Whiskey Sours

One reason President Josiah Bartlet would get my vote, were he, you know, a real person, is that he hoards trivia and inflicts it upon those nearest and dearest to him. While many would consider this a character flaw I recognise it for what it is: the tell-tale mark of a true genius. Also genetically indicative of one who is likely to be extremely handsome. Or so I’ve heard. But Bartlet did, on at least one occasion, get it a bit on the wrong side. He said that to be Bourbon, a whiskey had to be Kentuckian; otherwise it was “Sour Mash”. T’ain’t necessarily so, Jed.

Bourbon is, indeed, named after Bourbon County, KY- indeed 95% of all bourbon is from the Bluegrass State, but legally, bourbon can come from anywhere in the USA. The relevant legislation- The Federal Standards of Identity for Distilled Spirits (27 C.F.R. 5.22) doesn’t narrow it down any further than that.  It does tell us one or two interesting things about why Bourbon has such a distinctive flavour. The legal requirements for whiskey to be classified as Bourbon are as follows:

• Bourbon must be made of a grain mixture that is at least 51% corn.^[1]
• Bourbon must be distilled to no more than 160 (U.S.) proof (80% alcohol by volume).
• Neither colouring nor flavouring may be added.
• Bourbon must be aged in new, charred oak barrels. ^[1]
• Bourbon must be entered into the barrel at no more than 125 proof (62.5% alcohol by volume).
• Bourbon, like other whiskeys, may not be bottled at less than 80 proof (40% alcohol by volume.)
• Bourbon which meets the above requirements and has been aged for a minimum of two years, may (but is not required to) be called Straight Bourbon.^[2]
• Straight Bourbon aged for a period less than four years must be labelled with the duration of its aging.
• If an age is stated on the label, it must be the age of the youngest whiskey in the bottle.

 

So, what does this mean? Lots of the flavour comes from the maize. In practice, Bourbon usually consists of 70% maize. This is starchy, resulting in a potentially sweet, mellow product. In addition, the use of American white oak barrels results in the same beautiful, balmy texture which is imparted to fine Rioja, whose producers use old Bourbon barrels to age their wine. The result is incredibly smooth; nothing like Scotch; much more like Irish whiskey. Really, the difference is so great it’s like comparing tea to coffee.

 

Therefore, the drink should be treated differently. Good bourbon should be drunk on the rocks, unmixed. The slow release of water from the melting ice allows the whiskey to express itself in the same way warming a glass of good single malt scotch in your hand does. it spreads out the individual flavours of a highly complex drink. Unlike single malt, though, the virtue of bourbon does not lie solely in its complexity. It is not- unlike good scotch- a drink of the upper classes, redolent of the corridors of power or the sage-green leather upholstery in a London club. Bourbon speaks rather more of the frontier; of the drinker who had to carry several nights’ worth of alcohol in as small a package as his horse need deal with, of cowboys, gamblers, bootleggers and speakeasies.

And so, riding the crest of a wave of Americana, we run aground upon the shore of the dimly-lit, muted- trumpet-imbued world of Raymond Chandler, the writer whose books gave us the storylines of so many films noir. If I said to you that Humphrey Bogart in a rain-soaked West Hollywood represented Chandler’s greatest creation, Phillip Marlowe, you’d know what I was talking about. And Marlowe drinks his whiskey, sour:

We leaned against the bar. ‘Whisky sour,’ the big man said. ‘Call yours.’
‘Whisky sour,’ I said.
We had our whisky sours.
The big man licked his whisky sour impassively down the side of the thick squat glass. He stared solemnly at the barman, a thin, worried-looking negro in a white coat, who moved as if his feet hurt him.
’You know where Velma is?’
Farewell, My Lovely- Raymond Chandler

You can almost smell the tobacco smoke, can’t you?

Whisky Sour is a cocktail which, like so many others, is easy to get right but even easier to get badly wrong. It has to be just so. Basically, it is sweetened American whiskey, soured with fresh lemon juice and balanced out with sugar. There are recipes which call for those three ingredients to be shaken together with ice. This is a half-arsed job, simply because sugar does not dissolve very easily in liquid the temperature of ice. I have another recipe from an otherwise excellent book which calls for egg whites and angostura bitters, which is frankly daft. It doesn’t need to be that complicated. You keep it simple by sticking to the three basic ingredients. You make it right by helping physics along a little and melting the sugar in advance.

Sugar syrup for cocktails:

Put half a kilo of sugar in a pan over a moderate heat. Slosh in, bit by bit, as little water as possible to melt the sugar. By the time the sugar syrup is nearly boiling (if it starts to boil it’ll caramelise, and you don’t want that) it should become as clear as water. Turn the heat out, transfer it to a cold jug and let it cool, then chill.

Whiskey sour

50ml Bourbon (supermarket own brand is absolutely fine, but don’t use Scotch.)
50ml sugar syrup
Juice of one small lemon
Ice

Stir all ingredients together thoroughly in a short, roomy tumbler. Let it stand for a minute for the ice to chill the cocktail, and then serve. The perfect whiskey sour is, above all, balanced in flavour. Neither the sweetness, nor the acidity, nor the alcohol should dominate; this drink should be the perfect triumvirate. You’ll know if it tastes wrong.