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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                     

Using Homemade Ingredients: Apple Cider Syrup

As with any newly made syrup, the problem instantly becomes how do I use it? Fortunately since apples are so versatile, the potential applications seem endless--apple and citrus, apple and spice, apple and savory, apple and nutty. My only concern was that apples too often share the spotlight or simply act as the backdrop; they are hardly ever the star of the show. I was worried that somehow the syrups would not be robust enough and would get lost in the cocktail glass. In practice, this turned out to be a viable issue. While both syrups are quite robust on their own--the mulled apple cider syrup is especially delicious on oatmeal--in cocktails, the apple flavor was easily overwhelmed. But with some experimentation, I did have some rather surprising successes.

I have two "go-to" recipes when I am trying to figure out how to incorporate a new syrup into a cocktail: the old fashioned and the gimlet. Both allow the syrup's flavors to shine because there are fewer ingredients involved. Of course, the way that the syrup interacts with the specific flavor profile of a gin becomes the central issue. Because gin and apples in general work well together, I decided to start there. After discovering the relative delicacy of the syrup, I opted for a more traditional London dry gin. While an absinthe rinse is not usually included in a gimlet, it does add a nice element here that works indirectly to highlight the apple flavors.  

Apple-let

2 ounces gin
1/2 ounce apple cider syrup

Express the oils of a thick lime peel into the shaker. Combine  the peel with the other ingredients and shake with ice. Strain into a chilled absinthe-rinsed cocktail glass.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Whitley Neil gin and Pacifique absinthe.

The old fashioned seemed the perfect vehicle for the mulled apple cider syrup. The syrup's combination of fruit and spice propelled me toward barrel-aged spirits. Because of the many successful drinks pairing rye and apple brandy, rye was my first choice. But then again, I don't need an excuse to make a rye old fashioned. Unfortunately, this was not the best choice, as the apple flavors were easily overwhelmed. Though the drink was lovely, it could have just as easily been made with a cinnamon or clove syrup--not the ideal situation. I then tried brandy and a mellow rum and both were quite successful. At first the spices in the syrup came across strongest, but over time hints of apple started to peek out.

Variation on a Rum Old Fashioned

2 ounces rum
2 teaspoons mulled apple cider syrup
1 dash orange bitters

Combine syrup and bitters in a rocks glass. Add a large chunk of ice and pour in the rum. Stir to combine. Garnish with an orange peel. Optional: add an absinthe rinse to the glass before building the drink. 
 Notes on Ingredients: I used Plantation 5-year rum, Fee's barrel-aged orange bitters. I rinsed the glass with Pacifique absinthe.

As I started experimenting, I quickly discovered just how delicate my syrups were. For example, aquavit's more savory anise and caraway worked really well with the mulled syrup's warm cloves and cinnamon, but the apple completely disappeared. The apple cider syrup only acted as a sweetener. So I decided to utilize more delicate flavors. Gin softened with vermouth or sherry was much more successful. And a friend of mine recently discovered that the mulled apple cider syrup added a nice touch when used in a Manhattan. Adding vermouth or dry ingredients seemed to be the key to creating a successful cocktail.

Touch of Apple

1 1/2 ounces gin
3/4 ounce manzanilla sherry
1/2 ounce apple cider syrup
1/4 ounce Calisaya liqueur 
 Combine ingredients in an ice-filled mixing glass. Stir and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with a lemon twist.

Notes on Ingredients: I used No. 3 gin and Lustau dry manzanilla sherry.

A Look at Apple Brandy: Moving Past the Spice

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

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

Fruity

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

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

Lord Lambourne

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

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

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

Savory

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

Mela Seleri (inspired by Brian Lee, Canon)

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

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

Herbal

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

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

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

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

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

Barrel-Aging Cocktails: El Presidente

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

El Presidente (Wayne Curtis, LOST magazine) 

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

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

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

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

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

El Presidente (Randall house version)

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

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

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

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

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

Bittering Up the Classics: The Palmetto

Lately I have been all but obsessed with bittering up classic cocktail recipes. Though this may just be a consequence of having recently acquired a bunch of amari and quinquinas, almost all of my cocktail experiments have included something bitter. Recently, the Palmetto Cocktail in general has garnered a lot of attention in this respect. Simply a rum Manhattan, its recipe is relatively easy to manipulate in a variety of directions. Besides, the intersection of rum and either an amaro or fortified wine almost always yields interesting, tasty results.  

Recently, I found myself craving a brown, bitter stirred cocktail. My thoughts instantly went to the Palmetto. Mind you, I wasn't looking for some extensive experiment, just a simple tasty three-ingredient cocktail. But when I opened the refrigerator, I discovered that I had run out of sweet vermouth. I was even out of Punt e Mes. This was unsettling on many levels. As I cautiously eyed the dry vermouth, I noticed inspiration hiding behind the sherry: half a bottle of Bonal. Eureka!

Though it is relatively new to the United States, Bonal has been around since 1885. Quinquinas like Bonal are very similar to vermouth in that they are aromatized, fortified wines, usually based on white wine or mistelle--non-fermented or partially fermented grape juice with alcohol added. What makes them different is what is then added. A variety of herbs are used in both to create the unique flavor, but generally quinquinas have a significant amount of cinchona bark. Vermouths don't usually include this ingredient, and if they do, in much smaller quantities. Vermouths, on the other hand, were known for their inclusion of wormwood--"wermut" is the German word for wormwood. This distinction has become less important over the years, though some vermouths do still utilize scant amounts of wormwood in their recipes.

Because vermouth and quinquinas are relatively similar in many ways, they can be substituted for each other in many recipes. However, the increased bitterness of a quina may require slight changes in the proportions in order to achieve the proper balance. Bonal in particular has a wonderful earthy, slightly bitter flavor. Because of this, I tend to pair it with rum, though not exclusively. I find that its earth depth plays especially well  with rum's light, slightly sweet taste.

Bitter Orange

1 1/2 ounces rum
1 1/2 ounces Bonal
1/4 Cocchi Americano
1 dash aromatic bitters
1 dash orange bitters

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

Notes on Ingredients: I used Bacardi 8, Bitter Truth Jerry Thomas Decanter bitters, and Angostura Orange bitters.

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.

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.

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.

Baguio Skin

Charles Baker tells us that he encountered the Baguio Skin when he visited Baguio City, the then summer capitol of the Philippines, or as Baker refers to it: "the rainy season retreat of civil and military Manila." Located in the cooler mountainous region, Baguio City became the seat of the American colonial government, allowing the American soldiers and officials to escape the brutal tropical heat. As for why this drink is called a "skin," that takes a little more research. Initially I was confused--I always thought "skins" were traditionally served hot and made of a spirit, hot water, lemon peel, and  sugar. But there is more to it than that.

Originally, the only difference between a toddy and a skin was the inclusion of the lemon peel. To make it even more confusing, either of these drinks could be made cold, though technically then it would have been called sling. As nothing was standardized, these terms were all used interchangeably. But even before the time of the American colonist, there was another drink typically served hot and consisting of a spirit, notably whisk(e)y, hot water, sugar, and a small amount of lemon juice--this drink was just made in larger quantities. It was called Irish whiskey (or Scotch whisky) punch. When the lemon juice was absent, this mixture was called a toddy. So long before a toddy was practically interchangeable with sling or skin, toddy was closely related to punch.

But where does all this history really get us? The Baguio Skin's name is not curious because it is cold; it is because of the bitters. If we only take into account the ingredients, this drink resembles the old fashioned, the original cocktail. So where did those bitters come from? In some ways, the evolution of single serving drinks had to go backward to go forward. At some time between the end of Prohibition and the mid-1940s, the standard recipe for a toddy changed. A modern toddy is made with a spirit, a sweetener, hot water, some form of citrus (usually in the form of the peel or a wheel of a lemon or orange), and spices, sometimes in the form of actual cloves and cinnamon and sometimes as bitters. Sounds a lot like that recipe for a hot punch to me. In a way the old fashioned is just a stripped down, spirit forward single serving form of punch. It is just too bad that it took so many years to connect the two. But I am sure it was a hell of a ride.

Baguio Skin (as adapted)

1 tsp simple syrup
2 dashes orange bitters (Angostura)
2 thin slices lime
2 ounces rum (Mount Gay)

Combine bitters and syrup in an old-fashioned glass. Add lime slices and three ice cubes. Pour in rum and stir to combine. Top with a good amount of freshly grated nutmeg.

Notes on Ingredients: The original recipe calls for Bacardi Carte de Oro but I chose Mount Gay instead.

The fragrant nutmeg practically jumped out of the glass. At first the orange bitters and the vanilla and cane of the rum dominated the flavor profile. The lime contributed a hint of sourness and bitterness, and the nutmeg sitting on top of the ice provided its pleasant aroma on each sip. With its slight hint of sweetness, the drink was extremely refreshing and the ease of putting it together just screamed out vacation tipple. As the ice melted and the limes spent more time in the rum, their flavors were pulled into the forefront. By the end the drink was crisper, dryer, and more tart, almost in a daiquiri sort of way though with a hint of orange.

Adios Amigos

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

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

Adios Amigos

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

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

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

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

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

Adios Amigos (as adapted)

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

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

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

Alamagoozlum

Halloween is my favorite time of year. Every October Tracy and I indulge in as much spooky fun as we can, and that usually means a full month of horror movies, an annual pumpkin-carving party with friends, and some sort of masquerade event. The month then culminates in an all-night horror movie marathon on Halloween night. This year we also celebrated the bounty of Fall vegetables with butternut squash & pear soup, homemade rolls, and pumpkin bread for dessert. But enough about food. For drinks, I always pick out a topical cocktail that matches our Halloween state of mind. In the past we have had Corpse Reviver No. 2s or Zombies, but this year I couldn't pass up the Alamagoozlum. Even the name evokes Halloween—perhaps it could even be some magician's curse word.

I read about the Alamagoozlum on Sloshed! last year around Halloween. It also can be found among the many gems in Ted Haigh's Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails. As far as I can tell, the original transcriber of this fabulous libation is the one and only Charles Baker. This drink is downright zany, calling for many obscure, powerful ingredients and allowing them to cohabitate in one confined area, but the composition is truly delightful, like pie in a glass. And check out those bitters. If I had remembered this drink this summer it could have fit into my series of posts on bitters! But, no regrets—this drink fits well with my Halloween theme and the flavors also highlight the warm spice flavors of Autumn.

Alamagoozlum

2 ounces genever

2 ounces water

1 1/2 ounces Jamaican rum

1 1/2 ounces yellow or green chartreuse

1 1/2 ounces simple syrup

1/2 ounce orange curacao

1/2 ounce Angostura bitters
1/2 egg white 

Dry shake all ingredients. Add ice and shake long and hard. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Note: this makes 2 large or 3 small cocktails.

Note on Ingredients: I used the Boomsma Junge genever though the Bols genever has a stronger flavor and works really well in this drink. Also, I chose green chartreuse over the mellow yellow, and Appleton served as my Jamaican rum. I also substituted triple sec for the curacao.

First of all I can't help but remarking on the color—that deep brownish red really lets you know there are a ton of bitters hanging out in your glass. Also, considering that the recipe only called for half an egg white for two drinks, there was still quite a bit of foam. The bitters are partially responsible; both the Trinidad Sour and the Alabazam have quite a bit of foam and neither one includes eggs.  The herbal chartreuse and the cloves and cinnamon of the Angostura were easily detectable in the aroma. And yes, that is exactly when you realize just how thirsty you are. As I descended through the froth, I first tasted the maltiness of the genever mingling with the spiciness of the bitters. This drink had a very rich mouth feel and was a bit sweet, though nowhere near cloying. As the drink warmed up, the chartreuse dominated each sip and lingered long after, and the juniper notes seemed to spring to life. And, though a Zombie might seem more topical, it was the perfect drink to accompany Dawn of the Dead.

Ode to Bitters: Stormy Mai-Tai

I have emptied three bottles of Angostura bitters during this summer alone! We once had a bottle of Angostura last us a couple of years when we lived in NYC. Now that we drink so many classic cocktails, we definitely go through Angostura faster, but it can still take a year to get through a bottle. Partially that is due to the sheer number of bitters that we own—so many options. On Saturday night, as I was collecting ingredients, I noticed that my bitters bottle was only half full. So, off I went on an impromptu jaunt to the local market for bitters. Tracy didn't even think a little market would have them. But there they were next to the Rose's Lime and bottled margarita mix.I think I am the only person who brings a photo ID to buy bitters. But since Angostura has a higher proof than most vodkas, you never know. Of course most people don't realize this.  Alas, the cashier didn't either and I didn't get carded.

Stormy Mai-Tai

1 1/2 ounce Angostura bitters

3/4 ounce orgeat syrup

1/4 ounce curacao

1 ounce lime juice

Preshake. Pour in to a double rocks glass and top with crushed ice. Swizzle lightly. Float light rum. Garnish with a mint sprig.

Notes on Ingredients: Plan ahead: if you are making two drinks you will use 3/4 of a bottle of Angostura. I used a 1/2-ounce float of Cruzan white rum. As we had no mint, I skipped it. Also I  substituted triple sec for the curacao.

Of all the ingredients, the rum is the most readily detectable when nosing this embittered tipple. This makes sense since it was right under my nose, being a float after all. It makes a very subtle clear rim that contrasts with the bright rusty redness underneath, though you can't tell in the picture. The smell of bitters was also apparent. But then again, I would be surprised if they weren't detectable. When sipping I first tasted the light rum, the nice lightness before falling through the citrus into the depths of cinnamon, allspice, cloves. Each sip began with the brightness of citrus coupled with a hint of almond. The end was equally the same: the complex, spicy bitters, with their unique dryness, though here for the first time, a sort of sharpness that wasn't at all unpleasant. The complexity definitely meant that this was a drink to be sipped. Weighing in at around 89 proof, the Angostura worked well as a base spirit over crushed ice. The higher proof means that Angostura can stand up to the dilution better than a lower proof spirit would. And true to form, this drink retained its strong flavor and depth even as the night wore on and the ice melted. (I am sure that the extreme flavor of the bitters contributed to this as much as the proof.) All in all this drink was very refreshing and complex with a lot of substance in each sip. It completely highlights what a heavily bittered cocktail is all about.

Now that we are at the end of our tribute to bitters, we must have a recap. What have we learned, besides the fact that heavily bittered cocktails are yummy? One thing we noticed was that heavily bittered cocktails have a unique texture. They are smoother and thicker than most cocktails but in a totally new way. Egg whites or jam when added to a cocktail also create a smooth, thick texture, but the mouth feel of a heavily bittered cocktail is quite different. These cocktails are not velvety smooth, and luscious, but instead they start off smooth and thick, and then, because of the bitters, they immediately become dry and astringent, like when you drink a wine that has a lot of tannins. These cocktails are very complex and the flavors are layered. By using such a hefty amount in an environment tempered with water, citrus, and a sweetener, the full taste of the bitters can really be appreciated. We also noted that all of these cocktails were quite foamy, as if half of an egg white had been added. Conclusions aside, what fun we have had pushing our expectations and boundaries and tasting something new and different. For me, at least, that is part of the joy of drinking cocktails.