People can’t seem to help comparing our current economic crisis with the Great Depression. Fortunately for this generation, when the Dow crashes 500 points in a single day or you get fired from that investment banking job, you can legally take solace in a bottle of the hard stuff. If we learned anything from the Great Crash and its ensuing chaotic years of misery, it’s that Americans will find a way to drink, especially if you tell them not to (take note, Georgetown administrators). Prohibition, which was signed into law as the 18th Amendment in 1920 and was repealed by FDR in 1933, saw a rise in alcohol-related deaths and, more significantly, sparked the popularity of what is today a booze staple: gin.
Before the sobering limitations of the 18th amendment descended upon 1920s society (which, incidentally, was anything but sober), whiskey had been the liquor of choice. But Prohibition shut commercial distributors down, and drinkers had to figure out a quick and easy method for do-it-yourself, clandestine boozing. The solution? Bathtub gin. Think underage college students go to extreme lengths for a buzz? Bathtub gin is not a euphemism—people would literally pour cheap, raw alcohol into their bathtubs, and mix in juniper berry and other spices to create what I can only imagine tastes worse than Burnett’s.
Enter the mixed cocktail. Aside from my grandparents, I’ve never known anyone who would prefer to drink cheap alcohol straight rather than sample a beverage modulated by juice, soda, or a better liqueur of some kind. The gin cocktail is as seminal to the Jazz Age as flappers are. Gin has, at the very least, a cursory presence in seminal literature of the time; in The Great Gatsby, gin is a main player leading up to the novel’s climax, its juniper-induced haze symbolizing the utterly myopic opulence of the time.
And unlike vile vodka, you don’t have to work as hard to mask the flavor of gin, as its slight spiciness, when combined with simple fruit juices, makes for a savory cocktail. The Gimlet is simply gin and lime juice served over ice. Top it off with club soda, and you’ve got a Gin Rickey, a Fitzgerald favorite. A Tom Collins is a bit sweeter, with gin, freshly squeezed lemon juice, a splash of simply syrup (sugar dissolved in water), and soda water to taste. The Colony Cocktail—named after the Vanderbilts’ preferred speakeasy, New York Colony—is one part gin, two parts grapefruit juice, and a dash of maraschino, a cherry liqueur, though maraschino cherry juice would probably suffice.
These expanded drinking options are particularly relevant to those business students whose job options were so recently and dramatically limited. (Let’s be honest, English majors have been hitting the bottle hard for years.) So next time you’re at a bar, order a gin cocktail and raise your glass to the Toms and Daisys of the world, those “careless people … [who] smashed up things then retreated into their money or their vast carelessness … and let other people clean up the mess they had made.” They may not have taught us anything about responsibility, but they sure made a damn good drink.
Pour something cheap and raw into Kate’s bathtub at kmays@staff.georgetownvoice.com
