MENU

No Louisville food and drink fest until at least 2017

by Leave a Comment

In a recent article I wrote for Insider Louisville, I mentioned that Louisville’s food and drink festival isn’t any nearer to happening than it was two-and-a-half years ago when a committee was convened to make it happen. Seems a lot of problems abound, not the least of which is too many voices in the room, no single visionary driving it and no clear vision of how it best would become uniquely Louisville.

In my column, I sourced an email from the office of Mayor Greg Fisher says the event will not take place until 2017. Yet committee members I’ve spoken with call that number laughable since no significant plans have been made.

I’d agree, especially given the lack of talk I’m getting from committee members, people who usually throw me bits of information when they’re excited about different developments. Their reticence implies little to no progress.

Louisville’s restaurant scene is regularly getting national attention as an up-and-comer. And it’s widely believed that it’s ready to host a significant coming out party and bring people here to eat. And drink. Be it cocktails or our waves of bourbon, drinking is important also.

Yet it’s not so important that the current name under discussion, Bourbon & Beyond, bears no mention of food.

Bardstown has The Bourbon Festival, Lexington hosts The Bourbon Shindig and Louisville hosts The Bourbon Classic and The Bourbon Affair. Though there’s plenty to eat at all of those, none mentions food because bourbon is the star of those shows.

But any idea of a Louisville festival must be rooted in restaurants, and its name needs to include food.

Real nuts and bolts marketing sense, right? Yet apparently such a concept beyond some committee members’ grasp.

The very word “Beyond” begs the question, “Beyond freakin’ what!?!” The word drips with vagueness.

Event producer Danny Wimmer Presents has been hired to manage the event, yet according to its website, its core business is large-scale rock concerts, such as Louder Than Life, hosted here the past couple of years. The addition of a restaurant food and a bourbon pavilion into the fest was well received. Yet did that small success give Wimmer the gumption to believe it can scale up such an effort into a large festival? Apparently the Mayor’s Office is convinced it can.

But here’s where the whole thing can stall interminably: If you don’t get the cooperation of local restaurateurs, you have no festival. Right now there are several disgruntled chefs and owners who’ve lost their enthusiasm for this event. Some have said, “I already spend so much time outside my restaurant working for charity,” and “Am I really going to take time away from my business and family to get involved in something that doesn’t even mention food in the name?”

Their tension levels are rising, and as far as I can tell, there’s little to show for anyone’s effort so far.

That leads me to believe that Beyond in the name of this festival means well beyond a 2017 start date—if then.

Tippling a pair of Teeling Irish Whiskeys, a light delight

by Leave a Comment

A Scotch drinking friend says this to me about bourbon: “It’s too in your face; there’s nothing delicate about it. Scotch is about finding nuances in the spirit.”

Despite the obvious fact that he’s not drunk a lot of lower-proof bourbon, some genuine softies that drink like some Scotches, he makes a good point without trying to: that many great Scotches are delicate.

Teeling Irish Whiskey, Single Grain

Teeling Irish Whiskey Single Grain

If that’s what you like, fine. But there are rewards to be gained from going bold in bourbon, and he’s not there yet. So I suggested he step into the middle by tasting some Irish whiskeys.

I’m still learning about Irish whiskeys, but I’m already a fan. They strike a delicious balance between Scotch and bourbon while asserting their own unique characters.

Basically, Irish whiskey must be distilled in Ireland and aged at least three years. In a country where the temperature range isn’t terribly wide, the spirit doesn’t take on a lot of barrel characteristics, so they’re typically aged much longer. They are, like some Scotches (save for heavily peated expressions), light bodied.

On my desk today are a pair of Irish whiskeys from Teeling, a Small Batch and a Single Grain. Same brand, but unique and different whiskeys.

Teeling is not a distiller, rather it sources its whiskey and then ages those stocks in different casks. In the case of Single Grain (which only means from one distiller), Cabernet Sauvignon casks were chosen, and for the Small Batch, rum casks. Let’s look at them individually.

Teeling Single Grain

Age: No age statement.

Mashbill: 95 percent corn, 5 percent malted barley

Proof: 92, non-chill filtered

Color: Deep gold.

Aroma: Aroma: Initially delicate notes of grain, dark cherry and plum. Let it bloom a few minutes and cereal grain emerges, some campfire and graham cracker.

Teeling Small Batch

Teeling Irish Whiskey Small Batch

Palate: Light bodied, delicate. Some caramel and honey on entry; changes to some pepper at midpalate. Roll it around the mouth to get banana and sweet corn; very silky and feather light, so no need for water. Dry finish and no burn; super soft.

Teeling Small Batch

Age: No age statement.

Mashbill: 95 percent corn, 5 percent malted barley

Proof: 92, non-chill filtered

Color: Light gold.

Aroma: Slightly grassy, a bit of malt, honey, white grapes and bit of wood

Palate: Smooth entry and quite soft at the mouth’s margins. Dry, burn-free finish, unlike many 92 proof spirits. Picks up plenty of sweet sugars from the rum barrels and a bit of spice. At midpalate there’s honey and a hint of candied orange. Slightly floral on the exhale. A few drops of water adds viscosity and body, even a little sting. Very nice. Wood appears late in the dry finish.

Summary: These are really good gateway spirits expressions for drinkers stuck in Scotch or bourbon camps. Market prices vary between $40 and $55 for each.

Yes, Louisville, we need more pizza options

by Leave a Comment

Lots of Louisvillians are asking (mostly in social media) lately, “Do we really need another pizza place?” It’s a fair question, but the answer clearly is yes.

Fact is no one needs pizza, but we want it badly, and it seems we’re always willing to try just one more variation on that well-worn theme of dough, sauce and cheese baked to crispy-gooey perfection.

Last weekend I helped out at the North America Pizza & Ice Cream Show in Columbus Ohio, where the annual Pizza Pizzazz contest is held. After seeing this year’s 100 entries, I’m more convinced than ever that we’ll see even more pizzeria openings and even better pizza.

About a decade ago, when I first started got involved with the show, I was typically wrangled in to judge the affair with about 30 others. Though tasting at least 25 pizzas in a single day seems like a dream to most, it’s not all its baked up to be—especially if some of those pizzas aren’t good.

And back then, lots weren’t. Many lacked balance between toppings and crust, and too often little consideration was given to overall flavor or visual appeal. I wasn’t the only judge sometimes left slapping his forehead and asking, “Seriously? They thought this would win?”

Sensing contestants were creating something whimsical just to dazzle the judges, a rule was instituted that any entry had to be on the menu at the entrant’s pizza shop. Immediately the quality improved.

When you witness one of these contests up close, you’ll see pizza makers working like fine dining chefs: focused intently on ingredient choices and technique. It’s not just dough, sauce and cheese baked one way, it’s real thought going into unique toppings and cheese combinations. The creativity showing up on entries this year were clearly garnered from other restaurant segments, and the overall execution of those pizzas showed serious cooking technique.

No, it doesn’t hurt that $15,000 in cash, divided between two contests, is on the line either. It’s a nice potential return on a $125 entry fee investment.

Sure, pepperoni, sausage and mushroom still lead the way as Americans’ favorite toppings, but at least 20 percent of all pizza customers crave dynamic innovation. And based on what I saw this past weekend, there’s an abundance of that in the pizza segment.

Not surprisingly, I’m recognizing an increasing number of the same competitors year after year. Just as Peyton Manning and Tom Brady and their teams continue to show up in NFL championship games, many the same great pizza makers wind up in the Pizza Pizzazz finals. They’re innovators and perfectionists whose passion for the craft shines through, and not surprisingly, their businesses are thriving. Equally important is judges recognize what’s good and what isn’t.

Sure, chain pizzerias are doing well, too, but their growth is based on efficiency and low price. A proven business model to be sure, but the resulting products aren’t terribly exciting.

So when I hear of a new independently operated pizzeria opening in Louisville, I’m excited about it. I want to try it and see what’s new—other than my expanding waistline.

 

UPDATED: Devastating loss in American ham curing is significant, but temporary

by Leave a Comment

UPDATED: In the space of six weeks, America nearly lost two of its finest ham curing companies.

The voluntary closure of Woodlands Pork in Louisville and the tragic fire at Edwards & Sons in Surry, Va., is a profound setback to the renaissance of American cured hams. The nation’s culinary community, which has supported both and elevated their products to the highest levels, will feel the loss for years to overcome.

Jay Denham, owner, Woodlands Pork.

Jay Denham, owner, Woodlands Pork.

Here’s what happened and why it’s profound.

In December, Woodlands Pork was voluntarily shut down by curer and co-owner Jay Denham after USDA inspectors followed up on a tip that he was packaging and selling sliced, cured meat at his facility, which isn’t licensed for such activity. Inspectors found Denham innocent of any such violation, yet they decided they didn’t like his use of struddo, a paste of oil and flour applied to his hams to help them retain moisture.

So he shut the operation down voluntarily until inspectors were satisfied his processes were correct. Woodlands reopened in mid-January.

(I originally reported that USDA shut down Denham’s operation, which was not correct.)

It’s worth noting that Italian prosciutto makers have applied struddo to their hams for centuries. And at least one other ham maker in the American market has done the same for many years. (No, I’m not saying who, though I’m sure his USDA inspector knows about it.) Also, Denham was trained in the ancient art of curing in Italy by an Italian master. A career chef, Denham is one of the country’s most knowledgeable European-style butchers and curers.

Also, if you ask most ham curers large and small, they’ll tell you privately that USDA inspectors are legendarily ill-informed when it comes to the nuances of curing. Curers say that every time a new inspector comes aboard, they have to teach the inspector about the finer points of their long-practiced craft, while the inspector typically tells them what they’re doing is wrong or dangerous.

To the Edwards fire: On Jan. 19, the 90-year-old ham curing operation at Edwards was destroyed in a tragic blaze. Seen in pictures here, the conflagration consumed the company’s iconic structures, but thankfully no one was injured in the blaze.

Edwards produces about 50,000 hams per year, and its Surryano ham is regarded among the nation’s best. It also produces excellent sausages and bacon.

I’ve interviewed Edwards owner Sam Edwards and Denham multiple times for my book, Country Ham: A Southern Tradition of Hogs, Salt & Smoke, and other related articles. You’d be hard pressed to find friendlier men who are more passionate about their world class products. My own opinion is Denham’s Mountain Ham and Edwards’ Surryano ham are on par with the world’s finest Iberico and prosciutto hams I’ve tasted and they cost far less.

Denham, probably the America ham industry’s smallest producer at 300 hams per year, is now in a position of reviving his business. He has product on hand, but not in slightly reduced quantities than he did before the USDA inspection.

Sam Edwards, owner, Edwards & Sons.

Sam Edwards, owner, Edwards & Sons.

Edwards will have to rebuild his entire operation before he can begin curing hams again, which will be no small feat. That operation’s hams are cured for one year to 20 months, meaning it could be at least three years before we see another Edwards Surryano.

Plus, whether Edwards’ hams will ever taste the same again is a serious question. Old aging houses like Edwards have their own unique molds, which actually flavor cured meat, yet those facilities and their mold is gone. Those structures also were likely grandfathered and not held to more modern USDA standards. So when Edwards rebuilds, how will those new facilities affect the flavor of those hams?

Here’s another problem: The supply of long aged American hams is at least five time as tight as before. Curers such as Col. Bill Newsom’s Aged Kentucky Country Hams, Benton’s Smoky Mountain Country Hams and The Hamery have lean supplies that are likely committed to customers. There are no long-cured ham reserves in the U.S., and you cannot rush curing.

Sorry to be the bearer of this bad news, but this is the reality ham fans face today.

Yet that’s nothing compared to what Edwards and Denham have on their plates right now.

Review: Four Roses ‘15 LE Small Batch delivers abundant fruit and fire

by Leave a Comment

“(T)hat bottle of red from the little village you found when you and your first love got lost in Tuscany on that rainy night, was the best bottle of wine the world has ever made. Just don’t try that bottle of wine again sitting alone while watching a Star Trek rerun.” — From, “Proof: The Science of Booze,” written by Adam Rogers

It’s proven over and over that context has a profound effect on the taste of what we drink. That sense of place, or people with whom you experience something, a special date, the angle of the sun … they all influence our flavor memories in inexplicable ways.

So getting a big sip of Four Roses’ 2015 Limited Edition Small Batch last July in the Lawrenceburg, Ky., distillery’s sensory evaluation lab—and poured by new master distiller Brent Elliott from a marked lab bottle, not a pretty bourbon vessel—helped pile up the experiential points on my palate to make that a significant memory.

And surely it made the whiskey taste better, though it didn’t need it. It was strikingly good that afternoon, and as I sipped it, I planned how to get my hands on a bottle of it when it became available two months later.

In late September I landed just one, a $129 purchase split between me and two Four Roses fans. We poured about a half ounce, sniffed, tasted and … stopped. Straight out of the bottle it was hot, simultaneously fruity and fiery—far hotter than I remembered tasting in the lab and far spicier than I expected at 108.5 proof.

Four Roses 2015 Limited Edition Small Batch bourbon, fantastic stuff. | Photo courtesy of Four Roses

Four Roses 2015 Limited Edition Small Batch bourbon, fantastic stuff. | Photo courtesy of Four Roses

High-proof liquor generally needs a rest in the glass anyway, so we walked away for a spell, let it air out and nibbled on some fatty country ham. After several minutes we returned to the glass to find aromas of spearmint, cedar, oak and vanilla, no looming pepper to warn a further rest was required. So we sipped again and got toasted marshmallow, caramel and cinnamon all over the exhale. More waiting and more small sips followed, and fruit showed up: apple and cherry in particular. The finish was fairly short and dry, and the descent delivered a warm burst down the pipe. I liked it, a lot in fact, but I wasn’t wowed by it as I was in the lab. So I corked the bottle and shelved it for later.

About a week later, when a 3-ounce press sample arrived, I took it to my office and let it sit on the desk, unopened, for several days. I knew some business colleagues would stop by over the following week, so I planned to share it with them and get their opinions.

When I cracked open the mini-bottle, out came the standard and formidable oak notes you expect from Four Roses. Sips brought on some more nuanced flavors like toffee and dark brown sugar. One whiskey wonk friend studied it carefully before mumbling, “Juicy Fruit,” referring to the popular Wrigley’s gum. He was right.

A day later I smelled the empty, dry glass on my desk and got notes of toasted marshmallow and graham cracker—yeah, I’d have given anything for a stack of warm s’mores at that moment. But I settled for another tiny pour, maybe a quarter ounce, and sipped it. Still flavorful, but still hot.

And then it dawned on me: “Proof it down, Bozo!”

I added a few generous drops of water to open it up—and then kicked myself for waiting so long. Immediately, aromas of toffee, cherry and pipe tobacco curled up and out of the glass, and a small sip dropped off deep cherry and oak notes at the midpalate. A little leather and tannin arrived to play on the exhale, making this once confounding (to my taste) bourbon a real delight.

Most stunning was the change in texture: a little water turned the mouthfeel into light honey syrup: silky and soothing as a toddy. My best guess was I’d knocked the proof down to just above 90, which softening it a good deal without removing all its bite.

I attach no pride to the fact that my palate favors high-proof whiskies over lower ones, but this one certainly turned that notion on its head. I was sorry once again that I’d waited so long to proof it down.

As the last official “FR-LR” created under the direction of now-retired master distiller Jim Rutledge, I’d say it’s worth finding if you can. Get at least a pour of it at a bar if you can’t find a bottle.

For what it’s worth, I’d strongly suggest two Four Roses private selection bottles chosen by Rutledge: the OBSO and the OESV, both of which were available only in the gift shop this fall. At $72 each, they’re not cheap, but they are phenomenal.

Interestingly, they’re both higher proof than the 2015 LR (112.6 proof and 112.4 proof respectively), but they drink softer than the 108 proof. However, both private selections are younger whiskies (11 years and 9 years respectively), versus the much older blends in this year’s Small Batch: a 16 year-old OBSK; an 11 year-old OBSV; a 15 year-old OESK; and a 14 year-old OESK.

So perhaps it’s old bourbon that ignites my taste buds? I’ll happily commit myself to further research.

Review: Bulleit Bourbon

by Leave a Comment

If you’ve ever met Tom Bulleit, the man behind his namesake bourbon and rye whiskies, you know he personifies the classic Southern gentleman: genteel, charming, funny, engaging and smart. A visit to his office at Louisville’s legendary Stitzel-Weller Distillery is akin to a back porch session with an old friend, even when you’re one of 25 in a tour group. He wants you to feel at home, enjoy his stories and like his products.

None of that’s hard to do. Everything about the Bulleit brand is approachable: its founder, its deliberately misapplied-cockeyed labels on its bottles and the liquid within them. Yet that wholesale approachability is actually the lone dislike I have with Bulleit Bourbon: It’s too easy going, too mannerly, not remotely rough and tough as its Frontier Whiskey (the phrase embossed into its old-time bottles) implies. Not that I fancy the harsh edges of rotgut or the bite and burn of every high proof whiskey, but I do like a little edge, and Bulleit Bourbon is free of it. It’s as polished and smooth as Tom Bulleit himself.

Poured neat, the nose delivers modest oak, a bit of citrus and some vaguely floral aromas. Nothing wrong, of course, but nothing overly inviting.Bulleit_Bourbon_1_

Entry is soft, presenting a good dose of oak, modest caramel, a smidge of char and just a spot of fruit and spice. That shortfall in spice is a somewhat surprising since it’s a high-rye bourbon (mash bill is 68 percent corn, 28 percent rye and 4 percent malted barley). The absence of rye notes is even prominent at midpalate, where such tingling usually tangles with my taste buds. (Bulleit Rye, I should note, does that job exceptionally well.) A few more sips delivers some cinnamon and even a little leather, but with each sip the finish is gentle and clean, without burn or new flavor notes, just straightforward and simple. It is 90 proof after all, so it’s not as though I expected a big punch in the mouth. But there are bourbons of similar proof and cost that serve up more character.

It’s just fine to drink neat; no one will ever call it hot or beg for ice. In fact, I’d discourage rocks altogether as dilution takes too quick a toll on its oaky backbone. But in cocktails, it does surprisingly well—especially for a guy who prefers 100 proof bourbon in mixed drinks. Shaken with ice in a bourbon bee (honey syrup and lemon juice), it stood up nicely, responding perfectly to the jolt of citric acid. In an old fashioned, it also performed well, especially when paired with sorghum syrup rather than simple syrup. The more rustic sugar source really highlights Bulleit’s ever-present barrel notes.

That Bulleit Bourbon is such an incredible seller should surprise no one. It is well made and predictably rock solid. And though it doesn’t deliver the flavor thrills I seek, there are clearly millions of consumers who appreciate that softer presentation. That’s a good thing, and if that’s the market parent company Diageo is after, then it’s hit the mark.

I’m not the only one wishing (expecting, really) that when Bulleit’s Shelbyville, Ky., distillery starts making whiskey next year, it’ll produce some higher-proof expressions and some rare barrel-aged experiments. But given that Bulleit’s 10-year expression checks in at a modest 91 proof, that may not be in the offing. Until then, I’ll still enjoy this reliable drinker when offered a glass.

My score: 78 points.

For Four Roses’ new master distiller, it’s all about quality control

by Leave a Comment

From my story in Business Lexington …

When Brent Elliott learned in June that he’d be the next master distiller at Four Roses Bourbon, the news was delivered with about as much ceremony as a dictated memo. His bosses called him to a meeting in which he was told the brand’s veteran master distiller, Jim Rutledge, would retire at the end of August and that Elliott would be his replacement.

Despite the significance of the news, there was no celebration or shared cigars or congratulatory dinner of cracked crab and Cabernet. Recalling it, Elliott describes it as less an offer of promotion and more a verbal update to his current job description.

“They said … ‘You will be the master distiller.’ It wasn’t a question in their mind of whether I’d accept it,” Elliott recalls. Adding with a smile, “I guess that showed their confidence in me.”

Click here to read further.

 

A Day at the Kentucky Bourbon Festival

by Leave a Comment

One has to be a misanthrope not to like a good festival. Whether the crowd is blue-collar, blue-blooded or both, assembling a large slice of humanity for the consumption of food and drink as well as socializing is about as good as it gets. Soak it all in something as beloved as bourbon, and you create a community tradition that never stops growing.auction-pappy-20

This has happened to the Kentucky Bourbon Festival in Bardstown. Begun 23 years ago as a bourbon tasting and dinner, the event has expanded to draw thousands. According to its organizers, the festival now attracts approximately 54,000 people from 44 states and 14 countries over its six-day stretch during the third week of September.

I’ve attended numerous single KBF events over the years but never on Saturday, its busiest day. Last year, I logged some 16,000 steps on my Fitbit—roughly 4 miles—that day, knowing I’d not scratched the surface of the 28 events on offer Saturday alone. Still, I saw a lot and had a tremendously good time on that bourbon-spiked adventure.

Read more …

EXPLORE KENTUCKY’S BREWGRASS TRAIL

by Leave a Comment

By Steve Coomes

The Bluegrass Region’s international reputation for bourbon is well earned, but in the past two years, the craft brewing scene has exploded and given the brown liquor a run for its money.

The boom began with the creation of Kentucky Ale in 2000, yet for the next 13 years, no one entered the game until West Sixth Brewing and Country Boy Brewing opened in late 2012. Beer Engine and the (now-closed) Lore Brewing bubbled up in nearby Danville, followed by Blue Stallion in Lexington and Rooster Brewing in Paris.

Ethereal Brewing and Chase Brewing Co. are the latest to join what has come to be known as the Brewgrass Trail, and to cement the region’s position as Kentucky brewing central (for now, anyway), Alltech Brewing & Distilling Co., maker of Kentucky Ale, launched a Craft Brew & Food Fest in 2014. In May 2015, some 5,000 drinkers filed into the Lexington Convention Center for the event, making it the Commonwealth’s largest beer festival by a factor of four. The proximity of all eight Brewgrass Trail breweries—and, ideally, the Craft Brew & Food Fest—makes for a perfect and busy three-day weekend. Consider following this suggested path for your own Brewgrass Trail visit.

Read more by clicking here.

Spirits Academy Class 3: Brandy 

by Leave a Comment

I admit to being a brandy novice. I know the basics of how it’s made, where it’s made why it’s so prized. But until I tasted the range we did today in class, I had no idea how much I’ve missed all these years.

I’ve written in other blogs about the Southern Wine & Spirits’ Academy of Spirits & Fine Service that what we’ll taste in all 12 weeks would cost a fortune at a bar. Yet without a doubt, just the cost of the brandies we’re sipping today would blow beyond the $200 cost of the whole class. There is no better educational bargain if you’re into increasing your knowledge of adult beverages and serving them.

A little history: The Dutch get the credit for creating brandywein (which means “burnt wine”) in the early 1700s by finding great wine in Cognac and distilling it. The French, however, deserve nearly all the applause for refining it into one of the world’s most cherished spirits.

Just some of the brandy and Cognac on offer for class.

Just some of the brandy and Cognac on offer for class.

Brandy is simply distilled fruit juice or wine that’s distilled and usually aged. (Copper & Kings Immature Brandy is a good example of un-aged brandy.)

Cognac is different. (All Cognac is brandy, but not all brandy is Cognac.) It must come from white grapes that are 1. grown in the region of the same name and, 2. harvested from just six cru or grape-growing areas. It is twice distilled wine that’s aged at least two years, but often far longer.

Whiskey makers use grain, plain and simple, but brandy makers are more particular about choosing grapes, specifically those low in sugar and high in acid. High-sugar grapes can produce too much alcohol during fermentation, which would require the final spirit be diluted with water to lower the high proof. Water blurs brandy’s fruity notes that become concentrated in the still.

In fermentation, only wild yeast is used, and nearly always both alcoholic and malolactic fermentations are done. Malolactic reduces the tartness of a wine by converting malic acid present into grapes into a more buttery lactic acid.

Brandy is made by Charentais distillation that begins with copper pot stills heated over open flames. Every spirit is distilled twice to a maximum ABV of 72.4 percent or 144.8 proof. For every 9 liters of wine that goes into the still, only 1 liter of brandy comes out. It’s a lot of work for such a small yield.

It’s always aged in Limousin oak barrels whose staves come only from the hearts of trees—the straightest grain of the wood. And how’s this for picky: Only 20 percent of the tree is used to make staves. Staves are seasoned for about one year before being formed into barrels, a process the French call bousinage.

Jacob, a classmate and bartender at Mussel & Burger Bar, noses a Cognac.

Jacob, a classmate and bartender at Mussel & Burger Bar, noses a Cognac.

Once barreled, brandy is aged in caves (pronounced “caahvs), cellars or above ground facilities to produce different characteristics. Brandy that’s aged above ground loses more water to the drier air around it, yielding a more alcoholic spirit. But in a cool (around 60 F), humid cellar, water stays in the barrels because of the airborne water barrier surrounding it. That allows alcohol to evaporate and produce a less potent but still flavorful spirit.

Once aged to the correct degree, barrels are blended and demineralized water is added to produce a single taste profile.

Once it’s finished aging, it’s watered down to 80 proof and bottled.

About flavors and such: The struggle with reporting on this class boils down to the challenge of taking good notes while sipping alcohol for nearly three hours.

Not only is our instructor, Gary Gruver, speaking quickly, so are my fellow students and I—usually at least one dozen per class in the room—making comments about what we’re tasting. It’s civilized but a tad noisy, not like a formal classroom setting, and that’s fun! My notes are typically incomplete, but in this particular class, they’re woefully bad.

But there are a few memories to draw on, mostly that great cognac and brandy tastes like the grapes from which they came. That yields amazing flavors and huge texture. It’s brown, but it’s not remotely like whiskey other than the expected wood flavors.

Fruit notes are lush and delicious, but more rounded than found in wine. Distilling polishes most of the rough, acidic edges off the spirit, and the texture and mouthfeel are marvelous. Neither silky nor velvety accurately describes how it lies on the palate; it’s somewhere in between. The finish is nearly uniformly dry, but not tannic. Flavors can be all over the board and always pleasant. Courvoisier, for example (Napoleon Bonaparte’s favorite) brought forth expected notes of wood, but butter and tobacco were a surprise.

A Martell VSOP Gruver estimated to be 12 years old was musty and nutty on the nose and amazingly soft in the mouth. A Courvoisier delivered cinnamon and dried fruit (much like bourbon), while a 10-year-old Hennessy offered up lush caramel backed by a solid punch alcohol.

My notes got particularly sparse as the tasting drew on: “Hennessy XO btw 10 and 70 years old, typically 40, big body, glass shows more legs than a Rockettes show.” … “Courvoisier: XO 6-10 years, big, acidic, dandy.”

The marathon tasting ended with Calvados, which is a brandy made from apples or pears. No notes on any of these other than, “Outstanding! Get this one.”

Brand name … unknown.