A cocktail for every mountain

People assume the name is a flourish. It isn’t. The trip really does start at the airport, with a cold drink in your hand and the group raising a glass before a single bag is checked — and by the time you reach the mountain, a new one is already waiting. A great trip has a soundtrack of drinks, and we think the first note should be struck at the gate.

It starts at the gate

There’s a moment, in the lounge, when the trip officially begins — not at the summit, but at the first toast, jet beyond the glass, the week still entirely ahead of you. That drink is the ritual the whole Society is named for. Get it right and everything after it feels inevitable. (If you’re flying the group in style, here’s the closest jet airport to every resort.)

Then you land — and each mountain has a pour that tastes like the place. A rough map:

The French Alps — Génépi

In Courchevel and the high French resorts, the local digestif is Génépi — a pale, herbal liqueur made from a tiny alpine flower, traditionally poured after a long lunch. Order it neat, or in a bright alpine spritz on a sun-warmed terrace. It is the taste of altitude.

The Dolomites — the Bombardino

Above Cortina, the rifugio classic is the Bombardino: hot eggnog and brandy, capped with cold whipped cream, served in a glass that warms your hands at 2,000 metres. It’s ski-in indulgence at its most unapologetic — and a few valleys over, the Veneto is where the Aperol Spritz was actually born.

The Tyrol — Jagertee

In Kitzbühel and the Austrian Alps, the hut drink is Jagertee — “hunter’s tea” — spiced black tea cut hard with rum, drunk steaming after the last run. It is built for cold hands and good company, and it is stronger than it tastes.

St. Moritz — the Champagne pour

Some places call for a cocktail; St. Moritz calls for Champagne, on a sunny terrace, at altitude, slightly too early in the day. It is the most honest drink in the Engadin — the place has never pretended to be anything but glamorous.

Japan — the highball

In Niseko, the drink is the Japanese highball: a measure of fine Japanese whisky, hard soda, a long twist, built with almost religious precision. It is the cleanest, most exacting drink in skiing — the liquid version of Niseko’s perfect, weightless powder.

Canada — the Caesar

In Whistler, you drink Canada’s own invention: the Caesar — vodka, spiced tomato-clam Clamato, a rimmed and garnished glass that is practically a meal. It is brunch, hangover cure and local badge of honour in one tall glass.

The Rockies — rye, neat

In Aspen and the high Colorado resorts, the move is American whiskey — a smoky rye Old Fashioned by a fire after a cold day, the drink that tastes like the West. No froth, no flourish; just the best bottle in the room and good ice.

The Andes — the Pisco Sour

And at the bottom of the world, in Portillo, the only drink is the Pisco Sour — Chilean pisco, lime, sugar, a cap of egg-white foam. Sharp, bright and a little dangerous at altitude, it is the perfect toast to having skied in our summer while everyone back home was at the beach.

The drink is the thread

It was never a gimmick. The cocktail is simply the through-line of a well-run trip — the first toast at the gate, the right pour handed to you at the right altitude, the nightcap that ends the perfect day. Our job is to know which drink belongs where, and to make sure it’s already in your hand. You bring the people; we’ll handle the rest — starting at the airport.