It just doesn't feel right to toast the Fourth of July with vodka. Or with scotch or aquavit, for that matter, or any of a number of other spirits that are perfectly appropriate pretty much any other day of the year. But for a celebration on the Fourth, it's not a bad idea to keep the drinks in theme, and turn to a classic American spirit for the day's festivities.

Bourbon, of course, is the domestic spirit that always comes to mind. No matter what any marketing material may tell you, nobody's certain exactly who made the first bourbon, or when, but this corn-based whiskey first came out of the then-wilderness of Kentucky in the years that followed the American Revolution (though it would still be a few decades before the word "bourbon" was regularly attached to what became this distinctive style of whiskey).

Bourbon has changed a great deal over the past couple of centuries, probably entirely for the better, and today's arguably the best time in history to be a bourbon drinker. There are plenty of good finds in the bourbon aisle; some of my favorites include smaller brands and bottlings such as Jefferson's Reserve, Noah's Mill, and Weller 12-year-old, as well as major brands such as Basil Hayden, Evan Williams Single Barrel and Four Roses Small Batch (and bargain bourbon doesn't necessarily mean bad whiskey; more inexpensive whiskies such as Old Fitzgerald 100-proof, Old Forester and Ancient Ancient Age are very good bourbons for the price).

[Photo: Robyn Lee]

For a Fourth of July barbecue, classic bourbon drinks such as the mint julep or its close (and much easier to prepare) relative, the bourbon smash, are great choices.

Before there was bourbon, there was rye whiskey. Made by Scots-Irish settlers in western Pennsylvania, New York and Maryland, rye whiskey is the ancestral link between the Old World barley-based spirit, and today's American whiskies. Once the most prominent style of American whiskey, and the kind of spirit originally used in most classic whiskey cocktails, rye was nearly wiped off the map by the double-whammy of Prohibition and the vodka invasion of the 1950s and '60s. Today, rye is again ascendant, with a number of new brands joining a few old stalwarts. Rittenhouse 100-proof is the rock star rye of the cocktail set, and Sazerac Rye has a number of adherents; of the newcomers, Bulleit Rye is very nice (and reasonably priced). For summer sipping, you may wish to avoid the high-octane cocktails and aim for something long and slow; the aforementioned julep and smash are equally great with rye, or make it easy with a highball.

It's often overlooked, but American apple brandy has a history that predates the republic. During colonial days (and well into the 19th century), farmers and homesteaders throughout the mid-Atlantic and into New England turned their customary hard cider into something more potent on a massive scale. Different in flavor and character than more familiar Calvados from France, American apple brandy (long known as applejack, though today's applejack is apple brandy softened with neutral spirits, much in the manner of a blended whiskey) is another boom-to-bust spirit. New Jersey-based Laird's, which has been in the apple brandy business and owned by the same family since the late 17th century, is the most prominent maker of applejack and apple brandy, and until very recently, they were the only ones. With a taste more similar to rye or bourbon than to either apples or brandy, this spirit is easily deployed in almost any drink that calls for whiskey.

Vodka? Gin? Rum? Well, if you or your guests insist on sticking with this route, keep in the Independence Day spirit by using a brand made by a small domestic distiller. The boom in microdistilling means many of us can go locavore with our booze: in Philadelphia, Bluecoat is a dry, self-described American-style gin for your backyard gin and tonic; Prichard's, from Tennessee, makes a tasty rum for summer punches; and pretty much anyplace with startup distilleries has its own local vodka—Seattle-made Sound Spirits vodka is my neighborhood pick.

I'll likely break out some nice bourbon for the Fourth and, weather permitting, enjoy the holiday with a nice mint julep. What are your plans for drinks over the holiday weekend?

[Photo: Robyn Lee]

Regardless of any heat waves that you may have already endured, summer didn't officially arrive until yesterday. With several months of sunshine, backyard parties and long evenings to come, it's time to settle into the season with a refresher course on highballs, rickeys, fizzes and bucks—the primo drinks of summer.

In today's Washington Post, Jason Wilson dips into this broad family of sparkling coolers that generations of thirsty Americans have used to beat back the fiercest sweltering weather. As Wilson notes, there's not a great deal of variance on paper between these drinks, but these seemingly minor differences can mean a lot when the drink is in your glass. He writes:

The drinks seem almost interchangeable; they're all various combinations of spirits and soda mixers, served over ice in a Collins or highball glass. But when you look closely, the way a cocktail nerd would, you'll start to see that small variations make for big differences in taste."

So what are these differences, and what significance might they have when you're fixing a drink for yourself or your guests?

Here's the general breakdown:

• Highball: just liquor of choice plus club soda or ginger ale (cola? Well, if you insist), over ice in a tall glass. Clink clink, splash splash, fizz fizz—easy, but not very fancy if you're trying to dazzle guests even a little.
• Rickey: liquor, club soda and lime juice (half a lime should do it), with ice and club soda. Gin's the favorite here, but this is surprisingly good with rum or bourbon. With no added sugar, these have a crisp, refreshing character, and are spectacular when the temperature soars. (Make it with gin and swap out the club soda for tonic water, and you have a...oh, you figured that out, I guess.)
• Collins: Simply fizzy, boozy lemonade. Lemon juice, sugar, liquor of choice (gin's again the favorite, but pretty much anything is fair game), with club soda over ice. Takes a bit more effort than a simple highball, but the results are worth the labor, plus they're fantastic on a sweltering afternoon.
• Fizz: Like a Collins, but served without ice (note I'm taking issue with Wilson's description here). Traditionally meant to be knocked back in a few swigs, true fizzes have mostly disappeared in favor of the slow-sipping Collins, and as a heat-buster, not incredibly effective. Worthwhile exception: the Ramos Fizz, which is bee-yeautiful, but a pain to prepare and too rich and fussy for a seriously hot day.
• Buck: Booze, lemon or lime juice (depending on the liquor—whiskey or brandy like lemon, rum and tequila go for lime, and gin's happy with either), and ginger ale, over ice. The ginger ale provides all the sweetness you need, and depending on your sweet tooth and the temperature (if you're sipping to cool down, sugar's not your friend), that may be too much.

While a certain degree of the discussion is simple nomenclature and taxonomy, which most people don't give a whit about if they're just trying to mix a damn drink, things have specific names for a reason. If what your guest wants is something ginny and lemony but not too sour, and tall and cold and fizzy over ice, and they ask for a Tom Collins and you hand them something that just, well, isn't a Tom Collins, then something's askew in your host-guest relationship, which is not something anyone wants at a party.

Plus, from these simple building blocks, it's easy to expand outward, trying different spirits or different sweeteners (liqueurs or syrups in place of sugar in a Collins? An Italian amaro in place of bourbon in a buck? Well, why not...), and coming up with new drinks along the way. From simple things come greatness, and if you want your summer gathering to fall into the "Great!" column, starting with these simple drinks may just help things along considerably.

It's hard to imagine that fruity, freewheeling rum drinks would be something to get too worked up about. But in the past week, news of a settlement in a lawsuit over one such drink has been resonating through the bar world, and the public-relations disaster the lawsuit has prompted could have repercussions for years to come.

Here are the basics: Last year, New York bartenders Giuseppe Gonzalez and Richard Boccato opened a tiki bar called Painkiller on the Lower East Side. Veterans of craft-cocktail bars such as Milk & Honey, Flatiron Lounge and Clover Club, Gonzalez and Boccato quickly built a great reputation for their new bar, earning a spot on Esquire's list of Best New Bars in America as well as in the hearts of countless Zombie-loving tiki fans.

From the beginning, it turns out, Painkiller had two problems: the first was its name, which it shared with a semi-popular tiki drink that originated at the Soggy Dollar Bar in the British Virgin Islands in 1971. Made with pineapple and orange juices, cream of coconut and dark rum, the drink proved appealing enough that Pusser's, a brand of rum from the BVI, trademarked the recipe—containing its rum, of course—in the 1980s as Pusser's Painkiller.

The second problem Painkiller (the bar) ran into was the drink itself: Pusser's is a mildly funky and somewhat esoteric kind of rum, and Painkiller's bartenders preferred a different character in the drink, so they chose to mix their Painkillers using a rum other than Pusser's.

Pusser's response was predictable. The rum's owners requested that Gonzalez and Boccato change the bar's name and its preparation of the drink, to fall in line with the trademarked recipe; when Gonzalez and Boccato demurred, Pusser's filed suit in U.S. District Court. Last week, news of the settlement broke: Painkiller agreed to change its name to PKNY, and to surrender its web address to Pusser's, and all references to the Painkiller (the drink) were removed from its materials.

What followed could only be considered a very bad week for Pusser's. While the lawsuit was settled in their favor, this small brand found itself a pariah among many bartenders and fans of PKNY. Within hours of the news, several Facebook groups were launched, calling for boycotts of Pusser's rum and an end to trademarked cocktail recipes (these pages had hundreds of supporters within a few days); and bartenders around the country began conducting their own forms of civil disobedience, serving and in some cases advertising Painkillers that are notably not made with Pussers, and posting photos of the menus online as a challenge to Pusser's to sue every bar that ignored the trademarked recipe.

Trademarked drink recipes and lawsuits about them are uncommon, but not unheard of. In the 1930s, Bacardi successfully pursued litigation against bars that prepared the Bacardi Cocktail with other brands of rum; more recently, in 2009 the Bermuda-based producers of Gosling's rum discussed the possibilities of a lawsuit against other rum brands to protect its trademarked recipe for the Dark 'n Stormy.

While these trademark cases may have their merits, Pusser's case is a little bit different. First, according to tiki expert Jeff "Beachbum" Berry, the original Painkiller was made with a blend of rums from Barbados and Jamaica, and not with Pusser's—in fact, Pusser's Rum wasn't even introduced to the market until 1981, a full decade after the Painkiller's debut.

Also, while Pusser's maintained that PKNY's former name and approach to the drink did irreparable harm to the brand, Pusser's hasn't been above ignoring trademark law in the past; last year, a post from Pusser's official Twitter account recommended a Dark 'n Stormy made with Pusser's, instead of the trademark-mandated Gosling's Rum.

The whole issue is more complicated than I can fully go into in a brief blog post, and the repercussions are likely to continue for some time. As Pusser's founder, Charles Tobias, wrote in his response to the outcry on Pusser's website, his is a small brand, importing only around 30,000 cases per year into the U.S. Given the anger of many bartenders to his treatment of the owners of Painkiller, and to what they view as an injustice in that bartenders can be sued for mixing a drink using slightly different ingredients or in a different manner than a trademarked recipe stipulates, there's a good chance this number could drastically drop, and that legal challenges to the laws regarding trademarked recipes could be in the future.

I'm curious to see how this plays out. What's your take on the issue? Should a brand be able to trademark a recipe, and to file suit against bartenders who stray from that recipe? And even if that's legally defensible, from a public relations standpoint, can that ever be a good idea?

Skip the lime, try orange and cinnamon. [Photograph: Jessica Leibowitz]

Tequila has one of the best rags-to-riches stories in the spirits world. Virtually unheard of in the U.S. until the mid-20th century, tequila was, for decades, the black sheep of booze—the liquor you'd guzzle like a daredevil during spring break or a road trip to Tijuana or simply a weekend blowout, followed by drunken escapades so foolish and a hungover aftermath so fierce that you'd then forswear all tequila for the remainder of your drinking life, except maybe for the occasional slushy margarita to wash down your enchilada combo.

Within the past 20 years, however, and especially within the past 10, tequila shed at least some of this party-hearty image, as well-crafted, pure-agave tequilas began to capture shelf space alongside the cheaper, more prevalent mixtos, and as spirits aficionados started heaping praise upon vivid reposados and fine anejos, deeming them as worthy of exploration as well-made whiskies and brandies.

Today, tequila is still one of the fastest-growing categories in the spirits world, but some of the bloom is off the rose. As a rising tide of new brands has flooded the market, tequila's story has become more tangled, and some recent debuts have seemed to be little more than a marketing plan and a fancy bottle with an afterthought of a low-rent liquor inside.

Word of tequila's changing situation first started resonating last summer, when spirits journalist Camper English ventured the question, "Is tequila the new vodka?" on his blog, Alcademics.

As English pointed out, and as Washington Post writer Jason Wilson further discussed in his related column last fall, tequila marketers are increasingly following the path laid down by vodka marketers during the previous decade: of introducing new brands with splashy campaigns replete with celebrity endorsements, targeted at a high-spending club crowd accustomed to plunking down major cash for an otherwise pedestrian bottle of Grey Goose.

But while English and Wilson saw some positive signs in this shift—after all, tequila has character and flavor, as compared to the neutral-by-definition vodka—others are uneasy with this larger trend. During the recent San Francisco World Spirits Competition, judges tweeted comments disdainful of many of the new tequilas they'd blind-tasted during the event, dismissing the spirits as "underwhelming...pale, thin, lacking agave spine."

Then last month, bartender Bobby Heugel, co-owner of Anvil Bar & Refuge in Houston, consistently listed as one of the best cocktail bars in the country, distributed to his bar's Cinco de Mayo customers (and posted on his blog) an agave call to arms, titled "Tequila is Dying!"

As Heugel writes, major liquor conglomerates are increasingly throwing their weight around in the tequila world, changing distillery practices and increasing production to a point where the future integrity of tequila may be placed in jeopardy. Heugel writes:

I love tequila; it made me fall in love with spirits to begin with. [...] It is a downright shame to see what passes for tequila nearly a decade later. As American and other large companies have become more active in the production of tequila in Mexico, once great brands have stopped producing world-class spirits and started producing bland abominations."

Heugel's post is admittedly emotional, but he makes many valid points. As tequila's fan base and market share has grown, major companies have purchased distilleries and changed production methods, with the result that some once-excellent brands have changed markedly in quality. And while I don't agree with every stand in Heugel's post—he takes several big brands to task, including Don Julio, a tequila of which I'm still somewhat fond—he's right that shifts in production technology (such as the rising use of autoclaves) and trends in the direction of agave monoculture could result in major problems down the road, with implications not only for tequila enthusiasts, but for the people who make their living in this growing industry.

I'm a relative newcomer to tequila, but even I've noticed some changes in quality among some big brands and a growing trend toward lighter, more bland spirits among new arrivals.

Are you a longtime fan of tequila? What kinds of changes (if any) have you seen in this agave spirit?

Paloma Brava [Photograph: Jessica Leibowitz]

With a successful Memorial Day weekend now under our belts (along with untold quantities of pulled pork and potato salad), the summer entertaining season is officially open. To best prepare for everything from weekend barbecues to warm, quiet evenings on the deck, it's helpful to lay in a stock of summery spirits so no glass need ever go empty. Here are a few things I make sure to keep on hand for summer entertaining.

Gin

At home in any number of fizzy, refreshing drinks, gin is perhaps the perfect summer spirit. Classic drinks of the season include such venerables as the Tom Collins, the Gin Rickey and of course, the Gin and Tonic, along with a number of cooling relatives.

There's no shortage of styles of gin on the market with which you can mix these drinks, but for tall, citrusy drinks such as these, delicate, floral gins lose all their lovely nuances. Instead, I prefer a classic London dry-style gin, which has enough of a juniper backbone to maintain its flavor and give some strength of character to the drink. Tanqueray is excellent in such drinks, as is another classic London dry, Beefeater—or, if you prefer a gin that's a bit more newfangled but that still retains this classic style, Beefeater 24 is made with a botanical mix that includes tea and grapefruit, and mixes brilliantly in citrus-forward drinks.

Tequila

For some reason, Margaritas taste especially good while nursing a light sunburn, but that's not the only reason to break into the tequila during the summer. The Paloma and the fruity Paloma Brava are fantastic for backyard get-togethers—the cookout I attended on Sunday is proof of that—and the spirit also features in other summer coolers such as the Diablo.

Have a good blanco tequila on hand for Margaritas, as they'll give the drink more of a peppery bite—Don Julio and 7 Leguas are favorites around my house. For Palomas and other drinks that benefit from a little more richness, a good reposado such as those from Partida or Espolon work well.

Rum

Daiquiris, mojitos and their many relatives go into heavy rotation during the summer months, and for drinks such as these, a good white rum is essential.

Experts have already weighed in on good rums to have on hand for assorted drinks, but a couple of points bear repeating: Flor de Cana 4-year-old white rum has a nice touch of richness that can give a daiquiri a little more character; Cruzan, from St. Croix, has a white rum that has a touch of creamy richness while still being bright enough for these summery drinks; and for a white rum with a really unique and engaging flavor, Banks Five Island is spectacular.

Another favorite summer drink of mine is dead simple: rum and coconut water; for this, you'll want an aged rum with a little (but not a lot) of gravitas to it - Mount Gay Extra Old, Matusalem Gran Reserva and Appleton Estate 12-year-old are all great choices, as is an aged rhum agricole such as Rhum JM VSOP. And finally for a Dark & Stormy—that long-sipping mixture of dark rum, lime and ginger beer - you'll need something heavy and robust; Gosling's Black Seal is the classic choice, but the drink is also quite nice with rich rums such as Zacapa or Zaya.

Vodka

Yes, vodka. I'm generally more of a gin and rum kind of guy, but occasionally during the summer I'll make one exception: the Moscow Mule, a refreshing mix of vodka, ginger beer, and fresh lime.

Of course, almost any gathering is sure to have guests who prefer a vodka and tonic or vodka and soda, so it's worthwhile to have a decent bottle or two on hand. Russian Standard is a clean, lean vodka in the classic Eastern European mold; for something with a creamier texture and a richer body, along with a soft buttery, nutty flavor (yes, flavor in a vodka!), Karlsson's Gold is a good choice.

Whiskey Smash [Photograph: Robyn Lee]

Bourbon

While brown booze is more closely associated with the cold months, a scorching afternoon can be rendered more tolerable with the careful application of a well-made Mint Julep or its close cousin, the Whiskey Smash.

For drinks like these, I prefer the softer, more mellow character found in wheated bourbons: Maker's Mark is the easiest to find and has the benefit of being delicious, but other wheated bourbons worth seeking out include Old Fitzgerald (aim for the 100-proof bottling) and W.L. Weller 12-year-old bourbon.

Those are a few spirits I'll keep around the house this summer. What are a few of your favorite summer drinks, and what bottles do you make it a point to have on hand when guests arrive?

[Photograph: Robyn Lee]

When you've got guests milling around the yard, looking thirsty, and mounds of ribs, bratwurst, and burgers working their way across the grill, it's no time to shift your focus and start messing around with the cocktail shaker. While I appreciate the DIY margarita stations and the help-yourself mojito tables that pop up at some warm-weather get-togethers, there's a case to be made for having it both ways—for having well-made mixed drinks prepared for your guests, without all the fuss that comes with mixing individual cocktails for a crowd.

Enter the large-format drink, the savior of the summer party. Sure, punches and pre-batched drinks are great during the cool months, too, but when everything heads outdoors starting with Memorial Day weekend, pitcher drinks and cooling punches seem especially welcome, and they can make hosting a barbecue or backyard get-together much more convenient.

Last year about this time I posted a piece about pitcher drinks, which brought some great suggestions from readers, and it's worth dusting off the details in preparation for this season's parties.

• Dilution matters. Certainly you want some dilution from the ice—that's what keeps everything cold, and a little dilution makes the drink more palatable. But in hot weather, the problem of over-dilution can come on quick; one course of action is to prebatch your drinks and chill everything in the fridge for several hours before guests arrive, then ice it just as the party's starting (an exception is some old-school punches, which are mixed extra potent with the idea that they'll make themselves more presentable as the ice melts; serve these without added water or enough time for some of the ice to melt, and you'll risk the rapid shellacking of your guests).
• Another course of action: big ice. Icing as guests arrive is fine for the start of the party, but you don't want to be rushing back and forth to the freezer every time a guest gets thirsty. For punches or pitchers that will sit for a while, use large blocks of ice rather than standard cubes (try freezing water overnight in an empty juice-concentrate can for a pitcher drink, or a decorative mold for a punch)—the drink will stay cold longer, and your dilution will be more gradual.
• Water isn't the only thing that freezes. Try freezing fruit juice instead of water, or simply freezing chunks of fruit, and using these to chill the drink. Be wary, though, of making a drink too sour or sweet with a surplus of fruit juice. I've also encountered ice cubes made of frozen tonic water. Put them in a glass with gin, a squeeze of lime and a little chilled (not frozen) tonic—not a bad idea at all.
• Add bubbles last. If your punch or pitcher drink has champagne, soda, or other fizzy additions, add those at the time of serving, and mix in small batches.
• Think light. Mint juleps and rum punches are essential elements in any summer arsenal, but these aren't exactly session drinks. Depending on the party and your tastes, you may wish to aim lower on the alcohol spectrum so guests keep their bearing, not to mention their dignity, until the end. Wine-based drinks can be great for summer parties, as can basic highballs such as a pitcher version of a gin and tonic. A classic summer pitcher drink that's widely popular for a reason is the Pimm's Cup: it's low in octane, big on flavor, and agreeable to almost everyone.

On Friday I'll post a recipe for a warm-weather punch that can effectively irrigate your guests during a Memorial Day weekend party, but I'm also curious to hear from you. What drinks do you prepare for groups of guests to enjoy outside on summer days or evenings?

Any favorite punches or pitcher drinks you've found that keep guests happy without overworking the hosts?

Rob Roy cocktail. [Photograph: The Culinary Geek on Flickr]

My attitude toward cocktails based on scotch whisky can be neatly summarized: I like scotch whisky, and I like cocktails, but I (almost) never like scotch whisky-cocktails.

I'm hardly alone. Aside from simple highballs and hot toddies, which are usually just variations on ways of adding water and sometimes sugar to the whisky, most bartending guides from the late 19th and 20th centuries have only a handful of scotch-based cocktails, and many of those are forgettable. And when I first addressed this topic several years ago, many Serious Eats readers chimed in that when they felt the urge to pour some scotch into a glass, nothing more than water was desired to make the experience complete.

Much of the reason for scotch whisky's mixological scarcity is due to its distinctive flavor: rich and robust, with a character ranging from bright and heathery to smoky and medicinal, single-malt scotch is so assertive in its own right that it simply doesn't share the stage well with other ingredients. (There's also the cost element, which we won't go into here other than to say that at the prices most single malts are fetching nowadays, you need to feel fairly flush to be comfortable experimenting with scotch in a cocktail shaker.) Blended scotches such as Famous Grouse or those from Johnny Walker tend to smooth down the most pronounced character issues found in single malts, and most of the scotch cocktails in circulation are improved by choosing a blend over a single malt; still, blends have a touch of oil, a barley sweetness and a wisp of smoke that can skew a complex cocktail's flavor in unexpected and often unpleasant directions.

There are, of course, exceptions. The Rob Roy—simply a scotch-based Manhattan—has had its adherents for more than a century (and can even be made with a not-too-aggressive single malt such as Highland Park 12 year), and other old-timers such as the Cameron's Kick, the Mamie Taylor or the Modern Cocktail No. 2 are absolutely delicious.

The Blood and Sand is another classic scotch cocktail, in which the spirit is mixed with fresh OJ, sweet vermouth and cherry liqueur, and it's enjoying a bit of a renaissance; last weekend I spotted a Blood and Sand on a cocktail menu in an airport bar in Portland, and some craft bartenders have taken to tweaking the formula by substituting the standard blended scotch for more smoky whiskies such as Black Grouse (a blended whisky from Famous Grouse with an extra boost of Islay malt) or Ardmore, a gently peated Highland malt.

As today's bartenders and adventurous drinkers increasingly seek out assertive and ambitious flavors such as those found in mezcal and Italian amari, more original scotch whisky-based cocktails are creeping into view. Bartenders at Rickhouse in San Francisco mixed a honeyed Highland malt with apple brandy, cream and maple syrup for the Scottish Breakfast; the Black Diamond Flip—a mixture of intensely smoky Islay single malt, Cynar and a whole egg, that has a flavor akin to being swatted in the mouth with a Campari-coated club of charcoal—has been making the rounds of a number of West Coast cocktail bars; and several years ago in New York, barman Sammy Ross at Milk & Honey introduced one of the most alluring scotch whisky-based drinks I've ever encountered, the smooth and smoky Penicillin, made with a base of blended scotch and topped with a touch of Islay whisky.

I'm noticing a few new drinks based on scotch whisky on bar menus around the country, and some of them are worth trying. Have you come across a scotch whisky-based cocktail that you'd add to the "keeper" list?

[Photos: Buffalo Trace]

Nothing's perfect—not even bourbon. But as Buffalo Trace Distillery revealed last week with the debut of the Single Oak Project—the latest and most ambitious release in the distillery's two-decade-long (so far) "Project Holy Grail" search for the ultimate whiskey—the impossibility of perfection in an imperfect universe doesn't mean you can't try.

The premise behind the Single Oak Project is simple: much (some say most) of a whiskey's character comes from the spirit's interaction with wood during the years it rests in an oak barrel. So what happens to the whiskey if you tinker with the wood and other variables in different, tightly controlled ways? With this release, we're starting to get a better understanding of how these factors function together.

As Jason Wilson wrote last week in the Washington Post, the project started more than a decade ago, when Buffalo Trace selected 96 oak trees from the Missouri Ozarks. Each tree provided wood for two barrels (192 in total), one barrel from the top of the tree and one from the bottom (which had a bearing on the size of the wood's grain); the wood was also seasoned and charred to varying degrees, and the finished barrels were filled with whiskey made from a couple of different recipes and of different strengths. After aging the bourbons for eight years and finishing them at 90 proof, Buffalo Trace released the first batch of a dozen bottlings this month, with the remainder of the project's bourbons to hit the shelves at the rate of 12 releases each quarter for the next four years.

For Buffalo Trace, all of this work isn't just for the sake of tinkering, or of making yet another limited-edition whiskey: it's all being done in an effort to determine the secrets to producing the very best bourbon in the world. As Buffalo Trace master distiller Harlen Wheatley told Wilson, "We're very serious about this...We want to know whether a barrel is made from the top half or the bottom half of the tree. It makes a big difference."

The hearts of bourbon enthusiasts are understandably a-flutter about this project, but if you think such tinkering is just the work of whiskey geeks with too much time on their hands, think again. "Go ahead and roll your eyes if you must," Wilson writes. "But let me say here very clearly: It's totally true. There are a lot of romantic, and exaggerated, tales in the spirits business. This is not one of them."

Bourbon drinkers are also invited to participate in the project, in a way: each bottle from the Single Oak Project will bear the number of the corresponding barrel in which the bourbon was aged. After logging in to SingleOakProject.com, drinkers can rate the whiskey and find out more details about the particular barrel and the whiskey inside it.

I got a taste of some of Buffalo Trace's experiments with oak last summer at Tales of the Cocktail, and from what I'm hearing about the Single Oak Project bourbons, I should start hunting for a few bottles. Bourbon fans: who's with me?

[Desert Spoon photo: Kevinp2 on Wikimedia Commons]

Not that long ago, tequila and mezcal were déclassé, the spirits that you were likely to reach for only if you were vacationing in Mexico (or the backup option, sitting in a Mexican restaurant), or looking to venture into the "Damn, did I really do that?" realm of inebriation, or possibly both. Today, of course, tequila's reputation has changed into one with a lot more gleam and glitter, and artisanal mezcal's 15 minutes in the spirituous spotlight has turned into two-plus years. But as delicious as these agave spirits can be, it's worth taking a few minutes to explore another of Mexico's distilled spirits: sotol.

Distilled primarily in the region of Chihuahua, sotol is a northern relative of the more familiar tequila and mezcal. The spirit is made from a wild-growing agavacea variety commonly known as Desert Spoon (or, in Spanish, sotol), which can be found in the arid Chihuahua desert and north into the desert and grasslands of New Mexico and Texas. The prickly evergreen plant can take between 12 and 15 years to mature, at which point the plant is harvested, the heart is cooked and the juice is fermented and distilled, with some sotol going into oak barrels for aging. Like tequila, young plata sotol is clear, while the golden reposado is aged several months, and the light amber anejo may have up to two years of age.

Flavorwise, there's a distinct family resemblance between tequila and sotol: both have an herbaceous brightness and a gentle, fruity sweetness. But while tequila (especially younger styles) has a distinctive peppery snap, sotol is more grassy, with gentle layers of nuanced floral notes in lieu of tequila's spicy bang.

Trying sotol for yourself may take a little searching. The most prominent brand exported to the U.S. is from Hacienda de Chihuahua, which sells an intriguing plata along with well-made reposado and anejo. Other brands (some of which I haven't had a chance to taste myself, so chime in if you have feedback on them) include Don Cuco, Leyenda and 219.

In a cocktail, you'd likely be hard pressed to tell the difference between tequila and sotol; when sipped on its own, sotol may call its more familiar cousin to mind, but its gentle, savory vegetal flavor makes clear it deserves to be tasted on its own merits.

Sotol has a ways to go before it can be considered commonplace in the U.S., but the tap is definitely trickling. Have you tried sotol, either a brand imported into the U.S. or one sampled while visiting Mexico? What's your favorite brand, and which brand do you think would serve as a good introduction for sotol newbies?

Just in case years of entertainment-industry headlines and reality television have left any doubt, let's state it up front: many celebrities are quite fond of their booze. Increasingly, high-profile personalities have been formalizing this liquor/stardom arrangement by using their image, name and fame-slash-notoriety to sell spirits or even launch brands of their own.

It doesn't take much searching to find supermarket-tabloid names in the liquor aisle. Mogul and possible presidential candidate Donald Trump long ago tagged his name on the gaudy gold bottles of Trump Vodka ("Success Distilled"); more recently, Bruce Willis obtained a small ownership share in Belvedere in return for marketing of their Sobieski brand of vodka; Belvedere also recruited Usher as a global ambassador, hoping to emulate the success found by Ciroc vodka after the latter hired P. Diddy as its public face; and actor Dan Aykroyd made a stir in vodka circles last year with the introduction of his Crystal Head Vodka, sold in glass bottles shaped as skulls.

Beyond vodka, Willie Nelson dug into his back catalog and hung an old song title on the label of Old Whiskey River Bourbon; Danny DeVito took inspiration from his drunken near-disaster on The View and launched his own brand of limoncello liqueur; and rappers and hiphop artists from Ludacris to Snoop Dogg to Flavor Flav have partnered with cognac producers for special bottlings and brands, including a deal between Jay-Z and Remy Martin for a cognac selling for $3,000 a bottle.

The intersection between liquor and stardom gets more interesting when the entertainer takes a hands-on approach to the product and comes up with a spirit that's not only star-branded, but worthwhile on its own merits. For the unfortunately named Mansinthe, Marilyn Manson not only painted the label artwork but reportedly helped settle on the recipe for the classic French-styled and not-at-all bad brand of absinthe. While Jimmy Buffet is seemingly content selling green-tinted slushies at his Margaritaville chain of restaurants, Sammy Hagar invested in a tequila distillery, and the Cabo Wabo brand he founded (and later sold) may have a name that makes me feel silly to say in a bar, but the pure-agave tequila in the bottle is no joke.

This spring sees the entry of the latest entry into the celebrity-liquor market, and possibly the one with most questionable taste: Ron de Jeremy, a premium brand of aged Panamanian rum introduced by (and named for) hirsute adult-film star Ron Jeremy. Introduced by One-Eyed Spirits (don't think about the name too much), Ron de Jeremy is being sold with a marketing campaign long on the double entendre: the flavor is described as "long and smooth" and the website features "Drinkxxx by Ron," and even the obligatory "drink responsibly" tag is finished with "never do anything Ron wouldn't do"—which, when you consider that Jeremy holds the current world record for the most appearances in adult films, starting with "Coed Teasers" in 1983, is a warning that leaves plenty of room for rum-fueled leeway.

I'd be happy to lavish the same couldn't-care-less attention on Ron de Jeremy that I've previously reserved for celebrity vodkas and the like, but it's not quite that easy, primarily because the rum is not too bad. Distilled in Panama by Francisco Fernandez—whose past credits include distilling rum for Havana Club and Ron Abuelo, as well as producing the intensely delicious Zafra—the rum may have an unusual public patron, but its pedigree is worthy.

And the rum itself? As I said, it's not too bad—but that's not the same as saying it's good. Ron de Jeremy has a mildly funky, somewhat musty, brown-sugary aroma not unlike that of other Central American rums, and the spirit is medium-bodied and lightly sweet, with a grassy, lean flavor and an abrupt finish. As a sipping rum, you can easily do better, but as a mixing rum, Ron de Jeremy could have its place, which could give it a life span longer than other celebrity-endorsed, flash-in-the-pan spirits.

Does a spirit with a famous (or infamous) name attached to it catch your attention when shopping for a spirit? And are you more or less likely to try a rum or vodka if it comes with this kind of support or endorsement?

Sustainability and environmental stewardship generally aren't topics that come up all that often when thinking about drinks. Unlike the food world, where emphasizing local and seasonal and working to diminish food's ecological footprint have become recurring themes, the bar has always approached things a bit differently.

But that's changing. As the craft-cocktail movement matures in its second decade, some procedures are starting to more closely align with those in the food world. The use of fresh fruit and other produce is now de rigeur in cocktail bars, and today, it's not unusual to see a bottle of organic spirits somewhere in the mix.

Organic booze? Well, why not. True, if you're changing your eating and drinking habits to reduce your exposure to toxic chemicals, switching to organic liquor likely won't do you much good—the chemicals you're trying to avoid are mostly (if not entirely) shed during the processes of fermentation and distillation.

But thinking about the bigger picture, and looking at secondary benefits, organic liquor makes sense‐in the same way that wearing jeans made from organic cotton can reduce the overall spraying of pesticides and the resultant contamination of soil and groundwater, drinking a vodka distilled from organic grain or a brandy from organic grapes can have an impact beyond the drinker's immediate environment, and also provides a financial incentive for growers to use more earth-friendly farming practices.

The first time I tried an organic gin several years ago, I was less than enthusiastic about the flavor. That situation has changed with the debut of a growing number of organic spirits, some of them of exceptional quality.

One of the most prominent brands of organic liquor is Square One, which makes vodka and other spirits from a base of organic rye, under conditions certified by the USDA; other organic vodkas include Tru and Prairie Organic. Papagayo makes an organic white rum (which I haven't tried—let me know if you have, I'd welcome some details), and major scotch whisky producers including Benromach and Springbank have their own organic bottlings.

Agave is where organic is really catching on; 4 Copas was an early pioneer of organic tequila, and they've recently been joined by Casa Noble, which makes several styles of the spirit; and should there be any lingering suspicions about compromises in quality when it comes to organic, put those to rest over a glass of one of the exceptional certified-organic mezcals from Del Maguey.

American microdistillers such as Peak Spirits in Colorado are getting in on the organic game, with their organic gin, vodka and brandies, and as more newcomers join the wave of startup distillers, Peak Spirits could have plenty of organic company.

An anomaly just a few years ago, organic liquor is coming into its own. Are there any brands you've tried that you've particularly enjoyed? And is there any kind of organic spirit you'd like to see in the liquor store?

The White Lady [Photograph: Marleigh Riggins Miller]

Man, did winter suck.

Pretty much regardless of where you live—with the possible exception of you, Hawaii folk, and we don't really want to hear about how you got a sunburn lounging on the beach while we were scraping ice off our windshields—this past winter was memorable primarily because of the snow, or the cold, or the wet, or just the general unpleasantness that somehow seemed worse than even the crappy winter that came before.

But, now it's over (for the most par—sorry, Sioux Falls; don't stow those snow shovels just yet). And while April's arrival means putting away the heavy sweaters and antifreeze until they're needed again next December, the changing of the seasons also has an impact of the bibulous sort, as we put aside the winter warmers and deep, richly flavored drinks in favor of the lighter, brighter flavors of spring.

Along with comforting casseroles and hearty stews, spirits such as whiskey, dark rum, and brandy enjoy heavier circulation during the cold months. Even if you left the hot toddies and spiked coffee drinks behind in January and February, chances are, if you're the drink-seasonal sort, your glass has been filled these past few months with robust dark spirits and full-flavored mixtures seemingly custom-made for beating back winter's chill.

While these warming foods and drinks may have perennial appeal, for many of us, our tastes start to change as the spring onions and asparagus start appearing at the farmer's market, and much the same thing goes for drinks. I may still love my Manhattans, but on the first warm, sunny day of spring, I'll feel more moved to break out a bright-flavored Daiquiri or one of its light-rum relatives, or a citrusy gin-based cocktail such as a Corpse Reviver #2 or a White Lady (or perhaps the perfect springtime drink, the Ramos Fizz), all in anticipation of the coolers and refreshers of summer.

The smash [Photo: Robyn Lee]

That's not to say that whiskey and dark rum should be packed away with the snow boots. While these heavier-flavored aged spirits may seem better suited to the dark days of winter, they transition well into the warmer months, as the greater availability of fresh mint and a preference for icy drinks make brandy smashes and mint juleps increasingly appealing, and sunny afternoon parties become perfect occasions to mix up batches of citrus-rich rum drinks.

The cool weather isn't completely behind us yet, but I'm ready for the lingering sunsets and the wide-open windows of late spring. When they arrive, I'll be ready with my gin-and-mint Southsides and blackberry-laced Brambles—perfect drinks for warm, sunny weather.

What drinks do the changing of seasons put you in the mood for, and what are you looking forward to sipping this spring?

There are so many ways good drinks can go bad. The segue from ambrosial elixir to undrinkable muck can be due to something as simple as a mangled or misunderstood recipe, and as complicated as a gradual shift over time in the quality, composition or mere existence of a necessary ingredient. As David Wondrich writes in this month's Esquire, once a drink ambles down the path of ruin, it's a hard road back to redemption.

Consider the Old Fashioned, one of the simplest mixtures in the cocktail canon, and in its true form (that is to say, when made according to its earliest known and longest standing recipes), a direct link to the mixological simplicity of the mid-19th century. But how many of us, when asking for an Old Fashioned in a bar, are really served this simple mix? Wondrich writes, "If the old-fashioned you ordered looks pale and there's a thick slice of orange muddled to death at the bottom and it's fizzy with club soda, then it's a corruption of the original, which is a marriage of a little ice, a little sugar, just a drop of bitters, a citrus peel, and whiskey strong enough to stand up to the ice, sugar, bitters, and citrus."

Change is a necessary part of mixology, of course, and there are countless drinks that dropped out of favor for the simple reason that they just didn't taste very good. But recipes aren't always tweaked to make the final result better: bar owners cut corners, substituting cheaper or lower-quality alternatives for good ingredients; bartenders change recipes or procedures to make drinks easier to produce en masse, or simply because they don't know the proper way to make the drink and don't care to learn how; liquor marketers happily scrub recipes of competitors' ingredients or modify them to feature an extra-large pour of their own product; distillers and producers change formulations, cease production and otherwise disrupt the style and availability of cocktail ingredients; and drink writers—well, hey, we're human, prone to the same mistakes, missteps and misunderstandings as everyone else.

In some cases, matters are made even worse by the reluctance of a drink's creator to share its original recipe. Beginning in the 1930s, bar owners such as Donn Beach and "Trader Vic" Bergeron pioneered the once-mighty realm of exotic, faux-tropical "tiki" drinks. In an effort to dissuade competitors, the original recipes for milestone drinks such as the Zombie and the Mai Tai were kept secret, and in Beach's "Don the Beachcomber" bars, not even the bartenders knew exactly what was inside some of the bottles they were using.

Not that this threw off competitors for a minute; lacking the original recipe, other bar owners simply made up their own, sloshing together increasingly gaudy mixes of liquor, fruit juice and syrups and hanging the famous name from the concoction, a practice that ultimately dragged the whole arena of tropical-style drinks into kitschy disgrace. Only with the recent renewed interest in craft bartending and in the integrity of early formulations have Mai Tais and Zombies again been rendered close to their original, delicious forms.

Drinks ranging from the Martini to the Sidecar to the Singapore Sling have been trampled over the years, casualties of misunderstood recipes, willful ignorance or other misfortunes. It's all too familiar an experience to order a favorite drink in a bar, only to be served something that's a pale imitation of what you were expecting.

I have my own bitter memories and tales of woe; what's your horror story of a good drink gone wrong?

[Photo: Heaven Hill Distillery]

I've previously mentioned how distillers of bourbon and rye, those iconic American whiskies, have for many years had mostly a grudging relationship with change and innovation. I've also noted how this is starting to change, with the growing practice of cask-finishing bourbons and the creation of experimental whiskies using different recipes and techniques. Now, as more small-scale craft distillers are starting to get into the whiskey business, the American whiskey part of the liquor store is becoming a much more dynamic place. As Malt Advocate publisher John Hansell noted last week on his blog, the boundaries between old-school, large-scale distillers and brand-new, small-scale startups are becoming increasingly blurred.

The latest example? The TryBox Series of New Make whiskies from Heaven Hill Distillery in Bardstown, Kentucky. Heaven Hill is one of the giants in American whiskey, a family-owned operation founded just after the repeal of Prohibition, that produces major brands including Evan Williams and Elijah Craig bourbons, and Rittenhouse rye whiskey (the company also produces a bunch of other non-whiskey booze, including Christian Brothers Brandy and the value-label Burnett's gin, vodka and rum). With the popularity of their bourbons and rye, it's a safe guess that Heaven Hill isn't hurting for whiskey business; nevertheless, the debut of the TryBox Series is a case of a big-name distillery taking a page from the microdistiller playbook, and introducing unaged "white dog" whiskey to a market of largely younger consumers that's showing a great deal of curiosity about every aspect of their whiskey.

"White dog"—the name for whiskey fresh off the still, before it's gained color and a depth and roundness of flavor from aging in charred-oak casks—has been enjoying more than its fair share of the spotlight in recent years. Part of this is due to the practice of large distillers such as Buffalo Trace, which sold its unaged whiskey in its gift shop as an example to visitors of what its eponymous bourbon tastes like before it goes into the barrel for aging. Demand for the white whiskey grew so large that last year Buffalo Trace made it available on a wider basis.

But while Buffalo Trace began selling its white dog largely as a curiosity and an educational tool, other, much smaller and newer distillers have seen dollar signs in this raw spirit. Whiskies such as bourbon and rye take years of barrel aging to gain their characteristic flavor; while it's legal to sell younger whiskey with provisions on how it may be labeled, most straight bourbons and ryes are four years old or older.

For startup distillers, that's a long time to wait for the sales receipts to start coming in, so producers such as Woodinville Whiskey in Washington, Copper Fox in Virginia and Death's Door in Wisconsin have been selling their unaged whiskey in an effort to not only bring in a little cash while the rest of the whiskey ages, but to build a word-of-mouth (or mouth-of-bottle) reputation so the aged product will have a ready audience upon its release (Copper Fox already sells aged whiskey along with its younger relative).

Elijah Craig bourbon and Rittenhouse rye already have prestigious reputations, but Heaven Hill's TryBox Series presents unaged, cask-strength versions of these whiskies for bartenders and drinkers who want to compare the fresh-off-the-still spirit with the more familiar aged whiskies.

As John Hansell writes in his blog post, major distillers such as Heaven Hill don't have anything to fear from startup distillers just yet. But as these new whiskies begin to reach maturity and become increasingly common in liquor stores and bars, large distillers of American whiskey may find themselves in a somewhat unfamiliar arena, contending with a growing number of new competitors in an increasingly crowded market. As Hansell notes, some major players may let their wallets help sort out the situation, as liquor giant William Grant did last year with the purchase of New York-based Hudson whiskies from Tuthilltown Distillery; other small-distillery pioneers such as Colorado-based Stranahan's and San Francisco's Anchor Distilling have likewise been purchased by bigger companies. Still others will follow the model of distillers like Buffalo Trace, perhaps the most experimental and innovative of bourbon distilleries, or like Heaven Hill, which is showing some wisdom in getting out in front with the white-dog ball and keeping its whiskies relevant for a growing customer base that's fickle in its brand loyalty.

Long averse to change, American whiskey has become one of the more innovative and intriguing classes of spirits in recent years, and with more distillers coming online, that level of change is bound to continue. If you're a whiskey drinker, where do you see these changes going? Are these shifts and experiments good for whiskey consumers, or do you see any drawbacks along the way?

French Culinary Institute instructor Dave Arnold at Tales of the Cocktail in Vancouver. [Photograph: Paul Clarke]

Every summer for the past eight years, a steadily growing crowd of bartenders, spirits-industry professionals, journalists, and other curious drinkers has convened in New Orleans for Tales of the Cocktail, an event that basically boils down to five days of boozy education and celebration. Not surprising for an event in New Orleans in July, the weather is usually wiltingly hot; also not surprising for a convention of drinks professionals (which for many equates with "professional drinkers"), an event that's akin to the Detroit Auto Show of cocktails usually turns into an all-hours week-long festivity—an easy feat to accomplish, given the event's Big Easy setting.

Last week, however, the organizers and sponsors of Tales of the Cocktail sought to answer a couple of fundamental questions: How will this signature New Orleans event function in another, less notoriously party-hearty city? In particular, will the first-ever Tales "On the Road" event, which was held in Vancouver, B.C., last Monday, translate into Canadian?

After spending several days in Vancouver for before-and-after celebrations, as well as for the main event on Monday, I can say with a little surprise that the answer is "mostly yes."

If I was hedging my bets before the event, I had my reasons; for one thing, while Vancouver is home to Canada's craft-cocktail renaissance and some of the city's best bars are on par with their craft-cocktail compatriots in San Francisco, L.A. and New York, it's still a very young scene. Also, Canada's national and provincial laws regarding bar opening hours and the availability and tax rates on certain spirits largely works against the no-holds-barred celebratory atmosphere that accompanies Tales events in New Orleans.

But through sheer enthusiasm of the region's bartenders and curious drinkers, and likely abetted by a few shades of good luck, the Vancouver event seemed largely a success, with sell-out crowds for most if not all the seminars and festive crowds at the receptions and other events. The sessions were largely a "greatest hits" of past Tales of the Cocktail, with seminars on the stormy history of the Mai Tai by exotic-drink historian Jeff "Beachbum" Berry, a raucous session on ice (yes, it's possible to get worked up about frozen water) highlighted by the chainsawing of a massive block of crystal-clear ice, and a seminar on the science of cocktails led by French Culinary Institute instructor Dave Arnold, pictured above with his set of calculations regarding experiments on the chilling/dilution of drinks. (And to be true to the host country, there was also a seminar on Canadian whisky, which, somewhat fittingly considering the subject matter, was rather bland and vaguely disappointing.)

All told, for an event that's so closely affiliated with New Orleans, the Tales of the Cocktail event in Vancouver demonstrated that not only could the "brand" extend into other areas, but it could do so while stoking plenty of excitement in local bars and restaurants. So far event organizers have only said they plan to make the Vancouver extension an annual event, in addition to the much larger event in New Orleans in July.

But as the craft-cocktail movement continues to grow in cities such as Portland and Boston, and as cities such as Minneapolis, Nashville, and Louisville start to make their mark in mixology, it's worth considering what other places would be appropriate homes for such an event. What about your city? Do you think your area bars and cocktail culture would be a good location for this kind of gathering?