Sazerac

The moment I first tasted a Sazerac something inside clicked and I knew nothing would ever be the same. Even though several years have passed, I know exactly where I was and the circumstances. It is the same for many people. The Sazerac just does that to people.

On a Christmas Eve many years ago, when I was just starting to delve into all things cocktail, Tracy's dad was telling me about a magical drink he had consumed once upon a time in New Orleans. In his tale, a bartender expertly flipped Herbsaint into the air to coat a cocktail glass before adding the brilliant pink-tinged whiskey. Such a presentation certainly influenced him, as I am sure it did many others. The bottle of Herbsaint now residing in his liquor cabinet is a testament to the drink's impression. That is how I first heard of the Sazerac. But there is more—with classic cocktails there is always more.

A myth proclaims the Sazerac the very first cocktail, though this is not true. However, though the Sazerac was popularized sometime in the 1850s in New Orleans, it is actually a variation of the original cocktail, now known as the Old Fashioned, consisting of a spirit, bitters, sugar, and some water (usually as ice). The early Sazerac (cognac, sugar, Peychaud's bitters), notably without the absinthe rinse, firmly fits into this category. The bitters made it unique. Antoine Amedie Peychaud, Sr. brought his secret family recipe for the bitters with him when he fled Haiti. But it was his son, Antoine Amedie Peychaud, Jr., who made them famous. By the late 1830s, Peychaud was producing his bitters just down the street from what would become the Sazerac Coffee House, where the house cocktail was the Sazerac, thus named because it used Sazerac-de-Forge et Fils cognac.

In the 1870s when the phylloxxera epidemic essentially wiped out the vineyards in Europe, cognac became hard to find. Americans' tastes were forced to change to the local, more readily available rye, and so it became the base of a Sazerac. As absinthe became more fashionable, the absinthe rinse was introduced. When absinthe became illegal in 1915, pastis was used as a substitute. But after Prohibition, a new anise-flavored spirit Herbsaint, created and manufactured by New Orleans natives, became a key ingredient.

Of course I knew nothing about the cocktail's long history as I prepared for our next visit to Tracy's parents' house. I came equipped with a recipe and a fresh bottle of Peychaud's bitters and Sazeracs were on the menu (although, I had no plans to toss Herbsaint in the air). If you have no idea what you are doing, Sazeracs are quite complicated. With my cocktail glasses packed with ice, I remember muddling the bitters and sugar with the back of a butter knife. Then I added Bourbon, probably Maker's Mark of all things, and ice. I stirred and strained this into my Herbsaint-rinsed martini glasses and inexpertly broke several lemon twists before plopping them in. I can hear the purists cringing at my beginner's mistakes, which were many. But there is a lesson
here . . . even though I made a barely recognizable Sazerac, it was still the best thing I had ever tasted.

Now, looking back on those early days in home bartending, I have to smile. We all have to start somewhere, and I know that the importance lies on whether what ends up in the glass tastes good. I am no purist. I believe that a recipe can change, that substitutions are sometimes necessary, and that expensive booze isn't always the best way to solve a problem. But there are some things that just taste better the old way, and taste is everything. And the truth is, at least in our house, rye is better than bourbon, syrup is easier than sugar, and if you want more lemon oils in your drink, throw that twist in. And the glass, well if it is clean, use it. But if it's not pretty, don't take a picture.

Sazerac

2 ounces quality rye

1/2 ounce simple syrup

2-4 dashes Peychaud's bitters

Herbsaint

In a mixing glass, stir rye, syrup and bitters. Rinse a chilled whiskey glass, or rocks glass, with Herbsaint and add rye-syrup-bitters mixture. Express the oils from a strip of lemon peel over the drink and coat the rim. Lose the twist.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Templeton Rye and Herbsaint Legendre.

The Ups and Downs of Champagne

 Half-opened bottles of champagne are a joy and a curse. I am not afraid to say it. It all begins innocently enough. First some cocktail recipe sparks your interest, and the next thing you know you are mentally rearranging your refrigerator to accommodate a bottle of bubbly. For me, it was the Jaguar, a tiki drink created in Seattle in 1955. This drink stands out because it uses so many unusual ingredients and one of them is champagne. Now maybe you are thinking: Is she crazy? Tiki drinks usually include at least three ounces of rum (or other equally potent things), and combining that with a champagne top is madness. And you are right, it is madness. Glorious tasty madness. So, there I am in the middle of the wine/beer aisle at my local PCC, the teardrop bottle enclosed with its festive foil calling to me, and I swear I can hear the pop of the cork in the distance. But alas . . . they don't have any half bottles (or at least not in my price range) and all I need is a champagne top. Could I go to another store, hunt down a half-bottle of sparkly? Sure, but I won't. I leave the store with a 750 of champagne and a skip in my step, my mind full of tiki. All is good.

adapted Jaguar

1 ounce lime juice

2 ounces dark Jamaican rum

2 ounce champagne

1/4 ounce brandy

1/4 ounce orgeat syrup

1/4 ounce simple syrup
1 teaspoon sloe gin
1 teaspoon Cointreau
1 teaspoon creme de cacao
1 teaspoon port
1 teaspoon sweet vermouth

Pour all ingredients, except champagne, into a tall frosted glass packed with crushed ice. Stir to chill. Add champagne. Garnish elaborately in tiki manner. 

But then tiki night has passed. The tiki mugs have been returned to their place in the cabinet The ice crusher is stashed back on the shelf. But the champagne sits forlorn in the refrigerator door jammed in next to vermouths and syrups, a champagne saver strapped to its top and only four ounces missing. I feel guilty every time I need jam or butter, or even water, seeing it there steadily losing flavor, and, well, sparkle. Such a curse is the already opened bottle of champagne!

The race is on, can I use it before it gets flat and loses all flavor. Some people would just drink it. But not in our house. A open bottle of champagne holds endless amounts of possibility—we don't just stock bubbly for rainy days (though considering how many rainy days we do have, that would be wonderful). All week I plot, keeping my fingers crossed that I actually got that top on tight enough, that maybe there will still be some bubbles left. So many options: Morning Glory, French 75, Seelbach, Airmail, Old Cuban, Sazerac Royale. and that is just off the top of my head. 

With plans to go out on Friday, we will have to kill the bottle while we are home on Saturday night. The Seelbach has won out. But there is still half a bottle left after. The race begins again: reseal, refrigerate, cross those fingers. And then I came across this:

adapted Mexican 75

1 ounce tequila (reposado)

1/2 ounce lime juice

1/2 ounce agave nectar

Shake ingredients in an ice-filled shaker. Strain into a chilled champagne flute. Top with 4 ounce of champagne and add a lime twist.

Notes on Ingredients: The original recipe calls for blanco tequila, I used Milagro reposado instead.

I had never had tequila with champagne before. So I commandeered Tracy's cocktail-making night; it seemed the reasonable thing to do.

The smell of agave and lime dominated the aroma. The first taste was dry and though there are four ounces of champagne the tequila's warm earthy spices were able to shine through. As the drink warmed up the lime juice became more apparent and added a nice brightness. The aging of the reposado brought certain caramel notes to the drink that worked really well to make the agave nectar shine. Using a blanco in this drink is like using a blanco in a margarita, it keeps the drink refreshing and light, perfect for summer. But with the addition of the reposado, and its fuller flavor, the drink became more robust and would stand up to even a colder night. The drink was a very nice, simple combination of sour and sweet, dry and herbal, but it will never replace a French 75, which is one of my favorite drinks. This would be a wonderful variation for a someone who doesn't like gin, or who alternatively is kind of wary of tequila. But all in all, it certainly took care of that champagne.