It’s a dull gray and thoroughly depressing afternoon in New York City, and just looking at this photo, which I snapped before breakfast on Christmas morning, cheers me up. I’m not suggesting that one should attempt to banish depression with booze, but a little booze, a little vitamin C, and maybe a little Blossom Dearie might be worth looking into.

For myself and every other Mimosa-maker I know, the recipe goes like this: pour a little orange juice into a champagne flute and top with champagne (or prosecco, or cava). Not much research on my part revealed that the International Bartenders Association’s official recipe for a Mimosa is 2 parts orange juice to 3 parts champagne. Sounds perfectly reasonable to me, though I’m probably not going to start measuring.

A couple of years ago I learned that what we call a Mimosa in the States and in most of Europe is referred to in the UK as Buck’s Fizz. Ardent Anglophile that I am, I decided this was a much nicer name and wanted desperately to start using it here. This would never work, much as it does no good to ask for a Screwdriver in the UK (where they call it, logically, a Vodka and Orange). And in fact Buck’s Fizz, if you’re playing by the IBA’s rules, is a little different from a Mimosa, containing 2 parts orange juice to 1 part champagne and, sometimes, a splash of grenadine.

The Mimosa is attributed to the Hotel Ritz Paris in 1925. Buck’s Fizz predates it by four years, and was born at Buck’s Club in London when its founder, Captain H. J. Buckmaster, wanted to recreate a champagne-and-peach-juice cocktail he had tasted on the Continent. His barman, Mr. McGarry, substituted orange for peach juice, and the rest is fizzy history. For you P. G. Wodehouse fans: the lively, youthful membership at Buck’s inspired the famous Drones Club. [Wodehouse is a splendid antidepressant.]

There is allegedly a secret third ingredient in Buck’s Fizz known only to club members.

I wonder how I’d look in a cravat.