Another adventure from Beachbum Berry’s Grog Log.

I’ve been thinking about this drink for a few days, for three reasons:

1. it was mentioned by a couple of folks during a recent-ish discussion over at Tiki Central about the top 10 tiki drinks;
2. in the past week or so I’ve come into the possession of some Lopez coconut cream (leftover from the Flaming Coffee Grog experiment, and which, when kept in the freezer, takes on a viscosity not unlike that of bathtub caulk); a bottle of Pusser’s rum; a six-pack of six-oz. cans of pineapple juice (convenient for the occasional tiki-drink project); and an orange;
3. I just felt like breaking out the tiki mug.

The Pusser’s website has the history of this drink — can’t say it’s all that exciting (bartender makes drink; another bartender tries drink; a mix-off develops; hangovers ensue; etc. etc. etc.) — but it’s fair to say you can’t make a true painkiller without Pusser’s, a heavy, aggressive (95 proof) navy rum from the British Virgin Islands.

Painkiller

• 4 ounces unsweetened pineapple juice
• 1 ounce orange juice
• 1 ounce Lopez coconut cream
• 2 ounces 95 proof Pusser’s rum
• Powdered cinnamon
• Ground nutmeg

Blend without ice and pour into tall glass or tiki mug filled with crushed ice. Top with a shake of nutmeg and a pinch of cinnamon. Garnish with pineapple stick, orange wheel and cinnamon stick.

Somewhat on the sweet side, as you might expect (it is, after all, a tiki drink), but not cloying. It might pay to cut down the amount of coconut cream by half, and replace it with coconut milk, to reduce the sweetness while keeping the coconut bounce.

And I know what you’re probably thinking — swap the Pusser’s for a less assertive gold rum, 86 the OJ and twiddle with the proportions, and isn’t that a Pina Colada? Well, yeah, pretty much. But before you write off the Painkiller, take a crack at Pusser’s and see how much this mighty sailor’s rum can change your perspective of the old PC.

Tags: Drinks, Rum, Tiki by Paul
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Screw eBay.

Over the past few years, I’ve put together a modest library of drinks-related books, most of them out-of-print and many fairly old and somewhat rare. Apparently, I haven’t been alone; as I check out the usual places on eBay and other online sources for old books, I’ve seen prices rise exponentially, just in the few years I’ve been collecting.

Take David Embury’s The Fine Art of Mixing Drinks, for example. Three years ago I was shocked by the $40-50 price tag I was finding for the book online; I eventually found a copy at Powells.com for $10, and snagged it immediately. Today? Check this out: as of this moment, a copy of the 1961 edition in good condition is running at $225, with two days left to bid. That’s downright depressing, for someone hoping to expand his collection.

You can at least find Embury; other vintage cocktail books are so rare that I can’t even recall finding them online, much less at a hyper-inflated price. Such is the case with Harry MacElhone’s Barflies and Cocktails, from 1927. Cocktail geeks with greater experience, timing and/or resources than I have wagged this volume temptiingly online and in press as it has, among other things, the first known printed recipe for the Pegu Club. But despite my sporadic searches, I have yet to see a copy for sale.

This drink apparently comes from that book, and it’s a cocktail I’ve been meaning to try ever since David Wondrich wrote it up in last fall’s edition of Drinks magazine. Wondrich notes that the author included a section of recipes contributed by regulars to Harry’s New York Bar in Paris, where Macelhone presided. Credit for this drink goes to a Philadelphian named Chuck Kerwood, apparently known as the “wild man of aviation.” Yeah, well, if you had a couple of these under your belt, you’d be pretty wild in the cockpit, too.

Burnt Fuselage

• 1 ounce VSOP Cognac
• 1 ounce Grand Marnier
• 1 ounce dry vermouth

Stir with ice; strain into chilled cocktail glass and twist a strip of lemon peel over the top.

Verdict? Nice….

Tags: Books, Brandy, Drinks, Vermouth by Paul
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Almost every day for the past 20 years, coffee has been a part of my daily ritual — and by “part of my daily ritual,” I mean the part that keeps me from being a sluggish, surly, cursing-at-passersby subhuman monstrosity. For the past three years or so, cocktails have also played a regular and significant role in that same routine. Yet, I’ve never had much desire to combine the two interests.

When it comes to coffee and spirits, the usual offerings are, I find, depressingly uniform. Most drinks are either of the “fill a mug with coffee, add SPIRIT X and sugar (or, optionally, LIQUEUR Y) and whipped cream” variety, or involve combinations of chilled coffee or coffee liqueur, brandy, creme de cacao and possibly another liqueur or two. Not surprising, given coffee’s post-prandial popularity, but hardly the thing to send your tastebuds a-twitter.

So, after Darcy’s decision to have Mixology Monday II focus on coffee (in all its various manifestations), I had to scratch my head and then go scurrying through the books in search of something interesting.

When “something interesting” is the operative search term in a cocktail quest, I’ve found that one of the best sources is Charles H. Baker, Jr. Traveler, writer and bon vivant, Baker was a magazine journalist for much of the first half of the 20th century, and he also authored two intriguing two-volume sets of food-and-drink recipes, stories and commentary: The Gentleman’s Companion, published in 1939, and The South American Gentleman’s Companion, in 1951.

For coffee, I turned to Baker’s South American drinks volume, and quickly came across this concoction (rendered, as closely as possible, in the 19th-century style use of small caps and extended titles that Baker used in his books) :

Ski Club Andino Boliviano’s HOT COFFEE-GROG, from the Club Chalet at foot of the SKI-TOW, some 18,000 feet above the Sea on Gigantic Mt. Chacaltaya, 40 miles or so outside La Paz, Bolivia.

In a big tall Zombie glass put:

• 2 oz 151-proof Demerara Rum [Ed. note -- JESUS!]
• 1/4 tsp powdered clove
• 1/2 cup strong hot coffee
• 1/2 pony [1/2 oz.] good Jamaica rum
• 1/4 tsp ground allspice
• 1/4 cup hot water, not boiling
• 1 big long stick cinnamon bark
• 2 tsp strained honey or brown sugar

Put silver spoon in glass to prevent its cracking, pour in liquids, spice and sweetening. Stir with the cinnamon stick till sweet’s dissolved. [...] A spiral of orange peel is sometimes added. We like that touch.

How is this different from the coffee-spirit-sugar-etc. drinks I maligned above? Well, not a whole lot — except, the addition of spices ramp up the flavor quite a bit without contributing added sweetness, and even the 2 teaspoons of honey or brown sugar is fairly restrained, in terms of the dominant norm for coffee-based drinks.

Baker credits expatriate Brits in Bolivia of coming up with this drink. Why they chose to use 2 oz. of the knee-buckling 151-proof Demerara in this is beyond me (unless, of course, the primary purpose of this drink is to buckle the drinker’s knees in as short a time as possible). Prudently, Baker follows this recipe with a warning:

Naturally ordinary 86-proof rums rate small-beer beside the mule-kick hidden in a pot of 151-proof Demerara, so be careful as you pour or you’ll be shouting “Tim-BERRRRR!” as your guests topple and hit the tiles.

For my take at this grog, I heed Baker’s warning and instead use 1 1/2 oz of the 80-proof Demerara, with 1/2 oz of the full-throttle variety to keep the flavor somewhat true to the original. I also replace the allspice and 1/2 tsp of the brown sugar with 1 tsp of Pimento Dram, as it’s pretty much the same thing — allspice & brown sugar in a Demerara rum base — that’s been allowed to mellow and marry for several months.

But while Baker’s grog is a good fortifying drink to keep in mind the next time it turns frosty, another, somewhat-related beverage suggests a more exotic take on the coffee grog. In search of further coffee-drink-based excitement, I turned to the other name that pops into my head when thinking of interesting drinks: Jeff “Beachbum” Berry. In his Grog Log, Berry gives a recipe (without a source, unfortunately, beyond “circa 1950s”) for a Polynesian relative of Baker’s Coffee Grog.

Flaming Coffee Grog

• 3 teaspoons Lopez coconut cream
• 1/4 oz. Grand Marnier
• Hot black coffee
• Twist of orange peel
• Twist of lemon peel
• 2 whole cloves
• Eight-inch cinnamon stick
• 3/4 oz 151 Demerara rum

Heat and then ignite cloves, peels, Grand Marnier and rum in Pyrex saucepan or blazer pan of chafing dish. Fill skull mug 3/4 full of hot coffee, then stir in coconut cream. Spoon flaming mixture on top. Use cinnamon stick as stirrer.

The benefits of Berry’s coffee grog, as I see it, break down into three points:

• it’s mildly sweet, but not over the top — a big plus for coffee drinks
• the coconut cream takes the flavor in an unexpected, and not unpleasant, direction
• FIRE! Even better, FIRE IN A SKULL MUG! Talk about primal…. [Though, if you're looking for blue flames in the photo, you'll be disappointed -- the rum flared up in the pan and kinda spooked me as I was preparing to ladle it into the mug, so I had to snuff it. Still tasted good, though.]

I found the coffee works well in this tiki environment, and the resulting drink is a far cry from the dull, dessert-tasting coffee cocktails you typically come across.

Thanks to Darcy for coming up with the theme, and for hosting this edition of Mixology Monday. I look forward to reading the wrap-up in the next day or so.

UPCOMING: Mixology Monday III will be upon us in June. The host for this edition will be Rick at Kaiser Penguin, and Rick has chosen mint as his theme for the month.

SAVE THE DATE – Monday, June 5, Mixology Monday III: Mint, hosted at www.kaiserpenguin.com

(And FYI, I’ve been updating the original Mixology Monday post to keep track of past, current & upcoming events, along with the original suggested guidelines, so the permalink should serve as a good reference for new participants.)

Tags: Drinks, Mixology Monday, Pimento Dram, Rum, Tiki by Paul
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I’m still trying to wrap my head around this one. The recipe is from Ted Haigh’s Vintage Spirits & Forgotten Cocktails (Haigh credits the Cafe Royal Bar Book from 1937), and I’ve been meaning to try it for months, but lacked one essential component: passion fruit juice (not nectar, or syrup — juice).

Not that I’ve tried too hard to find it. Typically, when I’m in a store likely to carry it, I’m searching for something else with a singular focus, and thus walk right past it. But today, with a little time on my hands and a firm resolve to track down this unusual ingredient, I started poking around Pike Place Market and, at Pike Place Grocery, I finally found what I was seeking.

From the recipe, the Avenue looks intriguing: Bourbon, Calvados & passion fruit juice, with a little grenadine and, for mystery and exoticism, orange flower water. What’s not to like? In the glass, though, the drink seems to be searching for an identity. The OFW is right there at the front, with it’s distinctive perfume, and again at the end, with its lingering aftertaste. In between, the Calvados and the passion fruit juice seem to be searching for some sort of fruity foundation, but no clear note is evident, and the bourbon is almost totally hidden in the drink.

While the flavor profile seems slightly confused, I’m wondering if that uncertain, ethereal character is part of the drink’s charm — instead of a firmly rooted flavor, such as that in a Manhattan or a martini or most other drinks, the Avenue has little ghostly touches of taste that flit across the palate and then disappear. While drinking it, I try to pin down the flavor in my mind, only to have it slip away like a puff of smoke in a gust of wind.

Fortunately, for a drink that’s so hard to understand at first blush, the Avenue is truly delicious. I made the cocktail with Chateau du Breuil Calvados and the soft, wheated Weller 12-year-old bourbon, a favorite of mine, so it was nice and comfortable to wrestle with. I’d say the Avenue is “interesting,” though that tag is typically the kiss of death for new drinks and flavors; if something is “interesting,” you try it once. Unlike the other “interesting” cocktails, though, the Avenue is worth further exploration.

The Avenue Cocktail

• 1 ounce calvados
• 1 ounce bourbon
• 1 ounce passion fruit juice (you could also try it with nectar)
• 1 dash grenadine
• 1 dash orange flower water

Shake with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Tags: Bourbon, Calvados, Drinks by Paul
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It’s been a good week for cocktails in the media.

Today I received by e-mail an invitation to visit a website I’ve never seen before. Nothing unusual there–beyond the typical enticements to check out the online poker, the performance enhancers and “Me and mY reD-Hott grrrlfrindxxx,” there’s the occasional note, typically worded in a quick form-letter fashion, that reads, “love your site. link to my blog,” or “i like bars check out my bar stool site.” I’m sure nobody’s surprised by this.

But today, I received an e-mail from Lost Magazine, an online journal launched a mere six months ago, with an invitation to check out a new article on a “lost cocktail,” the El Presidente, by Wayne Curtis. As astute, longtime readers of this site (or chronically bored mouse-clicking addicts–you pick which category you fit into) may recall, El Presidente was one of the first cocktails I blogged about, way back in the dark ages of May 2005, and it remains in my list of top ten–check that, top five–personal favorite cocktails of all time. Furthermore, in my opinion, it ranks alongside the Police Gazette Cocktail as one of the most tragically forgotten, ignored and what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you-people-that-you-haven’t-recognized-the-brilliance-of-this-yet drinks in the world of mixology.

I was intrigued.

Prepared to be disappointed–the internet is a bitter, bitter place–I followed the link, and found myself reading one of the best meditations on cocktails and the gradual slide of the art of bartending that I’ve read in recent memory.

Here’s the lede:

In the savage ecosystem of the cocktail lounge, newly invented mixed drinks generally appear from nowhere, compete fiercely for a time, and then disappear. Some fine concoctions claw their way to the top and remain there exceedingly pleased with themselves, like lions on the savannah. The whiskey old-fashioned, the Manhattan, and the mint-julep — all of which have been around for more than a century — are among the best examples of this. Meanwhile, many execrable drinks are chased into the swamps, where they die a slow and lingering death. This is as it should be. The world is not a lesser place because nobody remembers how to make a Harvey Wallbanger.

(Play along at home: read it here.)

Curtis goes on to chronicle the sad exceptions–the Jack Rose, the Bronx, the Ward Eight (which he calls the “Eighth Ward,” a new one on me)–fine drinks that have mostly succumbed to the metaphorical sands of time. The El Presidente is in this tragic fraternity, and Curtis travels to the drink’s birthplace, the time-warp city of Havana–where, in 1928, the drink was described as “the aristocrat of cocktails and is one preferred by the better class of Cuban”–to sample the drink as it should be made.

I’m with Curtis throughout this piece–how bartending changed from an art form focused on the creation of individual drinks, into a mass-production factory job–and how this change in the profession led to the sloppy manufacture, and eventual demise, of cocktails such as the El Presidente. Curtis also recommends trying one at home, and makes a point of advising against using Bacardi white rum–the original rum in the cocktail, sure, but a pale imitation of its former self–when mixing the drink.

A quibble, though: Curtis recommends Prichard’s rum, which I’ve never tried so I can’t judge; failing that he suggests an aged rum, even if it’s dark. In my experience–and believe me, I have some experience playing with these–darker rums make a flavorful El Presidente, but a good-quality white rum provides a better balance. Metusalem Platino works well, as does Flor de Cana white–though, to his credit, it’s an aged white rum. I’d also sidestep Curtis’ suggestion to use pomegranate molasses instead of mass-produced grenadine, and instead take the five minutes to mix a batch of homemade–I keep meaning to post a recipe, but if you go back to my original El Presidente post, I think I list it briefly in the comments section. Finally, his recipe calls for the ingredients to be stirred with ice for three or four minutes; really, unless you like your cocktail to be 3/4 water, 30 or 40 seconds should do the trick.

In the bio line it’s mentioned that Curtis has a book coming out in July, called And a Bottle of Rum: The History of the New World in 10 Cocktails. If the book is anything like this essay, I know what my summer reading list is starting to look like.

El Presidente

• 1 1/2 ounces decent white rum
• 3/4 ounce dry vermouth
• 3/4 ounce curacao
• dash grenadine

Stir with ice for 30-40 seconds; strain into chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with an orange twist.

Tags: Drinks, Rum, Vermouth by Paul
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