The Trinidad Sour uses Angostura bitters as a primary ingredient — an ounce and a half of it, where most cocktails use a dash or two. The drink was created by Giuseppe González in 2009 — he was bartending at the Clover Club in Brooklyn at the time, and entered the cocktail in an industry competition (it placed outside the top ten, then quietly became a modern classic) — and is one of the few genuinely original cocktail structures from the modern American revival. The Angostura provides bitter weight, the orgeat sweetens and rounds, the lemon balances, and the quarter-ounce of rye anchors it.
An ounce-and-a-half of Angostura, in a cocktail, sounds like a mistake — until you taste it.
Bitters as a Base Spirit
Angostura is sold as a bittering agent — a few dashes per drink. González's insight was that Angostura's proof (about 44.7% ABV) is actually higher than most spirits, and its bitter-spice profile can hold its own as the dominant flavor if you balance it with enough sweetness, acid, and a small amount of base spirit. The Trinidad Sour is the proof of concept: an inverted sour built around what is usually a seasoning.
González has been profiled in PUNCH and Imbibe and discussed the drink's origins in interviews; the date and bar are well-attested. He went on to open Suffolk Arms in Manhattan in 2016, but the Trinidad Sour remains the recipe most associated with his name.
The Spec
An ounce and a half of Angostura, an ounce of orgeat, three-quarter ounce of lemon, and half an ounce of rye whiskey. Shaken hard with ice, double-strained into a chilled coupe. No garnish in the original; a brandied cherry is a defensible addition.
Why Orgeat, Not Simple Syrup
Angostura's bitter profile is intense enough that plain sugar syrup reads as too thin. Orgeat — almond-rich, slightly floral — provides body and a textural softness that fills out the drink. González's published recipe is specifically orgeat; a substitution is a different drink.
Rye Choice
Only a half-ounce, so the rye is structural rather than flavor-leading. Rittenhouse Bonded (100-proof) or Wild Turkey 101 — any working bar rye. The half-ounce is what keeps the cocktail from reading as a strange medicinal syrup.
Garnish
González's published version is naked — no garnish. A brandied cherry on the surface is the modern bar's compromise; it doesn't change the drink but breaks up the dark-amber color visually.
Bottom Line
If you've never made one, expect a cocktail that doesn't taste like anything you've had: spiced, slightly herbal, faintly nutty, more bitter than sour. It works. The drink is also a proof that the modern era can still produce structurally original cocktails, not just variations on the canon. Make it once with Angostura specifically — substitute bitters will not work.