Looking Inside the Cooler: Charles Baker's Colonial Cooler

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Barrel-Aging Cocktails: 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.

Port and Raw Eggs: The Broken Spur

Raw egg yolks. Once upon a time that idea stopped me cold. It didn't matter if it was breakfast or dinner, I was not going anywhere near that thick gelatinous yellow goo. Just watching anyone sop up yolk with their toast was enough to turn me from my own breakfast. Once again cocktails came to my rescue. How was I supposed to experience the classics if I was squeamish about raw eggs? My first breakthrough came with a Pink Lady, where I discovered the wonder of egg whites. It was delicious: smooth, creamy, tart, and boozy all at once. Since then I have consumed a number of cocktails with egg whites. I have even ventured into the world of flips, which helped me learn to appreciate the entire egg. But until the Broken Spur, cocktails that used only the yolks were still undiscovered territory. Once again, it seems that Mr. Baker was going to provide me with a way to escape my comfort zone.

Not many cocktails include only the yolks. Far more use the whites, which makes sense as they add a foamy buoyancy not unlike meringue to a drink. But what do the egg yolks do? They do froth, or at least something in there creates a foamy top. They do add a certain velvety texture. I would imagine it is the same as when raw egg is added to a carbonara to make it all creamy and rich. Most egg yolk drinks seem to fall into the categories of pousse-cafe, some type of golden fizz, or a dessert drink. I am assuming that the Broken Spur would fall into the latter category, especially considering many of those drinks include brandy, Madeira or port as well the egg yolk. The inclusion of gin is perhaps the only thing that separates the Broken Spur.

But it isn't just the egg yolk that makes the Broken Spur so interesting. The Broken Spur seems to have originated in the 1930s, or thereabouts, as I could only find it in cocktail books from that time: Barflies and Cocktails (1927), the Savoy (1930), and Boothby's 1934 reprint. The proportions match up, which is kind of amazing, considering that any cocktail in the Gentleman's Companion seems to be enormous and suspiciously filled with anise. But where Baker details "port wine" as the base, a very general designation, every other recipe calls for white port instead. I used a tawny port because that is what I have, but if I had used a white port the Broken Spur would have been incredibly different. White port and tawny port are about as opposite as can be.

Tawny ports are made from red grapes that are fermented into wine and then fortified with grape spirits to halt that fermentation process. The they are aged in barrels and then blended in a fractional method that is like the solera method used to make sherry. Tawny ports are usually older than white and ruby ports when they get to market, and they are known for their raisin and nutty flavors. White ports are made from white grapes and may or may not have any contact with a barrel, though they are all aged to some extent.  They can vary in flavor from dry to sweet and are known for having delicate nutty flavors that are more like a dry sherry than the darker ports, though white ports do tend to be fruitier and richer than most dry sherries. As you can imagine, this would make quite a difference as the base of a cocktail. As I did even more research into this discrepancy, it seems that Baker's version is the only one that does not call specifically for white port.

Broken Spur

3/4 ounce gin
3/4 ounce sweet vermouth
1 1/2 ounces port
1 tsp anisette
1 egg yolk

Dry shake ingredients. Shake again with ice. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with a pinch of ground ginger.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Plymouth gin, punt e mes and a tawny port. I also substituted Sambuca for the anisette.

This was a very surprising cocktail. The aroma was full of the berry, raisiny notes of the port mingling with the ginger. On the first sip, the port was also dominant. Though the drink was very dry, it also had an almost chocolaty flavor, which was both pleasant and intriguing. The egg yolk created a smooth, rich consistency and a thick foam. The punt e mes added a slight bitterness throughout ,and as my mouth became more accustomed to the flavors, the botanics of the gin were more prominent. The raisin flavors of the port were back on the after taste. The anisette contributed its licorice flavors near the end of each sip, but they were not overly pronounced. This drink was exceptionally good and very refreshing and I would highly recommend making this drink when you find yourself with some extra egg yolks. I can almost imagine myself sitting next to Mr. Baker as he contemplates fiancees and Jenghis Khan in a cave behind a statesman's house in 1932 Peking.

Adventures with Creme de Menthe: the Barry Cocktail

Some flavor combinations are beyond my understanding. Most of the time, I try it anyway, because that is how we learn, and sometimes learning is surprisingly tasty. Charles Baker has inevitably, though grudgingly taught me this. I never would have guessed at how well the combination of caraway and brandy works, though that pairing is not Earth shattering. Or honey, scotch and cream--I am actually very glad I tried that one. Generally, I would not be considered the most adventurous person when it comes to what I put in my mouth. So when Charles Baker says that he is only including it "through clinical mixing interest," the physical sensations of panic start in my knees and reverberate slowly upward. If the other weird things I have tasted were included sincerely, where do I put the cocktail that even Charles Baker doesn't want to drink? This man drank everything, or at least tried it. Hell, he was a real adventurer, not just a flavor adventurer.

In my copy of Jigger Beaker and Glass, the recipe for the Barry Cocktail is broken over two pages. You actually have to flip the page to read the second half. So I was there--totally there--when Baker was describing a sweet martini with aromatic bitters. I thought his statement regarding clinical mixing interest was included because the recipe was comparatively mundane and simple. Sometimes those cocktails are the best, and his description had my mouth watering. Sweet vermouth happens to be one of my favorite ingredients. But, with Baker you should always reserve judgment, both for good and evil--there is always a "but" and usually it is huge. True enough, when I flipped the page, my hopes were dashed with three little words: creme de menthe.

I don't particularly like creme de menthe. Maybe it's because most brands are notoriously bad, or because the drinks that call for it are usually incredibly sweet. Or maybe it's because once you drink creme de menthe, your taste buds are done--at least for a while. Nothing tastes the same. Well, that sounds like three strikes to me. But I digress.

The major problem with the Barry wasn't the ingredients. Are they surprising? Yes. Not particularly appetizing? Sure. But considering some of the other Baker cocktails, after the initial shock, all it registered was a shrug. A few sips never hurt anyone, especially for the sake of knowledge. The real problem was that I don't own any creme de menthe, and I really have no need to. And considering that I don't really like it, don't cook in general (no grasshopper pie for me), and realistically have no room for it, this was a very real issue. So off I went to purchase a mini bottle--after all I only needed a half a teaspoon. Washington state liquor stores, however, don't stock minis of creme de menthe. Malibu rum, check. But no creme de menthe. I was doomed to buy a bottle. But then something wonderful happened. As I was sitting next to a friend at the Zig Zag, and complaining about this very conundrum, my friend looked up at me with a smile and said, "I have some creme de menthe. How much do you need?" It is a wonderful thing to have friends who love cocktails.

Barry Cocktail (as interpreted)

2 ounces gin
1 ounce sweet vermouth
2 dashes Angostura Bitters
1/2 tsp creme de menthe

Stir first three ingredients in a chilled mixing glass. Strain into a chilled coupe. Float (sink) creme de menthe. Twist a lemon peel over top and discard.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Plymouth gin, Martini & Rossi sweet vermouth, and Hiram Walker Green creme de menthe.

Baker does not supply any proportions for this drink: "It is exactly the same as a Martini, but using Italian vermouth instead of the dry French type." Martinis in 1926 were not constructed in the same way they are now. Vermouth was much more popular. I took a flying leap and decided to use a 2:1 martini recipe, which may or may not be too wet. Also, Baker didn't specify white creme de menthe or green, but beggars can't be choosers. I figured with such a small amount it wouldn't matter that much.

Because the creme de menthe sunk to the bottom, I had to practically drink the entire cocktail to really experience the range of flavors this drink provides. Getting there wasn't unenjoyable, either. But once I did sip my way into that waiting green pool--ew, and down the sink it went. Onto the specifics. The aroma of the lemon oils and the botanics of the gin greeted my nose. The juniper of the gin hinted with lemon dominated the first sip. Sweet vermouth was by far the most dominant ingredient. The juniper reappeared on the swallow, along with the heat of the alcohol. This libation reminded me of a London dry Martinez, of course missing the sweetness and funky notes of the maraschino. As I progressed, the taste of the mint started to creep into the flavor spectrum. This wasn't completely unpleasant, either. The mint played nicely off the herbals in a very delicate way, and even then mostly in the aftertaste. When I did reach the pool of green, the mint took over, much like a large dose of absinthe. The drink was completely unbalanced, which was a major flaw. But what killed this combination was the strong taste of mint, like gum or mints or even toothpaste, with the sweet vermouth chaser. Not good.
Barry Cocktail (as adapted)

2 ounces gin
1 ounce Punt e Mes
2 dashes Angostura bitters
5 drops mint bitters

Stir ingredients in a chilled mixing glass. Strain into a chilled coupe. Garnish with a lemon twist.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Plymouth gin and Punt e mes, because I ran out of the Martini & Rossi, and its what I like.

To update this drink I was hoping to highlight the flavors that I had found enjoyable in the original. At one point, I could have easily consumed the Barry Cocktail, if only its flavors had stayed consistent. I decided on a sweet Martini with additional mint bitters. But how much is too much? At first I tried 2 dashes but that tiny amount of mint easily undermined any balance. So I tried 5 drops. The nose was full of the lemon oils and the herbal wine smells of the Punt e Mes. The first sips accurately reflected up those aromas. The gin provided a certain dryness and even more herbal notes. The spice of the Angostura, as well as the mint flavors, came through at the end, with the mint providing a refreshing aftertaste. This drink was not just interesting, it was incredibly tasty. I would easily drink this again.

The one thing that this exploration of Baker's book has taught me so far is that you never know what combinations will work. Usually his initial recipes are a bit out there, but they always seem to open my eyes to some new flavor possibility. This drink made me nervous. But in the end, I discovered something about incorporating strong mint flavors, and I had a really enjoyable cocktail. Also, it made me even more thankful for my friends with stocked liquor cabinets.

So Much Absinthe: Firpo's Balloon

What is it about a full jigger of absinthe that so intrigued Charles Baker? While tastes have changed since the late 1930s, especially those regarding sweetness, Mr. Baker's fascination with all things involving heaping amounts of absinthe befuddles me. As someone who used recently learned to enjoy all things licorice-flavored, I can completely appreciate the beauty that hints of anise bring to so many classic cocktails, such as the Morning Glory, the Sazerac, or any Improved Cocktail. I can even understand the joys of a  Suissesse, Absinthe cocktail, Absinthe frappe, or any other cocktail that is wholly centered on the unique flavor profile of absinthe. But what I can't grasp is why anyone would make a cocktail with all these other substantial ingredients and then add so much absinthe to it that nothing else could be tasted. If you want an absinthe-based drink, have an absinthe drip.

Firpo's Balloon is one of Baker's more notorious drinks in this respect. Baker collected many extremely tasty libations like the Remember the Maine, the Jimmie Roosevelt, and the Hotel Nacional Special, which have turned many cocktail enthusiasts into hard-core Baker aficionados. But it is usually the Balloon, or one of the other drinks like it, that marks the time where the fascination begins to wane. Firpo's Balloon is one of those cocktails that creates skepticism, if not outright contempt. You don't even have to drink it to know something is wrong. The recipe provides all you need to know; we attempted it anyway.

Firpo's Balloon Cocktail (mildly adapted)

1 jigger rye (1 ounce)

 1 jigger sweet vermouth (1 ounce)
1 jigger absinthe (1/2 ounce)
2 dashes orange bitters
1 1/2 teaspoons egg white


Dry shake ingredients. Add ice to shaker and shake again. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Pray.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Pikesville rye, Martini & rossi vermouth, and Angostura orange bitters.

The original recipe calls for an entire jigger of absinthe. I just couldn't do it. The point was made just as thoroughly with half the amount. This cocktail smelled and tasted heavily of absinthe. None of the other ingredients could puncture this hard steel casing of absinthe. I wasn't surprised. But sometimes a drink can provide a cocktail geek like me with something beyond the mere exploration of flavors. It's hard to admit, but I have actually been looking forward to this drink for quite some time. For the nature of experimentation, I assure you. Before Firpo's Balloon, I had never tasted, or for that matter ever heard of, a cocktail that included egg white, and that did not also include some form of citrus. Egg white cocktails almost always call for some form of lemon or lime juice because the acids help stabilize that beautiful characteristic foam. I was very curious to see what happened when egg white was called for in a cocktail consisted entirely of, well, alcohol. Result: given the small amount of egg white, only a very little foam appeared. In contrast to most egg white drinks, the Balloon's texture was not velvety--in fact, it was quite grainy. And thus, our ultimate conclusions were: it tasted one-dimensional and the mouth feel made it undrinkable. Alas, a sink donation.

When I first really looked at the ingredients in an effort to salvage the Balloon, I felt very optimistic. Vermouth, rye and bitters--hello Manhattan variation. By significantly decreasing the absinthe, this drink is absolutely wonderful. In fact it could be considered a close relative of William Schmidt's Manhattan recipe in The Flowing Bowl. The differences are small but significant, my variation of Baker's Balloon will include some amount of egg white, and Schmidt uses gum syrup and maraschino. This similarity aside, a Manhattan with absinthe sounded fabulous to me. The question became--how much egg white do I use? I decided to see what would happen if I used the same amount of egg white that I would use in a whiskey sour.

Firpo's Balloon Cocktail (as adapted, trial #1)

2 ounces rye
1 ounce sweet vermouth
3 dashes absinthe
2 dashes orange bitters
1/2 egg white

Dry shake ingredients. Add ice and shake again . Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

The drink looked gorgeous, almost like coffee ice cream with a big layer of foam. The aroma smelled of anise mingling with the rich herbal notes of the vermouth. Each sip started with the flavors of the absinthe and vermouth, again herbal and rich. The flavor of the rye created the perfect foundation and rounded out the flavors. The orange hints and dryness of the bitters came through at the end before the vermouth and the absinthe mellowed into the aftertaste. The texture was the real star--a creamy, velvety Manhattan with a touch of anise. Unfortunately, it was too good to last. About halfway through, I noticed particles sinking to the bottom of the glass. As it turned out, with all of that booze, the egg white just wouldn't stay together. Back to the drawing board.

Firpo's Balloon Cocktail (as adapted, trial #2)

2 ounces rye
1 ounce sweet vermouth
3 dashes absinthe
2 dashes angostura bitters
2 teaspoons egg white

Dry shake ingredients. Add ice and shake again. Strain into chilled cocktail glass.

I didn't change anything except for the amount of egg white and the bitters. I went back to the original amount for the egg white and found that such a small amount is exactly what this cocktail needs. While it wasn't as pretty as the last--the color was not as rich and no real foam appeared--it did not separate. The smell and taste were very similar to that above. I did replace the orange bitters with aromatic on the fly, which was a welcome addition. The spiciness came through on the aftertaste and really brought the idea of the Manhattan to the forefront. The texture was still creamy and smooth, though less so, as expected. All in all, a worthwhile experiment, with a very tasty cocktail at experiment's end. Now I feel like Mr. Baker's words will work: "This is another one to watch cannily lest our pedal extremities fold up at some totally inappropriate moment." Indeed!

The Intersection of Gin and Rye: the Chauncey

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Left: Waldorf version; right: cocktaildb.com

Chauncey (cocktaildb.com)

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

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

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

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

Chauncey (Dave Shenaut version)

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

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

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

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.

Fin de Siècle Cocktail

This Memorial Day weekend was very wet. It seems to be like this every year. The rain drizzles down the windows, the clouds make a fortress against the sun, and a slight breeze whistles past the windows--just enough to bring goose bumps to your arms. With weather like this, Tracy and I curl up under a blanket and put in a movie. This is some riveting spring weather! Seattle is famous for having cold and wet Memorial Day weekends. The city empties as its residents flock to other locales in the hope of finding that faint glimmer of summer that is still months away. With our cats nearby, three red Netflix envelopes newly arrived in the mail, and blankets at the ready, we fortified ourselves with this classic cocktail from the 1920s, the Fin de Siècle.

Fin de Siècle Cocktail

1 1/2 ounces English dry gin (Martin Miller's*)

3/4 ounce sweet vermouth (Punt e mes)

1/4 amer Boudreau

1 dash orange bitters (Regan's)

Stir in an ice-filled mixing glass

Strain into a chilled cocktail glass

The aroma is full of orange notes and cucumber, provided by the Martin Miller's. Hints of juniper and clove round out the nose, though the sharp bitterness of the amer is also detectable. The flavor of bitter oranges and Martin Miller's inherent spiciness dominate the flavor profile. The finish, though, is full of the herbal complexity of the amer and the very different spiciness of the punt e mes. The faintest taste of cucumbers lingers after every sip. This is one hearty, full-bodied drink. It is dry with a hint of bitterness, and the spiciness of the punt e mes works well with the robust flavors of the gin, particularly the black pepper and cloves. I think that the boldness of the Miller's works especially well in this drink, as its strong flavors play well with the amer, bringing its a rich caramel flavors, and both are tempered, and enhanced, by the interplay of the punt e mes.

*Stevi Deter of Two at Most had the great idea of using Miller's gin in this cocktail, and what a great idea it was. My palate says thanks for the info.

Adventures in Tequila (part 1)

I used to be indifferent to tequila. Early in my drinking career , I couldn’t stand tequila and the lack of choices never really compelled me to change my mind. With the tequila shots, the tequila slammers and lackluster margaritas—watered down, over-salted monsters consisting of powdered sour mix and cheap, rough spirits—more often than not I just passed. A lot of things have changed since those days. A tequila slammer still doesn’t sound all that appetizing, but oh, how the landscape of options has changed. My relationship with tequila really began to change a couple of summers ago when Tracy and I went to a local Mexican restaurant. This restaurant has a substantial list of tequilas, and because of that they offer tequila flights. There is simply no better way to really explore a new spirit than to have a flight. I remember it was a Chinaco flight, blanco, reposado and anejo. Though my mouth wasn’t accustomed to the flavors, the experience was an eye-opener and I was determined to learn more. Now not only is tequila one of my favorite cocktail ingredients, I have also become enamored with mescal. Lucky for me, and everyone else as well, tequila has recently taken off in popularity in many craft cocktail bars. New tequila concoctions show up on bar menus and the Internet with regularity, and all of them push far beyond the classic margarita or paloma. Bartenders are pairing the different types of tequila with herbal liqueurs, bitter digestivos, and wine-based aperitifs to create new flavor combinations that are not only unexpected but also delicious. Last weekend Tracy and I focused our cocktail attention on some of those tequila cocktails that utilize some of those unusual ingredients. On Friday, we started with the Rosita.

Rosita

1 1/2 ounce reposado tequila (Milagro)
1/2 ounce Dry Vermouth (Noilly Pratt)
1/2 ounce sweet vermouth (Martini & Rossi)
1/2 ounce Campari

In a mixing glass filled with ice, stir ingredients. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass and garnish with a lemon twist (I used a Meyer)

This cocktail is beautiful, though I am sure the picture doesn’t do it justice. The Campari provides the bright red color and I am sure that the sweet vermouth just deepens it. The aroma is filled with the oils of the Meyer lemon twist, though I could also detect the faintest hint of tequila. Tracy didn’t find that the tequila stood out in the aroma, but instead she detected the familiar herbs of the Campari. As we dove in, the taste of the citrus was the first thing we noted. The bold flavors of the Campari and the reposado dominated soon thereafter, and remained potent even as the drink warmed up. I could only faintly detect the grape flavor of the vermouth in the aftertaste. Overall the drink was great, but we both thought it was a bit less complex than some others we have had. The flavors just didn’t evolve as much over the course of the cocktail—not that it wasn’t a tasty aperitif. The Rosita is a perfect aperitif, dry and refreshing, just what is needed in a preprandial. The combination of the smoky tequila, the bitterness of the Campari, and the spike of brightness from the citrus was exceptionally tasty.

The next drink we tried I found on Chuck Taggert's blog, Looka! The Broadway Theatre District Cocktail was a winner in a cocktail contest in Los Angeles where all of the entries were named for local neighborhoods. One of the more interesting contest rules was that the cocktails could not include citrus juice.

Broadway Theatre District Cocktail

2 ounces anejo tequila (Corralejo)
3/4 ounce bianco vermouth (Dolin)
1/4 ounce Benedictine
1 dash grapefruit bitters (Fee's)
1 dash Xocolatl bitters (Bittermens)

Stir ingredients in an ice-filled mixing glass. Strain into an absinthe-rinsed cocktail glass. Garnish with a flamed orange peel.

This cocktail has a translucent golden glow that reminds me of straw. The aroma is full of citrus, which makes sense since I can actually see the oils from the twist right on the surface. There is also the distinct smell of anise and the herbs from the Benedictine and vermouth. Tracy noted that she could also detect the cactus smell of the anejo. On first sip, the tequila dominates the flavors. The cocktail's creamy texture also stands out and it provides a rich, velvety mouth feel. The bianco vermouth and Benedictine combine with the tequila to produce a complex sweetness that is nowhere near cloying. In fact it is downright refreshing considering the potential for sweetness in those two elements. The anejo provides the backbone of the drink, and the orange oils and herbal notes are expertly layered on top of it. The mellow anise of the absinthe rinse and smoky tequila linger after each sip. We both thought this drink was complex and well-balanced, a definite winner. It is no surprise though that the tequila-Benedictine pairing worked so well after stumbling on the Nouveau Carré. This is just another tasty example. Now all I need to do is learn how to flame an orange peel and we will really be in business.