Back in 2012, Herman Mihalich spent enough late nights in his fledgling distillery that he had a routine. He killed time online and kept handy his trusty logbook, where he meticulously tracked recipes, times and temperatures.
The latest nights were when it all went wrong, which happened more then than it does now. Mihalich is the founder of Dad's Hat Rye, which today puts out more rye whiskey than any other distiller in Pennsylvania, a state that once defined the category.
Today, Pennsylvania hasn’t reclaimed its crown, and rye remains second fiddle to bourbon, which has come to define American whiskey for most drinkers. About 20 times as many bottles of bourbon are sold in a year than rye, according to the industry group Distilled Spirits Council—though rye is growing faster from that lower base.
Mihalich is a proud rye whiskey evangelist who has converted his share of fans—his rye first introduced me to the category. But in the delicate balance of supply and demand, rye has another challenge: For a generation of younger distillers raised on bourbon, rye is trickier to make. That difference, though, is what makes it so special.
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I’ve heard more than one distiller call rye whiskey a “sticky mess.” The grain’s higher protein and lower sugar content make the mash thicker, harder to pump and more prone to foaming during fermentation than corn-dominant bourbon.
As Pennsylvania’s iconic rye brands were acquired by spirits business giants, they were reformulated. Michter’s (Chatham Imports) and Rittenhouse Rye (Heaven Hill) are both made in Kentucky now with heavy doses of corn.
"Rye isn’t harder to make than bourbon—it’s just different," Mihalich says diplomatically. When I texted this to a micro-distiller I know, he responded: “So says the rye guy!”
Courtesy of Dad's Hat
Mihalich does remember those late-night disasters at the beginning. He’d overheat the still caused crusting that insulated the mash, making heat transfer so slow he found himself waiting for hours and cleaning for longer. Rye requires more precise temperature control than corn and barley.
“Think of it like cooking oatmeal too fast,” Mihalich told me. “You get this crust, and suddenly nothing’s moving the way it should.”
For small craft distillers without fancy equipment, rye’s challenges can feel magnified. Direct-fire heating, a common method for smaller distilleries, risks scorching the mash. Mishandling fermentation temperatures can lead to foaming disasters.
Mihalich, a chemical engineer by training and a self-described “boring detail guy” by temperament, developed his recipe quickly and precisely after a few humbling misfires. Now, his operation has advanced tools, like digital thermocouples and steam-jacketed stills, which let him control every step of the process.
“If you don’t have good temperature control,” he said, “it’s easy to end up with a sticky, foamy mess.”
Rye whiskey’s complexity—both in production and flavor—is exactly why distillers like Mihalich are drawn to it. It’s a spicy, bold alternative to bourbon, with a history that feels deeply rooted in American tradition. Before Prohibition, Pennsylvania alone had hundreds of licensed distilleries producing rye whiskey.
But after Prohibition, bourbon took the lead. Lots of explanations exist for why. Mihalich hypothesizes that while American spirits-making was illegal, low-quality blended Canadian whiskies, which often borrowed the “rye” name despite containing little of it, hurt rye’s reputation in the U.S. By the time the whiskey industry rebounded decades later, bourbon’s smoother, sweeter profile had won over consumers.
Courtesy of Dad's Hat
In the 18th and 19th century, farmers and distillers passed on tips and recipes. What they lacked in scientific training and advanced tools, they gained from generations of tradition.
“Rye whiskey just lost momentum,” Mihalich said. “Whiskey production and expertise shifted to bourbon, so if you’re a new distiller, bourbon probably feels like the safer bet.”
But here’s the thing: rye whiskey’s challenges are part of its charm. The next time you sip a rye, you’re tasting more than just the grain. You’re tasting the dedication of a distiller who embraced its quirks, balanced its bold spice, and likely spent a few late nights perfecting the process.
Mihalich sums it up best: “Rye keeps you honest. It doesn’t let you cut corners.”
And that’s why I’ve come to appreciate it even more. Bourbon is easy to love—and there’s nothing wrong with that. But rye whiskey is the underdog, the whiskey that demands a little more from both the distiller and the drinker. It’s worth every bit of the effort.
Related: I've Tried Thousands of Whiskeys. This Bottle Is the Best Cheap Rye, Period
