Back to Charles Baker: A Toast to the Cuba LIbre

And with a year a half sojourn from writing, back to Mr. Charles Baker. Let's ease back in with a tried and true quaff. The Cuba Libre is a nice easy little number when made right. But the wheels can easily fall off, if not paying attention. First off, what is the difference between and a rum and coke and a Cuba Libre. Well, to some there is no differentiation. For me personally, I make a rum and coke with a lime wedge, automatically, and no lime juice. But when I am making a Cuba Libre, I add lime juice to the drink, and include the lime wedge as a garnish. As a rum and coke is a high ball, it should be a harmonious creation shared between the two elements. Unfortunately in modern times as few restaurants, bars or homes boast proper high ball glasses, a rum and coke consists of more coke, with the rum in the background, if it can be tasted at all. A Cuba Libre should be balanced between more elements, as the lime becomes an important player. Making sure the drink is ice cold is just as important as the lime juice to keep the sweetness at bay. Thus, crushed ice works. The rum should be strong enough to really stand out and a dark rum does this better than a light one.

Cuba Libre (adapted from Charles Baker)

1 large jigger Bacardi d'oro (2 ounces Havana Club rum)
juice of a small lime (3/4 ounce lime juice, or to taste)
spent lime shell
Coke to fill (Mexican Coke)

Muddle lime shell, rum, and lime juice in a Collins glass (to get the oils from the peel)
Add crushed or cracked ice, top with coke.

I had never thought to actually keep the lime wedge in to help add space, thus naturally minimizing the amount of soda. And it creates a stunning look as well. All in all, using Baker's recipe helped me to rediscover the joys of the Cuba Libre--all molasses, but bright with lime juice.



Since the next drink in Baker's compendium is linked to the Cuba Libre, why not handle two birds with one post. In Baker's drink, the main difference involves swapping out rum for sloe gin. I was skeptical at first, not only by pairing sloe gin and coke, but also by the proportions. Baker calls for a whopping three ounces of sloe gin. While he states clearly that an imported sloe gin is pivotal, who knows what that meant in the 1940s. And while we are lucky enough today to have dry sloe gins, countless sweet ones have dominated the market for years.

Cuba Reforme (adapted from Charles Baker)

2 jiggers sloe gin (3 ounces Plymouth sloe gin)
juice and spiral peel of a lime (1 ounce lime juice plus spent lime shell)
Coke to fill (Mexican Coke)

Combine lime juice spiral and sloe gin in a goblet (Muddle lime shell, sloe gin and lime juice in a large Collins or water glass)
Add crushed or cracked ice, top with coke.

In Baker's original he calls for a large goblet instead of a Collins. It makes sense--more ice means a colder drink and this one needs to be ice cold to stay balanced. It is surprisingly delicious--the way the tart sloe gin works with the sweetness of the coke, and the lime chills any lingering doubts about this being a sweet affair at all. Refreshing, with a subtle berry tartness, and yet the molasses comes still through. On a hot day, this would be a very refreshing bracer that is easy to make but different enough to stay interesting.

Taming Kummel: Angel's Tears and Army of Shadows

For years Kummel represented one of the larger gaps in my knowledge. On that day when I finally tasted it, I knew that I needed to learn more, but finding one proved difficult. Kummel in general is rare, and those that were available weren't all that impressive. Even here in Seattle, where the Kummel classics the Allies Cocktail and the Epicurean are pretty popular didn't help to solve this problem. Privatization helped the bars gain access to obscure products, while the consumer continues to struggle.

A strange ingredient, Kummel is simultaneously savory and sweet and usually features such complex flavors as anise and caraway. Not all kummels are the same, however. Gilka is more understated and caraway dominant, while the Combier kummel is bursting with cumin. Yes, I said cumin. But it is that cumin that makes it strange and challenging. Caraway and anise are not all that uncommon in the spirit world: Brennivin and all manner of aquavits contain some manner of both. But cumin is another story altogether.

The question quickly changed from where can I get it to how do I use it? Once I bought some, it just sat in my bar cabinet waiting to be opened. The months passed and nothing happened. But I have never let a bottle of booze get the best of me, so I started asking around. And I discovered there is nothing to fear. In some ways, it is best to think of it as yet another savory strongly flavored element that should be used with care, but used nonetheless.

Sweet Vermouth/Quinquina
It seems that sweet vermouth and other quinquinas are a good solution for the problems stronger flavors create. From celery bitters to absinthe, sweet vermouth and its cousins have continued to surprise me with their ability to tame the beasty ingredients. Here is just one example I came across:

Angel's Tears (recipe by Connor O'Brien)

2 ounces rum
1/2 ounce Byrrh
1 tsp Kummel
1 dash Angostura bitters

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

Note on Ingrediets: Connor's recipe calls for Byrrh and El Dorado 15. I was out of Byrrh so I substituted Punt e Mes. I also used Combier Kummel.

Citrus
Ctirus has always been a perfect vehicle for strong flavors. With just one look at the daquiri, it becomes apparent. Add a dash of celery bitters--refreshing and delicious. Add a dash of absinthe, a delightful variation. Even a dash of savory kummel works just fine. Lime juice has the incredible power to mitigate other strong elements and even more than one at a time. Maybe it's because lime is just so tough to begin with. Ben Perri's Army of Shadows definitely shows how citrus can harness the more extreme side of Kummel and allow it to play nice with others.

Army of Shadows (recipe by Ben Perri)

1 1/2 ounces aquavit
1/2 ounce lime juice
1/2 ounce Kummel
1/4 ounce orgeat
1/4 ounce Islay scotch

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

Note on Ingredients: I used Arbeg scotch, Small Hands Food orgeat, Linie aquavit and Krogstad aquavit, and Combier Kummel.

Maraschino Liqueur--To Have or Have Not

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

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

Hemingway Daiquiri (Randall house variation)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nevada Cocktail

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

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

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

A Sour for Every Pisco: Mixing with Aromatic Pisco

Almost two years ago I was lucky enough to visit Peru. And while I spent most of the trip in Lima, I did travel to Ica and Lunahuana to further my pisco education. The trip was enlightening on many levels, and I made sure there were a few bottles of pisco in my luggage on the way home. Pisco is still primarily an undiscovered commodity here. While many bartenders are experimenting with its unique flavors, their efforts are limited by availability as only a small amount of the pisco that is produced actually reaches the border. During my time in Peru, I tasted as many kinds of pisco as I could get my hands on--all in the name of research--and learned that there is more to pisco than I knew. More than a handful of the new piscos that have entered the U.S. market in recent years are acholados, or blended piscos. Pisco puro, pisco that is made from only one grape variety, or even mosto verde, pisco that has been distilled with some of the sugar still remaining, seldom cross the border. I was lucky enough to try both of these more obscure styles.

Pisco by law can be made from eight different grape varieties: muscatel, abillia, italia, torontel, uvina, quebranta, mollar, negra criolla. These are then categorized according to their relative aromatic qualities--the first four comprising the more aromatic, floral grapes, and the last four the non-aromatic. Many pisco distillers use the qualities of both non-aromatic and aromatic grapes to create a signature flavor profile. These acholados are usually very mixable and the go-to spirit for pisco sours. In recent years, however, many bartenders have turned to pisco puro made from quenbranta grapes to form the foundation of the pisco sour. The more delicate aroma of the quebranta grape makes it very mixable. Aromatic grapes create piscos that has a strong floral, almost perfumey aroma that make them that much harder to use in cocktails.

I have been trying for two years to figure out the best way to use the bottle of pisco that I brought back from the Rivadeneyra bodega. This pisco puro is made from Italia grapes. I tried it in a pisco sour, but the flavors didn't quite work. Then one day the solution came to me when I remembered the delightful pisco sours I drank in Ica. Of all the pisco sours I drank on that trip, they were the most memorable. I don't know if they actually added Peruvian bitters to the mixture, but they all seemed to be laced with cinnamon. Then I started thinking more about how the floral notes of the cinnamon might work with the more perfume-y flavors of the Italia grapes. It seemed worth a shot, but it turned into a delicious experiment.

Canela Sour

2 ounces pisco
1 ounce lime juice
1 ounce cinnamon-honey syrup*
1 egg white

Shake the ingredients once without ice. Add ice and shake again and strain into a chilled old-fashioned glass. Garnish with several drops of Peruvian bitters swirled in the foam. 

Notes on Ingredients: I used Rivadeneyra pisco.

*To make cinnamon-honey syrup, heat 2 ounces of water with 2 ounces of honey. Once combined, take off the heat and add three cinnamon sticks that have been broken into smaller piece. Cover and let cool. Strain and refrigerate. Makes about 4 ounces.   

Anything You Can Do . . . : Gin and Rum in the Stork Club Cocktail

Recently I was brainstorming drinks for an informal dinner party, and the Stork Club Cocktail popped into my head. If you haven't tried it, the Stork Club is just about one of the easiest drinking panty droppers from the 1930s. I like to trot out this cocktail every now and again when I am looking for an uncomplicated, unpretentious start to a informal summer's eve. The combination of gin and orange juice give it away as a concoction created during the days of sub par gin and the uninspired ways to cover up the telltale flavor. Of course, it's very name points to its origins--the Stork Club was one of New York City's more famous speakeasies during Prohibition and was infamous for its rich and famous clientele for many years after. Refreshing, sweet and yet not so sweet, the Stork Club is an unassuming, uncomplicated sour, a lazy orange-laden Pegu Club. In the late days of spring, when the temperatures seem to first broach the seventies, and it's just warm enough to be noticeable, the Stork Club never fails to satisfy.

Stork Club Cocktail (from Lucius Beebe's Stork Club Cocktails (1946))

dash of lime juice (1/4 ounce)
juice of half orange (1 1/2 ounces)
dash of triple sec (1/4 ounce)
1 1/2 ounces gin
dash of angostura bitters (2 dashes)

Shake well and strain in chilled 4 ounce glass.

But this time was different. Almost as soon as I thought of the Stork Club, I was already transforming it into something else. Because the drink reads like an overly simple tiki drink--a blend of juices, bitters, and a liqueur on top of a versatile base--rum was just a natural impulse. But in general this cocktail is crying out for variations. The lime juice invigorates the orange juice. The bitters add necessary depth. Of course, the liqueur can easily be modified--orange juice with a hint of lime is incredibly forgiving. Whether apricot liqueur or grapefruit, peach liqueur or even something a bit more herbal like Strega, there is ample room for experimentation.

What struck me was how easy the substitution really was, both mentally and in terms of taste. It was quite a no-brainer. And while many cocktails allow for rum to stand in for gin to wonderful effect, the most notorious being the Bee's Knees (gin) and the Honeysuckle (light rum) or Honey Bee (Jamaican rum), I hadn't really paid that much attention before. Of course, an argument could be made based on drink families--a sour, whether it has gin, rum, or even whiskey, is still delicious. But whiskey does not work as a stand-in for gin in all citrus manifestations. The chemical reactions inherent to barrel-aging make sure of this. And while white spirits in general will usually work as a substitute in a pinch--some play better than others. White rum will generally work in any gin drink that includes citrus, and many that don't; white dog and tequila, each with its own funkier flavors, are harder to meld. The Stork Club is the perfect example of a citrus cocktail where both rum and gin work really well, and the substitution doesn't make the drink step too far out of its original packaging.

West 58th Street 

1 1/2 ounces white rum
1 ounce orange juice
1/4 ounce lime juice
1/4 ounce apricot liqueur
1 dash Angostura bitters

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

Notes on Ingredients: I used Chairman's Reserve white rum, Bitter Truth Apricot liqueur and Angostura bitters.

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.

Using Homemade Ingredients: Citrus Shrub

I love making homemade ingredients. All it takes is one idea--pepper syrup, rhubarb bitters, strawberry liqueur, lime cordial--and I'm off and running. And often when inspiration does hit, I end up knee-deep in four or five different projects simultaneously. Sometimes the bounty of goods at the farmer's market proves irresistible, sometimes it's just a spontaneous thought about a flavor combination. But regardless of the catalyst, as well as whether a project will take hours, days or even months to complete, the challenges always seem to spring up after the final results are in. Because homemade ingredients are often unique, finding interesting ways to use them can be the biggest obstacle. And time is not always on one's side. Bitters and liqueurs can change over extended periods. And while fortification and refrigeration can extend the life of most syrups, nothing contributes to future waste like lack of use.

Recently I ran into this problem after making two different kinds of vinegar-based citrus shrubs. Because a shrub is preserved with vinegar, it certainly has a longer shelf life than a fruit syrup. But when it comes to potential uses, this vinegar component can make success more difficult. Most fruit syrups can easily be incorporated into drinks where citrus juice or dry ingredients can balance the sweetness. More common shrubs, such as raspberry or blackberry, are challenging because of the vinegar component, but when citrus has been incorporated into the shrub, the options become even more limited. In the past, I have allowed experimental projects to languish in the back of my booze cabinet or even worse in the back of my refrigerator. But this time, I was more determined to find uses for these ingredients. 

Meyer Lemon Shrub
When starting from scratch, usually the best place to start is with something familiar. One of the first drinks I ever had that called for a shrub was a simple, elegant mixture of shrub and dry sherry. The bite of the vinegar's acetic acid pairs superbly with the almost savory dryness of sherry. Why not start there?  With the citrus element, and the inherent lightness of the sherry-shrub combination, gin seemed the natural choice for a base spirit. The bitters provided a necessary depth and contrast, but what really brought the entire cocktail together was quite surprising: salt.

Lemon Shrub Martini

1 3/4 ounces gin
1 1/4 ounces manzanilla sherry
1/2 ounce Meyer lemon shrub
1 dash Bitter Truth Creole bitters
1 pinch salt

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

Notes on Ingredients: I used Oxley gin and Lustau manzanilla sherry.

Grapefruit Shrub
Every time I started thinking about how to use the grapefruit shrub, the Hemingway daiquiri kept popping up in my mind. The combination of lime, grapefruit and rum  has always been a winner. Finding a way to balance out all of that acidity, however, would be the challenge. Well, that is besides figuring out how to deal with that pesky maraschino liqueur that is so crucial to the Hemingway. In the end, I decided to keep it simple and just omitted the maraschino altogether. Instead, I found that the more neutral simple syrup  smoothed out all of the citrus and vinegar. The more basic daiquiri recipe allowed the shrub to shine, and the resulting beverage was interesting and refreshing. Again, salt really pulled the drink together and pushed the flavors to the hilt.

Grapefruit Shrub Daiquiri

1 1/2 ounce white rum
3/4 ounce lime juice
1/2 ounce grapefruit shrub
1/2 ounce simple syrup
1 pinch salt

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

Notes on Ingredients: I used Cruzan white rum and a homemade 1:1 simple syrup.

The Mistake--Or, Two Shrubs in One Glass
Considering that even finding a recipe for a vinegar-based citrus shrub proved nearly impossible, I was skeptical of using the Internet--where I usually begin all my searches--to locate an appropriate cocktail recipe. For the most part my assumptions were correct, though I did find one. Earlier this year in Aspen, Colorado, a certain Nathan Harnish from Pacifica Restaurant and Oyster Bar won the Aspen, Colorado, Iron Bartender competition with a drink that included both lemon shrub and grapefruit shrub. Or at least that is what i thought. How providential it seemed at the time! Taking in the recipe as a whole, though, I was even further astounded. It was the strangest assortment of flavors I had ever seen. Of course I had to try it.

Spice Trader Punch (as reported by eatApsen.com localFeast and then further adapted)

2 ounces Batavia arrack
3/4 ounce Grand Marnier
3/4 ounce cognac
3/4 ounce meyer lemon shrub
3/4  ounce grapefruit shrub

Combine ingredients with ice in a mixing glass. Stir and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Pierre Ferrand 1840 cognac and Batava Arrack von Oosten.

Of course upon further research, I discovered that this was not the recipe that won the contest. The real recipe is an actual punch, complete with juice and tea. And though Harnish's original recipe does include a grapefruit element and a lemon shrub, he calls for grapefruit juice and a non-vinegar based lemon shrub. The website I initially stumbled onto was just offering a sneak peak of the contest entries, so this mistake is of little consequence in the grand scheme. But that mistaken recipe resulted in a drink that was not only delicious but also multilayered, interesting and exceptionally balanced. Go figure. Sometimes using homemade ingredients can lead you to unexpected experiences.

Enhancing the Flavor of Homemade Syrups: Lime Cordial, Gimlets and Batavia Arrack

Usually in the dead of winter, my cocktail cravings all have one thing in common: sweet vermouth. Whether it's a Martinez, a Palmetto, or even a simple Manhattan, chances are some variation will find its way into my glass. But this year, I have been dreaming of Gimlets. Gin gimlets, of course. If one spirit will make up 75 percent of my cocktail, please make it not vodka. But considering my love for all things brown, bitter and stirred, as well as my seasonal flirtation with sweet vermouth, I can easily admit that I was astounded. But then again, I do love gin. And Gimlets certainly are spirit-forward, strong and lacking in fruit juice--just like all of my other favorites.

The problem with Gimlets is that pesky Rose's Lime Juice, which is the main reason I had never tasted one until recently. When a friend of mine gave me a batch of homemade lime cordial last year, the first thing I made was a Gimlet. It seemed like a no-brainer. Freshly made with real limes, this syrup allowed me to discover just how wonderful a Gimlet really can be. (By the way, I'll have you know that I used every single drop of that lime cordial in Gimlets. And they were delicious.) So this year, when the cold temperatures came, and all of the rich food of December had been consumed, all I could think of was Gimlets. And since citrus is in season, the time was ripe for some lime cordial.

Making a lime cordial is not hard, and many recipes can be found on the Internet. I tend to use a more complicated method, and I'm sure that a similar result could be achieved faster. But then again, I do enjoy a nice weekend project. First of all, when I make citrus syrup, I don't use any water. Because limes, lemons, and oranges all contain this fabulous juice, why dulls its edge with water. Also, I like to use the oils from the peels to add that wonderful, almost floral fragrance. In order to do this, I make an oleo saccharum--a mixture of sugar and in this case, lime zest. Oleo Saccharum, translated roughly as oil-sugar, entered the drinking lexicon sometime in the seventeenth century and has been used to give punches an extra bit of depth. Though David Wondrich advises against using a lime oleo saccharum for a punch--lime oils are too sour--I find it works exceptionally well in a syrup.

Lime Syrup

Ingredients:
5 large limes
2 cups sugar
1-2 ounces fortifying agent

Notes on Ingredients: I always use fair trade natural sugar in all of my syrups. Because it hasn't been bleached it still has a bit of the sugar cane flavor. This results in a lime cordial that is not green--it will be brownish green. If you want a solely green lime cordial, use white sugar. I also use organically grown limes. 

Step 1: Zest the limes into a small bowl. I used a microplane zester. The limes were huge so I got quite a bit.

Step 2: Prepare the oleo saccharum by adding 1 cup of sugar to the zest and muddle. Cover with Saran wrap and let it sit for at least 6 hours on the counter. (I intentionally left it out overnight.)

Step 3: Juice the zest-less limes--note you'll want about 1 cup for this recipe. I also strained out the pulp using a tea strainer.

Even though I was actually preparing the syrup the following day, I was afraid that the limes would  become hard overnight without their skins. I used the Vacu Vin wine preservation system to "vacuum seal" the lime juice in a bottle. Hey, it works with wine, why not short-term storage for lime juice. Tupperware might also work. The most important factor is when you are actually making the syrup. The longer you wait, the dryer those limes are going to get. If they are too dry you may not yield a sufficient amount of juice.

Step 4: When you are ready to make the syrup, combine the oleo sacchrum and the juice in a medium sauce pan and heat on low, stirring to help the sugar dissolve. Add remaining sugar until you reach your desired sourness level. I used added 1 additional cup, and the lime cordial still has a nice tartness.

Step 5: Let the syrup cool for a short while and then strain it through a fine tea strainer. If the syrup is still warm, it will be easier because the liquid will be less thick. Optionally, the syrup can then be strained through cheese cloth to collect any smaller particles. Regardless of how finely you strain your syrup, allow it to cool completely before you bottle it.

Step 6 (optional): You do not need to fortify your lime cordial. The syrup will keep as is for about a month in the refrigerator. Fortifying will increase this time. If your syrup is destined for mocktails, Italian sodas, or anyone who shouldn't have alcohol, you are officially done. If you choose to fortify, measure the volume of the syrup to figure out how much fortifying agent to use. A general rule is 1 ounce of fortifying agent to 8 ounces of syrup. This recipe made 16 ounces of syrup.

Fortifying

Usually at this stage, and especially when a recipe yields a substantial volume, I add a fortifying agent to extend the "shelf life." Without it, the syrup may show signs of bacteria in about a month. Though I cannot predict how long a syrup will last once it has been fortified, it is usually much longer. Vodka is what I usually use  chiefly because it won't affect the flavor. After all, if my goal is to have a lime-flavored syrup, why would I want other flavors getting in the way? But if the goal is simply to make something interesting and tasty that is primarily lime-flavored, why wouldn't I want to add a subtle layer of flavor for increased depth?

I have considered this before, but in this case it seemed exceptionally relevant. Though Gimlets are yummy, they can still be pretty one note. The idea seemed to get more interesting the more I thought about what I might want to add. Absinthe? Banks 5 rum? Scotch? When all was said and done, the answer seemed obvious--batavia arrack. Smoky and funky in all the right places, its  flavor was just made for being used subtly. Whether this experiment would be a success was up in the air--considering the small amount, would the flavors even be recognizable? At least on the nose, the arrack makes itself known. When mixed into a cocktail, though, both the aroma and the taste are only laced with the smoky, funky notes. I was quite happy with the results and am now trying to think of other ways to use secondary, spirit-based flavors in my homemade syrups.

Gimlet

2 1/2 ounces gin
1/2  ounce lime cordial

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

Notes on Ingredients: I used Beefeater gin and my batavia arrack-laced lime cordial.

Chasing Down Childhood Memories: La Cola Nostra

I have always had a special relationship with root beer. On visits to my grandmother's house, we would discover her homemade version maturing on the porch. I remember those enormous glass jugs with tiny necks and the complex aroma that wafted out when the bottle was finally opened.  Even today I can easily recall the flavors, the savory hints of the roots themselves mingled with a rich caramel to produce something tangy and bitter, yet still sweet. It was probably the most adult taste I had experienced until then. And then there was the delicate fizz undulating on surface of the tongue that commercial sodas fail to mimic. It was truly a magical experience that captured one of the most basic joys of youth: that of experiencing a truly memorable flavor. These sensory memories encased in a pleasant surprise stay with you always. I have been chasing that elusive flavor memory for years.

A couple of years ago when I was starting on my own homemade soda experiments, memories of my grandmother's root beer popped into my mind. But it's not like I ever really forgot. I must have tried every single small batch root beer that is available on the market, but none of them have captured that distinct flavor of my childhood. But as time passes, my idea of those vague, yet magical flavors becomes even less concrete. Could a modern commercial representation even come close to my memory tainted by time and nostalgia?

As this idea plagued me, I decided, after a reasonably successful batch of homemade ginger beer, that it couldn't be that hard to replicate--after all, my grandmother is still alive. So I pressed my mother for the recipe. Images of separate jars filled with various root "teas" filled my head. I began perusing local herb stores for different ingredients. But the results of my quest were underwhelming when my mother told me that my grandmother used the root beer extract from the grocery store. You would think that I would have been pleased considering how easy it would be to reproduce the flavors of my youth. But it's like finding out that your mother's recipe for your favorite dish comes from a packet, instead of some guarded family secret.

My obsession with small batch root beer did not diminish, however, though my interest in making it did. In fact, my need for old-fashioned soda flavors has only grown to include colas. The interesting idea that cola once included not only some form of lime juice, but also other herbs and spices that are mysteriously absent in modern recipes has fueled my interest in "ancient" forms. Brands like Fentimans have only further inspired this interest. And, it could be argued that my intense love for amari and bitters was honed during those visits to my grandparents' farm when we sipped from the big jugs of dark fizzy liquid.

Instead of a perfect soda recipe, I stumbled onto a cocktail, created by Don Lee formerly of PDT and Momofuku in New York City, that seems to capture my idea of an old-fashioned cola. In fact, it actually contains many of the ingredients that were in the original recipe for Coca-Cola that was created by Dr. John Pemberton in 1886. This cocktail was submitted for consideration in the Averna contest, Have a Look, in 2008 and took home top honors. After tasting it, you will understand why. For me personally, this drink satisfies my childhood memory as well as my adult tastes. But I haven't totally given up home: Look out root beer, one of these days I am going to figure you out.

La Cola Nostra (as created by Don Lee)

1 1/2 ounces rum
1 ounce Averna
3/4 ounce lime juice
1/2 ounce simple syrup
1/4 ounce pimento dram

Shake ingredients with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass or flute. Top with champagne (1 1/2 ounces).

Notes on Ingredients: I used Bacardi 8 rum, homemade pimento dram, Mount Ste Michelle Champagne, and a 1:1 simple syrup.

Underused Cocktail Ingredients: Celery Bitters

In 2008, the Bitter Truth won the Spirit of the Year Award for their celery bitters, though in some ways you would never know it. While individually lauded as a cocktail ingredient and included as a staple on most back bars, you would be hard pressed to find menus that actually are pushing the complex, relatively polarizing ingredient. It is a shame. It really is a wonderful product. But because it really does have a very potent celery taste that is both herbaceous and bright, small doses even for bitters are usually the best way to go. In fact I have only seen one heavily bittered cocktail based on celery bitters--though I don't think many more will be forthcoming. The truth is that they don't work with everything. Even in old bar guides, drinks that call for celery bitters can be hard to track down. Though many of them are worth the effort of locating. More often than not, when I even try to  incorporate them into a cocktail, the result goes beyond bad. But when it works, oh my god does it work! Basically celery bitters are like the girl with curl: good means very, very good, bad equates to a sink donation.

While it may sound weird, unlike cranberry bitters and even rhubarb bitters, celery bitters have actually been around for a really long time. Popularized in the early 19th century for their alleged health benefits, celery bitters were actually sold as a health tonic. It is not surprising that they ended up in cocktails. Almost every liquid with potential health benefits has found their way into cocktails--because of course bartenders are really looking out for all of us. With the onset of Prohibition, all bitters were doomed. Though it is doubtful that any other type of bitters was so likely a candidate for becoming defunct than celery bitters. But thankfully, since the resurgence of interest in all things defunct as well as things just tremendously obscure, celery bitters are back. But, you might ask, what now? How do I use them? They are actually very popular in my house and I am always on the lookout for new uses. Here are some of my favorites.

Gin
It shouldn't surprise anyone that celery bitters go really well with gin, and all things juniper in nature. Gin very easily lends itself to more savory drinks, and thus all the botanicals tend to play nicely. It is probably the easiest way to use celery bitters.

Ephemeral (adapted from Chuck Taggert's recipe, created by Dave Shenaut)

1 1/2 ounces old Tom gin
1 ounce Dolin blanc
2 bar spoons elderflower liqueur
3 dashes celery bitters

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

Notes on Ingredients: I used Ransom old Tom, Bitter Truth celery bitters, and Pur elderflower liqueur.

Rum
Rum may seem more of a stretch and there are certainly plenty of rum drinks that would be utterly ruined with the addition of celery bitters. But rum and celery bitters are not mutually exclusive. Celery's potent vegetal aromatics mingle exceptionally well with citrus, a common ingredient in many rum drinks. Also the more vegetal rhum agricole pairs exceedingly well with the crisp bright flavors of celery bitters. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. For some reason the Daiquiri just popped in my mind when considering celery and rum. And lo and behold it works quite nicely.

Celery Daiquiri

1 1/2 ounces white rum
3/4 ounce simple syrup
3/4 ounce lime juice
1-2 dashes celery bitters

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

Notes on Ingredients: I usually use Cruzan white rum. A darker rum will definitely up the ante, though care must be needed to not alienate the celery. My simple syrups are almost always 1:1 with natural sugar. Bitter Truth celery bitters were used as well.

Aquavit
Aquavit is another of those ingredients that can be hard to find on menus, though this trend seems to be changing albeit slowly. It is hardly surprising that aquavit's polarizing caraway and anise flavors make it a bit harder to match things with. Yet, it is almost ironic how well it pairs with celery. With this cocktail, just a simple substitution and a little tweaking yielded wonderful results.

Aquavit Vesper

1 1/2 ounces aquavit
1/2 ounce vodka
1/4 Dolin blanc
1 dash orange bitters
1 dash celery bitters

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

Notes on Ingredients: I used Linie aquavit, Chopin vodka, Regan's orange bitters, and the Bitter Truth celery bitters.

Tequila
Tequila, and especially blanco tequilas, have a wonderful green, menthol flavor that matches very nicely with celery bitters. One of the best examples that I am aware of comes from Phil Ward, owner of Mayahuel and bartender extraordinaire. Pairing dry vermouth, blanco tequila and green chartreuse, among other things, creates a lovely herbal drink that both highlights the celery bitters and shows off how well they can play with others.

Loop Tonic (created by Phil Ward)

2 ounces blanco tequila
1 ounce dry vermouth
1/2 ounce Green Chartreuse
1/2 ounce simple syrup
3/4 ounce lime juice
1 dash celery bitters

Shake ingredients with ice and strain into a highball glass filled with ice. Garnish with a slice of celery.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Dolin extra dry, a 1 to 1 simple syrup and El Relingo tequila.

Whiskey
This cocktail is perhaps my favorite drink that uses celery bitters. This creation was introduced late in the nineteenth century, but is most notable for its inclusion in Charles Baker's Gentleman's Companion--one of his absolute home runs. There is just something about the way that a Manhattan is altered by the herbal notes of the celery that make it seem so massively different. But all that is added a dash. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if it was the interplay between the sweet vermouth and the celery that is actually taking center stage. I think further experimentation is in order.

Fourth Regiment (adapted from Charles Baker's The Gentleman's Companion by way of Robert Hess's Small Screen Network episode)

2 ounces rye
1 ounce sweet vermouth
1 dash Peychaud's style bitters
1 dash orange bitters
1 dash celery bitters

Combine ingredients in a chilled mixing glass. Stir with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with a lime twist.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Rittenhouse rye, Punt e Mes, Angostura orange bitters, Bitter Truth Creole bitters, and of course, Bitter Truth celery bitters.

Experimenting with Flavor: Sherry and Tequila

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

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

Ce Acatl (created by Adam Mullinax)

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

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

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

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

The Joy of a Pineapple: Castle Harbour Special

Whenever I see pineapple, whether it is the actual word in a book or on a menu, or the actual fruit at the grocery store or even perched on the lip of a glass, I can't help but think of summer. And not these paltry Northwest summers, where we long for warm temperatures just as much as a break from the rain. And also not those disgustingly humid summer days of the East Coast, where you are trapped on your couch coated in a thin later of sweat, while the heat drains all of your energy. No, these are not the summer days that I associate with pineapple, or else I would probably never want to look at another one. Pineapple means sunshine, dry heat, and a slight breeze, but just enough to rustle the leaves and flowers and keep the bugs at bay. In short, a totally idealized, absolutely perfect summer day. So yes, pineapple makes me smile and dream of sitting outside in the sun. That is a nice reaction to have while looking at a Charles Baker recipe.

This libation is rimmed with a sense of yearning for the past. Castle Harbor, located on the northeastern edge of Bermuda, is a large natural harbor located between the northeastern edge of Bermuda and St. David's island. In 1928, when Charles Baker spent several weeks there, its isolation and beauty struck him so intensely that the very small description he offers rings with a nostalgia. To look at pictures of Castle Harbor today, with Bermuda's airport perched on one side and its golf course and numerous hotel resorts situated on the other, it's hard to imagine unsettled islands with "white and pink beaches in utter seclusion except . . . the screaming nesting sea birds." I imagine this vision of a vacation paradise untouched by civilization was almost as rare by the time Baker was writing the Gentleman's Companion as it is now. He was lucky to have experienced it, and sometimes you even get the sense that he knew it. But just sometimes.

The drink itself sounded delicious. A mixture of rum, lime juice, syrup and fruit--it could easily be described as a type of rum punch. Though, as with many other Baker drinks, a substantial amount of rum provides the very firm backbone of this drink, the pineapple is definitely the star. As Baker describes the Bermuda-based Gosling Brothers outfitting his little hotel, his Castle Harbor Special most likely revolved around Gosling's Black Seal Rum, the dark black strap rum used most famously in the Dark 'n Stormy.

The drink also calls for sweet pineapple soda fountain syrup. Though the consistency or actual sweetness of this syrup remains a mystery, I would guess it falls somewhere in the region of what Torani might offer. Some bars and bloggers have used pineapple gum syrup as a substitution. On top of the smidgen of pineapple syrup, the recipe also includes a teaspoon of grenadine. When I first read it, I was worried about the sweetness level. Baker must have agreed because just a sentence later he says the drink is perfectly good without the grenadine. Also, he says leaving out the grenadine makes for less competition between delicate flavors. Though I would never describe either pineapple or grenadine as delicate, I followed his suggestion and omitted the grenadine. I'm sure that even in such a small amount, the grenadine was primarily used to ramp up the color and make it look more tropical.

Castle Harbour Special (original)

4 small pieces pineapple
juice of 1/2 lime
1 tsp sweet pineapple soda fountain syrup
1 tsp grenadine
1 1/2 jiggers dark rum (2 1/4 ounces)
1/2 jigger light rum (3/4 ounce)

Stir with a lump of ice and strain into a goblet half-filled with crushed ice.

Soda fountain syrup must have been really sweet. When I made this with my homemade pineapple syrup, I quickly heard Tracy say, "Um, I think this is a bit sour." Now, in general we appreciate tart, refreshing drinks, but this was a bit much. The teaspoon of pineapple syrup couldn't even touch the lime juice. I never taste a Baker drink for balance--the point is to taste it the way he intended, not the way I would fix it. Usually it is a flaw in the design of his recipe, but here it is a flaw in the substitution. So, instead of tossing it, I adjusted the sweet-to-sour ratio, matching the lime juice with pineapple syrup. It was much better.

The drink tasted mostly of lime and rum, but there was a nice pineapple hint to it. Perhaps if I had used pineapple gum, the original proportions would have worked and maybe the pineapple flavors would have been more apparent. I also chose to shake this drink with the semi-candied pineapple chunks that were left over from making the syrup. Perhaps muddling those pieces would have encouraged even more pineapple flavor and also provided more balance to the lime juice. I also decided to stick with the original amount of rum. Three ounces of rum is not so unusual for a tropical drink, and is an amount commonly seen in tiki drink recipes. Given the fact that the drink is served over fresh cracked ice, I figured over time the ice would take care of the proof.

Castle Harbour Special (as adapted)

4 small pieces pineapple
3/4ounce lime juice
3/4 ounce pineapple syrup
2 1/4 ounces dark rum
3/4 ounce light rum

Shake ingredients with cracked ice. Strain into an old-fashioned glass filled with fresh ice. Garnish with pineapple chunks.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Lemonhart 80 Demerara rum, Cruzan light rum, and homemade pineapple syrup (see below).

Pineapple Syrup (as originally published at cocktailchronicles.com)

4 cups sugar
2 cups water
1 small pineapple
smidgen of vodka or other neutral-flavored spirits

Mix the sugar and water until fully dissolved. Add the pineapple (skinned and cubed), and let sit for 24 hours. Remove the pineapple, pressing with a hand juicer to get some juice into the mix. Strain through cheesecloth or a fine strainer, and add the spirits for preservative. Refrigerate.

Truly wonderful summer days are the stuff of legend and yearning, just ask anyone mid-winter.  But the idea of nostalgia can't really contain them, namely, because technically tomorrow could be one of those days (not really). Sure there is a certain pang of longing. But it is not the same as the feelings associated with a place, or time, you can never go back to because it doesn't exist any longer. Even in the 1940s, Charles Baker could not rediscover the joys he found on his first visit to Castle Harbor. And perhaps there really is no way to re-experience even a fictionalized, idealized version of a perfect summer day, if we ever really have truly have. Maybe our memories of what a perfect summer day can be, as exaggerated over time as they are, create the need for feeling like as if something has been lost in time, something that is unreachable in the future. I don't know--it's certainly is complicated. What I do know is that for me pineapple symbolizes blissful days and a certain carefree feeling. This drink took me to a different place, away from the dreary Spring, away from the need for coats and sweaters. It seems that this is an important part of what the Gentleman's Companion has to offer a contemporary audience, a certain measure of escapism--even to an imperfect past.

A Refreshing Cooler: The Barbados Buck

Bucks are one of those drink categories that stretch far back into history. A simple combination of a spirit, citrus, and ginger beer, they require little to no effort to make and are completely delicious year-round. Beat the heat with one in the summer, and its bright, gingery flavors will quench your thirst. Use a dark spirit, and the spicy ginger beer and richness of the barrel-aged spirit can reinvigorate a palate weary from a winter of endless Manhattans. As Charles Baker explains, the buck also can act as a fine bracer. I will take his word for it. Considering the strength of the cocktails he enjoyed, he certainly had a powerful need for a good bracer.

While it is unfortunate that the term "buck" no longer immediately translates for many modern drinkers, bucks also go by another more recognizable name: the mule, as in that most famous of mules, the Moscow Mule. The vehicle of vodka's conquest of American taste buds on the 1950s, the Moscow Mule is just a vodka buck in a fancy copper mug. The variations on the buck are endless: gin buck, Kentucky buck, Shanghai buck, gin-gin mule--the list goes on. Hey, add lime juice to a Dark 'n' Stormy and you've got yourself a rum buck. No matter which spirit you decide on, the most important part of the equation is the ginger beer. Not just any will do. The easiest place to start--skip the ginger ale. To maximize the flavors and really experience the glory of this drink, you need a ginger beer with some serious ginger kick.  Whether you chose Reed's, Fentimans, Blenheim, or Bundaberg, this is one place where bigger and bolder is definitely better. Or you can always take matters into your own hands, and make some ginger beer at home.

When I first ran across the Barbados Buck in Jigger, Beaker and Glass, I think I did a little jig. It was like finding a forgotten five-dollar bill in your jeans, a happy surprise. It just doesn't get more straightforward. Granted, as with all Baker concoctions, his buck is enormous and therefore, I halved the proportions.

Barbados Buck

3/4 ounce aged, dark rum
3/4 ounce light rum
1/2 ounce lime juice
1/8 ounce simple syrup
7-8 ounces ginger beer

Build over a lump of ice in an eight to ten ounce glass. Top with ginger beer. Stir gently to incorporate. (I added a lime wedge garnish.)

Notes on Ingredients: I used Cruzan light rum, Mt. Gay rum and Reed's Extra ginger beer and honey syrup.

This drink was refreshing and tasty as expected, and disappeared much too quickly. I blame this on the amount of ginger beer. Once you added the rum, syrup, and juice, even with a "large lump" of ice as prescribed, filling the glass with ginger beer required adding at least five ounces of soda. Thus, the drink tasted mostly of ginger beer with a hint of lime and rum. Either using a smaller glass, or adding more rum, lime juice and syrup, or just decreasing the ginger beer would easily solve this problem. But maybe that extra ginger beer helps this drink function as a bracer, instead of a more potent beverage. So, I conclude, to each his own. And as with most things, the way you construct this drink will depend entirely on what you are looking for. Substituting pimento dram for the syrup or even adding a few dashes of aromatic bitters, as a brilliant red float, would also add some interesting notes.

On a less serious note, Charles Baker tell us that he was introduced to this refreshing cooler after "lying naked on a sugarwhite beach, discussing Gilbert and Sullivan" with two gents he knew from back in the day. I know I raised an eyebrow. But let's give Charlie the benefit of the doubt and say that it was a different time--though just how different, we shall never really know.

Funky Rum and the Millionaire

Almost any cocktail with Jamaican rum is going to catch my eye these days. Partially because I love the intense flavors, but mostly because I need no excuse to bring out the Smith and Cross. Recently, I started thinking, what happens if I run out. I hate to even utter it out loud, but the truth is with consumption comes exhaustion. Someday my cupboard may indeed be bare, and I certainly can't count on the liquor stores in Washington--oh, the number of times they've let me down. And of course, no adequate substitute exists for Smith and Cross's funky hogo flavor. Or does it? I remember once sitting at the bar at Vessel, and I ordered a Palmetto, one of my favorite cocktails. Oddly enough the entire bar was out of dark Jamaican rums. So, Jim Romdall set off to replicate the flavors by blending other rums. It was completely amazing, though I don't remember how he did it. I do recall that is was a wonderfully tasty Palmetto, and it did capture much of the flavor of Jamaican rum, or at least what is able to shine through the intense flavors of Carpano Antica. Fortunately, I am not out of Jamaican rum and do not need to replicate his efforts. Instead I am just going to try to create a Smith and Cross-like taste using the Jamaican rums I have on hand. Though perhaps I will just create an entirely different monster in the process.

But why choose the Millionaire? Is it anticlimactic to admit to randomness? Or perhaps not complete randomness. How about a happy accident?  I was poking around the Internet, looking for arrack sour recipes, and somehow, there it was just waiting for me. The citrus element initially provoked my interest, but the sloe gin-rum combination sealed the deal. It also gave me a chance to use my homemade apricot brandy.

The earliest recipe I could find for a Millionaire cocktail is in Jacob Straub's Drinks (1914), though it is not the same Millionaire. Straub's version, which also appears in many other cocktail volumes from the 1920s, includes orange bitters (Straub only), rye whiskey, grenadine, curacao, an egg white, and sometimes a bit of pastis (Vermiere 1922). The Jamaican rum variation does, however, appear two years later in Hugo Ensslin's 1916 cocktail book, Recipes for Mixed Drinks. His recipe calls for equal parts of Jamaican rum, apricot brandy, and sloe gin, with the juice of one lime and a dash of grenadine. Thank god Ted Haigh re-envisioned the proportions when he included his version in Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails. By 1930, another version of the Millionaire had turned up. In the Savoy Cocktail Book, Harry Craddock includes two Millionaires: Ensslin's rum version (#1) and a second version of absinthe, anisette, gin and an egg white. Straub's whiskey version is strangely absent. It will turn up again in William Boothby's 1934 reprint of World Drinks, which collects all three versions. This whiskey version seems to have had the most staying power as it crops up in other cocktail manuals during the forties: Trader Vic's Bartender's Guide (1947), which collects all of the previous recipes and then some, Esquire Handbook for Hosts (1949) and David Embury's Fine Art of Mixing Drinks (1948). Notably in both Embury and the Esquire Handbook, the whiskey version is the sole Millionaire. It is notable, however, that Embury does toss aside the rum version in a sentence. And these are just the mentions I can track in the volumes I own. The Jamaican rum version doesn't seem to crop up many places beyond 1940. Ted Haigh notes that he found the rum version in The How and When published in 1937, where it was listed as the fourth variation. Haigh explains that when he changed the ratios, he was attempting to dial back the sweetness from the liqueurs and amp up the rum while balancing the citrus. His variation proved too tart for my palate, so I cut back the lime juice a little.

Millionaire (as adapted from Vintage Cocktails)

1 1/2 ounce Jamaican rum
3/4 ounce lime juice
3/4 apricot brandy
3/4 ounce sloe gin

Shake ingredients with ice. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Plymouth Sloe Gin and a homemade apricot brandy. I used 1 ounce Appleton with 1/2 ounce Wray & Nephew overproof.

The aroma was full of the funky Wray and Nephew as well as the lime and apricot. I could also detect a richness that I attributed to the  apricot brandy and the Appletons. Even with less lime juice, this drink was still quite tart as the lime and apricot were dominant. Despite the sourness, a considerable amount of richness came through as well. I am sure that the homemade apricot brandy was at least partially responsible. When I made my apricot brandy, I infused brandy with apricots, pits and all, and then sweetened it to taste. While this is not a true apricot brandy, as it includes barrel-aged brandy and all of its associated flavors, it does contribute a certain depth and nuttiness from the pits that a lot of apricot brandies do not have. A commercial apricot liqueur would add more sweetness and a crisp tartness without the richness and nutty flavors. The funky, brown sugar flavors of the rum were most prominent on the after taste. As the drink warmed up, the tart berry notes of the sloe gin became more apparent  before the rum notes took over. Because I used the Plymouth sloe gin, which is not notoriously sweet, this added a nice dryness to the drink. All in all this was a very pleasant, tart drink, and though the ingredients seemed a bit strange on paper, they performed very well in the glass.

Post Script: Rum Conclusions

As I sipped on this cocktail, I was constantly aware of the funkiness of the rum. The richness of the Appletons with the vegetal, funky flavors of the Wray & Nephew do adequately approximate the taste of Smith and Cross, at least when it is mixed with citrus juices and other strong flavors. The substitution is only slightly lower in proof when mixed 2 parts Appletons to 1 part Wray & Nephew and will bring a similar strength when mixed (Smith and Cross, 100 proof, Combo 95 proof). I am not sure how this substitution would work in a more spirit driven cocktail.

When tasting them side by side, neat, the Smith and Cross is dryer, earthier and higher in proof than the substitute. Also I detect more of a molasses flavor. As far as the funky level, the two do seem within the same ballpark, at least to me. The Appletons/Wray & Nephew is milder and has more vanilla notes. The Wray & Nephew does, however, add a vegetal aroma and taste that provides a different sort of funky flavor than anything in the Smith and Cross, though it is by no means a bad addition. Of course no true substitute exists but when working within a cocktail, I think it would be close enough.

A Rum Drink Just in Time for Spring: Bertita's Special

March--a trying month to be sure. As winter loses its grip, a great impatience flourishes inside me, a restlessness stemming from the wearisome months of dark sky and early night. Accompanying this is a longing for all things bright, shiny, and summer-related. All of this daydreaming is of course helplessly premature. In places that are pummeled with snow and brutally cold temperatures, I imagine this phase occurs in February, when burrowing under layers and inside houses exceeds most people's thresholds for being couped up, mentally as well as physically. Seattle's winter weather at worst functions by erosion--you don't quite feel the pressure of a constant barrage, but little by little it builds up. For me, rock bottom occurs in early March.

I often wonder if our cravings are linked to our view of the passing of seasons, or vice versa. First comes that curious urge for all things barrel-aged that accompanies winter. It is not an unknown phenomenon, colder temperatures and shorter days readily link up with winter warmers usually including whiskey in all its various incarnations. Personally, that usually means rye, though this year I did take a brief sojourn into blended scotch. But restless taste buds can only handle so much of the same. As the season waxed and waned and the temperatures strayed from their lows, giving us teasing glimpses of the Spring, I found myself craving gin in combination with various amari. But at some point it all reaches a head, and drinks that are dark and bitter aren't as satisfying as they once were. So here we are: the days are lengthening, the cherry blossoms are tinting the streets with brilliant dashes of pink, and winter jackets seem a bit too heavy and oppressive. It can mean only one thing: the time for rum, citrus, color and maybe a bit of silliness has arrived. Thus, I flipped the page to Bertita's Special at exactly the right time, when tropical flavors can ease the passing of the last days of dreariness.  

Bertita's Special comes from South of the Border, from the small city of Taxco located in the mountains of Mexico, where many artists and artisans from America took up residence during the early part of the twentieth century "for various reasons, & with varying success." Bertita's Bar, owned by Dona Bertha, has been more famously linked to the creation of another drink, the Margarita. At best, it is one vague claim among many. Bertita's Bar, as Charles Baker notes, is a "dingy, but mildly celebrated place" and he notes that this drink--I am sure it was not the only one--is "poured with a heavy hand," which, considering Baker's taste, is probably why it was included in his tome. I can't help but imagine Bertita's as a spectacular example of a dive bar, with the perfect mixture of local color and lack of polish that makes certain places an unpretentious joy to visit.

Bertita's Special Cocktail (as adapted)

3 ounces light rum
3/4 ounce lime juice
2 ounces orange juice
1 teaspoon grenadine

Shake ingredients briefly with ice. Strain into a chilled Collins glass packed full of crushed ice. Float 1 teaspoon Jamaican rum on top.

Note on Ingredients: I used Cruzan white rum, homemade grenadine, and Smith and Cross for the float. Appleton's Estate V/X makes a fine substitute where Smith and Cross is unavailable.

Baker's instructions called for shaking the ingredients with cracked ice, pouring the contents--ice and all--into a large champagne glass, and then adding the float of Jamaican rum. I decided to shake the ingredients briefly with cubed ice and serve it over fresh crushed ice. In fact, it was very enjoyable and didn't become incredibly watered down.The aroma was full of Jamaican rum, which make sense because it was sitting right there on top. The first taste was also filled with the unmistakable hogo stamp of the Smith and Cross. What a wonderful way to start! Once through the initial sip, however, the lime stepped in. This drink reminded me of a mellowed-out daiquiri--tart, brisk and dry with a good dose of rum. Perhaps it would be more accurate to liken this libation to a mellower version of the Bacardi cocktail, a simple daiquiri with grenadine in place of sugar. With only a teaspoon of grenadine, the orange juice tempered the strength of the lime. The grenadine did, however, provide a nice color as well as a light berry note that became more apparent as the drink warmed up.The rum thoroughly dominated the aftertaste. This cocktail was exceptionally refreshing and really fit with my March mood, but it would also be wonderful during the warmer months.