Jefferson’s Mary McLain Bourbon

Aroma: It’s soft and sultry, like the opening line of a Civil War love letter. Barrel char, old leather, banana bread—yes, banana bread—plus a hint of orange peel. Give it a minute to open up, it’s not a frat party; it’s a salon in 1802 and you’re wearing a waistcoat.

Palate: Smooth and oily, like a well-written essay that accidentally gets you an A+. There’s dark toffee, butter brickle (don’t ask, just trust), cocoa, roasted nuts, and then boom—Bananas Foster crashes the faculty meeting with a chocolate-covered orange peel under each arm.

Finish: Long, peppery, and complex—like tenure. You’ll catch grilled pineapple, pipe tobacco, and a clove-stuffed orange that smells like winter break and lost innocence.

In conclusion, it’s the kind of bourbon that reminds you history isn’t just dates and dead people—it’s flavor, risk, rebellion, and a little banana on the nose. Raise a glass to Grandma McLain, the patron saint of tasteful misbehavior. Now open your textbooks to page pour-it-again.