It's past midnight, and the crisp, high-desert air outside Doyle, California, is heavy with pine and juniper smoke, but the fire department has long stopped being alarmed. A plume of black smoke pours upward from potter Paul Herman's hand-built, wood-fired kiln, just as it has every October and every March for the last 15 years.
Fellow potter Joe Winter, in heavy gloves and a welding mask, pulls open a door on the end of the kiln that's about the size of a laptop screen. A blinding, red-white glow from inside illuminates a nearby wood pile; the dusty ground; the table of snacks that neighbors and helpers bring along to each firing; and the faces of the few good-natured souls who are still awake at this hour. Everything inside is glowing, the jars, the plates, even the kiln's brick walls and shelves. Winter has been trading shifts with a dozen or so other potters for three days straight, feeding a few scrap wood boards or split logs into the opening every few minutes to keep the fire's heat steadily rising. He determines that the kiln has reached temperature, about 2400 degrees, and closes the door one last time. The crew pours some whiskey into handmade cups, celebrates for as long as they can stay awake, and turns in for a good night's sleep. Three days later, when the wares inside are cool enough to remove (but still too hot to touch without gloves) they'll open the door and admire their pots. Wood-firing is an inexact science, so every single time they open the kiln door, there are enough oohs and ahhs and surprises that it's a little like Christmas. This is the 31st firing, and it has not gotten old.
You could fire ceramics a lot quicker than this, but if getting the rare glaze surfaces—be they salmon-oranges or toasted-marshmallow-golden-browns from molten wood ash or mottled, antique grays from molten salt—takes a week of labor and many hands, so be it. These folks are passionate about their craft.
…
Distiller Tom Adams is just as passionate about his craft. He's co-owner of Seven Troughs Distilling Co. in Sparks, Nevada, right next to Reno, about 30 miles southeast of Herman's kiln. Small distilleries have been cropping up in these parts since it became legal to distill and sell spirits in Nevada in 2013 for the first time since Prohibition.
Adams is a born tinkerer who's hard pressed to remember a time before he was fascinated with craft distilling. He makes small-batch spirits' with names and labels the pay tribute to local phenomena. Black Rock Rum, for example, is named for the region's Black Rock Desert, and Recession-Proof Moonshine conjures recent memories of the Reno/Sparks area's high unemployment rate during the economic downturn.
Adams' masterpiece so far is Old Commissary, a re-release of the first whiskey commercially made in Nevada. It was originally produced circa 1862 by the Cave Creek Distillery (later the Overland Distillery) in Ruby Valley, nestled on the eastern slope of the Ruby Mountains in the state's remote, northeast corner.
Adams, sporting a goatee, a polo shirt and the congenial nature of a gent who loves to tell a good story, explained that even though he'd soaked up a lot knowledge making his own spirits and visiting bourbon producers in Kentucky, he was, to a large extent, starting from scratch on this project. “There’s no handbook for this,” he said. “We don’t have a recipe book that says, 'Do this, this and this.'”
He researched 19th-century farm records, scoured the Ruby Valley area for stories, and hired retired state librarian Joyce Cox to pore over old newspapers. They each determined that copious amounts of barley had been grown in the region at the time. ("Whiskey was more than a buzz," Adams pointed out. "It was way to preserve a crop.") Using regionally grown barley, he did his best to approximate a recipe for Old Commissary.
He even designed his own still. It looks like a 100-gallon, steel tank grafted on top of a brick fireplace with a soot-coated, glass door. With a degree of patience a lot like that of the nearby potters, Adams, when asked if this sort of contraption is usual, shook his head and slowed his cadence: “Not. What. So. Ever. It is inefficient. And inconvenient. But it’s authentic.”
In March of this year, he released the closest interpretation of the long-dormant brand he could come up with.
…
While Cox and Adams had been piecing together shards of history, Adams noticed that not even a shard of surviving bottles of Old Commissary have been found. He talked with historic glass expert Fred Holabird, who advised that the whiskey had likely been sold in clay jugs.
A friend of a friend introduced Adams to Winter, who's well known in the Northeast California/Northwest Nevada region for his clay sculptures, giant teapots and other wares. As luck would have it, Winter had been working on perfecting wheel-thrown, ceramic beer growlers. Over the last few years, he's made custom growlers with imprinted logos for the Brewing Lair in Blairsden, California; Tahoe Mountain Brewing Co. in South Lake Tahoe, California; and Reno's Pigeon Head Brewery, Reno Homebrewer store, and bar/retailer Craft Wine & Beer.
Adams contracted Winter to come up with his best possible approximation of a pre Civil-War whiskey bottle. "Tom showed me pictures of old-style bottles," said Winter. They found no bottles of the actual Old Commissary Whiskey, and none from Ruby Valley, but they did find photos of bottles from Ely and Goldfield, both bustling mining towns at the time, and Winter extrapolated from there.
"They're all obviously salt-fired," he said. That means salt is thrown into the kiln during the firing. It melts and forms a glaze-like, translucent coating on the bottles. Winter was already a master of the technique, so getting a historically accurate glaze was no problem.
The challenge was getting the size right. The bottles need to hold exactly the required 750 ml. Clay shrinks when it's fired, and this particular clay shrinks enough to change the volume of the bottle by about 30 percent.
Fellow potter Joe Winter, in heavy gloves and a welding mask, pulls open a door on the end of the kiln that's about the size of a laptop screen. A blinding, red-white glow from inside illuminates a nearby wood pile; the dusty ground; the table of snacks that neighbors and helpers bring along to each firing; and the faces of the few good-natured souls who are still awake at this hour. Everything inside is glowing, the jars, the plates, even the kiln's brick walls and shelves. Winter has been trading shifts with a dozen or so other potters for three days straight, feeding a few scrap wood boards or split logs into the opening every few minutes to keep the fire's heat steadily rising. He determines that the kiln has reached temperature, about 2400 degrees, and closes the door one last time. The crew pours some whiskey into handmade cups, celebrates for as long as they can stay awake, and turns in for a good night's sleep. Three days later, when the wares inside are cool enough to remove (but still too hot to touch without gloves) they'll open the door and admire their pots. Wood-firing is an inexact science, so every single time they open the kiln door, there are enough oohs and ahhs and surprises that it's a little like Christmas. This is the 31st firing, and it has not gotten old.
You could fire ceramics a lot quicker than this, but if getting the rare glaze surfaces—be they salmon-oranges or toasted-marshmallow-golden-browns from molten wood ash or mottled, antique grays from molten salt—takes a week of labor and many hands, so be it. These folks are passionate about their craft.
…
Distiller Tom Adams is just as passionate about his craft. He's co-owner of Seven Troughs Distilling Co. in Sparks, Nevada, right next to Reno, about 30 miles southeast of Herman's kiln. Small distilleries have been cropping up in these parts since it became legal to distill and sell spirits in Nevada in 2013 for the first time since Prohibition.
Adams is a born tinkerer who's hard pressed to remember a time before he was fascinated with craft distilling. He makes small-batch spirits' with names and labels the pay tribute to local phenomena. Black Rock Rum, for example, is named for the region's Black Rock Desert, and Recession-Proof Moonshine conjures recent memories of the Reno/Sparks area's high unemployment rate during the economic downturn.
Adams' masterpiece so far is Old Commissary, a re-release of the first whiskey commercially made in Nevada. It was originally produced circa 1862 by the Cave Creek Distillery (later the Overland Distillery) in Ruby Valley, nestled on the eastern slope of the Ruby Mountains in the state's remote, northeast corner.
Adams, sporting a goatee, a polo shirt and the congenial nature of a gent who loves to tell a good story, explained that even though he'd soaked up a lot knowledge making his own spirits and visiting bourbon producers in Kentucky, he was, to a large extent, starting from scratch on this project. “There’s no handbook for this,” he said. “We don’t have a recipe book that says, 'Do this, this and this.'”
He researched 19th-century farm records, scoured the Ruby Valley area for stories, and hired retired state librarian Joyce Cox to pore over old newspapers. They each determined that copious amounts of barley had been grown in the region at the time. ("Whiskey was more than a buzz," Adams pointed out. "It was way to preserve a crop.") Using regionally grown barley, he did his best to approximate a recipe for Old Commissary.
He even designed his own still. It looks like a 100-gallon, steel tank grafted on top of a brick fireplace with a soot-coated, glass door. With a degree of patience a lot like that of the nearby potters, Adams, when asked if this sort of contraption is usual, shook his head and slowed his cadence: “Not. What. So. Ever. It is inefficient. And inconvenient. But it’s authentic.”
In March of this year, he released the closest interpretation of the long-dormant brand he could come up with.
…
While Cox and Adams had been piecing together shards of history, Adams noticed that not even a shard of surviving bottles of Old Commissary have been found. He talked with historic glass expert Fred Holabird, who advised that the whiskey had likely been sold in clay jugs.
A friend of a friend introduced Adams to Winter, who's well known in the Northeast California/Northwest Nevada region for his clay sculptures, giant teapots and other wares. As luck would have it, Winter had been working on perfecting wheel-thrown, ceramic beer growlers. Over the last few years, he's made custom growlers with imprinted logos for the Brewing Lair in Blairsden, California; Tahoe Mountain Brewing Co. in South Lake Tahoe, California; and Reno's Pigeon Head Brewery, Reno Homebrewer store, and bar/retailer Craft Wine & Beer.
Adams contracted Winter to come up with his best possible approximation of a pre Civil-War whiskey bottle. "Tom showed me pictures of old-style bottles," said Winter. They found no bottles of the actual Old Commissary Whiskey, and none from Ruby Valley, but they did find photos of bottles from Ely and Goldfield, both bustling mining towns at the time, and Winter extrapolated from there.
"They're all obviously salt-fired," he said. That means salt is thrown into the kiln during the firing. It melts and forms a glaze-like, translucent coating on the bottles. Winter was already a master of the technique, so getting a historically accurate glaze was no problem.
The challenge was getting the size right. The bottles need to hold exactly the required 750 ml. Clay shrinks when it's fired, and this particular clay shrinks enough to change the volume of the bottle by about 30 percent.
"It took some fine tuning," he explained. "I threw a few and then measured them after they were fired, then made little adjustments."
Winter has produced about 50 Old Commissary bottles so far. Some have sold to history fans, some to whiskey fans, and some to collectors who say they'll keep the whiskey unopened on a shelf indefinitely. There's still a selection left on the shelf at Seven Troughs, along with his handmade shot glasses.
He plans to produce more bottles, but producing pottery is intensely time consuming, and he has other projects underway too, so the historic bottles will remain something of a special edition.
The rest of the Old Commissary, which Adams does plan to keep producing, will be sold in standard glass bottles.
…
Making this historic libation looks like making any other whiskey, excepting of course, the part where it enters the handmade still. Barley is ground in a machine that resembles a bulletproof coffee-grinder, then yeasted and fermented in 130-gallon oak barrels. The barrels have been coated on the inside with food-grade lime to add calcium to the water. That makes it more closely resemble the Ruby Valley’s water, which is reputed to be delicious.
“We’re happy with the product,” Adams said recently, pouring a sample in his tasting room, a small storefront with a few shelves of spirits and a three-seat bar. “Customers like it. It’s unique. It has an organic, grainy nose; it’s raw.” The rawness is his least favorite part if it. “Surprisingly smooth; the husks lend a little astringency to an iodine note; the nose is very green, not floral, not oaky; wildly the opposite of bourbon.”
He said he’s not offended when drinkers add a splash of ginger beer, and he said in-house mixologist Jeremy Fried is working on incorporating Old Commissary into a few cocktail recipes.
Adams has recently teamed up with four other distillers in the region to form the Nevada Craft Distillers Association. Part of the new group's mission will be to promote craft-spirits tourism, modeled loosely after Portland's Distillery Row Passport, which offers benefits such as waived fees for distillery events, thorough tasting notes for drinkers' edification, and discounts at local restaurants and other businesses. Adams figures that in Reno, Old Commissary in its historic recreation bottles will be among the draws.
Adams said he heard some great stories while researching frontier-style whiskey, and he’s hoping to learn more. If you travel along the back roads of Nevada and you come across a tale of frontier firewater, Tom Adams would like to hear it. And if you should happen to unearth a shard of an original Old Commissary bottle, definitely give Joe Winter a call.
Joe Winter Pottery: joewinterpottery.com
Seven Troughs Distilling Co.
1155 Watson Way, Sparks, NV
Winter has produced about 50 Old Commissary bottles so far. Some have sold to history fans, some to whiskey fans, and some to collectors who say they'll keep the whiskey unopened on a shelf indefinitely. There's still a selection left on the shelf at Seven Troughs, along with his handmade shot glasses.
He plans to produce more bottles, but producing pottery is intensely time consuming, and he has other projects underway too, so the historic bottles will remain something of a special edition.
The rest of the Old Commissary, which Adams does plan to keep producing, will be sold in standard glass bottles.
…
Making this historic libation looks like making any other whiskey, excepting of course, the part where it enters the handmade still. Barley is ground in a machine that resembles a bulletproof coffee-grinder, then yeasted and fermented in 130-gallon oak barrels. The barrels have been coated on the inside with food-grade lime to add calcium to the water. That makes it more closely resemble the Ruby Valley’s water, which is reputed to be delicious.
“We’re happy with the product,” Adams said recently, pouring a sample in his tasting room, a small storefront with a few shelves of spirits and a three-seat bar. “Customers like it. It’s unique. It has an organic, grainy nose; it’s raw.” The rawness is his least favorite part if it. “Surprisingly smooth; the husks lend a little astringency to an iodine note; the nose is very green, not floral, not oaky; wildly the opposite of bourbon.”
He said he’s not offended when drinkers add a splash of ginger beer, and he said in-house mixologist Jeremy Fried is working on incorporating Old Commissary into a few cocktail recipes.
Adams has recently teamed up with four other distillers in the region to form the Nevada Craft Distillers Association. Part of the new group's mission will be to promote craft-spirits tourism, modeled loosely after Portland's Distillery Row Passport, which offers benefits such as waived fees for distillery events, thorough tasting notes for drinkers' edification, and discounts at local restaurants and other businesses. Adams figures that in Reno, Old Commissary in its historic recreation bottles will be among the draws.
Adams said he heard some great stories while researching frontier-style whiskey, and he’s hoping to learn more. If you travel along the back roads of Nevada and you come across a tale of frontier firewater, Tom Adams would like to hear it. And if you should happen to unearth a shard of an original Old Commissary bottle, definitely give Joe Winter a call.
Joe Winter Pottery: joewinterpottery.com
Seven Troughs Distilling Co.
1155 Watson Way, Sparks, NV
(775) 219-9403
Kris Vagner reports on art and culture — and sometimes whiskey — from Reno, NV. More of her work can be found at www.krisvagner.com
Kris Vagner reports on art and culture — and sometimes whiskey — from Reno, NV. More of her work can be found at www.krisvagner.com
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