Moscow Mule Recipe

In a far-away kingdom, deep below the earth, or perhaps in a parallel dimension, but definitely during medieval times, Princess-Usually-Drinks-A-Beer entertained her friends with her indoor steak-grilling skills. The place heated up fast because Princess-Usually-Drinks-A-Beer had all of the latest cooking gadgets, including a hand-held fire-breathing dragon. Also, her recipe required two tablespoons of red pepper flakes, so all of the guests were choking and carrying on about how they needed a beer.

Princess-Usually-Drinks-A-Beer pulled the batteries out of the raging smoke alarm and quickly poured some pilsners, but they failed to satisfy her thirsty guests. So, Princess-Usually-Drinks-A-Beer whipped up some Moscow mules, and the recipe has been discovered inside of the front cover of a medieval manuscript called Ye Olde Dinyre Partay. And, I was the one who found that manuscript, so I will share the recipe here. (Warning: Some historical facts have been harmed in the writing of this column.)

In any case, the events that transpired in the far-away kingdom of which I wrote earlier, also happened in the house that I share with my husband Nate and my son Alex, and I felt just like Princess-Usually-Drinks-A-Beer. A few weeks ago, I set the kitchen ablaze with some fiery steaks, and all of my dinner guests (Nate and Alex) were coughing and clamoring for water. Then, it was cocktail time. I reached for a pilsner at first, but I noticed that Nate had fixed himself a Moscow mule, which looked like an incredible beacon of thirst-quenching kick-assedness. (Warning: Some words in the English language have been harmed in the writing of this column.)

He poured his Moscow mule into a tall, clear glass, and it looked as refreshing as a lemonade stand in the belly of a fire-breathing dragon, and I was like, “I’ll pay you $500 for that!” Then, I took a sip, and then another, and then another. It was refreshing and somewhat spicy as well—and Nate is providing the recipe below. Keep in mind that this drink should probably be served in a copper mug, but in a pinch, glasses, cups, or troughs can be used.


Tall glass of ice

2 ounces of vodka

½ ounce of lime juice

Bundaberg Ginger Beer


Pour the vodka and lime juice over the ice. Top it all off with the Bundaberg Ginger Beer. You don’t even have to shake it or mix it because, according to Nate, “The carbonation from the ginger beer will just. . . ” And I’m supposed to fill in the blanks from there, but I get it. I guess the carbonation mixes the rest of the ingredients together. The bubbles rise within the layers of vodka and lime, whispering, “Why, hello there, Princess-Usually-Drinks-A-Beer-And-Likes-Moscow-Mules-Too!”  

Cecilia Kennedy once taught Spanish and English courses in Ohio for many years. She now lives in the Greater Seattle area, and writes horror stories. Her blog (Fixin’ Leaks and Leeks: chronicles her humorous (and perhaps scary?) attempts at cooking and home repair. 

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