Since I started a cocktail column, National Review readers have emailed me with recommendations for recipes to try at home, bars to visit in London, and classic cocktails to review. I received plenty of direct messages on several different platforms — Twitter, Instagram, and LinkedIn — urging me to try the cocktail known as the “French 75,” a summery drink made with gin, lemon juice, simple syrup, and champagne. And thus I had been tasked with some investigative journalism.
So I ordered the French 75 at Lynrace Cocktails in Oxford, a particularly alluring establishment now because it is among the few that has air-conditioning. The drink is supposedly named after the 75-millimeter gun used by the French during World War I, although it isn’t obvious why the beverage is named after a weapon. Cocktail historian David Wondrich notes that something like the French 75 has existed for centuries, citing an 1885 article suggesting that Charles Dickens served a version of the modern recipe back in 1867. There isn’t evidence to suggest that one person can rightfully claim to be the drink’s inventor, although Wondrich writes that a New York humor magazine first printed the recipe in 1927, and it then gained popularity after being included in Harry Craddock’s 1930 work The Savoy Cocktail Book. (A very different recipe with gin dubbed the “75” occurs earlier, in the 1923 edition of “Harry” of Ciro’s ABC of Mixing Cocktails, with a note that “this cocktail was very popular in France during the war, and named after the French light field gun.”)
The French 75 seems fancy because it is usually served in a champagne flute, but it tastes rather simple. The light and pleasant cocktail doesn’t have much complexity. The only flavor I detect is citrus; the drink is essentially a boozy upgrade to the canned San Pellegrino Limonata sold in grocery stores everywhere. The French 75 is refreshing, making it perfect for the dreadfully hot days here in England, where the subpar ventilation and general lack of air-conditioning make me lethargic. I think I would opt for the French 75 during brunch when a mimosa isn’t quite strong enough to convince me that the ongoing conversation is interesting, or when I want a bubbly alternative to the white wine that accompanies my favorite seafood dinner, mussels in a garlic sauce. But I don’t think I would order a French 75 without also ordering a plate of food, since lemon juice leaves a lingering acidity.
I pulled out my phone to write the notes that I would mention in this column, but then I realized I had made a careless mistake. I had misread the emails and direct messages. Readers had told me to try the French Blonde. I had ordered the wrong thing. So I placed a second order to give you all the content you deserve.
The French Blonde — gin, elderflower liqueur, grapefruit juice, Lillet Blanc, and lemon bitters — can appropriately be deemed the elegant sister of the French 75, since it is similarly light and refreshing. The French Blonde has a beautiful golden color that rivals a stylish woman who just received fresh highlights at an expensive hair salon, and the drink has a floral fragrance that could be bottled and sold as a feminine perfume. Although it has a citrus note from the lemon and grapefruit, a delicate herbal flavor and sweetness emerges from the elderflower liqueur and Lillet Blanc. Without the bubbly champagne or the strong taste of gin, the French Blonde is a more easily sipped cocktail than the French 75. Yet I find that finishing a glass of either leaves me wanting ice water to cleanse my mouth of the tanginess from the lemon that makes me wonder if cleaning detergent was an ingredient.
If I am ever lucky enough to live in a house with a nice garden and develop the organizational skills to host an outdoor party on a pleasant day, I will refine my bartending skills to serve the French 75 and French Blonde — and of course, I’ll credit National Review readers for the suggestions. Until then, I imagine I’ll order one or the other along with a quick bite at lunch hour on the days with the uncomfortably hot weather. But I think I generally prefer a more conventional and accessible French drink: a nice white wine.