Reimagining the Lucien Gaudin Cocktail

I remember the first time I ran across the Lucien Gaudin cocktail. It was years ago now, when I first acquired my copy of Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails. I was newly obsessed with Campari drinks--not that this has changed over time--and this one seemed like one that I needed to try. I did, but the cocktail failed to make an impression. It was fine, just not memorable.

When people talk about the Lucien Gaudin cocktail, they usually focus on the man, Lucien Gaudin. Yes, he was a fencer, but not just your average fencer. He dominated the sport and is still tied as the record holder for best Olympics performance in French history for his performance in the 1920, '24, 1and '28 Olympics. While all of this is incredibly impressive and worthy of remembrance, I would wager that the reason why most cocktail writers focus so much attention on the man and not the cocktail is because the drink fails to impress on its own merits.

The Lucien Gaudin cocktail was first printed in an obscure French drinks manual, Cocktails des Paris, published in 1929. Its creation is credited to a man named Charlie of Cheval-Pie, who won the cup of honor for the drink in 1929. A couple tomes after that remember it, but not many. Until Ted Haigh brought it back, this drink seemed destined to be forgotten.

I have revisited the drink several times over the years. I have never been able to crack the mystery of why this drink has come back from the depths of cocktail history.  I have tried making it with different products to find that perfect harmony. I have swapped out the Campari for Luxardo bitter. I have utilized myriad gins and vermouth. I have even used different curacaos instead of Cointreau and changed the proportions. Nothing seemed to matter. The drink just falls flat for me, its flavors muddied. Recently I saw a variation online that made me want to revisit the Lucien Gaudin. Boy, was I glad that I did.

Lucien Gaudin (variation by Ken Gray, NYC)

1 1/2 ounces Old Tom Gin
1/2 ounce Luxardo bitter
1/2 ounce Giffard Curacao
1/2 ounce cocchi americano

Stir ingredients and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

The changes aren't really that monumental--a softer gin, and a bittersweet fortified wine. These two new ingredients alter the drink from forgettable to delicious. Instead of straying into the hard to conquer land of dry and herbal, the roundness of the combination of tom gin and cocchi makes the the Campari and orange liqueur pop. The end result is balanced and tasty--a drink worthy of remembering.

Looking Inside the Cooler: Charles Baker's Colonial Cooler

Our friend Charles Baker certainly knew how to get into a couple of scrapes. He outlines many of them in his tales, but perhaps none is so memorable as the time when his boat ran out of gas and left him stranded on his way to Sandakan in North Borneo. And while considering that his stories are often fabulous and detailed, being rescued by a man in a g-string and headdress has made this tale infamous. The drink associated with the tale, the Colonial Cooler,  is often overlooked. Fortunately, the Charles Baker scholar, St. John Frizell, has resurrected it. Of course perhaps resurrection is the wrong word since he has hardly changed it. It certainly is tasty as written.

When I first pondered this cocktail, I was immediately taken by the combination of gin, sweet vermouth, an amaro, bitters, and a sweetener. As I had been playing with amari in the Martinez, I was easily led astray, thinking that the club soda was a mistake. What I missed in understanding this cocktail had much to do with the overlooking the nature of a cooler. Coolers were defined by their inclusion of ginger beer and citrus. While the Colonial Cooler doesn't really look like a by-definition cooler, looking at the recipe through that lens made more sense. In fact as soon as I saw that Frizell decided to add cucumber, I saw how much the Colonial Cooler resembled the Pimm's Cup, another very notable Cooler.

Colonial Cooler (adapted from St. John Frizell's recipe)

1 1/2 ounces gin
1 1/2 ounces sweet vermouth
1 tsp Cointreau
1 dash Angostura bitters
1/4 ounce Amer Picon*
1 sprig of mint
1 ounce of club soda

Shake ingredients, except club soda, and double strain into a high ball or Collins glass filled with ice. Top with soda and garnish with a sprig of mint, slice of pineapple, or slice of cucumber. 

Notes on Ingredients: I used Beefeater gin, Cocchi di Torino sweet vermouth, and Bigallet for the Amer Picon.

*Frizell omits this part of the original cooler, but I added it back in.Also of note, Frizell calls for splitting the sweet vermouth between Cinzano and Carpano Antica. Also, he adds a sprig of mint to the shaking tin in addition to garnish. Cucumbers are also listed as an optional ingredient.

Barrel-Aging Cocktails: Claridge Cocktail

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

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

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

Enter the Claridge

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

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

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

Claridge Cocktail

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

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

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

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

Barrel-Aging Cocktails: El Presidente

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

El Presidente (Wayne Curtis, LOST magazine) 

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

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

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

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

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

El Presidente (Randall house version)

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

A Further Ode to the Corpse Reviver: Introducing Pisco

Many moons ago, but not too many, I was sitting on a bar stool at Rob Roy opposite guest bartender Jackie Patterson watching her measure and pour as a bartender is wont to do. When it was my turn, I ordered "bartender's choice" and told her I was looking for something refreshing. The sun was high in the sky, and a slight breeze could be seen fluttering the leaves on the trees lining the streets of Belltown; it was one of those perfect Spring days in Seattle. The kind of day that makes you almost believe we will actually have a summer. What I received was bright, citrusy and fizzy--indeed all essential elements of a refreshing beverage. Though I no longer remember all of the ingredients, what stood out to me was that the drink combined two ingredients I had never experienced in the same glass, Lillet and pisco. This pairing isn't mind-blowing and in no way requires a double-take or anything extreme like that. Lillet goes well with a lot of things. But it does match up extraordinarily well with pisco.

Only a couple of weeks before this Lillet-pisco revelation, I had been introduced to the Odd McIntyre, the Corpse 2's brandy-based cousin. So, seated at the bar in Rob Roy I had a sudden brainstorm--citrus, Lillet, pisco. Would pisco work in a Corpse Reviver No. 2? In my mind, the Corpse 2 is the ultimate Lillet drink, second only to the Vesper. It doesn't matter to me whether Cocchi is used instead of the softer Lillet, it's the thought that counts. No matter how you break it down, the inclusion of that orange-y aperitif is one of the defining elements of that drink. (Well, that and the absinthe rinse, but we'll save that for another post.) And if brandy could be swapped for the gin, why not pisco? After all, pisco is a type of unaged grape spirit that would be similar to an unaged brandy. Ever since that moment, I have been mildly obsessed with the Corpse 2.

As the onset of summer quickly filled up many of my weekends, it took me weeks to figure out the basic formulation for this drink. I tried to adhere to the original proportions, but the equal parts left the pisco buried under a weight of lemon juice. Bumping up both the Lillet and pisco really helped those flavors stand out more. The decisions were harder after. Absinthe rinse or no absinthe rinse. Or to put it another way, Corpse Reviver No. 2 or Odd McIntyre. After all besides the brandy substitution, the loss of the absinthe is the other difference between the two versions. In the end, I decided to keep the absinthe rinse, but something was still missing. Subbing lime juice for lemon was similarly tasty, but still incomplete. Going back to the drawing board, I started looking at other Corpse 2 variations for hints. The key was hidden in Zane Harris's Stone Fruit Sour, an excellent variation of the Corpse 2 that I found on Imbibe magazine's website. In that cocktail apricot brandy replaces the Cointreau, and peach bitters stand in for the absinthe. And it was those bitters that solved my pisco riddle.

Pisco Reviver

1  ounce pisco
1  ounce Lillet
3/4 ounce lemon juice
3/4 ounce Cointreau
1 dash peach bitters
1 dash absinthe

Shake ingredients except absinthe with ice. Strain into a chilled absinthe-rinsed cocktail glass. Garnish with a brandied cherry.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Fee's peach bitters, Piscologia Pisco, and Absinthe Verte de Fougerolles.

Ode to the Corpse Reviver No. 2: Version 2a

Despite its recent popularity, the Corpse Reviver No. 2 was once on the edge of extinction, as were most corpse revivers and classic cocktails in general. But thankfully, today, you can order a Corpse 2 at almost any craft cocktail bar, at least in Seattle, and you will receive basically the same delicious drink. Sure, subtle differences might crop up depending on a bartender's choices as far as the proportions, the garnish, the brand of gin or absinthe, whether to use Cocchi or Lillet, or even to rinse or not to rinse--the list is endless. But at the end of the day, those four main ingredients--gin, lemon juice, Lillet, and Cointreau--and that fabulous dash of absinthe that pulls it all together are what define the Corpse 2. That is, unless your bartender learned the Corpse Reviver from Trader Vic's Bartending Guide.

Somewhere along the line another corpse reviver entered the scene. It's not really that surprising, as versions of everything come and go. But this isn't just any old drink that would revive just any old corpse--this cocktail is identical to the Savoy Corpse Reviver No. 2 that we all know and love, except that it substitutes Swedish punsch for the Lillet. I can honestly say I never saw that coming.

Swedish punsch and Lillet are hardly alike. Even if you take into account the mystery that is the 1930s variation of Lillet that Harry Craddock used in his original recipe, the difference would still have been huge. Lillet is a wine-based aperitif that is mildly sweet and has a dominant citrus flavor. Swedish punsch, or at least the version I make at home, is made from a combination of rum and batavia arrack that has been infused with lemon and sweetened with tea syrup. Night and day, those two are.

The other ingredients in the two recipes are identical, even down to the equal proportions. The smidgen of absinthe is even there. As far as where this Corpse Reviver No. 2a came from, Erik Ellestad at Underhill-Lounge has some theories that sound very reasonable to me: he blames/thanks Trader Vic Bergeron.

Corpse Reviver No. 2a ( as adapted fromTrader Vic)

3/4 ounce gin
3/4 ounce Cointreau
3/4 ounce lemon juice
3/4 ounce Underhill punsch
1 dash absinthe

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

Notes on Ingredients: I used Bellringer gin and Absinthe Verte de Fougerolles.

So let's cut to the chase already: what's different? The Corpse 2a is a tad sweeter and the Swedish punch definitely influences the overall flavor. But all in all, this libation is still well-balanced, refreshing, yummy, and very recognizable as a Corpse 2 variation. The tea notes, especially the tannins, stood out against the background of lemon and gin and played well alongside the tart, herbal flavors. The Cointreau seemed to play a larger role in the overall taste than it usually does in a Corpse 2, which is strange because the Lillet's orange notes are absent. The Corpse 2a is a pleasant change up from the norm that I would definitely recommend.

An Ode to the Corpse Reviver #2

Morning restoratives, or corpse revivers, were initially created when someone had the brilliant thought to combine bitters with their morning slings. Mind you, consuming morning slings was a customary practice at the time, adding bitters was the novelty. After a night of heavy drinking, what better way to clear the head, settle the stomach, and calm the nerves than a dram of booze, a couple dashes of bitters, and a little sweetener to mellow it all out.

These eye openers, fog cutters, and morning glories came in many forms and included almost anything that could potentially soften the effects of a hangover. Therefore, the ingredients were often a matter of taste. Perhaps the chosen cure combined a bit of milk and sugar mixed with your morning dram. After absinthe became popular, it often found its way into many anti-fogmatics, mostly because of its refreshing flavor and stomach settling powers. Its extreme potency was usually tamed with some sweetener and ice. Other pick-me-ups revolved around citrus and employed its tart flavors, not to mention the natural sugars and vitamins, to help bring the sparkle back to eyes clouded over with heaviness. The truth is that when strong morning tipples were common--and we're not talking about today's tame bloody marys and mimosas--everything was fair game. An entire category of drinks, with clever monikers, was devoted to helping the masses face a new day, often in spite of the one before.

Unfortunately, after the onset of Prohibition, only a few survived. And while the practice of partaking in a morning beverage barely survived, its days were also numbered. One thing to be thankful for though, is that the Corpse Reviver No. 2 is still alive and kicking.

Corpse Reviver #2

3/4 ounce gin
3/4 ounce Lillet
3/4 ounce lemon juice
3/4 ounce Cointreau
1 dash absinthe

Shake first four ingredients. Strain into a chilled, absinthe-rinsed cocktail glass. Garnish with a brandied cherry. (I have also seen it garnished with an orange twist.)

Notes on Ingredients: I used Bellringer gin and Absinthe Verte de Fougerolles

Few things in the world are as perfect as a properly made Corpse Reviver No. 2. The only down side is that few things haven't been said about it--this libation is one of the darlings of the cocktail community. From its history to the individual ingredients to the ways those ingredients have changed, thus forever altering the landscape of the beverage, almost every iota of information related to the Corpse Reviver No. 2 has been exposed or unearthed. And why not? It is a wondrous libation. With its four main ingredients in equal portions not only is it elegant and refined, but also easy to remember. And while the intricacy of the flavors is a key part of its success, the touch of absinthe is what truly showcases the beauty of restraint that the Corpse 2 symbolizes. That little hint of anise is where balance is found.

I am not going to bore you with sundry details that you can easily find elsewhere. The important thing is that many people have found inspiration in this cocktail, whether drinkers or bartenders. The Corpse 2 has provoked the creation of new cocktails as numerous bartenders have riffed on its proven recipe. These  variations can stand on their own, all of them are unnumbered and therefore their Corpse 2 reference passes unacknowledged. In a series of posts, I plan on further exploring these homages to the Corpse 2. I am sure I will miss some, but it will be a fitting ode to one of my favorite drinks.

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.

A Vodka Experiment

I'm not usually interested in creating original drinks and will happily imbibe others' creations, whether they are old or new. But the truth is, vodka and I have hit a wall. I had every intention of giving the endeavor a fair shot. But after hours spent clicking my mouse down to the circuits, with the dry, bleary eyes of a video-game addict, I just can't take it anymore. I have searched the books in vain; the experts have no suitable answers, and I am tired . . . and thirsty. So, in the name of self-interest, I have decided to get up off the bar stool and brandish my own mixing glass. Just one pivotal question remains: How can I work vodka into a drink that is essentially brown, bitter and stirred?

Why lie? It has been the holy grail all along: a proper modestly dry, bitter cocktail that can really do what all the enthusiasts claim vodka can do. To boil it down, I want to fit vodka into my flavor sweet spot. All of my favorite libations are primarily dry, herbal, bitter and quite strong. Why should I expect anything less from vodka? Because it isn't usually used that way is not a good enough excuse. Because only a few people have dared to tackle this issue is not going to cut it. But why are there so few options, you ask, dear reader? Most people who drink cocktails that are primarily dry, bitter, herbal and quite strong are not only not interested in vodka, they absolutely abhor it. It's true, check the blogs. So, without a clear audience, the pattern of available recipes moves in a never ending cycle. Few drinks are made with vodka that are really interesting and challenging. Thus, nobody thinks a vodka-based cocktail is capable of being interesting and challenging. So, in turn, few drinks are made that are really interesting and challenging, ad nauseum. Someone has to begin.

Every cocktail enthusiast trying to salvage a place for vodka on the bar--albeit a very small place--repeats the same mantra: vodka is a blank slate that allows other bolder flavors to shine. It adds proof without getting in the way of whatever else is going on in the glass. These are not novel, bold ideas; vodka has been added to fruit juices for exactly the same reason for years. Herbal liqueurs have also been used to excellent effect in drinks like the Drink Without a Name (aka the Harrington) and the Gypsy. Vodka is performing the same way in all of these drinks. So why not use its famous attribute to create a drink even more out there, a drink that even I would be excited about drinking?

The hardest part is where to start. One of the most effective methods is to pick a classic and start substituting. Playing with a drink that is tried and true is much easier than formulating an entire cocktail from the ether. But which classic? It must be bold, bitter, and primarily stirred. The Don't Give Up the Ship Cocktail instantly came to mind and it seemed perfect considering its boldness and subtlety.  This wonderful little cocktail combines an amaro, a wine-based aperitif, and gin, with a little orange (both sweet and bitter) to round it all out. It starts out big, with the herbal flavors of gin and fernet, but then the orange and wine flavors of the Cointreau and Dubonnet peek out when you aren't paying attention. It seemed a good a place to start as any.

Don't Give Up the Ship

1 1/2 ounce gin
1/2 ounce Dubonnet
1/4 ounce Fernet Branca
1/4 ounce Cointreau
1 dash orange bitters

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

The most obvious first step was to swap out the gin for vodka. Since I had recently ran out of Dubonnet, I substituted Punt e Mes, another wine-based aperitif that like Dubonnet has more punch that regular sweet vermouths. Actually Punt e Mes is quite bitter, but it is my go-to vermouth these days. Considering that the botanics from the gin were absent and the vermouth's flavor was now amped up, I decided to also use a lighter amaro, the CioCiaro. Its mild sweetness and orange notes also worked as a replacement for the Cointreau, which would have made the drink too sweet. In hindsight, this substitution was probably unnecessary as I am sure the Fernet would have provided an interesting direction as well. After pausing to test this initial combination, it still seemed too sweet. I added a touch of Gran Classico and Angostura bitters to further dry it out. I am pretty pleased with the results.

Vodka Experiment
1 1/2 ounces vodka (Dry Fly)
3/4 ounce Punt e Mes
1/4 ounce Amaro CioCiaro
1 barspoon Gran Classico
2 dashes Angostura bitters
1 dash orange bitters (Regan)

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

So after almost a month of tinkering, this was what I came up with. The aroma was full of the bright lemon oils that glisten on the surface. The cocktail was very smooth and dry, herbal and bitter, with a touch of orange and spice. My kind of drink. Because the vodka is so subtle, this cocktail came across almost like an aperitif hiding inside a cocktail.

End note: About halfway through the creation process, I discovered Imbibe's cover contest. While it didn't exactly change my thought-process, I did start taking this cocktail a bit more seriously than I had at the beginning of this vodka experiment. I will be submitting this cocktail, since I think it would be perfect in so many ways for the cover. But we shall see if they agree.

Drink Without a Name

Vodka sometimes gets a raw deal. Wait, did I actually say that out loud? (I mean write that out loud?) A few years ago, such sentiments never would have crossed my mind, much less my lips (fingers?). I had a lot to learn. It is easy to hate vodka. For a while it was even trendy to hate vodka, it might still be. I'm not going to suggest that there still aren't a lot of reasons for that hatred. But backlash has a kind of alluring appeal--the communal, mindless, mob mentality of it. Just pick up your torch and pitchfork and follow the guy in front of you. I have learned that I don't really hate vodka. I just don't drink it very often because I like a ton of flavor in my cocktails. And since vodka producers over the years have tried very hard to make a product with as little flavor as possible, and since they have made a pretty good living doing it, I would say all is fair. But that doesn't mean all vodkas are flavorless. It also doesn't mean that a cocktail with bold flavor can't have vodka in it. Those cocktails are just harder to find.

So what changed my mind? As little as two years ago, my primary use for vodka was as a tool, an ingredient that was useful only for making other yummy things. Infusions, yes. Bitters, yes. Preserving agent for syrups, yes. Base ingredient in a cocktail, please god no. But then I tasted some vodkas that had a lot of flavor, texture, and nuance. These vodkas were made to have flavor and thus weren't overly filtered, or distilled to death. I could taste actually taste the base ingredient, be it barley, corn, sugarcane or even grapes, but in a totally different way. It was such an eye-opening experience. Suddenly I started thinking that maybe my opinions about vodka weren't really fair. And mostly they weren't fair to me. I used to think I didn't like scotch, or tequila, or even gin--but then I tried some that I did like. It had more to do with individual brands and my taste buds than with an entire spirit category. And like everyone, some brands speak to me louder than others (or even in a wonderfully soft way). Just because I am not a fan of Jack Daniels doesn't mean I am not a fan of whiskey.

So I turned over a new leaf with vodka. I have decided to explore this new found tolerance with a few vodka-based cocktail classics, both modern and classic. Considering that these drink are classics, none of them call for the flavorful vodkas that so changed my mind. But in the name of personal growth, we shall see where this experiment with traditional vodka leads me. In these cocktails, the vodka's purpose is to soften the stronger flavors to bring about balance. The first drink I tried was Paul Harrington's Drink Without a Name.

Drink Without a Name

2 ounces vodka
1/4 ounce Cointreau
1/8 ounce Green Chartreuse

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

Notes on Ingredients: I used Chopin for the vodka.

The aromas of the orange oils and overwhelming herbal notes of the chartreuse greeted me when I took my first sip. As far as the taste is concerned, the vibrant flavors of orange were most apparent initially, before the green chartreuse took over. Even at one-eighth of an ounce the chartreuse still packed quite a punch. The Cointreau contributed a crisp, dry orange flavor, though on the swallow, it came across with more of a bitter orange flavor, in reminiscent of the peel. This drink had a creamy mouth feel and was quite refreshing. Considering how much I love green chartreuse, it was not surprising that I was very happy with this drink. Score one for vodka--never thought I would write that out loud either.

Flamed Orange Peel

Imagine yourself in a dimly lit room, a sliver of orange peel precariously balanced between your thumb and forefinger. The faint smell of sulfur from a recently lit match still lingers as you watch the flame throbbing on the end of the wood. With the right amount of pressure and the proper aim, a puff of citrus oils flashes, and those toasted oils land lightly on the surface of an awaiting drink. It is a mark of pure showmanship. Sure, those oils will add flavor to the overall taste of the drink, but they are still the garnish. Perhaps less than one dash of citrus oils are flambeed midair. But as with all other drinks calling for citrus oils, whether they are "cooked" or "raw," they are a necessary and delicious.

For months the elusive flamed orange peel has stumped me. Every time I tried, which to be honest wasn't that often, I ended up with many spent matches, a skinned orange and no orange oils anywhere near my drink. Sometimes I just copped out--twisting the orange peel over the glass and calling it a day. I would say to myself, "What does it really matter? How much can it mean to the drink?" In this case, it was a skill well worth learning.

This past weekend I decided that no longer would I cower before the flamed orange peel. Armed with two oranges, my trusty Y peeler and a box full of sturdy matches, I set about my task. After three or four tries, I was able to get a consistent spurt of oils into an empty glass. When I starting adding the flame, it became that much easier. And after a few more tries, I was able to create that flashy effect pretty much every time. It turns out that I had built up the idea that flaming oranges was this impossible task, but it really isn't. I just needed to break it down and practice.

What I learned is that a fresh orange is the most critical part of the equation. Given that citrus is not yet in season, I was at a disadvantage. And while the Valencia oranges that my local supermarket carries year-round are perfect for juicing, they are not the best for flaming. The peel just has too much give. And once I figure that out, charring those oils became a lot easier. The ultimate test was still ahead of me, it was time to garnish an actual drink and I chose Chuck Taggert's delicious Hoskins cocktail.

So enough about garnishes.  The Hoskins fits well into the category of brown, bitter and stirred, though it doesn't have a brown spirit in it. It achieves its brown color thanks to one of my favorite things: Amer Picon.  A cousin to the Fin de Siecle and the Don't Give Up the Ship, and even perhaps a more distant relative of the Paul's Own Cocktail and the Hanky Panky (though the list goes on), the Hoskins is a cocktail that primarily turns upon the glorious combination of gin and amari. The differences comes with the choice of amari and those other little additions that make each cocktail unique and in this case, very tasty. The Hoskins, though, utilizes more of the amaro and completely removes the sweet vermouth that all of the other cocktails include. This is also what makes it genius.

Hoskins Cocktail

2 ounces gin
3/4 ounce Amer Boudreau
1/2 ounce maraschino liqueur
1/4 ounce Cointreau
1 dash orange bitters

Combine all ingredients in a mixing glass filled with ice. Stir and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Knock your friends socks off with a flamed orange peel.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Bellringer for the gin, Maraska for the maraschino, and the orange bitters were Fees.

I must say that anything combining gin and an amaro is likely to produce a cocktail I will adore. And this drink fits well with that statement. The maraschino and orange liqueurs were a great addition and provided a lot of depth and balance. The mild sweetness, and I mean mild, that they contributed was just enough to tone down the bold flavors of the amer and gin. The dominant flavors shifted around a bit as the drink warmed up, sometimes highlighting the earthy bitter orange notes so prevalent in the amer, sometimes provoking the funky dry cherry of the maraschino into the spotlight. This worked in the drink's favor as I tend to remember drinks that are complicated better than ones that resound on a single note--unless that one note is sublime. All in all the Hoskins was both bitter and sweet, herbal and complex, and the flamed orange oils added just that little bit of oomph that made this drink complete.

Ode to Bitters: Epilogue

Long before I ever dreamed of plunging into the world of heavily bittered cocktails, and having my mind and taste buds thoroughly challenged to boot, there was the Seelbach. I guess it has been inevitable since that day when Tracy and I sauntered into Vessel shortly after it first opened, now years ago, and I watched as the waitress placed before me a glass of bubbling dark pink goodness. I was hooked, and we have been making Seelbachs ever since. It is a house favorite, as we always have the ingredients on hand, except for the bubbly. Usually Seelbachs get trotted out when there is an open bottle of champagne in the house that needs to be polished off. I also enjoy introducing it to people who like champagne cocktails. Bubbles make everything so festive and fun, but the bitters add a dimension, and albeit a seriousness, that most people don't expect. It can be an eye-opener, and I don't mean in a corpse reviver mode, though it would work that way too.

As with all great classic cocktails, there must be a legend. The drink was named for and created at the Seelbach Hotel in Louisville, Kentucky in 1917. According to legend, a bartender was preparing two drinks at once: an Old Fashioned and some champagne. Side note: The substitution of triple sec for the sugar (or simple syrup) in the recipe for a Seelbach leads me to believe he was making a fancy whiskey cocktail, but that is neither here nor there. When the bartender pops the champagne, it simply explodes going everywhere . . . including in the Old Fashioned. Said bartender puts the mess aside and quickly fixes up another Old Fashioned for his customer, probably with any number of good curse words mumbled under his breath. As he starts to clean up, like any curious person, he takes a swig of that ruined Old Fashioned with the champagne and, as they say, the rest is history.

Now Prohibition must enter the story, as it usually does when it comes to anything good that existed before 1920. The Seelbach recipe was lost in those dark times, as were a great many other things, during the Noble Experiment. In 1995 the recipe was rediscovered by the hotel manager and now we all can enjoy it.

adapted Seelbach Cocktail

1 ounce bourbon

1/2 ounce triple sec

7 dashes Angostura bitters

7 dashes Peychaud's bitters

Pour ingredients into a chilled champagne flute. Top with champagne (4 to 5 ounces, to taste) . Give it a little stir. Garnish with a long piece of orange peel (optional).

Notes on ingredients: I used Basil Hayden's Bourbon.

This is a wonderful combination of bitters and champagne with a hint of bourbon and orange. The drink's beautiful pink color, a side effect of the Peychaud's bitters, glints in the sun as the bubbles rise. Overall, it is very dry and refreshing, with just the right amount of sweetness and complexity. This is a perfect drink to enjoy out on the porch before dinner while gazing out as the sun slides behind the mountains to the west. It is also good in the dead of winter when you just want to huddle down under a blanket and forget whatever is going on outside.

Kraken and the Cable Car

I am not usually a fan of spiced rum. Let's get that out of the way. It took me almost three years to get rid of a bottle of Captain Morgan's that I bought because it was an ingredient in the Pearanha from The Art of the Bar (a great cocktail, btw). Surprise, I didn't replace it. I also have a bottle of Rogue Hazelnut Spiced Rum, which is actually quite brilliant, but very underappreciated, both in general and in my own house. The problem I have with spiced rum is that there aren't a lot of cocktail recipes that call for it. Wait, let me rephrase—there aren't a lot of recipes that call for it that I would actually want to drink. And because of this, it sits in my liquor cabinet gathering dust.

Last week a friend of mine presented me with half a bottle of Kraken Black Spiced Rum. I'll admit to being dubious given my hit or miss history with spiced rums. Of course, I accepted the bottle. But the more pressing issue became, well, what do I do with it? I figured I could put it in a highball with ginger beer and a bit of lime. And it might be okay in a Corn 'n' Oil, which doesn't really call for spiced rum. But then I remembered the Cable Car. The Cable Car was created in 1996 by Tony Abou-Ganim when he was at the Starlight Room atop the Sir Francis Drake Hotel in San Francisco. Now that is one wonderful drink that specifically calls for spiced rum. It is a Sidecar variation with the addition of a cinnamon-sugar rim.

Cable Car

1 1/2 ounces spiced rum (Kraken)

3/4 ounce cointreau

1 ounce lemon juice

1/2 ounce simple syrup

Add ingredients to an ice-filled shaker. Shake and strain into a chilled cocktail glass with a cinnamon-sugar rim. Garnish with an orange twist.

The aroma is full of the orange and cinnamon. The initial taste is dominated by the cinnamon-sugar rim, followed closely by the lemon flavors. On a second taste, it is apparent that the citrus is adding a nice brightness against the sweetness of the orange liqueur. The warm vanilla and cinnamon spices of the rum fill out the rest of the drink with the bold molasses notes of the dark rum acting as the foundation. I also detected hints of cinnamon that  lingered pleasantly between sips.

I think that the Kraken is successful here because its deep molasses flavor really stands out against the citrus. When I made this drink with Captain Morgan's, although I could detect the spices, I could barely taste the rum. Tracy and I decided that even though the Kraken makes a very yummy Cable Car, the Hazelnut Spiced Rum from Rogue Spirits is still our favorite. But, because of its good showing here, a Corn 'n' Oil with Kraken seems imminent—especially once my homemade falernum is finished.

Ode to Bitters: Alabazam

You know that you are a confirmed cocktail geek--a state beyond that of mere cocktail enthusiast--when you hear yourself repeatedly saying, "You should add bitters to that." (I am sure Tracy can tell you the other warning signs, but this is my personal benchmark.) Any spirit and tonic, add bitters. Seven and Seven, add bitters. Club soda with a slice of lime, add bitters. They have become my go-to garnish! Bitters are wonderful and can enhance the other flavors in the glass like nothing else. In celebration of all things bitters, I will post recipes for cocktails that are all about the bitters, where the bitters gain standing as a real ingredient as opposed to being relegated to a trifling dash. So on with our quest to find drinks with heaping amounts of bitters.

The Alabazam is a drink that was rediscovered by Jamie Boudreau in late 2008 in response to a Mixology Monday where the theme was nineteenth-century cocktails. It was the original creation of Leo Engels, an American expatriate from New York City who tended bar at the Criterion's American Bar in London when it first opened. The recipe is collected in Engel's American and Other Drinks, published in 1878. And though Engel liberally lifted many drinks from Jerry Thomas's tome, How to Mix Drinks, this recipe seems to be an original. This drink has traveled the cocktail blogging circuit, but not a lot more has been introduced about the man behind this wonderful little tipple. (On a side note, William Schmidt, the Only William, also includes a drink by the name Alabazam in his book, The Flowing Bowl: What and When to Drink, published in 1891. His Alabazam, though remarkably similar, does not contain that one ingredient that sets Engel's drink apart, the aromatic bitters. His drink contains a jigger of brandy and 2 dashes of curacoa that have been stirred with a lemon/sugar mixture. )

Alabazam

1 1/2 ounces cognac

2 teaspoons Cointreau

1 teaspoon Angostura bitters

1 teaspoon simple syrup

1 teaspoon lemon juice

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

As you can see, those bitters make the drink quite a deep shade of red and it is almost opaque. It is incredibly luscious looking, kind of like liquid velvet. The Angostura's cloves dominate the aromas, though a hint of citrus is barely detectable through the fog of spice. A drink with an amazing nose is always a good sign, and the taste does not disappoint. The cloves surge through the other flavors almost threatening to blanket them completely. It is only with subsequent sips that the cognac, lemon and mild orange flavors appear. But as my mouth became accustomed to the effervescent taste of the bitters, I noticed the other flavors were layered on top, waiting to be unearthed. This drink is wickedly complex and challenging for the palate. I even thought I detected a slight taste of cherries that I think might have been yet another flavor that the bitters contributed. The texture is smooth, and perhaps is due to the copious amount of Angostura. (As we explore other heavily bittered cocktails, maybe this will come up again.) The drink is very dry at the end, another consequence of the bitters, and the cinnamon and clove flavors linger long after the swallow. All in all this is an awesome cocktail.