Dalton the “rummier”

It’s late in the afternoon—tea time—at the Cohoba Lounge in the Ritz-Carlton in Jamaica. But nobody is having tea. At least no one I see. But, you know, they’ve got that British tradition thing going here and the little resort newsletter that was slipped under my door this morning while I was still deep asleep suggested I enjoy “Caribbean appetizers and afternoon tea in old-world style” in the lounge.

Well, I wasn’t really too interested in tea (a bit too hot for that) but thought I’d come down to have a look anyway. What I found was a very stylish bar with dark wood paneling, ceiling fans slowly spinning overhead. Some scratchy 40’s jazz was playing in the background while men in plantation suits munched from bowls of potato chips and sipped Negroni cocktails.

Everyone looked a bit flushed, whether from the aged Appleton rum infused cocktails that are a specialty here or from the sun it was impossible to tell, though I’m guessing from the periodic bursts of laughter and boisterous conversation all around that it was more rum than sun.

I’m just about to order a Negroni myself (one of the great, largely-forgotten cocktails of our time) when a voice cuts through the bar chatter announcing a rum tasting “for those of you who might be interested.”

The man speaking is Dalton Kirlew, the hotel’s “rummier.” Who knew there was such a thing? Amazingly enough, I’m the only one in the lounge to take Dalton up on his offer to sample some of the 150 varieties of Caribbean rum (including 70 from Jamaica) that the bar carries.

“Well, looks like just you and me,” Dalton says with a smile as he pours me a very small taste (“That’s all you’re going to want,” he warns me) of Overproof rum, a rather vile 63% proof alcohol that Dalton says is the “poor man’s rum.” This is what everyone on the island drinks, he says, partly because it has such a kick but also because it is very, very cheap. You go anywhere in Jamaica and order a mai tai or a daiquiri and this is what it’s going to be made of, he says.

“Now, the older people on the island like to mix this with coconut water. That’s the typical drink in a local bar. Coconut water is said to ‘cleanse the heart,’” he says, chuckling. “Though I don’t know about that. Some say this rum will make your hair turn white.”

If you want to be like the locals, Dalton tells me, you go to a roadside bar and order a “que,” which is a quarter bottle of Overproof and a side of coconut water. “But you don’t want to do that,” he says.

Dalton is right; I don’t want more than a taste of the Overproof. To wash the petrol oil out of my mouth, he gives me a very smooth Appleton that has been aged for 21 years. It’s the color of a good whisky and tastes as lovely with a bit of caramel and vanilla on the tongue.

Dalton says, “Now with the Appleton, you don’t need any coconut water. In fact, it would be a shame to mix it with anything.”

And he’s right. Which is why I politely refuse Dalton’s follow-up offer of a Wray & Nephew Coco Mania, a coconut-flavored rum whose name alone is reason enough to decline it.

“If you don’t mind,” I tell Dalton, “I think maybe I’ll just stick with the Appleton.”

Dalton smiles. “Well, that’s what I’d do,” he says. “Stick with the Appleton.”