30 September 2010

Love for America

Ahhh, the wild, wild West. Cowboys and railroad men. The heat and dust. And of course, the whiskey saloons. Drinks lovingly nicknamed “Coffin Varnish”, “Tarantula Venom”, and “Liquid Lightning”. Rough men drinking rough whiskey roughly.
Back in the mid to late 19th century, American whiskeys such as rye and Bourbon were the drink of choice in the far reaches of the American frontier simply for the fact that beer couldn’t be brewed or stored in the heat. In 1876, Dodge City, Kansas managed to support 19 whiskey saloons despite having a population of just twelve hundred. Frontiersmen frequented these establishments even though the liquid passing their lips stood an overwhelming chance of being something other than whiskey. What might have left Kentucky and Pennsylvania as whiskey had passed through the hands of so many middlemen that it was much more likely that what was in the glass was (at best) whiskey mixed with industrial alcohol flavored by some combination of tobacco, pepper, iodine, and soap, to name a few.
Eventually, the Kentucky distillers decided to protect the reputation of their products. In 1897, Congress passed the Bottled-in-Bond Act guaranteeing a whiskey’s quality. In order to qualify as a bonded whiskey, the spirit must be distilled at a single distillery, stored at a federally supervised warehouse for at least four years, and bottled at no less than 50% alcohol by volume. Additionally, the bottled product's label must identify the distillery of origin as well as, if different, where it was bottled. It was the first federal consumer protection act passed in the United States, and continues to exist to this day.
Nowadays, there are still a number of spirits produced in the United States that would qualify as being bonded, including most whiskeys of even modest regard, although a large majority of them consider the term to be a bit archaic and decline to be labeled as such. Which is fine, because anyone who would consider drinking these whiskeys is likely seeking either A) status, or B) complexity.
In any case, it’s my experience that the most diverse collection of these American spirits available for sampling in the Queen City is at Andrew Blair’s (1600 Montford Drive, 704-525-8282). Although they make no mention of it on neither their website nor on their Facebook page, they have a rather extensive list of Kentucky spirits for their Bourbon Club. 50+ names strong, the selection runs the gambit from the $10/bottle Ancient Age Bourbon to American Spirit by Wild Turkey. Other standouts on offer include Booker’s from Jim Beam’s Small Batch Bourbon Collection, the highly rated/regarded/sought-after George T. Stagg from Buffalo Trace’s Antique Collection, and Heaven Hill’s Elijah Craig 18 year old Single Barrel, which will always have a special place in my heart (more on that in a future post).
Also included on their Bourbon list, however, is a straight rye whiskey and a number of sweetened whiskey-based liquors such as Prichard’s Sweet Lucy and Evan Williams Honey Reserve. The evening I was there was dominated by an industry event, so I wasn’t able to explore their whiskey selection any further, be it non-Bourbon American, Scotch, or Irish. As a result, I can't really add any further pros or cons concerning this locale to this post.
And what exactly was this industry event, you might ask? Why, it was a tasting of the new Maker’s 46 Bourbon. Billed as “first new expression from the Maker’s Mark Distillery in 52 years”, it takes the standard Maker’s Mark whisky and finishes it in barrels fitted with toasted French oak staves suspended from the barrel head for several additional months. The result: in comparison to the red seal Maker’s Mark, Maker’s 46 has much less vanilla on the nose, is more full and creamy on the palate, and has more pepper and spice in its longer finish. Overall, it’s a very pleasant Bourbon and is great sipped over ice. But given its retail price point, I’ll probably choose other, more complex Bourbons to drink neat or cut. And if you’re really into splitting hairs, this blog discussion rightfully questions whether or not their advertising claims are honest when they previously had at least two other limited availability releases.
Salud.

14 September 2010

The Dark Side of Craft Distilling

Recently, a very good friend offered me an opportunity to sample from his bottle of newly-acquired Rogue Dead Guy Whiskey. Distilled by Rogue Spirits of Newport, Oregon, it utilizes the same malts used for their Dead Guy Ale, is distilled twice in copper pot stills, then “minimally aged” in new charred American oak casks. It was also one of the roughest whiskeys to ever pass my lips, and at $35-45 per bottle retail, is pretty far from one of the best value bottles out there.
No offense to fans of the product (specifically the one who let me try it), but I don’t think of this as whiskey. See, in order for a product of Scotland to be labeled Scotch whisky, it has to be aged for a minimum of three years (among other requirements). Ditto for Irish whiskey. Bourbon must be aged for at least two years in order for it to legally be labeled Bourbon whiskey, and anything younger than four years old must carry an age statement on the label.
Several articles I’ve read seem to indicate that the “minimally aged” descriptor for Rogue Dead Guy whiskey is shorthand for “long enough to get a bit of color”. That time can vary, naturally, but the process generally takes at least six months; near as I can tell, no Rogue Dead Guy whiskey is ever aged longer than one year. In my opinion, that’s not whiskey; that’s a reposado barley spirit.
Depending on who you’re listening to, most whiskey experts say that a whiskey gets somewhere between 60 to 80 % of its flavor from the aging process. That’s right, more than half of the character of any given whiskey comes from the wood it came into contact with. So how much complexity can you get in 8-10 months? Not much, unless you're using casks that hold less than 10 liters; this stuff did not. Judging it as a whiskey, I found it very sweet on the palate, but definitely harsh, one-dimensional, and completely lacking a finish. If you know what to expect going in (which I did), you might save yourself some disappointment. Try to judge it for what is: young.
Recently, Steve Ury of recenteats.blogspot.com wrote a guest blog entry for John Hansell of Malt Advocate titled “Most Craft Whiskeys Suck!” in which he laments the practice of some micro-distillers who charge premium prices for extremely young spirits in an effort to offset some of the overhead associated with whiskey aging. He also completely razes the romantic comparisons between today’s micro-distilleries and the micro-breweries of the 80’s.
Because I live in the Old North State, my experience with the products of craft distilleries is exceptionally limited. But I do think that a lot of small distillers take advantage of the fact that there are no legal definitions in this country on what can or cannot be called “whiskey”. The general expectation of what whiskey should be is a wood aged distilled spirit from fermented grain. In India, however, 90% of all “whisky” produced within their borders is distilled from fermented molasses, which would technically make them rums. Attempts to export these Indian whiskies have run into roadblocks because of that distinction.
My solution? Make a legal definition for American whiskey. If a Bourbon needs to stay in wood for at least two years to be called Bourbon whiskey, why not make the same distinction for other non-Bourbon American whiskeys? Internationally, American whiskeys are seen as inferior as is. Exporting minimally-aged products labeled as whiskey will probably do nothing but reinforce that stereotype.