East India

Pull it out and you'll notice the gap. At that volume raspberry doesn't taste of raspberry; it lengthens the cognac's own dark-fruit note and adds a perfumed top the orange liqueur can't reach. It's the difference between brandy with curaçao in it and a drink somebody designed. Measure it, though. Eight and it turns jammy.

Both are printed in the old manuals, and they taste genuinely different. Pineapple gives a tropical, almost rum-like sweetness; raspberry gives something darker and jammier. Neither is more correct than the other, and a few drops of each is a perfectly reasonable compromise.

More than work. Armagnac is rougher-edged and more rustic, with a prune-and-leather weight that suits the raspberry very well. It changes the character rather than damaging it. Spanish brandy also fits, though it's sweeter, so cut the orange liqueur back to a teaspoon.

The orange earns its place. Everything in the glass is dark and warm, and citrus oil gives your nose something bright to meet first. Without it the drink smells of nothing but brandy, which badly undersells what's actually going on underneath.

A classic East India calls for 60 ml (2 oz) Cognac, 8 ml (0.25 oz) Triple sec / Cointreau, 4 ml (0.25 oz) Raspberry liqueur, 2 dashes Angostura Angostura bitters. That single-serve spec scales cleanly — the recipe above converts it to oz and multiplies it for 2–4 drinks.

A standard East India is roughly 38% ABV once mixed (before ice melt softens it further). That makes it spirit-forward — closer to a Martini than to a beer, so sip it slowly.

An East India is shaken. About 13 seconds with plenty of ice chills and dilutes it correctly.