Boozehound - Jason Wilson [71]
The country has more than three hundred pisco producers, and the diversity of tastes pressed from the odd varietals of desert grapes is staggering. Quebranta—tannic, nonaromatic, and very dry—is the predominant grape, grown along with aromatic varieties such as Italia, Torontel, and even Moscatel. All these grapes make pretty terrible wine. But once distilled and left to rest for a few months, they create a white spirit that’s as complex as a white spirit can be. It’s important that pisco be produced only from the first press of grapes, and not from the skins, stems, and seeds, as is grappa—and as, unfortunately, are many low-quality piscos. Quebranta pisco is labeled pisco puro; acholado is a blend of Quebranta and other aromatic grapes and is often more expensive. The dry, nonaromatic Quebranta is the preferred grape of Peruvians; it’s used most in blending, and it’s probably what most Americans have experienced in their pisco sours. But some younger-generation distillers are experimenting with a higher ratio of the aromatic grapes in their acholados.
After dinner one night, our group tasted a single-varietal pisco made from only the Italia grape. The result was a floral digestif with subtle, fruity notes. The Peruvians among us didn’t like it. Many of the Americans, including me, liked it very much. This was a pisco you could enjoy straight, and frankly, it was a better digestif than all but the very best grappas. We suggested that Americans would prefer an acholado with a higher percentage of these aromatics. But that spirit set off a debate that would continue for days. When blending for the American market, should the producer hold true to what a Peruvian connoisseur recognizes as a fine pisco? Or should the acholado reflect what an American palate would recognize as an elegant and approachable distilled spirit? I initially encouraged Romero, Moore, and McDonnell to veer toward the latter with Campo de Encanto. But an event on the last evening of our trip complicated my position in the debate.
That night, the local agricultural university in Ica asked if the group would meet their students and talk about acholado pisco, and perhaps the American palate. All of us were asked to blend our own acholado samples from among single-varietal piscos made from four different grapes. We would then pass our samples around to the students and professors, who would rate them. I relied heavily on the softer, aromatic grapes like Italia and Torontel, and much less on the Quebranta. Each of us was asked to name our pisco—I called mine Iron Eagle.
The students loved my acholado, emptying the first sample quickly. I blended another batch for the professors. The lone female professor came over to me, smiling, to say she liked Iron Eagle. The male professor, however, as well as a guy who was an official judge for the Peruvian pisco authority, did not like my pisco. Nor did Romero, nor did another distiller who was present. The female professor came to Iron Eagle’s defense: “Oh, this is the pisco for me!”
“Face it, dude,” said Jordan Mackay. “Iron Eagle is a chick pisco.”
A Round of Drinks:
Terroir and Cocktails
Once spirits are bottled and shipped from their place of origin, many will eventually fall into the hands of crafty American bartenders. At that point, there’s no telling where, and into which cocktails, they may end up. The following drinks—some traditional, some New Wave—all have traveled quite a ways from their humble terroir.
PALOMA
Serves 1
In Mexico, Paloma cocktails are more popular than margaritas, and for good reason: grapefruit flavor mixes perfectly with tequila, better than lime juice alone. A traditional Paloma is made with a grapefruit soda such as Squirt. But this refreshing version calls instead for freshly squeezed white grapefruit juice and club soda, to add fizz.