by Fred Noe
My life on the road has given me the opportunity to meet some interesting people, celebrity types. Some of these meetings have been planned, while others have been quite accidental. Hope you don’t think I’m name dropping here, but some of my experiences are worth sharing.
One such meeting occurred in Los Angeles. It was early and we had been out late the night before. No matter. When my phone went off around eight, I answered. It was a local salesman and he told me he was picking me up and that we were going to church.
“Church? It’s Friday.” I had made a lot of stops on the road: rodeos, barbecues, Indy car races, but church had never been on any itinerary of mine.
“Be down in the lobby in twenty,” he said.
When I met him, sure enough, he took me to an empty church parking lot where a bus was waiting for me. He wouldn’t tell me what the deal was, so I got on and waited. Pretty soon it began to fill up with scantily dressed, beautiful women. This is odd, I thought. It didn’t take long for me to strike up a conversation, and I soon found out we were headed to the Playboy Mansion to have lunch with Mr. Hugh Hefner. I sat back, looked at the quiet church, wondered if I could sneak inside after all and maybe make a confession: Forgive me, Father, for what I am about to do.
As soon as we got to the mansion, all the women on the bus squealed with delight, took off their clothes, and jumped in the pool. Apparently they knew the drill. I had a deep desire to yell “Holy shit!” at the top of my lungs and jump up and down like Carlton Fisk did when he hit that famous home run in the World Series, but instead I played it nonchalant. I nodded my head, tried not to stare or take pictures, said “Interesting” a lot. Pretended it was just another day at the office. I did take off my sports coat, but otherwise I stayed fully clothed as I wandered around the mansion and nibbled on finger sandwiches. When I finally met Hef by the pool, I continued to play it cool. Fred Noe After Dark.
I glanced out over the water, nodded again. Two pairs of naked women were having a chicken fight, splashing each other, laughing. “You have an interesting place here,” I managed to say.
He smiled and said, “Yes, I do.”
Another quick story: I was in New Orleans with some of the local sales team, hanging out in a bar on Bourbon Street. It was late and I was tired and I knew I needed to get back to the hotel. You have to pace yourself in New Orleans. It’s like Vegas; it’s a crazy town and, if you’re not careful, it can eat you alive.
“I’m going to hit the bathroom, then I’m headed back,” I said, standing.
I was washing my hands at the men’s room sink, when someone bumped into me from behind, kind of stumbled. I turned around and found myself looking right into the eyes of O. J. Simpson, drunk as a skunk.
“Excuse me,” he mumbled.
I nodded and finished drying my hands. The bathroom of a bar on Bourbon Street. Hot on the trail of the real killers, I thought.
Another memory of the early days on the road: I was back in Los Angeles doing a Great Whiskey Debate. Afterward, Chris Penn, the actor and Sean Penn’s brother, came up to me and introduced himself. Turned out he was a big fan of Booker’s Bourbon, loved it. We got to talking and then we decided to head out to dinner at some big-time restaurant. Some of the sales team came along and one thing led to another, and soon Chris and I got into a Booker’s drinking contest. Being a professional and all, I won (I still have the twenty-dollar bill he signed), but we both lost. The next day, I had Stage Four Bust Head. That was the last time I ever got into a drinking contest with anyone, celebrity or not. I should have known better.
Other VIPs I met over the years include: Bill Murray, who was a big bourbon fan. A little-known fact: They shot the movie Stripes on our distillery grounds, and he used to sneak off the set and slip into Booker’s office, where they would both have a private happy hour in the middle of the day. Booker had no idea who he was, couldn’t have cared less, he was just happy to have someone to drink with; George Wendt (Norm!), who visited the plant from time to time, and even though he loved his beer, I personally tried to win him over to our side, and I think I succeeded; Shaquille O’Neal, who I met at a party somewhere. I took one look at him and blurted out, “You are one big son of a bitch.” He looked down at me, smiled, shook my hand. “I made a lot of money being a big son of a bitch,” he said.
Over the years, I got to know Robby Gordon, the great NASCAR driver. We sponsored Robby and I was thrilled. I’m a NASCAR fan, so going to his races was something special. Every so often I got to go down into the pits, watch the action up close. NASCAR is in every Southern boy’s blood, so I was a kid at Christmas.
I remember one race at Charlotte Motor Speedway, they gave me a headset so I could talk to Robby from the pits. I thought he might have his mind on other matters, like driving a car at 180 miles per hour and trying not to get killed, so I didn’t say much. Midway through the race, though, Robby started mumbling, complaining about some of the other drivers, the condition of his car; general griping. Before the race, his crew chief had told me that this might happen. He said that Robby sometimes got tense during a race and would let off steam while driving. It was natural, a lot of drivers do it. The crew chief also told me that if Robby went off, to tell him to just shut up and drive. So when Robby started bitching about something again, I blurted out, “Hey Robby, why don’t you just shut up and drive.” Robby didn’t answer, didn’t say a word. The crew chief, who was standing next to me, gave me kind of a surprised look, and that’s when I realized he might have been kidding. But before I could say something, maybe apologize, Robby said, “Ten-four,” and kept driving. He didn’t say anything the rest of the race.
I also got to know another race car driver, Dan Wheldon. He was an Indy car driver, and the company sponsored him for a few years. We hung out before and after races and we became pretty good friends. I like to think that I played a role in his winning the Indy 500 back in 2005. That year, I had read that the owner of the horse that won the 2005 Kentucky Derby had bought a $100 ticket to win on his horse, gave it to his jockey, and told him to put it in his shoe. I thought that was inspiring. So I went out and got a $100 ticket to win for the Indy 500, gave it to Dan, and told him to put it his shoe while he was driving the big race.
“Don’t ask questions,” I said. He didn’t, and like I said, he went out and won.
We became good friends after that. I always looked forward to watching his races, whether it was in person or on TV. Unfortunately, I was watching from my living room when he crashed and died in 2011 during the last race of the circuit in Las Vegas. Like everyone else, I was stunned and saddened by that tragedy, and to see it before my very eyes, to see a friend die like that, was something I’ll never forget. A helpless, dark feeling. He was a great driver, but more importantly, a decent man. He died doing what he loved, but that’s little consolation. The whole racing world misses him to this day.
In addition to race car drivers, I’ve also been lucky to get know some people in the music business. I love all kinds of music, but obviously country is my favorite because it’s part of the culture and fabric of Kentucky; it’s pretty much all we listen to. A lot of the biggest country stars have come from my home state. There’s a highway in eastern Kentucky, Highway 23, that’s officially known as the Country Music Highway because so many big stars were born and raised near it. People like Loretta Lynn, Naomi and Judd, Dwight Yoakam, Patty Loveless, Ricky Skaggs, Billy Ray Cyrus, and more all grew up in close range to that road. So I grew up listening to and loving county music. It’s a passion of mine and it keeps me company when I’m alone in hotel rooms or on those long international flights. I’ve been especially happy to get to know the duo of Eddie Montgomery and Troy Gentry. They’re Kentucky boys who made good by making great music. I’ve gotten to know Kid Rock, too. Like Eddie and Troy, he’s been sponsored by the company, and over the years I’ve had a chance to spend some quality time with him. And like Eddie and Troy, he’s a good guy, straightforward and real and a pleasure t
o be with. Though he’s not really country, I like his music too.
One thing I’ve learned through my days on the road and from all of the people I have met is that whether you’re a celebrity or a brand-new bartender, everyone has something to offer, everyone has a story to share. Doesn’t matter what they’re talking about—their jobs, a memory, an opinion—I try to hear what people are saying. I try to listen and maybe learn something. Funny, for the first half of my life, I wasn’t much of student; didn’t put much stock in what people had to tell me, had no patience for learning new things. Now it seems I can’t get enough. I regret not shutting my mouth and listening when I was younger. But I’m glad I’m doing it now. The world’s a classroom; took me too long to realize that.
BOURBON PRIMER
What Is Whiskey?
I’ve talked a lot about bourbon, but I thought I could take a minute and maybe talk about other whiskies or distilled spirits too. For the record, Beam makes more than just bourbon. In fact, we make more than 80 brands: scotches, tequilas, Irish whiskey, Canadian whisky, liqueurs, mixes, and ready-to-drink cocktails like Skinnygirl Margaritas. We pretty much got it all.
Now, whiskey is defined is a spirituous liquor made from grains. As I’ve said, bourbon is a whiskey, but not all whiskies are bourbon. Bourbon’s main grain is corn. Number-two yellow corn. I’ve already gone over the exact definition of it; now I’ll run through some other definitions as well. (Please note: some of these spirits, like vodka and tequila, technically aren’t whiskies since they aren’t made from grains.)
Scotch: Good stuff. Main ingredient is malted barley. It’s made in Scotland and has been for centuries. (The first mention of this is in some document dated 1495, so the stuff is old). It’s aged in oak barrels for at least three years and bottled at a minimum of 80 proof (which means it’s 40 percent alcohol). A single-malt whiskey means it is entirely produced from malt in one distillery. Blended scotch whiskey is blended together with scotch from other distilleries, with neutral grain spirits added.
We have some great scotches, including Laphroaig, which comes from Islay, a small island off of Scotland.
Canadian Whisky: A relative of our bourbon, this is a whisky (they don’t use the “e” when they spell it; not sure whye) that must be made in Canada. A lot of people think you have to use all rye in the recipe, but that’s not the case. It’s made from other grains (especially corn) that are blended together. Canadian whisky is typically lighter and smoother than other whiskies, has to be bottled at 80 proof minimum, and aged at least three years in oak barrels.
We sell the best Canadian Whisky out there: Canadian Club. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.
Irish Whiskey: Short definition: whiskey that’s made in Ireland from a fermented mash of cereal grains. Unlike bourbon, most Irish whiskies are distilled three times and typically bottled at anywhere from 80 to all the way up to 115 proof and aged in used bourbon barrels.
Our portfolio of brands includes four Irish whiskies from the Cooley Distillery: Kilbeggan®, Greenore®, Tyrconnell®, and Connemara®. They’re all good.
Tennessee Whiskey: This whiskey is similar to bourbon, but there is a difference: they use something called the Lincoln County Process to add some flavor to the liquor. That process involves filtering or “leaching” the whiskey through a layer of maple charcoal before its aged. This gives this whiskey a smoky nose and smell, and since they are adding a flavor, by law they cannot call themselves a bourbon. We don’t make any of this stuff.
In addition to whiskies, we also make the following spirits. Technically they’re not all really whiskies, because some of them are made from other things like fruits and vegetables, not grains like bourbon and scotch.
Tequila: Mostly made in the Mexican state of Jalisco, this spirit comes from the blue agave plant that grows in the region. Bottled at about 80 to 110 proof (40 to 55 percent alcohol), the aging process ranges from unaged (blanco or plata), to reposado (aged 2 to 11 months), and añejo (aged at least one year). Extra añejo is aged more than three years. The aged tequila is the fancy stuff and is compared to cognac, a worthy comparison.
Our portfolio of tequilas includes the Sauza® brands and El Tesoro.
Vodka: I drank a lot of this in Mother Russia. In the old days, it was primarily colorless and flavorless, and is composed of water and the distillation of fermented things like grains, fruits, or even potatoes. Mostly bottled at anywhere from 40 percent to 80 percent proof, it’s made in a lot of countries, including Russia, Poland, Hungary, Sweden, Lithuania, and other Eastern and Central European locations. As I mentioned, vodka used to be flavorless, but that has changed; now it comes in a variety of flavors, and we have all kinds. Great straight up with ice, or as part of a cocktail, vodka is a spirit that makes the world go ’round.
Beam sells a number of vodkas, including Pinnacle® Vodka, Pucker™ Flavored Vodka, Skinnygirl™ Vodka with natural flavors, EFFEN® Vodka, VOX® Vodka, Kamchatka® Vodka, Wolfschmidt® Vodka, and Gilbey’s® Vodka.
Rum: One of the oldest spirits and still one of earth’s best selling. It’s primarily made from sugarcane products like molasses or cane juice. Most rum comes the Caribbean and Latin America, but some can come all the way from Australia and New Zealand. Proofs and aging requirements vary, depending on the country it’s made in, so I won’t list any of those here.
Our rums include Cruzan®, Calico Jack®, Ronrico®, and Gilbey’s®.
Liqueur and Cordials: These are typically schnapps or brandies and are sweet, flavor-infused spirits. They aren’t aged very long and really can be made and distilled from a variety of things, like grains, potatoes and molasses. A wide range of flavors can then be added once they come off the still.
We make one of the most successful lines of liqueurs, DeKuyper®, which has close to 60 different flavors, from Peachtree to Buttershots.
CHAPTER 8
THE WORLD ISN’T AS BIG AS I THOUGHT
About a year into my job of being Bourbon Ambassador and traveling the county, I got a new assignment: go overseas. Mr. Intercontinental. This was a big deal for me. Up until then, the closest I had been to foreign travel was Canada, and, let’s face it, that’s not all that foreign. Other than the fact that they spell whisky without an “e” and like hockey more than basketball, Canadians look, act, and talk pretty much like Americans. (Or we talk like them, depending on your perspective.)
Fortunately for me, my first trip was to London, where, like Canada, they speak English pretty well, which makes sense considering they invented it. So I packed up and headed out there for a few days and hosted a bourbon dinner with an up-and-coming chef named Jamie Oliver. He would later go on to big things as the Naked Chef, though he was fully clothed when we worked together.
I remember strolling along the River Thames while I was in London, seeing Parliament (the biggest building I’ve ever seen), then Buckingham Palace (where I saw the changing of the guard), Big Ben, and statues of Winston Churchill (who looked like a big bulldog.) I tried to take it all in, eyes wide open. I knew this was a unique experience, being there to represent my family and our bourbons, and I wanted to appreciate it.
My eyes got a lot wider on my next trip a short while later. Destination: Russia. Now, you have to remember that I am a child of the Cold War. I remembered air raid drills, hiding under my desk, forehead pressed against my knees while some siren wailed, so I had some misgivings about the trip. This wasn’t Canada, this wasn’t London. Different place. Whole other world.
I knew that right away when I landed in Saint Petersburg and saw a line of old, gray military aircraft on the runway, the red star bright on their tails. When I got off the plane, snow was swirling around on the tarmac, and I thought I was in a James Bond movie, or maybe a documentary about World War II, as though some jeep was waiting to whisk me off to an underground bunker where I would review the latest troop movements.
Inside the airport I saw soldiers, machine guns at their side, faces as cold and hard as a January
morning. It didn’t take me long to get lost; my contact, the local sales rep, was late, so I ended up wandering around by myself, thinking, “Toto, we’re not in Kentucky anymore.”
My local guy finally showed (I don’t think I was ever so happy to see a liquor salesman in my life) and we were off. Driving through the streets of Saint Petersburg, I got a sense of two sets of history: great, old domed buildings, relics from the time of the czars I guess, sprinkled in with lots of gray, old, nondescript ones from the Communist era.
The food was good, though. I tend to judge a country on their cuisine and how close it is to Kentucky food, and it surprisingly passed the test: a lot of meat and potatoes. And I had a lot, and I mean a lot of vodka. Seems everywhere I went, someone was putting a glass under my nose, asking me what I thought. Just like 100 years ago in Kentucky, there’s a lot of home distillers in Russia, everyone has their own special recipe. I admired their craftsmanship, though I can’t say I enjoyed their spirits that much: I am a brown-liquor man, through and through.
Most of the countries I visited tend to blur together—that’s the downside of high-speed travel—but that Russia trip stands out because it was such a foreign place, so completely different than anything I could imagine. Even though it’s been more than 10 years since that first trip, I remember it pretty well.
I especially remember one of our last nights. We were in Moscow now, a bigger version of Saint Pete’s, and I had just conducted a long day of media interviews. The articles would appear in the Russian papers and magazines after I was long gone. I thought that was odd. Usually when I get somewhere, I do my press interviews as soon as I arrive, so people know I’m in town and where I’m going to be. I remember asking my contact about that.