One of our favorite breakfast and lunch spots, the Village Bakery and Café in Atwater Village, is carrying local honey made by Feral Honey (aka “our friends Amy and Russell,” said owner Barbara). The beekeeping is hands-off for the most part, all natural and organic (no pesticides or hormones) and the honey is made by wild bees in the Silver Lake area. All the nectar they gather is from within a 3-mile radius in the neighborhood, and it tastes like what’s growing in the area, and what’s in people’s backyards.

The current batch tastes of lavender with a touch of minty eucalyptus (although not medicinal-tasting), rich and complex and absolutely wonderful. It’s not cheap, but you get a lot of honey-bang for your buck.

Besides just eating it out of the jar with a spoon (which we found to be dangerously enticing, ’cause we just might finish the whole thing if we’re not careful), the first thing we thought to do with it was try it in one of the great classic cocktails that I think needs a lot more attention.

The Bee’s Knees cocktail popped up sometime during Prohibition (although we don’t know its exact origin) as one of many ways to disguise the taste of, shall we say, disreputable gin. It’s a very simple gin sour, but the twist here is that the sweetener, as you may have gleaned, is honey rather than sugar. You have a lot of room for variation and creativity with the myriad flavors of honey that are available, and we thought this marvelously floral honey would be a perfect match with the new Beefeater Summer Edition gin.

Beefeater Master Distiller Desmond Payne, looking for a followup to the very successful Beefeater 24, sought to come up with a gin that’s a bit lighter and more suitable for warm weather and summery drinks. The limited edition Summer gin is lighter in proof, 80 as opposed to 94, a slightly lighter juniper profile and the addition of black currant, elderflower and hibiscus flower to the range of botanicals. In tasting the gin neat you can’t really pick these individual flavors out, but the combination plus the lighter profile makes it very refreshing. It’s floral without being flowery, and the combination of flavors in the gin seems to make it want to leap into the arms of other ingredients. (Wes has been playing with this a fair bit, and once we get back from Seattle I’ll post a couple of his recent concoctions.)

Grab Beefeater Summer Edition while you can, because it won’t be around for all that much longer (and I certainly hope it shall return next year).

Now, for that cocktail …

To make honey syrup, combine equal parts of honey and extremely hot water and stir until the honey is dissolved. For rich honey syrup, use 2 parts of honey to 1 part hot water. It’ll keep in the fridge for a few weeks, and longer if you add a splash of vodka as a preservative. It’s so easy to make on the fly, though, that I’ll usually just prep enough for the batch of cocktails I’m about to make.

You can serve this drink strained and up with a lemon twist garnish, or on the rocks with a lemon wedge. Try more robust gins, or try swapping out the gin for rum or tequila. If you’ve never had this one, you’re going to fall in love with it. Why, it’s so good it’s the … (you know).

BEE’S KNEES

2 ounces gin (substitute rum or tequila)
1 ounce honey syrup
1 ounce fresh lemon juice

Combine in a shaker with ice and shake for 10-12 seconds. Strain into chilled cocktail glass and garnish with lemon twist, or over ice in an Old Fashioned glass with a lemon wedge garnish.

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The finals for the People’s Cocktail Contest will be held at Drago Centro, 525 S. Flower St. this Wednesday the 30th starting sometime after 6pm. I don’t have a hard start time, but that’s when they asked me to arrive. [UPDATE: Judging begins at 7pm!] I suspect there’ll be a certain amount of cat-herding involved to get everyone there, set up and ready to roll. They’ll also be unveiling their new summer cocktail menu at the event, so there’ll be plenty of good stuff to try.

This is going to be such a blast, especially because two of the other three finalists are friends of mine. I’m looking forward to meeting Jeni, week four’s finalist, too; her blog is full of gorgeous food photos.

If you can’t attend the final face-off you can still play along at home; make the cocktails and see which one’s your favorite. I posted the recipe for my cocktail entry in Week 1: Blueberry, the Bell’aspetto, last month. Here are the other three finalists’ cocktail recipes, pulled from Drago Centro’s Twitter feed (no pictures of the drinks, alas; I was too lazy):

Week 2: Fernet Branca
Finalist: Ron Dollete, lushangeles.com

TRAMONTANA

1 oz Fernet Branca
1 oz Krogstad Aquavit
1 oz Cointreau
2 dashes Angostura Bitters

Stir with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with a lemon twist.

 

Week 3: Gin (or genever)
Finalist: Matt Robold, rumdood.com

DUTCH ELM DISEASE

2 oz Bols Genever
1/2 oz Scotch
1/4 oz Simple Syrup
2 dashes Angostura Bitters.

Stir with ice for 30 seconds. Strain into a rocks glass over ice. Garnish with a lemon twist.

 

Week 4: Lemon
Finalist: Jeni Afuso, Oishii Eats

MOMO RYE FIZZ

1/2 fresh peach
1 oz simple syrup
2 oz Rittenhouse 100 rye whiskey
1 oz lemon juice
Club soda

Muddle peach with simple syrup. Add rye and lemon juice. Shake with ice, strain into tall glass over ice, top with club soda.

Wish us luck! No matter who wins, it’s going to be a lot of fun. Join us if you can.

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According to its producers, this French liqueur was originally created by Antoine-François de Fourcroy (1755-1809), Napoléon Bonaparte’s personal physician. Mandarines grew well on the isle of Corsica, the Emperor’s birthplace, and supposedly it was de Fourcroy who first macerated mandarine peels in strong alcohol, distilled the maceration and blended it with aged Cognac. The Emperor was so taken with the product that he often invited his physician to share a glass with him. Mandarine Napoléon was first bottled in 1892, and until very recently was still owned by the de Fourcroy family. De Kuyper, the Dutch producer of liqueurs and genevers, bought the product from the de Fourcroys about 9 months ago. However, according to a recent article in CLASS magazine, the Belgian distillery that’s produced the spirit base for the product since 1998 continues to do so, distilling the mandarine peels and botanicals, all of which is “sent to De Kuyper’s production facility for blending and bottling.”

The process is more or less the same as it’s always been– maceration of mandarine peels from Sicily and Spain in grain alcohol, distillation of the result, resting in vats for two years, sweetening and blending with various Cognacs with at least 6 years of age. The result is a deep, delicious liqueur at 77 proof, sweet but not cloying, and a strong mandarine flavor. It’s one of the best citrus liqueurs out there, and deserves some of the attention given to Grand Marnier and Cointreau.

Mandarine Napoléon’s public relations folks kindly sponsored a TDN and encouraged us to experiment, resulting in a number of really tasty cocktails. I, of course, lazy bastard that I am, decided to fall back on an existing cocktail of mine, because it so happened that I had already created a cocktail containing this liqueur. I had to stick with it, because it’s probably the best cocktail name I’ve ever come up with. (C’mon, a pun that doesn’t make you groan? That actually makes you laugh! Such a rarity!)

I hadn’t had one in a while, though I remember it being well-received by folks I had made it for at the time. Perhaps the most memorable fan is a friend of mine who might not be who you’d typically picture when you think of someone quaffing a cocktail made of Belgian liqueur and French apéritif wine — a country & Western bandleader, songwriter and guitar player (and a damned good one too). He came over with some friends one night, fell in love with this drink and quaffed them all evening long. Still, I thought it needed another look, just in case; I whipped one up to revisit and evaluate before submission.

Hmm.

Sure, still tasty. But it was sweet. Definitely sweeter than is our taste in cocktails these days (although perhaps not so much 10 years ago, when I came up with it.) Not quite balanced. Needed a little rejiggering.

Here’s the old post I wrote way back in September of 2000, talking about how I came up with the drink (and, as I recall, it’s the first cocktail I came up with on my own, albeit one that sprang from another):

Consider the Lillets…

(Stop groaning. It’s only going to get worse from here.)

Wes and I were browsing yesterday at a nifty antique shop and, naturally, stopped to peruse the barware section. They had a book on vintage barware, and in it was a recipe for a cocktail that sounded fascinating, and not only because I loved the name — the Tiger Lillet.

Lillet Blanc is, of course, the French aperitif white wine with hints of citrus and spice, and I’m quite fond of it. The recipe they printed didn’t quite add up, though — it called for 1/3 Lillet, 1/3 Van der Hum (a South African tangerine liqueur based on brandy) and 1/6 “Maraschino syrup”. Hmm. That’s only 5/6 of a drink. And what do they mean by Maraschino syrup? Do they mean Maraschino liqueur, or the thin sweet “juice” that the maraschino cherries come in? Was there a cocktail flavoring product back then that was a low- or no-alcohol cherry syrup? Despite this hole in the recipe, I thought the drink sounded very promising.

The web to the rescue! I found a site that had a more complete recipe which stated, as did the book, that the drink was the winner of the World Cocktail Championship in London in 1952, and was created by a barman named Mr. J. Jones (now that’s an unusual name). Here’s the actual recipe:

Tiger Lillet

1/3 Lillet.
1/3 Van der Hum.
1/6 Dry Vermouth.
1/6 Maraschino.

Shake and Strain. Serve with small piece of Orange Peel.

BZZZZZT! The dry vermouth just killed it for me. I do not like vermouth of any kind. I do not like it in a bar, I do not like it in a car. I do not like it in my drink; tastes quite nasty, that I think.

(Good gods … can you believe I actually said that. I used to hate vermouth. Well, in 2000 I was a toddler as far as fine and historic cocktails were concerned, and I think that at the time I was suffering from the same thing most people who think they hate vermouth suffer from — they’re drinking vermouth that has gotten old and gone bad. Ah, the things that change in ten years … in fact, fortunately for me, only a couple of years later I was quaffing vermouth-bearing cocktails with glee.) Now, back to the past:

So … how to go about changing this drink to suit my taste? Well, for starters, in all my digging through the two finest wine and spirits shops in Los Angeles, I’d never once seen Van der Hum liqueur. Fortunately, right there in my bar cabinet is a bottle of Mandarine Napoléon, another tangerine liqueur that’s based on brandy, which I thought would make an excellent substitute.

Another aside — it turned out that there is a “Maraschino syrup” product out there, the most widely-available of which is made by the Reese company, who’ve made some of the viler jarred products I’ve been unfortunately enough to buy in the supermarket. It’s artificially colored bright red, presumably a thicker version of the syrup in the horried neon red “maraschino” supermarket cherries — the use of which we’ve eschewed for years — and therefore vile. It’s pretty obvious that Mr. Jones used maraschino liqueur and not a syrup. Continuing with the old post:

We’re also fine for the maraschino — I love Liquore de Maraschino, and I have a bottle of Luxardo’s fine product right there in my bar.

Now, to replace the vermouth. For a 3-ounce drink, I’m really only substituting one tablespoon’s worth of liquor. I think the 1/3 Lillet content takes care of the aperitif wine flavor without adding more from vermouth, so I thought a bit about what might complement the flavor of both the Lillet and the Mandarine Napoléon. Cointreau and Grand Marnier were out, because I thought we had the citrus flavor covered. How ’bout … Cognac? Hmmmmm. Complimentary flavor, keeps it all French (“IT IS BELGIAN!” shrieks Poirot predictably, while sipping a cordial glass of Mandarine Napoléon) and gives it a slight extra kick. I like it. I liked it even better when I mixed one up and drank it last night.

Now, to name the drink. I can’t call it a Tiger Lillet anymore, since one ingredient has changed. That’s one of the cardinal laws of cooking — if you steal a recipe, you can get away with it by changing an ingredient or two, and then changing the name of the dish.

What’s Up, Tiger Lillet? I like Woody Allen, but that’s too close to the original. Calla Lillet? Kate Hepburn might like it, but I dunno… Gilded Lillet? Hrmm. Lillet Munster? Too silly! Lillet of the Valley? Lillet of the Field? Bleuchh. I really didn’t consider Consider The Lillet, either.

Finally, it struck me. I named the drink for someone I’ve really liked for a very long time and whose work has given me a great deal of enjoyment over the years. And that’s the truthhhhhh.

That old recipe called for an ounce each of Lillet and Mandarine Napoléon, and half-ounce each of Cognac and maraschino.

Okay. On the right track. But tooooo sweet.

A little thought, a little rebalancing. We still want to keep the Lillet as a base, but we want to up the Cognac to give it more backbone. Mandarine Napoléon is good, but a whole ounce of it was too much and lets a candylike sweetness creep forward. Back that off by a quarter of an ounce, and back off the maraschino too. That should be there to help the fruit and Cognac flavors blend and round out, not to add any more sweetness. I decided to switch to the drier Croatian Maraska brand rather than the more powerful (and sweeter) Italian brand Luxardo. Finally, a dash of bitters for spice, edge and brightness.

Y’know, the flavor profile is pretty much the same, but this is a far superior drink. Consider the Lillet … reformulated.

LILLET TOMLIN

1 ounce Lillet.
1 ounce Cognac.
3/4 ounce Mandarine Napoléon.
1/4 ounce Maraska maraschino liqueur.
1 dash Regans’ Orange Bitters No. 6.

Shake with cracked ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Garnish with a strip of orange peel, expressed over the glass and rubbed upon the rim. Garnish additionally with two ringy-dingys and serve to the party to whom you are speaking.

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We’ve been big fans of Chef Drago’s other restaurants around town (and I still miss his late, lamented Sicilian restaurant L’Arancino in West Hollywood). In addition to the enticing menu they’ve got a very good cocktail program (regularly spoken of with enthusiasm by our friend Mark, who’s a bartender there) that’s headed up by sommelier and beverage director Michael Shearin and head bartender Jaymee Mandeville.

Michael and Jaymee have been up to something interesting. They’ve organized something called the People’s Cocktail Contest, and it’s primarily happening via Twitter. Yes, I’ve been dragged screaming and kicking into the Twitter thing (I still refuse to use the word “tweet” as a verb), and despite having had problems with certain Twitter+food combinations in the past, I found myself inexorably drawn into this one (especially since it involves making cocktails and doesn’t involve anyone sending hundreds of the Teeming Masses into my neighborhood to wait 90 minutes in line for an expensive taco). Here’s how it works:

The contest lasts for four weeks. Each week on Monday, a “secret ingredient” will be announced via Twitter. (“Kyo no tema … KORE DESU!”) Participants will create an original cocktail featuring that ingredient. Cocktails are judged on appearance, aroma, taste, creativity, name, and its compatibility with the existing Drago Centro cocktail list. You post your recipe on Twitter, directing it to Drago Centro’s account (@DragoCentro) with the hashtag #pplscocktail to identify it. Include all instructions, muddle, shake, stir, whatever, and use 2-3 posts if you have to. The secret ingredient will be different each week, and each weekly round will end on Friday at noon. After 4 weeks the winners will battle it out live for a panel of judges. The winner will have his or her cocktail featured on Drago Centro’s list.

Week 1 was this past week, and last Monday the secret ingredient was announced, something “seasonal and appearing at all of our local farmer’s markets … BLUEBERRIES.”

Well! That sounded fun. I gave it some thought, then decided to work with flavors that I knew worked well together, to use an Italian amaro and to keep it simple. I’ve enjoyed berry-infused whiskeys before, both Bourbon and rye, and decided to go with a higher-proof Bourbon. I probably would have preferred to steep the berries in the spirit for a couple of weeks, but there wasn’t enough time, so vigorous muddling was called for.

The first tries yielded not enough blueberry flavor, so I upped the number of berries until it seemed right. 12-16 was definitely too few, and about 20 seemed right. Taste your blueberries for tartness and flavor to determine how many you’ll need. The amaro was Ramazzotti, one of my favorites, not too bitter and with a nice flavor from Sicilian orange peels, along with rhubarb and a touch of cinnamon. I love the flavor of blueberries and cinnamon together — I recalled a fantastic risotto I had at Trattoria Tre Venezie in Pasadena with wild blueberries and cinnamon — and wanted to accentuate that cinnamon flavor while bumping up the sweetness just a bit. My friend Blair’s excellent new product did the trick, but you can make your own cinnamon syrup by steeping cinnamon sticks in hot simple syrup, or adding a cinnamon tincture to simple syrup if you’ve got it.

I wanted to name the drink after Violet Beauregarde, who was turned into a gigantic blueberry in “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory,” but “beau regarde” (literally “beautiful look,” in French) didn’t sound like something that’d fit into the cocktail menu of an Italian restaurant where all the drink names are in Italian. A quick (and bad) Google translation of “beau regarde” into Italian yielded “bello sguardo,” the grammatical and idiomiatic correctness of which got a “Nope” from Italian speaker and general manager Matteo Fernandini at the restaurant. He said he’d give it some thought, but I didn’t think to ask him later (and he was somewhat busy with that whole running-a-restaurant thing). Anita came to the rescue yesterday, saying that if we’re trying to be literal with “beau regard(e),” a better rendition would be “bell’aspetto,” an Italian expression for “handsome.” Bingo. Thanks, Anita. (I should really start learning some Italian.)

BELL’ASPETTO

2 ounces Woodford Reserve Bourbon whiskey
About 20-24 blueberries
1/2 ounce Amaro Ramazzotti
1 barspoon (tsp) Trader Tiki’s Cinnamon Syrup
Lemon peel

In a mixing glass, muddle the blueberries thoroughly in the whiskey. Add the Amaro and syrup, ice and shake for 15 seconds. Double-strain over ice into a large Old Fashioned glass, and garnish with a large swath of lemon peel.

We tried another one last night using Knob Creek Bourbon, at a higher proof of 100. We really liked it. We may even have liked it better. (Bonkers Wesly wants to try it with Stagg now.) Play around with your own favorite higher-proof Bourbon, but the “official” version still uses Woodford.

Oh, by the way, yesterday afternoon they sent out a Twitter post that out of fifteen entries — including one described as tasting “just like pot” (?!) — this past week’s winning cocktail was … this one. Hoo!

A new theme ingredient goes up this afternoon. Check the @DragoCentro Twitter feed to find out what it is.

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This time I had some time to think and prepare, and was able to offer an original drink. There was a bit more incentive this time, as our sponsor added this to the fray:

The “Kahlúa Brunch Drink Challenge” — submit your hot or cold (but not blended, please) “Kahlúa Brunch Drink” idea during this TDN and a panel of both marketing and mixology experts will choose one to be featured at a Tales of the Cocktail coffee bar. To find out which drink was chosen, just show up to the coffee bar Wednesday morning of Tales — the selected drink will be credited, of course, and will be available each morning, Wednesday-Saturday.

Sheesh. We’re not going to make it to Tales this year, so if I win I won’t even get to serve my drink. Hrmph. Oh well … whether I win or not, I’m still happy with the drink. My idea was a cold eye-opener that still had a coffee kick. I included Kahlúa as per the rules but added cold brewed coffee to extend the coffee flavor without additional sweetness (New Orleans-style coffee & chicory is, of course, preferred). The rye and brandy base make for a good New Orleans drink too, with a little bitter orange edge from the Torani Amer plus that dash of the newly-resurrected 1934-style Herbsaint Original (a nod to my Italian music teacher in high school, who was fond of a slug of anisette in his coffee).

The rye I used was Sazerac (“Baby Saz,” the 6-year) and the Cognac was Pierre Ferrant 1er Cru du Cognac Ambre, which is a 10-year (substitute any good VSOP). The photo … is nonexistent, ’cause I actually had two drinks to work on last night and I was too lazy to set anything up. You can probably imagine what it looks like. (Maybe I’ll edit the post later on and add one, but for now … sorry.)

LEVEZ-VOUS

1-1/2 ounces Sazerac Rye
1/2 ounce Pierre Ferrand Ambre Cognac
1/2 ounce Kahlúa
1/2 ounce cold brewed coffee
1/2 ounce Torani Amer
2 dashes Legendre Herbsaint Original
1 dash Regans’ Orange Bitters No. 6
Orange peel

Combine ingredients with ice in a mixing glass and stir for no less than 30 seconds. Strain into a 6-ounce cocktail coupe and garnish with the orange peel after expressing the oil and rubbing it on the rim.

Wes remarked that he didn’t see a brown drink as particularly “brunchy,” but people drink coffee or coffee-based drinks at brunch, don’t they? Anyway, I wouldn’t complain if you insisted on a splash of cream, but I like it this way.

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This is one Chris had initially concieved for a cocktail contest. He wanted to start with a Bourbon base and did lots of trial versions until he came up with something that clicked for him. After all that (as I recall the story), he never got around to actually entering it in the contest, and from what one of the judges said afterward, it probably would have won! Ah well, at least we still have this gorgeous drink, which isn’t nearly as sweet as it sounds.

The key to keeping control over the sweetness is by choosing the right crème de cacao. Marie Brizard is the only one you want — it has a rich chocolate flavor but reins in the sweetness that inevitably dominates cheaper brands. The extra bit of spice you get from a couple of dashes of Bénédictine is the secret ingredient to this prescription … wish my childhood allergy medicine had tasted like this, rather than like green mold with a dash of Fernet. (C’mon, I hadn’t developed a palate for Fernet yet when I was a kid.)

And yes, the photo below actually depicts a cocktail that’s been consumed by 2/3 of its initial volume. After the first sip all I wanted to do is drink it, all other thoughts more or less swept to the side, until I realized, “Crap … if I want to write about this drink at this bar, I’d better take a picture.” Better late than never.

DOCTOR’S ORDERS
by Chris McMillian, Bar UnCommon, New Orleans

2 ounces Bourbon
1/2 ounce white crème de cacao (Marie Brizard)
2 dashes Bénédictine

Combine with ice in a mixing glass, stir for 30 seconds, strain into chilled cocktail glass. No garnish.

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(A brief digression … other than truly vintage items like Abbott’s bitters and 13-year-old bonded Old Overholt rye distilled before Prohibition, hidden during and then bottled afterward, a fair bit of the impossible-to-get stuff he’s turned me on to way back when is now available, like allspice dram, Crème Yvette, falernum and more. Life in the cocktail world is really good these days.)

The idea to post this drink this week came from my having bought a bottle of ruby port to make the St. Charles Punch the other day. It was a Warre’s Warrior Port — a perfectly nice, respectable everyday port, about $14 at the corner market. It’s not one I’d rhapsodize about, but it’s perfect for mixing in cocktails. (The Dow’s 1994 Vintage Porto I got Wesly for his birthday is most decidedly not for mixing, but for sipping, savoring and rhapsodizing.) This’ll probably spark several port-based cocktail posts over the next week or so, so stay tuned.

The key ingredient in this drink is Amaro Cora — ahh, I so do dearly love amari — an Italian digestivo (and light enough to work as an aperitivo as well) from Turin in Piemonte, sweeter than most amari, with flavors of orange, cinnamon and other spices. This is a really good entry-level amaro, and probably the one I should have tried first instead of the one which I did, which was Fernet Branca, which at the time scared the crap out of me.

Better yet, Amaro Cora isn’t impossible to find — it’s still made, but it’s a mother to track it down in this country. In the July/August 2007 issue of Imbibe magazine Doc describes how he stumbled across the ingredient in the most excellent 1937 tome The Café Royal Cocktail Book from the UK and describes his reaction to it (something along the lines of “Aha … what is this? It’s still made?! What does it taste like? I don’t care, I must have it!”) and an amusing tale of Argentinean internet auctions, second-hand translations and losing money.

But you can still get it! It just takes a bit of effort, easily done. The only place I currently find it is via Mount Carmel Wines and Spirits in the Bronx, for the princely sum of $9.99. It’s lovely stuff. If you’re interested in Italian bitters you must have it. You can order it over the Internetsss and it’s cheap. So what are you waiting for?

The first drink Doc tried it in was a vintage cocktail from Café Royal called the Amarosa (for which he adapted the proportions for modern tastes and balance), then came up with this original, which he served to Wesly and me at a soirée chez lui several years ago.

This is a wonderful drink … one of the best Doc has ever come up with, I think. With the rich, spicy base of a rye whiskey underneath, the fruity notes of the port explode with ripe cherries and blackberries, and the Cora provides a hint of bitterness but marvelous citrus and cinnamon spice to accent the fruit, and the Regans’ give a perfect little boost to both the bitter and citrus notes. So much going on in here, and it’s all fun.

Even though he doesn’t mention it in his Imbibe piece, I could swear that when Doc first served this to us it was garnished with a cinnamon stick, a perfectly logical garnish given the spice notes in the drink. (Caveat — I was undoubtedly hammered at the time, an occupational hazard everlastingly delightful side-effect of being a houseguest of Doctor and Nurse Cocktail.) If one is not handy, an orange peel would not be at all inappropriate.

THE CURARI COCKTAIL
(by Ted “Dr. Cocktail” Haigh)

2 ounces rye whiskey
3/4 ounce ruby port
3/4 ounce Amaro Cora
2 dashes Regans’ Orange Bitters No. 6

Combine in a mixing glass with ice, stir for 30 seconds and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with a proper cherry on a cocktail pick.

You really should pick up some Amaro Cora. Did I mention that it was cheap? (Well, I mean inexpensive, of course.)

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As the story goes, back in the 1940s the bar’s partners Benson “Pat” O’Brien and Charlie Cantrell were forced by liquor wholesalers to order as many as 50 cases of rum along with whatever other spirits they wanted, or else no deal. There was a glut of rum post-Prohibition and the dealers wanted to move it. Problem was, Pat and Charlie couldn’t care less about it. What the hell are we going to do with all this rum?! Their solution — create a drink to use up all this rum. After some tinkering they wound up with a powerful mixture of rum, passion fruit syrup and fresh lemon juice and created a taste sensation.

Pat O’Brien’s is quite possibly the most popular bar in the French Quarter, certainly among tourists — (a Times-Picayune article on the history of the place from a couple of years ago said that 95% of all first-time New Orleans tourists go there. You’ll even sometimes see some locals in there, although probably not so much as in older days. The Main Bar and Piano Bar in the front were once popular haunts for locals, and the Courtyard Bar, with its flaming fountain, is one of the most beautiful bar spaces in the city, and you should really go see it if you haven’t … as long as you don’t mind sharing the space with loud tourists and Texas frat boys.

There’s just one little problem — the drinks are pretty terrible.

Oh, you can get some okay mixed drinks there, but … well, Pat O’Brien’s put me off Mint Juleps for years because I made the mistake of ordering my first one there. I got a bright green concoction made with mint syrup and not a speck of fresh mint other than a wilted garnish that looked and tasted like Scope, and the bartender actually mocked me when he served it to me.

Regarding the Hurricane as currently served at Pat O’Brien’s, I have one word for you: sweet sweet sweet Sweet SWEET! (Okay, one word five times.) Rum? Oh yes, and lots of it, four whole ounces per drink. They go through a lot of it; it’s said that Pat O’s is the single largest purveyor of rum in the world. Passion fruit? Um … not so much. I’d say that flavor is undetectable in the drink. Lemon juice? Zilch. There is no balance of tart in this drink. Did I mention that it’s SWEET? Teeth-shatteringly sweet.

“A stealthy drink” is how my friend Chris Clarke once described it, and that it is. It’s like an alcoholic kool-aid in which you cannot taste the alcohol. And you can forget about any fresh ingredients — the recipe at the bar is rum (I don’t know which one they use in their well) plus “Hurricane mix,” which at the bar is a premade, artificially colored, artificially flavored bottled red stuff, which is also available in envelopes in powder form.

If you’re serious about cocktails, this isn’t anything you really want to be drinking.

In fact, in a post from Tales of the Cocktail’s weblog a while back, the Hurricane was listed as one of the worst drinks on Bourbon Street (then again, can you get a good drink on Bourbon Street anywhere past Galatoire’s?). Research for this post resulted in a highly amusing photo of a bunch of cocktail bloggers sucking down their Hurricanes like mother’s milk.

Shamelessly purloined from Trader Tiki

They look thrilled, don't they?

I don’t know when Hurricanes stopped using passion fruit syrup and citrus and when they started being red, but if you look at the list of ingredients — rum, passion fruit syrup and lemon juice — you don’t see anything red in there. Perhaps someone dumped grenadine in it once, and that evolved into the syrup … I really don’t know. If you do, let me know.

When I was in college, having just moved to Los Angeles from New Orleans, I was really homesick and didn’t know a damn thing about proper drinking. My homesickness caused me to bring back many envelopes of that awful powder and throw “Hurricane Parties,” the object of which was to socialize and get stinking drunk. (To be honest, we did have a great time, even though after the first round or two I stopped using “the good rum,” i.e. Bacardi, ahem, and started mixing them with plain wrap rum that was probably a step above tiki torch fuel.) If I didn’t have the powder, I used a a “faux-Hurricane” recipe that I found in an old local cookbook called La Belle Créole calling for a mix made with 46 ounces of Fruit Juicy Red Hawaiian Punch (back in the olden days, that was “one large can”), one 12-oz. can of frozen orange juice concentrate, and one 6-oz. can of frozen lime daiquiri mix. Though it didn’t taste all that much like the Hurricanes served at Pat O’s it was fruity, red, and we were too drunk to be able to tell the difference anyway.

A long time ago I found a recipe somewhere — I think it may have been in the Times-Picayune — to make a Hurricane out of all fresh ingredients. It looked pretty good, and I tweaked it to suit my tastes. It didn’t taste much like what was served at Pat O’s, but it was a pretty nice tropical drink and it was still true to the rum-passion fruit-citrus base. (It’s also nothing like the actual Original Hurricane; I’ll teach you how to make that in a bit. Keep reading.)

I had that older recipe up in an previous version of the website for ages, and it ended up in Gary Regan’s The Joy of Mixology. Here’s that version, slightly adapted; gaz swapped out lemon juice for my lime. If you can find fresh passion fruit juice or purée, use 2 ounces of that plus 1/2 ounce of simple syrup instead of the passion fruit syrup, otherwise mix as below:

Hurricane Cocktail: A Variation
(adapted from my recipe for The Joy of Mixology)

1-1/2 ounces light rum
1-1/2 ounces dark rum
1 ounce fresh orange juice
1 ounce fresh lime juice
2 ounces passion fruit syrup
1 teaspoon of real pomegranate grenadine

Shake with ice and strain into an ice-filled Hurricane glass or tiki glass. Garnish with a “flag” made of an orange slice and a cherry on a cocktail pick.

This is still a bit sweet but not nearly as sweet as the Pat O’Brien’s premix Hurricane, and it’s all fresh and not artificial.

Oh, and don’t skimp on the passion fruit syrup, either for the above variation or the real thing below. The go-to passion fruit syrup for years has been Trader Vic’s, but it has been reformulated with artificial ingredients and is no longer acceptable. You can get passion fruit syrup from Monin or Torani, opinions of which range from decent to acceptable to yuck, but you’ll really want to go to Aunty Lilikoi from Hawaii and order the best in the world. Seriously, it’s an order of magnitude or two better than the aforementioned ones.

As I understand it the original drink was made with lemon juice. If you’re a stickler for history and if you prefer it that way, use freshly squeezed lemon juice and you’ll be drinking some true New Orleans history. However, I think that lime works so much better and so perfectly in this drink that at home we make it with lime juice. Try it both ways and see which one you prefer.

For the rum try Appleton V/X from Jamaica, or Old New Orleans Amber Rum for a local touch.

This is for a reasonably-sized drink, not the super-sized one you typically see; unless I’m seriously getting my tiki on, perhaps quaffing at Tiki Ti when someone else is driving, the original proportions might be a bit much. That proportion called for four ounces of spirit, and two ounces of each of the other ingredients. If you want a big one served in a hurricane glass, just double this recipe, then prepare for blottofication.

The Original HURRICANE COCKTAIL
(adapted from the original recipe as seen in
Beachbum Berry Remixed, by Jeff Berry)

2 ounces dark rum
1 ounce Aunty Lilikoi passion fruit syrup
1 ounce fresh lemon juice or lime juice
Orange slice and cherry.

Combine rum, syrup and juice with ice and shake vigorously until the mixing tin frosts. Serve in a double Old Fashioned glass or tiki glass over crushed ice, and garnish with an orange and cherry "flag."

Now THAT’S a Hurricane, brah.

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To describe my reaction as “intrigued” would be a fairly massive understatement.

(If you’re not familiar with Chris, read Wayne Curtis’ article about him in Imbibe, and watch some videos of him making cocktails, especially the Mint Julep. Well, maybe not that last one; that one’s better seen and sipped in person.)

While we were home in New Orleans for two weeks a visit with Chris, dean of New Orleanian bartenders and his lovely wife Laura, both of whom are founding board members of the Museum of the American Cocktail, was pretty high on our list. We’d been hoping to get to Cure and French 75 as well, but seven days at the Fair Grounds, a trip to Acadiana and visits with family and friends cut down on our bar time. We were lucky enough that timing worked out such that we were right near Chris’ bar when he was on during one of our only free days in the Quarter/CBD.

Laura stopped by not long after we arrived and we were having a grand time all around when Chris asked if we’d like to taste something. Despite his great talent and profoundly deep knowledge of New Orleans and cocktail history, Chris is a pretty modest guy and doesn’t consider himself the type of bartender/mixologist who’s constantly coming up with new drinks. “If I come up with two new drinks a year that’s pretty good for me,” he says. In my experience those two drinks tend to be worth waiting for, and this was no exception.

The drink he prepared for us falls into the category of “Why didn’t anyone think of this before?” or even, “Hell, why didn’t I think of this?!” (Well, because he’s Chris and I’m me, that’s why.) The drink was so simple, yet so sophisticated and absolutely delicious.

It has its history in a few different places, starting with the classic Champagne Cocktail. Traditionally it’s a sugar cube soaked with Angostura Bitters, dropped into a Champagne flute and topped with bubbly. The Champagne treatment in a cocktail is often acknowledged by appending the word “royale” to a drink’s name, as in the classic variation on the Kir cocktail. That began as a combination of crème de cassis (blackcurrant liqueur) poured into white wine, a drink that was once commonly called blanc-cassis but was eventually called Kir in honor of Félix Kir, a mayor of Dijon, France in the early 20th Century who loved the cocktail and was frequently seen quaffing it. Substituting Champagne for the white wine made it a Kir Royale.

Simple enough, then — give a Sazerac the Royale treatment. This is an ideal apéritif and a perfect Sazerac variation to serve to those for whom a strong whiskey cocktail is a bit overwhelming. This drink is a knockout.

THE SAZERAC ROYALE
by Chris McMillian, Bar UnCommon, New Orleans

1/2 teaspoon Herbsaint Original or absinthe
1 sugar cube
3-4 dashes Peychaud’s Bitters
1 ounce rye whiskey (Chris used Old Overholt)
4 ounces chilled Champagne
Lemon peel

Rinse a Champagne flute with the Herbsaint or absinthe and discard the excess. Drop the sugar cube into the flute and soak with the bitters. Add the whiskey, then carefully top with the chilled Champagne. Twist the lemon peel over the surface, rub it around the rim and commit the sacrilege of dropping it into the drink.

I’ll post Chris’ other new one later this week.

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Yes folks, it’s another Thursday Drink Night, starting right now in that wretched hive of sum and villainy delightful chat room called The Mixoloseum Bar. Our sponsor this evening is Kahlúa coffee liqueur, who sponsored us last year with their limited edition holiday release Kahlúa Cream. From 4pm Pacific/7pm Eastern until midnight/3am various bartenders, cocktail nerds and assorted smartasses will gather to make original cocktails featuring Kahlúa, critique them (and quite likely, make rude remarks about one another’s mothers). You are more than welcome to join the fray.

Alas, I won’t be participating tonight, as tonight I’m still back home in New Orleans, getting ready to leave the Fair Grounds after the final performace of today’s Jazz and Heritage Festival (I think it’ll be Elvis Costello and the Sugarcanes, or else Bobby Lonero’s tribute to Louis Prima with Johnny Pennino and the New Orleans Express, or perhaps Cedric Watson & Bijou Creole) and then heading to dinner at Le Foret. And as I had to prepare this post several days in advance, before leaving for NOLA, I was far too lazy to come up with something original.

Better still is something from a couple of terrific bars.

My friend Damian Windsor made me a lovely cocktail at The Roger Room which I thought was one of his, but he told me it came from Bourbon and Branch in San Francisco. It features the somewhat unlikely combination of Bourbon, coffee liqueur (they use Tia Maria, but we’ll use Kahlúa tonight) and orange bitters. Y’know what? It works, really well. The orange plays off the chocolatey notes of the liqueur and gives it a desserty feel without making it overly sweet (one of the banes of cocktaildom, as far as I’m concerned). Lovely after dinner or any other time.

REVOLVER

2 ounces Bourbon whiskey.
1/2 ounce coffee liqueur (Tia Maria or Kahlúa).
2 dashes Fee’s orange bitters.
Orange peel.

Combine with ice in a mixing glass, stir for 30 seconds and strain into chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with the orange peel after expressing the oil.

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Our sponsor last week was Casa Noble Tequila, and we were lucky enough to have José “Pepe” Hermosillo, a founding partner of the distillery, joining us from Jalisco, Mexico (unfortunately, by the time I got home he was just logging off). The samples that were sent out were their blanco tequila, which they call “Crystal” — 100% agave, slow-cooked and only the hearts and cores are used in fermentation. I have yet to try any of their other varieties but I loved the Crystal. It had a rich, profound agave flavor, nicely vegetal and spicy, some black pepper and citrus rind. I don’t normally sip blanco tequila but I enjoyed sipping this one, and it occurs to me that this would make a pretty tasty Improved Tequila Cocktail (not that Jerry Thomas had tequila in the 1860s), which I’ll try next. (It’s also got a pretty bottle, so hush.)

I wanted to play up the vegetal and spice qualities in my original cocktail for the evening, and I was inspired by a terrific drink that Bryan Summers of the Library Bar at the Roosevelt Hotel in Hollywood made for me back when he was at Bar Centro at The Bazaar by José Andres a year and a while ago called the Archangel. That was gin and Aperol with a little cucumber, which was my launching point. I thought cucumber and Aperol would work really well with this tequila.

The Aperol’s low alcohol content smooths out the spirit’s edges and gives a nice, gentle bitterness, and the orange flavor complements the tequila’s citrus notes. I wanted to bring that up a little bit more with the Créole Shrubb without making it too sweet. I also wanted to bump up the bitterness a tiny bit, so I used Cynar, hoping that the artichoke enzyme cynarin would help make the sweet elements taste a bit sweeter without adding more liqueur. It seemed to work pretty well, although it took a bit of tinkering. One barspoon wasn’t enough, two were too many and 1/4 ounce — a barspoon and a half — was just right. The cucumber adds another vegetal element, again gentle, and helps tie everything else together and make them play nicely. I’m really happy with this one, and I think it’d be a good aperitivo for a Mexican meal.

The name comes from a town in Jalisco where my old friend Luie was born. It was near Guadalajara, but the town’s own growth and Guadalajara’s massive growth caused it to be swallowed up by the greater Guadalajara metro area, and it’s now considered a neighborhood of Guadalajara. It’s from the Nahuatl language, sort of pronounced “tlah-kay-PAH-kay,” and it’s really fun to say. Even more fun to drink.

TLAQUEPAQUE

2 ounces Casa Noble Crystal tequila, or other blanco tequila
1 ounce Aperol
1/4 ounce Clément Créole Shrubb
1/4 ounce Cynar
2 slices cucumber, about 1/4″ thick, for muddling
2 thin slices cucumber for garnish

Muddle the cucumber slices in the spirits, add ice and shake 10-12 seconds. Double-strain into a chilled cocktail glass, and garnish with two thin cucumber slices.

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Unfortunately, I can’t say the pics are necessarily obscenely gorgeous this time, as for some reason the camera was set at the lowest possible resolution, and that plus extremely low light equals highly mediocre pictures. You’ll get the basic idea, though.

The usual semi-annual routine for Wesly’s and my birthdays is that the birthday boy gets taken out for dinner, and never knows where until the moment the car pulls up in front of the restaurant. We’re big believers in the element of surprise, combined with sometimes absurd levels of misdirection. Usually each of us would conspire with Mary as to where to take the other (although sadly, this was the last time for that), and our conspiracy ended up with my plan to take Wes to Bouchon, Chef Thomas Keller’s French bistro in Beverly Hills, for his mumblety-mumbleth birthday on March 8.

Unfortunately, for a change Wesly was quite forceful in expressing his birthday wishes this year. “I wanna go to Bouchon. And I wanna go see ‘Dreamgirls.’” Well, so much for the element of surprise.

We don’t frequent Beverly Hills, unsurprisingly, but we were familiar with the location as it’s right up the block from Spago (which is one of our favorite occasion restaurants and not nearly as expensive or out-of-reach as you might think). This is the third Bouchon location, after the Michelin-starred original in Yountville in Napa Valley and the glitzier one in Vegas. The building in which Bouchon resides is called Beverly Hills Gardens, and shares a beautiful courtyard with the Montage Hotel. There’s a narrow veranda along the side of the restaurant overlooking the courtyard, which will be a really lovely place to dine once spring has sprung.

Upon passing the intriguing-looking Bar Bouchon on the ground level, which we must explore later, we entered and ascended a rather grand staircase into the restaurant and were seated at a cozy table after passing the rather grand curved zinc bar not unlike ones we’d seen in Paris.

The main dining room is vibrant without being overwhelmingly loud, and we still felt well-connected to the whole space while still being afforded a good bit of privacy at our table. (Ours was the two-top in the lower left corner, below.)

Around each napkin at the place settings was folded a crisp brown piece of paper that turned out to be our menus, leading immediately to the problem of what to order when everything on the menu looked so good — I imagine the menu is more or less the same at all three branches, and this one has a terrific chef, Rory Herrmann, formerly of Keller’s New York three Michelin-starred restaurant Per Se. Some of the dishes were eye-raisingly pricey (unsurprising, considering the world-famous chef-owner and its posh location) but many were quite reasonable. We saw (and smelled … holy frak) magnificent plates of steak frites go by, Gargantuan steaks accompanied by what looked like a basketball-sized clump of crisp Belgian-style twice-fried frites for $36.50 which we could easily have split. But not tonight.

(...)
Read the rest of Bouchon (1,587 words)

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The flag of the Four Provinces of Ireland

I don’t suppose I could have gotten away with not making a post today, although I wasn’t particularly planning one. I did get a big of a nudge while talking to an Irish cow-orker this morning (and when another cow-orker passed us, he said, “You two shouldn’t even be allowed to talk to each other today … critical mass!”), while we chatted about “Father Ted” and shouted “FECK!” and “ARSE!” and “DRINK!” to each other, as is our wont.

Those of you who’ve seen my previous years’ St. Patrick’s Day posts will remember my own rules for the day:

1. NO GREEN BEER. I really shouldn’t even have to explain that.

I remember back in gradual school my mentor and favorite teacher Ian Conner, a native Glaswegian, overheard one of my fellow students on St. Patrick’s Day say that he was planning to spend the evening going to a local bar to drink green beer. “Is that what St. Patrick’s Day means to you?” asked Ian. “That’s not what St. Patrick’s Day means to me. What St. Patrick’s Day means to be is starting at noon at the closet Irish pub to where you live, having some whiskey, then moving on to the next one, having another whiskey, and continuing thusly throughout the day!” One of many thousands of anecdotes which add up to a truly great teacher.

2. Wear the green, but keep it subtle. I find that Irish people don’t particularly wear a lot of green anyway — one fun game I’ve played in Dublin with my Irish friends is “Spot the Yank,” terribly easy when there are so many Americans festooned in bright fluorescent kelly green, especially green mesh-back baseball caps with a shamrock and the word “IRELAND” on the front, plus the Bermuda shorts of course. Today my socks are a light forest green, and that’s perfectly nice.

Of course, given the Irish flag has green, white and orange (representing the nationalist tradition, the Orange Protestant tradition and the hope for peace between them), you could wear a bit of each. Then again, Ian continued his story … “On St. Patrick’s Day, my grandfather — a fierce adherent to the Church of Scotland — used to pin orange ribbons to his clothing and go through the Catholic sections of town, shouting anti-Papist slogans.” No need to go quite that far.

A clever, amusing t-shirt will do fine too. I have a few from a shop in Spiddal, Co. Galway called An Spáilpín Fánach featuring clever or witty sayings in Irish (I like the one I have that says, “Ná cuir céist orm — níl fhois agam!” or, “Don’t ask me, I don’t know!”) and some not-so-clever (such as the ubiquitous “Póg mo thóin”). I’ve seen a few other good ones around — “I ♥ Irish boys” is an old favorite, “Craic dealer” made me laugh, and perhaps the best one ever is the one that said, in a rather recognizeable typeface and layout …

(Heh.)

3. Stay out of Irish pubs/bars. Seriously. Find a great Irish bar and go any other day of the year. On St. Patrick’s Day it’s strictly amateur hour, and unless you like being packed like sardines in green beer, drunk collge students, the Dropkick feckin’ Murphys and lots of police sobriety checkpoints there and back, stay home. Well, unless you’re actually in Ireland, where avoiding an Irish pub might be a bit more difficult.

4. Drink Irish whiskey. It is good. It is very good. And the whole “Catholic whiskey / Protestant whiskey” thing is bullshit — don’t buy into it. Nobody in Ireland would. If you like Bushmills (and I do, especially their single malts and aged expressions like the 16- and 21-year), then do so! Black Bush is lovely stuff and quite affordable.

My own preference goes toward the 12-year expressions of John Powers and Jameson’s, plus Tullamore Dew, all good for sipping or mixing. I also adore Redbreast, the only pure pot still Irish whiskey we’re getting over here now, and I’ve recently fallen in love with Tyrconnell Single Malt, one of the many wonderful products of the Cooley Distillery in Co. Louth, the only truly independent Irish whiskey distillery (Midleton in Cork is owned by Pernod-Ricard, and Bushmills by Diageo). The Tyrconnell line also includes whiskies finished in sherry, madeira and port barrels — I’ve only had one of them so far, but it was wonderful, a great balance between maltiness and strawberry-fruit sweetness.

I’m also a fan of Kilbeggan, another Cooley product. Wesly and I visited the Old Kilbeggan distillery about six years ago and enjoyed seeing the place. In ’07 the folks at Cooley actually got working pot stills going at Kilbeggan again, with the plan to actually have them produce whiskey again after 54 years. Kilbeggan’s lovely, with notes of raisins and vanilla. Interesting tidbit — from 1843 until its closure in 1954 the distillery was called Locke’s, after the man who purchased it and whose family ran it for over a century. His name will be familiar to those of us who are “Lost” fans … John Locke. (As far as I know, that John Locke’s body is not currently inhabited by a smoke monster.) Locke’s 8-year single malt is still produced by Cooley — it’s a blended single malt, which does include a bit of peated whiskey, so actually Locke’s has a touch of the smoke monster after all.

5. Drink Irish whiskey cocktails. We’ll be doing numbers 4 and 5 tonight, at home.

Here are the 10 Irish whiskey-based cocktails currently in my list; doubtless you can find more. I’m favoring the Tipperary tonight, I think; Gaz Regan wrote about it again today in the San Francisco Chronicle.

A few Irish whiskey cocktails to peruse

Bushmills in the Afternoon
Dubliner
Irish (Channel) Coffee
Irish Whiskey Toddy
James Joyce Cocktail
St. Dominic’s Preview
The Swell Season
Tipperary
Weeski

6. Listen to Irish music. You’re always good with The Pogues (even though most of them aren’t from Ireland), but your best bet are the modern classics of Planxty and The Bothy Band. Go on iTunes or eMusic and get some now if you haven’t already. You’ll thank me later.

And have a happy and safe, snake-free St. Patrick’s Day!

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I used to watch it all the time. The ability to watch Mario Batali every day? Damn right! Hometown chef Emeril Lagasse too. (His studio show “Essence of Emeril,” not the silly live show when they cheered every time he seasoned something.) And my weekly obsession, Iron Chef — the real one from Japan, not the American version, which despite the presence of Alton Brown and (for a while) Mario and Iron Chef Masaharu Morimoto I never really cared for. Oh, how I miss わたしのきおくがたしかならば!

Now the network is mostly crap, with pretty much all the actual chefs swept away and Alton Brown being pretty much the only thing worth watching; I still do catch “Good Eats” on occasion. Worst of all, though, and what has brought Food Network down to its nadir, is the truly awful Sandra Lee of “Semi-Homemade” and mindbogglingly enough some other show as well in which she mixes together a lot of pre-packaged crap and calls it cooking.

The thousand injuries of watching her “cooking” I had borne as best as I could, but when she ventured upon insult — making what she called “cocktails” — I vowed revenge. (OK, not really, but I love quoting “The Cask of Amontillado.”) By “revenge” in this case I mean “intense public mocking.”

Yeah, I know, I don’t usually diss people in this forum — it’s a lot more fun to write about what I like — but I do enjoy see perpetrators of mediocrity (and worse) actually get a bit of comeuppance.

This video has been making the rounds of the bartender world during the past few days after being brought to everyone’s attention by Jeff Morgenthaler via his Twitter feed, where said he hated to pick on her (uh huh) yet invited everyone to “watch Sandra Lee’s face in slow-mo as she tries to choke down one of her own cocktails.”

Yeah sweetie … what did you think a mixture of lemonade, heavy cream and vodka would taste like? Mmm, cream curdling right in your mouth. That entirely involuntary reaction displayed upon your face is your nervous system telling you, “Hello! You’ve just consumed something that might kill you or make you really sick! It’s a pretty noxious stimulus, so I might just have to engage your emesis reflex. Heads up!” Whether or not she actually hurled I can’t say.

Jeff continued with an epic weblog post in which he links to the ten “cocktails” Sandra Lee came up with last week, one for each of the 10 films nominated for the Best Picture Oscar — “the ten sweetest, vanilla-flavored, blue curaçao’d, nastiest cocktails of 2010, and an “appalling affront to the craft that so many of us have worked hard trying to restore over the past fifteen-plus years.”

Let’s hope not too many people actually made one of those awful drinks. (To be fair, her “Inglourious Basterds” drink is basically just a Negroni with a splash of orange juice — highly unoriginal yet probably drinkable. But ugh.)

In the interest of full disclosure I have to say that I too made a blue cocktail for the Oscar party, where all the food or drink that’s brought in has to tie in to one of the films nominated in any category, even if only via a bad pun. Inglourious Custerds was one of my favorites (honorable mention to Steve’s “Inglourous Basturma”). We also had A Serious Man-icotti, some great BBQ ribs for “The Lovely Bones,” an apple cider-glazed turducken (because the Fantastic Mr. Fox stole chickens, ducks, turkeys and cider from Farmers Boggis, Bunce and Bean … brilliant!) and perhaps the best and most groanworthy pun of the night … the beers Diana brought that had Band-Aids stuck to the bottles. Why? “Hurt Lager!”

Cocktail-wise, rather than a flavored vodka sweet swill as Lee is always wont to dump into her cauldron of evil, I made a Daiquiri in one of the classic proportions of 4:2:1 and added a quarter ounce each of maraschino liqueur and blue curaçao, evening out the tart and sweet balance. I find that large general non-cocktailian crowds like this tend not to like citrus cocktails as tart as I like them.

The curaçao I used is Senior Curaçao of Curaçao as well — it’s a really good product, despite its intense blueness, and remains the only curaçao actually made on the island of Curaçao. I usually keep both their orange and blue versions around.

Plus, I was talking to Audrey Saunders the other day and she expressed her love of blue cocktails (”as long as they taste good”), so I consider that to be official permission.

The crowd seem to like them, for what it’s worth. I batched enough for about 24 small servings, and they were gone long before the end of that interminable Oscar broadcast.

I will confess, though, that I did not come up with a terribly clever pun to name the drink, though … lame lame lame.

NA’VI’QUIRI

2 ounces Cruzan light rum
1 ounce fresh lime juice
1/2 ounce simple syrup
1/4 ounce Luxardo maraschino
1/4 ounce Senior Blue Curaçao of Curaçao

Combine with ice, shake for 15 seconds, strain into chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with a little sparkly airborne floating jellyfish-looking thing from Pandora, or a lime wedge.

Perfect for sipping on those balmy Pandora days while you’re lounging under your Home Tree, wearing 3-D glasses and a breathing mask, or while watching “Dances With Wolves.”

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Have you ever served someone a pink Mai Tai? Or thought you could just mix rum and pineapple juice? Or gotten some kind of blended slush? Or worse still, come across a bartender who thinks that a Mai Tai is “aah, just some rum and a buncha juices?” I’ve been unfortunate enough to have all of the above (that quote is a direct one, and in a tiki-themed restaurant no less), more times than I care to count. The most recent one was in a local restaurant and bar which supposedly prided itself on authentic cocktails. They listed the Mai Tai on their menu as “The Original Trader Vic Mai Tai,” listed all the correct ingredients even … and then proceeded to dump a jigger of fake Rose’s grenadine into the mixing glass at the very end. *facepalm*

(I returned it — gently, politely and even apologetically — but the bartender instantly hated me anyway. Sigh. To be fair, I was assured later that none of the other bartenders in the joint would have done that, and nobody liked the one who happened to serve me.)

The Mai Tai is one of the greatest tropical cocktails, and one of the most sadly abused. It was created by Victor “Trader Vic” Bergeron in his Oakland bar in 1944 and, as the story goes, first served to a friend who was visiting from Tahiti. Supposedly the friend exclaimed in Tahitian, “Mai ta’i roa ae!, variously translated as “The best!” or “Out of this world!” and hence the name.

If you’re not a cocktail geek, or if you haven’t been frequenting the right bars, it’s entirely likely that you’ve never even had a truly authentic Mai Tai, although I’ll bet you’ve had a lot of rum ‘n juice. A lot of folks don’t realize that the only juice in a proper Mai Tai is lime — no pineapple, no orange, no grapefruit. The orange flavor comes from curaçao, the sweetness from rich simple syrup (or “rock candy syrup,” made 2:1 sugar to water) and orgeat, a French-style almond syrup with hints of orange blossoms and roses. No grenadine. No red, no pink.

When you taste one, it’ll be like dawn breaking. You’re going to love the interplay of flavors, the sweetness and tartness in perfect balance, and the blend of fruit and nut and the tiniest hint of flowers make it taste truly exotic. You won’t get that from “rum and a buncha juices.”

If you haven’t done so yet, as of today you are now going to carry the torch for a real Mai Tai, and you’ll be taught by the best.

Now, we must admit that the really authentic Mai Tai will cost you more than you’d likely care to spend. Vic used a 17-year-old Wray and Nephew Jamaican rum for his initial Mai Tai which hasn’t been made in over 50 years, and remaining sealed bottles of it have sold for tens of thousands of dollars. However, if you’re idly rich or a Lotto winner keen on squandering your fortune on drink, there is an original, authentic Mai Tai to be had. Go to The Bar at the Merchant Hotel in Belfast in the north of Ireland. There bartender Sean Muldoon will make you a Mai Tai with one of their precious bottles of Wray and Nephew 17-year — I think they only have one left — and serve it to you as Vic served it to his Tahitian friend, for the low, low price of £750. That’s about $1,129.42 at today’s exchange rate. If you have one, please let me know how much you enjoyed it.

For the rest of us, a good aged rum will do, preferably a blend of two.

Let’s watch Martin Cate, owner of the fabulous Smuggler’s Cove in San Francisco, show you how it’s done. This is from Chow.com‘s series, “You’re Doing It Wrong!” (Sorry about the commercial.) Martin likes Appleton Estate 12-year from Jamaica and El Dorado 12-year from Guyana, which is a great combo. I like to mix Jamaican rum (that Appleton being one of my very favorites) with a Martinican rhum agricole like Saint James Hors d’Age or Clément VSOP. Whichever you choose, make sure they’re dark and aged, and use one ounce of each.

Take it away, Martin!

The Mai Tai
(Original version by Trader Vic Bergeron, 1944, and therefore the ONLY acceptable version!)

2 ounces aged rum (preferably a blend of two)
3/4 fresh lime juice
1/2 ounce orange Curaçao
1/4 ounce rich simple syrup
1/4 ounce orgeat

Combine in a mixing glass with crushed ice and shake until the metal portion is frosty. Pour the whole thing into a double Old Fashioned glass. Garnish with half of a spent lime shell, face down, and a healthy sprig of mint (spank the mint before garnishing to release oils and aroma).

Remember Martin’s rules — no mixes! (That’s a general rule that if you read this site or any other cocktail-related sites you should know by now.) No juices other than lime. No grenadine. No flavored rums. Make rich simple syrup — it only takes a few minutes. Buy Trader Tiki’s orgeat! It’s ready-made, authentic and delicious!

And raise your glass to Trader Vic. Mai ta’i roa ae!

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It’s deceptively simple — only two ingredients in a simple proportion — but what a pair of ingredients … oh so complex.

First off, Old Raj Gin. There are two that you’ll see on your spirits store shelves if you’re lucky — one at 92 proof and the other at 110, the more common of the two and the one you want. Despite its alcoholic heft it’s quite smooth and has no burn, juniper present but not overly forward, plenty of citrus and earthy spices. The straw-yellow tint comes from a bit of saffron among the botanicals, but the saffron is very subtle and understated.

Next, our old friend Chartreuse of the green variety, an herbal knockout also at a hefty 110 proof. The alcohol-by-volume in these combined ingredients is, as you may have noticed, 55%, hence the name of the drink. These two powerful ingredients combine with that delightful cocktailian alchemy into a very well-balanced, highly sippable drink in which the herbal onslaught of the Chartreuse is stretched, rounded and balanced by the gin and its own herb-and-spice profile. What you might think would be over the top is anything but, and might be just the thing to offer a Martini drinker who might be looking for something a bit more exotic for his or her next drink.

You knocked this one out of the park, Chris … thanks!

The 55º Cocktail
(by Chris McMillian, Bar UnCommon, New Orleans)

1-1/2 ounces Old Raj Gin, blue label.
3/4 ounce green Chartreuse.

Combine with ice in a mixing glass and stir for 30 seconds. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. No garnish.

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La Descarga has been open almost three weeks now, after a grand opening night on February 2. I absolutely love how the bar is revealed to you — you read a brief description of the entrance in the above-linked article, but fortunately it didn’t give away the good parts. When you do walk in you’re transported to Old Havana, pre-Fidel and ignoring the despotic dictators and corrupt American corporations, concentrating on the good stuff — rum, cocktails, music, floor shows and letting the good times roll (I don’t know how to say that in Spanish, sadly).

Check out the profile video from the Los Angeles Times …

Steve Levigni, formerly of The Doheny, is the general manager and Pablo Moix is behind the stick with a talented crew of bartenders, all of whom took good care of us on our first visit (first of many, I hope). We actually had reservations on opening night, as part of a group of friends, but unfortunately we had to cancel. We finally made it in four nights later, and they were already in full swing.

This isn’t really a full review, as we’ve only spent the one evening there so far, but Pablo and the rest of the folks behind the stick kept us and a two-deep Saturday night crowd well-oiled with excellent drinks from a good menu that will likely only get better. As it’s a rum bar that’s the featured spirit in the currently offered drinks, but I’ll be looking forward to seeing what else they’ll be offering, including cocktails blending different rums (always a favorite among aficionados of that spirit). I’m also looking forward to having a chance to sample tasting flights from their collection of 70+ rums … I’ve got my work cut out for me.

For an extra treat, if you go on the weekend, you’re treated to a bit of Caribbean cabaret as well.

You’ll want to call ahead for a reservation — they’re not required at this bar, but it’s a good idea to have one, so that you can be escorted right in without having to wait, especially on weekends. We tend not to go out on weekend nights anyway, as crowds are not my thing — and if they’re not yours either do as we do and go early, as after 9 or so it gets very, very busy — if you don’t mind them let the bar know you’re coming and you’ll become part of that crowd a lot faster. You’ll want to dress up as well; the bar prefers ladies and gentlemen to don their snappiest outfits when they visit, and at this place it’s warranted. Besides, who wants to be underdressed in Old Havana? Be a part of the fabulousness!

The three drinks I had were excellent, and this one, which Pablo was kind enough to confirm my guess of proportions, was probably my favorite. I love aromatic cocktails, and it’s particularly nice to enjoy a complex rum cocktail that contains no citrus (not that there’s anything wrong with that). It’s currently made with the new incarnation of Zaya rum from Trinidad, and fortunately not with rum from a barrel containing the remains of Admiral Nelson.

Tapping the Admiral

2 ounces aged Rum (Zaya).
1/2 ounce Carpano Antica sweet vermouth.
1/2 ounce Cherry Heering.
1 healthy dash Fee’s Whiskey Barrel-Aged Bitters.

Stir with ice for 20-30 seconds and strain into a chilled cocktail coupe, orange peel garnish.

I had a couple of others for which I didn’t get a recipe, as I was actually talking to my friends and having fun instead of being a cocktail geek and watching Pablo like a hawk. The Tropical Holiday was nice, with a J.M. Rhum Blanc base (mmm, rhum agricole!) sweetened with simple syrup and John D. Taylor’s Velvet Falernum for a dose of island flavors, plus lime and bitters, topped with soda. Tangy and refreshing. Wes’ Honey Swizzle is based on Cristal Aguardiente, a rather fiery cane spirit from Colombia with an anise flavor that I found surprising and ultimately delightful when I first tried it about 10 years ago (and a belated thanks to Patrick for bringing a bottle of it to that cocktail party at our place back in ’00!). Besides the honey syrup and citrus I forget the rest of the ingredients, but I’ll return to this one as well.

I’m going to have to visit a couple more times in the next few weeks, but y’know … I think I could fall in love with this place.

They don’t serve food at La Descarga but have no fear — right next door is Tacos de Patio, open late and serving excellent street-style Mexican food. Mmmm, tacos al pastor …

If they were smart, given who’s just opened up right next door, they’d add Cuban sandwiches to the menu.

La Descarga is at 1159 Western Ave., Los Angeles CA 90029, between Lexington and Virginia, just south of the 101.

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That’s not just an oversight on my part. For a long time I wasn’t a fan of that spirit’s major flavor component.

Aquavit is a flavored spirit, usually distilled from grain or potatoes, which comes from the various Scandinavian countries. I see it as a fellow traveler to gin — they’re both neutral spirits flavored with botanicals, with gin’s primary botanical being juniper, and aquavit’s being caraway. (That was the taste I had to acquire.)

Although a cousin to gin in that respect, the cousins get once or twice removed fairly quickly. A lot of aquavit spends time in wood and thusly picks up color and flavor. Linie, from Norway, is perhaps the most well-known example. It’s a potato-based aquavit that’s made in Oslo, then stored in oak sherry casks and aged in the holds of ships, as it travels across the equator through temperatures hot and cold to Australia and back (“linie” means “line” in Norwegian, referring to the equator) — for the makers, just the right amount of time and temperature variation spent in the barrels for a deeper flavor. Aquavits from other countries tend to be lighter in color, and some, like Krogstad, a domestic aquavit produced by House Spirits in Oregon — is clear. (However, North Shore Distillery’s Aquavit Private Reserve, which I have yet to try, is oaked, and I’ve just picked up a small bottle of experimental Krogstad that’s spent some time in oak as well. More on that, and some other House Spirits experiments, in a later post.)

In its native lands aquavit tends to be drunk neat and chilled from the freezer, but talented mixologists are finding it to be an intriguing cocktail ingredient. At Copper Gate in Seattle aquavit is the house spirit (and there’s a housemade one to boot), with several aquavit-based cocktails on their menu.

There aren’t a whole lot of aquavit-based cocktails (CocktailDB lists 18, most of which are fairly obscure), but what’s probably my favorite one isn’t on that list. It’s an original by Robert Hess, who about 10 years ago was playing with Fee Brothers’ Peach Bitters plus thinking about trying a variation on the Negroni. Aquavit replaced gin, Cynar (the Italian artichoke-based bitters) replaced the Campari, and sweet vermouth gave way to dry sherry. The peach bitters added a nice aromatic, fruity finish and the final product is a really lovely and complex drink from three really offbeat ingredients (to many folks, at least).

Murray put it on the menu at Zig Zag, and according to Robert that one drink on that one menu is responsible for Zig Zag being the largest consumer of Cynar in all of Washington State. So nice to see how all our Seattle friends drink so well (and even better to drink well with them!).

The Trident Cocktail

1 ounce aquavit
1 ounce Cynar
1 ounce dry sherry
2 dashes peach bitters

Stir with ice for 20-30 seconds and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Lemon twist garnish.

[2/22/10, 4:06pm - Post updated to mention North Shore Distillery's Aquavit, which I forgot about when I wrote this because apparently my frontal lobe fell out.]

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On my previous Anvil visits I got to hang out with bartender/co-owner Bobby Heugel and have him take me through Anvil’s always challenging and exciting menu. This time Bobby was in South Africa, happily swilling Pinotage and having a well-deserved vacation, and behind the stick this was Justin Burrow, one of the other owner-partners who I finally got to meet at Tales last year. Justin took great care of us on a busier-than-usual Sunday night, as he and his crew accommodated not only the usual locals but the entire cast of the touring production of “Miss Saigon,” who are performing in Houston at the moment and who descended on the bar en masse.

The first drink on the new seasonal menu that caught my eye was the one with the most unusual mix of ingredients — Batavia Arrack, Strega, Falernum and lime. Wow, now that’s a combination I hadn’t thought of, and I immediately ordered one. My sister said, “The only one of those ingredients I’ve ever heard of is lime!” whereupon Justin very kindly poured a little sip of each ingredient into a glass for her to taste, “a deconstructed version.”

If you’re not familiar with these ingredients either … Batavia Arrack is a sugar cane-based spirit also made with fermented Indonesian red rice, and is a basic component of Swedish Punsch. Strega is an Italian herbal liqueur with over 70 herbs and spices (the yellow color coming from saffron), and falernum is a sweetining and flavoring syrup originating in Barbados with flavors of almond, ginger, clove and lime. It’s frequently non-alcoholic, but this particular incarnation, John D. Taylor’s Velvet Falernum, is 11% abv. Melissa tasted each one … “Ooh, that’s funky,” to the arrack; “Wow, that’s really complex,” to the Strega; “Um, I’m draining this – you don’t get any” to the falernum. Hmm, guess I’ll have to buy her a bottle.

Justin explained that they had been doing inventory at the end of the year and there was an excess of arrack, Strega and falernum, and they wondered what they’d do with it as none of the drinks on the Anvil 100 call for them, and the current seasonal menu didn’t either. Justin started mixing, using the Last Word as a template, and lo and behold … they worked together beautifully.

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Now that we’ve had our break, Wesly and I hope to charge into 2010 (or “oh-ten,” as we’ve heard some people say, to our mocking delight). With Marleigh’s help I’ve gotten started on another new feature. Note that there’s a new link up in the header that says Cocktails — it’s a work in progress at the moment, and when complete will be a compendium of every cocktail recipe I’ve ever posted on Looka!, going back to 1999.

I’ll be importing the old cocktail recipe posts into WordPress and backdating them so that the index can add them, and for the most part I’ll be leaving them more or less intact. This means that I’ll be keeping in the embarrassing shit like “I’m not a big fan of gin” and “I don’t like vermouth” in posts from 10+ years ago, plus embarrassing drinks like the Velvet Hammer. I will be updating recipes for clarity and accuracy, however, plus fixing dead URLs as I can and throwing in an annotation here and there. All original posts (plus the rest of the old content) will still be there in the stone-knives-and-bearskins section of the archive.

So far I’m about halfway into 2002, and I’ve got along way to go. It’ll likely take a couple of weeks, but by the time I’m done importing we’ll have a very handy and convenient index of cocktail recipes here on the ol’ blawg, and future cocktail recipe posts will be automatically added to the index.

Whoever of y’all that have been nagging me to do this for years (Barry? Chris?) … good things come to those who wait!

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Or specifically, “Burns Nicht” if you’re going to be holding the traditional celebration for the Bard of Scotland tonight, in honor of his 214th birthday.

(Quite a handsome bloke, wasn’t he?)

If you were hoping for that most traditional of Scottish dishes, always served on Burns Night by those celebrating the poet’s life, prepare to unleash a joyous shout of “Gie her a Haggis!” The USDA is going to relax its ban on the importation of the real MacCoy, made of the heart, lungs and liver of a sheep, mixed with beef suet, onions, oats, black pepper and stuffed into the stomach of the animal. (Mmm.)

This is great news! See, thing is, though … haggis is good. I’ve had it, in Edinburgh, Scotland, no less. If you’re a Louisianian or a lover of Louisiana food who’s eaten and enjoyed boudin, then you’re pretty much there — it’s a very small leap from boudin to haggis. Think sheep instead of pork, oats instead of rice, stomach instead of intestinal casing (and the stomach is just that, a casing — you don’t eat that bit). It’s a big fat sausage, basically, no big deal, and as a waiter in a Scottish restaurant in New York said, “If you can eat a New York hot dog and not ask what’s in it, you can eat haggis.” It’s particularly good when served with the traditional accompaniments of “neeps and tatties” (mashed turnips and potatoes), some strong Scots ale, a wee dram (or four) of whisky … and, um, in my case in Scotland, a few dashes of Tabasco that I snuck out of my bag and applied when no one was looking. Untraditional but yummy nonetheless.

Of course, you’ll be needing plenty of guid Scots whisky tonight, whether you’re having haggis or not. There’s a huge world of it that I’m still only just beginning to explore, but these days I’m enjoying the maritime flavors of Islay whiskys — the wonderfully smoky Laphroaig 10-year (“like drinking bacon”), the intense “Band-Aids, sweat, leather and iodine bouquet” of Lagavulin 16-year (seen below) or the delightfully earthy, smoky, spicy, almost chocolatey Ardbeg Supernova, if you can still find it. Find a good blend too — don’t discount blended whisky, as there are many superb blends. Compass Box Asyla is a favorite, Famous Grouse is our regular mixing Scotch, and I loved the complex, nutty, spicy, fruit-and-toffee flavors of the Chivas Regal 18-year I tried recently.

If you’re a cocktailian, though, how about something (presumably) named after the Bard himself?

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Read the rest of Cocktail of the Day: The Robert (Bobby) Burns (926 words)

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My biggest (well, maybe second-biggest) and best surprise of the evening was seeing someone in a 50s-style tiki panel shirt and thinking, “Wow, that guy looks like Blair from behind.” The guy turned around … and it was Blair! Yay, Trader Tiki himself! There was much rejoicing. He was kinda-sorta in the neighborhood, having done BarSmarts in Las Vegas (a mere 200 miles away), entered a punch that was accepted as a finalist (I had no idea) and made the hop to L.A. All this punch plus a nice visit too — good way to start!

It was a formidable group of competitors. Besides Blair the others were Chris Bostick from The Varnish, a good friend and monstrously talented bartender (who had Forrest Cokely as his proxy mixer-server, as he had to work that night); Zach Patterson from STK, also superb behind the stick; and someone I’d heard of but never met before, Jason Schiffer from a restaurant and bar in Seal Beach called 320 Main, and thanks to them you can get excellent Manhattans and Old Fashioneds in Orange County.

It was a lot of fun, and good experience. I’d wanted to enter a cocktail competition for a long time now, but they were either at bad times and/or filled with so many great bartenders that I would have had my ass handed to me in two seconds (which would be great experience, really), or else other competitions I thought about entering that I ended up getting asked to judge instead. That was very flattering, of course, and quite an honor, but I began to wonder how long it’d be before I could get myself into a competition which would actually accept my entry and in which I might have had a ghost of a chance. Local cocktail competitions tend to be made up of bartenders with exponentially greater skills than mine. I was over the moon to be a part of this one … although it was technically not a cocktail competition, actually, as the Bowl of Punch predated the cocktail by a couple of centuries.

There were originally six finalists but unfortunately one couldn’t make it, so the five of us presented our punches to a paying and thirsty crowd of about 100 people at Malo. Here was mine:

PONCHE RELAJANTE
(“Relaxing Punch”)

32 ounces Gran Centenario Rosangel tequila.
8 ounces Del Maguey Minero Mezcal.
8 ounces fino sherry.
1 cup Demerara sugar.
2 lemons and 4 limes (or enough for 1/2 cup juice from each)
6 ounces Guaycura Liqueur de Damiana
2 ounces Licor 43 (Cuarenta y Tres)
48 ounces (3 pints) Té de 7 Azahares (Mexican “7 Blossoms” herbal tea)
16 ounces water
35 dashes (about 1/2 oz) Bittermens Xocolatl Mole bitters
35 dashes (about 1/2 oz) Fee’s Whiskey Barrel-Aged bitters
Lemon, lime and orange slices
Pomegranate seeds

Peel the fruit with a sharp vegetable peeler (zest only, no pith). Juice the fruit, strain the juice and measure until you have 1/2 cup each of lemon and lime juices for a total of 1 cup of citrus. Add the sugar to a punch bowl and muddle the citrus peels in the sugar until you’ve extracted the oils, and the sugar gets a bit wet and clumpy with lemon and lime oil. Let that sit for a while if you have the time.

Add the tea and citrus, and stir until sugar is dissolved. Remove the peels with a slotted spoon. Add the spirits, sherry, liqueurs and bitters. Chill. Add a large block of ice (freezing a stainless steel bowl full of water works well). Garnish the punch and ice block with slices of lemon, lime and orange, and scattered pomegranate seeds.

Serve about a 4-ounce serving in a punch cup. Garnish each serving with a lime wheel and a spoonful of pomegranate seeds.

YIELD: 34 four-ounce servings.

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Having only one day in which to do it is beyond frustrating.

All in all, though, we did a fairly good job imbibing on our whopping one whirlwind day in London, culminating in some truly fabulous cocktails. Before all the tippling began, we started our day with a non-alcoholic beverage which was memorable enough not to get lost amidst all the ciders, beers, bitters, ales, porters, stouts and cocktails.

Fiona made us breakfast both mornings at Hampton Court (and for the next three days in Shropshire too!), and her breakfasts featured a wonderful product called Copella Apple & Elderflower Juice from Boxford Farm in Suffolk. Holy bejeebies, that stuff’s good — fresh-pressed and filtered apple juice, not from concentrate, and very gently infused with elderflowers. It makes me want to get out the Laird’s Straight Apple Brandy and St. Germain and start making cocktails. I now want this for breakfast every day, but it seems that I’ll have to move to the U.K. to do it. Sigh. (You lot across the pond are lucky to have this!)

While we were omnomnomnomming on our bacon and sausage baps, pork belly butties, bits of black pudding and tastes of curries at Borough Market, we sampled another of the great British institutions — cider. Specifically, New Forest Cider from Hampshire, who had a lovely little shop in the market. Hard ciders these were, of course, in varying strengths and varieties, including the wonderful pear cider that’s called “perry.” As it was a bit nippy that day we had a hot mulled cider with cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg and allspice (oh boy), plus I sampled the perry as well. Wonderful stuff that, fairly hefty at 7% ABV, which can sneak up on you. Just a bit of a fizz, light and peary (perry!) and very refreshing.

We couldn’t be in London without going to a pub, of course, and although I could spend days doing nothing but pubbing we kinda had to pick just one. John’s first choice had closed for the afternoon, and then we found a fairly traditional place called The Mudlark, near London Bridge. Not the world’s best but perfectly nice, a small inside with a much larger heated outdoor seating area, what looked to be quite good pub food (bangers and mash with a variety of local sausages available) and some truly excellent beers. The ones we had were all from Timothy Taylor, a Yorkshire brewery. John and Fiona had their Landlord Bitter, a strong pale ale. Wesly got an Autumn Brew by a brewery which escapes me (care to fill that in, Wes?), and I had another Taylor’s brew, the Golden Best, an amber-coloured brew classified as a “mild.” A bit lower in alcohol that what the others were drinking, nice citrusy notes and hoppy bitterness … yum.

Sadly, I didn’t get pictures of any of the beer. Ah well. I guess I was too busy drinking it!

Whirlwinding around London the rest of the afternoon finally took us to the Connaught Hotel in Mayfair. One of London’s nicest hotels, they’ve revamped their bars a few years back and are now one of the city’s top cocktail destinations. Our gracious guide for the evening was our friend Jay Hepburn (cocktailian extraordinaire and author of the superb weblog Oh Gosh!). Of the hotel’s two bars he suggested we meet at The Connaught Bar, and we did, only a few minutes late — highly uncharacteristic of us! Well, when cocktails are concerned, we can surely walk a little faster.

It’s a beautiful space — a wonderful Art Deco look, gorgeous sparkly-silvery walls, mirrors all around, etched glass panels, a beautiful bar, very comfortable leather furniture in the booths and around the tables, and a pretty stunning cocktail menu. The main sections of the menu are “Revisited,” featuring classic cocktails, often done with the Connaught’s own twist; “Seasonal,” featuring the best of what’s in the markets now, and “Fusion,” which is kind of anything-goes, old-meets-new, and the like.

Typically difficult choice when looking at a menu like this, but after some hemming and hawing I decided on my first drink, from the Seasonal section:

THE NJ SOUR

1 fresh fig
35ml applejack brandy (I’d recommend Laird’s bonded)
10ml orange curaçao
10ml Averna amaro
20ml fresh lemon juice
15ml homemade pomegranate grenadine

Muddle the fruit and shake all the ingredients with ice. Double strain into an ice-filled Old Fashioned glass. Garnish with a dry lemon wheel.

Oh man … absolutely delicious! I’m kicking myself that I didn’t do more with our wonderful Black Mission figs from our backyard (other than eat them) and that I didn’t learn this drink while the tree was about to fall over with the weight of all our figs, because I would have made this a few times a week. Beautiful sweet fresh fig flavor, nice touch of bitter from the amaro, just enough balance in the sweet and sour, and very refreshing.

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My friend Steve was reviewing the show for Variety and kindly offered to bring me as his plus-one (read his review here). After several uncertain moments regarding misplaced will-call tickets that made me worry we’d miss the show entirely, we finally got in the door thanks to a very nice and helpful manager at the theatre, only having missed about half of Josh Ritter‘s wonderful opening set. That was a nice surprise; I didn’t know he’d be playing support until we got there. If you haven’t heard of him I highly recommend you check him out — he’s an Idaho-born singer and songwriter in the folk and folk-rock vein, lesser-known here but huge in Ireland, mostly thanks to Glen having spotted him early on and championed his work.

When The Swell Season finally took the stage it’s as if we got three shows in one — Glen and Markéta began solo, as their previous performances had been, and then were joined by The Frames as a backup band. For one large part of the set we were treated to Glen performing solo (including a great rendition of Van the Man’s “Astral Weeks,” which I’ve heard him do before and could hear him do again a hundred times) — we could have all been on Grafton Street.

Markéta did get to take a few turns on lead vocals (including one with a Czech singer whose name escapes me), and although her piano playing is a strong part of the band’s sound I do agree with Steve’s observation that it’s a bit of an uneven musical partnership. Glen’s definitely way out front, with Markéta sometimes feeling like a sideman. She’s a wonderfully talented musician but the force of her personality is no match for Glen’s — almost nobody’s is, really. He’s a powerhouse, and I agree with Damien Dempsey’s comment taht Glen’s the most passionate singer he’s ever seen.

Glen had mentioned that thanks to someone giving him the complete DVD box set of “Freaks and Geeks” he had become a huge fan (yay!), and to top that off got a chance to meet Jason Segal at a gig. They remained in touch and became friends, and we got an extra-special L.A. treat when Jason came on stage, sat at the piano and performed his own composition — a deeply moving, heartfelt and introspective song about using his celebrity status to coax a willing female Swell Season fan from the audience into the sack. I’m pretty sure this video was shot by the person sitting right in front of me.

And yep, apparently that’s really his phone number.

The show ended on a pitch-perfect note, with Glen bringing up The Clancy Brothers and noting that Liam Clancy is the only one left alive. He did a Clancy Brothers song for us, a traditional number called “The Parting Glass” that I actually first learned from the singing of The Voice Squad. It’s a longtime favorite and one that never fails to get the tears welling up.

Last year when Glen and Mar won their Oscar I came up with a cocktail in their honor, one that included both Irish and Czech ingredients. Wes and I revisited it the other night, and it’s still a keeper, I think. Yet another Manhattan variation, but it works and it’s tasty.

THE SWELL SEASON COCKTAIL

2 ounces blended Irish whiskey.
1/2 ounce Becherovka.
1/2 ounce Punt E Mes.
1 dash Angostura bitters.
Lemon peel.

Combine with ice, stir for at least 20 seconds and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Express the oil from the lemon peel and add as garnish.

For the Irish whiskey, I recommend Jameson’s or Tullamore Dew, especially the 12-year-old varieties. Otherwise, your favorite blended Irish will do nicely.

Finally, check out this terrific video clip Mary sent me — it’s from a Swell Season concert in Houston. Glen likes to have people sing along, and he’ll usually do a little run-through of the parts that require audience singing. He heard a voice in the crowd that he liked so much he invited her on stage to sing it with them.

Wow. I wanna go up on stage and sing with The Swell Season! I guess I’d better start practicing.

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A few months ago they debuted several new house originals on their cocktail menu, and I’ve been working my way through them ever since. Head barman Vincenzo Marianella is primarily responsible for the menu, and consequently we see lots of bitters and amari, plus some other Italian ingredients. One of these is the newly-reformulated liqueur Galliano, first developed in Italy in 1896 by a distiller named Arturo Vaccari (but now owned and developed by Lucas Bols in The Netherlands). Galliano’s infamy came about with the development of a drink in the 1960s called the Harvey Wallbanger, merely a Screwdriver with a Galliano float. The old liqueur, in that tall, beautiful bottle that doesn’t fit in your bar or on any shelf, was a very sweet vanilla-heavy concoction that most bartenders didn’t seem to have much use for, and if you ended up with a bottle chances are it remained rather full for many years, until its yellow coloring faded.

Recently Bols reformulated Galliano to its original recipe, now calling it Liquore Galliano L’Autentico. It’s a lot less sweet, with a higher proof, anise predominant in front but a broad base of herbs and spices, and the vanilla relegated to much more of a supporting role. Actually, it’s really good now, much more useful in cocktails, and you see it popping up in drinks at Copa here and there, both in improvised “market cocktails” as well as on the menu.

The new one I tried is the Custer, with Galliano providing sweetness and a spice base to the already nicely spicy base spirit, accented by two kinds of bitters taking the directions out to both fruity-tart and vegetal. I watched the bartender pretty closely, and this recipe seems to be spot-on.

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Read the rest of Cocktail of the day: The Custer (121 words)

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One of the very greatest cocktails in the history of Humankind, in the top five certainly, is the Manhattan Cocktail. Even though it’s basic — whiskey, sweet vermouth, bitters — there are many subtle variations. Bourbon or rye (I prefer the latter, but I’ve had dynamite Bourbon Manhattans depending on the Bourbon), brand of sweet vermouth, 2:1 or 3:1 (I think 4:1 is not enough vermouth), type of bitters. We’ve made dozens of variations, and enjoyed them all.

For the record, you may not omit the bitters in a Manhattan any more than you would cook a steak without salt and pepper. It’s worse than that, actually, and you are free to politely but firmly correct anyone who claims that “nobody wants bitters in a Manhattan,” which I’ve actually had some bartenders say to me. It’s like a chef saying that no one wants their food seasoned.

Here’s how we make them at home most of the time.

The Manhattan Cocktail

2 ounces Rittenhouse 100 proof rye whiskey.
1 ounce Carpano Antica Formula sweet vermouth.
2 dashes Angostura bitters.

Combine in a mixing glass with cracked ice and stir for 20-30 seconds. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass and garnish with a brandied cherry or, for a drier and more sophisticated flavor, express the oil from a lemon peel over the drink and garnish with the peel.

(...)
Read the rest of How to make a Manhattan (328 words)

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Last Thursday night was another edition of Thursday Drink Night, taking place as usual in the Mixoloseum Chat Room. Bartenders, mixologists, cocktail writers, enthusiasts and more join into an affable rabble as we mix drinks and stay up too late.   TDN always has a theme, and sometimes an official sponsor, and last night it was a new product called Square One Botanical Spirit.  “Botanical Spirit”?  What the hell’s that?  Good question.

DRAMATIQUE™ bottle photo by CocktailNerd

Square One is most well known as a company that makes organic vodka. I understand it’s quite good as vodkas go, but as I’m not a vodka man I never paid it much attention.  Then came their second release, a cucumber flavored vodka that I got to try at The Sporting Life, a monthly gathering of local L.A. bartenders and cocktail nerds, with drinks made with the product by H. Joseph Ehrmann of Elixir in San Francisco.  H. made us some mighy fine drinks with it, and I found it to be quite a bit more interesting than most flavored vodkas I’d come across.

Recently Square One released Botanical, which is quite pointedly not labelled as a vodka.  It’s far, far more than a flavored vodka, and almost resembles a gin in its botanical complexity.  In fact, if it contained juniper (which it does not), it’d be a pretty tasty New Western-style gin.  As it is, it’s a pretty tasty … um, something.  We don’t exactly know what to call it.  It’s not flavored vodka, but more.  It’s not gin because there’s no juniper, not aquavit because there’s no caraway.  So far, it’s pretty unique, and perhaps “specialty spirit” comes closest, clunky as that is.

Square One Botanical’s botanicals include pear (which is the most forward), lavender, rose, chamomile, lemon verbena (a flavor and aroma that I adore; I wash with lemon verbena-scented soap every day), rosemary, coriander and citrus peel, in a base of neutral rye grain spirit that’s given as clean a fermentation as possible, just one pass through the column still and one simple filtration.  Another difference between this and a gin (besides the lack of juniper, of course) is that the botanicals go in afterward, and aren’t in the still during distillation.

The pear comes up in front, not like a pear-infused vodka (most of which I don’t really like) and not nearly as strong as a pear eau-de-vie, but still impossible to miss.  The lavender and rose gently envelop it, and any other lavender element you’d care to add to a cocktail based on this spirit (syrup, tincture or bitters) would go quite nicely.  The other spices are subtle, but provide a cushion upon which the flavor structure rests.  I really have to hand it to Square One for thinking outside the box on this one.  They wanted to produce something different, and they did — not only that, it’s good.

In coming up with an original cocktail for TDN my first thought was to treat it like a gin and make something Martini-like with it, just Square One Botanical with perhaps some Dolin Blanc sweet white vermouth to accent its fruity notes, but I decided to skip over that and head for something a bit more complex.  (I still might try that, though.)  I wanted some citrus to go along with that pear, some ginger too (I love that combination), and I wanted to boost the pear and lavender notes inherent in the spirit.  Here’s what I came up with.

THE AQUARIA COCKTAIL

2 ounces Square One Botanical spirit
1/2 ounce Domaine de Canton ginger liqueur
1/4 ounce fresh lime juice
1/4 ounce fresh orange juice
2 barspoons pear eau-de-vie (I used Purkhart)
1 dash Fee’s Old Fashion Aromatic Bitters
1 dash Scrappy’s Lavender Bitters (or lavender tincture)

Combine in a mixing glass, add ice, pop the shaker tin on and shake for a slow count to ten. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass, garnish with an orange peel.

The lavender bitters are optional, since they’re not easy to get.  Scrappy’s Bitters are a small-batch bitters maker out of (I think) Seattle, and while their lavender bitters are pretty one-note (lavender, with a bitter base) it works beautifully with this drink.  I think it’d work even better with Bobby Heugel’s house-made lavender-vanilla bitters from Anvil, but as I didn’t have any this did the trick.  In fact, I’m considering adding some vanilla extract to Scrappy’s to see how that works.

See the Mixoloseum weblog for more original recipes using Square One Botanical that flew into the ether that night — there were some mighty fine ones.

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Alas, no photos, because it was dim (like I like it) and my iPhone camera doesn’t do well in dim, and I didn’t have my regular camera with me, and y’know, sometimes I just want to drink and talk and socialize and have a good time and not have to worry about lugging cameras around and popping off flashes in dim bars for the frakkin’ weblog. (Sorry, I love you all but I’m sure you understand.) I’m happy to write about it, though!

First cocktail was an Aviation Gin take on a classic Dry Martini, which Ryan referred to as a 7th Street Dry. “For a true dry Martini, I really think you need a London Dry Gin, which Aviation is not,” Ryan said. But treating Aviation as if it were in a 4:1 Martini was still mighty tasty. Take two ounces Aviation Gin, a half ounce of Dolin Dry Vermouth (specifically) and two dashes of Angostura orange bitters, with a nice big spray of oil from a lemon twist. The other botanicals in the gin, the cardamom and lavender especially, play beautifully with the herbal bouquet of the Dolin vermouth. Yummers.

The second one I had … well, I have to confess, it was so beautiful I kinda wish I did have a good picture of it. Amongst the Florence flasks full of cocktail ingredients that were arrayed along the bar was one containing a slightly foamy, brilliantly deep-red fluid that almost looked like Tru Blood. It was, in fact, fresh extracted red bell pepper juice, key ingredient in another of Ryan’s originals:

PEPPER SMASH

2 ounces Aviation Gin.
1 ounce fresh extracted red bell pepper juice.
3/4 ounce fresh lemon juice.
3/4 ounce clover honey syrup.
2 mint sprigs.

In a mixing glass, lightly bruise one mint sprig (do not crush), then add the spirits, juices and cracked ice. Shake until cold, then strain into a cocktail couple. Spank the other mint sprig over the cocktail, and garnish.

This was really, really lovely. I love savory cocktails that have more vegetal flavors, and this one was perfectly balanced between sweet (with nice flavor from the honey) and sour, plus the bell pepper juice with its own sweetness and crispness … you can almost feel the texture of biting into a piece of pepper. Gorgeous color too. I wanted to go home and juice a bunch of red peppers! Ryan consulted on the cocktail menu at the Westside Tavern in West L.A. and this is on their menu, so head on over and have one or three.

Among the others we tasted were an Alaska Cocktail (2:1 gin to yellow Chartreuse, and 2 dashes orange bitters) and an Aviation (natch), plus we watched him make for someone else a Blackberry Honey Collins that looked and sounded delicious, but I needed to drive home, alas, so it was water by that point.

I didn’t ask how to make a Blackberry Honey Collins, but off the top of my head I’d say 2 ounces gin (Aviation, in this case), 1 ounce lemon juice, 3/4 ounce 1:1 honey syrup, four or five blackberries muddled in the gin first, shake and strain into Collins glass over ice, top with soda, stir, lemon wheel garnish.

Ryan was encouraging us to create new cocktails that play specifically to the flavor characteristics of Aviation, as a “New Western Dry” style gin, rather than simply drop it into coctkails thave been traditionally made with London Dry. Given that the liquor fairy just brought me a bottle, I think we’ll do just that. Let’s see if I can manage at least one or two by the end of the month. (Good luck with that!)

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A week ago last night Malo Taquería in Silver Lake hosted a live, in-house edition of Thursday Drink Night. In case you hadn’t seen a mention of it around these parts, TDN is a presentation of The Mixoloseum, hosted weekly in its online chat room from 4pm until around midnight Pacific Time (7pm until when the East Coasters get tired, Eastern Time) in which a topic or particular spirit is explored by the participants, many drinks are made far and wide and we sample, critique and discuss. It’s a lot of fun, and you should join in sometime (there’s usually always someone in the chat room, not just on Thursday nights).

On Thursday, September 10, the sponsored product was Kahlúa Coffee Cream, a not-yet-released product that should be out within the next month or so, in time for the holidays. It’s a cream version of the well-known coffee liqueur, and should prove to be very popular.

Of course, I being me, problem child that I am … I’m not a fan of cream liqueurs in general. Kahlúa Coffee Cream is a good product though, with a robust coffee flavor (100% Arabica beans used in its production, as with the main liqueurs) and the creaminess isn’t too cloying, with a relatively light mouthfeel. It’s excellent on its own over ice, or poured into coffee … but liqueurs like this are notoriously difficult to mix with. Despite my dislike for cream liqueurs, I wanted to come up with a drink that did justice to the sponsor’s product, but was tailored to my own taste.

My solution? Add a trainload of bitters to it.

My first idea was for what I called the “Caffè Flip,” in which Kahlúa Coffee Cream was the base and which I augmented with Fernet Branca (Fernet and coffee is a well-known combination). I tried it at home and really liked it. Some tasters in the chat room preferred it with 1/2 ounce Fernet, but I like it at 3/4.

CAFFÈ FLIP

2 ounces Kahlúa Coffee Cream.
1/2 to 3/4 ounce Fernet Branca.
1 whole egg, separated.
3 dashes Fee’s Aztec Chocolate Bitters.
3 dashes Fee’s Old-Fashion Aromatic Bitters.
Nutmeg.

Separate the egg, reserving the yolk, and dry-shake the white without ice for 30 seconds. Add the remaining ingredients and yolk with ice and shake for 15-20 seconds.

Strain into a wine or port goblet and top with grated nutmeg.

I packed my bartending kit and headed to Malo, armed with the necessary bitters just in case the bar didn’t have them. They did, in fact (well-stocked bar, y’all!), but to my surprise they had no Fernet Branca in the bar! Ah well, I should have known that a tequila bar might not necessarily carry strong Italian bitters. It is for this very kind of occasion (plus indigestion, overindulgence and sheer craving) that I keep a flask of Fernet with me most of the time. However, I neglected to refill it before heading over, sigh.

I was searching behind the small service bar for something I could substitute, when Marleigh suggested, “How ’bout Angostura? I think that’s all we’ve got.” Bingo!

Marleigh and me, mixing at Malo. Photo shamelessly stolen from Matt Robold

This version, which I think I like even better, switched languages from Italian to Spanish, as Trinidad is closer to South America than it is to Italy. If it’s too bitter for you, use the smaller amount of Angostura, but I prefer it with the 3/4 ounce amount.

In case you were wondering, the reason for the separation of the egg is because when I tried to shake all of it together, I didn’t get a satisfying head of the kind I like when I make egg drinks. There must be some food chemistry at work here with the cream content of the liqueur, I suppose. When I tried separating the egg and dry-shaking the white first, then adding the remaning ingredients and yolk, I got the nice, thick, creamy head you see above you (which would be even nicer, thicker and creamier had my egg been and not two days after the sell-by date).

CAFÉ FLIP

2 ounces Kahlúa Coffee Cream.
1/2 to 3/4 ounce Angostura bitters.
1 whole egg, separated.
3 dashes Fee’s Aztec Chocolate Bitters.
3 dashes Fee’s Old-Fashion Aromatic Bitters.
Nutmeg.

Separate the egg, reserving the yolk, and dry-shake the white without ice for 30 seconds. Add the remaining ingredients and yolk with ice and shake for 15-20 seconds.

Strain into a wine or port goblet and top with grated nutmeg.

I thought about a No. 2 version of this with Kahlúa Especial and rum instead of the cream liqueur, and tried it. Y’know what? It works better with the cream liqueur. Lesson learned.

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One of my friends wrote us a real estate ad: “Mordor-adjacent, with dramatic views of Mount Doom.”

That’s about eight miles away. It’s far, and we’re not particularly worried so far, but it’s scary and freaky and very disquieting to see sheets of flame coming off the top of that mountain. So, a sheet of flame that’s about 3/8 inch tall from eight miles away is how tall exactly? 0.375″ in degrees of arc, divided by …. uhh … math geeks, feel free to chime in. (I’m figuring about 80 feet.)

Well, we figured that if the air was going to be full of smoke (oddly enough, we hardly smelled any last night, due to the lack of wind), we ought to drink some smoky drinks too. Scots whisky was appointed.

Copper Swan Cocktail
(Created by Gary Regan, 2000)

2-1/2 ounces Highland Park single malt Scotch whisky.
3/4 ounce apricot brandy (liqueur, not the eau-de-vie).
Lemon twist.

Stir with ice for 20 seconds. Strain into chilled cocktail glass and serve up with a twist or, if you prefer, into an Old Fashioned glass with fresh ice.

The name came from the swanlike copper neck of old copper pot stills, which are traditionally used to make single malt Scots whisky. This was one of a series of single malt Scotch cocktails Gaz created, resulting in aghast cries from those who assert that one should never mix a single malt Scotch. “Garbage in, garbage out!” he rightly replied. I chose to use Rothman & Winter’s Orchard Apricot rather than Apry for its lower sugar content. We didn’t have any Highland Park 12 in the house, so I went with the 18. Lest you gasp in horror … this was a frakking fantastic drink.

Lucques Restaurant in West Hollywood, CA makes a variation of this that looks interesting, kind of a blend between this, a Rob Roy and a Breakfast Martini. It’s sufficiently different such that it should have its own name, I think, although they still call it by the same name as the original. I think it deserves at least a numeric distinguishment.

Copper Swan Cocktail No. 2
(Adapted by Lucques Restaurant, West Hollywood, CA)

1-1/2 ounces Highland single malt Scotch.
1/2 ounce sweet vermouth.
1/2 ounce fresh lemon juice.
1 tablespoon apricot preserves.
2 dashes Peychaud’s bitters.

Combine with ice, shake and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with an orange twist.

Given the proximity of the fires, and the “Oh, FECK!” factor, even though they weren’t close enough to be really worrisome, we resolved to keep drinking, and stayed in the Scotch oeuvre. This next one is from Harry Craddock’s Savoy Cocktail Book, yet in a Gargantuan quantity for six people. We adapted it thusly and found it to be delightful, like a Rob Roy but with near-equal proportions, far more bitters and a little more sweetening to offset the bitters. Lovely.

Flying Scotsman

1-1/2 ounces Famous Grouse Scotch.
1-1/4 ounces Carpano Antica sweet vermouth.
1 teaspoon Peychaud’s bitters.
1 teaspoon simple syrup.

Stir with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Lemon twist garnish.

We’re still not getting much smoke tonight, although my eyes burned a bit this morning. The fire’s moving toward Altadena, and we have good friends who are only about a mile away from its current position. Wish them, and everyone else in Altadena and La Cañada-Flintridge, the best of luck.

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As usual, Alton has done his homework (which I suspect included reading David Wondrich’sImbibe!), and right off the bat taught the Teeming Masses the long-cherished basic formula for punch … while dressed as a 17th Century buccaneer:

ONE of sour
TWO of sweet
THREE of strong
FOUR of weak, plus
SPICE.

(Alton, of course, being a fellow geek, had has deckhand recite, as he got to the fifth part, “He who controls the spice controls the Universe … the spice must flow!” Heh.)

He started off with a very simple punch recipe, using pints as the measurement and making a rather huge batch. One of lime juice (with the spent hulls), two of Demerara sugar, three of Batavia Arrack (to my surprise and delight) and four of tea (warm, so as to help dissolve the sugar), with grated nutmeg. The arrack will likely be difficult for some folks to find, but a title card said that it’s available “on the world wide web” (the source for all things).

The main punch recipe he dealt out, though, looked mighty good, and I’m looking forward to trying it:

CAPE FEAR PUNCH

For the base:
750ml rye whiskey.
750ml water.
1/2 cup Demerara sugar.
3 bags green tea (although I’d be tempted to substitute oolong).
375ml rum.
375ml Cognac.
4 whole lemons.

For the punch:
2 small oranges, thinly sliced.
4 small lemons, thinly sliced.
2 750ml bottles of sparkling wine.
1 liter sparkling water.
Large ice block.
Nutmeg.

For the base: Pour the rye whiskey into a 4-quart container. Fill the now empty rye whiskey bottle with water, pour into an electric kettle or saucepan, and bring to a boil. Add the sugar and stir until the temperature drops to 190 degrees F. Place the tea bags in the kettle and steep for 3 minutes.

Add the tea, rum, and Cognac to the whiskey. Peel the zest from the lemons, being careful to get only the yellow zest and not the white pith. (A vegetable peeler works best.) Wrap the peeled lemons in plastic wrap and reserve in the refrigerator. Add the lemon zest to the mixture, and stir to combine. Cover and refrigerate overnight.

For the punch: Strain the base into a large punch bowl. Juice the reserved lemons and add to the punch bowl. When ready to serve, add the sliced oranges, lemons, sparkling wine, and seltzer water; stir to combine. Add the ice block and serve with freshly grated nutmeg per serving to taste.

You can do this in two batches, to keep the bubbles fresh. Add half of the base with one bottle of the sparkling wine and half the seltzer, and repeat when your guests have drained the bowl.

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When I went through this list and counted, I found that I had had 89 of those libations. Last night, I decided to start for the finish line and raised the total to 90.

Fourth Degree
(as served by Harry Craddock, Savoy Hotel, London, 1930s)

3/4 ounce London dry gin.
3/4 ounce sweet vermouth.
3/4 ounce dry vermouth.
2 barspoons (1 tsp) absinthe.

Stir with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with a lemon peel.

Erik, as part of his long exploration of the Savoy Cocktail Book, wrote about the Fourth Degree and said he’d enjoyed it more by drying it out a bit, upping the gin to 2 ounces (and using Junipero) and 1/2 ounce each of the vermouths. However, the original proportions worked out beautifully for him by using Tanqueray, Dolin Dry and Martini & Rossi Rosso. Last night we used Beefeater, Dolin Dry and Dolin Rouge (with PF 1901 as the absinthe), and it was pretty damn good. I’ll try the drier version too, and see what I think.

Next, the Coffee Cocktail will make it 91.

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After the lovely Decadence & Elegance, in the section of the menu called “The Boys from Out of Town,” featuring drinks by bartender friends from around the world, I spied one that made me go “Ooh!” It’s yet another Manhattan variation, but man … there’s something about Manhattan variations that I just can’t get enough of. Simple tweaking of the bitter component, or a small addition of another flavor, can transform it into such a new and wonderful drink. (The Manhattan itself might just end up being my favorite drink, period … it regularly gets into a shoving match with the Sazerac for that position.)

I really like the bartender who came up with this one — great guy, and a monstrous talent. I hope I finally get my procrastinatory behind to his city and into his bar sometime soon. You can use any good sweet vermouth for this, but Carpano Antica is specified (as it’s the best). Use Laird’s 100 proof bonded apple brandy for this, too. I think they had run out the other night and were using Laird’s applejack, and the former is far superior. I decided to kick this up a notch and used Laird’s 12 Year Old Apple Brandy the other night, as I was feeling extravagant. Hoo-boy …

NEWARK
(by Jim Meehan, PDT, New York)

2 ounces Laird’s bonded apple brandy.
1 ounce Carpano Antica Formula sweet vermouth.
1/4 ounce Maraschino liqueur.
2 barspoons Fernet Branca.

Combine with ice and stir for 30 seconds. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. No garnish.

This drink is wonderful. The alchemy created brings notes that are chocolatey with even a hint of mint from the Fernet, the medicinality of which fades far into the background with the combined efforts of that beautiful, bright apple flavor and the deep, rich spiciness of the Carpano. Bravo, Jim! (And thanks to Roberto for making it for me, and for taking such good care of us last Wednesday night, and thanks to Joel for confirming the proportions for me.)

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So yes, a Clover Club to start, please! I was considering continuing in that vein to save a little money, but the rest of the drinks on the regular menu are so damned good, and then of course I spied the bottle of housemade Pimento Dram behind the bar (Damian’s recipe, I believe) … well, that did it. I watched him make this one, so I’m pretty certain about the proportions.

DECADENCE & ELEGANCE

1-3/4 ounces Courvoisier Exclusif Cognac.
1/2 ounce Apry.
3 barspoons Pimento Dram.
2 barspoons Cynar.
3 dashes Angostura Orange Bitters.
2 orange peels.

Spray the inside of a chilled cocktail glass with the oil from a large piece of orange peel. Discard the peel. Combine ingredients and stir for 30 seconds. Strain into the prepared cocktail glass, and garnish with another orange twist.

Lovely drink. The Apry, allspice and Cynar play together very nicely, and the double dose of orange oil kicks up the aromatics that much more.

I’m breaking this post into two to make sure the cocktails index separately, so on to Part 2 …

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Rittenhouse Daisy
(by John Coltharp, Seven Grand, Los Angeles)

1-3/4 ounces Rittenhouse 100 bonded rye whiskey.
1 ounce fresh lemon juice.
1/2 ounce Grand Marnier.
1/2 ounce simple syrup.
2 dashes Angostura bitters.
2 small splashes soda.

Combine with ice in a shaker and shake for at least 10 seconds. Strain into a Delmonico glass or an Old Fashioned glass.

That was mighty good. Now, my rather liberally-interpreted, memory-marinated-in-whiskey version that I came up with the next day, which isn’t too bad if’n I do say so myself.

Rittenhouse Daisy No. 2

2 ounces Rittenhouse bonded rye whiskey.
1 ounce fresh lemon juice.
1/2 ounce yellow Chartreuse.
1 teaspoon simple syrup.
1 dash Angostura bitters.

Combine with ice in a shaker and shake for at least 10 seconds. Strain into a Delmonico glass or an Old Fashioned glass.

Back in the old days, a Daisy cocktail was spirit (brandy, rum, whiskey, gin, etc.) with lemon juice and sugar (differing from a sour in that there was usually only 1/2 to 1 teaspoon of sugar) plus a few barspoons of grenadine. To a lesser extent then, and far more often now, I see herbal liqueurs like Bénédictine, Grand Marnier or yellow Chartreuse being used instead of grenadine. This is A Good Thing.

Why? Speaking of grenadine … as you know, it’s easy peasy to make at home with real pomegranate juice. This grenadine works beautifully in countless classic cocktails that callf or that ingredient. Sadly, what you see in bars these days is more often than not red-dyed sugar syrup with artificial flavoring of some kind, which hasn’t been within five miles of an actual pomegranate. This does not work well in cocktails. At all.

Last night I was served the most execrable Mai Tai ever (in a place which shall remain nameless, from a bartender who was later described to me as being at the bottom of the talent scale at this particular establishment). It was described on their menu quite nicely, with the proper classic recipe: two rums, orange Curaçao, fresh lime juice, orgeat and simple syrup. That sounded good enough for me. A tall glass was filled with ice (okay, tall rather than short, that’s OK too), some premix was added (uh oh … well, maybe it was a housemade Mai Tai mix with the lime and syrups). Rums were added (Myers’s Dark and … Bacardi, sigh. Then just as I was about to think I’d be satisfied the bartender added what looked like a full jigger of grenadine, turning the entire drink beet red. One sip revealed that it also rendered the drink undrinkable. Sigh.

I returned it, politely and apologetically, saying “I’m so sorry, but this is so sweet I can’t drink it. I wasn’t expecting all that grenadine, as the menu didn’t specify it,” and politely asked if I could exchange it for something else. It was exchanged, but the waves of attitude signifed that that bartender now hated me. Oh well. What’s a guy to do? I’m not paying $10 for an undrinkable cocktail, especially when it’s not made the way that the establishment’s menu (which even described the history of the drink and touted that this was the original, proper recipe) specifically says it’s made.

Just say no to fake grenadine, and to grenadine abuse!

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That’s our theme this month for Mixology Monday XLI, hosted by Amelia at Felicia’s Speakeasy. Actually, to be specific, the theme is …“Vodka is Your Friend.”

What? C’mon, let’s not get hasty here. Then again, as she said, “The recent high profile bashings of vodkainterspersed with a few weak “yeah, buts…” left me wondering, is vodka the axis of evil, our most dangerous enemy? While it may not be the life of the party, experts agree: Vodka’s obituary does not have to be written just yet. Vodka can be a “safer” spirit for those who can’t be convinced to take risks. Vodka also offers a Zen-like simplicity. Because it is relatively flavorless, using vodka as a base of a cocktail means you get to start with a blank chalkboard. Beginner’s mind. What flavor would you like to be today?”

Sure, good points all. Haven’t we made progress, though, in getting the public to drink more adventurous spirits? Yes, but it’s still the best-selling spirit in the United States, although its hold on the market isn’t as strong as it once was. Perhaps the “I don’t get no respect, no respect at all” attitude from multitudes of bartenders and cocktail geeks for the last several years might have made an impact. There is the little detail that it doesn’t really taste like anything, and quotes like the one from Audrey Saunders I’ve always liked: “A vodka cocktail is a cocktail with a hole in it.”

But true confessions time … I had my vodka period. I had my infused vodka period. I had my time back in the ’90s when I drank … Cosmopolitans. I’ve come a long way since then — so have many of us. We scoff at the vodka & tonic drinkers who drink it just to get a buzz, and specifically because it doesn’t taste like anything (leaving less telltale traces on their breath). We scoff, we snort, we p’shaw.

But vodka has its uses, and we all know it.

Okay, there’s the “I only use vodka for making tinctures and preserving syrups,” which I admit saying. Then again, there’s … Moscow Mules! C’mon! Who doesn’t love a Moscow Mule? It’s summery, it’s refreshing, and you get to drink out of those cool copper mugs, if you have any (vintage ones are usually readily available on eBay). One of the first vodka cocktails I thought of when I started to think about this topic was one I had learned from Dave Wondrich in his book Esquire Drinks, which is the Gypsy cocktail. Paul Clarke wrote about that one at length for his MxMo post today, how vodka can be used to soften and stretch a liqueur as the primary flavor component of a cocktail (and the Gypsy’s a damned fine one).

Although some of us may look down at flavored vodkas or cocktails based on them, there are lots of excellent flavored vodkas out there. (Lots of crappy ones too, so caveat emptor.) To name two, the products from Hangar One and Modern Spirits are outstanding. Flavored vodkas have a long tradition in eastern Europe, from homemade infusions to more commercialized products like the Stolichnaya line. My absolute favorite of those, though, my favorite vodka and perhaps one of my favorite spirits, is Żubrówka.

Or “bison grass vodka”, which is perhaps a bit easier to pronounce than “zhu-BROOV-ka”. I had first heard about it from Dr. Cocktail about six years ago, and although I’d been meaning to try it for a while I’d never quite gotten around to it. Then our good friends Gregg and Mike had brought us some back from Paris, but the bottle sat there for a while. It’s the classic traditional Polish vodka, infused with native bison grass, which gives it an extremely distinctive flavor and straw-green color. Doc had been singing the praises of it for ages, while telling us the American brands have been artificially flavored for a while. Bison grass contains coumarin, a substance with anticoagulant properties that’s also responsible for much of its flavor, but the FDA bans it as a food additive in this country, and it hasn’t been legally imported since 1978. There was no Żubrówka at all in this country for two decades, until it was allowed back in 1999 when Polish producers figured out a way to come close to the flavor of the real thing while “neutralizing” the coumarin in the bison grass.

Waiting for an occasion, I suppose, we still hadn’t cracked open the bottle of Żubrówka that had been in our freezer since the boys brought it from Paris, but opportunity presented itself for a taste in November of ’04. We had dinner at Warszawa, the excellent Polish restaurant in Santa Monica, before heading to McCabe’s to see the Savoy Family Band play. It had been years since I’d been, and it was even better than I remember — bacon wrapped plums, crispy potato pancakes, grilled kielbasa sausages, pierogis of every description, beef stroganoff, thick pea soup with smoked ham and marjoram, smoked fish salad with dill … and Żubrówka! There it was, listed on the spirits menu, and what better time to try it than before a Polish meal. It arrived in a little vodka glass, ice cold right from the freezer.

I know a true Pole would scoff at me, but instead of knocking the whole thing back, I took a healthy sip first, as I wanted to savor it and get the entirety of the aroma and flavor.

Oh, my.

I instantly fell in love with this stuff. Spicy, yet almost sweet but not syrupy like a liqueur; paradoxically, it was dry yet reminded me of candy — traces of caramel and nougat and vanilla. It also tasted like green herbs, but not medicinal. I tasted flowers, and lemon, and even coconut (!), and so many things going on in there. This stuff’s dangerous. I immediately wanted more.

I’ve never read Somerset Maugham’s The Razor’s Edge, but in it one character describes the flavor of Żubrówka as smelling of “freshly mown hay and spring flowers, of thyme and lavender, and it’s soft on the palate and so comfortable, it’s like listening to music by moonlight.” I can dig it.

After enjoying our Polish meal and two-plus hours of the finest Cajun music to be heard, the very first thing we did when we got home was to crack open our bottle of authentic Polish Żubrówka. The difference between the domestic Polish and European version and the type produced for export to America is that the most authentic Żubrówka has a long blade of bison grass in the bottle, and some American versions don’t due to USDA regulations. There’s a bit of artificial coloring and probably at least some artificial flavoring in the form of neutralized extracts to avoid the coumarin problem (at least one website claims that “true” bison grass vodka is now legal in all 50 states). The French bottling, which we had, looked like this.

It was goooooood. It was … well, it was like the stuff we had at the restaurant, only a bit more complex, certainly subtler. It was great. Unfortunately we ran out of that stuff pretty quickly once it was opened, and barring more trips to Paris or expensive shipping from Europe I think that for the time being I’ll still be happy with the American-export version.

They say that if you travel to Poland and start drinking with the locals, don’t ever try to outdrink them (unless you’re Russian, and then only maybe). I’d better be very careful. If I’m in Warszawa or Cracow, drinking with locals, and they bring this stuff out, I’m a dead man … ’cause it’s so good I would have no incentive to stop unless I become unconscious.

From what I understand, most if not all Poles would consider the consumption of Żubrówka in a cocktail as being a crime, an offence against decency, utter blasphemy. It’s to be consumed ice-cold, alone and quickly. However, there is one major exception …

This drink, which translates from Polish as “apple tart” or “apple pie” and is also sometimes called “Tatanka”, appears to be the one exception to the prohibition against mixing Żubrówka with anything else, and seems to be looked upon fondly.

Szarłotka
(pronounced “shar-WOT-ka”, I think)
1 ounce Żubrówka (Polish bison grass vodka).
3-4 ounces apple juice.
Lemon wedge.

In a heavy rocks glass, build over ice and stir.
Garnish with the lemon wedge.

This is a fantastic drink. It’s sweet, because it’s mostly juice, but if you use a good unsweetened one like Martinelli’s (or a good fresh-pressed cider, even) you won’t mind that a bit. Not only do our friends go mad with joy when they taste Żubrówka, they go even madder when they taste this drink. The flavor combination is wonderful. (“Can I have a pitcher of these?” our friend Gregory asked after his first taste.)

I think the proportions in that drink are pretty flexible — we’ve had success with 2 parts juice to 1 part vodka. As for other drinks … I’ve found a few web pages here and there with some other Żubrówka recipes, but most if not all of them look too liqueur-heavy and pretty unappealing. CocktailDB only had two, and one of them looked icky (3/10 Goldschlager, gaah). Contrary to what seems to be Polish popular opinion, I think that Żubrówka would make an excellent cocktail ingredient if used judiciously and carefully. The first one I decided to try is simply a takeoff on the above drink, only made drier and with a little bit more seasoning.

I reduced the juice content and added a complementary-flavored dry spirit, plus two other ingredients that lent some allspice and cinnamon to the flavor profile — they are apple pie spices, after all. It’s still a bit on the sweet side, but as all that comes from the juice it’s not cloying at all. If you want it drier (and stronger), cut the juice back to 1 ounce and up the brandy a bit. The proportions on this drink are very pliable — tweak them as you will.

I decided not to use a garnish but changed my mind after taking the picture and putting the lights away. I was too lazy to get them out again, so please do add the garnish.

Tatanka No. 2

1-1/4 ounces pure unsweetened apple juice.
3/4 ounce Żubrówka.
3/4 ounce Laird’s Bonded Apple Brandy.
1/4 ounce St. Elizabeth’s Allspice Dram.
1 dash Fee’s Old Fashion Aromatic Bitters.

Combine in a mixing glass with ice and stir for 30 seconds. If you’re using unfiltered apple juice that’s not clear, feel free to shake instead (10-12 seconds). Strain into a cocktail glass and garnish with a curly lemon twist.

Na zdrowie!

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Hmm, we’ll have to see about that new drink. Colbert Bumps for cocktail hour tonight!

THE COLBERT BUMP
(by Dave Wondrich, created for Stephen Colbert)

1-1/2 ounces gin.
1 ounce Cherry Heering.
1/2 ounce fresh lemon juice.
Soda water.

In a Collins glass, build over ice: gin, Heering, lemon juice, then top with soda and stir.

Contrary to stated instructions, feel free to use Democratic gin.

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TDN is a weekly gathering at The Mixoloseum Bar, a chat room where cocktail webbloggers, readers, enthusiasts, authors and even spirits industry folk gather on Thursday nights from 4pm-midnight Pacific time to make original cocktails, talk about them, make fun of each other and stay up too late. There’s a theme each week, whether it’s a specific product or a general base spirit or something like last night’s theme, “Equal Proportions.”

Can you make a good drink using equal proportions of the ingredients? Well sure, it’s been done all the time in cocktail history. My favorite example of this is the Negroni, equal parts of gin, Campari and sweet vermouth. The Sidecar began as an equally proportioned cocktail, of brandy, lemon juice and Cointreau. Thing is … that particular Sidecar doesn’t really taste balanced to me. I prefer it as 3:2:1, others at 2:1:1 (and some like the wacky Embury proportion of 8:2:1). Cocktails are all about balance, and when you’re constrained by a rule like this it can get tough to make a cocktail that’s properly balanced, and therein lay the challenge. The rules were to make an original cocktail using only equal proportions of your ingredients, with the exception being dashes of bitters or an egg white.

I was pretty happy with my entry, I must say. I started thinking about it on the way home, wanting to do something tequila-based and remembering something Misty Kalkofen of the bar Drink in Boston said recently, about how grapefruit bitters work well with yellow Chartreuse. DING! This one sprang fully-formed from my head, not unlike Athena. While I reserve the right to tweak the proportions later (e.g., the soda element won’t be constrained to the 3/4 ounce anymore, although I measured that amount in the original drink), I think it was pretty darn good as it was.

The grapefruit soda should be a high-quality one with a signifacant juice content. I thought that Ting, the Orangina-like grapefruit soda from Jamaica, would be ideal, but it’s not always easy to find. I couldn’t get to Galco’s before closing (and I knew they had some), so I ended up using IZZE Sparkling Grapefruit, which is 70% juices (grapefruit, apple, orange and white grape) with no added sugar. It had a terrific, fresh flavor and I think I’ll stick with this one, although I do want to try it with Ting. I wouldn’t use Fresca, but some of my bartender friends speak highly of Squirt, which I must confess I’ve never tried.

The name came from a rather infamous trip I took to Mexico back in college with some close friends. There were many adventures and inside jokes that survive until this day, and when I was trying to think of a name for a new tequila-based drink this one popped right out.

THE ANIMALITO

3/4 ounce añejo tequila (I used Partida).
3/4 ounce Laird’s bonded apple brandy.
3/4 ounce yellow Chartreuse.
3/4 ounce fresh lime juice.
2 dashes Bittermens Grapefruit Bitters (substitute Fee’s).
2 dashes Angostura Orange Bitters (substitute any other orange bitters).
IZZE Sparkling Grapefruit or Ting Grapefruit soda.
Grapefruit peel.

Combine the firsts four ingredients with the bitters in an Old Fashioned glass. Add ice and stir for 15 seconds or so. Top with grapefruit soda and stir briefly. Garnish with grapefruit peel.

Tart and refreshing, with a nice little bitter edge! I liked this very much, and so did the folks in the Mixo Bar (thanks, y’all!). I may try making it shaken and up with half the bitters and no soda, just for kicks.

This drink is dedicated to Mr. John Norbutas. (“I want those goddamned Animalitos.” Long story.)

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I had had a little trouble remembering the details about the Mezcal Old Fashioned I had, which thanks to the magic of post-editing due to Maks reminding me in email the morning after I posted this I was able to remember. (“Of course! How could I forget that one!” Um, maybe because you had about seven drinks that night?) Fortunately, it was not lost to history.

However, my last drink of the night I remembered very well. Maks and I had been talking about my experience at Anvil in Houston, and how Bobby Heugel made me that wonderful room temperature cocktail from their menu called The Brave (smoky single-village mezcal, blanco sotol, amaro, Curaçao and bitters, merely swirled together in a wine glass with a flamed orange peel), plus the knockoff of that drink that I came up with for one of the Drink.Write sessions (more on that one later). He pondered, and came up with another room temperature digestivo cocktail that I enjoyed very much, and which I don’t think had a name. I decided it to name it after the bar, in Italian, but if Maks has kept making it and has another name for it by now, I’ll most certainly change it.

Cura
(A most excellent digestivo whipped up on the spot
by Maks Pazuniak, Cure, New Orleans)

1 ounce rye whiskey.
1 ounce Aperol.
1 ounce Amaro Ramazotti.
3 barspoons Cointreau.
1 dash Peychaud’s bitters.
1 dash Regans’ orange bitters.

Combine in an Old Fashioned glass and swirl to mix.

That hit the spot.

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This is a drink from the book by Cure bartenders Kirk Estopinal and Maks Pazuniak [currently out of print but soon-to-be-reissued] which was created by Kyle Davidson from The Violet Hour in Chicago. It appears on Cure’s side menu, not the main one, and is a must-get. Again based on half-spirit, half-amaro, all the ingredients play off one another so well. It’s absolutely out of this world. It’s another one of those drinks that let the bitterness of the amaro be more assertive but still keep it in check (Cynar is relentlessly bitter, and one of the only amaros I don’t drink by itself). The description from the book tells you exactly what to expect:

Picture yourself in the limestone-walled courtyard of an Italian villa off the coast of the Riviera. You are surrounded by fragrant herbs and flowers, and the sea air is blowing gently. The sun is bright, but it’s not hot, and you have nothing to do all day but relax and savor the sensations all around you. Drinking this cocktail is kind of like that if somebody suddenly punched you in the stomach just as you were begining to doze off in the sun. In a good way.

Um … yeah you right.

THE ART OF CHOKE
(by Kyle Davidson, The Violet Hour, Chicago)

1 ounce white rum.
1 ounce Cynar.
1/8 ounce fresh lime juice.
1/8 ounce rich Demerara sugar syrup (2:1).
1/4 ounce green Chartreuse.
Sprig of mint.

Bruise the mint sprig with the other ingredients in a mixing glass. Stir with ice for half a minute, then strain over fresh ice into an Old Fashioned glass. Garnish with another mint sprig.

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Cynar is but one of many amaros I saw on the shelf behind the bar, Cure’s wonderful wall of booze. They had all my favorites, most of the ones readily available in the States, in fact, and then I spotted one that I’ve been having a hard time finding. Nobody in L.A. seems to have Amaro Nardini, which is produced by a maker of grappas and grappa-based liqueurs. Amaro Nardini is a grappa-based amaro too, with a flavor profile that (according to what I’d read) featured bitter orange, gentian and a bit of peppermint. I told Kirk I’d been wanting to try that one, so he poured me a taste. I tasted all that, plus a bit of nutmeg and clove, cinnamon, anise, a hint of coffee and a little candy sweetness, almost like toffee. Hoo, yum! Then Kirk smiled and asked if he could make me a cocktail with it. That’s a silly question. He then proceeded to apply a 2×4 to the side of my head … again, in the gentlest and best possible way.

NARDINI FLIP
(by Kirk Estopinal, Cure, New Orleans)

2-1/2 ounces Amaro Nardini.
1/4 – 1/2 ounces simple syrup (to taste).
1 whole egg.

Dry shake the egg for at least 20 seconds, then add the other ingredients with ice and shake hard. Strain into an Old Fashioned glass and add a single large ice cube.

A flip, containing nothing else but simple and amaro. I’d never thought of it, and I’m not entirely sure but I think Kirk made it up on the spot. It was fantastic — creamy and rich and spicy and sweet … there’s a magic, an alchemy that happens when an egg yolk goes into a cocktail, as Maks and Kirk talk about in their book when they show you two whole egg-bearing drinks, one of which I’ve had and the other I haven’t. The Coffee Cocktail (port, brandy, whole egg, simple and Angostura) is named for its color rather than its flavor, and the Chocolate Cocktail #2 (ruby port, yellow Chartreuse and whole egg), which apparently tastes something like chocolate (“a mindfuck cocktail,” they call it). Whole eggs in cocktails, folks. It’s a good thing. Drink more flips!

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Next came the drink that wins the award for the longest cocktail name I’ve ever encountered, which we had difficulty remembering even while sober. Maks apologized for the length of the name but very pointedly did not offer to change it.

GROWING OLD AND DYING HAPPY IS A HOPE,
NOT AN INEVITABILITY
(by Maks Pazuniak, Cure, New Orleans)

2 ounces Cynar.
1 ounce Rittenhouse 100 proof rye whiskey.
Pinch of salt.
2 pieces of lemon peel.
Herbsaint.

Combine the Cynar, rye and salt in a mixing glass and stir briefly to dissolve the salt. Express the oil from the lemon peels and drop into the mixing glass. Add ice and stir, then strain into an Herbsaint-rinsed cocktail glass. Garnish with a lemon peel.

That said, he did admit that they tend to refer to it as “Growing Old” for short. This is sort of an inverse-Manhattan in which Cynar (“chee-NAHR,” an Italian bitters based on artichokes, in case you’re not familiar with it) is substituted for both the sweet vermouth and the bitters, with a really nice savory element added by the salt, which enhances the flavor of the amaro and gives it more balance. If you try this one at home, make sure you only use the barest pinch — you don’t want to make it taste salty, you want to make it taste seasoned. Both the salt and the lemon oil, as Maks reminded me later, help bring out the “artichokiness” of the flavors in the drink.

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We started off the evening with the wonderful Angostura Sour, which taught us that aromatic cocktail bitters could actually be the base spirit for a cocktail. Now, thinking that it is indeed possible to make a drink in which the only base spirit is a high-alcohol, supposedly non-potable aromatic bitters, how would they give it a local twist? Well, Peychaud’s bitters, of course, and giving it “the Pimm’s Cup treatment.” May I present their creation (to our mutual amazement)?

THE GUNSHOP FIZZ
(by Kirk Estopinal and Maksym Pazuniak, Cure, New Orleans)

2 ounces Peychaud’s bitters.
1 ounce lemon juice.
1 ounce simple syrup.
2 strawberries.
3 cucumber slices.
3 swaths of orange peel.
3 swaths of grapefruit peel.
Sanbittèr.

Add all ingredients but the Sanbittèr to a mixing tin. Muddle thoroughly and let stand for 2 minutes for the flavors to blend. Shake hard with ice, and double strain over fresh ice in a Collins glass. Top with Sanbittèr and garnish with a cucumber slice.

Wow.

This drink is incredibly light and refreshing, with a bitter edge that kicks in a while after the initial finish, and slaps your palate in the best possible way. The cherry, anise and spice flavors of the Peychaud’s harmonize beautifully with everything else, and one extra little edge of bitterness from the Sanbittèr on top. (In case you’re not familiar with it, it’s a San Pellegrino product, a bright red soda sold in 50ml bottles that’s like a non-alcoholic Campari and soda.) And look at that color! It’s a bit labor-intensive (try to avoid ordering six of these on a night when they’re three-deep at the bar), but very much worth the effort. Bravo, y’all.

And the name? Antoine Amadie Peychaud’s pharmacy where he made his family bitters recipe was at 437 Royal Street in the French Quarter, which is currently occupied by James M. Cohen’s antique gun and sword shop.

If you’re going to drink a tall, bright red drink in New Orleans, this is the serious one.

Cure itself is in a reclaimed firehouse, elegantly designed, a nice long bar plus tables and a few booths, and one bit of intensely New Orleanian décor that I’m not sure too many other food-and-drink establishments have had the stones to hang in the bar.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it’s the national bird of New Orleans, Periplaneta americana, the American cockroach. I don’t know about y’all’s, but the ones in New Orleans fly. They tend to like to aim for your face. Guaranteed to make a grown man scream like a girl.  Or at least this one.  (*shudder*)

Okay, back to the drinks …

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If you’ve been following along here you’ve seen a couple of posts about Cure, opened by Neal Bodenheimer (formerly of The Delachaise and Bar Tonique, its “ancestors,” if you will) earlier this year. As I didn’t go home for Jazzfest I didn’t get to make it to Cure until Tales. I’m torn between saying it was worth the wait (it was) and goddammit why couldn’t I get there sooner.

I had met Maksym Pazuniak, one of their bartenders, via my friend Mary when she was dining at Rambla last Christmas. That was Maks’ gig at the time, and she figured we might want to get to know each other. She was right, and two gigs later I finally got to sit at the bar again while Maks was behind the stick.

I should pause here to mention that Maks and another Cure bartender, Kirk Estopinal (a NOLA native but who had worked in NYC and at The Violet Hour in Chicago) have recently self-published a book called Rogue Cocktails, featuring a 40 mostly-original “outside the box” cocktail recipes and a few classics worth revisiting. [UPDATE: Unfortunately they had to pull their book after a cease-and-desist from the folks at Rogue Ale. Look for an expanded and renamed edition in the summer of 2010. Check their blog beta cocktails for further updates.]

In addition to a provocative manifesto for bartending, Kirk and Maks wanted to come up with a book that didn’t have the same recipes over and over again or one that required exotic produce and specially-made syrups and tinctures. They wanted a book for a bartender who works at a well-stocked bar that challenges them to think about some of their ingredients differently. The book got some nice coverage in da local papuh, and you can order the book via their Rogue Cocktails website.

Their outside-the-box thinking is typified by their version of a drink found in Charles Baker’s Gentlemen’s Companion from the 1930s, a fizz in which the only base spirit is 90-proof Angostura bitters. Um … but we add bitters to cocktails by the dash. Aren’t they supposed to be “non-potable” by government definition? Supposedly, yes … but it seems they’re quite potable if you know how to handle them.

Here’s Kirk’s adaptation of that fizz, turned into a sour. It’s become very popular among our more daring bartenders, who seem to have had great success serving it to our more daring imbibers. Do give this a try — considering, as Kirk and Maks say in the book, that “it’s the cocktail equivalent of eating a tablespoon of salt,” I think you’ll find it much more pleasant than that, surprisingly so.

ANGOSTURA SOUR

1-1/2 ounces Angostura bitters.
1 ounce simple syrup.
3/4 ounce fresh lime juice.
1 egg white.

Dry shake the egg white with the lime juice for half a minute. Add the bitters and syrup plus ice and shake hard. Strain into a cocktail coupe.

We served this to our friend Devin when he was visiting. He loved it, and couldn’t wait to go back home and try it out on our friend Chris, with whom he imbibes on many occasions. “Taste this!” he said, after making one for Chris and exhorting him to guess what was in it. “I incorrectly guessed Fernet Branca and nutmeg and then Gammel Dansk and saffron. It was really interesting.” It’s really good. Try one.

And just you wait. It gets better …

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Bum and Wayne’s drinks contained a total of 7-1/2 ounces of rum during that three-hour meal, and it didn’t help that earlier in the day I’d had tastes of six Scotches, ten gins, eight brandies plus the Cocktail Hour event (inexplicably and invariably scheduled right before the Spirited Dinners). Once I finally decided that I wanted the Bum’s drink pairings again, especially since this year he teamed up with Martin Cate, formerly of Forbidden Island and soon to be proprietor of Smuggler’s Cove in San Francisco, I knew some preparation was in order. I decided I’d better take it easy during this year’s Tales Thursday so that this meal wouldn’t completely liquefy me — no taking three seminars in a row that involve copious amounts of spirits tasting in which Chuck fails to make use of the spit buckets.

Rick, giving friend that he is, helped out by adding an additional rule to his previous list of ten: “Chuck is not allowed to drink before the Spirited Dinner.” Despite that, I did manage to make it to the Cocktail Hour event, which 1) should be in the Presbytere every year, as it was a beautiful location for the event, and 2) should never again be scheduled before the Spirited Dinners unless they’re willing to provide buckets for us to be poured into. Fortunately the gods were looking out for me at Cocktail Hour by causing my favorite bartenders to all run out of cups by the time I got to them.

A short walk from the Presbytere took us to GW Fins, one of the city’s newer restaurants (i.e., opened during the 21st Century rather than the 19th or early 20th) and a renowned destination for seafood. Theirs was one of the two or three most exciting looking menus on the Tales site, plus we knew a ton of people who were going to this one too, all elements for a great evening. Wes and I sat with several of our friends from Seattle and Portland, and we toasted each other with the welcoming cocktail, first of six for the evening.

THE CRESCENT CITY BLOSSOM
(by Martin Cate)

2-1/2 ounces Moët & Chandon White Star Champagne
1 ounce Plymouth Gin
1 ounce St. Germain Elderflower Liqueur
1/4 ounce Stirrings Blood Orange Bitters

Combine gin, St. Germain, and bitters in an ice-filled mixing glass. Stir until well chilled and strain into a Champagne glass. Top with Moët & Chandon. Garnish with a thin, 8-inch orange peel spiral.

Finally, after we had settled in and begun enjoying our aperitivo, our intrepid mixologists, Beachbum Berry and Martin Cate, arrived (along with GW Fins’ chef de cuisine) to welcome us and talk a little bit about what was to come, and how quickly their ideas for perfect cocktail pairings came to them as soon as they saw the proposed menu.

Some will argue that cocktail pairings are even better than wine pairings, as you can tailor the drink to the food very precisely. Whether you believe that or not, I’ll say that this particular meal featured some of the best food-beverage pairings I’ve ever had.

And now … dinner is served!

We started with a Chilled Melon Soup, in the center of which was a huge scoop of jumbo lump crabmeat topped with cilantro sprouts. Mixed into the soup were little balls of watermelon plus cantaloupe and honeydew melons, plus cubes of lime gelée, which provided a delightful little burst of tartness and change of texture every few bites or so. The soup was bright, cool, refreshing and delicious — the lightness of the dish was welcome to those of us who’d been having hollandaise-napped egg dishes for breakfast or huge piles of fried seafood for lunch. And, oh my Gawd, that crabmeat … I’ll eat pretty much anything that has a scoop of jumbo lump crabmeat in the middle.

Accompanying the watermelon soup was our first cocktail, the Menehune Gonzalez, made with blanco tequila, a great white agricole rum from Martinique, green Chartreuse and a housemade hibiscus tincture, a bottle of which being provided to each table so that each guest could add some to his or her individual serving as they pleased. Lovely drink, and the flavors of both the base spirits and the Chartreuse played off one another quite nicely. The hibiscus gave it some color affinity as well as a bit of extra tartness, along the lines of the lime gele in the soup. We were off to a grand start.

MENEHUNE GONZALEZ
(by Martin Cate)

1 ounce El Tesoro Blanco tequila
1 ounce Rhum Clément Première Canne rum
3/4 ounce fresh lime juice
1/2 ounce orgeat
1/4 ounce green Chartreuse
Half an egg white

Shake vigorously and strain into a small ice-filled old fashioned glass.

Top with 3 to 4 drops hibiscus tincture.

To make a hibiscus tincture, take an ounce of dried hibiscus flowers (jamaica) and steep in about 5 ounces of alcohol (vodka or overproof white rum) for a couple of days, then strain and bottle.

Quick on the heels of this great opening to the meal was our second (well, technically our third, but second course) cocktail, Captain Vadrna’s Grog — Old New Orleans Cajun Spiced Rum, lime and grapefruit juices and demerara syrup. Nice big aromatic cinnamon stick as garnish, and … a pirate flag! Almost immediately, my friend Rocky and I broke into a chorus of “Yo Ho, Yo Ho, A Pirate’s Life For Me” (assisted by some quick Googling on Rocky’s phone, as we both ran out of lyrics after the first verse). Pretty quickly a fair swath of the restaruant was singing along, undoubtedly to the bewilderment of the guests who were there for the restaurant’s regular menu and not for the Spirited Dinner.

CAPTAIN VADRNA’S GROG
(by Jeff Berry)

2-1/2 ounces Old New Orleans Cajun Spiced rum
1/2 ounce white grapefruit juice
3/4 ounce fresh lime juice
3/4 ounce Demerara sugar syrup (1:1)
Dash Angostura bitters

Shake well with plenty of ice, then pour unstrained into a double old-fashioned glass. Garnish with a cinnamon stick and vanilla bean both speared to a lime wedge, floated in drink.

Word trickled back from the bar that once Bum and Martin heard that they said they knew the party had finally started … either that or had already gotten out of hand, I forget which.

Before we got too far ahead of ourselves, the 2nd course arrived: Prosciutto-Wrapped Figs with mâche, cinnamon mascarpone and candied pistachios. I’d almost eat this as a dessert — fruit stuffed with spiced cheese and wrapped in pig. It’s many of my favorite things, on a plate! Oh, and greens to make it officially salady, but … the sweetness and nuttiness of the mche went beautifully with the spiced rum in that cocktail. So did the cinnamon-spiced mascarpone, which caught the cinnamon and nutmeg notes of the rum. The lettuce was gorgeous with the pistachios too, and the candied crunch of the nuts was balanced by the tart citrus juices. Salads are notoriously difficult to pair with wines, but this one, even with its balsamic drizzle, was superb with this drink, and the drink was superb with the dish.

Third cocktail! Oh my, this is a big one. Served in a pilsner glass — we’re not messing around. This was the Hedgehog’s Dilemma — caramelized mango, lemon juice, Noilly Prat dry vermouth, passion fruit syrup, Myers’s Platinum rum and Angostura bitters. A fantastic drink, and on its own I’d be more than happy to order it again from any tiki bar’s menu.

HEDGEHOG’S DILEMMA
(by Martin Cate)

Half of a fresh mango
Teaspoon of raw sugar

1 ounce Noilly Prat dry vermouth
1/2 ounce passion fruit syrup (equal parts 2:1 simple syrup and Funkin Passion Fruit Purée)
1/2 ounce fresh lemon juice
1/4 ounce simple syrup (optional – to taste)
1-1/2 ounces Myers’s Platinum Rum
Dash Angostura bitters

Dice half of a mango into 3/4. cubes. Toss with 1 teaspoon of raw sugar. Saut in a non-stick skillet over medium heat until the mango chunks are browned on all sides. Remove from heat and let cool.

In a mixing glass, add the mango chunks and dry vermouth and muddle. Add the remaining ingredients and shake with cracked ice. Double strain into a cocktail glass and garnish with mango chunks and a lemon twist on a skewer.

It’s so rare to get mango in a really good cocktail (those nasty mango-flavored rums and vodkas just don’t cut it) and this one, with tart passion fruit and tempered a bit by the vermouth, was probably the best mango-based cocktail I’d ever had (at least that I can remember). But when paired with this …

Wood-Grilled Louisiana Shrimp, with lemon and papaya relish. This is classic New Orleans cuisine, adding the consideration that New Orleans is the northernmost port in the Caribbean. Heads-on shrimp (which you can almost never get in a restaurant in places like California, lest wimpy, timid patrons run screaming from the dining room at the sight of the monster on their plate, still wearing its head . where so much of the flavor is!), perfectly seasoned, nice and peppery but not too much so, with the tropical flavor of the papaya in the glaze and the sauce that married so beautifully with the drink that I practically wanted to buy them a wedding present. This dish was such a synthesis of classic Creole and Caribbean flavors and techniques, with that drink sailing up to meet it, that it made me very happy.

Four pretty huge shrimp were both quite enough, considering we’d be having five courses, yet left me wanting more. Then entire pineapples were brought to the table.

It was our next drink! Applause and giggles greeted this one, as the pineapples had straws sticking out of them … we lifted the lid to find the whole fruit filled with a beverage, man! This was the Miehana — pineapple, orange and lime juices, Cruzan Estate dark rum, Cruzan Coconut Rum and Grand Marnier. Also very refreshing, and not as sweet as you’d think it might be.

MIEHANA
(by Jeff Berry)

1 ounce fresh lime juice
1 ounce orange juice
1 ounce unsweetened pineapple juice
1 ounce Grand Marnier
1 ounce Cruzan Estate Dark rum
1 ounce Cruzan Coconut rum

Shake well with ice cubes. Pour unstrained into a cored pineapple. If necessary, add more ice to fill.

It was another drink I’d be happy to have in any tiki bar, but in a tiki bar you’re generally not going to get anything like this:

Our 4th course was Pineapple Basil Glazed Mahimahi, with coconut-cashew rice, crispy plantains and lemongrass butter. This is the kind of dish people wished they could have gotten in the “Polynesian” restaurants in the 1950s and ’60s, because it epitomizes what that cuisine aspired to but rarely attained. Gorgeous tropical flavors, a perfectly grilled piece of fish, and all of the flavors of the dish and the cocktail working in harmony with each other. This dish actually made us all laugh — that’s how delightful it was. And lest you think it was overly sweet, it wasn’t. The acids in the cocktail helped cut through the sugars, the richness of the lemongrass beurre blanc added richness to balance the acids and sugars, the plantains added texture and starch and were decidedly not sweet but the flavors complemented everything else. That drink with this course is one of the best food-drink pairings I’ve ever had. Fun fun fun.

PUPULE
(by Jeff Berry)

1 ounce unsweetened pineapple juice
1/2 ounce fresh lemon juice
1/4 ounce Bols white crème de cacao
1/4 ounce Chambord
1 ounce Angostura 1919 rum

Shake well with ice cubes. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with a small purple orchid.

Another cocktail arrived (good lord, was this really the sixth drink?), called the Pupule. Most certainly a dessert cocktail, but again, not overly sweet and well-balanced.

Our dessert was a Frozen Peach Soufflé, with a raspberry coulis and a few fresh raspberries. Simple, delicious and summery, and entirely appropriate given that it was roasting outside. The rum, with hints of chocolate plus more raspberry, were just the thing to have with this dessert. It’s such a pleasure to have a dessert cocktail that’s not filled with heavy cream or with enough liqueurs to make it as sweet as a candy bar.

We had a fantastic time, fantastic food, fantastic drinks (and Rocky realized that the Miehana came in the ultimate go-cup), but it wasn’t quite over yet. There were lovely parting gifts!

We were each presented with a bottled cocktail called the 60/40, a combination of 60% Averna amaro and 40% St. Germain elderflower liqueur, which went right into the back pocket. It was the perfect amount of liquor to last us until we could walk all the way to Arnaud’s French 75 Bar for nightcaps . right across the street. (Okay, the 60/40 survived intact until after we went home.)

Thanks again to GW Fins for a memorable meal, Martin and Jeff for the drinks, and to Jeff for providing the recipes and coring all those pineapples!

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Last month we were asked by our dear friend Fiona Hoskins (co-namesake of the Hoskins Cocktail) in Shropshire in the U.K. to come up with an original cocktail for her niece’s wedding. Wes has had good luck so far with wedding cocktails, and took the lead on this one. The parameters Fiona sent over regarding the bride and family’s quaffing preference is that the drink be based on either vodka or white rum, and on the sweet side. Well! As we despise vodka cocktails and sweet cocktails, we began with latching on to the rum!

The trick was, how to make it so that it’d be sweet enough to please the bride’s palate but not so sweet that its creators would spit it out? (Its creators would actually prefer to come up with something that they’d enjoy drinking themselves.)

Wes’ idea was to use Plymouth Sloe Gin as one of the sweet elements, since it’s quintessentially English but also has a really great tartness that helps give the cocktail balance. The other sweet liqueur is St. Germain, an elderflower liqueur which all you cocktailians know well (and we also knew that the English are fond of their elderflower cordials) and that’s not as sweet as most other liqueurs. He initially added some lime juice for balance but that was too much going on — once he took it out completely it became a not-really-there cocktail idea to a drink he’d order again. (There was quite enough tartness in the Sloe Gin.) There’s also a dash of Angsotura bitters for spice, and two drops of vanilla extract for complexity and a gorgeous bouquet.

It’s a Wesly original, pretty much all the way — my job on this one was to be the taster and sounding board. Here’s Himself with a few comments, from his email to Fiona:

This drink bears some resemblance to a drink called the Millionaire Cocktail. The Millionaire also starts with rum and sloe gin, but adds apricot flavored brandy. A variation also adds lime juice. This seems quite busy to me. Ours of course uses the St. Germain Elderflower Liqueur, which we think is simply a fantastic product that adds something unique and beautiful when used properly. We also started out with some lime juice, for brightness and because the St. Germain is rather sweet, and I was afraid it would dominate. However, the sloe gin (which I was intent on including, because I love the flavor profile, and it’s so very very English!) brings quite enough tartness on its own. In fact, I wasn’t really crazy about any of our experiments until I finally left out the lime. You could play with the balance between St. Germain and sloe gin, if you want to make the drink more or less sweet, but I like the balance that results from the equal amounts. The vanilla adds not just flavor but a wonderful aroma. The final drink is flowery rather than fruity (appropriate, I think, for a drink called “Rose”), definitely sweet but also with some tartness running through it from the lovely sloe berries.

We used Old New Orleans Crystal rum, because we had an open bottle begging to be finished off, but you should by all means use your favorite good quality rum that’s readily and reasonably available. (Chuck recommends Cruzan Estate Light Rum, and recommends against Bacardi.) Plymouth sloe gin is the only quality product available here, and I’m sure you should have no trouble finding it there. Be sure to use an eyedropper for adding the vanilla – it’s easy to go overboard. (We used single-strength extract, so you’ll need to adjust appropriately if yours is double.) If you’re making just a few drinks, you can add the vanilla as you mix, but this I think would be too much trouble for mixing at an event. You will make your bartender happy if you “doctor” your rum with vanilla ahead of time, 25 drops of (single-strength) vanilla extract per 750ml bottle. This in our opinion is far preferable to buying “pre-fab” vanilla infused rum, as there are only a few readily available, and not always of very good quality. This way you can still use your favorite rum but get that vanilla bouquet.

We got lovely notes back from the bride and her mom, both of whom loved the drink (yay!). Wes named it after the bride, and we look forward to meeting them when we visit in September.

The Sally Rose Cocktail

2 ounces (60 ml) white rum.
1/2 ounce (15 ml) Plymouth Sloe Gin.
1/2 ounce (15 ml) St. Germain Elderflower Liqueur.
2 dashes Angostura bitters.
2 drops vanilla extract.

Stir over ice in a cocktail shaker, strain into a chilled cocktail glass, and serve.

It’s a gorgeous color too — I’d consider garnishing with a rose petal. (No pictures, alas … we had WAY too much to do this week!)

Now, for some in honor of Marleigh and Dan’s wedding today … no time for an original here either, unfortunately, but CocktailDB yields a few interesting-looking wedding-named cocktails:

The Royal Wedding Cocktail

1-1/2 ounces gin.
3/4 ounce Swedish Punsch.
3/4 ounce fresh lime juice.
2 dashes Grand Marnier.

Shake and strain into a cocktail glass, then add 3 dashes grenadine after the cocktail is poured, so that it sinks to the bottom of the glass.

 

The Wedding March Cocktail

1-1/2 ounces light rum.
3/4 ounce fresh lime juice.
1 egg white.
1 teaspoon simple syrup.
1-2 dashes Angostura bitters.

Shake the ingredients dry (without ice) for at least a half a minute to froth up the egg white. Add ice and shake for at least one full minute. Strain into a large cocktail coupe, and dash the bitters on top, swirling the drops with a toothpick. (For a gorgeous presentation, load a Misto mister bottle with Angostura and do a couple of sprays onto the top of the egg froth.

 

The Wedding Night Cocktail

1-3/4 ounces light rum.
1/2 ounce fresh lime juice.
1/4 ounce grade B maple syrup.

Shake and strain into a cocktail glass. (Optional – invert amounts of maple syrup and lime for a sweeter drink)

Congratulations again, y’all!

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Today’s cocktail is outta da paper, rather than one I’ve had the time to research and make and photograph and such, but it looks like a terrific one I’ll try at my earliest convenience. Speaking of the Del Maguey mezcals above, Gary Regan has a Cocktailian article in the San Francisco Chronicle about his change of heart regarding mezcal, and his appreciation for a lovely cocktail using it that he got from Misty Kalkofen of Drink in Boston. Read about it and have a go!

The 1820
(by Misty Kalkofen, Drink, Boston)

1-3/4 ounces Bols Genever.
1/4 ounce Galliano l’Autentico.
1/2 ounce fresh lemon juice 1/2 ounce Lavender Simple Syrup (see recipe in the article).
1 bar spoon Del Maguey Minero mezcal.
1 dash Fee Brothers Whiskey Barrel Aged Bitters.

Shake with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

This one’s become a favorite at our place, and among friends as well.

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the Brave
(by Bobby Heugel, Anvil Bar & Refuge, Houston TX)

1 ounce Del Maguey Chichicapa Single Village Mezcal.
1 ounce Hacienda de Chihuahua Plata Sotol.
1/2 ounce Averna.
1 barspoon orange Curação.
3 dashes Angostura bitters.

Combine all ingredients in a large wine glass and swirl to combine. Garnish with a flamed orange peel and serve at room temperature. NO ICE.

Yep, you heard me. Room temperature. No ice. No chill, no dilution. Talk about intense. And it was … intensely delicious. Very, very unusual, and Bobby said he’d recently been fascinated with the idea of room temperature cocktails.

I absolutely adore all the Del Maguey mezcals, but I had never tried sotol before. It’s made from a wild plant native to Chihuahua, Mexico, called the “desert spoon,” or Dasylirion wheeleri, or simply the sotol plant, a relative of the blue agave. It’s really good, and very interesting stuff — smooth, herbal, a bit grassy and a bit smoky. I didn’t taste much of it on its own, but as of today I have my own bottle (Hacienda de Chihuahua is the brand, and they make a plata, reposado and añejo as with tequila). The smokiness of the mezcal, the herbal qualities of the sotol, the bitterness of the amaro … plus the wine glass increases the bouquet tremendously. Just a knockout.

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I have a difficult history with mint in cocktails. I have come to love mint in its fresh form, yet continue to find most if not all mint-based liqueurs to be revolting. I even used to find mint juleps to be revolting, but that was because it was many, many years before I’d ever had a good one, and on a number of occasions I’d tried it I’d been served very poor imposters made with mint syrup (but, thank all the forces in the Cosmos, never an abomination like this).

All it takes, though, is a good (or great) bartender to make you a proper mint julep, and the world of mint is your oyster. (Not only is this Cocktail of the Day, it’s also Mixed Metaphor of the Day.)

Chris ended up settling on the Southside Cocktail, one that oddly enough I’d never had, and specifically the version made by Toby Maloney of The Violet Hour in Chicago. There are a number of various recipes for this drink, some calling for lemon (although most bartenders seem to use lime), and Dale DeGroff even calls for it to be topped with soda.

I don’t want soda in mine, and although it’s not part of the traditional recipe I really like the addition of a little dash of bitters in here as Toby suggests — for a standard Southside, just omit it. As fond of tart drinks as I am, I up the lime a bit, but if you want to stick to Toby’s version keep it at 3/4 ounce.

The Southside Cocktail
(version by Toby Maloney, The Violet Hour, Chicago)

2 ounces Beefeater gin.
1 ounce fresh lime juice.
3/4 ounce simple syrup.
1 dash Angostura Bitters (optional).
Mint.

As shown above, place a sheaf of mint into the shaker and barely bruise it for a few seconds. (Do NOT muddle or grind it, as you’ll end up getting the bitter, vegetal flavor of chlorophyll and ground leaves, and not the lovely aroma and flavor of the essential oils of the mint — this is probably the biggest mistake people make when muddling mint to make Mojitos and other mint-bearing cocktails.)

Add the rest of the ingredients plus cracked ice and shake vigorously for 10 seconds. Double-strain to remove any particles of mint, into a chilled cocktail glass. Spank a handful of mint over the glass to release more essential oils, and garnish with a single floated mint leaf.

Toby participated in an excellent eGullet thread on the Southside a while back, where he explained the evolution of how he came to make the cocktail the way it is (including the non-traditional addition of bitters, which he quite rightly says goes with gin “like ham and eggs”). It’s still a good drink without bitters, but with … it is the yum!

Some recipes call for it with a splash of soda to top it off in a cocktail glass, others call for making it into a long drink, like a Collins with mint. One person on eGullet suggested making it from a fizz into a royale by topping it with Champagne instead of soda. Toby adds that if you do you use Champagne, “don’t forget to bump the simple about 1/2 ounce for every 2-3 ounces of Champers, as Champagne dries cocktails out.”

One of the eGulleters noted that this drink is a perfect way to get the ginphobic vodka crowd to drink a gin-bearing cocktail. I agree, and so did Toby — he noted that when he put it on The Violet Hour’s menu, they sold it as a “gateway” gin cocktail (which is exatly the term I like to use). He added, “Many times, when requested to make it with vodka the bartender or server would recommend that it be made with ‘this great botanical, citrus infused vodka we had.’ It would then be made with Plymouth gin. Always a hit.” (Hah! “Great botanical-and-citrus-infused vodka” … I am so stealing that.)

Here’s a food pairing idea: at the Spirited Dinner at The Rib Room at Tales of the Cocktail 2007 in New Orleans, bartenders Chad Solomon and Christy Pope paired this cocktail (sans bitters) with a seared porcini-crusted redfish filet with wilted spinach. Yum.

I got myself all distracted with this lovely cocktail and had forgotten completely about my own suggestion, which I tried the next night. It’s a variation on the venerable Whiskey Smash, with rum as the base and Créole Shrubb instead of cura¸ao, and is kind of a riff on Maks’ Creole Julep, the official cocktail of Tales of the Cocktail 2009.

St. Pierre Rum Smash
(just me messing around with rum and mint)

1-1/2 ounces Rhum Clément VSOP rhum agricole.
1/2 ounce Old New Orleans Cajun Spice Rum.
1/2 ounce Clément Créole Shrubb.
1/2 ounce fresh lime juice.
6 or 8 large mint leaves, no stems.

Bruise the mint gently in the shaker, then add the other ingredients with ice. Shake vigorously for 10 seconds, then strain over ice into a large rocks glass. Garnish with a large sprig of mint.

Hmm, not bad!

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Paystyle at Umamimart was the first out the gate, bringing silver tequila (one of my favorite things) together with one of my favorite amari, Ramazzotti, with citrus, honey and herb for the Amaro Twilight, which looks to have a beautiful balance. Getting off to a great start already, and I can already see that my liver’s going to go through the wringer trying all of these.

Tiare at A Mountain of Crushed Ice chimes in from Sweden with a drink in which she uses a mint version of Amaro Ramazzotti that I didn’t even know existed. Oh dear, that’s going to mean more expensive mail-ordering from Europe for me … yay! The Menta Amaro is a simple but terrific-looking digestivo with this unusual amaro plus a bit of one more, given that two is often better than one.

Meaghan at Spirit Me Away offers us two drinks. First, a lovely “desserty” drink combining one of my favorite rums with Ramazzotti (lovin’ all the Ramazzotti mixing going on!), coffee liqueur and cream for the Dolce Milano. Next she offers one based on Zwack liqueur, a re-branded lighter version of Unicum, Hungary’s national drink and in its original version bitter as all get out. The newer “Zwack” (called “Unicum Next” in Europe” is a bitt less bitter with a cherry charateristic, and she combines that with Bourbon in the Zwack Morris (and was also apparently crushing on cute boys from “Saved by the Bell” back in her school days, apparently!).

Virginia Guilford, with whom I shared a lovely dinner at the home of Bistro 45′s chef Damon Bruner and his wife Edith a while back, doesn’t have a website of her own but was kind enough to contribute an original cocktail into the comments section. She created a Manhattan variation based on 3 whopping ounces of Woodford Reserve along with Amaro Montenegro, perhaps the gentlest amaro and what I’ve called a “gateway amaro,” good for beginners. This drink has a lovely, gentle herbal flavor with only a touch of bitterness, and knocked us on our butts on Mixology Monday eve. Voilà, the Amaro Manhattan.

Jacob, a Portland bartender who writes at at Liquidity Preference, was inspired by one of my favorite cold evening dessert drinks (hot chocolate with a goodly shot of green Chartreuse) to make Menta e Cioccolato, swapping in Branca Menta. Oh boy, can’t wait to try this one too!

Steve and Paul of Cocktail Buzz combined their MxMo drink with their entry for the Monteleone Hotel cocktail contest, striving to have it adopted as the hotel’s signature drink while bringing more amaro to the masses. (It’s a popular idea — several Montelone entries I’ve seen, including mine, contain some form of amaro). Cognac and citrus are spiked with a dash of Fernet for the Steve’s Monteleone contender.

Fred of Cocktail Virgin Slut wins the award for the most obscure amaro in the roundup, a Spanish product called Mandrágora based on mandrake root. (!) Some of its marketed properties (along the lines of pink elephants and making you a tiger in the sack) might be a bit exaggerated, but still … given that ingredient’s well-known magical properties, one has to wonder if the bottle screams when it’s pulled from the bar shelf. Fred’s offering is the Mandrágoni.

Maria The Bubbly Girl offers one both frothy and fizzy based on Aperol, another great gateway bitter that I love to see cropping up in more and more cocktails. Among many others, her MxMo offering, The Aperol Flip, will be featured in her forthcoming book From The Bubbly Bar: Champagne & Sparkling Wine Cocktails for Every Occasion.

Jeff at Undertaking the Bar found himself rapidly approaching the posting day without a big selection of amari in his bar, and went for what was on hand — our old friend Campari, which seems to be the bitter a lot of us discover first, and one that’s more of an aperitivo, slapping your palate to attention before dinner. In the Italian Sunset Jeff uses Campari to lend complexity to Cognac and citrus.

Dinah at Bibulo.us goes right to the jugular of the obscure, with a smoky rhubarb-based amaro called Zucca Rarbarbaro. (Dammit, more expensive bottle shipping from the U.K. for me now, arrggh!) Fortunately she offers advice on how to approximate the flavor with another amaro tarted up with rhubarb bitters and liquid smoke (!), which might have to do for now. Her Walla Cocktail certainly seems worth the effort to either make the replica or find the real deal (and I’m likely to go for the latter, since I’m a “truly comical amaro nerd” too.)

My dear friend Marleigh of SLOSHED! goes for the Cynar, another amaro that never lasts long at our house, and shares with us an original recipe from one of our very favorite bartenders, the charming and talented Vincenzo Marianella. The Norma Jean is an amaro-spiked gin sour that’s really terrific. You can sample this and myriad other creations of Vincenzo and his crew at his new bar Copa d’Oro in Santa Monica, a very dangerous mere 7 minutes from my place of employment.

Blair, a.k.a. Trader Tiki, makes me seethe with envy for employing one of my most coveted Italian amari in his collection that has yet to make it into mine — Amaro Nardini. Not only that, but he combines it with two other Italian amari in a nice big chewy base in what looks like a really exciting cocktail I can’t wait to try, the Amici Cattivi (Bad Friends … heh). Fortunately Blair’s a very good friend, not the least of which for offering us this inky-dark, deliciously evil looking (in the best possible way) cocktail that’ll be tops on my list once I get up off my lazy butt and grab me some Nardini.

Blair’s also hosting a conribution from his friend and fellow Portland bartender David Shenaut of The Teardrop Lounge, whose drinks I’ve enjoyed from afar thanks to his generous sharing of recipes. I hope to be warming a barstool in front of him in due time, as we’re OVERdue for a visit to Portland. David gives us the most entertaining drink name of the roundup, the tequila-based, Cynar-laced Nevermind the Bollocks with a couple more unusual ingredents I’m now gonna want to find.

Mike from A Dash of Bitters tries one of the newest amari in my own collection, the one in the sexy slender bottle called Amaro Mio from Lorenzo Inga Distillery in Piemonte. Gin, sloe gin and some gorgeous-looking lemon balm come together in the Bitter Wood Cocktail, which might just win today’s award for prettiest garnish.

Jay of Oh Gosh! checks in from across the pond with two drinks, one from one of his favorite bartenders and another from one of mine. Although so far I haven’t had the chance to see him in his home base of New York, I’ve gotten to spend some time with Chad Solomon in his visits to Los Angeles and to New Orleans during Tales and to enjoy his drinks as well. Jay shares one of Chad’s the we make frequently at home, the Bensonhurst, as well as the other cocktail that got Wes and me tanked on the evening of Mixology Monday. Jay’s featured several cocktails from Gonçalo de Sousa Monteiro of Berlin, and his Negroni variation called the Berlioni is a Cynar-y delight.

Craig, a.k.a. Dr. Bamboo, takes us on an exotic journey (and illustrates it with a guy in a blimp with goggles and a big moustache to help us feel the trip) with both Aperol and Cynar and a new (to me) Thai liqueur called Mekhong. I’d seen it in our local spirits emporium and was skeptical, thinking it a new marketing idea from a guy in a suit rather than a spirit that came organically from the culture, but I was wrong. There’s some history behind Mekhong — it’s been around since 1941. Upon further reading I was fascinated by its base being both cane and rice spirits; its flavor is described as “spicy toffee with citrus and vanilla.” Craig rather likes it, and bases his Blimps Over Bangkok with equal parts Mekhong and London dry gin. Sigh, more liquor to buy …

Stevi of Two at the Most, whom I had the pleasure to meet and hang out with on our recent trip to Seattle (the first of many), reaches for one of my very favorite bitters, the Sicilian amaro called Averna (and the first Averna cocktail of the roundup!). This is a mid-range amaro, one to step up to after mastering Aperol or Montenegro, which you will most certainly enjoy as it helps lead you to the hard stuff (like Fernet). Her riff on the French 75 is called the Santo Spirito, a lovely name for a drink.

Now that Stevi has primed the Averna pump, it begins to flow freely. Bruce of World Wide Drinks brings it out for a citrusy fizz whose name is inspired by the biggest event in his hometown, the Indianapolis 500. If you’re last in line to qualify and don’t have a good enough time, you’re “bumped.” Ah well, the driver can always console him- or herself with Bruce’s citrusy fizz called the Bitter Bump. (No permalink, but you shouldn’t have to scroll back too far unless months have gone by as you’re reading this …)

My friend Andy at (dr)Ink Gorilla joins MxMo for the first time. Welcome, Andy! Watch out, it’s addictive. He offers us a variation on the Fernet Cocktail, varying the bitters and syrup, and winning the award for today’s heftiest dose of what’s probably the heftiest amaro of them all (at least the ones we see on these shores). This one’s for hardcore amaro-lovers.

Amari and other drinking bitters all tend to have a similar formula — alcohol, some combination of herbs, sugar and caramel coloring (with a certain amount of color coming from the herbs themselves). There are of course countless variations in this formula, including the herbs which provide the bitter elements. Christian of Cocktailwelten decided to go for the herbal end rather than the bitter end, and offers us a B&B Collins. Sein Beitrag ist in Deutsch, so unless you read German you’ll need to run it through a translator.

Jake the Drinksnob at Liquor is Quicker went for a product I’ve read about but have yet to try. China Martini (“china” is pronounced “KEE-na”) is produced by Martini & Rossi and is a Calisaya-style bitters. Calisaya, china calissaia, cinchona … all different terms for quinine, which is what provides the bitterness here. As I understand it China Martini is a liqueur at 31%, rather than the quinine-infused wines known as quinquina or chinato. I’d love to get my hands on some of this stuff, especially now that I’m inspired by Jake’s purported hangover cure (which looks quite tasty) that he calls Il Cane Nero.

Ouroboros at Blotto, the Journal of the North American Booze Council (who sound as if they should be running the country) offers us yet another Portlander concoctaion using not one but two amari. Portland beckons me … I like how they do things up there. I due amari marry rye (because what the world needs now is more rye cocktails) for the Cryptic Memo, which comes to us from Kelley Swenson, the head bartender at Ten 01. (Note to self: Add to list of Portland bars to haunt.)

Nat at The Alpha Cook offers an adaptation of the Black Manhattan, Averna-tinged Manhattan variation she first encountered at Bourbon and Branch in San Francisco. This version takes it a step further, spiced with Nat’s own housemade Apple-Clove Bitters. (And yep, you get to learn how to make that, too).
Craig at Colonel Tiki’s Drinks offers us his first drink using tequila, and it’s a great month to do so — I love how tequila marries with bitter ingredients. He’s combined two amari also and some lovely ingredients for yet another that I can’t wait to try, the Amaro Amigo. I’ve got a lovely cinnamon tincture at home (sticks of Indonesian, toasted and soaked in Wray & Nephew Overproof Rum for 3 weeks) that’s crying out to go into this drink, yum.

Sonja of North Shore Distillery, who writes at Thinking of Drinking, is the only one to bring out the Amer Picon (yay!) and whips up two variations on a classic near and dear to my heart, the venerable Picon Punch, one of my most beloved bitter tipples, which is also incredibly refreshing. She uses the current version of authentic Amer Picon (the “Club” version, which is intended to be mixed with wine) as well as the American replica Torani Amer, recently reformulated to taste much like the original Amer Picon, before the proof was cut in half and the recipe changed into the Club and Bière versions.

Sam (a.k.a. Vidiot) writes about cocktails at the group blog Cocktailians, where I am also a contributor but feel horribly guilty for not having contributed anything in a while. (Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa … *thump chest* … ow. Believe me, I’m wearing sackcloth in penance as I write (and promise to get my butt in gear and contribute again soon). I feel even guiltier for having foiled his plans to work with rye and mole bitters by posting my own such cocktail early. (I wasn’t emitting dastardly laughs, rubbing my hands or twirling my moustache, honestly. I don’t even have a moustache.) Fortunately this spiked Sam’s creativity and we get yet another lovely cocktail named for a New York neighborhood. The famous borough drinks, plus the Red Hook and Little Italy and Bensonhurst are now joined by The Astoria, with rye (yay!), Ramazzotti and three different fruit bitters by the dash. You knocked that one right out of Shea Stadium, Sam.

Contending for the final entry at 11:59:50 on Monday night, my friend Chris, an L.A. bartender who also writes about his craft and obsession at Blueprint Cocktail, went nuts with one of my favorites, Amaro Nonino, and had a long night of cocktail-creating fun, offering us three Nonino cocktails — a tangy Friuli Fizz, a chamomile-scented, Nonino-spiked rye sour simply called the Nonino Sour and the Marmalady, which brings in a powerful smoky Scotch and kumquats … wow. (Hmm, is it just coincidence or was Chris reading John Lennon’s poetry when naming that last one? “He is putting it lithely when he says / Quobble in the grass / Strab he down the soddieflays / Amo amat amass; / Amonk amink amnibus / A marmalaidie moon …” Sorry, my mind works in odd ways and that just popped out of it.)

But no, not to be outdone … Paul Clarke of The Cocktail Chronicles, the guy who got the wacky idea to start this whole MxMo thing, makes it in quite literally at the stroke of midnight as the bells were still chiming, and like Steve combines his MxMo entry with his entry into the Monteleone cocktail contest. It’s a superb-looking blend of rye, Aperol, vermouth, crème de cacao and Peychaud’s bitters that I also can’t wait to try, appropriately named the Two Birds, which is a great name for a drink (well, unless it ends up being called The Monteleone). He’s right indeed, I am a bitter man — well no, I’m a bitters man. I think you’re beginning to get the idea that this is a good thing.

Then after Paul finishes at midnight come the procrastinators … yes, my people!

My good friend Matt the Rumdood made it in at a respectable 12:18am on Mixology, um, Tuesday (and yes dude, I would indeed have teased you mercilessly had you not participated!) offers us a drink that was more than worth the 18-minute wait. Chris Hannah is one of the very best bartenders in the city of New Orleans, plying his art and craft at the French 75 Bar at the venerable Creole institution, Arnaud’s Restaurant. The Bywater is quite possibly my favorite of Chris’ drinks, for many reasons — it’s named after the old Ninth Ward neighborhood where my family is from, it’s based on aged rum (coming from Matt I’d expect no less), contains a healthy dose of my beloved Chartreuse as well as one of my favorite amari that reflects the city’s Sicilian population. All that and a pretty garnish too. I’m very glad Matt’s helping this drink get more attention.

Mike of My Aching Head brings stumbled across a drink that seems to be longtime classic by its flavor — how could this combination of ingredients not have been around for decades? — and its popularity, but was in fact invented by Paul Harrington in the 1990s. Robert Hess was the first person I know of to begin popularizing this lovely tipple, the Campari-based Jasmine. Harrington’s added some kind of magic to this drink too, an undefinable, non-tangible bit of something that makes it taste like it’s been around for decades.

Finally, a brief re-mention of my own contribution, the Eagle Rock Cocktail, based on rye and featuring Amaro Borsci San Marzano with the forthcoming (July!) Bittermens Xocolatl Mole Bitters. It’s deep and dark and bitter and just slightly sweet with hints of dried fruit, cherry, spice and chocolate. I kinda like it.

Aaaaaand … that’s it! I think. Gabriel is threatening to add a post, although I haven’t yet received it and don’t think my title of God Emperor of Procrastination is in any danger. Well, actually … I got this Gargantuan roundup posted only two days later. I might end up being a mere Sandtrout of Procrastination. Sigh.

[UPDATE on Mixology Wednesday!] Gabriel came through first thing this morning. We have a new God Emperor, and soon his entire skin will be covered with tipsy, hiccupping sandtrout. Unsurprisingly, it was worth the wait. Gabe, in weary traveller mode, wandered into San Francisco’s Heaven’s Dog, where bartender Erik Ellestad (whom I’m glad to see in this roundup, even indirectly) was asked to make something with Nonino, yet dry and refreshing. The resulting Upward Dog pleased him immensely, and sounds like one we’ll return to at home.

Again, thanks a million to everyone who participated. I’ve got a frakload of drinks to make now.

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In case you missed the announcement post here or MixologyMonday.com, the theme for this month is amaro — bitter liqueurs generally intended to consume after a meal as a digestive, typical of but certainly not limited to Italy, and the use of those bitters in cocktails. Why did I choose this topic? Because over the last several years I have become an amaro freak.

It’s been a long journey since 2000, when I took my first sip of Fernet Branca — such a baptism of fire for my first experience with amaro! Sadly, no camera was present to capture the look on my face after taking my first sip, nor was a recorder running to note what was certainly some choice language. In the ensuing years, after samplng more gentle amari and working my way up, I finally had my amaro epiphany, which was the day when I started drinking Fernet Branca not strictly for medicinal purposes after overindulging my tummy, but for pleasure and enjoyment. Now my amaro collection is pretty decent, if I do say so myself (and ripe for expansion): Amaro Abano, Amaro Cora, Amaro Meletti, Amaro Mio Lorenzo Inga, Amaro Montenegro, Amaro Nonino, Amaro Ramazzotti, Amaro di Santa Maria al Monte di NIcola Uignale, Amer Boudreau, Amer Picon Club, Aperol, Averna, Campari, Cynar, Fernet Branca, Gammel Dansk, Jeppson’s Malört, Maraska Pelinkovac, Suze, Torani Amer, Underberg and Zwack Unicum … plus one more which is my most recent acquisition.

Borsci Elisir San Marzano was one I’d seen passing references to but had never tried until a few bottles showed up at The Wine House, one of my two major spirits emporia and where a significant chunk of my paycheck is deposited every other week. I took it home, poured some into our nice little amaro sipping glasses, and lit up. It’s on the milder end of the amaro spectrum, more hefty than Montenegro, which is my mildest, but one that I thought might be appealing to amaro newbies. The bitter herbs and sweetness are in perfect balance, but there’s a lot more going on in this liqueur — dried fruits, especially figs and plums, touches of chocolate and coffee as well. The liqueur’s been around since 1840, developed in Puglia, Italy by Giuseppe Borsci in the tradition of herbal liqueurs developed by European monks.

I looked it up and found interesting recipes on Borsci’s website, although none for cocktails, oddly enough. The first recipe (which I also found in its listing on LeNell’s website was to soak fresh cherries in it, which sounds fantastic. Grapes were recommended for soaking in a simliar fashion, and there was a fascinating procedure for layering almond-stuffed dried figs with chocolate flakes in a jar, then filling with Borsci amaro. There was Borsci tiramisù, Borsci birthday cake, Borsci over strawberries and even over ice cream. All looked good, yet still no cocktails. I seem to have stumbled across my first dessert amaro.

However, it’s recommended chilled or in long drinks as an aperitivo, plus at room temperature as an excellent digestivo, which after several such after-dinner tipplages I can assure you it is, although not as powerfully medicinal as some other amari. After my first sips, though, I started thinking about how I’d use this in a cocktail.

The first thing that came to me was a Manhattan variation. There are several such variations out there that feature various amari (The Red Hook and Little Italy, both favorites, to name two), but it seemed to me that this amaro would work particularly well with a powerful rye base. The hints of chocolate in the this amaro’s flavor base led me to want to pair it with something similar, but by no means did I want this drink to be too sweet, or gods forbid, something desserty. Flavors that would lend itself to an after-meal cocktail, sure, or a lead-in to dessert, but not a “dessert cocktail” per se. Crème de cacao, even the less cloyingly sweet version from Marie Brizard, would be right out, and the only ingredient that seemed right was, oddly enough, something I had never tasted.

Those of us who are bitters fanatics have been waiting with bated breath for the eventual release of the products being developed and produced by the newest cocktail bitters company, Bittermens. They’d been working on a tantalizing and exciting range of products ranging from “tiki” bitters to grapefruit and pecan bitters, but the one that got my scalp tingling in anticipation was their “Xocolatl Mole” chocolate spice bitters. As they described them: “Inspired by the classic Mexican chocolate mole sauce, this bitters recipe highlights tequila, aged rum and whiskey cocktails. Try substituting these bitters in a Manhattan, or adding to a Margarita.” Holy crapola. I was tremendously excited to hear about this, and disappointed to hear of delay after delay due, oddly enough, not to difficulties vetting them with the TTB, but with local and state health and production permits. And after tasting the Borsci, even though I had never tasted Bittermens Mole Bitters, I knew this was just what my tentative Borsci cocktail needed. (Unless I was completely wrong.)

To add to my frustration, Bittermens sent out a number of samples to bartenders (naturally) and to a few cocktail writers, none of which included me. (Well, other folks to get higher readership, so it made perfect sense.) That didn’t help my writhing jealousy as I read my friend Paul Clarke’s glowing review of his sample of these bitters a year ago January. I was Chartreuse with envy, but knew I just had to wait. Once my taste of Borsci came along, I must confess I grew more impatient — this stuff would go great with Borsci in a cocktail, I just knew it. Bittermens posted periodic updates, and it looked as if we’d finally be able to get our hands on a fully released product a bit later this year … but not in time for my idea for a drink that would be perfect for the MxMo topic I suggested for my turn to host.

Well, all ended well with Wes’ and my long-overdue visit to see all our friends in Seattle in April, and Paul very graciously and generously offered me a small sample from his sample bottle of bitters so I could see if my idea would work. Y’know what? It worked. I’m just a lucky so-and-so … thanks a million, Paul!

I was pretty happy with the drink as I had conceived it, but thought it neede one more little boost, just a tad of Cherry Heering to offer that compementary cherry flavor without making it too sweet — we get more than enough of that from the amaro itself, and the vermouth. I’m pretty happy with this, and as the Manhattan got to be named after a borough in New York, and as I was lucky enough to get to create a drink named for part of Los Angeles a while back, I wanted to have one named after my own neighborhood.

So … I must confess that it’s a bit unfair that you can’t quite make this drink yourself yet, unless you get to one of a number of bars that have Bittermens Xocolatl Mole Bitters on hand (that’d be Zig Zag and Vessel in Seattle; Alembic, Absinthe, Coco 500 and Range in San Francisco; Death & Co., Milk and Honey, Little Branch, PDT, Bourgeois Pig, Mayahuel or Tailor in NYC; Eastern Standard, Drink, Hungry Mother or Craigie on Main in Boston; or Montgomery Place, The Lonsdale, Milk and Honey or The Purple Bar at the Sanderson Hotel in London) or unless you get invited to Paul Clarke or Robert Hess’ house to name but two, you’ll have to wait until July to try this drink the way I envisioned it — that’s when Bittermens plans to finally release their product (yay!). That’s only six weeks away, though, and I think it’ll be worth the wait. Don’t worry, I’ll noodge you again when the time comes.

Use a big rye for this. We’re deeply, madly in love with the bonded 100 proof Rittenhouse rye, which is a fantastic product, priced between $16-18 and without a doubt the best rye value on the market. After that try Wild Turkey 101 rye, and we’re even tempted to give this one a go with Thomas Handy.

The Eagle Rock Cocktail

2 ounces Rittenhouse 100 proof bonded rye whiskey.
1/2 ounce sweet vermouth (Carpano Antica or Vya).
1/2 ounce Amaro Borsci San Marzano.
1 scant barspoon Cherry Heering.
2-3 goodly dashes Bittermens Xocolatl Mole Bitters.

Combine with ice in a mixing glass and stir for 30 seconds. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass and garnish with a Luxardo cherry.

I love one of these after work, and I also liked it after dinner, leading into a big chocolate dessert — I thought it was a lovely transition. I hope you enjoy it too, once those bitters come out! In the meantime, maybe try it with a dash of Fee’s Whiskey Barrel-Aged Bitters, but that cacao spice you get from the Bittermens really does make this drink.

To all the participants in MxMo Amaro, thanks for all your entries so far! We tried a couple last nigiht and got luxuriously toasted. Everyone else, please get your entries posted on your own sites with a comment here by midnight tonight, and I’ll get to work on the roundup.

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While I wasn’t really using the hotel’s other signature drink, the Vieux Carré, as a jumping-off point, I did want to have rye as a base spirit. As it turned out, there’s a slight similarity between the drinks in some of the proportions, but this goes off in a different direction, with a balance of bitter and sweet and spicy and malty that Wes and I both really liked. Here’s hoping you like it too (not to mention the contest judges!).

The Monteleone Cocktail
(Tentatively named pending cocktail contest results.)

Rue Royale
(Renamed, as another cocktail was chosen for the contest winner)

1 ounce Sazerac Rye (6 Year).
1 ounce Bols Genever.
1 ounce Dolin Vermouth Blanc.
1/2 ounce Averna.
2 dashes Peychaud’s Bitters.
1 dash Regans’ Orange Bitters No. 6.
Orange peel.

Combine ingredients with cracked ice and stir for 30 seconds. Strain into a chilled cocktail coupe and garnish with the orange peel after giving it a mighty twist.

The rye is there to provide a solid foundation of whiskey and spice, and is there for New Orleans. I was fascinated by the combination of whiskey and genever, which the malty, whiskey-like characteristic of this genever in particular. (My original idea was to try this with Ransom Old Tom Gin, a new barrel-aged Old Tom co-developed by David Wondrich, which I tasted in Seattle and went mad for, but it’s not available yet.) I wanted an aromatized wine as a moderator, and the newly-imported Dolin Blanc is a fantastic product I’ve fallen completely in love with. It’s a sweet white vermouth, along the lines of a bianco from Cinzano or Martini & Rossi but with a really tremendous flavor, and with the sweetness held back a bit. The Averna is because I love amaro, because wanted a pleasantly bitter element which the Dolin helps balance well, and also to honor the Sicilian heritage of Signor Antonio Monteleone, the founder of the hotel. Peychaud’s for spice and for the city, and as I was trying out early incarnations and got close, we thought it needed one little extra bit of brightness, which the orange bitters provide.

Well, that’s my story, anyway, and I’m sticking to it.

If it doesn’t win I’ll still keep making it, and it’ll just get renamed. Maybe I’ll call it the Antonio, after Signor Monteleone. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves; I’d rather it be called the Monteleone.

UPDATE, 5/22/2009: Alas, another cocktail won the contest, but I think this drink is a keeper. It’s being renamed the “Rue Royale.” (Thanks to Wes for the name suggestion!) And congratulations to contest winner Brian Robinson of The Wormwood Society.

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This one comes from the highlyi talented Misty Kalkofen of Drink in Boston, where she is bartender and Mistress of Ice, and Lauren Clark of Drink Boston, both of whom are also members of LUPEC, Ladies United for the Preservation of Endangered Cocktails (“Dismantling the patriarchy one drink at a time!” … yeah you rite!).

I’m not sure where Dayne got this particular description he forwarded to me when I asked him for the recipe, but I will reproduce it verbatim, because it’s too much fun to simply boil down to a list of ingredients.

The Red Rot Cocktail,
which Rather Resembles the Noxious Liquid Medicine
for Moldy Red Leather-bound Books but Nonetheless
Pleases the Palate.
(Created by Misty Kalkofen of Drink and Lauren Clark of drinkboston.com)

To one jigger of London dry gin, add
add one half-ounce each of
St. Germain Elderflower Liqueur,
Cherry Heering and
fresh lemon juice, and
two goodly dashes of Peychaud’s Bitters.

Shake vigorously with ice and turn into a Champagne saucer.

Loverly. And it doesn’t look nearly as noxious as the vile green allergy medicine I had to take when I was a kid.

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Paul Clarke has been truly kicking butt the last couple of weeks with his “Thirty in Thirty” series, a cocktail post a day for a month. Last Sunday he wrote about a fantastic-sounding drink called the Theobroma (theobroma cacao being, of course, the Latin name for the cacao bean that brings us all that nummy chocolate) in which he quoted a rule from the Esquire Drinks Database: “There is no such thing as a Chocolate Martini!”.

This is true, but as Eric points out in his article (and some fine examples from Paul), although chocolate as a cocktail ingredient has been badly misused over the past few decades there is indeed historical precedent as well as some great uses, if done carefully and with the proper balance. As I rule I dislike sweet cocktails, so you’re already treading on dangerous ground, but it certainly can be done.

I’m also cautious about dessert cocktails, and the one Eric wrote about certainly falls into that category for me. But despite the fact that it’s 2 parts spirit to 1 part liqueur it doesn’t seem overly sweet and was just the thing after our dinner the other night.

Key to this drink, I think, is finding Marie Brizard’s dark crème de cacao, which has less sweetness and higher proof as well as a deeper chocolate flavor than most inexpensive liqueurs of its kind. Heering is, of course, welcome in so many cocktails I like already, and unsurprisingly it plays very well with the other ingredients. Once Bittermens Xocolatl Mole Bitters is on the market, I’d bet this would benefit from a dash of that too, like Paul’s Theobroma.

The Dolores Cocktail
(adapted by Eric Felten)

2 ounces Spanish brandy, or any brandy. (We used Don Pedro.)
1/2 ounce Marie Brizard dark Crème de Cacao.
1/2 ounce Cherry Heering.

Combine with ice and stir for 20-30 seconds. Strain into your prettiest cocktail glass and garnish with a brandied cherry.

Try making this one if someone comes over and asks for a “Chocolate Martini.” This is a chocolate drink for grown-ups.

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Fine Bourbon whiskey, a little simple syrup, very gently bruised mint, lots of crushed ice, and lots more mint on top. That’s all there is to it. That’s how it’s done.

I’ve been served some damned poor excuses for what some people dared to call a “Mint Julep” in my day, and unfortunately it put me off them completely for years. The first and worst was from Pat O’Brien’s in the French Quarter. It was a sweet, horrid concoction made with some artificially-colored bright green mint syrup. The bartender actually mocked me when he served me that abomination he had just made, saying, “There ya go, brah … ya gonna have da freshest breath in town.” I thought I hated Mint Juleps. It turned out to be a simple thing, though — I had just never had one made properly. Ever. Until, thank the Cosmos, I did.

I can’t do it justice here. I now place you in the masterful hands of the man who’s one of the great bartenders of the City of New Orleans, Mr. Chris McMillian. You will never have a finer mint julep, or a finer mint julep experience, than ordering one of them from him. Don’t be in a hurry; it takes time. Don’t be in a hurry with this drink, either.

“Then comes the zenith of man’s pleasure.
Then comes the julep – the mint julep.
Who has not tasted one has lived in vain.
The honey of Hymettus brought no such solace to the soul;
the nectar of the Gods is tame beside it.
It is the very dream of drinks, the vision of sweet quaffings.

“The Bourbon and the mint are lovers.
In the same land they live, on the same food they are fostered.
The mint dips its infant leaf into the same stream
that makes the bourbon what it is.
The corn grows in the level lands through which small streams meander.
By the brook-side the mint grows.
As the little wavelets pass, they glide up to kiss the feet of the growing mint,
the mint bends to salute them.
Gracious and kind it is, living only for the sake of others.
The crushing of it only makes its sweetness more apparent.
Like a woman’s heart, it gives its sweetest aroma when bruised.
Among the first to greet the spring, it comes.
Beside the gurgling brooks that make music in the pastures it lives and thrives.

“When the Blue Grass begins to shoot its gentle sprays toward the sun,
mint comes, and its sweetest soul drinks at the crystal brook.
It is virgin then. But soon it must be married to Old Bourbon.
His great heart, his warmth of temperament,
and that affinity which no one understands, demand the wedding.
How shall it be?

“Take from the cold spring some water, pure as angels are;
mix it with sugar until it seems like oil.
Then take a glass and crush your mint within it with a spoon –
crush it around the borders of the glass and leave no place untouched.
Then throw the mint away — it is a sacrifice.

“Fill with cracked ice the glass;
pour in the quantity of Bourbon which you want.
It trickles slowly through the ice.
Let it have time to cool, then pour your sugared water over it.
No spoon is needed, no stirring is allowed –
just let it stand a moment.
Then around the brim place sprigs of mint,
so that the one who drinks may find a taste and odor at one draught.

“Then when it is made, sip it slowly.

August suns are shining, 
the breath of the south wind is upon you.

It is fragrant, cold and sweet -– it is seductive.

No maiden’s kiss is tenderer or more refreshing,

no maiden’s touch could be more passionate.

Sip it and dream -– you cannot dream amiss.

Sip it and dream –- it is a dream itself.

No other land can give so sweet solace for your cares;

no other liquor soothes you in melancholy days.
Sip it and say there is no solace for the soul,

no tonic for the body like old Bourbon whiskey.”

– Joshua Soule Smith, Kentucky Colonel
Published in the Lexington Herald in the 1880s

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I’m thrilled to see Dolin Blanc being embraced so quickly. How can it not? It’s a fantastic product. All three kids of Dolin Vermouth are, and they’re brand-new to this country although they’ve been made in France by the same family using the same recipes since 1821. They’re all lighter and drier, marvelously flavored. The “Blanc” variety is distinct from the Dry, as it’s a sweet white vermouth and is so delicious I’m happy to drink it on its own, on the rocks with an orange peel. I’m going to be doing a lot of experimenting with this one. It’s starting to get wide distribution on the coasts; L.A. folk can find it at The Wine House in West L.A. or Silverlake Wine.

For L.A. locals, Bitter Truth bitters are avaiable at Bar Keeper on Sunset in Silverlake; in Seattle at De Laurenti in Pike Place Market, or via mail order from Germany.

Right now I only have Hayman’s Old Tom, which is on the softer side but still makes a lovely drink with a subtle interplay of flavors. David told me later that Hammond’s is “soft and pretty,” while the stupendous brand-new barrel-aged Ransom’s, made in Oregon based on research and specifications by David Wondrich, is “deep and rich.” I got to taste some Ransom’s while I was in Seattle, and that stuff is just mind-bendingly great. When it finally makes it down here I’m probably in for a case of it.

The Ephemeral
(by David Shenaut, Teardrop Lounge, Portland)

1-1/2 ounces Old Tom gin. (I have Hayman’s on hand; I’ll check and see what David uses.)
1 ounce Dolin Vermouth Blanc.
2 barspoons St. Germain Elderflower Liqueur.
3 dashes Bitter Truth Celery Bitters.
Grapefruit peel.

Combine with ice in a mixing glass and stir for 30 seconds. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass or coupe, and garnish with the grapefruit peel.

I hope to do a whole writeup on Dolin soon.

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For his entry Maks went for a flavor profile based on the city’s position as “the northernmost port of the Caribbean.” Max is a great guy and an excellent bartender, so if you’re going to Tales be sure to stop in at Rambla (a Spanish-Basque tapas restaurant that’s one of the hottest new restaurants in town), which is within walking distance of the Quarter, or at Cure, which is Uptown at Freret and Upperline.

The Creole Julep
(Created by Maksym Pazuniak, Cure, New Orleans)

2-1/4 ounces Cruzan Single Barrel Estate Rum.
1/2 ounce Clément Creole Shrubb.
1/4 ounce Captain Morgan 100.
2 dashes Fee Bros. Peach bitters.
2 dashes Angostura bitters.
8-10 mint leaves.
1 Demerara sugar cube.

Muddle sugar, Creole Shrubb and bitters until sugar is dissolved in a tall 10 ounce glass. Add mint and press to express oils. Add cracked ice. Add Cruzan and Captain Morgan 100 and stir until frost appears on outside of glass. Garnish with mint sprig.

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This is a basic concept of any serious cocktail nerd’s explorations (not to mention those of a professional bartender), because once you start substituting ingredients for others you learn how drinks work, how proportions work, how balance works, and it all begins to make sense. You see it laid out for you in the wonderful charts Gary Regan put in The Joy of Mixology, you see it when you realize that a Margarita is a variation on a Sidecar, that you can take a Manhattan and turn it into a Rob Roy or an Emerald just by changing the whiskey. You see the principle in how good bartenders train their barbacks.

When my interest obsession with cocktails began about 10 years ago, one of the first things I started playing with was substituting ingredients in found classic recipes. In what was probably my first drinkable original, I found a recipe in a vintage barware book that had a punny name; it looked wrong-but-interesting, and some digging revealed the true recipe, which at the time scared me because it had vermouth in it (and now, of course, I have a fridge full of different kinds). As it was already Lillet-based, I thought vermouth was superfluous, substituted Cognac, substituted a tangerine liqueur on hand for one that wasn’t available locally and ended up with the Lillet Tomlin — even punnier, and to this day still not-bad. (I used this one in MxMo XXIV: Variations a little over a year ago.)

The classic twist came up in email recently with my friend Michael, who had gone to one of New Orleans’ newest cocktailian bars, Bar Tonique up on North Rampart. They’ve been open for eight months or so, and I didn’t get an opportunity to go while I was home for Christmas, but I’ve heard good things. (“It straddles the line between a neighborhood hangout and a serious cocktail bar, and it leans more one way or the other depending on who is bartending,” he said.) Another place to get not only a decent cocktail but a great one in the city is a milestone, of which I hope there will be many more. (Bar Tonique, now Cure, who’ll be next?!) They were served a drink there called the St. Claude (great name for a drink, wish I had gotten there first), which he described as an Aviation with white rum swapped for the gin. That sounded pretty good. I’m not sure if that’s exactly what it was, but I tried making an Aviation with rum and … it was okay. I was a bit underwhelmed, so I suspect there was something else going on. I’ll either try to find out what it really is, or start playing with that one myself.

One of my favorite examples of a twist on a classic comes from a drink that’s … not a classic classic, but certainly a modern classic to some. Ted “Dr. Cocktail” Haigh has created many fabulous original cocktails, pretty much all of which I’ve loved. One of his originals is called the Delmarva Cocktail, which is a great name. While it might sound like it was named after a glamourous Hollywood ingénue of the 1930s, it is in fact named after the states of Delaware, Maryland and Virginia, where Doc first tasted three of the cocktail’s ingredients. (I’m still on the lookout for Vera Delmarva, though.) The original recipe called for a base of rye whiskey (which always gets a cheer from me), then dry vermouth, lemon juice, and … crème de menthe.

Now, this cocktail has its fans, people with refined palates, and Doc certainly knows how to make a great (and balanced) drink, and this is certainly that, but … for the most part, with very rare exceptions, I can’t stand crème de menthe in cocktails. Fresh spearmint, juleps and mojitos, sure. Crème de menthe, not so much. I don’t like pepperminty flavor in drinks; it reminds me of being sick to my stomach as a kid, as my mom always gave me peppermint oil to soothe my stomach. It’s entirely a personal thing. (“It’s not you … it’s me!) I can occasionally maybe possibly have a Stinger, if it’s made with Rumpleminze instead of crème de menthe (drier and higher proof), but other than that, get it away from me.

Gary Regan liked the drink, and thought the basic proportion would hold up to lots of entertaining play with various liquors. He came up with this variation, which I have to say is right up my alley.

The Delmarva Cocktail No. 2
(Adapted by Gary Regan from Ted Haigh’s original)

2 ounces rye whiskey.
1/2 ounce dry vermouth.
1/2 ounce fresh lemon juice.
1/2 ounce créme de cacao.

Combine with ice in a shaker; shake for 10-12 seconds. Strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with a fresh mint leaf.

I love this. Just one little substitution, and it’s completely different from the original. The spicier the rye the better for me; I like to make this with Rittenhouse 100. The chocolate flavor plays beautifully with the rye, reminding me of one of my favorite desserts — a glass of whiskey and something very chocolatey (even just a square of Valrhona 71%). The bit of tartness from the lemon provides balance, and the vermouth helps integrate them all. The recipe calls for white crème de cacao, but I’d go ahead and use dark — you get a heftier color along with the whiskey, and more of a chocolate profile that stands up to a big rye (use the white if you’re using a less spicy base spirit). Try to find the Marie Brizard product if you can get it, as it’s far superior to most liqueur makers’ overly-sweet brands. I have to confess I like the No. 2 better than the original. (Sorry, Ted!)

Gary also does a No. 3 in which the liqueur becomes amaretto, with the lemon bumped up to 3/4 to provide better balance. This is pretty good, but the No. 2 is still my favorite.

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Among the many wonderful things I’ve learned about from my friend Ted Haigh, there was at least one horrible one, or so I thought at first. Malört is a Swedish-style bitter liqueur (although I’d hesitate to call it an amaro, as it’s very different from Italian liqueurs described as such) based on wormwood; “malört is actually Swedish for wormwood. Unlike absinthe it has no anise flavoring components, or any other spread of botanicals as far as I can tell — this stuff’s pure, whap-you-in-the-face-with-a-large-tree-branch wormwood with all its concomitant bitterness. It is, quite probably, the most bitter thing you will ever pour out of a bottle and into your mouth that’s considered potable and non-poisonous.

It’s Chicago’s native spirit in a way, first distilled by Swedish immigrant Carl Jeppson and still popular there, especially in the Polish and masochist communities. There are those who keep it in their collections as a test of mettle for their spirit-tippling visitors, or as a source of entertainment. In fact, there’s a whole pool of photos on Flickr entitled Malört face. The faces accurately express most people’s reaction to the liqueur, unsurprising based on the description that was actually printed on the back label (although no longer, apparently):

Most first-time drinkers of Jeppson Malort reject our liquor. Its strong, sharp taste is not for everyone. Our liquor is rugged and unrelenting (even brutal) to the palate. During almost 60 years of American distribution, we found only 1 out of 49 men will drink Jeppson Malort. During the lifetime of our founder, Carl Jeppson was apt to say, ‘My Malort is produced for that unique group of drinkers who disdain light flavor or neutral spirits.’

It is not possible to forget our two-fisted liquor. The taste just lingers and lasts – seemingly forever. The first shot is hard to swallow! PERSERVERE [sic]. Make it past two ‘shock-glasses’ and with the third you could be ours … forever.

Perhaps they thought that last line sounded a bit too … sinister. They’re not kidding about the lingering, though — the bitterness doesn’t hit you right away, and just as you’re thinking, “Oh hey, this isn’t as bad as you s– oh, JESUS!” Then it hits you and lasts a long, long time, a true everlasting gobstopper.

Dr. Cocktail also noted in the spirit’s CocktailDB entry that “it has been adopted enthusiastically by bikers and is a mainstay at biker bars.” I have no doubt of this, as I can see these guys using it to prove their manliness. Doc also notes an underlying flavor behind the unrelenting bitterness that he calls “eau de dill pickle.”

All that said … I kinda like the stuff.

It’s really not that bad — after the first time I never made the face, and although I don’t drink it often I will agree that it is bracingly, even violently bitter. I’ve never thought so far to try it in a serious cocktail, though, but a few inventive Chicago bartenders are way ahead of me.

Today’s issue of the Chicago Reader has a feature on Malört, and how it’s evolved past a practical joke, test of mettle or ingredient in intentionally foul cocktails into a serious cocktail ingredient. If you can balance the bitterness with other ingredients, you might just be on to something, as these guys are.

Brad Bolt, bartender at Bar DeVille in Chicago (a very cool guy whom I met when he visited L.A. last year) came up with the drink that’ll be our tipple this evening, which even comes along with a video showing him in Malört-slinging action. The proportions and makeup of this make me think of a Last Word (or a Final Ward, given that it’s lemon); this could be a signature drink for one of my favorite cities.

The Hard Sell
(Created by Brad Bolt, Bar DeVille, Chicago)

3/4 ounce Beefeater Gin.
3/4 ounce Jeppson Malört.
3/4 ounce St. Germain Elderflower Liqueur.
3/4 ounce fresh lemon juice.
Large grapefruit peel.
Combine in a shaker with ice and shake for 10-12 seconds. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Express as much oil as you can out of the grapefruit peel onto the surface of the drink, but do not garnish with the peel.

Here are a couple other Malört creations from Chicago bartenders that we’ll try within the next few days:

The Ukrainian Negroni
(Created by Toby Maloney, The Violet Hour)

2 ounces Tanqueray Gin.
1-1/2 ounces Carpano Antica sweet vermouth.
1/4 ounce Campari.
1/4 ounce Jeppson Malört.

Combine in a mixing glass with ice and stir for 30 seconds. Strain into a coupe, and flame an orange peel over the drink.

 

The Bukowski
(Created by Charles Joly, The Drawing Room)

1-1/2 ounces Jeppson Malört.
1/2 ounce Drambuie.
3/4 ounce fresh orange juice.
1/2 ounce fresh lemon juice.
3/4 ounce honey syrup (made 1:1 with water).
3-5 basil leaves.

Combine in a shaker with ice, shake for 10-12 seconds and strain over rocks into an Old Fashioned glass.(Rather aptly named, I think, even if Bukowski never drank the stuff himself. The Reader adds, “The working name for this drink was the Dirty Old Man, after the column Charles Bukowski once wrote for an underground newspaper in Los Angeles. Joly says there.s no garnish because the writer would have just thrown it back at the bartender.”)

 

The Golden Eel
(Created by Paul McGee, The Whistler)

1-1/2 ounces Beefeater Gin.
3/4 ounce Carpano Antica sweet vermouth.
1/2 ounce Jeppson Malört.
Orange peel.

Build over ice in an Old Fashioned glass and garnish with the orange peel.

 

Michigan Cutter
(Created by Stephen Cole, The Violet Hour)

1 ounce Jeppson Malört.
1 ounce Amaro Montenegro.
3/4 ounce fresh lemon juice.
1/2 ounce simple syrup.
Dash orange bitters.
1 egg white.
7UP.

Combine all ingredients except 7Up in a shaker. Dry-shake (without ice) to emulsify egg white. Add ice. Shake. Strain into a short nine-ounce water glass. Top with 7UP.

You can mail-order Jeppson Malört from Sam’s Wine in Chicago (which since seeing their URL for the first time I cannot stop calling “Sam Swine”). It’s only $15 — such a bargain for such a … ahem, sensual experience!

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Other classic proportions you see are 3:2:1 (works great for Margaritas and Sidecars) or 2:1:1. If you look at the excellent charts in Gary Regan’s The Joy of Mixology, you’ll see his excellent charts that make ratios and the other drinks you can make by swapping out a base spirit that’ll make your head go “DING!” if you hadn’t noticed or thought of it before (e.g., swap out the brandy in a Sidecar for blanco tequila and the lemon for lime, and you have a Margarita).

In his latest article in the April issue of Esquire, David Wondrich proposes another set of basic proportions that in his opinion almost always seem to work in terms of balance, and one that I can’t wait to start playing with:

The Basic Cocktail
(Created by David Wondrich and your imagination)

2 ounces base spirit.
1 ounce aromatized or fortified wine.
1 teaspoon of liqueur.
A dash or two of bitters.

Combine in a mixing glass with ice. Stir, strain and garnish.

For your aromatized wine try any kind of vermouth, quinquina, sherry, port, Madeira or Marsala, whatever you’ve got. (I’m itching to try this with Pineau des Charentes.) With a zillion liqueurs and more kinds of bitters coming out all the time, the sky’s the limit. I’ll be posting some happy results in a few days, I think. In the meantime, crack open your bar and have some fun.

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Alas, my pictures were wretched, for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the fact that I was more preoccupied with cocktail judging than I was with photography, plus my camera performs very poorly in low-light situations. (That’s on the agenda for this year — a Nikon D90 with a professional-quality flash.) For better photography of the event, check out the shots from Stephen Cheng, the event’s official photographer.

The coolest aspect of the event was the half that featured female mixologists (look out, gentlemen!), all of whom made delectable concoctions that also featured the common base spirit to the event, Gran Centenario’s port-barrel-rested, hibiscus-infused reposado tequila Rosangel. The non-competing featured mixologists were Natalie Bovis, “The Liquid Muse”, Kylee Van Dillen of The Westside Tavern, Tina Brandelli (who used to work at Alembic in San Francisco, but somehow I managed to not find out where she’s working here) and “Liquid Chef” Kim Haasarud (whom I’ve known by reputation for years and whose husband I worked with for years, but whom I only managed to meet for the first time at the event!) who among many other places is arranging the cocktail program for Downtown’s forthcomign Bottega Louie. My good friend Marleigh Riggins was scheduled but wasn’t able to make it due to a bad back (d’oh!), but here’s the cocktail she would have served, with two posts on its creation:

The Mojave Fix
(Created by Marleigh Riggins)

2 ounces Gran Centenario Rosangel Tequila.
1/2 ounce Oloroso sherry.
1 ounce piloncillo-hibiscus-chipotle syrup (recipe below).
1 ounce fresh lemon juice.
1/2 ounce soda water.
Orange flower water.

Shake tequila, sherry, syrup and lemon juice over ice. Strain into a double old-fashioned glass filled with crushed ice and top with soda. Sprinkle a few drops of orange flower water over the top and garnish with a lemon blossom.

Piloncillo-Hibiscus-Chipotle Syrup

1 cone piloncillo.
3/4 cup dried hibiscus flowers.
5 small-medium dried chipotle chiles (not in adobo).
2 cups water.

Bring water and piloncillo to a boil in a medium saucepan. Simmer until piloncillo is fully dissolved, remove from heat and add hibiscus and chiles. Let syrup steep for at least two hours, up to overnight. Strain through cheesecloth into a jar and refrigerate.

I was thinking about a piloncillo syrup when I first got ahold of this, but not an infused one! Yummers — I expect to have one of these made for me soon, Marleigh!

(I did actually make a plain piloncillo syrup, and I found that the best way to get it to dissolve easily is to place the piloncillo cone into a heavy freezer-type ziploc bag, then place that bag into another bag, then pound the crap out of it with a hammer until it’s powder. Otherwise prepare to wait an hour and a half for that big hard cone of sugar to dissolve.)

I managed to snag a couple of the other recipes, although I was seriously bummed not to have gotten any of this one — Natalie’s shift behind the stick was when I was tasting the competitors’ creations, and I missed it completely, d’oh. Here’s hoping Natalie saved me a little of her homemade ingredient too, ’cause this drink looked lovely.

Flor de Maria
(Created by Natalie Bovis)

1-1/2 ounces Gran Centenario Rosangel Tequila.
1/2 ounce homemade hibiscus cabernet syrup (hibiscus tea syrup with a cabernet reduction).
1/4 ounce Luxardo Maraschino liqueur.
3/4 ounce fresh lemon juice.
Spritz of orange flower water (load into mister).
1 – 2″ piece of orange peel.
Lemon peel for garnish.

Muddle orange peel in the bottom of a mixing glass. Add maraschino liqueur, syrup, lemon juice and tequila. Shake with ice for 10-12 seconds. Strain into a cocktail glass. Spritz with orange flower water. Garnish with a sliver of lemon zest.

I did get to try Kylee’s, and it was delicious; besides the base spirit she uses one of my favorite ingredients these days. Go see her at the Westside Tavern if you’re local.

Per Gazardiel
(Created by Kylee Van Dillen, Westside Tavern, Los Angeles)

2 ounces Gran Centenario Rosangel tequila.
3/4 ounce Aperol.
3/4 ounce grapefruit juice.
3/4 ounce simple syrup.
1/2 ounce fresh lime juice.
2-3 basil leaves, torn.

Muddle the basil with the spirit ingredients, add juices and syrup and shake with ice for 10-12 seconds. Double-strain into a cocktail glass, and garnish with a whole basil leaf.

Now, onto the competition! The competitors were Juan Alvarez, bartender at J. King Neptune’s in Sunset Beach and current president of the Los Angeles chapter of the United States Bartenders’ Guild; Mark Blackhart, not a professional bartender but an enthusiast who writes about his cocktail nerdiness at Drink Well; Jason Bran of The Roger Room; Matty Eggleston [formerly] of The Varnish and The Hungry Cat; and finally Silamith Weir, who doesn’t currently work behind the stick but [until recently was] the local brand represntative for the fabulous Martin Miller’s Gin.

Besides myself the judges were ace bartender Marcos Tello (or, to be specific, his alter-ego Marcela) of The Varnish and The Edison The Tar Pit, and pastry chef Cat Schimenti, [formerly] of Craft Los Angeles (and ’09 James Beard Award nominee!). This was my second competition as a judge, and another wonderful learning experience. Working on this with Cat was a particular pleasure, to get the perspective of someone who’s highly trained and has great expertise in flavor but isn’t a bartender. Her approach as a pastry chef was fascinating during our deliberations.

Without further ado, the winner of the judges’ choice award … *drum roll* … Matty Eggleston for his creation called The Lullaby. Before tasting I took one look at the recipe card on Matty’s table and said, “Oh man … tequila and Nutella?! Huevos of steel!” Seriously, Matty is one of the most creative and inventive bartenders I know, and really thinks outside the box when it comes to flavors, both sweet and savory (and even meaty!). As skeptical as one might have been when presented with these ingredients, they combined beautifully in a three-ingredient cocktail in which the preparation belied the simplicity of the ingredients. The tequila flavor was prominent, with the fruitiness of the Rosangel complementing the nutella which, when smoothed out by the steamed milk and accented by the cinnamon garnish made you think of Mexican chocolate. Creative and daring and delicious.

The Lullaby
(Created by Matty Eggleston)

4 ounces Gran Centenario Rosangel Tequila.
3 tablespoons Nutella.
1/2 cup whole milk.

In a frothing tin, steam 1/2 cup whole milk and Nutella. Steam until warm and agitate with bar spoon. Add the tequila and steam a moment more. Pour into four tea cups or larger espresso cups. Garnish with a light dusting of freshly grated cinnamon and orange zest.

I need to double-check the milk amount with Matty — the recipe card was a bit confusing with the way it was printed. It’s either 1/2 or 1 cup.

Now for the people’s choice winner … the creamy, tangy entry from Silamith Weir.

Casa Blanco
(Created by Silamith Weir)

2 ounces Gran Centenario Rosangel.
1/2 ounce Matusalem Gran Reserva.
3 chunks of pineapple.
4-5 basil leaves (shredded).
3/4 ounce fresh lime juice.
1/2 ounce sweetened condensed milk.
1/2 ounce simple syrup.

Muddle pineapple and basil together. Add all other ingredients and shake vigorously. Strain into cocktail glass.

If you have a Latino market near you, Nestle’s La Lechera brand of sweetened condensed milk now comes in handy resealable squeeze bottles, making it perfect for mixing this drink … as well as drizzling on fruit, sno-balls or, um, directly into your mouth. (Okay, into a spoon and then into your mouth.)

Congratulations to the winners and to all the mixologists who participated!

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Bushmills in the Afternoon
Adapted from Jackson Cannon, Eastern Standard, Boston)

1/2 slice (about 3/4-inch thick) of artisanal wheat bread or Irish brown bread.
2 ounces Bushmills Irish whiskey.
1 egg.
1/2 ounce honey syrup (1 part honey dissolved in 1 part warm water).
1/2 ounce fresh orange juice.
Dash of Regans’ Orange Bitters No. 6 (or other orange bitters).
Freshly grated cinnamon, for garnish.

In a mixing glass, muddle the bread with the whiskey for 1 minute, then pass the mixture through a tea strainer into a cocktail shaker, pressing on the bread to extract all of the whiskey (you should get about 1-1/2 ounces). Add the egg, honey syrup, orange juice and bitters and shake vigorously for 30 seconds. Fill the shaker with ice and shake vigorously for 30 seconds to 1 minute longer, until the drink is frothy and well-chilled. Strain into a cocktail glass and garnish with a small pinch of freshly grated cinnamon.

Oh Jaysis … this was really, really feckin’ good.

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Weeski

2 ounces Irish whiskey.
1 ounce Lillet blanc.
1 teaspoon Cointreau.
2 dashes orange bitters.

Stir and strain, lemon twist.

This follows Dave’s formula for creating new cocktails from the various contents of your bar. It doesn’t always work, but it works most of the time, sometimes really well.

The basic recipe template is:

2 ounces base spirit (whiskey, rum, tequila, gin, genever, brandy, whatever), 1 ounce aromatized wine (vermouth, port, sherry, quinquina, Lillet, Dubonnet, etc.), 1 teaspoon/barspoon liqueur, and 1-2 dashes bitters. Start digging in your liquor cabinet and give it a try sometime.

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Wes was just grabbing bottles and letting ideas burble forth in his head the other night, and came up with this really delicious drink inspirted by the Perfect Martini. I couldn’t find anything in CocktailDB with this particular combination of ingredients, so in the amazingly unlikely case that nobody’s thought of it, we need to try to get him to name it. He’s thinking of it, and I’ll update with a picture tonight. In the meantime …

[Hours pass by.]

Okay, I think the drink has been officially named now. I suggested this one, which is only fair, since Wesly came up with the brilliant name for what was to become my Réveillon Cocktail, when I was just about to give it a really, really stupid name.

“Anodyne” means something that relieves or eliminates pain, and it was particularly appropriate as he came up with the drink while suffering a bout of pretty nasty neck and shoulder pain. (He was being persnickety, after a bit of googling revealed that a “true” anodyne is only applied externally; I said, “It’s a great name, so hush,” or something like that.) It’s also the name of Uncle Tupelo’s final album, and they’re one of my favorite bands of all time, so we get an extra level of oomph in the name.

Try to avoid substituting. Use Lillet and Punt E Mes, and don’t swap out the gin for something less intense. The cocktail works best with the specified ingredients, and they’re common enough.

The Anodyne Cocktail
(by Wesly Moore, Los Angeles, 2009)

2 ounces Beefeater gin.
1 ounce Lillet blanc.
1/2 ounce Punt e Mes.
3 dashes Regans’ Orange Bitters No. 6.
Orange peel.

Combine ingredients with ice. Stir for 30 seconds and strain into chilled cocktail glass.

Flame the orange peel over the drink, and garnish with the orange peel.

This is really, really tasty.

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Jewelry District Cocktail
(by Rhachel Shaw, Malo Taqueria)

3/4 ounce Bourbon (Bulleit)
3/4 ounce Applejack
1/2 ounce Sweet Vermouth (preferably Vya)
1/2 ounce Honey Liqueur (Barenjäger)
2 Dashes Orange Bitters
2 Dashes Whiskey Barrel Aged Bitters (Fee Bros.)

Stir & strain.
Flamed Orange Peel – Cocktail Glass

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South Park Cocktail
(by Mark Blackhart, Drago Centro)

1-3/4 ounces Bourbon
3/4 ounce Dry Vermouth
1/4 ounce Coffee Liqueur
Dash Orange Bitters
Dash Peychaud’s Bitters

Stir & strain.
Lemon Peel – Cocktail Glass

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Gallery Row Cocktail
(by Juan Sevilla, The Edison)

2 ounces Genevieve Genever
1/2 ounce Sweet Vermouth (Noilly Prat)
1/2 ounce Bénédictine
Dash of Orange Bitters (preferably a 50/50 blend of Fee Bros. Orange Bitters & Regan’s No. 6)

Stir & strain.
Orange Peel – Cocktail Glass

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Central City West Cocktail
(by Andrew Smith, The Edison)

2 ounces New Western-style Gin
1/2 ounce Aperol
1/2 ounce Cointreau
2 Dashes Orange Bitters (preferably a 50/50 blend of Fee Bros. Orange Bitters & Regan’s No. 6)

Stir & strain.
Lemon Peel – Cocktail Glass

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Chinatown Cocktail
(by Jinjur Van Vogelpoel, The Edison)

1-1/2 ounces Laird’s Applejack
3/4 ounce Ginger Liqueur (Canton)
1/2 ounce Dry Vermouth
2 Dashes Orange Bitters

Stir & strain.
Thin Apple Wheel Floating on Top – Cocktail Glass

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Flower District Cocktail
(by Edwin Cruz, Tlapazola Grill)

2 ounces Añejo Tequila (Partida).
3/4 ounce Agavero tequila liqueur.
1/2 ounce Velvet Falernum.
2 Dashes of Fee Bros. Old Fashioned Aromatic Bitters.

Stir & strain.
Flamed Orange Peel – Cocktail Glass

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Broadway Theater District Cocktail
(by Daniel Eun, The Tar Pit)

2 ounces Tequila Añejo (El Tesoro)
3/4 ounce Bianco Vermouth (Dolin)
1/4 ounce Bénédictine
Dash Grapefruit Bitters (Bitterman’s or Fee’s)
Dash Mole Bitters (Bitterman’s)
St. George Absinthe.

Stir & strain into a St. George Absinthe-rinsed Champagne Coupe
Flamed Orange Peel –

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Fashion District Cocktail
(by Eric Tecosky, Jones, Hollywood)

2-1/2 ounces Cognac
1/2 ounce Orange Curaçao
1/4 ounce Honey Syrup (50/50 mix honey & warm water)
2 Dashes Orange Bitters
Aperol

Stir & strain into an Aperol-rinsed Cocktail Glass.
Garnish – 2 Luxardo Amarena Cherries

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Joe was also the winner of the NBC competition program “America’s Top Bartender” in 2009. Go Joe!

Civic Center Cocktail
(by Joseph Brooke, Copa D’Oro)

2 ounces Laird’s Bonded Apple Brandy
3/4 ounce Grand Marnier
1/2 ounce Tawny Port
2 Dashes Orange Bitters (preferably a 50/50 blend of Fee Bros. Orange Bitters & Regan’s No. 6)

Stir & strain.
Flamed Orange Peel – Cocktail Glass

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Old Bank Cocktail
(by Chris Ojeda, The Varnish)

2 ounces Extra Añejo Rum (Brugal)
1/2 ounce Velvet Falernum (John D. Taylor’s)
1/2 ounce Carpano Antica
Dash Angostura Bitters

Stir & strain.
Lemon Peel – Cocktail Glass

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The Skid Row Cocktail
(by Eric Alperin, The Varnish)

2 ounces Genever (Bols)
1/2 ounce Apricot Liqueur (I prefer Orchard Apricot by Rothman & Winter, but Marie Brizard will work too.)
1/2 ounce Ramazotti
Dash of Orange Bitters (Fee Bros.)

Stir & strain.
Flamed Orange Peel – Cocktail Coupe

Another terrific drink, from one of our best local bartenders. What the world needs now is more genever drinks.

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Arts District Cocktail
(by Leo Rivas, Seven Grand Whiskey Bar)

2 ounces Rye whiskey
1/2 ounce Cynar
1/4 ounce Bénédictine

Stir & strain.
Grapefruit Peel – Cocktail Glass

Along with the Historic Core Cocktail, this was one of the very best in the competition. Those Seven Grand boys know how to make drinks!

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The Bunker Hill Cocktail
(by Ted “Dr. Cocktail” Haigh, Museum of the American Cocktail)

2 ounces Evan Williams Single Barrel Bourbon (1998)
1 ounce Calvados Prestige
1 ounce Sandeman’s 20 year Tawny Port
2 Drops Lea & Perrins Worcestershire Sauce
2 Dashes Angostura Bitters

Stir & strain.
Orange Peel – Cocktail Glass

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The Little Tokyo Cocktail
(by Jonathan Stout)

2 ounces Rye Whiskey (Rittenhouse 100 if possible)
1/2 ounce Orgeat
2 dashes Angostura Bitters

Stir & strain.
Orange Peel & Grated Cinnamon – Cocktail Glass

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Spring Street District Cocktail
(by Marcos Tello, The Tar Pit)

1 ounce Cachaça (Sagatiba)
1 ounce Campari
1/2 ounce Peach Liqueur (Mathilde Peach)
2 Dashes Orange Bitters (preferably a 50/50 blend of Fee Bros. Orange Bitters & Regan’s No. 6)

Stir & strain.
Flamed Orange Peel (Discard) – Cocktail Glass

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Historic Core Cocktail
(by John Coltharp, Seven Grand Whiskey Bar)

1-1/2 ounces Rittenhouse Bonded Rye
1/2 ounce Laird’s Bonded Applejack
1/2 ounce Green Chartreuse
1/2 ounce Sweet Vermouth (Carpano Antica)
Dash Angostura Bitters

Stir & strain.
Lemon Peel – Cocktail Glass

This one’s really terrific.

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I should probably do what he suggests. I have a general idea of where everything is, kinda sorta how much of it, but we’ve got an insanely big bar — hundreds of bottles — that it can get away from me. A regular dusting and once-over is a terrific idea (organizing all our stuff wouldn’t be bad, either).

Wesly and I have been lucky — neither of us has been laid off, and we’re pretty safe at our respective jobs (it helps to be considered indispensible; it gets annoying when they give you a hard time about taking time off — “Whatever shall we do without you?!” — but that translates into job security). We haven’t had to take a hard look at doing anything like not-buying liquor, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t be frugal.

Matt found a great bargain in Bulleit Bourbon, one that I like a lot as well, a mere $19.99 at Trader Joe’s. You can get a decent Bourbon for even less than that, and for that we turn to our old friend and relative … Old Grand-Dad.

I can hear some of you now. “Bottom shelf!” is one cry from the back benches. Well, true, it does have a bottom shelf price — we get it at Beverage Warehouse for a whopping $9.95. Don’t be fooled by the low price, though. While it’s not exactly one I’d choose for sipping straight (although that’s certainly doable), it mixes very well, especially in one particular favorite that doesn’t get as much attention as it deserves. More on that in a bit.

Old Grand-Dad is a venerable brand, dating back to 1882 and was initially made by the Wathen family distillery (who also owned The American Medicinal Spirits Company, who produced some very much-needed medicine during Prohibition).

I’d read a number of reports that Old Grand-Dad was significantly better when it was made by National Distillers before 1987. Using the Google revealed a number of comments along the lines of, “My grandparents used to drink this stuff.” In ’87 the brand was sold to Jim Beam, and many folks have said it’s not what it once was. I can’t say, as I don’t recall having tasted it straight prior to the change in ownership, nor was my childhood palate able to discern much of anything. The word is, though, that if you come across a vintage bottle you should snap it up. (Odd bit of trivia: the portrait of the grand-dad on the label is Basil Hayden, a renowned distiller in the 18th and 19th Centurues whose picture doesn’t appear on the label of the Beam-made small batch whiskey that’s actually named after him.) “Bottom shelf” is more of a reflection of its price, but flavor-wise, at least for mixing, it’s better than that. There’s also a bonded version (100 proof by law) that’s even better, but with a higher price, and I’ve seen a 114 proof version but haven’t tried that one as yet.

As my sipping Bourbons tend toward the higher-end stuff, I realized I had never actually tasted Old Grand-Dad neat. I decided to pour a shot of the regular 86 proof product into our lovely Riedel Bourbon glasses to give the straight stuff a sniff and a sip, and see what we’re up to here.

Nice color, with caramel, oak and a little vanilla on the nose, plus a touch of spice from the rye content in the mash. More caramel and vanilla and oak on the palate, and a significant amount of alcohol heat but not too bad, long finish. Not my first choice for a sipping whiskey by any means, but certainly sippable, especially on the rocks. Best of all, for $9.95 per 750ml bottle it’s a significant bargain if Buffalo Trace, Maker’s Mark or Bulleit (all bargains themselves) are still stretching the budget too far.

All that to say, while it’s drinkable straight it’s far better when mixed, and Wes and I tended to keep it around primarily for one drink of which we’re rather fond — the venerable Whiskey Sour.

Along with the Old Fashioned, this was one of the main drinks I grew up around and was one of my dad’s favorites (along with what the family called a “Highball,” consisting of Seagram’s V.O. and 7UP). It was the one I tended to get sips of most often, and is underrated by a lot of cocktail folks, I think. Very refreshing, very tasty, a classic. And Old Grand-Dad makes mighty fine Whiskey Sours. You don’t really need a high-end Bourbon for these, although you certainly could if you wanted and if you can afford it. But in keeping with tough times, this $9.95 whiskey is really all you need.

Simple syrup for your cocktails is cheap to make too, just a cup of sugar to a cup of water, and shake the hell out of it until it’s dissolved (and a splash of vodka as a preservative). I wanted something a bit more complex than a regular sour, though, so given the Carnival season in full swing I decided to pull this drink out again. I’ve posted it before (and to my chagrin I note that I posted it only four months ago … I really do have no proper sense of the passage of time), but it’s a good example of cocktail frugality, if not quite as frugal as the Whiskey Sour. In case you missed it the last time I posted it, here’s the Falernum recipe I use:

Falernum No. 10
(by Paul Clarke)

6 ounces Wray & Nephew Overproof White Rum (63% abv).
Zest of 9 limes, preferably organic.
50 cloves, toasted.
2 tablespoons blanched slivered almonds, toasted.
1/2 tsp almond extract.
1-1/2 ounces fresh ginger, peeled and julienned.
14 ounces rich (2:1) simple syrup, cold preparation.

Zest the limes carefully with a microplane grater, zester or vegetable peeler, making sure to leave all the white pith behind. Toast the cloves in a dry skillet over medium heat, shaking frequently, just until they begin to become aromatic, then remove from heat. Toast the almonds, shaking frequently, until they begin to turn light brown, then remove from heat. Add the lime zest, cloves, almonds and ginger to the rum in a pint-sized jar and allow to infuse for 24 hours, shaking occasionally. Strain the infusion through moistened cheesecloth, and squeeze to get every drop of liquid out. Filter if necessary.

To make the simple syrup, add 2 cups sugar and 1 cup cold water to a large jar. Seal the lid and shake like hell until the sugar is completely dissolved. (C’mon, you need the workout.) Measure 14 ounces of syrup (you’ll have a little extra); add the rum infusion to the syrup and shake to combine. Store in refrigerator.

I did finally remember where I got this recipe — a site called Mr. Lucky, which has a small cocktail section (which doesn’t seem to have been updated in ages). They came up with the idea of replacing the simple syrup in a Whiskey Sour with falernum, giving the drink a more complex and brighter flavor profile and a nice dose of the Caribbean (New Orleans being the northernmost Caribbean port, as some say). I did a little tweaking of the original recipe and added the egg white for the nicer body and frothy head you get in a proper sour.

The final bit of frugality for this drink was picking a free lemon off the tree in our front yard (which is bearing beautifully even in mid-February; I love fruit trees that bear all year long). It astonishes me to go into a big chain supermarket like Ralph’s and see lemons selling for anywhere from 79¢ to 99¢ APIECE. What absurd price-gouging. At the smaller Latino markets in Highland Park near where we live, or even at the Super A supermarket, lemons tend to go for 99¢ a pound or less; limes are often selling for 3 pounds for 99¢. Do your best to find small produce markets in your neighborhood — this is a good idea for most of your produce, not just for the citrus. We find fantastic quality stuff for a fraction of what you pay at the supermarket. Local farmer’s markets are also a great value. Even better … I’d strongly urge any cocktail fans to plant one lemon and one lime tree if they have room for it. A regular supply of free citrus for your drinks is a very good thing. And if you’re actually paying nearly a buck PER lemon, the tree will pay for itself very quickly.

So, apologies if you feel this is a rerun, but you really should try it if you haven’t already.

Mardi Gras Sour
(Adapted from Mr. Lucky’s Cocktails)

2 ounces Old Grand-Dad Bourbon whiskey.
1 ounce fresh lemon juice.
3/4 ounce Falernum No. 10.
1 teaspoon egg white.

Combine with ice in a cocktail shaker and shake like hell until the shaker’s so cold it hurts. Strain into a sour glass or some kind of pretty stemmed glass (about 5 oz.), and garnish with a proper brandied (or preferably whiskied) cherry.

The cost of the whiskey in this drink? About 79¢. The cost of the falernum … um, too much math, but I’m guessing about 40¢. The lemon? FREE! (My favorite price! Free food from your yard, yay!) Enjoy this drink for about $1.19.

It’s nice to serve these in a pretty sour glass, but I could really go for a double-size one of these on the rocks in a go-cup on a parade route. Speaking of which, if you’re sipping one of these and missing Mardi Gras and the parade season leading up to it, you can get the next best thing to being there. Fix yourself a Mardi Gras Sour, order a King Cake from Randazzo’s, put on some great New Orleans music and … um, throw some beads up in the air and catch them. (Extra points if you stomp on your own hand or knock over one of your own children to get them.)

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Next up, a Luau Grog, their take on the venerable Navy Grog, which for years was my drink of choice at the late, lamented House of Lee in Pacific Palisades. My favorite local tiki bar after Tiki Ti, I was a regular there for years. Tommy was the bartender who kept me medicated with my large and potent Navy Grogs, and Albert, the world’s most expressionless waiter (whom we loved) kept the rumaki, kung pao shrimp and cheeseburgers coming (they had great burgers, and perfect crinkle-cut Ore-Ida fries, great for soakign up Grogs, Fogcutters and Scorpions). Luau’s Grog took me back … ahh.

The original recipe called for gold Puerto Rican rum, but I use Cruzan Estate Dark, not being a fan of Puerto Rican rum for the most part.

Luau Grog

1 ounce Cruzan Estate Dark rum.
1 ounce dark Jamaican rum.
1 ounce Demerara rum.
3/4 ounce fresh lime juice.
3/4 ounce grapefruit juice.
3/4 ounce soda water.
1 ounce honey mix. *
1 dash of Angostura bitters.
2 ounce crushed ice.

Put everything into a blender saving ice for last. Blend at high speed for no more than 5 seconds. Pour into a double old-fashioned glass. Serve with an ice cone.

* For the honey mix, combine one part honey and one part hot water until honey is thoroughly dissolved. Once cooled & bottled, it will last about a week in the refrigerator.

Dr. Bamboo has the best article on ice cones I’ve ever seen.

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