Before there was a distillery, there was a kitchen counter. For years home distilling was our hobby — something we did on weekends, between trips, mostly for friends and mostly for fun. Now the counter is covered in glass jars. Each one holds a single botanical steeping in spirit: juniper, coriander, cardamom, black tea, rosemary, coconut. We taste them alone first, then in pairs, then in small blends, writing down every ratio in a notebook that is already getting messy. The hardest part isn't the chemistry. It's memory. How do you put a beach on the Freetown peninsula into a glass? Or the light along the Mediterranean coast? We don't have a formula for that. We just keep tasting until something reminds us of the place. Most trials don't work. Some are too bitter, some too soft, some just taste like a jar of herbs. But every so often one makes us both stop and look at each other. Those are the ones that go on to the next round.