I once met a guy at a booze convention in Las Vegas who’d made a ton of dough in Silicon Valley and wanted to pursue his lifelong dream of owning his own island rum. He funded the project himself, from research and development to contracting a reputable distillery in the Caribbean to make it. He’d come to the convention in hopes of securing distribution, the most essential step in the process.
I asked him what he planned to call his booze, and he told me he wanted to leave a legacy behind—something his kids could be proud to call their own someday. He’d use the family’s name. I wished him luck, we went our separate ways, and I never saw him again. As far as I know he never did get distribution for his eponymous island rum.
And that’s a damn shame. Bob Hoar seemed like a good guy.
The allegorical lesson of Hoar Island Rum is that what’s on the bottle can be every bit as important as what’s in it. Crude, cryptic or clichéd names rarely give rise to successful products. When deciding what to dub your small batch pulque or chitterlings-infused whiskey, it’s best to follow the advice of a legendary San Diego newsman and “stay classy.”
Over the years there have been many alcohol brand names that were genuine head scratchers. Some came and went faster than you can say Stiffy’s Vodka, while others have lingered longer than the odious scent of Donkey Piss—a reposado tequila produced at an award-winning distillery.
There are bad booze names. There are worse booze names. And there are booze names that are “No. Just no.” Here’s to the most insane of all time.