Roger Scruton on the illegal liquor that is the vital ingredient of any party in Virginia

"Moonshine" means foolish talk; it is also a name for the drink that often produces it - an integral part of the culture of the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia. The home distillery was brought there by the Irish, along with the pentatonic scales and jittery rhythms that were eventually to marry with the blues to become blue-grass music. And just as no party in rural Virginia is complete without a blue-grass band, so is no party complete without moonshine.

Its effect on the body is as discoordinating as its effect on the tongue, producing a kind of slithery, sideways-rocking, falling-over dance called "clogging". And when all three - blue grass, moonshine and clogging - are in place, a new order of society emerges, one that bears some resemblance to an Irish country pub at the end of a hunting day. People sing with, dance against, and drink to each other, hardly conscious of what they say, do or sing, and seeming to recognise their surroundings only with the sudden stare of astonishment that precedes their slump to the floor.

Moonshine tends to be served in jam jars or plastic water bottles. Despite its criminality, it is neither concealed nor apologised for, but sampled with eager interest, as neighbouring hill-billies compare the secrets passed down in rival families since before recorded time. It is never sold, but comes as a gift, sometimes together with a haunch of venison or a brace of squirrel. And it is esteemed for its purity, each redneck swearing on the constitution and the Founding Fathers that his product has never produced the faintest suggestion of a headache, and could be drunk without harm by a child.

Most of it is made from grain - usually rye or barley, though occasionally potatoes find their way into the mash. A small amount of benzaldehyde seems to be a by-product of the fermentation, as the result always has a faint taste of almonds. It goes instantly to the head, with only the shortest of detours around the heart and the stomach. And that, in the end, is its purpose.

Moonshine is presumably so called because it was produced at night. It belongs to a culture in which the night is esteemed more than the day, because it is the time when nobody bothers you, when you can poach game, steal chickens, commit adultery or simply sleep untroubled, with a head whacked into a cube of solid thoughtlessness by alcohol.

Wherever distilled spirits dominate over beer or wine, this nocturnal culture emerges, and with it the kind of alcoholism that never plateaus but merely blottoes, retreating into a night of its own and sometimes remaining there for a week at a time. You witness this among Poles, Russians, Swedes and Finns, all of whom are expert blottologists. But in Virginia you also encounter the antidote, which is blue-grass music. Blue grass limits the intake and controls the output, fighting one spirit by raising another.

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