Review: Courvoisier VSOP Cognac

If you’re an avid reader of this blog (which, let’s be honest, you aren’t) then you’ve probably noticed an upward trend the booze I’ve been drinking.  I’ve been getting all high class with single malts and now a trump card, VSOP Cognac.  I’ve come a long way from drinking vanilla flavored E&J XO.* Anyways, I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit that I am, shall we say more financially liquid, than before.  I’d also be lying if I didn’t admit that anything above $25 didn’t come from my wallet—this was a gift from my old man, who is ever grateful that my student loans now come from my accounts.  Regardless of where it comes from, drinking Cognac has an air of elegance, sophistication and superiority.  Not necessarily superiority in social class mind you, I mean superiority in drinking class; it’s a sign of some maturity and taste.  Perhaps there are some of you thinking about (and youtubing) the song “Pass the Courvoisier,” and you’re probably thinking that kind of kills the cache of the beverage.  I’m not going to assert that Busta Rhymes is a man of exquisite taste, but go ahead disregard that.  What I am saying, and perhaps I should have gotten to this point far earlier, is that good Cognac has not only a fine flavor, but a culture of sophistication with a secret language, a rich history.  With fancy French wine regions as it’s provenance (this is 50-50 Grand and Petit Champagne) and fancy grade names, V.S.O.P. meaning Very Superior Old Pale, the language of Cognac is almost like a secret code for the knowing drinker.  Take into account the fact that Courvoisier is known as the Cognac of Napoleon (also Busta), and you know that this is drink with history.  Rival Hennessey can only boast the dictatorship of Kim Jung-Il, amateur.

So what do you get once you’ve joined the brotherhood?  Here’s my impressions: Warm on the tongue with an herbal aroma, a rounded molasses body, and a rich vanilla finish with a warm bite that cuts through and lingers like a furnace in the back of your throat.  Overall it’s quite well balanced with pleasant dark overtones, though the heat isn’t actually my favorite.  Somehow, though I love high proof bourbon, this heat was unexpected and I’m not crazy about it.  I am pretty crazy about the rest of the flavors though, and most of all, I’m crazy about the way it makes me feel.  Beyond that oh so wonderful cognac buzz, which wraps your brain up like warm a down sleeping bag, there is that wonderful feeling that you’re drinking in good company when you drink VSOP Courvoisier—even if you’re just watching Seinfeld alone and still in your workout clothes.

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*My E&J XO Brandy post is actually by far my most read, so perhaps I should keep my damned mouth shut.

Review: E&J XO Brandy

I’m pretty sure I’ve loved brandy since my first sip of cognac Courvoisier. There are many reasons I loved cognac. It’s a brown liquor, and brown is my favorite color.  Besides, as Ron Swanson says “Clear liquors are for rich women on diets,” though I do like gin with breakfast personally. Now, I don’t remember when that first sip was, but I do know that I’ve spent a lot of money on cognac since then, and my dad has spent a lot of money on cognac’s sweet cousin of the south, Armagnac—which I promptly drank most of.  I’ve loved every drop, shit’s not cheap though.  Even regular VS Courvoisier, about as cheap as it gets, runs in the mid $20s—that money just goes further on bourbon, so that’s what I drink mostly.  However, while reading an article on another alcohol related webpage (this one) I determined, well, perhaps it’s worth trying American brandy.  After all, there are great California wines and brandy is made from grapes too.  The aforementioned article reviews Paul Masson brandies, and I had one of the one’s they mentioned some time ago.  Apparently my subconscious doesn’t remember that as a tragic experience because when I saw that E&J, a brand not known for great brandy, had an XO at around $14 my brain thought I could make a wonderful article out of this.  I’ll let you read the above article for why you should give American brandy a try.  I’m just going to talk about the stuff in the bottle in front of me because this is a review inspired by a concept piece that’s already been written by a far more respectable spirits journalist.  I’m a young guy who drinks hooch and babbles on a keyboard.

Before I get started here’s a brief primer on the rating system used for brandies, so you know what the hell XO means.  I’m stealing this from Wikipedia, as it appears every other article on the subject did.

  • A.C.: aged two years in wood.
  • V.S.: “Very Special” or 3-Star, aged at least three years in wood.
  • V.S.O.P.: “Very Superior Old Pale” or 5-Star, aged at least five years in wood.
  • X.O.: “Extra Old” aged at least six years in wood.
  • Vintage: Stored in the cask until the time it is bottled with the label showing the vintage date.
  • Hors d’age: These are too old to determine the age, although ten years plus is typical

So you see, XO is the high grade shit.  You’ll recall I bought this XO for $14, and yes, that’s insane.  There’s a reason for that.  This is not the kind of brandy that world conquerors drink by their fire while plotting the exploitation of the proletariat and smoking a Cuban cigar that was custom made for them by an old man they promptly killed.  Actually, it might be, I suspect Karl Rove is a cheap sonuvabitch. So what is this brandy like? First off, it has a sweet and slightly astringent nose that reminds me almost of apple jack, but when you sip it there’s a whole different thing going on.  First things first, props—this is quite complex for something so cheap.  The most dominant flavor is vanilla which arrives in shocking proportions, something I’ve never tasted in a brandy, though it makes sense because XO’s get a lot of barrel time.  Also present are brown sugar (demerara, as the fancy people may say) and shockingly something similar to a little maple syrup.  What’s good is this does taste like brandy, and it is quite smooth—it doesn’t suffer from that bitter burnt note that pretty much all cheap, and even some more expensive, brandies and cognacs can get.  But I suspect that’s because vanilla has a tendency to be pretty smooth.  I’m not being very clear here.  That’s because I’m not sure what my brain is thinking either.  On the one hand it’s nice to drink some brandy, it’s been a while and brandy is oh so pleasant and warm in my brain.  On the other hand, this isn’t the Armagnac of days gone by; it’s $14 dollar brandy.  Then again, it’s fucking $14 dollars—and it tastes reasonably good.  Sure, the barrel sweetness and vanilla seem to be masking some less savory flavors, and even distracting from some of the good distilled grape, but hell $14 dollar brandy.  At that price it’s acceptable to mix it with things.  College kids, go ahead, put sprite or some shit in with it. Me, I suspect this would even make a decent sidecar.  Wait; do I have the ingredients to test that theory? Damn, no lemons.  Anyways, the point remains the same.  You a little bit broke? You have $14, you can get a classic and wonderful bottle of Old Grandad, which is always a great choice–but if you want brandy, it’s $14.  Give E&J a chance, it’ll satisfy that brandy hankerin’ and temporarily cure your sobriety based problems.

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