Hello, Hurricane Irene

Image courtesy of Reuters.

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

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

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

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

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

The Dark & Stormy Cocktail

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

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

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

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

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

The Hurricane

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

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

The 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.

Bonal & Rye Cocktail

An interesting twist on the Manhattan Cocktail, the Bonal & Rye may not have a fancy sobriquet, but it is a very nice, well-balanced cocktail that plays up rye's notes of orange and grain to excellent effect.

Until recently, it was very difficult to find the French apéritif Bonal Gentiane-Quina. Thanks to a resurgence in classic cocktails, and an attendant quest for original ingredients, this is no longer the case. I found this at Dave's Fresh Pasta in Somerville, Massachusetts, which stocks an amazing variety of hard-to-find wines, vermouths, amari, digestifs, and apéritifs. If you're in the Boston area, you can also find Bonal at Cambridge Wine & Spirits (as of this post), a truly awesome liquor store for sheer breadth of choice.

Bonal, as described on the Haus Alpenz site:

Since 1865, this delicious aperitif wine has stood apart for its exceptional complexity, delightful flavors and stimulating palate. Serious to its role as aperitif, it was known as "ouvre l'appétit" - the key to the appetite. Found popular with sportsmen, Bonal became an early sponsor of the Tour de France. It is made by an infusion of gentian, cinchona (quinine) and renown herbs of the Grand Chartreuse mountains in a Mistelle base. Traditionally enjoyed neat or with a twist; also may enhance classic drinks in place of sweet red vermouth.

I tried this in a Manhattan in place of sweet vermouth, and it made a fine drink. It is more herbal than most vermouths, and has a bitter aftertaste; it changes the expression of the Manhattan in intriguing ways. I used two parts Old Overholt to one part Bonal, with a dash of Angostura Bitters and a dash of Regan's Orange Bitters. Bonal allowed the rye to shine through, and complemented its spiciness with a nice, mildly bitter finish.

After a cursory search online, I found the Bonal & Rye - credited to a bartender by the name of Todd Smith. If you're interested, you can read an article on the use of apéritifs such as Bonal, which mentions Mr Smith, in the San Francisco Chronicle. My version is the same as his, except I increase the rye by one ounce. Call me drunk or greedy, but I think the drink is a bit too sweet otherwise.

Along with Bonal Gentiane-Quina, you'll need a good rye. Now, I am a bourbon lover. But I really, really enjoy a good rye, and I have sampled a great many over the years. I highly recommend Rittenhouse 100-proof rye. Rittenhouse - named "North American Whiskey of the Year" at the 2006 San Francisco World Spirits Competition - is not only a delight, but a bargain at about $20. Other fine ryes (fairly easy to find these days) are Wild Turkey 101 Rye, Russell's Reserve Rye, Bulleit Rye, (rī)¹, Redemption Rye, and Old Overholt Rye. All of them are worth checking out - and spending a little quality time with.

You'll also need Cointreau (or triple sec liqueur), orange bitters, and Angostura bitters. I advise that you don't overdo it on the Cointreau, as it is quite sweet; on the other hand, you can be a little more generous with the Bonal. But first, try it like this:

The Bonal & Rye Cocktail

• 3 oz rye whiskey
• 1 oz Bonal Gentiane-Quina 
• 1/2 oz Cointreau
• 2 dashes Regan's Orange Bitters
• 1 dash Angostura Bitters

Shake with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with an orange twist; or, if you'd like to be more dashing, I dare you to flame an orange peel over the drink. Be careful playing with fire.

Bottoms up!

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

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!