Made for over 200 years on the banks of the Kentucky River, Buffalo Trace is a very smooth bourbon whiskey. The company bills themselves on their website as “the most award-winning distillery in the world.” However much truth there may be in that statement, the professional quality of the company shines through the spirit. There is never a hint of burning, off-flavors or harshness in its aroma or taste.

Buffalo Trace has a bold, rich flavor blending hints of toffee, almond and vanilla.

The oak casts in which it is aged come through strongly in the final product. The strength of this oak flavor is the one thing that I cared for least in this bourbon. However, when I asked people around me who do enjoy bourbon (all of whom highly recommended Buffalo Trace), to a person, they said that is what they love most about the brand. So, even though this is a personal criticism of mine, most bourbon drinkers seem to love it.

Bourbon is a distinctly American whisky made from corn, rye and barley, along with water. In 1964, the U.S. Congress recognized it as a “distinctive product of the United States.” Although it can be distilled anywhere in the country where state and local laws permit, Kentucky has a commanding monopoly on bourbon production. One possible reason for the quality of Kentucky bourbon may be that the water in the area filters through a vast amount of limestone and is nearly free of iron.

Because bourbon has such a strong connection to Southern heritage, let’s look at how to make that most Southern of all drinks, the mint julep. Famous from the greatest of all horse races, the Kentucky Derby, this drink is Kentucky’s signature beverage.

Simply take four to five  sprigs of mint and place them at the bottom of an old-fashioned (or a collins) glass, along with a couple cubes of sugar or half an ounce of simple syrup. Muddle the mint, crushing it with the pestle or other utensil. This breaks up the cellular walls of the mint leaves, releasing their pungent aroma and flavor. Now, pour in two and a half ounces of bourbon, and fill the glass with ice. Stir well until the glass becomes frosty (this is a tradition at the race).

When the glass has a light coating of frost, garnish the drink with one sprig of mint at the top. Perfect!

The distiller derives their name from the fact that buffalo followed a path through the land that is now their distillery.

So make yourself a mint julep and we are off to the races.

Always drink responsibly and cheers!

A hundred years ago, maraschino would have been a common ingredient behind any good bar, and was often paired with vermouth to sweeten up a drink. This brings us today’s recipe, the Martinez — a drink that’s said to be the forerunner to the martini, if only because the two drinks are near homonyms. You’ll find the association ends there.

Today, when we teach bartenders to make martinis, the recipe is akin to grilling a steak; a dash of vermouth is all that we add to the vodka or gin, much like a grade-A ribeye only needs a sprinkling of salt and a grind of pepper to perfect it. The complexity that’s been stripped away from martinis is mainly an aftereffect of the top-shelf clear liquors that can now be produced, thanks to modern distilling technologies. We don’t add much to a martini because the hooch doesn’t need anything; top-shelf gin (or vodka) is plenty palatable all by itself.)

Gin was once a raw, unprocessed, harsh spirit, though, and was mixed into cocktails much like whiskey is now, with liqueurs, sweeteners, and additives stirred in to accentuate the flavor and cover up some of the harsher flavor notes.  The original Martinez recipe does just that. Following the food analogy, it’s more like a stir-fry recipe you’d use to dress up a chuck steak you bought on sale. The other flavors do more than accentuate the taste of the meat; they change it entirely.

The Martinez recipe from Jerry Thomas’s 1860s bartending book actually reverses today’s typical cocktail ratios, with a 4-1 vermouth to gin ratio. I’m assuming this is because gin was not only harsher, but also stronger when Thomas was working. The recipe also adds a dash or two of bitters and a splash of maraschino liqueur to add a bittersweetness to the mix.

The net result is something between a gin Manhattan and a gin Old-Fashioned. It has the herbal sweetness and subtle complexity of both cocktails, but with the lighter body and cleaner flavor of gin, along with a nice, piney kick from the juniper. This is a fun drink to make now, but to get the full effect, you should probably whip up a batch of bathtub gin, or at least use the cheap stuff. Tanqueray, Bombay Sapphire or Hendricks are just a bit too mellow for this.

Martinez

• 2 oz. gin
• 1/2 oz. sweet vermouth
• 1/4 oz. maraschino
• 2 oz. Angostura bitters

Combine all ingredients in a cocktail shaker over ice; shake to combine. Garnish with a lemon slice. Thomas’s recipe suggests an extra dash or two of syrup if your customer prefers the drink sweet, but if you use nice enough gin, I don’t think that’s necessary.

But I digress. The daiquiri, lamentably, has an undeserved reputation as a frou-frou drink, but it didn’t start out that way. Rather, it was one of the many elementary cocktails that developed by taking a base liquor (in this case, rum) and adding something to tart it up (lime juice) and something to sweeten it (sugar, originally, though a half-measure of triple sec would do just as well.) The daiquiri was designed to tame (or, at least, subdue) rum, one of the most elemental spirits out there (and, before the advent of  vodka, the closest you could find to pure ethanol.) Rum has always been big in America, seeing as it’s made from sugar cane, and there are sugar-cane producing climates and economies not too far from here. Wikipedia, that great anthropological source, tells me that rum was always plentiful, but was considered a drink of sailors, ne’er do-wells, and the lower class until World War II. Then, wartime rationing made other spirits scarce, but the ready supply of rum from our “Good Neighbors” kept those stateside good and buzzed. Hemingway loved ‘em, though you can say that about almost any spirit, concoction, or other consumable, and it would be just about as true. (Don’t believe me? Look up the recipe for Death in the Afternoon sometime. He drank those, too.)

Daiquiri

• 2 oz. rum
• Juice of 1 lime
• 1 tsp. sugar, or 1 oz. Cointreau or triple sec

Combine ingredients in a cocktail shaker over ice, and shake thoroughly. Strain into a cocktail glass, or into a rocks glass packed with ice (shaved, if you have it, though cracked will do in a pinch.) No garnish is needed, though if you insist, an extra wedge of lime perched on the rim of the glass wouldn’t hurt anybody.

P.S.: If you’re reading this recipe and thinking it sounds a lot like a caipirinha — it is. It’s exactly the same drink, but made with cachaça, a Brazilian liquor that is basically rum by a different name. Caipirinhas are usually made slightly differently, with the sugar, rum, and squeezed lime all combined in the same rocks glass with ice, but the end result is the same.

After a long winter, rhubarb is now in season.  Is there a way to use this first sign of the growing season in a cocktail?

You ask a very worrisome question. I’m sure you’re aware that rhubarb leaves are poisonous, so before we start talking about anything else, we need to start with a disclaimer; trim leaves from your rhubarb stalks as soon as you harvest them, dispose of the leaves immediately, and wash the stalks, your hands, and your tools thoroughly.

Now that that’s taken care of…

Rhubarb stalks are going to act a lot like celery would act in a drink, which is to say that while it could be a fun garnish, it can’t add a lot of flavor just by its presence. You can’t muddle up rhubarb like you would a softer, juicier fruit; it won’t impart any of its flavor that way. Rhubarb needs to be cooked to extract its flavor.

I’d suggest a couple of approaches, both of which are a bit more involved:

• Make a rhubarb simple syrup. Slice your rhubarb into thumb-sized pieces, stack them in a stock pot, cover them with water, and boil covered for at least an hour. When finished, strain all liquid from the fruit, and press the fruit to extract whatever juices you can from the flesh. (Once you’ve done that, you can discard the pulp.) Measure the liquid you’ve poured off the rhubarb, return it to the stock pot, and place it on the stove top. Add an amount of sugar equivalent to the liquid, which you’ve just measured (so if you measured 1.5 cups of water off the rhubarb, add 1.5 cups of sugar.) Stir the sugar into the liquid under low heat, turning off the heat as soon as the sugar has dissolved completely. Once the syrup has cooled, you can add anything from 1/2 oz to 1 oz of the syrup to cocktails.
• Make a rhubarb jam, either by itself or with other fruit. This option will only appeal to you if you’ve already made jam or preserves before, and if you think you could use your rhubarb preserves for something other than cocktail making, so I won’t spend too much time rolling out a recipe here. Whatever recipe you do use, shake a tablespoon or so of the jam into a cocktail.

Here are a couple of sample recipes using both approaches.

Rhubarb Sidecar

• 2 oz. brandy
• Juice of 1/2 lemon
• 1 tbsp ( .5 oz) rhubarb syrup

Combine all ingredients in a cocktail shaker over ice; shake to combine. Strain into a cocktail glass; garnish with a cherry.

Rhubarb Collins

• 2 oz. gin
• 1 tbsp rhubarb jam
• Juice of 1/2 lime
• Soda water

Combine gin, jam, and lime juice in a cocktail shaker over ice; shake thoroughly to combine. Fill a highball glass with ice. Pour mixed cocktail into highball glass, and top with soda water.

When I asked one of Keene, New Hampshire’s, favorite bartenders, Steve, what was most popular with people in their mid-20′s today, he recommended a Jamaican 10-speed. There are other variations on this drink, each named after a type of bicycle – 12-speed, 18-speed, and 21-speed — but let’s concentrate on getting the basic one right first.

One of the things that is unique about this drink is that it is both a milky drink, and a fruity drink at the same time. So if you love both creamy drinks and fruity drinks, the ten speed is a great one to try.

Here’s how you make it:

1 1/2 ounces Malibu (coconut) rum
3/4 ounce Midori (melon liqueur)
3/4 ounce creme de banane (banana liqueur)
1 ounce milk or cream
3 ounces pineapple juice
1 whole cherry (Maraschino)

First, fill a shaker with ice. Add the rum and the two liqueurs. Then, pour in your pineapple juice and the milk or cream. Here’s something to keep in mind: The more milk or cream that you add, the less sweet it will be. So, if you prefer a creamier drink, go heavier on the dairy. For a sweeter, fruitier taste, hold back. You may also find that this recipe could play into seasonal variations as well – a fruitier blend may be better in the heat of summer and the creamier version might be better in colder weather.

Give the drink a good shake and then pour into a hurricane glass (the ones that look like the glass part of an oil lantern), or even a regular pint glass. Lastly, garnish with the cherry (or if you really want to live la vida loca, a slice of orange wrapped around a cherry, skewered by a toothpick – or dare I say it? A small plastic sword?) is also a nice variation.

There’s never any reason to feel intimidated to make or serve drinks if you do not have all of, or exactly the right, ingredients. Food and drink is meant to be enjoyed, and you should always experiment and find what you and your friends and family like best, and what you can do with the resources you have on hand.

So try out a 10-speed and post your thoughts about the drink below, and also post any variations that you enjoy on the recipe above.
Always drink responsibly and cheers!

The mint julep is just about the simplest recipe around that combines mint and liquor… there is, in fact, just one extra ingredient (sugar) added, but the effect is transformative. This drink is also a chance for you to show off your muddling skills (though the mint only needs to be pressed, not necessarilysmashed.) This recipe uses bourbon, which is the “official” way to make a julep, but if you wanted to use some other whiskey, dark/spiced rum, brandy, or even something exotic like tequila, I wouldn’t stop you. And you’ll notice the julep uses crushed ice; if you’re home, and you absolutely have to, you can use ice cubes, but this drink would be vastly improved if you could find some way to crush those cubes (wrap them in a bar towel, and then smash them with the bourbon bottle, perhaps.)

Anyway, let’s get down to it:

Mint Julep

• 2 oz. bourbon
• 8-10 mint leaves
• 1 tsp sugar (or 1 tsp. simple syrup)

Place mint leaves in a rocks glass, and pour sugar or simple syrup over top. (If using sugar, add 1 tsp. water to help dissolve the sugar.) With a muddle, press the sugar and water to the bottom of the glass to release the essential oils in the mint leaves. Fill the glass with crushed ice, and add the bourbon. Stir to combine, and serve.

Here’s a quick history of liquor in America that should help to explain a lot about the drinks that were popular 10-20 years ago, and the drinks that are popular now:

• When the country was founded, brandy, rum, and whisky were the most popular spirits around, and could be produced either in America or (in the case of rum) close to our shores. Gin was also in favor, but a bit harder to procure.
• Flash forward to the mid-1850s, and advances in technology give bartenders regular access to ice, which gives rise to the cocktail. The aforementioned popular liquors, along with wines and some cordials, began to be mixed with non-perishable, complementary ingredients like sugar, bitters, and fruit syrups, along with some seasonal fresh fruit.
• By the 1950s, further advances in technology give bartenders year-round access to fruit juices and other perishable ingredients. At the same time, vodka is introduced into the country, and immediately becomes popular. Now, instead of worrying about ingredients complementing a liquor, we have a liquor that complements any other ingredient you mix with it. Traditional cocktails are forgotten.

Now, we’re at a point when customers at bars are developing a newfound appreciation for those old recipes, and the flavors they evoke. And with that, the Manhattan — which never went away, but certainly spent a couple of decades as the unused cousin of the martini — has become popular again.

Some notes on this cocktail: you can use rye, bourbon, or Canadian whiskey in your Manhattan, but not Scotch (that’d be a Rob Roy) or Irish (that’d get you something close to an Emerald.) You can use more sweet vermouth if you’d like; a 3-1 or even 2-1 ratio would not be unheard of, especially if you’re using overproof whiskey. If you use equal parts sweet and dry vermouth, you’ll have a perfect Manhattan.  Angostura bitters are standard, but you can experiment with other brands, or with bitter liqueurs like Campari, Aperol, or Fernet. A splash of cherry juice to sweeten your Manhattan wouldn’t be out of the question. And these can be served on the rocks or strained, with either a cherry or a lemon twist. Enjoy!

Manhattan

• 2.5 oz. whiskey
• .5 oz sweet vermouth
• 2-3 dashes bitters
• 1 tsp cherry juice (optional)

Combine ingredients in a cocktail shaker over ice, and shake to combine. Strain either into a cocktail glass or a rocks glass with ice, and garnish with a cherry or a lemon twist.

Benedictine falls into the “less exciting” category, for the most part. An herbal liqueur made with a secret blend of 27 herbs and ingredients, Benedictine was falsely claimed to be made by the Benedictine monks, whose recipe was lost to time until it was “rediscovered” by the businessman who actually developed the stuff. Benedictine is a thick, sweet liqueur with complex herbal notes. It’s often paired with brandy to cut the sugary flavors. (There’s actually a pre-mixed version of the drink that’s sold — B&B, for Benedictine and Brandy.)

This week’s recipe is similar to that B&B, but it’s layered like a Pousse L’Amour (just without the raw egg.) It’s a French cafe drink — something that’s served at room temperature, and meant to be a pre-aperitif, to be consumed in the afternoon. Make it in a sherry glass, a narrow white wine glass, or a champagne flute, and make sure you use a spoon to layer the liqueurs.

Brandy Champerelle

• 1 oz . brandy
• 1 oz. curacao
• 1 oz. benedictine
• 3 dashes Angostura bitters

Pour 1 oz. benedictine into a sherry glass or champagne flute. Pour 1 oz. curacao over top of that, using a spoon and pouring slowly to create a second layer. In the same fashion, pour 1 oz. brandy over the curacao. Carefully float 3 dashes of  Angostura bitters to the top and serve.

At its core, though, the Cosmo is a model of the blueprint we use to create just about every flavored martini. There’s a long pour of a base spirit (in this, and many cases, it’s vodka.) There’s a smaller pour of a liqueur to add or change the flavor, and a splash of one or two juices — enough to change the flavor and color of the drink without diluting its strength. The same model, with a couple of tweaks, can give you a peach martini, a sour apple martini, a chocolate martini, and countless other derivations. (In fact, by this model, just about any cocktail — Sex on the Beach? Bay Breeze? — could be made into a martini by doubling the amount of liquor and reducing the amount of juice added.)

Cocktail purists could argue (quite successfully) that none of this should be called a martini. They’re certainly not the same as a classic 5-1 gin martini. You can even argue that flavored martinis are ruining their namesake. Witness the rise of the dirty martini, a “standard” martini with a measure of salty olive brine added. (Depending on the customer, most bars now carry much bigger martini glasses to accommodate cocktails with a decent portion of juice added to them, and many customers (especially younger ones) are used to the idea that they should be able to drink martinis that taste like candy. (I’ve had customers send back actual martinis — as in, martinis with vodka and vermouth as the only ingredients — complaining they taste too much like alcohol, so something must be wrong.)

But enough of all that — the Cosmo. So long as you use quality ingredients, it’s a good cocktail. That means more than just springing for good vodka. Make sure you’re using a quality cranberry juice, along with a good orange cordial like Cointreau instead of triple sec. (You can substitute fresh-squeezed lime for the Rose’s lime juice if you like a drier cocktail.)

Cosmopolitan

• 2 oz. vodka
• 1 oz. Cointreau or triple sec
• 1 oz. cranberry juice
• 1/2 oz. Rose’s lime juice, or, the juice of 1/4 lime.

The extra spice makes ginger beer completely different from its more boring cousin, ginger ale, but it can be used in most of the same drinks — it mixes equally well with whiskey or rum, and would likely mix well with brandy too. (Everything, of course, mixes with vodka. But that’s getting ahead of myself.) Ginger beer is available in most large supermarkets, but if you can’t find it there, your local liquor store should have some in stock, sold in either four- or six-packs of cans or bottles. (I’ve occasionally seen it sold in two-liter bottles as well.)

Today’s recipes, the Dark and Stormy and the Moscow Mule, are the two most common drinks served with ginger beer. The former is popular in the sailing community, and seems to have hailed originally from the Bahamas; the latter became a craze when vodka became America’s liquor du jour in the 1950s. Neither is a complicated recipe, but both have singular flavors because of the ginger beer. Serve either one to guests at your next party and they’re guaranteed to be impressed.

Dark and Stormy

• 1.5 oz dark rum
• 4 oz. ginger beer

Fill a highball glass ice, and fill 2/3 with ginger beer, leaving room for the dark rum. Pour dark rum slowly, against the side of the glass, so that the liquor floats over the ginger beer. (To make this effect easier, you can rest a spoon upside-down at the top of the ginger beer, and pour the rum over the spoon.) Serve with a slice of lime; do not stir, but provide a straw, spoon or swizzle stick so that your guests can mix the drink themselves if they’d like.

Moscow Mule

• 1.5 oz vodka
• 4 oz. ginger beer

I’m still not a believer in the vodka martini (what’s the point, other than “We’re out of gin, and we have to drink something, so here it is”?), but vodka can still help to highlight liqueurs and ingredients that are too rich and sweet on their own (kind of like adding salt to baked goods.) While it’s often mixed with ungodly things (Gatorade, Mountain Dew, Crystal Light), vodka can be part of pleasant cocktails as well.

For example, today’s cocktail, the French Martini, mixes it with the flavors of pineapple juice and Chambord (a sweet French liqueur infused with black raspberries.) Those two things together would be a bit cloying and syrupy-thick. Add vodka, though, and the same combination becomes smooth, nuanced, and very satisfying. I wouldn’t make this for myself very often, but for someone with a sweet tooth — or someone who was big fan of raspberries — this one’s great.

French Martini

• 2 oz. vodka
• 1 oz. Chambord
• 1 oz. pineapple juice

Combine ingredients in cocktail shaker over ice, and shake thoroughly to combine. Strain into martini glass and serve.

There’s a slight variant of this drink called a flirtini, which substitutes champagne for the Chambord. Whatever your opinion of the French martini, you’ll think the flirtini is even more so. If you think the French martini’s a great brunch cocktail to sip while you catch up with your girlfriends, you’ll love the flirtini. If you’re rolling your eyes at this whole post, convinced that I’m pandering to the Sex-and-the-City crowd… chill out, man. Next week, I’ll write about tequila.

Maraschino has to be one of the most completely forgotten ingredients from that time. A clear, thick liquor made by fermenting, distilling, aging, and sweetening the juice from mashed-up marasca cherries, maraschino has a raw, foreboding smell (almost like moonshine), but a surprisingly sweet taste, with a sour punch from the cherries, and a bit of a kick from not-quite-mellowed-out cogeners. It makes for a pleasant, albeit bracing, after-dinner drink, and it’s employed in small amounts to sweeten and flavor many classic cocktails, but it’s not the featured ingredient in many. (The only one I can find, a pousse l’amour, is a layered drink that includes a full raw egg, and may be just a bit too avant garde for your average American drinkers. The recipe linked there includes an illustration that seems to be from Jerry Thomas’s 1860s-era bartending guide.)

This week’s cocktail, the Brandy Crusta, is a lost classic in its own right, and uses a few dashes of the aforementioned lost classic liqueur to punch up its flavor. Preparation for this one is a bit involved, but the end result looks and tastes great — it’s a singular cocktail.

Brandy Crusta

• 1 1/2 oz. brandy
• 1/2 oz. curacao
• 3 dashes Maraschino liqueur
• 1 tsp. lemon juice
• 1 dash Angostura bitters

Pare a lemon peel into one long spiral. (Reserve the fruit inside to squeeze lemon juice for this and other cocktails.) Wet the rim of a wine glass, then dip it in sugar to coat the rim. Place the lemon peel spiral in the wine glass, then fill the glass with ice. Combine all ingredients in a cocktail shaker, and shake to combine. Strain into the prepared wine glass.

p.s. — If you can’t bring yourself to buy a bottle of maraschino to attempt this, or if you can’t locate maraschino in your liquor store, this drink is almost as good if you substitute an equivalent amount of grenadine or a teaspoon of sugar. You could even omit the sweetener altogether.

But I digress. During the majority of history of human drinking, if you wanted to drink something other than beer, wine, or straight liquor, you didn’t reach for your cocktail shaker. You made a cordial.

Cordials (or liqueurs) are defined as any spirit with added sugar, but the real way to look at them is any distilled spirit with added flavor. Whether you’re soaking neutral spirits in lemon peels to make limoncello, or mixing berries with rotgut to make sloe gin, you’re adding some sort of extra flavor to the alcohol. So instead of ordering a cocktail with orange juice, someone would just ask for a glass of Cointreau, an orange liqueur. (Which is a good thing — since until less than 200 years ago, ice wouldn’t have been readily available to bartenders. Imagine drinking a room-temperature martini, and you can understand why cordials seemed like a better option.)

Today, we think of liqueurs (or cordials — you can call them either) as potential flavorings for cocktails, and a lot of cut-rate schnapps is produced to that end. (Think anybody wants to sip Peachtree or Sour Apple Schnapps slowly on the rocks?) But there are still quality cordials out there that can be enjoyed on their own — or as a major ingredient in a simple cocktail.

Today’s cocktail features Drambuie, a complex honey-and-herbal liqueur made from a base of Scotch. Company materials claim the recipe is at least 250 years old, and hearkens back to the English royal family Stuart. Today, it may be enjoyed on its own, but its main use (and the only reason most bar managers keep it around) is to make the Rusty Nail, a cocktail that mixes Drambuie with Scotch, its mother liquor. As a cocktail, it takes the bite off modestly priced Scotch (though you wouldn’t want to waste a single malt on it.)

Rusty Nail

• 1 oz. Scotch
• 1/2 oz Drambuie

Combine ingredients over ice in a rocks glass and stir; if preferred, combine over ice in a cocktail shaker, stir, and strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with a lemon peel if desired.

P.S: The same recipe yields a Godfather if you substitute amaretto for Drambuie. Vodka and amaretto in the same proportions is a Godmother. And the same drink with Southern Comfort and amaretto is a Sicilian Kiss, and a terrible  idea.

So what does that mean to you, the home bartender? It means more than just splurging on good colas, tonic waters, and seltzers. It means checking labels on your juices to see if you’re getting 100 percent cranberry juice, and not some sort of sugared-up “juice cocktail”. It means leaving the pre-bottled sour mix at the store and making your drinks with sugar and fresh-squeezed lemons.

To that end, we have this week’s recipe, which will get you one of the more basic cocktails served at bars today. (Alongside the dirty martini, the cosmo, and the appletini, I’d say the Lemon Drop is pretty much ubiquitous.) This recipe uses plain vodka; yes, I know there are citrus-flavored varieties out there, but they almost always have an artificial saccharine aftertaste paired with a none-too-subtle hint of rotgut. Go with something good and basic, like Ketel One, Stolichnaya, or Grey Goose. If you have limoncello in your bar, adding a splash will give you a certain depth of flavor (more of a lemon zest flavor than a sour lemon juice punch), but it’s not necessary.

Lemon Drop

•  2 1/2 oz high-quality vodka
• 1/2 oz. lemon juice (about 3 tsp.)
• 1 tsp. sugar (superfine or powdered sugar will dissolve faster, but in a pinch, plain table sugar will do.)
• 1/2 oz. limoncello (optional)

Chill a martini glass. Combine sugar and lemon juice in an empty cocktail shaker, and add just enough water to dissolve the sugar (with the lemon juice, this should be a tablespoon or less.) Fill the shaker with ice, add vodka (and limoncello, if desired), and shake to combine. If desired, rim the martini glass with sugar by moistening the rim with lemon juice or water, then rolling the rim in a pile of sugar. Strain the cocktail into the glass, and serve.

What to drink, then? It’s a continual problem I’ve mentioned more than once — but once again, I think I’ve found a decent solution that balances the needs of winter and spring. A good gateway drink between the season we’re leaving (or, at least, the one we were supposed to be experiencing) and the one we’re approaching. I found this drink in Jerry Thomas’s bartending guide, published in 1887. It’s fairly simple, yet bracingly complex, with the sour punch of the whiskey complementing the grapey sweetness of the brandy. I’m guessing it was named after the New York town, and its accompanying racetrack. (Maybe to approximate the racetrack, or the sport of kings itself, at the same time base and cosmopolitan? Or maybe just because some of his customers there liked to drink it.)

Tonight’s drink mixes brandy, whiskey, and vermouth. You’d be well-served to use a good version of each — you don’t have to pour cognac into this, but make it a decent brandy, at least a couple years old. Your whiskey could be rye or bourbon, but don’t skimp on that, either, or you’ll pay for it the next morning. You could garnish this with a cherry or a lemon peel, and if you wanted to pour it over rocks and serve it well into the spring (or even summer,) you’d be fine.

But the weather just isn’t cooperating! Over the past week, I’ve had three days that look like fall, and one that could almost pass for early spring! And if you’re like me, the seasonal uncertainty is very destabilizing. Not just in your cocktail choices, I’m sure, but still…

What to do? I’ll admit, I didn’t know either. And then I flipped through my notes, and came upon this old standard… made notable if only for its name (which, apocryphally, is a shortening of “suffering bar steward.”) I’ve tried to do my own research to find the origin of this drink. No luck. Not in my late-1800s-era bartending handbook by Henry Craddock, or my 1940s-era Burke handbook, or the 1950s bartending book from Dave Embury, or the Playboy bartending book, or the 1981 Mr. Boston bar book.

So what is this drink, and where did I even hear of it? To answer the latter question first, I think it was a line of dialogue from a terrible episode of forgettable late-90s television. The former, I would never have found without the Internet. But eventually, I found several sources pointing to a clip from a 1959 New York Times interview with Joe Scialom. Regrettably, their archive isn’t completely electronic and free, so I can’t confirm it (at least, not without surrendering a good portion of my pay for this post):

“When liquor was short during the war, he had to concoct “something to quench the boys’ thirst.” He combined equal parts gin and brandy with a dash of Angostura bitters, a teaspoon of Rose’s lime juice, and English ginger ale. He garnished the drink with a sprig of fresh mint, a slice of orange and a cucumber peel. The bartender advised Americans to substitute ginger beer for the ginger ale because the British version of the soft drink is more heavily seasoned with ginger than ours.”

So… the Suffering Bastard:

• 1 oz. brandy
• 1 oz. gin
• 1 dash Angostura bitters
• 1/4 oz. Rose’s lime juice (if a more tart drink is desired, substitute juice of 1/4 lime)
• 4 oz. ginger beer (ginger ale will do in a pinch, but your Suffering Bastard will have too much sweet, and not enough spice.)

Combine gin, brandy, bitters, and lime juice in a glass. Stir to combine, then fill with ginger beer. Garnish? Mint, orange, and cucumber peel are suggested, but a lime would work just as well. 

We are hosting a party for the Super Bowl.  Is there a football-themed drink that we could serve to our guests?

You mean, other than beer? At a Super Bowl party?
While I’d assume most of your guests will have the same reaction (or stick to soft drinks), serving other drinks wouldn’t be entirely wrong. There are not any football-themed drinks, no… but at an event like a Super Bowl party, your best bet is probably to mix up a big bowl of punch, set it next to a big tub of chilled beers, and let the guests decide which they’ll drink. (This has the added advantage of allowing you to fulfill all of your bartending duties as host before the guests arrive — so that during the party, you can just watch the game, enjoy your company, and let them take care of themselves.)

The recipe below draws from a couple of different recipes from Jerry Thomas’s bartending handbook, written in 1887, when punch was, apparently, a big deal. (Over half the book is dedicated to the stuff.) Esquire magazine’s drinks correspondent, David Wondrich, has written an entire book on the subject. I don’t know if his efforts will lead to a “punch” revival, but they could at least make your future party-hosting duties a bit easier.

In the meantime, try this recipe. While you can mix everything up right before your doorbell starts to ring, make sure to allow yourself at least a couple of hours before the party for the first couple of steps. The longer you can let the lemon peels sit in the sugar, and then steep in the hot water, the more flavor you’ll extract, and the better your punch will taste. Make sure you warn your guests that this is a quite potent punch, and as always, remind everyone to drive safely (and sober). To facilitate that, do make sure you have plenty of soda on hand, and maybe even some coffee. Remember, not everyone is as much of a lush as we are.

Super Bowl Punch

• 1 cup sugar
• Six lemons
• 4 cups hot water
• 2 bottles brandy
• 1 pint spiced rum
• 1/2 pint triple sec or orange liqueur
• 1 bottle champagne
• 1 quart green tea
• 1 quart cranberry juice

Peel the lemons, slicing rinds thin. Combine lemon peels and sugar in a bowl; stir thoroughly, and let sit at least 1/2 hour. The sugar will extract oils and flavors from the lemon peels. After at least 1/2 hour, pour the hot water over the lemons and sugar, and stir until all sugar is dissolved. Let that mixture steep for at least 1/2 hour, then strain and chill the liquid. (You can discard the lemon peels.)

Squeeze the already-peeled lemons, and add the juice to the chilled sugar water. In a large punch bowl, combine that mixture with all other ingredients, and stir thoroughly. Serve with ice on side; to keep punch chilled, consider freezing one big block of ice (maybe in a smaller bowl?) and letting it float in the punch bowl.

There are a few hot drinks out there (the hot toddy, the Tom and Jerry, the blue blazer.) There are any number of punches that can be served warm (Esquire cocktail writer David Wondrich has done plenty of research on punches, and wrote this book.) But the list ends soon after that… and except for the toddy, most of those drinks have a high degree of difficulty.

Not so with mulled wine. I have a recipe below, and it’s not a bad one. But it’s more of a starting point than anything else. Mulled wine is nothing but a warm, mildly boozy winter concoction meant to be gulped — well-flavored, yes, but weak enough that it can be gulped with impunity. Mulled wine can warm you up, but it will be very hard to drink enough to mess you up… unless you’re very dedicated. Again, here’s a recipe. You can alter it as you like.

Mulled wine

• 1 bottle wine (preferably something dry and complex — a cab? a malbec?)
• 2 cups apple cider (any fruit juice would work here, but I wouldn’t use citrus, and grape would be redundant.)
• 2 cinnamon sticks
• 4 cloves, ground (and/or 1 tsp. nutmeg, and/or 1 tsp. allspice, and/or even 1/2 tsp. ginger, if you’re feeling frisky.)
• 1 orange, sliced. (For an extra-sweet flavor, roast the orange slices in a casserole dish for 15 minutes, then dump the slices and the resulting juice into the mix.)

Combine all ingredients in a medium- or large-size saucepan, and warm under low heat until hot, but not scalding. Serve in a large mug. Grate extra nutmeg on top to garnish, if desired.

Today’s recipe is a simple example of how you can use preserves to create your own fruit-based cocktails in the winter. I’m using raspberry preserves, but you can use blueberry, lemon, apple… whatever you’d like. Since it’s a winter cocktail, we’re using cognac as the base liquor (it warms you so), but any whiskey (save Scotch) could work in its stead. I’m using St. Germain, an elderflower liqueur that’s grown popular in the last few years, to offset the tart raspberry notes with something a bit more complex and delicate, but you could substitute in whatever floats your boat. Want to mix strawberry jam with Midori (melon liqueur)? Apple jelly and limoncello? Get creative — and if you come up with a winning combination, let us know in the comments.

Raspberry-Elderflower Warmer

• 2 oz. cognac
• 1 oz. St. Germain liqueur
• 1 tbsp raspberry jam or preserves

Combine ingredients in a cocktail shaker over ice, starting with the jam. Shake thoroughly to combine, and strain into a cocktail glass.

So why are we talking about kamikaze shots? Well, the jingoistic name aside, they’re slightly more refined than your average shot recipe. They feature real liquors and liqueurs (sure, you could use imitation triple sec, but at least Cointreau, a real orange liqueur, exists… in shots that use sour apple or peach schnapps, there IS no “better” bottle to substitute. ) Mainly, I mention kamikazes because if you ARE planning a party, and you DO want to serve shots, but you DON’T want to serve straight liquor, these are about as good as you can do.

Kamikaze shots

• 1 oz. vodka
• 1/2 oz Cointreau or orange liqueur
• 1/2 oz Rose’s sweetened lime juice

Combine ingredients in a cocktail shaker over ice. Shake to combine and chill, and strain into a shot glass.

Note that you can make flavored kamikaze shots by either using flavored vodka, or by using a different flavored liqueur instead of Cointreau (Midori would make a melon kamikaze, Chambord would make a raspberry kamikaze, etc.) Just remember, more than one or two of these will have exactly the effect you think they will. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I take no responsibility for what happens, and remember — each of these counts as a full drink. So drink responsibly, never drive drunk, and have a great New Year. We’ll see you in 2012.

You probably already have a fairly strong opinion on the Bloody Mary — either you love it, or you can’t stand it. Some people find the salty, spicy bite from the drink wakes up a bleary palate after a too-short night of boozy sleep. (Personally, I’m not sure it works any better than a strong cup of coffee.) Some people feel like the tomato juice, along with the celery garnish, make the Bloody Mary almost healthy, and thus a good way to “equal out” all the pain imbibed against the body the previous night. Of course, the alcohol helps. Hair of the dog and whatnot. (Though you could get that just as easily from a mimosa, or an Irish coffee, or even a beer.)

Now, I can’t address whether or not a Bloody Mary is your cup of tea, or whether it’s the best way to treat your hangover (or whether you should even be contemplating the “best” way to treat a hangover — really, how often do you get that banged up?) But hangover or no, if you’re planning on serving a holiday brunch (or just a simple breakfast for houseguests who would be amenable to drinks before noon), you’ve got a perfect occasion to serve up a bunch of these. They’re tasty, appropriately festive, and whether or not they actually help salve your alcohol-inflicted wounds, the ritual is somewhat comforting.

This recipe is fairly basic, and can be altered however you’d like. I would caution against throwing the entire kitchen sink into your Bloody Mary, though. The first bar I worked at made Bloody Marys with a dash each of A1 steak sauce, barbecue sauce, Worcestershire sauce, cayenne, Tabasco, lemon juce, orange juice, Rose’s lime juice, horseradish, salt, and pepper. The process looked great, and customers liked all that attention their drinks received, but at the end of the day, what’s the point of all those redundant flavors?

Bloody Mary

• 1.5 oz. vodka
• 4 oz. tomato juice
• 1/2 tsp. celery salt
• 1 tsp. horseradish
• 1/2 tsp. Worcestershire sauce (3-4 dashes)
• Juice from 1/4 lemon
• 1/2 tsp. Tabasco sauce (you can substitute a similar vinegar-based hot sauce, but something like Sriracha or a darker chili-based sauce wouldn’t have the right acidic kick.)
• 1/2 oz. orange juice

I can’t help with eggnog’s reputation, but I can give you a few words of comfort regarding egg. Egg (or separated egg whites) were once a very common ingredient in cocktails. They create a smooth, frothy texture in a drink — much like a drink that’s just been shaken and aerated, but stable. And the egg used in drinks isn’t exactly “raw,” so it won’t have the cold, slimy texture of an uncooked egg. When egg is mixed with sugar, the proteins in the yolk uncoil and solidify, quite like the reaction when an egg is cooked. Now, that reaction doesn’t kill salmonella (or any other pathogens that might find their way into the eggs), but you don’t have to worry about any of that if you buy pasteurized eggs.

Here, then, is a simple recipe for eggnog — a misunderstood drink that can be pleasing, warming, and rich, and just perfect on a cold night or at a holiday party. If you’re lactose intolerant, you’ll want to avoid them, and they certainly won’t look good if you spill them on your holiday formalwear… but otherwise, enjoy! (And don’t worry about embarrassing yourself. These are so rich that you’ll have to quit drinking them well before you overindulge.)

Eggnog

• 1.5 oz brandy or rum
• 1 tsp. sugar
• 1 tsp. vanilla
• 1 egg, pasteurized
• 4 oz. milk
• Cinnamon or nutmeg

Now, we’ve talked about rum cocktails before, and as we discussed then, the Zombie can be hard to decipher from just about any other strongly mixed rum grog. As a singular recipe, though, it’s hard to beat. The drink is almost all liquor, but deceptively fruity – obviously, a dangerous combination that should not be taken lightly. And that’s the main quality a Zombie has — its smooth, lethal strength. The combination of rums doesn’t impart any particularly interesting flavors, and while papaya juice is a somewhat strange ingredient, it doesn’t do much for us here. (You can even use lemon juice instead.)

So we have an unremarkable, yet very strong cocktail here, named after sufferers of a mindless, subhuman state. Remember, drink names are usually intuitive. With that warning, though, it can be a fun party drink for Halloween. If you want to be especially cruel to your guests, you can whip up a whole punch bowl of these, with a couple of pieces of dry ice floated in for effect. But before you do that, make yourself a single and try it out.

Zombie

• .75 oz. light rum
• .75 oz. gold rum
• .75 oz. dark rum
• .75 oz. apricot brandy (or Amaretto)
• .5 oz. 151-proof rum
• 1 oz. pineapple juice
• 1 oz. papaya juice (or lemon juice)
• 1 oz. grenadine

- Ian Fleming, Casino Royale

James Bond (whose tastes ranged much more widely than the vodka martinis most associate with him) was right – an expensive mixer is the best way to perk up a cheap drink. The inverse is also true, though. Consider this a warning. Cheap mixers can ruin the best intentions and the finest liquors. Your $15 cosmo, even if it’s mixed with premium liquors like Ketel One and Cointreau, will only taste as good as the splash of cranberry juice that lends it its color.

This can be a serious problem, since many bars these days pour reconstituted cranberry juice from a soda gun – and even the bars that splurge on the bottled stuff often buy “cranberry juice cocktail”, a sweetened version of cranberry juice spiked with water, sugar, and citric acid. You might run into similar problems with the bar’s orange and grapefruit juice (though the pineapple juice bars use, sold in cans, is usually unadulterated.)

I’m not suggesting you fret too much about any of this. The last thing we want to do is make our readers into cocktail snobs. (Bond, while both a bad-a** and a bon vivant, would certainly have been an annoying customer.) Knowing all this, I suggest you either order what you’d like and enjoy the best version of it your favorite bar has to offer, or stick to bottled beer.

Either way, the next time you’re drinking at home, make yourself this – and remember to work with good, 100 percent pure, unsweetened juice. The result, while effortlessly simple to make, is a refreshing cocktail that manages to be fruity with almost no sweetness.  It’s a great seasonal drink, too, combining the flavors of summer and fall to make something that’s just as bracing as it is cooling. You can even add a splash of sparkling water (Perrier or otherwise) to give it a bit of fizz.

Sea Breeze

• 1.5 oz vodka
• 2 oz. cranberry juice (100% juice, unsweetened)
• 2 oz. grapefruit juice (100% juice, unsweetened)
• Splash soda water (optional)

For extra credit: This drink has a sweeter cousin called a bay breeze, which is made by substituting pineapple juice for the grapefruit. The sweetness in the pineapple is balanced nicely by the bitter cranberry. These days, a Bay Breeze made with Malibu (coconut rum) is the cocktail of choice for just about every bachelorette party I serve. Please don’t read that as a recommendation.

Most drinks have a traceable “original” recipe (cocktail writer David Wondrich has tracked down many of them on Esquire’s drinks database.) Many have a popularly accepted recipe, and some even have a “sanctioned” recipe from the International Bartender’s Association (which I picture to be something akin to SPECTRE in the James Bond movies.) But the “right” recipe? Drinks change over time, as do tastes, and at the end of the day, the only thing that really matters is my recipe (if I’m mixing your drinks) and yours (because you should really know what you like, and how you like it.)

I mention all that because whenever I bring sangria to a party, and people ask me for the recipe (more to make conversation than because they’re actually interested), I’m at a loss. It’s a little flip, but my answer is something along the lines of “wine and fruit.” Because that’s all you really need. And that’s really how I think of sangria.

My recipe changes a bit every time I make sangria. I usually buy whatever fruit is on sale in the produce section and pick out a fairly inexpensive wine as well. (There’d be no sense in buying something complex or expensive, since we’re going to fuss with the flavor anyway. And besides, I’m a writer, so I can’t afford it.) A little bit of brandy adds some punch, and a bit of fruit juice helps to balance the flavors, but for the most part we’re just infusing wine with fruit. You’ll be surprised how well it works.

Please note that this recipe makes over a gallon of sangria; plan your guest list accordingly.

Sangria

• 4-5 bottles inexpensive red wine (if you’d prefer, you can use white instead.)
• 1/2 pint (8 oz.) brandy
• One bottle sparkling wine
• 2-3 pounds mixed fruit (for the sake of an example, let’s say a pound of strawberries, a half a honeydew, and an orange.)
• 2 cups fruit juice (anything would work, but again, if you need an example, let’s say pineapple)