Horchata White Russian Cocktail

A rainy afternoon, a Spanish villa and The Dude

I was 22 when I found myself back on the Catalan coast at Vilanova i la Geltrú. By then I had already found work on a small yacht. I was the deckhand, working alongside the captain, cleaning the boat and getting her ready to go to sea whenever the owner called. It was a simple arrangement: the captain, me, the yacht and a list of jobs to get through before we could leave the dock. Ibiza was where we were due to sail.

My connection with that part of Spain went back to an earlier visit, when I was still wondering what I might do next. The idea of working on yachts had started to take shape then. My stepfather gave me a proper push in that direction. He wanted me to get out into the world, find work and make something of myself. I have also always suspected that a quieter house while I was away travelling and working was not an unwelcome side benefit. I say that with affection; I can imagine him laughing at the suggestion. Either way, he gave me the push I needed. I took it, found a job and went.

On the later visit, my stepfather had rented a large villa for the season. It sat high on the hill by the cliff, looking out over the bay. It was a big, older Spanish house, not modern or polished and certainly not a luxury villa in the glossy sense. It did not need to be. In hot, sunny weather the position was extraordinary: the bay spread out below, the sea and sky opening up in front of you, and the whole place made for long days outside.

Rain and wind turned it into somewhere else entirely. The metal shutters came down — the familiar roll-down kind you see on houses all over Spain. Anyone who has spent time living there knows the sound they make when the weather picks up: the wind rattling and knocking at the metal outside. With the shutters closed, the view disappeared and the villa became its own little world above the bay. Inside, the fire was burning. I remember that contrast more than anything: the racket outside, the shutters down, and the warmth of the fire in that enormous old house.

On one of those rainy, windy afternoons, with the shutters down and the fire burning, I put on The Big Lebowski. There was The Dude in his bathrobe, making his White Russian with all the urgency of a man who had nowhere in particular to be. I made one myself. It was a small pleasure, but it belonged to the afternoon: the weather making a racket outside, the fire going inside, and a film that never seems in a hurry to get anywhere.

That is the White Russian I remember making in Spain. The horchata version came later. I liked the thought of bringing cinnamon rice horchata into a drink usually made with cream. It was not an attempt to rewrite the original or invent a new piece of cocktail history. I simply wanted to see what would happen if the familiar vodka-and-coffee combination met the soft texture and spice of rice horchata. The film supplied the prompt; the villa supplied the atmosphere. The rest is a question of balance.

Horchata is a name shared by different drinks

There is one bit of horchata background worth knowing before making the cocktail, because the name can mean rather different things depending on where you are. In Valencia, horchata usually means horchata de chufa, a chilled drink made from tiger nuts. In Mexico, agua de horchata commonly refers to a rice-based drink, often flavoured with cinnamon and sweetened. Both are horchata; they are not the same recipe.

Darra Goldstein’s entry in The Oxford Companion to Sugar and Sweets follows horchata from tiger-nut drinks associated with North Africa and Spain to the rice-based versions that became popular in Mexico. It describes white rice, cinnamon and sugar as familiar parts of Mexican horchata, while noting that some versions are enriched with milk or cream. It is a useful example of a drink that travelled and changed with the ingredients and tastes of the places that adopted it. Read the full Oxford Companion entry on horchata.

Valencia has its own particularly strong relationship with horchata. The official Valencian Community tourism guide points to Alboraya and its tiger-nut fields, describing the local drink as a speciality made from chufa, water and sugar. It is traditionally served very cold, often with fartons — long, soft pastries made for dipping. If you are in that part of Spain, that is the glass to seek out. It is not the rice drink used in this cocktail.

For the Horchata White Russian, I use rice, water, cinnamon, sugar and vanilla. That makes a simple rice horchata with no milk in the ingredients. It also means the drink is not a traditional Valencian horchata cocktail; it is a White Russian variation using a rice-based horchata. If you buy horchata ready-made, check the label. Some versions contain milk or other additions, so the word on the bottle alone does not tell you whether it is dairy-free.

The White Russian before The Dude

The White Russian is a fairly straightforward drink, but its history is not quite as straightforward as the name suggests. It is not Russian in origin. Vodka supplies the association; coffee liqueur and cream make the combination most people recognise.

Rosie Schaap’s entry in The Oxford Companion to Spirits & Cocktails traces the drink through earlier vodka-and-cream combinations, including a drink known as the Russian Bear, and says the White Russian took its final form and name in 1965. In that account, coffee liqueur replaced crème de cacao in a promotional drink, setting the direction for the cocktail we know now. The Oxford Companion entry sets out that earlier development.

There is another familiar version of the story. Focus Features repeats the often-told account that the White Russian and Black Russian were created in Brussels in 1949. The accounts do not line up perfectly, so I would be wary of presenting one precise birthday as settled fact. What is clear is that the drink had a life well before the film.

Then came The Big Lebowski in 1998. The Coen brothers gave the drink a character in Jeffrey “The Dude” Lebowski, whose devotion to his “Caucasian” turned the White Russian into one of cinema’s most recognisable cocktails. The film did not invent it, but it made the drink unforgettable. It is difficult to look at a White Russian now without thinking of the Dude and his unhurried approach to almost everything.

The classic ingredients are vodka, coffee liqueur and cream. The proportions vary: the Kahlúa White Russian recipe uses equal parts, while the version featured by Focus Features gives the vodka and coffee liqueur a larger share than the cream. Neither needs to be treated as a universal rule. My version keeps vodka and coffee liqueur at two parts and one part, then uses two parts rice horchata in place of cream. That larger measure lets the horchata bring its own texture and cinnamon without losing the coffee underneath.

Getting the balance and the pour right

There are only three main ingredients here, so small changes are easy to notice. Vodka gives the drink its alcoholic backbone without adding much flavour of its own. Coffee liqueur supplies the roasted coffee note and sweetness. Rice horchata brings the softer texture, along with cinnamon and vanilla from the homemade version.

The sweetness of the horchata will vary. If yours is quite sweet, the finished cocktail will be rounder and more dessert-like. If it is lighter, the coffee will have a little more room. Begin with the measures in the recipe, then adjust the next glass to suit the horchata you have. I would not add extra sugar before tasting; the liqueur and the horchata already bring sweetness.

The bar-spoon pour is mainly about slowing the horchata as it meets the spirits. Pour it over the back of a spoon held close to the surface and it may settle briefly in a pale layer. You might also get a soft marbling effect. Neither is guaranteed. Layering depends on the relative density and viscosity of the liquids, and those change with their sugar, alcohol and water content. The Oxford Companion to Spirits & Cocktails entry on layering explains the principle. A homemade horchata is not a standardised bar ingredient, so the result will move around from batch to batch.

And there is no need to preserve the layers at all costs. They look good for the first moment, but this is a drink to stir gently before sipping. The point is the balance in the glass, not how long it can sit looking like a photograph.

Homemade cinnamon rice horchata

If you have time, making the horchata yourself gives you control over the cinnamon and sweetness. This is a straightforward rice-based version for the cocktail: soak the rice, blend it with the soaking water, strain it and sweeten the liquid. It is not the tiger-nut horchata served in Valencia; it is a rice drink in the style of Mexican agua de horchata.

Cinnamon rice horchata

Makes: about 4 servings · Soak: at least 4 hours · Serve: well chilled

Ingredients

• 1 cup long-grain white rice
• 2 cinnamon sticks, or 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 4 cups water
• ½ cup sugar, or to taste
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• A small pinch of sea salt

Method

1. Rinse the rice under cool running water until the water runs clearer. Drain.
2. Put the rice, cinnamon sticks and 4 cups of water in a covered container. Refrigerate for at least 4 hours, or overnight. Keep the soaking rice chilled rather than leaving it on the counter.
3. Blend the rice, cinnamon and soaking water until the mixture looks cloudy and the grains are broken down.
4. Strain through a fine-mesh sieve, pressing gently to extract the liquid. For a smoother drink, strain it a second time through a clean fine cloth or nut-milk bag.
5. Stir in the sugar, vanilla and a small pinch of salt until dissolved. Taste and adjust the sweetness to suit how you plan to use it.
6. Refrigerate until thoroughly cold. Stir or shake before measuring for the cocktail, as rice sediment can settle.

Because this homemade version contains rice, water, cinnamon, sugar and vanilla but no milk, it can be used for a dairy-free cocktail. If you are buying it ready-made, read the ingredient list rather than assuming every horchata is dairy-free. Some versions add milk, condensed milk or other ingredients.

Using bottled horchata

A good bottled rice horchata saves time, though sweetness and thickness vary by brand. Look for a rice-based version with cinnamon if that is the flavour you want in the finished cocktail. Check the ingredients if you need to avoid dairy; some commercial products use milk or other additions, while others do not.

Shake or stir the bottle before measuring. Rice solids and spices can settle during storage, and the first pour may otherwise be thinner or sweeter than the next. Make sure the horchata is properly chilled before building the cocktail. Warm horchata will melt the ice more quickly and make the drink feel flatter.

How I like to serve it

A short rocks glass and plenty of ice are all it needs. The cinnamon stick gives the drink a quiet nod to the horchata, and a little nutmeg works if you enjoy the aroma. I would keep the garnish restrained. There is coffee, cinnamon and vanilla already in the glass; it does not need a parade.

Serve it soon after pouring, while the ice is still firm and the horchata cold. Let the first pale layer or swirl sit for a moment if you like the look, then stir. The cocktail is richer and sweeter than a simple vodka-and-coffee drink, but it should still taste balanced rather than like a melted dessert.