So what’s actually happening in Bardstown, Kentucky, every September? And how did a festival that started with nine distilleries in 2019 become the event that the bourbon world didn’t know it was missing? Randy Prasse, the Director of the Kentucky Bourbon Festival, joined me this week to answer exactly that.

Distilleries First, Everything Else Second

The framework Randy uses to explain KBF’s growth is deceptively simple: take care of the distilleries, and the enthusiasts will follow. It sounds obvious, but it represents a break from how many events in this space still work. When Randy reimagined the festival between 2019 and 2021, he made a deliberate bet: give the distilleries what they need to show up in a meaningful way, and they’ll keep showing up. So far, he hasn’t been wrong.

The introduction of on-site bottle sales was the inflection point. Randy describes what it did for small craft distilleries in terms that are hard to argue with — for some of them, a three-day window of being in front of several thousand pre-qualified bourbon enthusiasts ready to spend money was the difference between a profitable year and a very difficult one. What started as optional is now essentially mandatory for any distillery that legally can sell. And the consumers who come know it. They’re not just there to sip; they’re there to buy things they can’t get anywhere else.

“The bourbon festival has become the consumer electronics show for bourbon,” Randy told me. “Distilleries are either rebranding altogether or bringing new products to market starting with the festival.”

Lawrenceburg rebranded to Larrkin on the festival grounds. Dark Arts debuted to lines that rivaled Heaven Hill. EJ Curly was essentially unknown when the first modern KBF ran — and walked away as one of the most talked-about booths of the weekend. That unpredictability, Randy says, is a feature, not a bug.

The Line Problem (And the Very Deliberate Fix)

Ask anyone who has attended KBF in the last couple of years about the experience and eventually the conversation turns to lines. Randy doesn’t deflect from it. He’s spent a significant part of this off-season in direct meetings with the top distilleries specifically about line management — how to communicate better with people about what’s available, how to keep someone from standing in a 45-minute queue only to be told they missed the last bottle, and how to build in more moments of controlled anticipation rather than a free-for-all at 11 AM when VIP opens.

Staggered releases may be experimented with this year. Better front-of-house communication is a priority. And Randy draws a useful distinction: the lines aren’t a problem to eliminate, because waiting is a recognized part of bourbon culture. The problem is uninformed disappointment. Those are two very different experiences, and fixing the second one doesn’t require eliminating the first.

New Riff, the Featured Distillery, and the Bill Samuels Origin Story

The 2026 Featured Distillery is New Riff — which feels perfectly timed given that they just took home World’s Best Bourbon at the World Whiskies Awards. The story of how the Featured Distillery program exists at all is worth telling.

It started with Bill Samuels donating a barrel during COVID, before the re-imagined festival had even run its first event. He believed in what Randy was building, wanted to support it, and handed over a barrel’s worth of bourbon for the festival to bottle and sell. Randy’s honest admission that he didn’t quite know what to do with a barrel of bourbon — “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” — is one of the better moments in the conversation. But from that gesture came a single barrel program, a VIP bottle inclusion, and eventually the full Featured Distillery experience: a named cocktail, the distiller’s dinner, elevated prominence on the grounds.

New Riff started at KBF in a 10-by-10 craft tent. They’ve been there since nearly the beginning. Watching them grow into a world-recognized brand, and then celebrating that by handing them the featured distillery platform, is exactly the kind of story the festival was built to produce.

The Part Nobody Sees

Bardstown has a population of roughly 13,000 people. The Kentucky Bourbon Festival effectively doubles it for a long weekend. You are, by most measures, temporarily building a small city in the grounds of Spalding Hall — a venue that shares its footprint with a Catholic church, a city hall, two schools, and streets that have to keep functioning for people who live there.

Randy talks about this with a seriousness that I think gets underappreciated from the outside. The eight-day setup. The three-day teardown. The $10,000 in overseeding and power-washing to restore the grounds afterward. The security perimeter that went up a full block around the festival after the industry’s profile grew enough to require it. The volunteer coordinator whose entire job is recruiting the hundred-plus people who show up to help distilleries unload trucks. None of this is visible on a Saturday afternoon when you’re sipping bourbon under the trees — which is exactly how it’s supposed to work.

“If we don’t get it right, we have 361 days until we have another opportunity to do it right.”

What’s Still Available for 2026

If you missed the main ticket window, not everything is gone. Sunday Sampler passes — one-day tickets for the final day of the festival — are still available as of the recording of this episode. Randy’s case for Sunday deserves consideration: it’s a more relaxed pace, the bottle-sale pressure has eased, and it’s an ideal entry point for first-timers or anyone who wants to test-drive the experience before committing to a multi-day weekend in 2027. Add-on premium experiences (culinary events, education sessions, cocktail programming, lockers, shuttles) were going on sale this week for anyone who already holds a ticket. Check kybourbonfestival.com and follow @kybourbonfest on Instagram and Facebook for timing.

The Bigger Picture

Fifteen countries represented in the attendee base in 2025. Eighty-five percent of ticket buyers coming from outside Kentucky. Small craft distilleries crediting the event with saving their year. A 36-year festival industry veteran who still wakes up at 3:30 AM on ticket sale day with a nervous stomach. The Kentucky Bourbon Festival isn’t just a good event. It’s become something more structural to the bourbon industry than that — a marketplace, a debut platform, a community gathering point, and a genuinely compelling reason to spend a September weekend in one of the most beautiful small towns in America.

The full conversation is worth your time. Listen wherever you get your podcasts, or watch on YouTube. And if you want more of this — interviews with the people who make, build, and run this industry — subscribe below. Pinkies down.

🎙 Subscribe to EmbellishPod on Substack for full show notes, articles, and more every week. Find all links at www.embellishpod.com · @embellishpod on Instagram and TikTok · #PinkiesDown

Yeah. That April.

The timing was bad, but COVID wasn’t actually the thing that nearly killed the project. It was the Wake County inspectors who approved his building design, then proceeded to make him change almost everything once construction started. By the time he opened in January 2021, he’d gone through his construction budget, his contingency fund, all the money set aside for process piping, and his entire 401k.

The stills he bought in 2018? They’re still sitting in the building in Zebulon. Never been fired up. Probably never will be.

When the Plan Falls Apart

Brandon’s original vision was straightforward enough: train a team to distill, lay down barrels, and eventually blend his own aged whiskey. But when the world changes theres a moment where he has to decide what he was actually doing.

“I had this come-to-Jesus moment with myself,” he told me. “What do I have to do, and what do I love to do? My craft is blending. And blending is completely different from distilling.”

So he pivoted. Hard.

Today Olde Raleigh sources from 11 different distilleries across five states. Brandon works with 14 cask types from around the world—Armagnac, Tawny Port, Palo Cortado Sherry, Spanish orange wine, honey casks, coffee casks. He doesn’t repeat batches. Ever. Each release is built from whatever he’s pulled from what he calls his “pantry” of barrels, and when it’s gone, it’s gone.

Building a Bouquet

Brandon talks about sourcing the way a florist might talk about building an arrangement. Some barrels are the roses—they anchor the blend, provide structure and volume. Others are accent pieces. A pop of flavor on the front. A long finish that builds into a crescendo. Something that wouldn’t work on its own but makes everything around it better.

“The art of blending is layering these elements on top of one another,” he said, “so the sum is greater than its individual parts.”

His small batch uses nine different recipes. The barrel proof pulls from four grains across nine mashbills, ranging from four to 21 years old. Both get dumped into a 350-gallon tank and rested—sometimes for three months—before he starts proofing down. And that proofing happens slowly. Weeks, not days.

“At 120 proof, it tastes one way. As you drop down, you’re taking the mic away from the fire. All these lighter notes start looking to sing. My job is to figure out if I like what’s being sung.”

The Thousand Blends Mission

Here’s where it gets a little crazy.

Brandon’s current project is to release 1,000 unique one-off blends. He calls it “Project Thousand Blends.” Every week, he puts out three one-of-one bottles—different finishes, different combinations, different experiments. Visitors to the tasting room can try flights of whatever’s current and scan a QR code to give feedback.

It’s part R&D lab, part proof of concept, and entirely about putting in reps.

“How do you become the best at anything?” Brandon asked. “You get the reps. That word ‘master blender’—I own that title. But I want to earn it by outworking every other blender in the world.”

At his current pace, he’ll release 181 distinct products this year. That includes the Thousand Blends bottles, member exclusives for the Olde Raleigh Whiskey Society, limited releases like Olde Stoge, and his core lineup.

I don’t know anyone else in the industry doing anything close to that volume of unique expressions to be released, not to mention the ones that never see the public.

Olde Stogie and the Armagnac That Wasn’t Ready

Olde Stogie is probably Olde Raleigh’s flagship limited release at this point—a bourbon finished in Armagnac and Tawny Port casks, designed to pair with cigars. It won best micro-distillery in the US at an international competition in 2023.

Brandon didn’t even know that was something you could win.

“I submitted it to get a report card,” he said. “I’m out here in rural North Carolina. The prominent blenders are in Scotland. I just wanted to know—how am I doing against the folks who started it all?”

Apparently pretty well.

But the real lesson from Olde Stogie was patience. Around month eight of the finishing process, Brandon noticed the Armagnac really starting to open up into the bourbon. Instead of bottling, he let it sit another six months.

“Sometimes good things just take time. You can rush it. But you’re probably not going to get the best version of what you’re making.”

Hand Everything

If you’re a process efficiency consultant, Olde Raleigh will make you twitch. There’s no automation. Blending is done with paddles. Bottling is by hand. Labeling is by hand. Brandon calls himself “a Six Sigma consultant’s worst nightmare.”

But that’s the trade-off for owning 100% of the company. No investors telling him that 181 releases in a year is excessive. No board questioning why he’s experimenting with a 10-cask finish that nobody asked for. No pressure to expand into 15 states before the product is ready.

“I don’t really have hobbies,” Brandon admitted. “Olde Raleigh is my baby. I had a couple drive five hours from Charleston to spend two hours with us, then drive five hours back. I think about that. They could’ve been anywhere. They chose to spend their Saturday here.”

The stills are still sitting in the building. Brandon calls them the most expensive art exhibit in Zebulon.

But the blending—the thing he thought he was working toward—turned out to be the whole point.

Olde Raleigh Whiskey is located in Zebulon, North Carolina. The next Olde Stoge release drops in two weeks. For more information or to join the Whiskey Society, visit olderaleighwhiskey.com.

#PinkiesDown

Propaganda & ProducerTrentTaylor Mid90s Records / Reflection Music Group Released April 10, 2026

A note before we begin: If you are offended by ideology that differs from yours, whether political, religious, or otherwise, you should listen to this album. Not as a warning to stay away. As a challenge to engage anyway.

I’ve been following Propaganda for a long time. Before Red Couch Podcast. Before Hood Politics. Somewhere between Excellent and Crimson Cord, back when I joined Patreon specifically to support him and Alma because the work mattered and I wanted to help keep it going. I had him on my podcast years ago. So when I say this album hits, I’m not saying it as someone encountering him for the first time. I’m saying it as someone who’s tracked the evolution from Humble Beast to here.

I’ve said it before: sometimes it’s best not to listen to a Prop album for the first time in the car. You’ll end up pulling over to parse through the words he just spoke. It’s dense. It’s worth it.

This Is Our Fellowship takes its time. Not urgent. Important. There’s a difference. ProducerTrentTaylor built this thing on vintage gospel samples at deliberate tempos, the kind of pacing that demands you stay present. This is not background music. It requires attention. Sometimes those messages need space to breathe. The room to pause.

The structure here is intentional. Gospel samples throughout give this the shape of a sermon. But it’s not preachy. It’s more like a TED talk from an old head — someone who’s been through enough to have earned the right to say something. The title track opens by asking you to soften before the message arrives. Open your eyes. Open your ears. Open your heart. What follows isn’t instruction from above. It’s wisdom from next door.

And while the language is rooted in Christianity and the focus is often on men and boys, the message reaches further than that. This is a letter to anyone who was taught to bury it all and knuckle up. Anyone handed a limited toolkit and told to figure it out. The specifics are Prop’s. The invitation is universal.

Listen along while I scribe my thoughts in a hopefully intelligible manner.

This Is Our Fellowship

The album opens with vulnerability about emotional tools denied in childhood. Prop uses the image of crayon boxes: boys handed the 8-pack when they needed the 64. Limited palette for a full spectrum of experience. “Learning to paint with more colors,” he says. “We made this song cry.” The song becomes the container for what couldn’t be expressed elsewhere.

Who Is You

This track maps the machinery that creates the limitation. Sports metaphors as the first language boys get handed. Toxic masculinity as the downstream effect. Peer pressure as the enforcement mechanism. But also the way out: experiencing the world opened up the language he needed to move past it all. Travel as education. Getting outside the system that built you in order to see it clearly.

There’s a Mike Tyson quote that floats around about not being capable of great peace without being capable of great violence. Prop’s doing something with that here. Hip-hop as a historically “tough” genre creating space for vulnerability. A man who’s never had to be hard talking about softness reads as naive. A man who’s been in it for two decades choosing vulnerability reads as evolved. The credibility of the vessel matters.

Gas You Up (Street) [feat. Danny A. Thomas]

Does exactly what the title says. The kind of song you hear and know it was written for someone else but you can lay it neatly into your own life. That’s the best version of what music does.

Figure It Out [feat. Curtiss King]

Shifts to boom bap and mentorship, a lighthouse for whoever needs it. There’s no blueprint for growing up. Just the invitation to find your way through this world and grow beyond your own history, traumas, and the rest.

And then he reaches into sexuality. This may be uncomfortable for a portion of his audience still in the church, those not deconstructed. But Prop hasn’t been in that lane in a long time. The spiritual undertones remain because that’s foundational to who he is. The institutional constraints? Gone for years.

Not In Danger [feat. Scarub]

Centers on an image that stuck with me: a bear in a cage. A violent entity kept in the dark until it needs to be let out, but on a chain. Prop’s talking about how he got rid of his. Set your anger free. You aren’t in danger. The title becomes permission to disarm. The threat you’ve been preparing for isn’t coming the way you think. The readiness itself is the weight.

Wish You Well

Draws a line: be the storm or the safe harbor, but you can’t be both. Not at the same time. Not to the same people. He doesn’t give preference to either. Both are useful. He uses the imagery of discovering fire for the first time, the beauty that can come from destruction. The problem isn’t being one or the other. It’s pretending you’re something you’re not.

The track is about being self-aware, working to grow, but not forgetting that we’re all working on ourselves and none of us will get out of this alive. Nothing but joy, nothing but peace, no more dying, the sample repeats. Soft funk organs and a sway like a choir.

Burn It Down [feat. Fashawn]

This is the storm. Prop names the whole grid of broken systems: church, school, political, armed forces, police state. All of them. If you aren’t a little progressive, this song is going to step on your toes. He mentions being in his “Jesus and the money changers” mode right before the beat drops. Sanctified testosterone. Molotovs in backpacks. The cleansing fire isn’t partisan. It’s total.

Build

The necessary sequel. The sample slows way down. Prop tells the story of LA during the wildfires, when community members who had every reason not to cooperate put differences aside to help keep their neighborhoods together. Fellowship in action. Not theory.

“The absence of rulers is not the absence of leaders.” That’s a bar.

The people who step up when the structure fails were always there. The broken systems just kept them out of the rooms where decisions happened. The call to political action is at the local level. Let it bubble up from there. You don’t rebuild by replacing one set of rulers with another at the top. You rebuild from the block. From people who actually know each other.

You Got It Chief [feat. Jabee]

Takes aim at people who are incredibly informed in their own wrongness. Folks who have a stronger interest in winning an argument or winning an election than in being right. In doing the right thing. We have a limited number of words in our life. A limited number of breaths. Some people aren’t worth wasting them on.

I Didn’t Leave You

This is where the album becomes an outright indictment of the American Christian church. Plain and simple. He specifically mentions Trump and his disdain for the institution that chose that alignment.

Prop’s argument is direct: Trump consumed the church because he hates what it actually stands for. Found a power structure that, if he could devour, would allow him to gain power at a higher level. Not seeking faith. Seeking apparatus. The church was consumable. Available to be eaten. The institution made itself into food for a man who was never there for their God.

“A little more nuance that comes with a little age / a little less ego, a lotta less rage / a lotta less steeples, a lotta less stage.”

Three lines mapping his whole trajectory.

Don’t It Feel Good [feat. Derek Minor]

Arrives as an exhale after the indictment. Almost universalism in his beliefs now. This is about being refreshed by the presence of the things you enjoy. The decisions you’ve made that have grown you. Derek Minor’s verse draws on the imagery of field versus house — the hard work outside might be more respectable than chewing back who you are to get inside. The institution is the house. Prop chose the field.

You Can’t Name A Day One

Ends the album with a lighter flick. A joint being lit. The childhood memory of figuring out who among the characters in your life would become the through line of friendship.

If you can’t name a person who was there for you in the beginning, you are untrustworthy.

That’s the test. Not what you say about yourself. Who’s still around from the start.

There’s an old phrase: lie down with dogs, wake up with fleas. But Prop flips it. It’s not just who you’re with now. It’s whether you still have the people from the beginning. If you can’t name them, you didn’t pick bad company. You didn’t keep any company. You burned through people. Used them up. Left them behind.

The fellowship this album describes isn’t abstract. It’s specific humans who’ve been in your life so long you can’t remember not knowing them. The joint is the sacrament. The lighter flick is the call to gather. End of the album, we’re back in the backyard from the cover art. The chairs. The handwriting. The casual holiness of just being together with people who knew you before you were anything.

This Is Our Fellowship is available now on all streaming platforms.

John Hughes writes about cocktails, music, and whatever else won’t fit in the main section at Embellish. This review appears in Off-Menu.

She was a cardiovascular nurse practitioner, working the front lines during COVID, putting herself through grad school on a $50 whiskey budget. The bottle of Blanton’s she received as a gift sparked curiosity. The frustration of never finding Buffalo Trace on Ohio shelves sparked something else—a stubborn determination to find what was actually good without chasing hype.

That accidental education became a podcast presence, then barrel picks, then brand ambassador work, then a national role helping build someone else’s company. And then, after four or five years of pouring blood and tears into another person’s dream, a question: Do I keep doing this for someone else, or do I bet on myself?

She bet on herself. The result is Archer Eland.

An Homage in Rye

The name is a living letter to her mother. Eland is Wendy. Archer is her mom—a woman whose work ethic and determination mirror the grain itself, thriving under harsh conditions.

“Culturally speaking, that’s kind of what you do,” Wendy told me. “You thank your parents for everything. And so this was my way of doing it through the nuance of rye.”

Archer Eland is a 100% rye whiskey brand. No corn. No wheat. No secondary grains. Just rye—95% unmalted, 5% malted—distilled and blended at Middle West Spirits in Columbus, Ohio. It’s a deliberate choice in a market that often treats rye as bourbon’s spicier sibling rather than a category worth exploring on its own terms.

“I traveled so much and I’d seen enough markets to know there was a need,” Wendy said. “Seas of bourbon on the shelves. Maybe one or two rye offerings. Pigeonholing is number one. Lack of diversity within the rye section is number two. I wanted to fix that.”

The Collection

Archer Eland launched with four expressions, each telling a different chapter of Wendy’s transition from healthcare to whiskey.

Solstice (104 proof) came first. Light. Citrus-forward. Floral. “I was wanting to hold onto hope,” Wendy said. “I was wanting to hold onto that warmth, that there’s something else on the horizon.” It blends four and seven-year barrels to create something delicate enough for the rye-curious but complex enough to reward attention.

Aurora (110 proof) was the problem child. It required four recalculations. The original yield was supposed to be 40 cases; Wendy blew through that and had to keep adjusting. At one point, exhausted and fed up, she told her team to just dump what was left of the seven-year barrels into the blend. Two days later, she tasted it and thought: This is really good.

“Aurora taught me to trust myself,” Wendy said. “It was a dark time. But I pulled through.”

Cashmere (126 proof, seven years) was supposed to be part of the same lot as Suede. When blended together, they were terrible. Split apart, they became two distinct expressions.

“That was the first time I thought, I’m going to be okay,“ Wendy said. “My first real exhale.”

Suede (126 proof, seven years) is the happy accident. Wendy remembers growing up in Zimbabwe, where tobacco auction floors stretched for miles and the smell of drying leaves changed with each stage of the harvest. Leather.

Suede is a one-and-done release. Once it’s gone, it’s never coming back.

First Generation

There’s a phrase you hear constantly in American whiskey: seventh generation, eighth generation, ninth generation. Families who have transcended time, who kept distilling through Prohibition and wars and market crashes. We honor those names.

But Wendy is building something different. She’s first generation. First of her name. An African woman in an industry where that’s almost unheard of, putting down stakes meant to outlast her.

“How many times have you ever seen a first of its name and it continuing to grow as a legacy?” she asked. “We love and admire those ones that have transcended time. But to actually see someone go through in real time, putting stakes, first generation? I’ve never seen it been done before like that.”

By the end of the year, Wendy will be laying down her own new make. She’s researching different rye varieties. She’s already running barrel modeling projections at 2 a.m. She recently bought her first finishing barrels—a purchase that triggered what she described as her first “hyperventilating episode.” The money was real. The stakes are real.

But so is the vision.

Where to Find Archer Eland

Archer Eland is available at 25 OHLQ stores across Ohio and online at shop.middlewestspirits.com (shipping available to Kentucky and other states). Cashmere is nearly sold out—down to roughly 10-18 bottles as of recording. Suede will take its place on allocation.

This is a brand built with intention. With purpose. With the kind of audacity that comes from betting on yourself when the safer path is right there waiting.

Wendy put it simply: “I only have one life. I don’t want to be on my death bed wishing I had done it.”

Listen to the full conversation: [Audio link] | [YouTube link]

Follow EmbellishPod: @embellishpod on Instagram and TikTok

#PinkiesDown

Content note: This album deals directly with suicidal ideation, particularly tracks one and seven. 988 is available 24/7. Take care of yourself first.

I came to this sideways.

Mid-40s. Fully marinated in the era when every white dude with an acoustic guitar was running the Dashboard Confessional playbook into the ground. Dorm rooms. Coffee shop open mics. That guy at the party who needed you to really listen to this one. You know the guy. You might’ve been the guy. I might’ve been the guy. The confessional singer-songwriter thing wasn’t a subculture. It was the weather.

A connection got me early access to Hit Like a Girl’s fifth LP, and the timing felt right for reasons I couldn’t explain until I’d listened three times through.

Nicolle Maroulis (they/them) has been making records since 2017. They run No More Dysphoria, a nonprofit helping trans people afford transition — funded through merch sales at DIY shows, because that’s how you do it when nobody’s writing grants for you. Philadelphia scene kid. Show up, pay dues, build things with your hands.

I’m not from that world. But Burning at Both Ends doesn’t check membership cards. Just: have you felt something, lost something, kept going anyway?

Yeah. Same.

The Shape

Eight tracks. Twenty-seven minutes. Every song earns its place.

Opens with someone lying in cold dying grass while the narrator’s at the store buying their favorite sweets, oblivious. Closes with the narrator receiving mail for someone who’ll never read it. Between those points: polyamory betrayal specific enough to use the word “metamour,” a friendship that dies when someone moves to the West Coast to find themselves (meditating or whatever), and the kind of mental health spiral where you start planning who’ll watch your cat.

Heavy. But the songs move. There’s a propulsive quality even in the darkest stuff — the only way out is through, keep walking.

Track one: you’re watching someone else’s crisis unfold. Track seven: the crisis has migrated inward. The album teaches you to watch for signs in others, then reveals the person you should’ve been watching was yourself.

This is a record where the tracklist matters. Remember when artists used to wrestle with sequencing? What comes next, what’s the arc, where do you land the listener? Streaming playlists and shuffle buttons have mostly killed that instinct. But someone sat with these eight songs and thought about the journey — crisis to betrayal to tenderness to anger to collapse to grief. You’re supposed to take it in order. It rewards you for staying.

Sonic Geography

Press materials say: midwest emo, synth pop, hardcore. Sure. But that’s like describing a cocktail by listing the spirit categories.

Track one opens with steel guitar and ambient wind. That’s Tim McGraw territory. “Please Don’t Take the Girl” energy. Old country is just emo with a twang anyway — feelings too big for talking, set to a melody you can carry in your truck.

Track two kicks in with rockabilly tremolo, then dissolves into noise. There’s a synth line on track three that would’ve killed on Guitar Hero circa 2007. Track four’s keyboard wash could score a John Hughes film if John Hughes made films about queer people begging partners to just say it already.

Producer Matt Schimelfenig and Jacob Blizard (Lucy Dacus, Illuminati Hotties) give this thing sonic range that keeps it from feeling like one long song. It’s not a genre exercise. It’s: here’s the feeling, what sound does it need? — and assuming your ear knows how to follow.

The Dual Voice

Here’s the trick that makes this work physically: two vocal approaches, running simultaneous or in sequence. One singing. One screaming.

The scream is release. The singing is trying to hold it together. When they happen at the same time — that’s the reality of being a person. Falling apart and functioning. Both at once.

For those of us who grew up screaming along to songs that weren’t built for screaming — willing the Indigo Girls to be louder than they were, adding catharsis to someone else’s melody — there’s something generous here. The scream is built into the architecture. You’re not doing it alone. The song shows you where to let go.

And look: Maroulis is thirty-eight. They know you can’t scream for twenty-seven minutes. The clean passages let you breathe. Rest stops on a highway heading somewhere dark. Songs built for people who want to feel everything and also survive feeling it.

The Specific and the Universal

“Metamour” shows up in the third verse of track three. No explanation. Either you know it means your partner’s other partner, or you figure it out, or it washes over you. Maroulis isn’t here to educate. They’re here to describe what it feels like watching your partner teach someone else your songs while you leave the room.

Specificity runs throughout. Mom’s kitchen table the ex might still have. Joshua Tree hike where promises got made. Gemstones and tarot cards on the mantle next to the funeral collage. Details aren’t decorative. They’re evidence. This happened. This exact thing.

There’s a High Fidelity moment in track three. You know the scene — Rob Gordon is making a mixtape for another woman and his girlfriend walks in. Nobody’s undressed. Nobody’s yelling. But everyone in the room knows what it means. The look on his face is the whole confession.

Track three has that moment:

Remember when you taught me all your old songs
And one day I caught you teaching them to him
I’ll never forget the look on your face
That was when I knew I’d been replaced.”

Not cheating. Not fighting. Just: oh. This is where your attention actually is. And you both know it now.

What surprised me: the specificity makes it more accessible. I’ve never had a metamour. Never been exiled from a DIY scene. But I’ve watched someone struggle and not known how to help. Had friendships end badly. Sat with objects that belonged to someone who isn’t coming back.

Particular unlocks universal. Confessional songwriting has always known this. Maroulis is just working with materials the genre hasn’t always had access to — or been willing to name.

Joy as Resistance (No, Not the IDLES Album)

The phrase traces back to Black poet Toi Derricotte, through Audre Lorde, into ACT UP during the AIDS crisis. Simple idea: when systems want you dead or diminished, your capacity for pleasure and connection is defiance.

Maroulis runs No More Dysphoria. They know the statistics on trans suicide. They made an album with a song called “Romanticize” that asks how many ways a person can romanticize ending their own life.

But the album also has “Are You in Love” — synth-pop patience and hope. Has “Keepsake Theory” — crying through a concert and staying anyway. Joy and crisis coexist. They have to.

There’s a moment in track two: two people at a show, singing along to the same song, both using it to grieve the same relationship. They might know the other one’s there. Doesn’t matter. They’re both still singing. Crying. Alive.

Crying and singing are the same thing.

That might be the whole review.

The Close

Final track: “Funeral Collage.” Exactly what it sounds like.

Someone’s gone. Mail still arrives. The dog doesn’t understand. Narrator hasn’t touched their guitar in months — might still carry the touch.

The voice goes lo-fi at the end. Answering machine quality. Something preserved but degrading. Past reaching into present.

Last image: eventually, put the belongings in the garage. Wipe dust off the funeral collage. Not healing. Continuing. Maybe continuing is healing. Move the objects. Keep the dog. Go outside.

Emo done well can take it out of you. This one took it out of me. I gutted it out, took notes on my computer, and came out the other side a little hollowed.

But that’s the point. Genre exists because some feelings are too big for talking, too complicated for crying. Only option left: make it into something with a beat you can move to.

Hit Like a Girl made something you can move to. It’ll cost you. You’ll get through it.

Now if you’ll excuse me — vitamin D. Touch grass. The alive kind.

Burning at Both Ends is out now on Cryptid Records.

Hit Like a Girl tours through spring 2026. Dates include Silk City (Philadelphia), Pouzza Fest (Montreal), and — for those keeping score at home — Midwest Friends Fest in Newport, KY.

For more on No More Dysphoria: nomoredysphoria.org

If you made it through: what landed for you? Hit reply or drop a comment. This is Off-Menu #2, and I’m still figuring out what belongs here.

This is where I landed. Not the platonic ideal, but the point where further improvements would cost more time and money than they’re worth. I could keep chasing perfection with $200 bottles of single pot still or high-acid citrus varieties that don’t exist at my grocery store. But diminishing returns are real, and knowing when to stop is part of the process.

The Recipe

Stupid Simple Sour

• 2 oz Fighting 69th Irish Whiskey

• 1 oz fresh Meyer lemon juice

• ½ oz agave syrup

• 1 egg white

• 2 dashes Angostura bitters

Shake all ingredients hard with ice for 30 seconds. Strain out the ice, then dry shake for 15 seconds. Double strain into a coupe(i know it’s supposed to be for ice shards but for me it’s for the egg white bits that might not get integrated…..not interested in a side of snot with my drink).

The Development

Irish whiskey’s appeal is its lighter profile. Smooth, approachable, easy drinking. That’s also why it’s tricky in a sour. Every choice you make shows up in the glass with nowhere to hide.

The standard whiskey sour template — grab any citrus, any sweetener, shake with foam if you feel like it — doesn’t hold up here. I tested systematically: one variable at a time, everything else constant, documenting what worked and what didn’t.

Foam Agent(s)

Aquafaba is the liquid from a can of chickpeas. It foams like egg white when you shake it, which makes it a vegan substitute for cocktails that need that silky texture. I’d seen it in other drink recipes, so I figured it was worth testing.

It wasn’t.

The chickpea undertone that bourbon would bury? Irish whiskey’s lighter body puts it on full display. This isn’t about dietary accommodation or personal preference. It’s format incompatibility. Notes of hummus have no place in a whiskey sour for me. Keep the chickpeas in the falafel.

Egg white resolved the problem. What it does for this drink is similar to what whipped cream does for a slice of key lime pie — it softens the citrus edge, adds textural interest, and makes everything feel more cohesive. You get the balance and the presentation working together.

I started with a traditional dry shake but I prefer reverse dry shake for this one — shaking with ice first, then straining and shaking without to build the foam. Traditional dry shake works fine too; this is just where I landed.

Locked: egg white, reverse dry shake.

Sweetener

I decided to make my own syrups for this project. Tested simple syrup, honey syrup, and agave against the baseline recipe.

Simple syrup did what simple syrup does. Clean, neutral, functional. Lets the other ingredients carry the weight.

Honey was the anticipated winner going in. Irish whiskey already has floral character, and honey feels like a natural complement. In practice, the two floral notes competed rather than layered. It didn’t taste bad — it just didn’t add what I expected.

Agave was the surprise. There’s a quality to agave’s sweetness that finishes quick and stays out of the way. The drink felt more cohesive without tasting any sweeter. Hard to articulate exactly what changed, but it was unmistakable in the glass.

One note on honey syrup: shelf life is about three weeks in my house before it starts fermenting. I discovered this when I went to make a coffee tonic and the syrup fizzed. That’s not a flavor profile I was chasing.

Locked: agave syrup.

Spirit Selection

With foam and sweetener locked, I tested four Irish whiskeys against the working recipe.

Fighting 69th was the control — an approachable Irish blend, nothing fancy. Light body, clean flavor, lets the recipe do the talking.

Keeper’s Heart Irish + American has a rye component that looked promising on paper. More body, a little more spice to push back against the citrus. But the sour format compressed everything. Whatever distinguished it from Fighting 69th neat didn’t survive the shaker. I do wonder if the simple syrup would have worked better here.

Waterford Rathclogh 1.1 is a single malt with real terroir character. Mineral, fresh grass, floral notes. Exceptional for sipping. When I shook it with citrus, it produced a medicinal edge that threw off the whole drink. The complexity that makes it interesting neat becomes a liability in this format. There’s an audience for this version but it wasn’t what I was going for.

I didn’t test Waterford Cuvée Koffi — it has really unique notes, and I didn’t want to continue to chase rabbits. Still curious though. Might circle back to that one after this is published. Something tells me it could work with the right adjustments.

Great sipping whiskeys and great cocktail whiskeys aren’t always the same bottle. Fighting 69th won because it did exactly what a cocktail base should do: provide a clean, authentic foundation and get out of the way.

Locked: Fighting 69th.

Citrus

Meyer lemon was my baseline throughout development. I used it because thats what Kroger Pickup put in my bag. The other variables optimized around it, so it’s worth acknowledging that a different starting citrus might have led to a different final recipe.

Tested Meyer lemon, standard lemon, white grapefruit juice, and blood orange.

Grapefruit threw me off. It was sweet in a way I wasn’t expecting — sugary sweet, not citrus sweet. Pushed the drink toward candy territory, which is its own thing and not what I was building here.

I wanted blood orange to work. Really wanted it. Same problem. Too sweet, not enough acid. Both options surrendered the structure that makes a sour a sour. But optically it would have been really nice to shoot.

Standard lemon was fine. Got the job done structurally. But it felt incomplete somehow — the right acidity without any of the aromatic complexity.

Meyer lemon landed best. The lower acidity and rounded, almost floral character paired with Irish whiskey instead of fighting it. Everything clicked.

Worth noting: Meyer lemon’s lower acidity required a ratio adjustment. This recipe uses 1 oz citrus to ½ oz sweetener — more juice, less sweet than the classic 2:1:1 template. The ingredient dictates the ratio, not the other way around.

Locked: Meyer lemon at 1 oz.

What This Taught Me

The foam works like whipped cream on pie. It softens sharp edges, adds texture, makes everything come together. Skip it and the drink feels unfinished.

Aquafaba doesn’t belong here(or anywhere in a cocktail maybe). What bourbon can mask, Irish whiskey exposes. Chickpea undertones are not subtle.

Meyer lemon changes the math. The classic sour ratio assumes standard lemon acidity. Different citrus means different proportions.

Agave is underrated in whiskey sours. Its quick-finishing sweetness keeps everything else in focus. Honey, the intuitive choice, created redundancy instead of depth.

Expensive doesn’t mean better for cocktails. Two bottles that cost significantly more than Fighting 69th got outperformed. The sour format compresses subtlety rather than showcasing it.

St. Patrick’s Day is one day. This works year-round.

Stupid Simple Sour.

Appendix: Syrups

If you’re making your own, here’s what I used:

Agave Simple 2 parts agave nectar to 1 part water by volume. Combine in a jar and shake until incorporated. No heat required. Keeps refrigerated for several weeks.

Honey/Sugar Syrup 1 part honey/sugar to 1 part water by volume. Warm gently to combine since the sweetener doesn’t cooperate cold. Keeps about three weeks refrigerated before fermentation becomes a risk.

What’s your go-to Irish whiskey for mixing? I’m curious whether anyone’s found a mid-range bottle that outperforms Fighting 69th in this format.

Tickets are already selling out. Here’s everything you need to know.

A 30-Minute Ceremony That Changed Everything

Bardstown, Kentucky, 2018. A small gathering on the lawn of historic Spalding Hall. The mayor reads a proclamation. A handful of master distillers raise a glass. Thirty minutes later, everyone goes back to work.

That was the first National Bourbon Day celebration the Bourbon Capital Alliance ever put together. No tickets. No schedule. Just a toast and a handshake.

Fast forward to 2026, and it’s eight full days of events — June 14th through June 21st — across some of the most storied distillery campuses in Kentucky. Two events sold out within the first three hours of ticket sales opening. And the man sitting across from me on this episode has been there for virtually every step of the journey.

Sam Lacy is the Executive Director of the Bourbon Capital Alliance, the Bardstown-based 501(c)3 nonprofit that organizes, markets, and runs National Bourbon Week in partnership with ten distillery partners. He joined the show on the day tickets went live — March 26th — and if the constant mentions of his phone buzzing with sellout notifications were any indication, things are already moving fast.

How a Small Town Claimed Its Identity

Before there was a National Bourbon Week, there had to be a reason to build one. That reason, Sam explained, goes back to 2016, when local distillery leaders walked into a meeting with Bardstown’s mayor and economic development office and essentially said: you’re not doing this justice.

Bardstown calls itself the Bourbon Capital of the World, but at the time, there wasn’t a cohesive infrastructure to back that up. The distilleries were there — Heaven Hill, Makers Mark, Beam, Barton — but nothing tied them together into an experience a visitor could navigate or a community could rally around.

Out of that meeting came a task force, and out of that task force came the Bourbon Capital Community Alliance in 2017. Sam took over as Executive Director in 2019, initially carving out five hours a week from his day job at the tourism commission. He grew up in Bardstown, spent time in Atlanta working for Travel South USA, and came back with a perspective on what genuine destination tourism looked like. He saw what Bardstown could be.

And he quietly started building it.

Growing Up: From Three Days to Eight

The math here is pretty remarkable. The 2018 ceremony was thirty minutes. By 2019, Sam had expanded it to three days of events. COVID hit in 2020, and rather than go dark, they pivoted to virtual content and kept the momentum alive. By 2024, the first official National Bourbon Week launched as a six-day run. In 2025, seven days. And in 2026? A full eight days — starting on National Bourbon Day, June 14th, and running straight through to the following Sunday.

“We’re the bourbon capital of the world,” Sam told me. “Let’s own it.”

The other thing that makes this work, Sam was quick to point out, is the unusual willingness of the partner distilleries to cooperate. These are, in the traditional sense, competitors. They’re fighting for the same shelf space at the same liquor stores. But in Bardstown, something different happens. The distilleries understand that when a visitor leaves Heaven Hill, if somebody from Heaven Hill tells them to go visit Willett or Lux Row, everybody wins. That community-first mentality has allowed National Bourbon Week to schedule events across the week without distilleries stepping on each other — the bigger names up front, the smaller operations given prime days in the middle of the week.

“It’s a credit to them,” Sam said more than once.

What’s Happening in 2026: The Full Breakdown

So what are you actually signing up for? Here’s the shape of the week:

Sunday, June 14 — National Bourbon Day

The week kicks off with two very different vibes happening simultaneously, and honestly you could make a strong argument for attending both.

Heaven Hill opens the door — literally — with the Elijah Craig National Bourbon Day Celebration at their Bourbon Experience on Gilkey Run Road. It runs 11 a.m. to 5 p.m., it’s free to attend with registration, and it sets the tone nicely: tastings, craft demonstrations, and exclusive merchandise on-site. A low-pressure, high-reward entry point into the week.

A few miles out, Preservation Distillery is doing something altogether different. Their Boone Family Reunion Distillery Festival runs 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. and is one of the more thoughtfully constructed events on the entire calendar. You get product tastings with a souvenir glass, food, a custom Clayton & Crume leather keepsake, and live seminars led by Proprietor Marci Palatella, Master of Maturation Kyle Lloyd, and Head Distiller JT Leasor. If you know Preservation’s juice — Very Olde St. Nick, Rare Perfection, the 10-year they just released — you already know why this one is worth your time. If you don’t know Preservation yet, this is your introduction. Either way, you’re not leaving disappointed.

Monday, June 15

The Beam Backyard Luau at the Beam Family Home in downtown Bardstown. Fred and Freddie Noe. Bourbon. BBQ. A backyard. They brought this one back after it sold out last year, and it sold out again — fast. If you got a ticket, you already know. If you didn’t, put it at the top of your list for 2027. One of the most genuinely fun nights in bourbon.

Tuesday, June 16

Two experiences on Tuesday, and both reward the kind of person who shows up to learn rather than just to drink.

Log Still’s Proofed by the Spring is capped at 24 guests at $150 a ticket and is led personally by founder and president Wally Dant. The premise is simple and brilliant: go to the limestone spring that feeds the distillery’s water, taste the water, taste the bourbon, understand the connection. Log Still’s campus is one of the most beautiful anywhere on the Trail — actual lodging on site, an amphitheater, rolling Kentucky hills — and doing this experience with Wally himself is the kind of thing you’d struggle to put a price on.

Old SteelHouse has two seatings for their Finish Your Own Blueprint Series Batch 002 Experience, held out at the former T.W. Samuels distillery site in Deatsville. You tour the property, take a short finishing class, and then walk out with your own Blueprint Series Batch 2 bottle and four wood cube options to finish it exactly how you want. Educational, tactile, and genuinely interactive — this is the kind of experience that makes you think differently about what’s in the glass.

Wednesday, June 17

Wednesday is the fullest day of the week and it’s not particularly close.

Lux Row kicks things off with their Front Yard BBQ with Master Distiller John Rempe — 200 tickets, the custom smoker is going, and they’re up on that hilltop campus five minutes from downtown with access to the Stonehouse and visitor center. Big, social, and exactly the kind of afternoon that slides naturally into evening.

Over at Maker’s Mark, Bill Samuels Jr. and Master Distiller Dr. Blake Layfield are hosting Bill’s Bourbon Soiree in the visitor center — cocktails, bites, and that stunning campus as your backdrop. The word “soiree” is doing real work here. This is an elegant evening.

And in Springfield, Potter Jane is running their Big Vat Blending Class — second seating, because the first one sold out within hours of tickets going live. Twelve people, maximum. Denny and Jane running the room. Go to the website to find out what “Big Vat” actually refers to.

Thursday, June 18

James B. Beam Distilling Co. hosts A National Bourbon Week Celebration at the Kitchen Table — an intimate dinner at one of the best restaurant spaces on any distillery property in the state. Thoughtful food, exceptional cocktails, and the kind of evening that earns its place on the calendar. Potter Jane also runs an additional seating of the Big Vat Blending Class for anyone who missed Wednesday.

Friday, June 19

This is the anchor. The Bourbon Capital Mash Up at Bespoke in Bond in downtown Bardstown is the event Sam Lacy and the Bourbon Capital Alliance have been building toward all week, and in its second year it’s gotten bigger and sharper.

All ten partner distilleries under one roof. Every one of them paired with a local chef or their own culinary team. Small bites designed to sit alongside a specific pour from each distillery — thoughtfully paired, a mix of savory and sweet, and enough food that you genuinely don’t need dinner beforehand. Master distillers in the room. Accessible. Approachable. All in one beautiful downtown event space.

GA tickets are $150 and get you in at 7 p.m. VIP is $375 and gets you in an hour early at 6 — plus exclusive access to Neat Bourbon Bar throughout the night, a dusty cocktail on arrival, and three dusty pours from partner distilleries across the evening. If you’re not sure what “dusty” means: we’re talking vintage whiskey. The kind of bottles that are genuinely difficult to find in the wild, let alone taste in a curated setting. Both tiers get an etched glass to keep, courtesy of Kentucky Bourbon Festival. VIP is selling faster than GA. If you’ve been sitting on it, stop sitting on it.

Saturday, June 20

Saturday is where the week becomes something a little bigger than a bourbon festival.

Limestone Branch — new partner distillery this year and a sister operation to Lux Row — opens the morning with Barrels & Biscuits with Master Distiller Stephen Beam. A brunch experience, a beautiful craft distillery, a master distiller who clearly enjoys what he does. Strong start to the day.

Downtown, Potter Jane’s Big Vat Bar Crawl kicks off in the afternoon with Denny and Jane personally leading the group through their favorite watering holes, starting with a Big Vat pour at Evergreen. The official end time is 5 p.m. The unofficial end time is whenever everyone runs out of steam. Wear comfortable shoes. Say yes to things. Hydrate before, during and after.

Out at the Amp at Log Still in Gethsemane, the Ying Yang Twins and Mike Jones are performing live on Saturday night. There is no way to make that sentence sound normal, and that’s kind of the point. It’s a bourbon distillery in rural Kentucky with a proper outdoor amphitheater, and early 2000s hip-hop legends are going to be on stage. June 20, 2026. You cannot make this up.

And back downtown, the 23rd Annual Bourbon City Street Concert — United We Jam takes over Third Street with live music, the open container district in full effect, and a Kids Zone running noon to 4 p.m. with bouncy houses, face painting, games, and putt-putt for the younger crowd. The whole town out on the street. The community cap on an extraordinary week.

Sunday, June 21 — Father’s Day

Father’s Day Bourbon Brunch & Tour at Barton 1792. Twenty-five tickets. Sold out on day one. Master Distiller Ross Cornelissen hosting a brunch and rare behind-the-scenes tour of one of the oldest continually operating distilleries in Bardstown — a property that is not normally open to the public. If you got a ticket, you have a very good Father’s Day locked in. If you didn’t, keep an eye on returns.

Why Bourbon Tourism Hasn’t Slowed Down

There’s been a lot of noise lately about the bourbon market correcting — secondary prices dropping, distilleries pulling back on production, bottles sitting on shelves longer than they used to. I asked Sam whether any of that has hit the tourism side.

Short answer: not really.

“Those folks that want to experience bourbon are still going to come here,” he said. The visitor experience component of Kentucky distilleries has evolved dramatically over the past decade. Twenty years ago, you showed up, got a tour, and left. Now there are restaurants on site, vintage whiskey programs, barrel experiences, fill-your-own-bottle events. There’s always something new, which means even people who’ve done the Trail before have a reason to come back.

In a boom market, consumer acquisition is cheap and easy. In a tighter market, events like National Bourbon Week become more important, not less — they’re one of the most efficient ways to get bourbon in front of new and returning drinkers at the same time, in the right context, with the right experience around it.

The Bottom Line

If someone asks you how to do the Kentucky Bourbon Trail, my new answer is: go to National Bourbon Week. In one week, you can hit ten distilleries, access vintage pours you won’t find anywhere else, take a blending class, eat food paired specifically to what’s in your glass, and watch the Ying Yang Twins perform at a log-cabin amphitheater in the Kentucky hills. That is not a normal week.

Tickets are at nationalbourbonweek.com. Some events are already gone. VIP for the Mashup is selling faster than GA. If you’ve been on the fence, this is your sign to get off it.

Full conversation with Sam Lacy is live now wherever you get your podcasts, and on YouTube.

EmbellishPod is an independent spirits podcast. Pinkies down, fun up. Subscribe here on Substack for episode writeups, cocktail recipes, and more. Find us at embellishpod.com or @embellishpod on Instagram and TikTok.

I get emailed pitches inconsistently. Spirits brands, kitchen gadgets, wildlife preserves, podcast guests. Never music to review.

A PR email showed up about a Swedish jazz album featuring Bobby Gillespie from Primal Scream, and I didn’t delete it. I don’t know why. I’m not a jazz critic. But something about this one stuck, and I kept pulling the thread until I’d built an entirely new section of this publication just to have somewhere to put it.

Welcome to Off-Menu. The section for stuff that doesn’t fit but won’t get thrown away.

Who Is This Guy?

Björn Yttling is the Björn in Peter Bjorn and John. You know their song even if you don’t know their name. “Young Folks.” The one with the whistling. Six hundred million streams. Gossip Girl. FIFA 08. Every coffee shop in 2007.

Before the whistle heard round the world, Yttling was a trained jazz musician. Private lessons with Swedish jazz legend Esbjörn Svensson. Top EU conservatory. He released a jazz album in 2005 called Oh Lord Why Can’t I Keep My Big Mouth Shut.

Then Peter Bjorn and John exploded. He spent twenty years producing pop records for Lykke Li, Franz Ferdinand, Robyn, The Hives, and Primal Scream. The jazz thing got shelved.

Until now. Illegal Hit dropped September 2025 and got a Swedish Grammy nomination. Illegal Hit (Out of Bounds), a three-disc expanded version with vocal collaborations, drops March 27, 2026. Bobby Gillespie singing over Swedish jazz is the headline. The instrumental album underneath is the actual discovery.

Listen Along

The Instrumentals: A Soundtrack Without a Film

Yttling didn’t make a jazz album. He made a soundtrack for eleven different movies that don’t exist.

I kept a running list. The films living inside nine instrumental tracks:

1. Spaghetti Western (Morricone, obviously)

2. Roger Moore-era Bond

3. Pink Panther

4. Ocean’s Eleven

5. David Lynch (something unsettling underneath the smooth)

6. The Mandalorian

7. The Mask (Jim Carrey version, not the weird comic)

8. Old Hollywood musical (choreographed but silent)

9. Fairy tale music box

10. Encanto (”Surface Pressure” energy)

11. Tarantino end credits

A lot of tonal real estate for one album.

Things That Caught My Ear

Sodon the Mountain Man opens discordant. Piano doing something wrong on purpose. Then it settles into a Pink Panther slink, sly and mischievous. The horns come in and at one point they die off like a strangled goose into a balloon exhaling all its air. Then a saxophone shows up and just starts showing off.

It holds. All of it.

“He keeps you leaning forward and then cuts to black.”

Illegal Hit (the title track) is straight heist montage from Ocean’s Eleven. As it transitions from one instrument to the next, it’s almost written for the camera to hand off from one character to another. He’s writing edit cuts into the arrangement.

And then he ends it before the job goes down. You’re left in the van, waiting for the signal.

City in Darkness (the instrumental) is a death march to a firing squad. Odd that another track was a hangman’s noose. Two executions on one album. Different methods, same weight.

But there’s something romantic or reluctant to it all. At 2:20, a horn shows up out of nowhere. Where the fuck did that come from? Somehow it lands.

The track ends without deciding if it was a death or not. Rifles raised, blindfold on, breath held. Cut.

Tanto in the Night has operatic vibes over what sounds like a super low frequency kazoo(I know it’s not a kazoo but the vibration frequency and thinness of the modulation reminds me of that). Opera floating over a kazoo in the basement. He’s putting the absurd underneath the grand and making it work.

This is the album closer, and he gives you a proper pièce de résistance finish. Big ending. Curtain call.

Then the last ten seconds are almost silent.

He can’t help himself. Even when he’s resolving, he has to leave a little space.

The Pattern

Yttling leaves quieting noise at the end of these tracks. He likes the exhale. He’s not cutting to black. He’s letting the scene fade.

And he keeps putting something slightly wrong in the mix. The discordant piano. The strangled goose horns. The woodblock that doesn’t belong. He’s testing the seams. How wrong can something feel before it breaks?

Twenty years of pop production teaches you that. He knows exactly how much tension an audience can take before they check out.

“He knows the rules. So when he breaks them, it’s a choice.”

The Vocal Remakes

The third disc collects vocal versions of the instrumentals. Different artists, same beds. Hand someone a complete piece of music and see what world they build on top of it.

Joshua Idehen took the title track and gave it vibes. Spoken word riding the groove. At one point there’s a hard edge that feels like it’s pushing toward an EDM drop, then he pulls you right back into the groove. Tension without release. The groove is the payoff.

The Tallest Man on Earth sounds almost strained trying to break into the song. It creates urgency. He’s patiently waiting in line to enter a chaotic mix. By the end, his voice echoes into distance. Maybe he got stranded on the other side of the room from where he wanted to be.

El Perro del Mar takes “City in Darkness” and transforms the firing squad into a dreary walk on a rainy day. Stripped down to voice, piano, and ethereal noise. A dark lullaby. The death got taken out. Now it’s just melancholy. Far-away rusty hinges swinging.

Matt Sweeney replaced the original texture entirely with guitar pickups doing gnarly work. Give me a 2x12 Fender amp, a vintage electric guitar with rich pickups, and a bit of intentional distortion. Just hanging out listening to a dude jam. He has comfort with the song but isn’t afraid to do what he wants. All fun playing.

Same beds. Different rooms.

Bobby Gillespie: The Headline Act

Before I could evaluate what Gillespie does on “Strange,” I had to figure out who the hell Bobby Gillespie is.

Quick homework: lead singer of Primal Scream. Drummed for The Jesus and Mary Chain in the 80s. Primal Scream has refused to stay in one lane for forty years. Acid house. Gospel. Southern rock. Cure-style moodiness. They have a song that sounds like a laser tag arena.

The guy is a chameleon. When he lands on a Swedish jazz track, it’s not a stunt. It’s just Tuesday.

Yttling produced two Primal Scream albums. These two have history.

What “Strange” Does

First impression: the opening sounds like a 70s Clint Eastwood western. Man in the desert on a horse. Sun-parched. Then it moves into Roger Moore-era Bond.

Gillespie’s voice fits into a psychedelic 60s thing, floating across the top of all the changes. Think Moody Blues but softer. The track shifts underneath him, western to Bond, sparse to driving, but he stays in his lane. He’s the thread while the scenery changes.

“The guy who can stomp chose to whisper.”

The percussion drives hard in the last third, but Gillespie doesn’t match the energy. He keeps floating while the ground shakes.

And then he’s gone. The voice disappears for the last thirty seconds and the song resolves itself.

He was a visitor. He floated through, the arrangement carried him, then he stepped out and let the instruments close it down.

The instrumentals were complete before any vocalist showed up. The singers are guests in Yttling’s house. They get their moment. Then the house settles back into itself.

The Verdict (Sort Of)

I’m not qualified to tell you if this is good jazz. I lack the vocabulary, credibilty and/or authority. But I can tell you this:

It rewards attention. It conjures scenes without needing a film. It leaves space for you to bring your own associations.

If you want jazz that sounds like jazz, this might frustrate you. If you want something that feels like a soundtrack to a film that doesn’t exist, with guests drifting through the frame, this is worth your time.

“He’s not making jazz for jazz rooms. He’s making jazz for the movie in your head.”

Gillespie’s “Strange” is the headline. The instrumental album underneath is the real discovery. And the whole expanded Out of Bounds package is a document of what happens when you hand the same raw material to different artists and let them build.

Kind of like handing someone a base spirit and seeing what cocktail they make.

Maybe that’s why I didn’t delete the email.

Illegal Hit (Out of Bounds) drops March 27, 2026 on YEAR0001. “Strange” featuring Bobby Gillespie is out March 24.

If you listened along, I want to know: which track landed for you? Drop a comment or hit reply.

This is the first Off-Menu piece. If you want more of these, stuff that doesn’t fit my lane but I can’t stop thinking about, let me know.

There’s a moment every spirits enthusiast knows well. You’re on a brand’s website, maybe it’s 11pm, maybe there’s a glass in your hand already, and you find the limited release you’ve been hunting for. You click Buy Now, type in your card number, and wait. A few days later, a brown box shows up on your porch. You tear it open. Perfect. Undamaged. Done.

What you probably never thought about: the brand didn’t ship that bottle. In most cases, they couldn’t — legally.

That’s the conversation I had recently on EmbellishPod. My guest was a representative from Vista Fulfillment Group, the San Diego-based company that’s quietly become the largest spirits fulfillment operation in the United States. Vista works with over 500 brands and 20-plus marketplaces, and unless you’re deep in the industry, you’ve almost certainly never heard of them. That’s by design.

The Three-Tier System (and Why It Makes Everything Complicated)

If you’re a regular listener, you’ve probably heard me talk around the three-tier system before. But let’s break it down plainly, because it’s the whole reason companies like Vista exist.

After Prohibition ended in the 1930s, the U.S. established a mandatory structure for alcohol commerce: a product must flow from producer to wholesaler to retailer before it ever reaches a consumer. Every bottle. No exceptions. A distillery in Kentucky literally cannot ship you a bottle, even if they wanted to. The product has to move through the system.

So when you go to a brand’s website and click Buy Now, what you’re actually doing — from a legal standpoint — is transacting with a licensed retailer. The brand’s website just looks like it’s the one selling to you. The consumer sees the brand. The back end is Vista, acting as the licensed retailer, purchasing the product from a distributor and shipping it to your door.

My guest put it simply: “The consumer, for all they know, is shopping directly with the brand. But in the back end, the transaction is really happening with us.”

It’s seamless. It’s compliant. And it requires a nationwide logistics operation most people don’t know exists.

From a Back Room to a National Footprint

Vista didn’t start as some tech-forward logistics company with a vision deck and venture funding. It started in the back room of a liquor store.

The company’s founder spent his whole life in the retail alcohol business. He bought his first liquor store in 2000, grew that to multiple locations, and then in 2016 got a call from Reserve Bar — an early player in the spirits e-commerce space — asking if he could be a fulfillment partner. He said yes, figured he had the warehouse space, and thought maybe it’d cover some rent.

That’s not how it went.

By 2019, Vista had outgrown the liquor store back room and moved into a proper warehouse in California. Then COVID hit. And suddenly, everyone who couldn’t walk into a shop was ordering alcohol online. What had been a slow build became a rocket ship. By 2021 and 2022, Vista had expanded to Austin and New York City — three locations chosen to cover the entire country with reasonable shipping times.

Today they’re working with brands ranging from Bardstown Bourbon Company and Green River Distilling to Johnny Depp’s Three Hearts Rum and the cast of Vampire Diaries’ Brothers Bond Bourbon. They’re fulfilling for Men’s Journal readers. They’re powering influencer storefronts for accounts like Brewzle in Alabama, who runs a bourbon club with dedicated followers willing to buy whatever barrel he picks.

3JMS: Named After Three Sons

When Vista got serious about growth, they did something a lot of companies in their position don’t do: they built their own technology from scratch.

The system is called 3JMS — short for 3J Management Systems. The 3Js? Three sons, all whose names start with J. The founder is clearly proud of his kids. The software handles order management, inventory, shipping logistics, accounting, sales tax, credit card fees — essentially everything that makes a multi-state spirits fulfillment operation function at scale. There is no off-the-shelf solution for this, because this industry didn’t really exist before they helped build it. Every competitor that tried to bolt on existing warehouse software hit a ceiling they couldn’t grow past.

Now they’re layering in AI on the back end — not consumer-facing chatbots, but logistics tools for inventory placement, ordering patterns, and warehouse efficiency. The kind of AI that makes fewer things fall through the cracks, not the kind that replaces people.

Finding the Diamonds in the Rough

I asked what kinds of brands Vista is most excited to work with. The answer wasn’t the celebrity labels or the established names. It was the small craft distillery that doesn’t know online sales are an option.

“We want to find the brands that are not serviced,” my guest said. “Once we teach them how to do this online, they’re amazed at how much business they’re getting.”

There are no minimums. No monthly fees. If you’re a small distillery in Nebraska with a tasting room, a handful of local retail relationships, and a product you believe in — Vista will work with you. You need distribution in California, Texas, or New York to start (that’s where their warehouses are), but once that’s in place, they’ll help you access the entire country.

One of their favorite client stories involves Detrling Rum out of Alabama. Started small, was barely moving bottles when they first partnered. Now every release sells out in ten minutes.

That’s the model they’re chasing. Not just moving bottles — watching brands grow.

Why This Matters for the Spirits World

I’ve talked to a lot of brands on this show. Founders, master distillers, brand ambassadors. The question of e-commerce comes up constantly, and a lot of smaller operations treat it like this distant, daunting thing. Too complex. Too expensive. Too much infrastructure to figure out while you’re also trying to make great whiskey.

Vista’s whole pitch is that it doesn’t have to be that way. They handle the compliance. They handle the logistics. They handle the technology. The brand just has to market.

That division of labor makes a lot of sense. A small distillery’s competitive advantage is in the liquid in the bottle and the story behind it — not in navigating state-by-state shipping regulations or building a warehouse management system. Let the people who are good at that do it.

The spirits world is at an interesting inflection point right now. The boom years are cooling a little. Some brands won’t survive. The ones that figure out how to meet consumers where they are — online, on their phones, buying based on an influencer recommendation at midnight — probably will.

Vista is the infrastructure underneath all of that. Invisible, by design. Essential, by necessity.

If you run or represent a small spirits brand and want to explore e-commerce fulfillment, you can reach Vista through their website. Links will be in the show notes.

Enjoyed this one? Hit subscribe on your podcast app, drop a comment on YouTube, or share this piece with someone in the industry who needs to hear it. You can also find all of EmbellishPod’s episodes, links, and contact info at www.embellishpod.com. Pinkies down, fun up.

There’s a moment in my conversation with Zach Johnston where he drops a line that’s been rattling around my head ever since: “You’re not going to get 2% of Diageo. You might get a half, but you’re never going to get two or three. Whereas over here, you can create your own 5%.”

It’s the kind of clarity that only comes from someone who’s seen the spirits industry from every angle—behind the bar, behind the keyboard, and now behind the brand.

The Long Way Around

Zach’s path to Blackwood Distilling reads like a novel with too many genre shifts to be believable. Film school in LA. Cocktail bars in Prague. Then Berlin’s Victoria Bar—the kind of place where Stefan Weber (co-author of The Art of the Spirited Drinking) takes you under his wing and teaches you that a proper Old Fashioned might take 20 minutes, and that’s perfectly fine.

“Being observant, and then internalizing what’s already happening,” he tells me. “If you can adjust something to make it more efficient, prove it. If not, follow what’s already there.”

That philosophy “observe, internalize, refine” carried him from folding bar towels on top of espresso machines (”so they’d dry evenly”) to building Uproxx’s whiskey vertical into one of the most-read spirits publications online. The differentiator? He actually tasted the whiskey before writing about it.

“A lot of the whiskey reviews in the mainstream were just reposting press releases,” he explains. “We made a pact that I had to taste the whiskey and do my own tasting notes and give you a bottom line of what is this good for, who is it for.”

The 10% Reality

What strikes me most about Zach is his clear-eyed view of the whiskey world’s actual demographics. We spend so much time in our enthusiast bubbles—the subreddits, the YouTube comments, the tasting groups—that we forget we’re outliers.

“About 10% are your regulars, who are ride or die,” he says, drawing from his bartending days. “The 90% of the other people? They’re there because they read about it somewhere. They heard Old Fashioneds are cool again.”

This isn’t dismissive—it’s strategic. If you’re selling a $40 bourbon, Zach argues, go hard on Instagram and YouTube. But Blackwood’s $80-200 products need different gatekeepers: chefs at Michelin-starred restaurants, bartenders at hotel lobby bars where guests don’t flinch at $40 pours.

“If you get the bartenders on your side, the price won’t matter.”

Chasing Ghosts (The Good Kind)

Here’s where Blackwood gets interesting. When founders Guinness and Justin looked at the toasted barrel market in 2019-2020, they saw a gap. Every toasted product was oak-forward—which is fine, but it’s not the whole story.

“What wasn’t out there,” Zach explains, “was utilizing freshly toasted barrels for the toasted wood sugars that caramelize—as opposed to the actual oak.”

Their process—one-to-one rebarreling from the original barrel into new Kelvin Cooperage barrels, medium toast, no char (or char four and char two with medium toast heads)—creates something that evokes a different era entirely. Through his work with Justin Sloan at Justin’s House of Bourbon, Zach has tasted enough vintage pours to recognize the connective tissue.

“There’s a parallel line between an old Fitz from 1956 or an old Granddad from 1972 and our whiskey,” he says. “The body’s similar. It’s got the same viscosity. That depth on the caramel, stewed fruit side.”

The Barrel Market Silver Lining

We talk about the current state of American whiskey—the surplus (Zach diplomatically avoids “glut”), the dropping barrel prices, the brands that won’t survive. But he’s genuinely optimistic.

“You can get four-year-old, pretty good Kentucky bourbon for $850 a barrel, which is almost cost,” he notes. “That 2020 surplus? It’s going to be eight years old in less than 18 months.”

For Blackwood, lower barrel prices have meant lower consumer prices—about 20% down since Zach joined. Their core Toasted 105 now sits at $79.99 MSRP, making it viable for bars and restaurants where pour cost actually matters.

The Products

For those keeping track:

Toasted 105 Bourbon & Rye: 52.5% ABV, ~$80. The core lineup, proofed to maintain density while trimming the edge.

Barrel Strength Bourbon & Rye: 58-59% ABV, $134-150. Small batches from 9-14 barrels.

Single Barrel: $174-199. Highly allocated, primarily medium toast and char four barrels.

On the horizon: a 12-year age-stated (non-toasted) bourbon and a collaboration with a German distiller on what they’re calling “the world’s first German American rye.”

Where to Find Blackwood: blackwooddistillingco.com/ , bourbonoutfitter.com for online orders, Justin’s House of Bourbon in Louisville, or ask your local high-end liquor store to bring it in.

Follow Zach: @ztpwhiskey on Instagram

———

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Hotel Monteleone • New Orleans • 1938

The final recipe is called The Carousel.

There’s a version of this article where I just give you the recipe. You’d make a solid Vieux Carré, enjoy it, move on. But that version leaves out the part where my wife told me it tasted like black licorice and I had to go back to the drawing board. It leaves out the budget vermouth that made everything feel vaguely incomplete, like a sentence that trails off. And it skips the moment I figured out why Dale DeGroff’s pimento bitters were the right solution to a problem I didn’t fully understand yet.

So we’re doing this the other way. The recipe is at the end. The story is worth reading first.

What You’re Actually Drinking

The Vieux Carré was created in 1938 by Walter Bergeron, head bartender at the Hotel Monteleone’s Swan Room in New Orleans’ French Quarter. ‘Vieux Carré’ is French for ‘Old Square’ — the French Quarter’s original name, back when the French actually ran the city.

Bergeron designed it as a tribute. The French Quarter in 1938 was genuinely multicultural in the way that tends to get romanticized in retrospect but was apparently just true: Americans, French, Italians, Caribbean communities all living in proximity. He built those communities into the glass.

• Rye whiskey = the Americans

• Cognac & Bénédictine = the French

• Sweet vermouth = the Italians

• Bitters = Caribbean influence

It’s a Manhattan that went to finishing school in Paris. Spirit-forward, complex, but not muddled. The IBA classifies it as an ‘Unforgettable’ — their designation for classic cocktails that aren’t as well-known as they should be. They’re right about that.

It first appeared in print in Stanley Clisby Arthur’s 1937 book Famous New Orleans Drinks and How to Mix ‘Em — which, yes, predates the 1938 Hotel Monteleone origin story by a year. History is messy. The drink exists. That’s what matters.

The Licorice Problem

Traditional Vieux Carré recipes call for equal dashes of Peychaud’s and Angostura bitters. This makes sense historically — Peychaud’s is a New Orleans institution, practically the official bitters of the French Quarter. It also contains anise, which gives it that distinctive licorice note.

Two dashes of Peychaud’s isn’t a lot. But in this particular combination of spirits, it was enough to flatten everything else. My wife tried the first test version and said it tasted like black licorice. She wasn’t wrong. The anise was punching above its weight and pulling the drink in a direction that Bergeron probably didn’t intend.

The solution took a while to find because I kept trying to reduce Peychaud’s rather than replace part of it. One dash instead of two helped but didn’t solve it. The flavor profile I wanted — Caribbean warmth that honored Bergeron’s tribute without introducing a licorice thread — needed something else.

Dale DeGroff’s Pimento Aromatic Bitters turned out to be exactly right. Pimento here means allspice, not the pepper — warm, Caribbean-inflected, no licorice. Two dashes of those, two dashes of Angostura for backbone, one dash of Peychaud’s to maintain the NOLA character without letting it dominate. The math worked. More importantly, the flavor worked.

The bitters blend actually connects more directly to Bergeron’s intent than the traditional version does. Pimento bitters are the Caribbean community in the glass, explicitly. It’s honoring the tribute more accurately while also tasting better. That doesn’t always happen.

The Sweetness Problem (and How Vermouth Fixed It)

Here’s the thing about vermouth: there’s a full ounce of it in this drink. Not a modifier amount, not a half-measure. An ounce. It’s not in the background — it’s structural.

I ran early tests with a mid-tier sweet vermouth. Not the cheapest option, but not premium either. The results tasted fine in isolation and incomplete as a cocktail. Something was missing, and I couldn’t isolate what it was by adjusting other variables. The drink wouldn’t cohere.

Switched to Carpano Antica Formula and immediately understood what ‘incomplete’ had been pointing at. Carpano is richer, more velvety, with pronounced vanilla notes that complement cognac’s oak in a way that lighter vermouths don’t. At 16.5% ABV, it has the body to hold up against the rye and the cognac. The Cocchi Vermouth di Torino — which legitimately won a PUNCH blind tasting competition in 2021 — was also excellent but read a little thin against this particular spirit combination. Carpano made everything feel settled.

Vermouth quality is non-negotiable here. That’s not a gatekeeping statement, just the practical reality of what the cocktail requires. Also: refrigerate it after opening, use it within two to three months. Old vermouth is the reason a lot of otherwise good Vieux Carrés taste like wine-adjacent disappointments.

How I Actually Tested This

Three sessions, eight total cocktails, roughly two weeks of development. I tested variables in isolation: cognac selection first, then rye, then vermouth. Testing spirits before vermouth matters because the vermouth needs to complement the spirits you’ve chosen, not the other way around. If you lock in vermouth first and then discover your rye doesn’t work with it, you’ve built the house on the wrong foundation.

Session 1: Cognac

Martell VS vs Pierre Ferrand 1840. This one wasn’t close. The Ferrand 1840 was developed with cocktail historian David Wondrich using 19th-century techniques — it’s literally designed for historic cocktails. Drier, more structured, better fruit-to-oak balance. The Martell was fine but added sweetness the drink didn’t need. My wife’s preference aligned with mine: Ferrand by a comfortable margin.

Session 2: Rye

Four candidates: Michter’s Barrel Strength, Rare Character Hurstknoll, Sazerac, and MB Roland.

Michter’s Barrel Strength won the taste test. Around 110 proof, intense complexity, handled everything you throw at it. The problem is that it’s also the most expensive option and its intensity makes it better suited for occasions when you want maximum impact rather than regular making. It’s the premium version.

Rare Character Hurstknoll Rye — a craft Kentucky selection — delivered 99% of the Michter’s experience at a more sensible price point for regular use. It stood up to the cognac without dominating it, integrated with the Carpano cleanly, and didn’t have that slightly precarious quality that sometimes comes with barrel-strength pours in stirred drinks.

Sazerac was a respectable third. Good NOLA connection given the cocktail’s origins. MB Roland didn’t work — the flavor profile pulled against the other ingredients rather than integrating.

Session 3: Vermouth

Cocchi Vermouth di Torino vs Carpano Antica Formula. As covered above, Carpano won. Both are legitimately good vermouths. In this specific combination, Carpano had the body and vanilla notes to pull everything together. Cocchi would be a solid choice in a different build.

The Vieux Carré Build — The Carousel

Walter Bergeron built his Vieux Carré at the Hotel Monteleone’s Swan Room, which has since been replaced by the Carousel Bar — a slowly rotating circular bar that’s become one of the more absurd and beloved things in New Orleans. Seemed like the right name for a Vieux Carré that keeps coming back around: same bones, refined by testing.

This is the standard version. The premium version swaps Hurstknoll for Michter’s Barrel Strength; everything else stays the same.

Amount

Ingredient

Notes

1 oz

Rare Character Hurstknoll Rye

Premium swap: Michter’s Barrel Strength

1 oz

Pierre Ferrand 1840 Cognac

Purpose-built for classic cocktails

¾ oz

Carpano Antica Formula

Refrigerate, use within 3 months

¼ oz

Bénédictine D.O.M.

Not negotiable; not B&B

2 dashes

Dale DeGroff’s Pimento Bitters

Caribbean warmth, no licorice

2 dashes

Angostura Bitters

Classic backbone

1 dash

Peychaud’s Bitters

NOLA authenticity, used sparingly

Lemon twist + Luxardo cherry

Garnish

Express twist; cherry optional

Construction

1. Add all ingredients to a mixing glass with ice.

2. Stir for 30 seconds. This drink needs the dilution. Under-stirred tastes hot; over-stirred (60+ seconds) goes watery. Thirty to forty seconds is the window.

3. Strain over a large format ice cube in a rocks glass.

4. Express a lemon twist over the drink from about four inches up. Rub the rim, place on ice.

5. Optional: add a Luxardo cherry on a pick. It’s a Manhattan connection, not a garnish afterthought.

Serve in a double old fashioned glass. Nick and Nora works if you want to go up — stir 40-50 seconds for the up version, no ice — but rocks is the traditional serve and it develops interestingly as it warms, which is exactly what you want.

Curiously I came across a TikTok shop glass that had nice color panels and spun like a carousel. I thought it was perfect for this and gave me a great excuse to spend even more money on this project.

If Something Tastes Wrong

Too sweet: Check vermouth freshness first. Then consider whether you under-stirred (needs more dilution). Bénédictine can be reduced to 1/8 oz if everything else checks out.

Too much licorice: Reduce to a single dash of Peychaud’s, or cut it entirely and go to four dashes of pimento only. The Liquor.com version uses that approach and it works.

Thin or watery: You stirred too long, or you’re working with a low-proof rye. 100-proof minimum makes a real difference in this build.

Too hot or boozy: Under-diluted. Stir the full 30-40 seconds. Also let the drink rest a minute before tasting — it needs a moment to settle.

Gets worse as it warms: Usually old vermouth or too much Bénédictine. Both create the same symptom: increasing sweetness that turns unpleasant rather than developing.

The Cost Reality

Initial investment runs approximately $195-225 to stock everything. That yields 25-30 cocktails from the first purchase. At roughly $5-6 per cocktail for the standard version and $6-7 for the premium, you’re looking at craft cocktail bar quality ($14-18 at most places, $18-24 at high-end hotel bars) for substantially less. The investment front-loads itself; ongoing costs after the first build-out are closer to $2-3 per cocktail.

The one place not to economize: vermouth. That $15 versus $38 decision will show up in the glass every time.

What I’d Do Differently

Test vermouth before cognac. I went spirits-first because the spirits felt like the anchor, but the vermouth turned out to have the biggest impact on the overall character of the drink. Either order can work, but if I were starting from scratch I’d identify the vermouth first and then find spirits that pair well with it.

Also, half-batch testing earlier in the process. Once I started making half-portions — roughly three-quarter ounce rye, three-quarter ounce cognac — I could run more variations without the obvious problem of consuming eight full cocktails across an afternoon. Palate fatigue is real and it makes you less useful as a taster.

To Walter Bergeron

The Hotel Monteleone’s Carousel Bar is still there, still rotating slowly in the French Quarter. Bergeron’s original Vieux Carré recipe — equal parts rye and cognac, sweet vermouth, Bénédictine, Peychaud’s and Angostura — is still what gets made when you order one at most places that carry it.

What I’ve done here is a modern interpretation with some specific preferences baked in: less sweetness, a bitters blend that actually emphasizes the Caribbean tribute Bergeron intended when he created the Vieux Carré, cognac chosen for cocktail integration rather than sipping quality. He probably would have used something like Dale DeGroff’s pimento bitters if they’d existed in 1938 — or he might have made something similar himself.

The Carousel keeps coming back around to the same place Bergeron started: diverse communities, integrated into something that’s better as a whole than any single element. That turned out to be exactly the right way to make a Vieux Carré.

I wanted to explore a new spirit this month. January’s calendar slot said “Black Russian”—vodka and coffee liqueur, straightforward build, good contrast after December’s butter-washing complexity with the Butterbeer. Simple enough.

Then I got the chance to talk to Sam Lerman from Spyrt Worldwide last month. They sent samples for testing. Three different Ukrainian vodkas, actually—Ukrainian Freedom, Hetman, Ukrainian Spirit, and I threw in Silly Goose from Texas as a control.

That conversation changed what this cocktail needed to be.

The Renaming

When you pick Ukrainian vodka for a Black Russian, the name stops working. There’s a war happening. Calling a cocktail made with Ukrainian spirit a “Black Russian” isn’t just awkward—it’s wrong. The cognitive dissonance ruins the drink before anyone tastes it.

So this became the Kyiv Noir. Ukrainian city, film noir aesthetic, dark sophistication. The name respects the spirit’s origin and captures what the drink actually is: moody, coffee-forward, evolved past its 1949 ancestor.

Testing the Vodkas

Made half-recipe tastings—1 oz vodka, 0.5 oz Meletti Coffee Liqueur, side-by-side. Ukrainian Freedom won clearly. Smoothest finish across all candidates, clean neutral profile that let the coffee shine through, no harsh ethanol bite. Better integration with the liqueur than the others.

The vodka matters more than you’d think in a coffee cocktail. Harsh vodka creates discord with bittersweet coffee notes. Smooth vodka creates harmony. Ukrainian Freedom made the name “Kyiv” authentic, not just thematic.

But then I tasted the full 2:1 build.

The Sweetness Crisis

2 oz vodka, 1 oz Meletti. Stirred it down. Tasted it.

Too sweet. Way too sweet. And this was before any topping.

This is where most people reach for bitters to suppress sweetness, maybe add citrus to balance it out. But that’s treating symptoms. The problem was foundational.

Meletti is an amaro-style coffee liqueur. Beautiful in its own right—herbal complexity, depth, Italian craftsmanship. But it brings amaro sweetness to what should be an espresso-forward drink. The coffee flavor was buried under sugar and botanical complexity that didn’t fit the noir concept I was chasing.

Critical realization: The coffee liqueur IS the cocktail in something this simple. Two ingredients plus bitters. If the liqueur is wrong, you’re building on a flawed foundation. Bitters can’t fix that. You need a different foundation.

Complete replacement necessary.

The Coffee Liqueur Showdown

Tested four liqueurs using the same taster format—1 oz Ukrainian Freedom vodka, 0.5 oz liqueur, 2 dashes Bittercube Bolivar bitters for direct comparison:

Meletti - Too sweet (~7/10 on sweetness scale), amaro-style wrong for this application. First to get eliminated.

Copa de Oro - Even sweeter (~8/10), vanilla-heavy, budget quality showed through. The kind of liqueur that works in a crowd-pleasing frozen drink but not in a two-ingredient stirred cocktail where there’s nowhere to hide.

Kamora - Middle ground (~6/10), less sweet than Kahlúa but still sweet-forward. Better than Copa de Oro, not good enough for what I needed.

Caffè Borghetti Di Vero Caffe Espresso - Clear winner.

Why Borghetti Changed Everything

Bittersweet profile sitting around 5/10 on sweetness. Not just “less sweet”—actually bittersweet, with espresso’s natural bitter edge present and accounted for. Tastes like concentrated espresso with sugar, not vanilla candy with coffee flavor added as an afterthought.

That’s the fundamental difference: espresso-forward vs dessert-forward.

25% ABV vs the typical 20% in most coffee liqueurs. Doesn’t sound like much but it matters in stirred cocktails. Higher proof stands up better to dilution during the 30-second stir. Creates a spirit-forward rather than dessert-forward character. Better integration with 40% vodka. Maintains intensity as the ice melts.

Made from real Italian espresso using a large moka pot process. Best-selling coffee liqueur in Italy since 1860. Less syrupy texture than Mexican liqueurs. Dark chocolate notes underneath the coffee. The kind of thing Italians actually drink, not something engineered for American dessert culture.

This creates noir depth. Sweet liqueurs create dessert drinks.

The Critical Variable: You Need Less-Sweet Coffee Liqueur

This recipe only works with a less-sweet coffee liqueur. That’s not optional. If you use Kahlúa or another dessert-forward liqueur, you’ll get the same problem I had with Meletti—too sweet before you even add the foam topping, and the foam will compound the issue into something that tastes like tiramisu had a baby with a milkshake.

Recommended coffee liqueurs for this recipe (in order of preference):

1. Mr. Black Cold Brew Coffee Liqueur - The gold standard. Around 3/10 sweetness, 25% ABV, intense Australian-made coffee. If you can find this, use it. Best option available.

2. Caffè Borghetti Di Vero Caffe Espresso - What I used. Around 5/10 sweetness, 25% ABV, Italian espresso character. More available than Mr. Black in most markets.

3. St. George NOLA Coffee Liqueur - Around 4/10 sweetness, 25% ABV, chicory notes, California-made. Excellent if you can source it.

4. Tia Maria - Around 5/10 sweetness, 20% ABV, Jamaican coffee and rum base. More available than the others, less sweet than Kahlúa, works in this application.

Avoid for this recipe: Kahlúa (~7/10), Kamora (~6/10), Copa de Oro (~8/10), or any vanilla-forward liqueur. They’re fine in other contexts—White Russians, frozen drinks, coffee added to desserts. But they create a dessert drink here rather than a sophisticated noir cocktail. The structural foundation doesn’t work.

Building Complexity

With the right liqueur in place, added Bittercube Bolivar bitters—chocolate, cola nut, vanilla. Two dashes standard, can increase to 3-4 if you want more depth.

Chocolate element ties to the dark chocolate coffee bean garnish. Cola nut adds unexpected complexity that works surprisingly well with coffee—brings a subtle spice character without being identifiable as “cola.” Vanilla bridges the vodka and espresso liqueur without adding sweetness. No cinnamon—didn’t want mulling spice character that would push this toward autumn territory instead of year-round noir sophistication.

The bitters add depth without calling attention to themselves. They create sophistication rather than acting as sweetness suppression. That’s the difference—you’re building layers, not compensating for structural problems.

The Dalgona Challenge

Initial plan was dalgona coffee foam as topping. Korean whipped coffee—equal parts instant coffee, sugar, and hot water beaten to stiff peaks. Visually dramatic, Instagram-worthy, all that.

First test used brown sugar dalgona with the Meletti base. Complete disaster. Brown sugar added molasses notes on top of already too-sweet amaro liqueur. Dessert bomb. The kind of thing that sounds good in theory—”brown sugar adds depth!”—but in practice just compounds the sweetness problem.

Almost abandoned the dalgona concept entirely. Seemed like the topping was fundamentally incompatible with the drink.

Then I switched to Borghetti’s bittersweet base and tried standard dalgona with white sugar. Actually worked. The 2 tablespoons of sugar in the foam balanced against the espresso-forward liqueur instead of compounding sweetness into oblivion.

This is optimization, not compromise. The topping works because the foundation works.

Visual drama delivers: dark drink, white foam, dark chocolate coffee bean garnish. Film noir aesthetic that’s functional, not just pretty. The foam adds coffee intensity without diluting the cocktail. Texture contrast between silky stirred base and mousse-like topping. Holds structure for photography and for the actual drinking experience.

Why Instant Coffee is Essential for Dalgona (The Science Part)

You can’t make dalgona foam with brewed coffee or fresh espresso. Only instant coffee works. I tested this because I was skeptical—seems like cheaping out on ingredients, right? But there’s actual chemistry behind why instant coffee is essential, not just convenient.

Concentration is critical. Dalgona uses 1:1 instant coffee to water, creating very concentrated coffee. Regular brewed coffee is 98%+ water—too diluted for the chemistry to work. The surfactants that create foam need high concentration to form stable bubble structures.

Instant coffee is pre-brewed and dehydrated by manufacturers using either spray-dry or freeze-dry techniques. Only about 10% of the original volume remains after drying. When you rehydrate it with minimal water, you get maximum concentration. That’s why it works—you’re essentially getting 10x concentrated coffee compared to brewing fresh.

Surfactants create bubble barriers. Coffee contains proteins and polysaccharides that act like surfactants—they lower surface tension between liquid and gas. When you whip the mixture, these surfactants coat each air bubble and trap it, similar to how egg proteins work in meringue. The more concentrated the coffee, the more surfactants available to coat bubbles, the more stable the foam.

Low oil content enables foam. Fresh coffee beans and grounds contain natural oils. Those oils are great for flavor but terrible for foam—they break down the surfactant barriers and inhibit foam formation. Instant coffee, especially cheaper spray-dried versions, has much less oil remaining after processing.

Here’s the counterintuitive part: Don’t buy expensive instant coffee for dalgona. Cheaper spray-dried instant coffee foams better than premium freeze-dried because it has less oil content. The expensive stuff tastes better as instant coffee, but it actually performs worse in dalgona. Save your money and get better results.

Sugar provides structure. Sugar increases viscosity—makes the liquid thicker, more syrup-like—so water drains more slowly from the bubble walls. Also creates protective layers between bubbles that prevent them from merging and collapsing. Acts as structural glue holding everything together.

You can make sugar-free dalgona if you’re trying to reduce sweetness, but the foam will be darker in color and collapse faster. Still works, just less stable. Salt actually works almost as well as sugar for stabilization, which is fascinating from a chemistry standpoint but doesn’t taste right in a coffee cocktail.

The whole process is basically coffee meringue. Whipping introduces air into the mixture, proteins coat the bubbles creating separation that keeps them intact longer, sugar stabilizes the structure. Takes 3-5 minutes with a hand mixer, 10-15 minutes if you whisk by hand. When it’s done, the mixture should be light golden-brown and thick like peanut butter—holds stiff peaks when you lift the whisk.

Presentation and Proportions

The 8oz coupe holds a full cup at the brim. Double the recipe to fill it properly—makes enough for two drinks, but you’ll only serve one and leave the rest behind.

Stir 4 oz vodka, 2 oz coffee liqueur, and 4 dashes bitters with ice for 30 seconds. Strain enough into the chilled coupe to fill about two-thirds of the glass (roughly 5-6oz after dilution). Top with generous dalgona foam to fill the remaining third. This creates proper visual balance—substantial base, dramatic foam cap, looks intentional.

The extra cocktail base goes into your tasting glass or down the drain. You’re building for presentation, not efficiency.

Alternative if you prefer smaller presentation: Use 5-6oz coupe with the standard single recipe (2 oz vodka, 1 oz liqueur). Fills closer to two-thirds naturally with 4oz after dilution, needs only 2-3 tablespoons foam. Less dramatic but still works.

Alternative if you prefer rocks glass: 10-12oz rocks glass with large cold brew coffee ice cube. The cube takes up volume, so standard recipe plus foam achieves similar proportions. The coffee ice provides flat surface for foam and adds flavor as it melts.

What This Is and Isn’t

vs. Black Russian: Ukrainian vodka instead of Russian vodka (political statement plus quality showcase), premium espresso liqueur instead of Kahlúa’s vanilla-forward sweetness, chocolate bitters add complexity where the original is just two ingredients, dalgona foam topping brings modern craft element, dark chocolate coffee bean garnish instead of no garnish. More sophisticated, more complex, more intentional.

vs. Espresso Martini: Stirred not shaken (creates silky spirit-forward texture vs frothy coffee-forward), coffee liqueur only instead of requiring fresh espresso shot, intentional dalgona topping vs natural crema from shaking, served in coupe or rocks vs martini glass, descended from 1949 Black Russian vs 1983 invention. Different lineage, different character, different aesthetic—this is classic noir, Espresso Martini is trendy contemporary.

vs. White Russian: Optional foam topping vs heavy cream as integral ingredient, dark with white foam cap vs muddy beige throughout, foam enhances first sips vs cream stirred into milkshake texture, sophisticated craft presentation vs casual approachable drink. The White Russian is what college kids drink because it’s sweet and easy. This is what you make when you want something with coffee that doesn’t taste like dessert.

It’s evolved past its ancestor. Not trying to be a better Black Russian—trying to be something that had to move beyond that framework to become what it needed to be.

What Didn’t Work (The Honest Part)

Meletti Coffee Liqueur - Amaro-style sweetness fundamentally wrong for this application. Created dessert drink before any topping was added. Beautiful liqueur, wrong context. Eliminating it was the single most important decision in the entire development process.

Copa de Oro - Even sweeter than Meletti, vanilla dominated coffee, budget quality showed through immediately in direct comparison. The kind of thing that works if you’re making coffee liqueur cocktails for people who don’t actually like coffee.

Brown sugar dalgona - Compounded sweetness problem with Meletti base, added molasses notes that didn’t fit noir aesthetic, pushed the drink toward autumn/pumpkin spice territory when I wanted year-round sophistication. White sugar was the right call once the base was fixed.

Large ice cube logistics without coffee ice solution - Foam needs flat surface to sit on properly. Regular large ice cube creates sloped surface. Foam slides off, looks messy, doesn’t present well. Only works if you use cold brew coffee ice cube that you actually want melting into the drink.

Single recipe in 8oz glass - Doesn’t fill properly for the two-thirds base, one-third foam presentation. Solved by doubling the recipe and accepting you’ll leave some behind. Building for the photo, not efficiency.

The Recipe

Kyiv Noir

Base Cocktail:

• 4 oz Ukrainian Freedom vodka

• 2 oz Caffè Borghetti Di Vero Caffe Espresso liqueur (or other low-sweetness coffee liqueur—see recommendations above)

• 4 dashes Bittercube Bolivar bitters

Dalgona Coffee Foam:

• 1/4 cup (2 tbsp) instant coffee granules

• 2 tbsp granulated sugar

• 1/4 cup (2 tbsp) hot water

Garnish:

• Dark chocolate-covered coffee bean

Method:

Make the dalgona foam first. Combine instant coffee, sugar, and hot water in mixing bowl. Beat with hand mixer until stiff peaks form—3-5 minutes with mixer, 10-15 minutes by hand if you’re feeling ambitious or don’t own a hand mixer. Mixture should be light golden-brown and thick like peanut butter when done. Can be made up to 2 days ahead and refrigerated, which is useful if you’re making multiple drinks.

Add vodka, coffee liqueur, and bitters to mixing glass with ice. Stir for 30 seconds until well-chilled. You’re looking for proper dilution and temperature, not just mixing—30 seconds is intentional.

Strain into chilled 8oz coupe glass, filling about two-thirds of the glass height (5-6oz after dilution). Reserve remaining cocktail.

Spoon generous dalgona foam onto surface of cocktail to fill the remaining third of the glass. Don’t just dump it—actually spoon it gently so it sits on top rather than mixing in. Place dark chocolate-covered coffee bean on the foam. Serve immediately.

Serves: 1 (with extra base left over)
Time: 10 minutes including foam preparation
Glass: 8oz coupe (or 10-12oz rocks glass with coffee ice cube)

Variations:

• Single serve in smaller glass: Use 2 oz vodka, 1 oz liqueur, 2 dashes bitters in 5-6oz coupe

• On the rocks: Use cold brew coffee ice cube for foam platform, serves in rocks glass

• No foam version: Serve stirred cocktail alone for simplified presentation when you don’t want to deal with dalgona prep

• Cream float: Replace dalgona with heavy cream float for Irish Coffee-style effect, simpler than dalgona but less dramatic presentation

Started this month wanting to explore Ukrainian vodka. Got samples, did testing, found the right spirit. Then discovered the coffee liqueur was more important than the vodka. Then realized the topping only works when the foundation works. Then figured out you have to build for presentation, not efficiency.

The vodka selection matters. The coffee liqueur matters more. The foam is chemistry that happens to look dramatic. The proportions create the presentation. The name honors where the spirit comes from while capturing what the drink actually is.

This isn’t a Black Russian anymore. It’s something that had to evolve past the name to become what it needed to be. That’s what testing new spirits does—takes you somewhere you weren’t expecting to go, and you build the map as you walk.

When prescription anxiety meds leave you blank for hours, where do you turn? Morgan Smith found his answer in a plant that’s been consumed safely for thousands of years.

This week on EmbellishPod, we venture beyond bourbon to explore kava culture, sustainability, and the growing movement toward alcohol alternatives.

The Moment Everything Changed

Picture this: You’re a software developer working in the high-stakes world of payments and finance. One minute of system downtime equals millions in losses. You’ve just had your second child. The pressure mounts. Your doctor prescribes an SSRI and benzodiazepines for panic attacks.

Then you take one at work.

“I don’t remember what I did the rest of the day,” Morgan Smith tells me during our conversation. “I came to a couple hours later at night and thought, whoa, what happened? It turns out I was driving coworkers to lunch, doing all sorts of work, and I thought—what’s going to happen if my newborn son needs to go to the hospital and I’m out of my mind on this stuff?”

That terrifying realization sent Morgan on a journey that would eventually lead him from tech cubicles to kava farms in Hawaii and throughout the South Pacific.

What Actually Is Kava?

Before we go further into Morgan’s story, let’s address the obvious question: what the hell is kava?

Kava (Piper methysticum) is a plant native to the Pacific Islands that’s been consumed ceremonially and socially for over 3,000 years across Polynesia, Melanesia, and Micronesia. The active compounds, called kavalactones, produce a calming, mildly euphoric effect without the cognitive impairment of alcohol or the blanking effects of benzodiazepines.

“It’s just like coffee for the afternoon,” Morgan explains. “It’s normal. It’s safe. It’s something that’s not going to hurt you and it’s not going to cause long-term problems.”

Unlike alcohol, kava doesn’t impair judgment or motor skills. You won’t wake up with a hangover. And there’s no addictive potential like prescription anxiety medications.

From England to the Tropics

Morgan’s background couldn’t be further from Pacific Island culture. “I’m big into ancestry,” he shares. “Most of my family is from England, Scotland, Ireland, and a little bit of Germany. And I always think—kava is one of those things that people are drawn to because they’re trying to get away from alcohol.”

He pauses before adding with a laugh, “My past family’s generations were probably creating a bunch of whiskey, and that ended up maybe not helping some people. And kava hopefully will kind of reverse some of that. I have a family history of alcoholism, so I was very concerned about that growing up.”

This personal connection to the downsides of alcohol, combined with his own struggles finding appropriate anxiety relief, made kava a revelation when he discovered it over a decade ago.

Building KALM with Kava

Today, Morgan owns and operates KALM with Kava (Kalm with a K), one of the nation’s largest kava distributors. The company imports kava from Tonga, Samoa, Fiji, and Vanuatu, while also farming it on Hawaii’s Big Island alongside sugarcane and taro.

The business was originally started about 15 years ago by Morgan’s friend Mike, whose legacy still drives the company’s vision. “I have a picture of him at the office on my back wall and I think about him all the time,” Morgan shares. “I was reading his text messages from 2018 a couple months ago, kind of looking back and thinking, ‘what would Mike do in this situation?’”

Mike’s plans for the farm—shared in a 2018 text message—are now Morgan’s roadmap for 2026-2028. “I’m taking what he actually said and I’m doing it. The plants he first started growing in Hawaii have tons of progeny now, and soon people will be able to enjoy all of his work.”

Magic Mushroom Rum (No, Really)

One of KALM’s more intriguing products is their Magic Mushroom Rum—which, despite the name, contains neither magic mushrooms nor rum. It’s a kava-based beverage that delivers the plant’s traditional effects in a modern, accessible format.

The naming reflects the creative approach many kava companies are taking to make the botanical more approachable to American consumers who might be intimidated by traditional preparation methods (which involve mixing the powdered root with water in what Morgan calls “muddy, root-flavored nastiness”).

The Sustainability Challenge

Our conversation takes a serious turn when discussing the kava industry’s biggest challenge: supply chain sustainability.

“People are drinking kava today that was planted three to four years ago,” Morgan explains. “It takes that long to grow. So if we don’t plant today, in three or four years there’s not going to be any kava to drink. And unfortunately, a lot of kava farmers out there are not thinking about that.”

The issue is particularly acute in the South Pacific, where educational access and long-term planning resources may be limited. “What I’d like to see is investment into the kava space where people really understand what happens when you don’t plant,” Morgan emphasizes. “These communities throughout the South Pacific depend on this.”

Testing, Transparency, and Trust

As kava gains popularity in the United States, Morgan is adamant about one thing: testing and transparency.

“I’d like to see kava companies really showing their lab tests saying, ‘this is what we test for and this is how we test it,’” he states. “Kava is an herb grown in the middle of the South Pacific. We need to make sure that whatever we’re putting into our bodies isn’t going to hurt us. We have to test for things like E. coli and salmonella.”

I couldn’t help but add my two cents here: “If you are a kava producer, get the test and publish them now, because all it requires is a handful of bad reactions in the United States to create an infrastructure that requires you. If you do the work on the front end, maybe they don’t ever require you to do it because you’re already doing it.”

The alternative—waiting for federal regulation after problems arise—would be far more burdensome than voluntary testing now.

Why This Matters for Spirits Culture

You might be wondering why a bourbon and whiskey podcast is covering kava. The answer is simple: the spirits world isn’t about gatekeeping or narrow definitions. It’s about understanding what people consume, why they consume it, and how culture shapes those choices.

The rise of kava, THC beverages, and other alcohol alternatives doesn’t represent a rejection of spirits culture—it represents an evolution. Younger generations are approaching consumption more intentionally, whether that means choosing craft cocktails over cheap beer, exploring non-alcoholic options, or seeking botanical alternatives that fit their lifestyle.

“I think people are being more intentional,” I noted during our conversation. “The volume isn’t there like it used to be. When people do want to consume alcohol, it’s usually through cocktail culture or through high-end spirits. It’s more like, ‘I want to actually enjoy what I’m consuming and the time that I am consuming it.’”

Kava fits into this broader trend of mindful consumption.

Finding Your Alternative

Morgan’s journey from tech burnout to kava farming demonstrates something important: there isn’t one right path for everyone. Whether you’re doing Dry January, reassessing your relationship with alcohol, or simply curious about what else is out there—having options matters.

“If you’re thinking about finding something just to help you wind down at the end of the day, kava could be it,” Morgan offers. “If not, that’s fine too. Let’s just be friends. Let’s connect. Let’s hang out.”

That’s the spirit (pun intended) that makes this conversation valuable. No dogma. No judgment. Just authentic exploration of what works for different people.

Listen to the full episode on your favorite podcast platform or watch on YouTube. Find KALM with Kava on Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook @kalmwithkava.

Pinkies down, fun up.

Want more spirits content, industry interviews, and cocktail culture exploration? Subscribe to EmbellishPod on your podcast platform of choice, follow us on Instagram and TikTok @embellishpod, and visit www.embellishpod.com for articles, episode details, and more.

Duncan McCallum bought Glen Scotia Distillery in 1924 when Campbeltown was already collapsing—over a dozen distilleries had closed, more were failing. He believed quality and persistence could turn it around. By December 1930, he drowned himself in Campbeltown Loch. Official record says accident. Locals know better—failed deals, mounting debt, watching an entire region’s whisky heritage disintegrate.

Distillery workers still report strange occurrences at Glen Scotia after dark. McCallum’s ghost, they say. Probably superstition, but it’s a useful reminder that people bet everything on these businesses.

What Actually Happened

In the 1880s, Campbeltown had 20+ active distilleries. Alfred Bernard called it “the whisky capital of the world.” The Kintyre Peninsula’s isolation worked in their favor—hard for excise officers to reach, abundant resources, deep water harbors.

Then American Prohibition created massive illegal demand. Campbeltown producers rushed to meet it with shorter fermentation, inferior casks, premature bottling. When legitimate markets returned, their reputation was destroyed. Seventeen distilleries closed in the 1920s alone. By 1934, only Springbank and Glen Scotia survived. The region nearly lost its status entirely.

The Lowlands Took a Different Path

The Lowlands encompasses everything south of an imaginary line from Greenock to Dundee—more tradition than actual geography. Where Campbeltown faced isolation, Lowland distilleries operated near major cities. Less romantic, more industrially efficient.

Many use triple distillation (unusual for Scotland, common in Ireland), creating extra smoothness that makes them excellent entry points. Glasgow Distillery exemplifies the modern urban approach—solving logistical challenges, integrating with blending operations, proving approachable doesn’t mean boring.

Lowland whisky doesn’t demand attention. It offers finesse over power, light grassy flavors instead of smoke and maritime funk. The best expressions layer complexity without intimidation. They’re training wheels that serious enthusiasts never outgrow.

Tonight’s Lineup

Glasgow 1770 Triple Distilled (92 proof)
Thin color by bourbon standards. Nose: cherry candy, orange, grass. Palate: pepper, artificial lemon, finishes with pithy citrus bitterness—the white parts of any citrus fruit. This is elegance through restraint, harder to achieve than it looks.

Glen Scotia 15 Year (92 proof)
More color from age, same proof, completely different personality. Nose: saltwater taffy and caramel with citrus oils. Palate: spice-studded orange (like Christmas stovetop decorations), wood, slight medicinal notes. Finishes with smoke and oak. This is what perseverance tastes like.

Kilkerran Cask Strength
Significantly younger but intensely colored at cask strength. Needs a deep breath before diving in—jumping almost 20 proof points. Immediately smoky, earthy, caramel, dry red wine, leather. Palate is thick like homemade jelly, proof feels like pineapple eating your tongue (high acidity). Finishes with smoky grapefruit. This is Campbeltown’s distinctive funk—polarizing but worth preserving.

The Business Case for Revival

Hedley Wright’s 2004 decision to reopen Glengyle Distillery (producing Kilkerran) after 125 years wasn’t pure sentiment—it was sound business calculation that Campbeltown whisky could be profitable with proper investment. That brought the count to three active distilleries, securing regional status.

Wright passed in 2023, but family trust ownership ensures continuity. They’re not chasing growth for its own sake—they’re protecting something irreplaceable while remaining profitable. That’s the sweet spot: financial viability supporting cultural preservation.

McCallum didn’t live to see Campbeltown’s revival. He died believing the region’s whisky culture had vanished. But Glen Scotia survived 90+ more years. Glengyle reopened 74 years after closing. Today, Campbeltown’s experiencing genuine renaissance with new distilleries planned and international recognition growing.

McCallum was right about what mattered—the whisky itself was worth fighting for. He was just in the wrong timeline. Sometimes belief in quality takes generations to vindicate.

What We Learned

Whisky regions survive through different strategies. The Lowlands lost most distilleries but are experiencing urban revival. Campbeltown nearly vanished but held on through stubbornness. Approachable doesn’t mean simple. Distinctive regional character is worth preserving, even when it limits market appeal.

Every bottle reflects choices about production philosophy, target audience, and relationship with tradition. The contrast between urban versus rural, innovation versus tradition, accessibility versus complexity reveals whisky’s incredible diversity within a relatively small country.

Next Time: Independent bottlers who select exceptional casks outside corporate house style constraints—whisky curation. Finding the outliers, the special moments, the expressions distilleries might not bottle themselves.

Harry Potter movies are Christmas Movies...no questions asked.

A handful of years ago we took the kids to Universal Studios explicitly to visit Harry Potter attractions. My wife and I were a little too old to have cut our teeth reading those but growing up on Narnia and the Shire I’m a sucker for world building so these slotted in just right. I don’t know if there’s anything explicitly that makes these movies just slot into the whole Christmas season but it just works for us.

While there we had our obligatory Butterbeer beverages and...diabeetus. When I started this cocktail journey I knew I wanted to revisit that beverage, make an adult version as well as a less sweet kid version. Something you can actually drink.

Starting Point: What Do We Use?

I researched some existing recipes to figure out what spirit would work best for this. Lucky timing, I’d had the ladies from Don Q on the podcast a couple months back and still had bottles on hand that seemed like they’d fit the bill. That sorted the adult version, at least the spirit part.

Then came the real puzzle: which cream soda to use. I started with what was locally available and figured I’d test from there if needed. Last piece was the butterscotch. Simple enough, right? Just make some homemade syrup. I also added club soda to the build with the intent of cutting down the sweetness that had walloped us at Universal.

Three testing variables: spirit choice, cream soda selection, butterscotch type. Or so I thought.

First Attempt

Adult Version

Ingredients:

• 1.75oz Don Q Reserva Añejo XO

• 6oz IBC cream soda

• 3oz club soda

• Homemade butterscotch syrup

• Whipped cream topping

Build:

1. Add butterscotch syrup to stein

2. Add rum

3. Add cream soda

4. Add club soda

5. Top with whipped cream

Family Version

Ingredients:

• 6oz IBC cream soda

• 3oz club soda

• Homemade butterscotch syrup

• Whipped cream topping

Build:

1. Add butterscotch syrup to stein

2. Add cream soda

3. Add club soda

4. Top with whipped cream

The Problems That Revealed Themselves:

First hurdle was the homemade butterscotch. When it cools down, the butter congeals and becomes impossible to drizzle properly. Looked great in theory, didn’t work in practice.

Second was temperature. I’d frosted the family crest beer steins (16oz clear glass with handles), but I’d only chilled the cream soda and rum for a couple hours. Not nearly long enough. The drinks got warm and gross fast, which made the sweetness even more cloying.

Third problem: I picked up a marker note from the rum/soda mixture. The Don Q XO is a great sipping rum, but in cream soda it wasn’t working.

The kids wanted more creaminess. The whipped cream topping looked nice but didn’t solve the problem.

And finally, volume. The recipe only made about 11oz of liquid plus whipped cream. In a 16oz stein, it looked sad and half-empty.

Important Discovery:

The sweetness level was actually fine. I didn’t need to reduce sugar or butterscotch—I needed to fix everything else.

Round Two: Fixing the Obvious Problems

Adult Version

Ingredients:

• 2oz Don Q Reserva 7 Años

• 8oz IBC cream soda

• 4oz club soda

• Homemade butterscotch syrup

• Whipped cream topping (heavy cream, brown sugar, vanilla)

Prep:

• All ingredients refrigerated overnight

• Frost stein 20-30 minutes before building

Build:

1. Add butterscotch syrup to frosted stein

2. Add rum

3. Add cream soda

4. Add club soda

5. Top with whipped cream

Family Version

Ingredients:

• 8oz IBC cream soda

• 4oz club soda

• 2.5oz half-and-half

• Homemade butterscotch syrup

• Whipped cream topping (heavy cream, brown sugar, vanilla)

Prep:

• All ingredients refrigerated overnight

• Frost stein 20-30 minutes before building

Build:

1. Add butterscotch syrup to frosted stein

2. Add half-and-half

3. Add cream soda

4. Add club soda

5. Top with whipped cream

A little research told me bottled sodas need at least 12 hours to get cold enough. So everything went in the fridge overnight. Frosted the steins properly. Scaled up the volumes to actually fill the 16oz glasses. Switched from the Don Q XO to the 7 Años—cleaner, less complex, should work better in a mixed drink. Added half-and-half to the family version for the creaminess the kids wanted.

What Actually Happened:

Temperature was better but still not ideal. The frosted glass and overnight refrigeration helped, but the drinks still warmed up faster than I wanted.

The Don Q 7 Años gave me a different off-flavor. Not the same marker note as the XO, but still unpleasant. Started to think that maybe Puerto Rican rum style just doesn’t play nice with cream soda, regardless of age or quality.

The half-and-half added creaminess to the family version, but the whipped cream topping was still too fussy. It looked good for about 30 seconds, then started breaking down. Not practical.

Progress, but not there yet.

The Big Pivots (Test 3)

Adult Version

Ingredients:

• 1.5oz Don Q Reserva 7 Años

• 8oz IBC cream soda

• 3oz club soda

• 1oz heavy whipping cream

• ~1/4 tbsp Vittles Company butterscotch sauce

• Crushed ice

Prep:

• All ingredients refrigerated overnight

• Frost stein 20-30 minutes before building

Build:

1. Fill stein 1/3 with crushed ice

2. Add butterscotch sauce

3. Add rum

4. Pour 4oz cream soda

5. Add club soda

6. Add heavy whipping cream

7. Pour remaining 4oz cream soda from 6-8 inches above glass

8. Gentle stir if needed

9. Serve immediately with straw

Family Version

Ingredients:

• 8oz IBC cream soda

• 3oz club soda

• 1oz heavy whipping cream

• ~1/4 tbsp Vittles Company butterscotch sauce

• Crushed ice

Prep:

• All ingredients refrigerated overnight

• Frost stein 20-30 minutes before building

Build:

1. Fill stein 1/3 with crushed ice

2. Add butterscotch sauce

3. Pour 4oz cream soda

4. Add club soda

5. Add heavy whipping cream

6. Pour remaining 4oz cream soda from 6-8 inches above glass

7. Gentle stir if needed

8. Serve immediately with straw

This round changed everything.

Ice solved the temperature problem definitively. Frosted glass and overnight refrigeration helped, but crushed ice filling a third of the stein kept everything cold from first sip to last. I reduced the club soda to 3oz to compensate for ice melt dilution.

The butterscotch surrender: I admitted defeat on the homemade syrup. Switched to Vittles Company commercial butterscotch sauce. It’s richer, more consistent, and actually pours properly. Sometimes simpler beats “authentic.”

The cream breakthrough—this was the big one. I ditched the whipped cream topping entirely. Too complicated, didn’t hold, added steps without adding value. Instead, I integrated heavy whipping cream directly into the drink. Started testing with 1.5oz, ended up at 1oz.

Here’s what I discovered: if you build it in the right order—cream soda, club soda, heavy cream—then pour the final portion of cream soda from 6-8 inches above the glass, the force of that pour agitates the heavy cream into natural foam on top. No whipping needed. The split-pour technique creates the visual and texture you want without any extra work.

The rum adjustment: I’d initially overreacted to the off-flavor and dropped the rum down to 1.5oz from 2oz. But as I drank the test batch, I noticed the flavor improved as the drink progressed and diluted slightly. The harsh notes mellowed. Rather than chase a different spirit entirely, I decided to stick with Don Q 7 Años at the lower volume. It works(wonder if the anejo would have benefitted from a retest).

The Soda Showdown (Test 3B)

I couldn’t help myself. Things were working with IBC, but I wanted to know if there were better options. So I did a side-by-side comparison of three cream sodas in half-sized portions:

• IBC Cream Soda

• Dr Pepper Cream Soda

• Fitz’s Cream Soda

Results:

• Adults preferred IBC for the boozy version

• Kids preferred Fitz’s for the family version

Important note: The half-sized batches didn’t foam the same way the full-sized ones did. Volume and velocity physics matter for the split-pour technique I guess. This wasn’t a recipe problem just smaller portions don’t create the same effect.

Key realization: Using different sodas for different versions isn’t compromise, it’s optimization. The kids and adults have different preferences. Why force them to drink the same thing?

Final Recipes

Adult Version - Boozy Butterbeer

Ingredients:

• 1.5oz Don Q Reserva 7 Años

• 8oz IBC cream soda

• 3oz club soda

• 1oz heavy whipping cream

• ~1/4 tbsp Vittles Company butterscotch sauce

• Crushed ice

Build:

1. Fill 16oz stein 1/3 with crushed ice

2. Add butterscotch sauce

3. Add rum

4. Pour 4oz IBC cream soda

5. Add club soda

6. Add heavy whipping cream

7. Pour final 4oz IBC cream soda from 6-8 inches above glass (creates natural foam)

8. Gentle stir if needed

9. Serve immediately with straw

Family Version - Butterbeer

Ingredients:

• 8oz Fitz’s cream soda

• 3oz club soda

• 1oz heavy whipping cream

• ~1/4 tbsp Vittles Company butterscotch sauce

• Crushed ice

Build:

1. Fill 16oz stein 1/3 with crushed ice

2. Add butterscotch sauce

3. Pour 4oz Fitz’s cream soda

4. Add club soda

5. Add heavy whipping cream

6. Pour final 4oz Fitz’s cream soda from 6-8 inches above glass (creates natural foam)

7. Gentle stir if needed

8. Serve immediately with straw

What I Learned

Commercial beats homemade sometimes. I started wanting homemade butterscotch for “authenticity.” Commercial sauce works better for consistency and ease. The Vittles Company butterscotch is richer than what I made anyway.

Construction technique matters as much as ingredients. The split-pour foam technique creates visual interest and texture without whipped cream hassle. Simple execution, better result.

Temperature control is structural, not optional. Sweet drinks become cloying when warm. Cold isn’t a preference, it’s a requirement for this to work.

Sometimes you overreact, then reconsider. Dropped the rum volume thinking the spirit was the problem, realized it was about dilution and timing. The lower amount worked, but not for the reasons I initially thought.

Closing

This is one family’s Butterbeer, not the definitive version. It’s the journey from an idea and Universal Studios memory to something we can actually drink at home during our Christmas Harry Potter marathon.

The split-pour foam technique turns out to be the clever part—simple execution that creates a “fancy” result without theater. Commercial butterscotch beats homemade. Different sodas for different people makes sense. And crushed ice solves problems that frosted glasses can’t.

Not an Instagram fantasy. A practical home recipe that works.

From Combat Veteran to Ukrainian Vodka Importer: A Mission-Driven Story

We’re breaking from our usual bourbon and whiskey focus for an episode you absolutely need to hear. Sam Lerman, co-founder of Spyrt Worldwide, shares one of the most compelling origin stories in the spirits industry - from Air Force security forces veteran to defense industry professional to volunteering in Ukraine during the 2022 invasion, and ultimately becoming an importer of Ukrainian vodka with a mission that extends far beyond the bottle.

Sam’s journey includes smuggling suitcases of vodka across European borders, discovering that Ukrainian horilka (vodka) is an art form with 700 years of history, and building a brand where 10% of proceeds fund landmine removal efforts in Ukraine through partnerships with organizations like the Invictus Global Response.

We explore the cultural significance of Ukrainian spirits, the difference between horilka and Russian vodka, what it was like to volunteer in a war zone, and how a chance encounter with a bottle of Hetman vodka changed everything. This conversation goes deep into entrepreneurship, mission-driven business, and supporting Ukraine through commerce and awareness.

Featured Brand: Spyrt Worldwide Products Discussed: Hetman Vodka, various Ukrainian wines and spirits Availability: DC, Maryland, Virginia ABC, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Colorado, Arizona, Nevada, Washington, California, and online

Links:

• Spyrt Worldwide: www.spyrtworldwide.com

• Institute for the Study of War: www.understandingwar.org

• Invictus Global Response

Ukrainian Toast: Budmo! (B-U-D-M-O)

A coworker walked into my office last week holding an old newspaper his dad had saved. He’d been going through boxes trying to figure out what his dad thought was worth keeping, and he found this article from December 22, 1974—The State Journal out of Frankfort, Kentucky. Headline: “History May Help Bourbon In Comeback Push.”

I immediately brought it back to my desk and started reading through the faded newsprint, it felt like reading today’s trade publications. Just different names and dates.

The bourbon industry in 1974 was worried. Vodka was taking over. Industry people were defending bourbon’s versatility, its heritage, its authenticity. They kept pointing to inventory levels and this “true American spirit” designation like it was going to save them. One guy insisted people would eventually realize that “drinking this 80-proof alcohol is not as good as this bourbon.”

Fifty years later, bourbon’s in almost the exact same position. Except now it’s not vodka. It’s tequila and RTD cocktails and lions and tigers and bears….oh my.

The Current Reality

Younger consumers are moving toward lower-proof spirits, tequila, and ready-to-drink options or just not drinking at all. Those ultra-premium bourbon bottles sitting between $80-$250? They’re not moving like they used to. Price fatigue is real.

And the industry’s response? Same playbook as 1974: versatility, heritage, authenticity.

Tom Godfrey from FOCO in Barcelona told Punch: “Bourbon is a spirit that we think is one of the most versatile to mix with. If the drink is stirred, shaken or thrown, carbonated and served tall, or even blended, bourbon plays so well with so many fresh ingredients.”

That’s basically what they were saying about competing with vodka in ‘74.

What’s Actually Different This Time

HOWEVER. Bourbon’s position now is fundamentally different from 1974 in ways that actually matter:

The infrastructure is built. In 1974, they were still recovering from Prohibition. Now there are 12.6 million barrels aging in Kentucky warehouses. The Kentucky Bourbon Trail brought in 2.5 million visitors in 2024, generating over $400 million in tourism revenue. The industry supports 23,300 jobs and delivers $9.2 billion in economic impact. This isn’t a dying category scrambling for relevance. It’s a mature economic engine recalibrating.

Premium positioning is already won. Tequila and RTDs are still fighting to establish premium credibility. Some reposado sales are growing, sure, and some RTDs position as “bar-quality,” but bourbon already owns the premium American spirits space. High-end and super-premium bourbon sales grew 18% in 2024. When consumers trade up, they’re going deeper into bourbon, not leaving it.

The craft diversity. 1974 was dominated by a handful of large producers. Now there are over 100 distilleries in Kentucky alone. Craft operations are experimenting with heirloom grains like Bloody Butcher and Blue Clarage, innovative barrel finishes, sustainability practices that actually resonate with younger consumers. Charlie McCarthy from WSET notes that the variety in bourbon from char levels to barrel placement “makes bourbon an ideal spirit for mixing.” This diversity didn’t exist in ‘74.

The competition’s structural weakness. IWSR research shows consumers regularly can’t identify whether they’re drinking a malt-based or spirit-based RTD. The category is built on convenience and marketing, not loyalty to the spirit itself. Tequila’s riding a wave of celebrity endorsements and trend-driven consumption. When that cools—and it will—what’s holding it up?

Bourbon has something neither can replicate quickly: decades of aging inventory that can’t be rushed, a defined geographic identity, and a production method codified in law.

“Bourbon 3.0” positioning. The industry is entering what analysts call “Bourbon 3.0”—deeper consumer education, enhanced brand experiences, global sophistication. The Bourbon Flight summarized it well: “The focus is no longer just on what’s in the glass, but on who made it, how it was aged, and why it matters.”

Smart positioning. RTDs compete on convenience, tequila competes on trendiness. Bourbon’s doubling down on craft, story, and experience—the things that create lasting brand loyalty.

What Actually Kept Bourbon Alive

Bourbon’s survival during the vodka era came down to a combination of desperation and opportunism. Export markets (i.e. Japan) became a critical revenue source. Wild Turkey’s Eddie Russell put it bluntly: “Japan was a savior for us,” absorbing hundreds of cases when American demand had collapsed. Innovators like Elmer T. Lee (Blanton’s Single Barrel, 1984) and Booker Noe (Booker’s, 1987) created the premium single-barrel and small-batch categories, proving bourbon could command higher prices if positioned as craft rather than commodity. But distilleries also survived by keeping bottom-shelf brands alive, often dumping well-aged inventory into cheap bottles just to move product and generate cash flow. By 1980, Kentucky distilleries were making less than 1 million barrels per year but sitting on 5 million barrels of aging inventory. That meant bottom-shelf bourbon in the 1980s frequently contained older whiskey than many premium bottles today—not because distillers were being generous, but because they were desperate to monetize aging stock that wasn’t selling. The industry didn’t survive through quality focus alone; it survived through export hustle, premium innovation, and sometimes just selling really old bourbon really cheap to anyone who’d buy it.

What 1974 Actually Teaches Us

Bourbon survived vodka’s dominance by being unapologetically itself. The industry waited out the trend, maintained quality, and was ready when consumer tastes evolved back toward flavor and complexity.

Today’s playbook, better tools: tourism infrastructure, craft innovation, global distribution, and a generation educated by craft cocktail culture to appreciate what makes bourbon special.

Reid Mitenbuler captured it: “Bourbon refuses to be rushed—drinking it is an exercise in slow sipping, just letting the concentrated bursts of honey, spice, and vanilla flavors unwind on your tongue.”

You can’t rush aging bourbon. You can’t rush building a distillery. You can’t rush creating heritage.

But you can rush a hard seltzer to market, slap a celebrity name on tequila, or reformulate an RTD when sales slow.

The Generational Shift That Tells the Whole Story

I think the least surprising thing about the article is the tone. It was defensive, almost precious about how bourbon should be consumed. The final quote was essentially: don’t ruin bourbon by mixing it with too much cola and sugary stuff—you might as well drink vodka.

That was Booker Noe’s era. Bourbon purists defending the spirit from being bastardized. Maybe the greater population has evolved past this but not all. What do you think happens every time someone new to the segment uses the word smooth or makes a cocktail with the wrong “premium” whiskey?

Flash forward to 2025, and Fred Noe—Booker’s son, Jim Beam’s seventh generation master distiller—has this to say about how to enjoy bourbon: “Drink it any damn way you please.”

That shift tells you everything about why bourbon’s positioned differently now. In 1974, the industry was rigid, trying to hold the line on tradition while losing market share to a more flexible competitor. Now? They’ve figured out you can honor heritage while meeting consumers where they are.

The infrastructure, the premium positioning, the craft diversity—those all matter. But the real competitive advantage is that bourbon learned not to be precious about itself while maintaining what makes it special.

Bottom Line

After years of explosive growth that brought speculators, flippers, and casual drinkers into the category, bourbon’s returning to a smallerish audience. The explosive growth brought some new folks to the fold but many of them are tired. Ready to try something new.

In 1974, bourbon was defending itself against a spirit with no taste, no color, and no history. In 2024, it’s defending itself against convenience and celebrity and maybe exhaustion.

Fifty years ago, the industry said bourbon would survive because of its heritage and authenticity. They were right then. They’re right now.

The main difference? This time they’ve got the infrastructure and positioning to actually capitalize on it when the market corrects. And they’re not going to lose share by being inflexible about how people should enjoy it.

Which, looking at what happened with vodka, might be the lesson that actually matters.

I’ve included photos of the original 1974 clipping below. The parallels are striking, and the contrast between then and now is probably more instructive than the similarities.

What happens when a Detroit bartender who helped open America’s first fragrance bar joins one of bourbon’s most innovative distilleries? You get Jaz’min Weaver, Bardstown Bourbon Company’s traveling educator with a perspective unlike anyone else in the industry.

In this conversation, Jaz’min shares her journey from running bar programs with ever-changing five-course tasting menus to spreading the gospel of Bardstown bourbon across the nation. We dive deep into what makes Bardstown different—their organic collaboration approach, their unique barrel-finishing technique using argon gas preservation, and releases that push boundaries.

Key Discussion Points:

• The story behind Bardstown’s Cathedral Finish featuring 300-year-old French oak hand-selected for Notre Dame’s restoration

• Why Amrut was a historic moment (first American whiskey finished in Indian single malt casks)

• How Bardstown’s collaborations work: handshake deals, no money exchanged, just people excited about flavor

• The argon gas preservation method that keeps barrels wet for maximum flavor transfer

• Pairing whiskey to experiences, not just food

• Why the on-premise distillery experience will continue growing despite market contractions

Guest Bio: Jaz’min Weaver is a traveling educator for Bardstown Bourbon Company. Her background includes bartending in Metro Detroit, running bar programs at Frame (known for rotating five-course tasting menus), and helping launch the nation’s first fragrance bar. She specializes in pairing flavor to fragrance and food to beverage.

Connect with Jaz’min: Instagram: @jaz.distilled

From bourbon to rye, from store-bought to homemade, and the moment I realized my whiskey wasn’t corked - my syrup had carrot juice in it

I wanted to make a Thanksgiving cocktail. Tart cranberry, herbal notes, warm spices, citrus brightness. Clear vision, messy execution.

Turns out it takes a lot of iterations to get there. Also turns out that halfway through I’d convince myself my whiskey had gone bad when really it was just carrot juice in my syrup.

This is the Turkey Smash.

Version 1: Too Sweet, Not Enough Bite

Started with what seemed solid:

• 2 oz Wild Turkey 101 8 Year Bourbon

• 1 oz Cranberry Juice (100%, not cocktail)

• 1/2 oz Sorghum Syrup

Too sweet. The cranberry wasn’t tart enough to cut through the sorghum. The herbal notes I was chasing were completely absent. The bourbon wasn’t giving me the spice backbone I needed.

Time to pivot to rye.

Version 2: When Your Wife Picks the Other One

I tested two rye whiskeys side by side:

What I made for me:

• 2 oz Wild Turkey Rare Breed Rye

• 1 1/2 oz Cranberry Juice

• 1/2 oz Simple Syrup

• Orange Bitters

What I made for her:

• 2 oz Wild Turkey 101 Rye

• 1 1/2 oz Cranberry Juice

• 1/2 oz Simple Syrup

• Orange Bitters

I preferred the Rare Breed. She preferred the 101. She said hers tasted like cranberry sauce, the jelly type. I thought mine was too sweet, maybe from too much simple syrup or a syrup ratio that was too sugar-heavy.

We kept testing both.

Version 3: Finding the Right Bitters

The third round kept both whiskeys in play but added a new question: which bitters would actually bring those warm spices?

I tested both ryes with Bluegrass Five Spice Orange Bitters. The Rare Breed won clearly. The higher proof and spicier character worked better with the bitters.

Then I made another with just the Rare Breed using Regan’s Orange Bitters No. 6 for comparison. The Bluegrass Five Spice Orange was the right choice. Those warm spice notes (cinnamon, clove, allspice) finally showed up.

I also cut the syrup down to 1/4 oz, which helped with sweetness.

Where we were:

• 2 oz Wild Turkey Rare Breed Rye

• 1 1/2 oz Cranberry Juice (100%, not cocktail)

• 1/4 oz Cranberry Pie Syrup

• Bluegrass Five Spice Orange Bitters

This version had enough tartness to cut through rich Thanksgiving food. Good spark of tang and citrus. But still a bit sweet, and something else was off.

The Carrot Juice Discovery

There was this weird earthy flavor. I thought my whiskey might be corked. I was genuinely worried I’d been using bad bottles for multiple tests.

Then I read the label on my cranberry pie syrup: black carrot juice concentrate.

Always pay attention to your ingredients.

The black carrot juice gave the cocktail its deep color. But I could taste it. That earthy note wasn’t the whiskey. It was carrot juice.

I made two homemade syrups to compare:

1. Cranberry simple syrup (simple syrup plus cranberry juice and sugar)

2. Jellied cranberry sauce reduction (from leftover Thanksgiving cranberry sauce)

I tasted them straight, no cocktail. Both crushed the commercial syrup. Cleaner flavors, better balance, no carrot juice.

The Final Test

I made both versions in the actual cocktail.

The cranberry simple and the jellied cranberry sauce reduction tasted nearly identical. The only real difference was texture. When that’s the case, go the easy route.

The Turkey Smash:

• 2 oz Wild Turkey Rare Breed Rye

• 1 1/2 oz Cranberry Juice (100%, not cocktail)

• 1/4 oz Cranberry Simple Syrup

• 2 dashes Bluegrass Five Spice Orange Bitters

Add everything to a shaker with ice. Stir until well-chilled. Strain into a chilled Nick and Nora glass.

Garnish with 2-3 fresh cranberries on a cocktail pick across the rim and a rosemary sprig.

From that first too-sweet bourbon version to this, the testing paid off. Different base spirits, adjusted sweetness, bitters comparisons, ditching store-bought for homemade. The result tastes like the holiday it’s meant to celebrate.

Tart enough to cut through rich food. Spiced enough to feel festive. Complex enough to make you want another sip.

And it doesn’t taste like carrots.

Next month: Butterbeer

Sometimes you get an idea and just start running with it. The framework makes sense, the direction feels right, so you commit before you’ve actually mapped out all the details. Which is fine. Momentum matters. But at some point you probably need to stop and draw the actual map.

I posted the framework for this series without including the specifics: which cocktails, which months, and why they’re sequenced that way. That’s the kind of detail that’s useful when you’re asking people to follow along for a year. So here’s the calendar through August.

One thing to clarify upfront: just because I’m developing the cocktail in a given month doesn’t mean the article drops then. Testing takes time, iteration requires multiple rounds, and I write things up when I write things up. We could easily see the next article in December even though I’m actively working on November’s cocktail right now. I’m not running a tight editorial calendar here.

November–December: Closing Out the Year

November is the Turkey Smash. It’s Thanksgiving in a glass, which is why it’s timed for November. Cranberry bourbon cocktail I’m actively testing. Initial version was too sweet, so I’m working through rye variations to see if the spice character can balance the cranberry without adding more citrus.

December closes out the year with Boozy Butterbeer. Look, Harry Potter is a Christmas movie, and we had the actual thing at Universal. Damn was it sweet. Sweets go with Christmas pretty well, but I’m trying to find a way to make it less diabeetus. This one introduces aged rum (Don Q Gran Reserva) and butter-washing technique, which is elaborate but the seasonal timing works.

January–March: Winter Foundation

January starts simple. Black Russian. Vodka and coffee liqueur, straightforward build. Good contrast after December’s production complexity.

February shifts to Vieux Carré. Rye whiskey and cognac split base, which means learning brandy alongside the Manhattan-adjacent structure. It’s also a bit of an homage to Mardi Gras, which feels appropriate for February.

March is Irish Whiskey Sour, hitting St. Patrick’s Day while working through the fundamental sour template.

April–August: Spring Into Summer

April opens gin territory, which has been completely absent so far. I haven’t locked the specific cocktail yet, but it needs to address that gap while fitting the transitional weather.

May brings the Cranberry Paloma. Tequila, cranberry, grapefruit. Originally planned for earlier but spacing it out makes more sense than back-to-back cranberry content.

June is Hemingway Daiquiri. White rum, grapefruit, maraschino liqueur. Classic technique, different rum profile from December’s aged expression.

July is Blackberry Bramble. Our blackberries in the backyard should be ripening by then, which makes this the practical choice. Also gives a second gin cocktail to round out that spirit education.

August wraps the calendar with Paper Plane. Equal parts bourbon, Aperol, Amaro Nonino, lemon. First real amaro exploration.

What This Actually Does

The structure avoids clustering similar spirits or flavors back-to-back while building systematic knowledge across categories. Heavy bourbon/whiskey representation in the early months reflects what’s already on the bar cart. Not a strategic decision, just reality. But the back half deliberately expands into gin, rum variations, and tequila. Seasonal appropriateness drives most of the selection, but there’s also practical timing like waiting for the backyard blackberries or hitting holiday windows when they make sense.

Testing approach stays consistent: baseline recipe, systematic iteration on single variables, documentation of what doesn’t work and why. Some of these will shift during development. April’s gin cocktail isn’t finalized, June could move if testing reveals something needs more work. The calendar provides structure without forcing adherence when reality suggests a better direction. If November’s cranberry testing takes longer than expected or reveals something worth pursuing, that informs adjustments rather than sticking to a predetermined plan because I wrote it down.

Now we have the map. We’ll see how well it survives contact with actual testing.