This is a rum that starts in sepia tones — like flipping through old postcards from Barbados, edges curled, ink faded by salt air. In the glass, it shimmers pale gold, the colour of lazy sunlight on a worn wooden dock. The nose is delicate, unhurried — ripe banana and canned pineapple at first, then soft vanilla bean and brown sugar with just the faintest breath of toasted oak. There’s something fleeting about it, like a memory you’re not quite sure is yours.

The palate is light-bodied, easygoing, but not without texture. It washes over you like warm tidewater, sweet at first — molasses diluted with orange zest and a wink of nutmeg. There’s a mid-palate snap of white pepper and citrus peel that vanishes just as quickly as it arrives, leaving behind a trail of grilled plantain and baking spices. No hidden chambers here, no smouldering tension — just a good-natured narrative that doesn’t ask too much of you.

Its finish is short, but not dismissive. A final flutter of oak, banana skin, and a bit of salted caramel. You close the book knowing it was a pleasant journey, even if it won’t change your life. A beginner’s Caribbean novella — breezy, earnest, with the faintest ghost of what might come in a more mature sequel.