I love the Bulleit guys. I have honestly never met friendlier people in the course of my travels. Gracious, honest, and plain spoken, I’d drink Bulleit even if it tasted like swill just because I think it would make me a better person.

Fortunately, Bulleit’s “Frontier Whiskey” is plenty good going down the hatch. Bulleit calls it “reminiscent of our frontier heritage.” I call it reminiscent of Jack Daniel’s. It’s an honest, old-school, rough-around-the-edges bourbon with a real kick. It’s a 90 proof gut-puncher (crafted from a 175-year-old recipe) that gives off the flavor of its charred oak barrels more than anything else: Bulleit spends six years-plus in those barrels, making it a woody and smoky quaff, but a smooth one if tempered a touch with water.

Bulleit makes for a great blending whiskey with strong mixers like Coke, but it is less exciting when served neat. The smoke is just too overpowering for my tastes, making it hard to pick up much complexity; I prefer more sweetness in straight whiskey than Bulleit gives you. But if you like that heavy smoke-’n'-oak flavor, this is your concoction, bubby. (Damn if I don’t love that bottle, too.)

B+ / $20 / bulleitbourbon.com

This is a classic sipping bourbon. Once you get through the alcoholic heat (splash some water in the glass; at 100 proof it needs it), you’ll find a rich, oaky flavor, some maple syrup, some vanilla, and a nicely sweet finish. The vague herbal notes are interesting, and picking them out — sage? rosemary? it’s so elusive — are what will keep you refilling your glass from the curiously square decanter.

Not familiar with Four Roses? This brand dates back to the 1860s and was the best-selling bourbon in the U.S. from the 1930s to the 1950s. The brand has been available solely overseas ever since (it’s the best-selling bourbon in Japan today), and is now owned by Kirin. It began a slow reintroduction to the U.S. in 2002, hitting New York in April 2007 and moving into additional states next year. Keep an eye out for it and good luck in your hunt!

A- / about $40 / fourroses.us

Need a pick-me-up to go with all those Thanksgiving leftovers? Try this — utterly holiday appropriate — little concoction.

The Turkey Trot
1 1/4 oz. bourbon
3/4 oz. cranberry juice
1/4 oz. Licor 43

Shake with ice in a cocktail shaker, strain into a cocktail glass, and garnish with a cranberry.

Add more bourbon for something a little less sweet, more stout.

Photo: Eric Meyerson.

I came to Wild Turkey’s latest bottling, American Spirit, with much excitement: It’s a 15-year-old bonded bourbon, 100 proof, produced in small batches, and limited to 24,000 bottles worldwide. What’s not to like?

Unfortunately, there’s not much excitement once it hits the glass. This is a smooth bourbon, but its vanilla, caramel, and woody flavors just aren’t all that well integrated. It pings you with some light flavor notes, then vanishes. There’s little finish to speak of: It goes down easy, but that’s not really a good thing here.

For $90 a bottle (complete with wood case, commemorative coins, etc.), more attention has clearly been paid to packaging than to the bourbon itself. If not for the price, it’d make a perfect mixing whiskey. Alas, you can get that job done just as well for a fifth of the price.

B- / $90 / wildturkeybourbon.com

There’s a dearth of good, affordable rye whiskey on the market. While I swear by Old Overholt, I welcome competition in the form of Russell’s Reserve (from the same folks that make Wild Turkey), a rye that, at $25, isn’t as cheap as Overholt but isn’t in the stratosphere like some high-end bottlings.

Russell’s is a classic rye, aged six years. It’s very spicy and perfect for straight drinking or mixing into a Sazerac or Rye Manhattan. Aside from a strong sense of that peppery cinnamon heat and a kick of almond and vanilla-laced oak, you won’t find much more to get in the way of the flavor. I’d even go so far as to characterize this is a perfect “beginner’s rye,” though I’m finding it quite pleasant as an old school rye man, myself.

At 90 proof, it’s slightly more alcoholic than Overholt (and you’ll notice it unless you cut it with water). Otherwise, a perfectly capable, classic bottle of rye. (It doesn’t appear to be on the market anywhere yet; below you’ll find a photo of the tiny sampler bottle. I’m not entirely sure how the final product will look!) Updated with final product photo; Russell’s says it is now on store shelves, so watch for it.

A- / $25 / wildturkeybourbon.com

Chivas Regal is one of the old reliable names of blended scotches. You probably cringe when you see, oh, Cutty Sark on the bar at a private event, right? But Chivas, yeah, that’s a name you can can behind for a shot or two.

This month, Chivas Brothers rolls out an ultra-high-end 25-year-old blend, inspired by the company’s first “Chivas Regal” blend, a 25-year-old bottling rolled out in 1909 that vanished during the Prohibition era. I can’t offer any opinion on the validity of the statement, but Chivas says that 1909 blend was “the world’s first luxury Scotch.”

I’m happy to report the stuff is good. Really good. It’s predominantly floral, with fruit and notes (apple, almond), and a light finish that you’re not expecting, given the deep orange/amber of the drink itself. This is a gorgeous Scotch as good as any single malt I’ve had. (And considering the price tag, it better be.)

A / $300 / chivasregal.com

By now you know the saga of Tay Zonday’s “Chocolate Rain.” Well, the best way to listen to “Chocolate Rain” is to have at least two of these under your belt beforehand.

This recipe didn’t take much experimentation and it came out great. Plus, it’s appropriate for either an aperitif or a dessert drink.

The Chocolate Rain
1 1/2 oz. bourbon
3/4 oz. chocolate liqueur (I use Godiva’s)
1/4 oz. Licor 43

Shake in a cocktail shaker with ice. Strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with brandied raspberries. Maraschino cherries will work, too.

My wife, who’s not a whiskey drinker, but is most certainly a chocolate drinker, even enjoys it. Give it a spin.

Licor 43, by the way, is a Spanish liqueur with a pronounced vanilla flavor. It works perfectly with chocolate-based drinks and very well with coffee liqueurs as well. Many liquor stores are stocking it now, and it’s well worth grabbing a bottle of if you’re trying to build up a home bar.

When people see my home bar their eyes tend to glaze over. I have everything you could want, which leaves people too overwhelmed to figure out what they really want to drink. When they ask me to surprise them, I make a Sazerac.

Since it doesn’t require any fresh ingredients like lemon juice, the Sazerac is easy to make in a pinch if I haven’t been to the grocery store recently. It is also fairly simple and has a story behind it. The one I tell is that it’s one of the oldest cocktails ever made (dating back to 1859, though the recipe has evolved). It originated in New Orleans, where they say the tourists drink Hurricanes, but the locals drink Sazeracs. I like that.

Here’s how I make it:

The Sazerac
1 tsp. Absinthe liqueur (preferably Herbsaint)
1 1/2 to 2 oz. Rye Whiskey (preferably Old Overholt)
1 sugar cube
several dashes Peychaud’s bitters

Coat the inside of a cocktail glass with the Herbsaint and pour out the excess. Shake the remaining ingredients in a cocktail shaker with lots of ice. Garnish with a lemon twist.

Caveat: You have to like absinthe (that is, licorice) to enjoy the Sazerac, but it’s not overpowering in the drink. A good Sazerac has that classic rye kick, balanced by the sweetness of the sugar. If you like an Old-Fashioned, you ought to love a Sazerac.

I’ve seen this made with numerous variations. Chenery Park restaurant, a local haunt, makes it with, of all things, Crown Royal. Canadian whiskey in a Sazerac is about as heretical as it comes, but the drink isn’t bad. It’s perfectly palatable, but lacks the rye spiciness that makes the cocktail so memorable. You may not use Old Overholt (though it’s so good and so cheap I don’t know why you wouldn’t), but for Pete’s sake don’t use foreign whiskey in this all-American drink. Some also serve the drink in an old-fashioned glass, but I like the way the residual sugar pools at the bottom of a cocktail glass. If you don’t like that rush of sweetness at the end, sub in simple syrup instead of granulated sugar.