Sacred Serves: The Rituals That Make Drinking Human

For a long time, I considered drinking rituals to be quaint little ceremonies that often stood between me and a beverage I was excited to taste. I tolerated toasts and dismissed fussy glass tapping choreography as minor superstitions that people resorted to when they couldn’t think of anything original to do or say.

But the older I get and the more the world seems like a digital hologram of reality, the more I find myself taking seriously the quirky and hopelessly human aspects of communal drinking events that distinguish a genuine, lived experience from one dreamt up by ChatGPT.

Types of Drinking Rituals

Beverage rituals are usually encountered at one of two moments: when a drink is assembled, or when it is consumed. But no matter when or where the ritual takes place, doing or saying something special before you drink is an act of intentional threshold crossing and fellowship — it signals that the experience is about to begin and that everyone involved is partaking in good faith.

Production Rituals

Some rituals are conducted to show that a drink is being made properly with respect to materials and methods. These purification rituals can range from symbolic fire rites meant to expel evil spirits (as in the Galician Queimada cauldron) to the simple presentation of a cork to a guest after opening a bottle of wine to prove it is genuine and has been properly stored. In fact, the term “to offer a toast” was coined because it was once common practice to dip a burnt piece of bread into mulled wine in order to curb its harsh taste. Simply put, for much of history, unpleasant drinks were the rule rather than the exception, and good hosts went out of their way to serve the best for their guests.

This moves into the realm of luck and superstition where symbolic gestures and auspicious numbers come together to bring blessings to a guest. My personal favourites include Sambuca con Mosca, a simple glass of anisette garnished with three coffee beans, resembling a fly — a move now appropriated by the espresso martini crowd — and the pervasive “odd numbered garnish” superstition, whereby a martini with a single olive (or three on a cocktail pick) is welcome, but one sporting an even number is abhorred.

And of course, many beverage rituals exist to call attention to a bartender or host’s generosity. For example, one charming Dutch maneuver involves a perilously full mini-tulip glass filled with genever, which a bar guest must approach, hands behind back, and sip directly from the bar until it is safe enough to pick up and finish off. This process is called kopstootje, meaning “little head-butt” and is usually accompanied by a beer to chase the genever. Not all generosity rituals require such precision or dexterity, however. Consider the classic “bartender buyback,” when a loyal guest receives a free round from the barkeep as a show of appreciation for their continued patronage. It’s small gestures like these that bind host and guest in the mutual exchange and reliance that is “hospitality.”

Consumption Rituals

Once a drink has been served to a guest, a whole different set of rituals can take place. The most classic example, perhaps, is pouring one out. This act, known as libation, originated with the ancient Greeks, who poured out a measure of drink to honour the gods. It has been adopted by many cultures throughout history to celebrate deceased friends and family who are not present to partake in the revelry, and in our contemporary world, libation has even evolved as a public display of wealth.

The problem with pouring one out, though, is that it might give your host the impression that you don’t like your beverage. Thus we encounter a number of empty glass rituals worldwide. Toasting expressions like the Japanese kanpai and the Chinese gānbēi both mean “dry cup,” and it is customary to invert the small stemmed glass from which baijiu is drunk to demonstrate to your host that you have finished the whole pour. There is even power to be derived from finishing one’s drink, as shown by American frat boys who compete to build the largest “wizard’s staff” by taping together empty beer cans over the course of an extended drinking session.

And despite the best efforts of bartenders and hosts everywhere, sometimes, there’s no amount of purification that can mask the harshness of a drinking experience. In these moments, imbibers are forced to deploy a “chaser.” Whether it’s a salt-coated lime wedge in the wake of a mixto tequila shot or a slug of pickle juice to chase a pop of rail whisk(e)y, there’s something to be said for the communal suffering that can forge life-long bonds in situations where flavour takes a back seat to other party priorities.

Branded Rituals

Smart drinks brands often utilize production rituals as visual signals to consumers. You can observe this at work in the famous Guinness “two-part pour,” the trademark float of Gosling’s Black Seal Rum on top of a Dark ‘N Stormy®, and even the showy orange wheel garnish adorning the rim of every Aperol Spritz and pint of Blue Moon Belgian White. These ingredient and process anchored rituals become a proxy for quality in the mind of the customer, even in the absence of other signals, which facilitates decision-making in novel or chaotic environments. In a foreign country or a crowded pub contending with a language barrier or a noisy crowd, simply witnessing the perfect head on a pint of Guinness or the flashy orange wheels on a passing tray of Aperol Spritzes can prompt an overwhelmed or novice bar-goer to point and say, “I’ll have one of those.”

Even without brands attached to them, some drinks captivate consumers’ imaginations by deploying ritual flourishes. One notable example is the Ramos Gin Fizz, which was historically shaken for minutes-on-end to produce its legendary head. This reportedly required an assembly line of “shaker boys” to fluff the fizzes on busy evenings at Henry C. Ramos’ Imperial Cabinet Saloon in New Orleans. But perhaps my favourite evocative drink choreography involves the Batanga, a Mexican Cuba libre variant with a salted rim invented at La Capilla, a bar located in the town of Tequila, Mexico in the early 1960s. This cocktail isn’t complete until it’s stirred with a knife that has been used to chop limes, chiles, herbs, and other salsa and guacamole ingredients, leaving a hint of those culinary flavours in the glass for the drinker to enjoy. Stunts like these slow down the service process, but give consumers a show to enjoy while their anticipation for the drink builds. By thoughtfully manipulating time and expectations in this manner, bartenders can elevate a merely positive drinking experience to a truly unforgettable one.

Ritual as Transcendence

In the end, it’s important to remember that we drink together as a way to connect. No drinking ceremony exemplifies this better than the German Bruderschaft, when one party will invite another (usually younger) to intertwine arms while each enjoying a healthy pull of beer or schnapps. After the drink, a kiss on the lips is exchanged, and following this public bonding display, the two (usually) men become “brothers” and refer to each other using the informal pronoun “du,” rather than the formal “Sie.” In a culture with very strict rules about formal and familiar language, the Bruderschaft is a radical and alchemizing act that transforms a relationship forever.

Perhaps this is the ultimate significance of the odd numbered garnish superstition: one denotes unity, two, separation, and three calls out the barrier two must cross in order to come together. Whether that threshold is a hardwood bar top over which drinks are passed, a doorway one steps through as they are greeted by a smiling face at the host stand, or a moment of shared eye contact followed by the gentle clink of glassware and a familiar toast, the principle remains the same — generosity and gratitude can transcend any barrier.