Okolehao, Historic and Modern

Many drinkers prefer it to gin (1912 ad)

One week in September of 1886, the Deputy Sheriff in Maui rounded up fourteen men the Honolulu Daily Bulletin called “illicit dealers in the ardent.” The ardent in this case was okolehao, the Hawaiian analog of mainland moonshines. Early journalists called it white mule and Hawaiian whiskey — although it wasn’t really whiskey. Not yet. That came later.

A handful of cocktail recipes calling for okolehao show up in the historical record. If you read Jeff "Beachbum" Berry’s books on tiki drinks, however, you will learn, perhaps with disappointment, that okolehao is extinct. Berry suggests a few substitutions — he proposed Martinique rum at first, but later recommended bourbon or rye — and there’s a reason. We'll circle back around to that. He wasn’t wrong; when he wrote the books, oke, as some call it, had fallen from production.

Like a lot of other discarded spirits these days, okolehao is back. In fact, in the summer of 2013, attendees of my standing room only talk on moonshine at Tiki Oasis in San Diego sampled a twist on a whiskey sour made with a modern take on the old spirit: 100-proof okolehao from Island Distillers in Honolulu. It’s a cane and ti-root distillate that's earthy, vegetal, and a little funky.

Hawaiian Moonshine

Distillation seems to have come to Hawaii in the 1790’s. I say “seems to” not because the date is uncertain, but because Hawaiians seem not to have distilled spirits at all until then. That changed when William Stevenson, an escaped convict from Australia, used rendering pots from a whaling ship as the boiler for a rudimentary still. The iron pots were said to resemble a woman’s plump backside and the nickname “iron bottom” stuck. In the local language, “iron bottom” was "okolehao" and the stuff eventually became nearly as popular as the bit of anatomy that inspired it.

Like moonshines in general, okolehao didn’t have a single recipe. There were as many ways to make it as there were stills and distillers. Any single batch might contain distillates of taro, rice, honey, corn, bran, sweet potatoes, kiawe beans, molasses, breadfruit — whatever was nearby and cheap and could be fermented. If pineapples were cheap, it had pineapples in it. If white table sugar were cheap, then that’s what distillers used.

Ti plant, courtesy of Dave Flintstone,
Island Distillers

But one thing held this island mule together in a way that mainland moonshines, in their diversity, did not and do not have — a single, defining, ingredient: ti. From the day Stevenson made that first batch until now, regardless of other ingredients it may contain, ti is at the heart of Hawaiian moonshine. For countless visitors over the last century, taking home a bottle of okolehao — or at least taking one as far back as the ship where it was emptied before next landfall — was a reminder of their time in that Pacific paradise.

Ti shrubs grow throughout Hawaii. It is also called ki especially in 19th century accounts. The botanical name is Cordyline fruticosa and historical accounts boast of “inexhaustible” supplies. The leaves have medicinal and decorative uses, but the big, starchy root is what is what we’re interested in.

On mature plants, these roots are huge; they can grow to 25 kilos or more, bigger than a lot of dogs. Dave Flintstone, distiller at Island Distillers, says that when harvesters select plants for his okolehao, they look for those with a central stalk about the thickness of a man’s wrist.

After workers unearth them, the roots are baked in underground ovens called imus. If you are familiar with how tequila is made, you’ll see the resemblance to how agave hearts — the piñas — are roasted in kilns or ovens.

Freshly unearthed ti root,
courtesy of Dave Flintstone, Island Distillers

In each case, starches convert to sugars under heat and the whole thing is crushed and fermented. Distillers run the low-alcohol ti root wash through stills to concentrate the ethanol but collect those compounds that give okolehao its characteristic funky taste and distinctive smell.

In fact, okolehao’s smell could be a problem for distillers, haulers, and customers. That distinctive aroma often tipped off law enforcement to nearby stills and mash tubs, or confirmed that a container had held okolehao and not, for instance, whiskey or water. When caught red-handed in towns with their illicit cargo, Hawaiian bootleggers often smashed the glass demijohns they used to transport their haul to the ground in attempts to destroy damning evidence. This dodge was so common that during the 1920’s, one catty journalist suggested that officers should be issued sponges so they could mop up evidence and squeeze it into vials before it trickled away.

When police did capture okolehao, though, it had a habit of transforming in evidence holding rooms. Old reports note that quantities of the local moonshine remained the same, but in storage, the proof sometimes mysteriously would go down. Any kid who’s drunk her parents’ liquor and topped off the bottles with water knows exactly what happened in those police storage units; somebody inside was pilfering the hooch.

Holy Terror Hitchcock:
not a fan of the oke

It worked in reverse, too. Not only did hooch disappear, it sometimes showed up where it did not belong. In the mid-1890’s, the Marshal in charge of enforcing laws in the short-lived Republic of Hawaii was Edward Griffin Hitchcock. Known as “Holy Terror” Hitchcock, he was the top law enforcement officer in the islands. The nickname “Holy Terror” came from his efficiency in rounding up criminals, but the moniker was also a poke at his family; his father had been a missionary and the younger Hitchcock kept ties to Hawaii's missionary community.

In 1894, Marshal Hitchcock issued a letter to owners and managers of every place in the islands that sold liquor. In it, he schooled them on Hawaiian law and reminded them of the fines that could be levied on any person who sold adulterated liquor.

The adulteration in this case was okolehao. Rumors were going around that saloon keepers had been stretching their stocks of imported liquor with the local moonshine. The Hawaiian Star newspaper explained the next day that

Okolehao is very cheap and, containing such a large per cent of alcohol, can be employed in the preparation of drinks to immense pecuniary advantage. It was at one time, if not now, used in the preparation of wine. An extract was imported to which diluted okolehao was added in such quantities as to bring the alcoholic property up very high.

So what we have is a wine extract coming from California that’s got very little, if any, alcohol in it. Local merchants would add okolehao and water. Give it a stir and what've you got? Wine! Adding both high-proof okolehao and water to imported whiskey — maybe with caramel to bring back a semblance of barrel-aging — was a way to cheat customers and squeeze more profit out of every drink sold.

Swapping out moonshine for legal liquor is underhanded and illegal. And it is a trick that is still done in some bars — especially for customers too drunk to notice that their vodka is more white mule than Grey Goose.

Despite those early reports of “inexhaustible” supplies of ti plants, harvesting them is hard work. That’s why, since the 19th century, other sugars went into the mash: pineapple, refined white sugar, cane juice, rice — again, the stuff that was nearby and cheap. Very early on, ti became something distillers added to the mash rather than something they fermented as the mash.

From Island Distillers,
a 100-proof modern take
on Hawaiian moonshine

Authentic okolehaos, in other words, have long been made from less than 100% pure ti root. Some were pure, but not all. When I asked Flintstone why he didn’t make a 100% ti root distillate, he said that, though economics factored into it, the primary reason is that modern palates would find it too harsh and unpleasant, making it too hard of a sell.

And that brings us around to Jeff Berry’s recommendation to use bourbon or rye when there’s no okolehao. The first legal, commercial producer of ti-root okolehao was E. H. Edwards. In 1906, he imported a 200-gallon still to Kona specifically to make it. His business ultimately failed because the product was inconsistent, but he did make enough to put in barrels and ship to a bonded warehouse in Honolulu where it aged and took on color from the barrels.

You probably wouldn't mistake one for the other, but Edwards’ spirits started looking, smelling, and tasting — at least a bit — like whiskey. When his company was bought out, the new owners continued the practice; bonded, barrel-aged okolehao became common until Prohibition, when all beverage alcohol became illegal.

By the mid-twentieth century conditions had changed. Okolehao was legal again and popular both with tourists and US military stationed in Hawaii. By the 1960’s, however, okolehao had ceased being a blend of ti root and other sugars fermented and distilled on the islands, but was instead whiskey imported from the mainland and flavored with ti extract or ti roots simply ground and steeped in the whiskey to give it the "authentic" taste. This is why, when mixing drinks from recipes that call for okolehao but date from the 1960’s, Beachbum Berry says to use bourbon or rye.  Minus the funk of ti, that’s pretty much what midcentury okolehao was — at least the commercial stuff.

Hats off to Dave Flintstone for helping to resurrect local, high-proof wet goods.

Goes well with:

• Okolehao, naturally. Pick up a stoneware bottle of the 100-proof cane-and-ti distillate when you're in Hawaii or track down distiller Dave Flintstone through his distillery's site, Island Distillers to have a supply shipped.
• Swipes, the Pruno of Territorial Hawaii. Not all the beverages of old Hawaii were something you'd want to drink. By all accounts, swipes were a scourge that made many a sailor regret his stopover to the Hawaiian islands en route to the Philippines. 
• Visiting sailors and desperate drinkers aren't the only ones to his the sauce in Hawaii. In 1911, the Hawaiian Star printed a tall tale of feral hogs getting into a batch of okolehao.

Home Fires: The State of Home Distilling in the US

Lew Bryson, editor at Whisky Advocate, asked me write about the current state of affairs for home distilling in the United States. A blanket federal ban on the practice is in place, but a few states are bucking those laws with more permissive laws and regulations of their own. Regardless of the laws, sub rosa distillers from the East Coast to the West are making an awful lot of homemade liquor for themselves, their families, and friends. No, I didn't forget you, Alaska. In fact, I'd be surprised if we don't see a new reality show called something like Alaska Bootleggers or Ice Road Moonshiners in the near future. From the Fall 2013 issue of Whisky Advocate, here's a piece originally titled Home Fires.

Casual observers often assume that home distilling, like wine making or beer brewing, is legal in America. Zymurgy Bob knows better. According to federal law, distilleries are never permissible in homes. His advice? “Do everything you can to reduce your visibility to the law,” he exhorts. “Conceal what you are doing.” The pseudonymous author of Making Fine Spirits, a guide to building and operating home-scale stills, closes his introductory chapter with modern home distilling’s most ironclad commandment: Thou Shalt Not Sell.

Alcohol distillation in the United States is highly regulated and federal judicial code is uniformly severe with those who skirt the rules. Once federal prosecutors bring charges against a suspect for illicit distillation, they are forbidden by law from dropping the case without express written permission from the Attorney General. If found guilty, violators could face up to five years in prison and be fined $10,000. Because illicit distillation, the argument goes, is a tax dodge, those who defraud the United States of tax revenue through such clandestine distilling shall forfeit (not may or might — shall forfeit) the land on which the distillery is located as well as equipment used to make spirits and all personal property in the building and yard.

Running off a few liters of whiskey or ultra-pure vodka in the basement may seem a harmless pastime to some, but are they perverse enough to risk losing homes, land, and nearly all their possessions by actually firing up a still?

For thousands of Americans, the answer is yes. Across the country, hobbyists buy and build small stills for making spirits in secret. Profit is beside the point; these distillers do not sell their products. Compared to the output of Chivas or Beam, their covert batches of gin, rum, seasonal brandies, whiskey, and hausgemacht absinthe are miniscule. Tuthilltown Spirits alone loses more in angel’s share than what most hobbyists produce in a year. Their enthusiasm, however, burns no less brighter than that of professional — and legal — craft practioners.

One California hobbyist, Navy Frank, grows wormwood in his yard and keeps glass jugs of homemade spirits in his dining room. Home distilling, as Frank describes it, is a facet of a larger DIY ethos. “It’s a maker mentality that drives people to make homemade cheese or beer or build something with their own hands or garden. There’s all this wonderful cross-pollination. If you sketched the connections of what people like us get excited about, they would form the most overlapping Venn diagram ever.”

Frank — not his real name — is a Navy veteran and an engineer by trade. In his cellar he makes rum, neutral spirits, absinthe, honey distillates, and a peated single malt. “That’s probably my favorite, but after sharing, and sampling, and more sharing, I’m down to just one bottle.” His modular distillery system uses three separate pots that can be rigged with different heads and condensers that vary with what, and how much, he is making. The largest boiler could hold a child. The smallest, no bigger than a rice cooker, is for extracting botanical essences.

I mention a New York distiller who created a flavor library of over 200 botanical extracts, including angelica seed and rare agarwood. “Oh,” he smiles. “Ramón!” Despite the continent between them, the two distillers know each other through online hobbyist groups. In this, they are typical. Hobbyists regularly turn to online forums such as Yahoo Distillers and Artisan Distiller for guidance. Like Frank and Bob, Ramón prefers a pseudonym, but because he works in the distilling industry, his concern goes deeper than their straightforward desire to avoid legal attention. While it’s not uncommon for craft distillers to have learned the basics of their trade at home, and even continue to refine it there, the majority who do so will not admit that on the record. Like them, Ramón assumes investors, concerned that federal liquor violations could ruin a licensed distillery, might jettison a partner or employee accused of illicit distilling. “If TTB keeps making it easier to open distilleries,” he muses, “then maybe the hobby side of the equation could finally become legal. I’d happily pay for a permit to make ten gallons or twenty each year for myself. I bet 90 percent of home distillers would do the same.”

While it’s true that several hundred American craft distilleries have opened in the last decade, the Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau (TTB) does not issue permits for home distilling for any price. Some states, though, allow noncommercial production to varying degrees. Alaska, for instance, excludes “private” manufacture of spirits from its alcohol control laws...except in quantities that exceed federal limits. In other words, Alaska allows zero liters for home distillers. Missouri is more explicit, asserting that “No person at least twenty-one years of age shall be required to obtain a license to manufacture intoxicating liquor...for personal or family use.” Such use in the Show Me State, it may be noted, is up to 200 gallons per year. Go, Missouri. Arizona expressly permits personal distilling of spirits such as brandy or whiskey if owners register their rigs with the state’s Department of Liquor Licenses and Control. According to DLLC, however, none has done so.

Mike McCaw, distillery consultant and publisher of Zymurgy Bob’s book, argues that as governments are forced to examine all spending, “We may, just may, be at a political inflection point where [legalizing home distilling] could happen...it is simply not cost effective to chase down people with ten gallon stills.” Bob himself is less sanguine. Speaking by phone on his book tour, he says that pursuing people with ten gallon stills “does make sense if they’re selling it and there is tax evasion going on. And that is one of the main points of the whole “do not sell” prohibition. There is no money and so no tax being evaded there.”

“I hope — I hope — that’s giving me a margin of safety.”

I hope so, too. Good luck, Bob.

Goes well with:

• First things first. If you have legal questions about distilling in your country, state, or province, please get in touch with consultants and/or attorneys who know your local laws. The discussion forum of the American Distilling Institute is a good place to start. In the UK, check in with the Craft Distillers Alliance. 
• The business about unregistered distilleries and distilling with intent to defraud leading to forfeiting  one's property in the United States is addressed 26 USC § 5615. The full text is here. 
• Zymgurgy Bob's book, Making Fine Spirits, is available here. Mike McCaw, distillery consultant, still designer, and publisher of Bob's book, can be reached through The Amphora Society. 
• Whisky Advocate magazine is here. An earlier piece I did on white whiskey — and what to do with it — for the magazine is here. 
• Even the Ten Dollar Whore Sneered at Me, in which a New Orleans...ahm... independent contractor disapproves of me.

Distiller Wanted: Nevada

Whether you agree with the estimate of over 600 new distilleries either up and running or in the works from the American Distilling Institute or take the more conservative view from the Distilled Spirits Council of the United States (which puts the number a lot lower), there's no denying that the pace of American distilleries' growth is picking up. More are on the way and more state and local governments are cottoning to the notion that distilleries can be good for local economies.

Dramatic shot of the old flour mill for its 1978
National Register of Historic Places application 

Nevada is one of those places about to have a new distillery. Word has come that the San Francisco-based Bently Holdings will be converting an old mill — the Minden Flour Milling Company — into a new distillery called Nevada Heritage near Lake Tahoe. They'll need an experienced distiller.

Details to follow, but first a reminder: I have no connection to the distillery, Bently Holdings, or the Bently family. I am merely passing on the info, so please don't send me a resume or ask details about the job; I won't be able to help. Use the contact details in the link below; they're the ones to ping with questions about this job.

Now, then. Here's what the job announcement lays out. They're looking for someone with 5-10 years distilling or blending experience who holds a brewing and distilling MSc. certificate. Seems they'll want to make single malt whiskey, bourbon, absinthe, and gin. Furthermore,

The Master Distiller will be responsible for developing the Nevada Heritage collection, planning and executing distillation operations, overseeing production, and managing inventory. With support from Marketing and Sales teams, the Master Distiller will also showcase and advertise our spirits to raise brand awareness and build relationships with local and national media sources, all while complying with relevant federal, state and local regulations.

A more complete description of the post is here with directions for submitting an application.

Not So Fast: Barrel Aged Gin Hits a Snag

We cocktail types like the barrel aged gins that have been showing up over the last few years on the American market. Their oakiness with suggestions of vanilla, nuts, butterscotch, and other more ephemeral tastes and smells can add intriguing and pleasant notes to mixed drinks. Those aged gins, however, were never supposed to have been approved. Oh, sure, some slipped through the scrutiny of the TTB (the federal agency tasked with enforcing regulations on, among other things, liquor). But the days of barrel-aged gins — at least by that name — are over until federal regulations catch up with distilling as it is practiced among today's nimble distillers.

From the Summer 2013 issue of Distiller, here's my piece originally titled "Not So Fast: Barrel Aged Gin Hits a Snag."

* * * 

Once thought of as almost extinct, aged gins have begun a tentative reemergence in the American market. Some consumers are puzzled by shades of honey and amber in what for many is the quintessential white spirit, but vintage spirits enthusiasts and cocktail aficionados greet the category with enthusiasm. They work particularly well in mixed drinks such as Negronis and the Martinez. As distiller PT Wood explains, “Aged gin is something that not everyone is doing and people are looking for things like that. I, for one, think it’s a delicious spirit.” How they are permitted to describe such spirits, though, has taken a few distillers by surprise.

The US Code of Federal Regulations (27 CFR Part 5 § 5.40) forbids as “misleading” age statements for several beverages, including cocktails, cordials, and gin. Yet some brands plainly declare their gins aged. In 2009, for instance, the Alcohol and Tobacco Trade and Tax Bureau approved Corsair Artisan Distillery’s application for Barrel Aged Gin aged 6 months in charred American oak. “We submitted, it passed. It was no big deal,” says Corsair’s Darek Bell. Within the next three years, Smooth Ambler received approval for Barrel Aged Gin, Roundhouse got the green light for Imperial Barrel Aged Gin, and others came to market. More recent applications, however, have been rejected for using the same language. The product itself is not at issue, but an effective ban on age statements has led distillers to invent creative circumlocutions.

“I didn’t know anything about the TTB’s latest stance until we submitted and got denied,” explained Rob Masters, president of Colorado Distillers Guild. Masters distills Spring44’s Old Tom Gin, sweetened lightly with agave nectar and aged in toasted Chardonnay barrels. His application to use the plain-language description barrel aged to describe the gin triggered a COLA rejection in 2013. “Our way around it was using the phrase ‘barreled in American oak.’” Likewise, PT Wood’s application for barrel aged gin was rejected. After consulting with TTB, the co-owner of Wood’s High Mountain Distillery chose Treeline Barrel Rested Gin. “We also tried ‘barrel conditioned.’ There was a whole litany of other options. We finally agreed that ‘barrel rested’ wasn’t an age statement so much as a process statement.”

Domestic producers aren’t alone in bringing aged juniper spirits to the American market. Cognac Ferrand’s aged French gin Citadelle Réserve is available in several vintages; the Dutch firm Bols sells an aged expression of their popular genever; and Beefeater releases Burrough’s Reserve this summer, an oak 'rested' gin.

At one time gin was aged routinely, if inadvertently, in wood because barrels were the most economical option for storing and transporting it. In The Practical Distiller, his 1809 manual for the distilling trade, Samuel M’Harry advised American colleagues seeking the custom of “respectable neighbors” to filter their juniper-flavored spirits through maple charcoal then put the spirits into “the sweetest and perfectly pure casks.” M’Harry counseled against new barrels because they would impart color and taste to this premium gin. One could take this to mean that gin — proper gin — should be as clear as spring water. A more nuanced reading reveals that, while respectable neighbors in the young Republic may have ponied up more for maple-filtered gin untainted by barrels, those who drank common gin drank spirits that smacked of wood. Barrel aging, one could argue, is not modern innovation, but a return to American gin’s roots.

The discrepancy between earlier COLA approvals for barrel aged gins and the TTB’s current position rejecting them does not reflect a change of regulations or any new interpretation of existing rules. In fact, the agency seems stuck enforcing rules its employees understand are not aligned with current industry practice or consumer expectations. Tom Hogue, Director of TTB’s Office of Public and Media Affairs, offers an explanation. “In 1999, we were seeing approximately 69,000 label applications. Last year it was more than 150,000.” Rather than nefarious intent, new rules, or inequitable application of regulations, Hogue attributes the discrepancy to human error.

“The regulation hasn’t changed,” he says, “and I don’t think the interpretation of the regulation has changed. With that volume of applications, as we go back through things and get fresh eyes on something, if we see something that’s not compliant, we work with the label holder on a case-by-case basis to figure out the best way forward in a way that’s appropriate and balanced.” He notes that the Unified Agenda, the semi-annual list of regulatory actions the federal government intends to take, will post proposed regulation changes specifically for distilled spirits. Though no timeline is set for a discussion of aged gins, once proposed changes are posted, the public is invited to comment.

Robert Lehrman cautions that waiting for changes to occur through Unified Agenda action, however, could take years. The founder of Lehrman Beverage Law in northern Virginia helps distillers navigate complex federal regulations, including label compliance. His take on the CFR regulation is practical: age or no age on a label is a simple matter of fact. “If it’s true, not misleading, and factual, the government needs to get out of the way.”

His advice? Craft producers who make aged gin should “band together to petition the TTB and say ‘This rule is against innovation, against high-quality product, and really it serves no one and benefits nobody.’” Rather than simply allowing or disallowing age statements, he proposes a middle ground that specifies how long and in what gin is aged. “And that conceivably could go through relatively fast.” Faster, presumably, than waiting for the comments phase of the Unified Agenda.

Now that TTB staff have cottoned to the age statements implicit in barrel aged gin, they are obliged to deny new applications for aged and barrel aged gins. Unless the regulation changes — or someone lobbies successfully to change it — distillers must instead propose workaround phrases that describe their gin’s time in wood. A frustration, undoubtedly, but whatever we call them, more aged juniper spirits are on the way — and that’s progress.

Goes well with:

• The current issue of Distiller has more on gin, distilling regulations, spirits judging, an article by Corsair Artisan Distillery's Darek Bell on incorporating smoke in vodka, gin, whiskeys, and other sprits, and other. Check it out here.  

The Wu of Maker's Mark

For what shall it profit a man 

if he shall gain the whole world, 

 and lose his own soul? 

 ~ Mark 8:36

Never mind whiskey aficionados; tongues on even vodka lovers were wagging earlier this month over a rare public relations stumble in Kentucky. Rob Samuels, COO of Maker's Mark, announced that the alcoholic strength of the company's signature bourbon was to be lowered from 90 proof to 84 proof.

The company had announced, quite literally, that it was watering down the product.

The ensuing uproar was immediate, vocal, and sustained. On Facebook, Twitter, and other social media, indignant fans deplored the decision and excoriated the firm. Bartenders who prefer overproof spirits that can stand up to the dilution of mixers and ice in cocktails bemoaned the new direction. Users howled indignation and pundits prognosticated the future of the brand (opinions ranged from “I’ll never buy Maker's again” to “In a year, who will even remember?”). It became a national story. Up in Vermont, WhistlePig vowed to increase the proof of its rye whiskey. I stayed mostly mum on the topic. Regardless of what others recalled next February, I would remember who did this.

I was struck immediately by the resonance of Samuels' announcement with Philip K. Dick's 1962 novel The Man in the High Castle. The book depicts a world in which Germany and Japan emerge victorious in World War II. Between them, they conquer and divide a disgraced former United States. I must have been ten when I read it first, but Dick's depiction of wu — a slippery concept applied to handcrafted jewelry in the book, but applicable to whiskey here — has stayed with me for more than thirty years.

It wasn’t indignation over the decision to dilute the whiskey or even anger, really, I felt. Rather, it was sadness. Another layer on our ever-thickening patina of loss. True, Americans have experienced great gains in recent decades in fields such as medicine, technology, and publishing. But we have suffered a concomitant erosion of our greatness. Heroes once idolized have been exposed as flawed — sometimes deeply flawed — humans; OJ Simpson, Lance Armstrong, Joe Paterno, John F. Kennedy, Michael Vick. Endless obstructionist caviling among our politicians have led many to despair that we will ever be better off than our parents.

Our entertainment has grown recursive; witness the remakes of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Arthur, The Karate Kid, or Gus Van Sant's scene-by-scene reshoot of Pyscho, movies that did not need to be remade, that arguably should not have been remade, that do not leave the world a better place in their passing. Our homes, by and large, are not built as well as those of a hundred years ago. On it goes. NASA's space program: gutted. New Orleans: flooded and nearly lost to us. The lunacy of creationism taught as fact to defenseless children who will be unable to compete for jobs as adults because they simply will not understand how the natural world works as well as their grandparents did.

Into this morass steps Maker's Mark with another assault on our faith in the goodness of humanity. And why? Why reduce the proof of this iconic whiskey? Profit. Global thirst for American whiskey has grown steadily in recent years and supply has not consistently kept pace with demand. Maker's in particular has experienced shortages, despite a 2012 expansion that increased production capacity by some 45%. Watering the whiskey was seen as a way to increase almost instantaneously the available inventory by 6%.

Deplorable things happen. Every day. Drove my Chevy to the levee and all that. But it's not all odious Kardashians, pedophile priests, and watered down whiskey. Not even close. There are good things as well. Whether it's the residuum of my midwest upbringing or a Catholic education that drives me to be what the Jesuits dubbed a man for others, I choose to spend time making and pursuing things that make the world better. As the California designer Mike Monteiro writes in Design in a Job, "[Y]ou are responsible for what you put into the world...and you can only stand as proud of the work as its benefit to society entitles you to." Amen, brother. Whether it's websites or whiskey, we shoulder a moral responsibility for what we bring into the world.

For the past twenty years or so, there's usually been a bottle of Maker's knocking around the house, but when Samuels made his initial announcement, my thought simply was to abandon the label quietly. No point in making a fuss. I'd never tasted the lower-proof version and the erosion of quality is arguable. We were assured the taste was nearly identical. That was beside the point. For decades, Maker's has presented itself using the language of heritage, tradition, and craftsmanship, a brand — a family — hitched to the yoke of history. Through it all, that squat bottle with its red wax top remained unchanged. The trope of Maker's as custodian to an unbroken legacy of quality suffuses marketing materials, bottle design, and even the grounds of the distillery itself which in 1980 was declared a National Historic Landmark. Your haircut, your president, and your wife may change, but Maker's would always be Maker's.

Until the day it wasn't, the day we were told it was to be cheapened for the masses. And that brings us back to Dick's novel. In The Man in the High Castle, Robert Childan, a dealer in historic Americana — Colt revolvers, Buffalo Bill's head in a jar, Civil War recruitment posters and the like — has presented a piece of modern American jewelry to Paul Kasoura, a wealthy young Japanese civilian newly stationed in occupied San Francisco. Kasoura secretly laughs at Childan for presuming to present such a piece, but soon develops an unexpected attraction to it.

"Here is a piece of metal which has been melted until it has become shapeless. It represents nothing. Nor does it have design, of any intentional sort. It is merely amorphous. One might say, it is mere content, deprived of form.”

 He goes on.

“Yet,” Paul said, “I have for several days now inspected it, and for no logical reason I feel a certain emotional fondness. Why is that? I may ask. I do not even now project into this blob, as in psychological German tests, my own psyche. I still see no shapes or forms. But it somehow partakes of Tao. You see?” He motioned Childan over. “It is balanced. The forces within this piece are stabilized. At rest. So to speak, this object has made its peace with the universe. It has separated from it and hence has managed to come to homeostasis.”

“It does not have wabi,” Paul said, “nor could it ever. But—” He touched the pin with his nail. “Robert, this object has wu.”

Wu, Dick tells us though Kasoura, is a quality that allows us to experience a tranquility associated with holy things. It is not necessarily apparent, even to its maker who may recognize only that the object satisfies, that it is complete. By contemplating such things, we gain wu ourselves. Kasoura is profoundly moved by it. With subtle discomfort, he informs Childan that an associate wishes to replicate the piece in plastic or base metal — tens of thousands of units — for sale to the poor and superstitious in Latin America and Asia. The deal, he confirms, would be worth a great deal of money. “What about wu?” Childan asks. “Will that remain in the pieces?”

Kasoura is silent, but we know the answer. It will not.

Childan could take one of two paths. One could make him immensely wealthy. The other is less clear. He seizes the decision to meet the exporter. Then, in a moment of clarity, he realizes the trap.

Whole affair a cruel dismissal of American efforts, taking place before his eyes. Cynicism, but God forbid, he had swallowed hook, line and sinker. Got me to agree, step by step, led me along the garden path to this conclusion: products of American hands good for nothing but to be models for junky good-luck charms.

Which path does Childan take? Read the book.

Maker's Mark, however, made the honorable choice. Chairman emeritus Bill Samuels, Jr. joined Rob Samuels in a conference call to confirm that fans' protestations were heard loud and clear. Geoffrey Kleinman relates their conversation here at DrinkSpirits.com and confirms that, after just a few days of online furore, the whisky will return at 90 proof.

Well, I'll be damned. Turns out there's room on my shelf for Maker's after all. And if, from time to time, it's not available, that's ok.

Goes well with:

• Mike Monteiro's 2012 Design is a Job is ostensibly selling design for web designers, but it's a practical little manual for creative types of all stripes — and those of us who work with them.
• We also disdain watered down bacon. Maynard Davies aims to show how bacon was done the old way. 
• Don't know Dick? You may know more than you think. His stories have been made into movies such as Minority Report, Blade Runner, Total Recall, and A Scanner Darkly. Pick up a copy of The Man in the High Castle at your neighborhood bookstore or online here. 
• Got a thing for Dick? You may also enjoy these Charles Bukowski postal stamps. 
• David Toczko's 2012 book, The Ambassador of Bourbon: Maker's Mark and the Rebirth of America's Native Spirit, presents over 250 photos of the Maker's Mark distillery, including fermenting mash, barrels in the rickhouse, hand-dipping of the those red wax seals, and some archival material. Introduction by Bill Samuels, Jr. and foreword by Rob Samuels. Pick up a copy here. 

An Old Distiller's Trick Revived in Oregon

In Hillsboro, Oregon, west of Portland, the Imbrie family erected a granary barn around 1855, a few years before Charles Darwin published The Origin of Species. With a handful of repairs here and there and a new concrete floor, it remains standing today. Inside, distiller Bart Hance makes whiskey and brandy on a still that's almost as old as the building itself.

Look closely: that's a metal can dangling in the middle.

The still is a French model, known in Cognac as an alambic Chartentais, typically used to make brandy and popular on the American west coast. This one was found in an old barn in France and shipped to Oregon where it stayed boxed for years before being installed in the granary. Other than a few brass fittings, the pot still is entirely copper and has a graceful, curving neck through which alcohol-rich vapor rises on its way to the condenser. At 160 gallons, it's not the biggest still one will find in the United States, but it is one of the more venerable. Unlike some modern stills, it has no sight glasses, no thermometers, no computerized reports indicating what's happening inside. On an old still like this, to know what's happening on the other side of the copper at any given moment, one must relies on sight, smell...and sound.

Sure, there's the sound of the gas fire. The intensity of that sound will indicate broadly how much heat is directed at the bottom of the pot. If the sound of the fire dies away unexpectedly, trouble — dangerous trouble — may be brewing. But attendees of a brandy distilling workshop sponsored by the American Distilling Institute learned from Hance to listen for another sound: the jarring clang of falling metal.

See, it takes a long time for wine or beer to heat up in the boiler of a pot still, especially if it's at the frosty room temperature of an old wooden barn. A distiller can't just sit there like a plate of biscuits waiting for the wash inside the pot to warm. There are forms to be completed, barrels to move, and a dozen other tasks involved in running a distillery. So, lacking readouts and internal thermometers common in some modern stills, Hance deploys an old French trick well-known to Cognac makers that allows him to do those other jobs while the still heats. He attaches a large, empty metal can to a string, then loosely wraps the string around the still's neck. With a dab of wax, the string stays in place.

And then the distiller walks away.

As the wash heats and vapor begins to rise, the copper (an excellent heat conductor) grows warm. Eventually, the neck grows warm enough to melt that dab of wax and — CLANG — the can drops and clatters onto the bricks below, sounds loud enough to be heard anywhere in the barn. That's the signal that Hance has perhaps ten minutes before liquids start trickling from the condenser and to wrap up whatever he's doing; there are cuts to be made.

Hats off, Hance; that right there is some old school merde.

Goes well with:

• A visit to Cornelius Pass Roadhouse and Imbrie Hall. The former Imbrie homestead is now owned by McMenimins who were instrumental in getting the property listed on the National Register of Historical Places. The whiskeys, brandies, and other spirits made at Cornelius Pass and at the company's Edgefield distillery are not for sale in liquor stores, but are entirely for internal use at the various bars, hotels, and restaurants under the McMenamins banner. Imbrie Hall, however, offers a selection of bottles for take out.

Distill America: All the Tastings You Can Handle

Tickets are on sale for the Madison Malt Society's annual Distill America. The shindig (MMS's fifth) is February 23, 2013. A note from Kristine at Koval came over the transom this this morning promising that the Chicago distillery will be on hand to pour spirits. She writes:

Relish the chance to experience over 45 distilleries and over 150 unique spirits at a more intimate tasting event, where each table is backed by a direct representative of the distillery. Craft highlights include Clear Creek, Kentucky Bourbon Distillers, Mississippi River, New Holland, Ransom, Rogue Spirits, and St. George. Chicagoland is well represented by Koval and fellow locals North Shore, FEW Spirits, Quincy Street, and Tailwinds. Our Michigan friends from Journeyman will also be in attendance.

Attendees are promised "all the tastings you can handle, complimentary hors d'oeuvres, and unbeatable intimacy with each distillery." Unbeatable intimacy? Woof ~ I might have trouble explaining that one at home.

Additional distilleries scheduled to be on hand include Heaven Hill, Death's Door, Quince and Apple, Four Roses, Square One, Yahara Bay, and more. General admission tickets are $55. For an extra $10, the VIP pass will get you in an hour earlier than general admission. Tickets, events, and more information are available at Distill America.

Goes well with:

• Carl Corey's Tavern League: Portraits of Wisconsin Bars published by the Wisconsin Historical Society. 
• Any trip to Madison is an excuse to drop by Zingerman's Deli for a bite. Can't make it to the event or Madison? Grab a copy of Zingerman's Guide to Better Bacon. A spoonful of bacon will soothe any pain. 

2013 American Artisan Spirits Judges Announced

Hubert Germain-Robin nosing brandy at Huber's Starlight Distillery

The American Distilling Institute has announced its panels of judges for the 7th annual judging of American artisan spirits next month. The lineup includes active and retired distillers, bartenders, authors, industry consultants, and a few journalist types such as yours truly who may (or may not) fit into one or more of the above categories.

The judges will analyze and critique hundreds of spirits over two days at Huber's Starlight Distillery where we'll break out into separate panels: one for brandy, one for rum, and one (or possibly more) for whiskey.

It is fun? Hell, yes. Is it all fun? No. The days start early and end late. No perfume, no cologne. No scented hand soap. No coffee (at least, not at the table and not if you don't want a big Rowley stinkeye). Though invariably some spirits are excellent and some are flawed, we remain stoic and sit almost entirely in silence. No grunts, no groans, and — as Gene Wilder's young Frankenstein would have it — no yummy sounds.

The judges are:

• Dennis Barnett - Third Wave Brands, Orange County, CA
• Ian Burrell - Rum Ambassador, London, UK
• Christian Butzke - Purdue University, Purdue. IN
• Martin Cate - Smuggler's Cove, San Francisco, CA
• Brendan Coyle - High West Distillery, Park City, UT
• Flavien Desoblin - The Brandy Library, New York, NY
• Hubert Germain-Robin - Master Distiller, CA
• Mark Gillespie - Whiskycast
• Tracy Howard - Imbibe Magazine, Portland, OR
• Monique Huston - Stoller Wholesale, Franklin Park, IL
• Aaron Knoll - The Gin is In, NY
• Guillaume Lamy - Cognac Ferrand, France
• David Pickerell - Oakview Consulting, former Master Distiller at Maker's Mark
• Brett Pontoni - Binny's Beverage Depot, Chicago, IL
• David Smith - Summer Fruit Cup, UK
• Matthew Rowley - Rowley's Whiskey Forge, San Diego, CA
• Peggy Noe Stevens - The Bourbon Women, KY
• Amanda Stewart - Purdue University, Purdue, IN
• Eric Watson - AllBevCon
• Brendan Wheatley - Belmont Farms Distillery, VA
• Richard Wolf - Wolf Consulting, KY

Will I tell you the results on my return to sunny Southern California? No, I will not. For that, you'll have to wait until they are announced at ADI's annual meeting in Denver (April 1-4, 2013). And then I'll pass it on.

Now, about that yummy sound...

Whisky Advocate Runs Feature Story on White Whiskey by...Oh, Hey. Me.

You have to look at white whiskey 

on its own merits. 

If you judge it 

compared to aged whiskeys, 

it fails. 

Every time.

~ Darek Bell

Corsair Artisan Distillery

Shea Shawnson pours Double and Twisted light whiskey at Elixir

The current issue of Whisky Advocate magazine has a feature article on white whiskey by yours truly. [Edit 12/9/12: scroll down for a link to a PDF of the article.] White, light, unaged, minimally aged, and "raw" whiskeys are growing in popularity. Not everyone — including those who make it — agrees on what it is, so when editor Lew Bryson asked me to take a run at white whiskey, I made some phone calls, packed a sandwich, and hit the road to talk to distillers who make the stuff and drinkers who down it.

As grain spirits come off the still, in- dustry insiders call the heady, limpid distillate new make or white dog. Every whiskey distiller in the world makes it and almost all of it is destined for barrels. Some, though, trickles out to the public. Lately, distillers and consumers alike have taken to calling it white whiskey. Marketers trumpet it as a hot new thing. In truth, the wheel has been around longer. And fire, of course. But new make was old hat when Johnnie Walker took his first wobbly steps. 

What is novel is that until about 2005, few dreamt a market still existed for the stuff.

My travels brought me up the west coast of the United States. From tiny sheds up dirt roads to a distillery in an old Air Force hangar, I met with men and women making, selling, drinking, and mixing white whiskeys.

Bars and restaurants from New York to Seattle offer white whiskeys as a matter of course, even pride. White Manhattans and albino Old Fashioneds abound. If whiskey cocktails unblemished by oak are insufficiently exotic, trendy tipplers can ask for them “improved” 19th-century style with a few dashes of absinthe. 

Despite growing awareness and acceptance, the category is dogged by three recurrent questions. Two are worth addressing in passing: (1) Is white whiskey moonshine? and (2) Is it any good?

I tackle those in about 500 words, but the third question, the one people should be asking and which fills the bulk of the article, is what do we do with it? Pick up the Winter 2012 issue of Whisky Advocate for some of the answers — including arguments that the way many white whiskeys are made is completely wrong — or download a PDF of It's a Nice Day for a White Whiskey here.

Interviews, insight, and recipes from Thad Vogler of Bar Agricole and Shea Swanson of Elixir in San Francisco, Darek Bell of Corsair Artisan Distillery (and author of Alt Whiskeys), Jim Romdall of Vessel in Seattle, Ian and Devin Cain of American Craft Whiskey distillery, barber and distiller Salvatore Cimino, 13th generation master distiller Marko Karakasevic from Charbay, and, midwife to the modern tiki renaissance, Jeff "Beach Bum" Berry.

Here's a bonus recipe that didn't make the article from bartender Rhachel Shaw whom I ran into as a customer at rum bar Smuggler's Cove. Shaw pays tribute to Elizabeth Taylor (whom one can only presume guzzled staggering quantities of raw whiskey) with a drink named for the late movie star's perfume:

White Diamonds  

1.5 oz. Koval Chicago Rye
.75 oz. Cocci Americano
.5 oz. Maraschino
1 dash Bitterman's Grapefruit Bitters 

Stir on ice. Strain. Garnish with grapefruit peel.

30 Years Under the Influence, a Panel Discussion at St. George Spirits

In an era when new American spirits are hitting the shelves so fast that it's hard to keep straight what's on offer from whom, it's discordant to realize that within living memory fewer than a hundred distilleries operated legally in the United States. Though "new" no longer seems fitting for a company that was founded years before Ronald Reagan exhorted Mikhail Gorbachev to tear down the Berlin Wall, one of the nation's oldest new distilleries is St. George Spirits. Next month, distillers Lance Winters and Dave Smith will join St. George's founder Jörg Rupf for a panel discussion, 30 Years Under the Influence: St. George’s Tale of Liquid Courage, at the Alameda, California distillery under the auspices of the Commonwealth Club of California.

From the Commonwealth Club, here's the low-down on the event on Friday, November 30th:

30 Years Under the Influence: St. George’s Tale of Liquid Courage

Jörg Rupf, Founder, St. George Spirits
Lance Winters, Master Distiller, St. George Spirits
Dave Smith, Distiller, St. George Spirits
Bob Klein, Proprietor, Oliveto Restaurant - Moderator

When Jörg Rupf founded St. George Spirits in 1982, he was a lone wolf making elegant eaux de vie in a wine cooler world. In those days absinthe was illegal, craft-produced American gins were unheard of, and there was no such thing as an American single malt whiskey. In the decades since, hundreds of new craft spirits producers have followed suit, proof positive that the spirits movement has officially gone the way of micro brewing and coffee roasting - into the realm of the artisanal. Intrigued by the unknown and with a madcap approach to creation, the St. George team has inspired a modern spirits renaissance. Come drink in some history with the godfather of the artisanal distillation movement, Jorg Rupf, resident evil genius Lance Winters, mad alchemist Dave Smith, and other artisans changing the spirits conversation.

Tickets include: A grand tour of the St. George distillery; three specialty, decade-inspired cocktails; hors d’oeuvres; and the panel discussion and after party.

Location: St. George Spirits, 261 Monarch St., Alameda
Time: 7 p.m. check-in; 7:30 p.m. tour; 8:30 p.m. program; 9:30 p.m. after party
Cost: $75 standard, $60 members

Goes well with:

• Get tickets to the event here.
• The Commonwealth Club of California, the oldest public affairs forum in the United States, organizes over 400 events in the San Francisco Bay Area every year. The nonpartisan, nonprofit group was founded in 1903 and has sponsored speaking events across a range of political and cultural and cultural topics and affiliations. Past speakers include Teddy Roosevelt, Arnold "Get to da choppah" Schwarzenegger, Bill Gates, Ronald Regan, Nancy Pelosi, and Martin Luther King, Jr.
• Jeff Levy (of Bread & Gin) joined distiller Lance Winters this past Spring for a pear-and-Bonal cocktail called A Fistful of Pears with pear brandy and pear liqueur. Here's the video and recipe. 

American Apple Spirits

In the airless, nearly gluey July night, black-suited pallbearers hoist aloft a plain wooden coffin and begin their walk. In their wake, solemn mourners march slowly, thick humidity muffling their every footstep. Musicians follow, their low, brassy dirge echoing off damp stones as they move toward the Vieux Carré. The somber mood doesn’t last; this is, after all, New Orleans, where funerals are as much a cause for celebration as they are for sadness. Within blocks, the band strikes up a familiar Dixieland tune. Smiles and whoops break out as the celebrants form a dancing, singing, handkerchief-waving “second line.” Hallelujah! The saints, those reliable old saints, go marching in once again. Once it reaches the French Quarter, the line spills into a Decatur Street café where liquor flows freely and the party begins in earnest. No one — not a soul — sheds a tear for the deceased.

How could they? It was the Appletini.

* * *

My piece on American apple spirits runs in the Summer 2012 Distiller magazine  — part thumbnail history of apple distillates, part overview of some of today's producers. The bit above is the original intro. Fun to write, but it took too long to get to the point, so I cut it. Ah, well. What's the point of having a blog if I can't occasionally post sweepings from the cutting room floor?

Some of the distilleries covered are Laird & Company, Germain-Robin, Osocalis, Harvest Spirits, Clear Creek Distillery, San Juan Island Distillery, and more. Applejack and apple brandy are the same thing (except, obviously, when they're not), but they're hardly the only apple spirits available. As much as we adore Laird's apple brandy — and make no mistake: we sincerely do — it's not the only option for those who hanker for a bit of the old apple palsy.

Here's a PDF of the piece from Distiller with interviews, historic and modern cocktail recipes, and a look at some of what's available for American consumers.

Getting the Apple out of Apple Whiskey, 19th Century-Style

Among the papers of John Ewing held by the Historical Society of Pennsylvania lies an undated manuscript from about 1810. It describes a process for making a variety of ersatz liquors from a base of apple brandy, often called in early American idiom, apple “whiskey.” Once treated with charcoal and redistilled, such local orchard brandy could be made to seem like French brandy, Jamaican rum, Holland gin, etc. Emulating more expensive imported liquors using local goods was common throughout the colonial era, through the early Republic, and into the twentieth century. Time and time again, I come across recipes for faking one kind of spirit with another in household account books and recipe manuscripts. Though it’s less common these days, one still finds recipes to make, for instance, homemade gin from store-bought vodka.

From an unknown 19th century distiller, here’s

 To make gin out of apple whiskey

Fill hogshead of 100 or 120 gs. [gallons] with apple whiskey, into which pour a bushel of charcoal—stir the charcoal every hour for two days—stirring so often may not be necessary—then draw off whiskey and put it in a still—distill it and it will be found perfectly clear of the apple—In this state if mixed with French brandy, jamaica spirit or holland gin in the proportion of about one third whiskey to 2/3 of foreign liquors it will impart to the liquor any unusual taste or flavor. 

If in the distillation you add 15 or 20 lbs of juniper berries to the hogshead, it will make good gin. 

Before the still is filled 15 or 20 gallons of Water must be put in the still. 

 A 60 gallon still may be run out twice in the day—Charcoal must be made out of maple, chestnut or light wood—must never be wet—When taken out of the coal pit they should be put out by throwing dirt over it—burnt perfectly well—out at the top so as to let the smoke out—to be ground fine.

The manuscript goes on to calculate that the profit on 100 gallons of apple whiskey converted to gin is $16.30, or about $225 in today’s money. Not enormous profit, but if it were steady, one eventually could buy a house.
 
Me? I think it would be a shame to strip the apples from apple brandy, especially when so many good ones are coming back on the market. If you're curious about American non-grape brandies and happen to be in New Orleans next month, check out Paul Clarke's session Fruit of the Still at Tales of the Cocktail. 

Tales of the Cocktail Update. I'm Out; Rupf and Heugel Are In

Missing a Tales of the Cocktail weekend is not something I do lightly. Yet for the first time in years, I'm out. Whether I'm at the podium or in the audience, the annual fête in New Orleans has been one of my must-do events for almost a decade. If you look at the schedule for this year's sessions, you will find me listed once again as a presenter, this time with Paul Clarke of Imbibe magazine and the Cocktail Chronicles.

Well, grab onto your seats, kids — the lineup just changed. The session on American non-grape brandies is still on, but if you've already bought a ticket with hopes of seeing me in New Orleans, you just got an upgrade; Paul will be joined by not one but two others on the mic.

Bobby Heugel of Anvil

First up is Houston bartender Bobby Heugel, co-owner of Anvil Bar & Refuge. Bobby will be on hand to offer the thirsty crowd brandy-based libations and a bar owner's perspective on using these American fruit spirits. We've mentioned him before for his rum, Averna, buttermilk (yeah, buttermilk), and Chartreuse cocktail, the Vanderbilt Fugitive.

Jorg Rupf and Lance Winters next to an Arnold Holstein

Paul and Bobby will be joined by pioneer California distiller Jorg Rupf. Rupf founded St. George Spirits in Emeryville, California in 1982, twenty-five years before most of today's distilleries even existed. His masterful eaux de vie are exemplars of the craft and have racked up award after award. Twenty years after the founding of the distillery, he and distiller Lance Winters blended American wheat and viognier grapes to create a new vodka they dubbed Hangar One.

You may have heard of it.

Rupf is now officially retired. But some people just can't leave work behind when they call it quits; we are pleased that he still has some skin in the game and will be sharing over three decades of distilling knowledge.

Regrettably, a conflict has arisen that precludes my joining this august triumvirate in New Orleans. A shame. It sounds fantastic.

Bookshelf: Micro-Distilleries in the US and Canada

In 2011, more than 250 craft distilleries dotted the American distilling landscape. Fewer than half of these are listed in David J. Reimer’s 2011 purported guidebook on the same.

Oh, sure, you’ll find profiles on distilleries familiar to modern American drinkers. There’s Tuthilltown, St. George Spirits, Piedmont Distillers, and Celebration Distillation (makers of Old New Orleans Rum). But where are the magisterial brandies of Osocalis? The award-winning peach and pear brandies of Peach Street Distillers? Want to know more about Salvatore Cimino’s game-changing poitin? Look elsewhere. They aren’t here. Clear Creek Distillery, perhaps the original modern American craft distillery, is on page...oh, wait. No. Nevermind. It’s not included. How about the 2012 edition? Nope. Not there, either.

Profiles of distilleries that did make the cut include the name of each, the owners’ names, contact information, websites, social media accounts where applicable, the types of spirits produced, awards, and other details that help to flesh out our understanding of each.

To say that the guide is incomplete — while true — misses the larger point: the book’s value is marginal at best. Missing punctuation, inconsistent layout, and phantom words that appear as if vestiges of earlier versions of the same sentence collude to make it seem as if the manuscript had not been proofread.

The photos and logos are of such low resolution that they give the impression of merely having been lifted from websites. Many very clearly have been. In fact — and here is its most grievous flaw — the feel of the entire book is of one that’s been cobbled together from press releases, newspaper articles, and sell sheets. Readers are treated to chestnuts like this: “Pear Brandy is made from the freshest pears grown in the Hudson Valley.” Why does that seem so familiar? Oh, yeah: it’s lifted nearly verbatim from the website of Harvest Spirits, maker of the brandy in question.

This begs the question: what makes a pear “fresh?” Further, of what value is a fresh pear compared to one that’s less “fresh” (whatever that means)? Here’s a great opportunity to educate readers — just a brief sidebar — on the aging or curing of fruits that some distilleries do before pressing. Apples can be stored before pressing; pears tend not to be. Why?

Don’t look here for the answer (or even the question). Instead, we get uncritical regurgitation of advertising copy.

While I don't know this to be true, there's no sense at all that the author has actually tasted any of the spirits. Yes, there are tasting notes, but they are generic and once more feel culled from others rather than experienced. Recipes for mixed drinks using the spirits are included at many points, but we are given ounces, oz, cups, “parts,” “shots,” and other diverse measurements. This suggests that they were taken at face value from other sources, sometimes credited, sometimes not.

Clip. Paste. Repeat.

A guidebook for American craft distilleries is a fantastic idea, but we don’t have one yet. While I deeply admire many of the companies and distillers profiled in Reimer’s book, my advice to readers interested in the American craft distilling scene is to save your money and download the American Distilling Institute’s far more complete directory (for free; PDF is here) then visit the websites of each distilling company that interests you. I’ll wager you find a lot of the same copy, anyway.

David J. Reimer, Sr. (2011)
Micro-Distilleries in the US and Canada
301 pages (paperback)
Sunbury Press
ISBN-13: 9781934597439
$24.95

A Fistful of Pears

I recently heard a straight guy — a married man, with kids — declare about distiller Lance Winters "I would be that man's wife in a heartbeat." I'm not sure how Winters would feel about that. Or Mrs. Winters, for that matter. But I understand the sentiment. See, we have a deep and abiding respect for St. George Spirits here at the Whiskey Forge. More than once I've considered chucking my entire career, throwing myself at Winters' feet, and saying "Teach me." That hasn't happened yet.

Yet.

But this morning, that old thought resurfaced as I watched the new video A Fistful of Pears featuring Winters and Jeff Levy of Bread & Gin. Recipe for the brandy-and-Bonal drink is below. Meanwhile, here's the California distiller slinging liquor and smoking a cigar like he's doing it a favor:

A Fistful of Pears

1 oz Aqua Perfecta pear liqueur
1 oz Aqua Perfecta pear brandy
1 oz Bonal aperitif wine
Grapefruit peel for garnish

Stir brandy, liqueur, and Bonal in a mixing glass with ice, strain into a chilled glass. Rim with fresh grapefruit peel, drop in the peel.

A Little NPR Story about "Moonshine" Made in a Square Pot Still

As I was scrambling to get out of town to visit a passel of California distillers last week, Shelly Baskin rang to talk about that most indomitable of American spirits: moonshine.

Mr. Baskin was working on a story for National Public Radio about a Kentucky distiller trying to haul a bit of Kentucky's liquid history into the 21st century. Spencer Balentine makes his spirits in a custom-built square pot still. That's noteworthy because commercial stills are usually almost always round in cross-section. The still's square shape isn't unique exactly, but it is an old design that was idiosyncratic in its day and downright odd today.

Baskin writes of Balentine:

He cooks his whiskey with practice and care, following the recipe from his great grandfather to create the best batch of moonshine possible. He says, “From day one I’ve tried to recreate at least the taste, and the smell. And by doing it on the historic still I think this is close as you’ll get to experiencing that, you know, that 1958 moonshine.”

I just left Kentucky a few weeks ago. Clearly, I missed the chance to see an intriguing bit of distillation technology.

For the full story, see Moonshine is Alive and Well in Marshall County. Click on the "listen" button at the top of the article and you'll hear my croaky voice tripping over the inelegant line  “…the moment that moonshine becomes legal, it stops to exist.”

Stops to exist? Oh, aphasia. You make me sound so smart. Ceases. It ceases to exist.

Koval Distillery Looking for Interns

Aspiring distillers can learn about their craft through extensive reading, training at reputable schools, and — a time-honored tradition — working alongside experienced distillers. If the potential entanglements of learning how to make moonshine give you pause, and you can't swing a full-on apprenticeship for whatever reason, consider an internship at a legal distillery. Such internships are few and far between, but nothing beats hands-on experience for learning how a still works.

Get out your best polishing cloth.

Koval Distillery — if you've been to Chicago lately, you've seen Koval whiskeys everywhere — is offering two internships. One is in IT, not a field that inspires unalloyed joy in deep the very marrow of my bones. The other...well, the other field clearly does. I'll let Koval explain:

Production Intern

The production intern will assist with all aspects of the production of Koval Distillery's award-winning, small-batch organic spirits, including mashing, fermentation, distillation, barreling, bottling, corking, labeling, boxing, and shipping, as well as various other tasks around the distillery. This is a great opportunity to explore the craft distilling business!

Requirements: Must be 21 years or older and able to lift 50 pounds.
Duration: Three months full-time, starting ASAP.
Stipend: A stipend will be provided based on experience and qualifications.

If you are interested, please send a resume and cover letter to jobs@koval-distillery.com. Please include the phrase "PRODUCTION INTERN" in the subject line of the e-mail. No phone calls, please.

 And, in case IT is more your speed than it is mine, here's that one:

IT Intern

The IT intern will analyze sales support tools and make recommendations; assist with the design and implementation of sales support tools and analytics based on Pentaho / Jaspersoft / Birt / Spago; design and implement a project to integrate availability information from the web, account information from vTiger, and sales data from a system to be built (see previous tasks); and transfer a Filemaker database to MySQL and PHP.

Requirements: Knowledge of MySQL and PHP a must. Must be 21 years or older.
Duration: Three months full-time, starting ASAP.
Stipend: A stipend will be provided based on experience and qualifications.

If you are interested, please send a resume and cover letter to jobs@koval-distillery.com. Please include the phrase "IT INTERN" in the subject line of the e-mail. No phone calls, please.

As always, when I pass along information about jobs in the distilling field, I've got nothing to do with this. I can't hire you, fire you, or answer questions about hours, stipends, housing, or whether you could earn school credit for such an internship. For that, you've got to follow Koval's directions above.