Classic Tiki: The Mai Tai Cocktail


 Spent last evening making a Mai Tai and thinking about Donn Beach; "Trader Vic" Bergeron; whether I really needed to drop 20 bucks on a bottle of Pierre Ferrand Dry Curaçao; and oh yes: cultural appropriation.

I'll have much to say about the cultural appropriation aspect of Tiki in future posts--the short version is that I think it's something not lightly to be dismissed, and at the same time that merely getting offended about a Tiki mug is a missed opportunity. A Tiki mug can and should be an opening for dialog: Come for the cocktail, stay for the de-colonization.
But for now, let's talk about the Mai Tai.
The Mai Tai is the ur-cocktail of Tiki. There are two great figures in the founding of Tiki: Donn Beach (1907-1989); and Victor Jules "Trader Vic" Bergeron, Jr. (1902-1984).

I talked about Beach in my last post; I'm sure I'll be talking about Trader Vic in several future ones. Essentially the two entrepreneurs were friendly rivals. Bergeron had no trouble conceding that Beach invented Tiki. However, it was a heated point of contention between them as to which of the two invented the Mai Tai. Both men adamantly claimed credit. Cocktail historians think it was probably Bergeron, but we don’t know for sure.
We don't necessarily know what went into the original Mai Tai, either, because both Beach and Bergeron jealously guarded their cocktail recipes. Beach, for example, removed the labels from liquor bottles and replaced them with coded numbers and letters. Even their bartenders were kept in the dark about the exact ingredients and proportions, and much detective work has gone into trying to excavate the original recipes.
So cocktail devotees are in the awkward situation of a having a recipe for a Mai Tai that may not, in fact, be the original. Which hasn't stopped them from agreeing more or less on a standard recipe.
Here are the non-negotiables: 1) the Mai Tai has to involve more than one kind of rum--at least two and as many as three; 2) it has to involve a curaçao orange liqueur and lime juice; 3) it has to use an almond-based syrup called Orgeat (pronounced Or-Zhay).
Most of the more interesting recipes call for Jamaican rum and some sort of rhum agricole. "Rhum" is "rum" in French, but the term refers to rum made from sugar, not molasses. So I went out and bought a bottle of Clement Select Barrel Rhum Agricole (I already had Jamaican rum on hand). And as previously mentioned the Pierre Ferrand Dry Curaçao.
The drink itself is uncomplicated to make. The proper glassware is a double old-fashioned glass or double rocks glass: basically a 12 oz. glass. And you're supposed to use crushed ice.
Build the drink in a Boston shaker.
1 oz. rhum agricole
1 oz. Jamaican rum
1 oz. lime juice
1/2 oz. curaçao
1/2 oz. Orgeat.
Add the crushed ice--wait until last, because since it's crushed ice it will dilute extra fast. Some recipes have you put the crushed ice in a glass, chill the ingredients with cubed ice, and then strain into the glass. But that seems a little too precious. Or maybe I lack sufficient dedication to the craft.
Shake vigorously but briefly, then pour into the glass.
Optionally: float 1/2 oz. dark rum on top, to improve the presentation. (I initially did this but the result didn't impress me enough to want to do it again.)
Garnish with a half lime (as shown) and a nice sprig of mint (which I couldn't find; sue me).



Alternatively, double the recipe and use a 16 oz. Tiki mug. But before doing so, take a half lime that has had the juice squeezed out of it, turn the peel inside out to create a sort of boat; place a cherry in the boat; then carefully fill the boat with 151 proof rum (50.5 percent ABV). Then, even more carefully, set the 151 proof rum on fire. (Incidentally, it will burn for well over a minute.)
Full disclosure: I got the cherry Viking funeral idea, as well as most of the recipe, from Anders Erickson, who has a wonderful YouTube channel.
My initial Mai Tai effort was too tart, so when I made it a second time I used a different Jamaican rum that was a bit more sweet, went a little heavier on the Orgeat, and added a tablespoon of simple syrup made with demerara sugar. That got the drink more or less where it needed to be.
I did not, however, have the same reaction as the woman who first sampled the drink, and who happened to be from Tahiti, and who happened to exclaim, according to Trader Vic Bergeron, "Mai tai-roa aé!" Which Bergeron translated as "Out of this world! The best!" And which of course gave the Mai Tai its name.
Don't get me wrong. I liked it fine. I just wasn't blown away by it. But that's the fun of tinkering with recipes: the quest to get it right.

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