A Non-Dairy Aged Egg Nog Featuring Almond Milk: Part 1

I absolutely love egg nog. The holidays just aren't the same without it. In fact, the entire winter season would not be the same. I can easily recall my first taste of fresh egg nog, not that vile imitation sold by the cartonful in grocery stores. It was happenstance, an impromptu attendance at a holiday party, and the punchbowl was filled to the brim, dusted with nutmeg. In recent years, a new style of egg nog has gained prominence--aged. And while it is a different animal entirely, aged egg nog is also delicious. Many may be wary of aging something with raw eggs in it, but it is safe enough considering the amount of alcohol.

For many, the eggs are the least concern. Most egg nog calls for cream, milk, or both. Thus, not everyone can appreciate its wondrous flavor, and this sadly includes my girlfriend. But for a time a solution eluded me. How to create a situation that would allow her to share the lovely taste with me? The answer came from a friend of mine who thought of almond milk as a viable substitute. But as most egg nog recipes call for a combination of milk and cream, this potential solution hit the wall. Almond cream does not exist. The eureka moment came when my friend, a staunch cocktail enthusiast in her own right, decided to take the matter in her own hands. As with many obscure cocktail ingredients, we have found that if you can't find it, make it. So with an ingenious idea of thickening almond milk into almond cream with almond paste, or marzipan, we set out to replicate an aged egg nog to mark the season. And what a lovely creation it was. After only six weeks, the flavors had developed and mellowed leaving a beautiful almond-flavored nog. Most egg nogs that are aged with dairy require about three months to age to achieve the same levels of depth and mellowness.

Almond Milk Egg Nog (Stage 1) (recipe printed with permission of twosheetsinthewind)

2 ounces + 8 ounces almond milk
2 tbsp marzipan (almond paste)
3 egg yolks
1/2 cup sugar
2 ounces rum
4 ounces bourbon
4 ounces brandy

In a clean glass container that can be sealed, combine rum, bourbon and brandy.

In a small saucepan combine 2 ounces almond milk and marzipan. Cutting up the almond paste ahead of time will speed up the process. Stir constantly over low heat until most of marzipan is absorbed.

Beat the eggs and sugar with a hand blender in another bowl until well combined.

Add the "almond cream" to the egg-sugar mixture, followed by the almond milk. Stir to combine.

Empty the contents of the bowl into the glass jar. Stir or swirl to combine. Cover and keep in the fridge for at least 6 weeks. Shake about once a week.

                     

A Tale of Three Drinks Featuring Pineapple Syrup

Spring is a season you just can't count on here in the Pacific Northwest. Sure, you may get a week of eighty degree weather, but often it is chased by a dreary rainy patch where the temperature swings twenty degrees back into the low sixties. But even as I will summer to arrive by wearing lightweight coats that keep me shivering, I figure I have to make my own sunshine. While I have a friend who says that when he tastes a bit of rum, how can the sun not be out, I opt for a different tack. Pineapple. Not only is fresh pineapple simply a blissfully tasty snack, but a single pineapple can also create a syrup that can compel sunshine from the door of your refrigerator. The best part is that pineapple syrup is incredibly easy to make. All you need is a knife and a cup of simple syrup. Breaking down the pineapple is the only obstacle. But once you've got this delicious syrup, what do you do with it besides pour it generously over ice cream or pancakes?

A San Francisco Legend
Born in the late 1800s, pisco punch is one of the earliest, more famous uses for pineapple syrup. Duncan Nicol, proprietor of the Bank Exchange Saloon in San Francisco, saw his pisco punch gain notoriety far and wide. Travelers from all over the country heard tales of this potent concoction and then made their way in droves through his doors to get a taste. The drink centers on pisco, a spirit first introduced to the United States by South American sailors as they passed through San Francisco. Even today pisco is very popular in San Francisco. And while this lesser known spirit forms the base, it is the pineapple that makes this drink sing. For years, the recipe for pisco punch was a mystery. At the beginning of Prohibition, Nichols refused to disclose the recipe as he closed up shop forever. Thankfully, a discovery made in the 1970s brought the drink back. In truth, it is a very simple punch. Which begs the question, What made it so famous that its praises were sung coast to coast?  Rumor has it that cocaine is what really gave this drink its kick. Still others have posited that the secret ingredient was actually the syrup. Instead of pineapple macerated in simple syrup, the original recipe called for pineapple gomme syrup. The pineapple is steeped in a syrup with gum arabic in it, a common ingredient in the 1800s that fell out of popularity. The cocktail renaissance has, however, brought it back. Gomme syrup provides a drink with a velvety texture and a richness that are unique.

Pisco Punch

2 ounces pisco
1 ounce water
2/3 ounce (4 teaspoons) pineapple gum syrup
3/4 ounce lemon juice.

Shake ingredients with ice and strain into a punch glass. Garnish with a syrup-soaked pineapple chunk.

Note on Ingredients: I used Piscologia pisco. I also used a 2:1 simple syrup for the base of my pineapple syrup in place of the pineapple gum syrup. The richness adds a similar but not exact texture to cocktails While it is not the same as gum syrup, it is easier to make at home.

Blast from the Past
Fixes are a product of a long forgotten era--when individualized pours were steadily overtaking the communal punch bowls of old. Long before the cocktail would become a catch-all phrase for any drink in a conical glass, drinks that followed a formula were popular--sours, fixes, daisies, fizzes, and Collins just to name a few. Collins and fizzes both preserved the soda water element. Sours became concentrated punches in short form. Daisies and fixes revolved around different choices for sweetener, though no clear pattern was ever established. While differences come and go between the daisy and the fix, the treatment of the ice creates the distinction--fixes are served over crushed ice, daisies, like sours, are not.

Though liqueurs and various other sweeteners were used in fixes, my favorite variation is still Harry Johnson's Brandy Fix. Pineapple syrup was a common choice among bartenders of the time, but it is the green chartreuse that really caught my attention. Green chartreuse and pineapple go extremely well together--the sweetness of the fruit works balances out the herbal intensity of the chartreuse. The Dean surely stumbled upon a great pairing there.

Brandy Fix (Harry Johnson, Bartender's Manual, 1900)

2 ounces brandy
1/2 ounce fresh lime juice
1/2 ounce pineapple syrup
dash of green Chartreuse (1/4 ounce)
1/4 ounce simple syrup

Shake with ice and strain into a wine glass or tumbler filled with crushed ice. Add a splash of seltzer, adorn with lots of fruit and go to it.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Pierre Ferrand 1840 cognac, and a 1:1 simple syrup.

A Bittersweet Variation
 During the summer, Campari goes in everything and variations of variations of Negronis abound. I am also not ashamed to admit that I do very much enjoy the reddish pink hue that every Campari-laced cocktail takes on. The shade reminds me of perfect summer sunsets, of watching the sun steadily drift behind the Olympic mountains. Perhaps not surprisingly, Campari pairs quite well with pineapple. I first learned this on a Tiki Sunday while I was visiting Drink in Boston a couple of years ago. After asking for something unusual to follow a lovely champagne cocktail, I was presented with a Jungle Bird. This exotic tiki drink originated from the Avery Hotel in Kuala Lumpur in 1978 and it combines dark rum,lime juice, Campari and pineapple juice.

With a new batch of pineapple syrup in my fridge, I remembered the Jungle Bird and began looking for other drinks that match up pineapple and Campari. My search led me to the Argonaut, a drink created to celebrate Campari's 150th anniversary in 2010. The drink could easily be seen as a play on the pisco punch, where the interaction between the Campari and the pineapple take center stage. This is definitely a drink to witness the day as it transitions into night.

Argonaut (Marco Dionysos)

1 ounce Campari
1 ounce pisco
3/4 ounce pineapple syrup
1/2 ounce lemon juice
1/2 ounce orange juice
2 dashes orange bitters

Shake ingredients with ice and strain into a highball glass filled with ice. Garnish with an orange twist.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Piscologia pisco, Angostura orange bitters, and Gran Classico and Aperol to approximate the Campari.

Bittering Up the Classics: The Japanese Cocktail

The Japanese cocktail was one of the first cocktails ever made. One of a handful of cocktail recipes published in Jerry Thomas's seminal cocktail guide, The Bar-Tender's Guide (1862), the Japanese is a wonderful drink that too often gets forgotten. Sure, most cocktail bloggers know it, as well as craft bartenders, but how often do you see someone actually order one. Perhaps the sole reason for this is that the Japanese cocktail is a bit sweeter than many contemporary cocktails. Notoriously in the nineteenth century, drinkers had more of a sweet tooth than drinkers today. And considering how much attention bitter cocktails receive these days, it seems that the Japanese will remain more commonly spoken about than drank.

I find the Japanese cocktail very enjoyable. The combination of the mellow brandy and the nutty, rich orgeat is tremendously extravagant. The bitters here are crucial. Historically the Japanese calls for Boker's, but this is one situation where the presence of aromatic bitters far outweighs the brand choice. It aptly combines sweetness in a inoffensive way, especially in light of its strength--two ounces of brandy is nothing to shake a stick at. After all, it is an early variation of the Old-Fashioned. But no matter how much lipservice I dare give it, the truth is that the Japanese cocktail doesn't get made very much at my house.  

 Japanese Cocktail

2 ounces brandy
1/2 ounce orgeat
2 dashes Boker's Bitters

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

In spite of its sweetness, something about the Japanese cocktail calls to me. Perhaps I am a sucker for an ancient cocktail, or the fact that it is boozy without seeming boozy. Or maybe it's just that it is so damn velvety smooth. I have the same problem with the Bobby Burns--historically a Scotch Manhattan with a bit of Benedictine in the place of bitters. Every year as Bobby Burns's birthday rolls around I assemble one, enjoy it thoroughly, and then promptly forget it exists. Regardless of how I savor it at the time, I do not crave it. Thus, I never drink them. The Japanese and I have a similar relationship. I love the flavor combination, but almost every time I think of making one, I hesitate. Mood is everything and sometimes all that richness is a turn off. 

Then one day late in December, an idea popped in my head--why not make a loose variation to highlight what I love about the Japanese cocktail and downplay the sweetness? So, with a cabinet full of amari, I decided to use bitterness to allay the sweetness. But one amaro after another yielded less than spectacular results. Fernet was too bracing, averna too delicate, and the amer picon was too unbalanced and frankly brought too much orange. But when I tried the Santa Maria with a scant bit of rye, it all came together. As I learned from my adventures with aquavit, sometimes investing in the foundation helps bring a new drink together.

Bitter Japanese Cocktail

1 1/2 ounces brandy
1/2 ounce rye
1/2 Santa Maria Amaro
1/4 ounce orgeat
2 dashes Spanish bitters

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

Notes on Ingredients: I used Sazerac 6-year rye, Paul Masson VSOP brandy, and B.J. Reynolds orgeat.

A Fernet Sparkler to Ring in the New Year

Every year on New Year's Eve, Tracy and I celebrate the coming year with champagne cocktails and a movie marathon. The wisdom of this decision has become clear over the years when we consider what it means to spend the last night of the year on the town--the trouble of finding a cab, the obnoxious crowds, the challenge of even obtaining a drink, and the almost predictably foul weather. And when weighed against Seelbachs and French 75s, or Airmails and Old Cubans, or even simple Champagne Cocktails, opting to stay in seems almost genius. The only difficult part is choosing what to have. This year while constructing the cocktail menu, the memory of a particularly tasty champagne cocktail popped into my head, the Recoleta. We first encountered this drink over a year ago at Sambar and notoriously, it contained Fernet Branca. The pairing of champagne and Fernet piqued my curiosity and I soon became obsessed with finding it or a similar drink. But to my disappointment, my Internet searches were primarily fruitless. Even uncovering champagne cocktails with any amari turned up few options.

Though I could not find the recipe for the Recoleta, my time was not spent in vain. I did unearth one cocktail that included both champagne and Fernet--the I.B.F. Pick-Me-Up. Created in the 1920s by Bob Card, a bartender at Harry's New York Bar in Paris, this cocktail was first published in Barflies and Cocktails (1927). However, I discovered it tangled up in all of the hangover cures that so dominate the subject of cocktail blogs during the last weeks of the year. Like in the Fernet Cocktail (Robert Vermeire's Cocktails How to Mix Them (1922)) that later became known as the Toronto, a small amount of Fernet is added to the combination of a "more neutral" base spirit and a bit of sweetener, here provided by the orange liqueur. It is the addition of champagne that provides the interest, however--the acidity of the sparkler could have easily undone the balance.

I.B.F. Pick-Me-Up (adapted Bob Card's original creation)

2 ounces brandy
3 dashes Fernet Branca
3 dashes Cointreau
Champagne

Combine all ingredients except for champagne in a mixing glass. Stir with ice and strain into a chilled champagne flute. Top with chilled champagne.

The I.B.F. stands for the International Bar Flies, a group of, well, we'll just say bar flies that was created by Harry MacElhone and O.O. McIntyre in 1924. Its mission was (and supposedly is) devoted to "the uplift and downfall of serious drinkers." This eye-opener has everything you could possibly wish for in a hangover "cure"--hair of the dog (cognac), effervescence, potable bitters for the stomach, and a bit of sweetness. It would have been easy to just thrown this together and call it a night, but the lack of Fernet sparkler spurred me on to create my own. The I.B.F. was simply a perfect place to start.

Fernet Branca is a tremendously complex amari that is incredibly bitter. Because of its strong herbal flavor, it is incredibly polarizing and has inspired many strong opinions. When first introduced to it, many people greet its taste with a grimace and some sort of guttural, instinctive sound, like GAH! Usually they only persevere because Fernet is a  powerful digestive aid. It is an acquired taste for sure.

Pairing other flavors with Fernet can also create problems, however. One of the most popular ways to drink it is, actually, neat, with a ginger beer back, though many of its adherents will opt for a lager. Ginger and Fernet go wonderfully well together. Because of this, I thought that a nice spicy ginger flavor would add an interesting element to the I.B.F.

Fernet Champagne Cocktail

1 ounce brandy
1/2 ounce Fernet Branca
1/2 ounce Domaine de Canton
1/2 ounce orange curacao
4 ounces sparkling wine

Chill mixing glass thoroughly. Add all ingredients except sparkling wine and stir to mix. Pour liquid into a chilled champagne flute. Top with champagne. Garnish with and orange twist.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Paul Masson VSOP brandy and Chateau Ste. Michelle sparkling wine.

Of all the drinks I made this New Year's, this drink was by far the favorite. Complex and refreshing, with layers of flavor, each sip was bold and interesting. Though the recipe may seem a bit large,  we have large champagne flutes. Fortunately, it can easily be halved. Though I used the Domaine de Canton, the ginger flavor was not as strong as I had  originally intended. Using a liqueur with a more intense ginger flavor, like the King's Ginger, might rectify this though the balance may also suffer. However, this product is not yet available in Washington yet (grumble grumble). Another option for a more gingery, less Fernet-y drink, might be to make the I.B.F. Pick-me-up substituting the ginger liqueur for the Cointreau. Regardless, it was though a wonderful way to ring in the new year.

Ode to the Corpse Reviver: Brandy-Based Versions

What do the Frank Sullivan Cocktail, the Hey Hey Cocktail, the Hoop-La Cocktail and the Odd McIntyre Cocktail have in common? Well, everything. All four brandy-based Corpse Revivers No. 2 not only contain the same ingredients in the same proportions and are made the same way, but they also were all created at roughly the same time and introduced in the same cocktail guide. With over 750 recipes collected in the Savoy Cocktail Book, it is not surprising that there are duplicates. But quadruplicates? Considering that three of the recipes are within pages of one another, this oversight seems excessive. But with scant details available about how the Savoy was actually compiled--monumental task that it must have been--our curiosity is left hanging in the breeze. Even inside its pages, if information is even provided about a cocktail's provenance, and often it is not, few explanations are given. The truth is that not much can illuminate the mysteries and odd curiosities (i.e., mistakes) many have discovered within the Savoy's covers. Perhaps only Mr. Craddock knows the answers, though it seems he took his insights to the grave.

While a great number of the recipes included in the Savoy were pilfered from earlier cocktail books--which is just one reason why it is such a complete source--these four cocktails appear to be Harry Craddock creations. After doing a cursory search, I wasn't able to locate these cocktails in any of the cocktail volumes I have at home that predate the Savoy. This is by no means conclusive, as I don't own that many books and any one of these cocktails could pop up in a more obscure tome.  But considering that Craddock is widely acknowledged as the creator of the Corpse Reviver No. 2, a nearly identical cocktail, attributing these cocktails to him seems reasonable. When the differences boil down to a simple ingredient swap and the omission of a rinse, this conclusion hardly requires a leap of faith.

And though it may seem like their presence in the Savoy amounts to just filler, especially considering the repetitiveness, each of these cocktails had its own trajectory on the way to more modern audiences. Though more modern in this case only spans about 10 years. Ultimately, they were just as doomed as almost every other cocktail created before or during Prohibition--not much made it past the vodka-soaked black hole that was the 1950s. And while their gin-based cousin has been resurrected as the darling of the cocktail world, it would be hard to argue that any one of the Frank Sullivan, Odd McIntyre, Hoop-La or Hey Hey is widely known even among cocktail enthusiasts or revivalist bartenders. The history is what you would expect for an obscure drink created in the 1930s. After approximately 1937, it was hard to locate these drinks in cocktail guides--as shown by their omission in both David Embury's Fine Art of Mixing Drinks (1958) and Esquire's Handbook for Hosts (1949). That said, the Corpse Reviver No. 2 didn't make the cut either. But putting all of this aside, perhaps the most interesting facet of each drink's history is the way that later bar book authors dealt with them, collectively. I mean what do you do with a drink that has four different names.

Approved Cocktails (1934)

By 1934, the Savoy Cocktail Book had been reprinted many times and the Savoy Hotel and many other drinking establishments were primed for the swarms of Americans fleeing the restrictions of Prohibition. British cocktails, it seemed, had officially arrived. To deal with the unruly flocks, the newly formed UK Bartender's Guild published the bar book, Approved Cocktails, to standardize recipes across the industry and help bartenders avoid using the same names for different drinks. Harry Craddock happened to be the president of the Guild at the time. So, how did they choose to deal with four identical brandy Revivers? The Hoop La and the Odd McIntyre are listed in the main recipe section and retain their identical recipes. The Frank Sullivan is listed in a special section of cocktails whose recipes are available only upon request. But the Hey Hey is not mentioned at all. Interestingly, while two different Corpse Revivers (Corpse Reviver and Corpse Reviver Liqueur) are both listed in the pages-long section devoted to cocktails not specifically included, the Corpse Reviver No. 2 is nowhere to be found.

"Cocktail Bill" Boothby's World Drinks and How to Mix Them (1934 Reprint)

Whoever compiled the 1934 reprint of Cocktail Bill's World Drinks--Bill Boothby having died in 1930--for some reason chose to handle these four cocktails differently. Though no reasoning is included, three can be found among its pages, though two of them have been varied slightly. (Note, the first edition of World Drinks was published in 1930. Though it is unlikely, I wonder if any of these drinks were included in its pages.) To start, the Odd McIntyre has been omitted completely. The Hoopla Cocktail calls for equal parts of cognac, Lillet, lemon juice and Cointreau, which matches the initial Savoy recipe. The Hey Hey is almost identical, except that in place of cognac, it calls for brandy. What are the differences between brandy and cognac? The answer is underwhelming. Technically, brandy is a distillate made of a fruit, most notably grapes. This distillate is then barrel-aged by law in most of Europe, though standards are more lenient elsewhere in the world. Cognac, on the other hand, is a specific type of brandy distilled in a very limited geographic area according to very specific rules that concern all facets of production. So while the recipes seem different, depending on interpretation, the resulting beverage could be the same. The Frank Sullivan, however, matches the Hoopla except that instead of lemon juice, the recipe calls for sour mix, usually a mixture of lemon juice and/or lime juice and sugar. This is the most drastic change as the basic equal parts recipe has been lost in favor of a sweeter drink.

Cafe Royal Cocktail Book (1937)

 The UKBG's Approved Cocktails was the organization's initial publication and it was intended for industry members. It was only printed once and with a limited print run. With the Cafe Royal Cocktail Book, the Guild sought to raise money for charity while also compiling the creations of then-current British bartenders. William J. Tarling, head barman at the Cafe Royal in London, founding member of the UK Bartender's Guild, and in 1937 president of the Guild, started with the 125-page Approved Cocktails and expanded it to include 213 pages of recipes. Many of the the new drinks were furnished by his contemporaries. It has been said that the Cafe Royal Cocktail Book is a rebuttal to the Savoy Cocktail Book. Perhaps it was, because rather than simply collecting every recipe under the sun, Tarling sought to "give a selection of the most suitable cocktails." There is even a section of omitted cocktail recipes, like in Approved Cocktails, that are available upon request. Perhaps there was even a bit of competition between these two leaders in their field. After all, both served as president of the Guild and both compiled important cocktail guides. Craddock was also an American transplant, while Tarling was British. Could this have been an issue as well? Speculation is all that remains, and any potential arguments seem to pile up quickly.

But what about the four identical brandy-based Revivers? Tarling only included the Hoop La with the Savoy's recipe. The Odd McIntyre and Frank Sullivan are still included though they have been relegated to the Supplementary List of Cocktails in the back. The Hey Hey Cocktail is still missing. It is curious to note that the Corpse Reviver No. 2 is not included in the main recipe section either, or specifically listed in the back. Like in Approved Cocktails, however, a Corpse Reviver (without number or detail) and the Corpse Reviver Liqueur (whatever that is) are both still included the Supplementary List.

Odd McIntyre (or the Hey Hey Cocktail, Hoopla, Frank Sullivan)

3/4 ounce cognac
3/4 ounce Lillet
3/4 ounce lemon juice
3/4 ounce Cointreau

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

 Notes on Ingredients: I used Paul Masson VSOP brandy.

1948 and Beyond

Interestingly enough, as later cocktail books began culling recipes from earlier times these four cocktails actually stood a chance at revival. For example, in the 1948 edition of Trader Vic's Bartender's Guide, all four recipes have been resurrected. This cocktail book is a regular treasure trove of old recipes that had long since fallen out of rotation, many of them from during and before Prohibition. The Frank Sullivan matches its respective Savoy recipe, while the Hey Hey and the Hoop La simply refer back to the Frank Sullivan. The Odd McIntyre calls for brandy in place of cognac, though everything else is identical. It is strange that Trader Vic also includes this variance that so evokes Boothby's 1934 reprint. Even more curious, is that in Boothby's book, it is the Hey Hey that calls for brandy.

Astoundingly enough, two of these cocktails even made it all the way into volume seven of the diffordsguide, which was published in 2008, but with substantial changes. Both the Frank Sullivan and the Hoopla are included, though the Lillet has been replaced with dry vermouth. The Hoopla has also gained an egg white. Who knows where these changes came from. Though the provenance records the Savoy as the starting point for both, the proportions, the egg white (in the Hoopla) and the dry vermouth point to serious adaptations. And don't forget the sugar rim. The cocktail resembles the Sidecar more than the Corpse 2, though the Sidecar is a common predecessor for both. It just goes to show that in eighty years a lot can happen to a cocktail.

Between the Sheets, but with Gin

We are in a happy place with Charles Baker at the moment. With Bertita's Special, a nice Bacardi Cocktail variation, the notorious Between the Sheets, a riff on a Sidecar, and a pair of simple rum concoctions we have entered a safe haven for the moment, protected from the myriad flavor surprises that I am sure await off in the distance. But by no means does this equate to boredom; Baker still has a few tricks up his sleeve; nothing is quite as simple or easy as it sounds.

Fresh squeezed lemon juice, check. Glasses chilling in the freezer, check. Tools, check. Everything was ready to go. With my hands full of Cointreau, brandy and rum, I wandered into the kitchen ready to begin pouring. Tracy had already settled onto the couch awaiting her beverage. Happy hour snacks were spread out on the table. Even the cats were settled in for a relaxing break. But while rechecking the proportions, I noticed that all was not as it seemed. Baker's Between the Sheets does not contain rum, his is made with gin.

When I really sat down to think about it, it wasn't all that surprising that the recipe for a cocktail could go that way over time. Sure, white rum and gin don't taste anything alike. No doubt about it. But more often than not, they work with the same flavors. And since they both lack those barrel-aged flavors, it is not surprising that they might have some of the same flavor affinities. So, especially if your cocktail has citrus in it, you could probably substitute light rum if you were lacking gin, or vice versa. I can't really explain it, but it works. Look at the Bee's Knees and the Honeysuckle. The Daiquiri and the Gin Rickey. Even the Seventh Heaven loosely resembles the Floridita, and the Darby is quite close to the Nevada. 

The Between the Sheets is an old classic, or at least the one containing rum in it is. Dating from at least the late 1920s, it is a damn fine variation on the Sidecar, which was the first classic cocktail to really catch my attention. (It was my graduate school go-to tipple.) It is easy to see why the Between the Sheets really took off during Prohibition as it combines cognac, standard in the Sidecar, with easier to find ingredients like the often ubiquitous bathtub gin and illegally imported rum. Originally, the proportions differed as well, with equal parts rum, brandy, and Cointreau, and only a dash of lemon juice. That's one big glass of booze with a hint of lemon. Well, at least it's not on the menu today. Over time the proportions changed to match the equal parts of the cocktail below. There is even a variation in trader Vic's guide that calls for gin and rum, and the cognac is just suggested as a substitute, as well as a drink called the Between the Sheets in Esquire's Handbook for Hosts that combines cognac, creme de cacao, cream, bitters, sugar, and a lemon peel. For once, it seems that the Baker variation isn't the most insane. My mouth is very glad.  

Jerusalem's Between the Sheets

3/4 ounce brandy
3/4 ounce Cointreau
3/4 ounce lemon juice
3/4 ounce gin

Shake with ice. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Paul Masson VSOP brandy, and Bellringer gin.

The orange liqueur and lemon dominate the aroma, though I thought I could pick up a hint of vanilla from the brandy. Tracy smelled pineapple, which though there was none, is not really surprising, considering the citrus and sweetness from the Cointreau. This cocktail was remniscent of the sidecar, and thus was pleasantly tart and refreshing. Initially, the flavors of the lemon and orange were most prominent. The gin showed up at the end, and the brandy added a pleasant richness to the drink. The flavors progressed from the tart lemon, to the richness and slightly sweet taste of the Cointreau and brandy, before ending with dryness of the gin. As the drink warmed up, the botanics of the gin combined to create a pleasantly subtle flavor. The after taste was filled with vanilla notes from the brandy. This libation is a nice change from the sidecar, but the original will always have a special place in my heart.

The Intersection of Gin and Rye: the Chauncey

Sometimes the most interesting cocktails aren't the ones that you discover on your own. In fact, many of my favorite drinks have come from the recommendations of others, whether that person is a bartender or just a friendly neighbor sitting on the next bar stool over. I often wonder whether the referral contributes in any way to my actual enjoyment. Sure, 95 percent of my decision depends on what is actually happening in the glass. But what about the other 5 percent? Perhaps that feeling of anticipation while watching the bartender pour out unknown measures and reach for unexpected ingredients somehow enhances the entire experience. It certainly adds context. And what about the spontaneity, could that be a factor as well? Could opting out of the decision-making process actual heighten an experience? Granted all of this supposition is inconsequential if that 95 percent is horrid. I do know that while letting a bartender just whip something up on the fly can be risky, especially if you don't know him or her very well, sometimes those risks are just worth it. You never know what you might end up with--it might be your new favorite.

Recently Tracy and I ventured out to the Rob Roy to sit across the bar from a couple of visiting bartenders from Portland, Dave Shenaut and Sean Hoard, before heading to the opera. After having a very tasty cocktail from their special event menu, I decided to place myself at the mercy of the bartender. After discussing such fundamentals as preferred base spirit (rye) and style (spirit driven, of course), the stage was set. What I received was wonderful and surprising, and therefore exactly what I wanted, though I would have never known it: the Chauncey. After I found out it was a classic, I just had to discover the whole story.

Originally published in the Old Waldorf-Astoria Bar Book in 1935, this curious little tipple certainly never jumped out at me. Even had I noticed it, I would have instantly discounted it. Combining old tom gin, rye, sweet vermouth, and brandy in equal parts, I would have doubted its flavor and its balance. Many old drinks just aren't that good, and maybe this explains its lack of popularity. The recipe for the Chauncey is not going to talk you into drinking it. But it is exceptionally tasty and smooth despite the fact that it is really just a big glass of booze. When I made it at home, I found the cocktail to be enjoyable enough, though a bit sweeter and richer than I usually care for.   

Chauncey (Waldorf-Astoria)
1/4 old tom gin (3/4 ounce)
1/4 rye (3/4 ounce)
1/4 brandy (3/4 ounce)
1/4 sweet vermouth (3/4 ounce)
1 dash orange bitters

Stir in an ice-filled mixing glass. Strain into a cocktail glass.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Ransom Old Tom gin, Paul Masson VSOP brandy, Pikesville rye, Martini & Rossi sweet vermouth, and Angostura orange bitters.

This version, from the Waldorf-Astoria, is not what I had at Rob Roy. It was obvious upon tasting. In addition to the Waldorf-Astoria, the next source I found the it in was Esquire's Handbook for Hosts, where its recipe was the same. Another recipe for the Chauncey is available on the Internet at cocktaildb.com, which means it was collected in Stan Jones Complete Bar Guide. It is mostly the same but with different proportions. I could not trace it anywhere in the intervening years. So at some time between the late 1940s and the late 1970s, as American tastes dried out, so did the Chauncey.

Left: Waldorf version; right: cocktaildb.com

Chauncey (cocktaildb.com)

3/4 ounce gin
3/4 ounce rye
1/2 ounce brandy
1/2 ounce sweet vermouth
1 dash orange bitters

Stir in an ice-filled mixing glass. Strain into a cocktail glass.

Notes on Ingredients: I used the same as above except that the gin called for was London Dry, and so I used Plymouth.

This Chauncey was much dryer, and the taste of the herbs of the gin and the orange bitters were much more dominant. As it is a much crisper drink, its flavors pop.  But this recipe still did not match my memory of Dave Shenaut's Chauncey. The cocktail I remembered was in fact dry, but also extremely smooth and rich. So after I found a video where Mr. Shenaut actually constructs his version of the Chauncey, I could finally remake the drink at home.

Chauncey (Dave Shenaut version)

3/4 ounce rye
3/4 ounce sweet vermouth
3/4 ounce gin
1/2 ounce brandy
2 dashes orange bitters

Stir in an ice-filled mixing glass. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with an orange twist.

Over time the Chauncey went from  rich and slightly sweet to dry and crisp, to finally end up smooth, full- flavored and balanced. This path mirrors the ways that American tastes have changed. Bold cocktails that were rich or more on the sweet side during the Golden Age either became obsolete or were adapted to fit newer dryer tastes. Look at the martini--it was originally made with a ton of vermouth and a couple of dashes of orange bitters, and over time all of its flavor was stripped away until it was just a cold glass of slightly diluted gin. And then, as if rock bottom weren't low enough, it became a cold glass of slightly diluted vodka. But the pendulum has shifted, and bold flavors are back, though without the sweetness. Bartenders are re-fitting the classics, sometimes by just reintroducing the original proportions and sometimes by re-tooling them so they appeal to modern tastes. Thus, a historically sweet cocktail can be refashioned as dryer without sacrificing its big flavors. Dried out cocktails can reappropriate their stolen flavors. Dave Shenaut's version of the Chauncey highlights both of these trends and the result is a bolder cocktail, not too sweet or too dry. This Chauncey exists somewhere in between and yet somewhere completely new.

Gender Roles, Brandy and Caraway

"Just why handsome women prefer sweet and creamy cocktails has always troubled us, but they do."

Charles Baker

One vaguely disconcerting, and vaguely hilarious, element of nearly all old cocktail books is the idea that there are cocktails for men--strong, boozy concoctions to put, or keep, hair on your chest--and cocktails for women--creamy, frothy libations that are typically very sweet and very absurd. Granted, there are some "ladies" cocktails that are strong,  boozy and tasty, but they are few and far between. How did these drinks become associated with women? Well, many are pink and tend to shy away from bold flavors. Who decided women don't like big flavor? When we find him we will let you know. As for color, some very tasty potables are pink, and I for one would never turn away a pink lady.

Reading about these gender stereotypes would be more palatable if we could lean back and laugh at the folly of the past. But those old-fashioned notions about gender appropriateness from the early twentieth century are still with us, though they have been under siege for decades now. Television shows, movies and the Internet flood our culture with silly ideas about what it means to be a man or a woman. It is really scary to consider just how well these ideas align with ideas about gender roles from the 1920s or even earlier. But, at least in the land of alcohol there are glimmers of hope. For example, I know far too many women who like whiskey, and not just the easy stuff, like Irish whiskey or corn-heavy bourbons like Maker's Mark. (Okay, I will admit it, you can never know too many women who like whiskey.) These women choose to stare down the cask-strength and drink it neat--hair on the chest be damned. I also know women who cringe when they hear the word whiskey. But these women still wouldn't be caught dead ordering a sweet, frothy cocktail--they drink martinis and tequila old-fashioneds and negronis. Nor would they be tempted by a cocktail simply because it has cream in it, or because it is pink. Whiskey or no, these women know how to handle themselves and they heartily embrace bold flavors. And if a bold-flavored drink just happens to be pink or have cream in it, so be it.

When Charles Baker writes that a drink is for "when ladies are present," I can't help but shake my head and offer a little sarcastic chuckle. It is easy to forgive him--the 1930s were a different time. But then again, perhaps not as different as we like to believe. Pink, sweet concoctions designed to cover up the taste of alcohol are still described with the word "girly." And I have been told, more than once, that I drink like an old man as if it were a bad thing. Perhaps the real difference is that today, for the most part, it isn't revolutionary to strip off that mantel of gender appropriateness. In Charles Baker's day, it wasn't quite so easy to treat a gender role like an accessory that matches your outfit. And maybe we should be glad that Mr. Baker includes "lighter" variations for the milder sex, whether we choose to interpret that as applying to a man or a woman. He could have just ignored women altogether, like so many others. On the other hand, we are now left with two suspicious beverages to worry about, instead of just one. So with a mild shudder, bring on the beverages!

The Balaklava Specials No. I and II explore the intersection of cognac and kummel. In No. 1, aside from a decorative sink of grenadine, there is not much more to it. The recipe for No. II  is similar except that cream and three distractingly fragrant, potent flavors have been added, all for the benefit of the fairer sex. Uh, thanks? I can understand the cream from a historic point of view. Back in the days of yore, supposedly women liked a creamy beverage. I can almost understand adding a sweetener, and please note understand not tolerate. But I am not sure how kirschwasser and absinthe, at 80 proof and 130 proof, respectively, are making this drink "girly" or even "girlier"? The mere thought is confusing and slightly frightening. Did he have to offset the fact that cream is non-alcoholic? Mr. Baker even issues this warning: "And for heaven's sweet sake don't think this snake-in-the-grass drink is a harmless and gentle lady's affair just because it has cream in it!" Ladies, hold on to your skirts.

Balaklava Special No. 1
1 jigger cognac (1 ounce brandy)
1 jigger kummel (1 ounce aquavit)
1 dash grenadine (1 barspoon)
(1/4 ounce simple syrup)

Fill a cocktail glass with crushed or shaved ice. Add brandy and "kummel" and carefully pour in grenadine so it sinks to the bottom.

Notes on Ingredients: I substituted brandy for cognac, used homemade grenadine, and since I didn't have any kummel, I sweetened Krogstad aquavit per the specifications I found on Underhill Lounge: 1 oz aquavit plus 10 ml syrup. Also note, I cut the proportions, just in case it was gross.

Caraway, anise and the undeniable smell of brandy were most apparent on the nose. Tracy, however, was sure she could smell the berry tartness of the grenadine as well. This strange drink had an extremely rich texture, and, despite that richness and an initial hint of sweetness, it was actually quite dry and surprisingly complex. The flavors of the brandy and caraway were strongest, and each sip was punctuated with anise. As we progressed, the grenadine grew in prominence. Though this drink really wasn't as bad as it initially sounded, I would never ask for it. I was actually surprised by how complimentary the flavors of the caraway and brandy were. As far as improvements go, I would try decreasing the "kummel," losing the grenadine, and adding aromatic bitters--in the guise of a caraway-flavored Japanese. Also, that crushed ice would just have to go.

Balaklava Special No. II (as close to what Baker stipulated as possible)

1 jigger kummel (1 1/2 ounces aquavit )

1/2 jigger absinthe (1/2 ounce)

1/2 jigger cognac (3/4 ounce brandy)
1/2 jigger kirschwasser (3/4 ounce)
1/2 tsp orgeat
1 1/2 tsp thick cream
(15 ml simple syrup)

Combine ingredients in a chilled shaker. Shake "briskly" and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

We actually did make this drink, though I confess--I used slightly less absinthe that the original. In my experience anything with more than 1/4 ounce of absinthe in it, will only taste like absinthe. This drink was no exception: it smelled of absinthe and tasted like absinthe. In addition to the anise madness, a hint of cherry came across in the aroma, and a hint of caraway and cherry was present in the taste. In spite of the cream and orgeat, the texture was quite dry. It was better than I thought, which isn't saying much. We still could only withstand about two sips each.

Balaklava Special No. II (as adapted)

1 1/2 ounces brandy
1/2 ounce aquavit
1/4 ounce kirschwasser
1/2 tsp orgeat
1 dash absinthe
1 1/2 tsp heavy cream
5 ml simple syrup

Dry shake ingredients to combine. Add ice and reshake. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. 

The smell of cherry was most prevalent in the aroma. Cherry and almond appeared first in the taste. Those flavors in turn blended into anise and caraway. The swallow was all brandy. This drink had a slightly creamy texture, though it still remained predominantly dry. Tracy and I agreed that the cocktail was much improved by changing the base from "kummel" to brandy and decreasing the kirschwasser and absinthe significantly. The flavors were more crisp as opposed to blanketed with absinthe. As these drinks highlight the overlapping of kummel and brandy, I chose not to severely reduce the "kummel." This was perhaps the downfall of my variation. The caraway never seemed to mesh with the others. A further reduction might have improved the cocktail, but any thread of the original would have been lost. Then again, maybe that wouldn't have been such a bad thing.

End note: of all three cocktails, Tracy and I agreed that we liked the version for when women are not present the best. I can't say I am terribly surprised.

Astor Hotel Special

"Our epidemic of missing steamboats began in Shanghai and was the fault of this very blend--sitting in the charming old Astor, with fog setting in"

Charles Baker

During 1926, Charles Baker found himself on a world cruise because he was lucky playing the stock markets. Shanghai became a notorious port of call on this trip not only because he become so besotted that he effectively marooned himself there, but also because his proposal to a "delightful maiden" was rejected in favor of a man whose only claim to fame would be that he was kidnapped by a famous villain, Alan "Creepy" Karpis, a member of the notorious Ma Baker gang.

Imagine yourself sitting a bar stool as the evening fog has started to creep over the city. The popular tea dances are just beginning to start. You've got your arm around a delightful maiden that in just this ethereal light looks wiser than her years, and yet still more delicate than she really is. But perhaps all of that nonsense is just a reflection of you, already deep in your cups. The waiter in his white coat catches your eye and nods as you raise your hand for another round of specials. The couples swirl along the dance floor, filmy tiered dresses spinning into tuxedo jackets. Rye is being poured at every table. The weight of the evening pulses in your brow, bringing easy smiles and exaggerated gestures. A foghorn blows in the distance, lilting from somewhere off behind the jaunty call of the clarinet. Little do you know, or even care, that as the sound disappears into the fog, your bags and belongings are trailing across the harbor on their way to the next port. When the frosted white goblet is set before you, you catch the sly glimmer in your gal's eye before looking back at the creamy foam almost spilling out of the glass. If only we could all get so lost in the East.

The Astor Hotel Special

1 1/2 ounces cognac (2 oz brandy)

1 tsp maraschino liqueur 

2 tsp egg white

3/4 ounce absinthe (1/4 oz absinthe)

1/2 tsp lemon juice 

club soda (1 1/2 oz)

Dry shake all ingredients save club soda. Add ice and shake hard. Strain into a large wine goblet and add soda.

Trial Number One

What a disappointment. The milky brown color was not appetizing and the lack of foam was an immediate downer after all that shaking. The smell of licorice on the aroma practically knocked me down as I took a sip. And though I made some initial adjustments, balance was nowhere to be found. Simply increasing the brandy and decreasing the absinthe just didn't do enough. Even at a quarter ounce, the absinthe was pretty overwhelming. I could just barely make out the brandy and maraschino. The brightness of the lemon juice peeked out on the swallow, but mostly it was all absinthe all the time. The drink was drinkable, but not particularly enjoyable.

Trial Number Two

Revisiting the Astor Hotel Special a couple of weeks later, I decided to scrap my earlier efforts and go with my gut. My final revisions are below. Visually the drink looked better--a nice pinkish brown below a layer of white foam. I cut the absinthe even further, increased the lemon juice, and used an entire egg white. Because of the lemon juice adjustment, I upped the maraschino content to create balance. I added the lemon oils to the foam on a whim, but it seemed to work.

The lemon oils mingled with the absinthe in the aroma. With a smooth texture and a subtle fizziness, the drink was strikingly dry. The brandy contributed a richness throughout, while the lemon added brightness and balance. The maraschino was most apparent at the end of each sip where it worked well with the licorice flavors. The absinthe still ran the show, but all in all, a little tinkering produced a surprisingly refreshing libation. I can now understand why this drink might knock Mr. Baker's socks off, though I still feel like the maiden had a bit more to do with the marooning that he was willing to admit.

The Astor Hotel Special (as adapted)

2 oz brandy

1 1/2 tsp maraschino liqueur

1 egg white 

1 barspoon absinthe

2 tsp lemon juice

1 1/2 oz club soda

Dry shake all ingredients save club soda. Add ice and shake again, hard. Strain into a large cocktail glass, add club soda, and express the oils of a lemon peel on top of the foam.

Adios Amigos

Charles Baker tells us that this cocktail is from the Army-Navy Club in Manila, Philippines. This social club was the go-to hang out spot for Americans in Manila back in the early part of last century. It was notorious during that time not only for not allowing any local Filipinos in unless they were servants--hello American imperialism--but also for drunk's row, a line of bunks situated side by side along the entire length of one veranda, specifically for those who could not handle their liquor. Many American officers, fresh off the boat and far away from the constraints of Prohibition, were escorted (carried) up to this room to sleep off their over-indulgence in freedom, read extreme inebriation. Somehow this seems better than the only modern equivalent I can think of: the good ole drunk tank.

When I first gazed at this recipe, I was puzzled and a bit disheartened. Oh Charlie, what am I going to do with you?

Adios Amigos

2 ponies Bacardi (2 ounces)
1 pony dry vermouth (1 ounce)
1 pony dry gin (1 ounce)
1 pony cognac (1 ounce)
1/2 lemon, juice; or 1 lime, juice (1/2 ounce lemon juice)

"Shake well with lots of cracked ice, pour into a large flat champagne glass, and send for the Marines!"

Notes on ingredients: I used Cruzan white rum in place of the Bacardi. Dolin dry vermouth, Bellringer gin, and Paul Masson brandy in place of cognac.

So I find in my glass numerous spirits, vermouth, and citrus. But, alas, no liqueur, syrup, or other sweetener. Boozy and sour, yes; drinkable . . . my hopes were not high. Could this be a typo? Was something lost in transcription? Please? But as I began my search for other versions, my hopes were dashed with the appearance of the Adios Amigos in Trader Vic's guide (1947) and on cocktaildb.com, both without any mention of a sweetener. The proportions are different and the lemon juice has been dropped in favor of lime. Other than that it is still dry, boozy, and sour. But where Mr. Baker leads we shall follow, if only for one sip. So here is my attempt at having an open mind.

Well hello there, lemon. This drink was fucking sour. The aroma included all things lemon and not much else, big surprise, though I may have talked myself into detecting the rum. That was when I started to rethink my choice of citrus, could lime have been any better? The first sip was as expected dry, sour, and quite boozy in an unimaginative sort of way--the flavors kind of blended together so I only felt the sensation of alcohol, but could not decipher the flavor. It was just too hard to get beyond the sourness. I tried, but after much puckering, I found this concoction unremarkable and quite undrinkable. Oh well. But since I had done my homework on our friend Mr. Baker, I was not surprised that one of his drinks was--well, to be nice--out of touch with modern tastes. So, after scratching my head and poking around in other cocktail resources, I came up with a more modern translation:

Adios Amigos (as adapted)

1 ouce Cruzan
1/2 ounce Dolin dry vermouth
1/2 ounce Bellringer gin
1/2 ounce VSOP brandy (Masson)
1/4 ounce lime juice
1/4 ounce simple syrup

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

What a difference a little bit of sugar makes! My first thought was to balance out the citrus. My second thought ran to lime juice. Limes go well with rum; limes go well with gin. Why not? The lemon had already failed miserably. Fortunately for me, after making these two considerably small decisions, I turned to the professionals. What luck that the Adios Amigos was in the Diffordsguide with lime juice balanced by syrup. I had not thought of cutting down the amount of juice, but boy did it work. The citrus was still the most prevalent smell, but the rum and the gin were present as well. On the first sip, the flavor of lime mingled pleasantly with the rum and the herbal notes of the gin. The brandy contributed a nice richness to the overall drink, making it very mellow. The drink still retained its dryness, and on the swallow I tasted the botanicals of the gin and the vanilla notes of the rum. The one fault I found with this drink was that when it warmed up the dry vermouth began peeking out in a not-so-nice way . . . do not tarry with this drink.