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

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.

Rye whiskey in song...

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."

Classic Rye Cocktails, #10: The Suburban

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

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...

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.

Something to nibble on with your rye...

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.

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

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

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...

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

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

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.

Localism, rye whiskey style.

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

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.

Classic Rye Cocktails, #4: The Stone Fence

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.

Classic Rye Cocktails, #3: Rye and Ginger

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.

Classic Rye Cocktails, #2: The Manhattan

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

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.

The greater of the two Madisons

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!