Bourbon Is The New Wine Cooler

Many years ago, I worked in the restaurant industry in New York City. First I was a hostess, then a waitress and, finally, a bartender, the coolest job of all of the service industry gigs. So I would like to preface by saying, I  do know how a wine cooler is viewed but it was loved at one point. I have witnessed many trends in booze. For a moment, Bartles And James had a following  as did big bowls of fruity low budget hootch in the form of sex on the beacheses and bahama mamases. Eventually the cosmopolitan made its way in, combining the fruity with the more sophisticated look. Then came microbrewery beers and the more respectable martini often with snooty infusions of whatever the mixologist...all of the bartenders are locked in the closet now with the janitors, secretaries and stewardesses.... can throw in to make it taste less like gin. And, now, artisan spirits. Or as I like to think of it, God's most expensive disinfectant and husband tranquillizer. 

I have to say, I ain't a big drinker. Hell, I ain't even a little drinker.  Which has turned out to make me a very handy guinea pig with a raw untouched palate. There is no bias in my mouth. I don't drink it but I can taste discerningly. In fact, due to early years of drinking anything that had alcohol in it dumped in fruit punches, I was under the false impression that bourbons all tasted alike. Boozy. Sort of like varnish.

Before the connoisseurs get their collective panties in a bunch, I admit that I was wrong. In fact, there is indeed a huge difference in quality spirits in general. First I smell it to see if it has that odor I used to associate with old drunks.  Then I put my lips up to the glass, tip it so that touches them, then let it slide onto my tongue where I let it generate the sensations in different areas of my mouth, noting which parts are being effected, the type of tastes and after tastes. Some taste more watery. Some leave a bitterness sitting there. The good ones leave a pleasant sensation, you can sense where they came from, which grains, the storage that facilitated its aging. The lesser ones may have pretty packaging but it is like a bad looking woman with a good make up job. The make up might cover some of it, but, underneath it all, it is what it is. Usually some one didn't put the same effort in to cut costs, speed up production, decided to ride on a nice bottle and a spiffy label.

In essence, I still am not a drinker but I can appreciate the difference. My husband and his partner are adamant about maintaining that integrity in their product because they know at  the end of the trend,  the good ones will keep thriving. I will keep tasting so that I can tell the differences, identify the qualities, tell them if I think they are slipping, applaud their greatness, boast to others. LOUDLY. And make car payments with the results many years after the ones with the pretty labels riding the trend are renting out their distillery spaces to autobody repair shops.

A Lawyer And A Realtor Walk Into A Bar

At first I took it as a Lucy moment. The man is a genius. He comes up with great ideas that rarely get acted on because of practicality or lack of real passion. I should have known better.

Distilling whiskey was something that his partner had a great deal of knowledge about, trading secrets with my molecular biologist when commiserating about beer brewing and wine. I had heard about the amazing grappa and corn whiskey that found their way into the hands of my husband, been told about the details of attaining the ingredients and unique processes that had cultivated an envious admiration in my husband. My biologist and I both exhibit severe Martha Stewart tendencies (as mentioned in the previous blog, we make soaps and skin creams too). I should have known that the post doc was handing the junkie a fresh new needle.

The wife of the post doc (herein shall be referred to as Post Doc) had a client who was a lawyer specializing in small business. He liked the idea so much that he invited Post Doc and my husband (My Doc) in for a free consultation. The lawyer sat them down told them  how to set it up, what kind of paperwork needed to be done, what kind of business they should declare themselves to be, advised them how to set up the investors vs. owners, told them about federal and state laws regarding distilleries complete with paperwork references and told them how much it would cost to retain him. It was a lot of bang for a non-existent buck. He had faith in their concept and ability to execute it.  He is now a first name in our daily references.

Post Doc also knew a Realtor. She gave them advice on where would be a best place to set this new business up, possibly with or without a tasting room and retail area.

The boys started on the business plan. Three potential investors popped up immediately. Then more. Very quickly I began to realize that this was real. That it made sense. That things were falling into place without drama. New investors are being sought out. They will be found. It is too good not to in an industry this hot right now with a good product.

They were experts at researching in minutiae, literally. Finding thumpers and mashtons and types of stills and all of the new nouns that have invaded our lives because of a passionate obsession. Tweaking what can be McGuyvered in their scientist hands at lesser cost, what forms of alcohol they wanted to fashion at first and then down the road. Ideas were tossed out day and night, at home and together in the lab. My husband now had a new other husband. I understood.

We went to visit a distillery close to where we used to live in NY State called Tuthill Town. We moved just when Ralph, the owner, had announced that he was closing the gristmill on his property and would be starting the first distillery in New York since the prohibition. I thought, "I think Ralph is doomed." I had a picture of a closed kettle thing, like in Hawkeye's tent in "Mash." I was stunned upon revisiting his property to witness an enormous success. His company just picked up world wide distribution. He has created a bourbon that is selling for 80 bucks a bottle. And it is worth it. He is that good at all things distillery. It doesn't take a genius to see that this man has got to be rolling in it. He is beyond success.

The projected numbers if sales in this industry that others in similar situation claims to be having trouble meeting demand in are good enough to  give me chills.  The education of My Doc to give our family a better life has been going on almost as long as my daughter going into puberty has been alive. That's a helluva long time to be poor as an adult. These numbers are awesome and attainable. And it feels right, like love. It is interesting and profitable all at once.

So the fad never passed. Instead, it married us and moved in, taking up most of the space in the bed. I've yet to meet the Post Doc's wife. Our children don't know each other yet. But, when we do, I know we will be spending a large part of our lives together from that moment on. Out there, there is another family hearing the other side of this conversation, the plans and commiserating and excitement and worries. Another half to us.

Soon. Lots of things are going to happen soon.

Artisan Whiskey Enters The Room

 My husband had been in college for over a decade when he proposed that he open an artisan spirits distillery with his partner, a post doc in the same molecular biology lab. I was in no position to argue with him, having gone through a bad spell in the marriage recently and, truth be told, my gut told me that this was a far better fit than our family being attached to corporate America or another year tethered to university life. We were the same people who were slowly becoming comfortable with each other partly by learning to make soap together and playing Journey songs at our daughter. He was a homebrewer and wine maker. He applied his knowledge in biology and chemistry to almost everything we were getting our hands into and the creation of spirits was a cocktail of that knowledge applied to grains and yeasts and all of the other parts that I have yet to understand but am sincerely trying.

So instead of yelling, "Forget it! Ten years of poverty for this!" I said, "Of course." And despite the fear of what my family is going to do to us when the molecular biologist defends his thesis and then walks away from it, I have seen the business plan, begun my education of life in the artisan distillery industry and am certain that we will be happier and wealthier in the end.

This is our story. It will have a happy ending if it kills me.