The Honey Deuce Cocktail Is The Big Winner At The U.S. Open
I love the idea of season- and occasion-specific cocktails, which, I find, bring order to a chaotic world. Gin and tonics are for warm weather and patios. Old-Fashioneds taste best by a fire. A friend once made me a Dark & Stormy as we waited for a big thunderstorm to roll in, and ever since, I’ve carried on the tradition when happy hour and the weather forecast agree. Martinis are an exception: I think of them as the little black dress of imbibing. (I’m merely saying this is a personal preference — if you want an eggnog during a heat wave or a margarita on Christmas, cheers to you, friend.)
So the idea of a particular drink to match a particular event soothes my soul. Mint juleps on Kentucky Derby Day and a Pimm’s Cup for Wimbledon? How very appropriate. And though you’ve heard of those cocktails, the Honey Deuce might be a new one to you. It was for me, at least, when I stumbled on one on Instagram.
The Honey Deuce is the official cocktail of the U.S. Open, meant to be sipped both by fans courtside and those at home with a perfect view from their sofas. Its defining feature is the garnish, a skewer of honeydew melon balls that, with their greenish hue, resemble miniature tennis balls and account for the punny name (“deuce” is a 40-40 tied tennis score). The drink itself is a mixture of vodka, lemonade and a bit of raspberry liqueur floated on top. First served at the Open in 2006, the cocktail is on its way to a spot in the pantheon of signature sports-event cocktails: According to Grey Goose vodka, a sponsor of the Open and the company whose product is used in the drink, some 405,000 were served at the Billie Jean King National Tennis Center last year.
Nick Mautone, the author and mixologist who invented the cocktail, recalled that he happened upon the inspiration for the drink on his drive home from a meeting with people involved with the Open’s concessions and folks from Grey Goose, who had hired him to dream up something to serve during the event. He stopped at a farm stand for produce to serve friends visiting for the weekend, and once he got home, he started prepping a fruit salad. “As I was looking at this pile of honeydew melon balls, I looked at my wife and said ‘these look like tennis balls — that’s the garnish,’” he said.
With that as the “nonnegotiable,” he built the rest of the drink around it. Because the annual late-summer tennis tournament takes place in steamy New York City, he wanted it to be refreshing and quaffable for fans looking to drink more than one. So a tall drink (it’s served in a highball glass) with citrus was in order, he said. The raspberry liqueur adds another picturesque touch: Poured atop the concoction, the reddish liquid drizzles down into the ice, where it eventually mixes in to create a fruity, pink-hued lemonade. “And that was before Instagram!” Mautone laughs.
To re-create it at home, you can use any vodka, though since Grey Goose originated the beverage, it’s the authentic bottle to choose — and Mautone swears by it. “It’s a wheat-based vodka, so it’s not overpowering like a rye vodka or heavy like a potato vodka,” he says. You can mix your own lemonade, of course, though Mautone notes that there are lots of good retail options these days.
And although I’m not a big tennis spectator myself, I decided to go in on the idea of a festive late-summer sipper and make one.
I gathered my ingredients, though I could only find cantaloupes, not honeydews, at my own local farm stand. It couldn’t have been easier to assemble, since there was no shaking or stirring. I just poured vodka over ice, added some homemade lemonade, and drizzled a bit of Chambord over top. The only complication was the melons: Upon returning from the store, I realized I didn’t own a melon baller. Undeterred, I used a measuring teaspoon to fashion little half-spheres, which I deemed good enough. This was for my own refreshment, not likes on social media. I even skipped the skewers and tossed the demi-
As Mautone had described, the ingredients mixed together after just a sip or two, creating an appealingly pink drink, and the taste was just as lovely: The Chambord lent a slight berry note, but the result wasn’t too fruity or cloying. (It helped that my lemonade was on the tart side.) The melon was a novel, colorful addition that imbued the drink with just a hint of its ripe, soft flavor. It was light and refreshing — and it went down quickly.
Has the mint julep, which has been around since the 18th century, met its match? Mautone told me he suspected his drink would endure, too. I told him we’d have to see: “I’ll check in with you in a couple hundred years.”
So the idea of a particular drink to match a particular event soothes my soul. Mint juleps on Kentucky Derby Day and a Pimm’s Cup for Wimbledon? How very appropriate. And though you’ve heard of those cocktails, the Honey Deuce might be a new one to you. It was for me, at least, when I stumbled on one on Instagram.
The Honey Deuce is the official cocktail of the U.S. Open, meant to be sipped both by fans courtside and those at home with a perfect view from their sofas. Its defining feature is the garnish, a skewer of honeydew melon balls that, with their greenish hue, resemble miniature tennis balls and account for the punny name (“deuce” is a 40-40 tied tennis score). The drink itself is a mixture of vodka, lemonade and a bit of raspberry liqueur floated on top. First served at the Open in 2006, the cocktail is on its way to a spot in the pantheon of signature sports-event cocktails: According to Grey Goose vodka, a sponsor of the Open and the company whose product is used in the drink, some 405,000 were served at the Billie Jean King National Tennis Center last year.
Nick Mautone, the author and mixologist who invented the cocktail, recalled that he happened upon the inspiration for the drink on his drive home from a meeting with people involved with the Open’s concessions and folks from Grey Goose, who had hired him to dream up something to serve during the event. He stopped at a farm stand for produce to serve friends visiting for the weekend, and once he got home, he started prepping a fruit salad. “As I was looking at this pile of honeydew melon balls, I looked at my wife and said ‘these look like tennis balls — that’s the garnish,’” he said.
With that as the “nonnegotiable,” he built the rest of the drink around it. Because the annual late-summer tennis tournament takes place in steamy New York City, he wanted it to be refreshing and quaffable for fans looking to drink more than one. So a tall drink (it’s served in a highball glass) with citrus was in order, he said. The raspberry liqueur adds another picturesque touch: Poured atop the concoction, the reddish liquid drizzles down into the ice, where it eventually mixes in to create a fruity, pink-hued lemonade. “And that was before Instagram!” Mautone laughs.
To re-create it at home, you can use any vodka, though since Grey Goose originated the beverage, it’s the authentic bottle to choose — and Mautone swears by it. “It’s a wheat-based vodka, so it’s not overpowering like a rye vodka or heavy like a potato vodka,” he says. You can mix your own lemonade, of course, though Mautone notes that there are lots of good retail options these days.
And although I’m not a big tennis spectator myself, I decided to go in on the idea of a festive late-summer sipper and make one.
I gathered my ingredients, though I could only find cantaloupes, not honeydews, at my own local farm stand. It couldn’t have been easier to assemble, since there was no shaking or stirring. I just poured vodka over ice, added some homemade lemonade, and drizzled a bit of Chambord over top. The only complication was the melons: Upon returning from the store, I realized I didn’t own a melon baller. Undeterred, I used a measuring teaspoon to fashion little half-spheres, which I deemed good enough. This was for my own refreshment, not likes on social media. I even skipped the skewers and tossed the demi-
As Mautone had described, the ingredients mixed together after just a sip or two, creating an appealingly pink drink, and the taste was just as lovely: The Chambord lent a slight berry note, but the result wasn’t too fruity or cloying. (It helped that my lemonade was on the tart side.) The melon was a novel, colorful addition that imbued the drink with just a hint of its ripe, soft flavor. It was light and refreshing — and it went down quickly.
Has the mint julep, which has been around since the 18th century, met its match? Mautone told me he suspected his drink would endure, too. I told him we’d have to see: “I’ll check in with you in a couple hundred years.”
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