Homemade Kahlua -- What You Make With Your Hands Stays

Cicadas at sundown. The hollow loud as a foundry. Worked at the construction company in Lexington this week. The body holds. Most days.

Connie at the vet clinic, four shifts this week. Her back is tired. She does not say so. I see it. Mama is 86. She is the toughest person I have ever known. She still cooks every day in the company house in Evarts.

Ribs in the smokehouse Saturday. Hickory wood. Six hours.

Travis called Tuesday. The landscaping company is busy. He sounds tired in a good way. Amber called Sunday. Things are good. James sends his regards.

The week held. The mountains were the mountains.

Connie read aloud from a novel Tuesday evening while I worked on the bench. Some Appalachian writer she had picked up at the library in Whitesburg. The voice was the voice of where we live. We listened together.

I checked the truck oil Saturday. The mileage on this truck is criminal.

Connie made jam Saturday afternoon. Wild blackberries from the patch up the hollow. Twelve jars. The pantry is filling for winter.

I sat on the porch with bourbon at sundown Friday. The fog rolled into the hollow the way it has every fog of every year. The porch was the porch. The bourbon was the bourbon.

Connie cut my hair on the porch Tuesday afternoon. She has been cutting my hair for forty years. The barber in Pineville cannot do what Connie does, which is also love.

Drove the truck to the dump Saturday afternoon. Saw three deer crossing the road on the way back. The mountains have been giving back this year.

I went up to Earl's grave at the Evarts cemetery Saturday. Brought a beer. Drank half. Poured the rest on the dirt. Some traditions are mine alone.

The neighbor up the road — Old Roy, eighty-seven, lives alone — had a small heart scare. We took him soup beans Tuesday. Cornbread too. He cried a little when he ate. We all cry over soup beans eventually.

Travis sent a photo of Earl Thomas riding on the mower with him at a job site. The boy is wearing a Hensley Landscaping T-shirt that's too big. Three generations on a mower. I saved the photo.

Sunday service at Harlan First Baptist when we go. Pastor preached about Ruth and Boaz. The choir sang. Connie wore her gray dress.

I split a half-cord of wood Saturday. Slowly. The back does not let me work fast anymore. It got done. The wood was for the smokehouse.

The dog — old Beau, fifteen years old — slept by the wood stove all afternoon Tuesday. He used to be a hunting dog. Now he is a heating pad with opinions.

I sat at the kitchen table Tuesday night working on the recipe project. Mama's soup beans. I cannot get the words right yet.

The creek was running clear Sunday afternoon. I watched a kingfisher work the riffle. Did not move for an hour. Some Sundays the watching is the worship.

Read the paper at breakfast Tuesday. The county news is not great. The mines have not come back and they will not come back. The young people leave. The hollows empty. We stay.

Worked on a basement remodel job in Lexington. The work was good. The pay was good. The body is tired.

Drove to Pineville for parts Wednesday. The hardware store man knew me. We talked about the weather and the price of feed. Forty minutes for a five-minute errand. That is rural Kentucky.

My back was tight after the wood-splitting Saturday. Took an Aleve. Slept eight hours. Got up.

Sitting on the porch with bourbon Friday evening, the fog coming in the way it always does, I got to thinking about what we make ourselves around here — the jam Connie put up, the wood I split for the smokehouse, the ribs that ran six hours on hickory. There’s a recipe I come back to when the pantry-filling season turns serious, something dark and slow that you pour over ice or keep for company: Homemade Kahlua. Takes patience, same as anything worth doing. The smokehouse teaches you that.

Homemade Kahlua

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 25 min + 2 weeks aging | Servings: 24 (1.5 oz each)

Ingredients

• 2 cups water
• 2 cups granulated sugar
• 1/2 cup dark brown sugar, packed
• 1/2 cup instant espresso powder (or dark instant coffee)
• 2 cups vodka (80 proof)
• 2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
• 1 whole vanilla bean, split (optional, for depth)

Instructions

1. Make the syrup. Combine water, granulated sugar, and brown sugar in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Stir until sugars fully dissolve, about 5 minutes. Do not let it boil hard — keep it at a steady gentle simmer.
2. Add the coffee. Whisk in the instant espresso powder until completely dissolved. Remove from heat and let the mixture cool to room temperature, about 30 minutes.
3. Combine with vodka. Once cool, stir in the vodka, vanilla extract, and split vanilla bean if using. The mixture will darken and deepen as it comes together.
4. Bottle it. Pour into clean glass jars or bottles with tight-fitting lids. Seal well.
5. Age it. Store in a cool, dark place for at least 2 weeks before serving. Shake gently every few days. The flavor rounds out and mellows considerably after the first week — patience is most of the recipe.
6. Serve. Pour over ice, use in White Russians, mix into coffee, or give jars as gifts. Remove the vanilla bean before gifting or after 4 weeks. Keeps up to 6 months stored properly.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 118 | Protein: 0g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 19g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 4mg