Have I mentioned my love for bourbon? Oh, I have? Many times? Well, my bad—I don’t know if it’s the Southern in me or just because it tastes so darn good, but I currently have an embarrassingly large collection of Bulleit bottles accumulating in the cabinet from this year alone that are going to make excellent vases in our new (old) Victorian home.
I blame my California friends Leah and Simon—for whom we all made the ultimate sacrifice to drink as much Bulleit as possible in a short amount of time to collect empty bottles for their wedding table displays (martyrs, we are)—for the obsession. Prior to my discovery of Bulleit, I never understood how people actually liked alcohol. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a fancy cocktail as much as the next 21st century girl, but strip it of its fruitiness, and I would not sip down the alcohol solo. Blech.
And then bourbon came into my life. Let’s just say if Camels & Chocolate ever procreated, the result would likely be Bourbon & Fainting Goats (followed inevitably by that pesky younger sibling, Cupcakes & Heilan’ Coos). In other words, this is a serious love affair—not merely a passing fling.
So naturally, I was bummed that I couldn’t make a return trip a couple hours north to the annual Bourbon Festival in Kentucky this week. Six days of booze, food and entertainment in the laid-back South? What’s not to love?! Plus, it’s National Bourbon Heritage Month, y’all!
Maybe, next year I’ll cancel all else so I can go. I think bourbon and I are to the point in our relationship where one of us needs to start making a few sacrifices—and I’m guessing that someone is going to have to be me.