Cherry Smash
...or cherry sober? Have it both ways.
I’ve been known to love a cocktail or two but, as I’ve grown older, alcohol has developed the nasty habit of becoming an unwelcome houseguest once I let drink number three cross my threshold. It wipes its muddy shoes on my tongue, leaves dirty towels on the floor of my liver, and plays acid jazz in my esophagus when all I want to do is sleep.
As a result, there are now times when I choose to drink alcohol and times I choose not to.
There are also times when I want it both ways, like when I find a cocktail so delicious, I want another and another and another, but I don’t want to look and feel like a crime scene in the morning.
What, I ask you, is a thirsty fellow to do?
No need to come up with a clever answer, Dear Reader, because my friend Shannon handed me the key when she lovingly placed a drink in my paw after I had a meltdown attempting (and failing) to make a prefect platter of espetada.
The drink in question was a cherry smash made with gin. I loved it so much that I even took a photo of it.
What I failed to do, however, was ask her for the recipe. Doesn’t matter, really, because I’ve recently discovered there are people called bloggers who like to upload recipes onto the World Wide Web. (Should you run into anyone online who calls themself an “influencer,” I suggest you avoid them, because they’re awful.)
The wonderful thing about a cherry smash is that my tastebuds don’t seem to miss the alcohol when it’s gone astray, which means I can begin the evening with the gin-befuddled variation and switch to its more chaste cousin without missing a beat. Cherry smashes are also known to be delicious when bourbon-addled, rum-soaked, or brandy-confounded.
I refuse to call the alcohol-free version a “mocktail,” because I find the word insulting to both cocktails and beverages intentionally unburdened by booze. Not only does it imply that the cocktail is being ridiculed behind its icy back, it suggests that the non-alcoholic drink is trying to be something other than what it is, which is untrue. It’s perfect, just the way G-d or your favorite drink putter-togetherer made it.
Cherry Smash Syrup
If you’d like to make a cherry smash yourself, I strongly encourage you to do so. If you’d like to enjoy one well past cherry season, I suggest you mash as many cherries as you can get your hands on and freeze the resulting juice. You’ll thank yourself later.
If you find the idea of drinking a cherry smash revolting, I suggest you leave this page now.
If you plan to serve cherry smashes at your next summer party or baptism, it would be wise to make a batch of syrup ahead of time, to limit the number of thirsty friends and monsignors waggling empty cups in your face as they pant for more.
The following recipe is, as is often the case with my recipes, merely a guideline.
Though the overall impact would be negligible, if you’re following a strict, no alcohol regimen, omit the bitters. Fortunately, there is an alcohol-free alternative.
If you are making the syrup more than a couple of days in advance of serving, save adding the lime juice until that happy day arrives.
If adding spearmint (and why not?), go easy on the amount. The effect should remind one of crushed leaves mingling their essence with ice as it gently melts over a bowl of fresh cherries.
If you are the type of person who would be upset to find no cherry pulp at the bottom of your glass, reserve as much as you like to add at will.
Makes: About 2 cups of cherry syrup
Ingredients:
• 60 cherries
• The juice of 2 limes
• A few dashes of Peychaud or Angostura bitters (optional, but preferred)
• 4 spearmint leaves (the big ugly ones near the bottom of the stem)
• 1 ounce of simple syrup
• 2 ounces of club soda (I find this small amount of liquid helpful during the muddling process)
Preparation:
In a deep bowl or 4-cup Pyrex measuring pitcher, add all of the ingredients, remembering that the lime juice should only be added if serving in the near future, and that bitters are optional.
Gently muddle everything together with a wooden cocktail muddler or, even better, mash it all up with a potato masher.
Dump the battered cherry corpses into a fine-meshed sieve and extract as much liquid as you can into a clean bowl. Really get in there. Squishing the mess through unimpeachably clean fingers is very satisfying.
Reserve cherry pulp, if that’s important to you, storing it separately from the syrup either in your own refrigerator or the one belonging to your secret, second family, depending.
Taste and adjust the balance to your liking. You’ll most likely want more simple syrup or possibly lime juice, but I don’t really know your needs, however much I’d like to.
Pour into a lidded container, like a mason jar, and store refrigerated until needed.
To make a cherry smash with alcohol, place 3 or 4 ice cubes in a cocktail shaker, then pour 2 ounces of cherry syrup and 2 ounces of gin over the ice. At this point, you may either pound the sullied ice until it cracks under pressure to underscore the “smashed” theme, or spare the frozen darlings the indignity. Either way, tightly place the lid on the shaker and agitate violently. Remove the lid, pour contents into a double old fashioned glass (or a glass of similar size), top off with club soda (or your favorite fizzy water), garnish with a dainty mint sprig, if so inclined, and go to town on it.
To make an alcohol-free cherry smash, pour 3 ounces of cherry syrup over ice in a cocktail shaker and follow the same smashing/not smashing and shaking directions as describe for the drink above, but pour the disquieted contents into a pint glass and top with your sparkling water du jour. Ginger beer works beautifully, too. Feel free to add more syrup if you like it sweet, give it a little stir, and guzzle away to your heart’s content.
Finally, if you want to be really decadent, blend some cherry syrup with
vanilla ice cream and milk (or better, buttermilk) to make a fantastic
cherry shake.







I am tearing up because I get to live on a planet where Cherry Smash even exists. The mere idea fills me with joy. Saving this essay, like ALL your essays. You should write a book, my friend. WITH YOUR BEAUTIFUL PICTURES. My Lord, 60 cherries? Why did I ever think I was truly happy before reading this recipe?
You and Dorothy Parker both...(I relish your writing not even one cherry pit less than her sparkling prose).