How to Make a Dutch Gin Classic

“Drinking Holland gin is like the fanciful cliché about eating olives—when you like one you always like them.”
—Charles Baker Jr., A Gentleman’s Companion, 1939.

Some spirits, as you likely already know, are more challenging than others. On one end of that spectrum is vodka, which tastes like mildly electrified tap water, while on the other end you’ll find something like mezcal, which tastes like a dozen tiny fire-chimps trying to fight their way out of your mouth. So while you might be brightened to hear that the Death in the Gulfstream cocktail is made with gin (which is very much on the friendly end of that spectrum), you’d then perhaps be disappointed to discover that gin is from Holland (which is very much not).

Holland Gin is also called “genever,” and is, if you haven’t met it, weird. It’s a fat, malty, proto-gin, and dates from the 1600s or so, when the Dutch would infuse juniper berries into alcohol believing them to be medicinal, then additionally infuse other spices for more medicine or better taste or both (the word “gin” comes from “genever,” which literally means “juniper”). It’s the kind of spirit we had before the clean purity of modern gins was technologically possible, and so has much more in common with a botanical white whiskey than any modern gin anyone’s ever had. As for the experience of it—it can be polarizing. Baker Jr., in addition to the above line about Holland gin being an acquired taste, makes a point to mention that “for many years [I] hated the stuff with a passion, holding its taste to be like fermented radishes mixed with spirits of turpentine.”

Enter Ernest Hemingway—a man who ostensibly never found a spirit he didn’t like. Hemingway and Baker were friends and were on a multi-day boat trip sometime in the 1930s, fishing for giant tuna in the gulf stream. Like anyone trying to go round-for-round with Hemingway, Baker was, by the second day, “withering slightly on vine.” So Hemingway whipped up a hangover remedy, the author’s favorite beverage of the moment—genever, lime, and a heaping dose of bitters, tall and strong, on crushed ice. Given the circumstances and the fact that Hemingway had recently coined his other cocktail Death in the Afternoon, Baker christened it Death in the Gulf Stream.

The Death in the Gulfstream is indeed a fine thing to do with a bottle of Holland gin, along with dozens of others. Genever is particularly good with maraschino liqueur (and sublime as an Improved Cocktail), but it also works well with tart berries (blackberries!) and/or spicy ginger, but the Death in the Gulf Stream is a great way to start—simple and elemental, a way to showcase to genever’s character without being bludgeoned by it; the spirit’s round malty mid-palate equally obscured and complemented by the heavy spice of the considerable bitters. 

Baker was an exuberant writer, and prone to exaggeration—genever doesn’t taste like radishes and turpentine—though to dismiss him would also be to lose his final judgement on the Death in the Gulf Stream, hyperbolic, perhaps, but appealing all the same: “It is reviving and refreshing; cools the blood and inspires renewed interest in food, companions and life.”

Death in the Gulf Stream

Add all ingredients to a cocktail shaker with ice. Shake good and hard for eight to 10 seconds, strain into a rocks or tall glass onto cracked or crushed ice, and garnish with a lime wheel, wedge, or peel.

NOTES ON INGREDIENTS

Genever: By far the most common one you’re likely to find is from Bols, a vast spirit house in the Netherlands. There are others, and there are certainly differences between them, but odds are good you’ll only be able to find one or two, and whatever you get is going to be just fine. The only thing to note is that there is a difference between young, old, and aged genevers, and you’ll want the young, brighter, lighter, and better for drinks. It likely won’t say “young” on the bottle, but it’ll be less expensive and clear(or clear-ish).

Simple Syrup: Hemingway—as both a diabetic and a savage alcoholic—would, had he seen you putting sugar in his Death in the Gulf Stream, likely thrown the sugar over the side of his boat, and possibly you along with it. All of Hemingway’s drinks are absurdly strong and far too tart, and this is no exception: The classical recipe calls for no sugar at all. Some recipes try to honor the spirit of this by slow-playing the sweetness, a half ounce maybe, but I find those to be too austere and fairly joyless. Feel free to drop the sweetness or lose it entirely (Hemingway would approve) but I don’t think it tastes as good.

To Make the simple syrup combine a half cup of sugar and a half cup of water in a bowl or pot, and stir until the sugar dissolves. If using room temp water, this will take about 2 minutes, maybe less. If using hot water, about 20 seconds.

See Also

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Angostura Bitters: The heavy baking spice of the considerable amount of bitters does an excellent job of covering for the inherent weirdness of the genever. This can actually be taken too far—4 or 5 big dashes and the character of the genever all but vanishes, while only one dash and the genever character could be too strong for those unacclimated to its malty idiosyncrasies. I found 2 or 3 good dashes to be perfect.

Crushed Ice: If you do go with the Hemingway-esque tartness level, do so with crushed ice: You’ll basically want it as cold and diluted as possible. This is still pretty good advice with the adjusted recipe, but less necessary—if you build it like a Fitzgerald as above, you can use regular ice or even serve it up and it’ll be good either way.