Where Bourbon Country Meets Burgoo Country
You're rolling through the heart of Kentucky's Inner Bluegrass, where the limestone water that makes world-class bourbon also grows prize-winning thoroughbreds and some of the most distinctive food traditions in the South. This is burgoo country, where the agricultural abundance of central Kentucky – cattle, sheep, corn, tomatoes – all come together in one of America's great regional stews.
Around here, the food story is written in bourbon barrels and tobacco barns, in country ham houses and burgoo kettles. The limestone-filtered water creates calcium-rich pastures that feed Kentucky's famous beef cattle. You've got Henry Benton hams curing in nearby smokehouse, aged country-style for months. The bourbon distilleries – and you're surrounded by them out here – produce spent grain that becomes feed for cattle, creating a delicious cycle of flavor. Every fall, you'll find sorghum being pressed at old mills, creating that dark, mineral-sweet syrup that goes on biscuits at every good breakfast table.
The dish that defines this region is burgoo, and its origin story is pure Kentucky. The most popular version credits a French chef named Gus Jaubert, who cooked for Confederate General John Hunt Morgan's cavalry during the Civil War. When Morgan's Raiders swept through central Kentucky, Gus would make enormous kettles of stew from whatever the soldiers could scrounge – squirrel, birds, mutton, beef, whatever vegetables they found. He called it "bird goo," which Kentucky tongues turned into burgoo.
After the war, Gus settled in Lexington and became the official burgoo maker for every significant gathering in the Bluegrass. By the early 1900s, burgoo had evolved from survival food into celebration food. Political rallies, church picnics, Derby parties – nothing was official without a massive iron kettle of burgoo simmering for hours, sometimes days. The recipes grew more refined: mutton and chicken instead of squirrel, fresh tomatoes and corn from local farms, but always cooked low and slow until a wooden paddle could stand upright in the pot.
Today, you'll still find burgoo at every county fair and fundraiser around here. The best versions simmer for at least twelve hours, thickening into something between stew and sauce. Keep your eyes open for handmade signs advertising burgoo suppers – they're worth every stop.
| 01 | You're rolling through the heart of Kentucky's Inner Bluegrass, where the limestone water that makes world-class bourbon also grows prize-winning thoroughbreds and some of the most distinctive food traditions in the South. This is burgoo country, where the agricultural abundance of central Kentucky – cattle, sheep, corn, tomatoes – all come together in one of America's great regional stews. Around here, the food story is written in bourbon barrels and tobacco barns, in country ham houses and burgoo kettles. The limestone-filtered water creates calcium-rich pastures that feed Kentucky's famous beef cattle. You've got Henry Benton hams curing in nearby smokehouse, aged country-style for months. The bourbon distilleries – and you're surrounded by them out here – produce spent grain that becomes feed for cattle, creating a delicious cycle of flavor. Every fall, you'll find sorghum being pressed at old mills, creating that dark, mineral-sweet syrup that goes on biscuits at every good breakfast table. | 0:59 | |
| 02 | The dish that defines this region is burgoo, and its origin story is pure Kentucky. The most popular version credits a French chef named Gus Jaubert, who cooked for Confederate General John Hunt Morgan's cavalry during the Civil War. When Morgan's Raiders swept through central Kentucky, Gus would make enormous kettles of stew from whatever the soldiers could scrounge – squirrel, birds, mutton, beef, whatever vegetables they found. He called it "bird goo," which Kentucky tongues turned into burgoo. | 0:31 | |
| 03 | After the war, Gus settled in Lexington and became the official burgoo maker for every significant gathering in the Bluegrass. By the early 1900s, burgoo had evolved from survival food into celebration food. Political rallies, church picnics, Derby parties – nothing was official without a massive iron kettle of burgoo simmering for hours, sometimes days. The recipes grew more refined: mutton and chicken instead of squirrel, fresh tomatoes and corn from local farms, but always cooked low and slow until a wooden paddle could stand upright in the pot. Today, you'll still find burgoo at every county fair and fundraiser around here. The best versions simmer for at least twelve hours, thickening into something between stew and sauce. Keep your eyes open for handmade signs advertising burgoo suppers – they're worth every stop. | 0:57 |