The Honey Island Swamp Monster is not what you'd call approachable. Seven feet tall, covered in gray matted fur, smells like the swamp he lives in. He's been spotted in the Pearl River basin in Louisiana for decades. Nobody has ever described him as friendly.
Until the cold brew.
We were doing a camping trip in the Atchafalaya Basin — not technically his territory, but close enough — when he showed up at the edge of our campsite around 10 PM. We had a mason jar of Foxhole Cold Brew sitting on the cooler. He looked at it. We looked at him.
Our guide, who had grown up in the bayou and had apparently seen this before, picked up the mason jar and held it out.
The Swamp Monster took it. Sniffed it. Drank about half of it in one go. Then he sat down — right there at the edge of the campsite — and finished the rest slowly, like he was actually tasting it.
He stayed for about twenty minutes. Didn't make a sound. Just sat there in the dark, drinking cold brew, looking out at the water.
When he left, he set the jar down carefully. Our guide said that was the most civilized he'd ever seen him.
Cold brew. The universal language.
Foxhole Cold Brew → foxholecoffeeco.com