by Amy Stewart
By archeological standards, it took no time at all for sophisticated beer-making techniques to develop. Patrick McGovern, a University of Pennsylvania Museum archaeologist who studies the history of fermentation and distillation, analyzed the residue on pottery fragments found at the Godin Tepe site in western Iran. He detected the residue of barley beer on drinking vessels and was able to date it to 3400 BC to 3000 BC. He believes that the beer was probably not terribly different from what we drink today, except that it might not have been as finely filtered. Cave paintings and markings on the pottery depict people sitting around a large pot of beer and drinking through long straws. The straws were aimed at the middle of the brew so that whatever sediment sank to the bottom or rose to the top could be avoided.
Beer making grew more sophisticated in Roman times. Roman historian Tacitus, describing German tribes, wrote that “for drink they use a liquid made of barley or wheat and, by fermentation, given a certain likeness to wine.” It wasn’t long after that, perhaps as early as 600 AD, that people in barley-growing regions realized that just like wine and cider, beer could be distilled into a much more potent spirit. By the late 1400s, whiskey—which was then called aqua vitae, a generic term for distilled spirits—was being made in the British Isles.
WHERE DO BEER AND WHISKEY GET THEIR COLORS?
Whiskey does not necessarily come out of the barrel with a deep amber color, and beer is not always as dark in the fermentation tank as it is in the bottle. Caramel coloring is used in some beer and spirits to ensure the color is consistent from one batch to the next. Color is also used to indicate the age of a particular bottling: While an eight-year-old Scotch and a twenty-year-old Scotch may not come out of the barrel in different colors, the older Scotch can be tinted a darker color to suggest a longer aging period. In the case of beer, the color of the beer is closely associated with its branding: an amber is expected to be red, and a stout is supposed to be dark brown.
Purists consider caramel an unnecessary additive that should be dispensed with. So-called beer caramel, or Class III 150c caramel, is prepared with ammonium compounds and is one of two types of caramel that have come under criticism from consumer groups for the possibility that they contain carcinogens. (Class IV “soda caramel” is the other type made with ammonium compounds.)
Whiskey, on the other hand, is typically colored with “spirit caramel,” or Class I 150a caramel, which is not made with ammonium compounds. Although it is not considered harmful and apparently does not change the flavor of the drink, some whiskey purists advocate for the return of “real whiskey” without unnecessary coloring. Highland Park Scotch boasts that it adds no coloring to its spirits; many smaller craft distilleries also avoid caramel color. In the United States, only blended whiskies are allowed to include caramel, but “straight whiskey” or “straight bourbon” may not.
growing the perfect barley
Although the debate between the Irish and the Scottish over who invented it may never be settled, the fact is that whiskey was born in that region precisely because its climate and soil is so well-suited to growing barley. Stuart Swanston, a barley researcher with the Scottish Crops Research Institute, believes that Scotland’s chilly weather is perfect for its most famous crop. “The advantage we have on the eastern coastal strip of Scotland is that we’re close to the North Sea,” he said. “We have mild winters and rubbishy summers—it’s a long, cool, humid growing season. That means lots of starch in the grain, which is very suitable for high levels of alcohol.” But if the weather is off and the starch doesn’t form perfectly in the grain, it gets fed to animals and Scotland’s finest distillers have to turn to France or Denmark for the quality of grain they require.
The type of barley best suited to brewing and distilling is a matter of some debate. Barley is classified as two-row or six-row: two-row barley has one row of grain on either side of the seed head, and six-row barley has three rows on each side. The six-row barley is the result of a genetic mutation that proved popular in Neolithic times because it yielded more grain per acre and contained more protein. Two-row barley, on the other hand, contains less protein but more starch to convert to sugar. This makes it less suitable as food but perfect for brewing and distilling. Although it is traditional for European brewers and distillers to use two-row barley, many Americans nonetheless favor the six-row variety, in part because it’s more widely available. Six-row barley also tolerates a wide range of climates across the country, making it easier to grow on a large scale.
Barley is further categorized into spring and winter types based on growing season. A winter barley can be planted in fall and harvested in spring, while a spring variety will be planted in spring and harvested in summer. The spring type is traditional among brewers, but modern genetics has demonstrated that there may, in fact, be little difference between the two.
What does matter is the weather and the soil. Even the type of fertilizer used in the fields can make a difference: too much nitrogen in the soil translates to too much nitrogen in the grain, which increases the level of protein and pushes down the amount of starch. “Too much protein can be a bad thing for brewing traditional ales and whisky,” Swanston said. “But if you’re simply making malted barley that you’re going to add to other grains, more protein is actually better. It has even more of the enzymes that help break down starch in other grains.”
WHISKEY OR WHISKY? OR, HOW TO DRIVE A COCKTAIL WRITER MAD
The word originally came from the Gaelic uisgebeatha, meaning “water of life.” That became something like whiskybae, and shortened versions like whiskie and the even more cheerful whiskee were in use in the early eighteenth century. By the nineteenth century, whisky was the Scottish and British spelling, whereas whiskey was the favored spelling in Ireland and the United States. (However, U.S. liquor regulations go with whisky in all but one instance.) Whisky is also used in Canada, Japan, and India.
Some writers go to great lengths to switch back and forth, even in the same sentence, depending on whose hooch they are referring to. Others stick to the spelling in use in their own country on the grounds that an American would not use colour to refer the hue of a British carpet or aubergine to describe an eggplant enjoyed in London. In these pages, “whisky” is employed only to refer specifically to a product distilled in one of the countries that shun the e.
BARLEY
Even the most dedicated brewers would probably not bother growing their own barley, but it can be done. A hundred-square-foot plot will produce about ten pounds of barley, enough for a respectable five-gallon batch of home-brewed beer.
The best way to prepare a small garden patch for grain growing is to start in the fall. Clear the area of weeds, but don’t dig into it. Instead, cover the ground with several overlapping layers of cardboard or newspaper (use entire sections of newspaper so layers are at least twenty pages thick); water well to make the paper stay in place; and cover with layers of manure, compost, grass clippings, dried leaves, rice straw, or bagged soil mixes. Make your pile a foot tall or more. It will settle considerably over the winter.
* * *
full sun
low water
hardy to -10f/-23c
* * *
In spring, clear the bed of any weeds that might have appeared and cover with a thin layer of compost. On a day when the ground is dry, scatter the seeds and simply rake them in lightly and water. (You’ll need about three-quarters of a pound of seeds.) Water until late summer, and then let the plants turn a golden brown.
When the grains are hard and dry, cut them down and gather the stalks into bundles. Once they are completely dry, they can be threshed by laying them out on a clean surface and whacking them with any blunt wooden instrument. (A broom handle works.) The traditional way to clean the grain, called winnowing, is to go outside on a windy day and pour the grain from one bucket to another, allowing the dried straw to blow away.
on malting
Another important natural resource contributes to
the extraordinary character of Scotch whisky in particular: peat. The bogs form as a result of thousands of years of slowly decaying plant debris. Peat logs, sliced neatly out of the bogs, have been used for centuries as a slow-burning source of fuel—and have played a key role in the malting of barley for distillation.
Traditionally, wet barley grains would be spread on the floor of a malting house and allowed to sprout for about four days, during which time the enzymes in grains gobble up oxygen to help them break down the sugars, and release some of the stored carbon in sugars as carbon dioxide. They naturally heat up during this process, so workers rake through them and turn them over to keep them cool and to prevent the young roots from becoming entangled. At this stage, the barley is called green malt.
After the barley has been dampened and allowed to sprout, it must be heated to stop germination, essentially killing the young seedling while capturing the newly released sugar. A fire made of peat logs gently dries the grains over a period of about eight hours, and the smoke infuses them with that delightfully dark, earthy flavor that good Scotch is known for. At least, that’s how it used to work. Only a handful of distilleries, including Laphroaig, Springbank, and Kilchoman, still malt and peat their own barley, a practice known as “traditional floor malting.” Today most Scottish distilleries order their barley from large, commercial malting houses that pipe peat smoke through the grains at whatever level the distillery requests. This allows less peat to be used, helping to conserve bogs. Whiskey makers around the world order peat-smoked barley from Scotland if they want to achieve that distinctive flavor.
Once the barley is malted and dried, it is usually allowed to rest for a month or so before being mixed with water and yeast to make a mash. It ferments for a couple of days, and then the beerlike liquid—a wash—is separated from the spent grain. It goes into the still at about 8 percent alcohol, and from there it is distilled into whisky.
RUSTY NAIL
Drambuie is a rich and gorgeous liqueur made of Scotch, honey, saffron, nutmeg, and other mysterious spices. Like many such concoctions, it is unnecessarily burdened by one of those legends only a marketing executive could love: In 1745, Charles Edward Stuart, otherwise known as Bonnie Prince Charlie, tried to regain the throne after his father’s ouster by opponents. He was given refuge on the Isle of Skye and, according to the story, gave his cherished drink recipe to his protectors as a show of thanks. It changed hands a few times before becoming the commercial product it is today.
Dethroned princes aside, Drambuie is excellent on its own, over ice as an after-dinner drink, and as an ingredient in one of the world’s simplest and most enjoyable cocktails. A Rusty Nail is the perfect gateway drink for anyone not quite ready for the bracing woodsiness of Scotch. (Not to be outdone, the Irish have their own whiskey liqueur. The Irish Mist backstory is even mistier than Drambuie’s, involving an ancient manuscript brought to Ireland by a mysterious traveler and then handed down through several generations. It is a similarly sweet and spicy liqueur, and although it is not as popular as Drambuie, devotees of Irish whiskey should give it a try.)
Because this recipe combines Scotch with a Scotch-based liqueur, it also illustrates a clever bartending technique: whenever possible, mix spirits with liqueurs made from the same base spirit.
1 ounce Drambuie
1 ounce Scotch
Add the ingredients to an Old-Fashioned glass half filled with ice and stir. The Irish version, a Black Nail, is made with Irish Mist and Irish whiskey.
breeding a better grain
Botanists around the world are working on developing new varieties of barley that are even better suited for making beer, whiskey, or malt extract. The Scottish Crop Research Institute is tackling the problem of mildew diseases, such as fusarium, the same ailment that causes black spots on roses. Because European farmers in particular are restricted on the types of chemicals they can spray on their crops, a mildew-resistant barley would be enormously useful. And at the University of Minnesota, botanists are also tackling the fusarium problem and introducing new varieties to American brewers, who already use the university’s barley strains in about two-thirds of all beer produced in the country.
Today’s breeding programs are nothing more than a continuation of the last ten thousand years of human intervention. Stuart Swanston said, “Barley is grown from northern Scandinavia to the foothills of the Himalayas, from Canada to the Andes. It’s made this phenomenal journey from the Fertile Crescent and spread throughout the world with amazing adaptability.”
THE MAGIC OF SCOTCH AND WATER AND THE CONTROVERSY OVER CHILL FILTRATION
The best way to drink whiskey—and any other high-proof spirit, for that matter—is with a little splash of water. Scotch connoisseurs recommend adding five or six drops per ounce. It doesn’t dilute the flavor; it actually heightens it.
To understand why, consider the fact that the molecules with the most flavor—larger fatty acid molecules that come through near the end of the distillation—tend to break away from the alcohol in the presence of water and form a suspension. So a splash of water will cause some whiskey to become cloudy—and those clumps of molecules in suspension bring the richest flavors forward. (Dribbling ice water into absinthe causes cloudiness for much the same reason, but more on that later.)
Even storing whiskey at low temperatures can cloud it. Whiskey is generally not sold at cask strength; it comes out of the barrel at a higher proof and is watered down to, say, 40 percent alcohol by volume before bottling. Once that water is added, the fatty acid molecules are even more likely to break loose under colder temperatures and form a cloudy suspension in the bottle that distillers call chill haze.
To get around this, many whiskey makers put their spirit through a chill filtration process in which the temperature is deliberately lowered to force those fatty acids to clump together so that they can be sifted out with a metal filter. While this does prevent cloudiness, some whiskey lovers believe that chill filtration, like caramel coloring, is another unnecessary artifice that interferes with flavor and should be done away with. Ardbeg, an Islay Scotch, states plainly on its label that the product is not chill-filtered, and Booker’s Bourbon also brags that it is unfiltered.
Next time you’re sitting in a bar, show off your chemistry prowess by adding water to your whiskey to check for the presence of long-chain fatty acid molecules—then raise the glass and enjoy.
BUGS in BOOZE: earthworms
Connoisseurs of Scotch will run across a strange term from time to time in whisky reviews. A particularly pungent, heavy, malty spirit might be described as having a distinctive worm flavor. Given the fact that earthy peat smoke is such a predominant flavor in Scotch whisky, it is not too much of a stretch to imagine that a few earthworms got into the mix as well.
But to distillers, a worm is a coiled copper tube submerged in water. This particular condensing technique is just another way to subtly alter the flavor of the spirit through the shape of the still and the manner in which flavors are extracted. Some distillers claim that the use of a “worm tub” does give a meatier flavor to the finished product—but no actual worms are harmed in the making of whisky.
Which is not to say that worms have never been used in boozy, medicinal tonics. This 1850s era recipe for the treatment of “Eyaws” (presumably yaws, a nasty bacterial infection of the skin and joints) from the archives of Kentucky farmer John B. Clark calls not just for earthworms but for other frightful ingredients. If it didn’t cure people, it would certainly knock them back into bed for a few more days.
Recipte for the Eyaws
Take 1 pint of hogs Lard
1 handfull of earth worms
1 handfull of Tobacco
4 pods of Red pepper
1 spunfull of Black pepper
1 Race of Ginger
Stew them well together, & when Applyed mix Sum Sperits of Brandy with it.
CORN
Zea mays
poaceae (grass family)
&n
bsp; Very little good news came out of the Jamestown colony in the early days. The settlers suffered starvation, disease, drought, and horrific accidents. Crops failed and supplies were slow to arrive from England. It must have been nice, then, for John Smith, one of the organizers of the effort to establish a settlement, to get a letter in 1620 from colonist George Thorpe that included this cheerful line: “Wee have found a waie to make soe good a drinke of Indian corne as I protest I have for divers times refused to drinke good stronge Englishe beare and chosen to drinke that.” Apparently, there was just enough copper among their meager supplies to build a still. Corn whiskey was one of the first innovations to come from the struggling Virginia colony.
Corn—called maize by Columbus, who might have heard the word mahis from the Taíno people in the Caribbean—was a revelation to the Europeans. (At the time, the word corn referred to any sort of grain, so Europeans called it Indian corn to distinguish it from wheat, millet, rye, barley, and other grains.) Columbus brought it back from his voyages and it quickly went into cultivation in Europe, Africa, and Asia. It was easy to grow, adaptable, and—best of all—the grains could be saved for winter. As Thorpe learned, it made a nice drink, too.
chicha and cornstalk wine
In Mexico, archeological evidence points to corn as a dietary staple as early as 8000 BC. Its range extended into parts of Central and South America, where every culture found different uses for the plant. When the Spanish arrived, two fermented beverages were widespread: corn beer, made from the ripe yellow kernels, and cornstalk wine, made from the sweet juice of the stalk. Exactly when these traditions began, and what sort of wild Zea might have been used, are questions that continue to vex archeologists.