Fred Minnick was forever changed by a tour to Iraq more than two decades ago. Like many veterans, he struggled to find ways to cope with what would later be diagnosed as PTSD. Some veterans turn to charity work, sports, gardening or yoga. Minnick turned to bourbon.
“I want you to put a thimble-sized amount on your tongue,” Minnick told a room of enthusiasts at a restaurant in Cleveland’s historic district during a recent tasting dinner on his book tour. He framed bourbon tasting as a form of “taste mindfulness” — a life-affirming meditation where the act of savoring pulls attention away from triggering thoughts.
Around 30 people listened, each with three snifters in front of them. The crowd skewed male and stylishly bearded; Minnick added a blazer and an ascot to the look. He has written eight books about bourbon and spirits, but his latest, Bottom Shelf: How a Forgotten Brand of Bourbon Saved One Man’s Life, is as much about his return from war as it is about whiskey.
Minnick deployed to Iraq for more than a year with the National Guard, including the violent summer of 2004 in Mosul. When he returned in early 2005 he was angry, on edge, scanning for threats that weren’t there and picking fights with people he loved. “The one good thing that happened to me in that timeframe is I met my wife,” he said. “If not for her … I wouldn’t be here. I’d have committed suicide. I would have hurt somebody and ended up in jail. Or I’d be homeless, I know it.”
His wife Jaclyn helped him get into therapy at the VA, which he describes as life-saving. After the acute crisis passed, his therapist suggested mindfulness to help redirect his brain away from triggers. She started him on simple grounding exercises — feeling the ridges of a quarter in his pocket — and then suggested a creative twist: taste mindfulness.
At first Minnick was skeptical, especially when the first mindful taste was a barbecue potato chip. “She said, all right, here’s a barbecue potato chip. I want you to put this on your tongue, and I want you to think about how the salts and the sugars separate, how the crunch feels all over your tongue. Close your eyes and just really think about how all these pieces of the chip feel on your tongue,” he recalled. He became absorbed by the chip’s complexity and thought he might be a supertaster.
That experiment led him to try the same technique with bourbon at home with Jaclyn. “Caramel, like a really big juicy caramel chew pops up, and then, nutmeg from like a nice little slice of pumpkin pie just erupts. And it just hit me all at once. …I had a real ability to taste, and I wanted to do something with it,” he said.
It’s important to note Minnick says he has never had problems with alcohol. His therapist did not suggest treating PTSD with bourbon. Instead, the tasting became a safe, focused practice that helped him channel attention and creativity. He started writing about what he tasted and built a career as an author and critic of spirits. His books cover topics from women’s roles in scotch history to the origins of bourbon, and his new book revisits a neglected whiskey, Old Crow, weaving in his own story of climbing out of the postwar bottom.
That personal arc has resonated with other veterans. At a Cleveland book signing, a Navy officer approached Minnick, became emotional, and “coined him” — a tradition in which service members press a challenge coin into another’s palm. The coin was from the officer’s last command in Afghanistan. Minnick was moved to tears. “I started tearing up, he was tearing up, I was hugging him saying, welcome home. But people don’t realize, man, how hard it is, you know?” he said.
Minnick now focuses on sharing his method: turning taste into a tool for mindfulness that can ground someone in the present. He teaches people to isolate flavors, to put a small amount on the tongue, breathe slowly and notice textures and shifts. For him the practice is a bridge between trauma and purpose — a way to reclaim attention and find meaning in small, deliberate acts.
If you or someone you know is in crisis or thinking about hurting yourself, you can call or text 988, the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. Press 1 if you’re a veteran.