Whisky. That great ameliorator and equalizer. The nectar of priests and peasants. The quarterly earnings marker for global drinks conglomerates. When times get tough, you turn to whisky. Or turn away from it? Mezcal is getting hot, so maybe sell a couple of distilleries in exchange for some craft Mezcal companies, especially if they’re doing as well as my friend Ashley’s Mezcal – Kimo Sabe.

What do El Presidente Trumpito and Mezcal have to do with with my recent whisky immersion? They are measures of Artifice vs. Authenticity and the place of perception where the two meet, or don’t. The same can be said for my recent slate of whisky events.

Once upon a time, whisky makers produced their whiskies in hollows, caves, or, in the case of my great-grandfather, in the closet of the children’s bedroom (took the county sheriff years to find that secret spot during the many prohibition raids on the farm). They made it for themselves, their family, and their friends. Then they sold it to neighbors, neighboring villages, neighboring counties, and neighboring countries. The personal craft eventually became less-personal commerce. In today’s cacophony of social media schizophrenia, whisky makers have a harder time of authentically sharing their product with drinkers. So, they resort to the artifice of whisky events.

Many whisky events are hyper-actualized versions of what enjoying whisky is actually about. Take whisky event number one from last week.

I joined about 30 other whisky aficionados for a special tasting of Toki Japanese whisky presented by Suntory chief blender Shinji Fukuyo. The presentation included a cocktail specially prepared by the staff at Seven Grand’s Bar Jackalope, a taste of three of the main whiskies that go into the Toki blend (we had a grain, young single malt, and older single malt), and concluded with a sampling of the Toki.

We learned the name loosely means, “time of season” and also evokes the first two syllables of Tokyo (making it easy to remember it’s a Japanese whisky). We saw how the marketing gurus at Suntory Beam chose a bottle that can fit onto a shelf sideways, allowing bartenders to squeeze it in among their previous bottle commitments. Basically, we experienced Toki in a way that no one else will ever experience it. Overall, the experience was fun, but the whisky itself was unremarkable. It’s intended for cocktails and for that purpose, it works. But for me, breaking it down to some components and sampling the blend did little to enhance what is a solid, inoffensive, spirit.

Later that evening, I accompanied food/drinks writer “The Minty” to Varnish for a second whisky event. We were welcomed with several cocktails to prep us for a chat with the kilted Stewart Buchanan – Brown Forman brand ambassador. After cocktails, we tasted a selection of single malts from the Brown Forman portfolio – BenRiach, Glendronach, and Glenglassaugh. Because, you know, you can’t have a sip of Scotch without a kilted man within “slainte” shouting distance. Or so whisky marketers would have one think.

Stewart was great. We chatted about the barley varieties, fermentation times, and still variations that make each expression we sampled unique. The Glenglassaugh “Revival” was an especially intriguing expression. The last Glenglassaugh I had was a 28 year old independent bottling that I picked up in London in 2005. The Revival was a nice balance of red fruits, citrus, sherry-influenced nuttiness, and chocolate. Certainly not as elegant as the 28 year-old, but a nice return to the whisky world for the distillery.

Less than 24 hours later, I was at it again – this time at a whisky pairing dinner sponsored by Baccardi. They apparently spared no expense to show just how sexy the single malt selections from their Dewar’s portfolio are. I joined food, drinks, and lifestyle writers at the ultra-cool Ink restaurant, run by celebrity Chef Michael Voltaggio. Signature cocktails, precious appetizers, and über-hip ‘80s rock and roll greeted us as soon as we made it past the door check-in.

Chef was given the difficult task of prepping five courses to complement two expressions of single malts for each course. These “Last Great Malts” (Aberfeldy, Deveron, Royal Brackla, Aultmore, and Craigellache) are components of Dewar’s White Label. The company have released these malts the last couple of years with much fanfare. As I’ve written, I really like these single malts. However, pairing two different expressions with each course (a 12 year old and an 18 year old, for example) made for a rather perplexed palate.

Faced with this challenge, Chef Michael gave a valiant effort, but the first couple of courses missed with both expressions. The food was incredible, the whisky was good-to-great, but the combinations weren’t working. Chef finally hit his stride with the remaining courses where at least one of the two expressions nailed the pairing. The evening ended with a free-for-all at the bar as unsupervised bloggers poured liberally from the oldest expressions available. The Craigellachie 31 especially shined.

My whisky week ended as I shifted gears from one of the top restaurants in LA to a suburban kitchen. I partnered with Cutthroat Kitchen winner Chef Jodi Taffel for a private whisky dinner to celebrate the client’s 40th birthday. Rather than have Chef Jodi pair her menu to whiskies, I matched whiskies to her menu. I went with some independent bottlings from Gordon MacPhail – Glenturret 11 and Bunnahabhain 11. I also cracked open a Glenlivet 18 for appetizers and a Dalmore 15 for dessert. Each course sailed the wave of whisky smoothly on the palate. As usual, I probably got out about half of the information I wanted to share with the attendees. The guests had so many inside stories to share with each other that details about fermentation influence became irrelevant.

Four whisky events in five days. Each different from the other, but connected by the fact that they were constructs. Even my pairing dinner, which ostensibly served to foster whisky conversation among “normal” people, had an air of artificiality. I mean, how many people drink whisky in their homes as a whisky writer reads from his own book?

Some whisky aficionados lament that bottle prices and marketing “creativity” have impacted the authentic roots of the water of life – those farmers, small business owners, and local folks who once were the heart of the whisky making and marketing process. And certainly there is much debate as to how artificial whisky experiences may unduly influence writers when they report about what they tasted.

I believe most writers/bloggers, though not all, approach these whisky events with a passion for finding the authenticity of the spirit beneath the artifice of the presentation. In a time when terror Trumps truth and marketing mythologies shift toward emerging trends like Mezcal, we need these writers and the perspectives they provide. They are the spirit guides who lead readers through the clutter and cacophony of marketing rituals to some kind of elemental honesty that has always existed at the heart of whisky.

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The first whiskey I ever purchased was Jim Beam. I was a senior in college and the girl I was in love with had just broken my heart for one reason or another (Happens all the time. It’s like my heart was bought on eBay – easy to break and hard to replace). I was devastated and didn’t know what to do. Images of larger than life characters flashed in my mind – Bogart, Bond, Otis from Andy Griffith: whenever things hit bottom for them, they hit the bottle, and in that bottle was whiskey. So, I bought the Beam White Label. One weekend later, the bottle was half empty, the heart was still broken, and I had failed to learn how to play Led Zeppelin’s “The Rain Song” on my guitar.

Nonetheless, I started a relationship with my pal, Jim Beam. College buddies and I would add it to Purplesaurus Rex Kool-Aid; it was my “call” for whiskey sours at happy hour; it was on the vanguard of the rye revival and the first rye I bought (a good one, at that); the until-this-moment secret ingredient in my Thanksgiving stuffing is Devil’s Cut; when Black Label went to no age statement, I bought enough bottles of the 8 year old to turn my office into a stock room. Jim Beam has been a constant in my life through four decades, three U.S. states, two countries, and one dodgy heart.

Appropriately, the request to review Jim Beam Double Oak came at a time of professional, personal, romantic, and spiritual flux in my life. I say appropriately for a couple of reasons. The first is that my book, Distilling Rob, uses the whisky maturation process as a metaphor for how boys mature into men – taking the spirit and refining its essence within oak casks (or in the case of me – refining my spirit within life). I felt the life experiences I shared in the book were all I needed to shape the person I would be for the rest of my days. Not so. Sometimes, apparently, the powers that be decide you need even more refinement. The double oak of life, if you will.

In the case of Jim Beam Double Oak, this added dose of maturity (aged in the second oak cask “to taste”) successfully guides the whiskey to deeper places. If the basic Jim Beam expression prompts one into action, Jim Beam Double Oak prompts one into reflection. This is a sipping bourbon – not one you add to Kool-Aid.

The nose is like an invitation to come on in and sit in a warm room with old wood and leather furniture that has stories to tell. Sweet citrus aromas and cinnamon ride a wave of vanilla in a calm and steady tone.

The palate is involved, but not overly complex. Dark chocolate and cherry dance on the top of the tongue, surrounded by a deep woodiness that is strong, but not nuanced. Cereal and butterscotch also make their way through the experience. The finish is clinging, with lingering elements of caramel and butter.

Jim Beam Double Oak is a pleasant whiskey that seems to round out the rambunctious playfulness of its White Label sibling. The spirit has been a comfortable companion these past couple of months of personal uncertainty and re-recalibration.  My heart is well-beyond its warranty and I still can’t play the “Rain Song”, but with Jim Beam evolving as I do, I don’t feel quite as alone.

Though, if my life ever hits the “apple”, “honey”, or “maple” stages, someone please throw me into a washback and shut the lid.

Note – My whisky review rules.

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Rob Dietrich of Stranahan’s Whiskey is probably the coolest guy in whiskey. Or so I surmised I first wrote about Stranahan’s distillery in 2012 and compared him to Clint Eastwood (the horse riding, saloon-strutting, get anything done no matter what the odds are version of Clint Eastwood – not the old guy who stands in front of an arena talking to an empty chair). A couple of weeks ago, I caught up with Rob to find out what’s shifted for him and for Stranahan’s in the four years since we last spoke. What I learned, for certain, he is indeed the coolest guy in whiskey. The kind of guy that has mothers locking up their daughters so that they can get out of the house and have some fun for themselves.

Stranahan’s whiskey distillery is the oldest in Colorado (license number seven – the first six went to the U.S. Army in World War Two so they could manufacture items vital for the war effort). Started in 2004, with its first official bottling coming in 2006, Stranahan’s whiskey presaged the craft distilling revolution that has swept across America in the past few years. In fact, more than 70 distilleries have opened in Colorado alone since Stranahan’s first fired up its stills.

Stranahan’s was created out of a passion for whiskey and Rob was brought on board in 2006 as employee number four. He and the original head distiller had bonded socially over a shared love of rebuilding vintage motorcycles and running motorcycles off alternative fuel (like the heads from distillation), which they worked on during slow times at the distillery. Rob so enjoyed hanging out at the startup distillery that he came on board as a volunteer bottler, despite not knowing a thing about whiskey making.

Jumping into interesting things for the sake of jumping into interesting things is what makes Rob as cool as he is. Or maybe it just goes with having that kind of badass name (after all, Whisky Guy Rob has excavated Roman tombs, evaded Moldovan smugglers, escaped being stalked by a mountain lion, and directed high school musicals… OK… the last one, not so badass). My Rob peer, on the other hand, has served in a war zone with the U.S. Army as a target acquisition specialist and a combat lifesaver; worked with some of the biggest names in music (James Brown, The Allman Brothers) as a tour manager and crew member; lived for two years in a 1967 half-size school bus that he converted into a mobile living space to travel the U.S.; and, of course, learned to make a unique American single malt whiskey. Cool, indeed.

The big news when I wrote about Stranahan’s in 2012 was that they’d recently been purchased by Proximo Spirits company. There were rumbles of concern among whiskey fans that a corporate drinks entity would take away the independent spirit of this Colorado whiskey. Four years into the relationship and I’m happy to report that Stranahan’s has benefited tremendously. Production is up significantly from what it was, and quality has kept pace. In 2012, demand for Stranahan’s outpaced production so much that the whiskey pulled out of every market except for Colorado. Now, it’s available in all 50 states.

The foundation of Stranahan’s whiskey is pretty straightforward: Colorado barley, a proprietary yeast, and Rocky Mountain water, fermented in metal tuns, distilled in pot stills, and aged in a compact onsite warehouse for three to five years in barrels that are lightly toasted (rather than wood that is heavily charred). The result is a whiskey that retains youthful exuberance without tasting young. The nose is authentically caramel, which is continued onto the palate. The flavor is a lovely mixture of rich sweetness and warming spice (think cinnamon and ginger) with tinges of roasted nuts and citrus.

At least, that’s what their standard yellow label bottle tastes like. During my visit, Rob decided to share six unique barrels with me and a few hundred passionate Stranahan’s whiskey fans at a Saturday night extravaganza the distillery called Cask Thief 2016.

The barrels included four that were initially typical casks, but over time and circumstance evolved into something singular. One was nearly 7 years old, having been filled almost immediately after Stranahan’s moved into its present location in 2009. Another barrel had been mismarked and misplaced, allowing it to mature for five years. There were two three-year-old casks – one reserved for special events like Cask Thief, and the other a slightly busted barrel that allowed for a greater liquid-to-surface ratio, making for a chewier version of their standard expression.

While the three-year-old and the six-year-old barrels evoked the flavors that are expected with Stranahan’s, a rum cask and an Oloroso sherry cask imparted unexpected finishing accents on the standard whiskey.

Some of the six casks sampled that night were interesting for the sake of being interesting while others were just really damn good. According to Rob the barrel tasting event (which included a pig roasted over Stranahan’s Whiskey barrel chips and a great assortment of side dishes) was solely intended to give fans of Stranahan’s a taste, so to speak, of what he and the enthusiastic staff get to experience every day – great whiskey with occasionally unexpected variety.  I would provide tasting notes for these casks, but as none of them will be bottled, it would just be an exercise in flavor descriptors that none of you will ever have a chance to confirm or argue against.

The last few months have seen rumblings and questions about whiskey. Has it reached its peak in production? Is there enough supply to meet demand? Will the interest in whiskey be maintained, or will the recent trends with high-end gins, rums, and mezcals send whiskey into a decline? If so, there are dozens if not hundreds of distilleries that have popped up in the last decade which might nose dive into nothingness. Stranahan’s Whiskey will not be one of those distilleries.

The distillery is driven by an authenticity, personified by Rob Dietrich, which evokes the best of what whiskey making can and should be. They are so strong with their craft, so solid with their product, and so devoted with their staff that I have no doubt Stranahan’s will be a mainstay in the American craft distillery movement for as long as it wants to be.

The post Stranahan’s Whiskey Still Strong appeared first on Whisky Guy Rob.

I have been a fan of Laphroaig since my first exposure to the world of single malt Scotch whisky nearly 15 years ago. Cask Strength, Quarter Cask, 10 year, 15 year, 18 year, 25 year – you name it, I have loved it. Lore seems to serve as a sort of greatest hits of those expressions. You get many of the notes you expect with Laphroaig, and they play together well in the “set list” of Lore, but you miss out on the “deep cuts” that make the other expressions I mentioned so extraordinary.

With a price point that is high for a new, non-age statement whisky, you may think once, twice, three times a Laphroaig before purchasing a bottle. But, if you are a fan and you have the desire to drop $130 on a bottle, then I think you will enjoy comparing this to what you already know and love about Laphroaig.

Laphroaig Lore

48% ABV

Nose: eraser, faint burning leaves, smoked mackerel, oily, pine, melting bittersweet chocolate, lemon drop

Palate: dark cherry, sweet and spicy chili powder, a big pop of peat, simple but very balanced

Finish: dry, warming

With water:

Nose: modeling putty, brings up a gentle sweetness of light citrus, slight vanilla

Palate: at first it is ashy; after sitting a few minutes, it turns bitter with the taste of old, dusty dark chocolate that is past its prime; let it sit a little while longer and some vegetative freshness returns

Finish: soft, warm, wet peat, salt

As always, you can read about my guidelines for my whisky reviews here. This review was based upon a sample given to me by representatives of Laphroaig.

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That being said, I’ve long been a huge fan and proponent of Aberfeldy – one of the key single malts that comprises Dewar’s. The rich, honeyed flavor of the 12-year-old was, especially for its price point, a pure winner. A couple of years back, Dewar’s pushed out a second single malt from their blend: Craigellachie in 13-year-old and 23-year-old expressions. I found both to be right in my palate sweet spot (though the 23-year-old’s price exceeded the expression’s deliverable taste). A year or so ago, Dewar’s unveiled three new single malts that go into its blend (collectively called “The Last Great Malts” range), and knowing I’m a fan, sent samples to me for review.

The first bottle was the Aultmore 12 which I sampled with Lee Zaro and Aaron Krouse from the South Bay Whisky Tribe. Aultmore is located in Speyside, less than 10 miles from the sea. Despite the proximity to the sea, the malt is light on the nose in a pleasant way. Like its Dewar’s sibling Aberfeldy, there is honey, citrus and vanilla on the nose. Add in some fresh hay and it has the air of an energetic young thing. Surprisingly, the palate is much heartier than expected. The light hay of the aroma has become a chewy, toasted flavor with hints of orange peel and linseed oil working its way through fields of wet grass and grain. The honey is thick and warm, like on a piece of hotly toasted sprouted bread. The transformation continues to the finish where flakes of pepper and bits of brine linger for a pleasant moment. Most definitely a young malt, but the Aultmore 12 captures an essential essence of Speyside and offers enough of its own character to be a worthy addition to any single malt collection.

A couple of weeks after Lee and Aaron and I sampled the Aultmore 12, I did an impromptu whisky gathering with a group of friends in the Valley. As part of that gathering I cracked open two more of The Last Great Malts – the Deveron 12 and the Royal Brackla 12.

The Deveron is a marketing name. The whisky is produced at MacDuff Distillery. But, a rose by any other name… The previous three Great Malts I’ve tried – Aberfeldy, Craigellache and Aultmore, are all in the same ballpark for their flavor profiles. The Deveron definitely goes a different direction and hints at the variety that makes Dewar’s a well-rounded blend. The nose is lightly creamy, with a bit of vanilla and malt. It’s like the aroma of a dessert bakery that you catch while walking by: not overpoweringly sugary and sweet, but pleasant and sublime. The dessert theme continues on the palate, though with other bits like leather, light peat and salt that round it out. Several chocolate notes pop through with some water added, as well as dark fruit, like raspberries. The finish is sprinkled with bits of all that has appeared before: malt, fruit, sugar and buttery chocolate.

Royal Brackla 12 is the heavy hitter of The Last Great Malts range I sampled. The nose is complex, with syrup and spiced nuts coming to the forefront of a winey/raisin base. The same flavors are found on the palate, with the spices becoming more distinctive – pepper, cinnamon and ginger. Some wonderful fresh apple and more of those raisins also appear on the palate. The finish is surprisingly short for something that was reasonably complex on the nose and palate. That’s not a bad thing, but without having tried some of the older expressions, I’m guessing the finish will be pleasantly rich and coating as it ages.

Breaking a blend down by its components is a fun way to identify some of the notes the blender has tried to capture (or to weed out, as the case may be). While mixing any of The Last Great Malts with ice and soda would be an offense to the soda and a mortal sin to the Scotch, it’s nice to experience them in their own right before they sacrifice their better parts to your blended Dewar’s cocktail.

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I recently gave an hour-long TV interview about my book, Distilling Rob: Manly Lies and Whisky Truths. We covered much ground in the interview, including details about the book, the themes and the implications. I suggest sitting down with a dram of your choice, kicking back and relaxing a bit to hear some behind-the-scenes tales of the writing process.

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There are certainly sacrifices in the world of whiskey. Casks sacrifice 2% of their content to the angels every year. Salespeople sacrifice time with their spouses, children, and friends to travel alone on long roads to mediocre bars and indifferent liquor stores. Distilleries sacrifice money and infrastructure to create a product that people might not see for a decade, only to have their labor bashed by bloggers half a world away. Drinks conglomerates sacrifice anything and anyone they can to make an extra buck.

We all make sacrifices. Some are like killing your only child to curry God’s favor. Sometimes God thinks the effort is enough and will save the child, as happened to Abraham. Sometimes the god just doesn’t care, as happened to Stannis Barratheon.

I have certainly made sacrifices in my life. I’ve sacrificed jobs, homes and lovers just to see what lay ahead. Not that I had other jobs, homes or lovers lined up, but I sacrificed what I had in the present in the hope that I could find something deeper and more meaningful in the unknown into which I was stepping. Sometimes it paid off. Other times it irrevocably didn’t.

My birthday was at the end of July and I paid a tremendous sacrifice that night.

As I was leaving Tom Bergin’s Irish pub, my beloved local, I carried with me a bevy of birthday gifts that friends had  bestowed upon me. Among the gifts was the best bottle of Angel’s Envy bourbon I had ever tasted: Tom Bergin’s own special bottling. Fully aware that my hands were full and fearful I may drop the bottle that a friend had bought me as a birthday gift, I placed it in a bag with some other items. As I walked out of the crowded bar after saying my final goodbyes, somebody jostled the bag I was holding and I noticed a shift in weight in the bag. The bag torqued and I felt a lightness in my hand. That Angel’s Envy was a heavy ass bottle. Emphasis on the was.

If you ever want to shut up the cacophony in a bar at 12:30 AM, I guarantee the best way to do it is to drop a bottle of whiskey on the floor and have it shatter. If you ever want to test your patience at 12:30 AM, I guarantee the best way to do it is in a bar with 20 drunk people trying to help you after dropping said bottle of whiskey.

Clearly the symbolism of dropping something called Angel’s Envy on hallowed floor of Tom Bergin’s has not been lost on me. Having it slip away when it was so clearly in my grasp also has not been lost on me. Having it happen on the day that launches the next year my life has also not been lost on me.

Sacrifices are generally made with the intention of favorable results. So, those angels who were expecting 2% of their share over the course of the year certainly had an unexpectedly libatious night on my birthday. My hope is that they relay all the help that I need, and Lord knows I need a lot, to the powers that be, and that my dowsing the wooden floor of the oldest Irish pub in Los Angeles will bring me some luck in wealth, writing and women. Because if it doesn’t, I no longer have a damn thing to drink my sorrows away…

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When I returned to LA that theme continued with colder than normal temperatures and ample rain. Though a world away from Scotland my palate could not resist a return to Islay. So, as the rain fell upon the gritty streets of Los Angeles my mind and my palate returned to the rolling green hills and the peaty aroma of the world’s most famous Scotch island.

I sampled three Bowmore whiskies: Legend, Small Batch and Darkest. I felt it was appropriate to start with Bowmore because my first experience with being trained to drink whisky was with a Bowmore representative years ago. That 45 minute one-on-one session changed my life.

Here are my tasting notes for three Bowmore whiskies and how I paired them. As always, I adhere to my rules of tasting. Two of the Bowmores were provided by a representative. The third I acquired on my own.

Legend

Pairing: salmon baked with a lemon, olive oil and tarragon marinade.

Nose: sea aroma; light peat smoke that grows; fresh grain; sweet butter; orange zest.

Palate: orange, fudge; black cherry; bit of white pepper; comfortable smoke; resinous, malt; shortbread.

Finish: quick and a bit bitter.

Overall: I actually did not pair this with the salmon inasmuch as I drank a little bit before I ate the salmon. I think this is a fine aperitif and it lays the groundwork for enjoying seafood that has a bit of citrus in a marinade. This was an easy and a pleasant dram.

Small Batch

Pairing: Walker’s shortbread. That slight hint of shortbread in the previous dram made me long for some Walker’s shortbread. So, after a quick stroll to the market I returned to the second Bowmore of the evening.

Nose: crisp; almost no peat; maybe a far distant chimney; sweet.

Palate: chewy and coating – if the nose was like sprinting on the moon, the palate is like sprinting in water; bit of fruit syrup; can’t quite wrap my palate around this; lemon pledge; a bit of water clears up the muddle but leaves the whisky tasting a bit like a janitors closet.

Finish: dry; medium; adding water gives you a dry spice rub.

Overall: This Bowmore expression was like a date that you think should go okay, if not go well, but for whatever reason the mutual chemistry just isn’t there. I think it has elements that I would be attracted to but on this night it just wasn’t happening.

Darkest

Pairing: Dark chocolate.

Nose: Worcestershire sauce; candied nuts; rich fragrance; molasses; slight Mesquite smoke; coriander? I love this nose and it grows more complex after sitting out for a while.

Palate: nutty; sherry; a great middle theme of peat; chewy.

Finish: delicious; dry sherry; tannins; a slow burner; the finish evolves the longer the dram is exposed to air and you get a hint of molasses.

Overall: Hands down my favorite of the bunch. This is just a lovely, well-rounded Scotch whisky that represents Islay well.

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The whisky made at Auchentoshan is without the smoky peat flavoring that serves as the backbone of Scotch whisky. It’s also triple distilled. Basically, it’s closer to its Irish cousins than its Scotch brothers and sisters. As such, the spirit leaves itself ripe to be heavily influenced by the wood used to age it. They do a fantastic job with their three wood (using whisky aged in bourbon, sherry and port casks). Now the distillery has released a whisky that is solely aged in bourbon casks: Auchentoshan American Oak. The result is a refreshing change to the distillery’s entry expression.

Before I dive into my tasting notes, I will say I received a sample of the spirit, which is why I reviewed it. Here is an explanation of how I choose what whiskies to review and when. As I state in that piece, just because someone asks me to sample a whisky doesn’t mean I’m going to go easy on them.

In this case, I actually enjoyed the whisky quite a bit. The part I will take exception to is some of the marketing that surrounded the offer to sample it. First, I was encouraged to drink Auchentoshan American Oak as part of National Bourbon Day, or as part of National Whisky Day, or if that failed as part of National “We’re Making This Shit up Just to Have You Drink Whisky and Write about It” Day. In any case, don’t make something up to elevate interest in a product. Let your product elevate itself. Also, I cringed when I read the marketing bit that said the casks had never been used for whisky before, only bourbon. OK, TECHNICALLY they’ve never been used for whisky, but they have been used for whiskey. Why even bother to spin that into something that makes it seem as though this is a special thing? Makes no sense to me. I’m a marketing and PR person, and I know you need to make everything you say/write count exponentially for the words you put into it. Saying their casks have never held whisky before, is that going to excite someone enough to purchase a bottle? No. Talking about how you’ve reimagined your entry level malt? Yep. Focus on the things that are your strengths.

Lecture done. Now, onto the Auchentoshan American Oak notes:

Color: I don’t really write about color unless it inspires me to or stops me from drinking a whisky.

Nose: Wood shavings. Resin. Reminds me of the log furniture production place I worked at in college. Treacle. Cotton candy; Black plum. Currants. Clean. Fresh grass. Creamy, coconut milk.

Palate: Wood forward with a quickly warming spiciness. Dry, but Chewy. More plum. Lemon Pledge. Vanilla bean. Coconut meat. After a while, the Lemon Pledge changes to a deep Clementine aroma.

Finish: Warm and lingering. Bit dry.

Overall I found it to be light, welcoming and with enough complexity to make it interesting, though not intriguing. It’s a nice warm up on the way to diving deeper into the Auchentoshan range with the three wood. A good intro whisky.

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I’ve never been one to go the direct route. I’m an explorer at heart. A curiosity seeker. Even as a kid, swinging on a swingset – a fairly safe and controlled motion – I always tried my best to swing sideways, to swing in a whirling twist, to flip the swingset with my powerful launching abilities (and I succeeded a few times until my dad finally wised up and cemented the legs into the ground).

Even now, I find being off-balance in life (an occasionally in mind) makes for a far more interesting swing through this world than keeping the eyes fixated straight ahead. A few months ago while in Portland I was enjoying some time at Clear Creek Distillery – a semi-planned visit. The distillery tour and chat ended, and I headed back up the road to meet my friends for dinner at the Pope House Bourbon Lounge. I had a little more than an hour to kill. As I walked past Quimby Street (yes; the Simpson’s Mayor Quimby is named after the street), I noticed a little A-frame sign halfway down the block away from me. All I could make out in the fading light was the word, “Bull.” What more does a boy need to change direction?

Bull Run Distillery offers an excellent spirit selection as they patiently wait for their Oregon-made whiskey to mature. Co-founder Patrick Bernards (right) is known as the distillery’s “Chief Enthusiast.”

I strode toward the mystery sign until the writing was clear: Bull Run Distillery Tasting Room. An arrow pointed toward a door in a semi-industrial building. The mystery distillery tasting room had half an hour remaining until closing time, I still had time to kill, so I figured, “why not?”

The tasting room was small, but extremely inviting, with a nice wooden bar keeping an eye over a setting that seemed lumberjack-chic, i.e.; Portland-esque. There were a few items of swag, some bottles for sale and some bottles aligned for sampling, including gin, rum, vodka and yes, whiskey.

I was introduced to Patrick Bernards co-founder and “Chief Enthusiast” of Bull Run. Patrick’s enthusiasm runs outside of the walls of Bull Run as a board member of the Oregon Craft Beverage Council and the American Craft Spirits Association. It’s that enthusiasm which helped him launch Bull Run in 2010 with master distiller Lee Medoff, a longtime leader in the Portland distilling scene.

Templeton Rye, that all-American, all-Iowan product that draws its recipe from the Prohibition has received tons of flak for in fact being an all-American, all-Indiana product that draws its recipe from…well, it doesn’t really have one; the company buys its whiskey from the industrial MGP distillery in Lawrenceburg, Indiana. Bull Run, on the other hand, has embraced the relationship with MGP, even going to far as to film a video at the distillery to fully document the whiskey’s connection from Indiana to Oregon. (You can read more about Templeton via Chuck Cowdery’s blog and Mark Gillespie’s Whiskycast.)

Bull Run is relying on and having fun with its MGP spirit while it ages its own all-Oregon whiskey (made with Oregon ingredients, in pot stills designed in Oregon). The first local whiskey will be released in 2016. In the meantime, Patrick and crew have released some great spirits with the MGP spirit under their Temperance Trader label. They have a straight bourbon that had lovely notes of vanilla, spice and honey on the nose with a cascading whirlpool of chocolate and tropical fruit on the palate.

My favorite was a spirit that leans into the experimental – a bourbon finished in Italian style chinato casks. The herbal essences of the infused wine translate into a whiskey that has golden raisin and spice on the nose, and all kinds of “grandma is baking” flavors on the palate: cloves, cinnamon, allspice, orange peel and rhubarb. It was like a Manhattan and a pie mashed into a little tasting glass. Perfect for the fall night.

I like that Bull Run is taking its own route to craft distilling. They aren’t afraid to embrace the big guns of MGP (and boldly declare the relationship) and add their own twist as they journey toward an all-Oregon product. I’m excited to swing back in 18 months or so to sample some of their self-made spirit and to see how they balance their present and their future.

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