The bud is not the berry. Blackcurrant bud is a perfumer's material long before it is a distiller's, green and sharp and faintly catty, and it smells almost nothing like the fruit that grows from it. Gabriel Boudier has been working in Dijon since 1874, in the region that made blackcurrant famous, and uses both the bud and the berry here at 40%.

Having the two forms side by side is the interesting part. The bud arrives first, and it is the sharper, greener presence: aromatic and slightly pungent, closer to a leaf than to a fruit, and it gives the aroma a lift the berry alone could never provide. Blackcurrant itself follows underneath, dark and rounded, supplying the weight and the recognisable fruit. Raspberry sits beside it, brighter and tarter, and the two berries between them fill the middle of the palate. Then the spice arrives to keep everything from turning into a cordial. Ginger arrives with a prickling heat, cardamom with a cool camphorous lift, and coriander seed with a warm spice joining fruit to citrus. Lemon and orange peel sharpen the top. Juniper is genuinely powerful underneath, as the maker states plainly and the palate confirms.

Fruit and juniper in equal measure makes for a versatile glass. Neutral tonic over a properly iced glass gives a gin and tonic with a fresh, spicy dimension the classic version lacks. A few blackcurrants repeat the recipe; a coin of fresh ginger follows the spice instead. Skip sweetened mixers entirely. A house with a century and a half of blackcurrant behind it has less excuse than most for getting it wrong. Using the bud and the berry of the same plant is a way of tasting one ingredient twice. Using the bud and the berry of the same plant is a way of tasting one ingredient twice, at two different moments of its life. It ends fruity, spiced and long.