WINE & SPIRITS

RUM BOOSTS ITS REPUTATION, PROVING IT'S NOT JUST FOR PIRATES ANYMORE

Maligned as a headache in a bottle for far too long, rum never got much respect. But unlike Rodney Dangerfield, these days the former pirate brew is finally getting its due. Nowhere is there greater evidence of rum's sudden cachet than at the Veranda Bar in Bermuda's century-old Elbow Beach Hotel. Its selection of 110 rums, the largest in the West Indies/Caribbean region, includes the very rare, 30-year-old Havana Club Maximo, a Cuban rum as pricey (at $275 for a single shot, $3,500 a bottle) and ethereal as the finest French cognac.

My rum rehabilitation, conducted on a whirlwind trip to Bermuda, culminated in a glass of that precious spirit, which came after a seminar tracing the history of the potent brew back to its colonial roots. At that time, British sailors were appointed daily rations of 160-proof rum, which went by many often unflattering names such as Kill-Devil, Demon's Water and Nelson's Blood. Over time, however, as landlubbers became rum drinkers, distillers began to release bottles with far more finesse.

Today, of course, there are countless rums worth savoring slowly. Armed with our introductory history, we sampled a slew from around the world. The grand tasting tour began with a dram of African Starr, a pale white rum from the Indian Ocean isle of Mauritius that had a distinct cardamom finish. More white rums followed, tasted both alone and alongside Bermuda's favorite mixer, real ginger beer. The soda released hints of vanilla, chocolate and orange in a South American Oronoco rum. Meanwhile, 10 Cane, the new high-end Trinidadian rum made from sugarcane instead of molasses and aged six months in cognac barrels, was so silky smooth it needed no mixers at all.

The range of rums on the market these days is remarkably diverse. Havana Club's Anejo 7—Cuban contraband thanks to our enduring embargo—had a gorgeous burnt amber hue and hints of butterscotch, tobacco and leather.