West Indies Dark Rum 1948 / 49°

Cask date: 1948 Bottling
date: 1991
Number of bottles produced: 800 | price: indecent

The color of this West Indies 1948 is deep amber tending towards an elegant bronze color, and seems heavy; the crown of tears that forms on the glass will confirm this impression, and beyond, they will even remain as if suspended, surely wishing to enjoy the landscape, this sudden aeration, this last breath of air that they have been waiting for so long. And while the pain dissipates and the tears flow, a perfume already escapes from the glass, proof that the beauty has managed to keep her charms and that charm crosses generations.

And it is clear that the perfume has not faded, that it has remained concentrated and mature and that if it is not completely fresh, it is elegant and candid: the fruits are dried, from the routine grape to the most exotic of its cousins; the spices are extremely fragile and of a lost finesse and as if melted into the bouquet. The fluid appears complex and the dried fruits are now candied and cinnamon, the woody is covered with an old flaking varnish that has crossed the centuries and which insidiously recalls the worn memories of patriarchal furniture. With this impression, somewhere, of entering the glass as one pushes the door of an old house, with outdated memories marked by an outdated and charming olfactory imprint that jumps out at you, and sometimes makes you sneeze.

Charming and desirable, meticulously worn with scents of second-hand goods and oak damaged by time, of dust and white veil made beige by the same; a smell of a chest of drawers, on the corner of which an old man is leaning, and tells you stories of another era with "it was better before"; certainly different, but the charm of this journey retains an exquisite memory, and already the face of this old man evaporates under the heavy line of a painting hanging on a cracked and yellowed wall. No one would ever want - and should never have the idea - to let light into this kind of place full of history; what good is it to make time and its stigmata flee, let it remain concentrated and let the curtains and drawers remain closed; let this house remain impervious to the madness of the present. Oxidation transforms and light distorts the treasures, which once discovered will never shine with the same brilliance again. Such is human nature, a pseudo explorer who does nothing else, deep down, than regret and envy a bygone past, forever lost.

A simple question of spirit, where the root of the word takes on its full meaning and makes the story flow. The plot is long and the pages are not counted, they are savored without losing anything, neither interest, nor essence nor perfume. On the contrary, the story even evolves and rebounds, brings out other characters, all linked, or perhaps several generations. The old house even transforms into a luxurious dwelling surrounded by cane fields, and its exotic scents now recall a more vegetal kinship, and so elegant…

The mouth is waiting, but who would think of drinking a story? Wouldn't it be easier, and let's admit it cowardly, to put these few drops back where they belong, and forget them so that one day another would discover them, make them live again and again. Because the page becomes mute and the mouth, white, and everything happens in silence. The rest is liquid and will awaken any sense, starting with sight; because once in the mouth, this rum would give it back to a blind person, and better, to one who has never wanted to see... the evidence, that of this old man who was still saying it a few minutes ago.

At this moment we no longer think about this house or its interior design, we simply want to hurry and push the furniture, tear off the facades to find its heart, lift the sheets, go down the stairs leading to its basement to discover its source. Because it has not dried up, it still springs forth, probably not as valiantly as in 48, although still... So this old man was hiding his game well, or was it fatigue or wisdom, hindsight? In any case, his apparent sobriety therefore hid an unsuspected richness, aromatic and almost biblical, a completely different story to the good memory of his vitality and his experiences that he was able to concentrate there, in a glass, and that he was able to keep for 68 years. The most impressive thing is to see, and to feel, that the story has not aged a bit, that no corner of any page has yellowed and that there is no white hair fallen to the ground, no loss of memory or details, no woody and bitter resentment. No, on the contrary, everything is insolently accurate, absolutely balanced, and to talk about it would almost already make less sense.

The power and accuracy of his words resonate in an infinite rattle, and will have very rarely given so much force to a tasting. Because this rum tells much more than notes or aromas, it tells a story and brings emotions to life, it concentrates the essential and sublimates it with subtlety and common sense. Even closed, the book will continue to tell its story, and Samaroli will continue to live in each of these pages.

Rum has never been such a medium for communication, an opportunity to travel. Whether it is 40, 10 or 80 years old, this rum is an extraordinary and timeless adventure. Rating: 94

To help you (and me) find your way around, regarding the notes:

90 and + : exceptional and unique rum, it is the best of the best
between 85 and 89 : highly recommended rum, with that little something that makes the difference
between 80 and 84 : recommendable rum
75-79 POINTS : above average
70-74 POINTS : in the low average
less than 70 : not very good

Review courtesy of DuRhum.com.

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