Christopher and Jonathan Cook are too young to remember the glory days of local liquor, when the unmistakable perfume of Maryland rye wafted over parts of Baltimore, when the sturdy spirit enjoyed status as the real man's drink of the Chesapeake.Even so, the brothers, who grew up on the Eastern Shore, are the best hope of reviving Maryland's lost tradition.
The Cooks are poised to become the state's first distillers in nearly 40 years, as they blend and bottle a recipe for a premium wheat vodka they're calling Sloop Betty. The brothers know they are rewriting a chapter in Maryland history, even as they quench regional cocktail enthusiasts' thirst for artisanal spirits and fulfill a dream shared by countless deskbound professionals — to use their hands to create something real.
"There's something about bringing that industry back that means something," Christopher Cook says. "There's a level of pride."
The Cooks, who both have federal government day jobs, have been working nights, weekends and holidays on their plan for seven years. In spring 2004, the two had been kicking around the idea of opening a restaurant. After one location fell through, Jonathan Cook, who's 33, was fooling around online, calling up pictures of random relics on the Maryland state archives website. He came across photos of dusty, beaten-up whiskey bottles, remains from the state's long-shuttered distilleries. He all but got chills.
A worn, pre-Prohibition shot glass from Ram's Horn whiskey somehow spoke to him. He immediately copied it into an e-mail to his older brother with the message, "an idea." Christopher, who's 41, quickly wrote back: "I'm intrigued."
And so it began.
They scribbled back and forth for most of the next week and, soon, they'd hatched a rough concept for bringing homegrown liquor back to Maryland. By fall they'd zeroed in on what they'd call their company: Blackwater Distilling, a nod to the serene nature preserve where the two former Eagle Scouts had camped as boys.
Still, neither brother had a lick of distilling experience. Neither of them had ever owned a business. And they weren't exactly sitting on piles of money.
The Cooks both enjoyed a nice drink — there was that. But the brothers would soon learn that enthusiasm would take them only so far in the complex, heavily regulated liquor industry.
"We thought, how hard could it be to get into this business?" Christopher says, laughing. "The answer is: very hard.
"We've had so many people tell us: 'You can't do this. You don't want to do this,'" he says. "If we knew then what we know now, I doubt we'd be here talking about this."
Maryland's distilling industry was once the nation's fifth-largest, with the state producing millions of gallons of whiskey, gin and vodka. Best known was Maryland rye, a heavy, dark and serious liquor bottled all around Baltimore under elegantly named brands such as Monticello, Hunter, Mount Vernon and Sherwood.
The uninitiated might wince as they quaffed it straight, but local rye loyalists boasted of their drink's acquired taste. In 1963, reporter Carl Schoettler described rye's lore in The Evening Sun. "Men who have spent their lives in the whiskey business talk about Maryland rye with the same fondness some men speak of hand-made guns, meerschaum pipes, fast horses and beautiful women."
Even so, most of the plants that made the celebrated rye — and all of the other local liquors — had stopped distilling by the 1970s. A few of the factories lived on, but with new lives as bottling and distribution plants. Pikesville rye, a brand particularly tied to Baltimore, is still for sale but is made entirely in Kentucky.
Lou Berman, who started with the state's alcohol and tobacco field enforcement office in 1976, just as Maryland's only surviving distilleries breathed their last gasp, says changes both in people's tastes and in the marketplace killed them. Whiskey was out of vogue, replaced by clear spirits such as vodka and gin. And independent, mom-and-pop factories couldn't compete with the new mega-spirit companies that owned the majority of popular brands.
As the only officer in his department that's had a chance of approving a distilling license in memory, Berman says he admires the Cooks' initiative — and he hopes he'll appreciate their vodka as well.
The Cooks, who both have federal government day jobs, have been working nights, weekends and holidays on their plan for seven years. In spring 2004, the two had been kicking around the idea of opening a restaurant. After one location fell through, Jonathan Cook, who's 33, was fooling around online, calling up pictures of random relics on the Maryland state archives website. He came across photos of dusty, beaten-up whiskey bottles, remains from the state's long-shuttered distilleries. He all but got chills.
A worn, pre-Prohibition shot glass from Ram's Horn whiskey somehow spoke to him. He immediately copied it into an e-mail to his older brother with the message, "an idea." Christopher, who's 41, quickly wrote back: "I'm intrigued."
And so it began.
They scribbled back and forth for most of the next week and, soon, they'd hatched a rough concept for bringing homegrown liquor back to Maryland. By fall they'd zeroed in on what they'd call their company: Blackwater Distilling, a nod to the serene nature preserve where the two former Eagle Scouts had camped as boys.
Still, neither brother had a lick of distilling experience. Neither of them had ever owned a business. And they weren't exactly sitting on piles of money.
The Cooks both enjoyed a nice drink — there was that. But the brothers would soon learn that enthusiasm would take them only so far in the complex, heavily regulated liquor industry.
"We thought, how hard could it be to get into this business?" Christopher says, laughing. "The answer is: very hard.
"We've had so many people tell us: 'You can't do this. You don't want to do this,'" he says. "If we knew then what we know now, I doubt we'd be here talking about this."
Maryland's distilling industry was once the nation's fifth-largest, with the state producing millions of gallons of whiskey, gin and vodka. Best known was Maryland rye, a heavy, dark and serious liquor bottled all around Baltimore under elegantly named brands such as Monticello, Hunter, Mount Vernon and Sherwood.
The uninitiated might wince as they quaffed it straight, but local rye loyalists boasted of their drink's acquired taste. In 1963, reporter Carl Schoettler described rye's lore in The Evening Sun. "Men who have spent their lives in the whiskey business talk about Maryland rye with the same fondness some men speak of hand-made guns, meerschaum pipes, fast horses and beautiful women."
Even so, most of the plants that made the celebrated rye — and all of the other local liquors — had stopped distilling by the 1970s. A few of the factories lived on, but with new lives as bottling and distribution plants. Pikesville rye, a brand particularly tied to Baltimore, is still for sale but is made entirely in Kentucky.
Lou Berman, who started with the state's alcohol and tobacco field enforcement office in 1976, just as Maryland's only surviving distilleries breathed their last gasp, says changes both in people's tastes and in the marketplace killed them. Whiskey was out of vogue, replaced by clear spirits such as vodka and gin. And independent, mom-and-pop factories couldn't compete with the new mega-spirit companies that owned the majority of popular brands.
As the only officer in his department that's had a chance of approving a distilling license in memory, Berman says he admires the Cooks' initiative — and he hopes he'll appreciate their vodka as well.
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