French 75

There’s something peculiarly modern about ordering a drink named after artillery. When Harry MacElhone created the French 75 at his Paris bar sometime around 1915, he wasn’t being subtle about the reference—the French 75mm field gun had become synonymous with devastating precision, and the cocktail promised similar impact. What’s remarkable is how this drink, born in the wreckage of World War I, has survived not through nostalgia but through sheer functional elegance. The canonical version appeared in MacElhone’s 1922 cocktail book, and by decade’s end, American expatriates and Parisians alike had claimed it as their own, a fizzing monument to rebuilding.

This is a 29-proof, 1-pour cocktail—moderate strength stretched across 7 ounces of liquid. What that means practically: you’re drinking something stronger than wine but more sessionable than a Manhattan, served in a format that demands slower pacing. The champagne creates the illusion of lightness, which is precisely the trap: the botanical backbone of gin plus a full pour of alcohol means this drink accumulates faster than it feels like it should. The French 75 works best as a celebratory aperitif, something to signal the beginning of an evening without ending it prematurely. The bright citrus keeps it refreshing enough for warm weather, while the sparkling element makes it inherently festive—this isn’t a contemplative nightcap or a solo drink, but rather something that thrives in company, ideally before dinner when you want something elegant that won’t obliterate your palate.

The technique hinges on understanding what you’re building: a champagne cocktail that happens to contain gin, not a gin cocktail diluted with champagne. Start with 1.5 ounces of London Dry gin—something with pronounced botanical character like Citadelle or Tanqueray, where the juniper and citrus elements can hold their own against the effervescence. Add 0.5 ounces each of fresh lemon juice and simple syrup, then shake hard with ice until the shaker frosts. This is non-negotiable citrus territory; stirring would leave you with a flat, oily texture that champagne alone can’t rescue.

The pour matters here. Strain into a champagne flute (not a coupe—you want the narrow opening to concentrate aromatics and preserve carbonation) and top with 4 ounces of dry champagne. Actual Champagne is ideal, but a good Spanish cava or even a dry prosecco works admirably if you understand what you’re getting: less autolytic complexity, which means the gin and lemon become more prominent. That’s not necessarily worse, just different. The critical mistake most people make is over-sweetening or using too little champagne, which transforms this into a gin sour with bubbles rather than a proper champagne cocktail.

Skip the garnish entirely, or add a minimal lemon twist expressed over the surface and discarded. The drink needs nothing visual—it’s already elegant in the glass—and an actual twist sitting in the flute blocks your nose from the aromatics. You’ll know you’ve succeeded when the first sip delivers champagne first, then gin and citrus in quick succession, with enough chill that nothing tastes harsh. If the gin dominates or the drink tastes sweet, you’ve missed the balance. The French 75 should taste like celebration that happens to contain a meaningful amount of alcohol, not the other way around.