This one might take a little effort, but if it sounds intriguing to you, it’s more than worth it. If you’ve ever loved the aroma and flavor of violets … if you ever enjoyed C. Howard’s Scented Gum or Violet Mints, imagine what real violets and not artificially violet-flavored things might taste like.

I first tried this at Dr. Cocktail’s place, and thought it was incredible. “I need to be able to make these all the time,” I thought. Unfortunately, I couldn’t; at the time the primary flavoring ingredient was no longer made (which is not atypical of drinks from Doc’s bar). The drink called for gin, a touch of lemon juice, and a violet-flavored liqueur called Crème Yvette. Crème Yvette used to be made by Charles Jacquin et Cie (the people who make Chambord), but had been defunct for years; Doc got his batch from someone who knew how Jacquin made it, and who made his own for himself and his friends. Sigh … what to do?

Fortunately, there’s a similar liqueur Crème de Violette — not quite the proprietary formula of Crème Yvette, but close enough. The one I found at the time was made by Benoit-Serres in Villefrance-de-Lauragais, southeast of Toulouse in the south of France. They don’t export their products (bad news), but there lots of good news too!

UPDATE: As of 2008 Rothman & Winter Crème de Violette from Austria is available in finer spirits shops, and in early 2010 the original formula of Crème Yvette will be re-released by Robert Cooper, heir to the Jacquin company and the man who brought us St. Germain.

This is a very, very good thing, because with original Crème Yvette this is an absolutely exquisite cocktail.

Blue Moon

2 ounces gin (we like Plymouth).
1/2 ounce fresh squeezed lemon juice.
1/4 ounce Crème Yvette (or Crème de Violette).

Shake or stir with ice and strain into a cocktail glass;
garnish with a twist of lemon.

For a subtler cocktail, reduce the lemon to 1/4 ounce and the Yvette to 1 teaspoon.

It’s the most popular cocktail in Bakersfield, California. Why, you may ask? I did, and looked it up — it ‘s the “national drink” of the Basque people, and there are lots of Euskadi folk and Basque restaurants in B’field (known otherwise only for Buck Owens’ place and for being the hometown of a lot of people I know who couldn’t wait to move to L.A.)

What is it? It’s Picon Punch, and it seems that Bakersfield is the place to go to get ‘em ’round these parts. It’s based on a bitter orange spirit called Amer Picon, which itself is based on bitter oranges, gentian and cinchona. It was invented by a Frenchman named Gaëtan Picon in 1837, and the drink evolved from a French aperitif and stomachic on its own through the hands of the Italians and apparently into the hands of the Euskadi, who revere it.

The thing about Amer Picon is that it’s almost impossible to get in the States these days, unfortunately. The brand was purchased from the House of Picon by Diageo many years ago, but baffingly they choose not to import it into the U.S., even though there’s a demand (well, a demand from cocktail nerds, at least.) Even worse, about 20 years ago the manufacturers of Picon both changed the recipe and lowered the proof almost by half! It went from 78 proof to 39; one can imagine how that affected the flavor alone, not to mention changing Gaetan Picon’s original recipe.

Fortunately, since the late 1940s the Torani syrup company has come to the rescue. They’re the same folks that make all those Italian syrups in myriad flavors for sodas, coffee, cocktails, etc. Oddly enough, they don’t seem to publicize this stuff, nor sell it or even refer to it on their website. Fortunately, an online spirits house called Beverages and More sells it via their site for $10.99 a bottle, with great service and fast shipping (mine got to me in about three days). There are now many more BevMo outlets around, and for Los Angeles residents Torani Amer has also popped up at The Wine House in West L.A. and Beverage Warehouse in Mar Vista.

Ths version of Amer Picon, called Torani Amer in its new incarnation, has a similar flavor as the original spirit and, most importantly, the same proof as the original Picon. Torani Amer in the past had more of a vegetal flavor that worked decently enough in cocktails calling for Picon, but not so much in a Picon Punch, in my opinion. With absolutely no fanfare (and not even an announcement), Torani in 2008 changed the recipe for their Amer, making it much more like the original Amer Picon. It’s delightfully bitter and bracing; if you like Campari you’ll probably like this too. Sweetened in the punch and lightened by the soda, it’s an absolutely yummy concoction that’ll stimulate your appetite, settle your stomach afterward, and will be an enjoyable and relatively unusual addition to your pantheon of cocktails.

Another option is to use a homemade concoction called “Amer Boudreau”, developed by Seattle bartender Jamie Boudreau. It involves a bit of work, starting with a base of an existing amaro from Italy called Amaro Ramazzotti and adding a mixture of a homemade bitter orange tincture, Stirrings Blood Orange Bitters and spring water to make a damned amazing replica of vintage Picon. If you don’t wish to go through the trouble, Torani Amer in its current incarnation will do just fine.

Finally, if you can get the current version of Amer Picon from Europe, just do it. It still tastes good, although not as good as the old version. It comes in two varieties – Bière, meant to be consumed with beer (1 part Picon to 4 parts beer, which is excellent), and Club, meant to be consumed with white wine or supposedly in cocktails. I’ve never tried the latter, although I’ve got some on the way. If you’re not traveling to Europe or know someone who is, there are mail order sources that’ll ship Picon to you, but fair warning — the shipping costs more than the booze.

The addition of lemon juice comes from my friend Eric Alperin of The Varnish in downtown Los Angeles. It’s not a traditional ingredient but it adds a truly wonderful freshness and tartness to this drink that I can’t make it any other way now.

Picon Punch
The National Drink of the Basques

2 ounces Amer Picon (substitute Amer Boudreau or Torani Amer)
2 barspoons (2 teaspoons) of grenadine
1/2 ounce fresh lemon juice (optional)
Soda water
Lemon peel
1/2 to 1 ounce brandy (optional)

To do it Italian-style, coat the inside of a tumbler with grenadine. Add the Amer and ice, top with about 4 ounces soda and stir. Twist the lemon peel over the drink and garnish. If you feel the cockles of your heart need further warming, float a tablespoon or two of brandy on top.

Toast to your and your friends’ health, and learn to say something in Euskara, the language of the Basques. Start with “Topa!”, which is “Cheers!”, or “Kaixo!” (kai-SHO), which is a greeting.

If you want a bit of “Battlestar Galactica” geekery, don’t pronounce it in French (pee-KOHN, with the nasalized “n”) or the Americanized “pee-CON,” but “PIE-con,” as in the name of one of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, and it’ll be an ideal beverage to consume while watching old episodes of BSG or new episodes of “Caprica” … at least until I come up with the Caprican Cobbler or the Sagittaron Sling.

The Hemingway Bar of the Hôtel Ritz in Paris is renowned for its cocktails, and for the top-notch skills of its main bartender, Mr. Colin Peter Field. Field has written a book called Les Cocktails du Ritz Paris, which by all accounts is outstanding. There’s just been an English translation released, but Amazon don’t seem to be carrying it as yet. I’ll fill you in on how to get it in a bit.

Here’s one of Field’s creations, his variation on the venerable French 75, which looks really tasty. I’ll be off to pick up a half-bottle of bubbly and some fresh mandarines to try this one out, tout suite!

THE RITZ 75

1/2 ounce fresh lemon juice
1/2 ounce fresh mandarine juice
1/2 ounce simple syrup
2 ounces gin
Champagne

In a tall Collins glass, add the first four ingredients over ice, stir to mix, then fill with Champagne (you may substitute cava or prosecco, whatever good white sparkling wine you have on hand). Garnish with a wheel of lime and a wheel of mandarine.

Fortunately this is easy to make at home. If you have one at the Ritz it’ll set you back €30. *faint*

The English language version is now readily available via Amazon. Enjoy! (Thanks to Robert, Fernando, Rafael and everyone else on the DrinkBoy community for turning me on to this!)

Just for the hell of it, at the last minute I added the Combustible Edison to the menu for last Saturday’s cocktail party. Ever since I read about it I thought it’d be fun to make, but I’d never gotten around to makign one. I’m still not a huge Campari fan (although I’m working on developing more of a taste for it), but I thought that maybe someone else might be adventurous and order one. Sure enough, when our friends Gregg and Mike mentioned that they were both Campari fans, I suggested this drink, and their eyes lit up. Pretty soon, the counter where I was mixing the drinks lit up too.

The story behind the drink is at the Drinkboy link above, and I reproduce the recipe for you here.

The Combustible Edison

2 ounces brandy (we like a good Cognac like Hennessy V.S.O.P.)
1 ounce Campari
1 ounce fresh squeezed lemon juice

Add the Campari and lemon juice to a cocktail shaker with ice; shake and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Heat the brandy on the stove or in a chafing dish. If the heating vessel doesn’t have a pouring spout, put the brandy into something that does.

Lower the lights, carefully ignite the brandy, and pour it into a flaming stream into the cocktail glass. Aim well. If you’re a klutz, have a friend standing by with a fire extinguisher. (I’m a klutz, but I managed to do this perfectly last Saturday.)

If the brandy is shaken with the ice instead of being set aflame, the drink is called an Edisonian.

It’s even more fun when you make two of them at the same time.

This one’s another old classic that I’d never thought to try until relatively recently. My becoming a born-again gin drinker has helped, along with my fascination with cocktails that contain eggs. The final push was having it pointed out to Wes and me by Michael and Arturo, the two bartenders-from-Heaven at the Petrossian Bar, who like cocktails from 75-100 years ago as we do.

I’ve started using a pasteurized egg white product from the refrigerated section of the supermarket instead of fresh egg white, and it works just as well, plus no worries of pesky salmonella. You can’t get pasteurized yolks, so if I’m going to be making any flips or golden fizzes we’ll just have to take the leap. The “classic” recipe calls for grenadine, but this ingredient is so ubiquitous (and usually such poor quality, mostly artificially-flavored) that I took a cue from the Bellagio bartenders and used raspberry syrup instead. This drink is a deep pink with a thick frothy head, and is delicious.

Clover Club

1-1/2 ounces gin.
3/4 ounce fresh-squeezed lemon juice.
2 teaspoons raspberry syrup.
1 egg white.

Place all ingredients into a tall cocktail shaker with lots of ice and shake vigorously for about 30 seconds. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. This one’s pretty enough not to require a garnish.

UPDATE: Clover Club correction! Almost had some nice alliteration going there … kinda did anyway, but no “cl” sound to start the third word. Anyway, I digress.

In flipping through Stanley Clisby Arthur I saw his recipe for the Clover Club, which I like much better than the old traditional one. It’s almost exactly the same, but with a New Orleans touch that I love. Here’s his version with some of his comments excerpted.

Clover Club
(New Orleans version)

1-1/2 ounces dry gin.
Juice of 1/2 lime.
1 pony (1 ounce) raspberry syrup.
1 egg white.
1 dash Peychaud’s bitters.

Pour the ingredients into the shaker over ice in order given. Set yourself for a good shaking, for this is a cocktail that must be well frappéd. To give chic to the final result, decorate your cocktail glasses with sprigs of mint after straining into them the delightful liquid from your shaker.

We have always admired the added ummph the dash of Peychaud bitters gives this deservedly popular concoction.

So have I, Mr. Arthur, so have I.

A whole ounce of raspberry syrup’s a bit much for me, so I’d recommend the former recipe, but with the addition of that dash of Peychaud’s. The magic of bitters is not to be discounted.