Pod Tiki: Coquito

I’ve been holding out on covering this drink since the inception of this show. It was a holiday staple for many years before I began making homemade eggnog. The reason I haven’t covered this obvious tropical holiday concoction is because it’s hard. Yep, I was too scared to embark on such a lofty endeavor. It’s why we haven’t done an episode on the Martini, and why the Mai Tai has taken three episodes to get right and frankly I’m still not happy that I’ve captured its impact correctly. How can I possibly create a succinct, but comprehensive, compendium of a drink with such history, such as the Martini, or in this case, such civic nuance. 

I think the best way for me to attempt such a topic is to first admit this is going to be an ongoing discussion, not an end-all be-all. Like Planter’s Punch, which we really need to revisit soon, the recipe is merely a suggestion of flavor profile and it’s going to take more episodes over the years to expound on the basics. 

But, this year is going to see a stop to my cocktail anxieties. No longer will I be intimidated by such daunting undertakings. It’s high time we hit some of the giants across the board from Tiki, tropical, and classic cocktail genres. 

We’re staying in my favorite place for this episode, the Caribbean. I haven’t visited this island yet and part of me thinks I should’ve waited till I’ve been there so I can incorporate some personal anecdotes. But, alas, ‘tis the season for this drink and I do have a sentimentality for Puerto Rican people having grown up with so many in Orlando, Florida. Therefore, I feel like it’s way past due for us to talk about Coquito. 

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

If you ask five abuelas how to make Coquito you’ll get five different recipes. Even when the ingredients are similar the amounts and/or accompanying spices will reflect family heritage, and that’s if you can even get them to release the recipe. Oh, any Puerto Rican family will usually be more than happy to share or gift a bottle of their proprietary Coquito, but divulge the recipe? Inquire that and you’ll be met with all the deference of Uncle Vinny being asked how he got such a good deal on so many TV’s. But, there is a through line in every Coquito recipe - Puerto Rican Rum.  

I’ve seen a few recipe websites say you can leave the rum out so the whole family can enjoy it. That’s balderdash. Coquito has been referred to as Puerto Rican eggnog, but where eggnog can be enjoyed without booze, actually let me rephrase that, it can be consumed without booze though it’s not very enjoyable, Coquito is not Coquito without Puerto Rican rum. 

The comparison to eggnog is one of the baffling things that vexed me about tackling this subject. Coquito is a milky, creamy, spiced and spiked holiday beverage. But, that’s where the similarities stop. Because, even though early Coquito may have contained eggs, nowadays professional mixologists and Spanish grandma’s alike use condensed milk and/or coconut cream to achieve the desired viscosity. To be completely honest, the viscosity is not an inherent factor. I’ve had some Coquitos that were heavy and creamy while others light and frothy. There’s an archetype but not a paradigm. Like pizza around the country. I’m partial to New York pizza because it’s the first pizza I ever had. Maybe if I had been born in Chicago I would enjoy eating a loaf of greasy bread topped with overcooked meats. Who’s to say one is decidedly better than the other just because on one the crust is like biting into fresh Italian bread, the sauce actually tastes like sweet tomato, and the mozzarella is browned just so but still stretchy. While the other is a pillow of dough wherein the all the grease just sits there causing the whole layer of cheese and toppings to slide off with the first bite leaving you holding a wet piece of crusty bread. Who’s to say. Certainly not me. 

I searched far and wide for Coquito that still uses egg, and the reason for the switch to canned milk products. The origins of Coquito seem to go back to colonial era nog drinks. Using egg in cocktails used to be commonplace in the days of the colonial tavern. See our previous eggnog episodes for more on that. Eventually when eggnog became a traditional holiday indulgence that’s when it made its way to the Caribbean. Think about how many Caribbean spices have become associated with Christmastime. Nutmeg, allspice, candied tropical fruits, and yes, coconut. Adding coconut to eggnog replicas became custom in Puerto Rico where they coined the name Coquito, meaning “little coconut”. 

The only variant I've seen utilizing egg now is something called Ponche de Coquito, which only uses the yolks. As I haven’t tried it at the time of this initial writing I assume it’s for flavor only because without the whites it’s really not a thickening agent and those recipes also call for condensed milk. Coquito is said to have been invented in the early 20th century, which corroborates its use of condensed milk as it was created in 1853. So, sweetened condensed milk has been around a lot longer than I would’ve guessed. Condensed milk is simply cows milk wherein the water has been removed and sugar added rendering a thick syrup which can be canned and reconstituted later. For this reason it gained popularity during the American Civil War much the same way Spam was a commodity in the Pacific theater of WWII. More on that later. 

Another place where Coquito and eggnog diverge is in the serving. Once again this is not a rule that holds true for all Coquito drinking, but in my experience Coquito is richer and spicier than eggnog. Therefore, where nog is served by the glass, Coquito is often served by the shot or in a small cordial glass. It’s not a shot for shooting, mind you, it’s just a super concentrated sipper that can get lost in overindulgence if you drink too fast. 

You know, I said earlier I wished I had been to Puerto Rico so I could have some personal anecdotes. Verdad, once I go there I’m sure to have stories to tell about the relationship between PR and the U.S., the sights, sounds, and flavors of the island, and a heaping helping of history. But, to say I have zero personal experience with Puerto Rico would be remiss. Having spent the second half of my childhood into some semblance of adulthood in Orlando, Florida, I have had many experiences with the Puerto Rican people who I feel a kinship with. As I am a third generation Italian, I grew up around a lot of kids whose parents were from the island. Though Italians and Cubans are more closely linked culturally, Puerto Ricans are the Latino people I have the most experience with. Much as there’s a stereotype about loud Italians, I recall fondly my neighbor’s mom yelling from the front door, “Juanito! Ven aqui!” 

From a Tiki rum nerd perspective let’s not forget that my favorite rum is Cuban and Puerto Rican rum is the closest direct descendent. Facundo Bacardi is just one example of rum makers that fled Cuba for neighboring islands after Castro. In fact, while in Havana we walked multiple times passed the original Bacardi building which still brandishes the bat gargoyle that adorns every bottle of Bacardi rum. 

Which I guess brings us to the ingredient portion of the show. So, without further ado, let’s make a drink!  

Since part of the appeal of this tropical holiday staple are the variations there’s not going to be comparisons, or a best practices version, of Coquito. Much like Hot Buttered Rum, Eggnog, and Rum Punch, this is going to be an ongoing exploration into nuance and abstraction. I have a recipe I’ve been working on for several years. It started with the baseline recipe you’ll find on Liquor.com or any of the myriad sites claiming to have the “classic” family Coquito recipe. You’ll notice the ingredient list is almost identical. But, in true Coquito fashion I’ve slowly adapted the recipe to my liking. For instance, I go heavy on the coconut, subbing out regular ingredients for coconut versions when possible. 

This is indeed a batched cocktail so the first thing we’re going to need is empty bottles. I suggest using cashed rum bottles and not rinsing them. Let whatever was in there add some flavor to the Coquito. In this case, maybe experiment with other spirits. Of course, you’re not going to get the essence as prevalent as aging in wood barrels, but there will be some vestigial liquid or scent in the bottle that may or may not add to the finished product. 

Much in keeping with the parochial nature of the drink there is no consensus on what type of rum to use as long as it’s Puerto Rican in origin. White rum will of course offer a lighter, fruitier flavor as gold or amber will present a patina of age. But, this is one of the rare times I laud the use of spiced rum. If ever there was a time for spiced rum it’s the holiday season. We often discredit or marginalize spiced rum, but when I’m walking around looking at Christmas lights there’s no better time for a Captain and Coke. Keeping in the nature of Caribbean Latinos Puerto Ricans are a proud people so you won’t find the mixing of other spirits, like brandy or rye, that we find in eggnog. So, what’s the best spiced rum for a rum nerd? 

My advice is not to overthink it. You may be inclined to use a local distillery. Here in Nashville we have Corsair who makes a fine spice rum. Of all the big label brands my favorite is Captain Morgan or Sailor Jerry. But, remember, Coquito has to use Puerto Rican rum. So, this is the time to break out the bottle of Bacardi Spiced Rum you were gifted by that well meaning friend who knows you’re into rum but didn’t know what a snob you are about it. Look, Ron del Barrilito is my favorite Puerto Rican rum, but it'll be wasted amid the overpowering flavors of Coquito. Where a spiced rum, with its vanilla, cinnamon, allspice, and clove lends itself to the already Christmasy mix. 

It’s also the time to break out the coconut rum. This recipe doesn’t utilize any added sugar, like coconut cream, as some recipes do. So, I use coconut rum to add a little more Caribbean flare. Planterey, Coconut Cartel, RumHaven … all fine coconut spirits. But, if you use any of those you’re not making Coquito, you’re making an alcoholic coconut flavored dairy beverage. So, quit being a snob and go get some Bacardi Coconut. (I swear, Bacardi should sponsor this show.) Don Q also makes a coconut rum and is from PR, but it’s harder to find. If you really are a staunch “no name brand” kinda fella, I feel like any coconut rum made in Florida is acceptable because there’s almost as much Puerto Rican culture here as there is in Puerto Rico. I mean that with the utmost respect and I speak from my own experience growing up there. 

(In fact, it’s kinda funny, because I started this article in my apartment in Nashville and I’m finishing it at my family home in Orlando. The last time I did this was for another Puerto Rican invention - the Pina Colada.) 

We’ll need cans of sweetened condensed milk and evaporated milk. If you’ve listened for any amount of time you know that despite some earlier leanings to the “best version”, I try to stay as purist as possible regarding my recipes. It seems in this case the use of condensed milk in place of eggs is the most popular, most widely used among Puerto Ricans, and therefore, the most purist way of making this libation. 

This checks out when you look at the timeline. Gail Borden invented condensed milk in 1853 as a safe way for parents to feed infants on long trips before refrigeration. There wasn’t exactly a Buckey’s stop along the Transcontinental Railroad. We may be experiencing a healthy turn towards fresh foods again, but let us not trip over perfection on our way to progress. Canned foods have their place and not only were they the new shiny thing at the turn of the 20th century, but they were a commodity of survival that helped solidify the working class and therefore the industrial monolith America became. Despite Jeff Berry’s reproach of the Pina Colada, the advent of canned coconut cream during the Caribbean Tiki boom has led to a drink that spans decades. Love you Jeff, and like I told you, I couldn’t do what I do, nor could any of us be enjoying these Tiki drinks, if it wasn’t for your work, but, c’mon man! Pina Coladas are effing delicious! 

Next up is coconut milk. You can find this in the baking aisle or if your market has an ethnic foods section it will be with the Thai stuff. Otherwise, you can use whatever coconut milk products are in the healthy milk aisle. Usually, next to the almond and oat milks. I haven’t done the research but I know some of those products are blended with other things and I believe the canned stuff actually contains more real coconut. 

What I think makes or breaks Coquito is Vanilla extract. It’s the unsung hero among coconut, rum, and spices, that adds a nuance of depth. An epicurean hint to an otherwise mainstream palate. It’s like when a rich guy dresses down for a dive bar but still wears fancy shoes. We know, bro. We know. Madagascar, Hawaiian, or your standard storebrand. It doesn’t really matter what style you use as long as it’s real vanilla extract and not the imitation shit. Whatever cool points you thought you lost by using spiced and coconut rums, here’s your chance to make it up with good vanilla. It truly provides a throughline that softens and binds the other flavors while upgrading the sophistication. 

The aforementioned spices will be cinnamon and nutmeg. 

A few notes on prep. First, when opening the coconut milk there will be a layer of natural fats that coagulates at the top of the can. We want to stir that into the milk before adding it to the mix. Also, don’t worry about scraping out all the thick condensed milk. A full can is almost too much, so whatever sticks to the sides is fine to disregard. That’s an integral step that can affect the outcome. Just dump in, let it drip, and toss the remainder. 

Alright, here we go. The Coquito recipe I’ve been adjusting over the course of almost a decade right up to this very year:

1 13.5 oz can Coconut Milk

1 14 oz can Condensed Milk

1 12 oz can Evaporated Milk

1 oz Vanilla Extract

8 oz Coconut Rum

8 oz Spiced Rum

¼ tsp Cinnamon

¼ tsp Nutmeg

Mix all ingredients in a blender, bottle and chill overnight. Serve in small, Christmas themed, or cordial glasses.  Optional garnish is a cinnamon stick. 

The first sip correctly suggests that a little goes a long way. Both in flavor and ABV. It’s a very powerful, but pleasant, blast of rich, creamy, vanilla, Coconut spice, that teeters on the precarious edge of being too much. But, the holidays are a time of indulgence so, take this drink for what it is - liquid candy. It’s Caribbean Christmas in a glass. All the flavors are there that we expect from the islands embellished by the colonial milk punch trends. 

This much milk product in a drink would usually gross me out, even eggnog I feel only uses milk and cream as a delivery system for frothy booze, but in this case the rum and spices keep the lactose from being overbearing. Warning, if you have issues with lactose maybe proceed with caution and clear a path to the closest lavatory. In this case, drinking responsibly doesn’t only refer to the alcohol content. 

Coconut and vanilla take center stage in this drink, followed by baking spice. Nothing here has to change. It’s delicious and will garner a windfall of wide eyed smiles from the uninitiated. But, in the spirit of colloquialism, I wonder how some orange zest might brighten things up. Perhaps splitting condensed milk with a measure of coconut cream. Or, adding some chili pepper. 

What makes Coquito difficult to cover as a recipe is also what makes it intriguing. That there is no definitive recipe; That every Puerto Rican family has a recipe that is just as unique to them as their food, drink, and culture is to the rest of the Caribbean. I want to hear all of the family stories and … try all of the Coquitos. 

Feliz Navidad, Buon Natale, and Merry Christmas from Pod Tiki.

Sources: Liquor.com, Wikipedia. 

Most of all thanks for listening, drink responsibly, and Keepi Tiki! 

Inside The Mug: Voodoo Test Pilot

Tony and Geoff go from Vieux Carre to Test Pilots on this episode of Inside The Mug.

Pod Tiki: Test Pilot/Jet Pilot

I’ve always loved flying. Being suspended in the air. The plane roaring down the runway building to a crescendo that culminates with the weightless peace of breaking from the planet’s surface. Some people, like my wife, can’t stand that feeling. To me it feels freeing. Like God is allowing us to taste a diluted sip of heaven the way some parents may water down wine for a child on holidays. For, if ever primitive man made it above the clouds no doubt this is where our notions of Heaven began. 

With altitude those gravitationally tethered to the world below become but a living topography. Before you know it there you are hanging in pale gray-blues. Wisps of clouds floating below like cotton on the surface of water. Like foam on a thin reaching tide. 

At times I have found myself over water. Watching an emerald turquoise coast fade to deep azure abyss.

My favorite, though, is when clouds blanket the sky below the plane in a thick pillowy sheet of celestial white. It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anything so brilliantly pure. Cut off from the world below by this magnificent snow-flower veil not even the toddler treating the back of my seat like it owes him money can disturb my enraptured reverie. 

One awe inspiring morning, above one such duvet cover of clouds, the sunset formed a border of yellow-gold cutting across the horizon and sandwiched by an even thinner line of pastel red below and layers of blue above. The sharp distinction of colors reminded me of neapolitan ice cream. Hitherto or since I have never seen anything like it and even now I’m saddened a bit because the memory grows dull with age. 

The act of flying is not the only thing I love about air travel. I’m one of those weirdos who loves airports. As big as Chicago or Denver where we made a mad dash with bags in tow making our connection just in time. Or, as small as José Martí in Havana when climbing the tarmac stairs to board the plane made it feel like a Bogart movie. 

There are abstract ideas surrounding air travel. The oddity of liminal space. A transitory crossroads. I enjoy sitting at an airport bar, and not just because it’s ok to start drinking at 6am, but because I get to meet and speak to fellow travelers. Discover their comings and goings. Learn about the otherwise dross of life that I find so fascinating. And, there’s an element of escapism that we can appreciate. Not only does do the planes take us to exotic places, but even the anticipation being at the airport brings is exhilarating. I always feel like vacation starts as soon I we clear security. 

I don’t even need to be going somewhere tropical or exotic. Any new place on any occasion could be an adventure. In the words of the late Jimmy Buffett, “The importance of elsewhere is still so important to me.” 

You won’t find me in sweatpants and slippers at the airport, either. First of all, I have self-respect. Second, I am still in awe of air travel much the way one may’ve been in 1934 when Don the Beachcomber’s first opened their doors amid a boom of commercial air travel that changed the world. 

Aviation technology advanced greatly during World War I, most notably the switch from wooden to metal aircraft. After the war the Allied countries found themselves with an excess of transport planes which converted nicely to accommodate passengers. A metal fuselage was an important innovation because it allowed for higher and faster flights due to its ability to handle extreme temperature fluctuations. For civilian travel it meant flights through different climates were now possible. Say, perhaps from the midwest to the Caribbean. While Donn Beach was capitalizing on his version of exotica, astonishing people who previously could only read about it, access to those places was availing itself. One might be inclined to think this would hurt his business, but on the contrary, the faux exotic craze exploded gangbusters. For those who could travel thery came home wanting to relive their tropical experiences and those who couldn’t travel now had more first hand accounts of those exotic places. 

However, if you’re picturing a Southwest flight to Jamaica you’d still be a few decades off. Early air travel meant bumpy flights in unpressurized cabins. Another critical invention was the barfbag. Kinda makes Spirit Airlines seem not so bad. By the time Pan Am and the post-modern travel posters of the 1950’s and 60’s made international travel ubiquitous, a new age of exploration was upon us. 

Of course, early air travel was cost prohibitive, but by the late 20th century into the 2000’s it was actually affordable enough for all people to be able to experience the mind broadening cultural education of other places. Until recently. I remember just a few years ago when I could fly from Nashville to Orlando for a hundred bucks. The most expensive part of travel was the hotel, now for my wife and I to fly it costs more than the hotel stay! I can’t say enough about how I believe everyone should travel. Even if it’s not somewhere exotic. We live in a relatively giant country that has every kind of climate and terrain. If you live in a city, go spend some time in middle America. If you stay in the mountains, go see the coast. Go skiing, surfing, hiking. Eat at an Italian restaurant in Manhattan and a gumbo shop in New Orleans. And, get out of the cruise port. Go see the city. The town. The people. Be safe, but get uncomfortable. Uncomfortability is the first chapter in the book of progress. 

Something else unexpected happened with the travel boom. While social media and television have advertised the luxurious parts of traveling to new and exciting places we’ve also seen the rise of destination tourism, traveling to a locale to see a specific thing. Tiki is no exception. Of course you expect to see tropical bars in the tropics, but Chicago, Georgia, New York, London? When my wife and I travel we always try to find experiences unique to the location, but I also look for the closest Tiki bar and cigar shop. Not every place has a Tiki bar but tropical tonks have been on the rise with the popularity of “summer culture”, and usually there’s a Tiki or Tiki adjacent bar. Even in Gilbert, Minnesota. Shout out to the Whistling Bird where my wife, my mother-in-law, and I had dinner and drinks in a tropical enclave amid the sharp blistering winds and fluffy coniferous trees of Minnesota. Hell, there’s even a Margaritaville in the Mall of America! 

We owe a lot to the pervasiveness of air travel. From the Wright brothers to Beryl Markham. From cross-continental air buses to the sea planes that inevitably streak the sky of the Caribbean. My own grandpa, to whom I owe my adventurous spirit, piloted his own small plane. My mom tells stories of being a child in New York, coming home from school, and my grandpa saying, “We’re flying to Maine for dinner.” Innovation in aircraft technology changed how we see the world and innovation in Tiki changed how we escape. Some of that innovation came from Stephen Crane when he opened the Luau and used one of Don the Beachcomber’s signature cocktails to stake his claim on the genre. Today we explore the Test Pilot and Jet Pilot. 

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

Much in the same way that air travel progressed from bi-planes to luxury private jets Tiki drinks also evolve over time. As the race to take to the skies became the race for better fighter planes became the space race, Tiki drinks went from the Test Pilot to the Jet Pilot to the Space Pilot. 

Donn Beach was definitely influenced by the flight craze as evidenced in one of his earliest creations, the Test Pilot. A marriage of Caribbean crispness with a dash of Pernod to give it that Tiki twist, the earliest documented Test Pilot recipe comes from 1941, but it’s regarded to have been mixed up and served in the 1930’s making it one of the first Tiki drinks alongside its brethren the Zombie. As the Tiki diaspora spread across the U.S. and the popularity seeded imitators and innovators looking to profit and proliferate the genre Donn had to hide his recipes using code. The names however could be adjusted to capitalize on the craze. Like when Stephen Crane opened the Luau and turned the Test Pilot into the Jet Pilot. 

Crane didn’t just change the name, but the whole recipe while still managing to steal from Donn. He actually made the Jet Pilot a rip off of Donn’s Zombie. I actually have to give props to those who so expertly reverse engineered the drinks to discover the recipe. It’s how Jeff Berry first began deciphering original recipes. But, Stephen is special to Tiki in another way. Don the Beachcomber invented Tiki. Trader Vic brought a culinary approach to perfecting cocktailing and added cuisine. Stephen Crane expounded on the aesthetic we know and love about Tiki bars. 

In order to understand Crane’s persona in Tiki we need to understand his persona before Tiki. You see, Stephen Crane was one of those guys who was determined to make it by any means. But, not in the boots on the ground grind it out kind of way. No, Stephen was more akin to a social media influencer of today. No real talent except for the ability to co-mingle with talented people.

He tried his hand as an actor and a boxing promoter before eventually finding his niche as a gambler. And, he was quite good at it. In fact, he had such a knack for bluffing that he actually got starlet Lana Turner to marry him, three weeks after their meeting, under the auspices that he was the heir to a tobacco legacy. Turns out his dad owned a small cigar shop in Indiana. 

The pair of divas were married in 1942 and quickly annulled when Lana discovered Stephen wasn’t yet divorced from his previous wife. Oops! Of course, when Lana got pregnant with Steve’s baby they remarried a year later. Ridiculous relationships like this are why I love old Hollywood. Despite all the perceived glamor these stories read like any of the central Florida suburban white trash relationships I grew up in and around. Oh, and Steve and Lana divorced a second time within a year. 

Loathe would old Steve be to stop trying there. No, his tumultuous and sordid personal life included very public trists with Rita Hayworth and Ava Gardner alongside many other marriages and divorces with both American and French actresses and models. 

Maybe one of the most famous Stephen Crane stories doesn’t involve him at all. Which would really irk his ego. Steve’s daughter, Cheryl, was 14 years old and living with her mom Lana Turner and her mom’s abusive mobbed up boyfriend, Johnny Stompanato. Stompanato was a character in his own right, but since this is a Tiki podcast and not a Mafia show I’ll stick to the highlights. I gotta share this, though. 

Stompanato, an enforcer for mob boss Mickey Cohen, had tons of run-ins with celebrities since the Cohen family operated out of Los Angeles. Not the least of which was another purported friend of the family Frank Sinatra. But, my favorite story about Stompanato is that he was so jealous one time that Lana was acting alongside Sean Connery that he flew to London, stormed the set, and pulled a gun on Connery. For those of you who only remember Sean Connery as an older gentleman let me remind you he was a bodybuilder and trained in martial arts before becoming an actor. The 6’ 2” thespian was having none of Stompanato’s shenanigans. Sean grabbed the gangster’s wrist and snapped the gun out if his hand in one motion. Yeah, don’t fuck with James Bond. 

The story involving Cheryl Crane has to do with Stompanato’s demise. By 1958 Cherly had enough of her mom getting beat up by some half-wit mobster and during an altercation she fatally stabbed Stompanato effectively stomping out the Stompanato. 

All the while Stephen Crane was making a living hustling the Hollywood elites and hobnobbing with socialites around town in such establishments like Don the Beachcomber’s. Teaming up with his literal partner in crime, Al Mathes, Crane was making enough money gambling to start purchasing bars. His first few attempts went south quickly but by the time he opened the Luau, on Rodeo Drive, in 1953, it seems he was taking it seriously. He snagged a few Beachcomber bartenders, who were able to recreate the drinks close enough, but what made the Luau unique was the showmanship. A live Luau, of course, and a decor that exaggerated the Tiki faux-poly-pop design that we associate with Tiki bars now. Adding large totems and fanning foliage, Polynesian dancers, and colorful lighting, Steve Crane took the aesthetic to the next level. If Don and Vic took real tropical exotica and amalgamated it into a dreamlike escape. Crane Disney-fied it into a cartoon. That’s the impression I get from the little information available regarding the original Luau. 

What is documented is how Stephen Crane lived up to his predecessors in the showman department. He greeted patrons and presided over the restaurant in white linen suits, silk shirts, ascots and orchid leis. Crane also held his own amid Tiki forbears with clientele. Tiki bars were hotspots to see and be seen throughout the 30’s, 40’s and into the 50’s, and the Luau was no exception. No matter how cool those old staples are everyone always flocks to the new hotness. I see it in bars and restaurants here in Nashville all the time. To the point where it’s now come full circle to I’s rather go to a place I know I like than chase the new paper thing that will be torn and tattered and changed to something different in a few months. It’s all the same despite the shiny exterior. Don’t get me wrong, I love a gimmick. I’m a Tiki fan, after all. But the gimmick has to be good enough to last the test of time. The Luau did that. And, in California. The place where Tiki was invented. The place where Don the Beachcomber’s and Trader Vic’s were still very popular. 

In fact, Stephen Crane’s emulation of Vic didn’t stop with the Luau. Much in the way our old buddy Conrad Hilton tapped Vic to open restaurants in his hotels Sheraton propositioned Crane to so the same. Crane created the idea of Kon-Tiki Ports, wherein each restaurant boasted four unique concepts in one. The famous Polynesian Papeete Room. The Singapore, Saigon, or Macao rooms. An entry lounge shaped like a life sized sailing ship. All exotic experiences available in one Kon-Tiki restaurant only at a Sheraton near you! Opening first in Montreal, Kon-Tiki Ports soon dotted North America from coast to drinking coast competing with and holding his own against paragons and profligates alike in the crescendo rise and eventual rolling sizzle-out wave of Tiki. Along the way Steve cultivated such careers the likes of Ray Barrientos and Bob Esmino. But, Kon-Tiki and its denizens are a tale for a different day. 

It’s thanks to Bob Esmino, an Don the Beachcomber alum, that we have the recipe for Steve’s Jet Pilot. Even though Bob worked at Kon-Tiki and not the Luau it stands to reason that Steve used the same drinks across his endeavors. Bob being a Beachcomber bartender is kind of funny when you think that he must’ve known the Jet Pilot was simply a Zombie knock-off. 

With respect, it was indeed the Luau that made this drink famous, even though in my opinion Donn’s original Test Pilot is a better drink because it’s unlike anything else whereas the Jet Pilot is a fine tipple but, we already have a drink in the lexicon so similar and quite frankly uses the flavors better. Even though these drinks share a storied origin in aerospace they are different drinks and that is why we are covering them both in this episode. Therefore, we’ve reached the part of the show where you’re tired of a history lesson and it’s time to make TWO drinks! 

We’ll begin like any experiment should, with the Test. 

This early Beachcomber recipe is a testament to Donn’s acumen and awareness to not have his drinks be too similar. Because, let’s face it. As much as we all like to extol the virtues of fresh juices, from scratch syrups, and the nuances of pot vs column still, Tiki has a flavor profile. It’s why Tiki bars can have so many drinks on the menu. Much like a Taco Bell, it’s a lot of the same ingredients in different shapes. Which is why the greats, like Donn, Vic, Yee, and Scialom, took heed using similar ingredients in innovative ways.

Let’s start with ingredients. Donn works his magic here with his signature blending of two rums to create a desired intensity. When I was learning how to DJ my friend and mentor, Teejay, taught me the cheat to mixing is to choose two songs that sound alike. My misconception with bending rums was attempting to use that formula, believing that similar style rums would compliment each other. And sometimes they do, but what Donn was a master of was using quite different styles to achieve a little flavor of each. In this case a dark, malty, molasses heavy blended Jamaican is mellowed and lightened by a light, crisp, Puerto Rican rum. I happen to have had both Myers’s and Coruba in my bar during this tasting and once again I am partial to Myers’s. Its burnt molasses richness doesn’t get lost when softened with the Bacardi Silver I used for my Puerto Rican rum. I played around with using an amber PR rum, the Havana Club, which I enjoy sipping on, but it didn’t add enough to warrant taking away the crisp fruitiness a light PR rum should have. 

Next we’ll need Cointreau. Really any nice Triple Sec will do, Cointreau is just a brand name, but the recipe called for it specifically and I will admit in all my frugality that it does offer a refined orange flavor that sliced through the drink without a cheap, syrupy, aftertaste. 

After that, Falernum. This is where things take a seemingly exotic turn. Orange liqueur and Falernum compliment each other nicely, but aren’t often found cohabitating the same glass. Furthermore, despite Falernum being used in a lot of Tiki, it is indeed another Caribbean product, beginning in Barbados. In fact, so far this drink is very Caribbean. Jamaica, Puerto Rico, Barbados, and French Liqueur? Not very Polynesian, no? Lime juice and Angostura also keep it in the West Indies. 

The final, and only ingredient that reaches into exotica, is Pernod. Even though Absinthe, Pernod, and even Herbsaint, are of French origin and descent, thanks to Don the Beachcomber most drinkers outside of the French Quarter associate it with Tiki. Once again, Donn’s New Orleans roots betray his slouching towards Polynesia. The main reason I love Tiki and Donn’s style so much is that it’s gleaned from so many aspects of experience. As I assume with all of you out there, from my own mishegas and unseen nuance, and many influences, comes the style and perception through which I offer my view of the world to you. 

The recipes that makes us who we are may be legion but as for the Test Pilot the it is as follows:

1 ½ oz Dark Jamaican Rum

¾ oz Light Puerto Rican Rum 

¾ oz Cointreau

½ oz Falernum

½ oz Lime Juice

6 drops Pernod

2 dashes Angostura Bitters

1 cup Crushed Ice

Blend everything for 5 seconds and open pour into a double rocks glass or small tiki mug. Garnish with a cocktail cherry skewered on an oyster fork. 

At first sip the Test Pilot is a light, fun, rum punch. Heavy on orange fruitiness but with the notes of rummy depth. It’s a bright libation. Not robust, actually quite demur, but full of sunny tropical flavor. It's got heavy creamsicle vibes and is redolent of Nui Nui, but in the way that it seems like a Caribbean punch prepared in Tiki fashion. The only thing that screams Tiki is that the Pernod hints at exotic adding notes that are complementary, yet distant from the rest. It’s like the whole drink is a well balanced orchestra while Pernod is playing a second line riff in the corner. 

Overall, I love this drink. It’s shallow in the best way. Hovering, flavor-wise, atop the surface hinting at a depth that is there if one chooses to dive, but can also be enjoyed by simply floating along with an ankle over the side pulling a slight wake. 

Much like aeronautics in the mid-20th century it’s now time to go from the Test phase to the Jet! 

I've made a few illusions to the Jet Pilot’s similarity to the Zombie and I think the ingredient list will make my point.  Now, I love jets. My Grandpa,  who piloted a bi-plane, would’ve loved jets, because he loved mechanical innovation. If jets took the physics of flight and used human ingenuity to build upon it, i.e., jet propulsion on propeller planes, then the Jet Pilot expounded on the idea of the Test Pilot using higher octane fuel to achieve extreme altitudes. But Stephen Crane didn’t just build upon Donn’s recipe, he totally ripped off a different recipe and called it by the name of yet a whole ‘nother recipe. Check this out: 

1 oz Dark Jamaican Rum

¾ oz Gold Puerto Rico Rum

¾ oz Over-Proof Demerara Rum

½ oz Lime Juice

½ oz Grapefruit Juice

½ oz Cinnamon Syrup

½ oz Falernum

6 drops Pernod

2 dashes Angostura Bitters

4 oz Crushed Ice

Blend everything on high for 5 seconds and open pour into a double rocks glass. Top off with crushed ice to fill and garnish with cinnamon stick, swizzle, and choice funky straw. 

For the dark Jamaica rum I stuck with Myers’s. The Gold Puerto rican was Bacardi 8. For Overproof Dem I used Plantation OFTD. Falernum, is John T. Taylor, and Pernod is Pernod. My cinnamon syrup I make at home using the recipe from Sippin’ Safari though I add an extra cinnamon stick or two to exaggerate the flavor. Angostura, lime and grapefruit juice should be self-explanatory. 

Look, a good drink is a good drink. Is this a Zombie rip-off? Yes. But, I can’t argue that the Zombie is a wonderful drink that stays wonderful even if the ingredient levels are messed with. Therefore, upon first sip, the Jet Pilot is pure Tiki. A brilliant dovetailing of dissonance. Each flavor stands out. It’s an omnipresent experience. The Jet’s not as amalgamated and smoothed over as Donn’s creations. Where the Zombie is a finished wall, the Jet Pilot is all exposed brick and rebar and concrete. I recall that fad a few years back in all the hip bars. It was never for me, as I prefer to relax in spaces that don’t look like the contractor ran out of money halfway through the build. 

It definitely does as advertised and jets you into the stratosphere with a generous amount of overproof rum. I warn you, this is not a test. 

Okay, one more thing before we get outta here. You guys know I’m a lightweight when it comes to overproof rum. And, it just so happened I copped myself a bottle of Hamilton Jamaican Pot Still Black, which is not usually available here. So, in a stroke of 3rd drink genius I swapped the Overproof Demerara for the Pot Still Black and proceeded to bask in the magic. Holy shit! The drink transformed into a malty, rich-thick, candy like those little boxes of Whoppers at Halloween. Dark molasses and cinnamon make splendid companions. It’s just a wow! combo. Which is why this version is the official Pod Pilot. 

One thing’s for sure, whether you’re testing or jetting these drinks are sure to get you to cruising altitude. To paraphrase Dr. Thompson, you bought the ticket. So, sit back and enjoy the flight. 

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Tony and we know you have options when choosing your podcasts so we thank you for flying Pod Tiki Air. 

Sources:  liquor.com, Remixed and Sippin’ Safari by Jeff “Beachbum” Berry, Wikipedia, mytiki.life, Google AI,

Pod Tiki: Hubba Hubba Tiki Tonk!

Pod Tiki: Vieux Carre

As we pulled up to the sidewalk and stretched our legs after 5 hours on the road an affable tall man in a white coat helped us with our bags before taking the keys in exchange for a valet ticket. Approaching the check-in desk through the marbled opulence of the lobby we knew this would be a stay in New Orleans like no other. 

“Just take the Royal Elevators up. Right over there.” Finding our room we could feel history emanating from the walls. The joi de vivre of a century’s worth of guests. The Royal Salon room we splurged on was amazing and many nights after consuming as much music, food, drinks, and culture we could imbibe were spent in the deep marble tub with only our heads and a wine glass floating in the steam. 

On our first day, though, we freshened up, changed clothes, and made our way back downstairs to find two fortuitous seats waiting for us at The Carousel Bar. We stayed for one full rotation around the circular spinning bar taking in the ornate carved reliefs, carnival lighting, and circus themed art. We sipped our first drink slowly under the canopy of colorful pomp and circumstance. The second cocktail disappeared a bit quicker. 

I had done some research on the special places I wanted to visit, choosing Hotel Monteleone partly because it housed this famous lounge, but I didn’t realize at the time the New Orleans original drink we were so excited to order in the city it was invented was actually first mixed up right there where we were sitting. This is gonna be a big episode so put some Professor Longhair on the radio, keep the gumbo on the stove - don’t forget the filé seasoning, and settle in for a spell as we explore the life and times of the Vieux Carré. 

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

One can’t really call New Orleans diverse because all the unique facets have amalgamated into a monolith of culture all its own. From Mardi Gras Indians, all the different definitions of Creole, African slaves, French colonial, pirates, VooDoo, LGBTQ, and of course drinking. Whether you’re in an opulent hotel or ambling along Bourbon Street no one can deny the crescent city’s contribution to cocktail culture and I can’t think of any other place that so well exemplifies its culture in its drinks. French Cognacs, American whiskeys, Caribbean rums, and throw in some absinthe for good measure. But, before we build today’s cocktail we have to build the place where today's cocktail was invented. 

Antonio Monteleone emigrated from Sicily to New Orleans, Louisiana in 1880. A cobbler by trade, he did well for himself with a little shop on Royal Street. Cobblerin’ must’ve been good money back then because when the Commercial Hotel came up for sale down the street from his shop, well, he dove into the hotelier business. 

Upon entering the 20th century Antonio expanded the hotel fashioning it into a New Orleans experience par excellence. One that by 1908 was worthy of his family name. Thus, Hotel Monteleone was born. Before researching this before my stay I had no idea there was such a large Italian community in New Orleans. The muffaletta makes more sense now. 

By the time Antonio died in 1913, passing the hotel to his son, Frank, the Monteleone had become a prestigious gathering place for locals and celebrities alike. 

Frank took the Monteleone head first into the roaring twenties leaning heavily into the jazz craze that set the backdrop for a nation’s frivolity. Frank’s leadership is credited for surviving Hotel Monteleone through the Great Depression. The late 20’s and early 30’s saw more rounds of expansion and added the Swan Room, a bar and lounge that boasted Liberace as their first performance. Entertainers took to hanging out in the lounge after shows which quickly solidified the bar as the place to be. 

Emerging once again from the fogs of vicissitude the hotel underwent another huge expansion after WW2. In times of economic turmoil and geopolitical upheaval there are some who still stand to profit. It seems some things never change. 

It was during these additions in 1949 when the Swan Room became the Carousel Bar. The circular bar topped with a red and white striped circus tent top surrounded by stationary stools used a system of chains and rollers beneath the floor to the rotate the entire bar. Making a full revolution every 25 minutes patrons perched atop their seats like so many carnival horses would presumably find it hard to discern when they’d had too many as the room was literally spinning. 

Over the next half century the Carousel Bar continued the legacy of being a gathering place for socialites. To borrow a line from Taylor Swift, “The who’s who of who’s that.” This is when the hotel garnered its reputation for a hub of literary culture with such infamous guests as Tennessee Williams, William Faulkner, and Ernest Hemingway whose eponymous suite resides just beside the rooftop pool where my wife and I would take our afternoons sipping Pimm’s Spritz in the bayou sun. 

In 1992 the Carousel Bar was upgraded from a basic carnival tent design to a full on circus carousel theme complete with the aforementioned carvings of jester faces and cherubs, linear bulb lights, and new seats with high backs painted in animal and circus act murals. If you follow the Pod Tiki Instagram @pod_tiki I believe there are pictures of us there. My first drink was a Sazerac, the best I’d ever had, and my second was the Vieux Carre, which they serve on the rocks. Because they were our first drinks after a 5 hour drive I couldn’t tell if it was the room or my head spinning but I was able to notice that the bar was an unbroken circle with a column shelf in the middle storing bottles. When I asked the bartender how they got in and out he answered with a tacit arching arm motion that said “over the top!” 

The Carousel Bar was one of the places on my list of why I wanted to visit New Orleans. We went a few times during our stay and it did not disappoint. Evenings found the room packed and spilling over into the adjoining lounge where a jazz band still played like the twenties. Partakers sipped whiskey and Cognac drinks while drifting from conversations with friend and stranger alike and sharing the bar with the ghosts of how many bibulous souls. 

That the bar still spins on those original two thousand ball bearings is a testament to how culture continues to spin through time. There is no replacement for face to face social interaction. 

Hotel Monteleone and the Carousel Bar are magnificent works of opulent engineering, but I contend it’s the people who visit that earned the hotel in 2007 its ranking among the Historic Hotels of America. And, considering how the lights above the jacuzzi in our room would cut out every night only to work perfectly the next morning, it seems some souls loved it so much they never checked out. Like the watchful portrait of Antonio Monteloene who still looks over the lobby with pride. 

A pride shared by Walter Bergeron, no relation to Vic as far as I can tell, who was the head bartender of Carousel Bar in 1938 when it’s purported he stirred up the first Vieux Carre. Vieux carre translates to “old square”, and is named after an old term for the French Quarter. The drink shares some similarities with the Sazerac. But where sazerac separates the American whiskey and French Cognac versions, Walter embodied the true melting pot nature of the French Quarter by slamming the two styles of drinking together. 

With a split base of Cognac and rye whiskey, Peychaud’s and Angostura bitters, sweet Vermouth, and throw some Benedictine in there, it covers the eclectic blend of French, American, Italian, and spiritual that made up historical New Orleans culture. It’s jazz in a glass. 

Come to think of it, Don the Beachcomber hailed from New Orleans. One wonders if some of his wild creativity about mixing different cultures in the glass were inspired by the Big Easy. Speaking of Don Beach, who opened his first location the day after prohibition was repealed, you might be wondering how the Monteleone managed to stay such a hot spot during prohibition. The answer is, well, New Orleans never really acknowledged it. It sounds crazy but it seems even though the Volstead Act was in effect on paper New Orleans was historically such a port of call for rumrunners, bootleggers, and, well, the French, that lawmen turned a blind eye. Some even adopted an, “if you can’t beat’em, join’em” approach. 

The Vieux Carre is a pretty beloved cocktail, and it is a true cocktail by definition, so there’s no real controversy to speak over preparation of ingredients. In fact, even that there’s two ways of serving it seems to be ok with people. Carousel Bar, where the drink was invented, serves it on the rocks. As do most establishments. But it’s perfectly acceptable to request it straight up in a cocktail glass. That is how my wife and I prefer them and, even though the Carousel Bar is legendary, my favorite Vieux Carre I had in New Orleans was from Napoleon House. Maybe it was because the bartender making them there had a creole accent. 

In the place that gave us the Hurricane and the Sazerac, Vieux Carre is like a step up to a finer, epicurean, experience. It’s also a big boy drink as far as alcohol content. It’s the who’s booze of New Orleans drinking. Notwithstanding the city’s reputation for indulgence the other side of that is an experienced moderate enjoyment. Sure, one can party all day and get drunk. And by one, I mean me and the thousands of people who alighted on Bourbon street for the annual Red Dress Run, which took place while we were there. But, there are other times that a drink here or there between sightseeing or listening to some street jazz suits the occasion just right. The locals are very attuned to the notion of responsible drinking and it wears off on you when you’re there. You don’t want to be perceived as another drunken tourist invader. That’s how we differ here in Nashville where we are right there getting drunk alongside our invaders. 

There’s a level of enjoyment that comes from savoring a Vieux Carre after a meal of seafood gumbo or accompanying the sounds of jazz piano on Frenchmen Street.  I can wax rhapsodic about Vieux Carres all day. But, you know what’s better than talking about them? Drinking them. Let’s make a drink!  

The ingredients and measurements are straightforward and agreed upon across all my usual sources and the International Bartender’s Association. A seldom virtue among often convoluted cocktail history. We’re gonna start with rye whiskey. My choice here is Rittenhouse Rye. We go into detail regarding the Rittenhouse brand and the history of Bottled in Bond whiskies in our Sazerac episode available in the archive on PodTiki.com or streaming on Spotify, Apple podcasts, or iHeart radio. If you want to keep the drink more pure in New Orleans you can still purchase bottles of Sazerac Rye Whiskey from the Sazerac House which I believe is distilled there. If you’re getting it anywhere else it comes from the Buffalo Trace distillery in Kentucky. In which case I personally believe Rittenhouse is a better product for a better price. Coming in under $40 per bottle I repeatedly searched for other option thinking more expensive meant better only to return to the house of Ritten. 

Then we’ll need Cognac. In the past you may’ve heard me tout Pierre Ferand, which is a very fine Cognac. But, as my tastes mellow with age I find it to be a bit hot on the palate. These days I’ve been liking Martell, a very nice Cognac with more body and sweetness versus alcohol bite. Both of these work wonderfully in cocktails of this nature so, which you choose depends on what you prefer to sip on neat. Full transparency, that factors heavily into my spirit choice. Unless the recipe calls for a specific brand I usually pick what I like neat so the bottle doesn’t sit there taking up space in my bar. 

When it comes to Italian rosso vermouth I absolutely have a preference. Carpano Antica Sweet Vermouth is an amazing product that compliments, if not defines, such classics like the Manhattan and Negroni, as well as being a fine cordial. This runs $20 for a 375ml bottle which is all you need seeing as how, being a wine product, vermouth starts going bad once you open it. If you choose to go with a more cost approbative option just make sure that it’s a fresh bottle and not that one that’s been hiding in the refrigerator door since you went through that Negroni phase during covid. 

The final main ingredient is Benedictine. If you’re making the drinks along with us you probably have some left over from the Singapore Sling episode. We did a deep dive in that episode but Benedictine is a herbal liqueur that is, yes, made by benedictine monks in Fecamp, France. There are some cool stories there so fo back and listen to that episode if you haven’t. Or, if you had it on in the background and weren’t listening. Hey, I get it. I listen to so many podcasts passing the time at work that I barely recall what I learned this morning. 

Lastly, we’ll need Peychaud’s and Angostura Bitters. In the Sazerac episode we also heavily discussed Antoine Peychaud and his part in the invention of the cocktail as we know it. Good stuff. 

And the recipe is:

¾ oz Rye Whiskey

¾ oz Cognac

½ oz Vermouth

¼ oz Benedictine

2 dashes Angostura Bitters 

2 dashes Peychaud’s Bitters

Stir everything with plenty of ice and strain into a cocktail glass or small rocks glass. You may’ve noticed the ½ oz amount of vermouth when every recipe out there calls for ¾. Much like the city of New Orleans itself the Vieux Carre cocktail requires a precariously delicate balance to keep it copacetic. Otherwise, it can devolve rapidly into chaos. Crafting the perfect version necessitates the experience and expertise of a weathered mixologist. I’m not saying I am that, but I do have a decent palate. I found that going a little light on vermouth rendered a drink more akin to what I tasted in New Orleans. 

Another congruent between the city and the drink is the explosion of flavor. The first sip of a Vieux Carre is just as pleasantly in your face as a walk down Bourbon Street on Saturday night or a bowl of filé gumbo. It’s an omnipotent experience. All the notes are exaggerated but harmonious. The texture silky, the rye bite, the rich sweetness even though there’s no added sugar, all come together in a distinct slice of Americana. Because all those nationalities in one drink combined to create something new and greater than the sum of its parts is indeed a microcosm of America. 

If I’m attempting to break down the profile I would say the whiskey bite is sweetened and softened by cognac and vermouth, the latter adding a patina of regal whimsy to the otherwise full bodied libation. The bitters are definitely necessary and the Peychaud’s gives an essence of anise even though there’s none in there. Basically it’s bold and rich. I can understand why some folks prefer it over ice. 

Another distinguishing characteristic is how boozy it is. I actually had to split my tasting up into two days, because after two Vieux Carres I was too tipsy to properly taste anything. And that’s coming from a Tiki guy. The problem is they’re actually pretty delicious and, much like the city of New Orleans, the indulgence seems acceptable.  

Not since Havana has my heart been penetrated so deeply by a place. There is something special about New Orleans. It’s in the music, the history, the way locals speak about their home. It’s in the food and the heavy air. It emanates through cracks in jagged sidewalks. It’s in the artwork on the walls of Tremé, the statues in Armstrong Park, and spills out from bars on Bourbon street. It spins around the Carousel Bar, rests in the hallowed halls of Monteleone, and it’s in the French Quarter, the Old Square, the Vieux Carre. 

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

Sources: liquor.com, diffordsguide.com, imbibe.com, Wikipedia, gardenandgun.com Spin Through Seventy-Five Years of Carousel Bar History  By Jenny Adams, historichotels.org

Most of all thank you for listening and Keepi Tiki!

Pod Tiki: Demerara Cocktail

It all looks the same. If you’ve seen one beach you’ve seen them all. It’s too hot. There’s nothing to do. These are a few of the common refrains echoed by the tropically uninitiated. Sure, there are common denominators but particulars like flora, fauna, cuisine, and culture identify each tropicale as a unique environmental economy. 

As a teenager in Central Florida sabal, queen, and date palm trees were ubiquitous. I thought palm trees were palm trees, till the first time I traveled to Jamaica and saw royal palms or the tall coconut trees of the Yucatan Peninsula. On a jungle trail in Kauai, a shallow plant canopy arching over my head, the thing I noticed most was how the leave’s patterns resembled the weaved striations of Polynesian artwork. 

The placid tide of the Caribbean, rolling from underneath itself like a sheet whipped over the mattress, is much different than the white capped growl of Atlantic surf, which separates itself by longitudes from its undulating Pacific brethren. 

The soft roasted palate of Cuba, or the rich notes of Jamaican jerk may not appreciate the fruity spice of Mexican breakfast, or delicate umami notes of Hawaiian seared Mahi. However, it’s not the differences, but the similarities that bring the tropics together. 

I suppose it’s like a connoisseur. Wine, bourbon, coffee, tobacco, and, of course, rum require a discerning taste to be able to differentiate specific terroir induced flavors. Sort of how if someone doesn’t like a certain kind of music it all sounds the same to them. People like what they like and I’m not here to change anyone’s mind. That being said, within the tropaholic community we occupy a special place here in the U.S. situated between the birthplace of rum, with all its multicultural - geopolitical influences, and the origins of exotica, replete with native history - mythos - and craftsmanship of the Pacific islands. In between there is a vast expanse of Americana that acted like the crock pot necessary to cook up what would become Tiki. In that analogy I suppose Don the Beachcomber was the chef. 

If you’ve listened for any amount of time you know I am partial to the Caribbean side of tropical. 

When I think Polynesia I think hidden local beaches, trade winds, giant fragrant flowers, and a laid back apathy that almost comes off indignant if one doesn’t know better. Sometimes, even if one does. A group of people minding their own business who got duped into being a state united. It’s no wonder they have thoughts towards interlopers. Reminds me of how the mafia got started. Local Sicilians banding together against oppressive government. Imagine a Hawaiian mafia. With all the vowels it probably wouldn’t sound much different than New York Italian. Aloha, gumbata! 

Steel guitars, ukuleles, broadleaf textured plants, wild beaches, humuhumunukunukuapua'a, mahalo and all pau. There’s no way to capture my personal experience of Hawaii in a single podcast, but, as a haole, I appreciate the nuance. Growing up in Orlando, I understand the necessity for a tourist community to maintain an identity of their own. Which is exactly what I love about the Caribbean. 

Sweaty linen shirts, panama hats, rum drinks, cuban jazz, slow tides, listless palm fronds, patoi dialects, cigars, Spanish and French architecture, Humphrey Bogart, Jimmy Buffett, Hunter Thompson, Ernest Hemimgway, Bob Marley, Che Guevara, Herman Wouk, Henry Morgan, Mayan ruins, Dutch Curacao, Jamaican rum, St, Augustine, hurricane by-plane sugarcane wood-frame, cruise ship bullshit tight lip place to slip when you wanna dip these are a few of my favorite things. 

From the time of colonizers the Caribbean has had an air of tropical indulgence amid a rank and file plebeian class of natives and slaves who paid the price for such indulgences. To placate them plantation workers were given rations of molasses, the byproduct of processing sugarcane, which they distilled into a strong, sweet spirit known as rumbustion. As rum hopped from island to island, altered each time by the pervading nationality, it took on unique characteristics for each region. It was traversing these islands centuries later that Donn Beach would garner the knowledge needed to predicate his new vision of exoticism on the use of rum. 

In this way, one could argue that Tiki, invented in California, borrowing heavily from South Pacific and Asian cultures could not have happened without the Caribbean. And yet, Florida and the Caribbean became just as infatuated with Tiki’s faux tropicalia, even though they were in the real tropics! 

As much as I love Florida it would be remiss of me not to admit that there’s a huge difference in a true Tiki bar and the thatched roof outdoor beach shacks the Sunshine state calls tiki bars. They can pop up anywhere from patio’s to rooftops to strip mall parking lots to one of the many beach bar & grills along Florida’s coast. My Favorite is called Coconuts on the Beach on A1A in Cocoa Beach. Tiki mask imagery decorates the large wooden lanai and for the longest time there were tiki totems lining the walkway down to the beach. The drinks are fruity tropical concoctions that are delicious in their own right, and down right dangerous, but beach drinks would be a more appropriate term. When Tropics Cocktail Bar opened down the street they brought true Tiki drinks to Cocoa Beach, but still with a Vintage Caribbean aesthetic. 

The Florida version of tropical drinking isn’t fake, though. Seminole Indians would set up small thatch covered trading posts called chickee huts for selling provisions to the influx of pale skinned invaders. As pilgrims became tourists one can extrapolate that led to provisions of the bibulous sort. The similarity in name and explosion of exotica culture eventually led to ‘chickee’ huts becoming known as ‘tiki’ huts. To this day tiki bars at every Floridian port still serve pale skinned invaders by the boatload. 

Rum drinks never left the Caribbean or southeast U.S., but in a way, it took California’s Tiki movement to reinvigorate the waning popularity of prohibition era tropical drinking and give it a new twist with the exotica element. Fair enough since the west coast stole reggae from us. 

However, this isn’t a Biggie/Tupac rivalry. This is a story of tropical cohesion brought on by one famous bartender, two entrepreneurs, and a nascent movement that took rum drinks back home with a new and exotic twist that proliferated a genre and revitalized a region. This is the story of how Tiki came to the east coast; and it continues our tale of Mariano Licudine, the brothers Thornton, and the infamous Mai Kai. 

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

I try to make these episodes stand-alone for the sake of posterity, but if you haven’t listened to the previous episode, entitled Vicious Virgin, now would be the appropriate time to pause this and do so. I’ll wait here. No, don’t worry about me. I’ve got a cigar and a drink and plenty of research to still do. … Ok, and we’re back. Glad you’re all caught up. 

When Jack and Bob Thornton chose Ft. Lauderdale, Florida as the home for their new venture there was nothing like it around. Even nearby Miami could not boast anything quite on the scale Jack and Bob had imagined. Florida and the Caribbean had always been a place for tourists and expats, people trying to really escape. But, when Tiki came to Florida it offered the temporary reprieve of elsewhere while only being a doorway away from dreaded reality. Escapism in itself is an artform later expounded on by the likes of Walt Disney and Jimmy Buffett. However, in the mid-1950’s, while a Cold War raged on and the stench of Cuban Revolution hung thick in the humid air, while our fathers slicked their hair back and wore leather jackets not knowing in a few short years they’d be shipped off to a jungle in Southeast Asia, escapism was an unidentified commodity. 

Bob Thornton was a little rough around the edges. I picture club shirts unbuttoned half-way with khakis and boat shoes. His brother Jack preferred the suit and tie approach. One thing they had in common was that they were both the kinda guys you could have a beer with. I don’t know if they were cool guys or not, although I assume so, what I’m referring to is the fact that their father owned a brewery in Wilmette, a few miles north of Chicago. So, in theory, you could’ve literally have walked in and had a beer with them. Another thing they had in common was that neither of them was stoked to go into the family business. Together they had a dream. A Tiki dream. I dream of Tiki. 

After Jack taking a trip to Hawaii and Bob becoming a regular at Trader Vic’s while attending Stanford they both fell in love with Polynesia. They considered opening a spot in San Diego but California was already replete with Tiki bars by then. Remembering a spring break in Ft Lauderdale, which is a feat of its own, the brothers decided that would be the perfect spot. Built in tourism, little competition in the genre, and best of all, Florida is actually tropical.

The next step was making sure their place could not only stand up to but surpass even the west coast Tiki giants. They must have had some money in their family because in the words of our former president they “took out a small loan, a fraction of that money”, from mommy dearest and went on tour of Polynesia purchasing hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of artifacts and ephemera. 23 tons in all. Their collection ended up filling 5 dining rooms and 2 lounges. One featuring the famous surfboard bar-top. They even took a page out of Don the Beachcomber’s playbook rigging up water flow down the window to give the impression of being sunken under. Tiki gardens, waterfalls, and lagoons blended with natural Florida to complete the illusory experience. 

Before all that, they needed to build it. And, they needed a staff who knew how to actually make Tiki drinks. It was about this time Mariano Licudine had worked his way up to number 2 bartender at the Chicago Don the Beachcomber’s, an indispensable position. Mariano was already one of Donn’s inner circle and having trained at the original Beachcomber’s was privy to Donn’s recipes. It was for this reason he was sent to open the Chicago branch. But, Mariano was beginning to experiment with his own ideas, not all of which were copesetic with the strict way Donn ran his bars. This made his decision that much easier when Bob and Jack came calling. 

Mariano answered the call with honors. He not only created the bar program, complete with Tiki standards renamed as the Impatient Virgin, Missionary’s Doom, and Deep Sea Diver, as well his own creations like the Demerara Cocktail, but he also had a hand in almost every aspect of the build out. He designed the bars, dining rooms, and decor. In fact, the family got in on it. In his wonderfully insightful book Sippin’ Safari Beachbum Berry cites an anecdote in which Mariano’s son Ron was playing around the waterfall features during construction when he asked the engineer, “where’s the wishing well?”. When the engineer responded, “what wishing well?”, Ron said, “You have water. Where’s your wishing well?” 

By the time The Mai Kai opened in December 1956 it featured a 40 foot high A-frame Tiki longhouse, tropical gardens, hand carved totems, water effects, thatched canoe roofs, a vast array of nautical and Polynesian decor, a high-end dining experience complete with the only place in the sunshine state to get authentic Tiki driks. Oh, and a wishing well. 

These days, in the instagram era, it seems every time a new bar or restaurant concept opens everyone swarms like ants on a discarded apple core. Back then, folks didn’t take so eagerly to new things. Bringing faux exotica to the tropics was a little like a kid bringing their tablet to an IMAX theater. Or, like listening to a band in your earbuds while they’re playing live in front of you. The thing is, if you’ve ever paid an exorbitant amount for tickets to a concert with bad sound and the center for the Orlando Magic is standing right in front of you, you know that sometimes earbuds are a better experience. 

There’s a place for faux escapism. Like the first time I left the tourist area of a Caribbean island looking for an authentic experience just to discover the islands of Hemingway, Thompson, and Buffett are in the long distant past. The authentic Caribbean is a militant third world country. That is an extreme way of making the point that eventually, amid geopolitical uncertainty, a counterculture movement, and the looming civil rights unrest, the American South was ripe for some escapism. 

The Mai Kai answered the call and exploded like gangbusters, clearing $1 Million in its first year. That’s in 1956 money. So many celebrities showed up that the restaurant began confiscating cameras at the door. Next time you attend a show and they make you put your phone in a bag realize this has been happening for a century. 

Another Beachcomber alum the brother’s Thornton poached was Chef Kenny Lee. Kenny’s $150 suckling pig luau meal was written about in Holiday and Esquire magazines fighting the stereotype of Tiki restaurants just rebranding Chinese food. As profound of a statement Kenny Lee made the source of adulation soon shifted to the bar. Mariano’s prolific drink menu not only captured the hearts and livers of patrons, but earned him a place among Caribbean mixology royalty. Soon he was traversing the West Indies giving seminars on how to mix rum drinks to the people who invented rum drinks! 

Listen back to the last episode for a more in depth revue of Mariano’s life and career, including his $100,000 daiquiri. One highlight that must be reiterated is that Mariano Licudine created the Mystery Drink. Upon ordering a Tahitian “Mystery Girl” would dance the drink over to the table, all pendulum hips and sultry eyes, place a lei around your neck, salaamed, and hula’d away to whence she came. Say what you want about exploiting and objectifying, this is just cool. Here in Nashville we have a robot themed Tiki bar called Chopper. If a scantily clad Polynesian chick delivered my drink doing the robot!; I would order that every time simply for the novelty factor! 

Mariano’s seminars, by way of the Mai Kai’s popularity, teaching how to turn the Caribbean’s native spirit into Tiki drinks spawned a movement that brought tourism back to the region. 20 years after the Mai Kai opened, in 1976, Vic Bergeron and our old pal Conrad Hilton even opened a Trader Vic’s in the Caribe Hilton in Puerto Rico where Mariano gave lessons to the inventors of the Pina Colada and Suffering Bastard. Mariano Licudine was the first celebrity Tiki bartender on the east coast. 

Eventually, the trend caught on as Florida overtook California as the epicenter of Tiki and tropical drinks. The diaspora of Tiki spread throughout Florida from Tampa to Key West to Orlando’s Trader Sam’s at Disney’s Polynesian Resort, where I first encountered the phenomenon as a child. But, Polynesian pervasion didn’t stop at bars. Growing up there, I can attest. Tiki iconography emblazoned hotels, apartment complexes, shopping centers, gift shops, beach shacks, and 3 for $10 knock-off t-shirts. It was an easy adoption as the essence of tropicalia already lived there. In some ways Tiki inspired the ho-hum of everyday Florida life to lean into its nature. Large tropical atriums sprang up in airports, businesses, and non-Tiki restaurants. Tropical became synonymous with Tiki. In the words of Beachbum Berry the Jack and Bob Thornton along with Kenny Lee and Mariano Licudine brought, “the faux tropical drink to the home of the real tropical drink.” 

In 1970 brother Jack suffered an aneurysm and sold his half of the Mai Kai to Bob. Under Bob’s reign the restaurant underwent massive expansion including more dining rooms, a stage for live luau’s, a gift shop, and the famous Molokai Bar - an island saloon. Its popularity garnered the Mai Kai a designation on the National Registry of Historic Places. Not bad for a made up paradise. 

In its heyday the Mai Kai was the largest independent user of rum in the U.S. The Tiki-Ti in California and the Mai Kai in Florida were the last two places in the country to get Don the Beachcomber’s original Tiki drinks. Until 2020. 

Here in Nashville tornados ravaged the east side, a car bomb exploded on 2nd Avenue on Christmas Morning, and the Pandemic kept us in solitude and kept my wife and I alighted on many rum punches. Even though the first episode of Pod Tiki dropped as an experimental side project in 2019 it was during lock-down that I dedicated serious time to making it an official show. It was also the time when a leaky roof finally gave way at the Mai Kai and in October of that year the Mai Kai was forced to close its doors. Thus, closing the entrance to Polynesian escapism that created a Tiki anomaly.

After much outcry from the community the Thornton family sold into a partnership with the Barlington Group, an investment company known for its work in historical preservation. Beginning in 2022 they broke ground on a refab and restoration project to reopen the Mai Kai. There is a wonderful article on FloridaRambler.com that I will link to in the sources that goes in depth on the progress and what to expect. I will say here that fans both old and new will be very happy with the outcome. Dining rooms, gardens, and the infamous Molokai Bar are being built out to not only match, but exceed, the previous offerings. 

Like most construction the project slated to open this summer has been delayed many times. I don’t know who’s slated to run the bar program but one things for certain. If they put as much care, love, and effort into the drinks as they are to proper restoration I believe we are all in for a treat. I hope to meet you all there for the grand opening where I’ll be enjoying one of Mariano’s Original tropical cocktails. 

Of which he created many. The recipe the royal we bring you tonight was created by Mariano around the time of the Mai Kai’s opening in 1956. One can see Donn Beach’s influence in its construction. A daiquiri split into its components - sugar, fruit, spirit - and and reimagined as a Tiki. I give you the Demerara Cocktail. 

Let’s make a Mariano Licudine fucking Tiki drink! 

For rums we’ll need a Demerara and a gold Puerto Rican. My favorite Demerara, one that I’m actually sipping right with a cigar as a write this, is Hamilton 86. I am lucky enough to have it available near me. If it’s not by you, first reach out to Ed and have him get it there, but Lemon Hart and El Dorado 8 yr are viable options. As far as gold PR, I usually go with Bacardi 8 yr, as it’s my favorite for sipping and mixing without breaking the bank. This time I chose the Puerto Rico version of Havana Club. It’s a solid 3 yr aged amber rum. It’s purportedly made in the style of the old Cuban Havana Club. It doesn’t hold up to the Cuban, but it does offer that fruity Caribbean rum flavor one should expect with a touch of age. There are some heavier flavors here that ensconce the rums so whatever your choice will suffice as long as it’s Puerto Rican. The crisp light notes are necessary to reach the desired flavor. If you’re looking for something bolder try a Barbados like Real McCoy or R.L. Seale. I don’t think Mariano would mind. He’s dead after all. 

The heavier flavor alluded to is passion fruit syrup. If you prefer to purchase a ready made may I suggest Liber & Co. But, if you’re a cheapass, like me, I make my own. Procure some frozen passion fruit puree from the supermarket or Spanish grocery, let it melt to a thick liquid, and mix it with equal parts simple syrup - a 1:1 water:raw cane sugar blend. 

Then we’ll need fresh lime juice and crushed ice. 

Mariano takes a simple daiquiri recipe, splits the rums, subs passion fruit syrup as the sugar, and adds lime and blends it with ice to dilute and cool the concoction. Here the recipe:

1 oz Demerara Rum

½ oz Gold Puerto Rican Rum

½ oz Passion Fruit Syrup

½ oz Lime Juice

4 oz Crushed Ice

Blend it all for no more than 5 seconds and double strain into a coup, cocktail glass, or small snifter. The secondary strain through a wire sieve is essential to keeping pesky ice chunks out of the drink. There’s no traditional garnish for this one. A few cherries on a pick works but it’s unnecessary. 

First impression is a quick cold snap followed by the great balance of fruit and rum. As it warms the drink thickens with flavors of ripe fruit, a familiar passion fruit bite that’s almost like mild spice, and the crisp but soft notes of Puerto Rican rum.

I think the point I was trying to make in the intro is that many very different versions of the tropics had to come together to create Tiki. Mainly Polynesia and the Caribbean, represented by California and Florida. The Mai Kai completed the cross-country Tiki railroad that finally unified the entire country, under rum, with barstools and Tiki for all. 

And to the people who say all the tropics look the same I say, If I’ve seen one beach I want to see them all. 

My name is Tony and this has been Pod Tiki.

Sources: thefloridarambler.com article - Mai-Kai Restaurant: Lovingly restored treasure to open late summer by: Deborah Hartz-Seeley, Sippin’ Safari by: Jeff “Beachbum” Berry

Pod Tiki: Vicious Virgin

Rarely do we recognize the choices that alter our life’s trajectory. Every now and then a pivotal moment is so consequential it’s garishly obvious to be one of those fulcrums upon which the rest of our days teeter. What was it Hemingway said? “Today is only one day in all the days that will ever be. But what will happen in all the other days that ever come can depend on what you do today." 

I imagine this was how Ernest Raymond Beaumont-Gant felt when his grandfather presented him with a choice - college, or a trip around the world? For Ernest the decision was easy. His frequent trips between the Caribbean and New Orleans helping his grandfather as a rumrunner took Ernest all over the West Indies where he acquainted himself with local flavors, cultures, and various styles of rum. But, this life operating just below the surface of polite society wasn’t going to last forever. New Orleans’ ambivalence to Prohibition notwithstanding any day now the G-Men could decide to make a name for themselves by making an example out of the rumrunners. It was time to see the world. 

Hopping around the South Seas Ernest eventually landed a job on a freighter, taking him even farther. As far as south-east Asia where he visited the famous Raffles Hotel in Singapore. Along with a vast knowledge of Pacific Island food and drink he also collected artifacts. Which amounted to an impressive assortment of local ephemera as he combed the beaches. While Nick Carroway was facilitating meetings between his cousin Daisy and a man named Gatsby, Ernest was formulating a plan for making his own fortune. 

Returning stateside Ernest had an idea to amalgamate his knowledge of Caribbean rums with the culture of Polynesia to create something that would portray his personal image of exotic. He imagined the idea for what would later be called Tiki. 

Utilizing his shrewd business acumen Ernest decided to set up shop in Los Angeles. Now, L.A. at the time mandated that anyplace serving alcohol must offer food. So, Ernest went to his local Chinese market and asked around for a cook. Check. 

Cantonese cuisine was exotic enough at the time, but for his drinks Ernest really wanted to not only imply exotica, but truly transport his patrons to the island in his mind. He used Caribbean spices, European liqueurs, and Polynesian fruits and iconography to achieve this. There was something else missing. It was here Ernest would leave his indelible mark on the world of cocktalia when he invented the technique of mixing different rums together to render new flavors. Unlike its counterpart spirits like bourbon or gin, rum varies exponentially in style and profile from region to region. Bright, fruity, expressions from Cuba and Puerto Rico. Grassy, brandy-like versions from Martinique. Jamaica, with its rich molasses funk. All the way to the earthy Demerara River of Guyana. 

Everything fell into place by providence and in 1933, the day after the repeal of Prohibition Ernest opened his bar. Being nothing less than the consummate showman Ernest officially changed his name and called the bar after himself. Don the Beachcomber. 

Another area Donn was quite adroit in was keeping his trade secrets. As imitators began the spread of Tiki diaspora Donn kept his recipes proprietary by assigning codes to various ingredients. These codes were decipherable by only a few select bartenders known as Donn’s boys. One of these trusted boys was Mariano Licudine who joined the Beachcomber’s team in 1939. It’s from Mariano’s personal notes that historian Jeff Berry was able to garner the recipe for one of Don the Beachcomber’s earliest drinks. Appearing on menus circa 1937, a mix of Virgin Islands and Puerto Rican rums, falernum, lime juice, cane syrup, and a touch of intrigue, Don the Beachcomber brings you the Vicious Virgin. 

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

I’ve never done a two part episode on Pod Tiki, and I’m still not. But, I wanted to feature the Vicious Virgin and talk about Mariano Licudine even though he served the drink but didn’t create it. I felt like we needed to also feature one of his originals. Then, while doing initial research I was reminded of how Mariano’s career spanned not only a segment of time that was imperative to Tiki but a geographical milestone as well. He did something I try to do with this podcast. Something Donn did consequently when creating the genre of Tiki. Mariano’s is a story that blends Polynesia with the Caribbean. I call my version Tropiki. Mariano did it by cutting his teeth as part of Don the Beachcomber’s inner circle and ending up taking that expertise to the east coast of Florida. To the infamous Mai Kai. 

In this episode we’ll cover Mariano Licudine’s rise to fame and the Beachcomber’s drink found in his notebook. In the next episode we’ll pick up with an exploration of the Mai Kai and one of Mariano’s original concoctions. Let’s jump in. 

Mariano Licudine was born 1907 in Manila, the capital city of the Philippines. An early portent to Mariano’s future, he learned to make wine from sugar cane as a child. As Mariano was one of fourteen children I’m guessing his parents needed plenty of wine. In his twenties he worked pineapple fields in Hawaii eventually making landfall in California. The 1930’s found Mariano in Hollywood working for famed comedy duo Laurel & Hardy. When I was a kid my dad and I would watch old Laurel & Hardy shows together. Particularly a movie called Babes In Toyland. Although it sounds like a lesbian porno in today’s parlance, it’s actually a Christmas movie released in 1934 wherein Stan and Ollie live in a shoe and have to protect little Bo Peep. I love how seemingly random and bizarre things out of their time are taken. I imagine it made perfect sense to people watching it when it was new. I remember my dad laughing and being excited to show it to me. I never expected Laurel & Hardy to make an appearance in a Tiki podcast, but I suppose, with how pervasive the genre was in the early days of Hollywood, it was only a matter of time. 

Mariano doubled as the duo’s driver and bartender. His first gig behind the stick wasn’t much prep for Tiki drinks. Stan and Ollie only drank scotch highballs. A far cry from the eight ingredient Zombies he would be mixing up in 1939 when he began bartending at Don The Beachcomber’s. That reminds me of a story my wife tells me about how she made so much more money slinging bottled beer and Jack & Cokes to tourists downtown than when she worked at a jazz club making craft cocktails. Here’s a pro tip fellas. If you frequent a club where the bartenders are musicians only working to get stage time the drinks are gonna be shit. But, the music will be awesome and you might just end up marrying the attractive girl behind the bar. 

Back to Mariano. Working alongside other inner circle trustees, the likes of previous Pod Tiki subject and beachcomber legend, Dick Santiago, Mariano must’ve proved himself quickly because only a year later he was sent to open the new Chicago location of Don’s. I’m sure there was some adjusting to an actual winter for a boy from the tropics, I can relate, but shortly Mariano settled in, married, and started a family. As Donn Beach had a propensity for hiring Filipinos a bunch of Mariano’s cousins followed him out there subsequently marrying some of his wife’s friends. This really did make the Beachcomber’s feel like a family business. Mariano’s kids tell stories of how the restaurant was their playground. We see this with other Beachcomber alums and their families. Donn, for all his business acumen, mixology prowess, and abstract creativity, did foster an environment of inclusion among his staff. 

In fact, the reason for his preference towards hiring Filipinos was not some racist idea of cultural appropriation. During his travels, Donn was taken in by a Filipino family who not only showed him extreme kindness as a foreigner, but introduced him to some of the flavors and processes he would later use in creating Tiki. There’s a good lesson there that you shouldn’t judge someone harshly for having aspects of cultures other than their own. We don’t know what someone else may’ve gone through to earn their stripes. That’s why I despise using the term ‘cultural appropriation’ in the pejorative. We are supposed to learn from other cultures. It’s called growing and it doesn’t mean you’re forsaking your own. 

During his tenure at Don The Beachcomber’s Mariano worked his way up the ranks and was a valuable bartender. But, he would later lament, there was a certain way of doing things. A process to be adhered to. And, he had ideas. His own ideas. 

It was around this same time, a few miles north of Chicago, that Jack and Bob Thornton were making their own overtures towards the unknown. Having secured a location in Fort Lauderdale, along the eastern seaboard of Florida just north of Miami, the brothers were setting out to bring Tiki to the Caribbean. Much in the same way Donn Beach brought Polynesian Pop to Waikiki, the Thorntons were bringing rum drinks to the Caribbean. Which may seem a little like bringing sand to the literal beach, but Floridians had never experienced the full on Tiki phenomenon bred on the west coast. We’ll get more into that in the next episode. 

Bob and Jack, or because I’m close to Appalachia I like to lump them into one person as Jack-Bob. Ol’ Jack-Bob Thornton. Sounds like an old timer with a long white beard and over-alls with no undershirt who hides a copper still on the mountain. I think I’ve had some of Ol’ Jack-Bob’s moonshine. Whooo-ee! That’ll burn hotter than a hawk tua virus if you know whuttah mean. 

Well, they had a bit of brilliance themselves, those two. You see, Mariano Licudine was Don The Beachcomber’s number 2 bartender, a lauded spot among Tiki elite, and his buddy Kenny Lee was the number 2 chef, equally laudable. The brother’s Thornton figured the number 2 guys would be more eager for advancement. They figured right and soon Mariano and Kenny were heading to the land of the Seminole. 

It wasn’t immediately a rose garden, though. You see, Florida was a Jim Crow state that, for all its Caribbean influence, didn’t always take kindly to the unfamiliar dark skinned Asian community. Mariano’s son Ron Licudine recalls how the schools were still segregated when they moved there. “When daddy had to get a health card they had him down as ‘negro’”. 

At work Mariano was a star. Jack-Bob deferred to him at almost every stage of construction, especially in hand designing the bar. 

The cocktail program also came down to Mariano. Finally. However, before he was able to spread his own wings the bar needed some Tiki staples. Conferring with his family and armed with years of experience mixing Donn’s recipes Mariano adapted the Vicious Virgin into the Impatient Virgin. (Sounds like me in high school.) Missionary’s Downfall became Missionary’s Doom, and Pearl Diver was now Deep Sea Diver. He was now able to add his own drinks to the menu. 

Thus, the Mai Kai opened to much acclaim in December 1956. Like its Hollywood counterpart the Mai Kai became a hotspot for celebrities and celebrity on-lookers. The suckling pig Luau meal cornered the food options, but Mariano’s drinks were the star of the show. 

Soon Mariano Licudine himself was the star of the show. In 1959 his Derby Daiquiri won first prize in a Puerto Rican rum group sponsored contest. It was later named Esquire’s drink of the month and became the signature cocktail of the Gulfstream racetrack’s $100,000 Derby. When a New York magazine printed the recipe cocktail lounges across Manhattan all began serving the “$100,000 Drink.” 

The Thornton’s opened a satellite bar in the Ft. Lauderdale airport, a place I’ve often had a few drinks on my way out on some Caribbean adventure, so folks arriving domestic and international could imbibe upon Mariano’s trade before even stepping foot into Florida’s palpable humidity. 

A confirmed celebrity Mariano Licudine’s picture oft graced the pages of local newspapers. Ron tells one anecdote of his school teacher recognizing his last name and going to the Mai Kai that evening for the red carpet treatment. I assume Ron Licudine received straight A’s that year. 

It was Mariano’s next invention that took him from celebrity mixologist to Tiki royalty. The Mai Kai Mystery Drink arrived to the table in an oversized Mystery Bowl carried by a scantily clad Mystery Girl. Wiggling over to the patron, placing the drink, she would adorn the guest with an orchid lei as a gong crashed out. Then, offering a salaam, she would seductively swing her hips in a slow hula back to whence she came. That’s right. Mariano Licudine invented the infamous Mystery Drink. A tradition I wish someone would bring back. In 1960 the Mai Kai served over 10,000 Mystery Drinks. That, my friends, is a whole lot of wigglin’ hips. 

For a while the Mystery Drink was a well kept secret, but after Johnny Carson had one delivered to him on stage of the Tonight Show by a sultry Mystery Girl Tiki establishments across the country adopted the gimmick. 

The Mai Kai was also the first to make famous a drinking club. Much like Smuggler’s Cove’s Rumbustion Society, when bibulous patrons worked their way through every drink on the menu the Okole Maluna, or ‘Bottoms Up’ Society was offered a personalized bamboo mug and could order Mariano’s original Big Bamboo cocktail. 

Mariano became so that he could create drinks on the fly for any occasion. Jack-Bob would come to him with an idea for an event and he would have a specialty drink ready. They would actually let Mariano come up with the drink first, then name it and have a specialty mug produced to serve it in. 

Much like how we inadvertently become our parents, Mariano ran his bar as strict as Donn Beach did for him. Admonishing his staff in either English, Spanish, or Chinese. “I’d rather hire someone who knows nothing”, he once said. “If he knows only what I teach him, it has to be right.” 

Even to the degree of secreting away some of his recipes behind codes like Donn did. He was able to experiment so much due to his ability to amass a vast rum collection at the bar. At this time there was still an availability of Cuban rums, as well as proximity to all the rum producing regions of the West Indies of which Donn had accumulated his knowledge. Mariano fell in love with rum and blending them together the way Donn did. The eureka moment that followed a successful blending session was like chasing a high. He once said, “gin smells like cheap cologne”, and “scotch smells like medicine.” For his 48 drinks on the menu Mariano required 43 different rums. 

Even though he stood sentinel at the bar six nights a week Mariano would still wander local liquor stores at night seeking inspiration. His son Ron recounts getting up early on Saturdays and going to the bar to mix syrups for the week. Mariano didn’t just supervise, either. He was behind the bar mixing drinks. Imagine that. We have celebrity bartenders now, of course. But, how often do you travel to a place to seek out an experience just to have the person who invented the cocktail actually be there mixing? 

We’ll investigate this again the next episode, but it really was Mariano Licudine and the Mai Kai that brought the onslaught of Tiki to the East Coast. I can attest to this, coming of drinking age in Florida. My favorite beach bar, Coconuts on the Beach in Cocoa Beach is heavily influenced by polynesian pop iconography. Tiki totems line the beach entry, and thatch roofing hangs over a bar facing the ocean which pulses in rhythmic cadence through the dune grass like a dog breathing at the foot of the bed. Up and down the radius of the peninsula hotels, condos, restaurants, gift shops, cafes, and bars present the idolatry of Tiki mixed with our specific brand of Caribbean inspired tropics. A fair trade since Hawaii and California stole reggae from us. 

Mariano took to traveling the Caribbean giving seminars on rum drinks. Think about that. In the place that created rum a Filipino Tiki bartender was teaching them. In 1959, at the Caribe Hilton in Puerto Rico he actually lectured to two of our other famous Pod Tiki alums. Monchito Perez, who invented the Pina Colada, and none other than consummate barkeep Joe Scialom, renowned across the world for drinks like the Suffering Bastard. Jamaican rum is arguably the heart of Tiki, and he even taught there where the locals lauded him exclaiming, “...if we don’t make it exotic, we can’t compete.” He finished his tour of Cuba two months before the revolution. 

Mariano Licudine’s story mirrors other Tiki forebears in a lot of ways, but unlike others who eventually moved on from plying the Tiki trade, he poured till the end. Retiring in 1979 Mariano died a year later in 1980. The year I was born. Serving names like Joe DiMaggio, Jackie Gleason, Joe Namath, and Liberace, in the words of Beachbum Berry - “for once, the biggest celebrity in a Tiki bar was the bartender.”

So, with a tip of the Panama hat to the man who served this drink, Mariano Licudine, and the man who created it, Donn Beach, I give you the Vicious Virgin. Let’s make a drink!

You know, growing up in Orlando, Florida, in the 90’s, where bikini tops and daisy dukes were acceptable everyday attire, I don’t reckon I came across too many virgins. Let alone, vicious ones. There’s no story behind Donn’s naming of this drink, but I assume he thought the name was cool, seductive, a bit naughty. Mariano retooling it as the Impatient Virgin certainly assuages any licentiousness, but I like the term vicious here. 

If Gen Z wanted to infer some kind of negative connotation they would probably say the word vicious is too aggressive and malicious intent. I’m not saying all woke culture is bad and we should go back to sleep, but maybe the extremists should take a nap once in a while. Babies get a bit cranky. 

I think the combination of those two words here is brilliant. It’s a literary technique of using contradicting words together. Like, sick in love, or, quiet storm. The implicit virtuosity of the virgin described with such a ravaging term. Is the virgin vicious in order to ward off overtures from aggressive suitors. Or, is it that the primal desire which ignites within us all upon a certain maturity becomes such that the civilized portion of the brain can no longer tether it to polite society.

Personally, it brings to mind the image of a cacao skinned Polynesian woman, the tips of her sun bleached bronze hair resting on narrow shoulders. She’s laying on her side in a thatch hut, propped up on one elbow, soft rounded contour of her violin shaped body coming to a point at her toes. A floral sarong covers only her hips. She summons you towards her with a slow curling finger. You reach out expecting to feel the warm weight of her breast, but you come away holding a cold Tiki mug embossed with the image of a topless mermaid. 

There’s also nothing in the way of Donn’s method for creating this drink, though it’s pretty easily discerned to be a daiquiri riff. First we’ll need a couple of rums. Donn stuck to the standards here. A gold Virgin Islands rum and a white Puerto Rican rum. When the recipe calls for Virgin Island rum I default to Cruzan. If you can find their Single Barrel, it’s a brilliantly creamy rum with notes of butterscotch and caramel. The standard Cruzan Gold is still pretty good, especially for the price. The flavors just diminished a bit. As for light Puerto Rican rum, make your choice. I’m tired of sticking up for Bacardi, so if you prefer Don Q? Let them eat cake. I think Bacardi has a deeper, richer flavor that is more indicative of old school Cuban style. If you can find Ron del Barralito, it’s not that crisp white rum taste we’re looking for, but it is the best PR rum I’ve tasted. The Havana Club produced in Puerto Rico is also really good. 

When Donn created the Vicious Virgin Cuban rums were still available in the U.S. So, I wonder why the specific use of Puerto Rican? How were these two similar regions and styles of rum dissimilar enough to warrant the distinction? Modern Puerto Rican rums are nothing like they would’ve been almost a century ago when Donn was mixing, but Cuban Havana Club has been frozen in time. In my opinion Cuba produces the best rums in the world. So, comparing them to modern Puerto Rico rums we can conclude, perhaps, that the deep, rich, full, cane sugar notes of Cuban rum always contrasted the light, crisp, fruitiness of their Puerto Rican counterparts. In any case, I do not question the prowess of Don the Beachcomber when it comes to blending rums to achieve a tertiary gestalt flavor. 

Next, we’ll need some falernum.  A rum based liqueur from Barbados, falernum started out as just rum, sugar, and lime juice. Dating back to the 1700’s it was meant as a low ABV bottled punch. Later various spices began being added as distinguishing factors between producers. Common ingredients nowadays include clove, nutmeg, almond, and ginger. In his novel, All The Year Round, Charles Dickens mentions a curious liquor composed of rum and lime juice called falernum to which is often added a measure of wormwood and angostura. Falernum with absinthe and bitters actually sounds pretty good. 

The origin of the name falernum has a funny anecdote. I love when a misunderstood accent or colloquialism becomes the common vernacular. In this case, Piercy Ward, of Mount Gay distillery, in a 1982 New York Times story, retold this tale of falernum’s origin. Apparently, the version they produced was based on one particular housewife’s recipe. When asked about the recipe the woman replied in her heavy Bajan accent, “haf a lern um.” As in, “have to learn them - or teach them.” I love that story, but truthfully, the name most likely derives from an ancient Roman wine called falernian. Which, in Latin, becomes Falernum. 

There’s a few brands out there now. Sadly, I haven’t tried them all. The Latitude 29 and Maggie’s Farm brands are two I want to try. It’s hard to beat John D. Taylor’s, though. It’s the standard for Tiki and the most widely available. At least here in the southeast U.S.. 

A few more things we need are some fresh squeezed lime juice, sugar syrup, I’m still using my 1:1 water to raw cane sugar recipe, and lastly crushed ice. 

Ice plays a pivotal role in preparing a Vicious Virgin. The recipe calls for 4 oz. I think that’s about the standard scoop used by bartenders. I may be a stickler for details when it comes to the perfect amount of ice, but in practice rarely is ice measured out. This means depending on how full the scoop is could change the dilution and consistency of the drink. Professional bartenders are probably rolling their eyes right now, but this is Tiki, dude! In my experience with this particular cocktail it matters. Heavy on the ice dilutes the Virgin too much, leaving her icy cold and watered-down and standoffish. Lighter on the ice gives us a silkier consistency, allows the Falernum to shine, and makes the Virgin a bit more reciprocal. My recommendation is just under 4oz, or a light scoop. 

And the recipe is…

1 oz Gold Virgin Islands Rum

½ oz White Puerto Rican Rum

½ oz Lime Juice

¼ oz Simple Syrup

¼ oz Falernum

- 4 oz Crushed Ice

Mix everything in a blender for five seconds and double strain into a coup. Garnish with a cherry, double entendre. I suggest putting the cherry on a pick rather than in the drink because any excess syrup from the cherry will change the flavor and color of the drink. I usually take a cue from my podcasting colleagues Paul and Rhys and go No Garnish. 

Secondary straining through a fine mesh sieve makes all the difference here in keeping the drink smooth by removing any pesky little ice chunks. In fact, here at the Pod Tiki household I double strain almost anything served straight up. Neither the misses, nor myself, appreciate ice pulp. 

The first sip makes it apparent this is basically an exotic, tikified daiquiri. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s a wonderful sipper. Fruity notes from the rums are accentuated by a Caribbean spice warmth. Falernum definitely plays well with lighter rum even though it’s only just more than an essence here. I tried adding more, but then it’s a Falernum drink and not as balanced with the rums. The Virgin is crisp and tart, but also warm and soft and the only viscous thing about her is how she leaves you feeling after round two. Adrift somewhere between causes and effects. 

For a woman the Vicious Virgin symbolizes perhaps the sweet taste of unshackling oneself from the burdens of inhibition. While for a man it could mean allowing a softer, feminine energy to permeate our darker recesses in preparation to accommodate the Vicious Virgin. 

 When recalling some of the pivotal moments in my own life I don’t often think about ‘what if?’. That would betray my attempts at being present. In all honesty, my future anxiety keeps my mind too busy to focus on things from the past. Or, perhaps, remembering the times I had to face difficult choices elicits thinks I’d rather not think. But just like Donn Beach chose to travel the world and Marianno Licudine chose to leave the Beachcomber for the Mai Kai we all eventually come face to face with a choice to leave the comfort we know for an adventure that has the potential to change our lives forever. In this way we all have a choice to stay virgin or get vicious. 

My name is Tony and this has been Pod Tiki. 

Sources: For more detailed versions of these stories and many more I couldn't fit here please purchase and read Jeff Berry’s book Sippin’ Safari. Falernum research was courtesy of diffordsguide.com. 

Next episode we’re diving into the influence of Marianno and the Mai Kai on Florida and Caribbean Tiki. 

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

Pod Tiki: Aperol Spritz

Write what you know. I don’t know who originally said it, probably a case of simultaneous thinking or misrepresentation, anyway. It’s what I try to do every time I sit in front of this blank white screen in attempt to publish some informational and entertaining content about Tiki or cocktails at large. It’s my art; And, it’s scary everytime. I used to quip that a blank page was my favorite thing because it could be anything. The story all there just waiting to be teased out. Now, with age, wisdom, and a greater than zero percentage of anxiety, a blank page can be frightening. So, write what you know.    

I started this podcast by relaying stories of my personal life and travels as they regard tropical drinks. What am I? I am a third generation Italian-American who grew up half in New York and half in Florida who now resides in Nashville, Tennessee. I also embody all of the cultural and geographical influences that come with each of those locales. I’m a fan of Hemingway, Jimmy Buffett, the Beatles. My favorite show is Californiacation and I lean toward movies like Pulp Fiction, the Godfather, and anything to do with superheroes. My father instilled in me a love for Abbot & Costello and as a man I’ve grown to love any Bogart classic. Jazz, reggae, punk rock, 90’s rap - I was a teenager in the 90’s, after all. 

Therefore, like most of you, I’m sure, when I think about why I like something the impetus of such is a multifaceted prism through which my reality is painted. One of my favorite things is sitting outside at a cafe table talking to my wife or a good friend. Perhaps with a cigar billowing out from under my sweat-stained wide brimmed panama hat. 

Wherever you are in the world I hope it’s pleasant. Here in the southeast United States July it is brutally, but welcomingly, hot. A lot of American lager and Kentucky’s finest were recently consumed in celebration of our country’s Independence Day. Now, it’s time to cool off and relax with a drink that combines my ethnic heritage, love for outdoor tippling, passion for good drink, and acknowledgement of recent trends. 

Please don’t misinterpret this intro as defending a guilty pleasure. I don’t have any. For I am not guilty about any of my pleasures. Thus, this libation has recently become a favorite of mine. I’ve sipped it in the cool reprieve of a hip 70’s themed bar, with my wife and some good friends as afternoon descended into evening on the patio of an upscale Italian eatery, at a favorite brunch spot after church on Sundays. I said it, I meant it, I’m here to represent it. I love Aperol Spritz.  

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

In the last few years it seems Americans have discovered what Europeans, especially Italians, have been hip to for almost one hundred years - whether poolside, patio, or sidewalk cafe, for an Aperol spritz there’s no bad time of day. (Hey, Aperol, you can have that one for free if you sponsor the show!) 

When I think Aperol Spritz I’m imagining an umbrella’d cafe table beside a stone bridge arching over a Venetian canal. A gentleman in white tapered dress pants, hem just above the ankle, canvas espadrilles… (the imaginary man shoots me a glare of contempt. “What am I, some bohemian gypsy?!) Ok, let’s change those for some leather driving loafers. Matching belt. Baby blue linen shirt and the brim of a fedora alit upon a pair of tortoise shell sunglasses. No matter where or when I’m sipping one, that’s the attitude I affect in my mind.

When it comes to Tiki I’m proud to say we’ve left our antiquated views of masculinity burning in the flaming fruit garnish of so many Zombies. In fact, I think I left mine back in the 90’s in some kind of neon appletini. We would be remiss not to mention that there was a time when a red drink on ice from a wine glass would garner a few snickers from your plumber buddies at happy hour, but in its native Italy the Aperol Spritz is a common libation for elevenses, lunch, after work, pre-dinner, pretty much anytime if you catch my drift. I’m glad to see it’s catching on in the same way here. 

I’ve been tacitly in love with bitter amaros since way back in the Negroni episode. This summer Aperol and all its spritz riffs have been my go to. This has personally been the summer of Spritz!

Apparently, I’m not the only one. Aperol has recently surpassed its cousin Campari in sales. My theory is because its lower alcohol content allows for daytime or pre-dinner tippling that won’t have you wasted by the time your salad arrives. However, this recent resurgence is nothing new. For the beginnings of the Aperol Spritz we go back to the year of our Lord 1919, Padua, Italy. 

I love when there’s an agreed upon origin for a drink. Indeed, a bit of animus makes things interesting. But, these nice, easy ones are a treat. I can spend less time researching history and more time tasting drinks. My information comes directly from the Aperol website as well as being corroborated by other frequent sources. 

First let’s talk about what exactly Aperol is.  Aperol is in the amaro family of bittersweet liqueurs. Its profile and reddish hue are similar to Campari, though, it’s less bitter, lighter in color, and lower in alcohol. Some of the ingredients we know are gentian, rhubarb, and cinchona. The name Aperol is derived from a French word for aperitif - apero. Aperitif, or aperitivo in Italian, is basically a pre-dinner cordial designed to warm up the palate, but it’s also become a ritual in Italian culture in which we’re reminded to slow down and live. Memento mori! Aperitivo is often enjoyed alongside small bites called cicchetti. (chikehtee)

In 1912, Luigi and Silvio Barbieri started messing around in their father’s distillery. After 7 years of experimentation they landed on the recipe for Aperol. I assume this was a side project, seven years seems like a long time. I’m picturing the brothers sneaking into the distillery after hours, big bushy Italian mustaches, whisper arguing in exaggerated gesticulations over trying to pick the lock when one of them remembers they have the keys. 

After the World Wars, when people began frequenting pubs and cafes around Padua and Venice, the popularity of Aperol took off gangbusters. It wouldn’t be long before a legend was born. I found one source who credits the invention of the Aperol Spritz to a bartender named Raimondo Ricci in 1919. I presume this apocryphal, but felt inclined to include it just in case. It sounds to me like the source had some information and dates conflated. The truth is no one person invented the drink because spritzes were around way before Aperol. 

It came to pass in the 1800’s, during Habsburg rule of Venetia, when Austria controlled most of what is now northern Italy, that while the empire’s soldiers and merchants took to hanging out in Venetian bars, they didn’t like how sweet Italian wines were. They would’ve been drinking a sparkling white akin to modern prosecco. They also had a hard time with the alcohol content. The only thing worse than monarchical foreigners pervading your bars is when they can’t hold their liquor. Reminds me of spring break at Daytona Beach. The Autrians began asking for a spray, or spritzen, of water to lighten the wine. Thus, an original spritz was sparkling wine with water. 

Between 1920 and 1930, directly correlating with the advent of Aperol, bitters began being added and soda water was used to spritz it up. If you recall our Negroni episode, this is purportedly when that drink came into existence, as well. Even though our old friend Gaspare Campari invented his elixir back in 1860. 

In the 1950’s Aperol became the go-to aperitivo for spritz thanks to a television show that debuted in 1957. Il Carosello, featured sketch comedy, animated shorts and puppetry. It also featured the first commercial for Aperol. Soon taverns and cafes hung bright orange posters advertising the local spritz all over Italy. This brilliant marketing helped the brand spread like melted parmesan over a veal cutlet.  

Much like the dark ages of western Europe, the dark ages of cocktails spanning the 1980’s and 90’s did have some fortuitous tides. This is when Aperol Spritz and its drunk uncle Negroni made their way across the Atlantic to the U.S. of A. Call it shrewd business acumen or latching on to the younger rising star, but in 2003 Gruppo Campari acquired Aperol folding it into its prodigious portfolio. Don’t you just love the term ‘acquired’ in business? It makes it sound so amiable. Like, “Oh, look, I found this highly successful brand just hanging out in Venice. I don’t know, somebody must’ve left it behind. We certainly didn’t pay an absurd amount of money the likes of which most of the world’s population can’t even imagine, no.” I wonder if I could get away with that with my wife? “Honey, I acquired this bottle of exclusive Jamaican rum. It was just sitting there on the shelf! No, no. That charge is not a purchase, it’s an acquisition!” 

In 2019 Aperol officially surpassed Campari in sales. In no small part due to the brunch and day drinking craze. Aperol Spritz is delightful, crisp, and sessionable. Coming in at 11% ABV, Aperol is the perfect companion for a sweet sparkling wine. Which brings us to the second prevalent ingredient in this tippling triumvirate. 

Prosecco is an Italian sparkling white wine. Much like its relative, Champagne, to be called Prosecco it must come from the eponymous village in Trieste, Italy and made from the prosecco grape. This is under the auspices of the Italian DOC - Denominazione de Origine. Much like its French counterpart which not only sets guidelines for wine and brandy, but all our favorite rhums produced on French owned Caribbean islands like Martinique. 

Prosecco comes in 2 main varieties. Extra Dry, which is actually the sweeter version, and Brut, a drier variety. Later, we’ll discuss how each fares in a Spritz. 

As far as history? Well, Pliny the Elder, in his Natural History, mentions a wine called Ribolla, back in the sixteenth century being produced in the region of Trieste. It was hailed by the wife of Emperor Augustus for its medicinal qualities. I concur. After the headache you get from drinking too much sweet wine some more sweet wine does indeed make you feel better. 

The wine was a favorite of the Pucinian, a social class of higher learning, and became known as Pucinum. Later it was renamed castellum nobile vinum Pucinum after a nearby castle. The first mention of it being called Prosecco came in 1593 when an Enghlishmen by the name of Fynes Moryson visiting northern Italy recorded, “Here grows the wine Pucinum, now called Prosecho, much celebrated by Pliny." And the rest is literal history. 

Like Aperol, Prosecco has enjoyed a popularity boom thanks to its association with brunch, proliferated by middle-class millennial white girls in sundresses getting wasted at noon on a Sunday. If only Orwell knew this would be the new Americana. 

In 2019, Le Colline del Prosecco di Conegliano e Valdobbiadene became a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The latest news is that in 2020 the DOC allowed a rosé version of Prosecco. A million “wooo’s” rang out from 30 year old sorority girls. 

The last ingredient we have to mention of course is the “spritz” that started it all. Which also brings us to the controversy of the episode. Okay, I made this controversy up. You see, every recipe I see calls for soda water, but I feel like an Italian sparkling water like San Pelligrino would be more appropriate. If I’ve said it once I’ve said it a million times; there is a difference between soda water and sparkling mineral water. The bubbles in soda water are harder and more carbonated, whereas sparkling water is softer. Both are acceptable based on preference, but, of course, It wouldn’t be Pod Tiki if I didn’t have an opinion. 

Made with an Extra Dry, or sweet, Prosecco, the bitterness I enjoy about amaro is lost in a cloying sweetness. When using sparkling water that diminished bitterness and overpowering sweetness is accentuated. It loses the crisp, airiness, a spritz is known for. In this case the hard carbonation of soda water actually helps to mitigate the saccharine overtones. Aside from the balance being off there was something missing. 

When I switched to Brut Prosecco I found it. A dryer wine allows the rich earthiness of Aperol to come forward. One can tell there’s a wine in there, but it’s not overbearing. Crisp apple and pear notes. In fact, it delicately provides a scaffold for amaro to cling to. 

Its burnt off-orange color is festive and elicits a relaxed happiness that invites one to slow down and enjoy the still vibrance otherwise mundane. It gives me a feeling of idle sophistication no matter what the setting. 

A wheel of orange or lemon usually perches itself upon the rim of the large bowl of the stemmed wine glass. Personally, I prefer a lemon. It adds an olfactory freshness as the nose breaches the bowl. A little unexpected treat for the senses. Plus, it feels a little more Italian to use lemon. Toss 4-5 pieces of cubed ice in there and voila! 

Here it is, the officially recognized recipe:

3 oz Prosecco Brut

2 oz Aperol

1 oz Sparkling Water

4-5 cubed ice

Add all ingredients to a red wine glass, preferably with a large bowl, and give a quick stir. The Aperol company is adamant about rendering the perfect orange color so much that it gives a guide to go by on the label. Garnish with that lemon wheel and enjoy! 

The first sip is a divine sparkly gestalt of flavor. Crisp, effervescent, fruity, bitter-sweet, earthy, cool. If you can’t tell, I really love this drink. It is, at its core, a wine beverage. Aperol acts as a flavor enhancer. Personally, I prefer more amaro flavor. That combined with the fact that the drink is usually enjoyed outdoors in warm weather, as it dilutes it loses flavor quick. By the end it tasted watery and bland. I solved this by increasing the Aperol from the traditional 2oz to 2.25oz. This simple adjustment keeps the flavor not only throughout the drink, but decreases the chances of flavor fatigue if you care to have more than one, or two, or three or - okay, okay! My name is Tony, and I am an Aperolaholic. 

They’re just so damn delicious and easy to make. However, another part of the appeal is that the drink manages to uphold a level of leisurely aplomb and dignity for being an orange drink served in a wine glass with fruit garnish. In Italy Aperol Spritz is not just a drink, but a state of mind. Here in the states it brings some class back to brunch or Sunday dinner. And if you think spritzes aren’t manly I got a few cousins up north that, “jus’ wanna have a little tawk witchu, eh?” 

What makes Aperol Spritz a great daytime or pre-dinner drink is that it gives the impression of good things to come. Lots of bars, lounges, cafes and restaurants have created their own spritz recipes that include juices, other liqueurs, and different types of wine. Some of them are actually really good, too.  But one thing remains constant. Aperol, Prosecco, and sparkling water is the perfect combo for a linen shirt, tiny shorts, a straw fedora, loafers and some wayfarers sitting at a cafe table. A look I call Puttin’ on the Spritz.   

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

Sources: Liquor.com, Aperol.com, wikipedia.com, wineenthusiast.com,  Everything You Need To Know About Prosecco by Lauren Mowery, foundinitaly.com 

Pod Tiki: Singapore Sling

Tropical drinks are not exclusively for beaches and escapism. Under the right circumstances, in the perfect atmosphere, a tropical drink can be elegant; even luxurious? Thus, in some cases there’s no need for escapism because where you are is exactly where you want to be. 

The door man plied his craft as we stepped from an urban sidewalk into the Beaux-Arts designed historic Hermitage Hotel. An ascending staircase carpeted in intricate patterns carried guests to the storied opulence of this early 20th century ode to fiscal obesity. White marble columns stood as sentinels encircling the lobby, they sprouted up the walls and across the high ceiling large arching plumes of baroque trimmed woodwork featuring ornate painted reliefs which seemed to visually sink into pallid gold walls. A fireplace crackled behind a set of tall wing-back chairs. Tufted, pleated, buttoned, and plushed; the furniture offered an air of refined comfort. Such is the Petri plate for that unique brand of imposed indifference suffered by the rich. Palm fronds bent blithely throughout, in that listless way they do, don’t they? As did long heavy embroidered curtains parted such as young girls might hang pigtails around their faces. 

Any more detail on the subject would be what Hemingway called ‘erectile writing’. So, I’ll move now, as we did in this story, passed the lobby. Rather than climb the wide staircase before us we opted just to the right where an opposing staircase descended vaguely. With a wide mouth narrowing to a slight curve at the bottom this staircase bade the user to trod slowly upon its clever steps. I ran my opened palm along the smooth patinated striations of an oversized wooden handrail till my wife and I entered the Oak Bar. 

A recherche little place disguised under simple refinement. Elegance without pretense. A place where distinguished gentlemen may retire in the evening. The room was cozy, but private. Glowing sconces hung on dark wood paneled walls, a short row of leather cushioned booths lined a wall, and sets of tables and chairs for two in the center were made of heavy oak, aged but not old. The bar was heavy with brass, leather, and deep earthy brown oak. To one side of the room you’ll find a small nook in the wall wherein two seats and a cocktail table are placed. At those seats you’ll find my wife and I. She takes a beautiful sip of bourbon as the large ice cube, which has begun to round at its corners, shimmers in the glass. I, on the other hand, have been beguiled by the siren song of the tropics. The tall slender Collins glass before me holds a pale red concoction that has rendered me many nights of ponderous thought over the flavors, ingredients, and history of this libation. And, often rendered me incapable of such thought. The Singapore Sling.

The Hermitage Hotel is in Nashville, TN. Quite far from Singapore. But the aesthetic framework is very similar. For, the tiny island nation of Singapore is home to one of the most opulent hotels in the region. Which is home to one of the most famous bars. Which is home of one of the most infamous cocktails. 

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

Tropulance. The idea of opulence in the tropics. One of the best examples of this is the Raffles Hotel. Though I’ve never been, I've always been intrigued by this part of the world. Singapore being tied to Britain makes it tangentially tied to America, as witnessed by its many appearances in literature and film. It was one of those revelation moments when during this research I learned that Singapore didn’t gain independence from Britain till 1963. Singapore began as a city, now it’s a City Nation under the auspices of greater Malasia. 

What we call Singapore today was founded by Sir Thomas Stamford Raffles, guv’nah of the Dutch East Indies circa 1820’s. It’s for him the Raffles Hotel was named when it opened in 1887. What began as a private beach house opened as a hotel with 10 rooms and quickly became a favorite vacation spot for the wealthy. Not only was it right on the beach, but from day one Raffles was known for its high standards of quality. It was, after all, the first hotel in the entire region to have those new fangled electric lights! Additional buildings became separate wings, became courtyards, verandas, ballrooms and, of course, a bar. 

Every story needs a good second act conflict, though. For the Raffles Hotel that came by way of Japanese occupation during WW2. During which they renamed the hotel Syonan Ryokan (昭南旅館, shōnan ryokan). Syonan being the name Japan changed Singapore to when they usurped. Imagine barging into someone’s home saying, “this is my family now. And by the way, Steve, your name is Daichi now.” The hotel was reclaimed by the British in 1945 during Operation Tiderace. That sounds like a British operation, right? Commence Tiderace! Actually, it sounds like you’re asking her where to finish, but that joke’s a little too dirty for this podcast. 

In 1987 Raffles was designated a national monument and in 1989 it actually closed for two years to undergo a complete renovation designed to bring the hotel back to the grandeur of its heyday. From 2017 to 2019 Raffles closed again to further upgrade the property with new technology and increase the number of rooms to its current 115. Part of those original renovations was to relocate the Long Bar from the lobby to an adjoining arcade. Arcade here being the British term for an outdoor shopping district. (Anyone listening in England, you can tell me if I’m right about that.) The Long Bar is the next click for focusing in on our subject. 

The Long Bar first resided in Cad’s Alley. Essentially the entrance to the main lobby of the Raffles Hotel. Less of a fixed bar and more a row of several tables pushed together to face the road where gentlemen could tipple while watching the lovely ladies stroll into the hotel. This was mentioned several times in my research. Not sure why so many ladies were parading around the hotel entrance all dolled up so, but apparently this was the equivalent of 1920’s tinder. 

After moving to the attached arcade plaza the Long Bar became a proper lounge with a very long bar in keeping with tradition. No word on whether or not a panoply of sexy ladies still wander about outside. Remember, not all who wander are lost. Some are just drunk. 

Now, this is a different Long Bar than the one Joe Scialom served at in the shepard’s hotel in Cairo. Apparently, there were a lot of Long Bars back then. It seems our mixological progenitors put a lot of time into making great drinks, not so much into naming concepts. I kinda wish some modern bars would return to that notion.

It’s here in 1915 the Singapore Sling is purported to be invented by bartender Ngiam Tong Boon. Sorry for my pronunciation. I’ve been known to cause a malay in my day, but I don’t speak it. Those days were Raffles’ gilded era, and the Long Bar was the rendezvous spot for not only the upper crust, but the entire community. One of the origin stories of the Singapore Sling claims that it was created specifically to look like fruit juice in the glass. This due to the fact that social etiquette at the time discouraged women from drinking alcohol in public. Thus, Boon created a drink those heathen jezebels could order without being judged. Presumably, by other patrons, themselves rapidly devolving into inebriance. How dare they enjoy the same vices as a man. And in public! 

There’s no doubt that Mr. Boon created this drink. Slings had been a style of drink for decades, and there are records of English bartenders adding fruit juices and liqueurs to traditional gin slings as far back as 1862 in a book by Queen Victoria’s chef titled Cook’s Guide, and Housekeepers and Butler’s Assistant. David Wondrich and Ted Haigh, two of the most distinguished cocktail historians, agree these were less slings, and more gin punches. 

You guys know when it comes to cocktail history I take an Occam's Razor approach. That stating that the easiest explanation is probably the correct one. During this era of cocktail proliferation it was quite common for everyone to riff on everything. It stands to reason that mixing juice and liqueurs into a sling was already accepted practice and Ngiam Tong Boon simply fashioned one to his needs and specifications. In any case, the Long Bar at Raffles is noted as the birthplace of what we call the Singapore Sling, and still serves up to 1200 per day! Probably even to women! 

To understand the evolution of the Singapore Sling we need to go back to the original Gin Sling cocktail. This takes us back to the age of Jerry Thomas and pre-prohibition American drinking. Initially, a sling, thus named for how easy folks were “slinging them back”, was simply a toddy with extra alcohol and some nutmeg. That is equal parts spirits and water with some added sugar. Over time gin became the prominent spirit used and imbibers preferred it cooled with water or ice. So was the Gin Sling born and popularized throughout America. Part of its rapid dissemination was due to the fact that, much like ti’ punch in Martinique, the Gin Sling was regarded as a quick drink that could be enjoyed, or over enjoyed, anytime of day. Morning, noon, or well into the night. I’m not joking. Morning libations, colloquially known as “taking one’s bitters”, was a common, if not unfortunate, practice in early American drinking. We were like frat boys who grew up in a puritan household and got their first taste of debauchery. The sling eventually evolved into the cocktail, but some of the more punchy versions lived on. 

The Straits Sling is one of these. A precursor to the SIngapore Sling, the Straits Sling - a mixture of gin, Benedictine, lemon, bitters, soda water, and a clear cherry liqueur called Kirschwasser, is at its core a Singapore Sling with clear cherry liqueur instead of the dark syrupy Cherry Heering commonly used now. In fact, Ted Haigh postulates that the SIngapore Sling could have come into existence by the misreading of that ingredient. We know that in 1915, when the Singapore was created, dark cherry liqueurs were more prominent. Furthermore, the Straits is still what locals call Singapore, as the island is separated from mainland Malaysia by the Straits of Johor. So, perhaps the Singapore Sling is just a Straits Sling with dark liqueur and pineapple juice. This would make sense to give it that pinkish hue meant to ingratiate it to those drunken jezebels. 

I didn’t have any Kerschwasser on hand, but I did have Luxardo, also a clear cherry liqueur. I thought this was way lighter and in some cases a better cocktail than its Singapore Sling cousin in the traditional sense of the word. You can taste alcohol for one. Slight carbonation is quite nice. Bitters and even the botanical Benedictine are present without being prominent. With a bend towards refined and regal, pale in color but not in flavor, the Straits Sling is a lovely cocktail. But, it’s not a Singapore Sling. It is nice enough, though, that it deserves a place within this episode. So, here’s the recipe:

2 oz Gin

½ oz Kirschwasser (or clear cherry liqueur)

½ oz Benedictine

½ oz Lemon Juice

2 dashes Angostura Bitters

2 dashes Orange Bitters

1 oz Soda Water

Shake everything except soda with ice and strain into a champagne flute. Top with the soda water. 

Returning to the SIngapore Sling, early publications, as well as modern ones, all differ in ingredients and measurements. Nowadays, even Raffles admits they don’t know the real original recipe. But, wherever the truth lay, the Singapore Sling is a delicious drink that when made properly is an excellent example of consummate mixology. So, what is the proper way to make it? It just so happens I’ve done extensive research on the subject. Meaning, of course, that I drank a lot of Singapore Slings. Let’s make a drink! 

First to do is go over these ingredients, because there’s a few things we haven’t used on the show before and a few things that differ depending on the source. 

Let’s tackle the constants. Across the board everyone seems to agree that the main spirit is London Dry Gin. I used Beefeater. A true old fashioned gin sling would’ve been made with Holland, a type of gin with more body and less juniper. There’s a distillery here in Nashville called Corsair that makes a good smokey version of this, or Plymouth gin if you’re shopping the big stores. But, that’s neither here nor there (where is it, then?), because we’re using London Dry here. 

Another ingredient that always makes an appearance is Benedictine. Here we need to take a brief aside to explore this fascinating elixir. Benedictine is an herbal liqueur and was indeed first mixed up in 1510 by a Benedictine monk named Dom Bernardo Vincelli at the Abbey of Fécamp in Normandy, France. Like a lot of early spirits it was created as a health tonic. This notion seems silly and a bit snake oily, but without pretense it makes sense. Natural herbs and botanicals are known to have healing effects, especially if you don’t have penicillin or know about germs yet. And the distillation process does offer the angels their share as sure as also ameliorating one’s malaise, if not but temporarily. Besides, the Benedictine monks were regarded as a “contemplative monastic order”. I don’t know about you, but I become quite contemplative with a little buzz. And, as a Catholic, I can attest that Jesus gets a pretty good buzz. 

The recipe was said to have been lost during the French revolution, but discovered again in 1863 by wine trader Alexandre Le Grand. By 1888 Benedictine was being exported to the U.S., and as we all know when you introduce a new booze to capitalism it’s gangbusters whether it’s good or not. Just ask Fireball. Luckily for Benedictine it was and is in fact very good and has become a staple in some very famous cocktails. 

In 1905 Le Grand built Le Palais Bénédictine in Fécamp, France where the spirit is still made today. Benedictine is currently owned by Bacardi Limited though the Le Grand family still holds only one of three remaining written recipes. Of the 27 ingredients the Le Grands have relinquished saffron and angelica. The remaining 25 are a closely guarded secret. 

The last cool Benedictine fact I have is if you read the label on the bottle the product’s full name is Benedictine D.O.M. This stands for Deo Optimo Maximo - GOD infinitely good, infinitely great. Dominus was also a title given to Benedictine abbots. Shortened to Dom, as is Dom Bernardo, it’s ostensibly where we get the Don title in Spanish and Italian cultures. 

Okay, digression over. Back to the SIngapore Sling ingredients. For the juices we’ll need pineapple juice and fresh lime juice. Also, Angostura bitters and some grenadine. I make my grenadine at home by boiling equal parts POM juice and raw cane sugar. Lastly, some soda water. 

The Singapore Sling is made so many different ways with so many different specs that it’s borderline a style of drink rather than something specific. But, I don’t believe that. I think the Singapore Sling is its own thing with its own distinct profile. How we get there is the point of contention. Which brings us to orange liqueur. I’ve seen Grand Marnier, which is backed up by some early recipes calling for brandy and orange bitters. I’ve also seen curacao. But, the most prevalent orange liqueur throughout all the recipes is Triple Sec. B-T-dubs, if you’re seeing Cointreau, that is actually just a brand name of high-end Triple Sec. I used DeKuyper. I think it’s the best of the easy to find Triple Secs. Plus, I already had some on hand left over from Cinco de Mayo. In some cases this liqueur is omitted completely.

Finally, we need to talk about cherry liqueur. As we already discussed, the use of Cherry Heering is what separates the Singapore from other sling drinks, giving it its own character. Cherry Heering really tastes just like the sugary syrup inside those chocolate covered cherries you get at Christmastime or Valentine’s Day. This unique Scandinavian cordial claims to be the first cherry liqueur, debuting in 1818, and uses real cherries and botanicals to achieve that flavor that is smokey and rich and could be overpowering in a cocktail if not tempered. In fact, in my first few versions of the Singapore Sling I thought the recipe was wrong till I realized that the distinct flavor of burnt cherry is not only intended, but necessary. With the myriad variations in recipes the Cherry Heering flavor may be the defining note that makes a Singapore Sling.   

I have been borderline obsessed with this spirited beverage since I tasted my first one in the salubrious underground confines of the dimly lit Oak Bar. Perhaps, even before that. In Jimmy Buffett’s song Altered Boy, while on a visit to the Tonga Room, he beckons the waiter for another one of those Singapore Sliiiiiiiings… (“San Francisco, the gateway to the Pacific. For the geographically impaired, San Francisco is in California.”) It’s because I’m so intrigued by finding the perfect version of this drink that I believe I’ve tried more recipes for this episode than any in Pod Tiki history. The current Raffles recipe. That recipe, improved by Ted Haigh. One from liquor.com. Two from Beachbum Berry, one from Martin Cate, and a few more I’ll get to later. 

Through the flames and out the other side of my tireless efforts I have indeed come to what I think is the best Singapore Sling recipe. It amalgamates all the flavors in a way that is not so balanced such to lose that which makes it a unique cocktail. This recipe is from Difford’s Guide and is credited to Dale DeGroff. It is as follows: 

1 ½ oz London Dry Gin

½ oz Cherry Heering 

¼ oz Benedictine

¼ oz Triple Sec

1 ½ oz Pineapple Juice

½ oz Lime Juice

1 bar-spoon Grenadine

2 dashes Angostura Bitters

Shake everything with ice and strain into a tall Collins glass or footed Pilsner over cubed ice. I specify cubed because there’s a tendency in our genre of Tiki to use crushed ice for everything. Personally, I feel like it dilutes the drink too quickly. Garnish here could be an orange wheel or pineapple wedge, maybe a cherry. Your standard tropical fruit on a toothpick. Why not stick an umbrella in there, as well? That’s all lovely for instagram, but remember this is a drink that is meant to be ‘slung back’. Usually, that fruit is but a napkin feast for tropical flies. 

Upon first sip I get smooth pineapple followed by sweet smokey cherry. Once that subsides the floral notes of gin and Benedictine shine through. The color is pale pink, slightly amber. No one flavor is protruding rudely. Everything is harmonious. Its fruity components are simultaneously dark and rich while also at times bright and tropical. And of course, the Cherry Heering is always present reminding you you’re drinking a Singapore Sling. 

Now, this is, in my humble opinion, the best representation of the Raffles Singapore Sling. This is what it’s supposed to taste like. It’s what you should get if you order one at a good bar. But, there’s a caveat. We’ve run across viable riffs on drinks that either add or omit ingredients and mess with levels, but I can’t remember one that takes it to this level and technically remains the same drink. This next version, pun intended, distills the drink to its essential flavor profile. Sweet cherry, botanical, with some sour to mitigate. This was done by a man that we are quite familiar with who’s widely known for making super complicated cocktails. In the late 1920’s Don Beach visited the Long Bar at Raffles as part of his world travels, leading some to speculate, is this closer to what Boon may’ve been serving up? Don the Beachcomber's opened in 1934 this recipe shows up a few years later in ‘37. 

1 oz Gin

1 oz Cherry Flavored Brandy (Heering)

½ oz Lemon Juice 

1 ½ oz Soda Water

This is so incredibly simple that looking at it predisposes my nose to wrinkle in disgust, but when I tried it, I fell in love. The lemon really brightens up the otherwise heavy fruit notes while complimenting the gin and the addition of soda, which is found in many recipes, perfectly asuages the Heering. I don’t like using this word for alcoholic beverages, but this drink is actually refreshing. This version is actually closer to a true gin sling. Plus, taking out some of the more fruity ingredients gives the drink an exotic Tiki kind of flavor. 

However! I do miss the Benedictine, which shows up the Singapore Sling from earliest recipes. Which brings us to the final recipe from Imbibe:

1 oz Gin

1 oz Cherry Heering

1 oz Benedictine

1 oz Lime Juice

2 oz Soda Water

2 dashes Angostura Bitters

Shake everything except soda and bitters over ice, strain into an ice filled 10 oz Collins glass, stir in soda and dash bitters atop. 

The addition of Benedictine and bitters transforms Don Beach’s stripped down version into a true speakeasy style cocktail. I think the above Raffles recipe makes the best SIngapore Sling, as we know it. But, I contend that this is actually a better drink. Maroon and rusty colored in its glass there’s a deep rich cherry flavor that doesn’t elbow its way to the forefront like it does in other versions. A full ounce of Benedictine not only highlights the botanical nature of gin, it also adds an aged bitterness, a maturity, to the drink raising it the level of cocktail. 

Like something you’d expect to be sipping during an elevated experience. Perhaps someplace with leather chairs and a long mahogany bar. Brass rivets and palm fronds dancing on tropical exhalations. A place where gentlemen in linen suits and straw hats pulled low over their brow furtively ogle their feminine counterparts Young women with soft pink lips matching the color of liquid in their cool tall glass. Perhaps a place like the Long Bar at Raffles Hotel in Singapore. Or, perhaps a place like the Oak Bar under the Hermitage Hotel in Tennessee. 

Unfortunately, the Oak Bar is gone and the fanciful fairytale lobby of the Hermitage has been refashioned in ostentatiously offensive bright white shimmering esthetics that beg an impression of Heaven. It appears now to assume itself divine. I haven’t been brave enough to order a Singapore Sling anywhere else, yet. But, whenever I mix one up at home I can sit at the decoupage cafe table in my little yard, cigar smoke curling out from under a Panama hat, potted palm trees and Ti plants coloring the vista, and ogling my beautiful wife. And that’s as fancy as I need to be. 

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

Sources: Beachbum Berry Remixed by Jeff Berry, Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails by Ted Haigh, Smuggler’s Cove by Martin Cate, Imbibe by David Wondrich, liquor.com, imbibe.com, diffordsguide.com, Wikipedia, Rafflessingapore.com, raffles.com, heering.com  

Be safe, thanks for listening and Keepi Tiki!

Pod Tiki: Derby Cocktail Tropical

For the many facets of Tiki, it all distills down to two tropical locales that had to come together to make it happen. The Atlantic tropics, including the multicultural rum-laden islands of the Caribbean, the Yucatan peninsula, and eastern seaboard of the U.S., and the Pacific tropics, stretching all the way from Polynesia, out to South America, and up to Southeast Asia.    

Donn Beach succeeded in amalgamating these dichotomies figuratively by combining the rums of the Caribbean with the cultural imagery of Polynesia, to extremely simplify it. In his masterfully eccentric way Donn managed to blur the ephemeral boundaries bisecting these proverbial paradises.  

But, there’s also a more objective boundary. A literal line in the sand. A thin strip of land that officially splits in twain the physical representations of the fundamental ideas behind Tiki. For all its workarounds it wasn’t until this barrier was successfully breached that Tiki was able to realize its full potential. Today we’re going to a part of the world we haven’t explored yet. But, thanks to few brave, if not problematic, figures we have previous explorations to build on. Of which have paved the way for its own pirate haven of sorts. A place rarely endeavored upon in modern Tiki. Our journey through the history of tropical cocktails and the people behind them now takes us to a corner of the South Seas known as the Canal Zone.  

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

Panama is a sinew of land connecting Costa Rica to Colombia and therefore North and South America. In 1670 it was known as the Isthmus of Darién and it was then a Welsh privateer by the name of Henry Morgan landed on its Caribbean coast. Over the course of the next year Captain Morgan and his crew pillaged their way across the narrow strip of land, on foot mind you, raiding and capturing Spanish forts till finally sacking the city of Panama, which then lay on the west coast. The entire Captain and crew then loaded up their booty and, yes, made forth to drag their bounty, by foot, back across the land bridge; Which apparently was still easier than waiting for their fleet to sail all the way around Cape Horn to pick them up. 

A few years later in 1679 another pira- ahem, I mean privateer, found himself retracing Morgan’s steps, and plunder. William Dampier was sailing under Buccaneer Captain Bartholomew Sharp when he accompanied a raid across the Isthmus of Darién. I say ‘accompanied’ because it is still unclear whether Dampier was truly a buccaneer or simply tagged along as a naturalist. Perhaps, even sent by the crown as a spy. You see, Dampier is most well known for his documentation and mapping. He cataloged hundreds of species of exotic flora and fauna throughout the tropics as he accompanied privateers on their raids. Surely, he had no interest in affiliating with such wanton rapscallions as he watched them hauling off chests of treasure. What’s a few gold doubloons worth to a man of science?! 

In Panama he wrote of a funny little green thing, “as big as a large lemon … [with] skin [like] black bark, and pretty smooth.” He continues how this strange fruit called avocado is, “mixed with sugar and lime juice and beaten together [on] a plate.” Yes, William Dampier is credited with the first English language recipe for guacamole. But, he still had to sail all around South America to continue his piratical explorations in the Pacific. 

Both Morgan and Dampier’s expeditions relay the importance of Panama to the world. Even in, and because of, the age of exploration. This one tiny strip of land bulwarked the passage from Caribbean Sea to Pacific Ocean. As east-west trade increased the need for passage became even more self-evident subsequently rendering the Isthmus of Panama a pirate haven of its own rite complete with raids, colonization, and geopolitics bedeviling the isthmus right up to our new millennium. 

A few hundred years later, in 1882, the French broke ground on the Panama Canal project. And thankfully I can stop saying isthmus now. Well, construction got off to a slow start. What with all the cigarette and wine breaks. To say nothing of all the baguettes. Oh, the baguettes! I kid, but it’s not that far off. You see, the French settled the city of Colón on the Caribbean side of the isthmus, (Damn!), which quickly became an iniquitous den for the workers to spend those hard earned diggin’ dollars. 

And hard earned they were, an estimated 21,000 Frenchmen died during their dig. To help quell the harsh conditions Colón offered drinking, gambling, basic thuggery, and dare I say, women of ill repute. Like I said before, a veritable pirate haven of its day. I’m sure Captain Morgan would approve and William Dampier would say, “umm, I’m not with them. Pass me the guac.” Exacerbating the savage conditions Colón had no plumbing or waste collection to speak of. Add steamy tropical rainstorms to that equation and you get a literal shithole. 

While the French labored to keep operations moving the U.S. was being courted to take over the Canal Project. Negotiations were spirited at best. Colombia, which encompassed all the northern coast of South America back then and had recently won its independence, was naturally incredulous of the United States being so close. So much drama ensued previous to the U.S. taking over the canal that if this was a movie the only way to keep up would be a well placed montage. A lot of treaty back and forth, a lot of posturing between the U.S. and colombia, the Spanish-American War, some civil war, a lot of wars, the new official country of Panama, a French guy making some deals, and bam! - the Canal Zone. 

One of the conditions of the U.S. taking over the project in 1904 was the creation of the Canal Zone. Panama issued the U.S. a ten mile wide strip of land, five miles on either side of the canal, cutting right across the country from sea to shining sea, in return for annual payments, of course. The Canal Zone was in essence sovereign U.S. land. Thus began U.S. occupation of Panama. Over the next few decades Colón calmed down a bit but kept its reputation as the happening place for off-duty debauchery. A famous bar called The Stranger’s Club initially brought high cocktailing to Colón, but that’s for a different episode.

In the midst of WW2, the Japanese having just bombed Pearl Harbor, kicking off the Pacific theater of conflict, as the U.S. joined the Allied efforts cruise ships previously bound for the Caribbean were resigned to naval service as troop transports. And with the Panama Canal having been completed in 1914 they now had that easy passage to the Pacific that so harangued Morgan and Dampier. But, it took time to get all those ships through. So, during their wait where do you think all those rowdy servicemen went to unwind? That’s right, Colón. As war raged on the Canal Zone became an obvious point of defense which meant U.S. military was now permanently stationed there much to the providence of local bar owners, but the chagrin of Panamanians. 

Over time the Americans overstayed their welcome and, fearing annexation the likes of what happened to Hawaii, Panamanian revolts against the American interlopers began to spring up. Finally, as geopolitics verged on the edge of another war, the U.S. ceded control and in 1979 the Canal Zone was abolished. However, a decade later, in 1989, while a nine year old little Tony was probably watching ninja turtle cartoons and drinking Crystal Pepsi,, the U.S. invaded Panama and held joint control over the canal till 1999 when total operations were transferred solely to Panama. As far as Colón today? Well, in the words of the Canadian government’s travel advisory website for, “Colón and some areas of Panama City - Exercise a high degree of caution.”

To dial in on today’s story we actually need to back up a bit to the gilded age of Gatsby. In 1920 people living in the Canal Zone were given a rude awakening. As a U.S. territory the Canal Zone was subject to the dreaded Volstead Act. Many bartenders and saloon keepers from the U.S. made their way through the Panama Canal to find work in the South Seas islands or Asia. In 1921, as Jeff Berry puts it in his wonderful book Potions of the Caribbean, Max Bilgray’s ship stopped in Colón where he stepped off to have a look and never got back on. Max Bilgray was one of the aforementioned saloon keepers fleeing prohibition. Outside of the Canal Zone, and therefore still very much in the drink, Colón was the perfect place for Max to set up shop and in 1924 he opened Bilgray’s Tropical Bar. 

Bilgray’s quickly became the place to be. Portraits of half-naked women hung from dark wooden walls while the restaurant next door serviced patrons from all nations and walks of life. Politicians and high ranking officials drank beside canal workers and military men. There was even a barber so no one would have to stop drinking to get a shave. Max was sort of a Panamanian precursor to Donn Beach. He played the part in a trademark white suit, white shoes, and of course, a wide Panama hat. He would sit at a corner table nightly entertaining his personal guests, which grew to encompass some patrons, which over time grew to the point that waiters would have to drag over multiple tables to service the large party over which Max Bilgray held court. He was also known for his cool temperament, even as barroom brawls broke out around him, which they frequently did. He’s reported to have commented on the aftermath pointing to the cash register saying, “I don’t care as long as that typewriter keeps clicking.” 

As an officer at the Canal Zone guard, a young Dwight D. Eisenhower used to cash his checks at Bilgray’s. Max was also known for lending money to patrons, but he was no pushover. He would tac IOU’s to wall and adamantly shame borrowers into paying their debts if he had to ask too many times. 

Even after prohibition’s repeal Max’s reputation kept people spending their money at Bilgray’s. Including a now General Eisenhower. At the end of its 32 year run Bilgray’s Tropical Bar’s outstanding IOU’s amounted to $40,000. On the day Max sold the place he burned them all. 

Another thing Max Bilgray and his bar was known for in his day were the drinks. Max took pride in his cocktails and took measures to separate them from the watered down rot-gut being tossed around in some seedier establishments. One of his creations just so happens to fit perfectly for this month of May. As I write this the Kentucky Derby was but a week ago and today, here in Nashville, TN, the Iroquois Steeplechase is being run. So, today we’re going to make Max Bilgray’s Derby Cocktail Tropicál. Let’s make a drink. 

The Derby Cocktail Tropicál was created circa 1950 and is basically a Mint Julep with fruit juice. No, not basically, it is a Mint Julep with fruit juice. I know it's weird that we’re covering a riff before the actual real Mint Julep, but I wanted to keep it tropical since we’ve already covered a few non-Tiki drinks this year. But, don’t let the fact that it’s a spin-off deter you. The Derby is a very pleasant well balanced cocktail that shouldn’t be glanced over. 

The ingredient list is pretty simple. We’ll need fresh lemon juice and unsweetened pineapple juice. As much as I prefer everything fresh squeezed, juicing pineapple is a pain in the ass without expensive kitchen equipment. The industry standard is those little cans of Dole. There are some cocktails where the cost/benefit analysis works in favor of fresh pineapple juice, like a good Pina Colada, but in this case, mixed with bourbon, Dole is quite good. Next we’ll need some raw cane sugar and of course - bourbon. 

I like all kinds of bourbon for all different reasons, but, personally, Derby time and Mint Juleps are synonymous with Woodford Reserve. My wife turned me on to Woodford a few years ago and it’s quickly become a favorite. I find it to have a nice mellow oakiness without too much bite and a really good rich traditional bourbon flavor. 

Besides the addition of fruit another area in which the Derby differs from a julep is in the Derby the mint is not muddled into the drink but expressed and bunched copiously as a utilitarian garnish. Also, as much as I love a metal julep cup this is a prodigious libation that requires a double rocks glass. Take heed on the quantity of bourbon. Here we go:

2 ½ oz Kentucky Bourbon

1 oz Unsweetened Pineapple Juice

¾ oz Fresh Lemon Juice

½ tsp Raw Cane Sugar

In a shaker dissolve sugar in lemon juice first. Add the other ingredients and shake with plenty of ice then strain into a double rocks glass filled with crushed ice. Pack that glass nice and full of ice. This adds to the julep feel and also helps in mollifying the effects of 2 ½ ounces of bourbon. Finally, take a large helping of mint like to cover the surface of the drink like tree canopy covers a forest floor, and express the oils by slapping the bushel in the palm of your hand. Slap it good, we really want to bring the scent of the mint oil out. Then, stick it in the drink. If there’s enough ice and enough stem on the sprigs it should stand up pretty good. 

As the glass comes close to your face that cool minty freshness hits the olfactory senses preparing your palate for the first sip. A sip that comes with a unique amalgamation of tropical bourbon. It’s like Kentucky put on a Hawaiian shirt. The tropical hit first for me, with bourbon in the distance. Then it begins to catch up like that horse you should’ve bet on and create this new flavor that doesn’t sound like it’s supposed to work, but it fucking does. (Pardon my Panamanian.) The pineapple is subdued just so as not to be overpowering, which pineapple can do. The little bit of sugar and sour keep it together but the star here is really how nice bourbon and pineapple play together. Oaky, grainy, earthiness - vs -  sweet, peppery, tang. The Derby Cocktail Tropicál is really well balanced and a quite wonderful drink. Regarding the 2 ½ oz of bourbon, let’s just say that after a few you might be riding a horse of a different color. 

This cocktail will certainly add some tropical flavor to your next Derby party. In a way Derby parties share a sartorial link with Tiki. Both genres are partial to tawdry dress, big hats, and florid colors. Both are a form of escapism in a way. Unless you wear pastel searsucker suits and straw skimmer hats all the time. Actually, now that I think about it I do wear Hawaiian shirts and Panama hats all the time. So, it’s not out of the question. Lastly, both have their own signature cocktail cultures. 

This unlikely coupling of Kentucky with the tropics comes together to make something great. Sometimes these mash-ups work. Sometimes, in the words of Offspring “you gotta keep ‘em separated!” Sort of like how the Panama Canal keeps the Caribbean and South Seas from smashing together and opening up the cosmic portal to paradise where Jimmy Buffett and Braddah IZ are hanging out with Captain Morgan, and Max Bilgray is giving Dampier a proper guacamole recipe. 

The Canal Zone may not be a place we think of for Tropical excursions, but as the convergence of the two most prevalent sources of Tiki culture it is the liminal space where the Venn diagram of Caribbean and Polynesian overlap. A physical representation to support the notion. Max Bilgray went to Panama in 1921 to escape Prohibition. A decade later, the day after Prohibition was repealed, another young saloon keeper would use this notion of Caribbean and Polynesian converging to create a cultural phenomenon of his own. But in order to get Don the Beachcomber’s we first needed Bilgray’s Tropical Bar. 

Sources: Potions of the Caribbean by Jeff ‘Beachbum’ Berry, wikipedia, Classicimages.com - 1719 Chatelain Antique Map of Panama, Flora & Fauna of Australia by William Dampier, Britannica.com, atlasobscura.com 

Berry goes on to much more depth on the canal zone and its bar scene. Please read his book for much more on the subject. 

My name is Tony, this is Pod Tiki. Keepi Tiki! 

Pod Tiki: Samoan Fog Cutter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2 oz Lemon Juice

1 oz Orange Juice

½ oz Orgeat

½ oz Brandy

½ oz Gin

1 ½ oz Light Puerto Rican Rum

½ oz Cream Sherry (float) 

8 oz Crushed Ice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pod Tiki: Irish Coffee

There once was a Tiki podcarst,

With a host, little cheeky bastard,

He’s endearing to some,

Till he drinks up his rum,

And falls straightaway on his arse! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With that, here is the recipe:

2 tsp Brown Sugar

2-4 oz Heavy Cream

4 oz Hot Black Coffee

1 oz Irish Whisky

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keepi Tiki, and Slainte!

Pod Tiki: Lovely, Lovely

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

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

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

“And you’ll never do it again?”

“Never.”  

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

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

“Lovely.”  … “Lovely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The original recipe is:

1 ½ oz 151 Puerto Rican Rum

½ oz Orange Curacao

1 oz Lime Juice

1oz Lemon Juice (½ revised)

2 level tablespoons Brown Sugar

10 oz Crushed Ice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pod Tiki: Coffee Grog

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1 Sugar Cube

1 pinch Cinnamon

1 pinch Clove

1 pinch Nutmeg

3 strips Orange Peel

1 strip Grapefruit Peel

1 Cinnamon Stick

1 tsp Coffee Grog Batter

6 oz Steaming Hot Coffee

½ oz Gold Jamaican Rum

½ oz 151 Demerara Rum

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sources: Sippin’ Safari by Jeff “Beachbum” Berry 

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

Thank you all for listening and Keepi Tiki!   

Pod Tiki: 2023 New Year's

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

Jerry Thomas Eggnog (by the glass)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1 tbsp fine white sugar

1 tbsp cold water

1 egg

2oz brandy

1oz rum

4oz milk

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

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

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

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

Sources: Imbibe by David Wondrich

Pod Tiki: Cesar's Rum Punch

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2 ½ oz Rhum Barbancourt 

¼ oz Maraschino Liqueur 

1 ½ oz Orange Juice (fresh)

¾ oz Lime Juice (fresh)

1 rounded tsp White Sugar

½ oz Myers’s Dark Rum

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2 oz Lime Juice

1 oz Grenadine

¼ oz Sugar Syrup

3 dashes Angostura Bitters

2 oz Rhum Barbancourt

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

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

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

½ oz Grenadine

¼ oz Sugar Syrup

1 oz Lime Juice

3 dashes Angostura Bitters

2 oz Rhum Barbancourt

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pod Tiki: Corpse Reviver

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1 oz London Dry Gin

1 oz Cointreau

1 oz Lillet Blanc

½ oz Lemon Juice

1 dash (8 drops, 1 barspoon) Abinsithe

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pod Tiki: Missionary's Downfall

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without further ado, let’s make a drink! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Missionary’s Downfall is:

1 oz Light Puerto Rico Rum

½ oz Peach Brandy

½ oz Lime Juice

1 oz Honey Syrup

¼ cup Diced Fresh Pineapple

¼ cup Mint Leaves (Tightly Packed)

¾ cup Crushed Ice

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

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

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

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

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

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

5 1-inch chunks of Pineapple

8 Mint Leaves

1 oz Lime Juice

½ - Simple Syrup

½  oz Peach Liqueur

1 ½ oz Lightly Aged Rum

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rest In Paradise: Jimmy Buffett

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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