“Too much of anything is bad, but too much good whiskey is barely enough.” – Mark Twain

Like many attorneys musicians men humans, I like drinkin’ ‘cause it’s fun. I am adept with beer, malt liquor, gin, rum, absinthe, the occasional fermented millet drink, and moonshine. Sadly, however, the drink that I wanted to love more than any has eluded me. That, friends, is whiskey.

Despite my many attempts to sip the amber nectar of my heroes of yore, I simply have not been able to stomach whiskey without quickly developing a sour stomach and a headache. It tasted like peanut oil. What was I doing wrong?!? Was I a wuss?!? Should I try to import Zima and call it a day?!? Luckily, thanks to Clay Risen’s American Whiskey, Bourbon, & Rye: A Guide to the Nation’s Favorite Spirit, no drastic measures have become necessary.

Risen’s attractive hard-cover book is a primer for those new to American whiskies in particular. While the bulk of the book is a (non-scientific but helpful) review of over 200 American whiskies, the first 80 pages is what I found the most useful. Risen provides an enjoyable yet rich background on the spirit. He explains what whiskey is (as well as bourbon, scotch, and rye), how it is made, and its colorful history in the United States. Most interesting to me were how chance world events changed the American palate and how hard world events have made it for American whiskies to gain favor. Once the novice reader is schooled on the drink, Risen provides some tips on how to enjoy and appreciate whiskey (he sagely observes there is no single “right” way), ideas on developing your palate, and even how to host a tasting for your buddies.

Since reading the book, I have spent some time with peety single malts, Midwestern ryes, and exotic (to me) Japanese whiskies. (Also, I’ve grown white chest hair. I don’t know if that is related or not, but it could be!) My favorite American drinks, so far, have been Tennessee whiskies and bourbons. A decade ago, these were the engine that fueled my mixed-drink rides to oblivion. Now, thankfully, I can appreciate them with a dash of water and a Hank Mobley record.