Fred Minnick’s life was reshaped by a deployment to Iraq more than 20 years ago. Like many veterans, he returned carrying the signs of trauma that would later be diagnosed as PTSD. While some find solace in volunteer work, sports, gardening or yoga, Minnick’s route to coping was unexpected: bourbon.
At a recent tasting dinner during his book tour in Cleveland’s historic district, Minnick guided a roomful of enthusiasts through what he calls “taste mindfulness.” He asked attendees to put a tiny measure of whiskey on their tongues and slow down — using the act of savoring to pull attention away from intrusive thoughts. About 30 people sat with three snifters each; the crowd was largely male, many with beards, and Minnick himself wore a blazer and ascot. He has written eight books about spirits, but his newest memoir, Bottom Shelf: How a Forgotten Brand of Bourbon Saved One Man’s Life, blends whiskey history with the story of his recovery.
Minnick served more than a year in Iraq with the National Guard and spent the violent summer of 2004 in Mosul. When he returned in 2005 he was volatile and hypervigilant, often scanning for threats that weren’t there and clashing with people he cared about. He credits meeting his wife Jaclyn with keeping him alive and helping him get into treatment: without her support he says he likely would have spiraled into self-harm, incarceration or homelessness.
Therapy at the VA proved lifesaving. After stabilizing the immediate crisis, his therapist introduced simple grounding exercises — like feeling the ridges of a quarter in his pocket — and later suggested an unusual variation: practicing mindfulness through taste. The first exercise was low-stakes, a barbecue potato chip. Minnick remembers being amazed at how focused he became when asked to notice the salt, sugar and crunch. That concentrated attention unlocked something in him.
He and Jaclyn tried the method with bourbon at home. Paying close attention to small, shifting flavors — caramel sweetness, a burst of nutmeg or baking spice — produced the same absorbing focus. Importantly, Minnick stresses he has never struggled with alcohol dependence; the whiskey was never prescribed as treatment. Rather, tasting became a structured, safe way to channel attention, creativity and presence. He began writing notes about what he experienced, which turned into a career as an author and critic of spirits. His work ranges from histories of scotch and bourbon to examinations of overlooked figures and brands; Bottom Shelf revisits the neglected whiskey Old Crow while tracing his own climb out of a postwar low.
His path has struck a chord with other service members. At a Cleveland signing a Navy officer pressed a challenge coin into Minnick’s palm — a military tradition called “coining” — and both men were moved to tears. The exchange underscored how private and difficult reintegration can be, and how shared rituals can offer connection and welcome.
Today Minnick teaches his approach as a practical mindfulness tool. He encourages people to isolate tastes, place a small amount on the tongue, breathe slowly and notice textures and shifts. The practice is a bridge for him: a deliberate, sensory routine that helps reclaim attention from trauma and turn savoring into purpose.
If you or someone you know is in crisis or thinking about hurting yourself, call or text 988, the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. Press 1 if you are a veteran.