Rye Whiskey Is For Patriots

Classic Rye Cocktails, #13: The Blinker

2010-01-19T18:14:00.006-06:00

A new (classic) drink for a new year.

This one was revived in the early 2000s by Ted Haigh in his famous Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails (2004), now newly revised and reissued (2009). Originally featured in Patrick Duffy's The Official Mixer's Manual (1934), the drink takes advantage of a dry, tart citrus taste and the rich sweetness of a fruit-based syrup, all balanced by the spicy rye. It's origins are otherwise murky, but one can guess it emerged either toward the end of Prohibition or with the first bloom of joy that met Prohibition's repeal.

The other crucial thing about this drink is its simplicity. Rye, something dry (grapefruit juice), and something sweet (grenadine, like the original--or, even better, a homemade or store-bought raspberry syrup). Simple proportions, simple ingredients. No sugared rims, no obscure ingredients, no bartender contortions. And yet one taste suggests real complexity. In many ways, this drink embodies the genius of American cocktail culture. A little really does add up to a lot.

When one considers the ingredients--rye, grapefruit juice, and grenadine (or raspberry syrup), it seems too much. Too sweet. Too juvenile. Not patriotic. But instead, it's clean, fresh, and bracing--just like the January air here in the Upper Midwest. Because it's winter time, I strongly encourage you to take advantage of fresh grapefruit juice here. You won't be sorry.

2 0z rye whiskey (Old Overholt or other 80-proof rye preferred)
1 oz grapefruit juice (fresh-squeezed preferred, store bought not-from-concentrate works fine)
2 dashes of grenadine or, 1.5 teaspoons of raspberry syrup (try Smuckers if you're fresh out of raspberries and sugar)

Mix ingredients in a shaker, add ice, shake, strain into small martini glass. Garnish with a lemon twist (though this is completely optional with this drink).

Even people who don't care for grapefruit juice will like this one.

Tasting Notes #4: Rittenhouse, Bottled in Bond, 100-proof

2009-12-30T13:09:00.007-06:00

Already one of my favorite whiskeys (and one that's getting harder to find every month), I decided to put Rittenhouse to the test. Unlike the lesser, 80-proof version or the newly released 21-year old premium version, this economical 100-proof rye spirit has kept cocktail and whiskey enthusiasts excited for years. The high-proof stuff works especially well in a variety of pre-Prohibition cocktails, which often drew on bonded whiskeys because of their assured higher quality (Old Granddad 100-proof bonded bourbon, for instance, offers a similar timeless quality in that category).

Rittenhouse is an old Pennsylvania label that emerged after Prohibition ended in 1933. Now, like almost all American rye whiskey's, it's made in Kentucky (by Heaven Hill). It came to the attention of many in the spirits world when it won the "North American Whiskey of the Year" prize at the 2006 San Francisco World Spirits Competition. It's been hard to find ever since, largely because it's usually less than $20 a bottle, and in a few corners of this great country, sometimes found for less than $15 a bottle (I'm talking about you, Boise, ID).

The thing I like best about this whiskey is that it not only livens up the best cocktails, but also serves as a entry-level sipping whiskey. While it can't compete with high-end ryes, it certainly offers rye lovers a pleasant drinking experience neat, with just a little water, or even with ice.

Appearance: At the first swirl of the glass, one sees uneven beading--some of the legs are thin and fast, while other seem thick, slowly moving down the sides of the glass, if at all. The color is dark, from the center all the way to the edge.

Smell: A not-unpleasant charcoal overtone mixed with an astringent note that is decidedly thick.

Taste: Sweetness to start, a big, wide taste that lingers. Vanilla grows out of the sweetness and then black pepper pops out. A little ginger-like burn follows the pepper, especially on the back of the tongue, slowly fading out. Thoroughly complex and delightful.

Finish: Sharp, but not brittle.

Overall, this is an excellent whiskey and an even more excellent value. Even if the price for this spirit has recently gone up in your area, it's a must-have. When you find some at your local liquor store, stock up. It may be gone the next time you need a bottle. And by then, you won't be able to live without it.

The flexibility it provides--perfect for heavyweight rye drinks such as the Whiskey Smash or the Suburban, but suitable for sipping neat--makes it especially useful for the value-conscious rye drinker in these difficult economic times. No wonder it's the darling of cocktail aficionados and rye drinkers alike. Simply put, Rittenhouse 100-proof bonded rye is an especially democratic spirit.

Tasting Notes #3: High West Rendezvous Rye

2009-10-30T09:36:00.009-05:00

The third in an occasional series.

Utah and whiskey are two words that do not seem to fit together. After all, as a 150-year old outpost of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter day Saints (better known as the Mormons), the state holds a powerful reputation for being dry.

Yet in the nineteenth century, many Mormons enjoyed wine and beer and Salt Lake City sported a number of liquor purveyors. Not until church authorities began emphasizing what the faithful call "The Word of Wisdom" in the early 1900s did Utah-made distillates become a thing of the past.

In the twenty-first century, homemade alcohol returned to Utah. In the 1980s and 1990s, brewpubs made a triumphant return in Salt Lake City, Park City, and Moab. And in the late 1990s and early 2000s, a few scattered vineyards and High West Distilling popped up, taking advantage of the statewide trend toward craft brewing, craft fermenting, and craft distilling.

High West, however, has yet to sell any of their own product. The first production runs of rye whiskey produced in their Utah-based still remain in the barrel. Nonetheless, they wisely decided to build up their market share by connecting a product (procured from other distillers, likely in Kentucky) with their label on it to the long history of rye whiskey consumption in the West.

The name of this rye--rendezvous--is meant to conjure up the supposedly halycon days of the 1820s to 1840s, when American fur trappers wintered in the Rocky Mountains and gathered once a year to sell their pelts to various companies (which in turn transported them to major cities for processing) and gather supplies for the coming year. Most often held in Utah's Cache Valley or along the Green River in what is now southwestern Wyoming, these meetings often turned into raucous, even violent, frolics fueled by cheap whiskey.

Thankfully, this spirit is neither cheap nor frolic-inducing. In fact, it took home a double gold medal in the 2008 San Francisco Spirits Competition.

A mixture of two different whiskeys--a six year old straight rye and a sixteen year old straight rye, mixed with Utah water to bring the concoction to 92 proof--produces a distinct sipping experience. Again, High West did not distill either spirit, instead purchasing from existing stocks while they built their distillery in Park City. Salting away their current distillates for future sales, in the meantime they offer us this unique blended American rye.

Here's how it tastes:

Appearance: The dark, heavy, viscous body of this substantial whiskey becomes clear the second you hold your glass up to any light.

Smell: The first aroma contains mint and licorice, and if you linger over the glass, one feels a cooling sensation through the nose.

Taste: Thin on the front, with a sharp and peppery palate. The whiskey grows much more complex after a few seconds on the tongue, and finishes sweet, with notes of caramel.

Finish: Some burn, with a little bitterness that is actually quite pleasant.

Overall, this is a whiskey worth enjoying straight or on the rocks. It stands out as one of the more distinctive blended ryes on the market. But unless one is independently wealthy, I'd avoid using it in cocktails, where it's distinctiveness will wash out in the face of other flavorful ingredients. And if you don't live in Utah, you can find it at a number of major online retailers.

In the meantime, rye patriots will anxiously await the Utah-made version, coming soon.

Classic Rye Cocktails, #12: The Scofflaw

2009-10-02T20:09:00.001-05:00

If, like me, you've been drinking whiskey smashes all summer, you may be wondering what the arrival of autumn portends. Across much of the northern United States, backyard mint plants will not provide their copious bounty during the long, cold, winter.

It's time for another drink. One that reminds the rye patriot of summer, but looks forward to changing leaves and the fresh, crisp air of fall.

That drink is the Scofflaw. The cocktail renaissance has brought this drink back in a big way. Ironically, it belongs to the temperance movement. That's right. Anti-saloon forces gave birth to this drink back in the early 1920s. Apparently, it wasn't enough to outlaw the manufacture, sale, and transportation of liquors. Temperance leaders, seeing that the consumption of alcohol continued unabated--in some quarters, at least--decided that drinkers needed to be defined more sharply as lawbreakers.

In late 1923, a leading prohibitionist announced a contest to create, according to the January 16, 1924 New York Times, "the best word to stigmatize those who scoff at the prohibition law." The requirements? The new word need to start start with an "s," be no more than two syllables, focus on the lawbreaker--not the drinking, apply to all those who broke the law, and finally, fulfill Warren G. Harding's sentiment that "lawless drinking is a menace to the Republic itself." The winner? Kate L. Butler's (of Dorchester, MA) suggestion of "scofflaw." She won $200 for her trouble.

Alone among Americans, the "wets" had a sense of humor. And they proved it by immediately coming up with this concoction. Thanks to the efforts of rye-drinking expats at Harry's Bar in Paris, within three days, this term for an illegal drinker soon became a moniker for a tasty cocktail.

This one balances sweet, sour, and spicy sharpness. It's a winner.

1 oz rye whiskey (100 proof Rittenhouse works best)
1 oz dry vermouth
3/4 oz grenadine (Stirring's brand preferred) or, alternately, green Chartreuse
3/4 oz lemon juice
2-3 dashes orange bitters

For the sake of historical accuracy, it's important to note that the original recipe called for grenadine instead of green Chartreuse, but Washington Post spirits columnists Jason Wilson adeptly suggests the replacement. One likes to think that in the absence of good whiskey (the stocks of rye in Paris surely must have been depleted four years after passage of the Volstead Act), the turn to grenadine by our Prohibition-era foremothers and forefathers was one of necessity, not joy. Nonetheless, if you're in the mood for something sweeter, be my guest.

Historic craft distilling...

2009-08-28T08:00:00.002-05:00

Readers of this blog may remember that there was much celebration surrounding the announcement that the stills at Mount Vernon--where George Washington became one of the largest rye whiskey makers of his time in the late 1790s--were not only reconstructed but also producing distillates again.

Well, it turns out that when they fired up the still back in February 2009, the good people at Mount Vernon created a blog to chronicle the event. It's a fascinating look at the reclamation of a historic rye recipe and distilling process. Check it out.

Not just craft distilling, but home distilling...

2009-08-22T08:56:00.002-05:00

Here's an article (brand new) on an important variant of craft distilling.

Craft distilling...

2009-08-17T16:38:00.004-05:00

One of the best outcomes of the renewed interest in rye whiskey (and for that matter, boutique spirits of every sort) is the advent of craft distilling. New companies are cropping up all over the country and starting to make rye (along with brandy, vodka, and gin). The return of local liquor production in America is a welcome one, given the long history of distillates made democratically, by Americans, for Americans, before Prohibition.

To learn more, check out this article from Time Magazine (January 2008) as well as this Malt Advocate essay (February 2009) on some of the most important small craft distillers in the country.

A video on rye-making...

2009-08-13T21:34:00.000-05:00

Here's an excellent video from the good people at Finger Lakes Distilling (Burdett, NY) on the process they use to make rye whiskey in small batches. I can't wait until we get to try their rye (which is currently aging in the barrel).

Rye whiskey in song...

2009-08-09T18:16:00.026-05:00

Some of you might have noticed that the recent 90th birthday concert in Madison Square Garden for Pete Seeger featured Dave Matthews singing the classic American folk tune "Rye Whiskey" (PBS stations around the country are now showing the concert on "Great Performances"--check your local listings). Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds also recently released a version of this song on the CD "B-Sides and Rarities." For some reason, there seems to be renewed interest in this American folk classic. A quick check of the i-Tunes store shows over 40 different versions recorded by various artists over the years.

The song, with it's murky origins sometime in the early nineteenth-century, illustrates the pervasiveness of rye whiskey in American life. It was first recorded by Tex Ritter in 1933 for Columbia Records. Ritter recorded it again for Capitol Records in 1948. You can hear Ritter discuss this song here. The tune was also recorded at mid-century by famous folksingers such as Woody Guthrie (1940) and Pete Seeger (1954).

The lyrics in each of the recordings differs slightly. John Lomax, Jr., the famed musicologist, sang "Rye Whiskey" on his seminal "John Lomax, Jr. sings American Folk Songs" album (released by Smithsonian Folkways in 1952). In the liner notes, Lomax claimed that the song, "(sometimes called JACK OF DIAMONDS) is a well known western folk song of many verses and many versions." Indeed.

Before the days of commercial recorded music (roughly beginning in the late 1910s) amateur musicians fulfilled a community's need for song. Like whiskey, music was produced locally. That meant that lyrical variations, sometimes regional, sometimes peculiar to particular performers, emerged and spread. Not until technologies made it possible for songs to be heard from a machine was music taken from the people, standardized, and turned into a business.

The same was true in the world of liquor. By 1919, the local (even household) production of whiskey (with endless variations) had been banned as part of national prohibition. And when prohibition was finally lifted by Franklin Delano Roosevelt's administration in 1933, new federal laws nonetheless made it illegal to distill your own spirits without a license--which was hard to get. Only distilleries could make spirits. By then, corporations had taken hold of American popular music as well.

Importantly, the song "Rye Whiskey" provides significant clues about nineteenth-century American culture and it's view of rye. Lomax's (and his son's) seminal published work on American folk music--American Ballads and Folksongs (1941) included the song in the seventh chapter, which focused on folk songs with "cocaine and whisky" as subjects. Apparently the use of both was widespread in nineteenth-century America, which accounted for the many variations as well as the many sentiments the song expressed. The vaguely standard version of "Rye Whiskey" variously celebrates manly independence, the joys of life without a wife, the ruinous love/hate relationship an alcoholic has with their spirit of choice, class differences making romance difficult, the dangers of card playing, the desire for steak for the hungry, money for the poor, and religion at one's death, and finally, whiskey's uncanny ability to ease loneliness.

Among the most interesting variations, however, are two found in Lomax's American Ballads (and, interestingly, almost always absent in recorded versions of the song). The first is a verse attributed to African Americans, in the awkward and demeaning pidgin so often ascribed to enslaved peoples in the American South:

In my little log cabin
Ever since I been born
Dere ain't been no nothin'
'Cept dat hard salt, parched corn

But I know whar's a henhouse,
De turkey he charve
An' if ol' Mas'er don' kill me
I cain't never starve.

That this lyric has little to do with whiskey and much to do with the resilience and resistance of enslaved peoples is fascinating. But a question arises: was it a minstrel variation? Unlikely. Perhaps this was a verse that African Americans added to this well known song to express their dignity in the face of the dehumanizing and brutal terror of chattel slavery? No one knows for sure.

Equally important, the famous "duck" lyric found in the song seems to have come from African American folk traditions. Here's the lyric:

If the ocean was whiskey
And I were a duck
I'd dive to the bottom
And never come up

According to Newman White's book American Negro Folk Song (1928), a group of African American workers in Alabama in 1915 sang a song with this verse:

Oh! if the blues was whiskey
I'd stay drunk all the time
'Er if the river was booze
And I was a mallow duck
I'd dive to the bottom and
I'd never come up

Variations on this verse could be found in a number of songs recorded by white and black artists in the 1930s including "Divin' Duck Blues" and "If the River Was Whiskey" as well as Muddy Waters' 1950 hit "Rollin' and Tumblin'."

Another variation found in Lomax's book was a modified version of the typical chorus:

Rye whiskey, rye whiskey,
Rye whiskey, I cry
If I don't get rye whiskey,
I surely will die.

Interestingly, the variant proved to be much darker and less tongue-in-cheek:

Rye whiskey, rye whiskey
You're no friend to me
You killed my poor daddy
Goddamn you, try me.

As this version of the chorus suggests, alcoholism was pervasive in nineteenth-century America--one reason the temperance movement became so powerful. People knew that dependence on liquor could destroy one's life. And they weren't afraid to sing about it.

That neither variant is sung anymore shows that the song continues to evolve--in this case, for the worse. Perhaps it would be more meaningful for Dave Matthews (and everyone else interested in reviving American folk music) to explore the darker, more complex side of these "people's songs" just as we rye aficionados appreciate darker, more complex whiskeys--the "people's spirit."

Tasting Notes #2: Michter's U.S. *1 Single Barrel Straight Rye

2009-06-16T14:56:00.005-05:00

The second in an occasional series.

The name Michter's and whiskey share a long history. Kind of.

With its roots in eighteenth-century family-based whiskey production, a distillery in Schaefferstown, Pennsylvania became a major commercial player in the 1850s. The Bomburger family took over whiskey-making in the years immediately before the Civil War and ran the distillery until the dark night of Prohibition fell over the land in 1919.

By the early 1950s, the distillery had been permanently reopened under the leadership of Louis Forman. Forman installed an old-fashioned pot-style still, which most other competitors had abandoned as being too small and inefficient. In 1956, Michter's Pot-Still Whiskey (a bourbon) hit the market though it never gained a reputation as an exceptional product. In 1979, the entire distillery was renamed after Michter's--their top brand.

According to John and Linda Lippman, the reputation began to grown then. After A. H. Hirsch purchased the remaining stock as the distillery went out of business in 1988, and released them many years later as greatly aged whiskeys, the Michter's name took on mythic proportions among some bourbon afficianados. In 1996, Gene Wilson bought the remaining assets of the crumbling and abandoned distillery and sold the most intact item--the name. Chatham Imports now bottles four different boutique whiskeys under the Michter's brand, including this one.

Like nearly every other modern rye, this whiskey was made in Kentucky. After thirty-six months in the barrel, it is filtered and then returned to the barrel.

Here's how it tastes:

Appearance: A medium brown color typical of rye whiskey. Thick legs on the inside of the glass after just one swirl.

Smell: A muted alcohol burn, with sweet but peppery overtones.

Taste: Decidedly mellow. Sweet on one side, spicy on the other, but not much depth. The second sip brought out a slightly soured corn syrup taste, with the spiciness clearly coming out on the back of the tongue.

Finish: Very straightforward, with little to no bitterness.

Little about this rye makes it distinctive, and that makes it seemingly overpriced. It ranges from $25 to $35 a bottle in most markets where it can be found. Clearly it would work just fine in a wide range of cocktails, if only because it features the most basic characteristics of rye whiskey. One could also freely share this distillate as a sipping whiskey with good friends. But paying this much for this little means this may not be your best option when you start exploring more expensive ryes.

Cheers!

Classic Rye Cocktails, #11: The Whiskey Smash

2009-06-12T20:07:00.007-05:00

The official cocktail of summer 2009...is the Whiskey Smash. Among America's most ancient of mixed drinks, the Whiskey Smash offers up the democratic refreshment our foremothers and forefathers yearned for in the days before air-conditioning.

Back in the 40s, 50s, 60s--and here I mean the 1840s, 1850s, and 1860s--the Smash, according to David Wondrich in Imbibe, was one of the most popular concoctions in the land. And like so many antebellum drinks (including the Sazerac), the Smash (or Smasher or even Smash-Up) was first made with brandy. Later on, rye was more often joined to the refreshing combination of mint and lemon wedges for this summertime pick-me-up. The whiskey variant--according to A New Dictionary of Americanisms; being a glossary of words supposed to be peculiar to the United States and the Dominion of Canada (1875)--was known in some circles as a "whiskey skin" (though this more often referred to a warm version of this drink made with Scotch or Irish whiskey, there was some overlap).

How common was this drink (and its many variants) in the nineteenth century? As late as 1900, a fixture at New York City's horse race tracks was named "Brandy Smash."

Given our full-blown cocktail renaissance, this drink is regaining its popularity quickly as bartenders restore the full glory of our American heritage to the bar-going public. You might be able to find this at an upscale establishment with an excellent bartender near you (such as New York City's Pegu Club, Chicago's Violet Hour, or Boston's Drink). But, just in case, here's how to make your own, in a short glass:

1 oz simple syrup (sugar water)
1 oz lemon juice (fresh-squeezed preferred)
2 mint sprigs
2 to 2.5 oz rye whiskey (Rittenhouse or Wild Turkey preferred because the higher proof liquor cuts through the sweet citrus flavors more effectively).

Muddle the lemon juice, simple syrup, and one of the mint sprigs. Add the whiskey and fill the glass with crushed ice. Place the remaining sprig at the top of the glass in order to enjoy the aroma, which adds considerable depth to this drink.

Then sit back (preferably outside) in a lounge chair and enjoy.

Breaking News: Rye Whiskey soon to be sold at Mount Vernon...

2009-04-30T14:45:00.007-05:00

For the first time since 1808, the working distillery (recently reconstructed with the financial support of the Distilled Spirits Council of the United States--it burned down in 1814) at George Washington's Virginia estate, Mount Vernon, will be selling whiskey made on-site, starting in June 2009. The story is here.

Back in 1797, Washington invested in a distillery on his plantation and within a year his distiller was producing 11,000 gallons of rye whiskey annually. Most of it was sold locally for a hefty profit. After Washington's death in 1799, production tailed off.

The spirit will be rye (60% rye, 35% corn, 5% barley)--of course--and young. Most spirits made during the period were aged only briefly, if at all. Washington's rye, apparently, was especially appreciated for it's quality--which means it did spend some time, however limited, in the barrel.

Mount Vernon has been selling a limited edition American whiskey since August 2008, but this is a blend of leading American whiskeys aged on-site--not produced on site. The new stuff will be the real thing.

The grains used in this revived version were milled on-site, making this the only eighteenth-century style whiskey made in an eighteenth-century style setting using eighteenth-century techniques and technologies. It may be the most authentic rye of all. Many thanks to Virginia State Senator Linda Puller for ensuring that the distillery--operated by the Mount Vernon Ladies Association--could get the appropriate state licensing to sell distilled spirits.

Rye patriots, gather at this shrine come June to drink the nectar of our country!

Tasting Notes #1: Old Overholt

2009-04-27T16:00:00.005-05:00

The first in an occasional series.

Old Overholt, among America's oldest whiskey labels, is not what it used to be. Around 1810, Abraham Overholt (grandfather of Henry Clay Frick) began distilling rye on his farm in western Pennsylvania. When he started a commercial operation, he named the whiskey Old Farm. In 1859, his son built a new distillery to continue production of Old Farm as well as a new spirit named for the Overholt family.

Now made by Jim Beam, this whiskey tastes rather different than the pre-Prohibition version.

Often, Old Overholt is the only rye whiskey one can easily find. I've lost count of the number of times that I asked a bartender if they had rye--and they responded by offering me this. In those situations, it can be a life saver.

Wide availability often means that this is the first rye anyone ever tries. And one could do worse. Most aficionados describe Old Overholt as light and palatable. They see it as something for mixing rather than for sipping. I quite agree. It makes a fine Manhattan for one's first rye cocktail.

Recently, I decided to put this venerable four-year old spirit to the test. Here goes:

Appearance: Pale, even yellow-brown. Thin legs on the inside of the glass after a swirl or two.

Smell: This is important. Much of what we "taste" is actually smelled. Sweet, with an almost licorice smell. Undercurrents of maple syrup and candy and smoke.

Taste: This whiskey hits the palate with a shot of honey, then nougat. Definite warmth and vanilla in the middle, fading into spice. Then a little char.

Finish: An aftertaste that's a bit cloying and then sharply astringent. There doesn't seem to be much body.

In the end, there's not a lot of oak or complexity in this whiskey, and it seems light at nearly every stage on the palate.

That said, for around $13 a bottle, it's not bad (the price seems to vary widely--I've heard that it goes for more than $17 in some markets, and less than $10 in others). It's not my first choice for sipping whiskey. But it does make a mean cocktail (especially in one of the classic rye whiskey drinks). And as an introduction to the world of rye whiskey, it's perfectly appropriate--accessable and cheap, something different than bourbon, but not too far afield.

Cheers!

More changes...

2009-04-19T14:34:00.003-05:00

Dear friends, thanks for your patience. More changes are coming. New classic rye cocktails. A new set of rye whiskey tasting posts. A new set of posts about whiskey books.

Hang one for one more week.

Spring cleaning...

2009-03-30T19:41:00.003-05:00

It's that time of year. Spring is a great season, one that renews our focus on the important things in life. With that in mind, this blog is taking a turn towards a more focused approach--cataloging the many pleasures of rye whiskey, offering up the best of the cocktail renaissance, and examining the intersection of American history and alcohol. Over the next few days you'll see some changes around here. Talk of politics will go away, while more resources for rye drinkers emerge.

Consider them patriotic improvements.

Classic Rye Cocktails, #10: The Suburban

2009-02-25T17:51:00.003-06:00

This little-known cocktail deserves a much wider audience.

No, it's not a large sport-utility vehicle built by Chevrolet. No, it's not a reference to decentralized, automobile-dependent, sprawling built landscapes encountered across North America. No, it's not a reference to the 1950s. It's a drink. A damn good one. I've been drinking them for about a month now, and telling everyone I know that they've got to try one.

Various sources suggest that this cocktail was first made in New York City in the 1880s. Named after the Suburban Handicap thoroughbred horse race (the last of the three races that together comprise the New York Handicap Triple) which began in 1884 in Long Island, it apparently reflects the influence of an upscale saloon culture of New York City in the late 19th century.

Saloons were known as male spaces, where the only women present fit into un"lady"-like categories. Working-class men, in particular, depended on saloons for sociability and sport. Because temperance advocates imagined (in some cases, correctly) that the many vices destroying American society stemmed from the saloons, middle and upper-class men turned to hotel restaurants and private clubs and enjoyed consuming alcohol in the esteemed circumstances of socially exclusive venues. Avoiding saloons, they also turned away from beer, cider, and straight liquors and supported a burgeoning (and more respectable) cocktail culture.

Bartenders at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in Manhattan (built in 1893) included this drink in their recipe book, repeating the story that it was created in honor of James R. Keene. As a famous horse owner, horse racer, and Gilded Age bigshot, Keene apparently gained enough noteriety to have this drink invented by some unknown bartender for him.

It's dry, much more than you'd think. The evil tendency of rum--sickly sweetness--is mitigated by the rye. Port mingles the flavors of the two New World liquors. The bitters bring complexity to the richness of the drink, making it more than merely palatable.

To be sure, it's chock full of alcohol. David Wondrich, the drinks columnist at Esquire, calls this a winter drink. And he's right. Thank god winter will last a few more weeks here in the Upper Midwest:

3 oz rye whiskey
1 oz port wine
1 0z dark rum
3 dashes orange bitters
3 dashes Angostura bitters

Pour the ingredients into a shaker, add ice, and shake vigorously. Pour into a martini glass.

NOTE: Be careful. This one sneaks up on you.

Lincoln and liquor

2009-02-12T17:40:00.005-06:00

There's lots of talk today--online as well as in the real world--about Abraham Lincoln. Given that today is the bicentennial of his birth (and that our current president seems almost unhealthily obsessed with Lincoln and his legacy), this makes sense.

One of the best pieces on Lincoln and his relationship to the current political scene that I've seen so far can be found here. Taking a figure out of one temporal context and putting them into another is always problematic (at least for historians). But because so many contemporary Americans remain convinced that Lincoln stands for something close to them (one reason he is always near the top of the list of the greatest presidents), it's a worthwhile exercise.

All this Lincoln-talk got me thinking. Where did Lincoln stand on the question of drinking rye?

Well, he had fast friends in the world of activists fighting for temperance. In mid-19th century America, the temperance movement greeted naysayers with passionate critiques of the dissolute activities resulting from drink. Many white, middle-class women found their voice in this movement. Rooted in Protestant visions of the world, the push to make America dry took on sacred overtones.

In rural, mostly Protestant, Illinois, the young Lincoln cocked his eye towards the political future--which meant taking a clear stand on alcohol and its consumption. As the son of a former seasonal distillery worker (on Knob Creek in bourbon-making Kentucky--yes, that Knob Creek) and a former tavern owner himself (in New Salem, IL), he possessed a complicated understanding of the issue.

Nonetheless, a famous 1842 speech in front of the Springfield, IL Washington Temperance Society (apparently, the organizers conveniently forgot that George Washington became one of the largest producers of rye whiskey in the last years of the eighteenth century) made it clear that Lincoln did not support the indulgent use of drink.

But neither did he damn those who drank. Instead, he noted that "they know they are not demons, nor even the worst of men. They know that generally, they are kind, generous, and charitable, even beyond the example of their more staid and sober neighbors. They are practical philanthropists; and they glow with a generous and brotherly zeal, that mere theorizers are incapable of feeling. Benevolence and charity possess their hearts entirely; and out of the abundance of their hearts, their tongues give utterance." Furthermore, in years past, alcohol was "a respectable article of manufacture and merchandise. The making of it was regarded as an honorable livelihood; and he who could make most, was the most enterprising and respectable."

Though he himself did not show much interest in liquor or cider, Lincoln did not show interest in a anti-alcohol law to blanket the land. Historian Lucas E. Morel, in a 1999 article in the Journal of the Abraham Lincoln Association, suggests:

"Albert Beveridge relates a telling exchange on the subject between Lincoln and Stephen Douglas. At a reception hosting Douglas during the congressional campaigns of 1854, Lincoln declined a drink, whereupon Douglas exclaimed, "Why! are you a member of the Temperance Society?" Lincoln replied, "No! I am not a member of any Temperance Society ... but I am temperate in this, that I don't drink anything."

Clearly, Lincoln believed that instead of fiery denunciations, moderation, reason and patience would win out. So raise your glass high tonight to remember the teetotaler who chose not to drink--but refused to stand in the way of his fellow Americans and their whiskey-drenched patriotism.

Rye and the Founders...

2009-01-30T14:48:00.004-06:00

From time to time, this rye drinker gets questions about exactly why rye whiskey is for patriots. You can read my screed on the matter over on the right. Then, watch this video, which tells all. It's a little hokey, but nonetheless a great introduction to rye, how it's made, and some of the early national context in which it should be enjoyed.

Classic Rye Cocktails #9: The Brainstorm

2009-01-29T17:10:00.000-06:00

It's been a long time. Too long.

The 1950s were a time when giants roamed the earth. The three-martini lunch (gin martinis, of course--vodka is an abomination and back then many people knew that) defined the businessman's day. The amount of alcohol consumed on the job (at least in middle-class, middle-management corporate workplaces) would shock today's cubicle-prone worker bees who live at the gym and drink mineral water from small Pacific islands.

The rye fire, first lit by patriots in the 1790s, was damaged by Prohibition but not yet done in. Clearly, the emergence of a cocktail-besotted culture in the 1950s kept some classics alive. Even the cocktail guru David Wondrich admits that the origins of this drink are obscure. But that it was included in Esquire: Handbook for Hosts, first published by the men's magazine in 1949, tells us enough. The drink is straightforward, direct, and tasty. The simplicity suggests pre-Prohibition origins.

As a potent mix of dry vermouth, Benedictine liqueur, and rye, it has few equals. You might raise an eyebrow at the inclusion of France's oldest continuously made liqueur (since 1510), but remember that the first patriots called on the French in a time of great need--and they delivered. The least we can do is again mix the traditions of two great powers and forces for liberty in the world, if only in honor of Lafayette, Rochambeau, deGrasse, and those forgotten French soldiers who died on American soil.

Here's what it takes to honor America's first foreign friend:

1/2 oz dry vermouth
1/2 oz Benedictine liqueur
2 oz rye whiskey

Mix ingredients, shake well over ice, serve in a martini glass. Add an orange peel garnish (if you wish).

Though there are lots of variants out there--including versions made with Scotch (how dare they bring Great Britain into this), bourbon (not ideal, but will do in a pinch), and even Irish whiskey (does green food coloring come with that?)--don't get this wrong. Use rye. Before you sip, be sure to raise the glass to the brave patriot and French armies that defeated the royal menace at Yorktown, VA, in 1781.

Why I often need a glass of rye at the end of the day.

2009-01-15T15:47:00.006-06:00

We all have our reasons, right? Well, here's one of mine.

On a recent airline flight (an occasional luxury), I paged through the "Early Spring 2009" Sky Mall catalog.

Ah, Sky Mall. Thanks, Sky Mall, for focusing on the bright side--"Early Spring 2009" and not the more accurate "Midst of Unending and Brutal Winter 2009"--of things.

Now I don't normally look at the Sky Mall catalog (except as it pokes out of the seat pocket in front of me, of course). It's the ultimate example of the consumer-oriented society that we, in the United States, live in. The consumer-oriented world that is destroying the real physical world, real relationships between real (and not virtual) people, and any sense of reality. Sky Mall is the ultimate end of that long road late 19th-century Americans began walking down when they received the Sears catalog through the mail. A form of shopping that provided liberation (and basic goods) to middling farmers in rural areas far from stores in town now peddles absolutely useless crap to upper middle class travelers with homes already stuffed full of absolutely useless crap. The whole enterprise assaults the sensibilities of any right-thinking rye drinker.

Despite my jaded take on Sky Mall, I admit to finding myself transfixed by the item for sale on the cover. Did I say transfixed? I meant sickened.

In the midst of an economic crisis unlike any since the 1930s, battles on the streets in Gaza , Iraq, Iran, Sudan, Afghanistan, and Somalia (to name just a few), destructive changes to the planet's climate, and intensifying inequity in global populations (about half the planet struggling daily to find enough food or water to survive), I can soothe myself with "the limited-edition Star Trek Captain's Chair life-size replica!"

Wow! I've always wanted to spend $2,717 on a chair! But you say it's not just any chair?

"This officially licensed replica features a working swivel design, light-up controls and sound effects from the legendary Star Trek series. Constructed using expert measurements and the highest quality durable materials, don't miss your chance to command your own Starfleet vessel from the safety of your home!"

Highest quality durable materials? Expert measurements? Light-up controls? My own Starfleet vessel? Yes!

We are so screwed. I know it’s a little early, but I need to go make myself a Manhattan.

Something to nibble on with your rye...

2009-01-14T14:51:00.002-06:00

Rye drinkers everywhere should take a close look at this. The author offers up a recipe for a great snack to enjoy the next time you pour straight rye, neat or on the rocks.

What histories should Obama be reading as he prepares to become President?

2008-12-04T09:18:00.007-06:00

A sociologist friend and colleague writes with a great question: "I've noticed Obama has been photographed carrying around a biography of Lincoln (or a history of Lincoln's administration). I've also heard him reference what he's been reading as he makes appointment decisions. If you were given the chance to influence Obama's reading, what historical works would you hope he should be consulting?"

Well, first of all, the much ballyhooed "team of rivals" discourse currently pervading stories about Obama's cabinet selections stems from Doris Kearns Goodwin's book Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln (2005). In it, she suggests that Lincoln's selection of political opponents or challengers to work with him in his cabinet was a stroke of managerial genius. William Seward, Edwin Stanton, Edward Bates, and Salmon Chase couldn't get along with each other, let alone Lincoln. Nonetheless, according to Goodwin, the president skillfully transcended partisanship and personalities, which allowed him to tap into the ideas of the best and brightest in a time of national crisis.

It's a problematic thesis, to say the least. Historian James Oakes rightly demolished it in a brief op-ed for the New York Times a couple of weeks ago. But the "team of rivals" story lives on.

What histories should Obama be reading instead of Goodwin's? A few come to mind.

The first would be Freedom From Fear: The American People in Depression and War, 1929-1945 (1999), by David Kennedy (which I'm finishing right now). As an accessible overview of the Hoover-Roosevelt years, it is simply stunning. The number of parallels between the early 1930s and right now are striking. History doesn't repeat itself (only historians do), but there is still much to be learned from that moment in U.S. history.

Given the nation's energy problems, Alfred Crosby's Children of the Sun: A History of Humanity's Unappeasable Appetite for Energy (2005) would be another good choice. It's a quick, but important, read that places the energy question in a deep context.

Shane Hamilton's new book, Trucking Country: The Road to America's Wal-Mart Economy (2008) offers an innovative interpretation of the decline of New Deal liberalism through the examination of agriculture, food, and transportation in relation to political economies.

Given the complicated relationship between leftist and liberal politics in Obama's candidacy, Doug Rossinow's Visions of Progress: The Left-Liberal Tradition in America (2007) seems appropriate. He lays out the tensions between the left and liberalism since the 1880s with a keen eye. This is the political history Obama needs to negotiate the fragile coalition he seems to have cobbled together.

Finally, since many wonder how Obama will translate his grassroots organizing into institutionalized national politics, I would suggest Barbara Ransby's Ella Baker and the Black Freedom Movement: A Radical Democratic Vision (2003) for insights on the possibilities and limitations of such an intersection.

But what do YOU think, fellow rye drinkers? Which histories should Obama be reading?

Classic Rye Cocktails #8: McKinley's Delight

2008-12-03T18:46:00.000-06:00

This one's not just for politicians.

As a clear reference to William McKinley, this drink was supposedly created in 1896, when the Ohioan was nominated by the Republican Party to take on William Jennings Bryan, the Democratic and Populist candidate for the presidency. Bryan, too, had a drink associated with his platform--the Free Silver Fizz (gin, lime juice, and carbonated water, over ice).

The connection between cocktails and politics was well established. In fact, the first reference we have to the term "cocktail" comes from 1806, in a newspaper article describing how a Federalist defeated a Democratic-Republican candidate in New York's Hudson River Valley despite the latter's attempt to secure votes by handing out almost 300 mixed drinks.

Some early references to this cocktail suggest a rather different composition than what you see below. The Nebraska Pioneer Cookbook, for instance, a 1974 compilation of late nineteenth-century recipes, suggests that a McKinley's Delight consisted of three dashes of gum syrup, two dashes of Maraschino, lemon juice, two dashes of Angostura bitters, and a jigger of gin--all stirred over iced and strained into a sugar-encrusted glass. This drink simply boggles the mind. No rye drinker would be caught dead with such a weak, syrupy concoction in hand. No wonder Jim Crow and imperial ambition dominated daily life.

While most rye drinkers (especially rural westerners) likely voted for Bryan, McKinley, of course, won the election. He catapulted the nation into a thinly-veiled war for empire, abandoned any pretense of the Republican Party's historic role as a party for progressive politics (especially on race), and cemented the power of large corporations in American life. Sound familiar?

Anyways...

Though it retains a moniker that many might shy from, after World War II the drink was transformed into something palatable and patriotic. The Esquire Handbook for Hosts, first published in 1949, lists the drink in its cocktails section, suggesting it could be made with either bourbon or rye. Predictably, the latter makes for better quaffing. Much of the sweetness was gone in this incarnation, with only sweet vermouth and cherry liquor in place to balance the whiskey.

Interestingly, at least one source suggests that as early as 1939, this same drink was known as a "Remember the Maine."

What can we say? Some things will always remain a mystery. What's important is that rye transformed this cocktail from slops into a classic. And that's good enough for me.

Here's the recipe:

2 oz rye whiskey
1 oz sweet vermouth
2 dashes cherry brandy
1 dash absinthe (or absinthe substitute)

Mix in a shaker, over ice. Strain into either a lowball glass or a martini glass. There's no garnish.

At the end of the day, this is essentially a variation on a Manhattan (though one with less rye than the recommended dosage for that drink). Nonetheless, it's a good variation, one worth keeping in your repertoire for those evenings when something snazzier than a Manhattan is required.

"PROHIBITION IS DEAD - THE MORMONS KILLED IT..."

2008-12-02T16:18:00.005-06:00

Not exactly what you would expect to read--but that was the headline in the London Evening News 75 years ago this week. In November 1933, Utah was the last state needed (the 36th) to approve the 21st Amendment, repealing Prohibition.

Needless to say, the state with the largest number of LDS voters--all taught to avoid alcohol in any form--became unlikely heroes to "wets" (drinkers) across the nation. According to a recent story in the Salt Lake Tribune, as voters went to the polls to vote on local races as well as the amendment, LDS Church President Heber Grant even told Mormons: "I am not asking any man to vote against his conscience, but I am urging that before he votes for repeal he gets down on his knees and asks God if he is doing right."

Nonetheless, the long, misguided, national nightmare came to an end in Zion. Why? Economics were one big factor. There was money to be made in distillation and fermentation, as the longstanding beer and liquor industry in Utah suggested. That profits increased during Prohibition caught the attention of many. In the midst of the Great Depression, the state would profit from moving the underground liquor economy to a legal, taxable one.

Furthermore, many Utahns were not Mormon. White ethnics in the mines south of Salt Lake City, as well as Gentiles in the railroad and industrial town of Ogden were just two non-LDS populations with a sizable voice (and interest in regaining access to legal booze). Finally, Mormons themselves were only a generation removed from socially-acceptable drinking. Thomas Alexander, the current dean of LDS historians, argues in his book Mormonism in Transition (1986) that the Word of Wisdom, which banned alcoholic drink among true believers, was evenly enforced within the LDS church only in the early 1900s. Even then, some of the faithful were known to bend the rules if the good stuff was within reach.

For a little taste of this history, pour yourself some rye tonight. If you're really feeling historic, make it a rye and ginger. Regardless, raise your glass to the clear-eyed, dyed-in-the-wool patriotic voters of Utah (circa 1933) that delivered us all from darkness and brought us back into the light. Take a long, satisfying sip. And then take a look at this.

Classic Rye Cocktails #7: Algonquin

2008-11-12T18:44:00.001-06:00

The murky origins of this drink leave us patriots with nothing but questions. Named for the Algonquin Hotel in New York City--where the hotel bar shut down two years before Prohibition became the law of the land--the date of its invention remains unclear.

It's got cache, though. Literary lights hung out at the Algonquin in later (and, I might add, wetter) years, including the poet and short story writer Dorothy Parker, The New Yorker founder Harold Ross, playwright George S. Kaufman, and Broadway critic Alexander Woollcott. They, of course, became famous for quaffing gin martinis (a cocktail, which, as a significant contribution of the United States to the world--alongside rye whiskey--damns no souls).

With a handful of others, they made up the so-called Algonquin Round Table. In the 1920s, it garnered international fame and came to embody erudition as the preeminent cultural symbol of a flowering in American letters. The Round Table attracted celebrities such as Harpo Marx and Tallulah Bankhead to it's lunch-time meetings and night-time poker games. The New Yorker was founded on the second floor of the hotel. George S. Kaufman would go on to win the Pulitzer Prize.

As a historian, however, I'm sorry to report that our best guessing points towards this cocktail emerging after World War II. But it has the feel of a classic, it's named for a classic place, and it conjures up memories of a classic moment when intellectuals reigned as celebrities.

2 oz rye whiskey
1 oz dry vermouth (Noilly Prat is preferred)
1 oz pineapple juice

Shake with ice, and strain into a glass.

Spicy, clean, and dry, not too sweet. Just the way a cocktail should be.

Maybe if they had the chance to do it over again, the various members of the Round Table would order this one up on a daily basis. This patriot likes to think so.

Deriving an everyday politics--not just an election day politics--from rye whiskey...

2008-11-06T13:00:00.003-06:00

In these days immediately after the election, I think we should again turn to rye.

No, I'm not an alcoholic. In fact, I'm anything but.

Nonetheless, the ancient liquor of our nation holds much wisdom. After the excess of rum and madeira in the colonial era, those newly-christened Americans, their hand forced by the cutting off of these spirits, came up with rye. Remember, rye is one of the three greatest contributions the United States has offered the world (the second is the cocktail, and the third is a particular cocktail--the gin martini).

This ability to innovate in the face of adversity--embodied in America's finest ryes--is the first lesson that the brown liquor imparts. Critical thinking and a knack for new ideas trump dependence on the status quo every time.

The second? Engaged independent-mindedness. Rye emerged as the American spirit in the late eighteenth-century from independent farmers that cared about their community. Hew to no party line except for one--the values derived from the golden rule, mimicking this golden brown spirit. Engage in party politics when necessary in order to serve the least among you, but always keep the first lesson in mind.

The third? Assert your basic liberties for the common good. As an example, see the many farmers who distilled their crops into rye and asserted the power of the people in the Whiskey Rebellion--or should we call it a Regulator's Rebellion?

The fourth? Rye offers more than simple pleasures. It suggests a politics beyond politics. Drinking rye sets you apart. It offers up a way to stand outside the crowd and for the Bill of Rights. That means envisioning political action outside of party politics. In other words, there is something bigger required of us than being a party-line Republican or Democrat or even an independent. In our society, that might mean fighting consumer culture, turning off your TV, rejecting political disengagement, using a bike or scooter or bus or train instead of a car to get around, growing your own food, and a host of others...all of which help us to create our own hope.

The fifth? Local is better. Our local ryes are best. No need to import rum or vodka or gin from across the oceans. Maybe it cuts down on global warming-gas emissions (but not always, given economies of scale). Maybe it helps our regional or state or town's economy in a difficult time. But an attention to localism always strengthens our immediate communities, deepening the ties that bind us to our closest neighbors.

At the end of this political season, the five lessons of rye constitute an ideology to remember.

To summarize:

1) Never stop thinking critically about the world.

2) Be wary and independent of political parties and ideologies, but do not let cynicism blind you to the ways they shape the world.

3) The basic civil liberties enshrined in the Bill of Rights are what insure our fullest humanity. They are the only true American values, and whenever the nation strays from them, we live to regret it.

4) Engage in politics long after the election results come in and before any campaign begins. Serve your community however you can. Even being a good and thoughtful parent is a form of political action.

5) Thinking, buying, and living locally not only provides you with the best your community has to offer but also insures you will offer the best you have to your community.

Rye whiskey and elections in America

2008-11-03T09:56:00.001-06:00

If you only know a little bit about the early history of the United States, you've likely heard about the role of liquor in elections. In the first years of the republic, politicians of every stripe turned to distilled spirits and cider as tools for turning the votes their way. Polling places sported kegs of whiskey or barrels of cider, with drams ladled out to whomever wanted them. The more alcohol, the merrier. The candidates who offered the most often earned the most votes.

Most who relate this history suggest that by using liquor to blackmail of voters, office seekers corrupted the democratic process. These commentators point out that thankfully, the carefully regulated election venues of our time display no such irregularities.

But consider this, from historian William J. Rorabaugh's classic, The Alcoholic Republic: An American Tradition:

"An office seeker who furnished strong beverages to the voters was expected to drink freely with them, and, by his drinking, to prove the soundness of his democratic principles, that he was independent and egalitarian, indeed truly republican. Many an aspirant for office became inebriated in order to show the voters that he was an autonomous, independent being. At the same time, a candidate's good nature and congeniality in his cups demonstrated his respect for his peers, the voters, and thereby confirmed his egalitarianism. Thus it was that a Pennyslvania tavern crowd stated that one popular contender's election was certain because he could and would 'get drunk with any man.'"

Proving one's republicanism, one's dedication to liberty, through the public consumption of spirits. It's foreign to us. But maybe we need just a little of that tomorrow, as we trudge off to the polls. Like that crowd in Pennsylvania, I'm going to have a shot of rye before I head to my polling place, and I hope that all you patriots do the same. Turn democracy in a bottle--rye--into a force for social and political change.

Classic Rye Cocktails #6: The Ward Eight

2008-10-29T18:13:00.000-05:00

Given that we are in the last week of a presidential campaign, it seems like the perfect time to celebrate America's liquor and political history in one fell swoop.

This one's not that old. Yet it's a classic and it must be included. Especially in these months where daylight grows dim and people require extra Vitamin C in their diet.

There are a few fleeting pre-Prohibition references to the Ward Eight (usually suggesting that the drink was invented in Boston in 1898, at a party for Martin Lomansey, who became the political boss of--you guessed it--the city's Eighth Ward, on the city's West End).

While we reject political machines today, they were an accepted fact of urban life in the United States. The most famous machine systems--Tammany Hall in New York City and the Pendergast crew in Kansas City--peaked in the first-half of the twentieth century. The Daley machine in Chicago, of course, held on much longer.

As problematic as they were, the machines proved effective for the common woman and man because despite corruption and cronyism, they got stuff done and helped integrate new immigrant populations into the life of the city. No wonder rye--the liquor of the people--provides the basis for this drink.

Not until the 1910s did most recipe books include a recipe for the drink. It became especially popular during Prohibition. Because it included strong-tasting fruit juices that served as a useful tool for disguising poorly-distilled or home-brew liquor, drinkers in the 1920s often turned to the citrus-heavy cocktail.

Here's an effective (and tasty) modern version of the drink:

2 oz rye whiskey
.5 oz orange juice
.5 oz lemon juice
three dashes of grenadine

Mix ingredients in a shaker. Add ice. Shake, then strain into a glass.

Savor this one. It's the closest you'll ever get to political office.

"We will rule the world with this thing."

2008-10-20T22:23:00.007-05:00

So said Hunter S. Thompson, in a late night phone call to Bill Murray in 2005. That's right. It's the greatest sport ever invented--shotgun golf. First described in a column by Thompson (published the day before he died) in ESPN: The Magazine , the game calls on one's agility and acumen to shoot golf balls out of the air (or, alternately, to hit them so that they cannot be shot out of the air). It's a way to bridge the widening cultural gap between the country club crowd and the hunting-from-a-pickup crowd. Obama speaks of a divided America. This sport will bring America together more than any politician ever could.

This rye drinker--sans rye, of course--will be playing shotgun golf for only the second time later this week. I'll be out of town when I do it, and it means it'll be a while before there are any more posts. I'll return next Wednesday (Oct. 29) with another classic rye cocktail.

Til' then...keep your powder dry, keep the nine iron handy, and raise a glass of rye to that great American, the original Gonzo, Hunter S. Thompson.

Localism, rye whiskey style.

2008-10-15T20:16:00.001-05:00

I thought it appropriate to take a break from our weekly march through the classic rye cocktails (my plans are to share ten in all) and to instead survey the rye whiskey landscape as it exists in late 2008.

The short version: unless you live in Alaska, Maine, Hawaii, or one of the E.U. nations, things are looking good.

There are a number of premium rye whiskeys out there. The best liquor store in your area will have a bunch, no doubt. The craze for rye has motivated corporate distilleries to invest in the "good stuff" all over again. Buying up old labels and creating new ones, they've created a cornucopia of choices. Some are overpriced. Others should be held dear.We'll talk more about them in a few weeks.

But since you've developed a taste for rye --preferably with the readily available Old Overholt--take a moment to imagine the fine brown liquor through the lens of localism. Localism is the term that loosely describes various efforts to return our consumption patterns and relationships (social, economic, political, ecological) to the local level. In these heady days of high energy prices and financial crisis, we should look to our local suppliers and lay in a large supply.

Local whiskey has a long history. Indeed, all whiskey was once local. When Washington distilled rye at Mount Vernon, he sold it locally. Pennsylvania farmers sold rye made from their native grains to their companions and friends throughout the Ohio River valley. Home distillers--regardless of whether or not they had oak barrels for aging--long used whatever grain they could get their hands on to make innumerable whiskey variants. Ever since the end of Prohibition (which legalized, but also renewed tight regulation of the liquor industry), home distilling has been illegal and whiskey production has been centered in Kentucky (yes, even for ryes). Thankfully, no longer do we need to speak only of history when it comes to locally-sourced rye.

Let's start on the West Coast. Given his ability to invent trends, it comes as no surprise that Fritz Maytag (founder of Anchor Steam brewery) invented the regionally-available rye. Interested in fulfilling a long-held interest, Maytag opened a distillery in 1993. He was among the first to focus on rye. His Old Potrero (and its variants) provided the first outpost outside of traditional whiskey country. Made from a 100% rye mash, it comes in either an 18th century or 19th century version. The former ages briefly in toasted oak barrels. The latter ages in charred oak barrels. It's expensive stuff, but well worth it. This regional offering can now be found in limited quantities around the country. If you have a chance, the 18th century version should be tried, no matter the price. To drink a rye the way our foremothers and forefathers did is something every patriot should experience.

Meantime, if you're in the Mountain West, look for a new arrival: Rendezvous Rye. Rendezvous comes from High West Distillery in Park City, Utah. They own the first still to operate legally in that state since Prohibition. Right now, while they wait for their own stuff to age, they are selling a blend of two different Kentucky-made ryes. But hope springs eternal. Rye lovers across the region are waiting to see what this western rye has to offer afficiandos and greenhorns alike. I hope to try some for the first time later this month while visiting Salt Lake City.

Here in the middle of the country, we are lucky to have one of the best ryes in the world. Templeton Rye comes straight from the heart of the Midwest. Born from legendary roots, this whiskey offers a perfect balance of flavors. Though only aged for four years, it stands tall next to whiskeys three to four times the price.

Templeton, Iowa, west of Des Moines, was an important source for bootleg liquor during the 1920s and 1930s. Much of it found its way east to Chicago, fueling mob wars and all-night parties. These German Catholic farmers faithfully buried barrels of whiskey derived from rye they grew on their own land so that it might mellow with time. The modern version uses one of the old farmers' recipes. The best part about it is that it remains western Iowa's pride and joy, employing local farmers and using rye grown in Minnesota. Right now it is only available in Iowa and in the Chicago area, but the owner of the distillery assures me that Minnesota is the next stop for distribution of this excellent spirit.

Lest you all of you in the East despair, fear not. Tuthilltown Distilling, in the Hudson River Valley, has been distilling fine spirits of many and different sorts for years. Hudson Manhattan Rye is their effort to capture democracy in a bottle. Made from a 100% rye mash and bottled at 92 proof, this liquor can be found in good liquor stores all across New York State.

If you're a Southerner, no sweat. Make a trip to George Washington's Mount Vernon and purchase a soon-to-be-available bottle of the rye whiskey made right on the premises in the newly reconstructed distillery. It doesn't hurt that there's a new museum there too, with an exhibit titled: "“Spirits of Independence: George Washington and the Beginnings of the American Whiskey Industry.” Surely this monument to the faithful patriots of yesteryear will become the Mecca of rye.

So remember, take advantage of the rebirth of rye whiskey. Drink locally, if you can.

Classic Rye Cocktails, #5: The Prince of Wales

2008-10-08T21:55:00.002-05:00

This one is so old it's new.

The Prince of Wales. A cocktail fit for royalty.

What, you say? Rye for royalty? Why that destroys the whole thing! Rye is for democracy, rye is for the people, rye is for patriots. Ethan Allen was no king! George Washington insisted on not being treated as royalty! The "regulators" in western Pennsylvania who protected the flickering light of liberty drank rye everyday in the 1780s and 1790s surely saw royalty of any sort as the enemy!

Well, since the second Gilded Age seems to have come to a screeching halt in the last couple of weeks, it makes sense to send it out with a bang. This drink is from the 1880s--the first Gilded Age. And though it was named for the son of Queen Victoria, one senses that moniker stuck because this drink gilds the lily. A few histories even suggest that the Prince himself came up with the recipe during one of the many weeks he spent in the midst of dissolute debauchery in New York City, watching the impending collapse of the British Empire.

This rye drinker likes that. The power of rye is untold. Is it possible that this rye drink helped bring the British Empire to its knees (both literally and figuratively)?

What you need:

2 oz rye whiskey
a dash of Angostura bitters
a few drops of cherry liqueur (I use Cheery Heering)
1 tsp of sugar
a few drops of water
a chunk of pineapple (fresh or frozen--as long as its thawed--will do)
1.5 oz of champagne

That's right. Champagne.

Here's how you make it:

Drop the sugar in the shaker with a few drops of water. Stir until the sugar is dissolved. Add the cherry liquor, the bitters, and the rye. Drop the pineapple chunk in. Add ice. Shake until cold. Make sure that the pineapple chunk is bruised. Strain into a glass. Add the cold champagne.

Think about it. This drink helped destroy an empire. That's rye for you. Always looking out for the people.

What is a maverick?

2008-10-05T15:19:00.003-05:00

Everyone, of course, is agog at the number of times Sarah Palin used the term "maverick" to describe herself and her running mate during the Vice Presidential debates.

Well, not everyone. Here's what the real Mavericks have to say.

Classic Rye Cocktails, #4: The Stone Fence

2008-10-01T17:45:00.003-05:00

It’s finally here. Autumn. My favorite season. I love the crisp nights, the sunny days, the colorful leaves.

I also love this seasonal drink, one of the oldest of the rye-based cocktails.

In 1775, while preparing for their nighttime assault on Fort Ticonderoga from British forces, Ethan Allen and his Green Mountain Boys quaffed a combination of rum and hard apple cider. They, like other New Englanders, called it a Stone Fence.

It was pretty strong stuff. But that’s what liberty demanded. If the British held on to Fort Ticonderoga, they’d control the Lake Champlain region—the crucial strategic avenue between Canada and the revolting colonies. Meantime, the fort’s artillery could be used to trap the British forces in Boston. The concoction conjured up the necessary courage. And the patriots took the fort.

The potent mixture was enjoyed throughout the Northeast during the Revolution. But by the early 1800s, rye had replaced rum—much harder to get in the post-Revolutionary period—in the drink. The inevitable presence of both apple trees and alcoholic cider across the Northeast and the Midwest kept the drink accessible and popular. By the 1860s, the temperance movement had insisted on a non-alcoholic alternative to hard cider. Sweet cider became the mixer of choice for the whiskey. And the modern Stone Fence was born.

It remained beloved through the end of the nineteenth century and into the early twentieth. One of the most famous Stone Fence aficionados was William F. “Buffalo Bill” Cody (he preferred it with a twist of lemon).

Today, the Stone Fence is perfect for those early evening fall sunsets or for relaxing after a leaf-viewing excursion.

Here’s how to make your own bit of history:

2 oz rye whiskey
8-10 oz of fresh pressed sweet apple cider

Use a tall glass, and throw a couple of ice cubes in there when you’re done. The drink depends on the quality of the cider you use. Avoid store-bought apple juice like the plague. Instead, turn to a local orchard (or, barring that, health food store or food co-op) and get something with more complex flavors (a mixture of sweet and tart is best). Unpasteurized sweet apple cider is even better, but can be hard to find.

And don’t forget to toast the Green Mountain Boys.

Democracy, rye, and money, then and now...

2008-09-27T21:22:00.005-05:00

We need to think structurally about what's gotten the nation into this economic turmoil. And as a historian, I'd like us to look all the way back to the Revolution and the years that followed.

"Make no mistake: the founding elite constricted the meaning and practice of democracy in fundamental ways that continue to shape our government and society today." So says historian Terry Bouton.

Clearly, these aren't your father's Founding Fathers.

I'm not a historian of the Revolutionary War or Early National era. But now and then--as any rye drinker and patriot should--I like to read around in the latest work in those fields. I've just finished a pair of provocative books on the political economy of that era that reshapes our understanding of the Revolutionary generation as well as the context in which the Constitution emerged. I think they might even tell us a fair bit about our era as well.

The first, Woody Holton's Unruly Americans and the Origins of the Constitution (New York: Hill and Wang, 2007) claims that in order to create the financial stability necessary to attract investment, the founders curtailed the power of average white men and clamped down on democratic tendencies. By centralizing power in a federal government, elites deliberately weakened the state legislatures who's policies too often (in their eyes) reflected the economic interests of the majority (mostly small farmers).

The printing of money in the years immediately following the Revolution proved especially divisive. With soaring debt from incurred during the war with Britain, a reduced supply of gold and silver, and a regressive tax system, rural debtors revolted when they faced foreclosures on their homes and farms. That little money circulated through local economies drove them to demand that the legislatures print money to increase supply and offer a way out of debt.

Elite landowners and merchants, on the other hand, saw these debtors as delinquent and the printing of money as problematic. Their own economic fortunes were tied to stabilizing the economy and making money off the government. The young nation's innumerable IOUs (which they had bought up on the cheap from those who made actual sacrifices for the new nation) could turn a cheap investment into a hefty payback--but only if money was kept in short supply and foreclosures were enforced. State governments started to engage in policies that strengthened the hand of rural people, and in the eyes of elites, they needed to be stopped through the creation of a powerful central government.

The second book, Terry Bouton, Taming Democracy: "The People," The Founders, and the Troubled Ending of the American Revolution (New York: Oxford University Press, 2008) uses Pennsylvania as a case study for understanding how elites and small farmers banded together to create a revolution in the 1770s and how their alliance fell apart in the 1780s and 1790s.

Ultimately, Bouton claims that "the founding elite attempted to obliterate that idea of politics during the 1780s and 1790s and to confine political self-expression within an electoral system replete with barriers against democracy." Defining democracy not only as political rights but also as economic rights, farmers in rural areas lost out in their effort to insure that their financial interests (low taxes, paper money, protection from creditors) be represented in government. Instead, the economic interests of the elite--taking money and credit out of the hands of the people and imposing new taxes payable only in gold and silver--won out.

Bouton says: "The Revolution had convinced many ordinary Pennsylvanians--and common folk across the colonies--that they had a right to monitor the government, to shape policy, and to regulate the government if they believed that their leaders were not responding to the popular will. For these people, politics was not just about casting ballots...To them, regulating the government to act on behalf of the governed happened mostly outside the polling place. And 'the people' expected to participate not just on Election Day but 365 days a year. Indeed, many Pennsylvanians believed they had a sacred right to regulate their government and that it was their duty to exercise that right to preserve democracy."

By the end of the so-called "Whiskey Rebellion" (which Bouton prefers to call the "Pennsylvania Regulations," and rightly so) in 1794, that right and duty had been crushed by a 10,000 man strong army sent west by the federal government. The farmers' effort to keep barrels of rye whiskey free from a federal excise tax was about much more than that tax. It was deeply tied to a deeper struggle over who would control the government and run the country. At stake was whether or not democracy would be practiced every day or just once every four years.

Why do these two books matter? Well, if the Constitution emerged as an effort to create a stable national economy at the expense of an equitable distribution of wealth, the current predicament makes sense. Our governmental system--structurally--embodies an effort to protect wealth.

Though rural people of the Revolutionary era imagined democracy as something they could participate in every day of the year (even to the point of rejecting legal decisions and calling out militias to defend the liberties of the poor to own land and homes), that vision was co-opted into a set of procedures in which a most could express themselves once a year at a ballot box. Bouton even suggests that patriarchal and racist tendencies among ordinary white men intensified in the early national period because of this removal of political power unleashed by the success of the Revolution--an effect with legacies we all know too well.

And what does that have to do with today? Plenty.

First, it suggests our adulation of the Constitution as a hallmark of democracy in a world of tyrants, monarchies, and dictatorships needs to be rethought. Second, we should venerate the Bill of Rights (one of the things that people against the Constitution and this consolidation of power and wealth by the elite succeeded in extracting from the Founders as they sought approval for the new government) more than the Constitution. Third, the nation's origins rest not only in the protection of wealth but in the effort to insure that wealth be unequally distributed. Fourth, in their attempt to protect their rye whiskey from a painful tax, the last flicker of democracy in the new nation briefly burned hot but then flamed out. Rye whiskey is democracy in a bottle.

If the government itself is structured to protect and foster the unequal distribution of wealth, we have a problem. To be sure, reforms introduced in the 1930s New Deal and the 1960s Great Society mediated this structure. But it is no wonder that members of both political parties now are scrambling to bail out Wall Street over massive public opposition. They are working to conserve their own power. They are following in the founders' footsteps.

Rye drinkers, on the other hand, need to follow in the footsteps of those humble farmers and "regulators," patriots all.

Classic Rye Cocktails, #3: Rye and Ginger

2008-09-24T19:46:00.001-05:00

Maybe you think that a drink with vermouth is too fussy. Perhaps you believe that putting absinthe into a cocktail turns it into an antique.

Then this is the rye whiskey cocktail for you.

Rye and ginger. It's easy. It's clean and crisp. It's tasty. It's a classic.

As the dark shadow of Prohibition settled over the land, Americans turned to new cocktails that took into account the difficulty of finding good whiskey. They needed to keep things simple, lest the police knock down the door while you were stirring a fancy concoction in a pitcher. Noisy ice crashing around in a cocktail shaker might attract undue attention. Andrew Volstead, a St. Olaf College graduate and congressman from Minnesota who led the fight to make alcoholic beverages illegal (along with the real author of the related legislation, Wayne Wheeler of the Anti-Saloon League) had ruined things for everyone.

But though the forces of temperance tried to stifle democracy, true patriots adapted. They started making their own. They imported inferior whiskeys. They labeled their existing stores of rye as "for medicinal purpose only."

But within a year, none of these options seemed to work. It became impossible to get "the good stuff." Rye and water, rye on the rocks, rye served neat--all these classics became unpalatable.

Desperate times called for desperate measures. And rye drinkers turned to ginger ales and ginger beers. The soft drink industry was taking off. Ginger ale was cheap. The dry ginger taste worked well with the spicy rye. In Straight Up or On the Rocks: The Story of the American Cocktail, William Grimes claims that "'rye and ginger' became so popular in the 1920s and 1930s that sales of ginger ale nearly doubled." The fact that bars and speakeasies could stay in business by serving soft drinks to mix with the illicit alcohol brought by their patrons didn't hurt.

You can still tell if a bar in urban America primarily serves working-class customers by the bartender's reaction when you order a rye and ginger. If they start making the drink without batting an eye, you're home. Take up a bar stool, and toast your peers, many of whom will be drinking mass-produced beer. Tell them they can do better than that swill. This is the rye cocktail for the average American, the hard working backbone of our nation.

On the other hand, if the bartender hesitates or asks for further information, get thee to a different bar. If necessary, head back to your house or apartment and whip one up for yourself.

The recipe is as follows:

2 oz rye whiskey
6-8 oz ginger ale or ginger beer
ice

Pour the whiskey in a tall glass. Fill about 3/4 full with the ginger ale or beer. Add ice. Enjoy.

NOTE: Use a boutique ginger beer or a strong ginger ale like Vernors (available across the Midwest--one of the oldest soft drinks in America). Experiment with different ginger ales and find one that you like.

NOTE: This is a good rye cocktail for those who are wary. If your friend asks for a "7 and 7" or "Jack and Coke" or one of the other sweet whiskey cocktails that are best avoided, serve them this instead. They'll thank you later.

Speaking truth to power...

2008-09-19T22:59:00.006-05:00

Bill Moyers, on sports as a lens for understanding the New Gilded Age, from tonight's "Bill Moyers' Journal" on PBS:

Like an Old Testament prophet, Moyers tells it the way it is. I wonder if he drinks rye?

PS: I also highly recommend you watch Moyers' incredible interview with the ever insightful Kevin Phillips.

Real. Political. Change.

2008-09-19T12:52:00.004-05:00

As every TV watcher in America knows by now, both major party presidential candidates are promising change. Obama's been running on it since the beginning. His message of change defeated Hilary Clinton (barely), and during the Republican National Convention, McCain's campaign shifted to a message of change (embodied by its Sarah Palin pitch).

To be sure, change is coming, whether we like it or not. Structural problems in the economy and political party realignment (more on that soon) have turned the 2008 election into a bellwether. The old Great Society/New Deal liberalism is on its way out, as is the cultural warring of the long-dominant New Right coalition (libertarians, big business, social-issue conservatives).

Yet real change of the sort that could save the country from itself is still as distant as ever.

As the nation works its way into a lather over another nail-biter of an election, it seems like few are talking about election reform. After the debacle in Florida 2000, a few federal laws (most notably the Help America Vote Act of 2002) looked to fix the system. But these reforms did little. Earlier this week, the Washington Post reported that high turnout and new, untested vote counting technologies will cause serious problems across the country in November.

The most stunning revelation of this piece? "Premier Election Solutions, the company that makes many of the nation's voting machines, last month acknowledged that software used in 34 states, including Virginia and Maryland, could cause votes to be dropped." (By the way, Premier Election Solutions used to be called Diebold). This is no conspiracy of Republican vote-rigging or Democratic ballot-box stuffing. This is flat-out ineptitude.

The worse thing is that we know its coming, and no one cares--most of all, the major political parties. Presidential election reform is always talked about the day after the election, not the months or even years before it. That's a shame. Because careful attention to election procedures could do more to change the country than any policy passed by Congress.

Real and structural change could come with simple presidential election reforms, reforms that both parties could pursue together for the nation's benefit (and ultimately, even strengthen the health of the two party system in the long term). These are just the most easily imagined:

1) Turn election day into a national holiday.

2) Establish clear federal standards that would override the many differences in state election law, most notably by insisting on paper ballots and scanners and standard voter ID procedures in every precinct. There simply have been too many problems with touch screen voting (and often, no paper receipt). Approximately 13,000 voting districts exist in the United States, all separate and unequal.

3) Eliminate the winner-take-all electoral college, which exists in 48 states. Instead, follow the lead of Maine and Nebraska and make the electoral college proportional (not by congressional district--the way those two states set it up--but instead by number of votes cast) in every state.

4) Introduce universal federal voter registration, regardless of residence. The latter has become a big problem in the Midwest already. Disenfranchisement and complicated registrations should be made a thing of the past. If you are a citizen, you should be able to vote.

5) Get private money out of political campaigns. Provide federal campaign spending funds and make other fundraising illegal. Each major party (defined as 5% of the nation-wide popular vote in the last election or more) gets the same amount of financial support.

A nonpartisan movement, one that both major parties could get behind (it would benefit both equally--no unfair advantage on any side), could push Congress and the president (whomever it might be) to institute these real changes. It would only take a couple of years to write, sign, and enact the legislation.

Presidential campaigns would have to work hard in every state, not just swing states. Corporate influences on both parties would fade. Candidates would spend less time fund raising and more time being asked hard questions by voters. Major parties would face more complicated challenges from smaller parties.

Democracy would reign. Rye whiskey would flow. America could turn its attention to pressing challenges such as the economy, war, and the future.

Classic Rye Cocktails, #2: The Manhattan

2008-09-17T18:24:00.003-05:00

It’s a favorite, a well-known classic. And it tastes even better in the early evening light of a Wednesday cocktail hour.

I know the Manhattan, you might say. Maybe your grandfather drank them. Or your father. (People rarely, it seems, associate women with Manhattan-drinking). You probably didn’t like them.

Why? Well, if you ever had a sip, it was probably boozy and bland. Furthermore, it’s the drink of rich people, fat cats, and robber barons, right? No wonder you didn’t like it. Chances are your immediate ancestors drank their Manhattans as a mixture of bourbon, sweet vermouth, and maraschino cherry juice. Bourbon, made by the barons of the Kentucky bluegrass, tends towards the anti-democratic.

It is true that the Manhattan was born (probably in New York State) in the late 1870s, just as the Gilded Age was gaining steam. In fact, the Manhattan could be found in bars across America by the late 1880s. David Wondrich, author of Imbibe, tells us that the first mention of the Manhattan in print came in the Olean (New York) Democrat in 1882. But smooth, insipid, buttery-finished bourbon didn’t find its way into the drink until the 1920s.

Served in many variations, the Manhattan grew out of the general trend in the late 1870s and early 1880s to mix vermouth (sweet or dry) with gin, brandy, or whiskey. By the late 1880s, rye was preferred in Manhattans. Throughout the late 19th century and early 20th century, bitters or even absinthe found their way into the drink. Not until Prohibition did bourbon become a fixture in this cocktail. By the 1940s, a Manhattan served anywhere was almost always made with bourbon.

Is it any wonder that our nation almost simultaneously began its long, slow, steady decline towards empire?

Rye imparts a spicier, livelier taste to this drink than bourbon, making this dusty old classic come alive. Here’s how to make one for yourself—the historically appropriate way—with rye:

3 oz. rye whiskey
1 oz sweet vermouth
two dashes of Angostura bitters (readily available in your local grocery or liquor store)

Mix these ingredients in a cocktail shaker. Add as much ice as you can fit into the shaker. Securing the top, shake vigorously until the outside of the shaker becomes too cold to touch. Count to five. Stop shaking. Pour the mixture into martini glasses immediately.

NOTE: Many prefer their Manhattans stirred rather than shaken. It’s a question of personal taste.

Garnish the drink with a preserved cherry.

NOTE: You can use a store-bought maraschino cherry (a faint, industrialized relic of the real thing) to garnish. But a real, homemade maraschino or brandied cherry tastes even better. It also connects us back to a time when bartenders had to make their own garnishes.

Experiment with this basic recipe. Try it with a dash of absinthe rather than bitters. Substitute .5 oz of sweet vermouth and .5 oz of dry vermouth rather than 1 oz of the former. If you like it sweeter, add a touch of simple syrup. Use a bit of lemon peel as a garnish instead of a cherry.

That’s the beauty of a rye-based cocktail. Even a classic can be personalized in a variety of permutations.

Classic Rye Cocktails, #1: The Sazerac

2008-09-10T17:45:00.004-05:00

So it's Wednesday night. The middle of the work week. You check your watch and see it's almost 6PM--the cocktail hour.

You've got that bottle of rye in your liquor cabinet now, and you've had a couple of glasses of rye with a little water or on the rocks. You think it's good, but you're not sure what the fuss is about.

This, my friends, is a good time to start making rye whiskey cocktails. The first one to learn is perhaps the best-known rye-based cocktail, and also one of the oldest.

Long before New Orleans became well-known for that despicable rum-and fruit-juice based concoction called a Hurricane, the Sazerac was king in the Crescent City.

Born in New Orleans in the 1880s, and elevated to classic status in the early 1900s, the Sazerac is a good first rye cocktail. It's easy to make, and it tastes good. Here's what you'll need:

1 sugar cube, rye whiskey, absinthe (or an absinthe substitute, such as Herbsaint), Peychaud's bitters (other bitters will not work well as a substitute--if you can't find Peychaud's where you live, buy some via mail order here), an old fashioned glass, and a mixing glass or shaker.

To make the drink:

1) drop the sugar cube in the mixing glass, along with a tiny bit of water. Muddle.
2) add 2 oz. of rye to the mixing glass
3) add 2-3 dashes of Peychaud's bitters
4) pour .25 oz of absinthe into the old fashioned glass, rotating the glass to coat the inside. Pour out the excess absinthe.
5) add ice to the mixing glass (chipped, preferably...you can use a high quality blender with an ice crushing blade to achieve the same effect with ice from trays).
6) stir the mixture in the mixing glass or shaker for about 20 seconds.
7) strain off the liquid into the absinthe-coated glass.
8) add a twist of lemon

Our foremothers and forefathers were hale and hearty and you will learn why. Sit back and enjoy some American history.

Saving Capitalism, Version 2.008

2008-09-08T20:30:00.008-05:00

Well, then. Maybe Milton Friedman and his many devotees don't have it quite right.

Friedman, an influential economist at the University of Chicago, argued in his Capitalism and Freedom (1962) that political freedom flourished best in an environment of economic freedom. As a withering critique of the Keynesian-influenced New Deal state, his ideology gave rise to a powerful vision of national and international economics within a branch of the Republican Party in the 1980s that ascended to power alongside Ronald Reagan. Efforts to deregulate and reduce the role of government in economic markets followed.

Free-market capitalism became a rallying cry. By the 1990s, both major political parties rejoiced in its delights (remember, Bill Clinton backed and signed the North American Free Trade Agreement in 1992). John McCain is definitely a free market guy. On June 10, 2008, Barack Obama--yes, that Barack Obama--said "Look. I am a pro-growth, free-market guy. I love the market" on CNBC.

Given all this purported love of the free market, what should we make of the federal bailout of the mortgage lenders Freddie Mac and Fannie Mae, announced on Sunday?

Fannie Mae, born in 1938 as part of the New Deal's effort to put more Americans in single-family homes, was privatized by Lyndon Johnson in 1968, as the federal budget broke apart on the shoals of deep tax cuts (the one important legacy of JFK's administration) and massive deficit spending (guns AND butter--or Vietnam AND the Great Society, as the historians say). 1970 saw the creation of Freddie Mac in order to insure that Fannie Mae would not monopolize the mortgage market.

Both engaged in highly profitable but inherently unstable lending practices through the late 1990s and early 2000s. Like other lending institutions, they took on risky debt and fed a credit-addled nation. A speculative frenzy emerged because the subprime mortgage industry faced little regulation. When the bubble burst last year, both lenders went bankrupt and because the U.S. economy depended on growth in the housing market, the nation's economy--and by extension, the global economy--was gravely threatened.

So, predictably, a administration ideologically committed to Friedman's free market scrambled to take on Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac's debt. There's nothing new with government bailouts. Nixon bailed out Lockheed and the Penn Central Railroad. Carter saved Chrysler in the waning moments of his presidency. George Herbert Walker Bush ensured that the savings and loan industry survived. It's a firm reminder that at the end of the day, no matter what they claim about the free market, there's no such thing as a major party presidential administration that won't bail out a major industry or economic sector if they think national economic security depends on it.

Now taxpayers will cover the billions, maybe even trillions of dollars in necessary guarantees. The value of the dollar will surely drop, given that the national debt just soared even higher. Frankly, it remains unclear as to whether or not this move will only delay the inevitable drag on the economy that trillions of dollars of failed debt is likely to produce.

So why can't we just admit it? Not only does the "pure" free market not exist (nor has it since before the Progressive Era), but without government regulation and intervention, a "free" market doesn't do anything but create massive oscillations and economic instability (just as it did in the 1870s, 1880s, and 1890s).

Why then does anyone who critiques the free market get beaten down by policy makers of nearly every stripe?

When Franklin Roosevelt came to power in 1933, the nation was on the brink of collapse after a decade that saw an immense concentration of wealth in a small number of hands and a massive push for deregulation. As the historian Eric Rauchway recently pointed out in this book, FDR had to create a government able to dramatically intervene in the national economy in order to protect capitalism from itself. So we got the New Deal. And ever since Harry S. Truman ran on his "Fair Deal"--a drastic post World War II retreat from the New Deal (forced by an angry Republican-controlled congress)--this notion of government intervention in the marketplace has been under attack.

Why the disjuncture between the way things are and the way people say things are? Perhaps the problem is, as the social theorist Slavoj Zizek suggested in the documentary "Zisek" (2005), that in this post-Cold War world it is easier for millions of educated adults to envision an asteroid hurtling towards earth or the existence of space aliens than any sort of alternative to free market capitalism.

Maybe, just maybe, it's time to start doing exactly that. To that end, A Rye Drinker is voting for this guy in November. Want to learn more? Look here. And here. And for those of you from the TV generation, here.

A hearty welcome

2008-09-07T17:01:00.000-05:00

...to our new readers. You know who you are. Pour yourself a glass of rye, have a seat, take a look around, and leave a comment if you like.

A rye primer.

2008-09-04T18:16:00.003-05:00

Some readers of this blog want to learn more about rye. They've not yet enjoyed its many pleasures. Since things have been awful serious around these parts this week, here goes.

What is rye whiskey? Rye is an American-style whiskey that is made--according to federal regulations--with at least 51% rye grain in the mash. That means that the resulting distillate might include ingredients such as wheat, corn, barley, or other grains. Barley is the most common supplement, but adjusting the proportions or number of other grains (or increasing the amount of rye) offers an infinite number of possibilities for distinct kinds of rye whiskey.

Rye is different than bourbon, another, more readily-available American-style whiskey. Federal law requires that any whiskey bearing that name be made of at least 51% corn. Just as with rye, there are an infinite number of ways to distill bourbon, as makers use different amounts of barley, wheat, or rye to transform the taste of the final product.

Bourbon offers the drinker buttery smoothness, while rye whiskey hits the palate with dry, spicy notes. Rye was replaced by bourbon in many classic drinks as rye's popularity plummeted in the years after Prohibition. That said, there are bourbons that have larger amounts of rye than most, notably: Basil Hayden, Four Roses, Bullet, and Old Granddad. If a bar doesn't have American rye whiskey, these are good options for something more interesting than your standard bourbon.

That brings up another important point. In some circles, Canadian whiskys are referred to as "rye" (note, too, the different spelling of the word "whisky"). This historical reference is derived from the high rye contents of some Canadian whiskys made (and illegally imported) for American drinkers during Prohibition. The rye content in today's Canadian whiskys usually cannot be verified, since Canada's distilling laws do not require whisky's marked as rye to be made of at least 51% rye.

Generally, Canadian whisky makers use a wide variety of grains and create especially smooth liquors. The only Canadian whiskys known to be similar to American ryes are Wiser's Very Old (18 year) Whisky and Alberta Premium Rye Whisky (made from a 100% rye mash).

This means that when you ask for rye at a bar, be sure to specify: "American rye."

The recent spike in interest in rye has created a number of boutique labels, as well as local and regional versions of the long-overlooked liquor. More on those later.

First, you need to find out if you like rye. Don't spend too much. If you go to the largest and best liquor store in your area, you'll likely find either Old Overholt Rye Whiskey or Jim Beam Rye Whiskey. In some locations, there might also be Wild Turkey Rye Whiskey.

Start with the Old Overholt. It has a long and cherished history. Abraham Overholt began distilling rye in the 1810s in Western Pennsylvania, under the label Old Farm. Sometime in the 1870s, the brand was transformed to Old Overholt. Jim Beam now owns the label. The whiskey itself is aged for 4 years and is bottled at 80 proof (meaning it is 40% alcohol by volume). When you drink Old Overholt, you are drinking American whiskey history.

For this reason it is preferred to either the Jim Beam or Wild Turkey ryes for the first-timer. Furthermore, it is the best tasting and often the cheapest rye ($12-$20, depending on the state) on the liquor store shelf. Feel free to drink it neat, on the rocks, with water, or in place of bourbon in your favorite whiskey cocktail.

And when you settle in with your first glass, remember that George Washington distilled rye at Mount Vernon. Thomas Jefferson distilled rye at Monticello. You are in good company.

Next up: the classic rye whiskey cocktails

Ms. Vice President Redux?

2008-08-29T17:01:00.008-05:00

As a child of the 1980s (trained in women's history), it's hard not to examine John McCain's decision to pick Alaska Governor Sarah Palin for the Vice Presidential slot in light of Walter Mondale's selection of Geraldine Ferraro as his running mate in 1984.

Some similarities:

1) Ferraro not only made history breaking the glass ceiling of presidential tickets, but also offered Mondale--a straight-talking but bland Minnesotan (cut from Hubert Humphrey's cloth, but without the charisma)--a running mate that excited white ethnics and blue-collar workers. Ronald Reagan made great inroads into that historic cornerstone of the New Deal coalition in his 1980 defeat of Jimmy Carter. Mondale's selection was hailed by many as playing to the base he needed to retain if he was to have any chance to win.

Meantime, Palin plays to a corner of the modern GOP base left cold by John McCain--evangelicals and those with fervent anti-abortion politics. Like Ferarro, who attracted thousands of women volunteers to the Mondale/Ferarro campaign, she might awaken some energy in a group that Democrats have been peeling away from the Republicans since 2006.

2) Like Geraldine Ferraro, Sarah Palin is seen by most pundits as a lightweight. Ferraro had only six years of experience in the U.S. House, where she offered a solidly liberal voting record but little more. Palin's years on the Wasilla, Alaska city council, her stints as mayor of the same, and her two years as Governor of Alaska is all she has to offer voters concerned about experience.

3) Sarah Palin will face viciously sexist attacks, like this one (which suggests that because Ferarro eventually hurt Mondale's campaign, and that Palin is a woman, like Ferarro, Palin will hurt McCain's chances). These attacks will even come--especially come--from those who should know better, including many prominent Democrats. The smarter ones will praise the choice as historic, and then attack her on her lack of experience.

4) McCain's campaign will get an initial bounce in the polls--just as Mondale's campaign did. The short-term attention from the press, however, will not last as long as it did in 1984 (though the coming GOP convention helps). Back in that pre-cable news world, news cycles could go on for days, rather than hours.

5) Choosing a little-known woman with limited experience made a conventional presidential candidate like Mondale look unconventional. And as McCain desperately tries to resurrect the maverick reputation he gave up in the mid-2000s to ingratiate himself with Republican leaders, this choice burnishes his independent streak.

6) As in 1984, there were other, more qualified, and better known women in the party. Ferarro was not the choice many would have made--San Fransciso's mayor Dianne Feinstein (now a U.S. Senator from California) and Kentucky governor Martha Layne Collins were also on his short list. As for McCain--former New Jersey governor and EPA head Christine Todd Whitman could have given him experience AND change, though she's estranged from Bush's GOP. Another choice might have been Kay Bailey Hutchinson, who was mentioned early on as a potential running mate for McCain. Elizabeth Dole, who tried to run for the GOP nomination in 2000--and then ended up on George W. Bush's short list--is a Senate colleague who could take on Biden in any debate.

Will an emerging scandal bring Palin down, just as inquiries into finances dragged down Ferraro by October 1984? How will she do next week at the Republican convention? What will happen when voters will think about her as one heartbeat from the presidency?

PS: The more things change...the more they stay the same. Mostly-male run campaigns (and political pundits) seem to think that putting a woman on the ticket will attract women with many different kinds of politics, as though women are unable to see past gender when they make decisions as voters. No one ever makes that assumption about men.

The greater of the two Madisons

2008-08-27T14:17:00.007-05:00

Today is the birthday of James Madison (1749-1812), first post-Revolutionary War president of the College of William and Mary and the first bishop of the Episcopal Church in Virginia.

Though his more famous cousin--primary author of the Constitution and fourth President of the United States--shared his name and many contemporaries, the professor, college president, and bishop earned a reputation as a careful leader, a clear thinker, and an avid devotee of rye whiskey.

Huzzah! Long live Bishop Madison!

From Maryland to the Monongahela...Or, why this blog title?

2008-08-27T13:45:00.011-05:00

From the 1780s to the 1910s, more Americans reached for rye whiskey than any other distilled spirit. And that made them true patriots.

Gin, you say? Dutch and British. Vodka? From the northern latitudes of Europe, distilled to have no taste, with its widespread presence in American drinking life the result of an advertising campaign. Rum? A drink born from colonies and empires, unfit for the free-born. Scotch? A fine liquor for those who own multiple homes and flaunt their wealth with a put-on sense of entitlement and faked sophisitication. Canadian whiskey? A whiskey so smooth that in most incarnations, it suits only those who don't like whiskey. And bourbon? That fine American spirit? Well, it damns no souls. But it's not rye.

Weaning themselves from West Indies rum--a supply cut off by the Revolution--the first generation of Americans turned to native drinks, distilled and fermented under independent skies. Though the elite kept their taste for madeira and port wines, common women and men turned to hard cider. Made from a wide variety of easily procured apples, and easily fermented, it became one dependable source of alcohol.

Meantime, in the realm of distilled spirits, rye--derived from that hardy grain that grew where few others would--came to reign supreme. Western Pennsylvania, home to 1794's Whiskey Rebellion, became one distilling center. Maryland emerged as the other. Both regions produced distinctive ryes, whiskeys found nowhere else in the world. Long before the barons of the bluegrass began bottling bourbon (derived from the distillation of corn), rye swept over American tongues and won American hearts.

Why then, do most Americans find rye whiskey so unfamiliar in a renewed era of fruit-flavored cocktails full of flashy color and inane liquors? Evil-eyed purveyors of temperance destroyed America's rye tradition. In the years after Prohibition, it became harder and harder to find rye. Only in the last ten years has rye whiskey reemerged as a liquor of choice for those with a discerning palate and a sense of adventure.

Yes, yes. But why rye?

Rye's got pizazz. Rye is the drink of our founding fathers and mothers. Rye brings a sparkle to any classic whiskey-based cocktail (many of which were invented with rye in mind), let alone the drinker's eye. Rye is the liquor of independent-minded women and men. Rye's salubrious nature eases daily discomforts. Rye is the choice of those who accept the responsibilities as well as the rights granted by our Constitution. And finally, rye tastes good.

Greetings

2008-08-27T13:24:00.001-05:00

Welcome.

Like so many, I've decided to take the plunge and join the blogosphere. It's pretty cliche to do so. But I hope to offer up commentary on a wide variety of items, practical and not-so-practical. I hope I can make your virtual visit worthwhile.

I'll talk about rye and much, much more, at least whenever I can get around to it. So, pour yourself a glass of the good stuff and settle in.