This molasses based pot column blend from multiple Jamaican distilleries gave us notes of spices and toasted sugar, with hints of cola, banana, maple, pepper and coffee.

Myers’s Rum Single Barrel is a molasses based pot-column blend from multiple Jamaican distilleries, bottled by Sazerac with the fitting distinction of being finished in ex-rye whiskey casks. While Myers’s flagship dark Jamaican rum performed better than I expected to in our blind taste test (still not great), the brand seems to differentiate itself on the grounds of ubiquity rather than quality, transparency, or premium presentation. This means the Single Barrel initially gives off the impression of an unserious class-clown who shows up to school in a three piece suit one day: suddenly making an attempt at being mature and refined, but clearly a little uncomfortable in the role.

We measured the density to be 0.943g/cc, not indicative of any significant dosage (”market testing has shown rum aficionados don’t like added sugar these days”), though to be fair we didn’t measure any appreciable added sugar in the standard Myers’s Dark Jamaican either.

On the nose it leads with an approachable, if banal, banana and chocolate profile. Vanilla, brownie, wood that smells distinctly non-oaky (maybe pine?) and some mild coffee are also mixed in their. The palate is mild even for it’s timid proof of 43% ABV: brown sugar and pepper, something vaguely solvent-y, hints of cola and clove. The finish is unsurprisingly short, indexing primarily on chocolate, a little ginger, and pepper.

In our blind taste test it performed reasonably well as a neat sipper (7.3/10) and solidly as a mixer (8.3/10); notably it seemed like its wood notes were accentuated in a daiquiri. Overall the most interesting thing about this rum is its lowly pedigree; it’s telling, and even a bit heartening, that Sazerac thinks a more interesting cask-finished bottling is worth their time. The juice isn’t remarkable, and I really wish they provided more information on the expression (minimum age isn’t even mentioned on the bottle, I mean *come on*), but it’s palatable enough.