding 1084 to the first three digits of the numbered code on the back of the bottle.

 

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929 + 1084 = 2013

While the Yellow V.E.P. tends to be the fan favorite (a good friend once described it as “liquid space honey”) I’ve always been partial to the Green, probably because it is 108 proof. My open bottle was released in 2013 and is noticeably richer than the standard Green. Not because there’s a larger oak presence, the barrels are essentially neutral containers at this point, but because the botanicals have had more time to mature. The menthol quality takes a back seat as the warm baking spices ride along the pine and gentian notes to end on a dark, baked fruit note that leaves a sense of weight to the inside of your mouth. Drinking the Green V.E.P. is what I imagine history tastes like: bitter-sweet, earthy, slightly spicy, and heavy with the weight of time.

Chartreuse remains interesting today not just because of it’s history, or because it’s the father of an entire categorization of spirits but because of it’s complexity. And it’s impressive that the spirit can be so well understood and utilized in mixed drinks despite the lack of knowledge of how it’s produced. Sometimes the mystery is the magic and some times that magic creates complexity.

But my absolute favorite thing in the long tale of Chartreuse is that the spirit was so popular and recognizable that the color Chartreuse is actually named after the spirit. That is cultural impact at its finest.

 

 

 

Whiskey Wednesday: Shooting Turkey Rye in a Single Barrel

I don’t like to repeat myself, but the conversation about the Wild Turkey Kentucky Spirit Barrel a few weeks ago got me thinking. While I might not be a Wild Turkey Bourbon man at heart the rye has always tickled my fancy. I’d like to say that it’s simply because it’s damn good whiskey but that hasn’t always objectively been true.

I touched a bit on the history of Wild Turkey with the post of Kentucky Spirit (You can read about that here) but Wild Turkey’s history feels more tied with the pop culture of past decades that almost any other brand except Jack Daniel’s and Jim Beam.

Wild Turkedownload.jpgy as a brand was said to originate in the 1940’s when an Austin Nichols executive, Thomas McCarthy, brought some choice whiskey along on a wild turkey hunting trip in South Carolina. Enamored with the samples he brought his friends kept asking for more of “that wild turkey bourbon.” More likely it was a marketing approach to appeal to hunters and the rugged, rustic type but every whiskey loves a mythical origin story.

Turkey also appeals to me because it’s been the favored drink of self destructive writers for decades. Hunter S. Thompson was a known lover, Stephen King mentions it with distinction in a few books, and in his biography it’s listed as the drink of choice for perennial hipster literary icon David Foster Wallace.

Yet throughout all this pop culture iconography it’s always the bourbon they’re talking about. The rye always seems to be the unspoken younger sibling despite, at least from personal experience, it being the bartender favorite.

The Wild Turkey Rye is known as being a “barely legal” rye.  At 51% Rye/37% corn/12% barley it meets the bare minimum by law to be considered a rye whiskey. Yet, along with the brand Rittenhouse, it is a rye that kept rye alive in the decades when it was certainly not cool to drink. And it was certainly popular enough that when the 101 proof rye was dropped in 2012 there was enough of an outcry that it was reinstate a mere two years later. And now it might finally have its family champion.

Bruce Russell is the third generation of Turkey Russells and he is the current

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Like Grandfather, Like Grandson

driving force behind their rye, at least their high end stuff. While Jimmy Russell has always been unassuming and focused on the fact Wild Turkey makes two products, a Bourbon and a Rye, his son Eddie and grandson Bruce have championed the expansion of the range arguing differentiation through aging.

The idea that certain spots  in certain warehouses yield “honey” barrels is well established in Kentucky whiskey lore even if no one understands why that should be the case. But for Wild Turkey rye that took a new edge with the release of the Russell’s Reserve 6 Year rye and then even more focus with the Russell’s Reserve Single Barrel Rye.

While the single barrel carries no age statement it is clearly considered to be the upper echelon of the Turkey Family Rye. The 6-year was first introduced in 2007, the year after they raised the barrel entry proof from 105 to 115 and four years before the new distillery came online in 2011. This of course means there’s been a fair amount of flux in the production.

The rye itself is a fine example of Kentucky rye. It is all rich tobacco, which makes the old smoker in me shiver, a hint of dill, a full serving of citrus and a baked quality that ties in the darker spices and the heavy vanilla/caramel barrel notes. And it’s bottled at 104 proof which grants it the same oomph as its Wild Turkey 101 sibling.

The problem for me is twofold. 1) pricing and 2) transparency. The pricing hangup is easy for me to explain, I want quality at cost like it used to exist before the “Bourbon Boom” but that’s the old man in me yelling at the local teens to stay off my lawn: it ain’t going to happen. As for Number 2 there’s no denying that Jimmy, Eddie and now Bruce make good, and often great, whiskey but in an age where the consumer is more and more interested in the process of what ends up in their bottle the Russell’s Reserve Single Barrel Rye lacks any discerning features on the label. If a single barrel product is supposed to be different barrel to barrel I want to be able to compare barrels and bottlings, and nothing on the label gives me the ability to do that. There is no barrel number, warehouse ID, or even simply year or batch number. And these aren’t new requests. These are standard industry practices for single barrel and have been since single barrels were introduced in the 80s. Which brings me back around to the why of  why does the Wild Turkey Rye tickle my fancy so?

I think it has to do with placement. There is a wonderful sweet spot that the 101 Proof Wild Turkey Rye hits in flavor, cost, and history. While I can love the flavors and the drive to create more rye that the Russell’s Single barrel presents the balance between those things isn’t there for me yet.

But then again, aren’t we most critical of those we want the love the most?

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I mean if it’s good enough for Aragorn…