That’s the Spirit

As the cost of agriculture rises, some farmers are turning to alcohol (literally) to forget all their troubles.

“There’s just something about the apple. It’s associated with the Garden of Eden. It’s sexy. It’s intelligent – think about Isaac Newton.” Meet Derek Grout,  third-generation apple farmer, still in awe of the fruit with which his family is so intertwined. And there’s apple pie, that all-American symbol of wholesomeness, I offer. “Yes, but even that’s got a naughty side,” Grout smiles slyly. “Remember American Pie?” Touché.

We’re standing in the warehouse between the Golden Harvest Farms store (which sells its famous apple-cider doughnuts alongside preserve jars, bushels of apples and bottled cider) and some 200 acres of apple orchards in Valatie, in New York’s Hudson Valley, which Grout’s maternal grandfather purchased in the 1950s. Grout and business partner Tom Crowell are just a few weeks into a new chapter in the family business – premium, triple-distilled vodka made from apple cider – joining a burgeoning number of farmers fashioning premium spirits from, well, whatever they’re growing. Which explains the presence of all that nautical-looking German-made distilling gear amid the cider presses. “This has the potential to draw a totally different demographic to the farm,” Grout muses.

Corn, wheat and potatoes fetch a much better price when transformed through fermentation and decanted into a bottle.

As micro-distilling gains momentum on this continent, especially in the U.S., where states have begun updating Prohibition-era, anti-moonshine laws forbidding small-scale production, farmers are getting in on the game. They’re learning that corn, wheat or potato crops, transformed through the magic of fermentation and decanted into an alluring bottle, fetch a much better price than they might from the grocery-chain wholesale buyers.

But this is no amateur stab at spirit making. Grout is quick to point out that his new libation isn’t a wimpy fruit liqueur or artificially flavoured grain spirit but a pure, neutral vodka with only a whisper of apple on the nose (but even that may be psychological, he says). And he’s right: The smell of batch number one is delicate with the tiniest hint of fresh fruit – or am I imagining it? – and possibly the smoothest finish my non-expert palate has ever encountered in a vodka. “The Hudson Valley was once known for its whiskey production, and the pilgrims brought over their cider-drinking tradition. I’m combining two strains of history by making spirits with cider.”

Ralph Erenzo is a friend of farmers. As he talks about the potential positive effects of micro-booze on small-scale agriculture, his eyes light up. It’s hard to imagine that just a couple of years ago he was running a climbing gym in Manhattan. “Farmers, who are struggling to make ends meet, have got developers banging on their doors with big fat cheques,” he tells me. In 2006, Erenzo and business partner Brian Lee launched the first whiskey made in New York since Prohibition. Based in the sleepy town of Gardiner, about 130 kilometres south of Valatie, Tuthilltown Spirits’ distillery is housed in a converted 18th-century granary; it depends on local farmers to supply the corn for its corn-based whiskey and bourbon, and the apples for its apple-based vodka. “This is an opportunity to turn things around and make even the smallest family farm profitable. We pay top dollar for their product.”