SpiceLines

Really?

Drink is pretty cool, even on a crowded Friday night. It’s seductively dim, with rough brick walls and a long blond bar that meanders the length of the room. If you’re stuck in the back, you might bump up against some waist-high shadow boxes of beetles and other insects. But once you’re seated, the mixologists and their ingredients are the show. Tiny task lights illuminate vintage glassware and metal cocktail shakers (no blenders!), as they ply their art, creating mysterious concoctions from unmarked bottles of homemade simple syrup, freshly squeezed citrus juices and fruit purees. All the liquor—don’t even think of ordering by brand—is hidden in under-the-counter refrigerators. Bitters, if needed, are added with a medicine dropper.

It’s like a sexy alcoholic chem lab run by bossy scientists in vests.

The Daiquiri, when it arrived, was indeed well-balanced. Not too sweet, plenty of lime, and you could certainly taste the rum. It was a slow-sipping drink, not one of those syrupy frozen concoctions that you guzzle before you even know what’s hit you.

What did I drink? We discussed whiskey, settled on rye, but when the mixologist proposed a “house special” with four other kinds of alcohol, I chickened out. Instead I got a pretty good mojito, though truthfully not as good as the ones I make from the classic Bacardi recipe.

Later, on the plane going home, I ran across a daiquiri recipe in Life is Meals: A Food Lover’s Book of Days, by James and Kay Salter. The Salters—he’s a novelist, she’s a journalist and playwright—are seriously into food and drink. They arranged for their son Theo to be born in France, partly because they thought Paris would be “the perfect place to begin life as three,” and partly so they could moisten his lips with Chateau Latour as soon as he emerged from the womb. (The obstetrician examined the bottle and said, “Not entirely a bad a wine,” before proceeding with the ritual.)

Anyway, their Daiquiri recipe, apparently based on the one made at La Floridita in Havana, famously frequented by Ernest Hemingway, calls for 1-1/2 ounces light rum, the juice of half a lime, a teaspoon of sugar and a dash of maraschino.

That sent me to The Fine Art of Mixing Drinks, the cocktail bible in our house. David Embury notes that La Floridita was known as “La Catedral del Daiquiri” or “The Temple of the Daiquiri,” and bartender Constante Ribalagua as “El Rey de los Coteleros,” or “The Cocktail King.” In the 40 years that he “presided over the bar,” he was “said to have squeezed over 80 million limes and to have made over 10 million Daiquiris.“ La Floridita’s basic Daiquiri was made from 2 ounces of White Label rum, along with the juice of half a lime and a teaspoon of sugar. No maraschino juice, though it does turn up in a couple of variations.

Here’s Embury on Ribalagua’s art: “His limes were gently squeezed with his fingers lest even a drop of the bitter oil from the peel get into the drink; the cocktails were mixed (but not overmixed) in a Waring Blendor; the stinging cold drink was strained through a fine sieve into the glass so that not one tiny piece of ice remained in it. No smallest detail was overlooked in achieving the flawless perfection of the drink.”

I tried the Salters’ Daiquiri recipe, minus the maraschino, but found it overly tart, at least for my taste. Ditto for the version in Embury’s book. (It's possible that La Floridita's Daiquiri was made with smaller Key limes instead of the bigger Persian ones we get.) So I started fooling around—such an unpleasant task!—and a few hours later, settled on a version with slightly different proportions. Oh yes, I used simple syrup instead of sugar and Mount Gay Eclipse, which of course is from Barbados and not Cuba. I liked the Mount Gay, but next time I'll try a lighter rum.

The best part was the frenzied shaking. I made all the Daiquiris in an icy cold metal cocktail shaker, following Embury’s precise instructions: “…when you shake, shake like the very devil! Do not rock or swish or revolve or merely agitate. Throw your biceps into high gear and push the accelerator down to the floorboard.”

It was a lot of fun. And just think, after making millions of Daiquiris, I too may acquire Michele Obama’s magnificently sculpted arms.

As long as I don’t drink all 10 million.

Just Right Daiquiri

You can make more than one Daiquiri at a time, depending upon the size of your shaker. But never make more than one round at a time, since the ice will melt and dilute whatever remains in the shaker. Always use ice cubes, since crushed ice will melt faster, diluting your drink.

Ingredients for one Daiquiri:

2 ounces light rum (I actually used Mount Gay Eclipse which is a little heavier)
½ ounce lime juice
½ ounce simple syrup (see note)
Ice cubes

Method:

1. Do you want a “stinging cold” drink? Then put the rum, uncut limes and simple syrup in the refrigerator at least 2 hours ahead. Thirty minutes before you want to make the daiquiris, put the cocktail shaker in the freezer. If desired, you can also chill your glass. Dip it in water and put it in the freezer alongside the shaker.
2. Ready? Squeeze the lime juice and measure out ½ ounce for each drink. Have the chilled rum and simple syrup handy. Take your glass out of the freezer.
3. Fill the shaker with ice cubes and immediately add the lime juice, simple syrup and the rum. Put on the top and shake vigorously for at least 30 seconds.
4. Remove the top and pour through a strainer--hopefully there's one on top of your shaker--into the frosty glass. Serve immediately.

Note: To make simple syrup, combine 1 cup water and 1 cup white sugar in a small pot over a high flame. Bring to a boil and stir until the sugar has dissolved. Let cool to room temperature and then chill before using.