The first real cold snap in Casper never asks permission. One week you’re raking leaves in a flannel, and the next the wind comes down off Casper Mountain like it has a grudge, the truck windshield is iced over at 6 a.m., and you’re digging through the hall closet for the good gloves you swear you put away last spring. Late October does that here. And every year, the first night it really bites, I make the same drink: a hot toddy.
I already told you the story of the bottle I use. Back when I wrote up the Wyoming Whiskey distillery in Kirby, I went through the whole thing: the Mead family, fourth-generation cattle ranchers in the Big Horn Basin, deciding to make bourbon; Steve Nally, the Bourbon Hall of Famer who’d been master distiller at Maker’s Mark, coming out of retirement to build their whiskey program; production kicking off on July 4, 2009, and the first bourbon finally hitting shelves on December 1, 2012. It was the first whiskey distillery in Wyoming and the only distillery in the state until 2017. Go read that one if you haven’t. This post is the sequel: now that you’ve got a bottle, here’s what I actually do with it once the weather turns.
Where the Hot Toddy Came From (Nobody Really Knows)
I went looking for the origin of the hot toddy expecting a tidy answer. I didn’t get one. The best roundup I found was from the National Honey Board, which pulls together accounts from Vinepair, Smithsonian, Make Me a Cocktail, and Town & Country. Their own conclusion, in so many words, is that “nobody really knows for sure.” I appreciate that kind of honesty, so here are the three main stories as they lay them out. I’m not picking a winner.
The India theory. Some food historians trace the name to British-controlled India in the 1610s, where the Hindi word “taddy” referred to a drink made from fermented palm sap. According to the National Honey Board, a written recipe from 1786 defines a similar drink as “alcoholic liquor with hot water, sugar, and spices,” and the idea supposedly traveled from India back to the United Kingdom.
The Scottish doctors theory. Another version puts the drink in 18th-century Scotland, where doctors are said to have prescribed raw scotch to people with colds, sweetened and spiced to cover up how harsh the whisky was. Some accounts even say it was pitched as a sweeter-tasting option for ladies in the 1700s. As a guy who has had some rough whisky in his life, I believe the part about needing to cover it up.
The Dr. Todd theory. The third story credits Robert Bentley Todd, a mid-19th-century doctor, who reportedly prescribed his patients a “cure-all” of brandy, canella (white cinnamon), sugar, and hot water. Todd, toddy. It’s a tidy story, and tidy is exactly why I hold it loosely.
Whichever one is true, maybe some mix of all three, the drink had made it to America and picked up a reputation by 1837, when the Burlington Free Press was promoting it as a cure-all for the common cold. That “medicine” reputation has stuck to it ever since. More on that in a second.
The part I like best is how local the drink gets. Per the National Honey Board, in Ireland a toddy usually gets made with Irish whiskey, in Scotland it’s scotch, and in the American South it’s bourbon. Everybody makes it with what’s in their own cabinet. That’s all the permission I need to make a Wyoming version with bourbon distilled a few hours up the road.
A Straight Word on Honey, Colds, and Whiskey
Because the hot toddy has those old “doctor’s orders” roots, people tend to talk about it like it’s medicine. It isn’t, and I want to be plain about that.
The honey part has some real backing. Mayo Clinic says honey may help ease a cough in kids ages 1 and older, and in some studies it did about as well as diphenhydramine, an ingredient in some common over-the-counter cough medicines. Mayo Clinic also says better research is still needed to confirm that. So honey’s reputation as a folk remedy isn’t made up.
That is not the same thing as saying a mug of hot whiskey treats a cold. The honey evidence is about honey, mostly in kids. It doesn’t carry over to a cocktail. A hot toddy is a comfort drink for grown-ups, period. It’s warm, it smells good, it makes you feel taken care of on a lousy night. That’s plenty. Treat it as that and nothing more.
Two practical things. First, this is a 21-and-over drink. Second, if you’re already taking an over-the-counter cold or flu medicine, especially anything with acetaminophen or dextromethorphan in it, skip the toddy. Alcohol and those medicines don’t mix well. Pick one or the other for the night, and if you have questions about your own situation, ask a pharmacist.
(One more honey note, since it’s the star here: honey should never be given to babies under 12 months old because of the risk of infant botulism. Older kids and adults are fine.)
Around our house, the five-year-old gets his own version: warm water, a little honey, a squeeze of lemon, and no whiskey, served in his own mug like it’s a big deal. Kimi and I get the grown-up version after he’s in bed.
Picking Your Honey and Your Whiskey
The whiskey. I use Wyoming Whiskey Small Batch bourbon. It has a soft honey-vanilla sweetness that works with the honey in the mug instead of fighting it. You don’t need anything fancy here, though. Hot water and lemon will flatten the fine details of an expensive bottle, so any good, honest bourbon works. If you only have rye, use it and expect a spicier toddy.
The honey. This is where I’d spend some attention. I just wrote about where Wyoming’s high-desert honey comes from, including the commercial hives that travel the country and the beekeepers who stay put. If you can find a local jar, use it. Sunshine Honey Co., the Casper-area outfit I covered in that post, is sold at a few of the big grocery stores here in town. A mild, light honey keeps the drink clean. A darker honey makes it richer and more molasses-like. Both are good.
The mug. If you don’t already have a proper toddy mug, a footed clear glass Irish coffee mug is worth having. It holds the heat well, and you can actually watch the honey and spices work their way through the drink instead of just guessing at it through ceramic.
Make-Ahead and Storage
A hot toddy is a make-it-and-drink-it drink. Once it’s mixed, it’s best right away. Don’t make a pot and plan to reheat it tomorrow. It goes flat and the spices turn bitter.
What you can make ahead is the base. Stir together honey and fresh lemon juice in a 2-to-1 ratio (for example, 1/2 cup honey and 1/4 cup lemon juice) in a clean jar until the honey dissolves, and keep it in the fridge. I’d use it within about a week; the lemon is freshest early on. When the cold sets in, spoon 1-1/2 tablespoons into a mug, add the bourbon and hot water, drop in a cinnamon stick, and you’re done in a minute. It thickens in the fridge, so give it a stir before you measure.
That jar is also how the kid’s honey-lemon water happens so fast on cold mornings. Just leave out the whiskey.
Toddy or Old Fashioned?
If you made my Wyoming Whiskey Old Fashioned back in August, you might be wondering which one to reach for. Here’s how I think about it. The Old Fashioned is a slow, stirred drink for when you’re warm, settled, and want to taste the bourbon. The toddy is for when you’re cold, worn out, or just came in from scraping the windshield. It’s simpler, it’s forgiving, and it warms your hands before you take a sip. Same bottle, different nights.
Wyoming Whiskey Hot Toddy
- Makes: 1 drink
- Prep time: 5 minutes
- Total time: 5 minutes
Ingredients
- 1-1/2 oz Wyoming Whiskey Small Batch bourbon (or any good bourbon)
- 1 tablespoon honey, preferably local Wyoming honey
- 1/2 oz fresh lemon juice (about 1/4 of a lemon)
- 4 to 6 oz hot water
- 1 cinnamon stick
- 1 lemon wheel
- 3 whole cloves
Instructions
- Warm the mug. Fill a heatproof mug with hot tap water and let it sit for a minute, then dump it out. A cold mug takes the heat right out of the drink.
- Heat the water. Bring water to a boil, then let it sit for about 30 seconds so it’s just off the boil. Water that’s boiling hard can scorch the honey and make the alcohol smell harsh.
- Stud the lemon. Push the cloves into the rind of the lemon wheel. This keeps them from floating around and ending up in your teeth.
- Build the base. Add the honey and lemon juice to the warm mug. Pour in about an ounce of the hot water and stir until the honey dissolves completely.
- Add the bourbon and the rest of the water. Pour in the bourbon, then top with 3 to 5 more ounces of hot water, depending on how strong you like it.
- Garnish and steep. Drop in the clove-studded lemon wheel and the cinnamon stick. Give it a stir with the cinnamon stick and let it sit for a minute or two so the spice comes through.
- Taste and adjust. Add a little more honey if it’s too tart, or a squeeze more lemon if it’s too sweet. Drink it while it’s hot.
Notes and Variations
- Using the make-ahead base: Swap the honey and lemon juice for 1-1/2 tablespoons of the honey-lemon base described above.
- Tea toddy: Use hot black tea or chamomile instead of plain water for more depth.
- Ginger: Add a couple of thin slices of fresh ginger in step 4 for some extra heat.
- Buttered toddy: Float a small pat of good butter on top at the end. It’s rich and old-fashioned, and once in a while on a very cold night it’s great.
- Kid version: Honey, lemon, and hot water, with no whiskey. That’s what our five-year-old drinks. Nothing with honey for babies under one.
- Adults 21+ only. Don’t combine it with cold or flu medicine.
Stay Warm Out There
That’s it. A mug, a lemon, some honey from somewhere close by, and a pour of bourbon made a few hours up the road. It won’t cure a thing, and it doesn’t need to. It’s just a good way to end a cold Wyoming night.
One last time, because it matters: this one’s for adults 21 and up, and it’s not something to mix with cold medicine. Make the kids the honey-lemon version (as long as they’re past their first birthday) and everybody gets a warm mug.
I’d love to hear how your family does it. Scotch like the Scots? Brandy like Dr. Todd? A splash of something your grandpa swore by? Tell me in the comments, or tag me on Instagram @wyofood or find me on Facebook at Wyo Food. Show me your mug.
— Sean