I really liked the new film incarnation of Miami Vice. That is, except for the first bit of dialog in the movie–a shameless plug for Bacardi rum. “A Bacardi Mojito (tm!)” sayeth Crockett. (No doubt hurting the feelings of our friends at Last Call, who are said to be devoted fans of the Aristocrat mojito.)

So yeah, mojitos are so hot right now. And to think, for the longest time, I didn’t even like mojitos. And that, I learned, is because hardly anybody makes them correctly. Which is a tad bit ironic, because mojitos are positively simple to make. The mojito is the Cuban farmer’s drink. It originated sometime between 1850, when the Cuban rum industry really modernized, and the early 20th century, when things like ice and charged water became widely available to the working class. It’s so gosh darn proletarian that it is often called “the Budweiser of Cuba.”

But you wouldn’t know it from reading articles like this one from the Miami Herald:

“Not a lot of consumers are going to make the effort and take the time to make an authentic mojito,'’ said Paul Nardone, chief executive of Stirrings, a Massachusetts company that makes the mojito mix for Williams-Sonoma, Delta Airlines and its own label. “It’s a very intimidating drink. We solve the problem for a lot of people.”

Yeah. Intimidating problems like fogging a mirror or counting to 3. Keep reading.

The mojito, like many classic cocktails, is a handmade drink. Like all things handmade, you cannot cut corners without seeing quality drop exponentially. But if you’re in the business of buying liquor for pennies and selling it for dollars, you probably won’t be willing to take time for something as quaint as muddling fresh lime juice and mint. And hey, it’s Charleston, so no one would probably notice anyway.

How to make an authentic mojito:

If you’ve never made a “real” mixed drink in your life, this is a wonderful place to start. You will not laugh. You will not cry. You will learn by the numbers. I will teach you.

A shaker.
The juice of 1/2 lime.
Cut an entire lime into quarters, use 2 of them. That thing that looks like a medieval pair of pliers is a lime press–I got mine at Kroger. Not required, but helpful. Squeeze out as much juice as you can into a shaker.

2 ounces of rum.
Measure. Get a jigger and know how to use it.

1 ounce of simple syrup.
This is important. It’s also simple. It’s called simple syrup for a reason. Ready? Take an empty bottle with a lid on it–an empty plastic soda bottle for example–and put equal parts sugar and water in it. Put the lid back on and shake it. It’ll cloud up, but when it settles, shake it again. When the sugar is dissolved it’s ready to use. Simple.

A sprig of fresh mint.
Here’s where the muddling comes in–throw the mint in the shaker with the booze and juice, and crush it up with the end of a large wooden spoon. Or a souvenir baseball bat. Seriously.

Shake this with ice, and pour into a glass. Top it off with cold club soda, and give it a stir.

You could garnish it with more another sprig of mint, but it really doesn’t matter. This simple combination of flavors you are about to enjoy is one of the most wonderful creations ever devised by humans.

Bonus: Rum gives me a hell of a headache. (A headache in every sip, I always say.) If you suffer the same affliction, you may substitute vodka for a different, but equally sublime beverage.

Double bonus: Now that leftover simple syrup, know that you have one of the 2 major ingredients (the other being lemon or lime juice) of thousands of classic cocktails in your refrigerator.

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