Clairin: A Spirit of Place, People and Survival
- Nikkhil Shirodkar
- 51 minutes ago
- 8 min read
Image: Maison & Velier by Justin Alford (@thewhiskeymcgee)
Can you remember the last time a spirit shook up your sense? That’s exactly what happened the instant I nosed Clairin Sajous. Even now, just thinking about it gives me goosebumps. I tasted it right at the end of an eight-rum flight at the excellent Jungle Bird rhum bar in Kuala Lumpur, a point when palate fatigue had already set in and reviewing turns fuzzy. Bars are hardly the best places for serious analysis anyway, but what choice do you have when back home you can’t find a single bar with a rum selection like this? Despite the saturation, Sajous hit me like a sucker punch. The only thing I managed to scribble in my notebook was Ooft! Then I shut it, sat back, and tried to steady myself after what felt like a painfully beautiful assault on the senses. I was giddy, in the best way possible.
So, what is Clairin?
Often described as Haiti’s moonshine, Clairin, or kleren in Haitian Creole, means “clear” a reference to its bright, transparent appearance. But it’s more than just that. It is the raw, aromatic expression of the sugarcane varieties grown across Haiti and is deeply tied to everyday life, ceremonies, and even Voodoo rituals. In many ways, Clairin is less a drink and more a living tradition.
Unlike rums made from molasses, Clairin, for my money at least, belongs to the rhum agricole family, distilled directly from fresh sugarcane juice. Haiti has been growing cane for centuries, almost always without chemicals or industrial methods, and often intercropping it with fruit and vegetables. This remarkable biodiversity enables each region to yield its own distinctive Clairin. Across the country there are hundreds of small, often shed-like rudimentary backyard distilleries.
The result of this process is a spirit that encapsulates the essence of Haitian terroir and tradition. A single-estate spirit in its truest sense, clairin's pure and unadulterated nature reflects the dedication of the farmer - distiller who harmoniously unite their roles to create this Haitian spirit. Sensorially exuberant, clairin stands as a vivid expression of Haiti’s raw terroir and the living microbiology that defines it. Villagers bring jugs to the market and fill them from plastic drums of fresh clairin. And that’s how it’s drunk — unfiltered, unblended, untamed.
Velier’s Journey into Haiti
In 2012, Luca Gargano and Daniele Biondi made their way through Haiti. What they discovered were distilleries that felt frozen in time. Places where farming and distilling were still one and the same, operating as they might have two centuries ago. Gargano called clairin “the purest expression of rum in the world”, born from pre-chemical agriculture where the farmer and distiller are the same person. Velier’s involvement didn’t stop at bottling. In 2018, they launched The Presidium, a project to safeguard and celebrate traditional Haitian production methods.
Among the many distillers, three stood out: Faubert Casimir (Clairin Casimir), Michel Sajous (Clairin Sajous), and Fritz Vaval (Clairin Vaval). Each grow their own cane and distill their own Clairin, resulting in three expressions as different as the soils they spring from. Velier’s decision to champion their work brought these spirits out of Haiti and on to the global stage. By 2017, Clairin had officially landed in the United States, its first audience outside Haiti. Bethel Romelus (Clairin Le Rocher) and Stephan Kalil Saoud (Clairin Sonson) have joined Velier as well.
(Image courtesy : GPJ News)
Production
Cane is planted and harvested year-round, ensuring a steady supply. Once cut, the stalks must be crushed quickly, usually the same day because the sugars (sucrose inversion) degrade fast. Most distillers grow their cane right beside the distillery, sometimes hauling it in by donkey or ox.
Depending on the distillery, the raw material can be freshly pressed cane juice, thick sugarcane syrup, or a blend of the two. Whatever the base, it ferments in wooden or metal vats, fermented only by the wild yeasts clinging to the cane and drifting in the local air. No cultured starters, no commercial strains. Fermentations run long, often five days or more, creating deep layers of funk and complexity.
(Image courtesy : Clarin-The spirit of Haiti & Inu ā Kena )
From Cane to Congeners
The remarkable aromatic intensity of clairin can be traced to the combined effects of its spontaneous fermentation and rudimentary distillation practice, both of which favour the retention and transformation of congeners that are typically minimised in industrial rum production. Fermentation relies entirely on indigenous yeasts and bacteria originating from the cane, the distillery environment, and the open fermentation vessels themselves. This complex microbial cocktail where yeast and bacteria compete and co-operate extends fermentation times to five days or longer, enabling extensive secondary metabolism.
There's no pH or temperature regulation. Wild yeasts generate not only ethanol but a wide range of higher alcohols (fusel oils) such as isoamyl and isobutyl alcohols and aldehydes while bacterial activity contributes significant quantities of volatile fatty acids including acetic, butyric, and caproic acids. During distillation, these acids react with ethanol to produce ethyl esters, notably ethyl acetate, ethyl butyrate, and ethyl caproate that lend clairin its distinctive overripe fruity, vegetal, and solvent-like high ester aromas.
Distillation is carried out in small, direct-fired alembic stills, typically operating as single-pass systems with little or no rectification. Some setups incorporate one or more rudimentary plates or external chambers that provide limited reflux, yet the overall process remains coarse and manual. The broad distillation cuts (hearts), minimal separation, and direct firing ensure that a wide spectrum of volatile compounds passes into the distillate. Typical ABV is in the 45-60% range.
Unlike many Jamaican high-ester rums that systematically employ dunder and muck pits, Clairin production mostly relies on spontaneous wild yeast fermentation and small-batch pot or pot-plus-plates distillation. This results in a spirit rich in esters, fusel alcohols, and volatile acids compounds essential to clairin’s identity.
Why It Matters
Clairin is more than just a category of rum. It’s Haiti’s history in liquid form where every sip reflects the fields, the farmers, and the traditions that refuse to be erased. Thanks to Velier’s push and the dedication of the distillers, this spirit once hidden in rural corners is now claiming its place on the world stage.
And if you’re lucky enough to sample it, as I did in Kuala Lumpur, don’t be surprised if it stops you in your tracks. Clairin doesn’t just smell and taste like any rum. It feels like an encounter. It is most certainly divisive, especially for whisky drinkers weaned on genteel malty palates. Even by rum standards everything about clairins is off the charts! Mixologists on the other hand would have a field day playing with these in their cocktails.
Clairin Sajous 2018 — 56.4%
Clairin Sajous is one of the most celebrated examples of Haiti’s traditional sugarcane spirit. Produced by Michel Sajous at Chelo Distillery in Saint Michel de l’Attalaye, it is made from organically grown Cristalline cane, pressed and fermented with wild yeasts. The resulting wash undergoes a long, natural fermentation before being distilled once in a small pot still heated with bagasse.
Bottled at natural still strength without dilution or additives, Sajous is a raw and vibrant expression of Haitian terroir. It bursts from the glass with an onslaught of aromas - fresh cane juice, lemon zest, crushed olives, sourdough starter, turpentine, diesel and a streak of brine. On the palate it’s electric — if you survive past the face zapping rawness of the distillate, it gets grassy, vegetal, almost feral with waves of citrus, pickled olives, white pepper and the funk of rotten fruits. Turpentine, diesel and salt strike at the back of the palate. Have enough of this neat and you could become a fire breathing dragon. Fat and oily, it’s intense, unapologetic and untamed. In short, Ooft!
Clairin Vaval 2018 — 50.6%
From the coastal village of Cavaillon, Fritz Vaval produces this clairin at his Arawaks distillery, where the still is famously cobbled together from salvaged parts. Using organically grown Madame Meuze cane, fermented with wild yeasts and distilled over bagasse fires, the result is a spirit that is grassy, saline and bone dry. Aromas of herbs, lime peel and sea spray dominate, with an earthy vegetal funk that lingers. Think boiled yam, green peas, olives and bitter gourd. On the palate it comes across as sharply acidic, coastal, and almost astringent. You can literally taste the hot stills, the metal, the plastic drums aided by the ABV. Rotting fruits soon follow with oodles of salt, cane vinegar and wet earth. This is more in line with the Sajous and also the least appealing, at least for me.
Clairin Casimir 2018 — 49.5%
Produced by Faubert Casimir in the village of Barradères, this clairin is made from native sugarcane varieties such as Hawaii Blanche and Hawaii Rouge. A distinctive feature of the local tradition is the addition of ingredients like bitter orange peel, ginger and grasses during fermentation. On the nose it opens with funky tropical fruit, cane juice, fresh ginger, all spice and lemongrass, underpinned by a wilder lactic, olive brine and plasticine edge. There's a tiniest hint of smoke that floats like a haze, perhaps from the bagasse fire. On the palate it feels generous and sweeter than its counterparts. Muddled lime zest, aniseed, unripe pineapple, fresh mint and lemongrass is followed by a lovely floral note of dried chrysanthemum that develops on the mid palate. Bitter liquorice provides a good counter-balance while dried minty herbs and gentle smoke fade into the finish. This is lovely and my favourite of the three. The lower ABV works like a charm but without ever losing the raw vitality that defines clairin.
A Wider Conversation
Clairin’s identity is not only Haitian but also part of a broader family of spirits that celebrate locality, tradition and minimal intervention. In many ways, its production mirrors many traditional artisanal spirits like mezcal from Mexico. Both are born in small rural communities, often distilled in rustic setups from raw, unprocessed materials. They rely on wild fermentation, are fired by biomass from their own crops, and are bottled without dilution or additives. What matters most is not uniformity but authenticity, spirit that reflects the farmer/distiller, the land and the village.
From an Indian perspective, parallels can be drawn with Feni in Goa and Mahua in central India. Feni is distilled from cashew apple or coconut toddy, and Mahua from the flowers of the Madhuca longifolia tree. Both are tied to community identity, ritual use, and seasonal rhythms, just as clairin is tied to Haitian life. Historically, they too were dismissed as rustic or even illicit, but in recent years they have gained recognition as heritage spirits worthy of protection and pride.
These spirits are pungent, powerful, and often bewildering to the uninitiated, yet deeply interwoven with the culture they come from. De gustibus non est disputandum — in matters of taste, there can be no disputes. To some they may taste wild, raw or even revolting, but to their communities they embody history, pride and identity. Seen this way, Clairin is not an outlier. It belongs to the same conversation as mezcal, feni, mahua and baijiu. These are spirits that reflect culture, tradition and terroir in every drop. What unites them is not polish or refinement, but their unapologetic honesty. They taste of place, of people, and of survival.
An excellent in-depth post on Clairin I'd highly recommend is The Key Rums of the World - Velier's Haitian Clairins by Lance aka The Lone Caner.
Casimir and Vaval samples kindly provided by The Whiskysleuth.