Jim Beam is one of the big names of bourbon, so there's no surprise to find a big man behind it all. Booker Noe isn't just physically huge, he is one of the foundation stones of the modern industry. Booker is Jim's grandson and still lives in Jim's old house in Bardstown.
Talk to him and you are tapping straight into the history of bourbon itself.
Today, Jim Beam is the world's biggest selling bourbon, but in 1934 things weren't so rosy. Prohibition had been in force for 13 years, and there was no stock left. To start up again would be expensive and risky. But this didn't deter Jim who, aged 70, built a new distillery in Clermont in just 120 days. What else could a Beam do? Whiskey making runs in their veins. After all, Booker's great-great-great grandfather Jacob Beam started making whiskey commercially in 1795.
This was the distilling capital of the world before it was put out of business by the government,' says Booker. 'Why did he start it up again? Remember, he'd been in the whiskey business for 40 years before Prohibition. Beams have now been making bourbon for 205 years.'
Booker has now passed the reins to Jerry Dalton, the first non-Beam to be appointed master distiller. The fact that he lived in the house directly behind Booker's is pure coincidence. 'Well, even a blind hog finds an acorn every so often!' he laughs. For all his modesty, Jerry is a highly respected distiller and, though reluctant to give away too many company secrets, will take you deep into the process.
There's a sequence of special quirks at work in Beam's two plants, but it's yeast that Jerry zooms in on. For Scottish distillers, yeast is merely a catalyst that converts sugar to alcohol and CO2- However, for bourbon distillers it has almost mystical properties and each firm guards its own strain(s): Beam is still using the yeasts propagated by Jim in his kitchen in the 1930s.
'Different yeasts produce different levels of fusel oil, which will ultimately have an effect on the flavour,' Jerry explains. 'In ageing, the fusel oils form esters with whatever acids are present. Each yeast will give different proportions of these fusel oils, so you get different flavour profiles.
When you combine the special yeasts with the higher-than-average percentage of backset (which produces what Jerry calls Beam's 'bold' flavour), and the two-and-a-half times distillation (the vapour from the beer still passes through a thumper before being redistilled in the doubler) the signature Beam character is taking shape.
But if Jim Beam White Label is the world's best-known bourbon, it's the firm's small batch range which is rightly making waves. The four-strong selection is clear evidence of how complex a spirit bourbon can be, but the one closest to Booker's heart, not surprisingly, is the one which he selects personally and which carries his name.
'Booker's is the only one that's bottled at the same proof at which it went into the barrel,' he says, with considerable relish. 'It's whiskey like it was a hundred years ago'.
If the style hasn't changed, the methods certainly have. Does today's high-tech approach of distilling make Jerry less of an artist and more of a scientist? 'I'm a bit of both,' he says. 'There's an art to making bourbon that has evolved over two hundred years, but I'm also a scientist who wants to find better ways to control the process and preserve the mystery behind it all'.
The techniques may be space-age, but the small batch range signals a return to a time when bourbon meant big, bold and flavoursome whiskey. 'People just kinda got away from flavour,' muses Booker. 'After Prohibition they cut the proof or blended it to make it go further. Now flavour's coming back. The industry's been badly beat up, but now it's rolling again. It'll be back now that people are tasting this super-good whiskey. Hell yes, bourbon's back.
TASTING NOTES
Jim Beam White Label 4-year-old
80ฐproof Lightly oaked, with some light spicy notes. Clean and sound. * *
Small batch range
Basil Hayden 8-year-old
80ฐproof Light and rye-accented, with plenty of lemon and tobacco leaf notes. Clean, with crisp rye mixing it with dark, ripe, nutty fruit. * * *
Baker's 7-year-old
107 proof Richer, with a leather armchair kind of nose and lots of overripe fruit. Slightly biscuity to start with, then good sweet vanilla fruit. * * *
Knob Creek 9-year-old
100 proof Rich and sweet with honey, blackberry and spun sugar. Elegant and super-ripe, with a hint of vanilla and some light cinnamon spice on the finish. * * * * *
Booker's 7-year-old
126.5 proof Amazingly complex without water, for such a powerful Bourbon - and a bit like a grizzly bear dancing. Huge and flavour-packed with raisin, chestnut honey, black cherry, pepper, cinnamon and toffee. Rich and immensely powerful, mixing orange peel, creme brulee and tobacco/cigar blown along by a hickory wind. Immense. **** *
30.12.08
20.12.08
Maker Mark American Whiskey
Makers Mark
The Samuels, like the Beams, are part and parcel of Kentucky's history. The family has been a distillers since 1780, and their TW Samuels brand was an early classic. One of their ancestors, Rueben Samuels, married Zerelda James, whose sons became better known for a less peaceful way of life. Bill Samuels, current boss of Maker's Mark, still has Jesse's and Frank's pistols hanging on the wall of his office.
A discussion of the human influence on whiskey leads Bill to muse on his father, Bill Samuels Sr, who was something of a visionary in these parts. He bought the run-down Happy Hollow distillery in 1953 and started making a new kind of bourbon his way, in a different, softer style. After consulting another legend of the industry, Pappy Van Winkle, he created a new mashbill using winter wheat instead of rye, aged the whiskey for longer and sold it at a higher price. Not the standard approach in post-war Kentucky.
'In 1953, Dad was talking of how people were looking for a more refined version of bourbon,' recalls Bill. 'He knew the things that he wanted to preserve, the ones he wanted to throw out. He was going to create a bourbon to suit his taste: it had damn-all to do with the market! He just thought bourbon should taste better'.
The industry is full of such purely personal likes and dislikes dictating the taste of a brand. Bill Sr simply didn't like aggressive whiskey, so he changed everything. His was a gentle crusade. The family may be related to the James gang, but coming out guns blazing just ain't their style. Bill Sr may have had the vision, but it was his son who took Maker's Mark across the world, talking up high-quality, premium-priced liquor at the time the industry was at its nadir. Still, the Maker's Mark crusade must have seemed doomed. Tn the 1960s there wasn't a nickel's-worth of difference between bourbon and bourbon-flavoured vodka', says Bill.
'The industry was at the end of the road because no-one could afford the $100 barrel. Bourbon can never be a mass-market commodity, because we have that high cost legally built in'. Having to buy new barrels is less problematic when the product is selling for a higher price.
You can list the differences in production that set Maker's Mark apart: the mashbill; the yeast strain created by Bill's great-greatญgrandfather; the double distillation; the charcoal added to the white dog as a filtering agent; the air-dried wood; the way the barrels are rotated in the high-rack warehouses. All these give the product its character, but ultimately Maker's Mark is about the stubborn Samuels family and the people who work in the distillery.
Bill Sr has been proved right. These days premium bourbon is one of the most exciting areas in world whisky, but Bill refuses to take the credit for this turnaround. Like all great whisky men he realizes he's part of a team. 'If I could do one little thing, I'd bring out my ancestors to see that bourbon is finally no longer a wilderness product. The six generations before me did the heavy lifting,' he says. 'Dad said he'd change the face of bourbon. When he started no-one gave him a chance, but by the time I retire bourbon will be the talk of the town'.
He believes the new premium sector will be a major factor in restoring pride to the industry. 'Higher margins fire up the creative juices,' he says. 'The industry is improving and the products are infinitely better, because they are high price. Now there's an opportunity for the talented people in the industry to practise their art and not just produce a low-cost product. The question is whether we have sufficient discipline not to disappoint people's high expectations ... that's what Dad would have said.'
TASTING NOTES
Maker's Mark 90ฐproof Lovely, complex mix of flowers, cumin, cinnamon, marzipan/anise, vanilla and light honey. A soft start, then great interplay between silky-soft honeyed fruit, vanilla-toffee and balanced oak flavours. Some chocolate on the finish. Gentle, easy and complex. *****
The Samuels, like the Beams, are part and parcel of Kentucky's history. The family has been a distillers since 1780, and their TW Samuels brand was an early classic. One of their ancestors, Rueben Samuels, married Zerelda James, whose sons became better known for a less peaceful way of life. Bill Samuels, current boss of Maker's Mark, still has Jesse's and Frank's pistols hanging on the wall of his office.
A discussion of the human influence on whiskey leads Bill to muse on his father, Bill Samuels Sr, who was something of a visionary in these parts. He bought the run-down Happy Hollow distillery in 1953 and started making a new kind of bourbon his way, in a different, softer style. After consulting another legend of the industry, Pappy Van Winkle, he created a new mashbill using winter wheat instead of rye, aged the whiskey for longer and sold it at a higher price. Not the standard approach in post-war Kentucky.
'In 1953, Dad was talking of how people were looking for a more refined version of bourbon,' recalls Bill. 'He knew the things that he wanted to preserve, the ones he wanted to throw out. He was going to create a bourbon to suit his taste: it had damn-all to do with the market! He just thought bourbon should taste better'.
The industry is full of such purely personal likes and dislikes dictating the taste of a brand. Bill Sr simply didn't like aggressive whiskey, so he changed everything. His was a gentle crusade. The family may be related to the James gang, but coming out guns blazing just ain't their style. Bill Sr may have had the vision, but it was his son who took Maker's Mark across the world, talking up high-quality, premium-priced liquor at the time the industry was at its nadir. Still, the Maker's Mark crusade must have seemed doomed. Tn the 1960s there wasn't a nickel's-worth of difference between bourbon and bourbon-flavoured vodka', says Bill.
'The industry was at the end of the road because no-one could afford the $100 barrel. Bourbon can never be a mass-market commodity, because we have that high cost legally built in'. Having to buy new barrels is less problematic when the product is selling for a higher price.
You can list the differences in production that set Maker's Mark apart: the mashbill; the yeast strain created by Bill's great-greatญgrandfather; the double distillation; the charcoal added to the white dog as a filtering agent; the air-dried wood; the way the barrels are rotated in the high-rack warehouses. All these give the product its character, but ultimately Maker's Mark is about the stubborn Samuels family and the people who work in the distillery.
Bill Sr has been proved right. These days premium bourbon is one of the most exciting areas in world whisky, but Bill refuses to take the credit for this turnaround. Like all great whisky men he realizes he's part of a team. 'If I could do one little thing, I'd bring out my ancestors to see that bourbon is finally no longer a wilderness product. The six generations before me did the heavy lifting,' he says. 'Dad said he'd change the face of bourbon. When he started no-one gave him a chance, but by the time I retire bourbon will be the talk of the town'.
He believes the new premium sector will be a major factor in restoring pride to the industry. 'Higher margins fire up the creative juices,' he says. 'The industry is improving and the products are infinitely better, because they are high price. Now there's an opportunity for the talented people in the industry to practise their art and not just produce a low-cost product. The question is whether we have sufficient discipline not to disappoint people's high expectations ... that's what Dad would have said.'
TASTING NOTES
Maker's Mark 90ฐproof Lovely, complex mix of flowers, cumin, cinnamon, marzipan/anise, vanilla and light honey. A soft start, then great interplay between silky-soft honeyed fruit, vanilla-toffee and balanced oak flavours. Some chocolate on the finish. Gentle, easy and complex. *****
15.12.08
Potted Whiskey
It would be appropriate for a people-based profile of whisky to begin by naming the first whisky maker. Sadly, no-one knows who he was. In fact, no-one knows who the first distiller was. It is clear that from AD 4 onwards, alchemists in China, India, Arabia, Egypt and Greece were using distillation to make turpentine, medicines, makeup (al-kohl, our alcohol) and perfumes, but there is no evidence that they adapted brewing techniques to make whisky.
How the Irish and Scots got in on the act is equally mysterious. The Celts may have known about distillation, but apart from a couple of enigmatic references in the 6th century AD there's no proof. What is agreed is that distillation arrived in Scotland with the monks of the Celtic Church, suggesting that distillation was already taking place in Ireland - perhaps Irish monks had encountered the art in Sicily or Andalucia, or through their ancient trading links with the Phoenicians.
By the time Friar John Cor bought his famous eight bolls of malt in 1495 - the first record of whisky making in Scotland -distillation was widely practised across Europe. It is hardly surprising that the first distillers were monks: the water of life, aquavitae (uisge beatha in Scots Gaelic) was a medicine made in monastic laboratories, and markedly different to today's whisky. Flavoured with heather, honey, roots, herbs and spices - partly to hide off-flavours, partly because it was a medicine -this medieval mix was closer to a crude whisky liqueur.
Until the beginning of the 19th century the top Irish brands were flavoured in this way. It was only when whisky began to be made in great houses and crofts alike that it became recognisable as the drink we know today. Distillers have always used the main crop of their region as the base for their spirits, and in Scotland and Ireland that meant barley. Making whisky was a means of using up surplus grain: in winter, cattle could be fed on the grains left after mashing and crofters could use their whisky as part-payment of rent. Made in batches in small pot stills, the process used for malt whisky today, whisky soon became an integral part of rural life.
When crofter-distillers from Scotland arc Ireland were driven off their land from 1 ~4; onwards, whisky spread to America and Canada. Though rye whiskey had been made as early as 1640, it was this sudden wave of immigrants that established whiskey as North America's spirit. They, too, used the local grains - rye, corn and wheat - and by 1783 commercial production had kicked or: in Kentucky.
By 1825, the whisky industry in Scotland and Ireland was controlled by men of capin. Gone were the days of the crofter-distiller making enough to fuel the craic and the ceilidh and pay the rent. New legislation ushered in a building programme of new malt distilleries across the Highlands and in Ireland. At the start of the 19th century Irish whiskey had the highest international reputation, with the heavily-peated Scottish malts considered an acquired taste. Then in 1827, Robert Stein invented a continuous still (see pages 86-87), which not only mace distilling less labour-intensive but produced lighter, grain-based whisky which could be mass produced. Adapted in 1831 by Aenea-Coffey, the continuous still changed whisky production forever.
Distillers in the Scottish Lowlands seized the new invention and by the 1850s grocer and wine merchants such as John Walker. George Ballantine, James Chivas, John Dewar and Matthew Gloag began blending malt with the light grain, and the public sa: up and took notice. The Irish resisted, for a time. Distillers including John Jameson and John Power, who were already enjoying international prestige with their pot-still whiskies, refused to use the continuous method, dismissing it as an adulteration o: 'real' whisky.
The North Americans had no such qualms and Coffey's patent still was soon adopted in America and Canada. This interest, along with James Crow's research into quality control in Kentucky, improved consistency. The Canadians were so enamoured of the Coffey still that, in 1875, they passed legislation decreeing that Canadian whisky could only be made from grain distilled in a continuous still, and aged for a minimum of three years in oak barrels. The quality-oriented, modern industry was taking shape. Even at this stage there was no indication that whisky would become the world's best-selling spirit. Brandy was still more popular, but the vine parasite phylloxera vastrix put paid to that when, from the 1870s onwards, it wiped out Europe's vineyards - and the brandy industry with them.
It is entirely possible that American whiskey would have become the world's dominant player, were it not for the growth of the Temperance Movement in the US which led to Prohibition in 1919. At that time, Irish whiskey was selling more in America than Scotch, but while Scotch and Canadian whisky managed to retain a quality image, Irish whiskies lost their biggest market overnight and were being (badly) copied by bootleggers. Their reputation plummeted. At the same time, Irish independence led to the ban of Irish products in Britain and the Empire. With no markets left, the Irish industry imploded and blended Scotch took over.
This was the situation until the late 1970s when, through industry complacency, or the inevitability of changing fashion, young drinkers turned away from brown spirits or the global whisky industry fell into deep depression. Blended Scotch has struggled hard to regain consumer confidence in its old markets, though it has enjoyed success in southern Europe and Asia. But in America, northern Europe and Britain, malts have kept the whisky dream alive. This recent fascination with premium whisky has also boosted the American whiskey industry and sparked a new optimism in Ireland and Canada. There are now more quality whiskies on offer than ever before, and a renewed interest in how they are made and the people who make them.
How the Irish and Scots got in on the act is equally mysterious. The Celts may have known about distillation, but apart from a couple of enigmatic references in the 6th century AD there's no proof. What is agreed is that distillation arrived in Scotland with the monks of the Celtic Church, suggesting that distillation was already taking place in Ireland - perhaps Irish monks had encountered the art in Sicily or Andalucia, or through their ancient trading links with the Phoenicians.
By the time Friar John Cor bought his famous eight bolls of malt in 1495 - the first record of whisky making in Scotland -distillation was widely practised across Europe. It is hardly surprising that the first distillers were monks: the water of life, aquavitae (uisge beatha in Scots Gaelic) was a medicine made in monastic laboratories, and markedly different to today's whisky. Flavoured with heather, honey, roots, herbs and spices - partly to hide off-flavours, partly because it was a medicine -this medieval mix was closer to a crude whisky liqueur.
Until the beginning of the 19th century the top Irish brands were flavoured in this way. It was only when whisky began to be made in great houses and crofts alike that it became recognisable as the drink we know today. Distillers have always used the main crop of their region as the base for their spirits, and in Scotland and Ireland that meant barley. Making whisky was a means of using up surplus grain: in winter, cattle could be fed on the grains left after mashing and crofters could use their whisky as part-payment of rent. Made in batches in small pot stills, the process used for malt whisky today, whisky soon became an integral part of rural life.
When crofter-distillers from Scotland arc Ireland were driven off their land from 1 ~4; onwards, whisky spread to America and Canada. Though rye whiskey had been made as early as 1640, it was this sudden wave of immigrants that established whiskey as North America's spirit. They, too, used the local grains - rye, corn and wheat - and by 1783 commercial production had kicked or: in Kentucky.
By 1825, the whisky industry in Scotland and Ireland was controlled by men of capin. Gone were the days of the crofter-distiller making enough to fuel the craic and the ceilidh and pay the rent. New legislation ushered in a building programme of new malt distilleries across the Highlands and in Ireland. At the start of the 19th century Irish whiskey had the highest international reputation, with the heavily-peated Scottish malts considered an acquired taste. Then in 1827, Robert Stein invented a continuous still (see pages 86-87), which not only mace distilling less labour-intensive but produced lighter, grain-based whisky which could be mass produced. Adapted in 1831 by Aenea-Coffey, the continuous still changed whisky production forever.
Distillers in the Scottish Lowlands seized the new invention and by the 1850s grocer and wine merchants such as John Walker. George Ballantine, James Chivas, John Dewar and Matthew Gloag began blending malt with the light grain, and the public sa: up and took notice. The Irish resisted, for a time. Distillers including John Jameson and John Power, who were already enjoying international prestige with their pot-still whiskies, refused to use the continuous method, dismissing it as an adulteration o: 'real' whisky.
The North Americans had no such qualms and Coffey's patent still was soon adopted in America and Canada. This interest, along with James Crow's research into quality control in Kentucky, improved consistency. The Canadians were so enamoured of the Coffey still that, in 1875, they passed legislation decreeing that Canadian whisky could only be made from grain distilled in a continuous still, and aged for a minimum of three years in oak barrels. The quality-oriented, modern industry was taking shape. Even at this stage there was no indication that whisky would become the world's best-selling spirit. Brandy was still more popular, but the vine parasite phylloxera vastrix put paid to that when, from the 1870s onwards, it wiped out Europe's vineyards - and the brandy industry with them.
It is entirely possible that American whiskey would have become the world's dominant player, were it not for the growth of the Temperance Movement in the US which led to Prohibition in 1919. At that time, Irish whiskey was selling more in America than Scotch, but while Scotch and Canadian whisky managed to retain a quality image, Irish whiskies lost their biggest market overnight and were being (badly) copied by bootleggers. Their reputation plummeted. At the same time, Irish independence led to the ban of Irish products in Britain and the Empire. With no markets left, the Irish industry imploded and blended Scotch took over.
This was the situation until the late 1970s when, through industry complacency, or the inevitability of changing fashion, young drinkers turned away from brown spirits or the global whisky industry fell into deep depression. Blended Scotch has struggled hard to regain consumer confidence in its old markets, though it has enjoyed success in southern Europe and Asia. But in America, northern Europe and Britain, malts have kept the whisky dream alive. This recent fascination with premium whisky has also boosted the American whiskey industry and sparked a new optimism in Ireland and Canada. There are now more quality whiskies on offer than ever before, and a renewed interest in how they are made and the people who make them.
10.12.08
Jack Daniels an American Whiskey
The Jack Daniel's legend starts with the eponymous founder of the distillery, who allegedly owned his first distillery at the tender age of 13, having learned his skill at the knee of Dan Call - one of those moon shining preachers who pepper the history of American whiskey. Jack was a clever operator, but it's hard to imagine that he envisaged his brand would one day become the most famous American whiskey of all.
These days it's Jimmy Bradford who wearing Jack's shoes. The epitome of a Southern gentleman (unlike the short-tempered Jack, who died after kicking a safe in his office), he's been looking after the whiskey for 32 years, which, he drawls laconically: 'probably gives me some credibility to talk about distilling'.
They make whiskey slightly differently in Tennessee, though it's not - as many people think - sour-mashing that sets it apart. All Bourbon and Tennessee whiskey is made by the sour mash technique: the real difference lies in the Lincoln County Process, or charcoal mellowing, which all Tennessee whiskey must undergo.
For Jimmy, it's the combination of the limestone water drawn from Cave Spring and the mellowing that helps to give Jack Daniel's its personality. The mellowing involves dripping the new spirit though a 10-foot vat of maple charcoal, which leaches some fusel oils and esters from the spirit, while giving it a distinct softness.
There's only one mashbill - 80 per cent corn, 12 per cent rye and 8 per cent barley malt - for all the Jack Daniel's brands; meaning that the sole difference between such diverse products as Green Label, Black Label and Gentleman Jack lies in the length of time they have been aged and where they have been warehoused. With a spread of traditional warehouses, the blenders can mingle whiskeys from different sites and floors to make up the desired product, and with 7,500 barrels a week being put into the warehouses, they have plenty of choice.
That figure gives an idea of the sheer scale of the operation. Owner Brown-Forman may, rightly, play up the Sleepy Hollow-type imagery surrounding the small town of Lynchburg, but don't be fooled: this is a bang-up-to-date distillery applying old techniques in a highly efficient and modern manner. Jack may recognize the site, but he'd be astounded by the three huge beer stills and intrigued by the way in which the vapour is fed directly into the doubler, making it a refined type of single distillation.
But you don't think of Jack Daniel's in production terms. The visitors who pour into the distillery aren't that interested in mellowing, distillation techniques or the pros and cons of mechanization. They come because they feel part of a family. When an Australian winemaker I know went to America for the first time, the two places at the top of her 'must-see' list were Graceland and the Jack Daniel's distillery. It's that kind of loyalty that makes Jack an American icon.
These days, Jack Daniel's is as recognizable a symbol of American rock 'n' roll rebelliousness as Harley Davidson. It hasn't gone out and developed a bad-boy image, but clutching one of those square bottles with the black label brings out the rebel in even the most mild-mannered accountant, and makes him feel, if only for one drink, the equal of Keith Richards or Dennis Hopper.
You would think that being in charge of such an iconic product would prey on Jimmy's mind, but there's no chance of that. He approaches this onerous responsibility with the same pleasant, measured good humour as he does the rest of life. 'It's a pleasure to assist in making this product. Just to drive in every day and see Jack standing there down the holler gives me a sense of pride'.
TASTING NOTES
Jack Daniel's Black Label 80 proof Very sweet and clean, with a touch of liquorice, smoke and caramel. A good mouthful with a great, sweet finish. * * *
Gentleman Jack 80 proof
Even sweeter, with black fruit and a sooty, rich finish.
These days it's Jimmy Bradford who wearing Jack's shoes. The epitome of a Southern gentleman (unlike the short-tempered Jack, who died after kicking a safe in his office), he's been looking after the whiskey for 32 years, which, he drawls laconically: 'probably gives me some credibility to talk about distilling'.
They make whiskey slightly differently in Tennessee, though it's not - as many people think - sour-mashing that sets it apart. All Bourbon and Tennessee whiskey is made by the sour mash technique: the real difference lies in the Lincoln County Process, or charcoal mellowing, which all Tennessee whiskey must undergo.
For Jimmy, it's the combination of the limestone water drawn from Cave Spring and the mellowing that helps to give Jack Daniel's its personality. The mellowing involves dripping the new spirit though a 10-foot vat of maple charcoal, which leaches some fusel oils and esters from the spirit, while giving it a distinct softness.
There's only one mashbill - 80 per cent corn, 12 per cent rye and 8 per cent barley malt - for all the Jack Daniel's brands; meaning that the sole difference between such diverse products as Green Label, Black Label and Gentleman Jack lies in the length of time they have been aged and where they have been warehoused. With a spread of traditional warehouses, the blenders can mingle whiskeys from different sites and floors to make up the desired product, and with 7,500 barrels a week being put into the warehouses, they have plenty of choice.
That figure gives an idea of the sheer scale of the operation. Owner Brown-Forman may, rightly, play up the Sleepy Hollow-type imagery surrounding the small town of Lynchburg, but don't be fooled: this is a bang-up-to-date distillery applying old techniques in a highly efficient and modern manner. Jack may recognize the site, but he'd be astounded by the three huge beer stills and intrigued by the way in which the vapour is fed directly into the doubler, making it a refined type of single distillation.
But you don't think of Jack Daniel's in production terms. The visitors who pour into the distillery aren't that interested in mellowing, distillation techniques or the pros and cons of mechanization. They come because they feel part of a family. When an Australian winemaker I know went to America for the first time, the two places at the top of her 'must-see' list were Graceland and the Jack Daniel's distillery. It's that kind of loyalty that makes Jack an American icon.
These days, Jack Daniel's is as recognizable a symbol of American rock 'n' roll rebelliousness as Harley Davidson. It hasn't gone out and developed a bad-boy image, but clutching one of those square bottles with the black label brings out the rebel in even the most mild-mannered accountant, and makes him feel, if only for one drink, the equal of Keith Richards or Dennis Hopper.
You would think that being in charge of such an iconic product would prey on Jimmy's mind, but there's no chance of that. He approaches this onerous responsibility with the same pleasant, measured good humour as he does the rest of life. 'It's a pleasure to assist in making this product. Just to drive in every day and see Jack standing there down the holler gives me a sense of pride'.
TASTING NOTES
Jack Daniel's Black Label 80 proof Very sweet and clean, with a touch of liquorice, smoke and caramel. A good mouthful with a great, sweet finish. * * *
Gentleman Jack 80 proof
Even sweeter, with black fruit and a sooty, rich finish.
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