I’m told that I’m kind of a dude. Not between the legs, but between the ears. I’ve always been more comfortable running with the boys, playing a game of pool in my sweats on a Friday night in lieu of getting my boobs all gussied up for an evening of pink martinis and eyelash batting. I’m lewd, I’m crude, I swear too much, I call my friends by their last names, I have absolutely no clue how to put on eyeliner. Guys in emo bands know more about makeup than I do.
Most important (at least for the sake of this column), I drink like a dude. This doesn’t mean that I drink like a frat boy — funnel in my left hand, limp junk in my right — or spend the night pounding beers in an effort to see who can be the first to boot and rally. Rather, this proclamation refers to my whistle-wetter of choice: bourbon. I like it neat, I like it sweet, and I like it quietly, without a big fuss over the fact that I’m passing on the strawberry-mango caipirinhas.
It may seem hypocritical that a woman who writes about booze for a living prefers to keep it simple when she’s off the clock, but it’s consistent with what many bartenders tell me: when they’re not mixing you the latest trend in a glass, they prefer a premium spirit, on its own, on the rocks. Maybe some lemon, if they want to go crazy.
I had my first sip of the pride of Kentucky (though, to be fair, there’s not much competition for that title) when I lived in the Bible belt, and since then I’ve been an unwavering fan. A good bourbon is strong and spicy, yet smoother than most whiskeys and not too smoky, like scotch can be. They’re all in the same family, which can be a bit confusing, but the differences are key. All bourbons are whiskeys (but not all whiskeys are bourbons) and are produced in the United States, made mainly from corn. To get even further meta, all Tennessee bourbons (Jack Daniel’s being the most well-known) are made using a “sour mash” process, wherein a little bit of the previous batch is used as a starter to make the next. It’s similar to baking sourdough. All of my Amish readers will get it.
Knocking back some Jack is a perfectly great, reasonably priced bourbon experience, but if you know where to look and what to look for, a more off-the-tasted-path bourbon can knock your socks off. Caution: sip slowly. There’s a reason why Southerners get rowdy when they drink, and it’s because, in large quantities, their liquor could strip the vinyl siding off a doublewide.
Some of the easier-to-find small-batch bourbons that make for a great intro into the world of American whiskey are produced by Jim Beam. Booker’s, Baker’s, Knob Creek, and Basil Hayden’s are the carefully nurtured offspring of the Kentucky bourbon goliath, and, like a roster of iconoclast children, each embodies its own unique characteristics. No freak flags here; just a smooth, rich ride. My personal favorite is Basil Hayden’s, which greets you with luscious wafts of maple, brown sugar, and a hint of tea. It’s made with more rye than the other Jim Beam small batches; for that, it’s a little bit spicier and nuttier than its siblings. Basil Hayden’s is relatively dry, so make your first sip a small one and let your tongue get used to it before being a greedy showoff and trying to knock it back, cowboy-style. My recommendation: sip Basil Hayden’s ($8) on a warm spring night on the patio at the Alchemist Lounge (435 South Huntington Avenue, Jamaica Plain, 617.477.5741).
Another of my favorite small-batch bourbon is Jefferson’s, whose mellow tones of cherry and caramel are seductive. Smooth and elegant, the bourbon recently earned top props from the prestigious San Francisco World Spirits Competition, and with good reason. This, and the even more elite Jefferson’s Reserve, is the cream of the super-premium bourbon crop. Slide onto a bar stool at the Charlesmark Lounge (655 Boylston Street, Boston, 617.247.1212) to sample this bourbon on the rocks or in a cocktail, served up by aptly-named lounge manager Jefferson Ryder, who loves this bourbon as much as I do.
Across the street at Azure (Lenox Hotel, 61 Exeter Street, Boston, 617.933.4800), chef Robert Fathman’s culinary wizardry launches a sneak attack behind the bar, with a fantastic house-infused Diabolique bourbon ($10). Steeping vanilla, cinnamon, and fresh and dried figs in the bourbon adds depth to a spirit which, on its own, already embraces the same flavors. More of a good thing only makes for a richer experience. (Think chocolate-covered chocolate or the cover of a Yes album.) If you like it on its own, you’ll love the infused Diabolique in a cocktail. Try the Sawyer Cash ($11), which mixes it with B&B and lemon juice.
Nothing beats capping off a long day by relaxing on my tiny back porch with a splash of bourbon and whatever takeout I’ve grabbed on the way home. Most liquor stores will have at least the bourbon basics, but a few places in Greater Boston have truly stellar selections. There’s no beating Downtown Wine and Spirits (225 Elm Street, Somerville, 617.625.7777), which has a few shelves of the good stuff, and a knowledgeable, unpretentious staff. If you don’t see what you’re looking for, or don’t know what you’re looking for, any of the Downtown gurus will help you pick, or order whatever you want if it’s not in stock.
Proper Bostonians have their own bourbon mecca with BRIX Wine Shop (1284 Washington Street, Boston, 617.542.2749, ext. 1) and its newly opened sibling, BRIX on Broad (105 Broad Street, Boston, 617.542.2749, ext. 2). Pick up a seemingly weirdo bourbon like Pappy Van Winkle’s Family Reserve, a smooth and stylin’ miniscule-batch bourbon with two ages to choose from: 20-year ($100) and 23-year ($250). Intrigued but don’t want to drop the dough? Try the 12-year Van Winkle Special Reserve ($48) from the same family label.
Bourbon isn’t for the faint of palate or the impatient chugger, but it’s also not just for boys. Why there’s this gender stigma associated with whiskey, I’m just not sure, but I’m out to change that, one swee-tand-spicy sip at a time.
