AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He turns to me, his face serious. “Promise you won’t laugh?”
I frown. “As long as there’s no naked women on the front of the bottle, I’m all ears.”
He grins. “Sustainable packaging, I’m thinking recycled coffee husks, and innovative flavors. For example, oaky blends can scare younger people off and the classics can scream ‘old people’ bourbon. Everyone’s doing it. Our blends are smooth, obviously, but there is a market for more. I’ve done a lot of research and other distillers have had success with chocolate, coffee and even vanilla undertones.”
I stare at him, awed by his passion. I might be the big old grump, according to my sister and younger brothers, but I’ll never grow tired of hearing Brooklyn, or any of my siblings, talk about the things they are passionate about.
“Tell me more.”
He purses his lips. “Imagine this; sweet, strong espresso with undertones of raisins, chocolate and current, think a mocha in flavor but on steroids. It’s robust and in your face. Or something a little more subtle and less ballsy; coffee and hazelnut laced with vanilla. Tiramisu with a kick. We page homage to the old ways, and give a nod to the environmentalists with recycled packaging and labels, but it still packs plenty of character that we’re known and loved for.”
“I love it.”
He balks. “Really?”
“Yes. It sounds fantastic. I like the idea of both flavors.”
“Gabriel wasn’t so keen.”
“Of course not,” I mutter. “I can help you present your ideas to Dad and Uncle Jack, and the rest of the family, if you’re serious about it.”
“I’m serious. With the new branding and all the money we’re spending on marketing, we could advertise the shit out of this. Plus, if we infused the flavors with the classic, we wouldn’t have to wait years for the first collection.”
“You’ve thought about it, and you have the passion and the knowhow. The thing we need to work out is if there’s truly a market for the product.”
“I believe there is. Look at all the flavored beers you find around now. Other bourbon distilleries are following suit. Beau has been helping me with research,” he says. “We don’t have to specifically aim it at young people, per se, this is the kind of product that could open up a whole new stream of income in novelty bourbon.”
“I know you’re not gonna tell me you haven’t been secretly experimenting on the side,” I chuckle. “‘Cause I know you have.”
He gives me a sheepish look. “You always could read me better than anyone.”
“Nothing wrong with having passion for something, Brook. It’s the day we give up that passion that we should step aside and do something else. We would expect kickback from some family members, but we all get a vote.”
“You’d vote on it?” he asks, bewildered.
“I’d need to sample it first.”
He waggles his eyebrows, looking around the empty production room as I follow him deep into the back to the vault. American white oak barrels for aging the bourbon dominate the space back here. The secret ingredients are locked away in the safe behind the barrels; passed down through the generations.
“This is something I’ve been tinkering with.” He stops at an unassuming, unmarked barrel and pulls a Glencairn glass from the shelf behind and pours a shot straight from the barrel tap. Swirling it around, he holds it up to the light. Then he dips his nose to the glass and inhales. I watch with amusement at how serious my aloof brother is at something he’s clearly serious about. Then he tastes it, and I know it must be close to being good, because he’s nodding.
“What do you think?”
He grabs another glass, and he pours my shot as I follow the same ritual. Checking the bourbon for color and consistency.
It hits my palette smooth and rich. I can taste the coffee and chocolate right away, but the vanilla aftertaste is what lingers. It’s not ready yet, but it’s damn close. “Fuck,” I say, holding the glass back out as I swirl it around.
“Fuck good or bad?” He watches me.
“Good. brother, it’s sensational. This is the Tiramisu?”
“Yeah, I thought I’d start with the more subtle blend and work my way from ball tickler to squeezer.”
“Please tell me that’s not the name.”
He laughs, slapping me on the back. “It’s not. But I’m taking it you approve?”
“Yes, and I’m proud of you,” I say. “Sneaking secret barrels of moonshine like we’re back in the seventeen hundreds?”
