I grew up in Memphis with a faint tantalizing aroma emanating from my father’s whiskey glass.

He drank Kentucky straight bourbon, not its first cousin, Tennessee whiskey, made according to stricter rules and, Dad thought, too sweet.

His brand was the utilitarian Jim Beam, at a time when bourbon was much less popular than scotch, gin and vodka and no one anticipated that its renewed popularity would reach as far as India, China and beyond.

Recently I decided to explore the making and terrain of Dad’s chosen drink in central Kentucky, where thoroughbred racing has a real competitor in the booming distillery tourism trade.

Along with my wife, Penny, a Long Islander but no stranger to fermented corn, we drove from Washington to Lexington, Louisville and points south, hoping to learn more about the area’s often-cited drink of choice, and maybe to find an artisanal whiskey-maker not yet famous.