Entries Tagged as 'Calvados'

Farmer’s Bishop

Last Christmas — and the one before that, too, as a matter of fact — I was all about getting into the festive holiday spirit by torching up big bowls of punch. I’m not sure if I’ll get to that this year: I have some aged eggnog that should be ready Christmas Eve, and if that doesn’t put me in the hospital then I’ve kind of been jonesing for Reveillon Cocktails and Tom & Jerry on Christmas Day and at other festive events (I even started on the Reveillons early, as should you, after reading Chuck’s recent post revisiting his extraordinary contribution to holiday mixology). But should things change, I plan to have some oranges, cloves and cider handy, along with a box of matches. And maybe this year I’ll try to lay in some extra apple brandy, just in case.

Farmer's BishopHere’s a little novelty I found in an old Peter Pauper Press holiday drink guide I recently picked up on eBay: the Farmer’s Bishop (I’m sure it’s out there in other books, I just haven’t gone looking yet). It’s related to the Christmas Rum Punch (aka English Bishop) I wrote about last year, with the only difference between the two being the use of apple brandy instead of rum. I have no gripe with the rum version — damn tasty, that — but I’m really intrigued by how this could turn out. I’d imagine you’d want something like Laird’s bonded apple brandy, or possibly something from Laird’s line of aged brandies or a Calvados or even Clear Creek’s young apple brandy, instead of the Laird’s applejack, which won’t provide as much of a fruit flavor as this punch might require. If anybody goes for it, please post a note in the comments section.

Farmer’s Bishop adapted from The Holiday Drink Book, Peter Pauper Press, 1951

  • 6 oranges
  • around 4 dozen whole cloves
  • 1 bottle apple brandy
  • 2 tablespoons sugar
  • 1/2 gallon cider
  • 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
  • 1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
  • 1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
  • and if you have any pimento dram kicking around, an ounce or so would work wonders here

Stick each orange with 8 cloves, and bake them whole in a slow oven (300F, I’m guessing) for 1 hour. Place them in a heated punch bowl and prick them well with a fork. Heat the apple brandy in a saucepan until warm — CAREFUL, especially if you’re using a gas stove — and pour over the oranges; sprinkle with the sugar. While warming the brandy, heat the cider to almost boiling. Take 1/2 cup of the cider and mix the remaining spices in it, then set it aside. Carefully light the brandy — I like to use a sugar cube soaked with a bit of the brandy, place it in the bowl of a long-handled spoon, light it and then stand back while placing the burning cube in the boozy punch. Let it burn for a few seconds, then add the hot cider to extinguish the flames; stir in the cup of spiced cider. You can keep it warm in a chafing dish or on the stove (I’d imagine a crockpot would work, if somewhat lacking in pizzazz). Serves 24.

Farmer's Bishop

The Avenue

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.

Golden Dawn revisited

Okay. Maybe that whole idea of “Perfect Balance” had some element of wishful thinking about it. As I mentioned when I first approached the Golden Dawn, the idea of a cocktail composed of equal parts–five of them, at that–was compelling and, ultimately, irresistible.

But as a couple of folks noted in the comments, as intriguing as this recipe from Ted Haigh’s Vintage Spirits & Forgotten Cocktails may be, the result is still quite sweet. Too sweet, some would–and did–say, and after thinking about it further, I’ve grudgingly come to the same conclusion.

But all is not lost with the Golden Dawn; a quick survey of the bookshelf shows two similar cocktails of the same name, both of which are worth investigating*. Both recipes come from Ted Saucier’s Bottoms Up, an excellent (and risque) cocktail manual from 1951. Each drink was an award-winner in its day, and both eliminate Cointreau from the mix, which results in a much less sweet drink (though it does obliterate that five-part harmony that originally caught my attention).

Golden Dawn (version #2)
created at the Grosvenor House, Park Lane, London, and recipient of the top prize at the International Cocktail Competition in 1930

  • 1/4 gin
  • 1/4 Calvados / applejack
  • 1/4 orange juice
  • 1/4 apricot brandy

Shake with ice and strain into chilled cocktail glass; garnish with a cherry and drizzle a dash of grenadine into the bottom of the glass.

Golden Dawn (version #3)
created by Walter Madigan, beverage editor for the Hotel Gazette; runner-up, International Cocktail Contest, 1939

  • 2 parts gin
  • 1 part orange juice
  • 1 part apricot brandy
  • dash grenadine

Shake & strain into chilled cocktail glass

Removing the Cointreau really tones down the drink’s sweetness; personally, I prefer version #2, as the Calvados adds some extra complexity to the drink. Keep in mind, though, that orange juice really lacks the sharp tartness of lemon or lime, so even with the reduced liqueur, the Golden Dawn will always have an element of sweetness about it–it’s simply in the drink’s nature. (Your choice of orange and grenadine type will also affect the drink’s sweetness–even when using dashes, a homemade grenadine results in drinks remarkably less cloying than those made with a commercial brand like Rose’s.)

So if you’re still brushing your teeth from the first encounter with the Golden Dawn, one of these variations may suit your needs. If not, well…we gave it an honest try.

* Bottoms Up also lists a third Golden Dawn recipe, this one not even remotely like the others:

1/2 jigger lime juice
1 jigger orange juice
1/2 jigger Jamaica rum
1 jigger bourbon
1 teaspoon sugar
Ice

Place in electric mixer; strain into hollow-stemmed champagne glass which has teaspoon grenadine in bottom of stem.

Star Cocktail

A sample cocktail from George J. Kappeler’s Modern American Drinks. I don’t know if this is a Kappeler original, and I haven’t checked to see if it’s in other cocktail manuals, but this one caught my eye as something period-appropriate, with the added benefit that I happen to have the ingredients on hand.

Here’s Kappeler’s wording on the recipe, followed by my recipe (in my usual format):

Fill a mixing-glass half-full fine ice, add two dashes gum-syrup, three dashes Peyschaud [sic] or Angostura bitters, one-half jigger apple brandy, one-half jigger Italian vermouth. Mix, strain into cocktail-glass, twist small piece lemon-peel on top.

And my preparation:

Star Cocktail

  • 1 ounce apple brandy (I used Laird’s Applejack)
  • 1 ounce sweet vermouth
  • 3 dashes Peychaud’s or Angostura bitters (I used Peychaud’s)
  • 2 dashes gum syrup

Stir with ice and strain into chilled cocktail glass; garnish with lemon twist.

A couple of notes: first, at the beginning of the book’s recipe section, Kappeler defines a jigger as holding two ounces–this is different from the contemporary definition, in which a jigger contains one and one-half ounces–hence the measurements in my recipe.

Second, Kappeler calls for apple brandy–I assume that in 1895, the type of apple brandy he’d most readily have on hand would be domestic (ie, not Calvados), and quite possibly Laird’s (as they were certainly in production during that time). While Laird’s applejack is not currently a “pure” apple brandy, as it contains a substantial portion of neutral grain spirits, in 1895 it was still composed purely of apple distillate, and it’s the closest thing I have on hand to a domestic apple brandy. Should you have access to Laird’s bonded apple brandy, you should certainly use it in this drink (it’d probably be nice with a Calvados, too).

The Star is a very gentle cocktail, with the slight bitterness of the vermouth nicely touched by the fullness of the Peychaud’s. I think the applejack fades into the background a bit too much–all the more reason to break out the real apple brandy deal when giving this one a try.

Perfect Balance

So much of mixology is simple mathematics. Creating a drinkable cocktail is typically nothing more than reaching the right proportion of ingredients in the mixing glass (sure, the method of chilling, type and brand of spirit, and a number of other variables enter into the equation, but stay with me here).

Of course, this means you have to keep a lot of different formulae in your head if you want to have plenty of drinks in your repertoire. Fortunately, you happen across the occasional drink that achieves perfection through a perfect–and equal–balance of ingredients. The Corpse Reviver #2 is one such cocktail–equal parts gin, lemon juice, Lillet and Cointreau, with a drop or two of absinthe-type liqueur dribbled in–and the Golden Dawn is another.

This comes from Ted Haigh’s Vintage Spirits & Forgotten Cocktails, and is the first drink I made after I gave up on tracking down a bottle of the elusive Marie Brizard’s Apry, and bought a bottle of the second-rate Bols apricot brandy, just so I can expand my mixing options. But I digress.

Golden DawnThe Golden Dawn is the first cocktail I can recall that calls for equal parts of five different ingredients, two of them base spirits: Calvados, gin, orange juice, apricot brandy and Cointreau (as a spoiler, a little grenadine is trickled into the finished drink). Haigh credits the United Kingdom Bartenders Guild for coming up with this mix in the 1920s. Sweet but not cloying, and layered with flavor, the Golden Dawn is a delicious–and easy-to-remember–addition to the mixological playbook.

Golden Dawn

  • 3/4 ounce Calvados (or applejack)
  • 3/4 ounce gin
  • 3/4 ounce fresh orange juice
  • 3/4 ounce Cointreau
  • 3/4 ounce apricot brandy

Shake with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with a stemless cherry, and drizzle a little grenadine (don’t stir!) into the finished drink.

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