RYE IS THE stuff of frontiersmen and trappers, hell-bent-for-leather types whose guts were already so rotten with fetid salt pork and hardtack that this wretched stuff acted as some kind of palliative. It might make their ulcers burn, but it would make their hearts burn even hotter. It's the original American whiskey. George Washington made it, and it's what people meant when they ordered whiskey in barrooms from the Declaration of Independence to Prohibition.

In order to be called rye, a whiskey must be made with at least 51 percent rye and aged in charred oak barrels. Rye lends a hint of black licorice flavor to cocktails and is an excellent mixer – indeed, most whiskey-based cocktails (such as the venerable Sazerac) originally called for rye. However, when consumed straight, it can be ... challenging. Although I enjoy virtually every other kind of whiskey, the memory of my first belt of rye at a tender age kept me in the "flight" mode of the fight-or-flight response until relatively recently.

In flight, that is, until I visited Heinold's First and Last Chance Saloon (48 Webster, Oakl. 510-839-6761) in Jack London Square last year. It was there that a young Jack London did his homework. I sat at the bar, which is still canted at a sharp grade thanks to settling after the 1906 quake, and surveyed the rack to find something suitable to the environs. And there it was: Old Overholt Rye. Few bars tend to stock rye. In fact, it seems only very high-end or very salty drinker's bars (a favorite, the Nag's Head on Geary Boulevard, also stocks Old Overholt) serve it. Any liquor whose name begins with the word "Old" doesn't have to be enjoyed, but it's gotta be respected, so I ordered up some of the Old Overholt with a back of Anchor Steam from the tap to give rye a second chance. Overholt is a great introduction to rye for several reasons: many whiskey experts agree that it's a bargain at about $15 a bottle; it's been around for at least 150 years and, as such, is one of the longest continually available spirits in the United States; and, most important, it's drinkable and a good representative of the rye category. Now, rye is an acquired taste, to be sure, but Old Overholt reminded me of certain kinds of bitters, a hint of anise with a bit of toasted almond and a mild whiff of citrus.

As I sipped my Anchor to assuage the sting of the whiskey, it occurred to me that Mr. Anchor himself, Fritz Maytag, has been distilling up some apparently very fine rye in his Potrero distillery. Old Portrero Straight Rye Whiskey, in fact, is the name of his rye, and he sells two kinds. Hayes Valley's Absinthe (398 Hayes, S.F. 415-551-1590) stocks both and has possibly the largest selection of premium rye whiskey in town (to go along with its truly impressive collection of spirits), so I dropped in to get some rye in me eye.

The more expensive of the two, Old Portrero, retails for around $100 to $120. Absinthe sells you a glass for $12.50, which is expensive by any measure, but particularly so for the overall quality of the spirit. The formidable strength of its 124.2 proof requires the addition of spring water to dilute the sharpness of the alcohol. Also, if taken at full strength, it effectively anesthetizes your tongue for about three minutes, rendering said tongue worthless for tasting anything. I look forward to trying the Old Portrero as it ages (8 to 12 years sounds good), but as it stands now, it hasn't reached maturity. While it's interesting as the product of a local distillery, you can pay comparable money for a relatively rare bottle of specially selected single-malt Scotch or half that money for a less punishing 15-year-old bottle of rye, such as the next one we sampled, the Classic Cask Kentucky Straight Rye. Weighing in at a more palatable 90 proof, Classic Cask is still pricey at $60 a bottle – which is, surprisingly, the same price as the comparatively raw Old Portrero Single Malt Spirit, Anchor Distilling's other offering. The Classic Cask was the most distinctive of the tasting, with a corky, bittersweet flavor, but my favorite was another 90 proofer, the 13-year-old A.H. Hirsh Rye. It's in the mid-range at around $45 a bottle (at Absinthe a reasonable $6.75 a glass), but its fiery cinnamon and honey notes, coupled with the rumlike nose of smoky caramel, make it worth the price. Also notable is that it's apparently true single-cask whiskey, meaning it's bottled from one cask at a time, not blended from several barrels as is the preferred method with many whiskey makers who seek to maintain the continuity of their flavor.