21 years, an eternity for a rum, and a rather unique case as it is rare to see a rum age so much. Provided that it respects the term, and provided that it ages on its native island… far from being a given .

From the 3 barrels, the cellar master recovered the equivalent of 220 liters, which is to say a drop of water, and enough to bottle 290 bottles and not one more. A crazy bet for the smallest distillery in Martinique, which apparently will not repeat such an effort again.

21 years old, a beautiful age that is decidedly difficult to pass for a rum. On our scale, it is an obligatory passage, a springboard between youth and adult life, between carefreeness and the promise of independence and pleasures to come; for rum, it is the end of life, an advanced age that already bears witness to many losses, ingratitudes and whose sorrow insidiously recalls the time that passes, and the time that takes. That we speak (on behalf of) angels is not unequivocal and recalls the fragility of aging, a planned obsolescence that we know is inevitable and tragic, and which, at best, will leave a fleeting trace that future generations will guess, perhaps, through the memories of the oldest, and especially the luckiest.

And if there is a distillery that perfectly represents this challenge, this priesthood of artisanal and authentic work, it is Neisson. Let's start tasting...

Can we seriously talk about dresses at 21, can we still talk about finesse when age is so advanced, and pride is oversized. The pants are worn, yellowed by the passing of time, gold in color. They have the look of a flea market, of Sunday mornings and the rising sun, with an old-fashioned and faded complexion from a night that was too heady and verbose, but already full of promises and smiles. An old gold with orange highlights, a sign of time passing and staining the walls of a glassy prison with proud and slippery bars. Imprisoned for 2 decades and 365 days, for a radiant sentence with a flowing smile and slipping slyly towards the abyss, towards nothingness. Because beyond the twenties, there are often only mirages and impostures; prunes, at most. Beyond 20 years, we cover up the ordeal, we erase the evidence, we hide our pain, as best we can.

21 years old and all his ratiches, a cherub's soul in a dean's body, is this the secret of longevity? The nose of this extremely old rum is excessively ample, and evokes in turn the vitality of the early days, the stammering of the first happy and naive steps, hesitant, until the ultimate accomplishment, impertinent mastery, the age of unreason; maturity at its peak.

A time spent living and evolving, that's what this rum evokes; a time spent respecting its history and refusing itself nothing, not even waiting. The luxury of modern times.
We could even trace its journey, we could even see its meticulous and shameless gestures drawn on our closed eyelids, in an atmosphere so strong and fair, complex and balanced. A rich and prolific youth creating memories in a flower garden, the fragrance of lilies and citrus fruits in bloom fleeing into the bright atmosphere of a warm season; a joyful race in the orchard, frenzied zigzags to brush the branches of a few fruit trees of age of reason, caressing the incredible finesse of an ancestral and humble woodiness, so well mastered, magnified, and deliciously highlighted by a wealthy exoticism. A sparkle, a flapping of wings going from nothingness to 21 years old, in an aromatic and exciting flashback.

So angels would have left clues, concentrating the reminiscences of a life in a few centilitres? A nose will never have seemed so long and evocative, charming and scrupulous. Carefully confusing the memories of a magnified youth with age, mature, mixing together exotic fruits, roasted or jammy, decrepit mango, homemade jams; Reminiscences of garden flowers, confessions of an immortal oak, up to the comforting smell of cocoa powder, an immutable moment marking the rising of 10,000 suns, and the carnal evocation of spices; even the empyrem is fickle and fruity, a sign of a time spent wandering, supposing and evenings spent daydreaming.

On the palate, the 21 years remain alive and invigorating, frugal and tropical; a steaming tart with fried apricots, orange marmalade placed on the table, mandarins wrapped in vanilla, lined up in an eroded terracotta bowl. A well of memory and experience to crack the bark of a dodgy oak, delivering a fossilized ashen torrent with the taste of yesteryear, and chocolate; and with it, the spices, grilled. 21 years "enchained", but without forgetting the slender and mature cane, flowering in a field of memories and pale citrus fruits. Because it is indeed the source of our pleasure, intact and immortal.

A classy and silky rum, with respect; and spices that even draw a steaming bread with hints of honey and cinnamon, which would even linger in a tasty and nostalgic finish, classic but classy, ​​where mastery reigns naturally, navigating among the expectations of a rum so young in soul, but so old in fact. Empyreum you are and you will remain, gently and long, fabulously, and passionately.

A rum that speaks, sings and cries; an open book on a rum that lives and dies. Rating: 95

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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