Bitter from the Start: Rediscovering the Japanese Cocktail

Ever since I stumbled on heavily bittered cocktails, I have been hooked. I do very much love bitters. Not only am I known for ordering my soda and bitters with extra bitters, but also for sending said drink back  because it's not opaque enough. Orange juice, lemonades and even soups and fruit compotes are not safe. I  have coerced strangers into accenting their 7 and 7s with a dash or two of Angostura--much to their delight I might add. For me, this almost obsession with bitters all started with the Alabazam. When I first read about it on Jamie Boudreau's blog a few years ago, I was instantly intrigued. And while that cocktail's teaspoon of Angostura bitters pales in comparison to such heavily bittered drinks as the Trinidad Sour and the Stormy Mai Tai, with their whopping ounce and ounce-and-a-half pours of Angostura, respectively, it certainly was the drink that set the stage. Leo Engel first published the recipe for the Alabazam in a time when cocktails called for at most three to four dashes of bitters. Imagine my surprise when I tripped over a cocktail that predates the Alabazam and includes a still impressive half teaspoon of bitters.

It's not what you think. This isn't some often overlooked cocktail that I discovered in the pages of an obscure tome. Not at all. The Japanese cocktail is pretty well known, even if the most recognizable contemporary recipes drastically revise the amount of bitters. First published in Jerry Thomas's Bartender's Guide in 1865, the Japanese cocktail heavily resembles the old-fashioned, comprising a healthy slug of brandy, a sweetener, bitters and lemon peel. It has also been one of my go-to cocktails. The recipe is practically etched in my brain and has been for years--or so I thought. What I never recognized was that the Japanese I knew and loved started out as perhaps the heavily bittered cocktail of its day.

Japanese Cocktail (Jerry Thomas 1865)

1 table-spoonful of orgeat syrup
1/2 tea-spoonful of [Boker's]* bitters
1 wine-glass of brandy [2 ounces]
1 or 2 pieces of lemon peel

Fill the tumbler one third with ice, and stir well with a spoon. [Strain into a chilled cocktail glass or old-fashioned glass. Garnish with a lemon twist.]

Notes on Ingredients: I used Pierre Ferrand 1840 cognac and B.J. Reynolds orgeat.

* Original recipe carries a typo, Bogart's for Boker's.

While it is hard to know exactly what happened in the intervening years, by the 1887 edition of Jerry Thomas's guide the recipe had already been altered, severely decreasing the amount of bitters. By 1916, the recipe no longer called specifically for Boker's bitters as it had fallen out of production some time in the latter part of the nineteenth century. Certainly, it would be difficult to fashion an 1862 Japanese cocktail without Boker's. Angostura became the natural second choice. However, as Angostura and Boker's bitters are  both considered aromatic style bitters, they are certainly not the same animal. Boker's bitters is less concentrated than Angostura as well as more mellow. Thus, a smaller amount of Angostura can balance out the orgeat. In the years when Boker's was unavailable this all made perfect sense. But what happened between 1862 and 1887 to warrant the change? While this may remain a mystery, perhaps it is time to reconsider the original recipe.

Last year I became enamored with the idea of increasing the amount of bitters in classic cocktail recipes. I had recently acquired several new bottles of digestive bitters and I was keen to play. Considering that the contemporary recipe for the Japanese cocktail calls for such a scant amount of bitters, it just seemed like the perfect candidate. How interesting to find out that after all this time the Japanese was initially envisioned to withstand more bitters. While the extra Boker's bitters does create a more intense experience, the resulting cocktail still tastes very much like a Japanese cocktail, albeit less sweet. Sometimes,history is full of pleasant surprises.

A Look at Apple Brandy: Moving Past the Spice

Before the leaves even start to turn here in Washington it seems that grocery stores are simply overflowing with apples. This is hardly surprising---apples are in season and Washington is the Apple State. With Thanksgiving rooting down the season in general, apple pie instantly pops into my mind. Apple-based spirits also  tend to get a lot of attention as well. I am a certainly guilty of consuming more apple brandy and Calvados (apple brandy made from Normand apple varietals that are then aged in French oak) in October and November. In the intervening months, I hardly ever think about either one. Sure there may be an occasion for a Stone Fence in the summer, or a Pink Lady in the spring. But fall is generally when I rediscover the deliciousness of apple brandy.

Relegating apple-based spirits to one season alone is really a shame. Recently I started asking myself why apple brandy cocktails don't play a greater role in my normal rotation. No other spirit is similarly pigeonholed. When I started recalling all of my favorite apple-brandy based cocktails, I noticed a suspicious pattern--almost all of them included what I will call "pie spices." Cloves and cinnamon, ginger and allspice, and even nutmeg and cardamom, all of these pair tremendously well with fall fruits. The cocktails that came to my mind first--Autumn Leaves, Northern Spy, Reveillon--all of them rely on this combination. Even an Applejack Old Fashioned has Angostura Bitters in it. Could my shortsightedness be related to an overdependence on apple pie flavors? Could it be that every year I just burn out on the spice quotient and take it out on the apple? The apple, such a versatile fruit, really deserves more than this. Recently I have allowed myself to learn that there are other options out there.

Fruity

While it is impossible to completely mask the fruitiness of the apple in drinks that revolve around pie spices, the interplay between the ingredients is really the star. In fact, in many of these cocktails the apple merely provides the backbone that allows the spices shine. And while the brightness of the apple brandy does actually stand out in many cocktails, a large number also call for citrus. The only problem is that drinks like the Delicious Sour, the Jack Rose, and the newer Apple Jack Rabbit, while delicious, are not usually what I crave. So I decided to experiment. My inspiration came from the Vieux Carre and a recently acquisition, pamplemousse rose liqueur.

The Vieux Carre is one of my favorite cocktails. It has always reminded me of a lighter, more herbal Manhattan. A couple of years ago I was introduced to a wonderful variation by Chelsea at Sun Liquor Lounge. By swapping out the cognac for apple brandy, she created a similarly delightful cocktail. The flavor of the apple brings a wonderful fruity dimension to the cocktail and I have often returned to this variation for precisely this reason. So when I began thinking about what to pair with the apple brandy, the bright pink of the pamplemousse rose caught my eye. The rest is history. 

Lord Lambourne

1 ounce apple brandy
1 ounce rum
1 ounce Cocchi Americano
1/4 ounce pamplemousse rose liqueur
1 dash Peychaud's bitters

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

Notes on Ingredients: I used Laird's bonded apple brandy, Plantation 5-year rum, and Combier pamplemousse.

Savory

One of the greatest things about apples is their versatility. Sure things like apple pie, apple crisp, and coffee cake are what instantly come to mind when I think of apples. But the savory applications are lovely as well. Apples pair well with curry, celeriac, or even bitter greens such as escarole or arugula. Sadly, I had never thought of combining apples into cocktails with any of these flavors. It took Brian Lee to show me a more savory side to apple brandy.

Mela Seleri (inspired by Brian Lee, Canon)

1 1/2 ounces applejack
1 1/2 ounces Cocchi Americano
2 dashes celery bitters
Combine ingredients in an ice-filled mixing glass. Stir and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Laird's bonded applejack, and the Bittermens celery bitters.

Herbal

Apple brandy is no stranger to herbal cocktails. Drinks like the Diamondback, combining apple brandy with green chartreuse, and the Newark, playing apple brandy off of Fernet Branca, have already established how well apple-based spirits play with herbal components. Even the Marconi Wireless, an Applejack Manhattan, depends on herbal interplay. Because I already knew that applejack worked well with Benedictine, from above, I decided to start there. But it was only when I came across a similar apple brandy recipe combining the spirit with Cynar that I started thinking about how artichokes might make applejack shine differently.

Bitter Apple (inspired by the Apple of Eden, Steven Shellenberger)

1 1/2 ounces apple brandy
3/4 ounces Cynar
1/4 ounce Benedictine
3 dashes Boker's Bitters

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

Notes on Ingredients: I used Laird's bonded applejack.

Experimenting with Flavor: Sherry and Tequila

The coupling of sherry and tequila were officially outed in February of this year for all the world to see. But the genius of their combination hasn't really been that much of a secret. For the past several years, cocktails have been popping up all over the country that highlight this inspired pairing. It is the careful balance of sherry's savory nuttiness and the smoky, herbaceous tequila that creates such a solid foundation for so many interesting and incredibly tasty drinks. And these drinks cross every cocktail boundary. Tequila and sherry work well in spirit-forward libations or even those including citrus, like the Ce Acatl below. Even more complicated flavors, such as those of amari and fruit liqueurs, can shine in the presence of tequila and sherry. Nothing is really off limits. With three different types of tequila (blanco, reposado, anejo)--not to mention three types of mescal (blanco, reposado, and anejo) and three types of sotol (you get the idea)--and with six different styles of sherry (fino, manzanilla, amontillado, palo cortado, oloroso, and Pedro Ximenez), the options seem virtually endless even before you start adding other flavors.

I hate to admit that until recently I hadn't had much experience with cocktails that call for both sherry and tequila. Sherry is one of my favorite things to mix with--I just love a Sherry Cobbler. And tequila and mescal regularly tempt me to try drinks that are normally out of my comfort zone. I guess I just had trouble taking the necessary plunge to get tequila and sherry in the same glass. I can't believe I waited so long! My friend Adam, the creator of the Ce Acatl, helped me see the error of my ways. Now I understand just how wondrous those two elements are when used together.

Ce Acatl (created by Adam Mullinax)

2 ounces tequila
1/2 ounce amontillado sherry
1/2 ounce orgeat
1/4 ounce lime juice
1 dash Boker's bitters
1 dash mole bitters

Shake ingredients with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with a lime twist.

Note on Ingredients: I used Don Julio anejo tequila, Trader Tiki orgeat, and Lustau Amontillado Sherry. The first time I made it, I was out of amontillado and substituted the drier manzanilla (thus, the picture). The result was also a bit drier but no less pleasing.

What makes this cocktail great, in addition to the way it showcases the tequila and sherry, is the richness that the orgeat brings to the mix. Adam told me that he was loosely inspired by the Japanese Cocktail, and it is the orgeat that provides the link. The tequila and sherry used in place of the Japanese's brandy really do lighten the flavors and push them in totally different direction with a totally different feel. But it is the lime's brightness that really brings the drink together for me. This cocktail is bright and flavorful, smoky, nutty and wonderfully complex. The Ce Acatl will definitely be a regular in my summer rotation.

A Not So Suprising Pair: Rye and Aquavit

Nostalgia and cocktails go hand in hand. I can't count the times I have witnessed it. Sitting next to a stranger, you watch as this faraway look creeps over his face, his tone shifts to somewhere between excitable and reverent, and the memories of that first Sazerac or first sip of whiskey pour out. The emotions are palpable, as are the details, both inconsequential and vague, as his mind is pulled inward stretching back to grasp those last little vestiges of experience. To experience it all again. To be present in that past. And then gone. Without a warning, the thinnest thread has run out and we are jerked back to the now with one foot still in the memory, as if frozen in midair after the rug has been yanked. It takes a minute to adjust, even for a casual listener. Who knows what the body and mind have experienced in that moment. Each sensation new and old, felt and then lost. Proustian indeed.

Nostalgia doesn't have to directly correlate with the contents of the glass. Almost any memory could be stirred up, a person, a place. The human mind is ever so complicated. Though modern usage has associated nostalgia with a reverence for an idealized past, the word also communicates feelings of loss, of yearning. The original Greek defines nostalgia as an ache or pain associated with a homecoming or returning home--a sort of homesickness, where home is a specific place at a specific remembered point in time. But as we all know, nothing is quite the same as we remember it and those past moments are hopelessly out of reach. Ah, the familiar echoes of melancholy--another emotion so interlaced with nostalgia.

It was the Old Bay Ridge that did me in. This variation of the old fashioned was created by David Wondrich to honor the original Irish and Scandinavian settlers of that neighborhood situated along the southwestern edge of Brooklyn abutting the Upper Bay of New York Harbor. Recently, I have been making a lot of my old favorites, and old as they are memories always seem to be attached to them. It's the season, you see. Winter has become a time for self-reflection, and I am no stranger to the bittersweet pull of nostalgia.
I first encountered the Old Bay Ridge last year, during winter, while looking for cocktail recipes with aquavit. Happily I stumbled across the recipe in a blog about all things Brooklyn. To be honest, the nostalgia started there before I had even opened a bottle.

About eight years ago--my how time has passed--I lived in Brooklyn, on the top floor of a three-story walk up on the edges of Park Slope and Gowanus. If I am completely honest, it was was closer to Gowanus. Every time I reminisce about those two years I feel the familiar jolt of the bittersweet, that twinge of  melancholy. It doesn't really make sense, but each year it seems to get stronger and more strange. Back then, I had a wonderful job, a terrible commute, and friends nearby. But in no way was I happy there; the city's relentless energy urged me to look west. Sometimes I felt urged to look in any direction. In hindsight, I was counting down the days before I knew the destination. But as I sit looking out at the cloudy night sky, the entire experience seems like it was a rite of passage, a necessary obstacle that needed to be hurdled. But what does this have to do with rye and aquavit, a bit of syrup, some bitters, a chunk of ice and a sliver of lemon peel--I have no idea. Ah, melancholy and winter. I think it's time for a drink.

Old Bay Ridge (adapted from David Wondrich)

1 ounce Rittenhouse bonded rye
1/2  ounce Linie aquavit
1/2 ounce Krogstad aquavit
1 tsp simple syrup
3 dashes Boker's bitters

Combine syrup and bitters in an old-fashioned glass. Add ice and spirits. Give a quick stir to mix and garnish with a lemon peel.

Notes on Ingredients:  If you can't find Rittenhouse, another high-proof rye, even Wild Turkey, would work here. The original recipe calls for one ounce of aquavit. I find the Krogstad, with its intense anise notes, too bold for this drink on its own. The Linie is softer, with a more striking caraway flavor, but its still too mild to stand up to the overproof rye. To find balance, I like to split the difference. But to each her own: for a more caraway-driven experience, use the Linie, for anise, the Krogstad.

Underneath the lemon oils wafting up from the surface lies the faint smell of an undecipherable herbal aroma. I couldn't quite put my finger on exactly where it was coming from but it was obviously associated with the aquavit combination. The caraway and anise of the warring aquavits welcomed me into the glass. But there was also a nice taste of grains from the rye and the Linie. The heat from the overproof rye was also apparent at the beginning though it smoothed out with the ice melt. The bold rye flavors showed up most on the end of each sip. The most active part of the sip occurred somewhere in between, though, when the spirits were busy overlapping, each striving for attention. What a natural pairing rye and aquavit make! The cinnamon and clove from the bitters came across late in each sip. But as the drink progressed, the spices in the bitters and the rye formed the foundation of the drink and the lemon oils, caraway and anise dominated the aftertaste.