It’s been one of those long, gray weeks here in Portland — the kind where the sun shows up, sneaks off, and shows up again just enough to make you wonder if you imagined it. By Wednesday night I was done with cooking. I wanted something cold, something orange, something that took exactly as long as it took to wash the glass.
So I made a screwdriver. And I keep coming back to it, which is weird for a drink with two ingredients. But here’s the thing I learned: the proportions matter a lot. Get them wrong and you’re either pouring vodka over flat orange juice, or serving something that tastes like breakfast. Get them right and it’s cold, bright, and gone before it melts.
What you’ll need
That’s it. Three things, and only one of them is a spirit.
- Orange juice — freshly squeezed, or your favorite store-bought bottle. I like mine with pulp, but honestly this is one of those opinions that doesn’t survive contact with the glass. Use whatever you like.
- Vodka — a good, unflavored one. My mother-in-law is a devoted screwdriver drinker and she swears by Tito’s, and I’ve had enough of them to trust her on this. (She’s been a drinker of the classic since long before I was born, so her opinion carries weight in our family.)
- Orange slices — for garnish, if you feel like it. A slice or a wedge, your call.
The recipe below uses 2 ounces (about 60 ml) of vodka and 5 ounces (about 150 ml) of orange juice. That ratio is the whole point — the juice should taste like a drink, not a smoothie.
How to make it
Fill a tall glass with ice. Pour in the vodka — 2 ounces (60 ml). Top with orange juice, about 5 ounces (150 ml). Give it a good stir, add a thin orange slice if you’re feeling decorative, and serve it right away. The ice holds the slice in place better than I expected it to.
That’s the whole method. Two minutes, start to finish.
Ways I’ve made it my own
Once the ratio clicks, it’s easy to bend the drink a little:
- Flavored vodka. Citrus or cherry is a good place to start. Vanilla leans into something sweeter — if you grew up on creamsicles, you’ll know what I mean.
- A little sweetness. A splash of grenadine or simple syrup. Start small — half an ounce (15 ml) — and taste before you add more.
- Lighter version. Half orange juice, half club soda or ginger ale. Same flavor, less of it, and it lasts longer on a hot day.
- Not into orange? Swap in cranberry, mango, or pineapple juice. All three work. I’ve tried them; I’m not a scientist, just a person with a glass.
Where the name comes from (probably)
The honest answer is nobody knows. One story has it going back to the World War II era, when soldiers who couldn’t get their hands on whiskey mixed whatever spirit they could find with orange juice to make it drinkable. Another says American auto workers were adding vodka to their OJ on the job and stirring it with a screwdriver, because of course they were.
What’s less debatable is that by the 1950s and ’60s vodka was catching on in the U.S., and brands like Smirnoff started putting the screwdriver in their ads to push it along. Fifty years later, the trick still works — it’s one of the most recognized cocktails there is.
Questions I actually get asked
Is a screwdriver just vodka and orange juice? Yes. A shot of vodka into a glass of orange juice with ice. It’s the easiest cocktail there is to learn, which is exactly why the ratio matters.
What’s the difference between this and a Fuzzy Navel? The juice swap. A Fuzzy Navel uses peach schnapps instead of vodka. Same shape, different drink.
Do I need expensive vodka? No — and this is the one place I’d actually save money. The orange juice swallows most of what makes a premium vodka special. A quality mid-priced bottle, like Grey Goose, Tito’s, or Smirnoff, is more than enough. Spend up on the juice instead.
A note from Nora
The first time I made one of these, I poured from the vodka bottle by eye, the way I pour everything, and ended up with something that needed a second glass of juice to survive it. Sam, being the supportive husband, drank it anyway. That was my Tuesday test failure — and it taught me the only lesson this drink has to teach: measure, then pour.
It’s not a fancy cocktail. But on an ordinary night, when the kitchen is still warm and the week is finally done, it’s exactly the right amount of something. If I can make it on a Tuesday, it’s a keeper.
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