In Search of the Perfect Thanksgiving Cocktail

’Tis the season! Naturally, you’ve gathered all the ingredients needed to serve your guests a classic and traditional Thanksgiving cocktail. No? Is it because you’re wondering, what exactly is the classic Thanksgiving cocktail?

Because that’s the question we have as well.

Thanksgiving appears to be the perfect holiday for a communal libation.

Thanksgiving appears to be the perfect holiday for a communal libation—one that’s shared not only around the table but around the nation. After all, we join to rejoice in turkey and cranberry in all its Norman Rockwell glory, foodstuffs that get short shrift most of the year. It’s a time of collective good cheer, of getting the family together and toasting to another year of continued camaraderie, or at least to getting through that day’s meal without replying to your brother-in-law’s political rants. Either way, a shared drink is welcome as an elevator of mood or a lubricant of strife.

Articles appear annually suggesting drinks to go with turkey and cranberry and pie. A sampling: Bon Appétit: “41 Thanksgiving Cocktails That’ll Really Shake Things Up.” Food Network: “50 Thanksgiving Cocktails for a Festive Celebration.” Epicurious: “43 Best Thanksgiving Cocktails.”

Problem is, we don’t need 41 drinks, or 50. That leads to chaos and cacophony, of which Thanksgiving already has plenty. We need one. We need the perfect Thanksgiving cocktail.

It’s not that people haven’t tried to craft a special drink for the holiday. For decades, restaurants have touted their special holiday drinks. Indeed, as early as 1896, the Kerr House in Marion, Ohio, had advertised their “Thanksgiving cocktail.” Regrettably, no further information was provided.

This sort of tease was common. In Albuquerque, the Mint Cafe invited customers in for their “Special Thanksgiving Cocktail,” which they promised was “most delicious and refreshing,” and “mixed as only the Mint’s bartenders can mix a drink.” In the 1930s, the New York Restaurant in New Rochelle promised a “special Thanksgiving cocktail at a special price.” In most instances, the ingredients appeared to be as closely guarded as the Manhattan Project. Even famed bartender Harry Craddock developed a “new” Thanksgiving cocktail to serve at the Savoy in London, “giving an edge to the London Americans on that night.” Ingredients not included.

So, let us consider some candidates to mark this grandly secular, noncommercial holiday, the one day devoted to national overeating.

One could argue that this shared drink should be non-alcoholic. After all, Thanksgiving really marks an event rooted in New England Calvinist tradition. While the Mayflower had beer and “ardent spirits” on board, on shore, the Calvinists didn’t exactly have a reputation for being down to party. Omitting alcohol might also aid in keeping family discourse civil.

Or one might argue in favor of a drink hinting at darker times. Perhaps the Bloody Mary, in acknowledgement that the first Thanksgiving was essentially a prelude to the decimation of an entire Native culture.

But few have dwelled on this. Many writers and others have put forth suggestions that reflect the rich, mulchy flavors of fall. Maple syrup often makes an appearance as a sweetener, bringing its own brand of dusky sweetness and a nod to New England. Other fall-like flavors have been suggested, including bourbon mixed with St. George Spiced Pear Liqueur (“It just tastes like fall,”wrote one Reddit commentator).

To no one’s surprise, pumpkin spice cocktails have barged into the debate like a drunk uncle late to the table.

To no one’s surprise, pumpkin spice cocktails have barged into the debate like a drunk uncle late to the table. Such drinks act as if they don’t have to explain themselves. Their attitude alone is disqualifying.

One ingredient that’s cropped up in the past has been, curiously, apricot. A drink appearing in The Handbook of Good Spirits—an advertising insert in a 1936 edition of the Tampa Daily Times—called for equal parts apricot nectar, dry gin, and French vermouth, with a dash of lemon juice. This drink survived across the decades and was codified as the ”Thanksgiving Special Cocktail” in the Mr. Boston Official Bartender’s Guide in the 1970s and later, although with apricot-flavored brandy in lieu of nectar.

Shall we make this the official drink of Thanksgiving? We shall not. There’s a reason it faded from our collective memory: It’s insipid.

If one were to embrace a single cocktail for Thanksgiving, I’d like to nominate the Flannel Shirt, created by Portland bartender and author Jeffrey Morgenthaler. It’s stood the test of time (it’s been around since the early days of the 21st-century cocktail revival), and is a russet-hued mix of scotch, cider, lemon, bitter digestif, and brown sugar.

It also has the benefit of a perfect name—one that suggests both fall and a modern Thanksgiving, one without strange hats and large buckles on shoes. It mixes whisky from the old country and cider from the new. It delivers both the sumptuous sweetness of brown sugar and the edge of old-fashioned bitterness, without which no holiday meal is complete. It is Thanksgiving in a glass.

So mix one up, and toast family and friends. And consider it a prelude to the coming Christmas season. Which brings another subject about which we can endlessly debate: Eggnog, yea or nay?