Gentleman of Leisure: Pimm's

Gentleman of Leisure is writer, erstwhile lecturer and notionally overeducated Martin Marks's PAPERMAG column on the things he likes and why.

A writer? Drinking?! Alas, I jest not. Back in 2005, I took up the bad habit of editing under the influence. After a post-dinner glass of my favorite wine, I'd sit down to revise whatever I'd written that day, and for a while, I was merry as a lark -- however merry that may be. The only problem occurred late one night, when I became so taken with the spirit(s) that I accidentally inverted the backgrounds of two characters. Thanks to a $2.50 glass of Shiraz, Tom, once a soldier returning to Vermont, and Sally, a down on her luck waitress from Pasadena, somehow became Sally, the war-weary soldier, and Tom, a waitress forlornly flipping flapjacks. I didn't catch this problem for at least one hundred pages.

Though it might have been more helpful to have my computer retrofitted with a breathalyzer, I instead picked up a bottle of Pimm's No. 1. Four years and countless pages later, I've gone through no more than three-quarters of the bottle and am happy to report that I haven't had a problem since. And it's all thanks to the fact that Pimm's is perhaps the most potent potable in the history of mankind, and thus doesn't lend itself to overdrinking. Ever meet somebody suffering from a Pimm’s hangover? I'll bet you haven't. Want to know why? Because they're probably all DEAD!

Earlier in the week, I tricked a writer friend into coming over for a Pimm's taste test. The back label told us that the Pimm's recipe has been a "closely guarded secret known only to six people" (the rest, I imagine, succumbed to their hangovers), while the front of the bottle listed what I assumed were some very important turn-of-the-last-century drinking awards (Khartoum - 1890, Constantinople - 1880).

After cracking open that same liter bottle I've lugged from apartment to apartment, our observations were made: Pimm's had the distinct taste of citrus, cloves, berries, and pure, unadulterated evil. By my second glass, I began to think of this gin-based intoxicant as the concentrated liquid reason that Great Britain no longer has an empire. Indeed, there were once six varieties of Pimm's, but as Great Britain ran out of territories, the other five cups mercifully entered various stages of discontinuance.

The best, and perhaps the only Pimm's-based cocktail to have is the Pimm's Cup, a catch-all term for mixtures of Pimm's and lemonade on ice. If you're going to bid Prince Harry bon voyage, toast Queen Elizabeth's bon anniversaire or write while avoiding the pitfalls of far easier libations, then keep a bottle of Pimm's by your desk. Having learned the hard way, I know that your characters will eventually thank you for it.

Pimm's is available at Union Square Wines, 140 4th Ave., (212) 675-8100. $24.99 (750 ml bottle) or, for the braver souls, $30.99 (1 liter bottle).