Tweed & Malt

Dear Tommy,

As you know, I’m a closet Toby Keith fan.  Toby, also known as the Bard of the War in Afghanistan, is famous for eloquent, evocative songwriting.  Such as:    

Real Man

And you’ll be sorry that you messed with

The U S of A

Cause we’ll put a boot in your ass

It’s the american way

He’s also written “The Taliban Song,” the first New Country ditty about an Afghan cowboy.  Written from the point of view of a “middle-aged, middle-eastern camel herdin’ man” who “saddles up” with his “old lady” and “flips a couple fingers to the Taliban,”  this isn’t just pure country.  It’s pure poetry.

I have a lot in common with Toby.  I, too, am from the U S of A.  I like wearing cowboy hats.  And I’m sexy.

So when I found out that Toby Keith is about to release a “liquor” called Toby Keith’s Wild Shot Mezcal, I flipped a couple fingers to Mexico and shouted “yee-haw!” 

Mezcal is for Patriots

 As expected, this stuff is more authentic than anything with a Mexican name on it.  It is 100% agave, it is not made to be “mixed,” its logo reassuringly references the Old West saloon, and EACH BOTTLE CONTAINS A WORM. 

Toby, thanks.  Mezcal isn’t for the unAmerican, like Mexicans or hipsters.  Mezcal is for patriots.  It’s for that old couple on their front porch swing, watching the sun go down over their farm.  It’s for the single mom working nights as a stripper to make ends meet.  It’s for fourteen-year-olds feeling frisky in the cornfield.    It’s for me!

Love,

Mabel

  Dear Mabel,

As you know, I do work for Combier.  But to be honest, the reason that I think Combier’s products are so lovely and authentic isn’t because I chose  to represent them; I chose to represent them because they are lovely  and authentic.

That said, I spent 4 days in Saumur, a village in the Loire Valley, steeped in Combier.  The distillery is one of the central features of this charming place, and it definitely benefits from its location amid the traditional Loire farms.

its like a country store for drinkers!

The distiller, Franck Choisne, exudes the rustic sophistication of the classic gentleman farmer.  He’s in tune with the harvest cycle and with the land, and his artisanal stillhouse makes the best use possible of all the incredible French produce.  He’s got all the old school products like cassis, creme de muir, orgeat, creme de violette, and creme de menthe — they’re all done just they way they’re supposed to be.  But the standouts, of course, are the triple sec (Combier Liqueur d’Orange) and elixir based (Combier Royal).

I stayed in a castle not far from the distillery.  Had a few lunches and dinners with Franck and we really got along great.  He’s excited and passionate about what he does, but he also listens– so I asked him about the elephant in the room:  Cointreau.  Coming from the states, Cointreau seems so obviously the competitor for a top-shelf triple sec, and I couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be staring up at that giant.  But Franck simply said, “We are not Cointreau.  We are Combier.  We have been Combier longer than anyone else has been around, and that was and still is our flagship recipe.”

It’s a recipe worth keeping.  Unaltered and made the same way since 1834, Combier Orange has both sweet and bitter pure orange notes, with a clean drying finish.  Absolutely pure and natural, no artificial oils, sweeteners, or color enhancers are ever added.  When you use it in a cocktail, it adds depth and sweetness without the waxy cloying character you can get with other triple secs.

Like I said:  beautiful and authentic.

Tommy

Dear Mabel, 

I know that the only reason you’re interested in Fecamp is that Tony Parker played here.  But there’s so much more, Mabel, so much more.  This charming harbor town on the coast of Normandy has a rich medieval history and is home to the Benedictine Palace– one of the most extraordinary places I’ve visited.  Since Fecamp is so out-of-the-way, few Americans have touched soil here.  This made my train ride– terminating as it did at an ornate palace built in honor of God and liqueur– something of a pilgrimage.

The Benedictine story isn’t new.  Invented by monks in the  sixteenth century, secret recipe, resurrected after the French Revolution by Alexander Le Grand, 27 secret botanical ingredients.  Indispensable (Vieux Carre, Chrysanthemum).  I didn’t expect much from the visit to the palace… but when you’re standing inside the palace surrounded on all sides by the most ornate symbolic detail, you can’t help but think there’s something mystical and magical to Benedictine after all, and that shroud of secrecy doesn’t seem contrived– it seems like a tribute.

You can taste Benedictine anywhere, in any year, and it will taste the same (that 500 year-old recipe isn’t going anywhere).  I wasn’t expecting to taste anything new– I just wanted to see and feel the place.  But sometimes the best things come when you least expect them, and that’s exactly how I felt when I tasted Single-Cask Benedictine, only available at the disillery.

This stuff tastes how something secret and rare is supposed to taste; it’s the weathered ghost of the Benedictine I know and love.  There’s less honey, but more depth and spice.  Dark and deep, with toffee and dark fruit, and a generous sprinkle of cinnamon.  Tasting the Single-Cask this way– deep inside the palace, where only a few could get at it– made me feel as though I were stealing some rare, precious antiquity. 

Tommy