Absinthe

A while back I wrote excitedly about how nice it was to finally create a Sazerac cocktail in an authentic manner. In this case, authentic meant using absinthe rather than ouzo and Peychaud's bitters rather than Angostura.

Part of what makes the Sazerac a very particular whiskey cocktail is the insistence on that one kind of bitters and that one kind of anise-flavored liquor. I've talked enough about the bitters; what about the absinthe?

History

This is just too much. Read the Wikipedia entry. Just kidding. But absinthe does have an entertaining and exhausting history. Suffice to say, it was the drink of Nineteenth-Century France, and stands as an icon of the Belle Epoque, an era roughly coinciding with Victorian England ad characterized by urbanism in the world and realism, symbolism, impressionism, etc. in the arts.

Before that (and beyond as well), things get not contentious but murky. I don't wish to discuss the drink's origins. But most people think what certain movies have impressed upon us when we hear that word "absinthe," of dark dens, where poets and drug addicts furtively imbibed the poison. But that's mostly thanks to a large inheritance of propaganda. Absinthe in Nineteenth-Century, Belle-Epoque France was ubiquitous; everyone drank it, much like everyone in an American or English pub drinks beer today.

The problems arise firstly from the poetic hyperbole of such well-known names as Oscar Wilde, Vincent van Gogh, and Paul Verlaine, many of whom lived less-than-happy lives. But that is why absinthe is representative of the era, and that is why the Temperance Movement even arose, as well as why "pastoral" wine and its partisans joined in the fight against a single drink (before Prohibition later arrived). Absinthe was not a contagion but a symptom. For every one happy life we have recorded at that time, no matter the country, there are countless unhappy ones. Urban blight and industry and alcoholism were all converging in metropolitan France at the time; something had to be blamed.

Rant

The lasting legacy of the campaign to ban absinthe is multifarious. Some countries, like the U.S.A. still impose ridiculous bans on a chemical singled out for an irrelevant reason in an unscientific fashion. This is finally being overturned in certain places (France and Switzerland, for two). Another unfortunate but perhaps inevitable side product of the awakening of interest in a long-dead drink is deception.

Specifically, this deception is called Bohemian, or Czech, absinthe. It is unfortunate that some companies in that nascent democracy should be crucial to reviving interest in absinthe all while never making anything close to it. To the person who reads about the "effects" of Bohemian-Style "absinth," I say, a fool and his money (especially with today's exchange rates). Then and now, Czech absinthe is a product that coasts on the myth of a drink, but in no way resembles said drink. Unfortunately for them, the interest they sparked has led to intelligent and devoted people uncovering real recipes, and the market is off.

Information

The best places to purchase absinthe online are Liqueurs de France and Lion Absinthe Distribution. Both vendors are reliable and sell the real thing. For more information than I could possibly have the obsessiveness to write, there are La Fee Verte and The Wormwood Society.

Though wormwood figures prominently as a flavor, absinthe is an anise drink first and foremost. Other such drinks include ouzo, raki, arak, certain tsipouro, pastis, sambuca, and anisette.

Bitters Are Not Easy to Find

For all I've read in various articles put forth by the New York Times and the San Francisco Chronicle, that quintessential cocktail ingredient, bitters, sure hasn't made the leap to ubiquity like I'd have expected.

I have read multiple articles discussing the revival of the classic cocktail, how vogue such a drink is today. Each and every time I read one, a mention of bitters points out the ingredient's importance in marrying flavors together. Gin and vermouth are nothing, but add bitters and you have a classic Martini. Whiskey and vermouth, the same; add bitters, and the two dissolute ingredients become one Manhattan.

Well, it sounds mouth watering, Mister. Where can I get these bitters that magically bind the flavors?

First, I must remember that amari and other "digestif" or "aperitif" bitters such as Campari, Cynar, Fernet Branca, Black Balsam, Kummel, Unicum, Malört, etc. are improper. Using these often extremely bitter concoctions is the wrong way to make a cocktail; one must use designated cocktail bitters. Old-school medicinal bitters such as Boonekamp, Underberg, and Swedish bitters may not work either. Their classification has something to imbibe remains dubious.

Abiding all that, I am allowed orange bitters and aromatic bitters, primarily. Some companies supply lemon bitters, peach bitters, and even mint bitters. But who cares? I can't seem to get any of the shit!

I own small bottles of Angostura and Peychaud's aromatic bitters. I also own Fee Brothers and Regan's orange bitters, and Fee Brothers peach bitters. I happened upon the peach bitters at a random liquor store, I ordered all the rest but Angostura online, as Angostura is so ubiquitous, it can be found at grocery stores.

What's the problem then? I have five bottles! Why would I want Hermes aromatic and orange bitters, which I can only buy in person, in Japan? Or Boonekamp, which is available only in Dutch apothecaries? Why would I want orange bitters produced by Angostura or Collins orange bitters, neither of which I have found online or in stores? Or The Bitter Truth, only sold in Germany?

Because I am obsessed. It's not my fault. The New York Times and the San Francisco Chronicle have poisoned my mind with knowledge upon which I cannot act. Commercials are supposed to create a desire we didn't know we had. I've been duped.

The Name of the Rose

I have written before about the names of cocktails and the delicacy therein. If you switch gin to vodka, so they say, you have a Kangaroo rather than a Vodka Martini. Or if Brandy is substituted for Rye, a Manhattan is a Harvard, not a Brandy Manhattan.

But there is an issue here with the categorizing and naming of cocktails. I can only attempt to strike a balance between the "partisans" on either side of this issue, which reflects a common issue with language in general. The central issue here is with the attempts by some purists to create taxonomies for mixed drinks, a subject as nebulous and unmanageable as any other subject that is beholden to human imagination.

Case(s) in point:

I recently suggested in an on-line forum that I love a Manhattan that uses Fernet Branca, a kind of Italian digestive bitters, rather than a traditional cocktail bitters like Angostura. I was promptly rebuked by Drinkboy, an ardent cocktail formalist, who felt that such a drink would require a different name. "I always say," he wrote in defense of his idea "that if someone ordered a Manhattan and you served that, would it seem off [or a surprise] to them?" Today's entry isn't so much to debate that statement, but a lot of questions arise out of his arguments.

For one thing, his denying that a Manhattan made with Fernet Branca is in fact a Manhattan stems from a separation some have created between digestive bitters and cocktail bitters. See, cocktail bitters are "non-potable" and come in small bottles and are used in only trace amounts, whereas digestive bitters like Fernet Branca (or Campari, or other amaros) are more easily tasted and come in larger bottles. (My own bottle was ten ounces, but I can disregard that for these purposes; the classification must stand!)

So something as minute as this separation of two classes of bitters that may influence a whole two drops of a drink can change it from "one Manhattan with Fernet Branca, please" to "rye, vermouth, and Fernet Branca, or insert/invent-name-here, please." Obviously, cocktail naming is a sensitive system. But does it stand up to any scrutiny?

In the nineteenth century, bitters were more commonly used as medicines, and their inclusion in drinks is what actually spawned the name "cocktail." The cocktail was a variation on an earlier form of mixed drink called a "sling," which was a spirit, a sweetening agent, and water. The addition of bitters created a new genre, so now one could order a Gin Sling or a Gin Cocktail. One could also order a Gin Fizz, a Gin Sour, a Rum Collins, a Whiskey Rickey, a Brandy Julep, and so on. Each of these genres mixed the named spirit with requisite ingredients of their own, some very similar in nature, like a sour and a collins, for instance.

Some of these drinks became partitioned themselves. For example, the Sazerac whiskey cocktail and the Old Fashioned whiskey cocktail are both quite traditional; they include whiskey, bitters, ice, and water. It is only the method and the proprietary brands of their ingredients that may sub-specialize the whiskey cocktail species here.

In fact, nineteenth-century cocktails generally used whatever proprietary bitters any given saloon made. If you visited Joe Blow's Saloon in 1895 and ordered a Manhattan, you would get a drink made with whiskey, vermouth, and Joe Blow's house bitters, not necessarily Angostura or Abbott's or some other national brand. So a great variety of bitters were acceptable to the cocktail taxonomists of the century that saw the cocktail's creation. But not the twenty-first century? Now a whole new name is necessary with such a substitution?

One could argue further that, even if a switch in what bitters you use is insufficient for reclassification, switching the spirit is. After all, the spirit is the dominant element of most any mixed drink. And you can't put vodka in a Martini or it isn't a Martini, so rename that chocolatini right now, Miss Yuppie!

Once again, the purists inadvertently create a double-standard. Some time in the nineteenth century, the Sazerac cocktail's main ingredient changed. What originally called for simple syrup, Peychaud's bitters, and Sazerac Brandy started using rye whiskey instead. But the name didn't change! OMG No purists must have been around to hound whoever proposed that travesty.

Well, if either the spirit or the bitters can change without bothering the purist, what about the garnish? Because a Martini is a Gibson when an onion replaces an olive, right? What about when a lemon zest replaces the olive? It turns out that switching back and forth between lemon zest and olive doesn't rile the formalist like the cocktail onion does. I wonder what about an onion makes it so special in comparison to the other two garnishes that it's inclusion warrants renaming the drink.

I will admit that it can be very frustrating for the formalist to see people say that their favorite Martini contains mango-flavored vodka, Kahlua, espresso, sugar, a cherry, some iced cream, maybe some sushi, and whatever the hell else you can imagine. I certainly don't think a Martini contains vodka. But the word "martini" itself is simply following in the footsteps of the word "cocktail" which once meant one specific style of mixed drink but has became an umbrella term, synonymous with "mixed drink." Blame gentrification. Blame suburbanites who want to be classy and thus transform classy drinks (eg, coffee or a Martini)into candy so they can be seen drinking them without the ardor of actually doing so.

But you can't stem the tide of language change. Whether you hate street slang's influence on English, or the internet's, or commercialism in our case, the language moves on, and it never makes much sense wherever it happens to be anyway. Standing around bemoaning its change and insisting we return to the "good old days" doesn't accomplish much beyond looking like an old fart. How much power does a name have anyway? Whether you call it a vodka Martini or a Kangaroo, you're still drinking the same drink. Isn't that right, Mr. Shakespeare?

Of Course It's the Manhattan!

What good is it to write occasionally about [classic] mixed drinks for my own edification and enjoyment (until someone someday finds this site; googling "Angostura is awesome" is a start) if I can't be predictable? I'm sorry, but any blog that begins its run with words like "Sazerac" and "Martini" must inevitably trip over the word "Manhattan" somewhere before its exhausted collapse.

The Manhattan has, through its lifetime, been the least controversial of the big classics. It hasn't been essentially wiped off the map like the Old Fashioned; it has never become associated too closely with one place to be really famous, like the Sazerac; it has never been completely butchered by Winston Churchill and admirers, James Bond, or a legion of Sex in the City-inspired women like the poor Martini has. The Manhattan has managed to remain largely untouched by prohibition and forgetfulness, always simmering but never boiling over.

It's as simple to make as a good Martini (easy to learn, difficult to master), if even easier due to the availability of ingredients. And like any great cocktail, small changes in the ingredients give it life and vitality (not the one you're drinking right now, but the Manhattan population as a whole):

• Add in a shaker


1. 2 parts whiskey (Rye is drier and spicier, bourbon smoother and sweeter. Don't be a sissy; use rye.)


2. 1 part vermouth


3. one or two dashes aromatic bitters


4. ice


• Stir the ingredients thirty times (I swirl, which ain't the best, but DO NOT SHAKE)


• Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.


• Garnish with a cherry. Has the cherry been soaked in brandy, or maraschino liqueur, or kirsch? Cuz that makes the drink that much better. Avoid those jars of maraschino cherries, though; they taste like sugar and sugar alone.

Because the Manhattan is essentially the same thing as the Martini, only with a different base spirit, the nuances of the method evince some similarities, as does the relevant jargon. Most Manhattans will be served with Italian, or sweet, vermouth. If you switch that with French, or dry, vermouth, it is a Dry Manhattan. You can also make a Perfect Manhattan by mixing 1/2 sweet vermouth and 1/2 dry vermouth. Orange bitters can be used as well, though I can't think of anything preferable to a single dash of Angostura aromatic bitters. Beware: more than one dash can make the drink taste like a glass full of cloves.

Like the Martini, a Manhattan ceases to be when it's base spirit (and primary ingredient) changes. Vodka makes Martinis Kangaroos. Rye or Bourbon whiskey makes them Manhattans (and vice versa on this level playing field). Switching to Irish whiskey creates a Chelsea, to Scotch, a Rob Roy. Make it with brandy and it's a Harvard. Would you ever ask for something called a "Harvard"? I sure wouldn't.

The flip-side of this affinity with the Martini is that, though the Manhattan had remained largely unadulterated while the Martini suffered through vodka or an ever-increasing need to dry it out--any bartender should still today know how to make a Manhattan that is completely classic--even such exemplary endurance can take a big hit these days. I hear horror stories about Manhattans being made with cherry juice or Kahlua or God-knows-what-else. Again, I must assume it is the yuppie hordes that are bastardizing this survivor, kicking it in its old age.

But anyway, the Manhattan rules. Make it right and it is the best cocktail. Did I just say that?

Bloody 'Ell

So I thought I should take a break from blogging about bitters' crucial role in the classic cocktail (an obsession that now has me seeking an obscure brand that is only available in Japan; how the hell is that going to happen?) and mention the most open-ended, bitters-free cocktail there is: the Bloody Mary!

What makes a Bloody Mary so fun and experimental is lost on an excited little child like me. It should suffice to occasionally call it the pizza of mixed drinks. Even that fails though; I am quite a bit more dogmatic about pizza than I am about a Bloody Mary. (For what it's worth, pizza should be deep-dish, Chicago-style, with spinach and perhaps sausage as toppings.)

So what's a Bloody Mary? It's tomato juice and vodka. That's about it. It sure sounds boring when I phrase it that way. But a pizza would sure suck without oregano and basil and various toppings (Pizza is the salad of entrees--this is going too far). The tomato and vodka is a starting point only. The vodka adds a slight sweetness to the tomato juice.

So what do I add? First of all, I prefer using Aalborg Jubilaems Akvavit to vodka. I am aware that is not an addition of ingredients, but because it adds certain flavors (vodka is flavorless) like dill, coriander, and caraway, we're off to a good start.

What else? Lemon juice is always a good idea; V8 vegetable juice has a lemon-flavored product out. Worcestershire (or "Wusstuhshuh" as Bostonians pronounce it) sauce is probably a defining ingredient of the Bloody Mary by now; I couldn't imagine drinking one without it. And hot sauce. There are a bazillion skillion brands of that out, but Cholula and Yucatan Sunshine habanero sauce are my personal favorites, more tasty than hot. You have to salt it, but this Chicago-raised snob says celery salt is preferable. Did I mention pepper? Add lots of pepper. Pepper is good. The hotter the Bloody Mary, the better. You should be able to taste the Hell fire roasting her damned soul. V8 is also good, though keep it in a sensible proportion to the tomato juice. Yum!

Out here in New England, the people once wondered how they could ever rid themselves of their plague-level clam surplus. Some genius thought to squeeze them over a Bloody Mary until they juiced all over it. That person has not yet received a Nobel Prize so far as I know. The Canadastanis call a Bloody Mary with clam juice a "Clamato," but they also say things like "What the fark is that aboot?

I myself fucking love the clam juice; I wish I had known how at home it is in an alcohol-tomato concoction. I also wish that I never learn how something called "clam juice" is made. Let's wrap up (wing the proportions "to taste"):

1. Tomato Juice
2. V8 is acceptable
3. Akvavit Jubilaems (or other aquavits, or spiced vodkas with dill or pepper, et al)
4. Lemon juice
5. Worcestershire sauce (ingredients include tamarind and anchovy)
6. Celery salt
7. black pepper
8. Hot Sauce
9. ice?
10. Oh yeah! The garnish! Something tall, green, and celery, basically. Unless you wish to adventurous with olives, dill spears, asparagus, etc.

Martini's Ruin

A recent deadly wave of yuppie women has gentrified the American city. In the process, they and the vendors who court them have murdered the American Cocktail, once our greatest contribution as a nation to world cuisine. Case in point, this menu from some chic inner-city lounge/bistro/club:

Appletini:
Vox Apple, Sour Apple Pucker, sour mix, cinnamon sugar rim, caramel drizzle

Caramel Mochatini:
Stoli Vanil, Starbucks Dark Liqueur, butterscotch schnapps, crème de cacao light, caramel drizzle

Cherry Cheese Cake:
Effen Black Cherry, McGillicuddy’s French Kiss, grenadine, half & half, graham cracker rim, cherry

Chocolate Ecstasy:
Stoli Vanil, Godiva Dark, Bailey's, half & half, chocolate cigarette, chocolate drizzle

Clubhouse Cosomopolitan:
ABSOLUT Citron, Cointreau, fresh lime juice, cranberry juice

Creamsicle:
Stoli Vanil, amaretto, triple sec, orange juice

Dirty Martini:
Grey Goose & a touch of olive juice

French Kiss:
Grey Goose, Chambord, crème de cacao light, half & half, chocolate cigarette

Georgia Peach:
ABSOLUT Apeach, peach schnapps, orange & cranberry juices

Grass Skirt:
Malibu Rum, pineapple juice, Midori float

Halsted Martini:
Stoli Razberi, Chambord & Cranberry Juice

Key Lime:
Finlandia Lime, Stoli Vanil, Licor 43, pineapple and fresh lime juices, graham cracker rim

Lemon Drop:
Ketel One Citroen, fresh lemon juice, splash sour mix, sugar rim

Mango Martini:
Finlandia Mango, mango puree, blended with ice

Melon Drop:
Stoli, Midori, lemon-lime soda, sour mix

Mudslide:
Stoli Vanil, Kahlua, Bailey's, half & half, crushed dark chocolate rim

Mysterious Monique:
Grey Goose, Korbel Champagne, pineapple juice

Oatmeal Cookie:
Bailey's, Stoli Vanil, Goldschlager, butterscotch schnapps, graham cracker rim

Peach Bellini:
Korbel Champagne, peach puree, peach schnapps

Pina Colada-Tini:
Cruzan Pineapple, Cruzan Mango, pineapple juice, half & half, grenadine

Pomegrana Tini:
ABSOLUT Mandrin, Amaretto DiSarrono, pomegranate juice, grenadine, grapefruit juice

Presidential:
Belvedere, dry vermouth, bleu cheese stuffed olives

Raspberry Rendevous:
Stoli Razberi, Chambord, sour mix, lemon twist

Reserve Manhattan:
Woodford Reserve and Sweet Vermouth

Rita-Tini:
Patron Silver, Cointreau, fresh lime juice, sour mix

Sapphire Thoroughbred:
Bombay Sapphire & dry vermouth

South Coast:
Midori, Malibu, peach schnapps, orange juice, pineapple juice

Ultimate Black Cherry:
Effen Black Cherry, Razzmatazz, sour mix, cranberry juice, grenadine

Washington Apple:
Crown Royal, Sour Apple Pucker, cranberry juice

Watermelon Splash:
Bacardi Grand Melon, triple sec, sour mix, cranberry juice

If these things are all martinis, then what the fuck is a martini anyway? Is the drink now only defined by that specific glass (except Manhattans, of course)? What's wrong with the word "cocktail" to describe these things?

Martini Variations

Now that I have procured several bottles of bitters other than the ubiquitous Angostura, I have been able to experiment with old cocktails as they were a century ago.

These brands are Peychaud's aromatic bitters and Fee Brother's and Regan's orange bitters.

Peychaud's is a product of the Sazerac company and has a history that goes back to a Haitian druggist named Antoine Peychaud who invented a drink called the Sazerac. It is authentically bitter with some anise and black cherry. Very medicinal.

Regan's orange bitters, presumably made by Buffalo Trace, is an orange bitters that tastes strongly of cardamom, almost overwhelmingly so. The Fee Brother's bitters has a stronger taste of orange peel. Both work great in chicken soup, in case any Jewish mothers are reading this. Fee Brother's also makes mint, grapefruit, aromatic, lemon, peach, and barrel-aged bitters.

Because of these acquisitions, I made my first authentic Sazerac, and it was wonderful, as I have previously written. It was obviously time to move on to that quintessential cocktail: the martini.

"Quintessential" in this case means "controversial." The anecdote goes that two soldiers are parachuted into a forest. The first soldier notices that the second is carrying a cocktail glass, some gin and vermouth, and a shaker. He asks the second why he is carrying such equipment. "In case I get lost," says the second soldier, I can start making a martini, and someone will immediately show up and tell me 'That's no way to make a martini!'"

The controversy goes beyond the arguments between "wet" and "dry" and "perfect" martinis and how to chill them, shake or stir them, whether purists believe in a balance or Winston Churchill's glance-at-the-vermouth-bottle technique. You'd think that would be enough to fuel everlasting confusion.

But thanks to clever marketers for Smirnoff vodka and a Mr. James Bond, the term martini (and the classiness it is thought to represent) has ultimately come to mean just about any combination of ingredients. You have probably seen it at any number of restaurants. "Try our martinis!" the menu says. The only thing consistent among all these drinks is the cocktail glass they are served in now called a martini glass. It's a misnomer! The fact that every possible cocktail is now called a martini shows that people really want to be classy with their martinis but can't stomach the real thing, which can take some getting used to. The American vendor, as always, knows the customer is right. It's like calling all cars Rolls Royce: that way, we are all classy oligarchs or plutocrats or whatever.

Despite the controversy and my limited contribution to it, martinis can be highly personal drinks. I would list the drink's necessary restrictions as the following four ingredients:

1. gin
2. vermouth
3. orange bitters (if you can find them; hopefully they'll find their way back into the drink that is supposed to have them.)
4. ice

Proportions can be contentious too. Make it dry or wet, but don't tell me that a cocktail glass rinsed with vermouth and filled with cold gin is a martini. Gin is simply too powerful a flavor, and vermouth too soft, for there to be any possibility whatsoever that you could taste the vermouth in such a drink. It's called a "gin, up" because it's just gin. Vermouth is not the enemy of a martini; it is one of its defining ingredients.

I like these variations. I don't freeze the gin, because the ice will do that work, though I do freeze the glass. I also don't shake the thing, because it comes out cloudy and not just a little nasty looking.

The "Wet" Martini

• Combine and stir thoroughly
• 3 parts Bombay dry gin
• 1 part sweet vermouth
• 2 dashes orange bitters
• ice!
• strain into a chilled cocktail glass
• garnish with a lemon peel

The "Dry" Martini

• Combine and stir thoroughly
• 3 parts Plymouth gin
• 1 part dry vermouth
• 2 dashes orange bitters
• ice!
• strain into a chilled cocktail glass
• garnish with your iconic olive of choice

If you substitute an onion for the olive, you have a Gibson. If you make a drink with 1/2 part sweet vermouth and 1/2 part dry, you have yourself a Perfect Martini. If you substitute vodka for gin, you have a Kangaroo, not a Vodka Martini, unless you think you can also concoct a Vodka Daiquiri, a Vodka Manhattan, or a Vodka Margarita. Oh, and lessening the essential vermouth doesn't make a martini "drier," it makes it "gin." No matter how premium a gin is, you can't drink the shit straight up and call it a martini. Ever wonder why the word "dry" happens to modify the words "martini" or "manhattan" when "dry" vermouth is being used?