Why American Single Malt?

We’ve often found ourselves, in the years we’ve been in operation, navigating the confusion that can come when we share our American Single Malts with whiskey drinkers. It’s not a scotch; it’s not a bourbon. This very idea, a core part of who we are at Westland, raises eyebrows still, to this day. We’re not trying to replicate the whiskeys made in Kentucky or Scotland; we’re trying to become something altogether new. And years into our journey, it’s catching on, and we’re seeing a ripple effect that eventually led to the American Single Malt category’s official establishment in US legislature per the Trade and Tax Bureau.

We understand the curiosity, the oddity of it at first. Whiskey is something that has been around for centuries. And, more often than not, whiskey is known or assumed to hail from the geographical confines of Scotland, Ireland, and bourbon country. All these classes of whiskey are spirits born of long-established traditions, guarded by rigorous definitions and a deep sense of cultural pride. And when we set out to make whiskey in the Pacific Northwest, we didn’t want to copy or replicate exactly what has been done before. We wanted to look to our immediate surroundings and let the grandiose landscape shape the whiskey itself.

So, we found ourselves here in Seattle—in a former crane factory on the edge of Seattle’s industrial waterfront—quietly and persistently building a different kind of legacy. We set out to make a new kind of American whiskey. After all, Kentucky is as far from our home state of Washington as Scotland is from Turkey and the Balkan peninsula. Wildly different regions, with wildly different landscapes, both agriculturally and anthropologically.

We get this question all the time: Why American Single Malt? Our answer starts out simple: because we believe whiskey should taste like where it’s from. And that, in some ways, is not a novel concept, it’s part of why scotch and bourbon stand apart as such different flavor profiles. At Westland, we make American Single Malt, but we’re not trying to outright replicate Scotch single malt whisky. And yes, we’re an American distiller, but we want to make something entirely different than bourbon. This is because the raw materials of the Pacific Northwest are not only sufficient—they are sublime for Single Malt production. And because this category, still young and largely growing, offers one of the most compelling frontiers of exploration in the world of spirits today.

Distilling whiskey is a centuries-old practice, laden with tradition, but we closely hold the desire to push past previous conventions. We believe that in whiskey, there is still so much to discover. And at Westland, it is our life’s work, and with each cask we fill, we keep pushing ever forward.

The wine world has long accepted that geography, topography, and climate all shape flavor. A pinot noir grown in Oregon is not the same as one grown in Burgundy, even when every other variable is held constant. This phenomenon—what the French call terroir—speaks to the idea that soil, climate, and ecology all leave a fingerprint on the final product.

We believe the same is true of whiskey.

This region—this damp, emerald stretch of the American northwest—is not a backdrop. It shows itself for us as an active ingredient. The cool, humid air that rolls in from Puget Sound slows maturation and deepens complexity. The barley, grown in the mineral-rich soils of Washington’s Skagit Valley and the rolling hills of the Palouse, carries flavors that are subtly sweet, biscuity, and nutty—markedly different from its counterparts in the Midwest or abroad. Even the oak we use to mature our whiskey—often sourced from nearby forests—breathes and interacts with the spirit in ways that mirror the unique rhythms of this place.

To us, terroir is not a marketing device, but a philosophy.
Whiskey is not a formula to be exported—it is a conversation with place. A bourbon made in Kentucky should taste like Kentucky. And a single malt made in Seattle should taste like the Pacific Northwest. Luckily for us, the whiskey also over-delivers on taste profile, as we’ve seen it shine on the global stage.

In many ways, our journey didn’t begin with a challenge. It began with a question: What would it look like to make whiskey that was truly of this place? We didn’t need to search far for the answer. The Pacific Northwest is one of the most fertile and agriculturally rich regions in the United States. It’s a place that understands grain—not just as commodity, but as thread woven into our culture. This is a land of bakers and brewers, maltsters and millers, farmers have spent generations cultivating grain varieties that express nuance, structure, and depth.

When we first encountered the pale malt grown and malted by our partners at various boutique malthouses in Washington State, we recognized something familiar—something deeply expressive, as if the earth itself had chosen to speak through this grain. Since then, we’ve explored not only local barley, but also ancient strains, alternative malting methods, and fermentation practices drawn from the world of brewing.

Then, in 2013, we started sourcing peat from a bog in western Washington near the Olympic Peninsula. Its character is herbaceous, forest-like—a stark contrast to the maritime smokiness of Islay peat. And the Belgian Saison brewer’s yeast strain we employ is drawn from outside the traditional whiskey canon, selected for the flavor it contributes, not just the efficiency.

There’s no need to imitate when excellence is already here. And more importantly, there’s no reason to settle for a whiskey that tastes like somewhere else when everything we need to make a world-class spirit is already present in our backyard.

To work in American Single Malt today is to stand at the threshold of possibility. Unlike bourbon, which is defined by strict regulations, or Scotch, which is steeped in generations of inherited guide rails, American Single Malt remains largely unconstrained, there is room for creative expression, there is an invitation to share the story of our unique terroir.

We see this not as a void to be filled, but as an opportunity. A canvas. A space to ask questions, take risks, and explore ideas that would be impossible in more established categories.
What happens when you age a single malt in Garryana oak, a species native to the Pacific Northwest?
What happens when you blend whiskeys not to achieve sameness, but to express complexity?
What if you treated fermentation not as a mechanical step, but as a source of flavor equal to maturation?

We’ve spent the last decade chasing those questions in pursuit of a deeper understanding rather than chasing novelty. And while we are inspired by the traditions of Scotland, we are not beholden to them. American Single Malt gives us the rare gift of freedom with purpose. The freedom to evolve. To blend the old with the new. To build a tradition, not borrow one. There is no map for what comes next. And that is exactly what makes this work so compelling.

To ask "Why American Single Malt?" is to ask what whiskey can become when it is freed from the weight of inheritance, but still made with care, rigor, and reverence.

At Westland, we don’t believe in shortcuts, we believe in questions. We believe in farmers who walk their fields. In maltsters who obsess over temperature and time. In coopers who understand how wood breathes. In distillers who learn the rules not to break them, but to choose which ones are worth keeping.

And when we pour a glass of our whiskey—when we share it across the bar counter, or around the table—we are not just offering a product. We are offering a point of view, an expression of time and place. One shaped by this land, this community, and this specific moment in time.

American Single Malt is no longer a question. It’s an answer, a path that continually winds between mountain peaks and valleys. And we are proud to be part of the generation that gets to write the script as it continues to unfold.