Or, the Jag-you-are, if you’re in Britain. (I kid, I kid.)

This one’s from Eastern Standard in Boston, a place where I would undoubtedly be a regular if I lived there (and who were kind enough to have the Hoskins Cocktail on their menu, meaning that to me they are made of awesome), created by Tom Schlesinger-Guidelli, one of their bartenders.

The Jaguar
(by Tom Schlesinger-Guidelli, Eastern Standard, Boston)

1-1/2 ounces silver tequila.
3/4 ounce Amer Picon.
3/4 ounce green Chartreuse.
3 dashes Fee Brothers’ orange bitters.

Stir with ice in a mixing glass for no less than 30 seconds. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Flame an orange peel over the drink, but do not garnish with the peel.

The inspiration to make this came from Paul Clarke’s post on it from a week or so ago, so you can read most of the details there. You’ll probably want to substitute the current reforumlation of Torani Amer, as it’s beautiful stuff; the old Torani Amer’s vegetal-celery notes kinda got in the way the first time I made this drink back in 2007. Jamie Boudreau’s Amer Picon replica would work well too, but if you have actual Amer Picon from France, go for it. The way the tequila works with everything here is beautiful.

Cocktail of the day. Wes’ turn to mix last night, and he turned to an old favorite, Ted “Dr. Cocktail” Haigh’s Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails, for one I don’t think we’d actually ever tried.

The Park Avenue Cocktail

2 ounces gin.
3/4 ounce pineapple juice.
3/4 ounce sweet vermouth.
2 teaspoons orange Curaçao.

Shake with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Doc says, “Note the tropical character, invoking Carmen Miranda strutting down a New York boulevard.” In fact, when I took my first whiff of the cocktail I thought he had put passion fruit nectar in it! “I didn’t, but I smell it too,” Wes said. Ah, the alchemy of cocktails.

Inspired by my catch-up on Robert’s video series, I revisited this drink for the first time in a while, and I’m glad I did.

The Opera Cocktail

2 ounces Tanqueray gin.
1/2 ounce Dubonnet.
1/4 ounce maraschino liqueur.
1 dash orange bitters.

Stir with ice in a mixing glass for no less than 30 seconds. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with a lemon twist.

The maraschino was Maraska, and the bitters were Regans’.

Dubonnet, for those of you who may not be familiar with it, is a red aperitif wine in the same category as sweet vermouth, and fortified to 19% alcohol, so it’ll keep for a little while (keep it in the fridge, though). It’s classified as a quinquina, which is an aperitif wine that contains quinine, and a proprietary blend of spices. It originated in France, but is currently made in the U.S. It’s quite lovely by itself, and is an ingredient in a number of classic cocktails. As much as I like the American version, those who have tried it say that the version made in France (but not exported) is superior.

Dubonnet comes in two varieties, as does vermouth and the other well-known quinquina/aperitif wine Lillet, both red and white. The rule of thumb, though, is that if it calls for Dubonnet, you want red; if it calls for Lillet, you want white. The white Dubonnet and red Lillet varities aren’t nearly as good as their counterparts.

I like Dubonnet a lot, and haven’t had it in a while. We had the dregs of a bottle in the fridge for Gawd knows how long, and now that I’ve got a fresh one (which is no probem for you to keep on hand; it’s almost as cheap as vermouth) I’ll be exploring more Dubonnet cocktails in the next few months.

Basically the same as the Brandy Crusta but with the base spirit switched out. The main reason I’m posting this one separately is so that I can show you how pretty the drink looked back when it was on the regular menu at Seven Grand.

Bourbon Crusta

2 ounces Bourbon whiskey.
1/2 ounce Cointreau (or other triple sec).
1/2 ounce maraschino liqueur.
1/2 ounce lemon juice.
2 dashes orange bitters.

Shake ingredients with ice and pour into a glass that’s been prepared with a sugared rim. Strain into the glass, and place a whole lemon peel around the rim of the glass.

This is the Crusta recipe that’s been going around these days, but I like to reduce the liqueurs a bit, maybe just a teaspoon of maraschino and 2 teaspoons of Cointreau to make it a bit drier, but it’s a good drink in either proportion. Incidentally, the recipe called for in Jerry Thomas’ How to Mix Drinks called for only a teaspoon of lemon juice, a half-teaspoon of curaçao and no maraschino at all.

We sipped, and enjoyed, and I said it again. “We’re drinking Crustas. In a bar. In Los Angeles. (In mid-2007, this was unheard-of, and the beginning of an amazing cocktail renaissance in the City of Angels.)

Master bartender Chris McMillian of the Library Lounge in New Orleans continues his excellent video series with a World War I-era classic.

It’s supposedly named after a piece of artillery, the French 75mm howitzer, as a reference to the drink’s kick. One story has it being created by Raoul Lufbery, a French-American WWI pilot who wanted Champagne but also wanted a bigger kick, then added Cognac. Chris relates a story that supposedly Arnaud Cazenave (founder of Arnaud’s Restaurant in New Orleans) created it before he came to New Orleans from France, or perhaps just popularized it in the city (which is a lot more likely).

There’s a bone of contention over the recipe of this drink, with some claiming that it’s a brandy drink, and even making Cognac connections from France to New Orleans in describing an appropriate lineage. The consensus seems to be that this is properly a gin-based cocktail, even though if you go to the French 75 Bar at Arnaud’s Restaurant in the French Quarter (one of my favorite bars) you’ll get it with Cognac.

Chris makes them a bit sweeter than I like. Here’s the way I prefer it.

The French 75

1-1/2 ounces gin.
3/4 ounce fresh lemon juice.
2 barspoons simple syrup.
Champagne.

Combine the first three ingredients in a shaker with ice. Shake for 10 seconds and strain into a Champagne flute, and top with Champagne. It may also be served over ice in a Collins glass.