The Whittemore Sipper

After some midlife upheaval, I now live in a strange oasis called the Whittemore Estates. This is a hidden secret of Boston, a rambling property of flagstone and apple trees, vegetable gardens and a rich abundance of flowers. There is also a quite remarkable swimming pool, certainly an anomaly in Boston, that brings to mind the south of France, or at the very least, a summer vacation spot in Maine or Cape Cod.

It is now October and the pool is forlorn and covered. We are heading toward Halloween. Days have become cooler, the nights downright chilly, and the apples are falling off the trees en masse. The air is redolent of their broken flesh, of woodfire and damp leaves. 

In homage of this magical place, I have a cocktail to share. Based loosely on a cocktail by Jay Zimmerman of Brooklyn's ba'sik, the Whittemore Sipper is, as is my wont, a twist on the Manhattan using rye whiskey, Orchard Apricot Liqueur, and Byrrh Grand Quinquina (an aperitif flavored with quinine—which comes from chinchona bark—and has flavors reminiscent of finer vermouths, but with a gentle bitterness). To this I add a combination of bitters, and a flamed orange peel. 

I have played around with this cocktail quite a bit, veering away from my first choice of Punt y Mes vermouth, which is a bit too heavily bittersweet (in my opinion) for this drink, and opting eventually for the gentler Byrrh, which has tones (such as chocolate) that complement the apricot and rye nicely. You could substitute the very fine Bonal Gentiane Qiuna, another quinine-derived aperitif (and a key ingredient in the Bonal & Rye cocktail). 

Go easy on the apricot liqueur—at least if you are using the Rothman & Winter Orchard Apricot—as it can be a bit medicinal if overused. And find a rye that has punch. I have been using 100-proof Hochstadter's Vatted Straight Rye Whiskey, but the 100-proof Rittenhouse Rye works well too. I'm sure even Old Overholt would work, in a pinch, but the rye flavors—all the flavors, in fact—are more muted.

Also, I have played around with bitters, starting with Regan's Orange Bitters and moving to Dutch's Colonial Cocktail Bitters and a few others. I settled on a combination of the unshakeable Angostura Bitters and Bittermen's Xocalatl Mole Bitters, which adds suitable depth and complementary flavors to the drink. However, part of the fun is experimenting, so perhaps there are other types of bitters that would bring out different flavor profiles in this drink.

Experiments are underway employing a rinse of smoky scotch, and the verdict is out. But, again, this is why drinking is fun. Without further ado, the recipe.

The Whittemore Sipper

• 3 oz rye whiskey
• 3/4 oz Byrrh Grand Quinquina
• 1/2 oz apricot liqueur
• 2 dashes Bittermen's Xocalatl Mole Bitters
• 1 dash Angostura Bitters
• Flamed orange peel

In a mixing glass with ice, combine all the ingredients except the flamed orange peel. Stir until very cold and strain in to a cocktail glass. Flame the peel (see how to flame a peel) over the drink and discard the peel. Drink the drink. Bottoms up.

And, please don't hesitate to provide your feedback on this recipe.

The Original Martini

It is feasible that one could dedicate the rest of his or her time on this planet researching the origins of the famed Martini—"King of Cocktails." Clues to its creation abound, but so do dead ends, follies, and inconsistencies.

The recipe I am posting here is not for today's typical dry Martini—though it is dry compared to the earliest iterations of the drink, which date to the mid-1800s—since this version probably has far more vermouth in it than any self-proclaimed dry Martini aficionado would tolerate. No, rather than merely washing the ice, or swirling and discarding the vermouth, or opening the cap and allowing the fan to blow the essence across the glass, this calls for a full half ounce of a good dry vermouth. And it even has bitters in it.

I realize that some basic Martini background and lore may be necessary.

For the very basic crash course: today's classic Martini tends to be dry gin and dry vermouth, mixed in a ratio that has as many variables as there are Martini drinkers. Some prefer two or three parts gin to one part vermouth. Some prefer a dash of vermouth, with the emphasis on the gin. There are many tales of people who warn that the vermouth and the gin should never meet, instead insisting that a mere glance at the vermouth bottle is sufficient. Basically, the less vermouth, the drier the Martini. The garnishes go along accordingly, from lemon twists to green olives to the Gibson's cocktail onion. (Though some might argue with including the Gibson Cocktail on this list, to this drinker the Gibson is essentially a very dry martini, with a pickled onion instead of an olive or twist; the Gibson has its own lore, and is worthy of its own entry at some point. The main difference, aside from the onion, is that the Martini originally utilized bitters, and the Gibson never has.)

As reported in "Drink Recipes: How to Make a Dry Martini, Classic Cocktails" (Thirsty NYC):

The ratio of gin to vermouth has been steadily increasing since the cocktail was created. A ratio of 1:1 was common at the turn of the 20th century, and 3:1 or 4:1 martinis were typical during the 1930s and 1940s. During the latter part of the 20th century, 6:1, 8:1, 12:1, or even 50:1 or 100:1 Martinis became considered the norm.

The more I consider this, in fact, the more I think a dry Martini is the most uptight drink in the world: there is an over-abundance of specific rituals and requests when it comes down to making it, despite the fact that it is basically just cold gin with endless possible ratios of vermouth. It's pompous, uptight, and controlling—even if it has its pleasures, too. "Americans in hell tell each other how to make Martinis," wrote Randall Jarrell in Pictures from an Institution (1954). I encourage you to read more on this angle—and, incidentally, where the so-called 'vodka" Martini stands—in the very interesting Washington Post article "Stirrings of a Better Martini."

Anyway, now that I have likely offended the "serious" Martini drinkers among you (forgive me), let's talk Martinis a bit. Then I'll give you the recipe I am so thrilled about.

Where does the Martini come from? Who can lay claim to making the first one? In The Craft of the Cocktail, preeminent mixologist and founder of the Museum of the American Cocktail Dale DeGroff offers some clues:

The British claim the Martini was named after a late-nineteenth-century firearm of the same name, famous for its kick. The Martini & Rossi Vermouth company take credit for its name, since vermouth is the defining ingredient in the Martini, and they did market a bottled dry Martini around the world in the 1890s. Martini di Arma di Taggia, the principal bartender at the Knickerbocker Hotel in New York City at the turn of the century, is also given credit for the Martini. Mr. Di Taggia played an important role in the evolution of the drink when he married dry gin with dry vermouth (and orange bitters) for the first time, but there's more to the story. There was a cocktail in the 1850s called the Fancy Gin Cocktail that paired Old Tom Gin and orange curaçao. At the time the Fancy Gin became popular, Martini & Rossi Vermouth was not readily available in this country, the Martini and Henry rifle was still on the drawing board, and Martini di Arma di Taggia was just a small boy.

Cocktailian Gary "Gaz" Regan writes in The Joy of Mixology, "My research points toward the drink being a direct descendant of the Manhattan. Recipes for the Martini started to appear in the cocktail books in the late 1800s, and many of them were very similar, and sometimes identical, to recipes for the Martinez, a cocktail that appeared in print in the 1880s and was often described as 'a Manhattan, substituting gin for the whiskey.' Thus, theoretically at least, the Martinez was a variation on the Manhattan, and the Martini is, for all intents and purposes, a Martinez."

Got it?

Perhaps David Wondrich puts it best in his book Imbibe!: "In the absence of certainty, bullshit blooms." Wondrich uses a series of historic pros and cons to present an investigation of the Martini's origins. If you want the details, you should buy or borrow the book, as they are too extensive to include here. However, in short, Wondrich posits four possibilities:

1. The cocktail was created by famed bartender Jerry Thomas, who was working in San Francisco at the time (1860s) and who ostensibly created the drink for a traveler bound for the East Bay town Martinez (verdict: "extremely unlikely").
2. Martinez, Calif., bartender Julio Richelieu invented the drink in the 1870s "as change for a gold nugget a miner gave him," and the elixir became popular when Richelieu relocated his business to San Francisco's Market Street (verdict: "unlikely, and will remain so until [the town of] Martinez documents its claim"). 
3. The Martini was born in New York's Manhattan Club, invented by a New York judge named Randolph B. Martine in the mid-1880s (verdict: "possible, but not proven"). 
4. The Martini was created at New York's Turf Club—and there is a documented "Turf Club Cocktail" made of gin and vermouth published in 1884, the same year the first Martinez reference appears—but it seems to be illusory as the Turf Club Cocktail was also reportedly another name for a mix of whiskey, vermouth, and bitters (otherwise known as a Manhattan). 

"In a muddle like this, anything is possible," Wondrich concludes. Are we clear on this now?

For the record, I'm not a routine Martini drinker—I do enjoy Martinis, and I tend to like them fairly dry, but I am not particularly persnickety about the gin used (I like a variety of brands) or the dry vermouth. I certainly do not spend time specifying in detail how little vermouth to mix with the gin. More accurately, though, I order Martinis dry in order to minimize the chance of a poorly made drink. After all, how can you bungle chilled gin with a splash of dry vermouth? When in doubt about an establishment's ability to make a Manhattan (whiskey, sweet vermouth, bitters), I order a Martini.

So when I stumbled upon the "Original Martini" being offered at Workshop Kitchen + Bar in Palm Springs, California, I was intrigued by its ingredients of Plymouth Dry Gin, Dolin Dry Vermouth, Angostura Orange Bitters, and lemon oils. First, in the dry heat of the California desert, it sounded refreshing. Second, it presented itself as a true cocktail with bitters—something that seems to have been factored out of today's typical dry Martinis. I tend to appreciate the depth created by judicious application of vermouth and bitters, so I ordered it, and it was a revelation for me. Suddenly, I enjoyed a dry Martini in a true and honest way. So much so that I wanted to figure out the ratios of the ingredients so I could make it for myself.

The ingredients, here, are rather important—though, assuredly, you can probably approximate the taste with other brands. You can use other dry gins, or other French vermouths such as Noilly-Prat, but I advise staying with the Angostura Orange Bitters, as they are virtually clear and will no discolor the cocktail, allowing it to retain its pleasing crystal clarity."We don't know who poured the very first true Dry Martini—that is, Plymouth or London dry gin mixed with French vermouth and no syrup," writes Wondrich in his preamble to the recipe for the Dry Martini Cocktail in Imbibe! "Mixed like this, with half gin and half vermouth and a dash of orange bitters, the Martini is an entirely different drink from the one we know and, as many still believe, a superior one. For those who have learned the Dry Martini as a fiery chalice of unmixed tanglefoot, it will come as a revelation."

Knickerbocker Hotel, c. 1909

On their menu, Workshop Kitchen + Bar aligns their recipe for the "Original Martini" to that of "head bartender at the Knickerbocker Hotel in NYC, Martini di Arma di Taggia’s original recipe from 1911." According the The Nibble, some folks assert that di Taggia made his Martini for "America’s first billionaire, John D. Rockefeller, co-founder of the Standard Oil Company. True or not, it seems to be the first time the Martini made its way to Wall Street, and then Madison Avenue, where the 'three Martini lunch' was a standard among executives for decades. By the way, Rockefeller’s Martini was made with London Dry Gin, dry vermouth, bitters, lemon peel and one olive."

So there we are, come full circle, and none the wiser for it. Without further delay, I provide my version of the recipe for one of the better Martinis I have had the pleasure of tasting.

The Original Martini

• 3 oz Plymouth dry gin
• 1/2 oz Dolin dry vermouth
• 2 dashes Angostura Orange Bitters
• Oils from a few swaths of lemon peel
• Castelvetrano olive

Take a swath of lemon peel and gently spritz the citrus oil into a mixing glass. Discard the peel. Add the bitters, the gin, and the vermouth, and stir with ice until very cold (fifty brisk stirs). Strain the clear, cold concoction into the glass. Take another swath of lemon peel and spritz the oils across the surface of the drink (again discard the peel). Garnish with an olive (or a Tomolive), and enjoy while the drink is cold.

By the way, the reason one stirs a Martini is to help the clear liquors retain their brilliant clarity, whereas shaking it with ice creates a murky effervescence that is not quite as pleasing to the eye. Plus, as Gary Regan says, "the sight of a bartender lovingly stirring this drink for at least twenty to thirty seconds is something people enjoy." 

Bottoms up!

The Wise Manhattan Cocktail

While this compendium of cocktails is not intended to be a forum for home-invented drinks, there are a few exceptions: the Night Tripper, the Bucking Bronco, the Shangri-La, the Dirty Cur, the Elmwood Sour, and the Whittemore Sipper.

To that short list of bespoke drinks I add one more: The Wise Manhattan. This is a good one, I promise -- if you can find the proper ingredients (which I urge you to do). 

First, lay your hands on some Riga Black Balsam bitters. It comes in a fetching ceramic bottle and has an alcohol content of 45%. To date, I have not really found a good use for these bitters, acquired under duress at one eccentrically curated liquor store. Here is how they are described by the company JSC Latvijas balzamson on their website:

Riga Black Balsam opens a whole world of sensations with its 24 ingredients. Subtle hints of linden blossom, birch bud, valerian root, raspberry, bilberry, and ginger as well as touches of nutmeg and black peppercorn tease the palate and come alive in the glass. 

Now -- with this cocktail -- the fate of my lone bottle of Riga Black Balsam bitters is sealed.

You'll also need to get hold of some walnut liqueur (noix in France, nocino in Italy, nüsse or nüssenschnaps in Austria and Germany). It is made from steeping unripe, green walnuts in a spirit. It is black, sticky, and bitter. The only brand I have used is Nux Alpina Walnut Liqueur, made by Austria's Distillerie Purkhart and described as "unique for its use of alpine botanicals and renowned for its balance and exceptionally smooth finish." While I am not generally the most outspoken fan of walnuts, I admit that this liqueur is quite tasty, and works well with bourbon.

The other necessary ingredient is sherry. Not a dry sherry (though I believe there are angles to be explored there) but Pedro Ximénez, or "PX," which is a rather sweet dessert wine. It has a compelling scent of raisins (or prunes) and molasses, and functions much as a sweet vermouth might in a regular Manhattan, providing the spicy whiskey with an underlying bed of candied dry fruit, burnt sugar, and mocha notes -- complementing the walnut liqueur quite favorably, and benefitting from the balancing herbal notes of the Riga Black Balsam bitters. I found a small bottle of 2013 Pedro Ximénez made by Alvear, about $25, without too much searching. It is beguiling on its own, but its flavors really add layers of nuance to this Manhattan-like cocktail.

Together, these three unusual ingredients -- sweet and bitter -- work marvelously with bourbon, creating a cocktail with a sultry depth. The drink evokes the tobacco and leather of a comfy old manor library with oriental rugs and crystal decanters. Or maybe that is just my fancy. I found burnt sugar, dried fruit (raisins and prunes), spices, and a subtle yet clear and pleasant walnut aftertaste. The sweet is balanced by the walnut and bitters, all of which enhance the bourbon (I used Johnny Drum, 101 proof and deliciously spicy). But in my limited connoisseurship, let it suffice to say it is satisfying, deep, and tasty.

So, why the "Wise" Manhattan?

It is thought that the walnut traces back to Persia. According to the site USA Walnuts, "Walnuts are one of the world’s oldest foods and have been cultivated for at least 2,000 years. These nutritious nuts have been linked to love and fertility throughout history and their reputation as an aphrodisiac dates back to ancient Greece and Rome." Sexy! There are a lot of fascinating details about walnuts and what they symbolize on the USA Walnuts site. You can also find some background on the symbolism of the walnut tree here.

1939, © Fritz Kahn

Quoted from USA Walnuts:

Walnuts were considered beneficial for any disease affecting the head since early on because a whole walnut and the walnut meat within the shell both resemble a wrinkled human brain. According to the Doctrine of Signatures, a 14th century medical theory that theorized that a plant’s shape suggested its curative properties, eating walnuts was believed to stimulate the intellect. Walnut husks were used in folk medicine for the scalp, and walnut shells were recommended for skull ailments. In floriography, the language of flowers, walnuts represent the intellect.

Moreover: "We discovered that students who consumed walnuts experienced improvement in critical thinking, specifically inferential reasoning," says Peter Pribis, Andrews University associate professor of nutrition and wellness, who led a study on the "Effects of Walnut Consumption on Cognitive Performance in Young Adults," published in the British Journal of Nutrition.

So, in other words, walnuts might make you wiser. This is nuts, you must think. Well, let's get to the recipe.

The Wise Manhattan

• 3 oz bourbon
• 1/2 oz Pedro Ximénez
• 1/4 oz Nux Alpina Walnut Liqueur (or other walnut liqueur)
• 1/2 barspoon Riga Black Balsam bitters (or to taste)
  (substitute Angostura if necessary, or Black Mission Fig bitters by Brooklyn Hemispherical)

Stir with ice in a mixing glass until very cold. Strain into a cocktail glass and garnish with a cocktail cherry. Though they are expensive, I recommend using the Luxardo Maraschino cherries in syrup.

Now, raise the glass to your nose and take a deep whiff. Savor the aroma. Clink your glass, and bottoms up!

"I don't categorically hate nuts. I just don't like them in my mouth."

And to All a Good Night

I managed one post last year and I will manage one again, this year. You can all blame the mighty Manhattan for my absence, for I have been sunk in its ever-evolving charms and comforting elegance throughout the past year. 

Now, however, that is beside the point. I am in the throes of addiction to a new magic.

It is December 21, 2014. The Winter Solstice. The Winter Solstice marks the longest night of the year. And this year, it will be the longest night in "the history of earth" (according to science -- or not). So, on the cusp of the longest night in 4.5 billion years, I am here to tell you about a spicy little number called, fittingly, And to All a Good Night. 

Forget that Christmas poem. At least, you will once a few of these have lubricated your puzzler. Attributed to Tim Stookey of the Presidio Social Club in San Francisco, this cocktail with the unwieldy name has won my heart over the past few weeks. And, it is a truly unusual tipple in that it brazenly mixes bourbon (or rye) with tequila. And then throws in a bit of Cherry Heering. On paper this sounds truly unpleasant, but not so much that I wasn't intrigued. So I got to work.

Some recommendations for liquor: First of all, while this was originally billed with bourbon, I can tell you that, so far, this has worked best for me with a nice, strong, spicy rye. I used Bulleit and it definitely added some nuances that were lost to Old Overholt. I would opt for a similar route with bourbon--go for something with a little oomph in the spice department. As for the tequila, I used a Espolón reposado, which worked nicely. I haven't experimented too much with different reposados, but it would be worth the effort I think. Then you have your Cherry Heering (no substitutes) and your bitters. I tried this with Angostura Orange bitters, and it fell short. You really will benefit from the Regan's orange bitters. They demonstrate more peel bitterness, and have quite a bite. Then a dash of Angostura bitters for that distinctive depth. Obviously, tastes differ -- which is why it is fun to play around with these cocktail recipes.

So what would such a mix of ingredients taste like? I was surprised. First of all, the orange oils from the garnish give this a sumptuous, magical bouquet. And each sip revealed (to these taste buds, at least) the richness of chocolate; a deep, dark hint of cherry fruit; and a lot of spiciness--using Bulleit rye I found a range of sparkling, palate-rousing mint, cinnamon, cocoa, pepper, vanilla. The tequila will add its own complimentary notes, which in retrospect is not so surprising, considering it too is aged in wood and carries a spicy whomp. 

The marvel, with this drink, is how all the flavors blend together into a most harmonious whole. Exactly as it should be with a superlative cocktail. So, my lovelies, get to work.

And to All a Good Night

• 1 1/2 oz bourbon or rye 
• 3/4 oz reposado tequila 
• 3/4 oz Cherry Heering
• 2 dashes Regan's orange bitters 
• 1 dash Angostura bitters
• Orange twist 

Combine the ingredients in a mixing glass with ice and stir until cold. Strain into a glass, take a swath of orange peel and gently spritz the oil across the surface (you can even try flaming it), deposit the peel in the glass, lift it to your lips, tilt the glass gently to no more than a 45 degree angle (toward your mouth, of course), and savor.

"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!" And, I say, bottoms up.

The Corpse Reviver #3

Last night, ridiculously monikered blizzard "Nemo" blustered through Boston and left a good couple of feet of snow behind. This morning, I found myself hoisting a shovel for a couple of hours, trying to make a dent in the drifts that had cozied up to the side or our house, obliterated our walkways, and buried our stairs. It is certainly an impressive sight, the snow. However, I fully oppose it.

My aching body - in an outcry against such heavy labor - opposes it. My mind, which looks grimly ahead to the inevitable quagmire of slush, opposes it. And my nature, inclined to drier and warmer climes, most certainly opposes it.

Therefore, I decided I needed reviving. And for that, I turned to a recipe I learned about at Boston's Eastern Standard. The Corpse Reviver #3 appears on their dessert menu, and when I happen to dine there, it is what I choose for dessert. It is a descendent of the Corpse Reviver and the Corpse Reviver #2, two "hair of the dog" drinks that are intended to counter the effects of a hangover. Coming, perhaps, from the ancient method of preventing rabies from a dog bite by putting some hair of the dog in the wound, the idea is that a touch of drink the morning after a drunken night will counter the hangover enough to get you through (and, presumably, started again).

According to Ebenezer Cobham Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable (1898):

"In Scotland it is a popular belief that a few hairs of the dog that bit you applied to the wound will prevent evil consequences. Applied to drinks, it means, if overnight you have indulged too freely, take a glass of the same wine within 24 hours to soothe the nerves. 'If this dog do you bite, soon as out of your bed, take a hair of the tail the next day.'"

Corpse Revivers #1 and #2 appeared in Harry Craddock's 1930 Savoy Cocktail Handbook. The first is made of cognac, sweet vermouth, and apple brandy. Seems startlingly potent, perhaps, as a cure for crapulousness. The second iteration is made of gin, Lillet, lemon juice, and triple sec - with just a dash of absinthe. This seems to be the more popular version of the drink, and I can understand why it might be less offensive as the first line of attack against the hangover.

Corpse Reviver #3, however, is as appropriate as an aperitif or a nightcap as it might be as a cure the morning after. Its ingredients are brandy, white crème de menthe, and Fernet Branca - which was invented as a stomach medicine. It is bitter, aromatic, and herbal, and bitters are well known to settle the griping belly. The spirit is, incidentally, quite popular in Argentina. It was drunk instead of British whiskey during the Falklands war. Sometimes it is mixed with Coca Cola. Most palates will recoil at first, considering the intensity of its flavor. However, one grows accustomed to its pleasures as one might those of Campari.

Crème de menthe is also known to settle the stomach, and it is commonly found in the Stinger cocktail, which is an after-dinner drink made of crème de menthe and brandy.

With the sweetness of the brandy and crème de menthe, the Fernet is tempered adequately, resulting in a balanced, flavorful grown-up beverage of considerable depth. I have enjoyed them the morning after, and the night before, with no complaints.

On a side note, trying to find brandy the night of a blizzard was not easy, and I found myself shut out of many liquor stores that closed early. I finally stumbled into the one liquor store I routinely avoid, due to its exorbitant prices and its lousy selection. It is closest to my house, ironically, and least useful to me. This time, however, as I pointed to the one bottle of brandy I could see - Paul Masson, regrettably - and asked its price, fully expecting it to be $30, the proprietor suggested I would be better off with Greek brandy, Metaxa (at a reasonable $19). So I took him at his word, and it works fine in this mix. It is a bit sweeter, to these tastebuds, than French or Spanish brandies, but with the Fernet, it works.

The body of the Corpse Reviver #3 is heavy, succulent, and luxurious. Note that I tempered the ratios slightly to reduce the prevalence of the crème de menthe, since the Fernet supplies its own dose of mint as well.

Let's do this:

The Corpse Reviver #3

• 1 oz brandy or cognac
• 1 oz white crème de menthe
• 1 oz Fernet Branca
• 1 dash of Bitterman's Xocolatl Mole Bitters

Put all the ingredients in a mixing glass with ice and stir until very cold. Strain into a coupe and enjoy - and let it bring you back to life. Bottoms up!

Widow's Kiss

As Halloween approaches, I thought I would post a peculiar tipple made of almost ancient potions, called the Widow's Kiss. Not really a spooky drink, though the "widow" must have had some fortitude--this is a potent cocktail.

One sip at a time, this widow's kiss is a touch of heaven on the lips.

The Widow's Kiss has been spoken of highly by David Wondrich ("astonishingly harmonious and yet intriguing") and Dr. Cocktail himself, Ted Haigh ("the most evocative drink ever"). Therefore, I had to put this to the test.

The printed recipe dates back to 1895, and from all appearances comes from the hand of one George Kappeler. Two of its ingredients--Chartreuse and Benedictine--are assertively herbal, and date back to 1605 and 1510, respectively, when they were employed "medicinally" by the monks who crafted them. Additionally, there are Angostura Bitters, also herbal in nature, which serve to take the edge off the sweeter ingredients.

Then, there's apple brandy. That makes this a suitable drink for autumn as we head into the colder months. While Calvados is suggested, I find that using Laird's bottled-in-bond, 100-proof straight apple brandy is just fine. The only trouble is finding it--you may be able to find Laird's Applejack, but it is not the same beast. Advice is to defer to Calvados if your only alternative is applejack.

A note about Green Chartreuse, also: Some advise yellow Chartreuse in this recipe. It is lower proof and not as assertive. I don't know. The green version is strong-willed, so the argument is that it can overpower the drink. Nonetheless, I like using the green version. 

It's strong. It's herbal. Potent. The Benedictine and the Chartreuse combine with the apple brandy to create a complex flavor, reminiscent of anise but veering away from that, into alpine herbs. It is a very full flavor, with a lot of tingle. It can be a little viscous and heavy, but you don't want to rush through this. Savor this kiss.

The Widow's Kiss

• 1 1/2 oz apple brandy (Laird's bonded straight apple brandy or French Calvados)
• 3/4 oz Chartreuse (I use the green, but yellow is advised by Wondrich)
• 3/4 oz Benedictine
• 2 dashes Angostura Bitters

Shake with ice and strain into a cocktail glass. The Widow's Kiss is garnished with a cherry, and when it finds its way to your mouth you will possibly swoon. It's a delight. Bottoms up!

The Kentucky Fix

If you enjoy coffee and you have a taste for bourbon, then you will most certainly appreciate the coffee-infused bourbon at the heart of this delicious and simple cocktail, which is in the style of the classic Old Fashioned. In addition to the obvious medicinal qualities of bourbon, one benefits from a gentle kick of caffeine. This is an elegant, sophisticated, wholly adult beverage.

You have to start by infusing the bourbon with full-bodied coffee beans. It's a painless procedure. Put a quarter cup of fresh, whole coffee beans and two cups of bourbon in a jar with a tight-fitting lid. Let the mixture sit for 12 hours, and then strain out the coffee beans (you might use cheesecloth to keep the smaller particles out of the liquor).

That said, I am known to be a lazy man. I rarely endeavor to make infusions, even simple ones such as described above. The truth is, I am not only slothful, but impatient. I don't like to wait for anything, whether it is public transportation or late-arriving guests, a slow walking companion, or 12-hour infusions. When I seek to slake my thirst, I demand immediate satisfaction, as I am sure you do as well. So, when I have actually planned ahead and made an infusion, it is a particular treat to enjoy. We made a batch prior to the Christmas holiday, and my wife and I enjoyed one on Christmas Eve (or truthfully, Christmas Eve day). Delicious - and I must say it perked us up a bit too.

The Kentucky Fix

• 2 oz coffee-infused bourbon (recipe here)
• 1 big barspoon of demerara sugar
• 2 dashes Regan's Orange Bitters
• 1 dash Fee Bros. Whiskey Barrel-Aged Bitters
• Garnish: flamed orange peel

In a mixing glass, combine the sugar, the bitters, and the infused bourbon. Stir to dissolve the sugar. Add ice, and stir until very cold (count to 50). Strain into a rocks glass with freshly cracked ice. Flame a thick swatch of orange peel over the drink, and drop the peel in.

If you are in doubt about how to flame a peel, check out the technique on my Infusions, Syrups, Concoctions page.

Bottoms up - and a very happy New Year to you!

"Christmas" Manhattan

The so-called "Christmas" Manhattan is simply one of my variations on the standard Manhattan. It substitutes a couple of the traditional ingredients: standard sweet vermouth is replaced by the more complex Carpano Antica Formula vermouth, which is based on what is purported to be the original sweet vermouth recipe from Antonio Benedetto Carpano, created in 1786. You can find it a bit more easily nowadays; if you are in the Boston area you can try Dave's Fresh Pasta or Cambridge Wine & Spirits. 

Carpano happens to have many of the characteristic flavors one might associate with the holidays - think licorice, herbs, figs, cocoa, and sweet cinnamon. The Fee Bros. Old Fashion bitters have a cinnamon profile (try to find the limited edition whiskey barrel aged bitters, released once a year...) that sings holiday carols with Regan's Orange Bitters, which are especially good (you can substitute Fee Bros. Orange Bitters or Angostura Orange Bitters). Hell, for that matter you could approximate this using any sweet vermouth, Angostura bitters, and whatever orange bitters you can find, if necessary. 

That said, this particular combination of ingredients, listed below, derived its name when I proffered one to my lovely wife, who responded by saying, "It's like Christmas in my mouth."

I thought it would be appropriate to post this heading toward Christmas, simply so as to put before you an option, which you may essay to concoct, for a December evening's celebratory tipple. Christmas Eve, especially.

The "Christmas" Manhattan

• 3 oz Wild Turkey 101 bourbon
• 3/4 oz Carpano Antica Formula Sweet Vermouth
• 2 dashes Regan's Orange Bitters
• 1 dash Fee Bros. Whiskey Barrel-Aged Bitters
• Garnish: Maraschino cherry

Combine the ingredients, bitters first, in a mixing glass. Add ice and stir until very cold (count to 50). Strain into a cocktail glass, and garnish with a Maraschino cherry. 

If you are bothered to acquire the listed ingredients, go a step further and buy Luxardo Maraschino Cherries in syrup. They are the best money can buy (and quite dear, unfortunately), but you will be grateful at the end of your drink when you taste a Luxardo cherry: tart, sweet without being saccharine, deeply flavored, and all natural. After all, it's a holiday and you only live once.

Bottoms up - and Happy Holidays!

My Father's Manhattan

Simply put, my father makes the best Manhattan.

I don't know what makes it the best. It could be nostalgia. It could be the ratios, the precisely limited amount of bitters, the maraschino cherry juice (yes, the bright red kind). It could be the sheer consistency of the recipe - year after year, not one of these magnificent drinks has wavered in flavor. Each encounter with a Manhattan made by my father is like a reunion with your own flesh and blood. If there was one thing I could have learned from this, it is don't muck about with perfection.

So, like a proper son, I did muck about. And as a result, I lost the magic touch.

I used to make a good Manhattan; slightly more bitters, slightly more vermouth. In fact, in the quest to find my own take on this classic - my own perfectly rendered Manhattan - I have tried scores of different bourbons and ryes, many types of bitters and vermouths, and so many damned ratios that I have effectively forgotten how to make the same drink twice. I have made some outstanding cocktails, real beauties, with rich, complex flavors. I have made many that were merely so-so. The problem is, I have no standard to which I can adhere. I am always trying some new thing. It's hit or miss. Until, that is, I do it Dad's way.

That's why, in honor of my father's recent October birthday, I decided to write about his consistently delicious, soul-warming, old friend Manhattan. A chance to come home, so to speak. The Prodigal Son. It is like hitting the default button, starting over, finding the trail out of the wilderness. For me, it is the control in the experiment. It is the measure by which all other endeavors must be judged.

I would like to say I can remember the first time I was old enough to be offered my initial Manhattan. It was probably Christmas Eve. It probably came, as it always does, brimming with amber liquid and mystery, that dark cherry nestled deep in the glowing heart of the drink. Here was the special-occasion cocktail I had seen my father sip on for most of my life, always during gatherings or holidays. It represented festivity and camaraderie. It was always a libation indulged in as a group: the family raising a toast; a boisterous group of friends carefully clinking glasses, trying not to slosh. On trips to visit my mother's family in London, Dad would bring Wild Turkey, and would introduce the English relatives to this uniquely American cocktail. Everyone there who tasted it remembered it - such a cocktail was almost completely foreign to England at the time - and it was in demand at every visit, year upon year.

As for me, I loved it immediately. Spicy, sweet, floral, woodsy, each sip ushering a fugue of flavors, developing and restating themselves, from toasty vanilla to nutmeg and a mere hint of cinnamon, to something like burnt sugar and charred wood. Such a remarkable drink undoubtedly fostered my (quite possibly unhealthy) need to discover what transforms a good cocktail into a beautiful experience.

So here, a little over week past my father's birthday, I offer the king of Manhattans: Dad Bradley's.

My Father's Manhattan

• 4 parts Wild Turkey 101 bourbon
• 1 part sweet vermouth (Martini & Rossi)
• Dash of Angostura Bitters
• Small barspoon of liquid from the maraschino cherry jar

Note that I say parts, not ounces. The number of ounces that comprise four parts is up to you. Shake the ingredients with ice until very cold (about a 20-count) and strain into a chilled martini glass. Garnish with a maraschino cherry (and no, not the fancy kind... the artificially colored kind).

My brother, Ben, and father, Damon - happy with Manhattans

I have quite recently introduced my father to Carpano Antica, a particularly flavorful sweet vermouth, the "ancient formula," and Luxardo's fancy marasca cherries which are tart and delicious. And Dad politely agrees that these tastes indeed add new dimensions to the old classic Manhattan - and he may mean it. But ultimately, I like the Manhattan best when it is made the unfussy way Dad makes it: using the old, sticky bottle of Martini & Rossi, the trusty Wild Turkey 101, and the bright red cherries. And just a dash of bitters.

Here's to you, pops. (Forgive me if I don't say "bottoms up" this time.)

Autumn Old Fashioned

Well, then. Last weekend it was in the mid-80s - hot for October. This weekend, it is in the cool 60s. Brisk nights. Breezy afternoons. Only glimpses of that sparkling October sky through puffy white cumulus. The increasing presence of chilly grey clouds casting an ominous light. Let's call it "Graveyard Grey."

Autumn is here. Definitely my favorite time of year for cuisine. I am prone to eating lots of cheese. Sharp cheddar. Swiss fondue. Stilton. Not to mention savory game meats - wild boar, venison - along with all manner of root vegetables, bisques, oysters, mac and cheese, chowder, mashed potatoes, brussels sprouts cockaigne, hearty pastas and baked dishes, cassoulet, choucroute... the list can, and does, go on. The crisp, gusty days; the wafting tendrils of smoke from bonfires and hearths; the clouds pushed hurriedly across bright, clean, blue skies; the trees exploding in colors of rust and amber, flame orange and that yellow that is almost indefinably rich and luminescent... It just seems to stimulate the appetite. The metabolism preparing for winter's icy clutches. The urge to fatten up. A good time for eating.

And a good time for drinking, too.

I like the flavor of applejack during the fall. The apples go hand-in-hand with the season, so I have been trying to find cocktails that can be made with applejack. About a month ago, in my last posting, I introduced the Newark Cocktail. The Newark is a delightfully autumnal sipper, with a host of tantalizing flavors that evoke the season of burning firewood, spooky nights on streets paved with leaves, carved pumpkins leering from front porches and entryways, gnarled oaks, apple orchards, and crumbling stone walls.

When I found a recipe for an applejack-based Old Fashioned, I had to try it. And this recipe is very good. This one is totally New England to me. Apple, maple, cinnamon, nutmeg - the flavors are perfect for an autumn evening after a day spent wandering the woods in light sweaters, the rustling leaves aflame with color.

A couple of notes:

1. If you can find Laird's Bonded Straight Apple Brandy (100 proof), use that - you'll get the flavor of about about sixteen to twenty pounds of apples per bottle. I haven't yet found it in Boston, so I use Laird's Applejack, a blended spirit with apple as the base (as opposed to rye, wheat, or corn), which contains about six pounds of apples per bottle. It's sort of like American whiskey with a hint of apple. 
2. As for the maple syrup, you won't get the spirit of this drink without using the good stuff: grade A, 100 percent pure. I will go so far as to recommend dark amber for fuller flavor. The one I used is Coombs Family Farms Maple Syrup, Grade A Dark Amber. Smoky and richly flavored, not too sweet, and redolent of the northern New England woods. 
3. Try to find the Fee Brothers Whiskey Barrel Aged Bitters. They have the perfect flavor of cinnamon and spice to provide the correct underpinning to the maple and applejack. The barrel aged bitters are available only in limited quantities each spring. Find them here. In a pinch you can use regular Fee Brothers Old Fashion Bitters, which front a little more cinnamon, with a lot less subtlety. Angostura would probably work as well, but in that case you might experiment with three to four dashes rather than two.

Autumn Old Fashioned 

• 2 oz applejack
• 1 tsp Grade A, dark amber maple syrup
• 2 dashes Fee Brothers Whiskey Barrel Aged Bitters

In an Old Fashioned glass, add the two dashes of bitters (be careful, as they are quite potent - too much and they will overwhelm the drink), the spoonful of maple syrup, and the applejack. Stir to mix, and then add a couple of ice cubes. You can garnish with an orange twist, if you so desire.

Great while listening to Bill Evans' Sunday at the Village Vanguard, or perhaps Frank Sinatra's Autumn in New York...

Bottoms up - Here's to my favorite time of year in New England. Let's make the most of it because we know what comes next...

The "Drew Barrymore" Cocktail

Photo courtesy of Dave Aaronoff.

Derived from the Du Barry Cocktail, this delightful sipper substitutes one ingredient and adds a little flame - in the process, transforming from doomed courtesan to pyrokinetic prodigy, hence the name "Drew Barrymore" (remember Firestarter?). This one was named (and flamed) by my friends Dave and Kerry, after they determined that the original Du Barry was lacking in some depth.

Speaking of the original Madame du Barry: in short, she was the last maîtresse-en-titre of French King Louis XV. She came up off the streets and ended up catering to the erotic needs of the aristocracy of France. Eventually she found herself servicing Louis XV, on the down-low, until she was officially presented to the Court at Versailles in April of 1769 as the king's maîtresse-en-titre. After the king's death in 1774, Mme du Barry was exiled. She eventually met her demise under the guillotine's undiscerning blade on December 8, 1793. Her last words, famously, were "Encore un moment!" (wait!).

So, why was the original called the Du Barry? Is it because it is basically a martini, done up with a bit of finery (Du Barry had grown accustomed to extravagant jewels and attire)? Is it because of the Pernod? While the Pernod absinthe distillery was not developed until 1797, this anise liqueur does represent the French element. Is it the gin? Typically associated with the English, could gin symbolize Du Barry's missed chance of survival? During a visit to Great Britain, the English tried to prevent her from returning to certain doom at the hands of the French Revolutionaries, who were bent on eradicating the aristocrats and royalty. Or perhaps it is the bitters - after all, her fate was a bitter one.

In this version, the original's thin slice of orange is now a flamed orange peel. Also, this calls for Peychaud's bitters - connecting again to the French element (in this case, New Orleans' French Quarter) - instead of Angostura bitters.

The Drew Barrymore Cocktail

• 1 1/2 oz gin
• 1/2 oz dry vermouth
• 2 dashes Peychaud's bitters
• 2 dashes Pernod
• Garnish: flamed orange peel

Shake all ingredients with ice, strain into a chilled cocktail glass and garnish with a flamed orange peel.

The Peychaud's works very well with the anise flavors of the Pernod and the herbal nature of the gin. The flamed peel adds a delicious, complex burnt-sugar hint to the drink.

How to flame a peel: Due to the oils in their skins, lemon and orange peels can be flamed, creating a caramelized flavor in a drink. Be careful playing with fire in the vicinity of strong spirits, though. With a sharp knife, remove a thin section of peel from the exterior of a fresh orange or lemon, about an inch in length and perhaps three quarters of an inch wide, avoiding the pith. You want to end up with an oval of the peel. Holding a lit match or lighter in one hand, and the peel (between forefinger and thumb, exterior facing toward the drink) in the other, gently squeeze the peel so that the oils spritz through the flame and over the surface of the drink. You will see sparks if you do this correctly. In case you need a visual guide, here is a video showing the whole technique at bonappetit.com.

Bottoms up!

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 Attention Cocktail

Here's an interesting recipe, using Rothman & Winter Crème de Violette and absinthe along with gin and dry vermouth. This was posted on the product page for Haus Alpenz importers. It's definitely worth a try, but how much you like it will depend on a few things: whether you enjoy the perfume-like flavor of the Crème de Violette, and whether you can tolerate the strong anise of the absinthe. And if you don't like gin, well, read no further.

By the way, if you're in the Boston vicinity and you're looking for an interesting selection of liqueurs, apéritifs, amari, and hard-to-find vermouths, check out the wine section at Dave's Fresh Pasta - located in Somerville's Davis Square.

Aside from the exotic flavor of this drink, you'll be pleased by the amazing violet hue it shows. It is a stunner, and will grab the attention of anyone in the room.

The Attention Cocktail

• 2 oz dry gin
• 1/4 oz Crème de Violette
• 1/4 oz absinthe (I use Kübler)
• 1/4 oz dry vermouth
• 2 dashes, Regan's Orange Bitters

Shake with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Serve with a lemon twist. Bottoms up.

Sazerac Cocktail (Cognac Version)

I've had many a Sazerac cocktail - quite a few in its birthplace of New Orleans - and I enjoy it thoroughly. However, I have always had it made with rye whiskey. The other day, I was in the mood for a Sazerac and I didn't have the rye. Dr. John was playing on the stereo, the evening was sultry and sticky, I was in a blue bayou mood. I had to have a Sazerac!

Then I realized that I did have a bottle of decent cognac on hand - nothing fancy, but perfect to make the lesser known, older version of the Sazerac (which is originally named after the Sazerac de Forge et Fils cognac used). If not exactly what I was craving, I was still ready to try it out. And it was good.

In my taste, actually, this version (for the time being at least) has shouldered the more familiar rye concoction aside. So without further ado, here's how to make a damn good cognac-based Sazerac:

Sazerac Cocktail (with Cognac)

• 3 oz cognac (nothing too fancy, unless you're made out of money - I use Raynal)
• 1 sugar cube
• Peychaud's Bitters
• Splash of Herbsaint (the best, but hard to find outside of the Crescent City - you can use another absinthe substitute, such as Pernod or Absente; I tried it once with Kübler and it was okay)
• Lemon twist for garnish

Putting this drink together is a ritual. First, fill a cocktail glass with crushed ice to let it chill. Drop the sugar cube (or roughly a teaspoon of sugar) in a separate mixing glass, and saturate it with about four dashes of Peychaud's Bitters. Muddle it a bit to dissolve the sugar, and add the cognac (or rye, if you prefer) and stir. Meanwhile, dump the ice from the chilled cocktail glass, and add a splash of Herbsaint to the empty, cold glass. Swirl it around to coat the interior, and then discard. (Actually, I never discard Herbsaint anywhere except straight into my mouth.)

Add ice cubes to the sugar/Peychaud's/cognac in the mixing glass, and stir until very cold. Strain into the Herbsaint-rinsed cocktail glass. Add a twist of lemon peel for garnish. Santé, and bottoms up.

Campari Smash

Back in May, I mentioned that my spouse can't stand Campari except in the 1794 Cocktail. Almost any other drink containing the bitter apéritif sends her into contortions and it looks as if she's trying to gnaw her ears off.

However, the Campari Smash is another exception. I can't remember where I found the recipe, but whenever I discover a new Campari drink, I use it to experiment on my ol' lady - hoping maybe she'll come around to its pleasing flavors. This particular cocktail was met with a raised eyebrow and a dubious grunt, but when she tasted its tart and pleasing flavor, she gave me a look of approval. Then, she relapsed into a mild spasm as the Campari made itself known.

Anyway, it's a delicious cocktail, with sweet floral notes, tart citrus, and fresh basil commingling with the bitter finish of Campari. It's a perfect light and refreshing mix for a summer afternoon. Here is how you make it:

Campari Smash

• 2 oz Campari
• 1 oz St. Germain (elderflower liqueur)
• 2 dashes of Fee Brothers Orange Bitters
• Half a lemon, cut into four wedges
• 7 fresh basil leaves

Take half a lemon, and cut it into four wedges. Throw those into a shaker with seven basil leaves. Take a pestle or spoon and muddle the basil and lemon wedges to get the juice flowing. Add the Campari and the St. Germain, along with two dashes of orange bitters. Add ice cubes and shake the bastard hard, really hard. In your mind, imagine that you're tearing that basil to shreds with your vigorous shaking.

Strain the concoction into a glass filled with crushed ice, and top it off with a fresh basil leaf for color and aroma... Bottoms up!

The 1794 Cocktail

This cocktail commemorates the Whiskey Rebellion of 1794. A very brief overview: In the late 1700s, a tax was levied on whiskey in order to address millions of dollars in debt that had accrued under the Articles of Confederation, which prohibited taxation of states. As part of the new government that began operating in 1789 - after the ratification of the U.S. Constitution - Secretary of the Treasury Alexander Hamilton established the tax to help address the debt.

Famous whiskey insurrection in Pennsylvania (1880). Courtesy of NY Public Library.

The tax was highly unpopular among those on the western frontier of the U.S. It pitted the small, independent farmers and distillers of the west against the big companies back east. The western producers of whiskey protested the tax. They refused to pay, and were subsequently subpoenaed by the government. This eventually led to the Battle of Bower Hill in Pennsylvania - and loss of life. Clashes continued until the government finally prevailed in squashing the rebellion. You can read about this fascinating event in detail at Wikipedia (reservoir of all knowledge).

In the meantime, let's talk about the 1794 Cocktail. It's a delicious riff on the Boulevardier, composed of rye, Campari, sweet vermouth, and bitters. The original Boulevardier is a Prohibition-era drink made of bourbon or rye, Campari, and sweet vermouth. It is basically a whiskey-based Negroni (which is equal parts gin, Campari, and sweet vermouth).

The beauty of the 1794 Cocktail (which I understand was created by Dominic Venegas at "Range" in San Francisco) is that it allows for welcome variation in ratios. Campari is incredibly intense, and in my opinion, works better in the 1794 as an element of the drink rather than an equal partner. You also want a nice, spicy, solid rye that will stand up to the Campari while complementing it. Ryes I use in this are Wild Turkey 101, Rittenhouse 100, or Redemption Rye - all work well.

Vermouth-wise, I am happy using Noilly Prat Rouge, but even better is Vya sweet vermouth (out of California). You could try Carpano Antica Formula, but it's flavor is also intense and might be a bit much with the Campari. However, the beauty of this drink is that you can play around with the ratios and ingredients and see what happens.

As for the bitters in this drink, I read about using Bittermen's Xocolatl Mole Bitters from the Cocktail Virgin blog (which in turn credits "John from No.9 Park," a Boston restaurant). It just so happens that I received a bottle of this very bitters as a gift from close friends. It was a good excuse to experiment with this unusual but very pleasing cocktail - and I am incredibly glad that I did.

You'll find spiciness in the rye and a fruity note from the vermouth and Campari - cleanly undercut by the Campari's bitter finish. Surprisingly, the Xocolatl Mole bitters add a delicious undertone of gingerbread that suits this drink beautifully. It would be worth trying other bitters (orange would be a good match) as well.

A final note: My spouse, who cares not for Campari, loves this drink. So do not let any bias against that ingredient prohibit you from trying this!


The 1794 Cocktail

• 2 oz rye whiskey 
• 1/2 oz Campari
• 1/2 oz sweet vermouth 
• 1 or 2 drops of Bittermen's Xocolatl Mole Bitters 

Stir with ice until very cold, and strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with a lemon or orange peel.

Bottoms up.