You may have noticed some new flavors showing up here on the blog lately. I’ve been writing more about bourbon, and it occurred to me: I’ve never really explained why.
It’s not a journey I ever expected to take. And it certainly didn’t start in the way you might think.
Two bottles that started it all: Evan Williams Single Barrel 1998 & Old Forester Birthday Bourbon (2009 bottling). Each one tied to a memory—and a turning point.
It began in 2007 with a bottle of Evan Williams Single Barrel, vintage 1998.
That was the year my daughter, Lizzi, was born. When I saw that bottle on a store shelf, I thought it would be a meaningful thing to have—a spirit from her birth year that I could use to toast her birthdays and future milestones. I didn’t know much about vintage-dated bourbons at the time. I just knew that this bottle felt special.
Unfortunately, I moved through it a little too quickly. When I returned to buy another, only the 1999 vintages remained. So I did what seemed reasonable: I poured the 1999 into the empty 1998 bottle.
From that point on, it wasn’t really about the contents. It was the bottle—the label, the year, the sentiment—that mattered. That glass became a symbol. Over the years, I’ve kept refilling it, always preserving that connection. The third or fourth generation of that bottle now sits on my shelf, a quiet reminder of a heartfelt, if naive, first step into a much larger world.
Two years later came a second encounter: a bottle of Old Forester Birthday Bourbon. I bought it purely for the name. My mom, who had passed away in 2007, had a November birthday, and I wanted something to honor her memory. I had no idea this bottle was a collector’s item—or, as enthusiasts say, a “unicorn.”
It sat on my shelf for years. I opened it slowly, thoughtfully. And when it was gone, I realized just how rare it had been. I think I paid $80 for that bottle. Today, if you can find one, it may run north of $1,000.
For a long time, those two bottles defined what bourbon was to me: a spirit reserved for special occasions, tied to memory and meaning.
As a host, I always kept a modest supply of spirits at home—not that many people visited. And if they had, they wouldn’t have seen the bottles anyway. I kept them hidden behind a picture of books stapled to a file folder. (Yes, really.)
But this past year, something shifted. My best friend Scott—who lives just outside Nashville—started talking bourbon. He’s close to whiskey country, and I think that proximity sparked something for him. As he shared what he was learning, I got curious too. I started picking up new bottles, comparing notes, exploring flavors. And somewhere along the way, I realized: this isn’t just a curiosity. It’s a passion.
I’m not trying to become a connoisseur or collector. I’m certainly not sitting around getting drunk.
This is about appreciation—of craftsmanship, history, and flavor. And part of that appreciation is knowing that bourbon is uniquely American. Sure, there are remarkable spirits around the world—Scotch, Canadian whisky, cognac, Japanese malts—but none of them quite match the richness, sweetness, and layered complexity of a well-crafted bourbon.
It also speaks to me personally: the core tasting notes echo the flavors I love in life—vanilla, caramel, chocolate, cherry, apple, bananas, cinnamon. Blend all of that together and you’ve got my perfect dessert—and my favorite kind of pour.
So, that’s why I write about it. What started with sentiment and happy accidents has become a genuine love for the stories and the richness inside each bottle.
And I’m looking forward to sharing what I find—with you.
Copyright © 2025 Doug DeBolt
