Reprinted from Distilled Issue 3
Words and images by Johanna Ngoh
“We make bad rhum here in the South,” says Daniel with a mischievous smile. He prepares two glasses of ‘Ti-punch’, the customary serve for white, unaged rhum agricole in the French West Indies: a two-finger pour on ice brightened with a squirt of lime, sweetened with syrup and garnished with a stalk of freshly husked cane.
The best Ti-punch use local fruits macerated in a homemade syrup, or an infusion of cane-sugar with a blend of roots, herbs and spice, in Daniel’s case “le noix de minuit,” he winks, in reference to the infamous kola nut, long reputed to promote fertility and virility.
Like the rest of his small daily menu, everything is grown or sourced by Daniel on the small patch of beach in Saint Luce that he has christened ‘Restaurant L’Amérindien’, in homage to the original Arawak and Carib tribes that inhabited Martinique before its French colonization.
Here, from the makeshift kitchen of a corrugated shipping container, the retired chef serves West Indian specialties: papaya-glazed chicken, cuttlefish stew, ‘macadam’ – “salt cod in a tomato sauce over rice; the traditional breakfast of labourers” – and homemade ‘mabi’, a popular fermented beverage made from tree bark and aniseed, drunk throughout the Caribbean. Daniel garnishes our meals and drinks with leaves, flowers and spices picked before our eyes. “As local as it gets,” he pronounces. A regular sits down, complaining about her back. Daniel gathers leaves from his tobacco plant and sets to work compounding a cure.
Sipped neat, Daniel’s ‘bad’ rhum proves to be anything but, a sweet and vegetal spirit, surprisingly clean, delectable to the taste and soft in the mouth, with a refreshing palate of ginger and lemongrass. It drinks far too easily at 50% abv. In the tradition of Ti-Punch the bottle has been left on our table, its iconic turquoise blue label marked ‘Trois Rivières’, “from one of the larger factories on the island,” Daniel points out. But size, as we learn, is relative on an island producing less rhum in a year than Puerto Rico makes in a day.
A tin roof provides shade, the sea provides a cooling breeze, and Daniel’s tables provide a sanctuary where locals gather around bottles of rhum and quarters of lime, humming with the quiet chorus of debate, dissent and opinion. “Globalism has failed. Enough talk of independence. France give us a million euros and siphons five in return – what else is new? Fréderic was up North yesterday; the harvest there has already begun.”
This reference to sugar cane reminds Daniel of our mission, our search for the authentic taste of rhum in Martinique. “North,” he instructs. “Head north if you’re looking to explore our rhum. Come back south when you’re ready for the beach.”
It seems churlish to leave without stopping next door for a look at the original Trois Rivières distillery, closed in 2004 when its production was consolidated nearby at Distillerie La Mauny. The site is now thoroughly tricked out for the tourist trade, complete with a mini mall of straw palapas hawking souvenirs. At the perimeter of its vast cane fields a sentinel of shiny green harvesters is at the ready, compliments of John Deere.
“One million euros apiece,” we’re told by a guide. “More than half of our cane is cut by hand but manual harvest only isn’t possible on this scale. Martinicans will no longer do this kind of back breaking work, so we bring in workers from St Lucia and Haiti to do the cutting for us.”
This is despite a 28% unemployment rate on Martinique, 32% in the North as explained by Emmanuel Becheau, director of Rhum J.M who produce some of the island’s most highly regarded examples.
We find ourselves well off the beaten path, scouting a verdant acreage that is split, surprisingly, between sugarcane and banana plantations. “It’s a matter of social responsibility,” he explains of the distillery’s impetus to provide additional employment on the island through banana crops.
This is as North as you’ll find rhum on Martinique, and often claimed to be its most authentic, entirely distilled from estate cane harvested from the volcanic terrain of Mont Pelée. As the island’s oldest working distillery, dating back to 1790, Rhum J.M is further looked upon as a sort of shrine by agricole aficionados, a steady stream of whom navigate the single track lane of a dense jungle to make their pilgrimage.
Emmanuel outlines the basic tenets of rhum agricole as set out by Martinique’s AOC – ‘appellation d’origine contrôlée’ – the accreditation granted by France to products of quality differentiated by a specific terroir and know-how.
It starts with the requirement that rhum be distilled from fresh sugarcane juice, never molasses or syrup, and age statements are strictly defined. ‘Blanc’ – white rhum – is fresh distillate that has rested for a minimum of three months, to be aerated and gradually reduced with water over this time.
‘Elevé Sous Bois’ – often labeled as gold or amber – indicates a minimum of twelve months in oak, while aged rhums – bottled as ‘Vieux’ or ‘VO’ – require a minimum of three years in cask, four years to be labelled ‘VSOP’, and six years or more to qualify as ‘extra old’ or ‘XO’.
Vintage-dated bottlings – one of Rhum J.M’s specialties – must be aged for a minimum of six years, indicating the year of both distillation and bottling.
Curiously, despite its reputation for ‘authenticity’, J.M comes across as incredibly refined and civilised, displaying more commonality with its AOC siblings – cognac, calvados – than the grassy funk and raw, earthy mien of its island brethren. As one of Martinique’s smaller producers, Rhum J.M has had the luxury to target connoisseurs, courting them with special releases such as their ‘Rhum Blanc Edition Limitée’, a blend of white rhums from notable production runs. Bottled at 51.2% abv, this has been rested and reduced with water over nine months instead of the mandatory three, and boasts an even more buttery texture than the standard range.
Rhum J.M is aged in racked warehouses built on a precipice looking across the sea to the neighbouring island of Dominica. It is here that Emmanuel shows off the incubation of their latest cask finishes, Armagnac, Calvados and Cognac. “We look to work with small producers like ourselves with a similar ethos – Tariquet, Lecompte, Delamain. On average our rhum sits in their barrels for ten months before bottling.”
All three are noteworthy in their own right though perhaps the Armagnac finish has the edge, lending its fruit and spicy zest while allowing the rhum’s elemental notes to shine through. And all three preview the wide variety we’re set to encounter in one of the spirits world’s most niche categories.
The main road across the island is closed due to floods forcing a detour north, but detours are good for exploring. Scattered across the landscape are vestiges of Martinique’s past, the stone, rust and timber of abandoned plantations ravaged by the tropical elements. A former sugar colony that once boasted more than a hundred refineries, Europe’s taste for beet sugar curbed exports and all but decimated the local economy.
The advent of railroads brought about consolidation in an effort to lower costs, but to no avail. Within a span of two decades production faded to just ten refineries. Today only one remains, La Sucrerie du Galion, subsidised by France as an exercise in cultural and historical preservation.
While ‘rhum z’abitant’ had always been made for local consumption, to ensure the survival of its plantations the island embraced rhum production on a larger scale, counting three hundred distilleries by the dawn of the twentieth century. It’s Père Labat, a Dominican missionary turned slaver, who is widely credited with developing the process for distilling pure cane juice. As with the rest of the West Indies, here, too, the legacy of slavery, sugar and rhum is a gnarled and tangled web.
We emerge on the northwest coast and meander south along the island’s more remote beaches, passing the idyllic town of Carbet to arrive at Neisson, one of Martinique’s last two family-owned distilleries. At the entrance are cabins for the migrant workers who labour to cut the cane, much of it on volcanic slopes beyond the reach of machines.
We get our bearings and make fast friends with Nicolas, a self-appointed spokesperson who is eager to show off both his English and his distillery. “True story: at thirteen I became addicted to ‘Desperate Housewives’ dubbed in French. The only way to hurry my fix was by downloading English episodes and learning the language. But enough about me. Come.”
Distillery visits in Martinique are relaxed affairs that mostly eschew formal tours in favour of the curious poking about the equipment as they please. The majority of Neisson rhum is bottled unaged and has a reputation for growing hair on your chest, deservedly so. Neisson Bio, an organic white rhum bottled at 66% abv, is a case in point, eye-watering and feverish.
Single varietal white rhums made from Blue Cane have become popular on Martinique, and Neisson has a similarly creamy, herbaceous offering, fragrant with citrus and supple on the palate. Bottled at 52.5% abv this is a kinder, gentler iteration than its higher proof siblings but Nicolas is unimpressed.
“Blue cane, blue cane, blue cane – that’s all you hear about on the island. Why? Marketing. It came from Barbados in 1969 so there is nothing new under the sun here. Come.”
As we tour the tuns and warehouses, Nicolas doubles as a cultural guide, explaining some of rhum’s customs and mores. “Old rhum is for old people, les anciens. Why? Because they can appreciate it; they aren’t drinking, they’re tasting. Young people drink white rhum to be festive, they don’t have time for flavour. But I take my time, with a cognac snifter. The first sip is strong but when I play with the rhum after one hour it’s a different flavour. I like this, but I have this culture. Not all young people do. Come.”
Neisson uses ex-bourbon barrels and new French oak, and Nicolas is careful to explain that they don’t add sugar or caramel, “because we are certified AOC,” he reminds. We discuss the angel’s share, the evaporation of rhum from barrels in the warehouse which averages ten percent in Martinique. “We have a tradition on this island, when we open a bottle of rhum we pour a little on the floor in memory of the old people we loved in the past. But there is also the hope that the angels will drink more from the floor than they do from the barrel. Come.”
Back in the tasting room we sample some more, including a nine-year-old single cask – “and here nine years means nine years” – labelled with Neisson’s créole nickname, ‘Zepol Karé’, a reference to the bottle’s unique shape. “Square shoulders in English,” Nicolas explains. “Back when we had many brands people connected our flavour to the shape of the bottle, simply asking bartenders for ‘ti-punch zepol karé’. Nowadays if they don’t make it with Neisson then you know you are dealing with fake people, maybe someone from Barbados or Trinidad, but not Martinique.”
Nicolas chats with excitement about a recent trip to New York and Toronto which then takes a sombre turn. “Sadly we cannot export to Canada. Why? A molecule called ethyl carbamate. The AOC limit is 500ppm but Canada says no more than 350ppm so our rhum is not allowed. I say they’ve closed the market to protect their trade with other rum-producing countries, the ones who make industrial rum. This is the real reason if you ask me.”
We bid our farewell to Nicolas and the distillery with fondness. Both had grown on us in short order, which came as a surprise in the case of the latter. Neisson rhums are austere, aloof and don’t make friends easily. But when they do, they become friend for life.
All debate about geography, terroir and cane varietals is quickly laid to rest at Habitation Saint-Etienne in Gros Morne, technically in the North but as close to the centre of the island as not to matter. Formerly home to one of Martinique’s most popular rhums, the distillery and plantation fell into ruin in the 1990s and has since been excavated and refurbished. It now serves as the ageing and bottling site for its modern-day incarnation branded as HSE.
We arrive at a lush, tropical setting that invites you to stay awhile, and once again visitors are encouraged to explore the manicured grounds by wandering through the production areas and interacting with workers. It’s a deliberate attempt to mimic the cultural and social aspects of Martinique’s rhum-making heritage, harkening back to a time when distilleries were hubs of human activity. Located by water out of necessity, these became the island’s meeting places, where people came to buy rhum and other vendors in turn came to sell their wares. In keeping with this ethos of community, HSE bills itself as a focal point for arts and culture, with its visitor centre doubling as a gallery and event space.
Given this context it seems fitting that HSE rhums are pan-island in spirit: made in the South at Distillerie Simon, and then shipped back North to Habitation Saint-Etienne for ageing. Unsurprisingly HSE’s commercial director, Cyrille Lawson, has little time to quibble over the merits of geography or cultivar.
“There is no better cane, there are differences,” he sighs, clearly annoyed by the misconceptions that have become a popular part of the island’s lore. “It’s like saying that a merlot is better than a cabernet. That Burgundy has better soil for making wine than Bordeaux. It makes absolutely no sense.”
Cyrille’s knowledge and passion for rhum agricole and its history is vast and impressive, but it’s his exhaustive research into wood management over the past ten years that has garnered HSE the respect and esteem of agricole connoisseurs around the world, in particular their extensive range of single casks and finished rhums.
“This isn’t about sourcing casks for the sake of doing finishes,” Cyrille is careful to note. “We’re entering into long-term relationships with reliable producers with whom we work closely: Sauternes, Margaux, Oloroso, PX, Islay, Highland, Porto. Their casks are used to mature our XO rhums or vintages for an additional year.”
Cyrille becomes part marketer, part cellar master as he talks about “giving the consumer experiences by manipulating the variables. Finishes are one variable but understand that a single cask can be just as ambitious.”
And just as deliciously moreish from what we taste. As with all single cask bottlings these are limited, and priced as such, as reflected on our credit card statements.
Cyrille is nonplussed. “Our Highland cask finish is 1,200 litres, that’s just 2,400 bottles for the world. That’s nothing. We’re talking haute couture here, not prêt-à-porter.”
It seems no small irony that our exploration comes full circle to Habitation du Simon, a major historical site in the South of Martinique, reputed for the abundance of its cane fields and fertile soil. On one side of the road is Distillerie Simon, producing four million litres of rhum agricole per year.
On the other side is an eighteenth century plantation house where Yves Assier de Pompignan has created A1710, living out his dream of making authentic Martinican rhum – as inauthentically as possible according to AOC definitions.
Both Yves and the space exude an old-world grace, the latter decorated in tropical hues and colonial chic. Second generation to the plantation’s owners, Yves grew up on the property and bought the house and a portion of the surrounding land when it came up for sale.
“The idea of building a small distillery seemed crazy when all others had closed over the past eighty years, but I saw the growing market for premium rhums in Europe so created a cellar and distillery focused on niche production,” he shares. “My own cane, farmed without pesticides, and cut by hand so that we only take the best part and make the best juice. Packaged in the bottle I designed.”
“Rhum is now regarded as cognac, even here on the island where it’s been long associated with old plantation workers. Young people in Martinique are realising what a treasure they have with rhum.”
A1710 was launched by bottling a trio of very old rhums blended from casks Yves had purchased both on Martinique and Guadeloupe. What ensued was a lengthy process of blending, re-racking in cognac barrels, blending again, resting and then transferring to steel tanks for three months.
“The older the rhums the more carefully you have to handle them. Blending is an art, you can’t just mix and bottle, it has to rest otherwise the blend is broken. We even recommend not to drink our old rhums for one month after bottling, resting is that important.”
These are easily the most exquisite rhums tasted on our journey thus far, yet fall as far outside the AOC as one can get. “It was never the intention to become certified,” says Yves, explaining that the AOC is rooted in the present, not in the past, and would remove his ability to use copper alembic stills or distil year round.
“I went to Cognac, and then I went back in the history of Martinique and I saw a lot of similarities. So I said why not marry old techniques, such as copper alembic stills, with new technology such as cooling the fermentation tanks. At A1710 we mix tradition with innovation.”
“Unlike Guadeloupe, the AOC only allows you to distil from January to July. Why? Because you cannot harvest by machine outside the dry season, the rest of the year there is too much mud. AOC restricts fermentation to five days but by cooling my tanks to 22ºC I can let my yeast go to the end of its natural life and give more flavours. It’s one of the singularities of my rhum.”
“Certainly there is nothing wrong with the certification – I have some great AOC rhums in my blends! But the customers I’m targeting don’t need the label to know that I’m making good rhum.”
A1710’s copper stills are coupled with a small column and give off a much thicker, syrupy distillate than we’d come across previously, spicier and more aromatic on the nose. After resting and reducing with water to 55% abv over three months this is bottled as La Perle, and labeled as ‘rhum made from pure sugar cane juice’, using blue cane and the seldom seen red variety that Yves points out as we tour through the estate. “Red cane isn’t used by large plantations – it’s so good to eat that mice and people cut it down but it is widely known to make a very good juice, which makes a very good wine, which in turn makes a very good rhum.”
But for small producers like A1710 the possibilities are limitless. “We work a small field which we treat like a garden, using mules to carry the cane, with paths leading through the plantation, some going uphill to give a view of the bay.”
“It’s all part of our philosophy – making nice things in beautiful places.”