Rhum Agricole in your Mai Tai? Let's Talk.

The Mai Tai is arguably the king of tiki drinks. It was so popular during tiki’s golden era between the 1930s and 1960s that bartenders started calling any random combination of rum and fruit juice a Mai Tai and slapping it on their menu. In response, hardcore tiki enthusiasts have rallied to the original recipe’s defense, a topic I covered in Gatekeeping the Mai Tai.

But bastardized non-Mai Tais aren’t on today’s agenda. Instead, I’m here to lay down some facts for those who seek to reproduce the original Mai Tai recipe. We might call today’s theme “Things Change Without Warning.”

Simply put:

• The original Mai Tai recipe used only Jamaican rum for many years.

• Under duress, Martinique rum was later incorporated alongside Jamaican rum.

• The Martinique rum at that time wasn’t rhum agricole.

In other words, if you aim to make a classic “1944 Mai Tai,” using rhum agricole won’t do it.

To be clear, I’m not telling you what to drink or not drink. If you enjoy rhum agricole in a Mai Tai, fantastic! It’s just noticeably different than how the original Mai Tai was made. But if you’re only using rhum agricole because a recipe said so, read on.

Trader Vic Speaks

Victor Bergeron, aka Trader Vic, and cover of his 1946 book, Trader Vic’s Book of Food & Drink.

Our understanding of the original Mai Tai’s recipe and rum comes from the drink’s creator, Trader Vic, aka Victor Bergeron. In 1970, Vic wrote an essay entitled Let’s Set the Record Straight on the Mai Tai, which includes the following:

In 1944, after success with several exotic rum drinks, I felt a new drink was needed.… I was at the service bar in my Oakland restaurant. I took down a bottle of 17-year old rum. It was J. Wray & Nephew from Jamaica; surprisingly golden in color, medium bodied, but with the rich pungent flavor particular to the Jamaican blends.

Later, Vic notes the specific rum: 17-year old J. Wray & Nephew. The article later says that when the supply of this rum was depleted, he switched to a younger 15-year version. He subsequently created his own private label Jamaican rum but noted:

This rum, though excellent, didn’t exactly match the end flavor of the original 17-year- old product. This desired nutty, and snappy flavor was added by the use of a Martinique rum.

To the vast majority of people who care about rum, Martinique rum is synonymous with “rhum agricole,” i.e., rum made from cane juice. Indeed, around 90% of the rum made in Martinique today is rhum agricole. Outside of French territories, finding a bottle of Martinique rum that isn’t rhum agricole is almost impossible.

This is a relatively recent development, however.

Martinique’s producers did a fantastic job of creating a distinct style of rum, building name recognition around it, and creating the AOC regulations that protect its good reputation from copycats. However, it wasn’t until the 1960s that rhum agricole was exported from Martinique in substantial quantities, and nearly all of that rum went to mainland France. In short, the US had precious little rhum agricole during tiki’s golden era.

“But Matt,” you may be thinking, “what if Vic made arrangements to get rhum agricole in the US?”

Vic Speaks Again

Let’s return to Vic’s words, albeit from an earlier era—1946, to be exact, and two years after he created the Mai Tai. In his book, Trader Vic’s Book of Food and Drink, he wrote:

Martinique Rums: Commonly known as French rums, they are usually heavy in body, coffee-colored, very similar to Jamaica rums, but in many cases have the dry burned flavor of the Demerara. This flavor, however, is very faint. The rum produced in Martinique is, in many cases, shipped to France, where it is aged and reshipped as French rum. One of the finest rums is Rhum St. James, made on the plantations of St. James.

Hmm… “very similar to Jamaican rums.” “…dry burned flavor of the Demerara.”

Does this sound like rhum agricole?

But wait, there’s more! The book’s recipe for the Dr. Funk notes:

2½ ounces dark Jamaica or Martinique rum (Red Heart or Myers’s, or Rum Negrita)

Similarly, the Martinique Swizzle recipe notes:

2 ounces Martinique or dark Jamaica rum. (Negrita or Red Heart)

In both cases, Vic implies that the Martinique-made Rum Negrita is similar in flavor to the Jamaican-made Myers’s and Red Heart. And while Vic goes to extensive lengths in the book to describe the various styles of rum, his single mention of “cane juice” is in the section on Jamaican rum!

Putting Vic’s descriptions aside, if one digs into the historical records between the 1950s and 1980s, they’d find plenty of evidence that Martinique rum and rhum agricole weren’t synonymous until relatively recently. In fact, Martinique didn’t have an AOC until 1996.

What Does This All Mean?

Here’s a heretical thought: following a recipe’s intent is more important than mindlessly following the “letter of the law.”

Vic’s original intent for his 1944 creation was that a single Jamaican rum of fine character could handle the rum duties splendidly. Following the letter of the law is insisting on using a rum labeled “Martinique” for the sole reason that a recipe says Martinique rum.

Knowing a recipe’s intent isn’t always easy. It comes with years of practice, experimentation, and asking questions. Recipes aren’t infallible, especially vintage recipes. Numerous vintage recipes call for a “quarter jigger of vermouth.” What the hell does that mean? Does that mean sweet red “Italian” vermouth? Sweet white “Bianco” vermouth? Or dry white “French” vermouth? Knowing a recipe’s intent can guide you when something isn’t adequately specified. Like “Martinique rum.”

Building on this, it should be clear that our new understanding of what was meant by Martinique rum 70 years ago should be applied to other recipes of the era. I’m looking at you, Three Dots and a Dash and Donga Punch.

Again, drink what you like. But if your aim is reasonably accurate renditions of vintage tiki recipes, ask yourself, “What would Vic or Don use?

I would wrap up here, but there’s one more important point to make.

The Denizen Question

A few years back, Denizen Rum released Merchant’s Reserve, a blend of Jamaican and Martinique rums designed to make a fantastic golden era-style Mai Tai. Writing about this rum was an eye-opening experience for me and substantially impacted how I write about rum. It’s delicious, and I grab a bottle whenever I can. However, there’s some confusion around it.

Denizen Merchant’s Reserve, Le Galion grand arôme, and Rhum Darboussier from Guadeloupe.

While the Martinique component of Merchant’s Reserve is molasses rum, it’s not the style Vic used. What Vic used is known as rhum traditionnel, aka rhum industriel. This style of rum is quite pleasant and like a cross between the classic Jamaican and Barbados styles to my palate. It’s just difficult to get this type of rum outside of France! But inside France, rums like Darboussier (image above) are readily available and very affordable. Believe it or not, France makes more molasses rum than rhum agricole, as I noted in French Rum - Below the Waterline.

What’s in Merchant’s Reserve is grand arôme, a style similar to Jamaican high ester rum, ala super-funky rums from Hampden Estate and Long Pond. Like these crazy Jamaican rums, grand arôme was never sold directly to consumers — well, at least not until recently when rum geeks demanded it by the bottle. Instead, grand arôme was sold to French blenders who used small quantities to “punch up” more modestly flavored rums — just as many blenders do with Jamaican rum.

With the context above, I’ll leave you with a question to ponder: is Merchant’s Reserve following Vic’s intent or Vic’s “letter of the law,” i.e., “Martinique rum.”  Leave your thoughts in the comments.