Bringing it all back home III: Prohibition Gin

A couple of weeks ago I found myself in possession of the country’s only bottle of a new gin from Heartland Distillers, makers of Indiana vodka. It’s called Prohibition. I think the name comes from maker Stuart Hobson’s belief that Prohibition pretty much killed off the rich distilling tradition in his state, a tradition that he is manfully trying to revivify. It doesn’t hurt that all things Prohibition- and speakeasy-related seem suddenly in vogue, perhaps thanks to Boardwalk Empire, creating a new “Mad Men effect”. (Not that I’m one to talk.)

So is this authentic bathtub gin, taking crude alcohol and trying to mask the roughness with juniper essence (a roughness that is often attributed with boosting the whole cocktail tradition, as bartenders added emollient ingredients to make the underlying spirit palatable)? Not a bit of it. Stuart takes his super-smooth, award-winning, sextuple-distilled vodka and in the last distillation adds his botanicals in a Carter Head style flavour-box, through which the vapours pass. “This vessel is packed with the fresh botanicals in a specific manner to obtain the flavor profile we desire,” Stuart explains.

I was under the impression that this tends to create a lighter style of gin than a pot still process where the botanicals are actually macerated in the spirit before distillation, but Stuart says, “I would characterise our gin as a full flavour gin. We’ve broadened the flavour profile so you can taste all of the botanicals we use. Many gins boast of all their botanicals, but when you taste them all you get is the juniper. With Prohibition Gin all of the botanical flavours are present. The use of fresh botanicals produces a clean fresh mouth feel.”

So it’s not a juniper-led gin. One sniff of the bottle—a powerful whiff of curry powder to me—and you realise we are in the same territory as Aviation, made by Ryan Magarian in Portland, Oregon. Ryan even has a name for his non-juniper-led school, “New Western Gins”. To me Aviation has powerful savoury elements, with lots of coriander. Prohibition is similar, but actually with more of a concession to juniper, plenty of citrus edge plus a very strong element of celery seed on the finish. It’s remarkably balanced, with citrus and cassia finding a place, and something like lavender on the palate; oddly I always get tomatoes, but I guess it’s just the Bloody Mary ingredients in the gin that get my juices flowing, plus the citrus. Doing a direct comparison you find that Aviation actually has a fattier and more biscuity nose and striking fennel notes.

Here I am tussling with Emma Stokes over the precious

bottle of Prohibition

“You are spot on with the flavour profile,” says Stuart—though he won’t actually reveal all the botanicals, only juniper, coriander, angelica root, cassia, licorice root and grains of paradise. “I like to tell people that this is not your grandfather’s gin, this is richer and fuller flavoured. I would be comfortable with it being thought of as a New Western Gin.”

But the interesting thing about this “new” gin that it actually very much is your grandfather’s, or rather Stuart’s grandfather’s. He says he came across the recipe in a nineteenth-century book on distilling techniques. This got me thinking: if it really represents an older style, does it shed any light on the ongoing debate about exactly what “Old Tom” gin—a style that was popular before London Dry Gin took over—actually tasted like? DBS and I are comparing the different theories and compiling samples of the different approaches to modern revival Old Tom styles for a future group test, but my eye was caught the other day by a mail-out from David Nathan-Maister. In addition to being a strong advocate for the Campaign for Real Absinthe, David also deals in vintage spirits, including the sorts of pre-ban absinthe upon analysis of which the new “authentic” absinthes are based, but also including old rums, bourbons and the odd gin.

This mail-out describes, among other jewels, a batch of gin distilled in or before 1913. Author Dave Hughes has tasted a sample and comments: “With time in the glass the citrus notes begin to take over while the mature herby character is always there. It would appear that coriander must have been a major component as it begins to show after a long while in the glass. All rests on a gentle supporting spice.” His reference to the strong coriander element reminded me of the New Western style.

Ted Breaux’s comments on this batch are: “The gin is much lighter than the typically juniper-heavy London-dry style that dominates today. It is far more like the lighter, sweeter Old Tom style that was popular in both the UK and the US toward the end of the nineteenth century, which was specified in many of the gin cocktails in the earliest bartender guides—cocktails that aren’t as enjoyable when overpowered by juniper. What is significant is that it is isn’t a ‘Holland gin’, with a malt wine base, but is an example of the newer style (for the period), which was based upon a redistillation of a neutral spirit—something not possible until after the invention of the multi-plate alembic in the 1830s.”

An Inhibition made at home

Some people believe that “Old Tom” does refer to a maltier Dutch style (you can create an impression by rinsing a glass with malt whisky then adding gin), others to something that is simply sugared, while Christian Jensen’s recreation aims for “sweetness” through the botanical balance rather than added sugar. But could it be that the New Western styles, with big flavours but less emphasis on juniper, might offer a clue? I intend to try using Aviation and Prohibition to make some of the old cocktails that specifically call for Old Tom (in books that also specify London gin or Plymouth gin in other recipes) and see how well they work.

I leave you, however, with a thoroughly modern cocktail dreamed up on the spot by Graphic barman Adam Smithson when I went in there with the precious bottle:

Inhibition
40ml Prohibition
5ml Coco Kanu coconut rum
10ml Creole Shrubb rum orange liqueur
25ml lime juice
20ml homemade chai syrup
Top with soda and garnish with a lime wedge

Stuart Hobson himself was delighted with this recipe when I sent it to him—possibly because, of course, the Indiana Infusions range includes a Chai Tea one. Using this instead, Stuart has posted a variant on the Prohibition Facebook page.

I knock up a version using what I have to hand: Prohibition gin, “Windward white rum with coconut” from Asda, Cointreau, lime juice and Indiana Chai Tea Infusion, and decide just to shake it and serve it straight up. If you can get the proportions right (the coconut in particular needs microbalancing) the result is fascinating. The coconut and lime are quite prominent, but work surprisingly well with the savoury spice elements too. I think I could become gently fascinated by Prohibition gin.

The Number of the Gin is 209

Branding gimmicks? Not a bit of it. Graphic
manager Sarah Mitchell is handily placed to
give you a sense of scale.

What’s with numbers all of a sudden? There is “6 O’Clock” gin from Bramley and Gage; only last week we were tasting Berry Brothers’ “No.3” gin; and last night at the Juniper Society it was “No. 209” gin. (I’m not a number, I’m a free gin!) The figure this time comes from the birth of the distillery in California’s Napa Valley in 1882: in those days, to guard against illegal distillation, a distillery had to display its licence prominently, and this establishment was the 209th to be licensed in America.

The original project was part of the Edge Hill Winery set up in 1867 by Civil War general Erasmus Keyes. This was later bought by the enterprising William Scheffler who not only built a still, but built a vacuum still—working on the principle that if you lower the pressure within the still the liquid will boil at a lower temperature. Scheffler believed that this made for a more “sanitary” product, a healthier alcohol, if you will. That may or may not be hooey, but he won a medal for his product at the Grand Exposition in Paris in 1889—at a time when Napa Valley was a joke backwater in the global booze fraternity. (The medal turned up on eBay in 2004 and the firm were able to buy it back.)

It’s interesting to see the UK brand Oxley now make such a song and dance about their use of vacuum distillation—they don’t claim it is healthier but they do believe that by not exposing the botanicals to high temperatures they are preserving flavour elements that would otherwise be destroyed by “cooking” them.

The current owners of Distillery No. 209 moved the business to Pier 50 in San Francisco. They say that, thanks to the Dot Com boom, actual industrial space in SF is hard to find, which is why they ended up on a pier—the only distillery in the world built over water. Technical Director Arne Hillestand (known as “The Ginerator”) adds that by being built over water the distillery benefits from a far more consistent temperature.

Blimey, there's that brand again…

No. 209 is a proudly American gin. Its water comes from the city’s private supply at Hitch Hitchy in Yosemite, dammed in 1923 and piped all the way from the National Park. Arne filters it through charcoal and resin beads to remove all particulate matter, then ionises it. “It started as meltwater,” he tells us, “and I try to bring it back to meltwater.”

But the product’s taste derives from more than just good water. “Traditional London gins have a lot of juniper, coriander and often some liquorice. I wanted to tone down the juniper a bit and bring up the citrus and spices.” Arne is not alone in this restlessness with gin orthodoxy and indeed he acknowledges he is part of a movement that was named “New Western Gin” by Ryan Magarian of the Oregon gin Aviation (a product I find rather fascinating and to which I will be returning in a future post).

San Francisco may seem terribly remote to us here in London but, for the record, Arne sources his botanicals from a dealer in Peterborough, Joseph Flach & Sons Ltd, coincidentally also founded in 1882. The mix focuses on juniper, coriander seed, sweet angelica from the north of England, Cardamom (apparently the second or third most expensive spice in the world, owing to its pickiness about growing environment), cassia, a bark that is very similar to cinnamon (and indeed much “cinnamon” sold in the US is actually cassia) and bergamot, a citrus peel that will be familiar to lovers of Earl Grey tea—much of the bergamot grown is for its essential oils that go to flavour that classic brew. The mix is macerated in the spirit overnight before being slowly distilled over 11 hours in small batches. In fact the gin is distilled five times in the pursuit of smoothness and purity.

Head distiller Arne Hillestand. In addition to banners, logos and
giant bottles, our American visitors brought with them the fabled
PowerPoint technology as well

No. 209 are a socially aware brand. Arne uses only a small “heart”, the central portion of each batch distilled in the firm’s swanky new copper pot still (sourced again in the UK, this time from Forsyths in Scotland); the leftover “heads” and “tails” (the first and last liquid to come out of the still with any given batch) are not poured down the drain, though, but given to a chap in southern California who recycles it into some sort of motorcar fuel. Arne even makes a special version of 209 that is kosher for Passover. His usual corn neutral spirit is out, so he gets spirit made from sugar cane. He even had to replace the cardamom—considered by some strict Jews as essentially a pulse, as it comes in a pod—with locally sourced bay laurel leaves.

Arne is a clearly a man with an attention to detail. The bottle is a rather common square-shaped “case gin” design (for easy packing in a case), but the litre bottle comes with a cap that happens to contain exactly a 50ml double measure—something that bartenders in the room had noticed. “If you’re going to make a good cocktail you have to be precise,” Arne shrugs.

Tasted neat it is, reassuringly, quite clearly gin. The initial nose has a green, juiciness that evolves into a sweet, warm perfume, at times almost cloyingly sweet. I’m convinced I also got a hint of green apples, though clearly none went into it. The palate is fiery at first (it’s bottled at 46%) but with a sweetness, and also a strong dryness, like the fragrant dryness of lead pencil shavings. It has similar fat, waxy mid-notes to Aviation, though not in so obstinately profound a way as that very savoury gin.

Oh, look. There's that brand again

I am handed a No. 209 Martini at the beginning and I’m struck that the cardamom comes across even with the other elements there, seeming to complement the fresh lemon twist particularly well. In fact even tasted neat you get a sense of something like grapefruit peel—which must be the bergamot, apparently less sour than a lemon but more bitter than a grapefruit*—again seeming to marry well with the spice: you get both dry exoticism and juicy fruitiness at the same time. No. 209 may have only six botanicals, but you sense a poise and confidence in the non-juniper path they have chosen, even if the end result is more diplomatically gin-like than the likes of Aviation or Death’s Door.

Arne finished his presentation with a quote from Oscar Wilde: “It’s an odd thing, but anyone who disappears 
is said to be seen in San Francisco.
 It must be a delightful city and possess 
all the attractions of the next world.” Is No. 209 a glimpse into heaven? That’s pushing it, but it’s certainly a refined and though-provoking tipple.

No. 209 is about £37.50 for a litre.

*Actually I think there are other botanicals, including other citrus elements, that Arne won’t tell us about.

When is a gin not a gin?

Brockmans gin, with a cocktail containing it, crafted by John Clay

Gin is everywhere. The rate at which new gins are launched these days is extraordinary—particularly when so many of them claim their mission is to get away the traditions of this fusty, musty, old-man beverage.*

Mr Bridgman-Smith tells me that when Brockmans gin was first launched, about three years ago, he went to a tasting and their attitude was, "Hey, we're a gin. A little bit different, but essentially a gin." Last Monday, however, at a tasting at the Juniper Society in London, brand ambassador John Clay's attitude was far more defensive, more along the lines of, "Hey, what is a gin, anyway? All that matters is whether it's a nice drink or not."

The labelling on the bottle, and indeed the Brockmans website, emphasise only that Brockmans is a very smooth gin, which you can easily enjoy over ice. All night. Surrounded by predatory lesbians and men in boar-head masks. (That's the website, by the way. They don't actually say this on the label. Now that would be bold.) All of which comfortably ignores the elephant in the room, which is that Brockmans smells and tastes very strongly of Ribena. Among the usual gin botanicals, including juniper, citrus peel and coriander seed, are dried blackberries and blueberries**, macerated at the same time as the others prior to redistillation. And their influence is huge: we are not talking a subtle ghost of an echo of "Oh, and is there a hint of blackberries and blueberries on the finish?". No, it really is quite overpowering. Underneath this berry fruit are the other botanicals too, but you have to focus hard to perceive them.

John tries to free our minds in his presentation by offering platters of tastebud teasers—a blackberry jelly with a blueberry secreted at its core, a dollop of lemon sorbet, a spoonful of what appears to be Spacedust and a shot of liquor with some sort of red berry frogspawn at the bottom—yes, he's getting seriously molecular on our asses. These are all flavours we should be detecting in the gin, I think. Then he shows us some gustatory parlour tricks to prove the crucial role played by aroma on taste and the importance of saliva in your mouth to taste something properly. (Informative, though I'm unlikely to go out to dinner and leave my saliva at home.) Finally, as we are invited to taste the product itself, he has us burst overhead balloons, showering us with atomised gin. This is all very jolly, and I learned a few things about the mechanism of taste, but you can't help suspecting he is trying to distract us from something.

Brockmans is not alone in adding rare-groove objects into the mix. Hendricks famously includes rose and cucumber, Aviation uses lavender, Old Raj is slightly yellow because of the saffron in it, and Tanqueray Rangpur tastes like a lime Opal Fruit. Interestingly all this comes when, only 18 months ago, the EU decided to lay down the law about what gin could actually be, and "London gin" in particular—the rules governing the latter are far stricter than "gin" in general and "distilled gin" as a rank in between the two. Yet the rules allow any kind of flavouring as long as it is "natural" and "approved". So while The London Gin No.1, despite its name (and the fact that it is made in London), cannot call itself a "London gin" because it is coloured blue by maceration with gardenia flowers—colouring is out, apparently—Brockmans on the other hand can give itself that honour despite being essentially a jam. (The rules do insist that not only must there be juniper in the mix but that the predominant flavour must be juniper. Somehow Brockmans have managed to persuade the elders of the Gin Council that this is the case.)

Ever the imp, DBS brought me a bottle of weird
absinthe, which doesn't taste of much but does
turn violet when diluted. He challenged John Clay
to make a cocktail containing this and Brockmans
and this is the result, a cross between a Clover
Club and a Pegu Club.

Mark has a point, of course. All this categorisation and definition is surely neither here not there: the ultimate question is whether you've made a yummy drink. And I do think that Brockmans is well made. Within the innovation-seeking world of mixology there is surely room for all flavours; John and the staff at Graphic did a good job of trying out different cocktails with the stuff in, and the Clover Club (gin, vermouth, lemon juice, egg white and raspberry syrup), for example, made perfect sense.

But while injecting playful hints of outré ingredients is all very well, you can't help wondering why Brockmans has to taste so strongly of berries. I think the answer lies in that "perfectly smooth" tagline. The creators wanted something that people (and by this I mean women—look at the Brockmans site and you'll see all the videos and still photos bar one feature only women drinking it) would drink plain over ice late into the evening. Like Baileys. And clearly they decided that a massive sweetish berry hit was the only way to make it approachable enough compared to the dry, spiky qualities of traditional gin that make it so appealing as a perky, eye-opening aperitif. Perhaps they hope that one day their gin will become generic—like Baileys—and women will slide up to the bar and purr, "Brockmans on the rocks, please."

But if someone goes into a bar and asks for a gin and tonic and is given something with Brockmans in it, there would be an unseemly riot. Which makes you wonder: instead of getting so defensive when traditionalists huff that Brockmans isn't really gin—and creating a philosophical smokescreen of "What is gin, anyway? And if a G&T spills in a forest and no one hears it, does it really make a sound? etc."—why call it a gin at all? If the market, style and serving suggestions are so different, why fight so hard to be accepted on to the juniper Mount Olympus? John Clay explains that it is to do with categories: gin is a recognised one that people know what to do with and how to sell, and, ironically, its history and traditions give it clout and recognition among consumers. Without that, Brockmans would be out there trying to create a whole new category on its own.

I guess if you want to be different, you need to have something to be different from.

Brockmans retails for about £27 for a 70cl bottle. See the Brockmans site for a list of stockists (though it looks as if you'll have to wear a mask and do some juggling before they'll let you have any).

* If it's so tragically five-minutes-ago, why not leave it alone and launch an alcopop instead?
**Yes, I know that Ribena is blackcurrant rather than blackberry, but I'm afraid Ribena is what it reminds me of.