Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. This week, let’s zoom out a little bit and take a look at the big picture when it comes to bartending. Instead of focusing on one drink, I’m going to talk you through the process of coming up with a bespoke cocktail from scratch. How do I make a drink for a customer based on something as simple as “something spicy” or “A bourbon drink”? How do you make a cocktail for yourself based on what you keep in the house? Let’s walk through making a bespoke cocktail. And yes, I’ll give you a recipe to play with — I wouldn’t leave you in the lurch after a week like this. Try this:

<Cocktail Name Goes Here>

2 oz bison grass vodka

¾ oz lemon juice

½ oz Canton ginger liquor

¼ oz pineapple syrup

¼ oz passionfruit syrup

Shake and strain into a Nick and Nora glass. Garnish with a rosemary sprig.

It’s 4:15 on a rainy Wednesday. We’ve got twenty reservations on the books. Not a night for walk-in traffic. Slow, but not dead. The first customers of the night are two saleswomen complaining about their territories. One woman orders a showstopper of a drink — the Burlesque Martini. Tommy wrote this as an upscale version of the Porn Star Martini, and boy howdy does it deliver. Bison grass vodka, a custom hibiscus cordial, passionfruit syrup, lemon, all served with a shot of champagne and a flaming lime wheel. (No, I don’t have the recipe. Come see me at Hemingway’s and Tommy will make one for you.)

After that one’s over, the saleswoman looks me and says, “I liked the base spirit of this drink. Can you make me something else with it?” It’s the perfect time to make something from scratch. I crack my knuckles and get to work.

I’ve been working my way through The Cocktail Codex (Wonkette affiliate link!), a book from Death & Co. The central thesis of this book is that there are only six cocktails: the old-fashioned, the martini, the daiquiri, the margarita, the highball, and the flip. Every cocktail recipe is a riff or variation of those six core drinks. I was dubious at first, but I’m coming around to their point of view. On a practical level, this approach gives me a starting point whenever I make a drink from scratch. In this case, I’m going to be making a restrained “margarita” that leans into the inherent spiciness of bison grass vodka.

Bison grass vodka has a subtle, herbaceous flavor. It’s spicy like cilantro, rather than pepper. Ginger is a good complement to that spiciness. The ginger liquor is sweet, so we need some acid to balance the drink. Lemon and ginger play nicely together. I know from experience that a 3:4 ratio of acid to sugar makes a solid margarita. So far, so good. But I don’t want the ginger to overwhelm the cocktail. What else can we use to keep the drink focused on bison grass?

One of the advantages I have at my bar is the number of syrups and acids I have at my disposal. Offhand, I’ve got syrups behind the bar and five different acidic components to play with. I love pineapple syrup as a secondary flavor in drinks. In tiny amounts, it doesn’t read as “pineapple,” but it provides a little more depth and character than plain sugar syrup. Ditto passion fruit syrup — there’s some richness there that you can’t quite identify but provides body. Two parts ginger, one part pineapple, one part passion fruit. That’s a full ounce of sugar vs. ¾ oz of lemon.

I’m tempted to add a little soda water to lengthen the cocktail, but after I taste the drink and consult with Tommy, I decide to serve it neat in a Nick and Nora glass. Garnishing a bespoke drink like this can be tricky, but a little rosemary clipped to the side of the drink works here. It provides an herbal scent that complements the bison grass. Our saleswoman loved it.

Let’s talk ingredients, but in a general sort of way. It doesn’t matter what I used so much as why I used it.

Bison Grass vodka: Bison grass vodka is a different beast from Tito’s. It’s a grassy, herbal spirit that barely resembles American vodka. The customer specifically asked for bison grass vodka, so all our decisions revolve around that choice. If you’re rummaging through your liquor cabinet trying to make a cocktail from scratch, necessity will probably dictate your choice of base spirit.

Canton ginger liquor: This is what makes this drink a margarita — if we used syrup, but no spirit, to sweeten the drink it would be a daiquiri. Orange and tequila are great together — that’s a classic margarita. In this case, bison grass and ginger paired up well. What’s the sugary stuff in your liquor cabinet? Got some creme de cacao from a chocolate margarita last Valentine’s Day? Chocolate and rum love each other. So do chocolate and whiskey. Pick a second bottle from the liquor cabinet that pairs well with the first.

Other Syrups: I’ve got a lot of sweet syrups at the bar. But then again, so do you. Maple syrup, honey, sugar that you can melt in a little water — all these work as cocktail components. Layered flavors make great drinks. Be creative. Put things in a glass that would taste good together.

Lemon Juice: I use lemon juice or lime juice in 75 percent of my cocktails. But I’ve got grapefruit juice and pineapple juice to play with as well. Use what you’ve got and see if you like it. Remember, a 3:4 ratio of acid to sugar works (but adjust to your taste). You’ve got this. I believe in you. Drink well.

My home bar is Hemingway’s Underground, the hottest cocktail bar in pretty little Medina, Ohio. I’m behind the stick Wednesday-Saturday, 4-10. Last call’s at midnight. Swing on by, and I’ll make a drink for you… or anything else from our little Happy Hour here at Wonkette. We’ll make it through this together.

OPEN THREAD!

Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. Okay, you chuckleheads, you asked for it, and I’m delivering. Let’s make a bittersweet, refreshing low ABV sipper for warming weather, something perfect for late spring in 2026. Time for a Straight of Vermouth. Here’s the recipe.

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Straight of Vermouth

1 ½ oz Orange-infused Aperol

½ oz Carpano Dry Vermouth

¼ oz lemon juice

Fevertree club soda

Open the bottle of Aperol. Pour 1 1/2 oz of Aperol into a chilled Collins glass. Close the bottle of Aperol.

Open the bottle of vermouth. Pour ½ oz of vermouth into the glass. Close the bottle of vermouth.

Add lemon juice and soda. Stir gently. Sip well.

Orange-infused Aperol

3 oranges

750 ml Aperol (1 bottle)

Peel the oranges, retaining as little white pith as possible. Add the orange peels to the Aperol. Let rest in a cool, dark place for one week. Strain and keep in a cool place.

Ever since mankind began making wine, we’ve added things to it to make it taste better. Wormwood has been part of the recipe, on and off, for most of that history. Bad wine is often too sweet; a bittering agent like wormwood can balance out the sweetness and give the wine some bite. Vermouth as we know it was created by Antonio Beneditto Carpano in 1786; he decided to use some decent wine instead of cheap swill, balance out the herbs properly, and sell the wormwood wine — or “Wermut” — to the Germans. It became the darling of the Savoy aristocracy, who spoke French and translated the word to “Vermouth.” (Fun fact: In Swedish, “Wermut” translates to “Malort.” Ponder the implications at your leisure.)

I cannot emphasize this enough: Vermouth is not liquor. It is not meant to be stored at room temperature. Put it in the fridge, or it gets stale and nasty. America has rejected properly made martinis for decades because bad bars neglect their vermouth. A properly made martini is made with vermouth. Try fresh vermouth in your cocktails. You’ll enjoy it.

This particular cocktail is a riff on the Americano, an Italian drink that’s been popular with American tourists since 1860. It’s also the antecedent of the Negroni, a favorite cocktail of mine. Count Negroni replaced the soda water with gin for his namesake drink, and the world has never been the same.

There are several fortified wines out there that play differently from ordinary vermouth. Suze, Cocci Americano, and Lillet Blanc all come to mind; none of them use wormwood as a primary ingredient. I’d heartily recommend experimenting with these to build your own version of the cocktail. “The Strait of Suze” doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, sadly.

Swapping the Campari for Aperol in this glass brings it fairly close to an Aperol spritz, a truly glorious summer cocktail. As much as I love spritzes, I do find them a bit sweet at times. The dry vermouth definitely adds a bittersweet note here, making it a more grown-up drink than a normal spritz.

No matter the cocktail’s roots, the drink is great for when you need to spend a leisurely afternoon ignoring your phone and soaking up the sunshine. Take life’s pleasures where you can find them.

Let’s talk ingredients:

Orange-infused Aperol: I had this ingredient hanging out in my liquor cabinet after my 216 Tiger Soda project. It seemed a waste not to use it again for the summer. By all means, use off-the-shelf Aperol for this cocktail if you don’t want to wait a week. If you are an Aperol spritz fan, however, I would highly recommend making the orange-infused stuff. It’s a serious treat.

Dry vermouth: Sweet vermouth is a solid choice here, but I found it a touch too jammy and thick for a summer cocktail. Dry vermouth cuts through the Aperol and provides a bitter backbone for a drink that would otherwise resemble an alcoholic Jarrito. If you’re sensitized to the taste of wormwood, you can pick it out in the finish of the cocktail. I’ve done far, far too many Malort shots at Hemingway’s not to notice it. Lord help me, I’m beginning to like it.

Lemon juice: ¼ ounce is optimistic. Squeeze a lemon wedge over the cocktail and you’ll be fine.

Fevertree Club Soda: I own a Sodastream, and it does the job, but Fevertree club soda has a touch of salt that makes the other flavors in the cocktail pop. Use your soda water or club soda of choice. Ideally, keep it in the fridge — it’s more effervescent that way.

My home bar is Hemingway’s Underground, the hottest cocktail bar in pretty little Medina, Ohio. I’m behind the stick Wednesday-Saturday, 4-10. Last call’s at midnight. Swing on by, and I’ll make a drink for you… or anything else from our little Happy Hour here at Wonkette. We’ll make it through this together.

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Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. Wednesday was National Painkiller Day, and I have some Big Feelings about this tasty pina colada variation. It’s a lovely drink, but there’s some nasty history behind it. And in 2026, I’m not in the mood to excuse it anymore. Let’s make a Painkiller Brain Driller and talk about Pusser’s Rum in unflattering terms.

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Painkiller Brain Driller

1.5 oz Pusser’s Rum Planteray Mister Fogg Navy Rum

3 oz pineapple juice

½ oz orange juice

½ oz Coco Real creme de coconut

Fresh grated nutmeg

Shake all ingredients. Strain into an iced rocks glass. Garnish with fresh nutmeg, a lime wheel, and a cherry.

The Painkiller was created in 1970 by Daphne Henderson, chief bartender of The Soggy Dollar, a swim-up bar in the Virgin Islands. Charles Tobias, the owner of Pusser’s Rum, sharked his way up the bar one evening and asked Daphne for the recipe. She told him no. He persisted. She told him to go jump back into the ocean. He came back. He drank many more Painkillers. He reverse-engineered the recipe. According to Mr. Tobias, he held a taste test at the Soggy Dollar, with his version being judged superior to Ms. Henderson’s by popular acclaim. Considering that the Soggy Dollar was a six-seat bar at the time, I’m dubious.

That behavior’s sleazy enough on its own. But then Mr. Tobias has the unmitigated gall to trademark the recipe. And they have been very, very aggressive in defending said trademark. PKNY Bar in New York was forced to close after Pusser’s forced them to stop making non-Pusser’s Painkillers. I’ll be fair and admit that Pusser’s does a ton of promotional work for tiki bars that sell Painkillers. They showered Tiki Underground with mugs, merch, and advertising for events like National Painkiller Day. I cranked out about 10 Painkillers at Hemingway’s on Wednesday (and we absolutely do make our Painkillers with Pusser’s Rum at Hemingway’s, please and thank you). But no matter how much goodwill Pusser’s Rum tries to buy from the tiki community, I can’t quite find it in my heart to forgive Mr. Tobias for being such a scumbag.

It doesn’t help that the Painkiller is a really, really tasty cocktail. The Painkiller takes the bones of the Pina Colada and adds some orange juice for a touch of sweetness. It’s the grated nutmeg that really takes this drink over the top. The scent of this classic baking spice on top of the rich rum and pineapple brings a whole new dimension to a drink that would otherwise be sweet and cloying.

It also doesn’t help that Pusser’s is a really tasty rum. It is, according to Mr. Vane, an authentic representation of British Navy rum. He did do the research, and Pusser’s makes an annual contribution to the charitable arm of the British Navy for the right to call it “Navy Rum.” The recipe has changed several times since Mr. Vane left Pusser’s rum, but it’s still the most accurate representation of the rum British sailors drink for the daily grog in the Age of Sail.

Or at least it was, until Planteray contacted Michael Fogg, one of the last surviving sources for information on authentic British Navy rum. A great deal of research and testing later, Planteray released its own expression of British Navy Rum. I tasted it side by side with Pusser’s, and while Pusser’s has some great caramel flavors, the Planteray Mr. Fogg explodes with butterscotch and caramel notes. Grab some and make a Not-Painkiller. Here’s hoping Charles Tobias twitches a bit in his grave when you do.

Let’s talk ingredients:

Planteray Mr. Fogg Navy Rum: Okay, this bottle isn’t easy to find, and it’s a bit pricey. Go ahead and get some Pusser’s if you must. Or use Hamilton 86, another great Demerara rum. But Mount Gay won’t do here, let alone Bacardi.

Pineapple Juice: I used canned instead of fresh. Fresh pineapple is too acidic for most cocktail making. The little cans from Dole are perfect for cocktail work.

Creme de Coconut: Do not buy canned coconut cream for this; it’s a completely different product. Creme de coconut comes in a squeeze bottle and is basically coconut frosting. It’s absolutely delicious and adds lots of thickness and body to a cocktail. At Hemingway’s, we use Giffard Coconut Syrup.

Orange juice: Fresh is great. Bottled juice is okay in a pinch. I used bottled juice because I had some in the fridge.

Nutmeg: Absolutely, use fresh. Pre-grated powder from a McCormick’s jar is nowhere near as good.

My home bar is Hemingway’s Underground, the hottest cocktail bar in pretty little Medina, Ohio. I’m behind the stick Wednesday-Saturday, 4-10. Last call’s at midnight. Swing on by, and I’ll make a drink for you… or anything else from our little Happy Hour here at Wonkette. We’ll make it through this together.

OPEN THREAD!

Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. God, it’s been a week, hasn’t it? I was planning to write this column early in the week, and then … stuff happened.

The news has been cause to drink for far, far too long. I am blessed to have this column, and my job at Hemingway’s, to keep me sane. When life gets tough, I fall back on some fundamental truths. The sun will come up in the morning. I have a wife and daughter who love me. And a margarita is a really, really good drink. Let’s make some. Here’s the recipe.

Mezcalita

1 ½ oz Del Maguey Vida Mezcal

¾ oz fresh lime juice

½ oz Cointreau

¼ oz agave syrup

3-5 drops saline

Shake all ingredients over ice. Strain into an iced rocks glass. Garnish with a salted lime wheel.

The recipe for a margarita is delightfully flexible. You can add just about anything to a margarita, and it won’t falter. Pineapple juice? Sure. Blood orange juice? Awesome. Chocolate? Go for it. Tequila and agave love citrus. Add whatever floats your boat to a ‘rita. It’ll still taste great.

I’m using mezcal in my margarita for two reasons. One, I like the smoky earthiness of mezcal. The barbecue notes in front of the salty fruitiness of a margarita add dimension and body to an already great drink. Two, tequila is a hot mess right now. And it doesn’t promise to get any better.

To review: A few months ago, a coalition of agave farmers sued Diageo Spirits. They claimed that Casamigos and Don Julio tequila — spirits that had been certified as 100 percent blue agave by Mexico’s governing body — were less than pure. According to chemical tests, they might be less than 30 percent tequila, which means they aren’t tequila at all. Which is scummy but not entirely surprising to tequila fans; Casamigos blanco reeks of vanilla and additives when you know what to look for. But the idea that the Mexican government has been lying to all of us about what’s in tequila … well, they certify all of the tequila coming into America. The whole thing might be a lie.

It gets worse. The literal mayor of Tequila was arrested for extortion and cartel ties. Jalisco province, the home of tequila, is a warzone between the cartels and the Mexican government. Every time I look at the news regarding tequila, I feel worried and uncertain. On a week like this, it doesn’t help.

So: mezcal. Made outside of Jalisco. Made in small batches, by people who still love the craft. Funkier. Smokier. Edgier. And, maybe, a little less stressful. It’s a challenge to find peace in tough times, but with some care and thought, it might be possible. At least, I hope so. I’ll drink several mezcalitas and let you know how I feel about all of this after. Feel free to join me.

Let’s talk ingredients:

Del Maguey Vida Mezcal: Del Maguey breaks down its mezcal by the village where the agave originates, which gives me a little more confidence that it’s the real deal. Peloton de la Muerte is another mezcal brand that I have faith in. If you aren’t a smoke fan, I know that Lalo tequila is as pure as it gets. Beyond that … it’s all a toss-up. Drink what tastes good. If the lawsuits are correct, Casamigos is less of a tequila than Jose Cuervo, the spirit I’ve often derided as “the devil’s armpit squeezings.” I don’t know what to believe anymore.

Lime Juice: I do know that fresh lime juice is good in tequila. Plastic limes provide plastic juice. Use the good stuff.

Cointreau: A bright, solid orange liquor will always provide the backbone for a good margarita. Cointreau is the gold standard. The cheap triple sec used in the Mexican cantinas tastes like Orange Crush; skip it. Stirrings organic triple sec is an acceptable substitute at half the price.

Agave Syrup: Agave is less sweet than sugar, so balancing the sweetness levels in a margarita can be challenging. I like my margaritas tart, and this recipe reflects that. Feel free to increase the agave syrup by a quarter ounce or more to suit your palate.

Saline: Roughly 10:1 water-to-sea salt; skip the iodized stuff. Tequila loves salt. Salt rims are a sludgy, irregular way to add salt to your drink. We never do salted rims at Hemingway’s. Add your salt directly to the drink, where it belongs.

My home bar is Hemingway’s Underground, the hottest cocktail bar in pretty little Medina, Ohio. I’m behind the stick Wednesday-Saturday, 4-10. Last call’s at midnight. Swing on by, and I’ll make a drink for you … or anything else from our little Happy Hour here at Wonkette. We’ll make it through this together.

OPEN THREAD!

Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. I have been yearning to write a light, delicate, springlike cocktail for this column — something gentle and festive for the season. The news and the weather have consistently crushed my dreams. No more. We’re drinking a shiny, happy champagne cocktail for Easter weekend, dammit. Let’s make a Blue Horizon. Here’s the recipe.

Blue Horizon

3-4 oz Brut sparkling wine

1 ½ oz Empress 1908 Indigo Gin

¾ oz honey syrup

¾ oz lemon juice

Stir the honey syrup and lemon juice in a cocktail shaker. Pour into a champagne flute and top with prosecco, leaving room for the gin. Slowly layer the gin over the cocktail. Top with a lavender champagne cocktail air and an edible flower.

Lavender Champagne Air

3 g sucrose esters

7 oz prosecco

3 oz creme de violette

Using a milk frother, combine the esters, prosecco, and creme de violette in a wide-mouthed beaker. Aerate the liquid with a fish tank bubbler. Scoop off the foam as needed for a garnish. Aerate the liquid as needed to generate more foam.

Yes. It’s come to this. It’s 2026, and Hooper is telling you how to make the air on top of the cocktail from scratch.

An explanation is probably in order. Many cocktails finish the drink with a frothy head. Egg white cocktails, like the infamous Ramos Gin Fizz, are a prime example. But different foams have different purposes. Egg whites add a silky smooth mouthfeel to a drink. A whipped cream topping is a treat in itself. A cocktail “air” is a light, tasteless pile of bubbles that uses sucrose esters as a foaming agent. I know, scary chemical name — it’s a palm oil derivative, it’s perfectly safe. This stuff will turn any liquid into a foam with the consistency and body of shaving cream.

Ok, but ... why? Aroma. When you bring this drink to your mouth, the scent of champagne and violets is overwhelming. It’s like having a glass of champagne with a glorious head of sparkling fizz, only the fizz never dies down, and somehow the champagne smells like flowers. The drink tastes good, but the cocktail air makes it smell like heaven, and scent is an integral component of taste.

No, you do not have to create air from scratch to enjoy this drink. Skip that bit. Seriously, I know that 99 percent of you wouldn’t even consider it. I’m showing it off because it took weeks to get the foam’s consistency right, and I’m kind of proud of it. When you go to a great cocktail bar like Hemingway’s, and you see “cocktail air” on the bar menu, you can explain it to your date with a knowledgeable smirk on your face. How the rest of your date progresses from there is up to you, but at least I’ve given you a leg up on it.

The air isn’t the only sorcery in this glass. Empress 1908 Indigo gin is infused with pea blossom tea, which changes color from purple to blue when the pH is low enough. Stir this cocktail after service, and the purple head on the drink transforms into a glass of sky-blue goodness. The gin’s quite tasty in its own right as well. We haven’t had enough pleasant surprises this year. This cocktail is probably a good place to start.

Let’s talk ingredients:

Brut sparkling wine: I like a less-sweet cocktail, so I prefer Brut here. Prosecco is perfectly fine, however. Drink what you like.

Empress 1908 Indigo Gin: You could use another gin here, but if you do, don’t bother layering it on top of the cocktail. Mix it with the lemon and honey — you’ll have a perfectly nice Bee’s Knees cocktail, and drinking it will make you happy.

Honey Syrup: 50/50 water and honey, mixed until smooth. Without dilution, the honey is too thick to be usable. An organic or single-source honey would be nice here, but I’m not convinced you could taste the difference in this drink.

Lemon juice: Always fresh. Accept no substitutes.

Lavender Champagne Air: It’s important to mix the esters thoroughly into the liquid. A battery-powered milk frother will do the trick, but in a pinch, stirring the fluid well will get the job done. I used a $30 battery powered aquarium bubbler with a stone tip to generate the bubbles; it works like a dream.

My home bar is Hemingway’s Underground, the hottest cocktail bar in pretty little Medina, Ohio. I’m behind the stick Wednesday-Saturday, 4-10. Last call’s at midnight. Swing on by, and I’ll make a drink for you … or anything else from our little Happy Hour here at Wonkette.

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Tip your Wonkette!

Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. Sometimes, I write a cocktail because I’ve found a flavor combination I want to explore. Sometimes, I talk about a classic cocktail to reconnect with the fundamentals. Sometimes, I want to explore a new mixology technique. And sometimes, I write a cocktail because Hemingway’s was gifted with a monstrosity by a well-meaning distributor, and we need to use it up. This is one of those moments. Let’s enjoy a Viva Las Vegas. Here’s the recipe.

Viva Las Vegas

1 oz Chica Chida Peanut Butter Agave Spirit

1 oz creme de banana

1 oz Peloton de la Muerte mezcal

3-4 shakes cocoa bitters

Splash of Malort

Pour the Malort into a Nick and Nora glass. Swirl until the interior of the glass is coated with Malort. Discard any remaining Malort. Shake the remaining ingredients. Strain into the prepared Nick and Nora and garnish with an edible flower.

I … have no idea what Chica Chida is. It’s labeled as an “agave spirit,” so it isn’t tequila per se. That’s not a surprise, actually — real tequila is supposed to be additive-free. It doesn’t have any actual peanuts in it. (Allergen-free, yay!) It’s pretty tasty, but the sugar levels are through the roof. I’d expect that from most sweetened liquors — Skrewball and Fireball are both sugar bombs.

I will note that the Mexican government permits distillers to craft tequila that’s 99 percent additive free and sell it as 100 percent tequila. There’s a lot of room for mischief in that one percent. Some “100 percent blue agave” tequilas out there are doctored with sucrose, caramel color, and Lord knows what else. Any tequila with a strong vanilla note makes me suspicious (looking at you, Milagro. We aren’t on speaking terms, Casamigos). If you want the real-deal stuff, stick with distillers like Tres Agaves or Lalo, who’ve made a commitment to quality. This Chica Chida stuff isn’t even pretending to be quality tequila. The honesty is refreshing. The liqueur is not.

Reviews on this product are, to put it kindly, mixed. The tequila industry isn’t fond of celebrity tequilas, like Casamigos or Teremana (tequilas backed by George Clooney and Dwayne Johnson, respectively). This stuff is sponsored by Caleb Pressley, a comedian formerly with Barstool Sports. No idea who he is. Not encouraging.

This spirit is easy to take shots with, but difficult to turn into a cocktail. That sugar has to be tamed to make the stuff drinkable. Adding some mezcal helps. Adding some creme de banana does not. Banana liqueur — any liqueur, for that matter — has a high sugar content. We need to counteract that sweetness somehow, but the flavor profile we’re building for this drink — Elvis’s classic grilled peanut butter and banana sandwich — doesn’t really cooperate with an acid like lemon or lime juice.

That’s why we’re using a very, very small amount of Malort in this cocktail. I know, I know. Malort is … Malort. The nastiest, bitterest thing you can find in the liquor cabinet. But I’ve been coming around to the notion that it has a place in the cocktail world other than as a cheap dare. Malort is unspeakably bitter. But at the end of the day, bitter is a flavor, and one that can balance out sweetness rather nicely. Most of the Malort cocktails I’ve worked with have an extremely sweet base. My own Regrettable Tattoo has passion fruit syrup as a base; one of my partners at the bar runs a “Chicago Cherry” cocktail that uses the syrup from a Luxardo cherry jar as a primary component. Many classic cocktails use lemon or lime juice to make a sour-sweet drink; why not a bittersweet cocktail?

The end result is a cocktail that starts off like a dessert, with strong peanut butter and banana notes. The agave hits in the middle of the cocktail, and you’re left with a lingering, somewhat uncomfortable bitter finish that encourages you to take another sip to clean your palate. Definitely a cocktail fit for a King, baby.

Let’s talk ingredients:

Chica Chida Peanut Butter Agave Spirit: If you can’t find this at the liquor store … well, it’s not a great loss. Skrewball is a peanut butter-flavored whiskey that’s everywhere. Use that. Note that Skrewball does include peanuts, so be mindful of allergies.

Peloton de la Muerte Mezcal: A mezcal with strong agave notes helps remind Chica Chida what it’s supposed to do with its life, and the smokiness of mezcal leans towards the bacon in Elvis’s sandwich of choice. Swap in a nice rye whiskey instead of tequila if you’re going the Skrewball route.

Banana liqueur: We use Gifard at the bar; it’s the gold standard. 99 Bananas is cheaper, easier to find, and probably more appropriate in this glass.

Cocoa Bitters: Chocolate plays well with peanut butter, banana, and tequila, and the bitters help meld the disparate flavors in the glass.

Malort: There is no substitute for Malort. Be grateful.

My home bar is Hemingway’s Underground, the hottest cocktail bar in pretty little Medina, Ohio. I’m behind the stick Wednesday-Saturday, 4-10. Last call’s at midnight. Swing on by, and I’ll make a drink for you… or anything else from our little Happy Hour here at Wonkette.

OPEN THREAD!

Tip your Wonkette!

Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. Last week in Ohio, we had an epic bar crawl. Then we had 70-degree weather. Then we had wind, snow, 20-degree weather, and an asteroid. I should know better than to hope for an early spring by now. Ohio takes a perverse joy in raising your hopes for good weather before crashing back to earth. I got mad, I sulked, I wrote a cocktail about it. Let’s enjoy a False Spring together while it lasts. Here’s the recipe.

False Spring

2 oz Another Hendrick’s Gin

1 oz Creme de Cacao

¾ oz fresh lime juice

1 dash cocoa bitters

Orange blossom water

Splash a small amount of orange blossom water into a Nick and Nora or small coupe glass. Swirl the orange blossom water until the inside of the glass is thoroughly coated, then discard the excess. Shake the remaining ingredients in an iced cocktail shaker. Double strain into the Nick and Nora glass. Garnish with a mint leaf.

I know that some of you out there are still gin-averse. I’ve tried explaining that we’re well past the age of Beefeater and Tanqueray. Gin does not resemble drinking Pine-Sol anymore. Lesly Gracie cracked the formula in 1999 when she distilled the original Hendrick’s Gin. This cucumber and rose concoction opened everyone’s eyes. Gin didn’t need to be about juniper and sadness. Citrus gins roamed the planet. Hendrick’s kept releasing astonishing herbal concoctions. Good things happened. It’s okay to move on from your formative drinking years. Gin’s safe to drink. I promise.

But if none of that convinces you, this bottle will. Hendrick’s has released another Hendrick’s. It is called: “Another Hendrick’s.” (Clearly, the lads at Hendrick’s are Monty Python fans.) It is, to be blunt, completely different from Hendrick’s. Hendrick’s features rose and cucumber. Another Hendrick’s features orange blossoms and cacao. Yes. Cocoa gin. We’ve come a long, long way from the bottle of Gordon’s gin that made you sick in college.

To be clear, this isn’t “chocolate gin.” It isn’t brown, thick, or sweet. The cocoa shows up late in the tasting notes, with floral notes and enough juniper to brighten the drink without becoming “pine” flavored. It’s as much a texture as a flavor, a base layer that supports the floral notes Ms. Gracie’s woven together in this wonderful bottle.

I firmly believe that Ms. Gracie is a rock star among distillers. When a guitar virtuoso steps onto your stage, you don’t try to compete with them. You strap on the bass guitar, listen closely, and do your best to support their artistry. This cocktail is basically a gimlet, one of the oldest gin cocktails in the world. The structure is the same as a daiquiri or a lemon drop martini. The power move comes from using creme de cacao instead of sugar as a sweetener. Creme de cacao, in moderation, doesn’t taste like chocolate. It adds sweetness and earthiness to a drink, but it doesn’t provide Hershey-bar notes. In this glass, it draws the gin’s cocoa finish to the middle of the flavors, where it meets the orange-blossom aromas of the prepared glass. The cocoa bitters smooth out some of the drink’s bumps, harmonizing the taste. It’s a very different sort of gimlet, floral and earthy in places where you’d expect crisp, spiced notes. There are worse ways to endure a last gasp of winter.

Let’s talk ingredients:

Another Hendrick’s: In a pinch, use a citrus gin like Citadelle Jardin d’Ete. But don’t pinch. Treat yourself. This gin is unusual; you don’t want to make a G&T with it. But with soda water, this is an absolute treat. Go ahead and indulge here; Lord only knows, we could use a little treat right now.

Creme de Cacao: Gifford’s is best. Paramount is a lot easier to find. Don’t use the brown stuff. Brown gimlets are bad.

Lime juice: So help me if you *dare* sully Ms. Gracie’s beautiful work with lime juice from a plastic squeeze bottle, I will give you such a pinch. Fresh squeezed. Please. I’m asking nicely.

Cocoa bitters: One shake only. We don’t need the flavor of the bitters anywhere near the limelight.

Orange blossom water: Be very, very sparing here. I’d strongly consider using an orange blossom water mister to spritz the glass. Rinsing the glass is a rough-and-ready way to achieve the same effect without breaking out another tool.

My home bar is Hemingway’s Underground, the hottest cocktail bar in pretty little Medina, Ohio. I’m behind the stick Wednesday-Saturday, 4-10. Last call’s at midnight. Swing on by, and I’ll make a drink for you… or anything else from our little Happy Hour here at Wonkette.

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Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. St. Patrick’s Day is, functionally, tomorrow. We’re bracing for an epic bar crawl, with a bevy of Midori-fueled emerald cocktails on the menu. It’s going to be epic. Before the green stuff hits the fan, I thought I’d take a little time off from doomscrolling and sip something comfortable. Let’s crack open some Irish whiskey and stop worrying for a while. This bottle’s a fun little find that illustrates what makes The Water of Life so special. Let’s have a sip and relax.

Uais The Triple Blend Irish Whiskey

Serve neat. Sip Slowly. Relax. Enjoy. Take a few deep breaths. Put down your phone. Watch the fire. Listen to some Gaelic Storm. It’s going to be okay.

I’m going to start off with a bit of heresy from an American bartender: I don’t like bourbon. It’s boring. To qualify as bourbon, a spirit must be at least 51 percent corn, made in America, and aged for at least three years in charred American oak casks. I’ve tasted so many bourbons by now. Some are made with care and craft; some are made by get-rich-quick schemers looking to make a buck. After a while, they all taste the same.

Irish whiskey is a lot looser with its definitions. Irish whiskey must be made with some malted cereals, fermented with yeast, and aged in Ireland in wooden barrels. There’s a ton of wiggle room in that definition, and the variety of Irish whiskeys proves the point. The only consistent factor is the need for malted grain, which is hardly a great sacrifice. (Malted grains are cereals that have been partly germinated, then toasted to stop them from sprouting. I’ve snacked on malted barley at a distiller’s before, and it’s incredibly tasty. Pretzels use malted flour; so does a chocolate malted shake at the ice cream parlor.)

This particular bottle is everything you can do to Irish whiskey, all mixed together in a glorious smorgasbord. Uais whiskey is 25 percent pot still whiskey — mostly barley, some malted, some not. The English, being English, started taxing malted barley in the 1800s. The Irish cut their whiskey with unmalted barley, found the end product tasted better, and kept on making the good stuff. It’s 25 percent single malt whiskey, made with nothing but malted barley. And the rest is “grain whiskey,” made with oats, corn, whatever’s tasty. The end results aged in wood — some charred ex-bourbon casks, some virgin oak. It’s definitely an “everything but the kitchen sink” whiskey, the sort of thing you almost never see in America.

But Lord, is it ever tasty. I get pineapple and honey on the nose of this spirit, plus some of the funkiness I associate with top-notch Jamaican rum. It is so very, very smooth. You don’t need water, or ice, or anything to enjoy this liquid gold. All you need is time, and space to breathe.

Okay. We’ve decompressed from the news a bit. Time for something a bit more … robust to get us up and moving.

Jameson Triple Triple

Put an ice cube in this one, it’s a bit more robust. Savor the nut and apple notes at the front of the whiskey. Grab an Irish ale to wash down the burn. When you’re good and ready, pop some Dropkick Murphys into your headphones. Stand up, stretch, and get ready to fight the next round. We aren’t down for the count yet.

Jameson’s is going to flow like water on St. Paddy’s Day, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t make some good stuff. This whiskey’s been aged in oak, sherry, and chestnut casks. You’ll never find a combination like that in American bourbon. It’s nutty, complex, and sweet, and it’s a bit hot going down, but we deserve this. It’s only a buck or two more than regular Jaymo, and so much nicer. I have determined, after scientific experimentation, that shots of Jameson are smoother on St. Paddy’s Day than on any other day of the year. You owe it to yourself to determine the veracity of that theory. A few beers would help the process. Guinness is cliché. It’s also really good. Drink what you like. I won’t judge.

And then pop in some Dropkick Murphys. This band is so very, very much on our side. If there was ever a Celtic punk band that has our corner, this is the one. Listen here if you don’t believe me. Or here. We aren’t done yet. We got this. Take a deep breath. Stand up. Call out the Black and Tans one more time. We aren’t done fighting yet. If I’ve convinced you to toss a sawbuck down at the liquor store for a bottle of good Irish whiskey, toss one more into the kitty for Wonkette. This is one of the last, lonely fronts in the war for sanity and goodness in America. It’s St. Patrick’s Day. We’re all Fighting Irish now.

Wonkette kitty

My home bar is Hemingway’s Underground, the hottest cocktail bar in pretty little Medina, Ohio. I’m behind the stick Wednesday-Saturday, 4-10. Last call’s at midnight. If you try to get on Saturday during the bar crawl, God help you. Swing on by, and I’ll make a drink for you … or anything else from our little Happy Hour here at Wonkette.

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Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. And dear Lord, THIS WEEK. I had planned to talk about a nice, light, airy champagne cocktail for spring, but I’ve been doomscrolling way too much to entertain such ethereal notions. Let’s talk about my daily medicine instead. I need something strong to get through all this. Time for a Jet Pilot. Time for several Jet Pilots. Here’s the recipe.

Jet Pilot

1 oz Gosling’s Bermuda Rum

¾ oz Planteray Special Dark

¾ oz Planteray OFTD

½ oz grapefruit juice

½ oz lime juice

½ oz falernum

½ oz cinnamon syrup

3-4 shakes Angostura bitters

Pour all ingredients into an iced shaker tin. Shake and strain into an iced rocks glass. Garnish with a cherry and a small paper airplane.

The Jet Pilot was created in 1958 at the Luau by Stephen Crane, Lana Turner’s ex-husband. Donn Beach had created the prototype for this drink — the Test Pilot — but Stephen’s version removed some extraneous ingredients and added more rum. The Jet Pilot is dark, spicy, and laser-focused on upping your blood alcohol content. It’s a concentrated, simplified version of a Zombie. I upsell these to customers at Hemingway’s who ask for a rum and Coke. They’re universally impressed and intimidated. It’s become my post-shift cocktail of choice, a painkiller and muscle relaxant par excellence. I am very, very lucky to be living within walking distance of Hemingway’s.

When I first wrote about the Jet Pilot in 2023, I suggested that it should be a special treat at your local tiki bar, a bit too strong for everyday drinking. Things have changed. The version I’m writing today isn’t quite as strong as the one I posted a few years ago, but the need for potent spirits is mighty these days. Buying three different rums and a fairly obscure liqueur seems like a big ask, but let’s get real. Making and drinking potent tiki libations is more relaxing than reading the news, and marginally better for your health. At least with the tiki drinks, you get your daily Vitamin C from all the juice.

The tiki revival of the early 2000s was nurtured in garage bars. Punks who decided the scene had gotten stale went shopping at garage sales and thrift stores, and in the process found the amazing cocktails that had been forgotten with the advent of boat drinks, fern bars, and cheap vodka. Before Smuggler’s Cove and Three Dots and a Dash opened, cocktail fans were experimenting and entertaining friends in garages decorated with palm fronds and upcycled wicker furniture. I’m not saying that you should turn your garage into a rum-soaked tropical escapist fantasy from the daily news. I’m just saying that no one’s stopping you. If you can’t find a peaceful beach getaway, make your own.

Let’s talk ingredients:

Gosling’s Bermuda Rum: My Bermuda rum of choice. Cruzan blackstrap rum is a bit too molasses-forward. Meyer’s is a Jamaican rum, a very different animal from rich, caramel-forward Gosling’s.

Planteray Special Dark: My favorite rum of all time. A blend of Jamaican and Demerara rum, expertly blended in France before being shipped to the States. If you’ve never tried this rum, do so.

Planteray OFTD: Technically, OFTD stands for “Old Fashioned Traditional Distillation.” The team of distillers and rum snobs who created this rum all agreed that it actually stands for “Oh F**k That’s Delicious.” Dark, rich, and very, very strong. If you use this to make a rum and Coke, be very, very careful.

Grapefruit Juice: Juicing your own is pretty ambitious and probably a bit too acidic. A decent bottled brand is fine. Just make sure it’s 100 percent grapefruit juice, and not a “cocktail” that cuts the grapefruit with cheap white grape juice.

Lime juice: Always use fresh. Plastic limes produce plastic juice.

Falernum: Falernum is one of the secret ingredients of tiki cocktails. It’s a liqueur that features lime, ginger, and cloves, and getting the good stuff is a bit tricky. Here in the Midwest, it’s easiest to use Maggie’s Farm Falernum. Maggie’s Farm hails from Pittsburgh, and their falernum is pure magic. For the rest of the country, I’d recommend John D. Taylor’s falernum — it’s the gold standard. Don’t use a “falernum syrup”; it’s not the same thing.

Cinnamon Syrup: Two parts sugar, one part water, and a cinnamon stick. Simmer on the stovetop until the sugar melts and it smells like cinnamon deliciousness. It’ll keep in the fridge forever.

Angostura Bitters: Be generous with your shakes. The Angostura spices add dimension to the drink, and some bitterness is needed in this glass.

My home bar is Hemingway’s Underground, the hottest cocktail bar in pretty little Medina, Ohio. I’m behind the stick Wednesday-Saturday, 4-10. Last call’s at midnight. Swing on by, and I’ll make a drink for you … or anything else from our little Happy Hour here at Wonkette.

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I read a lot of historical fiction as a teenager, and I still do now, although I tend to lean more towards fantasy for the escapism factor these days. One thing that I always wanted to know — but never bothered to look up — was what this “posset” was that ailing people and young children were given before bed in all these historical stories. My mind always pictured some sort of medication or warm drink to help with sleep. Imagine my surprise then, when I began to hear the word “posset” on cooking shows. A few months ago, I found a recipe for a lemon posset tart with raspberries by Queen of Cakes Dame Mary Berry. Researching it fascinated me, and inspired me to take Dame Mary’s recipe and adjust it so that it is more closely linked to its past, whilst still being every bit as much of a delicious treat.

A Slice of History

The modern posset is a luxurious dessert, made from cream which is boiled with sugar and citrus juice. The cream based posset has been around since the days of William Shakespeare, and is mentioned in many of his plays including The Merry Wives of Windsor, Hamlet, and MacBeth (where it is used as a vessel for the delivery of poison). These Shakespearean possets were either cream-based and thickened with biscuit by the rich, and with bread by the poor, or a milk version which continued to exist alongside the newer version despite predating it by at least two centuries. This early version of the posset was a sweetened drink made from hot milk which was curdled using wine or ale. The milk-based posset was considered medicinal and was frequently recommended as a treatment for colds and fevers. One of the most famous patients to be prescribed a posset as a remedy was King Charles I (before he lost his head). Interestingly, the posset seems to be a dish that never really gained popularity outside of England and the Netherlands; its early form may well have helped to form the myth that English food is flavourless and uninspiring.

The posset of my childhood literary adventures was most likely the cream variety, thickened with biscuit or bread, its association with children and the elderly being a result of the dish’s soft texture, which made it perfect for those who were deficient in the dental department, or who suffered from sensitive stomachs and required soft, bland food. It was only in the 20th century that the citrus element was introduced and the modern posset was created. Even so, it remains a fairly uncommon dish, unlikely to be found in restaurants and on the tables of most home cooks. Despite this, it is a rich, tasty dessert which is very easy to make and is well-suited to being used as a filling for a tart, or as a citrusy alternative to the pudding you Americans seem to enjoy so much.

This recipe uses Limoncello, alongside grated lemon zest and a little bit of lemon juice, harking back to the old practice of curdling the posset with alcohol.

For fellow members of the Dead Pancreas Society, the carbohydrates for this recipe are 348g for the whole tart. I’d suggest serving it as either 6 or 8 portions at 58g or 43.5g of carbohydrates per portion.

Your Equipment

Digital kitchen scales

Mixing bowl or food processor

Pie dish (8 inch)

Baking parchment

Rolling pin

Saucepan

Cheese grater or other tool for finely zesting lemons (I have a very nice hand held one I picked up at a local Food Festival several years ago).

Wooden Spoon

Your Ingredients

For the pastry:

175 g All-Purpose Flour / Plain Flour

75 g Cold Butter, cut into cubes

1 tbsp Confectioner’s Sugar / Icing Sugar

1 Large Egg, beaten

For the posset filling:

600 ml Heavy Cream / Double Cream

150 g Sugar

2 Lemons (juice and zest)

25 ml Limoncello (replace one lemon’s juice with another 25ml of Limoncello if you want a more alcoholic dessert).

To serve:

200g fresh raspberries

A little extra confectioner’s sugar / icing sugar for dusting (optional)

Pouring cream (optional)

The Important Bit

You’ll need to fully bake your pastry case and allow it to cool to room temperature before it even sees the posset filling.

The first thing to do is combine your flour (175 g), confectioner’s sugar (1 tbsp), and butter (75 g) in your mixing bowl and rub between your fingers until the mixture looks like fine breadcrumbs. Alternatively put them into the food processor and use the pulse setting until you achieve a breadcrumb-like texture.

Add your beaten egg and mix (using a wooden spoon or the food processor) until the mixture forms a stiff dough.

Tip the dough onto a lightly floured surface and knead it lightly until it is smooth.

Place a square of baking parchment which is more than big enough to completely cover the top of your pie dish onto your kitchen counter. Lightly sprinkle a little flour over the top, and place the pastry dough in the centre. Use your rolling pin to roll out your pastry until it is big enough to cover your pie dish.

The easiest way to line your pie dish without breaking the fragile rolled pastry too much is to use the baking parchment to position the pastry over the pie dish, then turn it upside down and gently push the pastry into place. Trim the pastry to fit the dish, and use the trimmings to fix any tears or gaps.

Prick the pastry base with a fork and put it into the fridge to chill for at least 30 minutes.

Pre-heat your oven to 350F / 180 C.

Line your pastry case with baking parchment and fill it with baking beads or dried rice or lentils.

Bake the pastry case in the oven for 15 minutes, then remove it from the oven and take out the baking parchment and whatever you have used to fill it.

Return the pastry case to the oven for another 5-7 minutes, until the pastry is fully cooked and is a pale golden colour. Leave it on the counter to cool to room temperature.

In your saucepan, place your heavy cream (600 ml), sugar (150 g) and lemon zest (from 2 lemons). Heat on a medium-low heat until the cream is just boiling, stirring constantly until the sugar has fully dissolved.

Remove the cream from the heat and let it cool for 5 minutes.

Stir the lemon juice (use 1 or 2 lemons) and Limoncello (25 ml or 50 ml depending on how much lemon juice you used) through the cream mixture until it thickens a little and leave it for a further 5 minutes to thicken more.

Pour the posset mixture into the pastry case and carefully place it into the refrigerator to set for at least 4 hours, preferably overnight.

When the posset has set, top the tart with raspberries, and dust with a little extra confectioner’s sugar / icing sugar, if using.

Serve cold, with a generous drizzle of pouring cream.

I’ll be back next month with potato bread.

Until then ...

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And please, don’t forget to tip Wonkette if you’re able to, it helps us keep the cakes coming.

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Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. And I’m panicking. In two days, I’m entering a cocktail competition sponsored by the United States Bartenders’ Guild. If I win, I might get a spot on the regional team. I’ve been working on this recipe for days. I think I’ve nailed it. And I’m going to share it with you early, because I couldn’t have gotten here without you. Let’s make a 216 Tiger Soda. Actually, you can watch me make a 216 Tiger Soda, because nobody in their right mind would make this at home. Here’s the recipe.

216 Tiger Soda

House Orange Soda:

1 cup orange oleo saccharum syrup

3 tsp citric acid

5 cups water

½ tsp bergamot

¾ tsp orange blossom water

Natural food coloring

Orange oleo saccharum syrup:

2 oranges

1 cup sugar

½ cup water

Make the orange oleo saccharum: Peel the oranges, taking care to remove as much white pith as possible. Toss the orange peel with the sugar. Let sit for 24 hours. Add ½ cup of water and stir until the sugar dissolves completely. Strain out the orange peels.

Make the soda: Combine all ingredients except for food coloring. Add 5 drops of red food coloring and 2 drops of yellow food coloring until the desired color is reached. Carbonate using a Soda Stream or other home carbonation machine. Bottle and refrigerate for later use.

Cocktail:

¾ oz Orange Tiger Orange Liqueur

½ oz Orange Infused Aperol

½ oz OYO Barrel Aged Vanilla Vodka

¼ oz Wray and Nephew Overproof Rum

¼ oz paw paw syrup

4 dashes grapefruit bitters

Orange Infused Aperol:

750 ml Aperol

2 oranges

Make the orange-infused Aperol: Peel 2 oranges, being careful to avoid the white pith.

Make the cocktail: Stir all cocktail ingredients and pour into an iced highball glass. Add orange soda to taste. Garnish with a chocolate candy.

So, let’s talk about how this complex, slightly bitter handmade orange soda cocktail came into being. Orange Tiger, a barrel-aged orange liqueur made in Toledo, is sponsoring the contest. The cocktail must include at least ¾ oz of Orange Tiger. It must be a highball — a drink with a mixer, like Scotch and soda or rum and Coke. And the drink must tell a story — it needs to tell something about Cleveland, my hometown.

In a contest like this, I don’t just obey the rules, but emphasize them. This drink had to be an “orange” drink; the judges shouldn’t have to wonder where the orange liqueur is in the cocktail. Local stories matter? Well, let’s use some extra local ingredients, like a barrel-aged vodka from Akron and some pawpaw syrup. And let’s not sleep on the soda component of the highball — an orange soda made from scratch. Commercial bottled orange soda is … not good. Can we do better?

It’s a low bar. Sunkist and Fanta have a ton of sugar in them and no orange … anything. No juice, no oil, nada. I started my orange soda base by filtering organic orange juice, but it quickly became clear that this wouldn’t provide enough soda for the competition. I decided to use the peels instead of the juice for my soda. I’ve used oleo saccharum and super juice to extract huge amounts of flavor from citrus before; the same tricks worked very well here. Some citric acid to provide that artificial-but-addictive tartness of pop, and we were in business. Bergamot and orange blossom water added some needed complexity and bitterness that no commercial soda could match. I didn’t want to use food coloring, but the soda did need some help. It was a distressing shade of yellow without the color.

So what does this drink have to say about Cleveland? I did use as many Midwestern and local ingredients as possible, but those are nouns, and the contest is asking for adjectives describing my home. Cleveland is a city steeped in nostalgia. We worship a football team that was taken away from us last century. Our biggest tourist attraction is a museum. The roots of this city run deep. A bright orange soda from our childhoods, topped off with a little chocolate treat, seems like a fine way to honor this city.

Oh, and the cocktail is orange and brown. That can’t hurt.

Let’s talk ingredients:

Orange Soda: The constraints of the competition didn’t quite permit it, but I’d certainly squeeze your peeled oranges and strain them straight back into the soda base. Buying a SodaStream for this competition felt like a splurge, but having carbonated water on tap whenever you want is pretty nifty. I’m already planning to make house cola for myself. A carbonated margarita might have some charms as well.

Orange Tiger: I’ve never found a barrel-aged orange liqueur like this before; I’ve played with it as a Manhattan component before, and it’s got a lot of potential as a Grand Marnier replacement.

OYO Barrel-Aged Vanilla Vodka: The vanilla supports the orange flavors, and the barrel aging reinforces the dry barrel notes of the Orange Tiger.

Orange Infused Aperol: Aperol is great for any orange cocktail, but I wanted to amplify the orange notes even more. I steeped some orange peels in the Aperol before vacation, and the resulting bittersweet fruit bomb is a glorious addition to the drink. I hope there’s some left after the competition; if not, I’ll make more for my home bar.

Wray and Nephew Overproof Rum: This Jamaican rum reeks of overripe tropical fruit. It’s a monster of a rum that loves bitter citrus like grapefruit. A small measure of this adds complexity and sourness to a cocktail that could get lost in orange and sugar.

Paw paw syrup: Paw paw is tricky to harvest and doesn’t age well. But it’s a delicious addition to this cocktail — a little bit of mango, a little bit of banana, a little tart from some paw paw vinegar added for preservation. It’s a bit pricey, but a wonderful local treat.

Grapefruit Bitters: Some bitterness and added dimension to round out the drink.

Wish me luck!

My home bar is Hemingway’s Underground, the hottest cocktail bar in pretty little Medina, Ohio. I’m behind the stick Wednesday-Saturday, 4-10. Last call’s at midnight. Swing on by, and I’ll make a drink for you… or anything else from our little Happy Hour here at Wonkette.

OPEN THREAD!

Tip Wonkette!

Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. I’m back from my pirate vacation and thrilled to be back in the world of soft beds and indoor plumbing. Let’s mix up a breakfast-style espresso martini - a perfect “wake me up and fix me up” kind of cocktail. Time to make an Espresso Sunrise. Here’s the recipe.

Espresso Sunrise

1 ½ oz vodka

1 oz espresso

½ oz Mr. Black coffee liquor

½ oz orange shrub

Licor 43

Pour a small amount of Licor 43 into a martini glass. Swirl the Licor 43 in the glass until the inside of the glass is coated, then shake out the excess. Shake the remaining ingredients in a cocktail shaker until the outside of the shaker is cold to the touch. Double strain into the prepared martini glass. Garnish with espresso powder, orange zest, and three espresso beans.

Orange Shrub

3-4 organic navel oranges

1 cup sugar

1 cup apple cider vinegar

1 cup water

Zest the oranges into a large bowl, avoiding the white pith as much as possible. Juice the oranges into the bowl. Add sugar and water. Let sit in the fridge overnight. Add vinegar and strain into a sealable glass bottle. Keeps in the fridge for 3-4 weeks.

Espresso martinis are still wildly popular at the bar. They’re our number one bestseller at Hemingway’s, and I’m pretty sure that’s true for most bars in the area. My basic espresso martini is pretty darn good; I attribute that to my insistence on following Dick Bradswell’s classic recipe. Vodka, fresh espresso, coffee liqueur, and just a touch of sweetness make this recipe work. Bailey’s has no place in a proper espresso martini. And there simply must be a proper head of foam on the top of a good espresso martini. If you’re served a flat espresso martini at a bar, run. They’re making their martinis with cold-brew coffee, or worse. It’s not the same, trust me.

We entered this cocktail into a recent espresso martini contest here in Cleveland. A standard espresso martini uses a sugar syrup or creme de cacao as a sweetener. This drink replaces the sugar with orange shrub, a tart-sweet citrus elixir that’s a joy to work with at the bar. Citrus shrubs make your average springtime cooler or spritz dance at the bar. Shrubs have been popular in America since the 17th century. An orange shrub with a little soda water makes a terrific non-alcoholic cocktail. One of my fellow bartenders has a cocktail recipe in her back pocket that uses bourbon, orange shrub, maple syrup, and a touch of lemon that’s a showstopper.

I know that waiting a full day to make a cocktail ingredient isn’t much fun, but patience pays off. If you simply must have a drink right now - trust me, I get it, it’s 2026 - replace the orange shrub with fresh pulp-free orange juice. But go ahead and make the orange shub anyway. This handy little drinking vinegar will get you through mimosa season with flying colors - a splash in your champagne is so much better than bland grocery store OJ. I give the shrub 2-3 weeks in the fridge, but you’ll use it up well before then.

Let’s talk ingredients:

Vodka: I’m not picky. A light, sweet vodka like Tito’s works; I prefer an earthy potato vodka like Luskoya in cocktails to give me more control of sweetness. It’s a minor detail that won’t be a big deal at your home bar.

Espresso: Good espresso makes for a good espresso martini. Cold brew is okay - barely - but if you love espresso martinis, you need to use the real deal. I swear by my little moka pot and some Cafe Bustelo at home.

Mr. Black Coffee Liquor: Kahlua is garbage. Spring for a quality coffee liquor. I love Mr. Black, but there are a lot of good choices available if you browse your local liquor store shelves.

Orange shrub: I really love the interplay of orange and coffee in this glass, but don’t feel limited in your choice of fruit. A strawberry shrub would be wonderful on its own, and would be dandy in this cocktail.

Licor 43: This sweet, vanilla herbal liquor is a natural match for coffee. Licor 43 and espresso make a carajillo, one of the best coffee drinks ever. I use a tiny amount of Licor 43 here to balance the cocktail’s sweetness and acidity. If you love coffee, you won’t regret buying this bottle.

My home bar is currently a sandbar in the middle of the Atlantic. But normally, it’s Hemingway’s Underground, the hottest cocktail bar in pretty little Medina, Ohio. I’m behind the stick Wednesday-Saturday, 4-10. Last call’s at midnight. Swing on by, and I’ll make a drink for you… or anything else from our little Happy Hour here at Wonkette.

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Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m writing this early in the week. Come Friday, I’ll be on the adventure of a lifetime. I’ve joined the crew of the Scavenger, a living history re-enactment group based in Florida. As you’re reading this, I’m sitting on a desert island four hours south of Tampa, all my modern clothes and belongings left far behind, living the life of a pirate in the year 1717 as best I can. This is easily the most pirate thing I’ve ever done — that I could even dream of doing. So while it’s Valentine’s Day for most of you lot, I’ll share the cocktail I’m drinking right now. Pour out a cup of grog for me, lads and lasses. Plunder’s on the horizon.

GROG!

1.25 oz Smith and Cross Jamaican Rum

5 oz water

Juice of 1 lime

Sugar to taste

Stir well and consume around noon. You’ll have three more of these through the course of the day.

Before I dive into the history, a brief Q&A is probably in order.

Q: You’re doing what now?

A: Two days ago, on Wednesday, I flew from Cleveland to Tampa and met up with some internet acquaintances. They drove me to our Captain’s home, where I fixed up my clothing and helped pack. On Thursday at 4 AM, we drove for a few hours to meet a charter boat. We left all our clothes from 2026 behind and dressed as sailors from 1717. We set up camp, made some introductions, and began to tell the story of our lives as sailors on the Scavenger, a twenty-gun pirate brig, currently grounded for her annual cleaning in preparation for a season of piracy. We’ll be playing dice and cards, standing watch, drinking, smoking, and debating our course of action for the year. (1717 is a high point in pirate history; Blackbeard takes command of Queen Anne’s Revenge this year. He’s hunted down and killed in the fall of 1718. The chance that we’ll all go down in a blaze of glory is real.) We’ll pack up on Sunday. I’ll be killing time in Tampa for a day and a half before flying home.

Q: Why on earth are you doing this?

Because I’m almost 55, and this is absolutely a thing for the bucket list. A weekend on a desert island eating hard tack and salt pork is a bit … spartan. But it’s the most immersive, honest exploration of what it was actually like to be one of the pirates of the Caribbean I could possibly be a part of, ever. I might do it once and be glad of the experience. I might become addicted and do this every year. No matter what, this is an experience I can’t pass up.

And yes, I’ll have a ton of pictures. It’s 1717, but we all ignore cellphones. Everyone wants pictures.

Q: Good for you. This cocktail isn’t really exciting. What gives?

This is a fairly accurate depiction of what a rum ration for British sailors in the year 1717 would receive in a day. I’m sure pirates were more liberal with their rum, but the Navy had some fairly hard and fast rules about how much rum you got for a day at sea. “Navy strength” rum is roughly 57 proof; legend has it that if you soaked gunpowder with rum and the slurry ignited, it had “withstood the proof.” (Do not try this at home.) That rum was diluted to a 4:1 ratio with some really nasty water. Lime and sugar were extras you bought on your own dime. Pirates poured it a bit heavier, but not too far off from what I’m suggesting.

Let’s talk ingredients:

Smith & Cross Jamaican Rum: Rum became the spirit of choice for the Brits around 1680, after their conquest of Jamaica. Jamaican rum remains iconic; the “hogo,” or funk of Jamaica, is unmistakable. I describe it at the bar as the taste of “overripe bananas and feet.” It’s better than it sounds, honest. Use whatever rum you like. I started with some Mount Gay here, but somehow my bottle didn’t last the weekend.

Water: A livelier mixer than water wouldn’t be out of line in 2026. I’d recommend pineapple juice, grapefruit soda, or both. Coca-Cola isn’t great with Jamaican rum.

Limes and Sugar: I have … no idea if I’ll have these available on a desert island in the Caribbean. Sure would be nice, though!

My home bar is currently a sandbar in the middle of the Atlantic. But normally, it’s Hemingway’s Underground, the hottest cocktail bar in pretty little Medina, Ohio. I’m behind the stick Wednesday-Saturday, 4-10. Last call’s at midnight. Swing on by and I’ll make a drink for you… or anything else from our little Happy Hour here at Wonkette.

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Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. We’re buried under a ton of snow here in Ohio. I wanted to make something tropical and refreshing, but I’ve poured a ton of rum for this column over the years. Let’s try something that locals might try after working at the beach cantina all day. Let’s make a King’s Square Spritz. Here’s the recipe.

King’s Square Spritz

2 oz coconut water

1 ½ oz Johnny Walker Black

½ oz pineapple juice

1 barspoon lemon curd

Fevertree Lime Yuzu Soda

Shake well and strain all ingredients into a highball glass. Top with soda. Garnish with a lime wedge.

Scotch is surprisingly popular in the Caribbean as a locals-only sort of drink. Scotch and coconut water are an offering you’ll find in bars a few blocks away from the beach, where the bartenders and hotel clerks go to drink. Scotch isn’t something I associate with warm-weather fare, but once I tried it, the drink grew on me. The rich, sweet heaviness of the coconut water tames the iodine and smoke of a peaty Scotch, smothering any iodine harshness and turning the smoke into a mellow, lingering affair. A peaty Scotch can smack you in the face like a drag on an unfiltered cigarette. The coconut water transforms that smokiness into a long, relaxed session with a quality cigar.

On the islands, Scotch and coconut water is a DIY affair — your waiter brings a shot of Scotch, a bottle of fresh coconut water, and lets you mix your own poison. Really fresh coconut water is best, but in Ohio, that’s not likely to happen. It is definitely a match made in heaven. Drinking Scotch and coconut water makes me feel like I’m on the patio of an island bar, tucked away from the crowds, waiting for a plate of jerk chicken wings to be dropped off at the table. It won’t replace my beloved rum as a top-5 favorite, but it sure does hit the spot.

I could have stopped with “Scotch. Coconut Water. Go drink some.” But I wanted to fiddle with the basics here just a little bit more, to see if I could gild the lily. Lemon curd has been on my radar as a cocktail ingredient for a while now. It’s basically a sweet lemon butter sauce, emulsified into a creamy goodness I’ll happily eat with a spoon straight from the jar. When I went to LBM, another great Cleveland craft bar, I was served a tequila-and-lemon-curd cocktail that knocked my socks off. Lemon curd has a way of taming harsh iodine notes and strong flavors in a drink. A spoonful in this glass made for a deeply rich, smoky experience that I rapidly fell in love with.

The cocktail still needed some acid to give it loft, and it absolutely demanded some dilution for balance. A touch of pineapple juice helped immensely. Lynette Marrero, a world-class mixologist, used Fevertree’s Lime and Yuzu soda in her Vintage Coco cocktail. Fevertree can be hit or miss on some of its sodas, but this pop was perfect for the application — not too sweet and redolent with exotic citrus. A good, hard shake gave this cocktail a head worthy of an egg cream, making it stand out as an exotic sipper worth your time.

Let’s talk ingredients:

Johnny Walker Black: A little pricey, but honestly, the minimum I’ll accept when it comes to decent Scotch. You want something with some smoke to make this work. I’m planning to circle back and try this with a beefy Islay Scotch like Ardbeg in the future. Balvenie 14 Year Caribbean Flask is also high on my list of spirits to try in this cocktail.

Coconut Water: The fresher, the better. Use what you can. Dream of warmer climates.

Lemon Curd: If you want to make your own from scratch, please do so. I’m using a jarred version that’s still very tasty. You’ll need to give the cocktail a long, hard shake to fully dissolve the curd and build a big head of foam.

Pineapple juice: I always use the small cans from Dole. Fresh pineapple juice is too acidic.

Fevertree Lime and Yuzu Soda: A bitter lemon or lime soda will do in a pinch. Sprite will be cloyingly sweet in this drink. Plain soda water is probably your best alternative.

My home bar is Hemingway’s Underground, the hottest cocktail bar in pretty little Medina, Ohio. I’m behind the stick Wednesday-Saturday, 4-10. Last call’s at midnight. Swing on by and I’ll make a drink for you … or anything else from our little Happy Hour here at Wonkette.

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Who am I kidding. All the raspberries in the world won’t make this recipe move into the healthy column. But you don’t come to me for health food, do you?

Join me, as I ditch the New Year’s Resolution to eat healthy, the times demand that we drown ourselves in delicious, chocolatey goodness. Coincidentally, this cake would also make an excellent treat for a loved one this Valentine’s Day. This month I’m getting a little help from Paul Hollywood; his version of this classic cake features prominently in the opening credits for The Great British Baking Show/The Great British Bake-Off, and was actually featured in the technical challenge in a recent series of the show. It’s a fairly easy cake to bake, and, luckily for you, I don’t expect you to go up against the clock when you bake it. It is, of course, the famous raspberry topped chocolate fudge cake (missing raspberry is optional, although easily achieved if you’re baking in a house with children or teenagers present). There was no way I wasn’t going to bake this cake for you at some point, considering my Bake-Off related ambitions. Speaking of ...

A Little Slice of History

The Great British Bake-Off remains one of the most popular reality shows on British television, with this year’s series being the 17th since the show premiered in August 2010. The presenters have changed over the years, with the initial run on the BBC hosted by Mel Giedroyc and Sue Perkins, with Paul Hollywood and Dame Mary Berry as the judges.

The format has remained largely unchanged throughout the history of the show, although there has been the addition of themed weeks which vary from season to season. These themed weeks have been restricted in recent years after the stereotypes portrayed in some of the episodes (most notably the use of ponchos and sombreros in a Mexican themed episode, and the inclusion of various Asian recipes in a week which was described as “Japanese themed”) were deemed to be disrespectful to the countries being represented. Various other controversies have emerged during the many seasons of the show: most notably the controversial Fridgegate episode of 2014 in which a contestant’s Baked Alaska was removed from the fridge by another competitor and left on a bench to melt, one of relatively few seemingly deliberate acts of sabotage during what is usually a very positive, supportive show.

Another aspect of Bake-Off which seems to be uncommon in the world of reality TV is that participation in the show is not seen as a shortcut to fame and fortune — the winner of each series is presented with a commemorative cake stand and a bouquet of flowers. That’s it. There is no cash prize and guarantee of celebrity status. There have been occasional contestants who have gone on to find a degree of fame as a result of Bake-Off, but for every Nadiya Hussain there are dozens who disappear back into obscurity. Contestants are more likely to seek to open their own bakery than host a cooking show following their appearance on the show, and even that is a relative rarity. This may well be why Bake-Off remains so popular as it approaches its seventeenth season.

Oh, and joining the lineup this year ... it’s only Nigella Lawson: one of the most famous TV cooks in the world, no stranger to kitchen innuendo, and extremely popular with the male audience for some reason. It looks like soggy bottoms and Paul’s various animal related innuendos will have some serious competition going forward.

Today’s cake is a variation of the famous Bake-Off cake with its iconic missing raspberry, I found the chocolate ganache from the original recipe was less than ideal when it came to coating the cake and have replaced it with a chocolate whipped cream which is easier to work with, although it lacks the glossy finish of the show’s signature cake.

This cake will serve 16, so the carbohydrates, for those of us who are members of the Dead Pancreas Society, are 54.6 g per portion, or 873.6 g for the whole cake.

Your Equipment

Digital kitchen scales

Bain marie or heatproof bowl over a pan of simmering water

Hand whisk

Large mixing bowl and whisk, or stand mixer

Small bowl for weighing ingredients

Sieve

Palette knife (the blunt edge of a dinner knife will work if you don’t have a palette knife)

2 x 20cm / 8 inch cake tins

Baking paper

Wire cooling rack

Spoon

Your Ingredients

For the sponges

175 g good quality (60% or more) Dark Chocolate

150 g unsalted butter

125 ml Hot Water

3 Medium Eggs

125 ml Sour Cream (at room temp.)

50 ml Oil (vegetable is best but any mild tasting oil will work)

2 tsp Vanilla Extract

150 g Sugar

150 g Light Brown Sugar

250 g Self-Rising / Self-Raising Flour

50 g Cocoa Powder

1 ½ tsp Baking Soda

¼ tsp Salt

Frosting and decorations:

300g Dark Chocolate (60% or more)

450 ml Heavy Whipping Cream

1 tbsp Sugar (optional, depends on how bitter your chocolate is)

400g Fresh Raspberries

The Important Bit

Firstly, preheat your oven to 350F / 180C and prepare your cake tins by lightly greasing them with a little butter and lining them with baking paper. If you have silicon cake pans then you can get away without greasing and lining them.

Place the dark chocolate (175 g), butter (150 g), and hot water (125 ml) in a heat proof bowl and place this over a pan of simmering water. Keep stirring until the chocolate and butter have melted and then give them a whisk to combine them. You should have a thick, glossy chocolate mixture. Set this aside to cool slightly.

In your large mixing bowl or stand mixer, combine the eggs (3), oil (50 ml), sour cream (125 ml), and vanilla extract (2 tsp) and whisk using a balloon whisk. Add the sugar (150 g regular, 150 g light brown) and whisk until smooth. Now add the chocolate mixture and whisk again until smooth.

Sift your flour (250 g), cocoa powder (50 g), baking soda (1 ½ tsp), and salt (¼ tsp) into the chocolate and egg mix and give it a good whisk until it forms a thick, smooth cake batter. Divide this between your cake tins and level the top with a palette knife or the back of a spoon. Bake in the oven for 30 – 40 minutes (insert a wooden skewer to check the cake is fully baked at 30 mins, if not, return to the oven for 5 mins and repeat the test).

Once the cakes are baked, set them aside to cool in the tin for 10 minutes and then transfer to a cooling rack to cool fully.

Give your large mixing bowl / stand mixer and the heatproof bowl a wash as you’ll need them again in a minute.

To make the chocolate frosting, melt the dark chocolate (300 g) with the butter (25 g) in the heatproof bowl over the pan of simmering water. Mix together until smooth and glossy.

In your large bowl / stand mixer, combine the heavy whipping cream (450 ml) and the chocolate and butter mixture and whisk until it thickens to a buttercream frosting consistency. If you want to make the traditional Bake-Off version of this cake, do not whisk the chocolate cream, simply mix with a spoon until you have a smooth and shiny chocolate ganache.

Place roughly 4 heaped tablespoons of chocolate frosting or ganache between the two sponges (place the top sponge upside down so that the top of the cake is smooth). Use the remaining frosting or ganache to cover the outside of the cake and smooth with a palette knife or the blunt edge of a dinner knife. You can feather the frosting if using a fork if you’ve whisked it, then all that’s left to do is to place the raspberries on top of the cake by placing the centre raspberry first and then spiralling out to the edge.

Give yourself a round of applause and cut yourself a generous slice of cake – you’ve earned it.

And don’t forget to join me next month, I’ll be baking a deliciously refreshing lemon and raspberry tart. It has fruit in it, so it’s healthy, right? Right?

Until then,

Share joy, share love, share cakes.

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Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender, and I have been humbled by the amazing bartending staff at Cloak and Dagger, a fantastic bar in Cleveland. I had the pleasure of hanging out there with my co-workers this week, and one of the bartenders snuck a cocktail onto my table that had me hanging my head in shame. I generally give the recipe up front in these articles, but let me set the scene here — this one deserves a little buildup.

Cloak and Dagger is working on a level I don’t quite dare approach at Hemingway’s yet. We’re the first real cocktail bar in Medina, an exurb of Cleveland. My creative approach has focused on updating classics, making them unique and exciting while still approachable by cocktail novices. Cloak and Dagger’s audience comes from the heart of Cleveland; they’re in a position to take more risks.

When I sat down with the rest of the Hemingway’s staff for our biweekly “Industry Safety Meeting” (aka pub crawl), I had no idea what any of the cocktails tasted like. Without the help of our server, I would have been completely lost. Our floor manager ordered a “Cut Through The Gunfire” — a concoction that featured coconut oil-washed vodka, cachaca, smoked panela caramel, passionfruit nectar, orange cream citrate, bitters, and palo santo smoke. Mystified? Me too. Once I saw the drink and tasted it, it started to make sense. This was a rounded, smoky, balanced Porn Star Martini. The coconut wasn’t prominent, but it provided a rich mouth feel that balanced out the smokiness and completed the drink. Porn star martinis are served with a shot of champagne as a palate cleanser; this drink didn’t need it.

I decided to take a chance on the Fireball! — a drink with some tiki elements I recognized. It was a spectacular glass, but the flavors went in some directions I hadn’t anticipated. There were echoes of a Mai Tai or Saturn here, but through the looking glass. Coffee orgeat and a spray of underberg were definitely new frontiers for me.

Working through a complex cocktail menu with a crew of skilled bartenders is an amazing experience. Drinks get passed around the table, sniffed, tasted, oohed and ahed over, and passed around again. Notes get taken. Gossip about customers gets shared. I was reminded that I work shoulder to shoulder with some of the most creative mixologists I’ve ever known. I am a very, very lucky man.

As the evening was winding down, Ethan, our bartender, came by to hang out with us. I decided to be bold and ask him to build a cocktail based on a theme: “Coffee and cigarettes.” He smiled and dashed back behind the bar, clearly inspired. The drink he produced was amazing — smoky, bitter, spicy, with a rich mouth feel and hints of coffee midway through the drink. We passed it around the table, mystified by the ingredients. Rye whiskey? Smoke infusion? Tobacco bitters? Crème de cacao?

He came back and listened to our guesses. “0 for 4,” he replied, and rattled off the recipe. We all howled with laughter.

Coffee And Cigarettes
Written by Ethan Lindenberger, Cloak and Dagger

1 oz Planteray 3 Star rum

¾ oz Mr. Black coffee liquor

½ oz Benedictine

½ oz Malort

½ oz Cynar

¼ oz Ardbeg scotch

2 dashes Angostura bitters

2 dashes Peychaud’s bitters

Sage

Burn the sage with a kitchen torch on a plate or cutting board until it smoulders. Upend a Nick and Nora glass over the sage and let the smoke coat the inside of the glass. Shake and double-strain the remaining ingredients into the glass.

I’m a huge rum fan. I’m practically the Malort spokesperson at Hemingway’s. And Ethan had passed me a rum and Malort cocktail that I failed to recognize. This was a brilliant riff on the 100-Year-Old Cigar, a drink that I’ve enjoyed in the past, with a few brilliant additions. I was truly humbled and impressed. Our “safety meeting” demonstrated to me that, as a bartender, I still have a lot to learn and far to go. I couldn’t be happier. There’s so much further to go on the journey.

Let’s talk ingredients; without putting words in Ethan’s mouth, I’ll offer my best guesses to what choices he made.

Planetary Rum: A semi-dry foundation lays the groundwork for all the spice and bitterness to follow. I could see using a mild Jamaican white rum like Probitas here as well.

Mr. Black Coffee Liquor: Ethan used Borghetti; I’m fonder of Mr. Black. Either works well. This is one of two diversions Ethan took from the classic 100-year-old cigar recipe, and it added some sweetness he needed to control.

Benedictine: Sweetness, richness, and herbal notes to expand the basic theme of the drink.

Malort: Here’s the dirty secret with Malort — it’s terribly bitter, but once you get past the hype, that bitterness becomes a usable tool. Here, it pushes back the sweetness of the coffee liquor and re-establishes the bitterness needed in the glass. Well, that and Ethan got a chance to dunk on a table full of bartenders. Both work.

Cynar: This artichoke-based amaro is a great “secret ingredient” in dark cocktails. Cynar defines the 100-year-old cigar cocktail and evokes tobacco flavors beautifully.

Ardbeg: A peaty Islay Scotch adds a lot of smoke flavor to this glass.

Bitters: The Angostura and Peychaud’s bring herbal sweetness and smooth over the rough patches of the cocktail. The 100-year-old cigar uses an absinthe rinse in the glass; the Peychaud’s is a solid substitute.

Sage: The fresh smoke hits your nose and palate immediately when you taste this drink. This is the smoke component that really makes the “cigarette” portion of the cocktail work.

My home bar is Hemingway’s Underground, the hottest cocktail bar in pretty little Medina, Ohio. I’m behind the stick Wednesday-Saturday, 4-10. Last call’s at midnight. Swing on by and I’ll make a drink for you … or anything else from our little Happy Hour here at Wonkette.

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Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. I’m writing this on a Wednesday and the horrors seem to have put at bay for now. Let’s take a deep breath and respect Dry January with my favorite (almost) NA cocktail recipe. Time for Bitters and Soda. Here’s the recipe.

Bitters and Soda

10-12 shakes Angostura, Cocoa, or whatever bitters move you

6-8 oz Don Q soda, or your cola of choice

Add all ingredients to a highball glass over ice. Garnish with a lime wedge.

It’s not much of a recipe per se, I’ll grant you. This isn’t arcane mixology. It’s a permission slip to combine two ingredients you might not have considered complementary. Bitters add complexity and spice to any cocktail. Angostura bitters in cola tamps down the sticky sweetness of pop and adds welcome layers of spice. It’s a grown-up version of soda, and my go-to when I want to hit a bar but drive home.

While this is definitely a low-proof cocktail, it isn’t strictly non-alcoholic. Most bitters hover around 120 proof. If you’re heavy-handed and shake a quarter ounce of bitters into a 6 oz glass of pop, you’ll have a drink that’s roughly 8 proof. Not something you’ll get a buzz out of, but significant enough that I’d recommend someone with medical issues try something else. NA bitters do exist, but I’ve never had the opportunity to work with them.

Every dive bar in the world has a bottle of Angostura lurking on the back counter. Angostura was created in Venezuela by Dr. Johann Siegert, a German doctor in Simon Bolivar’s army. Most bitters started out as patent medicines intended to aid digestion. Gentian root, the bittering agent in Angostura, is supposed to help with digestion and inflammation. I’ve had the … pleasure of drinking oops-all-bitters cocktails like the Trinidad Sour, which contains a whopping ounce and a half of Angostura. It did not help my digestion. Not even remotely. (We’re running a tiki version of the Trinidad Sour at Hemingway’s right now. It’s called the “Trinidadi Issues.” You’re welcome.)

These days, there are dozens of bitters flavors to work with. I’ve got Angostura, orange, cocoa, mole, rhubarb, celery, spiced cherry, and grapefruit bitters in my liquor cabinet right now. We’ve got those plus Turkish tobacco, toasted almond, black walnut, bonfire, and tiki bitters at Hemingway’s. Any of those would be fine in a simple glass of sparkling water. That’s generally how I discover what a new flavor is like; bitters are too intense neat to analyze. Bitters are deliberately dense in flavor; you need to dilute them in order to taste them properly.

That being said, I really enjoy bitters with some cola. Coca-Cola is a really good mixer by design; it pairs well with rum, tequila, bourbon ... you name it. A fruit-flavored soda like Sprite would be fine for orange or grapefruit. I don’t have much faith that diet sodas will cooperate nicely with bitters. Artificial sweeteners and alcohol never seem to mix well. And do use come common sense. Celery bitters in cola? Not a fan. But celery bitters in tomato juice? You’re on the road towards a nice NA Bloody Mary. Feel free to experiment. There are no rules.

Let’s talk ingredients:

Coca-Cola: Mexican pop is generally considered the best, but I would be hard-pressed to taste the difference between cane-sugar cola and American corn-syrup cola. There’s a difference in thickness, but it’s minor. Use what you like.

Bitters: Angostura is almost always a good choice. I wouldn’t rule any choice out right away, though. I went to a bar recently and had absinthe bitters and cola. It was amazing — a mini-Sazerac in a glass. Be bold, experiment. I’m currently enjoying a glass of cola with grapefruit bitters and a splash of tequila; it might qualify as the best Batanga I’ve ever had.

Lime wedge: Limes are tiny, hard golfballs this time of year. I love some lime juice in my cola, but you might want to skip these until spring.

My home bar is Hemingway’s Underground, the hottest cocktail bar in pretty little Medina, Ohio. I’m behind the stick Wednesday-Saturday, 4-10. Last call’s at midnight. Swing on by and I’ll make a drink for you … or anything else from our little Happy Hour here at Wonkette.

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Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. We had an … interesting customer show up a week or so ago at the bar who inspired this cocktail. You get all types at a bar, and sometimes dealing with the “characters” inspires some stories. This one’s bitter, complex, and very very strong. It might not be the drink we want, but it’s definitely the drink we need. Let’s make The Worst Jack and Coke you’ve Ever Had. Here’s the recipe.

The Worst Jack and Coke You’ve Ever Had

4-6 oz Moxie soda

1 1/2 oz Old Grand-Dad Straight Bourbon

½ oz Amaretto

6-8 shakes Angostura Bitters

Lime wedge

Add all ingredients to a large old-fashioned glass with ice. Squeeze a lime wedge over the cocktail. Stir. Drink.

Hemingway’s isn’t a dive bar by any stretch of the imagination, but it is one of the few dedicated bars in downtown Medina, Ohio. And it’s open later than most of the places off the town square. We’ve had a few women drag their Tinder dates down into our basement speakeasy. Sometimes the course of true love runs smooth. Sometimes it doesn’t.

A few weeks ago, a fellow with “TATER” tattooed across his face showed up at the bar with a date. He insisted on taking a photo of himself with one of our female bartenders. She declined. He got upset. Our floor manager handled the situation like a pro, but it was a little tense for a while. Eventually, he stormed out. Instead of tipping, he wrote “WORST JACK AND COKE I’VE EVER HAD” across his bill. We’re probably going to have T-shirts with that slogan printed up at some point. It’s a fantastic motto for the bar.

I decided to take the whole sorry incident and use it as inspiration. I wanted to write The Worst Jack and Coke You’ve Ever Had — a bourbon and cola that a bartender would like, full of complex and bitter flavors, the sort of thing a mixologist would savor. It was also important to keep it simple and use dive bar ingredients. And strong. It needed to be very, very strong. I’ve been reading the news all week like the rest of you. The need for strong drink is urgent.

Moxie was immediately my first choice for the soda in this flavor bomb. The official state soda of Maine is an acquired taste at best — sort of like root beer, but with a long, lingering bitter finish. That bitterness comes from gentian root, the same bittering agent as Angostura bitters. A heavy-handed shake of Angostura made the Moxie more complex and interesting. (I’m a fan of soda and bitters in general; they’re my go-to drink for Dry January.) The choice of booze in this glass was a bit more challenging. I hate Jack Daniels, and Brown-Forman is on my shit list in any event. I tried upping the Angostura to a full ounce. Gross. I tried Fernet Branca. Also bad. I considered Malort. Sanity reigned. I left that bottle unopened. Eventually, I decided to use Old Grand-Dad, a 100 proof high-rye bourbon that isn’t too sweet or peppery. It’s as “smooth” as industrial sandpaper. Perfect for this cocktail.

With all these bitter ingredients, a little sweetness was in order to make the drink pleasant. Jack Daniels has a distinct stone-fruit finish that I dislike, but should probably be present in a glass billing itself as “the worst Jack and Coke.” A touch of amaretto smoothed things out and made the drink vaguely resemble Jack … assuming you could work past the herbal bitterness. The end result doesn’t taste a thing like Lemmy’s drink of choice. It’s stronger, tougher, and more bitter — a perfect drink for 2026.

Let’s talk ingredients:

Moxie: There are a lot of really interesting small-batch sodas on the market. Ohio loves its bizarre pop flavors; hopefully, you can browse through your local candy store or gaming shop and find this gem of a soda. The bitterness is unlike anything else. That’s probably for the best.

Amaretto: Amaretto uses apricot kernels, not almonds, to create its distinctive flavor. I use it whenever I want a “nutty” flavor in a drink without pinning down an exact kind of nut. In this case, it emulates the vague peachiness of Jack Daniels nicely.

Old Grand-Dad: This bourbon is a Jim Beam product, and surprisingly better than its label suggests — the “Old Grand-Dad” in question is Basil Hayden, one of the all-time greats of Kentucky bourbon. Use your bourbon of choice in this glass.

Angostura bitters: Use a lot of this. Angostura uses gentian root, the same bittering agent as Moxie, to create its distinctive flavor. The two go well together.

My home bar is Hemingway’s Underground, the hottest cocktail bar in pretty little Medina, Ohio. I’m behind the stick Wednesday-Saturday, 4-10. Last call’s at midnight. Swing on by and I’ll make a drink for you … or anything else from our little Happy Hour here at Wonkette.

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Day 2: 12:28 PM, Cafe Fleur de Lis

Bloody Mary #2

1 oz Tito’s Vodka

½ oz Worcester sauce

½ oz horseradish

2-3 oz Bloody Mary mix

Shake and strain into a pint glass over ice. Garish with a lemon wedge, olive, and pickled okra.

If you’re taking notes, this is my second Bloody Mary on day two of my trip. I have it on good authority that only scoundrels of low character drink Bloody Marys after noon, which tracks. I had this one with brunch at Cafe Fleur de Lis on Chartres Street. My wife had fallen in love with the seafood Benedict last time we were here, and I’m pleased to report that a Bloody Mary with crab cakes, perfectly poached eggs, and Hollandaise sauce is a match made in heaven.

After a delightful lunch, I needed to take a walk to Rampart Street. I definitely needed to clear my head, but I also had a destination in mind. The Quarter often feels like a fairyland built for tourists. Rampart Street starts to resemble a real street in a real city, with mundane hardware stores interspersed with quirky sandwich shops and genuine 24-hour dive bars. But it’s also home to Bar Tonique, the oldest craft bar in NOLA. I definitely wanted to visit this particular landmark to mixology … and they were serving $6 Mai Tais for happy hour.

Day 2, 2:24 PM, $6 Mai Tai, Bar Tonique

Discount Mai Tai

1 ½ oz El Dorado 5 Year Rum

¾ oz curacao

½ oz house orgeat

½ oz lime juice

Shake and strain into a rocks glass over ice. Garnish with a mint sprig.

House Orgeat

1 cup unsweetened almond milk

1 cup sugar

3-4 drops orange blossom water

Heat all ingredients over a small saucepan until the sugar is fully dissolved. Strain and store in a sealable bottle. Keeps 1 month refrigerated.

$6 for a Mai Tai is really cheap. I haven’t had a good one for less than $15 to date. But this glass was delightfully restrained and mellow. The curacao and orgeat supported the rum rather than competing with it, resulting in a beautifully rum-forward drink that was eminently sippable. I’m reconsidering my approach to Mai Tais after this. There’s a lot to be said for letting the rum speak for itself in this glass.

After this tasty treat, I made friends with some fellow Midwesterners and discussed the specs for a perfect lemon-drop martini. Then I asked the bartender for a taste of whatever she’d been working on lately. She offered a spiced candy cocktail that reminded me of Red Hots, but in a complex, compelling way. Then the president of the Bartender’s Guild in Cleveland reached out to me and informed me that the Sazeracs at Bar Tonique were particularly good. This would be my third Sazerac of the day … but sure, why not? I stopped taking photographs. My notes started getting a touch vague. Time to retreat and regroup.

Day 2: 5 O’ Clock Somewhere, The Will And The Way

I walked, more or less in a straight line, to my final destination, The Will and the Way. This little oasis in the heart of the Quarter has some lovely cocktails, but I was so far gone at this point that I was reduced to taking a few sips of one, scrawling some notes, and ordering another. I recall drinking an ube-and-umami vermouth cocktail that was ... purple. And thick. Possibly too much umami there. And a “Dr. Pepper” Manhattan that was rich with cherry flavors at the front, but had too much black pepper on the finish. I don’t remember much else. Definitely time to go home.

That evening, I had a lovely Revillon menu at a nearby restaurant with my wife. I might have had another Sazerac. I definitely had some red snapper. In the wee hours of the morning, my liver and GI tract explained to me, in excruciating detail, that I’m almost 55 years old and can’t drink like this anymore without consequences. I am very lucky that my spouse loves me as much as she does.

Day 3: 9:55 AM, Cafe Beignet

Cafe Au Lait

4 oz chicory coffee

4 oz steamed whole milk

Add coffee to a warmed coffee cup. Slowly stir in the warmed milk. Sip gently.

… yeah, no more Bloody Marys for me.

The rest of the trip involves shopping the French Market, seeing the sights, and enjoying a much more pleasant Revillon dinner at the Court of Two Sisters. With a glass of house wine. Everything in moderation. I did swing by Jean Lafitte’s Absinthe House before leaving my favorite city on earth. I explained, carefully, that it was rather cold out and that I’d had too much to drink. They understood completely.

Day 3, 9:49 PM, Jean Lafitte’s Absinthe House

Irish Coffee

2 oz Tullamore D.E.W.

1 oz brown sugar

4-5 oz chicory coffee

Add brown sugar to a footed coffee cup. Pour 1 oz of coffee into the cup and stir until fully dissolved. Add the remaining coffee and serve.

… here’s hoping you never change, NOLA.

My home bar is Hemingway’s Underground, the hottest cocktail bar in pretty little Medina, Ohio. I’m behind the stick Wednesday-Saturday, 4-10. Last call’s at midnight. Swing on by and I’ll make a drink for you… or anything else from our little Happy Hour here at Wonkette.

OPEN THREAD!

TIPS!

I have a guilty secret. Last year I started to watch YouTube videos of Americans visiting the UK and discovering our food culture. I quickly developed a little bit of an addiction. Part of the appeal of these videos was the degree of superiority I felt when I watched them walk into a Wetherspoons or a Toby Carvery and proceed to base their entire opinion of British cuisine on these sub-standard offerings. It is essentially the equivalent of judging American food solely on a visit to a Chuck E. Cheese. It wasn’t long however, before I found myself discovering several Americans who actually made an effort to travel throughout our relatively small country and really explore the food scene in the different regions of our little nation. It became swiftly apparent to me that there are two British foods Americans just cannot get enough of, one is a Greggs Sausage Roll, and the other is Sticky Toffee Pudding. I can’t say that I blame them, the Sticky Toffee Pudding is one of the greatest winter desserts in existence: sweet, fruity, sticky, warm and comforting, and it can be served with hot custard, cream, ice cream or clotted cream, or even on its own with nothing but the toffee sauce. I am starting to think that if we wanted to reunite the UK and the USA, all we would need to do is promise to provide you with all the Sticky Toffee Pudding you could eat. And Universal Healthcare. And our paid vacation days. It is entirely possible that my decision to provide you with this recipe may undercut any theoretical future efforts to unite our two nations, but I am willing to risk whatever consequences may come my way.

Don’t say I never give you anything.

A Little Slice Of History

The origins of Sticky Toffee Pudding are rather ... sticky. There are contesting stories claiming that this delicious dessert was first developed in Cumbria during the 1970s, in Lancashire during the 1940s (developed from a recipe shared by Canadian troops during World War II which used maple syrup), or, and this is the oldest origin story I could find, at a little place called the Gait Inn in Millington, East Yorkshire, in 1907. Regardless of the exact date that this dessert was first invented, or the location it was invented in, it was the British chef Francis Coulson who popularised the dish when he added it to the menu at the Sharrow Bay Hotel in Ullswater, Cumbria, in the 1970s. The dish is still widely associated with Cumbria — you’d be hard pressed to find a pub or restaurant in the Lake District which doesn’t feature this dish on their dessert menu. The tiny Lake District village of Cartmel is home to the Cartmel Sticky Toffee Pudding Company, considered to be the custodians of the most famous version of this popular dessert.

We can be certain that the invention of Sticky Toffee Pudding relies on events which occurred much earlier than any of the claims to its invention. Without the importation of dates to the UK, the Sticky Toffee pudding would be missing one of its key ingredients. First imported to Britain during the early medieval period by way of North Africa via Arab and Venetian traders, the sweet and sticky date was an alternative for the more expensive sugar. Dates were first domestically cultivated over 6000 years ago. By the 1660s dates were being used in savoury dishes in the royal court as the Islamic style of cooking grew in popularity, with dates used in meat and fish dishes similar to tagines. The use of dates was initially restricted to the kitchens of the very wealthy; transportation of exotic goods such as dates and spices was slow and expensive, putting them out of the reach of the common folk. Even as transportation improved, dates didn’t really become part of the diet of everyday Britons until the mid-twentieth century: Whilst they were more accessible, they were almost unseen except for during the Festive period, when a dusty box of rather dry and unappealing fruit would suddenly appear in the houses of grandmothers throughout the country. Thankfully, fresh dates are now widely available in UK supermarkets and these delicious fruits are becoming more regularly used in British cooking with the introduction of date oils and syrups and an increased interest in exploring Mediterranean and Middle Eastern food. So, what this means is that every bite of Sticky Toffee Pudding contains over 6000 years of history and careful agricultural and culinary development, not to mention the disputed claims over its creation — that’s pretty special.

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This recipe needs to be prepared in two parts, with the sponge and the toffee sauce being prepared separately and then combined at the end. It’s also a very good idea, although by no means essential, to prepare it at least a day before you plan to eat it in order to allow the sauce time to be absorbed into the sponge and create that perfect sticky texture.

For anyone living with Diabetes or needing to count carbohydrates for any reason, this is a carb heavy dessert, clocking in at 640.1g of carbs for the entire recipe. This recipe will comfortably serve 6-8 people, depending how generous you’re feeling, so that’s either 80g or 107g per serving, not including any custard or ice cream, etc, you may serve it with.

Your Equipment

Digital kitchen scales

Small mixing bowl

Fork

Stand mixer or large mixing bowl and hand whisk

Deep rectangular baking tray or cake pan (a lasagne dish would also work well) or individual ramekins

Saucepan

Wooden spoon

Your Ingredients

For the sponge:

225 g Medjool dates (get as close as you can to 225g, I usually go slightly above to allow for the removal of the stones)

175 ml Boiling water

1 tsp Vanilla extract

175 g Self-rising/Self-raising flour

1 tsp Baking soda/Bicarbonate of soda

2 Eggs

85 g Butter (softened), plus extra for greasing the baking tray

140 g Demerara sugar (or soft brown sugar)

2 tbsp Black treacle

100 ml Milk

For the toffee sauce:

175 g Light brown sugar

50g Butter

225 ml Heavy/Double cream

1 tbsp Black treacle

The Important Bit

Firstly, de-stone and finely chop your Medjool dates (225 g), place these in your small mixing bowl along with 175ml of boiling water. Give them a quick stir and then set aside and leave them to soak for 30 minutes.

After about 15 minutes you should start the sponge.

Start by preheating your oven to 350 F/ 180 C and lightly buttering your baking tray or ramekins and dusting them with a little extra flour.

Add the remaining sponge ingredients except for the vanilla extract (175 g self-rising flour, 1 tsp baking soda, 2 eggs, 85 g softened butter, 140 g demerara sugar, 2 tbsp black treacle, 100 ml milk) in your large mixing bowl or stand mixer. Use the whisk attachment to whisk the mixture until it forms a loose, but slightly grainy cake batter, this should take around 3 - 5 minutes on a medium speed. You could also do this by hand, but it will take a bit longer.

Return to your bowl of chopped dates, most of the water should have been absorbed. Add your vanilla extract to your soaked dates and mash with a fork.

Add the soaked dates to the cake batter and whisk together for another minute or two to ensure the dates are well distributed.

Pour the cake batter into your baking tray or ramekins and bake in the oven for 20-30 minutes. The individual ramekins will cook faster than the larger tray, so check the sponge after 20 minutes using the skewer method and return to the oven for 5 minutes if needed, repeat until the skewer comes out clean.

Note: It is also possible to make the sponge in a microwave if you do not have access to an oven. It’s best to do this as a large sponge rather than individual sponges (it’s just quicker and easier). All you need to do is place the cake mixture into a large, microwave safe bowl and cover with clingfilm/plastic wrap. Do not poke holes in the plastic wrap. Simply microwave the sponge for 2 minutes at a time until it is thoroughly cooked (use the skewer method to check). The texture won’t be quite the same as the oven baked sponge, but it is close enough for when you’re craving a sticky toffee hit but you don’t have access to an oven.

Leave the sponge to cool in the tray while you make the toffee sauce.

In your saucepan, combine the light brown sugar (175 g), butter (50 g) and half of the cream (112 ml). Cook on a medium heat, stirring constantly, until the mixture begins to boil and the sugar is fully dissolved.

Stir in the black treacle (1mtbsp) and turn the heat up, allow the mixture to bubble for 2-3 minutes, stirring it occasionally so that it doesn’t burn.

Remove the toffee sauce from the heat and quickly stir in the remaining cream (113 ml). You should now have a rich, toffee coloured sauce.

Loosen your sponge from the tray using a palette knife and carefully remove it from the tray/ ramekins (if you’ve made a large pudding in a baking tray rather than individual puddings it is easier to cut the sponge into portions at this point and remove each portion from the baking tray using a fish slice).

If you wish to serve the Sticky Toffee Puddings immediately, simply pour a little of the syrup into each serving dish, then place the sponge on top and pour over more of the sauce. I recommend you don’t do this though, the sponge will improve in taste and texture if it is allowed to soak in the toffee sauce for at least 24 hours.

If you want to take the time to serve this dessert at its best then, after removing the sponge from its tray/ramekin, simply place half the syrup in the bottom of the tray/ramekins you have just removed the sponge from, then replace the sponge and top it with the rest of the toffee sauce. Loosely cover the puddings with foil or baking parchment, and leave them to stand for 24-48 hours. You do not need to chill them. You could also freeze them for up to 6 months and simply defrost and then reheat them when you’re craving a sweet treat.

When you’re ready to serve the Sticky Toffee Puddings, simply preheat your oven to 350 F/180C and reheat the puddings for 15-20 minutes, or until the sauce is bubbling. Remove the puddings from the oven and allow them to cool for a minute or two and then serve with hot custard, cream, or ice cream.

I hope you’ll agree that this recipe really isn’t as intimidating as it might initially appear, it’s definitely worth taking time to bake as there is a reason it is one of the most popular desserts in the UK. I’d describe it as a warm, comforting hug in a bowl, just what you need for the long, dark days of January once the excitement of the New Year is over.

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I’ll be back in February, with a rather iconic cake which should work very well for Valentines Day.

Until then...

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