A Madeira Link? Baker's Creole Contentment and the Creole Lady

It is always difficult to write about a Charles Baker cocktail that is actually tasty. While many more of his drinks come under the heading of barely palateable experiments from the past, the good ones have already been uncovered. Even if you've never heard of it, entering the cocktail name into a search engine will fill your screen up with links. But of course it makes complete sense--these are old recipes after all. The Gentleman's Companion has been in print for over 80 years. There are no secrets. So what is there to say about a cocktail that has already make the rounds. It sure is tasty, especially when you follow Baker's advice--but just this once.

Creole Contentment

1 1/2 ounce cognac
1 ounce Madeira
1/2 ounce maraschino liqueur
1 dash orange bitters

Stir ingredients with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with a cherry if you must, though, as Baker says, this drink needs no adornment

Notes on Ingredients: I used Pierre Ferrand 1840 cognac, Broadbent Madeira, Angostura orange bitters and Maraska maraschino liqueur. 

Sometimes the most interesting part of the story comes where we aren't looking. For me this was the case with the Creole Contentment. Baker states that this tipple was birthed in the Big Easy. As any diligent cocktail nerd, I quickly took to the books in hopes of uncovering some hidden reference that would fill out this cocktail's lineage. I turned to Famous New Orleans Drinks and How to Make 'Em by Stanley Arthur. As is my habit, I also grabbed a couple of other tomes as well. To sum up an afternoon, I didn't find any secret provenance for the Creole Contentment, but I did find something interesting--another "Creole" drink that is almost a mirror image of Baker's Contentment, the Creole Lady.

Creole Lady

1 ounce Bourbon
1 ounce Madeira
1/2 ounce maraschino liqueur

Stir ingredients with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with 2 brandied cherries. I also added a dash of Angostura bitters. 

I found the Creole Lady while flipping through the Old Waldorf-Astoria Bar Book. Sadly I could not find a true correlation between these two drinks. They look like they are related. They have similar names. But perhaps this just comes from the fact that New Orleans was an important port during Madeiras heydey. Perhaps it is because a lot of Creole cooking has stayed true to the traditional recipes, many of which included Madeira. Or maybe it is because of the many Portuguese immigrants who ended up in the New Orleans region in the years leading up to the Civil War, when Madeira was incredibly popular. Regardless, both cocktails are delicious.

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. 

The Martinez in Depth: Byron's Sweet Martinez

This past week, I have been pondering the changes my tastes have undergone over the last five years as I grew more interested in and moderately obsessed with the world and history of cocktails. Where once I couldn't stomach the "astringency" of gin, the floral nature of scotch, or even "menthol" flavors of tequila, in the intervening years, I have learned to love all three. I even successfully conquered my revulsion for all things anise. But these changes did not happen overnight. While perhaps the most important factor may have been having an open mind, certainly some cocktails or experiences played greater roles than others. The Vesper may have been the first gin-based cocktail that I actually enjoyed, that in and of itself could have been a fluke. After all, one singular experience does not alter one's taste from yuck to yum.

The gin drink that kept me coming back for more is the Martinez--that dusty old cocktail often included on menus today despite its checkered past. I wish I had some great moment of discovery, some memory where every detail resonated, but I cannot place either the circumstances or the location of my first sip. Two winters ago it was my go-to cocktail, and I could often be found starting the evening with a Martinez. It seemed like I drank one at every cocktail establishment I visited over the course of many months. Some were dryer, more modern representations. Others were richer, bearing the stamp of Carpano Antica in generous amounts. I have had every garnish available, from orange twists to olive ,or even nothing at all. I have had historically accurate renditions that harken back to Jerry Thomas's 1887 recipe, where the sweet vermouth carries the bulk of the volume. And I even consumed a Martinez that was "tossed"--where the ingredients are aerated as the bartender essentially pours the mixture back and forth from tin to tin blue-blazer style. When it comes to the proportions, choice of ingredients, or even method, the defining feature of any given Martinez depends almost entirely on the bartender's whim. It seems it has always been this way. But after considering all of these experiences, I had to conclude that my current love of gin is inextricably linked to my love of this drink.

History
Before vermouth really took off, almost every cocktail was directly related to the Old Fashioned--some form of spirit, sweetening agent, bitters, and ice. As this drink and the burgeoning cocktail market evolved, liqueurs and flavored syrups crept into the glass. This led to such creations as the Japanese Cocktail and the Fancy Brandy Cocktail. By the 1880s, absinthe had fomented its place as a key ingredient in the Sazerac, another Old Fashioned variation, and had even impacted the original cocktail recipe, as evidenced by its inclusion in the Improved Whiskey Cocktail, which first appeared in print in Jerry Thomas's 1887 reprint of the Bar-Tender's Guide. Other liqueurs, such as maraschino, that were widely used in punches were also making their way into the cocktail vernacular. All in all, the evolution of the cocktail seemed fairly straightforward.

Everything changed when Italian vermouth began making its way into the country. The popularity of vermouth-based cocktails is evidenced by their inclusion in O.H. Byron's Modern Bartender's Guide (1884), Jerry Thomas's 1887 edition of the Bar-Tender's Guide, and George Kappeler's Modern American Drinks (1895). Americans quickly became infatuated with the various ways this aromatized, fortified wine interacted with their favorite spirits. The world of cocktails would never be the same.

While the Martini and Manhattan became two of the most famous cocktails ever concocted, the Martinez's chances stalled as popular trends and industrial innovations shifted tastes away. Eventually history would only remember its recipe as a footnote in one of the Martini's various origin stories--that is, until cocktail historians and bartenders resurrected it. Though the exact details are lost to history, the Martinez's birth is undoubtedly linked with the experimentation that followed Italian vermouth's explosion in American markets.

Like its more famous cousins, the Martinez did not begin with a recognized recipe. Early vermouth-based cocktails were highly dependant on the whim of the bartender. In the late nineteenth century, even published recipes for a Manhattan allowed for differing ratios between the rye and sweet vermouth as well as the amount and type of bitters. Many authors even called for the inclusion of a sweetening agent, such as gum syrup or orange curacao. In these early days the Martinez's recipe was very obviously linked to the Manhattan. In fact often the two cocktails were identical except for the base spirit.

O.H. Byron and the Missing Maraschino
The Martinez first showed up in print in 1884 in O.H. Byron's Modern Bartender's Guide. Nestled up underneath the entry for the Manhattan, it is easy to overlook. While the Manhattan easily takes up half the page with its dry and sweet variations. The Martinez's recipe is succinct, involving only one sentence: "Same as Manhattan, only you substitute gin for whisky." Because early beverage guides were more heavily reliant on drink styles, such as a daisy or a smash, as opposed to individualized cocktail recipes, this cross-referencing was not uncommon. However, no other cocktail is dealt with in this manner. It is easy to understand how a Gin Crusta related to a Brandy Crusta. In those cases, too, the drinks would be practically identical down to the elaborate garnish, but all this started to change with vermouth-based cocktails. While the Martinez is simply a Gin Manhattan, the fact that it does have its own name and internal variances based on vermouth style sets it apart.

O.H. Byron's Martinez

2 dashes Curacoa [1/4 ounce]
2 dashes Angostura bitters
1/2 wine-glass gin [1 ounce]
1/2 wine-glass Italian vermouth [1 ounce]
Fine ice; stir well and strain into a cocktail glass
[garnish with an orange twist]

Notes on Ingredients: I used Ransom Old Tom Gin, Pierre Ferrand Dry Curacao, and Angostura Bitters. As I only had Dolin sweet vermouth on hand, I bumped up the flavor profile with Bonal in a 2:1 ratio.

Even though this recipe is the first one in print, if you walk into a craft cocktail bar today and order a Martinez, this is not what you will receive. In most circumstances you will receive something very similar. While both cocktails rely heavily on their large proportions of gin and sweet vermouth, one will include a splash of maraschino liqueur instead of the other's curacao. For whatever reason, the Martinez that has been revitalized is not the one from Byron's pages. History has, instead, taken a shining to Jerry Thomas's version.

Curacao had been used in cocktails for years before maraschino liqueur became a popular cocktail ingredient. While more than a handful of Byron's recipes call for maraschino liqueur, the Martinez isn't one of them. A curious side note is that two versions of the Fancy Brandy Cocktail are included, one containing curacao, the other maraschino. Perhaps it was just a question of time before maraschino was substituted for the curacao in a Martinez.

As written, the drink is incredibly tasty. While the wonderful interaction between the herbaceous gin and the maraschino's funky cherry and almond flavors are definitely missing, there is something so wonderfully simple about the addition of the orange notes.

The Brooklyn Cocktail: A Personal History

The Brooklyn was first mentioned in print in an obscure tome, J.A. Grohusko's Jack's Manual (1908). Though it was lost to history for over fifty years, its popularity has skyrocketed in recent years. It is yet another cocktail that has become a darling of the cocktail resurgence, embraced by craft bartenders and cocktail enthusiasts alike. But what an unlikely star. The combination of rye and dry vermouth is a hard sell for many, and even procuring a bottle of Amer Picon, or a suitable replacement, remains a challenge. Perhaps these details play a part in its popularity. Many formerly lost cocktails have resurfaced and are loved in part because of their polarizing flavors or hard to acquire ingredients. Regardless of the cultural weight of these details today, these two factors could have been what propelled such cocktails into obscurity in the first place. Despite all of this, the Brooklyn is my favorite cocktail.

I first came across the Brooklyn in the July/August 2007 issue of Imbibe magazine. The main article was centered on lost ingredients that were making a comeback in the bar world. Several do-it-yourself recipes were also included for the more ambitious. While allspice dram and creme de violette were mentioned alongside several others, it was the Amer Picon that drew me in. Looking back I am surprised that it wasn't the allspice dram that tempted my novice palate. At that point, I had never even tasted an amaro. But while the catalyst remains hidden, the Amer Replica, also known more commonly today as Amer Boudreau, was the first major cocktail ingredient I crafted at home, and with it came my introduction to the Brooklyn.

The hardest part about making homemade ingredients lies in replicating flavors that are sometimes slightly and sometimes completely out of reach. The Amer Picon used in that 1908 Brooklyn is not the same as the one available today. Sadly, the recipe was altered sometime in the 1940s and the resulting product is supposedly a shadow of its former self. Sure there are bottles of the old stuff out there--some hoarded, some just waiting to be found in the back of liquor stores in random corners of the world. But for most people, the original Amer Picon is unattainable. The current Amer Picon has not been imported into the United States for decades. In 2007, the closest substitute on the market, Torani Amer, was not available in Washington.

Of course I still remember my first Brooklyn. While I waited for the orange tincture to steep--the first step in making Amer Boudreau--I decided I needed more firsthand knowledge about this mysterious cocktail. Whenever I wanted to know more about an obscure classic cocktail, I would find myself at the Zig Zag sitting on a bar stool in front of Murray. He seemed to always know not only the recipe, but also some other tidbit of information that would propel me to uncover another drink. When I ordered a Brooklyn, he leaned in across the bar and asked me how old I was. I will admit I was surprised. But then he smiled and told me that only eighty-year-old men ordered that drink. While I am not sure how he solved the Amer Picon problem I do remember loving the resulting cocktail. And I have been drinking them ever since.

Brooklyn

2 ounces rye
3/4 ounce dry vermouth
1/4 ounce Amer Picon
1/4 ounce maraschino liqueur

In an ice-filled mixing glass, stir ingredients and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Optional: garnish with a lemon twist.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Maraska maraschino liqueur, Bulleit rye, and Vya's Whisper Dry vermouth.

Over the years, I have had many Brooklyn variations. Because of the nature of lost ingredients, it seems that everyone has a different solution to accommodate the absent Picon. (Don't even get me started on all of the recipes with different proportions!) I have seen amari blended--usually Rammazotti and Averna. Sometimes a bartender will use Amaro Ciociaro, which is widely recognized as a workable substitute. I have even had a Brooklyn with the current Amer Picon, which I returned from Paris with. And of course, I still have some of that homemade Amer Picon from all those years ago.

On a recent visit to San Francisco, I decided to order a Brooklyn at the Comstock Saloon. As soon as I tasted it, I knew that it was not the cocktail I had come to know and love. Though it did resemble most Brooklyns I had experienced, something was noticeably different. Almost immediately I knew it was the Amer component--after all, rye, dry vermouth and maraschino only differ so much among the various brands.What I didn't know was how lucky I was to have ordered that specific drink at that specific location. Finding a bar that was attempting to replicate the original Amer Picon was a wonderful surprise. With access to a bottle of the original Amer Picon, they decided that the combination of amontillado sherry, Bonal quinquina, and orange bitters best matched those long-sought after flavors. I can certainly understand the Bonal and bitters. Torani Amer, Ciociaro, and Ramazzotti (the base of Amer Boudreau) all have a strong orange flavor. It was the sherry that gave me pause. Jeff Hollinger explained to me that the savory, nuttiness of the sherry was the answer to the flavors of oxidation that they detected in the original. This was a curious detail about Amer Picon that I had never heard before. And while the resulting cocktail was tasty, the entire experience was still curious.

Brooklyn (as inspired by Comstock Saloon version)

2 ounces rye
3/4 ounce dry vermouth
1/2 ounce Amer mixture*
1/4 ounce maraschino liqueur

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

Notes on Ingredients: I used Bulleit rye, Whisper Dry vermouth and Maraska maraschino. 

Amer mixture (as inspired by Comstock Saloon version)
3 ounces Bonal
1.5 ounces dry amontillado sherry
3 dashes Angostura orange bitters

Note on Amer mixture: At the time, I failed to ask for the proportions used at Comstock and sought to replicate the flavor from memory. I hope that I was close, but I had the Brooklyn at the beginning of a long day.

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.

Untraditional Bitters Part One: Meat Hook

Cocktail history unofficially began when someone somewhere added bitters to his (or her, though unlikely) morning dram. But what exactly are bitters? We know the names. The ubiquitous Angostura. The classics, Regan's and Peychaud's. Brands such as the Bitter Truth, Bittermens, Scrappys and a host of others anchor the newer, more modern entries into the bitters catalogue. But what are they really, I mean, besides bitter? Usually, they consist of complex, unabashedly intense combinations of flavor where at least one element is just plain God-damned bitter--thus, the bittering agent. Quassia, Gentian, and Calamus are all examples of the extreme versions, though many other herbs are available that have varying strengths. Layered on top of these potent, sometimes even eye-watering flavors are the tasty elements one might actually like to encounter: grapefruit, orange, cloves, cinnamon, rhubarb, lavender, the list goes on and on and is expanded by the day. By combining a bittering agent with these more palatable flavors, you get bitters. And once you have tasted them straight, usually as a single drop or three, it is easy to understand why they are only used in dashes.

For a cocktail, bitters are transformative. In an Old Fashioned, the bitters add embellishment to slightly sweetened straight spirits. But over time as cocktails became more complicated, and a whole slew of ingredients were introduced to the barman's milieu, the role of bitters grew. No longer did bitters just add that zip of flavor to invigorate a glass of spirits and balance the sweetness. Indeed, they became the glue that pulled a drink together. One tiny dash could connect the dots among disparate ingredients and contribute a certain amount of depth. To boil it all down, bitters keep your taste buds in the game by keeping the whole experience interesting from first chilled sip to the last swig.

Somewhere along the line, though, bitters changed. Not by name or definition, but instead by what could be used as bitters. Dashes of other stongly flavored ingredients were soon finding their way into cocktails to "finish" them and ensure balance. Absinthe is probably the most widely acknowledged classic ingredient to be used this way, though it is not the only one. Considering absinthe's high proof--most of them historically clock in at around 130 proof--it is not surprising that both the strength and intense bitter wormwood flavor allowed absinthe to be used in dashes to excellent effect, just like bitters. Even in small amounts, it has enough flavor to stand out and compliment all sorts of unruly cocktail ingredients.

But absinthe isn't the only strong flavor that can be used this way. Green chartreuse, scotch, mezcal, and even Fernet Branca have all taken their turn as bitters. Whether these untraditional ingredients are added in dashes to the shaker or employed as aromatic rinses, contemporary bartenders have experimented with these flavors to add an extra dimension to an original cocktail or twist a classic.

For a long time I overlooked this phenomenon. Even as I read Gary Regan's article in the San Francisco Chronicle touting smoky scotch's new role, I barely batted an eyelash. But this was all pre-Meat Hook. While visiting Vancouver, Canada earlier this year that I was lucky enough to try this delicious play on the Red Hook at L'Abbatoir. It took an Ardbeg-laced Manhattan variation to really make me sit up and pay attention to the possibilities. By practicing restraint with such a bold flavor, a new experience is uncovered. It was amazing. Thankfully, the recipe was easy to find thanks to a Drinker's Peace, a Vancouver drinks blog.

Meat Hook (adapted from A Drinker's Peace, original created by Shaun Layton)

1 1/2 ounces rye
3/4 ounce Punt e Mes
1/3 ounce Islay scotch
1 teaspoon maraschino liqueur

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

Notes on Ingredients: I used Rittenhouse 100 proof, Ardbeg, and Maraska maraschino.

Now, it is true that the amount of scotch in the Meat Hook is certainly more than a dash. But this doesn't seem to buck any modern trends--it's become common for cocktails to call for more bitters. Where once 2 dashes was considered a hefty dose of those potent flavors, today's bartenders utilize ever greater amounts. Cocktails that call for 4 or even 5 dashes are full of flavor and ruffle no feathers. Of course, we shouldn't forget those cocktails that are based on bitters. But that is another story altogether.

When Memory Fails: The Aviation

Some cocktails are just unforgettable. They stand out like planets against the starry night sky, luminous, non-flickering orbs. You remember that mind-blowing first sip as the new flavors sparked against your tired taste buds, and you looked down into the glass in awe thinking, What have I been doing all of these years? The Aviation should be one of these cocktails. For so many, it has provided that first glimpse of what a truly balanced classic cocktail should taste like, regardless of whether the creme de violette is included and regardless of whether the imbiber has any knowledge of its history. It stands on its own without being anchored to a specific time or context.

The Aviation was once regarded as the cocktail enthusiasts' handshake, though I am unsure if it still retains that title. And though it is one of my favorite cocktails, I can't for the life of me remember where or when I first had one. I can't even conjure up a context, much less any initial taste revelations. Other important cocktail memories do not so easily recede. The first Brooklyn I ever tasted was at the Zig Zag Cafe--I was seated at the bar in the first days of Spring about three years ago. That first unique sip of rye and dry vermouth stood out then, and the Brooklyn is still my favorite cocktail. I also drank my first Pink Lady at the Zig Zag. Murray asked me whether I wanted it with applejack and I had to pause. At that time I didn't know it came any other way. The Pink Lady was also my first experience with egg whites in a cocktail and to this day I can still recall how that velvety texture opened my mind. So many other memories pop into my mind almost without invitation: my first Manhattan at the Remington in graduate school in Boston; my first Sazerac, which I horribly butchered at my in-laws house one Christmas many years ago. But that initial Aviation is hopelessly missing, forever lost like so many other outstanding and not so outstanding cocktails.

Its a funny thing to consider--how a cocktail can be on the edge of extinction and then become so beloved by a world of hobbyists. Granted, the idea of "extinction" might be a gross overstatement in this case. As cocktail manuals came and went after Prohibition, and so many other cocktails were consigned to the abyss, the Aviation maintained its presence, in one way or another. It may not have been a popular drink (and there's really no way to track that information), but it was still around at least for a while, if only just to help fill up cocktail books. By the 1960s, along with so many other classic cocktails, the Aviation had been relegated to the past. By this time the violette of the original was already long gone.

It is not entirely clear to me who first reintroduced the violette version of the Aviation. Some people lay it at the feet of David Wondrich, and that seems entirely likely. In his Killer Cocktails, published in 2005, Wondrich mentions the violette version, though it is not the main recipe. Reference was also made to this sky-tinted version in the first edition of Ted Haigh's Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails, published in 2004. Though both cocktail historians were obviously aware of the 1916 version before their books went to print, we may never really know who is responsible for resurrecting it.

When Haus Alpenz began importing creme de violette in 2007, the mystery surrounding the actual taste of the Ensslin version was at last solved. If you could track down a bottle or find a bar that stocked it, you could sip that refreshing floral libation and form your own opinion about which version was better. I often wonder if it was precisely because the ingredients were hard to find (maraschino liqueur wasn't all that accessible in the early 2000s) in addition to the historical interest that led to the elevation of the Aviation to near mythic status. When you consider all of the elements that are wrapped up in one cocktail--the obscure ingredients, its complicated path through history, its differing versions, its first mention buried in an obscure cocktail manual (at least it was 5 years ago)--it's easy to see how this cocktail could so easily become something bigger than just ingredients in a glass.

Now that the Aviation is so readily available, the real question becomes which do you prefer, with or without violette. Personally, I enjoy the violette version with its floral notes playing against the woody notes of the maraschino liqueur and the botanics of the gin. It's not completely because in general I am a cocktail purist. Sitting on a porch or deck pretty much anywhere on a warm evening, when there is just enough of a breeze to warrant an extra layer, listening to the sounds of the city and sipping an herbal refreshing beverage sounds just about perfect in my mind. And at that moment, when a light sheen of condensation is just beginning to show on the outside of the glass, and the last bit of light is holding out as long as it can against the encroaching blue of night, it really doesn't matter when or where I first tasted an Aviation, it only matters that I am tasting it now.

Aviation (per Robert Hess's Essential Bartender's Guide)

2 ounces gin
1/2 ounce lemon juice
1/2 ounce maraschino liqueur
1/4 ounce creme de violette

Shake ingredients with ice. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with a brandied cherry.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Whitley Neil gin, Maraska maraschino, and Rothman and Winter violette.

Astor Hotel Special

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

Charles Baker

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

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

The Astor Hotel Special

1 1/2 ounces cognac (2 oz brandy)

1 tsp maraschino liqueur 

2 tsp egg white

3/4 ounce absinthe (1/4 oz absinthe)

1/2 tsp lemon juice 

club soda (1 1/2 oz)

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

Trial Number One

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

Trial Number Two

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

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

The Astor Hotel Special (as adapted)

2 oz brandy

1 1/2 tsp maraschino liqueur

1 egg white 

1 barspoon absinthe

2 tsp lemon juice

1 1/2 oz club soda

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

Apple Brandy: Newark Cocktail

When Fall arrives and blankets become a staple of my at-home fashion, my tastes turn toward barrel-aged  spirits, though this is by no means a hard and fast rule. This year we here in Seattle were treated to a strange crispness that served as a delightful interruption from our regularly scheduled Autumn full of all things waterlogged. The dry chill and the orange- and yellow-hued leaves (we even got some red ones this year!) reminded me of the many years I spent growing up and living in the Northeast. Perhaps because of this nostalgic impulse, I have been leaning toward dry crisp drinks of late, instead of hearty, bold libations that revolve around whiskey and the rich flavors of cherry and anise or the soothing warmth of spice. In my search for drinks that would attend to my craving, I found myself leaning toward the much overlooked apple brandy, most notably our domestic apple brandy, applejack.

Applejack is a spirit native to the United States and almost as old. In colonial times, apple-based spirits were made in the frozen Northeast from fermented apple cider that had gone through the process of freeze distillation, which was called "jacking." The process entails freezing a solution, such as hard cider or beer, in order to separate the alcohol from the water by taking advantage of their different freezing points. Early settlers would bury their fermented apple cider in the ground for the winter. About the time of the last freeze, they would dig it up and remove the ice, leaving a liquid that was much richer in alcohol. The idea to further distill this "low wine" version of hard cider into apple brandy was just the natural progression of a good idea.

Laird's is the oldest producer of applejack in the county. They have been producing apple brandy in America since 1698. They make several different apple-based spirits, though here in Washington, only the 80-proof applejack is readily available. I have seen their bonded apple brandy in some local bars and some of the better liquor stores. If you can find it, I would highly recommend it. The non-bonded apple brandy contains 35 percent apple distillate that has been blended with neutral grain spirits. The bonded variety is 100 percent apple brandy and, by law, 100 proof. Therefore, the apple flavor is that much more intense, and the higher proof means that the brandy can stand up to stronger ingredients in a cocktail. The non-bonded applejack is completely acceptable, though, and for years it was the only applejack I used. In many cases, it makes only a slight difference, and I have made very tasty Jack Roses, Jersey Sours, or even variations on the Stone Fence with the non-bonded applejack.  Drinks like the Applejack Old-Fashioned and the Marconi Wireless, which place a greater emphasis on the flavor of the spirit, really do shine brighter with the inclusion of the bonded Laird's. Both of Laird's products are relatively inexpensive, around $20, though the bonded will set you back a couple of dollars more.

To satisfy my applejack craving, I chose the Newark Cocktail, another fabulous cocktail that I found on Chuck Taggert's blog. The drink was created by Jim Meehan, bar manager at PDT in NYC, and an all-around heavy hitter in the bartending world. The Newark cocktail, as you may have already guessed, is another in the long line of Manhattan variations named after real estate in and around NYC that have become ubiquitous on cocktail menus.  I am not complaining--many of them are completely delicious and among my favorite style of drink, spirit-forward.

Newark Cocktail

2 ounces applejack
1 ounce sweet vermouth
1/4 ounce maraschino liqueur
2 barspoons Fernet Branca

Stir ingredients in an ice-filled mixing glass. Strain in a chilled cocktail glass. No garnish.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Laird's Bonded Applejack, Vya sweet vermouth, and Maraska maraschino liqueur.

The aroma was full of apples though the menthol notes of the Fernet shone through. And as expected, the apple brandy was completely recognizable and even acted as a wonderful foundation for all of the strong flavors in the glass. Initially, I noted a pleasant, mild sweetness, presumably from the maraschino and perhaps the vermouth, before the Fernet struck and my mouth was full of herbal complexity. On subsequent tastes, I noted the dry cider-like flavors becoming more prevalent throughout each sip.  This drink had a wonderful rich mouth feel that contrasted the almost astringent menthol taste concluding each sip—a side effect of the Fernet. As the drink warmed the interplay between the maraschino and Fernet dominated the flavors, but in a really interesting way.  The finish was dry and kind of nutty with hints of cherry. But long after each sip it was the apple flavors that lingered, calling me back for more.

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.

Grand Street

Recently, Tracy and I were on vacation in NYC and we went to Death and Company. It was a night to remember, and one of the fabulous cocktails I had was called a Grand Street. I knew as soon as I saw it on the menu that I had to order it. Gin, Punt e Mes, Cynar and maraschino—a whole lot of my favorite things all in one glass. But as the night wore on, and more drinks were ordered and relished, I forgot to ask about proportions. This is especially sad because after all, I was sitting at the bar, chatting with the bartender, and she was really nice. So now weeks later, I am home, wishing I could have a Grand Street. And the search begins.

Well, let me tell you, dear reader, the recipe is not on the Internet—I checked. I could throw my hands up and say, oh well and move onto something that would be reminiscent, like a Hoskins or a Fin de Siecle. So I thought to myself, I have all of the ingredients, why not try to figure it out . . . it might even be fun. Staring at the ingredient list, I began looking for any similarities with the classic cocktails I am familiar with. A lot of contemporary cocktails start as riffs on classics. And lo and behold a lightbulb went off, I saw spirit, vermouth, amaro, and liqueur. You see, my favorite cocktail is the Brooklyn: rye, dry vermouth, amer picon, maraschino. I at least had a place to start.

Brooklyn Cocktail (adapted) 

2 ounces rye
3/4 ounce dry vermouth
1/4 Amer Boudreau
1/4 ounce maraschino

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

So here is what I came up with for my interpretation of the Grand Street:

Drink Inspired by the Grand Street

2 ounces gin
3/4 ounce Punt e Mes
1/4 ounce Cynar
1/4 ounce maraschino liqueur

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

Notes on ingredients/method: I used Bellringer gin, though any London dry would work.  Plymouth would also work well. I used the Maraska maraschino as that is what I had on hand.

The grapefruit was very strong in the aroma, as it should be with all of those oils glittering on the surface. Underneath, I could just make out the bittersweet fragrance of the Cynar and the Punt e Mes.  With the grapefruit still lingering in my nose, I dove in to find, in addition to the grapefruit, the dry juniper flavors of the gin mingling with the richness of the Cynar and Punt e Mes. There were definitely a lot of herbal elements floating around in there. The strength of the other ingredients tempered the funky cherry sweetness of the maraschino and rounded out the flavors. The bittersweet flavors of the herbs and the dryness of the gin lingered long after each swallow. In combination, the slightly bitter sweet vermouth, the slight sweet amaro, the dry gin and sweet maraschino all seemed to balance one another in a very complex way. The grapefruit twist provides just enough brightness, to the eye, nose and mouth,  to make drink really sing. 

Now, I am not quite sure that I have re-created the Grand Street as it is at Death and Company. But I am happy to have created something very nice that was inspired by something equally very nice.