One doesn't ordinarily think of an evening at Alain Ducasse at Essex House winding down to a trolley filled with humble rums. André Campeyre, Ducasse's slightly unnerving sommelier, who knows everything in liquor's vast domain, wheels his rums out like a man about to spring a surprise. And indeed he is. You've probably already guessed that these aren't the usual Captain Morgan's nor even the doughty Pusser's that for 230 years was the official daily drink of the British Royal Navy. No: These aren't limpid rotguts you mix with Coke or toss into daiquiris. Campeyre has assembled something like a who's-who of rum's queenly aristocrats. "They are," he says, "the least known, the most mysterious of liquors."
He is not exaggerating. Some of Campeyre's rums are aged fifteen years, enough to make them comparable in texture, density, and aromatics to Armagnacs. In fact, when he was learning his trade in France, Campeyre and other young sommeliers often blind-tasted elite rums and invariably mistook them for fine brandies. "It didn't seem possible," he said. "But rum is a most surprising drink. I have become obsessed with it."
We danced our way through five of the top rum offerings, starting with a light Louisiana rum produced by Cane in New Orleans and ending with the darkly unctuous Zaya from Guatemala. The noticeable thing was that these rums were not clear, or "white" (a sign of inferiority); being aged, they ranged in hue from a dark straw to a caramel-tinted amber.
The offering from Cane, a distillery that was destroyed by Katrina and whose stock is now extremely rare, was the lightest and most citrus-like selection. Played off against a lifetime's memories of bad Cuba Libres, it tasted sensational. But it was outclassed by the darker brews that followed. First of these was Doorly's ($27, doorlysrum.com), a Barbados rum aged up to twelve years in Oloroso sherry oak casks. Next came El Dorado Special Reserve ($38) from Guyana, aged fifteen years in oak within six degrees of the equator. This is a liquor that could be given tasting notes like the best cognac — spiced fruit, wood, tobacco.
In Martinique they make what is called an AOC rum, a government-certified "rhum agricole" blended from twelve different cane types. The AOC label invites comparison with wines under the French system, and Neisson — the distillers of our next offering — play the connection up. Their Rhum Agricole Réserve Spéciale ($70, neisson.com) is "estate grown," culled from a tiny 85-acre estate on the island's northwest coast; some of the cane is supposedly gently hacked with machetes, not mown down with machines — just like precious grapes. Aged for at least four years, the rums take on the oak tannins of the barriques and acquire a smoky aroma and a taste of orange rinds.
Ducasse prides itself on its baba rhum: A miniature sponge cake is split in two and placed in a silver cup, then saturated with rum and smothered with cream Chantilly. Elsewhere, the results are rarely sublime. Of course, usually the rum used is Bacardi, or something similar. But Campeyre now poured the Neisson over one half of the split sponge and our last rum — the fabulous Zaya — on the other.
Is Zaya ($50) the best rum in the world? Some would say so; it's certainly the darkest, the richest. Matured in oak barriques for twelve years, it gives off dense flavors of coconut, butterscotch, and toasted wood. I thought to myself that some prolix wine critic would love to review it. On the baba, it was a dessert in and of itself.
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