The Curious Bartender's Whiskey Road Trip E-Book

Tristan Stephenson

• Herausgeber: Ryland Peters & Small
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

"Rigorously researched and richly illustrated...Meticulous in detail and gleeful in its discoveries, this trip is a joyride for any whiskey lover." Publishers Weekly Buckle up and join bestselling author and whiskey connoisseur Tristan Stephenson on a Stateside tour and learn all there is to know about the finest whiskey and bourbon America has to offer. Whiskey in America is a regional product that has evolved in different ways and at a differing pace depending on where you go. Tristan Stephenson's road trip enabled him to visit more than 40 unique distilleries, from long-established makers in the states that are the spiritual home of the industry – Kentucky and Tennessee – to newer craft-distillers in Indiana, Pennsylvania, and even California and Texas. In his own unique style, which is both fiercely entertaining and meticulously well-researched, Tristan weaves together the full and fascinating story of American whiskey, from its history and production methods to the origins of iconic cocktails still enjoyed in bars around the world today.

Leseprobe

7

BARTENDER’S

WHISKEY

ROAD TRIP

8

WHISKEY

ROAD TRIP

A coast to coast tour of the most exciting whiskey distilleries in the US, from small-scale craft operations to the behemoths of bourbon

TRISTAN STEPHENSON

WITH PHOTOGRAPHY BY ADDIE CHINN

Designers Leslie Harrington and Paul Stradling

Editor Nathan Joyce

Head of Production Patricia Harrington

Picture Manager Christina Borsi

Art Director Leslie Harrington

Editorial Director Julia Charles

Publisher Cindy Richards

Prop Stylist Sarianne Plaisant

Indexer Stephen Blake

First published in 2019 by

Ryland Peters & Small

20–21 Jockey’s Fields

London WC1R 4BW

and

341 E 116th St

New York NY 10029

www.rylandpeters.com

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Text copyright © Tristan Stephenson 2019

Design and commissioned photography © Ryland Peters & Small 2019

All photography by Addie Chinn with the exception of images listed in the full credits given on page 383.

The author’s moral rights have been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

eISBN: 978-1-78879-257-8 ISBN: 978-1-78879-159-5

A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library.

US Library of Congress CIP data has been applied for.

Printed in China

CONTENTS

8

INTRODUCTION

ROAD TRIP MAP

THE DISTILLERIES

PROLOGUE: RESERVOIR

COPPER FOX

GEORGE WASHINGTON’S DISTILLERY

DAD’S HAT

WIGLE

LIBERTY POLE

TUTHILLTOWN

HILLROCK

WHISTLEPIG

NEW YORK DISTILLING COMPANY

KINGS COUNTY

SMOOTH AMBLER

HEAVEN HILL

JIM BEAM

WOODFORD RESERVE

FOUR ROSES

BUFFALO TRACE

WILD TURKEY

WILLETT

BARTON 1792

MAKER’S MARK

BROWN-FORMAN

MICHTER’S

PRICHARD’S

JACK DANIEL’S

GEORGE DICKEL

ROCK TOWN

BALCONES

GARRISON BROTHERS

IRONROOT REPUBLIC

DISTILLERY 291

LEOPOLD BROS.

WYOMING WHISKEY

HIGH WEST

MGP

KOVAL

FEW

DRY FLY

COPPERWORKS

WESTLAND

HOTALING & CO.

ST. GEORGE

LOST SPIRITS

EPILOGUE: ENDLESS WEST

INDEX

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS & PICTURE CREDITS

INTRODUCTION

8

This book is a journal of whiskey discovery, touring over 500 years of history and 10,000 miles of road. Each chapter marks another stage of the physical tour that myself and crack photographer Addie Chinn embarked upon, but also of whiskey’s cultural journey in America: its conception, development, commercialization, and perfection. You will see how whiskey is made, learn how it is consumed, come to appreciate the craftspeople that make it, and learn a little more about the history of the United States into the bargain.

America is in the midst of a whiskey renaissance, and there may never be a better time to experience this spirit. Whiskey is a comestible embodiment of the history of the United States. In the uncertain era that we live in, its rich heritage offers a link to the past, and to simpler times. Here we encounter forgotten stories of innovation and ingenuity from the pre-Prohibition era, the Civil War, and the Revolutionary War. These historical events—and many others—have whiskey running through them. By retelling them, we can enrich the experience of enjoying and assessing whiskey. They speak of the golden era, of frontiers, explorers, settlers, cowboys, and the Old West.

In some distilleries, these themes are combined with ecological initiatives, such as local sourcing, and environmental pursuits like carbon-neutral production and smart waste management. Other producers employ novel production methods or utilize cutting-edge flavor science.

It’s for all of the above reasons that American whiskey is the fastest-growing spirit category in the world right now. It is a multifaceted drink that appeals to a wide range of consumers for very different reasons, whether it’s stirred down in a cocktail or served up in a shot glass, from dive bar to hotel bar, from farmer’s market to stock market.

Every journey has a first step. We take ours in Richmond, Virginia.

ROAD TRIP MAP

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THE DISTILLERIES

1 Reservoir

Richmond, VA

2 Copper Fox

Williamsburg, VA

3 George Washington’s Distillery

Mount Vernon, VA

4 Dad’s Hat

Mountain Laurel Spirits Bristol, PA

5 Wigle

Pittsburgh, PA

6 Liberty Pole

Mingo Creek Craft Distillers Washington, PA

7 Tuthilltown

Gardiner, NY

8 Hillrock

Ancram, NY

9 WhistlePig

Shoreham, VT

10 New York Distilling Company

Brooklyn, NY

11 Kings County

Brooklyn, NY

12 Smooth Ambler

Lewisburg, WV

13 Heaven Hill

Louisville, KY

14 Jim Beam

Clermont, KY

15 Woodford Reserve

Versailles, KY

16 Four Roses

Lawrenceburg, KY

17 Buffalo Trace

Frankfort, KY

18 Wild Turkey

Lawrenceburg, KY

19 Willett

Bardstown, KY

20 Barton 1792

Bardstown, KY

21 Maker’s Mark

Loretto, KY

22 Brown–Forman

Louisville, KY

23 Michter’s

Louisville, KY

24 Prichard’s

Kelso, TN

25 Jack Daniel’s

Lynchburg, TN

26 George Dickel

Tullahoma, TN

27 Rock Town

Little Rock, AR

28 Balcones

Waco, TX

29 Garrison Brothers

Hye, TX

30 Ironroot Republic

Denison, TX

31 Distillery 291

Colorado Springs, CO

32 Leopold Bros.

Denver, CO

33 Wyoming Whiskey

Kirby, WY

34 High West

Wanship, UT

35 MGP

Lawrenceburg, IN

36 Koval

Chicago, IL

37 FEW

Evanston, IL

38 Dry Fly

Spokane, WA

39 Copperworks

Seattle, WA

40 Westland

Seattle, WA

41 Hotaling & Co.

San Francisco, CA

42 St. George

Alameda, CA

43 Lost Spirits

Los Angeles, CA

44 Endless West

San Francisco, CA

The route we’re driving will see us through the doors of 44 distilleries and offer a fleeting glimpse of numerous more. The distilleries we have chosen to visit were selected both because they make tasty whiskey and because they celebrate the diversity of whiskey. That could mean they’re ultra modern, staunchly traditional, emphasize a particular part of the whiskey-making process, or represent some other important aspect of the category.

There are, of course, many distilleries that we won’t be visiting, but to attempt to see every whiskey maker in the US would be a never-ending task, since new operations materialize on an almost weekly basis. The journey follows a roughly east to west trajectory, which matches the east to west evolutionary story of the nation itself. It also means we’re visiting more traditionally motivated operations to begin with and more modern and progressive distilleries towards the end. Buckle up and grab a glass!

ROUTE MAP DETAIL—KENTUCKY

PROLOGUE: RESERVOIR

THE SPIRIT OF DISCOVERY

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“In wine there is wisdom, in beer there is Freedom, and in water there is bacteria.”

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN (1706–90), POLYMATH AND FOUNDING FATHER

Richmond, Virginia, is 90 minutes south of Washington, DC. It sits on the James River, which begins at the Appalachian Mountains and flows east, down to the Chesapeake Bay, and out into the Atlantic Ocean. About 20 miles downriver from Richmond is Jamestown. Like the river, Jamestown was named after King James I, who acceded to the English throne in 1603. In 1607, Jamestown became the first English-speaking settlement in America and, if the historian William Kelso is to be believed, “where the British Empire began.”

At the time, Jamestown was little more than a bug-infested swamp with a few timber cabins and a small fort. Colonists were instructed to build on land that wasn’t occupied by indigenous people to avoid conflict—not that it stopped local tribes from attacking. The plan was to farm the swamp land. Unsurprisingly, many colonists starved to death. Others resorted to eating horses, cats, rats, and mice.

Ten years later, things had started to improve. Explorers like John Smith (of Pocahontas fame) ventured further up the James River and established new settlements, including Berkeley, about 10 miles southeast of where Richmond is today. Although nobody could claim to own the land where Berkeley was established (least of all the British upper classes), it was sold by the Virginia Company in London to a group of investors. A year later, on December 4, 1619, 38 settlers arrived in Berkeley aboard the Margaret. No sooner had they rowed to shore than Captain Woodlief instructed his men kneel and pray: “We ordaine [sic] that this day of our ships arrival, at the place assigned for plantacon [sic], in the land of Virginia, shall be yearly and perpetually kept holy as a day of Thanksgiving to Almighty God.”And that’s how Thanksgiving began.

In March of 1620, one of the Berkeley investors, a cleric named George Thorpe, arrived at Berkeley and relieved Captain Woodlief of his managerial duties. Colonization was primarily a commercial venture (and secondarily a religious one), and Thorpe was there to grow stuff (mulberry, grapes, tobacco), find stuff (gold, iron) and report back to London everything he learned of the strange New World.

Thorpe’s strategy seemed sound enough: build a rapport with the Powhatan tribes, then leverage the relationship to trade items of interest. As part of this endeavor he built a “university” that masqueraded as a cultural institution to educate the natives about European life, but was in fact intended to indoctrinate them into the Christian faith. He also built a house for the Powhatan chief (the father of Pocahontas) in the English style.

It was during the course of his dealings with the indigenous population that Thorpe was introduced to corn. They had been growing corn in Virginia for centuries and, just like the indigenous people of Mexico (where corn originates from), it was a principal component of their diet. Most of the early English colonists disliked corn fervently, viewing it as a pale imitation of the barley and oats of the British Isles. But Thorpe was interested in the potential of this exotic crop. He assigned some land at Berkeley to growing corn and developed an appreciation for the food and drink that corn could produce—primarily the alcoholic kind.

Beer was as popular then as it is today, and to the colonists it offered a small taste of home. But beer was also one of the most difficult things to transport from England, since it spoiled quickly on long voyages. Thorpe had knowledge of winemaking so didn’t waste any time brewing beer from corn. In one letter, dated December 19, 1620, he wrote: “we have found a way to make so good [a] drinke of Indian corne and I confess I have most times refused to drinke good stronge Englishe beare and chosen to drinke that.”

Having acquired a taste for corn beer (which by the way is dreadful no matter how you make it) Thorpe didn’t stop there. French brandy and domestically produced grain spirits were popular in Britain, and they proved especially suited to the colonies since they packed down smaller (i.e. more alcoholic content per barrel) and instead of spoiling, they actually improved with age. The Margaret carried “15 gallons of aqua vitae” in its hold and resupplies brought more. Aqua Vitae was a catch-all term used to describe any drink of spirit strength that had been made through a process of distillation. It translates to “water of life,” and got its name from European alchemists believing that liquids which “flame up when set on fire” could hold the secret to eternal life.

With a steady supply of corn beer and the basic knowledge of distillation, it was just a matter of time before colonists began to make their own spirits. At some point in 1621, Thorpe built a small distillery at Berkeley, next to a corn plantation. No physical trace of its existence remains, only vague references to a “copper still” in old records from the time. If these are to be believed, it’s quite likely that Thorpe was the first person to make whiskey in North America.

Of course, it wouldn’t have been known as whiskey back then, and it wouldn’t have had much in common with the expertly crafted, oak-matured spirits that we enjoy today. In the early 17th century, spirits were in a state of flux, serving as both a form of medicine and as a social lubricant. But whatever the intended use, there was strong demand for spirits from toiling colonists: the least they could expect was a little alcohol-induced escapism.

The awful taste and horrific hangovers that these spirits induced did nothing to detract the attention of the indigenous people. Spirits were traded for food and fur by the Berkeley colony and in many future colonies for years to come. In some, yet-to-be-established frontiers, developing an alcohol trade that ultimately led to dependency on the part of the indigenous population became a fundamental tactic in their exploitation. This, however, was a strategy that failed to win over the Powhatans.

By 1622 the relationship between Berkeley and the Powhatans, on the surface at least, seemed friendly enough. Tribesmen could freely wander into the colony to trade and even assist with the activities that took place there, like milling and brewing. This amicable relationship was all a ruse, however, conceived by a Powhatan chieftain with a zero-tolerance policy to foreigners encroaching on Powhatan land.

On March 22, 1622, a group of Powhatans wandered into Berkeley, grabbed weapons and began slaughtering the workers. It was the beginning of a coordinated attack that resulted in the death of 350 colonists—around a quarter of English-speaking Virginians. Thorpe’s “special relationship” with the chieftain awarded him special treatment—he was one of the first to be killed and his body viciously mutilated. This became known as the Indian Massacre of 1622 (although this event is also referred to as the Powhatan Uprising of 1622 by some historians) and it put a stop to the settlement of Berkeley, the annual celebration of Thanksgiving there, and America’s first distillery.

The Tidewater region saw sporadic colonial settlements over the 100 years that followed the Massacre/Uprising, but ongoing wars with the indigenous tribes curtailed the development of any major settlements. In 1742, Richmond was chartered as a town and managed by the House of Burgesses, a legislative body modeled after the English Parliament. Richmond became a center of activity prior to and during the Revolutionary War. Patrick Henry’s famous speech “Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death” was delivered at Richmond’s St. John’s Church and was said to have inspired the House of Burgesses to pass a resolution to deliver Virginia troops to the Revolutionary War in 1775. The rest, as they say, is history.

***

As we have already learned, Virginia is ground-zero for whiskey-making in the US and it’s where the first English-speaking colonies were established. Richmond is also home to a whiskey distillery called Reservoir.

Reservoir was founded in 2008, which is not very old compared to Thorpe’s distillery, or even America’s longest-serving distilleries (in Kentucky). But when compared to the hundreds of “craft” distilleries in America today, Reservoir is older than most. In 2000, there were no distilleries in Virginia; by 2008 there were half a dozen. Now there are over 50.

Reservoir uses three distinct types of cereal/grain to make their whiskey: wheat, rye, and corn. Although it’s not a legal requirement for these styles of whiskey, the “wheat whiskey” at Reservoir is made only from wheat, the “rye whiskey” is made only from rye, and the “bourbon whiskey” is made only from corn (see pages 61–62 to learn what differentiates a bourbon whiskey from a “corn whiskey”).

Of greater importance than a name or legal classification is the flavor that these cereals impart. Wheat is known for its soft, sweet, and fresh flavor; rye is renowned for its nutty, spicy, and dry characteristics; and corn tends to be oily and light.

The corn and wheat at Reservoir are both sourced from a farm in Charles City which is, coincidentally, just minutes from the Berkeley Plantation where George Thorpe made his corn spirit. The rye comes from a farm in New Kent, on the York River, 10 miles north of Charles City and about 20 miles from Reservoir.

Fermentation is the only stage of the whiskey-making process where alcohol is made. Shown here are three of Reservoir’s 400-gallon fermenters.

Once the grains arrive at the distillery, they are milled to a coarse powder known as “grist” and then cooked (or “mashed”) with water in a 400-gallon kettle. This breaks the starch molecules in the cereal down to simple sugars.

Sugar is essential for the next stage of production: fermentation. Reservoir has six 400-gallon fermenters, which hold the mash and yeast (complete with all the spent grain) for up to 11 days while fermentation takes place. The action of the yeast turns sugar into alcohol, resulting in a beer of 5–10% alcohol by volume (ABV), depending on which cereal they are fermenting.

The next stage is distillation, where the beer is pumped over to a large kettle called a “pot still”. A still is an essential piece of equipment in all distilleries, and the pot still is the most basic and traditional of all still types. The design has remained largely unchanged since the time of George Thorpe.

Racks containing smaller-than-industry-standard 10-gallon barrels.

A fairly standard pot still, which connects to a copper condenser.

Reservoir is a modest but accomplished operation that just so happens to be in the heartlands of American whiskey making.

The still is heated both by steam and alcohol in the mixture, the latter boiling at 78.3°C/172.94°F. The resulting vapor rises up to the top (“head”) of the still, then down into the condenser. As the vapor cools, it turns back into a liquid, only now it’s crystal clear and with a higher alcohol concentration.

A single distillation in a pot still isn’t sufficient to make a spirit however, as water vapor always sneaks its way into the condenser too (hot water still produces steam at 78.3°C/172.94°F). So Reservoir, like most distilleries that use pot stills to make whiskey, distill twice. In fact they have two pots stills for this very reason.

The first distillation conducts a “stripping run” and captures all of the alcohol in the beer but strips out around 70% of the water. The result is a “low wine” of around 25% ABV. The second distillation takes place in a smaller pot (because there is less liquid to distill) and increases alcoholic strength up to 70–80% ABV. The taste and aroma of the spirit will change during the course of the distillation process. The hand of the distiller, who decides how aggressively the still is run and which section of the spirit to collect (and which to discard), will determine the final flavor of the whiskey.

But it’s not whiskey yet!

To be legally classed as “whiskey” in the US, the spirit must be matured in an oak barrel. For the most basic classification of “whiskey,” there is no minimum time that the spirit needs to be aged for, and even a quick swirl around an oak bucket is satisfactory from the legislators’ perspective (if not the whiskey connoisseurs). The rules for whiskey labeled as bourbon, rye, wheat, or malt are a little more specific and ask that the spirit be aged in “charred new oak containers.” In layman’s terms, this means a barrel that has not been used before, that is made of oak, and that has been charred by an open flame on the inside. There are no restrictions on the size of the barrel, and in Reservoir’s case they regularly use four different sizes: 5, 10, 25, and 52 (the most common across the industry) gallons. However, barrel size can have a profound effect on the rate at which the spirit matures. Other factors like temperature, humidity, the strength of the spirit in the barrel, the type of wood the barrel is made from and the intensity of the char will also play their part. We’ll explore them in more detail in later chapters.

When resting in a barrel, the spirit quickly begins to take on color and flavor from the wood. After a few weeks it may resemble the color of straw, but if given enough time it may turn amber, then red, then as dark as mahogany. The color of the spirit can sometimes give us some clues about how the whiskey will taste. It can also mislead.

When the spirit is deemed to have reached optimal maturity, it is dumped out of the barrel and made ready for bottling. In most instances the whiskey (it can be called whiskey now) will be blended with other barrels to create a harmonious, balanced expression. Sometimes the whiskey may be bottled as a “single barrel” expression, which is exactly what it sounds like.

The whiskey will usually be “proofed down” prior to bottling, which means adding water until the desired alcoholic strength is reached. Water is sometimes added before the whiskey goes into the barrel too, since alcoholic strength impacts the palette of flavors that are extracted from the wood (and the color). On occasion we will encounter whiskeys bottled at “barrel proof” (no water added) but 40% (80 proof) is the industry standard and also the minimum bottling strength. Reservoir bottle most of their whiskeys at 50% (100 proof). Besides the obvious fact that there’s more alcohol in a 100-proof bottle than an 80 proof, the spirit will also taste a little different. Higher concentrations of alcohol tend to make for a spicier, dryer whiskey and a flavor that lingers for longer.

At every stage of the whiskey-making process there are decisions to be made that impact the next stage of production and shape the finished product.

Well, at least it comes with a warning…

Bungs for the bung hole. Mallets for banging the bung in the bung hole.

No two distilleries are the same. But if you were to average out all of the small distilleries in America today into one balanced representation of what a “craft” distillery looks like… it would look a lot like Reservoir: a hands-on approach where very little is left to chance and authenticity is prized above all else.

We drain our glasses and get on our way. Heading east out of Richmond we travel down the James River, towards the Chesapeake Bay Area.

RESERVOIR WHEAT (50% ABV)

Typically light, as is the reputation of this cereal. The aroma has a touch of tobacco, hazelnut, and orange marmalade. The taste is slightly sweet, with barbecued fruits followed by cracked cocoa, and more of that nuttiness. There’s the sensation of something like aniseed at the tail end. This is a light, accessible whiskey: good if you’re at the first stop of a road trip which will see you taste upwards of 300 whiskeys.

RESERVOIR BOURBON (50% ABV)

This 100% corn bourbon has an immediate aroma of vinyl/rubber flooring accompanied by just a touch of smoke. This whiskey is sweet and fragrant on the palate, with a toasted pecan flavor and a little honey through the finish.

RESERVOIR RYE (50% ABV)

Dark cherry, a touch of walnut, and polished furniture on the nose. It’s big, juicy, and dry on the palate. It feels peppered and rich with a really nice balance between cereal and cask. Shisha and leather come through on the finish.

7

ROAD TRIP PLAYLIST

“Coming to America” – Neil Diamond

“America” – Simon & Garfunkel

“Virginia Plain” – Roxy Music

Their biggest sellers are wheat, rye, and bourbon whiskeys, but Reservoir also makes interesting special releases.

COPPER FOX

SCOTTISH BUT NOT SCOTCH

8

“A good gulp of hot whisky at bedtime—it’s not very scientific, but it helps.”

ALEXANDER FLEMING (1881–1955), SCOTTISH MICROBIOLOGIST

After an hour of driving, we arrive in Williamsburg—the capital of the Virginia Colony from 1699 to 1780. The Colonial center of Williamsburg is a bit like a live action role-play game, where actors in period costume depict daily colonial life. As fun as that sounds, though, we have serious work to do here and it involves drinking whiskey.

We’re here to visit the Copper Fox distillery, which was established here in 2014, but serves as the younger sibling to the original Copper Fox distillery located in the north of the state. Copper Fox produces a range of whiskeys with special focus on “single malt.” The proprietor of Copper Fox, Rick Wasmund, is a little a bit of a Caledophile (the unofficial term for someone obsessed with Scotland) and given where he’s chosen to set up his distillery… well, that kind of makes sense.

The first Scottish communities in America were established in the 1680s, and Virginia served as the hub of early Scottish commercial activity in the colonies. In 1707, the Act of Union was signed, merging Scotland with England (and Wales and Ireland) to form the United Kingdom of Great Britain. At that time, Virginia grew mostly tobacco, and trading vessels that traversed the Atlantic swapped Scottish workers and indentured servants for parcels of Virginian tobacco destined for Glasgow. In fact, Glasgow traded almost all of Britain’s tobacco, and in Virginia’s port towns, like Norfolk, which is on the opposite side of the James River from Williamsburg, were transformed into Scottish municipalities.

Scottish migration continued to ramp up in the early 1700s, first during the failed Irish harvest of 1717, then again after the Jacobite rising of 1745. More came following the dismantling of the Highland clan structure, and then another load after the Highland Clearances. In 1700, Scots accounted for 3% of the 250,000 inhabitants of the English American Colonies. By 1750, Scots comprised 7% of the population and there were as many Scots then as there had been total inhabitants in 1700. Some anthropologists believe that there are more descendants of Highland clans living in America today than there are in Scotland.

Then there were the Scots-Irish, who had been sent to Ireland by James I to spread Protestantism. The Scots-Irish hated Britain. Come to think of it, they didn’t much like authority of any kind. When they arrived in America, they lived as they pleased, claiming farmland, building cabins, and rearing cattle. Some of them made whisky, too.

Not that we should be surprised. The Scottish and Irish had been distilling aqua vitae for centuries, and it would take more than the mere crossing of an ocean to eradicate the memory of the craft.

The earliest reference to the production of aqua vitae in Scotland comes from the Royal Exchequer Rolls of 1494, which lists the sale of 500 kg of malt to one Friar John Corr, “wherewith to make aqua vitae.” Interestingly, this boozy purchase order was to be delivered to none other than King James IV of Scotland (later King James I of England and Scotland). The story goes that James (aged 21) had been asserting his royal authority on the Hebridean island of Islay the previous year, and at some time or other got a taste for the spirit made there. In fact, the order he placed in 1494 would be enough to manufacture over 1,200 bottles of whisky by today’s standards!

By 1600, whisky-making had become a common farm practice in Scotland and the first commercial distilleries were starting to show up. The early part of that century saw a linguistic transition in Scotland too, away from Latin aqua vitae and on to the Gaelic “uisge beatha.” This term would later be shortened to “whisky,” the first written references of which occurred in 1715 (“whiskie”) and 1735 (“whisky”). As for when whisky gained an ‘e’ as per the American spelling… well, that’s a story for later.

Thanks to favorable growing conditions (i.e. cold and wet), barley has remained the favored base material for Scotch whisky for half a millennium. Although, technically speaking, it’s “malted barley” that’s used in most Scottish distilleries. A malted cereal is a cereal that has been germinated by first soaking it in water and then drying it out. The process simulates the same steps that occur in nature when a cereal detects seasonal changes and decides it’s time to become a plant. Moistening the grain causes hormones in the embryo (the “brain” of the grain) to trigger the release of enzymes that self-destruct cell walls and proteins, and ready the grain for breaking down starch stored in the endosperm (the “muscle”) into simple sugars.

If things continue this way, the seed sprouts a rootlet and begins to grow—great for the plant but not so good for the whisky maker. When a distiller, brewer, or malt house malts a cereal, the aim is to halt the process and kill the endosperm before the seed consumes too much sugar. If done correctly, what you’re left with is an enzyme-rich store of accessible energy that can be extracted through cooking.

If we hopped in a time machine and traveled back two centuries, we would quickly learn that most distilleries and breweries malted their cereals on-site. These operations built floors or entire structures (malt houses) dedicated to sprouting, drying, and roasting grain. Malting was a highly laborious process however, requiring regular human interaction and a lot of space. The technological changes during the Industrial Revolution changed all this, and most booze makers began buying their malt from centralized malt houses from the middle of the 19th century onwards. Today, in Scotland, there are just eight distilleries that malt their own barley in the traditional manner (and only one of them malts their entire requirement).

The last malting floor in the US closed down when Prohibition took effect, in 1920.

And then Rick Wasmund came along.

It was April of 2000 when Rick took a trip to Scotland to visit a few whisky distilleries. Well, one thing led to another, and he ended up spending six weeks there as an intern at the famed Bowmore distillery on Islay.

It was while working at Bowmore that he learned about the whisky-making process. But what really struck a chord with Rick was how Bowmore went to the effort of malting and drying their barley in kilns using peat smoke, and the flavors that this process imparted into the whisky. Peat bogs are formed when plant roots, moss, heather, and other vegetation decompose in an acidic environment without drainage. The vegetation only part-decomposes, because it’s always wet, and over hundreds and thousands of years of crushing gravity, it forms a loose organic mass that, if dried, can be burned. Peat produces a lot of smoke when it burns and it’s that smoke that imparts itself into the barley grain and characterizes some of the famous brands of whisky from Scotland. Like it or loathe it, there’s something primal about the intoxicating aroma of smoke, and smoky whiskeys continue to have a strong following among aficionados.

Inspired by his time at Bowmore, Rick set about building a distillery in Virginia where he would craft his own, Virginian take on single malt whisky. The first Copper Fox distillery was converted from an old apple-packing factory and it got its license in 2005. It’s still operational today, located in Sperryville, which is adjacent to Virginia’s stunning Shenandoah National Park.

A distillery that malts its own barley is still a very rare occurrence, in both the United States and in Scotland.

The simplest way make smoky whiskey in the US is to ship already-smoked malted barley over from the UK. For a startup distillery, this would be the easiest and lowest risk option, since it requires very little upfront capital, very little space for storage, and you can guarantee a consistent product. So, Rick didn’t do that. Instead, he used Virginian barley.

Barley was a slow-starter in Virginia, on account of the fact that early colonists found it didn’t take readily to eastern American soil. That’s why many looked to the corn and rye grown by the indigenous people instead. Lucky for us, agriculture has moved on a fair bit since then, and it’s now possible to grow barley that will flourish in certain parts of the state. Copper Fox manages to source all of its grain from a single farmer, who grows a specific variety (suited to the Virginian climate) developed by Virginia Tech’s barley breeding program.

Of course, the barley grain is the easy part. There’s still the “malt” part of “malted barley” to deal with.

Suffice it to say that Copper Fox is an American whiskey distillery that looks to Scotland for a great deal of its inspiration.

Rick could have approached a commercial malting house to take care of this, but there weren’t any in the US at the time with smoking capabilities. So that really only left one option.

And so it was that Rick Wasmund built the first floor malting in America since Prohibition. Malting one’s own cereals is not something for the hobbyist distiller. But once you’ve felt the strain of raking warm malt and tasted the product of all that labor… cutting corners no longer becomes a viable option.

The malt house is the first stage of making any whiskey at Copper Fox and it goes like this: the grain is dumped into tanks where it is hydrated with water for a couple of days until the grains swell to around 45% moisture content. The water is then drained and the grains are spread out on a malting floor for up to a week. At this stage they become exothermic and require regular turning with a rake or shiel (a flat wooden shovel) every few hours to ensure sufficient airflow over the grains to avoid mold growth. Once a preferred starch-to-enzyme ratio is achieved, the “green malt” is transferred to a kiln oven and gently cooked to halt the germination process.

The spirit that evaporates out of a barrel through the course of maturation is called the “angels’ share.”

These little stills are not dissimilar to the equipment used by many distillers in the 18th century. At Copper Fox, they are used for test runs.

But what to burn in the kiln? Sure enough, there are peat bogs in Virginia too, but by this point Rick was basically creating a whole new category of American whiskey, so could choose to take a more American approach to smoking. Perhaps he was inspired by the barbecue culture of the neighboring Carolina states, because he picked fruit woods as the fuel for his smoke.

“It was such a good idea, but no one else was doing it,” he says, shaking his head.

Whether it’s apple, cherry, pecan, or peach, just like the fruits of these plants, fruit woods are imbued with a unique array of aromatic compounds and smoke-producing carbohydrates. And just like a pit master tailors the type of wood to the cut of meat, Rick has been able to finely tune the smoke aroma that is imparted into his whiskeys through experimentation. For Copper Fox’s core single-malt bottlings, the malt is dried using a 60:40 ratio of apple wood and cherry wood, smoked in a Weber grill. The smoke passes up from the low-ceilinged kiln room, through a perforated floor, then intermingles with the barley grains, drying and flavoring them simultaneously.

“People ask if I have ever tried smoking fish or meat…” says Rick, “and the answer is I tried to smoke fish but it kept ripping the rolling paper because it was wet.”

Rick is quick to crack a joke and there’s a dryness to his humor that feels more Scottish than it does American. Perhaps that playful quality is the source of his experimental streak. Or perhaps he can afford to be playful given the success Copper Fox has had and the regard that he is held in. Either way, this is a distillery that has taken risks—and it’s paid off.

In the early days of the distillery, the plan was to make the barrels out of fruit woods too, creating a marriage between smoke and timber, set to a backdrop of whiskey. However, the expense and the fact they don’t hold liquid particularly well made this idea a non-starter. Undeterred, a solution eventually presented itself: suspend the wood in the spirit rather than the spirit in the wood. The casks (nearly all of them 53-gallon) are sourced from bourbon producers so have already been filled once, and each barrel has a cloth bag suspended in it, which is filled with applewood chips. “For our American Single Malt, we chip the whiskey for about 18 months, then remove the chips and let the spirit mature until we need to bottle it—generally another six to 12 months,” Rick tells me.

In Scotland, almost all of the whisky is matured in used oak barrels, the vast majority of which are procured from bourbon distilleries in Kentucky. At the risk of doubling down on my analogies, a used barrel is much like a used tea bag—it loses some of its potency after the first steeping. If you think that sounds bad, remember that some of the most prized teas in the world are considered at their best after the second or third steep.

“There’s something that happens once a barrel is kind of played-out,” Rick says. “You’re still getting ‘something’, and it’s that something which gives some of our whiskeys that Scotch aroma.”

You’ll remember from the previous chapter that American whiskeys labeled as malt (as well as rye, bourbon, and wheat) must be aged in “new oak containers.” From a legislative point of view, this places Rick’s malt whiskeys in a peculiar territory. They can’t legally be classed as “Malt Whiskey” because he’s not aged them in new oak.

What they should be called is “American Single Malt Whiskey” but no such categorization currently exists. That hasn’t stopped Rick from proudly declaring just that on the label though. While there is no law defining what “American Single Malt Whiskey” means, there also isn’t a law prohibiting its use. And Rick’s aren’t the only whiskeys using it. That’s why the American Single Malt Whiskey Commission has been set up. With over 100 member distilleries, the collective goal of this organization is to accelerate the establishment and definition of this new category of spirits.

After all that chat about malt whiskey, the first whiskey Rick serves us is actually a rye. Not just any rye though: “Sassy Rye” is made from 100% malted rye grown in Virginia. Like barley, rye can be malted so that the grain’s sweet resources are made available to distillers. Malted rye is quite uncommon however, and rye that has been floor-malted at the distillery—like this—is practically unheard of anywhere in the world. The rye undergoes the same process as Copper Fox’s barley does during malting, but during the kiln-drying stage, it’s sassafras wood that’s used as the source of smoke.

On the subject of rye, Copper Fox also makes an “Original Rye,” built from two parts un-malted rye and one part floor-malted barley. The inclusion of Copper Fox’s own floor-malted barley in the recipe makes this rye the only rye in America with a smoked malt component in its recipe. Except, that is, for another one of their products, made from the same rye/malt spirit matured for a further two years in “port-style barrels” sourced from nearby Rappahannock Cellars winery.

Of the four single malt expressions that Copper Fox currently bottles, three are made from the aforementioned base of cherrywood and applewood smoked malt. They are the previously discussed “American Single Malt,” plus a single malt matured in port-style barrels, and a single malt aged in ex-apple brandy barrels. Then there’s the “Peachwood American Single Malt,” which is made from a base of floor-malted barley smoked over—you guessed it—peachwood, matured with peachwood chips.

I think we’re getting the hang of this now.

There’s one more product made here that’s especially interesting to me. It’s not a whiskey that falls under the Copper Fox brand; instead it’s labeled under the Belle Grove 1797 brand, named after one of the largest Virginian plantations in the 18th century. It was also the birthplace of the fourth president and “Father of the Constitution,” James Madison, and they made whiskey there. The Belle Grove recipe comprises 51% corn, 25% unsmoked malted barley, and 24% oats.

“We’re trying to reproduce what was happening in the 18th century,” Rick tells me. “The recipe would have changed depending on the harvest so this is representative of what they were growing on the plantation at that time.”

We could stay for hours at Copper Fox, consuming the elemental forces of fire and wood that shape the character of their whiskeys. There’s another elemental force at play as we head to the car: rain. We buckle up and get on our way to the next stage of our journey, which will take us towards the nation’s capital and towards the home of its namesake.

APPRECIATING A GLASS OF WHISKEY

The Japanese author Haruki Murakami was known to say “Whiskey, like a beautiful woman, demands appreciation. You gaze first, then it’s time to drink.” But you can only tell so much about a spirit from looking at it.

Color can sometimes be an indication of how long a whiskey has been matured (un-aged spirits are naturally crystal-clear) but it’s easy to be fooled since some whiskeys are legally permitted to have color added to them. Even when a spirit hasn’t been colored by anything other than a barrel, you’d be wise not to take too much notice as there are a whole host of factors that can influence color extraction and its relationship with time in the cask.

Cloudiness is not something you would normally expect to see in a premium spirit, but it does happen sometimes with whiskeys that haven’t been filtered. A process called “chill-filtering” is used by most producers to remove the compounds that cause haziness, but some distillers (like Rick Wasmund) prefer not to filter too much, believing that it can negatively impact the flavor. It’s usually best to ignore the “legs” of the spirit too. I was taught that the regularity of the vertical lines that form in the inside of the glass shortly after swirling the spirit are a sign of quality but it turns out that closely scrutinizing them is actually a sign that you’re an idiot. They’re caused by the tendency of alcohol to evaporate quickly from the side of the glass, leaving the watery components of the spirit (which tends to be 40–60%) to stick together, then fall down the glass in little streams. Slower forming legs mean a higher strength spirit—that’s about it.

Assessing the aroma of the whiskey is where the real fun begins. I always suggest doing this with the same level of caution that an untrusting cat would demonstrate if you glued a live mouse to the floor. Show some respect for the spirit and approach it with caution. Most of the time you can detect all the aromas in a glass without being in the glass. If your nose becomes numb or feels “burnt,” move back for a little while. Sometimes sniffing your hand or wrist can help to reset this sensation.

Use your nose to detect familiar aromas. More often than not, it’s the detection that’s the easy part and the assigning of a description that’s much harder. Try to categorize the aroma you’re smelling: is it a fruit? Is it a stone fruit or berry? Dried or fresh? This is the method that I use and it helps me refine my tasting notes.

When drinking the whiskey, give it a little time to move around your palate before swallowing (a colleague advises that whiskey should be held on the tongue for one second for every year of maturation). When you swallow, be sure to breathe out through your nose, sending the aromatic components of the spirit up, past your nasal receptors.

Think about how the spirit feels in the mouth: is it thin or watery? Oily or full bodied? Is it spicy, and if so, what sort kind spice? Pepper or chili? Then think about the taste sensation (which will actually be a combination of taste senses and aroma): how does it compare to the smell? How are the aromas interpreted now that the tongue and mouth get to have their say?

Finally, think about the “finish:” how long does the flavor last? Where is the taste and feel of the spirit most felt? Does it leave you desperate for more or desperately reaching for the spittoon?

If you’re beginning to think that all this detailed evaluation might take some of the joy out of drinking spirits, don’t worry! If you’ve successfully made it to adulthood, you’re already adept at analyzing the food and drink you put in your body. Learning to appreciate and objectively assess a spirit is just a case of applying some methodology to your judgment and building your taste vocabulary. As a whiskey writer, it’s important to have the ability to do this so that I can articulate the differences between one spirit and another. But as someone who genuinely enjoys drinking spirits—I’m this person too—it’s by no means essential. The most important question any of us can ask of the drinks in our glasses is this: do I like it?

AMERICAN SINGLE MALT (43% ABV)

Subtle smoke with notes of anise and jerk spices on the nose. The taste has sweet smoke, rounded with tropical fruits and freshly laundered linen. It’s soft and supple through the finish.

RYE (45% ABV)

Root beer, old leather, pineapple, and baking spice on the nose. The taste is almost effervescent, feeling bright and fruity. Smoke is soft but definitely present. The finish dries up with a light tickle of spice.

PORT-STYLE BARREL FINISH SINGLE MALT (50% ABV)

Christmas pudding spice, red grape juice, charred red pepper, and a touch of cinnamon on the nose. On the palate, there’s tannin, and juicy grape bubblegum; it’s dry, elegant, and flavorsome. It would be a great match for cheese.

PORT STYLE BARREL FINISH RYE (50% ABV)

All the desserts—Neapolitan ice cream, red berry cheesecake, and orange sorbet. Less port cask flavor than the malt—it feels tighter and more woody. There’s prickly wood spice on the finish.

“SASSY” RYE (45% ABV)

Tropical and fragrant: mango, apricot, and ginger on the nose. It’s tight and fresh on the palate with subtle smoke, like burnt leaves. It remains light and elegant through the finish.

7

ROAD TRIP PLAYLIST

“Virginia in the Rain” – Dave Matthews Band

“Copperhead Road” – Steve Earle

“I’m Gonna Be” – The Proclaimers

Although this millstone is centuries old, the one used in the gristmill today is practically identical.

GEORGE WASHINGTON’S DISTILLERY

REVOLUTIONARY SPIRIT

8

“Freedom an’ whisky gang thegither!”

ROBERT BURNS (1759–96), SCOTTISH POET

The penultimate line of Robert Burns’ The Author’s Earnest Cry and Prayer was intended to inspire patriotism amongst Scottish parliamentarians during a time when whiskey was being heavily taxed. It was written in 1786, however, just three years after the American Revolutionary War ended, so could just as easily have applied to the United States.

Civil unrest in the Thirteen Colonies began in the 1760s, marked by a number of political and philosophical differences that created tension between the New Worlders and London. The colonists’ primary grievances was that of “taxation without representation,” which was exacerbated by the Stamp Act, which required that many printed materials in the colonies be produced on embossed, revenue-stamped paper produced in London. This escalated into boycotts, culminating, in 1773, with the Sons of Liberty famously throwing chests of tea into Boston Harbor.

Lesser known, but equally important was the Sugar Act of 1764, which followed the Molasses Act of 1733. Both levied heavy taxes on sugar and molasses imported from foreign (non-British) colonies in the Caribbean, forcing colonists to buy their molasses from the more expensive British plantations. In New England, in particular, this was a big problem, since rum was the primary spirit made there, and molasses was the main ingredient. Thanks to protests organized by various soon-to-be Founding Fathers, like Samuel Adams, Benjamin Franklin and George Washington, both the Stamp Act and Sugar Act were repealed in 1766. After that, the wheels of insurrection began to gather pace.

It began with skirmishes in Massachusetts, in 1775, but soon spread into other areas, and by the next summer it had become a civil war. France got involved and on October 19, 1781, they assisted the Continental Army in forcing the surrender of General Cornwallis in Yorktown, Virginia.

It was George Washington that led the Continental Army to victory in Yorktown, having been appointed the role of Commander-in-Chief since 1775. Besides being an expert tactician and popular leader, Washington was also a farmer and, later, a distiller; his Mount Vernon distillery would become one of the biggest whiskey distilleries of the era. And crucially, for our tale, he made whiskey, not rum.

The transition from rum to whiskey didn’t take place overnight, but the turning point was during the midst of the war, on August 29, 1777. On that date, John Adams, who in 1797 would become the nation’s second president, wrote a letter to his wife, Abigail, in which he remarks on the availability and prices of various goods: “As to sugar, molasses, rum etc. we must leave them off. Whiskey is used here instead of rum, and I don’t see but it is just as good. Of this the wheat and rye countries can easily distill enough for the use of the country.”

With no air conditioning and lots of hot liquids, it gets rather steamy at Mount Vernon.

This, then, was the moment that whiskey became the spirit of America.

Present-day Mount Vernon is technically part of Virginia, but it’s easily engulfed by the southern sprawl of Washington, DC. Back in the 18th century, it was simply a large chunk of agricultural land on the banks of the Potomac River. It had been in the Washington family since the time of John Washington, George’s English-born great-grandfather, who acquired a small plot of land there in 1674.

George Washington inherited the estate in the 1750s (along with six slaves) when it comprised 2,100 acres. By the end of the war, his estate had ballooned to five farms, encompassing 8,000 acres. A gristmill was added in 1771 which was significant, since up until that point the Washingtons had, like most Virginian planters, focused mainly on growing tobacco. Tobacco was a valuable crop, but farming it was unsustainable and a fantastically efficient way of destroying soil. So the estate turned its gaze to grain, and particularly to rye and wheat. Cereals proved to be a far more successful endeavor, and by the 1780s the mill was exporting flour to Portugal, Spain, and the Caribbean.

The Revolution marked a turning point in whiskey’s domestic fortunes. With sovereign status, the US could begin shedding all the trappings of British rule and turn its attention to being… well, American. And there were few things that spoke of being British quite like rum.

By that point, Washington was a hero of the Revolutionary War, and in 1784 he resigned his commission and returned to Mount Vernon. He was 52 years old, struggling with a tumor on his thigh and dental problems that had plagued him most of his life. It must have seemed the perfect opportunity to retire to his estate and live out a peaceful existence, running his farms in the newly independent United States that he had fought for.

The first modern barrel of whiskey produced at Mount Vernon is signed by the biggest names in whiskey.

But his retirement plan would have to be put on hold. There was a Constitution to write and someone needed to run the country. For the latter, Washington was everybody’s favorite pick.

As it goes, he was elected as president not once but twice and didn’t get a chance to return to Mount Vernon until 1796. He was 64 years old and feeling every year of it, so he hired a farm manager to assist him with running the huge estate. That man was James Anderson, a former whiskey merchant and mill manager from Scotland. And ever the canny Scotsman, it was Anderson who convinced Washington of the expansive potential market for whiskey.

Besides the fact that people liked to drink and whiskey fulfilled that need, making whiskey added value to cereals. In addition to this, spirits were much more cost-effective to transport than grain and not susceptible to spoilage. A distillery also gave a miller or farmer options if they had surplus grain or needed to navigate a slump in the market value of cereals.

But Washington was cautious not to overextend. He furnished Anderson with two small pot stills to play with, temporarily housed in the estate cooperage. Anderson made 600 gallons of spirit in 1797 and sold all of it. With Washington satisfied that there was a demand for whiskey, the pair began construction of a dedicated distillery building in October of that year. The first spirits ran off the new distillery in March 1798 and production totaled 4,500 gallons.

Vaporizing alcohol with a wood-burning furnace—what could possibly go wrong?

In 1799 Washington wrote to his nephew, “Two hundred gallons of Whiskey will be ready this day for your call, and the sooner it is taken the better, as the demand for this article (in these parts) is brisk.” This was to be the year of Washington’s death, when the output of the distillery doubled to nearly 11,000 gallons of whiskey, generating $7,674 in revenue. To put that into context, the average Virginian distillery made 650 gallons a year at that time—and there were over 3,000 of them at the turn of the 19th century. Washington died perhaps owning the largest and hardest-working distillery in the country. It would have been an incredible legacy were it not overshadowed by a generally exceptional life.

Besides the distillery and gristmill, there was also a miller’s cottage, garden and orchard, cooperage, a malt house, hog and cattle sheds, plus a wharf that sent flour and whiskey along the river. The day-to-day operations were overseen by James Anderson and his son John, along with six enslaved workers (Hanson, Peter, Nat, Daniel, James, and Timothy). One of the benefits of the proprietor being the first US President is that detailed historical records are available, giving us an insight into how whiskey making was undertaken on this kind of scale, as well clues as to how other distilleries may have gone about their work.

Anderson grew wheat, rye, oats, corn, and barley on the estate. But his mill could chew through up to 8,000 pounds of cereal a day, so he bought-in cereals to keep its appetite assuaged. The mill also ground cereals for other farms, who paid for the service with an eighth of their load. It was common for larger mills to take these payment parcels of grain, which would be mixed together and allocated for whiskey making. Corn, which was a staple part of the workers’ diet, was also often sent for distilling, since, at the time, it had a lower value than the other grains.

The mill itself was powered by a 16-ft water wheel, turned by a millrace (think miniature canal) that was fed from a millpond two miles away. The wheel turned gears, which moved the top millstone, hovering barely an inch above the stationary, bottom millstone. Grain was fed in through a hole in the top stone, and was ground and crushed by the two stones as it worked its way towards the edge of the stone and down a small hole. Once ground up, the cereals were packaged as flour, or (of much greater interest) transported from the mill to the still house.

Once they arrived in the distillery, the cereals were mashed with boiling water from a 210-gallon wood-fired copper pan. The mashing was done in 120-gallon open-top barrels. Corn and rye were mashed first, then malted barley was added later. The cooking process extracted the starches from the cereals, utilizing the enzymes present in malted barley to thin the liquid and convert the starches into sugar. Washington’s distillery operated in a time before electric pumps, so at all stages of production, the various liquids were ladled by hand between vessels. Anderson removed one of these laborious stages of the process by fermenting in the same barrels that he mashed in. The downside of doing this is that the hot mash would need to stirred (or “rowed”) with large paddles to cool it down before pitching yeast. Once the yeast was added, fermentation ensued and, over the course of a few days, converted the sugar in the mixture into alcohol.

Now an alcoholic beer, the liquid was ladled into the brick-jacketed base of one of the five copper pot stills, whose capacities ranged from 90–135 gallons. This was a common size for stills of this era, as anything larger than 150 gallons would be difficult to transport by cart. The head of the still (the top part that transports the spirit vapor into the condenser) was then fitted on top, and the fire underneath the pan was lit. The distillation process would be carried out once, then repeated, to bring the spirit up to a strength of around 70% ABV. Occasionally they would distill a third or fourth time to produce a cleaner, higher-grade (higher-priced) style of whiskey. The spirit was stored in barrels for transport, but not intentionally matured. Nothing was wasted. Leftover stillage (see page 136) and slops from fermentation were fed to Washington’s livestock, which in turn fertilized the fields that grew the cereal.

Who knows how big the distillery may have become if Washington had lived to his 80s? George Washington’s nephew inherited the estate in 1802, but was unable to support the upkeep. The distillery fell into disrepair and burned down in 1814.

As interesting a historical story Mount Vernon is for whiskey geeks, it would have remained just that—a story—were it not for the events that have taken place over the past 20 years. In 1999, Mount Vernon commenced a long-term archaeology and research program that was partly funded by a $2.1 million grant from the Distilled Spirits Council of the United States. Their ultimate goal? Document the history and technology of Washington’s distilling enterprise and rebuild the distillery to its 18th-century spec.

Walking around the grounds of Mount Vernon today, visitors are transported back to a bygone era of squat, stone buildings and manual labor. The mill and distillery were carefully restored between 2004 and 2007. The new mill at Mount Vernon was designed in the 1970s by the English millwright Derek Ogden. Everything is 18th-century accurate. Besides the stones that actually do the grinding work, the entire mill, including the 16-ft wheel, is built from wood. Big, heavy-looking chunks of wood.

The distillery began production runs in 2009. Steve Bashore is the modern-day James Anderson here, with the appropriate job title of “Director of Historic Trades.” He was a traditional miller—a trade he has practiced for a quarter of a century. Now he leads a team of costumed historic interpreters, who bring the story of Washington’s gristmill and distillery to life.

Steve shows us around the mill first. Wheat is ground on French burr stones made from freshwater quartz. Corn and other cereals are milled on granite. Furrows are cut into the stones and the individual pattern dictates the consistency of the cut, along with a compound lever that can raise and lower the upper stone to control how coarse or fine the cut is. “There’s more mathematics to it than just that,” Steve says, “such as the entry angle off the spindle of the master furrow which controls how long the grain remains sandwiched between the two stones.”

I’m blown away by the craftsmanship it must have taken to design and build a machine like this. Although the technology has moved on and these mills have been superseded by modern roller and hammer mills, the engineering in this mill seems—to this wide-eyed traveler—far more impressive than a clever box with lights and buttons.

But what really makes it special? Is it that I’m able to stand in front of one of only a handful of water-powered gristmills in North America? Or is it that it serves as testament to the countless mills that are not here anymore, belonging, instead, to a time when gristmills were not a novelty, but a central component of distilleries and, indeed, civilization?