In Which we Visit Southern Grace Distilleries

It was mid-December, and the bare branches of dormant trees made intricate patterns against the sky. It’s probably faster to take the highway, but whenever I need to go South on NC 52, I go down through the county to Lexington, and catch it there. As I follow the winding country roads past open fields and old farmhouses, my disordered thoughts slow down, and everything becomes quiet. When we rounded the gentle curve that passes the Angus farm, even the steers were curled up on the grass in mid-morning laziness. 

My thoughts wandered on along with the road. Sometimes I have flashes of insight on these drives, and sometimes, as I admire the orderly lines of the grape arbors or discover another old, collapsing barn, I just drift. Eventually, we got to the right turn on NC 150. There’s a church there which I always remember as having “rock,” or “shepherd” in its name. I typically run through several permutations as we get nearer: Rock of Ages, Good Shepherd, Shepherd on the Rock, On This Rock, Rise up Shepherd… before it hits me that it’s actually “Good Hope UMC.” No good shepherds or even good rocks; just good hope. I have no idea why I persistently mis-remember it: maybe the shepherds in my brain have been secretly hoping for rocks… or vice-versa.

Lazarus chuckled softly and he clambered into the front seat. 

“If you like the back roads, boss, you’ll love getting to Mount Pleasant!”

It was a fun trip, indeed. As we got near Kannapolis, we chuckled at “Lane Street” (“Which is it?”) and “Irish Potato Road,” which branched off into side roads such as “New Potato Drive” and “Tater Ridge Road.” 

“I’m guessing they grew tobacco out here.”

“Or raised pigs.”

“Real heirloom stuff this—none of those newfangled Idaho varieties!”

“Keep an eye out for Yukon Gold Baptist Church!”

This side of North Carolina, at least, is full of reminders of an era before the interstate system, such as “Old Salisbury-Concord Road.” According to the story, it took a young Dwight D. Eisenhower about two months to travel from Washington D.C. to San Francisco on roads like these. My grandfather had also driven such roads, and reminisced about going between South Dakota and Washington State, passing through every little town on the way. Not as impressive as the old Roman Roads, perhaps, and I appreciate the greater efficiency of the interstates, certainly, but there is a time for taking one’s time.

Also, the interstate doesn’t go to Mount Pleasant.

Eventually we landed on NC 73, which brought us into town, past the What-a-Burger, and into the picturesque downtown area. Mount Pleasant, like many towns in central North Carolina, suffered a precipitous decline in the 1990s as the textile industry went overseas, and has been struggling to recover ever since. The situation was exacerbated in 2011 when the Cabarrus Correctional Center, the town’s minimum-security prison, also closed. The prison had been the largest municipal water customer, and the town had a difficult time in making up the budget shortfall. However, strong leadership and vision have been paying off. The lovely old brick buildings downtown Main Street have been refurbished, and the old Hosiery Mill has been converted into an upscale restaurant called, appropriately, 73 and Main.

When the Southern Grace Distillery outgrew its space in nearby Concord, the mayor of Mount Pleasant immediately borrowed the church van and took founders Leanne Powell and Thomas Thacker on a tour of the town’s several vacant industrial properties. The old prison was included on the tour, and Powell and Thacker were immediately attracted to the idea of moonshiner “outlaws” working in a prison. The address: 130 Dutch Road, sealed the deal. At the time, Southern Grace’s only product was their premium corn whiskey, Sun Dog 130–it seemed destined from the beginning. Coincidentally, distilleries also use a lot of water.

We continued through town and back out into the county, crossing Dutch Buffalo Creek. After a few laughs imagining Dutch buffaloes stampeding through the tulip fields (“He! buffels! Ga daar weg!”), we turned into the refitted “Whiskey Prison.”

The Cabarrus Correctional Center had been a minimum-security prison: the kind of place prisoners were sent to finish their sentences, or as a reward for good behavior. Much of the complex remains as it was, including the dormitories, guard tower, outdoor visiting area, and barbed wire-topped fence. The original dormitory was built in 1929 to house seventy inmates, and a second was added in 1987 to accommodate 240 more. With state budget cuts toward the end of the facility's active life, the prison had been forced to house as many as 100 inmates in the old building and 400 in the new. Neither building is particularly spacious; they must have been packed in like sardines.

Other buildings on the site include the chapel, commissary, and “hot box” (“Have you ever seen Cool Hand Luke?” our guide asked).

Production occurs in the 1987 building. If I had been surprised at how such small operations as Old Nick and Broad Branch could keep up with commercial production, Southern Grace was all the more astonishing. Thacker believes in authenticity to the point that, as he put it, a moonshiner from 150 years ago should be able to recognize all the equipment. Indeed, the two modestly-sized pot stills look almost as though they were cobbled together from spare parts. I was reminded of the still in the old war movie Stalag 17, which was made from, in part, an old bugle.

Lazarus, who was riding on my back again, chuckled in my ear. “Wait until you taste it, boss!”

The tasting room is in the former commissary, along with the gift shop and a small display of shivs and other contraband found within the walls of the dormitories. As mentioned previously, Southern Grace’s first product was Sun Dog 130: a 130-proof white corn whiskey. Thacker’s strategy was to develop one exceptional product, and then spin others from it. With a mash bill of 88% corn and 12% malted barley, Sun Dog has a rich corny sweetness, and the high proof point gives it a pleasant heat. It is easy to enjoy simply sipping it neat... that is, if you don’t have to do anything else that day. 

For those with late-afternoon appointments or evening plans, Sun Dog 130 is proofed down to 100 to make Zero Dark 130. We’ll discuss this in more detail in a later post, but the lower proof brings out a rather more savory flavor, which mellows and rounds out the sweetness.

Sun Dog is also combined with fruit juices to make a pair of 45-proof flavored whiskeys: Pink Lemonade and Apple Dumpling. These were rather too sweet for me, but Lazarus especially liked the Apple Dumpling. He said it was the best apple cider there ever was, and we took home a bottle of Pink Lemonade for my wife, who enjoyed it very much (she also speaks highly of Zero Dark 130).

Finally, Sun Dog 130 is barreled for two years to create Conviction bourbon. For me, this was the highlight of the trip.

“Wow. I’ve really liked all the bourbons, but this one is something else altogether!”

Lazarus smiled. “The high-corn mash gives it the rich sweetness, and the oak has really deepened the flavor,” he agreed. “Can you believe a product like this came out of those stills?”

“It’s amazing,” I agreed.

“Also, their process has a unique component: do you hear the music?”

“It’s hard to miss... I’ve been wondering what that was.”

“They play it that loud so that the vibrations agitate the whiskey in the barrels, making sure that there’s as much contact with the wood as possible during the aging process.”

“No… really?”

“Yes! In fact, there’s a theory that one of the reasons the original Kentucky bourbons were considered superior was that they were shipped, in the barrels, on the Mississippi River. The agitation seems to promote more interaction with the oak, which enhances both the color and the flavor of the bourbon.”

I considered this. “You know, my father has been trying to get ahold of some Constellation rum, which is aged in bourbon barrels in the hold of the USS Constellation, in Baltimore harbor… he says you have to know someone to get it though… do you suppose?”

“I would expect it’s the same idea, yes.”

After the tour and tasting, I ordered a Conviction Ginger from the bar: it was simply Conviction bourbon and ginger ale over ice, and it was delightful. While I typically drink bourbon on the rocks, the ginger ale added a nice counterpoint tot he flavor, and allowed me to sit a little longer and take everything in.

As a part of their mission, Southern Grace donates part of their proceeds to charity. The name Sun Dog 130 a play on a special optical effect created by ice crystals, which creates mirror images of the sun. The label features an actual (blue) dog, however, and profits support local animal shelters. Similarly, Zero Dark 130 is a play on military slang, and profits support veterans’ organizations. Zero Dark 130 is dedicated to the men and women of the armed forces, and lists fourteen members of the larger distillery family on the label. We solemnly raised our glasses in recognition of their service.

“You’ll need to come back for one of the ‘after dark’ tours, boss.” Lazarus advised.

“Oh really?”

“Yes: you get to see more of the old buildings, for one thing, but this place is apparently haunted.”

“At this point, I’m disinclined to doubt it.”

“It has been fairly well documented.” Lazarus sipped his Apple Dumpling and continued wistfully, “It really is a shame that you didn’t get to meet Leanne. She only just died—I think it was last July. She was really the driving force behind this place, and you’ll hear stories about her from distillers all over the region. She loved people, and would remember not only everyone’s names and faces, but also everything they’d talked about. She made everyone feel as though she was their best friend.”

We solemnly raised out glasses again.

As I got to the bottom of the cup, it was pretty clear that I wasn’t going to be able to drive anywhere, so we simply sat, took in the atmosphere, and talked to Virginia, who was working behind the bar. She told us stories about taking both former guards and even former inmates of the prison on the tours, as well as some creepy anecdotes about the current, supernatural residents. She also told us that 73 and Main had really put Mt. Pleasant back on the map. In addition to the fine dining menu, their bar featured over fifty bourbons (including Conviction, of course), and offered tasting flights.

When I got to the point where I could handle the trip back safely, we set back out through town, stopping for a brief snack at What-a-Burger. 

“No fine dining for you, eh, boss?” Lazarus asked as he ate my fries.

“I’ll make a date with my wife later.”

“Something’s going on in there.”

“I was just thinking that the humor is pretty dark. Prisons aren’t nice places, and the thought of the “hot box,” the overcrowding, and so forth, makes me a little queasy. I don’t have any better ideas, though… we’re probably always going to need a place for the Charles Mansons, the Gary Ridgways…”

Lazarus munched thoughtfully for a moment.

“The concept is a little abstract for me, but I did accidentally spend the night in a feral cat trap once. I wouldn’t do it again.”

“On the other hand,” I continued, “I totally get it. The ‘outlaw’ thing is hilarious, and, in a larger sense, preserving the space makes the experience of it available to people who wouldn’t otherwise be able to imagine what it’s like. As a result, we might all be inspired to look for a better solution.”

“That sounds a little grandiose, boss. Have you been drinking?”

I snapped back to reality. “All right…” 

“Why don’t we just keep converting them to distilleries?”

“Enough, you little vacuum cleaner! Am I going to get any of those?”