"Cutting" refers to diluting bourbon with a little bit of water, said to bring out the nuances of flavor and nose, depending on with whom you're drinking (it's an ongoing debate between master distillers and bourbon connoisseurs). My theory is there's already plenty of water in there (Kentucky's limestone spring water is not only the main ingredient, but also the reason bourbon thrives in these parts). So my half-ounce of Booker's - Beam's top-end, straight-from-the-barrel bourbon - packs a gut-warming punch as I nurse its amber glow unadulterated.

From Beam, I head over to Heaven Hill Distilleries in Bardstown, whose brand-new multimillion-dollar Bourbon Heritage Center, which opened last year, wouldn't have even been a pipe dream 10 years ago. The premises, like everywhere in these parts, are dotted with tin-clad rickhouses discolored with a natural mold called torula, which thrives throughout bourbon country. It is inside these unique buildings that bourbon barrels are left to mature, some 20,000 or so in each. They are, more than any other characteristic, the defining landmarks of the region.

Tours at Heaven Hill culminate in a high-tech, barrel-shaped tasting room featuring a chic in-the-round bar fashioned from cypress wood that was recycled from former fermenting vats and laminated. Not only is it gorgeous, but it's also synonymous with bourbon's newfound hipness. I sip on Elijah Craig 18-year-old single-barrel and Evan Williams vintage-dated single-barrel - the stars of Heaven Hill's fleet - in tasting glasses as beautiful as anything made by Riedel. Kentucky law says I can only taste two half-ounce pours of bourbon per day per distiller while driving the trail (not a bad law, to say the least), so, afterward, I head to Maker's Mark in Loretto, where there's no tasting but plenty else to take in.