How to Make the Tiki Classic

Can a cocktail help fight fascism?

It was July 1941, and the Nazis seemed unstoppable. They had taken both Norway and North Africa and had marched through Paris the year before, tearing through “fortified” Western Europe in the span of just two months. London had been hammered almost nightly by German bombing campaigns, and while America quietly kindled its war machine, it was still officially neutral. The outlook for the Allies in Europe was grim, and they were in desperate need of morale.

Into this came a Belgian national named Victor de Laveleye, who after fleeing Brussels for London, hosted a BBC radio broadcast for the occupied patriots at home. He had an idea: V for Victory. A simple symbol of rebellion. He urged his oppressed countryman to flood the public space with the letter V, to let the Nazis know the resistance lived on. The effect was almost instantaneous, and overnight, V’s appeared on seemingly every surface. They were painted on walls and cars, carved into bridges and drawn in chalk on the ground. Churchill himself adopted the two finger V hand sign which became a ubiquitous gesture of solidarity, and soldiers and citizens alike were urged to sound out the Morse code for V—three dots and a dash—any time they could.

One of those soldiers was Ernest Raymond Gantt, whose nom de guerre, in peacetime anyway, was Donn Beach. Gantt may have been a Lieutenant Colonel but he was also a visionary, a restaurateur, and an outrageously talented mixologist—about a decade before he had opened Don the Beachcomber in Hollywood, and in doing so, invented the idea of tiki bar, so after the war he went home to the bar and resumed his liquid tinkering. The Allies victorious, the country prosperous, V for Victory must’ve been on his mind, because he mixes together some rums with falernum, allspice, honey, lime, and orange, and names it for the Morse coded V—that same reason Beethoven’s Fifth was constantly on the radio, and at a cafe you’d get the server’s attention with three quick knocks followed by one longer one—Three Dots and a Dash.

Gantt was famously secretive about his recipes, and the Three Dots and a Dash was nearly lost to time. It was tiki archaeologist Jeff ‘Beachbum” Berry, who discovered the formula in the notebook of an old bartender of Gantt’s and published it in his 2007 book Sippin’ Safari. There’s always some ambiguity in tiki recipes, but in the subsequent 17 years we’ve collectively settled into agreement about the ingredients, if not precisely the ratios. The Three Dots and a Dash features juicy orange contrasted against textured spice, grassy rum deepened with rich honey, with the lime and falernum reminding you that this is all a tropical experience. It is at turns seductive and spicy, and eminently delicious. 

Thanks to Gantt’s generation, the Nazis are of course no longer a threat, but still, it’s never been easier to do our part. If drinking delicious tropical drinks is a tool against fascism, make mine a Three Dots and a Dash. You can never be too careful.

Three Dots and a Dash

Shake everything on crushed ice, and empty into a tall glass. Add more crushed ice to fill, and garnish with three cherries on a pick, and something to represent a “dash,” like a pineapple stick or pineapple leaf.

NOTES ON INGREDIENTS

Versions: There are two main versions of this recipe in the world: One, originally unearthed by “Beachbum” Berry and espoused verbatim by Martin Cate of Smuggler’s Cove, and the other, a slight reinterpretation by Paul McGee of Chicago, who in 2013 opened a bar called Three Dots and a Dash in Chicago.

After making both, I lean towards a compromise between the two. I like McGee’s elevated acidity and that he balances the two rums (as opposed to a 3:1 ratio from Berry, which still wants depth), but in my personal opinion, his three dashes of Angostura is too much, and his biggest change—subbing a 40 percent alcohol orange curacao for the charming (if impotent) orange juice—I felt makes the final product a touch too hot. Of course, the precise rums and sweetness of your syrups will all matter for balance, but the above compromise is what I found tastiest across styles of ingredients.

Aged Agricole Rhum: This is a rum from the French islands of Martinique or Guadalupe (hence the H in “rhum”), whereby tradition it is made with fresh sugar cane juice instead of molasses, giving it a grassy complexity. There is an academic and fairly interesting conversation (interesting to nerds, anyway) about whether the “agricole” rum Beach was using would’ve really been a cane juice distillate, but regardless, the grassiness is lovely and much welcome. There aren’t that many producers of agricole rum—my favorites are Rhum J.M., Clement, and La Favorite, but that’s based on availability as much as anything. Any aged bottle that spells it “rhum” will work for you.

Demerara Rum: This is rum from Guyana, made from molasses grown from cane along the Demerara river. Demerara rum is irreplaceable in mixed drinks, bringing a low booming depth and brown sugar punch that it as welcome as it is inimitable—drinks with too much fruit juice can be overly sweet and seem to linger on the front and mid-tongue, and demerara rum is what steps in and deepens the whole experiment. The standout distiller is El Dorado, in this case their 8 or 12 year, or Hamilton’s “86” Demerara Rum, which is a bottle I always keep around for just such an occasion. 

Orange Juice: I suppose you could get away with bottled O.J. if you absolutely had to, but I’d advise against it. It’s only a half ounce, and yet it’s responsible for so much of the drink’s juicy charm. Try to juice fresh, if you can.

Falernum: This is only a quarter ounce and so doesn’t matter as much as it might otherwise. The standard bearer for the category is John D. Taylor’s Velvet Falernum, which is a low alcohol, lightly tropical liqueur of lime, almond, and clove. Your Three Dots and a Dash will taste better if you use falernum, but if  you have a different brand—or honestly if you have none of it, and just want to use simple syrup—you’ll be OK. The only other thing to note is that depending on the sweetness of your limes, rum, and oranges, the recipe I’ve given you above may be a touch too tart, which will feel bracing and unfriendly. If it is, very gently increase the falernum, about 1tsp at a time, until it comes back into balance.

Allspice Dram: Allspice dram, also sometimes called “pimento dram,” is one of the defining flavors of this drink and is absolutely necessary. St. Elizabeth is the brand you’re most likely to find and I think still the only one I’ve ever used, though Bitter Truth and Hamilton’s both make bottles that have been well received. You’ll use it so sparingly that one bottle will last you roughly forever—if you find the 375 ml and it’s appreciably cheaper than the 750 ml, I’d say go for it.

Honey Syrup: You could technically just use honey squeezed straight from the bear, but it can be difficult to measure and difficult to mix. If you do, use ⅔ the above prescription, and make sure to thoroughly mix it before you get ice involved. If you plan on using honey a few times in cocktails over the next month (as you should), consider making a honey syrup, which is simply a 2:1 mixture (by volume) or 3:1 mixture (by weight) of honey and water, and stir to combine. Refrigerate, and again, will last a month.