A Sour for Every Pisco: Mixing with Aromatic Pisco

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

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

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

Canela Sour

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

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

Notes on Ingredients: I used Rivadeneyra pisco.

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

Rouge Anyone? Repurposing Oxidized Wine

My liquor collection is a monstrosity. Over a year ago I changed apartments and discovered that I had amassed a collection that filled over 35 liquor boxes. And that is not counting the assorted glassware, tools, spare bottles, and cocktail books that I own. Unfortunately, there are pitfalls of growing such a collection--a fact I was made aware of when I started packing up bottles. In the very back of one cabinet I discovered an open bottle of Lillet rouge. The bottle was dusty and who knew how long it had been sitting there in that dark corner, oxidizing steadily with each passing hour. Obviously, it was ruined. In the haste of packing I simply shoved it into a box to be dealt with later. But when I was unpacking I rediscovered it, and for some reason I chose not to dump it down the drain. Perhaps it could still be useful.

Inspiration arrived soon enough. While out on the town one night, I overheard someone referring to the New York Sour. This drink is just your basic whiskey sour with a float of dry red wine--usually a Syrah or a Malbec. At that moment, however, I thought back to my poor ruined Lillet. And while there was no way to use the product as is to top off a sour, I started wondering what would happen if I made the Lillet rouge into a syrup? Then I started wondering how it would taste if I mulled the wine first to help cover up the oxidized flavor. If a wine-topped whiskey sour works so well, and it does, why not use a spiced wine syrup instead of the wine and simple syrup components? I wasn't sure if the Lillet would even make a good syrup, oxidized as it was. An experiment seemed to be a better solution than just dumping the contents. And I am glad that I did.

Acela Sour

2 ounces of bourbon
1 ounce lemon juice
1 ounce Lillet syrup
1 scant dash simple syrup
1 egg white

Dry shake ingredients with the coil of the Hawthorne strainer. Add ice and shake again. Strain ingredients into a chilled old-fashioned glass.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Buffalo Trace bourbon.

Cocktail Geekery: In truth this is really a cross between the Boston Sour and the New York Sour. Boston Sours are notorious for their inclusion of egg whites. They can of course be left out, just make sure to double check the sweet-sour balance before adding the egg whites. The creaminess of the whites tames sourness. if more sweetener is required, correct, if necessary, with plain simple syrup. The Lillet syrup is dryer and more bitter and will only further upend the balance.

Mulled Lillet Syrup

3-5 cloves
2 cinnamon sticks
1 large orange peel
1 cup Lillet
1 cup sugar
1 ounce overproof vodka

Crush cinnamon sticks and cloves. In a small saucepan add spices, peel and Lillet and heat over low for about an hour. Strain Lillet into a measuring cup. Add sugar in equal measure. Whisk until no granules appear at the bottom of your bowl. Let resulting syrup cool to room temperature, and add vodka (or other overproof spirit) to preserve. Store in the refrigerator.

A Gin Milkshake: Charles Baker's Cafe de Paris Cocktail

Some cocktail recipes just scream off the page, "I am wonderful. Make me now!" And then there are the ones that don't look like they would work on paper but are amazing in actuality. The Blood and Sand instantly comes to mind. Many of the drink descriptions in the Gentleman's Companion, mingled as they are with narrative, evoke a history that most people couldn't even imagine--exotic ports of call, palaces, underground caves--except perhaps in the world of celluloid. The Cafe de Paris is not, however, one of those showstopping cocktails. Never did I look at the recipe and think that it was going to knock my socks off. But sometimes there is a hidden story hidden that makes the entire experience that much more interesting. The Cafe de Paris actually became more vibrant the more I explored its possible history and it took me on a journey all its own.

Charles Baker offers little in the way of beginnings. He states that the cocktail is "from 'MONTE,' a place well-mentioned in our previous volume on foods; sampled first in 1931." Considering that I do not own Knife, Fork and Spoon, his note is a bit of a dead end, especially since "MONTE" is curiously vague, and the date means little even in context. The Cafe de Paris is also curiously absent from many of the cocktail guides that I own. The volumes where it has been collected are the Savoy Cocktail Guide (1930), Boothby's 1934 reprint the World's Drink and How to Mix Them, and Harry McElhone's Barflies and Cocktails (1927). But it is in this last source where we find our first real clue, as McElhone includes, "Recipe from the Cafe de Paris, Broadway, New York."

Located at the corner of Forty-Second Street and Seventh Avenue in the heart of Times Square, the Cafe de Paris, originally named the Cafe de L'Opera, opened its doors in December 1909. One of the most opulent hotels of the time, it was designed in an "Assyrian" style, stood eight stories tall and contained a twenty-foot wide staircase outfitted with crouching bronze Assyrian lions. Decadent, indeed. But unfortunately, a mandatory formal dress code and poor service (dishes often arrived cold) proved to be its undoing. By 1910, Louis Martin, one of the successful owners of the Martin Cafe, had entered the picture to attempt a  rescue mission. After his intervention, the restaurant/lounge became one of the most popular cabarets before World War I started. Vernon and Irene Castle, who popularized modern ballroom dancing for American audiences, made their debut at the Cafe de Paris's height in 1912. Their story was later immortalized on the silver screen in the Story of Vernon and Irene Castle, starring Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. However, even the Castles' success could not permanently save the Cafe de Paris. Louis Martin resigned in 1914 and the Cafe de Paris soon closed its doors forever.

But that still doesn't connect all of the dots. How did a recipe from the Cafe de Paris make its way into a cocktail manual written in 1927, almost ten years after it closed? What's even more curious is that this cocktail didn't find its way into Robert Vermiere's Cocktails: Here's How written in 1923? Could it be that Harry McElhone himself provides the key? Harry McElhone is most famous for Harry's New York Bar, which he bought in 1923. Located in Paris, it is still open today. Before he relocated, Harry could be found behind the stick at Ciro's Club where he landed after World War I ended in 1918. But in 1912, when the Castles were dancing their way into America's hearts in the Tenderloin district of New York City, where was our man Harry? Just seventeen blocks north, bartending at the famous Oak Bar at the Plaza Hotel.

Unfortunately, this is where the trail runs cold. There is no formal link between Harry McElhone in 1912, when he had newly arrived at the Plaza Hotel in 1911 and the Cafe de Paris cocktail. It is very likely though that during his stint in New York he would have come across the Cafe de Paris cocktail at some point. Even today drink recipes tend to travel around cities and among bartenders. But there is no reason to believe that the Cafe de Paris cocktail was overly popular, considering how many cocktail manuals passed it over. The last potential lead I uncovered turned out to be, sadly, beyond my reach: Harry McElhone published the first impression of his ABC's of Cocktails in 1918. Subsequent impressions followed. If the Cafe de Paris is included it would definitely show that McElhone is responsible for the survival of the Cafe de Paris cocktail even while its namesake did not and it would potentially fill one of the remaining blanks in its history. In the meantime, as with most cocktail history, it just seems natural that a certain shroud of vagueness is blanketing yet another cocktail origin story.

Cafe de Paris Cocktail

1 1/2 ounces gin

1 tsp anisette
1/2 egg white
1 tsp heavy cream

Dry shake ingredients to emulsify egg white. Add ice and shake again. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Sambuca instead of anisette and Bellringer gin.

This was one surprising cocktail. As with most Baker drinks that include any anise at all, I expected to be bowled over. But the drink was deliciously restrained, with a delicate licorice flavor that mingled well with the botanic flavors of the gin. The texture was creamy and smooth, as would be expected from a cream and egg white drink, but the actual flavors were dry and refreshing. Unfortunately, the taste of the cream was just a bit too much for me. I am sure another might be okay with this, however. I do think that perhaps the addition of orange bitters would smarten it up and make it more than just a really good frothy gin milkshake with a hint of anise. All in all, my initial doubts were confirmed--this drink doesn't really suit my taste, as pleasant as I found it initially. But it also wasn't as bad as it could have been considering the ingredients and Baker's poor reputation. Sometimes just that tiniest of differences is all that separates a good cocktail from a bad one.

Cilantro Syrup Experiment: An Arrack Sour

I am a big fan of do-it-yourself cocktail projects. I find it incredibly relaxing to roll up my sleeves, throw on an apron, and break down fruits and vegetables. Maybe it's the physicality of actually working with my hands, maybe it's that I can escape into a totally different state of mind--I'm not sure it really matters. Regardless of why,  I savor those moments surrounded by sieves and sugars, funnels and high-proof spirits. I don't even mind the time investment of larger projects, the daily shaking and tasting. There's something about this type of creative process that is both soothing and stimulating

When it comes to the process though, I often find that no recipes exist for what I want to make. Occasionally I can find an adequate guide where only simple substitutions are necessary. Mostly I just figure it out on the fly, and try not to focus on the results. What else it there to do when you want to make a hops liqueur, cook up some apricot shrub, or even try your hand at a celery root infusion? The crazier the project seems, the more likely I am to try it. Without a detailed recipe, at the very least Ill gain some valuable experiential knowledge. The end result isn't always important, sometimes it is the journey that makes all the difference. '

Besides storage, which is a huge problem on its own, the largest issue I have with making nontraditional cocktail ingredients is what to do with them once they're finished. Something like apricot shrub, or any other shrub for that matter, is pretty easy, but other things can be more difficult.  I'm still not really sure what I was thinking with that celery root infusion. Usually miscellaneous syrups end up sitting in the refrigerator door, and countless infusion experiments have already overrun one closet and overflowed directly into boxes housed under my desk. Jars and bottles labeled with masking tape litter our house, half-forgotten and gathering dust.

Inspiration came most recently in the form of cilantro syrup. I had this great idea for a cocktail, or at least I had this great idea. In practice, not so much; the flavors just wouldn't come together. Eventually I figured out that it was a monumental fail, but I still had almost six ounces of syrup left. What now? I started easy--herbal cilantro with herbal gin in a refreshing silver fizz. Perfect, but that only used 3/4 ounce. I could always whip up a batch of cilantro lemonade, cilantro limeade, or even cilantro Italian soda. I wasn't finding too much inspiration there. But then I was talking about cilantro with Anna from twosheetsinthewind and she told me about her success pairing cilantro with Batavia Arrack. As luck would have it, I not only happen to love Batavia Arrack but I also own a bottle. What a glorious suggestion it turned out to be.

Arrack Sour

1 1/2 ounce Batavia Arrack

3/4 ounce lemon juice

3/4 ounce cilantro syrup

1 dash Angostura bitters

1/2 egg white

Dry shake ingredients. Add ice and shake again. Strain into a chilled sour glass or double old-fashioned. Garnish with a few drops of Angostura on the foam.

As I leaned in close to the Angostura-tinged foam, the aroma of the arrack and the cloves met me. I could also detect the scent of something vegetal, which I assumed was the cilantro. I was immediately impressed by how smooth the texture was. While this was in no way surprising--it does have an egg white in it after all--it was very pleasant. The peppery funky taste dominated the entire drink from the beginning to the end, though the lemon was just as strong. The egg white did soften it and smooth out the flavors in general, but the arrack was still a very strong presence. All the better for my palate--I love arrack. Initially, I was having trouble detecting the cilantro beyond the smell. The lemon and arrack were just too powerful. But as I drank more, and the drink warmed up, it became more pronounced. So much for thinking the cilantro syrup was too delicate. By the end, each sip started with more vegetal notes and then segued into the peppery spiciness of the arrack. The aftertaste was of course dominated by the arrack, but the sourness of the lemon lingered as well. This drink was extremely very refreshing and crisp, with the arrack providing a solid base for the other flavors. Anna was right--cilantro and the arrack do go very well together.

Of Cravings and a Fizz

 I have been craving citrus. It's a sure sign of spring. Almost every year without fail, once the sun starts to stick around more, for about a month or so everything I make or order has citrus juice in it. After a long dark winter, it seems natural to rebel, to distance myself from all those earthy, rich brown spirits. Mind you, I never really stop drinking barrel-aged spirits, I just drink them differently. For example, in the heart of January I wanted a Toronto, but now I am making Blinkers and Volsteads. The transition may seem extreme, but crazy things happen when the sun finally decides to come out. And who are we to doubt our cravings.

Cravings are weird things to consider. Completely intuitive, instinctual even, they link us to our animal selves. Most people probably don't even think twice about it--what they really want deep down. They just order without thought. But we all know that amazing feeling of wholeness when we truly satisfy a certain craving maybe that we didn't even know we had, or that feeling of utter disappointment when nothing on a menu seems exciting or even remotely interesting. For the past two years, I have been tracking my cocktail cravings. It changes how you think about yourself on more than one level. I have learned that I am almost completely predictable. But I've also learned that no matter how much time I've spent keeping track of  the patterns, and not just the easy seasonal ones, I still couldn't tell you what I would want to drink at any particular time. Each time I sit on a stool, or browse the Internet looking for a recipe, the entire process is just as unconscious as before.

We have these ideas about ourselves and our tastes, but if we look closely how much do we really understand? How well do we really know ourselves? It's such a subjective question that it almost seems silly to even posit. If someone asked me what I usually drink in the winter, I would have said without hesitation  mostly rye and bourbon. Then I really sat down and checked. While it was true that I did drink primarily rye and bourbon, that's not all I found out. This year I also had a momentary fling with scotch-based cocktails. And very frequently I found myself sipping on a cocktail that starred a barrel-aged rum or tequila. And I did quaff quite a number of Old Tom Martinez cocktails. So, what does it all mean? Maybe it means that what I crave in those dark winter months has nothing to do with whiskey, and everything to do with vermouth, or maybe just all things brown, bitter and stirred. It is hard to know for sure.

One thing's for certain, a craving can turn just as fast as the weather. Just as once my mind was full of whiskey, now I find myself pulled toward limes and lemons, grapefruits and oranges. And the flip side of all that citrus is the sweetener. I, at least, can't have one without at least a little bit of the other, whether that means a liqueur or syrup. Just because I found myself biting into my lime wedge garnish the other week, doesn't mean that it was completely satisfying. Balance is best, and syrups provide so many options. For instance, I have this cilantro syrup that goes marvelously well with citrus. It's very tasty, but also very subtle, and therefore needs a well-chosen drink to properly showcase its flavors without overpowering them. I chose the Silver Fizz and was tremendously pleased with the results: delightfully smooth, crisp and herbal. It was exactly what I wanted, and that kind of surprised me as well.

Silver Fizz

1 1/2 ounces gin
3/4 ounce lemon juice
3/4 ounce cilantro syrup
1 egg white
1 ounce club soda

Dry shake ingredients. Add ice and shake again. Strain into a chilled Collins glass. Top with club soda.

Notes on Ingredients: I used No. 209 gin because of its herbal complexity.

Cilantro Syrup

1/4 cup loosely chopped cilantro

1 cup sugar

1 cup water

Combine sugar and water in a medium saucepan, stirring initially to dissolve sugar. Bring to a simmer for about a minute. Remove from heat, add cilantro, and cover. Let steep for 20 minutes. Strain through a fine-mesh strainer into a heat-safe container and let cool to room temperature. Optional: Add one ounce vodka as a preserving agent. Store in the refrigerator.

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!

Astor Hotel Special

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

Charles Baker

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

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

The Astor Hotel Special

1 1/2 ounces cognac (2 oz brandy)

1 tsp maraschino liqueur 

2 tsp egg white

3/4 ounce absinthe (1/4 oz absinthe)

1/2 tsp lemon juice 

club soda (1 1/2 oz)

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

Trial Number One

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

Trial Number Two

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

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

The Astor Hotel Special (as adapted)

2 oz brandy

1 1/2 tsp maraschino liqueur

1 egg white 

1 barspoon absinthe

2 tsp lemon juice

1 1/2 oz club soda

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

Amer Picon Fizz

Some Charles Baker drinks are more suspect than others. Some seem completely wrong from the get-go, while others are mere curiosities, things that catch your eye but fail to incite action. But like the Alamagoozlum, just because it looks strange on paper doesn't mean it isn't a tasty libation. Whenever I flip through Jigger, Beaker, and Glass, I inevitably pause on the Amer Picon Fizz, smile and then move on. It is a curiosity, without a doubt. The combination of Amer Picon and grenadine is not novel; they go well together with brandy in the Picon Punch, though the proportions are astoundingly different. But with the fizz the lack of base spirit always gave me pause. Could the grenadine possibly balance out the amaro without the help of the brandy? Also, the drink has an entire ounce of grenadine in it. Would it be overwhelmingly sweet? So even though I adore Amer Picon, there were too many ways the drink could go wrong for me to make it. Until now.

Amer Picon Fizz

1 1/2 ounces amer Boudreau
1 ounce grenadine
1 egg white
1/4 tsp Angostura bitters
Club soda

Dry shake amer, grenadine and the egg white. Add ice and shake again. Strain into a chilled goblet over a lump of ice. Top with club soda, add bitters and stir gently.

Notes on Ingredients/Procedure: I used Jeffrey Morgenthaler's recipe for homemade grenadine. For the club soda, I used about 2 ounces.

What a lovely drink.The combination of the egg white and angostura created a pinkish foam above the dark reddish brown liquid. Using the bitters as an aromatic garnish ensured that cloves and cinnamon wafted from up from the froth. And somehow, the tart smell of pomegranate found its way through as well. This drink had a truly creamy texture, donated by the egg white, but it still had that refreshing zing from the club soda that brightened each sip. But how does it taste? The initial taste was full of the spices of the Angostura coupled with the herbal notes of the amer. Each sip ended with the nice bitter orange flavors of the amer and was much drier than I expected. After a while the taste of the grenadine became more apparent, and I could really appreciate the way the Amer and the grenadine played off each other. The full ounce of grenadine did make the drink overly sweet or add a cloying texture as the bitterness of the amer Boudreau helped to balance it all out. Even though the drink worked and tasted balance, in the future I might cut the amount of grenadine to ensure an even drier drink, just because that's how I roll. Also, I would definitely lose the lump of ice. It really didn't add anything to the drink, and it looked weird sitting in the middle of that luscious foam.

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.

Charles Baker and Absinthe

Charles Baker is my hero. Like many other cocktail enthusiasts, I have fallen for his languid prose and bon vivant lifestyle set against the backdrop of exotic locales from the distant past. Ah, what it must have been like, traveling the world in search of the redolent and quaint, throwing back drinks with Ernest Hemingway and other exciting personalities, stumbling through foreign towns discovering and rediscovering the fabulous and the sublime all in the name of experience and adventure. Baker escaped America, and its ever-present Puritanical leanings, at the exactly the right time, Prohibition, to tramp the world in search of excitement, or at least great food and drink. One part cocktail guide, one part travelogue, and one part memoir, The Gentleman's Companion: Around the World with Jigger, Beaker and Flask is perhaps the original blueprint for a cocktail blog: you won't love all the drinks, you might not even try all the drinks, but what will bring you back again and again is his wit and the excellent prose.

This book, like many other cocktail guides of yore, begins with absinthe. Warning: any cocktail with absinthe in the title is going to be full of black licorice-y goodness. Your mouth will be coated in refreshing anise and you will be lucky if you can taste anything else for a while. It is the nature of the beast that is absinthe. So, when undertaking the absinthe-based cocktail challenge, it is crucial to choose an absinthe that you like on its own, say in an absinthe drip. And if absinthe isn't your cup of tea, these drinks may not be for you. Sorry. The truth is that you can use absinthe as a accent, but when it is the base you can only bump up other flavors against it; at the end of the day, nothing will make it budge. For Baker's absinthe cocktail, I chose the Herbsaint Legendre. Granted, this is not an absinthe per se, but I enjoyed its complexity in a Sazerac so much that I thought, why not? Its proof is a little lower and it won't turn pearlescent in the presence of water, but I figured, close enough.

Absinthe Cocktail (as adapted)

1 1/2 jiggers absinthe (2 1/4 ounces!)
1 dash anis, anisette
1/2 jigger water (3/4 ounce)
1 tsp or less simple syrup (1 tsp)
1 dash Angostura bitters
1 dash orange bitters
1 tsp egg white (1/4 ounce for two)

Dry shake ingredients. Add cracked ice and shake very hard. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass . Twist a piece of lemon or lime peel over the surface, but do not drop in.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Herbsaint Legendre for the absinthe, Sambuca in the place of anisette, and a richer demerara and turbinado simple syrup of 1.5:1. The orange bitters were Angostura orange.

I can't say that this was the most successful absinthe cocktail I have ever had. Let's start there. It was bright green, as expected, like the Wicked Witch of the West's face. The inclusion of the egg white produced a smidgen of white foam on top. The measly teaspoon of egg white that Baker calls for greatly limits the foaminess. The drink smelled of anise and tasted of anise. The lemon oils, though, were noticeable in the aroma and, to a lesser extent, the first sip. But barring that first sip, I could not detect the presence of anything else, save the slight sweetness that the sugar added. The egg white, though paltry, did contribute its characteristic smooth texture to the drink. Alas, though I tried to push through, and have in fact enjoyed an absinthe cocktail in the past, I couldn't finish this one. I wonder if using a real absinthe would help, but instead of going down that patch, I geared myself up for the absinthe frappe.

Absinthe Frappe (as adapted)

2 ounces absinthe
1/2 tsp anis del mono or French anisette
1 glass of cracked ice (1 cup cracked ice)
(4 mint leaves)

(Muddle mint briefly in anisette in a chilled mixing glass. Remove mint.) Add ingredients and shake hard but briefly. Pour into chilled rocks glass. Garnish with green straw. 

Notes on ingredients: I used Absinthe Verte de Fougerolles and Sambuca in the place of anisette.

This drink was much more successful. I chose to add the muddled mint mostly because of the previous drink's failure. And in the past, I had consumed a wonderful absinthe julep with muddled mint, simple syrup, and absinthe, so why not? The fact is that in spite of my intentions, I couldn't taste the mint. Oh well. But in general I found this tipple extremely tasty and refreshing. I don't know if it was because of the relative simplicity of this drink , or because I used a real absinthe. The cracked ice made sure that the absinthe could evolve through the various stages of dilution, and I could really taste the different notes in the absinthe itself. Regardless, this drink made me almost forget the previous absinthe cocktail and was a nice end to the evening. All's well that ends well, in cocktails at least.

Ramos Gin Fizz

Several weeks ago Tracy and I had a friend over to indulge in brunch. We love brunch in our house, that celebration of those glorious hours of limbo between morning and afternoon on any given weekend—a time for the savory and the sweet, the caffeinated and the alcoholic. A good brunch will almost always lead to a lethargic day filled with absolutely nothing and the need to heartily engage in said nothing, which usually translates to an impromptu nap on the couch. And though our excuse for this occasion—though one never needs an excuse for brunch—was to plan a friend's bachelorette party, the entire event really sprang into being because of a truly magical thing: the Ramos gin fizz.

Say those three little words to a room full of people and watch the effects. Those who have delved into the bubbly creamy froth, you know at once who they are. Their eyes sparkle and this ever-so-small smile forms on their faces. I have seen it happen more than once. Invariably, they will move their chairs closer, lean in and with a conspiratorial tone, take you into memories spotted with minuscule details: the first time they sipped a Ramos gin fizz, the best, the worst, even the heft of the shaker, the ache in the arms, and still even more rare, the imagined ache in the arms. But this excitement is not reserved solely for initiates. Something about the name, familiar and yet unfamiliar, translates that there is something innately special to discover. The Ramos fizz rookies too lower their voices to that familiar hushed whisper reserved for taboos and secret societies, inch their bodies closer, and say, "What is that?" They are hooked even before they have faced down the frothy, frosty glass. It is just one of those drinks.

Fizzes are not new creations. They trace back to the olden times of yore, or at any rate to at least the 1880s, if not before. David Wondrich has traced the print origins to a recipe published in 1883. The New Orleans gin fizz, a special iteration of the silver fizz, was created in the 1880s at Meyer's Restaurant in New Orleans by a certain Henry Charles Ramos. It has been a New Orleans institution ever since. It differs from the classic fizz recipe in its use of cream and orange flower water. But it is those little differences that make this drink such a big deal. Supposedly the combination of the egg white and the cream is what makes the Ramos fizz such a challenging drink to make correctly. Though both elements will foam easily one their own, when they occupy the same shaker they become stubborn. The secret to making a this drink is all about technique, because there is shaking any old drink, and then there is shaking a drink with egg whites and cream. These drinks take stamina—especially if you are making three of them, one at a time, all while waiting for the first pot of coffee to percolate. At one point, Henry Ramos employed 15 lads to shake those fizzes, and they shook those fizzes for up to 15 minutes, each. They formed a line and passed those frosty shakers one to the next. This is as much of a testament to properly mixing a drink as it is to the Ramos gin fizz's popularity.

Ramos Gin Fizz

2 ounces gin
1 ounce heavy cream
1 egg white

1/2 ounce lemon juice

1/2 ounce lime juice

1 tbsp simple syrup

3 drops orange flower water

1 ounce club soda

Dry shake all ingredients except club soda. Add ice and shake again, at least until your arms are really tired and your hands are frozen. Strain into a highball glass and very slowly drizzle in the club soda.

Note on Ingredients: I have made a Ramos gin fizz with Bombay Dry, Ransom Old Tom, and a 50-50 split between Aviation and Bellringer. They were all wonderful, though my favorite is the Ransom with all of that spice.

When a Ramos gin fizz is placed before you, with those foamy bubbles blossoming over the rim and that sheen of ice forming on the outside, you can't help but feel pretty special. Even if you made the drink yourself, and can already feel the ache building in your muscles from all that shaking. As you descend past that citrus-laden foam, into the effervescent liquid below, you will be downright besotted. Smooth and creamy, herbal and tart in equal measure, with just the right amount of sweetness, how can you go wrong? But don't dally in awe; drinks with egg whites weren't meant to be lingered over like a julep. I give you permission to swig at will. Once a fizz gets warm, it loses a certain amount of its luster. So don't be offended if your guests are sitting before empty glasses before you even sit down—it is a compliment, just go with it. If you drink it at the right pace, not too slow not too fast, and if all of the other forces in the universe are aligned, you can almost feel yourself transported to another time. Even if that time is nap time.

Sours

Back in the dark days of college, I drank whiskey sours. They were fast and easy, tart and sweet and boozy all at once. But they weren't really whiskey sours. Sure, there was whiskey, probably Jim Beam. And there was something sour and sweet, but it came from a packet and I for one have no idea what was in it. I shudder to even think on it now. Dark days indeed!

A change came in my own drinking habits around six or so years ago. It all began with an appreciation for fresh-sqeezed juices in a cocktail. It sounds oh so simple now. I also learned that simple syrup is really, well, simple to make. Whiskey sours were forever changed, but tasty as they were, they really didn't match up well against other sour drinks that had made it into the usual rotation--South Sides, French 75s, Daiquiris, Mojitos.  Until last summer, I don't think I had made or ordered a whiskey sour in over five years, and it might have been longer. But that was before I had made that one last jump to become a real cocktail enthusiast: I had to tackle the egg.

The Pink Lady was the first drink I ordered that included an egg white. It changed my mind about drinking cocktails containing eggs. It is safe to say it changed my mind about eggs in general, but that is a longer tale. Soon thereafter, I embarked on my own egg white adventure and made a whiskey sour. I shook that shaker without and with ice, and until my arms hurt. The conclusion was: Wow! Without the egg, the whiskey sour is refreshing and tasty. But what this drink gains from the egg white is an incredible velvety texture and this luscious foam. Everything I had previously thought about the whiskey sour changed.

A year has passed, and, even though they are a pain in the ass to make, egg white drinks are pretty common in my cocktail rotation. Whenever Tracy is making some homemade ice cream, which uses a lot of egg yolks, I am tasked with finding a use for the leftover whites. And in the summer, we have homemade ice cream as often as we can. Now the whiskey sour is one of my favorite egg white drinks, but during the summer we like to change things up and drink pisco sours. And boy should we be drinking these year-round.

Pisco Sour

2 ounces pisco

3/4 ounce lemon juice (or lime)

3/4 - 1 ounce simple syrup (to taste)

1 egg white

several dashes Amargo Chuncho bitters (sub Angostura or other aromatic)

Shake all ingredients except bitters in long and hard, pehaps using the hawthorne strainer coil for assistance. Fill shaker with ice and shake for 10 second more or so. Strain into a chilled double old fashioned glass. Garnish foam with bitters. I used a toothpick to achieve the swirling effect. 

The aroma wafting from the glass full of bitters -- spicy and warm. There is also the slightest hint of the citrus that is lying in wait.  This drink is one that needs to be waded into. First you must pass through the creamy citrusy foam with the bitters' spice wafting in your nose. Then there is the velvety texture of the drink below, heavy with pisco and citrus. The dominance of the pisco mellows with each sip leaving you with a refreshing and smooth libation. You wouldn't think that egg drinks make such fine summer beverages, but they are richly textured, but not heavy. Though there is much debate over which citrus comprises the true pisco sour, the drink is equally good using lemon or lime juice, just different. Sometimes different variations can be equally pleasant regardless of a drink's historical authenticity. I just happened to have lemons in the house. The egg white helps bring the entire drink together, as the proportion of citrus to syrup might on its own seem altogether too tart. Pisco is the star of this cocktail and you will notice its spice and smokiness and on every sip.