vinepair: Tequila Isn’t the Only Spirit to Use Additives. Why Aren’t We Talking About the Others?

WORDS:SUSANNAH SKIVER BARTON

Spirits additives have been in the news a lot lately, almost solely in relation to tequila. A clash between the independently run Additive Free Alliance and the Consejo Regulador del Tequila (CRT), tequila’s regulatory body, has chilled the growing movement for transparency in the category, and currently, per the CRT, no brands may legally discuss use or non-use of additives — which are legal — on their packaging or in their marketing. The stalemate seems likely to continue without a satisfying resolution unless and until the regulator and the industry can reach a compromise.

Meanwhile, many other spirits use additives, too, almost always without explicit disclosure: Cognac, rum, Scotch, and many more. Sometimes they employ caramel coloring to make a brand appear consistent from batch to batch, or to give the impression of greater cask influence. They may add sugar to sweeten a spirit or impart a rounder, more pleasing mouthfeel. Other additives can mimic the impact of prolonged oak aging, or layer on flavors to simulate more complexity.

The conflict in tequila has cast the issue of additives in black-and-white terms. For many spirits enthusiasts, additives are seen as deceptive, a way to cheat the natural processes at play in fermentation, distillation, and maturation. But that binary framework isn’t the only way of understanding the issue.

“Additives are not necessarily bad,” says Nicolas Palazzi, founder of PM Spirits, which imports tequila, rum, Cognac, and other spirits. “Yes, most of the time the product is subpar and therefore to make it more palatable … you need to put makeup on it.” But, he explains, there are other examples when using additives “makes a better product.” The key difference, Palazzi says, is “the way they’re used and why they’re used.”

Examining the legacy and tradition of additives across the spirits world can shed some light on the debate, even as it remains largely unsettled. The core issues at play — transparency and consumer choice — aren’t going away. And potential solutions could take a number of forms.

Whiskey’s History of Additives

Additive use in spirits was historically quite common. In the 19th-century United States, rectifiers added everything from prune juice to turpentine to their “whiskey” — often badly made or unaged spirit — to make it appear older or taste better. The practice directly led to the passage of the Bottled-in-Bond Act of 1897, which set the first standards for truth in labeling and made it clear to consumers that the whiskey in the bottle was unadulterated. Today, bourbon and other straight whiskeys are not allowed to contain any additives. Non-straight whiskeys and blends, including blends of straight whiskeys, may include up to 2.5 percent allowed coloring and flavoring materials without disclosure.

These are settled questions of law, and for the most part, whiskey drinkers aren’t clamoring for more information from brands — although there was a period, circa 2014–2015, when added flavoring in Templeton Rye became a flashpoint for what was then a new conversation about transparency in whiskey. A commentator named Steve Ury wrote a blog post at the time digging into whether ryes that did not include a “straight” designation might include added flavor. The exercise is still valid a decade, and many dozens of other brands, later, but doesn’t seem to stir up much conversation currently.

The additive that many drinkers do want to know about is caramel coloring, which is widely permitted outside straight American whiskey, including in heavily regulated categories like Scotch. It’s almost a guarantee that every blended Scotch, Irish, and Canadian whisky includes caramel for consistent color, as do many single malts and premium offerings, but there’s no requirement for disclosure. Still, some brands now tout “no added color” as part of their labeling and marketing — often alongside “non-chill filtered,” a Bat Signal for whiskey connoisseurs who believe the common practice has a negative impact on a whiskey’s flavor.

The Wide World of Rum Additives

Rum can contain caramel coloring, too, and often many other additives, though it is not a total free-for-all everywhere. Several rums are made under the rules of an established geographical indication (GI), including Jamaican, Cuban, and Demerara rums, as well as rhum agricole. GI-regulated rums typically eschew most additives, with the exceptions of caramel coloring — which is broadly permitted — and sugar, which several GIs allow. A major exception is the GI for Venezuelan rum, which allows “caramel, fresh or dry fruit macerations, bark, maceration of oak chips, and other approved substances.”

“If a brand puts that level of transparency and disclosure out there and the enthusiasts like it, they’re going to tell their friends. [They may be] half a percentage of your business, but they’re the ones talking to bartenders and bar managers.”

Beyond GI regulations, rum producers only have to work within the constraints of their permitting authority and those of the places they export to, which broadly means additives of all kinds may be used. Sugar is perhaps most common, not only because there’s historical precedent for it in many rum traditions, but because it’s widely favored by consumer palates.

“They’ve been [adding sugar] for hundreds of years,” says Matt Pietrek, rum expert and author of several books, including “Modern Caribbean Rum.” “Not in any attempt to deceive people; it’s more like, this tastes good and people like it.”

Palazzi agrees. “Most of the rums that people like are sweet, because they’re sweetened,” he says. “A lot of people feel that if the rum is dry there’s something wrong with it.”

Though Pietrek notes that he prefers dry, additive-free rums, he’s in favor of letting each producer make the rum they want. And he’d love to see producers across the rum world adopt some kind of transparency measure, like nutritional labeling, to give consumers more information about what’s in the spirit.

“Consumers can vote with their dollars,” he says, pointing out how Planteray includes a host of detailed information on the label, including how much dosage (added sugar) it includes. “Great! Literally any producer can do this.”

A Legacy in Cognac

For Cognac, in addition to caramel coloring, there’s a long tradition of adding both sugar and a substance called boisé, sometimes described as oak extract. All three additives may be aged before being blended with the spirit, though they aren’t necessarily. The use of boisé dates back to at least the 19th century and is rooted in what Amy Pasquet, one half of the husband-and-wife team at Cognac Pasquet, describes as a “waste-not, want-not” mentality. After distilling the spirit, wood chips left over from coopering were put into the still with water, their tannins serving to strip the interior of gunk. That liquid, rich with woody flavors, was then used to proof down the aged Cognac.

“Instead of saying we don’t add anything, we say everything is natural. Whiskey people really want that on the label.”

Nowadays, most boisé is produced commercially rather than in-house, and it’s likely widely employed in the leading houses. Many experts say boisé is not just an imitation of maturation. Ury, who shifted his attention from whiskey to brandy many years ago and now runs the Facebook group Serious Brandy, notes that it “may well be responsible for a lot of the rancio notes that people favor in Cognac.”

Although there are several independent, small Cognac houses — like Pasquet — that don’t use boisé or other additives, the substance’s longstanding legacy is respected by many connoisseurs like Ury. “It’s not as if [brands using boisé] are scam artists or something — it’s just a different way of doing things,” he says.

The rise in openly additive-free Cognac is relatively recent, spurred by whiskey enthusiasts migrating their attention to French brandy. Though it once made its own boisé, Pasquet stopped using additives in 2011; labels now state that the Cognac is hand-bottled, non-chill filtered, non-dosed, and natural color. “Instead of saying we don’t add anything, we say everything is natural,” Pasquet explains, noting that the brand’s German importer encouraged the labeling disclosure. “Whiskey people really want that on the label.”

Pasquet and its ilk represent a tiny fraction of overall Cognac volumes, but consumers’ desire for more information has penetrated even the big houses. A cohort of industry players that includes the likes of Hennessy, Rémy Martin, and Martell have agreed to voluntarily disclose ingredients, excluding boisé, on their labels or via QR code going forward. (VinePair reached out to the Bureau National Interprofessionnel du Cognac, the industry’s trade group, for clarification on why boisé is not included but has not received a response.)

How Many People Really Care, Though?

In spite of the furor of the additive debate among spirits enthusiasts, the issue isn’t even on the radar for the vast majority of consumers. “The people who really care are going to look for transparency and how the product is made and whether there are additives,” says Palazzi. “But there’s a lot of people who couldn’t care less.”

The average Hennessy VS drinker isn’t checking the label to see if there’s added sugar. Captain Morgan fans, if they stop to think about it, would likely accept without hesitation that the rum is full of flavoring. Only the hobbyists, those who self-identify as geeks, are concerned about whether their whiskey or brandy or rum has caramel coloring.

But although this group is a small minority, it’s often quite vocal — and usually willing to spend more on a bottle than the casual drinker. To a brand looking to cultivate that kind of engaged customer, playing up additive-free status can be a savvy marketing move.

“If a brand puts that level of transparency and disclosure out there and the enthusiasts like it, they’re going to tell their friends,” Pietrek says. “[They may be] half a percentage of your business, but they’re the ones talking to bartenders and bar managers. If you give them what they want, they will be your de facto brand ambassadors.”

And eventually, the movement that starts among the geeks can ripple outward. “Twenty-five years ago, no one cared about caramel in Scotch — that wasn’t a thing,” Ury says. Then enthusiasts started questioning the practice. “It was consumer-driven and you started seeing bottles saying ‘no coloring added,’” he says.

So even though the issue is moot for the majority of consumers, spirits brands still have to address it if they care about their most engaged fans. The conversation ultimately boils down to the broader issue of transparency, which has driven much of the consumer conversation in food and drink in the past few decades. People want to know what they’re putting in their bodies, and when brands don’t disclose that, mistrust can grow.

Piecemeal efforts from individual brands can be a workable approach, if they’re allowed to share information openly — something every category can currently do except for tequila. Potentially more effective are industry-wide moves like the one taking shape in Cognac. But the biggest game-changer would be mandated reporting from regulatory authorities like the Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau (TTB).

The agency is currently considering a proposal to add certain nutrition facts to alcoholic beverages, similar to those found on food, including major allergens and calories per serving. But it stops short of requiring an actual ingredients list, and any public rollout is likely years away, if it ever occurs at all. For now, consumers looking for full transparency about a given spirit are largely at the mercy of individual brands. Those that talk openly about ingredients like additives serve as an example to others.

“I would love to see more transparency in Cognac,” Pasquet says. “We work for that day and night.”

bon appétit: How One Man’s Obsession with Fruit Created the UK’s Most Exquisite Spirits

Barney Wilczak and his tiny distillery are bottling the wildness of the orchard.

BY OSAYI ENDOLYN

May 12, 2025

“The fruit is coming.”

The urgent phone call that Barney Wilczak anticipates typically comes in the middle of the night. The caller is one of his local farmer partners who has just walked their orchards to touch, smell, and taste the fruit. The brief exchange notifies Wilczak that the quince, perry pears, blood oranges, raspberries, or damson plums destined for distillation are ready to harvest. A distiller of groundbreaking eaux de vie, Wilczak describes his work as being “in service to the fruit.” Part of that service is to represent the fruit at its highest level of flavor, to harness its essence. So the processing must begin right away. Wilczak takes the farmer’s call as his cue, rises in the early darkness, and prepares to receive by the truckload literal tons of fruit.

Wilczak built Capreolus Distillery in 2016, on the same property as his childhood home in Cotswold, southwest England. His eaux de vie have an almost unnerving ability to transport the drinker to those abundant fields. The region is known for its endemic fruits, many of which don’t appear in other parts of the world. The name Capreolus refers to the deer that frequent Wilczak’s garden. “They’re the most beautiful native deer we have and they’re so ephemeral,” he says. “You see them and then they disappear. It felt apt, as we try to capture things that only last for moments.”

That late night/early morning phone call from Wilczak’s farmer collaborator wouldn’t have been a surprise. Wilczak firmly believes that production revolves entirely around the wisdom of the trees and the people who cultivate them, not marketing drives or quarterly sales targets. Every piece of fruit that arrives at the distillery is hand-sorted to check for outliers of “too much softness or spring,” before it is hand-pressed and guided through distillation and bottling.

Hand-sorting gooseberries at Capreolus. Photograph By Barney Wilczak

You might say that Wilczak practices a type of conservation: His farming supports much-needed biodiversity, and drinkers around the world can experience hyperlocal plants they wouldn’t otherwise have access to. The quince evokes notes of cinnamon, fig, and dark cherry. It tastes of earth yet bright twig and leaf—to drink these eaux de vie is to be situated in terrain.

“Last year we spent 7.5 hours sorting 700,000 individual raspberries. That’s 3.6 tons,” Wilczak says, with a look of bewilderment. All that fruit, time, and effort across a team of four people, yielded roughly three hundred 375-ml bottles. With a sense of pride and maybe surrender, he adds, “It’s ridiculous.”

Wilczak has fans, if not acolytes, of his so-called ridiculousness. Among them, famed cocktail bartender Ryan Chetiyawardana, professionally known as Mr. Lyan, who features Capreolus eaux de vie at Seed Library in London’s Shoreditch, Washington D.C. bar Silver Lyan, and Super Lyan in Amsterdam. He credits Dawn Davies of The Whisky Exchange for introducing him to the spirit. “It was revolutionary to try an eau de vie that represents my favorite fruits as a UK native,” Chetiyawardana says. “Barney sees the whole essence of the plant as not just a biological creature, but what it stands for. I was flabbergasted.”

A view of the orchard

Preserving nature in the bottle

Wilczak found distilling through his love of nature. As a student he thrived in botany and biology, but couldn’t make sense of working nonstop in a lab. He pivoted to study photography and specialized in conservation. In brief, he became a plant photojournalist. “I was photographing habitat restoration on six continents, building media libraries for botanic gardens in 118 countries.” Alongside his studies, he developed a hobby for making ciders, exploring the technicalities of distillation and méthode traditionnelle, a style of winemaking that involves a secondary fermentation in the bottle. The leap to distilling was not a huge jump. “It all comes down to a love for plants.”

As he approached age 30, Wilczak experienced “a bit of a life crisis.” He didn’t want to only document plants for visual archives. He wanted to promote the growth and appreciation of those plants for others. “I realized that people are obsessed with varietal differences in wine, but it’s also true of every single fruit.”

When Wilczak launched Capreolus, his bank account was overdraft by eight pounds, but supported by his partner Hannah Morrison, whose taste became imperative to Wilczak’s process. Everything was once done by hand and muscle, though he’s since acquiesced to buying a mill. He committed to work with farmers within a fifty-mile radius of his home-distillery, and just recently purchased meadowland to plant quince trees, which will soon bring that particular eau de vie production within range (it was previously the lone outlier).

His focus on local farmers came down to pay equity. “Early on I was talking to someone in Finland about wild-picked cranberries and they said, ‘We’ll get them to you for 2 euros per kilo.’ I knew that was really really cheap for wild-picked fruit,” he explains. The fruit would be picked in Russia. “What are the labor laws there? What are people getting paid?” Wilczak wanted to work with people he could meet, with operations he could see. “We wanted to pay people a proper wage, focused on farming well,” he says, a nod to the price point of his lineup, which can range from about $90 to $185.

With his local focus, he learned that there was not “a single piece of overlap in flavor or aroma.” The realization inspired him to learn how these individual expressions manifested. He spent about seven years studying fruit distillation practices in epicenters of Austria, Germany, Italy, and France, and translating non-English books on the subject.

After distilling perry pears from 200-year-old 45-foot trees, Wilczak was shocked. The distillation didn’t smell like fruit. “It smelled like sun-warmed bark, ripe and unripe wood, autumnal leaves, and almost like the grass around the trees,” he says. “My self-guided education had a huge focus on a technological, yield-driven way of working, but that robbed the eau de vie of complexity and organic structure,” he continues. “I became interested in making eaux de vie that are truly organic and expressive of where they come from.” That meant becoming dogmatic about respecting the inherent knowledge of the trees and the ecosystems that allowed them to produce such varied fruit. “Suddenly, the eaux de vie started to smell like the orchards.”

Black currant eau de vie in progress. Photograph By Barney Wilczak

Around the world with eaux de vie

In New York City, Jorge Riera, wine director at Frenchette, Le Roc, and the newly revamped Le Veau d’Or, features Capreolus eaux de vie as the finishing touch on leisurely, decadent meals. “It’s mind-blowing,” Riera says. “The delicacy, the finesse, the floral notes that Barney gets out of it. I was blown away.”

Riera first tasted the lineup in 2018 in Vienna, Austria, at Karakterre, a 14-year-old natural wine conference celebrating producers primarily from central and eastern Europe (the festival now has a NYC iteration going into its fourth year). Riera immediately called his importer, PM Spirits, to see about getting Capreolus to the States. “With the raspberry eau de vie, you feel the fuzz of the fruit in the nose,” he goes on. “They work with nature and it’s beautiful. But for me, I see the result at the dining table. I see the emotions from people immediately.”

One of the more evocative eaux de vie is the damson plum, a quintessential British fruit. “Old recipes of distilling damson take on this slightly jammy, tart note,” Chetiyawardana says. “Barney manages to capture the smell of the blossoms as you walk past the bush. It has that white flower elegance. The purple fruit notes encapsulate the tartness of the skin and the yield of the flesh. It pulls through to this wonderful fresh almond note from the kernel.”

For this writer, Capreolus eaux de vie feels like falling into a safe, warm memory you didn’t know you had. The damson plum is an example of Wilczak’s conservation ideology: “No one knows what to do with a cooking plum; it’s something we’ve lost from our vocabulary. We can let these things slip away. But if we want those genetics as a resource given changing climate, we have to give a justification for them to be grown.” His exquisite bottles make for a compelling reason. The only experience better than sipping Capreolus is to share it with someone as willing to be moved as you.

PUNCH: This Tomato Martini Transcends the Trend

A tomato liqueur turns the internet’s favorite summer drink into a year-round staple.

ne might reasonably wonder why it is that I’ve waited for summer to end to share the perfect tomato Martini recipe. Well, in part, I wanted to let the TikToks, the trend pieces, the Reddit threads—the hubbub over tomato Martinis—die down, because people need to hear this. But it’s also because the secret to my tomato Martini recipe is not beholden to the short, finite window of peak tomato season. In fact, it allows you to tap into the magic of that brief period whenever the mood strikes. That’s part of its beauty. It also delivers what no other tomato Martini can: 72 varieties of the fruit squeezed into a one-of-a-kind liqueur that takes this recipe to the next level. 

The liqueur in question is aptly named Tomates, and it comes from the obsessive brain of biodynamic distiller (and winemaker) Laurent Cazottes. After researching thousands of known tomato cultivars and planting a selection of heirloom varieties on his farm in southwestern France, Cazottes harvests 72 types to be used in this organic tomato liqueur. Picked by hand and left to dry to concentrate their flavor, the tomatoes have their peels, stems and seeds removed before macerating in Cazottes’ own folle noire grape distillate. This pomace is then pressed and redistilled, then combined with some of the original maceration before bottling. The result is an amazingly fresh, delicate liqueur with a hint of earthy tomato “funk.” In a Martini, the liqueur brings a welcome salinity that makes for the cleanest take on the dirty Martini, with just a subtle hint of umami and an underlying freshness.

The Best Tomato Martini

Thanks to tomato liqueur, this summer staple can be enjoyed year-round.

Before you balk at the price, know that I’ve done the math. A half-bottle (375 milliliters) of Tomates will run you a penny under $70. That’s 25 Martinis per bottle, or about $3 of the stuff per Martini. Combining it with navy-strength gin (my recommended base for the drink) and a classic dry vermouth, you should end up with a Martini that costs around $5. For the ability to conjure the best tomato Martini on a whim—even out of season—I’d say that’s a bargain.

Laurent Cazottes Tomates Organic Tomato Liqueur

French producer Laurent Cazottes is known for his preservationist approach when it comes to rare fruits, and this tomato liqueur puts his interests front and center. Formerly named 72 Tomates, and now known simply as Tomates, this unique liqueur marries 72 varieties of heirloom tomatoes—all cultivated by Cazottes at his farm—into a product that is equal parts fresh, funky and savory. With no comparison on the market, it’s a must-try, particularly in a tomato Martini where it outshines even fresh tomato water.

• ABV:18%

Vinepair: The 50 Best Spirits of 2023

Dozens of categories considered, thousands of bottles tasted, and almost 12 months in the making, the publishing of VinePair’s 50 best spirits list marks a major milestone in our calendar and one of our favorite annual traditions.

Consider it not a bonafide buying guide — those can be found here — and instead a highlights reel of the best spirits that graced our palates this year. While we recommend picking up any and all you encounter, or ordering a pour from a bar list, the popularity of certain categories and brands, coupled with the limited nature of some of the releases, means the probability of being able to do so varies wildly from one bottle to another. One constant that links them all, however, and the reason each features on this list: It would be a spirited crime not to honor their existence.

So what made the cut? This year served us no end of imaginative and successful experiments; reminded us that stalwart go-tos carry such reputations for a reason; and encouraged us to look beyond the expected from various regions and nations. Prepare for “bog aged” oak, Mexican eau de vie, and countless representations of brown spirits from non-age-stated to cask strength, single-barrel, experimental finishings, and ultra old.

44. Cobrafire Eau de Vie de Raisin

Chances are, you probably missed the launch of the Blanche d’Armagnac (white Armagnac) appellation back in 2015, but you shouldn’t sleep on the products within the category. This 50.5 percent ABV offering from PM Spirits’ Cobrafire project dances between stone fruit brightness and umami-rich savoriness, and promises to leave a lasting impression.

34. Cinco Sentidos Espadín Capón Alberto Martinez

The “capón” technique referenced in this spirit’s name sees growers remove the sprouted stalks (quiotes) from agave, then leave the plants in the ground for extended periods to enhance sugar concentration. The wait is certainly worth it for this bright, fruity spirit, which shatters any notion that Espadín is a characterless, “workhorse” agave variety.

Clear as a Bell

These elegant (but electric) digestifs are the perfect pick-me-up, nightcap, and grand finale—all in one glass

BY AMIEL STANEK PHOTOGRAPH BY ISA ZAPATA

Once the dessert forks have been surrendered and everyone swears they couldn’t possibly take even one more bite, a final pour of something special on Thanksgiving just feels right. While I can see the merits of trotting out a bottle of bark-bitter amaro or a mellow bourbon that’s seen a few years in oak, these days I take a different tack. When I want to round out a big meal in style, the choice is clear—a clear spirit, that is. I’m talking about things like eau-de-vie, grappa, mezcal, and clairin. Though these liquors are unique in terms of their geographic origin, composition, and production, they share a brazen character, making them ideal meal-enders. Instead of relying on extensive aging in wood to lend complexity, each spirit tastes unabashedly of the raw materials from which they were distilled and the places where they were made. Heirloom apples. Hand-harvested grapes. Pit-roasted agave. Wild-fermented sugarcane. These idiosyncratic products are as lively and expressive as the day they trickled out of the still; with no time spent in barrels to discipline their rougher edges, flavor has nowhere to hide. And at the end of a rich meal, one sharp sip immediately snaps you back to consciousness, like a cold plunge after a sweaty sauna session.

As is the case with all booze, spirits made with care by small, independent producers are going to be more compelling and often boast a price tag to match. But this is the most special of occasions, after all—when else are you going to break out the good stuff?

CYRIL ZANGS – DOUBLE ZÉRO EAU-DE-VIE DE CIDRE

This bright 100-proof apple brandy is a collaboration between culty Normandy cider maker Cyril Zangs and renowned distillery Calvados Roger Groult. It smells and tastes like a brisk fall stroll through an orchard: ripe fruit, a crisp breeze,

LAURENT CAZOTTES – GOUTTE DE REINE CLAUDE DORÉE

Laurent Cazottes’s eaux-de-vie are the stuff of legend, crafted from small parcels of his own lovingly tended trees and vines. To make this style, Cazottes painstakingly dries and hand-pits greengage plums before fermentation, which yields an extraordinarily concentrated elixir.

CLAIRIN VAVAL RUM

Traditional clairin, perhaps Haiti’s most revered spirit, is rum for mezcal nerds. Made from freshly pressed heritage sugarcane varietals and fermented with no added yeasts, each distillation is a unique expression of terroir. This one, from second-generation producer Fritz Vaval, is sunny and herbaceous, each sip gracefully ping-ponging between delicate flowers and salty funk.

Navazos Palazzi Malt Whiskey Cask Strength [Palo Cortado Single Cask] Review

The Whiskey Tribe review of Navazos Palazzi Malt Whiskey (Palo Cortado). Spanish malt finished in a unique and rare style of Sherry cask.

‘We Stand for Non-Bullsh*t Products’: Why Blended Whiskey Makers Are Openly Discussing Their Spirits

From Barrell Craft Spirits to Mic Drop, a new wave of NDP's talk eschewing "tradition" to make unique bourbons.

Joe Beatrice spends his day tasting whiskey, assessing the character of the contents of barrel after barrel throughout his multiple maturation warehouses. It’s one of his jobs, along with his two full-time blenders, to know the flavor profiles of the over 10,000 casks of bourbon and rye they own. But while this is standard work at a distillery, what’s different about Barrell Craft Spirits, the company Beatrice founded in 2013, is that it’s never distilled a drop.

Barrell is one of the most celebrated of the new wave of non-distilling producers, or NDPs. In and of themselves, NDPs are nothing new; if you drink American whiskey, you’ve probably enjoyed many of them over the years, perhaps without even knowing it. Bulleit, for example. Or Redemption Rye, Templeton or Angel’s Envy. The list goes on.

Historically, NDPs haven’t been eager to highlight the fact that they don’t make their own whiskey. Bourbon, it was believed, was all about tradition, so there was an incentive to invent a fanciful yarn to suggest authenticity. But Barrell tells you as much as it can about what’s in the bottle, which might include where the whiskey was purchased and how old it is. “There’s no fake backstory,” Beatrice says. “I didn’t come across the blending recipe in my grandfather’s trunk. I didn’t get it from a Conestoga wagon.” The company simply buys barrels of liquid distilled by others, then employs in-house expertise to blend them into something exciting and new. “The notion that it can only be good if you make it yourself is crazy,” Beatrice says.

Since 2007, a distillery called High West in Park City, Utah, has been quietly leading the way on the concept of honest sourcing. Master distiller Brendan Coyle ranks transparency at “the top of the values list of the company.” High West, along with other pioneers such as Smooth Ambler, distills its own whiskey but also sources it from others (largely from the massive MGP plant in Indiana), using blending and imagination to concoct something unique, such as A Midwinter Night’s Dram, a blend of two types of rye finished in French-oak port barrels and released every fall to eager drinkers and collectors. Coyle likens blending to art; this hybrid approach, he says, is akin to having more colors with which to paint.

From left to right: Barrell Bourbon, A Midwinter Nights Dram whiskey, Mic Drop. Barrell Craft Spirits/High West Distillery/Mic Drop

Wherever you look in the NDP market these days, you’ll see a new transparency that feels radical, whether it’s the hyper-limited Mic Drop—its website diligently recounts every minute decision that went into the bottle—or the enormous Bardstown Bourbon Company, which literally prints the pedigree of its purchased and blended Discovery series right on the label. Bardstown is sitting on thousands of its own distilled barrels, still too young to use, but Dan Callaway, the company’s VP of product development, says that even when its barrels come of age, Bardstown will continue to purchase whiskey for blending. “Discovery series is an opportunity to create something new and special,” he says. “Our story is our team. We want to show people the whole process.”

Nicolas Palazzi, creator of Mic Drop, puts it more plainly still: “We stand for non-bullshit products,” he says. “To be honest, it doesn’t sound very radical to me.”