The Pegu Club

Since my first military history classes in college, I've had an interest in the history of Empire.  I've gotten my bachelor's degree, my master's degree, and about half of a doctorate primarily from studying the history of "High imperialism", that era between the mid-1880s and the early 1940s when Europeans (and to a lesser extent Americans) carved up much of Asia and almost all of Africa to conquer and exploit for themselves.  For the most part, this was rationalized by all forms of technological, cultural, pseudomoral, pseudoscientific, and, when all else failed, militaristic methods.  And, as is often the case throughout human history, it was done without really much consideration as to mitigating the negative effects that this might have on the people who lived in those places. 


While it's not generally thought of as a high water mark in terms of humanity's decency toward other people, I still derive a great deal of pleasure learning about Empire, and one of the biggest reasons for this, I think, is that the forms that European colonial empires took contained many trappings that touch on a number of nerdy interests I have, including transportation infrastructure (like steamships and railroads), flags, maps, architecture, and alcohol.

Alcohol?

Absolutely.  Someday I hope to finish my dissertation or publish a book on the topic, but the importation, production, sale and consumption of booze helped grease the wheels of the Imperial project.  Think about it.  There would be no India Pale Ale without the uniquely colonial set of economic and logistical problems that created it.  Without the need to imbue European settlers with the unpalatably bitter anti-malarial agent quinine, we wouldn't have the Gin and Tonic.  From Orange Curaçao to Singapore Slings, from Imperial Stouts to Cuba Libres, the supplies and demands created in the imperial exchange between colonial periphery and metropolitan center created tastes and spawned libations were a product of a distinctly imperial era.  Some even survived those times -- wars, decolonization and modernism -- to be transported (some more or less unchanged!) to your  neighborhood bar and into your glass.  It's those drinks that help give us an actual taste of that completely different era (but, this time, without all the guns, wars, and domination) that I'm particularly interested in.

Witness the Pegu Club.

The Pegu Club

• Shaker with ice,
• 2 oz. gin (I used Tanqueray Rangpur, whose extra citrus flavor is caused by the introduction of rangpur, a hybrid of oranges and lemons),
• ¾ oz. Grand Marnier (you can also use Cointreau or clear Curaçao, but I find that the complexity of Grand Marnier helps keep this drink from becoming too fruity.  Try it both ways to see how you like it!)
• ¾ oz. freshly squeezed lime juice,
• 2 dashes Angostura bitters,
• Stir until chilled, and strain into pre-chilled cocktail glass,
• Garnish with lemon twist.

Named for a popular nightclub and expatriate officers club in Rangoon, British Burma, during the height of the Raj, the Pegu Club combines familiar and exotic ingredients into one amazingly refreshing cocktail.  Sipping one of these on the patio on a stiflingly hot and humid summer's day, it's not difficult to imagine oneself at the European Club amongst the characters of George Orwell's Burmese Days, set during the zenith of British power in the sub-continent.  Or at least I do.  Without romanticizing imperialism, I think that creating a visceral, sensory experience is an important way to understanding the beliefs, points-of-view, and actions of historical peoples.  Besides just being a delicious and refreshing cocktail, the Pegu Club is a flavorful recreation of a glimpse into a long lost world.