A minor alcoholic mystery: why is a super-sweet liqueur described as "three times dry"? Well, check your Larousse and you'll see that triple sec also means "neat", especially in reference to alcohol. Which only adds to the mystery: once you've tasted triple sec, you know full well you wouldn't want to be shooting it neat. (They say triple sec means, in this case, triple-distilled, not that I can find any reference to the fact that any of it is, in fact, thrice distilled.)

It sure is sweet, though. And what would a Long Island iced tea or mai tai or margarita worth its salt be without it? To say nothing of an Adios Motherfucker. If you check a bar book for triple sec'd drinks, you may find, as I did, some 1,757 different ones, quite a few of them incorporating the equally ubiquitous F word.

A thumbnail description of triple sec might read like this: a strong, sweet, and colourless orange-flavoured liqueur made from the dried peel of oranges found on Curaíƒ §ao, an island in the Caribbean. Sometimes the colourless aspect is disregarded, there being on the market several blue curaíƒ §aos that have an antifreezelike look, as if they'd be more at home on a shelf next to the windshield-washer fluid.

Curaíƒ §ao, Grand Marnier, and Cointreau are classed as triple secs and are among the best-known, best-tasting, and most-popular. But if you're mixing--and really, what else is there to do with it?--you can easily opt for the several cheaper, generic triple secs on the market.

In the interest of research I hauled some from the LDB shelves and carted them to a safe place for sampling. As is the custom in all things spirituous, the first taste was straight. After the teeth stopped fibrillating, all the bottles went into the freezer for a few hours and things got better.

Not all triple secs are created equal, alcoholwise: these ranged in strength from 21 to 40 percent. Prices were correspondingly all over the map, too: from less than $20 to nearly $50. We could have gone higher with some of those specialty Grand Marniers, but there was minimal support for the motion. Our seven were:

BOLS BLUE CURACAO The common question was "Why?" It makes for an interesting- (if violent-) looking cocktail for not-all-that-interesting but doubtless violent-seeking youngsters. It had no taste, certainly none discernibly orange (21 percent, $18.95; all prices for 750 millilitres).

MEAGHERS GRAND CURACAO The colour is light-brandy, the flavour not so orangey-crisp as the regular Meaghers Triple Sec (35 percent), duller on the palate, kind of flat, and for two bucks more, what's the point? (35 percent, $21.99)

McGUINNESS ORANGE & BRANDY No one was really sure if this was actually a triple sec. It had a pale-sherry colour, and the taste was oily and carried a bit of a burn; maybe for hot drinks, Spanish coffees (35 percent, $23.99).

HENKES TRIPLE SEC Clear, light, and sweet, with the orange taste way back and quite a syrupy texture, it had a nice clean smell, but the Meaghers would prove to beat it with its fresher aroma and, despite higher alcohol, less viscosity; a gentle bite, a rich orange flavour, and a nice, warming feel as it slid down--it remains my standard for bulk margaritas (23 percent, $20.55; and see below).

GRAND MARNIER SPECIAL EDITION 2004 The celebration bottle is very pretty, and what's in it we all know well: oranges in abundance, a well-integrated taste with the alcohol in control, the flavours long and lingering. If someone serves it to you in a warmed snifter, take it out on the back porch and let it cool down a little; the warmth of your hand is quite enough to release those volatile aromas, and besides, that way the stuff doesn't get up your nose and make you sputter (40 percent, $46.35).

COINTREAU No one was surprised that this topped the list; that esprit d'orange is simply what the taste of triple sec is all about. The classic and the classiest, crystal-clear, iced, solo, in a shot glass--displaying its fabulous texture and weight, all full in the mouth without coming across oily--rich and orangey and unctuous. The old saw still holds true, I guess: you get what you pay for (40 percent, $30.89).

So your three-star selection is, in order: Cointreau, Meaghers Triple Sec (the best buy in the bunch), and Grand Marnier.

Should you develop a strong and sudden urge to make one of the aforementioned AMFs, it's accomplished by shaking together one ounce each of gin, light rum, tequila, vodka, and blue cura?ao, plus a couple of ounces of sweet-and-sour bar mix, all poured over the rocks and topped with a final ounce of Sprite or 7-Up. That's five ounces of booze. No wonder the word adios figures in the name. For an extra couple of bucks at the bar, more or less, you can get an extra couple of ounces of liquor in there, for a total of seven; the recipe for Whop Me Down Sweet Jesus also requires an ounce of regular triple sec and boosts the blue cura?ao content to two ounces.

For these taste buds, the best use of triple sec is in the gimlet and the margarita. Instructions follow. Clip 'n' save for summer.

The Oceanwood Gimlet: vodka, Rose's Lime, triple sec in proportions 2:4:1. Stirred, shaken, your call; slice of fresh lime on the side. Serve iced but straight up.

The Anasazi Margarita (my house recipe comes from a helpful bartender in Santa Fe who only had the party-size recipe, so it makes a significant amount): five litres gold tequila, four litres triple sec, 3.75 litres fresh lime juice, 1.875 litres fresh lemon juice, 450 grams superfine sugar (not icing sugar). Assemble in a large pail with lots of ice and serve in the traditional salt-rimmed glasses. Keep serving. Nobody drive for a week.