A theory on the origins of the coquetier theory

One of the frequently heard explanations of the origins of the word "cocktail" is that it came from the French word, coquetier, meaning "egg cup." The story is that a Francophone pharmacist in New Orleans named Antoine Peychaud first put bitters and brandy in an egg cup and served it to his clients as a refreshing beverage. When Americans ordered it, they mangled the pronunciation and came up with "cocktail."

Compelling, intriguing, and, of course, wholly wrong. As Phil Greene, a descendent of Peychaud's, has noted, the pharmacist was just three years old when the word "cocktail" was first defined in print. Ah, well.

In researching my rum book, I noticed that this explanation cropped up commonly in the 1940s. And I may have stumbled upon the source for this explanation's popularity and persistence. I just finished reading Saratoga Trunk, a bestselling novel by Edna Ferber, first published in 1941. (Ferber was best known for her books-turned-into-movies: Giant, Showboat and Cimarron.)

In Saratoga Trunk, there's this exchange between the protagonist Clio Dulaine, who was born in New Orleans, and a minor character, Sophie Bellop:

"Will you have a coquetier, Mrs. Bellop?
"What's that?"
"That is a little drink to hearten and steady one.... Aunt Belle said it was brought to New Orleans from Santa Domingo by Peychaud, the apothecary. Bitters, and a dash of cognac, with a twist of lemon peel. He mixed it in an egg-shaped cup. That's why it's called a coquetier. Lovely."

I haven't yet come upon any earlier published references to the coquetier theory, but I have to assume they exist. I'm guessing Ferber read about it somewhere. But she may have turned it up while talking to people in New Orleans while working on her novel, which is in part set in the city.

But I'm also thinking that Ferber may have done much to introduce this version of the "cocktail" etymology to the world, and may be responsible for its persistence. I'd love to hear of other early references to the notion, if known.

A twist of nutjob

I recently saw a press release dated November 15, 2006 for a year-old book entitled The Dittohead's Guide to Adult Beverages. It's by a Rush Limbaugh fan and self-described humorist named Britt Gillette and features cocktails with names with the trademark subtlety of his hero, like "Environmentalist Wacko Whiskey" and "Affirmative Action Ambrosia."

(Example of the level of humor: the ambrosia recipe bans the use of light rum since it's "insenstivie to minority rums" and includes the instructions "consume while labeling as 'racist' any of your friends or companions who dare to add light rum to their favorite adult beverages.")

But what really caught my attention was the claim that "Rush coined the term 'adult beverages' as a politically-correct way of referring to alcoholic drinks."

Really now.

A quick scan of newspaper databases shows the term commonly cropping up in the mid-1960s, including in one ad by Western Airlines, which offered flights between Long Beach and San Francisco (for $17.50,no less), with "adullt beverage" service enroute. Limbaugh, whose very early career as a copywriter has not been well documented, was 14 years old at the time.

The lesson: never let your guard down against revisionism, even in the cocktail lounge.

Now, where was I?

Sorry for the inexcusable interruption in postings. Well, slightly excusable. Since my last posting a couple of months ago, my wife and I have left Maine, where I've lived for nearly two decades, and moved all of our accumulated stuff (and a great many bottles of rum) to New Orleans, where we've bought a house. This is has been more disruptive than I thought, especially since I've still had to keep up with writing deadlines, all the while.

But enough of the excuses. I'm now feeling reasonably settled, although it still appears that we're living a warehouse of corrugated cardboard, and you can't look anywhere without seeing a major household project in need of immediate attention, some Katrina-related, most not.

Yet there's this bit of light: just a few blocks away, at 5000 Prytania St., I wandered into a shop called the Wine Seller, run by Ben Lazich. And here I was pleased to find several good rums that were hard to come by in Maine. Especially pleasing: Ron Zacapa Centenario can be had here for $34, about $6 less than I ever found it in New England. (Although I did see it once for $33 in New York City.)

This is the 23-year-old rum that I write about briefly in the last chapter of the book. And today it also gets props in Eric Felten's "How's Your Drink" column in today's Wall Street Journal [subscription required].