What Does 34 Year Old Bourbon Actually Taste Like?

I.W. Harper’s 34 year old bourbon arrives with three distinct narratives: the documented story, industry speculation, and the liquid truth. There’s no disputing, for example, this is the oldest release in I.W. Harper’s 150-year history, comprising four barrels laid down in 1989 and left to mature at Stitzel-Weller’s hallowed Kentucky facility.

Likewise, we know that, after three decades, that quartet of barrels yielded a scant 11 bottles of this expression, five of which are currently up for auction at Sotheby’s. (Which ends today—current bids exceeded $4,000 per bottle this morning.) We know the proof—63.1% ABV—and that the proceeds from the auction will go to benefit Native Son, a nonprofit to benefit Black gay and/or queer men.

The speculation begins with what’s actually in those bottles. Industry insiders believe bourbon distilled in 1989 and stored at Stitzel-Weller is likely Bernheim juice. It could also be Stitzel-Weller, one source told me, “but why wouldn’t Diageo [which owns Stitzel-Weller] just disclose that?” Another rumor: Diageo may have blended some of this liquid into the recently launched 24 year old Stitzel Reserve ($1,600). “This 34 year old would be a great tool to bring body to that 24,” another source told me.

Diageo’s press release is notably vague, describing the bourbon as “an experience meant to be understood first-hand,” rather than providing tasting notes. Having tasted it as a guest of Sotheby’s, I can tell you what that experience reveals.

First, context matters with 30-plus-year bourbon. “It’s incredibly hard to balance something with such age. Few have done it before,” says Zev Glesta, spirits specialist, and associate vice president of Sotheby’s. Even the world’s oldest bourbon, James Thompson & Brother “Final Reserve” 45 year old Kentucky straight bourbon, includes a warning note about “overpowering” tannins, and instructions for adding sherry to mitigate the oak assault.

The I.W. Harper 34 overwhelms from the first sniff. Past the ethanol burn, wood dominates—not refined aged oak, but something like a Popsicle stick that’s been drying for hours. Tropical fruit, cantaloupe, melon, and fresh-cut grass hide underneath.

The palate proves funkier still. Minty menthol hits first, then charred oak. The tip of my tongue feels like it’s licking toothpaste off a burned tongue depressor. Mid-palate brings musty barn funk and grippy tannins, plus a stone-ground mustard oil note that triggers coughing. Try sucking air in over the liquid to help it open up in your mouth, and you’ll cough more.

The monstrous mouthfeel is supremely oily, thick, and heavily viscous. It’s everything you’d hope a 34 year old bourbon would feel like; however, the flavor is concentrated in the wrong areas. “There are a lot of sharp edges in there that could use a bit of air,” Glesta says.

The finish is oddly short, evaporating faster if you open your mouth. It’s tannic and exceptionally drying. The final note is akin to pouring cherry Fun Dip in your mouth; a lot of puckering with a pop of synthetic fruit.

I ask Glesta whether buyers will find this actually drinkable. “This is for seasoned whiskey drinkers,” he says. “The novelty is so cool. How often can you drink anything from 1989 that’s fresh out of a barrel?”