Myrica gale answers to several names, and one of them explains the bottle. Bog myrtle in English, royal spice in French, it is a shrub of wet moorland whose leaves were prized long before anyone thought of putting them in a still, and Ghost in a Bottle makes it the centre of a Belgian gin that looks back to the medieval kitchen for its ideas.

The plant itself is the reason to pay attention, because very few distillers use it. Its leaves are resinous and aromatic in a way that sits somewhere between eucalyptus and bay, cooling at first and then turning faintly bitter, and that bitterness is what gives the whole recipe its spine. Bay leaf runs alongside it, drier and more savoury, doubling the herbal register without adding sweetness. Anise brings its liquorice lift and pepper a sharp aromatic bite, and between them they push the spice side forward while the herbs hold the middle. Fruit appears in the background, unnamed and understated, and honey rounds the base with a soft sweetness that stops the bitterness from becoming severe. Juniper anchors everything, pine-clean and quite classical, which matters when the rest of the list is this unusual.

Bitterness and honey are a delicate balance, and a sweetened mixer destroys it immediately. A plain tonic over a heavily iced glass is the safe build, and the ratio should favour the spirit so the myrtle stays legible. For garnish, a bay leaf slipped into the glass follows the recipe exactly and looks better than it sounds; lemon peel is the option that sharpens the top instead. A garnish that repeats a botanical is nearly always better than one introducing a fresh idea. Reviving a plant the drinks trade forgot centuries ago is a genuine risk, and here it pays off. It ends herbal, peppery and dry.