El Clasico

Just a heads up…after reading this rather sycophantic review, you will be forgiven for thinking that I work at the marketing department for El Clasico Rum. I don’t, just so you know. But, hey Big El C, I am more than open to a collab. Especially if it involves free samples this here salted Caramel elixir.

So recently, I’ve gotten kind of into rum, the spiced variety to be more exact. It's like a Christmas pudding in a bottle, only better than any I ever tasted as a kid. It took me until I became tweenage to grasp that I really don’t like the solid variety at all. Too many sultanas or raisins or something. IDK. The brandy butter was good though.

Christmas eve, I endured the dreaded Lidl shop. I am quite literally living for the day they get their beautiful German behinds fully on the web-o-verse. I would never have to enter another shop as long as I live. Ever. I hate physically shopping with every ounce of my 5 foot nothing being. Mainly on account of the people. You know the ones that stop for a gossip mid aisle, on this particular day, the gormless millennial staring obliquely at some sign on the ceiling. In the middle of the aisle obviously. Waiting for a message? Some kind of hand signal from God that he should invest in a pair of garden shears? I have no idea what he was doing but he most certainly wasn't listening to my pretend polite, very British 'Excuse me's',

And so, I waited with my trolley, resisting the urge to ram him with it. Hard. See. Shopping brings out the absolute worst in me. He moved. Eventually. Without said shears, so I can only assume that the almighty one had other things to be concerned with.

There is no way I’m getting into heaven, just on account of the violent level of my thoughts when forced to buy groceries. I’ve used Tesco online. But half the time I end up with a measly quarter of my shopping order. Then, much to my annoyance, I am forced to go out to get whatever they didn’t have in stock, making me even more irritated than if I had just gone out in the first place. You know, once they even substituted my cat litter with hay. Hay? I’m guessing the packer has never had to clear up cat dung from a pile of straw. Neither have I, but I can’t imagine it being a pleasant experience.

I digress.

The rum.

Salted caramel.

Google tells me that this particular variety contains ‘rums from the Dominican Republic, Barbados and Trinidad that have been matured in bourbon barrels’ Fancy.

For 10 euro on spesh at Lidl, it’s a steal.

Firstly, I’m no connoisseur, I swig not sniff my wine believe me, but opening the bottle, the aroma slaps you like a fresh sea breeze, if the sea were, um caramel, and…made from sugar. Ok, so more like a waft of toffee-apple-donutiness at the fair but that doesn’t exactly reek of pirate connotations, does it? I mean seriously you just need to sniff the deliciousness of it and you know that there will be trouble on the metaphorical horizon. And in the morning. And quite possibly for the rest of your life. Every night.

It sips like it smells.

Definitely trouble.

Velvety, rich-vanilla, cinnamon and cardamom with a slight hint of I have zero idea what. Salt maybe?

It's a flavour fantasia, an explosion of all the best tantalising stuff.

And the aftertaste. It's like a parting gift from the Caribbean an unsubtle reminder that life is meant to be savoured and enjoyed. Preferably on a beach with a book. But I’ll take my living room.

Hic.

So, if you do nothing else today, this week, take some life advice. Buy it. Buy it now! It’s the stuff dreams are made of. It's a delectable rollercoaster of flavour, a laughter-inducing tincture, a dance party in a bottle. Hell, it’s whatever you want it to be.

Seriously, do yourself a solid and grab a bottle of this magical little liquid adventure. Your taste buds and your hearties will thank you for it. I pinky pirate promise.