Moscow Mule. Monday afternoon.

Born in 1941 on Sunset Strip. Three people with too much of the wrong thing, vodka no one wanted, ginger beer going flat, copper mugs no one would buy.

They put it all together and called it a cocktail.

The mug isn’t tradition. It’s a woman named Ozeline who inherited a copper factory and needed to move product. The lime isn’t craft. It’s camouflage for cheap vodka.

The Moscow Mule is a lesson in distribution: the best products aren’t always the best products. They’re the ones that solved three problems at once and made it look inevitable.

Ice cascading rivets on galvanized copper. Lime. Monday.