It’s been a wild and wonderful few weeks on the SLOSHED! liquor front. First, I scored a copy of David Wondrich’s Esquire Drinks on the heels of scrounging up the 1953 edition of Esquire’s Handbook for Hosts at one of my favorite bookstores, then followed that up with a mint copy of Charles Schumann’s Tropical Bar Book from another favored bookshop, and finished up by finding the Holy Grail of liquor and wine shops (resulting in a windfall of pisco, cachaça, Liquor 43 and Lemon Hart demerara—not the perversely easier-to-find 151º). This probably sounds like a lot of boasting for one post, but I promise it has a point.

While on my mad spree of book-n-booze buying, I was intent on digging up some pisco. The most popular liquor in Bolivia, Chile and Peru, pisco is a brandy that traces its history back to the Spanish Conquistadors who brought European agricultural technology along with smallpox and Christianity. Some say pisco started in Chile, others say it comes from Peru (where, sadly, the town often cited as its namesake was recently devasted by an earthquake), but the name itself is thought to come from the word pisqu in the indigenous language Quechua, and could possibly mean “bird” or refer to the clay pots that the spirit would originally have been held in. Aside from the apellation debate, it is definitely known that pisco is produced in the wine-growing regions of both countries, and that both countries have pisco as their national drink. Though it isn’t terrifically easy to find these days, during the early twentieth century pisco was very popular amongst settlers in the American west, where it was available thanks to importers in San Francisco.

As brands go, I had quite a time finding anything but Chilean pisco hereabouts; BevMo seems to have the largest selection and focuses primarily on the Chilean imports (one would assume this has to do with the booming popularity of Chilean wines and, therefore, a much larger production base for grape-based spirits). I had nearly decided to cave and pick up the ubiquitous Chilean Capel when the smaller, frosted bottle of Peruvian Montesierpe caught my eye. For nearly the same price, I reasoned that the underdog was a good place to start.

1 oz pisco
1 oz maraschino liqueur
¼ oz pineapple juice
juice of ½ lime

Shake with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Fortunately for me, though pisco has endured obscurity in the States in recent years, the ever-colorful Trader Vic recorded an entire chapter of pisco-based cocktails in his mid-70s bar guide. I know the Pisco Sour is the tried-and-true choice, but I’m a contrary creature. I just had to try something different for pisco’s first day out.

Obviously, I picked this recipe because it appealed to me. Some sweet, some tart, a generally high level of acidity—it sounded like a nice small (emphasis on the small) drink to try. Surprisingly, though the flavors in the recipe were all winners in my head, this came together as something entirely better. The warm, rich brandy tones of the pisco were amplified by the maraschino, while the pineapple and lime juice threw in a little “oomph” for color. It flows over the palette like fireworks—bright and booming right away with a slow, lingering flicker through the finish. Mmmm. Good stuff!