In Lima, every special occasion—whether it's a birthday, anniversary, graduation, Christmas, New Year's or Peruvian Independence day—calls for pisco cocktails. Some of these celebratory drinks, like the Pisco Sour, are well-known around the world. But others, like the Coctel de Algarrobina—an eggnog-like drink spiked with aguardiente—mostly remain a local tradition. I, however, think they deserve recognition.

The Coctel de Algarrobina originated in Piura, a city 600 miles north of Lima. There, in the late 17th century, Jesuits introduced a concoction of wine, egg and sugar. In time, cañazo (rum), then pisco, replaced the wine. Locals added algarrobina, a molasses-like medicinal syrup derived from the carob tree, which has notes of vanilla, chocolate, hazelnuts and honey. Eventually, creole cooks incorporated evaporated milk, and that version caught on across the country.

An early recipe for the cocktail from the 1958 cookbook El Cocinero Peruano calls for evaporated milk, algarrobina, pisco and crushed ice, all blended with the optional addition of simple syrup or egg whites for frothiness. Later, in 1994, the cookbook El Libro de Oro de Mamá: Dulces y Bebidas Peruanas, replaced ice with cold water, added an egg and suggested serving the drink "in small cups as an aperitivo, dusting with cinnamon powder."

Gabriela Sanchez Palacios, who lived in Lima from 1958 to 1978, fondly recalls the drink at family reunions. "My father used an electric blender to make the cocktail with ice, and he'd serve it in small, fancy crystal glasses arranged in trays." Algarrobina is the true star of the festive drink. "It was rich, with a chocolaty flavor, like an embrace that warmed you up," she remembers.

Despite its prevalence in Peruvian homes, the Coctel de Algarrobina (which is sometimes referred to simply as "Algarrobina") hasn't historically been as popular on bar menus. Today, however, Lima's bartenders are recrafting the cocktail for a modern drinker.

 

View this post on Instagram

 

A post shared by Bar Capitán Meléndez (@barcapitanmelendez)

At Bar Capitán Meléndez, owner and barman Roberto Meléndez makes the drink with an acholado (blended) pisco. For his version, Meléndez first decorates a chilled glass with dark streaks of algarrobina before pouring the drink into it. It's an added flair that highlights the local sweetener. "The pisco is from the south and the algarrobina is from the north," he says;  the distinct regions unite in the glass.

Elsewhere, at the restaurant Astrid y Gastón, the cocktail has been on the menu since opening 30 years ago. Though the midcentury versions were small aperitifs, bartenders today consider the silky drink more satisfying as a dessert cocktail. "It's a drink of celebration, a gift at the end of a great meal," says head bartender Carlos Melgarejo, who adds cacao liqueur to his version. His choice of pisco, which is made with nonaromatic quebranta grapes, balances the weight of the algarrobina and cacao, cutting through the sweetness. In other renditions, aged Peruvian brandy replaces the pisco, yielding a more robust drink with notes of vanilla and oak. "Each ingredient has a mission: Pisco gives strength, cacao provides depth and algarrobina bestows the soul," he explains. 

These days, like many creamy cocktails in the 21st century, the Coctel de Algarrobina has been given the clarified milk punch treatment. Enrique Hermoza, head bartender at Museo del Pisco, transformed the drink this way in 2023. "We want the cocktail to be contemporary, palatable, one that invites you to drink it again," he says.

To clarify the punch, Hermoza filters a large batch through a fine cheesecloth. He also adds mistela (a fortified wine made from pisco grape must), which imparts a natural sweetness and aromatics. Poured over a large cube of ice, the clarified milk punch is paired with a cinnamon cookie in lieu of the powdered garnish. "The goal was to create a more balanced, elegant, and easy to drink [cocktail]," says Hermoza, "without losing its historical identity."

Not to sound too wistful, but these days, it's easy to forget how modest the amaro options in the U.S. once were. Now, most backbars are lined with a wide and rich spectrum of amaro and European liqueurs, but that was not the case when, as a burgeoning drinks writer in the mid-2000s, I first spiraled down the bitter rabbit hole.

Perhaps that's why, when in Italy, my biggest thrill still comes from acquiring "suitcase bottles" of amaro, those deep-cut discoveries that range from limited-run riservas to special-edition releases, distillery gift shop exclusives (like Amaro Lucano Menta), dusty vintage finds, and yet-to-be imported brands.

At Popina, a modern Italian restaurant on the Brooklyn waterfront, owner and general manager James O'Brien shares a similar affinity for suitcase bottles. When visiting wine producers in Italy, he always makes room for a few special bottles, whether it's a rare wine, an amaro that you can't find stateside or a bottle of vintage Chartreuse. O'Brien views it as a way to surprise and delight guests. "The suitcase haul has always been one of my favorite tricks because it feels the most personal," he says. Offering guests pours from hard-to-source bottles "lets them feel like they tagged along on your trip."

The bottles in my amari collection that have made the transatlantic journey home do possess a transportive quality. Often, it was the "hunt" to secure these bottles that makes them special. Now, though, some formerly elusive brands and expressions have become available stateside. Does a suitcase bottle risk losing its allure when it attains dual citizenship?

Among the many only-in-Italy bottles I typically bring home with me, Bràulio Riserva, the annual limited-run release of the iconic alpino-style liqueur, remains my first love. Less filtered and aged in smaller barrels for up to 24 months, it's achieved a bit of a cult-like appeal among amaro heads, and its dated annual releases makes it ideal for vertical flights and tastings. I used to be able to find it for around 22 euros a bottle, though that's since gone up to around 33 euros to 45. 

There were whispers for years that Bràulio Riserva, part of the Gruppo Campari portfolio, would eventually make its way to the U.S., and sure enough, this past holiday season, I finally spied the amaro at my local bottle shop in Brooklyn. But my brief moment of joy was deflated when I saw it was priced at $82. This is in line with the list price of other Italian riserva releases, but the sticker shock made me balk. I left the Bràulio Riserva on the shelf. 

As O'Brien explains, "being considered more rare, riservas can probably afford to be less price-sensitive. But when they're new to the U.S. market they have the opportunity to see where they want to fall: approachable or luxury?" 

Taylor Mason, a fellow suitcase amaro fan, suspects the word "riserva" is being used to justify higher costs in the U.S. Mason is the chef and co-owner of Luca and Pizzeria Luca in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and he curates a small but growing vintage amari selection at his restaurants. He also helps lead food tours throughout Italy. "While advocates like us will always be singing their praises regardless of the cost, inflated pricing is unfortunate and hard to be looked at as anything other than price gouging," he says. Others, like Patrick Miller, founder and co-owner of Brooklyn's Faccia Brutto Spirits, attribute rising costs to tariff surcharges. "There's a point where brands have to look at the rising cost of doing business and say, 'Do we pass this on to the customer or not?'" he says.

For the Bràulio, the bottle does seem to be appealing to at least some stateside shoppers: Brooklyn Wine Exchange in Cobble Hill says that, since the amaro arrived in mid-December, it has sold almost two cases. Much of that, however, can be attributed to the knowledgeable staff hand-selling the product.

A 24-hour drinking city that embraces both the theatrical and the historical, New Orleans has been a font for classic cocktails for upward of a century. The city's homegrown recipes are known to have quite a range, too, spanning strong and stirred whiskey staples, fiery dessert drinks and even ice-cold holiday favorites. There's no better way to get to know New Orleans and its nightlife than by experiencing its iconic drinks, one glass—or to-go cup—at a time. But if you can't get to New Orleans just yet, here are a handful of our favorite perfected recipes to transport you there.

Though the Absinthe Suissesse was not born in New Orleans, the city has nevertheless adopted it as its own. With roots in Europe and northern U.S. cities, the minty drink has shape-shifted over time, with variations including or omitting egg white, orgeat, various liqueurs, sweeteners and soda water documented since the 1930s. It somehow made its way into the Depression-era book Famous New Orleans Drinks and How to Mix 'Em, and, decades later, the Cure cocktail book. Kirk Estopinal, a champion of the drink, says, "It has a very Mardi Gras connection to me," adding, "it feels like the kind of drink you want to drink early in the morning."

Know Your Acids There are four main powdered acids used in cocktails.

Citric Acid
Citric acid occurs naturally in lemons and limes, so it's an obvious choice when boosting, or approximating, citrus flavor. 

Malic Acid
Malic acid, which is found in berries, grapes and stone fruit, is sour, yet milder than citric acid, often described as crisp, and offers the tang of a Granny Smith apple.

Lactic Acid
Lactic acid is formed through fermentation and is the compound that gives yogurt its tanginess. Mixing with this acid brings a creaminess to drinks and makes them feel rounder and fuller.

Tartaric Acid
Tartaric acid, similar to the cream of tartar used in culinary applications, occurs naturally but also forms in the winemaking process. In cocktails, it can add brightness without the flavor of citrus.

In recent years, acid-adjusting—the method of adding powdered acids to cocktails—has followed in the footsteps of clarification and fat-washing: It's not just for the most high-tech bars, and it's everywhere now. Though powdered citric, malic, lactic and tartaric acids are not exactly pantry staples, they can be easily acquired online and take a lot of the prep out of home bartending. With a few in your arsenal, you can make a Daiquiri pop, easily brighten a batched drink or impart a rounder, silkier texture to sweeteners. To get started, here are three ways to use them in your home bar, and the recipes to try them in.

Acid-Adjusted Juice
While acids can stand in for lemon or lime in a pinch, some bartenders feel that replacing them altogether in citrusy drinks yields a cocktail that feels too thin. Instead, to achieve the right viscosity, combine powdered acids with less-tart juices to make them pop in a drink. For example, to make the Multiverse, a revamped take on the Universe from the 1970s, Shannan Lynch calls on acid-adjusted pineapple and orange juices to up their tanginess, while Garret Richard's Daiquiri-inspired Isle Delfino adjusts bittersweet grapefruit juice with citric acid. The technique can work for noncitrus juices, too, like cherry, watermelon, or lychee to balance fruit-forward recipes.

Like many Italian cocktails, the Bombardino begins with a simple story that's been repeated often enough to have become legend.

Some of the details are murky, but almost everyone agrees that the drink was invented in the 1970s in Livigno, a ski town bordering Switzerland, by a lift manager and lodge owner named Aldo Del Bò. One day, the story goes, a group of skiers staggered into his rifugio (mountain lodge) and asked for something to warm them up. Del Bò had been experimenting with a new concoction in his spare time, and so his manager, Erich Ciapponi, went behind the bar and made it for them. 

Ciapponi heated up some Vov—an Italian egg-yolk liqueur akin to zabaglione, already popular among the ski crowd in the area—spiked it with Scotch, and then topped the mixture with cold whipped cream. One of the first to taste the new house drink reportedly exclaimed, "È una bomba!" ("It's a bomb!"), because of its explosive strength. 

The name stuck. And thus, the Bombardino—Italy's ski-season staple—was born.

When the snow starts to stick each year, Italians make for the mountains. As they trade the damp winter gloom of cities like Milan and Turin for long days on the slopes, aperitivo becomes après-ski. The drinks, for the most part, are the same as in the cities—beer, wine and spritzes—except for this one winter-only outlier.

The first time I tried a Bombardino was at Rifugio Palù in the Valtellina region. Getting there required a two-mile uphill hike through snow. I was cold and exhausted and the lodge was in full après mode by the time I arrived. Skiers, snowboarders and hikers had stripped off top layers and packed the terrace to sip the drink from paper cups, so I opted for the same. The Bombardino was a quick hit of boozy, high-calorie energy.

PSA: Valentine's Day is officially one week away. If your Valentine is a drinks enthusiast, last-minute gifting can be fairly easy; just head to your local liquor store and look for these bartender-approved, top-shelf picks. But if you want to grab something extra special, now is the time to order it. Here are my best ideas for your partner (or yourself—I wholly endorse picking up a little treat). 

This is an excerpt from the Punch newsletter. Subscribe to get weekly tips like this in your inbox.

Jon Bonné's mini collection of books about French wine right now is comprehensive, an excellent resource and a stunning addition to your shelf. Spirits of Latin America and The Way of the Cocktail, about Japanese drinking traditions, are great, too. 

In the new era of the wine decanter, it's less about fussiness and more about actual functionality. Personally, I think using a decanter, and some dedicated matching glassware, is also an invitation to take a beat and indulge in a ritual. Broc's decanter and glass set is beautiful and strikes a nice balance between dainty and casual. Relatedly: On Eater, Francky Knapp has extolled the virtues of the bedside water carafe. If you relate to the memes about boyfriends filling water bottles, perhaps it's the gift for you.

Matchbox Distilling is a cool, genre-bending line of spirits from Long Island. Its offerings are particularly suited to Valentine's, I think, because they get so specific (bier mash amaro, banana and saffron rum!); you can really tailor the bottle to your recipient (to be loved is to be known, etc. etc.). Also, the names are poetic. This is not simply triple sec; it's No Where Sun Kissed & Stargazed. Sounds romantic to me!

An antique goblet duo that, put together, forms a heart. Very '80s retro wedding coupes. A Cartier vermouth dropper modeled after a watering can (and a cheaper alternative if you don't have hundreds of dollars to spend on, essentially, a toy). A set of vintage lace coasters, perhaps monogrammed with your partner's initial. A cat jigger (because maybe you and your Valentine have a cat?). Cocktail picks that double as a mini bar set (I don't have a Valentine's angle here, this is just really adorable to me).

I'd bookmark these handy recs so you can always find something for the Martini lovers, Negroni devotees and Daiquiri drinkers in your life.

The Alaska, a simple mix of gin, yellow Chartreuse and orange bitters, hails from the beginning of the 20th century. The "delectable potion," as it was described in the 1930 Savoy Cocktail Book, has all the trappings of modern success: It's essentially a Martini riff, made with the liqueur everyone can't stop talking about. It looks both demure in a Nick & Nora and, thanks to its golden hue, a little playful in a V-shaped glass. Yet for all its appeal, it has taken nearly a century for the drink to finally get its due. Now it dots menus at top bars, and there's never been a better time to order one—or to make one at home. Here are some of our favorite recipes for the drink.

Despite proudly hailing from Madison, Wisconsin, Toby Cecchini likes to stress that The Long Island Bar, the Brooklyn bar he co-owns with Joel Tompkins, is decidedly not a Packers bar.

That being said, a few not-so-subtle nods to the storied Green Bay NFL team—like a vintage Jim Beam decanter shaped like a Packers player by the cash register, or the Tavern League of Wisconsin sticker in the window by the entrance—pop up throughout the bar like Easter eggs. And then there's the Lombardi Room, in the back of the bar, named after the Packers' legendary head coach Vince Lombardi. 

I have spent many hours in this room keeping Cecchini company while watching countless basketball, football, baseball games and tennis matches. It's where I'll likely watch Super Bowl LX (go Seahawks!) and where I've come to love the bar's low-key, off-menu cocktail, The Gridiron (aka The Football Drink). 

The predecessor to Cecchini's Gridiron, a low-ABV drink that makes a perfect gameday cooler, is The Erin. Cecchini made it up on the spot one winter night at the request of a customer wanting something with whiskey and amaro. He threw together a take on a Manhattan on the rocks made with whiskey, Bigallet China-China Amer, the bar's house sweet vermouth blend and Avèze (which he later changed to Suze). The drink is finished with five dashes of allspice dram and garnished with lemon and orange twists. "I'm very bad at drink names so I asked the woman to name it, and she dubbed it 'The Erin,'" Cecchini recalls. "Let me guess… your name is Erin?" 

The cocktail became an L.I.B. staple, so popular that it warranted batching the equal-parts bitter liqueurs and vermouth in a cheater bottle.

Essential to Caribbean classics like the Daiquiri or Piña Colada, rum tends to conjure the climate of its native tropics. When shaken or swizzled and paired with the bright kick of citrus or a mountain of crushed ice, the sugarcane spirit demonstrates its inherent refreshing qualities. But throw it into the mixing glass alongside—or in lieu of—whiskey in an Old-Fashioned or swap it in for gin in a winterized Negroni, and rum shows off its impressive adaptability to cool-weather cocktails. Here are some of our favorites that demonstrate just that.

This month, our most popular cocktails were layered. You gravitated toward unexpected pairings (like elderflower liqueur and Chicago's infamous dare shot), subrecipes that are worth the extra effort  (like habanero shrub) and a multi-step milk punch. Perhaps it's the new year energy that we're channeling into cocktail projects or a backlash to the glut of December Martinis and eggnogs? Whatever the reason, kudos for trying something new this month. Here are the recipes you loved most in January.

Recently, I was meeting with a Hungarian winemaker when his importer, Eric Danch of Danch & Granger, casually mentioned something that made me nearly spit out my kékfrankos.

In March 2024, the Strengthening Organic Enforcement (SOE) rules, set by the USDA, declared that importers—that's right, the firms that typically handle sales and logistics, not just the winemakers—also need to be certified organic in order for the wines to retain the label. According to a spokesperson from the USDA, the regulations are an effort to "better protect organic businesses and consumers" and "keep fraud out of the market." This is a major shift, especially for a landscape in which organic wine has only recently made inroads with the average consumer.

In less than a generation, wines labeled as organic have blossomed from a health-food-store afterthought to a meaningful force shaping how we drink, discuss and buy our favorite bottles. And these new rules threaten to undo all of that progress. 

Strengthening the veracity of organic labeling sounds like a win for those concerned with how their wines are made. But, more than a year after the change went into effect, several small importers of European wine describe a bureaucratic reality that borders on the absurd. Some say the rules feel more about forms and fees than any actual fraud prevention. The overarching concern, according to Jenny Lefcourt of Jenny & François Selections, is that "it works against organic labeling and it works against the diversity of wines available in the marketplace."

Now, if a U.S. importer has not gained organic certification, U.S. Customs and Border Protection agents will only allow it to enter the U.S. as a "conventionally" produced product or require re-exportation. Violations can trigger penalties that range from substantial fines to suspension.

"It's a bit of a backwards loop currently," says Olivia Taibi, operations manager of Zev Rovine Selections. Taibi handles logistics for the importer and is intimately familiar with the labyrinth of newfound requirements. Among them is an hourslong in-office audit, during which importers are responsible for reimbursing the officer's expenses. Taibi says the process, which is repeated annually, takes 1-2 months and costs around $3,000. Maddie Perez, who works at Quality Certification Services, says these fees are based on annual sales of organic product, and inspection fees typically range from $800 to $1,300. For Taibi, it feels as though their small office staff has been asked to assume the responsibility for regulatory oversight. 

Importers must now also provide proof that their goods have not been commingled with nonorganic products. This is a salient fraud concern with commodities like rice, but for a sealed container that has already been certified organic? "Sometimes you have mixed boxes, three bottles of this, four of that. You have to explain all of it," says Granger.

Welcome to Pre Shift's series, How I Got My Job, where we ask hospitality pros from all corners of the industry how they got here and what their role is really like. 

This week, we're chatting with Jamaar Julal, director of fermentation at Honeysuckle. Eater describes the Philadelphia restaurant as the city's "best living room" filled with "talented people eager to tell you about their meticulous, inventive, risky, unconventional work." Julal, a self-taught expert on kombucha, koji, and more, is one of those people. What started as a DIY operation—he would make kombucha in his studio apartment and hand-deliver it, on bike, to customers around town—landed him in an unorthodox career path, with a title usually reserved for chefs at behemoths like Noma. Read on to see how he got here.

This is an excerpt from the newsletter. Subscribe to Pre Shift to get more interviews like this in your inbox. 

Pre Shift: How did you get into fermentation?
Jamaar Julal: I was attending The Restaurant School in West Philadelphia for a degree in restaurant management. I debated for a long time whether I would switch to the culinary program, but I decided against it because of the hours and the lifestyle.

I started my kombucha company, JamBrü Ferments, back in 2018 when I was a student. Kombucha came into my life because an old coworker of mine brought a home brewed batch into work. I had been wanting to try to make it, too; I didn't know much about fermentation at the time, so it seemed intimidating. But I tried it, and it was really good. That kind of gave me the confidence to try to make it myself. I made a bunch of batches at home, and I was posting it on my Instagram story, just sharing the process with my friends. I started to give kombucha away, then I started selling it out of my apartment. I'd bike it around Philadelphia. 

In 2020, the Philly Inquirer wrote an article about the kombucha business. From then on, it just took on a life of its own. I went from going door to door to selling wholesale to about 20 to 25 restaurants and markets in Philadelphia. After that article came out, I had to move my operation out of my apartment into a kitchen space I rented out. I started brewing professionally, and it just kept growing. 

Kombucha and fermentation was sort of my means of finding myself in the in-between of things—between culinary and front-of-house—because I enjoy aspects of both. I love to find myself between those spaces. Funnily enough, moving to Honeysuckle, I'm doing exactly that. I had that realization maybe six months ago, like, Oh, I really set myself up with exactly what I was trying to do in the first place, before even realizing it. It all came back full circle. Now I'm a director of fermentation, which is pretty cool.

Was that your goal? Did you envision yourself working at a restaurant?
Honeysuckle was another organic thing. I was sort of brought into the Honeysuckle realm in shifts, every time I met with [owners Cybille St.Aude-Tate and Omar Tate]. First, they offered to sell my kombucha at the shop. Another time, they were doing a residency at Blue Hill Farm, and they asked me to produce a dehydrated strawberry powder [made from SCOBY] to be incorporated into the dessert course. Then they asked me to join the team. They were like, "We want you to ferment for us, with us." I was not expecting that. I was really honored and surprised.

I asked what the position was. They were like, "You can name it." The only name I knew of was "director of fermentation" at Noma and other large, very established restaurants. I was like, "Well that's the only thing I can think of. Sure, I'll be the director of fermentation." That was late 2021, and I've been there ever since.

Because this is such a new kind of position, how did you learn and train for it?
When I first started with kombucha, it was mainly "YouTube University." I started watching a bunch of videos about the process, SCOBY, recipes. I ordered a starter kit on Amazon for a gallon of kombucha and a recipe book. Eventually, I got it down pat. I treat it very similarly to when I was in culinary school. I'm a visual and hands-on learner, so videos were my biggest help. 

Fermentation wasn't necessarily something that was taught in school. In my mind, I had thought of "fermentation" as this bubble that floats around beverages, but I had no idea about koji. Reading up about a mold ferment, that sounded crazy to me. I got a book called Koji Alchemy, which had diagrams that helped me set up a home incubator in my studio apartment at the time. I started working at Honeysuckle, and I just kept practicing and expanding. 

More recently, I've had the opportunity to train at different breweries [and] fermentation spaces and ask questions. I'm really lucky to be in the position I'm in with the network I have. Now, I know people who are established in this industry, who know what they're doing, and I'm able to speak with them. Also, a few months ago, I got to train in Niigata, Japan, for a sake program. It was a life-changing experience.

Thanks in part to a simple Manhattan variation and an underrated disco drink, the notion that Scotch should only be enjoyed neat is waning. The whisky figures into a small but mighty canon of classic cocktails, with a growing number of modern drinks now also calling on the spirit. And it's not just strong, stirred drinks that lean on the whisky: Scotch has established itself as a versatile ingredient in tropical highballs, swizzles and even fluffy, dessert-like fizzes. Here are some of our favorite ways to mix with Scotch, beyond the Rob Roy.

There are several iconic cocktails—from the Bobby Burns to the Singapore Sling to the Vieux Carré—that call on Bénédictine. But despite the cocktail revival's best efforts, there are dozens more that have remained in obscurity. Shawn Lickliter, owner of the newly opened Vandell in LA's Los Feliz neighborhood, is perhaps the perfect practitioner to steward long-lost drinks made with the liqueur back into the spotlight. 

A devotee of the ingredient's "honeyed leather notes" since working with vintage expressions of it years ago at the now-shuttered Manzke, Lickliter has been enamored with Bénédictine for nearly a decade. He first encountered it at Normandie Club, where bartenders Alex Day and Devon Tarby were making the Poet's Dream, a stirred cocktail, based on the Café Royal Cocktail Book (1937). That version of the recipe features a 2:1 ratio of dry gin to dry vermouth, supported by small amounts of Bénédictine and orange bitters. (Another version of the Poet's Dream, made with an equal-parts ratio, appeared right around the same time in Gale & Marco's The How and When, published in New Orleans.) Lickliter loved the drink, and he has carried it with him through various jobs ever since, tweaking it many times over to find his optimal spec. Now, at Vandell, his latest Poet's Dream is a thoughtful, layered take on the one that he first met all those years ago.

To build his ideal recipe, he started with the gin. Though Fords is the standard at Vandell, Lickliter found that this drink shone ever more brightly with No. 3 Gin, a London dry from England's oldest wine merchants, the Berry Brothers, which Lickliter describes as "super clean." The gin keeps the non-juniper botanicals to a minimum, while offering a touch of grapefruit.

There's a wildcard ingredient in this drink: pisco. "Gin can be a bully sometimes when you're adding in a liqueur like Bénédictine," he says. By splitting the base spirit, "you're kind of backing down the juniper, but you're also lifting the Bénédictine." The pisco he uses is Capurro Quebranta, a smooth, herbal expression that brings notes of stone fruit and pear.

At the very back of Babe's, a queer-owned women's sports bar that opened in Chicago last year, hangs an old-school scoreboard above a set of metal bleachers. It's hard not to imagine someone reliving (a much gayer version of) some stereotypical high school gymnasium makeout session while sitting there. Trophies line the walls, along with a sizable number of TVs streaming women's gymnastics, a UConn women's basketball game, and All Women's Sports Network (AWSN), the Whoopi Goldberg-cofounded sports network.

According to an NBC News report, the number of women's sports bars in the United States was set to quadruple in 2025. Portland's The Sports Bra, founded by Jenny Nguyen in 2022, kickstarted the genre; in 2024, the bar announced its plans to franchise. According to Babe's co-founder Nora McConnell-Johnson, the cohort that laid the blueprint tend to have smaller spaces, and lean more restaurant than bar. "Younger millennials are starting to open their bars now, and I think that's going to be a fascinating second wave," she says. "[They're] showing what it looks like to be a women's sports bar, but with a vibe." Those vibes often mean a more modern aesthetic, elevated cocktails, and an undeniably queer energy. 

In 2019, alarms signaling the perilous decline of lesbian bars in America reached a fever pitch. At its lowest point, the nationwide lesbian bar tally had reportedly dwindled to just 15. The culprits were familiar to any form of queer decay: gentrification, the wage gap, sexist financiers, the rise of dating apps. And while the COVID-19 pandemic spurned anxious reports wondering how these spaces could possibly survive yet another blow, something surprising happened in the aftermath instead. Lesbian bars started springing up (and sometimes, sadly, closing right back down) with a renewed vigor.

Right before my visit to Babe's, two other queer-owned women's sports bars opened in Brooklyn in the same week: Athena Keke's in Clinton Hill and Blazers in Williamsburg. While both establishments identify as women's sports bars first and foremost, "if someone calls us a queer bar, we don't correct them, because we love our community and we want this to be a space for them," says Chandler Robertson, one of Blazers' trio of co-founders who met on Hinge. 

Many of these bars rely on queer-coded details to telegraph that it's a welcoming space, like a photo of The L Word cast from the infamous basketball episode that hangs in the entryway at Athena Keke's. Blazer's, meanwhile, displays a pride flag behind the bar.

"Women's sports is a site of lesbian culture and gathering," says McConnell-Johnson, "and also, women's sports is greater than that, too."

The Manhattan, one of the great drinks of the late 19th century, has a steady history as a perennial favorite. Drawing on a three-ingredient template consisting of two parts whiskey, one part sweet vermouth and bitters, it's no surprise that the highly malleable drink has inspired a number of modern spinoffs. From a Chartreuse-infused take to a Manhattan highball, here are some of our favorites.

After trying recipes from top bartenders across the country, this one came out on top.

Today, a cocktail bar menu rarely feels complete without at least one clear cocktail. In the past decade, centrifuges may have simplified the task of clarification, but separating milk solids from the liquid (aka making milk punch) is no modern-day invention—it dates back to the 1700s. The versatile technique means that practically any cocktail can go clear—including nonalcoholic drinks. Here's how to do it at home.

For most bartenders, the preferred at-home technique calls for gently heating milk over the stove before straining out the solids that form as the water content evaporates. Matt Piacentini, from the Up & Up in New York City, points out that many drinks made this way fall under the "wintry end of the spectrum" (see: the London Fog-inspired Fog Lights Milk Punch), but recipes on all sides of the flavor wheel can benefit from the milk punch treatment. His Disco Volante, for example, is built on a foundation of Aperol and gin, reading more like a bracing aperitif with an added textural boost.

New York bartender Will Wyatt, meanwhile, follows a heatless technique akin to the first milk punches of the 18th century. He combines milk and lime juice and lets the mix sit until it curdles on its own, then he strains out the curds. This is the method used in his rum-based Sex Panther, a twist on the Cuba Libre. Eric Simmons, bar lead at Ginger's in Dallas, takes a similar approach in his play on the New York Sour, the Diamond Noir, where the entire drink is filtered through heavy cream.

Also forgoing the stovetop method, Ryan Chetiyawardana, owner of the Lyan family of bars, uses yogurt whey (the watery result of straining full-fat yogurt) for a fast track to added richness in his Whey Punch. This method is quicker, and, Chetiyawardana says, "it still manages to get the silkiness you want to drink."

While milk punch typically needs an acid to curdle the milk, Daniel Villa, bartender at Supperland in Charlotte, North Carolina, created an alternative method to clarify any drink using rehydrated powdered milk—no citrus juice necessary. That means drinks like a Vieux Carré can be clarified without lime or lemon, and with an added benefit: Milk powder can be toasted before rehydrating, resulting in a cocktail that tastes "simultaneously milk-punched and brown-butter fat-washed," according to Villa.

Milk punch doesn't require actual milk—but there are a few extra steps to take with a nondairy approach. Deepali Gupta served a coconut milk-clarified Piña Colada at Sidecar in New Delhi. He says the relatively low fat content in coconut milk means that clarifying with it yields a lower-volume drink. The bar sometimes adds coconut oil to the milk in order to increase the fat. Ezza Rose, bar consultant and educator behind Good Spirits PDX, has had success using extra-thick soy milk (she likes Pacific Foods Ultra Soy). She notes that nondairy clarification tends to take longer—"it's time-consuming; set aside a weekend"—and requires some experimentation to get the right ratios and consistencies. At Los Angeles' Night on Earth, meanwhile, head bartender Wes Meyn says including an ingredient with tannins helps "break" fats and proteins in the bar's coconut milk-based punch, a clarified take on the Swampwater called the Swamp Thing. 

For a faster alternative, Giancarlo Quiroz Jesus, head bartender at 53AD in Brooklyn, New York, adds lactic acid solution to silken tofu to speed up the process for his Always Disco. And Meyn, at Night on Earth, uses a technique learned from fellow L.A. bartender Austin Hennelly: By clarifying in a wider, shallower, slotted hotel pan, he increases the surface area, which makes larger curds and accelerates the process.

You probably won't be using liquid nitrogen at home, but if you do find yourself with some behind the bar, consider a technique from Ankush Gamre, head mixologist at Masque in Mumbai. "While effective, [traditional] methods [of clarifying a cocktail] can affect flavor, aroma and alcohol strength," says Gamre. "They also introduce dairy into the drink, which doesn't work for everyone. We wanted a cleaner, more precise way to clarify cocktails without using milk or additives." His method involves pouring liquid nitrogen over the ingredients (bourbon, sweet vermouth, pureed pineapple, melon tea, honey and a mix of acid powders, in their case) and allowing them to freeze. He puts the now-frozen mix into a large fine strainer lined with filter paper, then collects the clarified liquid. "Alcohol freezes at a much lower temperature than ingredients like fruit, citrus or sugar," he says. "By rapidly freezing the cocktail using liquid nitrogen, we're able to lock in flavour while separating unwanted solids. As the frozen mixture slowly melts, the clarified liquid is released, resulting in a drink that's clear, smooth and subtly expressive." To see the trick in action, check out how New York's Overstory makes their own version of nitro-frozen milk punch.

A final technique takes the milk punch approach and applies it only to a particular spirit, rather than an entire cocktail. Where clarifying a drink as a whole can soften the acidity of fresh citrus and tropical juices, using a milk-washed spirit instead imparts richness without stripping away that bright flavor. This step, writes Punch contributor and drink expert Jack Schramm, "can take just about any shaken drink to the next level."

"I'm actually Irish, born and raised," says Jen Murphy, owner-operator of the new Manhattan bar Banshee. "I learned a long time ago you actually have to specify that."

Murphy, a veteran of the East Village bar scene, moved to the U.S. in 2014. It didn't take long to notice that Irish American pride ran deep enough for people to comfortably declare themselves Irish, even many generations removed—but also that the manifestations of Irish culture in the States weren't always aligned with her experience back home. Take the pub: Growing up in a small town in Ireland, she says, it was a place to bring the kids, to celebrate first communions and attend wakes, often with a grocer, gas station, or even funeral home attached. The ubiquitous American "Irish bars," on the other hand, have "become their own beast… that kind of Disney-Irish Times Square thing." 

With Banshee, she wanted to show New Yorkers something different. "We're so good at adapting, immigrating and then just giving the people whatever they want," Murphy says. "But I have more 'notions,' I think, as some Irish people would say." 

Murphy's is one of a clutch of new Irish-led bars and restaurants that have started playing with the pub form in recent years—whether that means embracing cocktails, bringing on ambitious chefs, incorporating unexpected influences or just making a point to subvert expectations. At Banshee, that looks like a surprising signature pairing of Guinness and oysters—an old-school combination in Irish seaside towns, with echoes of New York's Martini-and-oysters culture—and a space decorated with work by artist friends from the East Village scene. At The Harp, opened a few months ago in Washington, D.C., you can enjoy a traditional music session over pan-fried monkfish with chanterelles and an "Irish Boulevardier." At McGonagle's, a year-old pub in Boston, the kitchen is helmed by chef Aidan Mc Gee, who once worked under Heston Blumenthal.    

It's perhaps a ripe moment for an Irish pub-aissance, with Irish stars increasingly spangling U.S. bookshelves, movie theaters, and playlists—just look at the 2024 New York magazine package exploring "how the Irish came to rule pop culture." Another cultural ambassador that everyone's swooning over: Guinness. Thanks to shrewd marketing (and TikTokers challenging us all to "split the G"), on-trade sales are booming, and you'll find the stout on draft and in cocktails at all kinds of trendy spots. Irish drinking culture is about much more than just Guinness, of course—but amid this groundswell of interest and appreciation, U.S. audiences just might be ready to broaden their idea of what an Irish bar can be.

In the bleak gray sea that is winter, citrus serves as a literal bright spot. To make the most of the season, we've collected some of our favorite recipes starring blood orange, grapefruit, pomelo and more for you. But a few tips before you get juicing: Consider whether you'll need to do any acid-adjusting, and if you want to save any spent husks and peels, try a citrus stock. Happy winter citrus season to all who celebrate.