The first time I encountered sugar-cane liquor was in a palm-frond hut in West Africa, by the light of a kerosene lantern. I could tell by the first rude mouthful that the clear bottles in front of me might spell trouble. I was right -- it wasn't long before the octogenarians around me were gesticulating wildly and cursing each other's progeny. There might have been a fight if any of them could actually have got out of their chairs.
Little did I know that I would one day find myself sipping an upscale version of the same drink at $100 a bottle in Sao Paulo, Brazil. Because cachaca, as Brazil's cane liquor is known, is finally hitting its stride.
Any country can make cane liquor, but in Brazil it's a national preoccupation. You can't visit the country without encountering the ubiquitous spirit, be it purchased for a few centavos in minuscule plastic cups on the roadside, or by the bottle in trendy restaurants for trendier sums. It was the symbolic drink of several of Brazil's great rebellions, and in 2000, then-president Fernando Henrique Cardoso used it to toast the 500th anniversary of Brazil's discovery by the Portuguese.
Two billion litres of the beverage are produced every year, and 99 per cent of that stays in Brazil, to be imbibed to the tune of 11 litres per inhabitant per year. It's estimated there are more than 5,000 brands of cachaca in Brazil.
So it's hardly surprising to find the country has a culture of sophisticated production for its beloved liquor. Adherents proclaim that one day the best cachacas will compete head-on with the finest whiskies and cognacs, and the rest of the world may just be starting to perk up and pay attention. Exports have risen over the past few years, and in 2000 numbered 10 million litres.
The word caipirinha is also found on an increasing number of lips -- the cocktail made with cachaca, lime, sugar and crushed ice could conceivably do for cachaca what the margarita did for tequila. After all, about 65 to 90 per cent of all tequila consumed is found in margaritas, and tequila sales increased in the United States more than 1,500 per cent from 1975 to 1995. Could cachaca be next in line?
It was at Olinda Prudencia, a tastefully designed nightspot in Sao Paulo, that I first realized cachaca had already arrived. Perhaps it was that bottle of Anisio Santiago, priced at upwards of $100 that tipped me off. "Brazilians used to consider cachaca a poor man's drink," the club's owner, Marco, told me as I marvelled at its smoothness. "But now people realize it can be as fine as any single malt."
Even in more modest eateries an extensive list of a few dozen cachacas can be found, always listed by the Brazilian state they hail from.
What makes a cachaca great? It starts with the selection of the best-quality sugar cane. Cachaca is made from fresh cane juice, unlike rum, which is made from molasses. When the fermented cane juice is being distilled, the finest producers will discard as much as 80 per cent of it: The first 40 per cent, known as the head, goes through the still. The last 40 per cent, the tail, is the least desirable and contains all the impurities. In addition, some cachacas are double distilled.
The next step is aging. Artisanal producers use oak casks or the wood of any of several indigenous species to add colour and flavour. Aging typically lasts from one to 12 years. A great number of cachacas have an alcoholic content higher than 40 per cent.
