For somebody whose children recently learned how to crack open a tinnie, this week’s tasting was a perilous one. Cans covered in seductive, brightly coloured pictures of parasols, palm trees and their favourite fruits filled the kitchen, and both the seven- and the five-year-old tried to take a swig. Premix cocktails are disproportionately marketed to young drinkers – gateway booze, if you will, as the likes of Bacardi Breezer pineapple was for me – and often have a one-note, cloying taste. Absolut’s passionfruit martini and Malibu’s piña colada are cases in point: both have sugary, synthetic fruit flavours that mask, or even eliminate, the taste of the base spirits. Is it any wonder that, in 2024, Britain had the worst rate of child alcohol consumption in the world? These drinks make it easy to forget that you’re even drinking alcohol.
Perhaps more than any other theme, writing about premix cocktails has made me confront the very question of why we drink alcohol. Take me as an example. My Bacardi Breezer years were undoubtedly a question of booze for function; it loosened my teenage inhibitions and I had a laugh. The fact that this so-called “alcopop” was so saccharine chimed with my childish predilection for sweetness, and conveniently masked the flavour of the rum, which may at the time have offended my uninitiated palate. Twenty-five years on, and my palate is a different place, and I welcome the notes and nuances of a well-mixed drink. I now drink alcohol to savour it, and I like what I’m drinking to give me pause; it doesn’t need to be hard work, but I do like it to make me think.
