A Swig of National Pride

Several weeks ago, the Tourism Authority of Thailand made what it called "a move to give the Thai tourism and hospitality industries a much-needed boost." So what game-changing action did they take in the midst of a global economic collapse? Offer deep discounts on flights and hotels? Re-brand the nation with lavish full-page ads in travel magazines? Privatize the national airline?

No, nothing like that. Here's what happened: a new cocktail. It's called the Siam Sunray, and it involves vodka, coconut liqueur, lemon grass, ginger and Thai chili peppers. [Recipe: Siam Sunray]

"Successful signature drinks are one way to fast-track holiday destinations onto the world tourism map," said the authority in a joint statement issued with the Thai Hotel Association.

I'm always amused when an organization within a city or nation is moved to create some representative cocktail of place. I've seen it happen around the world, from developing nations to our nation's capital. I wonder where this nearly universal impulse to have a signature drink to call one's own arises from. Is it out of jealousy? Desperation? Nationalistic thirstiness?

I often wish I could be a fly on the wall during a tourism authority boardroom meeting: "Okay, people, we're not leaving here until someone comes up with our new official cocktail. Look, Brazil has its caipirinha, and Peru has its pisco sour. In Spain, they dump fruit and brandy into red wine and call it a national drink. Even Martinez, California, has a drink they claim is the precursor to the martini. Think outside the box!"

Certainly, we've seen some older drinks recently resurrected as signature cocktails with some success. Last summer, for instance, the D.C. Craft Bartenders Guild raised awareness that the Lime Rickey should take its rightful place as Washington's native cocktail. Also last summer, the state legislature of Louisiana, in a grandiose move, voted to designate the Sazerac the official cocktail of New Orleans.

Rarely does it seem to work, though, when a cocktail is invented sui generis. It's not as if, before a few weeks ago, you could wander into a Bangkok bar and order a Siam Sunray.

The last time I saw big media attention for a country's brand-new local drink was in late 2006, when Nicaragua had a contest to name its Trago Nacional, or "national swig." The impetus seems to have been a familiar sense of cultural envy: Cuba had its mojito. Mexico had the margarita. Why didn't Nicaragua have its own cocktail?

One of the contest judges, the French ambassador to Nicaragua, was quoted in the New York Times as saying: "Nicaragua needs a new identity that doesn't have anything to do with revolution. This is a chance." The winning cocktail, El Macua, was very tasty: equal parts white rum and guava juice, half-part lemon juice, simple syrup. [Recipe: El Macua]

I happened to be in Nicaragua a few months after the unveiling of El Macua. Though I saw a number of promotional cards with the recipe, I did not see one person ordering the drink. There had been some light criticism in the Managua newspapers that the drink had to be made with Flor de Caña rum, the contest sponsor. But there were other, more important things going on in Nicaragua at that time, such as an ugly presidential campaign that eventually saw former Sandinista president Daniel Ortega return to power. At most of the bars I went to in Managua, people were drinking beer or Flor de Caña rum by the bottle. (And at about $4 per bottle, who wouldn't?)

All of which is to say, rather obviously, that a signature cocktail is not exactly the best economic development tool. Still, I wish Thailand's Siam Sunray well. I have made it several times to rave reviews. But no one has yet suggested booking the next flight to Bangkok.

Jason Wilson can be reached at jason@tablematters.com or food@washpost.com.