I’ve never been a huge television person. When I do watch a show, it’s usually no less than three years after it went off the air. This affords me the privilege of impatience, moving quickly through a series from pilot to finale. In other words, I binge old TV.
Parks & Recreation is no exception. I remember when it came out, but I didn’t own a TV, and, until recently, I hadn’t seen a single full episode. Even so, I was not unaware of the connection between actor Nick Offerman, his character Ron Swanson, and the noted Islay distillery Lagavulin. In fact, when I visited Lagavulin last year, Nick/Ron’s name came up. It also came up during my stay at the Machrie Hotel; Offerman had been there just a few months before, with unanimously positive reports from the staff about him as a guest and a person.
This reputation, combined with his gruff-but-lovable demeanor on the short-lived and absolutely delightful crafting reality show Making It (which I unexpectedly watched in real time), led me to jokingly refer to Offerman as “Uncle Nick” when picked up a bottle of his most recent collaboration with Lagavulin.
I’ve since learned that the character Ron Swanson referred to himself as “Uncle Ron” on at least one occasion in Parks & Rec (I’m currently on Season 5), so I stand by the moniker. Who wouldn’t want a woodworking, whisky-loving uncle to call on for how tos and general life advice?
At least we have the whisky. While the 2022 Lagavulin Offerman Edition can’t release a thousand rivets or teach us how to build custom cabinets, it does offer a nice complement to the satisfaction of a job well done. Or, at a minimum, done. Or perhaps more realistically, moving incrementally closer to done at a glacial pace.
This “pleasing nectar” was designed to perfectly accompany a medium-rare steak—or any of the other six “delicious foods” glorified by Offerman.
Pulsing with Lagavulin’s characteristically refined island peat and brine, the whisky was aged 11 years in reused American White and European Oak Scotch and wine casks, all freshly charred for this purpose. Hints of brown sugar and fruit, cocoa and tobacco dance on the nose and tongue before crashing into a finish of smoke and pepper at the back of the throat.
One could argue that the glowing, lingering, spicy, and simply sensational finish are precisely the pinnacle of what human evolution was leading up to this entire time.
Nick Offerman; Lagavulin Charred Oak Cask Offerman Edition (2022)
Many Islay whiskies are themselves thick and chewy, reminiscent of salty, fatty bacon and other rich meats. Instead, the Offerman Edition embodies something more akin to a glaze, a complementary addition intended to elevate an otherwise carnivorous experience.
With apologies to Uncle Nick for what is undoubtedly a character flaw, an Impossible Burger is as close as I’m going to get to a steak, and I haven’t yet had the opportunity to pair the whisky with bacon (my dietary Achilles heel) or even fish and chips. I can’t personally attest to the transcendent pairing for which it is intended.
However, I can certainly vouch for the standalone quality of the whisky. It’s not overly complex, but smart and well-rounded. For a barbecue-inspired whisky, I found Ardbeg’s Bizarre-B-Q to be slightly more on-the-nose (and $30 cheaper). But that’s a small complaint and easily forgotten with the pour of another dram.
In My Glass Cup
Lagavulin 11 Year Charred Oak Cask Offerman Edition Single Malt Scotch Whisky 11 Years Old; 46% ABV Scotland (Islay)
Update: this post was intended to be part one of a two-part series, but it’s been six months, and my dog ate my homework (aka..my laptop ate my draft), so it’s been updated to a standalone post. It seems that another trip to Colorado is in order!
In July when I began planning a semi-impromptu trip to Denver, Colorado’s capital city, I didn’t intend to make it a “whiskey trip” per se. Yes, the primary driver of the visit was attending the first night of respected Scotch whisky writer Dave Broom’s brief US tour. And, as a single malt enthusiast, a visit to Stranahan’s Whiskey Distillery, the city’s well-known single malt makers, was required.
More, I expected to partake in a good amount of local beer. Colorado is, after all, home to the perrenial favorite of dads and hipsters everywhere, Coors Brewing, not to mention well-known craft breweries like Oskar Blues. But whiskey? I doubted that my explorations in the spirits realm would go very far.
I was—happily—wrong.
Big Chief Bottling Co. in Denver, Colorado; July 2023. Photo by The Whisky Type.
Colorado, an underrated whiskey destination.
By their current count, Colorado is home to approximately 40 distilleries producing craft spirits ranging from vodka to gin to bourbon and rye, not to mention American single malt and the nation’s first single pot still whiskey. Known collectively as the Colorado Spirits Trail, several of these distillers are peppered throughout the state, tucked between mountains and along distant trails, promising a bit of adventure with each sample. However, most are gathered along the state’s urban corridor spanning Colorado Springs to Fort Collins.
In Denver alone, there are approximately 15 distilleries, a fact I discovered when I googled “Denver Distilleries” on a whim last month. The first search result, published by VISIT DENVER, presented me with a list of no less than 12 active distilleries in and around the city. Another posting suggested a few more, topping off the list.
I had only a few days in the city to explore, so I quickly perused the webpages of each local distiller, determining the type of spirits they produced, a few points of interest, and, most importantly, where and when I could find them for a tasting. By the end of my research, I had identified nine targets for tours and tastings.
It was an ambitious plan and I’m not ashamed to admit that I failed to accomplish it. My alcohol tolerance is on the lower end of most whisky enthusiasts even without the added limitations of mountain elevation, so the effects of the alcohol quickly outpaced my ambitions. Even so, I managed to try spirits from five different distilleries while in Denver— and I was not disappointed by the experience. I’ll get into my experiences at each in part two, but first, let’s explore some of what, in my observation, makes Colorado’s spirits unique.
A vintage still at Stranahan’s Whiskey Distillery; July 2023. Photo by The Whisky Type.
Forget farm-to-table; this is grain-to-glass.
All whiskies journey from the fields to the still room to the barrel before landing in your glass, but in Colorado, that journey is often personal. Much like a farm-to-table restaurant, the distilleries that I visited almost unanimously noted their use of local grains and botanicals, mashing together Colorado’s rich agricultural history with their distillation present.
Nearly half of Colorado’s 66 million acres were used for farmland in 2022, according to a bulletin produced by the US Department of Agriculture. As a state, Colorado is ranked 5th in the nation for barley production, with 52,000 acres producing more than 5 million bushels last year, and 18th for corn, despite nearly 1.4 million acres and 148,000,000 bushels.
But it’s not just the grains or the geography that make Colorado spirits so, well, Coloradan. El Dorado Springs, a small unincorporated area near the city of Boulder, produces some of the best water in the world (and the best bottled water in the nation). Many nearby whiskey distilleries draw on this natural spring water at various points in the distillation process, particularly between the barrel and the bottle, and are quick to infer that this renowned spring water plays an important part in producing high quality spirits.
The truth is, no one is really sure exactly what goes into the precise flavor of a whiskey, not even those who make it. Whether proven or promise, Colorado distillers seem to be marching ahead under the assumption that locality is, in fact, critical to the outcome. And they might just be onto something; in the spirits I tried, certain qualities did suggest a regional influence: the balance of botanicals selected for a local gin, for example, or even a unique grassiness to balance the spice of a rye whisky.
Using local grains isn’t, of course, new. Distilleries have been utilizing regional sourcing techniques for centuries, but a global economy has supplemented nearby sources with an open door to the world’s agricultural products. The commonality of this ancient practice throughout Denver’s distilleries is something that makes it—and those distilleries—unique.
The hybrid still at Stranahan’s Whiskey Distillery, Denver, Colorado; July 2023. Photo by The Whisky Type.
Keeping Colorado ( and its whiskey) weird.
Around the world, most distilleries use a pot still or a column still in their distillation process. On the occasion that they employ both in the same still house, they’re separate and distinct machines. During my visit to Stranahan’s Whiskey Distillery, however, I was confronted with something akin to Frankenstein’s monster—but much prettier.
The hybrid still, as they explain it, is believed to offer the best of both worlds in whiskey distillation: the even boiling and flavor-retention of a pot still and the efficiency and clean cut of a column. According to the tour guide, Stranhan’s was the first to employ the unusual stills, which featured a short, four-window column atop a wide pot. Their use has since spread, at least in the Denver area; I saw a similar configuration down the road at Laws Whiskey House.
Hybrid stills are not the only way in which Stranahan’s is forging its own path in distillation. Two other points of distinction center around their barrels and their boilings.
Early in the tour, our guide explained that the distillery boils their wort between the mash tun and the fermenter, a process that I asked the tour guide about after we concluded our tasting. “That’s how they do it in Scotland,” he told me confidently. According to my classes at the Edinburgh Whisky Academy, not to mention the production tours I’ve taken at Glenkinchie, Balvenie, GlenAllachie, and Bruichladdich, it’s not; wort typically is cooled after leaving the mash tun, not reheated. But I gently prodded a little further, and we speculatively decided that it could be part of the beer brewing process; Stranahan’s made its mark on the industry by first distilling beer (actual, intentional beer rather than distiller’s beer) into whiskey.
When we reached the barrel-packed warehouse, we also learned of Stranahan’s use of the Solera aging method, a process that is believed to increase the consistency of the spirits. Over time, some, but not all, of the whisky aging in the barrel is removed for bottling; it is then replaced with new make spirit, which mingles with the aged spirit left behind. It’s not a new method of aging, but it’s not one that has necessarily been widely adopted in the whiskey industry worldwide.
Stranhan’s is also using foudre barrels — massive, egg-shaped barrels more commonly employed in wine-making — but I’ll admit that I was both too far away from the tour guide and paying too little attention in that moment to understand why or how.
I have to wonder if Stranahan’s experimentation with new and old techniques may have come from its singularity; they were the first legal distillery in Colorado since prohibition. And while they were not the first to produce a single malt whiskey on American soil, the category was largely undefined (and unexplored) in 2006 when they released their first bottle.
There’s something to be said for having the space to forge your own path. Even the bourbon distilleries I visited seemed to be doing their own thing in one way or another, whether or not they are following more traditional distillation methods. With all eyes on the better-known American whiskey regions of Kentucky and Tennessee, perhaps Colorado distillers have had more room to play.
It’s likely that Colorado distilleries have charted a new course by necessity; the thin air and desert extremes of Colorado are a far cry from the cold, damp climates of Scotland and Ireland or even the humid, multi-seasonal atmosphere of the American mid-south.
When whisky is aged in a humid climate, alcohol is the first element to evaporate. But in a dry climate, water particles in the new make rush into the wood and the air ahead of the alcohol. This can result in higher-proof whiskey straight from the barrel, but desert angels are greedy, and distilleries lose a lot more product to evaporationoverall. As a result, the whisky can’t spend as much time in the barrel — and you wouldn’t necessarily want it to anyway. Wide swings in temperature throughout the year and within some days cause Denver’s barrels expand and contract at a rapid pace, creating more agitation within the spirit and greater interaction with the wood.
While that may present challenges to a distiller, it’s a good thing for whiskey lovers; it means that the spirits are ready (and, importantly, palatable) much more quickly than usual.
That’s a perfect way to segue into the tasting portion of my trip, but for that, you do have to wait—part two of my Denver trip notes (centered around the distilleries I visited) will be released later this week!
I killed a bottle of Craigellachie 13 tonight for Whisky Wednesdayand typed out a micro story about rolling into the eponymous Highland village on a pitch black evening last October. There’s no Speyside welcome quite like the glow of the still room lighting the way to your accommodations (in my case, the exquisite Craigellachie Lodge).
Read on for an edited version of the story.
Sláinte, y’all!
It was dark when I rolled into the outskirts of Craigellachie in the Scottish Highlands. I started my morning in St. Andrews and had enjoyed a leisurely day wandering through that seaside town before starting my drive up the coast. I was required to arrive in Craigellachie before 8:00 pm—and I did, but barely.
The bright sunlight of the day had softened into dusk not long into my drive. When it departed fully for the night, I eased my foot’s pressure on the gas pedal. I was entering the unknown in pitch black, navigating carefully through the winding Highland roads. Other cars, presumably steered by locals, occasionally appeared in my rearview window. I offered a silent apology for my slow pace and a not-so-silent prayer that their captains would pass me or at least turn away from our shared route to find another way.
This unnerving driving experience was far from ideal, but I soon discovered that it had its charms. As I approached the end of my journey, I was startled by the warm glow of the still room at Craigellachie Distillery. In daylight, the luminous view would be hidden in plain sight. In the dark, however, golden light flowed over the rotund bellies of the copper stills and spilled into the black night, welcoming me to Speyside.
In My Glass
Craigellachie 13 Single Malt Scotch Whisky 13 Years Old; 46% ABV Scotland 🏴 (Speyside)
It’s only the second day of a shortened work week, but this Whisky Wednesday dram has been well-earned, so I picked a strong one.
Tonight I’m sipping on Aberlour A’Bunadh Alba, Batch 002. I had a bottle of Batch 001 in the early months of the pandemic, when closures and restrictions left me with little to do but expand my whisky palate, and it was the first Speyside malt that truly piqued my interest. Speyside whiskies tend toward a lighter, fruitier flavor profile with bits of spice. This whisky has fruit and spice, but light? No.
A’Bunadh Alba is distinct from the distillery’s A’Bunadh line in that it’s aged in ex-Bourbon American Oak barrels rather than Oloroso Sherry butts.
A’Bunadh is Scots Gaelic for “the original” and points to the distillery’s founder, James Fleming, who set the distillery near the banks of the River Spey in the late 1800s. Alba is also Gaelic, referring to the country that we know as Scotland. It’s pronounced al-a-bah (or al-a-pah) rather than al-buh, thanks to the secret Svarabhakti vowel tucked inside (see Actual Scottish Person Len Pennie for details).
The A’Bunadh Alba sits in the bottle at nearly 60% ABV, a cask-strength whisky with a solid burn and a color like golden honey. Apple pie, cinnamon, and honey tickle the nose and carry through to the palate. A bourbon-style woodiness tinged with warm fruit lingers on the tongue to finish it out.
This is a whisky you’ll feel as much as you taste. A few drops of water mellow out some of the harsher qualities and yet seem to heighten the whisky’s acidity at the same time.
It’s not a whisky for the feint of heart, but perfect for the longest short week ever.
Sláinte, y’all!
In My Glass
🥃 Aberlour A’Bunadh Alba Batch 002 Single Malt Scotch Whisky NAS; 58.7% ABV Scotland (Speyside)
There could not be a more appropriate choice for Whisk(e)y Wednesday this week than Writers’ Tears Irish Whiskey. It’s been a while – too long – since I had a proper writing session, or even some sense of direction on the page. Writer’s block is real, folks. And keenly tied to writer’s anxiety. 😳
I’m just starting to come out of the fog, the clearer skies evidenced by a small but growing stack of books I’ve recently read. When I read, I write, and vice versa.
And, of course, whisky helps. Or, with a spelling more apt for today’s dram, whiskey.
Writers’ Tears was the second or maybe third bottle of Irish whiskey I ever purchased, the first being Jameson Cold Brew that I couldn’t figure out how (or when) to drink. Coffee plus alcohol equals a conundrum I never really solved, despite eventually finding the bottle’s end.
Truthfully, I still haven’t tried many Irish whiskies, which means I’m open to recommendations (drop me a comment if you have some!). But I like what I’ve sampled so far, including this one. It’s a blend of single pot still whiskey and single malt, mashed with both malted and unmalted barley, distilled three times and aged in an ex-bourbon barrel.
On the nose I get candied citrus. It morphs into apple, toffee, and a hint of brown sugar on the tongue. It’s forthright, pleasant, and inviting – everything I wish my writing practice to be.
But you know what they say: those who can’t do, drink.
If I could teleport, I’d send myself to Islay this week for Fèis Ìle. Unfortunately, I’m bound by the laws of physics (and my bank account), which means that I’m following the festivities from afar. As a small comfort, I’ve poured a dram of an Islay distillery exclusive from the comfort of my home.
This little bottle of Rocks from Bruichladdich is a blast from the past—literally. According to my tour guide at the distillery last fall, a wayward case was discovered in a forgotten corner of the distillery some 15+ years after bottling. The unopened remnants were placed in the gift shop for sale, where I picked up a bottle. It was the perfect “vintage” addition to my whisky collection, and what better time to crack it open than this week?
For a whisky that’s only 46% ABV, it’s surprisingly spirit-forward. Citrus, vinegar, and vanilla crash on the palate. Despite being unpeated, an unmistakable Islay brine brings it all together. It’s no comparison to Bruichladdich’s current (and much loved) lineup, but it’s a small taste of their history and progression, a step along the way to the distillery we know today.
As a self-described whisky enthusiast (and certified single malt expert, per the Edinburgh Whisky Academy and the Scottish Qualifications Authority), it’s hard to say this: I found a single malt Scotch whisky that I do not like.
This is a new experience. There have always been certain bottles I prefer over others, and a few cheap blends I’d rather leave on the shelf. I don’t love most bourbons, and some American single malts are a bit too banana-y for me.
But never once have I poured a whisk(e)y back into the bottle.
Until I found Talisker.
My apologies to any offended Talisker stans. By all accounts, I SHOULD love it; if nothing else, I was led to the distillery by fate or fairies while traveling through Scotland last year. Pressed for time, I decided not to stop by, but my quest for Caora Dubh Coffee dropped me on Talisker’s doorstep (or, more accurately, across the parking lot) anyway.
Great coffee, by the way. Highly recommend. ☕️
And the problem isn’t the smoke and the peat or the medicinal brine that attacks your palate from all angles. I like that. I named my cat after that.
I just don’t like Talisker.
Talisker 10 to be exact. Or Storm. Or Skye. (I will give them due props for Port Ruighe; the port cask helps).
It wasn’t until after I returned home, armed with a bottled flight of the core range, that I discovered my dislike. They were poured with great anticipation into three separate glasses for nosing and tasting. But then I did the unthinkable, tipping the remains of each dram back into their tiny glass bottles and returning them to the whisky cabinet.
It was a low moment, an act akin to whisky heresy.
For months the bottles have waited, daring me to give them another try. Today is Whisky Wednesday, so why not?
And…nope. 😂
To me, they’re confused instead of complex, bold and messy. The 10 is okay until the finish, which comes back around with an overly peppery, salty punch. The Storm is like butter gone bad, creamy then angry. The Skye? Meh.
What does this mean? Nothing. Not every whisky is for every body! If you love it, drink it!
In My Glass(es)
Talisker 10, Skye, and Storm Single Malt Scotch Whiskies 10 Years Old/NAS; 45.8% ABV Scotland (Highlands & Islands)
Friday is Bottled in Bond day, the 126th anniversary of the Bottled in Bond Act signed into law on March 3, 1897. This legislation was monumental for the whiskey industry in the United States, so I’m sipping Whisky Advocate’s top whisky of 2022, Jack Daniels’ Bonded on Whisky Wednesday in its honor.
The whiskey is robust and rich, crashing onto the palate with sweet caramel and vanilla. Oak follows the sweetness, its lingering on the tongue with a dry, woody finish.
As I sip this, I should be thinking about what makes a bottle of whiskey “bonded”, but we’ll have to come back to that some other time. I’m instead stuck on this question: what the heck is a Tennessee whiskey, and how is it different than bourbon?
The best answer I can find is, not much.
Technically, this whiskey is—or could be—bourbon. The mash bill contains at least 51% corn; it’s bottled at less than 160 proof and more than 80; and it was aged in charred new oak barrels.
But what sets this whiskey apart from bourbon is a rigorous filtration process called the Lincoln County Process, named for the county where Jack Daniel got his whiskey-making start. Distillers of the region claim that this added filtration makes for an exceptionally smooth whiskey, softening some of bourbon’s coarser, corn-influenced qualities.
True? Maybe. Filtering isn’t exclusive to Tennessee Whiskey — though there seems to be a singular intensity to the Lincoln County Process.
But as someone who is often put off by the harshness of traditional bourbon, I think they might be onto something.
Whether you call this spirit Bourbon or Tennessee Whiskey, and whatever happens in filtering, it was enough to earn this spirit a #1 spot on Whisky Advocate’s list….and in my whisky cabinet too.
Sláinte, y’all!
In My Glass
Jack Daniels Bonded Tennessee Whisky American Whiskey, Bottled in Bond No Age Statement; 50% ABV USA
In honor of International Womens Day, I finally popped the cork on my bottle of Cardhu 16 Special Release 2022, which I picked up during a visit to the distillery in October.
Women have always had a place in distilling, but whisky has a reputation as a boys’ club nonetheless. I should know—I’ve surprised a bartender or two in my time with an order of Scotch whisky, neat.
Cardhu proudly stands out as a symbol of both powerful women and really good whisky. According to legend (and the lovely book Women of Moray), it was founded as an illicit still in the early 1800s by a man, John Cummings, with the help of his wife Helen. After John’s death, Helen took charge, and the management of the now-legal distillery eventually passed to her daughter-in-law, Elizabeth.
It was these women who led Cardhu Distillery (then Cardow Farm) into such prominence that it caught the attention of Mr. John Walker, a name that every whisky enthusiast knows well. Walker used Cardhu’s spirits in his eponymous blends and even purchased the distillery in the late 1800s. It remains in the Johnnie Walker family (now under Diego) today, one of the brand’s “four corners.”
The thick stone walls built by Elizabeth still stand proud on a hill in Speyside. The distillery’s logo—a woman raising a crimson flag—pays homage to Helen, who cleverly used a red flag to alert nearby distillers of the presence of excise men, come to collect.
And the whisky continues to flow.
In my glass today is a dram of Cardhu 16, a 2022 limited edition finished in pot still rum casks and bottled at cask strength.
For a whisky distilled and aged in the Scottish Highlands, it’s surprisingly fruity and tropical. Sweet and tart, notes of banana, grapefruit, pineapple, and even something like lime burst onto the front of the palate, fading toward the back. Some sips taste sugary, almost manufactured, like a handful of Runts Candies all crunched together. But overall it’s a sweet, bright, and unexpected dram—perfect for a warm summer’s day (soon!) and/or dreams of escape.
Sláinte, y’all!
In My Glass
Cardhu 16 Special Release 2022 Single Malt Scotch Whisky 16 Years Old; 58% ABV Scotland (Speyside)
On My Desk
Remington Noiseless Model Seven Manual Typewriter c. 1946
Rumor has it that the inspiration for Corsair Distillery’s distinctive label came from a trio of drunken, unbothered Scotsmen striding confidently down a Scottish road after an evening of troublemaking and revelry.
That, and the film Reservoir Dogs.
Either way, the spirits produced in this craft distillery are well represented by both its label and legend, bold and unbothered. Corsair’s roots span Kentucky and Tennessee, an area best known for bourbon (and a good bit of moonshine too). But they’re forging their own path, branching out from the whiskey family tree drawn by their regional forefathers.
In addition to the single malt and rye whiskies produced on Corsair’s pre-prohibition pot still (affectionately named “Ethyl”), the current lineup includes an American-style gin, a spiced rum, a barreled gin, and an absinthe.
Each bottle is carefully crafted, developed in small batches with experimentation and care, an answer to the ever-repurposed question “what if we…?” What if we smoked our barley malt with a blend of peat and cherrywood and beechwood? What if we spiced our rum, aged our gin in a barrel, and then put another spirit back in the barrel? What if we ignored all the propaganda around absinthe and made it anyway, tinting it bright red with hibiscus?
As we move through the space, we learn that our tour guide, Carter, has been doing this for years. He knows—and loves—what he’s talking about as ushers us through the small production floor and back across the courtyard to the tasting room for sampling.
Each sip of Corsair’s offerings is different, surprising. The flavors build and compete and then dance back together, never shy, always interesting. The space that the distillery inhabits (location one of two) is similarly complex, an early-1900s automobile factory turned modern retail space and museum. Like the whiskey, it’s easy to get lost in and, more importantly, even easier not to mind.
Slainte, y’all!
In My Glass
Corsair Distillery – Dark Rye American Rye Malt Whiskey Aged 1 Year; 42.5% ABV USA (Tennessee)
The Whisky Type 