Speaking of Bénédictine and Chartreuse … I missed this story by Gary Regan when it appeared in the Chronicle about a month ago. Who knew that Purgatory could be a bit like heaven?

The Purgatory Cocktail
(by Ted Kilgore, Monarch Restaurant, Maplewood MO)

2-1/2 ounces Rittenhouse 100-proof rye whiskey.
3/4 ounce Bénédictine.
3/4 ounce green Chartreuse.
Lemon twist garnish.

Stir with ice for no less than 30 seconds, and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Add garnish.

Whoo, I’m going to ask for one of these after I’ve had a crap day at work. I might even make one tonight (although I don’t think I’ll have a crap day today), but I think tonight we may be going to Seven Grand.

UPDATE: We didn’t make it to Seven Grand tonight. Wes was tired after a long, crappy week at work and felt like staying in, so I decided to make Purgatory Cocktails tonight. Hopefully we’ll make it to Seven Grand tomorrow, but for now, here are the fruits of our labors. Well, drinking labor. (Feel free to sentence me to such hard labor.)

Man. That’s some big ol’ drink. Gary’s description was exactly right — that particular rye is robust enough to keep the herbal flavors of the Bénénedictine and Chartreuse (especially the latter) at bay and make them play well together. Complex and spicy and powerful (we’re talking about 2.5 ounces of 100 proof whiskey and 3/4 ounce of a 110 proof liqueur … yowza), this is one to add to the repertoire. Keep Rittenhouse 100 on hand for this, most assuredly — a softer rye like Old Overholt wouldn’t work here; it’s get wiped out. I’m not even sure Wild Turkey 101 Rye would work quite as well as the Rittenhouse does.

By the way, I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before, but just in case I haven’t … Rittenhouse 100 is the best rye value on the market today, in my humble opinion. A big, strong, spicy rye, an absolutely superb product, and it’s dirt-cheap — we get it for about $18 a bottle.

Taking Murray’s suggestion from the comments on the Hanky Panky yesterday, we decided to continue at full speed past the Branca Barrier. The Toronto Cocktail, from The Fine Art of Mixing Drinks, David A. Embury’s classic cocktail tome from 1948, was the choice and as it was Wes’ turn to mix last night, I passed the recipe on to him. Since he thoguht that Embury’s rather large proportions might make too big a drink (and after a long day at work, who wants to do math?), he decided to check a recipe on CocktailDB.com:

Toronto Cocktail
(CocktailDB.com version)

2 ounces rye whiskey.
1/4 ounce Fernet Branca.
1/4 teaspoon sugar.
1 dash Angostura bitters.

Stir with ice in a mixing glass for at least 30 seconds. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Add an orange slice garnish.

*sip* … hey, it’s pretty good. I kinda like this. The medicinal quality is there, more there than it was in the Hanky Panky, but it wasn’t smacking me across the face, it was waving at me from the other side of the creek. It’s quite an eye-opener, though, as it’s really really dry. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course; I do like dry cocktails as compared to really sweet ones. But maybe this one could be a little less dry. “I don’t think there’s enough sugar,” Wes agreed. “I’d go with a whole teaspoon next time.” We did enjoy the drinks, though, but we certainly want to try the other version.

In Embury’s book the Toronto is listed among the “Whiskey Cocktails of the Aromatic Type,” along with the Old Fashioned, and is actually described as “a modified Old-Fashioned.” The first recommendation is to serve it with ice in an Old-Fashioned glass, with stir-and-strain as the second. I think next time we make this it’ll be with the original Embury proportions (although not his exact recipe; we’ll continue with Murray’s recommendation of our beloved Rittenhouse 100-proof rye instead of the Canadian).

Toronto Cocktail
(David Embury recipe with Murray Stenson’s variation)

3 ounces Rittenhouse 100-proof rye whiskey.
1 ounce Fernet Branca.
1/2 ounce simple syrup.
1 dash Angostura bitters (optional).

Build with ice in an Old-Fashioned glass and stir until the sides of the glass are frosty. Garnish with a curly strip of orange peel.

I’m also thinking of a variation that’ll hearken back to my medicinal use of Branca, in hot water with honey — maybe we’ll see how it tastes with honey syrup (as long as drinking this drink doesn’t make me think of being sick to my stomach).

This is widely acknowledged to be the quintessential New Orleans cocktail (even though some believe that honor arguably belongs to the Ramos Gin Fizz), and as of 2008 it is the Official Cocktail of the City of New Orleans (thank you, state legislature … keep throwing those chicken bones at each other too).

There are also still those who say this is the first cocktail ever, period. Alas, this is sadly untrue.

It is said that this drink was invented by Antoine Amadie Peychaud, a Creole apothecary who moved to New Orleans from the West Indies and set up shop in the French Quarter in the early part of the 19th Century. He dispensed a proprietary mix of aromatic bitters from an old family recipe, to relieve the ails of his clients (Peychaud’s Bitters are still made in New Orleans and sold today, and are an essential component of any truly complete bar), and around the 1830s he became famous for a toddy he made for his friends. It consisted of French brandy mixed with his secret blend of bitters, a splash of water and a bit of sugar. According to legend he served his drink in the large end of an egg cup that was called a coquetier in French, and some say that the Americanized pronunciation of this as “cocktail” gave this type of drink its name.

That’s all it is, too — legend, and a good yarn that locals like to spin. Nowadays we know for a fact that the word “cocktail” predated this by decades, first appearing in print in 1803 and first defined in print in 1806 as “a mixture of spirits of any kind, water, sugar and bitters, vulgarly called a bittered sling.” Research has also shown that brandy-based cocktails were being served in New Orleans before M. Peychaud began dispensing his concoction, and were most probably spiked with Stoughton’s Bitters, a medicinal stomach bitters which didn’t survivethe 19th Century. This is, of course, not to say that M. Peychaud’s cocktail wasn’t popular locally — it was, and became much more so as its fame spread.

Before long, the demand for this drink led to its being served in bars throughout the city (euphemistically called “coffee houses” in those days). One of these, a large bar on Exchange Alley owned by a gentleman named Sewell Taylor, was named the Merchants Exchange Coffeehouse. Not long after, Mr. Taylor started a new business as a liquor importer, with one of his most popular products being a particular brand of Cognac called Sazerac-du-Forge et fils for which Mr. Taylor was the sole importer. Someone else took over the bar, changed its name to the Sazerac Coffee House, and history was made. Apparently the bar was big enough to accommodate 12 bartenders, all mixing “Sazeracs” for their patrons, and people began to refer to the drink with the name of the coffeehouse where it was most popular.

Around 1870, a gentleman by the name of Thomas Handy took over as proprietor of the Sazerac House, and the primary ingredient was changed from cognac to rye whiskey due to popular American tastes. It was surmised that this switch also had something to do with the difficulty of obtaining Cognac at the time — the phyloxxera epidemic in Europe had devastated France’s wine grape crops, which would take years to recover. Howeve, Phil Greene reports seeing ads for Sazerac-du-Forge Cognac well into the late 1880s, long after the epidemic was over, so that idea can be discounted.

Somewhere along the line a dash of absinthe was added, usually used to coat the glass with the excess discarded. Eventually absinthe was banned and was replaced by the locally-produced pastis called Herbsaint, which is ideal in a Sazerac and with which you’ll find them made in New Orleans most often, although absinthe is making a strong comeback.

The bar moved to the Roosevelt Hotel in 1949, where the Sazerac Bar and Restaurant still stands. The Roosevelt became the Fairmont, and as of summer 2009 was renovated and reopened as the Roosevelt once again, featuring a spectacularly redone Sazerac Bar that hearkens back to the bar’s glory days. Since those days the hotel paid an annual fee to the Sazerac Company for the use of the name. The company, which produces, imports and distributes many different liquors, was founded in 1870 by the gentleman who bought the Sazerac Coffeehouse and the Peychaud family’s secret recipe for the bitters.

This is an absolutely exquisite cocktail. As you sip it, you come across layer after layer of flavor — the warmth and glowing burn of the rye, effused with the flavors of spice and honey, the bite of the bitters balanced with the sweetness of the sugar, with the subtle yet complex flavor of the anise underneath and the perfume of the lemon oil from the twist feel like a symphony inside your mouth. This is also a drink that warms up well, revealing even more flavors. Sip it very slowly. Savor it. Take your time with it.

Now that absinthe is legal in the United States again, use that if at all possible for an extra bit of historical authenticity. Lucid and Kübler are readily available now, as is St. George from San Francisco, Marteau and Pacifique from the Pacific Northwest, Leopold Bros. from Colorado and all of Ted Breaux’s absinthes from Jade Liqueurs to name but a few. However, if you do use absinthe instead of Herbsaint in your Sazerac, avoid brands from the Czech Republic, as they taste nothing like the type of absinthe that was historically drunk in New Orleans and used in early Sazeracs). Also avoid Le Tourment Vert, a “nouveau” post-ban liqueur that calls itself an absinthe but bears no resemblance to historical absinthes (and is pretty nasty besides).

The drink has been enjoyed this way for over 130 years, and over 150 if you include the original version made with Cognac.

There are recipes that call for Angostura bitters as well as Peychaud’s bitters for this cocktail. For the longest time I was against this, primarly due to watching too many bartenders grab both bottles of bitters and shake equal amounts into the drink, which is just wrong. I decided to be a traditionalst, saying that it wasn’t invented that way — M. Peychaud didn’t make it that way.

However, Thomas Handy’s bartenders at the Sazerac Coffeehouse are the ones who added the absinthe, now an integral component of the drink, and they’re the ones who started using a bit of Angostura as well. I love the flavor of Peychaud’s bitters — the Sazerac is a showcase for that unique flavor, and always should be. However, Jeff Morgenthaler recently pointed out that a single drop of Angostura will leave you “surprised [at] how much it opens up the flavors.” Make it just a drop, and make it optional if you want to be a staunch purist … but 130 years is still long enough for something to be a tradition! As Jeff advises, “While it may enrage some purists, you can always counter with, ‘If it was good enough for Thomas Handy, it’s good enough for me.'”

I go both ways on this. I still love an all-Peychaud’s Sazerac, but try a little drop of Angostura and see what you think. If it’s not to your taste, by all means leave it out. But for God’s sake, don’t make the mistake that, sadly, so many New Orleans bartenders make — grabbing each bottle by the neck and putting four or five dashes of each. This is a Sazerac, not a Seelbach, dammit!

Although I love a Sazerac made with rye whiskey, you can also make a truly wonderful drink by substituting a fine Cognac for the rye, making the drink as it first was in the old days, or with a mixture of the two, maybe 1-1/2 ounces rye to 1/2 ounce Cognac. If you have real absinthe, use that to coat the glass, too.

And speaking of rye … get rye whiskey for this drink. Do not use Bourbon. Don’t get me wrong, I love Bourbon. It’s simply wrong for this drink — too much sweetness, not enough spice. It has never been made this way traditionally, and until recently would never be made this way in New Orleans, and that’s enough. I believe that if you’ve got something that’s wonderful, that’s real, and right, and true … you leave it alone.

As Stanley Clisby Arthur, author of Famous New Orleans Drinks and How to Mix ‘Em, in print since 1937, said in his classic tome, “While Bourbon may do for a julep it just won’t do for a real Sazerac. This comes directly from a bartender who used to mix Sazeracs for Tom Handy, so it bears some authority.” Try them both ways yourself, and you’ll immediately realize that the sweetness of Bourbon is completely wrong for this drink, and only the spiciness of rye (or Cognac, or a mix of both) will do.

For years the typical rye whiskey used for Sazeracs in New Orleans was Old Overholt, a 4-year-old rye that’s got a crisp, complex flavor … spicy with a touch of honey. It’s an 86-proof whiskey, which is eminently sippable. These days more often you’ll see Sazerac Rye, the six-year-old known among bartenders as “baby Saz,” which has a great funky characteristic (and that’s a compliment).

However, if you like a drink with a bit more of a kick to it, Rittenhouse Bonded Straight Rye Whiskey at 100 proof makes a truly outstanding drink that’ll give you a boot in the butt as well. Back in the pre-Katrina days the Sazerac Bar at the former Fairmont used Wild Turkey 101 Rye.

In an ideal world, my whiskey of choice for this drink is the magnificent Sazerac 18-Year-Old Kentucky Straight Rye Whiskey, one of America’s great whiskeys produced by the Buffalo Trace Distillery, owned by the Sazerac Company. If you can find it, grab it — it’s a limited edition release, and as supplies dwindle the price is shooting up. (As of January 2004 it had already gone up from $34.95 a bottle to $42.95 at Martin Wine Cellar, and the extremely limited, once-a-year releases are now seen at $80-100 a bottle). There’s some new Sazerac 18-Year Rye in the works apparently, but it’ll take a while to make. Fortunately, there’s also the 6-Year-Old Sazerac Rye, which is quite delicious, much more readily available and very reasonably priced at about $22-24 per bottle.

Other ryes I favor for Sazeracs Thomas Handy Sazerac Rye (although at 126 proof it’s a bit strong; use it half-and-half with baby Saz) and Pappy Van Winkle Family Reserve 13-Year-Old Rye at 95.6 proof. That one makes a spectacular drink as well.

After writing in Looka! about my 2000 trip home for Jazzfest and my rediscovery of the Sazerac as being my favorite cocktail of all time, a gentleman wrote in to ask why I didn’t talk about having any Hurricanes during my visit home.

I replied, “Hurricanes are for tourists. Sazeracs are for natives.” That said, we want every visitor to the city (and everybody else, around the world, at their local bar or at home) to join us. Here’s how you make one.

1/2 teaspoon absinthe, or Herbsaint (a New Orleans brand of anise liqueur)
1 teaspoon of simple syrup (or 1 sugar cube or 1 teaspoon of granulated sugar)
4 dashes Peychaud’s bitters
2 ounces rye whiskey.
Strip of lemon peel

The traditional method: Pack a 3-1/2 ounce Old Fashioned (rocks) glass with ice. In another Old Fashioned glass, moisten the sugar cube with just enough water to saturate it, then crush. Blend with the whiskey and bitters. Add a few cubes of ice and stir to chill. Discard the ice from the first glass and pour in the Herbsaint. Coat the inside of the entire glass, pouring out the excess. Strain the whiskey into the Herbsaint coated glass. Twist the lemon peel over the glass so that the lemon oil cascades into the drink, then rub the peel over the rim of the glass; do not put the twist in the drink. Or, as Stanley Clisby Arthur says, “Do not commit the sacrilege of dropping the peel into the drink.”

My preferred method: Always use a nice big rocks or Old-Fashioned glass for this drink. Wes and I have managed to slowly and painstakingly acquire a set of eight heavy-bottomed Old Fashioned glasses from the old Roosevelt Hotel in New Orleans, emblazoned with the hotel’s name and the word “SAZERAC” in large letters. We’ve become very fond of these glasses, as you can imagine!

I also recommend the use of a prepared rich simple syrup (2 parts sugar to 1 part water) for this and most other cocktails involving sugar that don’t involve muddling. I don’t like adding granulated or lump sugar to a drink unless I’m muddling, because it never quite dissolves completely. In simple syrup the sugar is already dissolved, so there’s no chance of serving a gritty drink to your guests. As Herbsaint may be difficult to find in your area, you may substitute another pastis for the Herbsaint; however, I find that the flavor of Herbsaint is far superior to that of Pernod (the usual Herbsaint substitute), so it’s worth your while to seek it out. Actually, it’s worth your while to get a bottle of good absinthe, as it’s easy enough nowadays.

Add the absinthe or Herbsaint to the glass, then swirl it around to coat the entire sides and bottom of the glass. Discard the excess, although if you enjoy a bit more of the flavor of the absinthe or Herbsaint you may wish to leave a small amount of it in the bottom. Remember that the flavor of the absinthe should be there, but in the background — it should not dominate. In a cocktail shaker (I use the glass portion of my Boston shaker), add the sugar syrup, whiskey and bitters. Add ice and tir gently for about 30 seconds (and for God’s sake don’t shake it — you don’t want a frothy Sazerac) or until the drink is cold, then strain into the Herbsaint-coated glass. Twist lemon peel over the drink, and try to watch carefully to make sure a cascade of tiny lemon oil droplets actually strike the surface of the drink; this is one of my favorite parts of the preparation ritual. Rub the twist over the rim of the glass, then add as garnish. (No, I’m not a slavish adherent to S. C. Arthur’s admonitions; I’ll do this drink in a very acceptably traditional manner, with my own tastes taken into account. Leave the peel out if you wish.)

Sit back, relax and enjoy one of the greatest cocktails in the world.

Let’s watch Chris McMillian make one.

To take a trip back in time with the original, really lovely version of the Sazerac, substitute a fine Cognac for the rye. Better yet, use a mixture of rye and Cognac, as is the preferred technique of Dale Degroff, LeNell Smothers and Jamie Boudreau among many other mixologists; proportions vary from equal parts to 1-1/2 Cognac and 1/2 rye, so play around and see what you like. Also try it with real absinthe if it’s available near you; it’s like hopping into the Wayback Machine! Just a reminder — while most bars in New Orleans still make Overholt Sazeracs, think outside the box. Sazerac 6 Year rye is wonderful, Rittenhouse is fantastic, and if you’re feeling extravagant the limited edition Sazerac 18-Year-Old Straight Kentucky Rye Whiskey might just make the best Sazerac in the world. It’s truly marvelous, if you can find it — and it’s hard to find..

I don’t know much history on this one, or if it has an association with New Orleans, but it seems to fit in, at least. You can see ingredients in common with the Vieux Carré.

We loved the spiciness and herbal notes of this one, so we made sure to use a spicy rye and a top-shelf vermouth. We also used the Torani Amer.

The Creole Cocktail

1-1/2 ounces rye whiskey.
1-1/2 ounces sweet vermouth (Carpano Antica Formula or Punt E Mes, please).
1 barspoon Bénédictine D.O.M. liqueur.
1 barspoon Amer Picon (substitute Torani Amer or Boudreau’s Amer Replica).

Combine with ice in a shaker; stir for 30 seconds and strain. Lemon twist garnish.

This one’s made it into the regular rotation.

At Cure in New Orleans, they do a variation of this featuring Luxardo’s Amaro Abano instead of the Picon or Torani Amer (impossible and almost impossible to obtain in New Orleans, respectively). It works beautifully, and so would Amaro Ramazzotti if you have it on hand.

The Creole Cocktail
(Adapted by Cure, 4905 Freret St. at Upperline, New Orleans)

1-1/2 ounces Sazerac Rye, 6 year.
1 ounce sweet vermouth. (Cure uses Cinzano Rosso)
1/4 ounce Bénédictine D.O.M. liqueur.
1/4 ounce Luxardo Amaro Abano.

Stir with cracked ice until well-chilled. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass and garnish with a lemon twist.

There are different versions of this cocktail, some so different that I wonder why the other one didn’t just get its own name. Here’s one of the other ones we enjoyed:

We enjoyed this particular variation, though.

The Creole Variation
or, Creole Cocktail No. 2

1-1/2 ounces Bourbon whiskey.
1/4 ounce orange Curaçao.
1 dash Peychaud’s Bitters.
1 dash Angostura Bitters.
Pastis or absinthe.

Coat the inside of a cocktail glass with the pastis or absinthe. Combine the remaining ingredients in a mixing glass with ice, and stir for 30-40 seconds. Strain into the coated glass. No garnish specified.

We opted for the absinthe for a little more complexity, and Jade Liqueurs’ Nouvelle-Orléans, natch. Thing is, I thought this recipe, although perfect for the classic 2-ounce cocktails of the Golden Age, was a little too small for our needs last night. I tripled the recipe (4-1/2 Bourbon, 3/4 Curaçao and 3 dashes each bitters) and split that into 2 glasses, which gave us each a slightly more than a 3 ounce cocktail and was perfect.

It’s amazing how much flavor you can get from a mere rinse, especially with a complex, funky absinthe like Nouvelle-Orléans. It’s also quite a strong drink — not a lot of amelioration of the Bourbon by vermouth or juices or liqueurs, and you’re at a 6:1 ratio of base spirit to liqueur. A good long stir helps smooth that out, and the flavor modifiers gave it a nice complexity. This is a first cousin to a Sazerac, and if you were to switch the base spirit to rye it might even be a sibling. That’s Creole enough for me.

Wes dug this one up on DrinkBoy.com — Robert concocted it in 2006 for one of the “Spirited Dinners” during Tales of the Cocktail in New Orleans, to accompany a dish at Antoine’s called Filet de truite aux ecrevisses cardinal (de saison). The menu at Antoine’s is in French so, for non-Francophones, filet of trout, grilled or fried, with crawfish tails in season (shrimp out of season) in a white wine sauce.

We were both surprised at how much better it turned out than we thought it would, and this was with Old Overholt as the rye. It’s really terrific with Rittenhouse 100.

The Stargazer

1-1/2 ounces rye whiskey.
1-1/2 ounces Lillet blanc.
1-2 dashes Angostura bitters.

Combine with ice and stir for no less than 30 seconds. Garnish with a thin slice of lemon peel, after expressing the lemon oil into the drink.

If I manage to get ahold of some quinine I might put in a tiny pinch as per Wondrich’s idea with the Vesper, and see what kind of interesting things happen. (I might also look into making a tincture of quinine to add a small dash to anything that might require a little extra bitter edge … *add to to-do list*).

I know that Capt. Jean-Luc Picard was more of a wine drinker, but I think if he had a signature cocktail this might be it, as it bears the same name as the ship of his first command. Then again, Jean-Luc might prefer something Cognac-based …