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!

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!

The Final Ward Cocktail

I can't believe it is March, and the temperature outside is 84 degrees. This isn't just some freak early spring day in Boston. This whole winter has been a dream, and this has been the fifth day in a row with balmy temperatures. This is incredible.

In fact, today is a good day to mix up a Final Ward cocktail, a tipple discovered during a recent visit to The Hawthorne lounge in Boston's now-completely-castrated-and-soulless Kenmore Square (remember The Rat?). Devised by Philip Ward, of New York's Death & Company, the Final Ward is a bespoke version of the classic Last Word (equal parts gin, lime, green Chartreuse, and maraschino liqueur), a cocktail allegedly developed at the Detroit Athletic Club during the Prohibition.

Upon sipping one this afternoon, my wife described the Final Ward as "the perfect springtime 'up' drink, bridging the gap between the Manhattan and the whiskey sour." I agree, and would also throw in the daiquiri as a comparison point, for good measure. Lemon makes it deliciously crisp and refreshing, while Green Chartreuse introduces a distinct herbal quality, and the maraschino liqueur (I use Luxardo, which is superb, but you can find others) provides a woody and floral note. Replacing the botanical gin, rye adds a dry and fruity element, with that distinct flavor of the grain working well with the other ingredients. It has been suggested, and for the record I agree, that the rye should be 100 proof minimum for best results (though I think it is fine with Old Overholt, which is not hard to find, and easy on the wallet to boot). On a side note, I recently bought a bottle of High West Double Rye!, and it is fantastic. Talk about rye! And it comes from Utah, of all places.

I should warn that Chartreuse is not cheap, but a bottle should last you a good long while (sort of like buying absinthe). It's truly worth the investment for this drink.

The Final Ward

3/4 oz rye whiskey
3/4 oz fresh lemon juice
3/4 oz Green Chartreuse
3/4 oz maraschino liqueur

Shake all the ingredients with ice, until the shaker is frosty and your fingers smart from the cold. Ok, just shake it until it is cold. Strain into a cocktail glass and enjoy spring!

Bottoms up!

The Bucking Bronco Cocktail

A short entry today, due to the stifling humidity that has saturated my office and caused me to promptly wilt. Luckily, this spicy and refreshing drink served as a pick-me-up and enabled me to push through this rather abbreviated preamble.

This cocktail is a riff on the Moscow Mule, substituting black peppercorn-infused vodka and lemon for the original's plain vodka and lime. Ever since my wife infused our first batch of vodka with crushed black peppercorns, we have been fascinated with cocktails made with the peppery liquor, which easily plays off vodka drinks already on the books, but with names that offer a variation on the theme... For instance, the Salty Dog became the Dirty Cur, and in this case, the Moscow Mule becomes the Bucking Bronco.

This drink also lives in the shadow of the Shangri-La cocktail, with the same basic flavors.

The Bucking Bronco Cocktail

• 2 oz black peppercorn-infused vodka (recipe here)
• Lemon wedge, squeezed and dropped into glass
• Dash of Fee Brothers Lemon Bitters (optional, but it adds a tart high note)
• Ginger beer (something zippy, such as Gosling's, Barritt's, Reed's, Citadelle, etc.)

Squeeze the lemon wedge into a highball glass with ice, and drop the lemon in.  Add just a dash of the bitters, then the black peppercorn vodka, and top of with ginger beer. Stir and enjoy.

An alternate version of this makes use of a drop or two of Bittermens Xocolatl Mole Bitters instead of the Fee Brothers Lemon Bitters, which enhances the black pepper flavor with a slight hint of chocolate - a surprisingly nice combination with the ginger.

The best thing about the black peppercorn-infused vodka is its ability to add an unexpected nuance to a drink, pairing well with a variety of flavors from citrus to dark fruit, chocolate, ginger, and more. It is almost culinary in terms of the the way the pepper flavor enhances or adds facets to other ingredients. There are many avenues of experimentation.

Bottoms up!

The Trinidad Sour

Wow. This is an absolutely effing amazing cocktail, by Giuseppe Gonzalez, bartender at Painkiller in New York City. I have never been to this establishment, but thanks to the miracle of the Internet, I have been lucky enough to experience this fine adult beverage.

It has only one-half ounce of rye whiskey in it. But it has a full ounce of Angostura Bitters. And you may not know this, but Angostura Bitters has 44.7% alcohol content - which makes it about 90 proof. There are very few cocktails that make bitters the main ingredient. That's because bitters are, well, bitter. But this ingenious cocktail balances the ounce of bitters with orgeat syrup, lemon juice, and rye, to create, in effect, one of the most unusual sour cocktails out there. The depth is indescribable, with clove, rye, lemon, almond, and many other subtle flavors commingling perfectly.

There are some precursors. The Trinidad Especial - by Valentino Bolgnese - is bitters, orgeat, lime, and pisco. And, the honorable Mr Gonzalez also invented a Mai Tai called the Stormy Mai Tai - in which there are one and a half ounces of Angostura Bitters (and a half ounce of light rum). I don't know what I am thinking, but I have not tried this sure-to-be-brilliant take on the Mai Tai... I will have to remedy this soon.

Speaking of bitters, I must mention that there was a very frightening point in time (2009) during which it became very difficult to find Angostura Bitters. I could not buy them at my liquor store, and even established watering holes in Boston had to be creative due to a lack of this critical cocktail ingredient. Turns out, I was not the only one in a panic. Luckily, during this time, I happened to find a couple of small bottles of Angostura at a supermarket. I bought them all. One cannot live without Angostura Bitters if one is the least bit serious about making cocktails.

Thankfully, the great bitters shortage came to an end. And I celebrated by making this amazing, fantastic, delicious cocktail. As there is so little of the rye whiskey in this drink, and the bitters are so pungent, I use a robust rye bottling such as Wild Turkey 101 Rye, Rittenhouse Rye, or Bulleit Rye.

(One very important note: The Trinidad Sour calls for orgeat syrup. Orgeat syrup is a sweet syrup derived from almonds. You have to have it in this drink, in order to balance the bitters. I found mine, by Fee Brothers, at the Boston Shaker.)

The Trinidad Sour

1 oz Angostura Bitters
1 oz orgeat syrup
3/4 oz fresh lemon juice
1/2 oz rye whiskey

Shake all the ingredients with ice, and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Note the color of this drink, with its deep mahogany, burgundy, and amber hues. Sip and be amazed. This may well be one of the most fascinating and delicious cocktails of the twenty-first century.

Bottoms up. And, thank goodness for Angostura Bitters.

The Northern Lights Cocktail

Yesterday, it rained a long time. It was a dark, heavy rain for most of the day. Occasionally a shard of sunlight would appear through the clouds, and the rain would sparkle and the trees became emerald. But mostly, it was a grim sort of day for the end of summer.

Here is how I spent it:

• I stayed home from work and lay in bed through the morning listening to the rain fall;
• ate frittata made by my lovely wife, mid-morning;
• watched a couple of movies that seemed like good rainy day flicks - decent films, but not so good that they would prohibit the simultaneous reading of magazines;
• snacked on potato chips and caramelized-onion dip;
• welcomed the cats to laze about with us on the couch, where they sacked out;
• prepared, at leisure, to venture out in the deluge to visit our dear, longstanding friend Bob White, who ever so kindly treated us to a very nice meal at Eastern Standard in honor of my birthday;
• returned home well-fed and drunk enough (1) to think that another bourbon on the rocks was a good idea, and (2) to select the dwindling (and now gone) Pappy van Winkle 20-year old Family Reserve;
• and, in the middle of all that, mixed a delicious cocktail called the Northern Lights.

The Northern Lights is a truly spectacular concoction, one which requires rare ingredients and a willingness to mix good scotch in a drink. Questions about using scotch in a mixed drink? Sure, it seems wrong, but can be oh-so-right. Take for example, the Blood and Sand, described here back in April of this year.

This beauty is balanced and versatile, unusual and tantalizing. It's name implies so much about the drink's flavors and hue. It is well suited to summer drinking, winter drinking, autumn drinking, and spring drinking. It is just fine on a summer day that is dark as a November evening, a day both humid and cool, with monsoon-like rains. This drink is like smelling an autumn wood fire, while lying prostrate in a meadow of wildflowers.

I first had this cocktail at an amazing restaurant in Cambridge, called Craigie on Main. It is from the mind of a master mixologist named Tom Schlesinger-Guidelli. This is a world-class restaurant with prohibitively high prices; an "occasion" restaurant. The food is incredible. Locally sourced, unusual, fearless. And this drink... complex flavors of smoke and evergreen, citrus and sunshine. It was floral and tart and mysterious. It was the flavor of alpine woods and sun showers.

It took me a good long while to accrue one of the vital ingredients - Clear Creek Douglas Fir Eau de Vie, a green spirit from an Oregon distillery, described as "an infusion of the springtime buds of Douglas fir picked by hand into clear brandy which is then re-distilled and re-infused with more buds" - but it is absolutely necessary in this drink. Without this eau de vie, you lose the woodsy notes that complement the scotch and citrus so well. You must also have St. Germain. There is really nothing one can substitute.

As for the scotch - the original recipe calls for Grant & Sons... I have never seen this, so I use whatever is at hand. That has included: J&B, Johnny Walker Black, and a 12-year-old Caol Ila single malt from Islay (probably the smokiest I have tasted). In fact, this drink is worth trying with different scotches, blended or single malt. The personality of the whisky can dictate the smokiness or fruitiness of the cocktail. Be careful with the smokier Islays - they can overpower the gentler flavors of elderflower and fir.

Now, after that lengthy preamble, here is how you make this smashing concoction:

Northern Lights Cocktail
Recipe for two

3 oz scotch (calls for Grant & Sons, but use anything decent that you have around)
1 1/2 oz St. Germain Elderflower Liqueur
1/2 oz Clear Creek Douglas Fir Eau de Vie (find it here)
1 oz fresh-squeezed lemon juice
1/2 oz fresh-squeezed orange juice
1/2 oz Demerara syrup (or, try rosemary-infused syrup)
4 dashes of Angostura Bitters (the Craigie on Main website actually calls for Bittermen's Tiki Bitters, which I have not had the opportunity to try)

Shake with vigor all the ingredients with ice, until very cold. Strain into two cocktail glasses, and garnish with a lemon twist. Bottoms up!

The Shangri-La Cocktail

Utopia at Dave & Kerry's place. Photo by Dave & Kerry.

A verdant, earthly paradise depicted in James Hilton's 1933 novel Lost Horizon, as well as on celluloid by Frank Capra, Shangri-La is one of the eternal utopias of the imagination - one where youth does not wither, and peace is not endangered.

That makes it the perfect moniker for this marvelous, refreshing cocktail, which was invented by my dear (and genius) friends Kerry and Dave, using black peppercorn-infused vodka that my wife and I presented to Dave as a birthday gift. The overnight infusion process is easy; especially well-suited to those of us who do not wait patiently. It is worthwhile to make the infused vodka in order to try this cocktail. I have additional bespoke recipes for the black peppercorn-infused vodka here that you can also try.

This drink earned its name because of its distinctly Asian flavors - combining the bite of ginger, the spicy richness of the peppercorn, and the tartness of the lemon in a beautiful, well-balanced way. Shangri-La is a fictional place, of course, but it is located (I think we can agree) in Tibet. Other names considered along the way were the Cato; Hummingbird; Peppery Tart; Shanghai Surprise (forget about the terrible movie; the rude Urban Dictionary definition would indicate a drink that starts off with one impression, but ends with a different one - though in this case, both are welcome); Bangkok Bite; and even Lost Horizon. There was a dubious moment when we considered calling this the Phuket Cocktail - but maybe that's for another drink, another time...

We stayed with Shangri-La because of its romantic, dawn colors; its floral notes; and its sharp-yet-subtle layers of sweetness, warmth, spice, and tang. Plus, to quote Dave: drinking this takes you to a beautiful, hard-to-reach paradise.

The Shangri-La Cocktail

• 2 oz black peppercorn-infused vodka (recipe here)
• 1 oz ginger liqueur (avoid artificial flavors: I've tried this with Stirrings Ginger Liqueur, Domaine de Canton French Ginger Liqueur, and G.E. Massenez Crème de Gingembre - each of which has the requisite ginger "snap")
• 3/4 oz fresh lemon juice

Shake the ingredients with ice until very cold, and strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with a basil leaf or a lemon twist (or whatever seems right to you - this is utopia after all).

Bottoms up!

And now, as a postscript, a quick report on my experiments. I tried this with a small dollop of Sriracha chili sauce in the bottom of the glass (which, in a dream earlier, gave rise to the aforementioned name Shanghai Surprise), and also with a moderate dash of Angostura bitters (not at the same time as the chili). Of the two versions, the Angostura worked best, imparting a bit more depth; the chili sauce came off a bit viscous, and this drink has no need to be spicier than it is. Neither ingredient actually added anything to this drink, which is already quite well-balanced. Nonetheless, there are many possibilities for research: try it with a dash of Peychaud's bitters, or even orange bitters. Feel free to leave your suggestions and comments!

The Elmwood Sour

(a.k.a., whiskey sour with cassis and rosemary)

First of all, this delicious summer cocktail is blatantly (and respectfully) derived from Jeffrey Morgenthaler's recipe for the Bourbon Renewal. Mr Morgenthaler's recipe is an inspiring take on the whiskey sour, adding crème de cassis. One taste of this and my wife promptly emptied her glass and called for another. It's easy to have one too many.

My personal twist on this recipe (and the reason I have taken the liberty of calling it something different) is that I use rosemary-infused simple syrup rather than plain simple syrup. The notes of rosemary - fragrant, woody, and redolent of southern France in summer - provide a subtle complement to the equally Mediterranean blackcurrant and lemon. It's easy to make rosemary syrup; you'll find a recipe here.

I have bestowed the name "Elmwood Sour" on this drink for purely nostalgic reasons. My grandparents lived in Chiswick, London, at 44 Elmwood Road. My grandfather, John Laycock, was a Yorkshire man who married a lovely French woman named Blanche Messager, before going off to fight the Germans in a British tank in WWII. After the war, they settled in Chiswick, where they lived in a modest, bone-white terrace house with a massive sycamore tree in the front (with which my grandfather had a controversial relationship) and a delightful English garden in back.

It was a cozy garden, with a high fence for privacy and a border-path of flagstones set into the thick grass. Hiding the fence was a thick-but-manicured growth of flowers, cyprus, apple trees and blackberry brambles, roses, hollies, butterfly bushes, and blackcurrants. For a city garden, it was a wedge of paradise where birds sang endlessly, and butterflies and bumble bees zigzagged.

I loved that garden, and to this day the memory of my grandparents is cradled within its grassy, Edenic confines; it is the bright days of August, and they are on recliners, reading and drinking tea (or gin and tonics, depending on the hour), soaking up the unreliable British sun. The fragrance of the garden was rose petal, the flavor blackcurrant. Picking and eating the small, bittersweet fruits was a childhood pleasure. I loved blackcurrant drink (Ribena) and blackcurrant sweets. For many English who grew up during WWII, blackcurrant was the flavor of England (the plant was grown during WWII to provide much-needed vitamin C for the embattled islanders, especially children, who drank the syrup mixed with water to get vital nutrients). The rosemary element, with its fragrance of hot, dry Southern France, is representative of my grandmaman's French heritage. Together with the lemon and cassis, the flavor is English summer for me, in times of great happiness.

Back to the topic on hand. I will say, before attempting this cocktail, you will want to lay your hands on a very good bottle of crème de cassis (blackcurrant liqueur). The one I purchased is Crème de Cassis de Dijon, by Maison Brunet. I found this at Cambridge Wine & Spirits - a sort of heaven for folks like me. The Maison Brunet has an intense blackcurrant flavor that you cannot replicate with artificial flavors. If you see the words "artificial flavors" or "artificial colors" on the label, steer clear.

Without further preamble, here is the recipe:

The Elmwood Sour

2 oz bourbon

1 oz fresh lemon juice

1/2 oz  crème de cassis

1/2 oz rosemary-infused simple syrup (recipe here)

1 dash Angostura Bitters

Have it over cracked ice: Take some ice cubes and put them in a plastic bag. Whack 'em with a hammer or the blunt side of an axe (or a meat tenderizer, if you have one) just enough to crack the ice. Put the cracked ice into a highball glass. Then, add all the ingredients to a cocktail shaker, add ice, and shake vigorously. Strain into the cracked-ice filled highballs. Garnish with a sprig of rosemary.

Bottoms up!

In the garden at 44 Elmwood Road

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 Kentucky Longshot, the Back Forty, and the Mint Julep

In honor of it being Kentucky Derby Day 2011, I am posting a couple of bourbon recipes I found. It is a day for bourbon, and there are many choices... For a few more, visit this article "Beyond the Julep" by the Wall Street Journal.

The first is called the Kentucky Longshot, and it is a great way to use Domaine de Canton Ginger Liqueur. According to Gary Regan, who adapted the recipe in Joy of Mixology, the drink was created in honor of the 1998 Breeders' Cup by the late Max Allen Jr., a bartender at the Seelbach Hilton Hotel in Louisville, KY. 

The drink has an interesting fusion of flavors, with a good spice from the bourbon (I used my standby, Wild Turkey 101), Angostura, and ginger (I used the aforementioned Domaine de Canton ginger liqueur), followed by a sweeter note of the peach (Hiram Walker Peach Schnapps) and the unique, floral aspect of the Peychaud's. One might think the liqueurs would make this drink too sweet, but that is not the case. It has some sweetness, not too much, and is complex in its depth. You can add more bourbon and bitters or adjust the ratios of the liqueur and brandy. Think of it as a Manhattan with liqueurs replacing the vermouth.

Kentucky Longshot

• 2 oz bourbon
• 1/2 oz ginger liqueur
• 1/2 oz peach brandy
• 1 dash Angostura bitters
• 1 dash Peychaud's bitters

Shake with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. The recipe I took this from recommends garnishing with three pieces of candied ginger (representing "win, place, and show"). One piece is plenty, though.

I also found a recipe online for The Back Forty, devised at the restaurant of the same name in New York. It's very much like a whiskey sour, but with an unusual and delicious distinction: it is made with Vermont maple syrup. The syrup, to my taste, is less sweet than your average simple syrup, so is ideal for a sour that has the notes of candy without being sickly sweet.

The Back Forty

2 oz bourbon

4 teaspoons of maple syrup

1 oz fresh lemon juice

3-5 dashes of Fee Brothers orange bitters

In a shaker with ice, shake all the ingredients vigorously, to ensure that the syrup is well-mixed. You could also stir the syrup with two teaspoons of hot water to dissolve it, then add the other ingredients.  

Strain into an ice-filled rocks glass. Garnish with a lemon or lime wheel, or a cherry, and enjoy. Perfect for a summer day.


Note: You can also make the sour mix by the batch: 1 part maple syrup to 1 part lemon juice.

Julep cups, courtesy of Anne & Todd, Derby Day 2011

Finally, it is Derby Day - the day of the famed Mint Julep.  There are certainly many variations of the julep, from a big ol' glass of glass of bourbon over crushed ice (with a sprig of mint for fashion) to bourbon with mint-infused simple syrup, to bourbon and various liqueurs. in common, perhaps, they should all be very, very cold. Crushed ice adds a lot of water to the drink (which is probably not a bad idea if you're in the big ol' glass of bourbon mode), but it also allows the cocktail to become extremely cold. The idea is to stir the drink until frost forms on the outside of the glass (or a nickel- or silver-plated julep cup, if you happen to have one).

Here is my variation on the julep:

The Mint Julep

3-4 oz Kentucky bourbon
1 oz peach brandy
Bunch of fragrant mint

Muddle a generous portion of the mint and the ounce of peach brandy in a glass (gently: just bruise the mint to allow the bouquet to flourish). Remove the bruised mint. Pour in the bourbon, fill with crushed ice - right to the top of the glass - and stir in a clockwise motion with a swizzle until the outside of the glass (or julep cup) is frosted. Or as long as you can stand. Add a fresh mint sprig as garnish; the sprig should be generous enough to provide fragrance while sipping...

Bottoms up.

The Whiskey Sour

Cape Cod + Whiskey Sour = Paradise

The perfect cocktail to top off a day at the beach.

Whiskey Sour
Adjust ratios of whiskey to sour mix to taste.

• 2 parts bourbon or rye whiskey
• 1 part homemade sour mix (recipe here)

Shake with ice. Shake it like hell until the ice is shattered and the shaker is too cold for your hands. Strain into an Old-Fashioned glass, and garnish with a maraschino cherry and a slice of orange. Or strain it over rocks, if you prefer it that way.

Be sure to check out the "Back Forty," a variation on the whiskey sour with a maple syrup-based sour mix, and the "Elmwood Sour," made with rosemary simple syrup and creme de cassis.

Bottoms up.