Back in January, the Drinkies desk impaneled a committee to seek out and report on bad bourbon. I stand before you today to announce that, after 11 months, our search has failed. I'm calling it. We're not looking for bad bourbon anymore.
(Which might mean, I suppose, that one is likely to turn up in the next liquor store run. So it goes.)
I'm not going to claim our search was exhaustive, but we did have a lot of nominations. Old Crow came up a few times, as did its slightly tonier big brother, Old Crow Reserve, which is aged four years as opposed to three for the regular stuff and will run you about $15. But my considered opinion is that Old Crow is a fine well bourbon that makes up in history what it lacks in nuance. It was the first whiskey to employ the sour mash process -- the distiller takes some of the mash from a previous batch and puts in the mash for a new batch to kick-start fermentation -- and was supposedly the favorite whiskey of Mark Twain and Ulysses S. Grant. As well, it was the second favorite of Hunter S. Thompson, who'd drink it when he ran out of Wild Turkey.
For a lot of people -- none of you good folks, I'm sure -- a bottle of whiskey is as much a fashion statement as a mystery to be explored. I don't think anyone but a price snob could honestly hate Old Crow. You might be unimpressed by it, you might wish you'd had a V8 or a shot of Blanton's instead, but Old Crow doesn't insult anyone. It respects the process.
Another whiskey that undeservedly got a lot of votes was Fighting Cock, which I actively like. More understandable were the votes for (really against) Rebel Yell, which, while retaining the same raisin and ashes burn it always has, recently bumped up its price and dandied up its label. Now it's around $17, up from $12.
Then there is Evan Williams, which I assume was just your way of picking at me. The old Big Cat (as I call it because of Evan "Big Cat" Williams), is a rough beast, but mixes well. I call it "Big Cat" for a club pro who became the first golfer to make a living putting on long drive exhibitions in the 1970s, and who -- as far as I know -- had absolutely no connection to the whiskey. I used to use it as my everyday whiskey until the neighbors complained, and I still feel a lot of affection for it.
There were other nominees, some simply crazy. I understand that there are those of you who think bourbon made in New York or Oregon is unnatural but Hudson Baby Bourbon -- which a lot of you really hate -- is pretty good. There's no legal requirement that bourbon be distilled in Kentucky, although 95 percent of it is and the overwhelming majority of that by one of the big nine distillers.
But it's different. It's only aged three months. Its mash bill is 100 percent New York-grown corn. It's aged in very small barrels, two to three gallons, as opposed to the regular 53-gallon size. And its distillers allegedly play loud dance music in the warehouses where the whiskey is aging to agitate it and speed up the process. Its standard bottle is only 375 mL -- half the size of regular bottles -- and they generally sell for about $50 each. But we were not trying to identify the most overpriced bourbon -- Hudson Baby Bourbon wouldn't really be in the running for that honor -- or the one with the most obnoxious marketing campaign.
You can call it confirmation bias if you want, and you're welcome to write a dissenting letter to the editor if you're so moved, but our committee is of the opinion that, as long as we are talking about products that meet the legal definition (must be produced in the United States, made from a grain mixture that is at least 51 percent corn, aged in new charred oak containers and distilled to no more than 160 proof), there just is no bad bourbon.
That said, some are better than others, and everyone has his or her own ideas about what makes a bourbon better or worse. It stands to reason that somewhere out there exists the singular worst example of bourbon.
Still, the legislative process seems to have worked to protect consumers. The law sets a decent standard, and if a distiller abides by the rules it seems likely it will produce something potable. You don't need to be an artist to make bourbon, just a decent craftsman.
That doesn't mean there aren't artists making bourbon. You're still free to believe (or disbelieve) in any marketing story you choose. Jack Daniel's wants to pretend it's not a bourbon, even though it meets all the criteria, fine. It can go sit over there with all the other Tennessee whiskies.
There are also pseudo-bourbons that did not meet the criteria for our search. Grain alcohol, food coloring and a notional does not a bourbon make. (Some of you had harrowing stories about drinking things you should have known better than to drink. What is wrong with you?)
Early Times is not bourbon for the simple fact that it is aged in used oak barrels, not new ones. So it bills itself as Kentucky Whiskey and looks a little paler in the bottle. I remember it as an acceptable if rather ordinary whiskey -- some say it has changed in recent years -- but even if it is bad, it's not a bad bourbon.
. . .
We weren't talking about overpriced bourbons either, though obviously there are a lot of those out there as well. Whose fault is that? One of the reasons I took up bourbon sniffing in the mid-1980s was that it seemed a more economically viable path than tracking the wild Scotch. Nowadays it's not hard to get sticker shock staring at the wall of options.
So it's nice to know that there are alternatives. W.L. Weller's 12-year-old allegedly has the same mash bill as Pappy Van Winkle's 15-year-old; the former will run you about $30, a quick Internet search reveals the latter on offer for $2,250. Dig a little deeper and you might find it for around half that, and there's one dram shop in the U.K. that has it listed for $132.50 a bottle, but they're out of it right now.
On the other hand, I wouldn't hesitate to pour Knob Creek ($29) or Michter's Small Batch ($45) for anyone.
One of the benefits of having spent time investigating the knee-level behind-the-bar well options is that we discovered a few genuine gems. Like the aforementioned Fighting Cock. And Old Grand-Dad, which I understand is enjoying a renaissance, perhaps thanks to early reports of these findings leaking.
I have to admit that Old Grand-Dad is not a bourbon I'd much considered before -- I really never paid too much attention at all to The Olds. (In 2015, Beam Suntory, the parent company of bourbons Old Grand-Dad and Old Crow and rye Old Overholt, decided to market these products together under The Olds trademark. But when I think of The Olds I also include Old Forester, Old Taylor and Old Bardstown.)
That was a mistake, for not only is Old Grand-Dad (around $12) an excellent value, but some drinkers might prefer it to bottles that cost two or three times more. It's very similar to Beam's small batch Basil Hayden (who happens to be the ancestor honored on the label of Old Grand-Dad), with which it shares a mash bill (63 percent rye, 27 percent corn, 10 percent barley). At 80 proof -- it was 86 for decades but was scaled back in 2013 -- it's on the lighter, silkier side.
Our committee was so impressed with Old Grand-Dad that we tried several products in the line -- including the 100 proof Bottled in Bond variety and the 114 proof "ask strength version." (More legal stuff: "Bottled in Bond" bourbon or rye must be from one distillery that is identified on the label, the product of a single distilling season, made by one master distiller, aged at least four years in a government bonded warehouse and bottled at 100 proof.)
As you might have predicted, my favorite turned out to be the 114 proof version, though other committee members preferred the original OGD. For a $25 bourbon -- especially one that can benefit from being cut with a little creek water -- it feels really high-end. It's richer and more full-bodied -- huskier -- than its rather svelte brothers.
I know this probably isn't the conclusion you were looking for and admit it's a lot easier to make fun of brain-cell murdering swill than it is to acknowledge that, at least in this one instance, the system has worked as it should. There is certainly a difference between the humble products of Heaven Hill and the handcrafted small-batch tipples of folks who've worked their entire lives to find just the right balance of corn, rye, wheat, barley, barrel char and entry proof to make exquisite products.
But our unscientific survey suggests making whiskey is more science than art. Your mama might insist love is the main ingredient in her meatloaf, but you'd be advised to get her to write out the recipe.
Email:
pmartin@arkansasonline.com
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Style on 12/16/2018