Short Take: Southern Star Single Barrels #41 and #61
In late February and early March, when COVID-19 seemed rather more remote, Lazarus and I continued our tours of local distilleries, and re-visited some of our friends to sample their new releases. This is the third in a series of “short takes” that discuss the latter.
Bill and Lazarus are continuing to stay healthy and positive. Bill is working from home, and there is no shortage of work to be done around the house. While it seems unlikely that “normal” will never return, we look forward to something at least similar to it, and grieve for the toll COVID-19 has taken. We hope that the new normal will be better, and trust in both human resilience and the compassion of God.
Lazarus and I never miss an opportunity to visit our friends at Southern Distilling in Statesville, and we happened to be passing through in early March. We were researching a piece on un-aged, or “white” whiskeys, and I had heard that they were changing the mash bill on Southern Star White. We were hoping to be able to pick up a bottle of the new formula, so as to include both in the article. As we made the short drive Westward, Lazarus climbed up the back of my seat and started teasing me:
“Well boss, we were just talking about ‘the bourbon that I have and you don’t’… you might want to hang on to your bottle of the old white formula just for bragging rights.”
I thought about this.
“You’re right: after too much longer, there won’t be any more of it.”
“... and you’ll have a rare bottle of the original.”
“I could butter up my friends, anyway: ‘Now, I don’t give this to just anybody…’”
“You should keep it in a safe… or under the stairs!”
“Now there’s a thought. I could install a sliding wall.”
Lazarus tumbled backward in laughter.
“Really though, boss, you’ve come a long way since I met you. Driving out here to follow up on a hot tip about a mash bill… you’re becoming one of those guys who ‘knows people.’”
“Is it that bad?”
“It could be worse... Is that our turn?
“In fact, it is, my furry little GPS.”
Lazarus chucked again, and said in a high, mechanical voice, “In 800 feet…”
When we drove up, I was surprised to see the parking lot quite crowded. Thinking there must be a large group taking the tour, I was even more surprised to find we were the only guests in the tasting room.
“No, that is just for the usual production staff,” Liz told me from across the bar.
I looked through the large windows to the production floor, and saw that they had acquired the six additional fermenters Tom had told me about at my first visit. I commented on it and Liz told me they were still in the process of getting everything installed, but that they would be running three shifts before too much longer.
They always take care of me at Southern, and within minutes of sitting down, I frequently have two or three tasting glasses, a cup of bourbon-infused coffee, and some experimental cocktails in front of me in addition to my usual Old Fashioned. This time was no exception: Liz told me that there were two new single-barrel releases just out, and asked if I wanted to sample them.
Lazarus and I looked at each other - how could we refuse?
“Now, this is interesting,” Lazarus commented while Liz poured out the samples, “We were just at Southern Grace, where their bourbon is all single-barrel, and they had a special release that was a blend. Here, it’s just the opposite: Southern Star Standard is a blend, and the special releases are single-barrels.”
“I’m a little embarrassed that I didn’t notice that before,” I admitted lamely.
“Well, it’s consistent with the brand identities, anyway.” Lazarus mused. “The Whiskey Prison ‘outlaws’ are comfortable with... what would your French friends call it?”
“A broader plane of consistency?”
“Yes! Exactly. Remember how Mr. Thacker told us he was more interested in people who, ‘like this about this’?”
As I considered this, Liz presented the samples.
They had selected ten barrels, she explained, and David Scheurich, a flavor profiler from High Spirits Enterprises LLC (formerly the general manager of Woodford Reserve) had come out to evaluate them. Of the ten, he had found six that were exceptional, and of those, they had selected two for single-barrel releases: barrels #41 and #61.
She urged us to try #61 first.
It was sweet on the nose, rather like cherries. On the front end it had hints of caramel and vanilla, and then…
Liz smiled and said, “It has a short finish, but a long burn.”
“Wow!” I said, after a moment.
Lazarus tittered into his glass. “You always say that, boss! What did I tell you about not being discriminating enough?”
“No, really,” I said hastily. “In comparison to the Standard, it has more body, or something; the flavor is deeper. I really see what you mean about the long burn, as well. It almost reminds me of the Conviction Double Oak, in that it feels bigger than it is: a 90 proof bourbon masquerading as a 101 proof rye, or whatever.”
“I can see it,” Lazarus mused. “Those sweet notes on the front though… this is good stuff.”
Next we tried the #41.
“Unbelievable,” I exclaimed. “On the nose, the #61 was sweet, but this is all… vanilla cream!”
Lazarus was scowling at the ceiling, running his tongue around his mouth, but I was really impressed. “This one definitely has the most body: positively creamy. And it’s warm on the finish instead of hot, as the #61. Oh, I like this!”
Lazarus wasn’t convinced. “I miss the fruit notes,” he said, “but I don’t disagree.”
“You ‘don’t disagree’? Nice double negative!”
Lazarus sat up furrily. “Well, I don’t agree with you! I simply ‘don’t disagree’!”
“I was just teasing… I get it - I think. What’s that flavor on the back end?”
“That would be the oak, my friend.”
“OK: right.”
As we bought the white whiskey we originally came for, I looked wistfully at the display of Single Barrels #61 and #41. Was I making a mistake leaving them in the store?
Lazarus was no help. In fact, he teased me all the way home.
“They’re single barrels, boss: once they’re gone, they’re gone. Are you sure you want to leave them there?”
“It’s all right.”
“You won’t be able to pick those babies up at the ABC Store for sure.”
“I know.”
“Someone else will buy them, and it’ll be the ‘bourbon they have that you don’t’!”
“Enough! We have plenty of booze!”
Later that night, though. I couldn’t sleep. COVID-19 was coming, after all, and small, local businesses were going to suffer the most. Buying booze from the local distillers was about the only thing I could do in order to help them out, right?
Fuzzy Face had a point as well: they were both great products, and each was one-of-a-kind. Once they were gone, they were gone, indeed. I really liked the #41… wasn’t that reason enough to pick up a bottle?
After all, Statesville wasn’t far, and I had some extra time at the end of the week - it wouldn’t really be any trouble to pop back over, right?
“Criminy! Go back to sleep!” the dog finally muttered at me.
The next morning came, inevitably, and I staggered over to the coffee pot.Lazarus looked over at me with bright, mischievous eyes. He crunched his oat squares smugly as I poured the coffee.
“OK, you win. We’re going back this morning.”
He coughed on the oat crumbs and then fell on his back laughing.
“No one will get the drop on you, boss!” He said, when he could breathe again.
“Shut up and get in the car.”
That evening, we sat across from the three bottles: the Standard, the #41, and the #61, and compared them again. There was really no way to lose: all three were outstanding products. I still liked the #41, though, and Lazarus was still crazy about the #61. I had made it a point to keep the pours light, but we were both starting to feel a little dizzy.
“Hey!” I finally said, “Let’s try your trick with the ice cube!”
“It wouldn’t really do the spirit justice not to!” Lazarus agreed unsteadily.
We started with the Standard again.
“I feel like it is a little deeper… richer, maybe?”
Lazarus nodded slowly. “Mmm…”
“The flavor of the #41 is similarly darker this way and… huh! I swear I’m getting the barley on the back end!”
“That’s not impossible, but the barley percentage is pretty low…”
I tried it again. “I’m still getting it. It could be my imagination after all, though. I’ll come back to it later.”
We eagerly tried the #61… and then looked at each other for a long moment.
Lazarus’s gaze drifted to the ceiling.
I looked off past his shoulder.
…
“Yeah,” we said at the same time.
“Don’t put ice in the #61.”