The Oaxacan Dead

It is the time of year when I watch horror movies. Not just a few, either. I gorge on them like a zombie gorges on human flesh. Speaking of zombies, I never tire of a good zombie flick.

As a kid, I inflicted myself with a sick sense of existential dread watching George A. Romero's classic Night of the Living Dead. I used to imagine what it would feel like to come home from school and find my home abandoned... Front door swinging on its hinges, the aftermath of a struggle, blood caked on the floor... And then to discover that my family had become bloodthirsty zombies. Where would I run to? Who could help me? As a child, it genuinely terrified me. So, after that, I watched every zombie movie I could get my hands on. I still do. Right now, the Walking Dead continues to fascinate (and frustrate) me. Maybe it is something about the struggle to retain some human dignity within a world increasingly driven by dumb bloodlust.

Night of the Living Dead

In homage to zombies, I am sharing a recipe for a drink called the Oaxacan Dead. From what I can tell, this cocktail was concocted right here in Boston at Deep Ellum, down in Allston. Their recipe is a bit different from the one presented here. Subtitled the "Mezcal Zombie," their version includes mezcal, rum from Jamaica and Trinidad, falernum, grenadine, grapefruit-cinnamon syrup, Herbsaint, bitters, and citrus. The ingredients, especially the falernum, place this drink firmly into the tiki category (it is, in fact, derived from Don the Beachcomber's original 1934 Zombie, and is similar to the Mai Tai). In the same family as orgeat syrup, falernum is a sugar syrup with hints of lime, ginger, vanilla, clove, allspice, and almond—Caribbean flavors that impart a fragrant, tart, sweet, and spicy element.

The Walking Dead

A brief note about falernum. I use John D. Taylor's Velvet Falernum, a sugarcane-derived product of Barbados that contains a bit of alcohol and is far superior to the competition, if that competition is Fee Brothers. While it might do in a pinch, the Fee Brothers falernum syrup is full of sweeteners and artificial flavors and mercilessly free of alcohol. It is worth the effort to find John D. Taylor's Velvet Falernum if you plan on making any sort of tiki drink from the era of Don the Beachcomber or Trader Vic's. However, if you can't find it in the store, many folks suggest that homemade falernum is not only quite easy, but also better than anything you can buy in the store. Read more about that in Imbibe magazine.

I Walked With a Zombie (1943)

Despite its tropical origins in the Zombie, I am sharing this recipe for the Oaxacan Dead now, in the last days of a New England October, because I think it is thematically appropriate for my favorite day: Halloween. Honestly, I am unaware of how the original recipe for this drink (with rum) evolved into the one highlighted below, but I can attest that the smokey flavor of the mezcal and the tangy notes of the falernum and lime blend perfectly with the earthy apricot liqueur. It's a delightful, satisfying drink—as good on a chilly October night is it would be on a beach-balmy summer afternoon—and I encourage you to celebrate All Hallows' Eve with one.

The Oaxacan Dead

• 1 1/2 oz mezcal (I used Vida)
• 1/2 oz apricot liqueur (I used Rothman & Winter Orchard Apricot)
• 1/2 oz falernum (if you can find it, John D. Taylor's Velvet Falernum)
• 1/2 oz fresh lime juice
• 2 dashes Peychaud's Bitters
• 2 dashes Regan's Orange Bitters
• Fresh mint for garnish

Shake the ingredients vigorously—look alive!—with ice and strain into a rocks glass. Garnish with the mint (if you want—it is not critical). Bottoms up!

And, Happy Halloween!

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!