Woodford Reserve

I was stuck in my well worn room in a super 8 hotel off of exit 180 on highway I-71 in Florence, Kentucky contemplating my escape.

I was surrounded by the usual, a McDonald’s, a cheap Mexican restaurant, a liquor store, a Big Bob’s, a few gas stations, and a Red Lobster which I felt was kind of classy for the area. About a block away there was more. A White Castle (don’t go there) and a KFC. Yes, I did it. I ate there yesterday. I had to eat Kentucky Fried Chicken at least once while I was in Kentucky.

I had a small problem. I only had one photo of the hotel to do, a dusk exterior shot that I would not have to do until 5:15pm. I arrived early the day before and got most of the other work done. But, the owner figured that since I was going to be around that I should photograph a bunch of other stuff that he had not scheduled or paid for. Fat chance.

After finally sleeping in for once, my solution was to sneak out the back way. This worked out well as I had parked my bright white rental car near that exit. It must have been meant to be because on my way out there was a lobby card for the Bourbon Trail. Perfect.

First things first. Time for a real American grease-fest … er …breakfast. I punched in the address for Woodford Reserve’s distillery and headed south. Along the way I found a Waffle House which I don’t recommend either but it’s a fun experience. I’ve had my arteries clogged at one in the past so I know how to order there now. Poach the eggs and order the toast dry and don’t get the bacon. I still get a bit irritated by those Southern accents. I’m sorry but it just makes them sound retarded. Ten dollars and five cents included a two dollar tip. Sweet. I saw a smoothie place so I got one of those to balance things out.

After driving an hour I took a smaller road that wound through scenic Kentucky farmland. I passed along narrow creeks and by million-dollar race horses grazing casually within white picket fences. About thirty minutes later I arrived at Labrot and Graham’s Woodford Reserve Distillery. Woodford Reserve is the only bourbon distillery that triple distills their whiskey and it is the official bourbon sponsor of the Kentucky Derby. So if you have a mint julep at Churchill Downs, it’s made with their excellent spirit.

Woodford Reserve is an impressive distillery. The Americans sure know their marketing. In the 1990’s they put millions of dollars into renovating the distillery just for tours.
A large multi-national owns them and a bunch of other distilleries including the heavy weight Jack Daniel’s. The smell inside is wonderful and they let you dip your finger and taste the bubbling warm mixture that, in this stage, is a form of beer. The grounds had these rails that look like train tracks. They are used for transporting the barrels slowly downhill. I wish those tracks lead into my apartment.

I’ve been to Jack Daniel’s, Maker’s Mark, Jim Beam, MacCallan, Cardhu, and now the Woodford’s Reserve distillery. Did I learn anything new? Yes. Bourbon can actually be made anywhere in the United States but in order to be called bourbon it must be aged in Kentucky.

I had to sneak out of the tour early after an hour in order to get back to my hotel in time but not without a sample of course! After a free bourbon chocolate (American’s love there sweets) and about a half ounce of the good stuff I was off.

I got back to the hotel on time and finished my work. The other owner thanked me for all of my hard work. At first I thought he was kidding.

I went for a run. The thought of having dinner on a Saturday night at an empty Red Lobster near a gas station in the middle of nowhere USA was too depressing. Besides Kentucky is know for three things, 1) their women 2) horse racing and 3) bourbon. I drove an hour and a half to Louisville to have dinner on Fourth Street. It’s a pedestrian only street filled with bars, restaurants, and clubs. One stop shopping.

I ate duck spring rolls and had a mint julep at the Maker’s Mark tavern. I was looking for a live band but the one that was playing I did not care for. The dance clubs were so loud and obnoxious that I skipped those and drove back an hour and a half to my Super 8 hotel with my iPod cranked.

I thought Alberta had weird names for things like Carstairs, Medicine Hat, and Head Smashed in Buffalo Jump but the place I passed just before I got to my hotel took the cake. The sign read, “Big Bone Lick National Park – next exit”. Too funny.

I’m afraid to see their marketing materials.