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The Lemon Drop is an unusual drink. It exists in its own unique form of purgatory due to two polarizing truths that coexist simultaneously.

Firstly, it garners no recognition whatsoever. The Lemon Drop is deemed inherently unimportant by those who write about cocktails in prominent publications, and typically also by those who peruse such articles. The drink itself is the butt of jokes. “What do they drink at that less sophisticated bar?” the hip bartender might jeer, “Lemon Drops?” It is noticeably lacking from every major cocktail book published in the last decade and a half. To even consider savoring this drink is viewed by some as almost embarrassingly unsophisticated.

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The other fact about the Lemon Drop is that people love it. It is a phenomenon, one of the most globally popular drinks for the last five straight decades among those who don’t read the important cocktail books (i.e. most people) and who just know what they like to drink. In terms of name recognition, it’s one of the superstars, keeping company with cocktails like the Manhattan and the Margarita. What’s more, there is nothing whatsoever wrong with it. Irredeemable drinks do exist, to be clear, it’s just that the Lemon Drop isn’t even close to being one.

How can these two ideas coexist? Personally, I blame the 1970s, the decade that the craft of mixology began to curdle. The last generation to remember pre-Prohibition cocktail culture was dying off, and sweet, chemical, incandescent cocktail-shaped substitutes began to take its place, the Slow Comfortable Screw and the Blue Hawaiian and so on and so on. Into this milieu comes a man named Norman Jay Hobday, who opened a bar he called Henry Africa’s in San Francisco in 1969. He couldn’t afford much decor, but plants were cheap, so he created an alluring and verdant space full of ferns, antique lamps, and comfortable furniture, helping to create a whole movement of so-called “Fern Bars.” Henry Africa’s was a pleasant relief to the cave-like saloons popular at the time, and Hobday found his bar unusually popular among women, who felt more comfortable in the bright and welcoming space.

In an attempt to mirror the shiny and tranquil ambiance and cater to his growing customer base, Hobday (later known as Henry Africa) came up with the Lemon Drop. It’s named after the sharp-tasting candies that its flavor reminds of—comprising vodka, orange liqueur, and lemon, served up in a delicate glass rimmed with sugar. Given that this was the 1970s, the initial Lemon Drop was most likely concocted using a sweet-and-sour syrup which came from a premade bottle—typical for its time but, you’ll have to agree, not the best. If all of this wasn’t sweet enough, surely the introduction of an inexpensive liqueur and a sugar-rim would tip it into the realm of overly-sweet and synthetic, and for many years, nearly every Lemon Drop served was exactly that.

So, here’s the Lemon Drop’s dilemma. It’s practically the emissary for the humdrum sweet-and-sour beverage, therefore too elementary and synthetic for artisan bartenders to acknowledge it, to raise it to the tier of “proper” drinks. But the striking tug of sweetness and sourness is a profoundly gratifying sensation—so much that for a large proportion of the cocktail consumers, the drink has surmounted the sweetness predicament. That’s why the Lemon Drop hasn’t seen a resurgence; it never disappeared. People simply adore it too much.

To bridge this divide, it’s useful to contemplate the pattern we’re dealing with here: Spirit, orange liqueur, and lemon juice. If you added Cognac, you’d label that a Sidecar, which is among the most acclaimed cocktails ever concocted. Conversely, I enjoy pointing out that gin, orange liqueur, and lemon juice together get termed a White Lady, a precise and palatable classic cocktail from the 1930s. Hence, technically, the Lemon Drop is simply a White Lady made with vodka. Isn’t that a notion we all can concur on?

1.5 oz. vodka

0.75 oz. lemon juice

0.5 oz. triple sec

0.5 oz. simple syrup

Add all ingredients to a cocktail shaker. Add ice and give a good shake for 10 to 12 seconds, and strain up into a coupe, cocktail or martini glass with a half-sugared rim, and garnish with a lemon peel.

NOTES ON INGREDIENTS

Vodka: Numerous recipes suggest using lemon-infused vodka, it does create a pleasing variation, but the outcome varies with each brand. From my experience, the extra punch of lemon isn’t crucial as significant lemon juice and garnishing with a lemon peel does the job well. But if you have a preferred brand, it won’t hurt. I personally prefer unsweetened, full-strength, and economical brands such as Absolut Citron, however, I admit to having tried only a select few. Utilize what you like.

Lemon Juice: Although I consistently propose using fresh lemon juice, I emphasize it the most in this situation. Vodka, sugar, and ice are all flavorless, hence, the lemon juice and orange liqueur are the only true flavors in the drink. There’s no place for inconsistency. Although you don’t need to go through the trouble of tracking down organic Amalfi Lemons, nonetheless, using a real lemon and extracting its juice is the best practice to make this refreshment sublime.

Triple Sec: “Triple Sec” is essentially a generic term for an orange liqueur like Cointreau that’s primarily vodka-based, leading to a clear, uncompromised orange flavor. This sets it apart from “curacao” (like Grand Marnier), an orange liqueur that’s primarily brandy-based and hence serves orange flavor in combination with other flavors derived from brandy: oak, spice, and vanilla.

Lemon Drops made with curacao are indeed delectable, yet in my opinion, the essence of the beverage beckons for a triple sec. It’s far more subtle and imparts a robust orange flavour, rendering the mid-palate moist and then withdrawing. Among these, I firmly believe that Cointreau, albeit pricey, is the optimum selection. A handy guideline for triple sec is that superior quality is generally associated with higher proof, so if Cointreau isn’t accessible, attempt to acquire one that boasts an alcohol content of at least 30 percent.

Simple Syrup: Simple syrup comprises even parts of sugar and water combined until the sugar integrates. In this instance, it’s utilised because the tartness of the lemon juice requires counterbalance with sweetness, and employing sufficient triple sec to establish such a balance would result in an overwhelming orange flavour, accompanied by potentially excessive alcohol content (Cointreau is 80 proof).

Sugar Rim: For many, the distinguishing feature of a Lemon Drop is undoubtedly the sugar rim. Whenever I concoct these beverages, I invariably inquire if the recipient would prefer one. If such a luxury is unavailable, the common practice in bars is to sugar coat half the rim, leaving the other half plain, thereby granting the guest discretion with each sip to opt for engaging with it or not.

Flavours: Whilst a Lemon Drop is a cocktail, it can also be perceived as a blank canvas, awaiting the artistic strokes of additional flavours. Nearly any flavoured vodka will complement a Lemon Drop splendidly. Incorporate genuine fruit, such as raspberries or peaches, mash them in the cocktail shaker, and apply the aforementioned recipe to whip up a Raspberry or Peach Lemon Drop. Herbs, fruits, berries, hot chiles, and more. The potency of the lemon juice and simple syrup allows you to disregard the inherent sweetness/acidity in the produce and simply adhere to the recipe above for a spectacular outcome.

A final word on sweetness: Some people prefer sweet drinks, and like the Lemon Drop precisely because it has that kiss of sweetness that they crave. If you’re one of those people, drop the measure of lemon juice a quarter ounce, from 0.75 oz. to 0.5 oz.

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