I first discovered the Queen Elizabeth cocktail at a sun-drenched garden party last summer. While most of the guests were happily nursing Pimm’s, my host gestured for me to join her near the kitchen and mixed up something special. The drink she handed me glowed gold in the afternoon light, a subtle promise of gin, citrus, and honey. I took one sip and just knew – I’d found my new summer favorite. There’s a graceful nostalgia to the Queen Elizabeth; it feels like something you’d discover on a faded hotel bar menu, more interested in elegance than novelty, and it conjures up images of a time when cocktails were simple but memorable.
The origins of the drink are a bit hazy – some say it was invented for the Queen Mother in the 1930s, others claim it gained traction during Queen Elizabeth II’s coronation. Either way, it captures what makes the classics great: a gentle balance, a hint of lemony brightness, and nothing fussy or overwhelming. I’m not one for overly sweet or boozy concoctions. For me, the Queen Elizabeth is perfect: botanical gin cut by citrus, the faintest sweetness from honey, and just enough orange liqueur to round things out.
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One reason I’m so fond of this cocktail is that anyone can make it. You don’t need to hunt down esoteric liquors or fill your kitchen with special tools. Good gin, a lemon, and a splash of something orangey will do the trick; the rest tends to be tucked away in the pantry anyway.
Ingredients:
- 1.5 oz (45ml) gin (something with pronounced botanicals is my go-to)
- 0.5 oz (15ml) dry vermouth
- 0.5 oz (15ml) orange liqueur
- 0.25 oz (7.5ml) fresh lemon juice
- 1/2 tsp honey
- Ice
- Lemon twist, for garnish
How I Make It:
- Drop a couple handfuls of ice in your shaker.
- Add gin, vermouth, and orange liqueur.
- Squeeze in fresh lemon juice and drizzle in the honey.
- Shake with some real conviction – about 15 seconds – until the outside of the shaker feels icy.
- Strain into a chilled coupe or martini glass.
- Finish with a twist of lemon: run it gently around the rim before tossing it in, so those oils hit your nose as you sip.
A word to the wise: honey can stubbornly resist mixing into cold drinks. If I’m in a rush, I’ll zap it in the microwave for a few seconds or swirl up a little honey syrup (equal parts honey and warm water) and keep it in the fridge. It makes everything quicker and ensures you never end up with a sticky lump at the bottom of your glass.
There’s plenty of room to riff, too. Last June, I tossed in a handful of ripe blackberries with the ice and muddled them before shaking – suddenly, the whole drink was blushing and bursting with berry flavor. Another time, I swapped out the honey for elderflower liqueur and, honestly, it was floral and springlike, a little bit of magic in a glass.
If you’re skipping spirits, I’ve tried a mocktail version: tonic water, a splash each of orange and lemon juice, and a drizzle of honey. It’s not quite the same, but it gets some of the sunny, citrusy charm.
I’ve poured Queen Elizabeths alongside smoky salmon on blinis, crumbly English cheddar, even potato chips when the mood strikes. The citrus lifts whatever’s on your plate. And while the martini and Manhattan may always be more famous, there’s something quietly regal about this cocktail. It’s graceful but unfussy – much like its namesake – and it never fails to make gathering with friends feel just a little more golden.
