In the early 1990s, when I was young and indestructible, on Thursday nights — and occasionally Wednesdays, and Tuesdays, sometimes on Fridays if we had a big enough group to take over the tables in the back but never, ever on Saturdays, when the weekend assholes were given rights to the place — it was my habit to visit, with a friend or ten, a bar called Milano’s, on East Houston Street in New York City.

I haven’t set foot in the place since I moved to Seattle in 1998, but a quick Google informs me that Milano’s is still in existence, and a brief glimpse at Yelp turns up two recent reviews with the lines, “Cheap Beer, Good Juke box, you don’t have to put the toilet seat down when you’re done,” and “I love seeing the old, old man in the corner getting his rocks glass refilled with Jack over and over in a period of 30 minutes, and still not stumbling out the door,” which in the absence of additional information makes me believe the place hasn’t changed much since my last round at the narrow, then-smoky bar.

As I’ve written before, both here and over at the NY Times’ Proof blog, Milano’s played a major role in my formative drinking years. It was never the kind of place you wanted to start out the evening — unless you were willing to let that evening take a very weird turn — but I finished up countless nights there, many of them bleeding into morning, with the dim light coming up over the East River as we staggered out trailing cigarette smoke and beer fumes and cursing whoever first suggested hitting the bar on a weeknight.

It also wasn’t (and presumably still isn’t) a place where you ordered a cocktail — at least, nothing more ambitious than a Jack and Coke. This was fine by me at the time — aside from the occasional glass of bourbon or scotch, I was primarily a beer drinker back then, and when ordering my first pint at the bar I basically had two choices for where to take the evening: Bass or Guinness. Usually, Bass won out, if for no other reason than that it’s possible to drink a lot it without feeling like you just swallowed an iron stove, but on some nights only the bracing rigor of stout would do, sometimes — but not often — with a backup of Jim Beam in case it was someone’s birthday or they’d just quit their job (whether voluntarily or not) or there was some other reason for celebration and/or just extra drinking. It wasn’t fancy, but it was beer and whiskey; throw in the Holy Ghost and you’ve got yourself a trinity, and a full-blown religion can’t be far behind.

Today isn’t my birthday, and it’s been more than two years since I quit my job, but we do have something to celebrate, kind of: it’s Mixology Monday, this time hosted by Andrew Bohrer over at Caskstrength. Andrew came up with possibly the most challenging MxMo theme we’ve had in the four years of running the event: instead of picking a type of spirit, or a particular flavor, or some kind of conceptual edge for the event, Andrew picked a person – and not just any person; no, Andrew is basing this month’s event on the patron bard of booze and smokes (who, ironically or actually not so much when you really think about it, swore off the stuff almost 20 years ago): Tom Waits.

You can read Andrew’s reasoning behind the concept over at his site, but I was first turned onto Tom Waits’ music about a month after my 21st birthday, so I’ve been an ardent fan of his raspy weirdness for pretty much all of my legal drinking life. As far as I can recall from my time there in the ‘90s, Milano’s never had any of Waits’ music on the jukebox — it was much more a Sinatra and Pogues kind of place, and given the fly-in-amber quality of the best dive bars, those same songs are presumably blasting over the bar’s speakers right now. But at the bar, while sitting next to the 70-year-old guy who was there every fucking night from 5pm until the 4am close, grinning at every pretty woman who walked by and occasionally knocking over his barstool while getting into a shuffling pretense of a fistfight with the 80-year-old guy sitting on the other side of him, you were pretty much sitting inside a Waits song from his boozy era in the ‘70s.

Tom Waits doesn’t drink anymore, and I’m not sure how he’d feel about this little online cocktail event that’s taking place in his honor, but part of the event is to come up with a drink suitable for the theme, so here’s mine: Grapefruit Moon. Named for a maudlin bawler on Waits’ first album (titled, appropriately, Closing Time), the drink was kind of a bitch to come up with, and here’s why: the concept of anything as fussy as a cocktail seems grossly out of place with so much of the sentiment found in Waits’ music, especially the early, boozy stuff. But, this is the gig, so I set a few ground rules for myself: first, my drink had to have some bearing on my own dive-bar experiences as noted above, for it to have some personal connection; and second, the drink can’t be too complex or have anything you wouldn’t reasonably find in a basic bar (or, as backup, something you’d be able to buy in a neighboring 24-hour deli).

I started off working with the two basic things I drank way back then: beer and bourbon. Bass was tempting, but ultimately stout won out as an accompaniment to the whiskey. Then there was the name: Grapefruit Moon has been a regular on my CD player and iPod for around 15 years; add to that its sense of barroom presence, plus it has a fucking drink ingredient in the name, and I needed no further rationale to justify grabbing that as a name, provided I could factor grapefruit into the combination somehow (and any bar that can put together a Salty Dog is gonna have a can of grapefruit juice around somewhere).

Interestingly (to me, at least), coming up with the final recipe was easier than I thought: bourbon and stout are natural friends, and grapefruit matches with bourbon in the Brown Derby (named after the former bar and restaurant in L.A., which also kind of makes sense for this whole Tom Waits theme, kind of). Sticking closely to the “ingredients you’d find in a basic bar” idea, I initially just dribbled in a little sugar to sweeten the mix; stepping away from that concept just a tiny bit, I found the drink works somewhat better if you use a barspoon or so of maple syrup — not a common ingredient, I grant you, but it gives the drink that Nighthawks at the Diner eggs-and-bacon connection that I’m going to stick with for now (plus, to hark back to my old Milano’s reference, there’s a 24-hour deli on the corner; if it comes down to it, just grab a bottle of Log Cabin off the shelf the next time you step out for a smoke and bring it back with you). Toss everything on top of some crushed ice (or, realistically, that mushy bar ice) in a beer glass and you’re golden.

Grapefruit Moon

• 1 1/2 ounces bourbon
• 1 1/2 ounces grapefruit juice
• 1 barspoon simple syrup or maple syrup (to taste, depending on the brand of stout you use)
• 2-3 ounces chilled stout

Mix bourbon, grapefruit and sweetener in a shaker. Shake well with ice and strain into a pilsner glass or tall beer glass filled with crushed ice. Top with chilled stout.

Surprisingly, this is a pretty damn good drink – I’ll even mix this after MxMo is over. Now head on over to Andrew’s site and see what other drinks and stories people came up with for this round of Mixology Monday.

Tags: Bourbon, Drinks, Mixology Monday by Paul
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You can almost hear the collective eye-roll from San Francisco — the eyes that aren’t rolling back in their heads because of the excesses of Cocktail Week, that is — that I’m finally covering a drink that’s long been a part of the Bay Area craft-cocktail scene (and by “long”, I mean “since earlier this decade”). But cut me some slack — I’m up in Seattle, and if Marcovaldo Dionysos, the drink’s creator, can’t find it in his schedule to come up north every once in a while, then it’s either up to me to work my around to blogging about his drinks for my local readers — both of ‘em — or to Boudreau to rip ‘em off and stick them on his bar menu.*

Gary Regan wrote about this drink way back in 2003, but at the time I was just a fledgling booze geek and had no idea what Amaro Nonino was; hell, at that point I hadn’t even found orange bitters yet. Ah, youth, and how little of it I recall.

Anyway, details: made for a Maker’s Mark competition, amaro in place of vermouth, etc. Actually, why should I spend the time writing about this drink — here’s Marco on video, I’ll let him explain it:

Got it? In case you missed it, here’s the recipe:

Uptown Manhattan
by Marcovaldo Dionysos

• 2 ounces Maker’s Mark bourbon
• 3/4 ounce Amaro Nonino (the print recipe says 1/2, but Marco says 3/4 in the video, so…)
• 2 dashes orange bitters (Regan’s #6)
• 1 barspoon cherry brandy from brandied cherries [being brandied cherry-less, I subbed Cherry Heering]

Stir well with ice & strain into chilled cocktail glass. Cut a piece of orange peel about the size of a quarter; positioning the flame from a match in front of the peel, give a squeeze and spray the orange oil through the flame onto the surface of the drink (it’s easier than it sounds — watch the video to see what I mean). Garnish with a cherry.

* Okay, that was a gratuitous and totally unwarranted slam at Jamie, who does not steal Marco’s drinks and place them on his bar menus as his own — that was all a simple misunderstanding for which I take full responsibility and humbly apologize. Really, I did it — for the full story, go to Tini Bigs and ask Jamie to explain it himself, perhaps over a Ginger Rogers.

This drink is part of 30/30, a series of 30 drinks in 30 days — or as much as I can keep up before collapsing in a weary, booze-addled heap.

Tags: Bourbon, Drinks, Thirty in 30 by Paul
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“Let me tell you, suh, there’s only one likker that’s properly qualified to caress a gentleman’s palate in the way a gentleman’s palate deserves to be caressed; and that’s red likker — honest rye, if there’s nothing else available, or straight Tennessee whisky, which has a greater admixture of small grains in with the corn and usually is lower in proof than our Kentucky goods — [...] but best of all, the real uncorrupted essence, the true and uncontaminated fruitage of the perfect corn, and that, suh, is Bourbon.

[...]

“But for your own sake, Mr. Gilmartin, for the sake of your palate as well, let me beg of you never to drench red likker with seltzer water nor spoil it with fruit juices

“Take it straight, or in a toddy or in a julep, but never otherwise under any circumstances. For Bourbon stands on its own merits — the king, suh, and the queen and the whole royal family of likkers.”

– from Red Likker, by Irvin S. Cobb, 1929

Cobb sure could lay on the cornpone Kentucky colonel schtick; there’s almost 350 pages of hokum like that in Red Likker, and the breezy first half of Irvin S. Cobb’s Own Recipe Book is nothing but a long meandering monologue about the glory of that great Kentucky spirit, propelled by mawkishly sentimental Southern stations of the cross such as cursing the name of General Sherman; references to Spanish moss, the “Ozark sulphur-rumped jujupecker,” and comments along the lines of “whip any damn-Yankee in the house;” — not to mention several awkwardly overt sales pitches for Four Roses Bourbon and other whiskies produced by Frankfort Distilleries, which, despite the book’s title, commissioned and published the work.

But Cobb does have a point: bourbon is a regal spirit, best enjoyed on its own or in a simple preparation. This is partially a backhanded compliment — the drier, spicier rye lends itself much better as a mixing whiskey — but also a statement of respect. I love good bourbon, and consider it one of America’s great culinary and cultural accomplishments.

When it comes to mixing, though, I’m typically at a loss. Probably 80 percent of my mixing bourbon goes into Old Fashioneds, and much of the rest wanders into the occasional Mint Julep, Battle of New Orleans or Police Gazette Cocktail – simple presentations all around (the month of December is a notable exception, thanks to a seasonal taste for bourbon stingers and, last year, the Good Night Irene). Other than that, when presented with a whiskey cocktail, I almost always reach for the rye.

But hey, it’s Mixology Monday, and our good hosts over at Scofflaw’s Den have chosen Bourbon as the theme. After browsing through the books I considered mixing the Preakness, then decided to stop screwing up Michael’s posts, so in its place, I decided on a long-shot, could-be-okay or could-really-suck drink I dug out of The Stork Club Bar Book: the FBI Fizz.

The name? Who knows — Lucius Beebe launches the chapter by stating:

As the devising of new and more fascinating ways of insinuating alcohol and the pleasant humors that accompany its proper absorption into the human system is by no means confined to guests, it was thought by the author a shrewd notion to solicit some recipes by members of the staff. The gustatory ruffles and flourishes in this appendix are the brain children of various members of Mr. Billingsley’s staff, and they are included as evidence of its versatility in the practice of the useful arts and sciences.

(Cobb had no monopoly on longwindedness, as you can see.)

But, I’ve taken one or two for the MxMo team before, and in the spirit of popping out a bourbon drink that I haven’t previously seen referenced, I grabbed a few bottles and joined the party.

FBI Fizz (from the Stork Club Bar Book)

• 1/2 ounce Cherry Heering
• 1/2 ounce bourbon
• 1/2 ounce Jamaica rum

Shake well and strain into an ice-filled highball glass. Top with soda water, employ the orange twist.

The verdict? Meh; not bad, just boring.

I tried to save it — increased everything to 3/4 ounce to start with, and when that was still dull I upped the bourbon and rum to 1 ounce each, then added 3/4 ounce of juice from the orange, in hopes of a Blood and Sand-style alchemy…but nada. It wasn’t until I added 1/2 ounce of lemon juice that the drink started to show some liveliness, but by that point it was a mess, and rather than going in for one more save, I took a final sip and sinked it. I even took photos through the process in hopes of documenting my MxMo exploits, but the drink is so uninspired that I’m not even gonna bother to upload them. I guess there’s a reason why the FBI Fizz doesn’t show up anywhere of note.

Anyway, plenty of folks had much better drinks than I did tonight as part of Mixology Monday, and who proved Colonel Bird wrong — that it is fine to mix bourbon with all manner of other ingredients; head over to Scofflaw’s Den to see what else is out there.

Tags: Bourbon, Drinks, Mixology Monday by Paul
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Never let it be said that I forget a drink recipe.

Okay — there was that little incident with the Boulevardier, when I read Doc’s recipe in Imbibe but was so eager to flip back and read my own damn story that I completely blocked out the drink until Murray foisted one upon me months later. It happens.

But here’s one I first read about, oh, four years ago, and haven’t seen in print or online since. It was in a posting by Audrey Saunders over at the Drinkboy forum — and if that isn’t enough to prick up your ears, I don’t know what is — and she remarked that she’d made a drink similar to a stinger, but much more complex in flavor.

I’ve been known to enjoy a stinger or two, especially around the holidays, but I have to admit that, with the flabby creme de menthes available in this state, I haven’t been able to summon the old enthusiasm for them that I had back when I was first shaking them up several years back. And while I try to upgrade my creme de menthe, I’m confounded at every turn: the highly recommended Get brand seems as rare as Swedish punsch; the well-regarded Marie Brizard version is sequestered away inside the wholesale-only liquor store downtown; and I stupidly left Vancouver last summer without buying a bottle of the Giffard Menthe Pastile, which I held in my hands before putting it back on the shelf, thinking “except stingers, what would I mix that in?”

But now, I have satisfaction, and I owe it to that long-ago post from Audrey that I squirreled away in my brain until opportunity met desire while I was standing in Blackwell’s Wine & Spirits in San Francisco a couple months back. Audrey’s tweak of the stinger subbed Maker’s Mark bourbon for the brandy — and I’ve always preferred bourbon stingers to the standard brandy version — but, more importantly, she calls for using Branca Menta in place of the creme de menthe. A sister product to Fernet Branca, Branca Menta has all the depth and complexity of the more familiar bitter, but in place of the emphatic eucalyptus notes of the Fernet, the Menta has a rich rush of clean, crisp mint. Better yet, it’s sweetness level is entirely manageable, so the elaborate flavor can be enjoyed without feeling the need to run and brush your teeth afterward.

The drink’s name is apt — it’s a perfect nightcap. It’s best enjoyed with an arctic chill, so shake it well and strain it over fresh crushed ice. It pours with a rich viscosity, and the mellowness of the bourbon marries with the minty complexity of the Menta in an absolutely dangerous fashion. This is what I’m drinking this holiday season.

Good Night, Irene adapted from a recipe by Audrey Saunders

• 1 1/2 ounces Maker’s Mark
• 1 1/2 ounces Branca Menta

Shake very well with cracked ice, and strain into an old-fashioned glass filled with crushed ice.

And I suppose you can try it with bourbons other than Maker’s Mark — so far I’ve done so with Weller 12-year-old and Buffalo Trace — but really, that soft, wheated aspect of the Maker’s Mark was made for a drink like this.

Tags: Bourbon, Drinks by Paul
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Sorry for the long delay there — I think I’m still in shock from the experience of seeing so many different types of whiskey trotted out at WhiskyFest in San Francisco last Tuesday; that, and from my experience at Bourbon & Branch the night before.

While my liver and I still aren’t on speaking terms, I can say that I had a great trip. I got into town on Monday, just in time to check in at the hotel then head over to Absinthe to meet the evening’s companions, Anita & Cameron from Married…With Dinner, and Erik Ellestad and his lovely wife, Michele (a surprise to Erik, it being his birthday). Our experience at Absinthe was short, it being closed and all (happy Monday!), but we trundled over to the Orbit Room for cocktails that fell into the the “not bad, but we’ll just have one and then move on” category.

After Erik and Michelle headed off for his birthday dinner, Anita and Cameron let me tag along as we headed up the hill to NoPa. I’d read about this restaurant somewhere, and heard only glowing details, but somehow I’d missed any mention of its cocktail list (not surprising — so many reviewers turn a blind eye to that whole side of the business). That was a mistake — they had some really great sounding drinks on the menu, many with house-made bitters. Anita had a Girasol, made with fino sherry, St. Germain and sunshine bitters (made with cardamom and saffron), Cameron went for an Old Cuban and I had an Amarita, made with blanco tequila, Aperol, lime juice and house-made grapefruit bitters (the bartender said there was some sage in the bitters, and I had no complaints). They were fantastic all around.

I’d tell you about the dinner, except since I was dining with two very accomplished food bloggers, I’d probably embarass myself — though I probably couldn’t embarass myself any more than I did by hovering over my pear salad and Mediterranean fish stew, looking territorial and making growly yummy sounds as I stuffed myself with scallops and squid, oblivious to all rules of social discourse.

My manners couldn’t have been too obnoxious, though, because Anita & Cameron gave me a lift back downtown, dropping me in the middle of the Tenderloin and pointing at the unmarked door for Bourbon & Branch. This is a bar I’d heard and read about extensively since they opened, and during my short time in San Francisco it was at the top of my list of places I needed to try. Fortunately, this being a Monday, the bar was fairly quiet, and I had no problem getting a seat at the bar (the reservation I’d made earlier in the day seemed unnecessary, though on a busier night I can see how they’d be required).

And this visit to Bourbon & Branch was both my pinnacle and my defeat. Pinnacle, because I had the pleasure of being treated like a king by Joel and Eric, the gentlemen working the bar that evening. After an introductory drink I put myself in their hands, and I was really blown away. House cocktails like the Black Manhattan — made with Buffalo Trace bourbon, Averna and Fee’s Barrel-Aged bitters — were really astounding. Eric mixed another drink using Michter’s rye, Luxardo maraschino and some black liquid from a mystery bottle, then told me it was something made with Belvedere vodka in which had been macerated whole walnuts (green and black, I believe — my notes are a little sketchy), and herbs including mint and rosemary.

And defeat? It was my defeat, simply, because I was so overwhelmed by the quality of the drinks they were serving and their commitment to their craft, that by the time I stopped to think “wait — how much have I had?” the answer was “definitely enough.” Fortunately I was sitting next to a couple of guys who were also in town for WhiskyFest and who were similarly in the bag, and together we pointed ourselves in the right direction for our hotels (except for the guy we lost somewhere — but his buddy wasn’t concerned, so neither was I). I shrugged off the offer to hang out and drink tequila — probably the best decision I’ve made in a long time — then made it back to the hotel to crash and then wake up with a headful of thunder and fuzzy memories (thank god for the notebook).

After I managed to slough off most of my hangover — foraging a lunch at the Ferry Building Marketplace helped — and take care of a little work, I headed up to Haight St. to meet Erik and Jimmy Patrick at Alembic. This was another bar I’d been hoping to try, and while I was saving myself for WhiskyFest — and was still a bit tender from the night before — I had a fantastic La Paloma, with house-made grapefruit soda, while Erik and Jimmy went for Sazeracs. I nearly broke down in tears when I saw the list of ryes on their spirits board, and I felt really at home in Alembic’s comfortable space.

While the drinks were tasty, the highlight for me was getting to hang out with Erik and Jimmy, who’s a dedicated whiskey fan, even if he does prefer the delicate peaty stuff to the awesome vitality of an honest-to-god American spirit. Still, one more scotch drinker meant more bourbon for me, so after settling up Jimmy and I grabbed a cab downtown for the main event.

I had planned on playing it really cool and easy, taking a walk around the room and scoping out the selection before diving in. I made it as far as the Van Winkle table before scrapping that plan. Both Preston and Julian were in attendance, and since I’d spoken with Preston by phone before, I thought I’d stop and introduce myself (and grab a taste of some 20-year-old Pappy along the way). Van Winkle has always had everything I love in bourbons — a rich, buttery base with a nice, soft body and a finish that lasts for weeks.

I could have spent five minutes just nosing the whiskey before moving on, and would have, if I hadn’t noticed that right next to Van Winkle was the table for Buffalo Trace. In various places on this site I’ve been known to wax rhapsodic about the wonders of Weller and the virtues of the Sazerac line of ryes. Buffalo Trace had their top of the line out for WhiskyFest, which of course meant the 2007 Antique Collection, and were pouring tastings before the bottles even hit the shelves. My impulse was to go directly for the Stagg — at 144 proof, the bulldozer of bourbons — but instead I started gentle, with a taste of the Sazerac 18-year-old rye. Christ – I love all the Sazerac ryes (the Thomas Handy is one of my top 3 ryes, ever), but the 18-year-old is really a centerpiece of the Antique Collection, and it’s easy to see why. Dry, oaky, almost musty in its austerity, the rye has a beautifully crisp flavor that really primes the palate. It was hard to tear myself away from the Sazerac, but for the sake of the Stagg, I managed it, and JESUS! was that a big bunch of whiskey in the glass. At 144 proof, this bourbon is afraid of nothing, and it had this amazing aroma of pipe tobacco that made you just want to settle down with a glass and spend some time getting acquainted. This is probably gonna be my Christmas present to myself this year, assuming I can find a bottle.

After Van Winkle, Sazerac and Stagg, it could have all gone downhill, but there were so many fantastic whiskies being poured that it was easy to just roam and talk and taste. I estimate I tasted around 35-40 whiskies during the evening, ranging from Stranahan’s Colorado whiskey to 40 Creek Canadian whiskey (which I’d previously enjoyed at Tales of the Cocktail) to Jura single malt (a “highland from an island,” poured by Willie Tait), to a trio of Mackillop’s Choice Single Cask whiskies (poured by Lorne Mackillop himself — thanks to Jimmy for making the introduction), and another trio of Old Pulteney.

But while I stepped around the map a bit, American whiskies are where my main interest lies, and I had some really fantastic stuff that I’ll likely never see again. From tasting Woodford Reserve’s four-grain and Sonoma-Cutrer Finish whiskies (the latter finished in used chardonnay casks, which gave the bourbon a bright, fruity complexity) to the 23-year-old Evan Williams Blue Label (107 proof, really rich on the nose and very spicy, with fistfuls of licorice and molasses and a finish that followed me home to Seattle — only $350 a bottle, available at Heaven Hill Heritage Center and in some foreign markets), there was a lot to enjoy.

But this was one of my favorites, partially because I wasn’t supposed to have it and partially because it’s my most favorite of whiskies, a rye:

The photo is blurry because Larry Kass was trying to keep it out of everyone’s sight after pouring me a taste — Rittenhouse 23-year-old Single Barrel straight rye whiskey, new on the market and a steal at $160. He only had two bottles on hand, and they were under the table, sharing space with two bottles of another new Heaven Hill bottling, Parker’s Heritage Collection Cask Strength bourbon, named for master distiller Parker Beam. The rye had Rittenhouse’s characteristic bright spicy kick, but at 23 years in the wood it was really mature, with leather and chocolate bouncing around with that spiky rye character, proving that while a rye whiskey can be fully matured, it can still keep a lot of attitude. And the bourbon — oh, the bourbon … bright and floral on the nose, but with a rich, lively spiciness on the palate. I’m always saying nice things about the products put out by Buffalo Trace, but Heaven Hill deserves a lot of praise for what they’ve done with whiskey.

Amid all this, I kept bumping into people I knew, and people I’d been wishing to meet for a long time. It was great seeing Camper English, Martin Cate and Jacques Bezuidenhout again, and meeting Marcovaldo Dionysus for the first time. And in between there were seminars, with Fred Noe and Richard Paterson, and Larry Kass and Parker Beam.

I’d like to say I finished up with a dash to Cantina (it was only around the corner from my hotel, for Chrissakes) and another to Absinthe, plus the Bourbon & Branch after-party, but really, I was done (and I’d been very restrained, only finishing 4 of the quarter-ounce samples I’d been poured). After a beer at the hotel bar with Jimmy and his buddy Pete, I called it a night.

Stagg — Sazerac — Rittenhouse 23 — Parker’s Heritage Collection … I may need to expand my Christmas list this year.

Tags: Bourbon, Establishments, Events, Rye, Scotch by Paul
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