The celebrity chef, the proliferation of “best of” lists, the growth of craft distilling. All of these pre-aughts movements came to a head alongside the rise of the Spanish Gin & Tonic. A more diluted and embellished take on the classic British version, the gintonic (also called gintónica) first appeared sometime in the early 2000s as an after-hours quencher for Michelin-starred chefs in both Catalonia and Basque Country. Its global spread, however, was fueled by the beverage industry; in the decade or so since the drink reached its peak, it’s become a modern classic.
Packed with ice, a whole bottle of tonic and at least three drinks’ worth of garnish in one, the Spanish G&T is a drink too generous, both in volume and spirit, to be corralled into a narrow Collins. It requires its own glass. A sort of shrunken fishbowl perched on a stem, the copa de balón, or balloon glass, has become its own shorthand for the drink’s place in modern drinking culture: abundant, approachable, down for whatever. Compare it to, say, the V-shaped Martini glass—relatively austere, all hard angles, unconcerned with spillage, pure luxury.
In a cocktail culture that can often take itself too seriously, the gintonic and its copa de balón, by contrast, is a goofy, bulbous invitation—and yet one with serious pedigree. Back in the early 2000s, Spain was the center of culinary cool, hailed not only for its originality, but also for its sense of freedom—from tradition, expectations, all the things that plagued its continental neighbors. At the time, food writer Rafael García Santos, then a columnist at El Correo, held an annual gastronomic meeting in San Sebastián, inviting chefs from places like El Bulli (inaugural winner of the World’s 50 Best Restaurants in 2002) and Arzak to trade ideas. Miguel Lancha, cocktail director at José Andrés Group and a Madrid native, says that after Santos wrote about what the attendees were sipping in their off-time—none other than what would become the Spanish G&T—the drink took off outside Spain.
“In a way, the copa de balón was like the deli container of its time—an ordinary, unsophisticated vessel made glamorous by the people drinking from it.”
Who wouldn’t want to drink like an off-duty, world-renowned chef? Especially if—despite the “perfect Gin & Tonic” discourse it spurred—their drink of choice was surprisingly unfussy and replicable? Lancha says the chefs were making their G&Ts from a “gastronomical standpoint,” balancing the flavor with dilution and aromatics in a way that wasn’t typical of bartenders at the time. The vessel, he says, was both a matter of function and convenience. It makes sense that a back-of-house drink would be served in what a gourmet Spanish kitchen in the early 2000s would have on hand: a wine glass rather than a Kimura highball glass as thin as a slice of jamón. In a way, the copa de balón was like the deli container of its time—an ordinary, unsophisticated vessel made glamorous by the people drinking from it.
Lest you believe that interest in studying the habits of unstudied coolness was limited to the world of food and drink, recall the concurrent obsession with “off-duty” beauty and style, a concept that lost its novelty with the advent of Instagram. These days, fascination with figures in the culinary world seems to be very “on-duty”—the tools they use, the shoes and jackets they wear. Today, few may remember that copas de balón were first embraced by lauded chefs rather than marketers at beverage companies. (Fever-Tree, the U.K.-based mixer brand known for its premium tonic water, introduced branded balloon glasses as part of its stateside launch in 2007.) But the allure of a choice that’s more utilitarian than aesthetic has helped the copa de balón endure. It’s unexpected and delightful, like a fancy sandwich served on a quarter sheet tray.
Still, the look isn’t for everyone. Lanza declines to use the style, preferring a globe or cider tumbler instead. He also finds the glass too thick. And “this is not technical,” he says, but “it’s tacky.” Which is fair! Because while the Spanish G&T’s origins are highbrow, its current status is not. Instead, it’s taken on an egalitarian ethos befitting its accessible taste. Today, Spanish G&Ts, their signature glass included, are on the menu at bars in the U.S. that otherwise bear no Iberian affiliation. Financial Times drinks writer Alice Lascelles says that the drink is a mainstay in pubs in the U.K., too—a kind of go-to cocktail for places that don’t really do cocktails. So yes, perhaps there is something “tacky” about that cartoonish, capacious bowl and the Spanish G&T’s kitchen-sink approach to its garnish. But isn’t that part of the appeal? After all, in lean times, it’s fun to live large.
