At a time when the term “moonshine” has found prominence on reality TV, increased cultural recognition, and even a place among some distilleries’ SKUs, professional distillers appear to have accepted the term as one that is evolving to carry multiple meanings, often going beyond its historical context.
In a small, anecdotal sampling, multiple industry professionals say they’ve softened on the use of the term in recent years—though views on its acceptability still differ.
Musings on Moonshine
Mark Vierthaler, head distiller at Whiskey del Bac in Tucson, Arizona, says he felt for a long time that using the term “moonshine” on legal spirits coming from a licensed distillery was an attempt to bilk consumers out of their money, “based on some romanticized version of backwoods distilling.” However, he’s come around to a more neutral position—as long as producers are forthright about what they’re actually putting into the bottle.
“I feel like, for the most part, consumers understand these days that ‘moonshine’ is the standard generic name for any new-make spirit—typically whiskey, of course—but a lovely little catch-all for any white spirit that defies any other definitions laid out by the feds,” he says. “Does it appeal to me? Not really. I personally tend to regard ‘moonshine’ as a lower-quality product wearing a patina of backwoods rebellion. But it would be really boring if we all liked the same things, right?”
At Bainbridge Organic Distillers, across the sound from Seattle on Bainbridge Island, founder Keith Barnes says the term is often divorced from its original meaning. The word’s propriety, he says, depends on who’s using it.
“Distillers that are making ’shine know who is the real deal and who isn’t,” he says. “I’d say the word is used, misused, and appropriated by marketers and salespeople. But people that come from a culture of moonshine, and are carrying on those traditions as a livelihood, have every right to call what they make whatever the hell they want to call it. I don’t think that putting new make in a mason jar or a handle jug makes it moonshine.”
Caitlin Bartlemay, master distiller at Oregon’s Hood River Distillers, says some brands are clearly using “moonshine” as a marketing term, but it also remains an important cultural reference—and one of the few things about distilling that many Americans know.
“Despite Prohibition being only 13 years, we as the broader population managed to forget or completely redefine categories and our drinking culture,” she says. “The ‘moonshiners’ during Prohibition and the illicit nature of the process at the time I think continues to do our industry a disservice, especially for those of us that work within it. I've certainly had people make jokingly derogatory comments about my being a moonshiner over the years, but … that is potentially the only touchpoint consumers have for the industry at all.”
She says the term is fair game for marketing the same way that products might be labeled “Old World” or “traditional recipe.”
“Neither of those terms are categories or regulated, but they also still hold value for both the brand and for the consumer,” Bartlemay says.
Ultimately, she settles on a neutral stance regarding the term; there’s a balance between using it as a window to educate consumers and, on the other hand, the potentially negative connotation of lower quality or illegality at a time when teetotaling is gaining new momentum.
Moonshine Marketing, Craft Tacos, and Transparency
Matt Strickland, master distiller at Pittsburgh’s Iron City Distilling, says the meaning of “moonshine” is clear to him: It means illegally made spirits.
Most licensed distillers using the term aren’t applying it to a product that’s in-line with the history of illicit distillers, he says. Instead, they’re often applying it to a neutral grain spirit with flavorings added.
“Honestly, it's kind of a shame. The term has become much more of a marketing gimmick, and transparently so,” he says. “They are missing the spirit of the spirit, so to speak. Yes, there were countless numbers of moonshiners before, during, and after Prohibition that made toxic hooch, making a lot of people seriously ill or worse in service of the almighty dollar. However, there were also quite a few men and women distillers out there who made very good booze under the radar of the tax man.”
Jeff Rasmussen, sales manager at equipment manufacturer StillDragon, entered the industry a decade ago—just as Ole Smoky and other brands started appearing “at every Walgreens and liquor store” as part of the moonshine/white-whiskey trend.
At the time, the word simply meant untaxed spirits. “No matter what I make in my garage, it’s moonshine because it’s untaxed liquor,” he says, “whether I’m making homemade brandy or what could be defined as a bourbon, but it’s not because I made it at home. It’s not made at a distilled spirits plant (DSP). So, it’s all moonshine.” He says the home distiller who sells their product has an even stronger claim to the term.
In the 10 years since, he’s come to see it as a cultural term that’s evolved into a marketing one.
“Marketing will always appropriate culture to do its job to sell things. Do you think they care about any of these other things, except to make money?” he asks. He compares it to efforts to define “craft.” “I can’t stand things used just as a marketing term, but I, in the last few weeks, have eaten a ‘craft taco.’ It’s made with really cool, different things. [But] why does it have to be ‘craft’? It’s a taco.”
Rasmussen says his feelings toward legal “moonshine” have eased over time, much like how his perception of distillers using sourced whiskey has mellowed. “Years ago, I absolutely disliked the idea [of legal moonshine] and the term and thought it was bad,” he says. “But at the same time, I thought that the people who were sourcing and blending were bad. They weren’t craft enough. It was hurting this cool, craft, high-quality, small-local-made thing to me. But it’s not anymore, it’s just a marketing term.”
Since then, he’s come to appreciate the people who are open about their sourcing and blending and can transform and elevate a spirit, even if someone else distilled it. “I would argue that I still feel that way about people who just buy a barrel, do nothing but dilute it down or even bottle it as a single barrel, they don’t do anything, and they market it as if they made it,” he says. “I want transparency in everything. If you’re going to call it ‘moonshine,’ tell me why. I want transparency in all of it.”
The more he learns, he says, the more he wants people to have more freedom to do cool things. Whether it’s embracing regional history, family history, or personal history, those things often fall into the moonshine category simply because they don’t fit anywhere else.
“Classification be damned,” he says. “If you want to use corn flakes, or throw some tomato paste in there, then that’s what you do.”
“Moonshine Belongs to Moonshiners”
Colin Spoelman, cofounder and distiller at Kings County Distillery in Brooklyn, New York, originally hails from Harlan County in the Appalachian region of eastern Kentucky.
“It's hard to find anyone closer to the true source of American moonshine than someone who grew up in Harlan County, location for the film Thunder Road, which is perhaps the greatest cultural artifact on moonshine culture, as well as dozens of songs and ballads,” he says. “I grew up when Harlan was still a dry county and frequently visited bootleggers to buy booze in my youth.”
Moonshine became a cultural fascination after he moved away, and he’s spent time since then trying to track down the authentic stuff.
“I find all the hand-wringing to be pretty misplaced and coming from outside the moonshine culture,” Spoelman says. “I recall a writer for the New York Times being very irked by commercial ‘moonshine,’ which is like Le Monde trying to settle the record on what a taco should be.”
In his mind, moonshine carries two distinct and equally valid meanings: Illegally made alcohol and distillate intended for consumption.
“There are a lot of people who have a still at home, in the hollows of Appalachian Kentucky and in Brooklyn, and anyone using it to make spirit is technically a moonshiner, though the person who goes the step further to sell the product has a slightly stronger claim to the term,” Spoelman says. “But anyone doing the Lord’s work of making spirit outside of a commercially registered distillery may be called a moonshiner, and the fruits of their efforts are unequivocally moonshine.”
Yet he says his second definition is also important “because linguistically, we don’t have a better one.” He compares American moonshine to unaged spirits elsewhere, such as eaux-de-vie and grappas in Europe, silver tequilas and mezcals in Mexico, and white rum.
“The term ‘white whiskey’ saw an increase in usage but never caught on,” he says. It was also technically inaccurate, compared to the large segment of real moonshine made with corn and sugar. “‘White dog’ or ‘white lightning’ just sound like they are trying to stand in for something more obvious, which we have in plain sight: moonshine.”
Kings County makes a corn whiskey that they call a moonshine, which he says passes the second test—it’s meant for consumption. If made on a column still, Spoelman suggests it may have a weaker claim to the term—but adding “distillate from a pot still” to the second definition seems to put too fine a point on the matter.
“We came out with a moonshine when a lot less about the term had been established,” he says. “I endured all kinds of shade from the bourbon drinkers and urban pontificates, who seemed to have a lot of unfounded ideas about what the world of whiskey, aged or unaged, should be. But I never got anything other than kindness and appreciation from real moonshiners. Maybe a little side eye with the unspoken suggestion they could do it better, but never any protectivist or disparaging comments about releasing a moonshine.”
Spoelman says many true moonshiners would want the ability to operate legally. If that were to happen, should they have to call their product something else? Moonshiners, he says, recognize that there are degrees of authenticity. “A TTB license is a compromise, but only a financial one in that you now owe Uncle Sam money that by rights should belong to you,” he says.
Those home producers understand that the distiller and the spirit of the act help to define true moonshine, he says. “And a true moonshiner knows what he is looking at.”
“Moonshine belongs to moonshiners, which is why I don’t think there’s a lot of true moonshiners that are upset about commercial moonshine,” Spoelman says. “[They know] the difference between marketing and authenticity, same as a painter knows the difference between art and decoration. It’s a term of art, and it belongs to artists.”
Got thoughts on moonshine?
We’d love to hear from more distillers or anyone who works in spirits. Please send any thoughts on moonshine terminology, styles, culture, or the public perception of craft distilling to [email protected].