Cocktails, malts, rums are all joy for a trained palate

Of late, I seem to have digressed from my usual wine rambles but, in my defence, I have done so with reason and within the confines of my tactile reach. I do not wish to be seen like the ageing critics of this country whose only claim to holding any weightage on anytopic of hedonistic interest is directly proportional to their own acquisition of kilos over many a fancy repast.

Although, in that light, I have drunk my fair share to be considered a bombastic barfly, a valid distillate of knowledge liquid, carefully filtered over time and further refined over long sessions of auto-diagnosing the decay and the decadence in the early veisalgic hours of an unspent dawn.

Back to thoughts more wake, today, yet again, I intend to ditch the wine wagon in favour of cocktails.

As a vinous enthusiast, it is hard to not be attracted to a related tactile joy. Cocktails, malts, rums are all joy for a trained palate. I could liken it to horse-rider who goes for a bull rodeo but it would be unfair an example as the transition is not as jerky or uprooting for us palate cowboys.

A rum thing
But rum, like cognac has a special wine connection. Actually, it is more like single malts. Malts, for those who wish to know, became famous when the vine-louse called Phylloxera wiped out entire vineyards in Europe thereby leading to a sudden and lasting shortage of Cognac, triggering absolute panic and pandemonium in the royal circles. This desperate cry was answered in the form of single malt whiskies which conveniently found a void to fill.

Well rum didn’t benefit in such a direct manner; it was more an eventuality. As the vineyards were destroyed, people left for the New Continent (the West and the Indies) to work there; be it labouring in the fields or bringing back American rootstock for the local vines. All those who went returned considerably wealthier and build lavish houses along the Spanish seaside.

Sitges was one such site and these buildings owned by “Indianos” (as the returning enriched local were called) exist even today. Fecundo Bacardi Massó was one such young man who left his house at the age of 16. Only, he settled in Cuba where he founded the famous rum house. And although he did visit his homeland, he never entirely came back.

Bacardi in Barcelona
Back from the flashback. So here I was in the Catalan National Museum in Barcelona. I had been invited to judge the national Bacardi competition and today, here I was, fortunate enough to be invited to witness the grande finale in Spain where the ten top mixologists of the world would go up against each other in a bid to be adjudged the best bartender of the year. But more importantly, have their creation immortalised in the annals of Bacardi classics. If you have heard of Mojito and Daiquiri then you know what classic Bacardi cocktails are.

But a little about the tactile. Bacardi is quite a special light rum (there is no such thing as white rum). In fact, Don Fecundo Bacardi Massó did a real smart thing. He took  two distillates from molasses: one which was single distilled (aguardente) and the other which was distilled five times. One spirit was fiery and feisty whereas the other was smooth and silky. One was then oak-aged, and the finally both were blended and filtered to remove any acquired colour due to ageing.

The thing about rum  like this is that  although it is light and smooth and fruity on the attack, the after-taste lingers with a hint of oak and vanilla. While blending into a cocktail, it is important to know this flavour profile. Why else would a clever bartender serve a Cuba Libre (Bacardi and coke with a dash of lime poured over ice) with a vanilla-pod straw?

I am no professional mixologist but left with my shaker and some strewn ingredients I do find a certain inner calling to go forth and experiment and enjoy. Tactiles are objective no matter what the application.