Half a million $$ rum thoughts!

Apr 17, 2016 Countryman, Features / Columnists

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By Dennis Nichols
Liquid gold! A smooth trickle from bottle to glass; a swirl, then from glass to mouth. A tingling of the oesophagus and a warming of the stomach; a belly-rubbing smile as it enters the bloodstream and titillates the heart! A widening of the smile

and a narrowing of the eye as it caresses brain cells and palpates neurotransmitters. Then later, the stoking of distorted sensation – affection, anger, ridicule, rage; and inhibitions out the door. Ah … the charms and guiles of alcohol, more so of King Rum.
The many faces of our local El Dorado and XM twins are known, and celebrated even beyond these shores. They have many siblings and close kin around the world. But their smoothness and sophistication mask the degradation and ruin their abuse has brought to individuals, families and entire communities. Nevertheless they will toast and be toasted with, by thousands of die-hard imbibers as our jubilee independence celebrations climax next month. I’m not one of them.
Back in 1977 a Saturday night party in a riverine community in the North West gave me my first real experience of alcohol-fueled stupidity and violence. As the spirits flowed, old animosities and repressed rage emboldened by liquor spilled into the jumble of libidinous gyrations on the dance floor. Suddenly a man staggered from a nearby logie bleeding from two savage gashes on his face; one from ear to chin. He was rushed to the Mabaruma hospital and stitched up. The revelry hardly missed a beat.
I’d seen drunken men fight before, but this kind of inane barbarism was new to me. It appeared that a young man, inebriated and uninhibited by rum and home-made liquor, was simply the vessel of execution for an older gentleman who felt wronged by some alleged action on the part of the victim. Before the end of the week the incident had been seemingly forgotten, or perhaps just shelved.
It was a brutal cameo that would be played out repeatedly as I grew older and pondered the ubiquity of a phenomenon that, almost 40 years later, I just don’t quite get. That wonder is the almost global legality and availability of alcohol despite its proven and heavily-documented toxicity and precipitation of violence. Yet I am only too aware of its role as a social and civilizing element in human interaction.
So it was with the wryest of smiles that I read a few days ago about Demerara Distillers Ltd. and the launching of its El Dorado Special Reserve 50-year old rum. At half a million dollars a bottle, (Did the DDL Chairman announce this with a straight face?) I just couldn’t help thinking that if a canecutter, clerk or a market constable wanted one, he/she may have to save almost a year’s wages to do so, or ask someone like BK to help. Oh, but there’s a bonus – a ‘unique number’ and an 18-carat gold El Dorado pendant go with each decanter. The article doesn’t say what the significance of the number is.
Before I am deemed a hypocrite by some of those who knew me a few decades ago, I must admit that I used to drink, and for a short time, quite heavily. It took a while for the throwing-up, hangover headaches, and threats of getting beat up to make me figure out that dumping the hard stuff made more sense than pretending to like it, which I did more often than not. Peer pressure, wanting to be accepted, and lack of inhibition warm the flesh and simultaneously prick the soul. And I know I am far, far, from being alone in this experience.
Reading that DDL story and thinking about how certain alcoholic beverages are lifted to elemental or near-divine status made me dig a bit deeper into one curious aspect of liquor appreciation – the practice of rum ‘tasting’. This is an art form which seems closer to sophistry than sophistication. Rum drinking may bring out the devil in you but to hear some connoisseurs speak of it, the practice can become transcendental, like sipping ambrosia, or maybe savouring some rich delicacy, like a piece of the $75 million cake a Middle East emir got for his daughter’s birthday last year. (Google it)
Here’s a connoisseur’s review of a local rum. “The initial breezes above the glass are full of molasses and candied caramel. As well, some dark licorice, bits of cinnamon and a hint of cloves, all taint the air above the glass with their presence. There is a healthy dose of vanilla and perhaps some indication of dark fruit such as raisins and dates. Allowing the rum time to breathe reveals some nice accents of dark cocoa and espresso coffee scents…”  Is this a rum shop libation or a Botanical Gardens excursion?
But back to our $500,000 brew! After delving into some history of the sugar and rum industries in Guyana, the article suggest that this particular blend, or a portion of it, was ‘laid down to preserve’ in 1966, underlining the magnificent coincidence with both our inaugural independence observance and next month’s jubilee celebration. A photograph of President Granger receiving a bottle of the Special Reserve makes you want to forget the price. Don’t!
In this country we have a colourful, cultured, and clandestine relationship with rum, and with alcohol in general. The secret and the not-very-secret pleasures of drinking abound locally, and as mentioned earlier, spread beyond these shores with the export of our special brand of ‘Demerara Gold’. It is therefore as much a money earner as a money waster, a social adhesive as a social disintegrator, a catalyst for so-called cultivated expression as well as for the most demeaning forms of human behaviour. And its changeable character is ours.
The recreational and social use of alcohol is understood and tolerated; encouraged and glamourized. But what about the horrors triggered by alcohol abuse? Few of us need reminding of the innumerable atrocities attributed to that practice. Shouldn’t it have been enough to say that alcohol is a drug, that people get addicted to it, that this is known as alcoholism, that it is a disease, and that it is very hard for alcoholics to stop drinking?
Nope, it isn’t enough, and may never be. The alcohol industry is a pervasive, overpowering, multi-billion dollar stream of profits, revenue, and high-spirited vibes. Really high! It will never let anything as stupid as human addiction and abuse stand in its way. Then there’s the technicality – alcohol isn’t (supposed to be) sold to, or used, by irresponsible non-adults; never mind that millions of children have access to it, and millions more are born with Foetal Alcohol Syndrome, in other words, drunk, leading to  restricted growth, facial abnormalities, and learning disorders.
But maybe DDL and other rum-makers know some things that I don’t. Maybe such knowledge is esoteric, and like the liquor, distilled to exclude the poking of nosey skeptics. And who knows, perhaps I will risk that $500,000 taste and become a convert. Don’t hold your breath.

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