11-05-2025
Pisco: The fascinating story of Peru's national drink
Come on, c'mon faster! You need to shake it really hard for the foam to form," says Kini Chacon as I work the cocktail shaker. Chacon is a chef at Rooftop Kitchen, a cooking class in Cusco in south-eastern Peru. Under her supervision, I'm getting a crash course in making Peru's national cocktail, the pisco sour. After nearly a minute of manoeuvring the shaker, I pour my cocktail into a glass and take it to the terrace. From the 10th floor of the building in suburban Cusco, I see the historic city spread out below me, its red-roofed houses and soaring church spires flanked by the verdant Andes. I take a sip of my cocktail, which is rather potent for a mid-day drink—but hey, it's five o'clock somewhere, right?
Over my 10-day Peruvian jaunt, I down several pisco sours, including one delicious variation with passion fruit called maracuya sour. More than a century after its creation, the pisco sour has lately caught the attention of mixologists worldwide, including in India where many restaurants and bars join in celebrating National Pisco Day on the first Saturday of February. And it's not just traditional pisco sours; you will find inventive versions with guava, pineapple, etc., but all still celebrating the spirit of pisco.
The origins of pisco go back to the 16th century when Spanish conquistadors brought grapevines to Peru. The vines flourished in the fertile soil, especially in the coastal valleys, and wine production boomed. In 1641, Spain's King Philip IV prohibited Peruvian wine imports to protect the Spanish wine market. Local producers then began distilling surplus grape juice into a clear brandy. It was called Aguardiente (firewater) de Pisco after the city of Pisco, a significant trading hub during colonial times. Over time, pisco evolved into a uniquely Peruvian spirit that's protected by denomination of origin laws.
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Since 1991, Peruvian pisco can only be made from grapes in five regions—Lima, Ica, Arequipa, Moquegua and Tacna. The eight grape varieties are also specified: quebranta, mollar, negra criolla, uvina, italia, moscatel, torontel and albilla.
Pisco is distilled just once, and only using copper alembic stills, to 38-48% alcohol by volume (ABV). It is then stored for at least three months in stainless steel, glass or traditional botijas, which are tall terracotta jars. There are four styles of Peruvian pisco of which puro and aromatico are single-varietal spirits, acholdao is a blend of two or more grape varieties, and mosto verde is distilled from partially fermented must. Because of the different types of grapes used, there are wide variations in flavour, aroma, viscosity and appearance of pisco.
It can range from colourless to yellowish to light amber, and its taste varies from semi-sweet to dry, with fruity, herbal, or earthy notes. Pisco mosto verde has a smoother, silkier body than the others and you can discern notes of honey.
While Peru considers pisco its national spirit, neighbouring Chile also lays claim to its invention. The production regulations in both countries vary; for instance, Chilean pisco can be distilled multiple times, aged in oak barrels and can be diluted before bottling—a strict no-no in Peru. Many historians now believe that pisco was first made in Peru, and in 2013, the European Commission granted Peru the claim to pisco's geographical origin.
The debate doesn't end there; it extends to which country invented the pisco sour. Here, most historians agree that the cocktail as we know it today was invented in the early 1920s in Peru. 'The American bartender Victor Vaughen Morris was the first to serve pisco sour at Morris' Bar in Lima," says Chacon as I get ready to shake my own cocktail.
All the paraphernalia is laid out in front of me—cocktail shaker, jigger, a small bucket of ice and the four ingredients. 'The standard recipe for pisco sour is three ounces of pisco and one ounce each of simple syrup, lime juice and egg white," explains Chacon.
I combine the ingredients in the shaker, throw in a handful of ice, and vigorously shake the mix. After straining it into a glass (usually a rocks, old fashioned or a coupe glass), the final flourish is to add three drops of Angostura bitters. With three ounces of high-ABV spirit, the cocktail is rather strong, but the sweet and tart flavours make it incredibly easy-drinking. However, due to Cusco's high altitude, alcohol can hit you harder, so I would advise caution.
Later that evening, I saunter to my hotel's bar for a sundowner. Miguel, the mixologist at Palacio del Inka's Rumi Bar, deviates slightly from the standard pisco sour recipe. 'Many people don't like the taste or smell of egg in their cocktail, so instead of a whole ounce, I add just a splash," he says. Miguel doesn't use a cocktail shaker either. 'I'm going to use an ancient Inca apparatus," he says, and proceeds to mix the cocktail in a blender. Given my aversion to raw eggs, I'm completely on board with Miguel's variation. It's still deliciously frothy without the eggy hint, and the smooth pisco shines brighter—what's not to love?
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Prachi Joshi is a Mumbai-based travel and food writer.
