Much is made of the lists generated by online and in print spirits reviewers. Oftentimes the very top echelon of reviewers - everyone from professional writers such as Jim Murray, Stephen Beal and Fred Minnick, to publications like Wine Enthusiast and Whiskey Advocate - love to publish their very own list of standout bottles from around the world.
"Bob Smith's Top Ten Tequilas for 2020!"
And that's great. Everyone should have a list of what is considered to be the standard bearers of the industry. Special bottles of bourbon, or scotch, or rums, gins and tequilas, etc. All fine and good.
But what I have seen and heard for myself is that too many consumers will jump on bandwagons simply because someone else says "this is the best." They'll immediately run out and try to find a bottle of the stuff, regardless of what anybody else might say on the subject. Many of the unicorns - particularly in bourbons - have become to simply because someone says they're "the best."
I have a problem with people who use the term "Best" to describe a particular bottle. Panels of judges
award "best" after careful consideration and debate, but it's really only a consensus that it's a damned good bottle. Calling it "the Best" tends to drive down a lot of other highly qualified quaffs which might have greater appeal to palates that differ from the judges'. It's a misleading term.
I say that not because I don't respect the opinions of the above sources. They all have great palates, no doubt. And the choices they make are certainly classic bottlings. I had, for one, been advocating for the quality and taste of Henry McKenna 10-year Bottled-in-Bond for months before the San Francisco World Spirits Competition labeled it "the best" whisky in the world in 2019.
But the key is that McKenna was - and still is - a fantastic bourbon at its original price
But to call it "the best" is misleading. It suggests that McKenna is a superior bottle of whiskey to virtually every other bottled whiskey in the world, and that's simply not the case. I would gladly note that Garrison Brothers' Cowboy is a superior bourbon (at four times the price). Dalmore King Alexander III is perhaps my favorite whiskey of any kind (at eight times the price of the McKenna).
To me the key is in the liquid inside the bottle. I frequently tell my clients to ignore the price, ignore the label, ignore the advertising campaign and focus on the liquid inside the bottle. Do you like it? If so, it doesn't matter who else does, it's a good selection for you. It doesn't matter if your favorite tequila spends millions of dollars on advertising...that doesn't impact the taste one bit. The water in the vodka does. The distillation does. The environment of the barreling does.
It doesn't matter if the label is a simple one or a flashy one. It doesn't matter if no one else has heard of the brand.
It frankly doesn't matter if it's a $20 bottle or a $200 bottle, though I'd have the reasonable expectation that the $200 had better be good - but if the liquid inside the bottle doesn't conform to your palate it simply doesn't matter what you spend. If you despise peat in your scotch then no amount of money is going to get you a peated scotch you'll like. You can train your palate, but if you don't like something you don't like it. Period.
And this is true for virtually any spirit on the market. Nothing will ever appeal to 100% of consumers. A bottling I love you might dislike intensely. Inevitably I have people come to me to tell me that they scored a bottle of Blanton's, then a few days later tell me in a low tone of voice - as if embarrassed to admit it - that they didn't see what the fuss is all about. That person's palate supersedes the mythology. If they don't like Blanton's they don't like Blanton's, and nobody can tell them anything different because their palate is their palate.
There are no wrong answers.
The same goes for almost anything else reviewers and critics assert are The Best, and largely for one everybody's palate is different. What Jim Murray might consider to be a superb scotch might be too peaty - or not peaty enough - for another consumer.
very important and unequivocal reason:
When I'm working with people on what it is they might like to drink I will inevitably wince when I get the question (usually from a novice) as to which bottle of (fill in the spirits name) is "the Best." I'll talk them down and let them know I can point out my favorites, or if they let me know their palates I can push them towards excellent versions of whatever it is they like.
I know what I like, and I'm pretty good at helping people find something they will like if they're open about their preferences.
But I won't ever tell someone a particular bottle of spirit is "the Best."
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