Don Q Rum, named for the windmill-slaying Don Quixote, boasts a commendable line of standard and flavored rums, with Gran Anejo being their flagship, top-of-the-shelf label. The packaging alone is a spectacle – a lovely, squarish glass bottle housed in a golden, satin-lined box that remarkably slides open from the center. But the fun doesn’t end there, as the bottle’s glass stopper is hollowed out in such a way as to measure out a shot for you –  a bit gimmicky, sure, but so spiffy that I just can’t find it in my heart to criticize.

The rum inside is a straightforward amber, and to the nose smells of cane and bananas. On the tongue you’re quickly met with a profound tingle. As the rum settle in your mouth this is replaced with a sweet creaminess. And on swallowing the finish lingers a remarkably long time, beginning gently and then building strength over the next several moments – a rum that keeps on giving.

Don Q Gran Anejo isn’t exactly the sort of rum that scalawags would slug from their cracked mugs, but does nicely showcase the higher end, gentler flavor profiles so popular these days amongst the more “genteel” rum enthusiasts.

www.rondejeremy.com

I’ve reviewed many a rum over the years – and sampled far more than even that. But Ron de Jeremy is most certainly my first experience with a rum made in honor of an adult film star. Ron Jeremy is a legend far beyond his work within the adult film industry – indeed, he’s one of those people who are famous simply for *being*. You don’t need to be a fan of his work to recognize him in the street, nor, I’d wager, to enjoy his rum.

Reviewing Ron de Jeremy invites all sorts of temptation at juevenille humor. But I’m going to try a different tack – let’s talk about the rum itself. In the bottle, Ron de Jeremy is a class act. A short rotund package (god help me, the jokes aren’t so easy to avoid after all… strength…) features an aged label displaying the rum’s name and vital stats, along with a line drawing of the man himself. The rum inside is amber, and upon uncorking one is met with the fruitier, sweeter side of rum. Sugar and bananas meet the nose, as does a faint vegetal quality much akin to standing on the beach right next to a tropical forest.

On tasting, this is a rum from the gentler side of things, warm and with just a little bite. It has a comfortable, fruity finish with a hint of caramel and vanilla. Not exactly the sort of bold, fierce rum I generally prefer in my piratey fury, but definitely a worthy contendor for the more genteel sophisticates out there.

Jokes will abound, and I’ve already seen people express a fear of drinking anything with Ron Jeremy’s name on it. Yes, the man has sex for a living. Yes, he’s very hairy. And yes, this rum humorously juxtoposes its classy packaging against Ron’s seedy reputation. But those afeared to try this rum are truly missing out. And besides, would you rather be drinking a rum that honors virginal monks? They call that “cognac.”

note: At the time of this writing, Ron de Jeremy is in limited production, and can only be ordered online. Visit www.rondejeremy.com to grab yourself a numbered bottle.

www.roaringdanrum.com

It’s just a fact – Wisconsin is known for cheese. You want to know two things Wisconsin isn’t known for? Rum and pirates. But surprising as it might be, Wisconsin now has both.

“Roaring” Dan Seavey was indeed the only person ever charged with piracy on the Great Lakes, and it’s for this reason that the Great Lakes Distillery opted to name their very first rum in his honor. A scalliwagg of the early 20th century, Roaring Dan was hardly your typical golden age swashbuckler – but he was mean and cantankerous enough to put even Blackbeard to shame. Indeed, Blackbeard never used his own ship as a floating whorehouse, nor did he dispatch an opponent in a bar brawl by dropping a piano on his head.

Like the seagoing miscreant whose name it bears, Roaring Dan Rum is far from typical. Correction, Roaring Dan Maple Flavored Rum is far from typical. Aye, maple. I’ve seen rum in an assortment of flavors in my time, but never maple. More on that soon.

In the bottle, Roaring Dan is a very light amber, but still maintains a hint of vibrancy. To the nose, it carries some of rum’s gentler qualites, including a smooth, creamy dose of cane juice and vanilla, topped off by the added maple.

Despite its gentle aroma, Roaring Dan does have a bit of bite as it travels across the tongue – not unpleasantly, but enough to wake you up and remind you you’re drinking something a mite stronger than liquid candy. The flavors naturally echo the aromas – cane juice, vanilla, maple, although they’re somewhat dodgy, and seem to linger most on the outskirts of the mouth (back of tongue, back of cheeks…)

Roaring Dan’s flavors might be tricky when left on their own, but as a mixer this rum truly shines. The creamy, maple nature of it allows for all sorts of drink combinations you might not normally associate with rum, and none is a more perfect match (or easier mix) than a simple Roaring Dan and cream soda. Rarely would I ever conceive to mix cream soda with rum, but in this case I tell ya, it’s magic!

Roaring Dan Rum might seem a rather gentle concoction to name after such a dastardly soul as Dan Seavey – until you learn that Dan himself was actually rather soft-spoken, and had a soft spot for children. In this way the rum suddenly seems all too fitting for this man of the Great Lakes. Like a maply version of 10 Cane it maintains that approachable sweetness of sugar cane rather than straying into the more firey turf of most rum. As such, it can make for an excellent addition to many coctails, and remain approachable to rum-drinker and pedestrian alike.

I’m giving this rum zero stars. Is it really a zero star rum? No – probably a three and a half would be more fitting. Maybe even four. But I’m a longtime fan of Mount Gay Extra Old – a $30 rum that easily achieves 4.5 stars. And so when I try Mount Gay’s new, $100 bottle, I have high expectations. And sadly, these expectations came crashing down. Not because it’s bad, but because its sophistication has reached such a level that it no longer feels like a “rum” experience. Mount Gay 1703 has forgotten rum’s roguish past, and this is why I give it no stars whatsoever.

I can already envision the nasty emails I’ll get. Complaints from folks who like hoity-toity rums that boast floral complexities, lack a manly musk, and are technically rum, but “more like a fine cognac.” These people will tell me (as they so often do) that I don’t know what I’m talking about, and that this rum rocks and my beloved Goslings Black Seal is rotgut. But these people aren’t pirates, they’re landlubbers. And the rums that try to appease such folks (sadly, more and more rums lately it would seem) are traitors to the cause. True rum should never strive to emulate the likes of brandy, cognac, or liqueurs – these other drinks should cower at rum’s rough-yet-dashing presence. And rum should kick their asses for their cowardly, froo-froo ways. 1703, however, does no such thing, instead minding its manners as it strives to meet the approval of its new polo-shirt wearing, country club friends.

It’s a smashing presentation, no doubt. A squared bottle with gold trappings contains an amber liquid that I would describe is neither “rich” nor “light” – but rather a basic, respectable, middle-of-the-road amber. To the nose 1703 smell more subtle than I’d have hoped – cool and oaky, and with a strong current of vanilla. Upon that first sip, 1703 tastes much as one would now expect – crisp and gentle. The oakiness I love is there, but it’s a friendly oak with the rough edges sanded away. The vanilla adds a touch of richness and complexity, making for a spirit that could well be enjoyed from a brandy snifter while wearing your smoking jacket and bunny slippers next to a roaring fireplace. But then, few of my readers wear bunny slippers, and the only roaring fires they know are those of plundered villages – the sweet flames of victory. And this is not a rum for such occasions, I fear.

1703′s finish does have a touch of heat with a hint of tingle, along with a sensation akin of overripe fruit, but not such a degree as to let you know you’re alive. The sum total effect? A definite top-shelf spirit, and one that sissy lubbers should adore. But this is a pirate site, I review rum from a pirate perspective, and downing a mug of charmingly gentrified Mount Gay 1703 lacks the robust thrill I expect from rum.

One of these days, I think I need to write an article on which I judge various rums based on nothing more than their packaging. It might sound laughable, but in truth packaging can tell you quite a lot about a rum (or at least, what the manufacturers think of their product – or rather, what they want you to *think* they think of their product.) And also, reviewing rums based on packaging alone would protect me from those embarrassing times when I nearly finish the rum before I’ve bothered to review it. Such is the case with Vizcaya VXOP – it’s been on my shelf for a terribly long time, and I’ve stolen a glass now and then to the point as to be nearly empty. And yet, I never reviewed the damned thing.

So let’s do so, and yes, we’ll begin with the packaging. First off, I love odd-shaped bottles. Something about it just tickles me and makes me want to believe the rum inside is special. I also love corks – proper, natural corks. Vizcaya has both of these fine attributes, but it’s the front and center label of “Cuban Formula Rum” that most catches the eye – more than the rum’s name itself, which is technically larger, but written in hard-to-read letters that force it to take a back seat. No, clearly the manufacturers want you to see “Cuban” right away.

Vizcaya was indeed once made in Cuba. But then, if I recall my history, some guy with a beard and cigar teamed up with another guy that liked to get his face screen-printed on t-shirts to sell to alternative-type rebel-wannabes, and they both took over Cuba and enacted sanctions against the US to keep their rum and cigars out of the hands of us lousy Americans. Or something like that. Long story short, now Vizcaya is made in the Dominican Republic and wearing Che Guevara shirts is still a great way to tell the world, “I’m so very rebellious.”

Wait a minute – I’m supposed to be reviewing a rum, wasn’t I? Actually, my strangely tangential cynicism isn’t entirely from left-field – it’s just that I have a problem with the pedestal that the word “Cuban” is so often placed upon, especially in regards to rum. I’ve often talked to folks who brag that they’ve tried actual Cuban rum, or have a bottle stashed away somewhere. Those that have tried it usually talk about how there’s nothing else like it, and their eyes sort of glaze over as they attempt to find words to express the sheer nirvana they experienced with every sip. Well you know what? I’ve had Cuban rum too, and it *was* different. So much so, in fact, that it utterly failed to capture the qualities that made me fall in love with rum in the first place. So mystique and taboos aside, Cuban rum, to me, is second-rate at best.

So let’s consider Vizcaya as a rum, without regard for whether it’s genuinely in the Cuban – or any other – fashion. In the glass, Vizcaya is a soft amber; not so dark as to intimidate, and not so light as to appear to lack punch. Just a nice, base amber. To the nose, it bears a slight musk, and definite notes of over-ripe fruit. In my review of a Cuban rum I noted a similar aroma of over-ripe apples, although Vizcaya seems more generally fruity than apple-centric. As is so often the case, Vizcaya tastes much as it smells – musky and fruity. It’s relatively gentle on the tongue, and leaves only a comforting warmth behind, rather than a burn or charred sensation.

While the majority of rums are made from molasses, Vizcaya follows in the tradition of the rhum agrioles in being made from fresh sugar cane juice. Commonly found amongst French rums, this process often results in a vegetal grassiness, but in this case the end product is indeed much more similar to a quality Cuban rum. I say quality because – despite my own preferences for a dark, in your face Jamaican, Barbadian, or Bermudan rum, Vizcaya is definitely an excellent choice for those with a taste for “finer” (meaning land-lubbing peacock) rums.

www.neworleansrum.com

Back in 2006 I reviewed New Orleans Cane Amber Rum. Since that time, Cane Rum has been discontinued over apparent confusion between itself and 10 Cane Rum. In its place we now have Old New Orleans Rum, which I think is actually a much better label anyways as it not only highlights itself as being one of the few continental US rum distilleries, but in a pirate town ta boot

Now I would generally expect that in such cases, while the bottling has changed, the rum might not. My bottle of Cane Amber is long gone (I have a second, but refuse to break the seal for this review – sorry!), so I can’t really do a side-by-side comparison. I do recall Cane Amber as being rather more scotch-like than rummy, but this is really all that I have to go on.

In the bottle, Old New Orleans 3 Year Aged Rum is a nice, basic brownish amber. The bottle is clean and classy, and corked in the manner of all self-respecting rums (with a few exceptions.) To the nose, Old New Orleans smells of sweet sugar cane, vanilla, and just a hint of over-ripe fruit. It comes across as being light-bodied, and perhaps a little alcoholly.

This rum indeed tastes of sugarcane and vanilla. It’s syrupy sweet and has a bit of an alcohol finish. My perference is for full-bodies rums – musky oaks and heady molosses. Old New Orleans is more in the fashion of east indian rums such as Old Monk or Khukri – decent, but not quite in the style you’d expect if you’re mostly accustomed to British, Spanish, or French styled rums. As to the scotch-like qualities I remember from Cane Amber? None whatsoever this time around – I’d say that this rum has been reinvented along with its packaging.

Old New Orleans 3 Year Rum is decent, but not of the quality I generally prefer in my sipping rums. Its lightness might work well on the rocks on a hot day, but not so much in a snifter next to the fire. Or if you’re into mixers, it would make a fine upgrade from the more typical grocery store rums, who shall remain nameless.

I’ve been reviewing rums for some years now, but tonight we’ve hit a first for me – a rum from the land down under. I’ve heard legends that such rums exist – even stories of one with a polar bear on its label, which makes no sense whatsoever. This is not the polar bear rum – this is another rum. One with a spot on its label. A red spot.

Inner Circle Rum is bottled and labeled in an understated, classy manner. Its website boasts that this is a rum not created for the likes of us – the bourgeois, pedestrian sorts – but was rather developed for the upper, snobby crust of society (and yet the website also boasts a skull&crossbones pattern in the background. Go figure.) It also boasts many awards – a factor that means increasingly less to me the more I learn that the folks who bestow such awards have entirely different expectations of rum from myself.

So enough prattling – let’s discuss the rum. It’s a slightly subdued amber, not quite as rich or red as it appears in the photo I took. To the nose, it immediately indicates the flavor profile I’m finding more and more in premium rums, and so much the shame. Light, with a strong overcurrent of over-ripe fruit. The taste is much the same, hitting the back of the mouth much harder than the front, with a dominating finish that borders on overbearing.

I don’t much like this rum. Perhaps I’m a poor judge, as I’ve clearly found that I prefer rum that tastes like, well, rum. True rum in the British or Spanish traditions. Not the strange perversions that are the French, Indian, or – I now find – Australian rum. These strange, alien flavor profiles just don’t seem to be what rum should be, and while I’ve found exceptions now and then where a “non-rummy” rum is still a thing of beauty, this time around just doesn’t strike home.

Pirate’s Choice is an unusual rum. It bears special consideration in several respects. First, it was first distilled in a makeshift (and very illegal) contraption built on the second story of a scuba shop in Key Largo. This is highly braggable. Now created in a more professional (and legal) distillery, the rum is sold in classy squat bottles, complete with labels featuring a silhouette of a pirate ship at rest as a storm approaches. This is beautiful. And, most noteworthy of all, no rum since the golden age of piracy has gone through such effort to introduce, insert, and endear itself to the pirate community. And this, my friends, is remarkable and admirable. In fact, I first met the president of Pirate’s Choice at PyrateCon 2008 in New Orleans, where he was giving away t-shirts, stickers, temporary tattoos, and countless samples of his product to every rogue, wench, and scalliwagg he could find (and being PyrateCon, he found lots of them.) However, this wasn’t the first I’d tasted Pirate’s Choice – I’d had a sample some months prior – at Pirates in Paradise in Key West. As I write this review, Pirate’s Choice is currently promoting itself at the Hampton Blackbeard Festival, with plans to attend the Port Washington Pirate Festival in turn just one week later. In short – Pirate’s Choice Rum is busting its hump to be noticed by the pirate community, making it the first and only rum to look at modern day pirates and see a viable market worth persuing. I suppose this could be seen as a cold business strategy, but I actually view it as heartening. I mean, when’s the last time Captain Morgan gave a squat about us? And HE’s supposed to be a pirate!

OK, enough about Pirate’s Choice pro-piracy campaign – it’s brilliant, it’s awsome, so let’s talk about the rum.

In the bottle (which, as stated, is very pretty – and surprisingly solid feeling) Pirate’s Choice Molasses Reef is a deep, rich amber, with just enough red to imply some fire within. To the nose, however, this rum is immediately disarming. Strongly smelling of toffee and vanilla, I would venture to say this is indeed a flavored rum, as I can’t envision such prominent flavor coming from a “natural” aging process. In fact, very little “rum” makes it to the nose at all, leaving in its place a rich creaminess.

On the lips and tongue, Pirate’s Choice is a unique experience – I struggled to taste, well, anything really – my tongue literally sensed nothing by way of flavor. And yet, it also sensed a growing chill. As the rum reached the back of my mouth, I again began to pick up on strong vanilla, followed by a long, warm finish that crept down my throat and then jumped back out to my lips – a tiny roundhouse kick of sensation, really.

Pirate’s Choice is definitely noteworthy. What it lacks in traditional “ruminess” it more that makes up for in dueling sensations and toffee tastes and aromas. It can be enjoyed straight, but I think this rum likely shines best in carefully chosen mixers. It’s dark nature and rich taste set it apart from all the white flavored mixer rums, while its simplicity and lack of alcohol taste seperate it from so many spiced rums. This rum is liquid candy, true, but it’s candy made by a skilled confectioner rather than some Hershey’s hack. So I guess that makes Pirate’s Choice’s president the true Willy Wonka of the Pirate World. Sorry Johnny.

Cuban rum – by its very nature – has some serious expectations to meet. Between the mystique of being taboo, the equally high bar set by Cuban cigars, and the general buzz of how incredible Cuban rum is supposed to be, it only stands to reason that finally getting your hands on a Cuban bottle should be a moment to celebrate. And as such, the rum itself is certainly expected to be worthy of such a lofty build-up.

Meh.

My first dissappointment with the Cuban rum was the bottle itself – mainly the screw cap and plastic diffuser. I like corks, and diffusers seem appropriate only with cheap mixers. So why cheapen a dignified rum with one? Well, I have been schooled. It seems that with the diffuser locked in place, it prevents malcontents from drinking a rum, refilling the bottle with some other rum, and then reselling the thing. It makes sense. I still don’t like it, but I recognize the logic, and will try to be less critical of plastic diffusers from here on. (This said, it bears note that to date I’ve only discovered this forgery-defence utilized on highly praised yet over-rated rums, and never on those I would genuinely deem worthy such concerns. In my experience, the best of the best rums remain humbly – and honorably – corked.)

As to the rum…

To the nose, Havana Club 15 was a shock. I’ve smelled many things with a new rum, but never one that was so overwhelming of over-ripe apples. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, just very odd. But it’s also not really what I look for in rum. And so on to the taste.

Hey, apples again. Apples with an undercurrent of caramel and syrup. It’s really not bad – layered, but not complex. A definite shift from the ordinary, and just a speck light and refreshing. The trouble is – and I can sometimes be a bastard on this point – I like my rum to be rum. But with Havana Club 15, while I taste many interesting things, I don’t taste much rum. It’s sweet, it’s apple, it’s caramel — but it’s like dating a bubbly blonde cheerleader when you’d meant to hook up with a dusky aztec princess. Where’s the seduction? Where’s the depth and exoticness?

If I ever wish to enjoy some fermented caramel appel with the added thrill of breaking international sanctions, I’ll reach for some Havana Club 15. But if I want RUM, I’ll just as soon reach for a Gosling’s Black Seal.

Click to buy!
from Internet Wines and Spirits

It’s a pet peeve of mine when people compare good rum to fine cognac. This is because it seems like everyone wants to somehow apologize for rum, or justify their enjoyment of it. “It’s not like rum, it’s more like a fine cognac” and so forth. These people can take a long walk off a short plank, for all I care. I love rum, and I don’t need to compare it to cognac to feel better about my enjoyment of a beverage that’s essentially born of industrial waste.

All that said – and I apologize for the irony – Rogue Spirit’s Dark Rum is more like a fine cognac.

There, I said it. However, let me explain – Rogue’s Dark indeed carries qualities that to me are more reminiscent of cognac than rum. To the nose it’s cool and fruity, with the grapey, brandy sensations I remember from those few glasses of cognac I’ve tried over the years. It has a sharpness about it, which is common to both rum and cognac alike, but the actual scents seem far more in line with cognac than rum.

In the mouth, Blackbeard’s is rather aloof (isn’t that also a cognac quality) and subtle. Very smooth, and just a hint fruity. It doesn’t embrace your entire mouth the way many dark rums do, but instead stands apart – the flavors aren’t overwhelming, but present nontheless. It has hints of sugar and leather, but is mostly just a cool, sweet senation.

All told, Rogue Spirit’s Dark Rum isn’t terribly exciting. For being a dark rum, it’s really more of a medium amber, and it’s flavors are as subdued as its color. It does make a decent change from my usual fare of truly dark, bold rums now and then, but a single glass is more than enough to leave me pining for something more substantive.

A note on the bottle: Rogue Spirits has taken the very fun step of etching Blackbeard onto their dark rum bottles. Rogue offers a white rum as well, which in turn features an etching of Jean Lafitte. It’s a great idea, and I almost hope Rogue expands their rum line just so I can collect more pirate bottles.