How to make the classic cocktail a little bit more classic.

There are few cocktails that hit the spot so reliably as a margarita – that alchemical combination of happy-making tequila, zingy-sweet lime and equilibrating salt. When the temperature is in the Mexican zone and there are amigos, guacamole, music etc, there is no nobler beverage. But, with Cinco de Mayo just around the corner, it is a particularly pertinent concoction.

Despite the margerita’s popularity, there are few cocktails that are so routinely defiled and disgraced. If you’re making your margaritas with tequila that comes in a bottle with a red plastic sombrero on top, you’re making them wrong. If you’re making them with Jose Cuervo Margarita Mix, you’re making them wrong. If you’re making them in a frozen slushie machine… ah you get the idea. But the thing is, even if you’re making them according to the classic specs (3:2:1 tequila/orange liqueur/lime), well, you could do better. The margarita is just one of those classics that’s never been quite right.

The word margarita is Spanish for “daisy”. While the origins are obscure, a daisy was a simple old sour drink, a combination of spirit + citrus + sweetness. The spirit in this case is tequila, obviously (100 per cent agave – keep the other stuff in the medicine cabinet), the citrus is lime, and the sweetness traditionally arrives by way of orange liqueur, classically, triple sec or Cointreau. The first known recipe combining these ingredients (minus all the business with the salt) was noted down by Mr William J Tarling in the envelope-pushing Café Royal Cocktail Book of 1937, only Mr Tarling chose the name “picador” for a bit of Hispanic exotica. He suggests equal parts tequila, lime and Cointreau, adding in his glossary that tequila is “a pale-yellow spirit distilled from the Mexican cactus…” suggesting he was using reposado, or “rested” tequila, which has spent a little time in the barrel.

Cointreau is an ingredient that seems more at home in a fancy 1930s London bar than a Mexican cantina. Mr Tarling was no purist: among the dozen or so tequila cocktails in his book are sours sweetened with grenadine, maraschino and apricot brandy.

It was San Francisco bartender Mr Julio Bermejo who made the crucial margarita upgrade in the 1990s, subbing out the orange liqueur for pure agave syrup and calling it Tommy’s margarita after the Mexican restaurant his family ran. (And still do.) That it seems an obvious improvement in retrospect shouldn’t diminish Mr Bermejo’s cleverness. The Tommy’s margarita has the logic of the “natural” daiquiri in that it uses the same base material of the alcohol – in this case agave – as the sweetener, and thus returns the tequila to its succulent roots. You might miss the warmth of the orange, but that’s easily remedied with a dash of orange bitters and/or a spritz of real orange juice. A Tommy’s is not only less expensive to make than a “classic” margarita, it’s better for you, too. My tequilera friend Ms Cleo Rocos calls it a “no-hangover margarita” and refuses to drink anything else.

We must dismantle a few more affectations, too, built up in crap Tex-Mex restaurants over the years. I’d personally smash all those silly margarita glasses. What do they bring to the drink? Nada. As for the salt rim, it’s at once a bit fiddly caking the salt onto the glass and a bit of a cheat, since the salt’s main function is to disguise other low-quality ingredients and/or inexpert mixing. A pinch in the shaker does the trick; otherwise just serve it with a nice bowl of tortilla chips. Personally, I like my margaritas served down with enough ice to keep it at chilly until the very last sip. A single large cube will do the trick; just freeze water in any large plastic container and then hack it up into rugged ’bergs.

Once the drink has been pared back to its essence, that’s when you can begin to fool around again. Here are some suggestions:

My own personal margarita epiphany arrived at Gracias Madre, the vegan Mexican beloved of West Hollywood fashionistas – on whose recipe this is based. Sometimes this is known as a “skinny margarita”, but it’s really a Tommy’s retooled for the purist.

If you want to do the orange salt rim bit, combine equal parts cane sugar, coarse salt and orange zest and bash it all together so flavours leech into one another. Wipe a bit of lime around the outer rim of a rocks glass, dip it in the salt and shake off the excess.

For the cocktail itself (the important bit!), shake the tequila, lime, agave and orange bitters with plenty of ice and fine strain into the rocks glass containing a large lump of ice. No garnish.

An adaptation of one of the house serves at Licorería Limantour in ​Mexico City. It’s a potable take on tacos al pastor, traditionally served with roast pineapple and fresh coriander/cilantro. (If you don’t have orange liqueur, use 15ml agave syrup and a spritz of orange juice instead.)

Rim a rocks glass with salt if you fancy. Shake up everything else in with plenty of ice and fine strain into the rocks glass over a large lump of ice. Garnish with fresh pineapple.

Mezcal is the wilder, hipper cousin of tequila – ask a savvy bartender about it and prepare for a 20-30 minute monologue about espadín varietals and Oaxacan history; or simply read the MR PORTER here. The main difference, taste-wise, is that it’s smoked, giving it a scotch-y, kerosene-y quality. I’ve borrowed a trick from Mr Rick Bayless’s Topolobampo restaurant in Chicago and added a snifter of brandy to this – a well-aged cognac would be wonderful – which lends a certain finesse to a street-fighting spirit.

Rim a coupe if you like; if not just drop a pinch of salt into the shaker. Combine all the ingredients and shake hard with plenty of ice then fine strain into the coupe. Garnish with a lime wedge.