The thing that always surprises me about champagne cocktails is the underlying nefarious nature of many of these drinks. You look at a recipe, think, “oh, it’s just a glass of wine, same stuff you use to toast at weddings and on election night last November — look, there’s only a smidgen of booze in the glass, it’ll be lighter than your run-of-the-mill highball,” then mix up a couple and, boom — your ears are feeling fuzzy. The thing I always forget is that champagne isn’t simply a substitute for seltzer; while it prances and fizzles in the glass, it’s actually getting the gin in that French 75 or the bourbon in that Pendennis all excited to come out of the glass and down your gullet, where the real fun begins. But even though I always underestimate them, each time I start to fiddle with champagne cocktails, I resolve to do it more frequently.

This break for bubbly was prompted by Anita and Cameron over at Married…With Dinner, hosts of this month’s Mixology Monday. Champagne cocktails seemed an apt theme, given that it’s tax day (considering that the final calculation of my return reversed a substantial debt and turned it into a small refund, I’m in the mood to celebrate), and that this month marks the first anniversary of Mixology Monday events. Oh, what a year it’s been — from pastis to exotica to whiskey, to a shooter event that fizzled — ah, memories. Okay, I’ll stop — on with this month’s drink.

I decided to use this month’s theme to dig into one of the few remaining recipes in Ted Haigh’s Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails that I have not yet tried: the Crimean Cup a la Marmora. Actually a punch, the Crimean Cup dates back (in print, anyway) to Jerry Thomas’ The Bar-tender’s Guide, from 1862. While several of the old drinks listed by Thomas lack the pizzazz you find in more modern drinks, the Crimean Cup is a happy exception. Mixing rum, brandy, lemon juice, maraschino and orgeat with champagne and soda water, the cup is a surprisingly light and even-handed punch. From the recipe, it looks rather sweet, but between the champagne and the soda, the sweetness is easily leavened. If you’re not convinced, simply reduce or eliminate the added sugar, or add a touch more lemon juice. This drink is reason itself to keep a bottle or two of bubbly on hand.

Crimean Cup a la Marmora (makes 2 drinks)

Muddle 2 broad slices of lemon peel with a teaspoon of sugar and 1/2 ounce dark Jamaican rum (Haigh suggests Myer’s; I used Appleton V/X, with good results). Add:

• 1 ounce brandy
• 1/2 ounce Maraschino liqueur
• 1/2 ounce Jamaican rum (Appleton again)
• 2 ounces orgeat
• 1/2 ounce lemon juice
• 4 ounces soda water

Stir vigorously and pour into a goblet with 2 or 3 large pieces of ice. Add 3 ounces chilled dry sparkling wine (I only had cava on hand, but it worked well)

Head on over to Anita & Cameron’s place to see what other folks are posting.

Tags: Brandy, Drinks, Gettin' Jerry With It, Mixology Monday, Rum by Paul
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Why was it that the good folks at Imbibe Unfiltered decided to choose “Winter Warmers” for the theme of this Mixology Monday? Did they somehow foresee that good chunks of the Pacific Northwest — including their base in Portland, and mine in Seattle — would be socked in for days on end with temperatures barely venturing above freezing, and snow and ice still an annoyance nearly a week after its first appearance? (And for those of you in Canada, Maine and Missouri, scoffing at my whining about the cold, remember that this is the rainy Northwest, where you’re forced to swap your heavy winter coat for a thin Gore-Tex slicker before they’ll let you have a driver’s license. And for those of you in New York and environs, having a 70+ degree January: just shut the hell up.) Did they imagine that my office would be without heat this morning, leaving me shivering at the keyboard and chilled to the bone by noon? Or was it simply based on a casual glance at the calendar, along with a theme in their current issue that details a number of ways to defrost in mid-January?

Whatever the reason, I enter this MxMo as icy as a mint julep. On a night like this, a more standard warmer won’t quite hack it — a toddy has horsepower, but not enough gumption to properly beat the chill; a concoction with actual fire seems serious about warmth, but my near-immolation while playing with burning rum several MxMos back has made me leery about getting matches too close to my refreshments; and as appealing as a coffee drink sounds, using it to warm up at the end of a long, cold day would leave me goggle-eyed into the wee hours.

Instead, I need a seriously studied winter warmer, one that dates to an era before thermostats and central heating, designed to create an instant heat deep inside then stick tenaciously to your ribs, warming and soothing for the long haul. It’s time to try a rum flip.

And I do mean trying “a” flip as opposed to “the” flip, because, as with so much else, there are a number of different recipes out there. For mine, I’ll go back as far as I can — to Jerry Thomas’ The Bar Tender’s Guide from 1864 (which, it should be noted, offers two versions of this drink; this recipe is the second, more appealing version):

Rum Flip (verbatim from Thomas)

Keep grated ginger and nutmeg with a little fine dried lemon peel, rubbed together in a mortar.

To make a quart of flip: — Put the ale on the fire to warm, and beat up three or four eggs with four ounces of moist sugar, a teaspoonful of grated nutmeg or ginger, and a gill of good old rum or brandy. When the ale is near to boil, put it into one pitcher, and the rum and eggs, &c., into another; turn it from one pitcher to another till it is as smooth as cream.

The rum flip is closely related to the egg flip, aka the “yard of flannel,” which another shivering PNWer, c at Slakethirst, attempted a while back with mixed reviews. With c’s fair warning mixed with my own curiosity — and my apprehension at drinking something composed mainly of hot beer and eggs — I set out to make my own flip.

First, I scaled down the recipe (see below), as putting away a quart of flip would mean I’d be lying in bed later tonight, bloated and queasy, wishing to god I’d gone with one of the coffee drinks. Next, for the beer: one of the Northwest’s ubiquitous pointy-elbowed hop-bombs of a pale ale seemed out of place in a drink such as this, so instead I chose something smoother and more venerable: Samuel Smith Old Brewery Pale Ale. For the rum, something dark and heavy seemed appropriate, so I pitched in a shot of Gosling’s Black Seal Rum. And for dried lemon peel, as I have none, I went with a bit of fresh.

Rum Flip (my version)

• 1 egg
• 8 ounces ale
• 1 ounce rich simple syrup
• 1/4 tsp mixed fresh-grated lemon peel and nutmeg
• 1 ounce dark rum

Beat egg and add sugar, spice and rum. Heat ale to almost boiling, then place in pitcher or large tankard, and pour egg mixture in another pitcher. Carefully — oh, boy, do I mean carefully — pour the contents of one pitcher into another, then pour back and forth until well-mixed.

Warm? Certainly. Weird? Deeply.

Actually, I’d hesitate before calling this drink “deeply weird”. “Deeply” may be putting too fine a point on it; rather, my perception of the flip’s weirdness is probably the result of cognitive dissonance: for most contemporary drinkers such as myself, the notion of “hot beer” is inherently distasteful if not downright repulsive, and it’s hard to get past that long-established bias while snuggling down with a whole mug of it, with some egg for body and some rum for forebearance and some sugar just to make it palatable.

While the flip is unusual, and intriguing, and kind of curious in a way, the flip just keeps announcing over and over, “I’m hot beer! C’mon, have another sip–” which I do, until I just can’t anymore. Thank goodness I kept the rest of the ale in the fridge; the flip’s lingering taste is going to need some scrubbing.

Head on over to Imbibe Unfiltered to see how many folks had better luck with their winter warmers this Mixology Monday.

Tags: Drinks, Gettin' Jerry With It, Mixology Monday, Rum by Paul
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OK, at least half of the appeal of making this drink is the opportunity to say (or in this case, write) “Sangaree.” If you’re looking for a new way to get tossed out of a bar, you could do worse than making it a habit to stroll in, rap loudly on the bartop with your knuckles and shout, “Barman! A Port Wine SAN-GAREE, extra nutmeg, s’il vous plait — and keep ‘em comin’!”

The other part of the appeal comes from finding a way to drink Port in the heat of summer. Let’s face it — during the season when mojitos and rickeys and collinses are as essential as sunblock, the heavy richness of Port doesn’t get much demand. Here, then, a summer-worthy drink with Port, refreshing yet robust.

Up top of this post, you’ll see I’m also tagging this drink for “Gettin’ Jerry With It,” my lamely named category for drinks that appeared (in some version) in Jerry Thomas’ original bar guide. To be fair, Thomas also listed recipes for sangarees made with sherry, brandy, gin, ale and porter, so just about any kind of booze you wish to tip in the glass can be easily made into a sangaree. And what the hell is it, you ask? Well, not much, really — basically just your booze of choice shaken with ice and a little sugar, then served with a little nutmeg on top (and while Thomas doesn’t call for it, tossing a couple of wheels of lemon into the mixing glass brightens up the drink a tad). Does such a thing really need a name, especially something as flamboyant as “Sangaree”? Apparently.

Yet don’t let the modesty of its composition dissuade you — after all, epic summer coolers are frequently made of less. And while the Port Wine Sangaree lacks the power of a mint julep to air-condition your interior, it’s still surprisingly refreshing — kind of like a sangria with a touch more gravitas.

Port Wine Sangaree (this version from the Esquire Drinking Database)

• 4 ounces port
• 1 teaspoon sugar
• 2 thin lemon wheels (optional)

Shake with ice and pour, unstrained, into a double Old Fashioned glass. Grate a little nutmeg on top.

The Port Wine Sangaree is brought to you as part of Mixology Monday VI, for which the topic is Grapes, hosted by Rick over at Martini Lounge. Skip on over to Rick’s place and see what everyone else is doing for this round.

The next round of Mixology Monday is hosted by … me, I guess, as nobody else has offered. Since most everyone (including me) has some vacation time worked into the schedule over the next month, let’s take it easy and plan to rev up MxMoVII on September 18. The theme for this round will be Goodbye, Summer – pick the drink you found yourself turning to most this summer and enjoy it one last time before Autumn comes around.

Tags: Drinks, Gettin' Jerry With It, Mixology Monday, Port by Paul
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Thanks to Robert Hess for reminding me of this drink in a post over at The Spirit World.

As Robert points out, the Japanese Cocktail is one of only ten “cocktails” listed in Jerry Thomas’ 1862 The Bartender’s Guide. It’s unfortunate that this drink has fallen by the wayside–its flavor is deep and evocative, yet it’s not so complex to scare off less-seasoned cocktail drinkers.

The crucial ingredient here is orgeat syrup. A key component in a few other drinks–the mai tai is an example that readily springs to mind–orgeat is simply almond syrup with a faint touch of orange flower water. Monin makes an agreeable version, though, for do-it-yourselfers, Darcy lists a recipe over at The Art of Drink.

The composition of the Japanese Cocktail evinces the nineteenth-century sweet tooth; if you’re into sweet drinks, try the recipe as listed, but I’d suggest toning down on the orgeat until you reach an agreeable point.

Oh, and the name? The story goes that Thomas created this cocktail in honor of a visit to New York by the Japanese delegation. In a globalized world, the Japanese Cocktail is a reminder of a time when such things seemed so rare and exotic.

Japanese Cocktail

• 2 ounces brandy
• 1/2 ounce orgeat (or to taste)
• 2 dashes Angostura bitters
  

Stir with ice, strain into cocktail glass. Garnish with lemon twist.

Tags: Brandy, Drinks, Gettin' Jerry With It by Paul
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On February 7, 1882, a former hod-carrier and assistant plumber from Boston named John L. Sullivan met Paddy Ryan in a bareknuckle heavyweight bout in Mississippi City, Mississippi. Sullivan was a rising star in boxing–having gone pro in 1877 after knocking celebrated boxer Tom Scannel into the orchestra pit at Boston’s Dudley Street Opera House, and having scored a legendary knockout against John “Bull’s Head Terror” Flood during a match on a floating barge in the Hudson River just a year previous.

But in 1882, Ryan was the champ–until February 7. The fight, which had initially been scheduled to take place in New Orleans until the governor issued a proclamation against it, was a London Rules, $2,500 winner-take-all bout, and Sullivan owned it from the beginning. By the ninth round, Sullivan’s relentless attacks had withered Ryan’s defenses, and after a glancing right to the jaw, Ryan hugged the mat and Sullivan took the title (informal as it was in those days) of heavyweight champion of the world. It was a position he’d hold for the next ten years.

Bartenders in that era knew a thing or two about bareknuckle boxing. Ryan had first established his sparring reputation while running a saloon in upstate New York. And Sullivan had more than a passing knowledge of such places; he spent his teenage years looking for fights in Boston barrooms, and late in his life, he was fond of saying that the only fighter that ever beat him was whiskey. Indeed, many sportswriters of the era cited Sullivan’s indulgent lifestyle as a key factor in his 1892 loss of the championship to Jim Corbett.

Mississippi Punch is a bareknuckle bout in a glass. A solid four ounces of liquor goes into one glass of punch, with just a light touch of lemon and sugar to take the edge off. Despite its fearsome strength, Mississippi Punch is quite a tasty tipple–the blend of brandy, rum and bourbon roughhousing about in the glass, but still all working together, like the defensive line on a football team.

First appearing in print in Jerry Thomas’ landmark The Fine Art of Mixing Drinks, or The Bon-Vivant’s Companion, Mississippi Punch is a formidable concoction, yet one worth getting to know. Just make sure you call it “sir.”

Mississippi Punch (Thomas’ recipe)

• 1 wine-glass of brandy [2 ounces]
• 1/2 do. Jamaica rum [1 ounce]
• 1/2. do. Bourbon whiskey [1 ounce]
• 1/2 do. water [ignore this if you like–your ice adds what you need]
• 1 1/2 table-spoonful of powdered white sugar [do yourself a favor and cut this back to 2 teaspoons]
• 1/4 of a large lemon [1/2 ounce]

Fill a tumbler with shaved ice.
The above must be well shaken, and to those who like their draughts “like linked sweetness long drawn out,” let them use a glass tube or straw to sip the nectar through. The top of this punch should be ornamented with small pieces of orange, and berries in season.

Technorati tag: cocktails

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