As I write this, I’m lingering over the last few vapors from a very wee dram of Gordon & MacPhail Long Pond rum, distilled in Jamaica in 1941 and aged for 58 years. It’s a glorious example of the Jamaican rum flavor-bombs I’ve fallen hopelessly in love with. My good fortune in acquiring this Holy Grail of rum, brought into existence before the atom bomb and the moon landing, is entirely attributable to this site. Fellow writer Lance Surujbally, aka The Lone Caner, saw my post about the historic Long Pond distillery and graciously arranged for a sample to be sent from Germany. The story of this dram arriving in my glass is a perfect synopsis of how life has changed since starting this little writing adventure. So, on the occasion of my 200th posting, I’ll indulge in a bit of navel gazing, historical retrospective, and wrap up with what’s to come.
If there’s one story that’s consistently provided fodder for my ramblings here, it would be Lost Spirits. Their primary claim to fame is a hyper-speed distilled-spirit aging process, the brainchild of mad scientist Bryan Davis. A quick check shows that I’ve done two dozen posts here about Lost Spirits, reaching back to some of my earliest writing. I was thrilled to be the first source to write about the THEA One aging reactor, which has received the attention of the biggest spirits industry players and been covered by Wired, CBS, and other mainstream outlets.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned from following Bryan’s story is to expect the unexpected, with frequent twists in the narrative. First, the release of three high-octane rums — Navy Style, Polynesian Inspired, and Cuban Inspired–which grabbed the rum enthusiast market’s attention due to their high powered, intense flavors. Next was the company’s announcement that they would begin licensing their aging process to other distilleries. The technology is embodied in a “reactor” that takes in freshly made spirit and wood and exposes them to heat and intense light; it’s a patented process that results in the claimed net effect of twenty years of barrel aging within a week’s time. Naturally, this put Lost Spirits in the crosshairs of the big, multinational spirits producers as well as upstart distilleries looking for an edge.
Crappy cocktail recipes are an occupational hazard of using the internet. I do my best to roll my eyes and move on. Until I came across this horror show on Thrillist This one simply needed to be addressed.
Titled the Dead Man’s Mai Tai, the text breathlessly describes it as “… an autumnal take on a familiar tropical classic. So basically just as good! Coconut rum? Check. Dark rum? Check.”
A welcome outcome from the now decade-long focus on authentic craft cocktails is that many obscure ingredients from dusty cocktail books are now available on store shelves and backbars. American spirits importer Haus Alpenz has been particularly instrumental in reviving obscure ingredients, including Batavia Arrack Van Oosten, an older sibling to Caribbean rum. However, in the decade since its release, the Van Oosten’s unusual, raw funkiness hasn’t led to its widespread adoption. Thus, I was recently surprised to see another importer bring a second Batavia Arrack into the U.S. Having tasted and used this new expression from By the Dutch, it’s a very different animal and worth a fresh look. Before jumping to tasting notes and recipes, let’s dig in to a bit of Batavia Arrack history to set the stage.
In early 2016, Mrs. Wonk and I trekked across Islay and Speyside in Scotland, visiting as many single malt Scotch whisky distilleries as time allowed during our all too brief ten-day stay. In a series of posts, I’m documenting our experiences, one distillery at a time with tons of photos. If you’re not familiar with how single malt Scotch whisky is made, I highly suggest first reading my prologue post, Essential Highlights of a Scotch Whisky Distillery Visit. What follows is our visit to the Glenfiddich distillery in Dufftown, Speyside.
Rum and fire. They go together like peanut butter and chocolate, or burgers and fries. But I’m here to tell you to stop lighting your rum on fire. Sure, if it’s tasteless Puerto Rican 151 proof rum, go ahead. The less high proof vodka-in-disguise, the better. Just don’t expect setting your rum ablaze to make an awesome chalice of fire, practically a legal requirement for any volcano bowl at a decent Tiki bar.
In early 2016, Mrs. Wonk and I trekked across Islay and Speyside in Scotland, visiting as many single malt Scotch whisky distilleries as time allowed during our all too brief ten-day stay. In a series of posts, I’m documenting our experiences, one distillery at a time with tons of photos. If you’re not familiar with how single malt Scotch whisky is made, I highly suggest first reading my prologue post, Essential Highlights of a Scotch Whisky Distillery Visit. What follows is our visit to the Bruichladdich distillery on the island of Islay.
While on Islay, you’d be hard-pressed to skip visiting or at least not drive through scenic Port Charlotte, home of one of the nicest hotels on the island. Heading southwest on the A847 toward town, you have to work to keep your eyes on the road rather than gawk at the roving bands of sheep and splendorous views over Loch Indall to your left, just a few dozen yards away. Passing a cluster of white painted houses perched on the right side of the road, you might think you’re on the outskirts of Port Charlotte. Except that, blink once, you’ve passed by a white, two-story stone-walled compound. This is your first encounter with Bruichladdich– an Islay distillery vastly different than Laphroaig and Lagavulin, who get the lion’s share of this small island’s attention.
Our arrival at Bruichladdich coincides with a slight break in Storm Gertrude, which hammered Scotland with high winds exceeding 100 miles perhour at times—thankfully not while we were crossing open water in our car ferry two evenings before. During a short lunch break between our morning Bowmore tour and Bruichladdich, we stopped at infamous Bowmore round church for a quick peek at the grounds and found ourselves—hardly wee people, we sturdy Americans–barely able to stay upright as wind gusts hurled us around. So it was with great relief that we pulled into the protected courtyard of Bruichladdich, sheltering walls on all four sides.
We all know that the finer things in life require a bit of care and upkeep from time to time. Got a nice car? You’re probably keeping it under cover, having it waxed, and changing the oil regularly. Love rare vinyl? You’re probably keeping those records carefully sleeved and in a spot that that’s not too warm or too chilly. Even something as basic as your iPhone gets protected by a case and screen film. In each of these scenarios, exposure to the elements has a negative effect over time.
If your experience with spirits is just buying a few bottles for mixing in cocktails, and regularly replacing a bottle when you’ve emptied it, this article might have little to offer. However, if you’re wonky enough about spirits to have a nice collection of whisk(e)y, rum, or mezcal that’s growing faster than you can reasonably (or healthfully) consume it, read on!
Think for a moment about your vehicle. Or if you don’t drive, picture the nicest car you’ve ever been in. What would you answer to someone who asked what it kind of car it was? Odds are you wouldn’t answer “Red” or “Purple.” It’s also a safe bet you wouldn’t reply, “An aluminum frame, two door, four cylinder front-mounted-engine car.” And as oddly specific as that sounds, it still may not convey what it is – after all, you might be talking about a Mini Cooper or a compact pickup truck.
Even specifying a brand doesn’t help. Simply by naming Chevrolet or BMW, you could be referring to a super sporty race car like a Corvette, or a sport utility. We’re used to using all sorts of categories for vehicles (color, manufacturer, size, country of origin, intended use), and we instinctively use the right category to describe the situation at hand. When watching for our Uber to arrive, we care more about the color– not whether it was made in Japan versus Brazil. But when it’s time to register that vehicle, the make and model are paramount.
What does all this have to do with spirits? Well, the world of rum shares many close similarities to the vehicle classifications above: The community instinctively talks about “white,” “Jamaican,” “column stilled,” “English style,” and “overproof” rums. We instinctively understand and use many different rum classification systems, although we may not overtly think of them as such.
The problem with these long-standing rum designations is that we lump vastly different spirits into ill-defined and often flat out meaningless categories – they convey little or no useful information. That in turns leads to broad misunderstandings about rum, which holds it back from greater acceptance in the world of distilled spirits. Rum is a noble spirit, on par with the finest Scotch whisky, Cognac, or Bourbon. But pervasive talk about “silver rum,” for example, makes that acceptance by a wider audience much more difficult.
In any city worth its cocktails, there’s at least one or more person who cuts a wide swath of influence across the local bar scene and rises to national prominence – a person whose name becomes linked with the city and its drinking culture. Seattle has many, including Andrew Friedman, Jamie Boudreau, and Anu Apte. In Portland, Jeffrey Morgenthaler fills that role, while Huston has Bobby Heugel. In Indianapolis, Crossroads of America, Ed Rudisell is on track to join that club.