Pimm’s Cel-Ray Spritz: Pimm’s Goes to the Deli

When I was living in England, I fell in love with the Pimm’s Cup. You haven’t lived until you’ve drunk one of these refreshing drinks—made from the quintessentially English gin-based liqueur with herbs and citrus, lemon soda (which the Brits inexplicably and confusingly refer to as “lemonade”) or ginger ale, and copious amounts of cut fruit and cucumber—on a perfect summer day while watching a boat race on a river that could’ve come right out of The Wind in the Willows.                                                                

That’s nice, Emily, you might be thinking, but what does it have to do with Jewish food history? Fair question! In its original form, not too much (aside from the fact that Pimm’s No. 1 is kosher). But I recently came across a recipe for a twist on the classic Pimm’s Cup in which the lemon or ginger soda is swapped out for Jewish deli staple Dr. Brown’s Cel-Ray, possibly the world’s most divisive soda.

Once known as “Jewish champagne,” legend has it that Cel-Ray was invented by Dr. Brown himself, an apocryphal figure who lived either in Williamsburg or on the Lower East Side (or maybe just in the imaginations of the Dr. Brown’s marketing team). At the time, medicinal sodas, or “tonics,” were the hot new thing, and Dr. Brown made them his businesses. In 1868 when the drink that would become Cel-Ray debuted, it was marketed as “celery tonic,” and it was known by this name until the FDA forced the company to change it.

Believe it or not, in the 1800s, celery was considered a superfood (and in fact it’s been used as medicine in China since ancient times). At the time Dr. Brown’s launched Cel-Ray, celery was the hot new thing in the US, thanks to seeds brought over by European immigrants—including Eastern European Jews, many of whom worked in the soda on arriving in New York, capitalizing on their involvement in the beet sugar industry back in Poland and Ukraine. Celery seed (yes, it’s the seeds, not the stalks, that give Cel-Ray its distinct flavor) was a familiar flavor from the old country, and savory botanical beverages (like the fermented beverage kvass, commonly made from beets, lettuce, or rye bread) were common back there too. So Cel-Ray wouldn’t have sounded quite as odd then as it does now.

Cel-Ray wasn’t the only celery soda of its day, but none of the others survived past the end of the celery fad in the 1930s. Dr. Brown’s survived in part due to the allure it gained from its exclusive distribution policy: it was sold only in delis until the 1980s, when the decline of the Jewish deli forced a new business plan on Dr. Brown’s. But even today, Cel-Ray is strongly associated with the old-school Jewish deli in the mind of the typical New Yorker, and its vegetal, herbal, slightly bitter flavor profile is known to be the perfect foil for salty, fatty deli sandwiches. Today, Cel-Ray is still going strong,  though it’s far from Dr. Brown’s best-selling product; other, more immediately appealing flavors like black cherry (my personal favorite) and cream soda are beating it out.

Personally, I loathe and despise celery—it’s my second biggest food aversion, after parsley—and would never voluntarily drink a can of Cel-Ray straight. But I actually quite enjoyed it paired with Pimm’s. The slight vegetal taste the soda lends complements the herbal notes in the liqueur surprisingly nicely, and the overall effect is overwhelmingly refreshing.

My Pimm’s Cel-Ray spritz recipe is inspired by this one on Epicurious; unlike mine, it calls for Prosecco in addition to the Pimm’s and goes much lighter on the Cel-Ray.

Pimm’s Cel-Ray Spritz

3 parts Dr. Brown’s Cel-Ray Soda

1 part Pimm’s No. 1

Ice, crushed or in cubes

Finely chopped cucumber and/or strawberries, to taste

Pour Cel-Ray and Pimm’s into either a glass or a pitcher, depending on whether you are making an individual serving or multiple. Add as much ice as you like—either crushed or in cubes—and stir gently to combine.

Sources: “Celery Forever: Where America’s Weirdest Soda Came From and How It’s Stuck Around,” Serious Eats (Chris E. Crowley, October 2, 2014)