de bene esse: literally, of well-being, morally acceptable but subject to future validation or exception
If there’s just one thing I take away from my conversation with
Louisville, Kentucky, historian Michael Veach, it’s that there is no
wrong way to drink bourbon. Dilute it with water, mix it with ginger ale, or stir in a liqueur or two and call it something fancy like “The Revolver.”
According to Veach, makers of America’s native spirit are just as
pleased to see their product served up with a maraschino cherry as they
are watching it poured straight into a shot glass. And you know? I
believe him. Because when it comes to all things bourbon, Veach is
Louisville’s go-to source.
As associate curator of special collections at Louisville’s Filson
Historical Society and a former archivist for United Distilleries,
situated in the heart of Kentucky Bourbon Country, 54-year-old Veach has
spent decades studying bourbon history. Many local residents consider
him the spirit’s unofficial ambassador, and it’s a title he’s
undoubtedly earned. Veach once spent an entire year sampling the 130+
bourbons on hand at the city’s Bourbons Bistro and
recording his thoughts in what would become the restaurant’s ‘Bourbon
Bible,’ a binder overflowing with tasting notes and food pairing
suggestions that now serves as a resource for the restaurant’s patrons.
More recently Veach parlayed his expertise into a book, Kentucky Bourbon Whiskey: An American Heritage, which
tells the history of the bourbon industry from the Whiskey Rebellion
straight through to the 21st century. The text highlights
often-overlooked aspects of the industry—such as the technology behind
the spirit’s production—and includes a few of Veach’s own theories that
may even surprise bourbon aficionados.
Take his argument on where the name ‘bourbon’ comes from. Visit any
local distillery and you’ll likely hear that the moniker derives from
Bourbon County—once part of a larger expanse known as Old Bourbon—in
upstate Kentucky. However, says Veach, the timeline just doesn’t match
up.
Though the Filson Historical Society is home to bourbon labels
printed as early as the 1850s, he says, “the story that the name
‘bourbon’ comes from Bourbon County doesn’t even start appearing in
print until the 1870s.” Instead, Veach believes the name evolved in New
Orleans after two men known as the Tarascon brothers arrived to
Louisville from south of Cognac, France, and began shipping local
whiskey down the Ohio River to Louisiana’s bustling port city. “They
knew that if Kentuckians put their whiskey into charred barrels [which
gives whiskey flavor] they could sell it to New Orleans’ residents, who
would like it because it tastes more like cognac or ‘French brandy’,”
says Veach.
In the 19th century, New Orleans entertainment district was Bourbon
Street, as it is today. “People starting asking for ‘that whiskey they
sell on Bourbon Street,’” he says, “which eventually became ‘that
bourbon whiskey.’” Still, Veach concedes, “We may never know who
actually invented bourbon, or even who the first Kentucky distiller was.”
For those unfamiliar with what makes bourbon bourbon, here’s a brief
primer. Contrary to popular belief, bourbon distilling is not limited to
Kentucky, though the state does produce the lion’s share (Veach
attributes this to the area’s excellent-quality limestone-filtered water
as well as Kentucky’s extreme weather patterns).
For a spirit to be considered bourbon it must adhere to six standard
rules: It must be made in the U.S.; aged in new, charred white oak
barrels; and be at least 51 percent corn. It also must be distilled at
less than 160 proof (80 percent alcohol by volume) and entered into a
barrel at below 125 proof. Lastly, there can be no artificial coloring
or flavor (hence the reason Jack Daniel’s is a Tennessee whiskey: it’s
filtered over maple wood chips before bottling). The darker the bourbon,
the higher the alcohol content; and for a true taste of its
complexities, open your mouth while sipping.
As a lifelong Louisvillian, Veach not only drinks bourbon—he also has
a few cherished places for imbibing the local spirit. Along with
Bourbons Bistro, Veach pays occasional visits to the bar at Louisville’s
historic Brown Hotel (home to the city’s signature Hot Brown sandwich), as well as the iconic Seelbach hotel, a four-star property that F. Scott Fitzgerald mentions in The Great Gatsby (like Veach, Jay Gatsby’s golden girl, Daisy Buchanan, is also from Louisville). Veach also recommends Louisville’s Dish on Market
for both its fine bourbon selection and its presidential breakfast: an
ode to President Harry Truman, who stayed at the Seelbach while in town.
“Every morning he’d have one egg, a slice of bacon, buttered toast, cup
of fruit, glass of milk, and a shot of Old Granddad,” he says.
However, Veach admits he’s much less a tour guide and more a
historian who loves bourbon, a notion that his book well reflects. In Kentucky Bourbon Whiskey, American
history and bourbon history—from the Pure Food & Drug Act’s effects
on bourbon to how Prohibition contributed to the Great Depression—are
distinctly intertwined. Still, there’s one thing you won’t find within
its pages: bourbon ratings and reviews. “I really don’t have a favorite
bourbon,” says Veach, “There are just too many different flavors and
flavor profiles. It’s like asking what’s your favorite wine.”
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