It’s been a while since I’ve fully visited the range of drinks that were variously known as corpse revivers, fog cutters, gloom chasers and what have you — regardless of the moniker, the drinks that were designed to be consumed at a relatively early hour to dispel the effects of a long night before.

Thanks to Ted Haigh — who propelled the Corpse Reviver #2 out of obscurity and into ubiquity (at least at craft-cocktail establishments) when he included it in Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails, now poised to retake the bibulous world in an expanded edition — the corpse reviver category has (sorry) returned from the dead. Somewhat, that is.

For there to be a #2, there has to be a #1 — but as with many freshman efforts, the initial entry into the category (at least, the one that was dubbed #1 in 1930s bar manuals by Harry Craddock and Patrick Duffy) has been overshadowed by its more illustrious successor. In the case of the Corpse Reviver, this is as it should be — while version #1 is certainly nothing to sneeze at, it lacks the delicacy of the #2; plus, if the directions are followed to the letter, it’s an ass-kicker. Let’s take a quick look –

Corpse Reviver #1

• 1 1/2 ounces brandy
• 3/4 ounce apple brandy
• 3/4 ounce sweet vermouth

Stir well with ice, strain into chilled cocktail glass. Hit it with a lemon peel, if you like.

Short, sharp and strong — not bad, but nothing that remarkable. No wonder it faded.

But, a year or so back, I was served a variation on this drink by Jamie Boudreau. Jamie freshened up the CR1 by using pommeau de normandie in place of the apple brandy; this reduced the alcohol level of the cocktail, making it a bit more managable, while also bumping up the fruitiness factor without adding extra sweetness. Rounded off with peach bitters and Angostura, and the Corpse Reviver #1 had a — sorry again — new lease on life. Here’s Jamie’s version, the Naramata:

Naramata

• 1 1/2 ounces cognac
• 1 oz sweet vermouth (Cinzano recommended)
• 3/4 ounce pommeau de normandie
• 2 dashes peach bitters
• 2 dashes Angostura bitters

Stir well with ice, strain into chilled cocktail glass. Flame an orange twist over the drink and use as garnish.

I tried a few versions of this drink; while the impulse is always there to reach for a premium vermouth like Carpano Antica, it most assuredly does not work in this cocktail. The Antica has such a strong flavor that it overwhelms the pommeau; instead I used Martini & Rossi as it’s my workhorse sweet vermouth, and it seemed to work well in this drink. Also, I eschewed the cognac recommendation and instead went with Armagnac, reasoning that the more rugged, earthy flavor could lend an interesting angle to the drink. I doubt I could tell a Naramata made with cognac from one made with armagnac in a blind tasting, but the Armagnac did its job well and I have no complaints.

Anyway, this is another drink I’ve been thinking about for a long while, dusted off for the new millenia.

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: Brandy, Calvados, Drinks, Thirty in 30, Vermouth by Paul
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I’d like to write about all the great drinks I enjoyed in New Orleans, but to be honest, after the first couple of Sazeracs everything started running together until, a week later, I boarded the flight home, still bleary eyed and happy and reeking only slightly of absinthe. God, I love New Orleans.

Before Tales of the Cocktail, I had the bright idea of hosting the Mixology Monday on the Monday following the event; then, it’d be easy enough to just slap together all the posts on drinks that bloggers were putting up at Tales Blog during the event, along with those from folks who couldn’t make it, and we’d all be done by the time the Tales hangover wore off.

Of course, I wasn’t counting on the royally uncooperative wi-fi at the Monteleone, and the sheer volume of events and distractions that kept me and a good majority of the other bloggers away from our computers until we were safely back at home. Somewhere around Thursday I realized that it was better to be out drinking and eating and talking and schmoozing than to be tapping at my keyboard, and while those of you who couldn’t come to New Orleans had to contend with a lull in posts, I can say with a good deal of certainty that I’m the better off for it.

Here’s proof. Before heading to New Orleans, I checked in with Chris Hannah at Arnaud’s French 75 bar to see when he’d be working. Chris has earned a reputation as one of the top bartenders in the city, and I couldn’t miss the chance to visit the French 75 — easily one of the most beautiful and historic bars in a city filled with them — while Chris was on duty. I dragged a contingent of booze geeks to the bar on Tuesday, the first night in town for most of us, but we just missed Chris (though we did have some great drinks in the beautiful bar). On Friday I had better luck, and fortunately had the mind to put my choice of drink in his hands. Here’s what he came back with:

Bywater, an original drink by Chris Hannah, Arnaud’s French 75 Bar, New Orleans

• 1 3/4 ounces Cruzan 5-year-old rum (Chris suggests the Cruzan Single Barrel as a suitable replacement)
• 3/4 ounce Amer Boudreau (housemade Amer Picon replica, using Jamie Boudreau’s recipe)
• 1/2 ounce Chartreuse (yellow, I’m assuming)
• 1/2 ounce Falernum (housemade, I’m guessing, using the recipe that ran in Imbibe last summer)

Stir with ice & strain into chilled cocktail glass.

The bar was humming during my visit, so I didn’t get much of a chance to chat with Chris, but he kindly provided this recipe. I’m assuming he used yellow Chartreuse, as the green has the habit of walloping both the drinker and the flavor of the cocktail, whereas the Bywater has a nice balance; and a housemade falernum made with fresh lime juice. I tried one of these at home using the Falernum #10 that I poured during the “Make Your Own Cocktail Ingredients” session; this version doesn’t call for fresh lime juice, and I found the drink needed just a little splash of acid to keep the sweetness in check. Though really, that’s kind of the beauty of this kind of drink, that uses not just one but two homemade ingredients: to position the flavors of the cocktail just so, you have the opportunity to not only adjust the levels of each ingredient, but to tinker with the flavors of the ingredients themselves to custom-craft a good drink, as Chris masterfully did with the Bywater.

The drink takes two divergent but not dischordant courses: first, you have a very gentle, vanilla-ey rum paired with the island-punch sweetener falernum; but then, you introduce two very complex and very resonant French (or French-style) ingredients, that introduce high bitter-orange notes and a mid-range light bitterness, with the elaborate floral and herbal characteristics of the Chartreuse.

The cocktail is named, of course, for the Bywater neighborhood in New Orleans, part of the Ninth Ward. I figured plenty of folks would be coming to this month’s MxMo armed with Ramos fizzes and Sazeracs, and I wanted to have a fantastic contemporary cocktail with strong New Orleans roots. The Bywater certainly fits the bill.

And since many of this month’s participants seem to be taking the Tales-style two-fisted approach with their entries, I should follow suit with the cocktail Chris poured me after I polished off my Bywater. This time, rather than try to explain it in a crowded, noisy bar, Chris simply handed me a copy of the Food & Wine Cocktails 2008 book, which includes this original recipe:

Accoutrement

• 2 ounces Calvados
• 3/4 ounce Strega
• 1/2 ounce Creole Shrubb
• 3/4 ounce fresh lemon juice
• 2 dashes Peychaud’s bitters

Shake well with ice and strain into chilled cocktail glass; garnish with brandied cherries.

Between the Calvados and the Creole Shrubb, I was hooked. Calvados makes some incredibly complex and evocative cocktails, and the gentle spice of the Shrub and the Strega really make this an elegant drink.

I’ve had plenty of lackluster cocktails in New Orleans at previous Tales of the Cocktail; this year, the general level of quality was notably improved, but when I positioned myself at Chris Hannah’s bar and let him show me what he had, I was absolutely blown away. I know where I’m drinking next year.

I’ve lost count on how many bloggers have joined in this Mixology Monday; I know it’s huge, though, so keep an eye out for the roundup in the next couple of days.

Tags: Calvados, Drinks, Establishments, Falernum, Mixology Monday, Rum by Paul
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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.

Here’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.

Tags: Applejack, Brandy, Calvados, Drinks 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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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.

Tags: Calvados, Drinks, Gin by Paul
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