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.
40-50 below average
10-20 very good