This Bloody Mary Cured My Hangover and My Fear of Tomato Juice

Many people claim that the Bloody Mary is the ultimate hangover cure. Hair of the dog, one of your five-a-day, and a spicy kick in the backside to shake the fug of regret from last night.

But I've never been convinced. There's something about drinking a vegetable that just seems inherently wrong—almost like sipping cold soup. Ick. The thickness of the tomato juice and the saltiness makes me want to gag, rather than appearing as an obvious antidote to the damage I've inflicted on my liver. Give me a strong builder's cup of tea and a gentle pat on the arm any day.

David Beatty, however, is determined to convince me otherwise. I suspect his motives. A former bartender, he now works for a vodka brand, so of course he's keen to get me back on the bevvies in the morning, even if it does mean cutting the hard stuff with tomato juice.

But Beatty also happens to be something of an expert when it comes to making the ultimate Bloody Mary, and so I keep my doubts in check, and see if he can persuade me that there is a Bloody Mary that's perfect for me.

As luck would have it, I meet Beatty when I happen to have a raging hangover. The kind that makes you clutch furniture like an old lady who might have a funny turn and fall at any moment. So, the gauntlet is down to see if he can fix me up.

Beatty begins with the largest—and for me, the most off-putting—ingredient: tomato juice.

"Most people have never had fresh tomato juice. It will change your life," he promises. "It's nothing like bought tomato juice. It's more like biting into a juicy tomato."

Using fresh tomato juice, Beatty offers me three potential consistencies: gazpacho, juice, or tomato water. Or, as I like to think about it: a sliding scale of so-thick-you-want-to-gag through to something lighter and slightly more palatable. I've never come across tomato water before.

"It's a massive thing in other cultures," he says. "You core the tomato and on the bottom put a cross incision, bring a pot of water to the boil, pop the tomato in for about 30 seconds, then put it into an ice bath, peel the skin off, cook it again, and strain it. What comes out of it is tomato water."

Can you imagine trying to make this with alcohol sweats?

"It is a bit of a process," Beatty concedes. "But it's delicious."

He charges his tomato water with CO2 to make it fizzy and hands me a glass to taste. It's a pink, frothy drink, a little like a thin strawberry milkshake. Sipping it, I'm pleasantly surprised. It's tomato-y but not too full on, and it feels refreshing rather than oppressive to swallow down.

"It's so clean isn't it?" he says. "With a Bloody Mary, you can feel like you're drinking something heavy and quite rich, but this is light. It's almost like having a spritz."

My major issue with the Bloody Mary overcome, it's time to pay attention to the other component parts. Salt, pepper, citrus, vodka, and spice.

"If you'd gone for a heavy drink I'd have recommended something cooler, but with the carbonation of the tomato water, you need some heat," says Beatty.

Traditionally, Tabasco is the go-to ingredient for spice, but a chance conversation with Pritesh Mody (founder and owner of spice importer World of Zing) opened up the options to get more creative with spices like amchoor, Persian dried lime, chubar peppercorns, and pul biber Turkish chili flakes.

"The peppercorns give you a tingling feeling in your mouth that complements the fizz of the soda, but without burning your tongue," Beatty explains. Which is a relief. Who wants to blow their head off with hot spice when they've got a brutal headache? "The Persian dried lime adds an extra zesty citrus, which I like because I'm not a big fan of too much lemon juice in mine."

I'm quickly realising that there is no definitive, cure-all version, of the Bloody Mary. It's very tied up in personal preference.

"There are as many Bloody Marys as there are types of weather, times of day, times of year," Beatty agrees. "It doesn't have to be about one kind of tomato juice, one type of salt or pepper, Tabasco, and citrus."

So, what is it about these core ingredients that is supposedly so helpful for a broken woman like me?

"There are all sorts of theories. Your body needs salt when it's dehydrated, which you are after a heavy night. Tomato juice is full of nutrients to replace the ones you've lost. The spice gives you a kick, and vodka is an eye-opener," he says. "When drinks like these were invented in the 1920s and 30s, they were designed to give you a kick and to get you going."

He goes on to talk about all the non-essential ingredients people add to Bloody Marys. Things like chicken wings, hot dogs, and pizza. Suddenly, the urge to be sick rears its head again.

"In a Bloody Mary?" I exclaim.

"It's very American," he shrugs.

The logic is perhaps that you might want to eat something greasy when you're hungover, so why separate the two? Honestly, I'd rather have my fatty foods on the side than dunked in my drink.

Still, Beatty has probably done what I didn't think possible, and persuaded me that there is a Bloody Mary out there for me. Slightly salty, not too thick, a bit of citrus, a kick of spice, and that magic that is hair of the dog. As I sip it down, my hangover seems to slip away.

Who cares which bit is the bit that's working. All I know is this Bloody Mary bloody worked for me.