Going soft? Try Chillio

I’m not much one for soft drinks. If I want something tasty I drink booze, and if I’m thirsty I drink water. I’m perplexed by products that seem to be offering a thirst-slaker of water contaminated by small amounts of fruit juice or other flavourings—London tap water is pretty good, so there is no reason not to quaff it.

I was thus intrigued to be sent these new soft drinks, Chillio Soda, in pineapple, guava and watermelon and flavours. They are very specifically not intended as mixers, but rather as an alternative to alcoholic drinks—so you could, in all fairness, ask what place they have in this blog. But it’s an interesting pitch, a non-alcoholic fizzy drink aimed squarely at the adult palate. (And thus, I suppose, the opposite of an alcopop—an alcoholic drink aimed, let’s face it, at the childish palate.) The range is low-calorie, vegan and gluten free, with no refined sugar and no artificial flavouring. Described as a “dry, sessionable drink”, it’s clearly intended as something you can use to match your beer-swilling buddies pint for pint (well, drink for drink) while keeping your body a temple.

The name Chillio comes from the fact that—as if more evidence were needed that this is a grown-up’s drink—these sodas have chilli in them. In fact the whole range is inspired by South and Central America, the flavours apparently based on local street drinks in the region. In addition to the key fruit flavour and the chilli, each drink has lime juice as part of its flavour balance. (In fact if you look at the ingredients list they all have apple juice too, and there are other things like carrot and blueberry: I don’t know if these crop up in the South and Central American street drinks that inspired the range or if the manufacturers just found they needed them in the mix to achieve the desired flavour in a canned beverage.)

First up is a drink inspired by Cuba. Open the can and the aroma is strongly of fresh pineapple. This carries on to the palate—it tastes pretty much of what they say it is, pineapple juice watered down, with a clear lime element followed by a mild chilli heat. This drink specifically has habanero chilli, and there is also prickly pear in there. I don’t know what that actually tastes of, but the elements here combine to make it more savoury and vegetal than you would expect of pineapple, so perhaps that’s the prickly pear’s influence. It is not particularly sweet.

Next is the Peruvian-inspired offering. Open it up and you again get an appealing waft of fresh fruit, this time of guava—not that I think I knew what guava smelled like before, but I’m willing to believe it smells like this. Poured out, it has the colour of rosé wine. Again on the palate there is a thinness which disappoints slightly: the nose suggests it will have a fuller flavour and richer texture than what you get. As with the Cuban, the lime is clearly but discreetly there, but the chilli (specifically pasilla chilli) this time is so subtle that I probably wouldn’t have noticed it if I hadn’t been looking for it.

The third version is inspired by Mexico, based on watermelon. The nose is certainly watermelon-inspired, but this time it’s a bit more synthetic, rather than the convincing fresh-fruit aromas of the other two. On the palate you pick up the same gentle lime presence, but the chilli (jalapeño) is more prominent here than in the other two, though nothing crazy. The liquid is a weird bubblegum pink, which seems somehow appropriate for the slightly sickly impression it leaves me with.

As mentioned, these drinks are intended as alternatives to alcohol. Did I try them as mixers with alcohol anyway? Of course I did. I tried the Cuban blend with rum and it frankly did not work. White rum would probably have been best but all I could find in the cupboard was Havana Club 7-year-old, and frankly for me this quarrelled with the pineapple character of the soda. As an afterthought—and thinking of the Miami Beach cocktail*—I tried it with gin and it actually works much better. But when you can just make the cocktail instead, I don’t see this mixer combination catching on.

I tried the Peruvian guava drink with pisco and it’s OK. The pisco has a light presence unless you dial up the concentration—at which point it’s not really that pleasant. Instead I make myself a pisco sour, which turns out to be much nicer.

And of course I experimented with mixing the Mexican blend with tequila. Again, it’s not revolting, but this mixer is my least favourite, so it’s hard not to feel it is a waste of tequila.

I guess I feel with all of these that the, generally rather inviting, aroma is then let down by the palate, which is more watery than I was expecting. I suspect this lack of body may be what makes it an awkward mixer, but of course that is not what it is intended for. They do call it “sessionable”, which can only mean you can drink a lot of it without ill consequences: perhaps they were being careful to make sure it does not become cloying or sweet after your fifth pint. When you think about it, the relative dryness, with tartness from the lime and sharpness from the chilli, is perhaps intended to replicate the mouthfeel of lager or IPA.

If you’re looking for a session drink free from alcohol, preservatives and artificial anything, and low in calories, then give Chillio a try if you come across it. My tip would be to veer towards the pineapple or guava versions, but don’t expect an explosion of fruit flavours dancing on your tongue.

* In fact there seem to be many cocktails with this name, all completely unlike each other, but the version I first encountered is in the 1935 Bar Floridita Cocktails, reproduced in 2008 by Ross Bolton. The book gave it as equal parts gin and pineapple juice with a teaspoon of sugar, while Difford doubles the proportion of gin. Later versions added vermouth or curacao but I found it works very well by replacing the sugar with Galliano, the vanilla-flavoured liqueur: 2 shots gin, 2½ shots pineapple juice, ½ shot Galliano. 

Celebrate International Pineapple Day!

A Pineapple Mule, made using the items in my mystery package (plus mint from the garden)

It seems this is the third time I’ve said “I don’t usually do unboxings”, but once again That Boutiquey Gin Company have pulled the stops out and it would be churlish not to give them credit.

This package arrived unannounced on my doorstep: at first I thought it was a slipcase for a high-end book (not that there is any reason someone would send me one of those). In fact it is an elaborate promotional pack for TBGC’s spit-roast pineapple gin. As you can see, underneath some flyers is a tote bag, then the actual gin, plus some ginger beer, a metal straw, a burlap pouch containing a couple of limes and an enamel lapel pin.* I didn’t open the box immediately, making a mental note to do so when I had the opportunity to take photos, but it’s just as well I didn’t leave it too long—it didn’t occur to me there might be fresh fruit inside…**

TBGC have a track record of making oddly-flavoured gins that nevertheless show poise and skill in the balance of flavours, avoiding the trap of just making a gooey fruit liqueur that is a gin in name only. Here the first thing you’re probably asking yourself is, “OK, it’s a pineapple gin—but why specifically a spit-roasted pineapple gin?” My guess is that it was the flavour of caramelised pineapple that inspired whoever came up with this. We’ve probably all tried pineapple that has been grilled or sautéed, but I confess I have no experience of the precise qualities of pineapple that has been spit-roasted, as opposed to being cooked in any other way. But I’m willing to believe TBGC’s pineapples have been treated in this way. (I went to the Master of Malt offices once, which I assume is where TBGC is based, and it was a bit like wandering through Q-Division in a James Bond movie. In one room someone was experimenting with dipping bottle necks in wax, and I’m sure I saw a carboy where they were finding a way to pump smoke through some vodka.)

The tote bag

Apparently pineapple gin was, like orange gin, a Thing in the early 20th century. TBGC say their pineapples are roasted on a spit with Demerara sugar, so clearly the processing is all about getting that caramel flavour.

The gin does indeed have a caramel element to it. There is obviously pineapple there too, but once again I am struck by the fact that it is still definitely a gin. In fact I could believe that that juniper levels have been made especially pronounced to make sure they poke through. And there is no clash here: the tart, fruit flavours do harmonise with the dry steel of the juniper.

On the nose you are struck, first and foremost, by the juicy fruit of pineapple, its distinctive flat, waxy elements blending with juniper. Below is the dark caramel layer. Here and there other gin botanicals, floral or savoury, seem to pop up, but only fleetingly. On the palate is where the juniper really pushes through, making a rich and intense drink.

Unsurprisingly, the spirit has been sweetened, which most fruit gins seem to be (I guess in the tradition of sloe gin, which in fact is a useful analogy to how the pineapple gin works—and in fact when we did our sloe gin taste-off I did find that my favourites where the ones that still had strong gin flavours in them, such as Hawker’s, which sadly no longer seems to be made). I don’t have much of a sweet tooth, so it’s not a drink I would drink neat, but cocktails seem an obvious way to go, given that many of them feature a balance of sweet and sour ingredients.

The branded lapel badge. Not sure who would wear
it, but it has not one but two pin fastenings on the back
so clearly is intended for hurricane-prone climes

In fact logic would suggest that just adding citrus to this gin would create a sort of proto-cocktail of gin, sweetness, tartness and fruit, and indeed this does work remarkably well. I try it with lime juice and neat it is a bit intense, but if you lengthen it (I just used water), you suddenly get a balanced drink. I can imagine that the pineapple gin, lime juice and soda water, over ice, would be a delight to sip on a summer’s day.

I expected the TBGC website to feature a number of cocktails using this gin, but in fact I can’t find any. Instead they seem to be pinning their hopes to the Pineapple Mule, essentially a Moscow Mule made using spit-roast pineapple gin instead of vodka. The ingredients are the elements there were included in my surprise package.

Pineapple Mule
50ml spit-roast pineapple gin
100ml ginger beer
1 lime wedge squeezed
Build over ice and garnish with another lime wedge and a sprig of mint

It’s a deft concoction, essentially like the highball I describe above, but with the ginger flavours too—and even though ginger beer will have some sugar in it too, the overall drink does not come across as too sweet. (The ginger beer included is Fever Tree, which may be less sweet than some others.)



You can try making your own Pineapple Mule at home easily enough (the photo at the top is one I made last night, using mint from our garden). But if you’re feeling lazy and you’re London-based you can pop into TBGC’s pop-up pineapple gin parlour at 15 Bateman Street.

The tote bag, pre-surgery

Give the password “Mule” and you’ll get a complimentary cocktail.

The pop-up opened yesterday and will close tomorrow, so get down there ASAP. Since today is, apparently, International Pineapple Day, what could be more appropriate?

* I freely admit that was just an excuse to say “burlap pouch”, a phrase I have been joyously rolling around my mouth for days. I mean, we don’t even call it burlap here in the UK, but somehow “hessian pouch” isn’t quite the same.

** Mrs H. nodded approvingly at the reusable metal straw (I just hope its easy to clean), but curled her lip at the lapel badge (is it recyclable?). As for the tote bag, she has spent several evenings now trying to scrape away the printed logo with a scalpel. I suggested an electric sander but she favours a less invasive treatment. If she succeeds in producing a plain tote bag without any gin advertising on it, I think she will be placated.

The East India Cocktail

I have a few friends who belong to the East India Club, a private members’ club in London with a long history. Originally set up for employees of the East India Company and officers in the Army and Navy, who might need a base in London while away from their far-flung posts, in the 1930s it absorbed the Sports Club, and then in the 1970s (a tough time for many clubs, when membership of such establishments was at its least fashionable) the Public Schools Club and the Devonshire Club as well. Today there aren’t any real criteria for joining but I think the people I know who belong joined because their schools had been among those originally part of the Public Schools Club. There is no particular connection with East India, but I was interested to hear a couple of references to an “East India Club Cocktail” served at the bar.

In fact it turned out to be simply an “East India Cocktail”, and this is something with quite a history, though there are several approaches to it. It can be traced back to the second half of the 19th century when it seems to have been enjoyed by Englishmen out in the colonies. Though the East India Club would have been in existence by this time (founded in the mid-19th century), it is more likely that the cocktail was devised in one of the “American Bars” in fashionable Grand Hotels of the region.* Recipes vary but it always seems to be Cognac based.

The earliest reference is in Harry Johnson’s New and Improved Bartender’s Manual from 1882, where a double measure of Cognac is augmented by small amounts of curaçao, maraschino, bitters and pineapple syrup. You might think that the use of pineapple syrup rather than juice is simply a necessary expedient the further you get from the source of pineapples, but O.H. Byron’s The Modern Bartender’s Guide (1884) has a recipe that is essentially the same as Johnson’s except that it uses raspberry syrup instead of pineapple. This may well have evolved from Johnson’s version, but it does show that both pineapple and raspberry versions have been around for a long while.

The use of pineapple syrup certainly persisted into the Golden Age of Cocktails, as Robert Vermeire and Harry MacElhone, writing in the 1920s, specify it. But the Savoy Cocktail Book from 1930 gives the ingredients as brandy, curaçao, bitters and pineapple juice. as does Cocktails by Jimmy of Ciro’s (1930) and the Café Royal Cocktail Book (1937, an attempt to codify “correct” recipes by the United Kingdom Bartenders Guild). Perhaps the juice had just become more widely available by this stage, though a couple of sources from this time, and also David Embury writing in the 1940s, suggest that maraschino can be use instead of the pineapple juice, which would suggest it is just there to add a bit of fruity sweetness.

In fact the use of pineapple juice in cocktails does not just add the flavour of pineapples but, when vigorously shaken, adds a rich, silky, foamy texture. However, for me this cocktail is primarily about the combination of Cognac and pineapple flavours, which I think go very handsomely together indeed. Simon Difford’s version specifies Grand Marnier, a sophisticated curaçao made from a Cognac base, which seems a bit unnecessary to me, given that the cocktail is made out of Cognac anyway. And in fact I find that the orange flavour from the curaçao gets a bit lost too.** I would recommend just using Cointreau.

I rang the bar steward at the East India Club to ask how he made it. He does indeed specify Cognac, curaçao, bitters and pineapple juice, though he adds: “It’s very sweet. It’s good for the ladies.”

Actually I don’t think it is that sweet, but I do personally feel that it needs some balancing tartness, and one or two teaspoons of lemon or lime juice seem to do the trick, though it will depend on how sweet or sour you like things.

East India Cocktail
1½ shots Cognac
1½ shots pineapple juice
¾ shot curaçao (orange liqueur)
2 dashes Angostura Bitters
1–2 tsp lemon or lime juice (optional)
Shake vigorously with ice and strain into a glass. Traditionally garnished with a cocktail cherry though Difford suggests a twist of orange peel

* Though Simon Difford says that the juice version is “thought to originate with Frank Meier at the Ritz Bar, Paris”, which would make it much later, as Frank served at the Ritz from 1921 to 1947. 

** Actually Difford gives this recipe as “East India No.2”. His “No.1”, which he says is based on Ted Haigh’s version, which in turn is based on Johnson’s, uses syrup instead of juice, but in fact Haigh goes down the raspberry syrup route, adding maraschino as well, and Difford goes one further in replacing the raspberry syrup with grenadine.