The History of Rum In 4 Drinks

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With hot weather upon us, tropical rum tipples are totally in season. But the stories behind these drinks—and their evolution—often parallel the history of the spirit itself.

According to Wayne Curtis, author of And A Bottle of Rum: A History of the New World in Ten Cocktails, “any given cocktail would arise only when the confluence of economics, technology, trade, and culture came together. Without all those elements, that drink—grog, mojito, whatever—would fail to appear. Drink deeply of any historic drink, and you'll usually find a good story.” Rum is no exception.

During the 16th and 17th centuries, sugarcane farmers were producing a lot of molasses. At the time, it wasn’t considered to be a proper food, so it was given to slaves or dumped in the ocean. Luckily, someone realized that it could be fermented and distilled. The result, as they say, made history.

1. EL DRAQUE

Like the Sazerac, some claim that the El Draque was the world’s first cocktail. Though the claim is questionable, the drink’s history largely parallels that of rum itself. We know for certain that the Draque (also known as the “Draquecito”) was likely named for Sir Francis Drake.

As the legend goes, the English vice admiral’s fleet of ships became stranded near Havana in the late 16th century. His crew sick, Drake responded by whipping up a medicinal concoction using tree bark soaked in crude rum (known as aguardiente), mint, lime, and sugar. Each of the ingredients served a medicinal purpose, and they also helped cover up the taste of the rough spirit.

Aguardiente (which translates as “fiery water”) was basically rough, un-aged rum, and it would’ve likely been the only spirit available in town.

Some time after that point, some intrepid drinker substituted white rum for aguardiente. Ice was added. Someone else, probably a bartender in Cuba, topped it with soda water, changed the name, and the Mojito was born. It’s likely these small changes happened over years or decades, but the result is one of the most recognizable cocktails ever sipped.

2. GROG

Grog is probably best known as the precursor to the Daiquiri, that familiar combination of rum, sugar, and lime. “The main difference [between the two is] ice,” writes Wayne Curtis, though “Grog was originally just water and rum.” In the 1740s, Admiral “Old Grog” Vernon campaigned for soldiers to mix their rum rations with water.

Later on, British naval decrees issued daily lime and sugar rations. According to Curtis, “all the ingredients were there, but it needed to be deeply chilled and served shaken until frigid to make it into the sublime sip we now know as the Daiquiri.”

By this time, rum was an ingrained part of overseas trade and colonial life. Rum doesn’t spoil like beer, wine, or sugarcane. And because it takes up much less space, it makes for easy transport. As a result, it was used as currency in the tragic and shameful Triangle Trade of slaves across the Atlantic.

That rum was made in New England, not the Caribbean. During the 1700s and 1800s, the sugarcane exported from tropical regions fueled the stills in the Northeast. At the peak of the New England rum boom, the colonies imported six million gallons of molasses to fuel the area’s 159 distilleries. Most of the rum was produced for domestic consumption, but some was exported. How much, exactly, is a contentious issue among historians. Many, Curtis included, believe that the amount involved in the Triangle Trade has been overstated.

After the American Revolution, the British cut off the supply of cheap molasses. Grain, however, was plentiful and cheap, so whiskey began to eclipse rum in the mid-1800s in America.

Before the craft cocktail revival of the late '90s, the Daiquiri became a class of drinks rather than a singular beverage. Though many know the syrupy sweet frozen Daiquiri that certainly holds a spot in cocktail culture, the classic, simple Daiquiri has made a resurgence.

3. THE ZOMBIE

In the late 1800s and early 1900s, rum largely faded from public view in America, but the emergence of the tiki movement in the 1930s helped to bring back it back in style. Not only that, the tiki trend also called for combining different spirits into a single drink.

The tiki trend was fun and a little weird, and The Zombie embodies that strangeness and strength (and sometimes its slightly less-than-palatable kick). According to cocktail historian Dave Wondrich, the Zombie was created as an extremely potent hangover cure in the late '30s. Before you go searching out recipes for making it at home, please note that it's well-known for its potency, not its deliciousness. Please drink responsibly.

4. RUM OLD FASHIONED

In the world of cocktails, few contemporary drinks are 100 percent original. Take, for example, the Rum Old Fashioned (and all the different variations on this theme). Though you may be more familiar with the Old Fashioned made with whiskey, bars are constantly looking for ways to tweak the classics.

Back in the 19th century, the Rum Old Fashioned would probably have been called a Rum Cocktail. This simple mixture of bitters, sugar, water, and spirit fits the first known definition of an alcoholic cocktail perfectly.

Despite its simplicity, there’s not a standard definition of what constitutes a Rum Old Fashioned. As a result, it’s the perfect drink to customize exactly how you like it. Like with other spirits, the quality of available rum has risen and the number of brands on the market has skyrocketed, making it easy to find a rum that matches your tastes. Check out some of our suggestions here.

Here's Why the Coke at McDonald's Is So Good

Mario Tama, iStock via Getty Images
Mario Tama, iStock via Getty Images

Not every cup of Coke is created equal. If you're a McDonald's customer who can't resist ordering a large Coke with your Big Mac and fries, you may suspect that the soda from the fast food chain is superior to versions found elsewhere. It's not childhood nostalgia warping your taste buds: McDonald's takes steps to ensure their Coke really does taste better than the competitor's.

Coca-Cola is serious about preserving its secret formula, and the drink you get at McDonald's is made from the same ingredients that you'd get in a can from a vending machine. The difference lies in the way McDonald's treats those ingredients right up to the moment they fill your cup.

Most Coke syrup is shipped to restaurants in plastic bags, but for McDonald's, one of the company's most profitable partners, Coca-Cola sends the product in stainless steel drums. This material is better at preserving the ingredients and keeping them fresh by the time they arrive at their destination.

The second reason the Coke at McDonald's tastes so good has to do with temperature. Instead of storing water for the soda in the soda fountain like many restaurants do, the chain uses insulated tubes to transport it from the fridge directly to the dispenser when it's ready to be poured. In addition to tasting great, colder liquid is also better at trapping CO2 bubbles and keeping drinks fizzy for longer.

A major difference between the Coke you have at McDonald's and a Coke you might have at home is that the McDonald's soda is nearly always enjoyed with ice and a straw. These are the final elements that make its Coke special. McDonald's knows that Coke will eventually get watered down in a cup filled with ice, and it's tweaked its syrup-to-water ratio to account for this. That means the best sip of Coke may come after your ice has had a few minutes to melt.

Even the straws at McDonald's were engineered to maximize your soda enjoyment. They're slightly wider than regular straws, so that first flavor-packed sip is able to hit more of your tongue at once.

Not everything McDonald's puts out has been as well-received as its Coke. Some of the biggest failures from the company's history include the McD.L.T., the Arch Deluxe, and broccoli-flavored bubblegum.

Read Guy Beringer’s 1895 Essay That Coined the Term Brunch

LUNAMARINA/iStock via Getty Images
LUNAMARINA/iStock via Getty Images

In 1895, British writer Guy Beringer entreated the public to adopt a revolutionary meal that he called brunch. The word itself was, as we all know, a portmanteau of breakfast and lunch, and the idea was almost exactly the same as it is today: Rise late, gather your mates, and chat the afternoon away over a feast of breakfast and lunch fare.

He detailed all the benefits of his innovation in his essay “Brunch: A Plea,” which was published in Hunter’s Weekly. In addition to presenting a compelling case for making brunch a part of one's weekend routine, Beringer also seems like the kind of person you’d want to invite to your own Sunday gathering. For one, Beringer definitely lives to eat.

“Dinner’s the thing; the hour between seven and eight is worth all the rest put together,” Beringer wrote. “In these hurrying, worrying, and scurrying days the sweets of life are too often overlooked, and, with the sweets, the hors d'œuvre, soups, and entrées.”

Brunch, therefore, is a way to put the focus back on the food. It’s also a way to justify letting your Saturday night last into the early hours of Sunday morning, since a late first meal makes waking up early on Sunday “not only unnecessary but ridiculous.” According to Beringer, brunch should begin at 12:30 p.m., so feel free to tell your early-bird friend that the father of brunch would consider their 10:00 a.m. brunch reservation an utter travesty.

To Beringer, brunch was much more conducive to socializing than the quiet, comforting solitude of an early breakfast.

“Brunch ... is cheerful, sociable, and inciting. It is talk-compelling,” he explains. “It puts you in a good temper; it makes you satisfied with yourself and your fellow-beings. It sweeps away the worries and cobwebs of the week.”

And, as for the bottomless mimosas, Bloody Marys, and overall boozy nature of brunch these days, Beringer approved of that, too.

“P.S.,” he adds, “Beer and whiskey are admitted as substitutes for tea and coffee.”

You can read his whole groundbreaking composition below.

"When one has reached a certain age, and the frivolities of youth have palled, one's best thoughts are turned in the channel of food. Man's first study is not man, but meals. Dinner is the climax of each day. You may have your chasse café afterwards, in the shape of theatre, music hall, or social gathering; but it is little more than a digestive. Dinner's the thing; the hour between seven and eight is worth all the rest put together. A parallel might be drawn between these sixty minutes and the Nuit de Cléopatre; but neither in length nor moral tendency would it be suitable to Hunter's Weekly. In these hurrying, worrying, and scurrying days the sweets of life are too often overlooked, and, with the sweets, the hors d'œuvre, soups, and entrées. To use a theatrical simile, there is a tendency to regard meals solely as the curtain raisers of the day's performances. Who has not whirlwind friends who rush in upon him, exclaiming, "Let's have a spree to night, old man! We won't bother about feeding; a chop or steak will about do us." What a pitiable frame of mind! Not that I am a gourmet. I hate the term. I regard a gourmet simply as a gourmand with a digestion. Excessive daintiness in regard to food is merely a form of effeminacy, and as such is to be deprecated. But there is a happy medium—everything good, plenty of it, variety and selection. On week days these conditions can without difficulty be fulfilled, but Sunday affords a problem for nice examination. All of us have experienced the purgatory of those Sabbatarian early dinners with their Christian beef and concomitant pie. Have we not eaten enough of them? I think so, and would suggest Brunch as a satisfactory substitute. The word Brunch is a corruption of breakfast and lunch, and the meal Brunch is one which combines the tea or coffee, marmalade and kindred features of the former institution with the more solid attributes of the latter. It begins between twelve and half-past and consists in the main of fish and one or two meat courses.

Apart altogether from animal considerations, the arguments in favor of Brunch are incontestable. In the first place it renders early rising not only unnecessary but ridiculous. You get up when the world is warm, or at least, when it is not so cold. You are, therefore, able to prolong your Saturday nights, heedless of that moral "last train"—the fear of the next morning's reaction. It leaves the station with your usual seat vacant, and many others also unoccupied. If Brunch became general it would be taken off altogether; the Conscience and Care Company, Limited, would run it at a loss. Their receipts on the other days would, however, be correspondingly increased, and they would be able to give their employés a much-needed holiday. The staff has become rather too obstinate and officious of late. That it must be a case of Brunch or morning church I am, of course, aware; but is any busy work-a-day man in a becomingly religious frame of mind after rising eight and nine o'clock on his only "off" morning? If he went to bed in good time the night before, well and good; but Saturday is Saturday, and will remain so. More especially from seven onwards. To a certain extent I am pleading for Brunch from selfish motives. The world would be kinder and more charitable if my brief were successful. To begin with, Brunch is a hospitable meal; breakfast is not. Eggs and bacon are adapted to solitude; they are consoling, but not exhilarating. They do not stimulate conversation. Brunch, on the contrary, is cheerful, sociable, and inciting. It is talk-compelling. It puts you in a good temper; it makes you satisfied with yourself and your fellow-beings. It sweeps away the worries and cobwebs of the week. The advantages of the suggested innovation are, in short, without number, and I submit it is fully time that the old régime of Sunday breakfast made room for the "new course" of Sunday Brunch.

P.S.—Beer and whiskey are admitted as substitutes for tea and coffee."

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