I wrote about the fantastic efforts the boys from Stolen Rum have been going to in getting their new Rum across the Tasman and past the archaic protectionist legislation that protects the domestic rum market here.
The one thing missing from the article was an actual experience of the liquid itself. I had tasting notes that talked of complexity, limes and raisins on the nose. Young bananas and pineapple to the finish in the mouth.
Since I first wrote, the liquid has picked up some global acclaim, in the shape of a double gold at the Olympics of alcohol, the San Fransisco Spirits comp.
However, I digress. I find myself, planted on the couch on Friday the 13th, armed with an open bottle and an empty glass.
Time to remedy that, methinks.
The overproof liquid clings to the crystal, its legs lengthening as I hold it up to the light.
The raisin and lime complexity is there, as advertised, but it’s a funky hard to place scent leaps out of the glass, aided in no small measure by that 65% ethanol. The wife puts a nail in it as gingerbread, and she’s right. The burnt bready tones, sweetness and spice swirl together. It truly begs a taste.
The overproof tingles on the tip of the tounge, its fumes wrapping round the top of my mouth . Pepper and heat give way to a flavour that strikes me between the eyes. Pineapple icecream with violet crumble. It absolutely tastes raw, young and a little bit green.
It is moorish, it is complex. It begs another taste and I’m going to have one (or maybe many more, not really maybe, absolutely)
It’s a smack in the face with a flavour fish. Try it in a Nuclear Daiquiri, punch it out in an Alamagoozulum, trade up your tiki drinks.
Do it often, do it now.
Put it in your mouth.