In Which we Visit the Broad Branch Distillery

“You really need to be more discriminating,” Lazarus teased me. “You like everything!”

Lazarus had been taking a late-afternoon nap when I got home, and was feigning irritation at being awakened. Actually, he was already sniffing the bottle of Rye Fidelity I had brought to show him.

It had been one of the rare days when I have extra time in the afternoon, and my wife and I had met to have lunch in downtown Winston. On the way back, she mentioned that she wanted to stop in at a chocolate shop she had heard about, so we took a short walk down Trade Street. The shop, Black Mountain Chocolate, turned out to be a very nice place indeed. In addition to featuring a dizzying array of unique confections, it was housed in what was clearly a reconditioned tobacco warehouse. The updated space was comfortingly modern and had an urban, sophisticated air which I liked very much. 

“You? An urban sophisticate!?!” Lazarus hooted. He had the cork out of the bottle and was about to pour himself a sample.

“Well, no, that isn’t me at all, certainly, but I like the modern, industrial style, anyway.”

“The colder the better…” he teased, flashing his toothy smile.

“No, this wasn’t cold at all! There was this lovely dark wood…”

“No steel and concrete?”

“Well… there was some steel, yes, but…”

“Never mind, boss. Then what happened?”

There were three other local businesses in the complex, and as we waited in line to pay for the chocolate, I happened to glance across the parking lot. The sign for the Broad Branch Distillery immediately caught my eye. I politely excused myself, saying I’d just go “poke my head in.” 

“... and she fell for that, eh?” Lazarus asked, closing his eyes as he sniffed at the rye in his glass.

“I don’t think it will work again, certainly.”

The tasting room was pleasant and inviting. Small, but not cramped, with clean lines and an orderly, symmetrical layout. Large windows overlooked the maze of oak, copper, and steel (Lazarus chuckled) that was the distilling operation proper.

“You like the spicy stuff for sure,” observed Lazarus, after his first sip of the rye. “OK, boss, I’ll give you this one. I’m getting the walnut and nutmeg especially on the nose, and the toffee flavor is very nice indeed. There’s a lot going on in this.” 

“Apparently, the heirloom rye is grown in Prosser, back in my home state,” I added.

“Where is Prosser again?”

“South of Yakima, on the way to the Tri-Cities. I used to go through there when I was driving between Tacoma and Walla Walla.”

Lazarus, who had obviously never heard of any of these places, chuckled into his glass. “Great, thanks!” he grinned.

A few weeks later, I snuck out from work early in the afternoon on a Wednesday, and Lazarus and I went back to Broad Branch together. Don and Joe were busy with the still, but kind enough to come out and talk with us from some time. Since we were already fans of the rye, they served us up samples of Nightlab 1.0 (more on that in a later post), Nobilium, and the freshly-released Supercollider.

Nobilium is unique: the mash bill includes corn, barley, rye, cane sugar, and hops, and it is aged for three years in European oak barrels. Lazarus furrowed his brow as he held the little cup to his nose, then his eyes brightened as he took the first sip.

“Wonderfully rich and sweet!” he observed. “I especially like how balanced it is. The maple isn’t at all overwhelming, and the hops add a sort of floral note on top.”

“I really like this!” I agreed.

Lazarus snorted. “There you go again!”

“You can also really taste the difference in the process,” he added. “Notice the creamy consistency and complex flavor? That’s the pot still at work.”

Don agreed: while the column still was especially suited for pure, neutral spirits like vodka or gin, the pot still trapped the esters that produced the rich, complex flavors they were after. The guiding principle was, essentially, to get out of the way of the process; to create an environment that enabled the yeast, the still, and the oak barrels do their work unimpeded, drawing as much flavor from the mash as possible. Their approach reminded me of Peter Reinhardt, who might build an indirect dough from pre-fermented cornmeal, rolled oats, millet, etc, or use a long and cold fermentation to enhance the flavor and texture of his artisan bread. In fact, the thesis of his masterwork, The Bread Baker’s Apprentice, seemed strikingly appropriate for Broad Branch: “I want to forge into the next frontier with you, beyond simply making bread, and on to explore its possibilities from the inside out… my goal is to teach you to fly without controls, by feel, the way a good pilot must from time to time.”

Supercollider is a perfect example: here, Don and Joe co-ferment their rye mash with macerated fruit, and then age the resulting product for six years in both new oak and old brandy barrels. The result is a sort of cross between a rye and a brandy, and each batch is a unique experiment. The previous batch had used apples, but this season’s batch was made from pears. I was skeptical at first, fearing that it would be sickeningly sweet, but was very pleasantly surprised.

“Wow!” I marveled, “I was afraid the pear would be overpowering, but it’s really subtle!”

“Pears are pretty subtle anyway,” Lazarus chuckled, “but I agree completely. The sweetness is light and refreshing, but still spicy and complex. This is innovative stuff for sure.”

“I’m really impressed that operations like this and Southern Distilling can both be so sophisticated, and yet so entirely different. There’s more to unpack here…”

“Sure boss, sure.” Lazarus yawned. “Maybe another time. For now, I’ll give you a pass: this is a good place after all.”

Lazarus climbed onto my back and rested his chin on my shoulder. Soon he was breathing deeply and regularly. 

While the stress and politics of my job continued to wear on me both emotionally and physically, I was grateful for the privilege it afforded me of being able to buy bottles of both products and support the work going on there. Later in the evening, Lazarus and I sat on the porch with our Nobilium (about an ounce, with one ice cube), to watch the sun go down and listen to the neighborhood dogs bark. 

“Nice work, boss.” Lazarus said, “in fact, I’m so impressed, that the next time you have a day off, I’ll show you another unique place.”

“I’ll clear my schedule,” I promised.