Liquor and Its Myths

If you cover the drinking world, you can't help but take note of the ludicrious notions and habits people pick up in regard to how they order, drink and think about liquor. As much as mixologists like to think of the modern bar as a classroom, few barflies learn their lessons. Instead they cling to myth, superstition, marketing notions, and stuff they learned back in college or on television. Recently, I collected a number of the misguided, but stubborn beliefs stubbornly held by the American drinker into an article for the New York Times, drawing on the experiences and viewpoints of a couple dozen notes bartenders and distillers (of which I managed to cite an even dozen in the piece). As expected, the feature got a strongly positive response from the bartending community. What the public thought of it, I do not know. But if I've caused just one person to stop asking about the worm in mezcal or order their whiskey based on the age statement, I've done my work.

The Myths of the Bar, Debunked

By ROBERT SIMONSON

EDUCATING the average drinker on the qualities of firewater, and how to best enjoy it, has been one of the central credos of the new generation of mixologists. “Knowledge!” they cry, as they throw back shots of Fernet-Branca.

But some booze-addled misconceptions continue to cling like vines to the lizard brain of the American tippler. An army of bartenders can protest that a wetter martini is both more delectable and historically accurate, but certain committed fanciers of the cocktail, channeling their inner Gray Flannel Suit, will still maintain the drink attains perfection only at its driest, when vermouth is banished from the barroom.

Such antiquated contentions are like “nails on a chalkboard,” said Eric Alperin, an owner of the Varnish in Los Angeles. “I think the reason people stand by those myths is because it is a sound bite they’ve acquired, and a bar is a place to feel confident with yourself and exude a little know-how.”

Many reinforce a drinker’s virility, particularly with regard to the most manly of spirits — whiskey.

Some of those idées fixes:

OLDER IS BETTER “It’s absolute nonsense,” said Ronnie Cox, director of theGlenrothes, a Speyside Scotch. “It’s not about oldness, it’s about maturity. Age doesn’t mean anything other than that whiskey’s been in that cask for that amount of time.” Making whiskey requires finding the right balance among myriad elements. A few whiskeys prosper with advanced age, but many fall off a cliff into sensory disharmony at a certain point. Rittenhouse Rye 100, from Kentucky, takes only four years to reach the chewy, spicy sweet spot bartenders swear by. But the Old Pulteney 21-year-old Scotch probably needed to attain drinking age to hit its briny perfection.

Tonia Guffey, a bartender at Dram in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, offered an anthropomorphic analogy. “Not every human hits their peak of beauty at the same age,” she said, “and neither does every spirit.”

WATER IS AN ABOMINATION John McCarthy, head bartender at the Lower East Side bar Mary Queen of Scots, thinks the aversion to diluting whiskey is a matter of machismo. “We’re American men,” Mr. McCarthy said, “and if it doesn’t hurt, it’s not good!” But softening the blow, said Franky Marshall, a bartender at the Monkey Bar, is far from a bad thing. “Adding a little water to whiskey serves to ‘open up’ the spirit, releasing an array of subtler flavors. It can truly show you a completely different profile of a whiskey.” It’s also what most Scots do, and they ought to know. Alla Lapushchik, owner ofPost Office, a Williamsburg bar with a vast whiskey list, offers water even when customers don’t ask for it. “You don’t put water in beer or wine, so it doesn’t occur to people to do it with whiskey,” Ms. Lapushchik said. “I’ve had people order Booker’s 127 proof neat.”

SWEET IS SILLY Another fallacy that hurts the pride of many a modern mixologist is the widely held belief that sweet cocktails are inherently insipid. “I think expectations are still informed by the cocktails of the pre-craft era, when people added sour mix and cranberry cocktail,” said Tom Chadwick, owner of Dram, who insists that all his cocktails, even the sweet ones — like the bar’s current Loose Noose, a mix of bourbon, sweet vermouth, amontillado sherry, and touches of cinnamon syrup and allspice dram — are balanced, with the spirit, citrus, sweetener and other elements cohabiting in the glass. “It’s a way of communicating that you’re sophisticated — ‘I don’t want a Mudslide. I want something complicated.’ ”

GIVE THEM THEIR PROPS The reputation and quality of tequilas and mezcals has risen recently. But drinkers fall back on frat-boy practices, like asking for a lime and salt, a ritual that dates to the days of lousy tequilas. “I say, ‘Whatever spirit I serve you is good, ” said Ivy Mix, a bartender at the Clover Club in Boerum Hill, Brooklyn, “and you don’t need to cover it up.’ ” Then there’s the worm in the mezcal bottle. “It was created by Gusano Rojo in the 1950s,” said Steve Olson, an owner of the Lower East Side tequila and mezcal bar Viktor & Spoils, of the widely sold mezcal brand, “when the tequila market had boomed and left mezcal far behind, as an enterprising marketing attempt to get mezcal away from its image as moonshine.”

MISCELLANEOUS MYTHS Despite the avalanche of articles after absinthe’s reintroduction to the United States a few years ago, some ideas about it remain rooted in the 1890s. Customers “really hope they’ll hallucinate,” said Maxwell Britten, beverage director at Maison Premiere, a Williamsburg bar well stocked with absinthe. “I tell them, ‘If you drink enough alcohol of any category, I guarantee you will hallucinate.’ ” Karin Stanley, a bartender at Dutch Kills, in Long Island City, Queens, rattled off her litany of ripostes: “ ‘No, you aren’t going to see anything’; ‘no, you aren’t going to cut your ear off’; and ‘yes, it is supposed to taste like that.’ ”

Other delusions as tough as jerky: that vodka has no calories and is better for you, Ms. Stanley said; that “Jägermeister is made with deer’s blood,” offered St. John Frizell, owner of Fort Defiance in Red Hook, Brooklyn; and that Irish whiskey brands are Catholic or Protestant, depending on where they’re made. “If you look into the ownership, it’s all international corporations,” Mr. Frizell said. “I don’t think the Irish even care.”

Odds are, many misconceptions will survive. The bar has ever been a greenhouse of hyperbole, folklore and rumor. “I’d say a good 30 percent of what’s said over the mahogany is generally baloney,” said Derek Brown, owner of the Passenger and Columbia Room in Washington. “Why wouldn’t that apply to myths about alcohol, too?”

The State of Canadian Whisky

The eye-rolling I had to endure during my month researching and writing this New York Times piece on Canadian whiskey! With the possible exception of vodka, there is perhaps no liquor category that liquor enthusiasts and bar professionals get less excited about than the whiskies made north of the border.  Every time I brought up the subject, boredom and indifference caked over the listener's face. The best I could hope for, reaction-wise, was a healthy contempt. Don Draper and Nucky Johnson may like Canadian Club, but mixologists and liquor writers do not.

That healthy disregard, however, has led to a lack of knowledge of what's going on in Canada, whisky-wise; or even that anything is going on at all. But, indeed, things are going on. Crown Royal, Canadian Mist, Black Velvet, and Canadian Club are still the stolid, corporate giants that stride the Great White North. But the corporate entities that own the brands are bringing out some newer brands. The Bourbon, rye and Scotch drinker is their open and admitted target. There is much more work to be done before Canada becomes an exciting place from which to import whisky, but these are steps in the right direction.

Here's the article:

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.

White Dog Has Its Day

I first tasted white dog at the Labrot & Graham distillery, where Woodford Reserve is made. I remember everyone else around getting very excited about tasting this just-off-the-still clear joy juice, and my thinking it was moonshine and was going to blow the roof off my head. I was surprised when I tasted a delicate, fruity, multi-faceted liquor that I almost preferred to the aged Woodford.

Soon after that visit, I began to see commercially released white whiskeys on the market, first, and most commonly, Death's Door from Wisconsin. That Buffalo Trace recently got into the game is a sure sign that white dog has hit the big time, and that this spirit is never again going to be a secret caviar savored only by liquor geeks who either make their own or sip it on the sly during distillery visits.

I just wrote an article on the phenomenon for the New York Times:

Moonshine Finds New Craftsmen and Enthusiasts

By Robert Simonson

IN early April, Kris Comstock, a representative for the Buffalo Trace distillery in Kentucky, conducted a seminar on bourbon at Char No. 4, a bar in Cobble Hill, Brooklyn, that offers 150 kinds of American whiskey.

Among the bourbons he poured were Buffalo Trace, Eagle Rare and Blanton’s. But his students weren’t interested in those.

“The first thing that everyone wanted to taste was the white dog,” he said. “We make products that win amazing awards all around the world, and they want to taste the white dog.”

Cocktail-Glass Aging, or, Turning White Dog Tan

I recently met a bootleg distiller from upstate New York. We'll call him Laird. He's been making his own booze for about 30 years, and his knowledge of the craft is vast. I happened to have in my possession a few of the new white dogs that are on the market. I was curious what he thought of them, being a maker of white lightening himself, so I let him sample a couple.

After noting the presence of a paraffin flavor in making of the craft distillers making white dog out there, and generally disparaging the kind of cheap, Dutch stills he was sure each maker was using, he led me through an interesting science experiment. A friend of Laird's and mine—at whose home we met—is an amateur winemaker. He had some French wood chips on hand. Laird suggested I put a few of these in a glass of the Buffalo Trace White Dog (which has an alcohol content of 62.5%) and watch what happened. I was astounded. The whiskey started to take on the wood immediately. Within a minute, it was darker and tasted markedly different. In five minutes, it began to taste vaguely like aged whiskey. I had no idea such things could occur so quickly. "It only works with French oak," said Laird. "The French stuff is great for that. With American oak, it's a slower process." (Here's a photo of the whiskey in question, below.)

And that was that. Until I visited that same friend this weekend. He had an idea—wouldn't it be kinda cool to do the wood-chip thing, but in the context of a cocktail? Light bulb! It would indeed.

My friend gave me a small stash of French wood chips. I went home and prepared myself a white dog Old Fashioned, using Death's Door white whiskey. (Death's Door seems to be the white dog that works best in most standard cocktails.) I muddled a sugar cube with some Angostura, then threw the wood cube in there and stirred it around some more. I added the whiskey, stirred; ice, stirred.

Hell Freezes Over

Or, put differently, Maker's Mark has come out with a new bourbon.

For years, nay decades, Maker's Mark has made hay out of the fact that it makes one thing, and one thing only. Why mess with perfection, they trill. It's like a religion with them, this single-minded attending to The Great Waxy One. I was out there in Loretto, Kentucky, and heard the line when I asked them why they didn't  bottle an "over mature" bottle of Maker's, which I tasted and liked. Because the original is so good, they said. Why divert stock from a product the demand for which they can't even begin to satisfy?

Little did I or the world know that all that time—or at least the past few years—they've been working on a line extension. It's called Maker's 46, and it will be unleashed in June, with 10,000 cases shipping.

More Than You Ever Wanted to Know About the Knob Creek Bourbon Shortage

This month, I make my debut in Malt Advocate, the nation's leading whisk(e)y magazine, with an article on last year's Knob Creek shortage. The article's probably the closest I've come to a piece of quasi-investigative journalism in a while, and it was fun to put together, and a please to talk to (and in some cases, visit) the folks at Knob Creek, George Dickel, Jack Daniel's, Maker's Mark, Buffalo Trace and Heaven Hill. 

In the table of contents, I'm referred to as "new writer Robert Simonson." Funny to be called "new" after 20 years in the biz. But I'm new to MA, I guess. And who knows? Maybe people will think I'm 26 or something and start hiring me "youth-oriented" articles.

In order to give the folks over at Malt Advocate a chance to sell a few magazines, I'm just going to print a teaser of the full article here. Once the next issue is out, I'll print the whole thing.

When Knob Creek Went Dry

By Robert Simonson

Press is hard to come by in the whiskey trade. Unlike wine, which has a new vintage to talk about every single year, spirits, once established, get few opportunities to net additional ink. "Jack Daniel's: Still Here" does not a headline make. So publicity opportunities must be created. The most common way to do this is to release a limited edition whiskey—a strategy that has become increasingly prevalent in recent years. 

There's a new technique in town, however, and it draws on the inverse phenomenon: instead of a new product making its debut, an old one goes missing. 

In June 2009, Knob Creek had it's biggest media splash in years crowing over a temporary shortage of its 9-year-old, Jim Beam-produced bourbon. Full-page, full-color print ads in the New York Times and Wall Street Journal showed an upturned bottle of Knob Creek dispensing its last drop. "You may experience may experience something of a shortage at your local liquor store very soon," read the copy. "But not to worry, the next batch will be bottled and on the shelf in November." Some liquor journalists were sent empty Knob Creek bottles in expensive packaging, and consumers could buy t-shirt bearing the line, "I survived the drought of 2009." The news resulted in a wealth of stories, both in print and on the web, and the Knob Creek website reportedly saw a 69% increase in traffic from June through September 2009 over the same period the previous year.

Heavy on the Corned Beef Extract, Bartender, and Light on the Cabbage Water

Holidays bring out the wacky in bartender. Having only just survived an onslaught of Godawful cocktail ideas for Valentine's Day, here come the specialized St. Patrick's Day libations.

I'm sure there will be more contrived abominations between now and March 17, but surely the Corned Beef Collins takes the cake. This delicacy comes from Richard Blais. I'll say nothing. Just read the recipe.

Corned Beef Collins 

1 ½ oz Michael Collins blended whiskey

2 oz Fresh sour mix 

2 oz Club soda

1 eye droplet of Corned beef extract (corned beef drippings from pan)

1 splash Cabbage water

Corned beef spices and cabbage oak, aroma

Shake whiskey, corned beef extract and sour mix with ice. Pour into Collins glass and top with club soda. Smoke corned beef spice blend (bay leaf, black pepper, coriander, salt, mustard seed) with oak chips and present smoke suspended in covered, inverted glass. To serve, remove glass to infuse the air with the smell of corned beef and enjoy!

Of course, in today's cocktail world, you just know there will be some purists who will actually be most horrified by the inclusion of Sour Mix.

Review: Two Single Malt Irish Whiskeys

You don't see too many single malt Irish whiskeys. Single malts are Scotland's thing. Ireland has traditionally gone for blending, not just of different grains, but also products of both pot and column stills; plus triple distillation. Scotch: rough; Irish: smooth. But single malt Scotches hold a certain appeal as a terribly authentic and pure tipple to a certain breed of customer. And lately, Ireland—whose whiskeys become more popular in the American market with each passing year—has been savvily getting more into the single malt game.

A big new entry in the Irish single malt category this year was Tullamore Dew Single Malt 10 Year Old. And it's been getting pretty high marks all around. It comes in at 40% and is matured in Bourbon, Dry Oloroso Sherry, Madeira and Port Casks. The result is very pleasing. It has a deep fruit nose, rich, with cherry, vanilla, toffee and caramel. On the palate, you get some iodine, tangy spice and heat, but also round fruit flavors of cherry, orange and apple. It has a prickly, tingly finish that stays with you. I haven't met a person who doesn't like it yet. It goes for $30.

Another single malt I recently tried is rarer still than the Tullamore (which send 400 cases to the U.S. in 2009), but made by a quixotic producer that's been at it for years. It's the Knappogue Castle 1994 Master Distiller's Private Selection. This Irish whiskey producer based in County Clare is known for its aged single-malts. American and single-malt enthusiast Mark Edwin Andrews started making them when no one else in Ireland was, buying barrels of single malt from Bushmill's and others, who were using the stuff for blending. It's first bottling was the 1951, put out in the mid-1960s, but mainly distributed among friends.

Knappogue started selling in Ireland in the 1970s. The last bottling was in 1987. Andrews died five years later. His son, also names Mark, started the business up again in 1997, buying barrels just as his father and putting vintage stamps on each. He achieved his father's dream of selling Knappogue Castle in the U.S.

Knappogue is now releasing a 1994. The source whiskey was triple-distilled one batch at a time in copper pot stills in February of 1994, aged in bourbon oak casks which were singled-out and selected by the master distiller last fall, and bottled in December of 2009.

The Knappogue has a bright, light lemon-orange color (no caramel coloring is added) and a lovely, mildly spicy, citrus and, yes, orange-licorice nose. Tasting it is quite an experience. I've never tasted a whiskey as orange-y as this. Miles and miles or ripe, sunny orange, tangerine, tangelo, orange zest—whatever round orange citrus fruit you care to mention. It takes some getting used to, it's so different. But once you do, you love it. There're other things in there, like vanilla and milky caramel, apple, banana, and every candied cherry, but they mainly serve to lend depth to the central flavor. It wonderfully mellow with a long, long finish. 

They only made 1,000 bottles of this. Even at that it only costs $100. I'd say it's worth it.

Don't Get Them Confused

At the George Dickel distillery in Tennessee. Proper labeling always helps.

Review: Malted Wheat White Whiskey

I figure that headline is enough to get you to read this item.

Wheat whiskey we know. White whiskey is a growing market. But malted wheat white whiskey?

This product, surely unique (for now) in the liquor market, comes from Death's Door, the Wisconsin micro-distillery that already produces a vodka and a gin, and, for my money, it's the best thing they've done.

I encountered it at Bar Celona, the new Spanish-influence cocktail and tapas bar in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, where Tad Carducci of Tippling Brothers is in charge of the cocktail program. I had had a couple drinks, and was about to clear out when a colleague recommended I try the Albino Old-Fashioned. Well, "Old Fashioned" are two words (one word?) that always catch my ear. So I stayed and had another. Am I glad I did. It was one of the most original and delicious spins on the old drink I had ever had. It was composed of white whiskey, sugar, bitters, brandied cherries and grapefruit peel, and was as mellow and smooth as a southern California day.

I asked what whiskey was being used and the bartender showed me what appear to a clear bottle, the kind waiters plunk down in trendy bistros as your water decanter. Looking more closely, there were a few words on it, near the bottom, in black. "Death's Door Whiskey." Then, in smaller letters "Made with wheat from Washington Island, Door Country, Wisconsin." To me, the simple bottle is one of the great design triumphs in modern liquor packaging.

My colleague and I thought that this might be the first appearance of the product in a New York bar, but we weren't sure.

Death's Door rolled out the whiskey last year. It's not just another moonshine jumping on the bandwagon. It's an unusual un-aged combination of 20% malted barley and 80% organic hard red winter, all grown grown in Washington Island, which lies in Lake Michigan just off the Door County peninsula in Wisconsin. It sits in stainless steel barrels for three weeks and then oak barrels for 3 days, at which point it’s bottled.

The result has a beguilingly fruity nose of melon, a few vague tropical traces and baked sweet breads. (Not sweetbreads, but sweet breads.) It's strongly flavored, but mellow, as I saw, and soft, with muskmelon, golden raisins, baking spices, apple, maybe some white pepper. It's not hugely deep, but it's hugely appealing. And it has a long finish, a nice companion on a cold night.

I made a Old Fashioned for myself at home using the stuff. It wasn't as good as the one at Bar Celona (I didn't follow their exact specifications), but it was damn good.

While were on the subject of Death's Door, the company has wisely listened to their marketing people and debuted some new bottles. It miles beyond the old, dull, high-shoulder wine bottle with a simple map of Washington Island on the label. Death Door's Brian Ellison tells me I'm the first to see the new bottle, even before the new distributors. Which means you, readers, are the first enthusiasts to eyeball it on the Internet.

Review: Macallan on the Fly

Macallan recently (OK, not so recently—July) released upon the world its 1824 Collection, "a new family of single malts developed exclusively for the Global Travel Retail market." (Their capitalization, not mine.) That means whiskey for Duty Free shoppers, Ducky! That's right, you can't get this outside the airport. So pay attention to the names and look for them. Because they're all good.

The three expressions (there are four, actually, but I haven't tried the Limited Release, probably because, well, it's so limited) are Macallan Select Oak, Macallan Whisky Maker's Edition, and Macallan Estate Reserve. I began with the Reserve. I shared it with the wife. After a sip, I asked her what she thought. "Good," she said. (The wife keeps it simple.) I agreed: "Good." That doesn't sound like much, but, really, there's very little to criticize about this Scotch. Using specially reserved Sherry-seasoned hogshead casks, this whisky's nose is caramel and butterscotch all the way. It's a smooth dram, very even, on the soft side with a little spice hit at the front, then smoothing out to butter, apple and caramel at the end. Mature and round. Lovely.

The Whisky Maker's Edition is drawn from booze distilled from barley grown on the Macallan estate. It's even smooooother than the Reserve. There's spice, but it comes in the mid-palate this time. A nose of caramel, candied orange and pumpkin spice (possibly, or maybe I'm just thinking of Thanksgiving early) leads to a taste of orange and maple candy. It's smooth as silk at the end, with a pleasantly light burning aftertaste.

Whereas the Reserve and Maker's seem like brothers of a sort, the Select Oak comes off as its own man. The distillers use three cask types: American oak seasoned with Sherry or Bourbon, and first-fill European oak casks seasoned with Sherry. The Sherry makes its presence known. This is lighter in color. It's bright and citrusy on the nose, with light caramel, nectarine and toffee. The Scotch has a much lighter body than the previous two. Again, it's bright, bright, bright. The spice is light and consistent throughout. Peach, ripe orange, Meyer lemon, cinnamon, vanilla bean. It makes you happy.

The prices say that the Reserve ($165 for 700 ml) and Maker's ($99 for 1 liter) are your prizes, but at $53, the Select Oak is a bargain. So, if you're switching planes and need to get shed some foreign moolah before loosing on the exchange...

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.