While others may have already broken out their Tom & Jerry bowls and eggnog mugs in preparation for the holidays — assuming they change their drinking habits at all this time of year — I’m still relishing a few drinks I picked up this autumn while reading IMBIBE!

Of the many drinks I’ve now tried from Mr. Wondrich’s new book, the absinthe cocktail is undoubtedly one of my very favorites. Of course, it helps that I love absinthe, not to mention the messing about with dashes from assorted bottles and the rat-tat-tat of ice in the shaker, but really, this is a fine little potion. Not too different from an absinthe frappe, the absinthe cocktail salts up a few of the spirit’s distinctive notes with bitters and a little anisette, leavens it with water and chills it in the shaker.

Pretty much an absinthe drip after a trip to the beauty parlor, the absinthe cocktail can’t, and shouldn’t, replace the purity and simplicity of a glass of absinthe that’s been lovingly louched, but it’s a nice little variation on the theme. And, considering that genuine absinthe is becoming cheaper and more available in the U.S., you don’t have to feel like you’re squandering your hard-earned contraband when you toss an ounce or two into your shaker.

Absinthe Cocktail adapted from IMBIBE!, by David Wondrich

• 1 ounce absinthe
• 2 dashes anisette
• 1 dash angostura bitters [I prefer 2 dashes of Peychaud's instead]
• 2 ounces water [if using a lower-proof absinthe such as Kubler or Francois Guy, drop this to 1 1/2 or even just 1 ounce]
• [not in Wondrich's recipe, but in mine: a dash or two of simple syrup]
  

Shake well with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

The Angostura makes for an interesting drink, but Peychaud’s just works better with absinthe, in my opinion — plus, it gives the drink an alluring, bubblegum-pink color that will likely lead to an order that’s guaranteed to shock the hell out of some inexperienced Cosmo drinker should these things ever appear in bars. I also like to use club soda for at least some of the water — and yes, this makes shaking the cocktail without breaking the seal on the Boston shaker challenging — just to give it a little effervescent pizzazz. Anisette may seem redundant, given the anise flavor of true absinthe (as opposed to the lime-green, wormwood-spiked crapulescent forgeries that are out there), but it spikes up the points of the drink in a very pleasing way (if you’re using Lucid, the anise could well use some spiking). And do pay attention to the water: if mixing with something higher octane like Marteau, you’ll want the full measure, but Francois Guy is about the same potency as most whiskies and gins on the market, so 2 ounces of water would just wash out the flavor.

With any luck, by this time next year there’ll be another half-dozen or more brands of absinthe available in the U.S., and I’ll really be able to go to town on mixing up these suckers.

Tags: Absinthe, Drinks by Paul
No Comments »

Like any self-respecting cocktail fanatic, I’ve been dipping at the well of IMBIBE! for the past few weeks, trying out different drinks and occasionally latching onto one for a few torrid nights (hello there, Prince of Wales cocktail; good to see you again, Absinthe Cocktail; good evening, Sherry Cobbler, I’m sorry I haven’t called in so long).

This drink isn’t in the book.

Not completely, anyway. Certainly, there’s a close relative — an ancestor, I suppose — traveling under the name of the Fourth Degree. Simply a dry martini that’s been dosed with a dash of absinthe, the Fourth Degree is a very pleasant drink. At this level, the absinthe lends a flush of anise-tinted herbaceousness to the drink’s aroma and flavor, and it’s just enough to give the cocktail a cruel sneer and nothing more.

The Obituary Cocktail, however, takes this formula and turns up the volume — no longer playing a minor role, the absinthe shoulders its way forward, putting on the sap gloves and taking a firm grip on your collar. The absinthe still gives the gin and vermouth plenty of room to move around, and rightly recognizes that its flavor much benefits from doing so, but even though there’s four times as much gin in the glass as absinthe, the absinthe is the big gorilla in the room.

I don’t know when or where the step from Fourth Degree to Obituary Cocktail occurred. Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop in New Orleans claims to be the drink’s home, but the last time I had one of these at Lafitte’s it was made with Herbsaint (or Pernod — too damn dark in there to see what they were using), and was tepid and too sweet.

Herbsaint is useful in small doses as an absinthe substitute, but for drinks that require more than a couple of dashes of the stuff, Herbsaint (and other substitutes) can’t summon the seductively menacing glower that absinthe brings to a cocktail. While the absinthe substitutes are useful and even necessary for the bar, drinking a cocktail made with a substitute is like playing poker with your grandpa — it’s all good fun, but for a really lively game you need a competitor who’ll take a poke at you on occasion. With Lucid and Kubler now on the market in the U.S., and available by online order in most states, domestic drinkers should really make it a priority to lay in a bottle or two, for use in such concoctions. (Though be warned: in Canada and much of Europe, what’s sold as “absinth” or “absinthe” is frequently a nasty impostor. What you want is a decent French or Swiss brand; check the ratings and recommendations at the Wormwood Society and/or Fee Verte for suggestions).

I should note, of course, that “Obituary Cocktail” is also the name of a book by New Orleans photographer Kerri McCaffety, which surveys some of the city’s historic bars. I’m ashamed to say I don’t have a copy of this book (*cough* Christmas present *cough*), but from having seen it at Tales of the Cocktail, it looks absolutely gorgeous.

One last selling point about the Obituary Cocktail: should you decide to wrap up an evening in the company of these, you may be able to legitimately claim the need for Corpse Revivers the following day.

Obituary Cocktail

• 2 ounces gin (I’ll take Plymouth in mine)
• 1/4 ounce dry vermouth
• 1/4 ounce absinthe (or a substitute such as Herbsaint, if you must)

Stir well with cracked ice; strain into chilled cocktail glass. The drink’s light opalescence is its own garnish.

This round of Mixology Monday is hosted by Jay at Oh, Gosh! Step on over to Jay’s place in the next day or so to see how it all went.

Tags: Absinthe, Gin, Mixology Monday by Paul
3 Comments »

Nearly six months after Lucid’s debut, the mainstream media is still slowly cluing in to the fact that absinthe is legally available in the U.S.; now, if they’d stop trotting out the tired Belle Epoque exaggerated stories and quit relying on interns to put together the bullet points that invariably read “ABSINTHE WILL MAKE YOU CRAZY!,” we’d be making real progress.

But while Lucid continues to attract attention, last week another absinthe debuted in the U.S., to much less fanfare. That’s too bad — because the absinthe’s pretty good.

Kubler is a Swiss absinthe, commercially produced in Val-de-Travers ever since Switzerland lifted the ban on absinthe in 2001. Unlike Lucid, Kubler is a blanche — meaning it is clear in color, and has a somewhat more subdued, mellow flavor — though also unlike Lucid, Kubler has a bit more of a forward anise note. It’s also lighter in alcohol content — though when you’re talking about something that’s 106 proof, “lighter” is a relative concept. Finally, like Lucid, Kubler is available for online purchase; DrinkUpNY currently has a deal for $51.99 for a liter of Kubler, with free shipping (compare that to $62.99 for a 750ml of Lucid).

I just louched my first glass of the Kubler, and I’m enjoying what I’m tasting. Sure, it’s not as complex or robust as some absinthes, but it’s a very pleasant drink — light in flavor without being shy, and with a nice, creamy mouthfeel. Not bad for a second round — I can’t wait to see what comes next.

Tags: Absinthe by Paul
3 Comments »

It’s here.

The rain started Sunday, less than 24 hours after I noticed that the old-fashioned globe lightpost in front of our house was becoming surrounded by a corona of red-and-yellow maple leaves. As I waited outside with my son for the school bus this morning, the first leaf, a scout, dropped from the tree and settled onto our thick green patch of yard.

Even though we’re still a few days from autumn’s official opening bell, the season is already here in Seattle, and here at the Cocktail Chronicles that means one (okay, many) things: it’s time to put away the tall, minty drinks of summer and start snuggling closer to the whiskey and absinthe of fall.

Given that probably 90 percent of the fizzy drinks I consume are enjoyed in the narrow window of Seattle’s summer (and that probably nine of the remaining 10 percent is accounted for by beer), having a Mixology Monday that focuses on Fizz (as host Gabriel has chosen) take place just as autumn is coming onto the scene left me a bit befuddled. As the days shorten, I lose my taste for sparkly coolers, and even champagne cocktails don’t seem quite as enticing. As recently as this morning, I was still undecided, and for a moment I thought I might have to do a counterintuitive run on a Cuba Libre, simply because I think there’s an interesting story attached to it.

Then I remembered the Morning Glory.

If the typical collins or highball seems too summery to my season-shifting palate, then the answer could be to run with the spirits that, for me, are as much a part of autumn as are sun breaks and leaf-clogged gutters, and the Morning Glory Fizz seems to be an excellent candidate.

Please excuse me while I geek out for a minute (and feel free to skip down to the recipes): I’m not sure how or when this drink originated, but the earliest reference I’ve found is in George Kappeler’s Modern American Drinks, from 1895. It seems fairly straightforward: Scotch, lemon juice, sugar and a touch of absinthe, fortified with an egg white and brought to life with a little effervescence. Served short and without ice, the Morning Glory isn’t meant to be savored — instead, as the name implies, this drink is designed to quickly and efficiently deglaze the brain after a long night of revelry. Ordered in a mumble while still wincing from the daylight and meant to be consumed before the bartender has returned with your change, the Morning Glory Fizz isn’t recreational — it’s medicinal, as evinced by the description in Cocktails: How to Mix Them by “Robert” [Vermiere] (1922): “That will give one an appetite and quieten the nerves.”

The Morning Glory must have had quite a run. It appears (with subtle variations in recipe, mainly involving the quantity of lemon and/or lime juice, the quantity of absinthe and, occasionally, the type of whiskey, though Scotch is the big favorite) in books ranging from Albert Stevens Crockett’s Old Waldorf Bar Days (1931), “Cocktail Bill” Boothby’s World Drinks and How to Mix ‘Em (1934 — my edition, anyway), Lucius Beebe’s The Stork Club Bar Book (1946) and David Embury’s The Fine Art of Mixing Drinks (1948).

Seems pretty easy, right? Hold on — as with any drink that enjoys a certain popularity, some offshoot — whether related by ingredients or by simple coincidence — is bound to crop up, and this is no exception. Keep the key characters of whisk(e)y and absinthe, decrease the fizzy water to a splash or a squirt, replace the egg white and the citrus with some curacao and a dash or three of bitters, drop the “Fizz” from the name, and you find a Morning Glory, with similar recipes in Gordon’s Cocktail & Food Recipes from 1934, Baker’s Gentleman’s Companion from 1939 and Burke’s Complete Cocktail and TastyBite Recipes from 1941.

To make it even more confusing, those great category straddlers Patrick Gavin Duffy and Harry Craddock include recipes for both drinks in The Standard Bartender’s Guide (1934) and Savoy Cocktail Book (1930), respectively. By 1947 things are really off the rails when Bartender’s Guide … by Trader Vic features three Morning Glory cocktails (two have no resemblance to any of the other Morning Glory drinks I’ve mentioned — one is a truly blech-worthy mix of gin, lime juice, a whole egg and green creme de menthe, a version that also appears in Baker’s book), along with a Morning Glory Daisy and our old friend, the Morning Glory Fizz. Seeing that all bets have been off for quite some time, Gary Regan enters the fray in 1991 with The Bartender’s Bible, which features a Morning Glory composed of vodka, cream, dark creme de cacao and nutmeg.

Which brings me back to whiskey and absinthe, thank god. Given that the two primary recipes — those for the Morning Glory Fizz and the Morning Glory — both contain these two ingredients, and that each of them also calls for varying degrees of fizz, the only sensible thing this Mixology Monday is to tuck into both drinks. Considering the day I’ve had, I welcome the task.

Morning Glory Fizz (adapted from Modern American Drinks, by George Kappeler)

• 1 1/2 ounces Scotch whisky [I used Famous Grouse]
  
• juice of 1/2 a lemon [3/4 ounce or so]
• half a tablespoonful sugar [reduce to 1 tsp, to taste]
• 2 dashes absinthe [Lucid]
• white of one egg

Shake thoroughly with ice, strain into a fizz glass and fill with seltzer.

Wow … for a breakfast drink, the old Mimosa’s got nothing on this. Much lighter in taste than I’d expected, and with a heady foam (I shook the hell out of the mix without ice, then again with cracked ice) that makes it both gentle and robust. I can see our forefathers — the lushes, that is — knocking these back on a bristly a.m., to sweep the cobwebs out of the mind and the malice out of the soul. Seriously, I can see serving this to adventurous guests at brunch just to get the conversational ball rolling.

Morning Glory (adapted from Charles H. Baker’s The Gentleman’s Companion)

• 1 jigger rye or bourbon [decrease to 1 oz. Rittenhouse bonded]
• 1 teaspoon gomme syrup
• 1 teaspoon curacao
• 1 jigger cognac [decrease to 1 oz.]
• 3 dashes orange bitters or Angostura [The Bitter Truth orange bitters]
• 1 teaspoon absinthe

Says Baker: Mixing technique seems torn between stirring in a bar glass with ice, straining into a whisky glass, and adding a little seltzer topped off with a twisted lemon peel — or stirring in the same bar glass, and turning into an old fashioned glass with a lump of ice, a squirt of club soda, and a twist of peel … Some sane folk merely shake with ice and a jigger of soda or seltzer. The latter works more suddenly than the more diluted drink … Absinthe is difficult to recommend to suit others — increase or decrease to taste. Pernod Veritas will do. [My answer: stir with ice, strain into whisky glass, add a little seltzer and a twist of lemon.]

Gadzooks, that’s tasty, too. I probably added an ounce or so of seltzer (just a short burst from the siphon), which lightens up and saves what might have been a too heavy and aggressively flavored cocktail. The curacao and the absinthe also complement each other surprisingly well, and the drink has a robust fruitiness that doesn’t take itself too seriously. Another one to keep in mind.

So, there you have it — whisk(e)y, absinthe, fizzy water and assorted characters. Head on over to Cocktail Nerd to see what everyone else came up with this Mixology Monday.

Tags: Absinthe, Brandy, Mixology Monday, Rye, Scotch by Paul
7 Comments »

Whoo-ee, do I love free shipping.

In my case, of course, I missed the UPS van on Friday, so that meant I had to wait until Monday to tuck into the Lucid. Having now strolled down the newly-paved legal absinthe lane, I have to say I’m pretty pleased.

I’ll leave the detailed breakdowns to those with more learned palates than mine — there are plenty of those over at the Wormwood Society, should you be looking — but in my modest experience, I’d say Lucid is a very good quality absinthe. As a big fan of Jade’s Edouard and Nouvelle-Orleans absinthes, I had expectations that were perhaps too high for the product, but still, Lucid managed to please me on a number of fronts. As mentioned in its press materials, the herbal aspect of Lucid has been recalibrated for the U.S. market — which means it has a less robust anise presence than do the Jades or most other quality absinthes I’ve tried (and thanks to WS events, I’ve tried some very pleasant ones), but it has a well-balanced complexity that blows the doors off of many more moderate quality brands, not to mention any absinthe substitute on the market (and if your sole experience with absinthe is from trying something like Hill’s or King of Spirits, be prepared to wet yourself with pleasure from trying an absinthe that’s not only palatable, but damn enjoyable).

True, Lucid isn’t the end-all and be-all of absinthes, and I find it a bit milder in flavor than I’d prefer, but for a first product to hit the U.S. market, it’s pretty damn good. (And apparently I’m not the only one who feels that way; DrinkUpNY, which has the free shipping offer, is now out of stock until late July).

One of the biggest reasons I was eager to have Lucid in the house is because, being a cocktail geek, I needed a more reasonably priced absinthe to try in a few old timey cocktails. Prior to this week, the only ones I had on hand were Combier Blanchette and Jade Edouard, and while I’ve grown accustomed to using the Edouard as a rinse for my Sazeracs, there’s no way I’m pouring an ounce of my $150 bottle of booze into an experimental cocktail.

A $60 bottle, though, that’s another story. Here’s a drink I plucked out of George Kappeler’s Modern American Drinks, from 1895. As with many bartending manuals of the era, Kappeler starts off with several absinthe drinks — mainly variations of the absinthe drip or frappe — but prefaces the section with a warning for his fellow bartenders that reflects a commonly held belief of the era:

The free use of absinthe is injurious. Never serve it in any kind of drink unless called for by the customer.

Look — here’s me, calling.

Absinthe, Italian Style

Put into a thin eight-ounce glass containing a few lumps of clear ice one pony [one ounce] of absinthe, two dashes maraschino, four dashes anisette. Slowly fill the glass with ice-water, stir well with long barspoon. Serve.

So, a drip with some ice and a little flavoring.

To be completely honest, it doesn’t taste all that different from your average absinthe drip — though that’s not a bad thing. There’s maybe a touch more funkiness and a bit stronger anise note than you’d usually have, but that’s about it. Still, considering that an absinthe drip is a lovely thing to behold, and a little funky exoticism is a good thing in the middle of the week, the Absinthe, Italian style may make a return engagement in these parts.

Tags: Absinthe, Drinks by Paul
4 Comments »