Like most booze geeks, the drinks I typically prefer are those that are more complex and esoteric–give me the aroma of anise and spice rising off a Sazerac, or the puzzle-box of flavors in a Floridita or a Ramos Gin Fizz, and I’m a happy lush. But on the list of drinks that have earned my respect, there’s one of more humble character. This cocktail carries its history like baggage; it’s been mixed so often, and so poorly, that it’s acquired the reputation of a vagabond. While drinking the drinks your grandfather drank is somewhat in vogue right now, this is a drink your grandMOTHER drank, and as such, many people unfortunately avoid it. I’m referring, of course, to that simple cocktail that roams the world in a wife-beater tee and boxers, reeking of cigar smoke and in bad need of a shave; the drink that master hoochologist David Wondrich calls “the fried-egg sandwich of American mixology;” the libation that could be described as Stanley Kowalski in a glass. It is, of course, the Whiskey Sour.

WAIT–before you start clicking your mouse to take you elsewhere, give this old barfly’s companion a second glance. While not fancy, the whiskey sour has a history: It belongs to one of the old families of original cocktails, appearing in Jerry Thomas’ 1862 drinks book alongside the other cocktail ancestors, the juleps, slings, sangarees, cobblers and smashes that are mostly lost to the ages. Not so the whiskey sour: While the drink is like a stale Sinatra song, constantly buzzing in the air of a million old dives, the whiskey sour still has a lot to its credit: It’s quite easy to make, and it’s a reliable fallback for those times when you’re in the mood for a drink but can’t think of anything else to mix, or when the only things in the house are whiskey, lemons and sugar. And there are definitely times when you could do a lot worse than easy and reliable.

Any booze can be used in a sour to good effect. Simple formula: two parts spirits, juice of half a lemon, and just enough sugar to make it go down right. In other words, it’s lemonade made with liquor instead of water–what’s not to like? It’s also the jumping-off point for a gazillion other cocktails, from the New Yorker to the Pisco Sour (if you use rum as your booze of choice, and lime instead of lemon juice, you’ve got yourself a Daiquiri); and, if the sweetness is provided by a liqueur, the sour begets concoctions such as the Margarita, the Sidecar, the Aviation and even the blasted Cosmo.

The whiskey sour is the one mixed drink I remember my dad making for himself (using the bottled sour mix, which by all means you should avoid), and ordering in a bar. And, when made right, it has a humble character, kind of subdued in the glass yet still flexing its tattooed biceps, just to keep you from mistaking it for a sissy. I like mine straight-up, in a cocktail glass, but they’re also fine on the rocks, in a sour glass (a kind of cross between an old-fashioned and a Collins glass). Whatever–this drink makes itself comfortable wherever you put it, even in a plastic cup, and it doesn’t mind being garnished with a simple orange wheel and maybe a cherry. The whiskey sour almost laughs at itself, tucking its thumbs in its belt loops while showing off the garnish like a tattered daisy stuck in its hat band–”Hey, lookimee–CLASSY!”

This drink is best enjoyed while wearing jeans and a t-shirt and sitting on the steps, tossing a tennis ball for the dog. Or inside, lying around in your shorts while something vapid and sports-oriented burbles from the TV. If you eschew the sour mix and enjoy the honest labor of squeezing the lemons yourself, you’ll find a lot of charm left in the old WS.

Whiskey Sour

• 2 ounces whiskey (rye is the standard, though bourbon or Tennessee whiskey also work just fine)
• 1 ounce fresh lemon juice
• 1 tsp bar sugar

Dissolve sugar in the liquid, then shake everything well with ice. Strain into a cocktail glass, or an ice-filled whatever glass. Garnish, if you like, with an orange wheel and a cherry. Drink. Repeat.

* Note: some recipes also call for an egg white. Sure, why not–just shake it with a little more vigor, unless you like that slithery quality in your drink.

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Tags: Bourbon, Drinks, Rye by Paul
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On the family tree of drinks, the Improved Holland Gin Cock-Tail is written near the top of the page. Nearly two hundred years ago, when cocktails were first defined as a spiritous liquor, sweetened with sugar, fortified with bitters and softened with water, the gin cocktail was one of the first ones out of the gate.

Back in those days, of course, Holland gin was the gin of choice. As David Wondrich noted several months back on eGullet’s Fine Spirits and Cocktails Forum, in the nineteenth century around six times as much Holland gin was imported into the United States as was London dry gin.

But while Holland gin, or genever, was predominant back in pioneer days, today it’s a scarce commodity. Bols, until recently the main supplier of Holland gin, stopped importing the product into the U.S. earlier this year. Fortunately, though, there’s Boomsma, which makes both a jonge, or young, unaged genever, and an oulde, which has been aged one year in oak barrels. The jonge works best for mixing, and the flavor of Holland gin is much softer and maltier than that of the more-familiar London dry; in the Improved Holland Gin Cock-Tail, this maltiness gives the drink a round fullness that is especially satisfying.

Jerry Thomas lists a recipe for the drink, named simply “Gin Cocktail,” in his landmark How To Mix Drinks, or The Bon-Vivant’s Companion, and instructs that it be made by mixing one wine-glass of gin with 3 or 4 dashes of gum syrup, 2 dashes of Bogart’s bitters, and 1 or 2 dashes curacao, then shaken with a piece of lemon peel and strained into a glass with a lemon twist.

But in David Wondrich’s Killer Cocktails, he mentions that this recipe, for the “Improved” version, dates to 1876. How it was improved, I’m not entirely sure, but I do know that this drink gives me a whole new appreciation for history.

Improved Holland Gin Cock-Tail

• 2 ounces genever gin
• 1 teaspoon rich simple syrup (note: it’s especially toothsome if you use gomme syrup)
• 1 teaspoon maraschino liqueur or Grand Marnier (you can also use curacao)
• 2 dashes Peychaud’s bitters

Combine in a glass, stir and add ice; stir again, and twist a piece of lemon peel over the top. Add a sprig of mint, if the mood strikes you.

While Boomsma is, as yet, unavailable in Washington state, I recently took advantage of a business trip to San Francisco to pick up a bottle at BevMo. For Seattleites jonesing for an authentic old-timey gin cocktail, take a trip down to Zig Zag Cafe; they had some Boomsma on hand while I was down there earlier this evening–though they have slightly less on hand than they did when I walked in–and as long as they’re not slammed and you’re pretty nice in the way you ask for one, Murray, Ben or Kaci will probably be willing to put one together for you.

Technorati tag: cocktails

Tags: Drinks, Gin by Paul
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That’s about how long it takes to get from Seattle to Singapore, if the gods of air travel are feeling benevolent and you happen to have the wind at your back (and a short layover in Tokyo sure doesn’t hurt).

But in 1902, 20 hours was the length of time it took to get from New York to Chicago, via one of the swankiest marvels to hit modern travel, the 20th Century Limited (in 1938, a new mechanical system cut the time down to only 16 hours). Running between Grand Central Station and LaSalle Street Station, this express passenger train was, in its heyday–it operated from 1902 to 1967–the most famous locomotive in the world. Designed in an Art Deco theme, with suave blues and grays offset by the specially crafted red carpet that was rolled out at station stops, the 20th Century Limited counted Theodore Roosevelt, Diamond Jim Brady and J.P. Morgan among its passengers over the years. And while the same distance can be covered today in just a couple of hours of flight time, Boeing has yet to design a passenger plane that can match the class, comfort and sheer spectacle of this railroad relic.

In 1939, a British bartender named C.A. Tuck created a mixological paean to the legendary train. But, without a bit of good fortune and the dedicated digging of cocktail archaeologist Ted “Dr. Cocktail” Haigh, this drink would have gone the way of the train: into the history books, unknown to contemporary audiences. And that would have been a real shame–the Twentieth Century cocktail tastes like Art Deco in a glass. Backed by a good jolt of gin, the drink’s flavor comes from a lively mix of lemon juice, blonde Lillet and creme de cacao.

I don’t know if the Twentieth Century ever enjoyed much popularity–I find no mention of it in mid-century cocktail guides (Trader Vic’s Bartender’s Guide simply directs readers to the recipe for an Alexander). But thanks to the recent resurgence of classic cocktails, in the past few years the drink has appeared in drink manuals written by Dale DeGroff and Gary Regan, not to mention Doc’s own Vintage Spirits & Forgotten Cocktails.

Sipping this drink is like tasting another era. All aboard!

Twentieth Century

• 1 1/2 ounces London dry gin
• 3/4 ounce lemon juice
• 3/4 ounce Lillet
• 3/4 ounce white creme de cacao

Shake well with ice and strain into chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with a curl of lemon peel.

* Note: In The Joy of Mixology, Gary Regan scales back the lemon, Lillet and cacao to 1/2 ounce of each; in The Craft of the Cocktail, Dale Degroff takes them back some more, to 1/4 ounce of each. I’m so pleased with Doc’s recipe, I haven’t had reason to try the others, but it’s good to know the options are out there.

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Tags: Gin by Paul
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Monday night saw the nationwide “Save New Orleans Cocktail Hour,” the Hurricane Katrina relief event organized by the Museum of the American Cocktail. While we’re still awaiting details on the amount the event raised to help New Orleans food & beverage workers, I do know that more than 100 bars and restaurants participated, some even extending the event’s hours in order to raise additional funds for hurricane victims.

On September 12 I was doing my part, propping up the bar at Zig Zag Cafe and watching Ben as he put together rounds of Sazeracs and Hurricanes, a couple of French 75s and even one stray Vieux Carre. While I didn’t see any obvious signs that a benefit was in progress, plenty of people obviously knew about it (unless there’s some warp to the cocktail resurgence happening, in which Sazeracs are becoming the new Mojitos).

I did also lend some support to the cause by enjoying a couple of Ben’s Sazeracs–he makes them very nice, by the way, adding a little anchor of Angostura to back up the softness of the Peychauds, and finely misting the glass with Herbsaint (Zig Zag’s always good for authenticity) before adding the bitters-fortified Old Overholt. I had to leave before the official 7:00 pm end of the event, but hopefully the turnout nationwide was similar to that I saw at Zig Zag, and plenty of thirsty people came out to raise some funds for the food & beverage workers of New Orleans.

Tags: Events by Paul
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In a world of drinks populated by bottles of cheap lager, vodka and Red Bull and anything-and-Coke, it would seem that the Ramos Gin Fizz is destined for extinction. With its long list of ingredients–including cream and raw egg white, plus the difficult-to-find orange flower water–and the physical effort involved in its mixing–most bar manuals recommend it be shaken vigorously for anywhere between two and twelve minutes–the Ramos Gin Fizz harks back to a day before instant messaging–hell, before telephones. Given the strikes against this drink, one could be forgiven the notion that the Ramos Gin Fizz is perpetually perched at the edge of the abyss, ready to follow other libations of its vintage, such as the sherry cobbler and the brandy flip, into the realm of deceased and near-forgotten cocktails, documented only in dusty bar manuals and recalled only as a mixological oddity.

But while it may seem at first blush that this drink is long overdue to take its place alongside the dodo and $2 gas, the Ramos Gin Fizz has managed to outlast every drink fad for the past 117 years, ever since it was first presented to an appreciative public by Henry C. Ramos back in 1888. Ramos debuted this drink at his Imperial Cabinet saloon, located on the corner of Fravier and Carondelet streets in New Orleans, but the drink cemented its reputation at the bar Ramos purchased in 1907, The Stag, opposite the Gravier Street entrance to the St. Charles Hotel. At The Stag, the drink quickly become an emblematic New Orleans cocktail, one that gained particular fame during that city’s legendary festivals. In Famous New Orleans Drinks and How to Mix ‘Em, Stanley Clisby Arthur writes that at The Stag, “the corps of busy shaker boys behind the bar was one of the sights of the town during Carnival, and in the 1915 Mardi Gras, 35 shaker boys nearly shook their arms off, but were still unable to keep up with the demand.”

With a following such as this, it’s not surprising that Ramos kept the recipe for his fizz a closely guarded secret. But legend has it that upon the enactment of Prohibition, Ramos decided to freely distribute his recipe. Perhaps, as Charles H. Baker, Jr., speculates in The Gentleman’s Companion, Ramos did this because he was “thinking that the formula, like any history dealing with the dead arts, should be engraved on the tablets of history;” or, as has also been suggested, Ramos released his recipe as an act of civil disobedience in an effort to subvert the Volstead Act, hoping that the curious masses would seek to sidestep the law in order to create this legendary drink for themselves.

Whatever the reason, Ramos deserves a big star on the Cocktail Walk of Fame. The Ramos Gin Fizz is a luxurious drink: The prolonged shaking aerates the cream and egg white and creates a mix of silky texture, and the combination of juices and botanicals makes for a complex layer of flavor.

Of course, it’s still a pain to make. Almost every bar manual from Baker on down calls for making this drink in a blender, which greatly reduces the effort involved. But here’s where I wear my cocktail purist heart on my sleeve: To enjoy a spectacular drink such as a Mint Julep or a Ramos Gin Fizz, sometimes a bit of effort should be required. The Ramos Gin Fizz contains the essence of a particular time and place, and while modern innovations may make things easier for the home bartender, the full character of the drink is missed if one simply pours the ingredients into a glass canister and pushes a button.

In Arthur’s book, he notes that experienced bartenders shake the drink until the mix achieves a certain body, at which point it feels “ropy” in the mixing tin. At a recent dinner party I mixed up several batches of these by hand, shaking vigorously until I detected this “ropy” character inside my shaker. While I was sweating and swearing by the time the drinks were all served, I found a certain satisfaction in sitting down and enjoying a cocktail that refuses to be hurried. Briefly, memorably, life slowed down.

Ramos Gin Fizz (recipe from David Wondrich’s Esquire Drinks)*

Combine in a cocktail shaker:

• 2 ounces gin
• 1 ounce heavy cream
• 1 egg white
• juice of 1/2 lemon
• juice of 1/2 lime
• 2 teaspoons bar sugar
• 2 to 3 drops orange flower water

Add plenty of cracked ice and shake vigorously for a minimum of one minute, preferably two. Strain into a chilled Collins glass, and add chilled club soda until an inch or so from the top.

* some recipes also call for 1 or 2 drops of vanilla extract per drink. This touch is unnecessary, in my opinion, but try it both ways to see what you prefer.

Technorati tag: cocktails

Tags: Drinks, Gin by Paul
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