Radio Imbibe Episode 46: Nicolas Palazzi of PM Spirits

The cover story of our March/April 2022 issue features brandy, and for this episode, we wrap up our coverage of the spirit with Nicolas Palazzi. Born in Bordeaux and now living in Brooklyn, Palazzi is the founder of PM Spirits, an importer and distributor of specialty spirits, including Cognac, Armagnac, and Calvados. For this episode, we talk with Palazzi about his search for memorable barrels of brandy, what he looks for in great brandies, and his work to bring these spirits to an American audience. 

Radio Imbibe is the audio home of Imbibe magazine. In each episode, we dive into liquid culture, exploring the people, places, and flavors of the drinkscape through conversations about cocktails, coffee, beer, spirits, and wine. Keep up with us on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook. And if you’re not already a subscriber, we’d love to have you join us—click here to subscribe.  

The Ultimate Guide to Aperitifs

From bittersweet to botanical, there’s an appetite-stimulating aperitif out there for everyone in this growing category

by Tyler Zielinski Mar 10, 2022, 10:04am ESTPhotography by Michelle Min

HumansHumans are creatures of habit, and that’s especially true when it comes to our drinking rituals. We drink coffee for its ability to wake us up, herbal tea for relaxation, and wine to pair with food. But to stimulate the appetite before a meal, there’s one drink category most Americans tend to forget about: the aperitif.

The aperitif — a word derived from the Latin verb “aperire,” meaning “to open” — is a category of low-ABV beverages defined by when they’re consumed rather than how they’re produced. An aperitif can be a liqueur, fortified or aromatized wine (e.g., sherry or vermouth, respectively), or an aperitivo bitter (e.g., Aperol or Campari), making the category diverse and approachable for both bon vivants and novice drinks alike.

While the mindful and ritualistic consumption of aperitifs is slowly catching on in the U.S., in Europe, especially Italy, France, and Spain, aperitifs have been at the center of late afternoon and evening drinking rituals for decades — and, in some cases, centuries.

In Italy, aperitifs are consumed during the pre-dinner aperitivo hour — a time when family and friends gather to enjoy low-ABV tipples along with small bites (cicchetti, in Italian) to unwind from the day. In France, they practice apéro (short for apéritif) with French tipples such as pastis and Pineau des Charentes. And in Spain, sherries and vermut (vermouth) whet the appetite during “el aperitivo,” with new vermuterias, or vermouth bars, experiencing a renaissance among millennial drinkers.

Although a culturally ingrained drinking occasion such as aperitivo hour has not yet gained a permanent foothold in the U.S., interest in low/no-ABV drinks is expanding. The segment grew by 30 percent in 2020, and became a nearly $10 billion industry in 2021. As a result, the Aperol spritz has become as ubiquitous as the vodka soda in most major cities around the country; new sober bars and bars that strictly serve low-ABV aperitif-style cocktails are popping up; and a new wave of aperitifs is flooding the market at an unprecedented pace.

To kickstart your personal aperitivo hour practice, I’ve scoured the world of aperitifs to put together a list of some of the hottest bottlings from both domestic and international producers, broken down by flavor characteristics. Whether you’re a hardcore spritzer looking for an alternative to Aperol, a G&T lover open to trying a low-ABV botanical spirit to replace the gin, or a bon vivant who is just looking for the next hot low-ABV product, there’s a must-try aperitif for everyone.

PM Spirits Oloroso Sherry 2021

PM Spirits is one of the most exciting U.S. importers and distributors of geeky spirits. The brand’s Project Sherries came to be after Nicolas Palazzi, owner of PM Spirits, and Eduardo Ojeda, co-owner of cult sherry bottlers Equipo Navazos and senior advisor to famed sherry producer Grupo Estévez, collaborated to release some of the finest sherries that Jerez has to offer.

The Oloroso sherry is aged for an average of 19 years, and is full-bodied and structured with notes of toasted hazelnuts, sesame seeds and walnuts, brown butter, leather, toffee, candied orange peel, and cinnamon. The flavor profile is balanced with a delicate acidity and salinity that makes it perfect for contemplative sipping. While it would also shine in a simple sherry cocktail such as a highball or Sherry Cobbler, at its price point, you’ll want to be sure your bartending skills are quite sharp.

Tximista Vermouth

As far as vermouths go, the Basque-produced Tximista is truly one of a kind. It’s the world’s first and only vermouth made with 100 percent Getariako Txakolina wine from sustainably farmed hondarrabi zuri grapes. The brand has two styles, rojo and blanco, both aromatized with local herbs, roots, and botanicals. The high-acid, mineral-driven Txakoli base makes these vermouths incredibly drinkable while also standing up beautifully in a vermouth and tonic or martini. The product made its debut in Spain in 2018, and it’s currently only available in New York, California, and Florida, with more states being added for distribution in the near future.

The Great Mezcal Heist

For centuries, Indigenous Mexicans have been distilling agave as mezcal, but strict modern certification requirements are pushing more and more ancestral producers to ditch the term to preserve their culture  

by Emma Janzen Feb 15, 2022, 9:00am EST
Photography by Juan de Dios Garza Vela

In the small Oaxacan village of Santa María Ixcatlán, Amando Alvarado Álvarez makes mezcal by channeling the secrets of seven generations of family members that came before him.

Situated on a hilly natural reserve in the northern part of the Cañada region, just three and a half hours northwest of Oaxaca City, Ixcatlán has a population of fewer than 600 people, who call themselves Xuani or Xula in their native language. The village maintains two deep-rooted customs: palm weaving and distilling mezcal (which they call ixcateco) from the hearts of papalome and espadilla agaves. Both traditions serve as a means of keeping Ixcatlán’s cultural heartbeat alive while generating income for the village. Sometimes the two practices intertwine. “Mezcal from Ixcatlán always has a bit of the flavor of the palm,” Alvarado Álvarez explains, because the papery, fan-like fronds are used as a tool during multiple stages of the mezcal-making process.

Underneath the palm-thatched roof of his family palenque, or distillery, which dates back to the early 1900s but was relocated by his grandparents to its current location in 1992, 30-year-old Alvarado Álvarez creates spirits the same way the Xuani people have for centuries. He learned from his father, who learned from his father: harvest the papalome agaves during the dry season when the plants have the right sugar content; shave the spiky leaves off, then cook the hearts of the plant (piña) for several days in an earthen pit over smoldering coals; chop the cooked agave with a machete and then pound it into a pulp with a hand-carved wooden mallet; ferment in bull leather, twisted over a quartet of posts so it cradles the agave fibers and water as they transform into alcohol; then distill twice in fragile clay pot stills that sit over an open flame.

Diversity in agave species, distilling technique, and terroir lead to each mezcal’s unique fingerprint.

Alvarado Álvarez sells his mezcal mostly to members of his community, and his label Ixcateco made its stateside debut earlier this year. (He also previously sent small one-off batches to brands like Cinco Sentidos and Balancan to distribute under their own labels). His process generates only about 1,200 liters every year, a drop in the bucket compared with what some of the larger brands churn out. The orchestration demands around-the-clock care, arduous physical labor, and a reliance on intuition and muscle memory instead of hi-tech machinery — think of it as the Slow Food of the spirits world. But when you’ve been making mezcal the way your father has since you were 15, the methodologies come as second nature. And as a result, Alvarado Álvarez creates mezcal that tastes singular to his family’s style — profoundly savory, with hints of bitter cacao and sweet wet clay.

Many other mezcaleros take a similar path to making agave spirits in Mexico, tapping into veins of heirloom knowledge to create unique expressions that communicate everything from the flavor of the agave varieties that grow in the area, to the materials used to ferment and distill, to the sentiments and quirks of the spirit’s makers. This is one of the reasons Oaxacan mezcal from the village of Ejutla tastes different from one made to the northeast, in San Cristóbal Lachirioag, or to the southwest, in Sola de Vega, for example. And why mezcal from Oaxaca will bear a different personality from mezcal made in the state of Puebla. This diversity is part of what makes the mezcal category an endless wellspring of distinctive and beautiful discoveries.

Yet in many cases, according to Mexican law, these producers cannot always legally sell their distillates using the name “mezcal.” To call it mezcal, distilleries are required to meet specific criteria that the Mexican government established in 1994 as part of the official denominación de origen (DO) for the spirit — that is, a protected geographical status with requirements that dictate virtually every element of where and how it is made. Any liquid that does not meet these standards is often packaged and shipped to the United States under the label “spirit distilled from agave,” or “destilados de agave.”

Machetes are used to chop the spines from the piña of the agave plants.

This situation is not uncommon. In fact, a growing number of producers are embracing the liminal space of “spirits distilled from agave,” exporting liquor to the U.S. that is mezcal in essence but not in name. Several prominent brands, including NETA, Cinco Sentidos, Mezcalosfera, Melate, Mezonte, Rezpiral, and Pal’alma, have never certified their mezcal for the market. In Santa Catarina Minas, industry leaders Real Minero and Lalocura both recently opted to abandon the certification process altogether. And still others, like Mezcal Vago, plan to straddle the line with future releases, sending most batches through as mezcal, peppered with the occasional uncertified batch.

The terminology that ends up on a bottle label might seem like an insignificant detail for the casual enthusiast — it’s all distilled agave — but for the people who have a historic connection to this spirit, what is at stake runs much deeper and is far more complicated than simple nomenclature. The decision about whether to certify is oftentimes muddled by the murky intersection of tradition, economics, and politics. That’s why, as notable mezcaleros and brands start to speak up against the DO, all sides of the industry are starting to ask: Who gets to tell mezcal producers what to call their spirit when their practices are inextricable from their heritage?

Ancestral mezcal utilizes ancient tools like stone wheels pulled by horses or mules.

Today the world has come to know this beverage as mezcal, but the precise language used to describe the spirit in Mexico has shifted over time. Scholars such as Ana G. Valenzuela-Zapata and Gary Paul Nabhan have explained that the modern word mezcal is a Hispanicized version of the name the Aztecs used for chewed agave fibers: “mexcalli,” a combination of “metl” and “ixcalli,” which, when combined, means “oven-cooked agave.” By the mid-17th century, these agave spirits were known colloquially as vinos de mezcal, made by families in villages all over Mexico for community celebrations like funerals, births, and marriages. “Mezcal wine” is an apt descriptor for the agave spirits that proliferated during this time — just as tempranillo and pinot noir taste radically different from each other, no two mezcals made in an artisanal manner will ever taste exactly alike because every area has a different climate and terroir, different agave varieties, and different ancestral traditions.

This dynamic landscape of vinos de mezcal endured until the 20th century, when legal protections started to emerge to distinguish regional styles from one another. The first spirit to formalize in Mexico was vinos de mezcal de tequila, which received a denomination of origin (notably the first outside of Europe to do so) in 1974. As Tequila snowballed into a full-fledged category with international recognition, it brought great economic wealth back to Mexico, a success that prompted the government to build similar parameters for mezcal two decades later.

“The only thing clear to us today is that the denomination of origin has hijacked the word mezcal from the people who produce it.”

By 1997, a certification body called the El Consejo Mexicano Regulador de la Calidad del Mezcal, A.C. (COMERCAM — formerly known as the Consejo Regulador del Mezcal, or CRM) was formed to oversee, interpret, and enforce the regulations, which are called the Norma Oficial Mexicana, or NOM. According to the regulations, mezcal must be made from 100 percent agave in one of 10 states (Oaxaca, Durango, Guerrero, Guanajuato, Michoacán, Puebla, Zacatecas, Tamaulipas, San Luis Potosí, or Sinaloa). It is categorized in one of three classes based on how it’s made — ancestral, artisanal, or mezcal (which is usually an indication of industrial processes) — and the liquid must meet chemical levels the Mexican government has deemed safe for consumption. Namely, it must clock in between 35 percent and 55 percent alcohol by volume (abv), with 30 parts per million to 300 parts per million (ppm) of methanol, among other scientific details.

The first goal of this standardization of the spirit was to alchemize mezcal’s somewhat dodgy reputation (a lingering effect of Prohibition) so the world would know it as a respectable liquor that is unique to Mexico. Like prosciutto di Parma, Gruyere, or cognac, with a unified boilerplate for production, mezcal would once again be considered a spirit of reliable quality and character on the global stage. The regulations also would ensure that mezcal’s name would always be tied to Mexico and not to other countries where agave is grown and distilled, like Venezuela, South Africa, or Australia. “Anyone could produce a drink very similar to Champagne anywhere in the world, but they could not call it Champagne, even if it tasted identical. The same goes for mezcal,” says Alberto Esteban Marina, the former director general of the NOMs. “The international treaty that protects DOs aims to safeguard and give a distinctive status to products, culture, processes, traditions, and, of course, to guarantee these characteristics to consumers.”

The NOM also cements a baseline for traceability and transparency regarding the processes used to create mezcal, an important point considering how mezcal’s bad rap in the ’90s in part also stemmed from sketchy producers selling adulterated liquid throughout Oaxaca. “Nowadays the most important thing about the certification is that you have someone who is checking that the product is actually what you are selling,” says Oaxacan-born chemist Karina Abad Rojas, who is now the head of production and master distiller at Los Danzantes (called Las Nahuales in the U.S. due to trademark issues), and also works with the brand Alipus, both of which export certified mezcal. “There are a lot of honest producers out there, but the market is also full of people who lie, producers who say there are no chemicals or sugars added, when if you were to make a proper lab analysis of what they are making, you will see there is a difference in what they are saying and what is in the liquid.”

Before the DO came along, making a living as a mezcalero — producing only small batches primarily for local consumption — was not lucrative. That prompted many producers to diversify sources of income with other jobs like farming or construction, or leave the country altogether to find more viable economic opportunities. So for Abad Rojas, who also served as one of the first certifying agents for the CRM in the early aughts, another primary benefit to certification is economic. “I wanted producers to become certified because they could then have more opportunities to sell their mezcal on the commercial market. They could sell in bigger cities like Mexico City and Guadalajara, and be available to export,” she says.

Lupita Leyva, a former member of the then CRM (now COMERCAM) who is now working for El Clúster Mezcal de Oaxaca, emphasizes that certification also keeps those jobs and economic opportunities in Mexico. “Sometimes the agave distillates are being bought from small producers and being sent out of Mexico, not even being bottled here. They just pay for the liquid and take those jobs away from the people here. They are skipping our law,” she says. “You cannot go to Champagne and buy bulk Champagne and bottle in Mexico for a reason. We at the CRM, our purpose was to protect those jobs.”

For the first few decades after the DO was established, many brands were eager and willing to adhere to the laws set for certification, which kick-started an infrastructure robust enough to bring expats back to Mexico to reignite the family mezcal business. By the numbers, Mexico produced 1 million liters of mezcal in 2011 — nine years later that figure reached almost 8 million liters, with more than half that volume sent to the international market. While the commercial figures haven’t quite caught up to the impact of tequila yet (in 2021, the tequila industry generated more than 500 million liters), the mezcal category is still well on the path to stardom, thanks in large part to the creation of the denomination of origin.

In the village of Santa Catarina Minas, one of the hallmarks of the native mezcal culture is distillation in clay pot stills, called olla de barro. Typically “glued” together with mud and clay, these hand-built stills crack easily and must be replaced often. The mezcal often bears a delectable mineral quality from its time spent in contact with the clay. This custom has been carried down through the generations at most palenques in the area, including at Real Minero, where Graciela Angeles Carreño and her family have been making mezcal since the 1800s and started making certified mezcal under the label Real Minero in 2004.

“We decided to certify in the beginning because we didn’t want to repeat the history of our grandparents and their grandparents — during their lives as producers, they had to sell mezcal on the sly because production was illegal in Mexico. We decided to abide by the rules so we could legally sell what the family produced,” she explains.

But in the last few years, a series of interactions with COMERCAM left Angeles Carreño feeling as though they were unjustly harassing the brand, which drove her to denounce certification. The last straw came about in May 2018 via a disagreement regarding the use of regional names for agave varieties. In many parts of Mexico, local names differ by village, so when the COMERCAM told Real Minero that the plant they have always called Cuishe had to be labeled as Mexicano and that they could not use the name Coyota anymore — despite that the certification body had previously authorized use of that vernacular — Angeles Carreño believed the organization had reached too far outside its normal purview: “The only thing clear to us today is that the denomination of origin has hijacked the word mezcal from the people who produce it. We cannot use the word, and we cannot freely express our opinions.”

“Real Minero leaving the DO is a bellwether,” says educator and Experience Agave founder Clayton Szczech. “The CRM [now COMERCAM] was not allowing them to put the traditional names of their magueys on their label, so you have this regulatory body telling the practitioners and guardians of their culture that they are wrong about their culture.” He adds, “These authorities are actually becoming gatekeepers toward standardization or a particular idea of what is going to sell rather than being the facilitators they are supposed to be for these special products.”

In many cases, the difference between making mezcal that qualifies for certification or not can lie within a few degrees of proof, or a few parts per million of methanol or acidity. Seemingly small details, but ones that would force mezcaleros to change their customs in favor of creating a more homogenized version of mezcal. For example, the spirits made by Amando Alvarado Álvarez in Ixcatlán sometimes register a few degrees above the methanol cap of 300 ppm. “If we want to hit that parameter, we would have to make our cuts at a higher proof and then bring them down with water,” he explains. “For those of us who live to make mezcal in Ixcatlán, it is a sin to add water. It is against our tradition, which is why I won’t adjust to the parameters.”

On a more practical level, much of the debate around certification also comes down to money: Most rural producers who make spirits using time-intensive, pre-industrial methods simply cannot afford the cost, which some say in the past have ranged anywhere from $3,000 to $10,000. The exact expenses today fluctuate depending on which state the mezcal is produced in and which certification body oversees the process, but in many cases the brand owners take on the financial burden — the majority of mezcal brands sold in the U.S. today are not mezcalero-owned — baking the figure into the cost of the final bottle. When funds are not available for that, the responsibility lands on the mezcaleros, many of whom don’t have paved floors or electricity, let alone the money to certify their spirits.

Producers and brand owners from both certified and uncertified brands alike agree that the rigid parameters of the DO could use an overhaul to better protect the soul of the category. Max Rosenstock of NETA, another uncertified brand now available in the States, puts a global perspective on the matter. “Mexico is one of the most biodiverse places in the world, and Oaxaca is in the center of all that. The idea that there’s just one denomination covering all of this is just absurd. In Italy there are over 300 DOs for their wine varietals, so what are we doing here in Mexico with one denomination of origin for the entire country? It doesn’t protect, it doesn’t regulate.”

“Regardless of whether or not we use the word mezcal, the process, the tradition, in the production of our drink is still the same as our grandparents used.”

There is also the issue of the way certification is conducted. With the COMERCAM as the primary organization in charge of interpreting and enforcing the NOM for many years, some of the COMERCAM’s behaviors have prompted concern and stoked resentment among producers. In late 2020, the secretary of economy for Mexico fined the regulatory body for deceptive and abusive practices. Last spring, allegations of misconduct surfaced against then-president Hipócrates Nolasco Cancino, with reports ranging from intimidation to allegations that he’d demanded sexual favors in exchange for certification. Shortly after, internal struggles over leadership led to the division of the COMERCAM into several new entities, which are currently sorting out how to move ahead into the future.

For the average fan, certification might seem inconsequential because it has no real bearing on the inherent quality of the mezcal itself. “There are fantastic products on both sides,” says spirits importer Nicholas Palazzi, who works with brands including Cinco Sentidos, NETA, and Ixcateco, which will make its stateside debut this year. “To me, it has to do with what the producer wants to make. If the producer is doing things that check the boxes of the denomination to be certified as cognac or mezcal, if it’s doable and the producer can afford it, and he or she doesn’t have to adapt to what they have been doing for seven generations to get a piece of paper being put together by people in a suit working out of a conference room in Mexico City, that’s cool! Let’s certify the stuff.” But even then, he adds, “I don’t see the point in changing the way that something has been made for generations just to check boxes.”

When you talk to brand owners, distributors, importers, and other industry types, tucked into the folds of this narrative lies an instinct to assign value to one camp versus the other. Pro-certification people shout: Certified agave spirits are more trustworthy than uncertified ones! Anti-certification proponents stand by the idea that the destilados de agave route better preserves the spirit of the spirit. Regardless of which side you’re on, it will be interesting to see how the chasm between the two evolves, especially as the industry navigates a new world led by multiple regulatory agencies instead of a single unified organization.

At the end of the day, for mezcaleros and legacy producers like Graciela Angeles Carreño, the issue is ultimately about agency. About who can currently use the name mezcal and who should be able to use the name mezcal. “Agave distillates are produced throughout the national territory, so there should not have to be authorization for a person to make use of the word mezcal,” she says. “That is a situation that, seen from our perspective, is a way of stripping the producers of something that is our property, because it is our culture.”

She says that many people have questioned her decision to stop certifying Real Minero as mezcal, but she does not feel any regret. “Regardless of whether or not we use the word mezcal, the process, the tradition, in the production of our drink is still the same as our grandparents used; the certainty that we give you is that we still have the records, the traceability in our process, and we have a respect for tradition,” she says. “Mezcal belongs to all Mexicans, and as long as there are producers that respect and preserve our distillate and are willing to defend the origin of our drink, the world will continue to taste great agave spirits.” 

Navazos Palazzi Malt Whiskey Cask Strength [Palo Cortado Single Cask] Review

The Whiskey Tribe review of Navazos Palazzi Malt Whiskey (Palo Cortado). Spanish malt finished in a unique and rare style of Sherry cask.

Sherry’s Indie Moment

A growing number of independent bottlers is aiming to showcase a more nuanced, variable side to fino, manzanilla and more.

There’s no single origin point for the modern sherry renaissance, but the aged cask of amontillado that Eduardo Ojeda and Jesús Barquín of Equipo Navazos bottled in December 2005 would be a solid place to start.

Like so many examples of its kind, the wine had been forgotten for decades in a dusty bodega, where it would have continued to slumber if not for the private club of investors, organized by Ojeda and Barquín, who pooled together the funds to rescue it from oblivion. Titled “La Bota de Amontillado” (after the Edgar Allen Poe story) and shared exclusively among club members, that initial release gave birth to a series of chronologically numbered editions. Hype quickly followed, and in April 2007 the project released its first commercial effort: La Bota de Palo Cortado No. 6.

It may come as a surprise that one of the driving forces behind the current sherry revival basically started off as a Kickstarter campaign. But according to Peter Liem, sherry expert and co-author (along with Barquín) of Sherry, Manzanilla & Montilla: A Guide to the Traditional Wines of Andalucía, few were interested in purchasing, let alone marketing, these wines. “The only reason that all these old wines still existed is that nobody wanted them,” he explains, citing the economic collapse and fall from relevance that decimated the sherry industry toward the end of the 20th century.

More than 100 “Botas” later (as of 2022, the library consists of 107), the project has redefined sherry for many U.S. drinkers. As Liem puts it, “They opened our eyes to the fact that something completely different existed in this region, which nobody was talking about.” That alone would have been enough to secure Equipo Navazos’ lasting place in the zeitgeist. But in recent years, their success has paved the way for a new set of independent bottlers who are following a similar playbook, sourcing minuscule quantities of wine from bodegas across the Sherry Triangle.

Some are Jerez natives, such as Antonio Barbadillo Mateos of the Sacristía AB project, and Ramiro Ibáñez and Willy Pérez, the duo behind the resurrected M. Antonio de la Riva label. Others, including Nicolas Palazzi of PM Spirits and Buelan Compañía de Sacas’ Nick Africano, operate out of the United States. They are united not only in their rejection of sherry as a standardized, industrial wine, but also in their desire to carve out a more intimate model for the region.

…

For Nicolas Palazzi, owner of rare spirits distributor PM Spirits, the collection of sherries he released late last year signaled a case study in sherry’s diversity. Since 2012, Palazzi has partnered with Equipo Navazos to bottle a series of highly-coveted single-cask Spanish brandy, whisky and rum under their Navazos Palazzi label. Even as someone who makes his living importing small-batch spirits, Palazzi was struck by the enormous variation between barrels in a single sherry solera system. “When you’re sampling different casks of spirits, a lot of the time you will find some small differences, but if it’s the same run, put in the same type of cask and aged in the same place for the same amount of time, the stuff you get is going to be pretty similar,” he explains. “But with sherry, it’s mind-bending. You can taste four different casks of the same exact wine and they’re all vastly different.”

“I saw a gap in the market for serious wines from this region, since everyone thought of manzanilla as something cheap, relatively young and accessible.”

In a typical bottling process, the solera would absorb and assimilate the individual profiles of these casks, rounding out their wayward edges into a smooth and seamless whole. At the scale that Palazzi describes, however, the goal is to capture the unique personality of a single barrel, or the distinctions that exist from one barrel to the next. “It sounds like a cliché, but these casks are living things,” Palazzi says.

New bottlers like Palazzi have arrived in Jerez at an inflection point. For all the recent talk of a renaissance, sherry remains a niche category. And while the cult model adopted by Equipo Navazos and its descendants has ushered in a new era of critical appreciation for the region’s finest wines, that’s not enough to sustain an entire wine industry. The question on everyone’s minds, then, is: What’s next?

INDIE SHERRIES TO TRY

PM Spirits Amontillado

“Selected with the expert help of Eduardo Ojeda,” as its label proudly declares, the PM Spirits amontillado drinks noticeably brighter and fresher than many examples of the genre, happily embracing its inner fino with a pronounced flor character. Although the packaging doesn’t mention where it was sourced, Palazzi notes that the wine came from several casks belonging to a prominent bodega with roots in the late 19th century. Light amber in the glass, it’s energetic and lively, especially for the style—as close to easy-drinking as amontillado gets.

‘We Stand for Non-Bullsh*t Products’: Why Blended Whiskey Makers Are Openly Discussing Their Spirits

From Barrell Craft Spirits to Mic Drop, a new wave of NDP's talk eschewing "tradition" to make unique bourbons.

Joe Beatrice spends his day tasting whiskey, assessing the character of the contents of barrel after barrel throughout his multiple maturation warehouses. It’s one of his jobs, along with his two full-time blenders, to know the flavor profiles of the over 10,000 casks of bourbon and rye they own. But while this is standard work at a distillery, what’s different about Barrell Craft Spirits, the company Beatrice founded in 2013, is that it’s never distilled a drop.

Barrell is one of the most celebrated of the new wave of non-distilling producers, or NDPs. In and of themselves, NDPs are nothing new; if you drink American whiskey, you’ve probably enjoyed many of them over the years, perhaps without even knowing it. Bulleit, for example. Or Redemption Rye, Templeton or Angel’s Envy. The list goes on.

Historically, NDPs haven’t been eager to highlight the fact that they don’t make their own whiskey. Bourbon, it was believed, was all about tradition, so there was an incentive to invent a fanciful yarn to suggest authenticity. But Barrell tells you as much as it can about what’s in the bottle, which might include where the whiskey was purchased and how old it is. “There’s no fake backstory,” Beatrice says. “I didn’t come across the blending recipe in my grandfather’s trunk. I didn’t get it from a Conestoga wagon.” The company simply buys barrels of liquid distilled by others, then employs in-house expertise to blend them into something exciting and new. “The notion that it can only be good if you make it yourself is crazy,” Beatrice says.

Since 2007, a distillery called High West in Park City, Utah, has been quietly leading the way on the concept of honest sourcing. Master distiller Brendan Coyle ranks transparency at “the top of the values list of the company.” High West, along with other pioneers such as Smooth Ambler, distills its own whiskey but also sources it from others (largely from the massive MGP plant in Indiana), using blending and imagination to concoct something unique, such as A Midwinter Night’s Dram, a blend of two types of rye finished in French-oak port barrels and released every fall to eager drinkers and collectors. Coyle likens blending to art; this hybrid approach, he says, is akin to having more colors with which to paint.

From left to right: Barrell Bourbon, A Midwinter Nights Dram whiskey, Mic Drop. Barrell Craft Spirits/High West Distillery/Mic Drop

Wherever you look in the NDP market these days, you’ll see a new transparency that feels radical, whether it’s the hyper-limited Mic Drop—its website diligently recounts every minute decision that went into the bottle—or the enormous Bardstown Bourbon Company, which literally prints the pedigree of its purchased and blended Discovery series right on the label. Bardstown is sitting on thousands of its own distilled barrels, still too young to use, but Dan Callaway, the company’s VP of product development, says that even when its barrels come of age, Bardstown will continue to purchase whiskey for blending. “Discovery series is an opportunity to create something new and special,” he says. “Our story is our team. We want to show people the whole process.”

Nicolas Palazzi, creator of Mic Drop, puts it more plainly still: “We stand for non-bullshit products,” he says. “To be honest, it doesn’t sound very radical to me.”

Are Collectible Spirits the New Sports Cards?

Once upon a time, David Avedissian wasn’t much of a booze aficionado. He never sipped spirits at home and rarely ever drank whiskey. “I would maybe order vodka at a bar,” he said. That all changed on a vacation to Kentucky in 2004, when he and his partner toured one of the state’s legendary bourbon distilleries. 

“I drank bourbon for the first time on that trip,” he says. “I was like, ‘Woah.’ A light went off.” Avedissian started enjoying the popular, easy-to-find bourbons on the market, such as Maker’s Mark and Woodford Reserve.

Then one day, a friend told him to buy a special bottle of George T. Stagg, a limited-release bourbon named for a 19th-century whiskey pioneer. Even though it seemed pricey (around $50 at the time) he loved the taste. He ended up buying more bottles of George T. Stagg than he could open and drink. 

Collectors like Avedissian, who started buying their bourbons in the aughts and early 2010s, have seen astronomical growth in value. 

“I’ve never spent more than $200 on a bottle of whiskey,” he says. “Ever.”

That growth has happened because the sort of dude who once spent his coin on Bordeaux and Burgundy wines now desperately wants to become a Whiskey Bro. In many ways, spirits are a better investment than wine. Whiskey (or brandy or rum) has a much longer shelf life than wine—once a wine is open it must be consumed within a few days. 

But bourbon prices have recently entered the stratosphere. So much so that a shadowy secondary market of flippers has emerged, with people selling coveted bottles for thousands of dollars.

“Bourbon is not just something you can consume. It’s a lifestyle. It’s a form of entertainment,” says Fred Minnick, author and bourbon expert. 

Still, celebrity aside, the bourbon collector market is largely driven by a connected network of whiskey geeks—the Sneakerheads of the booze universe. In fact, collecting special whiskies is similar to collecting special edition sneakers. With bourbon, there’s always a new single-barrel offering, a special distillers selection, a rare vintage, or a limited edition label. 

And just like in other collectibles markets, there is the manufacture of “collectibility.” Unlike in wine, where ratings on the 100-point scale by wine critics drive demand for top wines from Bordeaux or Barolo, the bourbon market is not moved by ratings and reviews in the same way. Avedissian says there have been numerous cases where limited-edition whiskeys have received terrible ratings from critics, but it didn’t matter. 

“Scarcity matters,” he says, adding: “The demand and scarcity sometimes feels artificial.”

This scarcity is often created at the local level. Shops and bars around the country often make one-of-a-kind barrel selections. But now, private whiskey clubs, with a few dozen members, will combine buying power to select special barrels direct from distillers. Those barrels become a special limited run of a couple hundred bottles for club members, with some of the excess allocation going to a local retailer. 

The real scarcity in bourbon derives from acquiring whiskeys from distilleries that no longer exist. For instance, specific bourbons made at Kentucky’s Stitzel-Weller distillery, which closed in 1992, are highly sought after. Stitzel-Weller is the distillery founded by the actual, nonfictional Julian “Pappy” Van Winkle.

That type of scarcity can’t last forever. Some collectors are thinking about what’s next. Minnick suggests that Armagnac, the brandy made in the French region of Gascony, might be the next big thing. 

“In 10 years, Armagnac will be the buy of a lot of people who are bourbon drinkers,” Minnick says. “If I’m a collector, an investor, I’m chasing that. Someone who comes in and buys Armagnac would be like buying Pappy in 2004.” 

That may be true, since Armagnac’s taste profile may appeal to the bourbon drinker. 

“There’s more Armagnac being sold, but it’s a very specific kind of Armagnac sold to a specific kind of buyer,” says Nicolas Palazzi of PM Spirits, who is a top importer of Armagnac. “We’re talking about Armagnac that’s very extracted, heavier on the wood, more powerful, more vanilla. So, it’s not very different than the whiskey that people are drinking.” 

Right now, you can buy plenty of Armagnacs with 50 years of aging for less than $500 a bottle.

Michael Buffa, of the 200-member Orlando Whiskey Society, is one of these converts from whiskey to brandy. Buffa started a side group in central Florida with about a dozen people, called the Yak Pack, when his taste for Armagnac began to usurp his taste for whiskey. 

“Armagnac has way more to offer than bourbon, personally,” he says. “In the secondary markets, what bourbon is selling for is absolutely ridiculous. Bourbon drinkers are very susceptible to trends.” The Yak Pack has already selected several brandy barrels. “The idea is to start creating buying power in brandy,” he says.

While the Yak Pack quickly gains experience and more exposure to brandy, Buffa notes this knowledge is rare. Whiskey brands have so many more reps out in the field doing so-called “education marketing.” 

“Armagnac drinking for Americans is in its infancy,” Buffa says. “There really aren’t a lot of brandy experts.”

Give Your Cocktail a Little Je Ne Sais Quoi

An unequivocal translator of time and place, eaux de vie—or unaged fruit brandies—have added a missing I don’t know what to the modern drink.

For the average person, nosing a glass of, say, whiskey, might conjure tasting notes along the lines of “oaky,” “fruity,” or at the most basic, “This is whiskey.” But hand them a glass of eau de vie, or unaged fruit brandy, and even the most novice drinker might say, “Ooh, this smells just like raspberry.” Indeed, the beauty of eau de vie is its clarity of flavor. And thanks to a growing number of top-rate producers who understand the spirit’s potential, and an equally enthusiastic cohort of bartenders who appreciate its strong sense of place, eau de vie has finally found a welcome home on the modern backbar. 

Eau de vie—French for “water of life”—is by no means novel. Born and bred in Europe, particularly France, Southern Germany, Austria and Northern Italy, this category of delicate fruit-driven spirit has existed for centuries. Historically, it was considered a peasant spirit, made from the scraps of fruits. Now, eau de vie’s focused flavor has made it a standout option for bartenders seeking unequivocally terroir-driven ingredients to add complexity to any number of cocktails. 

Even before craft whiskey brands began exploring the potential for grain to embody flavor characteristics from a specific plot of land or soil type, eau de vie had already put its stake in the ground as a spirit that is first and foremost an agricultural product. “When enthusiasts go to a whisky distillery, there is a lot of emphasis put on fermentation, the still distillation process, the temperature, the number of plates the still has and so on,” explains Nicolas Palazzi, founder of the Brooklyn-based importing company PM Spirits, which brings stateside such renowned eau de vie producers as Rochelt and Cazottes, and starting in early 2022, Capreolus Distillery. “Eau de vie producers don’t care as much about distillation as other categories do; they care about the field, the vines, the orchard, the fruits,” Palazzi adds. “There is a relation to the land that is not necessarily present with producers who either distill grains or fruits for the purpose of aging the distillate.”

In this way, eau de vie producers share much in common with contemporary winemakers. No matter the raw material—be it apple (pomme), quince (coing), raspberry (framboise) or plum (mirabelle)—distillers are looking for fruits of the highest quality, which are grown in ideal conditions and harvested at the peak of their flavor. Like wine, variations in flavor can be tasted in each vintage, or even between parcels of land within the same vintage. 

“At one time, I would have said that terroir in spirits is impossible because the distillation process would strip anything from the initial source,” says Ben Robinson, sommelier at Moor Hall, a restaurant with two Michelin stars in Lancashire, England. “However, over the last few years, I would have to say that there could be a sense of terroir in eaux de vie.” 

Let’s Talk About “Smooth”

It may be the most ubiquitous descriptor in drinks. Is it also the most reviled?

The Bordeaux-bred, Brooklyn-based spirits importer Nicolas Palazzi traffics in stories—of the alchemists along the river Charente, whose Cognacs capture the essence of the surrounding vineyards and microbiota; of the artisans in northwestern France, whose Calvados express the nuance of dozens of cider apple varieties via a single bottle. Palazzi’s company, PM Spirits, identifies itself as a “provider of geeky spirits.” Part of the job, indeed, involves geeking out, luxuriating in the details and conveying them to potential buyers. It’s an arrangement that hinges on dialogue, governed by the imprecise linguistics of wine and spirits. Descriptors and analogs form bridges to connect one’s palate and sensibility to another’s. But all it takes is one word to dissolve the connection entirely.

“If their reaction is, ‘Oh, that’s smooth,’ it just tells me that I probably have not identified my customer as well as I thought I had,” Palazzi tells me. “I’m not upset at the person saying ‘smooth.’ I’m upset at the waste of life—it’s basically a sign that says ‘You just wasted your time.’”

Harsh words for a word that literally signifies the opposite. But language matters. The lingua franca of booze is inherently nebulous, and it requires calibration. A trained nose and palate can instantaneously identify a range of aromas and flavors and free-associate memories and feelings, which all become pinpoints tracing a constellation, giving shape to a ghost. The term “smooth” effectively erases any point of reference. Even as an adjective, “smooth” functions as a verb: It is the buffing out of character, the sanding down of the distinctions that make great spirits great. In the quest to triangulate the specific qualities of a spirit, “smooth” instead forms a binary of acceptability. It is a value judgment on whether or not one finds the spirit drinkable, one that can easily be impressed upon an unwitting consumer. This is exactly why the term is so ubiquitous in the marketplace, and—for decades, if not centuries—a red flag among connoisseurs.

The 16 Best New Spirit Releases Currently on the Market

Cognac Hommage a Yves & Jean-Noel Pelletan 

This limited-edition, single-cask cognac (along with a few demijohns) consists of a blend of eaux de vie that was distilled between 1925 and 1965, so this is truly a taste of cognac history. Just 870 bottles were released this past October, and it was named after a father and son cooperage team who hold the title of Maitres Artisans Tonneliers and are important figures in the cognac category. This is truly a legendary spirit that will not reappear.

Straight From the Barrel

“...Hommage a Yves & Jean-Noel Pelletan, the rare cask-strength Cognac, has a boldness that belies the softly nuanced quality its category is known for.”

How Cocktails Are Helping Armagnac Reinvent Its Image For A New Generation

La Boutique Des Vins in Toulouse’s historic Carmes neighborhood is one of the more popular spots for local residents to browse for just the right wine or spirit, maybe even a craft beer. On a quiet Friday evening when store traffic was still sparse, Noémie Cassou-Lalanne arrived in the hopes of convincing customers to reconsider a traditional spirit that might only rarely be on their shopping list.

Surrounded by a nook of shelves filled with wine bottles, teas, and chocolate bars, Cassou-Lalanne set up a small table and a silver tray with three bottles of Armagnac from the Pellehaut domaine in the Gascony region where she’s in charge of marketing. She then improvised a small bartending station, complete with cutting board, mint leaves, a pestle, tiny umbrellas, ice cubs, and simple syrup to make Armagnac Mojitos.This reimagined cocktail used two types of Armagnac that this artisanal industry hopes will revitalize the image of France’s oldest eau de vie. The first, L’Age de Glace Château de Pellehaut, is a light-brown blend of Armagnacs that have spent little time aging a barrel. The other is Blanche Armagnac, a clear white spirit that has not been aged.

Queen Snake - Shannon Tebay, Death & Co.

INGREDIENTS

Serving: 1

• 1 1/2 ounces blanche de armagnac, preferably Cobra Fire Eau de Vie de Raisin

• 1/2 ounce Clear Creek Douglas Fir Eau de Vie

• 2 teaspoons lychee liqueur, preferably Giffard Lichi Li Lychee Liqueur

• 1 teaspoon crème de cacao, preferably Marie Brizard

• 1 lime shoulder

DIRECTIONS

1. Express lime, leave in bottom of a Sazerac glass.

2. Combine all ingredients and stir to integrate.

3. Top with cracked ice.
   
   

Claire de Montesquiou plunged into Armagnac 30 years ago with her husband after living in England. They bought Domaine D’Espérance and began to restore its vineyards. They believed the clay soil on the far western part of the official Armagnac region would yield high-quality grapes. Three decades later, they’ve developed a strong international reputation while also staying small. “I make small quantities of high quality,” she said. “It’s like if you wanted to compare haute couture to ready-to-wear.”

She’s also brought a willingness to experiment. Several years ago, she connected with Nicolas Palazzi, a Bordeaux native who had moved to New York City where he worked as an importer and brand ambassador. Palazzi was passionate about Armagnac, but he felt it was too complicated to explain to bartenders and potential customers. “The fact that it’s called Blanche Armagnac makes it really hard to sell in my world,” he said.

Cobrafire, eau-de-vie raisin

He worked with de Montesquiou to create a product called Cobrafire. Rather than sitting in a still container for 3 months and having water added, the Armagnac is distilled at a lower alcohol rate, bottled after one month, and then sold as an “eau-de-vie raisin.” 

“I’m a big proponent of putting stuff in a bottle at its natural proof,” Palazzi said. “If you try it and you like it, and then you need to add water to it, then you can do it. But it’s not someone in a lab deciding for you.”

It’s a sharp break with tradition. But Palazzi said Armagnac makers need to take some chances if their product is going to reach a wider audience.

“What we’re trying to do with Cobrafire is to reframe things so that people are interested,” Palazzi said. “We’re trying to sell something really good. I want to let people discover the work of distillers who really care about their stuff.”

L'ENCANTADA XO ARMAGNAC

L'ENCANTADA XO ARMAGNAC  - a collaboration between PM Spirits and armagnac cask hunters L’Encantada, this blended spirit is one of the most complex brandies in the world. The release is comprised of four different casks curated by L’Encantada with vintages ranging between 1987 - 1997. Each one was produced by distillers who create in the heart of their fields with a mobile alambic armagnacais still before the spirit matures in oak in Gascony. Only 1,600 bottles are available at a cask strength of 46.8% Abv.