Nice long days out there midsummer in Mud Creek. Ain’t got no mountains to the west and it stays light ‘til damn near ten o’clock for about two weeks on either side of the solstice. Uncle Dave and I drank jug after jug of cheap red wine, since we’d finished readin’ all of Fante and were right impressed with that Angelo Musso cat. Started wonderin’ why we didn’t grow grapes out here, or maybe why not ferment pinto beans and make some kinda Mud Creek hooch that would result in us buildin’’ a big ‘ol spread where all the men in town would come to pay homage and get piss drunk every day. No time like the present, so I fermented twenty pounds of pintos and assembled a still from the scrap heap. After a week the bean vat stank like when you’re preg-testin’ heifers and got your whole arm stuck up inside of ‘em. Sort of a mix of shit and raw meat and somethin’ glandular and hormone based. We strained the liquid and it came out a greybrown mix reminiscent of some serious dysentery, but I figured a few passes through the still and it oughtta clean up nicely. Probably drip it through some charcoal while we’re at it. Got nothin’ else goin’ on so why not.
Three distillations later we had a nice clear spirit clockin’ in at a hefty 66%. It had a bit of a pinto bean bouquet to it, and it tasted kinda earthy. Damn smooth. And boy howdy did it fuck you right up. Sort of a tequila buzz but a bit headier. Moonshiney for sure. Once I got a knack for pullin’ off the methanol heads it didn’t even leave you with much of a headache next day. Uncle Dave and I thought we were on our way to fame and fortune, but everyone who tried it gagged and puked and looked at us like we were playin’ some kinda cruel joke. Guess there really ain’t no accounting for taste. At least Uncle Dave and I were happy as all get out. That bean hooch was gonna make for a lot fewer trips to the liquor store. And Smitty liked it just fine. You can’t put a price on a good diesel mechanic since they’s rare as true love, so that alone made the whole process worthwhile from my perspective.
Over the next week we figured out if you took your basic Bloody Mary formula and added some Hatch chiles and some garlic Cholula to the mix, that you got a right decent beverage. Sort of a Tex-Mex refreshment that might have had some broad appeal, except it caused the uninitiated, (meanin’ anyone who ain’t all that used to eatin’ beans and tortillas two or three times a day), to shit like a corn-fed bull. They suited Uncle Dave and I just fine, and we were probably more than just a bit healthier thanks to all them antioxidants we were suddenly gettin’. Uncle Dave named it The Hemorrhoid, and it became our go-to refreshment ‘til I lost my job in the Fall and moved up to Denver.