Moonshine 


The bar where we ate dinner last night was very well-stocked, but I paused for a minute at the serious collection of jars — until I realized it was all moonshine.  Well, we are in Tennessee, after all, eating in a place called The Stillery, and there wasn’t a revenuer in sight.

The moonshine came in lots of different flavors, like “apple pie.”  I’m sure many party-hearty visitors to Nashville have figured they should guzzle some shine to make their visit fully authentic . . . and then came to regret it the next morning.  I wasn’t tempted.  In college I learned my lesson well that drinking fruity concoctions where the Kool-Aid-like flavoring serves only to mask the crushing alcoholic content isn’t a wise course of personal conduct — especially when it’s served from what appears to be a garbage pail.  

With an inward nod to Granny Clampett, I let the white lightning pass and stuck to a beer.

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