Pod Tiki: Hot Buttered Rum

Each year I tell myself I’m going to pick a simple drink to feature around the already chaotic holiday season. Each year it seems what I fall on is one of the most complicated cocktails to recreate, and that’s coming from a Tiki guy. This time I’ve not only managed to choose a complicated drink, but one which has multiple accepted versions with difficulty levels ranging from mixing an original Zombie to, well, deciphering the code for an original Zombie.  

But loathe am I to let a little mess in the kitchen get in the way of a long winter’s buzz. As I write this on the religious twelfth day of Christmas the holidays are officially behind us and Santa is down island somewhere. I picture him posted up beside the statue of Hemingway at Floridita tossing back Papa Dobles while Cuban children marvel at the sight of a reindeer along Calle Obispo. Unlike Santa, though, we can’t all escape to a tropical paradise to nurse that sugar cookie hangover. Some of us have to deal with the cold gray doldrums of winter. 

At the risk of sounding too negative I have to be honest, these are my least favorite months of the year, and not just because of dry January. Here in Nashville January, February, and most of March render an otherwise vibrant cityscape demure and dimmed of character. A black & white veil descends upon our small part, and even the naked desiccated tree limbs seem to reach desperately towards the heavens with obsequiousness. It’s a depressing scene compounded by the return to regular life after a time of celebration. There but for rum, and you my wonderful friends, I may just cocoon myself in the salubrious confines of my apartment and lay dormant till St Patrick’s day. 

But alas, it’s in this environment which the necessity for escapism becomes most evident. And what better way to wile away the winter chill than with today's drink. A lulling libation that finds its roots in colonial America, survived prohibition, and landed itself an indelible place in the Tiki oeuvre. Clear a little counter space, stock up on rum, and don that comfy sweater because we’re going into goblin mode this winter sipping on Hot Buttered Rum.

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

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Hot Buttered Rum is a classic seasonal beverage with roots dating to pre-revolutionary America. When cooling air ushered in a time of gathering in dimly lit oaky taverns and necessitated something hearty and rich to stave off both the biting winter and the vicissitudes of colonial life.  So, that’s where we’re going to start. In the before-time, predating bourbon and craft beer, when rum reigned supreme as the true American spirit. Born in the West Indies, which should’ve been called the East Americas, it’s only natural that rum would jump the Florida Straits and pervade the New World. Which we know it did as evidenced by documented accounts of our colonial predecessors enjoying a tipple or two. George Washington loved his Jamaican rum, Paul Revere is rumored to have stopped off for a snort along his romanticized ride, and even Benny Franklin published a few sarcastic condemnations of the untoward punch bowl. 

If I was a betting man, which I am, I’d lay a few chips down that a lot of the dimly lit back room revolutionary conspiring took place over pewter mugs of rum. That a few iconoclastic scamps can take on one of history’s leading military powers is not a sober thought. 

That being said, before 1700 most rum drank in the colonies was imported from the islands. Eventually Rum distilleries began popping up around New England in attempts to reproduce the equatorial elixir at home. Planter’s in the Caribbean saw the opportunity for quo’s to quid pro’d. . You see, down island way grain was in short supply. They needed resources that the colonies had. So, grain went south and molasses came back. The rest is literal history. 

Unfortunately, early Americans got a lesson in you get what you pay for. Trying to save a buck by doing it themselves resulted in a much lower quality rum. So much so that New England rum became synonymous with high quantity/low quality. Despite an influx of skilled rum distillers, i.e., freed Caribbean slaves migrating to the colonies, they simply couldn’t escape one unyielding variable - spirits age differently in tropical climes. 

It’s true. The British learned this lesson back when they attempted to reproduce Jamaican rum in England. Spirits age twice as fast in the Caribbean. Ever wonder why a 3-5 yr old rum is so good but most Scotch is aged 12 yrs before it’s even bottled? I’m no chemist, but I would assume it has something to do with the way humidity affects the breathing of the barrels. Early American distillers just never could seem to figure it out. That is, until Medford. 

Founded in 1630 Medford, Massachusetts is a rivertown situated auspiciously between a natural spring and the shipping port where molasses for the region was unloaded. A “Distiller’s Row” soon sprang up not unlike the Whiskey Row of Kentucky. Some claim the superior quality of Medford rum was due to the natural spring water, but this doesn’t hold up as eventually demand outgrew supply and water had to be brought in from a neighboring village. People were actually drinking more rum than the spring could accommodate. 

Wayne Curtis, author of And A Bottle Of Rum: A History of the New World in Ten Cocktails, suggests that by simply raising the standard practices of production even slightly Medford would have automatically risen leaps and bounds ahead of the competition. 

At any rate, Medford rum began being asked for by name giving rise to the category of New England Rum as a reputable part of the rum diaspora. It would have been here during this time that Paul Revere may have stopped off for a nip the night of his fateful ride. It’s only an anecdotal rumor but if I was riding horseback on a cold New England night I would certainly need a little something to warm these rattlin’ bones. 

I’ve personally adopted some Paul Revere lore into my own life. When it comes to having rum drinks at a beach bar vs on a cruise ship I say one if by land, two if by sea! 

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Notwithstanding, we’re still talking about 18th century rum. Distilling and aging technology was not quite where we are now. So, early imbibers still wanted a way to make their demon rum more palatable. One such method was called the Flip. 

A Flip was made by filling a large earthenware vessel two-thirds with strong beer along with a sweetener like molasses, sugar, or dried fruit. Then add five ounces of rum. The thing about a Flip is that it wasn’t mixed by stirring or shaking. Enter the loggerhead. This was a three foot long piece of iron with a ball at one end. Think of a medieval mace without the spikes. Originally designed to heat tar, the ball end of the loggerhead would be placed in hot coals till it glowed a fiery red, then quickly plunged into the Flip pot. The beer, rum, and sugar mix would pop and hiss and foam up mixing through emulsion. The drink would then be doled out into individual mugs holding as much as a gallon each! Hey, no judgment here. I mean, what’s a colonist supposed to do? It’s not like they had Disney+. They had to worry about the literal British empire striking back.

Fun aside, after downing their gallon of Flip, surprise-surprise, the occasional tussle would break out. The metal rods used to heat the Flip would become weapons which is where we get the term “coming to loggerheads”. 

Flip was the jumping off point, but a tavern’s proprietary rum drink was sort of their way of setting themselves apart and beguiling customers. Not unlike how Don Beach used his secret recipes to ensure against copycats. Accessibility was the name of the game. Anything from berries, spices, mint, and even dairy were added to rum. In fact, a mixture of rum, milk, sugar, and nutmeg was thought of as a refreshing summer drink, known to be good for loose bowels. Sounds a bit like early eggnog. 

Wayne Curtis’ chapter on the Flip goes over a litany of fascinating variants. I can’t recommend his book enough for anyone interested in rum and U.S. history. 

All this to say, mixing dairy with rum goes back a very long time. Today we’re focusing on one drink that has prevailed and been dutifully Tikified by Don Beach himself. That is, the popular winter warmer Hot Buttered Rum. 

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Of course, there’s no actual Hot Buttered Rum recipe from back then. That would’ve been too easy. I mean, sheesh. It’s not like there was anything else noteworthy going in the 1770’s. The earliest written acknowledgment comes in 1860 in Jerry Thomas’ infamous How to Mix Drinks, or The Bon Vivant’s Companion. Here he makes mention of two Hot Rum drinks, a spiced and an unspiced version. Both use a base of Jamaican rum mixed with sugar, butter, and hot water. The former adding nutmeg, allspice, and clove. 

Venerable cocktalian David Embury actually rails against the Hot Buttered Rum. He claims, “The lump of butter is the final insult. It blends with the hot rum just about as satisfactorily as warm olive oil blends with champagne!” Obviously not a fan. This sparked a bit of a rivalry with author Kenneth Roberts who favored the drink in his famous book “Northwest Passage.” It’s almost like a good debate is necessary for a drink to go down in history. 

It seems the point of contention for Embury was the way the lump of butter never really mixed in quite right and would leave a greasy film and streaks of butter throughout the beverage. Another issue that was solved by the unlikely Don of Tiki himself. 

Don the Beachcomber was a problem solver. When honey was too sticky and messy to be used in drinks that had to be made to order quickly he created honey syrup to expedite the process. Here once again we find his rumgenuity at work as by creaming butter with honey he came up with a pre-made batter for his original, totally Tiki, Hot Buttered Rum. 

We can’t say if Don invented the batter idea, per say, but for a man known for some of the most convoluted recipes on the planet he actually took something complex and simplified it without losing any of the main flavor components. Like a good author attempts to portray a complicated thought in an easy to understand manner, one could say Don Beach was the Hemingway of cocktails. At times terse and poignant, other times superfluous and daunting. One thing is certain, Don the Beachcomber brought Hot Buttered Rum to the forefront for a new generation of rum drinkers. 

Using a batter is the modern preferred method of preparation, but there are myriad versions out there. As I often struggle to find winter/holiday themed drinks I’m virtually certain we will be returning to this well in the future, but today we’re going to focus on the popular Tiki drink created by Don the Beachcomber for the Aku Aku in Las Vegas, when he was hired to consult on the new restaurant headed by a couple of mafiosa. But, that’s a story for a different day. 

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To break down the components of Hot Buttered Rum let’s start with the spirit. The Beachcomber recipe according to Jeff Berry in Sippin’ Safari calls for gold Puerto Rico rum. For this I think a wonderful rum that splits the difference between sipper and mixer is Bacardi 8 yr. But, given all the history we just went over I kinda wanted to combine Don’s Tiki version with rum that would have been more akin to what the early settlers would have used. In this I’m going to try two versions. One using a traditional pot stilled Jamaican, Smith & Cross, a favorite style of early Americans, and the second a New England rum, Privateer New England Reserve. 

Privateer has exploded on the scene in the last few years and for good reason has quickly become a favorite of aficionados. Their offerings run the gamut of highly sought after high quality rums. The Queen’s share is a personal favorite of mine, but there’s something about the New England reserve that just sits right in my wheelhouse. Plus, coming in at only 45% alcohol it’s their lowest ABV. Which makes it perfect for me seeing as how I like to enjoy multiple per sitting. 

Owner Andrew Cabot has a long legacy in New England rum dating back to those early colonists and is plying his family trade now to create some of the best rum not only in the new world, but the whole world. To hear my in depth interview with Andrew and learn all about the history of Privateer check out his Tiki Chat episode in the Pod Tiki archives at podtiki.com. Or click the link in the blog post for this episode. 

Next we have our spices. We’ll need a pinch each of grated or powdered nutmeg, clove, and cinnamon, as well as a cinnamon stick - preferably one long enough to stick out of the mug as garnish. If you’re like me your spice cabinet is probably in disarray; full of all different sizes and brands and shapes. Whether it’s those little rectangular tins or plastic bottles, squeezing your fingers in there for a pinch of each is an exercise in civility. Taking a page out of Don Beach’s book I simplified the procedure by mixing together equal parts powdered cinnamon, nutmeg, and clove. Then do 3 pinches of the blended mix rather than a pinch of each 3 spices. Theoretically, it should get you right where you need to be. Just don’t be a heavy pincher. 

We’re also going to need 6 ounces of boiling hot water. Please be careful and make sure your vessel of choice is meant to hold hot liquids. 

Lastly, the batter. Don used battered creams in a few of his drinks. Famously, the Pearl Diver and Coffee Grog. For Hot Buttered Rum we use the same batter he employed for Coola Culla Don, which he invented around 1939. We’re going to cream equal parts unsalted butter and orange blossom honey. Creaming is simply the method of whipping the ingredients into a frothy batter. In a pinch this can be done by hand with a fork but you’ll need to inject some steroids into your whipping arm to get it perfect. I suggest a cheap hand mixer. Side note, not every standard grocery carries orange blossom honey. I had to order it from Amazon. I try to use that as a last resort, preferring to buy local when possible, but I ran outta time to visit the farmer’s market and I did have an Amazon gift card. Jeff berry instructs us to prepare this a short time before using and leave at room temperature as when cold it becomes a sticky mess. Pro tip, let your butter sit out for a while to soften. This will make a smoother batter. 

Well, after all that useless persiflage from yours truly, it’s time to get to the first one of the year. Say it with me. Let’s make a drink! 

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First we’ll cover the Hot Buttered Rum according to Don The Beachcomber late of Beachbum Berry. 

1 oz Amber Rum

1 heaping tsp Honey Butter 

Cinnamon Stick

Pinch of Nutmeg

Pinch of Clove

Pinch of Cinnamon

6 oz Boiling Water

I opted first for the Privateer Rum. The drink was thinner than I expected, though I don’t know why I expected it not to be. No greasy film in the glass which is nice, only a thin frothy skin. The only texture that suggests butter is a slight film coating my tongue. The spices are quite prevalent at first though as it drinks on the rum comes through quite nicely. A nice surprise for such a small amount of spirit comparatively. Honestly, at least with this recipe, I was expecting more from the honey butter batter. Barely any butteriness is present and there’s no sign of honey anywhere. In fact, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but this recipe would benefit from a bit of sweetener. Perhaps a syrup made with the orange blossom honey to keep the theme.

Otherwise the drink is very redolent of early fall. I get less of a mid-winter vibe and more autumnal orange and browns. Baking spices wafting through the house from the kitchen mixing with background rabble from a football game on TV.  Personally, the flavor of Hot Buttered Rum, at least this recipe, fits October through November. Once Santa sleds his fat ass down 34th street I would switch over to eggnog or something more Fezziwig festive. 

As far as using Smith & Cross?  Same exact notes but with the flavor of Jamaican rum. Which sovereignly adds enough to enhance the drink based on that, but overall it unfortunately remains unremarkable. 

Then I went rogue and tried it with a homemade Orange Blossom Honey syrup. That’s 1:1 Honey:Water. Now, I noticed when making the syrup the Orange Blossom Honey, when heated, had an earthy barnyard scent and not the stereotypical sweet richness of clover or wildflower. Perhaps a heavier, richer honey would benefit not only the syrup but add flavor to the batter. 

Nonetheless, the addition of honey syrup really balances out all the spice and rum. Wow, what a difference. And I am usually an advocate against added sweetener when avoidable but in this case it’s needed to aid in balance and doesn’t render a saccharine shambles. It actually brings the butter forward making this a very pleasantly warm comforting sipper. 

With this addition I find the Jamaican rum to be a point of preference. Mine professedly remains with Privateer or another approachable medium bodied rum. 

Therefore, the tentatively official Pod Tiki Hot Buttered Rum Recipe is…

1 oz Amber Rum (Privateer)

1 heaping tsp Honey Butter

3 pinches of 3 spice blend (cinnamon, nutmeg, clove)

6 oz Boiling Water

1 Long Cinnamon Stick

Place everything except hot water into an Irish coffee glass, coffee mug, or Tiki mug that can handle heat. Add hot water and stir till the honey butter and spices are dissolved. Sip slow, while wearing a cardigan, surrounded by loved ones, or at least liked ones, in dim ambient light.

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In conclusion: Before I thought of adding honey syrup I felt the same way about Hot Buttered Rum as I do about crawfish - not worth the effort. But, there is one caveat. I followed the Beachbum Berry recipe from Sippin’ Safari because I trust that Jeff has the most accurate information regarding Don’s original recipes. That being said, his recipe calls for only a “heaping teaspoon” of butter mix, while other trusted sources like liquor.com suggest a tablespoon of their butter batter. Can this discrepancy be the reason the drink lacks body and therefore my lackluster review? Full transparency, normally I would make the drink again so as to pass along the best information I can. But, I am participating in dry January and only allowed myself one day to cheat for this episode's tasting. As I didn’t make this discovery till later, and I don’t want to delay the podcast release, I am going to have to make this drink again and cover it in a few weeks on the next episode of Inside the Mug on the Pod Tiki YouTube channel. 

This is kind of what I thought would happen, though. That we would need to keep this drink an ongoing series. So, I’m thinking of Hot Buttered Rum as a moveable feast of sorts, to quote my favorite imbiber. In fact, Hemingway was actually fond of a Hot Rum Punch he was known to drink while in France. He took his with St James Rhum agricole, as was the custom there. Trader Vic and a host of other respected Tiki legends have their own Hot Buttered Rum recipes that we can return to for future winter episodes. It’s the gift that keeps on giving, like the jelly of the month club. 

So, even though preparation is kind of a pain in the ass I can definitely understand why these types of drinks were not only favorites of our forebears, but have stood the test of time. 

As evidenced by how rum’s popularity began to wane as European trade resummed and finer spirits came available, but the nail in the coffin came from the powers that be. Why are they always messing up our good time? When those powers found themselves being with excess grain a multitude of new whiskey distilleries popped up across the young country and thus Bourbon became the American spirit. Blah, blah, blah.

Fortunately, rum and rum drinks have once again found their way into the hearts and livers of our culture. For as long as our fragile planet continues to spin away from the sun the time will come to huddle up under blankets beside a fire, or on the sofa with the fireplace on Netflix, or even on a sandy moonlit beach behind a cool ocean breeze, there will always be a need for those transcendent hiemal flavors that whisk us away to a place of safety and solace. And rum. There will always be a need for rum, too.

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

Sources: Jeff Berry - Sippin’ Safari, Wayne Curtis - And a bottle of Rum, Philip Greene - To Have and Have Another, liquor.com, Wikipedia, vintageamericancocktails.com

Pod Tiki: Christmas Traditions

In this Christmas 2022 edition of Pod Tiki we are joined by Mrs. Pod Tiki, the lovely Faith, to discuss some holiday traditions from our favorite rum producing nations! Of course, it wouldn’t be Pod Tiki without a drink. So, while recording we enjoyed some of George Washington’s famous egg nog. This year I used Smith & Cross for the Jamaican rum and Rittenhouse for my rye whiskey. Along with brandy and Amontillado sherry. For the full traditional recipe check out the Recipe Index of PodTiki.com, or revisit the original episode here!

I cannot thank you all so much for another wonderful year of Pod Tiki! Mahalo, grazie, and cheers!

Pod Tiki: Nui-Nui

Today we continue ambling along the coastline with the master. Another Don the Beachcomber episode, you ask? My answer? Every turn of the page is a new adventure in that man’s history. Think of all the abstract nuances in your own life. Stories only you know, ephemeral moments, and the deep reflective emotions tied to each. We don't all get the luxury of having our lives documented. Donn did, if even so scantily. We can never know of what truth a man keeps, but I venture a guess we all have the same unspoken rituals of our hearts. Through stories, pictures and recipes we get a glimpse into the Don of Tiki, and there are seemingly always more stories to tell.

As a rum runner throughout the Caribbean then hopping freighters around the south pacific he literally cut his teeth on tropical food and drink. Then as a divorced WW2 vet he expatriated to Waikiki all the while curating some of the best island escapist paradises the world has ever dug their toes into. Not to mention inventing tiki! He lived the life, but also lived the dream. Don never stopped being his true Beachcomber self and always endeavored to give customers not just the best drinks and dining, but the best, if at times misadventurous, experiences. 

Take this story for example. With the tropical drink diaspora having followed Donn across the Pacific he knew the next endeavor had to be bigger than big. You’ve heard the saying “it takes a village”? Well, that’s exactly what Donn built. In 1956 he opened the International Marketplace in Waikiki. A 4.5 acre Polynesian complex housing over 50 shops, nightclubs, and restaurants. Don himself operated three. The largest, Don the Beachcomber’s Cabaret Restaurant, maintained the classic look and feel of Tiki. The second was The Colonel’s Plantation Beefsteak House. Although that name may sound pleasantly suggestive to some of my gay friends it was in actuality a high end steakhouse. Of course, done in the gratuitous style Donn was known for. Diners would select their own cut of beef straight off a slab of meat then ceremoniously pull their swords, or steak knives, from scabbards presented theatrically by a waiter. Yet, both of these pale in comparison to what may be the Beachcomber’s most scandalous scheme yet: Donn’s Treehouse. 

Imagine you’re walking with your wahini. You’ve been shopping all morning, a tiresome task but you are quite excited to see her in that new sheer sarong you bought her. Ah, the benefits of banality. Perhaps the two of you imbibed in a few tropical concoctions and it’s time for your dinner reservation. As you approach the base you read, “Stairway to the world’s most exclusive restaurant, created for those in love with love. Capacity: Two” 

High above, nestled amid the limbs of a great Banyan tree, rests a bamboo shack containing one table. A dinner of roast squab with curried-quail-egg stuffing and Champagne awaits upon arrival. The scented napkins are a nice touch. You lock yourselves in and remain undisturbed the entire evening. Hear the night going on below, crack the louvered windows to gaze down knowing no one can see up into your private dining experience.

The hut features a daybed covered in pillows, record player, and a set of skimpy his and hers Polynesian wraps. In case you want to change into something more comfortable. All this for the paltry sum of $37.50 in 1960’s dollars, but to borrow a quote from Beachbum Berry, “The after dinner entertainment was up to you.” 

I just hope Donn sprung for a good cleaning crew. In case you spill your curried quail eggs all over the place. Also,  no mention of a bathroom up there. That could be a total mood kill. 

If you’re thinking that set-up may have offended some delicate sensibilities of post war Americana you’d be right. Years of catering to the Hollywood elite had taught Donn how to coyly redirect the haters knowing all the while for every puritan there’s a dozen misfits on the waiting list. 

Donn Beach always stayed a totem ahead of his competition, despite many imitators. He managed this because they were mostly business men, while Donn embraced his role. He lived the romance of the beachcomber life. Besides by all accounts being a genuinely nice guy, Donn was the consummate host. Entrepreneurial yes, inventive yes, but never wavering from what made him unique. While Donn busied himself turning stones in search of Tiki, his competition only concerned themselves with turning profits.

He did have real reason to fear copycats, though. See, they had zero shame in blatantly ripping him off. At least the Seacomber changed a word, but Monte Proser’s Beachcomber not only stole Donn’s name, but claimed to have invented the Zombie! Many-many trop-joints had a “Zombie” on the menu, but no one ever managed to duplicate the original recipe. Even Trader Vic eventually capitulated grousing that it wasn’t that good of a drink anyway. Hundreds of thousands of soulless sippers over the years beg to differ. 

Best case, the obligatory undead doppelgangers gave a bar credence. No self respecting establishment exotica would be caught dead without a Zombie on the menu. Pun intended. Worst case would be the racially untenable depictions of Afro-tribal people portrayed on Zombie advertisements. As another testament to his dignity, at least in the many old menus I’ve seen,  Don the Beachcomber never employed such untoward stereotypes. But alas, there is an updated Zombie episode in the works so we’ll leave it there for now. 

Donn created a treasure and everyone was trying to find the X that marked success. How did they do this? Gathering artifacts was costly but doable, and what couldn’t be found could be made by some of the most elite Tiki artists, carvers, and sculptures ever like the famous Mick Brownlee. What was not easy to duplicate were the drinks. Sure, a skilled bartender familiar with tropical drink could imitate possibly even concoct a few original that were pretty dang good, but the only way to get real Don the Beachcomber drinks was to poach real Don the Beachcomber employees. 

Despite Donn being the cane sugar of the Earth, for the struggling South-East Asian immigrants he employed loyalty often followed a dollar sign. In no way at all am I denigrating immigrants, your humble host himself is but third generation Italian-American, but we’re talking about young men and women who fought in guerilla militias during WW2 as teenagers. Literally going from shotguns to shakers trying to make a better life for themselves and their families, and the sharks looking for Donn’s recipes paid big money to anyone willing to defect. Personally, I highly regard loyalty, but in order to have the American dream one must be able to sleep peacefully. 

Donn combated this in one of the most convoluted but effective ways ever. He created codes for his ingredients. The rums were pretty widely known, but syrups, mixes, combos of bitters and liqueurs, all sequenced in a series of codified legends that a very few trusted associates had the key to. The bartenders didn’t know what they were pouring. And guess what? It worked. It has literally taken Jeff “Beachbum” Berry decades to decode the mysteries of these recipes. 

In this episode we’re going to follow the journey of Tiki drink archeologist Jeff Berry in uncovering the code to one of Donn’s most essential drinks. Through seven ingredients, two names, and one outstanding libation today we uncover the secrets of the Nui-Nui. 

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

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What made these drinks so great that everyone wanted to copy them, anyway? Let’s do a brief recap of Don the Beachcomber’s mixology style. Most industry folks I know hate that term preferring bartender over the more sanctimonious “mixologist”, but in the case of Donn Beach he truly was a drink artist, conducting his Rhum Rhapsodies like melodious symphonies. 

When Donn opened the first Tiki bar he had plenty of exotic artifacts and tropical detritus, as well as a first rate education in traditional potions of the Caribbean. Daiquiris, punches and such. But those weren’t very exotic. People had been fleeing to Cuba and Jamaica for years to escape prohibition. The South Pacific, on the other hand, didn’t have any drinks with tourist appeal. Unless you’re into drinking chewed up Kava leaves fermented in tribal saliva. I mean, you don’t get more “local” than that. (See our Royal Hawaiian episode for a deeper dive into that.)

Donn used the knowledge of rum he garnered from bouncing around the Caribbean, paired with a love of Polynesia, and decided to break all the rules. I imagine him like the Sherlock Holmes of rumgenuity. 

Dark Jamaican rum-Barbodos-Demerara-½ oz simple syrup becomes ¼ oz Cinnamon-one 8th honey-one 8th vanilla-cardamom-nutmeg-full oz lime juice-that’s absurd-cut half lime-half grapefruit-orange-mango-grenadine-blend bitters with Herbsaint-Falernum ¾ oz-doesn’t work-½ oz-shake-stir-blend-swizzle-mint-fruit-fire-serve. 

In actuality the recipes were the carefully thought out results of much trial and error. His idea was to break traditional recipes down and split the amounts per ingredient into different flavors. ½ oz of sugar syrup now became ¼ oz grenadine and ¼ oz cinnamon syrup. He did this with all kinds of flavors and profiles, but his true genius came in blending different rums from different regions creating new tertiary flavors. 

These proprietary palates were the reason Don the Beachcomber drinks were unlike anything anyone had ever tasted. In this sense the drinks were truly exotic by definition. No faux about it. 

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So many Beachcomber recipes begin with Dick Santiago, one of Donn’s earliest bartenders. Jeff Berry toiled for years trying to deconstruct and reverse engineer traditional Tiki drinks till he hit a dead end on the road to Hana. Until Dick Santiago’s daughter found in one of his old work shirt pockets a perfectly preserved typed out notebook of recipes. The holy grail was actually a Tiki mug. Only problem was - about half the recipe of any given drink was in code. 

At this juncture of our story I am inclined to pause and let you know I will be relaying an abbreviated version of the Nui-Nui origin. The translating of Donn’s code makes up a good portion of Berry’s book Sippin’ Safari, notwithstanding that I always cite my sources and I have an immense amount of respect for Jeff, I do not believe in plagiarizing the research he spent decades doing. Please go and purchase Jeff Beachbum Berry’s books to learn the whole fascinating story behind this saga. 

Okay, moving on. An original Nui-Nui recipe from Dick’s notebook was actually for a drink called a Pupule. I imagine they changed the name after realizing no one could order one without snickering. The ingredient list show the problem:

3oz Gold St. Croix Rum

½ oz Lime Juice

½ oz Orange Juice

¼ oz Don’s Spices #2

¼ oz Don’s Spices #4

2 Don’s Dashes#8

Yeah, not much of a recipe. And even this was after a few wrong deciphers. It was though the family of Hank Riddle that Jeff was able to figure out Don’s dashes #8 as Angostura bitters, but it wasn’t till meeting 80 yr old retired bartender Bob Esmino that Jeff uncovered Don’s spices… sorta. #4 was Donn’s code for cinnamon syrup, but #2? Bob told Berry to just sub spiced rum for the St. Croix. 

To Jeff’s credit he didn’t spend all this time and energy to simply pour some Captain Morgan’s in there and call it a day. So, he purchased all kinds of spiced rums and began deconstructing the flavor notes, eventually narrowing the profile down to cinnamon, vanilla, and allspice. Since the Nui-Nui already utilized a cinnamon syrup he concluded Don’s Spices #2 was a mix of Vanilla Syrup and Allspice Liqueur. Two ingredients indicative of the Caribbean and often used in tropical punches. 

There is a much more in depth version of the story that I will urge you to read in Jeff Beachbum Berry’s books, Sippin’ Safari and Potions of the Caribbean. 

Finally, we now have the real original mid-1930’s recipe to Don the Beachcomber’s Nui-Nui:

2 oz Gold Virgin Islands Rum

½ oz Lime Juice

½ oz Orange Juice

¼ oz Cinnamon Syrup

¼ oz Donn’s Spices #2 (1:1 Vanilla Syrup:Pimento Dram)

1 dash Angostura Bitters

4 oz Crushed Ice

Blend all ingredients on high for 5 seconds. Pour into a 10 oz Collins glass or Tiki mug, add cube ice to fill if necessary, and garnish with a thick cut piece of Orange peel draped over the glass. 

Let’s begin with the star of the show, gold Virgin Islands Rum. This is a category that doesn’t get much recognition nowadays. This is kinda my whole schtick, right? Trying to prove to the rum snobs out there that just because something isn’t super-premium and costs as much as my power bill doesn’t mean it’s not delicious. Don’t forget, Budweiser is a premium American lager. It only seems inferior to us because it’s ubiquitous and familiar. Americans would much rather drink a triple IPA that tastes like fermented brussel sprouts dipped in piss. 

Are rums better now than back in Donn’s day? That’s debatable, but the introduction of ultra-premiums has diminished the integrity of quality spirits at an affordable price. Just remember that name-brand and store-brand are usually made in the same factory.

All that to say the go-to Virgin Island rum for both myself and Jeff Berry is Cruzan from St. Croix. St. Croix is actually the delineation made by Dick Santiago in his notes. Cruzan is a fine rum, with notes of banana, vanilla, and dried tropical fruit. But, for all my soap boxing, I’m not going to sit here and tell you there’s no notable difference in a refined product. Just because I like Chili’s doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the nuance of a Wagyu filet from Kayne Prime. 

I tried this recipe with standard Cruzan Dark aged 2-5 yrs. Which leads me to believe they use a Solera method. It was quite good, but lacked depth and was a bit fruit forward. But, when I mixed it with Cruzan Single Barrel 5yr aged rum it nearly blew my grass skirt off. I was Maryln Mahalo! This rum bolsters the creamy butterscotch and vanilla flavors so much it’s like a whole different product. I’m telling you guys, in this epoch of inflation we find ourselves in, take that cheap beginner brand spirit you thought was below your evolved palate and try their next step up. You will be pleasantly surprised how good a Cruzan, Bacardi, Don Q, Jack Daniels, or Maker’s Mark can be once you disavow pretense. 

Moving on we come to cinnamon syrup. There are a ton of companies now offering quality syrups that are as good or better than what you can do at home, especially when you factor in time and money. Liber, Small Hand Foods, and even some that can be found in stores. I tend to stay away from high-fructose-corn-syrup so I seek out specialty brands. For this episode I was kinda pressed for time and with the holidays coming it was worth it to save some scharole. Plus, I’d never tried my own cinnamon syrup. It’s super easy. Make a normal simple syrup, I do ½ cup sugar to ½ cup water. While you wait for that to boil crush up 3 cinnamon sticks and add to the pot. Once it boils lower the heat and simmer for 2 minutes, remove from heat, cover, and let steep for 2 hours. 

The same goes for my Vanilla syrup. Normally I would buy this because skinning and crushing vanilla beans sounds like a pain in the ass. But Shannon Mustipher, in her book Tiki: Modern Tropical Cocktails, offers a simplified recipe using vanilla extract. ½ cup water, ½ cup Demerara or Turbinado cane sugar, and a tablespoon of pure vanilla extract. Bring to a boil then turn heat off and continue stirring for a few minutes till it cools. For Allspice Dram I use the popular St. Elizabeth brand. Mix 1 part each of Vanilla Syrup and Allspice Dram to make your Don’s Spices #2. 

Lime juice, orange juice and Angostura bitters should be pretty self explanatory. Just make sure you always squeeze your citrus fresh. Angostura bitters could be found at any liquor store. 

Wait… what’s that? You thought I forgot? Well, let’s make a drink! 

↫↭↬

Put yourself back in that Treehouse for two, dinner is done, the Champagne is gone, and entertainment has been provided, (ahem). You make your way down avoiding eye contact with people as you tuck your shirt in. It’s time to make your way back to the bar at Don the Beachcomber’s. The libation of choice? Nui-Nui. 

A bright orange hue glows in the glass like autumn leaves in the sun while a pillow of light shimmering bubbles settle atop accentuated by an orange peel curled over the lip. Nui-Nui looks unassuming beside ice volcanos and flaming Zombies. You take a sip. 

Vanilla and cinnamon accentuate those notes in the Cruzan Single Barrel. A caramel butterscotch creaminess overlays a base of tropical fruit. The pimento dram mixed with lime and orange actually trick the palate into tasting… what it it? Apricot! Yes, the Nui-Nui is laying down heavy dried apricot vibes. 

It could be the eyes informing the tongue but the oils from the orange peel garnish not only tickle the nose with pleasant scent but add a tinge of citrus flavor. 

What the Nui-Nui lacks in flamboyance it more than makes up for in flavor, and it’s unique in another way. Unlike other Donn Beach drinks it’s more tropical party than sensually exotic. Still layered and balanced just a little more fun. Like a grown-up Hi-C. The creamy richness of the rum makes it like an apricot creamsicle. 

The Nui-Nui is a wonderful example of Tropiki. (If you’re wondering about Tropiki please read  my article in issue 17 of Exotica Modern.) It fills the ephemeral space between deep smoky exotica and fun fruity island vacation. A wonderful drink and truly a new favorite of mine. I know I say that all the time, but I really enjoy these tropical easy drinking cocktails. The way St. Croix rum adds a creaminess to sweet fruit notes really is exciting. 

↫↭↬

Over decades of research and resurgence Jeff Berry has solved one of Don the Beachcomber’s puzzles. But, is coding a good idea? 

A brilliant idea to stop recipes from getting out. But devil's advocate, now there are copycats out there denigrating the integrity of the drinks. Even in good faith, trying to deconstruct a Don Beach creation is near impossible. His components were never used in those ways before, there was no precedent to use as a map. Those of a more duplicitous nature didn't even try, mixing inferior fruit juices with unproportionate amounts of rum and covering it all up with tons of sugar.

Those in the know knew where to get the real, but every Donn Vic and Harry across the land serving untenable tropicals is what lead to our beloved Tiki becoming a sacharinnated shell of its former self. Someone should’ve told those knock-offs to friggin’ knock it off. (Pardon my French-Polynesian.) 

But what’s the alternative? They had already pilfered his theme, in some cases improving on it, some even stole his name, so what’s a Donn to do, hand over all the secrets? He had to protect his intellectual property and in hindsight it worked. So few people were privy to the recipes that it’s taken Berry decades to decode the proper ingredient combinations. Trader Vic came closest, but only because he went to the same places Donn did and studied under the masters.  

The system worked until people stopped caring about getting lesser quality drinks. It’s akin to how being seen sitting at a cafe along A1A in South Beach used to be exclusive, now the sidewalk is lined with restaurants offering outdoor seating each indistinguishable from the next, filled with tourists thinking they’re just like Will Smith. (pre slap, of course). It’s the difference between sipping a margarita from a roadside cantina in Mexico, or getting off the cruise ship and going to Senior Frog’s. 

In the end the recipes and legacies have lived on. Not just thanks to Tiki historians, or podcasts or books. Not just thanks to artists and bartenders creating the ambiance. No, the heart of the culture beats everytime one of us true unapologetic Tiki fans buttons up our Hawaiian shirt, finds a dimly lit chair under a glass buoy, and allows ourselves an escape to exotica atop a  wave of tropical libation. Make mine a Nui-Nui, Donn. Salute! And Keepi Tiki! 

Sources: Sippin’ Safari and Potions of the Caribbean by Jeff “Beachbum” Berry, Wikipedia, Tiki: Modern Tropical Cocktail by Shannon Mustipher.

Pod Tiki: Three Dots and a Dash

Don the Beachcomber’s mad genius is not only responsible for creating some of the most innovative and recognizable drinks in the whole of cocktalia, but also for fostering the talents of some of the most legendary bartenders to ever tread the pours. Given his clandestine nature, hiding proprietary recipes even from his own staff, it was imperative for Donn to choose the right people, people he could trust, to have access. Donn essentially created his own secret society within a small group of people carrying this esoteric knowledge. 

Tight lips weren't the only prerequisite for employment, though. Don the Beachcomber’s served all kinds from the haute Hollywood elite out to be seen to the people out to see them. The ability to mollify conflict, keep pace with seven ingredient drinks, and placate entitled movie stars with a stylistic temperament that keeps them feeling important while commanding respect, were all necessary talents for working that Tiki life. There’s a delicate balance in keeping up the facade of exotic escapism while chaos unfolds behind the scenes. A Tiki restaurant is like a reverse mullet, party in the front - business in the back. 

Under Donn’s tutelage his proteges created some iconic drinks of their own, but maintaining the tentative balance of Donn’s rhum rhapsodies was a highly valued skill. It took one such culinary coupling to codify one of the most famous drinks in Tiki. 

Because of Donn’s cocktail anonymity, plus the fact that original Tiki can be elusive simply due to the passing of time, we lean on Tiki historian Jeff “Beachbum” Berry. Actually, Jeff is more of a cocktail archeologist. The digging and piecing together it takes to get as close to the original recipes as possible is an arduous process. Not to mention countless attempts at reverse engineering secret blends. Next time you raise a glass cheer Beachbum Berry’s health. 

One of the ways Jeff digs this stuff up is by tracking down old bartenders or the families thereof. In order to keep the Donn’s formidable recipes on hand a lot of the head bartenders kept notes, and some of these even contain specific spirits used or changes made over time. Being a Tiki bar owner himself Jeff possesses those same charms employed by the old time Beachcomber bartenders, and he’s used that demeanor to cast long lasting relationships with the descendants of Donn’s staff. Having met Jeff on a few occasions I can attest to the most important of those qualities - Jeff is hands down the nicest most humble person in the whole Tiki diaspora. 

For this episode I leaned heavily on Jeff’s book Sippin’ Safari. Specifically his chapter on one of Don the Beachcomber’s most fascinating protégés. A man named Hank Riddle. We’re going to go into Hank’s life and the preponderant role he played in Don the Beachcomber legacy, but what’s most relevant to today’s story is that he was the bartender at the Las Vegas Beachcomber’s when Donn invented one of his most infamous concoctions. Ready your garnish picks and brush up on your Morse Code because today we’re tapping out Three Dots and a Dash! 

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

…_ 

Henry Hampton Riddle, or Hank, grew up in a pretty affluent family. Hank’s dad owned a lucrative fishing business in the Philippines and was even hired by the U.S. government to mine Subic Bay before WW2. Henry Sr. didn’t really have a choice but to be wealthy being the father of 13 children, all of which named after statesmen he admired, including a little Franklin Delano, Julius Caesar, and Henry Hampton. 

Little Hank’s posh beginnings were cut short though, when the day after Pearl Harbor the Japanese bombed Manila. The Riddle’s home was destroyed and the family immediately became refugees, fleeing to the jungles where they lived for a time while Henry Sr. was interned. Little Hank helped his dad survive by sneaking food scraps to him.

By age 15 Hank was fighting with the guerrilla resistance against the Japanese when he was captured by Filipinos who thought he was a spy. He was tied to a tree and would’ve surely been executed if it wasn’t for a friend who recognized him clearing things up. 

Upon his father’s release Hank’s family boarded a ship to the U.S., dodging German U-boats along the way. They settled first in Virginia before making their way to Los Angeles, California. 

Hank’s desire to become a doctor was overshadowed by his family’s desire to eat, so a 19 year old Hank Riddle set out to find his fortune … on a Merchant Marine freighter bound for the South Pacific. Fortunes may not have been abounding, but hopping ports-of-call around the world sure did beat being tied to trees. 

After a while Hank landed himself in Hawaii where he fell in with a group of young rascals known as the “Waikiki Boys”. While that may sound like male review, these misadventuring scamps made their way, “By day giving female tourists surfing lessons, by night lessons of another stripe.” From Sippin’ Safari. I bet Hank made a few haoles howl after his late night ukulele sessions on the beach. Little did he know he was about to meet the man who would set his course towards a lifelong career. 

Donn Beach had restarted his Tiki empire in Waikiki following a divorce which gave majority control of his business to the now ex-wife. Donn’s acumen behind the bar never did cross over to the business side of things. A trait I unfortunately share, which is why I thank the Lord for my business minded wife. She’s all LLC, while I’m more L.L. Bean. Anyway, it was during this time a serendipitous meeting happened between Hank and Donn. We don’t really know the details but shortly after they met Donn had hired Hank as his personal steward. Perhaps Donn had finally realized he was more of a big picture guy, and needed someone to handle those day to day nuts and bolts. Maybe it was because they both had spent time traversing the world by freighter or the fact that Hank’s severe past had rendered him immune to trifling BS, but he and Donn became quite close. So much so that when Hank decided to head back to California Donn secured him a job at the Hollywood Beachcomber. 

After a year waiting tables for Don the Beachcomber Hank left for a maȋtre d’ position at Malibu Seacomber. The Seacomber may have began as a Don the Beachcomber copycat, but the heyday of Don’s was fizzling out and the fickle Hollywood types had descended upon the Seacomber as the new “IT” place. Apparently they spent all their creativity on drinks and decor and not much on names back then. Which reminds me, go check out my new Tiki themed pet groomer Dawn The Fleacomber. 

At Malibu Seacomber Hank honed his laid back but don’t take no shit demeanor. You see, stars would come in carousing with their spouses, mistresses, boy toys, all manner of savory and unsavory dishes, and it was up to the staff to maintain discretion and keep all the stories straight. Hank had a knack for dealing with it all employing a nonchalant acuity that earned him the respect of patrons. Things got a bit more complicated when the staff got involved. It’s purported that Elizebeth Taylor dated almost every busboy that worked there. Hank also had to use his ability to de-escalate situations when breaking up the numerous fights that would inevitably erupt between the lovescorn leading men and women. 

Playing both sides in a way that would make RuPaul proud, when nosy Hollywood reporters would come snooping Hank would feed them just enough to keep the stories salacious while keeping his clientele’s sordid antics out of the tabloids. It was this trusted anonymity that eventually got Hank invited to all sorts of Malibu parties and gatherings. But Hank never let it get to his head. His past life of struggle gave him a lifelong aversion to over-indulgance in his personal life.  

In 1950 Hank was behind the bar at Kelbos, an Hawaiian BBQ joint. He took the demotion in status to work closer to his ailing father. Henry Sr.’s body never fully recovered from the suffering he endured in the internment camp and in 1952 he succumbed. Hank threw himself into work and when CBS opened across the street from Kelbos he found himself amid the showbiz crowd once again, serving orders of fries to a then up and coming Johnny Carson. Hank was known to sneak shots of rum to Red Skelton despite his disapproving wife, and even had a young dishwasher for a time by the name of Francis Ford Coppola. 

Hank used the skills he learned from the Beachcomber and Seacomber to totally revamp Kelbo's drink program into a Tiki bar using some classic recipes and even creating a few originals. He worked his way up the ranks till he was eventually managing the whole place. I wonder how he would’ve done at my gangsta rap themed Tiki bar Nothin’ But a Geecomber? 

Hank Riddle had an incomparable way of handling customers. Providing top notch service while shooting back at their entitled taunts with a glib precision that garnered him more smiles than growls. This along with the explosion of Polynesian Pop in the 1960’s meant Hank and his ilk were in high and constant demand. Perhaps it was the vicissitudes of his past or the need to provide for his new wife and kids, but Hank tirelessly took every gig he could get. Managing Kelbos by day and moonlighting by night at various Tiki bars around town. Even picking up shifts at his former employer Don the Beachcomber’s. I wonder if he ever worked at the Dr. Suess Tiki bar, Starbellied Sneechcomber. Okay, that was a deep cut. I’ll stop. 

Kelbo’s eventually offered him the general manager position at their new West LA location. For the following five years Hank worked there six days a week with double on the sixth day after which he’d make the hour commute back to Simi Valley. There his family was dealing with more trauma. After losing his eldest son to a drug overdose in 1969 his baby daughter passed two years later. His wife Cathie recalls, “He turned gray in a very short period of time. The doctor said if I didn’t want to be a young widow, I’d better get him out from under the pressure of that job.” 

In a jolting attempt to slow down Hank found himself back under the umbrella of Don the Beachcomber. Albeit a tiny cocktail umbrella. He was back behind the bar at the Palm Springs Beachcomber’s in 1976 when a resurgence in Tiki culture rocketed the iconic bar back into the spotlight. Andy Gibb, Kirk Douglas, and one Frank Sinatra were just a few of the regulars who would stop in weekly. To keep up with the demands of high society, the Palm Springs Beachcomber had to take Polynesian opulence to levels unseen since Maui pulled the islands from the ocean floor.  

Some people were just born with golden chopsticks in their mouth. No, that’s not a metaphor, the restaurant provided literal gold plated chopsticks for the pampered performers. And that’s not even the wildest part. Tiki has always been known for its covert theatrics. After all, it was Donn himself that began mixing his drinks in the kitchen instead of at the bar to preserve intrigue, and dare we forget the scantily clad “mystery girl” who would dance her way to your table when one ordered the “mystery drink”. Prime delivery way before Amazon. But alas, this time around Donn didn’t want anyone to be burdened by having to wait for the rest of their party to order, (Oh, the humanity!), so, he had a server for each member of the party simultaneously taking orders so no one had to wait for a server to make their way around the table. No notepad necessary, the waitstaff would memorize each order then calmly walk over to the banana tree in the corner and speak their diners order into the plumage. Behind the broad banana leaves was hidden an intercom system that delivered the orders to the kitchen staff. 

Here’s another thing. These were the days when people actually took pride in their work and service industry, especially fine dining, was not relegated as a job to get you through college. The staff at the time described this level of service as an artform. An artform that has sadly been lost. 

Unfortunately for Hank, this popularity didn’t afford him much of the slow-down he was hoping for. He didn’t choose the Tiki life, the Tiki life chose him. Thus, our weary hero soon found himself once again as general manager of the busiest Tiki restaurant in town. But, Hank didn’t have to sacrifice family time … because most of his family worked for him. His brothers and sister were waiters, his son did dishes while his daughter ran inventory. Even wife Cathie got in on the action managing the books after her day job as a school teacher. 

This gave Hank some time to focus on tweaking and inventing drinks. He created the Aloha Cocktail, which blends cherry wine with Puerto Rican rums, and modified Joe Scialom’s Suffering Bastard for the modern palate, subbing Coca-Cola instead of ginger beer. Cathie relays that he loved experimenting though wasn’t much of a drinker himself. I can attest after years of doing a Tiki drink podcast that it’s hard to stay focused at times when one has a proclivity to get high on their own supply. 

It’s funny, folks often tell me I would fit right in as a bartender and why don’t I pick up a side gig? Let me tell you a story about a young man who loved writing so much it became something of an obsession. He left his previous life in beautiful Florida to pursue a career in Nashville. Attempting to follow in the path of his idols, a most unsavory lot, creating art became a poor excuse for an unhealthy lifestyle. He lost himself, finding only a man in the mirror on the verge of breakdown. It took the irrational love of a woman to slowly pull him back to reality. I’ve been fortunate enough to not have to do my Tiki hobby as a job. If ever I find myself a victim of circumstance that may change. In that case, God and Donn help us. 

Back to Hank. He had a way of talking to the rich and famous that was pleasant but commanded respect. Did his job to a tee without kissing any ass. True class and aplomb. He knew what guests wanted and gave it to them with impeccable service. He could literally dish it out as well as he could take it. In the words of his daughter Julie, “He was just smooth. He was the commander in chief.” A big role to fill considering he worked under the godfather of Tiki himself.

Handily handling guests was one thing. Hank also had his hands full with the staff. To the unwoke guests of the 1970’s Asian was Asian, but when the Filipino waiter was being chased by the Chinese chef with a butcher knife it was up to Hank to assuage interpersonal ethnic warfare. This he also approached with the je ne sais quoi of a seasoned ambassador. Speaking a little Chinese as well as Spanish and Tagalog, it’s purported he was so well respected that when he fired people they actually thanked him. 

As the Tiki bubble showed signs of popping Hank always held out hope. Bartering for supplies while capitulating to the chefs who threatened to walk out at every dispute. He received no help in this endeavor from his new bosses, Getty Oil, who bought out the Don the Beachcomber conglomerate in 1972. Yeah, “Big Oil” doesn’t exactly fit the laid back Tiki vibe. 

They did however expand to new locations in Houston, Peoria, Malibu, and Memphis - and made Hank run all of them. At first Getty sunk a ton of money into their endeavor, employing Tiki legends like Oceanic Arts to outfit the new digs. Then they sank their own endeavor. Although Don the Beachcomber’s was profitable, Getty was using the money to fund other businesses. As the Tiki flame flickered out Hank was left holding the torch with no one to lend him a match. 

Hank died in 1989, (same year as Donn), from lung cancer which the doctors attributed to a lifetime working in smokey restaurants. Though his wife contends it was the dedicated stress of the job that finally claimed one of the most prolific men to ever grace the dimly lit halls of Tiki. 

Hank Riddle was never bitter about life. Not the loss of his family's wealth as a child, not the suffering he and his father endured during wartime, and certainly not the millions of patrons he happily brought joy over his decades long career. I imagine he handled the final conflict with the same upright distinguished acumen that he handled bartending and managing the once great empire that was Don the Beachcomber’s. 

…_ 

 Wow. How do I move on to something as silly as making drinks after that? Well, no matter what Hank was going through he always kept the Tiki dream alive for his guests. And that’s what we’re going to do here as we … make a drink.  

Hank had his own recipes, so why are we talking about him here on an episode featuring an OG Donn Beach joint? Because it was from Hank Riddle's personal notes that Beachbum Berry was finally able to unearth, and therefore we’re able to recreate, Donn’s original Three Dots and a Dash recipe. 

3 Dots is a phenomenal Tiki drink. One that sets a bar and stands apart from Donn’s other famous drinks, showing versatility in the latter half of his career. But to truly appreciate the 3 Dots cocktail one must consider the full package. The cultural zeitgeist of the time, Donn’s personal experiences, and a very special garnish that concurrently sells the flair while actually holding some meaning. For, 3 Dots is greater than the sum of its parts. 

The name for instance. Three dots and a dash is morse code for the letter V. Which in wartime parlance stood for victory. So, what was Donn Beach, some kinda war buff? Probably some proto-hippie beach bum who fled to the islands to avoid the draft? Au contraire, mon frère. We know the second wave of Tiki came after WW2 veterans stationed in the Pacific islands fell in love with that easy swayin’ island life, using Tiki as a nostalgia upon their return. In some cases they fell in love with those swayin’ island hips and chose to stay giving us the Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts expat look. Donn was not just a bystander profiting off this trend. 

From 1942 to 1945, after already inventing a genre and becoming a successful businessman, Donn served as an officer in the U.S. Air Force. I know, that’s crazy, right? Not only did he spend his youth island hopping around the South Seas off both coasts, but with expat culture being such a large part of the island lifestyle, he lived that too. The man truly embodied all it is to be Tiki. Donn Beach didn’t just walk the walk, he moonwalked across the bar right to the top of the Tiki totem. 

Not too much is known regarding Donn’s time in the military, but his proclivities did not go unused. In a story told to me by Beachbum Berry himself he, “Planned receptions and scrounged luxury items for generals and other bigwigs.” It seems Donn remained the consummate facilitator even while fighting nazis. Funny to think at this same time a young Hank Riddle was fighting in a guerilla faction against Japanese suppressors, both finding a post-war home in Hawaii. No doubt this played a part in their lifelong friendship. 

Donn came home and channeled his inspiration into one of his best creations, in my opinion. 

Another iconic aspect to this drink is the creative garnish. On a cocktail pick Donn speared three cocktail cherries followed by a pineapple stick. Three dots and a dash. And with that, let’s get into it. 

The Three Dots and a Dash Tiki drink is:

1 ½ oz Martinique Rhum Agricole Vieux 

½ oz Aged Demerara Rum

½ oz Fresh Lime Juice

½ oz Fresh Orange Juice

½ oz Donn’s Honey Mix

¼ oz Falernum

¼ oz Pimento Dram

1 dash Angostura Bitters

6 oz Crushed Ice

Blend everything for 5 seconds and pour entire contents into a 10oz Collins glass. Garnish with three cherries and a pineapple stick and a pineapple frond. Jeff Berry instructs us to use a “tall” glass, which made me think of a pilsner or Zombie glass. I tried those and the drink only fills halfway. The recipe does not mention adding extra ice and doing so dilutes the drink too much. Using a 10oz glass maintains the thick silky mouthfeel and keeps the bubbly presentation. 

By the way, hold on, let me wipe my feet so I don’t slip off this soapbox, but can we bring some attention to the fact that most Tiki mugs are way too big to actually put any Tiki drinks in! Most drinks have two ounces of rum, an ounce of juice, an ounce of liqueur, and maybe a half-ounce of sweetener. Five ounces of liquid at best in most cases. So, why are all Tiki mugs the size of beer steins? Perhaps the raison d’etre of these mugs have become more phallic than functional? 

Back to the libations. The beautiful iconography of this libation is so relevant I suggest taking a moment to marvel at its elegance before taking a sip. The pumpkin orange hue and ornate garnish. Go ahead, snap a picture for the “gram”. Just make sure you tag Pod Tiki! 

Before I give my review let’s go through the ingredients. For the rums I used Clement VSOP for the aged agricole. I wanted to experiment with Neisson, but could only find the blanc in my area. I was not offended in any way by having to stick with Clement. Its mellow caramel notes mixed with sugarcane grassiness makes this spirit perfect for sipping neat or using in a cocktail. As for Demerara? I have been obsessed lately with Hamilton 86 Demerara River Rum. Not only is it super affordable, coming in around $25, but the dark dried fruit notes are reminiscent of everything I love about a dark Jamaican rum sans funk. This has become my go-to Demerara for mixing and, alongside Diplomatico Reserva Exclusiva, a standard cigar pairing rum for these cool autumn nights. 

Citrus should always be fresh squeezed and luckily this drink doesn’t call for anything crazy. So, no excuses! Hank spent the day tied to a tree for heaven’s sake. So, you can squeeze some damn fruit. 

Honey Mix was Donn’s solution to working with the sticky mess that is raw honey. Simply add a 1:1 mix of honey and water to a saucepan, bring to a boil while stirring, then remove from heat and let cool. Most Tiki-philes agree on clover honey but I sometimes prefer the richer wildflower variant. For authenticity I used clover for this recipe. 

John T. Taylor’s Velvet Falernum is the industry standard here. We’ve covered this before, but Falernum is a liqueur hailing from Barbados that starts with a white rum base with added fruit and spices. Other reputable manufacturers have begun making their own versions, but just make sure you’re using the actual liqueur and not the eponymous Falernum Syrup that is just a flavored mix. 

Similarly, Pimento Dram has seen a resurgence among spirit providers, including the aforementioned Hamilton. Though, St. Elizabeth Allspice Dram is still the standard as well as the most widely available. A product of the pimento fruit used to make allspice this is a common flavor in Jamaican and Caribbean cuisine. 

Angostura Bitters should be self-explanatory. Maybe we should do an episode on bitters one day. The recipe is a well guarded secret but we do know it was originated in Angostura, Venezuela using the bark of the Angostura tree. The elusive elixir is now produced in Trinidad nop longer made from trees. 

Just to be thorough, I still use a Louis bag to self crush my ice. The wooden mallet I use for smashing was indeed made from a tree. Therefore, I’m sorry to say, some trees were harmed in the making of this drink. A small price to pay for victory.   

Upon the first sip strong overtures of agricole hit first followed by undertones of sweet dried fruit. Like that chewy apricot candy but with a hint of gourmet refinement. It’s a good drink, but the agricole pulls out front leaving the other ingredients vying for position. That leaves the drink tasting a bit off balance, and eerily familiar. 

Glance back at the ingredients. Agricole vieux, Falernum, honey syrup. Remind you of any other cocktail we may have covered that I went on and on about how much I love? Yeah, this is a long drink version of the Island of Martinique Cocktail from back in March of 2022. The Martinique Cocktail can be found on menus from 1948, shortly after Donn returned from military service. Whereas even though some sources claim it was invented during WW2 the only mention of temporal mention of Three Dots and a Dash is Jeff Berry writing that it was served by Hank at the Las Vegas Beachcomber’s around 1965. It would appear that Donn added orange juice, Demerara rum, and Pimento dram to an existing recipe. 

I love the Martinique Cocktail, but I can’t imagine with the pride Donn placed in his Rhum Rhapsodies that he would settle for putting a fancy hat on an old recipe. Especially not one named with such gravitas. So, what are we missing? 

The answer may be found in my choice of Demerara rum. Although I love the Hamilton, Tiki heads have always gravitated to LemonHart, which is a darker, richer Demerara rum. I believe they do some extra barrel aging. Since Jeff Berry’s recipe from Hank Riddle’s notes does specifically say “aged Demerara”, it’s possible my choice of Hamilton was simply too mellow to hold up. So, I made a choice totally out of character. I went for the closest thing I had to a dark, bursting with flavor, Demerara rum. Plantation OFTD. That’s right, against my better judgment I acquiesced to the overproof. 

With its blend of Jamaica, Guyana, and Barbados rums OFTD mimics the heavy flavor vibes of Demerara. In fact, it’s often used in place of LemonHart 151 in Tiki drinks calling for aged overproof. 

Now I understand the overwhelming satisfaction Beachbum Berry must feel when he finds that last puzzle piece. This did the trick. Adding the OFTD balanced the drink out perfectly, in my opinion. The grassy agricole is still present, but now complemented by the depth of dried fruit sweetness. It created a pleasant earthiness. Even the honey and pimento have a better showing in this version. The Plantation substitute lends a small bite that should satiate the overproof nerds, while not punching the rest of us with high octane pungence. Apricot remains present as well as burnt orange notes. 

We may never truly have the recipe exactly the way Donn Beach created it, but now that we’ve gotten as close as I think we ever will I can say with complete confidence that Three Dots and a Dash is one of the best drinks Tiki has to offer. 

Apparently, I’m not the only one who thinks so. The 3 Dots And A Dash bar restaurant in Chicago has immortalized its infamous namesake in modern pop-culture. Opening in 2013 3 Dots has quickly risen to becoming one of the premier Tiki temples in the world, carrying the torch in a fashion true to the esoteric nature of the artform and making its inimitable predecessors proud. This is one I haven’t had the pleasure of visiting yet, but a cursory glance at the menu proves they are Tiki to the core. 

With French style rhums going pop in U.S. markets I suspect we’re going to be seeing, and drinking, a lot more of the Three Dots and a Dash in the near future. I know I will. Too often Tiki falls victim to the crimes we are accused of. With only so many ingredients, and so many of us riffing on the classics, it’s easy to devolve into syrup laden overly boozed imitations. The illbegotton riff. WIth the amount of effort and precision Donn Beach and his contemporaries put into crafting these perfectly balanced libations who are we to think we can do it better? That’s why I’m so excited that we have real bartenders taking Tiki seriously once again. I can’t wait to see the names of next generation’s Tiki-tenders being written about in future books and talked about on future podcasts. 

Tiki bartending is alive and well, but that’s not the only aspect of the genre. To fill out the experience we need to revive the art of Tiki service. The mystical, sanctimonious, exotica that Donn created and Hank helped to perfect. There may never be another Hank Riddle, but the stylistic escapist approach to fine dining and tropical cocktailing doesn’t need to die with the past. We see it happening already. From the Suffering Bastard in Florida, through Chopper and Pearl Diver here in Nashville, all the way up to 3 Dots and a Dash in Chicago. All because people like Hank Riddle never gave up on Tiki. And that, my friends, is a victory worth toasting to. 

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

Sources: Sippin’ Safari, by Jeff “Beachbum” Berry - VintageAmericanCocktails.com - Liquor.com - Smuggler’s Cove by Martin Cate. 

Much love goes out to the people in Florida dealing with the aftermath of Hurricane Ian. My family made it through relatively unscathed but so many folks didn’t. Please help where you can. 

Most of all thank you for listening and Keepi Tiki!  

Pod Tiki: Wray & Ting

The other day my wife was playfully chiding me for getting old as I nuerotically pointed out the disparity in gas prices across the city. $3.65 in Hillsboro Village. Woodbine, $3.35. In Hendersonville, where the old Nashville money lives, $3.16 while the rich get richer. 

Another tell of how many dizzying trips around the sun I’ve made is the repetition of my stories. By now you’ve probably heard the tale of how my best friend, Brandon, and I got stranded in Jamaica following hurricane Irma in 2017. He had left from Orlando and was already in the air when they began canceling flights. My connection from Nashville to Montego Bay was in Ft. Lauderdale. At the gate I befriended this old hippy who had a second home on the island and, to keep with the stereotype, was all “Don’t worry, mu-man. We’ll make it.” Turns out he was right, and as the last flight they let out to the island that day banked away from the coastline I could see through the window a large dark mass of gurgling clouds. 

Irma curved north over Cuba making a direct hit on the tip of Florida, where we just came from. The devastating storm left a path of destruction from Turks up through Orlando. There were people at our hotel frantically trying to get ahold of family in the Wayward Isles, and back home in Florida my brother-in-law was dealing with a fallen tree now residing in the cab of his truck. 

But for all that drama the island of Jamaica was virtually untouched. You would never have known anything was happening. Beautiful weather and calm seas. Seas so calm in fact the waves seemed to roll out like someone tossing a bed sheet rather than cresting in whitecaped breaks. Our trip was planned for 4 days. Montego Bay and Ocho Rios. Although, nothing was planned but relaxing and going where the ganja filled breeze blew us. It was quite ironic actually for two people who don’t smoke weed. This was before mainstream legalization in the states and openly smelling marijuana everywhere in public hadn’t become commonplace yet. Not to mention the strange expressions we garnered as what seemed to be the only two people on the island not partaking in the many party favors offered to us at nauseum. 

We made some vacation friends, visited Ochi and the Dunn’s River waterfalls, found a local spot at Mahogany Beach, ate tons of jerked meats, and partied in Montego Bay at night gazing out over the bay tinted purple by Caribbean sunset against the backdrop of mountain descending into the sea. Along the mountain’s crenelations cutting across the sky the plumage of backlit Royal Palms cut a tropical silhouette. 

It was magical and I hated to see it end. Lucky for us, it wasn’t going to. It turns out while we were parading around paradise Irma had caused enough damage to Ft Lauderdale airport that no planes could fly out. It would be another 2 days past our scheduled departure before they could send a flight to come get us. Essentially we were marooned on a tropical island. Which would have been fine except neither of us really financially planned to be there extra days and ATMs in Montego Bay are about as dependable as, well, an ATM in Montego Bay. The hotel cut us a deal and we were able to live off each other’s credit cards and honestly, those were the best 2 days of the trip. We truly lived like beach bums. Lounging on Doctor’s Cave beach during the day sipping Red Stripes and at night either eating at Margaritaville - which became a local club after hours, finding a cheap local jerk spot, or chilling at the hotel bar where Cool Kenny mixed up his jamaican rum punch for nightly happy hours. It was kind of amazing living like that with no cares, just floating in the crystal clear lazy Caribbean waters. 

It was on this trip that I first became acquainted with real Jamaican rum. 

This trip was also special for another reason. It was my first foray into tropical adventure. Sure, having grown up near the east coast of Florida I was no stranger to seaside shenanigans and maritime mischief. But this was right about the time I was coming out of a funk and really searching for some inspiration. Not just in my writing and music, but to reinvigorate my passion for life. After the infamous quote from my friend Kyle, “Find something that makes you happy”, I began spending more and more time visiting old haunts like Cocoa Beach and taking solo trips to Destin and Amelia Island. These were fated by the muses indeed, but I needed something more. Something the creative antecedents like Hemingway, Buffett, and Thompson had laid the itinerary for. I needed to get down island way. 

It was around this time I also found myself in another transition. Going from the whiskey and red wine soaked nights which had become all too easy in Nashville, TN to my new love: Rum. 

I have much love for all my rummy peeps out there, but before there were rum clubs and tiki bars in Nashville I was bugging local bartenders about their rum selections, talking with liquor shop owners and attending seminars by Jeff Berry. Notwithstanding, my knowledge of Jamaican rum was limited to Myers’s, which by the way remains one of my favorites. 

But it was in Montego Bay that I learned Myers’s is mostly an export from the island. In Jamaica, at least the town we were in, they drank two rums. Appleton Estate, and the local favorite: Wray & Nephew. 

One day Brandon and I decided to walk along the coast road away from town. Old hotels and a few ramshackled lean-to’s, we walked for quite a while, watching the sea gently wash over the rocks lining the shore road. Occasionally an aperture in the boulder-sized stones would allow a crashing wave to spout upwards onto the road lightly bathing our feet before receding back to the sea. At the end of the street we found a small local rum shack. I couldn’t tell you the name of the place if it had one and it was occupied by just a few Jamaicans leaning on the bar. One of which who introduced himself as Mr. Cool. Mr. Cool had skinny dreadlocks and wore workout shorts and a bright tank top. We let him order for us and what came out was a small bottle of Wray & Nephew Coco Loco coconut rum and two Coca-Colas. That was to this day the best coconut rum I’ve ever tasted and despite modern aversions to Coke, Jamaican rum blends perfectly with the flavor of cola. 

We also had another drink. A light fruity drink in which we mixed simply regular overproof Wray & Nephew with a light fruity soda. A drink that is known to be a favorite among Jamaican locals and visitors alike and is the topic of this episode. A drink called: Wray & Ting. 

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

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Sure, Wray & Ting is a simple highball, rum and soda, but it’s the unique profile of Jamaican rum that separates this drink from its highball cousins like Rum & Coke, or Whiskey/Ginger. So, let’s talk about that. A comprehensive dive into Jamaican rum’s rich history and myriad complexities would warrant an entire episode of its own, and perhaps will someday. For today, though, we’re just going to take a brief stroll along the timeline. 

The prevailing theory is that rum as we know it began on the island of Barbados. It began as a rot-gut working class alcohol for the people, well, let’s call it like it is, for the slaves working the highly lucrative sugar plantations. You see, when the British arrived in Barbados they immediately came to realize three undeniable truths. 1: The people could dance way better than them. 2: It was really hot. And 3: That tropical climate was ideal for cultivating sugar, which at this time in history was pretty much like stumbling into a gold mine. Or, more accurately finding a gold mine that already had people living in it and saying, ”You know what? This is ours now.” When the folks working the fields discovered they could distill the byproduct molasses it all began. Eventually the fine European wines and brandies became hard to get so colonizers elevated production methods and began aging the rum, creating the fine spirit we have today. 

Columbus stumbled upon the Island of Jamaica way back in 1494. Once he realized he wasn’t in Asia he claimed the land for Spain, who held it till the British took over in 1655. Funny anecdote, while driving the coast road from Montego to Ocho Rios we passed the bay where Columbus famously landed. Our driver exclaimed, “Look! This is where Columus discovered us.” His sarcasm not lost amid his thick Jamaican accent. 

The Brits brought rum over from Barbados where due to production methods and local terroir it evolved into its own signature style. Infamous Port Royal resident Captain Henry Morgan was known to be quite the fan of Jamaican rum, further cementing the inextricable bond between pirate culture and rum. Another famous lover of Jamaican rum used it in a holiday recipe and to this day I recreate George Washington’s Eggnog each Christmas. 

In fact, before New England rum became prevalent it was Jamaican rums which most early Americans preferred, and is said to have played more than a small role in the back room meetings of revolutionaries. 

But what is it that makes Jamaican rum so distinctive? Queue the song Give Up The Funk by Parliament. “We want the funk, give up the funk!” 

The hallmark of a good Jamaican rum is a deep yet high on the palate flavor note. Imagine over-ripe fruit mixed with rich molasses. It’s an esoteric note that’s difficult to describe, and I haven’t really seen anyone do it justice yet. Which is why that flavor is known by rum aficionados as simply Jamaican Funk. 

But there is some science behind it. The funk is created in two facets: Pot Still distillation, which is a more traditional method of distilling using large versions of the copper pot stills you may associate with moonshine; and wild fermentation. That is, using yeasts that ferment naturally. This creates esters. Esters are a chemical compound that occurs when natural yeasts mix with molasses. This creates unique flavors. More esters equal more funk, and Jamaican rums are known for high ester counts. To further increase esters Jamaican distillers use a longer aging process, aided by the tropical climate, and the addition of dunder. Dunder is the leftover distillate from previous batches of rum. This can be added during fermentation to boost funkiness. Think of how sour mash is used to make Tennessee whiskey. In some cases sugarcane molasses is added post distillation and left to brew naturally giving the rum a darker hue and richer flavor. High ester seekers are akin to the hops snobs in the craft beer world. 

Nowadays Jamaican rum is held to a Geographical Indication, or GI. This ruling states that Jamaican rum must be made on the island in the territory of the limestone aquifer water basins, must be diluted with filtered limestone water from that geographical area, and must be fermented using saccharomyces type yeasts. It also must be distilled in copper pot or column stills and cannot contain added flavors. 

This ensures that whether pure copper pot or blended, Jamaican rum will remain unique to the island of its birth. No matter how many times it’s discovered. 

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It truly is amazing when a product, or a blend thereof, becomes so popular naturally that it’s known by name without a big company having to trademark it. I’m looking at you Painkiller and Dark N Stormy. We’re not talking about some generic highball like rum & coke or gin & tonic. No, the Wray & Ting tells you right in the name which products are to be used. J. Wray & Nephew White Overproof Jamaican rum and Ting Jamaican grapefruit soda. Another thing separating Wray & Ting from the Cuba Libre, is that Cuban bartenders created the rum & coke to appeal to American tourists. Whereas, Wray & Ting was already being enjoyed by locals on the island and subsequently taken back by tourists. 

There’s no clear cut origin date of the Wray & Ting, but it’s safe to assume that people have been mixing the two since the soft drink came out in 1976. Originally produced by Desnoes & Geddes, the makers of Red Stripe, Ting is unique to the islands in that it only uses Jamaican grapefruits. That’s not just some kind of ploy to boost local farming and avoid trade tariffs, Caribbean grapefruit actually tastes different than the Mexican grown varieties we’re used to stateside. The West Indies grapefruit is more bitter and less sugary. This offers a more authentic fruit flavor. Team that with the fact that Ting uses cane sugar and no high-fructose corn syrup and you get a refreshing yet bitter-sweet drink that is more reminiscent of light Italian soda than syrupy fountain drinks. 

Acquired by Guinness in 1993 Ting was later sold to Pepsico in 1999. It’s widely available throughout the Caribbean but can be kinda tricky to find in the U.S. In places like Florida, where there is a significant Caribbean population you can get it in Publix, but deeper into the country you will need to find a Jamaican or Island market. If all else fails it is available on Amazon, though it’s a bit pricey. 

Wray & Ting is one of those naturally evolving drinks that rises through the ranks because it’s not only easy to make and easy to order, but it actually tastes really good as well. And somehow Wray & Ting has managed to keep its street cred, not falling victim to ridicule and bastardizations like some of its highball brethren. 

Of course, where there’s any room to capitalize on an organic trend it will happen. In the early 2000’s both J.Wray & Nephew and Ting rose in popularity and influence and Jamaican rum shacks began suggesting Wray & Ting as the go-to when visitors utter that infamous line, “Give me something local!” 

But, what about the rum, you say? Let’s get into it. 

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J. Wray & Nephew White Overproof rum is the standard. Not just for this drink, but it’s actually the mostly widely consumed rum on the island. And, maybe it’s due to my personal experience with it, but I won’t make you wait - Wray & Nephew is my favorite Jamaican white overproof. I say that because the genre has taken off as of late with the rise of Tropiki culture and the popularity of rum as a standalone spirit. Therefore, to make this episode a bit more fun, I’m going to compare Wray and Nephew with the other most popular white Jamaican overproof: Rumfire by Hampden Estate. 

Wray certainly is the more traditional, but Rumfire is at the center of so much recent hype I feel this the perfect opportunity, in my petulant Pod Tiki nature, to pit the working man’s beach shack rum against the highly esteemed Hampden Estate offering. 

I realize there are other brands in this discussion, mainly RumBar produced by Worthy Park. But this is not available by me and although Worthy Park is a formidable advisory, a worthy opponent one might say, it’s the least available and honestly the least talked about among the white Jamaican overproofs. But hey, if anyone wants to send me some I’d be happy to put it in an episode and give my thoughts. Till then, let’s dive into these two Jamaican powerhouses. 

Covering the basic timeline of Wray: A Scottish immigrant to Jamaica named John Wray opened the Shakespeare Tavern in Kingston in 1825, but this was not another Scottish tragedy. (See, what I did there? That was for my literature nerds.) Quite the opposite, the tavern did quite well prompting John Wray to hire his nephew, Charles James Ward, in 1860. Charles ran the business side of things while John stuck to what he did best: makin’ rum and takin’ names. By 1862 they were bottling and selling their rum to other taverns around the island and the brand officially became, J. Wray & Nephew. The brand proceeded to win a plethora of awards for their rum across the island as well as Europe. This wasn’t the modern white version at first. They made standard Jamaican rum and continued to up to the mid 20th century. Famously it was J. Wray & Nephew 17 yr that Trader Vic used in the original 1944 Mai Tai before production ceased on that vintage.

In 1916 the company was bought by Lindo Brothers and Co. which in turn purchased Appleton Estate. Appleton, a powerhouse and staple of Jamaican rums in their own right, is the oldest distillery on the island dating back to 1749. In 2012 the whole conglomerate was acquired by our old friends, the Gruppo Campari. I wonder if Gaspare Campari ever smoked Jamaican weed? That would be a Campari Fumari. (Call back to our Negroni episode.) Another notable date would be 1997. That’s when Joy Spence became the first woman master rum blender in the industry in charge of J. Wray & Nephew and Appleton Estate, respectively. A title she still holds as of the recording of this episode. 

It can get a bit confusing, as although Jamaican rum is all made on the island the individual distilleries can vary per brand under the Campari name. For instance, Coruba is a Campari rum though doesn’t seem to be affiliated with Wray or Appleton. Other brands, like my favorite dark blended Jamaican, Myers’s, are produced in an undisclosed distillery. 

The style of white overproof rum is a blend of column and pot still rums that come in at a staggering 125 proof. That’s a bit of a stinger. The pot still keeps it funky while column still adds that light fruity crispness associated with that style. The result is banana with ripe fruit and dark molasses yet simultaneously crisp and tropical. 

The nose of Wray & Nephew is fruity sweet funk tropical but with depth. Now, some may argue with my tasting method but I always do a 2oz pour with a medium ice cube. This is because I want to taste the drink initially out of the bottle and then how it progresses and opens up with dilution. My initial notes on J. Wray & Nephew overproof white was sugary with a strong alcohol flavor. Very hot finish but the funk is present. As the spirit opens up notes of pastel tropical fruits emerge. You know, like the tropical Skittles. It gets funkier, but not in an unpleasant astringent way, more in the sense that it is incredibly rich and packed to the gills with flavor. Like it borrows all the sweet summery fruit notes of Cuban white rum and runs it through a filter of high ester Jamaican funk. Imagine a troop of dancers dressed like Havana Tropicana girls but twerking to Jamaican house beats.  

But, there on the other side of the bar, leering with its nose up and pinky out is Hampden Estate Rumfire. 

By chance, but a weird turn of history, this brand was founded by another Scot. But instead of John, the bloke next door, we introduce Archibald Sterling. I know, that sounds like a fake name. Seriously, can you get any more of a pretentious name than Archibald Sterling? He sounds like a Bond villain. All jokes aside, Hampden Estate makes great rum, but they started way back in 1743 as a sugar plantation on the eponymous property. In 1779 they built the Hampden Great house as a rum store. Hampden Great House rum still fetches an exclusive price. By the mid 1800’s Hampden fell under the ownership of the Justice of the Peace of Trelawney, Jamaica D.O. Kelly-Lawson. During WW2 they were shipping sugar and rums, though their rums were predominantly local or proprietary labels. Through hereditary lineage the company came to be owned by the Farquarsons which sounds eerily similar to Foursquare, the major distillery from Barbados. Not sure if there’s a link there. They kept selling rum locally all the way to 2003 when they sold to Jamaica Sugar Company of Jamaica. A tad redundant, if you ask me. Known for the finest quality sugars on the island the brand began exporting rums exclusively to Europe, England and Scotland. Eventually taken over by Everglades Farms ltd, the new owners poured a ton of money into the brand and the community of Trelawney growing the Hampden name among locals. In fact, even in modern day some of the local accounts go back generations. In 2018 the first worldwide commercial bottling began, and although I give Hampden shit for being higher priced, they do have some of not only the best Jamaican rum, but some of the best rum on the market in general. The Hampden 8yr is a staple in my bar that I only break out for special occasions. Or with a fine cigar. Or after a tough day. Or, just when I have a craving for the best Jamaican rum on a Tuesday. 

As for their overproof white variant? There’s not too much to cover as it’s made in the same style as Wray & Nephew. A blend of pot and column still rum made in the Jamaican fashion previously described but with a uniquely refined Hampden stylistic approach. 

On the nose I find it initially has a smokiness almost redolent of mezcal or clairin, but then it fades and an underlying sweetness comes out. Flavor wise? Not very stereotypically funky. I can definitely sense its appeal to the courtly rum lover. It’s different enough to stand out, but perhaps too different, which makes for a great comparison. Rumfire is not as alcoholly as the Wray and a small amount of funk does make its presence known eventually, but seriously, it tastes way more earthy and smokey than traditional Jamaican rum. Though I admit while the bottle has aerated over the last few weeks the smokiness has diminished. 

 Now that we’ve met all the players, how do they stack up comparatively? In order to find out, let’s make a drink! 

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I’m sure I’m not the first one to have tried this little experiment, in fact I know I’m not the first show to do it, and I’m guessing those of you who are fully entangled in Tiki do this sort of trial swapping all the time, but I don’t really do this show for the people who already know. For ya’ll it may just be interesting to hear my take. And I don’t do this show to pompously pontificate to people who know less than I do. No, I started this show wanting to share my experiences with tiki and tropical drinks and hopefully go on this journey alongside others who are finding their way in this wild wild world of wantonly wasting away. 

That being said, this is how I conducted the trial. My control specimen was standard Wray & Ting, that is:

1 ½ oz of J.Wray & Nephew White Overproof Rum

4 oz of Ting Jamaican Grapefruit Soda

Pour both ingredients into a regular rocks glass or 10 oz collins. Add cubed ice and stir. Garnish with a lime wedge, and squeeze it in if you like. 

The initial blast is strong funk, but it mellows out to a sweet grapefruit candy. Not cloyingly unpleasant. More like a deep rich molasses mixed with light summery notes. I would call it sweet-rich-funk. There’s a beachy vegetal profile. Like daytime on the beach in Montego Bay. Ocean lapping the soft sand. Heavy Jamaican chill vibes with a ton of flavor. A really nice drink. 

Before I moved on to the next rum I wanted to try the Wray with a different soda. Because Ting can be hard to get I also made a version using Jarritos, the Mexican grapefruit soda we went deep into in our Paloma episode. This is my go-to brand for sodas because much like in the highly sought after Mexican Cokes, Jarritos uses real cane sugar rather than the high-fructose corn syrup they poison us with in the U.S. 

Just so it doesn’t sound like I’m too high up on Mount Pious, I’ll let you know I do enjoy the occasional Mountain Dew. I mean, c’mon. I just figure I’m already doing enough damage pouring copious amounts of rum into my body so let me not push my luck. 

I digress, as much as I love Jarritos grapefruit soda, it really can’t hold a candle to Ting. At least not paired with this style rum. The extra sour from Caribbean grapefruit is really necessary to cut through the high flavors of Jamaican rum. So, if Jarritos is your only option try squeezing the lime in, or even a slice of grapefruit. 

Now we move on to RumFire. I did a tasting with a buddy of mine the other night and he looked at me like I was crazy when I kept on calling RumFire smokey. Perhaps it’s the earthy undertones, like rich soil, that is tricking my palate. But the Fire & Ting, as I’m calling it, lives up to the name. Smokey funk. That’s all I can say. Again, it reminds me of a clairin or mezcal, or maybe even a lightly peated scotch, but with the sweetness of rum. How does it fair as a drink? Well, I feel like the alcohol is more prevalent, for one, and that distinct dirty campfire taste overpowers the sweet fruitiness of the Ting. It kind of throws the balance off. Actually, it very much throws the balance off. 

Again, I don’t want to sound like I’m coming down hard on RumFire. It just seems to be blended more for the connoisseur than a lazy beach highball. As with a lot of higher-end spirits it’s so nuanced that it appears to have less flavor. At least less of the heavy overripe funkiness one expects from a Jamaican rum. I understand a lot of folks love RumFire, and I promise I’m not trying to just be contrarian, but I wonder do they really love RumFire or do they just think they’re supposed to love it because it’s a Hampden Estate product? 

In conclusion, I honestly think traditional Wray & Ting is the clear winner. Maybe I simply have fond memories attached to that flavor and nostalgia is clouding my judgment, but I don’t think millions of rum fans and visitors to the island can be wrong. Including Martin Cate who put this drink in his tiki anthology Smuggler’s Cove.  It’s just a delicious, easy all around fun drink. A glass of Wray & Ting evokes a summery tropicality while simultaneously boasting an undeniable deep Jamaican funk. 

Full transparency, this was not my favorite tasting as I really don’t care for overproof rums. Wray gets a pass because it actually tastes good and it holds a sensory memory for me. Furthermore, light Jamaican rums in general are not my bag. I love a light crisp rum, but I find the rich funk of jamaican works better with some age. That’s not to say I don’t crave the flavor on occasion, much like a mezcal or extra-peaty scotch, but, especially in the high rich funk notes of a pot still gold like Hamilton or Dr Bird, it just seems a bit out of balance without the softening of age. By the way of the previous 2 rums Hamilton is far superior. It’s the only pot still light rum I buy for home. I do not see what people see in Doctor Bird. Personally, I think it’s kinda astringent.  But, yeah, this was a very slow tasting process for me especially due to the fact that one Wray & Ting gets me drunk. 

On the other hand I had a ton of fun writing this one because it allowed me to get back to how the podcast started. Mainly, relaying personal experiences I’ve had with the drink at hand. I found myself wistfully wanting to be back on the island drinking beers and rum with my best friend. Dodging hurricanes and waking up to the plumage of Royal Palms flowing out from the green shaft that sprouts atop the tree like a bishop's hat. Fresh papaya and pastries for breakfast paired with Jamaican coffee. There’s plenty more to tell about that trip, like how they use their car horns to say hi while driving, which can be a bit unnerving at first, and I’m sure this adventure will come up in future episodes. So, maybe I do have a propensity for repeating the same stories. Or, despite my wife’s teasing, maybe I’m not that old after all and there’s still time to go make new ones. 

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

Sources: Smuggler’s Cove by Martin Cate, Hampdenestaterum.com, Punchdrink.com; How Wray & Ting Became The Unofficial Drink Of Jamaica by Drew Lazor, diffordsguide.com, drunkardsalmanac.com; Wray & Ting, spiritsbeacon.com; Jamaican Rum by Bernadette Pamplin, liquor.com, Wikipedia, drinkinghobby.com

Most of all thanks for listening and Keepi Tiki!

Pod Tiki: Voodoo Grog

Descending for the first time from the bustling modern world that is the Hilton hotel in downtown Atlanta an irrevocable excitement washed over me with a flood of endorphins. Not simply from the awe of a luxury multilevel atrium trimmed out with granite and leather. Humble-brag alert: I actually have stayed in fancy hotels before. No, this happy-anxiety was more like the feeling I got as a child tossing in bed before dawn on Christmas morning. The hopeful air palpable and thoughts replete with wonder. This was my descending transportation away from gas prices and social media; my escape into paradise. This was my first visit to an original Tiki temple. 

Leaving the world of skyscrapers and metal high above, as the elevator doors opened, I stepped out into a paradismal paradox, a South Seas sojourn, a titillating tropical timewarp. Easter Island heads and tall tiki totems hid around the corners of rock walls emanating a mystical red glow. High back bamboo and rattan chairs leaned against wood paneled walls offset with Polynesian style art. A small greeters table stood alone with one dim lamp flanked by colorful tribal tiki faces painted on the walls. Beyond that two wooden columns supporting an A-frame archway with a wooden sign reading: Trader Vic’s. 

Through those doors my tiki world was changed forever. I’ve visited some wonderful Tiki bars that have exceeded my expectations of what traditional Tiki should be. But this? This was without a doubt, beyond debate, ultimately and exactly what true Tiki was, is, and forever shall be. 

I arrived an hour early for my reservation to sit at the bar where I promptly ordered a Mai Tai and began picking the bartender’s brain. Chatting about everything from the original Mai Tai, training newbies on the nuances of Tiki, to modern riffs. And I hung on every word as if he was a professor whilst studying the drink menus like textbooks. I say menus because he even brought out an older menu with the full list of traditional Trader drinks on it. 

The first Mai Tai was a bit sweet for me so he then made me a 1944 “from scratch” version. The rums really came out in this one and I sipped and talked while taking in every detail I could soak up. The pufferfish and glass ship buoys hanging from the ceiling, the vast array of bottles lining the wooden shelves, and shark jaws perched along the wall with oars and boat parts. Next I ordered a Fogcutter, in its large traditional mug complete with hula girls, and that’s where my mental escape from reality really began. 

On the walk to my table in the rear of the dining room I mused on tapa cloth draped walls adorned with tribal masks, shields, and spears. Bamboo partitions separated certain areas of the dining room all utilizing classic bamboo furniture while tablecloths and fine settings offered a regal juxtaposition. The ornate wood-work of the ceiling’s support trusses, large driftwood logs crisscrossed with smaller dowels akin to kapa art, the whole ordeal lit by glowing ship buoys and hanging lamps, beamed me to a far away southeast Asian island. From my small table I had a view of the entire dining room to my right, and to my left a large glass wall viewed a terrarium featuring elephant ear fan plants, tropical foliage, and a small Easter Island head keeping watch over it all. My description barely does justice to the depth of detail to Tiki decor and the elation I felt in being surrounded by it. 

I ordered another drink, the Ku Anuanu, which came in Trader Vic’s signature Marqueasian mug. That one truly did me in and I was ready to feast on crab rangoons and an entree of fried rice. I even got a tableside visit from the GM, Maurice Pinder, for a small Tiki chat. 

The entire experience had such a profound effect on me I just knew I had to cover a Trader Vic drink on the next episode of Pod Tiki. But which one? I knew I wasn’t ready to tackle the Fogcutter yet so I settled on the Ku Anuanu. I even purchased the mug, but upon returning to my Tiki tomes I could not for the life of me find a recipe. So, I reached out to Trader Vic’s with an inquiry. Much to my chagrin I got the runaround trying to decipher the drink. I haven’t given up yet, but with all the endeavors I was running out of time to begin the episode. 

Searching through all my books I couldn’t come up with one that stood out to me. Amid the treasure trove of classic Vic recipes I needed one that spoke to me and the vibe of the show. But we’ve already covered the Mai Tai and Vic made so many other legendary drinks. So, today I want to cover a more esoteric recipe. One found in only one of my books but which has intrigued me for years. 

It was while researching Trader Vic’s story using Jeff Berry’s Potions of the Caribbean that I came across a drink I had earmarked the first time I saw it. One that shows Vic's prowess as a mixologist and a showman. One who’s ingredient list reads like a gustatory voyage through the West Indies. A recondite cocktail of mystical proportions. Get out your gri-gri’s and gird yourself against black magic because today we’re making Voodoo Grog! 

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Trader Vic’s brought to Tiki a truly Polyneasian Pop version of what Don the Beachcomber created. Expounding on the sense of escapism Amercians were in dire need of amid a post-war depression Vic was arguably the more successful of the two. Where Donn Beach’s eclectic ephemeral style truly was the epitome of a swashbuckling beachcomber, Vic’s trader persona curated a specific ambiance by design. The experience of dining and true transportative escapism was just as important to Vic as the drinks. This has earned him a rightful place in not only Tiki culture, but Americana. But who was Trader Vic? 

Victor Jules Bergeron, Jr was born December 10, 1902 in San Francisco to a French mother and French Canadian father. Little Vic grew up no stranger to adversity. Always a sickly child, a bout with tuberculosis landed him in the hospital for two years resulting in the amputation of his left leg at the tender age of six. And that’s about the last time anyone could say Vic was tender. 

His first introduction to cooking came from his parents. Coming from meager beginnings he would forage, shoot doves, and fish of which his mom would then use as ingredients in family meals. His parents also made wine from whatever they could find to ferment. Perhaps this is where Vic learned an appreciation for mixing odd and exotic flavor combinations.

Vic’s maladies plagued him well into his thirties while he tried his hand at a plethora of odd jobs until his tuberculosis would eventually flare up and he’d lose the gig. It reminds me of Bukowski’s Factotum, just swap alcoholism for tuberculosis. 

So, Vic began picking up shifts at his uncle’s bar, opting for the night shift to avoid his uncle who  he never got along with. Problem was, Vic knew nothing about mixing drinks. What he lacked in experience though, he made up for in carisma. Vic perfected various bar tricks like the classic beer mug slide across the bar and entertaining patrons with antics like sticking a fork in his wooden leg. In these piratical makings Vic was unknowingly crafting his future narrative, or at least learning how to.  

Following a fight with his uncle Vic quit the bar and borrowing $800 opened a competing business across the street, naming it Hinky Dinks after an old French song lyric. He fixed up easy drinks and served small plates from the stove commandeered from his own house. Vic’s keen eye for reading people and giving them what they want quickly became apparent. He noticed people coming in spending money on booze and grub they clearly couldn’t afford, realizing that folks just needed an escape from the hardship of life during the depression, a place they could forget about the world outside for a few hours. Kinda reminds me a bunch of something we all recently went through in 2020. Utilizing his penchant for theatrics Vic leaned into ambiance transforming Hinky Dinks into an Alaskan style hunting lodge. Complete with deer heads and firs lining the walls. 

The bar was limping along as best one could for the times. Vic groused about on his wooden leg playing up the persona of disgruntled barkeep with a bit of showmanship. I bet he never thought on a trip with his wife to L.A. in 1937 that his whole life was about to change.  

Victor and his wife noticed a long line of people wrapped around the block. A much ado bustle filled with stars and onlookers. At first they thought it was a movie premier. Thinking back to my clubbing days I imagine Vic hearing the muffled thumping of tribal bass drums while torch flames glowed like neons. Perhaps instead of a douchey college age bouncer in an undersized t-shirt Vic spotted a man wearing a pencil thin mustache, khaki linen shirt and adorned with a wide brim panama hat folded up around the edges resembling a straw bowl. For at this moment Victor Bergeron found himself standing at the precipice of Tiki history. He found himself at Don the Beachcomber’s. 

Inside Vic was smitten. It looked like Polynesia, and moreover the people in attendance dressed like they were on a South Seas vacation. They were into it. There was a feel, a scene. People were escaping in a flurry of the whole thing and more importantly to Vic … they were buying into it. Don the Beachcomber’s was serving upwards of 900 patrons every weekend. Vic saw the ice cones, he saw Don’s vast collection of Polynesian ephemera, and most of all he saw the drinks! 

Vic went to the Beachcomber’s every night for a week and approached Donn with a business venture. Vic wanted to open a chain of Polynesian restaurants and even offered to keep Donn’s name on them. Precluding what may have been the greatest team-up in Tiki history Don brushed Vic off as another imposter trying to steal his recipes. Admittingly Donn was a bit gun-shy regarding business proposals after prematurely selling his company off to his now ex-wife. Oops. Vic being, well, Vic, took this as a challenge to beat Don at his own game. Vic simply said, “I felt I could do it better.” 

There was just one small thing. Vic had never left the country let alone traversed the south seas. His extent of exotica was eating at Chinese restaurants. But, Vic wasn’t down to just fake it or poach bartenders to make some knock-off joint. Luckily, with the Beachcomber’s menu naming drinks the Cuban Daiquiri, Barbados Punch, and Martinique Cocktail, as well as hotels like the Myrtle Bank and Queen’s Park Don pretty much laid out a map for Vic to follow. Thus, in 1938, Vic set out on a tour of the West Indies in search of flavor, decor, and a little magic. 

He learned all about punches and swizzles and one of sour, two of sweet, three of strong, four of weak. Then he made his way to famed Hemingway haunt La Floridita in Havana, Cuba. Where most of Don’s rhum rhapsodies were based on punch recipes Vic found his own rumgenuity using the daiquiri as a base, and there was no place better to learn than the place it was invented by the man who made it famous. Constantino Ribalaigua Vert was the first bartender to perfect the daiquiri. His use of the newly invented drink mixer and shaved ice informed tropical cocktail preparation forever while additions of maraschino liqueur, grapefruit and hand squeezed lime brought the classic Cuban daiquiri to new heights. Listen back to our daiquiri episode for an in depth exploration. In Havana Vic befriended Constantino, studying under the master like a sorcerer’s apprentice. He took notes on the art of frappe and mixing high end flavors in drinks like the Presidente. Vic claims he would lay in bed at night thinking about the daiquiri, dissecting each ingredient list in his head. His eager diligence paid off because before leaving Cuba Constantino gave Vic permission to use some of his recipes. Vic applied what he learned to decades of drink building while always crediting Constantino for his classic La Floridita Daiquiri. More than can be said for the legion of rip-off artists to come.  

By 1938 Vic had returned to Hinky Dinks with a dream in his heart and a scheme in his head. Having completed a crash course in Caribbean drinking, Vic purchased $8000 in exotica artifacts from Don the Beachcomber, whose high spirit but lack of business acumen found him rebooting his career in Honolulu. Vic then hired some Chinese cooks to serve up exotic fare adjusted for the American palate. This may sound odd to us now, but remember this was 1938. There was no P.F. Chang’s and the Panda Express was still a derogatory term. 

Side note: Despite his cultural shortcomings in hindsight, Vic actually contributed much to the culinary world of Chinese/American food. For it was Victor Bergeron, a one legged boy from San Francisco, that invented crab rangoons. 

Around this time Vic’s wife, Esther, which is the perfect 1930’s wife’s name, began calling him a nickname based on the fact he was constantly bartering for a bargain with everyone from liquor vendors to Polynesian artists. Everything in Vic’s life had inadvertently been leading up to this point and he used his real persona as a base for embellishment in the same way he used the daiquiri to jumpstart a Tiki empire. And so it came to pass, Hinky Dinks was officially rebranded: Trader Vic’s. 

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Initially Trader Vic’s drink menu consisted of Caribbean inspired drinks as well as some reverse engineered Beachcomber classics, like the Zombie. He would employ this tactic later with other popular favorites the likes of Joe Schialom’s Suffering Bastard, more on that later. But Vic always did it in a way that made the drink his own, rather than a disillusioned knock-off. Another thing he did to separate himself from Donn was to incorporate drinks from places besides the Caribbean but that were still “exotic” to the average American. Drinks like the Singapore Sling and Pimm’s Cup. 

Ever still, Trader Vic was no slouch behind the bar. He began experimenting and creating a myriad of original recipes. Rather than mixing rums like Donn, Vic toyed with blending multiple base spirits as evidenced in his Scorpion, (rum and cognac), and expounded upon in the Samoan Fogcutter, (rum, cognac, gin, and sherry). I can attest personally that the Fogcutter does in fact induce the fog rather than cut it! 

Now, although I often forego elaborate garnishes I am a big fan of fit and finish. I like to drink from the appropriate glass, hold it correctly, and whether I’m enjoying a cocktail, a cigar, or a meal, I prefer the experience almost over the quality of the product. At least I expect it to add to the ambiance. Allow me to explain. I want the packaging of both the product and the environment to match the experience. Whether smoking a fine cigar while sipping French brandy, or puffing a stogie with a light beer, I want the experience to match the occasion. And it’s not about money, but one calls for a smoking jacket and suede shoes while the other a panama hat and linen shirt. The milieu of experience, if you will. 

Vic also knew the power of presentation and was a marketing master being the first to serve his concoctions in “Tiki mugs”, eventually creating his own branded exclusives. Wherein Donn built an empire on his own experiences, Vic knew where to embellish without losing that air of perceived authenticity. Both men employed hyperbole, but it’s my humble opinion that Donn used it to create a mythos around himself while Vic used it to promote his brand. 

Trader Vic’s was moreover a dining experience. Using the same strategy he did with cocktail education he traveled to Japan, Thailand, and Bengali for inspiration in the kitchen. He used his passion for preponderance in renaming dishes like Bok Choy into Fried Monkey Leaves. Again, it was a different time. 

The tickets rose as did the prices as did the clientele. Soon Trader Vic’s was a rich part of American culture and Trader Vic was a rich man. He expanded his empire from Oakland to San Fran and eventually across the Continental U.S. as far as Atlanta. As per usual wherever there is enterprising we can find our old friend Conrad Hilton quick to cash in. Vic landed a deal with Hilton hotels garnering him locations from Hawaii to the Caribe Hilton in Puerto Rico where a Trader VIc’c restaurant graced the bottom floor even though famous bartender Joe Schialom ran the hotel bar program upstairs. I have to assume this is where Vic came across the Suffering Bastard. I say this because no matter where new locations opened Vic would fly his private jet out to each one to oversee operations, his wooden leg and gruff demeanor lending to the Trader Vic persona. Vic ruled his 20 stores with an iron fist and draconian attention to detail. Decor, drinks, food, and service had to be top notch. 

One of his famous exclusivities was the Captain's Cabin, a raised and partitioned area in each location, reserved for special guests, where one had a complete and secluded view of the dining area while being in view of other patrons. The place to be seen, indeed. 

But what truly solidified Trader Vic in the pantheon of Tiki began with the Madson Line and possibly the most famous Tiki drink of them all.   

The story as he tells it: Vic was entertaining friends at his original Oakland bar in 1944 when he took down a bottle of Wray N Nephew 17 year old Jamaican rum. A golden, medium bodied number with rich funk. Not wanting to overpower the delectable spirit he cautiously added some lime juice, a tad of orange Curacao, and some sweets cut with his signature ingredient, orgeat, an almond based syrup of French origin. One has to think his parent’s nationalities had something to do with that. He shook it with ice for texture and dilution giving the first two ever made to his visitors from Tahiti, Ham and Carrie Guild. Upon taking the first sip Carrie exclaimed the Tahitian phrase for “Awesome!”. She said, Mai Tai!  And the rest is history. 

When the Madson Line, owners of the Moana and Royal Hawaiian hotels in Waikiki began a cruise line they reached out to Vic to create the drink menu. Though the Mai Tai was buried deep on the list it soon caught fire and gained favor as the Hawaiian tourist drink of choice. Vic’s original recipe gave way to a multitude of variants leading to the distinction of the Hawaiian Mai Tai. For more on that read the De-Evolution of the Hawaiian Mai Tai by Kevin Crossman in issue 15 of Exotica Moderne.  

Ever the quarrelsome competitors, it was over the Mai Tai that Don the Beachcomber and Trader Vic sparked the Tiki torch of controversy. Don claims the Mai Tai was copied from his QB Cooler, but the two share very little and former Trader Vic’s employees corroborate Vic’s telling of the origin. This seems like a desperate attempt by Donn to make up for blowing Vic off all those years ago. I’m inclined to believe Vic, but we’ve already covered the Mai Tai and there’s an update episode planned for the future. Till then I leave this debate with Vic’s famous response to doubters, “Anyone who says I didn’t create the drink is a stinker.” 

Continuing to build his legacy Trader Vic’s soon boasted a line of rums, drink mixes, frozen foods, merchandise, cookbooks, and copycats, but still carries the weight and providence of the man who helped invent Tiki as we know it.

To steal a line from Breaking Bad, Trader Vic was not in the bar business, he was in the empire business. And his vast arsenal of drinks informed a genre for decades to come. Including this lowly podcaster when I first came upon the recondite but exemplary recipe for Voodoo Grog. Let’s make a drink! 

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The Voodoo grog was created by Vic sometime around 1950 and really showcases his culinary style of building cocktails. The list of flavors are like an island hopping adventure. From rich allspice, to sweet honey, to herbaceous agricole. As is the case with a lot of these lesser known drinks we don’t have an origin story or explanation, but the odd thing about it is that it seems more akin to a Beachcomber recipe than Vic’s usual approach. We know Vic made a few attempts at deconstructing the Navy Grog. He eventually got there, but this to me feels like an early attempt that perhaps he liked so much it became its own thing. That’s pure conjecture on my part, but when you compare the ingredients it seems very similar. If not a Navy Grog attempt, it was at least a riff. What sets it apart is the rum selection, and ingredient amounts. So, let’s run it down. We’re gonna need two rums. First a gold Puerto Rican. I think Bacardi 8yr is the best option for stuff like this. It’s great for sipping or mixing and won’t break the bank. I recently tried the 10yr and let me tell you, some things don’t get better with age. I honestly prefer the 8. I feel like it has more flavor and less burn. Then we’ll need a rhum agricole vieux. I happen to have a bottle of Clement VSOP on hand and that’s never let me down before. If you happen to come across the Clement Select Barrel, try that. It’s $10 cheaper and is more like the blanc in grassy flavor. I think it would work in this drink for reasons I will discuss later. 

For our fruits we want lime and grapefruit juices. If I have to tell you by this point to always use fresh squeezed sours you can just turn in your Tiki card now, and may Moai have mercy on your soul. Full transparency, the recipe specifically calls for white grapefruit, but it’s August in east Tennessee and I know it sounds crazy in this Amazon age that we can’t get whatever we want delivered to our door in 2hrs, but white grapefruit is not in season till November. So, whaddya want from me, eh? 

For sweet we have two of my favorite ingredients, honey and Passion Fruit Syrup. I use Liber & Co for the passion fruit. It’s the best I’ve tasted to date. I usually prefer to make my own syrups, and passion fruit syrup is pretty simple, fruit-sugar-water, but again, it’s not like I can run to Publix in Nashville and grab a passion fruit. Honestly, though, the Liber is pretty damn good. Sometimes farmer’s markets will have some homemade options, so check there as well. 

The honey is interesting. Vic’s recipe calls for a half ounce of clover honey to be mixed into the lime juice before adding the other ingredients. It would appear Vic hadn’t caught on to Donn’s Honey Mix, a 1:1 honey to water syrup that makes using honey in a drink so much easier. Otherwise it ends up a sticky mess in your jigger and so much ends up not coming out. Now, loathe am I to question a master’s methods, and knowing how methodically Vic mixed I wanted to stay true to the way he made it. But, I tried it both ways and truly found zero difference in flavor or texture. There’s so many stronger flavors in here that it’s pretty much a background note anyway. So, I used the honey syrup for ease. 

Pimento Dram is an allspice liqueur that we went in depth on in our Five Fall Jamaicans episode last fall. I love this ingredient. It’s rich and smooth in both flavor and texture. It adds a creamy complexity to so many classic drinks, most notably paired with its cousin Jamaican rum in drinks like Ancient Mariner, Montego Bay, and 2070 Swizzle. I use St. Elizabeth’s brand because it’s readily available. It’s so good, but a little goes a long way. When the usual amount is only a quarter to half ounce Vic’s use of 3/4 ounce in this recipe may look superfluous, but somehow it works. 

The last main ingredient is egg white. This is used to create a nice froth and smooth creamy texture. Most people I’ve seen make this recipe complain of being grossed out by the egg, but I like what it adds to cocktails. Ever since my friend and Nashville bartender extraordinaire Jacob Forth began using it in his craft cocktails years ago I fell in love with it. Vic apparently was not afraid either. Simply crack the egg into two halves and slowly spread them apart keeping the yolk intact letting the white seep out. Then roll the yolk between the two halves, using them like bowls, allowing any excess white to come off. Pro-tip I learned from Spike’s Breezeway Cocktail Hour on YouTube; do this process over a separate cup ahead of time so if the yolk breaks or drops out you don’t waste a half made drink. 

Alright, you ready to get groggy wit it? This is a blended drink so, into a blender cup add:

1 oz Gold Puerto Rico Rum

1 oz Rhum Agricole Vieux

¾ oz Lime Juice

¾ oz Grapefruit Juice

¾ oz Pimento Dram

¼ oz Honey Syrup

½ oz Passion Fruit Syrup

1 Egg White

1 cup Crushed Ice

Blend on high for a full 20 seconds. We want that egg to really get beat into the drink. Pour unstrained into a Voodoo tumbler and wait for the foam to rise a bit. Then dust with ground nutmeg and garnish with mint and a pineapple spear. Wha-la! 

I don’t always go all out on garnishes but because I love pineapple I went ahead and did on this one. It’s pretty easy, just cut the top and bottom off a pineapple, cut off the rind, then simply slice the fruit into long rectangles like french fries. 

Before we go into the drink let’s talk about the Voodoo grog tumbler. Trader Vic used his own unique Tiki mugs and glassware adding to the presentation and exclusivity of his libations. The Voodoo tumbler begins with a narrow base, lined with gold rings, that curves out into the bulb of the glass then tapering to the top. It’s adorned with gold masks around the sides that resemble more of an Egyptian style than Polynesian. Hunting these vintage mugs down has become a business of its own with originals fetching between $50 and $100. I found a set of 8 online for $975, or the new version from the website for $35. Choose your own adventure. They initially came in a translucent evergreen or light blue, but the modern day version on Vic’s website come in solid black when available. I was able to procure one of these later models which is what I used for this episode. Made by Imperial Glass Company Vic loved using custom mugs as evidenced by the Voodoo Grog, Fogcutter, Port Light, and Suffering Bastard to name a few. 

Okay, so, the drink. Immediately I tasted allspice and passion fruit in the forefront with underlying grapefruit. As I drank on a sweet-tart candy came out while the texture was creamy with an allspice finish lingering on the palate. 

The choice of rums here is odd to me as I would want something deeper and richer. You can’t really taste the rums. I did try it with dark Jamaican but it didn’t seem to add anything. In this regard I wonder why Vic went with the harder to get agricole, unless perhaps it wasn’t as difficult for him to obtain. 

Now, to get philosophical with it, it does have a mystical appeal albeit leaving something to be desired. This was a drink I liked more the more times I made it. It seems to hit the extremes of high sweet-sour-fruit, and deep rich honey-allspice, but without a mid section in the profile. Like a 90’s car stereo system, all subwoofers and tweeters, no mids. It’s like he made a mash-up of a daiquiri and a punch. It’s kind of magical because it’s like having two drinks in your mouth at once. Maybe the Voodoo is that he made it work. 

I thought I didn’t like it at first, but it’s like it changes on your palate. It’s unique and a bit of a stunt. It’s a fun off balance concoction that dances a little tribal hum on the palate vacillating between two extremes with no connecting bridge. It simultaneously leaves me relaxed but confused and anxious. But then, if you find yourself on vacation suddenly taking part in a Voodoo ceremony it would induce confusion and anxiety. In that sense it works to reflect its namesake. It tastes like stumbling into a place you don’t belong, but my motto has always been - wherever you go, act like you’re supposed to be there. 

All in all, it’s a very unique drink that I feel I will be begrudgingly adding to my repertoire because I don’t know why I like it. It shouldn’t make sense. It’s a quixotic conundrum. Is the taste really changing in my mouth? Do these flavors really go together or not? Does this contrasting texture to flavor profile really exemplify the work of a master mixologist? Or, is it just the Voodoo? 

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Trader Vic. The man, the myth, the legend, the Tiki god. In the wake of Don the Beachcomber Vic took the nascent style of Tiki and by furthering it, made it a genre. Without his contributions Tiki may very well have fizzled out with Donn Beach. 

What Donn did for Tiki drinks Vic did for the dining experience. Always remaining self-deprecating about his own style. He repeatedly obfuscated his own passion by talking crap about the foodies and so called connaisseurs that critiqued his recipes. In his loud cursing manner to the very end when he passed in 1984, Vic always referred to himself as nothing more than a saloonkeeper, and held to his belief that mixology was only a bunch of hokum. 

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

Of course when dealing with Tiki from the 1930’s cultural appropriation and misrepresentation is always a concern. In doing this episode and using the terminology herein I mean no disrespect to the Voodoo religion or its practitioners. One of the things I cherish about Tiki is its incorporation of all different cultures and locales, albeit not always in the most politically correct ways. Besides, the denigration of the term “cultural appropriation” is something I take umbrage with. For without appropriating certain things and spreading them around to other cultures how can we expect to learn and grow as a society? As an Italian-American who lives apart from his family I am glad there are Italian restaurants. 

Sources: Potions of the Caribbean by Jeff Beachbum Berry, news.critiki.com, Spikes Breezeway Cocktail Hour, Wikipedia. 

Plugs: YouTube, Instagram, Website, surfside sips.

Most of all, thank you for listening, and Keepi Tiki!

Pod Tiki: Royal Hawaiian

Tall skinny palm trees stretching up into a violet sky, their arching plumage listlessly swaying in the trade winds. My wife and I resting on a piece of sun-bleached driftwood under a canopy of large umbriferous palm fronds. Behind us a lush verdant blanket of tropical flora covers the lazy dragon, his mountainous body curving to form what stretched out beyond us, Hanalei Bay. 

In my early endeavorings to trod the tropical footsteps of my literary forebears I would hear about a random place in a song or book and decide, “Well, that’s where I wanna go.” Hanalei was one of those very first places. It seemed like a far off dream then. Jamaica, Mexico, and the circumference of Florida were easier to accomplish. Then I met a crazy lady who taught me dreams are simply goals we haven’t reached yet. I married that lady and when we chose Hawaii for our honeymoon she immediately insisted on the island of Kauai so we could visit Hanalei Bay. 

Let me tell you, it was better than a dream. As a writer I would love to spend the following page elucidating in masterbatory language regarding the level of emotion I felt on the beach that day, of which the stop at Tiki Iniki surely aided, but I won’t do that to you folks. I’ll just say after a hike through the jungle, kayaking through lush tropical valleys, much shore gazing, and ending the nights staring up at the most colorful starriest night sky I’ve ever experienced, I understand why Hawaii remains a place of exotica and magic. 

Oh, and we drank tropical drinks. Now, we chose The Garden Isle, Kauai, not for the bars and restaurants as we so often tend to do, but for the beauty of the island. Of course the tiki-head in me would love to sip around Waikiki and dine in Honolulu, but I’ve come to realize in my scant time in this realm that chasing the past oft leaves us stuck in the present. Drinking a daiquiri beside the Hemingway statue at La Floridita, and a Mai Tai at Trader Vic’s, those are memories I will forever cherish, but in order to move forward and create anew we sometimes have to nudge ourselves out of our comfort zones. Kauai was that trip for us, and it was amazing. 

That’s not to say we didn’t luck into some incredible food and drink. Don’t even get me started on the sushi in Hawaii, and, of course, I’ve raved before about how wonderful a bar Tiki Iniki is. Pretty high on my top 3 list. But, as uniquely Hawaiian as Tiki Iniki is, the drink menu still  borrows heavily from Beachcomber and Trader Vic classics. What I was surprisingly impressed with was the quality of other drinks around the island. I was kind of expecting tourist trap sugary mixes like you might find on a cruise ship or all-inclusive resort, but the fresh juices, good local rums, and pride and proficiency of the bartenders really impressed me. 

It makes sense, Hawaii’s price tag is a bit bigger than the Caribbean and elite guests expect elite quality. But also, when you have access to some of the best fruit in the world, we literally had to dodge falling mangos, and people are coming for fruity drinks… let them eat cake. Or, in this case, pineapple. You see, Hawaii has its own style of Tiki that began as a sort of imitation of … itself? Hopefully this will make sense later. 

Today we’re making one of my favorite Tiki cocktails that really doesn’t have much of an origin. So, instead let us take a brief journey through how Tiki found its way home, culminating in one of Hawaii’s most opulent hotels and its namesake cocktail - The Royal Hawaiian.  

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

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Spanish colonial architecture, European high fashion, and a whole lotta Jesus. Ahhh, true Hawaii. Wait, what?! Let’s just say early 20th century Christian Missionaries were very good at their job. In fact, the swivel hipped lei laden ladies lounging lasciviously on lanais, and titillating tropical tipples had been all but eradicated from pre-statehood Hawaii. All pau were late nights dancing around the Kava bowl, traded instead for bible study and lessons in civilized culture. Look, I’m a card carrying cradle Catholic, but I’ve always had a gripe with aggressive evangelizing. 

At any rate, with native culture diluted and teetotaling on the rise, Hawaii as a tropical tourist destination never stood a chance against the legacy of the Caribbean. Furthermore, travelers that did make it to the perceived exotic paradise were greeted by faux-opulent European style hotels and the same cocktails available in mainland bars; themselves in a post-prohibition convalescence in which a crippled industry was struggling to rediscover itself. 

Before we go further I want to point out that Hawaiians did have native alcoholic beverages before the “civilized” world came to town. The most popular of which, and one that has found new life in tiki culture, is Awa. Awa is a kind of tea made from Kava root said to have medicinal qualities. Thought to have originally come to Hawaii from Tahiti, Kava was initially used as fishing bait, as it has a stunning effect. Rendering the fish imobile. Of course, as we humans are wont to do, someone decided to see if you can catch a buzz from it, leading to Kava becoming a tool for religious ceremony. Think, ayahuasca. Truth be told, passing around the Kava bowl doesn’t seem too far from me lining up to drink from a chalice of wine every Sunday. What’s made Awa famous in pop-culture, though, is its traditional method of preparation. In early days Kava root was chewed up, mixed with saliva, and spit into a bowl sometimes to be heated over a flame, other times to be passed around and simply enjoyed neat. Today Kava Awa is still available, though the masticating is done by muddling the root into a powder and making it into a tea. Although, I’m sure if you ask a native Hawaiian they’d be glad to spit in a haole’s drink. You know, for authenticity. 

Another native exotica intoxica is Okolehao, a kind of moonshine made by distilling the Hawaiian Ti plant. That’s that purple leaf plant popular in a lot of tropical themed gardens. In fact, I have one on my tiki patio now. Okolehao has seen a bit of a resurgence among Polynesiacs as an ingredient in modern cocktails seeking that native Hawaiian edge. 

Unfortunately, by the early 1940’s both of those native spirits were long gone the way of the Dodo. But tourists who heard stories of Erol Flynn and Ernest Hemingway cavorting about the Caribbean, and were eager to spend those post-prohibition pre-WWII dollars, expected Hawaii to be the new frontier of tropical playground. In the Caribbean the ambiance matched the lure. Hotels catered to their tropical expectations, beaches were strewn with tan bodies, and the neon nightlife glowed under the Pleiades. Hawaii on the other hand was mostly colonized by euro-fashion. Polynesia, it seemed, needed some PR. So, what brought exotic back to exotica? 

In short, Don the Beachcomber. Donn and Trader Vic’s nascent genre of Tiki Exotica, practically predicated on perceived paradise, was all the rage across mainland USA. Looking back now we lionize those men for creating something new out of all their mishmosh travels and experiences, but when tiki was young the average person had no reference for faux-exotic hyperbole. They thought the inside of a Trader Vic’s was really how Polynesia looked. 

Donn made his way to Waikiki in 1948. The straw covered A-frame huts he designed were unheard of even by native standards. His return to tribal seemingly reversed decades of missionary work striving to “civilize” the natives. Don the Beachcomber’s was a pagan bar offering pagan drinks. In this, Hawaii finally had the cocktails to match expectations. 

Though Donn and Vic did manage to bring their unique styles to Hawaii it was the Halehulani hotel that was the first local spot to utilize Hawaiian themes. Tapa cloth, lava rock, native art, and Polynesian style bungalows. They even boasted their own Halehulani Cocktail, a mix of Okolehao, lemon, orange, pineapple, grenadine, and bitters. Halehulani essentially took Polynesian-Pop back from the mainland. 

Not long after Lyle Guslander opened the Coco Palms along the Wailua River in Kauai. Known as the playground of Kings, the Wailua River was an apropo location for a resort as it was once the ancient vacation spot for Hawaiian royalty. My wife and I actually kayaked the Wailua and hiked through a tropical jungle to a waterfall fed lagoon where we spent the day swimming with the ghosts of royalty. All jokes aside, it is a truly magical place. One could understand the allure. 

Gus, as he was affectionately known, used the lush foliage of Kauai along with thatch cottages and a number of native inspired bars to induce a sense of exotica that actually was, well … exotic. A cool side note about Coco Palms, due to the high number of native descendants working at the hotel, there were no tiki faces or totems on the grounds, as it was offensive to their lost customs. But to placate the mainland visitors, bigger & wider chairs were installed in all the bars and restaurants to be more comfortable for the bigger, wider tourists to not make them feel self-conscious. Is it any wonder they found us offensive. 

In a sad turn of events the hotel was decimated in 1992 by Hurricane Iniki. We drove by the dilapidated skeletons of buildings on our visit to Kauai. Picking our guide’s brain for an explanation we were told anyone who tries to purchase the property ends up in land disputes with local tribal government who will only allow the historic grounds to be renovated under their strict guidelines. 

Meanwhile, over in Waikiki, establishments used the natural landscape of Oahu as backdrop for the frenzied influx of tourism, for all those people who think tiki bars can’t have an outdoor area. Yet, it still fell on Don the Beachcomber and Trader Vic to inspire any kind of exotic drink. 

That is, until a mixologist known only as “Danny” at the Waikikian’s Papeete Bar began substituting local ingredients into Donn and Vic’s classic recipes. Fresh native juices took the place of pre-made mixes and brown sugar, a stand-in for simple syrup. For more on this check out Kevin Crossman’s article, The De-Evolution of the Hawaiian Mai Tai, in issue 15 of Exotica Moderne. 

With the help of Elvis, who was a mainstay at Coco Palms, and whose movies fed the polynesian pang for tropical, Hawaii was experiencing a boom in popularity that swept the entire nation on a road paved by Tiki. For a time. 

Donn and Vic eventually left Hawaii or went full tourist, leaving the drinks diluted into parodies of their former cocktail antecedents. Despite the efforts of locals, like Danny, their absence left a tiki shaped hole in Hawaiian drinking.  

Then came Harry Yee. When our old friend Conrad Hilton grew weary of the fading Caribbean vibes he went in search of something new to shake his cockles. He found it in 1961 when he opened the Hilton Hawaiian Village. An existing hotel dating back to the 1920’s, the Hawaiian Village in Waikiki was renovated with all the creature comforts indicative of a then modern Hilton hotel. 

Harry Yee was the head bartender at Hawaiian Village circa 1956. There he is credited as being the first bartender to use orchids and umbrellas as cocktail garnish. He claims this was out of necessity. You see, they used to place sticks of sugarcane in the drinks, but patrons would chew them up and leave them in the ashtrays, a sticky gross mess. Eliminating the sugarcane in place of orchids meant easier clean up at the end of the day. For the full story on Harry Yee check out our Blue Hawaii episode. 

Harry Yee was indeed inventor of the Blue Hawaii cocktail along with a plethora of others, like the Tropical Itch. He remarked how people would come in asking for Hawaiian drinks, and there weren’t any true Hawaiian drinks at the time. So, he created cocktails to suit the idea of what tourists coming to Waikiki imagined what Hawaiian drinks would be. As far as I’ve come across in my reading it appears Harry Yee was Hawaii’s first celebrity bartender. His style of blending, no pun intended, the native Hawaiian feel that tourists thought they wanted with the still tropical but often commercialized version of Hawaii that tourists actually wanted granted him favor with patrons and management alike. Hey, if you can get away with using Blue Curacao and Sweet & Sour mix in your most famous cocktail and still be on the Mt Lushmore of Tiki, who am I to argue. 

A quick tangent regarding my thoughts on that last paragraph. I fall right in the middle of the tourist trap vs “where locals go” argument.  Preferably, I like to stay in a tourist area and venture to local spots at my leisure knowing there’s a safe homebase to return to. I am not adverse to adventure at all. I’ve gone ziplining over a Cuban jungle with my passport and all my money strapped around my waist. But, I’ve also been to tropical islands where believe me, you don’t wanna go to the local spots. They’re either unsafe, unwelcoming, or truthfully just a shithole. It’s actually quite disheartening to realize that the beautiful landscapes of your mind’s eye are, outside of manufactured perception, impoverished third world communities. Jamaica, Bahamas, even in parts of Hawaii. As a result of my travels I must conclude that, in most places, the version they show tourists is more akin to the heyday of culture that place is known for than the reality beyond the veil.  

There are certain locales that are exempt from this. Cuba, for instance, is a place where visitors still stay among the people; eating, drinking, and sharing in the day to day lifestyles of locals. Albeit, on a tourist budget. Certain U.S. cities, like my beloved Orlando, suffer from the perception that there is no local scene at all, when in fact the town is replete with native flair. Then there’s places like Nashville where we hang out at the same places the tourists do, because every cool establishment in town has cashed in on that sweet sweet bachelorette party fat cash. 

I guess what I’m saying is there’s nothing wrong with doing the touristy stuff or embellishing in a bit of tropical opulence, as long as you admit what it is and try to round it out with some local excursions. Sometimes the mainstream attractions are mainstream for a reason. Trust that the locals have curated the experience you want so you’re not let down by the reality. Lyle Guslander, Danny, and Harry Yee? They knew what people wanted while endeavoring to give it to them in a way that maintained the high integrity of authentic Hawaii. 

Yet, amid this history one hotel is prominently germane to today’s story. The Royal Hawaiian.  

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Boasting ornate Spanish themed architecture, and top of the line luxury for Waikiki in 1927, the Royal Hawaiian was and still is thought of as one of the most lavish deluxe hotels in Hawaii. But, it’s not just another pretty hula face. During WWII the property played host to U.S. troops as a military R&R retreat. It’s easy to understand post-war expat culture when you go from fighting Nazis to wahinis in bikinis. Even the languages are diametrically opposed. Imagine getting yelled at in German one minute to being serenaded by an Hawaiian love song the next. 

The “Pink Palace of the Pacific”, as the Royal Hawaiian was nicknamed, also found its way into pop-culture via appearances in movies and TV shows like, Hawaii 5-0, Charlie's Angels, and more recently Mad Men. Today the Royal Hawaiian has earned its place among the Historic Hotels of America. 

Okay. That’s all quite academic. Blah, blah, and history is great, but ya’ll know my speciality lies in crackin’ wise when I get to editorialize. So let’s get to what we all came for - The Royal Hawaiian’s eponymous cocktail!  

As mentioned waaaaay back at the beginning of this long-ass episode the Royal Hawaiian drink doesn’t have much of an origin. It’s known to have been served simultaneously at both the Royal Hawaiian and Moana hotels in 1948. 

Dating back to 1901, the Moana was the first hotel in Waikiki and another whose palatial decadence would make it look more at home to a Euro-trash aristocracy than the beachside barons of Oahu.  Even Beachbum Berry won’t say for sure which hotel the drink originated in, but it seems obvious to me. It remains commonplace for establishments to offer a namesake signature cocktail. A titular tipple, if you’re nasty. Thus, it stands to reason the drink was named after the Royal Hawaiian. 

But, to do my due diligence, it is rumored that the Royal Hawaiian drink was created in 1920 and began its life as the Princes Kaiulani cocktail. I have not been able to corroborate this, but there was a property adjacent to the Moana named The Princess Kaiulani Hotel which was later absorbed by the Moana. This would lead me to believe the drink may have begun as the signature drink of one hotel and later renamed to fit the sensibilities of an ever-changing tourist archetype. 

And why would a signature drink so blatantly jump hotels? Well, my swingin’ hula pals, guess what? None of that matters because in 1948, when the drink appeared on both menus, The Royal Hawaiian and Moana hotels were owned by the same people. The Matson Line, a prominent shipping company based in Honolulu owned a bunch of hotels in Hawaii in the early 20th century. Both properties sold to the Sheraton Hotel group in the 1950’s, and both hotels are still available for booking as part of Hawaii’s Luxury Collection Resorts. Ooh-la-la. 

But alas, as far as who created it and what they were thinking and why they used the ingredients they did, I fear that may be lost to time … leaving us only to speculate. As it turns out, I love speculating! Let’s make a drink!! 

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We know that Hawaiian drinking was born of Don the Beachcomber’s Tiki and Donn, having traversed the Caribbean learning all about different styles of rum, relied heavily on the spirit to create his Rhum Rapsodies. Today, Hawaii has begun to make a name for itself in the rum world. My favorite being KoHana Hawaiian Agricole, made from native pressed cane juice. Over the course of a week in Kauai I made friends with the hotel bartender while drinking them out of a bottle of Kohana. A vintage Hawaiian style upscale hotel bar with fine marble and linen, easy music carried on a fragrant breeze out of the large open bay doors, over the lanai and out to the garden. White light glinting off the bottles behind the polished wooden bar while a barkeep in a white shirt wipes wine glasses. I would sit there sipping and taking it all in while my wife dressed for dinner. She’d walk up in a beautiful form fitting floral dress and we’d make our way to a table. Sometimes inside the dining area. Other times outside amid tall violet Ti plants and broad leaf fan palms. The leaf pattern on some of the plants gave the flowing fishbowl impression that we were sitting on the bottom of the ocean. Okay, snap out of it, Tony. 

All that to say, despite Tropikis penchant for rum, the Royal Hawaiian is one of those rare cases in which gin takes center stage. But don’t get it twisted, there’s plenty of Hawaiian influence in there too. It’s also one of those drinks that’s utterly simplistic for how freakin’ good it is. It’s kind of a daiquiri riff with gin and juice. One might say it’s laid back… 

We start with gin. I know, I know. Two gin episodes in a row? I thought this was a tiki podcast? I promise we’ll get back to rum next time, but I couldn’t resist the perfect segway from spring into summer drinking that is going from the Negroni to the Royal Hawaiian. The perfect example of how a spirit can taste totally different when used alongside different ingredients. Call me a 90’s kid, but I usually reach for Bombay Sapphire for my gin. Beefeater works as well, seeing as how I generally prefer London Dry style gins. I think it’s a good balance of botanical and body. I want the juniper to be prevalent but without tasting like potpourri. 

It’s no wonder this was served at some of the most luxurious bars on the island. Let’s not forget how far gin has to travel to get to Hawaii, and we're talking 1950’s travel. That stuff had to follow the silk road then cross the Pacific. 

Therefore, why not pair it with only the finest native Hawaiian pineapple? Notwithstanding the giant conglomerate that Dole has become, and the fact that they pretty much did a corporate takeover of the islands to make Hawaii a state, they do grow some of the best pineapples in the world. Look, I love me some Caribbean pineapple. It was hailed as a sign of fertility from the Yucatan, through Cuba, and out to the wayward isles. High society would rent pineapples to use as centerpieces at dinner parties. Fresh Pina Coladas in the Caribbean are like ambrosia from gods. But, let me tell you, never have I seen such a perfect golden pineapple as when shopping in Kauai. Unfortunately, it’s all but impossible to find Hawaiian pineapples in most of the contiguous U.S. Those little cans of Dole, though they are 100% unsweetened juice, are actually from the Phillipians and the lion’s share of whole pineapples in the supermarket are from Central America. The one I used for this episode was produced in Costa Rica and distributed by an Irish company. 

What gets me is that even though Hawaii is a state, and way closer, it’s cheaper to get fruit from Asia and Central America. Let me just say, corporations and Banana Republics are gross and evil, but I am fine with having to travel to exotic locations to sample local fare as long as everyone is afforded the same opportunities to do so. It’s proven that travel broadens the mind and breeds cultural education, yet that powers that be make it so cost exclusive. It’s almost like they don’t want the masses educated? 

Anyway, Dole cans are fine, but what’s even better are the fresh-pressed 100% only juices that  a lot of markets are carrying now. They’re a tad more expensive but taste the most like fresh pineapple. Of course, you can squeeze your own pineapple juice. As I’ve stated in previous episodes, without the aid of expensive kitchen equipment, this is a long arduous process yielding little results for the effort. I tried a version of this drink with fresh pressed pineapple juice and honestly, it didn’t really make it better. Obviously, the pineapple flavor was fresher and more organic and still commingled nicely with the gin. It just doesn't seem that the risk is worth the reward? I’d go with the fresh-pressed store bought stuff, usually in the juice aisle. Just watch the expiration once you open it, as since it’s made with less preservatives it will spoil quicker. 

As far as orgeat? I stand firm that I have not yet tasted one better than Latitude 29 Formula Orgeat. I feel like it’s got the best almond flavor without being too sweet. The orange water and other ingredients balance perfectly. I’m not saying I’ve had them all, there’s a few on my list to try, but I tend to prefer a more traditional orgeat. It should be almond based and should not have alcohol in it. I’m talking to you Chopper! Guys, there’s already 2 ½ oz of booze in a Mai Tai. Do we really need alcohol in the orgeat too? I’m not trynna get blotto, that’s what Zombies are for. Anyway, I’m teasing. Chopper does make a hell of a Mai Tai. 

I have not attempted to make my own orgeat yet, either. It just seems like a lot of work to make a product that is available for purchase at a pretty high level already. Sometimes the risk vs reward on homemade is not worth it if it’s not that much better. For example, I make my own syrups because I don’t want high fructose corn syrup in my drinks. That’s worth the effort. Also, I have a very fickle palate. I don’t drink the same things all the time. So, I’m afraid if I put the time in to make a batch of homemade orgeat it may go bad before I use it. If I buy some for $20 and I have to throw the last quarter bottle away, that still seems more worth it than all the effort that goes into slicing and roasting almonds, finding all the ingredients, and preparing it just right. Have you ever tried to slice an almond? 

Moving on. Our sour in this drink comes not from lime, but lemon. It adds a brighter note and compliments the pineapple nicely. Very summery.  Always use fresh squeezed lemon juice. The cost benefit analysis is well worth it in this case. You might say, the juice is worth the squeeze. 

And the recipe for the Royal Hawaiian is as follows:

½ oz Fresh Lemon Juice

¼ oz Orgeat

1 ½ oz Pineapple Juice

1 ½ oz Gin

Add all ingredients to a cocktail shaker, add ice, shake and double strain into a coup. Garnish with a pineapple frond. We should end up with a bright yellow/golden liquid wearing a sheer layer of foam across the top. 

Wow! Of course this drink would have been served to high flyin’ Hawaiian clientele, it even tastes regal. We know pineapple activates more flavor receptors on the tongue than other fruits, and research shows that due to the way pineapple affects the proteins in your mouth it’s one of those foods that can change the way other things taste, making it perfect for mixology. 

The sweet spice of pineapple compliments the botanical gin so well they almost cancel each other out creating a new tertiary flavor. Lemon adds a brightness while orgeat fills the profile out. It’s almost unnoticed, save a light almond sweetness. A full bodied depth, but light and bright. It’s just so well balanced it’s hard to pick out any flavor standing out beyond the rest. Fruity-floral-nutty-sweet, the Royal Hawaiian lives up to its name. Truly a decadent drink for decorous people. 

Now before we move on, as if this episode isn’t long enough, I would be remiss not to touch on a noteworthy Royal riff. Perusing Smuggler’s Cove by Martin Cate I noticed a drink called Humuhumunukunukuapua’a. The name is actually a type of fish native around the islands. I wonder if they ever fell for the ol’ Kava bait? This drink uses all the same exact ingredients as the Royal Hawaiian with the addition of Peychaud’s bitters, but the book claims it was created by Smuggler's Cove bartender Marcovaldo Dionysos. 

Here’s the recipe:

¾ oz Lemon Juice

¾ oz Pineapple Juice

½ oz Orgeat

2 oz Gin

2 dashes Peychaud’s Bitters

1 cup Crushed Ice

Shake all ingredients in a shaker and open pour into a double rocks glass. Garnish with orchid and cherries. 

Here’s my review. …….. Oh, I’m sorry. I slipped into a diabetic coma for a minute. Whoa, this is sweet! But then again, all the Smuggler’s Cove recipes are usually super saccharinated. It’s a pallid, sickly looking yellow color, but tastes way brighter than it looks. Beyond that I will say the bitters make it taste more like a true cocktail, but less tropical. Almost like it would be more at home in a speakeasy than a Tiki bar. The pineapple is subdued as is the gin by the higher sweet and bitter notes. It’s not a bad drink, but very different considering the ingredients are the same. This is a perfect example of how messing with measurements can drastically alter the profile and texture. 

It’s a fun drink, but not balanced at all. I wouldn’t be disappointed if someone made it for me, but I would be if I paid for it at a Tiki bar. I actually reached out to Martin Cate for any insight on the creation of this cocktail to no avail. I went into this prepared to bust balls for ripping off an old recipe, but I can see how this drink deserves its own name. Despite similar ingredients it tastes totally different and is served differently. But there’s obviously some influence here, right? I’ll let you guys be the judge. 

The book also says we could sub aged rum for the gin to make a different version, but looking at the recipe it seems subbing rum pretty much makes an Hawaiian Mai Tai. 

Anyway… For a drink with no origin this sure became a long ass episode. So, I’ll wrap it up. You know, pineapple gets a bad wrap in cocktails because it’s so easy. It’s tropical, it tastes good with almost anything, and it’s cheap and easy to get. But rather than venerate it for being the ultimate tropiki fruit, we denigrate it as being cliche. When used correctly pineapple is truly an essential ingredient and the Royal Hawaiian, a truly luxurious cocktail, is proof of that. 

It’s funny how Hawaiian Tiki began as an imitation of itself but now I feel like new Tiki is beginning to imitate Hawaii once again. So, next time you’re feeling a bit fancy throw on that floral resort shirt and some linen shorts, a panama hat, put on some ukulele music, and find a lanai under the palms to sit and enjoy life like a Royal Hawaiian.

Credits: Sippin’ Safari by Jeff Berry, Smuggler’s Cove by Martin Cate, stevethebartender.com, rootofhappinesskava.com, Beachbum Berry Remixed by Jeff Berry. 

 Find us at podtiki.com for all past episodes and recipes as well as Spotify, iHeart radio, Apple and Google podcasts and stitcher. @pod_tiki and @rum_poet on instagram and follow Pod Tiki on YouTube for episodes of Inside the Mug. 

Looking for high quality glass straws for your home bar or travel? Our code is still active at Surfsidesips.com. Simply enter PODTIKI at check-out for 20% off your order. 

My name is Tony, this has been Pod Tiki, and that’s all for this episode, folks. Until next time … aloha and Keepi Tiki!

Pod Tiki: Negroni

Today we’re diving back into the world of the classic cocktail. One that actually has a small tie to Tiki, being one of the only non-tiki drinks offered on Trader Vic’s menu. Having turned legal drinking age in 2001 I was mainly exposed early and often to the residual darkness of 1990’s mixed drinks. My taste for individual spirits was a bit more refined. I knew I liked Scotch, working my way through the blends eventually finding my way to single malts, and Vodka Martinis were always very popular. In fact, I recall as early as my mid-twenties throwing Martini parties for my friends. These mostly consisted of various flavored varieties till I moved on to straight up vodka and vermouth. The purist that I was, even as a novice moppet of a drinker, took me to the gin Martini. The delicate balance of juniper and vermouth ignited a newfound love in me for this classic cocktail royalty. 

But, that’s pretty much where I stayed on gin. Later I would rediscover the spirit via Tiki, in drinks like the Royal Hawaiian and Suffering Bastard. The first time I remember having today’s drink though was in a bar here in Nashville with my wife. It was sweltering Tennessee summer and while we waited for our table at a boutique burger joint on 12th South we had a hankering for a cocktail that was light and summery while still elegant and classy. My wife suggested a drink that I had heard of, maybe even tried at some point, but had slipped my memory. 

It was perfect. It fit the bill right where we needed it to. Somewhere between light and fruity-tart with an air of simple complexity exhibited by the rare few cocktails that have sustained the test of time and taste. 

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Tony, and this is Pod Tiki. Where today we travel to my ethnic homeland of Italy to drink and learn all about the Negroni! 

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Now, I’ve made a few references already to the Negroni as a summery drink. This I find to be most true due to the light, fruity, bitter-sweet profile. It’s the perfect spring cocktail as it bridges the gap between the warming nature of bourbons and/or heavy sipping rums into the brighter floral notes associated with mercury rising. In my humble opinion every drink has an occasion and every occasion calls for a drink. The floral bitter notes of gin and Campari remind us of nascent bursts of spring blooms, while rosso vermouth adds a sweetness that takes us out of dark nights huddled in the living room and out to patio afternoons. The time of year when Manhattans, Sazeracs, and Martinis give way to Diaquiris, Mojitos, and Mai Tai’s. 

That being said, the Negroni is quite versatile as well. As the case with many drinks having their roots as an aperitif, Negronis can truly be enjoyed any time of day. Bright enough to enjoy at elevenses, simple enough for happy hour, cordial enough for after dinner, and strong enough to trip the light fantastic.   

In Men Without Women Hemingway wrote that a defining quality of the Italian is their propensity for self-preservation. I can attest to this, being the grandson of Italian immigrants, and having  preserved myself these 42 years. Though, sometimes I feel more pickled than preserved. The Negroni has also managed to preserve itself for a remarkably long time. 

A common mistake, and one I admittedly made myself, is associating the Negroni with Prohibition era cocktails. So where did this recently revived classic come from, and when? 

In order to fully understand the Negroni, let's break down its components. Gin, Italian red Vermouth, and Campari. We’ve covered gin a few times in past episodes, but a note from its history that’s pertinent for this episode is that although most people may associate gin with Jenever from Holland, or even London Dry, this floral juniper forward spirit originated in southern Italy way back in the 10th century. The Dutch perfected the spirit which made its way to England during the reign of Dutch born William of Orange. As a tangent, it was the Dutch who financed a bunch of French merchant ships and Privateers during the golden age of piracy. Simply speculation, but perhaps this is how gin found its way to the Caribbean and subsequently into some of our favorite Tiki drinks. 

As well, we’ve covered Italian Vermouth before but again, its origin is specifically germane to today’s drink. Hailing from 18th century Turin, Italy, red, or rosso vermouth is a fortified wine product that began as an aperitif, there’s that word again, before becoming a popular cocktail ingredient. The two main versions of vermouth are the dryer, white French style and the red sweeter option from Italy. In our modern times both regions make a respectable white and red. It is notable though that the term vermouth is the French pronunciation of Wermut, the German word for wormwood, a common ingredient in vermouth throughout the ages. Keeping with today’s theme and the historically agreed upon recipe the Negroni uses sweet rosso Italian. 

Like most gustatory perceptions and epicurean sanctimony the term “sweet” is relative. A perceived note of sweetness in a particular tobacco or spirit is primarily the sensation of the sweet detecting taste buds being activated in such a way reminiscent to the brain of saccharine sensation. A sip of Vermouth rosso will taste sweet after a sip of French Chambery Blanc, but gets lost in a bite of tiramisu. The candle that lights the room disappears when held in front of a 4D Maglight. Okay, that’s enough mastabatory metaphor from me. 

That brings us to the star of the show, Campari. What is it? Where does it come from? And, most importantly, why is it so delicious? 

First, let’s briefly cover aperitifs and digestifs. Should be pretty self-explanatory, but just to be diligent. An aperitif is a usually dryer than sweet alcoholic spirit sipped before a meal to stimulate the appetite. Conversely, a digestif usually denotes a sweeter drink enjoyed post meal-time to aid in digestion. That’s pretty much where hard definitions end. Each can be anything from cordials and liqueurs, to Champagne or brandies. There’s no rules! To make it more open to interpretation most aperitifs and digestifs can be swapped for each other. Personally, if you’re handing me a delicious alcoholic beverage before and after a good meal I’m gonna enjoy whatever it is. While we’re on the topic, this got me thinking about what my ideal dinner drink menu would look like. I have settled on a Campari when I sit down, red wine with food, espresso followed by Amaretto or limoncello with dessert, and a Manhattan with my cigar afterwards. Shout out to E3, Moto, and Kayne Prime, the restaurants my wife and I go to for special occasions here in Nashville. 

All this to say Campari was initially intended as an aperitif, though technically it’s a bitter. Campari is made by infusing a base spirit with water, fruit, and herbs. Some common ingredients are cascarilla, a croton species native to the Caribbean and Chinotto, a small citrus fruit found in Italy that resembles a small bitter orange. A similarity to Curacao oranges comes to mind. Originally Campari received its cherry red color from carmine dye, derived from crushed cochineal insects. Surprisingly this practice lasted till 2006, now the company uses a lab created dye. 

Campari was invented in 1860 in Novara, Italy by Gaspare Campari. The first major Campari production facility opened almost fifty years later in 1904 under Gaspare’s son Davide. Today Campari is a worldwide spirits producer and distributor and has become a drink synonymous with Italian cocktailing culture. Despite the negroni and a cocktail resurgence making it famous, Campari has enjoyed a renewed appreciation among craft cocktail enthusiasts around the world. Bitter-sweet, fruity, and quite palatable on any occasion, Campari maintains its relevance and importance as the only fruit-based bitter acceptable for use in the Negroni. Dare I say, the Negroni is one of a few cocktails wherein a “mixer” is more essential to the anatomy of the drink than the spirit. Because although rum, rye, and vodka versions exist, Campari is always a constant in preparing a Negroni. 

So, what is it? A negroni is classically equal parts gin, Italian vermouth rosso, and Campari. Which brings us to, where did it come from? Ahhh, if there’s one thing we’ve learned together on this cocktalian adventure that is Pod Tiki, it’s that no drink worth its ABV is without disputed origins.  

Much like the Daiquiri or Margarita, we have three ingredients common to a certain time and place that intuitively go together. Floral-sweet-bitter. This is a flavor profile we find in nature all the time. And if it’s good enough for Big Momma Natty, who can argue? But where the Daiquiri and Margarita warrant only speculation regarding early attempts we actually have documentation of a drink called the Campari Mixte from the L’heure du Cocktail in 1929 which is equal parts gin, Campari, and Italian vermouth with lemon zest. 

That may have been a coincidental similarity seeing as how a myriad of Negroni-adjacent mixes were popping up in French and Spanish cocktail guides throughout the 40’s. Most notably the Camparinete, a mix of ¼ Campari, ¼ vermouth, and ½ gin. Not a bad recipe but one that does throw the delicate natural balance a little off kilter.  

The first printed recipes of a Negroni came in 1955. Both The UKBG Guide to Drinks, (United Kingdom Bartender’s Guild), and Cocktail and Oscar Haimo’s Wine Digest, from the U.S. published the Negroni by name. And as we all learned in Philosophy a Negroni is a Negroni is a Negroni by any other name is still a Negroni. Or, to quote The Matrix, there is no Negroni.  

Facts notwithstanding, because it’s 2022, who cares about facts, the popular story told around the origin of the Negroni is one of the most scintillating we’ve covered to date.   

Picture it, 1919, Florence, Italy at the Caffe Giacosa. Bartender Fosco Scarselli is wiping out glasses while chatting with a few locals elbowed up to the bar. The Popular drink of the time was a mix of Campari from Milan, and Amaro from Turin. In one of the greatest bursts of creativity history has ever witnessed this drink was called - the Milano-Turino. This was invented at the Caffe Camparino in Milan which was owned by none other than Gaspare Campari. He just loved putting his name on stuff. Imagine if he paired up with Italian car companies, we may have the Campari Ferrari. Or, if he was a game designer, the Campari Atari. But, I digress. Campari where-are-we? Oh, back in Florence. 

In the back of Caffe Giacosa Giuseppe and Pasquale are arguing over the gravy. 

“Giuseppe, you didina put ina nuffa da garlic!”

“Pasquale, I put ina nuffa da garlic. You watcha me putta ina!”

“Giuseppe, stunad, I watcha you putta no garlic in!”

From the front of the house they hear Fosco yelling back, “Mamamia! You two shuduppa you fasa. The Count isa coming!” 

Enter Count Camillo Negroni. He strides gracefully up to the bar greeting patrons along the way. His favorite drink was the Americano, a Milano-Turino with the addition of soda water. This is said to have gotten its name from American tourists whose apparently delicate palates needed to water down the bitter liquids. 

“Well, I say, Fosco, this is some fine swill you got here. A bit tough on the tongue, though. How boutta spritz to lighten the mood ol’ pal?” 

Conversely, Count Negroni was feeling spicy on this day. He asked Fosco to give his Americano some more moxy. Perhaps to show up the Americans. 

“Fosco, dissa drinka, issa how you saya, wimpy wimpy.” 

To strengthen up the Counts drink Fosco swapped soda water for Gin. From that day forward that was all Count Camillo Negroni drank. Other folks liked it so much they would ask for one of Count Negronis drinks, and eventually simply a Negroni. 

That is a perfect origin story, and I’m inclined to believe it’s true. But some in the Negroni family challenge its veracity. In a heated debate Colonel Hector Andres Negroni argues there is no Camillo Negroni in the Negroni family tree. He is quoted as saying, “You believe this shit? Whatsa matta you, you some kinda mamaluke?” And I just made that quote up. But, he does state that the true inventor of the Negroni was one General Pascal Oliver Compte de Negroni. The Colonel left this remark as an Amazon comment under Luca Picchi’s book - Sulle Tracce del Conte: La Vera Storia del Cocktail Negroni. Picchi was a longtime bartender at an establishment down the street from Caffe Giacosa and is said to be an expert on the matter. So, perhaps Colonel Hector Andres Negroni is just another crazy Amazon reviewer. He probably only left one star. 

Personally, I’m cool with a healthy level of intrigue behind my cocktail origin stories. No harm, no foul. And in the end we reap the benefits of a great drink. 

Now we’ve come to the part of the podcast where I can hear Count Negroni yelling at me, “Tony, enuffa da yappa yappa. Letsa maka de drinka!” 

Once we have our Campari we’ll need to select an Italian vermouth. I suggest something better than the cheap Martini & Rossi. If you want to splurge on the $30 bottle that’s up to you, but even a small step up goes a long way. I went with a $10 bottle of …. The difference in just a little better vermouth is noticeable. It’s a fortified wine, like Port, so it should have that deep rich wine flavor. The cheaper stuff tends to be a bit light and won’t balance out the bitter and floral notes of the other ingredients. Just remember as a wine product vermouth does need to be refrigerated after opening to preserve freshness. 

Which brings us to Gin. Personally, I think the Brits have perfected Gin with their London Dry. It’s floral and herbaceous without losing the body of a good spirit. Some of these modern riffs go too overboard on the juniper and herbs resulting in a potpourri taste. And despite my Italian heritage I don’t want my Negroni tasting like my grandma’s house. One of my favorite new rum distilleries, Privateer, is releasing an American gin this year which I am very excited about, but I don’t have any on hand just yet. I can’t wait to get my hands on some though and try it in this drink and some gin based tiki favorites. 

Preparation for the Negroni is super simple. In a cocktail beaker pour:

1 oz Campari

1 oz Italian Sweet Vermouth

1 oz Gin

Fill halfway with ice and stir till glass frosts over. You’ll notice the ice start to loosen up and stir easier, that’s when it’s properly diluted. Open strain into a rocks glass and add one large ice cube. I prefer this to “on the rocks” as that tends to dilute the drink too quickly. Garnish with a … well, that’s the other debate. Some use a lemon twist and others use orange peel. Both are acceptable as lemon is used in a lot of Italian drinks, think limoncello, and orange has ties to gin being linked with the aforementioned Dutch Duke of Orange. Remember it was the Dutch who gave us orange curacao from their Caribbean colonization. 

The drink should have a burnt reddish hue. Vermillion but with a hint of rust if you’re using good vermouth. The flavor is cloying sweet like candy but still with a pleasant high bitterness. Odd for not containing any added sweetener. If a good fresh Italian vermouth is used the notes of dark fruity fortified wine seeps through. All amalgamated by the high floralacity of London Dry gin. Who’s dryness also helps to balance out the bitter campari and sweet vermouth. 

And there you have it, folks. The Negroni is in the books. A bitter fruity floral cocktail to help ease us into summer drinking. Heck, make a batch of it for your next BBQ or pool party. It’s a crowd pleaser and you could even add a little San Pellegrino to make it a spritzer. I’ll allow it this one time. Over the course of the last 10 years the Negroni has been more popular than ever and even has a dedicated week. Usually in mid-september social media and craft bars around the country take place in celebrating Negroni week! 

So, here’s to a great drink with a great story and a great summer! I leave you with a real quote from Orson Welles. “The bitters are excellent for your liver, the gin is bad for you. They balance each other.” 

Credits: Negroni Story: by Simon Difford - diffordsguide.com, Wikipedia. 

No Italians were harmed in the making of this podcast. The author, Anthony Manfetano is in fact Italian-American and reserves the right to poke fun at his own stereotypes. 

Follow Pod Tiki on instagram @pod_tiki and @rum_poet, Youtube at Pod Tiki and always at podtiki.com for all episodes and recipes. 

My name is Tony, and this is Pod Tiki. Until next time, don’t forget to stir the gravy and - Keepi Tiki! 

“Giuseppe, you dranka my negroni!”

“Pasquale, I didina toucha your negroni!” 

“Mamamia!” 

Pod Tiki: Margaritaville

The story of Margaritaville didn’t begin with a six string guitar. It didn’t begin in a blender or with  the search for a missing salt shaker. It actually began with a Mexican restaurant chain named Chi-Chi’s in 1983. 

Of course, we’re not talking about the genre creating escapist anthem penned by Jimmy Buffett a few years earlier. And we’re not talking about that Margaritaville we all have inside our heads  that we find ourselves wasting away to from time to time. No, today we’re talking about the materialized concept. The physical place you can go, sit, eat, drink, and allow yourself, even for a moment or an afternoon, to escape into a world of palm trees, beaches, lighthouses, seaplanes, islands and most of all - music. We’re talking about Margaritaville bars and restaurants. 

If you’ve been following Pod Tiki for any amount of time you are well aware of my affinity for Jimmy Buffett. Sure, I like him in the cheesy way most folks do. The fun songs, and tailgating, and t-shirts with our favorite lyrics relating to some part of our own personality. But before Buffett became synonymous with island themed hotels and frozen drink machines he was a prolific songwriter. His clever poetic lyrics embodied the culture and soul of the Caribbean and southeast U.S. in the same way Dylan did for Greenwich Village and the folk scene. Indeed, Jimmy Buffett was and is at heart a folk artist. 

As an author, a playwright, a pilot, sailor, trodder of Earth and genre defining raconteur he created a lifestyle. And as a business man he created a lifestyle brand. 

Following in the footsteps of Don the Beachcomber and Trader Vic Jimmy created the space he saw in his head from years of traveling and gathering stories. He’s explored this crazy life from every angle and he wants to show us what he saw. 

A while ago a listener, Peter Schmidt on instagram, hit me up suggesting it may be fun to do episodes on old school world famous Tiki bars. Although Margaritaville isn’t a Tiki bar persay, I felt it was the perfect place to start this endeavor as I am a Florida boy, Margaritas are my first love and favorite tropical drink, and May is a good month to feature Margaritaville due to its association with Mexico and Cinco de Mayo as well as May being my birthday month and I’m a huge fan. Of both Buffett and my birthday. 

Margaritaville may not be a Tiki bar, though some locations do have Tiki leanings, but it shares the same world building authentic inauthenticity of our beloved faux paradise temples. Buffett may not have been the first escapism artist, but he certainly took it to levels unimagined by his predecessors. 

Now, we can’t very well learn all about Margaritaville without a beverage accompaniment. So, before we get started - Let’s make a drink! In honor of my favorite Margaritaville drink I’m gonna make a nod to the Last Mango In Paris Margarita. A drink that’s no longer on the menu, having been replaced by a more straightforward mango flavored mix margarita. The original utilized Mango Tequila, Cointreau, house Margarita mix and cranberry juice. My favorite part  though was the little chunks of mango floating through the drink that eventually sunk to the bottom and got stuck in the straw so every once in an unexpected while you got a little mango treat right to the back of your throat. Seriously, it was pretty delicious and I have been known to waste away on them at more than a few locations. 

This recipe is more of a traditional mango margarita but using real mango rather than a flavored tequila or mix. 

Take a large slice of mango, leave the skin on, and place skin side down in a shaker. Muddle that till the pulp becomes a mushy liquid. Pour on 

1 oz of fresh lime juice 

¾ oz Triple Sec

¼ oz Agave Nectar

2 oz Tequila Blanco

Add enough ice to cover the liquid and shake your little heart out. One chorus of Margaritaville should be long enough. Now pour the contents, mango and all, into a rocks glass and garnish with a lime wheel. 

Okay, now we’re ready. 

^*^

I consider myself an educated connoisseur of very few things, but when it comes to Mexican restaurants I am a bit of a salt rimmed savant. I love a super gimmicky Mexican joint. One of my fav pastimes is just chilling at Mexican cantina bars munching on chips salsa and drinking giant mugs of Modelo. Seriously, Germans are known for their large steins, but they got nothing on the 32 oz of beer you get at a Mexican restaurant. I can’t even drink a whole one before the last quarter of beer is warm. 

The thing about Mexican restaurants, though? Ironically, not known for the best Margaritas. I’m not talking shit about Mexican bartenders. I’ve been to Mexico and had most of the best margaritas in my life there. Don’t believe me? Well, next time you leave the salubrious confines of your Carnival cruise how about you mosey right on by Senor Frogs and hop a cab into town. I promise you there are real Mexican restaurants, and bars, and shops. It’s not like as soon as you step outside the dock there’s a bandolero with a machete waiting to stab you. In fact, Mexican bartenders are quite proud and knowledgeable about their tequilas and Margaritas. 

Problem is, those guys and gals aren’t working at your neighborhood chain restaurant. Thus, we get a waiter or line cook throwing together a pitcher of high fructose hangover fuel. That’s precisely why the Mexican chain Chi-Chi’s needed a gimmick. Taco Tuesday is a time tested staple, but they thought they would up the ante on their version by offering margarita specials and dubbing Tuesday night’s at Chi-Chi’s “margaritaville”, capitalizing off the popularity of the recently released Jimmy Buffett hit. 

As you might imagine Buffett’s lawyers saw dollar signs, but it wasn’t that simple. Chi-Chi’s had some money too. What ensued was a legal battle between restaurant and recording artist based on the claim from Chi-Chi’s that recording publishing rights did not transcend legal boundaries into restaurants. Remember, Jimmy Buffett had not yet become the cultural phenom we associate with his name today. In fact, this litigation would go on for three years. 

^*^

Meanwhile, Michael LaTona was selling t-shirts out of the back of his car in Florida when he approached Jim Mazzotta with an idea to create shirt designs based on his favorite Buffett songs. Mazzotta was a newspaper illustrator at the time known for his ability to bring vivid color and life to the otherwise demur pages of black and white news. It took Mazzotta awhile to come around on the idea eventually drawing up some of the iconic designs we now associate with the brand. A blown out flip-flop, sail boat, and of course, giant margaritas. The two managed to procure a meeting with Jimmy in Orlando who actually fell in love with the idea giving birth to the first Buffett inspired clothing line - Caribbean Soul. 

It was here we get the first glimpse of the community forming around the idea of margaritaville as a concept. You see, over time Mazzotta realized that fans didn’t like it when Buffett himself, or any people at all, appeared in the shirt designs. The notion of Margaritaville, the fictional escape destination, was that it could be anyone; that it could be you laying in that hammock under a palm tree. So, Mazzotta came up with what will later become the mascot for the whole brand. Something tropically anthropomorphic without being too distinct, or exclusive. Something relatable that can be cleverly placed in any situation while maintaining a tongue-in-cheek air of levity. How about a parrot holding a margarita glass! The very same that can still be found perched atop the franchise logo today. 

^*^

How does one go about getting their hands on this coveted merch? The first licensed store opened as J.B.’s Margaritaville in 1984 in Gulf Shores, Alabama. Guests could shop for t-shirts while sipping margaritas loudly whirling in blenders all night, under a tiki torch lit ceiling which was painted like a blue sky with white clouds. Buffett even stopped in and played a few times.  

It was a valiant effort by the future business mogul, but sadly, after a series of hurricanes in 1985 decimated the area J.B.’s was never able to rebuild its clientele and resume business. 

But, alas! The maestro of margs didn’t waste time shortly after opening a Margaritaville store in Lands End Village on Captiva island Florida. It was run by a couple of Jimmy’s friends. Donna Kay Smith, whose namesake is he borrowed for a character in A Salty Piece of Land, and Cindy Thompson, who as of 2017, remains on the payroll. Mind you the lawsuit with Chi-Chi’s still languished along. 

Jimmy was back living in Key West at this time putting the finishing touches on new records and the style that would soon become his brand. His various haunts, like Captain Tony’s, not only influenced his songwriting, but also the brand designs. Song lyrics began adorning the shirts with just enough anonymity to be applied to day to day escapists. 

^*^

It was after the release of the album Last Mango In Paris that crowds began in earnest developing the lifestyle that it would become. Ex-Eagles bassist Timothy B Schmit who had joined the Coral Reefer band for a stint recalls seeing a sea of concert goers wearing foam parrot hats and hawaiian shirts drinking margaritas. He told Buffett, “these are like your own dead heads.” To which Jimmy frankly replied, “No. They’re parrot heads.” It had Begun.  

The movement was solidified when in 1986 Jimmy Buffett finally won the lawsuit against Chi-Chi’s avowing to, “associate the term ‘Margaraitaville’ with the public persona of Jimmy Buffett”. A collective sigh of relief was followed by the sound of thousands of concoction filled blenders whirling to life in bombinating unison across the tropics. 

In 1987 the Margaritaville Cafe and store officially found its home along Duval St. in Key West, FL. Complete with an office around the corner to run the company. This first real Margaritaville was inspired by JImmy’s time in Nashville. A long venue with a bar along one side and a little stage in the back. I had the opportunity to go to this one and it truly was just a little wooden beach shack with hanging sign above the door and plenty of libations to hold while perusing the locally branded merchandise. 

Decreed by JImmy’s wishes it catered to a middle of the road crowd. Not too exclusive, but just lofty enough to dissuade the sloppy drunks from stumbling in off Mallory Square. Kevin Boucher, a former New York club owner, was tasked with running the joint and it was actually his recipe that made up the first Cheeseburger in Paradise offered on the menu. A blend of beef and brisket. Fans flooded the place and the entirety of the Keys become synonymous with the Jimmy Buffett lifestyle. Margaritaville - a place where anyone can escape to Jimmy’s world, if even for just a few beers. 

The fan base grew. Those fans indoctrinating their kids into the lifestyle and the next generation of parrot heads continues that same tradition to this day. It was indeed my father’s copy of Songs You Know By Heart that was my first introduction to Buffett. And Jimmy, always with the mantra of give-the-fans-what-they-want, began branding everything from more clothing options to Margaritaville frozen concoction makers to glassware, home decor, and yep - even little salt shakers. (Better buy two in case you lose one.)

The venue also expanded, opening up a location in Buffett’s other home away from home, New Orleans. This location focused on the live music aspect featuring local jazz acts and the such. While back in Key West a new age of singer/songwriters took the stage coming in from as far as Nashville and beyond. Many eventually being signed to Buffett’s label. 

^*^

Still, the story does not end here. As Jimmy’s fan base grew, so did their wallets. This potential did not go unnoticed by the Seagrams Company who showed interest in opening a Margaritaville franchise in Orlando. See, they had recently purchased Universal Studios and MCA records. Meaning it essentially owned Jimmy Buffett’s record label and the places Jimmy Buffett fans go to vacation. Insert match made in Heaven analogy. 

Buffett toyed with the offer from Universal claiming it needed to be high quality, clever, and fun. At the same time hotel mogul Steve Wynn showed interest in a Las Vegas location. Buffett called upon old Florida friend and wall street executive John Cohlan to be partner in Margaritaville Holdings. And so it came to pass that in 1999 the first large scale Margaritaville was opened in Orlando, Florida at Universal City Walk. 

Complete with a large nautical themed dining area, two bars, one featuring prize fish hanging from the ceiling, the other with a large volcano behind the bar that erupts on the hour and flows green margarita lava, a vast patio dubbed The Porch of Indecision, and of course, a stage. Video monitors play round the clock live Buffett concerts and shots of tailgating fans exhibiting libation fueled antics in only the way true parrot heads can. There’s even an outdoor “tiki” bar across the path where folks can escape alongside the water while gazing upon Jimmy’s sea plane the actual Hemisphere Dancer which is permanently docked there.  

I remember when it opened. I was a year out of high school and already a burgeoning Buffett buff. In fact, I was the only kid I knew of bumpin’ Banana Wind out of pioneer 12’s in the trunk of a drop-top ‘66 Impala with 10 switches. That’s right, I was taking corners in 3-wheel motion while Jimmy was telling me not to be a Cultural Infidel or make a Jamaica Mistaica. I recall the vibe of it being cool because it was at Universal. City Walk broke the stereotypical family-only feel of the other local theme parks. It boasted a Hard Rock Live, Pat O’Brian’s, Bob Marley’s reggae themed restaurant, The Red Coconut Club, Latin Quarter, Cigarz, and now a Margaritaville! 

In my twenties I spent lots of days in the parks riding Dueling Dragons and Hulk coaster, and many, many, nights in Cigarz and the Red Coconut Club. But that inner Florida in me always felt a pull towards the relaxing escapist revelry Margaritavillle had to offer. In fact, I’ve spent most of my life making that a reality so I didn’t have to escape anymore. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who felt that way seeing as how Margaritaville Orlando did $18 million in their first year. 

In author Ryan’s Whites words, “Everyone who was around before marks Orlando as the after.” From rickety local t-shirt shop to world-wide brand, huge theme restaurant franchise, Hotel chain in addition to vast vacation resorts, Landshark beer, record labels, JWB Steakhouse, airport lounges, live music venues and a prodigious merchandise line that ranges the gamut from home tiki bars to cigar lighters. The thoughts and experiences of one man have sparked a multi-generational cultural movement. 

One of my favorite things about Margaritaville’s is how they theme each location to the area. Orlando has a fun vacation vibe. In Montego bay the rooftop becomes a local dance club at night. Ocho Rios’s open air lounge and swim up bar backs up to a small private beach cove. Destin boasts a 2 story lighthouse theme overlooking the marina while the tide rigging sings. In Nashville there’s an upstairs Cowboy in the Jungle bar. While vegas offers a Margaritaville casino. All of which provoke a particular mood of thought by the lyrics scribbled on the wall. Like the hotel here in Nashville which reminds you as soon as you pull in the parking loop to, “Live happily ever after, every now and then.”

Of course, we can’t round out a discussion of Margaritaville without comparing how many we’ve been to. And I wanna hear all about your experiences on Pod Tiki’s social media. I’ll start. Orlando, Destin, Hollywood FL, Key West, Las Vegas, Pigeon Forge, Ocho Rios, Montego Bay, Nashville, Cozumel, 2 locations in Ft Lauderdale airport, and 1 in Montego Bay airport. I would love to hear about where ya’ll have been and where you’d like to visit. On my list is the Cayman Islands Location. I’ve been to the Bahamas, but before the resort was there. So, that’s on my list as well. 

I acknowledge that like theme parks, music, and sushi, Jimmy Buffett can be quite divisive. But I contend that no one can attest that a little Buffett in the background doesn’t add to the situation. Because much like our beloved Tiki temples Margaritavillle is both real and imagined. 

It may be escapism, but it’s not fake. A visit to Margaritaville may be an afternoon, evening, or weekend for you, but for Jimmy - it’s his life.  

Sources: Jimmy Buffet: A Good Life All The Way - by Ryan White. And my own life experience.  

Tiki Chat: Kevin Crossman & The Hawaiian Mai Tai

We talk to Mai Tai aficionado Kevin Crossman about the rise of the Hawaiian Mai Tai. Follow Kevin @ultimatemaitai Follow Pod Tiki @Pod_Tiki & PodTiki.com

Enter PODTIKI at checkout on surfsidesips.com for 20% off your order!

Pod Tiki: Port-au-Prince

With its recent exponential rise in popularity even the casual rum drinker has come to understand the vast differences in regional rum choices. If rum was a cocktail party the bright sweetness of Cuba or Puerto Rico would be dancing a salsa while groovy thick molasses Jamaican entagles itself with the smooth Caribbean baking spice of Barbados. Caramel rich sippers from Venezuela and Nicaragua sit a dimly lit table in the corner, obfuscating under panama hats and cigar smoke. New England rum sits glibly with one leg bent up over the other stoic with an oaky barrel finish. Almost bourbon-esque in its delivery it chats with the vegatal aromatic notes of French Martinique who, by the way, is perpetually acting like he’s better than everyone else. Chiding the other rums for not having a proper quality control system like the AOC. Everyone had their place. Knew where they fit in. They even put up with Captain Morgan constantly man-spreading with his leg up on the chairs. Ahhh, all was well. That is, until the Haitians showed up. One classically refined with notes of dried fruit and wood, the other a firebrand of loud smokey in your face pleasant pungence. No other region or terroir boasted two flavors juxtaposed in such diametric dichotomy. The music stopped, the revelry came to a standstill. Then Barbancourt turned to Clairin with a wide toothy smile, each raised a glass, the tension was broken and the party resumed.     

I used to jest that God must really have it out for Haiti. It appears every year they get pummeled by a hurricane, earthquake, or violent upheaval. It would seem no matter where the storm system is heading it will take a detour just to make sure it hits Haiti. But again, that was in jest, because I’ve known for a while the rich history and culture of the Caribbean nation that shares an island with the Dominican Republic. That island was called Hispaniola by the colonial forces once so ubiquitous in the West Indies and who’s footprint casts a still lasting shadow of the past over the region. In itself Haiti has been marred by tragedy, revolt, and a sideways eye of mistrust by its neighbors. It got from the French not only the root of a language, but the indelible sense of its own right to rebel against oppression. We’re not going to get too deep into Haitian history, as I am planning a different episode more appropriate for that dive. But as it pertains to the rum world Haiti is a dominant yet often overlooked force. 

Originally inhabited by Taino indigenious people, what’s now known as the capital city of Port au Prince, was colonially settled first by the Spanish. Once a major hub for Pirates- ahem, privateers, - the French didn’t so much as conquer the city they called Hôpital, as they did slowly move in and overtake it. Like so many Caribbean islands African slaves eventually made up a propanderance of the population. Les îlets du Prince as it was known was not the most popular city, but as other preferred seafaring locations, like Petit-Goâve, were either Malaria ridden or too topographically inhospitable, a new city was established in the natural harbor of the Gulf of Gonȃve dedicated as Port-au-Prince. And this is just where the story begins. Through colonialism, then the revolt and subsequent regime of the murderous dictator Papa Doc, and later his son, and I’m not making this up - Baby Doc, and of course the horrendous earthquake of 2010, to say nothing of the yearly hurricane bashing, Haiti has known its share of calamity.  

Today we’re going to examine two distinct rums that perfectly exemplify the calamitous spectrum of flavor and integrity that so prevalently define a nation. Everybody grab your khakis and your AK’s, ‘cuz today we’re making the Port-au-Prince. 

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Tony, welcome to Pod Tiki. 

~~~

The Port-au-Prince is a punch recipe created by Don the Beachcomber sometime in the late 1930s using Haitian rum. 

Alright, guys. This has been another episode of Pod Tiki, my name is Tony, please drink responsibly. No, but seriously that’s about all there is on this elusive yet unassuming drink. It only lasted a few years on Don’s menu, being gone by 1941. To be frank, I can sort of understand why. It doesn’t really do much to stand out from other punches, but we’ll get to all that. 

We owe this recipe discovery once again to tiki and cocktail historian Jeff “Beachbum” Berry, late of Dick Santiago. Someday we will definitely be dedicating an episode to Dick’s fascinating story of being the first famous bartender to come out of Don the Beachcomber’s. During Dick Santiago’s 16 years slangin’ dranks for Donn Beach he kept a notebook of recipes. After lying dormant for decades, so much of our modern understanding of these original drinks comes from that notebook. If only Beachbum Berry could’ve found it sooner, maybe we could’ve skipped the Sex on the Beaches, and Appletinis of the 1990s. Those fallow, dark days of cocktails. 

Berry published Donn’s original recipe in his book Sippin’ Safari, which has become akin to a tiki bible of sorts. For some time the Port-au-Prince failed to receive the recognition enjoyed by its myriad of punchy menu mates. Surely, Donn was using his rumgenuity and vast knowledge of versatile Caribbean spirits to create a drink that could highlight the often neglected Haitian rum. But before we can go any farther we need to dive into the meat of this episode, the flavors of Haitian rum. 

There are two mutually exclusive spirits coming out of Haiti. Rhum Barbancourt, a Haitian agricole, and Clairin, the wayward and wild-eyed weirdo cousin of rhum. Until recently U.S. consumers would only have been able to try Barbancourt, so we’ll start there.

In 1862 Haiti was enjoying its first 50 years of independence, having won it from France in 1804, making it the first black independent nation in the West Indies. A misnomer itself based on the fact that Christopher Colombus thought Barbados was Japan. Which is why they always drink saki during Carnival. And that last statement is about as trustworthy as Columbus' maps. But I digress. It was in this nascent country that Dupré Barbancourt landed in Haiti from the Cognac region of France. Dupré’s mission was to use the methods of Cognac production to create a rhum equal to or even better than the fine French brandy. Even going so far as using Coffey Stills and finishing his rhum in French Limousin oak barrels. 

Haiti was a pretty good place to start as it once boasted being the leader of Caribbean sugarcane production. The climate and terroir also offered a particular flavor profile in comparison to its Martinican neighbors who also famously used pressed cane juice as its distillate rather than the molasses customary of other Caribbean rum manufacturers. Which, by the way, if you’re just tuning into the podcast, is what distinguishes rhum agricoles from other types of rum. Traditional rum is made from molasses, agricole is made from raw sugarcane juice. 

These methods resulted in a finished rhum product that inherently shows off its Cognac roots. Smooth and elegant, the nose is white raisin, grape and dried apricot or mango. Redolent of those dried fruit chew snacks you get at truck stops when going on road trips. The bite is not bad and unlike Martinican agricole it’s less grassy than oakey. Overall, really more like a sugarcane brandy than a rhum, but still with a signature tropical undertone. I would call it versatile because it’s actually really good as a sipper, especially paired with a medium cigar. I recommend something like the Principle Cigars Accomplice Classic, the J.C. Newman Brickhouse, or Four Kicks from Crowned Heads. The only downside I see is that it’s so smooth it kinda gets lost in cocktails with too many ingredients. I favor Barbancourt five star, which is aged 8 yrs, so perhaps the 4 yr age is a bit more forward, but at $30 for the 8 yr it’s well worth springing for the extra 4 years of age. 

Okay, now we have to jump into Clairin. Oh, boy. Out of all the drinks and spirits we’ve covered on Pod Tiki thus far I’ve procrastinated on Clairin the most due to my equivocal feelings about it. 

Flavor-wise it’s referred to as the mezcal of rum, and for good reason. That truly is the best way to describe it. Smokey, earthy, and vegetal. The sweetness of pressed cane juice is masked behind thick heavy clouds of fragrant smoke. A sip of Clairin is like standing at the bar of an underground Jazz club, where the air is palpable, cajun spices waft from the kitchen, the crowd is a low murmuring din, and the full sound of Billie Holiday’s band ebbs and flows from the stage - coating the dimly lit stone walls, all the way to the door … and back. A flavor that says, “why not take all of me?”

If Rhum Barbancourt has a certain Je ne sais quoi about it, then Rhum Clairin has a certain Je ne sais - SHUT THE FU - YEAH YOU BETTER WALK AWAY. I SWEAR I”LL SLAP THE SHIT OUT YOU.  YOU BETTER KEEP MY WIFE”S NAME OUT YO MOUTH, (SLAP!). 

Yeah, Clairin slaps the shit out you with flavor, but it’s definitely an acquired taste. I can only do one glass at a time and I have to really be in the mood for it. It’s not my favorite, but it also is the only thing that satisfies the craving for that specific taste. As anyone who’s been listening for a while knows, I prefer smooth and refined over spicey or violent. And Clairin can be violent, it assials the palate, but in a pleasant way. You have to try it to see what I mean. The exception is when it’s in a cocktail. It’s highly effective for adding a little something different to the proverbial spice cabinet of cocktail ingredients. ‘Cuz let’s admit it, sometimes Tiki drinks can be like Mexican food - the same five ingredients in different shapes. But much like how there are flavor outliers in food that stand out among stereotypical cuisines, like Mexican, Italian, or Chinese, Clairin is the exception that proves the rule of rhums. 

Though a lot of French influence is evident in its culture Clairin is inimitably Haitian through and through. It was once even associated with Voodoo practice, adding to the mystique of this untamed electrified potion. Although, I’m only taking poetic license with use of the word untamed. In fact, Clairin is in itself the product of masterfully taming the wild terroir of its beautifully unfortunate island. 

The key to Clairin is the use of regional sugarcane varieties. Great effort is taken to cultivate sugarcane from particular regions showcasing the unique terroir and production methods the island has to offer. This is highlighted by the company The Spirit Of Haiti, which offers three Clairin varieties from three of the country's top distillers. Faubert Casimir, Michel Sajous and Fritz Vaval are some of the first local distillers to make their work available in the U.S.. On shelves the bottles are labeled with beautiful artwork by local artists using their names as branding. Clairin Vaval, Clairin Casimir, and Clairin Sajous respectively. Kate Perry, the U.S. market manager for The Spirit of Haiti, says, “The difference between the three Clairins is the difference between three producers from three villages in three different terroirs.” 

It starts with hand harvested raw sugarcane juice from indigenious crops. Clairin producers are very adamant that all ingredients, production, and bottling must be from Haiti, using traditional Haitian methods. Fermentation occurs using natural yeasts, from the sugarcane itself, in pot stills for 120 hours. After which a second rapid distillation takes place in small batch stills. Occasionally more yeast or dunder may be added but that unique intensity of flavor comes solely from provincial sugarcane varieties.

Please do not let my earlier critique dissuade you from trying some. It’s weird but definitely worth having in your collection as a mezcal alternative or just for something funky to break up the monotony of your everyday rums. 

Now that we have a little bit of an understanding of Haitian rums you know what time it is. Let’s make a drink!

~~~ 

During the Caribbean tourism boom of the 30’s and 40’s Haiti enjoyed the label of being the “real” Caribbean aside from the flashy Havana lights or Jamaican torpid sensuality. With its allure of Voodoo and folk culture Haiti was the virtual Greenwich Village of the islands. That was until the Haitian revolution, which began as a slave revolt and ended up being a coup d’etat power grab for the treacherous Papa Doc, who considered himself the living embodiment of Baron Samedi. You know, the dreaded Voodoo god who’s always depicted sporting that tall top hat. Papa Doc’s regime plagued Haiti with a legacy of violence it never seems to have recovered from. But that 20 year run as a tourist destination was long enough for Don the Beachcomber to create a few Haitian based cocktails and cement the small nation into Tikidom. 

We’re going to cover three versions of the Port-au-Prince cocktail in this episode. Don the Beachcomber’s original, the Smuggler’s Cove variant, and Shannon Mustipher’s modern rendition. 

Donn Beach originally used two spirits, a Haitian rhum called Rhum Sarthe and Pontalba, both extinct today. Beachbum Berry suggests using Barbancourt 5 star in place of the Rhum Sarthe. Easy. Pontalba though is an old Louisiana rum that actually ceased production during Donn’s tenure as Tiki king. He had his bartenders substitute Martinique rum, but there’s no clarification on what kind. Molasses or agricole, light or aged? I used Clement VSOP, but I also tried a rum that I noticed Berry favors when he needs a stand in, aged Virgin Islands rum. In this case I used Cruzan amber out of St. Croix. With notes of banana, vanilla, and butterscotch I actually think Cruzan is a fine rum in its own right. 

Don next used fresh lime juice, unsweetened pineapple juice, sugar syrup, grenadine, angostura and munrelaf. Wait, what was that last one? Sounds like some kind of middle eastern or Indian delicacy. Well, as we learned last episode Donn Beach had a penchant for secret codes and obfuscated recipes. This one shows he also had a sense of humor. You see, munrelaf is simply falernum spelled backwards. Just make sure you’re using Velvet Falernum from Barbados and not the non-alcoholic Falernum syrup. For more on that check out our episode on the Island of Martinique Cocktail. 

This O.G. Port-au-Prince drink is very punch-like. Fruit forward and sweet. It doesn’t do much to highlight the flavor of the Barbancourt and in fact it very much gets lost amid the stronger flavors of juice and grenadine. Perhaps the original rums would have stuck out more, but I contend that even Donn knew this drink didn’t have the it factor needed to share space with his other rum rhapsodies, like the Zombie, Island of Martinique, or his myriad other punches boasting strong rums from Jamaica or Barbados. Substituting Clemént does add some body and the pleasant earthy grassy subtext of agricole, but then it takes over becoming a Martinique cocktail and not letting the Barbancourt shine. Really I taste no relevance to Haiti in this drink at all. I feel like you can make it with any rum and call it Port-au-Prince and no one would be the wiser. 

Martin Cate, proprietor of Smuggler’s Cove, must have felt the same way because he came along and adapted Donn’s recipe into a drink that better accentuates the Barbancourt and adds some character. He uses all Haitian rum and subs a rich Demerara syrup instead of regular simple. Those small adjustments really transform the drink and that’s why when it comes to the traditional Port-au-Prince I think this recipe is the best. 

½ oz Lime Juice

½ oz Pineapple Juice

½ oz Velvet Falernum

¼ oz Demerara Syrup

1 dash Grenadine (6 drops or ⅛ tsp)

1 ½ oz of Barbancourt 5 Star Rhum

4 oz Crushed Ice

Add all ingredients to a mixer and blend on high for 5 seconds. Open strain into a small rocks glass. Notice how the paltry amount of ice adds the right dilution and leaves a fun bubbly head atop the pinkish gold liquid. 

As previously stated I used Barbancourt 5 Star 8 yr aged for my rhum. I know I’ve said in the past that it’s ok to use store bought grenadine and I’m here to tell you I was wrong. It’s so easy to make at home and even in small amounts the taste is much better and fresher. Just boil equal parts POM pomegranate juice and raw cane sugar. You’re essentially making a simple syrup subbing POM juice for the water. For my Demerara syrup I use a 1:1 ratio of water to raw turbinado sugar. It’s basically just a deeper, richer molasses flavor. 

Also, a dash of grenadine, as is called for, can be a bit of a pain in the ass. I don’t generally keep my grenadine in a dasher bottle. I used the dropper method, a dash equalling 6-7 drops or ⅛ teaspoon. 

The result? Wow! Delightfully fruity in all the right places. Herbaceous but not grassy, and just enough flavor to boost the elegant Haitian Rhum, not overpower it. I get notes of freshly picked apples and cherries. It’s possibly the most well balanced fruit drink I’ve tasted. At least recently. The brandy-like notes of the rhum coalesce nicely with scant pineapple, lime, and pomegranate while Falernum adds that tropical Caribbean baking spice. The finish is flat pale fruit, like melon or cantaloupe. 

But even with how much better this recipe is, it still leaves something to be desired when compared to the bold flavors we’ve come to expect from Tiki. This is simply a very nice punch that no one would suffer to sip on a tropical island. 

That is until Shannon Mustipher burst into the discussion like the Kool-Aid man filled with Clairin.   

Those of you who have listened for any length of time, even back to the early days, know that I have always been a traditionalist. I appreciate how amenable tiki is to interpretation, but I feel like there's a reverent gravitas to making the drinks the way the people who created them meant. I think over the years we've found small tweaks to adjust to the pop-palate of the time, as is evident in this very cocktail, yet I still approach with caution those who endeavor to reinvent the Mai Tai. The Port-au-Prince is an example of where I am very wrong. 

Much in the way Clairin upended our presumptions of rum, Shannon has done that with the use of it in her interpretation of this drink. Shannon Mustipher, veteran bartender extraordinaire and author of Tiki: Modern Tropical Cocktails, has used her style and prowess to finally make a Port-au-Prince worthy of its namesake. 

Her version utilizes a base of Clairin bolstered with overproof or dark demerara rum. Being a bit of a wimp when it comes to high ABVs I’ve found a substitute for the latter could be dark Jamaican, like Myers’s or Coruba. It does add something, but it’s such a small amount that because I used a lower ABV Clairin I was able to deal with the overproof. My spirits of choice were Clairin Vaval and Plantation OFTD. 

Her other deviation was swapping out Angostura bitters for ‘Elemakule Tiki Bitters by the Bittermans company. This has a Caribbean baking spice profile of nutmeg, allspice, and holiday gingerbread. Contrary to its name it’s not very bitter, but more creamy in the way it coats the palate like clove. It’s not a very profound flavor and I think it could be accounted for by just adding a pinch of grated nutmeg. I tried this version with Angostura as well and kinda liked it better but not enough to change her recipe. But I did find that adding an extra drop rounded out the Clairin bite a bit. 

Without further ado I give you the Port-au-Prince:

2 oz Clairin Vaval

¼ oz Plantation OFTD

¾ oz Velvet Falernum

¾ oz Lime Juice

½ Pineapple Juice

¼ oz Grenadine

7 drops ‘Elemakule Tiki Bitters

Combine in a shaker with ice. Shake and strain into a 10oz Collins glass or Tiki mug and add crushed ice to full. Top with nutmeg and orange zest. Now, take a sip. Go ahead, I’ll give you a minute to catch your bearings …  Isn’t that crazy?

Smokey, grassy, sweet, and spicy, rich, but bright crisp under fire. Pineapple and grenadine mellow out the pungent Clairin but leave plenty to still punch you in the tongue with flavor. Island spice and herby sweet char. It’s a conundrum wrapped in a riddle with a dash of exotic quixotic. Bold and strange while simultaneously fruity and smooth.  

I’ve never been to Haiti, but I have bebopped around the Caribbean enough to be familiar with the no-place-on-Earth-like-it piquant so congruent with Afro-Caribbean nations. Combined with all the research and rum tastings I’ve done for this episode, despite my ambivalence to Clairin, I can say this version of the Port-au-Prince is the best representation of Haitian rum culture in Tiki. At least that we’ve covered so far. 

And so it goes, the cocktail party of rums began to wind down. Hawaiian KoHana had a long flight to catch. New England rum headed back to try and convert more bourbon drinkers. Someone said they saw French Agricole absconding with the Virgin Islands. Florida rum eventually showed up in jean shorts and flip-flops, but ended up leaving with tequila when they caught him trynna sneak in. Even Captain Morgan eventually relaxed after he pulled a hammy trying to show off how high he could get his leg. When all was said and done Barbancourt and Clairin were accepted as part of the family. And they all lived rummily ever after. 

“Hey, guys. Guys, it’s me Bacardi. Is anyone gonna help me clean up? C’mon fellas this isn’t funny. *sigh* This happens every time. 

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

References: Wikipedia, Liquor.com article “Rhum Barbancourt” & “Everything you need to know about Clairin”, Potions of the Caribbean & Sippin’ Safari by Jeff Berry, Smugglers Cove by Martin Cate, and Tiki: Modern Tropical Cocktails by Shannon Mustipher

Please drink responsibly and most of all thank you for listening. Keepi Tiki.  

Pod Tiki: Island of Martinique Cocktail

We talk a lot about escapism on this podcast, Hell, I talk about escapism at nauseum in my regular life, much to my wife’s chagrin. Which cafe, tiki bar, or cigar lounge has the right ambiance? Where’s the next getaway going to be? When can I carve out a few hours on the porch with my thoughts, and which rum to perfectly match the weather and occasion? Even the ideas of adorning the patio with tropical plants, or decorating my writing area like a Hemingway study, both versions of escapism. 

My favorite kind of escapism is what my wife has dubbed, method living. My old joke when I was young and brooding was, “If I was a better writer I could make things up, instead I have to make things happen.” I was always good at chameleoning in; becoming whatever it was I needed or wanted to be. A much milder version of Hunter S. Thompson’s Gonzo Journalism. It’s a method of coping that has helped me greatly in life get past my shy, introverted nature. Wherever you go, act like you’re supposed to be there.

The problem was the places I was going. I became what I heard in Johnny Cash and Waylon Jennings songs. What I saw in shows like Californication. Who I read about in Hemingway, Kerouac, and Bukowski novels. Edgar Allen Poe, Oscar Wilde, and James Joyce were my prophets. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Douchebag, you might call me.

Speaking of spirituality? I returned to Catholicism, while investigating Buddhism, Judaism, and philosophy. I would like to say I was able to repel down mount pious, but eventually it took my friends literally shoving off. 

Probably the healthiest and most functional escapism I now practice was recommended to me by my friend Kyle. I will never forget it. Hemingway once wrote that being a writer is extremely lonely. That was made vividly apparent to me when the romance of the lifestyle became a poor excuse for bad behavior. I was quite in a state of dislocated depression when Kyle said one very simple sentence to me, “Find something that makes you happy.”

Home. I was missing Florida very much. Not just my family and friends, but the listless tropical lifestyle. After 7 landlocked years my distance from the ocean became as oppressive as the colorless skies and black barren trees of TN winters. For solace I dove into Jimmy Buffett and Bob Marley, which led me down a rabbit hole to all kinds of musical discoveries. I read Don’t Stop the Carnival and even found new life in my old idols like Thompson’s Rum Diary. My loves like Hemingway and Bogart had ties to the Caribbean. So, I began traveling. First home for solo weekend retreats to Cocoa Beach. Then to Amelia Island and Destin. Eventually finding my way to Jamaica, Mexico, Hawaii, and my favorite - Havana, Cuba. 

I found a new version of escapism, of method living. By embracing the tropical lifestyle in my blood my mind was expanded in ways one can’t learn from classic novels and morose poetry. Even decked out my little bungalow in Nashville to look like a beachside cabin. And it was then I fell in love with another vehicle for escapism - rum. 

But why do we love escapism? The benefits of literally escaping, as in vacation, are self-evident. Rest and rejuvenation, garnering new experiences, visiting loved ones, or simply reminding us who we truly are when away from stress, apart from the heavy doldrums of responsibility. How long does it take for you? For me it’s about 3 days. 3 days away from the banality or normal to forget the pressures of life. It’s like being a kid again. No expectations of who I’m supposed to be, imbued with a child’s excitement for tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow creeping in this petty pace from day to day. 

Being away is like forced freedom. I liken it to being stuck on a flight. I’ve done some of my best work on planes because there’s nothing else to do. No laundry, no friends calling to go out, no beautiful wife lovingly reminding me of everything I need to help her do instead of sitting on the back porch with a cigar. No distractions and nothing that even can be done if I wanted to. Like how your mind wanders when mowing the lawn or doing dishes. Being on vacation is like that. There’s no other choice but to have fun.

Then there’s the virtues of mental escapism. Sitting alone with one’s thoughts, reading, listening to music, meditation, and yes, hanging out at that local tiki bar pretending you’re on some faraway exotic island. Even here in Nashville. As troves of Bachelorette parties and plaid adorned tourists ebb and flow through downtown bars like a neon tide it’s easy to let the mind drift to another place in time. A time when Hank’s moanin’ blues echoed through the Ryman and mamas didn’t want their babies to grow up to be cowboys. I believe in the catharsis and health benefits of mentally checking out every so often to allow your mind to defragment. 

 Unfortunately, that oftentimes leads to the more untoward side of escapism. For some, margaritas on the beach don’t do the trick. They conflate escapism with running away. Much like going to church every Sunday, escapism only works if you take what you’ve learned back to reality and put it in practice. Breaking the tether to reality can result in neglect, justification, nihilism, and wretched addiction. A bit of folly chasing death. In other words, escape by misadventure.

Beat philosopher Alan Watts explained how one cannot rigidly hold to every planned moment, branches that bend in the wind will survive the storm. Also, one cannot never plan; Having no motivation and being no help to society. Where on the spectrum is healthy for you, is for you to decide. Escapism is like that. It works as long as you don’t abuse it. 

But what about those who found that balance? The ones who live it. Those who actually managed to escape.

Ladies and Gentlemen, my name is Tony, Welcome to Pod Tiki. 

-_-

Take Jimmy Buffett, for instance. Here’s a man who balked at the conventional trappings of social expectation. He didn’t set out to be the parrot-headed paragon of party we know and love today. He grew up the grandson of a sailboat captain along the gulf coast, cut his musical teeth as a street musician in New Orleans, ditched Nashville to all but single handedly reinvent Key West, and found a protean home amid the calamitous Caribbean. All this before the song Margaritaville was even written. Then came the seaplanes, sailboats, and island hopping adventures. The lifestyle didn’t create Jimmy Buffett, Jimmy Buffett created the lifestyle. Anytime you abscond to a Margaritaville bar or resort, or even just pop that Buffett record on in the backyard, you’re escaping to a snapshot of his real life. 

There’s a story of Buffett and his producer sitting on a boat docked in Florida listening to a demo of the new album, I think it was Changes in Latitudes…. The songs ringing out from the stereo across the deck carried on a tropical breeze seemed to fit the scenery and feel perfectly. Like the music was made for that specific moment. Then Jimmy said something to the effect of, what if this was being played on every boat in the harbor? The seeds of an empire were planted. His own style of life became a lifestyle. 

He never had to escape because his talent, business acumen, and wayward spirit allow him a life others want to escape to. Reminds me of a sticker I saw stuck behind the bar at Tin Roof when I first moved to Nashville. It said simply, “Your vacation-My Life.” 

On the other hand there’s someone who literally built the world he imagined purely for the escapist benefit of others. Walt Disney knew exactly what he was doing - building a world to fully immerse oneself in the fantastical. Disney World is not just an idea, but a real life physical place you can go. Where you’re not just escaping from a world, but to a world. Some might say a whole new world. A world where you can actually ride through space mountain, or down splash mountain. Heck, that fact that he created so many mountains in Florida is a feat unto itself! And the unique thing about what Walt did, is that he made escapism for children. 

I know what you’re thinking, what do kids need to escape from? I believe it’s a bit different. For kids escapism is more about exploring what could be. Eschewing the boundaries put in place by what they’re told reality is. For decades Disney has offered kids escapism into an altruistic neverland where the good guy wins and anyone can be a princess, or not, if that’s what you’re into. Through life imitating art we’ve already begun to see rising tides raise all ships. Kids expecting the world to be better, will grow up to make it better. If those kids are fortunate enough to make it to a theme park they get to see that Walt’s dreams did come true, and perhaps they’ll think, “Maybe my dreams can come true, too!”  

There’s one epicurean escape artist that is specifically prevalent to our preferred passion. The promethean godfather of tiki and rumgenuity. Mr. Ernest Gantt, better known as Donn Beach - proprietor of Don the Beachcomber’s. 

This world was a new one. A world in which no one had trod. A life where nascent frivolity ran supreme and trial reigned over error. In a world… where one man created a realm, a realm of perceived exotica where a man was king of somewhere hot and woman slinked blithely in sensual disregard for sociosexual norms. Before the untoward slouching toward indiscriminate debauchery ran rampant amid Holly-wierd, and holy-wired unwound depravity played paradigm among paladins of paradimsal progenitors. This was Don the Beachcomber’s world. 

Ernest Gantt grew up spending summers cruising the Caribbean on his grandfather’s yacht, earning extra cash with a little rum-running. Depositing rum in Key West from ports the likes of Haiti and Cuba, Ernest caught the tropical adventure bug while concurrently learning all about the local spirits and cocktails unique to each island. Out on his own Ernie heard the siren call of the sea once again, hopping around the South Pacific as a crewman on freighter ships. It was here he became what Jeff Berry calls a lifelong Polynesiac. But, we’ll get to that. 

The enterprising young man that he was, armed with an extensive knowledge of rum and tropical culture, Ernest gathered his vast collection of exotic ephemera and opened Don’s Beachcomber in Hollywood, CA in 1933 the literal day after prohibition ended. Two name changes soon happened. Don’s Beachcomber bar became Don The Beachcomber, and Ernest Gantt, fully embracing his persona, legally changed his name to Donn Beach. 

Throughout the 1930’s and 40’s exotica exploded along the west coast. The proverbial guestlist of Don the Beachcomber’s read like a who’s who of Hollywood elites. Orson Welles, Howard Hughes, Charlie Chaplin, Clarke Gable, Bing Crosby and the illustrious suave Errol Flynn were just a few of the regulars. Then, Elvis happened. The release of Blue Hawaii in 1961 coupled with Kennedy’s travel ban to Cuba exacerbated by the thirsty proclivities of a nation less than thirty years removed from prohibition and, well … Tiki! 

But don’t mistake Donn Beach for some industrious upstart attempting to capitalize on a nascent trend. A trend he started by the way. No, Donn never exploited Polynesian culture just to turn a coin. On the contrary, he was the ultimate fanboy. Along his travels he collected all manner of ephemera and exotic detritus, which he proudly displayed throughout the bar. He was no dummy either. Donn knew how to tap into the most primal facets of American culture - intrigue, fear of missing out, and escapism. 

This is the part of Donn’s story I am most fascinated with. The world building aspect. He collected all of these trinkets and memories and knowledge from different places, sometimes vastly diametric in geography and culture, and he curated them into his vision of an exotic paradise. Replete with Polynesian artifacts and tropical flora Don the Beachcomber’s ambiance was all about transporting guests to a perceived paradise. Complete with a manufactured rainstorm hammering a tin roof for effect. Adding to the exotic effect, drinks were often made in the kitchen area rather than behind the bar delivered to the bartender through a small curtained window. 

Remember this was a time before internet and the ubiquity of air travel. Even those Americans not well traveled had been well acquainted with the Caribbean since the colonial era, but Papua New Guinea, Fiji, Easter Island, Southeast Asia? These were far away places full of mystery and mystique. Hell, Hawaii had just become a state in 1959. Think about that, my dad was going into high school when Hawaii became a state! 

The Tiki diaspora spread across the U.S. spawning new genres of music, subsequent copycat bars with their own unique takes, spin-offs, collectables, clothing, tourism, (ahem) podcasts, and a prolific devoted community which subsists to this day carrying on the legacy of the man, the myth, the legend who started it all - Don the Beachcomber. 

And there’s another thing Donn never exploited but rather used to spark the promethean flame of Tiki … rum. More specifically what I have dubbed as his rumgenuity.  While domestic distilleries and European imports bounced back post prohibition there was one spirit that could be easily obtained from our neighbors in the West Indies. You see, the most valuable lesson Donn would learn from his Caribbean cavorting was the differences in rum styles from region to region. A Kentucky bourbon is going to taste relatively similar to another Kentucky bourbon. The same goes for gin, brandy, or vodka, respectively. But a pot still Jamaican rum, with its heavy molasses funk, tastes vastly different from an herbaceous Martinique Rhum Agricole, which in turn bares little resemblance to a light crisp Puerto Rican rum. While not the first person to experiment with different rums, Donn Beach was the first to combine two or more different rums in one drink to create new tertiary flavors. A unique experience only Tiki offered. He called these concoctions his Rhum Rhapsodies. Even if rum wasn’t from Polynesia, these new mixes were indeed exotic to the American palate and only aided in lending credence to the far away mystery of Don the Beachcomber.  

-_-

So, what exactly is a rhum rhapsody? What was the big deal, and how did Donn use this formula to create some of the most infamous tiki drinks in history?  

Much like any good artist Donn Beach made a career out of complicating things. There are two main templates for building tropical cocktails, the daiquiri and the punch. Both start with what Jeff Berry calls the holy trinity - rum, lime juice, and sugar. The standard daiquiri. Then there’s the old punch idiom. One of sour, two of sweet, three of strong, four of weak. Check out our Planter’s Punch episode for more on that. 

Donn worked mostly off punches while pressing the status quo. Why use only lime juice? How about adding grapefruit. What if we cut the sweet simple syrup with cinnamon and grenadine? Falurnum compliments the strong, the sweet, and the sour. You know what’s mighty tasty? Mixing dark Jamaica rum with an amber Puerto Rican and a dash of overproof Demerara from Guyana. Throw in a little Angostura and Herbsaint for bitter notes and he transformed a standard punch recipe into his most famous libation. The Zombie! 

Donn cherished these recipes so much that not even his own bartenders really knew the ingredients. He would pre-mix certain ingredients labeled as Don’s Mix #4 or Don’s Gardenia Mix. Some were self-explanatory like Don’s Honey, or Herbstura - a 1:1 mix of Herbsaint and Angostura Bitters. In other cases these mixes were privy to only a handful of trusted associates. These would take decades to uncover. Like the simply labeled “Don’s Mix” necessary to recreate his original Zombie. A mix of 2 parts white grapefruit juice to 1 part cinnamon syrup. Donn’s incredulity here didn’t just add a layer of intrigue for the guests, but ensured that bartenders poached by competitors couldn’t recreate his drinks elsewhere.  

This is Don the Beachcomber’s legacy, but it’s not the end of his story. His empire expanded, he married, divorced, and reinvented his brand in Hawaii. There’s plenty more to get to about Ernest Gantt, the man who invented Tiki, and we’ll get there someday. But I felt this story necessary today to lead into one of my favorite cocktails. A drink that I think perfectly exemplifies Don The Beachcomber’s ability behind the bar. A drink born out of punch, deconstructed to a daiquiri, and influenced by the American cocktail. A libation that goes under utilized while remaining undeterred in its heritage. Those of us comfortable with our exotica dalliance are on a sort of mission to prove to the world how difficult and divinely epicurean Tiki can be. And in this drink Donn made Tiki classy. Today we make the Island of Martinique Cocktail. 

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The Island of Martinique Cocktail is a perfect gustatory masterpiece. Everything in this recipe comes together flawlessly. In fact, the flavors of aged rhum agricole and honey fit together so seamlessly it’s like they were meant for each other. I cannot understand why this simple classic is not on more menus. It truly is the nectar of the tiki gods.  

Little is known regarding Donn’s process in creating this drink save it made its debut circa 1948 and initially began as a ‘Ti Punch strained into a cocktail glass. Over time it was totally tikified using Donn’s method of simply complicating things. That is, use a myriad of ingredients that all compliment each other. He would use the rhyming punch recipe but then distill it down to basically a fancy daiquiri as exemplified in this quote from a vintage Don the Beachcomber menu explaining the Island of Martinique Cocktail. “Lusty Martinique rums aged in casks for 120 moons, subtly combined with Falernum, wild honey, Angostura bitters, and Maui Mountain limes.” 

This is an uncharacteristic fit of honesty for the man who literally had his drinks made behind a curtain. Tiki historian Jeff Berry acquired this detailed recipe from ex-Beachcomber bartender Tony Ramos. So, without further ado, the Island of Martinique Cocktail is:

1 ½  oz Gold Rhum Agricole Vieux

½ oz fresh Lime Juice

½ oz Falernum

¼ oz Don’s Honey 

2 dashes Angostura Bitters

3 oz Crushed Ice

Put it all in a blender and blend on high for exactly 5 seconds. Then fine strain into a chilled coupe or cocktail glass. 

As a refresher, Rhum Agricole is a spirit distilled from pressed cane juice rather than molasses. As we covered in the ‘Ti Punch episode France, and therefore the French Caribbean islands, are the only ones to hold rhum production to an official standard. The Appellation d'Origine Contrôlée, or AOC. Cane juice rhums are made throughout the Caribbean islands including Haiti, Guadalupe, Trinidad and Mauritius, but only rhums from Martinique are held to the strict guidelines of the AOC. For this recipe I use Clement VSOP. While the Select Barrel is my usual go-to for mixing the VSOP is much more refined and ads to the elegant rich notes and silky texture of this drink. It makes it more of a cocktail than a drink. 

Falernum is a liqueur out of Barbados made by adding island spices such as clove, allspice, or ginger to a base spirit or light rum. Not to be confused with Falernum syrup which is a non-alcoholic sweetener with similar characteristics. The industry standard here is John T. Taylor’s Velvet Falernum, described as such due to the smooth feeling on the palate. I find it very delicious and I use it as a staple in much of my original concoctions. A little Falernum can instantly turn any drink into a tiki party. 

Lime juice and Angostura bitters are pretty self-explanatory. Just make sure the limes are fresh squeezed. The OG recipe only calls for one dash of bitters but I find two dashes necessary to get any flavor. And I just love bitters anyway. 

Lastly, we have Don’s Honey. I went over this in the last episode on Navy Grog. It’s simply a honey simple syrup. I usually do a 1:1 ratio, but Jeff Berry insists that Don’s recipe was 2 parts clover honey to 1 part water and boil. I generally prefer my drinks less sweeter, but honey is a prevalent ingredient here to obtain the perfect profile. I find 2:1 a bit overpowering to the agricole but I suspect it depends on the honey used. Berry suggests regular clover honey, I like to use wildflower. Also, Clement VSOP is pretty smooth and the grassy agricole notes are toned down. When using a rhum with a stronger flavor perhaps 2:1 is necessary. I use 1:1 for my drinks. 

When put together the Island of Martinique Cocktail boasts such a unique but well balanced flavor profile it’s hard to imagine it took Donn very long to realize he had a winner on his hands. And in the hands of troves of thirsty wayward escapists piling into Don the Beachcomber for decades. I blame the limited availability of agricole rhums on the consumer market for the decline in notoriety of this drink. Perhaps through efforts such as this we can change that. 

Sweet grass with honey on the finish, this drink is redolent of my spring time as a boy in New York state. My mom taught me how to whistle through blades of grass, imagine that taste on your lips then taking a sip of sun tea. The balance tows the line between tropical sipper and true cocktail. Don took a punch recipe, chilled it into a daiquiri, and by adding ice and bitters essentially made it into the definition of a true cocktail. The lime and honey truly bring the agricole forward while mellowing out any alcohol bite. An upright alright rich silky simply complex tropically classy libation. 

You may have noticed all the alcohol in the Island of Martinique Cocktail. Yes, it will creep up on you with a happy euphoric buzz. This is my standard start the night tiki drink because besides being super tasty it coats the palate in flavor and offers up a distinct buzz that just makes me wanna put some tunes on and practice my moonwalk. 

But, there is one other recipe I need to touch on. Shannon Mustipher’s Isle of Martinique. This is the only other viable variation I’ve found. Shannon leans more into the daiquiri aspect of the drink. In her version the tart lime and orgeat play center stage and although the agricole is profound, it’s not as forward. The Isle has much in common with the Island, but has noticeable differences. First in color. The Isle is a more flaxen gold contrasted to the Island’s rusty amber hue. If these were side by side I still prefer the OG but her recipe is nothing to be scoffed at. Mrs Pod Tiki actually likes the daiquiri version better. So, here it is. The Isle of Martinique:

2 oz Rhum Agricole Vieux

½ oz Honey Syrup

¼ oz Orgeat 

¾ oz Lime Juice

Shake with ice and fine strain into a coupe or cocktail glass. Garnish with citrus wheel or orchid. 

More lemon-grass tart and lighter with less depth this drink is agricole/orgeat forward for sure, but with the light crispness of a down island daiquiri. Using a bright orgeat is key to this drink. I prefer Latitude 29 for all my orgeat needs. Liber & Co, popular as it is, is veeeeeery sweet and I think takes away from the delicate balance necessary for true tiki drinks. It’s not bad at all and I have a bottle in my fridge right now. It’s got quite a nice almond flavor but is just so overbearingly sweet I feel it ads a cloying sugar bite. While not ideal for the Beachcomber version, the sweet bite is perfect for this bright crisp daiquiri. 

I hope you all try both of these recipes and let me know your thoughts, because this is truly one of my all time favorite drinks. And as far as escapism goes, I think we can all use a little. In light of the pandemic let’s not forget the lessons we’ve learned regarding work/life balance. Mainly that it shouldn’t be a perfect balance. There should be more life than work. I’m not saying don’t work, only that a good quality of life is important. In whatever way that means for you. 

Entitlement isn’t a bad word. I don’t believe in the relentless pursuit of happiness, I believe in achieving happiness. Take for instance the current labor shortage, maybe everyone just happened to get lazy at the same time, or maybe folks have just decided to demand modern standard of living wages that allow us to spend time with our loved ones. To explore our passions. To live in a world where we can all travel to exotic places, experience new food, drink, and cultures. Maybe our own journey can inspire a generation the way Don the Beachcomber did. Or, maybe an afternoon in a tiki bar is all we need to remind us why we do it. 

 Escapism can be a useful tool, a stepping stone on the way to making dreams a reality no matter how paltry or grandiose they may be. So that, perhaps, we could live in a world we no longer want to escape from. 

Ladies and gentlemen this has been Pod Tiki. My name is tony. Thank you all for listening. 

Credits: Special thanks to Potions of the Caribbean by Jeff “Beachbum” Berry. Tiki: Modern Tropical Cocktails by Shannon Mustipher.

Pod Tiki: Navy Grog

Legion are the grogs of Tikidom. Thus, many are fortified the hearts and livers of denizens in the New World. Ally or foe, remedy and vice, highrise hotshot or beachbombing muse. Throughout history alcohol has been an accomplice in sharpening blades and dulling visage. The very fact we call the distilled vapors spirits indicates the inherent divinity we apply to it. And from hearty meads and ales to decadent wine and brandies none other of these spirits has so indelibly ingratiated itself in our mythos than rum. 

Whether it’s swashbuckling pirates cavorting about the Caribbean or sloshed-stumbling cruisers sporting piña coladas and Ray-Ban tans, rum has captivated our imaginations and led us to a whole new state of mind. Through folktales or passport stamps rum has been the muse of escapism for centuries. But the undeniable thread that binds fact to fiction is the sea. And it was on the sea where some claim the very first cocktail was ever mixed. Grog. 

For better or worse rum has long been tied to the trope of the drunken sailor. Like the gallows conversion of captured pirate John Archer. “By strong drink I have been heated and hardened into the crimes that are now more bitter than death unto me.” He said this as a claim to his Savior moments before swinging from the noose. 

Blackbeard himself was said to be known for holding his rum in true piratical fashion, often mixing in gunpowder and igniting it before swilling it down. Such a commodity was rum among the threadbare and bedraggled lot of pirates that after running out once Blackbeard wrote in his journal, “Such a day, rum all out! Our company somewhat sober! A damned confusion among us.” During his final stand on Ocracoke Island it purportedly took an ambush, a gunshot, and two slashes to the neck to finally bring the pirate captain down. No doubt due to the high aspirations of rum. 

Even in these, our modern days the blight of demon rum has exposed the ill begotten whimsy of man. According to a bartender at the Capital Hilton Trader Vic’s they would remain open after hours so President Richard Nixon could stop in for a few Grogs and lament the pressures of office. The link between American politics and rum is not all petticoats and tea parties, I suppose. Tragically, Phil Spector stopped off in a Beverly Hills Trader Vic’s for “at least two” Grogs before later murdering actress Lana Clarkson.. 

But I'm not here to give rum a bad name. No, booze may be a vehicle, but those men decided to take the ride. I only wish to highlight how the story of rum is one of redemption. Forgoing its checkered past it’s been alongside us throughout history, solidifying itself amid legend and lore. Rum has provoked revolution and jumpstarted our founding fathers' nascent economy. It lay in repose through prohibition, till finding its rightful place in the forefront of our culture's greatest virtue - escapism. 

In this way rum should be lauded and lionized, as are the men and women who also capitalized the high seas. Thus brings us to the topic of today’s episode. A rum drink made famous by the British Navy and infamous by Donn the Beachcomber. 

Ladies and gentlemen my name is Tony. Welcome to Pod Tiki where today we discuss The Navy Grog. 

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We covered the history of grog in our Painkiller episode, but it seems apropos to do a bit more here. First of all, why rum? How did it become synonymous with the navy? Well, Her Majesty’s Navy handing out rations of fine Madeira wine and French brandy was commonplace. But those became rare as England was inevitably at war with one or both of those countries at any given time. The beer of that time would spoil on the long voyage from Europe to the West Indies, so that wasn't a viable option. At the same time the British Navy was experiencing a dreadful lack of cheer, down island way planters found themselves in a surplus of rum but with dollar signs in their eyes. Demand, meet supply. Whoa, get a room, you two! 

Planters, merchants, and sailors found themselves in a bit of an economic circle jerk, but they still had to convince parliament. A paper was actually drafted and disseminated extolling the virtues of Caribbean rum to the pinky out crowd back in London. Hands were shook, babies were kissed, backs were scratched, and quids were pro-quo’d till the Navy provisions office finally declared rum the official spirit of the Royal Navy. Because they just don’t say things in the Royal Navy, they declare them. “Oy, mate. Time to splice the mainbrace, innit!” 

But one rum only leads to another, as they say. Okay, maybe only I say that. But it held true for the British Navy. To use one of Ben Franklin’s euphemisms for drinking, those boys had been to Barbados. It took the foresight and unintentional profundity of one particular officer to not only pacify his men, but inadvertently created a genre of drink. Therefore cementing rum in maritime cocktail history. 

Shortly after Lawrence Washington inherited Little Hunting Creek Plantation in 1740 he renamed it after his friend and decorated naval officer Admiral Edward Vernon. Following Lawrence’s death Mount Vernon was passed to his little half-brother, George. 

It was Admiral Vernon who noticed the effect rum was having on his crews. A, “stupefying of their rational qualities”, he once wrote. But it wasn’t totally the sailor’s fault. You see, in Vernon's day the tool used to measure alcohol content in spirits, the Sikes Hydrometer, had not yet been invented. The standard practice was to mix a bit of rum with a bit of gunpowder and light the mixture. From this practice we get two common modern terms. If the saturated gunpowder ignited, that was “proof” of the alcohol content. Legend has it English sailors would use a magnifying glass and the sun to replicate this technique on board ships in order to verify their rum was navy strength. Imagine how many eyebrows were singed off by Jamaican rum, Blackbeard would’ve been proud.  

In truth it was almost always overproof by modern standards. Which is precisely why Vernon came up with the idea to dilute his men’s rum rations with water. The ship’s purser would dispense rations twice a day with the first round being at noon. I guess I shouldn’t tease my wife about bottomless mimosas on Sunday mornings. But someone should really tell those mimosas to put some pants on. I digress, Even watered down the rum ration received was the equivalent of 5 modern cocktails worth of rum per person per day. Eventually the crew realized a little sugar and citrus could spruce up the watered down, but still highly potent, rum. And using the highly eponymous Admiral Vernon once again, the crews began referring to this mixture by Vernon’s nickname, Ol’ Grog. 

The tradition of officially distributing high alcohol booze to the people who were considered the world’s strongest Navy for centuries continued till Black Tot Day in 1970, when the final rum rations were drunk and the remaining barrels were ceremoniously thrown overboard. The sun finally set on the English Empire that day, while they nursed a century old hangover. Except for the sealife around Great Britain who apparently got hammered on all that discarded rum. Darling, it’s bettah down where it’s wettah, indeed! 

It sounds like this is a nice place to button up the story of grog and it’s legacy with the sea, but while limey sailors were enjoying grog rations another man was embarking on wayward adventures. A man who from the ephemeral detritus of his own exotica would beget a worldwide phenomenon. A man named Ernest Gantt, or Don the Beachcomber. 

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Donn Beach, as he would change his name to, embodied everything I truly love about Tiki. For he possessed the irrevocable talent of taking in the world around him, processing it through his own creative filters and not regurgitating, but reassembling it into the world he envisioned. In this way I envy his creative acuity and place him alongside such celebrated world builders as Walt Disney or George Lucas. In fact, judging by how much Tiki is incorporated into Disney parks and hotels I imagine Walt a big fan of Donn’s work. 

A common misconception, and one that I myself am guilty of, is that the Navy Grog appearing on Don the Beachcomber menus as early as 1941 is a tikified version of Vernon’s British Navy grog. When, in fact, an early caption reveals Donn’s grog as, “Dedicated to the gallant men of the American Navy.” As a Lieutenant Colonel in the U.S. Air Force Donn was himself a World War II veteran. I am sure he harbored a great respect for his Royal counterparts, but as we independant colonies are wont to do, Donn’s Navy Grog was British in inspiration only. It’s a good thing because the English recipe of watered down rum, lime juice and brown sugar is about as bland as their cuisine. Although, beans for breakfast are pretty good. But you know how we do it in the New World, take something from another country and bedazzle it shiny. And before you start castigating me for cultural appropriation, think of how much you like pizza, sushi, and Cinco de Mayo. 

Donn claims to have put Navy Grog on the menu as a high octane manly alternative tiki drink. For those with bravado wishing to eschew the orchids and fruit for a very phallic ice cone protruding with lazy sensuality from the potent potion. Seriously, if this ice cone was a guy he'd be leaning with one elbow on the bar wagging his eyebrows at you. Let me explain, rather than putting the drink on ice or using a large cube the ice cone doubled as a functional garnish. Made by pressing snow ice into a Champagne flute forming a cone shape, the ice cone would be placed with the wide end in the drink so the, ahem, tip was breaking the surface like the top of an iceberg. Because nothing says manly like a big white shaft sticking out of my glass. In all seriousness Donn’s grog was crafted to be a booze heavy no frills libation for those who thought tiki was a little too foo-foo.  Which is ironic considering his first famous tiki drink was the indomitable Zombie. 

Wait a minute. Do you guys feel that? Uh-huh, uh-huh. Yep, I thought so. This feels like the right spot. Let’s make a drink! 

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For all of you who are thinking, “finally he’s done with his sanctimonious blabbering so we can get to the drink”, well, I have bad news for you. Because there’s a lot to get to when it comes to the Navy Grog recipe. Starting with the idea that grog has almost become more a style of cocktail than a specific recipe, and every self-respecting purveyor of paradismal potions has their own version. Including myself. 

The impetus of this episode was a recent trip to a Tiki bar called  Suffering Bastard in Sanford, Fl. It was the final day of my Christmas visit with my folks. We shared a delicious dinner at one of my favorite spots, wherein I got reprimanded by a well-meaning but kinda scary stout German woman for ordering two things that apparently didn't go well together. Afterwards, my folks and I walked down to Tuffy’s. In one dimly lit corner of this vast taproom is an ominously glowing corridor leading to a small room adorned with all the classic tiki ephemera one would expect. Tapa cloth, shrunken heads, bamboo, ship nets, and to top it all off a giant Suffering Bastard tiki mug behind the bar. 

Everything about this place emanates true tiki culture. And the drinks? Besides the laudable rum selection, best Mai Tai I may have ever had. But it wasn’t that classic that caught my attention. I wanted to try something truly tiki. I had a feeling about that bar and I had a feeling I could trust them to do Tiki right. I wanted to order a drink I had previously never had, something difficult to find at the more superficial tiki bars. Then I saw it pictured on the menu, with all it’s prodigious ice cone glory, I knew it was time to dive into Navy Grog. And what a time it was. 

The amalgamation of flavors blew me away. Not too sweet, fruity but complex. What left me truly awed though, was the way those three different spirits blended seamlessly to create a perfect rhum rhapsody. A true testament to Don the Beachcomber’s surgical-like prowess in rumgenuity. I was hooked and I wanted to know how to do it. 

I guess the best place to start is with the basics. Navy Grog is lime juice, grapefruit juice, honey, club soda, and rums from Puerto Rico, Jamaica, and Guyana, respectively. 

I sampled many a grog for my extensive research on this episode including Donn Beach and Trader Vic’s originals, as well as recipes from Jeff “Beachbum” Berry, Martin Cate, and Shannon Mustipher. This is where it gets a bit confusing.  

Don the Beachcomber did invent the Navy Grog around 1940. By the mid 40’s we see it popping up on Trader Vic’s menus. Now, Vic was no garden variety copycat and his recipe resembled Donn’s in name only. In fact, using the name of existing drinks with totally different recipes was kinda his thing. Vic was a master mixologist in his own right, so most of the time it worked out and we got great new drinks. Other times we get Trader Vic’s version of the Suffering Bastard. If there’s two things I know it’s we don’t talk about Bruno, and we don’t talk about Trader Vic’s Suffering Bastard. Notwithstanding, Vic’s recipe was different enough to effectively split Navy Grog into two camps. 

Decades later Tiki cocktail historian Jeff “Beachbum” Berry came along to rediscover and decipher these lost recipes. Having most of Don the Beachcomber’s recipe figured out there was one remaining piece alluding Berry. Till he noticed the bartender who made his favorite grog heating and adding to the mix a small amount of honey. Heating it rendered the honey a little more user friendly but still left a sticky mess. Upon further research it was discovered that Donn Beach actually solved this issue way back in 1950. In a U.S. Navy charity cookbook Donn gave his recipe of boiling one part honey to one part water, essentially creating a honey syrup that’s easy to use anytime. 

Trader Vic’s Navy Grog proved to be a bit more tricky. You see, even though Vic published a number of cocktail books, he was a shrewd businessman and his recipes often called for a Trader Vic’s brand pre-made mix. Great for his bottom line, not so great for learning how to make the drink from scratch. Luckily for us Beachbum Berry is like the Batman of Tiki. After the rigorous research of having to drink countless Navy Grogs, Berry was able to eventually reverse engineer Vic’s recipe, but it wasn’t the finished version that stuck out. In an early attempt at Vic’s grog Berry actually created one of my all time favorite drinks and one we’ve already discussed in the 5 Fall Jamaicans episode - The Ancient Mariner. 

Martin Cate of Smuggler’s Cove actually uses the Trader Vic’s model:

¾ oz Lime Juice

¾ oz Grapefruit Juice

 ¼ oz Demerara Syrup

¼ oz Allspice Dram

1 oz Pot Still Aged (Smith & Cross)

1 oz Blended Lightly Aged (Real McCoy 5)

1 oz Column Still Aged (Flor de Cana 7)

Now if Juxtapose that next to Beachbum Berry’s Ancient Mariner:

¾ oz Lime Juice

½ oz Grapefruit Juice

½ oz Simple Syrup

¼ oz Allspice Dram

1 oz Demerara Rum (Pusser’s)

1 oz Dark Jamaican Rum (Myers’s)

… and there you can see how close Berry was to figuring out Vic’s grog. It’s fascinating to me how through Beachbum Berry’s books we get to go on a journey of discovery alongside him as we watch the recipes evolve as he uncovers new pieces to hidden tiki treasures. It’s cool to see the DNA of these truly unique cocktails unfold, and let’s not forget that collectables are cool, but it’s the drinks that make tiki, tiki, after all. 

Honestly, the Smuggler’s Cove recipe leaves something to be desired. I miss the honey, and even though the spirits blend nicely it tastes too similar to existing drinks. When looking for this flavor profile in a drink Berry’s Ancient Mariner is far superior. 

On the other side of this drink’s convoluted history we are still left with a genre spliced in twain from nape to chops. Hell, we have four of the pillars of Tiki making an appearance. Don the Beachcomber, Trader Vic, Beachbum Berry, and Martin Cate. Throw in Harry Yee and you virtually have the whole tiki totem. A venerable Mount Lushmore if you will. Even if you won’t, come to drink of it. 

(Get back to the grog). Okay, here’s where I stand. Normally I would honor both recipes, but because Trader Vic’s Navy Grog is so different it’s basically its own drink, and the Ancient Mariner, which is a version of Vic’s Navy Grog, is already superior to said grog, I have to conclude that the Ancient Mariner stands alone as the superior drink and kicks Trader Vic’s Navy Grog out of the discussion leaving Donn the Beachcomber’s original recipe as the one true Navy Grog. (They will neva take our freedom!)

And now, for an unprecedented second time this episode, let us finally, make … a … drink. 

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It’s actually amazing how good this drink is relative to how simple it is. The first things we’re gonna need are easy. Lime juice and grapefruit juice, like always, are essential to squeeze fresh. Long time listeners know how much I rail against plastic bottled juices. For things like lime and grapefruit the difference in fresh juice is noticeable by even the novice palate. Take it from someone who’s had to eat crow about homemade ingredients. After making my first homemade batch of grenadine I will never EVER buy a bottle of red number 9 dyed snake oil again. If you’ve ever wondered why your home cocktails don’t taste like the bar, it’s the ingredients. Even if you’re not into home bartending and you just want to make a few drinks, still better to hand squeeze than buying processed. 

Then we’ll need some club soda. I imagine since this drink uses the ice cone, rather than crushed ice, Donn probably added the soda water to elongate the drink and open up the flavors. I tried using sparkling water, but found no difference so I stuck with club soda. 

Next would be the aforementioned honey syrup. Again this is simply equal parts honey and water boiled together. You just want to bring the mixture to a boil then turn the burner off. We’re not trying to cook it, just blend it. Clover honey is recommended. I’ll sometimes use wildflower but it doesn’t always render that rich honey taste. Either way, make sure to always use raw unfiltered honey. 

Now here we are. The best part. Rum. The Navy Grog utilizes three rums from three distinct regions. First, Demerara Rum. Demerara rum is a product of Guyana made using sugar culled from the Demerara River region. Lemon Hart & Sons is a popular and very delicious brand, but it is very full bodied. For this recipe I chose El Dorado 5yr. It’s a bit lighter but still boasts great flavor in a cocktail or as a sipper. Pusser’s, even though it’s a product of Guyana, is kinda different from a standard Demerara rum due to it being a specific recipe tuned to the old British Navy recipe. And remember this is a U.S. Navy grog. The caveat to that would be when making the Ancient Mariner. I find Pusser’s is better in that drink, and since it’s not officially a Navy Grog, I’ll allow it. 

For the dark Jamaican rum I used Myers's Original Dark. Jamaican rum is known and renowned for its signature “funky” flavor achieved by the extra molasses added after distillation. Appleton Estate 12yr is a great option if you’re trying to impress your fancy friends, but it’s dark due to it’s aging. Which makes it great for sipping, but a true dark Jamaican rum is blended to almost a blackish hue and boasts a rich, heavy burnt molasses funk. Use Myers’s or Coruba. 

Finally we get to the swing ingredient. The light Puerto Rico rum can make or break this cocktail, and not for the reason you might think. Bacardi is a fine spirit, as is Don Q. High dollar Puerto Rican white rums are good, but can get pretty pricey. I found when using Bacardi it stuck out and for a light rum that column still flavor was very prevalent. Kinda like how a blanco tequila seems to have more forward agave notes than a reposado or anejo. The thing is, when Don the Beachcomber was creating this drink the “light” Puerto Rican rum would have been much different. It would be foolish not to admit that over time mass production has changed the flavor of Facundo Bacardi’s famous recipe. The light rums back then would have had more of an aged flavor. To compensate for this I used Bacardi 8yr. I am really impressed with the flavor and versatility of this rum. Great to sip on a hot day or use as a mixer, and at $30 per bottle it’s a very affordable alternative to spending $50 on a bottle of Ron del Barillito. 

Now, I’ve told you I prefer regionally categorizing rum over production method, but Puerto Rican rum is made using column stills. This has a distinct flavor, more of a sweet rummy Spanish style. Think Havana Club Cuban rum. And the closest thing I’ve found to Cuban rum stateside is Flor de Cana 7yr. I stayed true to Bacardi to honor Donn’s recipe, but Flor de Cana is a viable alternative for around $25. 

Now, without further ado, Navy Grog is:

 ¾ oz Lime Juice

¾ oz Grapefruit Juice

¾ oz Club Soda

1 oz Honey Syrup

1oz Light Puerto Rican Rum 

1oz Dark Jamaican Rum

1oz Demerara Rum

Shake with ice and strain into a double rocks glass. Garnish with an ice cone and … don’t forget to drink with manly aplomb. 

A note on the ice cone. I was lucky enough to receive a Kitchen Ninja as a gift, which makes perfect snow ice. Simply hold a straw in the center of a flute glass, pack tightly around it with snow ice, creating a tunnel through the center, then gently dump the cone out, remove the straw and freeze for an hour. Serve with the large end in the drink and place a straw through the hole so you're drinking through the ice. If you want to skip all that you can just use a large cube, but it won’t be as cool. 

After it all comes together, wow! Super well balanced, silky texture, with honey on the back end. The small amount of water definitely thins the drink out pleasantly letting the flavors of rums shine. Especially the Bacardi, which lends bright floral sweetness to perfectly accompany the molasses funk of the others. Fruit juices are present just so, doing their job behind the scenes and playing an integral role in making it all come together. It’s a perfect Tiki drink in the sense that everything present has to be there. No more, no less, no stress. 

Strong drink has long been associated with seafaring misadventures. Those of us who turn and toil in the romantic but foolish endeavors of bygone whimsy know all too well how reaping the spoils of those rapacious rapscallions, as beguiling as it may be, can leave us either one knee up on the bow of our ship with a course set for greatness, or making gallows confessions of our own as we swing from a noose fashioned thread by debaucherous thread. The interesting part of humanity is that there’s romance in both. 

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

Credits: …And a Bottle of Rum: Wayne Curtis, Beachbum Berry Remixed: Jeff Berry, Smuggler’s Cove: Martin Cate, Tiki - Modern Tropical Cocktails: Shannon Mustipher.

PODTIKI at surfsidesips.com  

Once again thank you so much for listening and we’ll see you next time on Pod Tiki. Keepi Tiki.

Pod Tiki: Looking Back On What's Ahead 2022

We do a short recap and go over hopes for the new year. This is the first foray into YouTube! find this episode and hopefully more to come on YouTube. Just search Pod Tiki. Follow on instagram @pod_tiki and @rum_poet and find @tiki.tony

Tiki Chat: Privateer Rum w/ Andrew Cabot

Wonderful in depth tiki chat with new friend of the show Andrew from Privateer Rum!

Follow @privateerrum and privateerrum.com … and always find us @pod_tiki and podtiki.com

Pod Tiki: The Manhattan

It was autumn on the island. But not the island he wished he was on. That one 90 miles off the coast of Key West, back when he was making all those runs from Miami in the 80’s. Biscayne Bay, through the Devil’s Tongue, and on to Havana. He thought about what Cuba must’ve been like in its heyday. Before Castro, before the bastards turned Hemingway’s house into a museum, and before Dwight and Fidel’s pissing contest kept us from getting any good rum and cigars. Then again, if that hadn’t happened the man sitting in the corner of this bar trying to shield his eyes from the irritating neon would not have made all that money. 

He thought about how he fell in love with the people on that island. He could gaslight himself into thinking he helped them. Bring in American goods, take out Colombian drugs. Sure he was bringing the drugs back to his own shore, but how many evils does it take to get to the center of a justification loop. There was that time at Mariel Harbor, too. He felt like he was doing the right thing, like it sorta reconciled his conscience. All those people wanting freedom, willing to leave it all behind to … to … to get off that island. 

But he wasn’t on that island now. The one he was on was cold and windy. Pretty in its own way, though. This time of year trees in the park turned fiery orange in the sun before peppering the rust colored ground. Streetlights illuminated bright yellow leaves glowing in phosphorescent juxtaposition against boney black limbs. Even within the bubble of urban sprawl one can discern tokens of season’s change. A bit of nature reminding humanity that it’s allowing us our little plans but it can reclaim this world at any time. 

He always lost himself in thought when drinking alone and pondering nature made him imagine what it must’ve been like to exist here before so called civilization. Before Verrazzano came in 1524 greeted by the Wappinger tribe. There they were, minding their own business, probably trying to stay warm and harvest for the coming winter. To them a slight drop in humidity and discoloration of flora would be that sign from nature. And they understood because her voice was louder in those times. 

Then Henry Hudson would sail the length of the big river, mapping for the Dutch East India Company. In 1624 those Dutch would return and establish the colony of New Amsterdam, later renamed after the king’s brother - the Duke of York. Somewhere along the way the Dutch acquired this land formally from the Weckquaesgeek, a sect of Wappinger people. This hunting ground and trading post they called Manhattoe eventually came to be known as Manhattan. 

At that he took a sip of his drink. Oh, that’s the stuff. This was the only place in the city it seemed to get decent cocktail. It’s been said that disco ruined rock n roll. Well, the 90’s ruined drinking. Here he was a few months away from a new millenium. Y2K. And a ruminating old man in the corner of the last classy joint on the island didn’t seem to fit in with appletini’s and sex on the beach. He’s had sex on the beach … not that great. There are some places sand just don’t belong. 

Even the fashionable tiki bars the old time movie stars would hang out at have become tawdry vestiges of their former glory. Just as diluted by virtue of overexposure as the syrupy tripe they try to pass for Zombie’s and Mai Tai’s. 

Kids have taken over drinking nowadays. Replacing low easy lambency with in your face neon and vexatious pounding they call music. Oak bars and leather chairs all painted over with cold tile and hard plastic stools. And the bartenders, he thought, fagettaboutit. Once they finish serving all the gals in the shortest skirts or lowest cut tops leaning over the bar - Bacardi Limon and cranberry, Absolut Kurant and soda (in 90’s party girl voice) - after they slide Jager shots to all their frat bros, then maybe just maybe you can get their attention long enough to ask for a cocktail they either don’t know how to make or pour from a pre-made mixer. Speakeasy? Not in those places, you’ll never get heard over the din and dither of modernity. But here? Jimmy always kept the light low in here. The wooden bartop softened with the patina of a millenia’s worth of elbows, drips, and stories.  

The man walked out of the bar, straightened his fedora, and ambled down the sidewalk crunching orange leaves beneath the points of his Italian shoes. He could never have imagined after the turn of the century there would be a cocktail resurgence. A return to prohibition era drinking that would see his favorite drink come back into fashion in a big way. Not only that, but epicurean enthusiasts would fawn over high end spirits and the bootleggers would perfect their homemade hooch so much that they would be called craft distilleries. 

Today we’re paying homage to a time of distinguished class and elegant debauchery with a drink whose modern influence can be gleaned behind every red phone booth or false broom closet. Places where the speak is still easy and sheets still blow thrice to the wind. Before good authors who once used better words, now only use four letter words. Where the ritz has been put on, worn away, and reapplied. A cocktail whose very name rings with heritage, progress, and aplomb. The Manhattan. 

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

((.)) 

Sometime in the latter half of the nineteenth century, while the northern colonies relished and the southern languished with dignity, while the first wave of emancipated African-Americans proudly acknowledged the long road ahead, and a country on the mend stood on the precipice of a new century. That’s the world Lain Marshall found himself in. He also found himself mixing promethean potions behind the bar at The Manhattan Club. Organized in 1865 as the Democratic answer to the Union Club, the Manhattan Club served as more of a social entity than a specific place. Changing locations along NYC’s Fifth Avenue the club’s membership boasted the likes of Grover Cleveland, Samuel Tilden and even took up residency for a time at the home of Robert B. Roosevelt, Teddy’s uncle. 

Furthermore, Dr. Lain Marshall was not even a bartender by trade. Dr. Marshall began mixing the drink for fellow guests at a gala held in honor of presidential candidate Samual Tilden. A party hosted by none other than Lady Randolph Churchill. The drink became so popular among New Yorkers at the time they took pride in ordering it by the name of the venue in which it was created - The Manhattan. 

There is almost nothing as satisfying when researching cocktail history as a great story. Unfortunately, that’s all this is. Later investigations discovered that even if such a party took place there is no way it was organized or attended by Lady Churchill, as she was in London at the time, pregnant with her son, Winston. 

The more likely culprit of origin is accredited to a man simply known as ‘Black’, working at the Hoffman House along Broadway in circa 1860. Little is known of Mr. Black, save he lived along Houston St and Broadway around the 1860s and is referred as the drinks inventor by William F. Mulhall, a bartender at Hoffman House for over 30 years. The only discrepancy with this story is that if Black invented the Manhattan in 1860, why did it not gain mainstream popularity in writing till the 1880s? I believe the simple answer to this is if the name Mr. “Black” was an epitaph based on one of his prominent features? Well, that might explain the apprehension in lending credence to his legacy. For, the opposite of slavery is not always freedom. 

Black’s OG recipe called simply for American Whiskey, Italian Vermouth, and Bitters. During prohibition Canadian Whiskey was substituted due to supply chain issues. Apparently all the American Whiskey was held up on a barge off the coast of California. Which wasn’t even a state then making this anachronistic joke even less funny. The use of Canadian Whiskey, with its more astringent rye-like bite, may have been the origin of Rye Whiskey becoming the standard for use in a Manhattan. 

In the 1884 ‘American and Other Drinks’ by Charlie Paul he gives a blend of Angostura bitters, plain syrup, liqueur glass of vermouth, Scotch, and a lemon peel. A William Schmidt recipe from 1891 adds Absinthe to his popular recipe. But alas, the modern consensus has landed on the agreed upon standard of 2 parts Rye Whiskey, 1 part Italian Sweet Vermouth, and 2 dashes of Angostura Bitters. And that, my friends, is the most satisfying part of researching cocktails - finding a recipe everyone agrees on! 

With that, let’s make a drink!

((.))

Like the Daiquiri the Manhattan is one of those cocktails that, due to its simplicity, lends itself to myriad riffs. As Willie Nelson once said of writing a great country song, “All you need is three chords and the truth.” Bourbon, Sweet Vermouth, Angostura bitters. Those are our chords and we’ll find the truth after a few rounds. Today we’re not going to concern ourselves with riffs of whimsy because like with any good experiment one needs a control. 

We’ll begin where I always prefer, the spirit. In this case Bourbon. As Black’s original recipe states any American Whiskey is appropriate, but something like a Tennessee Sour Mash I think has to work too hard to be seen amid the potent vermouth and bitters. Therefore I stuck with Bourbon. Luckily, there’s only two popular variants here to contend with - Kentucky straight bourbon or Rye. The only technical issue here is that if you are using a higher proof or spicier whiskey, like rye, you want to use the full amount of vermouth. Whereas when using the lighter, sweeter, straight bourbon you may choose to lessen the amount of vermouth so not to overpower your mix. Other than that it’s purely preference. 

For these trials I used Rittenhouse Rye and 1792 Bourbon. 

With rye there is a spicy start which mellows with the sweet vermouth leaving a finish redolent of dark cherry. One of those mixes that is so well balanced it creates a cancelling out of distinct flavors. For a dark drink it is surprisingly bright and floral while still keeping a medium to full body. I find using a straight bourbon adds sweetness while rounding off the harsher edges. A bit more depth is detected which could be due to the softer body of bourbon. It’s smoother on the palate. 

In the spirit of full transparency I have to admit I generally prefer smooth straight bourbon over the hot bite of rye. But for the sake of purity I like the rye for my Manhattan as it is what the official IBA recipe calls for. I feel that paired with the right vermouth the fuller flavors of rye are integral to the balance of this cocktail. 

And the correct vermouth is paramount. Before we get specific let’s do a quick refresher on vermouth. A fortified wine mixed with botanicals vermouth hails from 18th century Turin, Italy. As with most products of the vine it didn’t take long for the French to get their pretentious little fingers all up in the mix. And after all these years Italian and French remain the two distinct styles of vermouth. Historically French is the dryer white version, while Italian would be your sweeter red, or rosso, variations. Although, in this our modern day each region offers a version of red or white. Either way, a lot of people may miss the most important part of mixing with vermouth. Because it’s a wine product it’s imperative that once opened your vermouth is refrigerated. 

For my experiments I used French Noilly Prat Rouge and Martini & Rossi Rosso for Italian. Keeping with the trend I found using French vermouth created a dryer, more herbaceous drink. While the Italian yielded more sweetness and balance. Fruitier and with a richer vermouth essence it complimented the rye better, but if I was using straight bourbon I may opt for the dry French. It’s all about balance. 

There is such a thing as a “Dry” Manhattan made with white vermouth but it doesn’t hold up in my book. A more popular riff would be the “Perfect” Manhattan, made by splitting the vermouth between dry and sweet. The term perfect is used not to say the drink is superior in any way, but rather refers to the equal parts dry and sweet vermouths. Perfect, meaning equal in this sense. 

When sipping between the versions one can understand why all the original recipes specified Italian Sweet Vermouth. It truly is the best choice for a Manhattan cocktail. 

The final ingredient is Angostura bitters. A couple of dashes will do you, but I like bitters so I tend to drop a little extra in there. The Manhattan falls short of being a true cocktail by definition by virtue of it lacking sugar. Mrs Pod Tiki found that a splash of simple syrup takes the edge off the otherwise in-your-face strength of this drink. As with all home bartending trists it is up to your taste preference, but I chose to stick with the sans sugar original. So, here we go:

2 oz Rittenhouse Rye Whiskey

1 oz Martini & Rossi Rosso Sweet Red Vermouth

3 dashes Angostura Bitters

Stir in a cocktail beaker with plenty of ice till the glass begins to frost. Strain into a coup and garnish with lemon twist and a black cherry. If so inclined, allow some of the cherry juice to drop into the glass. 

A note on stirring vs shaking. Juices, milk, cream, or eggs should always be shaken into a libation. This adds dilution, yes, but more importantly it aerates and binds the components. It also tends to cloud. Therefore, in a drink without those ingredients, like this one, stirring is the preferred method of preparation. It adds necessary dilution while rendering a smooth, silky texture that remains clear and resplendent. 

I also want to add that the Manhattan experience pairs splendidly with a fine cigar. I suggest the Perdomo ESV Sun Grown, La Galera Habano, or for a more elegant and refined choice, something from the Aviator series by Principal Cigars.

((.))

The Manhattan has been an essential part of the craft cocktail resurgence. Though it may take a backseat to its more popular cousin, the Old Fashioned, the Manhattan is not just a throwback, but a celebration of how far we’ve come in rediscovering and luxuriating the timeless tipples of yore. For before Donn Beach created his rum rapsodies, the likes of Mr. Black were laying the foundation with three chords and the truth. The truth, in this case, being that next time you’re at your favorite speakeasy or cigar lounge, holding court with epicurean guests, or simply winding down with that special someone, take a moment to let your mind drift off to a different time. A time when these classic cocktails were new and exciting. A time when people absconded from reality to a dimly lit leather chair or polished oak bartop, laughed about the vicissitudes of life with good friends, and dared to writhe in love. Just like we all still do. 

Credits: Cocktailsforyou.com, imbibe.com, liquor.com, tastecocktails.com, wikipedia.com.

Pod Tiki: 5 Fall Jamaicans

The art of cocktalia. And it is truly an art, consubstantial with a fine wine or perfectly prepared meal. Some say a great work of art is never finished. Yet, at times, it may be perfect just the way it is. One would never change a note of Beethoven, or edit Shakespeare. The anomaly of art is that the ideas of being complete and being finished are mutually exclusive. With gin and vermouth one can complete a Martini, but in the wrong specifications for the drinker that particular drink in that particular moment may not be finished. 

Within the pomp & circumstance of Tiki, a genre which not only allows for interpretation - but encourages it, the idea of a drink being standardized and truly finished borders on absurdity. Take the Mai Tai. There are whole social media accounts dedicated to traveling and finding the best one. Shout out to ... Sure, we know the complete list of ingredients, but with such variations in rum styles, proportions, and specialty syrups can we ever say one version of a Mai Tai is the standard finished cocktail? And if we can’t come to a consensus on the most famous drink in our genre…well?  

Often in studying Tiki and Tropical drinks we come across some that share a common flavor profile, but with a minor tweak - the addition or subtraction of an ingredient, the result is just significant enough to warrant a whole new drink. Usually these share the flavors and terroir of a specific region. Certain profiles we know to be pleasing to our gustatory senses in the same way certain color palates are pleasing to the eye. 

In the early 2000’s Orlando, FL was a Mecca of club music. Breakbeat, House, Techno. There I was with my purple Numark mixer and two Gemini turntables. I never could afford the Technique 1200’s which were the industry standard at the time. We were pretty good, my friends and I. Lugging our record bags and taking turns throwing down at parties. It was magical to watch people dancing and having fun to my own personal mixes. To be able to influence the articulation of a crowd like controlling a marionette. I could make them feel spiritual with a Bob Marley dub, chill them out with a slow break, or simply keep them dancing till they all fell down. One of my DJ mentors, my good friend TeeJay Henson, once told me the key to a seamless mix is picking two records that already sound alike. We do this in cocktalia all the time. 

Today we’re taking a trip to Jamaica to try a few drinks that although sharing a basic profile are unique in their own respective ways. Drinks that are complete, by virtue of being recorded for posterity, but thanks to the passion and curiosity of enthusiasts may never truly be finished. 

My name is Tony. Welcome to Pod Tiki. 

I-I

My journey for this episode began while reading Smuggler’s Cove by Martin & Rebecca Cate. Those of you in the genre are familiar, but I try to write these with the idea that I am speaking to someone with no knowledge of Tiki. Someone like I once was when I began. For the more I dive into the community the more I find I am on this journey right alongside you. You see, Martin Cate has given us the archetype for ascending to Tiki nirvana. 

A spark in the uninitiated lit by a trip to an iconic Tiki temple - the home enthusiast the reason you’re all here goes from foray of fresh juices to a fridge full of jars of homemade syrups - the idea that comes from a Tiki party leads to a full on all out home Tiki bar - in order to be a master one must learn from a master he studies in the house of Trader - armed with a vision all his own while amassing one of the largest collections of rum and iconic Tiki ephemera in the world - Smuggler’s Cove is born in San Francisco, California - recipes cocktalian creation recipes of his own renowned reach across the lands - his empire of Polynesian Pop holding court atop a totem as one of the premier players in this modern resurgence a preponderance of pop Tiki culture. 

Sorry, I got a little dramatic there. I just really respect this dude. Plus, he wrote the eponymous book Smuggler’s Cove, a veritable manual to the genre. Of course, it wouldn’t be an episode of Pod Tiki if I didn’t point out the things I disagree with, but we’ll get there. 

For now, back to our current journey. For some reason the summer to fall transition brought to my minds palate the tastes of Jamaica. Allspice, molasses, dark rich rums. It’s not like I can go down to the corner store and pick up a bottle of sorrel, so I began perusing my tomes for Jamaican based drinks when I remembered recently reading in Smuggler’s Cove about the Twenty Seventy Swizzle.  For reasons I will elucidate on momentarily this sent me on an excursion through flavor, history, and commonality which has left me many a morning thankful I took notes on my, ahem, research while I was still in a manner of able countenance and dry mind. 

A fact about myself that rarely has reason to come up is that I have always been very good at pattern recognition. From something as simple as a word search puzzle to being able to anticipate situational outcomes based on experiential factors. And though I’ve only been shackled to this mortal realm for a scant 41 years it’s not only my experiences I speak of. Since I was a child my eyes and ears have sponged up every bit of humanity I can. 

We pride ourselves on our individuality. On not fitting into a box. But it’s remarkable how often we are not that different. How we often fall, whether consciously or subconsciously, into a pattern of influence. The individual wave may crest at its own pace, but it will recede with the tide into the ocean alongside all the other waves. 

Wow, I’m getting pretty deep on this one so before I get any more full of myself we better get to  making some drinks! This episode will cover a few drinks that seem to play off each-other while paying homage to the flavors of a region. We’re featuring drinks that may not have a rich enough backstory to fit into our overall narrative, but definitely deserve a place in our repertoire. Let’s dive in. 

 I-I

When the craving for Jamaican flavors hit me I started with a drink I had made a mental note of. The Twenty Seventy Swizzle. Created by Martin Cate and Ron Roumas for Smuggler’s Cove this cocktail at first glance stood out as exactly the kinda thing I was looking for for my Jamaican fall idea. The drink came about in an attempt to create the ultimate swizzle using the best parts of classic recipes. He claims several versions of the swizzle were sampled and discarded before settling on the current recipe. That must’ve been some session because let me tell you, it only takes about three sips for this drink to start making its presence known. And I thought my research was tough. They finally came to an agreement that the best rums for the job were Angostura 1919, and Lemon Hart 151. Add those numbers together and… You guessed it = 2070. Which coincidentally is the year you wake up thinking it is after a night of drinking these.  

The Twenty Seventy Swizzle is:

½ oz Lime Juice

½ oz Demerara Syrup

½ oz Honey Syrup

¼ oz Allspice Dram

1 oz Column Still Aged Rum

1 oz Black Blended Overproof Rum

1 dash Herbstura

Pinch of Nutmeg

Add all the ingredients to a 10 oz Collins glass, fill ¾ way with crushed ice and swizzle using a bar spoon or bois lélé by spinning the handle back and forth between your palms while raising it slowly up and down. Yes, we’re still talking about a drink here, go take a cold shower sailor. Also, check out our Ti’ Punch episode for an in depth look at bois lélé. 

Now, you may have noticed something weirdly nondescript about those rums. This seems like a good time to go over Martin Cate’s system of rum sorting. Rather than delineating by flavor or color, as in light, amber, or dark rum; or by historical style, Spanish, British, or French, Cate has created an unique and impressive way of categorizing rum by production method and age. I’m not going to attempt to do it justice, mostly because he already wrote the book, so go check it out for an in depth examination. At a cursory glance it separates distilling methods like Column Still and Pot Still and furthermore dissects them into age groups such as Lightly Aged, Aged, or Long Aged. There is also a Blended category, which is usually column and pot still, or simply various blends within a distillery's own line. That is except for Blended Black rum which is its own thing. Of course there’s a section for Rhum Agricole wherein the Coffey Still Haitian rhums are separated from the AOC Martinique Rhum under the purview of French distillation methods. And who even knows where Kohana Hawaiian Agricole Rhum fits in. 

As you can see it gets quite confusing, but you do get the hang of it after a while. The rum world has gone unregulated for so long there has been need for a universal system of classification. Or, has there? Perhaps, like a great work of art, rum is destined to be left wild and free form, unfettered and unbridled. If history tells us anything it’s people that drink rum don’t like being regulated. 

Martin Cate’s system makes sense on paper and allows for experimentation with one’s own favorite rums, which is really a pain in the ass for a purist who wants to know how the person who invented the drink meant it to taste. For example within the Blended Lightly Aged category we find Appleton Estate Signature, Mount Gay Eclipse, Plantation 3 Star, and Real McCoy 3 Yr. Four rums that taste pretty dissimilar from one another. In the Aged section we find rums from Jamaica, Barbados, Guyana, and Venezuela. All of those vary wildly in flavor and will most definitely change the profile of your drink depending which one you choose. 

I admire anyone who finds a perceived problem, addresses it, and fixes it. For that I will always admire Martin Cate. And he does mention that the recipes he borrows from others have been adapted to fit the Smuggler’s Cove profile. But the purist in me still prefers the old school classification method that more informs flavor profile. Spanish Style, British Style, or French Style. 

Okay, now that I’ve ruined that potential friendship, let’s get back to the Twenty Seventy Swizzle ingredients. 

Lime juice as we all know should always be freshly squeezed and Nutmeg is pretty common. Ok, those are the easy ones. Let’s jump into rum. I stayed within Cate’s system, so to keep true to his recipes. For the column still aged rum I used Flor de Caña 7 yr. Column still is going to be mostly your Spanish style, i.e., Puerto Rico or Cuban rums. As I’ve mentioned in past episodes I find Flor de Caña 7 to be very close to aged Cuban rum which is my favorite. Bacardi 8 yr also works quite well in this recipe. As for the black blended overproof rum, I initially went with Plantation OFTD, as I generally don’t care for the pungent Lemon Hart 151. But although OFTD is a great replacement in Zombies, the rich Demerara notes of Lemon Hart truly is the best choice for this cocktail. 

All of that to remind you all that I am not an overproof drinker. One of these puts me past where I need to be, like zoning out on a road trip and missing your exit. If you’re a bit on the pusillanimous side towards the untoward overproofs, as am I, I find subbing the regular Lemon Hart Demerara rum or even a dark Jamaican like Myers’s for the 151 makes a very tasty drink. 

Next is Demerara Syrup. Basically a simple syrup using Demerara or Turbinado sugar in place of regular white cane. This renders a thicker, richer, more molasses-y syrup. The Smuggler’s Cove Demerara Syrup recipe used in this swizzle, and given in the book, boasts 4 parts sugar to 2 parts water and is waaaaaaaaaaay too sweet. Like beyond cloying. Like puckered at both ends sweet, if you know what I mean. (And if you do, let me know cuz I just made that shit up.) If you use the SC Demerara Syrup in this recipe I would cut the amount in half. You will still get the thick syrupy consistency that Smuggler’s Cove is looking for here, but which I think is the exact syrupy stereotype tiki drinks spent so long getting away from. But alas! We still want that Demerara flavor, it’s almost essential for a Jamaican style palate. I suggest a 1:1 sugar:water mix using Demerara or Turbinado sugar. You’ll get all that rich molasses flavor without going into a diabetic coma. 

Likewise, the Honey Syrup is simply 1 part honey to part water boiled down and mixed. 

Herbstura is a fun ingredient. Invented by Don the Beachcomber it was one of his most simple, yet effective mixes. And if he meant to be elusive he dropped the ball on this one, as the recipe is right in the name. Herb/stura is equal parts Herbsaint and Angostura Bitters. Herbsaint is an anise flavored liqueur much like Absinthe. I use Pernod just because I had it on hand. You can mix equal parts in a dasher bottle, which does come in handy for tiki drinks, or simply break it down to 1 dash of Angostura bitters and 6 drops of Pernod. 6 drops being ⅛ tsp. If you don’t have a dasher bottle, dropper, or ⅛ tsp well, perhaps you should go sit in the corner of the tiki bar and think about what you’ve done. 

Our last ingredient is Allspice Dram. Otherwise known as pimento liqueur. That’s not the pimentos you're thinking of that come stuffed in those delicious green olives, but the berry of the Jamaican Bayberry tree. That berry is commonly known as allspice. The industry standard is a brand called St. Elizabeth. It’s kinda pricey but used in small doses. Plus, I haven’t really seen any other brand. It really adds an exotic spice and makes these drinks redolent of the scent of Jamaican air. 

The flavors of this drink are impeccable. It’s got a wonderful Jamaican profile hitting all the marks of island cuisine. Using my 1:1 Demerara Syrup brings out all the nuances of rich rum, allspice, and honey while remaining light and tropical. When mixed with the right amount of ice this drink is so well balanced even the 151 isn’t overbearing. A very nice drink, indeed. 

But with this drink, as good as it is, I felt my spidey-sense of pattern recognition kicking in. This recipe felt awfully familiar. What was it, what was it. Hmmm. Let me flip through Beachbum Berry’s Remixed and….oh, yep. Here it is. It would seem that if you take a Twenty Seventy Swizzle, add grapefruit juice, and blend instead of swizzle you have a Montego Bay cocktail. 

I-I 

Semi-rich, honey heavy, spicey-tang, but very well balanced with the dark Jamaican rum coming through nicely. The Montego Bay recipe from Beachbum Berry Remixed is a specimen of a Tiki drink. Not only in flavor, feel, and presentation, but by nature of its parallels. Adding another juice and changing the prep method transmogrifies the potion such as a slight misutterance of incantation changes the outcome of a desired magic spell. A misrepresentation of recitation or alteration in alliteration can make or break a libation. 

The Twenty Seventy to the Montego Bay is what gave me the idea for this episode, but I am in no way pitting these two drinks against one another. They’re both delicious, I only want to point out the correlation in flavor palates. In fact if you swap the Jamaican rum for rhum agricole vieux and add falernum the Montego Bay pretty much becomes an Island of Martinique cocktail - a force unto itself. 

We’ll slide through these recipes a little quicker now that we’ve discussed the prevalent ingredients. 

The Montego Bay as Berry tells it:

1 ½ oz Dark Jamaican Rum

¼ tsp Allspice Dram

½ oz Honey Mix

½ oz Grapefruit Juice

½ oz Lime Juice

6 drops Pernod

1 dash Angostura Bitters

3 oz Crushed Ice

Add all ingredients and blend on high for 5 seconds. Pour unstrained into a Sour Glass, which is kinda like a small wine glass, but I used a coupe. The dark amber liquid should settle with a nice bubbly head. Take care not to use too much ice as even a small excess will turn this from frothy to frozen. When in doubt, use less. 

Berry doesn’t give too much background on the Montego Bay save that it was created by Don the Beachcomber himself. In the drink you can taste Donn’s affinity for classic flavors as well as his aptitude for rumgenuity. 

I used Myers’s Original Dark for the rum. You’ll notice Berry delineates Pernod from Angostura rather than combining them into Herbsaint. Although, I think he may do that for our sake and actually use the combo in his bar. Donn’s secret mixes were not only to protect his recipes, but also to save time. Building 10 ingredient drinks from scratch every time while your customer’s zombie buzz turns to aggravation is not great for business. The ¼ tsp Allspice Dram seemed weird at first, but after experimentation I once again flog myself for doubting the Donn. It’s bland without it, and too “baking spicy” with more. 

Overall, a great cocktail. Definitely added to my home repertoire. But, even in the Montego Bay I had not yet been sated in my pursuit for the perfect Jamaican cocktail to help me bring in fall. That amalgamation of citrus, baking spice and dark rum that seems to usher in the transition from tropical summer to down island holidays. Enter, the Pampanito. 

I-I 

You don’t get more Jamaica than Appleton Estate rum. In fact, while I was in Montego Bay and Ocho Rios Appleton and Wray & Nephew were the only two Jamaica rums available. Besides the fact that like most Caribbean nations the majority of produced rum is exported, I got the vibe no one in Montego Bay or Ochi was bellying up to the bar ordering a Hampden neat. One could procure a trash can size bag of “high grade” from anyone you stop on the street, but nary a drop of epicurean rum. Not that I minded, for reasons twofold. A lot of upscale rums are sent to finish aging or blended off island, so hats off to Appleton and J. Wray; And to be honest I didn’t go there looking to stick my pinky out. My best friend and I meant this purely as a beach bum, relaxing, play-it-by-ear trip. I’m sure the fine dining is tucked away somewhere, maybe Negril. 

Appleton Estate actually plays a large part in this next drink. Martin Cate was visiting with Appleton master blender Joy Spence when she told him they take the rich wet sugar and use it to make a rum spiked lemonade. Cate took this idea and ran, adding a few more Jamaican flavors and some of his own tricks. Here’s the recipe created by Martin Cate for Smuggler’s Cove:

1 oz Lemon Juice

1 oz Molasses Syrup

2 ½ oz Seltzer 

¼ oz Allspice Dram

1 ½ oz Black Blended Rum (Dark Jamaican)

1 dash Angostura Bitter

Flash Blend with 12 oz of crushed ice and open strain into a 10 oz highball glass. Garnish with a lemon twist. I made a few adjustments to this straightaway. Since molasses is hard to come by at the regular store I tried honey syrup. I could tell this was not the flavor or consistency he was looking for. So, to fabricate the rich molasses texture I cut the 1 oz molasses syrup into ½ oz honey syrup and ½ oz SC Demerara Syrup. The SC syrup that is usually too sweet for me works perfectly when mixed with honey to bring this drink to perfect sweetness and viscosity. I also found that without the original thick molasses syrup 2 ½ oz of seltzer watered the drink down, so I decreased to 2oz. For reference, the Recipe Index tab on PodTiki.com will  show my personal recipe. 

Aaaaaaand, wow. The Pampanito offers exquisite balance between heavy and light. Notice I didn’t say medium, because it’s not. You can taste both the heavy, rich molasses and a crisp tropical citrus. Light and drinkable while still boasting plenty of Jamaican flavor me thinks this libation far better than the Twenty Seventy Swizzle. Umami, spice, rum, molasses with a slight effervescence form the seltzer and crushed ice. This is exactly what I think of a true tropical Tiki drink. Which is exactly why I couldn’t end my search here. For as great as the Pampanito is, it’s kinda generic. I don’t mean that in a bad way. It is just what it’s supposed to be. A Jamaican alcoholic lemonade. I will for sure be returning to the Pampanito as mercury rises, but it doesn’t quite have the holiday spirit I’m looking for. Sally forth, mon! 

I-I

This next cocktail strays the most from our current palate with the addition of a truly tropical flavor. A fruit so highly regarded that the wealthy once rented them as centerpieces for parties. A sign of fertility to the ancient Taino and Caribs that Colombus thought were Philipinos. I speak, of course, of the mighty pineapple. We also include another flavor closely associated with Jamaica though you might not think so. Ginger. 

Created by storied San Francisco bartender Marcovaldo Dionysos, a key member of the Smuggler’s Cove team, I bring you the Piñata!  

If you don’t like this drink you may as well hang up your coconuts. Crisp, yet full bodied. Pineapple forward with great fluffy head and quite tropical while maintaining that sense of  true tiki mystery. The sour spices of lemon and pineapple compliment ginger and allspice while rich demerara and dark rum round it out. Here’s Marcovaldo’s OG recipe. Then I’ll give you my adaptations which will again be my official Pod Tiki recipe. 

3 oz Pineapple Juice

1 oz Lemon Juice

½ oz Demerara Syrup

1 oz Ginger Liqueur 

½ oz Allspice Dram

1 oz Black Blended Rum (Dark Jamaican)

1 oz Blended Lightly Aged Rum (Blended Rum 3 yrs or under; light or amber; Spanish or Britsh style) 

For the rums I used Myers’s Original Dark and Plantation 3 Star. A blend of Jamaican, Barbados, and Trinidad rums the Plantation works in almost any cocktail requiring this style. 

Ginger liqueur is interesting. I used Stone’s Original Ginger and to be honest it’s not very gingery and I feel like it flattens the drink out. To correct that I substituted the ginger liqueur with Reed’s Jamaican Extra Ginger Beer. Not only to up the ginger but the slight carbonation adds the body I feel this drink desires. 

Flash blend with 12 oz of crushed ice and open gate pour into a hollowed out pineapple or double rocks glass. I used the latter. Garnish with nutmeg. 

All I can say is hats off Mr. Dionysos. You truly live up to your namesake. 

But alas! There is one far greater than thee. The final tipple in our tarry of terroir. There is one paladin of potency who has yet to make an appearance on this litany of libation. One who, you might say, trades in the salacious solubrity of Tropiki.

I-I

By the time Trader Vic was publishing recipe books, fully capitalizing on the genre he helped create, a lot of his prescriptions called for a specialty mix, mai tai mix or grog mix, which he dutifully supplied under the Trader Vic trade mark. Lest we forget before it was our hobby it was his business. But this made it very hard for Jeff “Beachbum” Berry to discern his recipes. Such was the case as he assiduously endeavored to reverse engineer Vic’s Navy Grog. After many sits and sips Berry eventually figured it out, but one of his early attempts garnered a drink so delicious it’s earned its rightful place among tikidom and the top spot on our current list. The Beachbum named his concoction after how old he felt after imbibing in a few, The Ancient Mariner. 

In any quest to uncover the past, especially when that past has become the subject of enthusiasm among fans, one of the tells that you’re on the right track is when you not only enjoy your discovery, but it finds its way through the diaspora of revival. The Ancient Mariner has done such, making itself a staple in temples across the land. Sadly, the original bars to pick it up have since closed. But if you see it on a menu I suggest giving it a try. Here’s why:

¾ oz Lime Juice

½ oz Grapefruit Juice

½ oz Simple Syrup

¼ oz Allspice Dram

1 oz Demerara Rum

1oz Dark Jamaican Rum

Shake well with 1 cup of crushed ice and pour unstrained into a double old fashioned glass. Garnish with a mint sprig and scored lime wedge. That’s a lime wedge with the skin peeled in a decorative fashion so only the white rind shows through. It adds a nice touch, but it’s only a garnish so it’s fine to use a regular old lime wedge. 

I made zero adjustments to this recipe. Myers’s was my Jamaican rum and I used Pusser’s as my Demerara. Okay, so I made a wee tiny adjustment. Pusser’s wouldn’t usually be considered a Demerara rum, but it’s made in Guyana where Demerara rum comes from and all the flavors of the locale are there plus Pusser’s adds more depth and flavor. If you want to be a true purist, as I usually am, use El Dorado 5 yr. With the exception of Pusser’s being the old Navy Recipe, the base spirit comes from the same region and we know that a lot of brands use the same distilleries and same ingredients. So, swapping these two rums is not that egregious of an alteration. And it definitely adds body and flavor. 

The Ancient Mariner hits all of what I was looking for in an autumn leaning Jamaican inspired tropical cocktail. True it’s not as spicy as the Pampanito or as rich as the Twenty Seventy, but it ups the tropicality and leaves us imagining the holidays rolling in on a Caribbean island. When the wind picks up just so and a passing hurricane churns the tide on its way to the Florida straits. 

Crisp and tart. Allspice comes through and dances with romantic overtures towards the mix of Jamaican and Guyana rums. A great balance of sour citrus and rich fruity baking spice. Like taking a bite of key lime pie and spice cake at the same time. Grapefruit is like the cold shower that calms the whole ordeal down while giving an over-the-shoulder wink that lets us know she’s just playing hard to get. Wait, we’re still talking about drinks here. Take a trip with the Ancient Mariner and see what depths you discover! 

I-I

Well, folks. I hope my long winded pontifications helped to point out the precision of Tiki drinks. How minor tweaks in flavor may go unnoticed by less discerning palates. Much the same way someone not into a certain type of music might think it all sounds the same. That doesn’t mean those of us who like to think themselves on the finer side of Tiki get to be pompous. I’m a lover of epicurean folly, but I can’t stand the overthinking snobs who take the fun out of it. Because maybe we can distinguish black blended from pot still Jamaican, the tertiary flavor grapefruit makes when added to lime, a complexity of allspice mixed with ginger nuanced under a bed thick molasses richness. Or, maybe, just maybe, we’re all full of shit and these are just different versions of the same drink. Separate pieces of art created from the same palate. And, I think that’s ok too. 

Ladies and gents, this has been Pod Tiki. 

Sources for this episode can be found in this article at PodTiki.com

Before we sail off into this good night I have a bit of a PSA. We all want to do our part to preserve the environment. But I for one am sick of those soggy flimsy paper straws unraveling in my drink like a cheap gas station blunt. Don’t let your next party be a flop by serving your guests drinks using limp floppy straws. Head on over to surfsidesips.com and grab yourself some premium glass straws. With various lengths, widths, and designs Surfside Sips has you covered in versatility, utility, and style that will get all your guests talking. Choose from a myriad of custom designs or keep it simple and classic. For durable, machine washable glass straws, swizzles, and garnish picks, check out surfsidesips.com and be sure to enter PODTIKI at checkout for 20% off your order. That’s all caps all one word PODTIKI at checkout to get 20% your order at surfsidesips.com

Also wanna give a heads up to all my Tiki cigar geeks out there. If you’re looking for a cool laid back cigar podcast that just puffs and shoots the shit like regular fellas, check out my buddies Bret and Mark over at the Retrohale podcast. 

Last but not least if you’re in the Nashville area check out Faith Kelley Music on social media and youtube. The bluesy-rocky-folky-jazzy three piece ensemble is now booking for the end of 2021 and early 2022. Go to @faithkelleymusic on Instagram to check out the six weeks of Dead series she did earlier in the summer. 

With that I will say please drink responsibly, thank you so much for listening and keepi tiki out there!  

Tiki Chat: Andrew from Surfside Sips!

Let’s meet Andrew from Surfside Sips glass straws, picks, swizzles, and more! For all your glass straws, tiki or otherwise visit surfsidesips.com Follow for new stuff @surfsidesips

DISCOUNT!!! For my listeners enter PODTIKI coupon code at checkout and receive 20% off!!!

Pod Tiki: Painkiller

The story of the Painkiller is really three stories in one. The unholy trinity that makes up too much of our tropical narrative thus far. Colonialism, contrivance, and Capitalism. The first represented by the British Royal Navy. The history of British impact on Carribean rum is irrevocable. And the facts are the facts and so it goes.

Hoist the mainsail, gallants and royals!  

The version of rum as we know and love it began on the windward island of Barbados where they mastered the progression of sugar-molasses-rum. Before which the molasses byproduct of sugar refinement was simply discarded into the ocean. Bajans were out there doing their thing creating rum and sexy dancing, but what kills every dance party? White people show up. Upon establishing colonies on the island British explorers not only discovered the financial benefits of sugar and the pleasures of palatable rum, but were also introduced to the exotic flavors of pineapple juice and feral pig.  

Moving west through the Caribbean the next event relative to our story was the capturing of the Jamiacan city of Port Royal by Captain Henry Morgan. The higher alcohol content of Jamaican rum appealed to English sailors and the ease of shipping to London caused Jamaica to surpass Barbados as the port of favor. Port Royal, in its own right, attracted a different type of sailor becoming the first true pirate haven in the Caribbean. 

Eventually raw Jamaican molasses was shipped to be distilled into rum in London. This never truly yielded that authentic Caribbean flavor but it did give rise to what we know as British Navy Rum. In fact, British style is still a classification of rum, which includes Jamaican, Guyana, and Trinidad rums, respectively. Spanish style being your Cuban and Puerto Rican rums. French of course, the agricoles. 

The final leg of British impact on rum comes in the form of rum rations. Included as part of a sailor’s wages, rum rations were distributed daily mainly to pacify long nights at sea. Much in the same way some of us used rum rations to pacify long days of quarantine in 2020. In using fruit juice to assuage the harsher rums it was Her Majesty’s Navy that first discovered the link between citrus and scurvy. English sailors began trading their other rations of salt or bread for sour citrus fruits giving to the origin of Brits becoming known as “limeys”. 

But it was the temperate ingenuity of one naval officer that eventually brought us the modern Navy rum and the advent of what some claim to be the original cocktail. Admiral Edward Vernon always wore a coat made from a heavy material known as grogham, earning him the nickname “old Grog”. Vernon was growing more than a little concerned regarding his men’s indulgence in the alcohol laden navy strength rum and began ordering his rum rations diluted with water, sugar, and lime juice in a drink which became known in 1756 as Grog. 

The inclusion of lime juice branded this concoction as preventative medicine. (Maybe that’s how we get people to take vaccines!)  These rations were doled out by the person in charge of pay, the purser. Or in British parlance of the time, pusser. In 1810 the official recipe of blended rums from Trinidad and Guyana was a national secret of the Royal Navy. The tradition of issuing rum rations continued for 325 years till 31st July 1970 when on a day known as Black Tot Day the last rations of rum were handed to sailors who raised a glass, took a sip, and rolled the remaining barrels of Royal Navy rum overboard into the sea. A moment of silence for all that fallen rum. …

That was that. That is until 1980 when Parliament granted the formula and the rights to Navy rum to an American (whaa?) named Charles Tobias who subsequently started the Pussers Rum company. Splice the mainbrace, mates! Royal Navy rum lives on. 

The second facet of our trinity takes us to the island of Jost Van Dyke in the British Virgin Islands. Those of us inclined to recline in tikidom all know the names Donn Beach, Trader Vic, Harry Yee, and Joe Scialom for their venerable rumgenuity. Folks like Steve Crane and Martin Denny for providing the atmosphere. Jeff Berry and Martin Cate for keeping it alive. But what of those one off rum rooms, beach shacks and tiki joints along with the countless inspired bartenders and owners who brought us some of the most iconic tiki and tropical classics? Those islands in the stream. Maybe they didn’t franchise or become a giant hotel chain but they fit as an adjunct yet vital part of our tropical narrative creating drinks that live in infamy. 

Thus so was Daphne Henderson. Not much in the way of history is known about her little beach bar in White Bay on the island of Jost Van Dyke (JVD). We know it was open circa 1970 and its most famous fact is that there was no dock in the bay of crystal clear water and white powder beach. Can you imagine? To swim ashore, dragging through the tide to walk out of the waves onto a sandy beach and directly up to a bar to order a rum?!! How inconceivably, piratically awesome would that be? Bucket list for me, baby. This was exactly how island hopping patrons had to approach Daphne’s place. Because there was no dock, thirsty sailors were forced to anchor down and swim ashore, slapping down wet money, giving this place its famous name; The Soggy Dollar Bar. 

The Soggy Dollar became a go-to destination for those who could, and spawned a plethora of knock-offs for those who couldn’t. Adirondack chairs point their visage towards a crystalline bay that to this day still has no dock. But it’s like Jeff Goldblum taught us, in the chaos theory of the tropics, tourists find a way. These days the ferry from Tortola or St. Thomas makes visiting the Soggy Dollar a little easier while maintaining a barrier to entry that keeps the riff-raff out. Or, in, rather. Either way they all come to enjoy that famous drink Daphne Henderson created sometime in the early 1970’s. The Painkiller. 

One of those saturated sippers that frequented Soggy Dollar happened to be Charles Tobias, owner of Pusser’s rum. Ol’ Chuck became obsessed with Daphne’s drink, the Painkiller. He inquired for years about the recipe, which she was quite resolute in not giving away. And so it came to pass that Tobias eventually managed to abscond with a Painkiller, somehow keeping it above water as he swam back to his boat, taking it home and deconstructing it in the most ridiculous case of reverse engineering time spent since sceptics tried to debunk the moon landing. Seriously, this guy made it his mission at nuasium to figure out this concoction. Eventually he not only thought he figured it out, but improved it. The only way to empirically prove whose was better? Obviously… a taste competition. Man, people in the tropics have a ton of time on their hands. Ten patrons were selected, a round of Tobias’ recipe and a round of Daphne’s were each distributed. And the verdict? Tobias won ten out of ten, as he tells it.

Which brings us to the final tenant of our trinity. You may have heard the Painkiller referred to as the Pusser’s Painkiller. This is because, in 1989, Pusser’s trademarked the Painkiller cocktail making it illegal for any establishment to place it on their menu unless of course it was made with Pusser’s Rum. 

Let’s talk about that for a minute. This isn’t unheard of. The Dark n Stormy comes to mind. To call it a Dark n Stormy on a menu the bar must use Goslings rum. Sazerac, and Hand Grenade (which I’ve never even heard of), make up the remaining of the only four trademarked cocktails. But trademarking doesn’t only prohibit variations of ingredients, it also secures a standard preparation. The Mojito is not trademarked, but if you like the way they make’em at Applebee’s you’re probably not gonna like one from the Paris Cafe in Havana. There’s a valid argument that this is a good thing. When I see a Painkiller on a menu I know it's going to taste like I expect. 

Most of the time these legal bindings have work-arounds or bar owners just work in unison with brands. But, Pusser’s wasn’t joking around. In 2010 Pusser’s went after a bar in New York named Painkiller, offering their version of the titular drink. The verdict on this one? Well, the bar is now called PKNY. Presently, the world of cocktalia has leveled out to a symbiotic relationship. Most places that would offer a Painkiller would probably carry Pusser’s anyway, or one could offer a Painduller, Anxietykiller, or any number of variants meant to mollify your malignants. 

Personally, I believe there should be some clemency allowed for the posterity and progress of the genre, but I also don’t like all these “our versions” of drinks popping up all over the place. Just make the drink the way I expect it to be, or call it something else. So, in the end. Maybe I fall somewhere in between. As I do on most issues much to the chagrin of my wife. Charles Tobias himself admits, he didn't invent the drink. Graciously, he allowed Daphne to continue serving her Painkiller and to be fair, does give her credit in the marketing.   

Well, now that we’ve gone through that. I have gone through a painstaking amount of Painkillers in the past few weeks only to land on the decision that the original Pusser’s recipe is indeed the best. So, I guess Charles Tobias won eleven out of eleven taste tests. Let’s make a drink! 

(-)  

I don’t reckon we’ll ever truly know Daphne’s OG recipe. Mostly because none of the prominent cocktail historians seem to care too much about finding it. All my usual references all defer to the official Pusser’s Painkiller recipe. So, that’s where we’re going to start. 

2 oz Pusser’s Rum

4 oz Pineapple Juice

1 oz Fresh Orange Juice

1 oz Coconut Cream

Nutmeg 

Sometimes lime juice comes into play, but we’ll get to that. The ingredients are pretty straight forward so let’s start where one should, with the rum. 

Before Tobias, Daphne most likely used a dark Virgin Islands rum. Maybe something from Trinidad or Guyana, where Pusser’s is currently produced. I’ve tried it with Jamaica rum to keep the original tie to the Royal Navy, but it only works if you use a not-so-funky rum. And we all know when it comes to Jamaica rum I like all the funk. Did you know that the proliferation of Jamaican rum through British Government is where the band Parliament Funkadelic got their name? And that’s a fact I just made up. Though Guyana is in South America it is closely culturally associated with the Caribbean. Just south of Barbados and Trinidad, Guyana’s capital of Georgetown was a major British hub and remains a tourist destination for colonial architecture. Guyana rum has great full body characteristics and flavor profile somewhere between Barbados and Jamaica. I’m not able to find the Pusser’s 15yr around me and to be honest I don’t see myself spending $100 on a bottle of rum. And being the kinda guy who enjoys making memories not losing them, I’m a bit apprehensive about Pusser’s overproof, which they call “Gunpowder Proof”. Look, I know overproof has its place. I cut my teeth on Wray ‘n’ Nephew in Jamaica, and next time I make Zombies I will probably use the Pusser’s Gunpowder seeing as how I don’t really like LemonHart 151.

I just don’t see the modern rumheads’ fascination with sipping overproof rums? What’re you trying to prove? “Ooh, it’s got a nice spice!” No, that’s not spice. That’s burn, from too much alcohol. That’s what it feels like when you pour straight alcohol on your tongue. I’m not hating, I’m just saying we saw the same thing in the craft beer world a few years back, right? Everyone was chasing the triple IPAs. Go to a local brewery now and see the focus has shifted to lagers or session ales. In the premium cigar world we see folks work their way up to the heaviest smokes they can get till eventually settling in somewhere around a medium profile. Just make sure you’re drinking what you like and not what you're supposed to like. Personally, I really like regular Pusser’s Rum. Great full body flavor whether sipping or in a drink. 

Coco Lopez holds up as the industry standard for coconut cream and it’s pretty easy to find in the supermarket. For a full rundown on coconut cream check out our Pina Colada episode. Fresh orange juice is pretty easy to make with a small manual juicer. If you can find whole nutmeg to grate, that's great… but powdered stuff from the spice isle is fine too. 

That leaves pineapple juice. The pineapple and I have found ourselves at something of an impasse. I have great fondness and respect for the noble ananas. It has served me well in all my potions. Yet, concurrently it plagues me. I’ve pureed it. I’ve squeezed it. I’ve cooked it and smooshed it. How in the holy name of Francis Drake do I get fresh pineapple juice out of a pineapple? Somebody please help me. I have the fancy Ninja food processor set and all that does is leave me with a mass of pineapple paste. I guess I have to go and get a separate tabletop juicer with the pulp catcher and all that. 

When I am able to procure fresh pineapple juice through my undaunted efforts it does indeed enhance the flavors of orange juice and rum in this drink. Worth it, but it’s such a giant pain in the ass to render fresh pineapple juice… wait-a-minute! That must be why Daphne Henderson named this drink the Painkiller. Because you need a stiff drink after juicing a pineapple. Anyway, Trader Joes makes a pretty good unsweetened 100% pineapple juice and a lot of grocery chains now are offering high end 100% not from concentrate juices by various brands. Just try to use it in a few days after opening as being all natural with no preservatives or additives means it lasts about a week. But, they are pretty good. 

Ya’ll know I’m a sucker for using the correct glassware. When you’re sailing in the deep, you need the correct vessel. The Painkiller fits nicely into a Mai Tai glass, and personally I think the high-tropical flavor is a perfect opportunity to break out your favorite tiki mug. But alas, there is a British Navy Pusser’s Rum brand mug. I can imagine an ol’ English sea dog sipping his daily grog ration from a crude 17th century version of this handled tin mug. The metallic clicks as a toast rings out to good Admiral Vernon. One such toast can be found printed on the back of the mug, “To sweethearts and wives, may they never meet!” Yeah … 17th century British Navy men? Not exactly what you’d call woke. What do you do with a drunken sailor, indeed. Drink like a pirate, don’t think like a pirate. Notwithstanding, the Painkiller does fit perfectly in this mug spangled with the Pusser’s Rum label and the tin helps keep it cold. Of course, if one wanted to truly pay homage to Daphne’s libation they could swim up to the Soggy Dollar Bar and order one in their cups which read, “the Original Painkiller”. 

Preparation for this is pretty simple. In a cocktail shaker add 2oz Pusser’s Rum, 4oz pineapple juice, 1oz coconut cream, 1oz orange juice, and 1 ½ cups of cracked or cubed ice. Like anytime we use it we really want to shake hard to froth up that pineapple juice. Then pour that whole thing, ice and all, into your mug and dash a little nutmeg on top. I like to garnish with a mint sprig and a slice of pineapple. (Actually, my favorite garnish is a Pod Tiki paper umbrella! Info on how to get some coming soon.) 

In the first sip the heavy richness of coconut is prevalent. As the drink mellows the sweet tropical complexity of pineapple becomes present. I mean, pineapple and coconut are like the ocean and the sand. You can’t have the beach without both. The orange juice flavor is nearly nonexistent, but that’s only because it goes so naturally with pineapple. I wouldn’t call this drink balanced, per say, it does lean heavily into tropical island expectations, but the orange juice works to elongate it a little. Otherwise, it’s simply a pina colada on the rocks. 

There are some versions that attempt to add balance and refinement, the SugarHouse recipe is very nice. But messing with the proportions and adding ingredients makes the drink very thin and punch-like. And we wouldn’t want to depreciate all of Charles Tobias’ time spent figuring this recipe out. That would be like saying Christopher Columbus didn’t discover America! So what if he thought Jamaica was China, easy mistake. I will say though that I don’t mind the standard recipe with about a half ounce of lime juice. It mitigates the heavy richness of coconut cream and actually brings out the other fruit flavors. But I almost want to say it makes it a different drink, as the Painkiller is meant to be a coconut laden libation. Oh, and dash a little angostura on top - Oh no! I’m doing that thing I complain about where people make their own version of classic drinks. I guess if you do something long enough you become what you hate. See, this is why people trademark cocktails!  

 All in all I am very impressed with this drink and dare I say so is Mrs Pod Tiki. A simple four ingredient recipe that’s easy to prepare and exhibits a classic tropical flavor, the Painkiller has definitely earned a spot in our cocktail rotation. Make up a batch and take it to the pool, or float an extra shot of rum atop and make it a nightcap. I’m categorizing this as a tiki drink, due to the qualities it shares, but really this can belong to the Boat Drinks or Tropical Drinks monakers as well. Either way it’s like an island party in your mouth. Just be careful swimming back to your boat after a few Painkillers, lest you truly feel the pain. 

(-)

One more thing before I head out. Beneath my irreverence I hope you know my jokes are all in good fun. For all my soap boxes I do try to keep these fun and light and I just like bustin’ chops. But as we talk about a drink called the Painkiller I feel this is a good spot to mention something. Here at Pod Tiki we use drinks to help us tell stories, and yes, we also enjoy our cocktails. It’s easy for the romance of a lifestyle to become a poor excuse, so I urge all of you to drink responsibly. And, if you or someone you know struggles with opioid addiction please do not be afraid or ashamed to at least talk to someone. We can’t get folks to take the medicine that will keep them alive, while others are plagued by ones that are killing them. Unfortunately, all too often they come from the same place. Let’s keep ourselves and each other safe. May your dollars stay soggy, and keep it tiki out there. 

Credits: Beachbum Berry Remixed - Jeff Berry, And a Bottle of Rum - Wayne Curtis, Pussers.com, Liquor.com, RUM - Tom Neijens & Isabel Boons

Pod Tiki: The Tropical Itch

When I was little my family took a vacation to Disney World. One of the memories that stands out to me the most was riding the monorail around the circle of hotels. Grand Floridian, Contemporary, and of course The Polynesian. Long before I ate my first cheeseburger in paradise I was mesmerized by the sights and sounds of vintage tropicalia. The Disney treatment gave it that cartoony tongue-in-cheek facade. I vividly recall parrots perched atop broadleaf plants in the atrium squawking and wobbling about. Even as a child I felt a connection.

Years later, when I was 13, my parents moved us to Orlando, Florida... and the rest is history. Throughout my sister and I’s formative years the family made many, many more trips around that monorail loop. A lot of times we wouldn’t even go to the parks, simply ride around and hang out or grab a bite at the resorts. I bet you can guess which hotel continually captured my awe. 

I found myself working for a construction company in my 20’s, operating a concrete pump. I never minded the hard work, in fact I rather enjoyed it. Perhaps I would still be working there if it wasn’t for the hours. Bigger projects farther away, along with trying to evade the sunshine state’s scorching namesake, meant lots of drive time and very little sleep. I got to work on a lot of cool builds in a lot of cool places, though. NASA, behind the scenes at Disney, Harry Potter land at Universal, and plenty of highrises along beautiful stretches of beach, with all the sights that vantage point offers. It was like a screen saver, but I got to see it for real. One of my fondest memories of that decade long chapter in my life was when I was put on a project to redo all the concrete slabs at one of the Disney resorts. Everyday for 2 weeks I trekked my equipment out to the Polynesian and took my breaks chilling amid the immaculately groomed tropical grounds. 

My love affair with the Poylnesian obviously came full circle in recent years as I sail along my journey of campy contrivances and pop-tiki. The first time I took my now wife to Disney I couldn’t wait to show her my favorite hotel, which I still have never stayed at. Just saying, if Disney wants to throw a free night to a big fan. What am I saying? It’s Disney. All the pixie dust in Neverland couldn’t make them give anything away. You know why you can’t see the pockets on Mickey’s pants? Because they’re so tight. Ahem, anyway, I digress. 

Unfortunately we went a bit early and the famous Trader Sam’s Grotto was closed. So we sat at the bar upstairs taking in the tropical atmosphere as well as imbibing in some early afternoon libations. That’s when I saw it. Mind you, I was always a fan of tropical drinks, but this was early in my education of traditional tiki. I hadn’t yet dove deeply into the players and recipes. So when I saw the hurricane glasses lined up behind the bar all prepped with something sticking out of them it immediately perked my interest. Is that a signature thing here, or some Disnified take on something to be cute. No, it’s a real drink. What is that thing sticking out the top? Is that?... Wiat...Huh?... That’s actually...yeah, it’s a wooden back scratcher. In a drink.  

This drink being the answer to the metaphorical question actually makes perfect sense. The question being; 

           When you pine for the palms, 

           crave a crustacean, 

           want for the waves, 

           and would love a libation,        how will you scratch that Tropical Itch?  

^*^

If the golden age of Tiki was a narrative we are jumping back today into the main story-arc. We’ve met both our protagonists before. On the police leaderboard of tropicalia our two suspects are pretty near the top. In the tiki mafia they are not quite Donns… but consiglieres of conch? Ok, I’ll stop. The folks we’re talking about today are Harry Yee and Joe Scialom, respectively. Hailing from the Hawaiian Village hotel on Waikiki, Harry Yee is responsible for tiki garnish as we know it. Credited as the first to use orchids and tiny umbrellas in drinks, we first met Yee as the inventor of the Blue Hawaii cocktail. (See our full episode on that in the archives.) Our second baron of bacchanal holds court behind the bar of the Caribe Hilton in San Juan, late of the Long Bar in Egypt. The man who helped win the battle of El Alamein with his hangover cure for those suffering bastards has many entries in the tomes in tiki. We’re referring obviously to Joe Scialom. Two legends, two drinks, one itch. 

Let’s get into it. In 1957 Harry Yee created the Tropical Itch cocktail on Waikiki. A mix of passion fruit juice, curacao, bitters, 151 rum, dark Jamaican rum, and bourbon. Yee quickly rose to head bartender at the Hawaiian Village Hotel following his hire in 1952. He was actually mixing drinks in Hawaii before we took it ov… ahem, I mean made it a state. (Not gonna go into that, just read your history.)  As the first actual Hawaiian to propagate pop tiki culture, Yee invented many drinks as well as added some tropical flare in the form of garnish. Not only was he the first one to add orchids atop a tipple, but his idea of placing paper parasols in each glass is the impetus of the term “umbrella drinks.” Yee created drinks that were simple and tropical, meant to satiate discerning tourists who wanted a local South Pacific indulgence. Aside from spitting in a Kava bowl, which didn’t really appeal to mainland vacationers, (oh, we’ll definitely cover Kava bowls some day), there really weren't true Hawaiian drinks. After all, rum was Caribbean, not Polynesian. “A Hawaiian drink to me,” Yee said, “is something they don’t get back home.” So, Harry Yee set out to make real Hawaiian drinks that embodied the flavors and soul of the islands while keeping in the modern, at the time, expectations of tiki. Who knows where an artist gets inspiration. Perhaps it came to him in a dream, or a word from a lost love. Maybe he heard the phrase “tropical itch”, referring to the need for a vacation and immediately made the connection to his craft. Or, for the man who said “I wasn’t thinking about romance, I was being practical”, he probably just grabbed the Chinese bamboo back scratcher that was laying around and threw it in a drink with rum and fruit juice and called it the tropical itch. A true pioneer, Harry Yee’s combinations of juices, rums, bourbons, and syrups hold a venerable place on the tiki totem.  

Rewind. What I meant to say was, in 1957 Joe Scialom invented the Tropical Itch cocktail for the Caribe Hilton resort. Joe’s mix  of light Puerto Rican rum, dark Jamaica rum, vodka, Grand Marnier, mango and lime juices with bitters has a numbing effect sure to assuage any itchiness at all. In true Joe Scialom fashion he gave the recipe out many times, but each time a different version. A curious quencher, indeed. Eventually, in true Beachbum Berry fashion, Berry discovered the recipe hidden among Scialom’s private papers. The combo of rum and tropical juices is no great innovation. And using a secondary spirit was becoming commonplace. Where the plot thickens is the fact that Joe also garnished his Tropical Itch with a wooden back scratcher. Ah, The fat is in the fire, my friends. Two legendary bartenders coming up with a drink by the same name, I can buy that. But using the same esoteric, if not mundane, household item as a garnish? Perhaps people had itchier backs in the late 50’s and there was some sort of back scratcher boom happening that I don’t know about. I’m only half joking about that. MAny times when looking back to history we have to take into consideration any parochial fads that may remain unbeknownst to us. But then, why not back scratchers in everything? Stuck into a New York strip steak or protruding from a bowl of pasta?  

For the prevailing theory we once again turn to tiki historian Jeff “Beachbum” Berry. You see, in 1961 Conrad Hilton, owner of the Caribe Hilton where Scialom worked, purchased the Hawaiian Village Hotel where Yee worked. Berry postulates that Hilton may have been scouting properties in Hawaii circa 1957, when Yee created the drink, subsequently leaning on Scialom to create a similar libation for the Caribe. Which he did the very same year. It was common then, as is now, to borrow concepts and recipes and put one’s own twist on them. Heck, some say Trader Vic’s Mai Tai was a riff on Donn The Beachcomber’s QB Cooler. Once the hula hips were in full swing many menus offered not only the same popular standards, but similar copycats of modern staples. Such as Harry Yee’s Suffering Haole, which appears on vintage cocktail menus for the Hawaiian Village Hotel, a riff on Joe Scialom’s famous Suffering Bastard. 

I’m gonna piggyback off that theory and say Harry and Joe probably knew of each other by this point and held somewhat of a mutual respect for one another. This is all conjecture, but it’s the way I like to see it. Case in point, Joe’s Tropical Itch uses a light rum/vodka combo - the basis for Harry’s famous Blue Hawaii. Whereas, Harry’s Tropical Itch incorporates a dark rum/bourbon mix, a tip of the hat to Joe’s Dying Bastard. Are these similarities a stretched coincidence? Yeah, probably. With only so many derivatives everything is similar to something in the tiki world. Professional courtesy or downright pilfery?

The chicken, the egg. Hans, Greedo. 2Pac, Biggie. The Tropical Itch. It appears we have another entry in the annals of who came first. But it wouldn’t be an episode of Pod Tiki if I didn’t take a stance. For what it’s worth, (which is not much), my money’s on Harry Yee inventing the drink. His “I don’t care how the others do it”, attitude and penchant for creative garnish seems a no brainer to me. Joe Scialom’s style of bartending was more Euro-high-brow. I feel like he would have looked at sticking a back scratcher in a drink as equivalent to selling out to pop-tiki tourist culture. But Conrad Hilton was nothing if not persistent and persuasive, especially when he’s signing the checks. Which he did for both men, eventually.  

In the end we have two very tasty tiki drinks, both worthy in their own right of a place in our lexicon of libations. Our punchy pantheon. Having the same name and aesthetics, while maintaining their independence, we have no choice - Let’s make two drinks! 

^*^

Another tell that these drinks were modeled after one another is their gargantuan size. Utilizing a whopping full cup of juice both concoctions come served in a large Hurricane glass. I also like to use my larger tiki mugs for this since they don’t get much use. That empty space when the mug is too big for the drink always leaves a sad, somewhat inadequate feeling. As is with a lot of tropical originals the Itch has been adapted and modernized, and by modernized I mean made simpler. That being said, some liberties like floating the dark rum - or adding lime and simple syrup to fill it out, are passable variants. But today we’re gonna cover Harry Yee’s OG recipe. 

8 oz (1 cup) Passion Fruit Juice 

½ oz Orange Curacao

1 ½ oz Amber 151 Rum

1 oz Dark Jamaica Rum

1 oz Bourbon

2 dashes Angostura Bitters

I tried for weeks to hunt down real 100% Passion Fruit juice. Most of the stuff you’ll find in major grocery chains is some kind of passion fruit blend. The best I found there was the Ceres. It claims to be passion fruit but in the ingredients we find it’s actually cut with pear juice. I don’t know about pear juice. Pears are like the unassuming preppy white dude at the office who you always see, but never notice. I’ve got my eye on you pears, wedged right in there between the apples and the citrus. I see you trying to creep your way into tropical juices. 

Anyway, I actually found real passion fruit juice with the sacs and everything at a local Mexican market. The brand I like is De Mi Pais, but there are a few similar brands. Just make sure it’s real 100% passion fruit juice or nectar, beware the pear. 

For Curacao I suggest leaving the cap on the Pierre Ferrand and using Bols or Hiram Walker. This is a boozy fruity beverage. A top shelf curacao would get lost in there. For that reason, you could even use triple sec instead. I couldn’t tell the difference. I used Bols Orange Curacao. 

Amber 151. This was tough. Most high quality overproof rums are either Jamiacan or incorporate Jamaican in a blend. Awesome as those rums are, the Jamaican funk would change the profile too much. I don’t think Bacardi even makes 151 anymore. Demerara over-proofs are too dark. Finally I came across Caribaya 151 out of Barbados. Bajan rums are some of the best in the world so even for a low-to-mid-shelf 151 Caribaya holds up. I’m generally not a fan of overproof rums so I don’t have too much context for comparison but I can tell you it definitely does the job of boozing up this concoction. Any 151 amber rum would suffice, so let me know if there’s a brand out there I should try! 

As for the dark jamiacan rum you guys know how I love my Myers’s for tiki drinks. And for bourbon I reached for the classic Old Forester. Four Roses also is a good option. I wouldn’t go too high or too low on bourbon here. It’s hard, and sometimes futile, using top shelf for mixing, but a bad bourbon will add an unbecoming pungiance.  

Add all ingredients in a large hurricane glass, fill with crushed ice, and swizzle with a swizzle stick till glass frosts. Garnish with a mint, pineapple, orchid flower, and of course - a wooden back scratcher. Just plop that thing right in so it protrudes superfluously out of the glass. I would refrain from using the scratcher for any actual itches. That kind of tropical itch requires tropical antibiotics. Or maybe ointment, a tropical topical. 

The drink should have an almost phosphorescent orange glow to it. It’s surprisingly well balanced, but also kinda wow-boozy at first. Once it settles and the ice melts just a bit Yee’s Tropical Itch mellows out to a very nice smooth, fruity, islandy relief. I actually really like this. It may become part of my regular rotation of drinks to make at home. I like that it’s not overly sweet, like a Hurricane could be. If it ever is, a small amount of lime juice fixes that. I approve. 

Now let’s bounce to the other side of the New World to a different tropics and a different itch. 10 years after WW2 while the greatest generation were discovering manicured lawns and PTSD Joe Scialom was in San Juan, Puerto Rico managing the bar of the Caribe Hilton.  While exotic passion fruits reigned supreme in the Pacific, mango wore the crown in the Caribbean. 

Scialom’s Itch still packs an alcohol punch, though more subdued and punch-like. Here’s his recipe. 

2 oz Light Puerto Rico Rum

1 oz Dark Jamaica Rum

1 oz Vodka

1 oz Grand Marnier 

½ oz Lime Juice

2 dashes Angostura Bitters

6 oz Mango Juice (or Nectar)

For the rum I used Bacardi SIlver to stay true to the instructions, but I found Plantation 3 Star does a fabulous job working with the other flavors and rounds the drink out a bit. 

Stuck with Myers’s for the dark and for vodka I always use Reyka. For those not in the know, that’s a craft vodka out of Iceland that is the only vodka I can actually tell apart from others. Grand Marnier is Grand Marnier, but you could also use the Pierre Ferand. I know, I know. That’s expensive for mixing, but in this case a true brandy based curacao actually does make a difference over a cheap triple sec. Especially with our next ingredient. 

Mango juice vs mango nectar. The battle rages on. Beachbum Berry suggests “don’t use nectar, it's too sweet.” Well, I went out and purchased Best brand mango juice, and Jumex brand mango nectar. In my house we found opposite the trend to be true. Mango juice is quite overpowering with mango flavor, I mean, to the point where it kinda hides the delicate balance of a tiki drink. In that case go ahead and use the cheaper curacao. I must admit, it has a similar profile to Yee’s version, fruity and boozy, so as a riff it works perfectly. But mango is a bit of a heavier flavor and lingers on the palate more. I find using the nectar in this drink adds a bit of sweetness, yes, which is fine as there’s no added sweetener in this drink, but also tones down the viscosity of mango and lets the other flavors come out. Especially if you’re experimenting with different rums, I would go with nectar. 

Definitely more Caribbean than Hawaiian this version should be a flaxen, yellowish amber. So, basically the color of mango. (Duh, great writing, Tony.) Using more ingredients and less contrasting rums gives this drink a better balance, I think. 

Mix all the ingredients with a heavy cup of crushed ice and pour into a large hurricane glass. Top with more ice if needed and garnish with mint, assorted fruit and that wooden back scratcher. 

Both versions are incredible and have become go-to’s in the Pod household over the last few weeks. My wife, who usually sticks with daiquiris or whatever I’m making at the time, actually requested the Scialom version. Personally, I enjoy the Harry Yee mix. Two drinks from two titans of tiki. One very good buzz. But, wait! There’s more! 

In a sudden burst of creativity I thought, “what if we mash-up these two versions in one ultimate-allstar-mega-mucho mucho mas-Traveling Wilburys-esoteric exotica-Frankenstien’s monster-it’s alive-IT”S ALIVE-cocktail?” 

This my friends is the Pod Itchy Pod cocktail. 

1 oz Light Rum (Plantation 3 Star)

1 oz Dark Jamaica Rum (Myers’s)

1 oz Bourbon (Old Forester)

½ oz Amber 151 Rum (Caribaya 151)

½ Orange Curacao (Pierre Ferrand)

½ oz Lime Juice

3 dashes Angostura Bitters

3 oz Passion Fruit Juice (De Mi Pais)

3 oz Mango Nectar (Jumex)

Shake it all with 1 ½ cups crushed ice and dump into a large tiki mug. Top with ice if needed and garnish with mint, pineapple frond, and wooden back scratcher. Bam! There you have it, peoples. I think this is actually a fruity-boozy, yet wonderfully balanced homage to both bartenders’ creations. I find the juices work well together in the finest coming together of east coast-west coast since Afeni Shakur hugged Voletta Wallace at the VMA’s. I’m pretty proud of how good my version turned out, but it was derived from two of the masters. 

I think both of these drinks would taste great as frozen boat drinks, as well. We’ll have to give that a go. 

So, boozy passion, or mango intoxica? Both of which are great drag queen names, by the way. It’s not a competition. Both versions of the Tropical Itch will surely hit that spot that you just can’t reach on your own. I mean, what other drink can satiate your sobriety and your psoriasis concurrently. 

Remember, folks. A Tropical Itch is not just something you pick up from a one night stand on St. Thomas. So, drink responsibly. And as always, Keepi Tiki! 

Credits: Potions of the Caribbean, Beachbum Berry Remixed - Both by Jeff Berry; Moderntiki.com; Ultimatemaitai.com article on Harry Yee