Bourbon Festival

Contrary to Hunter S. Thompson lore regarding Kentucky and its number one liquid commodity, the Kentucky Bourbon Festival in Bardstown was neither depraved or degenerate. Granted, Wild Turkey distillery was representing, no doubt...but an up-and-comer might have any future awards locked up:

Pappy Van Winkle. Aged 15 years. Perfect over ice. Nothing else to say...wait..."Just add cigar" might work.

Look--I'm not a big Bourbon drinker. Jim Beam and I had a horrible falling out around 1997 and I walked away and never looked back. In fact, I prided myself on my disdain and restraint when it came to anything made with corn mash. The mere thought of even smelling an open Bourbon bottle could send shivers down my spine and bring goose bumps to my arms. Never mind the gag reflex that also sort of reared in the back of my throat. ACK!

Then came Knob Creek. My sister-in-law gave us a bottle as a house-warming gift. It is an upscale Bourbon distilled by Jim Beam. I could drink it with a coke, and that was nice, because the drink itself was smooth enough.

So when the Bourbon Festival came around, we all decided to go and we had a great time. The gift booth/craft area also included these mini-mock-ups of the distilleries themselves as a T-shirt/shot glass selling area. Then there were rows and rows of fest food vendors, everything from BBQ and giant onion blossoms to funnel cakes and corn dogs.

So where was the actual Bourbon?

We were sent over to a ball diamond that had been fenced off and guarded by grown-ups and security folks. We had to pay a nominal fee to get into the concentration camp...er, ball diamond area where the Bourbon was being poured. As state troopers wandered the grounds and people sat on the grass and drank, a line formed at a tent over by first base. It was the pouring tent. I chose two better brands to taste: Bulleit and Pappy Van Winkle. I took the Bulleit neat, and the Pappy over ice. :::Shudder:::

I did shudder. Make no mistake. But the Pappy Van Winkle over ice was simply delightful, and in fact it is made in such small batches that some bottles sell for $50...and some sell for $100.

As my husband looked around at the drinking area, with its fences, security, and general locked-up feeling, he commented that it would be easy enough to get people into a concentration camp: offer them bourbon, play loud rock music, and have a bunch of greasy food, beer, and TV. He thought that that might be enough to get people to comply. Scary thought...scary in that it may be true.

After we tasted the liquor we left the drinking area and went to the stage to hear the Kentucky Headhunters, who totally rocked out. It was a good show. Their drummer is freaking amazing. Their rhythm guitar player was channeling Jerry G. with his black tee and crazy hair.

After a night of eating BBQ, savoring the mother's milk of Kentucky, and listening to some home-grown Kentuckians play the theme to "Davy Crockett" as a rockabilly tune, we drove home on back roads and gravel roads, eying the farms in the moonlight.

The real secret to enjoying the Bourbon fest? Moderation. If I had gone liquor crazy like my one night stand with Jim Beam in 1997, I would have had a terrible time. Two shots shared with my husband, and a third left unfinished--offered to the gods--was the only way to go.