Welcome back to FTW’s Beverage of the Week series. Here, we mostly chronicle and review beers, but happily expand that scope to any beverage that pairs well with sports. Yes, even cookie dough whiskey.
I had never heard of 818 Tequila for two reasons. The first is that I’m not a big tequila drinker, leaving me abreast only of the big names — your Cuervos and Patrons and Espolons, mostly. The second is that I am someone’s dad, woefully out of touch with popular culture that doesn’t revolve around various FX/FXX shows and largely unaware of the business ventures of Miss Kendall Jenner.
Jenner, like George Clooney, Dan Aykroyd and Peyton Manning before her, is now in the spirits business. Her brand, 818, was founded in 2021 and quickly gained the kind of cachet that comes with 280 million Instagram followers. The official company account clocks in at 1.1 million, which seems low by comparison but is still five times larger than White Claw’s following.
(There’s a larger debate here about the role of cultural appropriation in the rise of American celebrities adopting traditional Mexican spirits and culture to make money, particularly when it comes to a family as ubiquitous as the Kardashian/Jenner clan. I assure you I am not the right person to talk to about this. I am just here to drink it, but I do understand the concern.)
I was fortunate not only to get some for sampling, but to get a fifth of 818’s ultra-luxe Eight Reserve, which comes in a very nice, unique eight-shaped ceramic bottle that also happens to look like the world’s least convenient vape pen. And since I’m a relative tequila neophyte, I also reached out to 818’s Director of Tequila David Yan Gonzalez to talk me through it (in between our shared concerns over why the Dallas Cowboys aren’t better).
Eight Reserve Tequila: A
The actual tasting itself came in a rocks glass, since all my specialized glassware is either for beer or whiskey. My baseline for straight-up tequila is … not great. The majority of that experience is a lone bottle of Pepe Lopez two decades ago, the bulk of which was flushed into the Rhode Island sewer system some 45 minutes later.
Yan Gonzalez assured me that not only would this be better, but that tequila as a whole has improved significantly in recent years thanks to the proliferation of new technology in the industry. That’s great, because Pepe Lopez tasted like salt water that had somehow gone bad. The booze expert also suggested this tasting would change my relationship with tequila forever. This sounds like bragging, but honestly was just him addressing the fact the bulk of my agave consumption comes from ranch waters and canned seltzers.
That first sip is, true to form, unlike any tequila I’ve ever had before. There’s no burn, allowing a rich network of flavors to develop. The three-barrel blend — a 14-month, three year and eight year mix from a range of American bourbon and French wine casks — is incredibly complex, with several tastes weaving together but none really standing out to dominate the process.
The smell off the pour is more floral and a lot more gentle than most tequilas I’ve smelled which, again, isn’t a ton. The first sip, post preheating, is cinnamon, then vanilla and some flowers. There’s a little bit of that barrel-aged oak as well. It all lingers slightly with a very minor boozy warmth. Nothing that burns or would make you cringe or reach for water, just a reminder that you are, in fact, drinking a high ABV spirit.
It’s smooth enough that it’s easy to sort through. You can let it linger in a way I wouldn’t with most tequilas. There’s some dried berries, a little caramel — some kind of organic sweetness that’s slightly dry.
After a neat glass I opted for Yan Gonzalez’s recommendation and dropped a couple ice cubes in. The cold does seem to concentrate that sweetness, making this an easy sipper. It reminds me a little of a cigar with a sweet wrapper — like a vanilla Swisher Sweet. I’m sure that’s not the kind of comparison a top shelf liquor loves to invite. I promise, that’s a compliment.
There’s a little bit of outdoors in each sip. I want to take this onto a deck and drink it at sunset. I can’t, since we’re gonna get 7.5 inches of snow this weekend, but you get the idea.
It’s a very lush tequila. Is it worth $200? For me, no.
But again, I’m not a big tequila guy and the maximum I pay for my favorite booze — Bunnahabhain’s completely wonderful Ceobanach Scotch whiskey — only clocks in around $90 (and a bottle of that lasts years). Instead, I’ll pour this when friends come over and leave it out on the liquor cabinet so people ask what the infinity bottle is.
It’s a good spirit, I’ll be happy to share. I might even give them the 15 minute lesson on tequila foreplay, if I can remember it all.
