Bourbon Curious by Fred Minnick

Bourbon Curious: A Book Review

Food

I am a voracious reader, and I happen to adore brown likker. So when I got an email some months ago asking whether I’d like to be sent a review copy of a book about bourbon, I sent a pretty enthusiastic yes in reply. Here’s my review of that book.

Bourbon Curious by Fred MinnickI was a very late bloomer when it comes to drinking. I’ve never much cared for beer, didn’t start drinking wine until I was 26, and barely dipped my toe in the syrupy cocktail end of the pool by the age of 30. I don’t even recall the path that got me from there to the place I am now – a 43-year-old who likes what my mother calls “boozy” drinks.

Not only do I like boozy drinks, I especially love the alchemy that happens in a cocktail glass and the stories behind historic drinks. I suppose it’s not surprising, then, that I really enjoyed most of Fred Minnick’s book, Bourbon Curious: A Simple Tasting Guide for the Savvy Drinker, which is part history book and part tasting guide.

The first part of the book breaks down what’s known about the history of bourbon – turns out the origin stories are a little murky – and puts some of the best known legends around certain brands to the test. (Spoiler: most don’t stand up to even the faintest degree of scrutiny.) Bourbon producers not only stretch the truth (which is putting it mildly in some cases), they’re pretty eager to hide the truth sometimes. Bourbon has survived – and thrived – in part thanks to some pretty shady dealings with things like slavery, prostitution, bootlegging, and snake oil salesmen. Not surprising at all, then, that distilleries make up their own origin stories.

There’s some really interesting myth-busting going on in this book – enough that a more combative person than I am might actually hope for that ill-informed blowhard at the bar to start in on how it can’t be called “bourbon” if it’s not made in Kentucky. (Spoiler: yes, it can.) Me, I’m satisfied just learning the history without needing to incite a riot at the bar.

After all the backstory, though, the most handy (to me) part of the book comes next. Minnick breaks bourbon down into four flavor profiles – grain, nutmeg, caramel, and cinnamon. Most bourbon will have a few (if not all) of those flavors present, but Minnick categorizes several popular bourbons by which flavor is most “forward.” I thought this was particularly useful, especially if you’re looking to pair bourbon or a bourbon cocktail with food, or if you’re looking for the right bourbon for a certain cocktail.

The last third (give or take) of the book was the part I could personally have done without. It’s a series of Minnick’s detailed tasting notes from a variety of bourbons, including space for your own tasting notes should you sample the same bottles included in the book. I once tried to keep a diary of wine tastings, but lost interest so quickly I think I didn’t get past the first page. I’m not a tasting notes girl. If you’re someone who keeps such notes, then this section might be just your cup of tea. Me? Not so much. I skimmed it.

Overall, I found Bourbon Curious: A Simple Tasting Guide for the Savvy Drinker to be an informative, interesting, and quick read. I’ll be keeping it on my cookbook/barbook shelf for future reference in that middle third of the book that I thought was the most useful section. Honestly, I would love that section as a standalone bar reference book or – maybe – a smartphone app. The latter would be even more useful than the book, as it could include many more bourbons than are listed. There you go, Fred, that’s my contribution to your post-book to-do list. You’re welcome.

Did you know September is National Bourbon Heritage Month?

More information:

Italy Roundtable: If the Title Fits

Italy

IEredirect_flag

This month the Italy Blogging Roundtable returns after its (now) traditional August break. I’ll tell you there was some serious back-and-forth among the group members picking the topic for the month, and we’ve started some discussions I think will turn into interesting topics in the future, but for September we’ve chosen a single word as our topic: FIT. There are several meanings for the word FIT, and I look forward to reading what definitions the other Roundtable members focus on. For me, FIT conjures up a few reactions.

Thinking of the words “fit” and “Italy” in the same sentence, it’s hard to narrow the thought process down to one relationship between the two. There’s the sheer number of times I’ve slammed into a door, assuming it will open out (like all doors do in the United States), when in fact most Italian doors open inward. There’s my theory that Italians must have a second stomach or hollow leg for all the food they put away while still managing to look fabulous and, so far as I can tell, not being workout fanatics. And then there’s the long-standing personal vendetta I have against the girl at the Diesel outlet, several sizes larger than me, who looked down her nose at my frame and scowled that they didn’t have any jeans that were big enough to fit me.

The idea of “fitting in” as a foreigner is easily the main thing that comes to mind here, the thing that ties all of these experiences together, but it’s a huge topic – several books have already been written on it. What I want to focus on, then, is one tiny – and potentially insignicant – example of being reminded of difference. It’s something I only noticed recently, and frankly I still don’t know who’s the odd man out here.

Look at that picture of one bookshelf in my office, where I’ve stuck a few Italian books in among the English ones. The titles may not be so illegible that you’d physically need to shift your head from one side to the other to read the whole row, but you can’t help but notice that the Italian book titles are pointed one way while the English book titles are pointed the other.

What’s the reason for this? And is it possible this simple thing can mean something more profound?

The Wikipedia entry on bookbinding says simply that “conventions differ about the direction in which the title on the spine is rotated.” In the United States, the custom is predominantly top-to-bottom writing, while in most of continental Europe it’s bottom-to-top. There are several message board discussions and blog posts on the topic, and plenty of references to the fact that there’s no industry standard, but nowhere could I find any historical information about why a country’s book publishers would have chosen one direction over the other. Some try to make the argument that bottom-to-top titles (like the Italians use) are easier to read when you’re browsing title in a bookstore or library that tilting one’s head to the left and moving along a shelf to the right. Others say this is awkward from a body movement perspective, since you’re moving your body in one direction with your head tilted the other way. Many point out that the U.S. standard of top-to-bottom titles is the only one that makes the titles appear right-side-up when books are lying flat with the cover facing up, but of course that’s not how most books are displayed either in stores or at home.

Aside from the obvious interesting “why” questions about these differences, I’m left wondering whether something like the direction in which a book’s title is written on its spine can have anything to do with personality type. Are people who live in countries with mostly top-to-bottom titles different from people from places where they see mostly bottom-to-top titles? Does seeing the world (or at least its book titles) with your head constantly tilted to the left shift anything else about your perception of things from what it would be if you were used to always tilting your head to the right?

To be honest, I doubt something as trivial as the direction in which book titles are written can have that much of an impact on a culture – but then again, there are plenty of seemingly trivial things that have profound impacts on culture, so maybe it’s not such a stretch.

For the purposes of this post, noticing the difference in the direction of book titles on my own shelf just served as another reminder of what a long and complex process it is to fit into another culture. You may master the language and learn the traditions, but there are things we internalize growing up in our own cultures that simply don’t transfer when we move to a new one. Learning to tilt your head to the left instead of to the right when you’re looking at titles in an Italian bookstore may not seem like much of a concession, but Italians don’t have to think about it. They just do it. We spend a lifetime learning those silent signals, so being presented with new ones (that are no longer silent) adds small hurdles to an otherwise ordinary day – and those hurdles can add up.

When I first started dreaming of an expat life in Italy, I thought I was being more realistic than the countless people who had walked out of a showing of “Under the Tuscan Sun” uttering the words, “I’m going to move to Italy!” And I still believe that I did have a more realistic attitude toward the process, even then. But what the ensuing years have taught me is that even back then I had a hell of a lot to learn – and I still do. I think the biggest lesson I’ve learned in all this time is that becoming an expat in Italy, no matter how prepared I think I am for it, will always be more difficult than I thought.

Other Voices at the Italy Roundtable

What have my fellow Italy Roundtable bloggers come up with on the topic of FIT this month? There’s only one way to find out. Read the posts, leave comments, share them with your friends – and tune in next month for another Italy Blogging Roundtable topic.

Oh, and if you want to read more of the discussions on the whole question of what direction book titles should go, here are some of the links I read:

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...