The Most Expensive Liquid That Has Ever Crossed My Lips
If you’re like me, you don’t walk into a bar expecting to drink the equivalent of a $400/oz distilled spirit. The day it happened is a little fuzzy, because the pour of french brandy wasn’t the first drink and it led to another drink after, but I didn’t pay for it, or the several other drinks that preceded and proceeded the brandy. It was a salesman at my regular bar, solely there to purchase this drink. He lived in the suburbs of New York City and decided to stay the night in my little village, an hour away from home, just so he could properly enjoy it.
When I sat down with my boss we bought a few nicer craft beers and began sussing out what was good and what was bad about the beer we ordered, started comparing it to all the better and worse beers we could be drinking instead. It’s the kind of talk you have with people who care about good beer. The salesman overheard us talking.
“I don’t mean to interrupt, but what do you guys do? It seems that you care and know about nicer beverages.”
Yeah, we’re running a new brewery in town, we don’t have a taproom yet, but soon, was our response.
“Oh, well you sound like the type of people that would appreciate this.”
And the salesman slid an empty glass down the bar. I had an obviously confused face, raised an eyebrow, seeming to ask, aaaand?
Anticipating my confusion, before I could actually say anything, he closed his eyes, shook his head, and held out his slightly waving hand, and said “just, just, just, smell it. Put your nose in there.”
And I can still smell it today. Vanilla wrapped cherry and molasses dripping with a sharp sherry turn and suggestions of age I have never seen all in that little vapor that can crawl out of a glass of distilled spirit, but this was empty, and all I was smelling was the ghost of the real thing. I don’t know what face I made or what I was thinking, but it must have been the same face someone makes when David Blaine pulls a card out of a Mango1 or some shit. I must have turned white as a ghost because when I think of Vanilla, I think of that glass of brandy. When I think of cherry, or any over ripe berry really, I think of that whiff. Anytime I think of barrel character, aging, distilled spirits, sherry, wine, almost anything with alcohol, I think of that mysterious empty glass. The imprint was that strong.
The brandy was Louis XIII, a Cognac made with only grapes grown in Grand Cru Champagne vineyards. Blended from eau de vies that have aged up to 100 years by the cellar master, of which there have been only four in the history of the brand. It is sold in hand blown crystal bottles that can fetch hundreds of dollars themselves. The whole process screams luxury, decadence, exclusive. Going for $400 a pour retail, it was easily the most expensive liquid I had ever smelled.
When I drifted back to the barstool, the salesman pined about all the places he had imbibed the beautiful beverage: the Hancock building in Chicago, Vegas, his local steakhouse in Westchester, and of all the places, this bar was the cheapest.
“Yeah, since I found out that Jim keeps a bottle here and that he sold it for so cheep, I make a point of coming here anytime I’m visiting accounts in the area.”
“Jim, how much does a pour cost?” I asked.
Jim coquettishly shrugged, “well, this is my personal bottle, so I don’t mark it up too much, I just need to make enough to buy another bottle, so I only charge $175 if I know the guy. I feel them out and charge them more if I can.”
“Holy fuck, that’s crazy. I can’t imagine drinking something that expensive. That’s almost my car payment.”
“It’s worth every penny. You’ll never taste anything this good. You know it’s, and I say this hesitantly, cause there’s a lot of experiences out there to be had, but it’s the best thing on earth. You know, I’ll come here and order this and sip it through my meal and finish it when I finish my dessert, but leave the glass empty and just smell it until Jim closes and I have to go. I’d even take the glass home with me if I could.”
The guy had just had a glass and was already nostalgic for it. He looked like he was talking about a long lost lover.
“You know Jim, can you split a pour? Like split a pour like three ways so these guys can try it? I’ll pay for it, because you guys seem like the type that would really appreciate this.”
“Yeah, I guess I can do that,” said Jim, feigning a wince.
And Jim poured me, my boss, and this salesman this lovely beverage, that I would never be able to afford myself, at least in my mind I couldn’t. How did Jim, a bartender, afford to acquire such a bottle?
The whole situation is actually quite beneficial to Jim. Jim sells his own liquid at what’s apparently a good discount (a 50mL single serving bottle of Louis XIII retails for $600, about $400/oz), but Jim being the bartender, also makes a tip off the bill, so Jim is actually doing pretty good on it, but even at $175/shot, it’s still an astronomical price for boiled wine. Jim also manages a wine shop, so procures his replacement at cost, another source of value, and more markup. It’s actually genius.
Over the time that I spent living in that village, I became really good friends with Jim and I don’t know what changed my mind more, the adoration I had for Jim’s niche, or the liquid I tried that day. Because through my relationship with Jim I tried all kinds of amazing liquids: wines, whiskeys, ports, sherry, sakes, beers, that I otherwise wouldn’t have tried, but for knowing Jim. It made me realize that there are other ways of getting to enjoy these seemingly untouchable delights that wealthy people have. That normal people can enjoy them, and might enjoy them even more, was and is, a revelation.
Eyebrow raising job of the week:
Rhombus Guys Brewing Company- I’ve seen this job posted a lot and it raises my interest because they plainly say equity and relocation in the post, which is quite rare to even get in a negotiation. Could be better if they included salary range, but it’s a good start. Though I don’t know anything about Grand Forks North Dakota, or the company itself, if I was early-mid career, and didn’t have a familial obligations to my current location, this would be interesting to me. It checks a lot of boxes in what I look for in a job: clear about valuing talent, upfront about expectations, following a demonstrated successful business model, willing to offer equity in the company.
What I’m Reading:
Currently trudging my way through Fledgling by Octavia Butler, which is really good, I’m just not giving it the stretches of time to really get through it.
This article by Matt Bell on Ursula K. Le Guin really makes me wonder how one would brew beer on an ice planet? How would yeast evolve in such a cold place? What plant would provide the sugar? How long does fermentation take??? So many questions that I might make this my first paid article, who knows…
Stuff…
If you have tried Louis XIII, or have a similar story of a beverage way outside your wheelhouse economically or that so bent your perception that it changed you, please reach out. I’d love to hear these stories.
Before my brewing career I worked as a bartender throughout college and from time to time after. There was a regular at one of these haunts who would order King Louie, rocks, splash of diet. He is a good man, and a former professional athlete, but still to this day I cannot forgive him. Never smelled the glass though. Wish I would have.