Bourbon, GingerAle and Lincoln
Wednesday, April 10th. Horse Cave, Kentucky.
What a day for a road trip — our last day of “tourism” on this trip — day 37. We headed off towards the north and west with a general idea of making the Bourbon Trail near Lebanon, or Bardstown or even Louisville but with no fixed plan. We fortified ourselves with the last of the eggs and some bacon and biscuits and the last of the jam. It’s that part of the trip where emptying the fridge may take priority over nutrition or sobriety. Mercifully we were headed to the Bourbon Trail so no bourbon for breakfast.
The weather has been as good as one could want. My Canadian friends can take solace that Spring is racing north past Horse Cave and on towards Louisville and Cincinnati. In Central Kentucky this is the 3rd or 4th day of the leafing-out and the sunny day with a temperature in the high 20sC and a light cool breeze is what I must consider perfect weather. Warm enough to feel hot in the sun but cool enough not to be uncomfortable; perfect driving weather.
We headed west towards the village of Horse Cave and then north on 31W in the general direction of Louisville. I’d mentioned to Lorraine that this wasn’t a major area of operations during the Civil War and believed it myself other than minor skirmishes in front of the bigger battles for Nashville until I saw a sign in Horse Cave ( I do love that name — Ontario needs a town named Horse Cave) pointing to the Civil War Battlefields 4 miles North on 31W. ( Note to anyone driving in the area — Highway 31 does run North-South but there are two of them that run in parallel about 5 miles apart. Why anyone would do this can only be explained by someone from the 1930’s Kentucky Highway Department of Transport — I suspect he was a half-witted sadist, a woman would never do anything that stupid. To make matters worse the highway does also change names in the different communities it passes through and outside the towns is known as the Dixie Highway. Regardless, both 31W and 31E are narrow winding two-laned affairs charmingly climbing and descending the hilly central Kentucky countryside.
31W runs up from Horse Cave to cross the river at Munfordville; Just before that it passes the hamlet of Rowlett’s Station; home to two Civil War battles in each of 1861 and 1862. The first appears to have been an unsuccessful cavalry raid against the rail bridge over the Green River resulting in the death of a prominent Texan cavalry colonel. The second battle, in 1862 more commonly known as the battle of Munfordville would started as a raid in force by one of Braxton Bragg’s divisional commanders against a what he thought was a small force of Indiana volunteers entrenched in front of the bridge. They were badly routed forcing Bragg to bring up the whole army and waste three days waiting for the Union force to surrender. The time he lost here allowed Buell to catch him and cut him off before he could get to the Ohio River and soundly defeat him at the battle of Perrysville. This is the second Bragg battlefield we’ve encountered on the trip — the other was at Fort Pickens off Pensacola where he was roundly defeated in his efforts to dislodge the infantry in front of the fort.
The highlight of the battlefield however was the early 19th century farmhouse maintained by the local historical society in a valiant, and apparently failing effort to provide a visitor’s centre. The battlefield trails are closed and the property barely maintained which left a wonderful ghostly charm about the place. Lovely old flower gardens in a state of wild abandon were transitioning from Daffodils to late spring blooms in a rather magical way. The grass was unkempt and a big dogwood in the front had just come into bloom in the shade of huge ancient cutleaf maples; A bluebird flitted between the dogwood and the lawns and the dogwood and the two hundred year old maples. The cool breeze shuffled around the house as Lorraine and I peeked in the windows to see if anyone was at home — no one but ghosts. The place was magic and wonderful — I want to move there and resurrect the old house.
We couldn’t remain there all morning so headed north again but only a little before we encountered highway 88. I had warned Lorraine that I reserved the right for us to get lost and proceeded to try by turning east. You can’t get lost when you don’t care where you are specifically and especially so when you discover that you are on a road you’ve driven before. Highway 88 quickly assumed a familiar tone as we crossed 31E and I realized that this was the crazy route I had somehow pulled the trailer through last year in the early part of our trip. More miraculous was that I had somehow managed to keep the trailer on this narrow, winding badly cambered highway after having a Sazerac and a Bourbon Tasting in the morning before we had left Lebanon; I was very glad not to be towing the trailer this day. Without bourbon, ( and to be fair I had spit out the bourbon in the tasting last year) it took concentration to keep the truck in the lane as we wound our way east out of the Karst sinkhole plains up into higher limestone plateaus of central Kentucky. Even with all the driving we’ve done, this was a brilliant day for a drive so we just kept rolling. We made the outskirts of Lebanon about 1:30 (eastern time, somewhere in the trip we had crossed the timezone line and lost an hour). At Lebanon we opted to tour Maker’s Mark instead of Limestone Branch and then see if we had time to run up to Bardsville to see if we could find a second tour.
Maker’s Mark was my gateway bourbon. Sometime in the early 90’s someone on HP’s Telecom Consulting team introduced me to good bourbon. Before that I might take a shot of Jack or Jim with a Beer and may have had the odd Jack and Coke when I felt like something different but until my corruption by the good old boys on Doug McMahon’s Telecom Team I was a Scotch man — like my father and mother before me. Then, I was introduced to the very smooth and refined taste of Maker’s Mark — at the time it was the only Premium Brand Bourbon you’d find in most bars and Maker’s Mark on ice or better yet with a splash of cool branch water became my go-to hard liquor treat. It’s been replaced since in my affections by a wide variety of bourbons — many in retribution by my Uncle Andy for my having introduced him to Maker’s Mark. Bulleit, Labrott and Graham, Woodford Reserve, Gentleman Jack — ah the list goes on — have had their turn. But coming to Maker’s Mark Distillery was a return to the source; mother’s milk so to speak and way off the beaten path as well so a double bonus. I’d rather the real factory then some fancy showroom distillery in Louisville.
From a distance you can see the black buildings with the red-doors that are the hallmarks of the place; the road winds through a little valley and up to a large parking lot next to a beautifully designed park — all the buildings are black except one brick reception building. I’ll skip to the chase — the landscape design and overall design of this place is perfect. It is a large, industrial distillery operation producing thousands of bottles of bourbon a day but every aspect of the place is beautiful; well designed, even better executed. We bought our tickets and joined a tour group of about a dozen people departing from outside the brick building. There was a good walk down through the park setting to the distillery first.
Most impressive to me is that Maker’s Mark has a single recipe and really make only Bourbon — water from their lake, 70% local corn, a little hard winter wheat, a little malted barley, no rye. All of the products they make come from this mix of local grains and water and have since their start in 1955. This means they weathered the bourbon’s dark days in the 60’s and 70s and haven’t lost their way trying to take advantage of the resurgence. We saw the twelve 10,000 gallon fermentation vats each in rotation through three days from mash, to beer to distiller’s beer ( and were able to taste from the vats themselves — interesting to see the changing flavour profiles across the three stages.) Then they are distilled and barrelled — not for a specific time but until a specific flavour profile is met somewhere from 5 years 9 months to 7 years and they you have Maker’s Mark.
They sell a Maker’s Mark White at their store and nowhere else that is straight from the still — true corn flavour, with banana, fresh bread and a bit of vanilla. Then there is Maker’s Mark, aged 5-7 years, and diluted to 90 US proof from the roughly 110 US Proof that is their Cask Strength product undiluted and labelled individual as to proof. At this point they have products that do veer off towards the craze to craft bourbons with Maker’s Mark 46 — cold aged another 9 to 12 weeks with toasted French Oak added back to the original barrels and their Private Reserve with a very specific mix of additional cold wood aging in a wide variety of recipes that may be specific to an individual or individual restaurant.
We did a tasting of each of the products — confirming that whatever was in the Maker’s Mark bottle in the Bar on Bourbon Street may have been been bourbon but it was bottled here. Lorraine liked the White quite a bit, so we bought a bottle of that. I bought two bottles of the Privat eserve at an obscene price but much less expensive than the private reserve that I bought at Limestone Branch a year ago ( and which remains waiting a very special occasion in my basement). The Private Reserves to me are very much like a slightly harsher VSOP Cognac — or maybe a mix between a good bourbon and a Cognac or Armagnac.
We hadn’t had lunch yet so I became a little less lost and shot across the country towards 31E only stopping in Loretto to try to find some Ale81, a very specific ginger ale to central Kentucky — even 50 miles away in Cave City the guy in the liquor store seemed unaware of it. Ale81 is a very special thing for mixing with Bourbon or just drinking straight — best ginger ale I’ve ever had and only available near Lebanon from what I can tell.
We then found 31E and headed back south towards the campground. About 30 minutes down, maybe halfway back to the camp just north of Hodgenville the hills formed a steep oblong bowl, with a very flat plain and Knob Creek running through ( also the name of another good bourbon) weaving across the highway and back. The light danced through the thin screen of new leaves on the hill in every shade of green imagined. This was the second most beautiful little valley I’d ever seen — so lovely I almost came to tears. Lorraine and I remarked to each other, almost in harmony, “This is just like the valley where God lives”. That place — a secret valley in an oxbow off the Ottawa River just north and east of Sheenboro, Quebec is what ultimately leads us to find our Camp up the Noire River. I was stunned and looking for a place to stop and take a picture when I stumbled by accident into an unmaintained National Park location. This is where Abraham Lincoln had lived from the time he was two until the time he was seven and half along the shores of Knob Creek — I was floored by the beauty and would move there tomorrow. The coincidence that the great Abraham Lincoln had spent his earliest formative years here in this the other valley where God lives was too much for me.
I’d have stayed longer — but the dogs were at home waiting and we had yet to have lunch. So we raced home — I cleaned out the fridge to make a gumbo of Sausage I’d bought in Oklawaha, Shrimp I’d bought in Naples, Chicken and canned tomatoes I’d bought in Kentucky and canned kidney beans in Chili Sauce that I’d bought in Pensacola; clearly a sign that the trip has been long enough. It was delicious regardless of it’s mixed progeny and improvised recipe. Tomorrow we head north of the Mason-Dixon Line for the first time in over a month.
What a day for a road trip — our last day of “tourism” on this trip — day 37. We headed off towards the north and west with a general idea of making the Bourbon Trail near Lebanon, or Bardstown or even Louisville but with no fixed plan. We fortified ourselves with the last of the eggs and some bacon and biscuits and the last of the jam. It’s that part of the trip where emptying the fridge may take priority over nutrition or sobriety. Mercifully we were headed to the Bourbon Trail so no bourbon for breakfast.
The weather has been as good as one could want. My Canadian friends can take solace that Spring is racing north past Horse Cave and on towards Louisville and Cincinnati. In Central Kentucky this is the 3rd or 4th day of the leafing-out and the sunny day with a temperature in the high 20sC and a light cool breeze is what I must consider perfect weather. Warm enough to feel hot in the sun but cool enough not to be uncomfortable; perfect driving weather.
We headed west towards the village of Horse Cave and then north on 31W in the general direction of Louisville. I’d mentioned to Lorraine that this wasn’t a major area of operations during the Civil War and believed it myself other than minor skirmishes in front of the bigger battles for Nashville until I saw a sign in Horse Cave ( I do love that name — Ontario needs a town named Horse Cave) pointing to the Civil War Battlefields 4 miles North on 31W. ( Note to anyone driving in the area — Highway 31 does run North-South but there are two of them that run in parallel about 5 miles apart. Why anyone would do this can only be explained by someone from the 1930’s Kentucky Highway Department of Transport — I suspect he was a half-witted sadist, a woman would never do anything that stupid. To make matters worse the highway does also change names in the different communities it passes through and outside the towns is known as the Dixie Highway. Regardless, both 31W and 31E are narrow winding two-laned affairs charmingly climbing and descending the hilly central Kentucky countryside.
31W runs up from Horse Cave to cross the river at Munfordville; Just before that it passes the hamlet of Rowlett’s Station; home to two Civil War battles in each of 1861 and 1862. The first appears to have been an unsuccessful cavalry raid against the rail bridge over the Green River resulting in the death of a prominent Texan cavalry colonel. The second battle, in 1862 more commonly known as the battle of Munfordville would started as a raid in force by one of Braxton Bragg’s divisional commanders against a what he thought was a small force of Indiana volunteers entrenched in front of the bridge. They were badly routed forcing Bragg to bring up the whole army and waste three days waiting for the Union force to surrender. The time he lost here allowed Buell to catch him and cut him off before he could get to the Ohio River and soundly defeat him at the battle of Perrysville. This is the second Bragg battlefield we’ve encountered on the trip — the other was at Fort Pickens off Pensacola where he was roundly defeated in his efforts to dislodge the infantry in front of the fort.
The highlight of the battlefield however was the early 19th century farmhouse maintained by the local historical society in a valiant, and apparently failing effort to provide a visitor’s centre. The battlefield trails are closed and the property barely maintained which left a wonderful ghostly charm about the place. Lovely old flower gardens in a state of wild abandon were transitioning from Daffodils to late spring blooms in a rather magical way. The grass was unkempt and a big dogwood in the front had just come into bloom in the shade of huge ancient cutleaf maples; A bluebird flitted between the dogwood and the lawns and the dogwood and the two hundred year old maples. The cool breeze shuffled around the house as Lorraine and I peeked in the windows to see if anyone was at home — no one but ghosts. The place was magic and wonderful — I want to move there and resurrect the old house.
We couldn’t remain there all morning so headed north again but only a little before we encountered highway 88. I had warned Lorraine that I reserved the right for us to get lost and proceeded to try by turning east. You can’t get lost when you don’t care where you are specifically and especially so when you discover that you are on a road you’ve driven before. Highway 88 quickly assumed a familiar tone as we crossed 31E and I realized that this was the crazy route I had somehow pulled the trailer through last year in the early part of our trip. More miraculous was that I had somehow managed to keep the trailer on this narrow, winding badly cambered highway after having a Sazerac and a Bourbon Tasting in the morning before we had left Lebanon; I was very glad not to be towing the trailer this day. Without bourbon, ( and to be fair I had spit out the bourbon in the tasting last year) it took concentration to keep the truck in the lane as we wound our way east out of the Karst sinkhole plains up into higher limestone plateaus of central Kentucky. Even with all the driving we’ve done, this was a brilliant day for a drive so we just kept rolling. We made the outskirts of Lebanon about 1:30 (eastern time, somewhere in the trip we had crossed the timezone line and lost an hour). At Lebanon we opted to tour Maker’s Mark instead of Limestone Branch and then see if we had time to run up to Bardsville to see if we could find a second tour.
Maker’s Mark was my gateway bourbon. Sometime in the early 90’s someone on HP’s Telecom Consulting team introduced me to good bourbon. Before that I might take a shot of Jack or Jim with a Beer and may have had the odd Jack and Coke when I felt like something different but until my corruption by the good old boys on Doug McMahon’s Telecom Team I was a Scotch man — like my father and mother before me. Then, I was introduced to the very smooth and refined taste of Maker’s Mark — at the time it was the only Premium Brand Bourbon you’d find in most bars and Maker’s Mark on ice or better yet with a splash of cool branch water became my go-to hard liquor treat. It’s been replaced since in my affections by a wide variety of bourbons — many in retribution by my Uncle Andy for my having introduced him to Maker’s Mark. Bulleit, Labrott and Graham, Woodford Reserve, Gentleman Jack — ah the list goes on — have had their turn. But coming to Maker’s Mark Distillery was a return to the source; mother’s milk so to speak and way off the beaten path as well so a double bonus. I’d rather the real factory then some fancy showroom distillery in Louisville.
From a distance you can see the black buildings with the red-doors that are the hallmarks of the place; the road winds through a little valley and up to a large parking lot next to a beautifully designed park — all the buildings are black except one brick reception building. I’ll skip to the chase — the landscape design and overall design of this place is perfect. It is a large, industrial distillery operation producing thousands of bottles of bourbon a day but every aspect of the place is beautiful; well designed, even better executed. We bought our tickets and joined a tour group of about a dozen people departing from outside the brick building. There was a good walk down through the park setting to the distillery first.
Most impressive to me is that Maker’s Mark has a single recipe and really make only Bourbon — water from their lake, 70% local corn, a little hard winter wheat, a little malted barley, no rye. All of the products they make come from this mix of local grains and water and have since their start in 1955. This means they weathered the bourbon’s dark days in the 60’s and 70s and haven’t lost their way trying to take advantage of the resurgence. We saw the twelve 10,000 gallon fermentation vats each in rotation through three days from mash, to beer to distiller’s beer ( and were able to taste from the vats themselves — interesting to see the changing flavour profiles across the three stages.) Then they are distilled and barrelled — not for a specific time but until a specific flavour profile is met somewhere from 5 years 9 months to 7 years and they you have Maker’s Mark.
They sell a Maker’s Mark White at their store and nowhere else that is straight from the still — true corn flavour, with banana, fresh bread and a bit of vanilla. Then there is Maker’s Mark, aged 5-7 years, and diluted to 90 US proof from the roughly 110 US Proof that is their Cask Strength product undiluted and labelled individual as to proof. At this point they have products that do veer off towards the craze to craft bourbons with Maker’s Mark 46 — cold aged another 9 to 12 weeks with toasted French Oak added back to the original barrels and their Private Reserve with a very specific mix of additional cold wood aging in a wide variety of recipes that may be specific to an individual or individual restaurant.
We did a tasting of each of the products — confirming that whatever was in the Maker’s Mark bottle in the Bar on Bourbon Street may have been been bourbon but it was bottled here. Lorraine liked the White quite a bit, so we bought a bottle of that. I bought two bottles of the Privat eserve at an obscene price but much less expensive than the private reserve that I bought at Limestone Branch a year ago ( and which remains waiting a very special occasion in my basement). The Private Reserves to me are very much like a slightly harsher VSOP Cognac — or maybe a mix between a good bourbon and a Cognac or Armagnac.
 |
| Lorraine with her Maker’s Mark White |
We hadn’t had lunch yet so I became a little less lost and shot across the country towards 31E only stopping in Loretto to try to find some Ale81, a very specific ginger ale to central Kentucky — even 50 miles away in Cave City the guy in the liquor store seemed unaware of it. Ale81 is a very special thing for mixing with Bourbon or just drinking straight — best ginger ale I’ve ever had and only available near Lebanon from what I can tell.
We then found 31E and headed back south towards the campground. About 30 minutes down, maybe halfway back to the camp just north of Hodgenville the hills formed a steep oblong bowl, with a very flat plain and Knob Creek running through ( also the name of another good bourbon) weaving across the highway and back. The light danced through the thin screen of new leaves on the hill in every shade of green imagined. This was the second most beautiful little valley I’d ever seen — so lovely I almost came to tears. Lorraine and I remarked to each other, almost in harmony, “This is just like the valley where God lives”. That place — a secret valley in an oxbow off the Ottawa River just north and east of Sheenboro, Quebec is what ultimately leads us to find our Camp up the Noire River. I was stunned and looking for a place to stop and take a picture when I stumbled by accident into an unmaintained National Park location. This is where Abraham Lincoln had lived from the time he was two until the time he was seven and half along the shores of Knob Creek — I was floored by the beauty and would move there tomorrow. The coincidence that the great Abraham Lincoln had spent his earliest formative years here in this the other valley where God lives was too much for me.
 |
| God’s Backyard ( and Abe’s) |
 |
| Knob Creek flowing through Abraham Lincoln’s backyard. |
I’d have stayed longer — but the dogs were at home waiting and we had yet to have lunch. So we raced home — I cleaned out the fridge to make a gumbo of Sausage I’d bought in Oklawaha, Shrimp I’d bought in Naples, Chicken and canned tomatoes I’d bought in Kentucky and canned kidney beans in Chili Sauce that I’d bought in Pensacola; clearly a sign that the trip has been long enough. It was delicious regardless of it’s mixed progeny and improvised recipe. Tomorrow we head north of the Mason-Dixon Line for the first time in over a month.
Comments
Post a Comment