Last March, during a streak of frigid temperatures in New York City, my roommate came back from a month in Nicaragua with a duffle bag of colorful souvenirs and a couple bottles of rum. Our conversation on the evening of his homecoming went something like this:
“You have to try this.”
“What is it?”
“It’s rum that’s been aged for 18 years.
Flor de Caña. I got this entire bottle for, like, $20 at the airport this morning. Best liquor I’ve ever had in my life.”“Why?”
“It’s smooth. It’s smoother than the best bourbons you’ve tried. I’ve been drinking it regularly for the last month while down there.”
Smooth is a strange adjective to me. It describes texture, not taste. There are better descriptors for capturing the high and low tasting notes of booze that goes down easy: Flavorful, aromatic, mellow, sweet-yet-bold. Smooth doesn’t hit the pallet. Smooth is just a reaction. Smooth is what people say when liquor hits the tongue without letting the tastebuds properly synch with the synapses in your brain to process the true personality of a spirt. It’s a lazy way of saying “hey, this drink doesn’t have the harsh bite you might be expecting from an 80-proof brown liquor that’s been in a barrel for 18 years.” It’s disingenuous to the true character of a lovingly-made, handcrafted spirit. Smooth is like saying “it doesn’t have teeth” when, in fact, it has monstrous, T-Rex sized chompers in the flavor department.
That chilly night in early March, huddled up in our living room, was the first time I experienced the complexity of Flor de Caña 18 and it’s unmistakable tapestry of flavor experiences: Sweet, oaky, rich.
Each sip it’s own sweaty tropical adventure.My roommate looked at me as we toasted his return in Solo cups after that month-long backpacking trip.
“You gotta go to Nicaragua sometime, man.”
