Endless Pursuits for Fanciful Tangibles - Old Elk Small Batch Sour Mash Reserve Batch 1

TO HUNT HIGH AND LOW

If you decide to become a fan of something, my best advice to you is to stop short of fanaticism. For some reason, once you throw that “ism” on the backside of something, things just change. That’s right—I said it. I don’t take it back. I can’t.

Being a fan leads to positive actions: research, learning, exploration, discovery. All net positives, leading to steps in the right direction. But one step too far down the rabbit hole, Alice, and things begin to spiral. Once that moment begins to pick up speed, well, you don’t know where the fuck this thing’s gonna take you. Next thing you know, you’re tapping away at computer keys, spewing aimless words into the ether in the hope that this can provide some purpose for your newly unlocked obsession—or at least cover the tab. Frankly, it ain’t helping for shit, but I digress.

You’ll start to justify new actions, like venturing into random alcoholic establishments in the infinite search for “something you’ve never tried before.” Fallacies you tell yourself to keep the beast at bay, because you’ve got a problem. You think the issues are superficial at best. “No, I’m just a connoisseur.” That’s the dignified way to sugarcoat this dog(shit)—I mean, dogged—obsession of yours, which is now bordering on addiction. But hey, there are worse vices out there (the fiend’s version of projecting at its finest… or have we reached rock bottom already?). It’s hard to tell when you’re at the deep depths of the ditch you’ve dug for yourself. Who’s to know? It’s hard to see clearly, ‘cause the lighting is poor down here.

That was the thought that crossed my mind when I found myself in this nondescript, former drive-thru convenience store, now converted into a liquor shop. The illumination issues were just the start of the design flaws in short order at this Liquor Star 7—or was it 5? Oh, who the fuck cares?! In all honesty, it was zero stars on Yelp at best. The aisles were so narrow that any mention of ADA compliance would’ve made the spiders pack up their own cobwebs and scatter. The shelves were generic Walmart specials, buckling under the weight of their overstocked, dust-covered selections. It all goes on the shelf here because there is no storage in the back. We’re all packed in here like sardines, busting at the seams.

Speaking of the edges, the one aspect the proprietor did show some remnant of sense—in this liquor mart iteration of a Greek tragedy—was having the premium stuff laid out across a DIY shelf that circumnavigated the entire room. It showed signs of being a job done during various stages of its existence, since it was arranged in a way that would best be described as a map design from a Tomb Raider game.

It was right around level three of this mismatch of mazed terraces—when I finally got past the obligatory offerings of the usual suspects of “exclusive” bottles—that I came across the diamond in the rough. Something worthy of me risking my life on this endeavor. The barrage of antibiotics and penicillin shots will have to wait.

IS THE JUICE WORTH THE SQUEEZE?

In the pursuit of treasures in life, the hunt requires that you stipulate to yourself what the proper parameters of your quest are. That way, you don’t waste an attempt on some frivolous, flashy flimflam. The best advice I can give is to arm yourself with something like three to five criteria that have to be met before you consider the commitment. These markers can vary based on circumstance, situation, and—how about just basic decency, you Crown Royal dog(shit), I mean, dogmatists? I’ll dispense with the judgment and give you what my requirements were on this fortuitous day.

First, I was looking for whiskey. A wild tequila might have piqued my interest, but it had to be brown, ‘cause I wanted some of that action in my life. Go ahead, call me a bigot. Second, under $100. This was after the holidays and travel season; my purse was feeling the pressure of recent purchases, so penny-pinching was the practice of the day. Third, it had to be a rare find. No basic bitch action for me on this amble. What would make it rare? Simple—it had to be something I wasn’t going to find anywhere else. A one-time drop, a special bottling, or (in the case of this excursion) an out-of-production option. Enter stage left: Old Elk Small Batch Sour Mash Reserve Straight Bourbon Whiskey Batch 1.

Here’s how this bottle fit the bill: um, it’s that funky sweet whiskey-brown gushy stuff… like that Neptune sound. Next, it was not just under $100—it was also way under market value by at least $10. When buying rare stuff, you typically want to check out the market value average. The last thing you want is to get stiffed with the overpriced sucker item—but more importantly, you don’t want to miss out on the Aladdin of boozy bargain booty.

Now, the rarity: well, limited-release whiskeys are sought-after collector’s items. Based on their small production and one-off release, it means they become harder to come across, especially years after their initial drop. This bad boy hit the market over three years ago, so basically, I may have just struck gold.

THERE’S GOLD IN THEM THAR HILLS

Let’s lay it out: Old Elk Distillery isn’t a whiskey known for blowing the roof off any whiskey drinkers’ domes, but it should—because it’s not a “flyover” brand either. Founded in 2013 in the shadows of the Rocky Mountains in Fort Collins, Colorado, it was created by a savvy entrepreneur who saw the writing on the wall. He felt craft spirits were going to be something you could hang your hat on in the near future and, most probably (alleged by yours truly), already had a friendly disposition for the brown liquid. But he was really (according to factual accounts) motivated by his passion for craftsmanship and innovation.

As fate would have it, though, he had no experience with distilling spirits. So, what then? Well, you go out and find someone who knows a thing or two about it.

Say what you want about Seagram’s, at the end of the day, they are a powerhouse name in spirits production. Lord knows the first time I put my lips to a 7-and-7 I regretted the action immediately. Here I was, thinking I was a cool twenty-something-year-old savant, only to be instantaneously turned into a blubbering baby, dribbling back my beverage in its delivery receptacle as soon as it touched my lips. You lied to me, Frank the Tank! Enough about my early saunters into the sweet sauce. Back to the lecture at hand.

Seagram’s was a heavy hitter when it came to distilled spirits. At its peak, it had over 180 brands under its reign. You can poo-poo on it all you want, but these weren’t crap labels we’re talking about either. Look it up—you’d be impressed with the lineup. Another element is that they basically designed the model for the conglomerate-driven landscape that currently dominates the alcohol world… I see you, Diageo and Pernod Ricard.

All this talk about Seagram’s is to set up their reputation for pumping out punched-up liquid provisions. In short, they know their shit, and that’s where the founder of Old Elk went to procure the services of a 38-year veteran of spirit distillation to become his master distiller. Hello, Greg Metze. He’s the brains behind the distinctive mash bill used to produce their bourbon: a combination of 51% corn (a requirement for the title of “Bourbon” to be slapped on the bottle label, and also providing the idiosyncratic sweet richness it’s known for), 34% malted barley (which brings the catalyst for a boozier boost as well as a nuttier and biscuity flavor), and 15% rye (for that spicy back end that brings it all into balance like that Latina you dated once that put the fear of Dios in you put you also learned some valuable life lessons in those harrowing times). You can’t appreciate the sweet things in life without the bitter.

So there you have it. That’s how a businessman with a vision and a hooch hound with the expertise came together to make some whiskey out in Colorful Colorado. But the story doesn’t stop there. Throughout the last 20+ years, Old Elk has been producing exclusively crafted concoctions showcasing unique mash bills and a commitment to innovative techniques—resulting in a diverse portfolio of some award-winning products. The accolades have even extended to the proficiency of Metze’s tradecraft, when he was honored as Master Distiller/Master Blender of the Year in 2024 at the Icons of Whisky Awards, in conjunction with the Whiskies of the World Awards.

Now you understand why, when I came across the bottle of Small Batch Sour Mash Reserve Batch 1, I “felt like I chiefed a whole ‘O’ of that presidential.” In everyday parlance, I most definitely struck gold!

DOWN THE HATCH

Good lawd, my senses are in a frenzy trying to keep up with the ever-developing scents emerging from the glass as I pour myself some of this captivating creation. Honey nut cereal notes and the heat of wafting alcohol are the initial aromas that appear. Breakfast of champions is served. They slowly dissipate, only to make way for subtle spice notes of pink peppercorns, cloves, and cinnamon. Oh wait, is that peach cobbler creeping in as all the prominent, domineering smells wash away? I believe it is. The high-malt and rye finish are really at play here.

On top of the exclusive mash mix, another novelty they employed in the production of this particular cauldron of brown bliss was using a blend of 30 barrels, each aged for six years. They concurrently used a proprietary yeast blend, which contributed to a specific aromatic and taste profile that distinguished the resulting whiskey. All these factors really came together in such a way as to produce one alluring offering—and on the palate, all the anticipation didn’t disappoint.

The spice pops right off the jump, but it gives way quickly to nutty and bready undertones. The mid-palate hurries in like a kid who was never taught how to wait patiently in line, as the toffee, honey, caramel, and fruit components take center stage. Think Bananas Foster ice cream à la mode atop a Pomme Tarte Tatin. Moments pass since my last sip, and still the lingering flavors of pecans, banana, and caramel coat my taste buds like the fond memories of last night’s extracurriculars, still playing on an endless loop in your thoughts. Spank me naughty ‘cause I’ve been a bad, bad boy… but only on the inside, of course. *wink wink, nudge nudge*

The extended finish is a tantalizing tingle that tickles the testiculars and reminds you that you just participated in something which, although it may shave years off your life, was well worth the sacrifice. Gotta say, they may be on to something with their mash bill over at Old Elk. From what I’ve read and what I’ve tasted, it really seems like the malted barley is the unsung hero of their bourbon production. Not only is it essential for converting starch to sugar and supporting fermentation, allowing for smoothness in high-proof selections, but it also clearly provides a level of flavor complexity and expression unlike many others.

Like a proper pirate in search of plunder and booty in uncharted waters, I’ve come across my fair share of finds here and there. I’m happy to report, though, that on this venture into the unknown, I not only emerged with a remarkable find, but I may have overshot across the bow and ended up with something far more precious than I could have ever imagined.

The proper thing to do, as a show of gratitude to the eternal mother of the hunt, was to share my experience with you. The hope is that I can encourage you to journey out to track down great loot for yourself—or, at the very least, to impart some whisper of acknowledgment that the search is always worth it for its prospective prize. May Lady Luck be ever in your favor.