When I last reviewed Jack Daniel's, I was surprised by how a whiskey we normally associate with black leather, motorcycles, and broken pool cues was actually rather sweet. I've since described it to people as “The Coca Cola of Whiskey.”
I stand by that. Sip what comes out of that square-bottled Old No. 7, and you may begin to see what makes it an extremely successful mass-market product. Nothing is too untoward, the spirit mellows considerably when poured over ice or mixed into cocktails, and there's actually a nice flavor of bananas foster that serves as a foundation for the whole experience. (“Jack Bananiels,” my friend Sarah says.) For a brand as overexposed as Jack Daniel’s, I came away from a “no expectations” kind of tasting with a begrudging respect of what was on offer.
All that said, I still didn't love it. Your rack grade “Jay Dee” carries the hallmarks of cheap American whiskey: despite the sweetness, it's bracing, a little sour, a little funky, and with some cough-syrup like off-notes that come hard-charging at the most inopportune moments. I originally wrote that a lot of this can be filed under “You get what you pay for.” At about a $20 price point, it's not like anyone expects this to be superbly well crafted liquor.
After I'd considered it a little further, I realized my take wasn't fair to a number of labels like Elijah Craig, Buffalo Trace, Wild Turkey, Maker's Mark, or Old Forester—with any of those outfits, a $20 bill and maybe a handful of ones nets you a very, very respectable bourbon. From that vantage point, the regular Jack Daniel’s has faults that makes it hard to endorse given what else is out there. It's not like we're all drinking at the same roadhouse somewhere in rural Georgia where our only choice is to order JD or nothing at all.
So here's my pitch when it comes to the Jack Daniel's Single Barrel Select: what if for another $20, you solved every single problem of the Old No. 7 and kept all of what makes the whiskey distinctive?
“The upmarket version of Jack Daniels is simply and utterly delicious with almost incomparable value for the price point. ”
Here to stay is the banana, the caramel, and the vanilla. The JD Single Barrel also avoids the cardinal sin of a lot of self-proclaimed “upmarket” whiskeys in that it isn't so oak-heavy that it tastes like you've licked the side of granddad's latest woodworking project. The corn funk is kept in check. At 94 proof, you'd expect this to be more of an ass-kicker than its younger, black-labeled brother, and yet it's extremely gentle and refined.
Additionally, and like a lot of bourbons that speak to me, the JD Select evolves with water. If you dig woodsy, chocolately decadence: drink it straight and really savor each small sip at a time. However, if you want to indulge your sweet tooth and really dig into the caramelized banana and corn sweetness, go ahead and pour this over ice. There's no wrong answer in terms of how to enjoy this.
Let me reiterate: This is Jack Daniel's. I think it's safe to say that for a lot of people who stumble across what I write here on Spirit Animal, we collectively think of ourselves as connoisseurs, no? Anything labeled “Jay Dee” might remind us of what our stupid, rowdy cousin drinks. It shouldn't have any magnetism to us, especially in our ivory towers of sophistication and taste. And besides all that, we shouldn't want to support the biggest titan in American whiskey production. I mean… right? Right?
After I bought my fourth bottle of the Jack Daniel's Single Barrel Select, I couldn't help but think of the final lines of George Orwell's 1984, where the main character finds himself completely broken and utterly defeated in his fight against totalitarianism. God help me: I have tasted the upmarket version of Jack Daniel's, and may a lightning bolt obliterate me where I stand if it isn't utterly delicious with almost incomparable value for the price point. As Orwell would say, I have won the battle over myself. I have learned to love Big Brother.
