The Epic Battle Rages On

http://www.thepittsburghchannel.com/news/21181990/detail.html

This story is from last week and for many of you out there, I pretty much guarantee the subject of this news article is as unfamiliar to you as non-alcoholic beer. But for us here at JABB, we've been swigging down this swill for nearly 2 years now. I speak of the Allegheny County Drink Tax.

Once upon a time (2 years ago), in a borough not too far away n'at (Tax District 2), the Great Land of Allegheny was in deep deep debt. Though the Land's mightiest City of Steel had seen fame and prestige for several years now, it's great gridiron warriors


or mighty paladins on ice


could not save the Land from gross ineptitude. Merchants had been leaving the city for lands with less demanding tax collectors, and the educated youth, who felt no kinship with the Land, set out on long journeys, never to return home.

Of the Land's financial woes, the transportation system was hurting bad. Nobody was using the great steel wagons or the mighty to get around town and the outlying villages. Instead, the people opted to take their own horse and carriages everywhere they wished to travel. The Lord's transportation advisers had squandered what government coin they received on frivolous extravagances, like a tunnel under the great moat of Allegheny for the .


The Lord of the Land, King Dan "the Goose Killer" Onorato, and his knights of the square bingo table, spent countless days and nights (at Nemacolin Woodlands) trying to devise a means of saving the Land from it's financial woes. In order to obtain further transportation funding from the government, the King and his Council had to come up with $30 million on their own. Not willing to cut any funds from the existing budget, already bloated more than Kanye West's ego, or give up the lavish amenities befitting the council's lifestyle, they decide to save the transportation system with taxes. King Dan "the Tax Man" Onorato gave his council two options; raise the property tax on the peasants of the land, or institute a 10% drink tax on all alcoholic beverages purchased within the Land's borders (also included a $2/day car rental tax).

The people of the Land didn't wish for either tax, and were quite irate. Surely there must be other means to raise funds.


It wasn't long before the peasants began holding secret meetings at basements, stables and the local Church...Brewery. And what started as just talks of dissidence, soon became a full on rebellion.
But no matter how hard the people fought, they could not avail. The infamous drink tax was passed and the Land was cast into a darkness more dispiriting than the Pirate's losing streak.


Two years of pain and thirsty tavern patrons would follow. Those who used to go out for drinks and have 5 or 6, now were only drinking 3 or 4, while other ventured great distances (Beaver Country) to drink without financial oppression. Sobriety was on the rise. Many men were returning home to their wives early, only to find them still awake, thus being forced to converse with them and to take out the trash.

Those who refused to comply with the King's orders were struck down with a vengeance. There are still great warriors who brave the bloodshed in the crusade for alcoholic freedom. And we the people of the land will continue to support their cause. King Dan of Allegheny now seeks to reign over all of Penn's Woods. He thinks he has squashed the rebellion. He thinks our spirits have broken, but he shall never be rid of us. We will continue to fight. We will continue to meet in basement bars and and tax exempt locations to plot our next strike, or just get shit faced. The Rebellion is upon us my friends!

TO ARMS!

...

Pennsyltuckey Bound

Speak to someone who's visited rural Western Pennsylvania, and there's a good chance you'll hear the word "Pennsyltuckey" used in a derogatory fashion. It's a geographically-specific slur close in line with words like hick, hillbilly, and redneck; but this insult carries with it a sadness, harkening to a proud rural tradition that was forced to find a new home some 215 years ago, and with it a distinctive regional libation.

Before the days of highways and airports, the Appalachian Mountains were a significant geographical boundary cutting through the heart of Pennsylvania. So significant was this barrier that Western Pennsylvania applied to the Continental Congress as a separate state called Westsylvania. They were categorically denied. Still, they fought fiercely in the revolution with rifled-barrel long arms called "Jagers". Once independence was won, they hung up their Pennsylvania Rifles and returned to their lives of farming and distilling a uniquely American spirit: Pennsylvania Rye Whiskey.

When the new federal government imposed exorbitant taxes on small distilleries, the primary source of income for these fiercely independent Westsylvanians was eliminated. The violent Whiskey Rebellion that followed was quelled only when an army larger than was needed to win the revolution marched on Pittsburgh. Rather than bend to federal oppression, many farmers packed up their rifles and whiskey and moved to more remote territories like Kentucky where the federal government had little influence. In this new home, their unique spirits would evolve as corn became the dominant grain, and aging in charred white oak barrels transformed Pennsylvania Rye into Kentucky Bourbon.

But Rye continued to be the dominant spirit in the rapidly expanding United States for over a century, with large companies replacing the over-taxed independent distilleries. Beer or wine were seldom seen as liquor traveled much better; and Rye relied solely on domestic ingredients, unlike the previous American booze king: rum. Even after the Civil War, the American West was not fueled by "redeye" (which is, in fact, not even alcohol, but a highly poisonous derivative of sterno) nor by Bourbon, now revered as the most American of spirits. No, when Doc Holiday strode up to a bar and knocked on the countertop, it would have been a bottle of Pennsylvania, or "Monongahela" Rye that would have been placed in front of him.

Prohibition finally sounded the death-knell for Rye. The advent of the cocktail and the bootlegging of Canadian whiskey during those dry times acclimatized American pallets to sweeter alcohol; and the smoother, smokey taste of bourbon won people over after repelation. Soon the names of Craig and Beam were supplanting Overholt and Schenley on backbars. Rye was at best a specialty, at worst a relic.

Rye survived the remainder of the 20th century through companies like Jim Beam, which produced its own Rye and even purchased Old Overholt in 1987. Now Rye is enjoying a resurgence in popularity, and old and new brands share space on the liquor store shelf. Sazerak, Templeton, Old Overholt, Wild Turkey Green Label, and Jim Beam Yellow Label sit side by side and offer a generous range of whiskey experiences.




Old Overholt still bears a label our afore-mentioned buddy Doc would quickly recognize, though whether the flavor resembles its original Monongahela style is unclear. Still, it offers a light-handed and subtle taste of how fermented rye differs from the sourness of fermented corn.






For that comparison, though, maybe Beam Yellow serves us best. Being made by the bourbon people, it's a sharp taste of what happened when distillers changed their grain bill. It can be harsh for someone used to smooth and sour bourbons, but rewarding if your tongue will allow it past your tonsils.





Templeton is a brand that has taken a strange journey to the 21st century. It's been a registered corporation since 1965, but they recently switched to an older recipe dating back to the company's... less than legal days. Whether or not that story is true, and regardless of the old recipe's resemblance to Pennsylvania Rye, the quality of the product can't be denied. The bouquet demands careful attention; and its sweet, light, and fruity flavor belies its brute alcoholic power.




The most complex flavor composition of this bunch, however, belongs to Sazerac. Though it probably bears little resemblance to the Monongahela spirits the late 18th century, that in no way necessitates a lack of quality. In fact, as far as flavor goes, it shines above all other brands on the market now, offering the full-on kick to the teeth of Rye, with a fruity middle and a cinnamon finish. Perfectly suited for either sipping or shooting, the price is the only thing that makes it not optimal for heavy imbibing.



That title has to be taken by Wild Turkey Green. From the makers of the quintessential finish to a bad day (and start of a bad night) comes high-octane rye whiskey with a Southern accent. Sure, I could scrutinize its forceful Rye bouquet, or the wonderful afterglow that stays in your mouth after the initial burn fades; but the long and shot is it tastes fantastic and will fuck your shit up in a hurry, which for me exemplifies everything that is pure and wonderful about distilled spirits.