If you hang around with liquor aficionados long enough, you’ll start getting around to the subject of pedigree—scotch, you see, has to come from Scotland; the blue agave that produces Tequila must be processed by certain standards; Champagne has a strict set of rules that define it; and so on. Even more regionally ambiguous spirits still have a heritage, of sorts: while it’s not unheard of, we might raise an eyebrow at a bourbon from, say, Nevada (though we’d still try it).

But then, there’s gin. The hopeless wanderer, the vagabond, the citizen of the world, the wild child of the liquor bunch. While this particular alcohol doesn’t abide by the governing bodies the aforementioned boozes (and many more) do, it still carries a mystique—and still maintains its fervent defenders. Funny thing, though: there’s not actually a definition for gin. Sure, it’s Juniper-based (usually), but it can also be more citrus-forward, or cucumber heavy. It’s really up to the distiller.

In a way, that’s been part of the reason for gin’s success throughout the centuries. The versatility of its manufacture actually gave it a reputation as a medicine back in the Middle Ages. The relatively cheap cost and flexibility of its constituent ingredients made it a staple throughout the British Empire, and later, in the U.S., when Prohibition was in full swing, it was the hooch of choice for speakeasies (ever hear of bathtub gin?).

Here in the mixological Renaissance of the 21st century, it’s easy to forget that there was a time when gin wasn’t the most in vogue thing you could drink. Cocktails, for all intents and purposes, are a relatively new innovation anyway, but interestingly enough, gin was the prime ingredient in one of the very first.

Like we mentioned, the British Empire was all over the place at one point, and the equator was no exception. Thing is, a lot of equatorial countries were warm, and filled with this crazy disease called malaria, the only treatment for which was a tincture called quinine. Quinine did the job, but man—it tasted horrible.

British ingenuity to the rescue: those intrepid explorers decided to add a little carbonated water, cover it up with gin, and squeeze a lime into it. The Gin and Tonic was born, and the idea lasted for centuries.

Today, the G&T is a staple of any bar. For a cocktail of such humble origins, there exists a wide variation in execution, and it’s surprisingly hard to find a truly good one. The key is in quality ingredients.

First, there’s the spirit itself. Like we said, there’s a wide variety, so the best you can do is try out different brands until you find out which one suits you. Here are our five faves:

• Martin Miller’s – A super-premium gin with an uncommon emphasis on citrus
• Bombay Sapphire – Juniper, coriander and liquorice dominate the palate of this tried and true classic
• Barr Hill Reserve Tom Cat – The amber hue of this gin sets it apart, and the barrel aging lends a mysterious, almost smoky aftertaste to the affair
• Tanqueray 10 – Gin virgins, grab a bottle. It’s versatile, ubiquitous, and makes an amazing martini.
• Brooklyn Gin – This small-batch spirit abides by traditional values, but is backed up by a sinus-filling bouquet of citrus and elderflower notes.

That ought to get you started. As far as tonic is concerned, you’ve got some options, but our money is always on Fever-Tree. These folks make a slew of mixers, but their tonic (and nine out of 10 barkeeps will agree) is the only way to make a G&T.

That being the case, don’t let your gin education stop there. Branch out, especially while it’s still warm out. Gin and St. Germain elderflower liqueur is a refreshing, well-balanced belt that’s a perfect precursor to a dinner party (add a dash of soda water). Or, mix some fresh lemonade and thyme in a pitcher, chill, and add gin for a perfect, unexpected accompaniment to a backyard sunset.

And then, there’s the faithful martini (heck, that could be a whole article in itself). There are (obviously) a million ways to go with this one, but we prefer Lillet in place of vermouth, topped off with a Gorgonzola-stuffed olive. Stirred, never shaken (sorry, 007).