There’s something perversely seductive about a flower that blooms only once a year and dies before sunrise. Selenicereus grandiflorus, or the Queen of the Night, unfurls after dusk, in a brief, biological crescendo before vanishing by morning. Native to the dry forests of Central America, it thrives in scarcity, opening only when it’s least expected.

SEVENTY ONE Gin, co-founded by photographer Mert Alas, uses this rare bloom not as marketing flourish but as a key note: the absolute—a highly concentrated, aromatic oil— of Queen of the Night is added just before the spirit is rested in oak casks. The result is a gin with a spectral top note—high-frequency, dry, and unsentimental. Where most gins chase citrus and brightness, this one leans noir: a perfect blend of cream, spice, and herbs, anchored by a botanical that feels more like a coded message.

The Queen of the Night is notoriously difficult to harvest. Its bloom must be caught at peak volatility, then individually distilled to preserve its aromatic structure. It’s a process more common to perfumery than spirits, and that’s exactly the point. SEVENTY ONE is cultivating a precision that can’t be mass-manufactured. Each decision is about clarity, tension, and discipline—qualities that feel increasingly rare in luxury, or anywhere these days.

Beyond direct taste, Queen of the Night leaves behind a feeling. Like the flower itself, this gin haunts. In an era of overexposure, SEVENTY ONE makes a case for attention. For mystery. For something that blooms once—and then is gone.