It was 1985, and the boomboxes of Madeira, a Portuguese island off the northwestern coast of Africa, have been blasting Elton John’s “Nikita.”

Oh, Nikita, you’ll by no means know

Something about my dwelling

I’ll by no means know the way good it feels to carry you

Nikita, I want you so

Particularly, the tune was dominating the radio at one specific bar within the fishing port of Câmara de Lobos. Legend has it that in 1985, a bartender there named Marcelino created a daring new drink: a mix of pineapple, ice cream (or maybe pineapple ice cream), beer and wine, which he christened the Nikita. The drink, just like the tune, was a success, and as we speak is obtainable throughout Madeira. 

We don’t know Marcelino’s precise impetus for mixing these disparate components, nevertheless it’s honest to imagine that the bartender, who had not too long ago returned from Brazil, was attempting to create one thing alongside the strains of the batida, or maybe a twist on the Piña Colada. However why did he resolve to call his candy, tropical-leaning concoction after a Chilly Struggle–period keyboard ballad a couple of briefly glimpsed East German border guard? 

Forty years after the discharge of “Nikita,” I used to be in Câmara de Lobos, hoping to make sense of this odd drink. The village is extremely stunning, a port edged by rocky partitions that rise to a steep basin carpeted inexperienced with banana bushes. It’s additionally an essential place for indigenous drink tradition: The poncha, Madeira’s most well-known cocktail, was allegedly invented right here, and the pier was buzzing with bars serving native blended drinks. I headed to the origin.

Marcelino is alleged to have invented the Nikita at a bar referred to as Farol Verde. At this time, the place is called A Casa do Farol, and an indication above the doorway proclaims: “The Authentic Nikita Since 1985.” However lately Marcelino is lengthy gone, the enterprise having modified homeowners in 2014, and the house has extra of a restaurant vibe. I ordered a Nikita, and right into a pitcher went two beneficiant scoops of pineapple ice cream, a trickle of white wine from a field and a scant splash of beer. He blended these with the muddler-like software recognized affectionately on Madeira because the caralhinho, or “little dick,” and poured the drink right into a small mug, garnishing it with a single dice of ice. The drink had a pale yellow coloration, and was cool and refreshing however unabashedly sugary, the cloying sweetness rendering the alcohol basically nonexistent. After a pair sips, I headed throughout the road. 

At my subsequent cease, a bar referred to as Sete Mares, I obtained a crash course within the Nikita, together with its N/A model. Into one glass, the bartender poured the alcohol-free model, a Portuguese pineapple soda blended with pineapple ice cream, which I might come to be taught can be widespread on the island. For the second glass, he mixed the identical ice cream, a teaspoon of sugar, a tiny glass of draught Coral (a sort of native lager) and a beneficiant splash of vinho verde (Portugal’s “inexperienced” wine), mixing them with the muddler (an electrical blender, he stated, will render the drink “too fluffy”). The boozy Nikita was surprisingly balanced—the acidity of the wine and pineapple and the bitterness of the beer holding all that ice cream in examine—and pleasantly refreshing. “The flavors ought to come collectively in a means that nothing stands out,” the bartender advised me.

I felt I used to be beginning to grasp the Nikita: Alcohol was non-obligatory. It was balanced, if a bit candy. It contained three components. And it was inevitably cool and refreshing. However over my subsequent few days on Madeira, I got here to see that no two bars made the drink in the identical means.

At Baú dos Reis, a roadside bar dwarfed by the mountains of inland Madeira, the bartender described the Nikita as “a drink for everyone, even children,” referring to the alcohol-free model. I requested an grownup Nikita and she or he requested if I wished beer or wine. “Each,” I replied, not having realized I had a selection. 

On a distinct day, I realized that pineapple wasn’t the one sport on the town. At Filhos D’ Mar, a bar seemingly devoted to native son Cristiano Ronaldo, I ordered a Nikita. The bartender’s response was, “What variety?” At bars throughout the island, there are strawberry, tangerine and even kiwi Nikitas. He instructed ardour fruit, and I used to be given a Nikita during which the usual pineapple ice cream/beer/wine combo was supplemented with a bonus hit of zest and aroma, the fluorescent orange flecks additionally offering the drink with some visible aptitude. 

That was my first instance of Nikita maximalism, and it was scrumptious. However my order at Taberna da Poncha, certainly one of Madeira’s most well-known bars, went within the polar other way: a pair scoops of pineapple ice cream swiftly muddled with a glug of beer. It was candy and icy, extra dessert than drink. 

On my final day on Madeira, I drove to Venda do Sócio, a bar clinging to a steep hillside on the island’s southeastern coast. A venda is a very Madeiran establishment that features as each a bar and the native bodega, a spot the place bottles of booze share house with family items comparable to potatoes and shampoo. I ordered a Nikita, and the drink was so vibrant and fruity, I felt compelled to ask the bartender if he had used contemporary pineapple relatively than the ever-present pineapple ice cream. His response was to level at a freezer case filled with ice cream bars. 

At that time, I made a decision to cease asking questions, and, reminded of a line in Elton John’s tune—Nikita, I want you so—I ordered another to easily benefit from the weird drink.