There are only five days left until the U.S. Tax & Trade Bureau’s ratification of American Single Malt Whiskey goes into effect. If you’ve been following along around here or on The Whisky Type Instagram account, you know that we’ve been celebrating since Sunday, counting down to January 19 with Seven Days of American Single Malt Whiskeys.
Our chosen spirit this afternoon is a little bit different than the first two. It’s an American Single Malt, of course, but this particular distillery prefers the e-exclusionary spelling of whisky. Plus, it’s not just one bottle we’re opening. It’s four.
As one of the founding members of the American Single Malt Whiskey Commission, Virginia Distillery has been making its 100% malted barley whiskies in the Blue Ridge Mountains since 2011. The name Courage & Conviction comes from their late founder, Dr. George G. Moore, and his oft-repeated expression, “Have the courage of your convictions.”
Courage & Conviction is not a singular whiskey. It’s a brand, a range, and a varied experience, all rooted in the same core values: malted barley and natural Blue Ridge spring water.
I first tried Courage & Conviction last February while attending the ASMWC’s convention in Denver. If memory (which is a little fuzzy after quite a bit of whiskey and time), I tried the single barrel Cuvée Cask expression—and loved it.
I wanted to know more, and particularly to experience the Courage & Conviction’s core range of whiskies. Back in July, I ordered the four pack featured here along with a full-sized bottle of the Signature Malt whisky. Thanks to a shipping issue, a quick email, and a follow-up phone call, I found myself attending the Bourbon Women Sip-osium as a guest of the distillery a month later.
And they say drinking whiskey won’t get you anywhere in life.
Virginia Distillery’s afternoon event during the Sip-osium took me and several other guests to Clayton & Crume, an artisan leather shop in Louisville. We drank, we snacked, and we made leather sleeves to fit on rocks glasses, each one embossed with the Courage & Conviction logo.
More importantly, we learned about the art of blending from Virginia Distillery’s Lead Blender, Amanda Beckwith.
The core range of Courage & Conviction consists of four whiskies, each 46% ABV and aged for a minimum of four years. The difference lies in their finishing. There’s the Bourbon Cask, the Cuvée Cask, and the Sherry Cask. The fourth core whisky, Signature Malt, is a blend of the other three.
You can buy each ready-made expression on its own, or pick up a 50 ml sampler like I did. And you could drink them as they come, sipping on each separately.
But Virginia Distillery has a unique approach to their consumer engagement strategy, which might change how you enjoy their whisky: this is a distillery that believes in audience participation.
The sampler pack of Courage & Conviction whiskies comes with a QR code. You can scan it to enjoy a virtual tasting experience with Amanda, deepening your experience of each sip.
Plus, with each of the three core component whiskies on hand, whisky enthusiasts can create their own blend of Courage & Conviction, selecting the specific amounts of each component whisky to include in their glass. Sometimes, whisky fans like me can even order a bottle of their own unique blend. This special offering, called The Draftsman, comes with a special label indicating the percentages of each whisky contained within. It also bears the name of the person who “drafted” it.
Let me just say from experience: it’s really cool to see your own name on a bottle of whisky.
My version of The Draftsman is 40% bourbon cask; 20% cuvée cask, and 40% sherry cask. I chose and ordered that particular blend in Louisville. After telling us about the distillery’s history and the basics of her trade, Amanda gave each of us small amounts of the three base whiskies along with pipettes, a place to take notes, and instructions to play.
As someone who was never really into science, it was the most fun I’ve ever had with a pipette. The fact that I was sampling my experimental blends along the way probably helped.
Unfortunately, I can’t find The Draftsman on the Courage & Conviction website right now, but that doesn’t mean you can’t blend your own at home if you have all the necessary parts. Plus, VA Distillery’s audience participation options don’t stop there. They also offer a free online education program to learn more about American Single Malt Whiskey, called the ASM Academy.
Oh, and how are the whiskies? Fantastic.
The Bourbon Cask is light and creamy, with hints of vanilla and malt a pinch of spice. The Cuvée Cask is comparatively dark and rich, digging deeper into the baking cabinet to pull out notes of brown sugar and even more spice. The Sherry Cask hits the tongue with a bold blend of fruit and leather. The Signature Malt pulls notes from all three, with a gentle layering of flavor that has earned it several 90+ point ratings.
The good news is this: for an amateur blender…you pretty much can’t go wrong drinking or mixing these whiskies.
Sláinte, y’all!
In My Glass(es)
Courage & Conviction American Single Malt Whiskies
Bourbon Cask, Cuvée Cask, Sherry Cask, and Signature Malt
Virginia Distillery Co. – Lovingston, Virginia
46% ABV; Min. 4 Years
On My Desk
A still-new-to-me Royal Quiet De Luxe in its dining room debut.
Just six days to go until American Single Malt Whiskey goes into effect as an official TTB category!
Today is Day Two of SEVEN DAYS OF AMERICAN SINGLE MALT WHISKEYS, my personal celebration of this momentous occasion and the amazing ASMW whiskeys being produced from coast to coast.
Today, I pulled out—and freshly uncorked—a bottle of Westland Beer Cash Finish American Single Malt Whiskey, Batch No. 1.
I visited Westland Distillery‘s Seattle-area headquarters about three years ago, and have had a soft spot for the distillery ever since. It was the first time I really got a sense of the community of whiskey, and especially the community among ASMW distillers and fans. I was working as a tour guide at Whiskey Del Bac at the time, and I casually mentioned it when we arrived, just to say how excited I was to be there.
The distillery didn’t yet have tours up and running after COVID, but my companion and I were immediately treated to a mini tour of the facilities, even taking a tiny sip of still-developing whiskey products in the distillery’s lab. Two weeks later, when our impromptu tour guide happened to be in Tucson, I connected her with my colleagues to ensure she got the same warm welcome.
We walked out at the end of the visit with two bottles: their flagship ASMW (the original version) and a “Cask Exploration” bottle featuring whiskey aged in a cask that previously held Redhook Brewery’s Stratosphere Barley Wine Beer.
The distillery has grown and changed significantly since then, sharpening their focus on a refreshed core range of whiskeys in 2024. I got to revisit the Flagship Single Malt with my whiskey advent calendar in December, but I also recently picked up this bottle of Beer Cask Finish American Single Malt Whiskey.
According to the label, this whiskey “celebrates the Pacific Northwest’s long tradition of craft brewing by integrating saison, stout, scotch ale, and doppelbock casks” to finish the whiskey. A total of seven different breweries partnered with Westland to provide (or perhaps return) barrels for the inaugural batch.
There’s no age statement on the bottle, but the distillery notes a minimum age of 8 years, more than double the Flagship’s 40 months.
At first sip, it’s whiskey, malty and true with hints of fruit and vanilla. Of course, it’s whiskey all the way through, but the finish? Oh man, that’s a saison. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a saison beer, but that crisp, lingering, straight-from-the-earth influence is absolutely unmistakable.
It’s nuanced, layered, and delicious. It’s also a whiskey that could only be “thoughtfully produced” in the PNW, crafted and infused with the terroir and culture of that region.
Sláinte, y’all!
In My Glass
Westland Beer Cask Finish American Single Malt Whiskey, Batch No. 1
The Tax & Trade Bureau’s official definition of American Single Malt Whiskey goes into effect on January 19, 2025—just one week from today. As most whiskey people already know, the category’s ratification was announced in December. It marks the first new American whiskey category defined by the TTB in more than half a century.
For ASMW distillers, this ruling is monumental. It marks a coming of age, placing American single malt whiskeys at the proverbial table alongside the long-established categories of bourbon and rye.
The ruling is equally important for American Single Malt Whiskey enthusiasts. The publicity, momentum, and legitimacy made possible through this ruling is expected to increase interest, access, and production of ASMW across the country and the world.
A rising tide lifts all boats, as they say.
I am excited to see where the ASMW category goes in the coming months and years. The distillers who pioneered and defined this category are already known for their innovation and their grit. Despite being an underrated, unofficial, and largely unknown category for decades, ASMW distillers have persevered to craft incredible spirits out of equal parts barley malt and passion.
To celebrate the elevation of ASMW to official status, I’m counting down to January 19 in the best way possible: with whiskey. Today kicks off a brief series I’m calling Seven Days of American Single Malt Whiskeys. Over the next week, I”ll be opening, drinking, and enjoying a different ASMW every single day.
As a note, these are all whiskeys currently residing in my liquor cabinet. A couple of the bottles are already open, known, and loved. Several, however, are not yet familiar. They were purchased but not yet uncorked and explored.
Today’s selection falls in the former category, as a whiskey that has become a near-daily drinker over the last several months: Stryker Texas Smoked Single Malt Whiskey from Andalusia Whiskey Co.
I received my first bottle of Stryker a little over a year ago as a thank you gift for dog sitting. It took me several months to open it (largely due to my cross-country move). The bottle’s contents have steadily dwindled, doled out into regular drams, since then.
I absolutely love this whiskey.
Stryker is produced in Blanco, Texas, a small town in the state’s picturesque Hill Country. I spent my 20s in the nearby city of Austin, and so I felt a connection to this whiskey before even pouring it into the glass. The distillery opened a year after I left Texas, and so the connection is definitely not direct, but sentimentality is real, y’all.
If there’s anything Texas knows, it’s flavor. The state is renowned for its barbecue, with an emphasis on smoked meats and brisket so juicy it melts in your mouth. Even this mostly-vegetarian was known to pick at a pile of BBQ’d meats back in the day.
Stryker draws on this tradition, kilning its malted barley over a fire of oak, apple, and mesquite woods to produce a unique flavor profile rich with the terroir and culinary traditions of Central Texas.
The resulting spirit is double-distilled and aged for three years in charred oak casks, which impart a sweetness to balance and introduce the heavy smoke flavor. It stands up at a respectable 50% ABV in the bottle, with a rich mahogany color.
For me, every sip is transportation, taking me back to late nights in the honky tonk bars of Austin. That city is where I learned to love whiskey and to two-step, tripping over a pair of boot-clad left feet while the smoke of an outdoor barbecue lingered in the air.
My nostalgia aside, the whiskey is well respected in its own regard. In 2021, Whiskey Advocate awarded the whiskey an enviable score of 93 points, placing it near the top of a pile of incredible American single malt whiskeys.
Stryker has quickly become one of my favorite whiskeys. It’s also one of the first options I offer to ASMW-curious friends when they visit my home and whiskey cabinet. Unfortunately, that means that my bottle is now just a quarter full, and the end is looming.
Because I’ve put myself on a whiskey-buying diet in 2025, I can’t replace the bottle just yet.
Last week, I attended the Stave & Thief Society’s Executive Bourbon Steward Course in Louisville, Kentucky. Our curriculum was, naturally, focused on bourbon. However, one early module went beyond corn whiskey to discuss the various other whiskey categories recognized in the USA. It also included a range of whiskey (and whisky) categories recognized around the world.
As we closed out the chapter, I realized that American Single Malt Whiskey hadn’t been mentioned. I raised my hand to ask about the perceived oversight.
“Well, it’s not an official category,” replied Chris, our instructor for the morning.
“Yeah, I know,” I acknowledged.
That was the end of the conversation.
Little did we know, American Single Malt Whiskey was, in fact, a legally-defined whiskey category that day. In fact, the Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau (TTB) had announced its planned ratification of the category just one day before, on December 12, 2024. The news simply had not yet reached my class of mostly bourbon aficionados.
Since then, the whiskey world has erupted with chatter about this new and exciting category. Congratulations and questions have flowed in tandem, both in the American whiskey community and those overseas. The questions I’ve seen often stem from expectations set by more established single malt regions, leading to confusion about what the American Single Malt Whiskey category is—and why its regulations have been established as they are.
So grab a glass of whiskey, and let’s dive in.
History of American Single Malt Whiskey
While malted barley was the grain of choice for whiskey distillation in Scotland and Ireland, it grew poorly in most New World soils. Instead, the earliest American distillers focused on rye. Thanks to a variety of sociopolitical, agricultural, and other factors, bourbon, a corn-based, barrel-aged liquor, quickly overtook rye both in terms of production and status. For 200+ years, bourbon has reigned supreme as the nation’s native spirit, even receiving an official designation as such in 1964.
While limited quantities of barley have been used in bourbon and rye production for centuries, the first known American Single Malt Whiskey was not made until the mid-1990s. Raw barley is more expensive than rye or corn, and demand for single malt whiskeys simply didn’t justify the cost of experimentation for most American distilleries.
Clear Creek Distillery, founded by Steve McCarthy and now part of Hood River Distillers, was the first to take a chance on malted barley. With the release of McCarthy’s Oregon Single Malt Whiskey, the distillery introduced a traditional-yet-unexpected spirit to the American whiskey scene, lighting a slow fuse that eventually led to an small explosion of American Single Malt Whiskey distillers and enthusiasts.
Today, hundreds of distilleries across the nation are making some type of American Single Malt Whiskey. The American Single Malt Whiskey Commission (ASMWC) counts more than a hundred of these distilleries as members. These include craft distilleries like the category’s catalyst, Clear Creek Distillery, established bourbon makers like Jim Beam, and Tennessee whiskey pioneer Jack Daniels.
What is American Single Malt Whiskey?
The American Single Malt Whiskey Commission was founded to “establish, promote and protect the category of American Single Malt Whiskey.” Created by some of the category’s first producers, they drafted and refined the original guidelines for what should be labeled as American Single Malt Whiskey:
Made of 100% malted barley
Distilled entirely at one distillery
Mashed, distilled, and matured in the USA
Matured in oak casks no larger than 700 liters
Distilled to no more than 160 proof (80% alcohol by volume)
Bottled at no less than 80 proof (40% alcohol by volume)
If labeled as American Straight Single Malt Whiskey, aged for at least two years
The lack of a minimum age statement (unless labeled as straight whiskey or bottled in bond), a maximum distilled proof of 160, and a minimum bottled proof of 80 are all common to American whiskey regulations.
Unlike single malt Scotch and Irish Whiskey, any type of still can be employed for the production of American Single Malts, including column, pot, and hybrid stills. Unlike bourbon and rye, distillers can also choose to age their new make spirit in used or new barrels with the interior either toasted or charred.
For many years, American Single Malt Whiskey has operated out of a so-called “gentleman’s agreement,” with most—if not all—single malt distilleries in the USA following the established guidelines. With the ratification of American Single Malt Whiskey as an official TTB category, these once-loose guidelines are now law. The official ruling was published on December 18, 2024 and goes into effect on January 19, 2025.
What does the TTB’s recognition of American Single Malt Mean for the Industry?
The ASMWC has fought tirelessly for legal recognition of American Single Malt Whiskey for the better part of a decade. At the same time, its member distilleries have been successfully producing, labeling, and selling their spirits as American Single Malt Whiskey. So why does the ratification of this new category—the first in 52 years—matter?
To answer that question, I called my friend Mark A. Vierthaler, the head distiller at Whiskey Del Bac and, in full disclosure, a former colleague. I worked at Del Bac as a tour guide for about six months back in 2021 and 2022. I also objectively love their whiskey—partly due to Mark’s expertise and influence on its production over the last few years. I knew that he could help me understand the full impact of this moment in whiskey history.
What the TTB’s Recognition of American Single Malt Whiskey Means to the Category
Mark immediately pointed to one word to describe the importance of the TTB’s ruling: legitimization.
” The ratification and recognition of ASMW shows consumers—locally, nationally, globally—that what distilleries like Whiskey Del Bac have been doing for more than a decade and a half has just as much cachet as bourbon, rye, [and] wheat whiskey—whichever American whiskey you choose,” he explained. “It makes it easier to educate consumers, creates trust in the category, and encourages more distilleries to begin experimenting with this American take on a classic style of whiskey.”
Mark’s clear explanation especially resonated with me due to an experience I had earlier this year. On a trip to England and Scotland, I stashed a couple bottles of Whiskey Del Bac in my suitcase, eventually sharing them with friends who work in the Scotch whisky industry.
“This is actually pretty good,” my friend Jon said, after taking a sip.
It was the “actually” that got me—of course I wasn’t going to drag bad whiskey across the ocean. But I couldn’t blame him for his response; because experience and knowledge of the American Single Malt Whiskey category has been so limited, so are the expectations for its spirits. According to Mark’s predictions, the formalization of the category will change that.
What the TTB’s Recognition of American Single Malt Whiskey Means to Distillers
As a follow-up, I asked Mark what American Single Malt distillers hope will come from the TTB’s new regulations. He told me that innovation and transparency are two of the most important elements of the ruling.
“Without an official designation, and American Single Malt Whiskey falling under the amorphous umbrella known as ‘Distilled Spirits Speciality,’ you could claim you were single malt, but there were no methods to ensure that you were following the spirit of the guidelines,” he explained.
In short, American Single Malt Whiskey distillers—or those who claimed to be—had no real accountability or obligation to follow the ASMWC’s guidelines. Now, distillers and consumers will know that anyone with American Single Malt Whiskey on the label are playing by the same rules. That allows distillers in to explore and expand on the category’s potential even more.
“With this being made into law, it allows distillers to continue to push the boundaries of what single malt means, while still holding true to a transparent standard,” Mark said. “The designation of American Single Malt shows that American ingenuity and whiskey-making expertise isn’t limited to one category.”
As an example, he explained, “Whiskey Del Bac was inspired by the Scottish model, but not defined by it. Like our fellow American Single Malt producers, we’re showing that single malt is so much more than what people think it is.“
How to Learn More About American Single Malt Whiskey
As with any spirit, there are two ways to learn about American Single Malt Whiskey: in a glass or in a class. For the discerning whiskey enthusiast, the best option might be both.
American Single Malt Whiskeys to Try
With hundreds of Single Malt Whiskeys being produced in the USA every day, there’s no shortage of whiskeys to sample. Many people can find a bottle of Clermont Steep, made by Kentucky giant Jim Beam, at the local whiskey shop.
For a deeper glimpse into the quality and innovation embodied by the category, consider buying a bottle from one of the craft distilleries who helped to define it.
Here are a few of my favorites to consider.
1. Whiskey Del Bac. I’ve been transparent in my bias toward Whiskey Del Bac, but I’m not alone in my appreciation of this Southern Arizona distillery. While they’re best known locally for Dorado, made with mesquite-smoked malted barley, it’s the Classic, a straightforward, unsmoked single malt, that’s making national waves. Still one of my favorite American whiskeys, the Classic received a 93 rating from Whisky Advocate in 2021.
2. Westland Distillery. Based in Seattle, this innovative distiller is taking a nerdier approach to whiskey. When I visited the distillery in 2022, I learned about their use of local oak quercus garryana—and a PhD-level exploration of barley varieties too. Their new core range features their Flagship American Single Malt Whiskey as well as whiskeys finished in wine and beer casks.
3. Minden Mill Distilling. Located outside of Reno, Nevada, Minden Mill’s spirits are a reminder that whiskey is, primarily, an agricultural product. Early farmers often distilled their excess grain as a way to use up overstock and supplement their income. Minden Mills now employs this same farm-to-bottle mentality, harvesting their own grains to produce “single estate whiskey.”
4. Andalusia Whiskey Co. Stryker, the flagship American Single Malt Whiskey from Andalusia Whiskey Co., features barley smoked over oak, cherry, and mesquite woods. Together, the imparted flavors reflect the unique terroir of the distillery’s Central Texas location. I received a bottle of Stryker last year as a thank you for dog sitting. Then unfamiliar, it has become a daily sipper.
5. Lost Lantern Whiskey. As a blender and independent bottler, Vermont’s Lost Lantern Whiskey doesn’t make its own spirits. Instead, they work with distilleries throughout the country, frequently engaging American single malt makers to produce a unique range of whiskeys. Flame, which marries spirits from Santa Fe Spirits and Whiskey Del Bac, was named the “Best American Blended Malt” at the 2024 World Whiskies Awards.
Because of the category’s still-growing prestige (and the challenges of in-country distribution), many of these notable whiskeys can be hard to find. That means that even an American Single Malt Whiskey enthusiast like me still has barely scratched the surface in tasting the incredible whiskeys out there (hint, hint, distillers….send me your samples…).
Despite the challenges of finding American Single Malt Whiskeys on the shelf, these spirits—and many others not listed here—are absolutely worth a sip.
Classes to Build Your Knowledge of American Single Malt Whiskey
Some of us like to pair our whiskey sips with certifiable expertise. For the nerds like me, here are two courses to take your American Single Malt Whiskey knowledge to another level:
The Edinburgh Whiskey Academy’s Certificate in American Single Malt Whiskey. Launched in 2024, this online certification course was produced in partnership with the ASMWC. I was part of the EWA’s pilot program, and I was hired to do a final round of edits to the course content too. Like all of the EWA’s course offerings, the American Single Malt Whiskey Certificate offers a thorough dive into the category. But the best part is the videos: featuring whiskey makers and ASMWC leadership, the class videos provide unique insights from those that know American Single Malt Whiskey best.
Courage & Conviction ASM Academy. This free course from Virginia Distilling Company (another great single malt distiller to try) offers a four-part overview of American Single Malt Whiskey. It covers an overview of the category, production, and sipping the whiskey before wrapping up with an introduction to Virginia Distilling.
Of course, if you prefer to keep your nose out of the books and in the glass, that’s perfectly okay too. The most important thing for any whiskey enthusiast to know is that American Single Malt Whiskey is officially here—and it’s here to stay.
Sláinte, y’all!
🥃 The Whisky Type is a self-funded project powered by equal parts curiosity, chaos, and whisky. If you’d like to support Carolyn’s questionable life choices and excellent content, buy her a dram! https://ko-fi.com/thewhiskytype
As a full time whisk(e)y enthusiast and a part time distillery tour guide in Kentucky, one of the most common questions I get asked is, “What is the difference between whiskey and bourbon?”
I always appreciate the people who are willing to pose this question, and even more so when it’s asked outright. Humble ignorance is welcome, and it’s far less frustrating than the persistent—and incorrect—insistence that bourbon is bourbon and whiskey is everything else.
Sometimes, the word “whiskey” is even wielded as an insult, particularly in reference to the spirits made south of the border—the state border, that is. If you ever want to see a born-and-bred Kentuckian’s head explode, suggest that Jack Daniels Tennessee Whiskey is also bourbon. We’ll save the question of whether it actually is or isn’t bourbon for another post, but let me tell you this: as a resident of the state by relocation rather than heritage, it’s good fun.
The truth is this: bourbon is whiskey. Not all whiskey is bourbon, however.
Whiskey (or whisky, depending) is a broad category of spirits. It includes the subcategories of bourbon, rye, Scotch, Canadian whiskey, Irish whiskey, and so much more. But to understand the definitions of and differences between these varieties, we have to first answer the bigger question: what is whiskey?
Note: Because this conversation started with bourbon, an American whiskey, I use the e-inclusive spellings of “whiskey” and “whiskeys” throughout, rather than my usual “whisky.”
A lovely dram of Glenmorangie’s Tales of the Forest.
What is Whiskey? (Or, What is Whisky?)
Whiskey—with or without the e—is any spirit distilled from a fermented grain mash. The grains most commonly used in whiskey are malted or unmalted barley, corn, rye, and wheat.
The grain-based nature of whiskey is critical in its definition, as it distinguishes the spirit from rum (fermented and distilled from sugar or sugar cane), brandy (fermented and distilled from fruit), or any other distilled spirit made worldwide. Those spirits may follow a somewhat similar fermentation and distillation process, but they are not whiskey.
How is Whiskey Made?
Whiskey is created through a multi-step process involving mashing, fermentation, and distillation, in that order.
Mashing
Starch is a natural component of grain, but sugar is what we need for the production of alcohol. Luckily, the starch that’s found in grains can be converted into sugar relatively easily. This happens through a process called mashing.
When barley is malted—a separate process that teases the grain kernels into starting germination before ruthlessly stagnating their growth—it releases enzymes that can break down starches and convert them into sugars. These powerful enzymes can transform an entire batch of grain, even if only a small portion of the recipe includes malted barley. The enzymes can also be added separately, if no or not enough barley is desired as part of the final product.
The process of mashing activates these enzymes. Introduced to the warmth of hot water (approximately 152 °F or 67 °C to be precise) they quickly get to work, moving through the batch of grain—essentially a big batch of oatmeal (or its alternate-grain equivalent). As the mash soaks, the grains, and then the water, become sweeter and sweeter.
Mashing is a relatively quick process, especially compared with the rest of whiskey production. The mash tun, a big vat designed to stir the contents while it cooks the grain, often finishes its work in an hour or two.
Then it’s on to fermentation.
The mash/lauter tun at Stranahan’s Whiskey Distillery in Denver, Colorado, USA.
Fermentation
If you think fermentation sounds fancy, let me assure you—it is not. Fermentation is what happens when yeast, a living microorganism, eats sugar.
Alcohol is yeast poop. CO2, another natural byproduct of fermentation, is yeast farts.
You’re welcome.
Yeast exists everywhere in the world: on plants and surfaces and even our skin. Over the years, the whiskey industry has cultivated particular yeast strains or species for their efficiency and outcomes, often using the same strains of yeast for decades.
Yeast is well known by whiskey enthusiasts for its practical application of creating alcohol. It is deeply under-appreciated for its artistic contribution to whiskey: creating flavor. While whiskey gets a significant portion of its flavor and aromas from a wooden barrel (something we’ll discuss later), the undercurrent of a whiskey’s flavor profile starts in the fermentation tank.
Yeast produces esters, chemical compounds which are central to the flavor of the spirit, and the type of yeast used will impact the flavors that appear.
Craft breweries have been leaning into this fact for some time, experimenting with a wide variety of yeasts. In the whiskey industry, consistency has more often reigned supreme, at least over the last century. That’s not to say that some distilleries aren’t pushing the boundaries of yeast usage. New and old distilleries are increasingly recognizing yeast for its creative and flavorful potential, and exploring what that can mean to the final product.
Regardless of whether a distillery uses a tried-and-true yeast strain or something new, the fermentation process (which can vary from a few days to a week or more) results in something called “distiller’s beer.” Typically containing 8-10% alcohol by volume, this hop-less beer is what we distill into whiskey.
Mash fermenting at James E. Pepper Distillery in Lexington, Kentucky, USA.
Distillation
Distillation is how we separate the wheat from the chaff—or, more appropriately, the ethanol from nearly everything else.
Distillation works on elementary-level science: every substance on planet earth freezes, boils, and vaporizes at a different temperature. Through distillation, we use this concept (and heat) to parse through the varied components of our distiller’s beer until we are left with a liquid that is both appetizing and safe to drink.
Distillation happens on a still. Whether it’s a column still, a pot still, or some hybrid combination of the two depends on the distillery and the type of whiskey they’re creating.
Whiskey stills are almost always made of copper. Copper will naturally react with sulphur particles in the distiller’s beer. The result is copper sulfate, a compound that sticks to the inside of the still rather than in your glass. Sulphur, typically described with a smell like rotten eggs, is not a flavor you probably want in your whiskey, and copper takes it out.
We could get into the intricacies of various stills and their functionality, but that’s a post all on its own. Here’s what you need to know: at the end of the distillation process, the stills have whittled the distiller’s beer down to what’s called “new make spirit.” You might also hear it called distillate, white dog, white lightning, moonshine, or, my personal (and unofficial) favorite, “pre-whiskey.”
The alcohol percentage of new make spirit is significantly higher than distiller’s beer. It’s also perfectly (or nearly) clear and high in ethanol (the good alcohol), though many of the oils and esters of the fermented beer have persevered through the process. This is good; it means our whiskey will have flavor.
According to our dictionary definition, we could stop here—but most whiskey geeks would (rightfully) scoff at the idea. There is one more more step to transform this clear spirit into our favorite amber liquid.
Copper pot stills at Town Branch Distillery in Lexington, Kentucky, USA.
Does Whiskey Have to Be Aged?
Whiskey lovers, brace yourselves: what I’m about to say might make you angry.
Technically, whiskey may not need to be aged.
You may have noticed that the general definition of whiskey noted above does not mention it at all. Worse, there are a number of clear, unaged “white” whiskeys in the market at this very moment.
I know, I hate it too.
That said, most defined sub-categories of whiskey do require aging, and some even mandate a minimum age. More importantly, the universally-accepted expectation of whiskey demands an aged spirit.
So put down your pitchforks, damnit. I’m on your side.
Whisky barrels aging in the warehouse at Bunnahabhain Distillery, Port Askaig, Scotland.
What is Aging?
When a whiskey is “aged,” it has spent some amount of time in a wooden barrel. Typically made of white oak, these barrels significantly contribute to the flavor of the spirit—and they provide all of its typical golden, amber, or brown color.
Barrels made of white oak are the #1 choice for whiskey distillers worldwide. As a hardwood, white oak’s dense fibers and natural components help to prevent whiskey from leaking through and out of the barrel. This is key to making sure that the spirit stays in the barrel where it belongs, rather than on the floor of your rackhouse.
White oak also contains natural compounds that contribute to the flavor of whiskey. While the presence and levels of these compounds may vary depending on the species of white oak used, a handful are well-known for their particular flavor influence on whiskey:
Vanillins: vanilla and spice
Oak Lactones: coconut and wood
Guaiacyl: smoke
Eugenol: spice
Tannins: bitterness and astringency
Many whiskeys, particularly American whiskeys aged in virgin oak barrels, also feature a caramel note and a pronounced sweetness. This is largely due to the wood sugars in the barrel, which are charred and caramelized through the process to prepare the barrel for aging. The more times a barrel is used, the less influence these and other compounds will impart on the final flavor of the whiskey.
How are barrels made?
Whiskey barrels are made by a cooper in a cooperage.
Yes, if your last name is Cooper (à la Emily in Paris), your ancestors probably made wooden barrels for a living.
Using heat and force, wood planks (called staves) are shaped and secured with metal hoops. For American whiskeys, the barrels are typically charred, or burned out on the inside. There are several levels of charring, ranging from one to four, and I’ve heard five mentioned on occasion. Each level corresponds to a particular number of seconds that the barrel is subjected to fire. The lower the char level, the less fire is used.
Charring a barrel breaks through the outer layer of the wood and gives the spirit more access to those flavorful compounds noted above. The more charred the barrel, the more influence the wood compounds will have on your final product.
Some distilleries also “toast” their barrels. Toasting is a slower, more careful process to heat the inside of the barrel. Toasting often results in a lighter colored whiskey with less wood influence in its flavor profile.
Barrels of whisky at Glenkinchie Distillery, East Lothian, Scotland.
What does the “age” of a whiskey mean?
While other alcoholic drinks can continue to age even after leaving the barrel, a whiskey’s age is calculated as the number of whole years that the spirit spent in its oaky home. There’s no rounding up in whiskey—a whiskey that spent 9 and 3/4 years in a barrel is not a 10-year-old whiskey; it is 9 years old.
When a bottle of whiskey is marked with a particular age, it indicates the youngest whiskey that is included in the bottle. Blended and batched whiskeys (yet another topic for another time) are defined by the youngest whiskey added to the blend, even if it’s only a drop—a 10-year-old whiskey could contain spirits that aged for far longer, and those elderly spirits could even be in the majority.
Some whiskey folks are very particular about the age of their whiskey, suggesting that a whiskey can’t be good if it’s less than 10 years old, or some other such self-imposed standard. Some national regulations also require a minimum age to carry a particular label, such as the three years necessary to make Scotch whiskey.
The average age of whiskey, (and the minimum for a “good” whiskey) varies significantly worldwide. It largely depends on the region in which the spirits are produced and aged; American whiskeys “age” quickly, influenced by the country’s diverse (and wide-ranging) climate and the requirement that bourbon and rye are aged in virgin oak barrels. Whiskeys produced in Scotland and Ireland, in contrast, take longer to mature, given the more temperate climates of those nations and the common practice of re-using barrels.
At the end of the day, whether a whiskey is aged for 10 months or 40 years is not that relevant, as long as it meets the requirements of its home country’s definition. Far more important is the flavor of the whiskey when it leaves the barrel—and what’s “good” or not is entirely up to you.
A tiny dram of whisky at Whiski Rooms in Edinburgh, Scotland.
The Final Word: What is Whiskey, again?
Just to drive the point home, we’ll say it one more time: whiskey is an alcoholic spirit distilled from fermented grain and, unless you want to upset your whiskey-loving friends, aged in an oak barrel.
This post is intended to be a basic introduction to whiskey. Every part of the production process is far more complex and nuanced than noted here, sometimes due to basic science and sometimes due to the wide ranging practices of various regions. To start, the plan is to dig into those differences and idiosyncrasies as part of a deeper dive into each of whiskey’s subcategories.
In short, this is part one of a probably-lengthy series, so make sure you’re following along.
Check back each week as we dive deeper into the world of whiskey, from the experience of the spirit to the practices that define it. And be sure to follow The Whisky Type on Instagram too!
It is officially fall 🍁🍂 in Kentucky, and, after 7 years of autumn-free desert living, I am loving every single second of it.
Maybe it’s the cooler weather or the changing colors, but I’ve been in the mood for all the rye whiskies lately. Neat or in a cocktail, I want to taste spicy, warming notes.
That makes it a perfect time to pop open this bottle of @sirdavis, the new(ish) rye whisky from @beyonce.
On the whole, I’m generally skeptical of celebrity spirits. It’s nothing against the famous faces behind them—it’s just that this whisky could taste like horse slobber and still sell. Beyoncé is just that big of a deal.
But then I learned how Queen Bey worked with Dr. Bill Lumsden (of Glenmorangie and Ardbeg scotch whisky fame) to craft her introduction to the whisky market. She also thoughtfully aged it in a Pedro Ximénez sherry cask (my favorite). And, according to early reviews, this whisky is actually really good.
So I bought it, and I can confirm: this whisky is really, really good.
“We have crafted a delicious American whisky that respects tradition but also empowers people to experience something new and unique in the category.”
SirDavis Rye is a dark mahogany color, sold in a stunning fluted glass bottle. Sources say the spirit is made with 51% rye and 49% malted barley.
In the glass, the official tasting notes suggest Seville oranges, clove, cinnamon, ginger, and toffee on the nose. There is definitely something almost old fashioned-esque in the aromas, with hints of flamed oranges and spice.
On the palate, the whisky is smooth and rich, but not overpowering. It’s well-rounded and thick with a short finish.
At first, it’s like a blanket at a bonfire, wrapping your tongue in cozy warmth. Then the baking spices come through, adding a flash of cinnamon and pepperiness to the fire.
This is not a rye that I would necessarily put in a cocktail; the whisky’s barley content softens the bold flavors of rye that typically punch up a Manhattan or an old fashioned. Plus, it’s just 44% ABV—respectable but less sturdy than I prefer in my mixed drinks.
That’s perfectly fine; this whisky doesn’t need anything else. SirDavis American Rye is a gorgeous sipper all on its own.
Slàinte, y’all!
In My Glass
SirDavis American Rye Whisky No Age Statement; 44% ABV USA
Americans love a comeback story, and it’s even better when it features whiskey.
The James E. Pepper Distilling Co. in Lexington, Kentucky forms the cornerstone of the city’s current Distillery District, but its roots stretch back to the origins of the nation. James E. Pepper, the namesake of the surviving Old Pepper Distillery, was a third-generation distiller. His grandfather began making spirits during the American Revolution, passing the trade down to his son and grandson.
James took over the family business as a young man, after the deaths of his whiskey and literal forefathers. He quickly went bankrupt. The younger Pepper lost the distillery—but not its legacy, walking away from the proceedings with his family’s cherished recipes.
The new (at the time) Old Pepper Distillery was built in Lexington in 1880, and Pepper began recreating his family line of spirits.
If you look beyond the tour guide’s enthusiastic delivery of these facts, it quickly becomes clear that James E. Pepper was not the best businessman. He soon lost the distillery a second time, thanks in part to less-than-successful ventures in horse racing. The property was only returned to him because of his wife, Ella O. Pepper. Ella was a woman of family means who not only rescued James’ horses at auction, but bought back his distillery too.
That’s not to say that Pepper didn’t have his impact on the whiskey world. When the state of Kentucky mandated that whiskey could only be bottled by third-party intermediates (a well-intended effort to minimize whiskey tampering), Pepper sued. He won the right to bottle his own spirit, and also introduced the practice of sealing each bottle, slipping a label across the cork to ensure the whiskey’s quality.
Pepper and his namesake distillery might have been knocked down a few times, but it always got up to fight again. The distillery survived Pepper’s death in 1907, though it passed out of the family a year later. It even survived prohibition, which devastated many distilleries across the nation. But what Old Pepper couldn’t quite survive was the wave of changing trends. Americans’ shifting preference for clear liquor in the 1950s and 1960s delivered the final punch, and the distillery shuttered, remaining closed for more than half a century.
Today whiskey again flows inside the walls of Old Pepper Distillery. The tour, which begins in a small museum of old advertisements and bottles, explores the history of luck, passion, and circumstance surrounding the brand.
The current owner is not a member of the Pepper family, nor connected to them in any way outside of the distillery. He came into his position as a result of intersecting interests, as he began to research the now-unknown whiskey brand that sponsored boxer Jack Johnson in 1910. The connection between distillery and boxer was captured in a photograph of Johnson’s infamous match against Jim Jeffries.
For whiskey purists, that tentative connection makes the James E. Pepper of today relatively suspect. The distillery’s original license number was reassigned as part of its resurrection, and the name repainted on its walls brick walls. The spirit that flows is not made from James E. Pepper’s original recipes, but recreated through careful assessment of surviving bottles.
While the James E. Pepper visitor experience hinges on the full history of the name, it is not a history that truly belongs to the current owner or brand. Whether or not that is a good or bad or neutral thing remains up for debate.
Suspending all existential discussions, visiting the current operations is, objectively, a lovely experience. The visitors center is small, but nicely laid out, with a small bar for flights and tastings. The tour takes you from the museum into the production floor, where the spirits run through a column still rising two stories high. You end with a guided tasting of the distillate, as well as the distillery’s flagship Bourbon and Rye expressions, before being escorted back to the entrance and shop.
Since its rebirth, Old Pepper has become surrounded by restaurants and shops, many built into the original distillery buildings. Visiting the distillery alone would fall short of the potential of the Distillery District, which now hosts two other distilleries, a coffee shop, a brewery, a boutique ice cream shop, bars, restaurants, shopping, and more.
So after concluding my tour with a sip and purchase of the distillery’s single malt whiskey (unsurprisingly my favorite of the core range) and an old fashioned cocktail (of which James E. Pepper was a passionate advocate), I ventured back into the sunlight and cacophony of the surrounding district. I found tacos at Desperados Cantina and a strawberry-balsamic sorbet at Crank and Boom, enjoying the warm Kentucky sunlight on a perfect Sunday afternoon.
If you’re not actively looking for Whiskey Del Bac’s award-winning distillery in Tucson, Arizona, you’re not likely to find it. Nestled against the I-10 highway in an industrial park on the west side of town, only an understated decal to announces its front door.
Of course, for those who know about whisky (or even about craft beer), the massive silo on the back of the building is a dead giveaway that something is brewing inside the otherwise unassuming walls.
That silo holds some 50,000 pounds of unmalted barley, waiting and ready for a trip into the drum malter inside. Until a couple of years ago, Whiskey Del Bac (more formally known as Hamilton Distillers) only produced American Single Malt Whiskey. Like most modern single malt distilleries, they source the majority of their barley ready to be milled and mashed. But when founder Stephen Paul began to fiddle with the idea of making whiskey, he had a particular outcome in mind, which required him to malt his own barley, even as an amateur distiller.
That idea is now bottled and named Dorado, a mesquite-smoked single malt whiskey that, as I used to tell guests at the distillery, is more akin to a campfire than a boat fire.*
That’s a good way to segue into my disclaimer for this post: for six wonderful months between the fall of 2021 and the summer of 2022, I was employed by Whiskey Del Bac as a tour guide. For two or three days every week, I led guests through the history and production and experience of the distillery’s core range of whiskies, including Dorado. I’ve always looked back on that time fondly, and I’m still friends with many of the distillers, managers, and sales folk who remained.
I am no longer paid by Hamilton Distillers, but I’ve continued to be an enthusiastic advocate for what I truly believe to be one of the best American Single Malt Whiskies money can buy.
How Whiskey Del Bac Came to Be
Whiskey Del Bac was founded by Stephen and Amanda Paul, a father-daughter duo who are still involved in the distillery’s strategy and operations.
Unofficially, it was Stephen’s wife who deserves the credit for this American whiskey.
Stephen is a carpenter and a furniture maker by trade. For years, he owned a custom furniture shop on Tucson’s Fourth Avenue, a lively and iconic street in the Old Pueblo’s downtown area. Embracing the spirit and the natural resources of the Sonoran Desert (of which Tucson is a part), Stephen frequently employed mesquite wood to build his creations.
Mesquite is a hardwood that grows across the American Southwest. Both beautiful and dense, it is often compared to fine woods like oak and walnut. That makes it a phenomenal choice for furniture—and for smoking meat, which is, indirectly, how Whiskey Del Bac came to be.
The Pauls were (and are) scotch whisky drinkers. They also would utilize the off-cuts of mesquite wood from Stephen’s shop to smoke meat at home. Legend says that on one such night in the backyard, with a rich cut of beef (or something similarly meaty) on the smoker and a glass of scotch in her hand, Elaine wondered aloud whether one could smoke malted barley with mesquite rather than peat.
The rest, as they say, is history.
Whiskey Del Bac’s Core Range: Smoke, No Smoke, and Rye
At the spiritual heart of Whiskey Del Bac’s core range is Dorado, a smoky single malt whiskey that’s “mesquited, not peated.” It’s the whiskey for which the distillery is most well-known, at least in Tucson, where the marriage of local ingredients and local whiskey frequently receives high praise. Dorado offers a unique combination of sweet mesquite smoke and the bold vanilla-and-caramel flavors characteristic of new American Oak barrels.
Two other expressions, the Classic and the Sentinel, round out the distillery’s main offerings.
The Classic is a straightforward whiskey distilled from exclusively unsmoked barley, modeled in quality after a revered Speyside scotch like those from Macallen or Balvenie. It’s also the best of the distillery’s three main whiskies—and that’s not just my opinion. In the last few years, the Classic has earned an enviable 90 rating from Whisky Advocate and a 93 from sister publication Wine Enthusiast. The latter also listed the Classic in its Top 100 Spirits of 2021.
Sentinel, the distillery’s singular rye whiskey, is the only one of Whiskey Del Bac’s offerings not fully produced on site in Tucson. The raw spirit is distilled in Indiana before being transported to the desert to rest in Del Bac’s casks. The team uses ex-Dorado barrels to age the spirit, infusing the spicy rye with soft notes of mesquite smoke.
Beyond the core range, the distillery produces some seven (or more) special releases every year.
Normandie, Frontera, and Ode to Islay (my personal favorite) are annual limited releases. The three expressions utilize a brandy barrel finish, a Pedro Ximenez sherry cask finish, and a veritable crap-ton of mesquited barley, respectively.
The remaining releases are seasonal. The Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall Distiller’s Cuts vary from season to season and year to year. As head distiller Mark A. Vierthaler recently explained at a distillery open house, these distiller’s cuts allow his team space for creativity in an industry that otherwise thrives on consistency. The most recent quarterly expression, the Spring 2024 Distiller’s Cut, features “an unsmoked base matured in New American White Oak, finished in Tawny Port barrels, then blended with mesquite smoked American single malt petites eaux from a used bourbon barrel” according to Whiskey Del Bac’s website. The description is a mouthful, but so is the dram.
Next spring, it’ll be entirely different, a yet-unseen product of the distillers’ imagination.
Touring Whiskey Del Bac
Whiskey Del Bac still falls firmly in the “craft” category of distillation, filling a relatively small space with a single 500-gallon pot still and various other necessary equipment.
When you tour the distillery, you start in a narrow corridor between the shop and offices and the production floor. Here, you’ll see one of Stephen Paul’s handcrafted chairs, early iterations of the whiskey’s labels, and, currently, a handmade mill. During my time as a tour guide, the small room housed Paul’s original and intermediate stills, both curvy copper pots with a capacity of five and 60 gallons, respectively.
It’s here that you learn about Whiskey Del Bac’s original inspiration, and how Stephen’s drive for creation and quality led him down the path to the whiskey we know today. You’ll also learn about how Amanda, freshly returned from New York City, got involved—specifically by urging her dad to formalize his whiskey-making activities rather than be arrested for illegal moonshining.
From this ad hoc and ever evolving museum, you move to the back of the building, listening to the creaks and sighs of the equipment and systems. The tour guide, Ian in my case, will explain the malting process, performed here on a drum malter. He talks about the grain and the acrospsires and the smoke that are essential to the malting process, as well as the mechanics of moving it all from one tank to another.
Then it’s on to the mill and the mash tun and the business of making whiskey in earnest. If you’re lucky (or ask), you can taste the newly fermented distiller’s beer, which is not particularly palatable in terms of beer, but also not terrible either.
After the still and a discussion of the heads, hearts, and tails, it’s on to the barrels, which includes both the large finishing casks (rhum agricole, sherry, tequila, cognac, brandy, and more) and the standard new American oak quarter casks, inside of which every drop of Whiskey Del Bac begins its maturation journey.
Somewhere around the barrel area, our tour gropu was graced by the presence of Two-Row, a grey tabby cat who lives at the distillery full time. As head mouser, occasional greeter, and official mascot of Whiskey Del Bac, Two-Row loves to offer her two cents on every tour—and her two front paws to every tasting, often sipping them into unsuspecting guests’ water cups.
The tour finishes with a brief nod at the bottling area and then a settling into the tasting room, which, if we’re honest, is the primary reason anyone comes on these tours. Spread around two large rustic tables, you can try the three core expressions (Classic, Dorado, and Sentinel), and then, if available, any current limited releases. On my tour we sampled both the Frontera (an unsmoked barley malt finished in PX sherry casks) and the Spring Distiller’s Cut (see above).
Of course, every good tour exits through the gift shop. Or, in this case, the whiskey shop, where you can stock up on bottles and other bits and bobs. You’ll even find t-shirts emblazoned with the distillery’s mesquite, not peated motto.
As you shuffle back into the sunshine, laden with whiskey in paper bags, the bright heat and cacti of the Sonoran desert await. The landscape is harsh and unyielding, but among the scrub and the dust you’ll also find strength and beauty. This, truly, is the spirit of Whiskey Del Bac.
Slàinte, y’all!
*My fellow Islay whisky drinkers (and haters) will understand that reference…and most of my guests did too.
Two weeks ago, I zipped from Arizona to Colorado to attend the American Single Malt Whisky Commission Convention in downtown Denver. It was a last-minute trip, but I couldn’t resist the opportunity to one of my favorite cities, try more Colorado whiskies, and see more than 20 American Single Malt distillers all together in one room.
As I stumbled away at the end of the evening, I carried with me a few business cards, several stickers, and five things that excite me about American Single Malt Whiskey right now:
Peat is just as exciting in American Single Malt Whiskey as it is in Scotch.
Experimentation is the name of the game in American Single Malt Whiskey.
There is joy in the American Single Malt Whiskey industry.
The community of American Whiskey is tight-knit and welcoming.
Bourbon may be America’s whiskey, but American Single Malts is on the rise.
Keep reading as I expand on each!
Five Things that Excite Me About American Single Malt Whiskey Right Now
As a whisky enthusiast and an American Single Malt Whiskey (ASMW) enthusiast, these five things about the ASMW category that most excite me right now.
The use of peat is just as exciting in American Single Malt Whiskey as it is in Scotch.
I’ll start right out with the most controversial take, fully admitting that not every ASMW drinker (or even every Scotch drinker) will share this opinion. I happen to be a verified Peat Monster. I want peat in my whiskey, and I want it to be so big and bold that it practically crawls out of the glass of its own volition.
American single malt producers are known for experimenting with different types of smoke, and with great success. Whiskey Del Bac, headquartered just a few miles from my home in Tucson, runs on the slogan “mesquited, not peated.” Every month, they light the firebox with locally-sourced wood to complete their in-house malting process. The result is Dorado, a lovely, rich smoky whisky that many local whiskey lovers rave about.
But while “it’s not like peat” was often a selling point for skeptical visitors on the tours I once led at the distillery, the cozy campfire smoke of mesquited barley malt and the brash, medicinal peat of Scotland’s western isles are different. Not better or worse. Just different. And both have their place in ASMW.
For someone who cut their whiskey teeth on peaty Scotch, the use of peat in American whiskies is exciting. I sipped peated whiskey from three distillers at the ASMW Convention: Cedar Ridge Distillery, Boulder Spirits, and McCarthy’s from Hood River Distillers. All three source their peated barley directly from Scotland before mashing and distilling it onsite in the US. And all three were fantastic whiskies that I wouldn’t hesitate to order or buy.
Sampling Westland Distillery whiskies in their Seattle-area distillery and tasting room.
Experimentation is the name of the game in American Single Malt Whiskey.
While my posting here has been sparse over the last few months, there have been commonalities in the distilleries and whiskies I’ve visited and sampled. More often than not, the distilleries are relatively new—especially when compared to the historic distilleries of Kentucky and Ireland and Scotland—and small, some even largely unknown outside of a dedicated local whiskey community.
There is something to be said for this anonymity (or, perhaps in some cases, notoriety). Last summer when I visited Denver on my first whiskey trip, I noted how the city’s various distilleries were forging their own path with local ingredients and innovative practices and philosophies. Even in Edinburgh, I found the same spirit of experimentation when I dropped into Port of Leith and Holyrood distilleries.
Without the 200+ years of distilling history that many big whiskey brands enjoy, making a name for yourself in the whiskey world can certainly be a challenge. But where newer distilleries may falter on history, they’re excelling in innovation.
There is freedom in being unknown, and I see that freedom in the American Single Malt industry in spades. Whiskey Del Bac, as previously mentioned, was one of the first to burn mesquite to dry their malted barley. Iowa’s Cedar Ridge has a delicious whiskey that’s aged in 20+ casks(!!!) before being married in a solera process that keeps various batches all perpetually marinating together. McCarthy Whiskey (officially the first distillery to make American Single Malt) employs brandy stills of just 60 gallons to distill their small-bath whiskey.
If I had to guess, some of this innovation may be born out of necessity. When you’re just getting started in any business, you have to be a little bit scrappy, making do with limited resources. But, as they say, necessity is the mother of all invention.
There is joy in the American Single Malt Whiskey industry.
When I stopped by the Boulder Spirits booth, the team told me that they also make bourbon. They said it almost apologetically, perhaps knowing the crowd that this event would draw. Bourbon, they said, keeps the lights on and the stills running so the team can keep making single malt whiskeys.
This isn’t the first time I’ve heard this tale: bourbon pays the bills, but single malt brings the joy.
Many ASMW distilleries are small, and, according to my sources, have had some real moments of financial struggle in the last year or two. This isn’t Jim Beam or Maker’s Mark, putting out a single malt on a whim. Many of these distilleries are focused on the category simply because they love it.
That passion for single malt was felt through the conversations I had with brand reps (who, admittedly, are paid to smile about their product), but also through the crowd in attendance. ASMW isn’t on every street corner; I’m lucky to live in a town with a distillery producing great barrel-aged spirits, but many aren’t. And the complicated distribution laws and networks of the US mean that the ASMW section in most liquor stores is scant—if they have one at all.
In fact, one of the reasons I went to Denver is because I have tried, and failed, to access whiskey from a wide range of distilleries. I simply can’t get my hands on a bottle. What this means is that the community around single malt whiskeys produced in the US is intentional. People who know about it and love it get excited about it. Some of us even book a last-minute flight for it.
The hybrid stills of Stranahan’s Whiskey Distillery in Denver, Colorado.
The community of American Whiskey is tight-knit and welcoming.
While visiting Seattle a few years ago, I naturally trekked south of downtown to visit Westland Distillery, still one of my favorite ASMW brands. It was early 2021 and the world was still in the throes of COVID regulations. Officially, the distillery wasn’t offering in-person tours, but when I mentioned that I worked at Del Bac at the time, the doors opened—literally.
With a swift welcome, we were granted special access and taken on a casual walk-through of the production floor and lab. Shortly after, our impromptu tour guide came to Tucson, and I returned the favor by connecting her with the team at Del Bac.
I’ve come to expect this camaraderie in the ASMW community as I’ve visited distilleries and chatted with other fans. ASMW fans and distillers are united in the fact that we’re all rooting for the underdog, both in the US and on a global scale. American Single Malt, while growing, remains the little brother of both American Whiskey and the global single malt industry.
But it’s growing, and the community around it remains part of its appeal. More than once in Denver, I witnessed distillers trading off their duties, allowing each other to venture out into the room and sample their colleagues’ spirits. Almost always, the swap was precipitated with the words, “I really want to try…”
Bourbon may be America’s whiskey, but American Single Malts is on the rise.
Before I left Denver two weeks ago, I got coffee with two members of the Edinburgh Whisky Academy team, Kirsty and Heather. They were in town working alongside the convention on a special project: filming distillers and malters and other experts for their American Single Malt Whiskey Certificate, a new course offering from the EWA.
American Single Malt is, and has been since the first distillation of such, a legitimate category of American whiskey. However, there’s something about a credentialing course that underlines the category’s rightful place in the whiskey world.
Plus, the packed spaces of Seven Grand in Denver proved a significant interest in the category, something dedicated fans of ASMW already knew. It’s my understanding that this year’s event was the inaugural convention. If so, I can’t wait to see it grow and expand over the coming years.
Whiskey Del Bac’s official mascot and mouser, Two Row.
A Challenge to American Scotch Drinkers
Any time someone asks me to compare a single malt whiskey to bourbon, I usually just laugh. I simply don’t have the experience and language of bourbon to make those connections. So while I absolutely advocate for bourbon drinkers to try American Single Malt Whiskey, this section is specifically for Scotch fans living in the United States.
Here’s your challenge: if you haven’t yet, try an American Single Malt Whiskey. And then try another. Buy a bottle, or maybe two. Follow the brands on social media. Sign up for their newsletters. Take a tour.
I’ve linked several brands within this post, but here are a few more worth mentioning. I’ve had the opportunity to sample these whiskies, either in Denver or at my local whiskey bar:
I won’t tell you to replace your Scotch entirely (I certainly won’t be doing that anytime soon!), but make space in your liquor cabinet for American Single Malt Whiskey, nestling it in next to the Glenmorangies and Macallans and Laphroaigs on your shelf.
Then crack open those bottles and pour yourself a dram.
It could be said that the whisky is nothing without tradition. Legends and practices of days long past flow through the industry’s walls and stills and barrels before slipping into your glass. This is a liquid that requires time and patience, with the initiation of the spirit and the final results often spanning generations.
At the same time, there’s something so remarkable about blazing your own path.
Case in point: Port of Leith Distillery, the towering new single malt scotch whisky distillery planted on the outer edges of Edinburgh’s northern shores.
Standing several stories tall, even the bare structure of Port of Leith’s distillation headquarters invite you to consider a new way to whisky. They’re not the only vertical distillery in the world, but they are the tallest. Photographs of the newly-built space’s construction phase reveal wash backs and tanks, glistening in shiny steel, suspended in the air and anchored in place meters above the ground.
The building is now complete, enclosing those tanks inside its modern walls along with various other equipment, a shop, and a swanky top-floor bar. The look is modern and clean, all dressed in orange and black and white. Entering through the front door, you’re greeted by a brightly lit neon sign: “Thank goodness you’re here!”
Thank goodness, indeed.
But while the distillery is ready for guests, their whisky is not. It’ll be another 8 years before the public gets to taste the first single malt whiskies from Port of Leith.
So what do you do in a whisky distillery that doesn’t have whisky?
Plenty, it turns out.
The tour at Port of Leith, a roughly 90-minute event, is not unlike most distillery tours. As you rise and fall through the distillery’s many floors, you can observe the mill and the water tanks and the stills, one wash and one spirit. You can run your hand through the crushed barley grains and see the 1970s cooler box one of the founders borrowed from his parents — it has a purpose, I promise. Your guide, named Ellie in my case, will tell you all about the history of the operation, the grit and determination that led them to their present state. You’ll taste the new make — two different varieties — and learn about the circular practices that make their distillation process sustainable.
If you’ve ever done another distillery tour, however, you’ll quickly note several points of differentiation. First and foremost: the decision to go vertical. While Leith’s limited landscape made it necessary to build up instead of out, it’s a stark contrast to the sprawling whisky estates of Scotland’s more rural settings. But consider also the barrels soon to be employed to age the distillery’s first whisky: rather than sourcing empty casks through a cooperage, the team went straight to the source, buying still-full casks of sherry and port, wrapping their own label around the now-bottled contents.
Whisky distillation is a science, but it’s also an art — and a game of faith. It’s hard to know now exactly what the results of the distillery’s efforts will be several years from now when the first bottles are released.
But while most whisky weighs heavy with the solemnity of tradition, Port of Leith’s joy in the spirit is obvious. You can see it in the bright orange motifs throughout, in the cheeky “property of” notations that adorn their merchandise, and in the curiosity that drives their experimentation with different strains of yeast, something that’s almost unheard of in the current Scotch industry.
Sitting in the distillery’s penthouse bar to wrap up my experience, the appreciation for whisky and innovation was palpable. To start, the whisky selection stretched high to the ceiling, requiring a library ladder to retrieve the uppermost bottles. In addition, the extensive spirits menu focuses on flavor impact rather than region: light and floral vs. big and bold and so on.
For two drams, I enlisted the knowledge of my hosts, ultimately selecting an Ardnamurchan and a private bottling from a Speyside distillery. Both were delicious. As were the chips, which I very much needed after several tipples of whisky and wine.
All in all, it’s hard not to root for Port of Leith’s success. And if you have to wait nearly a decade for whisky, you might as well do it in a 9-story building with stunning views.
Slàinte, y’all!
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