America has a tradition of small distilleries. Don’t let anyone tell you differently. But we had a bout of collective insanity back there in the teens and twenties, and made them all illegal, and we’re still paying for it today.

According to Max Watman’s Chasing the White Dog, there were 14,000 distilleries in America in 1810.  The American Distilling Institute’s 2010 member register today counts 185 craft distillers, working alongside the country’s 20-some large-scale producers. A movement is underway, but it has a long way to go.

The boom in artisan booze is being driven by the convergence of several factors. The microbrew revolution has helped. Consumers are used to drinking beer that is slightly more expensive than a bottle of Bud, but is vastly more flavorful and often wholly unique. The slow-food, buy-local trend is giving some distillers a boost – many work with entirely organic ingredients, and the artisan nature of the business means their products often offer flavor profiles far outside what most drinkers have come to expect. An artisan cocktail resurgence in bars around the country has similarly led savvy bartenders to look for local or unique ingredients for their mixes.

More prosaically, states are seeing the value in small distilleries, and many have changed their licensing laws to carve out a niche for these craft productions. In 2002, for example, New York offered a small-scale license that cost just $1450 – a good chunk of change, but far more affordable than the $50,800 paid by large distilleries. Washington State charges just $100 per year (with a requirement that half the ingredients come from the state). Oregon has been even more generous, changing laws to allow distilleries to do on-site tastings and by-the-glass sales, and even has a government Web site aimed at helping would-be distillers get started.

In Germany, where we live, and across Central and Eastern Europe, “craft” distilling is a matter of unbroken tradition rather than a resurgent movement. It’s very common for farmers, or villages, to have a still where local growers bring their fermented fruit or grains to turn them into obstler (Germany), tuica (Romania), palinka (Hungary) or whatever the local drink might be. Some is outstanding. Some will probably kill you if you’re not careful. Artisans are not created equally.

Though we drink copiously and curiously here, we’ve only recently had the opportunity to begin sampling what’s being made in America’s smaller stills. Much of it is outstanding. Gins like nothing you’ve ever imagined, barely aged whiskies that stand up to Scotch or Irish distillates twice or five times their age. White whiskies that are fiery and beautiful, with unique and often surprising provenance. Not quite enough fruit brandies for our taste yet, but they’re coming.

The beautiful thing about these drinks is that they demand your time. Contemplation. You savor them, you experience the essence of the raw ingredients instead of throwing a bit of liquid to the back of your throat and grimacing until the pain goes away. Distilling lay at the heart of alchemical thinking for centuries; maybe we’ve never discovered how to make gold from lead, but turning grain or fruit into vials of intoxicating flavor seems a pretty decent second prize to us.

So: If you haven’t stumbled across your local craft distillery, it’s worth seeking out. Pester your local bartender or liquor store owner until they see the light. Visit, go on tours, taste a little. You won’t be disappointed.