Yeesh, talk about barely making it in under the wire (once again). I wasn’t supposed to be in town, actually, and was far too disorganized to do it in advance and have the post ready to go. Mainly that was because I was schvitzing about Hurricane Ike heading directly toward Houston, which is where I was supposed to be going to see my sister, brother-in-law, fabulous nephew Thomas and fabulous brand-new niece Molly, whom I haven’t even met yet. We were supposed to go last Friday, but on Thursday they bugged out … to New Orleans, of all places, not where you usually think of going to get away from a hurricane. All’s well for them, though — they had a tree go down in their front yard in Houston, but no damage to the house. (They were far luckier than all those poor folks in Galveston, good lord.)

And it’s not like we haven’t been drinking all weekend either — delicious yet deadly punches by Marcos Tello and Eric Alperin on Thursday, courtesy of the House of Chambord (I’ll see if I can pry the recipes out of them) and a big fat hangover on Sunday. It finally occured to me this morning that if I was going to get a post up today I needed to get my butt in gear. Fortunately I’d been doing some reading right along the lines of what we were going to be doing this month.

A wonderful company called Mud Puddle Books has been releasing several once-extremely difficult to find cocktail books from the 19th and early 20th Centuries, books which otherwise might have set you back hundreds of dollars. It’s wonderful — and essential — that these books are back in print, because for cocktailians they are a big part of our history. We want to know where all this stuff came from, and while there has been extensive research, and we have Jerry Thomas’ and others’ books, there were several key volumes of cocktail history that were only available to collectors who either had deep pockets or were just lucky enough to get them before there was a demand.

I’ve got everything they’ve put out so far, and I’ve been devouring them with glee. Besides being informative, they’re beautifully done — in the original typefaces, and with original illustrations and period advertisements — they’re damned entertaining too. There are also new introductions by the likes of David Wondrich, Ted “Dr. Cocktail” Haigh, Robert Hess and Dale DeGroff. The one I’ve been reading this week is Charlie Paul’s 1902 edition entitled Recipes of American and Other Iced Drinks.

Dale wrote the introduction to this one, and although it was published in 1902 it gives a pretty amazing look at the state of drinking at the end of the 19th Century. Such a terrific little book too; besides all the recipes (including some startling variations on drinks we now consider standards, like the Manhattan and Mint Julep) the illustrations alone are worth the price of the book. Dale says, “The illustrations of 19th Century bar tools were extraordinary; a few of which I’ve since seen reproduced in some modern texts. The illustration depicting the Imperial Shaker was enough to make me want to search the world for this wonderful drink-cranking device and build an entire bar around it.” That would be it to the right; click to enlarge.

Now, what to pick? There are so many I wanted to try, including ones with a pinch of cayenne pepper (with and without egg), a pousse-café topped with an egg yolk and then a “pyramid” of whipped egg white, topped with dashes of bitters (which I’m definitely going to try). I would have done that wonderful Mint Julep variation. which includes brandy, rum, yello Chartreuse and which is dashed with Claret on top of the ice, which Charlie describes as “a drink fit for a king.” Then there were a few like these, which I thought maybe I’d skip:

AMMONIA COCKTAIL
(Good Morning Tonic for Headache)

Draw 2 ounces of Orange Syrup into a 12-ounce glass and add 1/2 drachm of Aromatic Spirits of Ammonia; about half fill the glass with Soda Water, then add half teaspoonful of Bi-carbonate of Soda. Stir well and handle quickly. ( This Cocktail should be drunk at once.)

“Handle quickly”? What, before it blows up? No, I took a pass on this one.

I really wanted to make something with Old Tom gin. I had gotten a chance to taste some of the batch Eric brought into town with his distributor (currently available at Hi Time Wine and Spirits in Costa Mesa, far enough that it might as well be in Kazakhstan, with more due soon at my local haunts, Beverage Warehouse and The Wine House) last Tuesday at Seven Grand. Just as tasty as I remembered it, and John made us a lovely 19th Century-style Martinez with it. But I didn’t have any on had, so nix that.

What I thought I’d do is a punch. Punch was the mixed drink of choice for a very long time, and was beginning to be displaced by all the cocktails, fixes, flips, fizzes, daisies, sangarees, slings and other mixed drinks that were invented by the scores in the 19th Century, but by this time punch was still holding on. There were some good-looking recipes in there, but I wasn’t particularly inclined to make a whole bowlful of it. (Not that I couldn’t get several friends over at a moment’s notice to help us drain the flowing bowl, but I was lazy.) I came across one by-the-glass punch recipe that looked simple and tasty, and filled the bill on both counts.

This fits in with the basic formula for punch, as David Wondrich described to us in his terrific seminar on punch at Tales (which I’ll recap one of these days). It’s essentially wine or booze, citrus, soda or water, sugar and some kind of wild card (berries, tea, spices, etc.). It’s easy to make, refreshing during these waning days of summer and was pretty damned tasty.

Java Punch

Fill tumbler with chipped ice; put in half a teaspoonful of powdered sugar, a teaspoonful of vanilla syrup; squeeze half a lemon in; add a liqueur-glassful of brandy and the same of rum; shake well and strain off, putting an orange slice on top.

Or, in slightly more modern measure:

1 ounce brandy.
1 ounce rum.
3/4 ounce fresh lemon juice.
1 teaspoon vanilla syrup.
1/2 teaspoon simple syrup.
Nutmeg.
Orange slice.

Combine liquors and syrups in a shaker with ice; shake until very cold and frothy. Strain over fresh ice into an Old Fashioned glass. Top with a grating of fresh nutmeg and garnish with an orange slice.

Charlie’s original recipe didn’t call for nutmeg, but as many 19th Century and earlier punches were finished that way, I added that to the top for a nice aroma and one more “wild card” dimension to the flavor. The recipe is easily adaptable to your own taste; if you like it tarter, up the lemon to 1 ounce, or if you like it sweeter maybe an extra half-teaspoon simple syrup. I think the vanilla flavor is in perfect balance with just the one teaspoon of vanilla syrup, though. The brandy I used was Hine VSOP Cognac, the rum a 12 year old Guatemalan called Zaya, which sadly is going away soon and will no longer be available. (I was feeling extravagant.)

Pass the punch!

P.S. – Okay, so as I’m about to post my MxMo entry at Bibulo.us, I see this little bit at the end of the post: “Bonus points to anyone who can bring us early William “Cocktail” Boothby recipes, especially pre-1900 versions of the Ruby Cocktail.”

Well, I had just gotten in a reproduction of the 1934 version of Boothby’s World Drinks and How To Mix Them. I really hadn’t gone through it that much yet, but I found myself shifting into the mode that caused one of my chef-teachers in the UCLA Culinary Arts program to dub me “The Overachiever.” (She may have been five feet tall in heels, but she kicked my ass every single class. She was amazing, actually. But I digress.)

I found The Ruby Cocktail with two additional variations, the second containing gin (which I thought would help dampen the sweetness of sloe gin, the primary ingredient) and the third containing egg. I’m out of eggs, so No. 2 it was.

The Ruby Cocktail No. 2

1/2 ounce sloe gin.
1/2 ounce gin.
1/4 ounce sweet vermouth.
1/4 ounce dry vermouth.
2 dashes Bénédictine.

Shake with ice and strain into a small cocktail glass.
 

This makes a nice li’l 2-ounce drink.

I was a little less than impressed at first, but as I sipped it continued to grow on me. The gin and dry vermouth help dilute the sweetness of the sloe gin, and you get just a touch of herbs from the dashes of the liqueur. Not usually the balance I’m looking for in a drink, but not bad. I kinda want to try the egg white version now.

Okay, enough with the overachieving …

The world’s pokiest event recapper here, with more details of Tales … only 40 days after the fact. Hey, that’s not bad for me.

Next after the amari was a seminar with the slightly unwieldy title of “History of Liqueurs and Cordials, and Their Important Role in Cocktails Both Classic and Contemporary,” with a panel consisting of Rob Cooper, whose family business is Jacquin et Cie and who founded Cooper Spirits International, makers of the fabulous St. Germain Elderflower Liqueur; Dr. Cocktail; Dave Wondrich and mixologist Chad Solomon of Cuff and Buttons. I thoroughly enjoyed the session, but unfortunately am missing most of my notes from that one … d’oh.

One of the liqueurs prominently featured was the long-lost and elusive Crème Yvette, named for the French actress Yvette Gilbert around the turn of the 20th Century, which has been out of production for decades. It’s a violet-based liqueur similar to crème de violette, but with the addition of vanilla and other spices to give it more complexity. There was some vintage Crème Yvette on hand to taste, as well as a new version that, we hope, will be hitting the market again in early 2009 and will give yet another great boost to the world of cocktails.

I’m still a big fan of crème de violette — it’s a necessasry component in the original Aviation and several other cocktails — but cannot WAIT for Yvette to make its return. We tasted a lab sample of the new stuff, and I found it to be a bit rounder and more balanced than the violette, fruitier and a bit less floral. (It’ll be great to make Blue Moons with this.) It was grapey in the nose, with a definite fragrance of vanilla. On the palate it was citric, with fruit up front and the floral aspects of the violets in the finish. Lovely, lovely stuff.

The early arrivers were also regaled with handmade versions of this infamous layered cocktail, made by Dave Wondrich himself! (I wasn’t an early arriver, ended up way in the back, and didn’t get one. Hrmph.)

Pousse Café

1/3 Plymouth Sloe Gin.
1/3 Luxardo Maraschino Liqueur.
1/3 Crème Yvette.

Layer ingredients in a cordial glass by carefully pouring each liqueur very slowly, based on their density (heaviest first) into the glass over the back of a barspoon.

Serve layered, and sip slowly.

We were also excited about the potential return of another long-lost classic liqueur, which was made by Jacquin, the company run by Rob Cooper’s dad and grandfather since just after Prohibition. Forbidden Fruit is a brandy-based pommelo liqueur (a citrus fruit similar to grapefruit) sweetened with honey, and it’s fabulous, fabulous stuff.

There’s a bottle of vintage Forbidden Fruit, with a fuzzy Rob Cooper in the background. (I have a tiny 1/10th pint size miniature that’s still mostly full.) If the bottle looks familiar — like the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch — well, actually like a Chambord bottle — it’s because both liqueurs were made by Jacquin at the time. The Chambord brand was sold off to Brown-Forman many years ago, so when Forbidden Fruit returns it won’t be in that iconic bottle. There’s no timetable yet for its return — we sampled a lab batch as well as the vintage, and the lab batch isn’t quite there yet. We did get a cocktail, though, one of 26 Forbidden Fruit cocktails listed in CocktailDB and, I hope, the start of many more:

The Tantalus Cocktail

1-1/2 ounces brandy.
3/4 ounce Forbidden Fruit.
3/4 ounce fresh lemon juice.

Shake with ice and strain into a cocktail glass.

Here’s one more recipe for a cocktail with a powerful liqueur as its modifying ingredient. If you’ve never had green Chartreuse before, find a good liquor store that has a good selection of miniatures and try it. It’ll blow you away, and you may be unprepared for the depth and complexity of its flavor. (It’s powerful stuff too, at 110 proof!) It looks to me to be a variation of the Last Word cocktail, one of my favorites, adjusting the proportions in favor of the gin and swapping out simple syrup for the maraschino.

Daisy Mae Cocktail
(from the Flatiron Lounge, New York)

2 ounces Junipero gin.
1 ounce fresh lime juice.
3/4 ounce green Chartreuse.
3/4 ounce simple syrup.

Shake with ice and strain over the rocks in an Old Fashioned glass. Garnishsed with a mint sprig.

Most of my pictures turned out to be crap, but I did get a shot of one of the interesting bottles Rob brought along:

love those old bottles containing four chambers with four liqueurs. Not terribly practical, but nifty anyway.

Next seminar … Gary Regan and LeNell Smothers, and American whiskies. (Boy, that one will be on fire.)

There’s been a new trend the last several months where cocktail bloggers have been offered review samples of products. “Hey, free booze!” you might say. Not so fast. A lot of these, as the bloggers who were the recipients of these offers will confirm, were crap trendy products completely uninteresting to them. (Shocking pink, impossibly sweet liqueurs, and the like.)

A while back I started getting offered samples as well, and they were invariably vodka. I must confess to not having a lot of interest in vodka, preferring spirits that actually taste like something. Yes yes yes, I can get into lengthy argu– er, discussions with vodka drinkers about the subtleties of flavor in a well-made vodka, and they’re absolutely right. I just don’t enjoy drinking plain vodka for the most part (unless it’s Zubrówka), and it bores me. Not only that, I’m a believer in Audrey Saunders’ adage that for the most part a vodka cocktail is a cocktail with a hole in it; any subtlety in a vodka’s flavor pretty much disappears when it’s mixed.

Imagine my delight, then, when I was offered a sample of something that not only interested me but excited me. Now that the disclosure is out of the way, let’s talk about a rum I’ve been curious about for a while but until recently had never tried until I got a bottle in the mail — Ron Matusalem.

Matusalem is a rum from the Dominican Republic, but they are quick to point out that they are a Cuban spirit. How does that work? In 1872 the Matusalem distillery was founded in Santiago de Cuba by two Spanish immigrants, Benjamin and Eduardo Camp, and their partner Evaristo Álvarez. They brought along the Solera system from Spain, used to make Spain’s sherries and brandies, in which a series of barrels are used to age a wine or spirit. A portion from the last and oldest barrel is bottled, then that barrel is filled from the next-to-last barrel, etc. The aging process is reflected in the name they chose for their rum, which is Spanish for Methuselah, the old patriarch who according to biblical legend lived to an age of 969 (nine hundred four years of retirement — golf, shuffleboard and getting in his wife’s hair … oy) and a nod to the old Spanish proverb, “Esto es màs viejo que Matusalem” — “It’s older than Methuselah.”

The beautifully crafted rum took off, and by the mid-1950s Matusalem had half of the Cuban rum market. Then we all know what happened in Cuba four years later …

The Álvarez family and their company were forced into exile, and the brand nose-dived. Fortunately, in the mid-1990s, Claudio Álvarez Salazar, great-grandson of Evaristo, won a court settlement granting the Matusalem brand back to him and his family. He took what was left of the company back to its roots, started making their rums the old way and … voilà! Ron Matusalem was relaunched in 2002.

Here’s the stuff they sent me a few weeks ago:

Ron Matusalem Gran Reserva, 15 years old. “The Cognac of Rums” was what it was called back in the day, according to the distiller. They describe it as a “super premium” rum but also call for its inclusion in cocktails. Well, let’s give it a try, shall we?

This is the first time I’ve ever evaluated a spirit for a review, even just as semi-formal one, but I want to do it right. Fortunately a month ago Wesly and I took a course at Tales of the Cocktail with Paul Pacult called “How to Taste Like A Professional,” which comes in handy for this sort of thing. Our palates aren’t nearly as educated as his, but we can certainly continue to train them by taking his advice, which is basically to smell and taste the spirit, do it properly, and let the spirit sit in the glass for several minutes to see what else it releases as it aerates. Sounds like fun.

First off, it’s pretty stuff; a beautiful amber/honey color in the glass. First sniff … sugar cane. Then vanilla, and plenty of it. “Grandmother’s attic,” was one of Gregg’s observations when he, Wes and I first tasted this a week or so ago, and he meant that in the best possible way. After a few minutes more vanilla, then a buttery aroma developed. Five to seven minutes in the glass, and I actually laughed in surprise — I got the flavor of pecan pralines, right out of New Orleans. (Unsurprising, as the ingredients in pralines are sugar, butter, pecans and sometimes rum.) Really delightful.

Now, let’s have a taste … a bit of alcohol up front, although it’s bottled at 40%. It’s pleasantly hot, though; I get that not so much on the tongue but on my lips. Despite that bit of heat it’s very smooth. We all found that 5 to 8 minutes in the glass eliminated the burn. It’s delicate and refined but wouldn’t be easy to overpower. Very complex, with plenty of vanilla, butter, toasted pecans, a touch of cinnamon. More aeration also brought out more oak wood as well. It had a nice finish too; I could still taste it almost 15 minutes later. Hoo-boy. We poured some more. This is really terrific stuff. Not too sweet, with more of a brown sugar flavor that strong molasses, crisp, woody, buttery caramel, yet still dry enough. The first time we tasted this we also tasted an actual Cuban rum, Havana Club Añejo (um … we teleported to Canada to do that … yeah, that’s it), and I have to say that Fidel’s boys got their butts kicked. Clearly Matusalem was the superior product.

Now, is this a rum I want to reserve for sipping only? I’m tempted, but I’m a believer in Gary Regan’s adage of “Garbage In, Garbage Out” when it comes to cocktails, and I’m not shy about using the good stuff. I certainly will sip this on occasion, but what else shall we try? One of my favorite ways to evaluate a whiskey is to use it in an Old Fashioned, and I’ve been doing that with añejo tequila these days as well. So let’s try one of those … Wes did the honors.

Rum Old Fashioned

2-1/2 ounces Ron Matusalem Gran Reserva rum.
1 teaspoon simple syrup.
2 dashes Angostura Bitters.
1 lime wedge.
1 good-quality cocktail cherry.

Combine rum, syrup and bitters in a mixing glass and stir for 30 seconds. Strain into an Old Fashioned glass over fresh ice. Garnish with the cherry and the lime wedge, but do not squeeze the lime; leave the option for the drinker.

This made an absolutely gorgeous Old Fashioned. Wes went light on the syrup, as we didn’t want to oversweeten. The lime makes a lovely garnish and would probably complement the flavor nicely, but we thought leaving the squeezing up to the individual would be a good idea if you’re serving these.

Okay, what else shall we do? I thought of a Daiquiri, and that’d be a great way to drink this stuff too; keeping it simple with lime and sugar. I wanted to try and see how it’d blend with other ingredients, though, and while thinking of something Daiquiri-like the lightbulb went off over my head. I went to our cocktail bookshelf and dug out Jeff “Beachbum” Berry’s most recent and stupendously wonderful book, Sippin’ Safari and flipped around until I found the recipe I was thinking about.

This is a drink by the man who started the whole world of tiki cocktails and cuisine, a native of New Orleans named Ernest Raymond Beaumont Gantt, who later changed his name to Donn Beach, but was known the world ’round as Don the Beachcomber. Jeff says this drink “is a good example of how Donn had mastered the art of blending rums of different body, character and origin to create a flavor no one rum could approach on its own. Try this with 2 ounces of only one of the rums listed above, and you’ll get a serviceable but utterly unexceptional Daiquiri.”

Don’s original recipe called for Golden Stag rum; Jeff suggests substituting Appleton Special Gold from Jamaica, but I decided to let the Cuban spirit by way of the Dominican Republic take the forefront. The other two rums called for are a half-ounce each of “aged dark Jamaican rum” — Jeff recommends Appleton Estate Extra, which I absolutely love (talk about the Cognac of rums, yeesh!) — and Louisiana rum, for which I used Old New Orleans Dark 3 Year Old rum.

Golden Stag

1 ounce Ron Matusalem Gran Reserva rum.
1/2 ounce Appleton Estate Extra rum.
1/2 ounce Old New Orleans Dark rum.
1/2 ounce fresh lime juice.
1/2 ounce simple syrup.
1 dash Angostura Bitters.
Lime wheel.

Shake with ice for at least 12 seconds, and strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with the lime wheel.

God … what a gorgeous drink! This ain’t no ordinary Daiquiri; blending those rums together creates a new and wonderful whole, and the Matusalem anchor works great. The dash of bitters helps to tie it all together, with the sweet and tart in balance.

I’d say go ahead and mix Matusalem Gran Reserva with just about anything you care to (although if you do a Cuba Libre I’d go easy on the cola). Definitely sip this when you’re in the mood for a sippin’ rum, though. And the clincher? The distillery describes this as a “super premium” rum, but Beverage Warehouse carries this for $29.95! That’s hardly a premium price, and at that price you can afford to go through this without too much worry about your wallet.

And there you have it, my first review from an actual professional sample. That was fun. Let’s do it again!

Eric Felten has a fascinating article in the Wall Street Journal about the history of drinking and cocktails in the Olympics (I love that Frank Sinatra wanted to start an Olympic Drinking Team). There’s even a yummy-looking cocktail recipe, which I’ll post here; read it soon, as the article will go away in a few days.

Appropriately enough, there is an Olympic Cocktail that managed to find its way into old cocktail books. Equal parts brandy, orange curaçao and orange juice, sadly, it is an over-sweet monotone.

But there are others, including the drink devised by Nino Mastalioni, a hotel barman in Rome, who in 1960 tried to reflect in a glass the international character of the games. He combined one part each American rye whiskey, German kirsch, Russian vodka, London dry gin, along with Campari (to represent his native Italia). Nino was happy to customize his concoction — replacing the whiskey with tequila for his Mexican guests, or aquavit for the vodka if a Dane stepped up to the bar. But any way you try it, Mastalioni’s Elixir of Olympus is fiercely alcoholic and only marginally potable.

Far better is the Mount Olympus cocktail created by Wembley bartender Jock Nelson for London’s 1948 games. Equal parts Greek brandy, Lillet blanc and orange curaçao, Nelson bragged the drink was “guaranteed to give anyone enough zip to run a four-minute mile.” The original cocktail is too sweet and viscous for my taste, but with a little adjustment it’s possible to find a gymnast’s balance for the Mount Olympus. I boosted the proportion of brandy, replaced the generic curaçao with Grand Marnier and added a bit of fresh lime juice to keep the sweetness in check.

Mount Olympus

1-1/2 ounces Metaxa.
1/2 ounce Grand Marnier.
1/2 ounce Lillet blanc.
1/4 ounce fresh lime juice.

Shake with ice and strain into a stemmed cocktail glass. Garnish with orange peel.

We had one last night. Very lovely.

If any of y’all have an Olympic cocktail of your own, or are inspired to create one, please post it in the comments!

Yeesh, so soon already! Well, we did get a week’s extension on MxMo XXIX last month, in order for our brains and livers to recover from Tales of the Cocktail, and August’s has crept up on us already. This month we’re hosted by Kevin Kelpe, a bartender and restauranteur in Boise, Idaho and author of the drinking blog Save the Drinkers. It was great to see Kevin at Tales again this year, and I’m comforted in the knowledge that if we stop through Boise we know where we can go to get a damn good drink.

The theme this month is local flavors, and Kevin puts it thusly:

Option 1: Gather ingredients that are representative of the culture/geography/tackiness of your respective cities and make a drink with a truly place-based style. For example, huckleberries are native to the geographical area where I live, as are elderflowers, potatoes, and extremely conservative, closet-case politicians. (I’m just saying!)

Option 2: Dig up an old drink that came from your city and revive it! If you can find the original bar, that would be even more interesting.

I really wanted to do option 1, given the bounty that’s in my own backyard. We have a very old fig tree that’s brimming with fruit right now, absolutely stunning figs more than half the size of your fist. I’ve been brewing an idea back in me brain to make some fig-infused Bourbon, using both fresh figs from my garden and dried Mission figs to give it a greater depth of flavor. By the time I finally read Kevin’s post there was no way I’d have that ready for MxMo XXX, so it’s going to have to wait a few weeks. We also have a large grove of pomegranates, but they won’t be ready until late fall / early winter at the earliest.

So I’m gonna go for a variation on option 2, digging up a couple of new drinks that come from our city, and I’m gonna be Mr. Overachiever as I did last month and post two. They’re terrific drinks from the same bar, the bar that really did the most to kick off the cocktail renaissance in Los Angeles, and were created by Los Angeles bartenders for Los Angeles; one of them is also a nod to that bar’s long history … as a jeweler in the 1920s.

You’ve undoubtedly heard me and many others was poetic about this Los Angeles bar; Seven Grand is one of our favorite places to drink in the city, in a year where we suddenly actually had places to drink in the city other than our house. Los Angeles had been pretty much a big zero in the quality and classic cocktail world for ages, and all of a sudden 2007 saw us take off like a Saturn V rocket. We fell in love with this bar right away, even though we didn’t get our procrastinatory asses in there until they had already been open for four months, and we still love it. The key to Seven Grand is to go on Sundays through Wednesdays, earlier in the evening, when you can get personalized attention from their bartenders; John, Leo and the rest of the guys will take very, very good care of you.

They’ve just streamlined their cocktail menu (I was JUST there the other day and forgot to take a look at it, d’oh), but today I’ll offer you two of Seven Grand’s house cocktails that were on their early menu last year, and if either of them aren’t on it at the moment (which I doubt), surely they can still make it for you … or now you can make it yourself.

The first is named after the original occupants of the beautiful 1921 building in which the bar is housed. Brock & Company were a prominent jeweler in Los Angeles, and although their days are long gone they still live on at Seven Grand. Many of the architectural and interior details of the old space were reused in the design of the new — the glass jewelry cases formed a bank of small windows near the ceiling in the room divider, wooden jewelry drawer fronts with gorgeous brass handles were mounted on the front of the bar, and the beautiful polished wood surface of the bar itself came from the boardroom table. Then there’s this very, very tasty drink named after the original occupants; I think they’d have to find it as tasty as I do.

Brock & Co.

2 ounces Knob Creek Bourbon whiskey.
1/2 ounce ginger-infused syrup.
1/2 ounce “runny” honey (or 2:1 honey syrup)
3/4 ounce fresh lemon juice.
1/2 ounce orange juice.
Long, thin ginger slice for garnish.

Combine ingredients in a cocktail shaker with ice. Shake vigorously, then pour into an Old Fashioned glass over fresh ice. Garnish with the ginger slice.

Bright, tangy, summery, refreshing, and a great drink for quenching your thirst over the next couple of months when it’s gonna be HOT.

If you don’t have ginger syrup you can substitute Massenez Crème de Gingembre or Domaine de Canton ginger liqueur.

The next is another of Seven Grand’s house cocktails, and although it may not feature local ingredients per se, it’s named for our great city. [UPDATE: There's a bit of history here too; a quite similar cocktail appears in Harry Craddock's Savoy Cocktail Book from the 1930s, which I had completely forgotten about (and thanks to Erik and Anita for reminding me of this in the comments). This is is a slightly modernized adaptation; I'm assuming that it was the inspiration for this local version.] I suppose calling it the El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de Los Angeles de Porciúncula Cocktail might be a bit unwieldy, so they wisely opted to stick with the shorter, more colloquial name for the city and the drink. This is the way I make it, with my preferred Bourbon these days; use the one you like best.

The Los Angeles Cocktail
(House version served at Seven Grand)

1-1/2 ounces Buffalo Trace Bourbon whiskey.
3/4 ounce simple syrup.
1/2 ounce fresh lemon juice.
1/4 ounce Vya sweet vermouth.
1 egg white.
1 dash Angostura Bitters.

Add the egg white to the shaker and shake like hell for at least 10 seconds alone, WITH NO ICE. Add the rest of the ingredents, then plenty of ice, and shake like hell for at least 15 seconds. Strain into a sour glass, wine or port glass, or something elegant.

This one’s reeeeeally nice. It’s basically a whiskey sour with a bit of spice added to it from the vermouth and the bitters; I like to keep this one in the California family by using Vya, a wonderfully spicy sweet vermouth made in California. Substitute Punt E Mes or Carpano Antica, if you can find them.

I’m gonna be a royal pain in the ass by throwing in a third drink, which although has the same name as a venerable, famous landmark Los Angeles restaurant of yesteryear, and the same name as that restaurant’s house cocktail … it ain’t that cocktail, and wasn’t served at that restaurant. I just like it, and the name makes it sound local, so there.

Dave Wondrich describes it thusly:

Fact is, we can’t find a damn thing about this perfectly charming drink, and the Second Law of Mixography dictates when all else fails, discuss the drinking habits of our ancestors. (The First Law? Hemingway probably drank it.) What we know: The Brown Derby appears in Esquire’s June 1939 “Potables” column. Before that, nothing. After that, nothing. Did it come from Robert Cobb’s famous Brown Derby restaurant in Hollywood? There is a Brown Derby cocktail we’ve seen connected to the eatery — but it ain’t this. (And what would they be doing messing around with maple sugar out there in sunny California, anyway?) Or is the name just because it’s brown?

The only spar we’ve got to cling to in this sea of ignorance comes in the unlikely form of roly-poly Alexander Woollcott (the guy on whom Sheridan Whiteside in The Man Who Came to Dinner was based). In 1935, he turns up in So Red the Nose, an odd little book in which famous writers of the day contributed their favorite drinks, all renamed after their latest books. Woollcott’s When Rome Burns is essentially the Brown Derby, but with lemon juice instead of the lime and maple syrup instead of maple sugar, and with the key specification that you use Medford rum. They don’t make that anymore, either. But when they did, they made it in Medford — right outside of Boston. So. The Brown Derby, or whatever you want to call it? New England’s answer to the daiquiri. It might not be tropical, but it sure is tasty.

Oh yeah, that other Brown Derby? Jigger of bourbon, half-jigger of grapefruit juice, teaspoon or so of honey (stir ‘em all together before you add the ice). Let us know how it turns out.

The Brown Derby Cocktail

2 ounces Jamaican rum (I like Appleton Estate V/X in this).
1 ounce fresh lime juice.
1 teaspoon grade-B maple syrup.

Shake and strain.

Thanks to Dan Reichert for turning me on to this one. The original recipe, as Dave mentioned, called for maple sugar, but maple syrup’s a lot easier and cheaper to obtain, and grade-B maple syrup is such a terrific cocktail ingredient it should be used more often anyway.

Okay, so, that was really four drinks, if you include the recipe for the Brown Derby Restaurant’s actual house cocktail; told you I was a pain in the ass.

Happy Mixology Monday! Now get drinking.