Bacardi Rum Punch
Two word synopsis: Not bad! It tastes sweet, but admittedly, so would any tropical juice mix. At 5.9% ABV, there's certainly some booze here, but I was absolutely expecting some scummy rum tastes to creep in. Long-time readers may note I think the standard Bacardi is unforgivably terrible, so one shudders at least a little bit thinking of what garbage a distiller could heap into our mouths knowing that it could hide behind ten ounces of fruit juice. Against all odds, there's barely a trace of rocket fuel here.
While the Rum Punch is carbonated, Bacardi only gives it a kiss of the bubbles. I feel like I'm tasting real orange, mango, and pineapple juice. You could absolutely slam a few of these back on a hot day, and I could see how a person could get absolutely wrecked in a short amount of time by doing so.
The only thing that gave me pause was the futility of finding the word “juice” anywhere on the can. Instead, I feel like Bacardi is trying to gaslight me with the copy. “Natural flavors” is non-specific and volunteers no tangible information, but at least that kind of guarded language is familiar to anyone who’s read the back of a food package. “No artificial sweeteners” apparently means they're using cane sugar rather than high fructose corn syrup — good on them.
More cryptic was the phrase “Real Ingredients,” as though we live in a world where some cocktail ingredients aren't real at all, or perhaps exist on some kind of abstract plane or ghost world. Nothing made up here, boys! Bacardi wants you to know that these ingredients exist in the physical realm and are moored by time and space.
But even more baffling: “CERTIFIED COLORS.” Certified... colors? Like, as consumers, we should be aware of unscrupulous drink makers trying to slip some hue of orange by us that has more red in it than it maybe really should? Or perhaps we need to know that scientists in some laboratory are pouring Bacardi Punch into clear glasses, nodding with approval, and then making a big green check on their clipboards? They're not telling us they don't dye this to shit at Bacardi. Instead, can lay our heads on our pillows at night knowing that the very best and brightest were hard at work to ensure the colors in this liquid are dead nuts on.
I digress. I liked the Rum Punch as a sweet treat and I'd get these again. It tastes like juice, but with the way the copy is written you'd probably need to waterboard someone at Bacardi to figure out what's really in these cans.
Death and Co. Aurora Highball
Death and Co. is one of those extremely trendy New York bars that puts out coffee table books of their gorgeously-photographed drinks. If you're in New York, and you're famous / feel like standing in line for the better part of a day, maybe you'll get in. Conjure up an image of the bar from the movie Roadhouse. Now picture the exact opposite of that, and you'll have an idea of what Death & Co. is all about.
I figured an outfit like this wouldn't slap their name on some rando vodka distillery's offerings and call it good. I reasoned these guys would very likely have some assiduous development of what cocktails would work in a canned format and make sure the product was a good one. This logic proved sound!
The Aurora Highball offered by Death and Co. combines mint, green tea, pear brandy, vodka, and sake together. This stuff is balanced from the first sip: the mint comes on strong, followed by the green tea and the fruit from the pear brandy. It's sweet, but hardly cloying. It's tasty and sophisticated the whole way through, and never wears out its welcome. A big thumbs up.
I did a bit of a double-take with this stuff. There's a boozy punch that cuts through the light flavors, so imagine my surprise when I saw this was only 8% ABV— about the strength of a craft beer. I'd honestly expected it to be twice that.
As such, the Death & Co. Aurora Highball has earned a weird achievement.... it's kind of a mocktail? An odd descriptor for something with booze in it, I know, but it has that familiar bite of a much higher proofed gin cocktail. It's not that the vodka or pear brandy tastes so much like rocket fuel that it slice through the delicate flavors like a knife, but that it delivers the “cocktail” sensation all out of whack to the proof.
The price per four pack is a little high, but of all of the canned cocktails I've had so far this definitely is the most “craft,” and I'd buy these again.
