Bourbon is a cold-weather spirit if ever there was one. The colour of a conker, sweet with vanilla and char, it is the drink that makes sense the moment the clocks are about to go back and the evenings turn properly dark. It is also one of the best-value corners of the entire whisky world: you can buy something genuinely excellent for the price of a decent bottle of wine. Here is how to find it.

America's native spirit has never been more popular in Britain, which means the shelves are deeper, and a little more confusing, than they used to be. This is a short guide to buying bourbon well, from what the word on the label actually guarantees to the bottles worth reaching for as the nights draw in.

What makes a bourbon a bourbon

The word is not marketing. It is law. To call itself bourbon, a whiskey has to be made in the United States from a grain recipe that is at least half corn, aged in brand new charred oak barrels, and bottled with nothing added but water. That last point is the one that matters: no colouring, no flavouring, no sweetening. What you taste is corn, grain, yeast and wood, and time. If the label says straight bourbon, it has spent at least two years in the barrel, and usually a good deal longer.

Most of it comes from Kentucky, where the limestone water and the wild swings between hot summers and cold winters seem to suit the stuff. The new charred barrel does most of the heavy lifting. As the warehouse heats and cools through the year, the whiskey pushes in and out of the toasted wood, pulling vanilla, caramel, baking spice and a little coconut from the char. It is why bourbon is darker and sweeter than most Scotch, and why it needs no help from a sherry cask to taste of pudding.

Bourbon, Tennessee, rye: a quick untangling

A little vocabulary saves money. Tennessee whiskey, of which Jack Daniel's is the famous example, is made almost exactly like bourbon but filtered through sugar-maple charcoal before it goes into the barrel, a step that smooths it out. Jack Daniel's Tennessee Whiskey would qualify as bourbon on the numbers; it simply chooses a different name. Rye whiskey flips the recipe the other way, leaning on rye grain instead of corn, which makes it drier, spicier and brilliant in a cocktail. If you like your Old Fashioned with a bit of bite, a bottle like Sazerac Rye is the one to reach for.

There is one more word worth knowing: wheated. Swap the usual dash of rye in the recipe for wheat and the whiskey turns softer and rounder, all butterscotch and gentle spice. W.L. Weller Special Reserve is the classic, easygoing and wheated, and it shares its DNA with some of the most hunted bottles in America. It is the one to buy before everyone else works that out.

Three more phrases turn up again and again on the shelf. Small batch means the bottle is blended from a limited, hand-picked set of barrels; single barrel means every drop came from exactly one, so no two bottles are quite identical. Bottled in bond is the strictest label of the lot, a legal standard demanding one distillery, one season and a full 50% strength. And the proof number, that slightly baffling American figure, is simply the alcohol percentage doubled: 90 proof is 45%. Higher strength usually means more flavour, and a little more room for water in the glass.

Where to start

If you are buying your first good bottle, start with Buffalo Trace. It is the benchmark everyone else is measured against: soft, sweet, a little spicy, and priced like a weeknight rather than a treat. For a step up without a leap in price, Elijah Craig Small Batch brings more oak and a warming, almost toffee-ish depth that suits a cold evening and a single large cube of ice.

Trading up

When you want to spend a bit more, the rewards are real. E.H. Taylor Small Batch is bottled in bond, an old American mark of quality that means it is one distillery's work from a single season, aged at least four years and bottled at a full 50% strength. It drinks richer and more serious for it, without ever tipping into hard work. It is a lovely thing to give, and an even lovelier thing to keep back for yourself.

None of this needs a special glass or a ceremony. A splash of water or one big cube of ice opens bourbon up beautifully, taking the edge off the strength and letting the sweetness through. Purists will sip it neat, and they are not wrong either. The only real mistake is drowning it in a tall glass of cola and missing the point.

How to drink it, and what with

Bourbon is the backbone of the two great autumn cocktails. An Old Fashioned is little more than bourbon, sugar, bitters and a twist of orange, stirred until cold; a Manhattan trades the sugar for sweet vermouth and leans a touch more grown-up. Both are built for a dark evening. At the table, bourbon loves anything with caramel or smoke: pecan pie, sticky toffee, dark chocolate, a cheeseboard, or a plate of something straight off the barbecue while the weather still allows it.

A word on price and the hunt

Bourbon has a collector problem. A handful of names, the Van Winkles and the rarest Buffalo Trace releases, now change hands for silly money, and the hype can make the whole category feel out of reach. Ignore it. The genuine joy of bourbon is that the everyday stuff is so good: a bottle of the benchmark costs less than a supermarket Scotch and drinks better than it has any right to. Buy to drink, not to flip, and you will never feel short-changed.

Last pour

Bourbon is an uncomplicated pleasure, and that is precisely the point. Pick a bottle that suits your budget, add a little ice, and let the dark evening do the rest. Start with the benchmark, trade up when the mood takes you, and keep something good back for when the first guest arrives and the fire is lit. Autumn was rather made for it.