Hello, Hurricane Irene

Image courtesy of Reuters.

Today, Massachusetts is expecting the arrival of "greatly weakened" Hurricane Irene - most likely reduced to a tropical storm by the time it reaches us. Nonetheless, today there is no public transportation. Torrential, sideways rain. Violent wind. Since I have no desire to leave the house and possibly get my head staved in by a falling tree, I have decided that the approach of Irene warrants a couple of recipes appropriate for the day. Just for shits and giggles.

That means, of course, the Dark 'n' Stormy and the Hurricane.

The Dark 'n' Stormy was created in Bermuda sometime after WWI, and its recipe is actually protected by trademark. According to Jonathan Miles's article in the New York Times, "The Right Stuff (By Law)," a Dark 'n' Stormy has to be made with Gosling's Black Seal Rum. That's right. Current Gosling's owner E. Malcolm Gosling Jr. cautions that “People will try one with some other rum, and then say, what’s the big deal with this drink?”

That said, it is best with Gosling's rum, due to the rum's unique characteristics and dark hue. When I visited Bermuda, briefly in 2009, I had the opportunity (many, actually) to try these "on location." Though Gosling's was the only rum ever used, and Barritt's tended to be the ginger beer of choice, the actual ratios must have varied wildly because the cocktails would range from potent, strongly flavored concoctions to weak, watered-down affairs in cheap, plastic cups (see image below).

This sticks to the original ingredients, but with a slightly higher ration of rum than the Gosling's trademark "Dark 'n' Stormy®" calls for. I have been known to add a dash or two of Angostura Bitters to this drink, to pleasing effect. Don't sue me though.

The Dark & Stormy Cocktail

• 2 oz Gosling's Black Seal Rum 
• Gosling’s Stormy Ginger Beer or Barritt’s ginger beer (both from Bermuda); or, any ginger beer with a snap. 
• Lime wedge (I use about a quarter of a lime) 

Take your lime wedge and squeeze into a highball glass filled with ice. Add the rum, top-off with the ginger beer, and stir gently.

Okay, on to The Hurricane. Allegedly created in the 1940s by New Orleans tavern owner Pat O'Brien. Now, way down yonder in New Orleans, tourists drink these like water, in giant, 32-ounce to-go cups. "To go." Only in New Orleans. Of course, it is guaranteed that aforementioned tourists get soused and obnoxious and then do embarrassing things on Bourbon Street. I had a Hurricane in New Orleans. It was like Kool-Aid. It came in a giant cup. I refrained from having a second.

That said, I don't actually make this drink, so I can't recommend it or steer you away. It is here today because it is called the Hurricane. It is sweet. It has many ingredients. This particular recipe is taken from Dale DeGroff's fine book, Craft of the Cocktail. DeGroff enlightens us that:

According to Brian Rea, there were two versions. The first was a drink of the early twentieth century that contained Cognac, absinthe, and Polish vodka. The rum-juice combination appears to have surfaced at the 1939 World's Fair in New York, at the Hurricane Bar. I suspect that Rea is right - neither the drink nor Pat O'Brien's appear in the 1937 Famous Drinks of New Orleans, by Stanley Clisby Arthur.

The Hurricane

1 oz dark rum
1 oz light rum
1/2 oz Galliano
3/4 oz fresh lime juice
2 oz passion fruit nectar, or in a pinch, passion fruit syrup
2 oz fresh orange juice
2 oz pineapple juice
1 oz simple syrup
Dash Angostura Bitters
Fresh tropical fruit for garnish

Shake all the ingredients with ice and strain into a hurricane glass filled with ice. Add the garnish. Bottoms up! If Hurricane Irene doesn't blow us away, a couple of these sure will. 

The Singapore Sling

In my effort to experience a wide range of classic cocktails without discrimination, I knew that the Singapore Sling was going to come up sometime.

When I think "Singapore Sling," my mind's eye conjures a picture of colonial outposts in Southeast Asia: mouldering rooms with lazy, rattan ceiling fans useless against the oppressive humidity; the unearthly sounds of screaming monkeys and the opium-vision of rainbow-plumaged birds careening beneath the dense jungle canopy; perhaps the sinister slither of a cobra beneath the mosquito-net-enclosed porch.

That's a bit rich (are there actually cobras there?), but you get the point. The Singapore Sling has a bit of exotic mystery around it. 

The Singapore Sling was created by a certain Mr. Ngiam Tong Boon, at Raffles Hotel in Singapore, in the early part of the twentieth century. The exact date can be argued, and other folks are better equipped to do that. Most sources agree it was invented before 1915. Some claim it was around as early as 1903. There is much debate around the authenticity of any Sling recipe. One claim to an "original" recipe is contradicted by another "original" recipe. The bigger issue is, as with all tropical umbrella drinks, time has seen the Sling debauched and debased; sweetened, weakened, and cheapened like a tart. It is hardly itself any more.

That said, there is no shortage of beguiling recipes out there. The one I am going to share is taken from a recipe in Imbibe Magazine, which also happens to have an article about the Sling as well, called "How the Sling was Slung." In that article, author David Wondrich writes:

With a 1903 reference to “pink slings for pale people,” we can begin to lay to rest the common argument that the reference to “dry cherry brandy” in Robert Vermiere’s 1922 Cocktails: How to Mix Them, the drink’s first appearance in a cocktail book, means that it should be made with a clear kirschwasser rather than a red liqueur such as Cherry Heering. Add the fact that the only cherry brandies that turn up in local liquor advertisements are the red Bols cherry brandy or the aforementioned Heering (at the time, Bols had a dry version of its regular cherry brandy, which was its standard version blended with Cognac).

Wondrich is arguing that the "dry cherry brandy" called for in a Singapore Sling is most likely the red Cherry Heering. On the other hand, author Jason Wilson suggests in a Washington Post article that the "cherry brandy" in the recipe is the clear kirschwasser - because Heering is not really a true brandy.

Who's right? Who cares? Both contenders have decent recipes that taste good; that aren't cheapened with pre-made mix; that remain refreshing and tall. I prefer the Sling made with Cherry Heering. I like its red hue, and its combination of tartness and sweetness. The Sling made with kirschwasser is drier and more floral, thanks to the brandy. Here's what I say: Try both!

Below is the recipe taken from Imbibe Magazine. You can find a variation at DrinkBoy.com, in which there is more gin and less liqueurs, plus pineapple juice. For the recipe with kirschwasser, see the Washington Post.


The Singapore Sling

1 oz London dry gin
1 oz Cherry Heering
1 oz Bénédictine
1 oz fresh lime juice
2 oz soda water
1-2 dashes Angostura Bitters


Take the first four ingredients and put them in a shaker with ice. Give it a quick shake and strain into a tall, ice-filled glass. Top it up with the soda water, and add the bitters as a float on top. Amazingly for an umbrella drink, this has no garnish. If you can't live with that, take a hunk of pineapple or a lime, and stick a plastic umbrella or sword in it, and use that (see illustration, left).

Bottoms up!

The Mai Tai

If you have not had a Mai Tai at the House Without a Key in Waikiki, you cannot be blamed for thinking that this is a sickly sweet "umbrella drink" made with rum, sour mix, and pineapple juice. Fun while eating at your local Tiki-themed restaurant, but not to be taken seriously.

Ladies and gentlemen, the Mai Tai is a serious drink. Made well, as demonstrated by the House Without a Key, it is elegant, potent, and flavorful - and not too sweet at all. Of course, if you are averse to even a touch of sweetness in a cocktail, you might find this too sugary, but try it anyway. You will be surprised. I certainly was. I made it my mission to try as many Mai Tais as I could find in Oahu, realizing ahead of time that I would be in for many a generic pineapple drink with umbrellas and fruit. A sucker tourist with a sugar headache. And I never, not once, had one as good as that at the House Without a Key. Even at the neighboring, fancy hotels with beach-side terraces. They were all made with pineapple juice (not an ingredient in the Mai Tai), were too sweet, and had a one-dimensional flavor, sort of like a mass-appeal drink for people to swill rather than savor.

Who invented the Mai Tai? I am not sure (Don the Beachcomber claimed to have invented it in 1933), but Trader Vic's Victor Bergeron has a good story about creating it in 1944:

I was at the service bar in my Oakland restaurant. I took down a bottle of 17-year-old rum. It was J. Wray Nephew from Jamaica; surprisingly golden in color, medium bodied, but with the rich pungent flavor particular to the Jamaican blends. The flavor of this great rum wasn't meant to be overpowered with heavy additions of fruit juices and flavorings. I took a fresh lime, added some orange curacao from Holland, a dash of Rock Candy Syrup, and a dollop of French Orgeat, for its subtle almond flavor. A generous amount of shaved ice and vigorous shaking by hand produced the marriage I was after. Half the lime shell went in for color ... I stuck in a branch of fresh mint and gave two of them to Ham and Carrie Guild, friends from Tahiti, who were there that night. Carrie took one sip and said, 'Mai Tai - Roa Ae.' In Tahitian this means 'Out of This World - The Best.' Well, that was that. I named the drink Mai Tai. - From "Mai Tai" in the Bartenders Database, retrieved 2011-4-30.

You can find the classic recipes used at Trader Vic's and Don the Beachcomber's here. My recipe is down below.

After a visit to the islands, in a state of despair at being back in Boston after time spent in paradise, I set about to emulate the Mai Tai at House Without a Key. I wanted it to be strong and not too sweet. As a starting point, I looked at Dale DeGroff's recipe in The Craft of the Cocktail, and I looked at Gary Regan's recipe in Joy of Mixology, as these two books have informed and inspired me endlessly. In the end I adapted their formulas until I found a drink that closely resembled the Mai Tai I recalled from House Without a Key, but which has its own distinctions.

This cocktail is more about the right flavors than the name on the bottles, but I suggest Cruzan Aged Rum as a starting point, as it is inexpensive but good quality, and not too fine to mix. From there, try longer-aged gold/amber rums. Some darker rums (Whaler's, Myers's) strike me as too bitter to be the main ingredient in this drink, but can be floated on the top to create a teak-colored surface that tempers the sweetness of the curacao. Also, many recipes (such as these) call for a combination of aged golden and dark rums in the drink, and it is certainly fun to experiment. One more note: This drink calls for orgeat (a sweet syrup with an almond flavor) or falernum (a similar sugar syrup, with more of a clove flavor), which can be hard to track down (I found them, along with a huge collection of bitters, at The Boston Shaker). These syrups make the drink quite sweet if over-used, so I actually substitute those with amaretto liqueur, and it adds the almond nuance without the sugar syrup sweetness.

The Mai Tai is a perfect summer cocktail - and a true classic. Drink it while listening to Andy Cummings' song "Waikiki," or any other Hawaiian music from the 20s or 30s (sung in English, called hapa haole) and you can almost imagine the sweet, fragrant breezes of the south Pacific caressing your senses as beachboys surf the long waves of Waikiki beach with lovely wahines held aloft in their burnished arms...

Mai Tai at House Without a Key

Mai Tai

2 oz aged rum
3/4 oz orange curacao
3/4 oz fresh lime juice
1/4 oz amaretto liqueur
Float of dark rum

Shake the ingredients with ice, and strain into an Old Fashioned glass (rocks glass) over ice cubes.

Float 1/4 oz or so of dark rum over the surface (I use Gosling's Black Rum).

Garnish with a lime round and a mint sprig (unless you have orchids). Thread the mint sprig stem through the center of the lime and float in the middle of the glass. Bottoms up!