Tasting Whiskey

by Lew Bryson

  Boilermaker

  There’s Work to Be Done

  There’s been a lot of talk lately about “beer cocktails.” I’m not against the idea per se; if someone can put one of my favorite drinks together with some other stuff that makes it taste even better, well, what’s not to like? I’ve kept an open mind. I’ve tried plenty of beer cocktails and even invented a few that got published. One that I called Dry Season missed publication: Put 1⁄2 ounce of dry gin in a chilled red-wine glass and swirl it to coat, then add 8 ounces of chilled Saison Dupont. I thought it was worth including; my editor disagreed. Sigh.

  But I don’t generally hold with beer cocktails. As I said, it’s not the idea, it’s the execution. I have still, after a lot of tries, rarely had a beer cocktail that I’d rather have than a simple glass of the beer itself. There are two exceptions. One is the Red Eye, which pours tomato juice (or a good Bloody Mary mix) into a glass of light beer. It tastes a lot better than light beer.

  The other is the drink you have before you: the boilermaker. It’s a very simple beer cocktail: beer in a glass, whiskey in another. Sip the whiskey (or shoot it — it’s your liver). Sip the beer. Repeat. Damn! That’s a good beer cocktail!

  I’m being somewhat tongue-in-cheek, of course, but as beer gets better and earns more respect with the general drinker, the workingman’s boilermaker is getting more attention. Here in Philadelphia the revival started with the Citywide Special at a bar called Bob & Barbara’s: a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon and a shot of Jim Beam for $3. And it did go citywide; other bars imitated it and then put their own spin on it. We can get a tallboy of Narragansett Lager and Old Crow; locally canned Sly Fox beer and Heaven Hill; or the High Beam, a Miller High Life and Jim Beam. It’s not all bourbon, either: there’s Pabst and Kilbeggan, and the O’Canada: Molson and Canadian Club. And of course there’s always my reflexive favorite, the Guinness and Powers.

  There’s a reason we do this. Whiskey is good. Beer is good. Both is . . . better. The beer soothes the hot rush of the whiskey; the whiskey firms up the light flow of the beer. I like to take mine in about four sips of whiskey, alternating with multiple sips of the beer. Just remember: you’re drinking for two.

  It’s no surprise why this is so good. Whiskey starts as beer. The grain-based beverages, father and son, Damon and Pythias, Batman and Robin. The Boilermaker and His Helper, to use an old name for the drink. That’s what makes this cocktail work.

  One More Thing: The Flavored Whiskey Rush

  Flavored vodkas are simply out of control. Thirty years ago the only flavored vodkas you’d see were horrible neon concoctions — cherry and lime, in the respective overly saturated colors — or the traditional bison grass or pepper-flavored infusions rarely seen outside eastern Europe. Today the shelves are full to bulging with flavors: cherry, pear, orange, apple, strawberry, tomato, whipped cream, cupcake, maple syrup, gummy bear, tea, coffee, salted caramel, and more. I just got a press release for a tobacco-flavored vodka (in traditional and menthol!).

  Given the incredible success of the flavored vodkas, flavored malt beverages like Smirnoff Ice, and fruit-flavored beers, it was inevitable that someone would figure out a way to put flavors in whiskey and get away with it, despite the standards of identity. The legal dam against flavorings and adulterants has given way, and we’re in a flood of flavored whiskey, the likes of which has never been seen before.

  It started with honey — Wild Turkey American Honey was the first, followed by Evan Williams and Jack Daniel’s — and progressed to cherry with Jim Beam’s Red Stag and Evan Williams Cherry Reserve. Now we’re seeing tea and cinnamon Red Stag, and Canadian Mist with peach, cinnamon, and maple flavors.

  Dewar’s took a hugely bold step, considering that the Scotch Whisky Association (SWA) has always had a very firm position on flavored whisky — that it’s the Antichrist, essentially — and released a Dewar’s Highlander Honey. It’s officially labeled as a “spirit drink,” but that’s on the back. On the front, it’s called “Dewar’s Blended Scotch Whisky Infused with Natural Flavors.” The SWA’s objections that this dilutes the definition of Scotch whisky aside, the labeling on the front is the more accurate.

  The success of these flavored whiskeys has opened the doors to this kind of flavor addition. As long as people keep buying them, and they are, in growing amounts, the distillers will keep making them, and adding even more flavors. I have samples of root beer and “Southern spiced” flavored whiskeys sitting in my sample queue right now, in aluminum bottles.

  Well, is that so bad? It’s hardly the Apocalypse. Just as with flavored vodkas, no one is holding a knife to your throat and forcing you to buy them. I have no problems at all finding unflavored vodka, after all. There’s still more unflavored than flavored whiskey on the shelves and in the warehouses for us to buy, and there always will be.

  When I approach flavored whiskeys, I try to keep Drambuie and Irish Mist in mind. This could be good, I remind myself. What I’m looking for is a genuine, natural flavor that blends well with the whiskey. On that basis I think the original cherry-infused Beam Red Stag works; the cherry flavor tastes real, like the housemade cherry-infused whiskey I remember tasting in the Pennsylvania Dutch bars back home. Similarly, the honey/whiskey mix in the Jack Daniel’s Honey tastes authentically like honey and Jack Daniel’s, not an artificial honey flavor shoved into the whiskey.

  This may damage my reputation among whiskey geeks, who commonly express their dismay and disgust with flavored whiskey by referring to the Beam juice as “Red Gag.” So be it. Truth be told, I poured some of my sample on the rocks, stirred in a few dashes of bitters and a splash of vermouth, and found it better than most of the Manhattans I’ve tried to make (told you I can’t make cocktails). I’d rather have a Manhattan, to be sure, but the stuff’s not all bad.

  The more important consideration about flavored whiskey, as the SWA clearly fears, is whether it will somehow damage the image or reputation of whiskey in general. My first thought on that is that almost all of the people who are buying and drinking flavored whiskey were not whiskey drinkers before, and most of those are not going to become unflavored whiskey drinkers.

  Some will, though, either straight or in cocktails, which begs the questions: if we’re going to wring our hands over flavored whiskey, shouldn’t we be wringing our hands over whiskey cocktails? What’s the big difference between root beer–flavored whiskey on the rocks and a Jack and Coke? How many Jack and Coke drinkers “graduate” to sipping whiskey? More to the point, why should we really worry?

  I don’t think flavored whiskey is ever going to replace straight whiskey for most of us. As far as I’m concerned, if flavored whiskey sells big, that means distillers can spend more money improving my whiskey, trying new things that will make the whiskey even better. Having talked to people in the business, I can tell you most of them feel the same way.

  But let me know if you see a peach-flavored Macallan 18. Because that just might be a sign of the End Times, and I want to get a drink before we go.

  What Goes Well with Whiskey?

  Much of the literature on wine, and a growing amount of that about beer, has to do with food pairing, the synergy of the “right” wine or beer with the “right” food. We’ve gone well beyond the basic “red with meat, white with fish” to deciding what goes best with ceviche (a Belgian saison), egg rolls (pinot grigio), or peanut butter cups (an export stout or port; really, try it). We charge into it with gusto, trying pairs and tossing aside the mistakes, to celebrate the wins with friends who “must try this.”

  Whiskey has largely been left out of the fun. Some of that is the occasion; we generally drink whiskey when we’re relaxing before the meal, or after it, well into the night. Whiskey is often thought of as the end to a meal, rather than an accompaniment. One of the best meals I’ve ever had, at the late, lamented Arbutus Lodge in Cork, Ireland, started with beer and periwinkles, moved into wine and a mustard-dressed saddle of hare, and ended with coffee, petits fours
, and a glass of Jameson to fill in the corners.

  But a large part of the issue is whiskey’s bold flavors and bracing burn of alcohol heat. Some people — most people — never get past the Wall we discussed in chapter 4, or they choose to drink their whiskey as a cocktail or highball, which is fine, but not the same thing. Whiskey is powerful in the flavor arena, but so are big red wines and imperial stouts, and they can be paired. Whiskey just requires a bit of thought, some different expectations, and an adjustment of consumption.

  For instance, we think about acidity levels, tannins, and fruit when considering wine pairings; we think about bitterness, residual sugar, and fermentation aromas when considering beer pairings. With whiskey pairings, you have to consider the alcohol level, the age, the amount and type of wood influence, the weight, the peat level (if any), the sweetness, the base grain influence, and whether the whiskey needs a bit of water to bring out the full flavors.

  These considerations aren’t as clinical as all that sounds. When it comes to actually making a decision, it’s more in the moment, a prepared seat-of-the-pants decision. You have a knowledge of the drink in question, a feel for it, and you consider how it feels in your mouth and how it presents to your nose, and you aim to pair it with a food.

  It’s something you’ll get better at. I have; I came to Scotch whisky rather late in my career, after starting my whiskey journey in American bourbons and ryes. But recently I provided Scotch choices to a chef for a tasting we were doing together with a variety of whiskies. He came back with what were mostly good pairings, but one leaped out: a Dalmore 12-year-old accompanied by a dark chocolate crème brûlée with a candied orange garnish.

  I didn’t think, “Hmmm, normal strength, no peat, no issues there. Sherry casks will bring fruit and nutty character, bourbon casks mean vanilla and coconut; that all blends with the chocolate. The Dalmore spirit will bring citrus notes that the garnish will accent. It’s weighty enough to stand up to the creamy richness; should be okay.” No, I just looked at it and thought, “Brilliant!” It’s visceral, after a point; and it was an exceptional pairing, I’m happy to add, the best of the night.

  Pairing can take several directions. A whiskey can complement a food: think smoky Scotch whisky with smoked salmon, sweet bourbon meeting its mother grain in Indian pudding, or a smoothly mellow Canadian with a handful of freshly roasted nuts. These are usually the simplest, most direct pairings, and the only way they go wrong is when the whiskey or the food pushes the pairing into overload.

  Another way to go is to use whiskey to cut down any overwhelming characteristics of a food. My favorite example of this is Irish whiskey and bacon. Not in a recipe, although that works well, too, but just a brunch munch of good bacon — meaty Irish rashers or crispy applewood-smoked pork belly — and a sip of Irish to complement the sweet pork and cut the fatty richness with its light spirit; some single pot still in the mix works even better with its grassy, fruity notes. Similarly, I love fresh bluefish, but it can be quite oily, and the darker meat is intensely flavored. Meet it with a solid Scotch blend, a Johnnie Walker Black or a Chivas Regal, and it settles down.

  When you’re pairing with food for a full meal, you’ll want to go the distance. This is when I often take the highball route with a Scotch and soda or Kentucky tea (2 parts water to 1 part bourbon). As you have probably picked up by now, I’m a beer drinker as well as a whiskey drinker, and these dilutions give me the option to drink whiskey like it’s beer. I still get the whiskey flavor — and the pairing, to complement or cut against the food — but it’s low enough in proof that I can also quench a thirst or cleanse my palate between bites. One of the best pairings I recall was a sampling of different country hams — intense, dry, salty — with a tall glass of Kentucky tea made with 1792 Ridgemont Reserve. It would have been a very short night if I’d tried clearing and refreshing with straight bourbon, but the watered whiskey worked beautifully.

  We’re going to look at some pairing ideas for the various whiskey groups, and while I always encourage you to drink your whiskey the way you want to, I’m going to leave cocktails out of the pairings, except for the highballs I’ve already mentioned. A cocktail is already a pairing in itself, and you can go a lot of places from there. Cocktails are great for meals, but that’s a much more personal choice.

  The most important thing to remember about food and whiskey pairing — and beer and wine pairings as well — is to be fearless, be bold, and not overthink your choices. After all, what’s the worst that might happen? A bad pairing? It’s a mistake you won’t make again, and there’s always another meal. Then again, you might have an experience like my friend Sam did when he took a waiter’s casual recommendation of Clynelish 14-year-old with a plate of oysters on the half shell. He still gets that same look on his face when he talks about it, years later.

  So be daring. Think, take an exploratory sip, and then dive in. If the water’s shallower than you thought, well, that’s how you learn. Be philosophical. Put the glass aside (with a cap, if you worry about oxidation). The food’s fresh. Eat it, enjoy it. Then have the whiskey, and relax. Whiskey and relaxation is, I promise you, the second-best pairing you can make. The best, of course, is always whiskey and friends.

  A Few Drops

  I was with a group of journalists at Ardbeg when I was first introduced to the pleasures of whisky in oysters. Notice: not whisky and oysters, but whisky in oysters. After our tour we were led outside, where a man was deftly shucking oysters, freshly harvested from the waters just offshore. We were magnanimously poured a dram of Ardbeg Lord of the Isles, a 25-year-old whisky that was sweet, smoky, complex, and magnificently rounded. It was wonderful with the fresh, briny richness of the oysters.

  Then one of the distillery folks suggested we dribble a few drops of whisky into the oyster before tipping it up and into our mouths. What an eye-opening amazement! Right in the oyster, the whisky suffused the whole experience, spreading synergistically through the shell and putting peat in the sweet meat. I became addicted. The Bowmore people have been doing oyster pairings lately at such events as WhiskyFest and Tales of the Cocktail, and they encourage you to fork the oyster from the shell first, then add the whisky to the shell liquor only and shoot that; an oyster luge, they call it.

  However you do it, you should try it. I’m about to go out for a dinner of oysters right now as I write this, and I’m packing a small flask of smoky Teacher’s single malt from the Ardmore distillery: oysters, beware!

  Scotch Whisky

  You can rarely go wrong with a whisky and a cuisine that have grown up together over centuries; a people rarely develop a drink that tastes terrible with what they eat every day. Witness the Bavarian brotherhood of lager beer, roasted chicken, and noodles; the French affair of wine, cheese, and bread; and the Belgian mania for funky spontaneously fermented beers with mussels.

  Therefore, it’s not surprising that Scotch whisky is, in general terms, a great match with lamb, fish and shellfish (smoked or not), sweets, citrus (the Scots were early and devoted producers and consumers of orange marmalade), and oatcakes, the national snack. It would be easy to produce such a list, a bottle of “Scotch whisky,” and proclaim the pairing job done.

  Not so fast. First, as you may know (and certainly will by the time you finish the book), Scotch whisky is no monoculture. There are light blends, sherried single malts, smoky peat monsters, austere antiques, and wine-finished exotics. Scotch whisky presents the palate with a wonderful array of choices and can present the cook or the diner with a broad set of choices. Pick your whisky, set aside a large glass of pure water for mundane drinking when you’re not savoring a sip, and enjoy.

  Seafood, whether you’ve smoked it or not, loves an Islay or other peat-smoked whisky; the liquid will grab it and wrap it in a cloak of richly enticing smoke. Smoked salmon and oysters are an easy match, but simply prepared fresh seafood of almost any type marries well with peated whisky, including the smokier blends, like Black Bottle or Johnnie Walker Dou
ble Black.

  If you’re feeling carnivorous, I’d advise you to go to the more flavorsome, even gamey meats: beef, lamb, venison, and game birds like duck or pheasant. Prepared simply — roasted, grilled — these meats pull the caramel notes out of the malt. I think peat tends to take over this pairing to the detriment of the meat, so I lean on the unpeated side with these.

  If you have a dessert choice such as the dark chocolate crème brûlée I mentioned above, things will fit together pretty well. Unless your whisky is hugely heavy in sherry or wine finish influence, or smoky as a barbecue pit, sweets should be an easy pairing. A peaty whisky can actually work nicely with a dark chocolate that’s not overly sweet. Oatcakes, digestive biscuits, sugar cookies, shortbread, and other grain-based treats pair naturally with a liquor made from grain, so experiment without fear to find your favorites.

  There’s also a traditional Scotch whisky-laced dessert called cranachan. It’s toasted pinhead oatmeal, heavy cream, and raspberries soaked in honey and whisky, layered in a small dish and chilled. It’s wonderful, and it’s easy, and I advise you to try it soon.

  If you prefer cheese at the end of a meal, you’ll do well as long as you stay away from the most pungent of raw cheeses. Cheddar, Gouda, Swiss, and a favorite of mine, Hoch Ybrig, all pair up easily with Scotch whiskies; it’s more a matter of determining your individual favorites. For instance, you’ll notice I didn’t add any blue cheeses. Some tasters insist they work well with Speyside whiskies’ malt and fruit, especially for whiskies aged in sherry casks. For me they simply don’t work; they end up making the whisky taste metallic and the cheese taste sweet. Obviously some people disagree. Again, this is about your tastes, and the only way to determine them is to experiment.