Wait a bluegrass-pickin’ minute: Canadians are making Old-Fashioneds without Kentucky bourbon?
When you’re a Kentuckian in Canada, good southern manners dictate that you do as the Canadians do. Even if you’d prefer bourbon in your hooch.
MONTREAL ― Down a short flight of basement steps, Grumpys bar is well stocked with vodka, scotch, gin and other assorted spirits. Beside the bottles of booze, a sign commands with typical Canadian politeness: “A whiskey please.”
The Old-Fashioned is the first drink on the menu at this dark-paneled neighborhood dive, where the regulars can listen to live music and test their mastery of minutiae on trivia night.
“Make me an Old-Fashioned,” I instruct the bartender in an accent that has softened over the years but still points to my Kentucky roots.
A minute or two later, he slides my drink across the long wooden counter. The taste is familiar, but slightly different: Simple syrup, bitters, twisted orange peel and whiskey. Canadian whiskey.
Just a bluegrass-pickin’ minute. An Old-Fashioned without Kentucky bourbon?
Oh, Canada.
Starting in February, bars and liquor stores in Canada removed bourbon and other U.S.-made spirits and wines from their shelves to protest President Donald Trump’s tariff policies and his unwelcome suggestion that our northern neighbors become the 51st U.S. state.
Trump’s overtures have not gone over well in French-speaking Quebec or the other Canadian provinces. Canadians have found all kinds of ways to let the American president know what he can do with his scandaleux proposition. Some are proudly flying their country’s red-and-white Maple Leaf flag. Others are wearing T-shirts that declare “Canada Is Not For Sale.”
For their part, bartenders are serving up nationalist pride with a splash of Canadian-crafted booze: Canadian rye is now the preferred substitute for Kentucky bourbon in the Old-Fashioned and other whiskey-based drinks.
Confession time: I’m a sucker for a good Old-Fashioned. There’s something about that complex balance of sweetness and slightly bitter aftertaste that takes me back to Kentucky, where the cocktail is often served at outdoor barbeques or as a before – and sometimes after – drink at dinner parties.
When you’re in Canada, good southern manners dictate that you do as the Canadians do. Even if you’d prefer bourbon in your hooch.
So, with a nudge from my editor, I hatched a plan. I would drink my way across Montreal – all in the service of journalism, of course – and sample Old-Fashioneds made with different brands of Canadian rye.
Would the taste change with each pour of Canadian rye? Would the Canadian version still remind me of my old Kentucky home? After a few drinks, would I even care?
'The right thing to do'
Ram Krishnan, bearded, burly, tattooed and friendly, wipes down the bar at Grumpys and greets customers who wander in off the street. Krishnan is the bar’s managing partner. On any given night, he reckons, he knows 60% to 70% of the clientele by their first names.
Not all things American are banned at Grumpys.
On a recent Thursday afternoon, a TV mounted on the wall was tuned to American baseball (the Minnesota Twins vs. the Miami Marlins).
Americans are always welcome, Kirshnan said, and tourists from the United States who find themselves in the busy Ville-Marie neighborhood often stop in for a drink.
Krishnan emptied his shelves of American alcohol back in early March, even before Quebec’s liquor board, the Société des alcools du Québec, or SAQ, announced that bars and liquor stores would no longer be able to get U.S. wines and spirits.
“It felt like the right thing to do,” Krishnan said.
Before Trump’s tariff war, Kentucky exported nearly $42 million worth of bourbon to Canada every year. But American booze was never much of a staple at Grumpys. Just a few bottles were all Krishnan had in stock when he decided to quit selling U.S. spirits.
“I know my five bottles of booze on my little shelf aren’t going to make a big difference,” he said, “but it’s the principle that matters to us.”
Nor has the change had any real impact on business. All of the beers he sells are local, and there’s always plenty of Canadian and Irish whiskey on hand.
Krishnan did have to make a few minor tweaks to his cocktail menu.
He renamed one classic drink, made with whiskey, vermouth and Campari, to give it more of a Canadian flair. At Grumpys, the Boulevardier is now called the Boulevardi-eh.
How bourbon got its name is uncertain. But according to my friend Carla Harris Carlton, a blogger and author known as The Bourbon Babe, one legend suggests the name comes from Bourbon County, Kentucky, which New Orleans merchants supposedly thought produced the tastiest whiskey.
Whatever the name's origin, Krishnan started subbing Canadian rye in place of bourbon whenever someone ordered an Old-Fashioned. The basic recipe is the same. The only thing that’s different is the whiskey. Krishnan’s go-to is now J.P. Wiser’s, a classic Canadian rye packed with spices and sweetness.
Another confession: I wasn’t always a bourbon enthusiast. I never cared for bourbon mixed with Coke, a popular drink I found much too sweet. Then, a few years ago, a friend gifted me with a bottle of Woodford Reserve Double Oaked, suggested I add a drop of water to each pour and then drink it at room temperature.
That’s when I started to truly appreciate bourbon’s complex aromas and flavors. Eventually, I introduced myself to the Old-Fashioned.
Even in the United States, the Old-Fashioned is occasionally made with rye. The bourbon version, though, is far more popular, especially in Kentucky.
In the drink Krishnan made for me, the Canadian whiskey infuses the cocktail with hints of oak, toffee and cinnamon. Overall, the result is noticeably sweeter than the bourbon version. Krishnan attributes that to the simple syrup. He uses a generous dose of the sugary ingredient.
Grumpys customers have been supportive of the change, even those who are from the states, Krishnan said. Only one has made a stink when told American whiskey was off the menu. He was a Trump supporter. But he wasn’t American.
“It was, strangely enough,” Krishnan said, “a fellow from Australia.”
A vintage vibe, but no bourbon
On the southwestern side of town, Adrian “Curly” Micholuk pulls up a barstool and recalls his recent trip across the Kentucky Bourbon Trail, a collection of distilleries scattered across the central part of the Bluegrass State.
Micholuk is the owner and operations manager of Bar de Courcelle, a funky dive in the Saint-Henri neighborhood, which was once a working-class industrial area but, after gentrification, is now a hip spot where you’ll find artists and musicians mingling alongside lawyers and tech developers.
The bar, which occupies a busy street corner, has a vintage diner vibe, with a checkered floor and metal-clad countertops and tables. Red globe lights, suspended from the ceiling by long metal rods, are perched above the counter. An upright piano sits on a stage where local bands perform regularly.
A small sign attached to an exterior wall reminds customers, in English and French: “Respect the Hood: No screaming/music/drinks outside.”
Micholuk was one of several bar owners gifted last year with a trip to bourbon country by The Campari Group, which owns the Wild Turkey brand.
Bourbon drinkers are willing to travel, at home and abroad, to sample different brands. A few years ago, my friend Derek Crider and I decided to barhop across Washington, DC, where both of us live, to find out which establishment makes the best Old-Fashioned. We were just a few weeks into our mission when the Covid pandemic ended our research.
On Micholuk’s journey, “we went down to Kentucky, saw the distillers and everything,” he said. “Great people. It’s really a shame that this is hurting them.”
Great people or not, you won’t find Kentucky bourbon on the glass shelves at Bar de Courcelle. The bar’s only American-made spirit is a nearly empty bottle of Tennessee-crafted Jack Daniel’s that has been sitting around for months.
Micholuk wasn’t quick to join le boycottage of American booze. He had roughly 150 bottles in stock, mostly Wild Turkey, and, as a small business owner, couldn’t afford to sit on that much merchandise. He continued offering American spirits until he ran out, sometime in April. (Jack Daniel’s isn’t that popular with his customers, Micholuk said, which is why he still has a little left.) The SAQ’s decision in March left him unable to restock his supply of American spirits.
With bourbon no longer available, Micholuk has been forced to pivot more toward gins and scotches and any other spirits he could get his hands on. He’s also had to figure out different ways to make whiskey-based drinks, like the Old-Fashioned.
The one he plops down in front of me is made with two ounces of The Wild North, a Canadian blend of five- to seven-year-old whiskeys produced with northern Quebec spring water and barrels of oak grown in North American forests.
I take a sip. The taste is pleasant – not overly sweet, but not as harsh as some ryes tend to be. There are notes of caramel, vanilla and, naturally, oak.
Customers have noticed the change from bourbon to rye. About half are naturally curious and eager to try the Old-Fashioned with the Canadian whiskey. “If they’re an Old-Fashioned fanatic, which is probably the other 50%, they go, ‘Oh, you’re using rye now,’” Micholuk said. “But we’ve got no choice.”
His American customers often apologize on behalf of their country. On Canada Day, a couple from Texas wandered into the bar and showed their solidarity by trying every Canadian rye on the shelf.
'I've got to stand by my country'
Alain Ejeil steps behind the bar at Bidon Taverne Culinaire and searches for the right Canadian rye. He settles on a bottle of Canadian Club, a classic whiskey aged for 12 years. Then he goes to work.
He empties a tiny tube of brown sugar into the bottom of a crystal glass, adds a drop of water, mashes them together with a wooden muddler, and then mixes in ice cubes, two ounces of the whiskey and bitters. He tops the drink with a cherry and stirs. For the finish, he slightly burns an orange peel with a lighter flame, drops the rind into the glass and gives the liquid another stir.
Ejeil and his wife, Joyce Takla, are the owners of the restaurant in Saint-Lambert, a small, mostly residential city just across the Saint Lawrence River from downtown Montreal. The bartenders at Bidon and another restaurant the couple own have been making Old-Fashioneds with Canadian rye instead of bourbon since February.
Ejeil has nothing against Americans. He’s fond of them. He even likes Trump, especially his entrepreneurial instincts. But he knew he had to do something when Trump started to threaten Canada with tariffs and statehood.
“I’m Canadian – I’ve got to stand by my country,” he said.
The change meant some adjustments to his menu, especially his cocktails. Vegetables taste basically the same no matter where they’re grown. But a different whiskey can change the overall taste of a cocktail like the Old-Fashioned.
Ejeil and his staff learned to compensate for the Canadian rye, which can be a little harsher on the palate than bourbon. To get the right balance, they use the brown sugar to cut down on some of the bitterness and sour taste.
The end result is an Old-Fashioned with hints of vanilla and honey and a butterscotchy aftertaste. Even with the brown sugar, the cocktail is a little more bitter than those made with bourbon.
After a few sips, though, the taste buds adapt, the harsher edges soften, and you end up with an enjoyable cocktail – one that even a bourbon drinker from Kentucky can appreciate.
When there’s no bourbon to be had.
Michael Collins is a national correspondent who writes about the intersection of politics and culture. He has covered the White House and Congress and is a member of the Kentucky Journalism Hall of Fame. Follow him on X @mcollinsNEWS.