Mixing It Up

Jon Gower

Signature cocktails

In one of his earliest poems T.S. Eliot’s character Prufrock says ‘I have measured out my life with co ee spoons’. Mine, on the other hand, has been measured out in, well, cocktail glasses. In particular I have this thing about signature cocktails. I’ll freely admit to this rather specialist addiction which I’ve had for years.

I spent one summer in the Bay Area in California going out every night for a late night trawl of the bars and never paid for a single one. How so? What is your special gi , I hear you chorus? Well I’d always take a gander at the cocktail list before starting a conversation with the mixologist, suggesting ways they could improve the descriptions. Nothing too critical, mind. it was just me having fun, although there was a serious point. It was a bit like those branding experts M&S employ to sharpen the descriptions of food products, such as adding “luscious” before black cherries to make them, well, more luscious. “Young” coconut always worked. As a reward for my bar y suggestions I’d always have my drinks for free. It was good for the bank balance just as it was punishing for my liver.

Since then I’ve stepped up a notch. I’ve perfected a margarita which my American wife loves: I’d even go so far as to say that it has consolidated our happy marriage. We grow Meyer lemons in pots to make perfect Lemon Drops. We even have a signature cocktail in our house, which keep up the citrus theme. It’s called Gwaed y Gwan, the blood of the weak and involves elder ower liqueur, blood oranges in season, fresh lime and ginger ale. A er enjoying a sanguine few an inebriate guest le the outline of his body in our viburnum bush as he fell in. I do tend to make drinks using industrial measures and sometimes forget to warn people. at’s a consequence, perhaps of drinking with my father-in-law who mixed his drinks using US Naval measures. He used to make ‘Vitamin Vs’ in which the “V” stood for vodka. I’m not sure there were any vitamins but what was certain is that they would be served at four, on the dot. His signature drink. I was somewhat dismayed when I recently had a guided tour of a swanky new hotel in Cardi to nd they hadn’t even thought of creating a signature drink, not realising how it could put them on the map. ink Singapore Sling, London Fog, Boston Rum Punch, Moscow Mule. Even individual boroughs of New York have their own. ere’s the Queens, the Bronx – which is basically a martini with a splash of orange – and the Brooklyn. Why not concoct e ‘Di , a sti drink with a di erence?

But some people totally get it. I cite Matt Williams, who manages the bar at the Boathouse Hotel overlooking Newry Beach in Holyhead, with whom I had a very pleasant chat recently. It’s run by an environmental charity, Wild Elements, who took it over during the pandemic: the opening months were very testing. Our conversation turned to, you guessed it, signature cocktails and he told me they didn’t have one. But by the time we’d nished shooting the breeze he’d invented the Holyhead Hot Toddy. It uses spirits from the Anglesey Rum Company at Gaerwen. It’s sweetened using honey from the charity’s hives and features a secret ingredient sourced by a local forager called Jules. ey’re having a launch party soon and I’ve been invited. Wild horses couldn’t hold me back.

Which got me thinking about other Welsh possibilities. ‘ e Swansea’ might be a seaweed-in ected gin enlivened with a single hand-picked cockle from the Carol Watts stall in the market, decorated maybe with a small drape of samphire. Simple but utterly marine. Llanidloes might have e Lani, using rowan sap from surrounding mid Wales hills. Ebbw Vale’s Hard Steel would be made, of course with hard liquor and be so much better than a Rusty Nail. Cariad ar y Traeth, Love on the Beach, might be a sexy one to sip watching the sun set over Porthcawl sands. e Penderyn would be simple – ice or no ice. e possibilities are endless. Chin chin.