A Memorable Glass of Gin

Once, there was a remarkable lady called Mrs P. She had been working at a Japanese company in London for many years, and everyone adored her personality—humorous, fun-loving, and relaxed. Throughout her long career, she was never one to boast, and her charm endeared her to all who knew her.

One day, a member of the company organised a barbecue at Mrs P’s house, which turned into a delightful gathering. About twenty of us attended, including children, and everyone enjoyed the festive atmosphere. Drinks were poured for a toast, and the host worked diligently at the grill. Soon, the aroma of sizzling meat and roasted vegetables filled the air. On this occasion, the host had prepared a wide variety of beverages, including wine, beer, soft drinks, and whisky. Each of us picked our favourite to accompany the barbecue feast.

Midway through the event, I found myself chatting with Mrs P and grew curious about the drink she was holding. In her hand was a whiskey glass filled with a transparent liquid, garnished with a slice of lime perched on the rim. Intrigued, I asked her what she was drinking.

“Gin and tonic,” she replied with a warm smile.

Gin and tonic is a well-known cocktail that can now be found in most izakaya pubs in Japan. At the time, however, I was underage and had never heard of it. The name alone made a strong impression on me.

“This cocktail is very popular in England,” Mrs P said cheerfully. “You should try it once you’re older.”

Her suggestion drew alarm from the adults nearby, who quickly intervened with stern warnings.

“Mrs P, you can’t suggest that to someone underage! It’s such a strong drink—not at all suitable for young people!”

Mrs P, ever the mischief-maker, laughed heartily and quipped, “I’m such a bad influence!” before disappearing off into the crowd.

The man who had chastised her turned out to be her husband. He explained to me that gin was a potent spirit, notorious for leading people to alcoholism if consumed excessively, and advised me to be cautious.

The host of the barbecue, sensing the need to lighten the mood, offered to make a special, child-friendly cocktail. I followed him into the kitchen, curious to see what he would create. He chopped fresh oranges and cucumbers, poured a vibrant red liquid into a jug along with some lemonade, and mixed everything with ice cubes.

“You can drink this while your parents are here,” he said reassuringly. “Don’t worry, it’s not a strong drink. But sip it slowly.”

I took a tentative sip. The cocktail tasted of fresh orange and lemonade, with a subtle, minty freshness and a faint hint of alcohol lingering in the background. It was almost like fruit juice, and though I was tempted to gulp it down, I remembered the host’s advice and sipped it delicately. The grown-ups around us seemed delighted, exclaiming, “It’s best to start with this kind of drink if you’re growing up in London!” I wasn’t sure why they were so amused.

Despite the lightness of the drink, I felt slightly tipsy on the way home, my legs wobbling faintly. I hadn’t expected such a mild drink to leave an impact.

Years later, I researched the history of gin and tonic and realised that Mrs P’s husband’s warnings were rooted in historical fact. Gin has a storied past, dating back to the 11th century when Italian monks first distilled it as a medicine. It was introduced to Britain in the 17th century from the Netherlands. However, when gin production became unregulated, it led to widespread addiction. By the 18th century, during the infamous "Gin Craze," many Britons ruined their lives due to gin’s low price and easy availability.

The artist William Hogarth captured the era vividly in his engraving Gin Lane, a grim depiction of the social decay caused by gin addiction. By the 19th century, advancements in distillation techniques produced what became known as London Dry Gin—a refined and potent spirit that eventually gained popularity among the upper classes as well.

I’ve never had the chance to recreate the orange and lemonade cocktail from that barbecue, but when I had my first proper drink in Japan, I chose gin and tonic. Mrs P’s cheerful advice had stayed with me, and I was curious about the clear liquid she had so enjoyed. My first taste of gin and tonic was delightful—a perfect balance of light bitterness, sweetness, and the zing of lime.

The knowledge of gin’s turbulent history stayed in my mind, and I resolved to enjoy it responsibly. I decided not to keep gin at home, reserving it as a drink for special outings. Even so, I often felt a twinge of disappointment when a pub or izakaya didn’t serve it with a fresh slice of lime. Occasionally, I’d spot a beautiful bottle of gin, such as the iconic blue Bombay Sapphire, which almost tempted me to change my rule.

When I learned of Mrs P’s passing, I bought my first bottle of gin to make a gin and tonic at home in her memory. As I raised the glass, I thought of her vibrant smile and mischievous laughter. The drink that connected us reminded me of her warmth and of her husband, who had shared his concern that day. I hope he is coping well.