Pod Tiki: Jungle Bird

Nashville, Tennessee is a booze town. That’s what people come here for. Whether it’s longneck bottles of light beer in a honky-tonk or finely crafted cocktails at a speakeasy. That’s one of the reasons it’s so easy to be into Tiki here. Most of the popular liquor stores cater to the craft cocktail enthusiast with esoteric liqueurs and large varieties of each spirit. 

The bar menus in town support this by offering well crafted and cohesive programs. Everything from prohibition classics to modern Tiki is in effect. Even the “dive bars” have taken to mixing up some tropical options. Yet, notwithstanding this glorious milieu of cocktalia, sometimes you’re in the mood for a surprise. So, you let the bartender know you’re into Tiki and ask if he or she could make you something off menu. Chances are you’re going hear, “I got you, fam! This is sorta like a Jungle Bird.” Or, “Sure thing! Here’s my riff on a Jungle Bird.” Other times they just drop their head, look up from under their brow, and shrug out, “Jungle Bird?”

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

The fact that this seems to be the go-to anytime pressed for an off-menu tropical is not in any way a slight on the Jungle Bird. On the contrary. It shows how pervasive and transcendent this drink has become. But, why does the Jungle Bird seem to be the go-to tropical for so many bartenders. I think the reasons are threefold. 

One: It’s easy. Any full liquor establishment will have the basic ingredients to make one even if it’s not a tropical bar. It doesn’t call for crazy syrups or specific brands. Two: It looks the part. When someone orders a tropical drink they expect it to appear tropical. With its scarlet hue, thin frothy head, and prodigious fruit garnish the Jungle Bird does just that. Last but definitely not least: It tastes good.  Like most simple ingredient drinks, balanced construction is key. But, what’s unique about the Jungle Bird is that with a small tweak in either direction it can pander to the Tiki nerd or craft cocktail fan. (I know those two are not mutually exclusive, but when I say “craft cocktail”, I’m referring to the more classic, speakeasy style drinks.) 

Another thing that stands out about the Jungle Bird is its provenance. 

One of the delightfully enigmatic facets of Tiki is how many locales and cultures from which it sponges inspiration. Polysnesian decor underwritten by tastes of Caribbean spirits. But, like those two versions of paradise that so diligently languish about our American flanks, Tiki is truly an influential melting pot. South America, Africa, and yes, even the good ol’ US-of-A lend aspects of their respective cultures to the Tiki oeuvre. One of the most essential of these contributors though is Southeast Asia. 

Trader Vic famously used Cantonese cuisine as the basis for his food menu, but it’s the tropical peninsulas and archipelagos of Southeast Asia that lend so much to the notion of exotica. Perhaps it seems more fascinating to an east coast tropics kid such as myself, more accustomed to Latin and African influences, but the impact of Asian culture on the Tiki scene is undeniable. Anything from artifacts, to flavors, to the famous fu-manchu mug. To say nothing of the fact that these are indeed tropical islands and jungles. The inextricable, and sometimes complicated, link between the U.S. and south-east Asia is on par with any Caribbean or Polynesian nations. Not the least of which is that we happen to have territories in all three geographies. But hey, what’s a tropical dot on the map between friends, right? Truly, I believe there is just an ineffable thread tying all the tropics of the world together. It’s a way of life that bonds equatorial people all around this wobbly rock we call home. It’s neither forced nor inherent. It just is. It can’t be gleaned over a 5 day vacation. And I consider myself lucky to have grown up tropical. 

With so sundry a palate from which to paint the portrait of Tiki I’m glad that this particular cocktail, though begotten in Asia, utilizes a liqueur near and dear to my heart, finally blending my Italian heritage into a Tiki drink. There's actually a lot of Italian expats in the tropics. In fact, it was Italians and Cubans co-mingling in the cigar factories of Tampa that discovered Cuban roast pork on Italian bread makes a damn fine sandwich. Which evolved into the Cubano we know and love. But we’ll get to that later. 

Meanwhile, we jump into the history portion of this episode where we travel to Malaysia. The Malay peninsula, stretching out from under Thailand, Cambodia and Viet Nam, was settled as a trading post by Chinese and Indian peoples around the first century AD. Ok, we’re not going that far back. Let’s jump ahead a thousand years or so to 1786 when the British East India Company leased Penang Island from the Sultan of Kedah. If you know anything about The Company, as it was called, you know that was all this highly corrupt giant conglomerate needed as permission to colonize the entire area. By 1900 the British Empire controlled the majority of Malay states either through direct rule or by certain British ambassadors that “advised” local leaders.

During WWII Japan invaded the Malay states and took control for a brief time before an Allied victory found the nations back under British rule. Through all of this changing of the guards the people of the Malay nations began thinking, “You know what would be cool? If maybe we just governed ourse---” Ohhh, the powers that be were having none of that. Till the city states of Malay finally caught a break in 1948 when autonomy was given to the Federation of Malaya. Under British protection of course. By 1963 they had collectively become Malaysia, sans Singapore, who decided to sling out on their own. I think they did alright considering the other famous drink from this part of the world is named after them. 

Throughout the 20th century Malaysia was fraught with race riots, political strife, and economic turmoil. It was amid this tumult in the early 1970’s where we find ourselves where we so often do when tropical enterprise is concerned … a Hilton Hotel. This time in the south western city Kuala Lumpur. 

One of the attractions at this location was the Aviary Bar. From the bar guests were able to look through a glass panel and watch tropical birds housed in a netted area by the pool. Hence, the Aviary. I’ve been to some pretty cool bar concepts, but this sounds pretty amazing. The closest thing to this I’ve experienced is Coconuts on the other side of Cozumel where actual parrots walked on the bar while we drank. It was a magical experience for a tropics nerd such as myself and as much as I can remember that’s the only time I’ve gotten drunk with a bird. 

The Aviary Bar is still open in the Kuala Lumpur Hilton as of this recording and still boasts the avian theme. Sadly, from the pictures I’ve been able to find, the aviary window is no more. But if you know more about this please message and let me know. 

Upon opening in 1973 the bar staff was tasked with creating a welcome drink. It was from among six proposed recipes that Jeffery Ong’s drink was selected and subsequently named to commemorate the birds. It was even served in a ceramic bird shaped glass, sipped from an opening in the tail. 

Ong Swee Teik, a Penang native also known as Jeffrey, was the bar manager at the time. He only worked at the KL Hilton for 2 years before moving back to Penang. He continued mixing there for a time eventually leaving the bar scene for a career in purchasing at hotels. A position he happily worked till retirement. Unlike some of the other famous bartenders from this part of the world, like Dick Santiago or Hank Riddle, whose prolific profile of potables elevated them to Tiki royalty, Ong got in - created one of the most famous drinks in the world - dropped his bird shaped microphone - and got out. 

Ong’s wife told thirstmag.com that he didn’t even drink. He would smell the ingredients to see what went together and only take a small sip of the finished product to confirm. He didn’t relish in the bar life and stopped simply because he didn’t want to work late once he had a family. Jeffrey Ong died peacefully in 2019 at the age of 71 in his hometown of Penang, but his contribution to cocktalia lives on every time someone walks into a bar and asks, “can you make me something kinda like a Tiki drink?” 

So, in honor of Ong and all you birds of paradise out there - let’s make a drink! 

Shall we begin with rum? We shall. A Kuala Lumpur training manual from 1982 calls simply for “dark rum”. Having no clue what the prevailing dark rums were in 1970’s & 80’s Malaysia this suggests it could have been any number of things. Is this referring to any aged rum? Or, perhaps a Jamaican darkened with added molasses? Or, a blackstrap? Martin Cate’s rum classification system suggests a “black blended rum”. I take umbrage because this places dark Jamaicans, like Myers’s and Coruba, in with Cruzan Blackstrap, which tastes wildly different. We finally get a modern definitive in 2002 when Jerry Berry publishes Intoxica!, where he specifically names dark Jamaican as the desired choice. I get that this category is such a ubiquitous fall back, but that’s because it works best with these type of tropical flavors. It may seem one sided as sipper, but placed in a cocktail the notes of dried dark fruit and rich burnt molasses begin to open up. Besides, it fits with this being a fall back cocktail. 

A well aged rum like Appleton 12 is technically a dark Jamaican rum, and if you want to class up the joint - by all means, but following the spirit of the law here I feel pretty confident that your garden variety dark Jamaican “tiki” rum is what this is referring to. I attempted using a pot still rum, which is Shannon Mustipher’s recipe, but thought the signature pot still flavor overbearing. It created an unpleasant clash with Campari. This could be due to the fact that she suggest Hamilton Pot Still Black, which I cannot get here (p.s. If anyone had the hookup, let me know.), so I used Smith & Cross. Her version omits sugar which, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, I think it needs to balance out the pot still funk. But, again, I didn’t use her suggested rum. 

My only other caveat is to not use blackstrap rum. I tried it with Cruzan Blackstrap, a brand of rum I have lauded in the past. It gave the drink a rusty burnt sienna look with took away a bit of the tropicalia and added a very hard charred caramel flavor. I think if we let out the sugar it would make a tasty drink, but it’s definitely not a Jungle Bird. Although I prefer Myers’s I used Coruba for this drink because I had it on hand. The differences are negligible. 

As previously mentioned our next ingredient offers a visit from old friend of Pod Tiki, Mr. Gaspare Campari. For the full rundown on Campari listen to our Negroni episode from June 2022. I had some fun on that one. As a quick refresher, pun intended, Campari is an Italian bitter liqueur invented by Gaspare Campari in 1860 and I just can’t get enough of saying his name. Gaspare Campari. It’s so fun. Campari has a sort of dried herb bitter fruit flavor and is usually mixed into cocktails or spritzers. I suppose you can drink it straight, but that would be Campari bizarre(i). 

The rest of the recipe reads like a Tiki tipple template. Lime juice, unsweetened pineapple juice, and cane sugar syrup. The limes should always be fresh squeezed, rendering fresh pineapple is a major pain in the ass without expensive equipment so the little cans of Dole are recommended by most professionals, and my sugar syrup is a homemade 1:1 raw cane sugar to water. 

Jeffrey Ong originally served his Jungle Bird shaken with ice then strained “very cold” into his bird shaped glass like a daiquiri. Jeff Berry serves his on ice in a rocks glass, while Martin Cate of Smuggler’s Cove flash blends as is his custom. I’ve personally been served Jungle Birds in rocks and Collins glasses, and both are acceptable. But, If I’m at the Aviary Bar in Kuala Lumpur yes, I better get that bird shaped glass. I would suggest not serving it in a Tiki mug simply because you don’t want to cover up that beautiful red color. 

It seems no one serves the drink straight up anymore. Opting for over ice instead. I think the way to stay purist and modern is to split the difference. Shake, strain, and use a few pieces of nice square ice in a Collins, or a big cube in a rocks glass. This way you don’t dilute the flavor or color. 

The first version I tried was Beachbum Berry’s from Remixed. I always trust his recipes and knowledge of drinks' historical ingredients. In this the pineapple really overpowered the drink. The Campari is reduced to a scant background bitterness that does come forward as the drink progresses, but takes a while. The rum is present in effect only remaining silent throughout the drink. 

I then moved on to the original Kuala Lumpur Hilton handbook recipe. Complete opposite of Berry’s. Now the Campari is forward with pineapple trailing behind. The rum is still basically undetectable and I’m beginning to think that’s the point of this one. The color is more maroon than rusty but it comes with a nice tall foamy head, a pleasant characteristic of the Jungle Bird. 

Lastly, I arrived at the Smuggler’s Cove recipe and, ahhh, this porridge was just right. Perfectly balanced. The Campari bitter comes through, but with the full palate of fruit and herbs. Pineapple is present, tropical, and a thin wave of sweetness shaves across the finish. The dark rum char notes or not hidden but subdued masterfully amid a symphony of tertiary nuance. This is the perfect version of this drink! 

Here it is:

2 oz Pineapple Juice

½ oz Lime Juice

½ oz Simple Syrup

¾ oz Campari 

1 ½ oz Dark Jamaican Rum

Shake all ingredients with ice then strain into a Collins glass with medium square ice, or a rocks glass with 1 large cube. Now you guys no I don’t usually care about garnish unless it directly influences the sensory perception of the drink. This is one of those cases where I feel like the Jungle Bird is such an exemplary version of a tropiki drink that it visually needs the over the top garnish. Ong used an orchid with cherries alongside lime and orange wedges. I say throw the book at it. Pineapple, limes, umbrellas, swizzle sticks. Heck, yeah! Tiki the hell outta that shit! 

The Jungle Bird is a great introduction to the Tiki world. It’s visually stunning, the way red glows in dimly lit rooms, and it’s quite tasty without being overly sweet or too exotic. It’s here because every genre needs a cliche for validity. It’s Tiki’s Aquaman. In my humble conclusion, the reason Jungle Bird holds the ubiquitous and indelible place it does in cocktailia is because we don’t hate it, and we don’t love it, it just is. And what it is is a delightfully splendid generic Tiki drink. And, that’s why it’s perfect.

Sources: Tiki: Modern Tropical Cocktails by Shannon Mustipher, Remixed by Jeff Berry, Smuggler’s Cove by Martin Cate, liquor.com, diffordsguide.com, torrerosa.com, thirstmag.com, drunkardsalmanac.com, wikipedia. 

Most of all thank you so much for listening. My name is Tony and this has been Pod Tiki. Keepi Tiki!

Pod Tiki: Isla de Pina

This episode started out covering the Isla De Piña cocktail by Shannon Mustipher. Rather than me writing about an original modern cocktail with not much backstory to go off, I decided to reach out and see if this venerable mistress of rum would take the time to talk to a pirate the likes of me and all you scallywags. I was lucky enough to sit with Shannon herself and talk all about her influences, classic and modern Tiki, plus a whole buncha’ rum! Shannon’s book, Tiki: Modern Tropical Cocktails, is a must have for any Tiki enthusiast’s recipe shelf. To say nothing of the beautiful photography that makes it a perfect coffee table book that’s sure to get your uninitiated friends to ask questions. 

This is not going to be a full stand alone episode, but a supplement to the interview with Shannon. Which is available now wherever you usually listen. So, if you haven’t heard that yet I urge you to pause this and give that a spin as it is this month’s actual episode. But, alas! I didn’t want to not cover a drink this month and I had such a good time talking with Shannon about rum and Tiki we forgot to cover the reason I reached out - Isla De Piña.

The Isla De Piña drink itself is a unique play off a daiquiri employing some of the tropical fruit flavors we know and love with a classical use of liqueur to add refinement. What I love about Shannon’s drinks is how she manipulates familiar flavors in unlikely delivery methods. For instance, the use of a pineapple liqueur rather than juice. But, let’s not put the rum before the horse. That’s a good way to end up with a drunk horse. 

We’ll start off with the rum selection. Shannon suggests Diplomatico Planas. That’s their white rum offering. I like everything Diplomatico puts out. In fact, the Reserva Exclusiva has been my favorite rum for years. Aside from the Cuban Havana Club that I can’t get here. So, I was quite happy to see that rum used here. As discussed in the episode one of the reasons I chose to do the Isla De Piña was because I could find all the ingredients. Or so I thought. Turns out that Diplomatico is changing distributors here in Nashville and is held up in legal limbo right now. Essentially, the distributor who can sell it can’t have it and the distributor who has it can’t sell it. And the wheels on the bus go ‘round and ‘round. 

If you listened to the episode you will have heard Shannon talk about preferring the light rums, one of her favorites being The Real McCoy 3yr. This is a spirit I had worked with before when exploring light rums that came close to the Cuban Havana Club. I settled on Flor de Cana for some time. Much like with cigar tobacco Nicaragua has grown to give Cuba a run for their CUC’s in the rum category. Yet, although the Flor de Cana 4yr white has the crisp fruitiness of a good column still Spanish rum it lacks the earthy body. The issue of my new favorite white rum was instantly solved when I re-tasted The Real McCoy 3yr with my now more refined palate. The texture of this aged light rum produced by the famed Foursquare distillery in Barbados adds a delightful silkiness to everything from a Daiquiri, to a Mojito, to an Isla De Piña. 

One of the things I dislike about Tiki is how our drinks sometimes play right into the stereotypes that drove the genre into cliche obscurity in the first place. We’ve worked so hard to prove that Tiki drinks aren’t simply syrupy gimmicks to sell rum drinks at the beach. Therefore, when a drink is overly sweetened it sickens me. In my stomach and my sensibilities. If you prefer your drinks so sweet that you can’t appreciate the nuance of the spirit perhaps you should order a Mike’s Hard Lemonade instead. For this reason I love that Shannon used a liqueur in place of added sweetener. A liqueur is a spirit base with added flavors and sugar. Before the rise of mixed cocktails many liqueurs were either aperitifs or digestifs served in small sipping glasses a la limoncello, anisette, Grand Marnier, etc. Common Tiki ingredients like Falernum and Curacao are indeed liqueurs. For the Isla De Piña, Shannon supplements the use of pineapple juice and sugar by using Giffard’s Caribbean Pineapple Liqueur. My favorite attribute of Gifford’s Pineapple is the real fruit flavor. It doesn’t taste like artificial candy. It adds a caramelly depth and elegant cocktail-eque feel. 

Pimento Dram is not only a staple of Tiki drink culture but has become a fixture in my home recipes. I always find myself adding this allspice derivative to my holiday punches. We’ve covered Pimento Dram before so I’ll just recap. The pimento in question is not the stuffed olive you may be thinking of. This pimento, otherwise known as Allspice, is a dried berry native to Jamaica and other Caribbean map dots. Along with its cousin, nutmeg, it’s funny how allspice has become synonymous with fall and winter libations. Pimento Dram is a liqueur made from this creamy, nutty, spice. St. Elizabeth’s is the industry standard but Hamilton makes a nice one if you can find it. 

As always we want to use fresh squeezed lime juice. No excuse not to. Don’t be lazy. 

With that litany of rum and liqueurs it may seem odd that the one thing that stumped me in this drink is passion fruit puree. I told this story in the interview, but I’ll give the abridged version here. Shannon mentions in the book to try using fresh fruit when possible but the frozen passion fruit squares by Pitaya Foods is the easiest option. I knew of this brand because Beachbum Berry suggests using it to make homemade passion fruit syrup. Of course, in the name of freshness, I always have to do things the hard way. Passion fruit is a pain in the ass to harvest fresh. The inside is not a hard flesh, but a goopy liquid filled with seeds. After separating the liquid by adding some water and straining multiple times I was ready to make a drink! 

Much to my chagrin the fresh passion fruit overpowered the cocktail. Not that it’s a bad flavor, but there was no sign of any other ingredient. Then my scant culinary training came back to me. I remembered that when using fresh herbs rather than dried one must adjust the amount for the disparity in potency. Glancing over at the two remaining passion fruits beginning to wrinkle resembling a pair of bull testicles and thinking of having to separate the puree out again I resigned to trek my ass downtown to Whole Foods and purchase the frozen puree. 

Ahhh, this made all the difference. In a drink named for pineapple I could actually taste the pineapple now. Along with the abstract nuance of good Caribbean rum. After experimenting slightly to find my desired sweet/sour ratio I landed on 3 frozen cubes being the perfect amount. Shannon calls for ½ oz of passion fruit puree. If you let the cubes melt, or muddle them, it works out to about that. I like to throw them in frozen as it will all come out in the blender. 

So? What do you say? Should we, eh, make a drink!? Rather let’s.

Isla De Piña is:

2 oz Aged White Rum 

½ oz Pineapple Liqueur 

½ oz Lime Juice 

¼ oz Pimento Dram

3 cubes Frozen Passion Fruit Puree (½ oz)

4 oz Crushed Ice

Blend all ingredients on high for 5 seconds then fine strain into a coup. Garnish with pineapple frond. The reason for fine straining is to catch any ice chunks. If you don’t mind that you can just strain once and that will keep the frothy head across the top. I find that the way around this is to blend it longer. I don’t taste any effects on the drink, but Shannon does specify to flash blend for 5 seconds in the book. 

The first sip is cold and crisp, but textured like a fancy prohibition style cocktail. The pineapple comes through with a hint of tropical passion fruit. The allspice fills it out nodding to the exotic Caribbean feel. It is truly a tropical concoction worthy of the cocktail moniker. 

As I sit on my lanai surrounded by colorful flowers, a potted palm tree and my Hawaiian Ti plant that I’ve nursed back from 2 winters I can close my eyes after a sip of Isla De Piña and picture myself on the raised deck of a luxury hotel overlooking the ocean caressing the shore. Some yacht rock wafting on a warm breeze. (What a fool belieeeeeves….) I take a puff from a long lancero cigar followed by another sip. My wife in a beautiful sarong loosely hanging over body. Perhaps a bite of seared tuna, then another sip. Where is this escapist dream? Sail away with me to the Isla De Piña! 

Sources: Tiki: Modern Tropical Cocktails by Shannon Mustipher, Pod Tiki interview with Shannon Mustipher. 

Most of all thank you for listening and please drink responsibly. My name is Tony, and this is Pod Tiki. Keepi’ Tiki!  

Tiki Chat: Shannon Mustipher

This episode we chat with a living legend in the world of rum, Tiki, and modern craft cocktails - Shannon Mustipher!

Tiki Chat: A Luau Lad

We chat with a Luau Lad!

Pod Tiki: Boat Drinks: Strawberry Daiquiri & Banana Daiquiri

I was looking over the side of the boat at fish bouncing on the water. Small flashes of white occasionally sparkling the surface. A great expanse of royal blue Caribbean Sea surrounded me. I was at a small table under shade. The deck of the ship was wide and flat. Some people lounged, some sat at small bars peppered around a pool. Nevermind it was barely noon. That is what one does on days such as these. The sun was high now, but a cool breeze pushed the tropical humidity down towards the surface of the ocean. Presently, lost in reverie, musing at the silver backs of creatures breaking the surface below, a young blank-faced man placed a plastic hurricane cup in front of me causing me to look up thus, breaking my trance. This glance across the deck and back over the gunwale sent a jolt of perspective over me and for the first time I realized those fish dancing for attention, like so many Vegas strippers, were indeed a school of dolphins. Those sparkling dots along the surface? The rolling whitecaps of deep blue sea caused by the wake of a floating building. I was five stories up looking over the side of a cruise ship enjoying boat drinks.  

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Tony and this is Pod Tiki, where today we take our first of many sips into the colorful world of boat drinks. 

I imagine as soon as australopithecus discovered eating that one berry made him feel funny he wandered over to the beach and stared at the water.  There’s just something about catching a buzz on the water that appeals to us. But, it wasn’t always calypso bands on the lido deck. I think about Sir Frances Drake coming upon the healing qualities of mixing cane spirits with lime and mint while marooned in Havana. The scores of plunderous piratical partying under a Jolly Roger. 

So, how did we get from there to a twenty-something with a bullhorn leading a conga line of alcohol bloated mid-westerners with sunglass tans around a pool while they ignore their kids? The story of the boat drink begins with the story of the cruise ship. 

In 1874 German Albert Ballin took over his father’s immigration agency, converting it into the very successful shipping company, The Hamburg-America Line. Albert quickly rose in Germany’s elite circles. I guess you could say Ballin was ballin’? Anyway, he had a progressive idea to fashion one of his cargo ships into a passenger vessel to offset the loss of shipping revenue in winter months. 

Ballin designed this venture for his uber wealthy friends who needed some convincing to board a repurposed shipping vessel for the sake of pleasure. So, he brought in famed ship builder Blohm & Voss to construct the first ship specifically designed for leisure. So it came to pass that on June 29th, in the year of our Lord 1900, the Prinzessin Victoria Luise set sail from Hamburg for a journey lasting 35 days. And where did the very first pleasure cruise ship sail to? Why, the Caribbean, of course!

That first leisure liner boasted all the trappings of high society for the day including fine dining and accommodations. Eventually, more affordable options became available and we began our dalliance with the pleasure cruise. Yet, still no mention of bars being featured.

When I hear the phrase “pleasure cruise” I immediately picture a Humphrey Bogart type character in a dinner jacket holding a martini nonchalantly leaning against a rail overlooking the sea while a jazz trio plays on a wooden deck. There’s a small bar with an awning under which sits a woman in cocktail dress propped up on one elbow. “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.” A far cry from the tourist laden decks of drunk moms in the Bahamas drinking Bahama Mama’s. 

For this we return to our old fiend prohibition.  During the temperance movement millions of thirsty Americans engaged in movement to temperate zones do to their drinking. For those who couldn’t afford a stay at the Hotel Nacional in Havana, or Myrtle Bank Hotel in Jamaica, there was the option of taking a day cruise which could serve alcohol once reaching international waters. These were known as booze cruises. Reminds me of when my friends and I would utilize the gambling boats out of Cape Canaveral. One could pick at the buffet or sip something from the bar while watching the lights of port sink into the horizon. Then, at precisely 3 miles out, the ship would come to life in a barrage of glimmering lights and whirring casino games. 

As the pleasure cruise industry grew exponentially the idea of cruising became synonymous with tropical drinks. Furthermore, as time marched on and cocktails fell victim to premade mixes and putting the word “tini” behind anything with vodka in it, just so did the venerated Planter’s Punches and Daiquiris of the West Indies. Not bash cruise ships too much we have to acknowledge they weren’t the first to bedevil our classic tropicals. Indeed an early version of a Pina Colada was offered as a welcome drink to guests arriving at the Caribe Hilton. 

Let’s not pretend boat drinks only apply to cruise ships either. Growing up in Florida I spent plenty of time on lakes and rivers before venturing out to sea. If I’m being honest though, we mostly drank beer on the water with the occasional pre-batched Margarita in mixed up in igloo coolers. A pre-Tiki twenty-something Tony may have drunk his body weight in Bud Light Lime’s on more than one trip out to Disappearing Island. 

Then one cold night circa 1970 in Boston Jimmy Buffett and his band were sitting at an open air bar watching hockey and trying to ward off the freeze with rum and tonic water. Legend has it Jimmy got fed up with weather and stole a cab back to his hotel. This incident was the inspiration for one of his most famous songs. A tale of suffering the winter chill while dreaming of the warmer climes that much more fit your particular brand of living. A song in which one orders rum drinks to wistfully wisk themselves into escapism. A song titled Boat Drinks. From then on the term was indelibly engraved into the hearts and minds of tropical imbibers the world over. 

So, what exactly is a Boat Drink? This is the part where I veer away from objectivity and lean heavily on personal opinion. On a recent visit to a rum bar aptly called Boat Drinks in St. Augustine, Florida I was pleasantly surprised when I attempted at complimenting the bartender saying “with this selection I bet you can make me an outstanding Mai Tai.” To which he promptly informed me, “No. We are a tropical bar, not a Tiki bar.” 

On the Pod Tiki website’s Recipe Index I break these style drinks into three categories. Tropical drinks, Tiki drinks, and Boat drinks. What’s the difference? Tropical drinks originated in the tropics. Mainly the Caribbean where the rum of any individual island would be blended with the local fruit. Limes, orange, pineapple, mango, and banana being among the most prevalent. These concoctions were honed over time by the masters into the classics like the Mojito, Daiquiri, and ‘Ti Punch. It was during this time when a young Ernest Gantt, later Don the Beachcomber, was traversing the West Indies picking up knowledge of all these rums and how they blend with various flavors. 

Using rumgenuity he exotified these libations incorporating flavors from around the world and amalgamating tropic fruits and spices from both sides of the continent’s south seas. These were different than their Caribbean counterparts in that they were meant to induce a sense of faux-exotic escapism. Combining drinks with polynesian decor and hyperbolic versions of tropical adventure Tiki is the blank canvas on which Don Beach, Trader Vic, and Steve Crane painted their masterpiece. 

My style in the Pod Tiki universe, which I’ve dubbed Tropiki, aims at smashing together to worlds of Caribbean tropical with Tiki Exotica. But the boat drink, much like the cheese, stands alone. 

A boat drink can be enjoyed on a boat, or by the water, or anyplace a person might be drinking while wishing they were on a boat or by the water. I think a boat drink must induce vacation vibes. A waft of sunscreen should be in the air. Maybe some calypso on the speaker. Here’s what I think. A boat drink can consist of any spirit, there must be a tropical fruit involved, and should be indicative of vacation indulgence. Not something you could simply order at a Bennigan’s. It’s my belief that a boat drink should more often than not be frozen. Indeed. Some tropicals can be turned into boat drinks by freezing. Margarita? Not a boat drink. But a frozen margarita? Boat drink. Straight up Daiquiri? Not a boat drink. But a frozen fruited Daiquiri? Boat drink. 

I’m going to save a deep dive on the history of the blender for a future episode, but I should mention that freezing a drink does not automatically put it in the category of subpar. In fact, the original Daiquiri created by Jennings Cox was served over shaved ice. And Constanino Ribalagua Vert, head bartender at La Floridita in Havana and the proverbial grandfather of the Daiquiri, was among the first to utilize the newly invented ice blender to perfect his La Floridita Daiquiri Number 3, made famous by being the favorite of Ernest Hemingway. Some of his early Daiquiris also included fruit flavoring like orange and cherry. More on that later. 

I also feel like to properly be called a “boat drink”, it has to be easily batchable. When loading up for a boat trip you don’t want to have to bring along extra syrups and bitters and liqueurs. It should be able to be thrown together on a boat if you’re making them yourself, or if laying out on a cruise ship deck, not necessitate too much thinking about what you’re drinking. I don’t want to have to be pensive about the nuances of terroir when floating on a giant inflatable taco in the pool. For this reason I don’t recommend using your top shelf booze, either. You want something you don’t mind dumping a whole bottle of into a pitcher. Essentially a boat drink should be light, easy drinking, and imbued with tropical vacation vibes. 

Because a boat drink can be almost anything, and there are a ton of famous and infamous ones on the books, today we’re going to cover two of the most popular from the “fruited daiquiri” category. The Strawberry Daiquiri and the Banana Daiquiri. 

This could be as simple as adding a few pieces of fruit to your blender or as complex as you wish to create with flavored syrups or blends of fruits and rums. The former method was given to me by an acquaintance from Cuba who taught me about dropping a few slices of mango into my blender when making classic daiquiris. It makes a wonderfully smooth and delicious libation. Before we get into the drinks though let’s go over the art of frozen drinks. The following tips come from a Liquor.com article by Emily Saladino. 

First, don’t try to overproof your drink. Too much alcohol won’t freeze and alter the texture of your drink. We’ve all added too much ice to our blenders at some point and ended up having to wait for a sip every five minutes as it melts. Not ideal to say the least. I recommend using crushed ice as well, rather than large cubes. 

Rule number 2, temperature affects flavor. Ice will numb your taste buds, so when making a frozen drink remember to add more fruit or sugar than you might think to for a straight up cocktail. I learned this lesson during my first attempts at frozen margaritas. They ended up tasting like tequila ice. Also, sugar syrup and fruit will add texture to an otherwise slushy drink. 

Next, minimize dilution by keeping your ingredients cold prior to using. Basically, shove those fruits in the fridge a few hours before using. 

Consider blend time. Are you looking for a truly frozen drink or more of a frapped smoothie style? I prefer frapped, like Constante made his Floridita Daiquiris. 

Lastly, keep in mind your pairings. We’ll get into this more later when we dissect recipes, but think about which rums go with each fruit. Are you looking for a light summery session drink, or something that might appeal to the more sophisticated palate? 

Now that we have our history and rules out of the way, you guessed it, let’s make a drink! 

First we’ll cover Banana Daiquiri, which finds it roots with William Dampier. Dampier sailed with many famous pirates circa the turn of the 18th century, but what he’s most famous for is being an early naturalist. Along his vast travels he took copious notes on the strange and exotic peoples he encountered. One such missive was a recipe by the Miskito people, natives of modern day Honduras and Nicaragua, called Mishlaw. That influenced a drink served at Sprat Hall Plantation in St. Croix during the 1960s. Jim and Joyce Hurd would cook dinner for hotel guests each evening with fruits and veggies grown in their own backyard. Along with dinner was served the Crucian Banana Squash. Made by soaking ripe bananas in gold rum for 4 hours, then blending with lime juice and ice, this makes a very smooth rich drink with heavy banana flavor. 

From there we jump a decade to 1971, Ft Lauderdale, Florida, the famous Mai Kai, where Marianno Lucidine created the Banana Daiquiri. Well, he put his version on the menu. Not to take anything away from one of the most prolific Tiki masters, but as stated earlier, adding fruit to a daiquiri was pretty standard once the blender became ubiquitous. Mr. Lucidine deserves all the credit we can muster after a few of drinks, though. After spending 16 years behind the bar at Don The Beachcomber’s, he went on to helm the Mai Kai from its inception in 1956 till he retired in 1980. I’m sure we’ll be seeing his influence when the Mai Kai reopens later this year. 

As for his Banana Daiquiri? What a smooth perfectly textured and wonderfully balanced drink. Marianno calls for gold Puerto Rican rum. I also experimented with Cruzan gold and Barbados rums. Keeping with the rule of pairing the rum to the fruit I imagined the butterscotch/vanilla notes of Barbados would go nicely with banana. I was wrong. In my opinion the best rum for this is good old fashioned Bacardi. I used the white, but I wouldn’t go higher than the 4yr if you’re insistent on using a gold. I feel like the light column still rum adds a summery crispness with less of an alcohol bite. Remember, we’re drinking boat drinks on a lazy afternoon, not sipping a Ron del Barrilito.

So, with that very minor adjustment the Pod Tiki Banana Daiquiri recipe is:

1 ½ oz Bacardi Superior Silver

½ oz Lime Juice

½ oz Simple Syrup

Half a Ripe Banana, sliced thin

4 oz crushed ice

Add all ingredients to a mixer and blend on high for a full 30 seconds. We really want to frappe that good and make sure there are no chunks of either banana or ice. Just to be sure we’re going to strain that once into a coup. Such a great drink and I could honestly have one every day. Banana is such a complex flavor that it adds so much with little effort. Now, I realize some of you have heard this tale that it’s bad luck to bring bananas on a boat. To that I say, how do you think they got here? 

Though the Banana Daiquiri is my current favorite of the Boat Drink genre I would be remiss to do our first boat drink episode and not cover the king of all boat drinks. The frozen Strawberry Daiquiri is to boat drinks what the Mai Tai is to Tiki. 

In prepping for this episode I wanted to make sure I did my due diligence. I didn’t want to use the Boat Drink moniker as an excuse to push out an easy episode where I tell you to mix some frozen Minute Maid concentrate with a bottle of light rum and call it a day. Being Tiki fans we already know the benefits of using fresh ingredients, how they transform a frat party into a cocktail soiree, but I also wanted to test if I could dignify the rum choices by varying the styles. I chose a light, a gold, and because my favorite rum for the classic Daiquiri is Plantation 3 Star, I tried that as well. Surprisingly, the 3 Star didn’t hold up. Even the slightest hint of Jamaican funk clashed with strawberries. It made the drink too funky to be a poolside sipper. Look, I like a Hazy IPA, but when I’m out in the hot sun all day I’m reaching for a Corona. 

Cruzan Gold was almost my favorite. A bit more subdued and less crisp than the light rum option, but smoother, richer, and well balanced. But, when it’s all said and drunk, once again Bacardi Silver made the best Frozen Strawberry Daiquiri. Not only is it light and drinkable, but it allows the fruit to be the highlight. Where the Cruzan demurred the strawberries, Bacardi seemed to bring out the fruitiness and really place the freshness of the Strawberries center stage. 

I’ve always said on this show that I am not a booze snob and everything has its place. Well, Boat Drinks is the place for Bacardi. I cannot restate enough that simply because a spirit or a beer or a wine is mass produced does not mean it’s of lesser quality. Despite your prejudices, Budweiser is a premium American lager, and Bacardi pretty much invented the clear Spanish style of rum. I actually got to stand beside the original Bacardi building in Havana and look up at the bat statue still gracing the skyline as it still does each label of Bacardi. 

As it would not be an episode of Pod Tiki without a tiny soapbox let me reiterate, I have been drinking rum for quite some time. All the way from the bottom shelf up to the shelves that I need a stepladder to reach. I’m not saying drink rotgut. I’m just saying if you use a $30 bottle of Probitas for a batch of frozen fruit daiquiris you're a fool. But, it must be nice having the luxury of being so wasteful. Conclusion: Boat Drinks are not meant to be dignified. 

Anyway, there are a few honorable mentions before we get to the recipe. Listener David G., I’m not going to say his full name without permission, suggested The Essential Book of Boat Drinks by Olaf Nordstrom. I especially like the Jimmy Buffett correlation. For full transparency I will say it’s made in conjunction with the Margaritaville brand. There are some great recipes in there, in fact, I’ll be using the Barbados Punch for the Summer Sessions EP release party here in Nashville, but the recipe for his fruited daiquiri breaks one of my cardinal boat drink rules. It’s gotta be easy and batchable. Olaf’s recipe calls for cream and flavored liqueur. The addition of cream renders this version more of a strawberry milkshake than a daiquiri. I do want to give another thank you to David, though, for being our very first Patreon subscriber! More on that later. 

I also tried a standard straight up version of a Strawberry Daiquiri. I found it, eh, at best. It was pretty much a pink daiquiri and lacked the gustatory luster of perhaps using grapefruit, blueberry, or orange. 

The last thing to mention would be to choose fresh bright red strawberries and be sure to hull them beforehand. That is, to cut out the root area where the leaves sprout from but making a shallow circular incision around the root and pulling it out.

With all of that being said I give you the official Pod Tiki Strawberry Daiquiri:

1 ½ oz Bacardi Silver

½ oz Lime Juice

½ oz Simple Syrup

4 fresh, hulled Strawberries

4 oz Crushed Ice

Add all ingredients to blender and blend on high for a full 30 seconds. Fine strain into a coup or hurricane glass and enjoy! Be sure to fine strain to remove any pesky seeds or errant ice chunks. As far as garnish, if there ever was an umbrella drink this is it. No shame in my umbrella boat drink game! 

The end result is a smooth, fruity, low alcohol, and honestly not that bad for you, drink. There’s a lovely balance of sweet and sour, fruitiness and just enough rum to feel good. If you want to feel better than good just up the rum to 2 ounces. Fresh strawberry just goes so well in a daiquiri it’s no wonder there isn’t a real origin story behind it. It seems the Strawberry Daiquiri simply always was and always will be. 

Covering frozen drinks has brought back fond memories for me. There was a bar in downtown Orlando called Chillers that served from a wall of frozen mixers churning every flavor imaginable. On a trip to South Beach my daughter and I sat on the balcony of Wet Willie’s, ordering from their wall of frozen drinks, getting quite tight, and watching tawdry luxury cars cruise Ocean Dr. One such convertible was painted green and sported a giant stuffed Yoshi riding shotgun. 

But when I imagine Boat Drinks I picture Lido deck of a cruise ship lounging around the pool while generic island music plays from some indistinct direction. I would say that is my guilty pleasure escape, except I’m not the least bit guilty about it. 

For the past few decades Boat Drinks as a genre have been demeaned. Relegated to thatch hut beachside bars, but I’m glad to see a recent resurgence in the idea that a vacation drink can be high quality and delicious. Sure many are made with mixes and served up in a plastic hurricane cup, but sub out concentrated mixes and high fructose corn syrup for fresh fruit and homemade syrups, and you have a tropical delight worthy of enjoyment on a Lido deck in the Caribbean, listening to yacht rock on a pontoon boat on the lake, or floating on that giant inflatable unicorn in the pool. So, in the words of the patron bard of Pod Tiki I give a collective - Waitress, we need two more Boat Drinks! 

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

Sources: The Essential Book Of Boat Drinks by Olaf Nordstrom, Potions of the Caribbean by Jeffy Berry, Beachbum Berry Remixed by Jeff Berry, Liquor.com, diffordsguide.com, The Origin of the Booze Cruise from blogyourwine.com, The History of the World’s First Cruise Ship Built Solely for Luxurious Travel article by Daryl Austin from smithsonianmag.com. 

Most important, thank you so much for listening and Keepi Tiki! 

Pod Tiki: Mai Tai 2023

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.

Pod Tiki: Doctor Funk

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

Pod Tiki: Sazerac

I’ve always made it a point to incorporate classic pre- and post-prohibition era cocktails in Pod Tiki, because I truly believe the spirit of Tiki spawned from this promethean period. Furthermore, the people responsible for the creation of Tiki were themselves products of that time. But how do I tackle this one?

The Mai Tai, for all its glory, insomuch that it is the most prolific of Tiki cocktails, pervasive the world over, famous for being the godfather of Tiki drinks, my personal favorite Tiki drink, the drink we order first to test the merit of a new tropical bar, still does not have to live up to the moniker of being America’s first cocktail. 

The circuitous twists and turns and tributaries that branch off of this story run on longer than that last sentence. I never imagined when I set out to cover a cocktail I didn’t think was even that popular that I would find myself bedeviled by such overwhelming enthusiasm on the topic; And we know all too well on Pod Tiki that where enthusiasm is grown, seeds of discord are sown.  

Luckily, where to start this tale is simple. At the beginning. Buckle up, buttercup, this is going to be a long one. So, don’t bother measuring. Just bring the bottle over. In fact, bring four bottles. Cognac, rye whiskey, Herbsaint, and Peychaud’s. We’re making a Sazerac. 

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

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Ah, the beginning. The beforetime. When things were easy and drinks didn’t have twelve ingredients and so many rules. When we all just agreed. HA! I don’t know what kinda bizarro world you thought we were going to for a minute, but the Sazerac has been the center of drama since before it was invented. You see, the Sazerac is often credited with being the oldest cocktail, dating way back to the 1850’s. Thing is, a New York Newspaper called The Balance and Columbian Repository uses the term cocktail to explain a concoction made of spirit, water, sugar, and bitters way back in 1806. The closest living relative we have to that early libation would be an Old Fashioned. (In modern day, whether on the rocks, shaken, or stirred, the ice counts as water.) The addition of absinthe, or some other anise based liqueur, is the only thing distinguishing a Sazerac from an old Fashioned. In broad terms any spirit with any mixture of water, bitters, and sweetener would fall under the cocktail umbrella. Pun intended. 

It seems the Sazerac was for sure an early cocktail, but not the first. Prior to the early 19th century bitters were commonly used as medicinal tinctures. A travel article by the BBC tells of bitters being created in the then named town of Angostura, Venezuela, around 1824 as an elixir to pacify ailing stomachs. Yes, that Angostura. This couldn’t have been the first though, as we previously had bitters being mentioned as a cocktail ingredient in 1806. But it does lend to the cocktail being an American invention seeing as how bitters would have made their way up into the U.S. from South America. To put things in perspective, when the first printed definition of a cocktail was published the United States had only been a thing for about 20yrs. Alexander Hamilton died only two years before we knew what cocktails were. 

Chances are, though, that he had a few cocktails in his life because spirits were also tentatively used as remedies. It’s pretty easy to imagine how a drop or two of medicinal bitters may be added to certain recreational remedies like whiskey or rum to aid in recovery forming a sort of… I don’t know… how would you say… what’s the word… it’s right there, like a, a … cocktail. 

Taking it a few steps further, Laudanum was an alcohol/opium mixture used as a painkiller and to calm what the Chemical Institute of Canada refers to as “female disorders”. Don’t look at me, ladies. You take that shit up with Canada.

Anyway, if the earliest use of cocktail to explain a drink recipe was 1806, what did it mean before that? 

Which leads us to our second controversy. Among the myriad of origin stories for the term cocktail we have Aztec princesses, west African scorpions, and British sailors in Mexico. You can look those up yourselves, this episode is long enough. My personal favorite, though probably apocryphal telling, is that of a horse's tail that has been docked, or cut close to the base, making the hair point upwards giving the impression of a cock’s tail feathers. This was meant to signify a racehorse that was not purebred, but mixed.

Or, the practice of cock-tailing refers to mixing together the last bit of spirits, or the tails, from different barrels into one and selling it at a discount. Ok, that makes a little more sense. Honestly, I may’ve bought either one of those if it wasn’t for this next bit. 

In the French region of Bordeaux the term coquetel had been used for centuries before coming to America to describe mixed drinks. End of story. You know those little cups on a base that hold one egg? They’re used for eating them soft boiled. The term for that is an egg cup. Coq is French for rooster, and even though roosters don’t lay eggs the French translation of egg cup is Coquetier. Eventually some brilliant Frenchmen discovered this shape glass was perfect for sipping from. A drink being served in a coquetier was known as a coquetel. 

As an aside the term coquet in french is the masculine form of flirtatious. A virtue of the French we sometimes borrow when in our drink. 

The term coquetel made its way over to the new world during the American Revolution where we subsequently find it published with the English translation of cocktail. It would appear the distinction of spirit, water, sugar and bitters as ingredients was an American invention. In France there are no such frivolous rules to drinking. 

Returning to our main narrative, the first incarnation of a Sazerac is purported to have been served in a coquetier, adding to the mythos of it being the first cocktail. 

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Which brings us thirty years down the road to 1834. That’s when Antoine Amédée Peychaud opened his pharmacy at 123 Royal Street in New Orleans. Little Antoine came to New Orleans as a child circa 1790s after his family was forced to abscond from their home on Saint-Domingue during a slave revolt. This little uprising saw the island country of Saint-Domingue subsequently change its name to Haiti and became not only the first independent Caribbean nation, but the world’s first black republic. That’s right, his family were French plantation owners who were forced out during the Haitian Revolution. 

Shortly after opening up shop in the 1830’s the now grown Antoine Peychaud created his American Aromatic Bitter Cordial as a medicinal supplement. It just so happened that the medicine it was supplementing was French brandy. Peychaud himself was known to enjoy a dash or two of his own medicine at his favorite coffee house. 

Don’t get it twisted, coffee houses were bars. Despite the Girls Gone Wild reputation, people in New Orleans pride themselves on holding their booze with class. Real gangsters don’t need to go around telling people they’re gangsters. One of the ways they kept it classy was through the thin disguise of the “coffee house”, serving alcohol. 

One such establishment was Merchants Exchange Coffee House. Owner of Merchants Exchange, Sewell Taylor, was the sole importer of a Cognac named Sazerac-de-Forge et Fils. In 1850 Taylor sold the business to Aaron Bird who continued serving the popular Cognac and, seizing the opportunity for promotion, renamed the Merchants Exchange to Sazerac Coffee House.   

It was about this time the local pharmacist became a regular. He would amble up to the bar, order a Cognac and, slipping a small bottle from his waistcoat, add a few drops of tincture to his coquetier. Thanks to an 1857 advertising campaign Peychaud’s Bitters spread across the city becoming synonymous with New Orleans cocktails. 

This mixture of Cognac and Peychaud’s is thought to be the primordial ancestor of the Sazerac, sometimes crediting Antoine Peychaud as its inventor. This we know for sure, and there is a version of the story that stops there. But another claim goes to Sazerac Coffee House bartender Leon Lamothe who is credited with adding sugar to the mix in 1858, making it closer to a true cocktail by definition. Sometime later Lamothe added Absinthe in what I can only assume was an attempt to make the drink even more French. 

So, 1858. That’s the date in which we have the ingredients of a Sazerac being mixed together into a cocktail. To put that in perspective once more, we’re talking about the Sazerac, a drink still being served around the world today, being mixed at bars three years before the Civil War. Doctors were still prescribing opium for headaches. Anesthesia was “Here… drink some whiskey and bite this stick.” We’re talking Abe and Mary-Todd Lincoln sippin’ Sazeracs till they emancipate dem britches. Why do you think of all the rooms in the White House they named a bedroom after Lincoln. I’m not sayin’, I’m just sayin’. 

I digress, we have the recipe in 1858 but not the drink, because there is still no documentation of this cocktail being called a Sazerac for another thirty years. We’ll get there.  

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Alright, let’s take a breather. Go ahead and refill your glass. And so it goes the Sazerac Coffee House continues mixing a drink unique to their bar, containing Sazerac brand Cognac and Peychaud’s Bitters, that may or may not have started being asked for by the name Sazerac Cocktail. 

Now we pick back up with what we know for sure. In 1870 after a few more changes in ownership an employee named Thomas Handy bought the Sazerac Coffee House. Handy seems to have a good business mind. Not long after taking over the bar Thos. H. Handy & Co. purchased Peychaud’s Bitters from Antoine Peychaud, who had fallen on hard times, obtained the sole rights to Sazerac-de-Forge et Fils Cognac, and most notably, dropped “Coffee” from the bar’s name creating the original Sazerac House. 

It would appear everything’s coming up Handy. Until the following circumstances paved the way for one of the most cantankerous debates in the whole of cocktailia. During the reign of Thomas Handy we see a shift away from the titular Cognac in lieu of rye whiskey. Finally, in 1899, in a fraternity paper nonetheless, the Sazerac Cocktail was mentioned, by name, in print for the first time. That’s a milestone, for sure, but still no exact recipe is given. Then, in 1901, Thomas Handy & Co trademark the name Sazerac, making it one of only four officially trademarked cocktails to this day, and release a premixed bottled cocktail made with rye whiskey. Thus, the first time we see a cocktail officially called the Sazerac it contains rye and not Cognac. 

But why the switch? Well, like the rest of this story there’s a few more convoluted theories. The first harkens to an 1885 phylloxera blight that compromised France’s grape harvest. Phylloxera is a species of aphid, or louse, that attacks grape vines at the root. The 1885 outbreak was purportedly so bad that all wine and wine derivatives, like Cognac, became unavailable. Talk about a lousy break…. 

Though we know this happened, and the timeline fits, cocktail historians argue another factor that at least aided in the rise of rye. Changing tastes. 

Chris McMillian, a 30 year veteran bartender and cofounder of the New Orleans Museum of American Cocktail, which is definitely on my short list of places to visit, contends that the location of the Sazerac House fell directly on the city block separating the French Creole side of New Orleans from the American side. Furthermore, it appears the Sazerac House catered more toward the American predilection for whiskey. It was simply more ‘merica, especially in post civil war south, to drink firewater rather than the fancy brandies enjoyed by classist and effete Northerners. 

According to McMillian this means the Sazerac was always made with American rye, because Sazerac House was an American bar. This theory is compounded by an 1895 newspaper article uncovered by historian David Wondrich. The paper lauds Vincent Merit, a bartender at Sazerac House, as being the best whiskey cocktail maker in New Orleans. They claim all this points to the Sazerac being a rye drink. 

You could see how this would spark controversy among purists who know the Sazerac was born using French brandy and Peychaud’s bitters. Or was it? I would be remiss not to mention the Improved Whiskey Cocktail. This early Old Fashioned riff bears striking resemblance to a modern Sazerac and goes back to around the same time. 

But what do I think? Well, thank you for asking. I think Antoine Peychaud began adding his bitters to Sazerac Cognac. Then, borrowing from other recipes and techniques of the time, the drink evolved into a standardized signature cocktail for the Sazerac House. Part of that evolution was making a switch to rye whiskey to appease the popular tastes of the day in order to reach a larger swath of drinkers. We know the trademarked Sazerac Cocktail is made with rye, but I also believe that the Creole side of town probably continued to order them with Cognac. In fact, I imagine any bartender worth his salt would be able to discern by accent which version a guest wanted. 

I think the location of the Sazerac House positioned it to be a confluence of two drinking cultures who probably couldn’t agree even back then. Even the IBA (International Bartenders Association) claims the drink can be made with Cognac or rye whiskey. Perhaps the legacy of the Sazerac is that there is no right way? Oh, c’mon. You guys know the purist in me won't let that fly. My conclusion is that a true Sazerac is made with rye whiskey, because that’s how it was made the first time it officially used the name. 

However, that doesn’t necessarily mean it's the best version. Nevertheless, the story doesn’t end here.

In 1919, while the ink was still wet on the 19th amendment, Thomas H. Handy & Co saw the writing on the bottle and relaunched as the Sazerac Company, Inc. From there they begin diversifying into restaurants, soft drinks, dairy, and groceries. Though the original Sazerac House was demolished by the turn of the century the brand made it through prohibition still holding the rights to Peychaud’s Bitters and the name Sazerac. The company continued to grow, acquiring Herbsaint, New Orleans local answer to Absinthe, in 1949. 

In 2005 Sazerac launched their own brand of rye whiskey distilled by Buffalo Trace. They also boast ownership of the new Sazerac de Forge Cognac. Which means not only does the Sazerac Company own the name of the cocktail, but all the ingredients needed to make one. Today their litany of brands includes Buffalo Trace, Pappy Van Winkle, 1792 bourbon, Fireball whiskey, Weller, Wheatley Vodka, Southern Comfort, Eagle Rare, Canadian Mist, Booth’s Gin, and a plethora of others. Oh, and just for us Tiki heads, they own Myers’s Jamaican rum, too. As of this episode the current Sazerac Bar resides in the Roosevelt Hotel in New Orleans, and, of course, they lease the name from the Sazerac Company. 

And with that we come to the end of our history lesson. I don’t know about ya’ll, but I am certainly ready to move on to the fun part. Let’s make a drink! 

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According to the Sazerac Company’s website the official way to prepare a Sazerac is as follows. 

Fill a rocks glass with ice and set aside. 

In a second rocks glass place 1 sugar cube and soak it with 3 dashes Peychaud’s Bitters. 

Muddle sugar cube and bitters, then add 1 ½ oz of Rye Whiskey. 

Dump ice from the first glass and coat the inside with ¼ oz Herbsaint. Discard excess Herbsaint. 

Pour sugar, bitters, whiskey mix from second glass into first and garnish with lemon peel. 

At first glance this recipe can appear a bit pretentious. Especially the part where the company that makes Herbsaint builds waste into the preparation. I assure you, however, the ritual of building a Sazerac is part of the experience. Including the Herbsaint rinse. It seems fitting that a drink that elicits such passionate opinions should incorporate the same passion in its preparation. Therefore, I feel like simply making the standard rye whiskey recipe and calling it a day would be taking the easy way out. So, in the following section I’m going to try Sazeracs with rye, Cognac, and a 50/50 mix. 

Let’s jump into some ingredients. For the Cognac version I return to my old faithful, Pierre Ferrand. I use the 1840 Original Formula, which is a VS. The Ferrand website focuses heavily on their family lineage, but offers no information regarding how they actually got into the brandy business. Save for this little fun fact. Ferrand Cognac was begun by one Elie Ferrand and continued for 10 generations of Elie Ferrands, I’m not joking. We’re gonna have to return to Ferrand in another episode after I uncover some more facts. For now we should at least cover that brandy is distilled wine and Cognac is a brandy made in the Cognac region of France. I’ve always enjoyed sipping Ferrand neat, but it’s amazing in a cocktail. It’s just sweet and woody enough and well aged. 

For the rye version I fall back on another go-to of mine. Rittenhouse Rye out of Heaven Hill Distillery. Now, I know you’re probably wondering, “why not use the actual Sazerac brand whiskey”? Honestly, I just think naming a whiskey after the cocktail is gimmicky. Like they’re banking on the branding rather than the quality of the product. It comes across to me as a corporation trying to pass as authentic. Being in the cigars and spirits world I am lucky to have trusted bourbon aficionados at my disposal for brain picking, and Rittenhouse comes up repeatedly when I ask about the best expression of a traditional rye for cocktails. 

Rittenhouse Straight Rye Whisky traces its roots to 1934 and Philadelphia’s Rittenhouse Square. This whiskey is certified Bottled-In-Bond, which means it must be distilled at a single distillery, in a six month period, aged at least 4 years at a federally bonded warehouse, and bottled at exactly 100 proof. It’s more than I wanted to get into on an already prodigious episode, but the idea of a bonded warehouse has to do with the amount of taxes a distiller pays. Before federal aging houses a spirit maker would have to pay taxes on the pre-aged amount of liquid, even though a common barrel loses almost 3 gallons to the angel’s share - absorption and evaporation. But, if the spirits are aged in a federally bonded warehouse a manufacturer only pays taxes on the amount of spirit remaining after aging. 

Okay, moving on. Herbsaint is an anise flavored liqueur from New Orleans initially created as an Absinthe substitute. During WWI J. Marion Legendre and Reginald Parker learned how to make absinthe while in fighting in France. Initially released stateside in 1934 as Legendre Absinthe, it never actually contained any of absinthe’s primary ingredient, wormwood. After The Federal Alcohol Control Administration ruled that they couldn’t call it absinthe the name was changed to Herbsaint, which in French Creole translates to Sacred Herb. Herbsaint and its cousin Pernod are commonly used as absinthe substitutes, but being a New Orleans original, it’s now replaced absinthe as part of the official Sazerac recipe. Plus, it’s really good. And yes, I know the Sazerac Company also owns Herbsaint, but they purchased it as an existing product. They didn’t make their own and name it after themselves as a marketing ploy like they did the whiskey. 

We already covered Peychaud’s bitters which brings us to our final Sazerac controversy - sugar cube or simple syrup. This is the only one I personally have a hard time reconciling. I try as best as I could to stick to tradition in my cocktails; Especially of this era, and back then they didn’t make syrups, they used sugar cubes. I’ve already expressed my fondness for the pomp and circumstance of preparing this drink, but I have to side with the plethora of modern day bartenders that have made the switch to sugar syrup over the cube. 

There’s simply not enough liquid in a Sazerac to fully dissolve the sugar. Even if you opt for a cocktail mixing beaker and stir your sugar in, it never gets all the way dissolved. This leaves the drink unbalanced, bitter, and in the case of the rye version, too high proof. 

Just because we’re using a syrup doesn’t mean we have to sacrifice quality, though. I make my simple syrup using a 1:1 ratio of water to pure cane sugar. In essence the only thing changing is the state of a solid to a liquid. Not only that, but using sugar syrup actually adds a very pleasant silkiness to the texture of the drink. 

Another modern adaptation would be use of the aforementioned mixing glass or cocktail beaker, in lieu of a second rocks glass. This allows for the sugar-bitters-spirit mixture to be stirred with ice before being added to the Herbsaint rinsed glass. With such strong flavors, especially when using a biting rye whiskey, proper proportions and dilution are crucial. My rule is: stir till the glass frosts over. Then immediately transfer to the drinking glass. Careful to not let the mixture sit in the wet ice for too long. For this reason we always want to have the Herbsaint lined glass ready to go before we start mixing and stirring the other stuff. Don’t worry about the Herbsaint sliding down to the bottom of the glass. It sticks to the sides pretty well, and, even if it falls, it’s still mixed into the drink.

Let me epilogue all that by saying literally every source differs on dates, addresses, names of owners, order of events, or even the existence of certain people! So, I have combed all the info I could muster, culling the exorbitant fields of folly, to give you the best educated approximation of events I could. I’m confident in the narrative I've relayed because it’s the one where all the random facts fit together and make the most sense. Throughout Pod Tiki and my life experience in general I tend to find that the easiest explanation is probably the truth. 

So, without further ado. The Sazerac is:

¼ oz Herbsaint (For Rinse)

½ oz Sugar Syrup

4 dashes Peychaud’s Bitters

2 oz Rye Whiskey

Rinse a rocks glass with Herbsaint and set aside. In a mixing glass add sugar syrup, bitters, and rye whiskey. Stir with ice and strain into the rinsed rocks glass. Garnish with lemon. Most recipes call for a peel. I found that to overpower the olfactory balance, so I use a twist. 

Right off the bat the essence of this drink is warm and spicy. Heavy on the rye, but soft and silky in feel. I find the anise of the Herbsaint is lost under all the rye at first, but emerges later as a cool numbing sensation on the tongue. I don’t like having to wait for the Herbsaint and bitters to come through. It seems like the flavors of rye and anise are constantly at odds and don’t really complement one another. I love these flavors individually. Together, they just don’t do it for me. 

In conclusion of the official Sazerac recipe … it’s an Old Fashioned that’s trying too hard. But, when we follow the same recipe using Cognac? (Angelic chorus) (Guitar Riff)

Soft, elegant, smokey-sweet, with a bit of dried fruit. Silky anise is very subtly omnipresent  under a patina of well aged brandy distinct of the Cognac region. If the rye Sazerac is indicative of Civil War era Americana ruggedness then this is definitely the sophisticated French version. I can’t say enough about this version of the Sazerac. Herbsaint combines so much better with Cognac than with rye whiskey, and Peychaud’s bitters are like the cherry on top. All mildly sweetened to perfection. 

In case you haven’t picked up on it yet, this is verily my favorite version of this cocktail. But, what about the popular 50/50 Sazerac?

As an attempt to amalgamate both origins into an homogenized blur some bartenders are known to use a split base of half Cognac, half rye whiskey. I don’t blame the attempt. New Orleans is truly a multi-cultural enigma wherein dust bowl Americana meets French sav·oir faire, meets dixie, antebellum and all the other canceled country music band names. But, as I’ve said before, equality is not about pretending we’re all the same. It’s about celebrating our differences. 

In any case, the 50/50 has its ups and downs. Cognac does help to mollify the sting of the rye. The Cognac adds an unmistakable je ne sais quoi, almost a delicate creaminess. Then the high sting of rye hits like a snakebite. This concoction could be a good exercise in playing with the nuance of rye or Herbsaint if we change the amounts. Perhaps rather than 50/50, a 75/25 may work. 

In closing:  We see here the perfect example of the evolution of a cocktail. From a common ancestor there’s a divergence wherein survival of the fittest, in this case: changing palates, renders rye whiskey the dominant outcome. To keep in this analogy, the 50/50 Sazerac is akin to the claim that we all have a bit of residual ancestral DNA within us. Where the analogy fails is that I don’t believe we’ll be seeing a resurgence of cromagnon man anytime soon, but the Cognac Sazerac is still holding on as the better version with those in the know. We have a VHS vs BetaMax situation here. Problem is, the official Sazerac has been trademarked and is well known in popular culture as using rye whisky. Therefore, I believe the Cognac version should be its own cocktail. You know, the early human ancestor got its name from the region in France where the skeletons were found - Cro Magnon. So, I think this ancestor of the Sazerac, using French Cognac, should be called The Cro-Magnon! 

You heard it here first. Now, let’s make it happen. So, let’s raise a glass of your favorite version to Antoine Peychaud, Thomas Handy, Leon Lamothe, Abe and Mary-Todd, all those crazy cats along the way, and of course you all, who have been enjoying coquetels for over 200 years. 

Till next time I want to thank you all for sticking through this intense episode. Remember, if you would like to go back and recapitulate, every episode is posted as a written blog on podtiki.com. 

Sources: Liquor.com, Diffordsguide.com, imbibe.com, wikipedia.com, iba-world.com, sazerac.com, usbg.org, smithsonianmag.com, ferrandcognac.com, Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails by Ted Haigh. 

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

Pod Tiki: Moscow Mule

It wasn’t the first time, but it was the one that sticks out the most. No, not that. I’m talking about the earliest memory I have of enjoying this drink. Downtown Nashville, on the corner of Broadway and 2nd Avenue there’s a tri-level bar called Acme Feed & Seed. Yeah, bars around here have weird names like that. But, this is a Tiki podcast after all. A genre not exactly known for its subtle sophistication. 

I was there with Kyle. Long time listeners will remember Kyle. The two of us would often be found side by side as drunken denizens posing as bon vivants in those our days of prolonged adolescence. From the rooftop in the summertime, holding a margarita, one could admire the mossy green sheen of the Cumberland River sparkling in the sun. On the streets below hoards of pleasantly pickled partiers use brunch as an excuse to start drinking at noon and girls use it as an excuse to look as fancy as possible in as little clothing. 

This particular memory takes place one evening, though. I’m sure there were other people there as well. Probably, since I don’t recall, a few of the host of ephemeral characters that passed fluidly in and out of our lives back then. I do recall one such person who ended up becoming a mainstay in my life … my future wife was there. 

She and Kyle both ordered a particular drink and, intrigued by the presentation and feeling left out, I followed suit. After some friendly chiding about me never having one before there they were lined up on the bar, so queer. Looking unlike anything else being served. 

Cold, crisp, clean …  the words that flood to mind upon the first sip. Yet, with an intriguing herbal spice. Indicative of the spirit’s homeland and aided by metallic conduction this cocktail transports the imbiber via mind and senses. Almost like this combination of ingredients was masterfully crafted on purpose to entice all facets of experiential drinking into one discriminate sip. 

As we will come to find out, the Moscow Mule was anything but masterfully crafted. 

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

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Once again I’m blown away by discovery. If doing this podcast has humbled me in any way it’s been to never judge a cocktail’s origin story by its cover. Here we have another example of ingredients, presentation, and history swirling into a tipple that is far greater than the sum of its parts. A simple drink with an amazing story. As we oft find when researching cocktails, where the spirit flows - lay not far from misadventure. 

There are multiple versions of this story, each bending fondly towards the narrator. Refreshingly, though, there’s a constant throughline tying them all together. Like the third act of a 90’s sitcom when all the storylines resolve with a resounding “awwwww” from the studio audience. 

In this episode there are three concurrent storylines. Vodka, ginger beer, and copper mugs.

Fade in: Interior: France: Cold as balls in the winter of 1934. Two men sit at a small cafe table under a flickering glow. Both men are Russian and therefore, expressionless. After being exiled to France by the Bolsheviks Vladimir has just sold off the rights to his family’s vodka. Under Rudolph Kunetchansky the man’s name was translated to the French spelling, two F’s instead of a V, and thus began Smirnoff vodka.

Apparently, European universities hadn’t discovered jello shots yet because Smirnoff was less than a hit. Actually, it was tanking. So, in 1939 the brand was sold once again to spirits importer G.F. Heublein & Brothers, under the purview of an executive named John Martin. Martin was tasked with bringing the exotic eastern European flavors of vodka to the land of opportunity. U.S.A., baby! 

Turns out, Americans really didn’t care about vodka. Prohibition had just ended. There was legal access once again to French brandy, Spanish wine, whiskey that wouldn’t blind you! Not to mention there was this weirdo out in Hollywood serving cocktails with different kinds of rums mixed together. And get this, his whole place is decorated like some sorta tropical museum! (That’ll never catch on.) 

Queue the laugh track. Cut to commercial break. 

Aaaand, fade in: Circa 1930’s: Russia: Interior: Bedroom: Whoa, whoa whoa! Fade back out. Wrong room. It’s the factory across the street! Ok, now fade in. 

“Oh, papa! Papa! You promise I make copper mug”

“But, Sophie. We are in Russia. Why make mug so cold to hold?”

Sophie Berezinski’s father owned the Moscow Copper Company, and despite his chiseled exterior he had a soft spot for young Sophie. Thus, he let her stamp out 2,000 copper drinking mugs to try and sell. As it turns out, no one in Russia wanted to drink out of a cup that made their hands more frozen. All jokes aside, the idea may have been that a metal cup would warm your hands when filled with a hot liquid, but I imagine it would conduct too well and burn. 

So, Sophie and her dream and her reluctant husband set sail for the land of opportunity! U.S.A., baby! 

Interior: Small apartment: California: 

“You see, what happened was….”

“Sophie, enough of what happen. Nothing happen, that is problem. You get mug out of house or I throw away!” 

Cut to Sophie with a sad face and fade to commercial. 

And we’re back: Interior: Setting: British style pub:

“You think you got problems, John? It was my dream to bring the best American-made ginger beer to the people! Now I’m lousy with it, and nobody wants it!”

“Yeah, dude. That’s a pretty weird dream, but I feel ya, brother.”

Jack Morgan owned the Cock ‘n Bull Tavern in Ocean Park, Los Angeles. He recently invested in what modern parlance would call a “shit ton” of ginger beer. It was good stuff! Even proprietarily branded with the Cock ‘n Bull name. But, again … there’s whiskey now. Plus, across town there’s a line around the building for that rum place. What’s it called, Bob the Beachroamer’s, or something? 

The buddy Jack Morgan was lamenting to was none other than our friend John Martin, who was still having no luck getting Smirnoff to catch on. It was on that fateful day in 1941, as the two miserable mates sat laughing at their predicaments, in walked a small Russian woman dragging a loud clanking bag.

Queue audience surprise and fade to commercial. 

Don’t you hate when there’s no bumper coming back from commercials and you miss it because your second bag of popcorn’s still in the microwave? We find our three hapless heroes sitting at the Cock ‘n Bull bar, Jack and John listening to this strange eastern block woman pitching them on the benefits of copper drinking mugs. Sophie Berezinski had been going door to door peddling her wares when she happened into the Cock ‘n Bull.

Legend has it, each with a plentitude of preponderant product, they joined forces. A Justice League of failed businesses. Story goes they sat at the bar for hours upon hours testing recipes that incorporated John’s Smirnoff with Jack’s ginger beer and the novel presentation of Sophie’s copper mugs. 

It’s one of life’s mysteries how some things fit together so well it's a wonder not to always have been so. Earthy, palate cleansing ginger. Silky vodka hailing from the icey expanse. Served in a metallic vessel that not only keeps the drink cold but triggers a somatic sensation. That is, the sensation of holding the cold metal actually metaphysically transports you to a cold place. 

Divine providence notwithstanding, I don’t believe this throuple spent hours coming up with the recipe. First of all, ginger, lime juice, and vodka? It pretty much writes itself. I mean, if I gave you those three things and asked you to create a tasty beverage I bet you’d nail it on the second try. Second, people had been mixing ginger beer with whiskey for quite some time. They weren’t mixing up the Mona Lisa over here. 

Mules, sometimes called “Bucks”, are any drink made with ginger beer or ginger ale. Technically, a Moscow Mule is a vodka buck. One could order a bourbon buck, gin buck, or any buck your heart desires. Some say a mule is made with ginger beer and a buck with ginger ale but as you hardly see the term buck being used anymore it doesn’t really matter. These styles of drink have been around since the late 19th century and began as non-alcoholic. Ginger ale with a long lemon peel hung over the rim was called a Horse's Neck. Likey the aesthetic inspiration for Don Beach’s Cobra Fang. 

A Scotch Lassie was a mixture of scotch, lime juice, and ginger beer that originated in the American south circa 1870. It was referred to as a Mamie Taylor for a time after the actress famously drank them at a bar in New York. Today that drink has deferred to its humble beginnings and is once again called a Horse’s Neck. Therefore, John, Jack, and Sophie pretty much ripped off an existing cocktail and simply upgraded the presentation. A modern bartender would call that a riff and expect us to act like they’re the greatest thing since Jerry Thomas. 

But we cannot deny the marketing prowess of John Martin. To spread the word about his new cocktail he traveled coast to coast taking polaroids of bartenders holding a copper mug in one hand and a bottle of Smirnoff in the other. Counting on the ego of bartenders he knew they would hang the picture on the wall therefore providing free advertising. It worked so well this actually led to false claims of the drink being invented in other places. 

An article in 1948 puts Jack Morgan and John Martin meeting at a bar in Manhattan trying to peddle their surplus wares. This is all but debunked by the fact that it leaves out Sophie and her mugs all together. Another story says it was actually a girlfriend of Jack’s who inherited a copper factory which supplied the mugs. This may have been the case if Sophie’s copper connect ran dry and a new supplier was later needed. Honestly, I think Sophie’s father and husband were done with her cockamamie schemes after the whole lugging 2,000 mugs across two continents debacle. 

Though we don’t know for certain it’s easy to assume the name came from another burst of creativity, naming the drink after the spirit’s home country the same way a mule with tequila may be called a Mexican Mule. The drink, not the other kind of Mexican mule that carries cocaine across the border. Here in Nashville we have mules made with white moonshine which are quite delicious actually.  

Speaking of those infamous copper cups. Though they’ve seen a resurgence in the craft cocktail revival, they’ve experienced their own fall from grace. From the establishment’s perspective, it’s hard to keep any unique drinkware from walking away. If any of you went to Miracle Christmas pop-ups you know you have to return the Santa hat wearing dinosaur mug before they’ll make you a new drink. Seems there’s a lot of amateur archeologists out there. 

But that’s not the only factor plaguing the maligned mug. A 2017 study by the Iowa Alcoholic Beverages division concluded that due to acidity the PH values of Moscow Mules are such that hazardous levels of copper can dissolve into the beverage. Anyone who’s seen women dressed for the club in the middle of winter knows that sometimes appearance undermines practicality. Besides, a Moscow Mule without the copper mug is simply a highball. Not to fear, though. The copper mugs used in bars now are lined with stainless steel so you can once again get hammered on vodka without worrying about the health effects…?  

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So, what the heck is in a Moscow Mule, anyway? Vodka, ginger beer, lime juice and Ice. 

As far as picking a vodka, okay, get ready for a hot take that might ruffle some feathers, but it’s kinda all the same. Unless, that is, you get a really good quality Vodka that stands apart from its counterparts. In this I always reach for a bottle of Reyka craft vodka made in Iceland. I’ve sung these praises before, but it’s the only Vodka in which I can taste a distinct flavor besides basic alcohol. The grain comes through, and yet, there’s something else. A soft vegetal humidity that is prevalent in small batch distillates. You can taste that the methods of production incorporate some kind of old world knowledge or technique that imbues the spirit with a je ne sais quoi uncommon in mass produced brands. 

Here at Pod Tiki, at least through the lens of the present, we urge you not to purchase or use Russian vodka in support of Ukraine. Which means if you want to remain pure to the origins and use Smirnoff, you’re in the clear. Although the recipe came from Russia, Smirnoff has been owned by British spirits giant Diageo since 1997. Smirnoff is currently produced in the US, Canada, Great Britain, Italy, Australia, Jamaica, Brazil, Argentina, India, Indonesia and Kenya. So, pretty much everywhere except Russia. By the way, Jamaica? Guys, if Wray & Nephew made a funky vodka I’d definitely give it a try. 

I don’t think I need to explain the virtues of using fresh squeezed lime juice, always do. Which brings us to arguably the most important ingredient. If vodka is the spirit then ginger beer is the heart of this cocktail. As seen in the Horse’s Neck evolution, alcohol was really an afterthought. Whereas most cocktails are built to feature the spirit, vodka in this case takes a back seat to the bold flavors of citrus and ginger. But!, here’s another hot take. I don’t like Cock ‘n Bull brand ginger beer. 

That’s right. I said it, I meant it, I’m here to represent it. Cock ‘n Bull ginger beer is way too spicy. So much so that it burns the palate out immediately. I couldn’t taste any of the other flavors. What’s the point? It really takes away from any balance this drink has. If this is the original Cock ‘n Bull Tavern ginger beer than the original Moscow Mule recipe must’ve been different. There’s no way anyone tried this drink with this ginger beer and thought, “Eureka!” The juxtaposition of cold in my hand and fire on my tongue, though an anomalous sensation, throws the whole experience off. 

So many recipes out there talk about using the spiciest ginger beer you can find. It reminds me of when people thought triple IPA’s tasted good. You know the guys I’m talking about. Craft beer nerds stuffed into skinny jeans so they look like someone squeezed their bottom half up into their shirt. I’m not buying these macho macho men who like shit just because it’s extreme. 

Cock ‘n Bull ginger is so overpowering that it takes away from the icey snap a Moscow Mule should have. That’s why, whenever I need it I use Reed’s Extra Jamaican ginger beer. I swear, they don’t endorse the show, but they should. Send me that Reed’s money because it’s hands down the best ginger beer available. It’s got a real ginger root flavor, earthy and floral, and has just enough spice for a kick. Jamaican ginger beer with some of that Jamaican Smirnoff? Now, that’s a good time. 

Where Cock ‘n Bull is bright and spicy, Reed’s is deep and herbaceous. The former makes a spiked ginger beer, the latter, a balanced cocktail. 

There’s this new trend lately, whether with mixed drinks, cigars, coffee, food, etc., of telling people to ultimately enjoy it the way they like it. I take umbrage with that. Although most of my life is lived in the gray-betweens I do believe in best practices. A right and a wrong way to get the most out of an experience. Yes, I claim to be a purest, but in the spirit of the law rather than the letter. Make the drink how the inventor meant it to taste. If that means an original product has changed thus that it no longer renders the desired outcome? I say, don’t trip over history on your way to a good drink. 

Ok, that’s enough of that. I’m sure some of you are quoting Billy Joel at me right now so I will go ahead with my own life and leave you alone. P.s. Anyone out there remember that was the theme song to a sit-com called Bosom Buddies? Where Tom Hanks dressed in drag so he could live in a woman’s only apartment building. Everyone was so shocked when Modern Family came out. We had Bosom Buddies, Three’s Company, and Different Strokes when I was a kid. The 80’s had some progressive TV!

And to that, let’s make a drink! 

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A Moscow Mule is:

2 oz Vodka

½ oz Lime Juice

3 oz Ginger Beer

Add all ingredients to a copper mug, fill with ice, and stir. If you choose to garnish with a lime wedge or wheel I suggest using a cocktail pick rather than sticking it on the rim. Just because over time the acid might ruin your mug. 

Now this is a libation with a wonderful first sip experience. Crisp, clean, and polar, with a nuanced spice accentuated by carbonation. I’m not going to go into all kinds of tasting notes here because ginger is its own flavor. I’ll say it's bittersweet and vegetal and pairs very nice with the lime.

For as chill inducing as it is there’s an excellent texture of warm ginger and soft vodka. An underlying roundness that compliments the more rebellious flavors. The Moscow Mule is such a great post holidays hiemal libation. It works wonders at brightening up those gray winter doldrums. Like the glacial snap of a passing winter wind the Moscow Mule there but for circumstance may not have been. At least if you believe Jack Morgan, John Martin, and Sophie Berezinski. 

I tend to, but there’s one man who begs to offer a less romantic version. Wes Price was the head bartender at Cock ‘n Bull in 1941. As he explains it, John had been using the basement of the bar to store his surfeit of Smirnoff which was collecting dust alongside Jack’s ambitious overstock of ginger beer. Wes contends he created the drink unceremoniously sometime in 1941 simply to clean out the basement. 

This version from Wes was given in a 2007 Wall Street Journal article written by Eric Felton. I’m inclined to believe a seasoned bartender would be familiar with the popular whiskey/soda drinks of the day and swapping for vodka would be intuitive. So, this is plausible. But, in In 2007 Wes would’ve been at least in his 80s. Could this be a deathbed confession stifled by Big Mule? Or the ramblings of an old man grasping at glory? 

One thing is for certain. Only the four people that were in the room where it happened know the truth. Jack, John and Sophie curl around the corner of the bar at Cock ‘n Bull raising a copper mug in cheers. And Wes, polishing glassware, turns to the camera, gives a wink, and the credits roll.  What the hell does the truth have to do with a great cocktail anyway?

Till next time, folks. My name is Tony and this is Pod Tiki. 

Sources: Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails by Ted Haigh, Liquor.com (Behind the Drink: Moscow Mule by Gary Regan, and uncredited), MoscowCopper.com, MoscowMuled.com, Backbar: The History of the Mule Cocktail by Chrystal Ragasa, Wikipedia. 

Pod Tiki: Hot Buttered Rum

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1 oz Amber Rum

1 heaping tsp Honey Butter 

Cinnamon Stick

Pinch of Nutmeg

Pinch of Clove

Pinch of Cinnamon

6 oz Boiling Water

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1 oz Amber Rum (Privateer)

1 heaping tsp Honey Butter

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

6 oz Boiling Water

1 Long Cinnamon Stick

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pod Tiki: Christmas Traditions

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

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

Pod Tiki: Nui-Nui

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3oz Gold St. Croix Rum

½ oz Lime Juice

½ oz Orange Juice

¼ oz Don’s Spices #2

¼ oz Don’s Spices #4

2 Don’s Dashes#8

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

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

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

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

2 oz Gold Virgin Islands Rum

½ oz Lime Juice

½ oz Orange Juice

¼ oz Cinnamon Syrup

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

1 dash Angostura Bitters

4 oz Crushed Ice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pod Tiki: Three Dots and a Dash

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…_ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…_ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Three Dots and a Dash Tiki drink is:

1 ½ oz Martinique Rhum Agricole Vieux 

½ oz Aged Demerara Rum

½ oz Fresh Lime Juice

½ oz Fresh Orange Juice

½ oz Donn’s Honey Mix

¼ oz Falernum

¼ oz Pimento Dram

1 dash Angostura Bitters

6 oz Crushed Ice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Most of all thank you for listening and Keepi Tiki!  

Pod Tiki: Wray & Ting

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4 oz of Ting Jamaican Grapefruit Soda

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Most of all thanks for listening and Keepi Tiki!

Pod Tiki: Voodoo Grog

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1 oz Gold Puerto Rico Rum

1 oz Rhum Agricole Vieux

¾ oz Lime Juice

¾ oz Grapefruit Juice

¾ oz Pimento Dram

¼ oz Honey Syrup

½ oz Passion Fruit Syrup

1 Egg White

1 cup Crushed Ice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plugs: YouTube, Instagram, Website, surfside sips.

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

Pod Tiki: Royal Hawaiian

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the recipe for the Royal Hawaiian is as follows:

½ oz Fresh Lemon Juice

¼ oz Orgeat

1 ½ oz Pineapple Juice

1 ½ oz Gin

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

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

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

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

Here’s the recipe:

¾ oz Lemon Juice

¾ oz Pineapple Juice

½ oz Orgeat

2 oz Gin

2 dashes Peychaud’s Bitters

1 cup Crushed Ice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pod Tiki: Negroni

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1 oz Campari

1 oz Italian Sweet Vermouth

1 oz Gin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Giuseppe, you dranka my negroni!”

“Pasquale, I didina toucha your negroni!” 

“Mamamia!” 

Pod Tiki: Margaritaville

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1 oz of fresh lime juice 

¾ oz Triple Sec

¼ oz Agave Nectar

2 oz Tequila Blanco

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

Okay, now we’re ready. 

^*^

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

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

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

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

^*^

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

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

^*^

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

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

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

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

^*^

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

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

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

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

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

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

^*^

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tiki Chat: Kevin Crossman & The Hawaiian Mai Tai

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

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Pod Tiki: Port-au-Prince

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

½ oz Lime Juice

½ oz Pineapple Juice

½ oz Velvet Falernum

¼ oz Demerara Syrup

1 dash Grenadine (6 drops or ⅛ tsp)

1 ½ oz of Barbancourt 5 Star Rhum

4 oz Crushed Ice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2 oz Clairin Vaval

¼ oz Plantation OFTD

¾ oz Velvet Falernum

¾ oz Lime Juice

½ Pineapple Juice

¼ oz Grenadine

7 drops ‘Elemakule Tiki Bitters

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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