When I first fell down this rabbit-hole, the chief question that interested me, one I didn’t know if I would get an answer to or if there even was an answer for, was: Can there be such a thing as legal moonshine? By definition, it seemed to me, there couldn’t be.
In practice, however, there can be simply because there already is. As Kevin R. Kosar notes in Moonshine: A Global History, since Ole Smoky essentially created the market for it in 2009 in eastern Tennessee, dozens of legal moonshine purveyors have sprouted up. Some are from big brands, like Jim Beam’s Jacob’s Ghost, others more “craft,” capitalizing on the marketability of the haute hillbilly trend that goes somewhat hand-in-hand with the rise of “original,” “authentic,” and “heritage” as advertising buzzwords.
In short: A moonshine in ill-used name only. Ole Smoky now has “more than 20 creative flavors crafted from the authentic family recipe,” international distribution, and three branded and tourable distilleries. The company has quite a lot of pride in their product and process; the website boasts:
“Like other moonshiners and bootleggers, we know it’s considered risky to tell stories of moonshine glory. The consequences of talking back in the day made it something you just didn’t do. But those days are gone, and it’s hard not to brag when you’re makin’ & sellin’ Ole Smoky Moonshine.”
One taste and you know those days are gone indeed. Ole Smoky’s “pure” shine is only 80 proof, which would probably be more offensive to shiners of yore than the sugar content.
Other brands following that model include Midnight Moon, borne on the back of legendary shiner turned NASCAR racer Junior Johnson (portrayed in the movie The Last American Hero by a 23-year-old Jeff Bridges); Popcorn Sutton’s, also named for a famous former shiner; and Tim Smith’s, a shiner featured on the Discovery Channel show Moonshiners, all with some story of making it “like they used to.” That’s not unusual — liquor marketing has always stretched the truth. But perusing website after website where the maker’s spirit was referenced almost snidely as “likker” (quotations included), I couldn’t help tasting hillbilly voyeurism in it all; like the same people with an appetite for “Duck Dynasty” or “Honey Boo Boo” might see drinking it as a form of blue collar slumming or a joke jar to bring to a party and not a “real” spirit.
I posed my chief question to Price. Isn’t this an oxymoron? Clearly there’s a benefit — no running from the law — but what about the optics? I imagined the old timers frowning at the prospect of legal cooperation, something of the liquor’s wildness taken away.
“Well,” he said slowly, pausing to consider my question carefully. “We have a storytelling culture. You know: ‘Never let the truth get in the way of a good story.’ And that’s moonshine. There is an ingrained shadiness to it. You don’t get that exactly with beer and wine. It’s part of the legend, and sure, we put that out there. That’s part of the draw.