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…for forgiveness of all imminent and future sins of the flesh

I’ve found myself falling into a cocktail rut lately — and it’s not just a defensive posture from drinking so much apricot brandy. Relatively minor, as these things go, but it’s been a bit more of a challenge to come up with an idea of what I’d like to have. So, in pursuit of recipes that I’m quite sure I’ve never tried, I turned to quite possibly my most beloved mixology-related book: Charles Baker’s The Gentleman’s Companion.

Baker has no shortage of recipes that have never appeared elsewhere, sometimes with good reason: while the man spun a fine yarn about most anything poured into a glass, some of the mixes are slightly off, and others just downright weird. Here’s one of the latter, but for this one I don’t mean “weird” in an entirely disapproving light.

First, the setup: “Watch this one when out under the moon in a desert overnight camp, riding camels out across the vast dunes, or strolling in the moonlight around the Sphinx with some congenial young woman companion.”

The Sahara Glowing Heart Cocktail
from the Hands of one Abdullah an Arab Muslim Wizard back of Mahogany at the Mena House Bar, near the Pyramids of Ghizeh, which Are Just South of Cairo, Egypt

“Take of dry gin, 1 pony [1 ounce], absinthe, 1 pony, dry imported apricot brandy, 1 pony; donate 1/2 pony of bright rose coloured grenadine. Shake with lots and lots of ice and strain into a large saucer champagne glass, and pray Allah for forgiveness of all imminent and future sins of the flesh…

Sahara Glowing HeartI’d be dishonest if I said Baker’s commentary wasn’t the primary driving force behind my effort at whipping up one of these, but I’m also trying assorted obscure absinthe cocktails (for reasons that will soon become evident), and this one seemed suitably obscure to include in the project.

Of the result, Baker writes: “To us this drink tastes a bit sweet [BINGO! –ed.]; also a bit dominated by absinthe or Pernod Veritas [ya think?!? –ed.]. So why not experiment to taste along these lines? … Ignore the grenadine, step up the gin to a jigger, whittle the absinthe to a dash or two inside the empty glass before pouring the chilled drink.”

Upon the first sip, I thought, “That’s one of the weirdest things I’ve ever had,” and to be honest, I’m still thinking that as I finish the drink. But, this ain’t bad — while sweet, as Baker says, there’s also a really engaging interplay between the apricot eau de vie and the absinthe. I’ll try Baker’s suggested variation at some point, but for now, I disagree on removing the grenadine entirely: the drink benefits from the additional fruitiness it brings to the table, but at 1/2 an ounce, it does make the cocktail startlingly sweet.

As Baker’s cocktails go, the Sahara Glowing Heart has the appropriate level of screwball distinctiveness to it, but it’s also not a bad basis from which to start playing with variations. Now if I can just arrange for some of that forgiveness…

The Great Apricot Smackdown

Okay, I have to stop now.

Call me a failure if you must, but I wasn’t able to power through every single one of the approximately 30 apricot-brandy cocktails that were submitted for the latest round of Raiders of the Lost Cocktail. I’m sorry — but the smell of apricots is coming out of my pores and my skin is turning orange; I may never be able to eat another piece of rugelach as long as I live. But before you come down too hard on me, keep in mind this twist on that ol’ biblical instruction: Let he who has methodically sampled more than 20 apricot-brandy cocktails without growing very sick of apricots cast the first stone.

Fortunately, I made it through most of the recipes (submitted here and here); since many people submitted more than one drink, I made sure to try at least one cocktail from each participant, so nobody’d be left out.

From this mix, there were a lot of winners. Before I give my top pick, here are a few observations:

  1. Apricot brandy and pineapple — who knew the combination could be so tasty? If you see these two flavors together in a recipe, go for it.
  2. Apricot brandy and pastis or absinthe — proceed with caution. I won’t say they’re mutually incompatible, but you need a very patient palate to handle this mixture.
  3. If a recipe contains apricot brandy, grenadine, and at least one and possibly two or more additional liqueurs, you’re likely to collapse in a diabetic coma before you finish the drink.
  4. If a drink calls for apricot brandy as a base, or in quantities of one ounce or greater, see point #3.
  5. Rum and apricot brandy kicks ass — check out the Periodista, the Jamaica Farewell and the Honi Honi for proof.
  6. There is a need in this world for more cocktails that use Pimm’s No. 1 as an ingredient, such as the Stardust. When matched against apricot brandy and with some gin and sweet vermouth along for the ride, the Pimm’s makes a mighty fine drink.
  7. I really wanted to like the Pisco-Apricot Tropical, from Charles Baker’s The South American Gentleman’s Companion. Fortunately, I’m accustomed to disappointment, so the fact that the drink didn’t work out wasn’t too much of a shock.
  8. Apricot brandy takes on strange and intriguing new characteristics when you use it in small doses against something herbal.

On this last note, I announce my choice for top drink of this round of Raiders of the Lost Cocktail: the Claridge.

Hailing from the Savoy Cocktail Book and suggested by two participants — Charlie Oat from the Connecticut School of Bartending, and Jay from Oh, Gosh! — the Claridge was a real eye-opener. It seemed promising enough, sure, but for some reason the apricot brandy, smoothed out and complemented by the Cointreau, really comes into its own in what otherwise would be a Fitty-Fitty martini. The liqueurs weigh in as more than mere flavor accents, but a big dose of botanicals from the gin and vermouth takes the flavor to another, very delicate plane. A lovely drink that I’m happy to have discovered through this little exercise; my hat is off to the two participants.

Claridge*

  • 1 1/2 ounces gin
  • 1 1/2 ounces dry vermouth
  • 1/2 ounce Cointreau
  • 1/2 ounce apricot brandy

Stir well with ice and strain into chilled cocktail glass.

* If you dig through the comments section in which the drinks were posted, you’ll see that Charlie used the Savoy measurements — 1 1/2 ounces each gin and vermouth, 3/4 ounce of each of the liqueurs — while Jay brought the liqueurs down a notch to 1/2 ounce each. I’m not sure why the change was made, but having tried the drink both ways, I liked the drier version printed above. Don’t take my word for it — try for yourself.

By long tradition — since last fall, anyway — the winner of this round hosts the next, and chooses the ingredient. Now that there are two winners, however, I’m not sure how to proceed. Jay has a blog while Charlie doesn’t (to my knowledge), so that seems to lend in favor of Jay hosting; perhaps the two gentlemen could agree on the next ingredient?

Anyway, that wraps up this long round of Raiders of the Lost Cocktail. I’m off to not think about apricots for a while.

You want “Lost”? I’ll give ya “lost”–

Now that the comments sections are filling up both at The Spirit World and here for Raiders of the Lost Cocktail, perhaps its time I put my own drink on the line.

To recap: this month we’re mixing with apricot brandy, digging out some old (and new) recipes that call for this liqueur, and highlighting what this ingredient brings to mixology.

This event has also served to demonstrate one additional fact: my fellow cocktail bloggers are trying to kill me. Evidence: my claim in the original post that, in the weekend following the February 15 deadline, I would try each of the submitted drinks and then choose the champion. As of right now, there are somewhere around 30 cocktails that have been submitted — thanks a hell of a lot to those who started packing two or three drinks into their posts. Now, I’ve gotta break out my four different types of apricot brandy — I know, it’s a sickness — along with my emergency backup liver, and start mixing my way through Periodistas, Claridges, Millionaires and the like. Thank god it’s a three-day weekend.

Anyway, no reason I shouldn’t start myself off with something fun. As I’ve mentioned before, some of the most interesting drinks to be found in David Wondrich’s book, IMBIBE!, have to be dug out of the explanatory text that follows many of the drink recipes. Wondrich will start with one drink, then toss in a half-dozen variations and descendants in this text, with brief instructions on how to approach them; if you’ve been skipping over that part, go back and start rooting around — there are some real gems to be found.

Here’s one that’s good not just because of the way it comes out, but because it really tastes like a different era: the Blackthorn Sour. This follows in the instructions to the “Brandy, Gin, Santa Cruz or Whiskey Sour,” a broad category if ever there was one. As the sour soared in popularity, Wondrich writes:

…where before there had been only the basic versions, named after the spirits that animated them, suddenly the bars are festooned with signs for Blackthorn Sours (with sloe gin, pineapple syrup and a splash of apricot liqueur), Sours a la Creole (brandy and Jamaica rum with lime juice and “a little ice cream on top”), Dizzy Sours (rye with a dash of Benedictine and a Jamaica rum float), Jack Frost Whiskey Sours (apple “whiskey” — i.e., applejack — with an egg and cream) and the like.

But first, I have to own up to something: I can’t mix the drink properly, not right now, anyway. The instructions call for sloe gin, and — with Plymouth not entering the states for another couple of months — I’m reluctant to buy a bottle of crap just to try this drink. So instead, I’m using some homemade damson gin that I put up last fall. It came out very nice, rich and flavorful, and while sweeter and not as vibrant as a good sloe gin, it’s still pretty damn good, and can fill in until the good stuff comes in.

I’ve also made one more adjustment: I’ve tried this with a homemade pineapple syrup, and combined with the sweetness of the damson gin (which I made using half the sugar called for in the recipe), it’s a bit too cloying, even with the lemon juice amped up. Instead I’m relying on the damson gin and a couple of teaspoons of apricot brandy to sweeten the drink, and I’m putting a few cubes of fresh (okay, frozen and defrosted) pineapple into the shaker.

Wondrich doesn’t codify the recipe, so here’s how I’m going about it:

Blackthorn Sour (close to it, anyway)

  • 2 ounces damson gin
  • 1 ounce fresh lemon juice
  • 2 teaspoons apricot brandy
  • 3-4 chunks pineapple

Shake really hard with ice and double-strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Apricot and pineapple have a mighty kind of alchemy between them, and the fruitiness of the damson gin is a big, soft cushion for the flavors to roll around in. This is a very plush drink, still on the sweet side but not terribly so. I have a ton of plums in my freezer that I was saving with the idea of playing around with different damson gin recipes at some point; next time around, I’ll go with a sugar-free version that may be more suitable for mixing. But still, this is nothing to scoff at.

And that’s it for Raiders of the Lost Cocktail, round 3. Now to work my way through the recipes. Let’s see, maybe a Normandy next…

The Advertising-in-the-Comments-Section Rant

Regular readers — please excuse me for a moment.

As traffic to this site has grown over the past few years, I’ve apparently come up on the radar of a number of companies that have products to sell. Most of these products are somehow related to drinks or mixology, and as a longtime booster of small producers (and of large ones who dedicate themselves to quality products), I’m generally happy to hear from them.

But something needs to be made clear: if you have a product to pitch, there are appropriate ways of going about it. Best scenario: buy an ad — really, the rates for myself and other drink bloggers are very cheap, and you’ll be hitting a target demographic. If you want to send a product for review, that’s okay, too, just ask first — my e-mail address is listed on the E-mail page; if I don’t reply after a couple of weeks, it’s probably safe to assume that I’m not interested, and you should look elsewhere.

What is not acceptable, however, is treating the comments section as your company’s billboard. For some reason there’s been a wave of this lately, with several merchants carpet-bombing my posts with near-identical comments that are thinly veiled advertisements. So John from Zico: buy an ad if you want to pitch your coconut water, but stop with the shilling on my rum and coconut water post; and Abby the absinthe lady? Forget it — your product sucks, and your comments have been deleted.

I’m sorry for dragging readers through this, but there are still a lot of people who don’t understand basic Internet etiquette. I’m sick of reading a comment from a smoothie company and wondering, “What the hell does this have to do with my post?” If your comment looks like an ad, it’s going to be marked as “spam,” and if you’re getting really egregious about it, I’ll report your ISP to SpamHaus. If you have something to sell, please either buy a legitimate ad, or contact me by e-mail.

Rant over. Thank you.

Variations on a Theme

Before I’m accused of being unspeakably lame for blogging about a cocktail that:

  1. has been featured on the menu of one of the world’s most talked-about cocktail bars for the better part of a year, and
  2. has already had more than its fair share of press coverage, and that going back nearly a year as well,

let me say in my defense that:

  1. I live 3,000 miles away from said bar, and
  2. OK, maybe I am that unspeakably lame.

But I’m bringing up this drink for a few reasons (more fun with bullet lists!):

  1. it sounds (and is) really good, and I’ve had the piece of yellowing newsprint novelty-magneted to my refrigerator since the day I ripped the recipe out of the New York Times;
  2. I finally got around to stocking one of the necessary ingredients, so making this drink is now possible in my home;
  3. I recently made snippy comments about the Times‘ “Shaken and Stirred” cocktail column that appears in every other (or thereabouts) Sunday Styles section, prompting an e-mail from the incredibly talented, patient and polite columnist who was wondering why he’d incurred my passive-aggressive wrath, so now I feel like a schmuck and need to highlight one of the drinks he covered that I did find really engaging (see point #1, above); and
  4. I have to — it’s Mixology Monday, our host Jimmy Patrick has chosen Variations as the theme, and this tasty, tasty concoction certainly fits the bill.

Mixology MondayWhile it could be argued that the Oaxaca Old Fashioned isn’t actually a variation, since Old Fashioned Cocktails were originally made with whatever booze happened to be lying around, enough time has passed that the drink is now in the mixological lexicon as a whiskey cocktail (actually, so much time has passed that the Old Fashioned is now typically thought of as a whiskey / fruity mess / club soda cocktail, a point I’ve already bitched about but is one that still depresses me so thoroughly that I’m going to end that discussion right here).

I should also point out that the recipe below is actually a variation on a variation — hah, try to keep up with that! — in that I’ve taken D&C’s published recipe and tweaked it ever so slightly, deciding to supplement the Angostura bitters with a couple of dashes of the Bittermens‘ luscious Xocolatl Mole Bitters, which I just can’t get enough of.

Ooh, this is so good — the mezcal gives the drink a really rich smokiness, which the tequila kind of tempers yet maintains with its own gentle peppery character, and then the deep spice of the bitters just rattles around in the glass. The Old Fashioned is one of the oldest of cocktails, but with this side trip to Oaxaca, the old dog has learned a spectacular new trick.

Oaxaca Old Fashioned

  • 1 1/2 ounces reposado tequila (D&C recommends El Tesoro; I’m using Don Julio)
  • 1/2 ounce mezcal (they say Los Amantes Joven; I’ve got Los Danzantes)
  • 1 teaspoon agave nectar
  • Dash of Angostura (me: add to this two dashes of Bittermens’ Xocolatl Mole bitters)

Stir with ice then strain into ice-filled old-fashioned glass. Garnish with an orange twist — flame it if you know how.

No pictures, because tonight I’m running even later than Jimmy, but head on over to his joint for the roundup in the next day or two.

  • Etcetera

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