A small wooden dock; ropes encircling the pilings, nets draped like cobwebs over tin lean-tos, and a turquoise crystal sheet of Caribbean Sea stretched towards the horizon. The masts of small sailing vessels divide the sky like tall Georgia pines. Long commercial fishing rods hang over the gunwales of charter yachts, bending on the early morning breeze like the lazy palm fronds lining the shore. Behind the dock a backdrop of a modest port town. A La Belle Creole’s arches lead down the rue where colonial era buildings house Parisian cafes and no judgement served to those who fancy a mid-morning digestif.
That was the Martinique in Bogart’s To Have And Have Not. The film bares little resemblance to the famous Hemingway novel and I assume less to the modern port of Fort-de-France, but that scene makes up part of my tropical fantasy. We all have it, a place in our minds that nowhere on Earth, no matter how picturesque it may be, ever quite checks all the boxes of what we were expecting. That’s because what we’re expecting doesn’t exist, and that’s ok. That’s the essence of Tiki.
But every once in a while, like that perfect pairing of flavors, we find it. It happens when we have that fortuitous balance of opportunity and happenstance. We get a glimpse of our personal island. It’s those glimpses that keep folks like me wandering in excitement for what may be the next piece of paradise. That’s why I dream of Martinique.
Way down in the windward islands Martinique shares a big part in the lure and majesty of the Caribbean. It also shares an historical part of the sea with the birthplace of rum, Barbados. Like most of the Caribbean before Columbus the island was inhabited by Arawak and Carib peoples. By the 17th century France had laid it’s claim and solidified itself as a player in the colonial Caribbean. English, Spanish, Dutch, American, African and French cultures spin together like a brush through an artist’s palate. Martinique is one of those places that stands out as a truly balanced cultural cocktail.
I’ve never been to Martinique, though I very much long to see her. Thus, today I invite you to sail with me on a little journey through my mind’s piece of paradise. Welcome to Pod Tiki. Let’s talk about ‘ti Punch.
***
The story of ‘ti Punch doesn’t necessarily fall with the drink itself. The drink is not particularly complex or hold a rich historical drama. ‘Ti Punch is rather quite pallid in comparison to our usually multifaceted concoctions, but for the ingredients, tools, and terroir. ‘Ti Punch is about slowing down and enjoying simplicity. Let’s go.
Along the portrait of rolling fields adorned with local flora that is Habitation Clément are planted the historical seeds that are the root of our tale. This first stop in my mind’s eye takes us to a rattan chair overlooking a lime green field dotted with palm trees. The sun is out but not yet overbearing and the humidity doesn’t bother me in my linen shirt and shorts. The scent in the air is fresh but a bit sweet. Behind me looms the prodigious Clément Estate and beside me a small round table. On that table a bottle of Clément Rhum Agricole.
Throughout our inebriated odyssey sugar has remained a constant throughline. Regarding cocktailia and the significant rise of the New World. But alas, the mighty tend to fall the hardest. In the late 19th century the boon of Caribbean sugarcane fell victim to larger South American plantations. Easier to fill the hulls of your ships from one port than to make several small landfalls along the Lesser Antilles. Enter Homère Clément. The island of Martinique was suffering a great recession when Monsieur Clément, a prominent mayor on the island, purchased the bedraggled sugar plantation Domaine de l’Acajou, that is now the Habitation Clément. In one of the most prolific instances of rumgenuity Homère decided to pivot production from pure sugar to our favorite most scandalous of spirits.
Clément didn’t earn his face on mount Lushmore by just making any old Caribbean rum. Much in the way Jamaica added their signature twist to rum Clément was inspired by his previous exposure to French Armagnac distilling. Rather than refining sugar and using the byproduct, molasses, he said poppycock to the precedent. Clément chose to distill his spirit from fresh pressed sugarcane juice extracted straight from the stalks. This devilish deviation resulted in an elegant flavor profile of herbaceous, grassy, tropical earthiness, with underlying notes of fruit. The essence of this new French rhum begot a sense that one was tasting the pleasant terroir of wild Caribbean. With a fresh and prevalent agricultural flavor this new style was dubbed Rhum Agricole.
Rhum agricole is now made throughout the French Caribbean such as Haiti and Guadalupe, but only rhum from Martinique is governed under the Appellation d’Origine Contrôlée or AOC. Rare in the world of rums to have a governing body the French take their spirits very seriously and the AOC protects the designation of origin for true Martinique Rhums. For his contribution to cocktailia and ultimately this province of Tikidom in which we reside Monsieur Homère Clément gets placed beside the likes of Don Beach, Trader Vic, and Harry Yee as a veritable paragon of paradismal potions.
Now that the sweet vegetal scent of sugarcane is in the air there’s one more distinctively Martinican ingredient we’re going to need. Sugarcane syrup, or sirop de canne, is unlike simple syrup in such that rather than mixing refined sugar with water, cane syrup is made by boiling down actual sugarcane juice. The result is a viscous amber syrup with the same woodsy, grassy, agricole characteristics as the island’s rhum.
For the next stop on our pretend peregrination we find ourselves hiking the volcanic tropical forests below Mount Pelée. The air is thick and humid now. A wayward squall has blown over as an ephemeral afternoon storm, stealing the atmosphere and adding to the imposing threat of the infamous volcano. In the damp tropical air we notice an odd shrub taking shelter below the dense tree canopy. Rather than growing randomly the branches of the Quararibea Turbinata tree expel out from a central point on the stem like the spokes of a wheel or blades of a ceiling fan. Early plantation workers found that if they cut just below the wheel of branches on one end and about a foot up on the other to create a handle, then trimmed the radial branches to about an inch, whalah! The perfect tool for mixing. Imagine a stick with a flat spur at one end. Of course we are describing a swizzle stick. This is a thin wooden rod where at one end there are small fingers spreading out in a radius. Initially used for blending soft foods it was only natural for Martinicans to adopt the swizzle stick for the purpose of mixing drinks. Although the Swizzlestick tree grows throughout the Caribbean, Martinicans lay claim to inventing the tool which they traditionally refer to as a bois lélé.
As the sun begins to recede into the still western Caribbean side of the island we find ourselves at a small portside cafe. With bellies full of French Caribbean delicacies we watch the citrine colors of day ripple on the calm sea from our patio table. It’s still warm but a cool ocean breeze blithely caresses our cheeks. The time has come to combine all we have learned heretofore and finally make a ‘ti punch.
And make it you will. You see, on Martinique it is custom when one orders a ‘ti punch for the bartender to ask “chacun prépare su propre mort?” Translating to “each prepares his own death.” The drama is a bit inflated, but this is the option of having all the ingredients presented and you prepare your own drink. What sticks out to me about the ‘ti punch is something we haven’t encountered in other recipes. People agree to disagree on how it’s made. It’s unanimous which three ingredients have to and only make up a ‘ti punch, but it’s also totally agreed upon that each individual can manipulate those ingredients any way they like.
Clear or aged rhum, that is, Blanc or Vieux. Spoonful of cane syrup or a ½ oz? Ice, no ice. In fact, the biggest controversy surrounding ‘ti punch seems to be how to cut the lime. Now that’s refreshing.
Petite ponch is creole for “little punch”, shortened in island patois to ‘ti punch. Aptly named is this cute mini cordial. Look at that little ‘ti punch, don’t you wanna just go snuggle and squeeze its little limes? But don’t be fooled by its diminutive appearance, this little petite packs a punch. (Get it. Packs a … nevermind.)
Ah-hem, okay. Drinking trends have ostensibly been steered by the New World since someone eventually told Columbus that Montego Bay wasn’t Hong Kong. Eventually the punch bowl was set aside to make room for coups, flutes, and tumblers. Meanwhile in the Caribbean punch didn’t disappear but went from being a large shared libation to something more resembling the individual cocktails being served in the US. The Caribbean was seeing a tremendous boom in tourism eventually leading to the Daiquiri, Mojito, and Planter’s Punch holding court alongside their Manhattan and Old Fashioned counterparts. But in 1887 we get our first record of ‘ti punch immortalized by one Lafcadio Hearn, a reporter who himself had a penchant for the pungent. The ingredients were relayed as rum, sugar, and lime. What Jeff Berry refers to as the Holy Trinity.
One of the reasons this drink’s ingredient amounts are so adjustable is because the purpose of the drink itself is so versatile. Sometimes it’s an aperitif, other times a digestif, or as your drink with dinner. From what I understand it’s not uncommon for one to indulge in a little pre-lunch-punch. You know, a little hair-of-conch.
In any sort ‘ti punch is a very pleasant and flavorful drink that can be enjoyed by rumthusiasts or anyone looking for a tropical taste of Martinique. That is why ‘ti punch has been named the official cocktail of the island. So without further ado, let’s make a drink!
***
Our final stop in my imaginary trip to Martinique finds us at a bar. One of those places where the building facade is open air and we sit inside with the ocean at our backs. French cafe jazz with a calypso flair plays in the distance and the bartender asks, “Chacun prepare su propre mort?” Well, we wouldn’t want to look the fool so let’s go over how to do this.
We’re going to start with the rhum agricole. I’ve only had Barbancourt and Clément so I can’t speak on other brands. Since Clément is the OG, governed under AOC, and the most commonly found here stateside I use it. I’ve had the opportunity to have Clément Canne Bleue at tiki bars but it’s not easily found in stores. I convinced my local shop to order some but it hasn't arrived yet. It’s top three all-time favorite rums for me. What I am going to recommend using is Clément VSOP. Any shop carrying Clément is likely to stock this variant although I will warn you, it is readily available but one of their top shelfs coming in between $40-$50. I usually don’t condone mixing anything over $40 per bottle, but in this case I feel that getting the smoothest best quality rhum agricole truly brings out the herbaceous nature. I’ve also had Clément Select Barrell which is a fine fine rhum and will bring your cost down to $20. It’s got a little more alcohol burn but the cane syrup negates that almost completely. Using this amber vieux, or aged rhum, gives us a bit softer rounder profile whereas the blanc is grassier.
Traditional Martinique sirop de canne is not something you can just run to Walmart to pick up. Even online searches didn’t turn up what I was looking for at first. A lot of sugar syrups or even cane sugar syrup turns out to be fancy simple. Remember we want pressed sugar cane syrup, not cane sugar syrup. I really like a brand called “Petite Canne” that I was able to order from kegworks.com. $13 is a small price to pay to be able to recreate that traditional Martinique flavor.
Then we come to that lime debacle. Having not been to the island yet I can only go on the recounts of others found in my research. It seems the “traditional'' way of adding lime was to cut a circular pattern in the peel, making a silver dollar sized lime coin, deep enough to get a thin layer of pulp. The idea here is by squeezing the lime coin over the drink we get a little bit of juice and a lot of the expressed oils from the peel. Dropping it in makes a delightful garnish as well as aroma.
But, tradition comes in question here as a story relayed in Jeff Berry’s Potions of the Caribbean recollects a relative of Homère Clément himself making the drink by cutting a lime in half and hand squeezing the halved lime over the drink. This version adds more juice than oils, especially after dropping it in. It also makes the drink a bit pulpy, which I don’t care for.
Berry’s own recipe calls to cut a half of lime in half. Squeeze both quarter lime wedges into the drink, rub one along the rim of the glass and drop it in. Discard the other.
My conclusion is that it depends on where in the spectrum between punch and cocktail you want your drink to fall. Allow me to elucidate. If you like a sweeter, more punch-like, drink in a rocks glass put:
2 oz Rhum Agricole
½ oz Sugar Cane Syrup
1 half of Lime
Pour in booze and sugar, hand squeeze the lime half over the glass, and discard spent shell. Now is the fun part. Grab that bois lele. If you don’t have one a bar-spoon will suffice I suppose. Placing the spur end into the glass you want to agitate the drink by moving the handle back and forth in your palms as if trying to start a campfire. To have this the traditional way do no ice, and you really shouldn’t need it with this sweet herbaceous sipper. The lime adds that hint of tropics you expect while the uncanny grassy notes of the rhum and sirop separate this from any other drink.
At the other end of the spectrum we have more of a sophisticated cocktail. It’s no wonder they call ‘ti punch the Caribbean version, or varibbean, of the Old Fashioned. For this one we do:
2 oz Rhum Agricole
¼ oz Sugar Cane Syrup
Large Lime Coin
Pour in the rhum and sugar. Express your lime coin over the drink letting some juice fall in and place it to the side. Go ahead and give it a swizzle. Don’t go so fast that you create bubbles. You want the drink to dance like a rolling boil but not break the surface. When you’ve had enough fun doing that drop your lime coin in. For this one I suggest one small ice cube for to cool and slowly dilute the drink. You will notice the pleasant grass and earthiness of the rhum but with a bit more booziness up front. The sugar and lime fade to supporting roles as the agricole takes center stage.
Using a standard lime wedge instead of cutting the coin also works to mellow out the rhum bite with a little citrus. I go back and forth between these versions, but before we bid farewell to the French Caribbean there is one more recipe we should mention that brings this all full circle back to the man himself. By 1948 Don the Beachcomber had totally tikified ‘ti punch. Let me introduce the Martinique Cocktail. This may get an episode of it’s own one day but it bears such resemblance to its progenitor it cannot go unmentioned. Don has that way of simultaneously amping up and mellowing out the flavor of a rum. This one calls for another of Don’s special mixes, Don’s Honey. It’s simply 2 parts dark honey: 1 part hot water. Mix till honey dissolves and keep it in the fridge. The Martinique cocktail really blew me away and made my fiance who previously did not like rhum agricole suddenly love it. Use the Clément VSOP for this to really express the flavors. In a blender put:
1 ½ oz Rhum Agricole Vieux
½ oz Lime Juice
½ oz Falernum
¼ oz Don’s Honey
Dash of Angostura Bitters
½ cup crushed Ice
Blend it all till good and pour into a coup or cocktail glass. Don’t clean the blender right away, you’re going to want more than one.
And here we are back to reality. Sadly, that concludes our fantasy journey to Martinique. I hope this voyage and this drink has given you all a little piece of tropical fantasy. Jimmy Buffett once sang, “If I ever live to be an old man I’m gonna sail down to Martinique, buy me a sweat stained Bogart suit.” Well, when I finally get down there I’ll don my best linen and practice whistling. I hear all you do is put your lips together...and blow.
This has been Pod Tiki. Thank You.
I want to give some props to my sources for this episode. Potions of the Caribbean by Jeff Berry. Rhumclementusa.com. Along with my favorite recipe sites, Imbibe.com, Liquor.com and diffordsguide.com. As well as various stories and anecdotes from around the web. Please follow Pod Tiki @pod_tiki and follow myself @rum_poet. Visit shareyourbuzz.com and click the Pod Tiki Archive tab for all past episodes. My name is Tony and most of all thanks for listening. Santé!