Barrel-Aging Cocktails: The Caneflower

Though it is a sad fact, barrels don't last forever. Only a limited amount of flavor can be drawn out before the environment becomes effectively neutral. Of course, it still operates as a natural oxidation filtration system, with the wood still breathing with the changes in temperature. After all of the flavor is extracted, a barrel can still be useful, just not in the same ways. Oxidation and thus, mellowing can still occur long after the wood has stopped being an active participant. As I drained the last bits of the Claridge cocktail out of my barrel, I knew that I was going to have to choose very wisely. After aging two spirits and two cocktails, I was nearing the end of the barrel's life cycle. and there might not be many more opportunities for experimentation. The pressure only grew when I realized that not only would I need to choose an appropriate cocktail to follow the dry, fruity Claridge, but I would also need to determine the time frame for the next cocktail.

With each new batch, the amount of time necessary to age a cocktail grows. It makes sense--less of the barrel's flavors are present. Some friends who are very experienced at barrel-aging advised me to wait at least a year. This sounded extreme. The previous cocktail had only been aged for 3 months. In the end I decided to aim more for 6 to 9 months. As the oak was relatively slight in the Claridge I thought doubling might add more barrel flavor. Perhaps the extra time would correct for my barrel's age.

Choosing a recipe was easily solved when I discovered a 1.5-liter bottle of cachaca sitting in the back of my cabinet. I had received it two years ago as a gift and had never gotten around to using it. After a quick Internet search, I ran across a perfect choice--the Caneflower. This cocktail, created by Jeffrey Morgenthaler, is a variation of a Negroni variation, the Comte du Sureau, originally created by Gonçalo de Souza Monteiro. The Caneflower's elderflower and slightly bitter Aperol seemed a logical choice to follow the dry, apricot flavors of the Claridge. 

While cost and ease were the most important factors in why I chose the Caneflower, I was still exciting about the new adventure this drink represented. Before, I had only aged cocktails that included a wine-based product, such as vermouth, that would oxidize during the process. On top of that, most of the barrel-aged cocktails I had tried in bars also included vermouth or a quinquina. As the Caneflower has no vermouth or even a wine-based product, I could not guess the results. This prospect was very enticing. How would the ingredients react over time? Would the presence of the oxidized vermouths in the barrel affect the outcome? And then there was the question of time. Would the lack of vermouth change the speed of the process? But in the end none of these things really mattered. Life intervened and a careful tasting of the contents was not in the cards. More plainly said--I totally forgot about the barrel.

Caneflower

1 1/2 ounces cachaca
3/4 ounce Aperol
1/4 ounce elderflower liqueur

Combine ingredients in a ice-filled glass. Stir and strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with a lemon twist.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Pur Likor, elderflower liqueur.

Over one year later, I looked up and saw the barrel. I hesitantly tasted it and after determining that the contents hadn't been ruined, I emptied the barrel. Remarkably, what had gone in as 2 liters in volume came out at a mere 750 milliliters. The barrel was indeed hungry. Upon first taste, the Caneflower was intensely concentrated with flavors. However, oak wasn't one of them. It wasn't until I actually diluted the contents into a cocktail that I could find the oak notes at all. But boy did it need a lot of dilution. To find the balance, I had to stir it more than twice as long. Then, there was the oak. While this was not my best effort at barrel-aging, it did provide me with valuable information--don't fall asleep on the job.

Barrel-Aging Cocktails: Claridge Cocktail

A barrel is a naturally evolving environment. As a spirit ages, the organic nature of the wood allows oxygen to interact with all of the components to create those unique, wonderful flavors we know and love. While Bourbon must be aged, by law, in new barrels, many other aged spirits, such as scotch, Canadian whisky, and even rum, depend on flavors that have been captured in a used barrel. Each time an unaged spirit is added to a used barrel, the spirit's aging process will be informed by what was in the barrel beforehand. This is a particularly important considering how vastly different a spirit that has been aged in a new barrel is from a spirit aged in a used barrel. Even finishing a spirit, which typically requires aging the spirit for at least two years in a different barrel, such as a sherry butt or port cask, can be used to layer in yet other flavors. Even something as small as the specific mash bill of a bourbon can greatly affect the flavors in a barrel that a white spirit can access while it rests. 

During barrel-aging, the flavors of the wood are infused into the white spirit. But this is only half of the equation. The flavors of the spirit are also suffused into the wood. Thus, when a subsequent new make spirit is added, the flavors of any earlier finished products will be imparted. But this is not an infinite process. As a barrel is reused, its own flavors are leeched away. Over time a neutral environment will result. Each liquid added to the barrel exists in its timeline. And when the product is taken out of a barrel it will not only represent a fixed point in the life cycle of the barrel, but it will also carry the impression of the barrel's history. I never really understood just how this worked until I started experimenting with my own small barrel.

The process is fascinating. The first spirit I aged would be the only one that would be 100 percent affected by the barrel. Because of this, the initial decision-making process is incredibly streamlined. Short of temperature and location decisions, the only remaining decision is when to empty the barrel. It was simply a question of time and taste. But every choice after that would get incrementally more complex.  The pisco I added to the barrel second has trace flavors of the rum I started with. The El Presidente cocktail that came next was influenced by both the pisco and the rum. As I started to understand how each decision impacted the next, my choices became more complex and more interesting. The effects of the flavors already in the barrel and how they would influence the next project needed to be accounted for. What kind of cocktail would benefit most from what had come before? This became the underlying theme of the entire process.

Enter the Claridge

I was first introduced to the Claridge Cocktail at a friend's house a couple of years ago. His knowledge of classic cocktails to this day exceeds my own, and I was happy to taste any beverage, new or old, that had captured his attention. For me it was the apricot brandy that made the cocktail so interesting. And yet it was such an old drink. But then again, I have always had a soft spot for classics.

Gary Regan outlined his opinions about the origins of the Claridge a couple of years ago in the San Francisco Chronicle. His research brought him from Harry Craddock's Savoy Cocktail Book, where I first discovered it, to Harry McElhone's 1927 Barflies and Cocktails. McElhone attributes it to "Leon, Bartender, Claridge's Hotel, Champs Elysee." Unfortunately, the trail runs cold thereafter.  

Given that the flavors of the El Presidente are bright and fruity, the Claridge seemed like a natural choice to follow it into the barrel.

Claridge Cocktail

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

Combine ingredients in an ice-filled mixing glass. Stir and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Gordon's gin, Bitter Truth apricot brandy, and Dolin dry vermouth.

Fruity and bright, this is a cocktail that depends on the apricot brandy for its success. Delicate, yet still spirit forward, the Claridge is a perfect cocktail to use to test apricot brandies. Being the second cocktail that followed two spirits in my barrel, even after three months the influence of the barrel was slight. The oak of the barrel could be discerned as a hint in the after taste. A certain berry note from the grenadine in the El Presidente was apparent in the mid-palate. But it was an undercurrent of funk from the Wray and Nephew, still apparent after so much time, that hinted at the history of the barrel contained in this new cocktail.

Barrel-Aging Cocktails: El Presidente

Barrel-aged cocktails seem to be everywhere. It is hard to imagine a back bar without a small one- or two-liter barrel perched on some out of the way corner or shelf. As more and more bartenders become barrel-obsessed, menus have expanded with the results of their experiments. But this trend that has so effected so many is quite understandable. My attention and interest were greatly captivated when I first read about Tony Conigliaro's and Jeffrey Morgenthaler's experiments aging cocktails. And while it is true that I was never all that interested in barrel-aging spirits myself until I did it, the idea of barrel-aging a cocktail has fascinated me for years.

With my seasoned barrel recently empty, and two wonderfully unique barrel-aged spirits on my shelf, it was finally time to try my hand at barrel-aging a cocktail. But which one?To me this choice was obvious. Years ago while at Clyde Common in Portland, Oregon, I was lucky enough to taste two of Jeffrey Morgenthaler's barrel-aged beauties: a Negroni and an El Presidente. And while the Negroni was superb, I could never forget the sublime taste of the El Presidente. As the choice seemed clear, then came the hard part--what recipe do I use. Which El Presidente had captured my heart?

The first El Presidente I ever tasted predates that outing to Portland. In fact, it must have been close to five years ago when I first concocted a drink with this name according to the recipe in the Art of the Bar. I remember enjoying it very much, but my memories stop there. Absent is that Wow factor that makes a cocktail stand out over time. As my interest in classic cocktails grew, I discovered that this version was less like an El Presidente and much more akin to the Palmetto, another rum and sweet vermouth cocktail that also happends to be a favorite. Essentially a rum Manhattan, the Palmetto can be traced at least to 1912, where it was included in an addendum to Cocktail Bill Boothby's The World's Drinks and How to Mix Them, originally published in 1908. Though the Hollinger/Schwartz version swaps Peychaud's for Angostura and uses proportions designed for more modern palates, the recipes are incredibly similar. 

El Presidente (Holllinger/Schwartz, Art of the Bar)

2 ounces Ron Pampero Anniversario rum
1/2 ounce Carpano Antica sweet vermouth
3 dashes Peychaud's bitters

Combine ingredients in an ice-filled mixing glass. Stir and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with an orange twist.

But this is was not the El Presidente in the Clyde Common barrel that so affected me. That cocktail had a lightness and delicacy that sweet vermouth would have undermined. My search continued. What I discovered was a cocktail created in Cuba that gained popularity during Prohibition when many thirsty Americans flocked there. Though its specific origin is oft disputed, this is perhaps the most widely accepted recipe for the El Presidente.

El Presidente (Wayne Curtis, LOST magazine) 

1 1/2 ounces white rum
3/4 ounce dry vermouth
3/4 ounce orange curacao
1/2 teaspoon grenadine

Combine ingredients in an ice-filled mixing glass. Stir and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with an orange twist.

Sadly, this recipe has never really worked for me. Something about the way the rum clashes against the dry vermouth has always pushed me away instead of drawing me in. Even after playing around with the proportions or substituting a more flavorful aged rum, the El Presidente has always remained a tough sell. That is, until I read the September/October 2011 issue of Imbibe magazine.

David Wondrich, cocktail historian extraordinaire, in his monthly column often discusses the origins of classic cocktail, and sometimes exceptionally obscure ones. He points out that cocktails that are truly indisputably classic "it has to have some kind of history, it has to have achieved lasting popularity or fame, and it has to taste great." His point is valid. A cocktail that deserves resurrection should stand out, it should transcend its time or place. Sure, ingredients may need to be fudged, or its proportions reevaluated, but without that certain something, why even bother? In his article on the El Presidente, Wondrich reveals a recipe that specifically calls for vermouth from Chambery, France. While French vermouth is often interpreted as meaning the dry style that is more common, there is a demi-sec white vermouth that actually hails from Chambery, Dolin blanc. Even more telling is the fact that Chambery was at that time widely known for this style of aperitif. If the substitution is made, the El Presidente is transformed from something easily forgettable into a well-balanced, delicious concoction.

One night while preparing to make a sweet white vermouth El Presidente, I noticed that I was dangerously low on Dolin blanc. A quick tour of the fortified wine section of my refrigerator revealed a bottle of Cocchi Americano. Thus, a night spent curled up with a new favorite quickly turned into an opportunity for an experiment. Sweet and light, with hints of orange and a twinge of bitterness, the Cocchi seemed to match the direction of the cocktail in theory. The resulting cocktail was wonderful and it is now my house El Presidente variation.

El Presidente (Randall house version)

1 1/2 ounces white rum
1 1/2 ounces Cocchi Americano
1 bar spoon curacao
1/2 bar spoon grenadine

Combine ingredients in an ice-filled mixing glass. Stir and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Twist an orange peel over the drink and discard.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Appleton white rum, Cointreau, and a homemade grenadine.

While I may never know the exact recipe of the El Presidente that Jeffrey Morgenthaler uses in his barrel, I always knew that it would be my first choice. Since I acquired a barrel shortly after discovering the sweet white vermouth El Presidente, it seemed obvious to use that recipe. In fact, my spirit of choice for the barrel-seasoning process was greatly informed by the ingredients in the El Presidente. If barrel-aging cocktails is going to be on the menu, it seems only natural to preplan your seasoning to further enhance the cocktail later on. And what results they were!

After six weeks in the barrel, the normal light, rich slightly fruity notes had deepened. Vanilla notes and the easily distinguishable taste of oak mingled with the lightly funky barrel-aged Wray and Nephew to added an additional layer of depth and interest. As the flavors evolved and transformed, the Cocchi seemed to stand out more and drive the flavor profile, though not dominate it. Indeed this barrel-aged El Presidente turned out better than I could have imagined.

Barrel-Aging Cocktails Prologue: Seasoning the Barrel

Unlike most cocktail enthusiasts, I have never been that interested in breaking in a newly charred oak barrel  Mind you, I can totally understand why someone--say an avid whisk(e)y drinker, for instance--might find the idea of aging a spirit at home seductive. What happens to a spirit while it rests in a barrel is truly magical. As the trend of aging your own spirits blossomed, I was happy to let this experience pass me by. It was the thought of aging cocktails that appealed to me. Unfortunately a new barrel's tannins and char will easily overwhelm the delicate flavors of a cocktail. So when a good friend gave me a two-liter oak barrel, entering the world of aging spirits became the first step on the road to aging cocktails.

To prepare a barrel for aging cocktails later, you must "season" it, like a newly purchased cast-iron skillet. This can only be accomplished by barrel-aging spirits first. While it may seem that there are countless options available, the best yield will come from aging an overproof white spirit. White dog tends to be the natural choice, but there are other roads. My mind immediately leaned toward white rum. Wray & Nephew seemed the obvious choice to stand up to a new barrel. After nine and a half weeks, the rum's characteristic gaminess had indeed mellowed. The molasses notes had deepened and the grassiness had thoroughly mingled with the oak. But nothing underscored the resulting vanilla flavors that had developed. Notably, the barrel-aged Wray & Nephew went down much smoother than a rum of 126 proof ought to, though its telltale heat is still apparent on the aftertaste.

With a newly empty barrel, surely it was time to batch up two liters of cocktail. But after reading a recent post on Stevi's adventures in barrel-aging at Two at the Most, I started to reconsider. Perhaps one more spirit round wouldn't be a bad idea; two unique barrel-aged spirits must be better than one.
You see, when a spirit is placed in a barrel, a certain amount will disappear. But it doesn't just evaporate. The wood soaks some of it up like a sponge, and the barrel is forever changed. Whatever goes in next will be affected. For example, if you barrel age a white whiskey, and then fill the barrel with gin, some of the barrel-aged whiskey flavors will be incorporated into the gin's flavor profile. But the barrel's flavor is not constant. Each time you change the contents, the barrel will take on the new flavors and yet lose some of its own.

While the rum was nearing completion, accidental inspiration hit me via the monthly LUPEC Seattle meeting that centered on Peru's indigenous spirit--pisco. What a perfect choice to barrel-age after rum! A white grape-based spirit with a lot of flavor, pisco is very similar to the white spirit that becomes brandy. The major difference comes down to grape variety and distilled strength. Piscos are usually distilled to proof, meaning the spirit is distilled only once and not watered down to bottling strength. Because of this, piscos have a noticeably funkier taste. The way that this characteristic funkiness would react with the barrel is exactly what interested me most. Usually when a funkier white spirit is placed in a barrel, the resulting barrel-aged spirit is just that much more interesting. As it is also illegal for Peruvian pisco to be aged in wood, I was all the more gung-ho to try it. But adding the oak flavor wouldn't be the only thing to affect the pisco, the flavors of the aged Wray & Nephew would also play their part.

After six weeks, the pisco had taken on a straw-like appearance and its flavors had developed into something new. Though the telltale grape aroma and flavor were still present, hints of oak and vanilla had also become apparent. The slightly fruity, slightly funky flavors of the barrel-aged rum emerged on the swallow. Of course, no judgment could be complete without submitting the results to the ultimate test: how does it work in a cocktail? This cocktail also works very well with non-barrel-aged pisco. But the oak and vanilla notes really push the flavors in an added dimension.

Pisco Blush

1 1/2 ounces barrel-aged pisco
3/4 ounce Cocchi Americano
1/4 ounce apricot brandy
1 dash Creole or Peychaud's bitters

Combine ingredients in an ice-filled mixing glass. Stir and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Notes on Ingredients: I used barrel-aged Piscologia pisco, Bitter Truth Creole bitters, and a 50-50 mixture of homemade and Rothman and Winter apricot brandies.