0
Last updated: August 19, 2026
Born on the bayou below New Orleans, Joseph “Joe” Thibodeaux sailed the old rum schooners between Havana and the French Quarter. One August, on the run home, a hurricane caught his ship in the Gulf. For three days the storm tossed them, and all that was left in the hold was rum, passion fruit and limes. Joe mixed them over the last of the ice. When the schooner limped into New Orleans, Joe named the drink after the storm that nearly took him — Joe’s Hurricane — and brought it home to a tiny candlelit courtyard bar off Bourbon Street.
Joe never measured. He used one bottle for everything: pour it in, fill it again, pour again. Every drink came out perfect, and the regulars swore it was a charm. For the boat pilots steering home through the dark bayou, he made it with no spirits at all. “Everybody gets a vacation,” he’d say.
One hurricane night, Joe vanished. But on hot summer nights, folks still see his lantern drifting over the water. He looks scary, but he only haunts bad parties.
Trey White spent years in the daiquiri and ice machine business before he bottled a drop of his own. He'd been around the equipment, the recipes, and the industry long enough to know exactly what people actually wanted out of a frozen drink — and long enough to keep circling back to the idea that he could build something better himself. That itch stuck around for years before he finally acted on it.
In 2019, that idea became Daiquiri Joe — started locally in Houston, built around real fruit and a recipe worth standing behind. The original pouches sold around town, in coolers at local gas stations, one customer at a time. It was small, it was regional, and it worked because the drink itself was good enough to bring people back.
The attitude behind the brand goes back further than 2019, though — back to a porch in New Orleans, a blender, and better fruit than the recipe called for. It worked at the lake, at the tailgate, in the cooler at 2pm on a Saturday. That's the energy Trey built Daiquiri Joe around from day one: New Orleans flavor, zero pretension, made for people who just want a good drink in their hand.
A pouch full of liquor can only travel so far — shipping alcohol across state lines isn't something a small company can just decide to do. So to bring Daiquiri Joe to more people than a Houston cooler ever could, we took the one ingredient nobody actually needed us to provide, and kept everything else exactly the same. Same real fruit, same New Orleans attitude, same flavors worth fighting over. You bring the rum — or don't. Either way, it hits.
Daiquiri Joe is that same recipe and the same attitude, just built to ship anywhere in the country, no liquor license required on either end. Trey's still behind it, the fruit is still real, and the goal hasn't changed since that first pouch sold in Houston: make a drink good enough that people come back for it.