I really try to ignore St. Patrick’s Day. It’s a time when the fair-weather drinkers like to lay into the stuff, making bars about the last place I want to be. And as someone who’s let this particular interest slip among colleagues and casual acquaintances, it’s the time of year when I invariably get asked how to make an Irish car bomb, or what’s my favorite green drink. It’s almost enough to make you go on the wagon (fortunately, there’s Rick’s booze-whopper “Limit: One” Mixology Monday coming up, so I’ll be spared that particular inconvenience).

But hey, here it comes, and while preparing for my Serious Eats post earlier this evening I was digging through books looking for the earliest recipe for the Emerald I could find — this version, that is, not one of the handful of other drinks that have gone under that name — when I came across one such Emerald variation in Trader Vic’s Bartender’s Guide that seemed worth a shot.

And no wonder — after a closer look at the recipe, I had one of those “hey, wait a minute–” moments, and realized this is simply a Bijou wearing a different hat. (And I know this very same drink pops up again with a different name somewhere — no, I’m not thinking of the Tailspin, that’s got a dash of Campari in place of the orange bitters — so if anybody has better recall than I do, please chime in with a comment.)

But what the hell — Emerald, Bijou, whatever, it’s a nice drink. If you need something that sounds kind of Irish on the big day, but want to avoid the typical crap, keep the Emerald name on the drink and go for it.

Emerald / Bijou / ????

• 1 ounce gin
• 1 ounce sweet vermouth
• 1 ounce green Chartreuse
• 2 dashes orange bitters

Stir well with ice; strain into chilled cocktail glass.

Tags: Drinks, Gin by Paul
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I’ve found myself falling into a cocktail rut lately — and it’s not just a defensive posture from drinking so much apricot brandy. Relatively minor, as these things go, but it’s been a bit more of a challenge to come up with an idea of what I’d like to have. So, in pursuit of recipes that I’m quite sure I’ve never tried, I turned to quite possibly my most beloved mixology-related book: Charles Baker’s The Gentleman’s Companion.

Baker has no shortage of recipes that have never appeared elsewhere, sometimes with good reason: while the man spun a fine yarn about most anything poured into a glass, some of the mixes are slightly off, and others just downright weird. Here’s one of the latter, but for this one I don’t mean “weird” in an entirely disapproving light.

First, the setup: “Watch this one when out under the moon in a desert overnight camp, riding camels out across the vast dunes, or strolling in the moonlight around the Sphinx with some congenial young woman companion.”

The Sahara Glowing Heart Cocktail
from the Hands of one Abdullah an Arab Muslim Wizard back of Mahogany at the Mena House Bar, near the Pyramids of Ghizeh, which Are Just South of Cairo, Egypt

“Take of dry gin, 1 pony [1 ounce], absinthe, 1 pony, dry imported apricot brandy, 1 pony; donate 1/2 pony of bright rose coloured grenadine. Shake with lots and lots of ice and strain into a large saucer champagne glass, and pray Allah for forgiveness of all imminent and future sins of the flesh…

I’d be dishonest if I said Baker’s commentary wasn’t the primary driving force behind my effort at whipping up one of these, but I’m also trying assorted obscure absinthe cocktails (for reasons that will soon become evident), and this one seemed suitably obscure to include in the project.

Of the result, Baker writes: “To us this drink tastes a bit sweet [BINGO! –ed.]; also a bit dominated by absinthe or Pernod Veritas [ya think?!? –ed.]. So why not experiment to taste along these lines? … Ignore the grenadine, step up the gin to a jigger, whittle the absinthe to a dash or two inside the empty glass before pouring the chilled drink.”

Upon the first sip, I thought, “That’s one of the weirdest things I’ve ever had,” and to be honest, I’m still thinking that as I finish the drink. But, this ain’t bad — while sweet, as Baker says, there’s also a really engaging interplay between the apricot eau de vie and the absinthe. I’ll try Baker’s suggested variation at some point, but for now, I disagree on removing the grenadine entirely: the drink benefits from the additional fruitiness it brings to the table, but at 1/2 an ounce, it does make the cocktail startlingly sweet.

As Baker’s cocktails go, the Sahara Glowing Heart has the appropriate level of screwball distinctiveness to it, but it’s also not a bad basis from which to start playing with variations. Now if I can just arrange for some of that forgiveness…

Tags: Absinthe, Drinks, Eau de Vie, Gin by Paul
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Okay, I have to stop now.

Call me a failure if you must, but I wasn’t able to power through every single one of the approximately 30 apricot-brandy cocktails that were submitted for the latest round of Raiders of the Lost Cocktail. I’m sorry — but the smell of apricots is coming out of my pores and my skin is turning orange; I may never be able to eat another piece of rugelach as long as I live. But before you come down too hard on me, keep in mind this twist on that ol’ biblical instruction: Let he who has methodically sampled more than 20 apricot-brandy cocktails without growing very sick of apricots cast the first stone.

Fortunately, I made it through most of the recipes (submitted here and here); since many people submitted more than one drink, I made sure to try at least one cocktail from each participant, so nobody’d be left out.

From this mix, there were a lot of winners. Before I give my top pick, here are a few observations:

1. Apricot brandy and pineapple — who knew the combination could be so tasty? If you see these two flavors together in a recipe, go for it.
2. Apricot brandy and pastis or absinthe — proceed with caution. I won’t say they’re mutually incompatible, but you need a very patient palate to handle this mixture.
3. If a recipe contains apricot brandy, grenadine, and at least one and possibly two or more additional liqueurs, you’re likely to collapse in a diabetic coma before you finish the drink.
4. If a drink calls for apricot brandy as a base, or in quantities of one ounce or greater, see point #3.
5. Rum and apricot brandy kicks ass — check out the Periodista, the Jamaica Farewell and the Honi Honi for proof.
6. There is a need in this world for more cocktails that use Pimm’s No. 1 as an ingredient, such as the Stardust. When matched against apricot brandy and with some gin and sweet vermouth along for the ride, the Pimm’s makes a mighty fine drink.
7. I really wanted to like the Pisco-Apricot Tropical, from Charles Baker’s The South American Gentleman’s Companion. Fortunately, I’m accustomed to disappointment, so the fact that the drink didn’t work out wasn’t too much of a shock.
8. Apricot brandy takes on strange and intriguing new characteristics when you use it in small doses against something herbal.

On this last note, I announce my choice for top drink of this round of Raiders of the Lost Cocktail: the Claridge.

Hailing from the Savoy Cocktail Book and suggested by two participants — Charlie Oat from the Connecticut School of Bartending, and Jay from Oh, Gosh! — the Claridge was a real eye-opener. It seemed promising enough, sure, but for some reason the apricot brandy, smoothed out and complemented by the Cointreau, really comes into its own in what otherwise would be a Fitty-Fitty martini. The liqueurs weigh in as more than mere flavor accents, but a big dose of botanicals from the gin and vermouth takes the flavor to another, very delicate plane. A lovely drink that I’m happy to have discovered through this little exercise; my hat is off to the two participants.

Claridge*

• 1 1/2 ounces gin
• 1 1/2 ounces dry vermouth
• 1/2 ounce Cointreau
• 1/2 ounce apricot brandy

Stir well with ice and strain into chilled cocktail glass.

* If you dig through the comments section in which the drinks were posted, you’ll see that Charlie used the Savoy measurements — 1 1/2 ounces each gin and vermouth, 3/4 ounce of each of the liqueurs — while Jay brought the liqueurs down a notch to 1/2 ounce each. I’m not sure why the change was made, but having tried the drink both ways, I liked the drier version printed above. Don’t take my word for it — try for yourself.

By long tradition — since last fall, anyway — the winner of this round hosts the next, and chooses the ingredient. Now that there are two winners, however, I’m not sure how to proceed. Jay has a blog while Charlie doesn’t (to my knowledge), so that seems to lend in favor of Jay hosting; perhaps the two gentlemen could agree on the next ingredient?

Anyway, that wraps up this long round of Raiders of the Lost Cocktail. I’m off to not think about apricots for a while.

Tags: Drinks, Gin by Paul
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Now that the comments sections are filling up both at The Spirit World and here for Raiders of the Lost Cocktail, perhaps its time I put my own drink on the line.

To recap: this month we’re mixing with apricot brandy, digging out some old (and new) recipes that call for this liqueur, and highlighting what this ingredient brings to mixology.

This event has also served to demonstrate one additional fact: my fellow cocktail bloggers are trying to kill me. Evidence: my claim in the original post that, in the weekend following the February 15 deadline, I would try each of the submitted drinks and then choose the champion. As of right now, there are somewhere around 30 cocktails that have been submitted — thanks a hell of a lot to those who started packing two or three drinks into their posts. Now, I’ve gotta break out my four different types of apricot brandy — I know, it’s a sickness — along with my emergency backup liver, and start mixing my way through Periodistas, Claridges, Millionaires and the like. Thank god it’s a three-day weekend.

Anyway, no reason I shouldn’t start myself off with something fun. As I’ve mentioned before, some of the most interesting drinks to be found in David Wondrich’s book, IMBIBE!, have to be dug out of the explanatory text that follows many of the drink recipes. Wondrich will start with one drink, then toss in a half-dozen variations and descendants in this text, with brief instructions on how to approach them; if you’ve been skipping over that part, go back and start rooting around — there are some real gems to be found.

Here’s one that’s good not just because of the way it comes out, but because it really tastes like a different era: the Blackthorn Sour. This follows in the instructions to the “Brandy, Gin, Santa Cruz or Whiskey Sour,” a broad category if ever there was one. As the sour soared in popularity, Wondrich writes:

…where before there had been only the basic versions, named after the spirits that animated them, suddenly the bars are festooned with signs for Blackthorn Sours (with sloe gin, pineapple syrup and a splash of apricot liqueur), Sours a la Creole (brandy and Jamaica rum with lime juice and “a little ice cream on top”), Dizzy Sours (rye with a dash of Benedictine and a Jamaica rum float), Jack Frost Whiskey Sours (apple “whiskey” — i.e., applejack — with an egg and cream) and the like.

But first, I have to own up to something: I can’t mix the drink properly, not right now, anyway. The instructions call for sloe gin, and — with Plymouth not entering the states for another couple of months — I’m reluctant to buy a bottle of crap just to try this drink. So instead, I’m using some homemade damson gin that I put up last fall. It came out very nice, rich and flavorful, and while sweeter and not as vibrant as a good sloe gin, it’s still pretty damn good, and can fill in until the good stuff comes in.

I’ve also made one more adjustment: I’ve tried this with a homemade pineapple syrup, and combined with the sweetness of the damson gin (which I made using half the sugar called for in the recipe), it’s a bit too cloying, even with the lemon juice amped up. Instead I’m relying on the damson gin and a couple of teaspoons of apricot brandy to sweeten the drink, and I’m putting a few cubes of fresh (okay, frozen and defrosted) pineapple into the shaker.

Wondrich doesn’t codify the recipe, so here’s how I’m going about it:

Blackthorn Sour (close to it, anyway)

• 2 ounces damson gin
• 1 ounce fresh lemon juice
• 2 teaspoons apricot brandy
• 3-4 chunks pineapple

Shake really hard with ice and double-strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Apricot and pineapple have a mighty kind of alchemy between them, and the fruitiness of the damson gin is a big, soft cushion for the flavors to roll around in. This is a very plush drink, still on the sweet side but not terribly so. I have a ton of plums in my freezer that I was saving with the idea of playing around with different damson gin recipes at some point; next time around, I’ll go with a sugar-free version that may be more suitable for mixing. But still, this is nothing to scoff at.

And that’s it for Raiders of the Lost Cocktail, round 3. Now to work my way through the recipes. Let’s see, maybe a Normandy next…

Tags: Drinks, Gin by Paul
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You remember when you were a kid and Christmas finally rolled around? You were so psyched from the weeks of waiting that you were about to have a cute little aneurysm just waiting for Christmas morning to come, and when it finally happened — when you went to sleep on Christmas eve and then woke up with a start — you went rushing helter-skelter down to the living room to freak out under the Christmas tree, oblivious to the fact that it was 5:30 AM and, aside from your similarly over-stimulated siblings, nobody else in the house realized it was time to get rolling.

For Jeffrey Morgenthaler, our gracious host this month, Repeal Day is Christmas morning. Ready to party with the Dewar’s people in New York, Jeffrey popped up his MxMo roundup while many of his fellow bloggers — including Rick, Marleigh, Jay and myself, among others — were still lounging around, thinking we had all the time in the world to get our posts together.

You can’t blame him, though — Jeffrey orchestrated some wildly popular Repeal Day events last year, and this year it seems to be catching on more than ever. And for a bartender and card-carrying booze geek like Jeffrey, the anniversary of the repeal of Prohibition offers no fewer reasons to celebrate than any day that involves a fat guy in a red suit.

But while this Repeal Day will be full of people wearing fedoras and vintage cocktail dresses meant to evoke the 1930s, tipping back period-appropriate cocktails, martinis in teacups and the occasional shot of bourbon, let’s not forget what a really fucking bleak time Prohibition was in many ways. I don’t just mean the absence of legal booze –though that sucked plenty, I’m sure — I mean the total destruction of careers and livelihoods that took place when bars were shuttered, wine and beer (and the tips and revenues that accompanied them) were removed from restaurants, breweries and distilleries were shut down, and the whole resource chain and infrastructure that was somehow related to the production of beverage alcohol was knocked ass-over-teakettle by overambitious legislation.

And consider those who defied the law — sure, the whole speakeasy thing is big now, but it’s not like the real deal were serving custom-crafted cocktails using hand-chiseled ice. Bad booze, no regulatory controls, block-and-drop joints, dealing with “liquor producers” with the technical skill and professional ethics of modern-day meth-lab chemists, and the ever-present threat of arrest and scandal brought more than just the hint of danger to the whole business.

Case in point: gin. “Bathtub gin” is a cliche left over from the era, an allusion to the discrete mixing of grain alcohol with oil of juniper to produce something that kind of, maybe, if you’re desperate, sort of tastes like gin. Need something closer to the real deal? Try this — the recipe is from Giggle Water, a 1928 book that contains a number of recipes for making your own brandies, cordials and gins, along with cocktail recipes blatantly stolen word-for-word from Jerry Thomas.

Imitation Old Tom London Gin

Dissolve in 1 quart 95 per cent alcohol, 1 drachm oil of coriander, 1 drachm oil of cedar, 1/2 drachm oil of bitter almonds, 1/2 drachm oil of angelica, and 1/2 drachm oil of sweet fennel; add it to 40 gallons French spirit 10 above proof, with 1 pint orange-flower water, 1 quart syrup and 1 drachm oil of juniper dissolved in sufficient 95 per cent alcohol to be clear.

And if it wasn’t clear? Lacking Jeffrey’s Brita filter, Giggle Water’s author suggests this method:

To Clarify Gin or Cordials

Pulverize 1 pound ordinary crystals of alum, divide into 12 equal portions, and put up in blue papers marked No. 1. Next take 6 ounces carbonate (the ordinary sesquicarbonate) of soda, divide it into 12 parts and put them up in white papers marked No. 2. In place of the 6 ounces of carbonate of soda, 4 ounces dry salt of tartar may be substituted, but the white papers containing this latter substance must be kept in a dry, well corked bottle or jar. To clarify 30 to 36 gallons gin, dissolve the contents of one of the blue papers, as prepared above in about a pint of hot water, and stir it into the liquor thoroughly. Then dissolve the contents of one of the white papers in about 1/2 pint hot water, and stir well into the liquor; bung the cask close, and let the whole remain till the next day.

30 to 36 Gallons? This recipe ain’t for someone putting up a bottle to make Bronxes for the missus and the golf partners on a Saturday afternoon.

Given the way such concoctions must have tasted, it’s not surprising that many cocktail guides published soon after repeal expressed revulsion for the sweet, creamy cocktails that were created in an attempt to obscure the horrid taste of such hooch. Here’s David Embury with a particularly memorable piece of vitriol from 1948:

So unutterably vile were these synthetic concoctions that the primary object in mixing a cocktail became the addition of a sufficient amount of sweetened, highly flavored, and otherwise emollient and anti-emetic ingredients (cream, honey, Karo, canned fruit juices, etc.) to make it reasonably possible to swallow the resultant concoction and at the same time to retain a sufficient content of renatured alcohol to insure ultimate inebriety. Just how much dilution of the “gin”-bottle contents might be necessary to accomplish this supposedly salutary result depended largely on the intestinal fortitude and esophageal callosity of the particular individual involved. However, only the most rugged Spartan with at least ten years of vigorous prohibition training could be expected to survive — or, indeed, to get down — a drink containing as much as 50 percent of the gin, whisky, brandy, or what have you of those days.

Small wonder, then, that this period gave birth to such pernicious recipes as the Alexander — equal parts of gin, creme de cacao, and sweet cream; the Orange Blossom — equal parts of gin and orange juice, with or without the white of an egg; the Bee’s Knees — equal parts of gin, lemon juice, and honey; and so on ad nauseam. And it is only by regarding them as a more or less logical, albeit regrettable, aftermath of prohibition influence that one can account for the many ridiculous formulas still found in the average book of cocktail recipes of today.

So, in other words, Carry Nation is responsible for the alco-pop.

This post is already reaching Heugelian length, so I’ll stop with the ranting and head for the liquor cabinet. Bee’s Knees, anyone?

Bee’s Knees, adapted from The Fine Art of Mixing Drinks, by David Embury

• 2 ounces gin
• 1/2 ounce fresh lemon juice
• 1/4 ounce honey

Shake vigorously with cracked ice. Writes Embury, “Early in the book I spoke in disparaging terms of the Bee’s Knees. This, however, was because as it originally came out during prohibition days it consisted of equal parts of lemon juice, honey, and gin. If made as a variation of the standard Gin Sour, merely substituting honey for the sugar syrup, it is acceptable.”

Acceptable. Yeah, that pretty much says it. (And before anyone gets the wrong idea from the photo: the Bee’s Knees recipe ain’t in Giggle Water; it is, however, a product of the same era, hence the pairing in the photo.)

So that’s it for this Mixology Monday — head on over to Jeffrey’s site soon for the roundup — oh, it’s already there. Never mind.

Tags: Drinks, Gin, Mixology Monday by Paul
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