So what do you do when your neighbors hog the washer and dryer for nearly a week? Write a note, you might say, asking them to take their clothes out of the machines so that you can have some clean socks and underwear. And what if, when finally the clothes are removed, the washer goes on the fritz?

The rational decision is to let the annoyance subside and go to a Laundromat. The romantic one is to hop in the car, go someplace (relatively) far-flung, regroup and forget about the laundry.

Which is what brought me to Portland, Maine, a couple of weeks ago to wander about the Old Harbor and cast off the lingering winter chill in some homey seaside pubs. And what beverage can impart as much warmth as it can good feelings about careless neighbors and temperamental appliances? Why, bourbon, of course.

(Ah, yes. You may be wondering how I could go to Maine without clean boxers or socks. At the risk of stealing the thunder of Fashion Cents guru Vanessa, let’s just say it’s a good thing outlet mecca Kittery, Maine, is on the way.)

Now, you might think, like a co-worker of mine, that bourbons are “little too rednecky.” There’s cause for this. After Prohibition ended in 1933, distillers of bourbon, an American corn-based whiskey aged in charred wood barrels, had to start from scratch and found themselves overwhelmed by competition from high-quality whiskies from Ireland and Scotland. Their solution? Cut corners and get the product to the market fast. The end result was a rushed, lower-quality spirit. The boorish stigma followed and, sadly, stuck.

Today, with high-end bourbons sharing the shelf with the likes of Glenlivet and Chivas, things are different. Exquisite, complex and potent, bourbon is the drink of the cerebral cowboy, the drinker unafraid of power and flavor.

So once in Portland, I mounted my horse, rode into the Old Harbor’s cobblestone streets and swaggered through the doors of Bull Feeney’s. (OK, I walked from my comfortable guesthouse on Congress and St. John and had my ID examined by a bouncer, but who’s counting?)

This Irish pub, on the corner of Fore and Exchange streets, is a charming place, with slate floors, velvet cushions and a potbelly stove. The barman, wearing a crisp, white shirt and tie, approached, and I asked one of my favorite questions.

“What do you have for bourbon?”

Such music. And the answer was just as sweet. On the shelf was good, classic family of small-batch bourbons. This means the distiller chooses the best barrels of whiskey and mixes them. I started with Baker’s, a smooth, 7-year-old whiskey name for Baker Beam, the grand-nephew of distiller Jim Beam.

The legacy of this old bourbon-making family first comes through in Baker’s rich, amber hue, then through the flavor—mellow and floral, with a touch of vanilla.

Next in the collection was Basil Hayden’s. This mild whiskey is caramel in color with hints of orange and a distinct peppery kick. There is a lot of rye in here, lending an overall softness.

In most bars, the eye can’t help skipping over the spindly necks of the various flavored vodkas to the rough-hewn elegance of a bottle of Knob Creek. This bourbon sings of the white oak barrel that was its home for a long nine year. The nose is fruity, the character is bold and a soft berry sweetness rounds the taste off nicely.

And then there was Booker’s. Oh, Booker’s.

“I would order it with some water,” said the barman. His warning is best heeded. Bottled at 121 and 127 proof and uncut with water, Booker’s is straight from the barrel and decidedly not for the faint-hearted. Its deep, rich hue promises big flavor and boy, does it deliver. The tastes range from a touch of smoke to tones of chocolate and vanilla. To really open up the flavors of this whiskey (and help ensure you leave the bar on your feet rather than your hands), add a little water.

I did. Then I had another and let the water stay in the tap. I would have finished the night off with a scotch, but as that’s the subject of another blog, I went back out into the cold, Maine night, fortified with a pleasant bourbon buzz. At the guesthouse, I got into bed, comfortable in my brand-new boxers and went easily to sleep. Laundry never entered my mind.

Note: You don’t have to go to Portland to taste these excellent bourbons. Peddler’s Daughter on Main Street in Nashua has the whole collection. 

This entry was posted on Friday, March 28th, 2008 at 12:51 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.