By Timothy Long I had never spent time in Louisville. I had driven by it. My dad and I once stopped at Churchill Downs to bet on a few races, but that was forever ago. When my wife Leigh and I are in that area, we are usually in Lexington where her brother lives. I love Lexington. It’s a beautiful quaint little city. I’ve written about its charms in this column. However, Louisville is different. It’s also charming, but in its own special way. Plus, the Bourbon Trail begins there. Who could ask for more? We traveled there recently for the Bourbon Classic, the best bourbon event in the world. We stayed at one of America’s classic hotels, the Seelbach, a beautiful historic hotel right in downtown Louisville. The Seelbach was a social hub in the early 1900s that attracted celebrities, politicians, and even gangsters. Al Capone is said to have frequented the hotel, using it as a discreet meeting place while conducting bootlegging operations throughout the region. F. Scott Fitzgerald, one of my favorite writers, visited the Seelbach in the early 1920s. The hotel’s opulent Grand Ballroom is widely believed to have inspired scenes in The Great Gatsby. Once we settled in, it was time to check out the bar and have a bourbon. Before you judge, it was well after noon, by at least ten or fifteen minutes. And Louisville is known as Bourbon City. We head downstairs and into the Old Seelbach bar. It’s a beautiful classic bar that feels closer to a pre-Prohibition lounge than a modern cocktail bar. It’s dark woods, polished brass, and slightly hushed ambiance envelope you as you enter. Then you see it, the whiskey selection. As is common in Louisville, the entire back of the bar is row after row of…
By Timothy Long Most great adventures begin with a phone call. And I had just missed this one. Tom Gale, the Director of Operations at Virtue Feed and Grain, a great local restaurant, had called. Tom’s affectionately known in Old Town as Big T. Virtue has one of the best bourbon programs on the east coast, and Tom is the man who built it. He never calls. I usually text him when I want a table at the restaurant. What’s the sense in having friends if you can’t take advantage of them? It must be a bourbon emergency. I listened to the voicemail. “Why isn’t anyone answering their phone’s today? I hate voicemail. Call me back. I got something big we need to discuss.” I called him back. After a quick hello, Tom jumps right into the details. He had been offered the opportunity to do a bourbon barrel pick from Buffalo Trace Distillery. Buffalo Trace is one of the best distilleries in Kentucky. It’s located in Frankfurt, KY, not far from Louisville. Tom was going to be in Louisville for the Bourbon Classic and knew that I would be there also. A bourbon barrel pick is when a specific barrel of bourbon is chosen and bought by one person or a company. Most bourbons are made by blending whiskey from many barrels to keep the flavor consistent from batch to batch. With a barrel pick, however, a group, often a restaurant or bar, tastes samples from several individual barrels at the distillery. They select the one they like best based on its unique flavor profile. That single barrel is then bottled separately and labeled as a “barrel pick,” or “private selection.” Tom was asking me to be on a barrel pick committee to help select the bourbon he would…
By Timothy Long But some people probably shouldn’t be… St. Paddy’s Day falls on a Tuesday this year, and my friends and I love that! Did I just give you pause? (He wrote with a chuckle) Well, allow me to expound on that sentiment. I am sure that some of you are wondering why we love our holiday falling on a Tuesday. It’s easy. When St. Paddy’s Day falls on a weekday, the early crowd is a true Irish American crowd. They’re there for the same reason we are, to celebrate their heritage, in true Irish fashion, of course. And they understand that it’s about camaraderie and enjoyment, not just getting drunk “St. Patrick’s Day is all about being Irish and celebrating as only the Irish know how.: – Anthony T. Hincks My buddies and I have a long running Old Town St. Paddy’s Day routine. The day starts early, with breakfast. Eating is important on this day. Forgetting to do so can be dangerous. The day is a marathon, not a sprint. So planning is essential. And starting with a full belly is one of the keys to success. I also set my phone alarm to remind me to eat lunch. It’s easy to get caught up in the festivities and forget. It’s only one day. And one wants to get a full day out of it. We sometimes eat breakfast at a local restaurant, an Old Town staple known as Table Talk. Or we head straight to the pub and have breakfast there. Either way, we are sitting at the upstairs bar at Murphy’s Grand Irish Pub on King Street by nine o’clock am. Times have changed, but the location hasn’t. The festivities always begin at Murphy’s. “There are only two kinds of people in the world: the…
By Timothy Long February is the shortest month of the year, but it feels like it’s the longest. It’s the Tuesday of months. It’s lipstick on a pig. Do you get that February is not my favorite month? If you regularly read this column, you probably already knew that. It’s a dull and dismal month that’s usually colder than January. You shiver so much that it counts as a workout. And it doesn’t offer us much in the way of fun. The best part is the Super Bowl, but that’s always at the very beginning. At least in January you have New Years Day and playoff football for both NFL and college teams throughout the month. In February you get Valentine’s Day, a holiday created by Hallmark. It was the greeting card industry’s biggest success. But now even Valentine’s Day has been eclipsed by the Hallmark Channels and Hallmark Christmas movies. Our wives and significant others should be buying us dinner after we have suffered through Hallmark Christmas. I know, wishful thinking. Let’s face the brutal facts, February is 28 days, sometimes 29 during bad years, that we are never going to get back However, I feel that maybe this February will be different. Maybe this February will turn out to be fairly fun. Maybe, just maybe, this February wont consist of us counting the days until March. Why? Because there is a feeling in the air, and a fun event that many of you may not know about. The feeling in the air is Olympic Fever, and the fun event is the Waste Management (WM) Phoenix Open. The fact that I just suggested a PGA event for fun may throw off those who don’t play golf. You’re probably thinking “What the hell is fun about a golf tournament?” Keep…
By Timothy Long Why didn’t I think of this before? It’s so obvious. These end of year lists are everywhere. They pop up on social media. They come in emails. They glare at us from magazine stands. It’s like being hit on the head with a mallet. I guess the most obvious things are often the hardest to see. The idea dawned on me while I was reading the most recent edition of Whiskey Advocate. I subscribe to both Whiskey Advocate and Cigar Afficionado. And I’m like a kid in a candy store when either magazine arrives. This year’s Whiskey Advocate winner was the Elijah Craig 12 Year 3-Month-Old Barrel Proof Rye. Heaven Hill does a great job with the Elijah Craig series, and I was happy to read that one of their newer brands had been named Whiskey of the Year. It’s the first rye whiskey ever to win the award. The writers claimed it earned the award for its complex and balanced profile, which includes notes of baking spices, stewed fruits, and a generous rye spice finish. Reviewers from Whisky Advocate specifically praised its maturity, depth, and surprising approachability. At 108 Proof and $75, I am definitely adding it to my wish list. So, while I’m reading about this wonderful whiskey, an idea popped into my head. Why don’t I do my year end favorites? If the writers of Whiskey Advocate and Cigar Afficionado can do it, so can I! It’s all about passion. And I have a passion for good beer, good whiskey, and good cigars. My passion also includes other things as well, like golf, family, etc. But one must have one’s priorities. My list works a little differently than most. Each category will have a winner and a runner up. It’s just like a beauty pageant. And…
By Timothy Long Christmas comes once a year. And when it comes, it brings good beer. Holiday beers have been around almost as long as people have realized winter is cold and alcohol can make it warm, or at least bearable. My guess is that our ancestors figured this relationship out rather quickly. The Vikings kicked things off with Jól ale during Yule—strong, malty brews that were basically ancient antifreeze. And they probably tasted like antifreeze. If you could still pronounce your own name after a mug or two, you probably didn’t brew it right. Medieval Europeans picked up the tradition, brewing darker, richer ales for the winter months. Monks were especially good at it. Let’s face it, you can only do so much praying and meditating. And nothing says “silent night” like a warming ale that could knock a reindeer on its butt. The monks tossed in whatever they had around: honey, herbs, spruce tips… basically the medieval equivalent of “let’s see what’s in the pantry.” By the 18th and 19th centuries, British brewers created “winter warmers”—beers designed to keep you cozy and maybe help you tolerate your obnoxious brother-in- law and the other uppity relatives who visited during the holidays. These weren’t heavily spiced beers. And they were just strong enough to make you forget how short the days were. The big modern turning point for the American craft beer industry came in 1975, when Anchor Brewing released its first Anchor Christmas Ale. They changed the recipe every year, which created a yearly anxious crowd of holiday beer lovers dying for the new release. Craft brewers everywhere saw this and collectively said, “Oh, we can go wild with this,” leading to peppermint porters, gingerbread stouts, cranberry saisons, and at least one beer that tasted suspiciously like fruitcake (and…
By Timothy Long “When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter, I spang from my bed to see what was the matter.” These words from Clement Clarke Moore’s famous poem, A Visit from St. Nicholas, almost applied to the situation, but not quite. It was not the night before Christmas; it was Thanksgiving morning. And I was not in bed. I was on a couch in my parent’s rec room. This is where you ended up when you were the youngest child and you came home for the holidays. The fact that you’re 24 years old doesn’t matter at all. You got the couch. I can still hear my mother on the phone with anyone who was coming to visit, “Oh, it’s fine. You can have the spare bedroom. Timmy can sleep on the couch.” That statement ruled my childhood. You see, I was not only the youngest sibling. I was the youngest of all the cousins on my father’s side of the family. So, if anyone came to visit, for any occasion, I was condemned to sleep on the couch. And the clatter was not St. Nicholas. That noise would have been welcomed. It was my two oldest nephews playing “Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots”. Not only was the two-robot battle loud, but the accusations of cheating had begun to fly. Sibling rivalry can be vicious and noisy. I glanced at my watch. It was eight o’clock in the morning. I had been asleep for approximately four hours. At this point in my life, I looked forward more to Thanksgiving Eve than Thanksgiving Day itself. Thanksgiving Eve was then, and remains today, the biggest bar night of the year. And this one had not been disappointing. It had been a long night of debauchery with cousins and…
By Timothy Long If you’ve never been to Lexington, KY, you need to go. It’s a short plane ride, and worth it. Lexington is a small quaint city with thoroughbred horses, beautiful countryside, a great food scene, and, of course, world class bourbon. The horserace track, Keenland, is absolutely stunning. It only runs races twice a year, in April and October. So, we couldn’t go on this trip. It’s so elegant that you would not be surprised to see King Charles there. We were visiting to attend the University of Kentucky and Ole Miss football game. My wife, Leigh, attended Ole Miss. Her brother, Colby, lives in downtown Lexington. His house is one hundred yards from everything, or at least he claims it is. Colby picked us up at the airport in Cincinnati. Lexington has its own airport, but sometimes it is easier, and cheaper, to fly into Cincinnati or Louisville, both of which are close. Our first stop was lunch at Libby’s Southern Comfort in Covington, Kentucky. A wonderful choice made by Colby. Covington is a cute little town not far from the airport. Libby’s is a very homey, diner-style restaurant. As you enter, it kind of looks like a dive, which is usually a good sign. The bar is right by the host stand at the front and displays an amazing bourbon selection. I knew that we were in Bourbon country, but wow! The bourbon list in this little place was impressive. “They have quite a bourbon selection.” I said to Colby. “Can’t stay in business long around here without a good bourbon selection,” he said with a smile as he also admired the bottles. We got a table and began to peruse the menu, which featured both fried chicken and bourbon. Not quite ready to start drinking…
By Timothy Long “A Wonderful Coincidence or Divine Intervention?” It has to be more than just dumb luck. There has to be a better explanation. Higher intelligence must have caused it. It’s the ultimate proof of intelligent design. The fact that the release of Oktoberfest beer coincides with the start of American football and tailgating season is too fantastic to be a coincidence. I believe it to be divine intervention, a true act of God. It’s proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy. Ben Franklin is credited with saying the above quote. But unfortunately, Ben never actually said it. It’s a myth. But a myth that many people love and choose to believe regardless of the evidence. Why? Very simple, it’s a feel-good quote. And it does sound like something that Ben would have said. Ben was known to enjoy a pint, or two, or three. Here is Ben’s actual quote: “Behold the rain which descends from heaven upon our vineyards; there it enters the roots of the vines, to be changed into wine; a constant proof that God loves us and loves to see us happy.” That quote sounds more like Thomas Jefferson than Benjamin Franklin. Tom was a true connoisseur of fine wine, especially French wine. The quote is boring, a bit pompous, and way too pretentious for your everyday beer drinker. And worst of all, it’s about wine. Beer is associated with fun way more than wine is. Wine is “formal” fun; beer is “casual” fun. When we picture Ben drinking, we picture a tankard of beer in his hand, not a goblet of wine. My guess is that the quote was slowly altered and adopted by beer drinkers over time due to their mutual love for beer and for Ben. Oktoberfest is…
By Timothy Long August marks the fourth anniversary of this column. It gives me quite a feeling of accomplishment. The column has done well. Even if I do say so myself. I decided to go back and read my first article in this series “Give Me Hops, But Don’t Give Me Bitter Death.” The article deals with a trip to Pittsburgh, which, by the way, has a great craft beer scene. I wrote about how the craft beer industry was moving away from the idea that a bitter beer was a better beer. I discussed the use of hops and how hops were associated with bitterness. If I may quote myself from that first article: Even the mere mention of hops makes many beer drinkers think of only one word, bitter. Over-hopped beer can be very bitter. It also raises the specter of beer elitism. We envision brew pub bars packed with man-bun-wearing millennials sipping from a flight of five small glasses in front of them while they are taking notes, discussing aromas, and comparing flavors. The trend away from bitterness has continued. Mercifully, so too man buns. And craft brewers now create a variety of great beers with complex delightful flavors using hops. I was pondering what to write about this month, when I received an email from Ryan Pederson, the General Manager at Port City Brewing Company. It seems that Port City was releasing some new beers, and Ryan was inviting me to come in for a tasting. The timing was great. Just as I was wondering about a subject, I got an invitation from one of my favorite breweries. A brewery which also just happens to be a ten-minute drive from my home. The beer gods had spoken. I was destined to write about Port City. Now…
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