When you ask for poitín, most pubs in Ireland will inform you with a scowl, “That’s illegal,” like you’ve just asked for a rock of crack.
"I've seen blokes throw up as soon as they see it, let alone smelling or drinking the shit."
“When you taste it, you can tell exactly what family made it,” one Macedonian man told me of rakija, a home-distilled spirit that's a staple in the Balkans.
Once illegal, Ireland's forgotten moonshine—poitín—it's now making its way into proper bars and cocktails despite its unpredictable alcohol content.
Meth and moonshine have drawn comparisons before, but in Appalachia, an area where moonshine once reigned, the local culture and customs may have helped the meth trade thrive.
Hooch used to be big business.
War gin is Uganda's local moonshine and it makes the harshest Appalachian rotgut taste like Bailey's.
Sipping drinks from beneath the sink.
Hunting for moonshine in South Carolina with the Black Lips.