The Rise of Craft Distilling and “Craft-Washing"

 

The former Seagram's Distillery in Lawrenceburg,
Indiana was the source of many "craft" whiskeys.

Craft distilling grew through the 80s and 90s, but slowly. It took off as the 20th century transitioned into the 21st. 

Other related phenomena were also occurring. Existing producers, now called ‘legacy,’ long moribund, finally saw exports grow in the late 1980s-early 1990s. By 2000, domestic whiskey sales were improving too. This was driven in part by growing interest in cocktails, especially pre-Prohibition and Prohibition-era cocktails that called for whiskey, often rye whiskey, a style that was nearly extinct. 

Consumers, especially young ones, were changing too, becoming more interested in locally- and artisan-produced products of all kinds, looking for variety and authenticity. Craft brews and brewpubs are everywhere now. Craft distilleries scratch the same itch.

When whiskey sales collapsed 50 years ago, it was in part because whiskey was viewed as an “old person’s drink.” It was a victim of the generation gap. By 2000, young adults didn’t know they weren’t supposed to like whiskey. They also didn't think "whiskey" automatically means "scotch."

America was ready for craft distilling.

In 2003, Bill Owens founded the American Distilling Institute (ADI) to encourage and support small distillers. Owens, from Northern California, came to distilling from craft brewing. He founded and ran one of the first brew pubs and eventually became a writer and publisher of brewing books and journals. 

Before he became involved in the beverage alcohol business, Owens was a well-known and highly regarded photojournalist/fine art photographer. In his most celebrated work, Suburbia (1972), he showed us the world most of us were living in as if we were seeing it for the first time. 

ADI was Owens’ post-retirement career. As with craft beer, he dabbled in the craft itself but mainly became a publisher and promoter, staging conferences, expositions, and hands-on workshops. Today, many craft distillery origin stories begin with attendance at an ADI event. 

With ADI, Owens had a new tool at his disposal that had not been available when craft beer was young, the internet. ADI hosted lively virtual discussions and information exchanges, welcoming participants from all over the world. A frequent topic: “what is craft?”

Owens approached craft brewing and, subsequently, craft distilling the same way he did his photography, with an evangelical zeal to share his often-unique personal vision. One of his first acts after launching ADI was to get in his car and drive to every new distillery he could find, taking pictures, talking to founders, and spreading the craft distilling gospel according to Bill. As time went on the industry would develop additional infrastructure, but ADI was first.

Back in the 17th century, the first American distillers made fruit spirits, then rum, and finally whiskey. The craft movement followed a similar trajectory. In addition to brandy, vodka opened doors for many but also caused problems, since it is so much easier and more profitable to just buy grain neutral spirit (GNS) rather than make it from scratch. Vodka is one spirit a factory can make better than an artisan.

At Greenbar in Los Angeles, Melkon Khosrovian and Litty Mathew showed that the best way to make ‘craft’ vodka is to buy GNS and put the ‘craft’ into natural and original flavor infusions. Others got to the same destination by making craft gin, similarly with sourced GNS but natural, often ‘estate grown’ botanicals.

Others glommed onto the fascination some people have with outlaw distilling, as dramatized on the “Moonshiner” TV shows. Legal moonshine, an oxymoron, found a market. The spirit itself is usually vodka, corn whiskey, cane spirits, or a blend thereof, often flavored and sweetened.

Inevitably, most distillers want to make whiskey. Some of the first craft whiskeys to catch the attention of enthusiasts were Old Potrero (Anchor) in California, Stranahan's in Colorado, Balcones in Texas, Hudson (Tuthilltown) in New York, and Woodstone Creek in Ohio.

Craft distilling’s sudden rise spawned a dark side known as ‘craft-washing.’ James Rodewald defined it in his 2014 book, American Spirit, as “labels designed to fool consumers into thinking that industrial products are coming from small, family-owned businesses.” 

As craft-washing spread, transparency became an issue every craft producer had to consider. “Are you a maker or a faker?” Savvy drinkers wanted to know.

When Templeton Rye debuted in 2005 with a mature rye whiskey, it was obvious they had not made it themselves, even though their packaging and marketing made it look like they did. They had a distilling license, but it is easy to look that sort of thing up and their license was brand new. The picture on their web site labeled ‘our still’ was clipped from a German still-maker’s catalog. Templeton’s President, Scott Bush, refused to admit he didn’t make the whiskey, nor would he reveal who did. 

Their story was that Templeton was the recreation of a famous rye whiskey made surreptitiously throughout that tiny western Iowa town during Prohibition and distributed all over the country by the criminal underworld. It was catnip for journalists. They even had a great-niece of Al Capone claim it was Uncle Al’s favorite.

The story never stood up to serious scrutiny, but the whiskey was terrific, a well-aged rye comparable at the time to Heaven Hill or Wild Turkey’s best. The origin myth might have been palatable if they had told it with a wink and a nudge, but they were always dead serious about it and engaged a whole town in their deception.

Eventually the Lawrenceburg, Indiana distillery now known as Ross & Squibb was revealed as the source. The whiskey, with an unusual mash bill of 95 percent rye and five percent barley malt, was created by Seagram’s as a blending whiskey. When the Templeton scam was exposed, Templeton settled several class action lawsuits for $2.5 million.

There is nothing wrong with bringing a product to market by sourcing whiskey. That has always been a way for entrepreneurs to create new products and brands. Just don't misrepresent it, especially to a customer who craves authenticity. We’ll talk about that more next time, as this looks like it will be at least a three-parter. If you missed it, part one is here.

The Obscure Origin of the Craft Distilling Movement

This booklet was published by the U.S.
Departments of Agriculture and Energy in 1982.

According to the American Craft Spirits Association, there are 3,069 active craft distilleries in the U.S. That number has grown about 10 percent per year for the past decade. 

Compare that to 50 years ago, when the number of licensed distilleries of all kinds in the United States, including industrial alcohol, fell to fewer than 100. Fewer than 20 of those made whiskey. Except for a few artisanal brandy distilleries, all of them were big. 

Before that, it was different.

The FET, the hated tax that sparked the Whiskey Rebellion, was repealed by Thomas Jefferson in 1802, reinstated briefly after the War of 1812, then reimposed in 1862 to fund the Union’s side in the Civil War. It has been with us ever since. 

With taxation came licensing, and larceny. The tax collection system was deeply corrupt from inception. Alexander Hamilton anticipated that, so he designed it to encourage large-scale over small-scale distilling. It would be more practical, he reasoned, to police a small group of large taxpayers rather than a large group of small taxpayers. He wasn’t wrong. Great Britain had experienced and addressed the problem the same way.

So, for the convenience of government, the beverage alcohol industry was pushed in that direction.

Even with that bias built into the system, the United States had thousands of licensed distilleries throughout the 19th century, and untold numbers of unlicensed ones. Until the second half of the century, whiskey-making was primarily an adjunct to farming or milling. Only after steamboats and railroads radically improved transportation did distilling evolve into an industry. 

In the late 19th century, there were still 6,000 to 7,000 licensed beverage alcohol distilleries operating in the U.S., many of them large even by modern standards. After 1900, as Prohibition picked up steam, the number of beverage alcohol distilleries rapidly declined until it reached zero on January 1, 1920, at least officially. 

Legal beverage alcohol distilling resumed on a small scale in 1929 to replenish dwindling stocks of medicinal whiskey. It resumed in earnest after Prohibition was repealed four years later. Many new distilleries were built in the 1930s. 

The reborn industry was not only licensed for tax purposes, but also heavily regulated for public health and safety reasons so, again, it was designed to favor large-scale producers and distributors and discourage little guys. 

This time it succeeded. Little guys were duly discouraged. After 1933, there were never more than a few hundred licensed distilleries in the U.S., almost all large. What small distilleries there were usually were attached to some other business, such as a winery or cidery that wanted to make a little brandy. 

Then came the Energy Crisis of 1973. As Americans became aware of their dependence on imported oil, the search began for domestic alternatives. Ethanol, which had powered some of the first automobiles, was an obvious option. Blends of gasoline and alcohol, “gasohol,” became a popular way to extend the petroleum supply using alcohol distilled from renewable, U.S.-grown feedstock, principally corn. 

In 1982, seeking to grow the still-nascent fuel ethanol industry, the U.S. Departments of Agriculture and Energy teamed up to publish Fuel from Farms, a Guide to Small Scale Ethanol Production. 

The Fuel from Farms initiative encouraged farmers to set up small distilleries to produce ethanol from their grain or other agricultural products. This did not threaten food supplies, it argued, because American farms had much more productive capacity than they used.

Farmers would control the process. They could reduce their own fossil fuel use by converting farm equipment to run on ethanol. That way they could become energy self-sufficient.

Fuel from Farms streamlined licensing and regulation but made a stern effort to exclude beverage alcohol from the equation. It didn’t work. The ‘fuel’ part never took off, but farmers and others got the simplified applications and lower fees extended to distilled beverage production as well.

The first to take advantage of this new opportunity were several West Coast winemakers who wanted to make fruit spirits, such as Germain-Robin, Jaxon Keys (Jepson), Charbay, Osocalis, St. George, and Clear Creek. St. George then got into vodka. Clear Creek got into malt whiskey. 

Also in the 1980s, the Justice Department relaxed antitrust enforcement leading to consolidation in many industries, including distilled spirits. The big got bigger and fewer in number. Soon Jim Beam absorbed National Distillers and the corporate roll-up that eventually became Diageo acquired American whiskey makers Stitzel-Weller, Glenmore, Medley, and Schenley. 

In theory, when any industry consolidates into a small number of large players, that creates opportunities for smaller, more nimble competitors. In distilled spirits manufacturing, however, the barriers to entry were uniquely high because of alcohol’s post-Prohibition tax and regulatory regimes. Add to that the unique capital requirement of aged spirits production. 

Although federal regulations had become less onerous, most states still had restrictions, so many early craft distillers became reluctant lobbyists. States such as California, New York, Tennessee, and Kentucky, that already had active distilled spirits industries, were easiest to crack. 

In Kentucky and Tennessee, for example, the ‘big guys’ had already gotten the law changed to allow limited direct-to-consumer sales at their distilleries, to take advantage of tourism growth.

Some states, in revising their laws, followed the model and rationale of Fuel from Farms and favored farm-based operations. One was New York, where Tuthilltown Spirits founders Ralph Erenzo and Brian Lee were surprised to learn it was easier to start a farm-based distillery than the rock-climbing resort they had planned originally. 

Successful lobbying efforts for craft distilleries always emphasize economic development benefits. Distilleries can complement a community’s existing agricultural, tourism, and hospitality businesses. They create new jobs and pay taxes, often at higher rates than other business types. 

Nothing motivates politicians like the promise of increased tax revenue. 

Craft distilling grew slowly through the 80s and 90s. It suddenly took off as the 20th century transitioned into the 21st. (This probably is part one of a multi-part series. Stay tuned.)

The New Unicorns: a $20 Handle

 

Screenshot from the Binny's website, 5/2/2025.

Traditionally in the whiskey world, a "unicorn" is a whiskey that is highly sought but rarely seen. Usually, the term is applied to high end limited releases like the Van Winkle line, Buffalo Trace Antique Collection, and other expensive expressions that seem to appear only on the secondary market, at prices many times their MSRP.

This is a different kind of unicorn, also highly sought but rarely seen, a handle (1.75 L) of excellent quality bourbon for $20 a bottle.

I call this to your attention not because I expect or want you to clean out Binny's, but because this is a good example of something we'll see more of, starting now, as everyone in the distribution chain looks to blow out excess inventory.

I've written about this particular bourbon before. Binny's is the biggest chain retailer in Illinois, with 46 locations. Clark & Sheffield is their house brand. The bottle I wrote about in August could be linked to Sazerac, but house brands can and do change suppliers. That's not important. The point is that a good, fully mature bourbon at $20 for a handle is my kind of unicorn.

This is not a unicorn you put on a shelf and admire. This is one you put on the countertop and drink.

I was browsing Binny's website to see what kind of bourbon bargains presented themselves. This one popped right out. I suggest you do the same with your favored retailers, perhaps more often than normal, because I expect we'll see more of this kind of thing. Right now, Binny's also has handles of Evan Williams and Jim Beam White Label for just $2 more than the Clark & Sheffield. They also have nice mark-downs on handles of Larceny ($36), Maker's Mark ($43), Knob Creek ($52), Bulleit ($43), and Woodford Reserve ($60). The markdowns range from 14 to 20 percent.

The price on Maker's, at 17 percent off the regular number, reminds me of a time, maybe ten years ago, when Maker's briefly stopped producing the 1.75 liter size because demand was so far ahead of supply. They figured they could serve more customers by keeping the smaller sizes supplied. How times have changed.

This is what we can expect going forward, lots more deals. Nobody wants to lower prices permanently, but the right kind of promotional pricing will help producers handle the present oversupply, that and distilling a little less. These are adjustments. Bourbon is not crashing. This is normal. The last decade was not. 

We can do our part by taking advantage of good deals when they present themselves.

The products mentioned all come from major, legacy producers. What about the many new contract producers and their customers? What about crafts?

Recently, a 7-year-old bottled-in-bond wheated bourbon priced at $24.99 for a 750 ml caught my eye. It was an unfamiliar brand, but those are impressive credentials. I did a little checking. I learned it was a one-off private label created by an independent bottler for a national retail chain. The bottler got a great deal on a barrel lot from a contract distiller and packaged up a great deal for the retailer and its customers. Although the distiller maybe took a haircut, this sort of thing is good for everyone, especially we drinkers.

But you have to keep your eyes peeled.

On the other hand, a major craft producer just announced a limited time price cut on their flagship whiskey. They needn't have bothered. Nobody crosses the street for a 10 percent discount, not in this environment. Any professional marketer knows that. The crafts are new at this. They'll learn, though some may not learn fast enough to stay in business. 

For more on how to win in this brave new whiskey world, CLICK HERE.

My Popes

 

The seven popes so far in my lifetime.

My first pope was Pius XII. He died a few months after I took my First Communion. Our catechisms were old and the picture on the title page was of Pius X (1903-1914), but we also saw pictures of Pius XII and they looked about the same. As six-year-olds, we weren’t taught much about his history. 

What I remember most about my second pope, John XXIII, is not his elevation so much as the events surrounding the Second Vatican Council (1962–1965), which John called but he died before its completion. It was presided over by my third pope, Paul VI.

Everyone in my world was excited about the modernization coming out of Vatican II and about our new Catholic president, also named John. 

Paul seemed bland compared to John, but he faithfully carried out the changes instituted by the Council. I was an altar boy. (I believe “server” is the gender-neutral term.) The prayers we had to learn were all in Latin. We faced the altar during mass, not the congregation. I remember well the transition to the mass in English, facing the congregation, and other changes. I was in high school by then, still serving occasionally, but more frequently doing readings. Instead of suits and ties we wore turtleneck sweaters and love beads.

I also sang in the choir, in the loft at the back of the church, with the pipe organ. I was kicked out, ostensibly because I got caught shooting spitballs, but mostly because I’m a terrible singer. Then we started to have guitar masses, initially playing in the loft with the choir, but eventually in front. I’m not very good at that either but was, apparently, good enough. I was, however, very good at the readings, so I was asked to do that more and more.

In the parish school we had the sisters of St. Francis from Joliet, and diocesan priests from the Diocese of Toledo. The parish had a Monsignor and three priests throughout my time there. They all taught at the school. We also had lay teachers, but all religion classes were taught by a priest or nun. 

I would characterize our education as humanistic. 

The school and parish were completely integrated. My parents were both from big cities, so they told us big city Catholic schools weren’t like that. Almost everything I did was connected to the church and school, like my Boy Scout troop, for instance. School dances were held either in the school’s gymnasium or the church basement.

What I remember most about Paul’s papacy was Humanae Vitae (On Human Life), his encyclical on contraception and reproductive ethics. I was, after all, a teenager at the time. My parents practiced the "rhythm method," the only form of birth control sanctioned by the Catholic Church. They wanted to stop at two kids but had six. After my sisters were born, I learned that Catholic birth control also involved finding a sympathetic Catholic gynecologist to prescribe a hysterectomy when a couple decided their family was complete. 

Paul had a long papacy, 15 years. By the time of his death, I had drifted away from the church. I was living in Kentucky then. I don’t recall ever entering a church while I lived there. 

Paul’s long tenure was followed by one of the shortest, John Paul I, who barely made it a month. His successor, John Paul II, my fifth pope, served for a phenomenal 26 years. I had mostly left the church by then but was never hostile to it and followed developments as they occurred. If I saw the inside of a church, it was back in my hometown for a wedding or funeral. After I moved to Chicago, I checked out the cathedral. It was close to my office. It reminded me of my church back home.

Benedict XVI was my sixth pope and Pope Frank was my seventh. New guy will be number eight. Let’s hope for another good one.

What Happens When America's Major Distillers Jump on a Trend?

 

American malts from the biggest producers.

America has always been able to make malt whiskey, we just didn't. But with the bourbon boom maturing, American distillers have branched out. 

One branch, rye whiskey, nearly dead when the bourbon boom began, has grown even faster than bourbon in the 21st century. Most bourbon brands now have a rye counterpart. Heaven Hill introduced the world to straight wheat whiskey (not to be confused with wheated bourbon) more than 20 years ago. Now Suntory has a wheat whiskey, produced at Maker's Mark under the new Star Hill Farm brand.

The latest branch is American single malt (ASM). Brown-Forman launched a Jack Daniel's ASM in 2023, at about $100. Suntory created a new brand, Clermont Steep (about $50), for its ASM rather than use Jim Beam, Maker's Mark, or one of its other American whiskey brands. Brown-Forman also has a Woodford Reserve malt (about $40), but it's not an ASM. Diageo's is an ASM, sold under the Bulleit label (about $65), but Diageo didn't make it. To the best of my knowledge, neither Heaven Hill nor Sazerac sells an American malt yet, but I know both have made them experimentally.

American single malt has been discussed for years but only became TTB-official recently. 

The future of American single malts is by no means assured. One of the leaders in the movement to make ASM legit was Oregon's Westward Whiskey, which recently filed for bankruptcy.

The fact that several majors have jumped on the bandwagon doesn't mean ASM will succeed. Back in 2013, there was a similar trend that started with craft distilleries, but which the majors jumped on quickly: white whiskey.

Craft distillers had created the white whiskey category a few years earlier, ostensibly as a way to generate revenue while their whiskey aged. If they were making a bourbon or rye mash, that's what their white whiskey was. Mixologists praised their bold, spicy character as a great cocktail ingredient and their clear appearance appealed to people for whom vodka is the quintessential cocktail base.

At the time, an informal survey of whiskey enthusiasts showed that while most found white whiskey interesting, few drank it regularly. No one reported buying a second bottle.

Although all whiskey must, by law, have minimal contact with wood to be called 'whiskey,' it can be for as little as five minutes, too brief to affect flavor or appearance. Unlike Europe and most of the rest of the world, the U.S. has no minimum age requirement for whiskey. It just says the spirit must be 'stored in oak containers' in order to be called whiskey. It doesn't say for how long.

Over the years there have been efforts to get the TTB to add an age requirement, without success.

The rap on white whiskey was that it was simply white dog, whiskey distillate straight from the still, too hot and harsh to be truly enjoyable, especially neat or on-the-rocks, the way most whiskey enthusiasts drink. This continued to be true despite the sometimes hyperbolic claims of micro-producers for whom it was bread and butter.

Then both Jack Daniel's and Jim Beam jumped in. Although both products were bottled at a mild 40% ABV, they approached the subject differently, from the micros and from each other.

Beam's product was called Jacob's Ghost, after 18th century family patriarch Jacob Beam. It was standard Jim Beam bourbon, aged one year, then heavily filtered to remove the color and harsher flavors. The result was still raw, but much milder than white dog, with significant amounts of corn body and barrel sweetness. 

Beam called its product white whiskey, Daniel's did not, because it was not whiskey.

As the press materials said repeatedly, Jack Daniel's Unaged Tennessee Rye was the first new grain bill used at Jack Daniel's since Prohibition. "While many rye products only contain the required 51 percent rye in their grain bill, Jack Daniel’s Unaged Rye consists of a grain combination of 70 percent rye, 18 percent corn and 12 percent malted barley."

Jack Daniel's Tennessee Rye was not whiskey; it was neutral spirit. Essentially, Jack Daniel's vodka. Or so the label said.

Jack Daniel's Tennessee Rye and Jacob's Ghost had similar tastes, but both were very unlike the typical craft white whiskey of the period, or any vodka.

The terms 'neutral spirit' and 'whiskey' are mutually exclusive. A product can't be both. You can't put neutral spirit into a barrel and someday harvest whiskey, although Daniel's implied that was what they were doing with the phrase, "it's just a taste of what's to come."

The whole saga of JD Tennessee Rye got weirder and weirder until they changed the classification to "Spirits distilled from grain." 

But that was its own little drama. Today, Jack Daniel's sells its mature rye whiskey and has created another new mash bill for its ASM. It sells no white whiskey. Neither does Suntory. Jacob's Ghost once again sleeps with the angels. About the only white whiskey you'll find today is corn whiskey, which always was the exception to the aging requirement.

Most of You Reading this Should Be Reading Something Else

 

The New Reader is on its way to the Post Office.

The Bourbon Country Reader is a one-of-a-kind newsletter from the same source as this blog. But it is not the same content. The Reader is news, history, and analysis of American whiskey you won't find anywhere else. It is the oldest publication devoted entirely to American whiskey.

If you enjoy the writing you find here at The Chuck Cowdery Blog, there is a good chance you will enjoy The Bourbon Country Reader too when it arrives in your mailbox about six times a year. It is modestly priced and advertising free, unlike virtually everything else in your life. Subscribe now to rediscover the pleasure of old-fashioned words on paper, savored perhaps with a well-aged bourbon or rye.

The Reader itself is a bit of bourbon history. It debuted in 1994 with something like 17 subscribers. It has grown a little bit since then. The Reader has literally tracked the Bourbon Boom from beginning to now, when it seems to be entering a new phase. This new issue is dated as March 2025, even if it did get mailed a week into April. (It says right on the front page, "Always Independent & Idiosyncratic.") This new one is issue #1 of Volume 23.

If you find yourself coming here, to the blog, for straight talk about the American whiskey industry, you probably should be reading The Bourbon Country Reader too.

Give it a try. A six-issue, approximately one-year subscription is just: 

$25 for mailing addresses in the USA. 

$32 for everybody else. (That is, addresses on earth but not in the USA. Interplanetary service is not yet available.)

The links above take you directly to PayPal, where you can subscribe securely using PayPal, Venmo, or any major credit card.

If you are unfamiliar with The Bourbon Country Reader, click here for a sample issue. 

In the current issue:

We think of small, local distilleries proliferating in the 21st century as something new but they echo, in many ways, the pre-Prohibition history of Tell City, Indiana and towns like it, at a time when drinking locally-made whiskey was normal.

In 1856, a group of German-speaking Swiss immigrants met in Cincinnati to organize the Swiss Colonization Society. They acquired 4,000 acres on the Ohio River between Louisville and Owensboro in Perry County, Indiana. They named their new town "Tell City" after the mythological Swiss hero, William Tell.

Distilleries came and went in Tell City. The biggest and most important one was there for 100 years, in one form or another, on both sides of Prohibition, despite the arrest and conviction of its owner for Prohibition-related crimes.

To get the whole story, subscribe!

Why Do Whiskey Makers Have Only Two Seasons?

 

Spring is one of whiskey's two seasons, fall is the other one.

One little-known aspect of the bottled-in-bond rules is that the whiskey must be made by one distiller at a single distillery in one season. One distiller and single distillery are pretty clear and unambiguous, but what does "one season" mean? Does it refer to astronomical seasons or meteorological seasons?

"Astronomical" is the most common method, where the seasons change on or about the 21st day of March, June, September, and December using the dates of equinoxes and solstices. According to the meteorological definition, seasons begin on the first day of those four months.

Whiskey makers use neither system. They divide the year into just two seasons. Spring runs from January first through June 30th. Fall begins July first and ends December 31st.

This system became part of American law when the Bottled in Bond Act was passed in 1897, but it wasn't arbitrary. Historically, distilleries got going after the grain harvest, typically in late summer or early fall, and kept going until the grain ran out or it got too cold. If there was grain available, they resumed distilling when the weather warmed up and, again, kept going until the grain ran out or it got too hot. 

Even after American agriculture advanced to the point where grain was available year-round, most distilleries shut down during the coldest part of the winter and, especially, the hottest part of the summer. Even today, it can be pretty miserable in a Kentucky or Tennessee distillery in August. Shutdowns are also necessary so workers can have vacations and needed maintenance can be performed.

This has become an issue with the rise of bourbon tourism, since so many people vacation in August. The distilleries still provide tours then but if you want to visit when the distillery is actually distilling something, don't go in August. Another issue is the current whiskey surplus. Distilleries typically adjust their production by lengthening or shortening their shutdowns. Again, if you're planning to visit, check the distilleries for their production schedules. Expect longer-than-usual shutdowns for the next few years.

Producers rarely will skip an entire season. Even if they're reducing production, they like to have some whiskey from every season in the warehouses. Historically, distilleries evaluate their needs twice each year but as the business has gotten bigger and more volatile those evaluations have gotten more frequent.

Back in the days of tax stamps the season and year of distillation and the season and year of bottling were imprinted on the stamp, but that requirement was eliminated in the 1980s. Bottled-in-bond spirits must adhere to the rules regarding seasons, but they don't have to disclose them on the label. Producers may disclose that information voluntarily, as Suntory has done with the Old Grand-Dad expression shown above. Putting that information on the label also tells you this is a one-off and not a permanent addition to the portfolio.

The one disclosure that remains is to identify the distillery by its Distilled Spirits Producer (DSP) license number. If it matters to you that the whiskeys you buy be 'singles,' i.e., the product of one distillery, and you'd like to know the identity of that distillery, stick to bottled-in-bond releases.