1990s Old Grand-Dad 114 Review: When Past Pours Meet Present Palate
- Jes Smyth
- Jun 17
- 5 min read
Updated: Jun 22
The past is in the past, unless it’s a bottle of whiskey waiting to be opened. Then, eventually, the past will be held in a glass. There’s much we can learn from our past, valuable life lessons worth ushering into our present. I would argue, however, that these opportunities for growth are often squashed by our stubbornness for a righteous loyalty, where we risk remaining stagnant in our outdated beliefs, only to endure mediocre modern thoughts (or whiskey, as is my intended parallel here). Perhaps, though, we should lament what has come and gone, never to return—and ask ourselves why. Why have things changed so much? Is this starting to read like a late-night conversation around a crackling fire with a glass of whiskey in hand? Good. I’ve done my job so far.
Old Grand-Dad 114 has been a staple of mine from the very beginning. For the price, this bottle has proven to be a tried-and-true pour, with a tasting profile flavorful enough to keep things interesting... until recently. I believe it was a slow decline of affinity, or more accurately, a slow push to the back of my shelf. I would think of Old Grand-Dad 114 from time to time, like a friend whom I ought to reach out to. Someone I admire, but for whatever reason, I've fallen away from. Why hadn’t I reached for OGD 114 as I had once before? I doubt anyone would argue that the whiskey options available nowadays are scarce, so perhaps this was just a casualty of availability. It was with this mindset that I returned to OGD 114. Unfortunately, what I tasted was something entirely different than what had captured my attention so ardently in the past. This pour, with great generosity, did not please my palate. I set my glass down, dumbfounded, and realized… this was a turning point—a fork in the road. I could either stubbornly stick with a bottle (and brand) I loved, or accept that perhaps my palate was growing out of this particular flavor profile. But was it entirely my palate’s fault? Or was my palate revealing a truth I wasn’t yet ready to accept? Modern-day whiskey cannot stand up to its past.
There are a multitude of reasons why modern whiskey tastes so wildly different (in some cases) from vintage whiskey. I’m not an expert in the field of vintage whiskey, nor do I claim to be anyone other than an enthusiast with a curious palate as a result of incredible tasting opportunities from vintage examples of the spirit I love. I think a large part of the canyon between vintage and modern whiskey is due to differences in grain, cooperage, and greed. If you know me at all, you know I won’t disturb the fermentation tank, if you will, and swirl my finger too deeply into those topics. What I am offering here, however, is a real example of a modern palate experiencing a shift and reporting on those results.
Recently, I had the opportunity to taste through a 1990s example of Old Grand-Dad 114, thanks to the generosity of my co-writer Nick Anderson. What makes this dusty bourbon specifically unique is the year, which is likely around 1992 based on the glass stamp, four years after Jim Beam acquired National Distillers Company. The lore, as I understand it, is that Jim Beam began mixing their whiskey into the already available National Distillers stock, so it’s possible that this example has some traces of Beam in it. Let's dive into this dusty and explore all it has to offer, shall we?
Company on Label: The Old Grand-Dad Distillery Company
Whiskey Type: Bourbon
Mash Bill Percentages: 63% Corn, 27% Rye, 10% Barley
Proof: 114°
Age: NAS
MSRP: Unavailable for purchase
Further Identification: This bottle was sold by the Jim Beam distillery during the transition years after the purchase of National Distillers, which lists "Lot No. 1" on the back of the label
Nose: The volume wafting out of the glass is remarkable. My eyes are closed in anticipation of what's to come, which starts with an abundance of butteriness. Wow. Vanilla shortbread cookies, brown sugar, and butterscotch candies dominate before a wet, oaky funk takes over, a reminder that this is not modern-day whiskey. Entranced by this pour already, I endeavor to swirl and am rewarded with warm bread dough, powdered sugar, and ground cinnamon. I can comfortably nose my glencarin without much notice of the proof, and in doing so, I find a slight tropical note, amplifying an already complex and enticing experience. I can wait no longer; it's time for a sip. Returning to the nose, I am pleased to find silky caramel drizzled over vanilla biscotti, and now, interestingly enough, a slight nut aroma, perhaps macadamia or a similar mild nut. As the liquid continues to disappear, the proof of this pour begins to show itself, but in an expected and well-deserved way. Sometimes vintage whiskeys can lose their aroma when you sit with them for a long time. That is not the case here. In fact, I think the nosing experience near the end has become more dynamic, with a fizziness that reminds me of the creamy bubbles of a freshly poured root beer. As the liquid diminishes, the empty glass smells of honeysuckle, marshmallows, and graham cracker crust.
Palate: Oh, yes. This. Dusty funk laces beautifully with butterscotch and vanilla. Is there such a thing as brown sugar ice cream? Because there should be, and this pour would absolutely mimic those flavors. Wow, though, this is dynamic! A second sip reveals hot-off-the-griddle pancakes with a pad of melted butter dripping down the sides, with a finish of cinnamon. The linger is long and highlights a light molasses flavor, mild yet sticky. Goodness, this mouthfeel is creamy, precisely as the nose had, not so subtly, led me to believe. With each sip, the flavors build on what was first observed. The funky oak remains consistent and welcome throughout. As I sip more of the liquid, I notice a bit more earthiness on my palate, reminding me of prairie grasses dotted with sparkling drops of morning dew. There's also a prominent cream soda note now, bubbly like on the nose at this stage in the tasting experience. I also notice a slight decline in the multitude of flavors compared to the first couple of sips, not necessarily becoming one noted, but definitely tiring out here near the end. My final sip is predominantly butterscotch forward as the oaky funk lingers, leaving me with the question that has lingered in my mind the entire time: Why does modern-day whiskey taste so different from this?
TL;DR: creamy, complex, and unlike any example available on the shelves today
Rating: 4.5/5
This isn't the Old Grand-Dad of today, that's for sure. What I can say with utter confidence is that this smells and tastes utterly different than what you have on your shelf if you're sipping on James B Beam distillate, and it's leaps and bounds better, in my opinion. The bigger question now (and one I know I'm not alone in asking) is whether modern-day distillers can find a way back to what was with what is presently available to them. I believe it's possible—if we can revert the changes we've seen in grain, cooperage, and greed, and focus more on pot distillation and lower barrel entry proof.
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