I’m normally not much of an innovator. When mixing drinks, I much prefer going through some of my old (and new) bartending manuals, and picking out recipes that sound intriguing. But on occasion, my desire for a particular kind of drink can’t be satisfied by any recipe I know of, so I’m either left to just forget about it, or start messing around in the liquor cabinet. I not-so-recently had one of those nights.

The challenge started with finding a decent drink–or any drink, for that matter–that calls for limoncello. You see, a few months back there was a big discussion going on over at eGullet’s Fine Spirits & Cocktails Forum about making limoncello, and I wound up putting together a batch.

Limoncello is lovely stuff to have around the house, for sipping after dinner right out of the freezer. But I can’t leave things alone, so I started looking around for a cocktail that called for it as an ingredient. Results? ZERO (if you ignore its occasional use in a vodka-based Lemon Drop, which I do). So I started playing around, and to my great surprise, I stumbled across something worth making more than once. Because of the delay it took me to post it on this site (I actually came up with it a month or so back, and waited several weeks after putting it on eGullet to put it here), I’m calling it the Procrastination Cocktail.

Procrastination Cocktail

• 2 ounces gin (I use Bombay–regular, not Sapphire)
• 3/4 ounce dry vermouth (Noilly Prat)
• 3/4 ounce limoncello (homemade)
• dash green Chartreuse

Stir with ice and strain into chilled cocktail glass; garnish with lemon peel.

I was really surprised by this–between the gin, vermouth & chartreuse, there are a lot of herbal flavors going on in the glass, but the limoncello brings its bright, fresh lemonyness into the mix and makes everyone get along just dandy. The drink is nice without the chartreuse, too, but just a few drops of this liqueur really makes the flavor and aroma blossom, as if you’d thrown a bouquet of flowers into the mixing glass.

Technorati tag: cocktails

Tags: Drinks, Gin by Paul
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Clipped from yesterday’s New York Times: “The Drink’s the Thing”

Julie Rose likes hit shows. It’s not just that she’s an avid theatergoer. It’s also because she’s learned over the years that people at hits tend to drink more. Ms. Rose is the president of Sweet Concessions, which dispenses refreshments at seven New York theaters. Big chains like the Shuberts tend to fill their catering needs in-house, with a standardized array of simple mixed drinks and packaged snacks. But theatergoers at the establishments Ms. Rose caters can expect something extra, like the play-themed cocktails dreamed up by her “creative director,” Brett Stasiewicz.

At the Roundabout Theater’s production of Somerset Maugham’s “Constant Wife,” four drinks are named for the play’s main characters: the Constant Wife, the Constant Husband, the Constant Admirer and the Constant Mistress. The wife is described in the play as “a peach”; the title drink is made with peach vodka. At the Biltmore, where the Manhattan Theater Club is presenting Elaine May’s “After the Night and the Music,” Mr. Stasiewicz pays tribute to one of the evening’s themes with a gin-based drink called Take My Wife.

He says that a lot of research goes into his cleverly written drink menus. He reads the plays before they open and starts experimenting with ingredients. When there’s a book involved, as with Lincoln Center’s “Light in the Piazza,” he reads that, too. He also keeps up with the liquor industry’s latest trendy liqueurs and flavors.

(emphasis mine)

When I was a kid, in the small town where I grew up, every kind of soft drink was simply called a “Coke.” It didn’t matter if you were drinking a Pepsi, or a Mountain Dew, or an Orange Crush—if someone asked you what you’d gone to the store for, the proper response was, “a Coke.”

As goes the world of cocktails. The word “cocktail” itself is fading from bars and restaurants across the country, replaced by the now all-encompassing “Martini.” It doesn’t matter if the drink has no gin or vermouth; it doesn’t matter if the drink is composed of chocolate, vanilla and sugar, all suspended in neutral grain spirits; take a look at the cocktail—sorry, Martini—menu, and the name is spelled out in all its ignoble glory: the something-tini.

I’m not alone in my dismay for this trend; a brief glance at the Drinkboy or eGullet Cocktail (Yes! Cocktail!) forums will show many other like-minded folks, grumbling into their glasses of gin about the state of drinking today. But this—this New York concessions company, researching plays and books, then creating unique drinks (some even made without vodka!) using the titles of the plays, or the names of the characters—this gives me hope.

It used to be commonplace (I say, snuffling in my gin) to name drinks after musicals, or plays, or current events, or places, or anything at all, without resorting to the use of that bastard suffix, “-tini.” Witness: the Cuba Libre, named for the independence cry of Cuba around a century ago; the Pegu Club, named for the old colonial outpost in Rangoon; the Bronx, named for—well, you guessed that one; the French 75, named after the World War I artillery piece; or the Floradora, a gentle old concoction made of gin, lime juice, raspberry syrup and ginger ale, named after a frilly musical that opened in 1900. They may not have all been good; some, like the Floradora (and today’s “Light in the Piazza,” served by Sweet Concessions), may have doubled as the guerrilla marketing pieces of their day. But at least bartenders had the gumption to adorn the drinks with actual names.

I’m not sure who developed the Blood and Sand, but I do know where it got its name: from the 1922 film starring Rudolf Valentino as a bullfighter (it was remade in 1941, starring Tyrone Power and Rita Hayworth). The earliest reference I find to the drink is in the Savoy Cocktail Book, first published in 1930; it’s also in “Cocktail Bill” Boothby’s World Drinks and How to Mix Them, from 1934. These early guides (as well as recent ones, such as Gary Regan’s The Joy of Mixology) call for making the drink with equal parts scotch, fresh orange juice, cherry brandy, and sweet vermouth. Now, I like the idea of perfect ingredient balance in a drink, such as in a Corpse Reviver #2, but as alluring as this mixture is, there’s still something not quite right. But last year, in Vintage Spirits & Forgotten Cocktails, Ted Haigh (aka “Dr. Cocktail”) printed a recipe calling for the drink to be made with four parts each scotch and orange juice to three parts each cherry brandy and sweet vermouth. In my humble opinion, Doc nailed it.

Scotch is a notoriously difficult spirit to mix with, and simply reading the list of ingredients gives me a toothache when I imagine the sweetness. Somehow though, completely counter-intuitively, this drink works. The flavor complexity is like that of a Floridita, where even seasoned cocktail aficionados may have difficulty discerning the drink’s ingredients. In the glass, the blend of cherry brandy and vermouth form a perfect base for the stubborn flavor of scotch, the scotch’s aggressive smokiness keeps the sweet flavors in line, while the orange juice soothes all the various rough edges, making everything work together in the glass. When mixing a Blood and Sand, use a blended scotch (Famous Grouse works well for me), fresh-squeezed orange juice, and a decent cherry brandy, such as Cherry Heering.

And if anyone asks you what you’re drinking, for god’s sake don’t reply, “a Blood-and-Sandtini.”

Blood and Sand

• 1 ounce blended scotch
• 1 ounce fresh-squeezed orange juice
• ¾ ounce cherry brandy
• ¾ ounce sweet vermouth

Shake with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass; garnish with a cherry.

Technorati tag: cocktails

Tags: Drinks, Folderol & Blather, Scotch, Vermouth by Paul
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There are lots of different ways you can sweeten a drink, from using liqueurs to plain sugar to more exotic sweeteners like agave syrup or cane juice. But one once-ubiquitous sweetener (when I say “once,” I’m talking handlebar-mustache-and-spats times) is almost never seen anymore (and that “almost” is pretty generous): gomme syrup.

Hold on–sure, there’s lots of simple sugar syrup used in drinks, way too much many bartenders would agree–but that’s not true gomme. Way back before Prohibition, gomme syrup meant sugar syrup that had gum arabic added as an emulsifier. It wasn’t fancy–just something to keep the sugar from crystallizing, but it had the added benefit of lending a luxurious texture to a cocktail, making it slide down your throat like a skein of silk.

I first read about gomme around two years ago, and have been meaning to make it ever since. Problem is, food-grade gum arabic isn’t something you just pick up at Safeway. After a long search, I finally found suspicious-looking little baggies of the white powder at a home baking store here in Seattle, and brought some home while I figured out how to use it. After digging around, and posting a note on the Drinkboy forum, I felt prepared to make my own gomme. Here’s how it worked:

The recipe I had (I think I originally got it from David Wondrich’s Esquire Drinks, and Mr. Wondrich himself was kind enough to respond to my Drinkboy post) called for a pound of the gum powder–I had around two ounces. After doing the math, I mixed the following:

• 2 ounces powdered gum arabic
• 2 ounces water

To prevent distractions, I found it best to run down the batteries on my digital camera first, so I could focus on stirring–and stirring–and stirring–the sticky glutinous mess this combination made, instead of documenting it for bored web-surfers and cocktail geeks.

After letting the gluey mess rest for a day (which gave me time to pick up new batteries), I mixed a 2:1 sugar syrup on the stove, using 8 ounces of superfine sugar and 4 ounces of water. Once the sugar had dissolved and the mix came to a boil, I added the dissolved gum powder. Did I mention how gluey and generally unappetizing it looked at this point? Gah–

Once this boiled and started to foam up, I removed the pan from the heat and skimmed off the foamy scum. Scum now removed, I let the mixture cool, then strained it through cheesecloth and bottled it.

Did it work? Only one way to tell. In his Drinkboy response, Mr. Wondrich suggested trying it in some of the old-school booze-rich drinks, such as the Gin Cocktail, the Sazerac or the Brandy Crusta. So to give the gomme a test-drive, I pulled out my Van Winkle Family Reserve Kentucky Straight Rye Whiskey, along with my Pernod (sorry, no real absinthe in the house) and my Peychaud’s and Angostura bitters, and mixed up a Sazerac with my new batch of gomme.

Verdict: Good God. OK, granted, a trained ape could make an incredible Sazerac just by introducing the Van Winkle rye into the mix, but the gomme lent it just the right texture, so it slipped down my throat as easy as you please. I think I mixed my drink somewhat on the dry side, so I didn’t get the full effect of the gomme, but there was a notable difference in the drink’s texture, versus one made with simple syrup.

To truly assess the grace of gomme, though, further experimentation is needed.
Technorati tag: cocktails

Tags: Gomme, Special Projects by Paul
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This one harks back to the Twenty-One Club (so says a source I can’t put my finger on now), and is a staple of ritzy east coast watering holes all summer. Southside of what? I dunno, but it’s almost obligatory to wear tennis whites, seersucker or a big floppy hat while sipping one of these. But don’t let class politics spoil you on it–it’s a really refreshing little tipple. Plus, it comes in two versions: the Southside proper, which is just a short drink in a cocktail glass; or the Southside Fizz, which you strain into a Collins glass and top off with ice and seltzer.

Southside

• 2 ounces gin
• 1 ounce lemon juice (about 1/2 a decent-size lemon)
• 1 tsp sugar
• 10-12 mint leaves

Gently muddle the mint in the bottom of your shaker, then add the other ingredients; if you want more of a minty taste, let it sit for a few minutes before proceeding. Ready? OK, add the ice and shake. Either strain into a chilled cocktail glass (and I do mean strain–otherwise you might wind up with tiny bits of mint leaf stuck in your teeth) and serve with mint leaf garnish, or into an icy collins glass, then fill with fizzy water and garnish with a mint sprig.

Tags: Drinks, Gin by Paul
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Whack any whiskey-sodden booze geek with a cocktail manual and the first name that’ll dribble out of his or her mouth is “Jerry Thomas.”

For those who have better things to do with their time than hang out with cocktail nerds, Thomas is the patron saint of bartenders–a man of legendary talent and prodigious skill, popularly known as “The Professor,” who plied his craft behind the mahogany of bars throughout the world. In the preface to his landmark How to Mix Drinks, or the Bon-Vivant’s Companion, first published in 1862 (whack the geek again–”First cocktail guide ever published (that anybody knows of, anyway)…”), Thomas is said to have

travelled Europe and America in search of all that is recondite in this branch of the spirit art. [ed. note–I like that, “spirit art.”] He has been the Jupiter Olympus of the bar at the Metropolitan Hotel in this city [New York]. He was the presiding deity at the Planter’s House, St. Louis. He has been the proprietor of one of the most recherche saloons in New Orleans as well as in New York. His very name is synonymous in the lexicon of mixed drinks, with all that is rare and original. To the “Wine Press,” edited by F.S. Cozzens, Esq., we are indebted for the composition of several valuable punches, and among them we may particularize the celebrated “Nuremburgh,” and the equally famous “Philadelphia Fish House” punch. The rest we owe to the inspiration of Jerry Thomas himself, and as he is as inexorable as the Medes and Persians in his principle that no excellent drink can be made out of any thing but excellent materials, we conceive that we are safe in asserting that whatever may be prepared after his instructions will be able to speak eloquently for itself.

Those must have been some drinks, right? Well, let’s see.

True, Thomas has enjoyed much fame as of late–two years ago, David Wondrich and Slow Food New York organized a big celebratory bash to honor Thomas at a time when classic cocktails were becoming all the rage (see William Grimes’ writeup of the event in the NYTimes). And his groundbreaking drinks guide has recently been republished. But how do the drinks hold up? How many people are really stepping into bars nowadays and asking for (and getting served) Brandy Sangarees, Rum Flips and Sherry Cobblers?

Prompted in part by William Hamilton’s occasionally excellent (and occasionally ho-hum) “Shaken and Stirred” column that appears in the NY Times every other Sunday, I’ve decided to sample a range of Thomas’ libations, as the mood strikes me. To start it off, let’s look into the Whiskey Smash.

This isn’t one of Thomas’ blockbuster concoctions. As he notes in the guide, “This beverage is simply a julep on a small plan,” and his recipe couldn’t be easier:

• 1/2 tablespoon sugar
• 1 tablespoon water
• 1 wine-glass of whiskey (2 ounces)

Fill small bar glass two-thirds full of shaved ice, and use two sprigs of mint, the same as in the recipe for mint julep.

In other words–put some mint in a glass; add the sugar and water, and muddle lightly; add the whiskey, and fill with shaved ice. Thomas also offers variations made with Brandy and Gin, and Edward Spencer’s The Flowing Bowl (from 1898 or thereabouts) lists a Champagne Smash and a Santa Cruz Smash, made with white rum. (While I haven’t come across a recipe calling for aged Jamaican rum, I made a tasty smash with Appleton V/X).

The smash is a nice tipple–not as complicated as a mint julep, which can be a royal pain to make, and fresher on the palate than your run-of-the-mill Old Fashioned. But while it’s a nice occasional sipper, I don’t see it becoming part of my regular arsenal.

But–back to William Hamilton for a moment. Recently he mentioned how Bobby Flay’s new Bar Americain in New York features the whiskey smash, but this recipe has a couple of differences (both of which are so basic that the Professor would likely have approved):

1) While muddling the mint in the water and sugar, add a couple of lemon wedges, and smush to get some of the juice as well as the lemon oil.
2) After adding the bourbon, give a splash of club soda. Purists may recoil, but the bubbles help lighten up a drink that threatens heaviness.

(Flay’s recipe also calls for simple syrup, which is much easier to work with than granulated sugar; for my smash, I went old school and made a batch of 2:1 rich demerara syrup–tip of the hat to David Wondrich for the suggestion, via his latest book.)

With these changes, the smash is worth putting into the rotation, especially for summer evenings when the fresh mint is always around and a minty, lemony, deep and robust drink is desired.

Oh, and back to my question: how many people are ordering these nowadays? Too damn few.

Tags: Bourbon, Brandy, Drinks, Gettin' Jerry With It, Gin, Rum, Rye by Paul
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