The first time I had grenadine – and the first time you probably had grenadine – was in a kiddie cocktail. A Shirley Temple. (Or a Roy Rogers, if the restaurant believed in rigid gender binaries.) It felt thrilling, because it was your first brush with the adult bar, a tiny act of culinary transgression. Grenadine! That was the stuff grown-ups used. Pour a little into a glass of soda, drop in a cherry, add a paper umbrella or a plastic sword, and suddenly you were the most sophisticated 6-year-old in the dining room.