There comes a point in every British summer when Pimm’s gets boring: its sweetness, its ubiquity, the horrible little claw people make with their hand when they’re trying to fish half a strawberry out of the bottom of their glass. Then there is another, later moment when Pimm’s becomes disgusting. For me, that was last week, when I sucked a fingernail-sized chunk of banana(?!) through a rapidly disintegrating paper straw. It was vile. Absolutely vile.

The thing Pimm’s has going for it is its utility. It’s an acceptable drink to pre-batch and serve in a jug, and you can buy all of the essential ingredients at a corner shop. The thing is, they’re not very good. Pimm’s itself is a little bit disgusting, so we mask it with the chemical sweetness of R White’s lemonade. There is no need for us to be drinking this concoction at a 3:1 ratio, week-in, week-out, from July until the start of September. But we do. We drink it because it’s there, because we can, and because, well, why not? And when it comes time for us to invite our friends over for a barbecue, or a long lunch, or a cocktail in the garden, we serve the same injustice right back to them.

But there are hundreds of cocktails and mixed drinks that were made to be batched, and even more that can be. And none of them require slicing the entirety of the Tesco Express fruit and veg isle into tiny little choking hazards. The more I think about it, the less reason there is to drink Pimm’s at all. So try these instead.

A Bottle of Asti and Six Limes

I first heard about this recipe on Twitter, which first heard about it from Nigella. Its brilliance is in its simplicity, but also its availability — you can buy a bag of limes and a bottle of Martini brand Asti Spumante almost everywhere, and always for less than a tenner. There’s no point in buying “nicer” Asti, it makes very little difference.

The recipe is a single sentence, the drink does not have a name, and it’s totally un-deceptive in its simplicity.

Mix one bottle of Asti Spumante with ice and the juice of six limes.

When you make it, do discard the carcasses of the limes (don’t just throw them into the jug — it’s very student barbecue). And remember to roll the limes firmly before squeezing (for maximum juice yield). Everything should be as cold as possible before you start, too (jug, Asti, etc.). Finally, resist the temptation to add mint. Please.

Tommy’s Margarita

A jug of Tommy’s Margarita follows a not-dissimilar formula to the bottle-of-asti-and-six-limes drink, it's just more. More limes, more booze: more sweet, more sour. It will get more people more drunk, more quickly. If the Asti’s métier is simplicity, the Margarita’s is utility. Margaritas can also withstand quite a lot, they don’t have to be shaken, and they work well served on the rocks (or, more simply still, with the rocks from the jug). As long as it’s well mixed, and care has been taken over its creation, the drink you make will be delicious.

A Tommy’s Margarita is distinguished from a classic margarita by substituting the Cointreau for agave syrup. I do not find Cointreau to be delicious, and once purchased, it often just sits there in my kitchen gathering grime, waiting for me to pour as imperceptible a quantity as possible into my next margarita. My kitchen counter, as my margarita, is better without.

Ingredients

One bottle of Blanco Tequila (the better the tequila, the better the margarita, sorry) 

The juice of 12-ish limes 

Agave Syrup (I make sure I have an entire bottle, just in case the limes are particularly lime-y, but only ever use 2/3 of it)

A big pinch of salt

Method

Mix the ingredients thoroughly, in a large jug with lots of ice (as much ice as liquid, really). Mix more than you think you need to, and disruptively.

NB: The traditional ratio of a Tommy’s Margarita is 4:2:1 Tequila:Lime:Agave, but I find the drink to be a forgiving one that accommodates adjustments to taste.

These are best served in small glasses, as they look and taste far less strong than they actually are.

Mezcal Negroni

It’s common knowledge that restaurants batch their negroni mixes. At the first restaurant where I worked, we mixed them each morning in the five-litre jug that the chefs used to strain fish stock. At the last, we built them (with the help of a funnel) straight into a retired magnum of Ville Prune.

Like the rest of the drinking population, I love a negroni, and I never had any desire to fuck with it. That was until two incredibly chic friends from Berlin came to stay, bringing an exceptional bottle of mezcal to say thank you. They introduced me to the drink, which is exactly the right balance of familiar and intriguing. The smoky mezcal, sweet vermouth and bitter Campari really do work well together.

Ingredients

1/3 Mezcal (again, the better the mezcal, the better the negroni; and again, sorry)

1/3 Sweet Vermouth (I use Antiqua Formula) 

1/3 Campari 

Method

Mix and bottle. Then, when guests arrive, pour into their glass over a large cube of ice. A twist of orange peel is fine, but not necessary. A wonkily cut slice is indefensible.