Yesterday was Wes’ turn, and once again he came up with a classic that neither of us had ever gotten around to trying. This is a wonderful old chestnut, and back in the day it even called for its own glass, the Delmonico glass. They’re rare as dodo’s teeth nowadays, but a whiskey sour glass is pretty much the same thing. We didn’t have either, actually … a cocktail glass had to suffice.

The combination of the two main base spirits might sound unlikely at first, but it was really delightful. Make sure you get a nice lemon twist with lots of oil in the skin, and express that oil onto the surface of the drink when you twist — that flavor component is important.

Delmonico

1 ounce gin.
1/2 ounce brandy.
1/2 ounce dry vermouth.
1/2 ounce sweet vermouth.
1 dash orange bitters.

Combine with cracked ice in a shaker or mixing glass. Stir for no less than 30 seconds, then strain into a cocktail glass.

Express the oil from a lemon twist onto the surface of the drink and garnish with the twist.

This evening (after a nine-hour day of home improvement shopping and clearing crap out of the garage) we made Dave Wondrich’s recent recommendation, the 1920s-era Rose cocktail, as featured in last week’s “Cocktailian” article. Oh my. It’s exquisite. You simply must try it.

We find this drink to be far superior when you use raspberry syrup made by either Smuckers or Knott’s Berry Farm. We like the Torani product, but it’s blown away by the jellymakers’ products.

The Rose
(Johnny Mitta, Chatham Hotel, Paris, 1920s)

2 ounces Noilly Prat dry vermouth.
1 ounce kirschwasser.
1 teaspoon raspberry syrup (or red currant syrup if you can find it).

Combine with cracked ice in a shaker or mixing glass. Stir for no less than 30 seconds. Strain into a cocktail glass.

No garnish specified, although I’d use a washed organic rose petal.

 

Yum yum yum!!

No, it’s not a New Orleans cocktail, despite its name, but it oughta be. Very French, deceptively simple with only two ingredients, but one of those wonderful examples of cocktail alchemy as the various flavor components of the ingredients play off each other. Although after one sip you might think this had been invented in the Crescent City in the 1930s, you’d be wrong; it was invented in 2004 by Robert “DrinkBoy” Hess of Seattle. Boy, do we like this one, Robert …

French Quarter
(created by Robert Hess, 2004)

2-1/2 ounces Cognac (or other brandy).
3/4 ounce Lillet (blanc).

Combine with cracked ice in a shaker or mixing glass.
Stir for no less than 30 seconds.

Garnish with half a lemon wheel.

 
 

If you’re anything like me (and I have what I consider to be a rather high tolerance for spirits), you’ll be rather well-buzzed after just one of these. Faites attention.

If you’re anything like me, you’ll also wonder what this might have tasted like with the original Kina Lillet, less flowery and more bitter before Lillet changed the formula i the 1970s. Try adding a tiny pinch (maybe 1/16 of a teaspoon) of quinine powder to the mixing glass before you stir.

I thought about trying to concoct this one recently when I heard the old song, and thought “hey, that’s a good idea … you put de lime in de coconut and drink ’em both up.” Certainly relieved my bellyache. The name of the drink comes from the singer.

The Harry Nilsson

2 ounces cachaça or white rum.
Juice of one lime.
1-1/2 ounces coconut syrup.
Dash Angostura bitters.
Club soda to fill.

In a tall Collins glass, combine cachaça or
rum, lime juice and coconut syrup (for a stronger and less sweet drink, use coconut rum instead).

Add soda to fill, dash bitters and stir. Garnish
with a lime wheel, and relieve de bellyache.
Doctor’s orders.

Now that I think about it, that alternate version featuring cachaça and coconut rum instead of the coconut syrup would probably kick your ass. That’s 3.5 ounces of spirits, and you’d probably have to add some simple. Maybe coconut rum instead of cachaça or white rum, then the lime juice, bitters and soda. Caveat imbibor — I haven’t tried any of the alternate versions.

This is a very refreshing drink.

Okay, I have a confession to make — the only reason I posted the Income Tax Cocktail yesterday was because of its name, not because it’s one we particularly like. (We’re much bigger fans of the Brooklyn than the Bronx.) In fact, during cocktail hour at the house, we didn’t even drink one. “I’m not too excited about that one,” Wes said. “The whole gin-and-juice thing is not appealing to me at all.” So we drank something else.

This is what we drank — a surprising combination of ingredients, a gorgeous, peach-like color and an amazing flavor. (Crème de banane? You’ve gotta be kidding me!) Unsurprisingly, it’s a Dr. Cocktail creation, culled from Gary Regan’s The Joy of Mixology (always head to one’s cocktail library or to CocktailDB when you’re looking to try something you’ve never tried before; you’ll do well more often than not).

The Lewis & Martin Cocktail

2 ounces Bourbon.
1 ounce Lillet blanc.
3/4 ounce crème de banane.
2 dashes Peychaud’s Bitters.
Lemon twist.

Combine with ice in a cocktail shaker or mixing glass; stir for no less than 30 seconds. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Twist the lemon peel to express the oil onto the surface of the drink; garnish with the peel.

It’s really, really good. Ah, that amazing alchemy of mixology strikes again. There was a bit of controversy in the book with regards to this drink’s preparation — Gary advocates that this drink should be stirred, as it’s made entirely with clear liquors. Doc shakes his, saying something about being a savage and shaking everything. Wes chimed in that he prefers his drinks shaken as well, as they’re colder that way. I decided that this one might benefit by being a few degress warmer, to let the complex flavors develop, plus it had no juice in it, only clear liquors, and I love the silky texture brought about by stirring, so I stirred. That’s my recommendation.