I was born and raised in the Tampa Bay area in Florida. One of the most beautiful beaches in the WORLD is a 30-minute drive from my house, along with all of the divey beach bars associated therewith. Some bars are newer, while others have been there since long before I was born, but all have the same list of “Tiki Cocktails.” Unfortunately, all but one of the cocktails on one of the menus at one of these restaurants (which restaurant is not actually on the beach) are in fact, true “Tiki” cocktails. Political correctness aside (I get the entire tiki cocktail movement is fraught with cultural appropriation; but it doesn’t diminish the amazing, delicious concoctions that were born from it), Tiki Cocktails is a semester’s-worth of information in and of itself, requiring its own blog series, but for purposes of * this* particular post, I can tell you there were two schools of thought, practiced by the two fathers of Tiki: Don the Beach Comber and Trader Vic. Don’s cocktails were intense, complicated and utilized a myriad of ingredients, including some concoctions of his own creation (like Don’s Gardenia Mix, an essential ingredient in the Pearl Diver cocktail). Trader Vic’s cocktails were simpler, though still poignant, and it was Vic who developed the Mai Tai: an ingeniously simple, extraordinarily-balanced waltz of rum, orgeat and lime.
In spite of his genius, this beautiful symphony of a drink has been done a big ol’ dirty. Every. Single. Fucking. Bar in this area (except ONE), makes a this amalgamation of over-processed sugary “tropical” juices (usually orange, pineapple and cranberry…also, fucking CRANBERRY?! Really?! Who the fuck looked at cranberries and decided they were “tropical”?!) and cheap well rums. The otherwise distinguished Mai Tai has become the Disney version of Shakespeare (sorry, Lion King) in these parts, and I’m mad about it. There is ONE tiki bar that recognizes the delicious simplicity of the Mai Tai on its menu and hold true to its roots in this goddamned area (I’m sure you can ask for a “traditional Mai Tai” at a craft cocktail bar, but this particular Tiki Bar actually has it on the menu), but for the most part, the cocktail has devolved into a cheap alcoholic fruit punch. Might as well just throw some vodka in a Capri Sun and call it a day.
Ugh.
Listen: I do not associate with the “hipster” culture, where anyone who’s not in the “know” of the original…whatever…is just not worth the time. Hipsters are just gatekeepers and gatekeeping is stupid. BUT. I also think mis-branding ain’t right. Like, if you’re going to make rum punch, just call it a rum punch. Or, better yet: come up with your own kitschy name for it. Shit, coming up with your own kitschy name may actually be a better marketing tool.
Don’t call a “Cuban sandwich” a “Cuban” if you put anything other than (1) ham, (2) pork, (3) Swiss cheese, (4) yellow mustard, and (5) pickles on it, because if you do, IT’S NOT A FUCKING CUBAN SANDWICH; it’s a sub, and I will fight anyone who postures otherwise.
Don’t call it a “Mai Tai” if you’re going to put random fruit juices in it. I went to what I thought was one of the more established beach bars in the area and they gave me rum-flavored orange juice, stuck an unnaturally red cherry in it and called it a “Mai Tai,” like some sort of Wish version of an otherwise classic cocktail, and I swear I almost threw it in the bartender’s face. It was essentially a rum screwdriver I paid $14 for. Listen, Trader Vic worked REALLY hard to come up with these amazing cocktails, and it seems almost sacrilege to fuck with it and try to pass it off as what Vic originally intended.
And it’s usually no use trying to explain the concept of a Mai Tai to over-worked, over-stressed bartenders. In fact, I do not recommend you attempt to do so. Nor do I recommend throwing your cocktail in the bartender’s face. Just know your bar, and if you don’t have one that understands, just make it at home—it ain’t hard. And before you get on my ass about the rum Vic used to use, stop. If an ingredient is literally no longer in production, allowing an otherwise fantastic drink to die with it is absurd. Hell, I couldn’t even give two shits what kind of rum you use here. Makes more sense to use a flavorful one, given the format of the drink (it’s supposed to highlight the rum), but if you want to use Calypso, go for it—just be prepared for a big gross. But if you add any kind of juice that’s not lime, I will find you; and I will judge you. Loudly.
INGREDIENTS
2 ounces aged pot still or blended rum
3/4 ounce lime juice
1/2 ounce orange curaçao
1/4 ounce Orgeat
1/4 ounce rich (two-to-one ratio) Demerara syrup
INSTRUCTIONS
1. Prepare your glass. One thing about the Tiki genre is the presentation: it is almost as important as the ingredients. For this drink, mint plays a substantial role in the drinking experience. As you sip, you get nose-fulls of mint, which alter your perception of the flavor of the drink. Scent is an absurdly high percentage of how you perceive taste. So here we go:
a. Ready your mint: trim the stems and place it in water to freshen up
b. Rinse your filthy cherry—don’t want any excess syrup mucking shit up
c. Save your lime halves!
d. Grab some good quality crushed ice. You can either make it yourself with one of those ice bags and a mallet, or you can just go to Chick Fil-A or Sonic and ask for a cup of ice.
2. For the limes, you’ll need one of those citrus presses that turns the lime half almost inside-out, creating a little cup. This is where you’re going to put the cherry. Or if you’re really feeling fancy, a sugar cube soaked with 151 which you’ll light on fire.
3. In a shaker filled with ice (need not be crushed), add the rum, orgeat, lime juice, curaçao, and syrups and shake for 12-15 seconds.
4. Fill your glass of choice with the crushed ice and pour the tasty elixir over top.
5. Nestle the mint on the side of the glass, and the lime cuppy-thing next to it. Place the cherry in the lime cup and enjoy.
6. Recall: this is a STRONG drink, so the crushed ice is there specifically to help dilute it a little as you drink: kinda like an Old Fashioned (see page______)
Just Jelli 