Election Day? Try the Commander in Chief.

I'll keep this simple. I went out and voted today. I hope you did, too. Now, I have to wait on the edge of my seat to see if the country gets turned back 12 years, or if it decides it is better to keep advancing. It's a white-knuckle moment, but I will have help dealing with it courtesy of mixologist Michael Lay at Restaurant 1833 in Monterey, California, and his Commander in Chief cocktail.

It is a well-balanced mix of rye (calls for Bulleit, but I used Rittenhouse), Carpano Antica Formula vermouth, Cherry Heering, and Campari, with some Fee Brothers Orange Bitters and, according to the Restaurant 1833 site, a Laphroaig rinse as well. I did not have Laphroaig, which is a smoky Islay malt, so I tried it with a scotch I had on hand--Glenkinchie 12 year old Edinburgh malt--less smokey, so perhaps not as assertive as might be required in this rich cocktail. If you have Laphroaig, try it out. Leave a comment about your experience. Decide what is right for you. Then, cast your ballot.

By the way, this is quite a delicious drink, with a lot of depth and nice orange notes. You have to be sure and flame that peel!

In the shaker tonight:

Commander in Chief

• 2 oz rye
• 1/2 oz Carpano Antica 
• 1/2 oz Campari 
• 1/2 oz Cherry Heering
• 2 dashes Fee Brothers Orange Bitters 
• Flamed orange peel

Measure and pour all the ingredients together in a glass and stir gently. Strain into a coupe rinsed with Laphroaig scotch, and flame the orange peel across the drink.

And then bottoms up! Hail to the Chief.

Jasmine Cocktail

I come to you, at the tail-end of May, with a cocktail that is certainly - and I hope you agree - well worth the wait. What has kept me, you may ask? Moving from an apartment of 12 years into a new house, after a year of scouring the market. A promotion at work which brought with it, unsurprisingly, more work. And, with the karma of this year's premature spring catching up with Boston in May, a patch of cool rainy days that did nothing to inspire explorations beyond the considerable comforts of the Manhattan. This weekend, however, has been lovely, and the warmth put me in a mood for gin and citrus.

So, I concocted a drink I had seen on the menu at the Hawthorne Bar in Kenmore Square (ironically, my last post came from a drink I had there too). It is called the Jasmine Cocktail and it was just the ticket after a long day working the commencement event at the college that employs me. It was not difficult to find a recipe online, thanks to the Imbibe site. I found that this particular version was adapted from Paul Harrington’s original recipe by Robert Hess; I will include both versions of the drink here - adaptation and original. Personally, I think the Hess version has a little more depth to it, but it is also a touch sweeter (and a tad bigger).

In the spirit of this site, which is not to invent new cocktails but to present those which I think are superlative, I offer the Jasmine Cocktail. A perfect list of ingredients for a warm evening: gin, Campari, Cointreau, lemon juice, all combining to refreshing effect: the bitter Campari is assuaged by the sweet Cointreau; both, in turn, are tarted up by the lemon, and it all works wonderfully with the gin, which pairs to delightful effect with Campari.

Make one for yourself today! Two versions follow; note the difference in ratios:

Jasmine Cocktail

As adapted by Robert Hess (my preferred):

• 1 1/2 oz gin
• 1 oz Cointreau
• 3/4 oz Campari
• 1/2 oz fresh lemon juice
• Lemon twist

As originated by Paul Harrington (drier and more tart):

• 1 1/2 oz gin
• 1/4 oz Cointreau
• 1/4 oz Campari
• 3/4 oz fresh lemon juice
• Lemon twist

Combine all ingredients and shake with ice. Strain into a cocktail glass and garnish.

Bottoms up!

Bitter Mai Tai

It is still February, and in New England that usually implies utter misery. In a regular year, it means filthy piles of petrified snow, blackened by the gunk of a winter's worth of snowplowing, muddy melt, dog piss, and plain old city dirt. It means subzero temperatures and despondent people grimly huddled at bus stops or hobbling along the streets, bent against the bitter wind, rendered obese by layers of puffy coats, scarves, hats, sweaters, long johns, and winter fat. People look as if they are ready just to die. It means a certain hopelessness: will this ever end?

This year is different. February is just about over and we have been graced by some pretty nice temperatures. The coldest day this month had a high of 30 degrees fahrenheit with a 16-degree low. That was one day. Otherwise it has ranged from a mild mid-40s to a balmy mid-50s. January was not dissimilar. Essentially, this winter has been like spring. There are already snowbells blooming along the sidewalks, and bright little patches of purple and yellow crocuses pushing up through the ground. No snow, little rain - what does it all mean? 

Well, here at Lakeville Road it means the first Mai Tai of the year, albeit with a considerable twist. The Bitter Mai Tai, from a recipe courtesy of Jeremy Oertel at Brooklyn's Dram, seems peculiar on paper because its predominant ingredient is Campari. As you probably know, Campari is bitter and a Mai Tai is tropical (read: not bitter). But even if, like my wife, you don't care for Campari, I'll wager that you'll enjoy this particular combination of flavors. There is some bitterness, but there is also the pungency from Jamaican rum and a bright tartness from fresh lime juice and orgeat syrup - which also provides a sweet counteraction to the Campari, with a little help from orange curaçao. While it shares four out of the five ingredients in a standard Mai Tai, this is quite different. The sweetness on the tongue is undercut almost instantaneously by the bitter notes of Campari. And then, the smokey flavor of the Jamaican rum kind of rises to the fore, and characterizes the aftertaste. This is definitely the kind of bitterness I can get with at the tail end of February. It makes me feel... happy.

To do this right, you'll want to seek out Smith & Cross Traditional Jamaica Rum. As they say on the website, "Make no mistake, this is not a sipping rum by contemporary standards. Upon initial pour, allow a minute to open up before tasting." From an English company dating back to 1788, Smith & Cross is an unusual rum; in fact, sipping it straight you might not think it is a rum at all. It shares perhaps a few flavor characteristics with Myers's Jamaican rum, but it is a golden color and its odor is pungent, with a hint of burnt sugar or molasses. It contains "only Wedderburn and Plummer pot still distillates, famous for their notes of exotic fruits and spice." It is distilled in Jamaica and produced in London. It is Navy strength at 114 proof. It is worth finding purely for it's unique flavor. I found it at Cambridge Wine & Spirits, where you can also find orgeat syrup (or try the Boston Shaker).

That said, if you can't lay your meathooks on a bottle of Smith & Cross, try this with another aged Caribbean rum.

With the sun shining in the window and March just around the corner, this has proven to be a good choice of drink for today. And without boring you further by expounding relentlessly on the weather, here is the recipe:

Bitter Mai Tai

1 1/2 oz Campari
3/4 oz Jamaican rum (Smith & Cross recommended)
1/2 oz orange curaçao
1 oz fresh lime juice
3/4 oz orgeat syrup

Shake all the ingredients with ice until cold, and strain into a rocks glass filled with crushed ice. You can garnish this with a mint sprig or a lime (or both), as you would a Mai Tai.

Here's to you. Bottoms up!

The Old Pal

Where did January go? In the hustle of the new year, I have been able to make only one post in the first month. Maybe I will get two in for the second.

Following the train of thought that began with the Boulevardier cocktail, I am posting a slight variation on that delicious drink. By all accounts, this first appeared in Harry McElhone's Harry's ABC of Mixing Cocktails in 1922. This was actually an earlier version of the Boulevardier, for in 1927 this was no longer written up in McElhone's book (evidently replaced by the Boulevardier).

First of all, while the Boulevardier traditionally calls for bourbon and sweet vermouth, the Old Pal demands rye and dry. It is altogether drier than its sweeter cousin, with the spiciness of the rye at mid-tongue complemented by the full, bitter complexity of Campari. A hint of orange peel, citrus oil, and herbal notes touch against a welcome caramel flavor from the rye, and round out with a gentle, mineral whisper of the dry vermouth. Served up with a lemon twist, it is quite a delight.

A few comments about this, to begin with: I used Old Overholt rye, and the results were very good. However, I think you might do better with a more flavorful, rye-forward bottling (Wild Turkey makes a good 101-proof rye that should not be too difficult to find, or too expensive), especially when standing up to Campari. Today's resurgence in rye whiskey opens the door to many variables; depending on your palate and preferences, there are numerous experiments to be made. For the dry vermouth, I used Dolin, which I think is outstanding. Others have expounded on Vya dry vermouth, but in some ways I find that it competes a bit too much with the other flavors. I am not discouraging you from trying it out, though, as it is truly unique.

Now, before March comes parading along, here is the recipe.

Old Pal Cocktail

• 1 1/2 oz rye whiskey
• 3/4 oz dry vermouth
• 3/4 oz Campari
• Twist

Stir with ice in a mixing glass until very cold, and strain into a cocktail glass. Twist a piece of lemon peel over the drink, so that the citrus oils spritz across the surface. Use the twist as garnish, if you like.

Bottoms up, old pals!

The Boulevardier Cocktail

Happy New Year, compadres! During this time of reckless resolutions, I wanted to assure my readership that I would remain steadfast in my championing of tipitular delights. After all, for the sake of good cheer and generous spirit, there is nothing quite like a raised glass and a toast to good health - naysayers be damned.

In a May 2011 post about the 1794 Cocktail, I made reference to a drink called the Boulevardier. Though similar to the 1794, the Boulevardier has slightly different ratios (and no aromatic bitters). Elegant in name, sublime in color, and a delight on the palate, this complex, gently bittersweet dram greets the sipper with an enticing aroma of citrus oil. Upon first taste, the tongue is enlivened by a dance of flavors flitting from bitter, to citrus, to savory, with a flash of sweetness and a very dry finish.

Actually, 100 years of cheers as of November 2011.

The Boulevardier has an interesting story. Ironically, an unintended side-effect of the Prohibition was the advent of mixed drinks (using juices and other mixers to obscure the harshness of illegal bathtub hooch). And, as Ted Haigh notes in Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails, the Prohibition also put barkeeps out of work - though an intrepid few ventured overseas to Europe. There, their early American cocktails commingled with relatively exotic aperitifs of the Old World - such as Campari, at the time virtually unknown in the U.S.

And so it was that barman Harry MacElhone (or McElhone, variously) ended up, eventually, in Paris. He worked at the New York Bar, acquired by American jockey James Forman "Tod" Sloan in 1911. In 1923, MacElhone gained ownership of the bar, rechristening it Harry's New York Bar. Today, a legendary and fantastic landmark, it still stands at "sank roo doe noo" (5 Rue Daunou) in Paris.

Eventually, the recipe for the Boulevardier made its debut in Harry MacElhone's 1927 Barflies and Cocktails. As Haigh points out, this cocktail is essentially a Negroni (gin, Campari, sweet vermouth) made with bourbon instead of gin. However, Haigh also makes it clear that the Negroni "would not see print for another twenty years."

The name is derived from a contemporaneous publication, The Paris Boulevardier, as the drink was the favored tipple of that rag's editor, Erskine Gwynne.

Incidentally, during a couple of trips my wife and I made to Paris in the early noughties, Harry's New York Bar became our mainstay - despite the fact that it was located across the city from our lodgings. The Bloody Mary was invented at Harry's, along with the White Lady, the French 75, the Sidecar, and the Monkey Gland (among others). As one of the few places in Paris where a "martini" refers to the gin cocktail and not just dry vermouth with a twist, it was a happy find. They also made a mean Manhattan, and the bartender was a true artiste, operating with economical style and flair, in black tie and crisp, white apron. We watched him turn out a Mojito laden with a bouquet of mint, for an unsuspecting Frenchman to try (and we were witness to his delight). In fact, despite its name, Harry's New York Bar had a cadre of regulars - most of whom were French. Additionally, its literary heritage was appealing to me, as a haunt of many writers, such as Hemingway and Sartre, not to mention celebs including Humphrey Bogart and Rita Hayworth, among others. If you wish to slake your thirst in Paris, sidle up to the counter at Harry's for a true Parisian experience. Oh, and if you get hungry, you can order chiens chauds (hot dogs).

Enough idle chatter. The Boulevardier calls for bourbon, and not having bourbon on hand (What?, you exclaim) I used Old Overholt rye, which was a delightful substitute. For the vermouth, Ted Haigh recommends the fantastic Carpano Antica Formula ("it will make your tongue sing"), but I applied the equally sublime Vya sweet vermouth, what comes out of California. There is no substituting the final ingredient: Campari. It's bitterness does not appeal to everyone, but I have grown accustomed to it and now I truly love it. Yes, it has a bitter attack, but it is tempered beautifully by the sweet vermouth and the whiskey; it also offers a subtle orange evolution on the palate, which is only enhanced by a squeeze of orange peel over the drink (I differ from Haigh, who recommends a cherry). I say, go with orange peel!

And without further ado:


The Boulevardier Cocktail

1 1/2 oz bourbon or rye
1 oz Campari
1 oz sweet vermouth
Garnish: orange twist

Stir with ice in a mixing glass until very cold, and strain into a cocktail glass. Take a swath of orange peel (avoiding the pith) and squeeze over the drink, so that the citrus oils spritz across the surface.

This drink is a delight. And this is my first post of 2012.

So, get yer 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.