At Lamas Destilaria, Brazilian native woods, a warmer climate and an experimental streak are helping to define a whisky that belongs to Brazil rather than imitate Scotland.
In the glass, the idea seems simple: malt whisky, shaped by wood. At Lamas Destilaria, however, the choice of wood is also a statement of their identity. Alongside the familiar oak, this Minas Gerais state producer based in Matozinhos has explored finishes involving Brazilian species such as amburana, bálsamo, angico, sassafrás, cumaru and putumuju amongst others. Each contributes its own aromatic signature and the real challenge is knowing when to stop.
The team’s guiding rule is that the native wood must never overpower the malt whisky beneath it. Its Brazilian-wood releases begin with a common single malt whisky base, then moved into carefully judged finishing periods. The aim is not to create a flavoured curiosity but to retain recognisable malt character while introducing a layer that could only have come from Brazil.
“If you’re not careful, it becomes more native wood than malt,” Márcio Lamas, one of the founders explains during a long, informal tasting at the distillery. That risk is especially pronounced with amburana, which can transform a spirit remarkably quickly. Other woods may develop over a period of six months or longer; amburana on the other hand, can make its presence felt within weeks. Rather than follow a fixed recipe, Lamas Destilaria adjusts time and blending proportions according to the intensity of each barrel.
Learning by doing
Lamas Destilaria emerged from a family appetite for making things and, as the three brothers who founded it (Márcio, Marcelo and José Carlos) tell their story, from a willingness to learn through trial and error. The business began on a very small scale around 2009/2010. The early years involved repeated experiments, redistillation and the gradual development of a house recipe. A visit to Scotland during that time added knowledge and context, but the whisky was already taking shape before that journey.
This matters to the founders because they do not describe their work as an attempt to reproduce Scotch whisky in another latitude. Scotland has centuries of accumulated practice, a particular climate and its own raw-material traditions. Brazil offers a different set of conditions. For Lamas, the more interesting question is not how closely it can copy an established model, but what kind of whisky those Brazilian conditions make possible.
That philosophy is visible in the distillery’s restless product development. The conversation moves rapidly from woods and barrel sizes to smoke, alcoholic strength, rum and wine casks, blending trials and abandoned ideas. Not every experiment becomes a release. Some are rejected precisely because they obscure the underlying malt or push the liquid too close to another category. A cachaça-cask trial, for example, was set aside when the result tasted too strongly of cachaça for the intended domestic audience.
Failure, in this environment, is useful information. It sharpens the boundaries of the Lamas style.
A Brazilian vocabulary of wood
Brazilian native wood is the most distinctive part of that style, but its use demands both restraint and traceability. The wood species discussed at the distillery are already recognised for use in cachaça maturation. Lamas stresses that it buys casks from cooperages able to document the legal origin of protected timber, rather than treating native wood as an unrestricted resource.
The sensory differences are substantial. Sassafrás can give a pronounced local-wood character after months in cask. Amburana is faster and more assertive, demanding careful blending. Bálsamo, familiar to cachaça drinkers, carries its own strongly recognisable profile. Putumuju, angico, cumaru and eucalyptus broaden the palette further.
Even then, the founders resist easy storytelling. Fruit and timber from the same tree should not be assumed to taste alike, they point out, and tasting language is highly suggestible. Tell somebody that a whisky has encountered eucalyptus and they may immediately believe they can taste eucalyptus. Lamas is more interested in what the liquid actually communicates than in forcing a picturesque descriptor onto it.
This scepticism extends to expertise itself. Trained tasters can identify fine distinctions, but the company knows that specialist drinkers are a minority. The commercial task is wider: helping curious consumers move from familiar blends toward single malt whisky, higher strengths, smoke and unfamiliar cask finishes without making the experience feel like an examination.
Smoke without peat
The same local logic appears in Lamas’s approach to smoky whisky. Peat smoke is inseparable from the history and flavour of several Scottish regions, in particular Islay, but peat is not a natural Brazilian reference point. Lamas has experimented instead with smoke produced from reforested eucalyptus wood.
The process described at the distillery begins with malted barley that is moistened and exposed slowly to smoke for many hours, sometimes longer, so it can take on the aroma.
The founders are clear that the result is not an imitation of peat.
Eucalyptus smoke is different: less medicinal in association and closer to the familiar aromas of food smoked over wood. That distinction becomes part of the product rather than a deficiency to disguise.
The distillery’s smoky expressions (such as Lamas Nimbus and Nimbus Robustus) also demonstrate how alcoholic strength changes perception. During the tasting, the same underlying spirit is discussed at different alcoholic strengths, with one participant finding the stronger version unexpectedly easier to drink. Such reactions reinforce the company’s preference for empirical decisions over received wisdom: make it, taste it, compare it and then decide.
Small scale as an advantage
Whisky imposes patience on any producer. Spirit must be laid down years before it can be sold and Lamas matures their new make spirit in casks for at least 6-7 years (even though Brazilian legislation allows for whisky to released after 2 years), tying up cash in casks while evaporation—the “angel’s share”—continues. Lamas cites a historical loss of roughly 6-7% a year in its own conditions, a reminder that maturation in a warmer climate brings both speed and cost.
Production remains modest by global standards at c. 120k Litres/ year, with the malted barley sourced primarily from Brazil but also from neighbouring Argentina and peated malted barley sourced from Europe when required. Fermentation time is 72 hours and there are two copper pot stills (a 4,800L wash still and a 3,000L spirit still).
Availability follows the rhythm of maturing stock rather than immediate demand. Yet the founders also see an advantage in being small. A large distillery can be slow to change direction; a smaller producer can try a new cask, alter a blend or pursue a limited release without reorganising an industrial system. Rarity and flexibility can create value when they are supported by quality.
The same scale shapes distribution. Lamas would prefer to build closer relationships with final consumers, bars, restaurants and specialist retailers rather than depend entirely on a long conventional chain of distributors and supermarkets. Tax and logistics complicate the Brazilian market, while export brings its own obstacles. Canada, for example, generated interest but proved difficult because of its controlled system, distance and the need for local agents.
France offered a more immediate opening. According to the interview, buyers approached Lamas and purchased their whisky—including Brazilian-wood expressions—before some releases had reached the domestic market. Other international contacts have similarly begun with people discovering the distillery, rather than with a large outbound sales operation.
Building confidence in Brazilian whisky
Behind the barrels and experiments lies a broader ambition: to help change the perception that imported whisky must be better. The founders compare the category’s development with the rise of Brazilian craft beer, wine, cheese and olive oil. Each had to overcome scepticism before consumers accepted that local producers could compete seriously on quality.
In that context, Lamas does not view every other Brazilian whisky producer as a direct threat. A growing field can validate the category, educate drinkers and weaken the old assumption that quality necessarily comes from abroad. Competition can expand the market before it divides it.
That may be the most persuasive part of the Lamas story. Its whisky is Brazilian not simply because it is distilled in Brazil, but because the distillery treats place as a creative resource: native woods, local climate, local smoking materials and a culture of improvisation all enter the process. The goal is neither novelty for its own sake nor a rejection of whisky tradition. It is the harder task of learning from tradition without surrendering identity.
In a category governed by time, Lamas is making a long bet—that drinkers at home and abroad are ready to discover a Brazilian Single Malt whisky on its own terms.
Note: This article was developed from a recorded interview and tasting at Lamas Destilaria.
Also available at Inside the Cask: The Brazilian Whisky Map
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