“I believe in destiny. That it is a path to recognize and pursue, always.  In one of the earliest memories of my childhood, I shove my hands into the pantry and I steal a bottle of brandy. I was about three years old. Perhaps, even then, the smells of liquor and the vibrant colours dancing across the surfaces of the pot-bellied glass were calling to me. Today, I understand what they were born from, from my curiosity and the wonder of my childhood.

Those treasures, secretly enclosed behind doors of dark wood, were already whispering about me, about what I would be one day but they were also whispering about my country, my roots.
About my grandfather and his stories; about people coming from the north during the war bringing: dreams of eagles and claws; dark woods dotted with berries lustre; shrubs and razor-sharp leaves that pointed like swords; steaming dishes of grated horseradish in noisy taverns.
About my father, who first wanted to get his hands into the dirty ground, to draw from the roots the odorous infonderne that is the essence of the spirit and enclose it within a casket of polished glass; to learn from the walls of an old distillery, where the keepers of ancient knowledge, since the memory of man, resided.
Today is my turn: to reveal my Gin, to tell you this story once more. To tell you how its golden colour eschews the white, to reflect a warmer, softer light; to tell you how its softness will fill your mouth, with flavours of red berries, liquorice and horseradish. To invent a new language for a timeless story; a story about fate; a story about its land and its roots; a story that is waiting for you to listen…”

Roby Marton



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