by Kyle Jarrard

Reviewed by John Baxter
MATTSSON, Henrik. CALVADOS. THE WORLD’S PREMIER APPLE BRANDY. TASTING, FACTS AND TRAVEL. Flavourrider, Malmo, Sweden.

JARRARD, Kyle. COGNAC. THE SEDUCTIVE SAGA OF THE WORLD’S MOST COVETED SPIRIT. John Wiley, New Jersey, 2005.

At the heart of my favourite story about the invention of apple brandy is the image of a pool of spirit deep within a block of white ice.
In this legend, some farmer in Normandy – or perhaps it was Vermont – descending into his cellar in midwinter for another cask of cider, finds one of the barrels frozen and the staves split apart. He hacks into the block, to discover  bubbles of golden fluid, the essence of the apples, distilled and preserved unfrozen by its alcohol. 
  
As legends go, it’s almost as seductive as Charles Lamb’s myth about the invention of roast pork. (In that tale, you’ll remember, a Chinese farmer, hauling the remains of his pet pig from the smoking ruins of his house, burns his fingers, instinctively sucks them, likes the taste, but, to replicate the dish, can only think to burn down another house with a pig inside.) However, since Henrik Mattsson doesn’t tell the story in his authoritative book about the Norman version of apple brandy, Calvados, both are probably equally untrue.

In his version, the skill in creating brandy from cider arrives in Europe from the east, pillaged, like much other technical expertise, by  returning crusaders. Preserved and perfected by the monasteries – not for nothing is distillation often represented by the image of a robed and tonsured monk – it’s exploited by farmers, first for home use, then as a product more easily stored and sold than grain or meat.
People with the requisite enthusiasm and knowledge to write about alcohol are often too incapacitated to get their ideas on paper. Nor, when they do, is their language always equal to the subtleties of the subject. Too often, they take the Robert Parker route into ratings, or subside into the sort of jargon (“eminently quaffable”) parodied in the film SIDEWAYS.

Neither of these books quite falls into those traps, though they do evade them by taking refuge in technicality. To compile his survey, Henrik Mattsson courageously undertook a tour of the distilleries of northern Europe, a directory of which, with web and terrestrial addresses, phone numbers, and lists and illustrations of their products, takes up the last third of the book. It’s preceded by advice on how to taste and savour Calvados, and whether or not a cigar, cheese, smoked meat or sausage enhance or mask the flavour. He even throws in a few recipes – though not my favourite, pheasant roasted en papilotte with Calvados and apples.

On a recent visit to Stockholm, I was agreeably surprised to find the best bars offering not just one Calvados but several. Given the expertise displayed in this book, it’s obvious I should have expected no less. In Sweden, the appreciation of my favourite eau de vie is in loving and expert hands.

Kyle Jarrard’s book COGNAC is an entirely more substantial work. Mattsson aims only to encourage appreciation; Jarrard takes our respect for the most venerable to brandies for granted, and spends most of his book delving into the murky industrial and political history of the Cognac region where the best of it has traditionally been produced.

Nobody driving through the countryside around Cognac and Jarnac would suspect that the vineyards stretching away on each side of the road have been watered by blood. In the 18th century, a fever for distilled spirits made whole areas rich, particularly ports like La Rochelle, from which cognac was shipped to the rest of Europe. Ever since, producers and wholesalers have warred with the crown or the state, which demanded higher taxes, with retailers, who wanted more of the profits, and consumers, not always happy with quality or supply.

 In the 20th century, the Germans, with more success than earlier invaders, won control of the product. Many cognac producers flourished under Nazi occupation, and some were imprisoned for collaboration afterwards. (More nefarious, in the eyes of some connoisseurs, were the attempts by other countries to develop a faux cognac; Jarrard is diplomatically silent on the pink, perfume-like Spanish Fundador, the scarifying Greek Metaxa, or that jewel of the Australian distillation industry, Chateau Tanunda.)

Today, the problems of Cognac are less political than commercial; over-production, a shrinking market, the erosion of standards - subjects of interest to the industrial historian, if less so to those who just like a Courvoisier after dinner (ideally without the ice cube the waitress at a Los Angeles bar dropped into mine; “Ya shoulda said ya wanted it ‘straight up’,” she whined accusingly when I protested.)

However, Jarrard makes the point that strife has somehow ennobled the product. “Lovers of cognac will tell you,” he writes, “that of course it should have survived the grind of history. Because it unlocks the gastronomic soul of man and people crave it. Because it can’t be copied. And because it’s simply perfect.” 

Others over the years have agreed. To drink cognac is more than a pleasure; it can also be an affirmation of life, and a rite of passage. “Claret is the liquor for boys,” wrote Samuel Johnson, “Port for men; but he who aspires to be a hero must drink brandy.” 

Cognac

Calvados

John Baxter is the Dean of Paris Through Expatriate Eyes’ Parisian faculty. He will be our guest in San Francisco on April 4 to discuss his acclaimed memoir, WE’LL ALWAYS HAVE PARIS.