Pod Tiki: Samoan Fog Cutter

In my defense, I was left unsupervised. A few years ago I found myself with some time off. My wife still had to work and in what seemed an unprecedented surprise, but in hindsight was a blatant attempt to get me out of the house so I wouldn’t bother her all day, she suggested I take the 4 hour drive down to Atlanta for an overnight visit to Trader Vic’s. I’ve spoken some before on this first Trader Vic’s experience so I’ll just give my main takeaway; This is what a Tiki bar is supposed to be. Bamboo, nautical and Polynesian themes, glass floats and pufferfish hanging behind the bar and a circuitous dining room. Masks, Tikis, and exotic weapons lined the Kapa’a covered walls leading to a glass atrium featuring tropical plants and totems. It also featured one of Vic’s signature drinks. A drink that helped to solidify his unequivocal position as an equal to Donn Beach.  

Vic may’ve been the later comer to Tiki but so many of his creations have become indelible staples in the genre. Two of which being his use of custom ceramic mugs and the idea of blending not only different rums in one drink, but entirely different spirits. Though this technique was used before by Joe Scialom, specifically in his Suffering Bastard, later imitated by Vic himself. But, let’s not breeze over the custom mug thing. This in itself has become a cottage industry among collectors and entrepreneurs. I myself have fallen victim to the allure of a custom display mug or pop-culture property. Shout out to the baby Yoda mug.  In fact, buying-selling-collecting-and cataloging Tiki mugs is a subset of the genre almost tantamount to the drinks that fill them. Go to any Tiki convention or meet-up. The market-bizzare and symposiums are almost passable as actual interest in the genre and not just spurious attempts to justify a 3-day rum bender. 

Back to Trader Vic’s and a starry eyed Tiki podcaster asking the bartender way too many questions about the drink menu, recipes, and history. I ordered the Mai Tai from the menu. Then, the bartender made me another version from scratch. That is, not using the trademark Trader Vic Mai Tai Mix. I then tried some kind of punch the name of which is lost to the gods, but of which I do recall came in a Marqueses mug. 

After making my way to the dinner table and ordering my rangoons and fried rice I was anxious to try a Tiki classic I had never experienced. It would have been at this point that my wife may’ve said something to the effect of, “maybe you shouldn’t slam four Tiki drinks in quick succession like that?” 

I should’ve known by the sheer size of the vessel. Perhaps in my excitement I failed to process the ingredient list. I read it. I knew of the drink, even. Yet, I couldn't help but swig this delectable libation down like it was a cold beer after mowing the lawn. For this was the final drink of my stay of which afterwards I can recall only vague dream visions of what transpired. I have flash of meeting the GM and talking to him about Pod Tiki. I purchased a signature Mai Tai glass and they threw in a bunch of swizzle sticks and promo swag. I do recall the rice being quite good, and holding the prodigious hand crafted mug in my hand admiring the artwork. Then I was upstairs, face down in my hotel bed. 

It seems I should’ve heeded Vic’s warning when he stated, “Fog Cutter, hell. After two of these you won’t even see the stuff.”

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Tony, and this is Pod Tiki. Today we return to as vintage as vintage Tiki gets with the infamous Fog Cutter. 

Trader Vic and Don The Beachcomber get lumped together in so many ways, and well deservedly. The two men, however acrimonious their relationship, created most of the inexorable iconography that make up the foundation of Tiki. Ask any casual imbiber to describe what they think of as Tiki and chances are they will touch on at least a few standard imageries. Donn and Vic engaged in an exotic cold war of sorts, constantly volleying claims of who invented what first. Luckily for us, this resulted in a one-upmanship battle that rendered such things as the communal Tiki bowl created by Vic. No doubt modeled after the Polynesian tradition of the Kava Bowl.  

However, as talented and protean as Vic was in his recipes, he also favored, as most of the best artists do in any medium, the idea of changing one or two ingredients and calling it something brand new. Case in point, the aforementioned Suffering Bastard. Vic’s version was nothing at all resembling Joe Scialom’s famous drink which used a base of gin, Cognac, and ginger beer. Nope, Vic’s was simply a mai tai with an extra shot of overproof rum. 

Following this rationale leads us to the origin of the Fog Cutter. Vic based most of his concoctions off the daiquiri as opposed to Donn’s use of the punch method, but not to be outdone Vic propagated a few prolific punches of his own. One of these was the Tiki Bowl. Light Puerto Rican rum, dark Jamaican rum, cognac, orange and lemon juices, and orgeat syrup. If we replace the Jamaican rum with a second shot of Puerto Rican we have another of Vic’s most famous Tiki drinks - The Scorpion. Now, if we wanna get crazy, add a ½ oz of gin and a cream sherry float and we have the Samoan Fog Cutter. 

But, wait! What’s this Samoan you speak of, Tony? Well, in the early days, circa WW-II, Vic apparently was trying to get people fucked up. I guess he figured folks needed something strong to numb the cultural PTSD. On a much milder scale remember the (pun intended) fog we all had to ease out of post pandemic. Or, maybe the Fog Cutter was Vic’s attempt to compete with Donn’s high-gravity Zombie. This original version of the Fog Cutter lacked the complexity and acute balance of the Zombie. This was never going to do for Vic, who was a perfectionist priding himself on a culinary approach to cocktailing. So, sometime in the 1950’s he reimagined his recipe into the Samoan Fog Cutter, a more refined and frankly, better drink. Still a pretty deep in the bottle drink Vic mellowed it out by reducing the alcohol by a full ounce and blending it with crushed ice rather than shaking. Don’t be fooled by this, though. Boasting three ounces of booze the Samoan Fog Cutter still lives up to doing the exact opposite of its name. I can attest. For somewhere between Trader Vic’s restaurant, the elevator ride, and my hotel bed, a fog descended upon me the likes of which could only be attributed to the Tiki gods. The ancestors were guiding me to safety. 

So, what is this strange imbibement that induces such quixotic clemency? Well, let’s make a drink and find out! 

Let’s knock out the easy stuff. Vic opted for lemon juice as the sour here. A dichotomy to Donn’s almost exclusive use of lime. This may seem strange at first considering Vic’s education in the daiquiri from Cuban masters such as Constante Ribaluaga Vert. However, lemon is commonly used in place of lime in drinks containing gin, or brandy. Both of which are found causing mischief in the Fog. Lemon works well to brighten things up and accent the botanical notes of gin. It also unexpectedly works well to compliment the rich fruity notes of brandy. Think, Sidecar. We’ll also need some orange juice. I beg you, unless you’re making brunch drinks, don’t use orange juice from a bottle. Please just squeeze it. A simple analog metal juicer works wonderfully, or simply squeeze by hand. Think of it like one of those stress relief balls everyone’s parents had in the car in the eighties. Maybe not all parents had one and my sister and I were just extra stressful. 

For sweet Vic reached for Orgeat. Made famous in modern times by its use in the Mai Tai, orgeat syrup is another ingredient introduced by Vic that Donn never used hitherto. Orgeat is a syrup made with almonds, sugar, rose water, and orange blossom water. Originally it was made with barley, which is how we get the word. Hordeaceus, latin for ‘with barley’, was turned into orge, the French word for barley. As a cocktail anecdote, the Spanish also had a barley based spirit known as orxata, which turned into Horchata. Although, neither one longer contains bartley orgeat and horchata have nothing in common outside of their milky appearance. 

Now, let’s jump into the booze. The biggest quantity of spirit will be light Puerto Rican rum. Anyone who’s listened to this show for any amount of time knows I have opinions on light Puerto Rican rum. Mainly, that they get a bad rap for being popular. But, guess what? You might want to sit down. Bacardi is a really good expression of light Spanish style rum. So is Don Q, although I think the only reason people claim it’s better is to disparage Bacardi. That style of rum was invented to be light and fruity in order to appeal to the rising U.S. tourism to pre-Castro Cuba. It gained popularity because it’s easy to drink and quite palatable to all patrons. Much like American lager. And, like American lager cut through the haze of over-hopped craft beer we’re now seeing lighter offerings cutting through the fog of over-hyped designer rums. Don’t misconstrue, I love all kinds of rum. My intention is only to stop the overlooking of Puerto Rican rum. There are great light rums from Jamaica, Barbados, and Martinique, as well as many other regions, but Puerto Rican rum is specifically utilized for its crisp fruity flavor. I can definitely see how it would be a shoe-in to compliment brandy and gin. 

Next we’ll need some of that brandy and gin. Vic doesn’t specify style or brand of gin so, keeping with what is generally used in Tiki, I assumed he would have used a London Dry. I feel the rich botanicals necessary to cut through the, umm… fog, of the other ingredients. Any of the lighter gins, albeit good for sipping or Martinis, would just be extra alcohol with little to no flavor enhancement. 

Similarly, there’s no distinction in brandy. The only clue we have to what Vic may’ve used is that he didn’t call for Cognac or any specific brand. Which leads me to believe any generic brandy will do. Of course, for the sake of our future selves we don’t want to go too bottom shelf. Something in the middle that you wouldn’t mind sipping on later is perfect. 

The last spirit ingredient is Cream Sherry. To understand cream sherry we need a little education on fermentation. Sherry is a fortified wine, that is wine with brandy added post fermentation, a process called oxidative aging. As oxygen hits the surface of the spirit it reacts with the elements creating the unique flavor compounds. During this process of air hitting the liquid a thin layer of yeast forms on the surface. This is called ‘flor’. 

As no Tiki recipe is complete without at least a little controversy, it comes here in the form of dry Oloroso vs cream sherry. A lot of other Fog Cutter recipes do prefer oloroso due to its nutty fruity nature. But, as cream sherry is made with a blend of Oloroso and Pedro Ximenez, relying heavily on the Oloroso, I find the controversy a bit trite. Vic does specifically ask for cream sherry in the Fog Cutter, while he doesn’t for other ingredients, and I can see how the sweetness works. 

Because, Oloroso gets more grape spirit during fermentation, preventing flor and exposing the surface to more oxygen. This aids in giving it that unique ‘cream’ texture, which it does have. It doesn’t have any actual lactose, so it’s not silky like a milk punch, more like a cream soda flavor. It definitely lives up to its name with vanilla and cream strong on the nose. It keeps a long finish which hangs on the back of the palate like white cake with icing. 

Now that we have everything, the Samoan Fog Cutter recipe:

2 oz Lemon Juice

1 oz Orange Juice

½ oz Orgeat

½ oz Brandy

½ oz Gin

1 ½ oz Light Puerto Rican Rum

½ oz Cream Sherry (float) 

8 oz Crushed Ice

Blend everything except sherry for 10 seconds, open pour into Fog Cutter mug, add ice to fill, float cream sherry on top, garnish with mint and swizzle sticks. Before we jump into tasting it stands to say that, with the exception of specifying cream sherry and light rum, Trader Vic purposely left this recipe vague. Unlike Donn Beach, who went to great lengths to obfuscate his recipe’s, Vic openly published books on his. In this case it seems he wanted, perhaps, for the Fog Cutter to be a style of drink rather than a set recipe. Bartenders in various parts of the world were encouraged to improvise with local spirits. Martin Cate, famously of Smuggler’s Cove, uses Pisco in place of rum in his version. If you’re curious about mine, I used Bacardi rum, Sapphire gin, Raynal French brandy, and Wisdom & Warter Delicate Cream Sherry. My only adjustment would be to go as little light on the sherry, maybe even down to ¼ oz, or it tends to overpower as the drink goes on. 

On my initial sip I got fruity, very bright, with a smoky sweetness. Not cloying sweet, actually very well balanced. That actually surprised me. With all the spirits I was expecting something more like Tiki’s answer to Long Island Iced Tea, instead we got Vic’s response to Donn’s Zombie, albeit more tropical than exotic. There’s a sense of botanicals from the gin blending nicely with the almond orgeat as well as the rich body of brandy. Given the amount of juice it’s really not that sour. It actually needs it to compete with all the alcohol. As the cream sherry descends the drink changes. It took me a while to put my finger on the right flavor profile rendered by creamy-vanilla-nutty sherry mixing with fruity rum, but I think I got it. It’s kind of weird, but when I mentioned a smokiness earlier It’s because the flavor of the second half of a Fog Cutter is redolent of pipe tobacco. 

It’s really quite brilliant the way the drink evolves from tropical punch into elegant notes of fragrant tobacco and island spiced dark fruit. 

It also adds to the experience to have a true Fog Cutter mug. The Fog Cutter is a tall, hourglass shaped mug featuring a scene molded around the outside. Over the years the scene on the mug changed, mine has bikini girls, palm trees, a gentleman with a pipe, and a woman straddling a barrel for some reason. I believe it’s from the 90’s. They are available presently at TraderVics.com, but I found mine on ebay. Even if you don’t like the Fog Cutter the mug is one of those requisites for any home tiki bar or collection. It’s really a decorative piece. 

I really like this drink. I liked it when I had it at Trader Vic’s and I like my version here. But, of course, I wouldn’t be doing my job as a cocktail researcher if I didn’t at least try the original Fog Cutter….

Right off the bat I can tell it’s not as balanced of a cocktail. The extra half ounce of brandy goes unnoticed, and the extra half ounce of rum only dilutes the other flavors. It’s still quite bright if not a bit too sour, so it’s nice when the sherry kicks in. However, the sherry is not as creamy and rich. Again, I believe it becomes diluted in the extra ounce of liquid. It’s amazing how such minute variations in measurement can alter a cocktail so much. This is not me nerding out about an incremental difference. No, one extra ounce of liquid drastically changes the profile of this drink. I can see why Vic adjusted the recipe. The gratuitous alcohol doesn’t add anything to the flavor profile and probably is a detriment. If someone gets too drunk off one drink they probably either won’t order another, or may even become what I’ve been accused of becoming when I drink too much, “loud and obnoxious.”  I can attest first hand to its fog inducing qualities. 

The cool thing about the Fog Cutter is that it’s a classic first generation Tiki drink that can be made with basic ingredients in most bars. With the exception of orgeat there’s no exotic, hard to find liqueurs or syrups. All in all the Fog Cutter is exactly what you want in Tiki. A balanced, boozy drink that will leave you boozy and off balance. And definitely in the fog. 

Sources: wineenthusiast.com article What Is Cream Sherry? 9 Bottles to Try by Sofia Perez, liquor.com, Potions of the Caribbean and Beachbum Berry Remixed both by Jeff “Beachbum” Berry. 

Most of all thanks for listening. My name is Tony, and this has been Pod Tiki. Keepi Tiki!

Pod Tiki: Irish Coffee

There once was a Tiki podcarst,

With a host, little cheeky bastard,

He’s endearing to some,

Till he drinks up his rum,

And falls straightaway on his arse! 

There are landmark moments in a man’s life wherein he crosses certain thresholds. As a middle aged man I’ve noticed an uptick in the frequency of these moments. I’m not talking about wedding anniversaries, purchasing a home or growing my 401K. I'm talking about those instances when something clicks in which one feels noticeably more mature in an instant. I’m referring to the momentous occasion when a man realizes he’s aged out of St. Patrick’s Day. 

It was a crisp drizzly day in Nashville. 17 March 2023. One of my closest friends was visiting and, like I’ve been doing for 30 years now, I dragged Brandon all over town trying to hold on to our partying youth. This particular folly led us to an Irish bar aptly named The Pub. Now, this establishment is awesome. The bar is wrapped in ornately carved wood and stained glass, there’s a pleasant view of the very walkable Gulch district, and they offer the best fish and chips in town. But, on St. Patrick’s Day, as one may expect, hell’s a’ poppin’! 

The bar was 3 deep trying to get a drink, the wait for a table was 2 hours, and both the food and cocktail menus were limited for the event. It was at the bar, loud music pounding in my head,  over the din and dither of day drinkers spangled in blinking green baubles and bangles, while i sipped my beer from a plastic cup, that I yelled towards Brandon, “I’m too old for this shit!”

Seriously, no longer am I willing to drink my whisky standing up in the corner of the bar just to avoid the FOMO of St Paddy’s partying. That being said, of all drinking holidays we Americans have pilfered and diluted St. Patrick’s is my favorite. I’ve always been a giant fan of pub culture. Especially the pomp and circumstance of an Irish Pub. I love the woodwork, camaraderie, and acerbic banter from the staff if they’re from Ireland. A few years ago my wife and I were in Manhattan around Christmastime and on our walk back to the hotel we decided to stop into an Irish pub. I wish I could remember the name, we may have had a few at dinner, and there are quite a few pubs in New York City. This place was amazing. Being all decked out for the holiday appealed to the Christian in me, but it was the vibe that took hold. 

We found two spots at the end of the bar where waitresses congregated to pick up tall pints of red ale. The bartender proceeded to pour the rest of a bottle of scotch into my wife’s glass as I sipped the froth off a Kilkenny draft. We sat there for hours listening to the lilting Irish accents of the bartenders taunt the cocktail girls and their sarcastic quips back. “Say that again I’ll slap your face I will!”, and we all laughed. The friendly shit talking, the way the bottles glint in low neon, The tastes of beer and whisky. It all comes together in perfect harmony to fill out the experience. Inside a pub just feels like home. Right from the inviting warm colors of the sign above the door. 

Yes, we will still be celebrating St. Patrick’s Day this year with dinner, Smithwick’s, and perhaps a couple of Irish Bombs at the Pub. But, we’ll be going the night before so we can sit at the bar and enjoy our drinks from a real glass like grown ups. And what better way to celebrate a notorious drinking holiday than with a notorious drink? Today we’re gonna get blarney stoned on Irish Coffee! 

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Tony, and this is Pod Tiki. 

Way before vodka/Red Bull and Four Loco there was Irish Coffee. Unlike its hooligan cousin, the Irish Car Bomb, Irish Coffee is actually not an offensive Americanized rip-off making a poor attempt at culture. I’m looking at you, Coronarita. Irish Coffee was, in fact, created in Ireland. To boot, St. Patrick’s Day is not another appropriated, kinda-made-up, drinking holiday. Well, okay. It is a drinking holiday, but we can celebrate in good faith knowing that it’s still very much a national holiday in Ireland. I think the honest tie to Christianity lends St. Paddy’s Day some legitimacy, as well. Especially since we’re talking about a Catholic saint. I ain’t no saint, but I am Catholic and we like to drink. Mix that with the Irish and, well, you better hold onto your leprechauns. 

On a personal note, as an Italian-American Catholic, I feel a certain kinship with the Irish. Both of our forebears coming through Ellis Island and disseminating along the Atlantic coast. I feel just as at home in an authentic Irish pub as I do sipping wine in an Italian restaurant. I can wax wistful all day on my love for St Patrick’s Day and Irish pubs, but, of course, mine is a watered down modern U.S. version. For the history of the original Irish Coffee we gotta float our little boats across the pond to Foynes, County Limerick, Ireland. 

There’s an unexpected tie to the tropics here. Aircraft landing in water elicits visions of low flying seaplanes carving a pastel Caribbean sky and throwing up white wings of ocean as it skims the surface. Personally, I think of seaplanes as island hoppers, not intercontinental. But, have you ever heard of a flying boat? Unlike a seaplane, which alights atop the water’s surface utilizing outriggers, a flying boat actually lands in the water. The fuselage essentially becoming the hull. It was one of these flying boats that was delayed from Foynes Pan Am Terminal one cold, rainy winter evening circa 1943. 

Foynes was the final refueling stop before crossing the ocean so these passengers were already travel weary, now wet and shivering. I imagine this bedraggled lot ambling in off the tarmac, just being told there was something wrong with the plane, it was a Boeing after all, the only reprieve from the blistering winds of the Irish coast being a bar with one man leaning blithely on his shoulder wiping the spots off a stemmed coffee glass. (p.s. I have no idea if there’s blistering winds off the Irish coast. It just sounded good.) That man was Joe Sheridan. 

It’s said that Sheridan took sympathy on the downtrodden travelers and wanted to whip them up something special to keep them warm and in good spirits. So, he added some Irish whiskey to hot coffee, stirred in brown sugar, and floated heavy cream on top. When one of the passengers asked if this was Brazilian coffee Sheridan quipped back, “It’s Irish coffee!” 

As air travel grew in popularity Foynes Port Terminal eventually gave way to Shannon Airport in County Clare a scant 35 miles from Foynes where a flying boat museum is the only remnant of a bygone era. One of the past times that did make the transition to Shannon was the serving of Sheridan’s Irish Coffee. 

It was at the Shannon Airport where travel writer Stanton Delaplane encountered the Irish Coffee. No doubt Delaplane’s writing made the drink known to America, but it was his friend Jack Koeppler who made it renowned. Koeppler ran the Buena Vista Cafe in San Francisco. For the geographically impaired San Francisco is in California. It’s still comical to me that the Irish Coffee found infamy in a place called the Buena Vista. I guess Koeppler saw an opportunity to capitalize on a good thing and using Delaplane’s recounting of Sheridan’s process and profile they eventually struck gold. Following an article penned by Delaplane touting the Buena Vista Cafe’s authentic Irish Coffee the phenomenon soon spread across the U.S. We all know a version of Irish Coffee but the Buena Vista is still a destination for mixed drink enthusiasts serving up to 2,000 Irish Coffees per day. The way they do this reminds me of how Cuban bartenders prep mojitos. Glass mugs are lined up along the bar with sugar at the bottom. When an order comes in the whiskey and coffee are added and topped with cream and voila!. Or should I say, Sláinte! 

Allright, you bonny lads and lasses. Let’s make a drink! 

Irish Coffee is a relatively simple drink in terms of ingredients and process, but the quality of said ingredients has a profound effect on the enjoyment of the finished product. The category of Irish whisky is replete with great options. I really enjoy Irish whisky dare I say almost more than American bourbon. It’s got a smooth roundness that’s almost fruity. There’s definitely a whisky bite but it’s so well softened that it adds to the flavor rather than stinging the tongue. Admittedly, I am not connoisseur, although I would like to be. I can only speak from my limited experiences and I’ve concluded for one that I do not care for Jameson. Bushmills and Proper Twelve are my runner ups, but the winner for me has got to be Slane. Such a wonderful whisky, and coming in around $27 a bottle it’s well worth the price of admission. Full flavored yet smooth with a bit more body than expected, it’s now my go-to Irish whisky. 

As mentioned a few episodes back when discussing coffee grog, my favorite local coffee is the dark roast option from Nashville’s Frothy Monkey. I’ve seen some articles suggest a medium bodied roast, but if you’re a coffee drinker you’re going to want something more, and if you’re not a coffee drinker worry not, the cream, sugar, and whisky will mitigate any unpleasant heaviness. I’m prone to dark italian roast, but, as with any gustatory indulgence, preference plays a majority part in enjoyment. So, use the coffee you like, but, my opinion is that using a fuller roast will render a richer end result. 

For sugar I’ve read everything from regular granulated to cubed, but what I’ve seen most referenced is brown sugar. Having tried a few different sugars I concur that brown sugar is the best for this. It lends to the coffee cake flavors that we’ll explore later. That extra depth is something you might not recognize when it’s there, but will miss if it’s not.   

Lastly, we need heavy whipping cream.  This is the only tricky kind of pain in the ass part. The cream must be whipped to a consistency that will float on the surface of the coffee but is not so thick that it “peaks”, as they say. That is, it should not be foamy enough that it stands on its own, forming little peaks when you pull a spoon through it. A milk frother makes it too thick, so I opted for the old fashioned way - hand whisk. It takes a few minutes of steady whipping, but the result is a perfect thick cream that when poured slowly over the back of a spoon forms that perfect distinct line of cloud white against the rich black coffee. I can’t emphasize how important this small part of the process is. It’s essentially the only thing that separates an Irish Coffee from some hapless film noir detective pouring whisky from a flask into his morning joe. Don’t rush this part lest your cream will not rest on top but descend in streaks through the coffee rendering a weird melting Dali painting of a drink. 

A final note before preparation. Don’t overdo the whisky. We have a tendency to assume 1 ½ oz of spirit is a casual pour. In the case of Irish Whisky the balance of flavor is more important that getting wasted. Remember this drink was invented to cheer folks up, not get them hammered and restless. A 1 oz pour of whisky is all it takes to blend perfectly into the palate of this libation. Any more than that and the whisky becomes the dominant flavor and kind of ruins the experience. But, fear not, as Cocktail Historian Dale DeGroff, "Delaplane and Koeppler’s recipe calls for a one-ounce shot. I know it seems stingy, but do not be put off—it’s actually good news. That liquor, along with three-and-a-half ounces of steaming-hot sweetened coffee and three-quarters of an inch of lightly whipped cream, is so delicious you’ll want to consume at least two more." 

With that, here is the recipe:

2 tsp Brown Sugar

2-4 oz Heavy Cream

4 oz Hot Black Coffee

1 oz Irish Whisky

Fill an 8 oz glass coffee mug with hot water and set aside. Whip 2-4 oz of heavy cream till it thickens. You won’t use all of it, but better too much than not enough. Empty hot water from mug and into it add sugar, whisky, and no fill with no more than 4 oz of hot coffee and stir till sugar dissolves. Take care to leave about half an inch room for cream. Finally, easy pour the cream over the back of a kitchen spoon into the mug starting low and close to the coffee then slowly raising till it just about breaches the rim. There should be a very clear line of thick white cream floating above rich dark coffee. 

That first sip is magical. The experience of feeling hot coffee cooled just so by passing through the cream is a delightful curiosity. Take heed to savor that sip for it only happens on the first one. As that sip fades a hint of sweet whisky slips in. Just enough to remind you it’s there, creepin’ in the back like, “whuzzup…”. The texture is very creamy. Overall, it tastes like coffee ice cream. Heavenly. 

I don’t really need to go too deep into flavor, you guys know what coffee and booze tastes like. The treat of this drink is it follows the style of how Europe loves their fancy coffees. Just be careful. Caffiene, plus alcohol, plus sugar, can be a dangerous combo. Mixing uppers and downers can at best create a very awake drunk and at worst, cause heart palpatations. Imagine being drunk when you lose track of how much you’ve had. If what you’re drinking is coffee, or back in the aughts, red bull, it’s going to effect you. Mind your intake and heart rate. What’s great about Irish Coffee is that it’s not meant to get wasted on, it’s a dessert, or a way to kick the night off, or a nice brunch sipper. 

As young as Irish Coffee is it’s far from the first coffee cocktail. As far back as the mid-19th century Viennese coffee houses were serving coffee based cocktails topped with whipped cream. You know when it comes to coffee the French had to get involved. They called coffee with alcohol a Gloria. But, none of those have had the lasting powering and pervasive coverage of Irish Coffee. 

With that, I think it’s time for me to commit my favorite St. Patrick’s day drinking tradition. The Irish goodbye. 

Sources: Liquor.com, Diffordsguide.com, highcampflasks.com, wikipedia. 

Keepi Tiki, and Slainte!

Pod Tiki: Lovely, Lovely

Well, nothing can be done about it now at all. Sometimes we just say things. Wretched things that are sometimes true. They may only be true in some back crevice of our thoughts, hidden away out of shame, fear, and or compassion, but they are sometimes true, indeed. Still, they mustn't be spoken. They are only true sometimes. The times when she is berating him, relentless in her dissatisfaction. The hamster wheel of a lover’s quarrel wherein every attempt at pacifying her springboards another argument. Why can’t she just understand that he’s not being mean, that he’s a good man? He walks now, shoulders pointed up keeping the chill off his neck. Along the boulevard, past the shops and display windows, almost passing the gallery. The piece in the window was the scene inside a jazz club. Thick paint accentuating heavy brushstrokes. Long black figures painted such to give the illusion of movement. He could hear the upturned trumpet screaming. Smell cigar smoke swirling. He could feel vibrations from the floor, bouncing and breathing. This painting was alive. It reminded him of the night he met her. She was bartending the underground jazz joint on that otherwise sleepy side street. The band played torpid standards. He drank a dark rum while they talked, joking about how they wished the boys would pick it up a bit. It reminded him of the taste of coffee the morning after the first time she stayed the night, the beautiful thing that happened that night. On the boulevard he hated her. By the time he rounded the corner on the avenue he missed her. Missed her warm hand holding his in Sunday mass. Her legs stretched over his on the sofa in their tiny flat. On the avenue he stopped in front of a large window musing on bottles sparkling behind the bar in a pink and blue glow. 

She couldn’t believe he could say such horrible things. Such ugly insensitive things. The feeling wouldn't subside. Every time her thoughts found their way back to him an angry disgust overtook her. And that insufferable narcissist had the nerve to wonder why she was upset? It was obvious that she was waiting for him to make it better. To say a sweet thing that would make her believe he understood. She couldn’t say what that thing was, but she knew it could be said. If he could pry his stubborn head all the way out of his ass. The Woodford Reserve bourbon in her Old Fashioned was familiar. She hated that it reminded her of him. Reminded her of that one winter he made them drinks and they sat in the kitchen watching snow fall through the sliding glass door. How multicolored Christmas lights made an ethereal glow under the white crystal snow. They sat close as the whiskey offered warmth. Later they laughed as she taught him how to build a proper snowman. Of course he put an Hawaiian shirt and panama hat on it. He was silly. She liked how he made her smile when she got anxious. Yes, she was emotional, because people are supposed to have emotions. Now, bathed in a pink and blue neon glow, the preponderance of emotion dims the flame of love like a small lambent light in heavy fog. She felt the man standing behind her before she turned around. 

“You feel othered. Like you’re going through it alone. It’s not the pain of the thing, it’s that you don’t feel like someone is going through it with you. In my selfishness I left you bereft of that connection. For that I am truly sorry.”

“And you’ll never do it again?”

“Never.”  

“I wish you would’ve said that an hour ago.”

Together they walked towards home. Her hand in his. Under his other arm a wrapped up painting. He asked, “how do you feel?” 

“Lovely.”  … “Lovely.”

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Tony, and this is Pod Tiki. Today we celebrate Valentine’s Day with a cocktail called the Lovely, Lovely. 

Upon opening its doors in 1956 the Waikikian Hotel was the epitome of faux-Polynesian pop culture. The center of attention being the hyperbolic paraboloid shape of the lobby. It was built to approximate an exaggerated version of a spirit house. Imagine a square sheet of paper. Now bend the two opposite corners down and the two other opposite corners up, Now stretch the upwards facing points apart to accentuate the shape. That was the roof. An engineering marvel for the time. 

The hotel featured a Tahitian Lanai, and the Papeete Bar. From my research it appears the two were separate entities within the hotel. The Tahitian Lanai was a vision of tropical paradise. Palm trees surrounded the pool and guests could lounge in private huts named for Tahitian Royalty. The Papeete bar took you to another kind of Tahiti dream. South seas music softly emanated from ornate woodwork, island life ephemera clung to the walls, and the stools were custom made to resemble Tahitian gods. 

By this time Donn the Beachcomber and Trader Vic had solidified Tiki as a genre and Donn’s move to Oahu legitimized it in the place it was purported to come from. Fred and Elizebeth Dailey opened the Waikian in an attempt to further that notion. Bring the popularity of Polynesian inspired restaurants that dominated the mainland back to the islands. One of the ways they accomplished this was by not overthinking it. They used Hawaii’s natural beauty as part of the design, utilizing the flora of the island as natural decor. Even the guest rooms were constructed in a fashion to be looking out towards the nature of the tropics. 

To manage the Papeete Bar the Dailey’s brought on Bob Bryant. Bryant had worked at Trader Vic’s before opening his own successful Tiki bar in San Francisco. The famous Tiki Bob’s. Behind the bar was one of the most elusive characters in all of Tikidom. The man known only as “Danny”, fed into the mysteries of Tiki. Hardly anything is known about Danny save that he was a master at figuring out Donn the Beachcomber’s recipes. The attribute that earns him a place among Tiki royalty is that he was the first we know of to substitute local natural ingredients. Native brown sugar took the place of flavored syrups and fresh pureed fruit covered for canned juices. Primitive looking ceramic mugs completed the experience. It was almost as if Danny took offense to the popularity of Polynesian inspired pretense that pervaded the contiguous U.S. 

It wasn’t long before the trend took hold and the Hawaiian Village Hotel, later purchased by our old friend Conrad Hilton, opened next door. The bar at the Hawaiian Village would give us another infamous Tiki alum  by the name of Harry Yee. The man who created the Blue Hawaii because guests were perpetually asking for a local Hawaiian drink. There really wasn’t any that fit their expectations. So, he made one up. Another funny anecdote about Harry Yee? He claims he began using paper umbrellas as garnish because the sugar cane stalk they used to use made a mess on the bar that was hard to clean. 

The Waikikian officially closed its doors in 1996. The artwork, 40 handmade Tikis, and 200 year old carved Marquesian were sold at auction. The auction took place on the Tahitian Lanai. And just like that gone was another icon of a multicultural institute spanning centuries. From the first settlers who stepped out of their outrigger canoes onto the soft Polynesian sand to the outpouring of visitors whose eyes glowed with the first sight of swaying palm trees on a zephyr of vanilla scented air. But, thanks to Danny, one thing remains of the Papeete Bar. His original cocktail, the Lovely, Lovely. 

The Lovely, Lovely is a simple drink but one that perfectly personifies the idea of a Valentine’s cocktail. It’s like candy. Please don’t send the woke police after me when I say this, but it really does fit what we stereotypically assume girls would like to drink. However, with the nuance and elegant mixology we’ve come to expect from a well concocted Tiki drink. 

First we’ll need some rum. Danny’s recipe calls for 151 proof Puerto Rican rum. I’m assuming he used the now defunct Bacardi 151. I have a bottle of Carabaya 151 Caribbean rum I used for this. I also made a version with Bacardi 8, which I find to be a delightful rum that is good for sipping but adds an aged flavor to cocktails as well. I did this to tone down the ABV a bit. I don’t generally like overproof cocktails but I see how, as a drink with a more evocative nature, it has a purpose here. So, ultimately, I stuck with the 151. 

Next we have orange curacao. I went out searching for Marie Brizard because it is a very well made brandy based curacao for about $10 less than Pierre Ferrand, which I know is the industry standard. I couldn’t find the Marie Brizzard so I ended up with Ferrand, which is a perfectly splendid curacao, just kinda pricey. 

Then we’ll need lime juice, lemon juice, brown sugar and crushed ice. Easy peasy. 

The original recipe is:

1 ½ oz 151 Puerto Rican Rum

½ oz Orange Curacao

1 oz Lime Juice

1oz Lemon Juice (½ revised)

2 level tablespoons Brown Sugar

10 oz Crushed Ice

Dissolve the sugar in the juices then add the other ingredients and flash blend for about 5 seconds. If using a standard blender simply pulse four or five times. Open pour into a large snifter and garnish with flowers.  

On the first sip this drink is quite sour barely matched only by a cloying sweetness. Together they create a sort of spicy tingling on the tongue. The next flavor to emerge for me was the rum. As much as I deride overproof spirits one must admit they are able to push through the other flavors of Tiki drinks. Rums made in the traditional Caribbean style, like the Carabaya I used here, have a nice butterscotch creaminess mixed with vanilla and mild baking spice. The extreme sweet tart of the Lovely, Lovely do well to mask some of the less refined qualities of Carabaya allowing more palatable classic rum notes to cut through the thick underbrush of brown sugar and citrus. 

I just couldn’t see how a drink this sour would be described as lovely. It was a bit in your face. So, in my effort to bring forth the best versions of the drinks we cover while maintaining as purist as possible I made only a slight modification. It’s amazing how one small tweak can change a recipe so drastically. By lowering the lemon juice from 1 oz to ½ oz the drink glides into balance like a feather falling to the ground. This also allows for the curacoa to bring a delectable fruitiness.

It tastes like Jolly Rancher hard candy. There’s a decadence there like liquid confection. All that needed to happen was turn the sour down and this drink becomes a sanguine-rosy-pedals of affection. I can only assume from pictures and the name that this drink was meant to be decadent. Hovering on the event horizon of too sweet, too sour, too boozy, but with the self-aware discipline not to cross the line. The Lovely, Lovely has the potential to get a bit naughty naughty. Like the nice quiet girl at the party who ends up discreetly pulling you into a dark room. 

Sweet, sour, fruity, and strong. If your partner serves you one of these on Valentine’s Day they’re making a statement. And, that statement is … “we ‘bout to do some bad bad things, baby.” 

Ladies and gentlemen, this has been Pod Tiki. Thank you so much for listening. 

Sources: Sippin’ Safari by Jeff Beachbum Berry, watg.com article The Waikikian, mytiki.life article Tahitian Lanai and Papeete Bar 

Pod Tiki: Coffee Grog

When I was but a wee tiki-tike living in a small town just north of New York City I remember my dad and a few of the older men of the family enjoying a dash of Anisette in their after dinner espresso. One of those Italian traditions imbibed upon by those who always wore a collared shirt to the table, exuded confident indifference, occasionally leaning towards an uncle for a private joke. Those fellas who want to portray an image. 

I never did like that flavor combo, anise & espresso. I do, in fact, love a glass of Anisette as an aperitif, the best being Anis del Mono from Spain. (Not even Italian.) We know anise is a prominent flavor in Tiki going back to arguably the first Tiki drink, Don the Beachcomber’s Zombie. But, I never really associated coffee with Tiki. 

Of course, coffee is in no way above being enlightened by the spirit. As a fan of Irish pubs I’ve enjoyed a few Irish Coffees in my day. Throwing booze into coffee and tea goes back to the era of the ubiquitous flip and the nog. But coffee makes total sense in Tiki. Think about where Tiki and tropical drinks come from. Polynesia and the Caribbean. Two locales that I believe produce the best coffees in the world. Kona, from Hawaii and Jamaican Blue Mountain. 

I discovered the joys of Jamaican coffee on the dining veranda of our hotel in Montego Bay. I was staying there with a close friend for a week of beachbumming and purge drinking. During the day it was Jerk Chicken or sausage with Red Stripe and Wray & Nephew Coconut & Cokes. The evenings brought Appleton Estate and Dragon Stout. In the mornings, though. That was my time of day for reflection. The kind of reprieve I’ve come to understand can only be found on a tropical island. I would read a little while picking on a breakfast of fresh papaya and melon before my cohort would come down to meet me. And, of course, there was coffee. Passing through customs coming home I learned how serious they are when they sliced open one of my bags of Blue Mountain for inspection. Come to think of it, out of all the people in the small Havana airport I got stopped there too. I guess I just look like I’m up to no good. They found nothing in those bags but coffee. Though, at the price of Blue Mountain nowadays It’s worth more than whatever I could’ve smuggled in. There’s a soft richness in Blue Mountain coffee that gives it a roasty full flavored taste without being full bodied. I love the smokey char notes. It’s like all the things I love about coffee are enhanced while bitterness and that processed cheapness is gone. 

Years later it would be my now wife who introduced me to the many ways and styles of making coffee. It was the first time I spent the night at her place, the next morning, while she was showing me how to do pour-over, that I realized we used the same coffee, Royal Kona. Granted, it was the mainland version and only 10% actually Kona beans, but we thought we was fancy. I had had real Kona before when someone I once knew from the Islands had some sent over, but my palate was so burnt out on Tennessee whiskey, cheap wine, and even cheaper words, that I wasn’t able to appreciate it then. Luckily, those memories were recorded over when my wife and I visited Hawaii and actually got to enjoy real Kona Coffee. I find it a bit lighter than coffees from the Caribbean, but again with that sense of refinement. There’s a nutty fruity component which admittedly is diminished a little because I prefer a darker roast. 

A few of the mornings in Kauai we took the Kuhio Highway north towards Kapa’a Beach and ate breakfast outside of Java Kai where we fell in love with Kauai coffee as well. Going back to the Caribbean we also get a lot of coffee from Haiti where our Catholic Church has a sister parish. 

All that to say, while Donn Beach and Trader Vic were traversing the tropics looking for exotic flavors they would have surely come across the wonders of local coffee beans. If not at the bars then most presumably the next morning; as sampling the flavors of the islands from a glass has its effects on one's countenance. 

In this episode we’re going to explore the effects on our own countenances with one of Don the Beachcomber’s earliest concoctions. The flaming Coffee Grog! 

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Tony, and this is Pod Tiki. 

Not only is Coffee Grog one of Donn’s earliest creations, dating all the way back to 1937, but it aptly shows his penchant to explore things no one else was doing. Only this master of misadventure could take something as ubiquitous as coffee and transform it into an exotic spectacle, and that’s just what Donn did. In the early days he would personally perform the mixing of Coffee Grog, tableside, with his garish alacrity. A pinch of spice, a steaming cup, and the coup de grace, a flaming ladle of high spirited rum guaranteed to get one’s spirits high. Ever the showman this drink seemed to hold a special place for Don the Beachcomber. 

It seems to have been a favorite of patrons as well. After Donn’s unfortunate divorce from Sunny Sund, through which she wriggled her way into majority ownership of Donn’s franchise forcing him to rebrand his empire in Hawaii, Coffee Grog was one of his original drinks she kept on the menu. In fact, the reason we have the recipe today is thanks to one of Donn’s trusted inner circle, Dick Santiago, who perpetuated the integrity of Donn’s recipes after his forced abdication. 

We’ve talked about Dick on the show plenty of times before. Because in our genre Dick Santiago stands tall. One might say when it comes to Tiki our Dick commands respect by remaining upright and rigid in the face of adversity. 

If you’re new to the show here’s a brief catch up on Mr. Santiago. Dick began work at Don The Beachcomber’s in 1937 after coming over from the Philippines. After being taken in and helped out by a group of Fillipinos during his struggling days Donn grew to admire their way of mixing drinks using fresh fruits and coconut. Since then he always hired Filipinos to work his restaurants. Dick quickly rose in the ranks and became something of a celebrity bartender, befriending the Hollywood elite and setting precedence for future staff on how to tend to serve with intuition, wit, and when necessary, a level of discretion. 

Following the attack on Pearl Harbor Dick Santiago felt the call to arms and found himself in the real tropics of South East Asia as an enlisted Marine. Donn Beach was known for having real compassion for his staff, especially those he was close to. So, when after the war, the state of California “actively discouraged” a brown Asian, from marrying a white woman, Donn transferred Dick and his fiance to the Hawaii Beachcomber’s location so he could marry and still make a living. Eventually, Dick and his family returned stateside where he worked for Sunny a while longer before hanging up his floral shirt to pursue an engineering degree. After his death Dick Santiago’s notebook surfaced thanks to the work of Jeff Beachbum Berry. It’s from this notebook Jeff was able to decipher the original Don The Beachcomber’s recipes for some of the most iconic drinks to have ever chilled the inside of a Tiki mug. Or, in the case of Coffee Grog, to warm one. 

Some could argue that when it comes to Tiki presentation is everything. I don’t totally disagree, but I’m usually good to recreate a ritual once or twice, for an audience of one, before regressing to just mixing it up and drinking it. When mixing up a Coffee Grog though, it’s hard to not get in the spirit of theatrics because of the process. Before we get into that, let’s go over what we’re going to need. 

Yeah, yeah. Any old coffee mug will do, but this is Tiki dammit! I have a coffee Tiki mug I got in Hawaii that I use for hot drinks. You could also use any speciality mug made for coffee cocktails. It needs to be at least 8 ounces and should be fancy.  

There isn’t a lot of alcohol in this grog as far as quantity, but the use of overproof Demerara gives it that Tiki kick. As fun as the unique buzz from booze and caffeine can be it can also be a dangerous combo. Just ask any party girl outside the club in the 2000’s crying on the curb, holding one shoe, and spit screaming at her friends about how he’s such an asshole after consuming 5 vodka Red Bulls. I recommend sticking to the modest amounts in this recipe for your health and the health of those new heels. 

For the overproof I used Plantation OFTD because it’s what I had on hand. I alternate between that and Lemon Hart 151, which I know is the genre preference, but since I don’t often use overproof a bottle lasts me a very long time. The other rum Donn calls for is gold Jamaican. I was fortunate enough to have some friends gift me a bottle of Appleton Estate Special from Jamaica. It’s their base model, if you will. It’s a step under Signature Blend, but it’s quite good and fits the need as I imagine Donn’s use of gold Jamaican would refer to any lightly aged Jamaican rum. For stuff that’s widely available here I think Appleton Signature Blend would be perfect. Technically, Wray & Nephew does make a gold Jamaican rum, but I’ve only seen it once and have never tried it. So, I can’t to it. Also, Hamilton Pot Still Gold is a wonderful rum, but I wonder if it might be too funky for coffee? 

The coffee part of Coffee Grog could really be any of your favorite. However I do suggest using a good coffee, and I like to use a local roaster if possible. Here in Nashville my go-to coffee shop is Frothy Monkey. I get the darkest roast they have and make it pour over style. Like any good Tiki drink the quality of your ingredients can make or break it. But again, as long as you’re using a coffee you like and it’s decent quality there’s no need to break the bank. If I got my hands on some Kona or Blue Mountain I might use one cup for grog, just to try it, then save the rest for sippin’. I would say not to use too light of a roast and not to brew it too weak either, as it won’t be able to hold up to the other flavors. And for heaven’s sake, I hope this goes without saying, but please don’t use a flavored coffee. 

Donn seems to have loved using specialty batters in hot drinks. (See our Hot Buttered Rum episode from last winter.) They’re really less of a batter and more of a thick sweet cream. To make Coffee Grog batter we need to cream 1 ounce of unsalted butter, 1 ounce orange blossom honey, 1 teaspoon cinnamon syrup, ½ tsp of vanilla syrup and ½ tsp of pimento liqueur. I speak from experience when I say make sure to let your butter soften before mixing. It’s such a small amount I decided to cream it by hand, but my butter was still cold. So, there I was on the sofa watching The Bear with my wife hand churning for 45 mins. No, Chef! 1 star, do not recommend. Ideally, one of those little hand mixers is what you need. 

The rest of the recipe is a litany of Tiki incidentals. Ground nutmeg, clove, and cinnamon. Orange and grapefruit peel. Sugar cubes, and a cinnamon stick. Oh, and one more thing.  A metal ladle. 

I like to get all the ingredients set up on the counter so I can do my best theatrical Donn Beach impression. This drink is all in the process. So, here’s the recipe. 

1 Sugar Cube

1 pinch Cinnamon

1 pinch Clove

1 pinch Nutmeg

3 strips Orange Peel

1 strip Grapefruit Peel

1 Cinnamon Stick

1 tsp Coffee Grog Batter

6 oz Steaming Hot Coffee

½ oz Gold Jamaican Rum

½ oz 151 Demerara Rum

Okay, so here goes. In your specialty coffee mug place the sugar cube. Then sprinkle in the spices, drop in the peels, and scoop in the batter. Pour the hot coffee over it all and stir till batter dissolves. It’ll make a nice brown foam on the surface. This next part is better to do with the lights out. Add the rums to the metal ladle and light ‘em up! As you pour the rums into the mug a brilliant blue flame will streak down followed by a few flaming droplets. It’s pretty cool. Hey, when I said this was a flaming grog I wasn’t referring to its flamboyant personality. And growing up in Orlando, Florida I’ve known my share of flaming grogs. Now, give it another quick fanciful stir, drop the cinnamon stick in, and serve! 

Before we dive into tasting notes, for the sake of my own conscience, I need to admonish please if you’ve already had a few, are in a tight space, wearing loose sleeves or hair, or generally not comfortable with flammables DO NOT play with fire. It’s perfectly acceptable to simply mix the rums into the drink normally. Ok, now that that ‘s out of the way.

Holy crap this drink is delicious. We run across this so much in Tiki, which is a testament to the prowess of Donn and Vic, where all of these crazy flavors come together to make something so uniquely tertiary that there’s no way to describe or compare it to anything else. Imagine good black coffee and all the flavors that come with that, plus holiday spice creaminess, accented with fruity bitterness, all bolstered by rich tropical rums. The clove, nutmeg, honey butter fusion give the drink such texture without being greasy. Orange and grapefruit seemed weird to me at first but they add a bittersweet dissonance that’s yet somehow congruent to the overall experience. Meanwhile, those flavors are playing checkers while the coffee is playing 3D chess, holding the whole thing together. 

I can’t believe how much I enjoy this drink. Not since Four Loco has the fusion of alcohol and caffeine turned such a dolorous bunch into the life of party! It’s like Donn Beach took Hot Buttered Rum, Navy Grog, and Toddies and kamikaze’d them all together like a middle schooler at the soda fountain, but with the caress of exotica escapism. Because, this drink really does taste - not of this place.

A wanton waning of wistful wherewithal!  A bushel of bereavement over baron bacchanal! A porous portion of pious panache! Ok, I’ll stop. 

Whether we’re gearing up for an evening of mercurial misadventure or reeling in the revels we should all aspire to spirit our way through this wild existence with the excitement for life that Don the Beachcomber performed into every making of Coffee Grog. Just remember to blow out your flame before you hurt someone. 

Sources: Sippin’ Safari by Jeff “Beachbum” Berry 

If some of these recipes seem interesting but you didn’t catch all the ingredients or processes during the show remember you can always visit podtiki.com and click the Recipe Index tab for all the recipes we discuss. 

Thank you all for listening and Keepi Tiki!   

Pod Tiki: 2023 New Year's

It’s been… a year. A year full of drinks and new friends!

Jerry Thomas Eggnog (by the glass)

Classically one of the most divisive holiday staples eggnog has finally returned to its rightful place at the forefront of holiday tippling. Growing up in the 80’s my parents always had a carton of pasteurized egg nog at Christmastime. I would watch mom add rum and sprinkle nutmeg on top and I thought it was magical. Of course, it would be some time before I added rum to mine and then, well, it really was magical. 

In my defense, I was a young man naive in the ways of bibulity. The nog of the egg has fully fallen to the depths of the capitalized cocktails akin to abominations that are neon appletinis and vodka red bulls. Furthermore, the nog has also suffered from the reputation of poor quality. Like those shots of Jose Cuervo in college that still keeps you from enjoying a fine anejo. 

As with most of the unfortunate drinks that’ve garnered a bad reputation via poor quality when eggnog is done correctly it can be a wonderfully complex and versatile concoction. Eggnog should be homemade, with real eggs, and good spirits. To put one in good spirits. 

Noggin’ it up hasn’t always been associated with Christmas, though. Egg drinks date back to the earliest days of colonial tippling. Most notably the flip, made with ale, rum, sugar and eggs, then boiled to a froth using a loggerhead. The loggerhead was a metal rod with a ball on the end that would be super-heated on a fire till glowing red then plunged into a bowl of flip resulting in the popping fizzing liquid subsequently poured into cups. If you’re just joining the podcast here’s a fun anecdote we’ve covered before. Sometimes intoxicated patrons would turn to using those metal rods as weapons leading to the phrase “coming to loggerheads.” 

The earliest written mention of Eggnog was in 1801, by 1860 it had spread in popularity, and sometime around 1871 was firmly in place as a winter staple, especially at Christmastime. However, despite not being printed, eggnog was in fashion way before 1801. 

Perhaps the most prolific purveyor of pasteurized partaking was none other than general George Washington. We go on a fascinating deep dive into George's love for the nog in our Christmas 2020 episode featuring a short play I wrote performed very poorly by myself, the only redeeming quality being help from Mrs. Podtiki. Notwithstanding my lackluster VO work there's a lot of good info in there. I’ve always sworn by the famous Washington recipe. I recreate it every year. But like most cocktail history, and American history at that, it’s not without controversy. 

Ol’ GW died in 1799, calling into question the authenticity of the recipe in regard to the 1801 first recorded date. As I’m tired of revisionist history taking all the fun out of everything I was taught in elementary school I like to believe the recipe real, if maybe recorded later, a la new testament Gospels. We do have record of Washington's love for Jamaican rum, a spirit heavily utilized in the recipe attributed to him. Next you're gonna tell me he didn’t chop down cherry trees or have wooden teeth! Balderdash! 

My inclination towards this topic aside, for our episode today we jump ahead about half a century to 1862 when the godfather of cocktails Jerry Thomas published his book, Bar-Tender's Guide: How to Mix Drinks or The Bon-Vivant's Companion. 

Like the Hank Williams of his time Thomas didn’t create “the cocktail”, but he was first to write them down and create an oeuvre of methods, recipes, ingredients, and tools. One of the drinks forever etched into Americana by his nimble hand was eggnog. 

Similar to most drinks of the day eggnog was initially made by the batch. Early bartenders began recognizing the necessity for drinks by the glass, especially during the busy Holiday season when the proverbial quick one is a commodity amid family visitations. Not to mention this was a time when the morning nip was not so frowned upon and eggnog made a lovely breakfast indulgence. Though the trend has seemingly made a resurgence with the brunch crowd, where mimosas and bloody marys have made pre-noon self medicating something of a modern pastime. 

Nonetheless, the following recipe is Jerry Thomas’ single serving eggnog recipe. 

1 tbsp fine white sugar

1 tbsp cold water

1 egg

2oz brandy

1oz rum

4oz milk

In a cocktail shaker dilute sugar in water. Fill tumbler half full of crushed ice and shake vigorously. Sprinkle nutmeg on top.

As is our custom here on pod tiki we go live to tape for Xmas. And this year we’re joined by special guest Chris Husak for a live tasting!  

Chris is my co-host on the Share Your Buzz podcast as well as drummer-writer-singer for the Nashville based rock band Malibu Blackout. 

*Please find the Pod Tiki Podcast on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, iHeart Radio, or podtiki.com to hear the rest of this episode! 

Sources: Imbibe by David Wondrich

Pod Tiki: Cesar's Rum Punch

Before the cocktail, with all its sophisticated nuance, there was the bold and alacritous punch bowl. Shared the table round by pirates and politicians alike. Not that the two are always mutually exclusive. We like to think this quick attention scrolling loop we’re stuck in is a recent phenomenon, but that’s not the case. As the petty pace of life picked up, early American tipplers had nary the time to sit and share a full bowl of punch. To facilitate the hustle and bustle of colonial life bartenders began mixing up punch by the glass. A good ol’ punch by the glass finally availed folks to stopping in for the proverbial “quick one”.    

My favorite part of the holiday season is the gatherings. Anything from meeting a group of friends at some garishly decorated pop-up bar, or an intimate visit around an elegant Christmas tree. I just love spending time with as many loved ones as possible and taking in as many seasonal revels as can fit stuffed in my stocking. Since the holiday’s are rapidly gaining on us I think it’s the perfect time of year for a drink that has its origins in the idea of communal bibulousness. Punch just seems to set the tone for togetherness. Nothing elevates the spirit like elevating some spirits.

We’ve covered Planter’s Punch in a previous episode. The granddaddy of all punches complete with its own old timey rhyme, 1 of sour, 2 of sweet, 3 of strong, 4 of weak, but there’s so many variations on punch recipes varying wildly depending on region and/or season that this is a well we’re going to find ourselves at frequently. 

However, this isn’t some filler episode thrown together quickly between holiday travels just to avoid a lapse in content. I have admittingly done those before and it doesn’t feel great. So, I thought, “what could we do for a November drink?” It’s a weird time after Halloween but not quite Christmas. So, I picked up my copy of Remixed and fanned the pages landing right to César’s Rum Punch. Perfect.

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Tony, and this is Pod Tiki. 

In this case, the party starts at the Hotel Oloffson. Haiti has such rich history, particularly surrounding its rhum culture, which lends so nicely to our overall Tropiki narrative. We’ve covered much of this history before in our Port-au-Prince episode, and there’s many more stories that could take up a podcast series on their own. So, today we’ll be focusing on the narrative at hand and trying to keep repetition to a minimum. 

So, sometime in the late 19th century the prominent family of then Haitian president Tirésias Simon Sam constructed a lavish gothic mansion upon a hill overlooking Port-au-Prince.  In 1915 one of the plethora of political upheavals ousted the Sam family leaving the mansion vacant till the U.S. Marine Corp moved into the palatial estate attempting to establish a proxy government the likes of what we had in Cuba before Castro. Ahm the good ol’ days; When the Mafia and U.S. government were in cahoots and we all benefited from the shared glory of exploitation. We used the mansion on the hill as a hospital and retreat for military leave till 1934 when a German by the name of Walter Oloffson bought the property and turned it into The Grand Oloffson Hotel. 

In Haiti, as with Cuba and Jamaica, prohibition served as a boon to the island’s economy. Port-au-Prince, and therefore the Oloffson, became a destination for tourists looking for the “real” Caribbean opposed to the las vegas of the west indies that was Havana. Popularity did not come without its challenges. Oloffson and his familial successors were like a real life version of Don’t Stop The Carnival, complete with a pool-full of alligators that he just left there and told guests to go swim in the ocean. 

By 1954 the place was taken over by a Frenchman named Roger Coster. This guy was a character. It seems like he really ran the hotel as a hangout spot to foster his own interests. He refused to pander to what he called the “coca-cola crowd”, his nickname for cruise ship tourists. I can’t argue with him there. Coster’s brash demeanor chased away your garden variety tourist but attracted the auteur crowd. He loved the intellectual and artistic types and, in turn, they found his brand of anti-hospitality folksy and amusing. According to cocktail historian Jeff Berry, Coster's Oloffson became a pseudo Greenwich Village of the islands hosting art galleries, native dance festivals, and musical performances. Writers, actors, and playwrights haunted the hotel frequently. Tennessee Williams, Irving Berlin, and Graham Greene - who used a fictionalized version of the Oloffson in his 1966 novel The Comedians. 

During the 1960’s and 70’s the party didn’t stop. Now owner Al Seitz would name certain rooms in honor of frequent guests like Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis and Mick Jagger. Throughout the decades the Grand Oloffson Hotel has endured Duvalierism, a revolution, even a devastating earthquake in 2010 which left the structure damaged but still standing. The Grand Oloffson Hotel remains operational today. You can go, but between earthquakes, hurricanes and militants it feels like tempting fate a little too much. Like a real life Final Destination.

One indisputable fact that persists across its over 100 year history and in the reports of its many return guests is that the Oloffson Hotel had the best rum punch on the island. This was due to one Joseph César. 

We really don’t know a lot about our drink’s namesake, César. What we do know is by all accounts he was the spirit of the hotel. Always with a great big smile, working from behind a custom built mahogany bar, it’s said that, as a shorter fellow, you would only see César from the shoulders up. Nevertheless, always with that warm smile. 

César created his punch in the 1930’s when it would be offered as a welcome drink to hotel guests, as was the custom back then. There are some places where this tradition survives. When the Mrs and I stayed at El Sid, a beautiful oceanfront hotel in Cozumel, we were indeed greeted with tequila and Champagne upon arrival. Cuba still holds the record for best arrival though. In the airport we were escorted through the diplomatic entrance where we waited in a fully stocked lounge while they validated our passports and visas. Admittingly, it was a bit disconcerting to have our identification whisked away in a communist country, but it’s amazing how all the free Cuban rum and beer you want can assuage anxiety. 

I wish there was more to tell. One would think there would be more insight on someone who has a famous drink named after them. But, perhaps this way is better. A testament to how much Joseph César, and César’s Rum Punch impacted people that routinely referenced him and his punch specifically. In my opinion this validates that it was indeed César’s magic potion that served as the allure and catalyst to the Oloffson Hotel’s legacy and solidifies César’s place among tropical drink royalty.  

Joseph César died in 1981 and the only original piece remaining in the Grand Oloffson Hotel is his original mahogany bar. 

So, with respect, let’s make a drink. 

As with any respectable cocktail, and a few disrespectful ones, there’s always a little controversy involved. In 1947 Trader Vic published a recipe called Olofsson’s Rum Punch. We know that Vic did travel around the Caribbean island hopping and learning from the masters how to construct tropical drinks. We also know that when he was unable, or too lazy, to recreate a certain famous drink he took some liberties. Don the Beachcomber’s Zombie and Joe Scialom’s Suffering Bastard are a few of the well known drinks Vic offered that are similar in name only. This doesn’t take away from the trader’s validity or his aptitude both behind the bar and in the kitchen. There are two reasons why Vic’s Olofsson’s Punch is called into question. First, Al Seitz disputed Vic’s recipe in a 1972 interview in Playboy Magazine, offering up what he claimed was the true recipe. I tend to believe Seitz as he knew César personally when he ran the hotel. The second reason that arches a dubious eyebrow is the fact that the two drinks taste nothing alike, and frankly, Vic’s isn’t very good. 

A blend of orange and lime juices, sugar, and Haitian rhum with a Myers’s dark float, Trader Vic’s Oloffson Punch feels like an attempt at making a Haitian drink by just using Haitian rhum in a generic punch recipe. It’s very rummy, which can be a plus, as many punches hide the spirit, but it’s inconsistent with other drinks from this region at the time. I mean, if Port-au-Prince was supposed to be this haven of pure unmolested tropicalia and the Olofsson a Mecca for the artistic demimonde, I find it hard to fathom that a dark blended Jamaican rum such as Myers’s would be used. Or that a float would be used at all, for that matter. Also, the use of Maraschino liqueur harkens to Vic’s time in Havana. This is all speculation on my part, but speculation done after many books read, travels done, and conversations had with prominent sources. I just don’t believe Vic’s Olofsson Punch would render the accolades we have on record by so many guests. It’s okay, but it’s not worth writing into a novel and pervading literature the way we have it documented that César’s did. 

Nonetheless I provide Vic’s Oloffson’s Punch recipe here for you to test:

2 ½ oz Rhum Barbancourt 

¼ oz Maraschino Liqueur 

1 ½ oz Orange Juice (fresh)

¾ oz Lime Juice (fresh)

1 rounded tsp White Sugar

½ oz Myers’s Dark Rum

Dissolve sugar in lime juice first. Then shake all ingredients except Myers’s with ice and pour into a tall Collins glass or pilsner. Top with more Ice if needed. Float Myers’s on top. 

Okay, let’s get to the real drink now. 

The Haitian Rhum in question here is Rhum Barbancourt. The R H U M spelling of the word is in the French style denoting this is a spirit made not from molasses, but pressed cane juice, like its Martinican cousin Clement. The Barbancourt 8 Year Reserve Speciale I’m using here is a velvety clean and smokey rich spirit. Barbancourt makes their rhum using methods brought over from Cognac production and it shows in this spirit way more than other cane pressed counterparts. I’m a big fan of this rum for sipping and pairing with cigars. At a lovely 43% ABV it’s wonderful and I wouldn’t change a thing about it. In fact, if you find a bottle of the white variety I suggest using that for Ti’ Punch. It’s amazing. Barbancourt in general is my hidden gem of the rum world. 

I believe we covered Barbancourt in our Port-au-Prince episode, but we’ll do a brief recap. Hailing from Charente, France, the region famous for the town of Cognac, brothers Dupré and Labbé Barbancourt began distilling rhum in Haiti in 1862 using those revered Cognac methods. Most notably double distillation and aging in oak. Tenets the company still utilizes today. 

Barbancourt’s leadership reads like a religious litany. By 1902 Dupré had sole ownership and when he died the company passed to his widow Nathalie Gardère . From there it went to her nephew Paul Gardere till his death in 1946. His son Jean held the reins till 1990 and so on and so forth till the current CEO, Delphine Nathalie Gardère. 

Back in 1946 the company acquired their own piece of land, Domaine Barbancourt,  in the Plaine du Cul-de-Sac region of Haiti known for its renowned sugar cane. Barbancourt has won many awards and accolades over its almost 2 century run only halting production shortly to rebuild after the 2010 earthquake. 

The rest of the ingredients are pretty standard for punches. Fresh lime juice, simple syrup, Angostura bitters, and grenadine. I implore you to make your own grenadine using equal parts pomegranate juice and cane sugar. Bring to a boil, simmer for about a minute, and let cool. 

The recipe Al Seitz gave in retort to Vic’s back in the 70’s, and which Jeff Berry subsequently published as Cesars Rum Punch is as follows:

2 oz Lime Juice

1 oz Grenadine

¼ oz Sugar Syrup

3 dashes Angostura Bitters

2 oz Rhum Barbancourt

Shake all ingredients with ice and strain into a Collins glass filled with crushed ice. 

I found this drink to be super sour, the only competing flavor being a sharp cloying sweetness. I got the impression that a perfect drink is in there, it just needed to be teased out. It calms down a little as the ice melts but remains wildly unbalanced. A cacophony af disparate flavors vying for attention, none of any being the incredible rhum. I believe this is indeed the correct ingredients, but that Cesar mixed them differently. 

Therefore, after many attempts at moving amounts around I believe I have reached the best version of this drink and the one that must be closest to the lauded Cesar’s punch touted by so many. 

½ oz Grenadine

¼ oz Sugar Syrup

1 oz Lime Juice

3 dashes Angostura Bitters

2 oz Rhum Barbancourt

Shake all ingredients with ice and strain into a 10 oz Collins glass filled with crushed ice. Garnish with mint sprig and pineapple wedge. I don’t usually condone useless garnish, but I like to add an orange wheel just as a nod to Trader Vic’s recipe. 

This renders a very fruity, punchy beverage that still leans to the sour side, which I believe Cesar meant to be the case. It’s a lovely tropical drink and I could see why so many notable writers and actors of the day claimed to have been able to down quite a few per sitting. They go down super easy. The rhum is still a bit obfuscated but it adds a unique aged quality that’s missing with a different rum. I suggest having a few sips of the Barbancourt on the side before, then taste the punch and see if you can pick it out. 

From 1963 - 71 the murderous regime of Papa Doc loomed perilously over Haiti. Even through this Joseph César remained undaunted in his idea of maintaining an atmosphere of escape from the heaviness outside. A weight that hangs on the soul like a thick humid caribbean mist. What better to alleviate this, promote a sense of weightlessness like floating to the ceiling on laughter, than a good tropical drink.

It’s my opinion that we could all be a little more like César. Smiling in the face of adversity. Resilient like Haiti and its people. And maybe along the way we create a drink that lasts a hundred years. 

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Tony, and this has been Pod Tiki. Keepi Tiki! 

Sources: Potions of the Caribbean and Remixed by Jeff “Beachbum” Berry, Liberandcompany.com, barbancourt.com, wikipedia

Pod Tiki: Corpse Reviver

I sit here at my writing desk in quite a quixotic fugue. Tender as my sensibilities are presently, I will attempt to gather what wits remain. That is, if any wits I possessed in the first place. The curious conte I am about to relay may seem based in fiction and purely intended for entertainment. Though, I assure you, the missive laid out before me I pen as a cautionary tale.  

Most tales tend to start at the beginning. It makes sense to start at the beginning, as that’s where most things begin. But how we arrived embroiled in the terrible trappings of which we find ourselves that fateful morning is inconsequential. So, by any case of substantial shenanigans, we will begin our tale… right…here. 

I woke up in a foggy daze. The room was dark save a perilous light creeping around thick dark window shades. Around one of my legs was wrapped a portion of soft cotton sheet and a comforter covered the bottom half of my body. It was quite cold. Not so much a bone crackling chill as a welcomed refreshment against my sweat speckled skin. Presently, I came to the realization I was reasonably nude. The door to my bedroom was closed, so there was no danger of exposing the bits and pieces of a healthy 30 yr old bachelor. Finding some garments I made surreptitiously for to open the door. 

Before me the scenario should have been cause for at least a moment of shock, yet for some ineffable and unjust reason all I could do was stare at the ghastly scene with the wonder of a child - when the callow misunderstanding of new experience is simultaneously frightening and exhilarating. 

I stepped over the bodies. A bibulous lot, strewn about the floor and dripping from furniture like so many Dali clock-faces. A motionless groan emanated from one of the wretched souls decorating my small living space. Perhaps it came from all of them. Perhaps none of them. Perhaps this was indeed an inner groan produced by my very own psyche - a result of diluted consciousness. 

Notwithstanding, I pressed on towards the cookery gathering myself while I gathered ingredients to resurrect the gathered ghouls of this garish gathering. My rattling caused the corpses to stir, groggily at first, one - another - then another, till eventually the whole mangled menagerie was writhing in discontent. 

What transpired next was a grave miscalculation on my part and brings us to the admonishing portion of our narrative within such I render said admonishing with a tender air of contrition. For, in an attempt to mollify my tremulous tormentors, I mixed up a potion indelibly delicate with which to revive these corpses to a state of conscious conviviality. Within the hour this lascivious lot of loungers was all a’dither in raucous revels.

The misadventure spanned the entire morning, engulfed the afternoon, and stretched well into another debaucherous night. By the time the engagement had run its course and the hoard had dispersed I found myself devoid of any sense of reality. A gruesome cavorting that led only to the forsaking of a full day therefore leaving my very same body inevitably inept.

The next thing I knew that same perilous light of morning clawed its way around the dark curtains of my chambers. The fog had subsided. The air was warm and inviting. Thrusting myself into the room previously occupied by such rioting revelors I found naught but a spinning fan and a waxless candle jar spiriting the final wisps of white smoke into an atmosphere of tranquility. This was indeed the Lord’s day. I had lost the entirety of a full 24 hours. Flashes of memory appeared and vanished like drunken brilliance. I was safe now, but the iniquity of that day ever haunts my regard. All because I had the audacity to try my hand as a corpse reviver.    

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Tony, and this is Pod Tiki. 

The Corpse Reviver, although sharing a cognomen theme with Zombies and Suffering Bastards, is not a Tiki drink at all, but a classic pre-prohibition cocktail going all the way back to the sporting age and the invention of the cocktail as we know it. There is another Venn diagram where these three drinks intersect as well. They are all part of a category - the hangover cure. 

In the early days of the American cocktail a Corpse Reviver was not a drink, but a group of drinks also known as “eye-openers” or “hair of the dog”. Before Donn Beach and Joe Scialom leveled up the classification with Zombies and Bastards, respectively, every bartender from San Francisco to Manhattan had their own high-gravity remedy meant to jolt the life back into the droopy-eyed drunkenstein with elbows on the bar and head in hand. We’re talking about a period in American drinking habits that make a long weekend in Vegas look like dinner at grandma’s house. That is, unless you’re from a family like mine in which grandma’s usually the first one to break out the margaritas. 

In the late 19th and early 20th centuries a class of mostly men known as the Sporting Fraternity took tippling to the next level. These folks were an affluent, decorous group with proclivities towards horse racing, gambling, fast company and faster cocktails. Champagne with breakfast. Beer at lunch. A cocktail to perk up the afternoon. Perhaps another before dinner. Wine with food. Manhattans and Martinis well into the evening. One could see how a lifestyle such as this may require a little morning medicine, referred to as taking one’s bitters. This ribald retinue will eventually become the roaring crowd of the 1920’s where cocaine would do the job. But before we collectively agreed as a country that drugs were the answer, we simply relied on more alcohol. 

Though the “cocktail” itself is a truly American invention the Corpse Reviver found its way into history from England. The first print mention of a Corpse Reviver dates way back to an English magazine in 1861. The first written recipe appears ten years later, 1871, in The Gentleman's Table Guide by E. Ricket and C. Thomas. However, the man who made it famous was Harry Craddock working out of the Savoy Hotel in London, circa 1920’s - 30’s. In 1930 Harry published the now infamous Savoy Cocktail Book wherein he gave 2 recipes - Corpse Reviver no.1 and no.2. 

The no. 1 consisted of a heady blend of Cognac, Calvados, and sweet vermouth, but walk in a modern speakeasy and order a Corpse Reviver and you’re most likely going to get a relative rendition of the no.2 - gin, orange liqueur, Lillet Blanc, lemon juice, and a dash of absinthe. Not only does that ingredient list read medicinal, just add some eye of newt and any self respecting snake oil peddler would surely have this in their cart, but it actually renders a delicious cocktail too. 

As it should. There is a tendency to look back on this era of mixology like early hominids learning how to use sharp rocks to shred meat off gazelle bones. In actuality, much like classical music, the creators of these drinks are responsible for highly delicate and intricate medleys that are not only works of art in their own right but have become the reference points for over a century of cocktalia. 

Harry Craddock came from that class of the first celebrity bartenders, much like his American contemporary, the godfather of mixology, Jerry Thomas. He came to the United States for his bartending education in 1897, where he worked at Cleveland's Hollenden Hotel and New York's Knickerbocker Hotel. Like a lot of promethean mixologists he fled the U.S. to escape prohibition in 1920 settling in London subsequently taking the helm at the American Bar of the Savoy Hotel. Craddock did much in his life to promote the art of mixology including founding the United Kingdom Bartenders’ Guild, and his Savoy Cocktail Book is still revered as one of the essential recipe guides studied by modern mixologists professional and passionado alike. Harry Craddock lived all the way till 1963 when sadly, despite his contribution to his craft, he was buried in a pauper’s grave. By all accounts his corpse had no desire to be revived. Harry didn’t invent the category of Corpse Reviver, but it is his recipe that bears the name and legacy today.

Not as popular as its prohibition era cousins the Corpse Reviver has experienced a revival of its own as a member of a recherche group of classical cocktails. Just be sure to heed Harry’s warning that, “Four of these taken in quick succession will unrevive the corpse again.”

Then again, we of the Tiki are not known for heeding warnings when it comes to imbibing. Let’s make a drink! 

One of the things that makes a Corpse Reviver special, in my humble opinion, but an opinion formulated equidistant between personal experience and professional commentary, is that all of the ingredients are perfectly balanced to render what may be one of the rare perfect cocktails. One of which is truly greater than the sum of its parts. One of which rings harmonious like a musical chord. The individual ingredients dovetail so nicely that it’s almost as if they’re not separate parts, but a seamless monolithic indulgence. 

We luck out here in that rare case in which there’s very little discord, if any, regarding ingredients. We have Harry’s recipe spelled out in detail right there in his book. A refreshing change from the inherent mystery built into the fabric of Tiki. 

We start with some London Dry gin. For Martinis I usually go with Bombay Sapphire, but in a mixer with other heavier ingredients I use Beefeater. I think it pushes those botanicals to the forefront a bit more. It’s really based on individual taste as long as we stay in the London Dry category. In the days this drink was created American tipplers favored Holland gin, or Genever. This heavier, more grainy, malty gin was lighter on the floral notes and actually worked to make gin versions of early Cognac and Bourbon drinks. Harry Craddock may have used Holland gin while cutting his teeth in the U.S., but by the time he created the Corpse Reviver #2 he was back in England and using the more-popular-by-then London Dry style. 

Next he calls specifically for Cointreau. I’ve seen modern recipes simplify that to any orange liqueur, and I must admit as I become more experienced I’m beginning to think they’re all pretty similar, but alas I stuck with Cointreau. Personally, triple sec does seem to have a bit more sweet orange flavor than say, a bitter Curacao. Besides, I didn’t want to mess up the color of the drink by using a colored liqueur. The only caveat would be the Corpse Reviver # Blue. This parody was created by Jacob Briars, then brand ambassador for Bacardi, as a joke poking fun at all the neon colored night club drinks of the 1980’s & 90’s. Somehow, it stuck. Nostalgia is all the rage these days, so I wouldn’t be surprised to see some glowing drinks back in the clubs. To make the # Blue simply swap the triple sec for blue curacao. 

Now, this is my first time using this next ingredient. Lillet Blanc. Lillet is a French aperitif wine liqueur that comes in white and red varieties, but this is no vermouth. Lillet Blanc has the buttery characteristic of a fine Chardonnay. It’s really quite good as a dessert wine and it adds a bit of sweetness to the drink by way of rich creamy notes. 

Which is just what is needed to offset the fresh lemon juice. As with all citrus for cocktails please use fresh squeezed. That is, if the lemons will still fit in your juicer. Holy crap! Have you seen the unnatural size of lemons lately?! That is not what lemons are supposed to look like. If you’re ever looking for proof our food is being tampered with just look at the size of lemons. 

The final ingredient is Absinthe. Okay, this is where I’m going to ruffle some feathers. I love absinthe. I became a true fan a few years ago when my wife and I began frequenting a local French bar. I love the lore and legend of the green fairy inspiring so many great artistic minds. It’s the sort of folly chasing death that makes for great romanticism. I just wish I could buy into it. 

It’s like this. We all know what gives absinthe its reputation is the mythical wormwood. The psychoactive ingredient in wormwood is a compound called thujone. In 1912 the U.S. banned absinthe for this reason. Ironically cocaine was still being prescribed by doctors. But, of course, when you tell Americans we can’t have something we just want it more. So modern science did a deep dive on the mythos of absinthe. The Tax and Trade Bureau, the agency which regulates dangerous spirits, considers a spirit with amounts less than ten parts per million to be thujone free. Well, according to cocktail historian Ted Haigh, both mint-condition pre-ban absinthe and modern absinthe recipes contain less thujone than the amount needed to even register. In fact, a cup of sage tea contains roughly 80 milligrams of thujone. Therefore, if this is true, unfortunately, the science does not back up absinthe having any psychoactive effects at all, besides a high alcohol content and a delicious flavor that lends itself to overindulgence. I’m not going to sit here and say I don’t feel a bit trippy when I drink absinthe. Especially if it’s the only alcohol I’ve had and I’ve had a few and it’s late and I’m feeling particularly haughty. 

Here’s the part where some people will disagree - I taste no difference between an absinthe and Pernod. I think Pernod is delectable and should stop being referred to as an alternative. In finer quality absinthes there is a certain tongue-coating pastis creaminess that comes from wormwood, but then again I get almost the same sensation from any anise based spirit. So, I’m not really sure that wormwood adds anything save posterity. 

Nonetheless, to stay true to Harry’s recipe I used Absente brand absinthe for my Corpse Revivers, and for the numerous late night pours of absinthe I imbibed in trying to catch the muse credited to so many green fairies. 

There’s one more thing we need to cover. Harry Craddock’s original recipe calls for equal parts gin, Lillet, Cointreau, and lemon juice with a dash of absinthe. Reflecting back on David Wondrich’s book Imbibe! I recall learning that a lot of the sugar and citrus in the early golden age of cocktails was open to interpretation. Indeed, while researching this episode I came across a few expert mixologists taking liberties with the lemon juice. A full measure of citrus in a Corpse Reviver makes it into a sour cocktail. It tastes just like a lemon daiquiri. All of the abstract nuance of the blend gets lost. It’s more than likely that the spirits and liqueurs used in Harry’s day would have been much stronger, or at least potent. It’s also very true that our preferences as drinkers change throughout the decades. Libations were much sweeter back then. Going back to the days of navy grog the purpose of adding sugar and fruit was to cover up the liquor, not accentuate it, as in modern times. 

All that to say, I believe reducing the lemon juice to ½ part renders a better balanced drink and allows the Cointreau and Lillet to really take the foreground. 

So, with trepidatious reverence I give you the Corpse Reviver:

1 oz London Dry Gin

1 oz Cointreau

1 oz Lillet Blanc

½ oz Lemon Juice

1 dash (8 drops, 1 barspoon) Abinsithe

Shake all ingredients with ice and double strain into a coup or cocktail glass. Drop a stemless cherry in the bottom. Modern bartenders sometimes rinse the glass with absinthe instead of shaking it with the other ingredients, a la Sazerac, but when the man who wrote the book says shake it, you say how hard. 

My first sip impression was buttery white wine shimmering with flashes of flowery botanicals. Orange comes through next accompanied by flirtatious anise. The fairy smiles, no doubt. All wrapped in a cloud of crisp, fresh lemon that is always there, yet you don’t notice till you think about it. The gin almost fades to a background component. Wow, this is a wonderful drink. And yes, it will wake the dead. It’s a stiff one for sure. For a morning after drink it’s laying down heavy night before vibes. It tastes like a Gatsby party in a glass. 

Flowery bullshit aside, this really is an incredible drink. Even the finest cocktails usually play on sweet, grainy, fruity, or spicy flavors. Never have I encountered such a creamy cocktail. I know the over-use of the term “buttery” can be pretentious, but it truly is the best way to describe the way Lillet and Cointeau play with lemon and anise. Plus, zero bite. Just frightfully pleasing enjoyment. 

In closing, I bid you beware. For the Corpse Reviver can create a cursed creature or bring one back to the realm of the living. Then again, one can never tell if the revived is truly alive. Heed my warning fellow followers of Dionysius. When dabbling in necromantic cocktails one must be prepared for what is awakened.

My name is Tony, and this has been Pod Tiki. Keepi Tiki!

Sources: Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails, by Ted Haigh, Imbibe!, by David Wondrich, The Enduring Legacy of the Corpse Reviver: article by Cara Strickland - talesofthecocktail.org, Diffordsguide.com, liquor.com, wikipedia

Pod Tiki: Missionary's Downfall

Laying on his back he looked up from under the shade of a large palm frond musing on how the natural leaf patterns resembled the woven matting his makuahine made to cover the open spots in their hut. Just so a breathe of vanilla flower wove its way through a thick coastal breeze. He was supposed to be down by the water learning how to fish the bay, but a love for the beauty of his homeland always seemed to provoke a whimsical reverie. 

Presently amid the rolling tide and grown-ups playful banter came the sound of strange babblings. A voice speaking in unknown sounds, but with the cadence of language. Curiosity supersedes the chance of being admonished for skipping work, so the boy begins slowly shuffling through the detritus of tropical jungle till he feels the warm sun on his cheeks.

In shallow lapping waves was an odd shaped canoe, but what arrested his callow visage was the men speaking with his ohana. Their pale complexions compared to the familiar nuttiness of his people was funny and he giggled at how uncomfortable they must be all covered in fabric. 

Soon all fourteen newcomers, seven men and their wahines, were living among the boy and his people. They built elaborate huts and taught the natives to make symbols on parchment creating the first written Hawaiian. By the time the boy was a teenager he was speaking English and praying to a new God. Under Queen Kaahumanu it was a peaceful time of welcomed prosperity, despite the slow diminishing of the boy’s old culture for practices claiming to be more civilized. 

As a man now the world around him looked similar but felt very different. The guests soon took on the manner of an invasive species. Old customs were replaced with schools and Holy scriptures. Where lush natural gardens once quilted the landscape over 200 churches now stood. Yet, overall life was still good on the island flourishing now with modernity.

Everything changed in the year of their Lord 1852 when the American church stopped sending money for the visitors. Fearing the white people and their support would leave if they had to take time away from preaching and teaching to actually work, King Kamehameha III made a grave miscalculation. He sold the Americans vast parcels of land at an extremely cheap rate. Eventually the now land-owning haoles rose plantations and companies capitalizing on rich Hawaiian resources. This made them very wealthy and created a cast system in which the man and his ohana now found themselves at the bottom of. 

On January 16, 1893 our indignant friend stood guard over her Majesty Queen Lili'uokalani while American troops descended upon the royal palace.  As he felt the cold in his hand from a weapon he didn’t know how to use he thought back to that day in the shade under the palm trees as a boy, before it all changed. He prayed to his new Christian God … in vain. The following day Lili'uokalani surrendered to being annexed by the United States government in what could be considered the largest corporate takeover in American history. 

In 1820 fourteen Protestant missionaries landed in Kawaihae subsequently changing the course of Hawaiian history forever and catalyzing what would become centuries of dissonance between Hawaiians and the United States. The Protestants become wealthy entrepreneurs succumbed to the lure of the tropics and manipulated their self-serving beliefs possibly jeopardizing their own salvation. Therefore, one can say this whole unfortunate experience was brought on by the missionary’s downfall.  

Ladies and gentlemen. My name is Tony, and this is Pod Tiki. 

From such bedeviled beginnings sprouts the impetus for a culinary movement we still find today. The idea of fresh, farm to table ingredients. And this carries over to the world of mixology under guise of craft cocktails utilizing fresh fruits and natural sweeteners. But this isn’t some hipster trend started in the modern craft resurgence of the 2010’s. No, to go to the beginning we find ourselves back in our main narrative at a wry little Polynesian bar in Hollywood, California run by a curious man touting himself as Donn The Beachcomber.  

We know Constantino, the head bartender at La Floridita credited with making the daiquiri famous, grew his own limes in order to ensure the perfect flavor. Trader Vic’s culinary approach to creating drinks informed generations of Tiki mixologists. But before all that Donn Beach was experimenting beyond his propensity for blending different rums and fresh syrups by blending fresh fruit and herbs right into the drink. With its use of fresh mint and pineapple I wonder if the Missionary’s Downfall was an accident. It kind of appears like someone dropped the garnish into the drink before mixing. 

This drink is a testament to Donn’s adventurous spirit as it pertains to creating new recipes, and at first glance adding mint leaves directly into the mixer seems like it may be kinda gross. We’ve all had that rogue leaf accost the back of our throat when the mojito has been too muddled. And remember, this is before the age of the smoothie. At least Donn never implied any pretense of healthiness. In the end, though, it turns out it’s pretty dang delicious, and with only a ½ oz of added real sugar probably healthier than a smoothie. 

The Missionary’s Downfall is almost unheard of on modern menus. Most likely due to its arduous process. To make one correctly the use of fresh pineapple is imperative.  Understandably most Tiki bars that can make a decent one are probably too busy to mess with all that, and substituting fresh pineapple for juice just doesn’t render the desired result. 

Notwithstanding its rarity this drink dates back to 1937 on Don The Beachcomber menus. It was kept alive across time and multiple locations and undoubtedly adjusted here and there. This is why being a Tiki purest is all but futile. It’s well known, similar to how an artist claims a masterpiece is never truly finished, that Donn Beach and his few trusted bartenders would update the drinks from time to time. This may’ve been to keep up with changing tastes or perhaps revive a cocktail that had fallen out of fashion. In any case, the MIssionary’s Downfall recipe we have today is about as close as we could ever come to an original Donn Beach concoction. That’s because it was unearthed by famed Tiki drink archeologist Jeff “Beachbum” Berry directly from the family of Hank Riddle.

Who on Tiki’s green Earth is Hank Riddle? No, he’s not a Harry Potter villain. Hank Riddle was one of those chosen few bartenders privy to Donn Beach’s real recipes. This was because he worked for Donn form the 1940’s to the 80’s across multiple restaurant locations and even while peppering in a few other tropical bars in between. 

Believe it or not, being a friend and head bartender for the man who created Tiki is not even a fraction of what makes Hank Riddle’s life so interesting. We covered Hank extensively in our Three Dots and a Dash Episode. I urge you all to pause this right now and listen to that if you haven’t. For a brief overview - Hank began his life the son of a wealthy fishing fleet owner in the Philippines. After the bombing of Pearl Harbor his family lost everything and was forced to flea to the woods to evade capture. By 15 yrs old Hank was part of the guerilla resistance when he was mistaken for a Japanese spy, tied to a tree to die, only to be rescued by a passing friend who recognized him by happenstance. After the war Hank befriended Donn Beach in Hawaii who offered him a job in California. 

Hank made a name for himself as a favorite of Beachcomber’s Hollywood elite clientele due to his ability to mitigate compromising situations. Hank’s aptitude for de-escalation came in handy among his coworkers as well. On more than a few occasions he had to broker peace between a knife wielding Chinese cook and Filipino waiter. 

Hank created some drinks of his own, but was best known for the time he spent mastering and serving Donn’s original recipes. After working his way up to running several Don the Beachcomber restaurants Hank ran himself into to ground working non-stop. His wife credits his dedication to work for taking Hank’s life. Which he lost at the age of 63 in 1989. 

There’s a lot more to Hank Riddle’s life including some funny anecdotes I didn’t want to repeat here, so please check out the aforementioned episode, or even better, pick up a copy of Sippin’ Safari by Jeff Berry where he tells Hanks story from a first hand eloquence I can only aspire to. At any rate, it’s from the family of this trusted Donn Beach bartender that we get the real Don the Beachcomber Missionary’s Downfall recipe. 

Without further ado, let’s make a drink! 

Let’s start with the stars of this little ditty, pineapple and mint. Sometimes Tiki drinks can be like Taco Bell food, a lot of the same ingredients in different shapes. The Missionary’s Downfall separates itself by using whole pineapple chunks instead of juice, and by incorporating mint directly into the mix; for flavor rather than just olfactory sensation. The pineapple adds viscosity when blended creating a lovely texture. I use one of those spiral cutting pineapple hand coring tools. If you’re doing it the old fashioned way I suggest cutting down rind off then slicing down along the sides to avoid the core. Take my advice and stay away from those canned pineapple rings soaking in preservative syrup. 

Blending the mint with the drink not only expresses the oils, adding a fresh-deep-floral richness, but also flecks the drink with tiny emerald particles making it look like glitter in the glass. And your wife won’t get mad if you come home with mint all over your lap. When shaking and straining with mint I usually throw the whole sprig in, but being that it’s being blended right in I plucked the mint leaves off the sprig for this one. 

The other fresh ingredient is of course, lime juice. It goes without saying to use fresh squeezed. 

To accent all that citrus and mint we’re gonna use honey syrup. This is a 1:1 mixture of raw honey to water. Put both in a saucepan over medium-high heat. Stir until the honey is completely dissolved. This method was contrived by Don the Beachcomber to make working with honey easier. 

Next we’ll need peach brandy. A lot of modern recipes call for peach liqueur but I stuck with brandy because it was called for specifically in Hank Riddle’s notes. The problem is that it’s way easier to find a high quality peach liqueur than a decent peach brandy. As far as I can tell there’s only one distillery making brandy from actual peaches, and it’s not available near me. Whereas, I could find high quality liqueurs, like Mathilde, a-plenty. Herein lies my dilemma. I followed my instinct and stuck with peach brandy assuming it would at least have richer notes as a brandy base than a liquor using neutral spirits. I begrudgingly went with Paul Masson, which is fine but uses artificial flavors. The wife and I have both fallen in love with this drink so, I’m positive I will be trying it with liqueur soon. If you get there before I do please let me know your thoughts. (sidenote: I’ve been loving all the interaction with everyone on social media. Please keep it coming.) 

But wait, Tony! Where’s the rum? This ingredient is uncontested across the board. Hank’s recipe calls by name for light Puerto Rican rum. Now, we can debate which one. There are plenty of wonderful blended light rums out there, but when necessity calls for a true Spanish style column still light rum there’s only a few options. If you’re using Ron del Barrilito for mixing Tiki drinks congratulations on your portfolio. For the rest of us there’s Havana Club Puerto Rico, or more commonly Bacardi or Don Q. I notice Don Q light rum making a hipster comeback, and that’s great. It’s a good rum. The 7yr is amazing. But I feel like some people use it just to say they don’t use Bacardi. Look, you guys have heard me rant about this before so I’ll keep it short. It’s very difficult to mass produce a product with the quality and consistency of companies like Bacardi or Budwieser. Facundo Bacardi created his recipe in Cuba when this style of distillation was in its infancy and pretty much begat a new style of light crisp rum made specifically to the tastes of the American palate. You can hate on large brands all you want, but looking at Bacardi’s sales I would say Facundo’s recipe has stood the test of time. Besides all that, I personally find Bacardi fruitier and crisper, with a good classic Spanish style rum flavor. 

Keep in mind I’m only speaking to light Puerto RIcan rums for mixing. This region boasts a plethora of fine sipping varieties that would go underappreciated in a blended drink. 

Okay, let me just climb down here. Ugh, oompf, okay there we go. Whew, that horse was pretty high. How about a recipe?! 

The Missionary’s Downfall is:

1 oz Light Puerto Rico Rum

½ oz Peach Brandy

½ oz Lime Juice

1 oz Honey Syrup

¼ cup Diced Fresh Pineapple

¼ cup Mint Leaves (Tightly Packed)

¾ cup Crushed Ice

I diced the pineapple before measuring being cautious not to press the juice out while cutting. It should be chunky enough to hold together but small enough to pack into a measuring cup. For the mint I picked enough leaves and pressed them into a measuring cup. The recipe says “tighly packed”, I interpret this like when I screw says “hand tight”. Pack it in enough to get an accurate measure, but it doesn’t need to be pressed in like you’re packing that bong back in college. 

Place everything in a blender and blend on high for a full 20 seconds. We really want to frappe the ice. Pour directly into a coup or cocktail glass or champagne saucer. Garnish with the tip of a mint sprig, just 2 or 3 small leaves, placed directly in the center of the drink. Technically this serves two, but seeing as how low the ABV is I prefer to use a large cocktail glass and Bogart it all for myself. 

What it lacks in alcohol, Missionary's Downfall more than makes up for in flavor. A minty freshness impacts the senses first, followed by a rich fruity essence. The drink evolves over time vacillating through tart-minty-fruity. Perhaps, it’s simply power of suggestion but the peach and honey seem to linger in the background like a chord proving a melody. I don’t usually like referring to anything with alcohol as refreshing, but if ever there was a time it is now. 

More akin to something you may order at a new age tea house than a Tiki bar Missionary's Downfall is very balanced for what seems like a mixed bag of potent flavors. The only actual downfall I taste is that it does finish with heavy citric acid vibes. You’re going to get that with fresh pineapple, but it’s worth it if nothing else for the texture. Crushed ice blended with whole pineapple renders us a beautiful smoothie-like viscosity. One can argue this drink stimulates three senses simultaneously taking in a sip. The scent of fresh mint, flavors of herbs and fruits, and silky sensation on the palate - making Missionary’s Downfall a true cocktail experience. 

One of the things I try to do is try all the versions of a particular drink to give you guys what I believe is the best version while maintaining the closest proximity to how the creator intended it to taste. At times it’s difficult because some drinks are also genres of drink. For example, I can’t try every kind of daiquiri and make it to work the next day. Other times it’s just cost prohibitive to buy a bunch of bottles I may only use a little bit of, like the decision I had to make here with peach brandy vs. liqueur. Best case scenario I have to find another cocktail to make that uses that ingredient. Worst case, I now have multiple bottles of something we’re never going to drink taking up space in the bar - a valuable commodity in the life of a city dweller. And sometimes, like now, there’s a version based off the topic drink but enough is changed that it’s really not the same drink anymore. It becomes a Ship-of-Theseus paradox. In this case though, I had to mention the Smuggler’s Cove Aku Aku. 

Martin Cate gives credit to the Missionary’s Downfall in his book with a few adjustments. 

5 1-inch chunks of Pineapple

8 Mint Leaves

1 oz Lime Juice

½ - Simple Syrup

½  oz Peach Liqueur

1 ½ oz Lightly Aged Rum

Muddle the pineapple in the blender cup first, add remaining ingredients and 6 oz crushed ice, flash blend for 5 seconds and double strain into a chilled coup glass. 

Wow. This is a capital W Wonderful drink. It looks great with its yellow/green hue. The minty pineapple takes on a bright clarity and is subdued just a bit giving way to a full rounded rummy peachy depth. The texture? Forget about it! It’s got a thick silky foamy head that puts egg white to shame. The citrus and mint make it into a sort of pineapple meringue. The only thing is that it’s the biggest pain in the ass to make! It takes so long to strain the viscous pineapple/mint slurry to get that great head that it’s almost not worth it. This may be one of the best all around drinks that I’ve ever tasted, but by the time I strain the next round I’m sober again. 

Notwithstanding, I feel like a Missionary’s Downfall, to be called such, needs to be served with the fruit and herbs blended in. Martin Cate seems to agree, which is why the Aku AKu gets a very honorable mention here. Such a great drink.  

The path to legendary status is not linear. That’s why being a purist is fraught with dissonance. Recipes and methods of preparation evolve and devolve through the ages. Technology is a double edged barspoon. As the means to create the drinks became easier often the quality lessened. Even our beloved Tiki felt the growing pains of premade mixes and canned fruit. 

Thankfully, the comely imposter drinks these products rendered don’t fool us anymore. Frankly,, they didn’t back then either. 

Missionary’s downfall. No, it’s not just an accident you had trying to have drunk sex. It’s another delicious original brainchild of Don The Beachcomber. He was almost 100 years ahead of his time when it came to using fresh produce in his confounding contrivances. I’m not usually one for pontificating, but if Tiki is our religion and Donn Beach is the pontiff? Well, it looks like we’re all his missionaries. So, when one of us is experiencing hard times let’s pick each other up and raise a glass to another Missionary’s Downfall. 

Ladies, and gentlemen, my name is Tony and this has been Pod Tiki. Thank you for listening and Keepi Tiki! 

Sources: Smuggler’s Cove by Martin Cate, Sippin Safari and Remixed by Jeff Berry, Shakaguide.com,  Hawaii Digital Newspaper Project,

Rest In Paradise: Jimmy Buffett

My grandpa generously passed me his wayward, adventurous nature. My parents taught me how to never take life too seriously and to do what makes me happy. With such significant role models it’s hard to reconcile feeling grief over the loss of someone I never personally knew. When I woke up to the news that Jimmy Buffett died it hit me in a very unexpected way. The essence of his life is so inextricably entwined with my own. 

I came of age in Florida where the things Buffett sang about were not some far off fantasy. Both the virtues and pitfalls of paradise were often and literally in my backyard. My favorite drink is a margarita, I love the sour summer freshness of it, and sipping one under a palm tree was not something I had to save up all year and hop a flight to achieve. It was too easy really. Which I suppose leads to the untoward reputation Florida has garnered over the years. 

I remember my dad playing his copy of Songs You Know By Heart around the house. I was the only in the University High School parking lot who had Banana Wind in his CD rotation, competing with Green Day and Cypress Hill. 

During an existential crisis when I was trying to find my voice in a new city it was Buffett I ran to as a gateway to reacquainting myself with my Florida roots. His clever lyrics and down island sound taught me to write about what I love. In his books I found the confidence to find muse in my own tropical trappings. His writing showed us all that it’s ok for the good guy to get the girl and conquer the day and to do it with a wink of pretense. Following in the footsteps of Jimmy Buffett I began traveling to the Caribbean where I began collecting the experiences that eventually led to starting Pod Tiki. 

The first time my wife met my parents was because I took her back to Florida for a Jimmy Buffett/Eagles concert. That was my first time seeing him live - an experience that filled a parrot-shaped hole in my soul I didn’t even know was there. Just to top off the true Orlando experience a rocket launched from the cape cut through a pastel sky above the Citrus Bowl as the Coral Reefers played. A picturesque moment in time that was simultaneously shared with thousands yet seemed to be only for my wife and I. 

The next year a friend and fellow parrothead bought my wife and I tickets to Buffett in Nashville. I was hesitant to go at first because I didn’t want to taint the memory of that first experience. But, the seats were practically stageside and seeing him in Nashville was such a different and up close experience. 

There’s no way I can recall the litany of Buffett begotten memories that are indelibly part of me. Trips to Margaritaville Orlando with my folks or buddies sharing a plate of nachos while the margarita volcano erupted, sipping beers by the Hemisphere Dancer resting in the lake, visiting Margaritaville’s in Jamaica with my best friend, Mexico with my wife, all over Florida including Key West, Tennessee with my friends and even throwing dice at the Las Vegas location.

Jimmy Buffett provided the same modality for escapism we get from descending into Tiki bars. Where exotica dwells in the realm of fantasy, the Caribbean of Buffett’s world presents itself as attainable, which is why I believe so many escapism junkies found it attractive.

That lifestyle is part of who I am. Not just the bars and beaches, but a mentality that affects how I move through life. As a protean paragon of paradise Jimmy taught us how to incorporate all our experiences into the narrative of our lives. If there’s too many influences to describe who and what makes you, then you’re doing it right. 

The morning I got the news about Jimmy Buffett’s death the world was normal. The dog went outside, my wife groaned into her pillow as the coffee grinder whirred, and people perambulated about town like nothing had changed. Perhaps because in a way - it didn’t. My love for Buffett falls in his art, lifestyle and the kinship of what it meant to me on a deeply personal level. In this way my relationship with Buffett is not over. 

The words are still there on the pages of my worn copy of A Salty Piece Of Land. The songs still crackle on from my vinyl of A1A. I can still order a margarita at a beach bar and toast the man whose life is the essence of an idea about a notion. A web of a life that expands and joins together so many facets of the human experience. The world may have lost a man, but it will never lose Jimmy Buffett. 

A lyric that always resonates with me is “That’s why we wander, and follow la vie dansante. (The dancing life.)”  Jimmy taught us how to spin and twirl and moonwalk across the ups, downs, and in-betweens of this crazy spinning rock we’re gravitationally stuck to.

When Jimmy Buffett died I felt like I lost something. Something that was special to me. Something that influenced who and what I am. But the idea survives the man, so I suppose in the end, I truly didn’t lose anything. As long as I keep living, la vie dansante!   

Tiki Chat: Lukekini aka Justin Cristaldi

We sit for a wonderful Tiki Chat with my Tropical doppelganger (Troppelganger?) Justin Cristaldi!

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Pod Tiki: Jungle Bird

Nashville, Tennessee is a booze town. That’s what people come here for. Whether it’s longneck bottles of light beer in a honky-tonk or finely crafted cocktails at a speakeasy. That’s one of the reasons it’s so easy to be into Tiki here. Most of the popular liquor stores cater to the craft cocktail enthusiast with esoteric liqueurs and large varieties of each spirit. 

The bar menus in town support this by offering well crafted and cohesive programs. Everything from prohibition classics to modern Tiki is in effect. Even the “dive bars” have taken to mixing up some tropical options. Yet, notwithstanding this glorious milieu of cocktalia, sometimes you’re in the mood for a surprise. So, you let the bartender know you’re into Tiki and ask if he or she could make you something off menu. Chances are you’re going hear, “I got you, fam! This is sorta like a Jungle Bird.” Or, “Sure thing! Here’s my riff on a Jungle Bird.” Other times they just drop their head, look up from under their brow, and shrug out, “Jungle Bird?”

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Tony, and this is Pod Tiki. 

The fact that this seems to be the go-to anytime pressed for an off-menu tropical is not in any way a slight on the Jungle Bird. On the contrary. It shows how pervasive and transcendent this drink has become. But, why does the Jungle Bird seem to be the go-to tropical for so many bartenders. I think the reasons are threefold. 

One: It’s easy. Any full liquor establishment will have the basic ingredients to make one even if it’s not a tropical bar. It doesn’t call for crazy syrups or specific brands. Two: It looks the part. When someone orders a tropical drink they expect it to appear tropical. With its scarlet hue, thin frothy head, and prodigious fruit garnish the Jungle Bird does just that. Last but definitely not least: It tastes good.  Like most simple ingredient drinks, balanced construction is key. But, what’s unique about the Jungle Bird is that with a small tweak in either direction it can pander to the Tiki nerd or craft cocktail fan. (I know those two are not mutually exclusive, but when I say “craft cocktail”, I’m referring to the more classic, speakeasy style drinks.) 

Another thing that stands out about the Jungle Bird is its provenance. 

One of the delightfully enigmatic facets of Tiki is how many locales and cultures from which it sponges inspiration. Polysnesian decor underwritten by tastes of Caribbean spirits. But, like those two versions of paradise that so diligently languish about our American flanks, Tiki is truly an influential melting pot. South America, Africa, and yes, even the good ol’ US-of-A lend aspects of their respective cultures to the Tiki oeuvre. One of the most essential of these contributors though is Southeast Asia. 

Trader Vic famously used Cantonese cuisine as the basis for his food menu, but it’s the tropical peninsulas and archipelagos of Southeast Asia that lend so much to the notion of exotica. Perhaps it seems more fascinating to an east coast tropics kid such as myself, more accustomed to Latin and African influences, but the impact of Asian culture on the Tiki scene is undeniable. Anything from artifacts, to flavors, to the famous fu-manchu mug. To say nothing of the fact that these are indeed tropical islands and jungles. The inextricable, and sometimes complicated, link between the U.S. and south-east Asia is on par with any Caribbean or Polynesian nations. Not the least of which is that we happen to have territories in all three geographies. But hey, what’s a tropical dot on the map between friends, right? Truly, I believe there is just an ineffable thread tying all the tropics of the world together. It’s a way of life that bonds equatorial people all around this wobbly rock we call home. It’s neither forced nor inherent. It just is. It can’t be gleaned over a 5 day vacation. And I consider myself lucky to have grown up tropical. 

With so sundry a palate from which to paint the portrait of Tiki I’m glad that this particular cocktail, though begotten in Asia, utilizes a liqueur near and dear to my heart, finally blending my Italian heritage into a Tiki drink. There's actually a lot of Italian expats in the tropics. In fact, it was Italians and Cubans co-mingling in the cigar factories of Tampa that discovered Cuban roast pork on Italian bread makes a damn fine sandwich. Which evolved into the Cubano we know and love. But we’ll get to that later. 

Meanwhile, we jump into the history portion of this episode where we travel to Malaysia. The Malay peninsula, stretching out from under Thailand, Cambodia and Viet Nam, was settled as a trading post by Chinese and Indian peoples around the first century AD. Ok, we’re not going that far back. Let’s jump ahead a thousand years or so to 1786 when the British East India Company leased Penang Island from the Sultan of Kedah. If you know anything about The Company, as it was called, you know that was all this highly corrupt giant conglomerate needed as permission to colonize the entire area. By 1900 the British Empire controlled the majority of Malay states either through direct rule or by certain British ambassadors that “advised” local leaders.

During WWII Japan invaded the Malay states and took control for a brief time before an Allied victory found the nations back under British rule. Through all of this changing of the guards the people of the Malay nations began thinking, “You know what would be cool? If maybe we just governed ourse---” Ohhh, the powers that be were having none of that. Till the city states of Malay finally caught a break in 1948 when autonomy was given to the Federation of Malaya. Under British protection of course. By 1963 they had collectively become Malaysia, sans Singapore, who decided to sling out on their own. I think they did alright considering the other famous drink from this part of the world is named after them. 

Throughout the 20th century Malaysia was fraught with race riots, political strife, and economic turmoil. It was amid this tumult in the early 1970’s where we find ourselves where we so often do when tropical enterprise is concerned … a Hilton Hotel. This time in the south western city Kuala Lumpur. 

One of the attractions at this location was the Aviary Bar. From the bar guests were able to look through a glass panel and watch tropical birds housed in a netted area by the pool. Hence, the Aviary. I’ve been to some pretty cool bar concepts, but this sounds pretty amazing. The closest thing to this I’ve experienced is Coconuts on the other side of Cozumel where actual parrots walked on the bar while we drank. It was a magical experience for a tropics nerd such as myself and as much as I can remember that’s the only time I’ve gotten drunk with a bird. 

The Aviary Bar is still open in the Kuala Lumpur Hilton as of this recording and still boasts the avian theme. Sadly, from the pictures I’ve been able to find, the aviary window is no more. But if you know more about this please message and let me know. 

Upon opening in 1973 the bar staff was tasked with creating a welcome drink. It was from among six proposed recipes that Jeffery Ong’s drink was selected and subsequently named to commemorate the birds. It was even served in a ceramic bird shaped glass, sipped from an opening in the tail. 

Ong Swee Teik, a Penang native also known as Jeffrey, was the bar manager at the time. He only worked at the KL Hilton for 2 years before moving back to Penang. He continued mixing there for a time eventually leaving the bar scene for a career in purchasing at hotels. A position he happily worked till retirement. Unlike some of the other famous bartenders from this part of the world, like Dick Santiago or Hank Riddle, whose prolific profile of potables elevated them to Tiki royalty, Ong got in - created one of the most famous drinks in the world - dropped his bird shaped microphone - and got out. 

Ong’s wife told thirstmag.com that he didn’t even drink. He would smell the ingredients to see what went together and only take a small sip of the finished product to confirm. He didn’t relish in the bar life and stopped simply because he didn’t want to work late once he had a family. Jeffrey Ong died peacefully in 2019 at the age of 71 in his hometown of Penang, but his contribution to cocktalia lives on every time someone walks into a bar and asks, “can you make me something kinda like a Tiki drink?” 

So, in honor of Ong and all you birds of paradise out there - let’s make a drink! 

Shall we begin with rum? We shall. A Kuala Lumpur training manual from 1982 calls simply for “dark rum”. Having no clue what the prevailing dark rums were in 1970’s & 80’s Malaysia this suggests it could have been any number of things. Is this referring to any aged rum? Or, perhaps a Jamaican darkened with added molasses? Or, a blackstrap? Martin Cate’s rum classification system suggests a “black blended rum”. I take umbrage because this places dark Jamaicans, like Myers’s and Coruba, in with Cruzan Blackstrap, which tastes wildly different. We finally get a modern definitive in 2002 when Jerry Berry publishes Intoxica!, where he specifically names dark Jamaican as the desired choice. I get that this category is such a ubiquitous fall back, but that’s because it works best with these type of tropical flavors. It may seem one sided as sipper, but placed in a cocktail the notes of dried dark fruit and rich burnt molasses begin to open up. Besides, it fits with this being a fall back cocktail. 

A well aged rum like Appleton 12 is technically a dark Jamaican rum, and if you want to class up the joint - by all means, but following the spirit of the law here I feel pretty confident that your garden variety dark Jamaican “tiki” rum is what this is referring to. I attempted using a pot still rum, which is Shannon Mustipher’s recipe, but thought the signature pot still flavor overbearing. It created an unpleasant clash with Campari. This could be due to the fact that she suggest Hamilton Pot Still Black, which I cannot get here (p.s. If anyone had the hookup, let me know.), so I used Smith & Cross. Her version omits sugar which, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, I think it needs to balance out the pot still funk. But, again, I didn’t use her suggested rum. 

My only other caveat is to not use blackstrap rum. I tried it with Cruzan Blackstrap, a brand of rum I have lauded in the past. It gave the drink a rusty burnt sienna look with took away a bit of the tropicalia and added a very hard charred caramel flavor. I think if we let out the sugar it would make a tasty drink, but it’s definitely not a Jungle Bird. Although I prefer Myers’s I used Coruba for this drink because I had it on hand. The differences are negligible. 

As previously mentioned our next ingredient offers a visit from old friend of Pod Tiki, Mr. Gaspare Campari. For the full rundown on Campari listen to our Negroni episode from June 2022. I had some fun on that one. As a quick refresher, pun intended, Campari is an Italian bitter liqueur invented by Gaspare Campari in 1860 and I just can’t get enough of saying his name. Gaspare Campari. It’s so fun. Campari has a sort of dried herb bitter fruit flavor and is usually mixed into cocktails or spritzers. I suppose you can drink it straight, but that would be Campari bizarre(i). 

The rest of the recipe reads like a Tiki tipple template. Lime juice, unsweetened pineapple juice, and cane sugar syrup. The limes should always be fresh squeezed, rendering fresh pineapple is a major pain in the ass without expensive equipment so the little cans of Dole are recommended by most professionals, and my sugar syrup is a homemade 1:1 raw cane sugar to water. 

Jeffrey Ong originally served his Jungle Bird shaken with ice then strained “very cold” into his bird shaped glass like a daiquiri. Jeff Berry serves his on ice in a rocks glass, while Martin Cate of Smuggler’s Cove flash blends as is his custom. I’ve personally been served Jungle Birds in rocks and Collins glasses, and both are acceptable. But, If I’m at the Aviary Bar in Kuala Lumpur yes, I better get that bird shaped glass. I would suggest not serving it in a Tiki mug simply because you don’t want to cover up that beautiful red color. 

It seems no one serves the drink straight up anymore. Opting for over ice instead. I think the way to stay purist and modern is to split the difference. Shake, strain, and use a few pieces of nice square ice in a Collins, or a big cube in a rocks glass. This way you don’t dilute the flavor or color. 

The first version I tried was Beachbum Berry’s from Remixed. I always trust his recipes and knowledge of drinks' historical ingredients. In this the pineapple really overpowered the drink. The Campari is reduced to a scant background bitterness that does come forward as the drink progresses, but takes a while. The rum is present in effect only remaining silent throughout the drink. 

I then moved on to the original Kuala Lumpur Hilton handbook recipe. Complete opposite of Berry’s. Now the Campari is forward with pineapple trailing behind. The rum is still basically undetectable and I’m beginning to think that’s the point of this one. The color is more maroon than rusty but it comes with a nice tall foamy head, a pleasant characteristic of the Jungle Bird. 

Lastly, I arrived at the Smuggler’s Cove recipe and, ahhh, this porridge was just right. Perfectly balanced. The Campari bitter comes through, but with the full palate of fruit and herbs. Pineapple is present, tropical, and a thin wave of sweetness shaves across the finish. The dark rum char notes or not hidden but subdued masterfully amid a symphony of tertiary nuance. This is the perfect version of this drink! 

Here it is:

2 oz Pineapple Juice

½ oz Lime Juice

½ oz Simple Syrup

¾ oz Campari 

1 ½ oz Dark Jamaican Rum

Shake all ingredients with ice then strain into a Collins glass with medium square ice, or a rocks glass with 1 large cube. Now you guys no I don’t usually care about garnish unless it directly influences the sensory perception of the drink. This is one of those cases where I feel like the Jungle Bird is such an exemplary version of a tropiki drink that it visually needs the over the top garnish. Ong used an orchid with cherries alongside lime and orange wedges. I say throw the book at it. Pineapple, limes, umbrellas, swizzle sticks. Heck, yeah! Tiki the hell outta that shit! 

The Jungle Bird is a great introduction to the Tiki world. It’s visually stunning, the way red glows in dimly lit rooms, and it’s quite tasty without being overly sweet or too exotic. It’s here because every genre needs a cliche for validity. It’s Tiki’s Aquaman. In my humble conclusion, the reason Jungle Bird holds the ubiquitous and indelible place it does in cocktailia is because we don’t hate it, and we don’t love it, it just is. And what it is is a delightfully splendid generic Tiki drink. And, that’s why it’s perfect.

Sources: Tiki: Modern Tropical Cocktails by Shannon Mustipher, Remixed by Jeff Berry, Smuggler’s Cove by Martin Cate, liquor.com, diffordsguide.com, torrerosa.com, thirstmag.com, drunkardsalmanac.com, wikipedia. 

Most of all thank you so much for listening. My name is Tony and this has been Pod Tiki. Keepi Tiki!

Pod Tiki: Isla de Pina

This episode started out covering the Isla De Piña cocktail by Shannon Mustipher. Rather than me writing about an original modern cocktail with not much backstory to go off, I decided to reach out and see if this venerable mistress of rum would take the time to talk to a pirate the likes of me and all you scallywags. I was lucky enough to sit with Shannon herself and talk all about her influences, classic and modern Tiki, plus a whole buncha’ rum! Shannon’s book, Tiki: Modern Tropical Cocktails, is a must have for any Tiki enthusiast’s recipe shelf. To say nothing of the beautiful photography that makes it a perfect coffee table book that’s sure to get your uninitiated friends to ask questions. 

This is not going to be a full stand alone episode, but a supplement to the interview with Shannon. Which is available now wherever you usually listen. So, if you haven’t heard that yet I urge you to pause this and give that a spin as it is this month’s actual episode. But, alas! I didn’t want to not cover a drink this month and I had such a good time talking with Shannon about rum and Tiki we forgot to cover the reason I reached out - Isla De Piña.

The Isla De Piña drink itself is a unique play off a daiquiri employing some of the tropical fruit flavors we know and love with a classical use of liqueur to add refinement. What I love about Shannon’s drinks is how she manipulates familiar flavors in unlikely delivery methods. For instance, the use of a pineapple liqueur rather than juice. But, let’s not put the rum before the horse. That’s a good way to end up with a drunk horse. 

We’ll start off with the rum selection. Shannon suggests Diplomatico Planas. That’s their white rum offering. I like everything Diplomatico puts out. In fact, the Reserva Exclusiva has been my favorite rum for years. Aside from the Cuban Havana Club that I can’t get here. So, I was quite happy to see that rum used here. As discussed in the episode one of the reasons I chose to do the Isla De Piña was because I could find all the ingredients. Or so I thought. Turns out that Diplomatico is changing distributors here in Nashville and is held up in legal limbo right now. Essentially, the distributor who can sell it can’t have it and the distributor who has it can’t sell it. And the wheels on the bus go ‘round and ‘round. 

If you listened to the episode you will have heard Shannon talk about preferring the light rums, one of her favorites being The Real McCoy 3yr. This is a spirit I had worked with before when exploring light rums that came close to the Cuban Havana Club. I settled on Flor de Cana for some time. Much like with cigar tobacco Nicaragua has grown to give Cuba a run for their CUC’s in the rum category. Yet, although the Flor de Cana 4yr white has the crisp fruitiness of a good column still Spanish rum it lacks the earthy body. The issue of my new favorite white rum was instantly solved when I re-tasted The Real McCoy 3yr with my now more refined palate. The texture of this aged light rum produced by the famed Foursquare distillery in Barbados adds a delightful silkiness to everything from a Daiquiri, to a Mojito, to an Isla De Piña. 

One of the things I dislike about Tiki is how our drinks sometimes play right into the stereotypes that drove the genre into cliche obscurity in the first place. We’ve worked so hard to prove that Tiki drinks aren’t simply syrupy gimmicks to sell rum drinks at the beach. Therefore, when a drink is overly sweetened it sickens me. In my stomach and my sensibilities. If you prefer your drinks so sweet that you can’t appreciate the nuance of the spirit perhaps you should order a Mike’s Hard Lemonade instead. For this reason I love that Shannon used a liqueur in place of added sweetener. A liqueur is a spirit base with added flavors and sugar. Before the rise of mixed cocktails many liqueurs were either aperitifs or digestifs served in small sipping glasses a la limoncello, anisette, Grand Marnier, etc. Common Tiki ingredients like Falernum and Curacao are indeed liqueurs. For the Isla De Piña, Shannon supplements the use of pineapple juice and sugar by using Giffard’s Caribbean Pineapple Liqueur. My favorite attribute of Gifford’s Pineapple is the real fruit flavor. It doesn’t taste like artificial candy. It adds a caramelly depth and elegant cocktail-eque feel. 

Pimento Dram is not only a staple of Tiki drink culture but has become a fixture in my home recipes. I always find myself adding this allspice derivative to my holiday punches. We’ve covered Pimento Dram before so I’ll just recap. The pimento in question is not the stuffed olive you may be thinking of. This pimento, otherwise known as Allspice, is a dried berry native to Jamaica and other Caribbean map dots. Along with its cousin, nutmeg, it’s funny how allspice has become synonymous with fall and winter libations. Pimento Dram is a liqueur made from this creamy, nutty, spice. St. Elizabeth’s is the industry standard but Hamilton makes a nice one if you can find it. 

As always we want to use fresh squeezed lime juice. No excuse not to. Don’t be lazy. 

With that litany of rum and liqueurs it may seem odd that the one thing that stumped me in this drink is passion fruit puree. I told this story in the interview, but I’ll give the abridged version here. Shannon mentions in the book to try using fresh fruit when possible but the frozen passion fruit squares by Pitaya Foods is the easiest option. I knew of this brand because Beachbum Berry suggests using it to make homemade passion fruit syrup. Of course, in the name of freshness, I always have to do things the hard way. Passion fruit is a pain in the ass to harvest fresh. The inside is not a hard flesh, but a goopy liquid filled with seeds. After separating the liquid by adding some water and straining multiple times I was ready to make a drink! 

Much to my chagrin the fresh passion fruit overpowered the cocktail. Not that it’s a bad flavor, but there was no sign of any other ingredient. Then my scant culinary training came back to me. I remembered that when using fresh herbs rather than dried one must adjust the amount for the disparity in potency. Glancing over at the two remaining passion fruits beginning to wrinkle resembling a pair of bull testicles and thinking of having to separate the puree out again I resigned to trek my ass downtown to Whole Foods and purchase the frozen puree. 

Ahhh, this made all the difference. In a drink named for pineapple I could actually taste the pineapple now. Along with the abstract nuance of good Caribbean rum. After experimenting slightly to find my desired sweet/sour ratio I landed on 3 frozen cubes being the perfect amount. Shannon calls for ½ oz of passion fruit puree. If you let the cubes melt, or muddle them, it works out to about that. I like to throw them in frozen as it will all come out in the blender. 

So? What do you say? Should we, eh, make a drink!? Rather let’s.

Isla De Piña is:

2 oz Aged White Rum 

½ oz Pineapple Liqueur 

½ oz Lime Juice 

¼ oz Pimento Dram

3 cubes Frozen Passion Fruit Puree (½ oz)

4 oz Crushed Ice

Blend all ingredients on high for 5 seconds then fine strain into a coup. Garnish with pineapple frond. The reason for fine straining is to catch any ice chunks. If you don’t mind that you can just strain once and that will keep the frothy head across the top. I find that the way around this is to blend it longer. I don’t taste any effects on the drink, but Shannon does specify to flash blend for 5 seconds in the book. 

The first sip is cold and crisp, but textured like a fancy prohibition style cocktail. The pineapple comes through with a hint of tropical passion fruit. The allspice fills it out nodding to the exotic Caribbean feel. It is truly a tropical concoction worthy of the cocktail moniker. 

As I sit on my lanai surrounded by colorful flowers, a potted palm tree and my Hawaiian Ti plant that I’ve nursed back from 2 winters I can close my eyes after a sip of Isla De Piña and picture myself on the raised deck of a luxury hotel overlooking the ocean caressing the shore. Some yacht rock wafting on a warm breeze. (What a fool belieeeeeves….) I take a puff from a long lancero cigar followed by another sip. My wife in a beautiful sarong loosely hanging over body. Perhaps a bite of seared tuna, then another sip. Where is this escapist dream? Sail away with me to the Isla De Piña! 

Sources: Tiki: Modern Tropical Cocktails by Shannon Mustipher, Pod Tiki interview with Shannon Mustipher. 

Most of all thank you for listening and please drink responsibly. My name is Tony, and this is Pod Tiki. Keepi’ Tiki!  

Tiki Chat: Shannon Mustipher

This episode we chat with a living legend in the world of rum, Tiki, and modern craft cocktails - Shannon Mustipher!

Tiki Chat: A Luau Lad

We chat with a Luau Lad!

Pod Tiki: Boat Drinks: Strawberry Daiquiri & Banana Daiquiri

I was looking over the side of the boat at fish bouncing on the water. Small flashes of white occasionally sparkling the surface. A great expanse of royal blue Caribbean Sea surrounded me. I was at a small table under shade. The deck of the ship was wide and flat. Some people lounged, some sat at small bars peppered around a pool. Nevermind it was barely noon. That is what one does on days such as these. The sun was high now, but a cool breeze pushed the tropical humidity down towards the surface of the ocean. Presently, lost in reverie, musing at the silver backs of creatures breaking the surface below, a young blank-faced man placed a plastic hurricane cup in front of me causing me to look up thus, breaking my trance. This glance across the deck and back over the gunwale sent a jolt of perspective over me and for the first time I realized those fish dancing for attention, like so many Vegas strippers, were indeed a school of dolphins. Those sparkling dots along the surface? The rolling whitecaps of deep blue sea caused by the wake of a floating building. I was five stories up looking over the side of a cruise ship enjoying boat drinks.  

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Tony and this is Pod Tiki, where today we take our first of many sips into the colorful world of boat drinks. 

I imagine as soon as australopithecus discovered eating that one berry made him feel funny he wandered over to the beach and stared at the water.  There’s just something about catching a buzz on the water that appeals to us. But, it wasn’t always calypso bands on the lido deck. I think about Sir Frances Drake coming upon the healing qualities of mixing cane spirits with lime and mint while marooned in Havana. The scores of plunderous piratical partying under a Jolly Roger. 

So, how did we get from there to a twenty-something with a bullhorn leading a conga line of alcohol bloated mid-westerners with sunglass tans around a pool while they ignore their kids? The story of the boat drink begins with the story of the cruise ship. 

In 1874 German Albert Ballin took over his father’s immigration agency, converting it into the very successful shipping company, The Hamburg-America Line. Albert quickly rose in Germany’s elite circles. I guess you could say Ballin was ballin’? Anyway, he had a progressive idea to fashion one of his cargo ships into a passenger vessel to offset the loss of shipping revenue in winter months. 

Ballin designed this venture for his uber wealthy friends who needed some convincing to board a repurposed shipping vessel for the sake of pleasure. So, he brought in famed ship builder Blohm & Voss to construct the first ship specifically designed for leisure. So it came to pass that on June 29th, in the year of our Lord 1900, the Prinzessin Victoria Luise set sail from Hamburg for a journey lasting 35 days. And where did the very first pleasure cruise ship sail to? Why, the Caribbean, of course!

That first leisure liner boasted all the trappings of high society for the day including fine dining and accommodations. Eventually, more affordable options became available and we began our dalliance with the pleasure cruise. Yet, still no mention of bars being featured.

When I hear the phrase “pleasure cruise” I immediately picture a Humphrey Bogart type character in a dinner jacket holding a martini nonchalantly leaning against a rail overlooking the sea while a jazz trio plays on a wooden deck. There’s a small bar with an awning under which sits a woman in cocktail dress propped up on one elbow. “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.” A far cry from the tourist laden decks of drunk moms in the Bahamas drinking Bahama Mama’s. 

For this we return to our old fiend prohibition.  During the temperance movement millions of thirsty Americans engaged in movement to temperate zones do to their drinking. For those who couldn’t afford a stay at the Hotel Nacional in Havana, or Myrtle Bank Hotel in Jamaica, there was the option of taking a day cruise which could serve alcohol once reaching international waters. These were known as booze cruises. Reminds me of when my friends and I would utilize the gambling boats out of Cape Canaveral. One could pick at the buffet or sip something from the bar while watching the lights of port sink into the horizon. Then, at precisely 3 miles out, the ship would come to life in a barrage of glimmering lights and whirring casino games. 

As the pleasure cruise industry grew exponentially the idea of cruising became synonymous with tropical drinks. Furthermore, as time marched on and cocktails fell victim to premade mixes and putting the word “tini” behind anything with vodka in it, just so did the venerated Planter’s Punches and Daiquiris of the West Indies. Not bash cruise ships too much we have to acknowledge they weren’t the first to bedevil our classic tropicals. Indeed an early version of a Pina Colada was offered as a welcome drink to guests arriving at the Caribe Hilton. 

Let’s not pretend boat drinks only apply to cruise ships either. Growing up in Florida I spent plenty of time on lakes and rivers before venturing out to sea. If I’m being honest though, we mostly drank beer on the water with the occasional pre-batched Margarita in mixed up in igloo coolers. A pre-Tiki twenty-something Tony may have drunk his body weight in Bud Light Lime’s on more than one trip out to Disappearing Island. 

Then one cold night circa 1970 in Boston Jimmy Buffett and his band were sitting at an open air bar watching hockey and trying to ward off the freeze with rum and tonic water. Legend has it Jimmy got fed up with weather and stole a cab back to his hotel. This incident was the inspiration for one of his most famous songs. A tale of suffering the winter chill while dreaming of the warmer climes that much more fit your particular brand of living. A song in which one orders rum drinks to wistfully wisk themselves into escapism. A song titled Boat Drinks. From then on the term was indelibly engraved into the hearts and minds of tropical imbibers the world over. 

So, what exactly is a Boat Drink? This is the part where I veer away from objectivity and lean heavily on personal opinion. On a recent visit to a rum bar aptly called Boat Drinks in St. Augustine, Florida I was pleasantly surprised when I attempted at complimenting the bartender saying “with this selection I bet you can make me an outstanding Mai Tai.” To which he promptly informed me, “No. We are a tropical bar, not a Tiki bar.” 

On the Pod Tiki website’s Recipe Index I break these style drinks into three categories. Tropical drinks, Tiki drinks, and Boat drinks. What’s the difference? Tropical drinks originated in the tropics. Mainly the Caribbean where the rum of any individual island would be blended with the local fruit. Limes, orange, pineapple, mango, and banana being among the most prevalent. These concoctions were honed over time by the masters into the classics like the Mojito, Daiquiri, and ‘Ti Punch. It was during this time when a young Ernest Gantt, later Don the Beachcomber, was traversing the West Indies picking up knowledge of all these rums and how they blend with various flavors. 

Using rumgenuity he exotified these libations incorporating flavors from around the world and amalgamating tropic fruits and spices from both sides of the continent’s south seas. These were different than their Caribbean counterparts in that they were meant to induce a sense of faux-exotic escapism. Combining drinks with polynesian decor and hyperbolic versions of tropical adventure Tiki is the blank canvas on which Don Beach, Trader Vic, and Steve Crane painted their masterpiece. 

My style in the Pod Tiki universe, which I’ve dubbed Tropiki, aims at smashing together to worlds of Caribbean tropical with Tiki Exotica. But the boat drink, much like the cheese, stands alone. 

A boat drink can be enjoyed on a boat, or by the water, or anyplace a person might be drinking while wishing they were on a boat or by the water. I think a boat drink must induce vacation vibes. A waft of sunscreen should be in the air. Maybe some calypso on the speaker. Here’s what I think. A boat drink can consist of any spirit, there must be a tropical fruit involved, and should be indicative of vacation indulgence. Not something you could simply order at a Bennigan’s. It’s my belief that a boat drink should more often than not be frozen. Indeed. Some tropicals can be turned into boat drinks by freezing. Margarita? Not a boat drink. But a frozen margarita? Boat drink. Straight up Daiquiri? Not a boat drink. But a frozen fruited Daiquiri? Boat drink. 

I’m going to save a deep dive on the history of the blender for a future episode, but I should mention that freezing a drink does not automatically put it in the category of subpar. In fact, the original Daiquiri created by Jennings Cox was served over shaved ice. And Constanino Ribalagua Vert, head bartender at La Floridita in Havana and the proverbial grandfather of the Daiquiri, was among the first to utilize the newly invented ice blender to perfect his La Floridita Daiquiri Number 3, made famous by being the favorite of Ernest Hemingway. Some of his early Daiquiris also included fruit flavoring like orange and cherry. More on that later. 

I also feel like to properly be called a “boat drink”, it has to be easily batchable. When loading up for a boat trip you don’t want to have to bring along extra syrups and bitters and liqueurs. It should be able to be thrown together on a boat if you’re making them yourself, or if laying out on a cruise ship deck, not necessitate too much thinking about what you’re drinking. I don’t want to have to be pensive about the nuances of terroir when floating on a giant inflatable taco in the pool. For this reason I don’t recommend using your top shelf booze, either. You want something you don’t mind dumping a whole bottle of into a pitcher. Essentially a boat drink should be light, easy drinking, and imbued with tropical vacation vibes. 

Because a boat drink can be almost anything, and there are a ton of famous and infamous ones on the books, today we’re going to cover two of the most popular from the “fruited daiquiri” category. The Strawberry Daiquiri and the Banana Daiquiri. 

This could be as simple as adding a few pieces of fruit to your blender or as complex as you wish to create with flavored syrups or blends of fruits and rums. The former method was given to me by an acquaintance from Cuba who taught me about dropping a few slices of mango into my blender when making classic daiquiris. It makes a wonderfully smooth and delicious libation. Before we get into the drinks though let’s go over the art of frozen drinks. The following tips come from a Liquor.com article by Emily Saladino. 

First, don’t try to overproof your drink. Too much alcohol won’t freeze and alter the texture of your drink. We’ve all added too much ice to our blenders at some point and ended up having to wait for a sip every five minutes as it melts. Not ideal to say the least. I recommend using crushed ice as well, rather than large cubes. 

Rule number 2, temperature affects flavor. Ice will numb your taste buds, so when making a frozen drink remember to add more fruit or sugar than you might think to for a straight up cocktail. I learned this lesson during my first attempts at frozen margaritas. They ended up tasting like tequila ice. Also, sugar syrup and fruit will add texture to an otherwise slushy drink. 

Next, minimize dilution by keeping your ingredients cold prior to using. Basically, shove those fruits in the fridge a few hours before using. 

Consider blend time. Are you looking for a truly frozen drink or more of a frapped smoothie style? I prefer frapped, like Constante made his Floridita Daiquiris. 

Lastly, keep in mind your pairings. We’ll get into this more later when we dissect recipes, but think about which rums go with each fruit. Are you looking for a light summery session drink, or something that might appeal to the more sophisticated palate? 

Now that we have our history and rules out of the way, you guessed it, let’s make a drink! 

First we’ll cover Banana Daiquiri, which finds it roots with William Dampier. Dampier sailed with many famous pirates circa the turn of the 18th century, but what he’s most famous for is being an early naturalist. Along his vast travels he took copious notes on the strange and exotic peoples he encountered. One such missive was a recipe by the Miskito people, natives of modern day Honduras and Nicaragua, called Mishlaw. That influenced a drink served at Sprat Hall Plantation in St. Croix during the 1960s. Jim and Joyce Hurd would cook dinner for hotel guests each evening with fruits and veggies grown in their own backyard. Along with dinner was served the Crucian Banana Squash. Made by soaking ripe bananas in gold rum for 4 hours, then blending with lime juice and ice, this makes a very smooth rich drink with heavy banana flavor. 

From there we jump a decade to 1971, Ft Lauderdale, Florida, the famous Mai Kai, where Marianno Lucidine created the Banana Daiquiri. Well, he put his version on the menu. Not to take anything away from one of the most prolific Tiki masters, but as stated earlier, adding fruit to a daiquiri was pretty standard once the blender became ubiquitous. Mr. Lucidine deserves all the credit we can muster after a few of drinks, though. After spending 16 years behind the bar at Don The Beachcomber’s, he went on to helm the Mai Kai from its inception in 1956 till he retired in 1980. I’m sure we’ll be seeing his influence when the Mai Kai reopens later this year. 

As for his Banana Daiquiri? What a smooth perfectly textured and wonderfully balanced drink. Marianno calls for gold Puerto Rican rum. I also experimented with Cruzan gold and Barbados rums. Keeping with the rule of pairing the rum to the fruit I imagined the butterscotch/vanilla notes of Barbados would go nicely with banana. I was wrong. In my opinion the best rum for this is good old fashioned Bacardi. I used the white, but I wouldn’t go higher than the 4yr if you’re insistent on using a gold. I feel like the light column still rum adds a summery crispness with less of an alcohol bite. Remember, we’re drinking boat drinks on a lazy afternoon, not sipping a Ron del Barrilito.

So, with that very minor adjustment the Pod Tiki Banana Daiquiri recipe is:

1 ½ oz Bacardi Superior Silver

½ oz Lime Juice

½ oz Simple Syrup

Half a Ripe Banana, sliced thin

4 oz crushed ice

Add all ingredients to a mixer and blend on high for a full 30 seconds. We really want to frappe that good and make sure there are no chunks of either banana or ice. Just to be sure we’re going to strain that once into a coup. Such a great drink and I could honestly have one every day. Banana is such a complex flavor that it adds so much with little effort. Now, I realize some of you have heard this tale that it’s bad luck to bring bananas on a boat. To that I say, how do you think they got here? 

Though the Banana Daiquiri is my current favorite of the Boat Drink genre I would be remiss to do our first boat drink episode and not cover the king of all boat drinks. The frozen Strawberry Daiquiri is to boat drinks what the Mai Tai is to Tiki. 

In prepping for this episode I wanted to make sure I did my due diligence. I didn’t want to use the Boat Drink moniker as an excuse to push out an easy episode where I tell you to mix some frozen Minute Maid concentrate with a bottle of light rum and call it a day. Being Tiki fans we already know the benefits of using fresh ingredients, how they transform a frat party into a cocktail soiree, but I also wanted to test if I could dignify the rum choices by varying the styles. I chose a light, a gold, and because my favorite rum for the classic Daiquiri is Plantation 3 Star, I tried that as well. Surprisingly, the 3 Star didn’t hold up. Even the slightest hint of Jamaican funk clashed with strawberries. It made the drink too funky to be a poolside sipper. Look, I like a Hazy IPA, but when I’m out in the hot sun all day I’m reaching for a Corona. 

Cruzan Gold was almost my favorite. A bit more subdued and less crisp than the light rum option, but smoother, richer, and well balanced. But, when it’s all said and drunk, once again Bacardi Silver made the best Frozen Strawberry Daiquiri. Not only is it light and drinkable, but it allows the fruit to be the highlight. Where the Cruzan demurred the strawberries, Bacardi seemed to bring out the fruitiness and really place the freshness of the Strawberries center stage. 

I’ve always said on this show that I am not a booze snob and everything has its place. Well, Boat Drinks is the place for Bacardi. I cannot restate enough that simply because a spirit or a beer or a wine is mass produced does not mean it’s of lesser quality. Despite your prejudices, Budweiser is a premium American lager, and Bacardi pretty much invented the clear Spanish style of rum. I actually got to stand beside the original Bacardi building in Havana and look up at the bat statue still gracing the skyline as it still does each label of Bacardi. 

As it would not be an episode of Pod Tiki without a tiny soapbox let me reiterate, I have been drinking rum for quite some time. All the way from the bottom shelf up to the shelves that I need a stepladder to reach. I’m not saying drink rotgut. I’m just saying if you use a $30 bottle of Probitas for a batch of frozen fruit daiquiris you're a fool. But, it must be nice having the luxury of being so wasteful. Conclusion: Boat Drinks are not meant to be dignified. 

Anyway, there are a few honorable mentions before we get to the recipe. Listener David G., I’m not going to say his full name without permission, suggested The Essential Book of Boat Drinks by Olaf Nordstrom. I especially like the Jimmy Buffett correlation. For full transparency I will say it’s made in conjunction with the Margaritaville brand. There are some great recipes in there, in fact, I’ll be using the Barbados Punch for the Summer Sessions EP release party here in Nashville, but the recipe for his fruited daiquiri breaks one of my cardinal boat drink rules. It’s gotta be easy and batchable. Olaf’s recipe calls for cream and flavored liqueur. The addition of cream renders this version more of a strawberry milkshake than a daiquiri. I do want to give another thank you to David, though, for being our very first Patreon subscriber! More on that later. 

I also tried a standard straight up version of a Strawberry Daiquiri. I found it, eh, at best. It was pretty much a pink daiquiri and lacked the gustatory luster of perhaps using grapefruit, blueberry, or orange. 

The last thing to mention would be to choose fresh bright red strawberries and be sure to hull them beforehand. That is, to cut out the root area where the leaves sprout from but making a shallow circular incision around the root and pulling it out.

With all of that being said I give you the official Pod Tiki Strawberry Daiquiri:

1 ½ oz Bacardi Silver

½ oz Lime Juice

½ oz Simple Syrup

4 fresh, hulled Strawberries

4 oz Crushed Ice

Add all ingredients to blender and blend on high for a full 30 seconds. Fine strain into a coup or hurricane glass and enjoy! Be sure to fine strain to remove any pesky seeds or errant ice chunks. As far as garnish, if there ever was an umbrella drink this is it. No shame in my umbrella boat drink game! 

The end result is a smooth, fruity, low alcohol, and honestly not that bad for you, drink. There’s a lovely balance of sweet and sour, fruitiness and just enough rum to feel good. If you want to feel better than good just up the rum to 2 ounces. Fresh strawberry just goes so well in a daiquiri it’s no wonder there isn’t a real origin story behind it. It seems the Strawberry Daiquiri simply always was and always will be. 

Covering frozen drinks has brought back fond memories for me. There was a bar in downtown Orlando called Chillers that served from a wall of frozen mixers churning every flavor imaginable. On a trip to South Beach my daughter and I sat on the balcony of Wet Willie’s, ordering from their wall of frozen drinks, getting quite tight, and watching tawdry luxury cars cruise Ocean Dr. One such convertible was painted green and sported a giant stuffed Yoshi riding shotgun. 

But when I imagine Boat Drinks I picture Lido deck of a cruise ship lounging around the pool while generic island music plays from some indistinct direction. I would say that is my guilty pleasure escape, except I’m not the least bit guilty about it. 

For the past few decades Boat Drinks as a genre have been demeaned. Relegated to thatch hut beachside bars, but I’m glad to see a recent resurgence in the idea that a vacation drink can be high quality and delicious. Sure many are made with mixes and served up in a plastic hurricane cup, but sub out concentrated mixes and high fructose corn syrup for fresh fruit and homemade syrups, and you have a tropical delight worthy of enjoyment on a Lido deck in the Caribbean, listening to yacht rock on a pontoon boat on the lake, or floating on that giant inflatable unicorn in the pool. So, in the words of the patron bard of Pod Tiki I give a collective - Waitress, we need two more Boat Drinks! 

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Tony, and this is Pod Tiki. 

Sources: The Essential Book Of Boat Drinks by Olaf Nordstrom, Potions of the Caribbean by Jeffy Berry, Beachbum Berry Remixed by Jeff Berry, Liquor.com, diffordsguide.com, The Origin of the Booze Cruise from blogyourwine.com, The History of the World’s First Cruise Ship Built Solely for Luxurious Travel article by Daryl Austin from smithsonianmag.com. 

Most important, thank you so much for listening and Keepi Tiki! 

Pod Tiki: Mai Tai 2023

Tiki is not a thatched hut bar at the beach. It’s not cheap wicker citronella torches lining your neighbor's backyard barbeque. And it’s certainly not hipsters in floral button downs drinking a pineapple infused craft beer. No, Tiki is scary. The tiki bar is deep jungle samba, cool trade winds caressing fan palms. It’s droll gnarly totems and thanks to the genius of Don Beach it’s curious elixirs whose true origins and recipes remain disputed to this day.  

Tiki, in Maori legend, was the first man. Adam. Along with his lady Morikoriko, who seduced him after he found her in a pond, they had a baby girl who created the clouds and.... Look, creation myths are convoluted by nature. Let’s just skip ahead a few millennia to the 1930’s when a man styling himself Don Beach opened the first genre defining Tiki Bar - Don The Beachcomber in California. The refractory period between world wars gave rise to an influx of Polynesian Pop Hollywood films while young soldiers returned stateside with stories of far off tropical paradises, and quite possibly the most telling catalyst for tiki fever … a seething post prohibition rum habit. Don used his travels through Polynesia and a not so minute bit of ingenuity to invent the Tiki Bar as we know it.  

Tiki swept the nation and eventually the world. Then, like a lot of hot-fast cultural fads Tiki simmered and fizzled into an old timey cliche. Until recently. The modern boom-boom! in retroism and classic cocktails has seen an unyielding rise in neo-escapism Dionysian debaucherous class. Where kitsch is cool and sweet molasses is preferred over the wincing burn of Kentucky’s finest there you will find dim lighting, transcendent music, prodigious palms, rattan furniture and the most recognizable of all tiki bar culture, the tiki mug. And in that mug you will find that the most quintessential of all tiki drinks. The Adam. The Mai Tai. 

To long time listeners, or those who have gone back to the beginning of Pod Tiki, this monologue may seem familiar. As it should. For this is the intro to the very first episode of Pod Tiki way back in June of 2019. In taking this journey alongside you all over the past 4 years I have learned so much about Tiki culture, its infamous cast of characters, and most importantly the drinks. Looking back I can say that this early attempt at spreading my love for Tiki has remained virtually unchanged, save I now have the knowledge and experience to back up what I always knew: Tiki is alive and well! Through the many concoctions we’ve covered over the years one other truth remains self-evident. That the Mai Tai is king.

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Tony and this is Pod Tiki. 

As we approach the 4th anniversary of the Pod Tiki podcast I thought this would be a wonderful place for listeners new and old, as well as myself, to do a bit of a refresher (pun intended), on Tiki’s most famous drink. But this isn’t simply a recapitulation. There’s actually been some interesting revelations since last we talked tai. 

The Mai Tai shares a special place in cocktalia alongside the Margarita, Daiquiri, and Old Fashioned insomuch as it lends itself to so many interpretations. Like any artist will tell you, the work is never truly “finished”. 

Don’t get me wrong. I’m still a purist and generally don’t care for riffs on masterpieces. Keeping with the art analogy, they would call them counterfeits. But, in order to be a great forger one must also be a great artist. Point being, if imitation is the greatest form of flattery than the Mai Tai is the Gary Oldman of Tiki drinks. But, we’re not here to talk about riffs, rather evolutions.

Before we get into the Mai Tai specifically, in the spirit of being a reintroduction episode, suffer me the indulgence of re-introducing myself. I grew up in Florida, always enamored with the tropical lifestyle. The only kid in High School bumpin’ Jimmy Buffett out of my subwoofer rattled hatchback. Tiki was always in the background on the east coast beach scene. Iconography borrowed from the faux-polynesian pop era. My first true immersive Tiki experience came from Disney’s Polynesian resort. Somehow even back then I knew I was hooked. It’s through the amalgamation of Tiki exotica and Caribbean tropic that I formed my style, and the basis of this show. A style I’ve dubbed Tropiki. 

But before the podcast and the portmanteaus and the excessive mug collection there was a lonely writer in a bungalow in Nashville trying to find his seaside roots in a bottle of Captain Morgan White rum mixed with lime and pineapple juice. Essentially, I was making a long version of pineapple daiquiri. That led me to my first Mai Tai recipe. This was your basic off the internet what mom orders at Applebee’s recipe. Check this out. 1 oz Captain Morgan White Rum, ¾ oz Bols Orange Curacao, ¾ lime juice, ½ oz Torani Orgeat, 2 oz of Pineapple juice, shaken with ¾ oz Myers’s Dark Rum floater. Yeah, I drank those for a whole summer. And I gotta tell ya. Not a Mai Tai, but a damn tasty drink. In fact, once I progressed my Mai Tai skills my buddy Kyle still requested that early version. Which is why that drink became known as the Kai Tai. 

Then I attended a Polynesian Pop festival here in Nashville where I heard Jeff “Beachbum” Berry give a symposium on the creation of Tiki. That was the first time I met Jeff and he recommended a book that changed my life. And a Bottle of Rum: A History of the New World in Ten Cocktails by Wayne Curtis. This was an integral ingredient in sparking my newfound obsession. And oh, what’s this? There’s a Mai Tai recipe. Curtis’ recipe calls for one ounce each good Jamaican style rum and a medium bodied rum from either Cuba or Barbados. ¾ oz Curacao, ¾ oz lime juice, and ¼ oz Orgeat. This, also, makes a damn fine drink. I especially like the absence of added sugar.  

Then I read Beachbum Berry’s Grog Log and eventually my personal Tropical drink bible Potions of the Caribbean. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow moves in this petty pace from day to day and we find ourselves today with a pretty much agreed upon standard that we call the 1944 Mai Tai. Ah, but name alone does not a legend make. So, let’s talk about the Mai Tai’s origin. 

It came to pass that in 1944 Victor Bergeron was entertaining 2 friends visiting from Tahiti at his faux-Polynesian restaurant Trader Vic’s. Maybe you’ve heard of it. He took down a bottle of 17 yr old Wray and Nephew rum and mixed in a few scant traces of orange Curacao, rock candy syrup, which is what he called simple syrup, orgeat, and the juice from one lime. He shook it with ice, poured the whole thing in a rocks glass, and served it to his friend Carrie Guild who exclaimed in Tahitian, “Maita’i Roe A’e”, which translate to, “Out of this world. The best!” 

Now, I’ve never been to Tahiti so I don’t know how western washed they’ve become. But I’m pretty sure Carrie isn’t a traditional Tahitian name. So, I’m guessing she was an expat who picked up the language. In any case, this is the story Vic tells and he’s sticking to it. And I’m inclined to believe him. Trader Vic wasn’t some gone on the tradewinds Don the Beachcomber copycat. He did his diligence traveling across the south seas on both sides of the continent learning from tropical drink masters. His knowledge of rum rivaled that of his, umm, rival Donn Beach. Therefore, whether the story played out word for word the way Vic tells it I do believe that he invented the Mai Tai in 1944. As do all notable cocktail historians. 

By the early 1950’s Wray & Nephew ceased production of their 17 yr rum and the popularity of the Mai Tai quickly exhausted the remaining supply. Luckily the 15 yr upheld the flavor profile and quality. When this began to run dry Vic began mixing in a blend of black Jamaican rums by Red Heart and Coruba, respectively. This maintained the profile Vic needed until the Mai Tai completely used all the remaining Wray & Nephew 15 yr as well. Now what was a trader to do? 

Vic decided rather than seek out a replacement he would create his own blend to mimic the taste of the original 17 yr old rum. This is where we see the origins in earnest of two rums being blended in a Mai Tai. Vic landed on a combination of medium bodied Jamaican rum and rum from Martinique. Which we all assumed referred to the famous French  rhum agricoles that region is known for. A bit of foreshadowing there if you already know. But continuing down the Mai Taimline, this became the official recipe we now call the original 1944 Mai Tai. My current favorite Mai Tai in this style is Beachbum Berry’s recipe served at his New Orleans restaurant Latitude 29. He uses an even blend of Appleton Estate 12 yr and Clement VSOP Martinique rums incorporating in his own Latitude 29 orgeat. This is an outstanding Mai Tai and easy to make at home. 

The Mai Tai becoming synonymous with Tiki vacation vibes comes from a deal Trader Vic struck with our old friends Matson Line. The massive oil company made a name for itself in our story when they began buying up hotel properties throughout Hawaii. In this case, they had a pleasure cruise line they wanted Vic to create the menu for. The Mai Tai was actually down on the list, but quickly became the favorite of patrons. From there it spread across the islands and took on new life by morphing with native Hawaiian fruit juices giving us the respectable Hawaiian Mai Tai. Again, a very pleasant drink in its own right. I can attest to this first hand due to the copious amounts I ingested while on my honeymoon in Kauai. For more on this check out Kevin Crossman’s article The (De)Evolution of the Hawaiian Mai Tai. 

In the 80’s we had the Chinese restaurant Mai Tai with its pinkish hue. Most likely due to the addition of grenadine. I have fond childhood memories of my mom ordering them as I guzzled Shirley Temples.  As the art of cocktailing waned we ended up with bastardized Mai Tai’s being mixed with all kinds of canned juices, concentrated lime juice, and garnished with cherries and umbrellas. Trader Vic himself succumbed to the almighty dollar by creating a Mai Tai mix which he bottled and sold. In my eyes he kinda gets a pass as back then premade mixes were revolutionary and not the fau-pa they are today. A lot of Tiki bars actually mix several common ingredients to make prep easier. I completely understand how this cuts back on the wait time for that next drink. Unfortunately, this is what leads certain bars to have a “signature” flavor profile. Today, Trader Vic’s still uses that mix, but if you’re nice you can ask the bartender to mix you a handmade original. 

Luckily, the resurgence of not only Tiki, but craft cocktails in general, has given a breath of renewed life to the true 1944 Mai Tai recipe. The blending of two rums has lent itself to many interpretations of this faux-Poly-pop standard. And even though I’m a purist at heart, I can sign off on playing around with your favorite rums to customize your perfect Mai Tai. Just this once. Just remember that Trader Vic’s blend of pot still Jamaican rum and Martinique Rhum Agricole is the uncontested true Mai Tai… Or, is it?

In Martin Cate’s Tiki tome, Smuggler’s Cove: Exotic Cocktails, Rum, and the Cult of Tiki, he brings to light some very interesting new revelations. Cate is probably the foremost authority on rums and how they’re used in Tiki. Not to mention he bartended at Trader Vic’s before eventually opening his own Tiki bar and restaurant, Smuggler’s Cove. I’m not going to plagiarize his entire story, I want you go buy the book, but the gist is; The descriptions of the Martinique rum Vic used didn’t match up with how one would describe a rhum agricole, which we typically associate with that island’s style of rhum. Agricole rhum is distilled from pressed cane juice rather than molasses, as in most rums. This gives agricole its signature grassy notes. The rum Vic recounted using was rich and nutty. 

Not to mention Vic described the Martinique rum he used as being dark like a black Jamaican rum. Well, there are no rhum agricoles on the market with that complexion. As it turns out, back in the days Vic was mixing, Martinique actually did offer molasses rums known as rhum traditionnel. These were described by both Trader Vic and Don the Beachcomber as heavy dark rums. In fact, in Trader VIc’s Book of Food and Drink there are recipes in which he calls for a dark Jamaican or Martinique rum. Furthermore, when he wants an agricole rhum to be used he calls for it by name, where he does not in the Mai Tai.

In conclusion Martin Cate suggests Vic’s Mai Tai blend was a mix of pot still Jamaica rum and Martinique rhum traditionnel. Problem is, unless you live in Martinique their molasses based rhums are not available. Luckily for us Martin Cate took matters into his own hands and, collaborating with Denizen Rum, created Merchant’s Reserve. This is a blend of 8 yr Jamaican pot still rum and molasses based Martinique rhum. It’s not available everywhere, but I suggest asking your local shop to carry it. And stock up. Denizen Merchant’s Reserve is the closest we are ever going to get to tasting what Trader Vic intended a Mai Tai to taste like in 1944. 

And? It’s my favorite Mai Tai. Taking nothing away from the dark Jamaican/rhum agricole blend, which is my second favorite. There’s just something special about the way Merchant’s Reserve works with the other flavors. In Martin Cate’s words Vic invented the perfect rum delivery system. I don’t know about ya’ll, but I can use a delivery right about now. Let’s make a drink! 

We’ve already covered the rum. I do want to say, though, that even though Merchant’s Reserve is the new standard, and Appleton/Clement was the modern standard, don’t forget that Trader Vic himself initially used Coruba to prolong his supply of Wray & Nephew 15. Therefore, there is no shame whatsoever using a classic blended black Jamaican rum in your Mai Tai. I actually prefer Myers’s over Coruba. They’re both very nice expressions of that style but I feel Myers’s has more funk and a pleasant roasted caramelized molasses profile. A lot of people will claim Coruba is better, but that’s just because Myers’s is common and a lot of “Tiki aficionados” are just hipster douchebags who hate on popular things. When I was in culinary class I had a chef tell me once, “when cooking chicken, use chicken seasoning.” As in, don’t overthink it.  As Occam's razor suggests, the simplest explanation is probably correct. Myers’s is a really good rum. Bacardi, Bud Light, and the Star Wars prequels are other examples of the waning middle class of cultural popularity.

Notwithstanding, the modern Mai Tai indeed is most commonly a blend of two rums. As a two rum blend designed deliberately for this purpose I must say, in my humble opinion, Denizen Merchant’s Reserve makes the best current Mai Tai. It’s also not too bad for sipping!

The real genius of this drink shows in the remaining parts. Or, lack thereof. The small amounts of other ingredients act like a backing band for the lead vocalist that is rum. The first member of the band we’ll cover is Orange Curacao. 

Curacao is an island nation located off the northern shores of South America originally colonized by Spain. They planted these little bitter oranges called laraha’s. When the Dutch took over in 1634 they found these little bitter oranges not very palatable. I imagine it went something like, “Ooh, zees orhanges ah so beetah, ya?” But, something the Dutch were quite adept in was distilling aromatics and liqueurs. Legend has it that Lucas Bols, (yes, that Bols), created the liqueur by adding laraha oil to a sugar based distillate. I’ve even seen claims that it was naturally made with rum from the neighboring Caribbean. Nowadays, most orange curacao on the market is made with a neutral spirit and natural orange flavors. You’re probably not going to get curacao made from laraha oranges unless it’s actually made in Curacao. For these reasons the industry standard for this ingredient has become Pierre Ferrand Dry Orange Curacao. The elite cognac crafters at Pierre Ferrand blend their oranges with fine French brandy to bring us a rich decadent liqueur worthy of sharing a glass with your finest rums. It’s not exactly how the Dutch originally made it, but I have seen some evidence that curacao was made with brandy early on when rum wasn’t available. And the Pierre version is not a heavy Cognac like you may be picturing. Not like a Grand Marnier. No, the Ferrand Curacao is full flavored and elegant, but not syrupy and over sweet. 

Now, one of the things I disagree with is when the “industry standard” is the most expensive. It’s definitely worth it, but a bottle of Pierre Ferrand Curacao will run you about $40. For the budget minded passionados out there, I have had wonderful success with Marie Brizard Orange Curacao. Which comes in around $25. 

The other integral flavor in a Mai Tai is Or-geet. And yes, I’m joking when I pronounce it that way. I just think saying or-zjah sounds pretentious. I split the difference and pronounce it or-zhaat, which is the accepted English pronunciation. So, orgeat is a syrup made with almond, sugar, and orange water. Almond should be the prevalent flavor although many versions are available all ranging in sweetness and intensity. Initially, orgeat was made with a barley-almond blend. In French the word for barley is orge. Over in Spain the product known as horchata is derived from the same latin term hordeaceus, or  “made with barley”. Though somewhere along the way orgeat and horchata diverged in flavor. I’ve tried all kinds of orgeats from your generic brands like Torani and Fee Bros, to BG Reynolds, Liber & Co, and even some high ends like Small Hand Foods. But, I gotta say, my all time favorite is Beachbum Berry’s Latitude 29 Formula Orgeat. I prefer my Orgeat with high almond flavor, which it delivers. It’s got a floral blend of orange blossom and rose waters. Plus, importantly for me, it uses pure cane sugar with no preservatives. I don’t like my drinks very sweet and Latitude 29 Orgeat is sweet enough on its own not to require the use of additional simple syrup.  

Which brings us there. Trader Vic originally used ½ oz orgeat and ¼ oz simple syrup, but over time reduced the orgeat to ¼ oz as well. Ironically, I find this blend perfect for the Appleton 12/Clement VSOP blend of rums. The sweetness is needed to cut through the heavier notes of funk and herbaceousness. Yet, with the Denizen Merchant’s Reserve I think Latitude 29 orgeat is sweet enough, and pleasant enough, to use only ½ oz of it and omit simple syrup all together. To be fair, other brands of orgeat that are not as sweet, such as BG Reynolds, still require the sugar, but I’m giving you what I think makes the best Mai Tai. I understand these things are subjective, but if everything was left to subjectivity chaos would ensue! Besides, you come here for a reason, right? I’m sure it’s not my witty banter. Just make sure your simple syrup is a 1:1 ratio of water to pure cane sugar, which you can find in the baking aisle.  

The last thing we’ll need is fresh lime juice. Since this is a recap episode I’ll reiterate, never use pre-squeezed from concentrate lime juice that comes in the plastic bottle. Take it from a man who’s made mistakes. It’s so easy to squeeze fresh lime juice and the taste is so much fresher and lighter and vivid. Lime is an essential flavor in so many Tiki drinks and you want to have that perfect natural blend of sour and citrus spiciness. Just make sure when you squeeze the lime you cut the lime horizontally, so the two halves look like boobs. We’ll need those later. 

Now, I don’t often use garnish at home unless it’s necessary for the drink. And I make Mai Tais all the time without garnish. But, when I have mint on hand it definitely adds to the experience. The proper Trader Vic Mai Tai garnish is half a spent lime shell, skin side up, floating on the surface of the drink with a mint spring beside it. The olfactory sensation of citrus oil and mint truly adds to the experience. Much like sniffing the foot of a fine cigar before lighting, I have been known to waft my nose across the surface of a Mai Tai before the first sip for maximum enjoyment. 

Finally, we’re gonna need a proper Mai Tai glass. Like the drink the Mai Tai glass itself has become a fixture in the milieu of Tiki culture. A double rocks glass with a flared rim, the Mai Tai glass can feature classic Tiki iconography, like the ones still available for purchase at Trader Vic’s, or a plethora of pop-culture references. For instance, my personal favorites are the ones my wife got me for my birthday one year featuring a Gilligan’s Island design by Jeff Granite. 

With that, here is the official Pod Tiki Mai Tai recipe:

1 oz Lime Juice

½ oz Pierre Ferrand Dry Orange Curacao

½ oz Latitude 29 Formula Orgeat 

2 oz Denizen Merchant’s Reserve

Fill the glass almost to the top with crushed ice - about a cup. In a cocktail shaker add all ingredients, then the ice, and shake vigorously. Open pour entire contents into the rocks glass. Float one of the spent lime shells on top of the drink. Take a liberal mint sprig and slap it in the palm of your hand to release the oils and plunge the stem into the drink beside the lime shell. It should look like a palm tree on a desert island. 

Whoa, whoa! Don’t just rush in. We’re talking about the paragon of Tiki drinks. Admire the stunning visual appearance. Then smell the surface of the liquid and get all that mint/lime scent. Now you can take a sip.  

Have you ever read Dante’s Divine Comedy? After descending the circles of Hell, shedding the film of humanity in Purgatory, and finally reaching the pinnacle of Paradise, just when the scene is set for Dante to describe encountering the mystery of the Holy Trinity mano y son of man-o, he simply tells us the experiential realization of Divinity is such that it cannot be described. There is no reality in which we could comprehend the essence. No words big enough. Well, that’s like the first sip of the perfect Mai Tai. 

I’ve said on the show before, the margarita is my favorite drink. But, I can explain what a margarita tastes like. The abstract flavor notes of a perfectly balanced Mai Tai are almost ineffable. Sure, one could assign words like tart, sweet, rummy, or tropical fruity. Even though there’s no fruit juice, save lime, what you’re tasting is the dark fruit notes of well aged rum combined with curacao tricking your brain into tasting tropical fruit juice. I don’t know if Trader Vic set out to create a culinary masterpiece, but that’s exactly what he did. 

The Mai Tai is not just a Tiki drink, but a transcendent concept. Invoking the spirit of tropical exotica throughout so many facets of life. Across the globe, spanning decades, the Mai Tai has served to bring people together culturally. Not just for the Tiki community, but for the whole of cocktalia and dare I say for Americana. Earning its irrefutable place as the one true king of Tiki drinks. I know I say this all the time, but the Mai Tai is the perfect example of a drink that is truly greater than the sum of its parts. A tertiary experience rendered from a discriminant combination of flavors. 

The great thing is that you don’t have to make my version. Or, Beachbum Berry’s or Martin Cate’s. You can mix a dark Jamaican with a medium bodied rum, some lime juice, orange liqueur, and almond syrup, and you’ll get a decent passable drink. But, mix it with top shelf ingredients in the style of Trader Vic’s 1944 and it truly is “Maita’i Roe A’e”... The Best! 

My name is Tony, and this has been Pod Tiki.

Sources: Smuggler’s Cove by Martin Cate, Grog Log and other various writings by Jeff Berry, Wikipedia, beachbumberry.com.

Pod Tiki: Doctor Funk

Get ‘im in, get ‘im in! He’s fading fast. Is he responding? Nurse, slap his cheeks. No, wrong cheeks! Flip him back over. Doc, he’s seductively sedentary with quixotic exotica. I know, I know. Prep the table. 

50cc’s rum? Check! Limes? Check! Pomegranate? Check! Absinthe? Absinthe? Dammit, where’s the absinthe?! Check! Now shake it, nurse. Shake-shake it like this man’s life depends on it. Ok, administer elixir. 

Wait for it….Wait for it… There! You hear that? We… We have marimba rhythms starting to play. Stiffening of the spine. Movement. We got movement in the shoulders. He’s not in the clear yet. Nurse, in order to revive him we’re gonna need all hands on deck. No, I said deck, with an E. But, that’s impressive. 

Lips are curling. I think, yep … yep. We got a smile. Eyebrows are waggling! I… I think we got him, Doc. He’s coming to. 

“Sir. Do you know where you are?”

 … 

“Yes. Tahiti, that’s correct. And, how do you feel?”

 … 

“Like going on an adventure, you say? Well, my good fellow, I believe you are cured of your cafard.”

…

“What’s that? Well, you can call me Doctor Funk.” 

Ladies and gentlemen. My name is Tony, and this is Pod Tiki. 

⥈⥈

If you haven’t figured it out yet, we are covering the Dr. Funk in this episode. Unique in that it’s the only original Tiki drink to actually have been invented in the South Pacific. In order to tell the story of one Dr. Funk, and the ensuing cast of characters, we must first cover le cafard. 

Is it possible to relax too much? Think about the hustle and bustle of life from which we hope to carve out a few hours or a day here and there to simply jettison the vicissitudes and have our only responsibility be that it’s our turn to mix drinks. Imagine that one vacation that sticks out in your mind. Sprawled out under a palm shade with a tropical drink. Warm evenings of moonlit dancing. Fresh fruit for breakfast and why not have that 11am daiquiri? Boy, wouldn’t it be great if that could last forever? Would it become monotonous? What happens when the exotic becomes mundane? Could too much of a good thing truly make the life of leisure a detriment to our mental health? 

Could it be? Is there actually a mental illness brought on by too much relaxation? Yes, and it’s called cafard. Much like the term ennui cafard is a state of depression brought on by extreme boredom. But, it’s more than that. Think if you didn’t have a job to do, no purpose in society, nothing to contribute, you’re wealthy enough to cover more than you’ll ever need, living in your own cultural vacuum, and you’re so bored you’re literally going crazy. As people we have a need to feel fulfilled. To have a place. To navigate life according to the expectations of our culture no matter how productive or petty the pace. We need to feel like we’re doing something. Like we have purpose. 

The funny thing about cafard is that it most notably affects foreigners living in the tropics. And, let’s be honest, when I say foreigners I mean rich white folks. Yanquis, haoles, and the such. I have thoughts on the subject. I know. Big surprise. 

Here’s my analogy. Those of us that were around before there was unlimited on-demand content at our literal fingertips can remember what it felt like to not have constant sensory overload. When I got bored as a kid it wasn’t so extreme because the norm was not that extreme. Nowadays, (old man alert), people, including myself at times, experience real anxiety when the persistent paradigm of stimulus is taken away. I recently experienced a two day loss of power wherein I consistently found reasons to go out to a restaurant or bar or coffee shop because sitting in the ether of nothingness was excruciating. 

We see it in young people who grew up with social media and on-demand content. They need to have a screen in front of them at all times. The digital babysitter. And even though I practice mindful meditation and reading and all that jazz a nagging necessity for that dopamine fix is ever present. It’s like an addiction. Even the great Hemingway, a man who rocketed from experience to experience, suffered the ennui. So much so that it is attributed to his eventual suicide. You see, it can also be brought on by a sense of having done everything. Living in constant adventure mode till the means run out, either by exhaustion of funds or spirit. What to do when there’s nothing left to do? Nature abhors a vacuum, but anxiety lives in it. 

The normally overstimulated find solace in simplicity for a time before it grows heavy and buckles under the weight of emptiness. The person carrying a bucket of water endures the struggle knowing it will serve a purpose. Where the person carrying an empty bucket bears the burden in spite of themselves. 

I’m spending a lot of time on this because it deserves gravitas. I’m not a wealthy man, but as a middle class white male living in a 1st world city I have experienced, albeit at a lesser extent, the feeling of floating through life without purpose. A privilege that affords a cultural absence. Thankfully, I have the anchor of family, friends, and this podcast to keep me grounded. 

So, why mainly affect affluent expats in the tropics? I.e., rich white folks. Basically it’s because they’re the only ones who, in the era we speak of, could afford the luxury of boredom. The native islanders had shit to do. You know, like trying to find food for their families. 

These days in the modern world we’ve reached a level of comfortability, and in some cases complacency, in which we are all susceptible to cafard. I remember my own father experiencing a bit of cafard after retiring in Florida. Don’t worry about him, though. He’s fully embraced the beachcomber lifestyle and I can only hope to still be partying like my folks when I’m that age. 

I also think what adds to cafard for expats is simply missing home. I’ve made Nashville my home for the past 12 years. Not only the pulse of the city but the growth I’ve done here will always keep this place special for me. Even still, there are certain idiosyncrasies that I have that just don’t fit in here. A mindset that’s not of where I’m from. Throw in some loneliness and a few sips straight from the rum bottle and it’s easy to succumb to a bit of cafard. 

Returning to Doctor Funk, though. It's because of this malady the good doctor made his name. Dr. Bernhard Funk was a German physician who decided he was way too funky for Europe and made his way to Samoa in 1879. He spent the next 31 years practicing medicine in the capital city of Apia. It was there he befriended Robert Louis Stevenson, author of Treasure Island. Stevenson also famously resided in Apia where there’s a museum dedicated to him now. The two men were close and Stevenson sums up their relationship in this quote. “The doctor, though he tipples a little & gabbles much, is a good man whom I respect.”

Unfortunately, in most sources it seems Dr. Funk the man has been summed up by his relationship with Stevenson. It kind of sucks when your claim to fame is being friends with a famous person. It doesn’t do justice to the actual man who had an interesting life in his own right.  

His expertise in medicine was a long awaited blessing for the people of French Polynesia and the South Pacific where Funk traveled to provide treatment. His first wife was the daughter of a pirate named Bully Hayes, and his second a woman named Senitima who was the daughter of Chief Talea. 

But what the Doctor is most notably recognized for is his treatment for cafard. A mixture of lime juice, seltzer, and absinthe. You see, the good Doctor was also known throughout the south seas as something of a celebrity mixologist. Dr. Funk had a penchant for potions. 

His remedy for cafard was said to, well, I’ll just read from Fredrick O’Brien’s White Shadows In The South Seas. “Its particular merits are claimed by experts to be a stiffening of the spine when one is all in; an imparting of courage to live to men worn out by doing nothing.” 

The drink became known as the Doctor Funk as it pervaded the South Pacific. On every island you could hear people calling out for Doctor Funk not in the hospitals, but in the bars. 

It’s uncertain when Donn Beach came across the drink, but throughout his Polynesian travels he would have been well aware of its popularity. Which is why he chose the concoction to adorn the menu of Don The Beachcomber’s. All Donn really did was add rum and adjust the levels a bit to dial in the recipe. In that we see a local favorite become a stalwart part of the original Tiki diaspora; And what a part it is. 

The Doctor Funk may be the most replicated and homaged libation in the Tiki oeuvre. Any respectable Tiki bar, and some unrespectable ones, had a version of Doctor Funk on the menu. There was the Mr. Funk, the Dr. Fong, and Mr. Wong. I don’t know where the Asian influence came from, but if I’m venturing a guess this is where we get the Foo Manchu adorned Asian face Tiki mugs. If anyone out there is offended by that mug I implore you to look at the other mugs in your collection. If you’re not Pacific Islander or pray to Tahitian gods they may all be offensive. To say nothing of the scantily clad iconography of women depicted in Tiki artwork. I’m just sayin’, so please don’t think I’m being sanctimonious. I love Tikis and boobs as much as the next guy. Probably more! 

I digress, as I so often do. So, let’s see. I did a narrative intro, covered the history, and even snuck in a hot take. That only means one thing. It’s time to make a drink! 

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Despite the multitude of names most tropical bartenders agree on the simple Doctor Funk recipe. Lime juice, grenadine, Herbsaint, rum, and soda water. The only outlier being Martin Cate who “funkdifies” it for his Smuggler’s Cove menu. 

Cate’s recipe blends lemon and lime juices and adds simple syrup. This works because where Don the Beachcomber used a light Puerto Rican rum, Smuggler’s Cove uses a funky pot still black. Hamilton Pot Still Black is not available near me so I used a pot still gold with a little Myers’s for color. I see what he was trying to do here, playing off the namesake. And it’s definitely heavy on the funk for sure. 

A very balanced but rum forward drink, I’m not sure they would have this style of rum in the south pacific in Funk’s day. The fruitiness comes out though the Herbsaint is subdued, sadly because I think that’s supposed to be the prevalent component in this drink. It’s a really good drink but too much like other drinks in their pantheon. Odd because Martin Cate states that one of the reasons he got into tiki was because too many drinks tasted the same and he wanted to change that. But, with having a signature style, so many of his recipes are quite similar in profile. To the point of defeating the purpose. This is very reminiscent of the 20/70 swizzle. I mean no disrespect at all to Mr. Cate. His book is a seminal work on the genre of Tiki and his prowess in the business is irrefutable. To me this version just doesn’t capture the essence of the Doctor Funk, turning out more like a poor man’s Zombie. 

That being said, let’s get into the original Don The Beachcomber recipe which I used for this research.  We’ll begin with the citrus. Tiki historian Jeff “Beachbum” Berry first published an early recipe calling for 3 oz of a lemon and lime juice combo. THat was from the St. Paul Beachcomber restaurant. Perhaps their taste buds in Minnesota were frozen because immediately he received feedback that the rendered drink was way too sour. What the hell do Minnesotans know about tiki, anyway? I say that with tongue firmly planted in cheek as my wife is from the great state of Minnesota. And they indeed can do some Tiki. Shout out to The Whistling Bird. Later Jeff discovered a recipe from the Palm Springs Beachcomber’s that only used lime juice and lowered the amount. I tried both and I agree that the latter makes a more balanced cocktail. 

Soda water is pretty self explanatory. I tried both seltzer and sparkling water. And YES, there is a difference! Sparkling water contains softer bubbles where seltzer is more like a soda. In this drink I prefer seltzer as it adds an effervescence more redolent of a medicinal remedy. 

Some sources claim that Doctor Funk himself began adding pomegranate syrup along the way. Or, at least, some bartenders did before Donn Beach got ahold of it. Personally, I believe it was a Donn addition due to the fact that he liked that grenadine/herbsaint mix for his most famous creation: The Zombie. I suggest a simple homemade grenadine/pomegranate syrup made by cooking equal parts Pom juice and raw cane sugar. Bring to a boil and remove from heat stirring till it settles. 

Which brings us to Herbsaint. There’s been some chatter lately on the Pod Tiki Facebook page regarding the use of Herbsaint vs real Absinthe. Let me just say I love Absinthe. No alternative has the tongue coating anise creaminess that you get from true wormwood. The green fairy has served as my muse on many occasions. But, during prohibition and the banning of wormwood spirits in the U.S. many Absinthe replacements came on the market. Pernod is a French expression that I truly find exquisite. Growing up in an Italian/American family we always had Anisette around. Pro tip, add a little to your after dinner espresso. Thank me later. Herbsaint is the American version, created in New Orleans by two men who learned how to make it while serving in France. I mean serving as in the military, not as a maître d'. Let’s not forget that Donn Beach is originally from New Orleans. Thus, when it came time to use that flavor it makes sense that he would have gone with the brand he grew up with. Not to mention, Absinthe is expensive. I prefer to save mine for sipping. For more on this check out our Sazerac episode.

Rum. Here’s the big one. The Don the Beachcomber recipe uncovered by Jeff Berry called for light Puerto Rican rum. Perhaps the Spanish style of rum he used back then was truly way different, but I found that using a modern Puerto Rican light rum left the drink lacking substance. The drink was very anise heavy and out of balance. Here I felt maybe Martin Cate was on to something attempting to “funk” it up. I tried some funkier rums, like Smith & Cross, but the balance still wasn’t there. So, I thought, which rum in my repertoire would land equidistant between a light, bright, Spanish style, yet incorporate enough funk to add some roundness and depth. I split the difference with my favorite daiquiri rum: Plantation 3 Star. I am an unapologetic fan of 3 Star. I find it soft and medium bodied with just enough funk to give it character. It’s not unlike Probitas rum in that way, but I find 3 Star to be brighter and more floral as opposed to the rich creaminess of some finer brands. Sip on Probitas, mix 3 Star. 

Early Beachcomber recipes show this drink was initially blended before being switched to shaken. It’s unclear to me though whether Donn changed the prep method, he was known to adjust recipes over time, or if Jeff Berry precipitated the switch to make prep easier when he published the updated recipe in Beachbum Berry Remixed. I made it both ways and didn’t notice a difference so I stuck with shaking for ease. If you’re going to blend, though, I suggest flash blending. That’s 2 or 3 small pulses to blend the ingredients without creating a frozen drink. I like this method of blending because the ice chips float leaving only liquid at the bottom so you don’t suck ice up into your straw. 

Alright. A Doctor Funk is:

¾ oz Lime Juice

½ oz Grenadine

¼ oz Herbsaint

1 ½ oz Light Rum (Plantation 3 Star). 

1 oz Soda Water

Add all ingredients except Soda to a cocktail shaker, shake with plenty of ice, then stir in the soda water. Pour entire contents into a pilsner glass or tall Tiki mug. Garnish with mint sprig and a cherry. 

You can taste how this combination of flavors became the archetype for so many subsequent tiki drinks. It’s evident this had to have influenced the rum-herbsaint-citrus-grenadine mixture of the Zombie. In fact this drink reminds me of someone who’s been bit by a Zombie but hasn’t fully turned yet. It’s almost as if you could taste the early attempt at Donn getting his footing, softly experimenting with a few of the flavors that would become infamous.

The first sip offers dark fruitiness from the pomegranate with a subtle sweet anise coming next. There’s a prevalent tartness that plays really well with Herbsaint and harkens back to the Doctors initial recipe of limeade with absinthe. 

A light blended rum like Plantation 3 Star was the right choice and combined with the above recipe makes the best representation of how I think Donn Beach wanted the drink to taste. Blend of funky and light. Fruity but not overbearing with a slight fizz. A touch of quixotic effervescence. Indeed, the mild carbonation adds a magical sparkling texture that’s just so. It makes the drink feel a bit naughty, and medicinal, even. 

I love the anise notes playing with the rum and fruit notes. It’s really good. Sure, you can tone the citrus down but then it’s another homogeneous punch. I like the way the flavors undulate,  popping out at different times. It’s like drinking in 3D. The profile is less exotic Tiki per modern tastes, but more tropical. Which is what I think “exotic” would've been back then. We tend to project on the past through modern lenses, but I think in the late 19 century this would’ve been looked at as an exotic drink, until Tiki came along in the 1930’s and turned it upside down. 

I really like this one. And, it's easy to make, which is rare for tiki. I believe the key to a great Doctor Funk is not overcomplicating it. Don't try to get crazy with adjustments and riffs. Some things are timeless because of their simplicity, and that’s a bit of all right. From time to time we all have to humble ourselves and take our medicine. The Funk to cure your funk. Making this, just what the Doctor ordered. 

My name is Tony, and this has been Pod Tiki. Thank you so much for listening and Keepi Tiki! 

Sources: Smuggler’s Cove: Martin Cate, Beachbum Berry Remixed: Jeff Berry, Atomic Grog article: Lost Cocktails of The Mai-Kai: The late Dr. Fong has a funky and famous history: Hurricane Hayward, drfunksj.com

Pod Tiki: Sazerac

I’ve always made it a point to incorporate classic pre- and post-prohibition era cocktails in Pod Tiki, because I truly believe the spirit of Tiki spawned from this promethean period. Furthermore, the people responsible for the creation of Tiki were themselves products of that time. But how do I tackle this one?

The Mai Tai, for all its glory, insomuch that it is the most prolific of Tiki cocktails, pervasive the world over, famous for being the godfather of Tiki drinks, my personal favorite Tiki drink, the drink we order first to test the merit of a new tropical bar, still does not have to live up to the moniker of being America’s first cocktail. 

The circuitous twists and turns and tributaries that branch off of this story run on longer than that last sentence. I never imagined when I set out to cover a cocktail I didn’t think was even that popular that I would find myself bedeviled by such overwhelming enthusiasm on the topic; And we know all too well on Pod Tiki that where enthusiasm is grown, seeds of discord are sown.  

Luckily, where to start this tale is simple. At the beginning. Buckle up, buttercup, this is going to be a long one. So, don’t bother measuring. Just bring the bottle over. In fact, bring four bottles. Cognac, rye whiskey, Herbsaint, and Peychaud’s. We’re making a Sazerac. 

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Tony, and this is Pod Tiki. 

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Ah, the beginning. The beforetime. When things were easy and drinks didn’t have twelve ingredients and so many rules. When we all just agreed. HA! I don’t know what kinda bizarro world you thought we were going to for a minute, but the Sazerac has been the center of drama since before it was invented. You see, the Sazerac is often credited with being the oldest cocktail, dating way back to the 1850’s. Thing is, a New York Newspaper called The Balance and Columbian Repository uses the term cocktail to explain a concoction made of spirit, water, sugar, and bitters way back in 1806. The closest living relative we have to that early libation would be an Old Fashioned. (In modern day, whether on the rocks, shaken, or stirred, the ice counts as water.) The addition of absinthe, or some other anise based liqueur, is the only thing distinguishing a Sazerac from an old Fashioned. In broad terms any spirit with any mixture of water, bitters, and sweetener would fall under the cocktail umbrella. Pun intended. 

It seems the Sazerac was for sure an early cocktail, but not the first. Prior to the early 19th century bitters were commonly used as medicinal tinctures. A travel article by the BBC tells of bitters being created in the then named town of Angostura, Venezuela, around 1824 as an elixir to pacify ailing stomachs. Yes, that Angostura. This couldn’t have been the first though, as we previously had bitters being mentioned as a cocktail ingredient in 1806. But it does lend to the cocktail being an American invention seeing as how bitters would have made their way up into the U.S. from South America. To put things in perspective, when the first printed definition of a cocktail was published the United States had only been a thing for about 20yrs. Alexander Hamilton died only two years before we knew what cocktails were. 

Chances are, though, that he had a few cocktails in his life because spirits were also tentatively used as remedies. It’s pretty easy to imagine how a drop or two of medicinal bitters may be added to certain recreational remedies like whiskey or rum to aid in recovery forming a sort of… I don’t know… how would you say… what’s the word… it’s right there, like a, a … cocktail. 

Taking it a few steps further, Laudanum was an alcohol/opium mixture used as a painkiller and to calm what the Chemical Institute of Canada refers to as “female disorders”. Don’t look at me, ladies. You take that shit up with Canada.

Anyway, if the earliest use of cocktail to explain a drink recipe was 1806, what did it mean before that? 

Which leads us to our second controversy. Among the myriad of origin stories for the term cocktail we have Aztec princesses, west African scorpions, and British sailors in Mexico. You can look those up yourselves, this episode is long enough. My personal favorite, though probably apocryphal telling, is that of a horse's tail that has been docked, or cut close to the base, making the hair point upwards giving the impression of a cock’s tail feathers. This was meant to signify a racehorse that was not purebred, but mixed.

Or, the practice of cock-tailing refers to mixing together the last bit of spirits, or the tails, from different barrels into one and selling it at a discount. Ok, that makes a little more sense. Honestly, I may’ve bought either one of those if it wasn’t for this next bit. 

In the French region of Bordeaux the term coquetel had been used for centuries before coming to America to describe mixed drinks. End of story. You know those little cups on a base that hold one egg? They’re used for eating them soft boiled. The term for that is an egg cup. Coq is French for rooster, and even though roosters don’t lay eggs the French translation of egg cup is Coquetier. Eventually some brilliant Frenchmen discovered this shape glass was perfect for sipping from. A drink being served in a coquetier was known as a coquetel. 

As an aside the term coquet in french is the masculine form of flirtatious. A virtue of the French we sometimes borrow when in our drink. 

The term coquetel made its way over to the new world during the American Revolution where we subsequently find it published with the English translation of cocktail. It would appear the distinction of spirit, water, sugar and bitters as ingredients was an American invention. In France there are no such frivolous rules to drinking. 

Returning to our main narrative, the first incarnation of a Sazerac is purported to have been served in a coquetier, adding to the mythos of it being the first cocktail. 

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Which brings us thirty years down the road to 1834. That’s when Antoine Amédée Peychaud opened his pharmacy at 123 Royal Street in New Orleans. Little Antoine came to New Orleans as a child circa 1790s after his family was forced to abscond from their home on Saint-Domingue during a slave revolt. This little uprising saw the island country of Saint-Domingue subsequently change its name to Haiti and became not only the first independent Caribbean nation, but the world’s first black republic. That’s right, his family were French plantation owners who were forced out during the Haitian Revolution. 

Shortly after opening up shop in the 1830’s the now grown Antoine Peychaud created his American Aromatic Bitter Cordial as a medicinal supplement. It just so happened that the medicine it was supplementing was French brandy. Peychaud himself was known to enjoy a dash or two of his own medicine at his favorite coffee house. 

Don’t get it twisted, coffee houses were bars. Despite the Girls Gone Wild reputation, people in New Orleans pride themselves on holding their booze with class. Real gangsters don’t need to go around telling people they’re gangsters. One of the ways they kept it classy was through the thin disguise of the “coffee house”, serving alcohol. 

One such establishment was Merchants Exchange Coffee House. Owner of Merchants Exchange, Sewell Taylor, was the sole importer of a Cognac named Sazerac-de-Forge et Fils. In 1850 Taylor sold the business to Aaron Bird who continued serving the popular Cognac and, seizing the opportunity for promotion, renamed the Merchants Exchange to Sazerac Coffee House.   

It was about this time the local pharmacist became a regular. He would amble up to the bar, order a Cognac and, slipping a small bottle from his waistcoat, add a few drops of tincture to his coquetier. Thanks to an 1857 advertising campaign Peychaud’s Bitters spread across the city becoming synonymous with New Orleans cocktails. 

This mixture of Cognac and Peychaud’s is thought to be the primordial ancestor of the Sazerac, sometimes crediting Antoine Peychaud as its inventor. This we know for sure, and there is a version of the story that stops there. But another claim goes to Sazerac Coffee House bartender Leon Lamothe who is credited with adding sugar to the mix in 1858, making it closer to a true cocktail by definition. Sometime later Lamothe added Absinthe in what I can only assume was an attempt to make the drink even more French. 

So, 1858. That’s the date in which we have the ingredients of a Sazerac being mixed together into a cocktail. To put that in perspective once more, we’re talking about the Sazerac, a drink still being served around the world today, being mixed at bars three years before the Civil War. Doctors were still prescribing opium for headaches. Anesthesia was “Here… drink some whiskey and bite this stick.” We’re talking Abe and Mary-Todd Lincoln sippin’ Sazeracs till they emancipate dem britches. Why do you think of all the rooms in the White House they named a bedroom after Lincoln. I’m not sayin’, I’m just sayin’. 

I digress, we have the recipe in 1858 but not the drink, because there is still no documentation of this cocktail being called a Sazerac for another thirty years. We’ll get there.  

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Alright, let’s take a breather. Go ahead and refill your glass. And so it goes the Sazerac Coffee House continues mixing a drink unique to their bar, containing Sazerac brand Cognac and Peychaud’s Bitters, that may or may not have started being asked for by the name Sazerac Cocktail. 

Now we pick back up with what we know for sure. In 1870 after a few more changes in ownership an employee named Thomas Handy bought the Sazerac Coffee House. Handy seems to have a good business mind. Not long after taking over the bar Thos. H. Handy & Co. purchased Peychaud’s Bitters from Antoine Peychaud, who had fallen on hard times, obtained the sole rights to Sazerac-de-Forge et Fils Cognac, and most notably, dropped “Coffee” from the bar’s name creating the original Sazerac House. 

It would appear everything’s coming up Handy. Until the following circumstances paved the way for one of the most cantankerous debates in the whole of cocktailia. During the reign of Thomas Handy we see a shift away from the titular Cognac in lieu of rye whiskey. Finally, in 1899, in a fraternity paper nonetheless, the Sazerac Cocktail was mentioned, by name, in print for the first time. That’s a milestone, for sure, but still no exact recipe is given. Then, in 1901, Thomas Handy & Co trademark the name Sazerac, making it one of only four officially trademarked cocktails to this day, and release a premixed bottled cocktail made with rye whiskey. Thus, the first time we see a cocktail officially called the Sazerac it contains rye and not Cognac. 

But why the switch? Well, like the rest of this story there’s a few more convoluted theories. The first harkens to an 1885 phylloxera blight that compromised France’s grape harvest. Phylloxera is a species of aphid, or louse, that attacks grape vines at the root. The 1885 outbreak was purportedly so bad that all wine and wine derivatives, like Cognac, became unavailable. Talk about a lousy break…. 

Though we know this happened, and the timeline fits, cocktail historians argue another factor that at least aided in the rise of rye. Changing tastes. 

Chris McMillian, a 30 year veteran bartender and cofounder of the New Orleans Museum of American Cocktail, which is definitely on my short list of places to visit, contends that the location of the Sazerac House fell directly on the city block separating the French Creole side of New Orleans from the American side. Furthermore, it appears the Sazerac House catered more toward the American predilection for whiskey. It was simply more ‘merica, especially in post civil war south, to drink firewater rather than the fancy brandies enjoyed by classist and effete Northerners. 

According to McMillian this means the Sazerac was always made with American rye, because Sazerac House was an American bar. This theory is compounded by an 1895 newspaper article uncovered by historian David Wondrich. The paper lauds Vincent Merit, a bartender at Sazerac House, as being the best whiskey cocktail maker in New Orleans. They claim all this points to the Sazerac being a rye drink. 

You could see how this would spark controversy among purists who know the Sazerac was born using French brandy and Peychaud’s bitters. Or was it? I would be remiss not to mention the Improved Whiskey Cocktail. This early Old Fashioned riff bears striking resemblance to a modern Sazerac and goes back to around the same time. 

But what do I think? Well, thank you for asking. I think Antoine Peychaud began adding his bitters to Sazerac Cognac. Then, borrowing from other recipes and techniques of the time, the drink evolved into a standardized signature cocktail for the Sazerac House. Part of that evolution was making a switch to rye whiskey to appease the popular tastes of the day in order to reach a larger swath of drinkers. We know the trademarked Sazerac Cocktail is made with rye, but I also believe that the Creole side of town probably continued to order them with Cognac. In fact, I imagine any bartender worth his salt would be able to discern by accent which version a guest wanted. 

I think the location of the Sazerac House positioned it to be a confluence of two drinking cultures who probably couldn’t agree even back then. Even the IBA (International Bartenders Association) claims the drink can be made with Cognac or rye whiskey. Perhaps the legacy of the Sazerac is that there is no right way? Oh, c’mon. You guys know the purist in me won't let that fly. My conclusion is that a true Sazerac is made with rye whiskey, because that’s how it was made the first time it officially used the name. 

However, that doesn’t necessarily mean it's the best version. Nevertheless, the story doesn’t end here.

In 1919, while the ink was still wet on the 19th amendment, Thomas H. Handy & Co saw the writing on the bottle and relaunched as the Sazerac Company, Inc. From there they begin diversifying into restaurants, soft drinks, dairy, and groceries. Though the original Sazerac House was demolished by the turn of the century the brand made it through prohibition still holding the rights to Peychaud’s Bitters and the name Sazerac. The company continued to grow, acquiring Herbsaint, New Orleans local answer to Absinthe, in 1949. 

In 2005 Sazerac launched their own brand of rye whiskey distilled by Buffalo Trace. They also boast ownership of the new Sazerac de Forge Cognac. Which means not only does the Sazerac Company own the name of the cocktail, but all the ingredients needed to make one. Today their litany of brands includes Buffalo Trace, Pappy Van Winkle, 1792 bourbon, Fireball whiskey, Weller, Wheatley Vodka, Southern Comfort, Eagle Rare, Canadian Mist, Booth’s Gin, and a plethora of others. Oh, and just for us Tiki heads, they own Myers’s Jamaican rum, too. As of this episode the current Sazerac Bar resides in the Roosevelt Hotel in New Orleans, and, of course, they lease the name from the Sazerac Company. 

And with that we come to the end of our history lesson. I don’t know about ya’ll, but I am certainly ready to move on to the fun part. Let’s make a drink! 

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According to the Sazerac Company’s website the official way to prepare a Sazerac is as follows. 

Fill a rocks glass with ice and set aside. 

In a second rocks glass place 1 sugar cube and soak it with 3 dashes Peychaud’s Bitters. 

Muddle sugar cube and bitters, then add 1 ½ oz of Rye Whiskey. 

Dump ice from the first glass and coat the inside with ¼ oz Herbsaint. Discard excess Herbsaint. 

Pour sugar, bitters, whiskey mix from second glass into first and garnish with lemon peel. 

At first glance this recipe can appear a bit pretentious. Especially the part where the company that makes Herbsaint builds waste into the preparation. I assure you, however, the ritual of building a Sazerac is part of the experience. Including the Herbsaint rinse. It seems fitting that a drink that elicits such passionate opinions should incorporate the same passion in its preparation. Therefore, I feel like simply making the standard rye whiskey recipe and calling it a day would be taking the easy way out. So, in the following section I’m going to try Sazeracs with rye, Cognac, and a 50/50 mix. 

Let’s jump into some ingredients. For the Cognac version I return to my old faithful, Pierre Ferrand. I use the 1840 Original Formula, which is a VS. The Ferrand website focuses heavily on their family lineage, but offers no information regarding how they actually got into the brandy business. Save for this little fun fact. Ferrand Cognac was begun by one Elie Ferrand and continued for 10 generations of Elie Ferrands, I’m not joking. We’re gonna have to return to Ferrand in another episode after I uncover some more facts. For now we should at least cover that brandy is distilled wine and Cognac is a brandy made in the Cognac region of France. I’ve always enjoyed sipping Ferrand neat, but it’s amazing in a cocktail. It’s just sweet and woody enough and well aged. 

For the rye version I fall back on another go-to of mine. Rittenhouse Rye out of Heaven Hill Distillery. Now, I know you’re probably wondering, “why not use the actual Sazerac brand whiskey”? Honestly, I just think naming a whiskey after the cocktail is gimmicky. Like they’re banking on the branding rather than the quality of the product. It comes across to me as a corporation trying to pass as authentic. Being in the cigars and spirits world I am lucky to have trusted bourbon aficionados at my disposal for brain picking, and Rittenhouse comes up repeatedly when I ask about the best expression of a traditional rye for cocktails. 

Rittenhouse Straight Rye Whisky traces its roots to 1934 and Philadelphia’s Rittenhouse Square. This whiskey is certified Bottled-In-Bond, which means it must be distilled at a single distillery, in a six month period, aged at least 4 years at a federally bonded warehouse, and bottled at exactly 100 proof. It’s more than I wanted to get into on an already prodigious episode, but the idea of a bonded warehouse has to do with the amount of taxes a distiller pays. Before federal aging houses a spirit maker would have to pay taxes on the pre-aged amount of liquid, even though a common barrel loses almost 3 gallons to the angel’s share - absorption and evaporation. But, if the spirits are aged in a federally bonded warehouse a manufacturer only pays taxes on the amount of spirit remaining after aging. 

Okay, moving on. Herbsaint is an anise flavored liqueur from New Orleans initially created as an Absinthe substitute. During WWI J. Marion Legendre and Reginald Parker learned how to make absinthe while in fighting in France. Initially released stateside in 1934 as Legendre Absinthe, it never actually contained any of absinthe’s primary ingredient, wormwood. After The Federal Alcohol Control Administration ruled that they couldn’t call it absinthe the name was changed to Herbsaint, which in French Creole translates to Sacred Herb. Herbsaint and its cousin Pernod are commonly used as absinthe substitutes, but being a New Orleans original, it’s now replaced absinthe as part of the official Sazerac recipe. Plus, it’s really good. And yes, I know the Sazerac Company also owns Herbsaint, but they purchased it as an existing product. They didn’t make their own and name it after themselves as a marketing ploy like they did the whiskey. 

We already covered Peychaud’s bitters which brings us to our final Sazerac controversy - sugar cube or simple syrup. This is the only one I personally have a hard time reconciling. I try as best as I could to stick to tradition in my cocktails; Especially of this era, and back then they didn’t make syrups, they used sugar cubes. I’ve already expressed my fondness for the pomp and circumstance of preparing this drink, but I have to side with the plethora of modern day bartenders that have made the switch to sugar syrup over the cube. 

There’s simply not enough liquid in a Sazerac to fully dissolve the sugar. Even if you opt for a cocktail mixing beaker and stir your sugar in, it never gets all the way dissolved. This leaves the drink unbalanced, bitter, and in the case of the rye version, too high proof. 

Just because we’re using a syrup doesn’t mean we have to sacrifice quality, though. I make my simple syrup using a 1:1 ratio of water to pure cane sugar. In essence the only thing changing is the state of a solid to a liquid. Not only that, but using sugar syrup actually adds a very pleasant silkiness to the texture of the drink. 

Another modern adaptation would be use of the aforementioned mixing glass or cocktail beaker, in lieu of a second rocks glass. This allows for the sugar-bitters-spirit mixture to be stirred with ice before being added to the Herbsaint rinsed glass. With such strong flavors, especially when using a biting rye whiskey, proper proportions and dilution are crucial. My rule is: stir till the glass frosts over. Then immediately transfer to the drinking glass. Careful to not let the mixture sit in the wet ice for too long. For this reason we always want to have the Herbsaint lined glass ready to go before we start mixing and stirring the other stuff. Don’t worry about the Herbsaint sliding down to the bottom of the glass. It sticks to the sides pretty well, and, even if it falls, it’s still mixed into the drink.

Let me epilogue all that by saying literally every source differs on dates, addresses, names of owners, order of events, or even the existence of certain people! So, I have combed all the info I could muster, culling the exorbitant fields of folly, to give you the best educated approximation of events I could. I’m confident in the narrative I've relayed because it’s the one where all the random facts fit together and make the most sense. Throughout Pod Tiki and my life experience in general I tend to find that the easiest explanation is probably the truth. 

So, without further ado. The Sazerac is:

¼ oz Herbsaint (For Rinse)

½ oz Sugar Syrup

4 dashes Peychaud’s Bitters

2 oz Rye Whiskey

Rinse a rocks glass with Herbsaint and set aside. In a mixing glass add sugar syrup, bitters, and rye whiskey. Stir with ice and strain into the rinsed rocks glass. Garnish with lemon. Most recipes call for a peel. I found that to overpower the olfactory balance, so I use a twist. 

Right off the bat the essence of this drink is warm and spicy. Heavy on the rye, but soft and silky in feel. I find the anise of the Herbsaint is lost under all the rye at first, but emerges later as a cool numbing sensation on the tongue. I don’t like having to wait for the Herbsaint and bitters to come through. It seems like the flavors of rye and anise are constantly at odds and don’t really complement one another. I love these flavors individually. Together, they just don’t do it for me. 

In conclusion of the official Sazerac recipe … it’s an Old Fashioned that’s trying too hard. But, when we follow the same recipe using Cognac? (Angelic chorus) (Guitar Riff)

Soft, elegant, smokey-sweet, with a bit of dried fruit. Silky anise is very subtly omnipresent  under a patina of well aged brandy distinct of the Cognac region. If the rye Sazerac is indicative of Civil War era Americana ruggedness then this is definitely the sophisticated French version. I can’t say enough about this version of the Sazerac. Herbsaint combines so much better with Cognac than with rye whiskey, and Peychaud’s bitters are like the cherry on top. All mildly sweetened to perfection. 

In case you haven’t picked up on it yet, this is verily my favorite version of this cocktail. But, what about the popular 50/50 Sazerac?

As an attempt to amalgamate both origins into an homogenized blur some bartenders are known to use a split base of half Cognac, half rye whiskey. I don’t blame the attempt. New Orleans is truly a multi-cultural enigma wherein dust bowl Americana meets French sav·oir faire, meets dixie, antebellum and all the other canceled country music band names. But, as I’ve said before, equality is not about pretending we’re all the same. It’s about celebrating our differences. 

In any case, the 50/50 has its ups and downs. Cognac does help to mollify the sting of the rye. The Cognac adds an unmistakable je ne sais quoi, almost a delicate creaminess. Then the high sting of rye hits like a snakebite. This concoction could be a good exercise in playing with the nuance of rye or Herbsaint if we change the amounts. Perhaps rather than 50/50, a 75/25 may work. 

In closing:  We see here the perfect example of the evolution of a cocktail. From a common ancestor there’s a divergence wherein survival of the fittest, in this case: changing palates, renders rye whiskey the dominant outcome. To keep in this analogy, the 50/50 Sazerac is akin to the claim that we all have a bit of residual ancestral DNA within us. Where the analogy fails is that I don’t believe we’ll be seeing a resurgence of cromagnon man anytime soon, but the Cognac Sazerac is still holding on as the better version with those in the know. We have a VHS vs BetaMax situation here. Problem is, the official Sazerac has been trademarked and is well known in popular culture as using rye whisky. Therefore, I believe the Cognac version should be its own cocktail. You know, the early human ancestor got its name from the region in France where the skeletons were found - Cro Magnon. So, I think this ancestor of the Sazerac, using French Cognac, should be called The Cro-Magnon! 

You heard it here first. Now, let’s make it happen. So, let’s raise a glass of your favorite version to Antoine Peychaud, Thomas Handy, Leon Lamothe, Abe and Mary-Todd, all those crazy cats along the way, and of course you all, who have been enjoying coquetels for over 200 years. 

Till next time I want to thank you all for sticking through this intense episode. Remember, if you would like to go back and recapitulate, every episode is posted as a written blog on podtiki.com. 

Sources: Liquor.com, Diffordsguide.com, imbibe.com, wikipedia.com, iba-world.com, sazerac.com, usbg.org, smithsonianmag.com, ferrandcognac.com, Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails by Ted Haigh. 

My name is Tony and this has been Pod Tiki. Keepi Tiki! 

Pod Tiki: Moscow Mule

It wasn’t the first time, but it was the one that sticks out the most. No, not that. I’m talking about the earliest memory I have of enjoying this drink. Downtown Nashville, on the corner of Broadway and 2nd Avenue there’s a tri-level bar called Acme Feed & Seed. Yeah, bars around here have weird names like that. But, this is a Tiki podcast after all. A genre not exactly known for its subtle sophistication. 

I was there with Kyle. Long time listeners will remember Kyle. The two of us would often be found side by side as drunken denizens posing as bon vivants in those our days of prolonged adolescence. From the rooftop in the summertime, holding a margarita, one could admire the mossy green sheen of the Cumberland River sparkling in the sun. On the streets below hoards of pleasantly pickled partiers use brunch as an excuse to start drinking at noon and girls use it as an excuse to look as fancy as possible in as little clothing. 

This particular memory takes place one evening, though. I’m sure there were other people there as well. Probably, since I don’t recall, a few of the host of ephemeral characters that passed fluidly in and out of our lives back then. I do recall one such person who ended up becoming a mainstay in my life … my future wife was there. 

She and Kyle both ordered a particular drink and, intrigued by the presentation and feeling left out, I followed suit. After some friendly chiding about me never having one before there they were lined up on the bar, so queer. Looking unlike anything else being served. 

Cold, crisp, clean …  the words that flood to mind upon the first sip. Yet, with an intriguing herbal spice. Indicative of the spirit’s homeland and aided by metallic conduction this cocktail transports the imbiber via mind and senses. Almost like this combination of ingredients was masterfully crafted on purpose to entice all facets of experiential drinking into one discriminate sip. 

As we will come to find out, the Moscow Mule was anything but masterfully crafted. 

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Tony and this is Pod Tiki. 

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Once again I’m blown away by discovery. If doing this podcast has humbled me in any way it’s been to never judge a cocktail’s origin story by its cover. Here we have another example of ingredients, presentation, and history swirling into a tipple that is far greater than the sum of its parts. A simple drink with an amazing story. As we oft find when researching cocktails, where the spirit flows - lay not far from misadventure. 

There are multiple versions of this story, each bending fondly towards the narrator. Refreshingly, though, there’s a constant throughline tying them all together. Like the third act of a 90’s sitcom when all the storylines resolve with a resounding “awwwww” from the studio audience. 

In this episode there are three concurrent storylines. Vodka, ginger beer, and copper mugs.

Fade in: Interior: France: Cold as balls in the winter of 1934. Two men sit at a small cafe table under a flickering glow. Both men are Russian and therefore, expressionless. After being exiled to France by the Bolsheviks Vladimir has just sold off the rights to his family’s vodka. Under Rudolph Kunetchansky the man’s name was translated to the French spelling, two F’s instead of a V, and thus began Smirnoff vodka.

Apparently, European universities hadn’t discovered jello shots yet because Smirnoff was less than a hit. Actually, it was tanking. So, in 1939 the brand was sold once again to spirits importer G.F. Heublein & Brothers, under the purview of an executive named John Martin. Martin was tasked with bringing the exotic eastern European flavors of vodka to the land of opportunity. U.S.A., baby! 

Turns out, Americans really didn’t care about vodka. Prohibition had just ended. There was legal access once again to French brandy, Spanish wine, whiskey that wouldn’t blind you! Not to mention there was this weirdo out in Hollywood serving cocktails with different kinds of rums mixed together. And get this, his whole place is decorated like some sorta tropical museum! (That’ll never catch on.) 

Queue the laugh track. Cut to commercial break. 

Aaaand, fade in: Circa 1930’s: Russia: Interior: Bedroom: Whoa, whoa whoa! Fade back out. Wrong room. It’s the factory across the street! Ok, now fade in. 

“Oh, papa! Papa! You promise I make copper mug”

“But, Sophie. We are in Russia. Why make mug so cold to hold?”

Sophie Berezinski’s father owned the Moscow Copper Company, and despite his chiseled exterior he had a soft spot for young Sophie. Thus, he let her stamp out 2,000 copper drinking mugs to try and sell. As it turns out, no one in Russia wanted to drink out of a cup that made their hands more frozen. All jokes aside, the idea may have been that a metal cup would warm your hands when filled with a hot liquid, but I imagine it would conduct too well and burn. 

So, Sophie and her dream and her reluctant husband set sail for the land of opportunity! U.S.A., baby! 

Interior: Small apartment: California: 

“You see, what happened was….”

“Sophie, enough of what happen. Nothing happen, that is problem. You get mug out of house or I throw away!” 

Cut to Sophie with a sad face and fade to commercial. 

And we’re back: Interior: Setting: British style pub:

“You think you got problems, John? It was my dream to bring the best American-made ginger beer to the people! Now I’m lousy with it, and nobody wants it!”

“Yeah, dude. That’s a pretty weird dream, but I feel ya, brother.”

Jack Morgan owned the Cock ‘n Bull Tavern in Ocean Park, Los Angeles. He recently invested in what modern parlance would call a “shit ton” of ginger beer. It was good stuff! Even proprietarily branded with the Cock ‘n Bull name. But, again … there’s whiskey now. Plus, across town there’s a line around the building for that rum place. What’s it called, Bob the Beachroamer’s, or something? 

The buddy Jack Morgan was lamenting to was none other than our friend John Martin, who was still having no luck getting Smirnoff to catch on. It was on that fateful day in 1941, as the two miserable mates sat laughing at their predicaments, in walked a small Russian woman dragging a loud clanking bag.

Queue audience surprise and fade to commercial. 

Don’t you hate when there’s no bumper coming back from commercials and you miss it because your second bag of popcorn’s still in the microwave? We find our three hapless heroes sitting at the Cock ‘n Bull bar, Jack and John listening to this strange eastern block woman pitching them on the benefits of copper drinking mugs. Sophie Berezinski had been going door to door peddling her wares when she happened into the Cock ‘n Bull.

Legend has it, each with a plentitude of preponderant product, they joined forces. A Justice League of failed businesses. Story goes they sat at the bar for hours upon hours testing recipes that incorporated John’s Smirnoff with Jack’s ginger beer and the novel presentation of Sophie’s copper mugs. 

It’s one of life’s mysteries how some things fit together so well it's a wonder not to always have been so. Earthy, palate cleansing ginger. Silky vodka hailing from the icey expanse. Served in a metallic vessel that not only keeps the drink cold but triggers a somatic sensation. That is, the sensation of holding the cold metal actually metaphysically transports you to a cold place. 

Divine providence notwithstanding, I don’t believe this throuple spent hours coming up with the recipe. First of all, ginger, lime juice, and vodka? It pretty much writes itself. I mean, if I gave you those three things and asked you to create a tasty beverage I bet you’d nail it on the second try. Second, people had been mixing ginger beer with whiskey for quite some time. They weren’t mixing up the Mona Lisa over here. 

Mules, sometimes called “Bucks”, are any drink made with ginger beer or ginger ale. Technically, a Moscow Mule is a vodka buck. One could order a bourbon buck, gin buck, or any buck your heart desires. Some say a mule is made with ginger beer and a buck with ginger ale but as you hardly see the term buck being used anymore it doesn’t really matter. These styles of drink have been around since the late 19th century and began as non-alcoholic. Ginger ale with a long lemon peel hung over the rim was called a Horse's Neck. Likey the aesthetic inspiration for Don Beach’s Cobra Fang. 

A Scotch Lassie was a mixture of scotch, lime juice, and ginger beer that originated in the American south circa 1870. It was referred to as a Mamie Taylor for a time after the actress famously drank them at a bar in New York. Today that drink has deferred to its humble beginnings and is once again called a Horse’s Neck. Therefore, John, Jack, and Sophie pretty much ripped off an existing cocktail and simply upgraded the presentation. A modern bartender would call that a riff and expect us to act like they’re the greatest thing since Jerry Thomas. 

But we cannot deny the marketing prowess of John Martin. To spread the word about his new cocktail he traveled coast to coast taking polaroids of bartenders holding a copper mug in one hand and a bottle of Smirnoff in the other. Counting on the ego of bartenders he knew they would hang the picture on the wall therefore providing free advertising. It worked so well this actually led to false claims of the drink being invented in other places. 

An article in 1948 puts Jack Morgan and John Martin meeting at a bar in Manhattan trying to peddle their surplus wares. This is all but debunked by the fact that it leaves out Sophie and her mugs all together. Another story says it was actually a girlfriend of Jack’s who inherited a copper factory which supplied the mugs. This may have been the case if Sophie’s copper connect ran dry and a new supplier was later needed. Honestly, I think Sophie’s father and husband were done with her cockamamie schemes after the whole lugging 2,000 mugs across two continents debacle. 

Though we don’t know for certain it’s easy to assume the name came from another burst of creativity, naming the drink after the spirit’s home country the same way a mule with tequila may be called a Mexican Mule. The drink, not the other kind of Mexican mule that carries cocaine across the border. Here in Nashville we have mules made with white moonshine which are quite delicious actually.  

Speaking of those infamous copper cups. Though they’ve seen a resurgence in the craft cocktail revival, they’ve experienced their own fall from grace. From the establishment’s perspective, it’s hard to keep any unique drinkware from walking away. If any of you went to Miracle Christmas pop-ups you know you have to return the Santa hat wearing dinosaur mug before they’ll make you a new drink. Seems there’s a lot of amateur archeologists out there. 

But that’s not the only factor plaguing the maligned mug. A 2017 study by the Iowa Alcoholic Beverages division concluded that due to acidity the PH values of Moscow Mules are such that hazardous levels of copper can dissolve into the beverage. Anyone who’s seen women dressed for the club in the middle of winter knows that sometimes appearance undermines practicality. Besides, a Moscow Mule without the copper mug is simply a highball. Not to fear, though. The copper mugs used in bars now are lined with stainless steel so you can once again get hammered on vodka without worrying about the health effects…?  

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So, what the heck is in a Moscow Mule, anyway? Vodka, ginger beer, lime juice and Ice. 

As far as picking a vodka, okay, get ready for a hot take that might ruffle some feathers, but it’s kinda all the same. Unless, that is, you get a really good quality Vodka that stands apart from its counterparts. In this I always reach for a bottle of Reyka craft vodka made in Iceland. I’ve sung these praises before, but it’s the only Vodka in which I can taste a distinct flavor besides basic alcohol. The grain comes through, and yet, there’s something else. A soft vegetal humidity that is prevalent in small batch distillates. You can taste that the methods of production incorporate some kind of old world knowledge or technique that imbues the spirit with a je ne sais quoi uncommon in mass produced brands. 

Here at Pod Tiki, at least through the lens of the present, we urge you not to purchase or use Russian vodka in support of Ukraine. Which means if you want to remain pure to the origins and use Smirnoff, you’re in the clear. Although the recipe came from Russia, Smirnoff has been owned by British spirits giant Diageo since 1997. Smirnoff is currently produced in the US, Canada, Great Britain, Italy, Australia, Jamaica, Brazil, Argentina, India, Indonesia and Kenya. So, pretty much everywhere except Russia. By the way, Jamaica? Guys, if Wray & Nephew made a funky vodka I’d definitely give it a try. 

I don’t think I need to explain the virtues of using fresh squeezed lime juice, always do. Which brings us to arguably the most important ingredient. If vodka is the spirit then ginger beer is the heart of this cocktail. As seen in the Horse’s Neck evolution, alcohol was really an afterthought. Whereas most cocktails are built to feature the spirit, vodka in this case takes a back seat to the bold flavors of citrus and ginger. But!, here’s another hot take. I don’t like Cock ‘n Bull brand ginger beer. 

That’s right. I said it, I meant it, I’m here to represent it. Cock ‘n Bull ginger beer is way too spicy. So much so that it burns the palate out immediately. I couldn’t taste any of the other flavors. What’s the point? It really takes away from any balance this drink has. If this is the original Cock ‘n Bull Tavern ginger beer than the original Moscow Mule recipe must’ve been different. There’s no way anyone tried this drink with this ginger beer and thought, “Eureka!” The juxtaposition of cold in my hand and fire on my tongue, though an anomalous sensation, throws the whole experience off. 

So many recipes out there talk about using the spiciest ginger beer you can find. It reminds me of when people thought triple IPA’s tasted good. You know the guys I’m talking about. Craft beer nerds stuffed into skinny jeans so they look like someone squeezed their bottom half up into their shirt. I’m not buying these macho macho men who like shit just because it’s extreme. 

Cock ‘n Bull ginger is so overpowering that it takes away from the icey snap a Moscow Mule should have. That’s why, whenever I need it I use Reed’s Extra Jamaican ginger beer. I swear, they don’t endorse the show, but they should. Send me that Reed’s money because it’s hands down the best ginger beer available. It’s got a real ginger root flavor, earthy and floral, and has just enough spice for a kick. Jamaican ginger beer with some of that Jamaican Smirnoff? Now, that’s a good time. 

Where Cock ‘n Bull is bright and spicy, Reed’s is deep and herbaceous. The former makes a spiked ginger beer, the latter, a balanced cocktail. 

There’s this new trend lately, whether with mixed drinks, cigars, coffee, food, etc., of telling people to ultimately enjoy it the way they like it. I take umbrage with that. Although most of my life is lived in the gray-betweens I do believe in best practices. A right and a wrong way to get the most out of an experience. Yes, I claim to be a purest, but in the spirit of the law rather than the letter. Make the drink how the inventor meant it to taste. If that means an original product has changed thus that it no longer renders the desired outcome? I say, don’t trip over history on your way to a good drink. 

Ok, that’s enough of that. I’m sure some of you are quoting Billy Joel at me right now so I will go ahead with my own life and leave you alone. P.s. Anyone out there remember that was the theme song to a sit-com called Bosom Buddies? Where Tom Hanks dressed in drag so he could live in a woman’s only apartment building. Everyone was so shocked when Modern Family came out. We had Bosom Buddies, Three’s Company, and Different Strokes when I was a kid. The 80’s had some progressive TV!

And to that, let’s make a drink! 

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A Moscow Mule is:

2 oz Vodka

½ oz Lime Juice

3 oz Ginger Beer

Add all ingredients to a copper mug, fill with ice, and stir. If you choose to garnish with a lime wedge or wheel I suggest using a cocktail pick rather than sticking it on the rim. Just because over time the acid might ruin your mug. 

Now this is a libation with a wonderful first sip experience. Crisp, clean, and polar, with a nuanced spice accentuated by carbonation. I’m not going to go into all kinds of tasting notes here because ginger is its own flavor. I’ll say it's bittersweet and vegetal and pairs very nice with the lime.

For as chill inducing as it is there’s an excellent texture of warm ginger and soft vodka. An underlying roundness that compliments the more rebellious flavors. The Moscow Mule is such a great post holidays hiemal libation. It works wonders at brightening up those gray winter doldrums. Like the glacial snap of a passing winter wind the Moscow Mule there but for circumstance may not have been. At least if you believe Jack Morgan, John Martin, and Sophie Berezinski. 

I tend to, but there’s one man who begs to offer a less romantic version. Wes Price was the head bartender at Cock ‘n Bull in 1941. As he explains it, John had been using the basement of the bar to store his surfeit of Smirnoff which was collecting dust alongside Jack’s ambitious overstock of ginger beer. Wes contends he created the drink unceremoniously sometime in 1941 simply to clean out the basement. 

This version from Wes was given in a 2007 Wall Street Journal article written by Eric Felton. I’m inclined to believe a seasoned bartender would be familiar with the popular whiskey/soda drinks of the day and swapping for vodka would be intuitive. So, this is plausible. But, in In 2007 Wes would’ve been at least in his 80s. Could this be a deathbed confession stifled by Big Mule? Or the ramblings of an old man grasping at glory? 

One thing is for certain. Only the four people that were in the room where it happened know the truth. Jack, John and Sophie curl around the corner of the bar at Cock ‘n Bull raising a copper mug in cheers. And Wes, polishing glassware, turns to the camera, gives a wink, and the credits roll.  What the hell does the truth have to do with a great cocktail anyway?

Till next time, folks. My name is Tony and this is Pod Tiki. 

Sources: Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails by Ted Haigh, Liquor.com (Behind the Drink: Moscow Mule by Gary Regan, and uncredited), MoscowCopper.com, MoscowMuled.com, Backbar: The History of the Mule Cocktail by Chrystal Ragasa, Wikipedia.