Tom Macy's Tales of the Cocktail a.k.a. Cocktail Commentaries Flashcards
Old Fashioned
If there’s one cocktail everyone should know how to make, it’s the Old Fashioned, one of my all-time favorites alongside the Daiquiri and Manhattan.
This is my best-case scenario recipe which, as you can see, is very specific about the sugar and bitters. But I’m not actually suggesting you have to pick up three different types of bitters and prepare demerara syrup to make an Old Fashioned. If you feel like pulling out all the stops, by all means, go for it, you won’t be disappointed (while you’re at it, you might as well make my Dad’s Bitters blend listed below for the ultimate Old Fashioned). But as long as you have the essentials: rye or bourbon whiskey, sugar of some kind (several options are listed below), Angostura bitters, and a lemon or orange peel, a great Old Fashioned can be yours.
The Old Fashioned Story
The Old Fashioned has a pretty fair claim to being the original cocktail (though plenty of others have a stake in that as well, the mint julep for one). The first definition of a “cocktail” in print, that we know of anyway, appeared in a periodical published in 1806. It states that a “cock-tail” is “a stimulating liquor, composed of spirits of any kind, sugar, water, and bitters.” As you can see, that’s essentially the recipe listed here - today we use ice instead of water. So, back then, a “cocktail” made with whiskey was simply called a “whiskey cocktail.” Dutch gin and brandy were also commonly used.
Jumping ahead to the end of the 19th century when the Gilded Age was in full swing and opulence was all the rage, it had become fashionable to spruce up the standard whiskey cocktail with a dash or two of imported ingredients like absinthe or curaçao. These were known as “fancy” or “improved” cocktails. But not everyone was into these modern embellishments, and traditionalists began to order their whiskey cocktails “in the old fashion,” which how we got the name we use today.
Muddled Orange and Cherry Old Fashioned
In the 20th century, cocktails went down an odd and meandering path through prohibition, World War II and the culture wars of the 60s and 70s. During this time, the Old Fashioned became repurposed into a sweeter, fruitier drink that contained a muddled orange slice and cherry that was sometimes topped off with soda. It wasn’t until the cocktail revival began about fifteen years ago that the traditional Old Fashioned recipe came back into favor. Since then, it has skyrocketed in popularity.
One final note, I hold no grievances against the orange and cherry version. Multiple generations made and loved Old Fashioneds that way, including my dad’s and grandfather’s (not to mention Don Draper’s). It makes for a fine cocktail. I just prefer Old Fashioneds (pun alert!) the old-fashioned way. Strong, simple and whiskey forward.
Demerara syrup is a simple syrup made with demerara sugar, which is a less processed style. I like it in Old Fashioneds because it adds some caramelized molasses notes that pair nicely with the whiskey. It also gives the cocktail a richer mouth-feel because it has a 2:1 sugar to water ratio, also called a rich syrup.
The key to muddling sugar in an Old Fashioned is to make sure it gets dissolved. Combine the sugar and bitters in a rocks glass and grind them up with the muddler until they form a paste. You can add a teaspoon of water or seltzer to help the sugar dissolve along. This is more akin to crushing spices with a mortar and pestle rather than gently muddling herbs. More muddling tips can be found on the Muddling Page.
It’s better to prepare muddled sugar Old Fashioneds in the glass you’ll be drinking from, rather than stirring them in a separate mixing glass and straining. This way you won’t leave any undissolved sugar behind (there always seems to be some, despite your best efforts), which could throw things off balance.
The main reason I call for using a syrup in Old Fashioneds is it’s less work and more consistent, which is particularly beneficial when working behind a bar. But as far as the drink itself, but both syrup and raw sugar can make an excellent Old Fashioneds, and there’s no denying the romance of the muddling ritual.
When I discovered how easy it was to make variations on an Old Fashioned it was a revelatory moment for me. The formula is so simple and yields such diverse results. All you do is replace the whiskey with another spirit - stick to something barrel-aged that has some color - and then adjust the sugar and bitters to match the new spirits’ flavors. Trust your culinary instincts.
Dad’s Bitters (aka Dad’s Dashes) is a blend of bitters that I created during my search for the perfect Old Fashioned recipe. For a while, I had been using two dashes each of Angostura and orange bitters, which works great. Then one day I noticed adding a touch of Bitter Truth Jerry Thomas Decanter Bitters introduces an earthy cinnamon note that really kicked things up a notch, so I started including those as well. Though I quickly realized that while the flavor blend was great, the drink was sometimes too bitters heavy because I was now using 5 dashes of bitters, and not all dashes are created equal (this is why I only call for a few drops of Jerry Thomas or another baking spice bitters above). So being the obsessive bartender that I am, I decided to batch all the bitters together so the ratios would be perfect every time and I could use fewer dashes overall.
It took some trial and error to zero in on the right balance (it’s a tough job I have, I know). The key was Bitter Truth Orange Bitters, once I started using those it all fell into place. They have the perfect balance of dry bitter orange and bright sweet orange.
I settled on a ratio of 9:6:1 of Angostura to orange to Decanter Bitters. The recipe below is small enough to fit in a 5 oz bitters bottle (the standard size) without being too full. I use 3 good dashes per drink, 4 if they’re a little short, but that’s up to you of course! Note, I think this blend works best with rye Old Fashioneds because the spiciness of the bitters supports and accentuates the spice in the rye whiskey, though bourbon is mighty tasty too. As for the name “Dad’s Bitters”, that was coined by buddy, and amazing bartender, Jelani Johnson. We thought it was more fun than “Tom’s Bitters.”
Manhattan
The Manhattan is pound for pound my favorite cocktail of all time. It is simple, yet still subtle and complex, endlessly satisfying, plus, it’s made with whiskey.
Many traditional recipes call for 2 parts whiskey to 1 part vermouth, but I like mine a little more whiskey forward so I go with the ratios listed below. But, feel free to customize to your taste.
Regarding which whiskey and vermouth to pair together, I leave that adventure to you. I’ve experienced many different outcomes but have I’ve never encountered a combination that disappointed me, which is another reason I love this cocktail so much. Regardless of how the journey changes, the destination is always reliably satisfying.
Bourbon or Rye
Manhattans were traditionally made with rye whiskey since that was the whiskey of choice back in the 19th century. But bourbon, being the current American whiskey of choice, is now more common. I generally prefer rye because it asserts itself next to the sweet vermouth a little more, Rittenhouse, Wild Turkey 101 Rye, and High West Double Rye are my favorites. But bourbon makes a darn tasty Manhattan too, particularly higher rye bourbons, like Old Forrester Signature, for one. I find bourbon allows the vermouth to express itself a bit more, particularly if it has some bitterness. So either way, you really can’t lose.
Sweet vermouth
I particularly like Dolin Rouge or Carpano Antica in Manhattans, though there are a lot of other excellent new vermouths hitting the market nowadays which are worth exploring. The big three vermouth brands - Martini & Rossi, Noilly Prat, and Cinzano - all work just fine in a Manhattan as well.
My Grandpa Bud’s Perfect Manhattan
While I personally prefer a traditional Manhattan, I have a great reverence for the Perfect variation. It was my Grandpa Bud’s drink of choice, who, alongside my Grandma Susie, established the Social Hour tradition in my family - which you can read more about here. My parents also habitually take their Manhattans perfect, and whenever I go home, that’s how I take mine. My grandfather had his own peculiar twist of garnishing his with an olive, which I found at once odd, endearing and surprisingly quite tasty. I think, to him, it was the dry vermouth’s equivalent to a cherry, which is sound logic. He also went as far as to batch the vermouths together ahead of time, for added efficiency.
Bud passed away in late June of 2011, a week before his and Susie’s 69th Anniversary. Susie passed 5 years later, just this past summer. As I was picking through their liquor cabinet, which had been collecting more dust than serving drinks in recent years, I came across a still batched vermouth blend, which you can see a below. Written on the front of the bottle is Bud’s recipe for a “mini” Manhattan, which is all he had been sequestered to in his later years, doctor’s orders.
So for me, the Manhattan, particularly the Perfect variation, is an emblem of a cocktail’s true worth, and it has nothing to do with alcohol.
A Perfect Manhattan garnished with an olive, Grandpa Bud style.
Overview
The Manhattan is pound for pound my favorite cocktail of all time. It is simple, yet still subtle and complex, endlessly satisfying, plus, it’s made with whiskey.
Many traditional recipes call for 2 parts whiskey to 1 part vermouth, but I like mine a little more whiskey forward so I go with the ratios listed below. But, feel free to customize to your taste.
Regarding which whiskey and vermouth to pair together, I leave that adventure to you. I’ve experienced many different outcomes but have I’ve never encountered a combination that disappointed me, which is another reason I love this cocktail so much. Regardless of how the journey changes, the destination is always reliably satisfying.
Manhattan SH Print.pdf
Manhattan Variations
Another wonderful trait of the Manhattan is its adaptability. Bartenders have been using it as a template since its inception to spin new creations off of by adding different vermouths, other fortified wines, liqueurs and amari (Italian bitter liqueurs).
Here are a handful of my favorite Manhattan variation, as well as a few personal creations. As you’ll notice, a tradition has emerged of naming them after NYC neighborhoods and boroughs. Additionally, you’ll also see that a lot of these cocktails start to bleed together, with sometimes just ¼ ounce of an ingredient separating one from another. This is a great lesson in how to modify the Manhattan in general. An extra dash of bitters, a splash of liqueur here, an orange twist there, and it becomes an entirely new drink.
All these drinks are prepared the same as above, stirred and served straight up. A few of them include some very specific ingredients or brands, some of which may be tough to find. But I can assure you, you can get any and all of these next time you visit Clover Club!
My Grandpa Bud’s Perfect Manhattan
While I personally prefer a traditional Manhattan, I have a great reverence for the Perfect variation. It was my Grandpa Bud’s drink of choice, who, alongside my Grandma Susie, established the Social Hour tradition in my family - which you can read more about here. My parents also habitually take their Manhattans perfect, and whenever I go home, that’s how I take mine. My grandfather had his own peculiar twist of garnishing his with an olive, which I found at once odd, endearing and surprisingly quite tasty. I think, to him, it was the dry vermouth’s equivalent to a cherry, which is sound logic. He also went as far as to batch the vermouths together ahead of time, for added efficiency.
Bud passed away in late June of 2011, a week before his and Susie’s 69th Anniversary. Susie passed 5 years later, just this past summer. As I was picking through their liquor cabinet, which had been collecting more dust than serving drinks in recent years, I came across a still batched vermouth blend, which you can see a below. Written on the front of the bottle is Bud’s recipe for a “mini” Manhattan, which is all he had been sequestered to in his later years, doctor’s orders.
So for me, the Manhattan, particularly the Perfect variation, is an emblem of a cocktail’s true worth, and it has nothing to do with alcohol.
Martini
What’s most remarkable, and wonderful, about the Martini - in addition to being the most iconic cocktail of all time - is that it has no established recipe, just a series of different personalities. You could stir together gin with a healthy dose of dry vermouth and garnish it with a lemon twist and call it a Martini, or vigorously shake up vodka and olive brine and serve it with a pimento stuffed olive and that would also be a Martini, even though the only common ground the two drinks share is a name.
So there is no right or wrong way to make a Martini. Just your way. This page explores the Martini’s many faces, before delving into the maze that is Martini variations.
As I alluded to above, just about every component of the Martini is customizable. Below is a look as some of the options you have before you.
Adjusting Spirit and Vermouth Ratios
Like the Manhattan, the ratio of spirit to vermouth in a Martini is malleable to your tastes, only more so. It can range from all spirit and no vermouth (a very Dry Martini) to equal portions of spirit and vermouth (a 50/50 Martini).
Martini drinkers will often specify their preferred ratio when ordering at a bar, with the vermouth portion being 1. So 4:1 Martini would be 4 parts gin/vodka to 1 part vermouth. This is the ratio, not the actual amounts used, a 4:1 Martini would probably be 3 ounces of spirit and ¾ oz vermouth. And not everyone uses round numbers, in David Embury’s “The Fine Art of Mixing Drinks” he states the perfect ratio is 3.7:1.
I personally like Martinis in the 3:1 range, though that is with a high proof gin in the 47-50% ABV, which I recommend using. With a lower proof gin, 40-43% ABV, I would do 4:1 or 5:1. I also love a light and crisp 2:1 Martini now and again as well.
Preferred Brands
The Martini is more of a showcase for its base spirit than perhaps any other cocktail, particularly when using gin (and no olive brine). For me, if I have my druthers, I like to use Plymouth, Ford’s, Tanqueray 10 or Rieger’s Midwestern Dry Gin, just to name a few. And while I’m not a habitual vodka drinker, I think Stoli makes a dandy of a Martini.
Orange Bitters
Though unfamiliar to most Martini drinkers nowadays, orange bitters were once very common in early Martini recipes. They fell by the wayside presumably when olives and olive brine were added into the mix. There’s just too much dissonance there.
If you don’t habitually garnish your Martinis with olives, I can’t recommend orange bitters in enough, especially with gin. They add a delicate layer of complexity and make for a much more elegant cocktail.
Olives or a Twist, aka Peel
The garnish for a Martini is another divisive fork in the road. An olive is probably the more familiar and iconic choice today, certainly if you’re going by its depiction in film and television, while a twist brightens the drink up and gives it some added zing. I prefer a twist because I think it adds some nuance but to each their own.
Number of Olives? There’s an old barroom superstition stating that it’s bad luck to put an even number of olives in a Martini, making the conventionally recommended count one or three. I personally don’t put much stock in this and think you should put in many olives in there as you like. Plus, for what it’s worth, Frank Sinatra always used to order his Martinis with two olives, his justification supposedly being that one was for him, and one was for the next beautiful woman that walked through the door. Cheeky.
How to make a Martini Variation
Outside of the gin/vodka and dry vermouth mold, there is endless potential for Martini variations. To me, the spirit itself is sacred, if there’s isn’t gin in there I no longer consider it part of the Martini family (that goes for vodka too, but these are all gin, so…).
In light of that, the easiest route to a Martini riff to replace the dry vermouth with another type of fortified wine. You can use one that’s clear or close to it so the drink still looks the part, such as white vermouth (a colorless, sweet vermouth), Lillet/Cocchi Americano, or fino sherry. Or, if you aren’t beholden to the idea of a Martini being crystal clear, try letting sweet vermouth bleed into your Martini from time to time. It works wonders. Another tactic is to add a couple dashes of bitters or a liqueur for a final flavor accent.
On the Drinks Below…
You’ll find all of these approaches at work in these drinks below. They are all prepared as above; stirred, and strained into a chilled coupe or cocktail glass. If there’s a photo of the drink that means it has its own individual page. A few words to the wise; any time a drink contains sweet vermouth, either a lemon or orange peel can be used as a garnish, as well as any kind of gin - dry gin, old tom gin or genenver. Each result will be different of course, but all tasty. Also, when old tom gin and dry vermouth are paired together, it’s best to use a clear un-aged brand, like Hayman’s, as opposed to barrel aged gin. Finally, whenever simply “gin” is listed, I am referring to a classic dry gin, aka London dry gin.
As you’ve no doubt gathered by now, Martini’s are traditionally stirred - James Bonds’ preferences notwithstanding - because stirring preserves a more even and silky texture, which is in keeping with the conventional rule of when to shake or stir a cocktail.
However, no rule is set in stone (as far as cocktails are concerned anyway), including this one, which I found out one day when I decided, out of curiosity, to taste shaken and stirred martinis side by side. The results were quite surprising.
I made two, 2:1 Gin Martinis, no orange bitters and garnish. The one I shook, I shook very lightly. My goal was to see if I could still make the drink come out ok, and I knew shaking it the way I would a Daiquiri would dilute it beyond recognition. So it just was a gentle rocking back and forth for 6 seconds or so.
When I strained the drinks out, the difference was immediately obvious. The stirred Martini was crystal clear, while the shaken Martini, had an opaque cloudy appearance from to the air bubbles that result from shaking. These bubbles are, of course, what bartenders like myself point to as the key reason to not shake a spirit forward cocktail, they are regarded like poison. “Well, there you have it,” I thought to myself. I was ready to close the case and declare stirring to be the unequivocal best way to prepare a Martini once and for all.
But then a moment later I looked back, and the bubbles were gone. Barely 20 seconds had passed and the drinks looked exactly the same (that photo above was taken seconds after they were strained). So I tasted them. That’s when the ground shifted beneath my feet. Not only were they both delicious, but the shaken Martini was, I had to admit, in some ways better. It had a rounder and more delicate finish that almost suggested sweetness before veering dry.
Say what? The bedrock of everything all I thought I know about cocktails was that you only shake a cocktail when it has citrus juice or other fresh ingredients, and you NEVER shake a spirit forward cocktail, heaven forbid a Martini! As the saying goes, “shaking bruises the gin.” Well, it turns out gin is tougher than we thought.
I ran the test a couple more times and blind tasted some colleagues and got the same result. At first, I thought it might be added dilution, but no, the light shake avoided that. Eventually, I realized that what I was tasting was a stronger presence from the vermouth. I now know that in addition to physical air bubbles, the aeration created by shaking unites the flavors of different ingredients together more than stirring does. So in this Martini, the vermouth was brought more to the forefront and the sharpness of the gin was toned down ever so slightly, so the cocktail tasted a bit more balanced - to someone who likes vermouth that is. Adding a lemon twist and orange bitters covered up the nuances somewhat and made the two less distinguishable. But still, the answer was clear. Shaking does not, necessarily, ruin a Martini.
Now, it’s important to note a few caveats. These results were much more pronounced because they had a large portion of vermouth. When there’s less vermouth and the Martini is mostly spirit, shaking just chills and dilutes it the same way stirring would, so it won’t make much of a difference. Also, I can’t stress enough how important the light shake was to these experiments. Stirring allows you much more control of chilling a dilution, there’s much less margin for error when shaking. It’s a finer needle to thread. Finally, let me make very clear that the Martini seems to be the outlier here and the rule about when to shake and when to stir is still true. Shaken Manhattans and Negronis are clearly inferior to stirred ones and let me say for the record, in general, I still think stirring is the best way to make a Martini. It’s perfection, and it’s more consistent. But the question is certainly less black and white than I had originally thought.
The point here really is to not believe everything you hear until you try it for yourself. So take this information and do with it what you will (just don’t turn me over the cocktail police, those guys are so boring). As always, you’re the bartender.
Some Pointers to Remember If You Ever Shake a Martini:
Shake lightly. If you shake too hard, you risk over-diluting the drink.
Remember shaking will give you a cloudy drink at the outset, which won’t be very pretty, but it will clear up shortly.
Use heavier portions of vermouth or other fortified wines, particularly ones with some sweetness, like white vermouth or Lillet.
This only goes for clear fortified wines. I don’t recommend ever shaking drinks with sweet vermouth, spirit forward ones anyway. They become overly fruity tasting.
Here’s a recipe I developed in light of my findings. I make it often.
White Lie Martini
2½ oz gin - higher proof is preferable.
½ oz white vermouth - Dolin Blanc is recommended.
1 dash orange bitters
Combine all ingredients in a shaker, fill with ice.
Shake lightly for 6 seconds and fine strain into a chilled coupe glass.
(Don’t fine strain if you want ice chips in your drink).
Garnish with a lemon peel.
Daiquiri
The Daiquiri is one of my all-time favorite cocktails. It is also widely misunderstood. When many people picture a Daiquiri it’s in the form of brightly colored slush being dispatched from a machine operated by a lever. But this could not be further from the reality.
A true Daiquiri is simply white rum, lime juice, and sugar (or simple syrup), shaken and served up in a cocktail glass. No strawberries, no blender, no tiny umbrella. Today, in the midst of the revival, it is universally beloved by the bar industry, enjoying a level of adoration unmatched by any other drink, and that’s no exaggeration.
My first proper Daiquiri was a revelatory experience. If you’ve never had one, drop everything now, get some good white rum - here are some suggestions - and become one of the enlightened.
As the recipe indicates, I like a little more lime than simple syrup in my Daiquiris. But everyone one is different, feel free to tinker with the balance. The lime disc, which is just a round peel, is to punch up the limey-ness a hair more. I really think it caps the drink off. It’s not a dealbreaker by any means, but if you take the extra step, I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.
Finding Your Perfect Daiquiri
Despite being one of the simplest drinks in existence, if you’ve flipped through any of the cocktail books released in the last decade you’ll notice that almost no two recipes are the same. Bartenders are very opinionated when it comes to their Daiquiris and they apply a myriad of tweaks to make, what is for them, the ultimate version of the classic - and they will defend their position fiercely if questioned. This a great article from Punch examines this phenomenon perfectly.
I’ve listed some of the more commonly employed alternations below. Though having tasted my way through them all in my own obsessive pursuit of perfection, I still always come back to the recipe I’ve listed across the pa, e. For me it is the quintessential expression of a Daiquiri. Its pristine simplicity is like a flawless uncut diamond. But that’s not to say these modified versions are inferior. On the contrary, they’re all delicious. And who knows, you may end up preferring one. Regardless, it’s fun to tweak the formula now and again.
Cane Syrup
Many bartenders prefer using cane syrup in place of simple syrup. This generally means a rich 2:1 syrup made with evaporated cane sugar (that’s the more expensive sugar that’s a very slight tan color). It gives the cocktail a richer, almost creamy texture, with a hint of molasses flavor. Because of the added sugar, you’ll want to scale the syrup portion down to half an ounce in the recipe.
More Lime Juice
The great Sasha Petraske, who is sadly no longer with us, famously preferred Daiquiris with 1 ounce of lime instead of 3/4 oz. As such, many bartenders fall in this camp as well. I was skeptical about this at first, thinking it was just bartenders trying to act macho and drink less sugary drinks. But while I think that’s just a little too much lime, I must concede it is surprisingly good. Tart yes, but not out of balance. Give it a try and see what you think.
Splash of Agricole Rhum
This is my favorite way to spruce up a Daiquiri, and sometimes I think I might actually like it better. Adding somewhere between a teaspoon and ¼ ounce of agricole gives the drink a little extra depth and a funky, grassy curveball. I particularly recommend Rhum JM Blanc, the 100 proof version. Incidentally, Daiquiris are also excellent using entirely agricole rhum as their base, or any portion of it for that matter.
Raw Sugar
I typically don’t typically recommend using raw sugar in cocktails, but in a Daiquiri, the bracing, concentrated edge it gives the drink is intriguing and worth the extra time it takes to dissolve the sugar - though it’s not sustainable in a high volume setting, in my opinion at least. Use 1 tablespoon of white granulated sugar in place of simple syrup. Stir (or swirl) it in the shaker with the lime juice for 30 seconds, add the rum and proceed. This is how Dave Wondrich’s and Jeff Berry - two writers I deeply respect and reference often - make their Daiquiris. Jeff talks about it here.
Shake with the Lime Shell
Shaking with the rind of a spent lime shell - meaning it’s already been juiced - is a neat little trick. The force from the churning ice extracts some extra oil while you shake. This punches up and brightens the lime flavor.
The Rum
The success and failure of a Daiquiri largely depends on the white rum you use (ok proper balance of lime and sugar is pretty important too). I generally don’t like to name preferred brands for specific drinks, I’m a firm believer that great cocktails are a product of the bartender, not the booze. But in since so much of a bartender’s Daiquiri recipe has to do with the rum, in this case I’ll make an exception. I think Flor de Caña 4 makes the best Daiquiri, hands down. Though Caña Brava, Plantation 4 year, Denizen White and Santa Teresa Claro are all fantastic, as are plenty of others - El Dorado 3, Bank 5 Island, Brugal Especial and Cruzan Aged Light Rum, just to name a few.
The History of the Daiquiri
Drinks made or rum, lime and sugar, have been consumed in the Caribbean as long as those ingredients have existed. The creator of the Daiquiri did not create the combination - that’s like saying the person who invented Kleenex came up with the concept of wiping your nose. Some drinks are so basic they are inevitable. This being the case, it’s ironic that unlike most cocktails that are over 100 years old we actually do have a pretty good idea of where and when a drink called a Daiquiri originated.
Jennings S. Cox (& Friends)
It was in 1896 in, or around, the town of Daiquirí, Cuba, near Santiago - where Bacardi Rum was also made. This was a tumultuous time in Cuba. They were in the midst of an uprising against their Spanish rulers, a conflict known as the War for Independence. It began in 1895 and culminated with American intervention in 1898, aka the Spanish American War. While the war itself didn’t contribute directly to the creation of Daiquiri, it did have a hand in it spreading back to the United States and beyond.
The leading candidate for Daiquiri creator is Jennings Cox, an American mining engineer who served as general manager of the mines in Daiquirí for the Spanish-American Iron Ore Company (they remained neutral during the conflict because the business was mutually profitable for both sides). Most stories - and there are a few - involve Jennings entertaining one or a few guests when he discovered he was out of good booze and left with only domestic rum. Not wanting to serve it straight, he decided to shoot from the hip and mixed it together with some lime and sugar, and served it in a tall glass with ice. Marveling at this tasty new concoction they decided to christen it a “Daiquiri”.
A concurrent version of this story comes from Robert Huntington Lyman Jr, an engineer colleague of Cox’s who was stationed in with him in Daiquiri along with a few others, there were 7 in all. He wrote a letter to a 1935 newspaper detailing his memory of how the Daiquiri came to be, which David Wondrich profiles in this article. This gist is that it was a joint effort. As he tells it, there wasn’t much else to drink down there but rum and played around with it in different concoctions, having particular success with ice when they were able to get their hands on it. Eventually, they settled on their prototypical Daiquiri. I’m more apt to believe Lyman’s account, since it’s a little more vague, and I’m not one to contradict Wondrich.
Officer’s Clubs and Beyond
Details aside, while they may not have been the first ones to put these three ingredients together, Cox and his colleagues certainly did so in a manner that which caught the attention of all they shared it with, and share it they did. Soon many of the surrounding bars in Santiago were serving Daiquiris, among them were the Anglo-American Club - which saw a lot of traffic from American Army and Naval officers, The San Carlos Club and the Hotel Venus.
As to when the drink actually became known as the Daiquiri is another point of contention. Despite some popular stories to the contrary, evidence suggests that it took a little while. One version is that after a few years a bartender at the San Carlos Club dubbed it the “Ron (rum) a la Daiquiri” when Cox couldn’t think of a name for the drink himself.
At any rate, by 1909 the name was set when another key moment in the Daiquiri’s rise took place. Two Naval medical officers named
Lucius Johnson and John Manchester visited Daiquiri and encountered Jennings Cox. He introduced them to his signature drink and they - as enamored with it as everyone else - brought it home with them to the Army-Navy Club in Washington. From there the Daiquiri was on its way to sweeping the nation. That D.C. bar is now called the Army & Navy Club Daiquiri Lounge.
Recipes for the Daiquiri begin to appear in cocktail books in the 19-teens just before prohibition. From the outset, they called for the drink to be strained and served up in a coupe, rather than in a tall glass with ice, as Cox’s original recipe stipulates. Cox also reportedly used brown sugar in his, which didn’t make its way into print either. At some point, one of his colleagues tried to remedy this, but it was too late - which I think is just as well. While we’re on the subject Cox’s Daiquiri recipe initially called for lemon juice, but this was quickly changed because limes were so ubiquitous in Cuba - also because lime is better.
Prohibition
As David Wondrich notes in Imbibe, the Daiquiri was the first classic cocktail to be invented outside of the United States, which turned out to be instrumental in its success. Once prohibition hit the U.S. in 1919, thirsty American’s looked to nearby Cuba just 90 miles south to fill the void. This brought a wave of tourism to the Island, which had an established nightlife scene that kept people coming back for more. In the process, drinks like the Daiquiri, Mojito, and rum, in general, moved to the forefront of drinking culture.
From here, the history of the Daiquiri shifts to 1930s in Havana, Cuba and La Florida Bar where we meet and two new central cast members: master barman Constantino “Constante” Ribialigua Vert and one of his regulars, Ernest Hemingway. This part of the story continues on the Hemingway Daiquiri page.
Margarita
The Margarita is one of, if not the, most popular cocktails in the United States, and it might be the most butchered as well. We’ve all experienced the cavernous disparity between margaritas that are bright, fresh and delicious and those that are cloyingly sweet and synthetic tasting.
Making a great Margarita doesn’t take much, just quality ingredients measured into balance. This means 100% agave tequila (very important), fresh squeezed lime juice and a high quality orange liqueur, Cointreau is what I’ve always used. The recipe below is my favorite what I’ve found people generally enjoy the most, though I’m fully aware that Margarita tastes vary, particularly when it comes to sweetness/tartness. So feel free to tweak this to your liking. If you want this to be more tart, pull back on the simple syrup portion, and keep the other ingredient proportions the same.
(Slightly) Less Boozy Version
Admittedly, my Margarita recipe is very strong. Between the tequila and Cointreau, which is 40% ABV, you’re looking at 3 whole ounces of full proof spirit in a drink that’s dangerously easy to guzzle down. Still, it’s the recipe I recommend. What can I say? I like to drink. If you want to dial it back a notch (understandable, and admirable) try this recipe:
1½ oz blanco tequila
¾ oz Cointreau
scant ¾ oz fresh lime juice
¼ oz simple syrup
Prepare as above.
Tommy’s Margarita
A Tommy’s Margarita is basically a tequila Gimlet, using agave nectar or syrup (they’re essentially the same thing) in place of sugar. It was created by Julio Bermejo of Tommy’s Mexican Restaurant in San Francisco in the early 1990s. Many tequila connoisseurs actually prefer this version to the original, the thinking being that replacing the orange liqueur allows more of the tequila’s natural flavor to come through. This argument is strengthened by the fact that there is more quality tequila available now than ever before.
To be sure, this is very tasty drink, though I prefer the traditional version. To me, the orange flavor is part of what a Margarita is. But to each her own, if you do go the Tommy’s route, be sure to get light agave nectar, the darker styles have a stronger caramel flavor which can be a little overpowering. You can read more about agave nectar/syrup here.
2 oz blanco tequila
¾ oz fresh lime juice
heavy ½ oz light agave syrup
Prepare as above, salt rim optional.
If you make a Margarita, let me see!
Tag a photo with #socialhourcocktails on Instagram.
Overview
The Margarita is one of, if not the, most popular cocktails in the United States, and it might be the most butchered as well. We’ve all experienced the cavernous disparity between margaritas that are bright, fresh and delicious and those that are cloyingly sweet and synthetic tasting.
Making a great Margarita doesn’t take much, just quality ingredients measured into balance. This means 100% agave tequila (very important), fresh squeezed lime juice and a high quality orange liqueur, Cointreau is what I’ve always used. The recipe below is my favorite what I’ve found people generally enjoy the most, though I’m fully aware that Margarita tastes vary, particularly when it comes to sweetness/tartness. So feel free to tweak this to your liking. If you want this to be more tart, pull back on the simple syrup portion, and keep the other ingredient proportions the same.
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Commentary
(Slightly) Less Boozy Version
Admittedly, my Margarita recipe is very strong. Between the tequila and Cointreau, which is 40% ABV, you’re looking at 3 whole ounces of full proof spirit in a drink that’s dangerously easy to guzzle down. Still, it’s the recipe I recommend. What can I say? I like to drink. If you want to dial it back a notch (understandable, and admirable) try this recipe:
1½ oz blanco tequila
¾ oz Cointreau
scant ¾ oz fresh lime juice
¼ oz simple syrup
Prepare as above.
Tommy’s Margarita
A Tommy’s Margarita is basically a tequila Gimlet, using agave nectar or syrup (they’re essentially the same thing) in place of sugar. It was created by Julio Bermejo of Tommy’s Mexican Restaurant in San Francisco in the early 1990s. Many tequila connoisseurs actually prefer this version to the original, the thinking being that replacing the orange liqueur allows more of the tequila’s natural flavor to come through. This argument is strengthened by the fact that there is more quality tequila available now than ever before.
To be sure, this is very tasty drink, though I prefer the traditional version. To me, the orange flavor is part of what a Margarita is. But to each her own, if you do go the Tommy’s route, be sure to get light agave nectar, the darker styles have a stronger caramel flavor which can be a little overpowering. You can read more about agave nectar/syrup here.
2 oz blanco tequila
¾ oz fresh lime juice
heavy ½ oz light agave syrup
Prepare as above, salt rim optional.
Margarita Variations
Here are a few of my favorite Margarita variations, though pretty much any drink with tequila and lime juice could be considered a relative of the Margarita. The possibilities are boundless. The easiest way to riff on a Margarita is to simply add a muddled fresh ingredient, like a fruit, vegetable or herb. When adding fruit I usually like to do away with the Cointreau altogether and just use ¾ ounce or so of simple syrup as the sweetener. This way the fruit’s new flavor will come through more clearly without being impeded by orange, see the Strawberry Margarita as an example.
Negroni
On paper, the Negroni looks like a bit of a mess. There’s a whole ounce of each Campari and sweet vermouth, which adds up to more than the amount of base spirit, gin. But instead of a disjointed mess, somehow all those contrasting flavors come together in a perfect harmony, with each ingredient blending seamlessly into the next, it’s hard to know where one ends and the other begins. In that way, it is something of a cocktail miracle.
The Negroni’s central element is of course bitterness - courtesy of Campari, the iconic red Italian liqueur - which to be sure, is not a flavor everyone enjoys. But if there’s one place bitterness succeeds, it’s in cocktails, where it add an extra dimension flavor. So if the Negroni is a bit of a shock to your palate at first, I encourage you to give it a chance and take another sip. Acclimating yourself to the pleasures of bitterness in drinks will unlock a trove of cocktail possibilities.
The classic Negroni recipe calls for equal proportions of each ingredient. I, along with many bartenders, prefer to bump up the gin to dry it out and - let’s be honest - to make it boozier. But that is up to you, it’s good both ways.
Too bitter? Try Aperol.
If you’re looking to take the bitter edge off a Negroni, use Aperol in place of Campari. Aperol is the gateway bitter liqueur. It is produced by the same company as Campari (Gruppo Campari), has the same level of sweetness, but half the bitterness with some added rhubarb and other bright fruit flavors. It’s an absolutely delightful ingredient and can be used in any of the variations below as well (except of course the White Negroni).
Negroni Variations
The Negroni recipe a fool proof cocktail formula. Swap out any of the ingredients and you have a completely new cocktail that’s work every time. Just be sure to stick like-minded ingredients, spirit for another spirit, vermouth for another wine based modifier (Lillet, Dubbonet, white vermouth, etc.) and Campari for another bitter liqueur.
Who Invented the Negroni?
Who indeed. While the origins of many, if not most, classic cocktails careen about vaguely in the thick fog of drinking history, the Negroni has two competing (and conflicting) tales, both of which claim to identify ground zero.
Count Camillo Negroni, 1920 in Florence?
The story that most bartenders have been telling for decades is of one Count Camillo Negroni, an Italian, who one day while frequenting the Caffe Giacosa in Florence - which is still stands - asked bartender Fosco Scarselli for an Amerciano (sweet vermouth, Campari and soda) but stiffened up with gin instead of soda water. This drink went on to become popular at the Cafe and thus, the Negroni was born.
Count Pacal Negroni, 1857 in Senegal?
In the last decade there has been a challenge to the Count Camillo account, by the Negroni family themselves. They maintain its creation should be attributed to Count Pascal Negroni, a Frenchman (gasp!) born in Corsica, the small Mediterranean island situated between France and Italy.
Their version places the drink’s inception sometime around 1860 in Senegal, Africa where Pascal, a decorated member of the French Military, was serving as the Base Commander for a French settlement. By some accounts, the drink was meant to commemorate his marriage. Eventually it caught on at the local officer’s club and the rest is history. There is a more hard evidence to support this account, though one big issues with it is Campari wasn’t released until 1860, and Pascal’s marriage was in 1857.
On top of all of this, a recipe for the Negroni by name doesn’t appear in a bonafide cocktail book until 1951! So whenever it was invented, and by whomever, there was plenty of time for the recipe to be distorted by the game bartender telephone. So….we just don’t know.
I’m personally fine with the ambiguity. I am certainly always interested in the past circumstances and efforts that went on to shape our drinking lives today. But whether we know them for sure, nothing changes the fact that the Negroni is one of the best cocktails ever. To all who played a role, I raise my glass to you.
You can read a more detailed account of this debate in this excellent article on this excellent site, Drinking Cup, which is where I learned many of the details myself.
Whiskey Sour
The Whiskey Sour gets a bad rap. At one point during the cocktail golden age at the end of the 19th century it was just about the most popular thing going, but by the end 20th century, it had been reduced to a cloying shadow of its former self, made with sour mix rather than fresh-squeezed juice. By that point, drinker’s had forgotten, or never knew in the first place, the joys of the original. Now it’s time to jog those memories, and enlightened the others, because when made correctly, the Whiskey Sour stands in the pantheon of all-time greats.
As far as refreshing whiskey classics go, for my money, it’s only legitimate challenger is the Mint Julep. As the bartender who made me my first real Whiskey Sour - which was a revelation early on in my cocktail journey - put it, “it’s a great way to drink brown in the summer.” (Though I wouldn’t limit it to just that.)
There are a few options regarding preparation. They can be served either up or on the rocks (I lean towards rocks), and the addition of an egg white for a lighter, frothier texture is a pre-prohibition fixture which didn’t survive too far past the 1930s, though many bartenders use them today. I personally like the egg white, but it’s up to you. Finally, while it’s not traditional at all, adding a dash of Angostura bitters to a Whiskey Sour is pretty darn awesome. Just sayin’.
Today, a “cocktail” is a catchall term for any mixed alcoholic drink. But back in the 19th century when cocktail culture was springing to life, boozy beverages were separated into a number different categories and cocktail was just one of them. There were also sours, juleps, toddies, fixes, cobblers fizzes, daisies and a host of others. After prohibition they all gradually homogenized under the umbrella of the cocktail moniker.
But these categories can still be applied to cocktails today - particularly classics - to classify them by style which helps paint a clearer picture of how different drinks relate to each other. This is particularly useful if you’re interested in creating cocktails yourself. Plus, classifying things is always fun.
The sour is one of the simplest forms of mixed drink. It is composed of just a base spirit, citrus juice and sugar. It’s basically a short lemonade with booze instead of water.
The whiskey version is the only one that still uses sour in it’s name, but plenty of other familiar drinks fall into this category. For example, the Daiquiri, Gimlet, Margarita and Sidecar are all basically sours (by technical 19th century standards that latter two are daisies because their sweetener is a liqueur and not plain sugar, but composition wise, the shoe still fits).
Gimlet
The best way to make a Gimlet depends on your point of view. What’s indisputable is that it is a mixture of gin, lime, and sugar. From there it’s a question of what you value more: authenticity or deliciousness.
The oldest Gimlet recipes call for Rose’s Lime Juice, a preserved lime cordial made from lime concentrate and high fructose corn syrup. It tastes as gross as it sounds, which is why most contemporary bartenders make “fresh” Gimlets with fresh lime juice and simple syrup. Some purists object to this version as merely a gin sour, and maintain that unless Roses’s is used, it’s not a Gimlet at all. Then there’s a third faction that attempts to bridge the gap by making lime cordial from scratch.
Having tried each version in a multitude of configurations, including and several lime cordial recipes, I’ve arrived at my favorite recipe below. It is the Ulitmate Gimlet.
Gimlet Variations & Relatives
Gimlets with lime cordial - either Rose’s or homemade - are fairly standalone cocktails that don’t lend themselves to many other configurations (though you could certainly swap in a different spirit and see how that works out). However, the Fresh Gimlet recipe above is arguably the greatest cocktail template that ever was. That’s not hyperbole talking. Just one or two simple tweaks separate this drink from a myriad of time-honored classics, many of which are the progenitor of a cluster of variations of their own.
For example, if you muddle some mint into it, you have a Southside. Add a few slices of cucumber to that and it’s an East Side. Change the lime juice to lemon and put it in a tall glass with some soda water and it’s a Tom Collins. Keep the lemon, put it in a rocks glass with crushed ice and drizzle some blackberry liqueur over the top and you have a Bramble. Stick with lemon, swap out the simple syrup for honey syrup and it’s a Bee’s Knees.
Since gin mixes well with just about anything and the sour recipe in general is so ubiquitous, this drink is like a universal blood donor that works in just about anything you throw at it, be it other fruits, vegetables, herbs, citrus juices, liqueurs or spirits. I have used the Fresh Gimlet as a foundation for more of my personal original recipes than probably any other cocktail.
The Gimlet Story
The Gimlet emerged in Britain towards the end of the 19th century. The popular story is that it was invented by sailors when they opportunistically mixed gin with Rose’s Lime Juice. Drinking on ships was a common activity and Rose’s, or some other form of lime juice, was required by law to be given to sailors to prevent scurvy, a particularly nasty disease caused by a vitamin C deficiency.
However, as Janet A. Zimmerman observes in this article, as neat and tidy as this origin story is, examining the facts calls some things into question. First off, Rose’s Lime Juice, which was launched by Lauchlin Rose in 1867, was sold in glass bottles and advertised as a health product. This suggests that it was conceived as a soft drink intended to target the general public, not sailors on ships. Furthermore, one of the selling points of the product was that the lime juice was preserved with sugar rather than the more conventional alcohol. So he was likely looking to make something it marketable to teetotalers, as the temperance movement was in full swing at the time.
Another problem is most British sailors drank rum. Lots of it. In fact, the Royal Navy continued issuing rum rations to sailors until 1970! The last dram was given out on July 31st, which henceforth has been known as Black Tot Day. Gin was reserved for officers. Here’s where things start to align again. The earliest Gimlet recipes call specifically for Plymouth Gin (gin made in Plymouth, England) and as it would have it, the Brits had a large Navy base in Plymouth. So there’s conventional speculation from trustworthy folks like Zimmerman and David Wondrich that British Naval officers likely had a hand in throwing early Gimlets together, only perhaps not on a ship. I subscribe to this version, it keeps the drink’s maritime connection alive.
The origin of the name? There are two presiding theories. One it is was named after a small T-shaped tool called the gimlet which was used to bore holes into things, and could have been used to tap liquor casks.
The other story is it was invented by British Royal Navy Surgeon Rear-Admiral Sir Thomas Gimlette as a way to get sailors to take their an anti-scurvy medication. Nice idea, though there’s nothing about it in his obituary and it seems like a stretch that sailors would have resisted taking straight lime juice for any reason. I’d drink just about anything to prevent scurvy. I prefer story #1.
The Gimlet didn’t appear printed in a cocktail book until around the 1920s, Harry MacElhone’s ABCs of Mixing Cocktails acknowledges it’s popularity in the Navy as well. The drink wasn’t very well known in the United States until after prohibition. It was prominently featured in Raymond Chandler’s 1953 novel The Long Goodbye, which upped the drink’s profile.
As the 1980s and 90s approached, vodka began to make it’s way into Gimlet recipes, as vodka tends to do. And in the early 21st century blasphemous bartenders - like your truly - started replaced Rose’s Lime Juice with fresh lime. The Gimlet has worn many faces over its lifetime and continues to. However you prefer to make yours, one thing is certain: this is one cocktail the sun will never set upon.
For a deeper look at the Gimlet from every angle, check out this wonderful article from Troy Patterson on Slate.com.
These just a few of the established well-known drinks, but the possibilities are truly endless. Since gin mixes well with just about anything and the sour recipe in general is so ubiquitous, this drink is like a universal blood donor that works in just about anything you throw at it, be it other fruits, vegetables, herbs, citrus juices, liqueurs or spirits. I have used the Fresh Gimlet as a foundation for more of my personal original recipes than probably any other cocktail.
Mint Julep
The mint julep is one of the oldest and tastiest cocktails you’ll come across. It’s also one of the simplest. There are only 3 ingredients, and it is prepared right in the glass it’s served in. The secret to nailing this cocktail is using the proper the ice and allowing time for it to dilute. More in the notes below.
Of course, the Mint Julep is best known for being the official libation of the Kentucky Derby, the famous horserace run at Churchill Downs on the first Saturday of every May. On this day Mint Juleps are consumed throughout the land, including an estimated 120,000 at the derby weekend festivities alone.
But while few cocktails enjoy the honor of having a day that they are universally consumed, I still think this sells the Mint Juleps short. They are just too good to be enjoyed only once a year. Mint Juleps make for excellent summer refreshment, and are one of the few whiskey classics more at home out on a porch than by a fireplace.
Commentary
Crushed Ice is Key!
For best results crushed ice is essential to a julep, or at least cracked ice cubes. The smaller cubes melt quicker providing some much needed extra dilution. The Mint Julep is one boozy cocktail, yet it goes down dangerously easily. Crushed ice helps to lengthen the drink and it softens it’s blow.
The other benefit of crushed ice is it chills the drink way down to deliciously arctic temperatures. Of course we know all cocktails taste better cold, but in the case of the julep this is crucial to its balance.
By today’s standards, the Mint Julep is an unbalanced cocktail. Usually a drink with that much sugar would also have some citrus juice to balance things out, but that’s not how the julep rolls (more details on it’s quirky composition are below). Still, all that sugar is necessary to bring out the flavor of the mint; sugar works in cocktails the way fat does cooking. This is where the crushed ice comes in. When something is very cold our perception of it’s flavor, including sweetness, is lessened - the same istrue for things that are very hot. So when the julep is chilled down to below freezing levels - which is very possible, ideal even - it doesn’t come off as cloying, but rather, unbearably delicious.
A classic julep is composed of a spirit (and sometimes a modifier), sweetener and mint (or perhaps another herb), and is served over crushed ice. As I discuss in depth on the Shaken Cocktails vs. Stirred Cocktails page, the vast majority of cocktails can be placed in the “Shaken” or “Stirred” camp, stylistically speaking. But the julep doesn’t fit neatly into either and possesses elements of both. Being composed almost entirely of whiskey, it has got the booziness of a typical stirred cocktail, but the fresh mint and extra dilution from the crushed ice gives it bright and refreshing qualities you’d expect from a classic shaken cocktail.
This puts the julep a category all it’s own, which it technically always has been. As I have noted before, in the 19th century mixed drinks was separated into several categories, a cocktail was just one of them. Today those distinctions are largely unnecessary to the casual drinker (but still very interesting for nerds like me). Though in the case of the julep and it’s unique configuration, this specific classification is still relevant. A julep is a julep, it’s not like anything else, and nothing else is like it.
The Mint Julep recipe is easily modified with simple substitution,
keeping proportions and preparation more or less the same.
Base Spirits
While bourbon is the definitive choice, just about any aged spirits can be used in a Mint Julep, with fantastic results. For starters, using rye whiskey makes for a subtle but noticeable shift that showcases rye’s spiciness and makes for a drier drink. Cognac, or brandy, makes a very tasty julep too, though I find it to be a little on the soft side. If you go this route look for something higher proof, like Louis Royer Force 53. Or compromise and do split the base with cognac and bourbon or rye, as in the Prescription Julep below.
Aged rum also works. This harkens back to early colonial drinking habits when rum was the national spirit of choice. I recommend using Jamaican rum, though any solid amber rum will perform admirably. It’s also nice as a float over the top to finish off the drink, again, see the Prescription Julep.
Sweeteners
Some older Mint Julep recipes call for raw sugar or powdered sugar, but I strongly recommend a using syrup. You can see how to convert raw sugar quantities into syrup quantities here. Basic simple syrup gives you the cleanest flavors, but many prefer a syrup with darker sugar like demerara for added richness. Honey and maple syrup are also fair game.
Juleps are among the oldest of all alcoholic mixed drinks and a prime example of the historically blurry line between alcohol and medicine. Throughout history the word “julep” is found repeatedly in old texts referring to medicine of some kind and having nothing to do with mint of spirits. The word’s etymology reaches all the way back to ancient Persia when it was “gulab”, which meant rosewater. It wasn’t until the dawn of the United States in the late 18th century when julep beings to mean something different. Why the switch? According to David Wondrich, it was a joke. Medical remedies often contained alcohol back then, so it’s not too much of a stretch assume that the julep was a sought-after “prescription”.
By the early 19th century the julep had evolved to exclusively into a recreational beverage and by the 1820s, when the ice trade was in full swing, they were a sensation. Even skeptical European travelers fell sway to the the julep's spell, often remarking it was the thing only tolerable about our new vulgarity-filled nation. Juleps were particularly popular in the sweltering south, where they were often served with the addition of mint and sipped from silver cups or goblets, the latter presumably being used as a display of wealth. Back then, upper class gentleman preferred French brandy, aka Cognac, in their juleps. Using a cheaper domestic whiskey - what we'd call bourbon today - was seen as lower class. Obviously, that has since changed.
Kentucky Derby
The Kentucky Derby’s roots go back to 1870, and its spectators have been enjoying Mint Juleps for some time now, as they are both time-honored fixtures of Southern culture. Though it wasn’t until 1938 that the drink was officially designated as the event’s signature beverage. Since then, the two have become indivisible.
Traditional Julep Cup
The footed beaker-like metal cup that you seen in the photos above is widely accepted today as the proper vessel for a Mint Julep. They became standardized through their use at the Derby after they were first introduced in 1951 as a premium serving option.
I don’t generally advocate using specific glassware for certain cocktails, though I admit are few sights more stirking than a julep served in one of these beauties. That being said, you certainly don't need one to make a great Julep. It's just a fancy frame. These are classically made from silver, or are silver plated, though copper, nickel or pewter are also common, and much more affordable. Purchase: Standard Julep Cup (copper) Sterling Silver Julep Cup Souvenir Kentucky Derby Julep Glasses The derby also offers julep “glasses” which can be purchased along with the drink. These were introduced in 1939 to solve the problem of patrons stealing the glassware. The derby still features a new glass each year. You can peruse some of the past year's here. They may not be as sexy as the metal cup, but are a pretty nifty collector’s item if you ask me.
