In Which we meet Crockett and Review Southern Artisan Spirits
It was a temperate weekend in November, and Fall had finally come to North Carolina. While my anxiety had settled down to the point that I could go off the medication, I had been swamped with work since mid-August, and was beginning to feel a little run down again. Since nothing at work was on fire at the moment, I elected to take the day off. I was re-reading a poem from The Annotated Archy and Mehitabel, when I heard Lazarus rummaging around in the liquor cabinet. I looked up to find him holding a bottle of Wild Turkey 101.
“What’s all this about, boss?”
“That’s my guilty pleasure.” I responded wearily. “When I go to the ABC store these days, it’s as though everything is personal—I know these people… so, when I look at the shelf, it’s as though I’m looking at all my friends. But, for all that, sometimes you just want something cheap and comforting.”
“Yes, I think I get it,” he responded, looking at the label, “and I don’t think anyone would begrudge you this…” He stuck his nose back into the cabinet. “Well, well, what’s this? You seem to have amassed the whole lineup from Southern Artisan Spirits here!”
“Everything I know about anyway.”
Lazarus methodically pulled out the Cardinal Gin, both original and barrel-rested, and then the Turning Point Bourbon and Rye bottles.
“You look like you could use some cheering up. What do you say we take some time to appreciate these?”
“Sounds good to me…”
The sun had conveniently gone behind a cloud, so we took everything out onto the deck. As we poured the spirits into tasting glasses, a cardinal flitted up and landed on the rail. He was a handsome devil, and I suspected he was the same one who sometimes alighted on the windowsill to watch me do the dishes.
“Somebody call?” he asked.
“Is that a joke?” Lazarus responded, looking at the stylized cardinals on the gin bottles.
The little red bird fluffed out his feathers and answered archly, “Well! I don’t mean to tell you two how to do your business, but,” (he looked pointedly at the tasting glasses) “if you’re looking to make some evaluations, you might (!) want the guidance of an expert in the field.”
Lazarus and I looked at each other.
“Well,” I answered, “since we can’t go to the distillery in person, it would be nice of you to help us out.”
The cardinal smoothed himself out and said sweetly, “No trouble at all! Name’s Crockett, and I’m originally from Kings Mountain, where Southern Artisan Spirits set up shop.”
Lazarus seemed a little put out, but grudgingly grunted assent.
“You’re aware, I’m sure, of the Battle of Kings Mountain?” Crockett asked.
“Uh… no.” I answered ashamedly.
“The turning point of the Revolution!” Crockett chirped. “Hence, the name of the spirits: Turning Point. On the label, you’ll see the mountain—actually ‘Kings Pinnacle’ - with storm clouds overhead. On one side: lightning strikes! The dirty Loyalist traitors!” He gesticulated furiously with his wings. “But! On the other: the sun is coming out! The Patriots win the day! … and they prevailed in a battle that lasted just! over! an hour!” He took a moment and sighed. “Not like the battles today, which drag on for months…”
He looked at us suspiciously, and added, “We don’t seem to have as many patriots as we used to!”
Lazarus frowned. “This is the Revolution we’re talking about? But you’re wearing red… weren’t the British the ones with the red coats?”
Crockett snorted. “North Carolina is a red state, my friend.” He glowered at us and asked, “what are you, a pair of socialists!?”
“Everyone knows communists are red!” Lazarus exploded, “the ‘Red Scare’? Mao’s ‘Little Red Book’?”
Crockett fluffed up his feathers again, and raised his voice: “You, sir, are an insult to the red, Southern, soil you’re standing on!”
“We’re on a deck!... and besides, the South was gray!”
“I’m a loyal, American bird, and I will not… ”
“You just said the Loyalists were the bad guys!”
“Wait! Stop!” I intervened. “We have enough problems as it is! There’s bourbon on the table, which is unquestionably American, and is great, whether they make it in North Carolina, Kentucky, Colorado, or again, in Washington State! Surely we can agree to that?”
Lazarus and Crockett stared at each other malevolently, but retreated to opposite sides of the table in a cease-fire.
“Let’s start with the Cardinal,” I suggested.
Crockett jumped, and then beamed. Lazarus grumbled to himself, but conceded. “At least we’re finally getting around to some gin!”
“I think you’ll find a consistent thread of spiciness woven through all four products from Southern Artisan Spirits,” Crockett began. “This gin was the flagship product of the distillery: it is a contemporary American gin, so if you’re looking for a big juniper hit,” (he glanced at Lazarus), “then this probably isn’t for you.”
“What? So I’m the traditionalist now?” Lazarus muttered.
“I’m getting mint on the nose,” I offered, quickly.
Crockett beamed again. “Yes! Spearmint is the dominant note!”
I took a sip.
“Mmm… mint on the front, I’m getting some spice and juniper in the mid-palate, and on the end it’s…. clean.”
I looked at Lazarus. He seemed about to say something about a hint of chlorine on the front end, but I stared him down.
“Yeah… this is a good gin,” he admitted, finally.
Crockett strutted over to the barrel-rested bottle. “Now give this a try!” he chirped proudly. “Aged six months in new oak barrels!”
Lazarus put his nose in the glass and frowned. “Mint, certainly, but also honey and… allspice?”
“Or clove?” I ventured.
Lazarus took a slow sip.
”Mint on the front, of course, but, maybe it’s the combination of the mint and the caramel, but I’m getting the allspice again in the middle…” he frowned and looked up at the clouds, “and maybe ginger?”
“It had sort of a Christmas feel,” I offered. “Like a mulled wine, maybe?”
“I can see that…” Lazarus confirmed. “It definitely ends with the allspice note… which is actually, well, quite nice.”
Crockett puffed up with pride.
“These barrel-rested gins are proving to be an interesting field,” I mused. “This is nothing like the Oak and Grist barrel-rested gin… although, the gins are nothing alike either.”
It seemed like a pretty meaningless observation, and I was a little embarrassed to have said it out loud, but Lazarus gave me the benefit of the doubt.
“For sure, boss, for sure. It’s worth making a separate category for it.”
Encouraged, I continued, “I had one at Dry Fly in Spokane - their gin had a note of apple on the front, shifting to coriander on the finish, but the barrel-rested played up the coriander and caramel. It was aged in a wheat whiskey barrel and even seemed to have picked up some buttery notes. They recommended it for an Old Fashioned, which…”
“Which, of course, you didn’t try!”
“Uh, well… no, but it would have made an exceptionally light Old Fashioned at that.”
“Boss, If that place wasn’t three thousand miles away, I’d make you take me there… isn’t that the place with the triticale?”
“Yes, and oats…”
“A-hrrm!” Crockett cleared his throat.
We turned our attention to the Turning Point bottles.
“The mash bills for both the bourbon and the rye are 60-20-20.” Crockett began. “For the bourbon, the corn is 60% (obviously), and the other two grains are rye and barley. For the rye, the corn and rye percentages are reversed.”
“Seems pretty standard so far,” I commented, without thinking.
“Boss!” Lazarus was aghast. “Have you forgotten everything? That’s actually pretty high for barley - remember that most commercial bourbons are between 12 and 14%!”
“I guess it has been awhile.” I said lamely.
“The Warehouse products had percentages in those ranges… maybe we should have picked up some bottles of Boundary Street for comparison,” Lazarus mused.
“I have lost touch with them recently—I wonder if they finished their renovation…”
“Just in time for COVID?”
“A-HRRM!” Crockett cleared his throat. “Should we start with the bourbon?”
I inhaled gently and was engulfed in sugary caramel notes. “I think I finally get what people are talking about with ‘pear,’” I ventured, “and that other note.. is that tobacco?”
Lazarus frowned, “Possibly… or leather.”
On the sip, the initial sweetness turned into a pleasant spice underscored by some bitter notes. The spices lingered on the finish.
“Do you suppose that sort of ginger/all-spice note is for real, or is it the combination of mint and caramel that makes it seem like spice?” Lazarus asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“The spice comes from the rye,” insisted Crockett. “Where would a bourbon pick up mint notes?”
“Maybe it’s the other way around then,” Lazarus mused, “the high barley percentage gives it the sugary fruitiness, which then makes the spice notes seem minty.”
Crockett shook his head in irritation. “What the… !?! Are you using a clean glass?”
Lazarus’s hackles started to rise, so I interjected, “And on to the rye!” to divert his attention.
The rye was also sugary on the nose, and if the bourbon had a pear note, this was definitely richer: more like plums. The tobacco/leather note was even stronger. I looked over at Lazarus, but he was already sipping his.
“Well, I’m getting more caramel in this than I did in the bourbon.”
I sipped mine to catch up. “Yes… the plum-sugar note stays strong after the caramel and… there are our spices on the finish.”
“I’d be curious to see this operation,” Lazarus continued. “Notice how the mouth-feel is light, not as creamy as it could be.”
Crockett stiffened again.
“That bears some looking into,” I agreed. “I wonder if it’s the barley that does that or something about the process?”
“Of course, if you’ve been drinking a lot of high-proof or single-barrel bourbons…”
“... which I have…”
“... your expectations might be a little different.”
“Well?” Crockett asked, significantly.
“The barrel-rested gin and the rye are the real stand-outs here,” Lazarus asserted.
“The regular gin is also very nice…” I ventured.
“Yes,” Lazarus agreed, “but I think the barrel-resting makes something that was ‘good’ into something that is ‘great.’”
“Well, I can’t argue with you there—I wonder what that would do with cherries and oranges in an Old-Fashioned?”
“I can recommend it!” Crockett beamed. “As you said, there’s a Christmas feel to the barrel-rested gin, and it is November… the holidays are right around the corner!”
I was grateful that the little red bird seemed to be letting Lazarus’s omission of the bourbon slide. There’s no sense in burning bridges.
“Anything else, boss?” Lazarus asked.
I thought for a minute before answering. Crockett had me fixed with his piercing little eyes.
“Well,” I answered carefully, “I’m certainly feeling better anyway.”