The world of the cocktail is thriving. We are in a perhaps unprecedented heyday for everything related to the world of spirits, whether it’s the inventive mixologist, the eclectic spirit revived from the past or created fresh, or the artisanal, inspired drink. Anyone with an interest in creation will find something to entice in the world of the modern cocktail…an alluring balance of serious science and sexy swagger.

With any momentous trend comes the backlash, and certainly as the mixology and creative cocktail culture has spread into “mainstream” America, the world can become a parody of itself. At its best, shaped in the hands of serious studies of past and present like Julie Reiner, Dale DeGroff, Audrey Saunders and beyond, the evolution of the cocktail is not only enjoyable to the palate but an education in American history and culture itself. It’s also no different than the culinary world…chefs who push the envelope on flavor combinations and find new riffs on old classics are celebrated with appropriate fanfare.

The backlash comes from the scene taking itself too seriously, or being re-worked inappropriately. No one would argue that a perfectly crafted cocktail—especially one of the bespoke type that happens in the best cocktail clubs throughout the country—is something both the mixologist and imbiber should spend some extra time to appreciate and absorb. But that margarita slopped together with premade mix that’s now $20 because it has a clever name and is served with a big ice cube? It’s happening more and more. It’s not special. And to discerning drinkers who are also aware of their wallets, it’s downright insulting. Serious mixologists are not so happy about it either. The growing interest in premium spirits is the upside of this world going big, but greed can kill the culture if it goes too far.

The mystery and exclusivity surrounding many of the better cocktail clubs has also created some suspicion and pushback from customers who question if it’s worth the hassle. Unmarked speakeasy-style watering holes with militant doormen and impenetrable lists complicate the situation. But here’s the question…is the kind of person who’s eager to sample premium spirits with a sense of adventure the same person who’s looking for a happy hour special made with whatever’s behind the bar the same person? Is it wrong for a serious cocktail club to make some decisions about the number of people they let in, and the level of customer? That’s assuming a lot of course…and maybe the hassle is about seeing who really wants to be there.

Is the culture of mixology taking itself too seriously? What’s your take?

The wild Douro landscape

Last week, I had the pleasure of tasting through a vertical of Chryseia, an expensive Douro wine with an international pedigree. It’s a Portuguese wine produced by a partnership between the English Symington family–owners of Dow’s, W.&J. Graham’s and Warre’s, among other Douro properties–and the French Prats family (Bruno Prats sold Château Cos d’Estournel in 1998).

I liked the wines well enough–especially the 2004 and 2007 vintages–but I have to confess to some reservations about the style, which Rupert Symington described as “trying to make a more elegant style of Douro wines.” He and Prats want the wine to come in under 14% alcohol, which has a definite impact on the wine’s character.

To me, the result comes across as something akin to reserve or restraint, which I personally find at odds with the naturally wild character of the region’s steep, rocky hillsides and gnarled old vines. One might be tempted to say it is the indigenous Portuguese varieties and extreme terroir seen through the polished winemaking of Bordeaux and the stereotypical reserve of the English.

Is it possible that those lenses, meant to sharpen and refine the focus, have done their jobs too well, creating a difference analagous to the sound quality variation debated between vinyl and compact disc? The result is a wine that excels technically, but to me lacks some of the hedonistic impact I’ve felt from several other modern Douro wines, such as Pintas, Quinta do Vale Meão, Quinta Vale Dona Maria and some of the Niepoort offerings. I want to feel the wildness and warmth of the Douro in the wine, and yet others will argue that the Chryseia expression–one of refinement and elegance–is superior.

Even Rupert Symington admits that in a blind tasting, he’s not sure people would pick Chryseia as a Douro wine. To me, that suggests an overly heavy emphasis on winemaking at the expense of terroir expression. But there’s reason to believe that is changing. Chryseia’s day-to-day winemaker is now Portuguese, replacing his French predecessor. More importantly, the 2007 and 2008 vintages show more spice and Douro character than previous vintages, while still retaining freshness and structure.

Vertical Tasting Notes

Retailing for around $55-65, Chryseia’s blend varies from year to year, but customarily consists of Touriga Nacional and Touriga Franca. Tinta Roriz was included in the 2001, and a small amount of Tinto Cão made it into the 2003. Aging is in 400-liter new French oak casks for 9-12 months.

2001: Fine and silky on the palate, with cigar box and subdued fruit on the nose, followed up by notes of cherry and sandalwood on the palate. Ready to drink. 89 points.

2003: No 2002 Chryseia was released. Full-bodied, slightly warm and rough in texture. Dried cherries, cedar and chocolate; a bit coarse and astringent on finish, but not for keeping. 87 points.

2004: Cedary and restrained fruit on the nose, but more effusive on the palate, with hints of cherry, plum and vanilla. Medium to full bodied, with a long, lush, silky finish. At peak. 93 points.

2005: Lacks the richness and depth of ’04, and shows more plummy–almost pruny–notes, yet the tannins are still fine in texture. At peak. 91 points.

2006: This is the current release in the U.S., charming for its forward cherry fruit and refined baking spices. The oak seems more subtle, hinting at almond skin. Supple and fresh on the finish. Drink now or hold. 91 points.

2007: Thick, chewy and dense, this vintage is more Port-like, yet at the same time dry and fresh. Chocolate, cedar, plum and black cherry flavors flow easily in waves, ending long and lush. Drink now or hold. 93 points.

2008: Hugely primary at this stage, with floral notes, layers of blueberry, pie spice and chocolate backed by firm tannins that should soften nicely within a couple of years. 90 points.

For the official Wine Enthusiast ratings of these wines and the very good Post Scriptum (Chryseia’s more affordable second label), as reviewed on release by European Editor Roger Voss, please visit our online Buying Guide and search on Chryseia.

The spirit that hovers over the absinthe drinker in the posters of the 19th century is portrayed as either a slavering demon or an ethereal green fairy, but in all cases the absinthe drinker is a broken-down, miserable soul. It’s the outlaw image that is partially responsible for absinthe’s resurgence today.

It may not be a demon, but there’s nothing fairy-light or shy about absinthe either: drink it straight and it’s a rugged ride; put it in a cocktail and it dominates. It’s a trickster. A demon in fairy disguise.

Absinthe is a high-alcohol (45% to 74%) spirit flavored with anise and an assortment of herbs, including grande wormwood. It is not a liqueur; there is no sugar added.

Absinthe was banned in the United States and elsewhere around 1915, more as a reaction against Europe’s bohemian culture, which had embraced it, than any documented addictions beyond standard alcohol-related problems; hallucinations and madness afflicting devoted drinkers is considered to be myth. The ban was lifted a few years ago.

There are a number of truly excellent books on absinthe. For cocktails, I can recommend A Taste for Absinthe by R. Winston Guthrie. But what I’ve found is that the spirit’s anise flavor is so assertive that it overwhelms all other ingredients in a cocktail, unless its proportion is cut to nothing. So if you love that flavor, by all means proceed. I prefer it straight, by which I mean, watered down.

I had an opportunity recently to dine with T.A. Breaux, the master distiller for Lucid Absinthe Superieure, and now the distiller for three new absinthes for Viridian Spirits. With his background in applied analytic sciences, Breaux chemically analyzed genuine vintage absinthes and then reverse-engineered them to create Lucid and the Viridian spirits; they’re the real deal.

Though I’ve tinkered with the sugar cube and the slotted spoon, I most enjoyed the result of Breaux’s even simpler method: to one part absinthe slowly pour three to five parts ice cold (important!) water. The distinctive green cloud appears and off you go.
There’s nothing wrong with the sugar cube, Breaux says, but it’s entirely optional.

By the way, the term for what absinthe does when cold water hits it and the green cloud forms is “louche.” Yes, louche. As in, disreputable.

 1. Blanquette de Limoux

Billed as the world’s oldest sparkling wine, Blanquette de Limoux comes from an out-of-the-way portion of southwest France. Containing at least 90% Mauzac–the region’s indigenous grape–it lacks the crisp, razor-edge acidity of Champagne, but offers soft, easy-drinking instead. Recommended producers: Saint-Hilaire, Sieur d’Arques, Antech-Limoux and Château Rives-Blanques. $10-20.

 2. Vin du Bugey Cerdon

It’s pink, off-dry and lightly sparkling. It’s also a throwback style of sparkling wine. The wine is bottled before it has finished fermenting, in what the French call méthode ancestrale. The yeasts continue to ferment any remaining sugar while the wine is in the bottle, generating the carbon dioxide that makes the wine sparkle. The cheerful, delicate strawberry fruit is best showcased as an apéritif. Recommended producers: Bottex, Renardat-Fâche. $15-20.

 3. FRV100

A fun win–say it in French to get the joke (eff-er-ve-cent)–from the Beaujolais region and the mind of Jean-Paul Brun. It’s sparkling Gamay made using the same méthode ancestrale as in the Jura’s Vin du Bugey Cerdon, with a similar result: frothy pink-purple bubbles ideal for a party. $20-25.

 4. Vouvray Mousseux

Made from Chenin Blanc, sparkling Vouvray is just another facet this versatile grape can express. Usually made in a brut style, with plenty of racy acidity for balance, these wines can age up to 20 years. But the variety’s hallmark hints of wet wool take on greater pungency with age, so if that doesn’t interest you, opt for young vintages. Recommended producers: Château Moncontour, Domaine Champalou, Domaine Huet L’Echansonne, Domaine Pichot. $12-25.

 5. Clairette de Die

Situated in a small offshoot of the Rhône Valley, this obscure appellation’s wines are soft, sweet sparklers comprised of at least 75% Muscat, with the remainder being Clairette. Serve them with lightly sweet, fruity desserts where their delicate floral aromas won’t be overwhelmed. Recommended producers: Caves Carod Frères, Cave Jaillance. $12-20.

 Think all of the 10 are going to be French? They probably could be, but here are some choices from other parts of the globe.

 6. Hillinger Secco

This delicately colored pink sparkler is made entirely from Pinot Noir, but Austria’s Leo Hillinger crafts it in a style reminiscent of Prosecco (hence the name). It’s soft and creamy, bursting with succulent fruit, and just barely off-dry, at 7 g/L of residual sugar (many bruts are technically sweeter). $16-24.

 7. Pelorus

Named after a locally famous dolphin, this is Cloudy Bay’s sparkling wine, a blend of Chardonnay and Pinot Noir from Marlborough, on New Zealand’s South Island. It comes in both NV and vintage models, both of which can often be mistaken for Champagne in blind tastings. It’s not inexpensive, but it convincingly makes the point that New Zealand is capable of making some awfully good bubbly. Unfortunately, it’s only intermittently available in the U.S. $NA.

 8. Jansz

Tasmania, where Jansz is located, is becoming increasingly renowned for its cool-climate wines—the biggest problem in the U.S. is often availability. Because Jansz is owned by Yalumba, it has pretty good distribution in the U.S. The brut and the brut rosé are classically styled méthode Champenoise offerings crafted from Chardonnay and Pinot Noir. I often find them a bit crisper than similarly priced California counterparts. $16-25.

 9. Gruet

Crossing the Pacific and heading inland, the Gruet family has been making méthode Champenoise wines in New Mexico for more than 20 years. The family is originally from Champagne, so they had a leg up in terms of their know-how, and that has translated into reliable Chardonnay- and Pinot Noir-based sparkling wines at reasonable prices. $14-46.

 10. Sakonnet

They make wine in Rhode Island? Yes—since 1975 in fact—and it’s a pretty good sparkling-wine house, although they also make a wide range of still wines. The entry-level sparkler is still called New England Champagne, which is like fingernails on a chalkboard, but it offers some toasty, yeasty notes and bright fruit. $15-30.

 11. Bordelet Poiré Granit

As a special bonus for those of you who’ve read this far–I’m told blogs are supposed to be short–here’s a sparkler made from pears, not grapes. Eric Bordelet’s Normandy ciders are legendary, and none more so than the Granit, made from the fruit of 300-year-old pear trees. In truth, it’s as vinous as any wine I’ve ever had–and is a sure stumper for your wine-geek friends in a blind tasting. $20.

Feel free to suggest more offbeat sparklers you’ve enjoyed in the past.

“Rum is my enemy.” I have a friend who claims that as his motto. And if you were to hear his stories of waking up in strange places, heaving all over a friend’s bed, insulting his host, punching a nun….you, too, would consider rum your enemy.

I think a lot of us have forms of alcohol that we really can’t even think about, let alone drink, so horrendous was an early experience. For me, it’s martinis. For a lot of people it’s Tequila. But I would encourage all of us to face our fears. Most of these experiences occurred in our dumb-as-a-box-of-rocks teens or twenties. You take a dirt-cheap, inferior form of the spirit, drown it in gallons of sugar-rich mixers and liqueurs and then drink it with all the heedlessness and energy of youth—if excruciating pain and embarrassment is all that results, you’re lucky. No jokes; it can be dangerous.

I’ve been introduced to higher forms of rum recently; like anejo Tequilas, they are designed to be sipped, not mixed. At the bedazzling Manhattan Cocktail Classic, held on May 14th at the New York Public Library (thousands of well dressed attendees, hundreds of bartenders and support staff, live music and costumery), two women in Caribbean finery (pic above) offered samples of a Ron Santa Teresa 1796 from Venezuela.

At RumBa in Boston I sipped Pyrat XO Reserve from Anguilla; Cruzan Blackstrap from St. Croix and Diplomatico Reserva from Venezuela. These darker rums exhibit rich molasses flavor (more than I ever thought I would like) enveloped in subtle spicing, nutty-caramel tones and soothing heat, and they go down like fiery silk.

The message isn’t that rum is back; everyone knows that. (Ye gods, even Tiki drinks are red-hot. It’s like spirits spirituality–no trend is dead forever.) And it isn’t that umbrella drinks are bad. All I want to convey is: you can sip your way to a truce with the spirits that haunt you.

What is complexity in wine? I always thought that was a pretty straightforward proposition until a recent conversation with Joe Czerwinski, Wine Enthusiast’s tasting director and my YodaVino.

We were tasting a Torres Mas la Plana ’97, a Cabernet Sauvignon from Spain. Joe admired it very much, while I had a “meh” reaction to it. We sparred for a few rounds, neither giving ground, until Joe got me to entertain this possibility: that what I took to be a relatively simple wine actually exhibited what he called integrated complexity.

A complex wine exhibits different facets in terms of aroma, flavor and mouthfeel. Some of these may even change as the aerates or warms, which can be vexing to the reviewer who wants to nail it down but a great pleasure to the private citizen who finds a new evolution every few minutes. Eventually, it will offer a character with different nuances of spice, wood or caramel-vanilla from the oak; the tannins and acidity will be present—not intrusive, but rather coaxing a galaxy of potential flavors from the fruit.

My assumption has always been that in a complex wine, those elements can be isolated and identified, pleasurably.

What Joe was suggesting is that in certain wines, many of those elements are present, but the wine itself is so well structured, so very much itself, that it’s hard to discern the component parts. And you wouldn’t necessarily want to, because what all such wines do is: they knock you out. You love them, and may not necessarily know why.

This relatively simple revelation had me rethinking some stellar wine experiences, where I was in so much thrall enjoying the wines that I was at a loss (or couldn’t be bothered) to analyze them. Heidi Barrett’s Amuse Bouche; Riccardo Cotarella’s Falesco Montiano; any wine from Domaine de la Romanée-Conti in Burgundy; a Columbia Winery Red Willow Syrah from the late David Lake.

It’s similar to the reaction you get to a work of art that moves you in a way that you can’t quite describe, moves you far beyond how you would evaluate its component parts.

Have you had a similar experience, and which wines moved the earth for you?

Well, sort of one, anyway.

I’ve been collecting wine for more than 20 years now, and I’ve heard the repeated complaints–largely from the French–about how Americans only buy wines in the greatest vintages. If we stipulate that greatest means possessing a unique combination of ripe fruit, extreme complexity, intense concentration and the ability to evolve positively over time, I’ll certainly plead guilty to that. Let me explain.

I purchase very little French wine with the idea that I will drink it in its first flush of youth. The occasional Muscadet or Sancerre, Beaujolais-Villages or Côtes du Rhône, maybe a rosé from Provence. If I want big young fruit, I’m more likely to turn to New World wines, and not pay much attention to vintage, as long as it’s recent. After all, in many of these warm-weather regions, the vintage differences are minimal.

On the other hand, most of my French purchases are made with an eye toward the future. Not for investment purposes, because I’ve never sold wine at auction, but for that magical experience of drinking a well cellared old wine at its peak of maturity.  If I want a bottle of Burgundy, Bordeaux or Rhône wine that I’m confident is going to evolve positively for 10, 20, 30 years or more, I need to buy from a top vintage.

How true this is was recently brought home by a tasting of Louis Latour Burgundies at our Westchester offices. Owner Louis-Fabrice Latour visited with small verticals of his company’s Corton-Charlemagne (white) and Château Corton Grancey (red) from 2003-2008 and 2001-2007, respectively. The standout wines of the tasting were the 2005s.

Yes, many of the other vintages produced excellent wines–the house is remarkably consistent with wines from their domaine–but none of them showed the linkage of lusciousness and longevity exhibited by these two stars. The 2008 Corton-Charlemagne, all sinewy acids, will certainly last, the 2006 Corton-Charlemagne is delicious now. Among the reds, the 2006 Château Corton Grancey is a tough, briary bird that should prove to be a survivor, while the 2002 is the next closest thing to the great 2005.

The 2005s are more expensive than their siblings, but if you want to try great grand cru Burgundies with some age on them, these are the closest you can get to sure things.

As you peruse the frenzy of coverage coming out of Bordeaux for the next week or so, consider the quality of the 2009 vintage and why you might buy those wines…

With apologies to Jeff Foxworthy, if you’d prefer drinking a bottle of ’82 Bordeaux today over the half-case of ’84 Bordeaux you drank when the wines were released, you might be a vintage snob.

If you can debate the merits of 1995 versus 1996 on the Left and Right Banks, you might be a vintage snob.

If you’ve purchased lots of Bordeaux from 2000, 2005, skipped the other vintages of this decade and are reading the 2009 reports as fast as they’re published, you might be a vintage snob.

Welcome to my world.

Once I stopped laughing, I started to really think about what it takes to be happy and successful in those endeavors (other than a ton of money in the case of starting a winery, incredible patience and a work ethic of steel). As the video spoofs, it’s not often about glam and glitter, but a serious, grass-roots devotion to creating an agricultural product that speaks of the place in which it’s grown and made. That’s no easy feat.

I turned to some sage voices in the wine business to ask them what kind of advice they would impart to a person seriously interested in pursuing a life as a winery owner or a winemaker. Here’s what they said:

“Winemakers and winery owners must have extreme passion and a huge connection to the wine. It’s a tête-à-tête relationship with a living organism, and like a human, it evolves over time. Through this personal, in-depth relationship, you’ll also get to know yourself better. Approach it artistically and do not cling too much to concrete objectives.” -Jean-Charles Boisset, owner, Boisset Family Estates

“Winery ownership is not easy. Pleasurable sometimes – but not always. Glamorous, maybe – but not as a rule. Winery owners are pretty hard. They like to go camping and sleep on the ground. They like spinach. They love young Cabernet Sauvignon. There is always a little pain to go with the pleasure. “ –Mike Ratcliffe, owner Warwick Wine Estate

“Vino is mother nature’s precious gift but to produce a beautiful wine is only one step in the process. The challenge is to get the fruit of your labor onto the tables of wine lovers across the globe. In a world full of great wine and thousands of labels, the focus is not on the wine you want to make but one that consumers will enjoy. Next, how to bring it to market with great value? Making and sharing wine is romantic but achieving distribution, brand building, marketing, and investing time, resources and finances is decidedly less so. Worth the ride? Yes, by the glassful!” –Cristina Mariani-May, owner, Banfi Vintners and Castello Banfi

“My advice to an aspiring winemaker? Know what you want. Are you interested in Chardonnay, Sangiovese, Pinot Noir or Verdelho? To make volumes of good wine; or small amounts of great wine? Do you want to incorporate both the vineyard and the winery? Go work at a winery doing what you aspire to do. And work overseas, too. To an aspiring winery owner: First, know how to sell the wines you want to make. Find the best site to make them. Focus on vineyards that can produce them. Use your capital carefully. Or, buy a winery that does what you want, and manage it carefully. For most, winery success requires persistance.” -Zelma Long, pioneering California winemaker and winemaker for Vilafonté Winery

“You must really love and be passionate about what you do, otherwise when the hours get long you will start to hate the job. It definitely is not a 9-5 job (more of a 5 -9 and that is on a good day in the harvest). Be prepared to put in many extra hours, not only during the vintage (6-8 weeks of the year) or when one needs to blend and bottle a wine, but when marketing and promoting your wines throughout the rest of the year. The upside of the job: all of the above if you love wine and live and breathe it, as well as the ability to travel for and with your wines. We have met wonderful people and made many friends through the common bond of wine. Wine is beautiful! –Cathy Jordan, Owner, Jordan (Jardin) Wines

What in your mind is the right approach for the aspiring winemaker or winery owner? Is it more grit than glamour, or a romantic ride?

Every year, I review Israeli wines for the April issue of our magazine. I do this because the majority of wines from Israel are Kosher, and a lot of Kosher wine is purchased and consumed in the month of April for the Jewish holiday Passover (September is also a busy season for the category with the High Holy Days including Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur). Every year, I have noticed an improvement over the previous vintage, and marvel at the fact that some fabulous winemakers are creating beautiful stuff that too many people are unfamiliar with.

Enter Gil Shatsberg. Last week, I had the pleasure of meeting with one of the most prominent Israeli winemakers, Mr. Shatsberg, and his beautiful wife Tamar. Shatsberg, who has been the winemaker for Recanati since 2008, has also managed and produced the wine for seven years at critically acclaimed Amphorae Vineyard. After studying Viticulture & Enology at UC Davis, graduating with honors in 1993 and working as assistant winemaker for Jordan Winery in California, Shatsberg decided to relocate back to Israel. He spent six years as winemaker at Carmel, then joined Amphorae, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Established in 2000, Recanati is the realized life-long dream of Lenny Recanati, an international banker and wine lover from childhood, when his parents produced wine from grapes grown in their backyards in Israel. Today, as one of the largest wineries in the country and an international standard for quality Israeli wines, Recanati is one of the most established Israeli brands here in the states.

During dinner, I had the opportunity to taste through some of the newest releases from the winery, including the exquisite 2008 Reserve Chardonnay (a single-vineyard wine) and the vibrant 2007 Petite Sirah-Zinfandel. Both remarkably balanced and showing exceptionally well, they were fantastic food-friendly offerings that left me wondering how many people would even know that these wines were Kosher. Soft, approachable and immensely enjoyable, how many people’s minds would I blow if I showed up to their Passover seder with a bottle of these wines as opposed to the sweet stuff so many are accustomed to suffering through?

But why then, I wonder, when you say the word “Israeli wine” to most people, do they automatically retort, “Oh, Kosher wine? Like Manischewitz?” Why have so many people not explored the wines of the country as a whole, delegating the offerings only to when specific holidays arise where Kosher wine is required? There are not many areas of the industry that define a wine by the technique in which it was made as opposed to the place from which it came.

It’s a tricky segment of the industry that has its pros and cons. On one side, of course Israeli winemakers want to be known as producing world-class wines, not just Kosher wines, that could stand proudly next to some of the most established and sought-after wines. On the other hand, they certainly are not too quick to dismiss or even downplay the fact that their wines are Kosher, as they know they have a dedicated base that constantly relies on their product for religious purposes and would not want to detract from that consumer group. So, the question is how to get the best of both worlds.

“We’re far from defining what Israeli wine is,” notes Shatsberg. “It’s a long process. We’re now defining where we want to go. A major change occurred when the industry stabilized, making good industrial wine without flaws… now we have to make it significant. People are more exposed and demand better; the audience has a major role in creating the way for the industry.”

And indeed, the wines keep getting better and better, and hopefully one day people will understand the true merit of Israeli wine without regard to its religious affiliation.

There’s widespread dispute about how the formal concept of the cocktail was born. The name, according to researchers, possibly came from a Revolutionary War-era American innkeeper named Betsy Flanagan, who joked with her American and French patrons about serving a roast chicken feast with birds stolen from her English chicken farmer neighbor. Legend has it that goading finally did the trick; Flanagan served the chicken, and when diners moved to the bar, she garnished their drinks with tail feathers from the enemy chickens. The resulting “cock tail” drink name spread quickly.

That’s not to say the mixed spirit drink was previously unknown; the Mojitio, today made using white rum, sugar cane juice, lime, mint and carbonated water, was popular among Cuban pirates in the 16th century. More crudely fashioned with mint, lime, rum and sugar, the drink was called “El Draque” after Sir Francis Drake and was created to tone down the bite of the more rustic rum used at the time.

The refreshing gin and tonic was originally created with a more medicinal purpose in mind: concocted by the 18th century army of the British East India Company in India, the drink contained quinine, used to prevent malaria. The bitter bite of the tonic of the time was matched by green notes of gin, making it more palatable.

The French 75, a still-popular cocktail made from Cognac, Champagne, lemon juice and sugar was originally conceived by World War I flying ace Raoul Lufbery. Lufbery wanted his Champagne with a kick and the drink was named after the French 75mm howitzer artillery piece. Whether French soldiers heading to battle had a nip of it to boost courage as is reputed is debatable, but the French 75 gained popularity among civilians quickly after the war and remains a favorite sip to this day internationally.

The Prohibition Era in the 1930s spawned myriad cocktails, some of them good enough to become classics, some of them downright appalling. The Bees Knees, a mixture of gin, honey and lemon, was one to last: easy to throw together and with minimal ingredients, the illegal cocktail featured honey–added to kill the smell of alcohol.

Have a favorite historic cocktail you’d like to share? Tell us about it!