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

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

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

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

“Sir. Do you know where you are?”

 … 

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

 … 

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alright. A Doctor Funk is:

¾ oz Lime Juice

½ oz Grenadine

¼ oz Herbsaint

1 ½ oz Light Rum (Plantation 3 Star). 

1 oz Soda Water

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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