CACHAÇA: The South American Way, Pt. 2
Christine Sismondo on whether we can have our cachaça and keep the rainforests, too
Could cachaça be the new mezcal?
Spoiler alert: I don’t think so. A pair of new (to Canada) brands, Novo Fogo and Avuá Cachaça, though, are finally giving us a chance to get a grasp on the scope of this spirit, which, like mezcal, has a wide variety of esoteric flavours that fall outside the usual range of tastes found in the rum category. That esoterica is why some people are now positioning it as the mezcal of sugar cane spirits.
Cachaça is made from sugarcane in Brazil.
Let’s start with some basics. Although there are thousands of brands and expressions of this spirit (which, by law, can only be made in Brazil), most Canadians have only ever had access to three or four cachaças. Brazil produces well over a billion litres of its signature spirit per year. As you might expect with this kind of production capacity, not all cachaças are created equal. Some of exports we’ve had here are “industrial cachaças,” which are about as good as their name implies. In Brazil, itself, there’s a culture of micro-distillation, especially in rural areas, which, depending on who you talk to, is either the holy grail of authentic artisanal spirits or dangerous moonshine. Likely a little of both.
“Aguardiente” is a word used to describe many sugarcane spirits in South America
Since most people in Canada consider cachaça a cocktail ingredient, the quality of the spirit isn’t terribly important to them. Over the past couple of years, though, a lovely little brand called Novo Fogo has started to change minds about that. In Ontario, we only have one Novo Fogo expression at the LCBO, the silver, a pot-distilled spirit with a remarkably fresh and fruity flavour profile that represents a serious upgrade for a caipirinha and, to white spirits fans like me, a viable new straight-sipping option. Quebeckers are more fortunate: The SAQ carries a greater range of expressions, including one that’s aged two years in repurposed oak; it tastes distinctly like baking spice, chocolate and ripe bananas. There’s also Tanager, a double-wood expression aged in both oak and zebrawood and is peppery and sweet.
What’s zebrawood? Exactly. When’s the last time you heard of any spirit aged in anything other than oak? And that’s where cachaça gets especially interesting. The good ones that we never get here are aged in woods we’ve never heard of, all of which impart very different flavours to the spirit. And since the spirits world is always on the search for new, this is intriguing.
That said, given that the rainforest is at a tipping point (and, under Bolsonaro, all bets are off), should I know the taste of zebrawood? Fortunately, Novo Fogo’s sustainability game is tight. On its website, there’s a handy guide to endangered indigenous woods, which I cross-checked with a rainforest relief resource. South American Zebrawood appears to be okay.
But what about the other woods traditionally used for ageing cachaça, such as amburana or jequitibá rosa? Some claim they use vintage wood, sort of like my antique diamond ring or that ivory pendant you inherited from your grandmother. I’ve also been told the ageing is often done in large wooden tanks, rather than barrels, so less wood is used than in the maturing of other spirits. Other companies say they use wood sourced perfectly sustainably as part of reforestation efforts. That may be. Rainforest preservation is a complicated political economy and there’s almost always a case to be made for entrepreneurial stewardship, but it’s hard to verify claims about what happens in rural Brazil, especially from here and especially under Captain Chainsaw’s lack of oversight.
In all honesty, this is from the Peruvian rainforest. I haven’t been to Brazil since I was a tween.
I love the rainforest. There’s lots of good drugs in there. And monkeys. And oxygen. And I think it’s smart to get people interested in what’s in there, so we have an interest in saving it. But my gut says that even if the expressions coming to us now are from ethically sourced endangered wood, now isn’t an ideal time to get North Americans to start fetishizing liquid aged in antique vessels made from endangered indigenous wood. It sort of feels like the kind of thing rich people might do—but with napkins over their heads so Morgan Freeman can’t see.
For those who want to steer clear of potential problems and yet still get a sense of the range of expressions, in addition to Novo Fogo, there are two relatively readily available expressions from Avuá (which has recently become available in parts of Canada, namely B.C. and Alberta, and in Ontario by private import), that aren’t aged in endangered wood—Prata, a grassy, raw spirit aged only in stainless steel (not on the list of rare trees), and Balsamo, aged as you can guess, in balsa wood, which appears to be OK thus far. The latter has damp vegetal notes that are, in fact, a little reminiscent of certain agave spirits.
Regardless of the similarities, I think it’s unlikely that cachaça will blow up like mezcal. It’s one of those spirits you always here touted as the next big thing, but it never really goes anywhere in export markets like Canada.
And that’s probably a good thing. Look to Oaxaca and other mezcal-producing regions. The first gringos on the scene cared about the environment, but everyone who’s followed has cared a little less. Now those regions are experiencing environmental strain. So the longer we can keep Toby Keith out of the rainforest, the better.
And, in case it needs saying, I’ll be sticking with the unaged silver Novo Fogo. Who needs wood? Not me.