Ruminsky

Aug 132025
 

Don Q, the flagship brand of Destilería Serrallés out of Puerto Rico, is a company whose products I’ve taken the time took at in some depth over the last months; this is largely due to the courtesy of their enormously friendly brand rep, Duncan Hayter, who let me hang out at the Serrallés / Don Q  booth at the German rum festival some time back. I didn’t get to try everything the company has, just enough to get a good feel for the line from their bottom feeders to the top end. 

What’s interesting here, now, is how many rums they have in the portfolio, that have been finished in some other barrel as part of the overall ageing process. Whether the Don Q Zinfandel is double aged or “merely” finished can be debated without resolution, but there’s no question that it demonstrates something the way major producers are adapting to the whole business of “more than just ex-bourbon barrels”. Until just a few years ago, finishes and secondary maturations were the exception, mostly practiced by independents – now, more and more we are seeing primary producers get in on the game.

Don Q has several such rums in its current (2025) lineup – these are finished or double aged in, variously, port, sherry, vermouth, port, cognac… and, in this case, Zinfandel wine casks. So here we have a blend of column-still rums aged in ex-bourbon barrels for anything from 5 to 8 years, then rested (I guess that means “aged” in this context) in California ex-Zinfandel casks for a further three years (see “other notes” below, because the back label is somewhat at odds with this). Surprisingly enough, they keep with the tried and true 40%, which I’ve commented on before.

Let’s go to the tasting, then.  Nose first: fruity woody sweet vanilla winey, licorice (faint) berries, prune juice, burnt charred wood, hot tea. It’s quite fragrant and exhibits the complexity we would expect with that extra filip of ageing in Zinfandel. It’s mild, fruity and floral, with just enough bite (even at 40%) to make it display some character.

The palate is a mix of expected (one might say traditional) highlights, plus some intriguing enhancements: caramel, marshmallows, vanilla, coconut, toffee, blanmange, some smoke and leather, the faintest bite of tannics… in other words, all the comfortable hits. Then, after a few sips, we can taste some citrus, and again, blackberries and prune juice, a little licorice, a dry red wine, and blood oranges. Nice, if soft, and almost – but not quite – skirting the edge of scrawniness. You aren’t getting much at the finish at 40%, but it’s crisp and quite clean, decent enough, with light, floral, fruity notes, and again, that wine-y background that finishes, alas, all too quickly.

Summing it up quickly, overall it’s a pleasant sipping rum and I see why Don Q placed it in the upscale section of their website (the “Serrallés Collection”, which confusingly includes a spiced rum that I would not consider a superior product, though maybe that’s just me). What hampers it is the standard strength, but if one moves past that and has it with a fresh palate, I think few would be displeased with the final result. If it could only be stronger, I think they might really have something here, but for what it is, there’s little more to complain about.

(#1127)(84/100) ⭐⭐⭐½


Other notes

  • Video recap link
  • The age is confusing. The back label says aged between October 2009 to July 2012 in American white oak. Then it was blended in December 2018. After an undefined period for the blend to marry, the rum was laid in Zinfandel casks for “the final finish” and bottled in September 2022.  Note the gaps and lack of information on the periods.  What happened between 2012 and 2018, and if it continued ageing, in what kinds of barrels? How long was the finish period? Matters are not helped by the website which simplifies all this by saying aged in American white oak for five years and in Zinfandel for three. For the purposes of this review, I have used the website since it is presumably more current and less prone to misinterpretation.
  • The difference between the wording on the rum’s label and the website entry also shows something of the confusion that permeates the industry – both by consumers and producers alike – as to what exactly constitutes a finish versus double maturation (or double ageing). On the label it’s called a “double cask finish”. On the website the same rum is called “double aged.” For my money, they describe aspects of the same process, which is that of using more than one type of barrel to enhance the ageing process and final flavour profile. The key is in the timing, which remains, somewhat surprisingly, undefined by the brand. 
  • In my own work, I tend to see a “finish” as secondary ageing of something less than one year, and “double ageing” or “double maturation” as anything more than one year. However, I must state that this is simply my personal take on the matter and if there is a more rigorous definition out there, feel free to let me know.
Aug 062025
 

Rumaniacs Review #R-165 | #1126

There’s a lot about the presentation, background, labelling and online information of the Marauda rum which is frustrating, so it’s a good thing I had my tasting notes and scoring down pat before I ever did a lick of research, since my snark might just have bled over into the evaluation, and that would be unfair. So I’ll leave that until the end and lead you right into the rum itself.

The Marauda is a rum supposedly bottled in South Carolina (but maybe in Europe) by an outfit of the same name, is apparently the top winner of rum prizes in 2015 and 2016, has a nice backstory of a scrappy underdog visionary seeking to upend the rumiverse and make it new with technology. That the brand is no longer extant and this was their sole product — released in 2015 and never again —  is not a textbook success story that will be taught in Ivy League business courses in years to come. The company website and social media all disappeared by 2018 without ever having made much of a ripple in the greater rumiverse, so I think I’m on safe ground to say this is all we ever got, or are going to get, and we have not missed it.

According to extant sources, the rum is a blend of three year old column-still rums from from Trinidad and Guyana, plus a pot distilled 3YO from Jamaica, and named after the “steel pan” — a uniquely and wholly Caribbean invention developed in the post-WW2 years in Trinidad. So essentially, Marauda was a US indie bottling such as what Ed Hamilton or Eric Kaye have produced. Except that they have run the blend through some kind of rapid filtration process called a TerrePURE® technology, that supposedly simulates ageing.1 Uh hunh. It’s probably not a coincidence that Lost Spirt’s Thea reactor was making waves just around the same time, with pretty much the same aim and claim but rather more fame. And both ended the same way.

What else? The derivation of the name is also unknown — it may be a play on “marauder” —  as is the outturn, although the bottle I have notes it is a limited edition, bottle #3558.

Strength – 40%

Colour – Light amber

Nose – Actually, rather good.  Light floral top notes, rather sharp and lots of acidic fruitiness, especially pineapples, ripe mangoes, gooseberries and citrus. Also sour candy, caramel, smoke, leather and vanilla.  Beneath all that is some rubber and cellophane tape, and even a touch of sawdust, like some kind of low rent Enmore rum.

Palate – All the above, but dialled down quite a bit. Dry, a little sour, and briny, and with tastes that that suggest a rum akin to a bourbon. Green unripe apples, gooseberries and florals, light citrus and vanilla, caramel and toffee. There’s a hint of funk here, too little to make a statement, really, and the Guyana part pokes its head up here and there if one concentrates. More would be me guessing.

Finish – Short, lightly sweet, gentle, gone as fast as a maiden’s shy kiss. Nothing new here, let’s keep it moving folks, show’s over.

Thoughts – It’s surprisingly and pleasantly drinkable, though the individual countries’ components take some work to tease out, if that’s what you’re after. A little bit of funk, a touch of cedar and licorice, are most of what distinguishes the Jamaican and Guyanese parts, and I guess the Trini portion is there to lend some backbone, to build a bridge between the other two.  Overall, it’s a rum, and a decent one, but not one I’d be in a hurry to buy again. It isn’t special enough to warrant more than a nod of approval, alas, because at end, it turned out to be be overpriced, overhyped and oversold — which, eventually, nobody cared enough about to support. And that turned it into a one-hit wonder, that was hardly as wonderful as it claimed.

(83/100) ⭐⭐⭐½


Commentary

The so-called TerrePURE® technology is mentioned by several infoblurbs, but is omitted by several more. 

As usual with such things, the marketing hyperbole would have us believe it’s the usual application of cutting edge innovation married to centuries old tradition, to make something newer, better, faster, tastier… you know the drill.

But, one of the ways we can usually call bullshit, is when we are given a mountain of unverifiable claims (usually under the cover of “patented” or “trademarked” or “proprietary”) that are belied by hard evidence and actually looking at results. In this case, like with Lost Spirits, whatever results they have attained using this tech fall far short of the claims. A whole lot of something has likely been done, but it doesn’t add up to much of anything that three years in barrels hasn’t already done. 

Fast ageing is an unrealized dream for the moment, and while I am all for using advances in technology to improve and refine products, so far, for this purpose (ageing), here and elsewhere, it’s simply vapourware. Don’t get snookered.

Another issue I thought I would remark on, is the paucity of information on the brand, and the company that makes it. In this case, I had a hell of a time tracing both. First of all, the Marauda website no longer exists, though the WaybackMachine does preserve it. Secondly, the FB page has not been updated since 2018. Ditto for Instagram. So as far as I can tell, the brand is defunct. However, the RumLab newsletter did have a brief interview with the founder, Robert Elliott back in January 2017, which was long on the outsider status of Mr. Elliott, mentioned the Marauda, but literally told us nothing else … so, useless. Moreover, although the FB page says it’s bottled in SC, Distiller magazine says it’s in Amsterdam, meaning, probably Scheer.  What on earth are we to believe? We know almost nothing about the company, the founder, the distilleries of make, the outturn … about all we can say with assurance is that it once existed – because I have a physical bottle in my possession that says so.


Other notes

  • Video recap link
  • “Steelpan” is borderline appropriation of a piece of Caribbean heritage, though not on the level of Michael B. Jordan’s egregious “J’Ouvert” trademarking enterprise a few years back – but ultimately it’s the same thing. Actually, same country, almost.
  • “Up spirits” (on the back label) is a phrase commonly associated with the Royal Navy rums and surrounding traditions, which this isn’t and doesn’t have. I suppose that’s pedantic and snarky of me, but it’s worth a mention.
  • No details on the originating estates. By 2015/2016 when this came out, that was already a thing, so it’s odd that it wasn’t seen fit to mention.
  • Inconsistency of information about the TerrePURE® technology and its use is really quite surprising given it’s a major selling point. However, it seems to still exist and be in use.
  • Mr. Elliott’s online profile did provide a New Jersey phone number, so, wanting more info, I called it and got directed to his voicemail – I left a message, and never got a return call, unfortunately.
Jul 282025
 

It’s a peculiarity of the Don Q Gran Reserva Añejo XO, one of the last un-messed with editions of the Serralles Collection issued by the Puerto Rico firm of Destilería Serrallés, that the more specific details of the components aren’t actually on the label – one has to check the website to find out what makes it so special. Though it may just be so in the eyes of the producers, in this case they might actually be on to something.

Now, further up the line we start running into various finished editions (like the Vermouth, Cognac, Zinfandel and so on, plus stronger single barrel releases), but here we have a rum that plays it straight and doesn’t bother with any tweaks to make it different, or better, or unique.  It’s just a rum devoid of frippery, and had it been slightly cheaper, I would have seriously considered making it a Key Rum. 

It would seem that Destilería Serrallés took a look at their line and felt that to make the original a shade more premium they had to go a bit further than the 7YO or the original Gran Reserva (see below), and since they didn’t have a 12YO handy, this is what they come up with.

The original Gran Añejo is a rum that I tried and reviewed back in 2018 and scored 81 points based on a sample I had bought, but for my money, that one was an essay in the craft before they came up with the XO. For one thing, there was the upscale bottle design; too, it was simply called the “Gran Añejo” without further qualification, and back then it was a blend of rums aged 6-12 years old, with a smidgen of a 50 year old solera rum added in for depth. Fast forward a decade and now it’s the “Gran Añejo Reserva XO,” a bend of rums aged 9-12 years (still with some of that 50YO solera, however), and the bottle is not quite as elegant, though still quite nice. In both cases the rum is a column-still distillate from molasses, issued at a comfortable 40%. 

We’ve discussed the company and other background matters before in the recent Don Q reviews, so I won’t rehash them here. Let’s just proceed to the tasting notes right away.

What’s immediately noticeable about the nose is how perfumed, how fruity and floral it is. Ripe red cherries, grapes and dried cranberries meld seamlessly with light traces of lavender and citrus zest. Behind that lurk more traditional notes: vanilla, cinnamon, caramel and burnt marshmallows, with the whole thing also giving hints of crushed walnuts and a sort of salted butter aspect that’s far from unpleasant. It’s not quite leaps and bounds above the 7YO – both are hamstring by the easy proof point…but it is better.

The palate is no slouch either. Soft and well behaved, yes – we would hardly expect a face-ripping leopard to leap out of the glass at 40% – and also both briny and sweet, with the same fruity flavours of dark cherries, ripe red grapes and squishy Thai mangoes. We can also sense vanilla, those burnt marshmallows again, caramel, toffee, perhaps some used coffee grounds, harsh oversoaked black tea, all somehow tied together by a soft citrus zest that I for one, quite enjoyed. The finish is a real weak point, though – it’s just gone too quick, and most of the aforementioned notes, while discernible, are really too faint

It’s recognizably a Spanish (or Cuban) -style ron, a fine rum of softness and depth and good tasting chops, priced reasonably well.There’s enough going on inside to appeal to a more seasoned rum drinker, while pleasing those who are now getting into the game and are looking for something non-threatening to the tonsils and the purse. I have no reservations recommending it, whatever my issues are with standard proof (I really believe it wouldn’t hurt to bump it up to, say, 45%).

Still: of late I’ve been coming around somewhat to re-appreciating a swathe of such rons that stronger indie bottlings from other parts of the world have previously displaced from my mental map of the rumiverse. With several recent rums of the Spanish style (Bristol Spirits’ recent DR and Venezuela rums, for example, even if indie bottlings, show the potential), perhaps its time to give them some more love, a re-assessment, and some more appreciation. The XO is one reason why that statement can absolutely be said, and be meant. 

(#1125)(84/100) ⭐⭐⭐½


Other notes

Jul 192025
 

Five years after its introduction, the Don Q Reserva 7YO rum from Puerto Rico has established itself as something of a quiet underground rum that is not usually recognized for its quality in the online rum fora – most of the time people skip over it to try the slightly older Gran Anejo, for example, or the single barrel release. And yet, it comes up for discussion quite often – rarely by itself, as itself, but usually as a comparator, something looked at with other rums of its kind (like the Bacardi Ocho, for one). 

It flies under the radar for most people, I think, perhaps being seen as a single digit rum that is best for a cocktail … but which I argue has a quality that is equally suited for an affordable sipping experience. Even at 40% ABV, and even with a (somewhat surprising) dearth of online reviews, the rum punches well above its weight, and if perhaps it does not make “best-of” lists as often as its more upscale, finished or single-barrel siblings, it is a rum that I genuinely believe is a quiet classic that deserves a revisit… at the very least more appreciation: for a home bar, a back bar, or, for that matter, just about any bar that stocks good rums.

For those who like a brief introduction, this is a rum made by Destilería Serrallés of Puerto Rico, which is the biggest seller of rums on the island, even if elsewhere it always seems ot be overshadowed by the brontosaurus of Bacardi, which is also located there (along with several other smaller distilleries, like Club Caribe and San Juan Artisan Distillers). And yet, the distillery has been around since 1865 and is a well regarded rum brand around the world, with its main and best known product being the Don Q series first issued in 1934 (others are Boca Chica, Palo Viejo, Ron Llave, and Granado, though these are much less famous — Don Q is the outward facing, more premium export brand).

Well, a couple of years back, I spent an inordinate amount of time at the German Rum festival’s Don Q booth with the estimable sales rep Duncan Hayter and his lovely assistant, and ran through their most of their line, hoping to get a sense of the evolution up the age ladder, and this resulted in the Gold and Cristal reviews which I’ve already done, with more to follow. The 7YO is a different animal, though – it is the first of the “more serious” aged offerings that leads to the fancy premium bottlings of the Serralles line and was introduced with some fanfare in 2020.

Technical details: it’s blend of multi-column distilled light rums and single copper column distilled heavy rums, which were aged for a minimum of seven years in American white oak barrels – no additions, no fancy finishes. My understanding is that the lighter component has a fermentation period of just under 48 hours, while the heavier portion is anywhere from 60 to 300 hours, which really makes me curious as to how much of each distillate is in the final blend.

The results speak for themselves: it’s damned fine. The nose is somewhat lacklustre at first – tawny, dusty, with notes of honey, caramel, and crushed nuts. It is a little dry, and very solid, which is admirable for the strength, and then , after a few minutes, it starts to pick up a head of steam. We sniff emergent light hints of cinnamon, dark chocolate, vanilla, almonds, breakfast spices, coffee grounds, even some, crackers, and a faint background of brine. The tannics are kept well back, which is good, since aged rons of this kind may occasionally display some bite from the barrel if not carefully tended.

The palate is also quite tasty. Reasonably warm rather than spicy, it shows off notes of chewy caramel toffee, bon bons, vanilla, light molasses, a sort of creamy Guiness, one might say. Brown sugar muskiness is cut by a mild citrus line, with caramel everpresent, and there is also an interesting background of pickled ginger (the palate cleanser of many a sushi joint I’ve been thrown out of), as well as Dr. Pepper soda, which is odd enough, I’ll grant you, but leading to a nice enough finish (too short, though) of coffee grounds, nuts, almonds, chocolate and caramel.

Initially, thinking back on it and rereading my notes, it seems somewhat straightforward, even simple. But as it opens up and develops, when the fruits and nuts make their appearance, its quality and place in memory start to get a whole lot greater.  And while the overall impression is perhaps somewhat wine-y and even reminiscent of a soda sometimes, it remains a very nice dram, and certainly has its adherents when it comes to making a cocktail like a daiquiri or an Old Fashioned (or whatever some creative mixologist can come up with)

For a rum that’s relatively young and sometimes overshadowed by the finishes and stronger proofs of the more heavily promoted premium and upscale rums of the company, it is really quite an enjoyable sipping experience. It is pleasantly affordable, gives bang for the buck and acts as a solid bridge between the younger mixing rums of the line, and the pricier Gran Anejo – I liked it a lot, even if I feel that a few extra points of proof could be useful, and would like to see more age statement rums from the company in the portfolio. But whether it’s at standard strength or not, the blend and the craft that made it are self-evident, and I believe it should receive more serious attention. Hopefully, as time goes on, this opinion will be justified by others, and the rum recognized more widely as a Key Rum which I contend it is, and it deserves to be.

(#1123)(83/100) ⭐⭐⭐


Other notes

Jul 162025
 

 

In my rum drinking life, I have been extraordinarily fortunate to have tasted up and down the pantheon of great and not so great Guyanese rums – blends, single still bottlings, caskers, aged dinosaurs, special editions, the works. These days independent bottlers and single barrel offerings hog the lion’s share of the limelight, the rums of Velier remain grail quests for many, and therefore DDL’s standard offerings (3, 5, 8, 12, 15 and 21 year olds) which put Guyana and the famed wooden stills on the map have lost a little of their lustre. Yet, perhaps because of their relative rarity – and price – the 25 year old editions which DDL releases every few years still have something of a cachet… which, to this reviewer, is not always deserved.

Thus far, and going from memory, there have been six 25YO rums in the series, distilled in 1975 (the Millenium Edition), 1980, 1986, 1988, 1992 and now, this one, in 1997. If there are others, I don’t know about them.  All have been at either 40% or 43% ABV, all are housed in  handsome gold-leaf-embossed decanters with a glass and cork stopper, and all are reasonably tasty. And as an aside, in no case are we ever told anything about the components of the blend, though it is a reasonable assumption that there are heritage still components, maybe some French Savalle still juice, and marques from all over the map. DDL knows, of course, but they aren’t telling us, and reviewers who have tried them and written about them thus far (and there aren’t many), are equally scant on the details. We’ll have to live with that, I suppose.

I’ve sampled all but one of them thus far, and some time back, had a lot of fun writing a biblical screed against the 1986 and its dosage. The rums are easy drinking, complex to a fault, just lacking the background that would enable us to evaluate them better. Paradoxically however, this makes us pay rather more attention to them, since we walk in with no preconceived notions, no knowledge, no expectations – and so we have to do all the work ourselves.

It’s not a bad rum, all in all – the 43% strength makes it a very approachable, soft nosing experience, and it’s gentle to a fault, though some might sniff disparagingly that it’s actually somewhat thin. It starts with a deceptively straightforward series of aromas: caramel, toffee, white chocolate, almonds and vanilla, with traces of molasses, oak tannins and leather.  Some spices slowly meander into the frame – cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg – accompanied after a few minutes, by raisins, peaches, apricots and green apples.  But I must mention this: the rum really opens up slowly, and none of this is evident right off the bat. It’s a rum that rewards more patience than usual, and I’d suggest letting it stand for at least five minutes before really getting into it.

The same comments are applicable to what it tastes like. It’s maintains some edge, mostly tannics and slight bitterness (it’s very likely that the dosage is minimal here, but this is an opinion, since I was unable to test it). The standard notes that characterize so many El Dorado rums are all there: molasses, bitter chocolate, light wood shavings, licorice, caramel, toffee.  It’s the fruits that are key here – they come late to the party, but once they do, the thing gets better in a hurry as they coil over the palate and make themselves felt: so, we taste raisins, peaches, apricots, very ripe yellow mangoes on the cusp of going off, plus a well balanced series of spices like cinnamon, vanilla and a dusting of nutmeg, leading to a soft and gentle finish that, alas, is gone all too quickly, and sums up most of the preceding elements without adding anything new.

So, let’s clear the dishes: we have a pot-column-still blend of unknown marques, aged a minimum of 25 years – nobody has ever put a dent in DDL’s age statements – and issued at 43%. On the surface, it ticks all the right boxes: easy drinking for those with deep pockets but perhaps not as much experience with rums; a luxury cachet from one of the best known rum brands in the world; and enough complexity for those who know what to look for.  What it doesn’t have is single-still distinctiveness, which may be a downer for some, though I argue that in a blend this old, perhaps that may be expecting too much.

For those who have been weaned on sterner, stronger stuff, this may be seen as weak gruel and slim pickings, yet I argue if one accepts that and simply enjoys what’s there, there are treasures to be discovered and appreciated. The El Dorado 25 year old series has never been one for amazing off-the-charts tastes – it’s the age that is the selling point, not the uniqueness of the profile. These days, with indie bottlers releasing decades old juice with some regularity, perhaps this doesn’t press all the buttons. Yet here, even within those limitations, the rum presents well, and if it was cheaper, I’d probably go out there and buy it on the spot.

(#1123)(85/100) ⭐⭐⭐½


Other notes

  • Video recap link
  • Outturn is unknown
  • In Calgary I saw it selling for about Can$400. In Toronto’s LCBO, it goes for $550. That of course does not compare with the recent Appleton Estate 51YO 62% rum supposedly selling for $70,000, but it’s still a pretty hefty price tag for us proles who watch our wallets.
Jun 272025
 

For those who trawl the Canadian rum scene and occasionally despair at ever finding a locally made hooch that would blow their hair back and wow their pants off, well, I have a new candidate for you: the very tasty, lightly (very lightly) aged, almost-white stinker of a rum called L’Ardois JaQ, made by a recently opened craft distillery in Nova Scotia run by (and I shit you not) a tug boat captain I met named Gregg Colp, whose business card very appropriately gives his position as “Chief Adept and Bottle Filler” and sort of gives you a flavour for the whole operation.

That preamble requires a lot of unpacking, so bear with me.

Distillery Background

Captain Colp – you gotta love the name – is indeed a tug boat captain for the Arctic sealift. He has been involved in making one form of alcoholic beverage or other, legal or not, commercial or otherwise, since he was a pilchard brewing illicit beer in his backyard. Having studied chemistry at Uni, he then got his master’s ticket and spent the next decades travelling around the Caribbean and other parts of the distilling world, which included interning in Cognac for a venerable maison there (no, not the one you’re thining of) just because it sounded like fun and he wanted to know more about the entire process. The man, you can tell, loved rum.

Anyway, some years ago, as cruel eld frosted his hair and bit at his bones (while simultaneously deflating parts he preferred to remain inflated) he decided he wanted a retirement plan, something to ward of the chill, make a few bucks and indulge his maritime proclivity for rum. After trawling around and consolidating his experience (to augment what he already had amassed in a lifetime of globetrotting, and that’s a lot) and sourcing a double retort pot still, he and his partner Vikki Piersig (her card reads “Chief Mate and gal who makes the distiller and most everything else look good” – people, I cannot make this stuff up!) set up shop as a small distillery in a landaway in Highway 4 in Nova Scotia (very close to the shore dividing it from Cape Breton where his office premises are). In point of fact, as a throwaway factoid, he was offered the opportunity to take over Vernon Walters blacksmith shop in the 1990’s (when he was sailing on the Bluenose itself), long before Ironworks came on the scene and took over the premises to launch Ironworks Distillery. Small world.

That irreverent sense of humour exemplified by the business cards is to some extent also represented by the name of the distillery – Below the Salt. While in today’s world salt is something of a commodity whose major use is a feedstock for industrial chemicals, for most of history it was a tradeable good much used for nutrition and preserving food; trade routes were opened to search for new supplies, and as late as 1860, wars could be fought over it. In medieval times it was a precious resource not often seen except on the tables of the rich, where  small pots of the stuff were placed halfway down a noble’s long dining table. The lords, ladies and exalted ones (which is to say, not us) sat “above the salt” as a mark of their lofty station, while us peasants, rabble, assorted commoners and lowlifes sat “below the salt” – and it’s clear where the Chief Adept’s preferences and antecedents lie.

Since Calgary is known for its maritime waterways, it was just a matter of time before Captain Colp sailed into my area with a blatting tantaraa of trumpets, all flags waving, and a fistful of bottles in each hand. And so we met and had a most enjoyable afternoon running through his line of rums, getting progressively more hammered by the minute, until it was all we could do not to break into sea chanteys and do a hornpipe right there in the bar (well…I exaggerate a little for effect because I can’t let a good story pass…but only a little) — and because I really liked this one a lot, I’m going to start with it to give an introduction to the company, the man and the rum

Rum Specs, Tasting Notes

Basically this is a rum that is not quite an agricole-style, but close: cane honey in this case, or more specifically, unrefined Guatemalan and Demerara cane juice crystals (specifically not refined sugar) akin to jaggery or panela, re-liquefied, rendered down to honey, and then fermented for a few days. The distillate coming off the pot still is then aged – if the term could be used – in just about dead’r-than-a-doornail casks sourced in the Caribbean, with little to offer except maybe bad advice, for six to eight weeks: just long enough to impart a little colour, but not enough to appreciably alter the flavour profile that was (and is) desired. 

Cap’n Colp is a huge proponent of letting natural flavours pop out, and some edge be retained, without too much oak influence gumming up the works. One aspect of the process that comes in for mention here is that Gregg re-distils the lees in each run, for added flavour and bite and pungency, and it is this step that I believe elevates the rum beyond the puling milquetoast vodka wannabes that populate far too much of the barren wasteland of the Canadian rum shop shelves into something really original. 

“Wow!” I wrote in my initial evaluation when I smelled it – “This thing has real character!”  And it does. The nose starts out with the aroma of forests and sun-dappled jungle glades steaming after a warm tropical rain: loam, wet earth, brine, mud, waterlogged bark — and believe me, this is far from unpleasant, more like a deep mossy herbal scent that channels cane rum in a fascinatingly different way. And that’s just the start – the fruits make their entrance after a while: ripe green grapes, apples, tart peaches, overripe mangoes, attended by light florals and and sweet sugar water, plus (and I know this will turn some off) ashes and dusty cardboard.  I mean, the nose pretty much presses most of the buttons we would expect in an unaged or young agricole from the islands…except that this is made north of 49. 

The palate is also really good, notwithstanding the living room strength with which it comes out: it tastes initially of fresh hay drying in the sunshine after a rain, as well as of honey, sugar water, sweet corn, green peas from the can… odd I’ll grant you, but far from unpleasant. Original is not a bad word to describe it, yet completely rum-like. Moreover, after a while we also get white fruits, watermelons, brine, a few Moroccan red olives, a touch of ashes and cardboard again, and just enough lemon zest to make a point without overwhelming everything. It all leads to a subtly powerful finish that sums up all of the above, without adding anything to the party – light fruits, some sour and tart notes, laban, yogurt, ashes, lemon zest and a nice filip of delicate florals. 

Summing Up

Like I said, it’s a lot, and I think that as a sipping rum,it’s really nice, even if the company website suggests it’s something of a mixer’s ingredient (good for a “caipirinha, pisco sour, mojito, and even some traditionally tequila based drinks” says the website). It has that versatility of purpose that I think makes for a good rum that tyros can cut their teeth on, without alienating more experienced drinkers.  It works, in short, on many levels at once.

Lest you believe this was the romanticized ravings of an over the hill reviewer who imbibed too much, and got far too high on his friend’s supply, I invite you, should you come across a bottle, to give it a try. It reminds me of some lof the experiments I tried from those new UK distilleries a year or two back – it shares much of the same sense of untamed wild madness, the desire to go where the process led and to hell with tradition. It’s a sort of analogue to writing, I think – you write what you yourself want to read and head in the direction where that leads you. 

Here, Gregg Colp has experimented, added eye of newt and tail of toad into his cauldron, stirred, added some spider’s webs and his own personal brand of magic – and  come up with a rum that he himself wanted to drink. And man, does it ever work, on many levels. I’m going to go right out there and buy pretty much everything else the guy makes, I’m that impressed with it. I hope you can try it yourself one day, and see if you agree.

(#1122)(86/100) ⭐⭐⭐⭐


Other notes

  • Video recap link of the review
  • Video recap of the distillery background
  • There’s a non-rum-related story behind the photograph and the name of the rum, but the website covers enough of that and this review is already too long. It channels a typically Maritime sense of humour, tall tales of the Paul Bunyan and Pecos Bill stripe, plus a play on words that any punster would enjoy.  I’ll leave you to check it out.
  • The outturn is unknown.  A few thousand bottles per batch, I think.
  • The company is available on social media (FB, IG, YT) and their website is here.
May 242025
 

There’s a reason I don’t buy many rums from the relatively recently established indie bottler of the Rum Sponge, and that’s all about the price. It’s not that I can’t afford one here or there, but to get them all is just too much, and leaves me like a smelly over-the-hill mendicant whining for samples from the more generously endowed. In this case, however, a Calgary Book Club whisky lover bought a bottle and brought it along just to have the rowdies try it, and I was able to sample it without denuding my already slim purse.

For those who are not familiar with it, Rum Sponge is a UK indie bottler, an offshoot of Angus MacRaild’s whisky facing Whisky Sponge brand, itself a part of his company Decadent Drinks. Angus has had an eponymous whisky blog running since about 2013 with witty and insightful posts on the subject, and a few years ago became a second contributor to Serge Valentin’s famed review site Whiskyfun. I don’t know how long he’s been bottling whiskies, but rums only started to come out around 2020 or so.

Edition No.1 rum, a Caroni, was issued in that year, and by 2025 Rum Sponge has released at least 35 different editions. Just about all are single casks (though there are a few blends) and characterized by Angus’s desire to issue rums that are distillate driven, which is something that is also part of his whisky bottling philosophy. I’ve tasted a few, and they’re pretty good for the most part, if expensive, and limited in geographical scope – all so far derive from only three countries: Guyana, Trinidad or Jamaica.

The rum we’re looking at today is from Caroni, a 1998 distillate, aged 25 years, and is Edition No.23.  The bottle remarks that it was aged some 11-13 years in Trinidad and the remainder in the UK, has a strength of 57.1%, a single barrel 250-bottle outturn, all of which is nice: yet curiously it doesn’t say whether it is column or pot or blend, which is an odd omission.

Be that as it may, I have to admit the rum is a very very good one: the man knows how to pick ‘em. Consider first the nose: it starts of dry, tannic, and has the immediate sense of bitter high-octane unsweetened dark chocolate. It melds well with caramel, molasses, vanilla and icing sugar, which linger for a while before being added to by dates, prunes, plums, dark olives, a little brine and (get this!) printer ink cartridges and iodine.  That’s quite a nose to unpack, trust me.

The palate is similarly intriguing and delicious: it tastes of tannins, crushed walnuts, almonds and black chocolate, and adds to it with more dark fruits (plums, prunes, etc). There are notes of caramel and vanilla, and the slightly bitter tannins take something of a back seat now, with a sweeter fruity aspect coming to the fore – five finger (carambola), peaches, very ripe mangoes, and orange peel.  It’s really quite tasty, and it slides into a surprisingly gentle yet long-lasting denouement of caramel, molasses, sugar water and fruitness that’s enormously alluring.

Overall, I like the way it segues from a crisp and almost bitter start to something mellower and sweeter, deeper and more rounded, as it opens up. The balance is excellent and the rum can be sipped with ease – the whisky anoraks who tried it were all quite fulsome in their praises, as I was, so it has an audience beyond just the deep rum divers who dissect every nuance of favoured distilleries. 

Yet, let’s be clear. There is little here that screams Caroni. The fusel oils, the dark petrol and kerosene tastes we associate with the type are mostly absent, so this is not a Caroni one should be starting with if one wishes to get a handle on the style – therein will lie disappointment. And then there’s the matter of the price – it’s Can$550. I can’t speak of the cost structure for Angus’s company or how much the barrel itself cost to buy or what ancillaries he had to pay for, but with so many other indies putting out equally aged rums over the last decade which are cheaper and of good quality, that just seems to be too much, even for a famous, closed distillery with limited remaining stocks. 

So based on those standards, I’d have to say that as a Caroni, the rum fails, and one would have to be a serious aficionado to pay the price to get it. But man, as a rum, just a rum – the thing is quietly outstanding. And I’m seriously glad I got chance to try it. It’s worth it for that alone.

(#1121)(90/100) ⭐⭐⭐⭐


Other notes

May 182025
 

As I remarked in the Don Q gold rum review not too long ago, the Puerto Rican producer, Distileria Serrallés, has three tranches of rums in its portfolio, up and down the value chain. There is the “traditional” range which includes the Gold, the white Cristal … and today’s subject, the overproof 151. These are mixing agents of a little ageing and are quite affordable. Then there are some flavoured offerings I ignore, and after that everything is lumped into the “Serrallés Collection” which has some older offerings, a spiced rum (oddly enough), a single barrel or two and some that are a bit fancier, with finishes and secondary maturations and so on.

Whatever the type of rum that is being made, pretty much all of what they produce is short-fermentation, molasses-based, column-still product, with perhaps some pot still elements contained within to give some depth. The variations come from post-distillation barrel, blending and wood management, not earlier stages in the production process, which is par for Latin / Spanish style rons. 

Here, while I have little to go on, I think it’s safe to assume that it’s all column still. The rum was aged “up to” three years in ex-Bourbon barrels and is consistently made, so of course it’s a blend. Unfortunately the website doesn’t tell me much about anything else, such as, for example, whether they filtered it before bottling, or added a touch of colour. I guess we have to take it as it comes.

So, the nose: because it’s 75.5% ABV, letting it stand so as to burn off the alcohol fumes is a good idea – once that’s done, it starts off unexpectedly soft before turning into a snarling tiger of a rum. It has sharp and sweet notes of marshmallows, smores mixed up with a sort of dusty cardboard and peeling wallpaper scent. Fortunately this is somewhat redeemed by caramel, cherries, strawberries and light red fruits, and of course there is a touch of vanilla and smoke from the barrel coiling around in the background.

I can’t say the palate does much more than this.  The light fruits continue to be the dominant note, and of course at that strength one sips with care, nothing new here.  Still, there is a bit more here: light salt-caramel flavoured chocolate, breakfast spices and cinnamon to start, and also pears, cherries, vanilla and some candy floss.  The finish, as one might expect, is long and lasting, quite hot, sharp and raw, which I guess we can expect. So nothing too complicated that might make one reach for one’s tasting wheel, just enough to stop it from being boring or indifferent. 

It’s actually not bad at all for an overproof 151 that’s made for the back bar. So many 151s that I’ve tried tend to be rather indifferently made, with the strength standing in for, oh, I dunno, an actual taste profile – one always gets the impression they take a sort of masochistic pleasure in doing the wildcat-in-the-face thing, y’know? They’re raw and pestilential, sharp, strong and have little to recommend them beyond that, but a little patience with this one makes the subtler notes come out of the woodwork in a way that’s quite pleasing … after one adjusts one’s tonsils.

So, taken as it is, the Don Q 151 is surprisingly good when rated to that standard: not a throwaway by any means. It’s more like Serralles shrugged, gave a finger to the establishment and said We’ll make ours in our own way and let’s see if we can’t raise the bar a bit. It’ll never be a top flight rum, or a connoisseur’s must-have, me-wantee wet dream, no – but it’s a solid rum of better than expected quality that I wouldn’t mind having in my own collection to sip at or mix now and again

(#1120)(80/100) ⭐⭐⭐


Other notes

Apr 272025
 

Bacardi’s white “Superior” rum is paradoxically both one of the most popular, best selling rums in the world, as well as one of the most sneered at.  Any time we extol the magnificence of the unaged Jamaicans, clairins, grogues, agricoles or charandas, it is very likely that the lightly aged, filtered Bacardi product comes in for mention, rarely in any kind of positive light. At best it excites a sort of monumental indifference. Yeah, we drink it but….

The Superior is one of those rums that made the name of Bacardi. At the time of its initial introduction in 1862, rums were made rough and ready, and deserved the name of bathtub moonshine. But by playing with the distillation technology and filtration, Bacardi made a light, smooth, easy rum that was almost completely new. It disappeared into drinks but was easy enough to drink by itself. As the cocktail culture expanded it was a perennial – and recommended – favourite of the mojitos, the daiquiri, the Cuba libre and various others, because it had just enough lightness to not overpower a cocktail, while possessing enough character to be seen as a rum in its own right.

I can only imagine how poorly made the white rums of the age that created it really were, because by modern standards the Superior is regarded with apathy by most lovers of sipping rums, rather than with any kind of excitement. It remains a column still product from a short-fermented wash, that is lightly aged in American oak barrels, with the base recipe only marginally tweaked in all the years between then and now. I have no records as to how it was made back in the 1800s but now it’s considered to be a blend of a heavier “aguardiente” (pot still rum) and lighter column still high-proof distillate, which is then aged for about a year and then filtered, dialled down to standard strength, and blended for consistency. 

From those rather straightforward, even humble, production processeses comes one of the most well known rums ever made. It is cheap, affordable, a staple of the mixing culture, is a behemoth of the spirits world.  It’s been around forever. It sells pretty much everywhere. It is available all over the world. It is mentioned in the literature, in cocktail manuals, and is an entry point to rums for first time drinkers and aspiring mixologists since time out of mind. And it cannot be easily discounted just because of its ubiquity or its cheapness or its light flavour profile.

Speaking for the modern drinker, it’s nothing special. The nose bears this out: very light, very thin, and redolent of rubbing alcohol, acetones, sugar water, cotton candy and vanilla. There’ a barely perceptible touch of almonds and peaches and maybe coconut shavings, but for many, to even get this much is a reach into uncharted waters. Who on earth would take this much time to tease out even those tasting notes?  Not many.

And the taste isn’t any better. It’s lightly sweet, has some flowers, re sugar water, more coconut shavings, a touch of citrus zest, more vanilla, an unpleasant whiff of ethanol and not a whole lit else. It concludes i a finish that sums things up nicely: thin, anorexic, inoffensive, with few flavors bleeding over to provide a conclusion that can be admired.

To be sure, the rum has its adherents: one redditor, a few years ago, went against the tide and scored it 8.5, and there is no shortage of people who like it this way just fine. It does the job it was made for – to this day Bacardi makes it clear it’s a mixing rum and nothing else – and few ask for more, especially when a 1.75L bottle costs around fifty (Canadian) dollars in some places. You want a drunk, an alcoholic hit, a base for cocktails? This is the one, for sure.  

Based on my experience with rum from around the world and across the quality, age and strength spectrum, nowadays I think of it as a rum lacking sufficient passion, panache or character, and has just enough hooplah to not make it alcoholic sugar water (for which we should give thanks). Others will doubtless have different opinions. But the world has moved on, and we are not in the era of foul rotgut made without standards, where any well-blended halfway decent rum can make a huge impact. From its lauded beginnings where it arguably changed the rumiverse, it has become something of an also-ran, left-behind product; an always available, always affordable rum that’s made to sell and made to mix, but not really made to enjoy, no matter how many glossy ads tell us the opposite.

(#1119)(70/100) ⭐⭐


Other notes

Apr 212025
 

You’d think that after a bit more ageing and less components to squabble together, the lacklustre performance of the underwhelming White would be somewhat redeemed, but naah, there isn’t much to report here either. Amrut continues to chase the mass market at the expense of something (anything) more upscale, and I guess we’ll have to accept that and move on.

Just to recap the background, Amrut Distillers is an Indian-founded and Indian-run spirits company which, unlike several other Indian spirits combines, did not originate from a British run colonial enterprise, and has always been completely local. They have been making rums for far longer than the whiskies for which they are now much more famous, and in the 2024 Paris Whisky Live, I took the time to see if they had upped their game any, by running through the entire (2023 released) rum line which they had on display.

In this case, that was the Two Indies “Dark” rum, which is not an aged version of the white we’ve looked at before, but a different rum altogether, with only two parts to the blend: a jaggery-based pot still rum made in the state of Karnataka and aged there in ex-bourbon, and a Jamaican rum. Now this is where we have to be careful, because RhumAttitude (a French online liquor store) says the non-Indian part is a blend of aged rums from Jamaica, Barbados and Guyana, while my preceding comment comes from Amrut’s own website product page. Moreover, it’s unclear whether the resultant blend was further aged, or simply left to marry and then bottled – if they follow the production policy of the white, then the blend is probably aged around one more year. We should accept, I think, that it’s a lightly aged sub-five-year rum and leave it there.

We may be on short rations with the info that’s provided, so let’s go to the tasting.  The nose of the 42,8% Dark presents with an initial note of brine, olives, avocados, raisins, and very ripe cashews on the edge of going off. Unsurprisingly we can also smell some caramel, brown sugar, light molasses and bourbon, together with a snap of cinnamon, coca cola, freshly ground coffee beans and tannic, oaky hints bringing up the rear.

Palate wise, it’s not the sort of thing that would drive a cask-strength aficionado into fits, while fitting well for those who don’t mind something easier (and, yes, sweeter). A soft, easy, dark mouthfeel with the same raisins, olives and brininess, and maybe a few more dark fruits (prunes and plums and sapodilla). The nice thing about it is that it adds a bit of smoke and tannic bitterness at the tail end, which rescues it from sugar oblivion, and leds into a short finish that recaps all of the above and exits too quickly.

I genuinely don’t know if Amrut adds anything to the blend to make it easier sipping, but it’s hard to not at least consider the possibility. The rum just tastes a bit too caramel-y. and is sweet and thick —  too much to be simply good blending, and even if this conjecture is out to lunch, it says a lot about the doubt in which Indian rums are held generally that we could entertain the thought constantly, whenever we try one.

Did I like it?  A bit, I guess. My tastes are pretty ecumenical and I can appreciate a low-ender made to a different standard and for a different audience in a different country, if made with passion and ambition, as much as a top flight rum that’s more exactingly and imaginatively produced. Here what we have is a rum that seems more tailored not to piss anyone off rather than appeal to any one demographic. It is, even with the tasting notes described, somewhat simplistic, has that sweetish note, and, in the words of one frined of mine, is something of a one-trick pony that vanishes too damned fast.

The majority of Amrut’s rum sales continue to be internal rather than exported (although they do have an ever-increasing presence around the world), but they have yet to produce a rum on the level of the initial Single Malt that gave them such status and kickstarted the premium whisky game in India. The Two Indies Dark is unfortunately not the one to spearhead a similar revolution in rum, in India or elsewhere.

(#1118)(78/100) ⭐⭐⭐


Other notes

  • Video recap link
  • More production data (from the review of the white rum (R-1102)): The source of the juice is the Bangalore facility where the company HQ is also located, from cane grown in their backyard, and the jaggery. This is unrefined brown sugar from palm sap or sugar cane juice, with a higher mineral and vitamin content, and a staple and nutritional supplement in many parts of the world. It is known as “gur” in Urdu, “gud” in Hindi, and “vellam” in Tamil. Many Indian distillers use it to make their spirits instead of molasses; it is sourced from India’s sugar city of Mandya, SW of Bangalore. The distillates from whatever source are blended (and likely aged for a short eight-months-to-one-year period in ex-bourbon casks), then released at 42.8%, which is the Imperial 75 proof from colonial times that was never abandoned.
Apr 182025
 

Ten Cane rums don’t seem to be disappearing from the indie bottling scene any time soon, given the variety of small companies who put out small bottling runs from the now closed LVMH-created Trini-located micro-distillery every year or two.  We have seen expressions from The Duchess, TBRC, Rom Deluxe, Rum Artesanal, Kill Devil, Berlin’s Rum Club, Valinche & Mallet, BBR, Cave Guldive, L’Espirit, Holmes Cay, Rum Shark, Whisky & Rum, Familia Ricci, Blackadder, and, oh, quite a few others, some more than once. Here, from That Boutique-y Rum Company from England, we have an interesting one that was made in 2012, is a nice rounded fourteen years old…and a serious 60.4% ABV.

For those new to “Ten Cane” rums, they were made in Trinidad, in a small distillery based in Usine St. Madeleine, using two Charentais cognac copper pot stills brought over by the fashion house of LVMH (the MH part of it, at any rate) who originated the brand. The idea was to make cane juice rum sourced from local producers in the agricole style, and certainly the rums that were produced are quite different from the regular run-of-the-mill Angostura blends, or even today’s TDL single barrel expressions which are beginning to make a splash. 

Those I’ve tried are damned good rums, as this one so elegantly demonstrates.  The nose, oddly enough, is remarkably dark and tannic, with the oak influences quite clear (though thankfully not excessive), mixing it up with caramel, toffee, vanilla, and the tart aroma of mauby bark and cinnamon. A whisky anorak next to me remarked there were some deep oily notes, almost savoury aspects to it (which he really liked), and while I think he was reaching myself, we both agreed there were nice notes of black ripe cherries, ripe oranges and traces of brown sugar, especially on a fresh pour.

The palate shows why we should approach aged cane juice rums — in particular the older ones — with some caution.  Fresh, unaged white agricoles are as close to true terroire as we can get in our world, and that’s part of their attraction; yet the moment they are put into a barrel, some of that is lost as the interaction with the wood mellows the hot fierceness of the initial distillate. The taste of this fourteen year old rum shows less juice and more cask, so to speak. There are well integrated notes of leather, smoke, vanilla and caramel tastes, then black ripe cherries, some pineapple and citrus, dates, figs and pomegranates, even some coca cola and aromatic damp tobacco. And stale coffee grounds and wet ashes, which are thankfully faint. The finish is fine – long, as one would expect from something with such a jacked up proof, and giving more of the same – dried fruits, black cake, tobacco, citrus, and not much else – but that’s quite e nough, I assure you.

This is quite a good piece fo work.It goes down remarkably easily, and doesn’t punish a deep swig. The flavours mesh well and are deep and tasty, and while the connoisseur might not find mich that is new, it is clearly separable from the more mass market offerings from Angostura proper, and you would never mistake this for a Caroni, of course.  Had the owning company persevered and held on a for a few more years, I think that we would have seen a unique and different style of rum making emerge from Trinidad.

Alas, Ten Cane is no more: after less than ten years, the costs, the financial environment, other priorities, lower than expected sales or simple lack of interest, resulted in the company folding its tents in 2015, mothballing the stills and walking away from the venture.  All we have left now, is the various expressions that small independent are issuing: and once those are gone, well, maybe it’s going to be another Caroni, or maybe just another idea ahead of its time that few will remember ten years from now.

And yet, we keep seeing them, in small shelves in various stores, online, and in occasional comments on social media by drinkers who recall the rum with fondness. I’m one of them, and I think that the brand, long after its dissolution, will one day be seen as a worth entry to the rum canon. This Ten Cane rum from TBRC shows why that is the case and it’s a shame that one day, we won’t get any more.

(#1117)(86/100) ⭐⭐⭐⭐


Other notes

  • Video recap link
  • I get really impatient when modern rum outfits that are part of yet bigger companies don’t update their web pages with details of bottlings past or present – we’re past the stage of the internet being a new thing or some sort of fad that needs the bare minimum. TBRC’s website has no entry for this rum in the product page, it doesn’t show up on a search on the site… and yet it does exist in a blog post featuring “TBRC at the movies”.  Which is fine, except that if you didn’t know it was there, you wouldn’t look for it, now, would you? 
  • The label, done by computer artist Jim’ll Paint It refers to classic film noir: the washed out colours cut through by night lights seeping through the blinds, the hat, the trench coat, the weary gumshoe who talks tough and cracks wise… unofficially, it’s all Bogie as Philip Marlowe and “The Big Sleep”, but you don’t need to know that to appreciate the design,even if it has little if anything to do with rum.
Apr 142025
 

The rumisphere is littered with the detritus of small companies and experiments that started off well and then just gave up and died at the side of the road.  The original and the new Renegade company, Toucan, Nine Leaves, all those small British merchant bottlers from decades past, they all bear witness to efforts that sadly could not be sustained, leaving us poorer than before. It’s usually economics, of course, but here with the Ten Cane brand, one would have thought the deeper pockets of the parent company might have allowed it to find its feet and establish a better market presence – alas, this never happened.

Ten Cane is the brainchild of LVMH (Louis Vuitton Moet Hennessy, home of the bags Mrs. Caner lusts after and beggars me to buy), who had the excellent idea to make artisanal rums in Trinidad by shipping over a pair of copper charentais pot stills from France in 2003, and making cane juice rums at Usine St. Madeleine together with Angostura (who provided logistical support and facilities). 

The idea was a good one and I still feel they were a little ahead of their time – the rum renaissance had not yet hit its peak – but clearly the sales were less than what was hoped for, and even after they started doing a blend of molasses and cane juice rums under the Ten Cane moniker, as well as shipping bulk to Europe for indie bottlers to work with, it didn’t pay off. In 2015 they ceased operations altogether and the remaining stock of ageing barrels were shipped over to Foursquare, and then Europe. We can still find various expressions around the indie circuit, but they are getting less all the time, and now knowledge of the brand is limited mostly to aficionados, or the odd post here or there about some dusty bottle found somewhere. Oh, and as an aside, those cognac pot stills were left to gather dust, until San Juan Artisanal Distillery in Puerto Rico outfit saw their potential and bought them to ship to their own distillery, a few years after Ten Cane folded.

All this then leads us to one of the earlier indies from the 2010s, Compagnie des Indes, based in France, run by that very likeable chap Florent Beuchet. Although he made his name with single cask bottlings for which the company remains best known, its the blends like Tricorne or Darklice or Caraibes or Latino which keep the lights on – much as many other indies have been doing to subsidize their more exclusive high proof single cask bottlings. This edition of the Ten Cane distillate was made in 2012 and bottled in 2021. It’s a single cask expression of 226 bottles, issued at a solid 57.9% and apparently all cane juice source.

Tried in conjunction with the Rum Artesanal Trinidad TDL 2002 19YO (review coming soon to the site near you), it snaps into focus with an aroma of dry, briny and dusty aromatic notes, with a nice background of less-sweet figs, dates, pomegranates and dark honey.  There isn’t a whole lot of fruit here, but as if to compensate, what we can sense is caramel, honey, toffee, vanilla, a rich cheesecake, nutmeg cumin, cloves, and even a sly hint of new leather furniture that’s been well polished. Cane juice?  It doesn’t present that way, really, at least not entirely.  The literature is inconclusive on this point, and I do think it’s a bit of both molasses and juice, but Florent Beuchet did come back to me and confirm it was all cane juice distillate, so maybe it was just the ageing.

The taste does seem to confirm this, as there are slightly more of the grassy and herbaceous agricole style notes ot be found here. It tastes a bit sweeter than the nose suggested, and is also somewhat lighter, cleaner. There’s a nice sense of salted caramel ice cream, concentrated rum-soaked black cake, brine, olives, raisins and cereals, and the faintest touch of unripe green apples and lemongrass, with a gradually increasing citrus taste to it, far from unpleasant. All this leads to a medium long, dry and sweetish finish that wraps up the show quite nicely, without adding anything new.

On balance, I can’t say the rum impressed me that much (though I’d buy it if the price was right). It’s a decently made product with a nice series of aromas and tastes, yet it remains somewhat thin even at its strength, and overall, it suggests potential more than actuality. Moreover, the profile just doesn’t come together very well, and one gets the impression the various elements of sweet, salt, fruit and what have you, are playing against each other, rather than working together to provide a cohesive tasting profile. It makes the overall experience less, if only for me.

Although Ten Cane issued rums since at least 2008 when the ageing was a mere eight months or so (I’ve read here and there that some people believe many of the best ones were distilled around that time) they only really started popping out of the woodwork on the festival circuit, online shops and social media ecosystem a few years later. These days one can, with some effort, find indie bottlings by The Duchess, TBRC, Rom Deluxe, Valinche & Mallet, BBR, Cave Guldive, L’Espirit and even Holmes Cay. The original LVMH bottlings have now become auction house listings one sees only rarely, yet, paradoxically, the last one I saw went for £35 in 2024, which even for standard 40% strength, is remarkably cheap compared to the indies. I didn’t pick it up back then, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t if the chance comes up again.  It’s a good rum in its own right, no matter who makes it or what this review implies.

(#1116)(82/100) ⭐⭐⭐½


Other notes

Apr 072025
 

Even now, all these years after the Demeraras, Caronis, Indian Ocean series, Hampdens and Habitation series, Velier continues to be able to pull out a new rabbit from the hat every now and then, something we have not quite seen in this way before. There were the last Nine Leaves expressions from last year, the Amrut from a few years back, the new Habitation Velier Nepalese rum that popped up a few months ago – and last year, at Whisky Live, they debuted the Shakara 12YO rum from Thailand.

Now Thailand generally does not loom large in the pantheon of countries whose rums we lust after. I’ve reviewed Sang Som and Mekhong rums in the past, and there are smaller outfits like Issan (quite good) and Chalong Bay (also very good) who are raising the profile of the country with their artisanal rums. They are at opposite ends of the divide: the former is mass market (sometimes possibly adulterated) molasses-based standard-strength tipple for the general population, and the latter is small batch, relatively limited release made from cane juice.

The Shakara rum straddles this divide. It is a molasses-based, column-still rum, made and aged completely in Thailand in the province of Nakhom Pathom, which I initially thought pinpointed the distillery of origin as Sang Som — but I have been told (twice) that this is not correct and the arrangement between Velier and the producer requires the distillery bot to be mentioned, so it remains a question mark. It has been aged for twelve years in situ, but again, we are not told anything about what kind of barrels they used (I’ve read elsewhere that it’s ex-bourbon), or any more detail about the production process – we can assume it’s the same as the Phraya, perhaps, but the pickings are slim there too.

Be that as it may, this is a rum bottled at 45.7%, and while we do not know the outturn, the rum is being distributed in North America as well as Europe, and we can reasonably assume there are at a minimum several thousand bottles out there, for that kind of geographical spread. It is also quite a nice mid-range rum, I think, strong enough to make it appealing, while not so high-proof as to alarm the less adventurous.

And the profile is really quite good, it must be said, even if it breaks relatively little new ground. It has an initially smoky aroma, redolent of burnt caramel, ginger, brown sugar, coconut jelly, plus some musty paper, cardboard and woody scents behind that.  Leaving it to open for a while is helpful: it becomes vaguely sweet with a nice yellow mango and citrus background, together with notes of kimchi, orange peel and some iodine.  Some real and surprising character emerges here, I think, yet all the while the rum remains nicely mild and is really easy nosing.

The palate does not veer too far away from this, and builds upon those notes. It is relatively quiet for the strength, a touch thin, but presents well with initial flavours of sandalwood, figs, cereal, coffee grounds, a hint of crushed walnuts, and vanilla.  The brown sugar and caramel takes on a more commanding aspect here, and I think that may be a bit excessive at times, although it recedes after a few sips and doesn’t overstay its welcome too much. In all honesty, it reminds me somewhat of a dry Diplomatico, or a less sweet Zacapa – it has the same gentle vibe as those two, and slightly more of an odd edge, and it’s just not as sweet as either, which is a relief.  The finish lingers just long enough to make itself known, with final touches of lemongrass, pine, mint, nuts, vanilla, salt caramel ice cream, and again, that touch of overripe orange peel.

Tasting notes are one thing, but what’s the assessment? Well, I think it’s a relatively easy, approachable sort of rum, that will be appreciated by those who prefer a more dialled down product, a blend, not a single cask pot still overproof fighting tiger like the Hampdens or the Habitation series. This is not some exacting full proof hi-test that is for connoisseurs of the top end, but a rum with more in its trousers than just its hands, and is for all to like and appreciate when something is looked for that will work well by itself or in a mix, while not being nearly as simple as it starts out. 

Velier is not known for making rums for general audiences in the way that many smaller outfits do in order to make better sales and subsidize the more exclusive upscale halo bottlings, yet here, in chosing the barrels that made this blend, they have admirably found a balance between the fierce and the gentle, the connoisseurs’ jaded palate and the casual drinkers’ less demanding tastes, while taking the whole experience at slightly right angles to any kind of “standard” profile for both. That’s quite an accomplishment, I would say, for a rum so readily available, and so easily affordable.

(#1115)(83/100) ⭐⭐⭐½


Other notes

  • Video recap link
  • The rum cost me Can$70 at Kensington Wine Market in Calgary in April 2025, but I first tasted it at the WhiskyLive Paris in 2024.
  • In his video essay on the rum, Arminder of Rum Revival mentioned that Velier picked up a bulk consignment and built a brand around that. His review is well worth watching. 
  • “Shakara” is the sanskrit word for sugar (some say sugar cane).
Apr 032025
 

We have looked at rums from Rivers Antoine before, although admittedly that was just the regularly available 69% version, which I’ve tried several times.  Now, Rivers Antoine is a very old rum making estate on Grenada — they date back to 1785, were certainly in existence since two decades before that, and have only grudgingly upgraded their facilities in all that time —  and is perhaps unique in that they not only grow their own sugar cane with which they press and render to “honey” make their rums, but the press is run by a water wheel (made in 1840), the fermentation is in open vats, the yeast is wild, and the rums they make are like no others. Trust me on this.

Basic production stats: cane juice syrup (some cane is from their own estate, some is bought from surrounding farmers), fermented in open topped concrete tanks which are not cleaned out between batches, so a little bit of previous batches carries forward into the next one. Wild (naturally airborne) yeast, eight days or so fermentation, and then it’s run through one or both of the two double retort pot stills (one Vendome, one John Dore), fed by wood-fueled fires underneath each, and the resultant distillate froths and smokes off the still at around 75-80%.  As I’ve said, this is dialled down to 69% for the “standard” version that can be taken on flights, but this one is different, being bottled at 75%, or close to still strength.

What results from all this is a rum of real character: anyone who smells this isn’t going to forget it in a hurry.  It’s a pungent, potent, pot still putain, hard bitten and hard boiled as a thirties noir gumshoe, with scents to match.  It’s rubbery, ester driven, sour and with as much glue as a glossy new fashion magazine hot off the presses. And as if that isn’t enough, you’ll smell plasticine, varnish, turpentine, and then the sour-sweet scent of kimchi, rotting oranges, ripe mangoes, and if you think this is a Jamaican funk bomb detonating in y9our face, well, it’s pretty close.  Rivers never bothers to make a fuss over that, simply letting the product speak for itself…and it sure doesn’t speak in quiet modulated tones, but bellows its puissance from the rooftop.

I know this may sound like over the top insanity to smell, but rest assured that the taste is much more approachable, without ever letting go of its slightly off-kilter vibe.It presents some light fruits and sugar, again the sourness of gooseberries and overripe oranges — the part that distinguishes it from the Jamaicans is a certain agricole-style herbaceousness, a sort of green lemongrass and citrus note that combines well with balsamic vinegar and olives and the faintest suggestion of salt. And the finish…wow. Epic, long lasting, green and fragrant, very fruity with pineapples and spearmint and (yes, still here), grass, miso soup, rubber and plastic notes that fortunately are well tamed by this time. Basically, as my burb states — Rivers starts like a bat out of hell and then slows down to one wing short of batsh*t crazy by the end.

At 75% ABV we should not be surprised at the hot and spicy nature of it, yet it carries the weight of that strength without too much of an assault on the senses – I actually think once you get used to it, it’s something of a (slightly masochistic, admittedly) fun and interesting tasting experience. There’s such a joyous irreverence of competing flavours going on inside, it’s so strong and moves so fast, that one can only wonder how so much was stuffed into a standard barroom bottle without it shattering to shards on the spot.

Sure, most people will mix it – with coconut water, a soda, ice or whatever’s on hand (I think it would shine in a daiquiri), yet I submit that perhaps it’s worth trying by itself, just the one time. Because even though, afterwards, you might not remember everything that happens, you’ll know you had a good time while it lasted. 

(#1114)(85/100) ⭐⭐⭐½


Other notes

Mar 282025
 

The label of this rum has several variations, but all of them have the word “Strong” in bold red capitals right up front, just to grab the attention, warn the unwary and make sure the timid don’t set fire to themselves with an involuntary flatus. Although when you consider the wannabe beefcake power of 80% ABV, you could reasonably wonder who except a cigar-chomping, glute-flexin’ badass (or brain dead reviewer with access to too many rums and a few screws loose) would even try to drink such a product neat…and for what reason?

In the evolution of very strong rums, there are a few regularly made hooches issued by commercial enterprises (not indie bottlers who often gleefully try to cheer themselves up by torqueing their single cask sh*t to the max) that remain on sale. Such rums tend to be pure or lightly aged column still blends, such as every 151 ever made, the Sunset Very Strong from St Vincent (84.5%), The Rivers Antoine overproof (90% and 75%) that you can’t take off the island of Grenada, Suriname’s Marienburg 90 (90%), Stroh 80 or 160 (Austria, 80%). They provide a lot of bartenders much amusement with ferocious mixes like the B-52 and the Zombie, and remain a staple of the cocktail culture. Few are the brave souls who drink such rums neat.

That’s understandable because very high proofed rums are almost all column still, and much of the taste has been stripped away by the distillation process resulting in that high strength. There is almost no point in trying to do a taste test on one, yet, here we are and here I am. 

Nosing it demonstrates the point. Merde but this is serious. It’s strong and very sharp, and I recommend letting it breathe for a while so that the alcohol burns off. Once that’s done subtle flavours timidly start to creep out, as if afraid they’ll be coshed. Cream and strawberries, wet coconut shavings, a touch of brine, metal filings, some medicinal notes, and soft fruits like bananas, white guavas, pears, and a tiny hint of red grapefruit. More should not be expected, really, but it’s pleasing to even get this much from such a high proof rum where more often than not ethanol and turpentine are the core aromas.

The palate takes no prisoners either. It’s less than the nose in all ways, hot, spicy and very intense, yet for all that, there are some flavours one can sense through the heat. Crazily enough this is like lipstick and plasticine and bath soap, some vague bananas and those coconut shavings, but what’s notable is the sheer intensity of it all – this is the sort of rum you can imagine the Expendables quaffing by the tankard after offing a bunch of bad guys. There’s more of that ashy-metallic back taste, and a finish that seems to want nothing more than to last forever and shave the back of the throat with a rusty razor. Sure there’s a bit of fruit and plastic and maybe a pinch of salt, but overall, there’s not much to report on, on the close.

So once I finished my half hour session with it, what do I think of it? Well, admittedly, it’s eye-watering, once I dried out my eyeballs and stuck them back in. My sense of discovery (and humour) usually makes trying such batsh*t crazy rums a sort of masochistic and morbid exercise leading to an excess of long words lifted from my thesaurus, and this was no different.  Much like others of its kind, it doesn’t have a whole lot in the kitchen sink it throws at you, but you know what? It’s kind of interesting, if not particularly memorable (except, perhaps, for having survived it). 

There are some flavours and scents that make it past the firewall, and with caution and some dilution it could be had and appreciated. But not enough to matter – this is a rum that has to be mixed, or has to be diluted. I don’t often say that, but here, to appreciate it better (within its limits), it’s definitely the only way to go

(#1112)(77/100) ⭐⭐⭐


Other notes

  • Video recap link
  • “Denros” is a name created by combining the names of the last two distilleries existing in St. Lucia which merged in 1972 to create St. Lucia Distillers: the Dennery Distillery owned by the Barnard family, and the Roseau Bay Distillery owned by the Geest family. So “Den” + “Ros”, simple enough.
  • According to Difford’s Guide, in an undated post, this rum is implied to be made as far back as the 1930s, by the Dennery Distillery from the date of its establishment in 1932.
  • Although SLD does have pot stills, this is a continuous (column) still product.
Mar 192025
 

If one were discussing rum, I suppose you could call the SMWS among the first of the modern independent bottlers, alongside Samaroli, Moon Imports, Velier, Rum Nation and Renegade (and not a few whisky companies like Cadenhead, Gordon & MacPhail and AD Rattray). The expense of their bottlings, their relative scarcity – the subscription model discourages casual punters looking for cheap deals on single cask offerings which are never found in stores – the striking bottle appearance, and their amusing numbering system have certainly given them a visual and mental cachet few others can match.

However, my feeling has always been, and remains, that they refuse to accept that there is a serious market for rum if reasonably priced and well made, and having hitched their wagon to whiskies of all kinds, they are loath to change with the times except with an occasional casual nod to the category. Which is a shame, I think, given their resources. I’ve probably bought more than most (and shared them) and find them almost without exception to be quite competent selections.

There are three of their rums, however, which I consider minor grail quests of my own, and those are the Barbados (WIRR, “Rockley Still”), Guyana (Port Mourant) and Jamaica (Monymusk) rums, all released in 2001 — to shareholders only. None of these had a numbering system (R1.x, R2.x etc), the label was all different, and they were never, as far as I am aware, put up for sale to the subscribing public. It has been my extreme good fortune to spend some time with the famed rum blogger Marco Freyer (of Barrel Aged Mind) – and he had all three, of which this was the only one that was opened (I have dibs on samples for the other two when he cracks them). It is my conjecture that these early releases were a toe in the water, which were so unappreciated that it wasn’t in 2011 that serious bottlings began to take place.

So what about this one, then? Well it’s from that famous, if mythical Barbadian “Rockley Still” (follow the link for an extended discussion of what this is), distilled in 1986, finished in a sherry cask, bottled in 2001, column still, 15 years old and clocks in at a hefty 64.4% strength. There have been several such 1986 Rockley editions over the years from bottlers as varied as Berry Bros. & Rudd, Samaroli, Cadenhead, Rendsburger, Secret Treasures, Plantation and Bristol Spirits, but for the purposes of this review, let’s just accept it as a sub-style within the Barbadian canon, rather than a true still descriptor.

Nose first. Well, it’s interesting, for sure. It smells of burnt bell peppers and grilled tomatoes in a sour miso soup, and is quite ferocious, which is understandable given the strength, although somewhat less so given that the ageing should have sanded off some more of the rough edges. Some raisins, dates, plums, and a very light citrus line. It gets stranger, too: after ten minutes, there was a sort of ashy aroma to it, like a cigarette smoked in the rain, and (oddly enough) dark rye bread with a herbal cream cheese.  Yeah, I know that’s odd.

Still, the palate was also interesting, and not half bad. Vanilla, cinnamon, and a sort of dusty old library tang started things off, like we were in Hogwarts restricted section or something. It was salty (think marmite), yeasty, bready, fruity — more of the raisins and darker fruits, and though these were quite shy, there was enough depth of flavour here for me to think the word luscious is not entirely inappropriate.  Finish was fine, nothing new, some yeasty, sharp and ashy notes, a few fruity bits and pieces, lasting decently long

Overall, it’s a rum that could be issued today without apology or embarrassment. It’s competent work, smells and tastes fine, and is very approachable even with the strength – some water might dial it down for those who want to. The real question is why it was never followed up on – I think that had the SMWS tried to make rums a more regular part of their lineup, earlier, they could have stolen a march on many others who came later and did better.

The SMWS’s attitude on rums remains puzzling. Their customer base is certainly avid – the regularly issued whisky bottlings sell out all the time, and it’s global in spread – but it remains firmly anchored to that area. I have no issues with that except that they could certainly do as good or better with rums, were it not for one issue – the money. When one adds the cost of a bottle to the annual subscription price, then that had better be a rum that is the best of the best to justify what one is asked to shell out.  That has rarely been the case. Good yes, no question – except that as good or better is being sold by smaller, nimbler outfits, at more reasonable prices, so what’s the attraction?  None, really. 

And that’s why, no matter how much I may like this rum, it’s at best a qualified buy, assuming you can ever find it.

(#1112)(85/100) ⭐⭐⭐½


Other notes

Mar 152025
 

Rumaniacs Review #R-164 | #1111

Everything about this rum is strange. It carries no strength notation. It is from a distillery I have never heard before. And it is from a period of time when we have almost no data at all – not distillery, not the still, not the stock source, its provanance or travels through time, nothing.

As if that isn’t enough, consider this: it is made in France; it claims to be from the Antilles; it has a 1968 Italian tax strip on the top, and the cap itself has a notation that it was bottled in Israel; and, it was bought at auction, stored in Denmark and sampled in Germany. You can understand why it’s just a bit peculiar.

Distillerie de la Meuse, after some searching around, proved to be not some long defunct distillery from the French islands. It is in fact a closed establishment from NW France, in Verdun, from a small village called Baleycourt. All I was able to find is that it was founded in 1926 as “Distillerie de Verdun”  and was an all-purpose spirits maker which made brandy, liqueurs and other distilled spirits, and changed its name to Distillerie de la Meuse in 1937. Where the rum inside the bottle came from is anyone’s guess, and what it was doing being bottled in Israel (which, as you may recall, was established in 1948) — and then being imported into Italy twenty years later — is equally a mystery. That’s what happens when you buy a rum at auction where the provenance is so murky.

Colour – dark brown

Strength – unknown

Nose – Kind of unimpressive, quite light, though there are some fruity notes: prunes, apricots, bananas, vanilla and sherry. 

Palate – It seems at first blush to be better than the nose, because here the fruitiness blossoms into a palate that genuinely presents an interesting profile…at first. Sweetish plum juice, raspberries, blackberries, prunes, but without any acidic bite.  Some alcoholic notes persist, which is fortunate, because after a while, it starts to show its colours as something oversweet. Vanilla, cinnamon, sherry and red wine, dampened down and with a sugar balance that just gets excessive.

Finish – Short and light, with some dark fruit and paper notes, gone quickly. 

Thoughts – That it has been adulterated seems beyond question. It’s a bit too sweet and thick, and even if Marco’s hydrometer was in error when it said 15% ABV (it tastes too alcoholic for that to be believable), tasting it side by side with other rums which we knew to be clean, clearly shows it is not a pure product.  That said, we know this was a common practise at the time, as rum’s reputation was no better (worse, actually) then than now and for the very good reason that it was often sweetened or spiced up to appeal more widely, like the Italian Fantasias of the 1950s.

Beyond these observations, I genuinely wish we knew more about the rum, but as with all bottles from so long ago (and during a period of war, no less) perhaps it’s enough that we just have had a chance to taste it, be curious and know a little more than we started with. 

(#1111 | R-164)(76/100)


Other notes

Feb 252025
 


This 7,000-word essay is the transcript of a four part video opinion I released in February 2025, based on an unpublished essay written mostly in 2023 and amended over the subsequent months and years. I have elected to not include a bunch of graphics and pictures to go with it, because it’s long and deserves to be read as it is without distraction.

If video is your thing, they are on YouTube


Part 1 – Introduction and Background

Hello everyone

Today I’m going to do a fairly long four-part opinion piece. This is something that has been on my mind for a fairly long time. It’s part of a much longer essay that I wrote but I never published,whose genesis was a small opinion I tacked on to the end of the OFTD Key Rums review back in November 2023 but it got too long and I removed it. That in turn was based on my observations and thoughts over the last decade, and it kept percolating in my mind ever since, because the subject keeps coming up – as well as questions by new entrants into the rum world, who don’t know the story; and although the rhetoric has died down quite a bit of late, the underlying issues behind it really haven’t. The situation is sleeping, not dead.

To state it succinctly, Planteray (still sometimes referred to as Plantation, its previous name, or Maison Ferrand, its parent company) is a love or hate proposition. There is no indifference, no reflective centre where the opposing sides can meet, no middle ground. Anytime you start mentioning the company or its rums in a public space, a position is taken, will be taken, must be taken — and then inevitably, you’ll be drawn into online fights that stand for one side or another. 

You either like their rums or despise the outfit, or dislike both (few that I know have the courage to say they like both, fewer still accept anyone else can), and if you need to ask “why?” then you’re not as much into rums as you think you are. In all my time of writing about rums and personalities and companies that are involved, I’ve never seen anything near this level of despite, and I go way back to the days of the original Ministry of Rum forum, where Capn Jimbo was always doing his schtick, back in the day.

I think this ongoing brouhaha hurts the category of rum more than anything else…the more so since it is clearly egged on by agendas which are not always clear. And all this incendiary back and forth over the last ten years has not, changed the facts on the ground one iota … and frankly, I doubt it ever will. 

Background

So…let’s rewind a bit and let me give you a precis. Founded in 2003 as a branch of Maison Ferrand the cognac maker, Planteray – Plantation back then –  had a decent enough reputation until about 2015 or so. They made good low rent efforts like the white Three Star and the Original Dark, and were starting to be an independent bottler of some note; they were putting out the same kind of Barbadian or Grenadian or Guyanese or Jamaican rums as others were. I had actually written some reviews of those early releases.

Their labels did leave something to be desired, but this was not unusual for the time, and if eyebrows were raised about the whole business of secondary maturation and finishes — though they were following a practise which was not entirely new — it was mostly because, rather than an exception, Plantation made it a rule for pretty much all their products. But we could live with that.

Starting around 2015 and going on for the next years, however, four things occurred that changed the face of the rum landscape generally, and impacted Plantation quite significantly:

  • For one thing there was the undisclosed sugar controversy which implicated scores of distillers around the world, and several independent bottlers and brands including Plantation (of course, this was the hydrometer test and Scandinavian liquor monopolies that started to do serious tests and publishing them, and this created a huge uptick of interest as to whether rums were adulterated or not, especially since we had been told all these years that “Oh no, we haven’t been doing that”) .. so that was a thing
  • the purchase of WIRD in Barbados in 2017 — after bailout attempts went nowhere and other commercial enterprises declined to buy it, Maison Ferrand bought it
  • Then of course there were the subsequent battles over the Barbados and Jamaican GI – which, by now, has entered the rum zeitgeist and everybody more or less knows about it, and 
  • the eruption of indignation over the name “Plantation” predating but lent strength by the BLM movement (a complete and total PR balls-up by MF), which last finally evoked a promise to change the company’s name to be less offensive in a culturally-charged world…and for which we waited for years, only to get the completely original name of “Planteray” in January 2024 (you just gotta ask yourself what these guys were thinking, honestly).

Those were the highlights that created some of the issues and dislike for the company … but there’s more and other issues raised their heads over time deriving from these:

  • The commentariat in more than one country consider their business practices unethical (at best), dating right back to the acquisition (or “theft of”) of the Ferrand family name and ousting of the original owners of the original cognac company that is the corporate umbrella
  • The reputed and purported strong-arming of retail establishments to stock their products at the expense of others (the old Bacardi distribution model). You know, “you get to stock our rums, but if you do, you can’t stock those from over there if you stock mine.” That kind of thing.
  • They have been accused of misleading the public on their blends and in their various press releases: to the extent that it has become — and I swear this is true — an article of faith that they flat out lie with every breath — this is actually a thing now (which has led to a microscopic examination of their every utterance, every promotion, every ad, every release). And this probably goes a long way to explaining why Mr. Gabriel does not engage in public any longer – he’d get his ass handed to him if he tries
  • Those with long memories would also recall Mr. Gabriel’s somewhat tone-deaf comments that casually invalidated centuries of Caribbean rum-making tradition, by baldly stating how he was there to “save Barbados rum” and how rums should be made like cognac, dating from early years of his public engagement.
  • But more than any one thing, calumny has been hurled in their direction for their intransigent stance on weakening the Barbadian and Jamaican GI proposals, for the stubborn insistence on secondary ageing of Caribbean rums in France and using all sorts of experimental techniques (and calling them “traditional” when they were likely not) while somehow still touting the majesty and originality of the terroire they supposedly represent. 
  • Aaaand…that strikes a lot of people as being not just discourteous and disrespectful comments by a Johnny-come-lately foreign interloper, of rums made for centuries in the Caribbean…and complete and utter bullshit. And that’s consumers, producers, commentators … you know, everyone has a stake in this and talks about quite a bit

Impact

Stoked by online netizens and their like minded supporters who use personal attacks, constant criticism and vicious trolling on social media, this has resulted in an appalling split in the online community. 

The frenzied denunciations of this one company have taken on a life of their own; they are brought up at every opportunity (sometimes with the flimsiest of connections), and in so doing tar everyone associated with the brand, for or against — writer, influencer, blogger, consumer, employee, shop owner, barman…everyone. Liquor store owners have been known to downplay that they even stock the company’s rums; writers withhold their reviews; consumers hardly dare mention that they enjoy the brand’s bottlings for fear of the inevitable backlash; (the only exceptions are the young blood and new reviewers who don’t know the story) it has become so intense that it is no longer possible to have a rational discussion with anyone on the subject. 

In one particularly egregious (I’m thinking of a stronger word) example, a local WIRD employee who copped a prize of excellence in rum making a few years ago was not congratulated for his achievement, as you might expect, but told he (and all other employees) should quit in moral outrage at working for such a company. It’s gotten that stupid.

The anger and associated hate that this thing has started has driven more people away from engaging thoughtfully in public than even the dosage issue from a decade earlier which started in 2014 or so (and trust me, I was there – that was no picnic). If you were to listen to all those who without fail berate, bully, belittle, and correct every single statement and every single action taken by Plantation (or any commentator on, let alone defender of, the company) you’d be forgiven for concluding that this one outfit is Voldemort personified, without the redeeming qualities. Really, it’s like it no longer matters what they do: they could sh*t diamonds from a platinum asshole, donate the entire proceeds therefrom to the eradication of poverty and climate change simultaneously, and still they would be considered one step removed from the sweat of Beelzebub’s sulphur ridden testicles. That’s, really, where this has gotten to

I’ll continue this in Part II


Part 2 – Critical Commentary, Pros and Cons

So, In Part 1, I was talking about the background of the problems that Planteray faces, and the reasons why there is such polarization of opinions about the company, and why people are both fed up with it and love taking sides about it, and how this has split the online rum community.

There’s a lot of critical commentary out there. Some of it is led by advocates for the consumers, some by producers, some by industry advocates, some by bloggers or reviewers, many by consumers themselves, but there is no question that everyone has an opinion, and usually that’s against Planteray.

I contend that this is ultimately not only counterproductive for rum as a whole, but does the reputations of those who indulge in it no favours whatsoever (whatever delusions of being Defenders of the Faith they might tell themselves…and they do). 

It makes the ongoing and condescending ad hominem dismissals, even insults, directed at anyone with a voice raised in favour of Plantation (even those who recount facts and don’t traffic in opinions), seem like personal, private vendettas against them, because it’s always so personal — and, if you read them over time, it’s hard to avoid that many of them actually are, and to me, that dilutes their effectiveness quite a bit.

If you think I’m kidding about this, just go through Facebook and Reddit or whatever, or google the stuff, and, trust me, the arguments will come up, as well as the invective and dislike and even hate — it’s right out there in the open.

But let’s just consider some of the main points of contention

Secondary ageing in another country, which is one of the original bete noirs of the commentariat is a thing, and always has been. 

It’s done by a majority of rum making or rum producing companies and brands – especially the independents –  and with Sheer and various dealers, sellers and brokers in the frame, it is unavoidable. Sometimes it’s all in the country of origin, sometimes it’s in another. It’s not unusual. It happens and always has, and that’s the issue, because real value is seen to be accruing to the country of issue, not the country of origin.

Be that as it may, there is no law prohibiting it – at least, no yet. If the charge is that it should not be called or labelled as a Jamaican or Barbados rum when aged externally for any period – which is a tenet of some (but not all) GI requirements – that’s perfectly fine and should be fought for…but in the courts and with the Government of the affected country and in educational seminars and masterclass sessions of international rum festivals, not in the pages of social media where f*ck, it just goes off the rails and dissolves people’s thinking like acid.

Whether nor not Plantation likes to use the word terroire in its marketing, as another point … and you know, they’ve gotten ten different kinds of shit about it .. but it is just that – marketing…and anyone who expects truth in advertising, in marketing, is clearly not in business and worse, is begging to be lied to. 

To make an argument on the nefarious nature of Plantation because (gasp!) they lie about terroire (or deliberately use it incorrectly in their promotional material) is to repeal modern consumer targeting. 

Moreover, by focusing on this one company, you’re giving everyone else who does the same thing a free pass, which I think is both blinkered and unfair – I mean come on, be consistent and complete in your criticism, would you please? 

And come on – do we really expect truth in advertising? It’s like a real estate agent assuring you as he pats you on the back while picking your pocket “It’s about you, not me.” Sure.

Another point I wanted to make is this: If Planteray fights to get a weak or amended GI in place, that’s a business decision on their part, just as it is a business decision on the part of the other distillers to fight it, and the attendant moral outrage that everyone pretends to, is completely irrelevant: is nothing but a way to get people fired up, because if you think about it, the morality of the case each side supports conveniently aligns with each side’s financial interests – and that highly vocal minority which makes the most noise have exactly zero impact on any of that.

And if you ask what those interests are, well, here are some matters to consider:

A strong GI which codifies local rules of production and labelling – especially the various value-added processes like fermentation, distillation, long ageing and premiumization that speak to the uniqueness of the country’s rum making heritage and the rum’s profile (Jamaica is a really good example of this) is clearly in the interest of producers who set that standard

It is the producers who set those standards – not unnaturally, in their own interest – and the Governments take those recommendations into account when enacting the law that enshrine them. However, as an aside, just because a country has a GI, and many already do, it takes a much more concerted political effort to have that accepted by major trading blocs like the US and the EU. If they see their own tax paying indie bottlers, brands and producers being hamstrung by such rules, they may demand changes from their own position of economic strength.

Existing companies like Planteray have a huge footprint in markets like the EU – in 2022, for example, they moved 400,000 liters of their rums through Sweden alone. Further, In some Scandinavian countries, shelf space, shelf locations and retail access to the Government monopoly stores is determined by a points system based on sales, and the name of the product is linked to that – changing the name of a rum from “Barbados Rum” to “Rum from Barbados” means it is treated like a brand new product and they have to start again from the very bottom (literally), rebuilding a presence and market share that took a decade or more to create – and you wonder why Planteray would fight a regulation that would kneecap them and hand sales to its competitors, for that kind of sales volume in a single country? People, you cannot be serious. 

It somehow seems never to compute that if Planteray fails, or reduces its output and goes under because of such rules, a lot of people will be out of work and a lot of taxes would be foregone, which is also something not often considered or discussed when the GI comes up.

In any case, the final ruling on that GI is ultimately not the province of outspoken European or North American rum lovers (no matter how well intentioned they are), but that of Barbadians and Jamaicans, lawyers, Governments, actual producers, their local employees and consumers, and people who are actually, you know, impacted by this. 

It always irritates me when I see a bunch of people from the global North who have no commercial interest, no Barbadian or Jamaican connections outside their love of the rum, act as if their whole lives will come to an end if Plantation “wins” (whatever the f**k that means) and then go scorched earth with an air of martyrdom in their words. It disrespects the ability of the islanders to come to a decision of their own or anyone else to have a dissenting opinion. So it’s like you can either have one or the other, you’re for us or against us. I mean, what?…whatever happened to constructive debate and engagement in these matters?

Such critics as I mention may not be buying the company’s rum on principle, or even banning the company from their review queue or their festivals – which is absolutely their right —  but in what universe do they think they are doing regular islanders or the country affected a favour? 

By what right do they claim to speak for Jamaica and Barbados? Because they took a holiday there and bought a Foursquare rum? Because their grandparents came from there? Give me a f***ing break. They don’t live there

Richard Seale can do that and has every right to do so because it’s his country, his company, his livelihood and his employees at risk, so he has every right to get up on his soapbox and talk the story that he wants to have told, and to make his case … but… all the other moral crusading asshats I keep reading and hearing (almost all of whom, remember, are not from Barbados or Jamaica at all) should just chill. Their arguments at end don’t matter, because they have no impact, and will have no impact — none — on what the Barbadian and Jamaican Governments will enact into law. All they do is walk around pretending they are influencers, make a whole lot of damned noise, destroy relationships, break friendships and make people swear off rums altogether because it’s “just too much bloody drama.”

Again – who does this help, since all their vitriol has so far not moved the needle one single inch? I submit that their attitudes and for sure those who egg them on with regular incendiary posts of their own, have done more damage to the rum community than to Planteray ever has.

“They make a desert and call it peace” wrote Tacitus nearly two thousand years ago, and that pretty much sums up all that they have accomplished so far.

We’ll continue this in Part III


Part 3 – The Reality And A More Balanced Approach

So, in Part 1, I talked about the background and issues that explained why Planteray is so hated and derided in the global rumworld – the rumiverse if you will. And in Part 2 I discussed some of the points of view and weaknesses, as I saw them, of the commentariat – both who was doing the commenting and some of the arguments they liked to make.

Now, these arguments do exist, and they do sway people’s minds, except that … what have they accomplished? Because to my mind, in spite of all these herculean effort to diminish, control or otherwise hinder the company, Planteray shows no sign of slowing down at all.

It continues to exist, its balance sheet is healthy and sails on in the face of all this dislike and negative online posturing. It is a successful rum producer, like it or not, and a successful indie bottler, like it or not. Moreover, they have actually adapted quite a bit to some of the critiques they have received, so it’s not as if they ignore everyone and do their own thing as conventional wisdom suggests. 

For example, although initially getting a hit for the sugar imbroglio, they now provide this information on dosage levels, and their high-end single barrel offerings are usually free of additives. Too, some of those Jamaicans they have released (I’m thinking the 1996 and 1998 single barrel editions) are really very good.

The company, then, seems to be well run commercially, has a good eye on developing trends and emerging markets, and its line of rums is to be found just about everywhere, which is no small feat. Given the enormity of its output and ageing space in Barbados, you have to ask whether a GI in any form, in any country, would actually hurt them — and, consequently, why on earth they are fighting it so hard – it is not, after all, an existential threat to their business model as it supposedly is for the others, aside from the naming of rums, and shelf space issue I spoke about in Part 2.

On the flip side they may not be impacted very much by the criticism they get from all and sundry, but fuck me, they really are masters of the own-goal at times, and their PR can be summed up as “doofus amateur hour” at best, as attested to by the various intemperate comments, clumsy attempts at justification and damage control, and the long-delayed multi-year name change. They really have not helped themselves very much, and that just gives their critics loads of ammunition.

“What abut their business practices?” you might reasonably ask.

Maybe there have been side deals to get them there and shoulder others aside from markets, bars, cruise ships and store shelves. Maybe they have indeed recruited cold-eyed legal eagles and soulless lobbyists to ram a piss-poor regulatory regime down everyone’s throat. Maybe their business practises skirt the edges of ethics or toe the very fine line of legality as many people claim – I myself don’t know and won’t speak to that, because so far precious little facts that have been put into evidence (perhaps because to do so is to invite a libel suit).

But the harsh truth is that for all the rather innocent comments about how companies should be open and transparent in their dealings, come on, let’s face some reality: business is business, you don’t freely hand out competitive advantage, you do what you have to to get market share, and you make what you have to that sells.

Now, I don’t like this brutally cynical modus operandi, which goes all the way back to the 1970s when the Friedman Doctrine emerged, and various business titans like Jack Welch maintained that shareholder value was the only that mattered, profits by whatever means was everything, and the people can go to hell. I completely despise that attitude.

But it is a real fact of modern commercial operations, and I do live in the real world. 

Few organisations in this day and age have the luxury of ethics not mandated by law, they do the bare minimum they need to comply with the rules, and skirt ‘em every chance they get —  everyone does it and let’s not pretend otherwise. And, fewer still bind themselves voluntarily to such a concept of transparency and fairness. You don’t have to respect or even like Planteray, to accept that this is a business tenet just about all companies practise. 

The idea that companies should somehow forego market share, competitive advantage, sales,  or revenue potential by being honest and open about all things is to close one’s eyes to hundreds of years of corporate shenanigans that prove the exact opposite. And it leads to the farcical conclusion, for example, that the 2008 global meltdown that the unhung criminals who called themselves the financial Masters of the Universe created, was just an honest mistake. And, if those Wall Street hucksters and con artists had accepted Jesus into their hearts and been honest and transparent, it would never have happened. 

Nonsense. No no no no no…. Business is business, the weak go to the wall, and that’s just a fact of life, and we’ve got to accept that — that’s the rulebook that Planteray seems to be playing by. And I’m sure that in one way or the other, so does everybody else. We just don’t know about it, since the incessant and obsessive focus on just this one company makes them a convenient lightning rod that obscures our ability to see – and point out – what everyone else is doing.

So who wins?

In the final analysis, almost a decade of attacking the company has not changed anything at all, and has had no effect on what will end up happening to the company. Even now, they remain every bit as visible as they ever were, if not more. It sure looks like Planteray has taken the approach that all press — good or bad —  is free advertising and that the only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about. 

Since Planteray can’t be wished away by constant negative articles or made to go away by insulting it in public, let’s just deal with some reality and acknowledge that perhaps, just perhaps, it’s time to consider that an accommodation with the company will have to be reached one day, however distasteful that is to so many people whose egos are now so vested and bound up in this one issue. 

Because you see, if its many critics and detractors in and out of the industry are to be believed, Planteray has a lot of political, legal and commercial influence, and no hesitation in using it. While the GI stalemate goes on and on and wends its way through the regulatory agencies, ministries, Parliamentary committees and maybe one day the courts, while compromise is off the table and no middle ground can be agreed on, time is passing, and WIRD has thousands of barrels ageing nicely in their warehouses that will one day conform to whatever GI is agreed on, strong or weak, and if done right might then cause the existing distilleries some loss of market share anyway.  WIRD is the single largest distiller in Barbados, — whatever it is they produce and whoever they sell it to — employs people and pays a boatload of taxes (which is what Governments like to see) and that ⅓ share in National Rums of Jamaica is not chicken feed either. 

In fact, so potentially lucrative is the whole edifice that is Planteray and WIRD — and even its detractors clearly see that and maybe even fear it — that it really begs the question as to why a consortium of Barbadian producers or investors could not have ponied up or arranged Government backed external financing for the purchase of WIRD themselves, back in 2017 – I mean, wasn’t it sold for something like US$28 million? 

The cynic in me suspects that while Barbadian producers were initially pleased that someone had bought it, privately they would not have been unhappy to let this ageing mastodon go dead because 

(a) the shortfall of the discontinued rum production from the island on existing contracts (like malibu) might go to them 

(b) they wouldn’t have to cover the cost of upgrading and refurbishment to modern standards and keeping employees on payroll and bearing short- and medium- term losses if they themselves bought it

On the other hand, maybe they simply didn’t do a cold eyed analysis of what the long term benefits could be — and rather than thinking about the sort of multi-island blends and brands Planteray came up with, they thought only of the impact on their own. Which is completely understandable, but you see why this is an issue.

I imagine they were all quite surprised that instead of going belly-up, or delving a deep hole in Ferrand’s cash flow, those guys invested, upgraded, spent money, made sales, opened markets, and in so doing, became quite successful. In fact, I have a feeling they may have underestimated Mr. Gabriel from the outset, because I personally believe that this is more than just a business venture for him – sure, that’s part of it, but it seems to be something of a passion project too, and he is willing to stick with it for the long term.

The others are playing a similar game now, trying to distinguish themselves via premiumisation, brand distinctiveness, experimental releases like the 4S LFT or Mount Gay Single Estate Series), linking themselves to one way of rum production (the all-Barbados model) that is the better way, surely, but perhaps harder to sell at this juncture. That it will one day help put a spoke in Planteray’s wheel I don’t doubt, but by the time the smoke clears, perhaps not to the extent everyone hopes.  

Because all this time, Planetary is growing, expanding its stable of rums, adding capacity, issuing new releases – Mr. Fogg is just the most recent example of that — and so again, if and when an accommodation or compromise of some kind will inevitably be forced on everyone to get the GI passed: yes, Planteray will still be there.


Part 4 – Summing Up and Where I stand

So in Part 1 I started by sketching in the background to the Planteray issue and what has resulted from it, in Part 2 I briefly touched on some of the common commentary and flashpoints that surrounded the company, and in Part 3 I talked about business and suggested a more even-handed and reality-based approach for those opposing Planteray.

But in this part I wanted to wrap up, and issue a disclaimer as to what my own personal opinions on this matter are, since I have stayed out of the argument for a very long time

So. Am I onside with Mr. Gabriel and Planteray?  Clearly the preceding paragraphs almost make it seem like I’ve drunk the Cognac-aged sugar-laced kool-aid, been bought from top to bottom, and am now just another soulless, morality-bereft shill toeing the company line (which, for those who will inevitably accuse me of that, says rather more about the brain-dead knee-jerk reflexes, than about their ability to think critically). 

But no, I’m not. I’m absolutely not, and I’m going to say that for the record. I disapprove of their methods and dislike their overly generous interpretation of what constitutes a Barbados (or Jamaican) rum, using any old pretext, deliberate historical misinterpretation, any old document they can find on some failed experiment from f*ck knows how long ago, so that they can muddy the waters just so as to justify whatever it is that they do, and shoehorn that into what will end up being a substandard regulation. I mean, I just don’t like that, and think it’s been taken much too far already.

I also have not asked Mr. Gabriel or Mr. Seale to comment on this article, and with respect to Mr. Gabriel, have met and spoken to him exactly one time in my life (for all of two minutes), never visited his distillery or his place in France, and am in the fortunate position to have never taken any coin from him, which has reliably trotted out to attack one particular freelance writer I know about (but no others).

I’m also not emotionally invested in this, the way that always puzzles me when I consider the anti-Planteray mouthings of some people whose entire online personas seem to be bound up in this one issue, and who you would think would spontaneously combust if Planteray was to ever get it way.

And so, I’m in a position to take a colder, more nuanced approach to the matter. 

Not a more tolerant approach either, because in the matter of the GI my vote – as a Caribbean native – goes for a strong version espoused by the pre-existing distillers who make up “the other side” 

As an aside, I think the nations of the Caribbean and the rum producers of WIRSPA should band together on this one and make a regional GI that encapsulates the best parts of such a strong version. That way value is indeed kept in the islands, and there are movements towards that, but it’s too island-individual as opposed to something a bit more regional and comprehensive, and I’d like to see that happen. Perhaps I’m just as idealistic or naive as everyone else, who knows?

But in any case, I believe this constant refrain about better rums being made with secondary ageing in cognac and the region of Cognac should stop (or at least be reduced), that the completely unnecessary dosing they practise should be reduced if not eliminated and more respect be given to keeping value and production wholly in the islands. Sure, the theory is that using cognac methods to make rum enhances the rum, but come on – rum has a storied and noble tradition of its own that requires little such “enhancement” and if you want to make spirits in the cognac way, then make a bloody cognac and leave rum alone.

I also believe that the company name change took too damned long but now they’ve done it, so that’s gone away, and the only fallout is that they publicly committed to it, people thought it took too long and was being deliberately slow-walked, which to detractors simply proved (as if it was needed) that nothing Planteray ever says can ever be trusted.

Closing thoughts

Okay – so, what I won’t do is proselytise for either standard or either of the two sides: because of course it is – Planteray on one side, versus everyone else. And I have a preference, yes, but not a bias, a subtle distinction that eludes far too many who get all offended when called out on it.  

I will not hammer anyone who professes a liking for Planteray or for Mount Gay or for Foursquare. I won’t bugle my preference from the rooftops, nor will I shamelessly genuflect to either side in order to show my supposed patriotism or support. There’s a reason I don’t have “Save Barbados Rum” apparel — Barbados rum doesn’t need saving, it’s doing just fine on its own – it’s which form of the Barbados rum that needs saving that you might actually talk about. 

Nothing is ever as simple as it seems, or as clear cut, we don’t have enough information to go on, and not enough is known of the moves by the parties behind the scenes to make the case conclusively, no matter how much people believe otherwise. 

Some element of balanced thinking and fairness has to start making its way into the sphere of public discourse, because too much opinion is already masquerades as fact, and too few facts are available at all (the current iteration of the GI, which almost nobody commenting on has actually read but on which everyone has a strident opinion, is a good example of facts not being in evidence). 

I also think – probably with equal innocence or optimism as everyone else’s – that reviewers’ and writers’ egos should be taken out of the equation, and that they all should make a conscious effort to be more honest in their motivations and more alert to being led by the nose by public relations. Opinion shapers, writers and commentators who claim to serve the public good by keeping it informed (and all of us like to believe we do) cannot and should not be seen as taking sides in such a producer-led issue (and it is a producer led issue…it is) – what are we doing, taking sides for one or the other? We are surrendering our own independence and ability to comment objectively and fairly when we so clearly represent one or the other side. 

Now you can, as a human being, have an opinion for one side or the other that is separate from your platform as a reviewer, writer, vlogger, blogger or whatever, but I argue this should be separated. So Lance Surujbally can have his own opinion and voice it offline, but the Lone Caner doesn’t have the luxury of doing so, and owes it to his audience to be more balanced in his reportage if he claims to being an impartial, balanced voice.

And if you think this is all harmless, let me remark that one writer I know, whose work on rum as a whole is exemplary, is so clearly biased in favour of one side here, that the moment I see him publish anything about Barbados or Jamaica, I almost never bother to read it any more. Because what’s the point? His mind is made up, his bias is right there, and nothing I or anyone else can say (including the provision of facts) can shift this immovable point of view. That’s the difference with a preference, which allows for facts and evidence to be weighed and a permits a modification of a point of view which is then not set in concrete, you see?

Can one appreciate or impartially consider a rum if one disagrees with or disapproves of the company that makes it? This was an issue that haunted Flor de Cana about a decade ago – remember how much crap they got for the Chronic Kidney Disease business? I argue that while any consumer can do what he wants because they have that right since it’s their money going out the door, a reviewer cannot be so blase about what they put into the public arena, because anything else — if you start to take sides — would not be in service of consumers, for whom they should be writing, but for producers … on whose behalf they have now become unwitting shills themselves. 

And this goes beyond writers. The hypocrisy of liquor store proprietors speaking for Barbados, wearing the T-shirt and decrying MF’s shenanigans in public while quietly stocking Planteray on their shelves is not the greatest example of putting their money where their mouth is; and when even showrunners of international rum festivals start getting involved, and favour one over the other or even exclude them altogether, well, then there’s surely more than moral indignation at work, and it starts to become obvious that it is all about the money (as I am convinced it always has been).

It’s always strikes me as odd, that the loudest commentators never see a contradiction in taking aim at Planteray at every opportunity but are unable to identify a rum from there in a blind taste test; never seem bothered by not having all the facts and yet opining on things that are nowhere near as clearcut as they make it seem; or that the business case behind the scenes that motivates the players is always left out of just about all discussions, which are then portrayed as if it was all a black-or-white good-versus-evil situation, when the real story is much more complex and nuanced.

But then, as I have found, critical thinking, an understanding of irony or even a sense of humour is way beyond most of these sanctimonious loudmouths who pontificate so often. I can tell you this for sure: most people who observe these ongoing social media fights from the sidelines without ever commenting themselves, privately tell me that they wish that all parties and their enablers, would just calm the f*ck down. Because since they are not part of the solution, it is clear they are part of the problem…

…and for all the histrionics and hate directed at this one company, Planteray is isn’t going anywhere, hasn’t gone anywhere, and surely isn’t going to.


So that’s pretty much my rant.  A four piece thing on Planteray. It’s really quite an emotive matter, all this fallout, and I’m trying hard to be polite, but sometimes … I just saw another one of these heated commentaries start up n the /r/rum subreddit not too long ago, a bit more polite than usual, but it’s never going to stop, and at some point, somebody has to inject some sanity into this discussion before it really and truly gets out of hand … 

Because, I’m going to issue this warning, to everyone.  I once commented in an interview I did that the hate and the invective hon this matter had gotten so bad, that I have no idea where it’s going to end. People are already not talking to each other and sundering friendships over it — is it really going to be a fistfight starting on the floor of a rumfest somewhere, between the adherents of one side and the other, who simply don’t like what one party or the other said in an almost-forgotten post from six months before? Have we really gotten to this level of Trumpism? That this is where we are now? 

It’s just like guy, guys, people…let’s just calm down.


And that’s it from me, four parts on one of the divisive aspects of our little world. If you have a comment – and I’m sure you will – just let me know what it is, and…well, I’ve had to develop a thick skin for this gig… and yeah, I’m actually a little bit nervous about posting this. But I think it’s time somebody does, because nobody else is.

Take care everyone. Goodbye.


 

Jan 192025
 

On the basis of the label, you could be forgiven for thinking this rum is something of a steal at under Can$25. Proof is rated at 44.9% – unusual for white rums in this country, so that’s good. “Product of Barbados” – nice, sure to excite interest. Clear white – intriguing. Is there hope for us here?

Nope.

This is where details and knowing what to look for, matter. What is the source of the distillate (juice or molasses – best not to assume)? Is it aged or unaged (not an unusual question even for whites), and if aged, how long, where, and in what? Which distillery on Barbados made it? On what kind of still? You see how this all adds up to even more questions, and no answers. We’re not actually given anything that matters, even on the company website, and for sure not on the bottle.

Let me save you some trouble: this information is not publicly available. And it’s entirely possible that it’s a matter of indifference, intentional oversight and/or wilful ignorance (“the masses will buy what we sell regardless”). Because the cynic in me can’t shake the belief that the production info is withheld so as not to draw attention to the fact that the rum is basically crap. 

No, really. The mediocrity so proudly displayed here is breathtaking. Consider a three hour tasting, summarized:

I always start with the nose, of course, but there there is hardly one of mention. There’s some sweetness, lots of ethanol fumes, a fart of icing-sugar-dusted pastry, and more paint stripper and plastic than can possibly be healthy. And all of it is contained an mishmash of melded aromas that clash and bite at each other so incessantly that it defeats even a schnozz as agile as my own. 

Oh and it doesn’t stop there. Tasting it makes me wonder why they didn’t just bottle pure ethanol and dilute it down to the required strength, because there’s so little on display, that it involves doing nothing, feeling nothing, on the way to nowhere. If it tastes of anything, it’s of vanilla, water mixed with white sugar, alcohol and….well, that’s it. No spices, no fruits, no flowers, pastries, cardboard, wood, nothing. By the time I got to this point I would have been happy with the gangrenous meat profile of a badly made TECA mixed with a lethal dose of paint thinner, but…there was nada. Nichevo. Rien. Nichts. 

And a finish? [Insert snort of derision] What finish? Oh you mean the one where some scrawny ethanol note coats the back of your throat like a swamp miasma and stays there pretending to be something? Yeah, there’s that, I suppose. 

On the basis of my tasting and testing and some little bit of experience, I can say it’s probably from WIRD – Mount Gay distillate would be more expensive, St. Nicks is too small and doesn’t do bulk, and Richard Seale of Foursquare told me he refused to sell to Minhas because the price they offered was too low. My real fear is that it’s only part Barbados, and judiciously mixed in with some neutral spirit from the Wisconsin distillery Minhas owns. No way to know, really. Also, it’s probably a column still product, and aged very lightly, and then filtered like a boss, which I think is a reasonable conclusion given its blandness – everything resembling character has been stripped away. I can only shake my head.

Rums like this make me despair, for, what hope is there when products so bland can be made, and, worse, be bought? Hebrews 11:1 talks about faith being “the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen”. This travesty has neither the substance to excite faith (let alone hope), nor evidence of anything except the desire to make money. The Corsairs white rum belongs to that subclass of cheap tipple which, if you have the slightest interest in drinking decent liquor, should be left where it is, or, in a just world, be poured down the drain.

(#1110)(60/100)


Other notes


Opinion

This rum is a poster child for why I regard many white rums that dot the rum landscape (and not just in Canada) with such disdain. Look no further than rums like Highwood’s Aged White Caribbean, their Momento Rum, Bayou’s white, the Merchant Shipping Co White, Minhas / Co-Op’s Caribbean White Rum, or, this one. They are all made with such indifference, such cynicism. They makes Bacardi Superior seem like a positively top-of-the-line white in comparison.

Now before you call me an elitist snob who drinks nothing but high end expensive rums, has no truck with the average rummie and who has no handle on the pulse of the budget-conscious working-class proles out there, let me explain. Such rums are, yes, dirt cheap; and they give you the alcohol shot which you can chuck into your mix and reliably get hammered – that’s part of their schtick and selling point. The argument is always made that “we make what sells” but think about it – if you sell only what you make, well, then, of course that’s what’s going to sell…the consumer has no real choice. Anyway, I argue that it’s a race to the bottom that serves no useful purpose even if all you want to do is get loaded on a slim or nonexistent budget (and on occasion, I do so myself, trust me, so yeah, I get it). If that’s all you’re after, why even bother? – getting an even cheaper vodka works just as well.

The problem with these anonymous, androgynous, monotonous and tedious taste-lacking cocktail fodders is that to all intents and purposes they are faux-vodkas — so what’s the point of sullying the reputation of a drink that has such incredible variety and taste profiles with something so indifferent? Especially when you have companies like Carroll’s or Romero out there, who are bending over backward to make decent and unique products, but remain all but unknown. 

Moreover, if this is all we can afford – whether we are young and near destitute students or minimum wage worker bees struggling to make rent – well, then our entire conception of what rum is, is damaged and sullied by such stuff, and we turn away, shift to vodkas or spiced rums or whiskies, and never learn until much later that there is an amazing cornucopia of experiences out there which we have denied ourselves. 

So, I’m just sayin’…. There’s better out there, white or brown.  Go out there and look for it and leave this embarrassment on the shelf to gather dust and traumatize innocent itinerant reviewers, who have to try it so you don’t have to.


Company Bio (from R-0984)

Minhas is a medium-sized liquor conglomerate based on Calgary, and was founded in 1999 by Manjit Minhas and her brother Ravinder. She was 19 at the time, trained in the oil and gas industry as an engineer and had to sell her car to raise finance to buy the brewery, as they were turned down by traditional sources of capital (apparently their father, who since 1993 had run a chain of liquor stores across Alberta, would not or could not provide financing). 

The initial purchase was the distillery and brewery in Wisconsin, and the company was first called Mountain Crest Liquors Inc. Its stated mission was to “create recipes and market high quality premium liquor and sell them at a discounted price in Alberta.” This enterprise proved so successful that a brewery in Calgary was bought in 2002 and currently the company consists of the Minhas Micro Brewery in Calgary (it now has distillation apparatus as well), and the brewery, distillery and winery in Wisconsin.

What is key about the company is that they are a full service provider. They have some ninety different brands of beers, spirits, liqueurs and wines, and the company produces brands such as Boxer’s beers, Punjabi rye whiskey, Polo Club Gin, and also does tequila, cider, hard lemonades. More importantly for this review, Minhas acts as a producer of private labels for Canadian and US chains as diverse as “Costco, Trader Joe’s, Walgreens, Aldi’s, Tesco/Fresh & Easy, Kum & Go, Superstore/Loblaws, Liquor Depot/Liquor Barn” (from their website). As a bespoke maker of liquors for third parties, Minhas caters to the middle and low end of the spirits market, and beer remains one of their top sellers, with sales across Canada, most of the USA, and around the world. So far, they have yet to break into the premium market for rums.

Jan 172025
 

Today we conclude our quick run through of the rums made by Carroll’s Distillery in New Brunswick, by addressing the “Cormorant” “black” rum. For all that it implies, it’s a medium bodied rum, more dark brown than black, from a pot still, slightly more aged than those rums we have looked at so far, and costing a shade more (Can$36). And while it started out generating indifference, I did warm up to it over time.

As before, Carroll’s uses Crosby Fancy  molasses, and a seven day fermentation, after which the wash is run twice through the the pot still, and the resulting distillate aged for a minimum of one year in 200L ex bourbon casks. Caramel colouring is added to darken the colour and add a little extra oomph to the profile. The blend can vary – a current batch in 2024, for example, was made up of half 2YO and half 20 month old rum stocks. 

Dark (or as this one is called, “black”) rums are a mixing agent called for by many cocktail recipes, and because his distillery is a new one and this juice is consequently very young, Matthieu Carroll, the owner, doesn’t really have much choice: a cocktail ingredient is what he’s making with the stocks he’s managed to age. That the rum is as decent as it is, is a rebuke to all those Canadian distilleries out there who actively seek the milquetoast, tasteless low ground in an effort to chase the mass market.

Because look at what he’s managed to accomplish here: now the nose starts kind of weak, true, with cola, citrus, and caramel, plus a few hints of vanilla and brown sugar thrown in. Easy to smell, very traditional stuff. It also presents a few heavy fleshy fruits, quite ripe, and a touch of baking spices, hard to make out, and if I was to summarize the nose it would be to say it smells like a rum and coke in a bottle, minus the citrus. 

The palate is where there is initially unimpressive. It’s not that the mouthfeel is bad, or that it’s too indistinct, or too weak – although there’s some truth to that, because it starts out that way.  When one starts sipping to check it out, there’s seems to be rather little to become enthusiastic about. It has some brine, faint bitter chocolate (very faint), some sweet, a few fruits – peaches, apricots, overripe red apples, red grapes – and it’s all gone almost immediately, poof, before one has time to come properly to grips with it. 

Yet as it stands, it develops more legs than it started with, and to me that’s what makes it worth trying. The nose develops and becomes a bit richer, the cinnamon and cola meld better and the fruits become slightly more distinct; molasses, coffee and the bite of citrus also emerge a bit more assertively on the palate; and the finish, while staying the same, lasts a decent amount of time and is tasty as all get out. It reminds me of some of the younger Demerara rums DDL has, if not quite as pungent.

Admittedly, the rum is living room strength and there’s only so much you can squeeze out of such a product. And yep, I had the peace of a weekend and the time to be able to come to grips with it, which is very different from the busy, conversation-filled social situations in which many will try it (and most won’t care anyway – into the mix it goes, without any ceremony, as a rule, and to hell with the snooty reviewers’ tasting notes). 

So in a way, it’s a pity that the distribution is so limited, and the output of this micro distillery is (in relative terms) so small – unless ordered in-country (as I did), most people will likely never buy it, or care enough to bother. Yet I maintain that this under-the-radar rum is worth a look — it’s a smidgen better than it seems, and deserves perhaps a few more minutes of one’s time to appreciate to the fullest. So many rums entice you to buy them on the basis of a cool label, a famed distillery, or by maxing the mojo: torqued up strength, puissant congener counts, geriatric ageing, that kind of thing. Here we have a label that has nothing to do with rum and is simply art, from an almost unknown distillery that sports no in-your-face big stats. At first blush the “Cormorant” doesn’t seem to be all that special, but I think that if left to its own devices and allowed to open up, it does give a pretty good account of itself. 

(#1108)(84/100) ⭐⭐⭐½


Other notes

  • Video Recap is here
  • The distillery does sell (and mail) rums on its website and for those who want to dip their toes in before going the whole hog, there are small 200ml bottles of each expression available for under ten bucks, which are godsends to penurious reviewers and which I wish more producers could issue.
  • The artwork on the label was a lightly edited photograph, used with permission.