After major feasts that involve evening services, a certain set of Anglican clergy observe #ClergyMaltClub with photos and descriptions of their chosen whisky (teetotal colleagues, lay colleagues, really pretty much anyone welcome, though the organising principle reflects the satisfying relaxation of a dram of spirits that follows an exhausting run-up to demanding, often intricate, liturgical exercises). This year, my Clergy Malt Club entry modulated to Clergy Juniper Club for day 17 of Advent Gin: Procera Blue Dot Gin from Kenya, with all African-sourced botanicals. This is a severe gin, with a different tenor granted its geographically distinctive provenance.
The first sip leads firmly with juniper; really, every other contribution waits to reveal itself after the big train of the African juniper abates. And there are some pleasant follow-on notes: the pepper (I think), perhaps the cardamom, and after a while the orange peel emerges and makes itself felt. I’d recommend this gin to somebody who knows their British gins well enough, who likes gin for its own qualities (rather than flavoured-up) but who may appreciate the unfamiliar African botanicals that characterise Procera Blue Dot. It would make a fascinating entry in a blind tasting!
Then last night, Advent Gin (time is an illusion; gin time, doubly so) day 18 opened a dram of Gabriell Boudier Saffron Gin. By now, you know I’ll be suspicious of a gin that tries to attract attention by means of being something other than ‘gin’; but I promise to keep an open mind. The first sip returns a firm impression of gin, & as it lingers it opens a distinct sweetness, almost a faint hint of ginger. Second sip (with tonic) confirms: this is definitely, gently, like ‘ginger gin’, albeit with a gentle near-sweetness. Subsequent drinking adds a light spritz of floral notes. Now, I’m not a frequent consumer of saffron, so maybe I’m just supplying ‘ginger ale’ where a true connoisseur would recognise saffron flavour; but that’s what I observe, so it’s what I write.
Gabriel Boudier offers what I’d call a leftfield gin: not heavily flavoured, but not austere either. If I kept multiple gins on hand all the time, I’d put it on the shelf with the others, but most of the time I’d offer it to guests while I leaned back toward a proper gin. And other times, I’d join in for the novelty of the thing, a clever trick pulled off without fanfare.