As much as he likes to fancy himself an expert on all things zombie-related, Jeff Berry doesn’t mind admitting there are those who are far more knowledgeable. For years, the man who’s been described as the world’s premier tiki-cocktail archaeologist has been on a mission to revive interest in what’s been dubbed the most infamous tropical drink of all. For a long time, it seemed like the world no longer cared about the zombie, not to mention the Lady of Singapore, the Samoan Typhoon, the Sleeping Giant, or Kelbo’s Scorpion.

But recently, Berry—who wrote 2007’s indispensable Sippin’ Safari—has discovered there’s been a sea change in the world of cocktail enthusiasts.

“I always thought I swim in a very small pond where only me and a small handful of other people cared,” says the author also known as Beachbum Berry on the line from his home in Asheville, North Carolina.

“But it’s kind of surprising how many people do. I just did a seminar in Fort Lauderdale where there were 200 people who all knew more than I did.”

Not only was the entire hotel booked by Polynesian-drink obsessives, many of them had set up impromptu bars in their rooms.

“You could do a crawl from one bar to the other where people made tropical drinks,” Berry says. “Some of them were fantastic, and all of them were authentic—the real thing. And these weren’t professional cocktail people—they were just people who were into tiki and tiki drinks.”

The revivalists aren’t just amateur mixologists. While basil-infused ginger martinis and old-fashioneds made with bacon-infused bourbon are all the rage among upscale urban professionals, a new generation is looking to the past for kitsch-cool inspiration.

“I’ve done dinners and presentations and seminars across Europe and the rest of the U.S.,” Berry says. “I’m starting to see a groundswell of interest in tiki drinks from people who normally would have totally looked down their nose at them a couple of years ago. In New York, I did a talk for a bunch of bartenders at PDT—the speakeasy Please Don’t Tell—and all these big names were there: the owners of bars like Pegu Club, the Clover Club, and the Flatiron Lounge. These are, like, A-plus, world-famous bars, and they were there wanting to learn about these drinks. I think they are all looking for new ways to flex their muscles with something a little more difficult and elaborate. Bartenders and mixologists are getting attracted to these drinks because of the challenges they present because they are so complicated.”

More mixologists are falling under the tiki spell. Valerie Loiseleux photo.

Indeed, as much as the bartenders at some chain restaurants would like us to believe otherwise, a shot of rum, a jigger of Dole pineapple juice, and a half-bottle of grenadine do not a zombie make—or, for that matter, a mai tai, a planter’s punch, or a Golden Stag. Berry isn’t surprised, though, that the recipes that sparked the tiki boom have been bastardized and watered down. Take the zombie, for example, created in the 1930s by Donn Beach of the now-demolished cocktail-nation shrine Don the Beachcomber’s. Originally known as the Zombie Punch, it called for nine ingredients, including three kinds of rum, Herbsaint, bitters, a ginger-lime syrup called falernum, and a secret ingredient known as Don’s Mix.

For years after the ’30s tropical-cocktail boom, bartenders did their best to crack the code of classics concocted by Beach and fellow iconic mixologist Victor “Trader Vic” Bergeron. The problem was that the recipes were kept so secret that only the people making the drinks at Don the Beachcomber’s and Trader Vic’s knew them, and they weren’t giving them up. And that didn’t change when the tiki boom finally went bust in the ’80s. For Sippin’ Safari, Berry’s great gift to Polynesian-drink enthusiasts was tracking down the surviving legends and prying their secrets from them.

“Everyone everywhere was really tightlipped, and they still are if they are still alive,” he says. “These were top-secret drinks, and they were kind of the meal ticket for the people who made them. If you knew how to make these secret potions, then you were very sought after by restaurants and bars that wanted to serve these drinks, because there was such a huge demand.”

Credit goes to the ’90s lounge revival for rekindling that demand. Even if the appeal was based largely on the kitsch factor, suddenly tropical cocktails became retro-cool. In spreading the gospel through Sippin’ Safari, Beachbum Berry’s Intoxica! (2002), and Beachbum Berry’s Grog Log (1998), Berry has also found himself much sought after; now out of print, the originally bargain-priced Intoxica! and Sippin’ Safari can fetch close to $100 on-line.

The reason they’re so prized is simple: besides chronicling the history of Polynesian drinks, they serve up the original recipes from the glory years, many of them carefully coaxed out of those who were mixing cocktails at ground zero.

Berry—whose upcoming book Beachbum Berry Remixed combines Grog Log and Intoxica! and adds new recipes and pictures—warns that there’s a downside to the tiki rebirth: once you figure out how to make that perfect zombie at home, getting anything accomplished after happy hour becomes mission impossible.

“What I’ve started to do is force myself not to drink,” he notes with a laugh, revealing that the best strategy is making sure you don’t have the necessary ingredients on hand. “For example, I won’t have limes in the house since that’s what a lot of recipes call for. I’ll storm around looking for them, and then be like, ”˜Alright”¦okay.’ I’ve had to trick myself into not drinking.”