Boozehound - Jason Wilson [63]
Karlsson’s Gold, however, is an unfiltered blend of several potato varieties that’s then distilled as little as possible—going through a continuous still only once and thus retaining some funky elements, some character. When I tasted with Ekelund, he brought out some experimental bottlings of single-variety, single-vintage, single-farmer potato vodka. Say, a June 2004 Minerva, or an August 2006 Solist. To say I was skeptical is an understatement. But when I tasted, the differences were significant and noteworthy. A 2004 Solist was sweet and starchy compared with a 2004 Minerva, which was redolent of apple peels, or a 2006 Gammel Svensk Rod, which was hot on the finish but full of herbal intensity.
The Karlsson’s Gold approach, then, is to make a vodka that derives its taste from carefully chosen ingredients—in this case, gourmet potatoes—meaning that its gimmick is really no gimmick at all. It’s almost like a potato eau-de-vie. The final blend is rich, creamy, and smooth, with notes of herbs and crisp fruit. It is a lovely spirit: vodka with flavor. “These are the ideas that change industries,” Ekelund said. “The big ideas to solve problems.”
That sounds like pretty grand talk from a small-potatoes vodka company that’s now selling about 25,000 cases a year worldwide. Until you realize that, in the ultimate ironic twist, Ekelund and his colleagues at Karlsson’s are actually the same people responsible for setting the premium vodka snowball rolling nearly three decades ago when they worked for another little Swedish company … called Absolut.
You remember Absolut, don’t you? The brand that single-handedly reinvented vodka as a fashion accessory back in the 1980s? The one whose Andy Warhol–designed ads seem to have graced the back page of every magazine in America for decades? The one that sells eleven million cases annually worldwide and was sold to Pernod Ricard in 2008 for more than eight billion dollars? The one with the universally recognized bottle, the one whose flagship vodka tastes like … well, nothing? The one that opened Pandora’s box by creating flavored vodkas such as Absolut Peppar, Absolut Pears, and, more recently, Absolut Mango?
In Stockholm, the day after our visit to Cape Bjäre, I met some of the other principals in Karlsson’s. One was master blender Bärje Karlsson, who is credited with being the father of Absolut. At a dinner where several American and Swedish bartenders were trying to mix cocktails using his vodka, Karlsson wasn’t very happy. “I’ve spent my life making spirits to be enjoyed on their own,” he said. “I make the spirit a certain way. I like to drink it that way.”
“So you never drink cocktails?” I asked.
“No, never. To do so would be to destroy a good spirit. Cocktails destroy good spirits.”
Karlsson added, “This way of drinking vodka is an American idea.” That comment, of course, represents the familiar European whine about how Americans ruin what is good and pure in the world. Which is sometimes true, but not always. So I was pleased when one of Karlsson’s Swedish colleagues pointed out the ridiculousness of that position by asking, “What about Absolut?” Yes, I told Karlsson, I think we Americans can take the blame for a lot of things, but not for, say, vodkas called Absolut Bling-Bling or Absolut Disco.
I had to agree with him about one thing. Karlsson’s Gold, beautiful as it is, is not really a vodka to be mixed in a cocktail; rather, it should be chilled and sipped by itself. Or perhaps with a little cracked black pepper, or maybe a little club soda or ginger beer (though never tonic). The subtle flavors