🦫 ANGUS RATING: 9.0/10 BEAVERS
A working man’s bourbon. A medal-winning bargain. And a magnificent example of knowing what the fuck ye are.
Evan Williams Black Label is an 86-proof Kentucky straight bourbon whiskey from Heaven Hill. With its caramel, vanilla, mild oak, and brown sugar character, charcoal filtration, and affordable price, it’s a dependable American bourbon that’s equally at home in a whiskey glass, a cocktail, or even pancake batter.
And unlike a certain whiskey from Tennessee, it doesn’t need a bloody identity counselor.
Evan Williams Black Label — At a Glance
- Brand: Evan Williams
- Producer: Heaven Hill
- Type: Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey
- Alcohol Content: 43% ABV (86 proof)
- Filtration: Charcoal filtered
- Nose: Caramel, vanilla, mild oak
- Palate: Caramel, brown sugar, light char, gentle oak
- Finish: Medium, warm, smooth
- Best Enjoyed: Neat, mixed, or in the kitchen
- Cooking Test: Bourbon pancakes — DAM GOOD!
- Angus Rating: 9.0/10 Beavers
- Dam Good List: Approved
Product information: Evan Williams Black Label — Official Website. Tasting and cooking observations are from our own experience at Dam Spirited Lodge.
I. CROWLEY STORY
EVAN WILLIAMS BLACK LABEL — THE BOURBON JACK DANIEL’S WISHES HE’D INVENTED!
Every pub has one.
Not the fancy bottle sitting on the top shelf collecting dust because some bastard paid too much for it.
The bottle that actually gets opened.
The one that works for a living.
EVAN WILLIAMS BLACK LABEL!
Now, I’ve known Evan Williams since 1783.
A Welshman, mind ye. But a fine fellow nonetheless. He’d come to Kentucky to make whiskey, and I’d come to Kentucky to drink it.
A match made in heaven.
Well, heaven with a particularly questionable liquor license.
Evan was a clever bastard. Made a beautiful bourbon. Caramel, vanilla, oak, a lovely sweetness, and a finish smoother than your girlfriend’s wet beaver.
And he had a little trick.
CHARCOAL FILTRATION!
Aye! Charcoal!
Nothing particularly complicated. We’d age the bourbon, run it through charcoal before bottling, and out came a magnificent drinking whiskey.
Evan called it Kentucky bourbon.
I called it bloody brilliant.
The customers called for another glass.
Everybody was happy.
UNTIL THAT LITTLE BASTARD FROM TENNESSEE SHOWED UP!
One afternoon, a scrawny young fellow named Jack Daniel wandered into our distillery.
Couldn’t have weighed more than ninety pounds soaking wet, and had a face like a confused ferret trying to shit a walnut.
“Mr. Williams, sir,” he squeaked, “how do y’all make such fine whiskey?”
Evan, being the generous soul he was, invited the little bugger inside.
I immediately objected.
“EVAN! DON’T YE TRUST HIM! HE’S GOT THE EYES OF A HORSE THIEF AND THE HANDS OF AN ENGLISH TAX COLLECTOR!”
But Evan wouldn’t listen.
He showed Jack the mash.
Showed him the still.
Showed him the barrels.
And then…
HE SHOWED THE LITTLE BASTARD THE CHARCOAL FILTER!
I nearly swallowed my pipe.
Jack’s eyes lit up like a brothel during Fleet Week.
“Well, I’ll be!” he exclaimed. “Y’all run your bourbon through charcoal?”
“Aye,” Evan replied. “Smooths the whiskey nicely.”
Jack examined the charcoal.
Touched it.
Sniffed it.
I caught the little shit stuffing a handful into his pockets!
“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YE DOING?!”
“Just collecting a souvenir, Mr. Crowley!”
“A SOUVENIR?! YE’VE GOT ENOUGH CHARCOAL IN YER POCKETS TO BARBECUE A BLOODY HORSE!”
He scurried out the door before I could get my hands on him.
I turned to Evan.
“MARK MY WORDS! THAT LITTLE BASTARD’S GOING TO STEAL OUR IDEA!”
Evan laughed.
“Angus, he’s just a boy.”
“AYE! AND ONE DAY HE’LL BE A GROWN BASTARD WITH A MARKETING DEPARTMENT!”
And wouldn’t ye bloody know it?
Years later, word reached me that young Jack had started making whiskey down in Lynchburg, Tennessee.
And what was his great innovation?
CHARCOAL FILTERING!
THE THIEVING LITTLE SHIT!
But here’s where it gets really insulting.
Jack knew we’d catch him.
So the clever little bastard changed the order!
Instead of filtering the whiskey after aging, before bottling, like Evan Williams, Jack ran it through charcoal BEFORE putting it in the barrels!
Then he gave the process a grand name.
THE LINCOLN COUNTY PROCESS!
OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!
Ye’d think the little bastard had invented fire!
What’s next, Jack?
THE TENNESSEE WATER PROCESS?
THE LYNCHBURG POURING PROCESS?
THE OLD NO. 7 SCREWING-THE-CAP-BACK-ON PROCESS?!
And here’s the truly magnificent part.
Jack’s whiskey meets the fundamental production requirements for bourbon.
Corn.
Proper distillation.
New charred oak barrels.
American-made.
The whole bloody lot!
But does Jack call it bourbon?
NOOOOOOO!
He calls it TENNESSEE WHISKEY!
Because apparently running bourbon through charcoal before putting it into a barrel makes it a different bloody species!
How drunk do you have to be to believe that shite!
And that’s how we got the Lincoln County Process!
Now don’t come crying to me about historical records.
I WAS BLOODY THERE!
And I’ve got half a mind to march down to Lynchburg, cut myself a nice long maple switch, and give that thieving little ferret the arse-whipping he should’ve received the first time I caught him stuffing charcoal into his pockets!
A MAPLE SWITCH FOR A MAPLE-CHARCOAL THIEF!
POETIC BLOODY JUSTICE!
But here’s what really gets me.
Evan Williams just kept making bourbon.
Honest, affordable, delicious Kentucky straight bourbon.
No fancy geographic identity crisis.
No marketing executive having a religious experience over a pile of burnt wood.
Just good whiskey.
And while Jack Daniel’s spends its time insisting it isn’t bourbon, Evan Williams has been quietly collecting medals for being exactly what Jack refuses to admit he makes.
Which brings me to a question I’ve been dying to ask the fine folks in Lynchburg.
HOW MANY BLOODY BOURBON AWARDS HAVE YE WON, JACK?!
Go on!
I’ll wait!
Still waiting…
Meanwhile, Evan Williams Black Label is over here winning Double Golds, Best in Show, and Consumers’ Choice honors without needing a bloody identity counselor.
Now, don’t misunderstand me.
Jack Daniel’s Old No. 7 is damn good bourbon.
I’ll drink it.
I’ll enjoy it.
I’ll probably steal another bottle when nobody’s looking.
But that doesn’t mean I’m forgiving the little bastard!
HE STOLE OUR CHARCOAL, CHANGED THE ORDER, AND BUILT A BLOODY EMPIRE OUT OF IT!
And if Jack Daniel’s wants to argue about it, the door to Dam Spirited Lodge is always open.
Bring yer whiskey.
Bring yer marketing department.
AND BRING A PAIR OF EXTRA TROUSERS, BECAUSE I’M BRINGING THE MAPLE SWITCH!
Now, enough about that thieving Tennessee ferret.
Let’s get back to the man who deserves the attention.
EVAN WILLIAMS BLACK LABEL.
The working man’s bourbon.
Charcoal filtered.
Eighty-six proof.
Caramel, vanilla, oak, and a price that doesn’t require selling yer firstborn child.
A whiskey that knows what the fuck it is.
And unlike Jack Daniel’s, it doesn’t need a bloody therapist to figure it out.
POUR ME A GLASS, YE MAGNIFICENT BASTARDS!
We’ve got bourbon to review.
II. THE POUR
CARAMEL, VANILLA, AND NO BLOODY NONSENSE
Evan Williams Black Label pours a warm, inviting amber.
Eighty-six proof.
Forty-three percent alcohol.
Enough strength to remind ye there’s proper whiskey in the glass without attempting to remove the lining from yer throat.
Bring it to yer nose.
Caramel.
Vanilla.
A wee bit of oak.
That’s it.
And thank God for that.
There’s no perfume counter hiding in the glass. No artificial dessert explosion trying to convince ye that ye’ve somehow poured a bakery into a rocks glass.
It smells like bourbon.
BECAUSE IT IS BLOODY BOURBON!
Imagine that.
Apparently, this simple concept has been giving the folks in Lynchburg sleepless nights for more than a century.
But Evan Williams doesn’t require a lengthy explanation.
The caramel is inviting.
The vanilla is pleasant.
The oak provides just enough character to remind ye that this whiskey has spent time doing honest work inside a charred barrel.
Nothing is fighting for attention.
Nothing is trying to impress ye with some elaborate performance.
And nothing smells like somebody has been experimenting with scented candles in the distillery.
It’s straightforward.
Comfortable.
Familiar.
Like returning to yer favorite pub after a long day’s work and discovering somebody’s already poured yer drink.
THAT’S A PROPER BOURBON NOSE!
III. THE TASTE
THE WORKING MAN’S BOURBON THAT EARNS ITS BLOODY KEEP
Caramel comes charging through the door first, followed closely by light char and a gentle sweetness.
Nothing complicated.
Nothing requiring a bloody spreadsheet.
It’s smooth enough to sip, sturdy enough to mix, and inexpensive enough that when ye finish the glass, ye don’t stare mournfully at the bottle wondering whether ye can afford another.
Ye can.
Pour it.
That’s what the bottle is there for.
Evan Williams Black Label doesn’t swagger into the room demanding attention.
It simply walks up to the bar, nods at Angus, and says:
“Yup.”
Now that’s a proper bourbon.
The mid-palate keeps marching along nicely.
Mild oak.
Brown sugar.
Clean warmth.
The sweetness holds without overpowering the oak, and the gentle char gives the whole affair just enough backbone to keep things interesting.
Nothing is trying to beat anything else into submission.
It’s balanced in that wonderfully strange way some expensive bourbons occasionally manage.
Accidentally perfect.
Which, frankly, is one of life’s great pleasures.
Ye can spend a fortune trying to manufacture that sort of balance.
Sometimes ye can just spend twenty quid.
Well…
Dollars.
We’re in America.
The English haven’t ruined everything.
Yet.
And here’s another thing.
This bourbon doesn’t fall apart the moment ye ask it to do something besides sit in a glass looking pretty.
It mixes beautifully.
It holds its character.
It doesn’t disappear beneath every other ingredient like an English soldier spotting a Scottish Highlander.
And that brings me to one of my favorite discoveries.
THE DAM GOOD PANCAKE EXPERIMENT
Now, I know what ye’re thinking.
“Angus, what the bloody hell has bourbon got to do with pancakes?”
EVERYTHING, YE UNCULTURED BASTARD!
One morning, while preparing a perfectly respectable breakfast, I decided something was missing from the pancake batter.
A little excitement.
A little character.
A little something to make breakfast worth crawling out of bed for.
So I reached for the Evan Williams Black Label.
And poured approximately one and a half to two ounces straight into the batter.
Aye!
BOURBON!
IN THE BLOODY PANCAKES!
Now, I’ve made some questionable decisions in the kitchen over the centuries.
There was the unfortunate haggis flambé incident of 1847.
The exploding Christmas pudding of 1902.
And an incident involving a bottle of Scotch, a live lobster, and the Archbishop of Canterbury that I’m still legally discouraged from discussing.
But this?
THIS WAS BLOODY GENIUS!
Those pancakes were DAM GOOD!
So damned good, in fact, that I haven’t made pancake batter without Evan Williams Black Label since.
Not once.
And why would I?
The same bourbon that delivers caramel, vanilla, oak, and brown sugar in the glass has found itself a second career in the breakfast department.
Now, I’m not suggesting every morning requires a whiskey tasting.
I’m suggesting that good ingredients belong in good food.
And a good bourbon isn’t suddenly useless because somebody handed ye a frying pan.
Which makes me wonder what our friends in Tennessee might do with the same idea.
Probably invent the Lincoln County Pancake Process.
Run the batter through ten feet of charcoal.
Charge twice the price.
And insist they’re not pancakes.
THEY’RE TENNESSEE BREAKFAST DISCS!
For fuck’s sake.
Meanwhile, Evan Williams just makes breakfast better.
COOKING TEST: DAM GOOD!
And the permanent addition of bourbon to my pancake batter is all the evidence I bloody need.
IV. THE FINISH
THE SECOND GLASS PRINCIPLE
Medium.
Warm.
Friendly.
No nasty bite.
No strange chemical aftertaste.
No sudden appearance by some flavor that nobody invited.
It simply fades away slowly and politely, like a good conversation at the pub.
And just when ye think it’s finished, ye find yerself looking at the bottle.
Thinking.
“That was nice.”
Then ye pour another.
This is known in the Lodge as the Second Glass Principle.
It’s highly scientific.
Angus has personally conducted extensive research.
The theory is simple.
If a bourbon costs a small fortune, ye might spend half the evening examining the glass, contemplating its complexity, and wondering whether ye’ve sufficiently appreciated the experience.
But if it tastes bloody good, finishes pleasantly, and makes ye want another?
THAT’S WHISKEY DOING ITS JOB!
And Evan Williams Black Label does it beautifully.
The caramel and oak gradually fade.
A pleasant warmth remains.
The sweetness never becomes tiresome.
And there’s nothing in the finish demanding that ye immediately wash yer mouth out with something less offensive.
Unlike certain Tennessee marketing campaigns.
The entire experience is comfortable, dependable, and wonderfully uncomplicated.
It’s the kind of bourbon ye can enjoy after a long day’s work without feeling obligated to write a dissertation about it.
No mysterious flavor transformation.
No theatrical farewell.
Just a warm handshake, a friendly nod, and a quiet reminder that the bottle is still sitting on the counter.
And that, my friends, is the Second Glass Principle in action.
V. ANGUS’S VERDICT
THE MEDALS NOBODY SAW COMING
Now here’s where things get bloody interesting.
For a bottle that generally sells in the affordable bourbon category, Evan Williams Black Label has absolutely no business collecting this many medals.
Yet somehow…
THE BASTARD KEEPS WINNING THEM!
In 2024, Evan Williams Black Label took home an impressive collection of honors.
At the TAG Global Spirits Awards:
DOUBLE GOLD!
90 POINTS!
BEST IN SHOW!
And Best Buy recognition!
Then along came the San Francisco World Spirits Competition.
DOUBLE BLOODY GOLD!
And the SIP Awards?
GOLD!
Plus a Consumers’ Choice Award!
Two Double Golds.
A Gold.
Consumers’ Choice.
Best in Show.
For a working man’s Kentucky straight bourbon!
THAT’S NOT A WHISKEY BOTTLE! THAT’S A BLOODY TROPHY CABINET WITH A SCREW CAP!
And it isn’t as though this magnificent little bastard suddenly discovered how to make whiskey in 2024.
Evan Williams Black Label has collected recognition at major spirits competitions over the years.
Quietly.
Consistently.
Without demanding that the entire whiskey industry create a special category to accommodate its geographical insecurities.
Which brings us, once again, to Tennessee.
HOW MANY BLOODY BOURBON AWARDS, JACK?!
Still waiting.
Never mind.
Some questions apparently require more charcoal than others.
A DAM GOOD BOURBON FOR A DAM GOOD PRICE
Evan Williams Black Label is the utility bourbon of Dam Spirited Lodge.
Not because it’s the fanciest.
Not because it’s the rarest.
And certainly not because some bloke in a waistcoat told ye that ye absolutely must appreciate its seventeen layers of oak-derived complexity.
It’s because it works.
Every.
Bloody.
Time.
It doesn’t pretend.
It doesn’t posture.
It doesn’t need a fancy speech before it pours itself into the glass.
It just delivers.
And sometimes, lads and lasses, that’s exactly what ye want from a whiskey.
The caramel and vanilla make it inviting.
The oak and brown sugar keep it interesting.
The finish is warm and friendly.
The price makes it accessible.
And the bloody stuff even makes magnificent pancakes!
WHAT MORE DO YE WANT?!
A parade?
A royal decree?
A ten-foot charcoal filter and a Tennessee marching band?!
SOD OFF!
LODGE RECOMMENDATIONS
Drink it neat.
Because it deserves the chance to speak for itself.
Mix it freely.
Because whiskey is not a museum exhibit.
Cook with it proudly.
Start with pancake batter. About 1½–2 ounces worked beautifully in our kitchen. Adjust the amount to the size of yer batch and yer own taste.
A good bourbon belongs in the kitchen too.
Keep it stocked always.
Because discovering ye’ve run out of Evan Williams is not a situation any respectable Lodge should ever have to endure.
And finally…
DON’T APOLOGIZE FOR DRINKING AFFORDABLE BOURBON!
If the whiskey tastes good, finishes pleasantly, and makes ye want another, the price tag is nobody’s bloody business.
THE DAM GOOD LIST — APPROVED
EVAN WILLIAMS BLACK LABEL KENTUCKY STRAIGHT BOURBON WHISKEY
A working man’s bourbon.
A Lodge staple.
A medal-winning bargain.
A pancake-making miracle.
A permanent resident of the Dam Good List.
FINAL RATING: 🦫 9.0/10 BEAVERS
ANGUS APPROVED!
And if some whiskey snob turns his nose up at a twenty-dollar bottle, hand him a glass.
If he still complains…
CHARGE HIM FOR THE BLOODY GLASS!
And Jack?
If ye’re reading this, the invitation still stands.
Bring yer Old No. 7.
Bring yer marketing department.
And bring those extra trousers.
THE MAPLE SWITCH IS WAITING!
Slàinte, ye magnificent bastards!
— Angus “Pub” Crowley
More From Dam Spirited Lodge
Explore our Spirit Reviews for more independently tasted spirits, questionable historical adventures, and Angus Crowley’s unfiltered opinions.
Learn more about Evan Williams Black Label from its producer.
Angus Crowley’s historical adventures, conversations, and accusations against Jack Daniel are fictional satire. The tasting observations, pancake experiment, and personal verdict reflect real experiences at Dam Spirited Lodge. Product specifications and competition honors are separate factual information.
Dam Spirited Lodge — Serious About Spirits. Not Much Else.