“I’d been thinking about these and wanting one all week,” Wes said. Neither of us are sure how it popped into his head, but I’m glad it did.

This drink goes back to the days of the British Navy, when sailors lucky enough to get a ration of Plymouth Navy Strength Gin would also take a few dashes of Angostura bitters in it, for the medicinal tonic effects of course, but y’know … it’s pretty darn tasty too. Later on a slightly more elegant presentation was served in the officers’ clubs of the British Raj as well. In his book Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails, Dr. Cocktail twiddled with the recipe a bit, noting that it’s a cocktail containing only two ingredients — gin and bitters — both of which are feared by some. His solution, of course, is to increase the amounts of both the gin and the bitters. And voilà, it works! Beautifully. He calls for “six goodly dashes” of Angostura, but Wes decided to go in a slightly more New Orleanian direction. If you prefer the original, by all means stick to the Angostura.

Pink Gin
(Wes’ New Orleans-style)

3 ounces Plymouth gin.
4 hefty dashes Angostura bitters.
2 hefty dashes Peychaud’s bitters.

Combine with ice and stir for 30 seconds. Strain into a cocktail glass. No garnish.
(Optional: You may build in a rocks glass over ice and serve on the rocks. Stir well before serving.)

Yum!

And it’s not girly-drink-pink either (not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course) but a beautiful pinkish-reddish-orangish color. The drink’s name came from the days when in Britain one would only put a dash or two of bitters at most, not an ungodly (and delicious) six goodly ones.

I have yet to try a Pink Gin made solely with Peychaud’s bitters. Has anyone? Does it work? Maybe I’ll make a wee one and give it a try later on …

I’ve been enjoying Dubonnet quite a bit lately, and have resolved to have more cocktails based on (or at least containing) this classic ingredient, which does seem to be a bit neglected even though its maker describes it as the best-selling aperitif in the United States. (That said, besides cocktail geeks I’d have a hard time thinking of anyone I know who drinks it, which is a shame).

If you’ve never had it, it’s an aperitif wine somewhat similar to vermouth. The history dates back to 1846, when it was first sold by M. Joseph Dubonnet, and it’s a blend of wines and herbs, fortified with spirits to bring the alcohol content up to 19%. Although like vermouth and Lillet it comes in both red and white varieties, when one speaks of Dubonnet it’s almost always about the red variety (as with Lillet, only in its case the white). It has a wonderful spicy-sweet flavor (the first time I tasted it I actually said, “Wow!”) and is great on its own as well as in a variety of cocktails.

Probably the most well-known cocktail using this ingredient is the one bearing its name, the Dubonnet Cocktail, which in its classic proportions is equal parts London dry gin and Dubonnet Rouge. Apparently this is Queen Elizabeth II’s favorite cocktail, although her favored proportions are 30% gin to 70% Dubonnet (her mother, the late “Queen Mum,” enjoyed these also, in a slightly different proportion of 2:1 Dubonnet to gin, and most days began quaffing them at noon, bless her). I’ve never tried it in this proportion, but I’m thinking I might like it in a reverse proportion, twice the gin as Dubonnet. Those Queens liked it on the rocks with a slice of lemon underneath; this one prefers it up and unadorned.

This next one is wonderful, with the spice of the wine the perfect seasoning for the lovely fruit of the brandy. It makes a perfectly civilized 2 to 2-1/2 ounce drink too.

Ante Cocktail

1-1/4 ounces Calvados.
1/2 ounce Dubonnet.
1/4 ounce Cointreau.
1 dash Angostura Bitters.

Combine with ice, stir for 30 seconds and strain into a wee cocktail glass or Champagne coupe. No garnish.

You can also easily get away with substituting Laird’s Bonded Straight Apple Brandy for the Calvados if none is handy, but I wouldn’t use applejack, which is a minority of apple brandy mixed with grain neutral spirits; you really want all the fruit you can get in this drink.

Dubonnet is widely available, and inexpensive to boot. However, for those who might live somewhere where there’s a dearth of Dubonnet, Charles H. Baker Jr., in his South American Gentleman’s Companion, offers the following eyebrow-raising recipe, which he attributes to some “Britishers” of his acquaintance whom he felt were overly thrifty:

The RIO MOCK-DUBONNET, which of Course Is Not Dubonnet at all But Is a Mighty Fine Aperitif, & Mighty Cheap as well.

[… They] will — if their time’s worth a shilling an hour — spend 10 pounds sterling worth of effort to save 1 pound sterling in hard cash. This Rio Mock-Dubonnet business is typical. We personally wouldn’t bother going to allt he trouble where likker’s as cheap as it is in Latin America; but up here in the States where the price of spirits is as fantastic as everything else in our weird and fantastic Washington Government, this receipt is well worth the space, and I don’t think that Monsieur Dubonnet will lose either sleep or pelf over our disclosure of it here.

Mix 1 bottle each of California or Chilean Sauterne wine, and California Claret or Burgundy. To this add 4 oz. of Italian sweet vermouth and 2 to 3 tsp. of Angostura Bitters. Stir-up, then rebottle. Chill well before using. Take straight as an appetizer; or mixed in any cocktails calling for the standard Dubonnet. We like it frapped with fine ice, like Crème de Menthe. Mixed 1-to-4 with best dry gin makes a good stirred Martini-type cocktail.

This odd recipe omits the fortification by brandy (or grain neutral spirits, as is undoubtedly done today), and seems to be a lot of trouble when nowadays, despite the continued “fantastic” price of spirits (and the continued presence of our weird and utterly un-fantastic “Washington Government”) you can run up to the grocery store and get a bottle of Dubonnet for eight bucks.

Try that Ante cocktail, you’ll really like it. Try using Dubonnet in a Manhattan instead of sweet vermouth, too. I’ll toss out a few more recipes soon.

This came from the current issue of Saveur magazine, and intrigued me — I’d never thought of the flavors of oranges and coffee going together, and in combination with rum it made me go “Hmm.” It also involves arcane ritual, which I always find appealing.

The story behind the concoction goes like this:

In 1884 the British missionary Rev. G. A. Shaw wrote that a traveler arriving alte in a village in Madagascar “will be distressed and horrified to find that the demon of the rum barrel has been [there] before him.” The observation was likely sour grapes on Shaw’s part, since his well-documented habit of taking over the largest hut in town, even if it meant displacing its owners, surely guaranteed that no nightcap was ever placed before him. That was his loss, because, in the African island nation of Madagascar, they know what to do with rum: namely, customize it with local ingredients, from pineapples and cinnamon to vanilla beans and litchis.

Now, here’s how you go about making one. Where does the number and ritual come from? No idea (although it’s undoubtedly left over from the French influence in Madagascar. This appears to be a Malagasy adaptation of a homemade liqueur in France called “Quarante Quatre” (44), which is sometimes made with cloves.

However, I’m briefly reminded of one of the funniest episodes ever of “Malcolm in the Middle,” one of my favorite comedy programs ever. Lois (Jane Kaczmarek) is attempting to bond with her horridly unpleasant mother (Cloris Leachman), joining her and all the other old ladies of the Old Country in making a gigantic traditional pastry for some saint’s feast day back home. The thing’s enormous, and has dozens of layers, each one representing some battle or whatever. Apparently on layer 38 Lois got the exact number of raisins wrong, and her mother loudly demanded that the start the entire pastry over again. Lois protested; “What difference does it make if there are 126 raisins or 127? It’s going to taste exactly the same!” Her mother shrieked, “IT’S NOT SUPPOSED TO TASTE GOOD, IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE DIFFICULT TO MAKE!!”

Well, I digress a bit, but this made me think of that scene, although I suspect that this cordial will not only be a bit of a pain to make, but will also taste great.

The 44 Cordial

1 liter white rum (I’d use Cruzan or 10 Cane).
1 large navel orange.
44 coffee beans.
44 teaspoons of sugar (a little less than 1 scant cup).

Using a sharp paring knife make 44 slits all over the orange. Stuff a coffee bean into each slit. In a large widemouthed jar, add the 44 teaspoons of sugar and the rum; stir to dissolve. Add the orange and seal the jar. Keep it in a cool, dark place, agitating it occasionally, for 44 days. Then remove the orange and discard; strain the liqueur through cheesecloth and bottle. Store in the freezer until ready to drink.

According to Saveur, “the Malagasy version is best sipped neat or over ice, preceded by a toast to the Reverend Shaw.”

The results are in! The winner of this month’s Raiders of the Lost Cocktail is … not the drink I submitted. (D’oh.)

I liked it better than Paul did, but here was his observation: “I really wanted to like the Pisco-Apricot Tropical, from Charles Baker’s The South American Gentleman’s Companion. Fortunately, I’m accustomed to disappointment, so the fact that the drink didn’t work out wasn’t too much of a shock.”

Ouch. 🙂 Here’s where I messed up, though … Paul made another observation: “Apricot brandy and pineapple — who knew the combination could be so tasty? If you see these two flavors together in a recipe, go for it.”

The other version of the Pisco-Apricot Tropicál that Baker listed as a variation added a pony of pineapple juice to the first recipe. We tried that one later and liked it a lot better. Unfortunately, thanks to my having waited until the last minute (again) I had already submitted the other one, so I blew it. I do still recommend the pineapply version, so give it a shot and see what yez think.

The one Paul chose as the winner, though, was absolutely sublime and blew both Pisco-Apricot Tropicáls out of the water. We made them last night and loved them, and the drink will most definitely be added to our regular rotation. (Fair play to yez, Jay and Charlie!) I particularly recommend Rothman & Winter’s Orchard Apricot in this drink.

Claridge

1-1/2 ounces gin.
1-1/2 ounces dry vermouth.
1/2 ounce apricot brandy.
1/2 ounce Cointreau.

Stir with ice for at least 30 seconds, and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.
No garnish.

The original recipe in the Savoy Cocktail Book called for a half-jigger of each of the liqueurs, and Jay toned that down to a half pony. I haven’t tried the original version yet, but I will in fact take Paul’s word for it that it’s better, as I prefer drier cocktails; a full jigger of liqueurs might be a bit much for me, given my typical tastes. The use of the R&W apricot also lends a bit of extra dryness while not compromising on flavor (in fact, its flavor is exquisite).

The only problem with this recipe is that it makes a really big drink, bigger than we usually like to make. What I ended up doing was increasing the recipe by 50%, using 2-1/4 ounces each of gin and vermouth, and 3/4 ounce each for the liqueurs. This made two perfectly-sized drinks for Wes and me.

I’m glad I finally got a chance to participate in RotLC,and I’m looking forward to the next one. This time I’ll get my butt in gear earlier, do more digging and see if I can come up with the winner!

I came across this one the Flickr photostream of Joerg Meyer, a bartender in Hamburg, Germany. This is the house cocktail at the bar where he works behind the stick, Le Lion – Bar de Paris, and Wes and I found it to be a delightful apéritif. (Joerg’s original metric measurements, which I converted for non-metric hardheads like me, are provided in parentheses.)

Le Coquetiez de Lion
(“The Lion Cocktail”, Bar le Lion, Hamburg)

1-3/4 ounces (5 cl) Lillet blanc.
1 ounce (3 cl) gin, 47% ABV. (They don’t specify, but we used Junipero.)
5 dashes Peychaud’s bitters.

Stir with ice for 30 seconds and strain into a cocktail glass.
Garnish with a lime twist.

Now that we have a drink, let’s drink to something …