How to Make a Mamie Taylor, the Delightful Scotch and Ginger Beer Cocktail

“Beware of Mamie Taylor,” ran the headline of the New York Press in June of 1900; “It’s as effective as a thirteen-inch gun at close range,” added the Louisville Courier Journal later that summer. 

And who was this Mamie Taylor of whom the public needed to be warned? A confidence woman? A killer on the loose? No, she was merely a singer (a soprano at that, the least threatening of all opera registers to anyone but a crystal glass) and the item of danger being warned about was just a cocktail in her name, a mixture of scotch whiskey, citrus, and ginger soda.

What’s so dangerous about that? For you and me in the comfort of modernity, nothing. There are dozens of such drinks and we enjoy them with abandon. But to understand the uproar over the Mamie Taylor, and why the New York Telegraph called it an “insidious drink,” you need to know one more thing about the Mamie Taylor cocktail—it was first. The Mamie Taylor was before the Kentucky Buck and Dark & Stormy, before the Horsefeather and even the Moscow Mule, and the public hadn’t yet built up an immunity to the raw, unrelenting deliciousness of ginger highballs. Not only did it pre-date the Penicillin cocktail (another scotch-and-ginger superstar would take the world by storm about 100 years later), but it pre-dated penicillin.

According to a truly excellent article by Emily Morry the Rochester and Monroe Country History Office, the story goes like this: The drink spreads like wildfire in the beginning of 1900, and is reported on extensively by the papers before anyone has any idea where the name came from. News of this phenomenon ultimately reached a vaudeville and opera singer named Mamye Taylor, who wrote the papers to claim it (“It seems I have had greatness thrust upon me,” she wrote) and set the record straight: It was a bartender in Rochester, N.Y. who, asked by Ms. Taylor to make her “a long but not a strong” drink after the singer had spent a warm day on the water, returned with scotch and ginger beer. She requested a lemon peel to “soften” it, and it was deemed a success, or as it would be called today, a banger. The bartender named it after the singer on the spot (misspelling her first name, but regardless), and it was a local Rochester phenomenon for a couple years until making its way to New York in 1900, and from there, the world.

We currently, as mentioned, live in a world teeming with ginger highballs, and for good reason: They’re wonderful. Not only does ginger go with everything, but its spice comes from just the right angle to distract from the heat of the ethanol. Honestly, the Mamie Taylor might be the best of the lot—the gentle broad honeyed midpalate of scotch is the perfect counterweight for the fiery ginger, and the long tingle in your throat almost compels you to come back for more. This is not a surprise to modern drinkers, of course, especially those of us who survived the Moscow Mule Mania of the mid 2010s, but it certainly was a shock to drinkers of 1900, who’d never had anything so delicious in their lives. “Fill up your glass with imported ginger beer,” instructed the Telegraph, “and as you value your peace of mind and moral character, don’t drink more than two.”

Mamie Taylor

Add all ingredients over ice in a tall glass and stir briefly to combine. Garnish with a lime or lemon wedge, or a piece of candied ginger.

NOTES ON INGREDIENTS

Scotch: This is made for blended scotch. Grab something not too expensive that you enjoy. If you like peat, it also works here—peated scotch and ginger are very fond of one another, so a mild peated blend like Johnnie Walker Black or even just a splash or Laphroaig or Lagavulin works great—but if you don’t love that flavor, you don’t need it. Single malts also work, but they don’t work better and are more expensive. The only type of scotch I didn’t like here was a sherry aged single malt like Macallan, which again wasn’t bad, but the fruit of the sherry clings on the finish and distracts from the clean ginger sizzle. 

Citrus: I couldn’t decide between lemon and lime. In general, lime and scotch whisky tend to clash on the finish, but here the ginger’s heat more or less negates that problem. Lemon and scotch go better (again, generally) but lemon’s bigger mid-palate doesn’t do the drink any big favors, so it’s hard to say. You want the acidity, but which type isn’t too important. I’d say lime if I had to choose. 

It’s in a range here because the sweetness of ginger beers varies so much. You want a pop of acidity, but you don’t want a sour drink. Citrus to taste.

Ginger Beer: As ever, the spicier the ginger beer, the better. Cock & Bull, Thomas Henry, and Blenheim (which is a “ginger ale” but spicy as hell) all fit the bill, as I’m sure do others I’ve not tried. Feel free to use your favorite.

Even better than this would be to make a ginger syrup, which you can do by juicing fresh ginger and adding equal parts sugar, or blending equal parts sugar, ginger, and boiling water on high for 30 seconds. This will be spicier than any bottled ginger beer and will be bright and alive—feel free to spike your ginger beer with a quarter ounce of it, or to make the cocktail bar version, below.

Mamie Taylor (Cocktail Bar Version)

Combine all ingredients except soda in a cocktail shaker with ice and shake good and hard for six to eight seconds, then strain over fresh ice in a tall glass and top with soda. Stir briefly to combine and garnish with a piece of candied ginger.