The Rickhouse Rant, Vol. 7 – Old Forester 1920: Bourbon So Good It Should Be FSA Eligible

Jun 19

Old Forester 1920: Bourbon So Good It Should Be FSA Eligible

Alright, let’s talk about an entrepreneur, a visionary, and one slick salesman who accidentally changed the bourbon world while trying to sell medicine. And yeah, we’re also gonna talk about one of the best damn bottles on the shelf: Old Forester 1920. Why? Because this is my rant, and because I love this bourbon. And because it’s Thursday. And because I’m currently having a pour so big it qualifies as a liability.

Let’s rewind the clock. It’s the 19th century. Whiskey is medicine—because of course it is. Personally, if I could use my FSA card on bourbon, I’d be a much healthier man. But I digress. Back then, whiskey was sold at your local apothecary in big ol’ barrels. You’d waltz in with your ceramic jug, fill up, and hope the pharmacist hadn’t topped off the barrel with tobacco spit, apple juice, or whatever nightmares they had lying around.

Enter George Garvin Brown, a pharmaceutical salesman who saw two problems: no quality control and no trust. His solution? Seal the whiskey in a bottle, slap a label on it, and guarantee it was uncut, untainted, and un-sullied. In 1870, Brown partnered with George Forman (no, not the grill guy) and created Brown-Forman.

Now here’s where it gets fun. George Brown wanted credibility—so he recruited Dr. William Forrester, a Civil War surgeon and folk hero, to endorse the bourbon. That’s right. Long before Jordan signed with Nike, Brown signed with Forrester. But when the good doctor retired, Brown decided not to keep paying him and just… changed the spelling on the label. From “Forrester” to “Forester.” Corporate pettiness at its finest.

Brown-Forman didn’t just survive—it thrived. They were one of just ten distilleries allowed to make medicinal whiskey during Prohibition. Later, they bought Jack Daniel’s in 1956, launched Woodford Reserve, and built a whiskey empire. And through all of it, Old Forester remained in continuous production—something no other bourbon brand can honestly claim.

So now that we’ve honored our forefathers of fermentation, let’s talk about the bourbon in the bottle. Old Forester 1920 is a beast. It’s “Prohibition-style,” meaning it clocks in at a bold 115 proof. The mash bill? 72% corn, 18% rye, and 10% malted barley. On the nose? Caramel, toasted brown sugar, a touch of oak, dark chocolate, and ripe cherry. First sip? It coats your tongue like molasses and smacks you with cinnamon, clove, nutmeg, and smoky oak. It’s got that deep, dark chocolate richness and a finish like a brown bear hug—warm, strong, and slightly terrifying.

At $60 MSRP, it’s not your bargain bin bottle—but it also completely embarrasses most $30 pours. I’m not saying Old Forester 1920 is Eliot Ness, but it does lay the smackdown on lower-tier bourbons like it’s cleaning up speakeasies in Chicago.

Let’s talk about the label. No age statement. Sparse info. Minimal marketing fluff. And you know what? I don’t care. This bottle speaks for itself. Can’t find Stagg Jr.? This is a more available consolation prize that doesn’t feel like settling. Want something that’ll stand up to a big rock of ice? It’ll laugh in your face and keep bringing heat. This is the kind of bourbon that separates the drinkers from the posers. It’s the drink Penelope wishes her dad made instead of that overpriced college fund-in-a-bottle.

Bring it to the tailgate. Pour it on the porch. Sip it when your team wins. Sip it harder when your team loses 42–0. This bottle’s always ready.

And honestly, if I had to live through Prohibition and the Great Depression, you better believe I’d want something just like this. Preferably in a canteen strapped to my leg.