I've long felt that one of the hallmarks of wisdom is admitting that you don't know everything, which in turn requires being willing to amend and adapt your perspective when the situation warrants. Even though I think I know my ass from a hole in the ground, I'll admit there are still quite a few things in the booze world that leave me puzzled.
In particular, I thought I knew what represented too many years of aging when it came to bourbon. When we last left Knob Creek, I'd have said that number was probably eight or nine—not coincidentally because I think the flagship Knob Creek is something of an over-oaked mess!
However, I also acknowledged that this was a “personal preference” kind of thing, like bell peppers on pizza or the feel of polyester clothing. Indeed, some people love the tangy/vegetal hit of a bell pepper on a good slice. Some people apparently love feeling like they're wearing a hefty bag that traps all moisture in their pores. It's a big world with no accounting for taste.
“Whereas I find the standard expression to be too one-note for my taste, the 12-year Knob Creek is playful and complex. ”
So while I don't have an affinity for Knob Creek, my buddy Adam does, and I treated him to KC's upmarket, 12-year version for Christmas. Of course, I decided to try a little nip with him to see out of morbid curiosity just how much more oak the Beam distillery could shoehorn into their whiskey. As I poured myself a finger of the liquid, my lips were already puckering in anticipation of oaky sourness.
You might guess where this story is going. The Knob Creek 12 is a very good, very tasty bourbon. And in writing that, I raise my palms skyward in the most exaggerated shrug I can muster. I guess nine years of oak interaction was too much, but twelve years is just right? Up is down and down is up!
On one hand, Knob Creek 12 might be an exception that disproves the general rule. Typically cask interaction happens very rapidly when you're using virgin oak and storing barrels in Kentucky, a part of the earth known for cold winters and sweltering, humid summers. Typically.
Of course, there's a chance the distillers at Knob Creek know more about aging spirits than some dipshit writer in Los Angeles, California. (I'd certainly hope so.) There are stories galore about old men in suspenders waddling up and down the halls of rickhouses—entirely too trusting of the 19th century beams great grandpappy hammered into place to keep them from being crushed by falling whiskey barrels—stealing little sips from every cask to figure out which ones have “the good stuff.” Read enough about what makes one distillery unique from another, and you'll eventually come to a point where it's hard to sort whimsical lore from the usual marketing bullshit.
Sure, there are “distillery profiles” of the kinds of tastes a person can expect, but there are also so many little variables that can matter as well. For example, a barrel’s location in the rickhouse can expose it to varying amounts of temperature or humidity, which can make a big difference over a decade. Maybe Knob Creek uses a slightly different mash bill for the 12 over the standard. Perhaps they selected barrels that tasted better or were a little less oak-forward at some point in time? Could they have used a different level of char for the barrels selected for the KC 12?
Who knows! These would be great questions to ask at a distillery tour. I don't have a crystal ball. Maybe magic and mystery still exists in the world.
What I can speak about is why I like this stuff. Whereas I find the standard Knob Creek to be too one-note for my taste, the 12-year variation is playful and complex. You usually have a good indication of a quality spirit if it's fun to smell, and such is the case here. There are the olfactory hallmarks of an enjoyable bourbon, like maple and cocoa, but damned if there aren't some intriguing tropical scents here as well! Rum drinkers looking for a crossover bourbon will find a lot to enjoy.
And no lie—there's wood influence, but it's well-tempered. The KC 12 will give you oodles of extremely dark chocolate and brown sugar, along with a little mint, tobacco, and slate. Sure, some people might say that all bourbon is inherently a manly man's sort of drink, but the core flavors of this Knob Creek are masculine in the way that Randy Savage is masculine. It’s over the top in a way that’s fun rather than exhausting.
I'd also add that the Knob Creek 12 is one of those bourbons that will continue to transform if poured over ice and enjoyed real slowly. Like a lot of oak-forward backbreakers, dilution rounds off the edges and allows some more sophisticated flavors to emerge from the mix. Yes, the oak will always be there, but I was surprised by the amount of fruit I tasted as the spirit mellowed. There's some very juicy lemon, red grapes, and dates to be experienced if one is generous with the ice or water!
Additionally, Knob Creek 12 is very agreeable on its way down. Here, I think the wood influence is at its most enjoyable. There's barrel spice and oak tannins for days, but there's also a wonderfully nutty and fruity influence that is just as perceptible. Neat.
My only knock is the price: $60. It's not highway robbery in today's era of ever-escalating bourbon prices, but it's still a little more than I'd want to spend. I think it's worth a try, and I enjoyed it quite a bit more than I thought I would. However, I don't think it's in danger of dethroning either Baker's or Old Forester 1910—two of my perennial favorites at roughly the same price point.
