I fancy myself a bit of bourbon Please do not half read the start Although both are true To be clear I see myself as bourbon Bourbon is an enigma of magical simplistic complexity Corn and a handful of other grains A new charged oak barrel Time Same as ATGC (four pieces of the endless puzzle of DNA) Simple, neat, predictable, and endlessly complex
The mash is mostly one ingredient Corn for bourbon Family for me
The barrel Oak for bourbon New Hampshire for me Both the oak and I are inescapably a product of our land Slowly grown Shaped by the environment around us
The char For bourbon it comes down to how hot and how long Same for me Too much char and you risk a bitter end product Too little and you have a forgettable finish
And time Time is the one you can really control Even though it seems to be so uncontrollable You can correct a lot of missteps with time A little linger in the barrel Or a little motion while you wait (Like the paddle boats on the great Mississippi A gentle rocking to and fro Echoing the prejazz played on the banks The rhythmic motion giving birth to something wonderful But I might as well be talking of woodchucksβ dreams for all my drifting) A preferred place in the rack house A little more heat A place with a breeze It changes you It makes you draw more from everything else With time you make sense of all else The family into which you where inserted The land from which you came The char Ah yes the char How hot and for how long To fully extract the meaning of this takes time Lots of time And if you take the time And you really work to get the most out of all the simple things that really comprise who and what you are You end with something of infinite complexity Something that imparts warmth, depth, a hint of sweet, a strength that is apparent, and a finish that lingers leaving you wanting more
So to you (and me) I tip a bit of the ***** brown.