Capreolus and the Spirit of Quality
From afar I heard the story of Capreolus, this prize-winning, sommelier-loved, almost one-man distillery in the Cotswolds, bringing the eau-de-vie tradition to the UK. The pictures looked nice. A quaint countryside I never went to. I had a few days off. So I went.
From London, take the train to Kemble. If the bus is late and you fancy a hike, walk from there to Cirencester. You could take the road, sure. But the woods are more fun, and darker as the night falls. Following the trail you’ll reach an abandoned bridge. Jump the barbed fence. Cross the thorn bushes. Jump another fence. You’re now in a patch full of nervous horses. Walk slowly and cross a few fields to reach your destination under the rain. After that, you’ll have the best pint of your life. But above all, seeing this deep, damp fruit country, you’ll get a hint of what Capreolus is all about : eau-de-vie.
Eau-de-vie is the root of all spirits. Today it means a clear spirit distillated from a single fruit. Well, mostly it means selling alcohol made with unsellable fruits. Like grappa, eau-de-vie is a practical solution for the management of waste.
But Barney Wilczak, the creator of Capreolus, saw eau-de-vie as an opportunity, not to sell alcohol, but to use it as a solvant to capture the flavour of the best fruits. While most eau-de-vie distillers grew up in a wine or spirits family, Barney was just a photographer in love with botany, who began distilling in his parent’s greenhouse.
Well, there’s no point in meandering : Capreolus makes the best spirits I ever tasted. Certainly the best eaux-de-vies.
I met Barney. We talked a while. He’s a nerd like me. We wanted to talk a lot more I thing. But you can’t talk while drinking. And we tried almost eveything he produces. Nothing there is overrated. The fruit flavour is overwhelming, long-lasting, and complex, leaving none of the usual sting. Fermentation sometimes gives the illusion of more than the fruit - something like the tree or the soil the fruit grew in. It’s simply better work.
The method behind it is, of course, exacting. Triple distillation, careful sourcing of fruits within 50 miles, hand selection of the best of those fruits, long, natural fermentation … the kind of passion and consistency that Natural Drinkers was made to promote and emulate.
The whole visit passed by in a flash. I left the Cotswolds for Sicily. Not for more drinking, mind you, but for the sea, land, and ancient temples. In the middle of winter it was bright with flowers and fruits. It felt like a time and a place I would want to keep forever. We all have a few of those seasons, or a « place where the heart lies ». For me, usually, it’s Nice and its countryside.
That’s where I understood what Barney was really doing and - that’s the point - what spirits were made for. The best of nature is fleeting. The most beautiful flower just now bloomed soon has to go. Alcohol captures that moment.
Is it surprising, then, that the story of alcohol across Europe, across the world, be so tied to the story of sacred places, religions and religious orders ? Saint Patrick and whisky, french wineries, belgian trappist beer, the sacred wine and the sacred ambrosia of the greek, the libations of Rome, the mysterious Indian soma … on and on and on. To capture the passing beauty of nature, and keep it for centuries in perpetual bottles, that also get you drunk and, well, a bit more spirited … this indeed feels a bit sacred. Under what we call our « industry », there is this undergrowth of psychedelic mystery, this dream of an eau-de-vie, a « water of life », a burning water of pure flavour …
Then came cocktails. They were the product of an uprooted people settling in a new land. Bartending was an offshoot of a new global market. But everywhere I go I see the best in our craft ground themselves again, electing a terroir, limiting themselves. Seeking out nature. It’s more than greenwashing. It’s about retrieving the lost art of spirits.
Sure, alcohol also is a poison that messes with your chemistry, people love it, some are addicted to it, we sell it. Sure. But it can be made beautiful, as an expression of nature and a play of flavours. And nothing in our line of work is untouched by atmosphere, by dreams and stories. A bar is a mood, a smile, a setting, and a story. We pass along alcohol, yes, and flavour even, but also something more.
Towards that something more far ahead, that vanishing point, there’s always a potential for improvement. Barney was touchingly humble, almost anxious. He’s one of those men that Daniel Day-Lewis, another obsessed craftsman, called « cursed with the curse of the horizon ». The more you chase it, the more it recedes. Success might be obtained, a prize, a title, a competition won. But to work with an ideal is to begin a journey with no end.
Try to do something that makes sense, with the right people. Do it without cutting corners, and with no end to your improvement. That’s the spirit of quality. It’s a weapon that cuts through anything, anywhere. And who knows how much is still to be done ?*
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Something actually useful for those who endured that read : the recipe for THE BEST MARTINI IN THE WORLD (might or might not be an overstatement).
5cl Garden Swift Gin (Capreolus)
3 dashes Quince E.D.V (Capreolus)
1,25cl Homemade Vermouth (Several possibilities here. Mine worked. Here’s the profile : Clementine Leaf, Citron pith, Verbena, Basil, Sage, Toasted Fennel, Genever, Chamomile)
* All of this talk about quality could maybe be found in most self-help books. It’s not new. What is new or is maybe at least very recent is the idea that this mindset can be applied to food, drinks, perfumes … to every area of life. That is complete luxury. And it might be a bit mad, a bit gratuitous. All that energy could be best applied elsewhere. But it’s our thing. We chose to do it well, and to bring to that our imagination and creativity. And why not ? It’s fun. The spirit of quality is underlined by play.