Maraschino Liqueur--To Have or Have Not

The Hemingway Daiquiri, or as is it more simply known, the Daiquiri No. 3, was created by Constante Ribalaiga Vert at the infamous El Floridita in Havana in the early years of the twentieth century. If you haven't been acquainted--and if you haven't, rectify this as soon as possible--this concoction is very closely related to the more traditional daiquiri (rum, lime, and sugar) except a bit of grapefruit juice and maraschino liqueur are added to the mix. As with every other cocktail that has been around for multiple decades, the exact recipe will change depending on the drinker. The original recipe calls for but a teaspoon of both the grapefruit and maraschino, with the lime and simple syrup decreased accordingly. More contemporary recipes increase the portion of grapefruit to as much as a 1/2 ounce, while the maraschino, itself contributing intense, often overpowering flavors, is usually capped at around 1/4 ounce. An old school Hemingway is bright and nuanced; more contemporary variations burst with flavor.

Legend has this daiquiri was introduced to Hemingway on a chance encounter--he had ducked into the bar in search of a restroom and on his way out, the illustrious barman was lining the bar with frothy, refreshing house daiquiris. A curious man, Heminway opted to try one and the rest is well, assumption and interpretation. While the famed author and drinker opted to have his daiquiris made without sugar and with a double pour of rum--a variation known as the Papa Doble--most people are happy enough with the original version.

Hemingway Daiquiri (Randall house variation)

1 1/2 ounces white rum
1/4 ounce lime juice
1 ounce grapefruit juice
1/2 ounce maraschino liqueur

Shake ingredients in an ice-filled shaker. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass, or into a chilled rocks glass

Notes on Ingredients: I used Chairman's Reserve silver rum and Maraska maraschino liqueur. 

I have always loved this cocktail. A big part of it is the grapefruit juice--in the summer I am drawn to its floral, brightness. But I also love the interplay of th citrus with the unique floral, woody notes of the maraschino. Those flavors create the depth that signals that a drink has been well-crafted--that little bit of restrained flair that keeps you coming back. But then again, I have always enjoyed what maraschino liqueur brings to a cocktail. But not everyone appreciates what maraschino brings to the glass.

Maraschino liqueur's flavor is not the easiest to pin down. Originally created from the tiny sour cherries that grow along the Dalmation coast in Eastern Europe, the first maraschino liqueurs were supposedly created as a sort of "maraschino rosolio." Rosolios are often homemade rose-flavored liqueurs consumed as tonics, often sipped  after dinner. While simple rose-flavored liqueurs were made, more often other flavors were added to create complex liqueurs. In the same way that a mirepoix creates a base for many soups and sauces, the rosolio becomes a foundation for the more principal flavors. 

But the complexity of this liqueur only begins there. The pits and stems of the maraska cherries are separated, fermented and distilled, creating a sort of grappa. The cherries themselves are distilled as well, creating an eau de vie.  Then the two distillates are reblended and aged in ash barrels for two years. When the aging process is complete, the spirit is then diluted and sweetened, often with a blend of honey or cane sugar--the precise sweetener often varies depending on the house's style. The slightly almond-like notes that maraschino is known for comes from the inclusion of the cherry pits in the process. Those characteristic floral elements come mostly from the distilled fruit, though perhaps some of the original "rosolio" has made its way in as well. Naturally, most distilleries do not disclose all of their secrets.

Maraschino liqueur has long been a major element in mixed drinks. It's presence can be traced back to many of the early punches that were widely consumed in the nineteenth century. As the more efficient cocktail overtook the flowing bowl, maraschino played its role as an alternative sweetener that brought big flavor. It is not surprising to find that it had made its way into daiquiris.

For those who do not appreciate the flavors of maraschino liqueur, another cocktail exists that highlights the wonderful intersection of grapefruit and lime. Made with rum, lime, grapefruit juice, simple syrup and angostura bitters, the Nevada Cocktail is just as lovely as a Hemingway. The Nevada first appeared in print in Judge Jr.'s compilation Here's How, published in 1927. Instead of the funky yet floral notes of the Hemingway, the Nevada's recipe instead relies on the spicyness of aromatic bitters to flush out the fullness. Because the Nevada reverses the proportions of the citrus juices, any floral notes instead are contributed by the grapefruit.

Nevada Cocktail

1 1/2 ounces white rum
1/3 ounce lime juice
1/2 ounce grapefruit juice
1/4 ounce simple syrup (1:1)
1 dash angostura bitters

Shake ingredients in an ice-filled shaker. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Chairman's Reserve white rum and Angostura bitters. 

Underused Ingredients: Aquavit

My first introduction to aquavit came a couple of years ago at House Spirits Distillery in Portland. And while it was their Aviation gin that inspired the visit, it was their caraway-flavored spirit with the heavy notes of anise that really caught my attention. Of course, I went home with a bottle. At the time, I didn't have a lot of experience with aquavit, and it sat in my liquor cabinet for quite some time untouched. But thankfully all that has changed, and aquavit, with its complicated flavors, is one of my favorite things.

Aquavit, like gin, gives distillers the freedom to express their creativity and thus formulate a signature flavor. Fortunately, the boundaries are only limited by each distiller's imagination. Caraway is usually the dominant flavor, but other flavors like fennel, coriander, citrus peels and anise commonly round out the blend. Strangely, many of these ingredients are also used in gin recipes. But the presence of the caraway, as well as other more savory ingredients like cumin, dill or even amber (tree resin is used in the production of Aalborg), give aquavit a flavor profile all its own.

The only unfortunate thing about aquavit is its availability. Considering that more and more bartenders are becoming interested in experimenting with its notoriously savory flavors, historically only three brands have been imported: Aalborg (Denmark), Linie (Norway), and O.P. Andersson (Sweden). This is just a tiny fraction of the aquavit produced worldwide. The arrival of a new aquavit on the scene, Aquavit New York (Sweden, only imported to New York), may represent a much needed shift.

On the flip side, a few American craft distillers have recently become infatuated with the challenges and intricacies of aquavit. Who can blame them? These American aquavits have helped bolster the popularity of the spirit, making it a more common sight on back bars. Like many craft-distilled gins, American craft aquavits can often be characterized by their big, bold flavors. Krogstad Aquavit, from House Spirits, is unlike Scandinavian aquavits in that it has a whopping dose of anise in addition to the caraway. These bold flavors make a dram of this spirit a wonderfully intense experience. These powerful flavors make Krogstad especially well-suited for cocktails, because it can stand up to other bold flavors.

While aquavit's presence on cocktail menus has certainly grown, there is still plenty of room for improvement. But the caraway flavor can provide quite a challenge. Use too little, and you don't know it's there, too much and the results can be overly medicinal, at best. And like gin, even picking the best aquavit for a cocktail can prove problematic. American aquavits can easily overpower other delicate ingredients, and the Scandinavian aquavits can play the wallflower. All of these issues together have kept aquavit from receiving its moment in the sun. Hopefully this is about to change. Here are some of my more recent aquavit cocktail discoveries.  

Nordic Reviver (created by Evan Martin, Ba Bar)

3/4 ounce aquavit
3/4 ounce lemon juice
3/4 ounce Cointreau
3/4 ounce Swedish punsch

Shake ingredients with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass rinsed with absinthe.

Notes on Ingredients: I halved the aquavit between Krogstad and Linie and used homemade Swedish punsch.

Because of its herbal characteristics, aquavit can often often be substituted for gin, especially when the cocktail also includes fresh juices. In fact, like gin, aquavit can be easily be inserted in most vodka drinks to embolden the flavors.

This is one of my favorite Ccrpse revivers variations, though to be perfectly correct it is a variation of the Corpse Reviver 2a. In the original cocktail, Evan used Aalborg. I decided to blend a Norwegian aquavit, Linie, with an American one Krogstad, to bump up the flavors just a bit. The Linie differs from most of the other available aquavits as it has been mellowed for four and a half months in used Oloroso sherry casks. In the Nordic Reviver, the anise notes of the absinthe work exceptionally well with the caraway of the Linie, and the Swedish punsch adds a nice tannic, spice layer. I would think that the Krogstad would work equally well in this cocktail, though the absinthe rinse may not be needed.

[Unnamed Work in Progress] (created by Ben Philip Perri, Zig Zag Cafe)

1 1/2 ounces aquavit
1/2 ounce rye
1/2 ounce Punt e Mes
1/4 ounce maraschino liqueur
1 dash mescal


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

Notes on Ingredients: I used Linie aquavit, Rittenhouse bonded rye, and Maraska maraschino. I chose the del Maguey Minero for the mescal.

Aquavit also pairs exceptionally well with rye. The Old Bay Ridge, David Wondrich's aquavit-rye old fashioned, showcases just how well this works in the simplest terms; it is a traditional old fashioned but with the spirit allotment split in half between the rye and aquavit. In cocktails with herbal vermouths, aquavit's affinity for rye becomes incredibly important--just a bit of rye mellows out the aquavit's herbaceousness and makes blending two very different herbal ingredients that much easier. While this cocktail is a loose variation on the Red Hook, it highlights what can happen when caraway intersects with rye. I find that the dash of mescal provides that extra level of oomph that really pushes this drink for good to great. Substituting a peaty scotch for the mescal would probably work as well, though it would still be quite different.

From Norway to Sicily


1 ounce aquavit
3/4 ounce Averna
1/2 ounce rye
1/8 ounce (bar spoon) Benedictine
2 dashes aromatic bitters


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

Notes on Ingredients: I used Linie aquavit, Sazerac rye, and Angostura bitters.

Lately I have been kind of obsessed with adding amari to almost everything. So when I started thinking about aquavit, I thought, why not? Initially I was inspired to use Averna with its mild bitterness to match up with the mild Linie. Sweet vermouth was an option that I passed on. I really wanted to explore the intersection of the aquavit and the amaro. Using vermouth would have added a different feel, though it would have made the entire endeavour easier. Suffice it to say, the early attempts were ugly. Marley Tomic Beard of Sexton gave me some advice that led me to a perfect solution. Like in the above cocktail, the addition of rye really fixed this drink. Then the rest just fell into place. I am sure that further experimentation with aquavit and different amari would also yield really some really memorable drinks.

Bittering Up the Classics: The Palmetto

Lately I have been all but obsessed with bittering up classic cocktail recipes. Though this may just be a consequence of having recently acquired a bunch of amari and quinquinas, almost all of my cocktail experiments have included something bitter. Recently, the Palmetto Cocktail in general has garnered a lot of attention in this respect. Simply a rum Manhattan, its recipe is relatively easy to manipulate in a variety of directions. Besides, the intersection of rum and either an amaro or fortified wine almost always yields interesting, tasty results.  

Recently, I found myself craving a brown, bitter stirred cocktail. My thoughts instantly went to the Palmetto. Mind you, I wasn't looking for some extensive experiment, just a simple tasty three-ingredient cocktail. But when I opened the refrigerator, I discovered that I had run out of sweet vermouth. I was even out of Punt e Mes. This was unsettling on many levels. As I cautiously eyed the dry vermouth, I noticed inspiration hiding behind the sherry: half a bottle of Bonal. Eureka!

Though it is relatively new to the United States, Bonal has been around since 1885. Quinquinas like Bonal are very similar to vermouth in that they are aromatized, fortified wines, usually based on white wine or mistelle--non-fermented or partially fermented grape juice with alcohol added. What makes them different is what is then added. A variety of herbs are used in both to create the unique flavor, but generally quinquinas have a significant amount of cinchona bark. Vermouths don't usually include this ingredient, and if they do, in much smaller quantities. Vermouths, on the other hand, were known for their inclusion of wormwood--"wermut" is the German word for wormwood. This distinction has become less important over the years, though some vermouths do still utilize scant amounts of wormwood in their recipes.

Because vermouth and quinquinas are relatively similar in many ways, they can be substituted for each other in many recipes. However, the increased bitterness of a quina may require slight changes in the proportions in order to achieve the proper balance. Bonal in particular has a wonderful earthy, slightly bitter flavor. Because of this, I tend to pair it with rum, though not exclusively. I find that its earth depth plays especially well  with rum's light, slightly sweet taste.

Bitter Orange

1 1/2 ounces rum
1 1/2 ounces Bonal
1/4 Cocchi Americano
1 dash aromatic bitters
1 dash orange bitters

Combine ingredients in an ice-filled mixing glass. Stir and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with an orange twist, or not, as desired.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Bacardi 8, Bitter Truth Jerry Thomas Decanter bitters, and Angostura Orange bitters.

Drinks Abroad: Harry's New York Bar, Pink Gin and Some History

In October, while Tracy and I were spending a wonderful two weeks in Paris, I was hell bent on visiting  Harry's New York Bar. With such guests as F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, Coco Chanel, and George Gershwin, who wouldn't yearn to pass through its saloon style swinging doors. But for me, the draw was always Harry. Author of at least two cocktail recipe books, and self-proclaimed creator of the Monkey Gland, French 75 and the Sidecar, Harry MacElhone is one of the most famous bartenders to ever work behind the stick. According to bar legend, Harry's is also the birthplace of the Bloody Mary. And that is exactly what Tracy wanted when we visited on our very first full day in Paris. Who could blame her?  I wanted something easy, classic. My thoughts first ran toward an Old Fashioned, my in-a-pinch go-to drink. But then I remembered how quickly an Old Fashioned can be transformed from a boozy sipper to a bourbon-laced fruit punch, complete with mangled fruit and club soda. It was then that I noticed a framed cartoon just off to the side. Its subject was the Pink Gin.

Like many drinks of the distant past, there is no creation story for the Pink Gin. Like the Old Fashioned, these drinks were not "created," per se, they just sort of evolved. It really is the most straightforward conclusion. The first cocktails were probably not thought of as innovative at the time, simply an efficient way of dealing with a life of hard drinking. A little hair of the dog for the head, and a bit of bitters for the stomach. I like to think that these primarily spirit-and-bitters combinations came into the world like Athena, who sprang fully formed from Zeus's head. The Pink Gin, like Ancient Greece's grey-eyed goddess, had an almost immediate and widespread following--though in the case of Pinkers, as Pink gin was often called, this was because of its status as the drink of choice among British naval officers during the days of empire building. From the mid-nineteenth century until the Pink Gin lost its place to the Horse's Neck in the 1960s, if you were in an officers' wardroom, the Pink Gin was the ultimate booze delivery mechanism for all that ailed you--or at least perhaps seasickness or an upset stomach.

Over the years, Gin and Bitters followed closely behind the Royal Navy, and thus we see the rise of the Gin Pahit, yet another alias, on the Subcontinent. As the English population grew in this area of the world so too did the dominance of Pink Gin. Unfortunately, its fate was inextricably wound with that of the British Empire. As its colonies threw off the shackles of Imperialism, the Pink Gin's popularity waned. By the 1970s, the Pink Gin came to symbolize the tiresome nostalgia for the lost days of the Empire. But even considering the ups and downs of public opinion, the Pink Gin never truly succumbed to obscurity. It can be found lingering in Charles Baker's Gentleman's Companion (1946), David Embury's Fine Art of Mixing Drinks (1948), Ted Saucier's Bottom's Up (1951),  as well as even more recently in Stan Jones's Complete Bar Guide (1977).

So as I sat on a bar stool at Harry's and watched the bartender clad in his white coat meticulously rinsing a cocktail glass with the dark red of Angostura bitters, I knew that I was in for an old school Pink Gin. After all Harry's is an old fashioned kind of place. But I must admit that I was a bit surprised when he reached into the well and filled the glass with gin and brought it over. At least, he also gave me a glass of water and a warning: "This is a very strong drink." The water was handy, but the warning was hilarious. Now, had I done a bit of research this action wouldn't have struck me as odd--it is after all the traditional method of making Pink Gin. I wasn't completely prepared for a warm, undiluted Gin and Bitters in the early afternoon. Thankfully I was up for the task, even considering the unexpected temperature. Result: it was delicious.

To chill or not to chill is the dilemma that the Pink Gin poses. And temperature isn't the only thing at stake--dilution plays an important though indirect role as well. But which way is correct? The earliest recipe I can find in my limited library is in William Boothby's American Bar-Tender (1891). Considering that Gin and Bitters had already been around for many year by this time, it may seem curious that it wasn't included in earlier tomes. Because Pink Gin's earliest adherents were British, and the first cocktail books were written by Americans, perhaps it was simply a question of audience. Perhaps Gin and Bitters were not as popular among Americans, simply because their choices weren't limited to what an ocean-going vessel could carry. Regardless, Boothby's instructions on the preparation of Gin and Bitters are as follows:

Rinse the interior of a small bar glass with a dash of the desired brand of bitters (Boonekamp is generally used with gin), hand the customer a bottle of Holland gin, allow him to help himself and serve ice water on the side.

Moving past the fact that in 1891 San Francisco Holland gin and Boonekamp bitters defined a Gin and Bitters, the drink itself was served at room temperature. By 1930, as described in the Savoy Cocktail Book, a Pink Gin was shaken with ice. Both William Tarling (Cafe Royal Cocktail (1937)), Crosby Gaige (Cocktail Guide and Ladies' Companion (1941)), and Ted Saucier (Bottom's Up (1951)) call for adding ice as well. Charles Baker, though, in the Gentleman's Companion (1946) takes his Pink Gin warm. Stan Jones (1977) gives the bartender the option to serve it with ice water or on the rocks. As far as current authors go,  Robert Hess (2008) and Dale DeGroff (2002) proscribe ice. But David Wondrich over at Esquire describes the original Pink Gin as being a warm drink, though he adds that "Americans and other utterly wet types may add an ice cube or two." Even with all of this information, it seems that nothing has been resolved. Who is right? Only the taste buds of the individual can determine the outcome.

Pink Gin

1 dash of bitters
1 1/2 ounces gin

Procedure 1: Combine ingredients in a mixing glass with ice. Stir and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Serve with ice water on the side.

Procedure 2: Rinse a rocks glass with bitters. Add gin and a cube of ice.

Procedure 3: Rinse a rocks glass or cocktail glass with bitters. Add gin.

Notes on Ingredients: In this case, I used procedure 1 with Beefeater gin and Jerry Thomas's Decanter Bitters though Plymouth gin and Angostura are the historical standards. But it seems that every type of gin has found its way into a Pink Gin over time, so if you're in the mood for Genever or Old Tom, who am I to stop you. Also, the choice of bitters is also up in the air, which just means more versions are available. So get cracking!

Before my experience at Harry's, I would have stated that not only did Pink Gin taste better chilled, but also that serving it cold was the proper way to make it. The issue of "proper" here, as in many other scenarios, is highly suspect. Over the years, times change and tastes follow suit. What was "correct" in 1900 may well have seemed exceedingly outlandish by 1930 and then come back into vogue by 1950.  Yes, relativism rears its ugly head.

For what it's worth, here are my two cents. During a summer heat wave, a chilled Pink Gin would hit the spot--at least I certainly wouldn't turn one away. Even adding some tonic or soda to lengthen the drink wouldn't be a bad idea. But, and I am surprised to say this, a warm Pink Gin (made with Plymouth and Angostura) is pretty unbeatable--regardless of the weather.