Back in December, you could almost hear the drumbeat of doom to which the global whisky industry was marching into the new year. The social-challenge-turned-lifestyle-change of sobriety (not to belittle or mock its critical importance for countless people) is fuelling the growth of non-alcoholic brands. The US surgeon general announced that labels on all alcoholic drinks should include a cancer warning. Craft distilleries are closing and global corporate juggernauts are tightening the purse strings and cutting staff. And the new/old administration in the US is threatening tariffs on all imported goods. Will a trade war be a death knell for producers?
But just as the holidays arrived, a ray of light cracked through the clouds of gloom, and telegraphed an affirming message: hard work and dedication pay off. After almost a decade of organising, promoting, lobbying, and I cannot even imagine how much paperwork, the American Single Malt Whiskey Commission announced that the Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau (TTB), the government body that regulates alcohol, established a standard of identity for American single malt whiskey. Now there would be formal production requirements and legal recognition of it being a distinct classification, like bourbon and rye.
Having spoken to countless spirit producers over the years, I’ve found that “requirement” is a polarising word. In the case of American single malts, it’s a truly great thing. Legally established production parameters distinguish American whiskeys made with 100 per cent malted barley and aged for at least two years in oak barrels from all the other styles, imbuing them with integrity and protection. Like the many, many foods and drinks with geographical indication — from Kalamata olives to Yamagata cherries to Bordeaux wine to any number of regional cheeses — production regulations mean built-in quality control. Imposters, beware! But sometimes, rules are imposed by people or organisations that aren’t in the trenches and don’t have a basic technical know-how. The risk is that rules might seem — or actually be — arbitrary, at best.
I spoke with Steve Hawley, president of the Commission, shortly after his victory. I asked him how he’s feeling. “Vindicated,” he said. While behemoths like Bulleit Bourbon are making single malt today, the road to identity standards started with people from nine small distilleries in 2016 (Steve was VP of global marketing at Westland Distillery in Seattle at the time). One particularly interesting thing he explained is that the rules were made for the people, by the people, per se. From the outset, the Commission was determined to define the category, not be defined. Bureaucrats are driven by cost and efficiency, artists are driven by creativity and integrity. Rarely do the two parties meet.
To hear Steve tell it, there was an element of shock — but not surprise — to discover that the TTB, whose responsibility is to codify a definition into regulation, simply had no clue how to make whiskey. For TTB agents to draft a definition would be “challenging”, Steve told me, diplomatically. Collaboration would be imperative if there was any chance of moving the TTB forward, and thankfully, the government agency was open to cooperation.
That got me thinking about innovation. The Scotch Whisky Regulations 2009 lay out inflexible restrictions, but loopholes and workarounds exist. Brendan McCarron, who trained at Glenmorangie under Dr Bill Lumsden, is a distiller and blender who consults with producers in England, Japan, and Scotland, including the new Benbecula Distillery in the Outer Hebrides. For him, restrictions act like pressure on carbon: the harder you press, the more sparkly the diamond.
“If all options were wide options, there’d be no innovation because you can take whatever you want,” he said. “You can create rules, but you can’t put restrictions on everything. You need freedom of interpretation.” So maybe people who are never tempted to transgress are the actual play-actors. Imposters, beware!
