Guns and flat tonic - a Gothic horror tale

Andrew Jefford and friends don capes (and kilts) in a desperate mission, via Biggin Hill and Aberdeen, to spread the word about quality mixers

I've been out on the road with Batman and Robin recently. And flying through the air with the greatest of ease, too. We've been hunting down weapons of mass destruction. In sharp contrast to the infamous Iraqi example, the damn things are everywhere in Britain, turning that legendary pair's mission into something of a challenge.

The weapon in question is "the gun", euphemistically referred to as a beverage dispenser. My distinguished co-columnist Adam Edwards took a well-aimed swipe at it recently from the comfort of his snug, while a determined MA team led by the indefatigable Rosie Davenport crawled round Brighton (in the same issue - 5 October 2006) testing the quality of serve of various mixed drinks - only to come up with a set of photographs so abjectly horrible that they were barely fit to print in the pages of a family newspaper.

Anyone doubting that the next pub revolution needs to target Britain's abysmal service standards in pubs and bars should be thoroughly persuaded by these gruesome images of flattish long drinks served with a few rapidly-melting ice cubes in cheap, ugly, smeary glasses. And we haven't even begun to consider the taste...

Returning to caped crusaders: Batman is grey-haired patrician Charles Rolls, whose taller, younger sidekick Robin is Tim Warrilow, an expert in self-deprecating one-liners. This intrepid pair travel the sky with ease, supported by Charles' pilot's licence and his own plane (a Piper Seneca 5, for light-aviation nerds out there). Making the trip with them from Biggin Hill to Aberdeen the other day, I had to admit to a sinking sense of disappointment about our route's failure to include any Catwomen or Penguins, though I did have to dress up in a skirt myself - of which more, later.

Saved from extinction

Anyone running a half-decent bar should be sure to stock a bottle of Plymouth gin - it contains more iris and angelica root and less juniper than most. Fellow fans may like to know that Charles was one of those who saved it from the extinction towards which it was sliding while in multi-national ownership.

During Charles' time at Plymouth gin, he tried to organise a competition to create "the best gin and tonic in the world". But his ambitious competition had to be abandoned when Charles discovered to his horror that good tonic water had already become extinct.

Even "classic" Schweppes now contained sweeteners, as did all the other brands on the market. And words failed Charles when he sampled what passed for tonic served by bartenders wielding "the gun".

"I couldn't believe it - as gin producers, we went to enormous trouble to create a fine product, as did our rivals. All that work would be ruined by mixing it with this revolting sickly slop - absolutely tragic," lamented Charles.

Having left Plymouth at the time of its sale to Absolut Vokda's owners, he just knew he wouldn't be hanging up his cape forever. Battles with that odious weapon of mass destruction loomed on the horizon.

First, though, it was necessary to re-invent great tonic. Charles and sidekick Tim began work on their special drink, planning to use only top-quality natural ingredients sweetened with pure, natural sugar to avoid a sickly aftertaste. Having sourced their quinine from a historic Congo/Rwandan border plantation, where Charles himself had caught malaria many years earlier, the intrepid pair blended more high-quality ingredients in-cluding coriander oil, lime oil, African marigold and Kenyan bitter orange and named their glorious concoction Fever Tree, the original common name for members of the chinchona family. Fever Tree Bitter Lemon and a Fever Tree Ginger Ale followed hot on its heels.

I had been thoroughly impressed by taste tests on the Fever Tree mixers against all major rivals for an article for the Financial Times; the point of the Aberdeen trip, however, was to participate in a similar exercise for the benefit of Tom Nicol, the man who distils Tanqueray gin and mixology guru for Johnnie Walker, Tom Jones (no, not that one...).

We spent a long, delicious afternoon at Knockando distillery putting the drinks through their paces, and soon both Toms were fully on board. As guests of Diageo, we were whisked off to spend the evening at Drummuir Castle - on only one condition.

We all had to wear kilts at the wee ceilidh. Anyone unlucky enough to have glimpsed the shape of my knees will understand why our laughter still hadn't subsided before take-off the next morning.

So great tonic water, in beautifully-labelled individual mixer bottles, exists once again, and any hosts who want to enquire about stocking it are welcome to call 0207 349 4922 or log on to www.fever-tree.com.

Those who do will be following the example of Heston Blumenthal of the Fat Duck, while Ferrán Adría of Spain's El Bulli - reputed to be the world's greatest restaurant - has asked the pair if he can assume distribution in Spain.

It deserves wide distribution, and I don't doubt that it will achieve it.

Eliminating dangerous weapons

But how do Batman and Robin intend to eliminate the weapon of mass destruction itself - that ghastly beverage dispenser?

"Our initial aim is to do no more than alert people to what they're doing to these drinks. Fever Tree provides the best possible alternative," says Tim.

"Then we have to abandon it to their consciences and customers. But in places where speed isn't an issue and people want to charge a premium price for a premium drink, the case for individual bottles of Fever Tree is very strong. The mixer is even more important than the spirit, as there's twice as much of it."

Faced with the option of a crisply effervescent, subtly-flavoured, sweetener-free tonic taken straight from a cool fridge versus a flat squirt of artificially-sweetened, vaguely bitter gun-gunk, I know which I'd hunt down.