Guy Venables
Honey rum? I had my doubts, as one does with local brews.
But I risked a purchase to try out on the brig’s crew.
We finished the bottle… and several more over the week 
Over the years, whenever I’m travelling for the magazine, I’ll ask a barman what the local hooch is and give it a try to see if I’ll patronise it with a mention in these hallowed pages. Sometimes I’m amazed at what can be made from so little. More often I’m surprised it can be drunk at all.
Whilst in the Canary Islands I wasn’t expecting much from honey rum. It sounds too much like the filthy habit the Americans have taken on recently with flavouring their bourbon. As with buying cigars in Spain it’s a good idea not to buy the cheapest. I bought Porteador Ron Miel (the cheapest) and persuaded the guests on board the brig I was on to share some with me after dinner. Some declined, some did not. On its own over ice was the local way. It was sweet, as expected, smooth (as was not) and instead of tasting like two things poured together was in fact a pretty good drink in its own right. We finished the bottle.
The next night one of the guests bought another bottle, this time from the slightly more expensive shelf (Artemi). Some of the “I don’t really like rum” people from the night before decided they liked honey rum. We finished the bottle. A digestif routine began. By the time the week was up we knew the best brands (Guajiro and Cayo Grande Club) and any time someone was going ashore in the RIB we’d shout “Honey Rum!” at them to remind them of our daily dwindling supplies. It comes in at only 20% abv, meaning it’s just slightly stronger than sherry, and hangover reluctant, especially as the sugars mean you’ve burnt off the alcohol by the time you go to bed.
With Lars, the cocktail enthusiastic Norwegian deckhand, we had an epiphany one evening. With rum and sweetness already in the drink, surely simply the addition of lime juice would make a cover version of a Daiquiri. We hastily cobbled together a cocktail shaker out of a tin mug and an oil filter cap, shook it up and there it was. I opted to call it The Sticky Wicket. Not hearing me correctly and being a crew devoid of people with English as a first language the cocktail was soon renamed The Sticky Wicked. I imagine this is how most cocktails (and indeed many things) were invented. Not by planned design but by what is directly to hand.
Over the Yardarm Classic Sailor issue 15