A Tale of Two Tikis
Californians can claim many cocktails as representative of their fun-in-the-sun culture. There is the Tequila Sunrise’s reference to the State’s tie to Mexican history and sunny weather, the Surfrider’s connection to the beach culture, the Wine Spritzer’s relation to Napa and Sonoma, the Pisco Punch’s attachment to San Francisco, and the Balboa’s attachment to San Diego. However, there is one historic drink that links California’s two iconic cities, San Francisco and Los Angeles, and the two California titans of Tiki, Donn Beach, and Trader Vic. That cocktail, from the Tahitian for ‘excellent’ or ‘the best,’ is the famous, or perhaps infamous, Mai Tai.
We have a Tiki Bar sign hanging over our home bar on the screened Lanai. Not that I have the bar otherwise decorated in Tiki fashion, but I figured any outdoor bar should have a little Tiki feel to it. Just hearing the words ‘Tiki Bar’ raises several questions – What is Tiki? Why attach Tiki to a restaurant/bar anyway? Where and when did this Tiki stuff all begin?
Tiki is defined variously as either; 1) a male figure in Polynesian myth, sometimes identified as the first man, 2) a wooden or stone carved image of a Polynesian god, or 3) a Maori carved amulet or statue of an ancestor. In any case, the term Tiki can be a reference to the entire Polynesian or South Pacific culture. The Tiki culture in the US grew out of a post-Prohibition desire to escape from the demands of modern society. The slow-paced exotic tropical feel of a Tiki-themed Restaurant/bar fit the bill nicely. That briefly answers the what and why, but what about the where and when?
In answer to those questions, the mixing mists of imagination and history begin to swirl to produce another chapter from the Chronicles of Cocktail Connections…
The Story of Vic and Don
Victor Bergeron was road-weary. He had been away from his home in Oakland, California for several months on a search for tropical cocktail knowledge.
Victor was an industrious young man with ambition and vision. He had not let losing one of his legs to tuberculosis at age 6 hold him back. Working at a gas station, he had saved enough money to purchase his own wooden leg. After attending Heald Business College in San Francisco, he had borrowed $500 in 1934 to open up a small restaurant . Hinky Dinks, as he called his modest sandwich and beer joint, sat across the street from his parents’ grocery store in the Golden Gate District of Oakland. It was doing quite well and gaining popularity among the locals.
Victor’s first stop had been to Havana, Cuba. He had spent a short time studying at the El Floridita Bar under Constantino Ribalaigua, the King of Cocktails. Constantino had been happy to serve as a teacher. And, Victor was an attentive student, soaking up valuable information. He had focused particularly on the intricacies of mixing Caribbean rums with a variety of fruit juices.
From there, he had headed back to the States. He had spent time in New Orleans learning more about concocting frappes and fizzes with rums, cognacs, and the New Orleans favorite liqueur, absinthe. Victor had hung out at Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop, The Hotel Monteleone, The Napoleon House, and The Old Absinthe House, all well-known bars with histories of hiring the best bartenders. To hone his craft, Victor had observed those bartenders’ skills closely. He had taken copious notes, as hour after hour, perched upon those barstools, he probed them with questions on their ingredients and methods.
Now Victor was back in his home State, making one last stop. Word of a new must-see restaurant/bar in Hollywood had traveled north to the San Francisco area. A clever restauranteur named Ernest Gantt had changed his name to Donn Beach and opened Don the Beachcomber. The restaurant was popular with the movie industry crowd, offering a South Pacific tropical motif, Cantonese cuisine, and exotic rum cocktails. Because he also had been leaning toward a tropical island theme for his Hinky Dinks restaurant makeover, he wanted to check out the competition.
Grauman’s Chinese Theater was right next door to Donn’s place. Victor stopped, like every tourist, to view the imprints of Cinema’s greats. He daydreamed about becoming a star himself as he passed by Jean Harlow, Bing Crosby, Shirley Temple, Al Jolson, Joan Crawford, Charlie Chaplin, and the newly imprinted Clark Gable. He would have loved to have stayed awhile longer, but he had a mission. Victor moved on down the block to the Donn the Beachcomber sign over a modest structure. He entered the front door, and with a big grin on his face, stopped in his tracks. He felt transported to a beach in Tahiti, even though he had never been to Tahiti. The boisterous customers all sported colorful leis around their necks, and although it was a clear night outside, there was the distinct sound of simulated rainfall hitting the roof.
As any true bartender would do, Victor headed directly to the beautiful bamboo-covered Tiki-bar along one wall. He pulled up a stool next to several ladies who looked mesmerized by the handsome storytelling gentleman behind the bar. Victor overheard the end of the one-way conversation. “There I was in the jungle of Bora Bora, running for my life from a pack of angry aboriginals with a large Tiki idol under my arm. I just barely made it to my outrigger canoe and escaped unimaginable torture. And here resides that very Tiki,” he announced as he pointed to a large carved statue behind him on the bar. The women let out a collective “oooh,” and as he pointed, he looked directly at Victor and winked.
Finished with his entertaining tale, the bartender approached Victor and said, “Good evening. Welcome to the Beachcomber. Donn Beach at your service. What can I get you, my thirsty friend?”
Victor replied, “I am honored to meet you, Mr. Beach. Your reputation proceeds you. My name is Victor Bergeron, a fellow restauranteur from the Oakland area. Although I could not help but be distracted by your enrapturing tale to those attentive young women, I did have a chance to peruse your menu. I certainly want to try your Pu Pu platter to savor a variety of your offerings. But, more importantly, I am totally fascinated by your “Rhum Rhapsodies” as you call them, and am torn between a Cobra’s Fang and a Zombie Punch.”
Donn flashed a big smile and with a little laugh said, “Please call me Donn. Ahh, the ladies do love a good story, don’t they?” Then he leaned in close, and in a secretive whisper, added, “Let me tell you the truth of it. I’ve never really been to Bora Bora, and I got that Tiki statue from a Hollywood studio. But, back to serious matters. Regarding your drink choice, I would suggest that if you are going to want a second drink, you go with the Cobra’s Fang. We’ve had a slight problem with some of these wild Hollywood types overindulging in my potent Zombies.”
Victor was still laughing about the real truth of the Tiki as he replied, “Ok, advice taken. I’ll risk a bite from the Cobra’s Fang please.”
After finishing his meal and cocktail, Victor pushed his empty plate away and said, “Absolutely amazing, Donn. The food was wonderful. Just based on that Cobra, I am ready to crown you the Cocktail king of California. Any suggestions for my parting drink?”
Donn was smiling from the praise. “Thank you for those kind words, Vic. I recommend you try my refreshing QB Cooler.”
“That sounds great…another of your curiously-named Rhum Rhapsodies. What does the QB stand for?”
“You know, I have always loved flight, the Air Force, and those brave pilots who cruise the skies. It stands for Quiet Birdmen, as in ‘Ye Anciente and Secret Order of Quiet Birdmen,’ a fraternity of World War I pilots.”
As Victor sipped his QB Cooler with great pleasure, he said, “Donn, I may not be flying like a Birdman, but this Cooler is taking my taste buds on a pleasure cruise. How about filling me in on the recipe?”
“Are you kidding? I don’t ever tell anyone but my most trusted employees my recipes. If I did, I suppose I would have to kill you!” At that, they both broke out in loud laughter.
“Well then, Mr. Beachcomber, I will be on my way with no bloodshed. I thank you for your hospitality. You have given me many things to think about as I travel home.”
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Vic. I hope our paths will cross again someday.”
And, of course, history tells us they crossed many times.
Victor had decided several things as he made his way back to his Oakland restaurant and his wife. The most important being that he was now absolutely committed to remaking his restaurant into an exotic Polynesian experience. And he did. His wife had given him the nickname, Trader Vic, due to his penchant for trading drinks for beachy decorative items. That became the restaurant’s new name. The business prospered and after World War II, when the Tiki craze grew even stronger, Victor began expanding to add new franchises. During the 1950s and 1960s, there were 25 Trader Vic’s restaurants worldwide. And, with the recent resurgence of the Tiki culture, the brand is still going strong.
Victor also had decided his new restaurant needed its own signature cocktail menu. With his significant experience and information gained in his travels, he created many new exotic drinks…the Fog Cutter, the El Diablo, the Scorpion Bowl, and his most famous, the Mai Tai.
And, he took one final cue from Donn Beach. On any given night, you might find Trader Vic behind his bar entertaining a group of ladies. He would be saying, “There I was, wading along the beaches off Samoa looking for artifacts like that stone Tiki idol on that shelf over there, when I was savagely attacked by a huge Mako shark. Although I somehow escaped with my life, the vicious Mako escaped with my leg. You ladies can now refer to me as Peg Leg Vic! Finishing the tale he had told many times, he would grab an ice pick from the bar and plunge it into his wooden leg. He would roar with laughter as the ladies screamed in startled horror.
But what of the Father of Tiki Culture, Donn Beach, and his Don the Beachcomber Tiki Bar? His restaurant continued to operate successfully. He was the outgoing man out front entertaining the customers and always creating new exotic cocktails, while behind the scenes, his wife, Cora ‘Sunny’ Sund, was the business brains of the operations.
While the business flourished, their marriage did not and they were divorced in 1940. They did remain as business partners, and when Donn joined the Air Force during World War II, Sunny continued management of the restaurant. She had bigger ideas and gathered investors to help with her expansion plans. By the time Donn returned, she had built the operations into a themed chain of 16 locations throughout the country, with a menu of new Chinese-American fare created by chefs she had hired. Sunny eventually bought Donn out of his half of the company. He then moved to Hawaii to open a Polynesian Village and International Marketplace and live out the remainder of his life there.
Donn’s cocktail creativity lived on. Over the years he mixed up such liquid goodies as Three Dots and a Dash (Morse Code for V, as in Victory), Missionary’s Downfall, Pearl Diver, 151 Swizzle, and Rum Barrell. His friend and rival, Trader Vic, never forgot that tasty QB Cooler. In an attempt to create a similar flavor, he produced the famous Mai Tai. The Mai Tai and its popularity put a strain on Donn’s and Vic’s friendship, as Donn claimed the Mai Tai was a knockoff of his QB Cooler. The two cocktails have similar tastes and both contain lime and Rum. However, the other ingredients are different and the QB Cooler is more complex with more ingredients. Because of this, Vic won a lawsuit to claim the Mai Tai as his own and gained rights to distribute Mai Tai mixers.
For a few decades, the Tiki cocktail culture flourished. However, the new wave of drinkers taking to the bars in the 1960s expectedly rebelled against the ways of the previous generation. Tiki bars faded in existence. Only a few strip mall holdouts remained, serving watered-down, umbrella-adorned facsimiles of the powerful rum classics of Vic and Don.
But, the resurgence of craft cocktails in the late 1990s brought with it a resurrection of the Tiki bar. One of the first to rekindle the Tiki movement was San Francisco’s Smuggler’s Cove. Since its opening in 2009, it has repeatedly made the list of the top 50 bars in the world. The current success of Smuggler’s, along with the Tiki-Ti and Tonga Hut in Los Angeles, has brought us full circle back to California, its tie to the Mai Tai, and its continuation at the forefront of all things Tiki. If there ever is a call to name a California State drink, the origins of Tiki culture and the battle of the Tiki titans over the Mai Tai make that iconic cocktail rise to the top of the list of contenders.
