Even if you haven’t heard of every player participating in the U.S. Open, the grand slam tournament that takes place in Flushing, Queens at the end of every summer, you’ve definitely heard about its signature cocktail: the Honey Deuce.
It’s nearly impossible to scroll through your social media feed between the last week of August and the first week of September without seeing the famed drink, which combines Grey Goose vodka with lemonade and a dash of Chambord raspberry liquor. The speared trio of green honeydew melons — shaped to resemble tennis balls — is the most obvious giveaway, as is the complimentary plastic cup the drink comes in. The cocktail’s influence on the event is so ubiquitous, in fact, that CNN reported it will surpass $10 million in sales before the Open ends on Sept. 8.
“You can’t have a U.S. Open without the Honey Deuce,” Aleco Azqueta, vice president of marketing for Grey Goose, told the outlet. “It really is what the Mint Julep is to the Kentucky Derby but even more of a cultural phenomenon.”
“What’s unique about the Honey Deuce is that it’s something that people really look forward to since you can only have the original at the U.S. Open,” he added.
As a first-time U.S. Open attendee, I was one of those people. My background in tennis stays more or less contained to the summer days of my youth, listening to an older German woman named Ingrid instruct me on how to serve alongside my younger siblings. Admittedly, I haven’t kept up with the sport since then, both as a player and a fan — as with many other Open attendees, I was simply there because I love live sporting events and anything that lets me imbibe delicious food and drink at a New York-based venue.
Coincidentally, Serena Williams, a multi-time U.S. Open winner who was in attending the tournament as a spectator, also lost her Honey Deuce virginity this year. In a recent video shared on Instagram, the phenom shared how she had never tried the cocktail because she’d “always been playing.” As one social media user observed, Williams' name was stamped on the side of the very cup she was drinking out of six times.
“I like my Honey Deuce with Cincoro,” Williams shared in the clip, noting how she’d swapped the drink’s signature vodka for tequila. “Honey — that’s not deuce. That’s called honey add-in, or Honey Ace. Let’s rename that, it is good. Yum!” she added after taking a sip. “Try it with tequila.”
On Sunday night, a group of three friends and I jostled with thousands of other Open-goers — the most in the tournament’s 142-year history — as we made our way to the line for drinks before finding our seats. We waited for roughly 15 minutes before finding ourselves in front of a cheery woman with blonde braids and a baseball cap emblazoned with the words “Honey Deuce.” While the menu also featured Aperol Sprtizes and Palomas, it went without saying who the head honey honcho was.
Deuces in hand, we began to muscle our way through throngs of people walking upstairs, all looking for their seats, all precariously clutching their own ‘Deuce. No one dared risk taking a sip and spilling a single cent of their $23 drink. Once seated, we cheers'd each other and brought our cups to our mouths after what felt like hours of anticipation. We gulped and then blinked at each other. One of my friends offered an appreciative, “Hmm.” I took another slow drag, searching for a glimmer of my money’s worth in the pinkish concoction, its ice chips diluting it further with every second.
My other friend didn’t mince words. “It tastes like basic fruit juice. I can hardly taste the vodka. I think it’s mid,” she said with a straight face. As the realization of the Honey Duece’s undeniably average taste sunk in, I too sank lower in my seat. The cocktail wasn’t bad by any means, but the amount of hype it’s received led me to believe that it would have been a strong level up from some of the better well-drinks I’d been poured in college.
A refreshing bite of a melon ball — which my friends and I all agreed was the drink’s highlight in taste and aesthetic — did little to redeem the Honey Deuce. It only got worse when I inadvertently knocked my remaining balls clean off the top of my drink, leaving them to sit sadly in the aisle until an attendant swept them away at some point over the next three hours in change.
So if you’re planning to go to the U.S. Open at any point over its remaining five days of play, and if don’t mind spending the money on the Honey Deuce (a price which is largely on par with most Manhattan cocktails anyway), I’d still recommend getting one. They’re a fun part of Open’s atmosphere. But if I could go back in time, I would have certainly tried the Honey Deuce à la Serena, with tequila. Or simply pregamed a bit more.
