It's a funny thing about babies. Many people have them, and to most they really are the miracle of life. They embody purity, unsullied perfection personified.
I don't have any babies, but thankfully this summer I was able to make some friends the proud owners of some Hudson Baby Bourbon from Tuthill Town. Charlie and Elly just bought their first home near Portobello in London as did Alex (right near Lancaster Gate) and to make their new homes warmer, they needed a new addition.
Hudson Baby Bourbon is made from 100% fermented corn from New York State. It's the first bourbon made in New York (most bourbons are made in Kentucky, but not all) and is made in small batches and numbered by hand. It truly is a baby – I actually gasped at how small the bottle was when I got my delivery of it – but don't let its size put you off its potency. My brother Ryan (who was very upset I didn't bring him one) got me into bourbons, namely a little Booker's, Blanton's or perhaps Basil Hayden's. Don't ask me why they all have "B" names. And although I don't mind a little bourbon and dry or maybe even a sour (I hope Ryan isn't reading this, he'd be so ashamed) I really go for it neat (phew, I think I redeemed myself). Even the hallowed Blantons doesn't work as well neat as the Baby. Huge on the nose, slightly alcholic but very caramel, the taste is smooth and has a strong maple flavor without too much sweetness. It shouldn't be couched with water or ice, this baby should be drunk neat, patted on the back and put to bed late at night.
Ryan, get out of rainy Scotland and get over to New York, and I'll get you a baby.