There were five clear standouts for this list, and then it got a bit murky. There were drinks I remember enjoying but did I like them enough to single them out? I had to go back and read some old posts to remind myself. Was it honest praise or dramatic hyperbole? Was I being an objective taster or an overzealous exaggernaut?

Another problem I had was dealing with my disappointing lack of cocktailian machismo. I thought my top ten would be studded with big liquor drinks like the Blood & Sand and the Bronx Cocktail. But the French Martini? The Golden Cadillac? What the heck, I liked them and it’s my blog dammit. The list is hyperlinked so you can revisit old times…

My Top Ten in Relatively Descending Order

The Pisco Sour
The Jack Rose
The Royal Hawaiian
The French Martini
The Eggnog
The Sazerac
The Irish Coffee
The Sling
The Dark and Stormy
The Golden Cadillac

I would have the Manhattan on this list, but I have been making them and enjoying them for years already.

Update: Many of you know my frustration with bottled grenadine. The fake stuff is disgusting and the natural stuff is not very pretty. Well try this on for size: I made my own grenadine. I made a rich simple syrup which is 2 to 1 sugar to water. Then I mixed that with bottled 100% pomegranate juice in a further 2 to 1 juice to syrup. It is wonderfully dark red, very tasty, and mixes well.

While you wait breathlessly for my next post featuring an ORIGINAL cocktail, here’s a delightful little poll:

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Heads up, gentle reader. These four cocktails make it an even 100 cocktails in 100 days as promised. That means, of course, that I’ll be taking some time off from the drinking & mixing. I’ll keep this blog afloat by trying new recipes, inventing new cocktails, reviewing bars and their fare. But you’re not gonna get it every day. Keep checking in, though, to see what else I’ve gotten myself into.

Hawkeye Pierce Approved Barware

The Dry Martini

In The Essential Cocktail, Dale DeGroff has written a marvelous section on martinis. He relates the reputed Winston Churchill suggestion that one should simply wave at an unopened bottle of vermouth across the room while drinking the cocktail. I prefer Hawkeye Pierce’s recipe for the perfect martini: “You pour six jiggers of gin and drink it while staring at a picture of Lorenzo Schwartz, the inventor of vermouth.”

4 dashes French vermouth
2 1/2 ounces London dry gin
Pitted olive for garnish
Lemon twist for garnish

First, the requirement of 4 dashes of vermouth. In The Essential Cocktail‘s measurements table, a dash is 6 drops. Big drops? Small drops? DeGroff doesn’t say. So I have to engineer 24 drops of vermouth. Realizing that I couldn’t pour 24 drops from the bottle with any consistency and that I didn’t have an eyedropper or straw on hand, I took a bamboo chopstick, and lowered it into the vermouth bottle. Extracting the chopstick, I was able to gather about 3 drops at a time that I then deposited into a jigger. I wanted to be able to see how much 24 drops was for future reference. It was nearly insignificant. It looked like 1/16 of a teaspoon. When I emptied the pittance into the shaker glass full of ice, the vermouth all but disappeared.

DeGroff makes a fuss about olives in the book and I wanted to oblige. I had a devil of a time locating a jar of olives that remained un-stuffed. In fact, I never found one. Instead, I ambled up through the rain to the Olive Bar at my local Whole Foods Hipster Disco and Singles Mart. There I found unstuffed green olives. About 45 seconds before making the Martini, I pulled 9 olives from the bucket and dropped them into a ramekin with an ounce of French vermouth. I put them back in the refrigerator to chill whilst I crafted the drink. DeGroff suggests such a technique although he indicates mineral water to de-vinegar-ify the olives. I figured “Why not use the vermouth?” Genius.

I made this as close as I could to exactly how DeGroff prescribes. I was certain what would result would be a bitter glass of cold gin. Perhaps I am under its trance, but I was wrong. This is a magnificent cocktailian experience. How could 24 drops of vermouth, tumbled down amidst seven full-sized iced cubes have any effect at all on the gin? It must have because I will fight to the death to defend the fantasy that this is more than meets the eye.

It’s beautiful. The lemon twist hugs the little olive down in the depths of the frosty, crystal clear liquid. The beads of condensation form on the outside of the glass like tiny round diamonds. The crisp, citrus tinted smell. The bright and sharp juniper of the gin sizzling cold along my tongue. The aftertaste, just the right duration and strength, spurring my desire for another sip.

The Dirty Martini

This cocktail’s origin is traced back to the time of Franklin Delano Roosevelt, if not directly to FDR himself.

Dash of French dry vermouth
2 1/2 ounces gin
3/4 ounce olive brine
Cocktail olive, no pimiento, for garnish

I wanted to love it. I think I hate it. Give me a minute. I think the concept suffers from the wild variations in olive brine. DeGroff, and really what would this project be without another ridiculous suggestion by him, writes to not use actual liquid from a jar of cocktail olives but instead something called Dirty Sue. It’s olive brine. In a jar. Just for making Dirty Martinis. I applaud the ingenuity but man, that’s just going too far. I thought since I bought these gourmet olives from a gourmet olive bar that the brine they were in would be sufficiently gourmet. I still hate it. I’m going to take one more drink and call it a failure. Maybe in the weeks to come I’ll buy some Dirty Sue and try it again. After all, Dirty Sue’s website has John Corbett as a spokesman so that makes it okay in my book.

But this brings up an interesting point on martini snobs. You can fuss and suffer over minute details, going so far as to measure the vermouth with an eyedropper, use ice from thrice-boiled distilled water, use gin that’s been filtered through virgin lamb’s wool, but then put the whole thing into question by tossing in an olive whose origin and processing is beyond your knowledge. Unless you grow your own olive tree and brine them yourself…
 

The Gibson

This is a Dry Martini with an onion instead of an olive and lemon peel garnish. The origin story in The Essential Cocktail is that it was invented for Charles Gibson, illustrator and creator of the Gibson Girl. The Gibson Girl was the early 20th century American ideal of feminine beauty and fashion. Gibson’s illustrations of aloof yet approachable, confident and pretty “modern” girls inspired women and men of the early 1900s alike. Women wanted to be a Gibson Girl, men wanted to be near one.

None of this explains why, as a 12 year-old I named my newly acquired kitten Gibson. Certainly I had no knowledge of the Gibson Girl, and The Sure Thing was still five years from being released. I didn’t know anyone named Gibson and we didn’t own any Gibson appliances or guitars.

Anyway, for twenty years she went by Gib mostly (again, no reference to John Cusack’s character in The Sure Thing) and was an even tempered yet eccentric cat. She had a litter of kittens who were quickly and happily adopted by friends. She was uprooted many times. Five different addresses in Arizona, then a move to the San Francisco Bay area where she had three residences, and finally a move to Southern California where she made three new homes. She had been my buddy for over half my life when she died on July 2, 2000.

I just poured a little Gibson out on the ground for my homie…

Gibson

The Martinez

This is the grandfather of the Martini. Reputedly invented sometime in the late 1800s by Jerry Thomas, it is the first popular gin and vermouth (albeit sweet) cocktail. Here’s The Essential Cocktail‘s cockamamie 1800s style recipe:

2 dashes Angostura bitters
2 dashes curaçao
1/2 glass (?) gin
1/2 wineglass (??) Italian sweet vermouth

Discouraged by DeGroff’s vague measurements in this recipe, I went looking through my other books and online. In no more than two minutes I found 9 different recipes. I finally figured out that a “glass” was 2 ounces and a “wineglass” was 4 ounces. What is even more maddening here is that many of the other recipes that I found online, even old ones, use Maraschino liqueur where DeGroff indicates curaçao. Elsewhere and often in this book DeGroff espouses Maraschino liqueur like it was angel piss… Here he’s given the opportunity to justifiably command its use and doesn’t. What a scamp.

It tastes like sweet vermouth, which I have to say I like. I am so relieved to actually enjoy the last cocktail on this project. What a downer it would have been to have the climax taste like an industrial solvent or foot fungus spray or lark’s vomit. But no, it’s sweet with a bit of kick and I love it. Speaking of loving sweet vermouth, Groundhog Day is coming up and I hope you’ll join me in a tradition…watching Groundhog Day, a comic masterpiece starring Bill Murray and Andie MacDowell, written by Danny Rubin and Harold Ramis, and directed by Harold Ramis.

As always, if you are over the age of 21 please be careful trying these drinks. If you are under the age of 21, don’t try them at all! Leave SOME dumb mistakes for us old folks!

That’s it, kids. Stay tuned for a Top 10 Cocktails List from all that I have made and consumed, as well as new recipes, drinks, and stories in the days to come.

I thought it would be cute, you know, to offer a passel of gin drinks, two connected by having men’s names in their appellation…but they were mostly a colossal bore. So I added the Bloody Mary to spice up the night.

The Tom Collins

The Tom Collins has The Essential Cocktail‘s most confusing and least interesting origin stories. In fact, I just fell asleep telling you that. And yet a particular tall, narrow chimney glass has been named for the drink.

1 1/2 ounces London dry gin
1 ounce simple syrup
3/4 ounce freshly squeezed lemon juice
Club soda
Maraschino cherry and orange slice for garnish

The problem with drinks “topped” with club soda, particularly ones served in the very narrow Collins glass, is that if you don’t stir the thing a bit before drinking you get all the soda and the good stuff sits at the bottom. No recipe ever says to stir before enjoying. What happens is that you end up gingerly poking the column of ice cubes down into the drink to try to mix it up. You get what I call “ice-finger” (some call it “drink-digit”). Now maybe there is some kind of cocktail philosophy that I’m missing here. Perhaps the object of these drinks is to sip the weak stuff at the top for a while, gradually getting down to business as it melts and mixes on its own schedule. I don’t believe so. If I make or order a drink, I want the drink 100%. I don’t want to wait ten minutes for the gin to sucker-punch me.

The Tom Collins is an utter delight, of course. I really appreciate the sweetness of the full ounce of simple syrup. It’s another absolutely superior alternative to a gin and tonic. It’s refreshing and flavorful and it looks like a heck of a lot of fun.

The Gin Fizz

So as I was draining the last of the Tom Collins I thought “That was pretty good, I could have another.” Well, here it is. The Gin Fizz is just a Tom Collins in a smaller glass with no garnish. Otherwise, identical. I know it’s disappointing. Go back and look at the Pousse Cafe if you’re bored…

The Gin Rickey

Another boring and ultimately improbable cocktail origin story involving politics. Named for a 19th century Washington lobbyist who later became the first major U.S. importer of limes? It’s gin, lime juice, and club soda. That’s it.

Hey, look folks! A Tom Collins/Gin Fizz without simple syrup. Yawn. Tart as hell though. DeGroff says to feel free to add simple syrup. Good grief. So I thought ahead when I made this and used Gordon’s Gin…that way I didn’t feel to bad when I poured it down the sink. Seriously, do I HAVE to get snot-flinging drunk every night for this project?

The Bloody Mary

Being that Mary had been a popular name for hundreds of years, it’s no wonder the origin of this drink is so hotly contested. I always feel like having a Bloody Mary at the airport lounge. I don’t know why. I never feel like having one anywhere else, anytime else. What I like about the Bloody Mary is that it seems like your having a meal when you drink it. Honestly it’s like a glass of vodka spiked gazpacho. And usually you get it with a giant celery stalk to gnaw on as well. The Essential Cocktail‘s recipe only calls for wedges of lemon and lime though, and even then served on a plate on the side. What is clear is that it’s okay to freelance and improvise with the Bloody Mary to make it your own. Here’s the basic recipe:

2 ounces vodka (Finlandia!)
4 ounces tomato juice (Campbell’s)
1/2 ounce freshly squeezed lemon juice
3 dashes Tabasco sauce
2 dashes Worcestershire sauce
Pinch each of salt and black pepper
Wedges of lemon and lime for garnish on the side

I made mine pretty spicy. DeGroff calls for three dashes of Tabasco but I’m sure a couple extra sneaked in before I could notice. In addition, I put in my own little spin. Now I don’t eat fast food too often. I don’t eat at Jack in the Box, McDonalds, or Burger King. I’ll have a double-double at the In-N-Out occasionally but that’s not fast food, that’s just a great hamburger that they happen to serve while wearing little paper hats. The one fast food I can eat just about anytime, and ALWAYS on a road trip, is Taco Bell. (RIP Glen Bell) I am guilty of fooling myself into thinking that the Bell serves up healthier fare just because it isn’t fried. But beyond that, it’s just disgustingly tasty when you are famished. Back to my little secret: I stock up on Hot Sauce packets when I’m there and use them in my own cooking on occasion. I like having a secret ingredient. So I put about half a packet into this Bloody Mary. It was good.

Kiss -- Cold Gin -- Live 1976

The Kir

The Kir is white wine with a bit of crème de cassis (black currant liqueur). It sounds sophisticated and simple. Well that’s half right anyway. Cassis is fantastic though. I can imagine making a simple syrup with cassis and coming up with a delicious topping for pancakes, waffles, ice cream…

White wine
1/2 ounce creme de cassis

The first one I made I put in too much cassis which would have made for an unappealing photo. Before pouring it out, I stirred it up and tasted it. It tasted pretty good actually. It made the bottom shelf wine much more interesting. Then I made one to look a little more like the picture in the book (since DeGroff doesn’t give any measurement guidance for the wine). I stirred it up to taste and it just tasted like bad wine. I would say that if you have some mediocre white wine around but you don’t want to pour it down the drain, put in about a 3/4 ounce of cassis (for a regular sized white wine glass), stir it up and enjoy. Otherwise, I don’t know why anyone would suffer this thing.

The Kir Royale

This is the same as above only with Champagne substituting for the white wine. Now this I like. It might be the quality of the wine, as for this I used Korbel and for the Kir I think I used Unkle Jethro’s Perverted Grape Juice. But as with the Kir, you have to stir the cassis up into the wine to get the flavor. Sure it looks cool in the pictures but…

I imagine you could make this drink with any good quality fruit-based or berry-based liqueur. What if you put Cointreau in Champagne? Or some of the overpriced bottle of crème de violette I still have after making one disappointing Aviation Cocktail? Let’s try it, shall we?

Ten minutes later…
 
 

Frothing The Violet

The Frothing The Violet  (A Bent at the Elbow Original)

Well, now, that was inspired! Pour a flute of Champagne or sparkling wine, then gently pour Rothman & Winter Crème de Violette into the glass. Only pour 3/4 of an ounce at first and let it settle at the bottom. You get a beautiful bluish cloud resting down there. Then pour another 1/4 ounce or so and gently stir to combine. What you get is a steel blue liquid, bubbly to the nose and buds with the subtle sweet perfume of violets.

Why Frothing The Violet? When stirred a bit too eagerly the drink foams up and the bursting bubbles let loose the violet essence. Plus the name made me laugh until snot came out.
 
 
 
 

The French 75

Ordinarily I wouldn’t be able to reconcile how this deserves to be a drink on it’s own merit. It’s simply a Tom Collins but with champagne instead of club soda. Two things absolutely invalidate my negative first impression though: It has an outstanding origin story and it is lip-smackingly delicious.

1 3/4 ounces gin
1/2 ounce fresh squeezed lemon juice
1/2 ounce simple syrup
Champagne

Shake the gin, lemon juice, and simple syrup with ice. Strain into a large flute or goblet with ice and a lemon peel. Fill the rest with Champagne or sparkling wine.

To read The Essential Cocktail‘s account, some United States servicemen in France during World War I were beside themselves with the desire for a Tom Collins (gin, lemon, club soda). They had gin and lemons…but no club soda. Well, Champagne is fizzy and France is just lousy with bottles of Champagne. Voila. The French 75. Oh and the name…the French artillery shells were 75mm.

The Bijou

This cocktail’s history is as old as the Martini and the Manhattan. But for some reason it didn’t remain as popular. I don’t know why though. It has the mystique of Chartreuse, another of the worlds weird herbal liqueurs crafted by monks in France.

I taste black pepper. Don’t ask me to explain. I can barely taste the gin. I used Tanqueray No.10 because I anticipated this to be a cocktail subject to nuance. Turns out I’m an idiot. The strong flavors of sweet vermouth and Chartreuse pretty much beat the soft floral No.10 into submission. It’s sharp and slightly sweet but after the Kir, the Kir Royale, the Frothing The Violet, and the French 75, I don’t think I’ve got the palate left to figure out what the hell is going on in this glass. I feel redeemed by the cool lemon peel though.

Thanks to Joe McKenna for bringing me some Chartreuse so I wouldn’t have to shell out 40 bones for one drink.

The Mai Tai

Mai Tai. Not Your Tai.

This tropical classic is rum, orgeat (almond) syrup, orange curaçao, and freshly squeezed lime juice. It is born of the heyday of the tiki bar craze, when Trader Vic Bergeron and Donn “Don the Beachcomber” Beach were the rock stars of the tropical night club scene.

Let me say that I am a big fan of orgeat syrup in cocktails. It makes the Royal Hawaiian a fantastic drink and I suspect it’s also what makes the Mai Tai taste so freaking good. I don’t believe in Heaven but for those of you who do, I imagine St. Peter is going to hand you a Mai Tai at the gates. Being only a few days from the end here, I am alright with slight alterations to the recipes. I’m not playing it fast and loose here, but I increased the dosage by 1/4 on all the other ingredients. DeGroff’s recipes sometimes just look pitiful in the glass. Additionally, the picture had ice in the glass though the recipe doesn’t call for it. Usually I’ll go with the recipe and bellow about the damn food stylist, but this drink I think deserves ice cubes at least. Other recipes I found for the Mai Tai included ice so it’s not like I’m pitching from the dugout. A picture of DeGroff’s recipe, the meager 3 1/2 ounces of liquid, no ice, with a mint sprig floating belly up in the glass…it just looks like something in a bus tray left over from a wedding reception.

The Fog Cutter

DeGroff points out that this drink, the Eggnog (yum!), and the Long Island Iced Tea (yurp!) are the only cocktails sanctioned by him that involve mixed spirits. Sure it’s okay to use two or three different rums in a drink, but gin and rum and brandy is usually a recipe for disaster. But here in the Fog Cutter, it works.

2 ounces Brugal rum
1 ounce brandy
1/2 ounce gin
1 ounce fresh-squeezed lemon juice
1 ounce fresh-squeezed orange juice
1/2 ounce orgeat
1/2 ounce simple syrup
Float of sherry (Dry Sack) on top (I figure a float to be 1/2 ounce)

That’s a pretty complicated drink. Don’t get me wrong, it cuts the fog, certainly. I expected it to be sweet and fruity but it’s confusing. The bold flavor of the Brugal rum is there. I think I can make out the brandy, even. But it’s the maestro that is orgeat syrup that taunts and tempts your tastebuds with his almondy baton. It’s mighty fine. A huge drink it is which is a real change of pace for the usually dainty measures in The Essential Cocktail. One of these could last you a few minutes even. Not me though, I have to get on to the next drink. Well, first an anecdote:

I really hate to hip absolutely everyone to a hidden gem, but it’s really just friends and family reading this, so…there’s a little place north of San Luis Obispo called Cambria. It’s a tiny town of antique junk shops and weird and wonderful eateries. The beach at Cambria is Moonstone Beach and the sand there varies from multicolored marble sized stones to small weathered pebbles. It’s a pretty magical little beach. You could walk a quarter mile and by the end have such a neck-ache from scanning the beach for treasures. Along Moonstone Beach there are quite a few beachfront hotels and inns and one is called The FogCatcher. Now there’s nothing particularly special about The FogCatcher, though I’ve stayed there a couple of times and it is very sweet. You know how sometimes when you can’t remember the name of a place, you just make something up? Well, to me and the circle of friends who have stayed there, the place is known as The Ass-grabber. Don’t ask me why. I couldn’t remember Fogcatcher and one of my dad’s old chestnuts is that when you were horsing around you were “playing grab-ass.” So the Fog Cutter cocktail reminds me of The Ass-grabber, in a ’round about way.

Wow.

The Pousse Café

Now that I’ve consumed two powerful cocktails, it is the perfect time to try my steady hand at the Pousse Café which means “push the coffee” in French. Right?

The Pousse Café is a fancy drink, the likes of which date back before the 20th century, made by layering different liqueurs into a glass in order of relative density: The heavier (sugarier) liquids first. The object is to pour the successive ingredients slowly along the inside of the glass so as to prevent mixing. The Essential Cocktail  suggests that one use a bar spoon, pouring 1/4 ounce of each of the liquids onto the backside of the spoon so they disperse harmlessly onto the previous layer. This doesn’t work. Especially with such tiny quantities. No, it was better for me to pour each ingredient slowly into the BOWL of the spoon held up against the inside of the glass so I could regulate how quickly it dropped onto the previous layer. This is a 3 1/2 ounce cordial glass I got at Sur La Table. Anyway, in order of application, the Pousse Café is:

Grenadine
Dark creme de cacao
Green creme de menthe
Blue curaçao
Luxardo Maraschino liqueur
Triple sec
Brandy

I knew mine would not measure up to the image in the book, but I’m pretty damned proud of how it turned out. Going by the order of ingredients in the book, you have to trust that the product you bought has the same basic weight as those prescribed. For me, I think my creme de cacao and grenadine were of similar weight as the cacao looked to drop to the bottom of the glass at any moment. Ditto for the creme de menthe and blue curaçao; there wasn’t much distinction between the green and blue where they met. I think the recipe assumes that triple sec will have some kind of pale orange color because the Luxardo is clear and the brandy is golden. But my triple sec, Hiram Walker, is kind of clear. Nevertheless it seemed to keep the Luxardo and the Courvoisier apart so I think it did it’s job. DeGroff says to serve this with a straw so the imbiber can drink it layer by layer and not mix the thing into an ugly brown mess.

The first long sip, the grenadine and dark creme de cacao, tastes like a chocolate covered cherry. The next sip, the green creme de menthe, tastes as if someone slipped a Junior Mint between your teeth. The blue curaçao tastes like nothing as far as I can tell. The next sip, the maraschino liqueur, tastes like someone slipped a gasoline rag in your mouth. By now, probably due to inevitable backwash, what’s left is all green and tastes like Hai Karate. Pause here,  because the remaining layers of green tinted triple sec and brandy will re-separate. Then you can continue sipping. Don’t stop now though because what’s left is sure to cause permanent offense to your tongue. Drinking this thing through a straw is what I imagine inhaling kerosene fumes would be like. And yet there really isn’t much alcohol in this. The Luxardo and the brandy are the top vote-getters for mayor of this drink’s Drunkytown but there is so little in here that it would only affect the most frail of 4 year-olds.

If you are new here you need to know that I urge you 21+ year olds to try these drinks carefully. You under 21 year-olds just read the spicy words and look at the pretty pictures and not try this at home (or anywhere else for that matter!).

The Vesper

The Essential Cocktail  has a brilliant entry on The Vesper. It highlights the drinks invention by James Bond novel author Ian Fleming’s neighborhood bartender, includes the frisky but eloquent text from Casino Royale in which The Vesper appears, and even explains what in the hell Lillet is.

The first Vesper I ever had attend to my palate was crafted by my friend Wolski, inveterate James Bond aficionado and Hammer Films enthusiast. He also introduced me to The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra so the guy is pretty formidable. Think Walken’s Continental but without the bawdiness, crazy accent, and offers of fine champagne. Wolski’s Vesper was ice cold and delicious. The remembrance of cocktails past just added extra worry that I would hate whatever dribbled out of my shaker.

As in Casino Royale by Ian Fleming, the recipe Bond demands is:

3 measures of Gordon’s (that’s gin, kids)
1 measure of vodka
1/2 measure of Lillet
(DeGroff prescribes an orange peel for garnish although his quotation from the book indicates lemon…)

With this, above all other cocktails, you KNOW you are drinking alcohol. I had hoped that “measure” in the recipe did not mean “an ounce.” I looked high and low and as hard as I tried, I simply could not evade the awful truth: This drink is 4 1/2 ounces of pure seriousness. There’s no fizzy buzz to tickle your nose, there’s no giggling with the slight warmth of a bit of adult beverage, there’s no sweet liqueur to take the edge off. The Vesper is not to be trifled with. It is honest to goodness, absolute bad-ass.

It tastes like nothing when you hold it in your mouth. This drink is 100% aftertaste. Once you swallow, your tongue gets warm with the slight burn of the spirits. You suck in air and at once your mouth is cold and dry and the working-class juniper of the Gordon’s fills it with heady flavor. I can’t tell what the Lillet is doing but I’m sure I’d notice if it weren’t there. It’s not as good as Wolski’s but I don’t hate it.

The Valencia

No, this is a completely different drink. See the orange peel?

DeGroff says this is known as the Spanish martini, probably because of the addition of fino sherry to the recipe. He tells a cute story about a legendary Angeleno bar owner…if you want to know, buy the book. One thing that is worth mentioning is that he orders you to stir the sherry and gin “50 times if using large ice cubes, 30 times if using the small pellet-shaped cubes.” I love an eccentric. But it should be colder than a well-digger’s knee (as my dad says) and that’s what you get from stirring the heck out of it.

1/2 ounce fino sherry
2 1/2 ounces gin
Flamed orange peel for garnish

Wow, there’s more to this drink than I thought there’d be. I was sure this would taste like someone waved a bottle of sherry over a glass of cold gin. However, it actually has some dimension to it. I wouldn’t order this in a bar. Hell I wouldn’t order it in a mirror. But it’s not an abject failure. I did flame the orange peel and I know I promised to show a video of that…there are still a few days left. I’ve gotten better at executing the flaming so it’ll be a better show. It sounds ridiculous but squeezing the orange peel next to the flame and watching the oil land on the surface of the drink…I think it actually may be imparting some kind of flavor depth. Oh my god, am I becoming a cocktail snob, or worse…a hipster?

The Gimlet

Ah, Rose’s Sweetened Lime Juice. Long what I thought lime juice was supposed to look and taste like. A shimmering chartreuse liquid, from a tart fruit yet sweet. The roots of the Gimlet actually stretch back into the 19th century, when a Scotsman named Rose invented a way to preserve lime juice without using alcohol so it could be administered to sailors in the prevention of scurvy. He spent all that effort preserving lime juice without alcohol just to have the sailors add it to gin. Jokes on him.

2 ounces gin
3/4 ounce Rose’s lime juice
Squeezed lime wedge garnish

It’s not popular for nothing. This is a fine, simple cocktail. I used Tanqueray No.10 gin because I imagined the slightly sweet Rose’s would be open to its fresh, slightly floral flavors. If you are a gin and tonic drinker but want to get serious, The Gimlet is for you. Just make sure you shake the hell out of it so it stays cold. And you MUST use Rose’s lime juice and not freshly squeezed for this drink. I’m sure gin and freshly squeezed lime juice is a fine drink, but it’s not a Gimlet.

Once again with feeling, if you are over the age of 21 please be careful trying these drinks. If you are under the age of 21, don’t try them at all! Leave SOME stupid shit for us old folks!

The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra

A celebration of ginger. Ginger beer and ginger ale…and Ginger Grant.

The Moscow Mule

According to The Essential Cocktail, the Moscow Mule was another of Smirnoff’s marketing triumphs. Along with the Bloody Mary, the Screwdriver, and the Vodkatini, the Moscow Mule was promoted in the 1950s to sell Smirnoff the brand. Back then, ginger beer was as available as ginger ale. Now it isn’t so easy to find. I found Reed’s, which is a medium-spicy Jamaican style ginger beer. Just so you know, ginger beer is like root beer, it contains no alcohol.

1 1/2  ounces Finlandia vodka (does that make this a Helsinki Horse?)
4 ounces Reed’s Ginger Beer
Lime wedge garnish
Pour it all over ice

I don’t think I’ve ever had a ginger beer before. It’s very different, like a spicier ginger ale. I used Reed’s and it’s not too gingery so don’t let that scare you off. I’ve had some very spicy ginger ales…hand-crafted drinks I’ve tasted at the Old Town Root Beer Company in Temecula. But this Reed’s is smooth and very delicious. The vodka is just there for a kick, so you can call it an adult beverage. Get it? Kick? Mule?

I know it seems like you could put vodka in anything and drink it. The idea of vodka is that it is odorless and tasteless so shouldn’t it go with everything? Need a cocktail but you only have vodka and prune juice? Go for it, you’re only steps from your own toilet anyway! See? Doesn’t always work. But I have tried it with Capri Sun and if you use the Pacific Cooler flavor, you get a drink I invented called the Russian Gradeschooler. Float a little Mountain Dew on top and you get a Russian Hillbilly Gradeschooler. But I digress. You wouldn’t drink vodka and Coca-Cola unless you really had to. But ginger beer? That makes a mighty simple, mighty fine drink.

Charles Schulz created this. Thanks Chuck.

The Dark and Stormy

DeGroff includes a great little paragraph explaining the bitter spice of Myers’s Dark Rum. He mentions that the Jamaican rum making technique includes taking spent mash from the fermentation process, called dunder, and putting it in pits to let bacteria grow before adding it to new mash for a new batch of rum. First of all: Yech. Second of all: Dunder? I wonder if “mifflin” is the word for some other kind of disgusting detritus or dregs. In any case, the Dark and Stormy is a Moscow Mule with dark rum instead of vodka.

It sure tastes dark and stormy. Another drink unlike any other, which is a nice change of pace. So much of this project has been slight variations on a theme of gin and citrus juices. This drink makes them cower below decks in fear! The ginger beer is moderately spicy, but the Myers’s Dark Rum is very peppery. It’s got such character that it makes this drink a singular experience. I imagine that if you’ve got a bottle of Myers’s Dark Rum on your bar, it’s at least 2/3 full yet it’s over a year old. Buy some ginger beer and drain that rum bottle.

Myers I Have Known: Geri Myers and I danced to Journey’s “Open Arms” at the Grandview junior high dance in 1982.

The Presbyterian

This is a lady’s highball. The Essential Cocktail  leaves half of the page blank rather than explain how the thing came to be named after a member of a religious group. My guess is that this is what the ladies at the First Presbyterian of Allentown Summer Picnic drank while their male counterparts drank their whiskey straight. Mixed with ginger ale and club soda, a proper 1950s wife and mother could have one or two and still be able to make it to the station wagon without fumbling the melmac bowl of leftover potato salad.

This is just a less offensive way of taking bourbon internally. I happen to like bourbon so the drink is wasted on me. Also wasted is the 1 1/2 ounce of Maker’s Mark that I put in it. Furthermore, I don’t even taste the ginger ale. I took a swig of the ale before putting it in the glass. It’s Reed’s and it’s quite good. It’s sweeter than the beer but in no way is it like the bilgewater that passes for ginger ale on the shelves of your local Piggly Wiggly.

I’m more of a Mary Ann Summers guy, but with all the ginger going on, I give you…

Ginger Grant