Here at Cocktail Wonk, we pride ourselves on being on the bleeding edge when covering Lost Spirits and Bryan Davis, famous for their hyper-accelerated aging technology using wood, heat and light. Love what they’re doing or call it sacrilege, it’s always interesting to watch their story evolve.
The latest big news in Lost Spirits land is their impressively high scores in Jim Murray’s 2018 Whisky Bible. Quoting from the press release:
Jim Murray’s famous 2018 Whisky Bible has awarded 94 points and its coveted Liquid Gold designation to Lost Spirits Abomination, a peated malt “aged” in just 6 days utilizing Lost Spirits’ revolutionary patented technology….
Lost Spirits entered two peated malts into the judging: Abomination – Crying of the Puma and Abomination – Sayers of the Law. Both started as Scottish malts so young they cannot yet legally be labeled whisky. The spirits were then finished in California over 6 days utilizing Lost Spirits’ revolutionary patented technology. The Crying of the Puma expression nearly also achieved the Liquid Gold designation, scoring 93 points. No additives or flavorings of any kind were utilized from start to finish.
The technology works by exposing oak to high intensity light and heat while suspended in a glass tube filled with unaged or young distilled spirit. The combination of specific wavelengths of light and heat has been proven to trigger the same chemical reactions that happen in casks aged for many years.
My most recent article on Lost Spirits, including tons of photos of their insane, ever evolving Los Angeles distiller can be found here. And for some deep background on the science of spirit flavors, and how Bryan is hacking the aging process, see this article.
A pre-show party at Pagan Idol the evening before featured Spiribam rums, and called together numerous rum industry influencers, including Foursquare Rum Distillery’s Richard Seale, Benoît Bail and Jerry Gitany of The Rum Embassy, as well as many hardcore California Tiki scene enthusiasts.
Recently, I shared my article on Cuban rum regulations, which started out, “Rum has no rules? Think again!”–a topic I’ve written about before.
In response to my post, Richard wrote an extremely long and well-articulated comment that’s simply too informative to lose in the desert of Facebook comments. So with Richard’s permission, I’m reprinting it here with just slight touchup of typos and such.
Rum has no rules? Honestly, how could something so completely inane be not only spread but be believed and repeated again and again with authority?
And the notion that this “lack of rules” was somehow wonderful, so producers can be “creative.” What nonsense.
In the aftermath of a May 2017 trip to Cuba with Havana Club, I wrote several articles about Cuban rum. The Cuban Rum Cheat Sheet provides a broad introduction to Cuban rum history and how it’s made. The follow up article took a detailed look at the many lives of the Havana Club brand. Next, I went inside Havana Club’s San José distillery to show how aguardiente and subsequently rum is made. In this final dispatch, I’ll go hyper-wonky, with a complete, English language translation of Cuba’s “DOP,” their regulations for making rum.
It’s popular to say that rum has no rules. But take a look around, and you’ll find that many rum producing countries have detailed regulations about what’s required to label your rum as a product of that country. The most famous, of course, is the Martinique AOC, considered by many to be very strict in its prescriptions for rhum production. Brazil also writes regulation for Cachaça. In late 2016, Jamaica’s rum producers approved a Geographical Indication (aka “GI”) for rums made there.
In May 2017, I traveled to Cuba to immerse myself in the topic of Cuban rum as a guest of Havana Club. My two prior articles (Cuban Rum Cheat Sheet and The Many Lives of Havana Club) cover the broad strokes of Cuban rum and Havana Club’s history. Here, we’ll go inside a Cuban distillery and focus on the technical side of Cuban rum production.
We’ve been riding in the tourist coach for thirty minutes. Just outside of Havana, the highway scenery turns to lush, green farmland. Exiting the freeway I instinctively check my pocket for the umpteenth time – yes, my passport’s still there. The Havana Club handlers have repeatedly drilled us on this tenet in the preceding days: No passport, no admittance to the distillery. As an American–one of only two in our group of fifty–I’ve been forewarned that I might face an additional challenge. Extra paperwork and approval is required for Americans. I’d sent in my forms weeks ago, but who knows if the appropriate Cuban bureaucrat agreed to approve it?
Spend any time pondering today’s rum industry, and mysteries start to pile up. Why are there so many brands without a distillery? How is there so much rum aged for multiple decades available at very low prices? What exactly are the Jamaicans doing to make their rum so funky? All great questions, but answering them is modest in scope compared to truly understanding Havana Club, the flagship rum of Cuba.
Havana Club is the third largest Caribbean rum brand, yet in America, the world’s largest market for Caribbean rum, most people have never laid eyes on a Cuban-made rum, much less tasted it. To complicate matters, Americans can buy rum with a Havana Club label, but it wasn’t made in Cuba by Havana Club. Yet travel to Europe or Asia, and Cuban-made Havana Club rum is everywhere. Behind this dichotomy are corporate behemoths with billions of dollars at their disposal, who’ve wrangled in international courts for decades with no clear end in sight.