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 April 2003
Times-Picayune
By Brett Anderson, Restaurant writer
James Michalopoulos , local artist, entrepreneur and epicure, steps from his gray Honda minivan and commences a tour of his future in the spirit world.
He walks through the open garage door of a run-down Gentilly warehouse that he converted into the distillery for his product and his passion, New Orleans Rum.
The hand-crafted liquor originated in his head a decade ago. With the help of some devoted but equally inexperienced colleagues, Michalopoulos managed to begin producing, bottling and selling his homespun rum in 1998. Today, it is sold widely in Louisiana, and is also available in 10 other states, France, Great Britain and Germany.
The air in the distillery on a recent April afternoon smells of molasses and wet wood. A combination batch and column still sits off to the side. It looks small, but it’s capable of producing enough rum to meet the demand.
Rows of barrels containing aging rum extend into the rear of the plant. Most are used Jack Daniel’s whiskey barrels; the origin of the others is something Michalopoulos would rather not reveal, preferring to keep the secrets of New Orleans Rum’s distinctive flavor.
When New Orleans Rum first entered the market, it was the only rum produced on the mainland United States. Others have since emerged, and the business-savvy artist wants to maintain his edge as he carves out a niche in the growing and highly competitive market for premium liquor.
"It’s a difficult market to penetrate," he says. "There are huge, huge players out there, and they will do anything to keep you out."
The artist stands next to 55-gallon drums labeled Caire & Graugnard, makers of a high-grade Louisiana molasses, which are stacked next to a skeletal wall that will soon enclose a tasting room and retail shop.
The retail area will be the entry point for distillery tours that Celebration Distillation Corporation, New Orleans Rum’s parent company, plans to launch by the end of May. The setting is hardly picturesque -- the distillery sits across from an abandoned lot, and the street outside is littered with discarded carpet padding -- but the set-up will be similar to that of a Napa Valley winery. The comparison is one the wine-loving artist, who has designs on vineyard land in France, openly encourages.
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Rum-making is a tradition wherever sugar cane is grown. In Louisiana, the distillation of locally-grown sugar cane or molasses into liquor dates back to the 1700s. But before Michalopoulos and his dream came along, no rum had been made legally in Louisiana since before Prohibition.
Because of that tradition, Michalopoulos feels he’s revisiting lost heritage with New Orleans Rum. He views it the way many vintners view their wine -- or, for that matter, the way many fans of Michalopoulos ’ art view his 1998, 2001 and 2003 Jazzfest posters and his paintings of New Orleans architecture: as an artistic expression of a particular region.
"We’re basically making a high-quality sugar cane wine," said Jed McSpadden, CEO of Celebration Distillation and manager of Michalopoulos ’ varied business ventures. "We’re using the best edible molasses that you can use. You basically could take our raw materials and put them on your pancakes in the morning. Most people would not go to that extreme."
There are two kinds of New Orleans Rum on the market: a clear, white rum; and a dark, amber rum. This summer, the company will release improved formulas of its signature lines, along with a reserve rum that has been aged at least 7 years.
To those who know his work, Michalopoulos ’ involvement in the project is apparent in the art work depicted on the label, a picture of moon-lit shotguns painted in the distinct, swirling brush strokes that became his signature when he was still working on Bourbon Street and in Jackson Square more than a decade ago. The rich, impressionistic style is seen in this year’s Jazzfest poster and in work displayed throughout his three galleries -- in Boston, in Cluny, France, and in the French Quarter.
The artist’s commercial success has allowed him in recent years to indulge entrepreneurial impulses of a distinctly Epicurean cast. In 1995 he opened Louisiana Star, a wine shop in Covington. A year later, he opened Étoile next door, a stylish bistro that doubles as a gallery. A painting of a vintage automobile that hangs behind one of the tables is priced at $10,900.
Michalopoulos also owns commercial real estate in Covington, rental property in New Orleans, a home in France and a studio/home just off Frenchmen Street in the Marigny, not far from the old Schoen Funeral Home building he recently purchased, hoping to develop it into a high-quality food market.
Of all his ventures, New Orleans Rum is the one with the potential to reach the wide geographical audience that he reaches with his art. But in Michalopoulos ’ mind, all of his activities are interrelated.
"To me, the connection between the rum, the food, and the art is pretty obvious," he said. "They’re all arts for me. I love great food, I love great wine, and I love art.
"It’s really a diminished view that puts artists in this thing where you’re reduced to a picture maker. An artist, truthfully, is someone who brings to bear an open mind and a willingness to search with an element of celebration. It happens in all arenas."
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Michalopoulos , 52, has lived in New Orleans for nearly 25 years. But his real awakening to the transcendence of food and wine happened about 12 years ago when he first started spending his summers in Europe.
Initially, the artist spent his time in Geneva at the invitation of Gudrun Bossy, a wealthy, retired Swiss business executive. Michalopoulos met Bossy like he meets most of the people in his orbit: Through his art, which Bossy liked enough not just to purchase, but to offer to serve as a patron in support of the painter.
Bossy provided Michalopoulos with a place to work, and soon the artist began showing around Europe. He also grew close to Bossy and his wife, Jean-Marie, who happened to be a fantastic cook. The meals they shared included homemade yogurt and preserves, vegetables from the garden, wine from nearby vineyards and liqueur made from locally-grown fruits.
"I saw for the first time a real kitchen," Michalopoulos said. "Practically everything she made was from scratch, which I had never seen before. Then there was the whole market thing. We bought pasta fresh, we bought cheese from the fromagerie. We went to the laiterie to buy the milk. One thing after the other, it was this whole eye-opener in terms of the sensuality and the artisanal nature of food."
Michalopoulos soon became captivated by France, where he eventually set up a summer studio in an old barn near Chardonnay. When he wasn’t making art, he was eating at local restaurants, taking particular delight in lunching on bedrock French dishes such as patés, moules and steak frites -- food of a sensibility that he has tried to duplicate, with a Louisiana flavor, at Étoile.
He also reveled in local wines, which got him to wondering about indulging his newfound passion in his permanent home.
"I really wanted to make wine, but it wasn’t appropriate, given where I live," he said. "Somewhere along the line, it just clicked for me: We have sugar cane. I can’t grow raisins, I can’t grow grapes. I can make rum."
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Michalopoulos does not look much like a burgeoning liquor magnate.
Sitting with his feet propped on a desk cluttered with photographs, magazines, a copy of Malcolm Gladwell’s "The Tipping Point" and at least two different versions of French-English dictionaries, he wears a kind of exaggerated goatee that creeps along his jawline, paint-splattered cut-offs rolled high onto his thighs, an orange T-shirt and a ponytail that curls into a ball. His motorcycle, which he stores indoors, is parked just beyond his arm’s reach.
The makeshift office sits in the front room of his Marigny studio/home, which itself is a kind of interactive piece of ever-evolving art.
Much about the multi-tiered building seems slightly askew, as if it were morphing as it settled into the swampy ground. His paintings are disorienting, like reflections projected by wavy water, and they’re everywhere. A study of Mahalia Jackson he made while working on this year’s Jazzfest poster hangs across from his desk. The doors leading to the first-floor bathroom form a jigsaw puzzle of thin metal. The handles on cupboards and drawers are chunky and slanted.
The place is a manifestation of Michalopoulos ’ restlessness, but there’s plenty of discipline on display as well. A stack of Jazzfest prints sits on a table in the kitchen, waiting for his signature. Bottles of New Orleans Rum crowd shelving, many stuck with different labels being considered for its redesigned packaging, all depicting an example of the artist’s work.
In 1991, when Michalopoulos bought the building, which was once the refrigeration warehouse for the defunct Columbia Beer brewery, he used his artwork as a down-payment. Renovations occurred in stages.
"Every time I’d sell a painting," he said, "I’d go out to Home Depot and buy some boards and whatever."
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Michalopoulos , who was born James Mitchell (he adopted his family’s original Greek moniker in the early ‘90s), graduated from Bowdoin, a prestigious college in Maine. He studied political economy. He taught himself to paint only after he quit his job managing a food cooperative in Boston.
"I didn’t know I would necessarily stay with art," he said. "I always figured that I’d do it for a few years and then go back and get an advanced degree and teach. But that never happened."
He started by working on the streets of a variety of different cities, including Boston and Washington, D.C.
"I went out and I painted a picture on the street," he explained. "I didn’t have a studio, and I lived out of a truck for a period of time. I just went out and went to work." When people approached inquiring about the cost of his work, he’d reply, "How much have you got?"
Michalopoulos came to New Orleans as a street painter and remained there on and off for more than a decade. It’s where he rose to become one of the city’s most popular visual artist. It’s also where he honed his chops as an entrepreneur.
McSpadden first met Michalopoulos in the late ‘80s when he was walking down Bourbon Street one night and saw the artist "making a painting I just had to have." It was of a little Uptown cottage, and he paid $250 for it.
The friendship blossomed after McSpadden became general manager of Houlihan’s. The idea for the Louisiana Star has its roots in the park adjacent the defunct restaurant’s former space, which is now Rick’s Cabaret.
"James painted there every night," McSpadden recalled. "He had all his paintings clipped up on the gate, and he had his little push cart that he put all his supplies in. He’d roll up with that seven days a week."
Jennifer Blow first met Michalopoulos 10 years ago, also on Bourbon Street. She found one of his paintings "very mysterious" and purchased it. Five months later, she and her husband returned to buy another one. Soon, the former paralegal was working with the artist, helping him sell his work on Bourbon.
At the time, despite what one might assume from the working conditions, Michalopoulos had an agent, and he was selling in galleries. Blow, who today manages the Michalopoulos Gallery in the Quarter, wasn’t even his first employee.
That Michalopoulos was able to become an employer and enter into real estate deals while still technically working as a street artist is proof enough that he was never a garden variety sidewalk huckster.
To spend a day with him is to run into all kinds of New Orleans characters who happen to be in his employ, from young artists working on new screenprinting techniques to polished business types like McSpadden. Mark Stewart started stretching canvases for Michalopoulos 12 years ago, and today is president and distiller of Celebration Distillation.
"First and foremost, James is an artist, and I think that comes out on the business side a lot," said Blow. "He has big dreams, and he doesn’t want to take no for an answer, because he knows he can find ways for things to happen."
When asked how many people he has working for him, Michalopoulos first said 12. After thinking out loud for a minute ("printmaking, posters, retail stuff, working in galleries"), he raised the estimate to 15, then ("mechanical things, sculpture, renovations") to 20 -- that’s including part-timers and the guy who’s helping him restore his house in France, but not the people working at Étoile, Louisiana Star or New Orleans Rum.
"I’ve got a lot of stuff going on," he said.
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The process of making rum is no easy science, just as the business of selling it is no cakewalk. The principals behind New Orleans Rum (Stewart, McSpadden and Michalopoulos ) spent years seeking advice from more than a few people who told them they were crazy. Finally, they’re at the point where they can now comfortably say they know what they’re doing. Getting there was half the fun. But that doesn’t mean they’re satisfied.
Michalopoulos in particular seems to relish the idea that they’re always experimenting, trying different distillation, blending and aging techniques to achieve the ultimate flavor.
"I’m interested in interesting results," was how he put it. "I want to go out on an edge."
He had arranged for a rum tasting at the distillery. When he arrived, two upturned barrels held snifters and several different bottles of New Orleans Rum. The idea was to taste the differences between the current versions of the dark and white rums and new formulas that the company is considering introducing this summer.
White rum, unlike dark, is charcoal filtered; it’s not aged in wood barrels, which is where dark rum gets its color and acquires its complex flavor. White rum is generally considered a mainstream mixing alcohol, while dark rum is worthy of drinking straight on the rocks.
New Orleans White Rum, however, is surprisingly complex. The current version smells and tastes strongly of vanilla, which mellows its alcohol bite. At the tasting, the second example was even smoother, with citrus notes adding to its character.
At the suggestion that the white rum is good enough for sipping, McSpadden agreed; Michalopoulos didn’t.
"You mean this is a sipping rum?" he asked. "No. I wouldn’t say that. I think it’s one of the few white rums that you can sip, but I don’t think of it as a sipping rum."
The dark rums, which sell for more, were a different story. They’re generally more robust. You could taste the molasses in each that we tried. New Orleans Original Dark Rum is 86 proof; stick your nose in a glass and you’ll smell bananas Foster. The experimental, 80 proof dark rum was more buttery. Michalopoulos detected orange peel in the nose. As he tasted, Michalopoulos took notes on scrap paper, interjecting opinions about marketing, distilling and the overall sublimity of the product.
When asked if he was satisfied with the new dark rum, he said, "Not entirely. But I’m very interested by it. To me, it’s got a very bright profile on the tongue. It’s very lively. It sits in the mouth well." He paused for a minute to ponder another taste. "Can I have a touch more?"
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