I was reading about Stillgarden Distillery in Dublin — small outfit, made gin and whiskey, had that green-glass bottle with the pressed herbs on the label. They tried to raise capital. Didn’t work.
They’re going into liquidation. Not bankruptcy — liquidation. Means someone’s already counting the copper stills, the oak barrels, maybe even the tasting glasses.
I passed their old taproom once. Smelled like juniper and damp wool. The bartender wore a sweater with a hole in the elbow and knew every regular’s third name. Funny how much heart fits in a 400-square-foot room — and how quietly it disappears when the money stops.
