First Sip
Parents weekend in Lexington means two things. One, our son is somehow always “busy” until he needs a ride to food. Two, we make our own fun. So we loaded him up like a sack of laundry and rolled over to Castle & Key. I’ve got a full post about the visit itself, you can read it here, but the short of it is: pretty day, perfect sun, wind trying its best to ruin my nose. We grabbed a six-pour flight outside by the springhouse, settled in, and let the castle do its thing. Out of the lineup, this Cask Finished Experimental Series pour jumped out and sat down like it meant business.
The Pour
In the glass it showed deep amber, the kind of color that makes you think it spent time getting to know the wood without losing its manners. The way it moved in the glass matched what I felt later on the tongue, silky and a little oily, not thin or fidgety. First whiff told me the proof was nothing to sneeze at. This one is 115, and you can feel that just standing near it, but it looked composed, not hot-headed. Label says it’s a rye at heart, with 65% rye, 17% corn, and 20% malted barley, then finished for 18 months in French Rouge Pineau des Charentes casks. That finishing time is not nothing. You can see those casks had a say in the color and the way this pour holds together.
Nose
Now, the wind did try to pick my pockets. Outside at the springhouse, it kept stealing the lighter aromatics, so I had to cup the glass like a little campfire. Even so, wild cherry pushed through clear as day. Not pie filling. More fresh and tart. There was a faint swirl of vanilla underneath, and a citrus edge like somebody zested an orange nearby. Rye’s green side poked around the edges. If you’ve ever brushed past a garden after it rained, that kind of herbal, a touch leafy. Every now and then I caught something savory peeking in, but the breeze kept playing keep-away, so I had to wait for the sip to put a name to it.
Palate
That first sip was a whole conversation. Wild cherry right up front, then it slides into a soft vanilla cream before a bright pop of citrus wakes everything up. The body is full and slick, honest-to-goodness silky. That texture carries the flavors so they don’t run over each other. Heat-wise, 115 lets you know it’s present, but it’s not a face-melter. It warms you like stepping into the sun, not sticking your head in the oven. The rye character brings a steady line of spice and green, not a pepper bomb, more like a steady hum.
Then there’s that savory note I was chasing. It finally clicked as a salted pretzel snap, with a little celery stalk thing happening too. Sounds odd till you taste it. It adds a snacky little twist that keeps the sweet cherry from getting sticky. That cereal-grain note from the malt and corn shows up as backbone rather than headline, and the oak is present but not bossy. No smoke to speak of. Just clean wood and the fruit from those French casks tying it all together. The more I sipped, the more it felt dialed in. Not a wild ride, not boring either. Just layered and steady.
Finish
The finish just keeps the tape rolling. No sharp turn, no surprise left hook. What you get on the palate keeps strolling along into the sunset. Cherry and citrus stay bright, vanilla softens everything, that pretzel-salty nibble hangs around with a little herbal rye flicker. It dries just a touch at the end, like the oak leaned over to say goodbye, then lets the fruit wave one more time. Length is solid, and the flavors don’t blur into mud. If you’re chasing that clean handoff from sip to swallow, this one signs its name in neat handwriting.
The Verdict
This is the kind of pour that makes a flight worth doing. You can tell they took a younger rye, at least three and a half years by the label, and gave it real finishing time that mattered. Eighteen months in Rouge Pineau des Charentes casks doesn’t just sprinkle fruit on top. It weaves that cherry and citrus right into the body without washing out the grain. The result is both bright and grounded, a good mix of sweet and savory with the heat kept in check by the texture. Folks who love a fruit-forward rye will be grinning, and if you usually want more oak, you’ll still find enough structure to keep you happy.
As a sipper, it shines neat. If you absolutely have to, a small cube would be fine, but I wouldn’t drown it. The balance is kind of the point here, and the mouthfeel is half the fun. I’d reach for this on a porch with a light breeze if I trusted the wind not to bully my nose. Serves me right for wanting the scenery. Next time I’ll tuck inside, cup in hand like a civilized person.
We tried it as part of a six-pour lineup, and even with plenty of competition, this one stood out for complexity and poise. No one flavor ran the table. The fruit led without hogging the mic, the rye kept its herbal spine, the grain whispered just enough, and the finish stayed honest to the palate. If you’ve ever wanted a rye that can be both friendly and interesting, this checks the box. I’d buy a bottle without blinking, and if you’re on-site, put it on your flight. If the wind cooperates, you’ll catch even more on the nose. If it doesn’t, the palate has your back.
Parents weekend turned into “educate your parents on your local distillery” and I’m not mad about it. He got a ride and a snack, we got a springhouse seat and a pour that’s worth hunting down. Everybody wins. Highly recommend.
