How sex, rum, and WWII ignited the fad that will not die.
This one's for Buddha and Mike.
I never worked in a Tiki bar, but when I was a bartender, I picked up a copy of Trader Vic's Cocktail Book. It had a lot of crappy drinks in it. An Angel's Tit, IIRC, was creme de cacao served in a champagne dish, with some maraschino liqueur floated in the center with a half cherry perched in the middle—first, it sounds awful, but worse, it sounds like precisely the sort of labor-intensive drink a busy bartender does not want to make. However, Vic Bergeron (or his ghostwriter) was great company and I devoured the book avidly during lulls.
Of course, he was good company—the man's hobby was painting "ice-skating nuns and perky otters." I do wonder: Was he ever tempted to paint perky nuns and ice-skating otters?
