CANADIAN WHISKY: Bearface and the 9.09 rule
A newcomer to Canada discovers an unexploited crisitunity in Canadian whisky, writes Christine Sismondo
Canadians often complain that we’re eclipsed by our neighbours to the south.
They don’t follow us like we follow them, sure. And some people frame that as a problem stemming from Americans being brash and us being too modest about our accomplishments. I’ve never taken it personally, since I’ve always thought that economies of scale were really at the root of the disparity. What’s more, it’s not even universally true that we can’t compete, since, for decades, Canadian whisky outsold American whiskey in the U.S. market. So, we won at whisky. And, of course, at hockey. (Most of the time, that is.)
Map of North America. Greg Curnoe, 1972.
The bourbon renaissance put an end to the Canadian whisky dominance, though. Perhaps coincidentally, that’s roughly around the time I started to hear a lot of American drinks writers and bartenders disparaging Canadian whisky as “brown vodka,” dissing our custom of calling it “rye” and critiquing our blending practice, especially the famous 9.09 per cent rule.
What’s that? Well, although Canadian whisky has to be made and aged in Canada, distillers are allowed to add a splash of something else in the blending process, so long as it doesn’t exceed 9.09 percent—ten parts exactingly distilled and aged whisky; one part…well, whatever you feel like throwing in there.
Well, almost anything. Acceptable additives are limited to wine or spirits aged a minimum of two years. It’s not like you can toss in orange juice or something.
Some distillers ignore the 9.09 rule and make pure Canadian whisky. I’ve been told that others use the loophole to add bourbon. I’ve also been told by one of Canada’s best whisky-makers, Dr. Don Livermore, that the Canadian tradition of blending is under-appreciated and that this unique Canadian rule is an important aspect of that. And, at Livermore’s legendary and lively blending sessions, he proudly shows writers and bartenders all the tools he has to work with in his “painter’s palette”—port, sherry, rum, cognac, you name it.
Possibly because Canadian distillers have taken a lot of heat over it, though, nobody has really ever gone out on a limb to publicly reclaim the 9.09 rule as an asset and essential component in the tradition and style of Canadian whisky. Until now, that is. Late last year, master blender Andres Faustinelli, released Bearface One Eleven ($49.95; LCBO 12826), the first in a series of Canadian whiskies made with ten parts whisky and one part something else. In this case, the something else is mezcal imported from Oaxaca.
I poured out two shots and gave it to an unwitting test subject.
“What do you think?”
“I can’t tell you what it is.”
He passed the test. It also confirmed for me that I was definitely not making too much of just how profound an effect the addition of mezcal has on the whisky. It has floral, wild and honey-ish dimensions layered on to the usual easy-drinking caramel and vanilla profile associated with Canadian whisky. It all finishes off with a desserty hit of cacao.
I like it. So did the witless test subject. I’m going to venture that not everyone will. It won’t interest the stalwart straight bourbon purist, for example, but, from my perspective, the experiment was successful. Plus, it fits in with what I see as a burgeoning trend of hybrid spirits—categories and distinctions are becoming less important all the time.
Even more impressive from my point of view is the boldness of the vision and branding. It’s right on the label, along with a few words about transparency—“hide nothing; fear nothing.” On the back (and neck-tie): “Unique to Canadian whisky: The One-Eleven Rule allowing ten parts whisky to be blended with one part of another spirit.”
Even though it’s a cliché that we’re supposed to take our liabilities and turn them into assets, the 9.09 rule has always been such a confusing and controversial aspect of the industry, I’m guessing nobody really felt like taking it on before. In his bio, I read that Faustinelli, who was born in Venezuela, raised in Italy, and is a former resident of the United States, was a “true citizen of the world.” I would normally snicker at least a little at that line, but I can’t help but wonder if, perhaps, it took an outsider to see the old rule in a new light and dare to transform it into the One-Eleven Rule.
Good for him. And us. This is just the kind of innovation that might get that American market back for us. After all, they may not be that into Canadian whisky, but they sure do like mezcal down there.