Now that I’ll be picking up my new bottle of Calvados on the way home from work tonight, I’ve given some thought to makeing cocktails with it rather than simply drinking it neat. Don’t get me wrong — a snifter of Calvados after (or even during) dinner is absolutely superb. It seems to me, though, that the intense apple flavor and aroma of this magnificent brandy would lend itself wonderfully to a good cocktail recipe.
After my parents came back from their first trip to France several years ago they were raving about Calvados, the superb apple brandy made in Normandy. Dad told me about what became his favorite cocktail while on this trip, a simple mixture of Calvados and apple juice on the rocks. He wasn’t sure of the proportions, and this seems to be perhaps the best way to drink this brandy if you’re going to mix it. Also recommended is 1/3 Calvados and 2/3 tonic water, but I haven’t tried that yet.
Oddly enough, I haven’t been able to find any reference to the supposedly classic Calvados/apple juice cocktail on the web, although many Calvados makers produce a product called Pommeau de Normandie, which is a mixture of Calvados and apple juice that’s aged anywhere from 1-3 years in oaken casks (and which sounds fabulous). I’ll experiment more with the proportions in my on-the-spot mixture thereof, and let y’all know.
In the meantime, have a look at his recipe, which I found on the website of a Calvados distillery. This looks potentially tasty, but use a good product like Apry rather than a cheap apricot brandy (don’t use Hiram Walker!)
1-1/2 ounces of Calvados
1 ounce apricot brandy (Apry is a good brand)
1/2 ounce fresh lemon juice
1 thin slice of apple (brushed with lemon juice to prevent discoloration)
1 long thin piece of lemon peel
Pour the liquors and lemon juice into a cocktail shaker over cracked ice, shake until chilled, then strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with the slice of apple and lemon peel.
ORIGINAL ARTICLE from 2000: Wesly and I have grown fond of many “classic” (i.e., more commonly quaffed by sophisticated cocktail drinkers 60+ years ago) cocktails, one of which is the Fancy-Free, consisting of 2 ounces of Bourbon, 1/2 ounce of Maraschino and a dash each of Angostura and orange bitters. Wes, who seemed to be itching to create something new, decided that he was going to concoct a cocktail called … the “Footloose”. In an ideal world, once this cocktail has been unleashed, one could theoretically walk into a bar and say, “My friend here will have a Footloose, and I’d be delighted with a Fancy-Free.” (Sadly, this world has yet to come into existence.)
Regarding his Top Sekrit Cocktail Project, I got mysterious updates all week as he tweaked unnamed ingredients and their relative proportions. I was finally presented with one last Friday. Initial impression … pretty! Pink not unlike a Cosmopolitan, but slightly opaque and with a lovely green twist of lime floating in it — a nice change from the usual lemon. The aroma was familiar yet unfamiliar, with a bouquet of fruit that I couldn’t quite place. I sipped it, and the familiar-yet-unfamiliar sensation intensified. It’s a yummy drink, but I just couldn’t place the ingredients. It was fruity without being cloyingly sweet, and with a nice bite to it (or, as my friend Jordan said, “Oh, like Paul Lynde.” Heh. I was tempted to ask Wesly to call it the “Uncle Arthur” after that). The contrasting color of the lime twist made for a beautiful garnish too.
He finally let me in on the ingredients. They combined together so well that I might never have guessed. I found it to be very different and quite nice. Try one sometime. We often refer to it as our “Cosmo Killer.”
The Footloose Cocktail (Original recipe created by Wesly Moore, 2000)
Combine ingredients in a cocktail shaker with cracked ice. Shake and strain into a chilled cocktail glass, and garnish with a long twist of lime.
2012 update: Despite the fact that after 12 years we still can’t walk into a bar and ask for a Footloose and a Fancy-Free (or most of the time even a Fancy-Free, for that matter, unless it’s a really good bar who know their history), the Footloose has done rather well for itself. Gary Regan was kind enough to include it it The Joy of Mixology (it helped that he really liked it, so yay!), and it has been out there a bit.
Wesly is still proud of his first original cocktail, as he should be, but these days he’s wont to point out that it’s not the kind of drink that he’d make anymore. Many if not most of us had our flavored vodka period a dozen or so years ago and we’re long past that; Wesly is as well. (This is not to mention our infused vodka period, although I must say that apple-infused vodka I used to make was pretty good. But I digress.)
We weren’t ready to completely give up on the good ol’ Footloose, though. Fortunately, last year a new product came on the market which made us think the old girl was ripe for reintroduction. Nolet’s Silver Gin, produced by the same family that makes Ketel One vodka in the Netherlands, decided to make a “London-style” gin, although Nolet’s gin is decidedly not a London dry. It does contain juniper and licorice and some of the other typical gin botanicals, but Nolet’s decided to go fruity and floral with their gin. The primary flavor is raspberry, plus peach and Turkish rose. It’s a weird gin — I almost hesitate to call it a gin at all; this is most certainly not a Martini gin — but I like it; it’s a really good spirit. As soon as I tasted that raspberry-forward flavor profile, I knew what cocktail I wanted to try it in first.
Unsurprisingly, it works beautifully in a Footloose. There’s enough raspberry flavor to make that magical familiar-yet-new fruitiness with the Cointreau, lime and bitters, but the other botanicals give it a depth and sophistication you would never get from using a raspberry-flavored vodka. This cocktail is now officially rewritten as seen below, although in honor of the original (and its publication history!) we’re appending a numeral to the name. Oh, we’ve cut down on the Cointreau as well, given that our palates prefer less sweet cocktails these days. Feel free to use the original proportion if you prefer your drinks that way, or if your limes are particularly tart. (For us, the tarter the better, though!)
Footloose No. 2
2 ounces Nolet’s Silver Gin
3/4 ounce Cointreau
1/2 ounce fresh lime juice
2 big dashes Peychaud’s bitters
Combine with ice in a shaker and shake for 10-12 seconds until chilled. Double-strain into a chiilled cocktail glass and garnish with a lime peel.
Shake with cracked ice and strain into chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with a Maraschino cherry. Yum.
Wes came across another old cocktail recipe recently, gave it a shake, and now he’s quite fond of it. Since neither of us like vermouth, we’ve reduced the amount the original recipe calls for (and at half of that, it gives the drink just enough tang without having a too-assertive vermouth flavor), but vermouth lovers may feel free to follow the original recipe. This drink was named after the Algonquin Hotel in New York.
(Stop groaning. It’s only going to get worse from here.)
Wes and I were browsing yesterday at a nifty antique shop and, naturally, stopped to peruse the barware section. They had a book on vintage barware, and in it was a recipe for a cocktail that sounded fascinating, and not only because I loved the name — the Tiger Lillet.
Lillet Blanc is, of course, the French aperitif white wine with hints of citrus and spice, and I’m quite fond of it. The recipe they printed didn’t quite add up, though — it called for 1/3 Lillet, 1/3 Van der Hum (a South African tangerine liqueur based on brandy) and 1/6 “Maraschino syrup”. Hmm. That’s only 5/6 of a drink. And what do they mean by Maraschino syrup? Do they mean Maraschino liqueur, or the thin sweet “juice” that the maraschino cherries come in? Was there a cocktail flavoring product back then that was a low- or no-alcohol cherry syrup? Despite this hole in the recipe, I thought the drink sounded very promising.
The web to the rescue! I found a site that had a more complete recipe which stated, as did the book, that the drink was the winner of the World Cocktail Championship in London in 1952, and was created by a barman named Mr. J. Jones (now that’s an unusual name). Here’s the actual recipe:
1/3 Van der Hum.
1/6 Dry Vermouth.
Shake and Strain. Serve with small piece of Orange Peel.
BZZZZZT! The dry vermouth just killed it for me. I do not like vermouth of any kind. I do not like it in a bar, I do not like it in a car. I do not like it in my drink; tastes quite nasty, that I think.
So … how to go about changing this drink to suit my taste? Well, for starters, in all my digging through the two finest wine and spirits shops in Los Angeles, I’d never once seen Van der Hum liqueur. Fortunately, right there in my bar cabinet is a bottle of Mandarine Napoléon, another tangerine liqueur that’s based on brandy, which I thought would make an excellent substitute. We’re also fine for the Maraschino — I love Liquore de Maraschino, and I have a bottle of Luxardo’s fine product right there in my bar.
Now, to replace the vermouth. For a 3-ounce drink, I’m really only substituting one tablespoon’s worth of liquor. I think the 1/3 Lillet content takes care of the aperitif wine flavor without adding more from vermouth, so I thought a bit about what might complement the flavor of both the Lillet and the Mandarine Napoléon. Cointreau and Grand Marnier were out, because I thought we had the citrus flavor covered. How ’bout … Cognac? Hmmmmm. Complimentary flavor, keeps it all French (“IT IS BELGIAN!” shrieks Poirot predictably, while sipping a cordial glass of Mandarine Napoléon) and gives it a slight extra kick. I like it. I liked it even better when I mixed one up and drank it last night.
Now, to name the drink. I can’t call it a Tiger Lillet anymore, since one ingredient has changed. That’s one of the cardinal laws of cooking — if you steal a recipe, you can get away with it by changing an ingredient or two, and then changing the name of the dish.
What’s Up, Tiger Lillet? I like Woody Allen, but that’s too close to the original. Calla Lillet? Kate Hepburn might like it, but I dunno… Gilded Lillet? Hrmm. Lillet Munster? Too silly! Lillet of the Valley? Lillet of the Field? Bleuchh. I really didn’t consider Consider The Lillet, either.
Finally, it struck me. I named the drink for someone I’ve really liked for a very long time and whose work has given me a great deal of enjoyment over the years. And that’s the truthhhhhh.
This is my longtime favorite cocktail, and my dad’s favorite too — it’s the one he first taught me to make. When I was a kid, if I was lucky and if he was in a generous mood, I’d get to make this for him when he got home from work. Ah, a quality New Orleans upbringing — you teach the kids the important stuff early.
The popular myth in New Orleans is that the Sazerac was the first cocktail, but if any case or argument can be made for anything being “the first cocktail,” it’s the Old Fashioned.
As you may be aware, the first published definition of what a cocktail (“cock-tail” or “cock tail”) was appeared in a Hudson, New York newspaper called The Balance and Columbian Repository, in a reply to a letter to the editor on May 13, 1806. After a local Democratic candidate lost his bid for office, the paper published a humorous account of his Loss and Gain; in the gains column was “NOTHING,” and in the losses column there were “720 rum-grogs, 17 brandy do., 32 gin slings, 411 glasses of bitters, 25 do. cock-tail and My Election.” A reader wrote in to inquire as to what this “cock-tail” actually was, as he’d never heard of it. The editor replied,
As I make it a point, never to publish anything (under my editorial head) but which I can explain, I shall not hesitate to gratify the curiosity of my inquisitive correspondent: Cock tail, then is a stimulating liquor, composed of spirits of any kind, sugar, water and bitters; it is vulgarly called a bittered sling, and is supposed to be an excellent electioneering potion inasmuch as it renders the heart stout and bold, at the same time that it fuddles the head. It is said also, to be of great use to a democratic candidate: because, a person having swallowed a glass of it, is ready to swallow any thing else. — Edit. Bal.
See, political snarkiness in the press is far from a modern phenomenon. But there it was.
Spirits, water, sugar and bitters. If you combine the sugar and water into simple syrup, for convenience and to keep any sugar grit out of your drink (because who wants that?), then you’re down to spirit, simple syrup and bitters.
If your spirit is whiskey, then this drink was called a Whiskey Cocktail.
There are origin stories of the Old Fashioned that claim it was invented at the Pendennis Club in Louisville, Kentucky in the 1880s. This is highly doubtful, given that the drink with the exact same ingredients had been swilled for at least 74 years before that, and probably a lot longer. A more believable origin story is that when bartenders like Professor Jerry Thomas started introducing far more cocktails and mixed drinks of all kinds into the American drinking repertoire, especially those involving exotic-at-the-time ingredients like vermouth, those who wanted a good ol’ whiskey cocktail took to asking for it old-fashioned style, an Old Fashioned Whiskey Cocktail.
It was around 1936, if I recall correctly, that the Old Fashioned began its downfall — not because it was a bad drink, but because it started to be made in variations that I just consider to be unworthy.
If you have some time, read Robert Hess’ marvelous article tracing the development of the Old Fashioned, “Renewing an Old Fashion.” For years Robert had the same problem I did — he had a very hard time ordering a decent Old Fashioned at a bar.
They kill it with soda, they leave out the bitters, the grind an orange slice into a disgusting paste, they muddle the fake cherry, for God’s sake. Robert’s essay traces the drink’s history and development, and the proper way to make it (as well as how not to), including recipes from over two dozen sources, some going back over a century.
I’m going to print a few of these out and stick them in the trunk of my car. Next time some bartender tries to insist that the crappy watered-down Bourbon spritzer with a shredded cherry and a mess of finely ground fruit paste he’s just served me is a “traditional Old Fashioned”, I’m going to politely excuse myself, go to my car, fetch the papers, go back to the bar and present them to the bartender with my compliments.
It’s fascinating reading, but if you don’t have the time to go through the whole 36 printed pages’ worth, learn from this:
For myself, the key concepts I think are important to the Old Fashioned are as follows:
Water is only intended to aid in the dissolving of the sugar, and should be kept to a bare minimum. In fact, it can be omitted entirely if you use simple syrup.
A fresh slice of orange, when muddled in the drink at the beginning, adds some interesting and useful flavor notes that play nicely against the bourbon or rye.
A cherry adds a nice visual touch when used as a garnish at the very end, but is nothing but an ugly mess when its crushed carcass lies at the bottom of your glass.
Soda water has no place in this drink. Ever.
Yeah you rite. However, I have to say that I am a purist and I do not care for the muddled orange slice. Yes, I know this puts me at odds with Gaz Regan and Dale DeGroff, but that’s the way my dad taught me to make it, as a true old-fashioned whiskey cocktail: whiskey, sugar, water, bitters. I do like a large swath of orange peel in it, though, either gently muddled or (preferably) with the oil expressed over the top.
I will drink an Old Fashioned in which an orange slice has been GENTLY muddled, removed and replaced with a fresh slice for garnish, but I have never actually seen anyone do this outside of a top professional like Dale or Gaz doing it at a demonstration. 999 times out of 1000 the orange slice is ground into a purée, and gives the drink, for me, a disgusting consistency.
I make Old Fashioneds in myriad ways — different combinations of bitters, different whiskies, different spirits even (I adore Rum Old Fashioneds, Añejo Tequila Old Fashioneds and Mezcal Old Fashioneds). Here’s my “standard,” though, which is a winner.
The Old Fashioned Cocktail (Chuck’s standard version)
Build in and Old Fashioned glass, add ice to fill and stir for 20 seconds. Garnish with a Bourbon-soaked or brandied cherry, and/or a piece of orange or lemon peel.
Let’s watch master New Orleans bartender Chris McMillian make one.
Chris is The Man here … no club soda (the ruination of any Old Fashioned) and no muddled fruit (I want a strong whiskey cocktail, not a puréed fruit salad). I do like the orange peel in it, though, and I often like Peychaud’s bitters in addition to or instead of the Angostura (I got that from my dad; Peychaud’s was always his favorite).
Most if not all whiskey-based Old Fashioneds you order now (if you can even order one and get it made properly) are going to be made with Bourbon, but if you really want to make this drink great make it with rye.
I occasionally like to make what I call a “Houlihan Old Fashioned” or a “Hot Lips Old Fashioned.” I was watching an episode of “M*A*S*H” once, one of the episodes later in the series when Margaret Houlihan stopped being a one-dimensional ninny and foil to Frank Burns, and started to be developed into a more complex and human character (whom I liked very much). She was in the officers’ club, went up to the bar, and ordered her favorite drink — firmly but politely, and with a tiny grin and a twinkle in her eye…
“Old Fashioned. Straight up. No fruit.”
Margaret was awesome.
[The first version of this article was published on September 8, 2000 and was revised on April 13, 2002; August 24, 2007; and February 4, 2010.]
looka, <lʊ´-kə> dialect, v.
1. The imperative form of the verb "look," in the spoken vernacular of New Orleans. It is usually employed when the speaker wishes to call one's attention to something, or to what one is about to say.
2. --n. Chuck Taggart's weblog¹, est. 1999, with contributions by Wesly Moore, updated (almost) daily (except when it's not), focusing on cocktails and spirits, food and other drink, music, New Orleans and Louisiana culture ... and occasionally movies, books, sf, public radio, media and culture, travel, Macs, humor and amusements, reviews, news of the reality-based community, wry observations, complaints, the authors' lives and opinions, witty and/or smart-arsed comments and whatever else tickles the authors' fancy.
This weblog is part of The Gumbo Pages, by the way. It's big and unwieldy and full of all kinds of fun food, drink and New Orleans stuff. Check it out.
"Doctors, Professors, Kings and Queens: The Big Ol' Box of New Orleans" is a 4-CD box set celebrating the joy and diversity of the New Orleans music scene, from R&B to jazz to funk to Latin to blues to zydeco to klezmer (!) and more, including a full-size, 80-page book.
Produced, compiled and annotated by Chuck Taggart (hey, that's me!), liner notes by Mary Herczog (author of Frommer's New Orleans) and myself. Click here to read more about it!