A new month, and a new issue of Imbibe magazine is out.

Along with features about the drinks of Jamaica and 15 beverage innovators (and a nice quote by Darcy in the Distilled section, and a drink by Jamie Boudreau in the Uncorked section), and a piece about vermouth in the Elements department (there’s the self-serving reference for the day), this issue includes a new regular column, “What the Doctor Orders,” by Ted “Dr. Cocktail” Haigh.

Doc doesn’t mess around with this debut column, and heads right for the 19th century with a full-bore effort to revive the Fix. As he writes, “In its short 38-year lifespan, even bartenders pondered what made a fix a fix.” Starting with a mix of booze, lemon juice, water, sugar and ice, the fix evolved into a concoction made with pineapple or raspberry syrups, and occasionally liqueurs, before disappearing as the new century dawned. Haigh takes his fixes from this later stage of development, and prescribes two fixes that include a homemade pineapple syrup.

Obscure cocktail … exacting preparation … ingredients that require special shopping trips and at least 24 hours of preparation time … sounds like my kind of drink!

To make one of these fixes, you need to have pineapple syrup on hand. While I suppose you can buy it, the idea of processed pineapple-flavored syrups kind of gives me the shudders, so I elected to follow the home-brew method.

Pineapple Syrup

• 4 cups sugar
• 2 cups water
• 1 small pineapple
• smidgen of vodka or other neutral-flavored spirits

Mix the sugar and water until fully dissolved. Add the pineapple (skinned and cubed), and let sit for 24 hours. Remove the pineapple, pressing with a hand juicer to get some juice into the mix. Strain through cheesecloth or a fine strainer, and add the spirits for preservative. Refrigerate.

Brandy Fix (Haigh credits this to Harry Johnson’s Bartender’s Manual, 1888)

• 2 ounces brandy
• 1/2 ounce fresh lime juice
• 1/2 ounce pineapple syrup
• dash of green Chartreuse
• 1/4 ounce simple syrup

Shake with ice and strain into a wine glass or tumbler filled with crushed ice. Add a splash of seltzer, adorn with lots of fruit and go to it.

I think the Chartreuse was what prompted me to make this — combined with the pineapple syrup and the always kind of haughty taste of brandy, the Chartreuse made the Fix taste like a true 19th century creature.

Pick up a copy of Imbibe (or, of course, subscribe) to find the full details, along with other recipes. And if you’re curious about vermouth….

Tags: Brandy, Drinks, Special Projects by Paul
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Sours are among the oldest class of cocktails, and as mixology goes, they’re pretty basic stuff: mix booze, lemon and sugar, then chill and serve. Nothing could be easier, and from this base simplicity comes the sour’s true charm — after all, it’s nothing more than that sentimental classic, lemonade, assuming you make your lemonade with hard stuff rather than water.

I’ve already covered the whiskey sour, the most common “pure” sour still in circulation (assuming for a moment that you discount the daiquiri, which you shouldn’t, but swap the lemon for the lime and it appears that naming the drink is open to all comers), but one sour that’s popping up all over the place is the pisco sour.

Not that the pisco sour is anything new — no, this little number has been around the block a few times, ever since pisco had a brief role as the rotgut of choice around San Francisco saloons way back around Gold Rush days, when getting whiskey or rum to California meant loading it onto a wagon train, or onto a ship for a treacherous trip around the Cape. No, during that time, pisco had it easy — native to South America (Chile and Peru are still battling it out about who’s responsible), this grape brandy had a clear shot at the gold fields, at least until the transcontinental railroad came along and blew away that market. Granted, I can’t attest to how many pisco sours were served during that time — according to David Wondrich, in an article he wrote for Slow Foods USA a couple of years back, pisco punch was the way to go for quality drinking — but it’s impressive to see this spirit, and this drink, showing up on bar menus once again. Hell, the next thing you know, you’ll be able to stroll into your local sports bar and order an arrack punch.

OK, maybe that’s wishful thinking. But still, hone in on a pisco sour. Like the rest of the sours, the pisco sour is defined by its simplicity: pisco, lemon, sugar. Done? Not quite. Sure, you could stop there and mix it as usual, and you’d have a fine drink, but a really alluring pisco sour requires a couple of extra steps. First, stick a raw egg white in there — no, really, all you squeamish types who are scratching this drink off the list, try this just once: Get a really fresh egg, rinse it off, then crack it and separate it (if you need that explained to you, go grab your Joy of Cooking) — introduce the white into your mixing glass (one white works well for two drinks), then, after you add all the other ingredients and your ice, shake extra hard, for about 10 seconds. This aerates the white — kind of like you’re making meringue in your cocktail shaker — and gives the drink extra body, the kind of hearty gumption it’s nice to see in a drink sometimes.

Then — and this is the pisco sour’s other unique attribute — after you’ve strained your drink into a glass, drip three or four drops of Angostura bitters on the foam. Why not mix it in? Easy — because, now that you have that nice foamy head the egg white gives you, the Angostura remains somewhat suspended at the top of the glass (some blossoms nicely in the drink, of course). As you raise the glass to take a sip, the first thing you experience is the aroma of the bitters, followed by the slight funkiness of the brandy and the sour of the citrus, all with a texture like liquid silk. Nice? Absolutely.

OK, before I give the recipe, there’s something that needs to be said: while Peru and Chile still wrestle over the origins of pisco, there is also a continuing debate over what’s most appropriate to use in a pisco sour: lemon or lime. The answer, of course, is whichever one you prefer, and to find out which is the case, you should try both. Tonight, however, start with lemon, for two basic reasons: lemons are the citrus of choice in the classic sour; and, today is Mixology Monday, hosted by Jonathan over at Jiggle the Handle, and Jonathan’s chosen topic is Lemon. Be sure to jog over there and check out all the other drinks that are coming up this week.

Pisco Sour

• 2 ounces pisco
• 1 ounce fresh lemon juice
• 2 teaspoons simple syrup (or 1 teaspoon sugar)
  
• 1/2 of an egg white
• 3-4 drops Angostura bitters

Shake everything except bitters ferociously with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass (or, you can use a Champagne flute—I had one served this way once, and it made a pleasant impression). Drip the bitters on the foam topping the drink.

Tags: Brandy, Drinks, Mixology Monday 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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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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If you were to rank Yuletide peculiarities of otherwise reasonable people on some sort of oddness scale, the seasonal demand for rich, eggy, booze-laden beverages is situated several points below the desire to wear a reindeer sweater adorned with shiny, jingly things, and the genuine conviction that anybody honestly wants a scented candle as a gift. Still, there it is, every year–even before Thanksgiving, the cartons of eggnog are stacking up in the supermarket cooler next to the two-percent, and you know that at some point before New Year, willing or not, you’re going to wind up with a cup of nog in your hand. And, most likely, it’s gonna suck.

But while we own up to the inevitability of eggnog, we should also embrace it. This year, instead of drinking the carageenan-thickened crap they peddle down at Safeway, spiked with a slug of Jim Beam, make an early New Year’s resolution to mix up a batch of your own. Sure, it has raw eggs in it, and cream, and whole milk, and a good dose of booze–but a little hint of danger makes the holiday that much more exciting. Besides, if you’re going to actually consume a cardiologist’s nightmare this season, you might as well get some exercise mixing up the drink yourself–with the heaping scoop of saturated fat each mugful of cheer contains, you need all the help you can get.

Open most any general cookbook or bartending guide and you’ll find an eggnog recipe. This one, from David Wondrich’s Esquire Drinks, is the one I’m thinking about using to upholster my guests on Christmas, unless I have a change of heart and decide to make Tom & Jerrys.

(Jiggle the amount based on your number of guests; this recipe makes–oh, hell, a lot):

Eggnog

• 1 dozen eggs, separated
• 3/4 cup sugar
• 1 pint cognac
• 1 1/2 pint full-bodied Jamaican rum
• 1 pint milk
• 1/2 pint heavy cream
• grated nutmeg

Separate the eggs; beat the yolks strenuously, slowly adding sugar and continuing until the sugar is completely dissolved. Slowly add the cognac, stirring the entire time. Repeat with the rum–and yes, keep stirring. Add the milk and cream, and keep going with the stirring.

Ready for a break? Too bad–using a clean whisk, beat the whites to stiff peaks. If you don’t cook that often and thus don’t know what this means, keep beating.

Fold the whites into the mixture. then stir in the grated nutmeg. Finally, pour some in a mug and go sit next to the fire. Don’t let the kids get at it, unless you want it to be the story that keeps going around everytime everybody gets together for Christmas.

Bourbon freak? No problem–just swap some bourbon for the rum, or the brandy, or the rum and the brandy, and see what happens.

But if eggnog just isn’t your thing, or if you can’t get past that raw egg bit, consider this concoction, which has even more of a holiday connection than the old nog: the Tom & Jerry.

To be fair, this probably belongs in my Gettin’ Jerry With It category of Jerry Thomas beverages, perhaps more than any other drink (the ‘Jerry’ in the name being Thomas, and the ‘Tom’ being…get it?) On its surface, the Tom & Jerry resembles a hot eggnog, but with the formula tweaked a bit, and it tastes like a much different creature. Ubiquitous at Christmastime for around a century (it faded away sometime during the Eisenhower years), the Tom & Jerry is a very agreeable holiday companion, one with a warm character and a cheerful reputation (there’s an old Damon Runyon story, the name of which I of course can’t recall, about a group of guys spending Christmas in a speakeasy, drinking Tom & Jerry’s with prescription rye–no point in bringing this up, other than to say it’s a great story and the next time I make a batch, I’ll be sure to reach for some bonded Rittenhouse or some Van Winkle Family Reserve). I made these last Christmas for folks to enjoy while opening presents, and they were greeted with polite comments, but not outright enthusiasm. I’ll probably give them a pass this season in favor of eggnog, but there’s always the chance I’ll change my mind on Christmas morning and decide that the best formula for the day involves a mug or three of steaming boozy goodness.

As with the eggnog, the T&J takes a bit of work, but it’s honest labor, and sometimes that’s needed in a drink. Many recipes call for this to be made with hot milk, but that can be kind of heavy; a mixture of hot milk and water may be preferable. Thanks to the New York Times Style Magazine, I understand that Audrey Saunders is serving these at Pegu Club in New York; below is her recipe.

Tom & Jerry

Batter:

• 12 eggs
• 3 tablespoons vanilla extract
• 2 ounces Bacardi 8 rum
• 4 dashes Angostura
• 2 pounds sugar
• 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
• 3/4 teaspoon ground allspice
• 1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg

For the drink:

• whole milk
• Bacardi 8 rum (or use another full-bodied rum, like Appleton Extra)
• Courvoisier or other cognac or decent brandy

To make the batter: separate the eggs. Beat the yolks, then add vanilla, rum, bitters, sugar and spices. In another bowl, beat the whites until stiff. Fold the whites into the mix until it has the consistency of pancake batter. You can refrigerate this–and should, if you’re not using it right away–but use it the same day.

To serve: heat the milk, and boil some water. Stir your batter, then pour 2 ounces of it into a toddy mug. Add 1 ounce rum and 1 ounce cognac. Fill the mug with equal parts hot milk and boiling water. Dust with freshly ground nutmeg.

** As with eggnog, bourbon also works well here, in place of the rum, or the brandy, or the rum and brandy. If Damon Runyon is right, rye should work, too. Report back on your findings.

Technorati tag: cocktails, eggnog, tom and jerry

Tags: Bourbon, Brandy, Drinks, Rum, Rye by Paul
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