If Calamity Jane led a team of wily mountain men into a ballroom dancing competition, this is the bottle that would loosen their legs. Angeleno plum promenades and herbal underarm turns with blackberry cassis tomahawks, cedar spice horns, and cracked pepper buckskin jackets. But when the bluegrass kicks in, they really get going: leathery-dill foxtrots, sassafras sambas, and tamari-miso spins—furs flapping, flintlock rifles clattering, and all. And when they sit around the fire later on, they’ll vow to never speak of it again.
