the cocktail circuit

Frosty words on mint juleps

2008-05-01T12:52:00.000-07:00

There are a few things you should know about mint juleps.

First off, your mint julep should not be the size of a supertanker or a thirsty-two ouncer. It should be the size of a julep cup (10 oz., 12 max.). The idea is something that will not heat up too much. Like so many drinks, it must stay cold while you're drinking it. That's the top consideration.

It should not be unduly sweet unless you are a southerner. If you're a southerner, feel free to make it as sweet as you like, and even use Southern Comfort, as they do at the Derby (though I'm obliged to say that though the Derby is storied, the julep has been around for even longer---if anything, and the Derby only adopted the julep as a preferred drink in 1938). But if you are from anywhere north of Mason County Pennsylvania, you'd better watch the sugar.

The silver cup is an affectation if it doesn't have a rim at the bottom. There's a rim at the bottom so you don't warm the cup with your hand. A rimless julep cup is an affectation.

Here's the best recipe anywhere---again from Doc's CocktailDB

Build
4 mint sprigs (2 oz)
1 tsp sugar dissolved in water & muddled with mint
Fill with shaved ice
Stir until frosted
Add mint sprigs and/or orange slice, pineapple spear, cherry
2 oz bourbon
(Substitute brandy, gin, rye, applejack, etc)
Serve in a julep cup (10.0 oz)

Ah, 2 oz. bourbon in a mint julep. Yes. That's so you bet the right horse.

If you'd like more info and some good links on the mint julep, check Colleen, she's sort of the mint julep clearing house. The largely historical article at wikipedia is of considerable interest.

And what bourbon whiskey?

For me, dear old Jim Beam works best. For you?

Ramos Gin Fizz

2008-04-21T07:38:00.000-07:00

When considering recipes for any drink, the question to ask is, "What are the issues?" The issues with a Ramos Gin Fizz are many, starting with what to call it.

The Ramos Gin Fizz was originally called a New Orleans Fizz; it pops up early on as such. The drink also became known as a Ramos Gin Fizz later on, in deference to its inventor. There's no question that Henry Ramos worked at Meyer's restaurant in New Orleans, and there's no question, unlike with many other eponymous drinks, who the real inventor of this one was.
Jerry Thomas's 1887 guide, which mentions six gin fizzes, is of little help. There is in it a gin fiz recipe, but ironically, the 1887 edition of the guide precedes the invention of the New Orleans Fizz by a year, and three years after the death of Thomas.

Among noted present-day mixologists, you can't find Ramos Gin Fizz in Ted Haigh's Cocktail database; Ted is the ultra-traditionalist, and the drink goes by the earlier name there. But note Chuck Taggart has no problem labelling the drink the Ramos Gin Fizz. And their recipes are different too---slightly, but in critical ways.

Ted wants you to double up on the lemon juice; Chuck wants the lemon and lime to be present in equal measure. Ted calls a half-ounce of cream optional; Chuck calls out two ounces of it. Chuck wants you to shake the drink for over a minute; Ted doesn't specify.

There's also an option often found in bars to use powdered egg instead of egg white. But what makes a fizz a fizz is not an egg white; what makes for a fizz is sugar and lemon juice.

Overall, de gustibus non disputandum est. I like the Ramos without cream, and I wouldn't think of mixing it without egg white, and I too would double up on the lemon juice. In short, I'd follow Ted's New Orleans Fizz recipe to the letter, without the cream. But Chuck's recipe is certainly just as valid as Ted's, and tilted toward a mid-century modern moment, when cream found more favor in drinks than it does today.

Honestini

2008-04-10T20:31:00.000-07:00

Explaining a lot is this NYT travel article on New York (read: Manhattan) bars that "put the right prefix on the -tini."

Picture your basic barely thirtysomething Madison Avenue account rep for some beverage giant. They go out to a bar after work and ...

"Here, they take your cellphone number and call you when they’re ready."

No, they don't have that kind of a place much in Madison or Baton Rouge. But they make all kinds of silly demands on customers in NYC, and the account rep thinks, "Wow, in this cocktail crazy land, I can say anything and it will work..."

No, you can't. But they do anyway, over and over and over. And there are hundreds of obliging media and bloggers ready to defend the cuketini for a free bottle, or ready to denounce it to demonstrate their integrity.

The truth is that there has never been a better time for new drinks than now; but there has also never been a worse time for new drinks than now. Our only suggestion is not to insist on either Old Skool or flavortini approach, but to try, try, try, and give honest evaluations. Unlike those folk in New York City, you do have to sleep at night, ultimately.

For Old School bars in NYC that put you through hell anyway, click the link and scroll to the bottom.

Absolut Error

2008-04-07T22:18:00.000-07:00

Not often you find an ad agency that deals with a super brand like Absolut stupid enough to make an error like this one:

Absolut Vodka pulls ad showing California in Mexico (Reuters)

The gringo-insensitive ad was devised by a fairly unrepentant Mexico City firm. The boner comes on the heels of Pernod Ricard purchasing Absolut after a couple of flaccid years with Stolichnaya. Absolut's ultimate-legs ad campaign, now nearing the twenty-year mark, is legendary in advertising circles.

Just last week, we expressed concern about the new relationship with Pernod Ricard and the impact on advertising.

The Amaretto Sour

2008-04-05T20:51:00.001-07:00

Those are today's moonshadow roses at dusk. I'd love to show you my Amaretto Sour. But it disappeared before I could find my cellphone.

It wasn't a particularly good day; no, you couldn't say that by even a Willie McCovey stretch. And the afternoon, and the early evening unfolded no better.

But madamina was baking chocolate cakes with Amaretto, and Amaretto Sour came to mind.

"Can I use this for a Sour?" I asked her, holding the bottle up.

"Two dollars a pour," she said. After I set the bottle down, she added, "It's cheaper than at a bar, that's for sure."

But after dinner she yielded, and I fingered the lemons. Amaretto is sweet, enough so that the sourest lemon in the bunch would have sufficed. But I wanted dessert, so I opted for a Meyer, which runs sweeter than the others.

The ratio is two parts Amaretto to one part lemon juice. Over rocks in a sour glass or even a tumbler. Don't start with a full bottle, because these are exceptionally smooth, and you may not stop.

For ideas on how to garnish appropriately, consult the Doctor's Cocktaildb.

It's a perfect drink for April.

Too much debt at Pernod Ricard?

2008-04-01T06:46:00.000-07:00

Diageo was assembled as a super-giant in the 1990's; Pernod Ricard is assembling itself as such in the zeroes. The timing has left the company with more debt than Diageo, which markets niche products and superpremiums better. But what else does today's Pernod acquisition of Swedish Absolut mean for the spirits biz in the US?

The most intriguing element of the acquisition is that Pernod Ricard will have to divest itself of Stolichnaya in order to complete the purchase. The key to Absolut's success in the American market has been its relationship to Saatchi & Saatchi---the agency's historic Absolut campaign is nothing short of the reason Pernod Ricard is obliged to sell off Stolichnaya, which has never been able to gain peer status with Absolut in this country.

Stolichnaya's ad campaigns have fumbled many times, most recently by Pernod Ricard itself in last years ad campaign with Paris-based Marcel Republique. Pernod Ricard has only controled American advertising of Stolichnaya for the past two years, however.

The Absolut relationship with Saatchi may continue under Pernod Ricard; if so, good news for Pernod. But it is more likely that it will not, and if not, there will be more questions for the brand. Most ad agencies don't watch things like Moody's financial ratings, but at this level they do. Pernod's debt load may cause some concern with the new prospective clients.

Little Joy, Yelped

2008-03-24T15:38:00.001-07:00

JM, Very little joy, 3.24.07

I don't know where you go for your bartrending info, but the stuff on Yelp about Little Joy (Sunset & Portia, Echo Park) is divinely inspired.

Internship of a Doctor

2008-03-16T09:21:00.000-07:00

left, Joe Danno, the legend; right, Crème Yvette, the defunct

by Dr. Cocktail / Ted Haigh

I was, I must admit, depressed.

Charlie, had suggested the night before that “It” might be the place for me. I was eager to give it a shot, but good ole Charlie couldn't remember the name or address of This Particular Joint.

“Old stuff, Ted,” he’d said. “He has lots of old bottles, old liqueurs, and I heard he makes some of his own. It’d be just the place for you. I think it’s on Belmont, just east of Cicero....it’s the Blood Bucket....Bucket O’ Blood....Bucket something” he said helpfully, scrawling down that information on a cocktail napkin.

In the old days, I was a constant and enthusiastic habitué of the Ambassador East, home of the Pump Room, where Sinatra held court – or relaxed – as mood dictated, when he was in Chicago. I was a fixture, and Charlie…Charlie was the most celebrated of Pump Room bartenders. Outside of Charlie, though…finding a real cocktail in Chicago in 1988 was no easy task, not even for a guy who would someday be known as Dr.Cocktail.

Now it was midnight a night later and, without exaggeration, I’d been into or past a good twenty little neighborhood bars that could’ve--but didn’t--fit the bill. In the latest incorrect venue, I disconsolately ordered a Martini. The bartender nodded, walked over to the booze selection, and stared at it for a little while. I leaned over the bar. “What are you looking for?” I asked softly.

She gazed at the liquor, and back at me. “mar-tee-nee?” she said, smiling shyly, looking for a bottle that said it on the label.

“I’ll help” I sighed wanly. I leaned over the bar. “Take that bottle of gin and....” but it was no use. There was no dry vermouth in the house – none. It might’ve been the 80s, but dammit if I’d wanted a shot of gin….

I trudged out. Not a one of them was the Bucket anything; not on the street, not in the whole Chicago phone book. I had one more bar, right smack on the corner of Belmont and Cicero. Had you been there that night 20 years ago, you might’ve seen me through the window, slumped like a disaffected refugee from an Edward Hopper painting. I was nursing a gin & tonic with my head in my hands. The bartender and owner of the place were my sole company. They looked quite ready to close, and with that, the best lead I had would snap shut, over and out, like the click of a lock tumbler at my back. I shared my lament with the two, as I had done so many times before that night as I turned to go.

“Oh,” says the owner, “you mean the Bucket O’ Suds. That’s right around the corner, three doors down, just South of Belmont on Cicero.” Charlie had transposed the streets.

I thanked them, skeptically feeling my anticipation level rise again with every step closer to the Bucket’s affirmed address. My reserved reverie was short-lived. The entire block was dark. Nothing looked remotely like a bar in business. I craned my neck and, in the gloom, grimly noted a sign; a rusty pre-neon light bulb production. It read “Bucket O’ Suds” and looked as though it hadn’t been lit in years. Below, the door and windows of the shabby building were dark, covered over with newspapers from the inside. The door was locked.

Ah, rhapsody on a windy night; the last twist of the knife. I turned away, but I paused. There was an eerie sense of motion, of illumination, hazy through a chink in the door’s yellowed news. Hesitating a moment, suddenly sober with unease, I knocked. After interminable seconds, the door creaked open a face-width. An old man peered out at me sharply.

“I’m sorry, you’re closed.” I blurted out.

“No.” he said, as though by suggesting such a thing I was challenging him.

This was going well. I regained my breath. “You were highly recommended to me by Charlie at the Pump Room,” I said. “I’m an aficionado of obscure liqueurs.”

The door swung open wide and the man’s face lit up in unison. There were late ‘50s cool jazz horns leaking out onto the sidewalk.

“Well, well. Come on in” he chuckled.

Hundreds and hundreds of old dusty bottles lined the wall on the right, continuing along the length of a sagging bar that looked to be sixty feet long. Row upon row of cobwebby translucent receptacles were packed into every possible space. Several other people sat at the bar, leaning earnestly over the uneven counter; it was a place for disciples. The old guy owned the place and his name was Joe Danno.

I was utterly beside myself. Now I looked like the subject of some saucer-eyed Keane illo. This was Ali Baba’s treasure-trove. For a time I could do nothing but squint and stare into the murky mysteries behind the bar. I wondered how long some of those bottles had been there. I wondered at their contents. I wondered what he would serve and what he would not. I was somehow certain I would taste things that, before, I had only read of... and dreamed about.

I was afraid to ask.... did he have any.... Parfait Amour? My heart pounded. Joe beamed.

“I have not only have it, I have the rare Garnier RED Parfait Amour!” he said with an almost grateful pride that suggested to me that he didn’t get too many cocktail historians in the Bucket. It was an old, oddly shaped bottle, and at that time, I had never seen another like it. Its contents were indeed red. I inspected it as he poured some out for me. My first taste of Parfait Amour brought associations of muddled fruit, marshmallows, and vanilla. I savored the liqueur and with it, the serendipity that brought me here. I grew bolder and my excitement mounted. People were beginning to notice my ill-concealed intensity.

“How about Crème Yvette; do you have any Crème Yvette?

“You know,” he said seriously, “they don’t make this stuff anymore,” as he pulled out a hidden bottle of transparent lavender liquid. Once again, he poured me a glass.

Crème Yvette was everything I had imagined it could be: delicate, ethereal. It had a floral scent and the violet flavor of pastilles. I shook my head in a sort of out-of-body experience. I viewed myself sitting there in the movie my memory was making.

At my third wish, Joe Danno furrowed his brow discouragingly. The potion that, so many years before, had first kindled my interest in the cocktails of the past was named, appropriately enough, Forbidden Fruit liqueur.

I know from books that Forbidden Fruit had been made from shaddock, honey, and brandy; that shaddock was a kind of grapefruit, that this Victorian cordial was presented in a glass orb with ornate metal filigree. You couldn’t make a Tantalus Cocktail without it (and consequently, I’d never had one.) Forbidden Fruit had ceased production years before. Its demise invalidated seventy-five years of accumulated drinks calling for it. Decades have passed since this unique American cordial last saw the inside of a glass.

“Forbidden Fruit?.... I dunno...” Joe muttered, poking around behind a bottle of nineteenth century grenadine. He then deftly pulled out the only full-sized bottle of Forbidden Fruit that I had ever seen. It was a regal orb indeed.... full of transparent golden liquid. Only from research did I know this bottle. Now I knew it personally. At this point, everyone in the bar was rooting for Joe to let me behind the bar to explore. My poker face must’ve slipped, I guess. I finished this, the first of many long wonderful nights inspecting the back bar’s wealth, at Joe’s gracious invitation, at the Bucket. My magic toy store, that’s what The Bucket o' Suds was, an enchanted portal where anything was possible. Of the Forbidden Fruit… I still can’t describe the flavor.

Eventually, Joe made me the owner of that bottle of Forbidden Fruit, just for being such a goofy illustration of boundless rapture.

I was a committed young man with a lot of quirky dreams, some including cocktails. Twenty years is a long time to hold lovingly onto a complex cocktail of wonder and memory. The road from the Bucket to this point was a maze of paths that led apart before twining back together again in a different world. The Bucket is long gone, Joe long dead. In a way, he made me the Doctor I am today.

FURTHER READING:
Parfait Amour cocktail
Tantalus cocktail
Crème Yvette
more remembrances of Joe Danno and the Bucket o' Suds.

in the shotglass

2008-03-13T16:21:00.000-07:00

JM, Cazadores, 3.13.08

An occasional feature in which we simply pour something outstanding into our favorite shotglass, a gift from a special someone.

Next door lives a doctor, but I take most of my medical advice from Achileo, who helps me with the garden.

"Achileo," I said today. "I'm sick!"

"Oh," he said. "Where's Lynn?"

"In Thai Town, getting some lemon grass. She wants the livia moved to the back."

"Oh. You know where in the back?"

"No."

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Bronchitis," I said. "A little."

"Oh. Shot of tequila is good," he said.

"Cazadores!" I said.

I shut the door. We have a bottle of Cazadores Reposado on hand. I poured some into the Lesbian Shotglass and sprinkled some salt on the rim. Then I cut a lime wedge and gave it a squeeze and plunked it in the glass.

I feel much better already. Much better.

Rx, late winter bronchitis:

Cazadores Tequila
lime wedge
salt
Lesbian shotglass

Try.

Lagavulin 21: a wonderful way not to work

2008-03-05T10:25:00.000-08:00

Scotch and smoke - Lagavulin 21, a superpremium

"Oh my God, it tastes like a Scotch bonfire," Lynn said on her first sip of this superpremium twenty-one-year-old Scotch from the notoriously smoky distillery, Lagavulin. She was sitting on the Japanese chair and the fireplace hadn't been lit anyway since January so there were no untoward environmental influences.

Now I was curious. I saw in her face the surprise; I saw her chew the Scotch a bit, and raise her eyebrows, and look at me as though to say, "This might be a bit powerful for me, but you're going to be at home with it." She passed the vintage etched stem glass with its equally vintage precious liquid over the coffee table and into my hand.

I was sitting on the sofa, facing the sunset through a window; it was already warm enough.

Lagavulin 21 is indeed a powerful Scotch; as with other single-malts from the Islay (please say "ee-luh"), the taste of smoke is dominant, but here the fullness of the peat gives the nose of smoke a run for the money. (And in this case, money is what we're running for: a bottle of this super-premium, only a 1,000 of which make their way to the States, retails in triple digits, and I mean the crooked triple digits, not the straight up-and-down ones.) Sometimes tasters ascribe the salty taste of seaweed to the scotch, but to me not so much, it seems they are simply describing the nexus of strong smoke and strong peat.

Smoky, and no wonder: "...it has perhaps twenty times as much exposure to peat smoke as a typical Speyside, Cragganmore," says Malts.com. And we can imagine that formidable peat derives from a proximate coast that bears the full assault of Atlantic weather.

I sat with my glass for a long time---a very long time. I had a lot of work to do and this was an inordinately successful way not to do it. As I kept sipping, no more than a tip of the tongue sip at a time, I kept waiting for the taste to fade into something less full of impact than the first sip; it never did, not after an hour.

They watch birds quite a bit in Islay, and so do I, so when the sun went down I looked for Sid and Nancy, our two Jays who hang out in the honeysuckle; didn't find them, but did see the mockingbirds nesting again. This is the time of year when birds are coupling and futzing with nests here, and watching them with a glass of fine scotch in hand made for a perfect late-winter crepuscule.

Later on in the evening, after the sun ducked behind the oak and Lynn tripped off to the westside, I found myself still sipping the same glass.

The finish lasts about...oh, twelve hours; maybe longer if you don't sleep; but why wouldn't you? You've found a wonderful way not to work; you might as well go all the way with it.

The Dr. is in

2008-03-03T23:25:00.000-08:00

Our dear old friend Ted Haigh, also known as Dr. Cocktail, has been saddled with the burden of birthing more books. Two contracts in fact, and the hi-jinks behind them are worth a third book alone. But now that the toxic stuff of dealing with publishers is largely behind him, he can set off working on time-killing projects to interfere with his projects of substance.

One such time killer would be this blog, and we'll have a post or twelve from America's most beloved erudite toper soon.

Mimosas formidable.

2008-01-01T06:31:00.000-08:00

Plus formidable.

Last year I reminded you about the virtues of french 75's in a new year. This new year, the topic is mimosas.

But before I get to mimosas, I'll tell you: french 75's made our past year---our past year, which was awful---a little happier.

So now the mimosa, a far gentler subject for the usual post new year's surfeit of champagne.

There are two basic recipes, and one is far more basic than the other:

The one you've probably already had:

1 1/4 oz orange juice (3.5 cl, 5/16 gills)

Fill with Champagne, ice

Serve in a cocktail glass (4.5 oz)

The one you're about to try:

1/2 ounce triple sec (1.5 cl, 1/8 gills)

1 1/2 ounces fresh orange juice (4.5 cl, 3/8 gills)

3 1/2 ounces chilled Champagne (10.5 cl, 7/8 gills)

1 orange slice for garnish (1/2 oz, 1.5 cl, 1/8 gills)

Build in the order given in a Champagne flute. Add the garnish.

Serve in a champagne flute (6.0 oz)

Yes. Triple sec. Surprised? That recipe is from Gary Regan's The Joy of Mixology, a book which is more about process and theory than recipe. Gary Regan is certainly accomplished, and also is a bit of an Internet-as-cottage-industry phenomenon. But so is About.com, and take a look at this awful recipe for the same drink; or maybe you too measure orange juice by the carton. So let's put it to the fire: does Gary know something so many others don't? Why would you add triple sec to something like orange juice, which is so sweet to start? (BTW, Rachel wants you to add triple sec too, but at the end, rather than at the beginning---I guess she wants you to light fire to it too, or something.)

Give up? Well, I'll tell you. It's about alcohol.

Adding triple sec is like infusing what would otherwise be a very fluffy Mother's Day drink with something more formidable. You're bumping your mimosa to actual cocktail level.

Triple sec is made from oranges, so it doesn't rustle your orange juice's feathers, and shouldn't overlay your natural oj sweetness too much---especially if it's high-proof triple sec. Triple sec runs up to 60 proof, and you shouldn't waste time with much less than that. If you're going to put it in a mimosa, putting something that's about 30 proof is not really adding much of anything.

It seems intuitive, and likely need not be said, to not use your favorite champagne for a mimosa. If you're drinking your favorite champagne, drink your favorite champagne---don't sugar coat it. Of course. You're insulted I even mentioned anything. Well, it must be said. It must be said because there are sites that say, "a bottle of favorite champagne" and where orange juice from a carton suffices. I will be very goodly god-damned if I am going to slop a bottle of Bollinger Grand Année into any kind of juice, let alone juice from a carton. In fact, I don't think I've had orange juice from a carton in the new millennium. Or maybe since the Ford administration.

You need a tasty champagne, to be sure, but you can do with an easily acquired one. Prosecco is popular right now and prosecco is excellent for mimosas, in my opinion.

As for glassware---you know, it's really shouldn't be fetishized for this particular drink. You're not going to be noting the size of the bubbles. I like even serving them in tumblers, as demonstrated above, for the guests get more at a time.

Rocks with champagne? If you're using a tumbler, why not? You put champagne in punch, don't you? And what is a cocktail, if not a punch for one?

The mimosa is one rare drink that you can enlarge a bit with considerable impunity. But if you must, the champagne flute makes for handsome presentation. The only problem is, with the flute, you'll be refilling them every seven minutes. Me, I'd look for some good Italian tumblers and clink.

The Commodore

2007-10-29T10:22:00.000-07:00

Whenever Indian summer comes (we’ve had a nonstop one in LA this year), you might be thinking of shifting gears a bit, prepping for the richer late-autumn drinks but not quite there. When it’s 79 and clear as the country, a manhattan may feel a little too heavy, even though the calendar says it’s fall.

The limes of late summer are turning yellow, but don’t toss them into the compost pile. They’re perfect now for a Commodore.

Never had a Commodore?

Over at Doc’s Cocktail db, the preferred recipe is:

4/5 rye whisky (2 1/2 oz, 7 cl, 5/8 gills)
1/5 fresh lime juice (1/2 oz, 2 cl, 1/8 gills)
2 dashes orange bitters per cocktail
sugar to taste

Bourbon is OK too. Basically 4 parts whiskey to one part lime, orange bitters and sugar to taste. Tangy!

Here’s a recipe for a more esoteric Commodore, not quite a parasol drink but a little fruitier: the Commodore No. 1.

1 1/2 oz blended whiskey
1/2 oz strawberry liqueur
1/2 oz lime juice
2 oz orange juice
dash orange bitters

No instructions; we figure if you’re at this site you already know how to mix these.

The Whiskey Sour

2007-10-23T16:56:00.000-07:00

It is shockingly bad form to drink whisky at any time at all before noon.
–Alma Whitaker, Bacchus Behave! The Lost Art of Polite Drinking, p. 27

~~~

But never mind that. This is October, and the stretch from waking to noon will hopefully be mercifully short anyway.

We are always reticent to tell others what they should drink. But Joy at The Drawing Room yesterday recommended a parting Whiskey Sour, and we were quite pleased with it. Whiskyish and citrusy, it suited the moment perfectly. The sun shone through the door gently as the day’s final rays do, and there it was: a perfect Jim Beam Whiskey Sour, backlit.

It may have been years since you’ve had a Whiskey Sour. You may even have never had one before. Let us refresh your memory:

Whiskey Sour

Shake in iced cocktail shaker & strain

1 oz fresh lemon juice (3 cl, 1/4 gills)
1/2 tsp sugar (2 dashes)
1 1/2 oz rye or Bourbon whiskey (4.5 cl, 3/8 gills)
1/2 orange juice (optional) (1 1/2 oz, 4.5 cl, 3/8 gills)

Add lemon wedge, cherry
Serve in a sour glass (4.0 oz)

nihil obstat: The Cocktail Database (cocktaildb.com)

Citrus, whiskey….what’s not to love? It will work well with your sleek Bach/Busoni partita on the Bose and the autumn Santa Ana rolling across the sunshine. It is a fitting drink with which to honor the season—the American whiskey makes it so—and yet tangy enough for fall. The sour glass—think half an hourglass—is the essential stemware. And its shape is a good reminder: you should sip your Whiskey Sour over a minimum of half an hour.

Use a good whiskey. And this is a particularly nasty week to drive anywhere, so lose your keys.

The Jimmy Walker

2007-10-22T13:11:00.000-07:00

Last night I was out with some friends at at least one enemy and I had just ordered the usual when someone ordered a Jimmy Walker.

Thinking that this was a relative of a Johnny Walker, I didn’t give it a second thought. But when our drinks came, the Jimmy Walker was almost the color of Campari in a cocktail glass, I asked, “What the hell’s in that, anyway?”

Here’s what’s in it:

Bourbon (a couple of ounces)
sweet vermouth (half an ounce)
a little lemon juice
a little grenadine

Or, if you like, try the cocktail db’s version.

Second round, I still hadn’t made a move to say, “I got this round,” or anything rash like that. I was still in complete control of my faculties, darlin’. But I did try a Jimmy Walker. I’d call it, no offense, a sturdy lady’s cocktail, but that’s just nodding to taste—definitely, the alcohol is there, and definitely, it demands slow sippin’.

Place names: the place

2007-10-20T05:47:00.000-07:00

A couple of posts over at mainbrace featuring local watering holes:

Dave's and The Roost (Atwater and Glendale)
Taix (Echo Park)
The Roost (Atwater)

These are all within about two miles of Los Feliz.

Silver Lake Wine tasting

2007-08-05T23:02:00.000-07:00

Need to duck a dinner. Silver Lake Wine wine tasting; a nearby scene, Xers drifting in from Glendale Boulevard like good summer weather. Not drinking but there anyway.

Bemused LisaExit, leaning on a tabletop wine display, evaluating shoes more closely than wine. I spot some on a beauty: black halter, black polo pants, black beaded necklace with topaz, brass hoop earrings, touch of vermillion in raven tresses like so many these days. Nude lipstick. Shaved eyebrows, penciled to curve a little more than they actually do. Navy blue patent leather clutch. Now for the shoes: open toe blood orange pumps with a sling back, sturdy heels. Shoes! Nice work.

Someone asks if we're a couple: initially flummoxed, good laughs ultimately emerge.

Ms. Exit discovers a wine blogger, Mike Brosnan, at the bar; I hone in. Serious, takes copious notes. Knew Cinnabar; good sign. Has a wine locker in the building. Like all good bloggers, he arrives in entourage (think: Cathy Seipp, who lived within a tee shot of this place). Orbiting about are Amanda from Kansas and Debbie the writer and a guy who tells me I'm brave for wearing flipflops and wonders where I get my pedicures, which he calls manicures.

The pedicure guy wants me to add polish to one toe; no thank you. He is pleased to learn I don't write television; sporting of him. He also broke a full glass of wine---or maybe even a bottle, I never saw it---but handled it as an insouciant good time. Bottle and all traces of it vanish in seconds. He goes to counter for some reason; Amanda whispers to me: "paranoid streak."

Amanda, a Leo, has retro glasses and a quarter-size heart on her forearm, like a stick-on tattoo; Amanda not in Kansas anymore. I asked her what she's listening to this summer, but forgot.

Merely took sniffs of wine. Favorite scent of mine was I Perazzi---a wine Nancy Silverton or her partner Mario Batali imports for La Mozza. Ms. Exit and I speculate about what perazzi means: I win, it means something like a pear.

Isn't Madamina doing a lot of Tibetan prints for next year? Ornate curlycue Cost Plus elephants are seemingly on every other tee-shirt; one, in fact, on a heroic-looking sandalwoody AA, is so rash as to add "Free Tibet" on the back. Speaking of rash: another woman has a tattoo on her bicep of Picasso's Girl Before a Mirror. It's at least ten inches tall, an honest representation. Girl Before a Mirror! Unrepentant narcissism, good luck with that.

Ms. Exit and I walk off. I show her through the roads of the north edge of Silver Lake, the northwest passage that gets you to Griffith Park. Bye-bye, I had a good time too, as good a time as you can have on water. You're not buckled in, she notes. She means it literally, but it's a good metaphor too.

Red, white and likely new to you

2007-06-27T10:13:00.000-07:00

If you are not sure how you feel about flavored vodka, summer is the time to experiment, before autumn's amber hues and drinks. I come from a place where vodka was indeed flavored at home, but since the big brand's introduction of Peppar and Limon etc. in the 1980's, the flavoring universe has exploded. One American producer, UV Vodka, of Minnesota, has a few flavored vodkas that have pulled increasing favor in the granger states and beyond this decade.

The UV drinks you may find yourself served at the barbeque after the Main Street parade this fourth include:

UV Blue Bombsicle
1 part UV Blue
3 parts lemonade
Serve over ice in a lowball glass.

UV Cherry Firecracker
1 part UV Cherry
2 parts cranberry juice
A squeeze of fresh lime
Shake with ice, strain into high ball glass with ice and garnish with a lime wedge.

UV Vodka Summer Celebration
1 part UV Vodka
1 part grapefruit juice
1 part cranberry juice
Shake with ice, strain into high ball glass with ice and garnish with a lime wedge.

There's not an enormously discernable difference between many vodkas for most palletes, and you may choose to err on the side of affordability on occasion; if so, UV remains a good choice at right around $10 for most 750 ml bottles.

Seagram's, Smirnoff, and Three Olives also offer cherry vodka.

Moscow Mule saved from "some kind of alcoholic wastebasket"

2007-06-19T15:06:00.000-07:00

Cold War footnote: vodka has more of an American pedigree than you likely know. Even the Moscow Mule was first put together down the road a bit, at the Cock 'N Bull. Moscow Mule recipe:

Build

1 1/2 oz vodka (4.5 cl, 3/8 gills)

3/4 oz fresh lime juice (2 cl, 3/16 gills)

Add 1/2 lime shell in glass (1 1/2 oz, 4.5 cl, 3/8 gills)

Fill with ginger beer, ice

Serve in a copper mug (12.0 oz)

Which is all why this vodka news from Europe, though coming as a bit of a relief, also feels inconsequential:

Traditional vodka can be made only from grain or potatoes, the European Parliament decided Tuesday.
Beverages made from other ingredients can use the name "vodka" only if their compositions and origins are clearly indicated on labels, according to new spirit labeling rules approved by the Parliament.

EU members from traditional vodka-producing countries, like Finland, Poland and Sweden, had pushed for stronger rules that would have banned beverages made with other ingredients from using the name vodka.

"We have made vodka out of potato and grain for over 500 years," said the Finnish deputy, Alexander Stubb. "When we became EU members in 1995, we were told that vodka would have a tight definition, just like rum, just like whisky, just like grappa. We don't want vodka to be some kind of alcoholic wastebasket."

The EU vote was conducted by a show of hands. The news doesn't affect this household much; we typically drink Smirnoff, drink of choice of Cold War vets everywhere, grain-based and manufactured in the USA from a Russian recipe. There have been bottles of Ketel One under this roof also, mostly to put the status anxiety of guests into check. For a beverage that is by both American and European fiat does not have any distinctive aroma, character, colour or flavour, there is always quite an extra fuss about vodka.

There is nothing wrong with vodka. Nor with the equally noble American quarter horse; but one will never win the Kentucky Derby, and nor are they bred to. In daily service, you do not use a thoroughbred, you use the plowhorse; and that is the blessing of vodka.

The straight-up Margarita

2007-06-08T12:15:00.000-07:00

You don't see many margaritas served in cocktail glasses, straight up, these days, but many years ago, this was the way they were served.

The practice was interrupted in the late 1960's, when such aberrations as the strawberry margarita, the Midori melonball, and the banana daiquiri introduced the barely-legal (yikes, there's a term I shouldn't use on blogger) drinkers of the baby boom to cocktails. The noble cocktail glass seemed inhospitable to slurpified, day-glo-colored booze; restaurants around the country opted to host this in the faux-champagne glass---you know, not the good champagne glass, the flute, but the saucer-shaped one ascribed to be shaped from Marie Antoinette's sein gauche.

Most adults grew up to enjoy their margaritas served on the rocks. But there is much to recommend taking one in straight up. Here's how to do it.

You'll need:

a cocktail glass
a Boston shaker
ice
tequila
triple sec
a lime

First, squeeze a lime. You're looking for about a jigger of lime juice. Set it aside.

Now put some rocks, maybe five---we like odd numbers---into a Boston shaker.

Pour two jiggers of tequila into the shaker, over the rocks.

Pour approximately 5/8 a jigger of triple sec into the shaker. You can always use a little more if you don't fancy your tequila.

Pour approximately 1 jigger of lime juice into the shaker. If you went up with the triple sec, you should probably go up a little on the lime juice too.

Shake---it's good to shake this one, as ice shavings are favorable for a margarita---and strain through a Hawthorne strainer into the cocktail glass.

If you see any variance on this recipe, it's usually in the triple sec. Some recipes call out Cointreau specifically; we're not going to deny that Cointreau is a dependable triple sec, and you should always remain gracious when guests bring you a bottle, but the amount of people on the planet who can distinguish Cointreau from any other triple sec when served in a margarita are decidedly small. Also, some recipes call for matching the amounts of triple sec and lime juice; this is a matter of taste, which is non disputandum anyway, but if you like to err on the dry side, start with 5/8 the amount of triple sec as lime juice, and work your way higher if that's not tasty enough for you.

~~~

On what tequila to use---well, who are we to tell you? Our favorite tequila for sipping is Corralejo; however, our favorite splurge for a margarita is Don Julio. But there are so many premium tequilas that it's a good idea to try your own, both straight and in a margarita.

And if you have some more time for tequila, you may put aside a few days to ponder Ian Chadwick's ponderous tequila site, which includes a glossary of tequila-specific terminology. Or come back---it'll be in the blogroll here for posterity.

How to--and how not to--make a Sidecar

2007-06-04T08:46:00.000-07:00

I wouldn't suppose that many publications are exactly quaking in their boots with the debut of New Angeles, a free monthly purportedly about downtown from the people who bring you LA CityBeat.

This item from the debut issue on local drink is priceless:

Named for silent film cowboy and erstwhile bartender Tom Mix, the Mixville Bar in Silver Lake serves two important purposes: supplying strong drinks to hungry diners at the fashionable Edendale Grill and educating locals on the origins of cocktails. Armed with a specialty spirits menu replete with a brief history on each of its 20 potent potables, Mixville bartenders have shaken, stirred and poured their way into the hearts of dedicated regulars.

We suggest starting with the Side Car. Combining Presidente Brandy with Cointreau and sweet�and�sour mix, the Side Car is a mellow m�lange with tart, citric overtones. According to the Mixville menu, the drink was created in Paris during WWI, and then �brought to America during the Roaring Twenties and served in many speakeasies.� � votre sant�!

(Don't you just hate the Internet's version of wrong fonts--the dreaded question-mark? These would seem to be a CityBeat specialty at this point.)

Well, that's all about as far as you can go to appease an advertiser, right? From downtown, by bus, it would take over an hour to get to Edendale Grill...four hellish miles away from 7th and Broadway...

But beyond that, you also really have to question the phrase "educating locals on the origins of cocktails" as pure fakery. After all, from Tiki-Ti (which not only serves but has invented many world-renown tiki culture drinks) to the old Michael's (now Louise's/The Derby) to The Dresden (purveyors of classic cocktails---and classic bartenders---for decades) to the hundreds of ancient local service clubs that Taix serves (with its sturdy union bartenders), this is already the most cocktail-savvy area in all of Los Angeles, and has been for years and years.

And maybe I shouldn't neglect to say that yours truly has been here for nearly two decades now too, and not much of that time spent outside of the cocktail research sphere...

~~~

But worst of all---in a SIDECAR! With a big price tag! SWEET&SOUR MIX, of all things, rather than LEMON JUICE.

That's like mixing a margarita with 7-Up rather than lime juice...

If you think you need sweet&sour mix on top of triple sec---you probably should see a doctor.

You probably don't need acquaintance with these things if you're reading this blog, but if you do, here's more.

~~~

How to make a sidecar? The recipe's already likely on the side of your mom's glass shaker, but try the imminently dependable cocktaildb:

Shake in iced cocktail shaker & strain

1 1/2 oz brandy (4.5 cl, 3/8 gills)

1/2 oz triple sec (1.5 cl, 1/8 gills)

1/2 oz fresh lemon juice (1.5 cl, 1/8 gills)

Serve in a cocktail glass (4.5 oz)

Indeed.

Is the public too cowed?

2007-06-02T05:27:00.000-07:00

The latest issue of Bon Appetit, which has so much rehashed wine and spirits information and unusual ads in it that it might as well be called Salut, has me thinking: Can a lot of spirits-oriented writing look like anything at all to a cowed public other than as a way to push brands?

(It also calls LA a "vodka" town, but never mind that for the moment...)

The whole fixation on inventing new and ever more elaborate drinks is lost on me; most of the time it looks like naked commercialism. Worse, there are so few classic cocktails that are poured well that it would seem essential to get these down first before venturing into the unexplored terrain. The narratives surrounding our best drinks are mysterious, even mythical; the idea that a bartender can suddenly discover something venerable, present it to a few patrons, and ultimately say something about alcohol that we don't already know is nearly ludicrous.

I've personally had almost the precise opposite experience when dealing with spirits distributors that most have: I've had the most fruitful and polished dialogs with the diabolically large companies, and found most of the smaller companies stand-offish and aloof. The larger companies are receptive to criticism, even curious to hear it; smaller ones sulk when you give less than wonderful feedback.

But why have a publication at all if you're simply re-printing press releases?

~~~

Here's some crit I hope someone is receptive to: in that same Bon Appetit, I am really stunned that Antinori is using the words "Super Tuscan" in an ad. That seems like a throwaway and an invitation to cynicism. Many people who know Italian wine simply bristle at the term to begin with. Would you see an ad for some wine claiming it was first of the "fruit bombs"? I think even Robert Parker would be embarrassed.

Alaska Cocktail

2007-05-29T22:25:00.000-07:00

This is a long and highly errant way to go to get to Alaska, but you may nonetheless feel good about the path.

When we want to experiment with spirits, the word cocktail makes us delighted. Origin of this fancy word is not clear, but there are a number of legends associated with it. the most common story is that of a widow of an American revolutionary officer in the war of American independence BETSY FLANAGAN who stole neighbour's chicken and decorated the glasses in the bar with cockstail feathers and thus it is called "coquetel". The very first book on cocktails was written by Jerry Thomsan in 1860, who invented Martinez or dry martini and tom and jerry.

I'm not sure that you can garble English much more efficiently. But at the end comes the payoff, the Alaska Cocktail, which may have a better pedigree than you might imagine:

Alaska Cocktail

45 ml. Gin

22 ml. yellow chartreuse

several dashes orange bitter

Method- Mix all ingredients with cracked ice in a shaker or blender. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Again, English is suspect. For clues as to how much fluid 45 and 22 ml. might be, refer to the far sturdier cocktail db for their Alaska Cocktail. (It's 1 1/2 oz and 3/4 oz.) The Alaska Cocktail is actually a very good summer drink.

Thanks to Chander for the reminder.

Umbrella season

2007-05-27T09:47:00.000-07:00

An article from 1999 notes that the cocktail umbrella has a function: to shade a drink from the sun.

What better way to prevent the ice cubes in a poolside mai tai from melting? What better way to keep that blended chi chi refreshingly slushy? Just as a good Panama hat, which is nothing but intelligently woven straw, can make the hottest tropical day seem pleasant, the cocktail umbrella, a little bit of split bamboo and pretty Japanese-print paper, can fight off solar radiation for a time, ensuring that the icy integrity of a good mixologist's creation remains intact. And look: it actually opens and closes like a real umbrella!--a transcendental feat which places the cocktail umbrella beyond the realm of mere appropriate technology (however brilliant) and into the realm of art alongside Frank Lloyd Wright's louvered window panels.

Which may be why they've seemed so kitsch when presented indoors.

The article was noted last Friday in a good design blog.

Drinking the Derby

2007-05-03T10:22:00.000-07:00

Colleen at Cocktails.About.Com notes the interplanetary twine of Kentucky Derby Day falling on Cinco de Mayo, which could confuse some topers, but hopefully the experienced will rise to the challenge.

Colleen writes of the Derby's staple, the Julep:

It's common knowledge that the Mint Julep is the drink of choice for watching the Kentucky Derby. The question at hand, however, is which bottle of bourbon to use. As you can see by this list on straightbourbon.com there's a lot of bottlings to choose from, which you choose to use is a matter of personal choice. Maker's Mark, Woodford Reserve, Knob Creek and Jim Beam Black Label are a few of my personal favorites for this minty drink. However, there's no need to stick with the original recipe, you can add a little extra flavor by using other spirits in conjunction with or in place of the bourbon. Go fruity with a Pomegranate-Mint Julep by using equal parts of PAMA Pomegranate Liqueur and bourbon or a Georgia Mint Julep with equal parts of peach brandy and bourbon.

Anything but Southern Comfort, in short, which is, alas, is often what they serve at the Derby itself, although this year Early Times and Woodford Reserve also have deals with the Downs. That all reminds me of a beautiful post on the subject of Derby Day Drinks at Martini Republic from a few years back; way more informative, and destined to be referenced through the ages.

(BTW, did you see that my horse Street Sense drew post position seven yesterday?)

Of Cinco de Mayo, she says:

No matter which tequila cocktails you decide to shake up for your fiesta, do yourself a favor and pass up the cheaper bottles and go with a top shelf tequila. Don Eduardo, Voodoo Tiki and Sauza Tres Generaciones have great blancos with a light agave bouquet that is perfect for your fruitier mixed drinks and gentler tequila shots. Check out the reposado tequilas of Corazon, Cabo Wabo and Casa Noble for a Tequini, Envy or other neat cocktails. Of course, if you're the straight sipping type you'll want to look for the anejos, of which I highly recommend Tezon, Patron and (the ever satisfying) Don Julio.

Here she got a little more endorsement-y; I gotta think the utterly smooth Corralejo, the rare tequila from Guanajuato, should make the list of premiums.

There's also a fight that day, I hear. You can safely drink Bud for that.