Vintage Booze Reviews: Tasting A 1909 Old Overholt Rye
I tend to think of my spirits reviews, and the tasting notes associated with them, as consumer guides, helping imbibers figure out whether a particular spirit is worth their time, money, and liver enzymes. So when I pulled down from my shelf a bottle of rye whiskey distilled 111 years ago, I didn’t think a proper review would be in order, simply because it’s really tough to find a bottle, and if you do, that money may be better spent on things like mortgage payments or the kids’ college fund. But when I posted the above pic on social media, I got a lot of responses asking me what it tastes like. And I realized that I do read tasting notes for spirits I’m reasonably sure I’ll never have the chance to taste precisely because I’ll never be able to taste them myself. So with that in mind, here’s my review of Old Overholt rye whiskey, distilled in the great state of Pennsylvania in 1909!
But first… a little background. Old Overholt has been around since the early 1800s. At the time my bottle was distilled, it was known as a classic Monongahela rye, referring to the river near which the distillery was located. Back then, almost all rye was either made in Maryland or Pennsylvania; Maryland ryes were sweeter and a little more gentle, while Pennsylvania ryes were bigger, bolder, and spicier, reflecting a higher rye content.
In 1909, Andrew Mellon was part owner of the distillery; in 1919, upon the death of one of his two partners, he became majority owner, although his name wasn’t on the distilling license because he didn’t want to rankle Prohibitionists. In anticipation of Prohibition (or in its wake, I’m not quite sure), Mellon laid aside a pretty large stash of Overholt for his and his family’s personal use. Clearly he put aside more than he needed, because about 60 cases, distilled between 1901-1912 and bottled specially for him, made their way down the generations until they were auctioned off by Christie’s in 2015. An interesting side note — Old Overholt was able to stay in business throughout Prohibition because it acquired a coveted license to distill and sell whiskey for medicinal purposes. I’m sure this had absolutely nothing to do with Mellon’s being Secretary of the Treasury in the notoriously corrupt Warren G. Harding administration beginning in 1921.
I acquired my bottle in a trade for a rye of more recent vintage which was actually even rarer than the Overholt, but I’m pretty sure I got the better end of the deal. I got it around 2016 but didn’t finally open it for a few years after, never quite knowing when it was appropriate to drink a whiskey that had gone untouched by human lips since William Howard Taft was president and commercial radio wasn’t even a thing yet, to say nothing of TV. I still have about a quarter of the bottle left, which I shpritz with nitrogen every time I open it — that keeps the whiskey fresher for longer.
OK, so how does it taste? Delicious! It’s got the big spicy notes typical of a Pennsylvania rye (WhistlePig, Bulleit and Dad’s Hat are similar in style nowadays), but it also has a beautiful sweetness on the front of the palate that I don’t recall experiencing with any other rye — brown sugar, dried figs, dates, a little bit of allspice — with a finish that’s dry and spicy, but it almost caresses the back of the throat rather than attacking it like a modern day high-rye whiskey.
Out of curiosity I drank it alongside Old Overholt’s current bottled-in-bond expression, which is related in name only (the brand was bought by Jim Beam and relocated to Kentucky in the ‘80s). They were more similar than I would have expected, but the sweetness up front in the modern Overholt is more of the chocolate-caramel variety, and the spice is a little clunkier and more prosaic. Whiskey doesn’t age in the bottle like wine, but over time the rough edges will smooth out a bit and it will become a little softer (in a worst-case scenario, oxidation will dull down the flavor over time). So that may explain the long, gentle spice that caresses the back of the throat, rather than attacking it as many current ryes do. If you’ve got a time machine handy so I could try this stuff a century earlier, please let me know in the comments.
Would you be better off spending the cash you’d have to lay down for this whiskey on, I don’t know, a mortgage? Car payment? College fund for the kids? Without a doubt. but I’m glad to own it, and more importantly, I’m glad I opened it and got to enjoy it. I’m a hoarder by nature, but you can’t take it with you — as far as I know.