Ole Smoky Tennessee Moonshine


Put it in a mason jar, and I will probably buy it. And that is how I end up with moonshine on my desk.

Tamura's just started selling Ole Smoky Tennessee Moonshine—moonshine that comes in flavors of cherry and apple pie, as well as the straight-up clear stuff. My husband argues that it's clearly marketed to women—the mason jar, the vintage label, the flavors, its ads on HGTV. One sip and four female taste tasters later, I can't think of any woman who would drink straight moonshine willingly, unless it meant a romp with bootlegging Tom Hardy in Lawless.

Not that any male I've introduced to the stuff has gone back for a second taste: "You know what would make this better? Aging it in barrels."

It's strong—100 proof distilled corn, resulting in firewater that to me smells like microwaved plastic, but others call "corn notes."

I hear the Apple Pie Moonshine is more palatable—only 40 proof and it tastes of apple pie, crust and all. 

After watching Lawless and reading a little of moonshine's history, it seems moonshine's reintroduction is to remind us of proud days gone by: of bootleggers in the rugged Appalachian mountains, running liquor during Prohibition, standing up to the law, a reminder of America's fierce independence (or stubborness). Moonshine, Ole Smoky seems to be telling me, is as American as apple pie (moonshine).

But the question is, is it still moonshine if it's legal? 

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