Mojitos for a Mambo Mama

Let’s face it, we love all things Cuban.

We love fragrant cigars, rich coffee, gorgeous feasts of empanadas picadillo, Cuban black beans and rice, fried plantains, the famed “media noche” or Cuban “midnight” sandwiches, smooth rums, and sweet sugar cane. Havana holds our imagination with its smoky, time-encapsulated culture, in which American classic 1940s and 1950s cars (or “yank-tanks”) zoom past Caribbean-inspired, colorful buildings festooned with bright necklaces of laundry. Old men tend to their Domino games as children shriek and play, wired on espresso (they are raised on café con leche from birth). And of course—Cuba’s brilliant music. Mambos, Rumba, Afro-Cuban jazz—it’s all inspiring and makes even the most dormant hip move! Who can deny the power of Buena Vista Social Club, Celia Cruz and Ricky Ricardo? Who dares.

My mother is no exception to this rule. I was born and raised with a Mambo Mama. I could barely turn a goldenrod-colored countertop corner without being accosted by the staccato drum of her pounding jazz beats into the meatloaf. I swear I am part Cuban. That would explain my affinity for my favorite cocktail—it’s in my genes.

When humidity averages a whopping seventy-eight percent, it is little wonder that the Cuban drink that makes everyone pant is the delicious Mojito! Fresh and crisp, this little cocktail has huge appeal all over the country—from Miami’s super-trendy South Beach, to the bars of gentrified Brooklyn, to the decoupage TV trays of the great Midwest. Perhaps it’s the combination of fresh mint leaves and lime that gets us all excited.

For me, it might just be the finely-honed liquid skills possessed by Eric Erdmann of Genna’s, a fine and fabulous landmark bar in Madison, Wisconsin. Eric is the spot’s premier mixologist and all-around nice person—when he’s not stealing your Tootsie Roll bank, throwing your shoes into a meadow, or offering you a spelunking helmet for a lighting implement, as he howls with laughter and clutches his sides. He’s a real prince—when he’s not taking your painstakingly created, fantastic artwork and writing his name all over it in blue crayon. A real stand-up guy—when you don’t want to smack him.

He’s also my brother. I had to interrupt him in his evening ablution to inquire about his Mojito recipe. I mean, the man is skilled. Naturally, I interrupted him in the middle of grilling. “Yeah, I got steaks, chicken, fish, asparagus, goin’, hey.” There are two of them in that house, may I just add. He took a minute out of his busy grilling schedule to impart to me his Famous Mojito Recipe, which I will now pass on to you.  

“What tools do you need?” I ask—reporter’s notebook (okay, computer) in my lap, pen (okay, mouse) poised aloft. “Tools? You don’t need tools. You only need one thing—a muddler.” Then the great Mixologist to the Stars spaketh: