Bourbon and Black Eyed Peas

Last week was quite stressful for me.  You know those kinds of problems that have no solutions, problems you can't control anything about except how you respond to the situation.  Well, 3 of them hit at once so I decided I would make a trip to the liquor store to get a bottle of whisky.  My nerves needed settling the old fashioned way.  Naturally, you might say.

When I saw this bottle on the bottom shelf at the back of the store  I spontaneously cried "Awright!" and grabbed it.  I wasn't mimicking the cry this bourbon was named for mind you.  I reserve a loud "YEEEEEHAAWW!!" for that.  I was just taken back a few years when I saw it.  I had an uncle that kept a bottle of this under the front seat of his pick up truck.  He kept it for those times when he needed a nip of "Reebel Yell" as he called it (I suspect it was more than a nip sometimes-I mean what responsible sober adult teaches a 5 year old to shoot black birds out of a cherry tree with a .22?).  Now, for those of you from abroad might not know a Rebel was a southerner who fought in The Civil War for the Confederacy.  See that little guy on the horse?  He's a rebel racing into battle to kill him some Yankees.  You can read about the "rebel yell" if you  click here .

I visited the Rebel Yell website.  Boy was I happy I bought this stuff!

Gather your nerve. Throw out your fear.
Rebel Yell Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey ain't for the meek.
This wheated bourbon evokes a free spirit,
reminding us that in this life we forge our own paths,
and we accept nothing less than absolute freedom.
To seize your destiny - that's true freedom.
That's the unforgettable taste of Rebel Yell.

I popped that sucker in the freezer.  I only drink my bourbon neat when in a drinking establishment.  It sounds sophisticated to order.  I say "A shot of your house bourbon please."  Pause....(and this is the important part).  You make eye contact and say "Neat."  This final touch lets them know you are serious about bourbon.  But if you aren't "puttin on airs" as we say then you toss aside such formalities and just say "Verna Mae (or insert your favorite southern name this one happens to be my teetotalling aunt), I need me a slug of that whisky up thar in the freezer."  Freezing it seems to take some of the burn away.  And let me tell you what.  There ain't nothin like that first drink of bourbon from a frosty bottle from the freezer.  I think the author of the above poem had a few shots prior to penning those lines.  It doesn't rhyme for one thing, but it sure does describe how it makes you feel a short while later!

This has to be one of my all time favorite labels on a bottle but I have to beg to differ with some of its historical claims.

I can agree it is brewed especially for the Deep South, but make no mistake Kentucky ain't considered The Deep South.  That honor is reserved for folks that eat rice with their blackeyed peas.  We are corn bread eaters here.  Rice is a grain and some folks put sugar and milk on it (much to the horror of those from The Deep South).  It also snows here on a regular basis unlike it does down south.  "Snowin down south" is what we southerners say to a lady whose slip is showing, well, in the days ladies wore slips anyhow.

The label goes on to boast about a feller named Weller (some of you might imbibe his more famous libation) who founded the distillery after The Battle of Chickamauga.  I'm no Civil War buff but after reading a few sentences about the battle it dawned on me Mr. Weller hightailed it up here to celebrate the victory and its likely one of his bunch may have even hanged some of my  relatives.  You see, Kentucky is south of The Mason Dixon Line which separated the South from the North so we sorta rode the fence during that time.  And as you might suspect not all Kentuckians were Rebels.  But history has made us a southern state (Thank God) and apparently we can certainly thank Mr. Weller for his part in that.

Nowadays it is politically incorrect to drive around with a horn playing "Dixie" and the Confederate Flag is considered a symbol of racism.  I lament that I really do, because I think it just shows how ignorant and stupid racist folks are.  They don't even have enough gumption to create their own song or flag.  They are so low they gotta go and steal one right off the pages of a history book and the lips of their great grandparents.  Slavery wasn't about hatred either, but I digress.  I guess Rebel Yell has such a small loyal following it hasn't come under the eye of Political Correctness and that is just fine with me.  Its a fine whisky if you like one that burns all the way down and makes you say "Whooooooo!" to cool off your lips.  When I'm settling my nerves I like to know I've had me a good slug.  I don't want any of that fine expensive bourbon you're supposed to sip by the thimbleful.  This is medicine folks!  And it works!!

After a good nip I peeped at the blackeyed peas.  Yup.  Time to put the cornbread on.

Cabbage was lookin good!

What do you wanna bet my great great grandfather who was hung from an old willow tree for suspected Union sympathizing ate like this?

Pretty darn good eats!

Those Deep South folks (bless their hearts) can keep their rice.  I want me some hot buttered corn bread!

After a couple of nips of Rebel Yell, a history lesson, and full belly of good food I forgot all about my problems and slept like a baby that night.

Cheers!