For Father's Day, Drinking What My Dad Drank

As I prepare to celebrate my tenth (!?!) Father’s Day as a father, I’ve been reminiscing about my own father, as he was when I was growing up, before my parents divorced when I was six. The smell of his pipe tobacco. The feel of his mustache (grown in the early ‘70s and proudly sported until the day he died in 2016). The bottles in his liquor cabinet.

Not that I sampled any of them back then, of course. Dad may have occasionally sat me on the kitchen counter and given me a sip of beer, but I think his head would have exploded if he’d caught me guzzling whiskey. Anyway, I wasn’t interested, at my tender age, in drinking whatever was inside those mysterious, oddly shaped bottles on the bottom shelf of my parents’ living room armoire. I loved just looking at them. The names I’d never heard of, the words I didn’t recognize, the artwork which may or may not have had anything to do with the contents of the bottle — it all felt like a big mystery, the secrets of which could only be fathomed by people as old as my parents.

Most of the brands emblazoned on my memory are whiskeys, with an emphasis on Scotch. I wasn’t sure if my memory was skewed or if my dad really did have more Scotch than other spirits — and if so, whether it was a personal preference or people just drank more Scotch in general back during the Watergate years. Several years ago I asked him about it, and here’s what he told me via email:

“Yes, Scotch was big in those years — Cutty, Dewar’s, Johnnie Walker, J&B (known as Jewish Booze). None of the really expensive stuff. Don’t ask me why. The Scotch drink of choice was with water or soda, or straight/on the rocks with a water or soda chaser. No cocktails a la Rob Roy. The myth was that sticking to Scotch was the way to avoid a hangover — I was able to prove the falsity of THAT.”

Now that I’ve inherited the mantle of designated drinker in the Sachs family, I’ve decided to go back and sample some of the brands I remember seeing in that liquor cabinet back when the hardest stuff I drank was Mott’s and Tropicana. I’ve consumed some of them regularly since I was old enough to imbibe; others I’ve barely thought about since I was a kid. Just about anyone who drinks knows most of these brands by name. But they’re so ubiquitous, so taken for granted, that the all-important question — how do they taste? — is often ignored. So I laced up my drinking shoes and jumped in.

WILD TURKEY 101 Bourbon. I remember being fascinated by Wild Turkey because of the picture of the turkey on the label. What was in the bottle -- turkey juice? Gravy? The answer, as I later found out, is a damn fine bourbon. Taken neat, it's rich with wood, vanilla and brown sugar; throw in an ice cube and it becomes both sweeter and spicier, with peppery notes moving to the fore. It's got enough of a kick on the back end to remind you that you're not toying with an 80-proof bourbon, but without the alcoholic burn a lesser bourbon would deliver at more than 50% ABV. It makes for an excellent Manhattan or mint julep, or you can drink it the way Master Distiller Jimmy Russell (who’s also the father of WT Master Distiller Eddie Russell) does — chilled, straight out of the freezer.

CUTTY SARK Blended Scotch Whisky. The distinctive yellow label with the drawing of the sailboat (sure to catch the eye of a four-year-old boy) and the incomprehensible name (what on earth is a Cutty, what the heck is a Sark, and what does it mean when you put the two together?) emblazoned itself in my memory decades ago. (It’s the name of a 19th century clipper, if you’re wondering.) But I’ve probably drunk it maybe half a dozen times since hitting drinking age. Back when I was a young snapperhead in the early '70s, single malts weren’t really a thing — Scotch was almost exclusively blended, using many different single malts along with lighter, smoother, and blander grain whisky. And that's exactly what Cutty Sark is. Most of the malts hail from Speyside, which produces delightfully sweet, “easy” whiskies. Unfortunately, whatever blend Cutty Sark makes is a little too easy. There's not much to dislike about it, but nothing to get thrilled about either. If you're making a Scotch sour or another Scotch-based cocktail, it might come in handy, but unless you're in love with the label, there’s no need to own a bottle. The last time I had Cutty was at a bar with friends, for reasons I can’t remember, and I made the mistake of disparaging it out loud. Turned out we were sitting next to someone who worked with the brand. Oops.

J & B Rare Scotch Whisky. It's funny, I always thought of J & B -- perhaps because I saw it in my father's booze supply -- as a very adult, serious whisky, underscored by that bold, no-nonsense label. But in recent years, at least, it's been promoted as a "party Scotch," meant to be mixed with cola or ginger ale and wolfed down while you're listening to too-loud music and trawling for love and/or lust. And in that context, this isn't bad. Using a blend of more than 40 different whiskies, J & B has a light, sweet, fruity flavor with just a little bit of peat -- about 1% of J & B comes from peat-heavy Islay malts. On its own, it's certainly pleasant if not life-changing. Paired with soda of some sort, it goes down smooth and easy, which I suppose is the goal.

JOHNNIE WALKER BLACK LABEL Scotch Whisky. I thought the label placed diagonally on the bottle was pretty cool when I was a young'un, and today I think the whisky inside the bottle is just as cool, if not more so. I'm not crazy about blended Scotches for the most part, but even the snobbiest single malt snobs agree that this is one darn fine whisky. It's got a salty, nutty aroma and flavor reminiscent of a more subdued Talisker single malt — Talisker is part of the blend, along with Lagavulin, Cardhu, and many other single malts owned by Johnnie Walker’s parent company, Diageo. You’ll also get some peat, a little tobacco smoke, and a nice, slightly sweet, warm-but-not-hot finish. It's more bold and complex than most blends, and I think it compares favorably with a lot of single malts. Back in my dad's heyday, Johnnie Walker only came in Red Label (for mixing) and Black Label (for sipping). Today, however, it comes in a whole array of colors. The high-end Blue Label is delicious, but somewhat overpriced. Green Label is generally my JW go-to.

DEWAR'S WHITE LABEL Blended Scotch Whisky. If you want an everyday Scotch for mixing, you can't go wrong with Dewar's. This is a versatile whisky that's enjoyable whether you're drinking it with a couple of ice cubes or mixing it into a cocktail. It's not the most complex drink out there, but it's light, slightly medicinal, surprisingly refreshing. The White Label has a lot of fruit and honey notes, with traces of vanilla and sugar as well. The finish is on the sweet side and very mild, so it won't leave a lingering aftertaste. Dewar's was the first Scotch I tried, and it’s a solid choice as both a starter whisky for novices and a go-to brand for mixing. If you want something a little more sophisticated and sippable, check out Dewar's 12-year and 18-year blends.

TULLAMORE D.E.W. Irish Whiskey. I remember, as a wee lad, staring at my dad's bottle of this stuff, wondering what a Tullamore was. Turns out that’s where it’s made, and “D.E.W.” (in my dad’s day it was simply “Dew”) is the initials of founder Daniel E. Williams. This is said to be the first triple-distilled Irish whiskey, which differentiates it from its twice-distilled Scotch siblings. That accounts, in part, for its sweet, gentle disposition — some might even call it “smooth,” although I try to avoid using that descriptive whenever possible. It’s sweet and floral on the nose, with lots of honey and vanilla caressing the palate and a light, lingering finish. It wont change your life, but it’s the boozy equivalent of settling into a comfy old chair — relaxing and comforting. And nowadays, we could all use a little more of that.

BEEFEATER London Dry Gin. Beefeater is the only gin I remember seeing in my parents' liquor cabinet. I was a fan for decades before I ever tried the stuff. After all, I too was a beef eater — my favorite food at age four was hamburgers — and I loved the artwork featuring the Beefeater Guy in all his finery. The bottle has, sadly, gotten modernized in the intervening years, but the gin is still brilliant. This is, to me, what a gin should taste like — dry, clean, bracing, with juniper predominating but balanced out by other botanicals. It makes a great martini or gin-and-tonic, and best of all, it's available in just about every watering hole that serves gin, from the diviest dive to the swankiest craft bar. Beefeater has recently expanded the brand with new concoctions like Beefeater Summer, Beefeater Winter and the tea-infused Beefeater 24. But as far as I'm concerned, the original is all you need. If you only have one gin in your liquor cabinet (of course, you should have more on hand, but I'm just saying theoretically), make it Beefeater.

CANADIAN CLUB Blended Canadian Whisky. Canadian Club, and Canadian whisky in general, got a bad rap among whisky snobs for years — decades, maybe.. Blended, light, easy to drink, not particularly distinctive, it was a spirit made for a different time, not the current age of small-batch this and single-barrel that. Canadian distillers have really upped their game in the last several years, producing beautiful, brawny whiskies the equivalent of anything you could find on the planet. But let us not forget the old timers like Canadian Club who are continuing in the tradition that made Canadian whisky the most popular category in America for decades after Prohibition.
Back in the Mad Men era, when my dad was boozing it up with his fellow copywriters (my mom among them), if you ordered a cocktail made with rye, you'd get it made with Canadian. A decade later, when I was exploring my dad's liquor supply while wearing my footie pajamas, most households with a decent stash of booze had a bottle of Canadian Club on hand. And with good reason. You can use Canadian Club in just about any whiskey cocktail you can think of, and it'll make its presence known without overwhelming the other ingredients. Personally, I prefer it on its own, neat or with an ice cube or two. It's got a clean, dry flavor with lots of grain and traces of honey and toffee, and a super-smooth finish with a mild burn and hardly any aftertaste. It won't cost you an arm and a leg, either. There are many fancier Canadian Club brands out there, aged longer and/or using different methods, but personally, I stick with the classic 6-year-old blend my dad drank.

SMIRNOFF Vodka. By the time my dad grew a mustache and sideburns as the ‘60s dissolved into the ‘70s, vodka had eclipsed gin as the clear spirit of choice in cocktails like martinis and Bloody Marys. Gin was seen as square and old-fashioned, while vodka was hip and with-it. A great deal of the shift was due to Smirnoff Vodka and its famous ad campaign, which said, in part, "It'll leave you breathless." Meaning co-workers, nagging spouses and police officers wouldn't smell vodka on your breath the way they would with gin (ah, the days before Breathalyzers). So of course there was a bottle of Smirnoff in Dad's liquor cabinet.Today, vodka still outsells gin by a wide margin, but its barely-there aroma and flavor profile are the epitome of uncool among cocktail connoisseurs. I'm not a huge vodka fan myself, but I like to think I know a good one when I taste it. And Smirnoff is indeed a good one. I've definitely had better but for the price -- generally around $20 — you can't go wrong with Smirnoff. Both on the nose and the palate, it's got a nice blend of grain and an almost floral sweetness, with a moderate burn and clean finish. It goes well in cocktails and tastes dandy on the rocks. And as far as I'm concerned, it beats glitzier brands like Grey Goose and Belvedere hands down.

JACK DANIEL'S Tennessee Sour Mash Whiskey. Once upon a time, Jack Daniel's was beloved by both tuxedo-clad crooners and long-haired rockers, businessmen and frat boys, the elite and the guy on the street. And my dad, of course, who had a bottle in his liquor cabinet. It seemed like nobody didn't like Jack Daniel's, the bourbon-that's-not-a-bourbon because it's charcoal filtered, a no-no for the real thing. That's why it's called a Tennessee sipping whiskey.
I was a big JD drinker from my college days, when I used to swig it from the bottle with my buddies in my dorm room, through my 20s, when I used it in my first homemade Manhattans. But then I started exploring the wide and wonderful world of bourbon and rye, and the more brands I tried, the less thrilling Jack Daniel's seemed. Eventually my bottle started gathering dust. Old No. 7 was originally 90 proof; it’s since been “dumbed down” to 80, and to my palate the quality has suffered as a result. But Jack Daniel’s now makes so many different expressions, many of them excellent, that it’s almost beside the point to go after the weak link, even if it is the flagship brand. If you’re looking for a good sipping whiskey, I recommend trying JD’s Sinatra Select, Single Barrel, and Bottled-In-Bond expressions, to name just three. And if you just want to knock back a few Jack & Cokes at a party, you’re not going to pay much attention to the nuances of the whiskey anyway.