Not a Mai Tai Adventure

The orgeat separated. Almond-flavor-loving me had sprung for an artisanal version of this important mai tai ingredient, a special syrup with a floral, nutty flavor.

At the time, friends who lived in Hawaii before returning to Colorado inspired the doomed purchase. They’d brought back incredible rum — bottles, plural — and concocted the most incredible mai tais I’d ever sipped. On reflection, they were actually my first mai tais. Spoiled forever.

Orgeat, pronounced “or-zhat,” seemed like a flexible ingredient that could play nicely in a bunch of different cocktails. The fancy one had explicit instructions about refrigeration. From the start, it didn’t taste right. The texture was almost gritty, as if I’d attempted to create a syrup from stuff at the back of my battered 1980s rental cabinets.

Before moving from Gunbarrel to Louisville, Colorado, that bottle had to go. I shelved any inclination to try a new orgeat until a serendipitous package arrived outside our garage door this summer. Thankfully we didn’t back the car over it.

My dear friend, booze expert and editorial director extraordinaire Gina Pace had arranged for the delivery of this wondrous haul. Inside the box: Monkey Shoulder blended malt scotch whisky, Tullamore D.E.W. blended Irish whiskey, a bottle of simple syrup, a bottle of lemon juice, and, yes, a bottle of orgeat syrup made by an Italian company. Plus instructions on how to make a dangerously delicious cocktail from the ingredients.

This orgeat was smooth, almond-y and, crucially for me, did not require refrigeration. Looking up the brand online, it’s pretty inexpensive. I didn’t mind that the traditional floral notes were mostly absent because the consistency was excellent for mixing.

Then, one weekend, the orgeat bottle and the white rum we got for making mojitos inspired me to look up mai tai instructions. I did not know there were so many different competing recipes for this classic cocktail. An Eater.com article dove deep into the contested history. Key ingredient: orange curaçao, which Guillaume researched while I rummaged around the kitchen. The flavor comes from the rinds of wild bitter oranges growing on the Caribbean island. The blue color came later.

“The Mai Tai does not have pineapple juice in it. Or orange juice. Or any other juice besides lime,” Caroline Pardilla wrote on Eater.com. “There is a recipe. It was handed down to us by Trader Vic. It’s not something ‘tropical’ that you just toss together.”

Sorry, Caroline. We lacked curaçao. The improvising began. Orange juice with “some pulp” straight out of the container would have to do. And blended scotch whisky. Ceci n’est pas un mai tai. Yet the resulting cocktail was so unexpectedly good that we had another round. I also tried making it with Bourbon, which gave it a different edge, but was still tasty. Same with the Irish whiskey. For harder-hitting brown liquors, adding a smidge more simple syrup provided better balance.

If you have Hawaiian rum on hand, you don’t need this hackneyed cocktail. Do whatever you already do with that liquid gold.

I’m working with what we’ve got. The pandemic continues. Haze from nearby wildfires started giving the daylight an orange tint. So let’s sip slowly and picture ourselves on a gorgeous beach under clear blue skies with a cool breeze.

Let’s Pretend Mai Tai
Adapted from Martin Cate and Eater.com

¾ oz. fresh lime juice
½ oz. orange juice
¼ oz. orgeat
¼ oz. simple syrup (½ oz. if using a stronger liquor)
1 oz. white rum
1 oz. high-quality blended malt scotch whisky or another smooth-tasting brown liquor
Ice cubes
Fresh orange slice for garnish

Combine all ingredients in a shaker with three regular-sized ice cubes or several small cubes. Cover and shake for at least 10 seconds.

Pour the cocktail, including the ice, into an old fashioned glass. Garnish with a thin slice of fresh orange.