The French 75 cocktail! 

First off, lemme just say—this drink is a whole vibe.
Crisp. Boozy. Bubbly.
It’s got that “oh hello, I’m elegant but I also know how to have a damn good time” energy. Which, honestly? Goals.

So where’d it come from?
Like all iconic cocktails, the French 75’s origin story is kinda foggy. There’s some debate, of course.
Some folks trace it back to Harry’s New York Bar in Paris, around WWI. Others say it was born even earlier, maybe at the New York Bar but crafted by someone with a mustache and secrets. Who really knows? But here’s the wild bit—the drink got its name from a weapon. Yep.

The French 75mm field gun. A powerful little beast used during World War I.
Supposedly, the drink packed a similar punch.
I mean… champagne + gin? That’ll knock ya sideways if you’re not paying attention. And that’s kinda the point.

It’s not your average Sunday brunch drink (even though we absolutely drink it at brunch).
This isn’t a mimosa.
This is a mimosa’s older, cooler cousin who wears vintage sunglasses and doesn’t return texts.

Now, the recipe? It’s deceptively simple.
We’re talkin’:

• 1 oz gin
• ½ oz lemon juice
• ½ oz simple syrup
• Champagne (or any good dry sparkling wine)

Shake the gin, lemon juice, and syrup over ice.
Strain into a flute or coupe.
Top with bubbly.
Feel like royalty.

But don’t let that fool you—it’s a delicate dance.
You mess with the proportions, and suddenly it’s either too tart or way too boozy.
Not that there’s such a thing as “too boozy” if we’re being honest… but y’know, taste matters.

And here’s the kicker—not everyone uses gin.
Some folks swap in cognac instead. That version? It’s deeper, warmer, a bit more velvet-slippers-by-the-fire than rooftop-in-July.
Totally different mood. Still a French 75 though. Still slaps.

Speaking of gin… let’s talk about that for a sec.
Not all gin is created equal.
You want something botanical but clean. Nothing too overpowering.
London Dry works beautifully.
Hendrick’s? Sure, if you like a floral twist.
Bombay, Tanqueray, even small-batch craft stuff—go with what gives you joy.

Same goes for the bubbles.
Does it have to be real Champagne? Nah.
We’re not all out here droppin’ $50 on a Tuesday.
A good brut Cava or dry Prosecco does the trick. Just skip the sweet stuff. No Moscato here, friend. This ain’t a slumber party.

Now, lemon juice.
Fresh. Always fresh.
Don’t be that person with the squeezy bottle from the back of the fridge. We’re grown. Get a real lemon.

Simple syrup? Easy peasy.
Equal parts sugar and water. Heat until dissolved. Let it cool. That’s it.
Wanna get fancy? Infuse it. Lavender syrup? Oof. Game-changer. A hint of rosemary? Yes please. Go wild.

Okay but what’s the vibe of a French 75?
It’s the drink you order when you’re feelin’ flirty but don’t wanna try too hard.
The one you sip while listening to Ella Fitzgerald on vinyl.
It’s effortless glamour. It’s Cary Grant in a tux and you in silk. Or a hoodie. Still works.

Also, it’s kind of a badass feminist cocktail.
Hear me out.
It’s strong, elegant, and way more complex than it looks.
People underestimate it.
And then it floors you.

Let’s not pretend this drink hasn’t had its moments.
Pops up in pop culture more than you’d think.
From Gatsby-style parties to modern rooftop bars in Brooklyn, the French 75 has range.
It’s not locked in the past—it evolves.

Bartenders love to remix it too.
Add elderflower liqueur? Sure. Sub the gin for mezcal? Why the hell not.
There’s a blood orange version. A raspberry one. Hell, I once had a jalapeño-infused one that nearly changed my life.
Every version has its charm. Every version demands a moment.

Let’s be honest—this isn’t the drink you chug.
You sip this one. Slowly. Deliberately.
It’s a drink you flirt with.
And it flirts right back.

Okay okay, quick sidebar.
Wanna impress someone? Like really impress?
Make ‘em a French 75. But do it right. Chill the glass. Fresh squeeze everything. Get a decent bottle of bubbly. Garnish with a lil twist of lemon peel like you actually care.

Trust me. They’ll notice.

And if you’re serving this at a party?
Bless your soul. You win. You’ve officially entered the chic host hall of fame.
It’s the kinda drink that looks fancy but doesn’t actually require you to suffer in the kitchen all day.
Which, frankly, is the dream.

Let’s talk texture.
This drink isn’t thick. It’s light. Airy. Bubbly but grounded. Like if a cloud had a backbone.
The citrus brightens, the gin sharpens, and the champagne? That’s the sparkle. Literally and figuratively.

But let’s also talk… danger.
This drink sneaks up on ya.
It’s like, “Oh hey, just a little cocktail!”
Then it’s two in and suddenly you’re textin’ your ex or dancing in socks on hardwood floors.
Respect the 75.

One of the things I love most? It feels seasonal all year long.
Hot summer night? It’s refreshing.
New Year’s Eve? It’s celebratory.
Brunch in the fall? Perfect.
Winter date night? Pop that bubbly.

It’s one of those drinks that doesn’t care about trends.
People try to “rediscover” it every five years like it’s new.
It’s not new. It’s just timeless.
Which makes it cool without even trying.

And hey, while we’re here—let’s not forget the visuals.
This cocktail is a stunner. Pale gold with bubbles dancing up the side of the glass. A lil lemon curl dangling like it’s showing off.
It photographs beautifully. And we know that matters.

Wanna batch it for a group? You totally can.
Just scale it up. Mix the gin, lemon, and syrup ahead of time.
Keep it cold.
When your guests arrive, pour an ounce or two in a flute and top with chilled bubbly.
Instant magic. Minimal chaos.

Now, I know some purists will scream if you mess with the original.
But c’mon. Play a little.
Add a drop of orange bitters. Maybe use honey syrup instead of sugar.
Even switch up the glass. Coupe? Flute? Wine glass if you’re desperate? Go nuts. No judgment here.

Also—real talk—try it with sparkling rosé.
Not traditional. But dang it’s tasty.
Kinda like strawberries and sass in a glass.

Pairings? Oh boy.
Charcuterie is a no-brainer. Think prosciutto, brie, almonds.
It cuts right through the fat and salt like a lemony little sword.
Oysters, too. French 75 + oysters = fancy beach dreams.

Or go opposite. Fried chicken. Trust me.
Crispy, salty chicken with a bubbly citrus cocktail? Unholy combo. But it slaps hard.
It’s giving picnic in heaven.

Dessert wise? Think lemon tart. Maybe macarons.
Or nothing. Sometimes the drink is dessert.
(And sometimes it’s dessert and dinner. We don’t judge here.)

So yeah. The French 75.
She’s not flashy. She’s not loud. But she knows her power.
Elegant, dangerous, just a little bit cheeky.
And always, always worth the squeeze.

Next time you’re at a bar—order one.
Or better yet, make it yourself.
Because no matter what else is happening around you, once you take that first sip?
You’re somewhere in Paris. It’s 1920. There’s jazz. And the night’s just getting started.