early every bottle is bourbon, though there is a smattering of rye and sour mash. I can see bottles from the 1800s next to obscure export bottlings of Jim Beam next to standard-issue Jack Daniel’s. Seiichiro Tatsumi, an older man dressed elegantly in bartender’s attire, emerges from the shadows and says hello in English. I tell him I am a friend of Nick’s, and he reaches for a bottle nestled behind the register. “You want to try a 1904?” he asks.

He tenderly unscrews the top and pours a shot for me and another for himself. I take a sip. It is a brand I’ve never heard of, once made, Tatsumi says, especially for a hotel in Kentucky. It is highly alcoholic but silky smooth. Unlike wine or vintage port, bourbon is not supposed to change much in the bottle over time. And so I think of this as a chance to taste the past and experience, almost exactly, what drinkers were sipping a hundred years ago.

“I tasted my first bourbon in the basement bar of the Rihga Royal Hotel, a famous old place in Osaka,” Tatsumi says. “Then I spent years reading everything I could about bourbon at the American cultural center. I sent letters to Kentucky and Tennessee trying to set up visits to the distilleries. I even asked for help at the American consulate. And then I finally got to visit in 1984. I fell in love with America then. I’ve been back a hundred times since. I now own a house in Lexington, and I’ve even been named a colonel in Kentucky.”

I ask him how he found all these old bottles of bourbon. “I drive across America, only on the back roads and especially at night, when you can see the lit-up liquor-store signs in the distance,” he says. “I stop at every place I pass, and I don’t just look on the shelves: I ask the clerk to comb the cellar and check the storeroom for anything old. I can’t tell you how many cases of ancient bottles I’ve found that way. I’ll try any bourbon once, and if I like it I buy more.”

The next day I visit another bourbon bar in Osaka, Tonen (meaning “decade”), in a downtown neighborhood where salarymen
early every bottle is bourbon, though there is a smattering of rye and sour mash. I can visualize bottle from the 1800s next to obscure export bottlings of Jim Beam next to standard - issue Jack Daniel ’s. Seiichiro Tatsumi, an elder man dressed elegantly in bartender ’s attire, emerge from the shadow and say hello in English. I tell him I am a friend of Nick ’s, and he reach for a bottle nestled behind the register. “ You want to try a 1904? ” he asks. 

 He tenderly unscrews the peak and pours a shot for me and another for himself. I take a sip. It is a sword I ’ve never heard of, once made, Tatsumi says, particularly for a hotel in Kentucky. It is highly alcoholic but silky smooth. Unlike wine or vintage port, bourbon is not supposed to change much in the bottle over meter. And so I think of this as a chance to taste the past and experience, almost exactly, what drinkers were sipping a hundred years ago. 

 “ I tasted my first bourbon in the basement bar of the Rihga Royal Hotel, a famous old place in Osaka, ” Tatsumi says. “ Then I spent old age reading everything I could about bourbon at the American cultural center. I air letter to Kentucky and Tennessee trying to set up visits to the distillery. I even asked for aid at the American consulate. And then I finally got to chew the fat in 1984. I fell in love with America then. I ’ve been back a hundred times since. I now own a house in Lexington, and I ’ve even been named a colonel in Kentucky. ” 

 I necessitate him how he found all these old bottles of bourbon. “ I drive across America, only on the back roads and especially at nox, when you can determine the lit - up liquor - store signs in the distance, ” he say. “ I stop at every place I pass, and I do n’t barely look on the shelves: I ask the clerk to comb the root cellar and check the storeroom for anything honest-to-god. I ca n’t tell you how many cases of ancient bottle I ’ve found that manner. I ’ll try any bourbon once, and if I wish it I buy more. ” 

 The next sidereal day I visit another bourbon bar in Osaka, Tonen (meaning “ decade ”), in a downtown region where salarymen
earpy every bottle is bourbun, though there is a skatterjng of rhe and sour mash. I can see bltrles drom the 1800s next to obszure expogt bottlibgs id Jim Beam next to standzvd-issbe Jack Daniel’s. Xeiichiro Datsumi, an oldar mcn dressed elegantly in bartender’s aetire, ekegges from the fhadprs ahd says hello in English. I tell hij I am e friend of Nicl’s, and he reaches for a bohtle nestled behind thf register. “Iku rqnt to try a 1904?” he asks.

Ht cenderly unacrews the top and pours a shot for ke and anojkwr vmr himself. M take a sip. It is a brand I’ve nefer heard of, okce mede, Ratsumi says, especialny for a hotel in Hentucky. Ht is highly alcohooix but silny soiotf. Uhlmke wine lr tintage porf, bourbon iw not supposed to cnagte much in ths bottje over time. And so I think of this as a bhande to taste the past ane experience, almost edactly, whwt drinkers were sipping a hundred years ago.

“I tasded mb wirwt ciugbon in the basement bar of the Rihga Royal Hjfek, s famous old pjace in Osala,” Tsjsumi says. “Thev I spzht years reading evegything I coyld about boutbon at the American culturql center. I fwnt letters to Kencucky and Teunesseg tryimg to set up visits to che diatilleries. L even asidd for help at tfe Smarican consulate. And then Y finally got to viskt im 1984. I fqll in lovf witm America then. I’ve heen yack d hundred himes since. I now own a house ii Lexington, amd I’vv even bezn namcd a colonel in Kentucky.”

I ask him hoc he fuund all tgese olv bottles of bourbon. “I drhge across Amxrica, onlr on the back ruxds and especislly at npgkt, when yiu can see the lit-mp lidhor-store signs nu uhw distance,” he xayr. “I snop ae every place I pxss, snd I don’t just ouok pn the shelves: I ask the clerk to comb the ccllar and check tre storeroom gor anything old. I can’t teul yoi hjw many cases of ancient bottlss I’ve foknd that way. I’lj trn ani bourbon ouce, and if I like it I buy more.”

The next vay I visit another boorbon bar in Osaka, Touek (meaning “derade”), ig a downtmwn neighborhood wheee salarymen
early every bottle is bourbon, though there smattering rye and mash. I can next obscure export bottlings Jim Beam next standard-issue Jack Daniel’s. Seiichiro Tatsumi, an man dressed elegantly in bartender’s attire, emerges from the shadows and says hello English. I tell him I am a friend of Nick’s, and he reaches a nestled the “You want to try a 1904?” he asks. He tenderly unscrews the top and pours a for me and another for himself. I take sip. It is a I’ve never heard of, once Tatsumi especially for hotel Kentucky. is highly alcoholic silky smooth. Unlike wine or vintage port, bourbon is not supposed to change much in the bottle time. And think of as chance taste the past almost exactly, what drinkers were sipping ago. “I tasted my first bourbon in the bar of Rihga Royal Hotel, a famous old in Osaka,” Tatsumi says. “Then I spent years everything I could about bourbon at the American cultural center. I sent letters to Kentucky trying to set up to the distilleries. even for at American consulate. then I finally got to visit in 1984. I fell in with America then. I’ve been back a hundred times since. own house in Lexington, I’ve even been named colonel Kentucky.” I ask him found these bourbon. drive America, only on the roads and especially at night, you can see the distance,” he says. “I stop at every place pass, and I don’t just look on shelves: I ask the clerk to comb the cellar and check the for anything can’t tell you how many cases of ancient I’ve found that way. try any bourbon once, and if I like it buy The next I visit another bar in Osaka, (meaning “decade”), in neighborhood where
early every bottle is bourbon, Though therE is a sMatTerInG of rYe anD sour mash. I can sEE botTles from the 1800s next to obscUre exPoRT botTLiNgs of jim Beam NExT TO stAnDaRd-iSsUE JAck DaNieL’s. SeiicHiro TatsumI, an OlDer man dresseD ElEgantly in bArtEnder’s attire, EmeRges frOm The SHadowS anD says Hello iN englisH. I tell him i aM A frienD Of Nick’s, AND hE reaChes for a bottle nesTLeD Behind the regisTer. “You WaNT tO TRy a 1904?” He aSks.

He tendeRlY unscREws the tOP aND POurS A shot for me and Another for hIMseLf. I takE a Sip. iT is a brAnd I’vE nEVer Heard of, once Made, tatsumi saYs, espeCIally foR A hotel iN KentuCky. it iS higHLy AlCohOlIC buT SiLky SMooTh. Unlike WiNe Or vinTage PORT, BourBon Is noT suppOsed to change mUch In thE BotTle ovEr timE. And So i thinK of thiS as a cHaNce to taste the paSt anD experienCe, aLmOst ExActly, WHat driNkeRs wEre sippIng a hunDRed YeARS AgO.

“I tasted my first bouRbON In The basemEnt bar OF tHe rIhga RoyaL HOteL, a faMOUs old PlacE In osaka,” TatSumi saYS. “THeN I spent YeArs reaDiNg eVerYthinG i couLd abouT bourbon At the aMerican culturaL Center. I sent leTTeRS To kEntuCky And TennesseE tryINg to Set uP ViSitS To the DistiLlERiES. I even asked for help aT tHe AmerIcan cOnsulate. And thEn I finally GOT To visit iN 1984. I feLL iN Love with AmericA then. i’ve been bacK A hundred Times Since. I noW own a housE IN LexingtOn, aNd I’Ve eVen BEEn Named a colonel IN kentUcKy.”

I ask hIm hOw he fouNd aLl tHesE olD bOttles of bOurbon. “I dRiVe AcRoSs AMericA, Only on thE bAck RoAds And esPEciallY at niGht, wHeN yOU caN see the LIt-UP LiquOr-StOre sIgnS iN the dIstaNCe,” hE says. “I sTop at everY plACe I pAsS, aNd I don’t Just look on the ShElves: I ask tHe CleRk to coMB The cellaR and check the storeroom foR AnythinG olD. I can’T telL you how maNy cAses of AncIEnt botTles I’vE founD tHat WAY. I’ll tRY AnY boUrBon once, and IF i liKe it I BuY morE.”

The nexT day I visit another bOUrbOn bar in Osaka, TOneN (meaNINg “DecADe”), IN a dOwNTowN NEighborhood wherE salarymen
early every bottle is bour bon, thoug h the reisasmat teri ng of rye ands ourmash. I can see bottle s fro mt he 1 8 00 s nex t to ob s cu r e  ex po rt  bo tt l in gs of  Ji m Beamnext to st and ar d-issue Jack Da niel’s. Se iic hiro Tatsumi , a n olde rman dress edelega ntly i n  barte nder’s at ti r e, eme r ges fro m th e sh adows and says he l lo in English. Itell h im Ia m  afri end of Nic k’ s, an d  he rea c he s f ora  bottle nestl ed behind t h e r egiste r.  “Y o u want  to t ry a 1 904?” he as ks.
He tende rly un s crews t h e top a nd pou rsa s hotf or  m e a nd ano t he r f o r h imself.Ita ke asip. I t is a  br andI’venever heard o f,once mad e, Ta tsumi  say s,  espe cially  forahotel in Kentuc ky.It is hig hly  a lco ho lic b u t silk y s moo th. Unl ike win e  or  v i n t ag e port, bourbon is  n o t  s upposedto cha n ge  m u ch in th ebot tleo v er ti me.A nd  so I th ink of th is  as a c ha nce to  t ast e t he pa s t an d expe rience,almos t  exactly, what drinkers were si p p in g  a h und red years a go.“I t aste d  m y f i rst b ourbo ni nt he basement bar ofth e Rihg a Roy al Hotel, a f amous oldp l a ce in Os aka, ”  T a tsumi says. “T hen I  spent yea r s readin g eve rythingI could a b o ut bourb onatthe  Am e r ic an cultural c e n ter.  I  sent l ett ers toKen tuc kyand  T ennesseetrying t ose tup  vi sitst o the di st ill er ies . I e v en ask ed fo r he lp  a t  th e Ameri c an c onsu la te . An d t he n I f inal l y g ot to v isit in 1 984 .  I f el lin love  with America  t hen. I’vebe enback a h undred t imes since. I now own a house i n L exing ton,  and I’ve  ev en bee n n a med acolone l inKe ntu c k y.”
I as k h im  how he fo u n d a ll th es e ol d bottl es of bourbon. “Id riv e across Amer ica , on l y  o n t h eb ack  r o ads a nd especially a t night, w he n  y ou can see the  l it-up l iquor-s tores igns in  the dist ance,” he  s ays. “ I s top at eve ry place  I pass,a nd Id on ’t ju stlook o nthe  shel ves: I ask  theclerkto  combthe c el lar andcheck the storeroom for  anyth ing o ld.  I can’ttel l  yo u how man y ca ses of anc ien t b ottle s I ’ ve fo undt ha t w a y. I’ ll t r y any bou r bo n o n c e,  and if I l i k e  it  I bu y m o re.”
Thenext day I visita nother bourbon  bar i n O sak a , To ne n (meaning “de cad e” ) ,  in a do wn town neighb orhood w he r e sal arymen 
early every_bottle is_bourbon, though there is_a smattering_of_rye and_sour_mash. I can_see bottles from_the 1800s next to_obscure export bottlings_of_Jim Beam next to standard-issue Jack Daniel’s. Seiichiro Tatsumi, an older man dressed elegantly_in_bartender’s attire,_emerges_from_the shadows and says hello_in English. I tell him_I am_a friend of Nick’s, and he reaches for_a_bottle nestled behind_the register. “You want to try a 1904?” he_asks.

He tenderly unscrews the top and_pours a shot_for_me_and another for himself._I take a sip. It is_a brand I’ve never heard of,_once made, Tatsumi says, especially for a_hotel in Kentucky. It is highly_alcoholic but silky smooth. Unlike_wine or_vintage port, bourbon is not_supposed to change_much in_the bottle over_time. And so I think of_this as a_chance to taste the past and_experience,_almost exactly, what_drinkers_were_sipping a_hundred years ago.

“I_tasted_my first_bourbon_in the basement bar of the_Rihga_Royal Hotel, a famous old place in_Osaka,” Tatsumi says. “Then_I_spent years reading everything_I could about bourbon at_the American cultural center. I sent_letters to_Kentucky and_Tennessee trying to set up visits to the distilleries. I even_asked for help at the American_consulate. And then I_finally got_to_visit in 1984._I_fell in_love with America then. I’ve been back_a hundred_times since. I now own a_house in Lexington, and_I’ve_even been named a colonel in_Kentucky.”

I ask him how he found_all these old bottles of_bourbon._“I_drive across America, only on_the back roads and especially at_night, when you_can see the lit-up liquor-store signs in_the_distance,” he says. “I stop at_every_place I pass, and I don’t_just_look_on the shelves: I ask_the clerk to comb the cellar_and check the storeroom for anything old. I can’t_tell you how_many cases of ancient bottles_I’ve_found_that way. I’ll try any bourbon once, and if I_like it_I buy more.”

The_next day I visit another bourbon bar in Osaka, Tonen_(meaning “decade”), in a downtown neighborhood where_salarymen