Terminus: the absinthe to end all absinthes

Ted with his two new products, Terminus Oxygénée Absinthe and Coeur de Jade

Thursday was National Absinthe Day in the US, marking the day in 2007 when the ban on absinthe, introduced in 1912, was lifted. One of the men responsible for getting the law changed is Ted Breaux of Jade Liqueurs but he was actually in London at the time launching a couple of new products, and I met up with him in the Punch Room of the London Edition hotel. 

Ted conducts a webcast from the bar

Being out of the country on such an important day didn’t hold Ted back, as he was able to do a live webcast, answering questions that were texted to him. I admire his powers of concentration, being able to do that using a laptop in a noisy hotel bar, and I resisted the temptation to photobomb, perhaps drifting across the background swigging from a bottle of Ted’s finest…

Ted’s new absinthe, Jade Terminus Oxygénée Absinthe Supérieure, gets the name “Terminus” from the fact that he claims it is the last absinthe he will launch (or at least the last in his “portfolio of historically accurate absinthes”). “Oxygénée” represents the special historical process that Ted has recreated for this product.

Ted is a native New Orleanian with a background as an environmental scientist. He became curious about the famous Old Absinthe House bar that still stood in the city, a testament to the era when New Orleans, with its French connections, was the country’s absinthe capital. There has been a lot of voodoo talked about absinthe, what it had been, the psychotropic effects it had on the brain, etc.* Ted was in a position to use modern scientific techniques (mass spectrometry and gas chromatography, I believe, though don’t ask me how they work) to analyse exactly what was in extant samples of pre-ban absinthe and the bulk of his Jade range are recreations of specific products (though I believe that for legal reasons he won’t necessarily spell out which ones on the label).

Before the ban, the Cusenier distillery in France produced Cusenier Oxygénée Absinthe Hygenique, a product that they subjected to an oxygenation process that they claimed made it uniquely “hygienic” and safe, an attempt to stem the growing tide of opinion that absinthe was deleterious to the health. It sold at a considerable premium. Ted’s new product uses the same botanicals as the original (as well as a unusual species of Artemisia from the foothills of the Alps, rarely found in absinthe), and is also subjected to a “hot oxygenation” process that closely mirrors the original technique. Ted doesn’t give too much away but he observes impishly that it involves pure oxygen and hot distillate and, consequently, he makes sure there is no one else around when he does it. (If you hear reports that the Combier distillery has exploded you’ll know why…) Prior to bottling the spirit is rested for three years.

Terminus on the left and V.S. 1898 on the right, neat

I line up a sample of Terminus against Jade V.S. 1898 to try and get a handle on its character. Although it’s hard to see in the photos, the Terminus seems slightly more yellow to me. Neat, the V.S. seems to have high, sharp notes of caraway on the nose, while the Terminus is softer, broader and grassy. Add water and the general distinction continues, with the V.S. having high, lean, clean, aromatic notes, with a hint of violets, while the Terminus is softer, earthier, more buttery, a bit more pungent, with a dash of orange peel on the nose and more “dark” notes (e.g. woody cinnamon) than the V.S.

Terminus left, V.S. right, louched (1:2.5 absinthe:water)

The other product Ted had with him was his new Coeur de Jade. It’s not an absinthe at all but an eau de vie, the base spirit that he uses for the absinthes. “People would taste it and ask me why I didn’t bottle it,” he explains, “so I did.”

It is a colourless grape spirit (mostly Chenin Blanc), double pot-distilled as would have been done pre-ban. I’m intrigued by this because it is surprisingly smooth for an unaged spirit (it is 42% ABV), and I might have guessed that over 100 years ago they could not have produced something so clean, but Ted assures me it is authentic. In fact it is the use of the less “efficient” pot still, rather than a modern Coffey still, that enables the spirit to retain its flavours and be more than just “neutral” alcohol.

Technically it is a fine (made just from grape juice), as opposed to a marc, which uses the leftover lees, skins, stalks, etc, from the winemaking process, in the same way that grappa does. (I’ve had some delightful marcs, but they can be huge, filling the room with their aroma.) It is an intriguing product, because it is subtle but with a distinct character. It is reminiscent of grappa (and I gather that the Italians were the most vocal in wanting Ted to bottle it), but more delicate than most grappas I have tried. There is a floral, almost candied, fruit nose from the grapes, with elements of apricot, almond and strawberry. The mouthfeel is relatively rich, sweet and smooth for an unsweetened spirit, and I get a distinct impression of rosewater on the tongue.

Subtle as it is, I’m immediately struck by the mixing possibilities, perhaps blending with light vermouths to make a fragrant summer cooler. And indeed the obliging barman in the Punch Room makes a Sazerac with Terminus absinthe and the Coeur de Jade in place of whiskey or Cognac (depending on your personal feelings about how a Sazerac should be made), which works very well indeed, with the distinctive fresh fruit fragrance of the spirit coming across clearly and harmonising with the aromas of the absinthe.

Jade Terminus Absinthe Oxygénée can be had for £68.95 and Coeur de Jade for £29.95, both from the Whisky Exchange.

* Even Phil Baker’s excellent The Dedalus Book of Absinthe from 2001, one of the first volumes I read on the subject, asserts that pre-ban absinthe contained perhaps 25 times as much thujone as modern examples, and it was this that gave it its mind-bending potency. In fact subsequent analysis shows that absinthe from this period contained no more thujone than modern versions, and it is unlikely that this chemical is responsible for any special effects absinthe is perceived to have. Ted himself does believe that absinthe has a particular physical effect on the drinker, the famous “lucid intoxication”, and believes it can probably be attributed to the combination of stimulant and sedative plants in the botanical mix.

We do do rum, Ron

Rum-runner William McCoy with some of his contraband

Rum is a bit like chicken—everyone likes it. But most people probably regard it as a staple rather than something that has rare, high-end connoisseur-pleasing examples, like fine wine or cognac. In fact, particularly in former French colonies such as Martinique, Haiti or Gaudalupe, rum has long been crafted and matured in the same way that cognac was at home.

This weekend the Candlelight Club is all about rum, celebrating the rum-runners who used to break Prohibition by smuggling rum from the Caribbean into the US, particularly along the Florida coast, where the popular and chic resort town of Miami would have provided a ready market. Most famous of the rum-runners was William McCoy—rather a heroic figure who did it as much for the sport and the pleasure of life at sea as for the money. He had no dealings with mobsters and never bribed an official, and he was so famous for not diluting or adulterating his merchandise that he gave rise to the phrase “the real McCoy”. Off Key Biscayne there was even a collection of buildings on stilts in the sea (known as Stiltsville and originally erected to sit just outside the one-mile limit of gambling laws) which are believed to have made a handy landing spot for smugglers. Later there was even a club built out there, the Calvert Club.

Not-quite-full bottles of the Reserva and Solera
1893. As you can see I didn't like them at all

Our rum for the evening is actually a Guatemalan brand, Ron Botran. This is a good example of what careful nurturing can do for this spirit. Juice from sugar cane grown on the family's own plantation is fermented and distilled, then batches are left to mature slowly in the cool mountain town of Quetzaltenango, in barrels previously used for bourbon, sherry and port, some freshly charred on the inside. The Botran way is all about ageing and blending, and they use a “solera” system, more usually found in sherry production, where rums of different ages are constantly mixed. We’ll be presenting two rums: the Reserva is concocted from batches matured for 5 to 14 years, while the Solera 1893 is made from rums between 5 and 18 years old. We’ll be offering the latter in the classic Sazerac cocktail, or simply neat or on the rocks. It apparently makes a particularly good pairing with a fine cigar, and we have managed to acquire some Don Pancho and Don Juan cigars from Guatemala specially for the occasion.

These rums seem to evolve when you taste them. Sniffing a glass of the Reserva I first get sugar, a slightly sour element that quickly gives way to a smooth caramel smell, then a dry, polished sherry note, like varnished wood, plus vanilla and a hint of something like gunsmoke. On the palate it is sweet, but not at all cloying, smooth but with dry elements. There are chocolate and marzipan flavours in there too. Whereas as some rums seem to be just efficient alcoholic blasts and others wax over-sweet and unctuous, the Ron Botran Reserva does indeed seem to spotlight a careful blending process.

To me the Solera 1893 has a very similar character but with more of the dry sherry notes. Making a quick comparison, the Reserva seems to have more burnt sugar and raisiny fruit. On the palate the Solera is dry and woody, with lots of dark chocolate, coffee and nuts—hazelnuts, bitter almonds and even sesame. On the finish there is a hint of aniseed. Although drier than the Reserva it is somehow smoother. I tried some on the rocks too, and the slight dilution releases strong wafts of vanilla and figs, with a surprisingly earthy character in the mouth.

We’ll be offering four cocktails with Ron Botran, all of which seem to show how strongly the rum’s character comes through in cocktails. Most exotic is the Guatemalan Rickshaw, created, according to the Botrán website, by someone or something called JustTheTipple. It involves watermelon, honey, sherry and Prosecco—I can see where the honey and sherry came from, as these are both notes that are to be found in the rum itself. The overall result is pretty complex but also dangerously refreshing.

A Guatemalan Rickshaw

Guatemalan Rickshaw
2 shots Botran Reserva
3 watermelon chunks
1 barspoon honey
½ shot lemon juice
½ shot sherry
½ shot Prosecco
½ shot grenadine

Shake the first five ingredients with ice to break up the fruit then strain over ice and top with a splash of Prosecco and a dash of grenadine. (I think on the night we’ll be making a honey syrup that dissolves more quickly.)

Botran Papa Doble
1½ shots Botran Solera
¾ shot lime juice
¾ shot sugar syrup
½ shot grapefruit juice
¼ shot maraschino

The Daiquiri—rum, lime and sugar—is one of the classic rum cocktails, and the Papa Doble was invented for Ernest "Papa" Hemingway in Cuba, either by Antonio Melan or Constantino Ribalaigua. It adds grapefruit and the cherry liqueur maraschino; the original actually removed the sugar, as Hemingway liked his drinks pretty dry—allegedly because you could drink more of them that way. The name was actually the nickname given to Hemingway himself, because he always ordered doubles. I think the original was served as a frappé with crushed ice. This version comes from “Tom” of the Mondrian Hotel, South Beach, Miami. I would be inclined to add a bit more rum and grapefruit and go easy on the sugar, but it’s a matter of taste. Either way it’s a great vehicle for the rum.

A Papa Doble

Botran Sazerac
2 shots Botran Solera
1 shot lemon juice
¾ shot absinthe
1 sugar cube
Peychaud’s Bitters

Add the absinthe and lemon juice to an ice-filled glass. Swirl and discard, leaving a coating on the glass. In another glass, crush a Peychaud’s-soaked sugar cube, add the rum and stir till the sugar is dissolved. Then add ice and stir till chilled, before straining into the absinthe- and lemon-coated glass. As a garnish, flame a strip of lemon or orange peel. The ancient Sazerac cocktail, from New Orleans, was originally made with cognac, and now usually with Bourbon or rye whiskey. But it is also a great showcase for Botran's premium Solera rum. In this recipe, from Tom again, the lemon juice is an unusual touch: I’m not convinced it is necessary but it’s worth experimenting.

Small Dinger
1¼ shots Botran Reserva
1¼ shots SW4 gin
¼ shot lemon juice
¼ shot grenadine

Shake everything with ice and strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with a squeezed lemon peel. This is not a prescribed Botran cocktail, but one that I spotted on the title page of Bar Florida Cocktails, 1935 Reprint—the idea of combining gin and rum intrigued me and I was delighted to find that it works rather well, with a standard sweet n’ sour component coming from lemon juice and the pomegranate syrup grenadine. The original recipe seems to have meant light rum, but I think it works better this way, with the dark, woody, smoky sugar of the rum balancing well with the bright juniper spice of the gin.

In case anyone really doesn’t like rum, I’ve included a popular gin-based cocktail from the 1920s:

Miami Beach Special
2 shots SW4 gin
2½ shots pineapple juice
½ shot Galliano

The original is actually just gin, pineapple juice and sugar (Sloppy Joe’s Bar Cocktails Manual from 1931 specifies 1 gin to 2 pineapple) but I couldn’t resist making it a bit more interesting by replacing the sugar with the Italian vanilla liqueur Galliano, a moreish flavour that married effortlessly with the pineapple.

If you'd like to buy bottles of Ron Botran but can't find it anywhere (or can't be bothered to leave your armchair), you can now buy it online via the new Candlelight Club Liquor Store.

Winter wonders at Purl

DBS considers the merits of the Blue Blazer

You may recall an earlier reference to a foray to molecular mixology nexus Purl in November—it’s a place where nothing is quite as it seems and drinks you thought you knew are deconstructed and reimagined before your very tongue. So we were delighted to be invited down there again to taste some highlights from their new winter menu.

I like to maintain a healthy cynicism about most things, and while showmanship is part of the cocktail experience I do like to judge every drink on what it ultimately tastes like. Purl’s mango and pine “caviar” is imaginative and looks beautiful, but part of me feels that I don’t really want rubbery sacs floating in my drink. But much of molecular mixology is actually (ironically)  about this sort of unmixing, and presenting the flavour elements somehow separated; the most successful Purl drink I’d had to date was their Earl Grey Martini, where the tea flavour is locked into a foam that floats on the Martini and you are hit by alternating taste waves as you sip. And there is much to be said for this—after all, I’m sure we all would rather our Christmas dinner plate contained discrete piles of turkey, gravy, roasties, stuffing, sprouts (hey, I like sprouts), between which our knives and forks can flit, rather than a purée of everything together.

So what did Purl have in store for us? And would it make sense on the tongue or be merely full of helium and jelly, signifying nothing?

ROUND ONE

(Left) Crystal Clear Martinez, (right) a teacup of Purl

David had: 
Crystal Clear Martinez
Jensen’s Old Tom Gin, Gancia sweet vermouth, maraschino, Bob’s Orange Bitters

Orangey and sweet. Makes you realise just what a long journey it has been from this sort of drink to the Dry Martini. I’m not familiar with Gancia, but my tastebuds are fooled into thinking there is red vermouth in here even though the colour shows otherwise. Perhaps it’s just been years since I drank a sweet white vermouth (although my mother used like Cinzano Bianco on the rocks as an aperitif with a slice of lime, and I recall thinking it was rather a nice drink). But I don’t have a terribly sweet tooth, and all in all this is a bit too sugary for me. My search continues.

Clayton had:
Purl
Hendrick’s gin, Doom Bar bitter, hops, cinnamon, anise, wormwood

The drink that the bar is named after, purl was originally ale spiked with wormwood and perhaps other bitter flavours such as orange peel. It was apparently popular as an early-morning eye-opener for labourers—I guess the bitterness kept you perky (ale was not originally hopped). Later it became a drink of mulled ale spiked with gin, sweetened with sugar and tickled with spices. Purl’s purl is a combination, a mix of bitter beer and gin, served warm and sweetened with brown sugar and honey. Not all the ingredients are listed on the menu: I’m pretty sure there is orange in this too. It is sweet but also with a bitter edge and a striking savoury note—perhaps salty, almost meaty. Christmas spices are to the fore and it all seems very seasonal. But again, it is ultimately too sweet for my palate, too sticky to be hearty or quaffable.
DBS says: “I found this a rather tasty drink and was happy to finish off Hartley's teacup. A recent enthusiast of hot cocktails (I've even tried a hot Martini!) I enjoyed the transition from the spirit to the sweetness of the ale finishing with spice.”

ROUND TWO

Tom prepares the ice cream

David had: 
Nitro-Egg-Nog Ice Cream
Diplomatico Reserva rum, whole egg, cream, sugar and spices, topped with flamed mincemeat

David wolfed down this construction before I had a taste so Purl co-owner Tom knocked me up a taster of my own. Given that egg nog traditionally contains egg, cream and sugar I guess it was inevitable that the twitchy trigger fingers of the Purl gang would bring the liquid nitrogen to bear and turn it into an ice cream. My sample was actually much less intense than I expected, in terms both of booziness and sweetness, but expect a rum and raisin ice cream essentially.

The impish Pickleback

Clayton had:
Pickleback
Black Bush Irish Whiskey, served straight up, with a dill pickle foam, dill pickle flavoured cocktail stick and pickle selection

DBS had been gleefully telling stories of the concept of the Pickleback for some time—a shot of Irish whiskey with a pickle juice chaser “to take the edge off the whiskey”. This is clearly nonsense, as Irish whiskey in my experience doesn’t have an edge to be gotten rid of, but the combination here rears its head. It’s not so strange a concept: many cocktails take base spirits and add sweet and/or sour ingredients and the use of vinegar rather than lemon juice goes back to “shrubs” of the 18th century*. In fact the drink here comes across as a sort of Gibson Manhattan, if you see what I mean.

The vinegar presence is subtle and the there is also a strange savouriness, salty and smoky, but also with hints of cream and chocolate. The beverage is served in a port pipe, a vessel with a stem at the base, like a tobacco pipe, allowing you to draw liquid off the bottom. As a way of drinking port it’s pretty pointless (I was given a set once and even the manufacturers struggle to explain themselves, muttering something about the liquid at the bottom being unoxidised; yet the aroma from the surface of the drink is a big part of the pleasure). In this case it means you can sip your drink while the garnish sits, undisturbed, right under your nose, and the aroma of juicy veg and onion acids plays a big part in the experience. Tom did suggest, as I daintily sucked on my pipe stem, that if you knocked it back in one hearty suck then the whiskey is quickly followed down the pipe by the pickle foam, with an intriguing flavour evolution, but I was not about to cane my cocktail. Normally the foams work well because you smell and taste them as you tip the liquid through them to your lips, but here perhaps the port pipe concept is actually working against the foam. I enjoyed this drink, though I couldn’t comfortably drink more than one.
DBS says: “I tried an original Pickleback (a shot of Jameson's followed by a shot of pickle brine) about twelve months ago, and found that horrific. I still shudder at the memory. So you can imagine my reluctance to try Hartley’s drink. In the interests of science I proceeded—and was pleasantly surprised. In short, if you must have a Pickleback, have one at Purl.”

ROUND THREE

Mixing the Blue Blazer

David had: 
Blue Blazer
Four Roses Yellow Label bourbon thrown ablaze between silver vessels, with selected spices and sugar

Invented as a showpiece by the legendary “Father of Mixology” Jerry Thomas in the 19th century, the Blue Blazer involved mixing burning Scotch whisky with hot water by tossing it between two tankards. “If done well this will have the appearance of a continued stream of liquid fire,” wrote Thomas in his 1862 How to Mix Drinks. Tom certainly has the action down. But I’d always thought the drink sounded rather dull actually to imbibe. I was pleasantly surprised by this one: it is smoother than neat bourbon, with a softening fruitiness, yet has a whisky bite on the finish. The heat brings out the aromas of the volatile citrus oils. It has a really interesting flavour and a medicinal quality—in a good sense. The Purl boys don’t put all the ingredients on the menu, but I think Tom said this one also contained Chase blackberry liqueur and Green Chartreuse, which explains some of the fruity, spicy complexity.
DBS says: “I am in no doubt that the Blue Blazer is my favourite and very likely the most enjoyable one I have had at Purl so far (but then I am one for theatrics).”

The egg cup with its cover

Clayton had: 
Green Fairy Sazerac
Hennessey VSOP stirred with sugar, lemon peel and Peychaud’s Bitters, topped with a Butterfly absinthe “air”

The vessel for this one is a silver egg cup that comes with its own domed cover. The drink is actually served in the cover, inverted and rested in the cup, becoming a flagon that can only be put down in its “holder”. This sort of fun aside, the Green Fairy Sazerac turns out to be my favourite drink of the evening. A Sazerac normally has its dose of absinthe controlled by, say, rolling some around the inside of the glass then pouring out the excess before adding the remaining ingredients. Here the green foam (sorry, “air”—there is a difference apparently) holds the absinthe flavour apart from the cool sweetened brandy beneath so that you are aware of both and the absinthe neither dominates nor is lost. There is something creamily moreish about it, reminiscent of an Alexander.

(Left) the Blue Blazer; (right) the Green Fairy Sazerac in the upturned cover

Butterfly is a new brand in this country but is made to a 1905 Boston recipe and has a minty quality. We’re actually showcasing it at the Candlelight Club on Saturday 15th January.

My favourites of the evening? The Sazerac, followed by the Blue Blazer followed by the Pickleback. By the time you come to drink it the Blue Blazer is simply an intriguingly-composed hot whisky drink, but the other two make good use of the flavour separation that is a hallmark of molecular mixology. I’d like to taste the Pickleback in a more conventional glass, though.

For more pictures see this set on Flickr.

* I can’t quite establish whether shrubs used either spirits (typically run or brandy) or vinegar, or whether you'd mix vinegar with your booze; sources conflict.