Tiki is not a thatched hut bar at the beach. It’s not cheap wicker citronella torches lining your neighbor's backyard barbeque. And it’s certainly not hipsters in floral button downs drinking a pineapple infused craft beer. No, Tiki is scary. The tiki bar is deep jungle samba, cool trade winds caressing fan palms. It’s droll gnarly totems and thanks to the genius of Don Beach it’s curious elixirs whose true origins and recipes remain disputed to this day.
Tiki, in Maori legend, was the first man. Adam. Along with his lady Morikoriko, who seduced him after he found her in a pond, they had a baby girl who created the clouds and.... Look, creation myths are convoluted by nature. Let’s just skip ahead a few millennia to the 1930’s when a man styling himself Don Beach opened the first genre defining Tiki Bar - Don The Beachcomber in California. The refractory period between world wars gave rise to an influx of Polynesian Pop Hollywood films while young soldiers returned stateside with stories of far off tropical paradises, and quite possibly the most telling catalyst for tiki fever … a seething post prohibition rum habit. Don used his travels through Polynesia and a not so minute bit of ingenuity to invent the Tiki Bar as we know it.
Tiki swept the nation and eventually the world. Then, like a lot of hot-fast cultural fads Tiki simmered and fizzled into an old timey cliche. Until recently. The modern boom-boom! in retroism and classic cocktails has seen an unyielding rise in neo-escapism Dionysian debaucherous class. Where kitsch is cool and sweet molasses is preferred over the wincing burn of Kentucky’s finest there you will find dim lighting, transcendent music, prodigious palms, rattan furniture and the most recognizable of all tiki bar culture, the tiki mug. And in that mug you will find that the most quintessential of all tiki drinks. The Adam. The Mai Tai.
To long time listeners, or those who have gone back to the beginning of Pod Tiki, this monologue may seem familiar. As it should. For this is the intro to the very first episode of Pod Tiki way back in June of 2019. In taking this journey alongside you all over the past 4 years I have learned so much about Tiki culture, its infamous cast of characters, and most importantly the drinks. Looking back I can say that this early attempt at spreading my love for Tiki has remained virtually unchanged, save I now have the knowledge and experience to back up what I always knew: Tiki is alive and well! Through the many concoctions we’ve covered over the years one other truth remains self-evident. That the Mai Tai is king.
Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Tony and this is Pod Tiki.
As we approach the 4th anniversary of the Pod Tiki podcast I thought this would be a wonderful place for listeners new and old, as well as myself, to do a bit of a refresher (pun intended), on Tiki’s most famous drink. But this isn’t simply a recapitulation. There’s actually been some interesting revelations since last we talked tai.
The Mai Tai shares a special place in cocktalia alongside the Margarita, Daiquiri, and Old Fashioned insomuch as it lends itself to so many interpretations. Like any artist will tell you, the work is never truly “finished”.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m still a purist and generally don’t care for riffs on masterpieces. Keeping with the art analogy, they would call them counterfeits. But, in order to be a great forger one must also be a great artist. Point being, if imitation is the greatest form of flattery than the Mai Tai is the Gary Oldman of Tiki drinks. But, we’re not here to talk about riffs, rather evolutions.
Before we get into the Mai Tai specifically, in the spirit of being a reintroduction episode, suffer me the indulgence of re-introducing myself. I grew up in Florida, always enamored with the tropical lifestyle. The only kid in High School bumpin’ Jimmy Buffett out of my subwoofer rattled hatchback. Tiki was always in the background on the east coast beach scene. Iconography borrowed from the faux-polynesian pop era. My first true immersive Tiki experience came from Disney’s Polynesian resort. Somehow even back then I knew I was hooked. It’s through the amalgamation of Tiki exotica and Caribbean tropic that I formed my style, and the basis of this show. A style I’ve dubbed Tropiki.
But before the podcast and the portmanteaus and the excessive mug collection there was a lonely writer in a bungalow in Nashville trying to find his seaside roots in a bottle of Captain Morgan White rum mixed with lime and pineapple juice. Essentially, I was making a long version of pineapple daiquiri. That led me to my first Mai Tai recipe. This was your basic off the internet what mom orders at Applebee’s recipe. Check this out. 1 oz Captain Morgan White Rum, ¾ oz Bols Orange Curacao, ¾ lime juice, ½ oz Torani Orgeat, 2 oz of Pineapple juice, shaken with ¾ oz Myers’s Dark Rum floater. Yeah, I drank those for a whole summer. And I gotta tell ya. Not a Mai Tai, but a damn tasty drink. In fact, once I progressed my Mai Tai skills my buddy Kyle still requested that early version. Which is why that drink became known as the Kai Tai.
Then I attended a Polynesian Pop festival here in Nashville where I heard Jeff “Beachbum” Berry give a symposium on the creation of Tiki. That was the first time I met Jeff and he recommended a book that changed my life. And a Bottle of Rum: A History of the New World in Ten Cocktails by Wayne Curtis. This was an integral ingredient in sparking my newfound obsession. And oh, what’s this? There’s a Mai Tai recipe. Curtis’ recipe calls for one ounce each good Jamaican style rum and a medium bodied rum from either Cuba or Barbados. ¾ oz Curacao, ¾ oz lime juice, and ¼ oz Orgeat. This, also, makes a damn fine drink. I especially like the absence of added sugar.
Then I read Beachbum Berry’s Grog Log and eventually my personal Tropical drink bible Potions of the Caribbean. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow moves in this petty pace from day to day and we find ourselves today with a pretty much agreed upon standard that we call the 1944 Mai Tai. Ah, but name alone does not a legend make. So, let’s talk about the Mai Tai’s origin.
It came to pass that in 1944 Victor Bergeron was entertaining 2 friends visiting from Tahiti at his faux-Polynesian restaurant Trader Vic’s. Maybe you’ve heard of it. He took down a bottle of 17 yr old Wray and Nephew rum and mixed in a few scant traces of orange Curacao, rock candy syrup, which is what he called simple syrup, orgeat, and the juice from one lime. He shook it with ice, poured the whole thing in a rocks glass, and served it to his friend Carrie Guild who exclaimed in Tahitian, “Maita’i Roe A’e”, which translate to, “Out of this world. The best!”
Now, I’ve never been to Tahiti so I don’t know how western washed they’ve become. But I’m pretty sure Carrie isn’t a traditional Tahitian name. So, I’m guessing she was an expat who picked up the language. In any case, this is the story Vic tells and he’s sticking to it. And I’m inclined to believe him. Trader Vic wasn’t some gone on the tradewinds Don the Beachcomber copycat. He did his diligence traveling across the south seas on both sides of the continent learning from tropical drink masters. His knowledge of rum rivaled that of his, umm, rival Donn Beach. Therefore, whether the story played out word for word the way Vic tells it I do believe that he invented the Mai Tai in 1944. As do all notable cocktail historians.
By the early 1950’s Wray & Nephew ceased production of their 17 yr rum and the popularity of the Mai Tai quickly exhausted the remaining supply. Luckily the 15 yr upheld the flavor profile and quality. When this began to run dry Vic began mixing in a blend of black Jamaican rums by Red Heart and Coruba, respectively. This maintained the profile Vic needed until the Mai Tai completely used all the remaining Wray & Nephew 15 yr as well. Now what was a trader to do?
Vic decided rather than seek out a replacement he would create his own blend to mimic the taste of the original 17 yr old rum. This is where we see the origins in earnest of two rums being blended in a Mai Tai. Vic landed on a combination of medium bodied Jamaican rum and rum from Martinique. Which we all assumed referred to the famous French rhum agricoles that region is known for. A bit of foreshadowing there if you already know. But continuing down the Mai Taimline, this became the official recipe we now call the original 1944 Mai Tai. My current favorite Mai Tai in this style is Beachbum Berry’s recipe served at his New Orleans restaurant Latitude 29. He uses an even blend of Appleton Estate 12 yr and Clement VSOP Martinique rums incorporating in his own Latitude 29 orgeat. This is an outstanding Mai Tai and easy to make at home.
The Mai Tai becoming synonymous with Tiki vacation vibes comes from a deal Trader Vic struck with our old friends Matson Line. The massive oil company made a name for itself in our story when they began buying up hotel properties throughout Hawaii. In this case, they had a pleasure cruise line they wanted Vic to create the menu for. The Mai Tai was actually down on the list, but quickly became the favorite of patrons. From there it spread across the islands and took on new life by morphing with native Hawaiian fruit juices giving us the respectable Hawaiian Mai Tai. Again, a very pleasant drink in its own right. I can attest to this first hand due to the copious amounts I ingested while on my honeymoon in Kauai. For more on this check out Kevin Crossman’s article The (De)Evolution of the Hawaiian Mai Tai.
In the 80’s we had the Chinese restaurant Mai Tai with its pinkish hue. Most likely due to the addition of grenadine. I have fond childhood memories of my mom ordering them as I guzzled Shirley Temples. As the art of cocktailing waned we ended up with bastardized Mai Tai’s being mixed with all kinds of canned juices, concentrated lime juice, and garnished with cherries and umbrellas. Trader Vic himself succumbed to the almighty dollar by creating a Mai Tai mix which he bottled and sold. In my eyes he kinda gets a pass as back then premade mixes were revolutionary and not the fau-pa they are today. A lot of Tiki bars actually mix several common ingredients to make prep easier. I completely understand how this cuts back on the wait time for that next drink. Unfortunately, this is what leads certain bars to have a “signature” flavor profile. Today, Trader Vic’s still uses that mix, but if you’re nice you can ask the bartender to mix you a handmade original.
Luckily, the resurgence of not only Tiki, but craft cocktails in general, has given a breath of renewed life to the true 1944 Mai Tai recipe. The blending of two rums has lent itself to many interpretations of this faux-Poly-pop standard. And even though I’m a purist at heart, I can sign off on playing around with your favorite rums to customize your perfect Mai Tai. Just this once. Just remember that Trader Vic’s blend of pot still Jamaican rum and Martinique Rhum Agricole is the uncontested true Mai Tai… Or, is it?
In Martin Cate’s Tiki tome, Smuggler’s Cove: Exotic Cocktails, Rum, and the Cult of Tiki, he brings to light some very interesting new revelations. Cate is probably the foremost authority on rums and how they’re used in Tiki. Not to mention he bartended at Trader Vic’s before eventually opening his own Tiki bar and restaurant, Smuggler’s Cove. I’m not going to plagiarize his entire story, I want you go buy the book, but the gist is; The descriptions of the Martinique rum Vic used didn’t match up with how one would describe a rhum agricole, which we typically associate with that island’s style of rhum. Agricole rhum is distilled from pressed cane juice rather than molasses, as in most rums. This gives agricole its signature grassy notes. The rum Vic recounted using was rich and nutty.
Not to mention Vic described the Martinique rum he used as being dark like a black Jamaican rum. Well, there are no rhum agricoles on the market with that complexion. As it turns out, back in the days Vic was mixing, Martinique actually did offer molasses rums known as rhum traditionnel. These were described by both Trader Vic and Don the Beachcomber as heavy dark rums. In fact, in Trader VIc’s Book of Food and Drink there are recipes in which he calls for a dark Jamaican or Martinique rum. Furthermore, when he wants an agricole rhum to be used he calls for it by name, where he does not in the Mai Tai.
In conclusion Martin Cate suggests Vic’s Mai Tai blend was a mix of pot still Jamaica rum and Martinique rhum traditionnel. Problem is, unless you live in Martinique their molasses based rhums are not available. Luckily for us Martin Cate took matters into his own hands and, collaborating with Denizen Rum, created Merchant’s Reserve. This is a blend of 8 yr Jamaican pot still rum and molasses based Martinique rhum. It’s not available everywhere, but I suggest asking your local shop to carry it. And stock up. Denizen Merchant’s Reserve is the closest we are ever going to get to tasting what Trader Vic intended a Mai Tai to taste like in 1944.
And? It’s my favorite Mai Tai. Taking nothing away from the dark Jamaican/rhum agricole blend, which is my second favorite. There’s just something special about the way Merchant’s Reserve works with the other flavors. In Martin Cate’s words Vic invented the perfect rum delivery system. I don’t know about ya’ll, but I can use a delivery right about now. Let’s make a drink!
We’ve already covered the rum. I do want to say, though, that even though Merchant’s Reserve is the new standard, and Appleton/Clement was the modern standard, don’t forget that Trader Vic himself initially used Coruba to prolong his supply of Wray & Nephew 15. Therefore, there is no shame whatsoever using a classic blended black Jamaican rum in your Mai Tai. I actually prefer Myers’s over Coruba. They’re both very nice expressions of that style but I feel Myers’s has more funk and a pleasant roasted caramelized molasses profile. A lot of people will claim Coruba is better, but that’s just because Myers’s is common and a lot of “Tiki aficionados” are just hipster douchebags who hate on popular things. When I was in culinary class I had a chef tell me once, “when cooking chicken, use chicken seasoning.” As in, don’t overthink it. As Occam's razor suggests, the simplest explanation is probably correct. Myers’s is a really good rum. Bacardi, Bud Light, and the Star Wars prequels are other examples of the waning middle class of cultural popularity.
Notwithstanding, the modern Mai Tai indeed is most commonly a blend of two rums. As a two rum blend designed deliberately for this purpose I must say, in my humble opinion, Denizen Merchant’s Reserve makes the best current Mai Tai. It’s also not too bad for sipping!
The real genius of this drink shows in the remaining parts. Or, lack thereof. The small amounts of other ingredients act like a backing band for the lead vocalist that is rum. The first member of the band we’ll cover is Orange Curacao.
Curacao is an island nation located off the northern shores of South America originally colonized by Spain. They planted these little bitter oranges called laraha’s. When the Dutch took over in 1634 they found these little bitter oranges not very palatable. I imagine it went something like, “Ooh, zees orhanges ah so beetah, ya?” But, something the Dutch were quite adept in was distilling aromatics and liqueurs. Legend has it that Lucas Bols, (yes, that Bols), created the liqueur by adding laraha oil to a sugar based distillate. I’ve even seen claims that it was naturally made with rum from the neighboring Caribbean. Nowadays, most orange curacao on the market is made with a neutral spirit and natural orange flavors. You’re probably not going to get curacao made from laraha oranges unless it’s actually made in Curacao. For these reasons the industry standard for this ingredient has become Pierre Ferrand Dry Orange Curacao. The elite cognac crafters at Pierre Ferrand blend their oranges with fine French brandy to bring us a rich decadent liqueur worthy of sharing a glass with your finest rums. It’s not exactly how the Dutch originally made it, but I have seen some evidence that curacao was made with brandy early on when rum wasn’t available. And the Pierre version is not a heavy Cognac like you may be picturing. Not like a Grand Marnier. No, the Ferrand Curacao is full flavored and elegant, but not syrupy and over sweet.
Now, one of the things I disagree with is when the “industry standard” is the most expensive. It’s definitely worth it, but a bottle of Pierre Ferrand Curacao will run you about $40. For the budget minded passionados out there, I have had wonderful success with Marie Brizard Orange Curacao. Which comes in around $25.
The other integral flavor in a Mai Tai is Or-geet. And yes, I’m joking when I pronounce it that way. I just think saying or-zjah sounds pretentious. I split the difference and pronounce it or-zhaat, which is the accepted English pronunciation. So, orgeat is a syrup made with almond, sugar, and orange water. Almond should be the prevalent flavor although many versions are available all ranging in sweetness and intensity. Initially, orgeat was made with a barley-almond blend. In French the word for barley is orge. Over in Spain the product known as horchata is derived from the same latin term hordeaceus, or “made with barley”. Though somewhere along the way orgeat and horchata diverged in flavor. I’ve tried all kinds of orgeats from your generic brands like Torani and Fee Bros, to BG Reynolds, Liber & Co, and even some high ends like Small Hand Foods. But, I gotta say, my all time favorite is Beachbum Berry’s Latitude 29 Formula Orgeat. I prefer my Orgeat with high almond flavor, which it delivers. It’s got a floral blend of orange blossom and rose waters. Plus, importantly for me, it uses pure cane sugar with no preservatives. I don’t like my drinks very sweet and Latitude 29 Orgeat is sweet enough on its own not to require the use of additional simple syrup.
Which brings us there. Trader Vic originally used ½ oz orgeat and ¼ oz simple syrup, but over time reduced the orgeat to ¼ oz as well. Ironically, I find this blend perfect for the Appleton 12/Clement VSOP blend of rums. The sweetness is needed to cut through the heavier notes of funk and herbaceousness. Yet, with the Denizen Merchant’s Reserve I think Latitude 29 orgeat is sweet enough, and pleasant enough, to use only ½ oz of it and omit simple syrup all together. To be fair, other brands of orgeat that are not as sweet, such as BG Reynolds, still require the sugar, but I’m giving you what I think makes the best Mai Tai. I understand these things are subjective, but if everything was left to subjectivity chaos would ensue! Besides, you come here for a reason, right? I’m sure it’s not my witty banter. Just make sure your simple syrup is a 1:1 ratio of water to pure cane sugar, which you can find in the baking aisle.
The last thing we’ll need is fresh lime juice. Since this is a recap episode I’ll reiterate, never use pre-squeezed from concentrate lime juice that comes in the plastic bottle. Take it from a man who’s made mistakes. It’s so easy to squeeze fresh lime juice and the taste is so much fresher and lighter and vivid. Lime is an essential flavor in so many Tiki drinks and you want to have that perfect natural blend of sour and citrus spiciness. Just make sure when you squeeze the lime you cut the lime horizontally, so the two halves look like boobs. We’ll need those later.
Now, I don’t often use garnish at home unless it’s necessary for the drink. And I make Mai Tais all the time without garnish. But, when I have mint on hand it definitely adds to the experience. The proper Trader Vic Mai Tai garnish is half a spent lime shell, skin side up, floating on the surface of the drink with a mint spring beside it. The olfactory sensation of citrus oil and mint truly adds to the experience. Much like sniffing the foot of a fine cigar before lighting, I have been known to waft my nose across the surface of a Mai Tai before the first sip for maximum enjoyment.
Finally, we’re gonna need a proper Mai Tai glass. Like the drink the Mai Tai glass itself has become a fixture in the milieu of Tiki culture. A double rocks glass with a flared rim, the Mai Tai glass can feature classic Tiki iconography, like the ones still available for purchase at Trader Vic’s, or a plethora of pop-culture references. For instance, my personal favorites are the ones my wife got me for my birthday one year featuring a Gilligan’s Island design by Jeff Granite.
With that, here is the official Pod Tiki Mai Tai recipe:
1 oz Lime Juice
½ oz Pierre Ferrand Dry Orange Curacao
½ oz Latitude 29 Formula Orgeat
2 oz Denizen Merchant’s Reserve
Fill the glass almost to the top with crushed ice - about a cup. In a cocktail shaker add all ingredients, then the ice, and shake vigorously. Open pour entire contents into the rocks glass. Float one of the spent lime shells on top of the drink. Take a liberal mint sprig and slap it in the palm of your hand to release the oils and plunge the stem into the drink beside the lime shell. It should look like a palm tree on a desert island.
Whoa, whoa! Don’t just rush in. We’re talking about the paragon of Tiki drinks. Admire the stunning visual appearance. Then smell the surface of the liquid and get all that mint/lime scent. Now you can take a sip.
Have you ever read Dante’s Divine Comedy? After descending the circles of Hell, shedding the film of humanity in Purgatory, and finally reaching the pinnacle of Paradise, just when the scene is set for Dante to describe encountering the mystery of the Holy Trinity mano y son of man-o, he simply tells us the experiential realization of Divinity is such that it cannot be described. There is no reality in which we could comprehend the essence. No words big enough. Well, that’s like the first sip of the perfect Mai Tai.
I’ve said on the show before, the margarita is my favorite drink. But, I can explain what a margarita tastes like. The abstract flavor notes of a perfectly balanced Mai Tai are almost ineffable. Sure, one could assign words like tart, sweet, rummy, or tropical fruity. Even though there’s no fruit juice, save lime, what you’re tasting is the dark fruit notes of well aged rum combined with curacao tricking your brain into tasting tropical fruit juice. I don’t know if Trader Vic set out to create a culinary masterpiece, but that’s exactly what he did.
The Mai Tai is not just a Tiki drink, but a transcendent concept. Invoking the spirit of tropical exotica throughout so many facets of life. Across the globe, spanning decades, the Mai Tai has served to bring people together culturally. Not just for the Tiki community, but for the whole of cocktalia and dare I say for Americana. Earning its irrefutable place as the one true king of Tiki drinks. I know I say this all the time, but the Mai Tai is the perfect example of a drink that is truly greater than the sum of its parts. A tertiary experience rendered from a discriminant combination of flavors.
The great thing is that you don’t have to make my version. Or, Beachbum Berry’s or Martin Cate’s. You can mix a dark Jamaican with a medium bodied rum, some lime juice, orange liqueur, and almond syrup, and you’ll get a decent passable drink. But, mix it with top shelf ingredients in the style of Trader Vic’s 1944 and it truly is “Maita’i Roe A’e”... The Best!
My name is Tony, and this has been Pod Tiki.
Sources: Smuggler’s Cove by Martin Cate, Grog Log and other various writings by Jeff Berry, Wikipedia, beachbumberry.com.