Maybe I’m a little off, but I’ve always wanted to own a bar—and live in it as well. Whether it’s the plush, red leather booths, the big, pulsing jukeboxes, the mellow, soft lighting, I don’t know. I suppose it could be all that booze. But over the years, I’ve enlivened many an idle moment—standing on line at the post office, becalmed on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, captive in a conference room—by figuring out just what tunes I’ll have on the jukebox in my bar-home, where I’ll put the Big Buck Hunter machine, what cute names I’ll paint on the restroom doors (Innies and Outies? Checks and Mates?). And, of course, precisely what bottles will be ranked behind the bar.

It’s a harmless fantasy, to be sure, and a not particularly realistic one. I have, however, managed to live one part of the dream. My house is fully stocked with booze. Twelve years of writing about spirits and cocktails have seen to that. Between the bottles people have sent me and what I’ve picked up in my travels, you want it, I’ve got it. Scotch? Sure. Cognac? Check. Barrel-aged cachaça? Goan cashew fenny? You want that over ice or neat? I’ve got bourbon that was distilled in 1919. I’ve got 39 different bottles of rum on the wall. I’ve even got, God help me, a shelf full of blueberry-flavored vodkas and cookie dough–flavored liqueurs and suchlike, although that shelf’s down in the basement, hidden behind the water heater.

I say all this not to gloat, mind you, but to establish my credentials. Most of those bottles gather dust. I’d like to talk about a few that don’t. By that I mean the booze, given practically unlimited access to the stuff, I actually use to mix drinks with; the bottles I’d buy to restock my bar should I one day put my house in the custody of teenagers or invite the English National Rugby Union team over for a drink.

Here, then, is what experience has shown me to be essential to stocking a bar. I’ve limited my choices to a little more than a dozen mixing spirits; the sipping ones can wait for another time. With these, you should be able to turn out enough different cocktails to satisfy any conceivable mix of friends you might be entertaining, short of the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union. And just to get your shaker warmed up, I’ve added a few can’t-miss cocktail recipes.

Gin

The modern cocktail bar begins with gin. Gin is to the ’teens what vodka was to the ‘80s—the lightest, most mixable spirit you can drink and still seem cool. And judging by the number of new gins on the market, the decade seems likely to end awash in the stuff as well, buried under a mountain of cleverly designed bottles. Most of those newfangled gins I don’t drink, at least not often. Their eccentric approach to botanicals—they’ll often use not just juniper and coriander, which are standard, but things like feverfew, chamisa, and dragon’s eye, which are decidedly not—can make them taste weird in a standard Martini, a simple sour, or a G&T. Even so, it’s still worth having one of these exotics around to invent interesting new drinks when the mood strikes.

1) Plain-old London Dry gin. What with all the novelties around, people sometimes forget how good an old-fashioned London Dry gin can be. I’ve always liked Tanqueray for its juniper-heavy boldness, but Beefeater, Boodles, or Junípero also work just fine in your canonical gin drinks.

2) Plymouth gin. Both a brand and a style of gin, Plymouth is light, clean, and fragrant and mixes perfectly with lemon juice when you want a Tom Collins or such.

3) One oddball. Whether it’s Hendrick’s, flavored with cucumber and rose, or Whitley Neill, flavored with baobab berries, or one of the domestic microdistilled gins such as St. George Botanivore, I like to have a new-style gin on hand for times I’m feeling creative (try one out in the Buckingham, below).

4) Vodka. I’m listing vodka here since all it is is unflavored gin (gin is unflavored spirit that has been distilled with juniper and other botanicals; vodka is unflavored spirit that hasn’t). I like Eastern European vodkas for their flinty minerality (look for Russian Standard or the excellent Shpilka if you can find it), but Absolut, in a more neutral style, is fine, too. Whatever I buy, I keep it in the freezer, so I have the option of pouring it out in little shots with nibbles on the side. Not an everyday procedure, drinking straight vodka, but tough to beat when you do indulge. Beyond that, it’s good to keep a bottle of the stuff around to mix drinks with for friends who absolutely insist. Otherwise, use gin or white rum. Your drink will taste better.

Whiskey

I’ve left out Irish whiskey here because most of the time the bottle is empty before I even get to mixing drinks. Funny how that works. You should definitely keep a bottle around—John Powers is cheap and fine, and Bushmills 10-Year-Old Malt is utterly delicious—if only to have something to sip on while you’re deciding which drinks to mix for your guests.

5) Rye or bourbon. For my Manhattans, Old Fashioneds, and Whiskey Sours—bedrock drinking if ever there was—I prefer a 100-proof (more or less) rye, such as the new Knob Creek Rye or the old standby, Rittenhouse Rye. But I’ll take a 100-proof bourbon (such as Old Forester Bonded) over an 80-proof rye. Proof counts in these cocktails: They were invented to tame strong whiskey. That 100 proof means there’s more alcohol, to be sure, but also more flavor; that matters when you’re mixing drinks.

6) There are a few Scotch cocktails worth making, chief among them the Rob Roy (basically, a Scotch Manhattan). For these, Famous Grouse or Johnnie Walker Black will always yield good results: They’ve got enough Scotch flavor to contribute something unique to the drink without overpowering it (or your wallet) like a serious single-malt would.

7) Bols Barrel Aged Genever. Okay, Genever—Dutch gin—is not technically whiskey. But it’s awfully close, seeing as it’s basically a flavorful grain spirit distilled with a little juniper and a few spices. And it makes a kickass substitute for whiskey in a cocktail (see suggestions for the Classic Manhattan, below), bringing a little zing to it without changing it beyond recognition.

Rum

Rum is so broad a category, it’s almost meaningless. With the spectrum it covers, from white and flavorless to dark and mellow like an old Cognac, it basically reproduces the whole ecosystem of booze in the key of sugarcane. For everyday mixing, however, I go through just 2 of the 859 styles of rum: white rum and what was formerly known as “Navy Rum,” depending on if I’m making Daiquiris or a bowl of punch.

8) The key to good white rum is that it actually tastes of sugarcane. Banks 5 Island does just that, which means that a Daiquiri made with it tastes like something more than alcoholic limeade.

9) A bowl of real rum punch is just about the best reason to have friends. To make it work, though, you need a rich, strong, and very funky rum, just like the British Navy used to issue to its men (no coincidence: British sailors invented punch in the first place). For that, there’s nothing better than Smith & Cross Traditional Jamaica Rum.

Cognac and Armagnac

I have a hard time keeping what I consider mixing-grade French brandies in the house. You get into the Sidecars or the Brandy Juleps and those bottles are doomed to extinction. Of course, what I consider mixing grade in this category is very good stuff indeed—but if you can’t be a snob when it comes to French brandy, when can you?

10) The Sidecar (that’s two parts Cognac to one part each lemon juice and Cointreau, shaken and strained) is one of the most delightful of all cocktails, but if you use a younger VS-grade Cognac you won’t get much brandy flavor in it. With a VSOP—I like Martell and Courvoisier, among many others—it’s rich and tart, smooth and refreshing.

11) Perhaps the greatest brandy-based drink ever invented is the Mint Julep. That’s right: Before the Civil War, French brandy was the preferred spirit in this American classic. And small wonder—make it with a rich, old, and expensive brandy and you’ll get all the complexity of the old bourbon coupled with a suavité that’s truly French. But XO-grade brandy—what we’re talking about here—is expensive. Armagnac, at least, is two thirds to three quarters of the price of Cognac and every bit as delicious. I like the Castarède XO, but almost any XO Armagnac will make a fine Julep.

Tequila

Finally, the spirit of the agave. One thing I’ve learned in my years of cocktail writing is that you can’t tell anybody how to make a Margarita. It’s like barbecue—everybody’s got their own way and it’s just the best. All you can do is advise that they use a good tequila. Or, if they’re a little crazy, a mezcal, tequila’s smoky, badass cousin.

12) If you like a bold, sharp, and vegetal tequila (many of us do), you can’t do better than El Tesoro Platinum, a wildly flavorful tequila from the highest part of Mexico’s tequila region. If you prefer something rich, mellow, and earthy, I’m very partial to Partida Reposado.

13) If you’re the type of person who thinks mezcal sounds intriguing, there’s no better place to start than with Vida. After that, you’re into the world of artisanal sipping mezcals; you may never come back.

The Wild Card

Finally, every bar needs an oddball bottle of something or other that nobody’s heard of and that happens to make fabulous cocktails if you know just what to do with it. It can be Pisco from Peru or Chile (look for Barsol or Alto del Carmen); Batavia arak from Indonesia via Holland (look for Batavia-Arrack van Oosten); aquavit, traditionally from Scandinavia (Norway’s Linie is excellent, as is Oregon-made Krogstad); or—well, basically anything. Take a chance on something unusual: Life is short and the world is full of booze.

Mixers: Liqueurs, Fortified Wines, and Bitters

Of course, you’ll need some of each of these. Angostura Bitters and Regans’ Orange Bitters No. 6 are cocktail essentials (a Manhattan without Angostura is like a Caesar salad without anchovies, and orange bitters do wonderful things to a dry Martini). Also indispensable are red and white vermouths: Martini & Rossi red and Noilly Prat white are the traditional first-reach choices; they’re fine, but there are many other choices to explore, many of them good. In the 19th century, when the art of the bar was new, the only liqueurs generally on hand were orange curaçao (as recommended in my gin cocktail recipe, the Buckingham, below), Bénédictine, green and yellow Chartreuse, and Maraschino. Keep any two of these on hand and you can liven up an ocean of cocktails; just add a teaspoonful and see what happens (for the Maraschino, look for Luxardo or Maraska).

There’s more stuff out there, obviously; a lot more. Much of it is good (although I’d advise staying away from the cashew fenny). But if you stick with these 13 bottles and a few mixers for a while, try out different proportions, and practice your techniques (hint: stirring takes the most practice; it’s all in the wrist—your arm should stay still), you’ll be ready to handle just about anything and make any guest happy. Even—who knows?—someone who fantasizes about living in a bar.

RECIPES

The Buckingham

This simple formula is quite adaptable: You can use any fortified wine or aperitivo (e.g., Aperol, Cocchi Americano, vermouth) in place of the Campari, and you can substitute any 80-proof orange liqueur of good quality for the curaçao.

The Classic Manhattan

Why even try to improve on it? The only secret is to use enough vermouth.

The Original Daiquiri

Navy Rum Punch

Brandy Julep

Brooklyn-based David Wondrich is the James Beard Award–winning author of Punch and Imbibe!, among other books. He has covered cocktails for more magazines and newspapers than he can count; What Your Drink Says About You was his last story for Gourmet Live.