Suffering Bastard

Seriously. The gin supplies aromatics, the brandy supplies weight and a little fruit, and the ginger beer is loud enough to make them read as one thing. Split them evenly at 30 ml each. Tilting toward either spirit unbalances a drink that runs on the argument between them.

There is a well-traveled bourbon version and it is a perfectly good drink, but it is not this one. Whiskey and ginger already make obvious sense together, so you lose the strangeness that gives the original its character. If you swap, use 60 ml and squeeze in more lime.

A couple of dashes of Angostura is standard, and it matters more than it sounds like it should. The clove and cinnamon bridge the ginger and the brandy. Without them the drink tastes like two separate ideas sharing a glass and not enjoying it.

It was sold as one, and there is some logic in it. Ginger settles the stomach, lime and sugar do something for you, and 60 ml of spirit postpones the problem. It is a good morning-after drink in the way all good morning-after drinks are a delay tactic.

A classic Suffering Bastard calls for 30 ml (1 oz) Gin, 30 ml (1 oz) Brandy, 15 ml (0.5 oz) Fresh lime juice, 2 dashes Angostura Angostura bitters, 90 ml (3 oz) Ginger beer. That single-serve spec scales cleanly — the recipe above converts it to oz and multiplies it for 2–4 drinks.

A standard Suffering Bastard is roughly 15% ABV once mixed (before ice melt softens it further). That makes it about as strong as a glass of wine.

A Suffering Bastard is built directly in the glass over ice — no shaker required. Add the ingredients in order and give it a brief, gentle stir.