Lincoln & Bourbon
B bought me that Lincoln pencil sharpener on our trip, I bought the Lincoln Cabin postcard (coming soon to my parent’s mailbox). I stuck my finger in that vat of yeasty fermenting alcohol and nearly passed out when I tasted it. It was 90 Kentucky degrees outside and we were too close to the steam heat and still left-over-sick from a greasy spoon breakfast in Bardstown, KY. I would do it again just to have the right to be able to walk up to someone ordering a Maker’s Mark and say, “You like that? I had my finger in that six years ago.”
Some of the best scenery on the trip was what I call the Whiskey Prisons. Because the big ol moldy barrel aging warehouses look a lot like the medium security penitentiary where I teach. I also have it on good authority that there is fermenting, aging booze in both places.
Lock Me Up in a Bourbon Bunker. That’s the title of my new hit song. More tunes to follow. Bourbon is a singer’s drink.
For those of you confused about the aforementioned MOLD: All distilleries “inspire” this kind of black mold around the site – the buildings and surrounding fences and trees turn black. It is quite lovely looking and the tour guides try to tell you that it is harmless – although I had just read THIS article in wired and I was a little skeptical. I wasn’t about to run off the property before the tasting though.