Fuck me, but Bacardi White Rum can get it. It being my glazed doughnut genitalia, of course. This smooth, succulent motherfucker of a drink is more jam packed with accents of vanilla and almond than you can shake a baby at.
It’s flavour-town, my dudes, and we’re going straight to the ghetto of spice delight. White rum feels wrong but so right, like paying $25 for eggs on toast from Buster Greens. You know you shouldn’t, you know you should stick with dark rum: the original, the manlier, the more opulent flavour. But you let your pinky finger delicately twist the bottle open and pop goes the weasel (much like finding your prostate for the first time). It looks like vodka - but it’s not. It smells like gin - but it’s not. It’s white rum, and you’re heading straight for the rollercoaster of drunk euphoria as you sink money-shot after money-shot.
Not to mention, the history of Bacardi is shit cock rad. Emilio Bacardí Moreau actually risked his life to fight against Spain for the Independence of Cuba, eventually becoming the first democratically elected Mayor of Santiago de Cuba. Politics and alcohol? Don’t mind if I do. All I need now is for David Seymour to do a funnel and my time on this earth will be complete.
Overall, Barcardi is one of the only spirits you can genuinely scull without needing a chaser. The taste of alcohol is so fleeting that, like your brief sexual encounter with your cousin, you’ll forget it ever existed. So if you’re space strapped, or cash strapped, consider cutting the 99 cent lemonade chaser and instead bring this cool monkey along to the party. Life is too short for distractions; just drink straight spirits and save on single use plastics.
Taste Rating: 9.999/10
Froth Level: Anal play and Cuban revolutions
Pairs well with: Nooooothing. Just me, myself and I.
Tasting notes: A little bit of this, a little bit of that. I don’t like to ask questions man, I’m not paid enough.