
The Rum Historian title
Basil Dillon Woon (1893 - 1974) was a British playwright and journalist, very famous in the first half of the 1900s. In 1928, he published a book, “When It’s Cocktail Time in Cuba”, in which he tells about the gilded life of the rich American tourists and of their Cuban friends.
Woon tells us (almost) nothing about the reality of Cuba outside his narrow circle of privileged people, except to excessively praise the government of Machado, then in office, and the exquisite kindness of the Cuban police! It is true that in 1928 Cuban President Gerardo Machado was not yet the dictator he would become a little later and that the Cuban police were much more tolerant of American tourists than they were of their own citizens, but come on, his praises are perhaps a bit exaggerated.
Woon talks a lot about rum, but only Bacardi, while nothing, absolutely nothing is said about other brands, as if they did not exist. So much so that I suspect some form of sponsorship, both from Bacardi and the Cuban government. And my suspicion is reinforced when I read on Amazon that the book was “privately published”. Mine is only a suspicion, without any evidence, let it be clear. Yet, as a very powerful and much discussed Italian statesman said many years ago, “to think the worst of someone is a sin, but often you are spot on”.
However, even with these limits, the book is a precious source, which gives us a unique insight into tourism in Cuba during Prohibition. Furthermore, as our most experienced readers will notice, Woon’s book is also the source of many stories about rum and Cuban bars found in many books, articles, websites etc.
A source sometimes correctly acknowledged, other times not. In short, for all these reasons (and for others that we will address in the next articles), it is a book that deserves to be better known by all rum enthusiasts.
I have therefore decided to dedicate three articles to it, presenting you with the excerpts that seem most interesting to me. My intervention is limited to simple notes in italics which, I hope, will help contextualise and make the text more easily understandable, along with some brief reflections. Happy reading.
In the foreword, Woon introduces his book in this way, and drinking immediately takes center stage.
This book was not written as an ‘impression’ of Cuba, nor as a guide. I have merely amused myself by setting down on paper what the tourist to Cuba will see, do (and drink) in a land where personal liberty and climate blended in just the right setting of beauty and romance.
And then he informs us about the new American trend of tourist travel to Cuba, instead of going to France as was the tradition.
“Have one in Havana” seems to have become the winter slogan of the wealthy. The bells of Santa Clara are sounding auspiciously in Northern ears. It is becoming fashionable to follow in the footsteps of Columbus. So thronged with Americans has the Riviera become that these same Americans are turning nearer home for something more satisfyingly foreign, realizing suddenly that only sixty miles from their own shores is a city so completely exotic that they may be as superior as they please.
An American abroad is not happy unless he can feel thoroughly superior and a sine qua non of this superiority is that the country he visits should have a language different from his own.….
I assure you that I wot [sic]– a lot – of what I am saying, and it is my solemn opinion the future of Cuba touristically depends not so much upon its climate, as is fallaciously believed, as upon the fact that Cuba is a foreign – a very foreign – land.
That is, if I understood correctly, in Cuba they do not speak English, but Spanish, and even this, according to Woon, makes the island exotic and attractive. An interesting opinion, but I think that maybe it was true in 1928, when tourists were a minority of privileged, wealthy, cultured people who had already seen many things in the world. Nowadays, with modern mass tourism, I believe it is no longer true.
But why did Americans love Cuba so much? Here is Woon’s answer.
Cuba at present has four very distinct appeals to the American tourist, and I list them in order of their importance, knowing well that practically every reader will think I err in not putting Number Two first:
- It is utterly foreign.
- It has “personal liberty” carried to the Nth degree.
- Its climate is among the finest in the world.
- Its history is the colorful history of romance and adventure.
And immediately afterward he delves into the subject, reasoning about the true meaning of personal liberty.
As to personal liberty, it depends upon what your definition is of that useful commodity. … Whatever the truth anent the legend of the kind Havana policeman may be, it seems that personal liberty in Cuba may be interpreted as meaning:
- You may drink as much as you want to.
- You may buy as many drinks for your friends as you wish.
- You may chance your luck at the lottery.
- You may lose as much money as you desire in the Casino.
- You need not to carry your marriage certificate with you.
- You may stare at the pretty señoritas because such staring in Cuba is a compliment – not a crime.
- You need no visa to your passport to enter Cuba, no identity card if you remain.
Among the normal tourists there are many American and European celebrities. But when is the best time to go to Cuba?
Through the Sevilla lobby at “tea” time (one or two Havana visitors do actually drink tea) flows the social tide, as colorful and brilliant here as Europe at its gayest, especially during these all-too-few weeks that have come to be known as “the season”. The season is lengthening year by year and in time to come will probably last from November to April, for during these six months the weather is dry and well-nigh perfect. The snobbery of society, with its restless insistence on change, will have a “high” season, however, and this begins shortly after the New Year and culminates at the end of March. The most notable month is February. Havana is crowded with tourists and visitors from the opening of the racing season, on or about the ninth od December, to the closing night of the Casino in March.
The whole Chapter III is about drinking and the very title is extremely intriguing: WHERE EVERYONE IS DRINKING AND NOT A SOUL IS DRUNK!
Maybe you’ll remember that we have already come across other foreign travelers claiming that Cubans drink moderately and that they were never truly drunk. I am not so sure. Maybe it was just a matter of perception and comparison with the U.S. where Prohibition had won its long battle also because drunkenness was a real social scourge (see HISTORY OF CUBAN RUM 14. RUM CONSUMPTION IN XIX CENTURY’S CUBA in the December 2023 issue). Anyway, here’s what he writes.
Prohibition in the United States may have added to the number of ‘American’ bars, but the corner bodega has always flourished. A bodega is part grocery, part tobacco shop, and part saloon. Generally it is a restaurant as well. … Existing strictly as restaurant they would lose money, for only a few of them are filled at any hour of the day, but the bar saves them. Every restaurant and nearly every grocery in Havana is a barroom. There are, it is said, 7,000 of them.…
It is in fact that Havana is a place where practically everyone likes his little drink or two, but where nobody ever seems to get drunk. Slightly woozy, perhaps, and it may be that now and again a visitor may even find himself a wee bit foozy, not to say joozy, but it doesn’t happen often and anything beyond the joozy stage is practically unknown.
And here are the famous Cuban cocktails and the first mention of Bacardi, many more will follow.
The earnest drinkers of Havana have certain preferences in the way of refreshments. The most popular and most healthful drink is called daiquiri and is merely Bacardi with lime-juice, shaken up until the shaker is covered with frost.
The original cane-planters of Cuba and Louisiana had a drink which they made out of rum and squeezed limes, ice, a dash of grenadine, and siphon-water. It was drunk out of tall, frosted glasses and was called ‘Planter’s Punch’.
Planter’s Punch was the usual drink of the Cuban Americans, but down in Santiago where a group used to meet in the Venus bar every morning at eight o’clock it was modified to exclude the grenadine and siphon-water and was made in a shaker. Instead of Jamaican rum the pure Cuban Bacardi, distilled in Santiago from molasses, was used. The boys used to have three or four every morning. Most of them worked in the Daiquiri mines, the superintendent of which was a gentleman named Cox – Jennings Cox. One morning in the Venus Cox said: “Boys, we’ve been drinking this delicious little drink for some time, but we’ve never named it. Let’s christen it now!” The boys milled around a bit and finally Cox said: “I’ll tell you what, lads – we all work at Daiquiri and we all drank this drink first there. Let’s call it a Daiquiri.
The Daiquiri is now the best-known drink in Cuba. This recipe for the real Daiquiri was given me by Facundo Bacardi [not the founder, of course, but one of his descendants with the same name] and confirmed by one of the men who was present at the christening: half of lime, squeezed onto one teaspoon of sugar; pour in one whiskey-glassful of Bacardi; plenty of ice; shake until shaker is thoroughly frosted outside. Meanwhile, chill a tall wine-glass of the kind known as flute, fill it with shaven ice, and pour in the mixture. Must be drunk frozen or is not good. The “bacardi cocktail” and pronounced “bacARdi”, common in New York and Europe, is unknown in Cuba. The proper pronunciation of the name “Bacardi” stresses the last syllable. Later on, in Santiago, we shall see how the rum is made.
The two other cocktails mostly in demand in Havana are the presidente and the Mary Pickford. The presidente is made with half Bacardi and half French vermouth, with a dash of either curaçoa or grenadine. It is the aristocrat of cocktails and is the one preferred by the better class of Cuban. The Mary Pickford, invented during a visit to Havana of the screen favorite by Fred Kaufman, is two-thirds pineapple-juice and one-third bacardi, with a dash of grenadine. Both cocktails are sweetish and should be well shaken. The pineapple juice must be fresh-squeezed.”
The chapter on drinking ends in this way:
It’s never mañana when it comes to drinking in Havana. You need never put off until tomorrow the drinks that should cool you today. Sugar, seegars and señoritas form the background, and rum, so to speak, the foreground. … So many more or less excellent life-saving stations exist in Havana that practically every reader of this book will know of at least one we haven’t mentioned. Some will wonder why we are not rhapsodize over the Ambos Mundos pilsener; others will insist that the comfortable bar of the Almendares Hotel supplies the coldest and tastiest martinis; other will wish to visit Pat Cody and Jigg’s Uptown Bar; still others will urge the merits of sundry drinks and sud-dried bartenders at the big bodegas neighboring Central Plaza. To these I say I’m sorry; I would like to make this stroll around the camel’s milk dispensaries really complete, but there are other things to Havana besides booze. In fact, liquor in Havana is nothing more than accessory before, during and after de fact. It easily and gently lubricates one’s pat through the fascinating labyrinth of Cuba’s pleasures. In the course of this book we shall, like every visitor, return - now and again - for another drink.
Thus, we finish the first article dedicated to Woon’s book. See you next month.
Marco Pierini
