Metro Pulse/Gamut/Bourbon

Comment
on this story

We fearlessly dive head-first into the world of bourbon and end up drunk and confused.

by Joe Tarr

Everything gets the fetish treatment eventually. Or so it seems.

It used to be that bourbon was a no-nonsense man's drink, something you belted back at hunting camp or at some dive with a big mirror across the back bar and an orange carpet pocked with cigarette burns. You'd order a glass on the rocks or a shot and a Budweiser chaser from some barkeep named Gladys or Louann.

It was manly but not extravagant. Anyone could afford it. And it was good.

But of course, in this world, image is everything. Perhaps the people who made bourbon saw how much money and respect their Scottish counterparts were getting for single malts and felt a tinge of jealousy. Maybe, they muttered to each other, "Our whiskey is as good as that stuff."

At any rate, they started making something called "small batch bourbons," giving them titles like "Special Reserve," "Family Reserve," "Rare Breed" and "Very Rare Pot Stilled Sour Mash."

They put fancy labels on the bottles and charged $30, $40, $50 or more for each. They weren't made to be mixed, but sipped neat or over ice—in other words, a respectable drink.

In order to be called bourbon, a whiskey must be made from at least 51 percent corn. It must be produced in the United States (not necessarily Kentucky), distilled at least two years in new charred barrels, although most whiskeys are aged at least four years.

The first step in exploring the world of bourbon involved talking with an expert, one Jimmy Russell, master distiller at Wild Turkey.

Jimmy looks like the kind of guy who drinks a lot of bourbon. I'm sure he's opinionated as hell about whiskey, but he's no snooty aristocrat concerned with image. His round belly spills out over his belt. He dresses in slacks and flannel shirts. He looks like he's from Kentucky and isn't ashamed of it. He's worked at Wild Turkey's distillery in Lawrenceburg since 1954, and his father and grandfather were both distillers.

I caught up with him at the McGhee Tyson Airport, after he'd hosted a whiskey tasting in Gatlinburg.

"Bourbon is the true American spirit," he tells me. He says the taste of a bourbon depends on many factors, including the mix of grains used, how long it's aged and the type of cask it's aged in. "You and I can cook the same dish but do things a bit differently to make it taste different," Russell says.

None of this was really much help to me. I realized I'd have to find out for myself what bourbon was all about. So my editors gave me a small budget. They said I could buy a bunch of bourbon and charge it to the paper. I went to Ashe's Wine & Spirits, where they helped me pick out six different whiskeys without going over my roughly $50 budget.

I tried to get a range—some of those new-fangled high-grade bourbons, along with a few working-man's bourbons.

However, I didn't trust myself to be the judge of these spirits' merits and faults. So I enlisted a group of friends and organized a blind taste test. We scored them on a scale of one to 10, 10 being the best.

Here's how they fared:

WOODFORD RESERVE Tastings are a tricky thing, especially when you're dealing with a product that's 80 proof. How will each drink affect what you think of the next? Maybe this bourbon got the benefit of being the first one sipped, but most of us rated it best overall. My friend Craig described it as "smooth, with a nice aftertaste, easy to drink." Ed said it was "possibly the best I've ever had." Heather called it a "Confederate gun barrel with a year of fine cigar smoke having gone through." Zak compared it to...well, "an expert Malaysian prostitute." (I wonder if he has experience in this area?) The average rating was a 7.8. The professionals at Tastings, the Beverage Testing Institute gave Woodford a 90 out of 100.

WILD TURKEY I feel kind of bad for Jimmy, but his bourbon didn't do too well in our test. Perhaps I should have chosen one of Wild Turkey's more expensive lines, but I went with the standby. Tamar gave it a 2, saying it had "a syrupy start, and a burn without much taste." Craig said it tasted like it was "aged in plywood." Ian said, "Ach! Swill! Window Cleaner!" Average rating, 2.8. Tastings was much kinder, giving it an 86.

MAKER'S MARK This one has a lofty reputation, but our tasters weren't so overwhelmed. Craig said it had a "mediocre flavor," and tasted "watered down." Heather said it didn't have "quite enough presence for me." But it rated well, an average 6.7. Tastings gave it 92.

BUFFALO TRACE A worker at Ashe's highly recommended this relatively new and unknown bourbon, and it got generally good reviews. Zak said drinking it was "like meeting a pretty girl at a convention but with no name tag." Ed thought it was "Burny, but not painful." But Tamar said it had a "burn without much flavor. Average rating: 6. Tastings hasn't rated it.

OLD CHARTER Our tasters were a bit schizophrenic on this bourbon, most agreeing it was awful, but still finding something they liked in it. "Like runoff from a gutter, bad rusty aftertaste," Heather called it. "Furniture polish. But not bad for furniture polish," Jesse said. Zak called it the "Wal Mart" of bourbon, "or an ugly Kate Moss." Ian, however, gave it his highest rating, "saying it was a "sweet, smooth, nightcap-type bourbon." Average rating 4.5; Tastings 82.

KNOB CREEK This small batch bourbon is one of the most popular and highly rated. Our tasters liked it, but weren't overwhelmed. Ian said it was sweet off the bat, "but takes on a harsh note immediately....Good to sip. Chug at your peril." Zak called it a "new Buick." Tamar said the "aftertaste [is] strong but full of flavor." Average rating was 6.3; Tastings gave it an 88.

When it's all said and done, maybe the taste test didn't accomplish much; it didn't make me and my friends any kind of experts on bourbon (but we enjoyed it, anyway). All I know is that there's a hell of a range of flavors and styles out there, from the hard-edged burly man's drink to the snooty, expensive sippable kind. Ian's advice might be the best: Chug at your peril.