The Daiquiri has always been a cocktail I’ve avoided. In my minds eye it came served in a hurricane glass, stacked with crushed ice, fruit juice and more garnish than a large fruit cocktail should aspire to. At the back of mind there was a niggling sensation that I was getting it wrong. Hemingway drank these, and he’d have jammed a fruity umbrella clad drink sidewise up the arse of the bartender who offered it to him, while shooting a nearby wild animal with a rifle and necking a bottle of champagne. I confess that I also know little of Hemingway, but my imaginary version of him is probably more impressive than the real man.
One trip to Wikipedia later…
Nope, pretty accurate.