Where there‘s smoke, there‘s probably a cocktail

How smoke in drinks morphed from understudy to celebrity

What do we mean when we say a spirit—like Scotch or mezcal—is “smoky”? It seems obvious, but… what kind of smoke are we talking about? The kind that smells like last night’s campfire? A Turkish cigarette wafting from a passing pedestrian? An electronic component short-circuiting and slowly singeing its plastic coating?

In tasting notes for nearly 400 spirits judged by more than 30 experts at the 2023 New Orleans Spirits Competition (in which I’m a partner), “smoky” or some variation appeared 85 times. The most common descriptors were “light smoke,” “slightly smoky,” “soft smoke,” and “gentle smoke.” Some notes were more specific: “pipe smoke,” “peat smoke,” “liquid smoke,” “smoked almonds,” “smoky maple.” All very different.

Smoke is complicated. According to science, condensed hardwood smoke has eight main attributes: ashy, burnt–sulfurous, creosote, green–woody, pungent, smoky, spicy–sweet, and woody. Some of these are desirable; others, not so much.

Thanks to evolution, we’re hardwired to be alert to the smell of woodsmoke. It’s both pleasing and alarming. Pleasing, because we associate it with the hearth—the primal source of warmth, safety, and cooked meats. When humans imagined an all-seeing God, we decided He liked the smell of smoke too. In Leviticus, food is gathered and “the priest is to burn all of it on the altar. It is a burnt offering, a food offering, an aroma pleasing to the Lord.”

“Barbecue, not apple pie, is the most truly American food,” writes Jim Auchmutey in Smokelore: A Short History of Barbecue in America. He’s not wrong.

Yet the aroma of smoke also triggers alarms in the reptilian brain: Danger! Fire! Even the faintest whiff prompts a flash of anxiety and prods us to rise from the couch to see if the kitchen is on fire.

No wonder we treasure that hint of smoke in mezcal. It’s a harbinger of good things in the mouth—and a glower from the angel of death. It’s a whole damn adventure in a glass.

In both mezcal and Islay Scotch, smokiness integrates into the spirit during production, originally more by happenstance than intent. Mezcal owes it to the wood-fire roasting of agave; Islay Scotch to the burning of peat used to halt barley germination. In both cases, the aroma is strong enough to survive distillation and has come to define the spirit’s character.

More recently, smoke has been wafting into drinks by other means—less as a built-in flavor and more as a garnish or add-on.

I first noticed this in London in 2010. At the Artesian Bar, Alex Kratena served me a smoked Sazerac crowned with a nimbus of burning wormwood. At Purl, Tristam Stephenson’s first bar, I ordered a drink called Mr. Hyde’s Fixer-Upper, served with a swirl of applewood smoke in a flask sealed with wax..

Smoke has embedded itself as part of the cocktail scene since then. Here’s a drink I enjoyed last year at Cocktail Panda in Edinburgh:

Also last year, at Handshake Speakeasy in Mexico City, our bartender launched a smoke-filled bubble toward our table. We were told to catch it with our glass. Parlor game, meet smoke.

Smoke is no longer confined to high-concept bars. It’s at mid-tier spots and in home kitchens. You can buy the Breville Smoking Gun on Amazon for $100, or the elegant Crafthouse Smoker from Williams Sonoma for $300 (designed by noted bartender Charles Joly). The more affordable Smoketop ($40) sits atop a glass and leaves a fluttery layer of smoke like a Guinness head on Adderall.

Smoked drinks are fun. They add a touch of savory to an otherwise sweet cocktail. But I get the feeling they're mostly for Instagram.

I’ve been thinking about smoke lately because I’m writing this in eastern Maine, where smoke from Canadian wildfires filters high overhead via the jet stream. I can’t smell it, but the sky wears a faint ash-toned pall, and the the landscape across the lake is a faded black-and-white lithograph. (The tangerine sunsets have been spectacular, though.)

I can smell the woodsmoke from my own fires and from nearby cabins—it’s been a damp, chilly start to summer, and fireplaces are active. Perhaps this speaks to my dissolute life, but the smell of smoke instantly makes me thirsty.

With the mainstreaming of smoke, I’m thinking it may be time to parse out its flavors more precisely. Smoke is not just smoke—it comes in countless variations depending on what’s burning, how its burning, and when its burning.

To simplify, I would like to propose four categories of smoke in drinks:

Pre-smoke. The first wisps of combustion carry a bright, fleeting aroma—delicate and evanescent. You catch it at the edges of your nostrils. You can often tell what's burning—wood, paper—before the fire takes hold.

Example: Cocktails smoked à la minute fall into this category. The sawdust is freshly lit, and the smoke is quickly captured in the glass.

Heavy Smoke. When the fire’s fully engaged, the smoke thickens. If the wind shifts at a campfire and sends it your way, you know it. It’s dry, sooty, and eye-watering, and a bit spicy and sweet. Different woods yield different notes—I love the sharp, minty snap of birch being burned. I also love washing my hair after a camping trip, when the shower fills with heavy smoke reconstituted.

Example: Rivers Rum from Grenada, where fermentation happens near bagasse-fueled stills, carries an agreeable note of full, heavy smoke.

Terminal Smoke. Smoke from a dying fire is denser, darker, with deep tar-like notes. It’s chewy and almost supple—if there were a nasal equivalent of mouthfeel, this would have significant nosefeel.

Example: Whiskey Del Bac Single Malt from New Mexico, which is smoked with mesquite.

Char. Char smells like the remains of a fire doused the night before: stale, sooty, acrid, minerally. Like black licorice, it’s a love-it-or-hate-it aroma. But when balanced by sweetness—in rum, cognac, whiskey—it plays the role of black pepper, punching up the profile. Independent Stave, the nation’s largest cooperage, says #4 char—the deepest barrel burn—is “the world’s most popular barrel.”

Example: MB Roland Bourbon displays strong char notes. You’ll find this in many bourbons and ryes, especially from craft producers pushing for bold, distinctive flavors. The downside? It can be a crutch. An overly charred spirit makes we wonder: what else are they hiding?