As of this year, on the day I turned 35, it became time to upgrade my knowledge of bourbon. Up until that point, I was, at best, intermediate in my taste and wisdom. Sure, I'd moved beyond Maker's Mark and into the realm of Knob Creek and Woodford Reserve, but my journey was still at the trail head, and there was much to learn and explore. Starting down the good path while visiting my family back in Kentucky seemed like the perfect opportunity.

My goal wasn't just to explore the rich green hills of quality bourbon -- the Bookers, the Blantons, the Woodfords, the AA Hirsch's of the world. To consider myself fully rounded, or at least on my way there, I had to go from top of the shelf to bottom, from well-known and exalted to "what the hell is this stuff?" From the locked display case to the "hobo's special" racks at the check-out counter.

So I stocked up on both the good and the bad, determined to know them all. And so, on the Fourth of July, the journey began, and it began with Fighting Cock, aged six years.

Go ahead, snicker. Shame on you. You are too old to be laughing at such things. What's next? You gonna smirk when I tell you about my trip to Lake Titicaca?

Fighting Cock comes to us courtesy of the Heaven Hill distillery, a facility responsible for products that span the shelves top to bottom. In time, you and I will be quite familiar with their spirits. Fighting Cock is somewhere right in the middle, about where you'd find your standard bottle of Jim Beam. I'd heard some pretty bad things about about Fighting Cock, but if the Internet has taught me anything besides "everything is true," it's "you can't believe anything." For everyone who put Fighting Cock on a 'worst of" list, someone else was putting it on a "best of" or, at the very least, "surprisingly good" list. It was obvious that, while in the company of my friends watching stuff explode in the night sky, I was going to have to decide for myself.

On the way to the party, I stood in the train station next to a cute girl with a plate full of nice looking chocolate chip cookies. I thought about making the offer, "Hey, if you let me get my hands on your cookies, I'll let you wrap your lips around my Cock," but the opportunity passed when she hopped on a different train than the one for which I was waiting. If the night held a lesson for me, though, it was that no matter how old you were, there were plenty of Fighting Cock jokes to be made.

As for the actual drinking of the bourbon:

Clocking in at 103 proof, Fighting Cock is one of the strongest bourbons out there, and it lets you know as soon as you take your first sip. It woulda flat out knocked my socks off if I'd bothered wearing socks that day. Burns all the way down, but where Fighting Cock reveals itself to be a wholly different bird than what I would think of as a bad bourbon, the punch to the face is followed by a rich flavor heavy on caramel corn and vanilla with a hint of spice. The finish lingers for quite a spell, making it a very pleasant bourbon to drink neat. I was surprised, given many of the less than complimentary things I'd read about the bourbon. It got better as the drink went on, leaving me warm and happy and reaching for my Cock over and over, eventually culminating in the declaration, "This Cock will last you all night long."

If the initial wallop doesn't scare you away, Fighting Cock turns smooth, and while the proof means you'll be feeling it quickly, I managed to enjoy a few glasses neat and was only marginally unable to stand on one leg afterward. I had no reason to mix it with anything other than ice cubes, though I hear it makes a mean old fashioned. The flavor comes primarily from the substitution of rye instead of wheat. Bourbon is traditionally made with a grain combination of corn, barley, and wheat, so the rye may mean that some people will hum and haw over whether Fighting Cock is really bourbon, but I'm not into splitting hairs, especially when a $10 bottle tastes so good.

Labels: Drink