Funky Rum and the Millionaire

Almost any cocktail with Jamaican rum is going to catch my eye these days. Partially because I love the intense flavors, but mostly because I need no excuse to bring out the Smith and Cross. Recently, I started thinking, what happens if I run out. I hate to even utter it out loud, but the truth is with consumption comes exhaustion. Someday my cupboard may indeed be bare, and I certainly can't count on the liquor stores in Washington--oh, the number of times they've let me down. And of course, no adequate substitute exists for Smith and Cross's funky hogo flavor. Or does it? I remember once sitting at the bar at Vessel, and I ordered a Palmetto, one of my favorite cocktails. Oddly enough the entire bar was out of dark Jamaican rums. So, Jim Romdall set off to replicate the flavors by blending other rums. It was completely amazing, though I don't remember how he did it. I do recall that is was a wonderfully tasty Palmetto, and it did capture much of the flavor of Jamaican rum, or at least what is able to shine through the intense flavors of Carpano Antica. Fortunately, I am not out of Jamaican rum and do not need to replicate his efforts. Instead I am just going to try to create a Smith and Cross-like taste using the Jamaican rums I have on hand. Though perhaps I will just create an entirely different monster in the process.

But why choose the Millionaire? Is it anticlimactic to admit to randomness? Or perhaps not complete randomness. How about a happy accident?  I was poking around the Internet, looking for arrack sour recipes, and somehow, there it was just waiting for me. The citrus element initially provoked my interest, but the sloe gin-rum combination sealed the deal. It also gave me a chance to use my homemade apricot brandy.

The earliest recipe I could find for a Millionaire cocktail is in Jacob Straub's Drinks (1914), though it is not the same Millionaire. Straub's version, which also appears in many other cocktail volumes from the 1920s, includes orange bitters (Straub only), rye whiskey, grenadine, curacao, an egg white, and sometimes a bit of pastis (Vermiere 1922). The Jamaican rum variation does, however, appear two years later in Hugo Ensslin's 1916 cocktail book, Recipes for Mixed Drinks. His recipe calls for equal parts of Jamaican rum, apricot brandy, and sloe gin, with the juice of one lime and a dash of grenadine. Thank god Ted Haigh re-envisioned the proportions when he included his version in Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails. By 1930, another version of the Millionaire had turned up. In the Savoy Cocktail Book, Harry Craddock includes two Millionaires: Ensslin's rum version (#1) and a second version of absinthe, anisette, gin and an egg white. Straub's whiskey version is strangely absent. It will turn up again in William Boothby's 1934 reprint of World Drinks, which collects all three versions. This whiskey version seems to have had the most staying power as it crops up in other cocktail manuals during the forties: Trader Vic's Bartender's Guide (1947), which collects all of the previous recipes and then some, Esquire Handbook for Hosts (1949) and David Embury's Fine Art of Mixing Drinks (1948). Notably in both Embury and the Esquire Handbook, the whiskey version is the sole Millionaire. It is notable, however, that Embury does toss aside the rum version in a sentence. And these are just the mentions I can track in the volumes I own. The Jamaican rum version doesn't seem to crop up many places beyond 1940. Ted Haigh notes that he found the rum version in The How and When published in 1937, where it was listed as the fourth variation. Haigh explains that when he changed the ratios, he was attempting to dial back the sweetness from the liqueurs and amp up the rum while balancing the citrus. His variation proved too tart for my palate, so I cut back the lime juice a little.

Millionaire (as adapted from Vintage Cocktails)

1 1/2 ounce Jamaican rum
3/4 ounce lime juice
3/4 apricot brandy
3/4 ounce sloe gin

Shake ingredients with ice. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Plymouth Sloe Gin and a homemade apricot brandy. I used 1 ounce Appleton with 1/2 ounce Wray & Nephew overproof.

The aroma was full of the funky Wray and Nephew as well as the lime and apricot. I could also detect a richness that I attributed to the  apricot brandy and the Appletons. Even with less lime juice, this drink was still quite tart as the lime and apricot were dominant. Despite the sourness, a considerable amount of richness came through as well. I am sure that the homemade apricot brandy was at least partially responsible. When I made my apricot brandy, I infused brandy with apricots, pits and all, and then sweetened it to taste. While this is not a true apricot brandy, as it includes barrel-aged brandy and all of its associated flavors, it does contribute a certain depth and nuttiness from the pits that a lot of apricot brandies do not have. A commercial apricot liqueur would add more sweetness and a crisp tartness without the richness and nutty flavors. The funky, brown sugar flavors of the rum were most prominent on the after taste. As the drink warmed up, the tart berry notes of the sloe gin became more apparent  before the rum notes took over. Because I used the Plymouth sloe gin, which is not notoriously sweet, this added a nice dryness to the drink. All in all this was a very pleasant, tart drink, and though the ingredients seemed a bit strange on paper, they performed very well in the glass.

Post Script: Rum Conclusions

As I sipped on this cocktail, I was constantly aware of the funkiness of the rum. The richness of the Appletons with the vegetal, funky flavors of the Wray & Nephew do adequately approximate the taste of Smith and Cross, at least when it is mixed with citrus juices and other strong flavors. The substitution is only slightly lower in proof when mixed 2 parts Appletons to 1 part Wray & Nephew and will bring a similar strength when mixed (Smith and Cross, 100 proof, Combo 95 proof). I am not sure how this substitution would work in a more spirit driven cocktail.

When tasting them side by side, neat, the Smith and Cross is dryer, earthier and higher in proof than the substitute. Also I detect more of a molasses flavor. As far as the funky level, the two do seem within the same ballpark, at least to me. The Appletons/Wray & Nephew is milder and has more vanilla notes. The Wray & Nephew does, however, add a vegetal aroma and taste that provides a different sort of funky flavor than anything in the Smith and Cross, though it is by no means a bad addition. Of course no true substitute exists but when working within a cocktail, I think it would be close enough.

A Tale of Molasses and Honey: Two Rum Drinks

Many absolutely confounding drinks are included in the Gentleman's Companion, but just as many of them are quite simple, like the Jamaican Black Stripe and the Jamaican Black Strap. What's more simple than variations on the old-fashioned and the toddy? But then again, as Charles Baker has inadvertently proven time and again, easy to make doesn't always mean tasty. Even after only 15 recipes, I have learned to never prejudge a Baker cocktail or even my own tastes. Regardless of how I wince, groan, or even smirk at one of his recipes, each drink will contain a bit of mystery in one way or another. The most important lesson is that to truly experience something a certain amount of letting go is required, and sometimes that isn't easy or comfortable. But by relinquishing control, I have been able to stretch my sense of taste in ways I never could have foreseen. We all have ideas about what we think we like. Sometimes opening the window to something new lets in more than what we  bargained for, and it can change everything.

The Jamaican Black Strap is not a scary drink. You may or may not believe me depending on your view of the two primary ingredients: molasses and Jamaican rum. I happen to love Jamaican rum. This fact alone would have floored Mr. Baker, who many times asserts that most ladies have a strong dislike for the stronger, more pungent Jamaican rums. I do not particularly disagree with his assertion--indeed, some women probably would find the funkier rums a bit too, um, well, funky for their liking. I would add, however, that, as with most things, this fact does not apply to women alone. Leaving bold statements about gender stereotyping aside, why is Jamaican rum so challenging? The easy answer: it comes down to production.

For every place where rum is manufactured, there exists a different, usually very traditional distillation procedure that characterizes the product. That is why so many styles of rum exist--why Haitian rum tastes different than Martinique rum. Traditionally, in Jamaica, a portion of the material left over in the still after a distillation run, called dunder or setback (for all of you sour mash whiskey lovers), is collected and added to the next batch of mash that is fermenting. This process introduces the slow-acting wild yeasts used during the fermentation process, wards off other unwanted yeasts, and maintains consistency across a product line. But this also creates a lot of the funkier flavors that Jamaican rums are known for. Limings, the scum that forms on the surface of the molasses during the sugar extraction process, can also be added for additional pungency, as well as other things like cane juice, or molasses. Additionally, many Jamaican rum distillers blend spirits produced from a pot still, which typically produces more congeners and thus fuller flavors, with spirits from a column still to create a bolder rum. All of these factors work together to create bolder, more pungent flavors that are more challenging and eye-opening. But my goodness Jamaican rum is delicious.

But we haven't forgotten about molasses. If Jamaican rum is a challenging rum, molasses is a challenging sweetening agent, if you can even call it that. Dark, thick, and slightly bitter, molasses is the byproduct of the sugar making process and serves as the raw material in most rums. Molasses used to be the sweetener of choice in colonial times, or at least until refined sugar became readily available. Molasses does have its devout fans who drizzle it on such things as cornbread or pancakes. Not me though. Though I have added it in small doses to simple syrups to create a funkier, bolder flavor, the only way I like to eat molasses is in a cookie, where its earthy, rich flavors shine but its bitterness is thankfully suppressed. So with only a bit of hesitancy, I progressed to Mr. Baker's version of a very old drink, the Black Strap, which was exceedingly popular both as a warm and cold beverage in the United States at least as late as the eighteenth century.

Jamaican Black Strap (for two)

3 ounces Jamaican Rum
2 tbsp water
2 tsp molasses
1 dash Angostura Bitters

Shake ingredients with lots of cracked ice. Strain into an old-fashioned glass. Garnish with a pineapple spear.

Notes on Ingredients: I used the mighty Smith and Cross for the rum, and after an initial taste or three upped the amount of bitters to 3 dashes for two drinks.

The aroma was filled with the recognizable smell of Smith and Cross: strong, funky and full of promise. Of course the molasses was there as well, though I am still not sure if I was smelling the actual molasses or the Smith and Cross. Also, the pineapple spear, which was an utter garnish failure, awkward protuberance that it was, added a bit of undefinable fruitiness to the nose. The first sip was very molasses-y, though the hogo of the rum carried through at the end. You would think that there would be some sweetness in this drink, but it was dry and earthy, with a vague powdery texture that made each sip seem almost chewy. After I increased the bitters, the spices became more detectable on the swallow. The flavors of the molasses were also enhanced by the increase in bitters--the drink seemed sweeter, in that pleasing molasses cookie way, and the flavors in general seemed more balanced. Overall, not bad but not great.

If the Jamaican Black Strap is the darker side of a Jamaican rum drink, there is always a lighter side. The Jamaican Black Stripe is similar to the Jamaican Black Strap, except honey replaces the molasses. This drink is even less scary. Just looking at the recipe, I could imagine the bountiful aromatics of the funky rum mingling with the floral honey and fresh ground nutmeg. My only sense of hesitation was linked to the amount of honey. Considering how easily honey can overwhelm a drink, I think this was a valid hesitation. But, if anything can stand up to it, I would bet on that Smith and Cross, pot-stilled, funky and 100 proof. Not much pushes that rum around.

Jamaican Black Stripe (as interpreted)

1 1/2 ounces Jamaican rum
3/4 ounce honey syrup

Combine honey and rum with ice and shake. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with fresh ground nutmeg.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Smith and Cross rum and a 1:1 honey syrup, which is sweeter and more fragrant than the proportions in Baker's syrup.

Unsurprisingly, the aroma was dominated by the nutmeg. No complaints so far. The light smell of molasses was detectable as well from the Smith and Cross. When I first tasted this drink was, I noticed that it was a bit sweet. On the second go, I could detect the other flavors better. The Smith and Cross contributed its customary swagger, though it seemed less funky and more earthy. The floral notes of the honey were most apparent at end of each sip, but the rum was back with its molasses and funk just in time for the aftertaste. It was surprising just how well the flavors matched up. The drink on the whole was exceedingly smooth and creamy, and the sweetness dissipated as I made my way through it. I do think that in general the Jamaican Black Stripe was a bit sweet and I still wonder what a dash of bitters would do. Maybe orange bitters? All in all, it was a very pleasant sipper that would work well, ice cold in the summer heat.

A Rum Drink Just in Time for Spring: Bertita's Special

March--a trying month to be sure. As winter loses its grip, a great impatience flourishes inside me, a restlessness stemming from the wearisome months of dark sky and early night. Accompanying this is a longing for all things bright, shiny, and summer-related. All of this daydreaming is of course helplessly premature. In places that are pummeled with snow and brutally cold temperatures, I imagine this phase occurs in February, when burrowing under layers and inside houses exceeds most people's thresholds for being couped up, mentally as well as physically. Seattle's winter weather at worst functions by erosion--you don't quite feel the pressure of a constant barrage, but little by little it builds up. For me, rock bottom occurs in early March.

I often wonder if our cravings are linked to our view of the passing of seasons, or vice versa. First comes that curious urge for all things barrel-aged that accompanies winter. It is not an unknown phenomenon, colder temperatures and shorter days readily link up with winter warmers usually including whiskey in all its various incarnations. Personally, that usually means rye, though this year I did take a brief sojourn into blended scotch. But restless taste buds can only handle so much of the same. As the season waxed and waned and the temperatures strayed from their lows, giving us teasing glimpses of the Spring, I found myself craving gin in combination with various amari. But at some point it all reaches a head, and drinks that are dark and bitter aren't as satisfying as they once were. So here we are: the days are lengthening, the cherry blossoms are tinting the streets with brilliant dashes of pink, and winter jackets seem a bit too heavy and oppressive. It can mean only one thing: the time for rum, citrus, color and maybe a bit of silliness has arrived. Thus, I flipped the page to Bertita's Special at exactly the right time, when tropical flavors can ease the passing of the last days of dreariness.  

Bertita's Special comes from South of the Border, from the small city of Taxco located in the mountains of Mexico, where many artists and artisans from America took up residence during the early part of the twentieth century "for various reasons, & with varying success." Bertita's Bar, owned by Dona Bertha, has been more famously linked to the creation of another drink, the Margarita. At best, it is one vague claim among many. Bertita's Bar, as Charles Baker notes, is a "dingy, but mildly celebrated place" and he notes that this drink--I am sure it was not the only one--is "poured with a heavy hand," which, considering Baker's taste, is probably why it was included in his tome. I can't help but imagine Bertita's as a spectacular example of a dive bar, with the perfect mixture of local color and lack of polish that makes certain places an unpretentious joy to visit.

Bertita's Special Cocktail (as adapted)

3 ounces light rum
3/4 ounce lime juice
2 ounces orange juice
1 teaspoon grenadine

Shake ingredients briefly with ice. Strain into a chilled Collins glass packed full of crushed ice. Float 1 teaspoon Jamaican rum on top.

Note on Ingredients: I used Cruzan white rum, homemade grenadine, and Smith and Cross for the float. Appleton's Estate V/X makes a fine substitute where Smith and Cross is unavailable.

Baker's instructions called for shaking the ingredients with cracked ice, pouring the contents--ice and all--into a large champagne glass, and then adding the float of Jamaican rum. I decided to shake the ingredients briefly with cubed ice and serve it over fresh crushed ice. In fact, it was very enjoyable and didn't become incredibly watered down.The aroma was full of Jamaican rum, which make sense because it was sitting right there on top. The first taste was also filled with the unmistakable hogo stamp of the Smith and Cross. What a wonderful way to start! Once through the initial sip, however, the lime stepped in. This drink reminded me of a mellowed-out daiquiri--tart, brisk and dry with a good dose of rum. Perhaps it would be more accurate to liken this libation to a mellower version of the Bacardi cocktail, a simple daiquiri with grenadine in place of sugar. With only a teaspoon of grenadine, the orange juice tempered the strength of the lime. The grenadine did, however, provide a nice color as well as a light berry note that became more apparent as the drink warmed up.The rum thoroughly dominated the aftertaste. This cocktail was exceptionally refreshing and really fit with my March mood, but it would also be wonderful during the warmer months.