Boozehound - Jason Wilson [84]
¾ ounce freshly squeezed lime juice
¾ ounce maraschino liqueur
½ ounce Don’s Mix (2 teaspoons freshly squeezed grapefruit juice,
1 teaspoon cinnamon-infused simple syrup
½ ounce 151-proof rum
¼ ounce falernum, preferably John D. Taylor’s Velvet Falernum
¼ ounce homemade grenadine
⅛ teaspoon Pernod
2 dashes Angostura bitters
¾ cup ice cubes
Mint sprig or pineapple slice, for garnish
In a blender, combine the pineapple juice, gold and dark rums, lime juice, maraschino liqueur, Don’s Mix, 151-proof rum, falernum, grenadine, Pernod, and bitters. Blend on low speed just to mix, then add the ice and blend on high speed for 5 seconds. Pour into a Collins glass or tiki mug; garnish with the mint sprig or pineapple slice.
Adapted from Don the Beachcomber’s original recipe by Jeff “Beachbum” Berry
MAI TAI
Serves 1
If a bartender uses orange juice and/or grenadine in your Mai Tai, he or she is making it wrong. Almond-flavored orgeat syrup is the key. In fact, the reason the Mai Tai evolved into such a laughably bad cocktail is mostly due to the disappearance of orgeat syrup by the late twentieth century. There are now a few small producers of orgeat, but the good news is that making your own is relatively easy.
1 ounce aged Jamaican rum, preferably Appleton VX
1 ounce amber rhum agricole, preferably Rhum Clément VSOP
¾ ounce freshly squeezed lime juice, reserving a spent half lime for garnish
½ ounce Cointreau
½ ounce orgeat syrup
¼ ounce simple syrup
Mint sprig, for garnish
Fill a cocktail shaker halfway with ice. Add the Jamaican run, rhum agricole, lime juice, Cointreau, orgeat syrup, and simple syrup. Shake well, then pour (unstrained) into a double old-fashioned glass or wineglass. Garnish with a mint sprig and the spent shell of half a lime.
Adapted from Trader Vic’s original recipe by Jeff “Beachbum” Berry
Piña colada simply means “strained pineapple” in Spanish. That being the case, it’s always seemed odd to me that coconut elbowed its way in to become the dominant flavor of this poolside favorite. It’s an astonishing act of hubris, really, for Señor Coco López and his canned Cream of Coconut to have hijacked the blender away from pineapple. Now, I bear no ill will toward Señor López. If you happen to enjoy Coco López, by all means, have at it. Certainly, the version that Isaac was blending up for Charo on the lido deck of the Love Boat was loaded with coconut cream, and we all still love Isaac. But perhaps I can persuade you to try a lighter, fresher, and more pineapple-y version of the drink.
But first, I think we should delve into the somewhat murky history of the piña colada. It has been deemed the official drink of Puerto Rico, and during the 1950s a number of the island’s hotel bartenders claimed they created it. The most oft-repeated story is that the drink was invented at the Caribe Hilton Hotel. As legend has it, one night in 1954—during a strike of coconut cutters, no less—a bartender cut the top off a pineapple, hollowed out the fruit, dumped in Coco López mix and rum, and served it with a straw. It may or may not be a coincidence that Coco López came on the market around 1954.
Truth be told, all of those Puerto Rican claims are dubious. There are references to the piña colada in periodicals and books in the 1920s and 1930s, and most point to Cuba as its origin and pineapple as the primary ingredient. Even Trader Vic’s classic bartending guide included a piña colada recipe containing only rum and pineapple juice. Meanwhile, a Trader Vic drink called a Bahia, with coconut cream, more closely mirrors the modern-day piña colada. Regardless, the cream-of-coconut version became the one that captured the fancy of Americans. In the 1970s and 1980s, heavy cream and dark rum were added to the mix, and we had the supersweet, milkshakelike libation that became the clichéd standard. This, of course, was the Tom Cruise in Cocktail era, when cocktails in general became so cloyingly sweet.
When it comes to making a piña colada, I want to preach two things: