As I checked into my flight, which I literally booked four days prior to my departure, I realized... I probably should have looked at the weather. With Distillinois kicking off at 5:30 I figured a 3:00pm landing at O'Hare would be perfect. HA!
Also known as the ‘Windy City,’ Chicago is prone to extreme temperature fluctuations and, shall we say, inclement weather. So when I found myself stranded on the tarmac in Dallas, Texas, I probably shouldn't have been surprised. Not that it would have mattered, because riding a storm out in a tiny tin can of an airplane for three hours just isn't fun, no matter how you slice it. Especially when you are constantly being woken up by various alerts from the ‘cockpit’ saying how hazardous Chicago O’Hare is and that we can’t depart until the ice stops forming on the runway.
Finally I arrived, a fashionably three hours late. I was covered in drool, I looked like ass, I felt like ass, but I smelled like Old Spice. (I always carry that shit with me. Love it.) I'd forgotten just how cold Chicago can get, being from California where a ‘cold day’ is in the low 60’s. My fingertips were going numb, and I found myself cursing them for their weakness.
The cure? Whiskey... and lots of it.
I rolled into the venue with the feeling that I was late for my freshman PE class. The dated architecture of the auditorium space and its old hallways gave the impression of an awkward high school dance. However, instead of slipping outside to steal a sip, I was sneaking in.
I started the night off with whiskey because... why not? Gotta start somewhere. I moved on to the vodka, the gin, the liqueur, the cocktails, the hotdogs. Yes, the hotdogs. (Because what else do you crave after a night of smashing spirits?)
I tasted ryes, wheats, bourbons, single malts, amaros, vodkas and of course the gins. With every booth tasting better than the last. Or every last booth tasting better than the next. I was seriously blown away.
The trend I found was...‘HIGH PROOF!’ Holy $#&t!
Now I get the whole cask strength thing. Sure, on some scale its better to have 51.5% ABV on your bottle than 40% because... “yeah... thats the flavor!” I appreciate the time you spent creating the perfect palate wrecker that then needs to have water added to it. Its awesome! However... I found myself drawn to those proofs I grew up with, like... 80. Solid number. It was almost a relief approaching a booth and tasting a 40% ABV gin.
After drinking some water and smashing another tube-steak. I found my way to the amaros. Without saying who was featured, I'll admit to have found my stomach delightfully satisfied. I savored these spirits and every different flavor nuance they had to display. I was shocked at the profiles that were rolling across my tongue.
So how does one conclude such an event? I could certainly have run down the aisles giving each distiller a high five. That's what we did in pre-school. But does everyone get a gold star? The answer is a resounding NO.
The craft spirit scene is in its infancy. There is a lot yet to learn, and not everyone is going to graduate to the next level. However, what I saw tonight was the passion of people displaying the 'fruits of their labor', their 'kids' and, in some cases, probably their 'last chance'. And it was good to see.
It's fitting to find a craft spirit conference hosted by a city who once saw Al Capone making midnight runs to New York transporting the handmade hooch that was then outlawed but is now embraced by the nation and championed by the American Craft Spirits Association. It's exciting to see the same daring and innovation and to be a part of the same underground buzz. Only this time it's completely legal and is reviving the spirit tradition in America, rather than destroying it.
Brian Cary is a Left Coast photographer and Master of Spirits Media at MicroShiner.com
