The mystery is solved — sort of

Ever wonder why it’s called a cocktail? I have, and I set out to learn the answer. So, I checked with Gary (Gaz) Regan, my friend and business associate and, a fountainhead of information about all sorts of booze business matters. He has written 18 books on the business including, 101 best new Cocktails, The Bartender’s Gin Compendium, and The Joy of Mixology.

It turns out that in the new revised and updated edition of The Joy of Mixology, Gaz addresses this question at the outset of this amazing book, which is full of anecdotes, stories, and cocktail recipes. With his permission here are some excerpts on “How Did a Cocktail Come to be called a Cocktail?

On May 13, 1806, the Balance and Columbian Repository of Hudson, New York, answered a reader’s query as to the nature of a cocktail: “Cocktail is a stimulating liquor, composed of spirits of any kind, sugar, water, and bitters—it is vulgarly called a bittered sling.” The cocktail had been born, it had been defined, and yet it couldn’t have been very well known by the general populace, or the newspaper wouldn’t have considered it a fit topic for elucidation.

Where does the word cocktail come from? There are many answers to that question, and none is really satisfactory. One particular favorite story of mine, though, comes from The Booze Reader: A Soggy Saga of a Man in His Cups, by George Bishop: “The word itself stems from the English cock-tail which, in the middle 1800s, referred to a woman of easy virtue who was considered desirable but impure. The word was imported by expatriate Englishmen and applied derogatorily to the newly acquired American habit of bastardizing good British Gin with foreign matter, including ice. The disappearance of the hyphen coincided with the general acceptance of the word and its re-exportation back to England in its present meaning.” Of course, this can’t be true since the word was applied to a drink before the middle 1800s, but it’s entertaining nonetheless, and the definition of “desirable but impure” fits cocktails to a tee.

A delightful story, published in 1936 in the Bartender, a British publication, details how English sailors of “many years ago” were served mixed drinks in a Mexican tavern. The drinks were stirred with “the fine, slender and smooth root of a plant which owing to its shape was called Cola de Gallo, which in English means ‘Cock’s tail.’” The story goes on to say that the sailors made the name popular in England, and from there the word made its way to America.

Another Mexican tale about the etymology of cocktail—again, dated “many years ago”—concerns Xoc-tl (transliterated as Xochitl and Coctel in different accounts), the daughter of a Mexican king, who served drinks to visiting American officers. The Americans honored her by calling the drinks cocktails—the closest they could come to pronouncing her name. And one more south-of-the-border explanation for the word can be found in Made in America, by Bill Bryson, who explains that in the Krio language, spoken in Sierra Leone, a scorpion is called a kaktel. Could it be that the sting in the cocktail is related to the sting in the scorpion’s tail? It’s doubtful at best.

One of the most popular tales told about the first drinks known as cocktails concerns a tavern keeper by the name of Betsy Flanagan, who in 1779 served French soldiers drinks garnished with feathers she had plucked from a neighbor’s roosters. The soldiers toasted her by shouting, “Vive le cocktail!” William Grimes, however, points out in his book Straight Up or On the Rocks: The Story of the American Cocktail that Flanagan was a fictional character who appeared in The Spy, by James Fenimore Cooper. He also notes that the book “relied on oral testimony of Revolutionary War veterans,” so although it’s possible that the tale has some merit, it’s a very unsatisfactory explanation.

A fairly plausible narrative on this subject can be found in Famous New Orleans Drinks & How to Mix ’em, by Stanley Clisby Arthur, first published in 1937. Arthur tells the story of Antoine Amedie Peychaud, a French refugee from San Domingo who settled in New Orleans in 1793. Peychaud was an apothecary who opened his own business, where, among other things, he made his own bitters, Peychaud’s, a concoction still available today. He created a stomach remedy by mixing his bitters with brandy in an eggcup—a vessel known to him in his native tongue as a coquetier. Presumably not all Peychaud’s customers spoke French, and it’s quite possible that the word, pronounced coh-KET-yay, could have been corrupted into cocktail. However, according to the Sazerac Company, the present-day producers of Peychaud’s bitters, the apothecary didn’t open until 1838, so there’s yet another explanation that doesn’t work.

Another theory has it that in England, horses of mixed blood had their tails docked to signify their lack of breeding, and were known as “cocktailed” horses, but since I first wrote that, the term has been clarified. David Wondrich, cocktail historian extraordinaire, has concluded that the word’s origins did indeed involve horses and their tails, but with a difference: “cocktail,” he found, was a bit of ginger or cayenne pepper that crooked horse dealers would put into tired old horses’ bums to make them cock their tails up and act a little more lively than usual.

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So, there you have it… five possible explanations of the origin of the word cocktail.

I don’t know about you but I’m going with the last one, but I much prefer “down the hatch” than “bottoms up.”

A fascinating book on innovation in the alcohol industry

David Gluckman has spent 45 years in the drinks industry (the British phrase for the Booze Business) creating such outstanding products as Bailey’s Irish Cream (along with Tom Jago), Tanqueray Ten, Cîroc and scores of others. His book, whose title is the heading of this article, is a fascinating guide to what it takes to innovate and launch new products in this industry.

David was born in South Africa and came to the UK and began working in advertising. His accounts included such companies and brands as Procter & Gamble, Kerrygold butter, and several Unilever brands. In the late 1960s, he became a consultant to IDV (International Distillers and Vintners—a company that ultimately became Diageo), and entered the world of brand development.

As a new products/innovation toiler myself, I found the book to be captivating and a joyful ride on the sometimes-turbulent road of brand development.

A review by Paul Walsh (ex CEO of Diageo) put it nicely, “David Gluckman has a ‘one-of-a-kind’ approach to new brand development, but amazingly, it works. You will enjoy this book.”

I sat down (virtually) with David and asked him about his experiences.

You’ve spent most of your career on innovation and product development, what are the biggest obstacles you’ve encountered over the course of your career? Who are the innovation villains?

Somebody once asked me why we had such a high strike rate getting brands onto the market at IDV. My answer “No marketing people.” No middle managers asking to see alternative ideas to go into massive research programmes. I can’t imagine major players like Sidney Frank or Abe Rosenberg doing concept testing. We had a very small team of like-minded individuals and the beauty was that we reported to top management. I sold the idea of Smirnoff Black to Denis Malamatinas in under 10 minutes. And Aqua Libra to Tim Ambler in 5 minutes. Well, that’s because I knew him better.

After leaving Diageo I did a project for a large drinks company. The budget was huge and I worked in parallel with a global innovation giant. I delivered my work a month ahead of schedule and I thought the solutions were really good. I think it was a case of ‘budget allocated, budget spent, end of story’. Nothing happened. I would be happy to go and re-pitch the ideas to the company tomorrow. At no charge. I am confident the ideas would work.

Which companies (or individuals) that you’ve worked with were most welcoming or encouraging to new ideas?

IDV was a ‘one-and-only’ when it came to fostering new brand development. Baileys took about 5 years to become significant and yet the company tolerated us (Tom Jago and me) even with the odd expensive failure. Adventure seemed to be built into the IDV culture. When Jago left and Tim Ambler took over the rate of development accelerated. I think of all the people I worked with, Tim was the most inspiring. He really knew the business and he was on the main board and could make things happen. IDV also formally introduced Tom Peters’ ‘brand champion’ idea so top management from all over the company were taking leadership on new ventures.

What’s the biggest regret of your career? What have you done or worked on that you wished you hadn’t?

When I parted company with Diageo in 2005 I got together with two ex-colleagues to develop Coole Swan, a super-premium cream liqueur. The category made sense because there was nothing above Baileys and we felt there was an opportunity for a product with lower sweetness and more modern, sophisticated packaging which broke with the Baileys’ template. I was as proud of that brand as with any I developed for IDV/Diageo. The problem for me personally was that it took me out of my comfort zone and into marketing and finance – not part of my skill set. I still firmly believe that it will be a great buy for a company out there with muscle and resources. But I should have negotiated a brand development fee and a small piece of the action and left it at that.

Thinking about all the new products or innovations you’ve worked on, which are you most proud and why?

It would be easy to say Baileys or Cîroc because they were so successful. But for me the two intellectual challenges which were most satisfying were Smirnoff Black and Distilled Guinness. In the Smirnoff case, the brand was on its knees in the US. The idea of a premium version to compete with Absolut and Stoli was scarcely credible. The solution came from a word more familiar in the brown spirits sector—we set out to achieve and perfected ‘the world’s smoothest vodka.’ And the product delivered. Hard-nosed New York 40-somethings really could taste the difference. And even when I told them it was from Smirnoff they said they preferred it.

Distilled Guinness never got off the drawing board but the way the idea came together in my head was incredibly exciting. If you can have Jewish epiphanies, this was one. The discussion was about a Guinness Whiskey. Should we take the brand into a new category? On the surface, the only way was Irish and at the time (1998), Pernod-Ricard owned the market. So, Guinness Irish Whiskey didn’t seem to make commercial sense. Then out it popped. The fruit of all those lengthy distillery visits. Whisky starts life as a fermented product. A beer. Then it’s distilled. Why not simply distill Guinness? And call it that. Distilled Guinness. No SWA {Scotch Whisky Association}, no barrel-ageing, make it where you like and make it taste the way you choose. We designed the pack the same evening and I was in a couple of focus groups a few days later. But it never happened.

What do you make of the craft (or small batch) product movement in the US and UK?

I never liked claims like ‘small batch’, ‘hand crafted’ which are all over the place these days. They are hollow claims, just hype. They don’t really mean anything. I always liked brand claims that led to real benefits not stories. It was my advertising training working for Unilever and P&G. Smirnoff Black was a palpably smoother vodka and Tanqueray Ten is made from fresh botanicals and has a fresher, cleaner gin taste. These are real product benefits. They could get drinkers to change their minds.

I’m not sure I agree with David on this last point inasmuch as the back story of a new brand must answer the trade’s question as to “why this and why now.” I think it’s the mix of what’s in the bottle together with the brand’s reason for being that often yields success.

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