High West Plays Around With Rye

They certainly are busy little bees over at High West Distillery. No sooner do they roll out a bottled barrel-aged Manhattan than they come out with two more new offerings: Double Rye and 12 Year Old Rye.

The 12YO needs no explanation. But what the heck is a Double Rye, aside from being something Ray Millard might order in "The Lost Weekend"? Well, it's a little bit old and a little bit young. More specifically, the liquor is a marriage of a two-year-old straight rye and a 16-year-old straight rye. Which would make it, what? 11? The two year old, who hails from Lawrenceburg Distillers in Indiana, has a mashbill with 95% rye and 5% barley malt. The sixteen year old, drawn from an old forgotten Fleishman's from Barton distillery in Kentucky, has a mashbill of 53% rye and 37% corn. The 16YO makes up about 5-10% of the blend.

According to High West, the Double Rye is taking the place of the distillery's Rendezvous label for a bit while the new batch ages. The Rendezvous is actually a "double rye" itself, when it comes down to it. It joins a 16-year-old rye with a 6-year-old. Call Double Rye Rendezvous' kid brother. It's an odd one. Good, and gutsy. The fighting, spicy two-year-old juice holds sway here, in my opinion.

If you're really interested in the 12YO, you have to get yourself to the High West Distillery and Saloon in Park City. That's the only place it will be sold, for $49.99/375ml. The distillery acquired five barrels of rye whiskey from the former Seagram’s Distillery in Lawrenceberg, Indiana. The barrels were originally destined for Japan in 2003, but the container was full and these five didn’t make the trip. The mash bill is 95% rye.

Review: WhistlePig Whiskey

Among the boutique American whiskies that have flooded the market in the past decade, the new WhistlePig Straight Rye Whiskey immediately stands out. Because its bottled (not made) in Vermont, a state that doesn't produce a lot of spirit, yes. But also because it's debut bottling is ten years old.

Most new whiskies are, for economic reasons, put out on the market as quickly as possible, usually when they're four years old or less. Age statements are rare, and, quite frankly, few of them impress, tasting too much of their too-sharp youth. The folks at WhistlePig decided to wait. Their rye is 10 years old. The difference shows in the taste, which is intense, bright, fruity, minty and spicy. It's a bold, commanding flavor profile, unmistakably rye, and intensely flavorful at 100 proof. Mega-rye in a way.

WhistlePig is the work of distillery owner Raj Peter Bhakta and master distiller David Pickerell, who served at Maker's Mark for 14 years until 2008. Pickerell joined the effort a couple years ago. Why is WhistlePig ten years old? Not necessarily because Bhakta and Pickerell were patient, sitting on barrels for a decade. WhistlePig is a found whiskey, you see. After an 18-month search, Pickerell located a rye whiskey in Canada that was intended, as most Canadian ryes are, as a blending agent and acquired it. The Made-in-Vermont label, then, is just feel-good marketing for now.

The Vermont labeling will work well for consumers, no doubt. But the creators shouldn't be shy about saying the stuff comes from Canada. I think a lot of spirits enthusiasts and cocktail geeks would be very interested in what a pure Canadian rye tastes like.

Don't know what Pickerell would think of me for doing it, but I spent the last two ounces of my small sample of WhistlePig making an Old Fashioned. I do not repent. It was a hell of an Old Fashioned. A stand-up cocktail. I never forgot I was drinking rye, and good rye, too. I followed that Old Fashioned with another made with a different whiskey (which I shall not name) and it was a distinct let-down.

WhistlePig is putting out only 1,000 cases this year, launching in New York City, with some cases going to Chicago and San Francisco. The price is unsurprisingly dear, $70. I'd recommend buying a bottle, though. Worth it.

The 90 Day Sour

Here I am writing about aged cocktails and how the East Coast has some in the works, but we'll have to wait a bit to taste 'em. And all along Rye, the Williamsburg restaurant and bar, has beaten everyone to the punch.

Their 90-Day Sour has been on the menu for five months. It's the work of head bartender Souther. He puts brandy, orange juice, lemon juice and lime juice in a glass bottle (see below) and lets it sit for 90 days. He then pours it into a highball, floats a bit of Gosling's dark rum, and tops it with grated nutmeg. Souther intends the drink as his homage to tiki cocktails.

It's a beautiful drink, mellow and integrated, with the fresh rum adding an edge and the nutmeg adding spice. Only $10!

The Aughts in Cocktails

Confronted regularly with so many new cocktail creations, as I have been over the past few years, I've often fell to musing, "Which of these libations are for the ages?" It's easy enough to decide if something is a good-tasting cocktail or not; that can be ascertained on the spot. But that doesn't necessarily equal staying power. Are we currently sipping, unknowingly, what will be considered by future generations to be our Martini, our Manhattan, our great contribution to the bar?

I had the opportunity to dwell on this matter in a very public way recently, writing a list of lasting libations for the Dec. 30 edition of the New York Times. Some of the entries—Audrey Saunders' Gin-Gin Mule, Don Lee's Benton's Old Fashioned, Phil Ward's Oaxaca Old Fashioned—were easy choices. I had long regarded them as modern classics which will have their place in coming histories of 21st-century drinking, not only because they are great drink in and of themselves, but because the embodied and/or kicked off significant mixology trends. Others I had originally thought to included—Salvatore Calabrese's Breakfast Martini and Julio Barmejo's Tommy's Margarita—I was forced to nix when I discovered from their authors that they were, in fact, created in the '90s, not the '00s. To back up my conclusions, I consulted with a couple dozen cocktails authorities on the East and West Coasts, as well as London.

Here's the article:

A Decade of Invention, and Reinvention

By ROBERT SIMONSON

WHEN you hoist a leg over a barstool these days, you’re as likely to find Tom Edison as a Tom Collins. Light bulbs have been popping up behind the bar, with more cocktails developed in the last 10 years than probably any decade since Prohibition. Some of them have emerged as modern classics, standing out not only as culinary creations, but also as signposts of the decade’s most significant mixology trends.

GIN-GIN MULE This Audrey Saunders invention is often the first thing that cocktail pros mention when asked about new classics. “Bartenders all over the world tend to know the Gin-Gin Mule,” said Gary Regan, author of several cocktail books, including the recent “Bartender’s Gin Compendium.” Ms. Saunders — a leading light in darkened bars — created it before founding her SoHo bar, Pegu Club. Essentially a gin-based version of the ginger-minty Moscow Mule — one of the few vodka cocktails still granted respect by the avant-garde — the drink was a symbol both of the cocktail crowd’s enthusiastic reclamation of gin and its curled-lip repudiation of vodka. (Gin is also the base of Ms. Sauders’s Earl Grey MarTEAni, an early and influential example of the tea-infusion trend.) By decade’s end, the Gin-Gin Mule could be found on cocktail menus across the country — as could gin.

BENTON’S OLD-FASHIONED Don Lee, formerly of PDT in the East Village, credits Eben Freeman, the mad-scientist mixologist of the recently demised Tailor, with opening his eyes to “fat washing” liquor. But it was this instantly cultish concoction, which infuses bourbon with Allan Benton’s Tennessee bacon, that revved up interest in that technique, which melds flesh and firewater. Created by Mr. Lee in 2007 at PDT, it perhaps best epitomizes the advent of savory cocktails, which draw herbs, spices and vegetables, including chilies, into the world within the glass.

OAXACA OLD-FASHIONED Tequila didn’t play much of a role in the early years of the cocktail renaissance. And mezcal, tequila’s rough-hewn relation, had none at all. Both are used instead of bourbon or rye in this south-of-the-border twist on the Old-Fashioned, with terroir-specific agave syrup instead of sugar. Invented in 2007 by the tequila specialist Philip Ward at Death & Co. in the East Village, this drink quickly appeared on menus across the country and became a harbinger of the Mexican spirits’ ascendancy. It’s now just one of many tequila- and mezcal-based drinks at Mr. Ward’s bar Mayahuel.

RED HOOK COCKTAIL Rye whiskey roared back in the last decade after decades in eclipse. With it came new homages to pre-Prohibition rye-based cocktails like the Manhattan and the Brooklyn. This mix of rye, sweet vermouth and maraschino liqueur, created by the former Milk & Honey bartender Enzo Errico, inspired at least a dozen more sub-riffs by other ardent cocktail classicists, with almost all the drinks named after Brooklyn neighborhoods, including the Greenpoint (which uses Chartreuse), the Cobble Hill (Amaro Montenegro and cucumber slices) and the Bensonhurst (maraschino liqueur and Cynar). New spins on the Old-Fashioned (see above) were nearly as common.

ST-GERMAIN COCKTAIL If you didn’t notice that, starting in 2007, St-Germain was in about half of the new drinks you were cradling, you just weren’t paying attention. The elderflower-based elixir with the sui generis floral flavor almost single-handedly invigorated the moribund liqueur category. Suddenly semi-forgotten potions like Drambuie, Cherry Heering and Chartreuse (the current mixer of the moment) were being dusted off and tarted up. And every new liqueur wanted to be as big as St-Germain when it grew up. A list of new St-Germain cocktails could fill a few columns, but the mix of the liqueur, Champagne and sparkling water known as the St-Germain cocktail was perhaps the most common, mixed by high-end watering holes like Bourbon & Branch in San Francisco and the Zig Zag Café in Seattle. Unusually, the recipe came not from a bartender’s brain, but the company’s marketing department. “It doesn’t happen that often that a drink that comes from a manufacturer gets so well received,” said Ann R. Tuennerman, founder of the Tales of the Cocktail convention in New Orleans.

ABSINTHE DRIP When a liquor that has been unavailable for nine decades hits the shelves again, it creates a stir. For many cocktail mavens, absinthe, the Victorians’ embalmer of choice, was the missing piece to so many liquid puzzles. Bottles began reappearing on our shores in 2007, after it was realized that a nearly century-old ban had actually been overturned decades ago. By the end of the Bush administration, absinthe was even being made in America, like St. George from California and Trillium from Oregon. Soon, it was not unusual to find an absinthe water drip at the end of the bar, slowly clouding a glass of the green liquid with dissolved sugar, the classic way to drink absinthe. It would only be old hat if you happened to be Degas.

BARTENDER’S CHOICE Ten years ago, the suggestion that a barkeep name your poison would have been greeted with a withering fisheye. But “Bartender’s Choice” is an option seen on cocktail menus from the Varnish in Los Angeles to the Violet Hour in Chicago to any of Sasha Petraske’s joints in New York. Bartenders nationwide have raised their level of skill and scholarship. Customers have followed them with an increased sense of adventure and a willingness to swallow whatever they dish up.

Mad Men and Drinking, Season Three, Part II: Don Draper Makes an Old Fashioned

Perhaps the most cocktail-centric moment in the entire history of the AMC series "Mad Men" comes in "My Old Kentucky Home," the third episode of the third season. That lead character Don Draper likes Old Fashioneds, we know. In a central scene in this episode, we actually get to see him make one.

Trapped at a country club event thrown by his boss, Roger Sterling (mint juleps are served—it's a Kentucky Derby theme), Draper escapes to the club's bar room in search of liquid relief more to his liking. There he hops behind the bar and has at the bottles and equipment like a pro. Or, at least, like a man who knows what he wants.

First he grabs two rocks glasses and plops a good-sized sugar cube in each. He then takes out the Old Overholt—the first time this rye brand has been featured on the show. He soaks the cubes with a good amount of bitters (Angostura, I assume, though the bottle he used was unmarked and didn't have Angostura's distinctive oversized label). That done, he takes a large mixing glass, fills it with ice to chill. Draper pours in about four ounces of rye and tops that with soda water. He then muddles away at the two glasses, which now contain a cherry. (He is not seen putting those in.) He gives the bar glass mixture a quick stir with a bar spoon, and then pours the contents, ice and all, in even amounts into the rocks glasses, and drops an orange slice on top of each drink. When he hands one of the cocktails to his only companion in the room, a southerner named Connie (who may or may not be Conrad Hilton).

Not the most graceful way to make an Old Fashioned. All that unneeded soda, no jiggering, too much bitters and the sloppy transfer of the whisky and ice into the glasses. But probably an accurate example for the time, considering it's a depiction of a regular 1960s guy making himself a drink in the way he's become accustomed to it. Anyway, Connie called it "a hell of a cocktail."

Otherwise, the episode saw various members of "creative" at Sterling Cooper trying to hatch ideas for a Bacardi campaign called "Bacardi Beach."

In episode five, "The Fog," Don, while waiting for Betty to give birth to their third child, shares a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red Label with an expectant father prison guard in the "solarium" at the hospital. The Walker label and bottle hasn't changed much over the years. Later, Peggy Olson has a Bloody Mary at lunch with Herman "Duck" Philips, a Draper antagonist from season two who makes a reappearance.

Some New Whiskeys

I sometimes find the recent, non-stop onslaught of new, better, rarer, more precious and more prestigious whiskeys to be somewhat overwhelming. But the whiskey industry does not really care about my dizzy spells, so they keep on coming out with new versions of their dark amber product. Chuck Cowdery, who has an estimable blog about American whiskey, was good enough to round up the a list of Yankee-born coming attractions. See if you can keep them straight:

Parker's Heritage Golden Anniversary. A limited edition bourbon to commemorate Parker Beam's 50 years as master distiller at Heaven Hill Distillery. 100° proof, $150, out now.

Jefferson's Presidential Select. A McLain & Kyne bottling of 17-year-old Stitzel-Weller wheated bourbon. 94° proof, $90, out now.

Four Roses Mariage 2009 Limited Edition bourbon. Four Roses is unique because it makes ten different bourbon recipes. This is a mixture of two of them, one at 19-years-old, the other at 10. 112.4° proof, $70, out mid-September.

Buffalo Trace Antique Collection 2009. This is actually five limited edition whiskeys: William LaRue Weller Wheated Bourbon, Eagle Rare 17-year-old Bourbon, George T. Stagg Bourbon, Thomas H. Handy Rye, and Sazerac 18-year-old Rye. Various proofs, prices $60+, out October.

Buffalo Trace Experimental Collection 2009. Two releases, both double-barreled. The 1993 vintage spent 8-years in a new barrel followed by 8 more in another new barrel. The 1997 vintage spent 8-years in a new barrel follwed by 4 more in another new barrel. If you want to experience what that tastes like, buy both. If you just want the one that tastes good, buy the 1997. Proof and price unknown. Out October.

Rittenhouse Very Rare 25-year-old Single Barrel Rye. Heaven Hill has done something very interesting here, they have sold this same batch of whiskey at 21-, 23-, and now 25-years-old. Proof and price unknown. Release date unknown.

OLD Old Overholt

I recently interviewed celebrated rum aficionado Stephen Remsberg for an article on Swizzles for the New York Times. So, on a recent trip to New Orleans, I decided to put a name to a face and visit the Big Easy lawyer—and his 1,300-bottle collection of old and rare rums.

Remsberg did not disappoint, either in his spectacular collection (only a fraction of which (say, 400 bottles) was on display on the shelves behind his home bar, or in his hospitality. He first poured me a 1933 Bacardi, which was fading a bit, but still more complex and enjoyable than most of what Bacardi purveys today. He then showed me was Lemon Hart Demerara 151 can be. Later on, he turned me on to El Dorado, a Guyana brand of rum that he endorsed as an undersung, well-crafted bargain. I had to agree.

Perversely, the most interesting sipping experience at the Remsberg bar was not a rum, but a rye. Remsberg is mainly a rum man. But he has in recent years explored a new liking for ryes. The lawyer has a lot of connections by now. When people stumble upon an old bottle of booze, they call him and say "Hey, Steve..." One day one such person said he had a line on an vintage bottle of Old Overholt. Prewar. That is, Pre-World War I!!

Out came of larger-than-usual bottle of 1911 Overholt. All it said on the label was the name of the brand and the year. Those were simpler days. And here's the kicker. You know that familiar, enjoyably roughhewn, fruity then slightly spicy Overholt taste? Well, Goddamit if it doesn't taste the exact same after nearly 100 years in the bottle! It was as lively as when it was born. But for one agreeable change—the rougher edges have smoothed out a bit. Overholt may be a workhorse rye, but you gotta hand it to it. It's got legs.

The Old-Fashioned Makes a Comeback

My first assignment from the Dining Section of the New York Times appears today. And nothing could have made me happier than to make my debut writing about a subject dear to my heart: the Old-Fashioned, a drink, I am glad to say, that is quite popular around New York these days. I mention a few places in town where you can get a good one; I recommend them all.

Take a Sip of History

By ROBERT SIMONSON

THE old-fashioned may finally be earning its name.

One of the most venerable of whiskey-based cocktails, it has a history that stretches back farther than the martini’s. For decades it has suffered under the reputation of something your grandmother drank — overly sweet, fruit-laden and spritzed-up. But grandma wouldn’t recognize what’s happened to it lately.

The old-fashioned is one of the most requested mixed drinks at some of New York’s newest and most self-consciously artisanal drinking dens, including Prime Meats in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn; Elsa in the East Village; Rye in Williamsburg, Brooklyn; Jack the Horse in Brooklyn Heights; and the White Slab Palace on the Lower East Side.

Cocktail aficionados say it couldn’t have happened to a nicer drink.

“The old-fashioned is one of the original cocktails, in the true sense of the word,” said Damon Boelte, bar director at Prime Meats. “It’s kind of like having a Model T on your menu.”

It’s so old that it was called a “whiskey cocktail” until late-19th-century parvenus like the martini and manhattan forced purists to order an “old fashioned” whiskey cocktail. But while the martini and the manhattan came through the cocktail dark ages of the 1970s and ’80s with much of their dignity, the old-fashioned developed a personality disorder.

Its majestically austere profile (basically a slug of rye with minuscule touches of water, bitters and sugar) was tarted up with a muddled orange slice and maraschino cherry, and a diluting dose of soda water. This rendition has its advocates, and remains popular in supper clubs across America. But it sends shudders down the spines of the new breed of cocktail classicists.

“A bastardization of the original drink,” said Kevin Jaszek, a bartender at Smith & Mills in TriBeCa who designed the cocktail list at Elsa.

Disciples of the cocktail renaissance, like Mr. Boelte and Mr. Jaszek, have restored the old-fashioned to what they feel is its rightful form — “back to integrity,” as Julie Reiner put it. The Clover Club, her Boerum Hill bar, opened last June with an entire menu section devoted to the old-fashioned and its variants.

Yes, variants. Devotees are not completely doctrinaire in their recipes, varying the type of bitters or sweeteners used.

And old-fashioneds built on bourbon (PDT in the East Village), rum (the Oak Bar) and tequila (Death & Co. in the East Village) are not unheard-of. Just keep that maraschino cherry well away.

The Best Old Fashioned in Town

I like to sample different bars' takes on the Old Fashioned. These days, seeing an Old Fashioned on a cocktail menu is not an unusual occurance. In fact, it's becoming commonplace. To name a few: at the new East Village bar, Elsa, they make their Old Fashioned with Old Overholt rye, muddled brown sugar and no muddled fruit. At Jack the Horse in Brooklyn Heights they use Rittenhouse rye, vanilla pear syrup, a homemade aromatic tincture, and an orange twist. At White Slab Palace on the Lower East Side they employ, uh, Maker's Mark, blood orange and cherry liqueur. (Haven't tried that last one; I may not.)

But the best rendition of the classic I have encountered is at Prime Meats, a new bar in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn. It is simplicity itself, with one significant, world-changing alteration. There's the Rittenhouse rye, there's the sugar. But no Angostura. Instead, bartender Damon Boelte has created his own bartlett pear bitters made from a pear tree in the backyard of the bar. In the backyard of the bar. Then, to better match the character of the bitters, the drink is garnished with a big lemon peel, as opposed the more common orange peel.

This is a fantastic Old Fashioned, and I'm rather obsessed with it. I don't know if I've ever enjoyed drinking an Old Fashioned as much as I like drinking this one (and I enjoy my Old Fashioneds). It's so bright in taste, it's sparkles in your nose and on your tongue. Instead of heavy and earthboard, its light and airy. It's the first Old Fashioned I've ever had that I'd thought could be an ideal summer drink. Plus, it is beautiful to look at. Golden.

Strictly speaking, this is not an Old Fashioned because of the change in bitters. But it falls closely enough within the drink model for me to think of it as the best Old Fashioned in New York. Hyperbole, I know.

The Recession-Proof Bar

I put together this article for Time Out on how to best keep your home bar well-stocked without stinting on quality.

In the bag

A shrinking liquor budget doesn’t mean you have to drink rotgut at home. Stock your bar without emptying your wallet.

By Robert Simonson

RYE
When it comes to brown booze, single-malt Scotch and bourbon top the list in prestige and popularity. But they are also tops in price. Solution? Try rye, the world’s neglected whiskey. Though rye has recently enjoyed a resurgence, time-honored, quality brands like Old Overholt and Rittenhouse can still be had for under $20 a bottle. Either one makes a classic Manhattan.

BOURBON
For Southern-fried Kentucky Derby lovers who must have their precious bourbon, there’s a world beyond Maker’s Mark. An undersung industry standard like Elijah Craig can be found for around $20 a bottle. The even less celebrated but equally fine W.L. Weller Special Reserve is yours for roughly $17.

GIN
It’s vodka’s world; we just live in it. But there’s both a monetary and gastronomic reward in eschewing high-price boutique vodkas for entry-level gins. The basic offerings from Beefeater, Tanqueray and Bombay (not Sapphire!) are benchmark examples of London dry gin, and run only $18 to $25 for the 750-milliliter bottle. So save money and have a real martini for once.

RUM
If it’s a daiquiri you want, opt for Flor de Caña Extra Dry, a four-year-aged Nicaraguan white rum that puts Bacardi to shame in the flavor department. The floral, fruity rum is a mixologist favorite (it’s the well rum at Death & Company), and it sets you back only $16.

BRANDY
For the budget-conscious, French brandy is basically out of the question. But New Jersey apple brandy is well within your means. (Don’t laugh.) The bonded version of Laird’s applejack is lauded by spirits geeks as liquid gold. (The regular Laird’s is dreck.) And it costs only about $21.

VODKA
If you absolutely demand that your tipple be odorless and tasteless, how about giving the costly Ketel One and Grey Goose a pass in favor of the obscure Belgian brand White Nights? (Only $13 a bottle!) Sobieski, a Polish vodka made from rye, is an even better value: $11 a bottle. Believe me: You and your Cosmo will hardly know the difference.

AND MORE!
Hard times call for experimentation. So turn your attention to intoxicants you used to ignore, such as Pimm’s No. 1, a tasty, spiced, gin-based British elixir that runs around $20; or palate-stretching Italian amari and digestifs like Cynar, Averna and Aperol (most are under $25). They may strike you as bitter at first, but you’ll soon adjust. Sort of like the current economy, huh?

A Saratoga for Spring

The more I learn about cocktails, the more I realize that—as much as I love experimentation and fresh inventions—I am ultimately a fan of the classics. The two elements that make me love a cocktail (beyond taste, of course) are history and elegant simplicity.

I already know a number of the major libations that fit this description, but every now and then I stumble upon a monumental tipple of yesteryear. David Wondrich's tome "Imbibe!" has proved invaluable in this respect. The other day I found myself with both good rye and good cognac on hand (this isn't always the case). Thus, I was equipped to make a Saratoga Cocktail—a drink new to my brain and my gullet.

The recipe is simple as can be: 1 oz. of brandy, 1 oz. of whiskey (Wondrich recommends rye), 1 oz sweet vermouth, and 2 dashes of Angostura. Wondrich aptly describes the cocktail as splitting the difference between a Manhattan and a Metropolitan, except that it's much better than a Metropolitan.

I case you haven't guessed, the drink was invented in Saratoga Springs, back when that was a hot spot for bon vivants.

Rye-on-Hudson

A bought a squat little bottle of Tuthilltown Manhattan Rye Whiskey a couple months back and, for whatever reasons, never got around to writing about it. Now, I find there's barely a shotful left, so I'm sitting down to record a few impressions before it's all gone. (I suspect my wife in its sudden disappearance.)

Tuthilltown, for those who don't known, has been the subject of a lot of ballyhoo because it is the first legally produced rye to come out of New York State in more than 70 years. (The Hudson river company also does Bourbon.) It is double-distilled and aged in American oak, is done in small batches and costs a hell of a lot for 375 ml.

So, the color is a beautiful orange-amber, the nose rich and fruity and a bit stinging. And the taste. Well, perhaps I've taken a long time to write about this is because I've taken a long time to warm up to it, and I'm still not there. This rye is sharp in character. It pierces and pricks. It's not for the lily-livered. There's a medicinal, woody quality to it. I say this all within the framework that this is a spirit worthy of respect and consideration. I just get the feeling its a young product, and will grow in subsequent bottlings. I'd love to taste a Tuthilltown 10-year-old rye when they have one.