Stoll & Wolfe: Rosen Rye, Colonial Whiskey, and the Joy of Not Knowing Everything

Revisits don’t happen by accident.

When I bring someone back on the show, it’s because something meaningful has shifted, grown, or taken shape in a way that’s worth exploring again. Sitting down with Erik Wolfe of Stoll & Wolfe Distillery, it was clear this wasn’t just an update episode. It was a snapshot of a distillery leaning deeper into its identity, its history, and its willingness to embrace uncertainty.

And maybe more than anything else, it was about what happens when you stop trying to control every variable and start listening instead.

Rosen Rye, now with a vocabulary

A few years ago, Rosen Rye at Stoll & Wolfe was a question.

A single barrel per year, a grain that hadn’t been widely used in decades, and just enough data to know it was promising without really understanding its full potential. At that stage, every release carried a strange duality. It was both the best and worst version they had ever made, simply because there was nothing to compare it against.

Now, that’s changed.

Multiple growing seasons, multiple distillation runs, and multiple barrels per year have started to build something far more valuable than inventory. They’ve started to build a vocabulary. Each barrel, each variation, each proof point adds another word, another reference point, another way to understand what Rosen can be.

That’s the shift. It’s no longer about proving Rosen works. It’s about understanding how it behaves.

And that understanding isn’t coming from a lab.

Artisanal, in the literal sense

“Artisanal” gets thrown around so often it’s almost lost its meaning. Erik’s take brings it back to something more grounded. It’s not about scale or marketing language. It’s about engagement. Using your senses. Listening to the still. Smelling the fermentation. Watching for the small signals that something is changing.

At Stoll & Wolfe, there’s no over-reliance on automation or data capture. There’s awareness. Sound becomes an early warning system. Texture matters. Taste matters more than any readout ever could.

That doesn’t mean science is ignored. It just isn’t the final authority.

There’s a moment in the conversation where chemical analysis comes up, and it’s acknowledged for what it is: useful, interesting, sometimes illuminating. But at the end of the day, the whiskey isn’t being made for a machine. It’s being made for people. That distinction quietly shapes everything.

Farming, time, and letting nature lead

Rosen Rye isn’t just being distilled, it’s being grown. On family land that dates back to 1741, no less.

That kind of continuity changes how you think about production. Each year isn’t just another batch. It’s another chapter. Weather shifts, drought conditions come and go, and the grain adapts. Rosen is literally evolving in the field, crossing with itself, responding to the soil, and slowly becoming something more resilient.

There are two ways to approach that. Try to control it, or go with it.

Stoll & Wolfe has chosen the latter, partly out of philosophy and partly out of practicality. But the result is the same. The whiskey reflects the conditions it came from, not an attempt to override them.

That variability isn’t a flaw. It’s the point.

A colonial mashbill, brought back to life

If Rosen is about rediscovery, the next project pushes even further back.

Working with Alan Bishop, Erik has been recreating a documented colonial-era mashbill from the 1740s, pulled from a distiller’s day book. Not a farmer distilling excess grain, but a deliberate recipe from someone experimenting with flavor at a time when rum still dominated the American palate.

It’s a fascinating detail. This wasn’t necessity-driven whiskey. It was choice-driven.

The recreation stays true to the mashbill itself, even as the distillation uses modern equipment. A column still with a thumper instead of purely historical methods. That blend of old and new feels intentional. It’s less about strict replication and more about creating a bridge, a way to experience something close to what early American whiskey might have tasted like while still making sense to modern drinkers.

There’s even a name for it now: Wolf & Wilson, a nod to both collaboration and history.

Fermentation, openness, and saying “yes, and”

If there’s a throughline in the experimental side of Stoll & Wolfe, it’s openness.

Working with Alan Bishop has only amplified that. Ideas don’t get filtered immediately. They get explored. Built on. The creative process feels closer to improv than engineering. “Yes, and” instead of shutting ideas down early.

That’s how you end up with unexpected fermentation tweaks, unusual inputs, and approaches that draw from both history and instinct. Not everything makes it to market. Not everything should. But the process itself is where the value lives.

Some ideas are meant to be pursued. Others are meant to be let go.

Knowing the difference is part of the craft.

Distilling as a humbling exercise

If there’s one theme that keeps resurfacing, it’s humility.

Running a still day after day doesn’t create a sense of mastery. If anything, it does the opposite. Barometric pressure shifts, fermentation behaves differently depending on the season, grain changes depending on where it’s pulled from in the bin. Even when everything seems dialed in, something new appears.

No matter how long you’ve been doing it, you’ll still encounter something you’ve never seen before.

That reality shapes how Erik views the idea of being a “master distiller.” It’s not a title he’s interested in claiming. Not out of modesty, but because the process itself keeps reinforcing how much there is left to learn.

Consistency, variation, and knowing the difference

At Stoll & Wolfe, consistency and variation aren’t opposing forces. They’re different tools.

The core releases are meant to be reliable and familiar, something you can come back to and know what you’re getting. Erik compares it to watching your favorite movie again. Comforting, predictable in the best way.

Single barrels, on the other hand, are where variation gets to show itself. Each one is shaped by its own conditions and can’t be fully replicated.

That balance feels intentional. Give people a foundation, then offer them a way to explore beyond it.

Mount Vernon, time, and perspective

It’s impossible to talk about Erik’s approach without touching on his time at Mount Vernon.

Working on George Washington’s still isn’t just about history. It’s about immersion. The smell of wood smoke, the heat, the physical labor, the sensory experience of making whiskey in a pre-industrial environment. For a moment, you’re not just learning about history. You’re stepping into it.

That perspective carries back into everything happening at Stoll & Wolfe.

Because in the end, whiskey sits in a space between past and future. It’s rooted in history, but always made with an eye toward what it will become years down the line.

Looking forward without rushing the answer

There’s no clean conclusion here, and that feels appropriate.

Rosen Rye is still evolving. The colonial mashbill is just beginning to enter the world. New ideas are constantly being tested, refined, or set aside. The distillery itself is still growing into what it will ultimately become.

Through all of it, there’s a consistent thread. Curiosity over certainty. Exploration over control. A willingness to accept that not everything needs to be fully understood to be worth doing.

Sometimes the goal isn’t to master the craft. It’s to stay engaged with it.