Come Join Us: To Nashville, and almost to Jack Daniels Distillery

By: Bob White

After years of hauling spirits industry folks around Kentucky, I became the go-to driver for one Beam rep who'd bring in West Coast clients for barrel picks.

Those selections, typically of Knob Creek, would later be sold at the clients' establishments at a premium, since they were seen by many consumers as a one-of-a-kind version of an already popular brand. 

Bottles of high-proof single-barrel whiskey chosen by the owners and staff of liquor stores are popular for customers, but aren’t as exciting as choosing the barrel itself. I’ve been lucky to tag along on dozens of these “barrel picks.”

Sampling uncut, unfiltered whiskey inside an old rick-house (barrel warehouse) is exciting, and often a once-in-a-lifetime event for many that they’ll not forget.

But like any activity, even a good thing can become mundane after doing it dozens of times year after year.

Old pros like Bryan, the Beam rep, will mix it up a bit and have even more fun with it. 

It was around 2012, when I picked up Bryan and his clients at an Air BnB home on Brook Street in Old Louisville.

Their lodging itself, was something different for Bryan’s groups, since he usually lodged guests in a fine hotel with modern amenities.
It appeared as he’d chosen where his budget would be spent – and it wasn’t on the lodging.

This time, according to my assignment, I'd have the group for a full three days, instead of just one or two as usual.

“Hm,” I said to myself. Something was different this time. 

Since Uncle Beam paid the tab for these types of things, an assignment such as this would often include Beam's Urban Stillhouse and Maker's Mark, in addition to Warehouse K in Beam’s Clermont distillery, where the actual barrel pick would occur. 

Enhanced with good meals and a few other extras made activities like this real enjoyable for all involved. 

And two days was usually enough, so I wondered what was up with Day 3.

I can't recall why, but for some reason, the group was left alone in Warehouse K for a bit prior to the barrel pick.
At check-in, staff were comfortable enough with Bryan and I to send us on to the warehouse we both knew well.

It was rare for clients to be left alone amidst 40,000 barrels of bourbon, but no concern, right?  

Bryan knew how to keep his clients occupied. 

It was a hot summer day, but relatively comfortable on the first floor of the warehouse before 9 a.m.

Barrels that clients would sample from, were laid out on the old wooden plank floor, near the entrance. 

The old pro wasted no time finding the mallet and whiskey thief and got right to work keeping his people busy.
We normally wait for the Beam host before digging in like that, I thought.

During the warm months, when pressure builds inside the barrel, it only takes a few whacks on either side of the bunghole for the bung (stopper) to pop out. So, it was easy for the Californian liquor sellers to access the amber liquid inside. 

Not wanting to feel like a helicopter, I went outside a bit. It was fun just listening to the sound of newbies whacking an ash mallet to an Oak barrel in an attempt to pop the bung. 

I saw dust from the gravel road and heard the sound of tires on gravel.
Someone was finally coming.

Heading inside to tell the group that someone was on their way, I saw that Bryan had taken this group in a new direction.

With the other visitors watching close and shooting videos with their phones, Bryan had the group taking turns laying on top of the barrels, while he poured samples of whiskey down their gullets through a whiskey thief.
A whiskey thief is a copper tube which, like a giant straw, draws samples from barrels.

Above 125-proof after aging and evaporating for 10 years or more, the over-sized samples were potent for the guests to ingest so early in the day.

But they managed to keep it down – at least most of it.

As the next victim laid on top of the barrels for his “tasting,” in walks the person who would oversee the selection. 

“Oh shit,” I thought. “It's Fred.”

Wanting to appear professional, I worried that Fred Noe - Jim Beam's current Master Distiller and Booker Noe’s son – might not approve of these Californians taking whiskey thief “shots” while sprawled out on their backs atop barrels. 

Silly me.

“Hey Fred,” Bryan said, holding a dripping thief in his left hand. “I brought something for ya.”

Outstretched, his right arm offers a 12-ounce can of something to Fred.

Fred looks at it and reads the label.

“Straw-Beer-Rita?” Words can't describe Fred's expression that day. But he cracked it open and took a long, healthy slurp from Budweiser's newest product.

“Not bad,” said Fred, in his easy-going Bardstown, a bit grizzly, Kentucky accent.

We all smiled.  I'm sure there's a bigger story behind Straw-beer-Rita that we'll never hear the rest of.  

The rest of the day and next was a blur for most. Bryan kept everyone on their toes – especially the driver. 

Day 2 was a barrel pick at Makers Mark, albeit not as abnormal as the Beam experience. 

It was toward the end of Day 2, when Bryan filled me in on what Day 3 had in store for us.

“We're going to Jack Daniel's,” Bryan said. “Then you can just leave us at a hotel in Nashville. We're flying out the next day.”

Uh, ok, I thought.
My brain didn't even think about the details, but doing something different was right up my alley. 

Day 3 started with a 2.5 hour trip to Nashville where we planned for a short stop at Nelson's Greenbrier Distillery – a relatively new “craft distiller” marketing the Belle-Meade brand.

Being industry folks, the group received special treatment from their hosts there.

After a couple hours, I expected us to make the 1.5 hour drive Lynchburg, but the team had other plans...

“So, there's a place called Prince's Hot Chicken I was told about,” said one of the guests. “We got to go there.”

The customer always being right, and hearing no objections from Bryan, I took the van to northwest Nashville to a tiny strip mall where Prince's occupied a small space.

With Lynchburg being southeast of Nashville, weren't getting any closer to Jack by going to the iconic spot. But I understood – this was THE chicken spot in Nashville.

Half the group, including Bryan, stayed in the van as the others went inside to order Prince's hot chicken. Some more time passed before I saw the single lady in the group exit Prince's with a brown paper bag dripping with Prince's hotness or oil or something.

With the group back aboard, I passed out waters and paper towels, then restarted our ride to Jack.

More than one guest voiced some trouble with the hotness of this chicken we'd gone out the way for.

Adjusting my rearview mirror to gauge the situation, I could see the youngest, fittest guy in the back seat sweating from the forehead. A puddle of red hotness burned on his lips and his fingers dripping with Prince's hotness.

Finally, the lady who brought out the chicken admitted she needed a different lunch.

“…A  Subway or something,” she declared.

Nearly an hour later, after Subway and a convenience store stop for an energy drink or two, we were back on track.

It was closing in on 3:30 p.m.

Being a Guide knowledgeable of Kentucky’s Bourbon Trail, I could only guess what Jack's hours were.
I did know that, at least in Kentucky, Brown-Forman sites close to guests at 5 p.m.

Of course, I had industry folks, so surely a special visit had been lined up…

“Bryan,” I inquired. “You do have something special set up at Jack, right?”

“No, we'll just go in just like a normal guest,” he answered.

I suggested he give Jack a buzz to check on the details and see what he could pull off. The call was too brief. Not good.
Apparently, we’d dilly-dallied a bit too much in Nashville with chicken and Belle Meade.

“Here's what we're gonna do, Bob,” Bryan explained. “Let’s go to the hotel. You're getting a room, too, Bob. We want you to join us tonight for dinner and some fun.”

Exact details were non-existent, but trusting Bryan, I went along with the plan.
Bryan elaborated more at the hotel.
“Don't worry, Bob. I'm hiring us a Nashville driver so you won’t be driving tonight,” he continued.

A couple hours, a shower and a cup of coffee later, we all met in the hotel lobby to learn more.
Bryan walks in like a captain on a ship to tell we have dinner reservations at Husk for 8 p.m.

Husk. It was a restaurant I'd heard of and talked of several times myself – not that I'd been there – but it's the restaurant that sent country hams to Willett Distillery for rick-house aging amongst 8,000 barrels.

I couldn't question that kind of plan. I love visiting new places.

We had a drink or two in Husk's basement bar before our seating. From the bar, I could see the Willett-aged hams hanging in the humidor – or whatever that was behind the glass. Of course, the bar was well-stocked with Willett Family Estate bottles of rare Bourbon. 

Uncle Beam was buying, and Bryan had ordered something special for us at the table.
This was the reason lodging in Louisville had been downgraded from the norm.

Drooling over the menu, all of us passed a little time until an attractive cocktail waitress bearing three bottles.

The first to hit the table was a gold-veined, late 1960s bottle of Very, Very Old Fitzgerald. Next was a 1985 bottling of Weller – not from Buffalo Trace – but from Stitzel-Weller, which stopped producing in 1992.
Third was a barrel pick Husk had of Weller from Buffalo Trace.
All were wheated bourbons. None were brands currently owned by Beam-Suntory, who was paying for me to drive these folks around, which I wasn’t even doing that night.  

I couldn’t complain.

The flight of three rare wheaters brought our trip together full circle. The food was also amazing.
Thanks, Uncle Beam, and Bryan, of course.

As if dinner wasn't enough, our driver – which I love being able to state – took us to the Nashville strip of honk- tonks, bars and cowgirl-filled hot spots where, at Bryan's direction, we were to have anything we wanted for as long as we wanted.

Not being a night owl or barfly, I didn't last long in Nash-Vegas. So, I thanked the host – my client – and said my goodbyes before getting to bed earlier than the rest. I had to drive back to Louisville early the next day as they flew out from Nashville.

That 3-day gig is one I'll not forget. We didn't miss much, I later learned, by missing Jack Daniels.
In fact, I think dinner and the flight or rare wheaters were better than anything I'd ever found in Lynchburg.
Yeh, Nashville was close enough to Lynchburg.
But if you find yourself at Jack, be sure to visit Miss Mary Bobo's Boarding House for lunch, or dinner.

Man, what an experience that can be!
That's another story for another time.
Cheers!
And Special Thanks to Beam and Bryan for all the fun over the years!