Based on a cocktail popular in Prohibition-era gin joints, the Paper Plane belongs to the family of corpse revivers, created in the 19th century as hangover cures. This whisky-based version was first developed by bartender Sasha Petraske for The Violet Hour, a new-wave speakeasy in Chicago’s Wicker Park neighborhood.

Featured in “Our New Favorite Single Malt Whisky Comes From … New York?” by Shane Mitchell.

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The weather gods have not been kind to the Hudson Valley this summer. Waterways flooded, roofs ripped off, trees downed, crops flattened. Radar maps splashed with streaks of red like tomato sauce stains on an apron. Some people might be tempted to quit; then again, what is it they say about farmers being the ultimate optimists? It requires a certain resilience to grow what is meaningful to a place, let alone create a prize-winning whisky that is finally about to receive a designation of origin from the U.S. Treasury Department’s Tax and Trade Bureau. It’s the kind of game-changer that might give the old guard of the brown spirits world restless nights.

On sunnier days while driving down certain winding stretches of New York State’s Taconic Parkway, the Berkshires heave into view to the east, and then a few miles farther down the road, the Catskills appear across the Hudson, where the westerly peaks turn purple in the low light of dusk. This almost absurdly romantic backdrop enraptured mid-19^th-century landscape painters like Thomas Cole and Frederic Edwin Church, and spawned an art movement known as the Hudson River School.

Since childhood, the vista has always caught my breath. The temperate valley between these two old mountain ranges certainly catches rain clouds. The region has a long history of agriculture, dating back to early Dutch settlements in the 1660s, with first crops like wheat and rye, hops and barley, grapes and apples. An obvious byproduct was booze: applejack, hard cider, brown spirits, beer. A wealthy brewer founded the college I attended in Poughkeepsie—on Founder’s Day every year, it was customary for the president of Vassar to chug a pitcher of beer, although I hear the practice has since gone out of vogue. (Shall we say the legal drinking age was lower back then?) More recently, with the passage of state liquor laws that incentivized microbrewers and distillers to launch projects here, the Hudson Valley has seen a new boom in production of small batch beverages.

“Our whiskies and beers taste like here,” said Dennis Nesel, owner of Hudson Valley Malt, based in Germantown. A retired financial adviser with a grizzled goatee, he now favors overalls and wields an old-fashioned malt rake. “We call it re-localization. There was a time when the grains were grown here and shipped downriver by sloop, but after Prohibition all that stuff moved West, so we’re bringing it back, trying to make the supply chain grown here, harvested here, distilled here.”

That aspiration has shaped a three-way collaboration. The others include a third-generation farmer, as well as one of the newest distilleries in a pocket valley near the Massachusetts border, where the family behind Tenmile Distillery is gambling on a rising demand for American single-malt whisky. Note: no “e.” We’re not talking bourbon or rye, but closer in spirit to uisge beatha, Scotland’s original water of life.

A few weeks before the valley was swamped with torrential rains, I climbed into a utility truck with farmer Ken Migliorelli to look at one of his fields planted with winter Scala barley. “We’re about a week away from harvesting,” he said, as we parked along the rural road near his crop outside the town of Tivoli. It’s a pretty grass, with a spiky seed head on a long stem that turns from emerald green to platinum blonde as it dries in the sun. Migliorelli took to farming when he was a teenager, and eventually expanded his family’s vegetable business, adding a fruit orchard, farm stands, and weekly market stalls, including Union Square Greenmarket in Manhattan. He still grows the same variety of broccoli rabe his grandparents brought over when they emigrated from the Lazio region of Italy in the 1930s. Citing the new demand for spirit grains, the 63-year-old farmer has almost 350 acres of barley and another 50 acres of rye in cultivation, despite the challenges he faces growing these crops in the Hudson Valley.

“In 2021, that was a rough July,” he said. “It just started raining and wouldn’t stop. I lost the barley that we were combining because it pre-germinated out in the field. I could only sell it for animal feed.”

The vagaries of weather are a standard risk for any farmer; however, this spring a half-acre barn went up in a blaze, and Migliorelli lost 15 tons of barley, hay, tomato stakes, and a lot of equipment. His neighbors and loyal customers launched a fundraiser to help rebuild. He gazed out at his waves of grain, undaunted. For him, it’s one crop out of dozens during a year that starts with tender greens and crescendos with apple picking season.

When harvested, Migiolrelli’s grain heads to the malt house, less than ten miles away, for the next step in the process. “It’s a pretty tight circle from here to Dennis, and then down to Tenmile,” he said.

On a good day at Hudson Valley Malt, Nesel and his wife Jeanette Spaeth load 6,000 pounds of malted barley, rye, or wheat into a kiln. By hand. That’s the last step after the raw grain has been steeped and raked in a thin layer on a smooth concrete floor to germinate and develop the sugars that will convert to alcohol. “Floor malting is a craft and an art,” he said. “We do it old school, the way it was done in the 1850s. It’s definitely not glory work.”

Nesel and Spaeth both grew up in the Hudson Valley. After retiring from corporate life, they decided to convert their horse barn instead of downsizing. In 2015, they recognized that area distillers needed a local malting operation. (They have a hopyard as well.) “It would be too easy to go south, but we’re not snowbirds,” he said. “I was looking for a way for our farm to be more sustainable.”

The turnoff for Tenmile Distillery is a shunpike called Sinpatch. An apparent allusion to the area’s checkered past, it leads to the repurposed barn complex with a tasting room and a dining patio next to a parked vintage Airstream that belongs to Westerly Canteen, a restaurant popup serving a seasonal snack menu sourced from Hudson Valley producers. While in residence, chefs Molly Levine and Alex Kaindl celebrate summer with floral infusions, delicate crudos, and heirloom vegetables. In addition, chef Eliza Glaister of Little Egg favors wild game for her popups and occasional private tasting dinners.

When the couple delivers a load of malt, Tenmile’s master distiller Shane Fraser takes over. He walked me into the darkened cask warehouse where his single malt rests in French oak barrels that once held sherry, bourbon, and California pinot noir. (Tenmile founder John Dyson, who formerly served as New York State’s agricultural commissioner, also owns Williams Selyem Winery in Healdsburg.) Born in Aberdeen, Fraser learned his trade at several marquee distilleries, including Royal Lochnagar and Oban, before taking on the lead role at Wolfburn, a startup in the far north. Almost no one who achieves the elevated title of master distiller leaves the job security of his peat-and-heather homeland, but Tenmile presented Fraser with a challenge almost unheard of back in Scotland: creating a new brand of single malt. His first batch of fresh New Make—what we call moonshine or white dog—was barreled in January 2020. He also experimented with unorthodox cask woods, including smaller Italian cherry and chestnut barrels typically used for aging balsamic vinegars, because regulations remain fluid in the States for now. Fraser patted one on a rack. “That’s the thing with the new designation,” he said. “You have to be careful to make sure that it will be defined as American single malt. Because when those rules come out, you can’t use cherry.”

Currently, single malt producers in the States number fewer than 100, which means it’s still an exclusive club, but not the stuffy kind full of tufted leather chairs and cigar smoke. Establishing a formal standard of identity, and having that recognized at the federal level, will give distilleries here a better chance to compete against the global establishment. Single malt no longer means it has to taste like a burned-over bog.

Fraser pointed out another 140 acres of Ken Migliorelli’s ripening spring barley planted beyond a formal apple orchard and beehives. Then we entered the whitewashed brick dairy, where copper stills imported from Scotland have been installed behind a glass curtain wall in the converted great room. The bar, at the opposite end, has a full cocktail program designed around the distillery’s gin, vodka, and whisky.

Fraser and I sat down in the wood-paneled tasting room, and he poured a cask strength dram of Little Rest, Tenmile’s first edition bottling, into my tumbler.

We lifted glasses to our noses.

“I get tropical fruits coming through,” he said. “Some chocolate notes, and once it sits awhile on the tongue, there’s a bit of spice, almost like cinnamon. Every time you go back to it, you smell something different, because it’s so young and still got a bit of life to it. Some of the older whiskies, when you smell them, it’s like, well, whisky.”

I took a sip.

The Little Rest was released this April, after three years and a day in barrels, the minimum to be officially characterized as whisky. Comparably light in style, more like a subtle Speyside than a peaty Islay.

“You can see what a little rest does,” said Fraser.

He told me that someone else compared the flavor to a green Jolly Rancher, and sure enough, it did have a perky apple note. 

Rain or shine, it tasted like home.

Recipe

Paper Plane

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Clover Club Cocktail

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Tuna Crudo with Chamomile Oil, Cucumber Salad, and Pea Shoots

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Braised Rabbit with Pan-Fried Radishes and Creamy Polenta

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I developed the Wise Guy last holiday season and since then it has become one of my go-to winter drinks. Spicy, bold, and aromatic, the spiced coffee old fashioned is smooth enough to sip at a slow pace, so go with a “bottled in bond” rye or a premium, high-proof rum. Flavored with allspice, cinnamon, and clove, Piemento liqueur (sometimes also labeled Allspice Dram) was a popular ingredient in 18th century punches. The best examples are those based on pot-still Jamaica rum, such as Hamilton Pimento Liqueur.

Featured in: “How to Add Coffee to Your Cocktails.”

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Sure there are the horses, the hats, and the legendary racetrack, but May seventh’s 148th running of the Kentucky Derby at Churchill Downs has our brains on bourbon. Not only did this iconic American spirit get its start in the Bluegrass State—the most famous bourbon distilleries are still based there—the Derby’s official cocktail is also the classic, bourbon-laced mint julep. So if you’re thinking of hosting a get-together that includes friendly wagers and fancy hats, consider adding bourbon to the menu. 

Of course, there will be plenty of cocktails to consider, but bourbon’s many culinary virtues extend far beyond the bar. Whether you go sweet, savory, or stick with those sips, these recipes are sure winners (even if your horse isn’t one). 

Bourbon Cocktails

Of course, the most obvious recipes for bourbon are those of the cocktail variety. We’re especially fond of the quintessential mint julep and a sweet and citrusy twist on the old fashioned, two of the cocktail canon’s most iconic bourbon drinks. But because bourbon is the official American spirit, this liquor also suggests our plucky individuality with a dose of fun, so the other cocktails in this category mix things up a bit and take it beyond the bar. Cheers.

Mint Julep

This version of the iconic Southern cocktail—which combines three parts bourbon to one part simple syrup, bracingly infused with fresh spearmint—is sanctioned by the Kentucky Derby as its official mint julep recipe. Get the recipe >

Extra Orange Old-Fashioned

A proper Old Fashioned would become diluted and unappealing with juice, or with muddled fruit. But using an oleo saccharum as the sweetener brings in even more of those orange oils, for a drink where the citrus flavors are bright and powerful, without any juice to compromise the drink’s strength and clarity. Get the recipe >

Bourbon Chai

The rich, spicy warmth of chai is a perfect drink for a cold winter’s day—and it’s made even more warming with the addition of a bourbon like Maker’s Mark, whose notes of clove, vanilla, and caramel marry perfectly with the ingredients in the chai. Get the recipe >

Peanut, Pepsi, and Bourbon Float

Peanuts in Pepsi, once a common tobacco field snack, is now a tall glass of fabulous. This foaming spectacle of sweet, salty, creamy, crunchy, and boozy is the gold standard of ice cream floats. Get the recipe >

Savory Bourbon Recipes

Just because bourbon likes to hang out during cocktail hour and return for dessert doesn’t mean that you should eschew it during the main part of the meal. Lean on its mellow heat to balance a barbecue sauce or marinade, up the ante on the buttery roasted lobster, or add depth to sweet potatoes. And that’s just the beginning.

Bourbon-Roasted Lobster

Loads of herbs, and butter make a lobster pan-roast even more lavish, a flambee with bourbon lends as much flavor as it does drama. Freeze your lobster for 15 minutes before splitting it in half to make it easier on yourself (and the lobster). Get the recipe >

Sweet Potato Casserole with Bourbon and Pineapple

A variation of traditional sweet potato casserole this side gets its depth of flavor from bourbon and pineapple. Get the recipe >

Chicken Liver Toast with Spiced Pecans

This Southern appetizer classic gets the Louisville treatment from the city’s own Proof on Main. Grilling the bread helps the bread stay crunchy through the cocktail hour. Get the recipe >

Braised Brisket Sandwiches with Pimento Cheese

Stout, bourbon, and soy sauce create a potent umami braise for the brisket in these delicious sliders, from Chef Edward Lee of 610 Magnolia in Louisville, Kentucky, which are then topped with spicy pimiento cheese spiked with a Korean red chile paste called gochujang. Get the recipe >

Sweet Bourbon Recipes

Bourbon mash, by law, must be made from at least 50 percent corn, so it’s naturally sweet; the resulting distillate is then aged in new American oak, which lends its heady baking-spice flavor and aroma—a match made in heaven for many dessert. These five recipes showcase classic pairings, from chocolate and creamy butterscotch to pecans and peaches, and they’re a good primer to help bring a boozy dessert to the table.

Croissant Bread Pudding with Bourbon Sauce

This extravagant dessert—from author and editor Sarah Gray Miller—uses croissants and a generous amount of heavy cream. Soak the raisins in the bourbon while you assemble the rest of the dish. Get the recipe >

Bourbon Balls

These chocolatey confections are what editor-at-large Shane Mitchell calls Southern truffles—”boozy and bad to the bone.” Get the recipe >

Roasted Peaches in Bourbon Syrup with Smoked Salt

A handful of pantry ingredients—brown sugar, smoked salt, cinnamon, vanilla, and bourbon—transforms simple roasted peaches into a sublime summer dessert. Get the recipe >

Bourbon Chocolate Pecan Pie

A scoop of vanilla ice cream makes a wonderful foil for the bitter, intense dark chocolate in the filling of this pecan pie. Get the recipe >

Sufganiyot with Bourbon-Orange Glaze

The use of chemical leavening—baking powder—makes chef Sara Bradely’s Kentucky riff on the classic Hanukkah donut recipe quicker and easier than old-school yeasted versions, while drizzling the warm donuts with boozy orange jam eliminates the need for fiddly piping bags. Get the recipe >

Bourbon-Butterscotch Ice Cream

This grown up frozen treat pairs bourbon-laced custard with pockets of dense butterscotch. Get the recipe >

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This version of the iconic Southern cocktail—which combines three parts bourbon to one part simple syrup, bracingly infused with fresh spearmint—is sanctioned by the Kentucky Derby as its official mint julep recipe. The mint simple syrup is courtesy of Steve Kemper, editor Benjamin Kemper’s father, a Louisville native who makes it by the gallon to brighten cocktails, lemonade, and iced tea all summer long. Kemper recommends snipping a straw in half and nestling it in the glass directly beside the garnish for (literal) in-your-face mintiness.

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This is an Irish take on the classic triple sec-and-cognac sidecar cocktail, first credited to the Ritz Hotel in Paris. The recipe, which is adapted from one served at the Sidecar Bar in Dublin, has a distinctive sweetness from locally sourced Wicklow honey and bee pollen. You can substitute a lightly floral honey with notes of lavender, nettle or heather; bee pollen is available in health food stores and online. Sidecar Bar head bartender Oisin Kelly suggests using Roe & Co. blended whiskey, which is distilled in a former Guinness Brewery powerstation. 

Featured in “Ireland’s Whiskey Renaissance Lets You Celebrate St. Patrick’s Day–Minus the Green Beer.”

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Based on the Blood and Sand, created in honor of actor Rudolph Valentino’s famous 1922 bullfighter film, this Irish version from Oisin Kelly—the head bartender at Dublin’s Sidecar Bar—substitutes fruit-forward spirits for the original vermouth and blood orange juice. It has a sweet finish from amarena cherries. (If you prefer cocktails a little tarter, reduce the sweet liquors and bump up the citrus.) Kelly’s recipe calls for Teeling Small Batch, which is produced in Dublin.

Featured in “Ireland’s Whiskey Renaissance Lets You Celebrate St. Patrick’s Day–Minus the Green Beer.”

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Take a deep breath in the J.J. Corry rackhouse, lined with resting whiskey barrels, and inhale the angel’s share. A distiller’s term for the aged spirit evaporating from porous oak, it’s a heady mix of caramel, vanilla, and smoky bacon. The portion that lingers in the cool air of the flagstone storage barn is a hint of the flavors being skillfully blended by founder Louise McGuane, who is reviving the lost art of Irish whiskey bonding on her family’s 17^th century farm in Cooraclare, a mile inland from the Wild Atlantic Way on Ireland’s west coast.

“We are responsible for shepherding the spirit from the second it comes off the still until it’s in your glass,” says McGuane, who worked for multinational brands like Pernod Ricard and Moet Hennessy before returning home to launch J.J. Corry in 2015. “The goal is to have a really wide library of whiskey flavors. A big part of my job is sourcing casks, from cooperages in regions like Jerez or Kentucky, which I think could potentially impart interesting flavors onto our stocks. We call it our wood program. And there’s a real art to that.”

The earliest known reference to Irish whiskey distillation appears in the Red Book of Ossory, a medieval manuscript containing a lengthy treatise on the health benefits of aqua vitae, which is Latin for “water of life.” The Irish translation of this term, uisce beatha, eventually became anglicized as whiskey. Bonding, McGuane explains, is an equally distinct tradition that evolved along with distilleries in Ireland, where they strictly sold new whiskey wholesale to publicans and grocers. These tradesmen also stocked casks of wine, sherry, and rum for regular customers, and would repurpose the vessels to create hyper-localized “house blend” aged whiskies. “Every bonder would’ve had their own methodology, their own ratios, and their own blend,” McGuane says. 

Her first bottling, a nuanced blend of single malt and grain whiskies, was named for local grocer J.J. Corry’s bicycle, The Gael. (During the 1890s, his shop in nearby Kilrush sold tea, rum, musical instruments, guns, and his own Corry’s Special Malt for five pennies a glass.) But the bonding trade eventually collapsed in the early 20^th century, as famine and war took its toll on the population. Prohibition in America was another socioeconomic blow, and the whiskey industry similarly declined. Sine metu (without fear) is the motto for Jameson, one of the handful of distilleries that survived. 

Until today.

Along with McGuane, other blenders and craft distillers are on the rise again. Ireland now has more than 40 distilleries, many focusing on small batch collaborations. (Currently, there are 3.5 million barrels maturing on the island.) “We’re not as strict as scotch or specialty bourbon. There’s not as many rules here,” says head bartender Oisin Kelly of the Sidecar Bar, where he creates cocktails with spirits from Dublin’s inner-city distilleries like Teeling and Roe & Co. Kelly also pours Pearse Lyons, produced in a converted church in The Liberties neighborhood. “Every day of the week I see another Irish whiskey wanting to be part of the narrative and conversation,” he says. “Doing partnerships with wine and sherry makers, sourcing interesting barrels.”

In County Cork, Clonakilty uses rye quarter casks from Virginia-based producer Catoctin Creek, and also partners with American breweries like 26 Degree and Pelican to age whiskey in IPA barrels. In the heart of Ireland’s barley region, Royal Oak Distillery matures The Busker blends in Sicilian marsala wine casks from Cantine Florio. Lambay is triple distilled with well water on an island in the Irish Sea, and finished in Camus cognac barrels. Kelly emphasizes that these new ventures have contributed to another kind of revival in rural areas. “The whole team who produces Drumshanbo is from the local town, the distillery has made it viable for people to move home. Farms will also do better, because they’re buying Irish grains and wheat.”

During a tasting in her family’s original farmhouse, Louise McGuane turns off the lights to dramatize home life before the modern age. The weather outside is fairly typical for West Clare, which is to say, wildly unpredictable. The air is saturated with brine, and a steady wind rattles the modest window panes. While sipping her latest The Gael batch No. 3, which contains the whisper of a rare 26-year old single malt in the blend, McGuane explains the Wild Atlantic Way has its own unique microclimate, and that it can change from hour to hour. But the Irish never seem to mind. As playwright George Bernard Shaw once said, “Whiskey is liquid sunshine.”

Recipe

Once Upon a Paris Bar

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Recipe

The Film Maker

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The art of blending is what Julia Momosé, author of the forthcoming The Way of the Cocktail: Japanese Traditions, Techniques & Recipes and owner of Chicago’s Kumiko, thinks of first when Japanese whisky comes to mind. “In America, the conversation is always about distillate, whereas in Japan, the conversation is all about blending,” she says. This contrast stems from the unique origins of Japanese whisky production and how it morphed to appeal to local drinkers.

A century ago, Suntory founder Shinjiro Torii became interested in making the spirit in his home country and Masataka Taketsuru brought home knowledge from Scotland of how to do so. But when Torii’s first whisky, made in the style of Scotch, struggled to find an audience with Japanese palates, he set out to create one that would pair well with bubbly water—in what’s known as a highball—to appeal to beer drinkers. To Momosé, that forms one of the distinctions of Japanese whisky: “It is amazing when you add water to it, either in the form of ice, or club soda for a highball.”

But while Japanese whisky started out modeled after Scotch, “it’s also its own category,” says Tommy Patrick, owner of The Ballard Cut, a Seattle bar that specializes in the style. “It’s much more delicate than Scotch; it’s softer, it’s significantly more approachable.” Early on, it was often stereotyped by U.S. customers as smooth and sweet, but that oversimplifies the complex universe of Japanese whisky. While the spirit’s characteristics were initially similar to the Scotch, Irish, and American whiskies that it started out imitating, it evolved almost entirely in Japan, isolated from other markets and catering only to Japanese tastes. “They just continued to quietly do it, even if it wasn’t getting world attention,” says Patrick. “It really shows how much they care about it.”

About a decade ago, the U.S. began to take notice, and in the last five years, Japanese whisky imports to the US have tripled, causing shortages of sought-after bottles and leaving brands scrambling to fill the demand. Production of Japanese whisky ramped up immediately after the sales jump, though the aging process means producers only recently started bottling products in larger quantities, making great Japanese whisky increasingly affordable and accessible.

The sudden arrival of an entire category, spanning price ranges across a variety of styles, means that most people need a little help navigating the nuances and understanding the geography of Japanese whisky producers. “It’s very confusing,” admits Patrick. So, for anyone looking to begin—or deepen—their understanding of Japanese whisky, this guide shares some of our favorites.

• Best For Cocktails: Suntory Whisky Toki
• Best Value: Hibiki Japanese Harmony
• Best for the Bourbon Lover: Nikka Coffey Grain Whisky
• Best Intro to Japanese Single Malt: Mars Whisky Iwai Tradition
• Best Intro to Japanese Blended Whisky: Chichibu Ichiro’s Malt & Grain
• Best Single Malt: Hakashu Single Malt 18 Year
• Best Super Splurge: Yamazaki Single Malt Mizunara 18 Year

Our Top Picks

Best For Cocktails: Suntory Whisky Toki

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“Bang for your buck, the easiest mixing whisky,” says Patrick of the entry-level whisky that Suntory makes using a blend from three different distilleries in Japan. “For someone just starting into Japanese whisky,” Momosé echoes, “That’s the place I like to take them.” Light and refreshing, it works well in highballs, which is the main purpose for which it is made.

Best Value: Hibiki Japanese Harmony

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This smooth, well-rounded whisky is Patrick’s personal favorite blended whisky, which he describes as “elegant.” Reasonably widely available and sold at well under three figures, it shows off the smoothness for which Japanese whisky is known without any harshness, and has a light sweetness that leans rich rather than cloying. “A gorgeous mid-range” whisky, says Momosé. Sure, the Hibiki bottles with age statements take those highlights and amplify them, but you’ll pay a lot more for them.

Best for the Bourbon Lover: Nikka Coffey Grain Whisky

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Named for Nicholas Coffey, the inventor of the column still in which this whisky is made, this attractive bottle transports American bourbon drinkers across the Pacific with its heavily corn-based mashbill. Momosé notes the flavors of cornflakes, vanilla, and orange, saying “it’s easy-going, with the sweetness the bourbon drinker looks for.” For anyone looking to put it in a cocktail, she says it works well in an Old Fashioned.

Best Intro to Japanese Single Malt: Mars Whisky Iwai Tradition

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Soft and slightly smoky, with a little bit of sherry cask coming through, this single malt from Mars’s Hombo Shuzo distillery gives an enjoyable lesson in Japanese single malt. The dark fruit that results from the time it spends in its sherry cask makes it good for mixing, too, says Momosé—she suggests a highball with a splash of sherry to really emphasize those flavors.

Best Intro to Blended Whisky: Chichibu Ichiro’s Malt & Grain

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Patrick describes Ichiro Akuto as “a rockstar of the Japanese whisky world,” and the many impressive whiskies coming out of Chichibu take his name. The Malt & Grain is labeled a “worldwide blend,” and forms the first step into the world of Ichiro’s Malt whisky. “Super drinkable,” says Patrick, of the spirit’s tropical and dried fruit flavors.

Best Single Malt: Hakashu Single Malt 18 Year

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“Restrained but peaty,” describes Momosé, who calls this whisky “beautiful,” and says that you can’t go wrong with it. Though not priced unreasonably ($250 to 300) in stores, it can be hard to find and secondary market prices can quickly quadruple that. But for someone looking to invest in a peated single malt, the flavors of green apple and lemon thyme that sneak around the smokiness of the peat make this a choice bottle.

Best Super Splurge: Yamazaki Single Malt Mizunara 18 Year

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Say you have a ton of money, and maybe a bit of extra time to look for an incredible bottle to just absolutely bowl you over: This is the one you want. Its bold flavors start with unmistakable notes of butterscotch, but, describes Patrick, “older oxidized butterscotch candy that hasn’t had its wrapper in a year,” rather than standard straightforward sweetness, before flowing silkily into an umami-laden finish.

Features to Keep in Mind

Regulations

Thanks to the spirit’s recent popularity spike in the United States and beyond, and in hopes to weed out imposters or lesser-quality products, Japanese producers are banding together to define what the term “Japanese whisky” really means. Earlier this year, the Japan Spirits & Liqueurs Makers Association announced new labeling standards, focusing on transparency. Though the involved producers choose to do so voluntarily, the association requires anything labeled as Japanese whisky (or using related names or symbols) to use malted grains and water extracted in Japan; to do certain elements of processing in Japan, including fermentation, distillation, and bottling (at a minimum of 40% ABV); and to be matured in wood casks for at least three years in Japan.

Terms to Know

Scotch lovers and whisky drinkers are already familiar with the term single malt, which is a malted whisky made from malted barley (as opposed to grain whisky, which is made from corn, rye, wheat, and maybe some malted barley) at a single distillery. Similarly, blended whisky is made by blending from various distilleries. However, because Japanese whisky producers often operate multiple distilleries in different parts of the country, these can all be (and usually are, unlike in Scotland) from the same producer, just from different locations. The term pure malt is no longer used in Scotland, but is in Japan, to mean a blended malt whisky. Another term specific to Japanese whisky is world whisky, which is used by distillers in Japan to describe their spirits that don’t fit the qualifications of Japanese whisky—ones that have been made or aged elsewhere, have low ABV, or any other disqualifying element.

Age Statements

Many Japanese whiskies come with an age statement, or how long they’ve matured in wood barrels, like 12-year, 18-year, or longer. But bottles that don’t include an age statement have also been aged: most Japanese whisky (and all in the new labeling agreement) is aged a minimum of three years. Any bottle with an age statement could include older whisky, but nothing younger than the statement, while a bottle without an age statement could include older whisky, but also whisky of any age. “The problem is, none of this was cool 20 years ago,” explains Patrick. “And that’s when all this stuff was being put down on oak.” So when the demand for Japanese whisky skyrocketed, many distillers leaned on bottles without age statements to sell blends of younger whisky with their longer-aged product.

Barrels

Most whisky today, in Japan and elsewhere, ages in American white oak, but different woods used in the cask change the flavor, and some of the best Japanese whisky branches out from that. Sherry casks tend to bring dark fruit flavors, while shortages during and after World War II drove distillers to use a Japanese oak called mizunara, which lends a beguiling flavor often described as sandalwood or coconut. However, the use of this wood isn’t particularly sustainable: Mizunara trees take 150 to 200 years to grow large enough to use, plus it doesn’t grow in a conducive shape to turning into barrels, making it expensive and rare.

Ask the Experts

How is Japanese whisky different from other whisky?

For one, “Japanese whisky doesn’t get over-diluted,” says Momosé, noting that there are 10-plus different servings of whisky and water in Japan, including ice, club soda, and other highballs. But the only hard and fast rule in Japan is that you can’t use koji—rice. The new labeling standards will go some distance to help solidify what makes Japanese whisky different, but as of right now, “it’s the Japanese expertise in blending that is making it so special,” says Momosé. “That is what makes it unique to Japan.”

How should I store Japanese whisky?

Storing Japanese whisky is pretty simple—keep it in a relatively cool place, out of direct sunlight. Once open, a little bit of oxygen is okay, but when you get to around 40% of the way through, says Patrick, “you have about a year until it turns.” Not that it will go bad, but he adds that “it loses about 80 to 90% of the characteristics the person who made it wanted it to have.” To keep it beyond that, both Patrick and Momosé suggest spraying a bit of argon gas into the bottle (similar to what the Coravin system uses for wine) to stop the continued oxidation. “But whisky’s meant to be drunk,” says Momosé. “So I do hope people are opening special bottles and enjoying them.”

What mixes well with Japanese whisky?

“A drink is only as good as the poorest ingredient you put in there,” says Patrick. So if you buy a bottle of Hibiki Harmony to make fancy Old Fashioneds, he says, “spend the extra money to get nice bitters and demerara sugar.”

The Last Word

Japanese whisky sits on the precipice of exciting times, as the stronger labeling standards go into place and more aged product comes onto the market. “I’m excited to see what actually happens,” says Patrick. “As of right now, it’s scarce,” but he expects the next five to ten years to bring a boom to the category, with products more sustainably-produced and accessible, plus new spirits coming to the market. If you can’t find bottles at your local liquor store, says Momosé, “check out the bar.” That’s where you can taste rarer whisky without having to spring for, or track down, entire bottles, and will find newer distilleries, like Akkeshi, which both she and Patrick mentioned as something new that they couldn’t wait to see more widely available.

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Eamon Rockey, general manager of Betony in Manhattan, uses an egg separator to make his adaptation of this classic cocktail from The Savoy Cocktail Book (Constable & Company, 1930).

MAKES 1 COCKTAIL

INGREDIENTS

½ oz. absinthe
2 oz. rye
1 oz. demerara syrup
¾ oz. fresh lemon juice
1 egg white

INSTRUCTIONS

Swirl absinthe in a chilled coupe glass; discard absinthe. Combine rye, syrup, lemon juice, egg white, and 1 cube ice in a cocktail shaker. Shake vigorously for 10 seconds. Add more ice; shake and strain into prepared glass.

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