Drinking in the Night Garden

DBS find his inner lunatic, clutching a Blue Lady

To Knightsbridge, for the launch of a new gin from Hendrick’s. It’s called Lunar Gin, and it’s intended to be a gin for later in the day, even after dinner. As such it’s richer than the regular gin: ordinary Henrick’s has rose in it, but the Lunar Gin adds “the aroma of night scented flowers” and some citrus. (For more on the making of regular Hendrick's see this post.)

The event was in a room at the top of Harvey Nichols, the up-market department store where spirit brands often launch exclusively. One room had been turned into a dimly-lit night garden, dominated by a nicely realised moon, about four feet high and slightly convex, mounted on one wall, with various plants, a garlanded swing and other garden furniture, a babbling fountain and various bits of mirror standing in for a reflecting pool. Eerie womblike noises were piped through speakers. The entrance corridor was lined with foil (which reminded me of the gold foil on lunar landing modules—not sure if this was deliberate) and had a mirror floor, which is rather disconcerting as it makes you feel as if you’re stepping off a precipice.

We were greeted by two actors, with long “eccentric” names, one playing an astronomer and one an astrologer. They delivered vague monologues about the moon’s influence on us, regularly breaking into well-known songs about the moon (‘Blue Moon’, ‘By the Light of the Silvery Moon’, etc). We’d been asked in advance what our star signs were, which obviously raised both suspicions and hackles, but this didn’t really come up. Instead one of the actors asked what my spirit animal was. Of course his was the wolf, but he didn’t seem to believe me when I told him mine was the tapeworm. In any case we agreed that tapeworms didn’t make a sound that you could emulate while gazing at the moon.

A Lunar Gin and tonic lurks in the undergrowth

The brand ambassador wasn’t giving away the precise botanicals but emphasised the rich floral character. Floral is certain how you’d describe it, but it’s a warm, spicy kind of florality. The barman went further, explaining that various essential oils are added to conventional Hendrick’s gin, including lavender; I can certainly believe I get lavender on the nose. Tasted neat it has a rather thin, astringent, bitter finish, but I don’t suppose it’s intended to be drunk that way. We were offered a Lunar Gin and tonic and a cocktail called a Once in a Blue Moon. The G&T was garnished, as ever, with cucumber and also some pepper—being right under your nose they rather dominated what you smelled, but the gin certainly makes an agreeable drink. The cocktail contained gin, lemon juice, egg white and blue curacao, so is essentially a White Lady which is blue, rather a shrewd safe bet while harmonising with the purple/blue tones of the room.

This device creates a bubble filled with aromatic vapour: it would be cool if the bubble could be attached
to the glass so that it bursts when you drink it, but in practice it always burst during preparation

A Moonlight Buck

Back home I tried making an Aviation, figuring that the floral character of the gin should work well with the cherry and violet ingredients. In fact the gin rather disappears in this combination. On the other hand I think it makes rather an approachable Martini, with the vermouth (and the dilution from the ice) taking the edge off the spirit, allowing the warm, inviting botanicals to work their magic. The key serve actually seems to be the Moonlight Buck, gin with ginger ale and lemon juice, and they also suggest just making an Old Fashioned with it. I try making a Buck at home with Fever Tree ginger ale and it does work—it strangely brings out the lavender quality, which for some reason does harmonise with the ginger.

Hendrick’s make great play of the way their gin is lovingly made in small batches of just 500 litres. In fact, despite their eccentric, “not-for-everyone branding”, it now has a huge market all over the world and they have expanded their distillery to meet demand (it’s a “multi-shot” gin, with each batch of distillate made with a very high botanical intensity, a sort of gin concentrate, which is then blended with water and neutral grain spirit to produce the right dilution and volume for bottling). This ubiquity is partly what is behind limited editions like the Lunar Gin, to have something else that is rare and quirky. Last year they released their Midsummer Solstice gin—originally created for Global Brand Ambassador Duncan McRae’s wedding, before the subsequent decision to go commercial with it—as well as Orbium, a sort of gin–absinthe hybrid with wormwood, quinine and blue lotus that is definitely seen as “not for everyone”. (I keep wanting to call it Opprobrium, though in fairness I’ve yet to try it.) These offshoot products are described as coming from master distiller Lesley Gracie’s “Cabinet of Curiosities”, “a place of experimental botanic alchemy”, so you can see that they are keen to hang on to their playful, oddball image and not become a faceless juggernaut brand.

If you wish to sample the Hendrick’s Lunar Gin Experience for yourself, it will remain until 1st March. Tickets are £8, including a drink, from www.harveynichols.com. Lunar Gin is currently available from a limited number of outlets at £35.99 for 70cl (though I’m sure when I visited Harvey Nicks the bottles were price-tagged at £47…).

You can see more photos from the Lunar Gin Experience in this album on Flickr.

Solerno: an orange liqueur you can't refuse

Once again I have Candlelight Club mixologist David Hamilton-Boyd to thank for bringing a new product to my attention, in this case Solerno Blood Orange Liqueur. Brought to us by master distiller Lesley Gracie, also responsible for Hendrick’s Gin, it is made in Sicily using blood oranges grown locally on the slopes of Mt Etna. These are processed by a local family who somehow extract essential oils from the oranges, which are blended with neutral spirit, Italian lemon and natural sugar.

OK, the first thing you notice about Solerno is the striking bottle, in blood-red glass (inspired by the Venetian island of Murano where they make a lot of glass) with the shape of an orange juicer built into the base. This is quite a clever ploy because every time you look at the bottle you are made to think of the process of squeezing the fresh juice from an orange—and this whole-orange emphasis is very much part of what makes this liqueur different.

I line Solerno up against the obvious default orange liqueur, Cointreau, and also a sample of Original Combier, apparently “the world’s first triple sec”, dating back to 1834, which Ted Breaux gave me on one of his recent visits to the UK. (Ted makes his Jade absinthe range at the Combier distillery in Saumur.) Original Combier is made from sun-dried Haitian bitter oranges and Valencian sweet oranges, which are rehydrated before the bitter pith is carefully removed and discarded. The orange rinds are macerated in neutral spirit, along with local spices and “secret ingredients from the Loire Valley”, before the infused spirit is redistilled twice. Cointreau don’t give much away about how their product, first released in 1875, is made, but it likewise involves both bitter and sweet orange peels.

On the nose Cointreau gives you a clear hit of bitter orange peel. It’s pretty vivid, but it is definitely the peel/pith that you can smell. Combier has a softer nose, offering what seems, by comparison, a combination of peel and fresh orange juice. Solerno’s aroma similarly seems softer and juicer than Cointreau’s.

My Combier samples were just minis. Can't help noticing
a disturbing sediment in the Royal Combier!

Cointreau’s taste pretty much carries on from the nose. It is quite sweet but with some steeliness in the mouthfeel, perhaps from the bitter oranges or perhaps from the spirit used (which I gather is made from sugar beet). Combier’s orange flavour is softer and less pronounced, though likewise there is an edge to the mouthfeel. In fact if anything I would say it is a shade fiercer on the tongue.

When I come to taste Solerno it really is quite different. It has a high note, very aromatic, like a piece of fresh orange peel squeezed over a cocktail, but there are spices in there too, plus a darker, tongue-tingling mid-note; perhaps it is the sourness of fresh citrus compared to the bitterness of the rind. It is very lively, with a peppery finish. Which brings us back to the whole-fruit concept. The basic difference between Solerno and Cointreau is that the former does taste much more of both orange peel and juice, while Cointreau is just about the peel.

This character persists in cocktails: I make Margaritas (tequila, lime juice and triple sec) and White Ladies (gin, lemon juice, triple sec, egg white) using both Solerno and Cointreau, and the former’s darker, sourer whole-orange flavour makes itself felt. Whether or not you think this is a good thing is a matter of taste. While I would far sooner drink Solerno neat than Cointreau—it is smoother and more multi-faceted—in a cocktail context it comes down to the essential difference of character, Cointreau’s straightforward high, bright, bitter-peel balance compared to Solerno’s more mid-note orange juice thrust.

Ted gave me another sample, of something called Royal Combier. I taste this too before finding out anything about it. It is yellow in colour rather than clear and the orange flavours are joined by a sandalwood spice on the nose and, on the palate, cloves, sandalwood, soft pepper, nutmeg and cinnamon. It is very moreish. I had guessed that perhaps it was a wood-aged version of Original Combier, but on the website I see that it is actually a blend of Original, VSOP Cognac and Elixir Combier, another ancient liqueur recipe created by founder Jean-Baptiste Combier and released in 1860. Like many famous liqueurs (and indeed absinthe and probably gin) it was originally intended as a medicine, a way of capturing the healing properties of plants in alcohol. This one includes aloe, myrrh, cardamom, cinnamon and saffron on the botanical list, and it was actually discontinued for decades before being reintroduced recently.

For comparison I also tried Grand Marnier, the famous Cognac-based orange liqueur. Dating back to 1880, this is a blend of Cognac and “distilled essence” of orange peels, plus a secret recipe of other ingredients. In this respect it sounds much like Royal Combier, though Grand Marnier is barrel aged after blending. In any case it tastes quite different—you can really taste the Cognac and it has a pronounced dry wood character compared to Royal Combier, plus prunes and liquorice.

I think that Solerno is definitely an interesting addition to the triple sec world. Drunk neat it beats Cointreau hands down, but as a cocktail ingredient it comes more down to a question of styles, with Solerno offering more sweet/sour OJ as opposed to Cointreau’s bitter/sweet rind emphasis. And then there is the matter of price: Cointreau is relatively affordable at £20 for a 70cl bottle, Solerno is almost double that at around £39. Probably too precious for cocktails, then!

Solerno can be had from The Whisky Exchange for £38.95

Is there a "Scottish" gin style?

The gang gather at Graphic in London's Golden Square

It hadn’t escaped DBS that there were an increasing number of gins coming out of Scotland these days, joining the juggernaut that is Hendrick’s, made by William Grant of whisky-making distinction (for more on that gin, see our previous review). So last week a posse of ginthusiasts assembled at Graphic for a blind tasting of some dozen spirits that were linked only by the fact that they are all made north of the border. You could argue (and some did) that “Scottish gin” is not a recognised style—although this is something David wanted to put to the test. But even if it is not, comparative tastings usually shed some useful light.

So to cut to the chase, here are my notes (bearing in mind that at the time we did not know what the samples were). Each gin was sampled on its own and with tonic (and sometimes just with water).

1. Old Raj Red (46%) Notwithstanding the blindness of the tasting, this was immediately recognisable as one of the two Old Raj samples, because of its colour—faintly yellow, as a result of the saffron that is infused post-distillation (by the company chairman himself, apparently). It had a sweet, fruity nose with a hint of blackcurrant, it seemed, and a silky mouthfeel. A classy heft to it. Made a pretty well balanced G&T (though for my money the best use of Old Raj is in a Martini).

2. Edinburgh A nettly, slightly pungent nose with perhaps a hint of smoky rubber. The palate was dry but with a definite hint of banana. It worked better in a G&T but still there was that banana element, which I didn’t like at all. Bit sweet.

3. Cadenhead Classic More juniper-led than perhaps any of the others; quite traditional in its come-on. Has an underlying perfume but also a hint of allium, or something else savoury. The palate is dry but with a “dry sugar” botanical flavour. Marries very well with tonic in a classic way. A classy example of a conventional conception of gin.

The blind samples in their numbered bottles

4. Hendrick’s 41.4% Nose seems dominated by citrus, orange in particular, with a sweetish palate. [Odd that I wasn’t struck by rose or cucumber, the signature botanicals of Hendrick’s.]

5. Caorunn May be my imagination but it seems almost to have a greenish tint to it. Pencil juniper on the nose, then citrus, then coriander, then a warm bottom note, more or less in that order. The palate is fairly balanced but a bit sweet, and with an interesting aftertaste, the sweetness joined by a lingering vegetal flavour. Quite fiery too, despite that sweetness. Add tonic, though, and it falls apart slightly, actually becomes a bit crude.

6. Hendrick’s 44% Nose of citrus but also something sappy and herbal. Hint of coal tar. Palate is balanced; smooth but not over-sweet. Nice orange/aromatic finish.

7. The Botanist The nose is a bit like a less subtle version of No.6. Has a definite “green” note. Palate seems a bit flat. With tonic it seems a bit crude and heavy-handed compared to some of the others.

8. Boe A dry, herbaceous nose of thyme or lavender, and a light, balanced palate showing poise. Add tonic and citrus emerges. Quite interesting though I suspect the floral/lavender element might get a bit cloying to me after a while.

9. Old Raj Blue (55%) Yellowish, so clearly the other Old Raj. A bit hard to get a handle on neat, because the high strength keeps some of the flavour elements bottled, but with tonic it becomes smooth, floral and perfumed, with a bit of ginger.

10. Darnley’s View A floral nose but just edging towards rancid plasticene. A fruity palate but surprisingly dry after that overmellow flowery nose.

11. Hammer A dry nose led by juniper and orange. Palate is dry too but quite balanced, though ultimately rather low key; which is perhaps the idea. [This isn’t a Scottish gin at all—it’s made in Norway—but David included it as a sort of control or touchstone, because it sells itself as a London Dry Gin; but I wasn’t struck by its standing out from the overwhelming “Scottishness” of the other samples. In fact for me the one that stood out as a more classic style was Cadenhead Classic.]

12. Blackwood’s, 2008 A nose or spearmint chews and lemon and lime. Light and dry on the palate with a pleasant lemony aromatic quality. As a G&T it works rather well, the lean, lemon notes sitting comfortably with similar qualities in the tonic water.

My favourites? Knowing what Nos 1 and 9 were, and therefore lumping them together, I would say that my top three were 1/9, 3 and 6, which is to say Old Raj (in both formulations), Cadenhead Classic and Hendrick’s 44%. It’s hard to say what order I’d put them in but probably the Old Raj (made by Cadenhead) and the Cadenhead Classic would vie for top spot—meaning that the Cadenhead distillery is probably where I should go and live.

Overall as a group we voted Hendricks 44% into first place, followed by Old Raj Blue (55%) in second, Hendrick’s 41.4% in third, Old Raj Red (46%) in fourth and Cadenhead Classic in fifth, which is broadly consistent with my own conclusions.

GOLD MEDAL
Hendrick's (US export, 44%)

SILVER MEDAL
Old Raj Blue (55%)

BRONZE MEDAL
Hendrick's (UK version, 41.4%)


Is there a “Scottish style”? Some of the gins play on their Scottishness in terms of presentation and ingredients—many include heather, The Botanist includes a whopping 31 botanicals all of which grow naturally on the island of Islay where it is made, and Blackwood’s make a big deal of how their botanicals are hand-picked on Shetland in a particular season (though don’t actually state that all the botanicals come from there, any more than all the Botanist ones come from Islay). But it’s telling that our top five in the blind tasting don’t really fall into that category: the Cadenhead gins are fairly classic (with the saffron being not very Scottish at all) while Hendrick’s key ingredients are rose essence from Bulgaria and cucumber essence from the Netherlands.

A most unusual way to make gin

The exterior of the Horseless Carriage

The Hendrick's marketing machine is such a thing of Shock and Awe that few people (at least few in Our World) can be unaware of their calculated image of playful eccentricity and oddness. So I was almost surprised when, as part of London Cocktail Week, there was an opportunity to learn about how the actual product is made.

The Hendrick's roadshow had set up on the forecourt of a disused petrol station and there was eccentricity aplenty with a croquet lawn, threnody from a musical saw and one of the famous Hendrick's roll top baths, filled with rose petals. The actual seminar was inside the Hendrick's Horseless Carriage, what looks like a railway carriage adapted for road transport. The snug, dark wood interior is filled with bric-a-brac and strange specimens—but also, mercifully, with gin.

Brand ambassador Louis Xavier Lewis-Smith gave us a preliminary talk on the history of distilling and gin in particular, with the aid of a PowerPoint presentation which he himself had not previously seen— perhaps a test of prowess through which all ambassadors must go before they can get the really good postings. (It wouldn't surprise me to discover that Hendrick's has its own embassy in Moscow.) We were also confronted with an array of samples that turned out to be a rare opportunity to taste the liquid as it comes out of the still.

Around the bath it reads, "I can resist everything
except temptation." Wilde, I believe.

Hendrick's is made by William Grant, the whisky distillers. Their involvement with gin dates from when they bought a gin recipe and two stills at auction in 1966 from the London firm Taplow's. One was a Bennett pot still made in 1860 and the other a Carter-Head still fashioned in 1948; both have been restored and have been used since 1999 to make Hendrick's, which is itself a blend of the output from the two stills.

The Bennett still is basically a copper pot that is filled with neutral grain spirit and botanicals (Hendrick's aren't too specific about what these are—"flowers, roots, fruits and seeds" is all they will admit to, though juniper, coriander and orange and lemon peel are clearly involved), which are left to steep before the whole lot is heated and the resulting vapour condensed into a distillate that emerges at 80% ABV. One of our samples was precisely this—we were warned that we might not want to put it into our mouths undiluted, advice which we, of course, ignored.

The Bennett still has a reputation for producing a robust product and at 80% the predominant note for me was caramel or butterscotch, but when you add water to bring it down to roughly 40% there is a huge rush of citrus aromas, earthy roots, pungent, piney flavours and a hint of warm aniseed. Robust indeed. The long maceration prior to distillation has extracted profound flavours and plenty of oils from the botanicals, visible in the "legs" up the side of the glass when swirled—moreover, when you add water it "louches" like absinthe, going slightly milky. As with absinthe, this is the oils, dissolved at 80% ABV, emerging as an emulsion of fat droplets as the alcohol concentration drops.

Sitting down with Louis and an array of samples before us

The Carter-Head still, also very rare, is a more complex affair. Louis showed us a diagram which was frankly over my head, but in essence the rising vapour passes through a matrix of channels and baffles with the intention of controlling just what parts of the molecular soup are allowed through and which fall back down into the bubbling liquid. The botanicals are not steeped, in fact not even allowed into contact with the neutral spirit: they are packed into a "flavour box" through which the vapour passes on its way to be condensed back into liquid.

Our next sample was the 80% ABV distillate from the Carter-Head. It was fascinating how it clearly had the same general flavour profile as the previous one (having been made with the same botanicals)—there was citrus and earthy spices—yet its aroma was finer, lighter, more delicate and dry, and it was sweeter and peppery on the palate. There was no clouding when water was added, suggesting the heavy essential oils had been left behind.

The finished product is a blend of the two distillates. For professional reasons Louis was not able to reveal in what proportions they were mixed, though I pointed out that the high-strength sample of the blend louched almost as much as the pure Bennet sample, something Louis had not thought of before and which he admitted was a bit of a giveaway. (Not that I have enough of a science brain to know how to interpret this.)

Brand ambassador His Excellency Louis Xavier Lewis-Smith

But there is more to the Hendrick's formula than this: it famously includes rose petals and cucumber in the mix, yet these are not flavours that can be acquired by adding rose and cucumber to the botanicals, so they are added as essences to the final blend before dilution to bottling strength. Some bartenders turn their nose up at Hendrick's for this reason. (Interestingly, Martin Miller's gin also contains cucumber essence—though it's not something they dine out on as Hendrick's does. There is a rumour that someone from Miller's actually defected, taking the idea with them.) We were given samples of these essences—the rose from Bulgaria, the cucumber from the Netherlands—and again warned against tasting it, which we again ignored. The rose essence was a bit too concentrated to get the full bloom of aroma but the cucumber was rather delicious, I thought.

More forecourt shenanigans. The ornament on the bonnet of the car is,
unsurprisingly, a winged cucumber

We have talked before about how it was only 18 months ago that the EU defined gin at all. Louis mentioned with some pride that Hendrick's was, in a way, responsible for this, what with their audacity in adding flavouring essences after distillation. As such, Hendrick's cannot be classified as a London gin, but is technically a distilled gin, and Louis is happy with that. In the exploding gin market* there is clearly room for all sorts and Hendrick's extraordinary marketing efforts clearly have more effect on the typical consumer than any EU definition.

In the interests of science, Mr Bridgman-Smith did the Institute proud and attempted to create his own Hendricks by blending the two distillate samples, adding rose and cucumber essences and bringing it down to bottle strength**—though, under the imperious eye of a stuffed stoat, he admitted he had done this "without much success". Thus proving that a premium gin is not something that any old muppet can knock up with a few flavourings.***

*There may actually be a market for exploding gin which no one has tapped yet. I did come across a rum the other day that is made by a Kiwi bloke who blends various spirits then adds chilli, pipe tobacco and gunpowder. Perhaps mercifully you can't readily buy this stuff but allegedly have to barter for it with him online.
**Like many gins Hendricks is bottled at two strengths, 41.4% for the UK market and 44% for the US. This whole concept of "export strength" is something we will look into in greater depth in the future, but DBS was rather fascinated by the fact that the two Henrick's ABVs were so close, and so precise. Louis explained that at different concentrations different flavour elements manifest themselves, and rigorous experimentation had found that these two ABVs were both "sweet spots" at which the drink tasted particularly good.
***Interestingly, Sacred, an incredibly artisanal gin, is made by an ex-headhunter in the City who distils all the botanicals separately then blends them. You can even buy a kit of the separate botanical distillates, so you can create your own version.

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.