Ten High Bourbon Whiskey

Horribly uncreative name—thank god that’s the least of their problems.

I don’t know the details of the Whiskey Rebellion, nor will I take the time to Google it. What I think of when I hear that phrase is a quiet but principled revolution started by dignified whiskey brewmasters against their own industry, with the intention of staunching the production of cheap, mass-produced bottles of alcoholic piss. Ultimately they lost (for which I am partially grateful because it’s not fun to blog about good-tasting whiskey), thanks in part to one of the generic, waterlogged motherfuckers I just consumed: Ten High Whiskey.

The only credit I can give it is that it’s not the worst thing I ever drank (for that, see“Old Smuggler,” that smarmy bastard of the high seas). However, saying that on this blog is like going to a slaughterhouse and saying those aren’t the grossest entrails you’ve ever seen.


These are the grossest entrails you’ve ever seen.

Also, the name. Ten High? What the fuck is that? Did somebody just hold their hands above their head and count their fingers? Though the bottle insists it has a rich transnational history (it claims distilleries in two bumfuck towns in Kentucky and one in Los Angeles, because LA’s known for making a mean Kentucky sour mash), it sounds like something produced in India and Tuesday was “Ten High label” day. Chances are you’ll see a bottle with Wednesday’s label on here eventually by somebody else, and the review will be glowing. Such is subjectivity.

For some asinine reason, Ten High lends itself well to sours, yet does not seem to mix very well with Coke. My guess is that the sugar in the coke and the poison in Ten High were fighting and the match ended in a carbonated, caramel-colored stalemate, with both ingredients spent. Shots are tolerable, but far from tasty. This isn’t something you’d buy unless you hate yourself, or if you feel thirsty for a Los Angeles-style “Kentucky straight sour mash bourbon whiskey.”

Counter-revolutionary whiskey that’s horribly generic. $9.99/fifth

- Mike

Banker's Club Bourbon Whiskey

Banker’s does it all—and none of it even remotely well.

(photo: http://www.lairdandcompany.com/images/BankersClub2.jpg)

This is about as generic a whiskey as you can get. It tastes like it was fermented in dishwater, but a kind of dishwater that’s not entirely dirty. I wasn’t even aware the humanity-despising Banker’s had dipped their foul-smelling fingers of mediocrity into whiskey vats until I saw this bastard of a bottle. Its saving grace is that it mixes well, but if you enjoy a stiff drink you will be confronted with an acrid taste that lingers and seems to throw a rope ladder down to acid reflux.

Like all shitty whiskeys (“shiskeys” if you will), shots aren’t recommended but will get the job done. Chances are that if you’re buying this regularly, you don’t have the money to buy a mixer anyway. Or, you could just be someone lacking tastebuds, with a metal pipe for an esophagus.

Definitive shiskey. $8.99/Liter

- Mike