Modern Drunkard Magazine

A Blast from the Past Wealthy Americans adopted the practice of tipping as they traveled about Europe in the mid-19th Century. At the time, trans-Atlantic...

MDM: Before we start, let’s have a Papa Doble. EH: Good idea. You and master bartender Constantino Ribalaigua Vert conspired this cocktail, didn’t you? At La...

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“The United States of America” has always been a misnomer. “States of America,” yes. “United?” Well… In the sense that we’re all stuck together, that...

In the pantheon of history’s heroically great drinkers, there is a special place reserved for the British actor Oliver Reed. Reed’s alcohol consumption was truly...

Cenosillicaphobia is fear of an empty glass, and you’re getting damned angry at the snickering bartenders who find it amusing when you have a...

Lydia Lunch knocks a backhand of defiance into the face of the status quo like a shot of tequila spat into a gaping wound....

Two decades ago, this magazine squinted into the hazy horizon and coughed up a slew of wild predictions about the future of drinking. So, how’d...

Pabst Blue Ribbon is a beer of simple pleasures. It didn’t actually win a blue ribbon, but no one buys Pabst for its award-winning pedigree....

“A True Bourbon.” That was once the emphatic claim of Ten High, back when it was a cheap but honorable straight bourbon whiskey. Today it...

 

Social media is a benjo ditch, an open sewer where gondoliers named Zuckerberg, Musk and Gates spend the day steering fancy Venetian canoes. Every day,...

“It’s not day drinking if you’re still up from last night. It’s second-wave night drinking.” Unknown gent, who probably spent too much time in school,...

It is generally assumed that the drunk is an animal of the night. That we are to be found prowling the dark jungle of dives...

As a woman, there’s not a cocktail on this Earth that I would feel any kind of shame for ordering. Blowjob shot? Hit me, I’m...

Humanity stands at a crossroads. I’m not talking about the madness in the Middle East­—we’ve been doing donuts at that particular intersection for millennia—I’m talking...

Drinking in a Church Yard The idea is anonymity Or peace, As the dead only punch Their hands through the sod In the imagination Or the cheap seats I run...