It was a classic lemons-to-lemonade scenario.

In 2002, Tyler Schramm and his brother were exploring newly purchased family land in the fertile Pemberton Valley, a cozy mountain town just north of Whistler. The land had been leased to an ambitious potato farmer who was taking advantage of the valley’s unique mineral-rich soil.

The brothers walked slowly, discussing their futures as they surveyed acres of sprawling potato plants. The talk turned to the newly launched Okanagan Spirits distillery in Vernon, where BC distilling pioneer Frank Deiter was busy transforming the abundance of local crops into beautifully crafted fruit spirits that were already snapping up international awards.

They continued staring at the potatoes, struggling to list anything and everything that had its origins in this lowly, unassuming tuber.

“French fries, perogies …”

“Potato chips.”

The wind picked up slightly, whipping through the sturdy dark green leaves, stirring the same thought in the two young men.

“Vodka!’’

The lemons had become potatoes, and the lemonade stand? A micro-distillery.

This idea sat with Tyler for a few years as he continued his work constructing chairlifts in Whistler. In his free time, he researched and gathered as much information as he could for the potato project. It was an arduous investigation of licences, laws and loopholes. BC’s complicated liquor laws, some of which pre-date prohibition times, dictate that a hefty tax be placed on all alcohol produced in the province. (Artisan distilleries are catching on in BC, and include Victoria Gin and Merridale Estate Cidery’s Brandiworks. They can only hope the archaic laws will be modified as they have been in the last few years for our local wine industry, a sector that has clearly blossomed as a result.)

Assessing the complexity of the situation at hand, Tyler felt the need to build on his science degree. This is how he found himself at Heriot-Watt University in Edinburgh, studying brewing and distilling. Who better to teach him than a proud and sophisticated culture with a long history of coaxing assorted crops and grains into pure liquid perfection?

Not everyone was supportive of his idea. Tyler encountered more than a few raised eyebrows as he refined his recipe at the school’s pilot distillery. How would he brew a lively spirit that was essentially made to be tasteless?

Ignoring the misguided view of modern, bland vodkas, Tyler continued running batch after batch through the gleaming copper stills, endlessly tweaking his original vision. He returned to Pemberton a year later with two things: a masters degree in brewing and distilling, and the perfect recipe for his vodka.

Anxious to get his hands on some potatoes, he secured a suitable site for the distillery and set an aggressive timeline for construction. Tyler and his two brothers applied for the necessary permits … and waited. Then they waited some more. They stood by, waiting for the Village of Pemberton to finalize the deal, as the best months for building slowly crept by. They had hoped to be banging nails by June, but by the time the permits finally arrived, the cool winds of October were ruffling the massive tarped piles of materials.

Looking back on the construction days, Tyler cites a few tense family moments as the brothers worked in the increasingly harsh weather. Steel beams contracted and twisted during a bitter two-week period of -20°C weather, and the siblings’ patience was tested. “It was a long winter, but we made it.”

In March, the long-awaited equipment for the still arrived from Germany: a complex arrangement of massive copper pots, pipes and pressure gauges ready to work magic on the local spuds. Finally the main construction wrapped up, the still was successfully installed, and the first bulging bags of potatoes were delivered from a local organic farmer. “We use a blend of five varieties, using the B-grades that don’t make the grocery store cut.”

Tyler was crafting his vodka by June—and extremely pleased with the results. Vodka purists insist that the best is made from potatoes, resulting in a creamy roundness of texture, a viscosity, and a unique earthy taste that is unmatched by grain-based vodkas with their astringent snap. Given our predominate exposure to standard, mass-produced vodka, it’s no wonder most of us think of it as a spirit made to be clear, tasteless and odourless.

“The goal of a micro-distiller when producing vodka is not to overrefine it,” says Tyler. “Standard vodkas are distilled to the point where they are pure ethanol. There is no flavour or character left.”

The magic happens during a stage called spirit distillation, an intense 17-hour process when the product is sampled as often as every five minutes. The distiller follows every nuance of flavour and texture until the sweet spot appears. That’s when the vodka is ready—and not a minute sooner. This is the fork in the road for distilleries, where most choose the superhighway over the gentle country road.

A small chilled glass of Schramm Vodka was poured for me the day I visited Tyler at his distillery. It looked like any other—but the taste! A surprising hit of pepper with a fading cinnamon note. This was no ordinary spirit. Tyler and his family have created a fine artisan vodka, worthy of standing bottle to bottle with the world’s best. Schramm Vodka is widely distributed by the Liquor Distribution Board. At $49.99, I believe it is worth every penny.

Cocktail recipes here:

Michelle Gourley is a Vancouver-based freelance writer who counts the day she made $22 at her first lemonade stand as one of the highlights of her childhood. She also has a weakness for produce with a high cute factor—like crabapples and baby artichokes. Michelle’s blog is www.curiouscrumb.wordpress.com