The vast majority of cocktails in the Tropical/Tiki pantheon derive from a relatively small set of ingredients. At the end of the day, most recipes within the genre lean heavily on some combination of basics – rum, sour citrus (lemon or lime), and flavored syrups/liqueurs, e.g. orgeat or falernum. With so many imaginative bartenders constantly creating new libations, it’s a challenge to craft a compelling recipe that’s not a twist on something already invented. My Apricole Swizzle may be that rare bird.
In early 2017, I visited the islands of Martinique and Guadeloupe with Spiribam’s Benjamin Jones to tour the distilleries whose products are imported to the U.S. by his company. In this and other posts I describe a distillery we visited. If you’re not familiar with rhum agricole production, it’s highly suggested you start with this overview.
For all the pastoral imagery put forth by rum makers–cane stalks softly swaying in the warm Caribbean breezes and stately oak barrels cradling their precious contents–modern rum production is messy, loud, and quite frankly, violent. Giant mechanical combines mow through fields of ten-foot-high cane stalks, sucking them in whole and spitting out a stream of foot long chunks, leaving the ground behind stubby and nearly bare. But the cane harvest is just a warmup for the main event.
In early 2017, I visited the islands of Martinique and Guadeloupe with Spiribam’s Benjamin Jones to tour the distilleries whose products are imported to the U.S. by his company. As a prelude to my individual distillery write-ups, this post introduces the key concepts of French agricole rhum. I’ll build from these topics in the individual distillery articles.
Within the rum world, once you move past Bacardi Silver and Captain Morgan, the brands drawing most of the attention hail from the former colonies of England and Spain – think Havana Club, Mount Gay, Appleton, El Dorado, or Brugal. Somewhere in the distance behind them (with regard to general awareness) are the offerings from the French outposts in the Caribbean. The cane spirits of the French West Indies struggle to crack the consciousness of the casual rum consumer, who’d be hard pressed to name a single brand from Martinique or Guadeloupe. And that’s unfortunate, as the French islands in the Caribbean offer some of the most flavorful and authentic close-to-the-soil distilled spirits available anywhere.
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.