Mezcal Misterios

It seems like every week there's a new mezcal lable available in the U.S., which is exciting for people like me who love agave spirits. Every time I go to Oaxaca I fill my suitcase with interesting selections that aren't on the market here at home, one of which used to be Siete Misterios: a bottler of mezcal in Mexico that strives to provide traditional styles of the spirit that are 100% natural and organic in origin, with flavors and aromas that are custom to the specific species of agave. Their mezcals are not only some of the tastiest in the industry right now, they're also some of the best priced! Thanks to a new American importer, I no longer have to buy a plane ticket to get these.

Siete Misterios Doba-Yej Mezcal $34.99- The doba-yej is a blast of smoke, citrus, and stonefruit that lights up the palate like a lightning rod. It's one of the most delicious and value-oriented selections we've ever carried and is a great entry way into the genre. This is my new go-to for mixers and fun cocktails. It's so expressive and fun.

Siete Misterios Arroqueño Mezcal $99.99 -The Arroqueno expression is packed with herbal notes and bright floral tones that shape the flavor from roasted agave to a spicy finish. It's delicious stuff.

Siete Misterios Coyote Mezcal $99.99- The Coyote agave expression is fruit forward on the entry with beautiful hints of berry and spice. It turns into a more herbaceous spirit on the finish, balancing out the intensity. Truly fantastic mezcal.

Siete Misterios Tobala Mezcal $139.99- The Tobala agave expression is loaded with bitter chocolate, chile, chipotle, and all sorts of other spicy notes. It's a mezcal that delivers true varietal character in spades.

We’ve also got some new limited things from our friends at Alipus and Mezcalero—my favorite producer and bottler in the business. Check these out:

Alipus Ensemble San Andres Mezcal $69.99- From the same distiller who does the standard Alipus San Andres, comes this "ensemble" release: a rich and elegant blend including some 20% semi-wild agave bicuishe in with the standard espadin. The result is a bright, floral, and richly-textured mezcal with mild smoke and more pure agave flavor.

Mezcalero "Release #15" Sierra Negra Mezcal $99.99- Batch 15 is made with semi-wild Sierra Negra (agave americana) from Don Baltazar Cruz in San Luis del Río. Sierra Negra has a beautiful suavity in the mouth, with a long finish of spice and sweet earth. Another big winner from the now legendary series.

Mezcalero Special Bottling #2 Mezcal $129.99- Labeled as the "finest mezcal in bottle," we would be hard pressed to disagree here! Hand-distilled in October and November of 2012 by Don Valente Ángel in Santa Maria Pila from wild Dobadaan (agave rhodacantha) found on a south-sloping hillside called La Loma de la Mojonera. Rested in tank for 3+ years, the mezcal offers profound depth and an ethereal, calm delicacy. For serious fans of the genre.

-David Driscoll


The Return of Michel Couvreur

In the single malt whisky world, sherry-aged Scotch is currently king. The richer, darker, and denser the sherry flavor, the more people go crazy for it. Whisky aficionados have become so savvy about sherry they now want to know how many times the sherry barrels have been used—was the barrel a first-fill or second-fill?—as a way to gauge just how intense the flavor might be. But before sherry-aged Scotch was all the rage and people began calling whiskies "sherry bombs," there was a Belgian man named Michel Couvreur who also loved sherry-aged Scotch whisky. In fact, he loved it so much that he started contracting his own resources from Scotland. Decidedly unimpressed with the sherry barrels available in Scotland, however, Michel decided to drive down to Spain and seek out his own casks—the freshest, wettest, most saturated vessels he could find. He then transfered the Scotch whisky into these barrels, laid them down to rest in his gigantic underground cellar, and blended those liquids to perfection once they were ready. The results were strikingly different than your standard Scottish malt. The whiskies were more delicate, silkier, softer, and rounder on the palate. They were rich and intricate, entirely about the inherent flavors of the cask. The whisky was more of a conduit. The first time we tried Michel Couvreur's whiskies back in 2007, we knew they were something very special. In the world of sherry-aged Scotch, Michel Couvreur is king.

Michel Couvreur did not live in Belgium, however. He lived in Burgundy, right in the middle of pinot noir country. His cool, cavernous wine cellar was not lined with Corton or Savigny-les-Beaune, it was filled with sherry butts and hogsheads. Not just any normal sherry barrels, mind you, but specifically older ones. As Michel's son-in-law Jean-Arnaud told us during our visit back in 2014, "We prefer to use those in which the sherry has sat for thirty or forty years." Saturated sherry butts; deeply penetrated by the sweet and supple elixir of Jerez. 

We've got a new batch of our amazing K&L exclusive peated overaged back in stock, this time cheaper than before (thanks a more direct path) and even fruitier. For those who were unable to splurge on the Compass Box "5th & Harrison" last week, this is like a baby version of that. David OG, who visited again with Jean-Arnaud last year, also worked out a deal for custom batch of Couvreur's most decadent "Blossoming Auld Sherried," a whisky so rich and concentrated with sherry it practically oozes over your palate. We threw a few other fun expressions onto the shipment as well, so check the website for other selections.

-David Driscoll


Seattle's Best

Washington has always been a very nostalgic place for me. My mother and grandfather were born there, we spent many a summer there when I was a kid, and the scenery often reminds me of my all time favorite television show "Twin Peaks." Getting the chance to hang out in Seattle is always an attractive one for that reason, but when I can combine business with pleasure it's a no brainer. After spending the day learning about the barleys of Skagit Valley, the Westland gang and I headed back to the distillery for some tasting. They're currently shut down for the summer, but I still love looking at their stills and production facility. It's such a beautiful place they're constructed.

Another great reason to visit Seattle is my friend and co-worker Joel Nicholas. Our manager for customer service and logistics, Joel tried to resign from K&L in 2014 after announcing he and his wife would be moving home to start a family. Neither childrearing nor proximity were enough to let his talents go, however. We set him up with a phone, a computer, and said get back to work! So when you call to place an order and you talk to Joel, imagine him sitting at home in Seattle rather than in our Redwood City office. Joel met us at Westland to taste the upcoming Garryana limited release as well as learn more about the facility. He was absolutely smitten and I was glad to indoctrinate another K&L whiskey drinker into the fold. 

The four of us went to dinner after tasting casks at the distillery and afterward I said my goodbye to both Joel and Westland distiller Matt Hofmann as they headed home for the night. That's when the trouble started. Matt Freerks, Westland's sales manager, and I were likely separated at birth. We practically finish each other's sentences. We get along so well that letting the two of us loose in the same city at the same time is a dangerous proposition. After dinner, the two of us took a drive over to Capitol Hill and hit up Bar Sue, which was so fun and so nostalgic that Matt had to practically drag me out of there at 2 AM. Everything that I thought had died living in San Francisco is alive and well in Seattle. I'm practically teary-eyed just thinking about it now: dancing, dressing up, drinking for the fun of it, listening to music, hanging out with a diverse and interesting group of people. Who would think that would be so hard to find these days?

Even MTV's Real World was there filming! Look for Matt and me on an upcoming episode. 

-David Driscoll


In Search of Local Flavor

It’s hard to know exactly where to start when attempting to summarize what could be an eighteen page New Yorker length article into an easy-to-skim K&L blog post, so let’s just dive right into it. Here’s what I knew about the guys at Westland distillery going into my trip this week: they use local barley, local peat, and local oak to make a large percentage of their whiskey. They do so, however, because it actually makes their whiskey better, not simply because it’s fashionable in the food and drinks business currently. Of course they also enjoy supporting local farmers, making a product that’s regional and distinct, and working within the Seattle community to strengthen the ties of industry, but—unlike a number of exploitatively-local spirits—flavor is first and foremost on their minds. To better understand just how committed the gang at Westland is to creating a better tasting single malt, the two Matts (distiller Hofmann and sales manager Freerks) invited me to accompany them north of Seattle to the Skagit Valley, a fertile farmland known mostly for its tulips. They were vague on the details of our field trip, promising me that I would understand the significance of our appointment when I met our hosts. We were starting at the Mount Vernon outpost for Washington State University known as the Bread Lab where Dr. Stephen Jones was waiting for us. 

Dr. Jones is a bit of a folk hero in the food world (read this related article in New York Magazine) and let’s just say he’s not very popular with Monsanto. He’s a professor and a breeder of wheat, barley, beans and various small grains and one day he decided he was tired of big agriculture telling him what did and didn’t constitute quality when it came to commodities. “The commodities market has no room for flavor,” he said with a chuckle as we stood in his barley breeding field outside the main office, “Once you start operating outside of it you’re free to focus on quality.” What large scale producers want in their wheat are characteristics that allow for high-speed, industrial baking that in turn allow for consistency and efficiency. Once all that starch is processed they add the flavor back in later with additives, chemicals, and other mystery ingredients (like caramel in your whisky). Fortunately for us, Dr. Jones wasn’t interested in breeding commercially-viable grains for Wonder Bread. He was interested, however, in breeding flavorful, unique, and interesting grains that would flourish in the Skagit Valley soil, giving chefs, bakers, maltsters, brewers, and distillers like Matt the chance to work with real terroir. Dr. Jones is dealing with tens of thousands of different species, many of which have a unique flavor and flourish in the nearby soils; none of which are of interest to operations like Miller or Anheuser-Busch.

Terroir in barley? I’ve heard of that idea before; the concept that unique strains of barley growing in distinct regions of the world may be just as important to a whiskey’s ultimate flavor as certain grapes are to the character of a wine. I’ve even tasted a few local barley whiskies from Springbank and Kilchoman, a Bere barley expression from Bruichladdich, and an experimental barely release from Glenmorangie. They were indeed unique, but how thought out were they in origin? Why did the distilleries choose those particular strains? Did they taste better? Were they more interesting? Or was it simply a fun little exercise in locavore politics? Perhaps it made for a better story than it did a whisky. It’s tough to know how important the inherent flavor of barley to whisky is when you have no real point of reference. As we walked through the barley rows, each with its own individual strain, I noticed the difference in breeds—the various colors, the different shapes and sizes. “Barley has historically been grown in the region as a way to replenish the soil,” Matt Hofmann said to me. “The farmers would then try to sell it off as feed and maybe break even before replanting their more profitable crops.” 

“What we need to do is find a way to make it profitable for them,” said a voice from behind me. 

A man in aviator sunglasses was approaching the field, looking a bit like Lou Reed from a distance. It was Wayne Carpenter, the founder and director of Skagit Valley Malting—a company created roughly five years ago to begin malting some of Dr. Jones’s difficult local grains for commercial operations like Westland. “The Skagit Valley is a unique climate,” Wayne said to me after we shook hands. “There are only six others like it in the world and the barley that grows here is higher in starch and lower in protein, which is exactly what you want if you’re a brewer or a distiller. The problem is the kernels themselves are fatter and more difficult to malt.” 

“That’s where you come in?” I asked with a smile. Wayne grinned.

Just up the road from the Bread Lab is the Skagit Valley Malting facility where Wayne has set up what could be the greatest malting production ever created. In fact, when Matt and Matt first visited the site and saw the machines up close, Wayne forced them to sign a non-disclosure agreement because he was still patenting the technology. Wayne is an interesting guy, a former military fighter pilot who was very successful as a computer engineer and mathematician during Silicon Valley’s processing boom of the early nineties. “We’re using technology to malt more efficiently. We’re not going backward,” he said to me as we walked into his lab. “Some people see what we’re doing here and they write it off because it’s modern, but we’re keeping the important elements in place.” I made a joke about Amish hipsters and we all laughed. In the food and drinks business the branding of “hand-crafted” has become a bit ridiculous, especially when much of what’s said to be “hand-crafted” isn’t all that good. At Skagit Valley Malting they’re incredibly focused on efficient and effective processing, it’s just that Wayne is doing so in the name of flavor, rather than at the expense of it. What’s even more compelling is that he’s invested more than ten million dollars in order to do so, all of it from his own fortune. 

“Barley does not want to be made into beer or whiskey,” Wayne said as we moved over to his on-site testing brewery; “What it wants to do is make other little barleys, so it’s up to us to convert the starch into sugar before it tries to sprout.” Some strains of barley are more difficult to malt than others, which is why they’ve been phased out by the agriculture industry; they’re too difficult to work with on a large scale. But it just so happens that many of those difficult strains are the most flavorful when malted properly. Like I mentioned before, I’ve only tasted a few barley-specific whiskies in my lifetime. Part of the reason more distillers don’t experiment with various strains of barley is because they don’t know exactly what the resulting whisky will taste like. When you’re talking about years of maturation time, waiting around to see test the results isn’t exactly the most attractive business model. That’s why Wayne uses beer for flavor analysis rather than whiskey. Making multiple batches of identically-malted brews, each with the exact same amount of hops and yeast allows for a more realistic side-by-side comparison. “These are called ‘smash’ beers,” he told us; “Single Malt And Single Hops recipes. Everything is exactly the same except for the type of barley used.” All five were unique, and one in particular—a beer made with locally-grown Skagit barley—was simply to die for. It was indeed more flavorful and more delicious, and it did indeed make a better beer—just like he had pointed out back in the field. 

While Wayne hasn’t done much in the way of marketing, the word is out in the food community about the various flours he’s been able to mill from his flavorful homegrown malting. The bakers from San Francisco’s legendary Tartine were scheduled to visit this week, and Wayne has similar appointments with Dan Barber and the team from Blue Hill in Manhattan. They’re apparently thrilled with the breads they’ve been able to make from his collaborative work with Dr. Jones and there’s even been talk of specific tasting menus. Can you imagine it? Barley-specific bread paired with beer and whiskey made from the same strain? The possibilities are endless. What struck me most of all was something Wayne said before we left: “Silicon Valley helped make Napa what it is today. Without heavy investment and a market for those wines it could have become another Danville.” Wayne thinks the Skagit Valley could do for barley what cabernet did for St. Helena. Can you imagine that as well? A Napa Valley-like home for craft beer and whiskey just outside of Seattle? Wayne isn’t just imagining it, he’s banking on it—literally. From what he told us, there are already a number of big craft beer names looking into property just across from his malting center. Even I was practically itching to buy a plot of land nearby after he finished talking. I meet Bay Area tourists every day who plan on spending a few days in wine country. Why wouldn’t a veritable beer country have the same appeal in the Pacific Northwest? 

“This is the local eco-system we’re talking about when we talk about Westland being a locally-made whiskey,” Matt said to me as we drove back towards Seattle that evening. I was flat out inspired. This is the model all locavores should be working towards. You’ve got local farmers sitting on some of the best barley terroir in the world, but they can’t grow it profitably without customers. With the help of Dr. Jones, Wayne Carpenter, and Westland, however, they just might create an entirely new economy for it—one where everyone wins. The farmers get paid, Wayne gets paid, Westland gets a better barley, and the customer gets a better beer or whiskey, all while working to be sustainable and improving the local agriculture. Isn’t that everything working and buying locally should be about? It gets better, actually. Apparently not only is Wayne’s malting technology better at malting the Skagit Valley barley, it only uses a fraction of the energy and water used by standard malting facilities. “It’s green as well?” I asked him with amazement.

“Yeah, but I was really just trying to save money,” he said in all seriousness; “I came into this as a problem solver, mainly.” Barley that’s more flavorful and cost-effective? I have to imagine it’s only a matter of time before Skagit Valley seriously revolutionizes the way we think about whiskey. Once again, Westland is leading the way. It was never just about making single malt in Seattle for these guys; it was about making single malt in an environment that is uniquely and geographically suited for doing so. The proof of that is in the pudding. It’s in the soils of the Skagit Valley as well. 

-David Driscoll


I Stay Away

I’m a fast mover by nature. I’m the kind of person who would rather stay late and get everything done before taking a break. In fact, I can rarely rest unless I’ve finished all my work and completed all my chores (which means I can never rest in theory). So while doing the one thing that brings me peace yesterday—riding my skateboard around the car port behind my townhouse—I lost my footing while trying to turn sharply over a pool of unseen water leaking from the washing machines. Before I knew it I was on my side, unscathed and unhurt, except for a pain emanating from the top of my left foot. I’m not sure how you can hurt the top of your foot while falling backwards off of a skateboard, but I found a way to do it and—let me tell you—if you think your fourth toe isn’t all that important, think again. I’ve been reduced to about 30% of my standard walking speed, which about drove me insane this morning while trying to get through airport security. I hate holding people up. I try to get my business done quickly and efficiently so that the guy behind be doesn’t have to wait, but it’s hard to move fast on one foot. “Slow down, take it easy,” I said to myself. “You can’t go any faster than this.” Once I resisted the urge to increase the pace and accepted the reality of my situation, a surprising and unexpected calm came over me. I don’t have to move at full speed all the time. It’s probably not all that healthy, to tell you the truth, the constant rushing. Yet, I often hurry to nowhere, trying to be on time for some unknown appointment. Today, however, I'm moving at a more realistic speed. Sometimes a small foot injury can become enlightenment in disguise. It’s like life telling you: “If you’re not going to slow down, I’m going to take matters into my own hands.”

I love flying for a similar reason: an airplane is pretty much the only place I can disconnect and relax because it’s one of the few places the cell phone and internet can’t penetrate. There’s no choice but to unplug. I get a lot of thinking done on planes; sadly, the same type of pondering and self-reflection I used to achieve on a daily basis before 24/7 news cycles distracted me from happiness. I always choose a window seat and most of the time I’ll just put on my headphones and stare at the blue. Since I’m flying to Seattle today I’ve got my playlist set up thematically: lots of Alice in Chains, Soundgarden, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, etc. I can’t honestly say most of those songs sound as powerful or emotional today as they did in high school, but I find that the Alice in Chains catalog may have help up best—an interesting development because they were probably my least favorite Seattle band back then. Today, however, I’m a bit emotional listening to the more tender, gloomier hits like “I Stay Away.” When the group’s lead singer Layne Staley died, I was working at Tower Records on Market and Castro and that whole month we were mourning the loss with an epic playlist over the store’s speakers. I can’t remember when it happened exactly, but at some point I was standing behind the register and talking with a customer about Staley’s death—a long-haired, weathered man I had never seen before and would never see again. “I was just up there visiting him,” the guy said to me suddenly. I was taken aback; this guy apparently new Layne well. “He was in bad shape, but I didn’t expect this,” the man told me with remorse, and he continued on with a number of intimate details about Staley’s condition that only could have been known to friends and family. It was a bit forthcoming and surprising, but the man was clearly venting to a sympathetic ear in me and I listened quietly and intently. It would be another few years before I realized the guy I talked to that night was likely Mike Starr, the former Alice in Chains bass player who would sadly succumb to a similar and tragic fate.  I can’t say that with certainty because I remember the man’s hair and demeanor more than I remember his face, but after watching Starr’s appearance on Celebrity Rehab in later years I’m pretty sure that’s who it was. 

It’s not easy to make serious changes in life, even when you so badly want to alter your path from its current trajectory. Sometimes it takes an injury, a run in with death, or a situation beyond your control to force that needed change upon you. Part of the reason I find it so difficult these days to eat better, exercise, relax, and manage my stress levels has to do with my inability to slow down and allow life to unfold at a more manageable pace. Flying, for me, is a reminder of what life can be like when you stop to take a breath. What’s funny is that during college I developed a short-lived phobia of flying after a very bumpy ride between Oakland and San Diego scared the piss out of me. Today, however, I think I’m at my most calm on an airplane; ironically, for exactly the same reason that flying used to scare me: the lack of control. Getting on a flight at one point used to frighten me because I was in essence handing over my ability to control my environment to a stranger. Today it’s that same scenario that brings me nothing but relaxation and peace. Take me away, captain! I’m in your hands. I can't wait to let go.

-David Driscoll