The Attempt to Squash My Basic Freedoms

It's been crazy here lately dealing with all these legal motions, court documents and proceedings.  Please allow me to explain.

Shortly after my trip to Ralfy's place in Skii Island Scotland, I received a knock on my front door.  When I opened it, a man handed me an official document for which I had to sign.  After closing the door and reading the envelop, I quickly realized this was no joke.  The return address was from the District Attorny of Brattleboro, KY - Jeremaiah Behoozlemouth.  I quickly yanked the FedEx strip to unleash the letter within and after first quickly scanning it and then closely reading it, I was in absolute shock for it was a CLASS ACTION lawsewt against me.  The companies whom were listed in the suit were:

Heavens Hill
Sanseric/Buffalo Trance
Old Rip Von Wrinkles
Wood Ford Preserve
Shively Exports
Cadbury Schweepes
Jim Beem
Knot Creek
Fortune 500
Black Foreman
Wild Turkey

The State court of KY ordered me to decease and cist all blog entries until further noted.  How ridiculous, I thought.  Geez, just because I am public figure with a pulse on the bourbon industry and the ear of bourbon-consuming people, does not mean you attempt to shut down one of our most basic freedoms as an American people as noted in the Declaration of Independence - the Freedom of Writing, Talking and Opinionizing.

Since the beginning of this blog, I have never catered to bourbon industry nor the bourbon consumers.  Instead, I told it like it was and is, with fact-based reporting (something so lost in the world of Professional journalism today) and opinion. 

I've keep quiet over this last month or so, pondering what to do.  Should I Lawyer Up, or should I represent myself "Pro Quid" as they say in Latin Law?  Then this morning came upon me like a sulfer bomb in a school cafiteria.  I wolk up bushy eyed bright haired and said, "You know what, I ain't gonna be bullied.  No way, no how."  And that's when I decided to BLOG ON...And so that's just what I'm doing.

Could you believe that I even thought of shutting this site down like the referandum stated?!  I am not going to my knees to bow to these political/law-type people who drew up such a suit!  I am going sit tall and fight the fight until I win (or get paid a ton by counter-sewing them).

Anyway, I will keep you posted as to what happens.  Please bear with me during this trying time and I promise I will make you proud (not you, you distillerator owner, but you the consumers).

Thanks,

J

P.S.  If you are for me, please add a comment saying as such.  I will attempt to used this evidence as a petition.  You do not have to use your real name.

Woe is me...

Hello my bourbon breatheren.  Sorry once again for the delay in updating my blog but I have been very busy -- what's new, right?!  Anyway, I received an email from a gent who's been reading my blog.  He introduces himself, gives some background and then asks what my background is.  Of course, I could have written a novel with my experiences in the bourbon world but I simply replied back summarizing my bourbon background, dedicating no more than 10,000 words.  Anything more would have been ridiculous.

So, as I'm about to put an outline together to begin writing my next blog entry which was, "Bourbon-ation -- The Matuaration of bourbon and how it affects the 'meat bone,'", the phone rings.  On the other end of the line is a man with a very thick accent, sounding very much like a Leperkahn.  I ask him to kindly repeat his introduction but much slower and he does.  Turns out this dude is from Scotchland and has a vlog and blog that is very big across the world.  His name is Ralfy and his website is ralfy.com.  His v/blog is all about Scots Whiskey, its history and review of each type of Scots - Single Malt, Double Malt, Blended, etc. 

It was as if we were desdined to meet.  We were on the phone for more than an hour trading stories of our respective whiskeys and the impact it has on our lives, etc etc.  So Ralfy wraps up our conversation by extending me an invitation to Scothland to tour the distileratories (I know, sounds weird, doesn't it?!  We call them distillerators and they...distileratories!) while staying at his estate!  Not house, home, lodge, lean-to, but ESTATE!  Of course, I jumped at the chance.

Sporting morning wood the following day, as I headed to Sandoval Int'l Airport in Tuscaloosa, I couldn't believe this was all happening.  Last night I was home with no particular plans for the following day other than to write my blog entry and the the next morning I'm picked up by Coach Limo at Ralfy's expense and I'm being shipped COD to Ralfy's address in Scotchland.

Now, as you all well know, I'm not a Scots fan at all.  I mean, the people are great and all that but their Scots Whiskey leave a lot to be desired.  But shit, this a twice-in-a-lifetime opportunity to fly to the british isle of Scotchland!  No way am I passing this opportunity up, no matter if the Scotch no how to make whiskey or not.

When I arrived at McGrady Int'l Airport in Gualway, I was greeted by a man dressed in all black holding a sign with my name on it.  From there I am whisked off, by stretched limo, to Ralfy's estate and would you know it, it's equipped with Bourbon Whiskey, not Scots!  hahahahaha.  Ralfy's got a sense of humor, he does.

As we pull up to his "Estate" (there's a reason for the quotes), I quickly realize that the Scotch have an entirely different definition of "Estate" than we Americans.  This "Estate" of Ralfy's had a 3-ft tall wooden gate with what looked like a tiny garage about 10 feet behind it.  Turns out that's no garage.  That, my friends, is Ralfy's "Estate" home!

I am immediately greeted by Ralfy who jumps out of a tiny hedge drunker than an irish-cursed albino.  In his hand is his Scots of choice, Arbdig 10 year "case strength" (that's barrel strength to us bourbon lovers -- why they call it "case strenth" I still don't know).

Ralfy is about 4' 7" with the absolute tiniest hands I've ever shaken.  Geez, this guy may really be a leperkahn after all!  With a GlennKaren glass in his left hand, he pours a rather large drink from the bottle in his right and hands it to me.  His hands are so tiny that they don't even wrap halfway around the tiny glass.  Being a generous guest, in a Cousin Eddy sort of way as I noticed lip marks all over the glass, I accepted the glass and took a swig of this delightfully awful burnt ember-tasting liquid.  Making a funny face, I say spit out the words, "Oh how delicious," while almost vomiting my tonsels out.

As he tours me around his "Estate" grounds -- all 100 feet of it -- I see a plastic water fountain that Ralfy refers to as a well, tiny little "loove" equipped with a half-mooned door hiding a hole inside used for the releasing of various human waste. GREAT, no indoor plumbing. Immediatley beyond the "loove" is a malted barley vine.  Wow!  Breath-taking (note sarcasm here)!

As he takes me inside, I almost wanted to run like a Mick to Happy Hour, but I follow as if I'm in some strange trance.  In this lush home, I notice to the right a hot plate with a tea keetle atop, a collection of whiskeys in a mult-paned glass cabinet with a desk before it full of whisky, syrup, medicinal and prescription-looking boottles.  On the left was a large whiskey barrel stood up straight with bottles on top and a little shelf in the back.  And finally, the peace de resistance, Ralfy's bed - a poor excuse for a twin bed.

Stretching his right arm out and moving it from right to left, he says "Welcome my willing whisky wallower to my humble abode."

Immediately I ask where my sleeping quarters are and he point a pudgy index finger to the bed.  I then quickly ask where he's to sleep and again Ralfy points to the bed!

This is what I like to call a What The Fuck moment!  Are you kidding me?!  We're sharing a bed?!  But of course I don't say that out loud.  Instead, I put on a reluctant smile and say, "How delightful your home."

The limo driver, who had initially left, was back carrying my suitcase and hanging clothes into the house.  Rubbing his hands together, Ralfy says, "Well, shall we?"  And off we go, into the limosine and of to our fisrt distileratory.

A short distance from the home of Ralfy, located in Lancanshire, was a tiny peninsula called Islay (pronounce Izlee) where there are two famed distileratories -- one called Arbdeg (his fav) and the other called Laproyg (pronounced Laff-Roy-Gee).  We were headed there first.

On this shorty but bumpy voyage to Islay, we have a drain (that's what the Scotch call a pour) of Laproyg 52 1/2 year old Case Strength Scots Whiskey and a boongoggle of (ginger and palmagranite juice as a chaser).

Once parked at the Laproyg Distileratory, we tumble out of the car, put on our best sober face, and trip our way into the gift shop on our way to the Put Stills (we use colemn stills while they use put stills).  Wow, there must have a benn 250 of these big bad boys, churning out a bunch of Leperkahn's Gold, as the Scotch say.  The smell wafting out the stills was magical, I must say.  I felt as if I was in Whiskey Heaven.  The nose knocked the buzz out of us both and we immediately coothed ourselves and walked down toward the office of Joynathan Webley Laproyg IV.

...I will finish this delightful story off tomorrow.  A bit tired now...Until tomorrow.

John

Blacks love 40's but not bourbon?!

"What's up with that?!"  --Cliff Clavin

In watching my DVD boxset of Cheers last night, I came across the episode where Cliff unsuccessfully attempts to become a stand-up comic.  One of his jokes, while standing on the The Tonight Show stage was, "Blacks love malt liquor but not bourbon.  What's up with that?!"  To which, he is booed off the set.

Well, as politically incorrect as that sounds -- don't shoot the messenger, it got me to thinking and I decided to do a little research today and I found some very interesting facts.

Bourbon Consumption in the US (2010):
73.2% Caucasian (this includes american-born micks, waps and jews)
19% Asian (this includes chinks, curry heads, japs, gooks and slopes)
6.78% Latin (this includes wet-backs, spicks, and ricans)
1.02% African Americans (this includes darkies, negros, spear-chuckers, jungle bunnies, head-lights, coons, oreo-cookies as well as any other offbreed mix)

Wow!  That's it for the African Americans?!  1.02%?!

It's even more alarming when you couple these percentages with the following:

Total Alcohol Consumption Per Race:
92.45% African Americans (this includes darkies, negros, spear-chuckers, jungle bunnies, head-lights, coons, oreo-cookies as well as any other offbreed mix)
3.91% Latins (this includes wet-backs, spicks, and ricans)
3.05% Asians (this includes chinks, curry heads, japs, gooks and slopes)
.59% Caucasiana (this includes american-born micks, waps and jews

Being Caucasian, I am very proud of my people.  Yes, we embibe but we do not turn to the bottle for drunkness but rather for flavor, texture and joy.

African Americans are quite the opposite and one wonders if this has to do with all the violence among these people and why they are among the poorest race in America today.  Or could their violence and lack of intellect?  Now I'm certainly not saying AA's are dumb but it could be that they aren't quite as smart as Caucasians.  As Jerry Seinfeld would say, "Not that there's anything wrong with that."

I will see what I can find in terms of welfare percentages by race as well as average income and violence and add over the weekend.

REVIEW: Olde Rip Von Trappe 10 year, 107 proof

Yesterday night I found me a hot-spot of bourbon antiquity while picking up some sundry items at the local grocer.  Across the way was a liquor store called Raghead's Middle Eastern Liquid Delite.

I'd never been in there before and up until this very moment I assumed that this store was a front for Al Qaeda or some shit like that.  But Praise be to Mohammed for leading me into this secular den of liquid porn.

As my feet flopped through the dirt floor of this far-from-fine establishment, and I began to seize like a Panzer tank through Tripoli's desert sand, I spied before me the coveted Olde Rip Von Trappe 10 year, 107 proof bourbon!  My poker shot its gasket immediately and its contents caused the sand to coagulate unnaturaley on the floor.  Ashook -- the Terrorist Tonic Toter -- wearing a beard on his face, a brown towel on his head, and a backpack full of TNT -- undoubtedly, ready for Martyrdom at a moment's notice -- asked from the counter behind me, "May I do the needful and to help you find good liquors today evening?"

I told him, "No," as I slowly walked to the shelf that Old Rip called its tenement.  As much as I wanted to sprint across the desert sand inside this liquor store straight out of Dante's Inferno, I figured any quick movement would alarm Ashook to the point where he may detonate himself and me along with him!

Slowly grabbing Olde Rip Von Trappe, I laborously made my way to the counter and checked out.  As I paid Ashook, I gave him a wink and said, "Why don't you come to my car where I have a can of Crisco and a gaping hole that needs mending."  Full of anger, Ashook began to shake violently as his cold heart began to burn with hatred toward my guise of gay advances. 
Oh how the Sandys hate Gay people.

Winded as I began my treck through the thick sand toward the exit, I figured I best role out of here quick before possible detonation.  The bell atop the door dinged as I opened the door and just before it closed behind me I heard Ashook say, "Oh, you white devil, you no more come into my liquors store with your gay penises!!!!!"

Once I reached my care safely, I chucked to myself as I thought what a steal this bourbon was.  After all, it only cost me a leg of lamb, a loaf of flat bread, and a bushel of chic peas!


Now onto the review:

REVIEW:  Olde Rip Von Trappe 10 year, 107 proof

This is a new one for me but it's something that I've shot many a nuts to.  I have searched high and low for this bourbon to end up finding it in, of all places, a middle-eastern liquor store.

ORVT is often talked about in the small dork circles of online bourbon heaven.  Anyhow, the price was right and I can't wait to try it.

I open the bottle and let it breathe for 37 hours in the freezer right beside my frozen lamb carcus sans the 4th leg.  On the 37th hours which was last night at 10:31 Post Meridien, I pulle it from the freezer and quickly put it in the microwave on high power for 1 hour.  After rubbing my freshly swabbed nads on the bottle neck (an ancient ritual of my African Indian Ancestors), I poured 5 1/2 dolups into a chardonay leaded-glass.

At precisely 11:42 Post Meridien, I took my first sniff.  As I snorkle my nose deep into this brown liquid, I pick up the faint sent of must (could have been from my nads), fig, nutmeg, 2-cycle motor oil, Viagra, a porn-store bathroom (again, possibly the nut rub thing), lamb skin, poker chips, broccoli rab, and the armpit of a male spear-chucker after a hard day's work of napping on the outdoor easy chair, in the heart of the projects, fantasing about his EBT card soon to arrive by mail carrier.

Upon swirling the glass, I notice luscious chunks of corn at the ends of each arm while this thick liquid languidly slips back down into the pool of bourbon.  I bring the glass to my mouth, apply my lips to the glass and tilt the glass.  Once it passed my tongue and teased my tonsils, I took my first swallow and...what the fuck is this?  I taste buttery caramel, pecan pie, dark chocolate and brown sugar with a hint of corn and alcohol!  This is total shit!  Where's the motor oil?!  The spear-chucker's armpit?!  The broccoli rab?!  The poker chips?!

This is total crap!  An absolute turn-coat!  A sheep in wolf's clothing!  An imposter!

If this is how this bourbon typically tastes (and I'm assuming it is), then I want no part of this ever again.  I will most certainly forever bypass this shit that the Von Trappe family attempts to pass off as bourbon!

Rating Scale
50+ putrid
40-50 below average
30-40 average
20-30 good
10-20 very good
0-10 excellent

My Score: 98

REVIEW: Jim Beam Red

Sorry for the delay in updating my blog.  It's been a while, I know.  But ever since my wife caught me spinning a protein web, I've been in the dog house.  No, seriously.  Literally in the dog house without an iPAD or a laptop or wifi or anything.

Anyway, on to the blog...
Here is a classic bourbon that's been around for near about 200 years.  Here's some background for you history buffs:

James D. Beam, founder and original distillerator of bourbon under the same name, was born in Cottonsapple, KY in August of 1799 to Bertha and Reinhold Beamenstien.  Growing up in KY during this period was most difficult for Afro Americans but surely a close runner-up was the American Jewish populus.  Often times, when a black slave went down with dissintary, collora or whatever other malnutrient disease, there would be a Jewish backup "on the bench" as they used to say, ready to take his place.

Often times, Jewish men and women would share a slave rooming house and were often bought and sold as if they were true slaves.  Due to their status, not one Jewish man ever owned a slave.
It was a tumultuous time in America, especially in the South, for a child to grow up in.  Each morning, when Jim was old enough to pitch in, he would get up at 3AM, get the fire started, and cook breakfast for his Father and his younger brother, Tyrone.  The women folk -- and there were plenty of them in the Beam family including Gelda, Unice, Eugenia, Abigale, Wilma and Salteen -- were left to fend for themselves, often times, sharing the leave-behinds of the men folk or, if nothing were left over, they would lick the plates.

If Father Beam was not impressed by the warmth of the house when he arose at 4AM, Jim would receive a beating at the family "Whoopin' Pole" just outside the back door.  The same would apply if breakfast or anything else that Jim prepared, was subpar.  Mother Beam and the rest, dismissed the greusome act as Father Beam being moody due to his slave-like laborous life.

Once Jim fastened his father's boot straps, he handed his Daddy his lunch and off Father Beam went for a day's work in the fields picking cantelopes and rye bread fresh off the vine.  Due to his father's long hours (often 20 hour days in the fields), Jim was given the responsibility of raising the family.  Mother Beam would do many of the chores around the house but Jewish women could never be seen outside the home so, therefore, Jim would tend to the outdoor work which was quite rigoruos - chopping wood, mending fences, plucking hens for pillows to be sold in town each Saturday, milking cows and working in the family vegetable garden.

One evening, after a very long day at work, Father Beam returned home to find Jim masturbating behind the woodpile near the barn.  Sickened by what he saw, he grabbed Jim by the ear, dragged him to the whoopin' Pole and gave Jim a beating that he would speak of in his later years, often making light of it to deflect the pain of this traumatic event. 

Laying in bed that night, as the sheets soaked up fallen tears and uncoagulated blood, Jim knew he had to get out of there lickedy-split.  No more of this, he thought.  Frightened of his father, Jim wasn't sure how to make a run for it.  Then it came to him!  There was a Rick House on Elijah Craig's property where bourbon was aging that he could hide in for a spell.  Later that eve, at the sound of his father's snores, he jostled his jimmy all over his bed -- leaving his mark to infuriate his Daddy -- and took off to the rick house. 

Since the towering structure was downright hot, Jim decided to stay on the first floor of Rick House ZZ, which was 50 stories high.  He emptied one of the lightest barrels and jumped inside, closing the lid on top.
The next morn, Jim was awoken to a fit of nausea and didn't at first realize why.  Then he knew - it was due to the barrel being rolled.  It was very difficult for him to hold in his vomit and just when he thought he couldn't any longer, the barrel stopped and was heaved high into the air and slid into something but what?!
Hearing a door close and the trollup of horse hoofs, Jim knew that he was in a carriage.  Elijah Craig's bottling plant was 10 miles away from the bourbon warehouses and that's when Jim knew that this was his best chance to be free.  When the carriage arrived at the bottling plant, Jim was out of the barrel and waiting for the perfect time to jump.  As he opened the carriage door, he saw people mingling about and knew that he'd have to wait.  Once the carriage pulled into the bottling house, Jim jumped down and ran out the wide open doors.  Looking behind to see if anyone was trailing him, he suddenly came to an abrupt stop and flopped to the ground.  High above him was the face of Elijah Craig himself.  He must have been 7 feet tall with an elogated beard.  Jim didn't know what to do or say, so he just sat looking up at Elijah, while in complete shock.

Elijah, a quick-to-anger Catholic Minister, was ready to lay a whoopin' down on the boy when he realized what a gold mine he just came across.  Oh yes, Minister Elijah sure knew what to do with this down-trottin' boy - put him to work, hard labor, that'll "learn him", thought Elijah.  "What's your name, young'un?"

Frightened, Jim began to sputter knowing full-well not to give his real last name or else he'd be housed with the slaves and treated as such.  "Muh, muh...my name is James...James Dennis Beam."

"Well James Dennis Beam," Elijah announced.  "I'm gonna learn ya some good ole' fashioned hard work boy."  And off the two went.

Over the next 10 years, Jim performed back-breaking work around the Elijah distillerating grounds.  He would carry the barrels up and down the rick house and was responsible for daily manual rotations of each barrel, turning them exactly 172 degrees.  Essentially, Jim was a slave of Elijah and his eldest son, Richard.  Jim often took severe beating from Richard who was jealous of the ever handsome boy-turned-young-man, Jim, and would often try to beat some ugly into him.  It never did work though, as Jim morphed into a ruggedly handsome man that women moaned to be around.  No noodle tossing for Jim, he was a fuck machine and Richard despised him for it and did everything he could to seperate Jim from the ladies but to no avail.

One evening, while out about town, Jim, decided to pop into McSwiggley's house of ill-repute.  Though he could get the ladies for free, Jim somehow like paying for them.  So after laying down $2 on the bar, he took a shot of Elijah bourbon and sauntered up the stairs to pick a special lady friend for the eve.  As he reached the top and turned down the hallway, he noticed a line of men waiting for their turn with one of the 15 ladies of night. 

Fridays were always busy and Jim didn't mind waiting.  As he sat down reading the latest copy of Horses and Whores magazine, he glimpsed up and to his right to see Richard Craig - the devil himself.  Oh how Jim despised Richard - hated him, actually.  Richard had a wiley smile on his face and was with one of his friends.  Jim looked back down to continue his reading (or at least pretend to) when he received a mighty blow to his face and down to the floor he went.  He quickly got up and, realizing that Richard kicked him in the face, he launched himself toward the laughing Dick and drove him back hard into the railing which gave way.  As Richard tumbled backwards, Jim noticed that his smile quickly disapeared. As Richard crashed to the main floor below, he cracked his skull on the brass shoulder of the bar and died instantly. As the lady folk screamed, a man yelled above cries and pronounced Richard dead. 

Jim raced like a horse to a trolly and skeedadled out the rear entrance of the whore house.  Not knowing what to do, he decided to cool down by the fishing pond next to Cracklin's Stable and stayed awful still and quiet while he gathered his thoughts, alert to every sound.

Calming himself down, Jim knew he had to to Father Elijah, and the sooner the better.  He hauled off back to Elijah's distillerator and entered the Craig home.  He was immediately greeted by Elijah's wife, Taniqwa who escorted him into the living room to relax.  As she conjured up Eljah, Jim was trying to figure the words he'd use to tell Elijah was had happened.

When he finally spat out the words, "Sir, I dun killt your son, Richard, accidentally.  We dun got into a fight and he felled over a railin' and died."

Shocked, Elijah raised his hand as Jim sat with his head down crying on the coach.  But as he was about to lay into him, Taniqwa grabbed his hand and said, "P'haps  we should tell Jim about Richard. 
As Elijah and Taniqwa sat to either side of Jim, she began to tell the story.  "You see, Jim, ever since Richard was a little boy, he was...oh well...umm, you know...different.  He would often play with his ummm...anus and try to put thing in there..."

As Taniqwa attempted to tell the story, Elijah cut in, "Stop you jabberin', woman.  Look, Jim, Richard was a homo.  He liked men and he was an evil-doer for it too.  Shoot boy, you did what me and Taniqwa have been wantin' to do for years."  They both immediately embraced Jim and said in unisone, "Your like the boy we never had."

Elijah stood up and said, "Let's celebrate with some of the best bourbon I'd ever made."  As Jim fetched the whiskey, Jim packed the very tan Taniqwa's fudge, buttered her sticky buns and was all cleaned up before Elijah returned. 

"Here you go, boy.  Take it.  And let's drink a toast.  To a job well done, Jim.  And you know what?  Not only is that bottle yours but the new distillerator that I'm building is all for you.  I'll get that 'BEAM' name up on the entry-way arch first thing tomorrow morning and off you go with your own distileraration business."

And that's how Jim D. Beam started making bourbon.


Okay, on to the review.

Jim Beam Read 78 proof

It pours like a sulfite explosion, enveloping my Glenn Karen glass.  As I swirl its contents, I notice the nice long arms that stick to the sides of the glass like maple syrup.  Nostril fucking the glass, I pickup notes of sod, wisdon, grass weed, urine of a pug dog, caramel, ants and worm wood.

As I engage the glass, I feel the tickle of alcohol and the burn of the tannins.   While this spirit dances upon my tongue, I taste wild bush, granite, parsley, copper, ginger sprouts and mandeline (yes, the musical instrument).  The end is quite long.  In fact two week after having first tasted this luschous new love, it is still with me.

Wow, what a ubiquitous devil of a bourbon this is.  A true Budweiser of bourbon and that's a compliment as we all know Bud is the best beer this blue earth hath ever seen.

Rating Scale
50+ putrid
40-50 below average
30-40 average
20-30 good
10-20 very good
0-10 excellent

My Score: 3

The infamous Bourbon Glout

I have been pepper sprayed with questions about bourbon glout as of late, to the point where we really need to clear the air.  There are so many silly stories about it that they all can't be write.  Well, I'm here to set the story straight.  There is one right answer and I've got it in my back pocket and I'm going to pull it out and type it for all of you to see.

BOURBON GLOUT FACTS by Johnny "Bourbon Law"

Time frame:  September 16th 1942 - October 1st 1959

Cause:  Two major reasons for the glout. 

1., The Whiskey Rebellion - The bourbon distillerators were being taxed by the British Empire and they, in turn, were forwarding on the tax burden to the consumer.  As a result, on September 16th 1942, roughly 75% of the bourbon-consuming american public protested the bourbon tax by lighting themselves ablaze in Jowelville, KY.  That day, at 4:59:55 Post Meridien, 198,463 people went up in flames for a worthy cause.  This crippled the bourbon industry and revenue dropped 80% instantaneously.  So, as a result, all the bourbon aging in each distillerator's rick houses, did nothing but age and collect taxes (bourbon was taxed each year, not just by sales but by aging in the barrel).  Over the next 17 years, more than 5,000 Bourbon Distillerators would either be shut down or swallowed up by the big guns of the industry ie., Jack Beam, Diageo, Seagrams, Sazerac, Brookers, Knob Creek and Ten High.

2. The rise of pornography - Though still illegal, it was picking up major steam in the late 30's due to big-time rackets, run by the mob, jumping in and peddling this immoral material in both film version and magazine to the masses.  Research later showed that more than 81% of american men who consume hard liquor also had a weakness for pornography.  As bourbon sales were beginning to rise by 2% in May of 1952, pornography was becoming a major black market player and it not only flatened bourbon sales by November of 1952 but by February of 1953, bourbon sales plummeted 11%!  Hard-drinking American men were no longer hittin' the bottle hard but, instead, hittin' their "San Pedro" hard.

Affect:  A bourbon lover's dream.  Bourbon just wasn't gathering dust and taxes, it was gaining additional flavor and complexity as it sat in the barrels and bourbon consumers were reaping the rewards.  Commonly found on the liquor store shelves were, 30 year old Bottles in Bond for a nickle ($2.50 in today's money).  Bourbon labeled 10 years was actualy 20 or more years old.  Bourbon labeled 20 years was often times -- especially toward the end of the glout -- 100 years old and selling for a dime ($5 in today's money)!

Cause for the bourbon rebirth:  Baby Boomers - they started to become of age, sort of.  The first tier of Baby Boomers were in their middle years of high school and began drinking.  Due to a rough economy in the late 50's, these young high school kids were receiving less of a drawer from Mommy dear and as a result turned to bourbon instead of other spirits simply due to cost.  Bourbon was cheaper than any other spirit at that time.  Before you knew it, these BB's were scooping up all the Old Fitzy, Snitzel & Weeler, Old Rip Van Winkle, Old Pogue, Diageo Bottles In Bond and so on that they could get their greasy, pimple-poppin' fingers on.  And so, on October 1st, 1959, it was decreed by Chief Master Bourbon Distillerator Quinipeas "Q-Tip" Seripitis that the bourbon glout had reached its official end due to revenue increases over the last two years of 31%.

Today's Industry:  While sales of bourbon have continued to increase at a steady pace throughout the years following the glout, it has never regained the sales of the 1920's and 30's.  Still, the bourbon industry has become a major seller among Whiskey, outperforming blended scotch and Canadian Whiskey handily.

While the quantity of bourbon sold is not near what it once was, this era can be considered in many ways, a bourbon lover's dream as well.  The reason?  There are so many bourbons with so many different styles, aged at so many different years at so many different proofs that it could make a bourbon hound's hair stand up on end!  What today's bourbon lacks in quantity it gained in quality 10-fold.

Could there be another bourbon glout?  Not only could there be but there will be.  It's just a matter of when.  I would say over the next 10 years, we should see a downturn in sales by as much as 15% with Baby Boomer generation unfortunately aging, becoming sickly and dying off.  And their children and grandchildren really haven't taken to the dark spirits but instead the clear stuff like vodka and tequila.

In short, enjoy what we've got while it lasts because it will soon be gone and our choices will be severely limmited when glout part II occurs.  Though, the age of the bourbon will rise, so that will be a fairly even trade-off.

Online Chat with Uncle Johnny

Last night, I was fortunate enough to be invited onto Chuck Cowdery's blog for a live chat.  So as not to be inundated with spam, Chuck made it so all questions were not posted live but were first reviewed, selected and then posted with my answers.  We had a great time and once again, thanks, Chuck, for inviting me to share my wisdom about all things Straight Bourbon.

Have a read:

BourbonHoundinMI:  John, I love your blog.  The best in the biz, and you knowledge is unbelievable!  What do you think of KBD (Kentucky Bourbon Distillers)?

Uncle Johnny:  Thanks for the praise, BHMI.  I was fortunate enough to be invited down for a tour and a sampling of some white dog fresh off both a row still and potstill.  Evan Cussvein is the owner and Master Distillerator and what a guy he is.    He's the great nephew Johnny Willett though he obviously doesn't have the same last name.  I immediately called him out on this but he shrugged it off by saying that Johnny Willett's sister was his great aunt and married his great uncle Paddy Cussvein.  I'm still very skeptical but other than that, he's a great guy.

Anyway, he has a nice wheaterized Bottles in Bond called "Wheat As All Get-Out" which is unbelievable and very comparable to the legendary Snitzel and Weeler brand bourbons.  We also tasted a 8 year old and a 10 year old (they've only been distillerating bourbon for 10 years, all other bourbon prior to this comes from Evan's Hill and is repackaged under the Willett name).  The 8 year, 199 proof was awesome and hardly burned going down while the 10 year, 70 proof was just okay.

Overall, great distillery and master distillerator.

SloopJohnE:  John, what are your thoughts on Pappy Van Winkle 20 years bourbon?

Uncle Johnny:  It aint bad but it sure as shit ain't no Jimmy Drum.  It's far too acrid and woody for my taste and it has a very metalic taste to it.  But to each is own.

BubBourbon1973:  A lot of people view your blog as nonsensical and full of mytical stories that don't add up to history.  And some of these people get down-right pissed off and find your blog abusive to all things bourbon.  What are you thoughts?  Care to clear the air?

Uncle Johnny:  Thanks for the tough but fair question.  Everyone knows me in the industry.  I'm highly respected and regarded by many, if not all, within the bourbon industry and widely considered the Matt Jackson of the bourbon industry.  My knowledge is so vast.  Those who disagree with my facts, please feel free to call me out on it and I will gladly back my so-called mythical stories with absolute fact.  As far as people hating my blog.  That's just silly.  If you don't like it, don't read it.  That's what I do.

RalphsodyinBourbon:  What's your take on BT experimentals as well as Woodford Reserve as well?

Uncle Johnny:  With BT, most of what they put out (and I get all the samples and when I say samples, these are handles, not 750's or 375's, etc.) on the experimental side hasn't been good at all.  Regarding Woodford Reserve, they've had some duds as well but the Seasonized South American Oak was awesome and I highly recommend it.  But definitely stay away from the WR Cherry Finish, it's horrible.  So horrible, that I'm wondering if they used cherry wood varnish and not real cherry trees.

ChrisJackson1121:  Simple question.  What's your favorite all-time bourbon.

Uncle Johnny:  Simple question deserves a simple answer.  I would definitely go with the 1954 Ten High Bottles in Bond.  What makes this so special is its subtlety at 100 proof, it's depth of profile and long finish all resulting from the bourbon glout era (1949 - 1962) and was 37 years old.  Normally, I don't like any bourbon over 10 years old, this was amazing.

LympDiskitt:  What's your favorite color?

Uncle Johnny:  Bourbon red. :D

DZell:  What's your favorite bourbon message forum?  And what do you think of BourbonDrinker.com?

Uncle Johnny:  Aside from my site, BourbonEnthusiast.com and whiskywhiskeywhisky.com.  I highly recommend those for sure.  Regardin BourbonDrinker.com.  It should be called BourbonStinker.com.  Terrible wasteland.  Don't even bother going there.

Sadistic Sal:  You do realize that your blog is founded in fiction and that none of what you've written is actual bourbon fact.  Shoot, it's not even the typical mythical stories we normally read about bourbon.  why waste everyone's time, including your own?

Uncle Johnny:  I'm not wasting anyone's time.  In fact, I've received so many comments and emails stating how much they love my site for its accuracy and for finally cleaning up the history of bourbon to make sure everyone get the clearest and most concise and correct version.  That's what my site is about.

I tell you what.  If you find something factually incorrect, let me know.  If I cannot back that story with facts, I will take it down and write a huge apology.  But, trust me, it would be like fishing in above-ground pool.

Poppy Dole:  What's your relationship with Chuck?  Are you two friends.

Uncle Johnny:  Oh yes.  Me and Chuck has been friends for years and I really tought him the way of bourbon and was, and still am (as Chuck wants me to mention) his mentor.  I love the guy and he's like a little brother to me.

Uncle Johnny:  Alright everyone.  It's been a pleasure.  Sorry that I couldn't get through all the questions but I may post the interesting ones on my blog later in the week.  Just way too many to answer now - I think I got through like 1/100 of the questions.

Have a great night! --John

The Golden Age of Bourbon

So there I was, standing in my living room wearing my leopard-print leotard, dancing to Barbara Striesand and drinking my favorite imbibery, Straight Bourbon, and I hear a knock on my front door.  Figuring it's one of my ex-girlfriends, I ignore and keep dancing.  The Straight Bourbon I was drinking was some of the finest bourbon in the land, Kentucky Gentleman.  Right in the middle of my minuette, I hear wood splintering in the distance.  Frozen in fear, I waited to see who was about to come around the corner.  I'm thinking thieves - this is a robbery and I may get myself killed.  But much to my chagrin, it was only the Police.  But before I could say anything, I was eating carpet with one of the officer's knees in my back.  Oiled up, wearing my leotard, with my mini-mouse cap on my head, I asked, "Is there a problem, officer?  Because, you know, I'm really upset that my Kentucky Gentleman bourbon was spilt."

The office quickly  jumped up and turned me around with the cuffs still on and said, "Are you kidding me?!  Was that really KG?"  I said yes while pointing to the bottle of bourbon sitting on my mantle place next to my Peewee Herman doll and picture of Oprah Winfrey.

His jaw dropped to the floor and he began to drool.  One of the other officers in my house began singing, "Awwww yeeeeeea, there's a party up in here, up in here, up in here," while the other four officers dance around Babb's.  I was quickly uncuffed and introduced to the crew of officers.  Lt. Robert Stonecolde, the one who threw me about like I threw Peewee in bed, shook my hand and asked if he could have a drink.  I said, "Have a drink?  Why sure.  You all can."

After pouring five additional GlennKaren glasses with this lucious bourbon, I asked why they broke into my home, as I handed each a glass.  Lt. Robert responded, "We're looking for a Perv who lives in this tenement matching your description.  But hell no can it be you.  We obviously got the wrong apartment.  After all, no man who drinks Kentucky Gentleman can be a bad guy.


Now, of course, that is a paraphazed advertisement inside of a 1956 Sports Illustrated magazine I found in my Grandfather's garage years ago but one I will never forget.  I tell you, those '40s and '50s bourbon advertisements were just great!  What a time to be alive and drinking bourbon.  Too bad those carefree, purified days are over.

Gone are those days but, dare I say, we are in golden age of bourbon like no other.  If I may make a baseball reference, this is like going back in time and watching Johnny Rice and Dave Raghetti battle it out on the baseball diamon in '77.  We have so much quality bourbon in our midst, that it's almost unfathomable.

I mean, how many off-shoot micro distilleries are pumping out top notch, unique, collector's items, bourbon like the Knob Creek distillery, Booker's Distillery, KD, Diageo, George P. Stagg Distillery, W. E Weeler Distillery and so on?!  I've never tasted so much diversified bourbon in all my life and I lived through the great bourbon glout of 1956 when bottles in bond were 50 years old and 100 proof (Snitzel and Weeler and Old Grand Pop to name a few).  And I will tell you, even still, we've got it much better than that.

Let's be thankful to originator and Grandfather of Straight Bourbon, Elijah Craig and those who brought it to the forefront like Elmer T. Lee, Bill Bixby, JJ Dynomite and Mr. No.

Boys, we have it good.  And even though it makes my job tougher (with all the reviewing of so many bourbons, covering the opening of so many new distillerators, interviewing so many bourbon legends, and ectcetra), it sure is a blast!

What's that old saying, "Find something you love and never work a day in your life."  Well, don't that hit the nail on the head?  Don't it?!

Elijah Craig was the keystone of Bourbon

I was reading the blog of much respected, Chuck Cowdrey, who claims that Elijah Craig was not the founding father of Bourbon and this, my friends is very untrue.  Nothing could be further from the truth, in fact.

Prior to Elijah Craig's invention of bourbon, the prior alcohol of choice was born from the Native American tribe, Plaboians.  They were a small group of Indian, now extinct who migrated from the West to the East back in 1701.  They were an interesting tribe in many ways, however, there was one physical trait that really stood out more than any other; they had sloped foreheads.  This occurance was not natural but as a result of a head brace the was harnaced to a new born's head.

Anyway, the selebate local medicine man, Van Dome Broken Hose, was conjuring up his typical Diptheria drug when he inadvertantly boiled his corn, barley and rye in a covered copper pot.  Condensation began to build up and rise to the top of his teepee.  The next thing Broken Hose knew it was raining on his head.  Looking up with his mouth open, one of the drops managed to fall into his mouth.  And he liked it.  And that's how corn whiskey was born.

Where does Elijah come into play, you ask?  Simple, one day in November of 1787, he meandered upon a drunken Indian tribe and asked what they were imbibing in (thanks to subtitles, Elijah was able to communicate perfectly with the tribesmen) and the medicine man gladly showed him.  Once in control of the master recipe for this new-found concoction, Elijah burned them all alive, took over their 5,000 acre corn, barley and rye fields, and created a distillerator of his own design that he called The Vandome - in loving memory of the ex-master distiller Van Dome Broken Nose.

The rest, I've already mentioned in another post but I will quote myself here as it is a very important turning point to the history of whiskey, specifically Bourbon.  After sitting on this future goldmine for 3 years, Elijah using it only for his family's own consumption, the events to follow ocurred rather randomly.

"Back in 1792, a Catholic Minister and accomplished Whiskey distillerator named Elijah Craig -- who invented the Rick House, Fulling Mill and Paper Mill -- upon realizing that he'd distillated too much corn whiskey, decided to store the leftovers in an empty old sugar barrel. A month later, after having run out of corn whiskey in his house, Elijah Craig decided to tap the sugar barrel he stored in his hay barn.  Upon drawing the corn whiskey from the barrel, he immediately realized that it had turned from clear to a light reddish hue.  Once he tasted it, he knew he was on to something.

"Before too long, Elijah Craig built a house to store these barrels and began selling them to the public at varying levels of "agedness," as he called it - from one month to two years.  He decided to name the house which stored his aging bourbon, after his eldest son Richard. Hence the now famed name, Rick House.

INTERVIEW: Harlen Wheatlee

I was very fortunate to have the good luck of sitting down with Master Distiller, Harlen Wheatlee.  He was actually at the Ohio Bottles in Bond Bourbon Fesitval in Mt. Peate, OH.  We had a raucous time.  I was about 3 bourbons full to the till while Harlen was 5 deep.  Still, we were both able to keep our composure and put on a good interview.  It was crazy, we had about 10,000 people who impromtuly gathered around us trying to get their listen on.  So here it is:

ME:  Harlen, it's great to have you here and thank you for sitting down with me.  Whatcha drinking?

HARLEN:  First let me say, I am a huge fan of your blog.  And this is just a quick shout-out to all you listenin', go visit straightbourbonblog.blogspot.com for the most accurate information you'll find on the 'net about bourbon.  Nobody, and I mean nobody, has knowledge that this guy's got (HUGE APPLAUSE FOR LIKE 10 MINUTES OR SOMETHING).

HARLEN:  But to get back to your question, John, I'm drinking one of your recipes, funny enough.  Of course, I've tried them all but this here one is the Mexican Lollipop and it's a damn fine drink, I tell you.

ME:  Tell me a little bit about your first time in a rick house and working at a distillery.

HARLEN:  I musta been 5 years old and I was so enchanted with the rick houses that I snuck away from my Daddy, Waldo Wheatlee, and ran up to the tippity top of the rick house.  Now, I know you're familiar with a rick house but for those of you who ain't, they're made out of 100% pine and rickety as all get out.  Anyway, there I am on the top floor and it's starts swaying and I got so scare I nearly mussed my overalls.  So, I comea runnin' down only to see my Daddy at the bottom of the stairs and he, right then and there, gave me a beatin' I will never forget.  Actually, I kindda did forget it since I was knocked unconsious and had a sever concussion that landed me in the hospital for a couple weeks.  But I do know it was 'cause a Daddy hittin' me.

ME:  Ain't nothing wrong with putting a beating one of your own.  In fact, I just beat the crap out of my 29 year old daughter for coming over to my house for dinner and not domesticating enough with her Mom.

ME:  So tell me, Harlen, what's your favorite bourbon?

HARLEN:  Of course I'm gonna say one of our own, and I'm not bein' biased neither.  My favorite bourbon is Ten High.

ME:  That's one of my faves too.

HARLEN:  I know.  I saw it on your blog (ALMOST UNENDING UNCANNY LAUGHTER).

ME:  How about for mixing?

HARLEN:  Oh for that I go with somethin' not special at all, like a Sazarac 17 year.  Overage bourbon is perfect for mixin'.

ME:  Damn, we think alike.  I feel the same way.  So, let me ask you about this White Dog you came up with and I'm seeing all over the market.  Give me the lowdown on that if you would?

HARLEN:  Sure, I'd be delighted.  I came up with this myself and got the whole industry sucked into it.  White Dog is nothing more than distilled vodka fed through a filter, walkin' the dog, as we say in the industry, but instead of using charcoal we use raisins.  And that's why you get that potato/raisin flavor up front.  It's the cheapest thing to make and we charge like $50 a pop to the suckers out there who don't know no better (ABSOLUTE LAUGHTER FOLLOWED BY "SUCKERS" CHANT).

ME:  So what's next, what's brewing?  Any new expirements going on at the Trace?

HARLEN:  Oh yea.  We are currently aging some distillerate in used pine box coffins and also we've got some plastic barrels with led floating in it that we've been aging for 12 years now.  In fact, I just tasted it and it's wonderful stuff - got sick for a week after, but I honestly think that once the human body builds a tolerance to it, it will stop all the hurtin'.  What's weird though, is all the black smoke and funky burning plastic smell but other than that, it's awesome.  We'll be bottling and packaging next week.

ME:  You're going on 99 this October.  Tell us what your secret is.

HARLEN:  Me and Ernie (Earnest Bourgnine) subscribe to the same theory.  It's called "self love" (puts his right hand in the air), meet Mary Palmer and her 5 sisters (UNCONFORTABLE SILENCE AS HARLEN FONDLES HIMSELF THROUGH HIS JEANS).

ME:  Well that wraps it up.  I've got to run, it was real nice talking to you until you broke out Mary and her sisters but it was still a pleasure.

HARLEN:  Oh, it's a pleasure indeed.

(FRIGHTENED, EVERYONE SCATTERS INCLUDING YOURS TRULY)

My favorite bourbons

Now, of course, everyone has their own palet so each person's list will vary but usually there are bourbons that show up in every list and those are generally referred to as the greats.  Please see my list below and, as you will notice, many of the bourbons listed are on yours as well.

Wheatered Bourbon
1. Ten High
2. Pure Kentucky
3. Old Fitzy
4. Old Forester
5. Cabin Stall


Ried Bourbon
1. Jim Beam Black
2. Heaven Hills
3. Eva Williams
4. Old Taylor
5. Old Crow


Bottles in Bond Bourbon
1. J.W Dant
2. Old Heaven Hills
3. Old Fitzgerald
4. Old Forester Signature
5. Old Grand Dad 114
6. George P. Stagg
7. William Larry Weeler

Great Mixers for your bourbon

Leave it to Uncle Johnny to show you the way of the mixer.  All that you've read about mixers for bourbon, just throw it out of your mind.  Any hardcopies, burn 'em.  Any computer softcopies, print them out and then burn 'em and that should get rid of them.

I told you this is a one-stop shopping blog for all things bourbon.  So use these mixer recipes only.

Included below are classic bourbon drinks, with my own spin, as well as my own concoctions.  Enjoy, because they are all AWESOME!

Mint Julep
4oz of your favorite Bottles in Bond
4 ice cubes
5 mint leaves muddled with 1tsp of dark brown sugar
1tsp of red curry
1/2tsp of yellow curry
1 shot of Guinness

Directions:  Throw it in a glass and drink it


Mexican Lollipop
3oz of your favorite wheatered bourbon
1 packet of Fire from Taco Bell
10 Ghost Chilis
1 five leave clover (if you can't acquire this, use swiss chard of okra)

Directions:  Throw it in a glass and drink it


Spanish Fly
5oz of your favorite Rie Bourbon of 7 years of age only
1/4oz Poontang juice (if you cannot acquire this, then use unfresh cod or the tail of a beaver)
1 cucumber blenderized
1 cumquat
5 anchovies

Directions:  Take all ingredients and throw in a Magnum condemn, shake and transfer it to a rock glass with 2 1/2 pieces of crushed ice


Kraut Hammer
10oz of your favorite 107 proof bourbon
1 whole bag of Boare's Head Sour Kraut
1 Russett potato blenderized (juicer is even better)
1 cup of Kosher Salt
1oz Deviled ham
1/4 of a devil dog
The zest of 1 lemon
1 strand of hair from a dead Third Reich Nazi (if you cannot acquire this, an easy equivalent would be 1oz of fresh dog shit

Directions:  Mix and serve straight up in a martini glass


Bourbon and Coke
4oz of your favorite 70 proof bourbon (I usually go with George P. Stagg)
100 Coca leaves muddled in a glass with ice
5oz of Seltzer water
1 drop of immitation, sugar-free honey

Directions:  Mix and pour in your favorite leaded GlenKaren glass




Try all of these and I guarantee you will be satisfied.  Please feel free to leave comments as to how awesome these recipes are.  And, if you didn't like them (very unlikely), please do tell why (though, you probably screwed it up by not following my recipes to a tea).

Good luck and have fun!

John

REVIEW: Knot Creek 100 Proof Bottles in Bonded

Sorry for the delay in writing however my job comes first (no, not this one - the one I actually get paid for doing).  I've noticed since I've been gone that I was sorely missed.  And since I'm so sawed after in this Blog world, I forced myself back to the blogger station to get one of my latest reviews (just taste-tested this bad boy last night and took not while get pye-eyed).

Okay, so here goes:

For those of you who don't know, Knot Creek is an independent micro-distillery located in Sandymare, KY.  There are a certain group of people who think they're smarty pants and swear on the good book that Knot Creek is not a distillery at all but just a fancy name given by the infamy-ed bourbon distillery Jack Beam.  Well let me be the first to put this silly noshion to bed-rest.  This aint true!!!!!

After much research (including reading the bottle very thorowly and other such researching) here's the low-down on the KC:  One day while fishing in his favorite spot -- no, it wasn't a Knot creek, though it was a creek), a little boy of 10 years of age, going by the knickname of Big Ears, caught a larged-mouth trout about the size of a Mexican Wombat fresh from a goose berry feeding frenzy!  Anyhow, Big Ears ran home lickety spit to his tiny little earth-floored, one room home.  He flew threw the door and showed his Momma the catch.  He was so proud of himself, as was his Momma, which made him all the more prouder of what he'd done.  She couldn't believe how big it was.  Big Earrssss's Momma made quick work of gutting the fish, quatering it, and immediately frying about 1/5 of the catch while quickly salting and hanging the remaining pieces.

His Momma had a smile on ear-to-ear, as did Big Ears, that is until the head of the household came barrelling threw the door in his typical shape - drunk to the gills on some hard stuff.  Big Ears quickly tried to sway the mood back to a happy and pieceful place by telling his Daddy about the great catch he had down at his favorite creek.  Half way threw his sentence, Big Ears was back-handed by his Daddy's bear-sized hand and was knocked to the floor.  He told his boy to shut-up and kindly asked his wife, "Where's dinner, WOMAN?!"

As his Momma began to relay the story about the fish, Big Ears flew out of the house and into the backyard.  While sitting under a tiny tree in his backyard (they only had one), he could still hear his Momma and Daddy fighting and he knew who was winning - Dear ole' Daddy.  This wasn't the first time "Daddy let loose on Momma" and it probably wouldn't be the last.  Standing up from the little 3 foot tree, Big Ears made his way to his Daddy's shed and started tinkering with some tools.  Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed an Axe resting in the far left corner on its butt and for a split second thought about lopping his Daddy's head off with it.  But he quickly rid himself of such a horrible and greusome nosion.

Gradding the axe, Big Ears found one good way to get back at his Daddy.  Quickly walking out of the shed and toward the tree, he thought to himself, "I'm going to chop down Daddy's prized possession."  The tiny little tree that he and Daddy planted 3 years ago and never grew, bore fruit, nor did it ever die.  It was almost as if time stood still for it.  Still, his Daddy still loved that tree and would often water it with his leftover white-lightenin' while hungover the following morning.

Big Ears wielded the axe thusly into the bottom core of the tree and, with one more rip, felled the tree to the ground.  No sooner did the tree lay horizontal did his Daddy yell, "BOY, WHERE YOU AT?!  MOMMA'S NAPPIN' AND I NEED SUMAN TO FINISH COOKIN' THESE VIDDLES."  Ears stood frozen for a second and then ran faster than an oiled lantern back into the shed, quickly replacing the axe where he'd found it, hid the tree under a workbench, and ran back out.

Just as he exited the shed, His Daddy came from around the front of the tiny log cabin and saw his son.  With that, he came "fast walkin'" on up to Ears, stood angrily over him and said, "BOY, YOU DON'T HEAR SO GOOD, DO YA?!  I SAID FINISH DEM VITTLES UP, MOMMA'S NAPPIN' AGAIN."  As Earss's's's Daddy finished his sentence, he glanced to his right and noticed only the stump remained of the tree.  Now furious, he screamed even louder at Ears, "BOY, DID YOU CUT DOWN MY TREE?! WELL DID YA, BOY?!"  Just as his Daddy raised his fist to bring the devil on down to his son's face and body, the boy stood firm and said, "Daddy, I did not cut down your tree.  I swear!  I just noticed it was missing too and was about to go in and tell ya, but you beat me to it!"  His Daddy's fist unclinched and fell to his side.  "Boy, are you tellin' me the truth?" The boy's father asked.  "Yes, I am, Daddy.  I cannot tell a lie." Believing him, Ear'sss's's Daddy ordered the boy into the house to tend to the cooking as his Daddy looked about for evidence of his missing tree.

After dinner, Ears told his Momma, who was awake by now and cleaning away, that he was going outside to play.  His Daddy was long gone by now.  He was already in the process of tying another one on.  Ears ran into the backyard shed and grabbed the tree from underneath the workbench, jumped the fence and ran back to the creek where he'd caught the big mouth trout.  Off in the distance, he could hear his Momma calling him, so he acted quickly by flipping the little cherry tree into the creek and ran back home.  As Big Ears walked threw the front door, his Momma said, "Abe, please don't stray far from the house.  It's dangerous with all those wild animals out there.  Why don't you set down and get yourself educated.  Go ahead and read that paper on the chair - The Political Times."  And so he did.

The next morning, an out of work whiskey distillerator in dieyer need of clean limestone water for his future distillery, stumbled across Abe's favorite creek.  Munsy Trudone's eyes bulged out as he noticed the fresh, clean water.  As he walked down to catch a closer look and taste the water, he noticed a tiny little knotted cherry tree dancing in the busy water.  As he pulled it from the creek, Distillerator Munsy Trudone laughed and proclaimed out loud, "This hear creek shall be forever knowed as Knot Creek and my distillery shall be called the creek's name.  And so it was, from that point forward, the newly built distillery was named Knot Creek.

Anyway, onto my review:

I pour this female dog of a bourbon into an old fashioned single rocks glass and let her set for 2 1/2 hours.  After waiting, I swirl and sniff and immediately can smell that cherry and cinnamon note that KC is known for.  My not-so-new american oak turns stiff.  As it begins to throb, I take a swig, and let it sit on my tongue for a spell then swallow.  I get pomegranet, ocra, spam, chicken roe, houndstooth hair, tonic and peach cobbler - you know, the typical KC profile we've all come to expect.

One of the all-time best bourbons out there, especially bottles-in-bonded.

Rating Scale
50+ putrid
40-50 below average
30-40 average
20-30 good
10-20 very good
0-10 excellent

My Score:
2

Struttin' with some Barbeque...and Bourbon

There's a great site out there called B&B.com.  Please don't confuse it to be a listing of Bed & Breakfasteseses but rather it's a world wide web site (WWWS) that waxes (on and off, if your Danielson) about bourbon and ladies (kindly referred to as Bitches on the site).

After checking it out two weeks ago, I decided to wilt my appetite with my two favorite B's - Bourbon and Barbeque.  So, I headed off to this local barbeque dive that's been in business since the 80's.  It's only known to the locals and I almost hate to put the name on here because it will be all the more difficult to get a seat, but it is called Taco Bell.  It has the most wonderous barbeque menu and it's unbelievably flavorful.  It's so damned good that if you ain't sportin' wood after your first bite you're banned from the joint for life!  Seriously, you actually have to stand up after your first bite and show everyone your trousers.

Anyway, here is a sampling of their barbeque menu:

Taco
Taco Supreme
5-layer beef borrito
7-layer beef borrito
Nachos
Nachos Supreme

BBQ Sauces:
Mild
Medium
Hot
Fire

It is located in Spokeydoke, OK, if anyone cares to try it.

Anyway, while blowing virtual loads while eating me some 5 Taco Supremes and 2 Taco Volcano barbeques, I broke out the perfect coupling - Bourbon.  Nothing goes better with Taco Bell than George Pendleton Stagg Kentucky Straight Bourbon.  Now this baby is a rare one for two reasons: 1. They only have 10 releases of this stuff a year and 2. it holds the very rare and coveted distinction of Kentucky Straight Bourbon!  There are only 5 bourbons that can carry, by law, this distinction on their bottle.  The others are Michters (under the lable of H.J. Hirsch), W.H. Harrison, Jeremiah Weed (only the banana flavor) and White's.

As I pulled this puppy out of my napsack and gave myself a little pore, an apparent Taco Bell employee comes up to me and says: "Ey you, no dranka day like-wars in hea."  Not understanding him, I shook my head, raised my glass and said, "Why, yes it is hot today. My momma said it was gonna be."

I don't think he understood me well either.  I drew this conclusion while laying flat on my back on the Taco Bell floor with him sitting on my chest knocking about my face and head with his knuckles.  It wasn't until much later on, while I was recovering from a concussion at the Okie Hospital, that I found out that Pablo Fuentes - the guy who was so kind to put me down for a nap on the oh-so-clean floor at Taco Bell - was trying to tell me that I could not drink liquor on the premisis.  He then thought I said in return, "Your mother is a dirty whore" to which he responded swiftly.

Anyway, I'm much better know.  The ringing in my ear is not nearly as loud as it was last week and I know longer have the elusive triple vision - it's down to two now.

Moral of the story: A. Never mess with Pablo Fuentes if you decide to eat at Taco Bell and 3. always pair your favorite barbeque with bourbon.

Your pal,

John

Thanks!

I just wanted to say thanks to all of you for viewing my blog.  Just so that you know, I do this not for me, but for the benefit of all of you.  One day I will no longer walk -- or blog, in my case -- this earth, and I realized that I'd better get my knowledge out there to the public before it dies with me.

The question is, who will carry the baton if I fall?  My hope is, that it will be any number of my readers!  Don't look so dismayed!  You can do it.  Believe it or not, I have yet to scratch the wax of the bourbon surface.  There are many more blog posts along the way from which you can build upon and one day, you too will be pure genius when it comes to Bourbon Afficianading just like your Mentor (me! :D ).

If there is one golden rule I've learned in life it's, when someone is looking the other way, kick him in the nuts!  This is just a fancy, eloquent way of saying, take advantage of the situation that is before you, else you may on the receiving end of a crotch shot!  So, please, take advantage of this blog.  I promise you, you will walk away a much better Bourbonite, human being and confidence man for doing so.

Also, earlier this morning, Google sent me the following email:

"Hello John,

"We at Google would like to apologize for the latency issues you and other bloggers have experienced over the past 7 days.  We have determined what the issue is and we are moving fast to resolve it.  As it turns out, your blog has had such a signifigant amount of traffic that our Linux servers, in certain geographic regions, are bogging down to the point where some are actually crashing and going offline.  Fortunately, due to various protections against this, such as Data Redundancy, we have been able to keep all blogs up and running but on a much slower pace.

"Based on this, we have decided to migrate your blog to a server dedicated soley to you. This will take no longer than 24-hours.  Once this transition is complete, you will be informed immediately by email.

"Thank you for your continued service and for giving us such a great showing as each blog is a reflection on us here at Google. 

Sincerely,

The Google IT Team"



So I guess there is some good and bad in there.  The good:  there is lots of traffic.  The bad:  We are killing the servers.  If you all are experiencing issues with my blog at any time, please email me and I will be glad to inform Google on your behalf.

 

INTERVIEW: Chuck Cowdrey

Mr. Cowdrey, contacted me via email and asked more about me.  I gave him the "pencil shavings" in a snap and he was immediately intrigued.  After racking his mind, he remembered having met me about 25 years ago in Beaumont, KY.  He had forgotten my name, but he had never forgotten me.

To follow, is an interview that I recorded (with his permission, of coursed) with Chuck and thought I would share it here.  It's not an audio file, just a typed-out version (I dont' know how to put the tape onto my computer for uploading).

ME:  Well Mr. Cowdrey, thanks for following up to initial email conversation, with a phone call, much appreciated.

CC:  No problem, John.  Like I was saying, I remember you way back when we met at the Beaumont fair, and you were the first to introduce me, and get me hooked, on straight bourbon.  I remembering being in awe of your knowledge of all things bourbon and how you could, at a moments notice, talk of the history of each bourbon label and distillery.  You were like rapid-fire with the information and I soaked it in like a sponge.  We must have talked for 3 hours that day as we watched the Ferris wheel go round.  I had forgotten your name, but not your wisdom, knowledge, onstensibility or class that you brought to bourbon.
ME:  Gee, thanks, Chuck.  That mean something to me.  You know, it's good to take a little fella under your wing and teach him the ways of bourbon.  Glad to see you caught on.

CC:  Thanks to you.  Had we not met, who knows what I would have done in my spare time.  But since our chance meeting all those years ago, I have become almost as brilliant as you when it comes to bourbon.  I know that I will never surpass your knoledge, I'm no Luke Skywalker, if you know what I mean.  I'm forever the student you are forever my teacher.

ME:  Okay, enough about me.  Shoot, I'm so embarrassed on the other end of this line, I look like a red-sauced tomale.  Tell me about what you've been doing in the name of bourbon since our meeting.

CC:  Ever since that day, I purchased every book there was about Bourbon.  I would make weekly trips to bourbon country and visit all the distilleries over and over again until I knew them cold.  Then I researched every single bourbon label and to which distillery it belonged from inception to current day.  Based on all of this, I decided to write a book called, "Bourbon, Straight", which I dedicated to you.  In fact let me read the dedication verbatum:  "To that wonderful all-knowing man whom I met years ago at a fair who turned my life around and made me the man I am today.  I have forgotten your name but I have not - and will never - forget you my dear friend and teacher.  You have molded into a complete success in all ways in my life.  THANK YOU!"

ME:  Wow, I don't know quite what to say, other than Thank You.  I'm so honored.

CC:  Would you mind terribly if I shipped you a couple thousand of my books and autograph them for me.  I will sell them on ebay and we can split the profits.  They'll sell quicker than cracker jack at a ballgame.

ME:  Chuck, you know me all to well and so you realize that I would never allow myself to make a penny off of bourbon.  My delight comes from people like you, Chuck - the student - whom I help guide through life and make, not just better, but whole.

CC:  I'm sorry.  I just got so carried away, My Mentor.  Would you please sign one of my books just for me?

ME:  Of course, Chuck, of course.  So, let's get back to you.  You've written a book and I understand you have a monthly leaflet on bourbon, is that correct?

CC:  Not quite, but close.  About 17 years ago, I started a monthly column in the Kentucky Kazette about bourbon and I had such a reader-ship in a year's time that I decided to start my own paper called, "The Bourbon County Reader," and now it's a huge success.  I sell about 750,000 of these newspapers per month and my online subscribers is up to 300,000.  Also, I produced, wrote, directed and stared in a documentary called, "Made and Bottled in Kentucky" - a bourbon documentary, which was released in the Spring of 1997, and due to its cult popularity, made it to the movie theathre - first in KY, then in Chicago and finally Nationwide.  All told, ticket sales were through the roff and beat out E.T. and Star Wars in total sales!

ME:  WOWzers!  Chuck that is amazing!!!!!  You've come a long way, my student.  Great job.  I'm smiling ear-to-ear with pride!  Way to go!!!!!

CC:  Thanks, John, but I couldn't have done it without you.

ME:  I know.  Of course you couldn't have.  Well, time's running short, Chuck, and I've got to run but lets get together next year's Bourbon Festival and sit down for a couple bourbons.

CC:  That sounds great.  But for old time's sake, how about we make the venue the Beaumont Fair.

ME:  (crying) Awe, Chuck, how touching.  Now you've gone and made me cry.

REVIEW: Maker's Mark Straight Bourbon

I have tasting notes on this straight bourbon from 3 weeks ago and figured why not add it into my blog.  But a little history first (yeah, yeah, I know, just get to the tasting notes, right? But please indulje me).

A Telegraph Operator for Western Union and part-time appelette court stenographer, Mark Maker, was sitting home on his victorian-style couch in his Federalist-style home with his wife Wilma and dog Petree.  The years of telegraphing and stenogrophizing had caught up to him and he developed a very bad case of, what was called back then, "Crazilious Fingeritis", known today as Crazy Finger Syndrome or in leymen's terms, Carpel Tunnel Syndrome.  His days of working at WU and the court were numbered and he knew it.  At 40 years of age, Mr. Maker knew he had to develop a new trade and apply it quickly.  But what?  When?  How?

Wilma suggested he go to finishing school and become a Butler or talk to his good friends from childhood, the Brother's Ringling, about starting up that traveling entertainment business with the tents and animals and such.  But Mr. Maker didn't want a thing to do with either and slapped his wife in the jaw and said, "Pipe down woman and go domesticate me some dinner and a drink!"  Realizing her error of speaking without permission, Wilma jumped to her feet and fetched Mr. Maker a drink.  When she returned with a glass of bourbon, he took a swig and then through the glass across the room in disgust.  "Don't you ever bring bourbon again, woman, you hear?!  Kentukyans don't know how to make good whiskey!"  He then commenced to putting a beating on Wilma the likes she'd never seen before, and one that Mr. Maker will never forget.

As Wilma lay on the kitchen floor with an ax in her head, clearly dead, Mr. Maker quickly had to devise a plan to get rid of the body.  Visibly shaken, he placed her body in a suitcase, zipped it shut, threw it in the back of his Ford pickup truck and sped down the road.  Not sure what to do, after a few miles, Mr. Maker pulled over to the side of the road and began to cry.  As he gazed at the night's full moon, he eyes became fixed on the silloueted building just below.  It was the defunct McKrowzenheimer Distillery.  No one had been on those grounds in years, Mr. Maker thought.  Quicker than greasilized lightning, he stepped on the gas flew down the road at 100mph to the distillery's Rick House A.

He dragged the suitcase full of dead-weight (fingeratively) and pulled through the dirt and over-grown weeds to the entrance to the Rick House.  Climbing to the top floor, Mr. Maker stopped and looked around.  Out of breath but clearly motivated to rid himself of this "suitcase"ket, he moved on through the first hallway he saw.  With every step he took, the rickety olding building sounded like it was going to break in half.  His mind wondered if that's why they called it a Rick House, because it was so damn rickety (having followed my blog, you know the real story).  Mr. Maker stopped and lit a match to get his bearings.

Completely surrounded by barrels that must have been sitting there since the distillery closed 15 years before, he began to feel each one to see if any were empty.  Sure enough, he found one.  The barrel was sitting on its bunghole and the pressure must have forced out all of its contents.  Mr. Maker pulled it off the rack and tendered it open with a pocket knife.  He opened up the suitcase, yanked his eternal wife out and crammed her into the bourbon barrel casket.

The next day, he went into town and asked who now owned the distillery.  "Nobody," said the town clerk.  "Those Mick Krawts dun went back to there homeland."  He asked the town clerk if he could take over the operation and she said yes, so long as he was willing to pay the back taxes.  Well, it turned out the taxes weren't so bad, afterall, so Mr. Maker bought it up.

Over the next few months, he worked his backside off in getting the distillery back up and running.  He hired an out of work distillerator by the name of Bo Oxley to come by and take a look at the still equipment and see if he could get it back operating.  Bo determined that all 27 pot stills were in perfect order due to its craftmanship.  Afterall, these were Vandome pot stills!

Since Mr. Maker could not pay Bo a salary, they both signed a contract that they drew up together, giving Mr. Oxley 35% ownership of the business.

Inquiring about the Rick Houses, Mr. Maker said not to worry about those, he was going to burn all the barrels and make room for new ones.  Bo almost fell over.  Realizing the potential instant gold mine he had, Bo ran to the the first Rick House - A.  Screaming, Mr. Maker ordered Mr. Oxley to stop.  Stopping at the entryway, Bo waited for Mr. Maker.  "Let's go to warehouse B instead," Mr. Maker suggested.  "This one is very dangerous."

That day, Bo let Mr. Maker in on a little secret.  With 10 Rick Houses full of aged bourbon - some overaged but 75-80% rated good to excellent to Mr. Ox's pallette.

That night Mr. Maker sat by his bedroom window and watch as the Wellsboro Fire Depot attempted to put out the fire that occurred in Rich House A.  He sighed, with a rye smile, jumped in bed and slept like a baby.

Maker's Mark opened its door on October 29th 1937 in Willsboro, KY.  And so that's how Maker's Mark was founded.

Getting back to the distillery's location for a minute.  Maker's Mark is located on the border line of Kentucky and Ohio.  Notice how the title of this blog post only says Straight Bourbon and not Kentucky Straight Bourbon.  Why, you ask? Even though 67% of the distillery is located in KY, the OH address of the distillery supercedes all else.  Originally, MM distillery used to have a Kentucky address and all their whiskey was that of Kentucky Straight Bourbon - it said so proudly on the bottle. 

This all changed one hot summer's day in 1952 when the MM's main entrance door swelled shut due to the heat and humidity.  Mark Maker knew he had to do something so he hired a local construction compan that rebuilt Warehouse A all those years ago, and he commissioned them to quickly make a new entryway on the North side of the Distillery building so that his Distillery Tour business would not be affected.  Unfortunately, what Mr. Maker did not realize was the North side of the distillery resided in the state of Ohio. 

Once the state of Ohio found out, they officially changed the address to 1 Maker's Way, Munsy, OH and they were not allowed to use Kentucky Straight Bourbon on their barrels or bottles from that point forward.  Mr. Maker fought this ruling for years in the high courts but lost out over and over again.


Onto my tasting notes.

Maker's Mark Straight Borubon tasting notes:

After resting 10 minutes in my rocks glass (no "rocks" though) the nose is just lucious.  I semll hot and sour soup, caramel, coconut sun tan lotion, escargot, peaches & cream and wet dog.  As I take my first sip and swallow, my mouth is on fire.  This is hot stuff at 90 proof.  It took 5 sips to get used to the burn and taste all the different nuances.  My buds are telling me, Corn, Potatoes Awe Grawtin, Spanish Fly, Ocra, caramel, chocolate and vinegar.

What an awesome bourbon!  So well balanced and complex.  So many different flavor.  I could lip-bang this bourbon all night long.  This is why Maker's Mark is known among the bourbon experts, like myself, as the cream of the crop (no, not Cream of Kentucky! :D ).

Rating Scale
50+ putrid
40-50 below average
30-40 average
20-30 good
10-20 very good
0-10 excellent

My Score:
0

A tale from the Local Liquor Store

So I decided to pop by Srinivasan Gupta's Fine Wine & Liquor Emporium after work yesterday evening hoping to find some Weeler 7 years 107 proof bourbon and who should appear to ask if I need help but the owner, Srini.  Now, Srini's a nice guy and all but his accent has this pitchfork-on-a-whiteboard affect on me. 

Anyway, I'm with my 2 year old son and I see Srini out of the corner of my eye approaching and I'm thinking to myself, I just don't have time for this.  So, I pinch my son's ear until he starts balling his eyes out and wouldn't you know it, good old Srini makes a V-line back to the counter.  It worked!

After calming my son down -- and telling him to shush about, "Why did you pinch my eaw, Daddy?" -- I spotted a 750 of Olde Grand Dad Tennissean Whiskey and it has a tax stamp on it.  Of course, it's on the bottom shelf and about a half-a-mile away in the back but my son is a good fetcher and was able to bring back the goods lickety-split.  It is a Bottles in Bonded and the date on the tax stamp shows that it was distillerated in the fall of 1963 and bottled in the spring of 1990!  Wow, the mother load; a 26 years old Tennesian Whiskey at 100 proof!

Now, I've already mentioned that I'm not a big fan of the Tennessian stuff but for you to get a better understanding as to why I'm so excited about this find, here's a brief history lesson on this bottles family tree:

All the way  up to 1969, Old Grand Dad followed the distillerating, aging and bottling practices of Kentucky bourbon makers with the only difference being that it was distillerated, aged and bottled in Tennessee.  This may sound like a subtle difference, but in the aging process, the flavors inparted into the distillatte are part oak wood and part environment.  Up until 1969, Old Grand Dad's distillery was located in Chiquita, TN while their Rick Houses were located in Planters, TN.  Then in the summer of 1969, the Rick Houses in Planters were desconstructed and relocated to the distillery location in Chiquita. 

Given that this bottle was put in barrels for aging in 1963, this means that for 6 years this puppy had been aging right next door to the peanut farm in Planters and then moved to Old Grand Dad's distillery location where it aged for another 20 years right next door to a banana farm in Chiquita, TN!

Wow, this is the rarest of the rare bourbons out there and always thought, up until now, that all these bottles were far removed the liquor store shelves.  But time forget about this bottle, fortunately for me!

While checking out, Srini began to pitchfork the whiteboard and so I pinched my son's ear again, told Srini that the poor little guy has an ear ache, put down a $20 bill, told him to keep the change, waved and walked out the door.

I will be trying this bad boy tonight and will put up a review over the next day or two.  Had I not spent part of last night at the ER with my son for stitches in his ear, I would have drunk it then.

REVIEW: Old Fitzgerald Prime 90 Proof (The legendary Snitzel & Weeler brand)

I bet all you bourbon zealots want to know how I came across this little number, don't you?!  Well, it's from a very dear bourbon pal whose liver has developed some fatty deposits.  So, since he can't drink it, he had me buy it off him for what he paid for it:  $15!

For the bourbon rooks out there whom don't know the allure or history of Old Fitzgerald, please allow me to spin this yarn for a bit.

The Old Fitzy label, as I call it, came about as a result of two companies merging their assets of fine straight bourbons; Snitzel and W.L.Weeler.  On the 75th birthday of Hans Snitzel in the winter of 1936, he decided that it was time to hang up the mash and decided to merge efforts with deer friend Pappy Van Winkle (no relation to the fable-tale).  As part of the agreement, Pappy would take over day-to-day operations with Hans claiming the title of Master Distiller which was just a fancy title for retirement.  Upon the completion of the merger on September 5th 1936, Pappy decided on a new label called Old Fitzgerald, named after his mother's Maiden name.  As a result, he had to create a Mini Distillery called Old Fitzgerald Bourbon Distillery located on the grounds of W.L. Weeler.  To stay within the law, Pappy had his top notch contruction team build the signage, labeling compound, and rick houses.  The first distillatte ran of the potstill on September 9th 1936 and the first bottle of Old Fitzgerald was a Bottles in Bonded released on September 29th 1936, followed by Old Fitzgerald Prime 90 released on October 19th 1938.  And the rest, as they say, is history.

This fine bourbon not only caught on in a big way, but lives in bourbon lore and legend and is coveted by all bourbon lovers around the world.  It's oftened referred to as the Holly Grayl of bourbon.  Anyone who has read any of the great bourbon message boards (this is where most of my research and knowledge comes from, especially sb.com) know about the famous Snitzel and Weeler, better known as S/W Old Fitzgerald.  The current bottling has no relation to the S/W distillery whatsoever but, rather, it's owned by the Seagram's Golden Wine Cooler Company and is just okay.

All S/W bourbon, including the Old Fitz labels, are known for their caramel, cheery pie, toasted almond and green peppercorn flavor notes.  If you can't sport wood with this bourbon, then you best go find yourself a Budweiser and quit the bourbon-drinking business for good.

So, without further adoo, here's my review and tasting notes.

Old Fitzgerald Prime 90 Proof (The legendary Snitzel & Weeler brand)

This bottle is in mint condition and still was in the box - a pristine box, no less.  I immediately noticed the tax stamp which had a date of 1938.  The bottle and tax stamp (which is notorious for falling about) looked as if it wasn't touched by human hand nor light since its packaging.

This is highly coveted, not only for its breed (S/W) but because it's the first release of Old Fitz Prime!  I called one of my bourbon bottle-collecting pals and he said that it was worth somewheres around $2,500!  But since it was a gift meant to be drunk, I was hell-bent on drinking it rather than make a profit off my deer friend.

As soon as I popped the cork, I could smell that old S/W nose.  Mmmmmmmmmmmm, what a smell!  I could just nose-screw this bourbon all day and be satisfied!  I poured it in my Glennkaren crystal glass and let it sit for 24 hours to let some of the crystals led bleed through (this does not work well for all bourbons but for S/W it's insane).

The next evening, I pulled the bourbon from my vestabule and nose-screwed it some more.  WOW!!!!!  This is unbelievable!  My dog-like sniffer picks up every nuance: sod, limestone, led paint cherry coke, lemon seed, grass, rye bread, american cheese, dirt, poppy seed and caramel.  I immediately take a quick sip and let it play amongst my taste buds then swallow.  And BADA-BING, this is true bourbon royalty.  It's absolutely insane.  I get kit-kat, caramel, rye bread, cornmeal, lead pipe and cherry pie flavors.  And then the finish was chalk-full of banana bread and molded earth.  It is excellent!

It is a near-flawless bourbon.  It's an addiction!  Anyone who loves an A+ traditional-style (1st grain is rye) bourbon then this is for you.

Rating Scale
50+ putrid
40-50 below average
30-40 average
20-30 good
10-20 very good
0-10 excellent

My Score:
1