A Gin Milkshake: Charles Baker's Cafe de Paris Cocktail

Some cocktail recipes just scream off the page, "I am wonderful. Make me now!" And then there are the ones that don't look like they would work on paper but are amazing in actuality. The Blood and Sand instantly comes to mind. Many of the drink descriptions in the Gentleman's Companion, mingled as they are with narrative, evoke a history that most people couldn't even imagine--exotic ports of call, palaces, underground caves--except perhaps in the world of celluloid. The Cafe de Paris is not, however, one of those showstopping cocktails. Never did I look at the recipe and think that it was going to knock my socks off. But sometimes there is a hidden story hidden that makes the entire experience that much more interesting. The Cafe de Paris actually became more vibrant the more I explored its possible history and it took me on a journey all its own.

Charles Baker offers little in the way of beginnings. He states that the cocktail is "from 'MONTE,' a place well-mentioned in our previous volume on foods; sampled first in 1931." Considering that I do not own Knife, Fork and Spoon, his note is a bit of a dead end, especially since "MONTE" is curiously vague, and the date means little even in context. The Cafe de Paris is also curiously absent from many of the cocktail guides that I own. The volumes where it has been collected are the Savoy Cocktail Guide (1930), Boothby's 1934 reprint the World's Drink and How to Mix Them, and Harry McElhone's Barflies and Cocktails (1927). But it is in this last source where we find our first real clue, as McElhone includes, "Recipe from the Cafe de Paris, Broadway, New York."

Located at the corner of Forty-Second Street and Seventh Avenue in the heart of Times Square, the Cafe de Paris, originally named the Cafe de L'Opera, opened its doors in December 1909. One of the most opulent hotels of the time, it was designed in an "Assyrian" style, stood eight stories tall and contained a twenty-foot wide staircase outfitted with crouching bronze Assyrian lions. Decadent, indeed. But unfortunately, a mandatory formal dress code and poor service (dishes often arrived cold) proved to be its undoing. By 1910, Louis Martin, one of the successful owners of the Martin Cafe, had entered the picture to attempt a  rescue mission. After his intervention, the restaurant/lounge became one of the most popular cabarets before World War I started. Vernon and Irene Castle, who popularized modern ballroom dancing for American audiences, made their debut at the Cafe de Paris's height in 1912. Their story was later immortalized on the silver screen in the Story of Vernon and Irene Castle, starring Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. However, even the Castles' success could not permanently save the Cafe de Paris. Louis Martin resigned in 1914 and the Cafe de Paris soon closed its doors forever.

But that still doesn't connect all of the dots. How did a recipe from the Cafe de Paris make its way into a cocktail manual written in 1927, almost ten years after it closed? What's even more curious is that this cocktail didn't find its way into Robert Vermiere's Cocktails: Here's How written in 1923? Could it be that Harry McElhone himself provides the key? Harry McElhone is most famous for Harry's New York Bar, which he bought in 1923. Located in Paris, it is still open today. Before he relocated, Harry could be found behind the stick at Ciro's Club where he landed after World War I ended in 1918. But in 1912, when the Castles were dancing their way into America's hearts in the Tenderloin district of New York City, where was our man Harry? Just seventeen blocks north, bartending at the famous Oak Bar at the Plaza Hotel.

Unfortunately, this is where the trail runs cold. There is no formal link between Harry McElhone in 1912, when he had newly arrived at the Plaza Hotel in 1911 and the Cafe de Paris cocktail. It is very likely though that during his stint in New York he would have come across the Cafe de Paris cocktail at some point. Even today drink recipes tend to travel around cities and among bartenders. But there is no reason to believe that the Cafe de Paris cocktail was overly popular, considering how many cocktail manuals passed it over. The last potential lead I uncovered turned out to be, sadly, beyond my reach: Harry McElhone published the first impression of his ABC's of Cocktails in 1918. Subsequent impressions followed. If the Cafe de Paris is included it would definitely show that McElhone is responsible for the survival of the Cafe de Paris cocktail even while its namesake did not and it would potentially fill one of the remaining blanks in its history. In the meantime, as with most cocktail history, it just seems natural that a certain shroud of vagueness is blanketing yet another cocktail origin story.

Cafe de Paris Cocktail

1 1/2 ounces gin

1 tsp anisette
1/2 egg white
1 tsp heavy cream

Dry shake ingredients to emulsify egg white. Add ice and shake again. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Sambuca instead of anisette and Bellringer gin.

This was one surprising cocktail. As with most Baker drinks that include any anise at all, I expected to be bowled over. But the drink was deliciously restrained, with a delicate licorice flavor that mingled well with the botanic flavors of the gin. The texture was creamy and smooth, as would be expected from a cream and egg white drink, but the actual flavors were dry and refreshing. Unfortunately, the taste of the cream was just a bit too much for me. I am sure another might be okay with this, however. I do think that perhaps the addition of orange bitters would smarten it up and make it more than just a really good frothy gin milkshake with a hint of anise. All in all, my initial doubts were confirmed--this drink doesn't really suit my taste, as pleasant as I found it initially. But it also wasn't as bad as it could have been considering the ingredients and Baker's poor reputation. Sometimes just that tiniest of differences is all that separates a good cocktail from a bad one.

Port and Raw Eggs: The Broken Spur

Raw egg yolks. Once upon a time that idea stopped me cold. It didn't matter if it was breakfast or dinner, I was not going anywhere near that thick gelatinous yellow goo. Just watching anyone sop up yolk with their toast was enough to turn me from my own breakfast. Once again cocktails came to my rescue. How was I supposed to experience the classics if I was squeamish about raw eggs? My first breakthrough came with a Pink Lady, where I discovered the wonder of egg whites. It was delicious: smooth, creamy, tart, and boozy all at once. Since then I have consumed a number of cocktails with egg whites. I have even ventured into the world of flips, which helped me learn to appreciate the entire egg. But until the Broken Spur, cocktails that used only the yolks were still undiscovered territory. Once again, it seems that Mr. Baker was going to provide me with a way to escape my comfort zone.

Not many cocktails include only the yolks. Far more use the whites, which makes sense as they add a foamy buoyancy not unlike meringue to a drink. But what do the egg yolks do? They do froth, or at least something in there creates a foamy top. They do add a certain velvety texture. I would imagine it is the same as when raw egg is added to a carbonara to make it all creamy and rich. Most egg yolk drinks seem to fall into the categories of pousse-cafe, some type of golden fizz, or a dessert drink. I am assuming that the Broken Spur would fall into the latter category, especially considering many of those drinks include brandy, Madeira or port as well the egg yolk. The inclusion of gin is perhaps the only thing that separates the Broken Spur.

But it isn't just the egg yolk that makes the Broken Spur so interesting. The Broken Spur seems to have originated in the 1930s, or thereabouts, as I could only find it in cocktail books from that time: Barflies and Cocktails (1927), the Savoy (1930), and Boothby's 1934 reprint. The proportions match up, which is kind of amazing, considering that any cocktail in the Gentleman's Companion seems to be enormous and suspiciously filled with anise. But where Baker details "port wine" as the base, a very general designation, every other recipe calls for white port instead. I used a tawny port because that is what I have, but if I had used a white port the Broken Spur would have been incredibly different. White port and tawny port are about as opposite as can be.

Tawny ports are made from red grapes that are fermented into wine and then fortified with grape spirits to halt that fermentation process. The they are aged in barrels and then blended in a fractional method that is like the solera method used to make sherry. Tawny ports are usually older than white and ruby ports when they get to market, and they are known for their raisin and nutty flavors. White ports are made from white grapes and may or may not have any contact with a barrel, though they are all aged to some extent.  They can vary in flavor from dry to sweet and are known for having delicate nutty flavors that are more like a dry sherry than the darker ports, though white ports do tend to be fruitier and richer than most dry sherries. As you can imagine, this would make quite a difference as the base of a cocktail. As I did even more research into this discrepancy, it seems that Baker's version is the only one that does not call specifically for white port.

Broken Spur

3/4 ounce gin
3/4 ounce sweet vermouth
1 1/2 ounces port
1 tsp anisette
1 egg yolk

Dry shake ingredients. Shake again with ice. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with a pinch of ground ginger.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Plymouth gin, punt e mes and a tawny port. I also substituted Sambuca for the anisette.

This was a very surprising cocktail. The aroma was full of the berry, raisiny notes of the port mingling with the ginger. On the first sip, the port was also dominant. Though the drink was very dry, it also had an almost chocolaty flavor, which was both pleasant and intriguing. The egg yolk created a smooth, rich consistency and a thick foam. The punt e mes added a slight bitterness throughout ,and as my mouth became more accustomed to the flavors, the botanics of the gin were more prominent. The raisin flavors of the port were back on the after taste. The anisette contributed its licorice flavors near the end of each sip, but they were not overly pronounced. This drink was exceptionally good and very refreshing and I would highly recommend making this drink when you find yourself with some extra egg yolks. I can almost imagine myself sitting next to Mr. Baker as he contemplates fiancees and Jenghis Khan in a cave behind a statesman's house in 1932 Peking.

Charles Baker and Absinthe

Charles Baker is my hero. Like many other cocktail enthusiasts, I have fallen for his languid prose and bon vivant lifestyle set against the backdrop of exotic locales from the distant past. Ah, what it must have been like, traveling the world in search of the redolent and quaint, throwing back drinks with Ernest Hemingway and other exciting personalities, stumbling through foreign towns discovering and rediscovering the fabulous and the sublime all in the name of experience and adventure. Baker escaped America, and its ever-present Puritanical leanings, at the exactly the right time, Prohibition, to tramp the world in search of excitement, or at least great food and drink. One part cocktail guide, one part travelogue, and one part memoir, The Gentleman's Companion: Around the World with Jigger, Beaker and Flask is perhaps the original blueprint for a cocktail blog: you won't love all the drinks, you might not even try all the drinks, but what will bring you back again and again is his wit and the excellent prose.

This book, like many other cocktail guides of yore, begins with absinthe. Warning: any cocktail with absinthe in the title is going to be full of black licorice-y goodness. Your mouth will be coated in refreshing anise and you will be lucky if you can taste anything else for a while. It is the nature of the beast that is absinthe. So, when undertaking the absinthe-based cocktail challenge, it is crucial to choose an absinthe that you like on its own, say in an absinthe drip. And if absinthe isn't your cup of tea, these drinks may not be for you. Sorry. The truth is that you can use absinthe as a accent, but when it is the base you can only bump up other flavors against it; at the end of the day, nothing will make it budge. For Baker's absinthe cocktail, I chose the Herbsaint Legendre. Granted, this is not an absinthe per se, but I enjoyed its complexity in a Sazerac so much that I thought, why not? Its proof is a little lower and it won't turn pearlescent in the presence of water, but I figured, close enough.

Absinthe Cocktail (as adapted)

1 1/2 jiggers absinthe (2 1/4 ounces!)
1 dash anis, anisette
1/2 jigger water (3/4 ounce)
1 tsp or less simple syrup (1 tsp)
1 dash Angostura bitters
1 dash orange bitters
1 tsp egg white (1/4 ounce for two)

Dry shake ingredients. Add cracked ice and shake very hard. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass . Twist a piece of lemon or lime peel over the surface, but do not drop in.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Herbsaint Legendre for the absinthe, Sambuca in the place of anisette, and a richer demerara and turbinado simple syrup of 1.5:1. The orange bitters were Angostura orange.

I can't say that this was the most successful absinthe cocktail I have ever had. Let's start there. It was bright green, as expected, like the Wicked Witch of the West's face. The inclusion of the egg white produced a smidgen of white foam on top. The measly teaspoon of egg white that Baker calls for greatly limits the foaminess. The drink smelled of anise and tasted of anise. The lemon oils, though, were noticeable in the aroma and, to a lesser extent, the first sip. But barring that first sip, I could not detect the presence of anything else, save the slight sweetness that the sugar added. The egg white, though paltry, did contribute its characteristic smooth texture to the drink. Alas, though I tried to push through, and have in fact enjoyed an absinthe cocktail in the past, I couldn't finish this one. I wonder if using a real absinthe would help, but instead of going down that patch, I geared myself up for the absinthe frappe.

Absinthe Frappe (as adapted)

2 ounces absinthe
1/2 tsp anis del mono or French anisette
1 glass of cracked ice (1 cup cracked ice)
(4 mint leaves)

(Muddle mint briefly in anisette in a chilled mixing glass. Remove mint.) Add ingredients and shake hard but briefly. Pour into chilled rocks glass. Garnish with green straw. 

Notes on ingredients: I used Absinthe Verte de Fougerolles and Sambuca in the place of anisette.

This drink was much more successful. I chose to add the muddled mint mostly because of the previous drink's failure. And in the past, I had consumed a wonderful absinthe julep with muddled mint, simple syrup, and absinthe, so why not? The fact is that in spite of my intentions, I couldn't taste the mint. Oh well. But in general I found this tipple extremely tasty and refreshing. I don't know if it was because of the relative simplicity of this drink , or because I used a real absinthe. The cracked ice made sure that the absinthe could evolve through the various stages of dilution, and I could really taste the different notes in the absinthe itself. Regardless, this drink made me almost forget the previous absinthe cocktail and was a nice end to the evening. All's well that ends well, in cocktails at least.