I Haven’t Got Time for the Pain

I hate bourbon. I don’t care if it is 51% corn, crafted with limestone water, and aged 20 years in virgin oak barrels in the unique Kentucky environment. It tastes thick and hot at first, and then it burns as you swallow. I don’t understand it, and I don’t like it.

Traveling the Kentucky Bourbon Trail, however, was pretty enjoyable. They don’t give you enough free samples of the nasty fire water to get drunk (when I imagine it doesn’t hurt as much to drink), but the bourbon distilleries we visited lived up to my romantic image of historic, classic Kentucky. We visited Buffalo Trace, Woodford Reserve, and Maker’s Mark. There was a little something different about each distillery that I enjoyed most. At Buffalo Trace, where I learned copious amounts of information from Dr. Don in our hour-plus tour of the grounds, I loved visiting the aging warehouses. They were dark and cool, with endless rows of barrels. Dr. Don showed us the “experimental” barrels, which were small enough for me to carry right out of there were I going to the gym like I am supposed to. In a moment of foolish humor, when I was spacing out a bit on the tour, I pretended I was in The Happening and banged my head against a barrel. I was just pretending, but in typical Courtney fashion, I actually hit my head. I must have looked like a jerk to the rest of the tour. But it made Nate and Matt laugh. That didn’t really hurt so much; however, when I tasted the bourbon, I thought I was going to die from the pain.

At Woodford Reserve, all I could think about was how perfect the grounds were for a wedding. We missed the last tour, but the main building was impressive enough – it was my favorite part. A wide porch surrounded the building, perfect for a reception, complete with rocking chairs and cocktail tables. And I liked the Bourbon Balls (a chocolate covered bonbon with creamy bourbon flavored filling) here best, and the free sweet peach tea was a welcome chaser to the hell-booze. Here, they served the bourbon with ice, so I could almost sip it.

Our last stop was Maker’s Mark, which is located on a beautiful estate with a historic toll bridge over a small stream. The black buildings have distinctive red shutters, and our tour guide spun a lovely tale of the founder of Maker’s Mark and his wife. She handled the marketing; he handled the distilling. Sounds like things went her way! She picked the bottle and led her husband to the name (after the distinctive marks on the bottom of pottery) and the wax covering. In the distillery, we were able to try the sour mash. Really, we were allowed to stick our nasty dirty fingers in the giant, hundred year old wooden drums to taste the foaming brew. Gross. Here, we were also able to try the bourbon before it is put in the barrels – that was truly fire water. The best part about this tour was dipping our own Maker’s Mark bottles in their trademark red wax (thanks, Mrs. Founder). I intentionally tried to overdip my bottle (an overdipped bottle is considered special, and one is placed in each case of whiskey… but most are scooped up by distributers and never make it to the packie), but they outsmarted me. They only made the dip pool deep enough to cover the neck of the bottle. Still, my overdipping zealousness resulted in a “foot.” The ladies at the dipping station told me that this was a good thing because a stable foot would come in handy when I was tipsy. Lovely. I still kind of thought my bottle looked like a kindergartner dipped it. Before we left, Matt and I both signed up to have our names engraved on a barrel; eight years from now, we will be invited to come back down for our barrel opening.

So, I still hate bourbon, even though I now know why it is such a special form of whiskey (there ARE rules: certain about of corn, certain barrels, certain water, and aged in Kentucky). But, when my barrel comes due at Maker’s Mark, I will come back and happily dip my bourbon. Even though I will be forty, I will probably still dip like I am four. And I’ll probably sip that way too.

Posted by Courtney