Old Forester 1910
Kentucky Straight Bourbon | 46.5% ABV
Good Neighbours Deserve Good Drams
Yesterday, after a long day in court, I just wanted time to sit and decompress when I returned home. My client and I were on the wrong side of a judge’s view of things, and the entire day was an uphill battle. I found myself litigating against the other attorney and, to the extent I could, respectfully locking horns with the judge on his rulings.
My client was appreciative of the efforts on her behalf, but was clearly disappointed. These are the things that sometimes happen in court. Most days are not extreme either way, but there are certainly some outliers. Some days I have no business succeeding in a case – like the time I prevailed in a custody hearing for a fixated and overly combative client despite evidence being shown of him berating doctors and staff at two different pediatricians’ offices. And conversely, some days the stars simply do not align despite facts and law being on my client’s side when, as yesterday, I found myself raking water uphill at every turn, ending with a poor result.
Yesterday was a day in court that I was glad had come and gone.
Upon getting home I simply walked from the garage, into the kitchen, kissed my wonderful wife, and proceeded to walk out onto our screened porch. Thankfully, being in North Carolina, the February weather was not akin to that which I had experienced in Connecticut. This week, Connecticut was experiencing snow, ice, and freezing temperatures, while here in Dixie, daffodils and some fruit trees were coming into bloom. Not hot by any means, but not cold, either.
I sat with my feet up on a small pedestal that my wife had used as a base for a flower pot, while I rhythmically and subconsciously rocked back and forth in my chair. I sat there, staring at the trees and listening to the neighborhood dogs in the distance as the breeze began to kick up. Mrs Shaw has seen me on these types of days and God bless her, she can read me like a book. She knows when I need my space, and yesterday was one of those days.
I hadn’t realised I had been sitting outside for almost an hour when our neighbor, Art, came shuffling in between the shrubs and across the lawn. The sun was almost set and I couldn’t see his face, but his staggered gait is unmistakable. My house is on a loop. And, being one of the houses on the inner side of the loop, my back yard abuts the backyard of the house on the other side. The house across from mine – the one whose screened porch faces mine – is Art and Judy’s.
Art is a retired veteran. He simply says that he’s an old Army rifleman. He served for several decades and has better and funnier stories of his time in the service than anyone else I have known. He is in his mid-seventies, and is an absolute gem. No doubt Mrs Shaw and I have been blessed with lovely neighbors, but Art and Judy are among the best of neighbors I have ever had, anywhere.
As he shuffled toward our house, he shouted out, “Hey there, Ogilvie. You OK?”
I was a bit surprised, and answered: “Just peachy, my friend. What makes you think otherwise?”
Art let out a very healthy guffaw as he neared. I got up from my chair and opened the screen door. I offered a hand to help him up the three stairs, and he shooed my hand away as he kept chuckling as he said, “gosh, I don’t know…The fact that Judy saw you sit down about an hour ago, we just noticed you haven’t moved, you haven’t gotten out of your suit, and now you’re sitting in the dark.”
“The lamp is on, it’s not total darkness.”
More laughter. Art shuffled over to the other chair on the deck and we both sat down. We started to chat about his day at the gun range (he volunteers as the range master), the fact that he continues to successfully evade the doctor’s orders to avoid bacon, and that Judy was making him crazy by cooking with tofu and “green things”.
I’ve said it before, and I will say it again. One of the beautiful things about living in the South is the fact that oftentimes people simply chat and get along. After Art and I chatted about cordite, bacon, and tofu, Art turned to me and, as a blunt Army rifleman would say, “so, what’s eating you?”
I smiled and tried to avoid the question. Art would have none of it.
“I looked up an hour ago and you were sitting out here. Went back inside and when I came back out, I saw you still sitting here. Still in that monkey suit. Things ain’t right.”
I took a deep breath, and then sat straight up. “Hold on. Here I am sitting here, you’ve come over and I haven’t been a good host. Can I get you something?”
Art has been over before, and he knows my love for whiskey. And, truth be told, Art does love a dram here and there. Art’s face broke out in a Cheshire Cat smile, shrugged, and said, “I’m not going to stand in your way.”
After I stood up and walked inside, he said “a good sitting bourbon.”
Feeling the moment, with a wonderfully gracious and caring neighbor, I knew the bottle in my bourbon cupboard that I would be reaching for. I returned to the patio with the bottle I am reviewing here, two tumblers, and gratitude for good people in this world.
Review
Old Forester 1910, Kentucky Straight Bourbon, Whisky Row Series, 46.5% ABV
USD$59 (£47) paid (typically much higher in export markets: £80 UK)
As many of you know, I have been making my way in and through parts of the bourbon world to expand my whiskey horizons. Doing so, especially with a first love for single malts, has been a challenge. Oftentimes, the flavor profiles of bourbons have not been my lane. However, while bourbon is not often my first choice when reaching for a whiskey, if there was one traditional bourbon label that I would reach for, it is Old Forester.
Nose
Waffle batter. Butter creme. Rye and baking spices. Dark stone fruit. Prunes/plums. Dark brown sugar and butter. Touch of maple syrup. Rich oak. Sticky toffee pudding. Malted milk balls. Sweet, but not overly so. Depth.
Palate
Dark chocolate and bing cherries. Crystallized ginger-type spice and prickle. Heft. This is only 46.5% ABV but the mouthfeel has a bit of weight. The vanilla creme from the nose is here. Baking spices – nutmeg, cinnamon and a touch of clove – mingle with an oaky richness. Plums are in the background, giving a subtle baseline. Mid-palate, the warmth comes forth and accompanying it, arm in arm are cream soda flavors, a bit of cashew, caramel corn, and that lovely but not overpowering spice.
There is a subtle latte note here accompanying the mid-palate spicy prickle – not perhaps up to a “prickle” level, but noticeably making itself known. The creamy, coffee latte note intertwines with the ripe plum note and spices and they linger on with the building warmth for a good amount of time.
The Dregs
Even before heading to North Carolina and its single malt desert, the one bourbon I would routinely enjoy at other folks’ homes or at a bar was an Old Forester. I have had the 1920 Prohibition Style expression as well as the 1870, but this 1910 is perhaps my favorite of the bunch. So, when I came to Dixie and saw that bourbon was the choice, I bought an Old Forester 1910 as one of my first bottles. That bottle was quickly rinsed and I’m now on its replacement. And, when this is gone, it will be replaced once again.
The 1910 expression, which has some detail relayed on the front label, was made to recreate a happy accident from 1910. As the story goes,
“On October 22nd, 1910, a fire on the bottling line halted production of Old Forester. Mature whisky, ready to be bottled, was instead stored in a secondary barrel. What emerged was a delightful whisky, remarkable enough to become an entirely new expression…
“Today, mimicking this historic bottling, this unique expression of Old Forester has undergone a second barreling, granting it exceptional character, a smooth and sweet flavor and a clean, crisp finish. Entering the second barrel at a low 100 proof allows more of the sweet wood sugars to dissolve into the whiskey.”
The double barreling, with a heavily charred second barrel, is noticeable, but beautifully so and not overpowering. While neither the bottle or the Old Forester website specify the mashbill, Shayla from Whisky Central states that the mashbill for the 1910 expression is 72% corn, 18% rye, and 10% malted barley. No color is added and this is not chill-filtered. Why can’t the mashbill be noted on the bottle? Age? Casks used? I would like some more transparency on the bottle, or at least on the website. For that matter, it would be nice to know if there are differences among the Old Forester line of expressions. Again, it would be nice to have transparency. Rant over.
I have enjoyed other bourbons – most notably the Rabbit Hole Dareringer and Baby Jane – but both of those have some unique quirk to set the distillate apart from “traditional” bourbons. The Dareringer employs sherry cask finishing and the Baby Jane utilizes a unique heirloom corn and also limestone water. As far as traditional bourbons go, this 1910 is markedly superior to other traditional bourbons that have crossed my path. It is, and remains, among the first bourbons I’d recommend. It is rich, solid, and balanced. And, this stalwart of an expression is perfect to share, and exactly why it was a no-brainer to bring back to the patio. Back to Art…
I walked back out onto the patio, handed a glass to Art, and poured both he and I a healthy glass. As I sat back down, I started to talk. I just let the day’s frustrations flow. It was cathartic, and helping this catharsis were Art’s interjections of sarcasm mixed with little sprinkles of wisdom. We sat and chewed the fat for another forty-five minutes.
As the thoughts of the day were wrapping up, Art strained to get up, and walked over to me, putting his hand on my shoulder.
“I thought this would be a welcome bit after what looked like a tough day.”
“I appreciate you coming over for a chat, Art.”
He smiled, nodded, and said, “It’s what you’d do if you saw me sitting on my back deck for an hour in a suit.”
“Actually, I’d call for an ambulance first.”
Deep laughter, which caused Art to cough and sputter a bit. “Thanks for the great whiskey. Don’t tell Judy about the booze. She wouldn’t approve unless she got some herself!”
A strong handshake, and Art made his way back to his house. Without stopping or turning around, he yelled, “and for God’s sake, Ogilive, take that tie off!”
Many thanks to Art for reminding me of life’s priorities. Count your blessings. Appreciate that good people are around and care for you. And remember that a good chat and a good dram are worth more than words can describe.
Score: 7/10
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