Yo Muddlers, how about we get a little sex-y today?

Not sexy. Sex-y. There’s a difference.

It’s falling a little out of favour now, but in the decades that we will dub the Cocktail Dark Ages – the 1970s and 80s – bartenders who clearly weren’t getting enough action favoured sex-related names for their cocktail creations.

What a social success you can consider yourself when you get your rocks off as someone shouts at you that they’d like you to give them an Orgasm please. Or a Slippery Nipple or Sex on the Beach or an Angel’s Tit or a Cocksucking Cowboy.

Yes, you’ve made it. You’re a WINNER.

So there’s sex-related aka sex-y.  And then there’s sexy.

Different. So different.

But is there something more in the link? Does the name maketh the cocktail?

At Shake, Stir, Muddle we’ve been on a quest to discover whether a sex-y name makes for a better drink and have One-for-the-Road-Tested a few of these to save you the trouble.

Not surprisingly, most of these fall outside the IBA Official Cocktail purview, but we’re throwing caution to the wind today and ordering like we’re 23 and on a Hen’s Night at Kings Cross.

Slippery Nipple

This concoction was invented in the 1980s and contains Sambuca and Bailey’s. You’d drink it for two reasons – one is to get drunk quickly. The second is to showcase that you still think The Benny Hill Show is the height of sophistication.

Angel’s Tit

If you have mother issues, this is the drink for you. It’s white crème de cacao and
maraschino liqueur, topped with whipped cream and a cherry. So it tastes like vomit but looks like a boob. Tee hee right?

Look, if you can find a cocktail that looks like a knob, I’d go with that. It’ll match your outfit better.

Orgasm

There are many, many variations on the Orgasm (insert lewd joke here), but in its most basic form, it’s Kahlua, Amaretto and Bailey’s. A useful tip for bar owners wishing to keep their licence is that if someone orders one of these, there’s a fairly good chance they are underage.

Cocksucking Cowboys

So yes, back in early 2000s, I had my share of these layered shots of butterscotch schnapps and Bailey’s.

Before downing a shot, my compadres and I would loudly sing the chorus of Bon Jovi’s “Wanted Dead or Alive”.  Why? Because he’s a cowboy, on a steel horse he rides and he’s wanted – wanted – Dead or Alive, and because you are actually dead if you don’t think it’s fun to sing hair metal songs really loudly (even if Bon Jovi can’t punctuate correctly).

Reasons that have stood the test of time well.

As for the drink, I have no defence other than ignorance of decent liquor. (Yes Father, I’ll say ten Bloody Marys as penance).

If you blush easily, you can order a “CS Cowboy”, or better yet, follow the lead of my friend Donna and rename it a Helen Reddy and sing “I am Woman” every time you down one. Because that’s more fun and she punctuates properly.

You know, funny story, this song came out in 1972, and 45 years later women are still earning just 75% of what men earn to do the same job.

Hilarious.

But Helen Reddy still sings like a BOSS – watch her at the LA Women’s March in January. She’s introduced by Jamie Lee Curtis and wore her Ugg Boots because screw everyone, they’re comfortable.

Sex on the Beach

So this one is an IBA Official Cocktail.

It contains Vodka, cranberry juice, peach schnapps and orange juice. Again, a cocktail that you’d order because you want something where you can’t really taste the booze.

It doesn’t taste terrible. It’s ok.

So that’s why you would order one.

Why wouldn’t you? There’s a credible-though-contested theory that it was invented in Miami Beach during a minor Kennedy’s very public rape trial. Because rape on the beach is a lot like sex on the beach, right?

Yeah. Nah mate, it’s totally different Donald.

This concept seems to confuse a few people. In 1997, Dutch band T-Spoon released a single “Sex on the Beach”. As well as having a truly bewildering clip (HERE), at 1min47sec you get

“Met a girl named Eden

She comes straight from Sweden.

I gave her a Cuba Libre

Now she does everything I say.”

Ah, the timeless humour that is date rape.

The list of sex-y cocktails is long. Sadly I didn’t have time or energy to cover the Big Banana Dick-iry, the Panty Dropper or the Afternoon Delight but I couldn’t escape the nagging feeling that it was still too early to definitively assess how the Hilarious Sex-y Name = Great Cocktail equation stacks up.

Possibly. So to establish a control mechanism for this experiment, I sought out the least sex-y name for a cocktail.

The Income Tax Cocktail

This one dates back to the 1920s and was invented either in the American Bar at the Savoy Hotel London or more likely, in NYC.

It’s basically a Bronx cocktail with bitters. And the Bronx (as we know from THIS POST) is a Perfect Martini with orange juice.

Gin, sweet vermouth, dry vermouth and freshly-squeezed orange juice. Add a couple of dashes of bitters and Income Tax becomes a whole lot more than a pile of teeny-tiny receipts that you need to make sense of to send off to your accountant.

It’s a complex and dignified offering that won’t give your bartender a cheap giggle.

Happily, like cocktails, most bartenders have moved on and most cringe a little when you dial up the porn face and order one of these sex-y offerings.

Finally, just in case my Gen-Xiness was working against me, I supplemented my own vast knowledge of vulgar expressions with a quick check of Urban Dictionary to determine that Income Tax hasn’t been given some sex-y meaning by the Millennials.

Nope.

Income Tax Cocktail. Not sex-y, but sexy.

Like its namesake.

If you don’t like paying income tax, think instead of all the sexy things you can use it for it – hospitals, schools, dignified care for the elderly, renewable energy – or if you prefer, hilarious ad campaigns about the complete fairy tale that is “clean coal” – the Arts, public broadcasting.

And let’s not forget that in spite of every other dastardly deed, it was Income Tax Evasion for which they finally managed to put Al Capone behind bars.

More importantly, it was Income Tax Evasion that put James Court away, leaving the path clear for Lloyd Dobler to finally score that fancy Diane who totally didn’t deserve him when she ignored that In Your Eyes boombox thing he did in Say Anything which would have worked immediately and completely with me in 1989.

And possibly still today.

Sigh.

So ignore the sex-y cocktails and do your Income Tax people.

Cheers!