One of the best and most-anticipated events during Tales of the Cocktail is the Spirited Dinners, which take place in about 20 restaurants around the city, on the same night, at the same time. The restaurant’s chef will work out a special prix-fixe menu, and one or more renowned mixologists / bartenders / bar chefs / what have you will work with the chef to create cocktail pairings to go along with each dish. It tends to be an amazing burst of creativity both in the kitchen and behind the stick, and is invariably tons of fun.

We were thrilled with the Spirited Dinner at Commander’s Palace we attended last year, with haute Creole cuisine by Chef Tory McPhail and cocktails by Dale DeGroff and Audrey Saunders (don’t get much better than that, folks), but as happy as we were that night, we were also bummed and kicking ourselves in the head that we weren’t also somewhere else. Not far from our Garden District paradise, on St. Charles Avenue, another spectacular meal was coming from the kitchen of Chef Chris DeBarr at The Delachaise, with cocktails by our friends Paul Clarke and Darcy O’Neil. The meal was themed as a tribute to Lafcadio Hearn, and as you’ll see Chris kicks major butt when it comes to themed meals — he is one of the most amazingly thoughtful and creative chefs around. (You can read about that meal in Chris’ posts here and here, and Paul’s account with more on the cocktails, here.)

This was one of those times where we wished for the power of bilocation, or one of sf author David Brin’s “kiln people” from his novel of the same title, in which we could send a replica of ourselves to go do something we were unwilling or unable to do, then downloads its memories into our own heads. Alas, the technology has yet to catch up (that’ll be great for Jazzfest conflicts too), so we resolved to take an extra close look at what Chef Chris would be doing Spirited Dinner-wise in 2008.

As it turned out, Chris was planning a Tiki-themed dinner along with the ever-stupendous Jeff “Beachbum” Berry, world’s foremost authority on tiki and tropical cocktails, and Wayne Curtis, author of And A Bottle of Rum: A History of the New World in Ten Cocktails, one of my favorite books last year. (Jeff’s latest, Sippin’ Safari, was one of my other favorites.) This was a triple-threat combination that was not to be missed, and although the Commander’s dinner looked pretty good, it was pretty much a foregone concluson that we’d finally make it to the Delachaise for a Spirited Dinner this year.

There were a series of complications, though. First off, just a couple of weeks before the dinner, Chris left his position at The Delachaise. (Eek.) This turned out to be a blessing in disguise, for the dinner at least, although not so much for Chris’ gig and income at the moment — the dinner was moved to a place in the Bywater called The Country Club. It was perfect; the kitchen is run by Chef Miles Prescott, a friend of Chris’ who had been his sous chef at The Delachaise, and the whole place is friendly and spacious with just the atmosphere we needed for the dinner’s theme.

The next complication was not so perfect. You may recall from the Tales recapping I’ve been doing that Thursday, July 17, was a pretty big day in which not everything went as it should have; to wit, I did not avail myself of the use of the spit bucket at all the spirits tasting seminars we attended that day. Let’s recap the running tally, shall we? 10:30am to noon with Paul Pacult, and six Macallan single malt Scotches. 12:30 to 2pm, Juniperlooza! with tastes of 9 gins, one sloe gin, and four small 2-ounce cocktails utilizing various gins. 2:30 to 4pm, tasting 10 French and Spanish brandies, plus three 2-ounce cocktails. 5 to 7pm, the Cocktail Hour event, featuring about 30 mixologists dishing out 2-ounce or so tastes of their concoctions. I remember getting one from Wondrich and probably two more. THEN we headed out for the Tiki dinner, where five utterly fantastic (yet LARGE) tropical cocktails were served.

The dinner was absolutely spectacular, as you’ll see in the following paragraphs. It was, actually, one of the most spectacular meals I’ve had in years, if not ever. I enjoyed every bit of it and had an immensely fun evening — that much I know. It’s just that … well … the details ended up being a bit hazy the next day, much to my near-infinite regret.

So kittycats, we have a guest food pornographer today to help fill in the details. Wes is now going to make his Looka! debut, and as you’ll see he does a fantastic job recounting our stunning meal and the amazing drinks that went along with it. Jeff Berry was kind enough to offer to share the recipes with anyone who was there or at his seminars later on, and I thank him from the bottom of my liver for that. Chef Chris also wrote a wonderful, amazingly detailed post about his concepts for and execution of the meal which you simply must read in its entirety, especially if you were there (and from which I will quote a few passages amidst Wes’ reminiscences). Starting below, the voice will be Wesly’s, with my photographs and addenda added by yours truly appearing in [bracketed italics]. And now we switch you live and direct to The Country Club at 634 Louisa Street … take it away, Wes!

First off, you must not mock me if I am ever so slightly less fantastic a food pornographer than is Chuck. He is, after all, the expert. I am only the poor, barely adequate, yet sober substitute. As you shall see, therein lies my virtue.

Our group arrived at The Country Club on Louisa Street on time — not bad for a bunch of drunks, although in fairness it was but a short cab ride from the Monteleone Hotel. It was just dusk, and against the slowly darkening sky the front windows of the club shone in bright welcome. The cool air inside washed over us as we opened the front door — there may be no more delicious sensation than that of air conditioning escaping past you into a Southern summer evening. A few steps more and we were in Havana.

Wayne Curtis and The Bum, a-mixin’

Is there any sound finer than the incendiary clatter of ice in a cocktail shaker, or the delicate clink of ice as it falls into a glass? I think not. Our tireless bartenders Jeff “Beachbum” Berry and Wayne Curtis were already hard at work behind the bar when we walked in. A good thing, too, as their job for the evening entailed preparation of five different, elaborate tropical cocktails for a discerning crowd of 60. That’s a lot of mixing, a lot of high standards, and a lot of liquor. Yo ho ho indeed.

Southern hospitality may seem a cliché to some, but in truth it’s a long-standing tradition with its heart unarguably in the right place. Perhaps the first act of hospitality is that of welcome, and to my mind you’ll find little more welcoming than a cocktail upon arrival. If that cocktail happens to be named after a childhood icon of grace, beauty and style, so much the better.

Welcoming Cocktail:
THE GINGER GRANT
(by Jeff “Beachbum” Berry)

3/4 ounce fresh lime juice
3/4 ounce orange juice
3/4 ounce honey mix **
1/2 ounce Domaine de Canton ginger liqueur
2 ounces 10-Cane rum
2 to 3 dashes Bittermen’s Elemakule Tiki Bitters
A small purple orchid flower.

Shake with ice cubes. Strain into cocktail glass. Garnish with the orchid flower.

** HONEY MIX. Equal parts honey and water, heated till honey dissolves. Bottle and store in fridge.

This was a lovely concoction, light yet flavorful, playful as a tropical drink should be, beautifully balanced between sweet, tart and the velvet bite of ginger (not at all unlike the relationship between Mary Ann, Lovey and Ginger herself). It was a perfect “starter” cocktail, offering the promise of earthly delights to come yet graciously leaving the imbiber sober enough to enjoy them. First Note to Self of the evening: Stock up on Tiki Bitters as soon as Bittermen’s releases them (and all their other fantastic forthcoming products as well). [Here’s Seamus’ photo of the drink, about 2/3 consumed already, but you’ll get an idea of what it looks like and how pretty it is with that orchid garnish.]

And if the cocktail is served by a local icon of grace, beauty and style —
i.e., by Jeanne Vidrine, the Tiki Queen of New Orleans — so much the better.

First Courses: SWANKY CANAPES

“A trio of variations on the theme of Poke & Sashimi”
Tiki ceviche, The Green Hornet, and Lafcadio’s Sushi.

What better way to kick off a tropical meal than with fresh fish? I love sushi and sashimi anyway, and although it may have been dichotomous to add ceviche to the mix, it was a brilliant choice by Chef Chris and the result was harmony on the plate. Gorgeous fish, immaculately prepared, elegantly presented, and apparently simple — but this was a deception of the best kind; read Chris’ preparation notes for a peek into the secret life of a chef who suffers from the dread curse of Inspiration. All three bite-sized pieces of heaven were completely delicious, but for me the Tiki ceviche was the stand-out, a surprising bloom of tropical fruit, sweet and tart together again. Simply beautiful. The smooth cucumber granita made for a perfect palate cleanser before moving on, and the little burst of Serrano chile heat playfully admonished us to keep our wits about us. Some of us managed to do so.

Chris: “The fish for the Green Hornet was Spanish mackerel, marinated in Miles’s ponzu. We didn’t have yuzu juice, which is hatefully expensive anyway, but oj worked fine. The chile peppers in the icy cucumber granita were serrano chiles, which is why that carried some good heat. We used fresh lychee, papaya, and peaches with the cloudy sake and rambutan puree for the Tiki Ceviche, along with coconut vinegar, lime juice, ginger and garlic.”

“Spice Islands Surf & Turf”
Jumbo Louisiana shrimp in tamarind sauce on rice cracker
Java beef satay, marinated in many flavors, including tamarind
Crab & Corn Johnnycake, with avocado, romesco sauce & wasabi caviar.

Next was another plate of small tastes. If you’ve ever visited New Orleans, chances are you’ve had jumbo Louisiana shrimp, but never like this. The tamarind sauce was bright and sharp, and the pink Vietnamese rice cracker not only added a splash of color to the plate and made for great textural contrast with the shrimp. It also reminded me of some of our favorite banh mi places in Los Angeles, where you can buy snacks like shrimp-flavored rice chips in a bag. The beef satay resembled a dear and familiar friend, but the sauce turned out to be vastly different from the usual (and half-expected, shame on me) peanut sauce. Instead it was sweet, tart, a bit fiery — and perfectly delightful. The johnnycake was a variation on a dish of Chris’ that we had enjoyed previously. The hearty, crusty cake with rich crab and sweet corn was intact as I remembered it, but brought to different life with smooth avocado and romesco sauce and the double pop of wasabi-flavored flying fish roe. Holy crap! I couldn’t help but laugh aloud.

Chris: “The lovely pastel shrimp crackers used for the tamarind shrimp are a lovely Vietnamese product, Banh Phong Tom Mau, that I first encountered many years ago in a wonderful Jellyfish salad in a Doraville, GA restaurant. They take about 20 seconds in a deep fryer, as they expand from little coins smaller than a quarter to puffy crunchy wavy bites of wonderment.”

First Course Cocktail:
TONGA ZOMBIE
(Adapted from the Tonga Room, San Francisco, 1950s)

1 ounce fresh lime juice
1 ounce passion fruit purée mix ***
1/2 ounce unsweetened pineapple juice
1 ounce Cruzan Estate Light rum
1/2 ounce 151-proof Bacardi rum
1/2 ounce Old New Orleans 3-year dark rum

Shake vigorously with crushed ice. Pour unstrained into a tall glass.

GARNISH: Red and green cocktail cherries speared to pineapple wedge by skull & bones flag pick.

*** PASSION FRUIT MIX. 2 parts Funkin passion fruit purée to 1 part sugar syrup.

This dangerously smooth and stealthy combination of a trio of fruit juices and a trinity of rums moves slowly, like a zombie (think George Romero, not “28 Days Later”), but it advances implacably and will knock you to the ground if you don’t keep two steps ahead. That Funkin passion fruit purée is great, wonderful stuff. Second Note to Self: Don’t forget the Funkin passion fruit! (Sorry, it’s just fun to say.) You will notice from the picture that this is not an insubstantial pour, no mere token, far more than just a taste. That’s worth keeping in mind. And the fruit flag garnish incorporates an actual (albeit tiny and paper) pirate flag, which of course instigated a round of exclamations of “Yarrr!” and “Avast!” and “Shiver me timbers, thou lusty wench!” What else would you expect from a bunch of drunks? [Stock up on wee pirate flags, and on the ingredients for this drink, as International Talk Like A Pirate Day approaches.]

Now, for the second round …

Second Courses: BONGO APPETIZERS

“Wahine Shrimp”
Louisiana shrimp roasted in a “grass skirt” of shredded phyllo,
lemony N.O. barbecue sauce, and grilled pineapple.

I had been looking forward to the “Wahine Shrimp” ever since I had first read its description on the Spirited Dinners menu announcement. This is quite simply a fabulous dish, one of the best tastes I’ve ever had in my mouth, and one I would very much like to have in my mouth again. I think it was also the most whimsical and visually delightful of the evening’s many offerings, and that’s a tough contest indeed. “Barbecue shrimp” is of course a classic New Orleans dish, and although very different this is a loving nod to that classic. But if the idea of a shrimp wearing a grass skirt doesn’t make you think of smiling dusky maidens dancing slowly on sunset beaches, then you may need a vacation. Badly. Another fantastic set of flavor and texture contrasts, and just fun to eat.

Phnom Penh Pork Belly
Kurobuta pork braised in star anise caramel,
with “Forbidden” sticky black rice and bamboo shoots.

If you want to kick my salivary glands immediately into overdrive, the words “pork belly” are all you need. This dish, the Phnom Penh Pork Belly, looks pretty substantial, but this is the serving for our table of four diners. Clearly this cuts down on plating and clean-up time, but perhaps more importantly it’s a great way to encourage friendly sharing. Although any one of us could easily have consumed this solo, it’s probably for the best that it was a shared dish — it was rich, unbelievably so, and falling apart at a touch, with buttery meat and velvety fat in almost equal measure. The savory braise of star anise and caramel was delicious, fascinating, and wholly new to me — clearly I need to get out and try more Cambodian cooking. Positively sinful and decadent. [Out of all these phenomenal dishes it’d be hard to pick one, but this one was just out of this world. I want to have it all the time.]

Chris: “The Phnom Penh Pork Belly is a fantastic recipe, swapped around a little, from the excellent Cambodian cookbook, The Elephant Walk, based on the recipes from the successful Cambridge, Mass. restaurant. I love Cambodian cuisine, although I’ve only had it in one place, in San Francisco. Everything I try from the cookbook, or read about in people’s travels, or that I had in SF has been stellar. The idea of cooking meats in savory caramel sauce, which is the basis of this pork belly, is an old idea. I don’t know if the French learned it in their travels to Indochina, or if they developed their sugary/savory concepts in Santo Domingue (Haiti), or whether the Cambodians had this concept in their arsenal long ago using palm sugar, or got it from Imperial Chinese chefs, but it’s a great method. I think the pork belly was probably mentioned by more people as their favorite dish of the whole evening. It really is an exotic Khmer classic featuring star anise, fish sauce, and mushroom soy sauce as principal elements to underline the greatness of Berkshire/Kurobuta pork belly. I thought the grapefruit punch worked really well with the pork belly and the Wahine Shrimp because both dishes needed something to cut their richness, while the grapefruit’s bitterness worked in tandem with the charrred endive and umeboshi vinaigrette in the Outrigger Canoes.”

Black Bean & Banana Blossom Pupusa
with Hoja Santo queso, Salvadorean slow and salsa verde

Mmm, pupusa. We love pupusas, and we love the big plastic jug of slaw that’s served with them at our favorite local Salvadoran restaurant, Las Cazuelas. With this meatless pupusa, Chris provided a perfect counterpoint to the other dishes in this selection. It was perfectly grilled, crispy on the outside but soft inside, and the filling of black bean and banana blossom was silky and piping hot. The slaw was authentically Salvadoran, cool and crisp and tart.

Grilled red endive “Outrigger Canoe”
with jackfruit, jumbo lump crabmeat and umeboshi vinaigrette.

Unfortunately there’s no picture of the next food item, which is a shame as it was highly photogenic. I suspect there’s a good reason for this, which we may delve into later on. In any case, the “Outrigger Canoe” was constructed of grilled red endive and filled with a blend of jumbo lump crabmeat and young jackfruit. As I recall, Chris mentioned that he had previously done this dish using mango rather than jackfruit. Soft, ripe mango would have been lovely, but I think the brightness of the jackfruit worked extremely well against the mellow, full-mouth richness of the crab. The slight bitterness of the endive was nicely mellowed by the grilling, so rather than standing out in stark contrast it worked to bring the other flavors together.

Second Course Cocktail:
PAMPLEMOUSSE PUNCH
(by Wayne Curtis)

2 ounces white grapefruit juice
1 ounce Old New Orleans spiced rum
1 ounce Clément Créole Shrubb
1 dash Angostura Bitters
6 drops (1/8 teaspoon) Herbsaint
Lengths of spiral-cut grapefruit and orange peel, one each, for garnish.

Shake well with ice cubes. Pour unstrained into an old-fashioned glass. Coil spiral-cut peels inside glass.

Hmm, I’m sensing a motif here — there’s no picture of the Pamplemousse Punch, either. [Rick got a shot of it, though.] What, you may well be wondering, is up with that? I think it’s time for me to ‘fess up for Chuck: by this point, he was well and truly tanked, although he didn’t quite realize it himself. I’ll let him explain to you himself How I Got To This Sorry State, but the simple truth is that he was sloshed, smashed, three sheets to the wind. He was very drunk indeed. He seemed to enjoy his punch all the same, and well he should have done. The mellow but slightly fiery spiced rum was complemented perfectly by the clean orange of the Creole Shrubb, and the bitter grapefruit and herbal astringency of the Herbsaint combined in a beautifully balanced punch. New Orleans has been described as the northernmost city in the Caribbean, and this drink is the perfect embodiment of that deeply romantic idea.

Third Courses: BIG KAHUNA PLATES

“The Green Zebra Goes to Oz”
A tomato trilogy: macadamia-crusted green tomato in a bush tomato profiterole
with tomato chutney, blue cheese and durian ice cream, and a wattleseed mole sauce.

At this point, Chris cleverly slipped in another vegetarian dish, a trilogy of tomatoes. I love alternating meatless dishes with meat, as this lends an enjoyable variety and helps me to feel less gluttonous (although this last bit may be only in my head). This was another dish shared by the table, and it didn’t last long, so all things considered I’m impressed that there’s a photo proving it was ever there. I can’t say enough about how crazy and crazy-good this dish was — the green tomatoes are a nod to another classic Southern dish, but crusted with macadamia nuts? Damn, Chris! The flavor of wattleseed in the sauce (reminiscent of coffee) and the inspired blue-cheese-and-durian ice cream (two stinky tastes that taste great together) should have left this dish feeling literally as well as metaphorically “all over the map,” yet somehow did not. Outstanding.

Chris: “Besides the Trio that started the dinner, the most complicated dish of the night was the Green Zebra Goes to Oz. We had to settle for regular green tomatoes, but the reference in the name was that we were taking fried green tomatoes (we were hoping for juicy heirloom Green Zebra tomatoes…) on a culinary tour of Australia, or Oz. Macadamia nuts are an Australian product, though it took Hawaiians to successfully market them to the world, and macadamias are related to candlenuts, which are so rich in fats that they literally served as a source of energy for folks in Indonesia, Malaysia, and SE Asia. You cannot eat candlenuts raw, but macadamias are more accessible.

“So we ‘pannée’ the tomatoes, which is a technique I first imagined on a riff for Tomatoes Oscar, where I crusted yellow tomatoes in a pistachio, olive oil, and breadcrumb crust on one side, then topped the tomatoes with “Oscar” companions of crabmeat and asparagus, and made a tangerine aïoli that had a very similar texture to hollandaise, but was more stable and cirtusy vibrant. In this Oz dish, a chunky tomato chutney was a reminder that ketchup really has its roots in the Spice Islands surrounding Australia, just as a note in the conversation of exotic origins of so many of our basic foods.

“The Australian flavors were in the spices: bush tomato profiteroles, which I probably needed more of the bush tomato spice; lemon myrtle oil (a simple infusion of olive oil), and wattleseed, a coffee flavored spice, that I wound up adding to a molee, which I researched in James Oesland’s excellent book Cradle of Flavor. Initially, I was thinking of making a mole sauce using the wattleseed kinda like chocolate. Then I read about the rendang-like sauce, named molee, featuring coconut milk cooked long and slow, so I went in that direction but kept my roasted red pepper so it was a hybrid mutant … but tasted good.

“The scene stealer was the durian ice cream on the plate. I paired it with blue cheese (really wanted Tasmania’s terrific Roaring 40s blue, but couldn’t find it) to illustrate the compare/contrast of stink from out cultural perspectives, Euro-based blue cheese and SE Asia’s notorious durian. The plate was warm so both melted, but kept their identity. When we ate at a high end “bush tucker” restaurant in Sydney, the chefs called durian “cheesefruit,” which highlights some of its custard, garlicky, strong smelling aspects — all unique for a fruit.”

“Cochon de Lait Wearing Hawaiian Sunglasses”
Kalua pork wrapped in banana leaves, with sweet potatoes, Steen’s cane syrup and Hawaiian sea salt.

We’re huge fans of L & L Hawaiian Barbecue, one of which just opened up in our neighborhood. More to the point, we’re huge fans of Kalua Pork, which L & L does very well. (We’re thinking of buying a big catering pan of just the Kalua Pork so we can take it home, freeze it and eat it over time with our own side dishes. The side dishes at L & L are authentic, but it’s a lot of starch for me … however, I digress.). The simply seasoned shredded pork inside the banana leaves was falling apart, the fat almost completely rendered — you’re soaking in it! — and the Steen’s-drenched sweet potatoes simply melted on the tongue. Another beautiful study in contrast of texture and flavor, which in case I haven’t made clear is something I esteem and enjoy greatly as it makes food actually interesting rather than just good-tasting.

Chris: “The sweet potatoes were accented with palm sugar, a touch of fish sauce, orange juice, and roasted garlic, yet finished with Steen’s cane syrup and more Hawaiian sea salt. That connection between Hawaiian kahlua pork and our Louisiana cochon de lait came to mind when the Hawaii football team made it to The Sugar Bowl this year.”

“Buddha’s Jade Serenity Scallops”
Sea scallops seared with togarishi crust on a bed of green tea infused jasmine rice,
housemade dashi and fried lotus root chips.

Scallops are one of my mom’s favorite things, and I like to imagine that I got my love of them from her. They’re so subtly flavored, I think it’s best not to go with very strong accompanying flavors or an overly complex preparation, else you risk overwhelming them and making them seem bland. The bed of jasmine rice infused with green tea provided a foundation of distinctive but restrained flavors that accented but did not overcome the scallops, and the togarishi crust added a bit of heat that I might not have expected but worked very well. The fried lotus root chips that topped the scallops added a nice crunch and made for a striking presentation.

“The Old Fashioned” Gulf Fish Meunière
Pan-roasted wahoo with a brown butter sauce based on the cocktail:
Bourbon, tangerine juice, maraschino liqueur and Fee Bros. Whiskey Barrel Aged Bitters,
over parsnip mash with edamame.

You’ll look long and hard to find a New Orleans restaurant that doesn’t have Gulf Fish Meunière on the menu. And why not? It’s not only a classic — it’s true comfort food. Chris must have had about a ton of fun coming up with this variation on the theme. The fish here is pan-roasted wahoo, which must have been fun, by which I mean next to impossible, for a crowd this size. It was perfectly cooked: moist, flaky, beautifully seared. The meunière (brown butter) sauce put Old Fashioneds right on the plate, drenched as it was in Bourbon, tangerine juice, maraschino liqueur and Fee Bros. Whiskey Barrel Aged Bitters. Although I don’t remember this being listed on the menu, Chris mentioned on his blog that he finished the sauce with Bittermen’s Tiki Bitters, which took us full circle back to the welcoming cocktail. Just mind-bogglingly good.

Third Course Cocktail:
LUAU COCONUT
(by Jeff “Beachbum” Berry)

1 whole fresh young coconut ****
2 ounces coconut water, drained from the young coconut
1/2 ounce fresh lime juice
1/2 ounce unsweetened pineapple juice
1 ounce sugar syrup
1 ounce coconut milk, Thai Kitchen Organic brand
1 ounce Cruzan Estate Light rum
1 ounce Cruzan Estate Dark rum

Pour coconut water, lime and pineapple juices, sugar syrup, coconut milk and rums into a cocktail shaker. Shake vigorously with ice cubes. Pour unstrained into pre-prepared young coconut shell (see below) and serve.

GARNISH: A long-handled iced tea spoon, for spooning out coconut meat.

**** YOUNG COCONUT. Young coconut meat is very soft, and delicious after soaking in rum and lime — serve with a spoon! To prepare young coconut: Remove the top of the coconut with a large knife. (Instructions at http://www.rawguru.com/html/openyoungcoconut.html). Drain the coconut water into a container. Set aside coconut water and empty coconut shell.

“You put de lime in de coconut …” Always an excellent way to start. This drink, the Luau Coconut, was surely Wayne and the Bum’s pièce de résistance, their triumph, the lofty pinnacle to which the other drinks had pointed the way. A deceptively simple combination of Cruzan Light and Dark rums, coconut water and coconut milk, lime and pineapple juices, this drink will kick your ass. It’s light, fresh, satisfying, refreshing, and it’s the drink that keeps on giving as you can scoop out the young coconut flesh from inside the “cup,” either along the way or after you finish the delightful liquid concoction. [The combination of the light coconut water and the heavier coconut milk made the perfect consistency, and cancelled out any concerns anyone could have about a coconut milk-bearing drink being too heavy or rich. Coconut water is a fabulous cocktail ingredient that should be used far more often.] Third Note to Self: The Bum said Chris had to pay $3 for the young coconuts; they’re just 99 cents each back home. [Yay!]

We have since made these at home, and it brings back this entire Tiki dinner evening in a rush. If you have a local source for young coconuts, you must give this cocktail a try. It’s a good idea to take home at least one more coconut than you really need, in case one of them turns out to be a bit dry (it does happen). [Most of the time, though, you get about a cup of coconut water out of these puppies.]

[Here are two more shots of the coconut, one from Rick and the other from Seamus.]

Fourth Course: TROPICAL DESSERT

“Baked Hawaii”
Tiki-carved meringues hiding macadamia nut and Hawaiian ginger honey ice cream,
and roasted pineapple-crystallized ginger cake, surrounded by a flaming moat of 151 rum.

I knew something was up when, instead of bringing plated desserts to our tables, kitchen staff began rolling out several carts that reminded me somewhat of those used for tableside preparation of Bananas Foster. As it turned out, I wasn’t too far off. The desserts were towering meringues concealing roasted pineapple-crystallized ginger cake, along with macadamia nut and Hawaiian ginger honey ice cream.

Sweet jeebus.

And then, in true crowd-pleasing fashion, the lights were lowered and the pool of 151-proof rum surrounding each meringue tower was set ablaze. The roar of approval from the crowd was deafening. You couldn’t get more 1950s-Tiki-riffic if you tried. The flavors were incredible, with nuts and fruit trading off, and the kick of ginger, and the teasing lure of rum. A truly appropriate and spectacularly big finish.

Chris: “Dessert was Gargantuan, funny, and a showstopper. We encountered a slight technical glitch in that it took more layers, and time, to properly set the gigantic Tiki insides of the Baked Hawaii to our desired height, so I didn’t have time to carve Moai, or the New Orleans icon of Bali Ha’i into the meringues. There were three layers of cake and ice cream, and each layer had to freeze before we could add the next. Nonetheless, the rather phallic, huge, mysterious shapes went out to the darkened dining room, doused in 151 rum, and with an aura of blue flame pooled at their base. The macadamia semifreddo perfectly matched the dessert drink, and the roasted pineapple and crystaliized ginger white cake layers added more tropicalia. I went with a meringue buttercream, which is more stable and easier to carve than straight meringue, so I feel confident now that the next time I present Baked Hawaii all the technical worries have been completely solved!

[The next time he presents Baked Hawaii, I wanna be there. Y’know, it’d probably just as well that the technical glitch prevented him from carving Moai into the meringues, because if I had seen that, I probably woulda just plotzed right on the spot.]

It has surely not escaped your notice that the dessert is shown here only in its less dramatic, plated form. You already know the reason for this: Chuck was by this point spectacularly blitzed. When he later saw pictures others had taken of the flaming meringue towers, he asked what they were. He couldn’t imagine not remembering them. Frankly, neither can I, but such is life. He did have a very, very good time. [In my defense, they were wheeled into the main dining room, not exactly close to the bar area where we were dining, and getting a picture of them would have involved getting up and walking; even in the condition I was in at that moment, I must have known that this would have been ill-advised. Fortunately, Rick got a spectacular photo, linked above. Seamus got a really nice one too.]

Dessert Cocktail:
THE BANDICOOT
(by Jeff “Beachbum” Berry)

1 ounce coconut milk, Thai Kitchen Organic brand
1 ounce Kahlúa
1 ounce macadamia nut liqueur

Shake like hell with ice cubes. Pour into old-fashioned glass. Serve with short straws.

GARNISH: A half-teaspoon of crushed macadamia nuts mixed with shredded coconut, floated in center of drink.

[My reaction upon tasting this drink was a startled double-take: “Oh my … oh my Gawd, that’s good.” The coffee and coconut milk flavors were so beautiful together that it makes me want to add coconut milk to my coffee instead of cream (mmm, that’ll be good for me). The macadamia liqueur adds a deep, rich, toasty flavor to it, and is such a unique liqueur that you’ll be taken aback by how good it is. We bought some to make this drink at home and it’s tasty stuff. Kahana Royale is the most well-known brand, and Trader Vic’s makes one as well.]

You’ll notice that there are five cocktails described here, but far more than five food dishes. Each cocktail from the second on was accompanied by a “course” of three or four different dishes. I can’t imagine the logistical challenge this must have been for Chris and his kitchen staff, but I can report that they pulled it off brilliantly. He is some kind of mad genius. Somebody, buy this man a restaurant! [If I hit a bit Lotto jackpot, that’s one of the first things I want to do, actually.]

There is a fun epilogue, though. After we cabbed back to the hotel, I met up with Marleigh in the (as it turned out) comparatively sedate environs of the Carousel Bar while Chuck announced that he was going up to the ninth floor to check out a room party. He assured me that he would be all right. About 20 minutes later, my mobile phone buzzed with a new text message. It was from Chuck. It read: “Oh sh*t, I’m f**ked.” It’s not often that the word “blotto” applies, but on those rare occasions when it does, I like to make good use of it. Chuck was clearly blotto. [Eric Alperin was bartending up in the bartenders’ room, and handed me a huge, delicious and strong cocktail. At this point I have no idea what it was, only that three sips into it I finally, finally realized that I was probably in trouble, and needed some assistance.]

I showed the message to Marleigh, who said, “We should go up and get him, shouldn’t we?” We did go up and found him in the middle of a very loud, very crowded room. He was fine, having a very good time, and even remembered (or claimed to remember) sending me the text message. He was quite agreeable when I suggested that maybe it was time to go. We walked back to our hotel; I didn’t let him cross the street by himself. I probably should have made him drink more water, but I think by then he mostly needed sleep. He slept very soundly, for a long time.

It was a very good day.

[In fact, one of the best days ever, and probably one of the best meals of my life, spent in the company of friends old and new. I know that now and knew it then, and I thoroughly enjoyed every minute, every bite and every sip … I just wish I remembered the details a bit better. Sigh. Thank you so very much, Chef Chris, Jeff and Wayne!]

Yeesh, so soon already! Well, we did get a week’s extension on MxMo XXIX last month, in order for our brains and livers to recover from Tales of the Cocktail, and August’s has crept up on us already. This month we’re hosted by Kevin Kelpe, a bartender and restauranteur in Boise, Idaho and author of the drinking blog Save the Drinkers. It was great to see Kevin at Tales again this year, and I’m comforted in the knowledge that if we stop through Boise we know where we can go to get a damn good drink.

The theme this month is local flavors, and Kevin puts it thusly:

Option 1: Gather ingredients that are representative of the culture/geography/tackiness of your respective cities and make a drink with a truly place-based style. For example, huckleberries are native to the geographical area where I live, as are elderflowers, potatoes, and extremely conservative, closet-case politicians. (I’m just saying!)

Option 2: Dig up an old drink that came from your city and revive it! If you can find the original bar, that would be even more interesting.

I really wanted to do option 1, given the bounty that’s in my own backyard. We have a very old fig tree that’s brimming with fruit right now, absolutely stunning figs more than half the size of your fist. I’ve been brewing an idea back in me brain to make some fig-infused Bourbon, using both fresh figs from my garden and dried Mission figs to give it a greater depth of flavor. By the time I finally read Kevin’s post there was no way I’d have that ready for MxMo XXX, so it’s going to have to wait a few weeks. We also have a large grove of pomegranates, but they won’t be ready until late fall / early winter at the earliest.

So I’m gonna go for a variation on option 2, digging up a couple of new drinks that come from our city, and I’m gonna be Mr. Overachiever as I did last month and post two. They’re terrific drinks from the same bar, the bar that really did the most to kick off the cocktail renaissance in Los Angeles, and were created by Los Angeles bartenders for Los Angeles; one of them is also a nod to that bar’s long history … as a jeweler in the 1920s.

You’ve undoubtedly heard me and many others was poetic about this Los Angeles bar; Seven Grand is one of our favorite places to drink in the city, in a year where we suddenly actually had places to drink in the city other than our house. Los Angeles had been pretty much a big zero in the quality and classic cocktail world for ages, and all of a sudden 2007 saw us take off like a Saturn V rocket. We fell in love with this bar right away, even though we didn’t get our procrastinatory asses in there until they had already been open for four months, and we still love it. The key to Seven Grand is to go on Sundays through Wednesdays, earlier in the evening, when you can get personalized attention from their bartenders; John, Leo and the rest of the guys will take very, very good care of you.

They’ve just streamlined their cocktail menu (I was JUST there the other day and forgot to take a look at it, d’oh), but today I’ll offer you two of Seven Grand’s house cocktails that were on their early menu last year, and if either of them aren’t on it at the moment (which I doubt), surely they can still make it for you … or now you can make it yourself.

The first is named after the original occupants of the beautiful 1921 building in which the bar is housed. Brock & Company were a prominent jeweler in Los Angeles, and although their days are long gone they still live on at Seven Grand. Many of the architectural and interior details of the old space were reused in the design of the new — the glass jewelry cases formed a bank of small windows near the ceiling in the room divider, wooden jewelry drawer fronts with gorgeous brass handles were mounted on the front of the bar, and the beautiful polished wood surface of the bar itself came from the boardroom table. Then there’s this very, very tasty drink named after the original occupants; I think they’d have to find it as tasty as I do.

Brock & Co.

2 ounces Knob Creek Bourbon whiskey.
1/2 ounce ginger-infused syrup.
1/2 ounce “runny” honey (or 2:1 honey syrup)
3/4 ounce fresh lemon juice.
1/2 ounce orange juice.
Long, thin ginger slice for garnish.

Combine ingredients in a cocktail shaker with ice. Shake vigorously, then pour into an Old Fashioned glass over fresh ice. Garnish with the ginger slice.

Bright, tangy, summery, refreshing, and a great drink for quenching your thirst over the next couple of months when it’s gonna be HOT.

If you don’t have ginger syrup you can substitute Massenez Crème de Gingembre or Domaine de Canton ginger liqueur.

The next is another of Seven Grand’s house cocktails, and although it may not feature local ingredients per se, it’s named for our great city. [UPDATE: There’s a bit of history here too; a quite similar cocktail appears in Harry Craddock’s Savoy Cocktail Book from the 1930s, which I had completely forgotten about (and thanks to Erik and Anita for reminding me of this in the comments). This is is a slightly modernized adaptation; I’m assuming that it was the inspiration for this local version.] I suppose calling it the El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de Los Angeles de Porciúncula Cocktail might be a bit unwieldy, so they wisely opted to stick with the shorter, more colloquial name for the city and the drink. This is the way I make it, with my preferred Bourbon these days; use the one you like best.

The Los Angeles Cocktail
(House version served at Seven Grand)

1-1/2 ounces Buffalo Trace Bourbon whiskey.
3/4 ounce simple syrup.
1/2 ounce fresh lemon juice.
1/4 ounce Vya sweet vermouth.
1 egg white.
1 dash Angostura Bitters.

Add the egg white to the shaker and shake like hell for at least 10 seconds alone, WITH NO ICE. Add the rest of the ingredents, then plenty of ice, and shake like hell for at least 15 seconds. Strain into a sour glass, wine or port glass, or something elegant.

This one’s reeeeeally nice. It’s basically a whiskey sour with a bit of spice added to it from the vermouth and the bitters; I like to keep this one in the California family by using Vya, a wonderfully spicy sweet vermouth made in California. Substitute Punt E Mes or Carpano Antica, if you can find them.

I’m gonna be a royal pain in the ass by throwing in a third drink, which although has the same name as a venerable, famous landmark Los Angeles restaurant of yesteryear, and the same name as that restaurant’s house cocktail … it ain’t that cocktail, and wasn’t served at that restaurant. I just like it, and the name makes it sound local, so there.

Dave Wondrich describes it thusly:

Fact is, we can’t find a damn thing about this perfectly charming drink, and the Second Law of Mixography dictates when all else fails, discuss the drinking habits of our ancestors. (The First Law? Hemingway probably drank it.) What we know: The Brown Derby appears in Esquire’s June 1939 “Potables” column. Before that, nothing. After that, nothing. Did it come from Robert Cobb’s famous Brown Derby restaurant in Hollywood? There is a Brown Derby cocktail we’ve seen connected to the eatery — but it ain’t this. (And what would they be doing messing around with maple sugar out there in sunny California, anyway?) Or is the name just because it’s brown?

The only spar we’ve got to cling to in this sea of ignorance comes in the unlikely form of roly-poly Alexander Woollcott (the guy on whom Sheridan Whiteside in The Man Who Came to Dinner was based). In 1935, he turns up in So Red the Nose, an odd little book in which famous writers of the day contributed their favorite drinks, all renamed after their latest books. Woollcott’s When Rome Burns is essentially the Brown Derby, but with lemon juice instead of the lime and maple syrup instead of maple sugar, and with the key specification that you use Medford rum. They don’t make that anymore, either. But when they did, they made it in Medford — right outside of Boston. So. The Brown Derby, or whatever you want to call it? New England’s answer to the daiquiri. It might not be tropical, but it sure is tasty.

Oh yeah, that other Brown Derby? Jigger of bourbon, half-jigger of grapefruit juice, teaspoon or so of honey (stir ’em all together before you add the ice). Let us know how it turns out.

The Brown Derby Cocktail

2 ounces Jamaican rum (I like Appleton Estate V/X in this).
1 ounce fresh lime juice.
1 teaspoon grade-B maple syrup.

Shake and strain.

Thanks to Dan Reichert for turning me on to this one. The original recipe, as Dave mentioned, called for maple sugar, but maple syrup’s a lot easier and cheaper to obtain, and grade-B maple syrup is such a terrific cocktail ingredient it should be used more often anyway.

Okay, so, that was really four drinks, if you include the recipe for the Brown Derby Restaurant’s actual house cocktail; told you I was a pain in the ass.

Happy Mixology Monday! Now get drinking.

Our third seminar at Tales of the Cocktail on Thursday, the 17th of July was entitled “Cognacs and Armagnacs,” although we sampled some lovely Spanish brandies as well.

A little quick recapping … they went through the basics — all Cognac and Armagnac is brandy but not all brandies are Cognac or Armagnac, the word “brandy” coming from the Dutch “brandwijn,” or “burnt wine”, brandy being distilled wine or, at least, fermented grape juice, sometimes with crushed grape pulp and skin, etc. Interestingly enough, some of the finest brandies are made from grapes that make lousy wine, and you probably wouldn’t want to drink the “wine” or fermented grape juice that’s the basis of many great brandies.

We got a pithy Samuel Johnson quote too: “Claret is the liquor for boys; port for men; but he who aspires to be a hero must drink brandy.” I love brandy but don’t particularly aspire to be a hero, and when I was a boy the liquor for boys was … well, whatever we could get our hands on. Miller Ponies. Everclear and Welch’s Concord Grape Juice. Old Crow and diet root beer. Anything purloined from my dad’s bar. Never once claret, though. But I digress.

Three primary types of brandies: 1) Grape brandy, usually just refered to as “brandy”; 2) Fruit brandies and eaux-de-vie, any distilled brandy made from any other kind of fruit; and 3) Pomace brandy, made from peels and skins, like Italian grappa or French marc, the quality of which can range from beautifully sublime to turpentine-like.

Three major regions of brandy-producing in Europe: Cognac and Armagnac in France, and Jerez in Spain. The revelation for me during this seminar was just getting to taste those brandies from Jerez. Gran Duque de Alba is double-distilled in pot stills from Airén grapes, which has apparently been cited as the most widely grown grape in the world (!), accounting for 30% of all grapes grown in Spain. Aged in American oak barrels that once contained oloroso sherry. We tried two, starting with the 10 year old — lght mahogany color, butterscotch in the nose, with caramel, raisins and toasted nuts, and lots of vanilla and dried fruit on the palate, with notes of chocolate and cinnamon. Yummy stuff. Then we moved on to the Gran Duque de Alba 25 year old — antique mahogany color, tons of butterscotch and toffee in the nose, with vanilla and raisins, and really smooth and lovely on the palate, with more vanilla and caramel and chocolate. I think I want me some of this stuff.

Ooh yeah, there were cocktails too.

Sidecar

2 ounces brandy (we used Gran Duque de Alba 10 year).
1 ounce Grand Marnier.
1/2 ounce fresh lemon juice.

Shake and strain.

Ooh. I could get used to Sidecars like this.

Then we moved to Cognac — Ugni Blanc, Folle Blanche and Colombard grapes mostly, with high acidity and which produce “an undistinguishable wine.” Double distilled in pot stils, with the clear spirit emerging at about 68-72% alcohol, and must be aged a minimum of 2 years in French oak. If you were wondering about what the grades of Cognacs signify, here’s what they’re all about: VS or VSP means Very Superior or Very Superior Pale, which means a minimum of 4 years of aging in the cask. VSOP means Very Superior Old Pale with an average age of something between 10 and 15 years. XO means Extra Old, also referred to as Hors d’Age, which means a minimum of 6 years but often up to 20 years.

We tried H by Hine, which is a blend of 15 Petite Champagne Cognacs at least 4 and up to 7 years old. Floral and fruity on the nose, with apricot, vanilla, orange peel and jasmine in the nose, and baking spices and vanilla on the palate, with a really great texture in the mouth too. Next was Hine Rare VSOP, a blend of 25 Cognacs aged 10 or more years — vanilla, fruit and flowers in the nose, vanilla and apricot notes in the palate, very mellow and smooth. Next, Hine Antique XO, a blend of 40 Cognacs (!) from Petite and Grande Champagne, aged 20-25 years. Lots of vanilla in this one, in the nose and the palate — that’s the wood talkin’ after all those years — with dark caramel in the nose as well, and tons of spice on the palate. Very complex and pretty dry. This is $150 a bottle stuff, so I’m not likely to get a taste of it again anytime soon.

Time for another cocktail.

The Savoir Faire

1-1/2 ounces Cognac (we got H by Hine).
1/2 ounce B&B Liqueur.
1/2 ounce Pimm’s No. 1.
1 ounce tamarind juice.
1/2 ounce lemon juice.

Shake and strain, garnish with a grating of nutmeg.

Pretty good, interesting tartness from the tamarind (find the juice at Latin markets if you’re interested in making this one; it’s less “juice” than the sticky tamarind pulp soaked in water, which you can do yourself if you’re so inclined but it’s a pain in the ass).

Then it was on to Armagnacs. I was keen to taste some of these, as I actually have very little experience with Armagnac and would like to have lots more. (My primary introduction to Armagnac was on an Air France flight to Russia in 1993. I don’t know about now, but at the time being on an Air France flight meant you could have all the free wine and hooch you could drink, even in coach class. I’m not sure where the spark came from, but I asked the flight attendant if I could have some Armagnac, and he quickly brought me some. I don’t even remember which one it was, but I do remember having two of them and they were lovely.) Armagnac brandies come from a different region, use similar gradings (VS/3-star, VSOP/Réserve, XO/Vieille Réserve), and the making of brandy in Armagnac predates the making of brandy in Cognac by 250 years. However, they don’t produce nearly as much; about 20 times the number of bottles come out of Cognac.

Armagnacs will also come out in specific vintages, which you don’t see nearly as often with Cognacs. I always enjoy looking at the Armagnacs in the locked cases at the spirits shop, with the prices going up and up as the vintage dates go further back. (Bottles from my birth year seem to run between $200 – 400; wonder if that was a good year.)

The three Armagnacs we tried were from the House of Castarède, founded in 1832. The first was Castarede Blanche, a white, unaged brandy which was fascinating stuff. You get none of the vanilla and spice notes as you do from the wood; this is delicate stuff, more refined than a marc but if I had to compare it to something it’d be pisco, the clear grape brandy from Peru. (I’ve always been curious about Ciroc, that grape vodka from France, but I’ve never tasted it nor do I know how it’d compare with something like this, but I’ve heard that it’s really good for a vodka.) Sweet and floral in the nose, not much alcohol burn even though it’s 40% abv. Very floral on the palate, with notes of lavender. Lovely stuff.

They used this as the base spirit in the next cocktail:

French Café Mocha

1-1/2 ounces Castarède Blanche.
1/2 ounce Fee Bros. Warm Ginger Cordial Syrup.
1 ounce cold coffee.
1 package hot cocoa.
6 ounces half-and-half.

Shake and strain, serve in a rocks glass filled with ice.

This was nice, but all the delicate floral characeristics of the Blanche just went into a black hole. Frankly, a more assertively flavored and oak-aged brandy would work better in this, I think. I’d be curious to experiment with unaged Armagnac in a drink where it can really stand out.

Next up, Castarède VSOP, with walnut, warm spices, cocoa and prune in the nose, continuing in the same manner on the palate with more spices. Don’t tell me I’m going to start wanting to get Armagnacs too, sheesh …

Then, a vintage Armagnac — Castarède 1979 vintage. This stuff was superb, nuty, with butter, toasted nuts, cocoa and spices spices spices (“!!!!” is what I wrote in my notebook). Again in my head I hear the phrase, “Ooh, there goes your money, honey.” To quote Hellboy, “Ohhhh, crap.”

Finally, we tasted B&B liqueur, which stands for “Bénédictine and Brandy”, which is exactly what it is — the peerless liqueur mixed with brandy and bottled. Bénédictine had been bottled in modern times for about 70 years on its own, until a bartender at the 21 Club in New York in 1937 created a Bénédictine & Brandy cocktail, and it took off — you get the wonderful herbal bouquet of the liqueur without so much of the sweetness. The Bénédictine folks caught on to a marketable idea and began to parket the blended product as well. Oddly enough, although I love Bénédictine and use it all the time, I’d never actually tasted the bottled B&B.

OKay, the running tally for Thursday the 17th … tastes of six single malt Scotches, tastes of ten gins, four small gin cocktails, tastes of nine brandies, three small brandy cocktails. No spitting into the spit bucket at any time. From here it’s off to Cocktail Hour, and THEN to Chef Chris DeBarr’s Tiki-licious Luau Spirited Dinner, with drinks by Jeff “Beachbum” Berry and Wayne Curtis. Keep those scorecards up to date, kids …

Things are a little different around Café Adelaide now — there’s a new chef in town. Danny Trace is off to Destin to take the Exec Chef gig at the new Commander’s Palace (and On the Rocks Bar!) that’l forthcoming, and now heading up the kitchen at Café Adelaide for the last few months has been Chris Lusk, among other things a former sous chef at Commander’s in the Garden District. He blew us away from the outset with the meal he served us during Jazzfest (which, um, I haven’t written about yet … but I’m getting to it!). You’ve undoubtedly heard me sing the praises of Café Adelaide enough — let’s get right to the food porn.

We began with an extended sojourn at the Swizzle Stick Bar, where as I mentioned a couple of weeks ago we started with a lovely morning cocktail, the Absinthe Suissesse:

Absinthe Suissesse

1-1/2 ounces absinthe (substitute Herbsaint or pastis if you can’t find absinthe near you)
1/2 ounce orgeat
1 egg white
1 dash orange flower water (optional)
2 ounces heavy cream
1/2 cup crushed or cubed ice

Serve either shaken or blended; old traditional method is to shake vigorously for 15 seconds with crushed ice, or blend with cubed ice. Serve in an Old Fashioned glass.

In his classic tome Famous New Orleans Drinks and how to mix ’em, Stanley Clisby Arthur gives an entirely different recipe for the Absinthe Suissesse. I’m far more used to the one above, which is what you’ll get if you order them just about anywhere in New Orleans. However, apparently if you ordered one in 1937 you were likely to get the following, which is … well, not one I’d care to drink, but certainly interesting!

Absinthe Suissesse
(Stanley Clisby Arthur 1937 version)

2 ounces absinthe or absinthe substitute (e.g., Herbsaint)
1 ounce dry vermouth
1 teaspoon sugar
2 ounces charged (sparkling) water
White of one egg
1/2 ounce white crème de menthe
Cherry garnish

Mix the sugar with the sparkling water, vermouth and absinthe. Add the egg white. Fill the glass with cracked ice and shake vigorously. Strain into a wine glass in which there is a cherry with crème de menthe poured over it.

This is strange indeed. I may have to try it one day; then again, I may not, as I am not a fan of crème de menthe in the least.

Continue reading …

How can you pass up a class with that title? We couldn’t.

After Paul Pacult’s spirits tasting seminar earlier that day (which we went over yesterday), in which I tasted (and did not spit out) six fabulous single malt Scots whiskies, we had about a half-hour break before the next one. Problem was, it was on the top floor of the hotel, with the limited elevators being packed with people every time we tried to get up, and it took us over a half an hour just to get up there. If I wasn’t such a wimpy non-athlete I would have considered the stairs, but 17 flights is rather daunting for anyone, I’d expect. (This was one of the big flaws with the Tales setup at the Monteleone, frankly — it often takes a ridiculous amount of time to get up to the Riverview and Vieux Carré Rooms.) By the time we got there we had to sit way in the back, and consequently didn’t get one of the great Plymouth Gin swag items — a shoulder bag full of bar tools. Sigh.

What we did get was a tasting mat before us, lined up with ten gins! (If there was a spit bucket, and I honestly don’t remember if there was or not, I ignored it. Sigh.)

Ryan Magarian, Portland-based mixologist and co-creator of Aviation Gin, moderated the session along with Philip Duff, brand ambassador for Bols, Simon Ford, brand ambassador for Plymouth as well as Desmond Payne, Beefeater Gin’s Master Distiller (wow).

We started out with a selection of genevers, also called Dutch gin or “Holland gin” in Jerry Thomas’ time. It’s the original gin, predating the London dry style that we’ve come to know as gin, and has a very different history, character and distilling process. It starts out as a multigrain mash with lots of rye, wheat and corn, although not too much barley. We got to taste the two main types of genever — jonge and oude — plus korenwijn (“corn wine,” the aforementioned multigrain spirit). The base spirit is produced in copper pot stills and comes out at about 120 proof, and to make genever it’s blended with the botanicals and redistilled. Juniper is part of the mix of botanicals, as with London dry gin, but it’s further in the background and not nearly so dominant. Korenwijn, incidentally, is a wonderful spirit on its own, though, and very popular in the Netherlands although sadly unavailable in the U.S. so far. Let’s keep our fingers crossed.

“Jonge” and “oude” don’t refer to age in genevers, but to style and distilling techniques. “Oude,” the older style, is a heartier, maltier spirit, made from barley not unlike Scots whisky, and “jonge” a newer, clear, more neutrally-flavored style. There’s less of a korenwijn base in the jonge style, which is lighter and apparently very popular in the Netherlands these days; young people apparently mix it with Coke. (Gah, such a waste.)

Oude genever, or even better, true korenwijn, makes a perfect Improved Holland Gin Cocktail, one of four cocktails we were served during this seminar.

Improved Holland Gin Cocktail

2 ounces oude genever (or korenwijn if you can get it).
1 teaspoon Maraschino liqueur (or Grand Marnier).
1 teaspoon rich simple syrup.
2 dashes Angostura or Peychaud’s bitters.

Stir with ice and serve on the rocks, or strain and serve up. Garnish with a lemon peel.

This is an amazingly good drink. Truly. The most readily available genevers in the States is by Boomsma, although the Maytag folks have recently debuted an American-made genever called Genevieve. We picked up a bottle recently but haven’t tried it yet (hmm, maybe tonight).

The three genever-style spirits we tasted, thanks to Philip (who was wearing a t-shirt that said “I’d Rather Be Drinking Genever”), were:

An unaged, uncut “malt wine”, the base for genever.

Korenwijn, a very old genever at 38% abv, which we were very lucky to get!

Bols Jonge Genever, lighter but very lovely stuff, and you do get a bouquet of botanicals in the nose and on the tongue. Seems such a waste to mix this stuff with Coke! Philip says this is the #1 bestselling spirit in the Netherlands.

Next to taste was an Old Tom Gin. This is a legendary spirit, predating the appearance of London dry gin in this country by decades, and was a sweetened gin. Back in the Days of Yore sugar was added to gin to help mask nasty flavors brought about by the presence of impurities and bad-tasting congeners resulting from poor distilling techniques. As distilling improved the style’s popularity continued, and Old Tom gin was the basis for almost all historical cocktails pre-1890s or so which called for gin that wasn’t specifically Holland gin. It was extremely popular up until Prohibition, but never really recovered afterwards, and by the 1960s it was no longer made.

Old Tom is back, though, and I hope it won’t be too much longer before we see it in shops. I can’t wait to taste this in a Ramos Gin Fizz; that’s the gin that was used in the original recipe. Old Tom It was surprisingly sweet, more so than I expected, which helped ameliorate the bite of the juniper (which was definitely there) although there was more flavor from the alcohol than from the botanicals. This could be a great “gateway gin” for gin-fearers. Vodka-drinker-converters of the world, unite!

Brands of Old Tom Gin and the more currently well-known and popular London dry gin began to become established in the 1840s, although Old Tom made it over here first. We didn’t start seeing London dry appearing in cocktail recipes until about the 1890s, even the turn of the century. Before long it was established as the premiere gin of choice in the States, and I can’t imagine a Martini without it.

The next gin we tried was old tried and true, Beefeater from London. It was great to have Desmond Payne there to speak, and although I sat in rapt attention while he was speaking I didn’t take any notes, and on that day I beat the living crap out of my already-crappy memory … sigh. Gabriel should have a Juniperlooza post up before long, and here’s hoping he remembers Desmond’s comments better than I do.

This was actually the first time I had tasted Beefeater neat and at room temperature, something I should really be doing for all spirits, according to what we learned from Paul Pacult. That said, gin tends to be the only spirit I never drink by itself; hardly anyone does, really. It’s a spirit that’s made for cocktails, and its botanicals blend so beautifully with other ingredients that you can’t help but to mix it. One taste of Beefeater cried out … JUNIPERRRRRRR! Like, *whap* in the snoot with a juniper branch. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. We also got lots of citrus — bitter orange and lemon peel.

We got a yummy cocktail made from the stash of Beefeater, one of my favorites and a sort of medium-level cocktail for converting former vodka drinkers. It’s tangy and grapefruity and very refreshing, and has been referred to as a “modern classic.” It was invented by Paul Harrington in the 1990s, but tastes like one of those drinks that’s been around for decades.

Jasmine

1-1/2 ounces London dry gin (we used Beefeater, of course).
1 ounce Cointreau (but we used Grand Marnier at the session).
3/4 ounce Campari.
1/2 ounce fresh lemon juice.

Shake with ice, strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with a lemon wedge.

Then we tasted Plymouth Gin, perhaps my favorite all-around gin. It’s not a London dry, it’s its own style, appelation and category, of which it is the sole occupant. Very unique! The Plymouth Gin company was founded in 1793, in an area that had been making spirits since the 15th Century. It’s full-flavored but less assertive than London dry. It’s a FANTASTIC Martini gin, and very well-balanced. It’s also the base spirit of my own signature cocktail, The Hoskins.

The next gin we didn’t get to taste, because we were too far in the back and they ran out. (D’oh. Get enough product for the seminars!) It’s a gin from Menorca (!) called Xoriguer de Mahon, and I know nothing about it; let’s read the information sheet!

Then … aaah, the sheer joy of Plymouth Sloe Gin! If you’ve ever tasted any sloe gin available in America, you’ve probably nearly spat it out as a syrupy, cough-mediciney swill that’s artificially flavored and colored and that you wouldn’t want in your drink. Plymouth Sloe Gin is actually made from gin and sloe berries (small blackthorne plums), made in the old artisanal style. It’s fantastic stuff, bittersweet and tart and beautifully balanced. The original recipe was lost, but it was reintroduced in the UK 11 years ago and has been unavailable in the U.S., until this year. I have yet to see it on the shelves, but when you see it, GRAB IT! Learn the joys of a true Sloe Gin Fizz.

Finally we moved to what’s being called the “New Western Dry Gins,” still with juniper in the botanical bouquet but it’s not so upfront, not the dominant flavor. These new gins tend to be in two general categories: either citrusy or a savory, floral-spicy style. Tanqueray No. 10 is one of these, with fresh citrus peel in its botanicals. It’s a “softer” gin but lovely stuff, and a good gateway gin. Hendrick’s from Scotland is one of my favorites in this style, with cucumber and rose petal in the finish. G’Vine from France features forward notes of cardamom. Try some gin sours with these sometime.

I’ve been hearing a lot about Martin Miller’s; I’d had some in a cocktail before, and finally got a taste of it on its own. It’s sweet on the palate but not sweetened, with flavors of cucumber, lavender and violets. A good suggestion was to try this in a Collins with some Aperol. (Hmm!)

Cucumber Cantaloupe Sour

1-1/2 ounces Martin Miller’s Reformed Dry Gin.
3/4 ounce fresh lemon juice.
2 ounces fresh extracted cantaloupe juice.
1/2 ounce housemade clover honey syrup (1:1 with water).

Combine in a mixing glass with ice, shake vigorously and strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with sliced or shaved cucumber.

Last but not least, Aviation Gin, Ryan’s own concoction. I’ve been a fan of this gin since first tasting it, but it’s the kind of gin I want to try in drinks other than a Martini. It’s quite floral and spicy — lavender and cardamom immediately come to mind. The suggestion made in class — try this versus Martin Miller’s in a Blue Moon showdown, especially when Crème Yvette comes back next year!

Pepper Delicious

2 ounces Aviation Gin.
10 mint leaves.
1 ounce fresh lime juice.
3/4 ounce rich simple syrup.
2 thin slices red bell pepper.

Muddle pepper slices and mint leaves in a mixing glass. Fill with ice, add remaining ingredients and shake vigorously. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass, and garnish with another thin pepper slice.

I was already exited about gins, and this got me even more excited. Old Tom! Plymouth Sloe! It’s going to be so much fun playing with all this.

Now, let’s recap the score. We began Thursday from 10:30 to noon with six Scotches which I did not spit out. We continued from 12:30 to 2:00 with nine gins which I did not spit out, and four 2-ounce cocktails which I happily finished. Next session at 2:30 — Cognacs and Armagnacs!