As some readers might recall, a strange transformation occurred for me in early January of this year. On the evening of January 7th, I had a house with a lot of stuff in it. By the morning of January 8th, anything I didn’t carry out with my own two arms had been converted—without my approval, I would add—into a bunch of gray ash.
It’s now early June. I’m sure a lot of readers may have wondered if the site was just going to shamble on in some kind of ghostly way, without another update ever again. It’s possible a lot of you guys might have thought losing (no shit) a five-figure liquor collection would be enough for someone to hang things up completely—that maybe rebuilding a collection of things to talk about was just too tall a mountain for me to scale.
In reality, it’s been a lot more mundane. January was a sad month. February, however, was weird, and March was just plain busy. On the whole, dealing with losing everything you own has been far more of an administrative headache than an existential nightmare. I’m thankful for that, but dealing with paid gigs, re-building the flow of my teaching and consulting business, talking to government agencies, and adjusting to a new sleep schedule left Spirit Animal on the back burner.
“Yeah, yeah, your house burned down. Talk about the fucking bottle.”
Here’s the segue: losing virtually everything you’ve ever owned has a way of putting life into perspective. You begin to take a slightly more critical look at the things that did bring you happiness, and the moments you really did enjoy, and just how much you thought was important really became smaller and smaller in the rear view mirror.
“The Four Roses Small Batch offers a satisfying flavor profile that doesn’t set out to polarize, but is distinctive enough to recognize and warrant multiple repurchases. ”
One of the very first bottles I repurchased was the Four Roses Small Batch. I’ve been meaning to give this the star treatment for a good, long while. The timing never really seemed right; sometimes it was because I was bourbon or whiskey heavy in previous content, or maybe had a few effusive reviews for something else I loved, and talking about the Small Batch just didn’t seem to fit the content mix I was going for.
To this day, the Small Batch holds the distinction of being the one bourbon that actually brought me to the shores of liking bourbon. Readers with an encyclopedic memory might recall that when I was in my twenties, my buddy Adam developed a taste for Knob Creek, and bought it all the time, so I had a lot of it as well. Along the way, I just thought that was what bourbon was: just a massively boozy, bitter and tannic oak backbreaker. I could hang with it, but I never particularly enjoyed it.
In that light, the Four Roses Small Batch was nothing short of a revelation to me. I hesitate to call the Small Batch feminine, or understated, or restrained. I think those are all true descriptors, but people are going to read those as negatives. With the Small Batch, Four Roses is still giving you whiskey. But, it’s the difference in being greeted with a genuine smile and having a gymbro deliver a bone crushing handshake.
The Small Batch does a good job of telegraphing what’s to come through the initial aroma. Nothing’s heavy, per se, but you’re going to be invited to the party with some vanilla, some bubble gum, and some new wood in the form of fresh pencil shavings.
The first sip is a delightfully honeyed affair. It’s sweet, with caramelized sugars and a big hit of blackberry. As you sit with the glass, however, there’s a lot to play with. The sweetness becomes a little more mochi-like, and there’s a surprising amount of herbal and floral elements, like jasmine and lavender. At times I thought a little bit of rosemary floated in and out, and there’s just enough pleasant salinity to give it that “Kentucky chewiness.”
The Four Roses Small Batch ends as gentle as it starts. There’s enough wood to be interesting on the exit, but the tannins are soft. You’ll get a wisp of cedar and jasmine once more, but there’s a creamy nature to the exit that reminded me of crème brulee.
Again, “feminine” or “light” is absolutely not synonymous with boring. It’s hard to dislike a bourbon like this when there’s so much going on, and when all of those elements work in delicate harmony with one another.
The biggest testament I can give it goes beyond my own taste buds, though. Just about everyone I’ve poured this for tends to really like it, almost regardless of whatever drinking history they might have. It’s a satisfying flavor profile that doesn’t set out to polarize, but is distinctive enough to recognize and want to return to. For me, even a much smaller liquor cabinet felt empty without a bottle of the Small Batch inside.
A final note, too. In the real world, you’re almost always going to find the Small Batch sitting next to Four Roses’ “Single Barrel,” the more rectangular bottle with a slightly higher price—and of course, the implication that it’s the better bottle to get. Not so. The Single Barrel is certainly good, but it’s running in the same race as many other bourbons: it’s oakier, bigger, higher ABV, and more corn heavy than what’s reviewed here. The same goes with the Small Batch “select.” If you actually want the direct hit of value to sophistication, get the regular ‘ol Small Batch, which remains a bargain at about $30 or thereabouts.
