French Country Travel Life Whiskey. Not the first phrase that comes to mind when “Whiskey” is mentioned. N’est ce pas?

Scotland.Naturally. Kentucky. Of course. But France? Yes, Virginia, truth IS stranger than fiction. France DOES produce Whiskey. And why not? Certainly no lack of distilling experience! DA BG can testify to that.

The Wall Street Journal’s John Forsythe pours us a stirring verre of French Whiskey info

IN THE SLEEKLY appointed tasting room, the distillery director lined up seven of his products on the counter. “Here you have the blended whiskeys,” he said, pointing to two white-labeled bottles on my left. With a ceremonious wave of his hand above the other five bottles, he announced, “And the single-malt French.”

Far from Scotland or Kentucky, French distilleries—such as Warenghem in Lannion, where distillery director David Roussier was conducting my tasting—are concocting batches of malt spirit. And why not? Sweden, Belgium and other European nations are making waves in the whiskey world, and the French have centuries of distilling experience.

“French whiskey distilleries exist from the Alps to Corsica. I chose four across northern France.”

French singer Serge Gainsbourg, who was said to need a full bottle of whiskey just to walk on stage, would be proud: According to International Wine and Spirit Research, France is one of the world’s top three consumers of Scotch whisky.

I tripped onto French whiskey in 2004, when I was in Fougères on vacation and spotted a bottle in a liquor store. Its position on a high shelf suggested that no one ever asked for it. I did. It was Armorik, an early effort of Brittany-based Distillerie Warenghem. I found it smooth on the tongue but not memorable enough to have me skip traditional scotches.

Eight years on, I thought it was time to check back in on French whiskey. Since the drink’s character changes in the barrel, what was an unmemorable whiskey in 2004 might make for a tasty one now.

There is no shortage of skepticism about French whiskey. Tim Johnston, the Scottish owner of Juveniles Wine Bar in Paris, who has tasted some of the French product, told me by email, “In case of wartime, it would be good for cleaning wounds.” Yet English whiskey writer Jim Murray scored a recent Armorik Whisky Breton at 91, while other reviews have described French whiskeys as “delightful” and “light and fresh.”

French distilleries exist from the Alps to Corsica, but I chose Warenghem and three others within an easy drive across northern France.

I began at Distillerie Bertrand, a low-key operation in the small town of Uberach, Alsace. Known for its Poire William pear eau-de-vie, Bertrand began distilling spirits in 1874. It started to produce whiskey in 2002. I knew only that the distillery’s whiskey was considered “well made” by whiskey cognoscenti.

As distillery director Jean Metzger handed me a sample, he said, “The most important thing is the barrels. I use those from Banyuls wine.” Aging in oak barrels that formerly held Sherry, bourbon or wine typically gives whiskey color and flavor.

It tasted astringent. Mr. Metzger said his product improves yearly, and a newer sample did have more appeal. He said his whiskey still needed a few more years to become great. I agreed.

Two hundred miles to the west, in a Champagne woods, I found Distillerie Guillon, where part-time employee Pierre Bonnevie gamely searched for a common language in which to conduct a tasting for six of us, including couples from Paris and Cognac. Mr. Bonnevie directed us through a dozen of Guillon’s offerings, from the sweet Vin du Pays to the strong Tourbé Fort.

The selection at Guillon certainly showed quality, but much of it was exceedingly dry, resembling cognac. Mr. Bonnevie admitted, “We can’t put ‘whiskey’ on the label. I don’t know why.”

The European Union controls various aspects of distillation and maturation of whiskey, including the stipulation that only grain, yeast and water are used. I suspected the use of fruit at Guillon. I enjoyed the Tourbé, a smoky incantation, enough to purchase some, but is it whiskey?

Eddu, from Distillerie des Menhirs in the far west, is made with buckwheat. A Corsican spirit called P&M includes chestnuts. By definition, they may not be whiskeys, but if you like how a distillation tastes, does it matter?

My next stop was Brittany, an area settled by Celts. Highway signs are in French and Breton, the old Celtic language. Jean Donnay, a Parisian with no Celtic roots, founded Celtic Whisky Compagnie in 1997 to import whiskey to France. “Then I thought it would be a good thing to have some double maturation whiskey in France,” he said, so he bought a seaside farm and built the distillery Glann ar Mor (Breton for “By the Sea”).

Mr. Donnay claims first use of Sauternes casks, which impart a slight sweetness. He credits the Breton climate, with its salty air, for his whiskey’s distinctive, fiery personality. “Whiskey matures faster here,” he said.

Mr. Donnay poured his latest bottling of Glann ar Mor at three years, three weeks. (It’s not considered whiskey in Europe until it has aged three years.) It was light gold, with no caramel coloring. The taste was lively and mature. Next came Kornog, a peaty expression I was eager to try after reading reviews. I found it peppery and pleasurable. Mr. Donnay’s whiskeys are up-and-comers.

If I expected to return from this trip with a single concept of French whiskey, I was disabused of that outlook at every stop. Mr. Roussier, the director at Warenghem, producer of that first bottle I took down from the shelf eight years ago, emphasized the differences: “Jean Donnay makes very good whiskey, but it’s not like Armorik. Even in Scotland, you can get a highly peated whiskey and whiskey without any peat at all. And Scotland also produces some really crappy whiskey,” said Mr. Roussier, whose father-in-law is longtime Warenghem manager Gilles Leizour.

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The French Oak Wine Secret?  There’s only one. At least only one known to DA BG. Who, truth be told, has seen his share of  French Oak Barrels. The kind filled with full-bodied French Wine. (And isn’t that the best kind?)

Ok – so the “secret” – it’s not a technique, but a simple factoid of History. Ya see, back when Napoleon was a boy, French Oak was grown to eventually morph into ships. The sailing down the rivers loaded with cargo kind.

But when it was discovered that the tannins in the wood did magical things to the tannins in wine – voila! – an industry, and a tradition was born:

Our tannin appreciating colleagues at myfoodinsider.com have the rest of the boats to wine story…

“France’s towering oak forests, first cultivated generations ago for Louis XIV’s warships, today provide the raw material for the barrels that help produce the best wines of Bordeaux, perhaps the finest expression of the heady alchemy between oak and wine.“We are lucky in our business, because these trees were initially meant for naval construction, not barrels,” admits Jean-Luc Sylvain, a third-generation barrel-maker, or cooper, and CEO of Tonnellerie Sylvain in the south west of France.

“But the fact that we selected and cultivated a variety of oak and forced it to grow in height not girth, has a chemical effect, which has a consequence for wine.

“There is something that happens between the oak tannins and the wine tannins, you have a marriage, an alchemy that takes place in the barrel.”

With an annual production of 500,000 barrels, France’s coopers dominate the global trade, relying on the forests first cultivated on the orders of Jean-Baptiste Colbert, minister under Louis XIV in the 17th century, in his effort to produce tall, perfect oaks to build a navy capable of challenging England’s maritime dominance.

“We are the only country in the world to cultivate oak,” said Sylvain, with each generation tending saplings that won’t reach their prime for another 200 years.

“These trees are more appropriate for making wine barrels than what you can find naturally in the forest.”

The French forests are managed to encourage tall, exceptional trees without branches or knots. The result is timber with a tight grain and the quality of tannins and aromas that improve wine, says Sylvain.

But that is a recent discovery. The humble barrel has spent most of its long relationship with wine serving two mundane purposes — storage and transportation.

Winemakers discovered the barrel’s true calling at a point when many were abandoning it due to its bad reputation for harbouring mould, and ruining the wine. Only when cement and stainless steel became available did its true worth reveal itself.

“They noticed something was missing in the wine not aged in the barrel,” said Sylvain.

Research in the 1970s and 80s showed that a clean oak barrel was an invaluable multi-tasker.

“The tannins in the wood balance with the tannins in the wine, and it helps develop aromas,” said Charles Chevallier, director of Domaines Barons de Rothschild, including Chateau Lafite, one of Bordeaux’s elite properties.

Lafite is one of the few estates to run its own cooperage, crafting 2,400 bespoke barrels a year and providing in-house R&D on the marriage between wine and oak.

“For us, above all the barrel is a physical phenomenon. It allows for fining the wine with the racking of the lees every three months. When we put the wine in a small container, the sedimentation happens naturally,” said Chevallier.

“And the micro oxygenation that happens through the wood is necessary for aging fine wine.”

The barrel, as it turns out, excels as a discreet two-way escape route.

“During the barrel aging, water and alcohol evaporate, concentrating the wine, little by little, this is the angel’s share,” said Dominique de Beauregard, director of research and development at Chene and Company.

“There’s also a tiny amount of oxygen that enters. Only a barrel can do that. It’s terrific.”

Unfortunately for wine lovers, only a tiny splash of the world’s wine sees barrel time – around two percent according to the French federation of coopers, whose 50 members supply 80 per cent of the world’s wine barrels.

This is where oak chips and staves come in. An anathema to a grand cru classé producer, they are an economical option for wine that can’t justify the 600 euro price tag for a 225-litre barrel, say experts.

“Oenological wood is used for two main reasons: to imitate barrels or to augment the fruitiness in wine. For example, if you want to enhance the fruitiness, you can add granulated oak chips during fermentation. If you want to add barrel aromas, you can add staves to the finished wine. These are both used all over the world for ordinary wines,” said de Beauregard.

Adding aromas to the wine is one of oak’s more noticeable tasks.

Some aromas develop during cultivation, with different forests producing subtle differences, then the drying stage encourages sweet notes like vanilla while banishing bitterness, says de Beauregard.

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