When I stepped into the whiskey bar, a row of men were seated at the counter. An hour later, they were replaced by a row of women. I liked the change. They also brought some great conversation with them. Overheard: “A whole year! I thought I was 29 and I was 28. Maybe this year, I will be 28 for the whole year instead of 29.” Amen to that. Unless your age is 10, 12, 15, or 18 and stamped on the side of a Scotch bottle, how much does it really matter? My other companions at the bar were a pretty motley crew. There was George Dickel, a rye but charcoal mellowed, a process made famous by Tennessee whiskey (although this rye is from Indiana), Dead Guy Whiskey out of Oregon, and Fighting Cock bourbon from Kentucky.
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When in Vail, it seems only proper to have a locally-made dram. I’m always surprised at the amount of new whiskies that have popped up in Colorado every time I stop by. It only makes sense, though. What do you want at the summit of a climb? A sip of whiskey. After a long hike? Whiskey. Day at the slopes? Ya know. I made it to the whiskey before I made it to the slopes, getting a local taste my first night of 10th Mountain Whiskey. At the bartender’s suggestion, I went for the rye. Mountain air and a little whiskey hit the spot. Emphasis on little because altitude and drinking can really do a number on you…so I hear. I won’t be skiing with a flask today, but every time I fall in the snow, I like to imagine a fluffy St. Bernard bounding over the snow with a barrel around his neck to warm me up. A little dram of 10th Mountain Whiskey? He might bark. Or say, because the likelihood of this happening is roughly the likelihood of a dog talking. And I will nod and smile and think how friendly Colorado can be. Today’s whiskies seemed to have an escapism theme – Zeppelin Bend and Angel’s Envy rye. Battle of the bottles would be tough with these two: an artsy zeppelin flying around one bottle and a drawing of angel’s wings on the other. I think if I had to fly somewhere fast, a bar full of whiskey would probably be my destination, so the idea is not that far off. I added a new element of nerdiness to my tastings today. I brought a little bottle of vanilla and spice bottles full of cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg. The idea was to smell the pure smells against the whiskey and then try and recognize them when I drank it. Then I realized I already kind of spread out all over the bar with my two glasses and the two bottles and some water and a straw and my iPhone and my whiskey notebook and my other notebook. Adding a spice rack seemed a little over the top. So instead I pulled them one by one out of my bag and tried to smell them inconspicuously. I don’t know how well I pulled that off, but thankfully, a bar at 4 p.m. on a holiday Monday is not too crowded. When I was a kid, I used to love to sit on the counter and open up spice jars to smell them, picking out my favorites. I would like to say that led me to a heightened sense of smell recognition, but I don’t think that’s the case. I feel like my sense of taste is strongly affected by texture and memory, which tends to get in the way of pure smell. I’m counting on practice makes perfect, though. And if I must drink more whiskey to learn its ways, well, then, I must. My New Year's whiskey tasting challenge went social this weekend at an event at Brooklyn Wine Exchange: Bourbon vs Rye. While I had tasted many of the classics offered, I did get to meet two new bourbons. Meeting whiskey at a party with a bunch of people is not quite the same as meeting it alone at a bar. I didn’t catch everything it was trying to say. But whatever, we had fun and I learned other useful things. For instance, Kyle Devine – who was leading the class – gave us a helpful way to think about the general flavors in rye and bourbon. He described it like bread – corn bread is sweeter; rye bread is spicier. Which sounds obvious, but hadn’t occurred to me before. When I think of it that way, other flavors from those breads pop out in my mind to try and taste in the whiskies. I see an afternoon of pairing whiskies and breads in my future. But for now, let’s meet J.W. Overbey Bourbon and Corner Creek Bourbon. These two show the range of bourbon production in the US. J. W. Overbey is made in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn. It’s so local that Joseph (as in J) stopped by our class to pour some out for us. It ages four to six months in small (5-gallon) barrels, and they make about five barrels per month, which, as Joseph pointed out, “is pretty good for a 600-square-foot distillery.” They use traditional methods that people used for making bourbon on farms 100 years ago. It’s Day Two of my extremely arduous task of drinking 33 whiskies in less than 30 days (but I will forge ahead, I will), and I’ve noticed a few things: #1: I really, really want to leave work on time to go drink whiskey. Leaving work on time is usually difficult for me. But this whiskey challenge is to teach and for me to learn. #2: I realized I might run out of ways to describe whiskey. Each one is different, but not SO different. Then I realized it’s not the whiskey that will be different, it’s me and the surroundings and what kind of day I have had and what I’m pairing it with. Which means this exercise may not teach me anything permanent. I will still forge ahead. #3: I should probably learn the names of my bartenders or I might become that creepy person sitting alone in a corner staring at two whiskey glasses and talking to myself – or to the whiskey, tough to tell – and making little snappy movements with my tongue trying to figure out if this whiskey reminds me of the time I chewed paper in class or the time I got sand in my potato chips. But on to my new acquaintances: Old Overholt and Ancient Age. These are two of those classics I feel like I should know – I recognize the bottle, we move in the same circles – but before today, we hadn’t really sat down and spent time together. |
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November 2017
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