Reese Rushton was standing at his mailbox on Burwood Drive in Spanish Fort, Alabama when he saw him—the neighbor who never spoke. You know the type. Lives three doors down, waves occasionally, but you’ve never exchanged more than a nod in two years.

On impulse, Reese said it: “Hey, I’m having a bourbon tasting at my house this weekend. You interested?”

The neighbor didn’t hesitate. “Hell yeah, I’d love to do that.”

That was it. No formal invitation. No email thread. Just a guy at a mailbox taking a shot in the dark. And just like that, the Burwood Bourbon Club was born.

What started as four neighbors sitting around tasting whiskey has turned into something else entirely—a neighborhood institution with custom glassware, official meeting minutes, a waiting list, and enough stories to fill a book. Some of those stories are legendary. Some probably shouldn’t be repeated. But all of them prove one thing: you don’t need to be a whiskey expert to build something meaningful around bourbon. You just need to show up.

The Beginning: A Good Idea Nobody Had the Guts to Execute

It wasn’t even Reese’s idea.

At the neighborhood Christmas party a few months after he’d moved to Burwood Drive, someone floated the concept: “We should do Whiskey Wednesday.”

Heads nodded. Everyone agreed it was a great idea. Then everybody went home and nobody did anything about it.

That’s how good ideas die—not from opposition, but from nobody being willing to make the first move.

A few months later, Reese and his neighbor John Simmons were talking, and one of them said what the other was thinking: “Why are we waiting for someone else to do this?”

They picked a date. Reese sent out some texts. Four people showed up.

No elaborate plan. No formal structure. Just four guys, a couple bottles of bourbon, and a willingness to try something new.

That first night, nobody knew what they were doing. They poured. They tasted. They talked. And when it was over, they all agreed: “Let’s do this again.”

The next meeting had five people. Then seven. Then ten. Then twelve. Then fifteen.

Word spread. People started asking if they could join. It became—and Reese admits this sounds ridiculous—a status symbol in the neighborhood. You wanted to be invited to Bourbon Club.

Making It Official (Or At Least Trying To)

Somewhere around meeting six or seven, Reese decided this needed to be more than just guys drinking whiskey. If they were going to do this, they were going to do it right.

Meeting minutes started getting recorded. Bottles got documented. Ratings got tracked. The Burwood Bourbon Club—BBC for short—was becoming an actual thing.

Then Tony Levato, a member who works in design, created the BBC logo and put it on coasters. Reese took it further and had custom Yeti-style tumblers made in two colors: red and blue. If you know anything about Alabama, you know why. Some of his neighbors are Crimson Tide fans. Some are Auburn. The bourbon brings them together, but old rivalries die hard.

The ladies of the neighborhood noticed what was happening and formed their own group—the Burwood Beavers Club. Reese made them custom tumblers too, featuring a certain northwestern university logo with big letters that say “BBC.” Is it a copyright infringement? Probably. Does Reese care? Not particularly. When they sue him, he figures it’ll be his moment in the spotlight.

What started as a casual get-together had turned into something with branding, inside jokes, and enough formality that Reese’s wife eventually said, “You’re taking this too seriously.”

That’s when he knew they were doing it right.

How BBC Actually Works

Here’s the thing about the Burwood Bourbon Club: it’s structured, but not pretentious. Formal, but not stuffy. Educational, but not academic.

There are guidelines, but they’re simple:

The host provides enough whiskey for each attendee to have several ounces neat. That’s the only real requirement. Everything else is optional.

Food is encouraged but not mandatory. Some hosts cook elaborate spreads. Some order pizza. Some provide nothing and nobody minds. It’s about the bourbon, not the meal.

The host picks the bottles and the theme. Sometimes it’s two or three whiskeys from the same distiller. Sometimes it’s a regional comparison. Sometimes it’s just whatever sounded interesting. The host gives a short presentation—anywhere from two minutes to ten—about the distiller, the brand, the mash bill, the aging process. Production values vary. Some guys pull up slides on the giant TV in Reese’s living room. Some just talk through it with the bottle in hand.

The format is consistent. They pour neat. Let it rest. Smell it and discuss. Take a small sip, then a bigger one. Talk about the nose, the palate, the finish. Rate it out of ten. Reese records the average score and any notable flavor observations. (If you’re looking to host your own bourbon tasting, we’ve got a complete guide that walks through the entire process.)

Early on, they tried pouring over ice. Bad move. They’d seen it happen before with Jack Daniel’s—over ice, it turned bitter and harsh. Cavehill by Rabbit Hole distillery out of Louisville did the same thing. Now they stick to neat for evaluation, though folks can do what they want after the official tasting.

They don’t use fancy Glencairn glasses. Just rocks glasses. Most of these guys aren’t whiskey collectors or connoisseurs. They’re neighbors learning together, and that’s the whole point.

The meetings last a couple hours, then the ladies usually join. What starts as a bourbon education session ends as a neighborhood hangout. Fellowship first, whiskey second.

The Mistakes (Because There Were Plenty)

Not everything went smoothly.

The biggest mistake? Inviting non-drinkers to taste several bottles on an empty stomach. This ended poorly. Multiple times.

There have been casualties. Members who were, shall we say, overserved. Some earned nicknames they’ll never live down. The details are staying in the vault, but let’s just say pacing matters and “titty time” is not always an appropriate announcement.

They learned. Food became standard. Water stayed on the table. And if someone’s struggling halfway through the third pour, there’s no shame in calling it early.

There were also logistical hiccups. Scheduling conflicts. Bottles running out mid-tasting and someone having to walk next door to grab another. Presentations that went way too long. Ratings that made no sense in hindsight.

But here’s what Reese and the crew figured out: the mistakes are part of it. Nobody starts out knowing how to run a bourbon club. You learn by doing, and every misstep makes the next meeting better.

What They’ve Actually Learned About Bourbon

When you taste whiskey regularly with the same group of people, patterns emerge.

They did a blind tasting once—bottles covered, no one knowing what they were drinking. When they revealed the results, almost everyone had ranked the bottles the same way. Maybe they weren’t experts, but they were developing a collective palate.

Individual preferences became clear too. Reese discovered he’s not big on rye. The spice just doesn’t do it for him. Other members love it. That’s the beauty of tasting together—you learn what you actually like, not what you’re supposed to like.

They’ve learned practical things too. High-proof bourbon needs water to open up. Some distillers are more consistent than others. Age doesn’t always mean better. And just because something’s expensive doesn’t mean it’s good.

Recently, Reese and John decided to get more serious about their tasting notes. After a conversation with yours truly about structured evaluations, they called an emergency meeting of the “BBC High Council” (that’s Reese and John) and tested out a formal tasting sheet with Cavehill by Rabbit Hole distillery—a bottled-in-bond bourbon out of Louisville, Kentucky.

The process intimidated them at first. Trying to pick out specific flavors felt like guesswork. But then they realized something important: it didn’t matter if they got it “right.” As Reese put it, “It’s not the kill. It’s the thrill of the chase.”

The point isn’t to become professional tasters. It’s to pay attention, savor the whiskey, and learn something new each time.

Why It’s More Than Just Drinking

Ask Reese’s wife, and she’ll probably tell you BBC is just an excuse for guys to drink bourbon and avoid responsibilities for a couple hours. She might not be entirely wrong.

But here’s the thing: the club exists for three reasons, in this order: fellowship, education, and community outreach. The bourbon’s just the vehicle.

Fellowship: Reese didn’t know most of his neighbors before BBC started. Now he’s got fifteen friends within walking distance. They’ve celebrated promotions, survived tough times, and built genuine relationships. The bourbon brought them together, but the friendship keeps them coming back.

Education: These guys aren’t whiskey snobs. Most didn’t know much about bourbon when they started. But after two years of monthly tastings, they’ve learned more than they ever expected. They can talk mash bills, barrel char levels, aging processes. They know what they like and why. And they got there by trying, failing, and paying attention.

Community: BBC is open to anyone, but it’s mostly men from the neighborhood who can walk home. That matters. When you live three doors down from someone, you see them at the mailbox, at the grocery store, at neighborhood events. The club turns acquaintances into friends and friends into family.

Some members don’t even drink regularly. They come for the education and the company. Others bring their A-game every meeting. It doesn’t matter. Everyone’s welcome.

The Current State of Affairs

BBC has evolved. What started as monthly meetings has shifted to an “as scheduled” basis with no particular rhyme or reason. Life gets busy. Schedules conflict. And when you live on the eastern shore of Mobile Bay, Mardi Gras season makes planning anything a logistical nightmare. Mobile threw the first Mardi Gras in North America back in 1703, and the parades, balls, and parties that run from January through Fat Tuesday grind normal life to a halt for weeks.

But the core group remains. About twenty people are on the active chat. Recent meetings draw eight to ten attendees. Some members have moved away but stay connected. Others who don’t live in the neighborhood have joined.

The format’s stayed consistent, though they’re always tweaking things. The latest addition is those formal tasting notes sheets, which they’re planning to implement at the next full meeting.

They’ve built something sustainable—not because they planned it perfectly, but because they kept it simple and focused on what mattered.

How to Start Your Own Bourbon Club

If you’re reading this and thinking “I want to do something like this,” here’s what Reese would tell you:

Just Start

Don’t wait for the perfect plan or the right moment. Pick a date, text some people, buy a couple bottles. That’s it. The mailbox moment works. The casual invitation works. You’ll be surprised how many people say yes. (Need help planning the details? Check out our complete guide to hosting a bourbon tasting.)

Add Some Formality

This is what separates a bourbon club from just drinking with friends. Give it a name. Keep records. Have a format. It doesn’t have to be complicated, but the structure makes it feel special.

Keep It Accessible

You don’t need fancy glasses or expensive bottles or a PhD in whiskey. Rocks glasses work fine. Budget bourbons are great for learning. Start where you are with what you have.

Make It About More Than Whiskey

The bourbon’s the excuse. The real point is community, learning, and spending time with people you enjoy. If all you wanted was to drink bourbon, you could do that alone. The club exists for the fellowship.

Embrace the Mistakes

You’re going to screw things up. Someone’s going to get overserved. A bottle’s going to disappoint. A meeting’s going to run too long or fall flat. That’s fine. Learn from it and move on.

Build Traditions Organically

The best parts of BBC—the custom tumblers, the nickname stories, the running jokes—weren’t planned. They emerged naturally over time. Let your club develop its own personality.

Invite People Who Don’t Fit the Obvious Mold

The guy who never speaks? Invite him. The neighbor you’ve only waved to? Invite her. The person who doesn’t drink much? Invite them anyway. You’ll be surprised who shows up and becomes a regular.

What’s Next for BBC

The Burwood Bourbon Club isn’t slowing down. If anything, they’re leveling up.

The plan is to implement the formal tasting notes process at the next meeting—whenever that happens. With Mardi Gras parades rolling through the area and Spanish Fort turning into one long celebration, scheduling’s tough right now. But they’ll figure it out. They always do.

There are bottles they’re dying to try. Themes they want to explore. Distilleries they want to visit as a group.

But more than any specific whiskey, what drives BBC forward is the same thing that started it: a group of neighbors who took a chance on an idea and built something worth showing up for.

The Bottom Line

The Burwood Bourbon Club isn’t special because they’ve discovered some secret to whiskey appreciation. They’re not experts. They don’t have connections to rare allocations or access to private barrels.

What makes BBC work is simpler than that: they showed up. They kept showing up. And somewhere along the way, tasting bourbon together became about something bigger than bourbon.

It became about knowing your neighbors. About learning together. About building traditions and sharing stories and creating something that matters in a world that doesn’t slow down much.

Reese didn’t know what he was starting when he invited that guy at the mailbox. None of them did. But two years and dozens of bottles later, they’ve built something real.

And it all started with four guys, a couple bottles of bourbon, and someone willing to say: “Let’s do this.”

If you’ve been thinking about starting your own bourbon club—or your own version of whatever brings people together—this is your permission slip. You don’t need a plan. You don’t need expertise. You just need to invite people and show up.

The rest will figure itself out.

Cheers to that.

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Want to start your own bourbon tasting club? Check out our guide to hosting an unforgettable bourbon tasting or explore our beginner’s guide to bourbon to get started.

Have a bourbon club story of your own? Drop it in the comments. We’d love to hear what you’re building.

Special thanks to my life long friend Reese Rushton and the Burwood Bourbon Club for sharing their story. If you’re in the neighborhood and you get invited, say yes. Just pace yourself.

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