Whiskey of the night: Cut Above (Kiln, Mississippi) — Amburana & Honey Cask Finished Whiskey

Chef Brad Green returns to the table and immediately turns a casual hang into a masterclass disguised as chaos. Between pours of a cinnamon-toast Amburana-finished whiskey and debates over blind tastings, sourcing scandals, and the collapsing bourbon secondary market, the crew settles into that dangerous Whiskey Bros rhythm where serious knowledge and absolute nonsense become indistinguishable. Brad walks us through flavor like a surgeon — why acid resets the palate, why wood is the real seasoning in whiskey, and how one Brazilian barrel can make bourbon taste like Saturday-morning cereal nostalgia.

Then things escalate. Food philosophy meets kitchen reality as Brad unpacks seven years of building Eat at FAM one dinner at a time — menu anxiety, creative obsession, and the strange beauty of cooking as a family dance executed under pressure. Along the way: MSG becomes “Viagra for your taste buds,” mayonnaise gets put on trial in a post–seed-oil world, gumbo becomes a metaphor for memory itself, and somehow the conversation lands on ancient civilizations, banana conspiracies, and whether humanity forgot its own history. Equal parts culinary wisdom, whiskey nerdery, and late-night existential drift — exactly the kind of episode that proves the best conversations start with a good pour and absolutely no plan.

Previous episode featuring Brad Green:

Spotify

https://creators.spotify.com/pod/profile/whiskey-bros-att/episodes/50th---Family-Adventure-Memories---Featuring-Brad-Green-e38hbb9/a-ac5ueg2

Apple

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/50th-family-adventure-memories-featuring-brad-green/id1617643805?i=1000616574137

Eat at FAM - Ya’ll, schedule this. It will change your life!

https://eatatfam.com/

No guest, no agenda, just the Whiskey Bros doing what happens when you lock three guys in a room with a bottle and a microphone. This episode wanders (proudly) through ice storms, frozen studio doors, Super Bowl indifference, Olympic absurdities, TikTok paranoia, AI skepticism, and the growing suspicion that none of us actually know what’s real anymore. It’s cultural fly-fishing—sports, politics, tech, and current events all getting hooked, released, and occasionally slapped around for sport.

Somewhere along the way we cover bidets (life-changing), aging athletes, curling as chess on ice, video games as mental exhaustion, and why everything feels slightly unhinged after a long winter stuck at home. Whiskey of the night is Midwinter Night’s Dram, which—much like this episode—starts chaotic, opens up with time, and finishes smoother than expected. Lightweight, unfiltered, and very much “around the table.” Perfect background for a drive, a pour, or a slow thaw back into normal life.

Whiskey of the Night - The Bible

Oh buddy, this one felt less like an episode and more like a late-night roadside bonfire where someone hands you a whiskey and says, “Okay, but hear me out.” Jack Dyer rolls in as a civil engineer and developer and immediately gets introduced as a “right-wing extremist,” which somehow becomes both a joke and a working hypothesis for the next two hours. From Southlake-before-it-was-cool origin stories to Aggie grad school flexes and Dairy Queen nostalgia, the vibe is clear early: we’re not here for takes, we’re here for positions, preferably held with confidence and zero apology.

Things escalate quickly when Jack opens the theological trapdoor and drops everyone straight into Dead Sea Scrolls, divine councils, fallen watchers, and why your church seating arrangement might secretly be pagan propaganda. One minute it’s friendly banter about headphones and whiskey glasses, the next minute you’re questioning whether “church” should even be in the Bible and why Jesus allegedly chose the sketchiest pagan hotspot imaginable to make a cosmic power move. The boys try, valiantly, to keep the conversation tethered to earth, but Jack is operating at cruising altitude somewhere between Mount Hermon and the gates of hell, casually explaining why this all makes perfect sense.

By the time Greenland, the Monroe Doctrine, global power blocs, and end-times adjacent speculation enter the chat, it’s clear we’ve crossed from podcast episode into fever-dream symposium. Nobody ordered this whiskey flight, but everyone’s committed now. There’s just enough self-awareness to laugh at how insane it all sounds, which somehow makes it even more compelling. Jack insists he’s not an apocalypse guy while calmly outlining why everything feels… weird. You don’t leave convinced, but you definitely leave alert.

In the end, this episode is best described as intellectual whiplash with moments of accidental coherence. It’s theology, geopolitics, history, and conspiracy theory thrown into a blender, set to “Texas,” and served neat. You may not agree with half of it, but you’ll laugh, rewind, and occasionally stare at the ceiling wondering if you’ve been sitting in a Baal-aligned rectangle your whole life. Classic Whiskey Bros chaos, no whiskey of the night, no guardrails, and absolutely no refunds.

Whiskey of the night: Pig Blood, Single Malt Small Batch Cherry Oak Pecan Barrel Reserve, 122.333333333333 proof

Last night’s episode wasn’t a podcast so much as a controlled detonation. The Whiskey Bros welcomed Trey Hawkins of TheHuntingGame.com with the stated intention of discussing the Wise County Hog Contest, but within minutes that plan was abandoned in favor of whiskey-fueled confessions, cultural whiplash, and the kind of verbal drive-bys that only happen when no one in the room has any interest in being employable later. Microphones were hot, standards were low, and Trey slid into the chaos like a man who’s been living among feral hogs, firearms, and bad ideas his entire adult life.

Somewhere between the first pour and the fifteenth tangent, we learned that what started in 2011 as a humble effort to thin the hog population has metastasized into the largest hog hunting contest on earth—complete with six-figure prize pools, polygraphs, barred-hog scandals, and teams hauling pigs for four hours just to be told their trophy has no nuts and therefore no future. Stories piled on stories: 500-pound mutant hogs bending barns, contestants who don’t care if they win as long as they had a good night, and side pots so specific they sound like inside jokes made legally binding.

The episode then veered hard into its natural habitat: exploding goats, buzzards eating livestock alive, thermal optics, kill-them-all contests involving dump trailers full of hogs, raccoon body counts, archery hypotheticals, and at least one serious discussion about spear-based combat that absolutely should not exist in recorded form. Along the way, we somehow covered cardiology, near-death experiences, involuntary pants-shitting, bidets, whiskey proofs, and why hogs are single-handedly rewriting the ecological rulebook of Texas. If you’re wondering whether any of this was edited for tone or taste, the answer is no… thank God for that.

By the end, the room was buzzing, the whiskey was flowing, and whatever fragile line separates “podcast episode” from “group therapy for men with guns and opinions” had been fully erased. This was loud, reckless, wildly informative, and deeply Texas. No apologies. No lessons learned. Just hogs, whiskey, and a reminder that civilization is thinner than we think, and probably smells like Blanton’s and feral pig blood.

The bros rolled into 2026 like a hungover marching band, totally unprepared, missing their notes, and immediately defaulting to the only tradition that matters: drinking whiskey on-air. The Whiskey of the Week was a Jack Daniel’s Distillery Release that somehow tastes like toasted pecans, maple breakfast, and poor life decisions — hand-delivered by a buddy who drove to Ohio to pick up a dog, because apparently humans will cross state lines for puppies and booze but not for personal growth. The conversation spiraled fast into first-responder appreciation, porn-episode rescheduling, and the philosophical question of our time: Can a man go to a Mexican restaurant and NOT eat the chips? (Answer: absolutely not, don’t be ridiculous.)

Somewhere between health talk, Ozempic jokes, communism, Venezuela, and chips-and-queso addiction therapy, the guys remembered this was a podcast and not a group counseling session. They wrapped by wondering whether podcasting would still be fun if someone paid them a quarter-million a year to do it five days a week — and the answer was yes, absolutely, they would sell out instantly, Clyde would still be underpaid, and the whiskey would taste even better.

Whiskey of the Night: Everything Still Austin

“Lots of Ways to Get to Austin” is what happens when Texas whiskey nerds collide with Texas whiskey craft. Jason from Still Austin joins the Bros for a wide-ranging, boozy, and unexpectedly philosophical ride through distillation, music, art, and why whiskey made in Texas has no business being this good. The episode opens exactly how it should: accusing Still Austin of making a crossroads deal with the devil, because Texas heat plus whiskey should taste like regret — not layered, oily, world-class spirits.

From there, things get delightfully nerdy. Jason breaks down column stills, esters, terroir, barrel stress, and Still Austin’s signature slow water reduction technique — a French brandy method quietly revolutionizing Texas bourbon. If you’ve ever wondered why their whiskey drinks smoother than its proof suggests, or how Texas climate can both supercharge aging and absolutely wreck it, this episode delivers the rare treat of real education without the pretension. Think Thunderdome metaphors, stressed-out barrels, and chemistry explained in a way that actually sticks.

The conversation also digs into grain — red corn, blue corn, rye ratios, malted barley — and why Still Austin’s bottles keep punching above their age statements. Along the way, the Bros confess their own gateway-drug moments with the red corn release, argue about rye supremacy, and marvel at how something clocking north of 120 proof somehow refuses to burn. There’s also a deep appreciation for Texas-grown inputs, Texas artists, Texas weirdness, and the stubborn independence that makes the state’s whiskey scene both young and ferociously ambitious.

By the end, this episode feels less like an interview and more like a shared campfire among people who care deeply about doing things right — even when there’s no rulebook. Still Austin comes across exactly as they are: experimental without gimmicks, serious without snobbery, and fully committed to letting place, process, and patience speak louder than hype. Pour something good, don’t rush it, and remember: there are lots of ways to get to Austin — but this one tastes pretty damn great.

#StillAustin #StillAustinWhiskeyCo #WhiskeyBros

Drink of the night: Diabetus

The episode begins with a bizarre burst of freedom: no one is wearing headphones, everyone is talking into microphones anyway, and nipple-friction becomes an immediate sensory theme. SavageBro, FireBro and SeeingBro discover that without audio feedback they feel “like they forgot their underwear,” and the show opens with a loose, unhinged confidence that quickly tumbles into arguments about how far a mic should be from your mouth. Two fingers, one finger, or a chin press — everything becomes a measurement, including the sudden emergence of beard-ASMR as a legitimate broadcast technique. The whole thing feels wrong, chaotic, and strangely liberating, like discovering you can breathe underwater but only while drunk.

That freewheeling energy carries straight into the highlight of the night: a cold-call ambush of Officer Royce Gastonu from the local PD. He answers in his patrol truck, hair combed, ready for duty, and suddenly finds himself live on a nationally-syndicated disaster of a podcast. What follows is surprisingly wholesome — Royce breaks down the Santa Cops toy drive, the logistics, the light donations this year, and the desperate need for support. He drops real numbers: 73 families, 195 kids, and a heavy focus on teenagers who don’t want plushies, they want earbuds, perfume kits, or art supplies. The Bros pledge to help, threaten to assist again next year, and somehow manage to thank him for both civic virtue and combed hair.

But the moment Royce disconnects, the show descends back into philosophical chaos. Pearl Harbor surfaces, FDR is labeled the first Hot Wheels president, conspiracies are floated, and the ethics of blowing up Venezuelan drug boats are considered somewhere between foreign policy and stand-up comedy. There are debates about whether nukes were a demonstration, whether ships used to look tougher, and how drones have turned war into a video game with bad graphics and real consequences. Nobody fully trusts the official versions of anything, yet everyone still wants the military to be terrifying enough that nobody tries anything stupid — which is the most American sentiment ever uttered over apple-pie moonshine.

And then, naturally, they end on circumcision. A real dilemma is laid bare: a baby boy is coming, and a decision must be made. The topic spirals from Biblical tradition to hygiene to the blowjob economy, raising the immortal question of whether a man who cares too much about the attractiveness of his penis might actually struggle with long-term relationships. Somehow, everything — nipples, ships, nukes, charity, blowjobs — forms a unified field theory of Whiskey Bros logic. The episode is destabilizing, delirious, wildly entertaining, and at times shockingly tender. Behind all the laughter is a genuine impulse toward community, brotherhood, and taking care of the kids down the street, even if the podcast often feels like a Top Gun sequel directed by a drunk philosopher.

Defending the Taint: A Whiskey Bros Security Briefing

Drink of the night: A Midwinter’s Night Dram, Act 10

Last night’s episode kicks off with the Bros wrapped in sweaters, whiskey in hand, already half-feral from holiday food and poor life decisions. It starts as innocent banter—Thanksgiving leftovers, the moral depravity of pumpkin pie, the theological status of pecan squares—but even in the jokes there’s a simmering tension. The group keeps drifting toward the question nobody names out loud: why do we feel so unsafe in our own homes, our own towns, our own bodies?

That pressure detonates in the “wrong house” shooting debate. Suddenly, the Bros aren’t just cracking jokes, they’re wrestling with the raw animal instinct that wakes you up at 2 a.m. when something scratches at your door. Every bro reveals a different map of fear and authority. Do you wait for the breach? Do you pre-empt the threat? Do you trust the cops, the cameras, the dogs, your gut? It becomes clear they’re not just discussing castle doctrine—they’re arguing for the soul-right to define one’s territory, to know where “inside” begins and “danger” ends. And in the modern world, those lines are dissolving faster than anyone wants to admit.

Then, in pure Whiskey Bros fashion, the whole table swan-dives into the “gay or not gay” question—an absurd, unhinged, hysterical debate about buttholes, fingers, raccoons, and identity that somehow continues the same theme. Beneath the comedy is a primitive philosophical question: what counts as a violation of the boundary of the self? When does an intrusion change you? And why do bros joke about this stuff with such wild intensity unless they’re trying to tame something deeper–fear, vulnerability, and the collapsing clarity around what’s permitted to enter and what must be defended with force?

By the time the Bros spill into color theory, gray houses, tip culture, and the death of individuality, the pattern becomes undeniable. This whole episode is a whiskey-soaked autopsy of boundary erosion—physical, cultural, psychological, masculine. It’s four dudes laughing their way through the dread that the world no longer respects doors, walls, norms, or the old markers of “this is mine, and that is not.” It’s unhinged, inappropriate, juvenile, brilliant—and maybe the most honest conversation men can have in this age.