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" Like any good liberal, I take a deep and abiding pleasure in buying foodstuffs with which I share a congressperson. Nothing rivals the warm, fuzzy feeling of befriending a butcher who traffics in locally raised loin, and five bucks a head seems a small price to pay for lettuces paying Brooklyn rent. It&amp;#039;s tempting, therefore, to fall into the trap of drinking local. There are more than four hundred craft distilleries in the United States today, and given the big players&amp;#039; brute efficiency in turning out largely excellent products, one of the main ways in which the little guys distinguish themselves is by appealing to our locavore instincts, marketing the romance of drinking something bottled in the neighborhood. But where spirits differ from livestock or lettuce is in their distinguished history of long-distance trade. At one time, liquor was a popular medium of exchange exactly because of its exceptional shelf stability. Spirits are generally not ruined by time and distance. And in the case of whiskey in particular, one man is making a compelling case that transit can actually improve it. Trey Zoeller, founder of Kentucky-based boutique bourbon brand Jefferson&amp;#039;s, is as eager as the next guy to release mature whiskeys onto a ravenous market, but hasn&amp;#039;t resorted to any of the experimental (and defiantly unromantic) tactics being used by young distilleries to accelerate the aging process: using tiny casks and agitating them with thumping music or ultrasonic waves, or employing pressure to force the interaction between the spirit and the wood. The son of prominent bourbon historian Chester Zoeller, Trey decided instead to look to the industry&amp;#039;s past for inspiration. See, bourbon used to travel to market in New Orleans by barge, floating down the Ohio and Mississippi rivers for several weeks or even months; spirits destined for sale on the East Coast were piled onto ships in the Gulf of Mexico and sailed up the Atlantic coast. Time on the water would have impacted the whiskey&amp;#039;s flavor, and Trey wanted to know how. So he got in touch with a friend who captains a research boat and asked to load a few barrels on board before the vessel meandered around the globe. When Trey retrieved the casks more than three years later, he found that the combination of the rocking and swaying boat, swings in temperature, and exposure to salt air created a drink quite unlike anything aged in a Kentucky barrel house. Not only was the result as dark and thick as a far older bourbon, but it also possessed a salty quality typically found in Islay Scotch, combined with a rumlike brown-sugar sweetness. Now, Trey has fine-tuned the process and repeated it at scale, sending sixty-two barrels of seven- and eight-year-old whiskey out to sea for seven months. The barrels hit forty ports on five continents, crossing the equator four times on their way. The result, dubbed Jefferson&amp;#039;s Ocean II, is on shelves now. It&amp;#039;s a unique and wonderful bourbon, as captivating for its flavor as its clever melding of innovation and heritage.  Jefferson&amp;#039;s Ocean II, 45% ABV; $70. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.esquire.com/food-drink/drinks/a27720/jeffersons-ocean-bourbon-review/>