Buzz
I have a profound admiration for those who embrace sobriety. My desire is for their joy and acceptance in every setting, including bars. While Dry January has ended, the “sober curious” trend is flourishing, no-proof bars are emerging in urban centers, and brands like Seedlip are offering elegantly packaged non-alcoholic alternatives for home enjoyment. (Seedlip’s popularity is evident—my dad even called to ask about it.) This progress is truly remarkable.
Unfortunately, Seedlip falls short, resembling the La Croix of spirits with its flat, seltzer-like taste. It’s a disappointing product, as it nearly achieves its goal, yet your initial experience heavily influences your perception. My first encounter involved sipping it straight, at room temperature, from a small shot glass, leaving me feeling deceived and misled. The beautifully designed (35-dollar) bottle of Seedlip Grove promised a “refined, warm, citrus blend” with rich botanical extracts and the “cool prickle of Japanese Sansho Peppercorn.” Instead, I tasted something akin to the diluted remnants of a G&T. There was a faint hint of citrus (and citric acid), but nothing more. (Later, I sampled the Spice Seedlip at my bar, finding it slightly more flavorful but oddly medicinal.)
Next, I paired Seedlip with ginger beer, only to taste the ginger beer. With tonic, it was just diluted tonic. With plain seltzer, it mimicked a weaker La Croix. By then, frustration clouded my judgment, and I sought a (preferably sober) second opinion. My go-to sober person (my partner of three years) was unavailable, so I enlisted A.A. Newton (now my neighbor!) and her sober partner (the delightful Thomas) to join me for a tasting experiment.
I prepared two mocktails: a faux daiquiri inspired by Camper English’s Garden Cooler (Camper uses Seedlip Garden; I used Grove), and a Bee’s Knees-inspired drink with two ounces of Seedlip, one ounce of fresh lemon juice, and 3/4 ounce of honey syrup. For each Seedlip mocktail, I also created a control version, substituting water for the non-alcoholic spirit.
To Seedlip’s advantage, my testers did favor the mocktail made with Seedlip. “It has more complexity,” Thomas remarked. Alice added that it “tasted like a high-quality botanical lemonade.” Seedlip seemed promising until they sampled it neat. “This tastes like slightly flavored water,” Alice noted. “If I paid $35 for this, I’d be upset,” Thomas added. “I’d rather drink a liter of Pellegrino—it has more character.”
They then tried Seedlip with tonic, and briefly, Seedlip regained favor. However, after tasting the tonic (Fever-Tree) alone, Thomas concluded that Seedlip “actually diminished the tonic’s flavor and fizz.” As they left, I offered the half-empty bottle of Seedlip to Thomas. He declined.
This highlights Seedlip’s core issue: Its appeal relies entirely on the mixologist’s skill and creativity, as well as the inclusion of other flavorful ingredients. Seedlip does contribute something to mocktails, but it’s subtle and hard to define. “The alcohol substitute should, in theory, be the star, not the faintest note,” Thomas observed, and I agree. Seedlip lacks depth, bitterness, and body. It’s too light, too cautious, and too safe. As Alice initially noted, the Seedlip mocktails resembled excellent botanical lemonades, but there are far more affordable ways to achieve that (lavender syrup, rose water, and fresh herbs come to mind).
With only three testers, I sought additional opinions from individuals with varying levels of alcohol abstinence. My friend Brett, who quit drinking nearly two years ago, expressed a balanced view. “I see skepticism about ‘Dry January’ and ‘sober curious’ movements,” he wrote via email, “but I think it’s positive that people reassess their alcohol consumption. As we age, our bodies, needs, and tastes evolve. Maybe a booze-free month helps someone realize they need a booze-free year—or life. If Seedlip or similar brands aid in that realization, I support it.” However, Brett emphasized the importance of knowing how to use Seedlip: “Like cooking, an ingredient’s potential depends on the chef. I was hesitant to buy a bottle, but after seeing a Denver bartender’s creations, I decided to keep some on hand. Seedlip made me feel like I could rediscover my love for home mixology.”
While Seedlip in its current form may not be essential, the concept behind it is undoubtedly necessary. Many individuals seek a non-alcoholic option that satisfies the craving for a sophisticated cocktail, and Seedlip comes close. Branding matters, and part of the pleasure of a well-stocked bar cart lies in admiring the elegant bottles. Seedlip excels in this regard, but it also serves as an inspiring muse, encouraging both professional bartenders and home enthusiasts to experiment with mocktails. While this innovation holds value, Seedlip itself, in my view, isn’t worth its $30-$35 price tag. A product like this should be enjoyable with just a splash of seltzer, offering flavor without effort. If I wanted to detect the “essence” of a botanical in a drink, I’d opt for a fizzy La Croix instead.
