cocktail review no. 53 - Zombie

Apologies, apologies! I know I've missed a couple Thursdays. I'll explain later. My reading list has taken over my life, and I find myself once again searching for direction in an aimless world...but I digress. On with the review.

The Zombie happens to be one of my favorite cocktails, mainly because it has a weird name which it actually lives up to. This drink literally makes you feel like a zombie the morning after: headache, dry mouth, sluggish movements, bleary eyes, the works. Plus you want to rip anything that moves or makes noise into itty bitty shreds. This libation is better than anything crashing satellites or corrupt corporations could dish up.

Now, I actually have two different recipes for this. One is from the Bartender's Bible...

•  1 ounce light rum
• 1 ounce añejo rum
• 1 ounce dark rum
• ½ ounces apricot brandy
• 2 ounces orange juice
• 1 ounce pineapple juice
• 1 ounce lime juice
• 1 teaspoon superfine sugar
• 1 cup crushed ice
• 1 teaspoons 151-proof rum
• 1 orange slice
• 1 maraschino cherry
• 1 mint sprig

In a blender, combine the light rum, añejo rum, dark rum, apricot brandy, orange juice, pineapple juice, lime juice, and sugar with the crushed ice. Blend well at high speed. Pour into a collins glass. Float the 151-proof rum on top. Garnish with the orange slice, cherry, and mint sprig.

(Whew, that's quite some litany, ain't it?)

And this is the recipe I was taught in class, at National Bartenders in Riverside, California.

• 1 ounce Bacardi dark rum
• 1 ounce Bacardi light rum
• ½ ounce crème de almond
• ½ ounce triple sec
• 4 ounces sweet-and-sour mix
• 4 ounces orange juice
• ½ ounce Bacardi 151

In a hurricane glass half-filled with ice cubes, combine the dark rum, light rum, crème de almond, and triple sec. Pour equal measures of sweet-and-sour and orange juice until the glass is almost full. Float the 151-proof rum on top.

Now that's better. Simpler. Easy to remember. And you don't have the oddball ingredients which normally plague tropical drinks (what the molly hell is "orgeat syrup"?). There's pretty much crème de almond and that's it. I didn't have any on hand, so I substituted amaretto, which at least is almond-flavored, though made from apricot stones.

Now, as you may have noticed, there is a feckin' truckload of rum in this drink. Hence the title: this thing is bad for the head, the liver, and most of the rest of the body. Forget them Long Island iced teas. It doesn't matter how slowly you sip, the rum lights a fire in your belly, the 151 goes right to your head...and your braiiiinnnnnnnsssssss...

Okay, I'll lay off the undead references.

The major advantage the zombie has over its competitors is that it possesses distinct flavors. You can actually detect the rum. The taste is typical for a tropical drink, but not overwhelmingly fruity, like a Mai Tai or Chi Chi. Zombies have a predominant rummy undertow that sinks its teeth into you and won't let go. From the first bite to the last (so to speak), the rum courses through your veins, seeping into your tissues, rotting your flesh and impairing your motor functions.

Oh, right, sorry. I have to give up the zombie shop talk. Don't want to cause a mass panic...

Somehow, the combined effect of triple sec, sweet 'n' sour, orange juice and crème de almond produces a sweet, well-rounded, pleasant, generic sort of fruit flavor which mixes tremendously well with rum. Some might say that the National Bartenders recipe isn't as sophisticated as the Bible's, but superiority is largely a matter of taste in the cocktail world. There comes a time when you're mixing so many ingredients together that they just blend together into one unrecognizable blob. (See Dad's Rule of 3.) I dare you to mix the Bible's version and tell me you can taste the lime juice.

"What of it?" you may protest. "You're not supposed to taste it. The juices are intended to merge into a synergistic amalgam and be enjoyed thusly."

First of all, give yourself a swift kick in the ass. Nobody says "thusly" anymore.

Second, let me ask you this: if the juices are supposed to blend together, why do you need so many? Wouldn't you get along just as well without the lime juice as you would with it? Is the tiny, sour, citrusy kick the lime juice transmits really detectable amid all those pineapple and orange titans?

The school recipe might actually be the better of the two because it has fewer ingredients. It's a lot quicker to make, too, let me tell you.

Just by adding almond liqueur, sweet-and-sour, triple sec and orange juice, you can create a citrus-dominant, slightly nutty nectar which will marvelously complement the sweetness of the rum. It'll take all of your cares away. And probably make you stagger around and moan a bit, too.

Sometimes it is fun to spend thirty minutes hand-crafting a deliciously complicated cocktail. But that's a story for another day. For now, drink your zombie and don't stumble on your way out the door.