Poitin (Irish Moonshine)
I once spent a rainy summer walking through Ireland and stayed for a couple weeks at an inn so isolated that the nearest pub was three miles away. In Ireland that says a great deal. The pub wasn’t really that far, close enough to hear a dog bark, a rooster crow or a mother call for her children – but between where I stayed and where I drank lay a bog. A ditch cut a line through the bog and…
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