Gin puts me in perfect spirits. Unlike other more aggressive drinks – vodka, for instance, which caused a friend of mine to punch a prostitute in Prague (disclaimer: it was an accident) – I find that a G & T’s effervescence is infectious. Still, it must be remembered that what is now the bourgeois drink of choice was considered the ‘Special Brew’ of the Eighteenth Century.
At twice the strength of what is today, the average Londoner was reported to drink 14 gallons of the stuff a year in 1743, and the highly unpopular Gin Acts of the 1736 and 1751 lead to mass rioting in the streets. Gin has never quite been able to lose its patina of seediness and always puts me in mind of Seventies’ cocktail parties – shabby tweed, wonky bow ties and yellowing fingers. Regardless, it’s a terrific tipple and gin and tonic is, for my two cents, the perfect post-work reviver, and one with elevenses makes for a very pleasurable lunch.
What’s crucial in a G & T is not the gin but the tonic – it should be a good brand (Schweppes is my benchmark, full fat to avoid artificial sweetness) and come from cans to guarantee fizz. Keep the gin in the freezer and serve with fresh lemon, lime or cucumber (niche but excellent, especially with Hendricks) over plenty of ice. Use large ice cubes to minimize melting.
At the supermarket I’d buy the cheapest ‘London Gin’ available, Gordon’s or Beefeater’s say. Legally, ‘gin’ has a very wide definition, but buying ‘London Gin’ ensures that it’s been redistilled and uses only natural flavourings. For a martini or pink gin, where the gin’s flavour is foremost, I’d recommend Tanqueray Ten, a king amongst gin. Right, that’s me finished, I’ve got tasting to do – another two fingers for the Cherwell’s Resident Ponce?
