I have to wonder if Dubonnet Rouge is the red-headed stepchild of aromatized wines these days. It just doesn’t seem to get the attention it once did, and that it deserves now.

I love redheads, by the way.

Dubonnet, if you’re not familiar, is a fortified apéritif wine along similar lines as vermouth, and comes in white and red expressions (rouge and blanc, but not a “dry” version as with vermouth). The vast majority of the time when someone refers to Dubonnet they are referring to Dubonnet Rouge. It’s similar to sweet vermouth, although a fair bit sweeter, with fruitier notes, and it’s very slightly more bitter. Dubonnet Rouge does contain quinine, although I don’t detect a whole lot of it on my palate. The sweetness tends toward a ruby port, although not as richly flavored, and one article compared it to sangria, “with a heavier mouthfeel and a spicier aroma.”

Dubonnet was created in 1846 by a Parisian wine merchant and chemist named Joseph Dubonnet, “as a means to make quinine more palatable for the soldiers battling malaria in North Africa.” Still made in France, but for the American market it’s made in Kentucky by the Heaven Hill distillery. There are those who say the American-made product is inferior to the European one. I’ve never tried it in Europe myself, but my pal Martin Doudoroff (who has an excellent site called Vermouth 101 all about vermouth, quinquinas, americanos and other fortified wines) remarked that “[t]he flavor profile is basically the same as the Kentucky edition and it isn’t dramatically more bitter (maybe a touch—it’s still pretty mild stuff in comparison to, say, Bonal) but it’s also clearly a more carefully wrought product. I guess I’d describe the European product as a little move vital and alive.”

I’m quite fond of Dubonnet Rouge myself, and with the proper adjustments I enjoy swapping it in for sweet vermouth for a nice change of pace. It’s lovely in a Dubonnet Cocktail, half and half with gin (one of the preferred tipples of the late Queen Mother, who in her later eyars was probably tipsy all day long, bless her). We also stumbled across this one in the long out-of-print Café Royal Cocktail Book; it’s also up on CocktailDB.

The original recipe called for orange Curaçao, but given the sweetness of the Dubonnet Wesly decided to go for a slightly drier orange liqueur, the excellent triple sec Combier. Cointreau would also work well.

The original recipe, as with so many recipes of its era, also called for precise proportions yet were vague on exact amounts. It read “2/3 Dubonnet, 1/3 gin, 2 dashes each orange Curaçao and Angostura bitters, dash of absinthe on top.” Given some other instructions gleaned from the preface as well as the typical cocktail size of the time, I’m guessing that he was making 2 to 2-1/2 ounce cocktails. I’ve tried to adjust this slightly for the slightly larger cocktails we tend to drink these days, but by all means make the nice little two-ouncers, especially if you have great little tiny vintage cocktail glasses in your collection. Make those proportions 1 to 1/2, otherwise …

I tweeted this recipe after Wesly made this for us one night, and my friend Maitri, who was at the bar at the wonderful Anvil Bar & Refuge in Houston drinking at the time, read it to our pal Chris Frankel, who was behind the stick that night. Chris thought it sounded good and made one for Maitri on the spot. Good gods, I love the Internets.

Photo by Maitri Erwin, used with her kind permission. Drink made by Chris Frankel at Anvil Bar & Refuge, Houston

DUBONNET ROYAL
(collected by W. J. Tarling, American Bar, Café Royal, London, 1937)

1-1/2 ounces Dubonnet Rouge
3/4 ounce London dry gin
1 barspoon Combier Liqueur d’Orange
3 dashes Angostura bitters
1 dash absinthe
1 Luxardo cherry

Combine the first four ingredients with ice in a mixing glass and stir for 20-30 seconds. Strain into a chilled cocktail coupe. Top with the dash of absinthe and garnish with the cherry.

Wililam J. Tarling was the head bartender of London’s sadly long-lost Café Royal as well as president of the United Kingdom Bartenders’ Guild, and in 1937 compiled a wonderful book of recipes invented by himself, his fellow Café Royal bartenders as well as other members of the UKBG. He was also a good, charitable fellow, as evidenced by this preface to the edition:

ALL Royalties derived by W. J. Tarling from this book are to be equally divided between the United Kingdom Bartenders’ Guild Sickness Benefit Fund and the Café Royal Sports Club Fund.

The book has been out of print for decades, and was quite hard to find for a long time. As with many of the great old out-of-print cocktail books I own, this one was brought to my attention by the inimitable Ted “Dr. Cocktail” Haigh, who once again sent me scrambling across the Internets in search of a near-extinct tome. My search became fruitful when I finally got not one but two hits on ABEbooks.com — one in decent condition and perfectly readable condition, with a weathered and cracked but intact dust jacket even, for $25; the other was a pristine edition, autographed by the author, for $25,000.

After careful consideration I chose the former.

Fortunately Mixellany Books, in conjunction with the UKBG, has produced a facsimile edition, which you really should get:

Those of you who have been following along here for a while will likely remember that Chuck and I are members of an august body known as the Fat Pack. The reasons for the name are likely self-evident, and although there is indeed a story behind the name (and the excursion on which it was assumed), that falls squarely under the heading of What Happens In Vegas, Stays In Vegas. Suffice it to say that, when we all get together, as a general rule, eating is involved. Why, just imagine your surprise! I can feel it from here.

For several years now, one of the Fat Pack’s annual traditions has been Second Thanksgiving. What, well may you ask, is Second Thanksgiving? In response I say, “Consider the hobbits and their dining habits, and all shall be made clear.”  Second Thanksgiving is a day—usually the Sunday of Thanksgiving weekend—spent with friends (the family you choose), free of family tension, drama and general angstiness. It is an opportunity to connect and re-connect, to get caught up, and to show off one’s cooking prowess with something especially decadent, most likely incorporating bacon or other variations on the theme of pork…but, bacon. Yes.

In past years I’ve tended to leave the cooking to Chuck, because I don’t really cook, not like he does, and also I’m lazy. But last year he was out of town for the holiday, arriving home basically just in time to hop in the car and head off to Second Thanksgiving. So last year I cooked, or rather baked, or rather followed one (actually it was two) of Paula Deen’s butter-based recipes. As I recall, one of them started with biscuits from a tube, and the other with crescent rolls from a tube. Ah, Paula, how we love thee!

But this year I decided to bake from scratch. Because, while I’m not really a cook, I do like to bake. Cakes and cookies are fun and actually pretty easy, if you can measure and stay organized—this may be why I like mixing cocktails. Pies, on the other hand, are more difficult—pastry crust is just difficult for me, and custard fillings…well, they’re daunting. But my granny taught me to bake cookies, and I knew I could pull off something good if I didn’t mess around. It came to me as if in a dream, and I knew it was the right, perfect idea: Peanut Butter Cookies…with Bacon. It’s a classic with a twist! And the twist is bacon! I basically couldn’t go wrong, unless I burned them.

Interestingly, it never occurred to me to look for an actual recipe for Peanut Butter Cookies with Bacon—I just searched up a cookie recipe that looked a lot like my granny’s, and added bacon to it. So I’m not trying to take credit for originality here, just for the thought and effort. Oh, and the success. The base recipe is from allrecipes.com; all the bacon stuff is mine. Without further ado:

Peanut Butter Cookies with Bacon

1 cup unsalted butter
1 cup crunchy peanut butter
1 cup white sugar
1 cup brown sugar, packed
2 eggs
2-1/2 cups all purpose flour
1-1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
12 ounces applewood-smoked bacon

Cook the bacon until crisp. Strain and reserve the bacon fat. Put aside four strips of bacon. Eat two of them, and give the other two to your honey to eat. Crumble the rest of the bacon and set aside.

Cream together the butter, peanut butter and sugars. Beat in eggs, one at a time.

In a separate bowl, sift together flour, baking soda and powder and salt. Stir into batter. Fold crumbled bacon into the batter. Refrigerate batter for one hour.

Heat oven to 375ºF.

Roll cookie dough into 1-inch balls and put on baking sheets. (Optional step—grease the baking sheet with some of the reserved bacon fat.) Flatten each ball with a fork, making the classic cross-hatch pattern. Bake for about 10 minutes, or until cookies start to brown. DO NOT OVER-BAKE.

Cool on racks, then enjoy.

I had a lot of fun baking, and it’s been a while, so that was good. My Granny Foster (my mom’s mother) was talking to me in my head from the moment I pulled out the mixing bowl, and pretty much throughout the whole process, and those were nice memories to savor. “Make sure you start with a big enough bowl!” “Be sure to stir all around the outside of the bowl, not just in the middle, and all the way to the bottom, not just the top. Otherwise your dough won’t be right, and the cookies will come out wrong.” “One-inch dough balls are just silly; you want one-and-a-half-inch balls. They’ll take longer to bake, but the cookies will be bigger and better.” (If you do this, the baking time will be closer to 12 minutes.) It was nice to hear her voice again, even if only in my head, and I like to think that she’d be glad to see me baking from scratch.

As it turned out, my experiment was entirely successful: the cookies were a big hit at Second Thanksgiving, and I noticed extras going home in zip-lock bags for later enjoyment. Our friend Larry reportedly “went coo-coo” for them, which is pretty much the best reaction I could possibly have hoped for. It’s worth mentioning that the recipe was annotated with “Servings: 24”. I read this as “Makes two dozen” and thought, “Oh no, two dozen cookies will never be enough—I need to double this.” Which I did, and it was way more than I needed—I still have about 1/3 of the dough in the refrigerator, and I need to either freeze it for later or bake even yet still more cookies…the horror, the horror. I can only imagine that the 24 people being served are supposed to eat three cookies each, or more like four if you’re just silly and make one-inch dough balls. Just something to keep in mind; your mileage, of course, may vary.

One of the seminars I attended at Tales of the Cocktail this year featured the amazing Dave Arnold, director of culinary technology at the French Culinary Institute in New York and co-author of the not-to-be-missed website Cooking Issues. He was joined by the also amazing Tony Conigliaro, the owner, head bartender and chief mad scientist of 69 Colebrooke Row in London, and the stupendously amazing food scientist and author Harold McGee. The worst thing about that seminar is that it was only 90 minutes; I could have spent an entire semester listening to those guys and we’d only be getting started.

Last year Dave discovered an amazing technique for doing infusions. Typically we read of infusing various ingredients into spirits for times ranging from an hour or two (in the case of teas, for instance) to a week or even longer for fruit and spice infusions. This is apparently no longer necessary unless you want to test your patience (which I never do, because I have none, and I want it NOW, Daddy!) — how about thirty seconds to five minutes? Dave wrote an article entitled “Infusion Profusion: Game-Changing Fast ‘n Cheap Technique.” If you’re intrigued by my summary (and if you want to make the cocktail as demonstrated below), you may want to pause and read that article.

You can infuse flavors into liquor (and water based things, too) almost instantly with nothing more than an ISI whipped cream maker. You can use seeds, herbs, spices, fruits, cocoa nibs, etc. Here’s how:

Put room-temperature booze into the cream whipper. Add herbs, seeds, whatever. Close the whipper and charge it with nitrous oxide (N₂O –the regular whipped cream chargers). Swirl gently 30 seconds and let stand 30 seconds more. Quickly vent the N₂O out of the whipper, open it, and strain out the infusion. Done.

[...]

Here is what I think is happening:

When you charge your whipper with nitrous oxide, high pressure forces liquid and nitrous oxide into the pores of your flavorful food (your seeds or herbs or what-have-you.) When you suddenly release the pressure inside the whipper, the nitrous forms bubbles and escapes from the food quickly, bringing flavor and liquid out with it.

This is mindbogglingly useful, Babel Fish be damned. (Okay, a Babel Fish would be pretty cool, but it can’t infuse cacao nibs into Bourbon in two minutes.) “I did a 5-minute knee-slapping song-singing jig around the school when I figured out this technique. It’s really good,” says Dave.

The equipment you’re going to need is minimal, and relatively inexpensive, and the sky’s the limit for your infusion ideas. Try to think of flavors that go well together, rather than just sticking fruit into vodka, for instance. Yes, I’m sure many of us went through our fruit-infused vodka phase; I did, about 12 years ago. You do it, and then you move on. (That said, that apple-infused one I made was pretty good.) How about a beautiful marriage like … sweet white vermouth and watermelon?

Bartender Alex Day, formerly of Death & Co. in New York and currently one of the main partners in cocktail and hospitality consultancy Proprietors LLC in Los Angeles, demonstrates this marriage of flavors done in five minutes rather than two weeks.

This drink is also a perfect example of another technique we’ve been learning about of late, one that stretches back over 100 years to the heyday of the American soda fountain — acid phosphate. Ever been to one of the few remaining true soda fountains, perhaps even in an even rarer drugstore that still has one? Ever wonder what a “chocolate phosphate” or “cherry phosphate” soda was, or what it tasted like, or what the hell phosphate is and what is it doing in my drink? It’s a way to add acidity to a drink, either alcoholic or not, but with a “blank slate” of flavor. In many cocktails you’ll see the sweetness balanced by acidity from citrus juice, typically lemon or lime, and while this works wonderfully in a variety of classic drinks they also have a very strong flavor. What if you want to achieve balance via acidity in your drink without adding citrus flavor, which might throw the flavor balance off? Acid phosphate is your solution.

My friend Darcy O’Neil, bartender extraordinaire, professional chemist by day and author of Fix the Pumps, a wonderful history of the soda fountain, now manufactures a high-quality acid phosphate for use in cocktails. If you’re a cocktail geek — hell, if you’re a soda fountain geek who wants to learn how to make the soda fountain drinks of yore — you need both the book and the phosphate. You might also want to pause again to read Darcy’s article, linked above.

Okay, I grant you … this does involve a bit of prep, but I think you’ll find it immensely rewarding. Alex brings together all these ingredients and techniques in an absolutely gorgeous drink he calls “an adult soda.” It’s a perfect light aperitivo, and something I can relax with and enjoy after work and before dinner. I’m trying to cut down a bit on my daily alcohol consumption — yes, I have a drinking problem, but it’s not what you might think. My drinking problem currently manifests itself in my not being able to get my pants buttoned (and a recent trip to Ross and Macy’s to buy bigger pants and THIS IS NOT GOOD). A lighter yet very flavorful cocktail is exactly what I need. Take it away, Alex …

HEADS UP
(by Alex Day, Proprietors LLC)

2-1/2 ounces watermelon-infused blanc vermouth
1/2 ounce Aperol
1 teaspoon acid phosphate
Soda water
Grapefruit slice

Equipment:
iSi or other cream whipper
2 standard N₂O cartridges

In a Collins glass, build the first three ingredients, add ice and stir. Top with soda water, stir gently to mix and garnish with your lovely grapefruit slice.

Dolin Blanc Vermouth de Chambéry is preferred, but you may use Martini & Rossi or any bianco vermouth.

[Yeah, I'm beginning to get my writing mojo back. I just needed something to come up behind me and zap me with a cattle prod, and this drink was it. It looked really great, plus it gave me the opportunity to link to Dave's article on nitrous infusions, Darcy's article on and source for acid phosphate, plus the drink itself. Great links brought together by commentary, the perfect old-school weblog post. Thanks, Alex. Thanks also to Taste Terminal for producing the video.]

It’s a magical day! (Some say. They would be silly.)

For many it’s Veteran’s Day (and here’s to those folks). For others it’s just a big round scary birthday. Oh well, they say 1/20th of a millennium is the new 1/25th of a millennium …

“What are you going to do at 11:11:11 on 11/11/11?” a few people asked.

The answer to that question? Have a wee dram of 23-year-old Black Maple Hill rye whiskey. Why? Well … why not?

All that aside, we should celebrate elevens today! You did have your elevenses today, didn’t you? My elevenses consisted of the aforementioned whiskey, good New Orleans coffee ‘n chicory au lait, and a banana. (Remember, life is good if you eat seven meals a day like a hobbit — “I don’t think he knows about second breakfast, Pip.” “Breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, luncheon, afternoon tea, dinner, supper!”)

This one about killed me — Scottish comedians Iain Connell and Robert Florence of “Burnistoun” are presented with an American-made voice-actuated elevator …

And of course … Happy Nigel Tufnel Day!

Nigel Tufnel: The numbers all go to eleven. Look, right across the board, eleven, eleven, eleven and…
Marty DiBergi: Oh, I see. And most amps go up to ten?
Nigel: Exactly.
Marty: Does that mean it’s louder? Is it any louder?
Nigel: Well, it’s one louder, isn’t it? It’s not ten. You see, most blokes, you know, will be playing at ten. You’re on ten here, all the way up, all the way up, all the way up, you’re on ten on your guitar. Where can you go from there? Where?
Marty: I don’t know.
Nigel: Nowhere. Exactly. What we do is, if we need that extra push over the cliff, you know what we do?
Marty: Put it up to eleven.
Nigel: Eleven. Exactly. One louder.
Marty: Why don’t you just make ten louder and make ten be the top number and make that a little louder?
Nigel: [pause] These go to eleven.

[P.S. -- Yeah, it's been weeks since I posted. I guess I lost my mojo for a bit, and needed to recharge my batteries. I'll be back soon, I promise.]

Image by Jonathan Mak Long

Thank you, Steve.

You and Woz changed the way we use computers. You brought publishing to the desktop instead of the print shop. You changed animated motion pictures. You changed the music industry, and the way we buy, listen to and carry around our music. You changed our concept of how we use mobile telephones, and now have a slice of our computers in our pocket. You truly changed the world with your vision, leadership and the amazing, talented Apple, NeXT and Pixar teams you put together.

The things you and the Apple team have given us truly boggles my mind when I stop to think about it instead of taking it for granted. There’s the fact that I can carry three solid months of 24-hour days of music listening in my pocket, for starters. If I were to go back in time and show the iPhone 4 (and especially the iPhone 4S I’m gonna get soon) to my 16-year-old self, he’d say, “… This is way, way cooler than a ‘Star Trek’ communicator.” It’s also strangely appropriate that I learned of your passing when my iPhone emitted a distinctive chime indicating a breaking news report from the Associated Press; it popped up the familiar blue notification box on my home screen that said, simply, “Apple says Steve Jobs has died.”

Your influence has changed lives in other ways too. Wesly said tonight that his choice of career was due in large part to the Apple ][ computers in the lab at his high school. Many of my friends are saying similar things.

Although I got my start on the Commodore 64 and Commodore Amiga, it was an easy step over to the Mac. (Ah, System 7.) This website was primarily built on a Mac, and this weblog has been since the beginning.

It’s terribly sad to think that your vision and genius aren’t with us anymore. I’ll just bet, though, that for as long as you could continue working you most likely put your head together with Tim, Phil, Jony and the rest of the senior Apple team and probably sketched out the next five years’ worth of Apple products, services and innovations.

As for the rest of us, we can continue to “Think Different,” and we could do a lot worse than to take the advice you offered to Stanford graduates in 2005:

“No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life’s change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.

“Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma, which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of other’s opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.”

(Fifty-six years old. Too goddamn soon. With every passing day I am more and more fucking sick of cancer. Can you imagine what else he’d have come up with if he’d had 20 or even 10 more years? On a further and more enraging note, Peter Daou pointed out today that it’s worth noting that for less than the cost of Iraq and Afghanistan wars, we could have likely cured cancer. Don’t get me started, though.)

Here’s to the crazy ones.
        The misfits.
                The rebels.
                        The troublemakers.
                                The round pegs in the square holes.
The ones who see things differently.

They’re not fond of rules.
        And they have no respect for the status quo.

You can praise them, disagree with them, quote them,
        disbelieve them, glorify them or vilify them.
About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them.

Because they change things.
        They invent. They imagine. They heal.
        They explore. They create. They inspire.
They push the human race forward.

Maybe they have to be crazy.
How else can you stare at an empty canvas and see a work of art?
        Or sit in silence and hear a song that’s never been written?
Or gaze at a red planet and see a laboratory on wheels?

We make tools for these kinds of people.
Because while some see them as the crazy ones, we see genius.

And it’s the people who are crazy enough to think they can
change the world who actually do.