Drive through the corn belt, that much-debated grouping of states that runs roughly from Ohio, westwards and up to North Dakota, and you will see field after field of yellow corn. It’s no surprise — this is the crop that built the Midwest in the latter half of the 19th century. First domesticated an incredible 9,000 years ago in Mexico, and depicted as a religious symbol by Mayans, corn has long been an integral part of the food chain across the Americas. In the United States, corn farming boomed as railroads expanded west. But crops don’t remain limited to the field — they enter culture, daily life, and regional flavor, too. Corn palaces were a popular fad in the 1890s, maize mazes a fall treat since the 1990s, and ‘corn sweat’ quite literally affects the weather as plants release massive amounts of water vapor. Over time, the crop has become a deeply rooted part of culture and day-to-day life.
But the crop we see today is very different to the corn grown by Native Americans and those first pioneers who headed out west. Popularized after its appearance at the 1893 World Fair in Chicago, yellow dent corn became the main varietal for everything from cornmeal to syrup, ethanol, and, of course, bourbon whiskey. In 2020, world production was 1.1 billion tons. And while that’s unlikely to change any time soon, an increasing number of craft distillers are reaching for a broader color palette for their whiskey — from Hopi blue to deep-red Bloody Butcher, corn goes far beyond yellow dent and the Midwest. The heirloom varietals they are bringing back are starkly different to industrial agricultural products — they are open-pollinated, genetically diverse, and adapted to the regions where they are grown. Red, white, and blue are among the most popular colors — reflecting a bright America. Considering bourbon is at least 51 per cent corn by definition, this offers the potential for a whole new journey of flavor. Couple that with new stories of agriculture, and a shot of bright color will arrive to the drinks world.
At Jeptha Creed Distillery in Shelby County, Kentucky, corn and farming lie at the heart of everything. A member of the Estate Whiskey Alliance — an international group of producers committed to estate-grown craftsmanship — it is dedicated to the future of transparent, traceable whiskey production that starts at home. Yet Joyce Nethery, co-founder and master distiller, tells the story not of an ideological crusade, but rather the pursuit of the very best flavors bringing her to heirloom corn and the distillery’s signature Bloody Butcher.
“I started off wanting a good tasting tomato,” she explains. “You can’t get them at the grocery store anymore, so I started a garden and planted the hybrid varietals — beautiful, tidy plants. But I wanted the flavors I’d known growing up; the kind where you eat them right there in the garden because they’re so good.” Initially, despite her efforts, she had little luck. “The next year, I planted heirloom varietals — they grow and grow and the tomatoes can be funky looking, loved by bugs — but that’s where I found the flavor I was looking for! I branched out into other vegetables and found that it made a difference in all of them. Then I found people growing Bloody Butcher for their own cornbread, so I thought it could make good bourbon too!”
Setting up Jeptha Creed Distillery with her husband on his fifth-generation family farm, Nethery then found that she wasn’t alone in seeking out these bigger, bolder flavors of heirloom fruits, vegetables and grains. “We would watch deer sleep in the yellow corn field and then move to the Bloody Butcher field — the deer chose to go after the Bloody Butcher!” she laughs. Despite lower yield than commercial varietals, and the thieving wildlife, Nethery is sure that the deep flavors from heirloom corn are worth it. Consumers are also increasingly curious about where their whiskey comes from — they are interested in the story of more diverse, environmentally friendly production married with heritage.
For the millions of visitors to the Kentucky Bourbon Trail each year, farm-distilleries like Jeptha Creed offer a different kind of adventure to the industrial, big-name heritage producers. Seeing the fields of corn is evocative of exactly what you are eventually drinking, and events like their harvest festival in the fall place this at the center of a growing community of engaged bourbon lovers. “In my experience, whiskey enthusiasts are eager to understand every nuance of their favorite brands,” comments Nicole Volk, a PhD student at the Ohio State University. Her research dives into how agritourism and bourbon intersect to bring consumers into the field, even if their feet remain firmly planted indoors at a distillery. For Volk, it makes sense to bring the two worlds together, but more work still needs to happen around education on these connections. Nethery agrees that it takes a lot of explaining, yet it’s a task she’s keen to take on through Jeptha Creed. “The whole farm-to-table movement helps people understand ground-to-glass process,” she explains. And that’s exactly the point: placing food and drink back at the heart of the story of agriculture.
Head further south, and for a long time whiskey was a product produced far away. In the Lone Star State, Balcones’ Baby Blue was the very first Texan whiskey released since Prohibition. Rather than taking a stab at one of the prominent whiskey categories like rye or bourbon, the distillery chose to champion local, heirloom corn for its inaugural release. It was a success, and one that proved Texan whiskey could compete with the big players. Among the pioneers in the region, Balcones now stands proudly among 29 members of the Texas Whiskey Association.
“The founders wanted a grain from the region,” explains Balcones blending manager Gabriel RiCharde. “They were familiar with atole, and Hopi blue corn is from New Mexico, our neighboring state. We intentionally made a blue corn whiskey, not a bourbon, because it’s a heritage grain that potentially had never been turned into whiskey, so we wanted to showcase the delicious quintessential taste.” The result was a youthful and vibrant whiskey, reminiscent of Tequila and new make. It consciously takes rustic notes from the corn itself, rather than pursuing an oak-driven spirit, bringing a flavor profile that includes butterscotch, sweet tea, and homemade tortilla.
Today, the distillery has moved to utilize hybridized blue corn, grown for it by Sunny State Farm, located in the panhandle. A sense of place is key to Balcones’ whiskey philosophy and efforts — but Texas is not a simple environment for farming. “We are starting with something stark: a grain that’s had to go through a trial because of where it’s grown,” comments RiCharde. In Texas, this means little rain, high heat, and alkaline soil — all of which will impact the proteins, starches, and flavors in the end product. Yet what would be the purpose of whiskey, if we weren’t trying new things and pushing boundaries?
Like Jeptha Creed, Balcones is keen for its visitor experience to reflect the entire journey of its spirits. Focused on bringing the entire process under one roof, raw materials like corn and barley are displayed on tables for visitors to interact with. According to RiCharde, many of them are fascinated to hear of the local provenance of the blue corn. It takes the unfamiliar whiskey and anchors it to Texas, and traditions far older than the distillery itself. “If we’re not telling stories that root people in place, we’ll be a passing flash in the pan — we need rooting to agriculture.”
It can’t be denied that heirloom corn is currently still a niche topic within the whiskey world. Many drinkers still think that corn is simply yellow, remaining sadly unaware of the array of colors and hues growing in fields from Kentucky to Texas. And prices are high — RiCharde estimates that Balcones is paying about double the
cost of yellow dent for its current hybridized blue corn. Nethery talks in yield rather than cost, but her experiences reflect a similar story. She estimates that Jeptha Creed is averaging 80 to 100 bushels an acre, in comparison to approximately 250 bushels per acre for GMO.
But for both distilleries, the payoffs are worth it. Nethery considers it fundamental. “We put a lot of love into growing these corns. We have a lot of love in these bottles.” Despite costs, harvesting challenges, and the education work still needed, there’s little arguing with that.
