It’s no secret that many people who love cocktails hate Rose’s sweetened lime juice, and with good reason. Like substituting corn starch for flour in a bread recipe, using the bright-green cordial in lieu of fresh lime juice will almost always leave you with a cloying taste in your mouth and an undrinkable beverage in your hand, waiting to be thrown out in the nearest sink. But don’t throw that bottle out yet — it’s also the basis for the Gimlet, one of the best and simplest classic cocktails.

To quote the Esquire Handbook for Hosts, “A gimlet is a bore — not so the Gimlet.” The Gimlet, rather, is that most British of British drinks: Like the gin & tonic, which famously evolved from anti-malarial protection to modern highball, the Rose’s in a Gimlet was initially a nonperishable beverage that prevented scurvy among “limey” sailors.

There are varying opinions on how much Rose’s makes a good Gimlet, beginning with one from the 1930 Savoy Cocktail Book. Calling for equal parts gin and Rose’s, it was written at a time when Prohibition had struck the sweet tooth of the nation, leading to such nauseating gems as the gin-and-milk Alexander, the Bee’s Knees (equal parts honey, gin and lemon juice) and generally anything else that would mask the flavor of bathtub gin — the Barton’s vodka of the era — with sugar. After all, if you were going to go blind from methanol poisoning anyway, what’s a little diabetes on top?

As a result, the traditional Gimlet tends to come off as the sort of thing you’d put on ice cream, but the alternative, an ultra-dry (1:4 or 1:5 Rose’s to gin), isn’t necessarily better. I tend to favor a happy medium, using:

I used to use Beefeater for this drink, and still enjoy the fresh, citrus-y taste of it; however, juniper-heavy Gordon’s is also a good fit, and is, really, fantastically cheap for the quality.

The Gimlet, simple as it is, is also ripe for variations. Try using light rum (decreasing the Rose’s to compensate for the sweetness of the rum) or, if you must, vodka, instead of gin. A variation of sorts, the Gin Rickey, also provides a lighter, softer drink ((from The Fine Art of Mixing Drinks, 1952):

Sugar syrup isn’t absolutely necessary, and not all recipes will call for it, but it definitely improves the balance. The Rickey family of drinks, the only one to trace its origin to my current home, the District of Columbia, is a large one, including the Royal Rickey (add half an ounce of sweet or dry vermouth and a handful of crushed, fresh raspberries), the Bourbon Rickey and the Applejack Rickey. Try swapping out the gin for another liquor, and you’ll likely be pleased with the results. Just remember to let the Bailey’s sit this one out — no one really wants a Cement Mixer Rickey.