Read the botanical list and it becomes a map. Juniper from Macedonia, citrus peel from Italy and the wider Mediterranean, vanilla from Madagascar, cardamom and star anise from the Far East, and then, alone among the seventeen, fresh green hops picked in Belgium. Everything travels except the one ingredient the country is famous for, and that inversion is the argument the bottle makes at 40%.

Hops are the reason to open it. Fresh green hops rather than dried pellets keep a grassy, floral quality that the dried form loses, and in a spirit they behave quite differently from how they behave in beer: the bitterness is lighter, the aroma more herbal and more floral, and the whole thing stays delicate rather than turning resinous. Around them the imported botanicals do familiar work in unfamiliar company. Macedonian juniper holds a clean pine centre, Mediterranean citrus peel supplies the brightness across the top, and coriander with lemon zest sharpens the join between the two. Madagascar vanilla is the softening agent underneath, and it prevents the hops from drying the palate out. Cardamom and star anise add cool camphor and liquorice respectively, and the remaining botanicals fill in behind them. Light, delicate and smooth is the shape, with a dry citrus finish.

The producer's own advice is a quality tonic with citrus zest and fresh coriander, and it is worth taking literally. Use a tonic that is neither flavoured nor flat, pack the ice in, then add the coriander sprig last so it stays green. Lemon or grapefruit peel both work above it. Nothing sweetened belongs anywhere near this. Seventeen botanicals could easily blur, and the hops are what keep the recipe pointed in one direction. It ends floral, herbal and dry.