Improved Quaker's Cocktail

I spent a lot of time with the Savoy Cocktail Book when working on recipes for Classic Cocktails. Playing around with the old books is particularly fun when a recipe catches your eye and makes you say, ‘wait, why haven’t I had that before?” This was the case with the Quaker’s Cocktail, an oddly-monikered concoction recorded thus by Harry Craddock:

Quaker’s Cocktail (Savoy)
1/3 Brandy
1/3 Rum
1/6 Lemon Juice
1/6 Raspberry Syrup

I’d never heard of it before, so I didn’t think I could justify including it as a ‘classic’ for the purposes of the book, but something about it struck me. It seemed like it would be good, or could be good. I marked the page for future reference, but I kept thinking about it. Weeks later, once I could begin making non-book cocktails again, I decided to take it for a spin.

Note that Harry Craddock’s measurements are fractions of the overall drink. 3 oz. is a pretty standard size for a cocktail, so you could read the above as:

Quaker’s Cocktail (U.S. Customary Units)
1 oz. Brandy
1 oz. Rum
½ oz. Lemon Juice
½ oz. Raspberry Syrup

Craddock recommends shaking, and I agree. I also feel very confident that this is a drink for an aged rum, not a white one.* I have a bottle of bourbon-barrel aged Granite Coast Rum from New Hampshire which has been my go-to during the lockdown (I had two bottles of it when this started). The Gensac Cognac I’ve been using lately joined it, along with fresh lemon juice and some of that oh-so-tasty homemade raspberry syrup I wrote about a while back.

It…wasn’t quite there. I mean, it was tasty, sure, but something was missing. The pieces didn’t harmonize the way I felt they should.

On the one hand, this meant my original question was answered: I’d never had this drink before because it was merely OK. But on the other hand, I was certain there was a really delicious drink in there somewhere. I just had to find it.

I’ll be honest, my memory of my process is a little shaky at this point. But I know that I took inspiration from Chad Arnholt’s Ward Eight recipe, which is my oft-recommended personal favorite.† To really make the raspberry pop, I dialed it up by a quarter of an ounce. And to bridge the gap between the bright, assertive sour of the fresh lemon juice and the rest of the ingredients, I worked in a bit of orange, and mixed a drink that looked something like this:

Quaker’s Cocktail Variation (Pseudo-Arnholt)
1 oz. Cognac
3/4 oz. Aged Rum
3/4 oz. Raspberry Syrup
1/2 oz. Lemon Juice
1/4 oz. Orange Juice

Shake, strain, serve up.

A couple of things to note here. First of all, people like to hate on orange juice as a cocktail ingredient these days. It’s not as sour as other citrus, it’s not as sweet as other ingredients, the flavor isn’t assertive enough so you have to use too much of it and water down the drink - yadda yadda whatever.

As has been noted by some very intelligent people, oranges today may not taste like they did early in the 20th century, when the Ward Eight and the Blood and Sand were gaining steam. It may be the case that our forebears had access to more cocktail-amenable citrus than we do. But that doesn’t mean we can’t work with what we do have, and fresh orange juice is still a wonderfully fragrant and tasty ingredient. Like any tool, you just have to understand the purpose to which it’s best suited.

In several drinks, the Arnholt Ward Eight among them, orange is a way of adding a little citrus brightness and acidity to a drink that would be overpowered by lemon or lime juice or the oil from a citrus-peel garnish. It’s a subtle addition. If lemon, syrups, and spirits are the building blocks of a drink, orange is the mortar that fills the gaps and makes the recipe work. It isn’t most of what you’ll see; if it’s well done, you may not even notice it’s there. But the role it plays is essential.

Put another way, orange juice doesn’t really work like a juice in mixed drinks. You use it the way you’d use other tricky ingredients, like maraschino, crème de violette, and kirschwasser: a quarter of an ounce at a time, unless you have a very good reason for a heavier pour.

This reasoning led me to this slight interpolation of the Ward Eight, which I doctored further as I went. Craddock was right that the brandy and rum should be equal partners in this, and I rapidly added an extra 1/4 oz of rum to balance it out; that also brought the overall ethanol more into line with the Arnholt Ward Eight, which is designed for a 100º whiskey.

It still needed a finishing touch, so as I often do in that situation, I added a dash of Peychaud’s. That’s when it really started to sing. I made a fresh batch incorporating those adjustments and confirmed its deliciousness:

Improved Quaker’s Cocktail
1 oz. Cognac
1 oz. Aged Rum
3/4 oz. Raspberry Syrup
1/2 oz. Fresh Lemon Juice
1/4 oz. Fresh Orange Juice
2 dashes Peychaud’s Bitters

Shake. Double strain into a chilled coupe.

This is the drink I was looking for when I first spotted the Quaker’s Cocktail in the Savoy. I knew it was in there somewhere.

I do think the final recipe is different enough that it should have a different name. The ingredients and 2:1:1 proportions were broadly agreed upon for the first couple of decades after it appeared in print, including by both of the Two Great Harries of Prohibition (Craddock and MacElhone). Or so I learn from the only serious treatment of the drink’s history I’ve yet found, written in German by Armin Zimmermann of Bar Vademecum and gamely translated by Google.

Armin’s article also reprints a few dozen recipes for the Quaker’s Cocktail, from books going back to 1923. Orange does show up twice, including in a 1948 recipe from Trader Vic, although in both of its appearances it’s replacing the lemon juice rather than supplementing it. I could probably get away with saying I was splitting the difference with my version and stick to the ‘Quaker’ moniker, but not one single recipe in the entire list uses bitters of any kind.

So, the question now is what to call the new one. Please feel free to comment or email me with your opinions! In the meantime, here’s my shortlist:

• Fighting Quaker - A nickname of Nathanael Greene, a Revolutionary War general from Rhode Island who was also dubbed the Savior of the South for his successes in that theater of the war. Nods at the drink’s heritage, the geographic origins of the added ingredients, and my strong affection for New England. Also feels more like the name of a cocktail than “Quaker’s Cocktail” does. I’d say this is the leading candidate right now.

• Canaveral - Did you know Richard Nixon was a Quaker? And although it was Kennedy who promised we’d get to the moon by the end of the decade, Nixon was president when we actually got there. It’s a deeper cut, but I got here by saying, “Hmm. Oranges. Florida. What’s the strongest connection I can make between Quakers and that?” And like ‘Fighting Quaker,’ it’s really not a bad name for a drink.

• Society of Friends - Too on the nose? Perhaps. It’s a version of the term Quakers use for themselves, and I like that it’s also a direct quote from George Pierson’s line about Yale. But there’s still something strange about naming a drink after a booze-skeptical religious group, particularly now that Prohibition is over. (“Fighting Quaker” does this too, but it highlights the irony and doubles down on it, which I think makes much more sense.)

Notes
(*) Erik Ellestad of Savoy Stomp went the other way on both, but he found the result underwhelming.

(†) For a refresher:

Ward Eight
1 3/4 oz. 100º Rye
3/4 oz. Grenadine
1/2 oz. Lemon Juice
1/4 oz. Orange Juice

Shake, strain, serve up.

Eagle-eyed readers may note that I also drew on this structure for the Applejack Rabbit recipe published in the last post. Arnholt hit this one out of the park.

Classic Cocktails: Extended

(This post is part of a series that I’m using to help write my next book, the new edition of 100 Classic Cocktails, and provide inspiration for home bartenders in these times of social distancing. Some of the recipes are ones I’m trying to workshop, and I’m asking my readers to test the recipes at home if able and send me their thoughts on the questions I have. Others are ones I think I’ve nailed that can be easily made with common household ingredients, and I’m sharing them to help my readers keep their spirits up while spending a lot more time at home than usual. I’ll always specify which is which. For more background on all of this, including the book, you can check out the first post in the series here. All posts will be tagged “(100) Classic Cocktails”.)

Reports of the end of this book-writing process have been greatly exaggerated! It turns out that we still have some space to fill in the page count, which means more recipes are going in.

If you’d like to follow along at home, here are a few that could stand a little feedback! As before, they are all fairly accessible for the home bartender:

Applejack Rabbit
1¾ oz. ~100º Apple Brandy (or 2 oz. ~80º Apple Brandy)
½ oz. Grade B Maple Syrup
½ oz. Lemon Juice
¼ oz. Orange Juice

Shake. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Question: I’m pretty confident in these proportions, but it isn’t coming out quite right for me, because all I have is Grade A maple syrup. Dialing up to ¾ oz. of maple makes it too sweet, in my book, without entirely solving the flavor issue, so I think what it needs is the richness of Grade B in these proportions. My question, then, is simple for those of you possessing Grade B maple syrup: did you enjoy this drink?

Blinker
2 oz. Rye
1 oz. Grapefruit Juice
½ oz. Grenadine OR Raspberry Syrup

Shake. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Question: Did you use raspberry syrup or grenadine, and what did you think of the result? The Blinker is traditionally a grenadine drink, but Ted Haigh recommended a raspberry version in his influential book Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails, which has become the more popular version in recent years. Bonus question: What did you think of the balance of grapefruit juice in the drink? Was it too sour? Not sour enough? Did it meld well with your rye? Etc.!

Rosita
1½ oz. Reposado Tequila
½ oz. Campari
½ oz. Sweet Vermouth
¼ oz. Dry Vermouth
1 ds. Angostura Bitters OR 2 ds. Angostura Bitters

Stir. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Express a lemon peel over the glass and discard OR express a grapefruit peel over the glass and discard.

Question: Two very subtle variations on this one: how many dashes of bitters to use (1 is fairly standard, but I think I prefer 2) and whether to use a lemon or grapefruit peel for the finishing touch. Let me know which permutation(s) you went with, how you liked the balance, the flavor, the brightness and presence or absence of the citrus, or any other flavor notes you might have.

White Lady
1½ oz. Gin
¾ oz. Lemon Juice
¾ oz. Curaçao or Triple Sec
Egg White

Shake without ice, then again with ice. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

OR

2 oz. Gin
½ oz. Lemon Juice
½ oz. Curaçao or Triple Sec
Egg White

Shake without ice, then again with ice. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Question: The first recipe uses the Savoy Cocktail Book’s proportions, while the second is a more contemporary version. I like one of them better than the other, but I won’t say which just yet; this drink has never been my cup of tea, and I want to make sure that the recipe I include is a good representation of this cocktail, and not simply one I enjoy more because it tastes less like how this cocktail is meant to taste.

Cocktail Syrups for Home Use

The recipes for Classic Cocktails have been tested, and I find myself with bit of breathing room. This seems like a good time to share some syrup recipes for anyone looking to improve their socially distant cocktail game.

Today’s focus is on basic sugar and fruit syrups (I have a followup planned to cover a few more). All of these are reasonably easy to make with common ingredients, but will also accommodate substitutions.

Simple Syrup
1 part White Sugar
1 part Water

Cold Method: Combine ingredients in a container and shake until dissolved. Refrigerate.
Warm Method: Combine ingredients in a pot over medium-low heat and stir until dissolved. Transfer into a container and refrigerate.

Notes: Simple syrup lives up to its name! You can also substitute a more flavorful product, like demerara, turbindo, or muscovado sugar, or a blend of sugars if you want to be fancy.

Rich Simple Syrup
2 parts White Sugar
1 part Water

Warm Method: Combine ingredients in a pot over medium-low heat and stir until dissolved. Transfer into a container and refrigerate.

Notes: You can try the cold method here, but the warm one will work better with this sugar concentration. I prefer to use demerara sugar for my rich simple syrup to get richer flavor and texture all at once.

Grenadine (and other fruit juice syrups)
1 part White Sugar
1 part Pomegranate Juice

Cold Method: Combine ingredients in a container and shake until dissolved. Refrigerate.
Warm Method: Combine ingredients in a pot over medium-low heat and stir until dissolved. Transfer into a container and refrigerate.
Hot Method: Combine ingredients in a pot over medium heat and stir until dissolved. Continue cooking and stirring until mixture is reduced by half, or is thick enough to coat the back of a spoon. Transfer into a container and refrigerate.

Notes: I’m including the hot method for reference, but I never use it personally; grenadine gets plenty thick enough under the warm method, and if the juice comes to a boil it will change the flavor for the worse. But it’s commonly cited, so I’m including it to make the differences in methods clear.

Optional additions to grenadine include orange flower water, lemon juice, pomegranate molasses, vodka (in a small amount as a preservative), gin (ditto, and for flavor), and brandy (same as gin), but none of these is necessary.

You can also use this technique to make syrups out of other fruit juices! For the most similar results, stick to unsweetened ones with a tart note and not too much fiber or pulp - so, grape and cranberry are in, banana and orange are probably out, etc.

Rasperry Syrup (and other whole-fruit syrups)
2 parts White Sugar
1 part Fresh or Frozen Raspberries
1 part Warm Water

Warm Method: Mash raspberries. Add sugar and mix thoroughly, then allow to sit and macerate for 30 minutes. Add warm (not hot) water and stir until all sugar is dissolved. Strain to remove seeds, transfer into a container, and refrigerate.

Notes: Grenadine and raspberry syrup can often be used as substitutes for one another in cocktails, but there are classic recipes that call for raspberry syrup preferentially (most famously the Clover Club).

As with the grenadine recipe, you can also use this one to make syrups out of other fruits. For best results, stick to ones that have a high water content and pulverize easily - berries are probably your best bet, but I could imagine this method working for something like watermelon, too.

And of course, nothing says you have to use the raspberry syrup in cocktails! You can put it on pancakes or desserts, or stir it into seltzer for a homemade raspberry soda instead.

* * *

All right, let’s put these into some recipes, shall we? To showcase the similar but distinct uses of grenadine and raspberry syrup, consider…

Clover Club
1½ oz. London Dry Gin
½ oz. Dry Vermouth
½ oz. Lemon Juice
½ oz. Raspberry Syrup
Egg White

Shake without ice to unfold egg proteins. Add ice and shake again. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass and serve. Optionally, garnish with 2-3 raspberries.

This could be either drink, but it’s the Pink Lady.

Pink Lady
1½ oz. London Dry Gin
½ oz. Apple Brandy
¾ oz. Lemon Juice
½ oz. Simple Syrup
½ oz. Grenadine
Egg White

Shake without ice to unfold egg proteins. Add ice and shake again. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass and serve.

Classic Cocktails: Last Call

(This post is part of a series that I’m using to help write my next book, the new edition of 100 Classic Cocktails, and provide inspiration for home bartenders in these times of social distancing. Some of the recipes are ones I’m trying to workshop, and I’m asking my readers to test the recipes at home if able and send me their thoughts on the questions I have. Others are ones I think I’ve nailed that can be easily made with common household ingredients, and I’m sharing them to help my readers keep their spirits up while spending a lot more time at home than usual. I’ll always specify which is which. For more background on all of this, including the book, you can check out the first post in the series here. All posts will be tagged “(100) Classic Cocktails”.)

My manuscript deadline is looming, so this post will be the last opportunity to influence the contents of Classic Cocktails before it comes out! To that end, I’m skipping the history and the theory and just listing the cocktails I have lingering questions about. If you have feedback on any of these, give me a shout at info@herzogcocktailschool.com as soon as you can!

Don’t worry, I’ll still keep this blog series going after the manuscript is done. There’s a lot that I’ve learned that I’d like to share, and plenty more of these recipes are easy to make at home in a socially distant world. (Plus I now have an interesting story about the Lemon Drop, which is a sufficiently unexpected outcome of all this that I think I have to share it.)

In the mean time, however, if you’d like to help me out and/or see your name in print in the book’s acknowledgements, mix up one of these and tell me what you think:

Diamondback

(Lower-Octane, Original Version)
1½ oz. ~80-proof Rye
¾ oz. ~80-proof Apple Brandy
½ oz. OR ¾ oz. Yellow Chartreuse

Stir with ice. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with maraschino or brandied cherries.

(Higher-Octane, Contemporary Version)
1½ oz. ~100-proof Rye
¾ oz. ~100-proof Apple Brandy
½ oz. OR ¾ oz. Green Chartreuse

Stir with ice. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with maraschino or brandied cherries.

Question(s): Did you try the lower- or higher-octane version? Within that version did you try it with ½ oz. or ¾ oz. of the Chartreuse variety specified? Did you find it well-balanced, too spirit-forward, too sweet, not spiritous enough, or not sweet enough?

(Inconveniently, this is both alphabetically first and the one on the list that has the most permutations to inquire about. Your feedback on any one of them will be helpful data in working out an overall consensus; the rest of these are much more straightforward.)

Gin Rickey
1½ oz. Old Tom Gin or London Dry Gin
Juice of ½ Lime
3 oz. Club Soda

Juice half a lime into a highball glass. Add ice, gin, and club soda, and stir. Garnish with the spent lime shell.

Question(s): Is this palatable or too sour? Does it need more soda, more gin, or both?

Jasmine
1½ oz. Gin
¾ oz. Lemon Juice
½ oz. Campari
½ oz. Curaçao or Triple Sec

Shake. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

OR

1½ oz. Gin
¾ oz. Lemon Juice
¼ oz. Campari
¼ oz. Curaçao or Triple Sec

Shake. Serve without ice.

Question: Is this better with the extra ¼ oz. each of Campari and curaçao, as in the top recipe; or without, as in the lower?

Margarita
2 oz. Blanco Tequila OR 1½ oz. Blanco Tequila
½ oz. Triple Sec
½ oz. Lime Juice
1 tsp. Simple Syrup (or agave syrup, or another sweetener)

Shake with ice. Strain into a chilled cocktail grass with a salted rim. Garnish with a lime wheel.

Question(s): Is this better with the additional ½ oz. of tequila, or without? Additionally, what sort of sweetener did you use, and did you find it improved the drink, compromised it, or had no discernible effect?

Pegu Club
1½ oz. Gin
¾ oz. Triple Sec or Curaçao
¾ oz. Lime Juice
2 dashes Angostura Bitters OR 1 dash Angostura Bitters and 1 dash Orange Bitters

Shake with ice. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Question: Is this better with both Angostura and orange, or with just Angostura?

Seelbach
1 oz. Bourbon (~50% ABV preferred)
½ oz. Triple Sec
7 dashes Angostura Bitters
7 dashes Peychaud's Bitters
3-4 oz. Sparkling Wine

Stir all but the wine with ice. Strain into a chilled flute and fill with sparkling wine. Garnish with an orange twist.

OR

Chill all ingredients. Combine bourbon, triple sec, and bitters in a flute and stir, then fill with sparkling wine. Garnish with an orange twist.

Question(s): Which way did you prepare it, and did you enjoy it? What was the proof of the bourbon you used, and did the whiskey flavor come through enough (or too much) for your tastes?

Vodka Espresso
2 oz. Vodka
1 oz. Fresh Espresso
½ oz. Coffee Liqueur
½ oz. Simple Syrup

Shake until foamy. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with three coffee beans, if available.

OR

1½ oz. Vodka
1 oz. Fresh Espresso
¾ oz. Coffee Liqueur

Shake until foamy. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with three coffee beans, if available.

Question(s): Which variation did you use? Did you find it overly sweet or not sweet enough? Too spirit-forward or not spiritous enough?

Vodka Sour
1½ oz. Vodka OR 2 oz. Vodka
1 oz. Simple Syrup
¾ oz. Lemon Juice

Shake. Serve up.

Question(s): Is this better with the additional ½ oz. of vodka, or without? And is the below version perhaps even better?

‘Lemon Drop’
1½ oz. Vodka
½ oz. Simple Syrup
½ oz. Triple Sec or Curaçao
½ oz. Lemon Juice

Shake. Serve up.

Whiskey Sour
2 oz. Bourbon
¾ oz. OR 1 oz. Simple Syrup
¾ oz. Lemon Juice

Shake. Serve down.

Question: Is this better with ¾ or 1 oz. of simple syrup?

The Collins, the Fizz, the Rickey, and the Highball

(This post is part of a series that I’m using to help write my next book, the new edition of 100 Classic Cocktails, and provide inspiration for home bartenders in these times of social distancing. Some of the recipes are ones I’m trying to workshop, and I’m asking my readers to test the recipes at home if able and send me their thoughts on the questions I have. Others are ones I think I’ve nailed that can be easily made with common household ingredients, and I’m sharing them to help my readers keep their spirits up while spending a lot more time at home than usual. I’ll always specify which is which. For more background on all of this, including the book, you can check out the first post in the series here. All posts will be tagged “(100) Classic Cocktails”.)

Or, “Long Drinks Part Two: Carbonated Boogaloo.” (It’s been a long lockdown, OK?)

It’s time for another post with a whole bunch of recipes, in the same spirit as our earlier discussion of juice-forward drinks but this time focusing on recipes lengthened with sodas. They fall into three broad categories.

“Highball” is a blanket term for simple two-ingredient combination of a distilled spirit and a carbonated mixer over ice, occasionally with a citrus wedge or other garnish. The mixer is usually flavored but plain club soda is sometimes used.

Strictly speaking, the Gin and Tonic and any other drink along those lines belongs to the highball category, but if someone orders a ‘highball’ without specifying further, they’re generally expecting a glass of whiskey with ginger ale or club soda rather than, say, a Rum and Coke. Highballs are straightforward, and I find a 1:2 ratio of spirit to mixer is a pretty solid baseline. Particular recipes follow at the end of this post.

But first, let’s talk about their historically more interesting cousins: the Collins and the Fizz. Why more interesting? First, because they require a bit more technique than highballs do. And second, because they’re very tricky to tell apart. A Collins is made with a spirit base, usually gin, and lemon juice, sugar, ice and seltzer. A fizz is made with a spirit base, also usually gin, and also with lemon juice, sugar, ice, and seltzer.

They may seem like they’re the same damn thing, except that fizzes occasionally have egg whites or yolks added to them (more on this later), and people sometimes say the fizz should be smaller or that it should be served without ice for some reason. That’s pretty thin, and for this reason I was prepared to scratch the whole fizz operation out of Classic Cocktails as redundant, until I read Dave Wondrich’s notes on the traditional distinction between them in his excellent book Imbibe! Here’s how I would summarize his findings:

• The Collins is a built drink, prepared in the glass it’s going to be served in. It uses a ton of seltzer - 6 ounces, in Wondrich’s recipe - and is served in a tall glass to accommodate all that liquid. Because the preparation process doesn’t chill the drink in any way, it is served with ice. It is expected that the ice will melt, and that it will chill and dilute the drink over time, because it is expected that a drink this large will take a while to consume.

• The fizz is a shaken drink. All the chilling and dilution it needs comes from the ice in the shaker; it is then strained into a glass and topped with seltzer. It is served without ice, because it’s already cold and no further dilution is desired - but because there is nothing keeping it cold, it is meant to be drunk quickly, before it warms up. Consequently, the amount of seltzer is lower, more like 3-4 ounces against the Collins’s 6, and it is served in a correspondingly smaller glass.

Put another way, the Collins is oriented around being a slow sipper, while the fizz is meant to be drunk more like a shorter cocktail. Everything else about each flows from this: preparation, service on or off the rocks, glass size, even the presence or absence of egg. You can easily dress up a fizz by adding egg whites to the shaker, but you emphatically do not want to try that with a Collins, where you’ll have drippy unintegrated egg swirling around in the glass for the good long while it’ll take you to finish the drink. This is why the fizz can be doctored into other things and the Collins basically can’t. It’s also why certain cocktails come in ‘fizz’ versions, not Collins versions - most notably the Southside, a shaken combination of gin, lemon, sugar, mint, and sometimes orange bitters, which is sometimes topped with seltzer and rechristened the Southside Fizz. The lack of ice also lets the fizz’s effervescence play a starring role (and even an acrobatic one) in the drink’s presentation, as it most notably does in the Ramos Gin Fizz.

And then there is the Rickey, a sort of half-sibling to both the Collins and the fizz. It is fizz-sized, but it is built in the glass and served with ice like a Collins. Its main distinguishing feature is a lack of sugar, followed by its preference for lime rather than lemon juice. It is necessarily the sourest-tasting of the bunch, and it assumes a certain amount of lingering ice-melt to offset its limeyness. The original Rickey was made with whiskey, according to the tastes of its creator and namesake Col. Joe Rickey; but the Gin Rickey has been the more popular sibling for most of their history, heightening the apparent similarity with the Collins and the fizz.

Got all that? OK, let’s do some recipes. These are all super easy quarantine cocktails, but I have the same mild Question for My Tasters about each of them: are you happy with these proportions? As always, drink as many or as few as you like, just let me know which drinks you tried and which spirit(s) you used when providing your feedback!

Tom Collins (pictured)
2 oz. Old Tom Gin (traditionally) or London Dry Gin
1 tsp. Sugar
Juice of 1/2 a Lemon (~3/4 oz. Lemon Juice)
6 oz. Seltzer

Combine gin, sugar, and lemon juice in a Collin glass or other tall glass (if you have a 12- to 16-oz. beer glass lying around, that’ll do nicely) and stir until sugar is dissolved. Add seltzer and plenty of ice, and stir to mix. Enjoy slowly over the course of an afternoon.

For a John Collins, substitute whiskey for the gin; for a Ron Collins, substitute rum.

Gin Fizz
2 oz. Old Tom Gin (traditionally) or London Dry Gin
1/4 oz. Sugar
Juice of 1/2 a Lemon (~3/4 oz. Lemon Juice)

Shake with ice. Strain into an 8ish-oz. highball or juice glass without ice and fill with 3-4 oz. of seltzer. Drink quickly, while it’s still laughing at you. Rum, whiskey, or brandy may be substituted for the gin if preferred.

For a Silver Fizz, add an egg white to the shaker and shake once without ice to unfold the egg proteins before shaking with ice. For a Golden Fizz, add an egg yolk instead.

Southside (pictured)
2 oz. London Dry Gin
3/4 oz. Lemon Juice
3/4 oz. Simple Syrup
~8 Mint Leaves
1 dash Orange Bitters

Shake all but the bitters. Strain into a chilled rocks glass and dash bitters on top. Garnish with a smacked sprig of mint.

For the Southside Fizz, strain instead into a 6- to 8-oz. highball or juice glass and dash bitters on top. Then fill with 3-4 oz. of seltzer and garnish with a smacked sprig of mint.

Gin Rickey
1 1/2 oz. Old Tom Gin (traditionally) or London Dry Gin
Juice of 1/2 a Lime (~1/2 oz. Lime Juice)
3 oz. Seltzer

Juice half a lime into a 6- to 8-oz. highball or juice glass. Add ice, gin, and club soda, and stir. Garnish with the spent lime shell. For a traditional Rickey, substitute whiskey for the gin.

Bourbon Highball
2 oz. Bourbon
4 oz. Ginger Ale or Club Soda

Combine in an 8ish-oz. highball or juice glass with ice and stir.

Gin and Tonic
2 oz. Gin
4 oz. Tonic Water

Combine in an 8ish-oz. highball or juice glass with ice and stir. Optionally, garnish with a wedge of lime.

Cuba Libre
2 oz. Aged Rum
4 oz. Coca-Cola (or similar)

Combine in an 8ish-oz. highball or juice glass with ice and stir. Garnish with a wedge of lime (essential here - both for flavor and because without it, this is simply a Rum and Coke).

The Lemon Drop and the Irish Coffee

(This post is part of a series that I’m using to help write my next book, the new edition of 100 Classic Cocktails, and provide inspiration for home bartenders in these times of social distancing. Some of the recipes are ones I’m trying to workshop, and I’m asking my readers to test the recipes at home if able and send me their thoughts on the questions I have. Others are ones I think I’ve nailed that can be easily made with common household ingredients, and I’m sharing them to help my readers keep their spirits up while spending a lot more time at home than usual. I’ll always specify which is which. For more background on all of this, including the book, you can check out the first post in the series here. All posts will be tagged “(100) Classic Cocktails”.)

EDIT: It has been brought to my attention that neither of these Lemon Drops is, in fact, a Lemon Drop, because a Lemon Drop also includes an orange liqueur. How I went all these years without knowing that, I have no idea. In the interest of spreading clarity rather than misinformation, I’m leaving the original post up as it was and adding this disclaimer - note that the proper name for the drinks described herein is, in fact, the Vodka Sour.

I have very little to say about the Lemon Drop. Uncharacteristic of me, I realize. The drink has no particularly interesting history I’m aware of; it’s simply vodka with sugar and lemon juice, and was in all probability invented independently by dozens of people who chanced to have those three things on hand. It’s often served as a shot or falsely called a ‘Martini’, and probably sometimes both.

Not much else to say. It’s not like it doesn’t taste good - it’s basically lemonade with vodka, in a single-serve format - but my usual sources for recipe…research, haven’t spent a lot of time on this one.

Fortunately, sours tend to follow one of a few standard patterns, and I’ve narrowed our Lemon Drop down to two:

Lemon Drop
1 1/2 oz. Vodka OR 2 oz. Vodka
1 oz. 1:1 Simple Syrup
3/4 oz. Lemon Juice

Shake ingredients with ice. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Never call this drink a Martini.

Both versions are much improved by a dash of orange bitters, but this is well outside the tradition of the drink and won’t be included in the book.

Today’s Question for Tasters: Having tried either or both of these, what did you think? Was one too weak? Too strong? Too harsh? Not balanced enough? And if you tried both, which did you prefer?

———

Our quarantine cocktail today is the Irish Coffee, the recipe for which I am ‘researching’ word-for-word from the Dead Rabbit’s second iteration as documented in Punch.

Irish Coffee
1 1/4 oz. Irish Whiskey
1/2 oz. 2:1 Demerara Simple Syrup
3 1/2 oz. Freshly Brewed Coffee
1 oz. Heavy Cream

Combine whiskey, simple syrup, and coffee in a mug (or, ideally, a 6 oz. heat-safe glass with a handle or stem) and stir. Briefly whisk the cream in a bowl until the bubbles dissipate and its texture is thicker. Float the cream on top of the drink - it should form a layer, not plop in (the latter is aesthetically displeasing, but the drink is delicious either way).

If you don’t have 2:1 Demerara simple syrup, you can substitute 1/2 oz. of 2:1 regular simple syrup, or use 3/4 oz. of 1:1 simple syrup and get to more or less the right level of sweetness. You can also experiment with light cream, whipping cream, half and half, and so on if those are more available to you. The coffee does kind of have to be coffee, and the whiskey Irish. Either way, the drink is a good pick-me-up, and this easy-to-make-at-home version is stolen from the best.

The Long Drinks Project

(This post is part of a series that I’m using to help write my next book, the new edition of 100 Classic Cocktails, and provide inspiration for home bartenders in these times of social distancing. Some of the recipes are ones I’m trying to workshop, and I’m asking my readers to test the recipes at home if able and send me their thoughts on the questions I have. Others are ones I think I’ve nailed that can be easily made with common household ingredients, and I’m sharing them to help my readers keep their spirits up while spending a lot more time at home than usual. I’ll always specify which is which. For more background on all of this, including the book, you can check out the first post in the series here. All posts will be tagged “(100) Classic Cocktails”.)

“Long drinks” is a broad term for mixed alcoholic beverages of appreciably greater volume than is the standard for cocktails. In practice, many long drinks can be more precisely described in other ways (e.g. tiki drinks, highballs, bucks, etc.), and the generic term “long drink” is sometimes used to refer specifically to simple combinations of spirits and juices in which the latter predominate.

It will not surprise my readers to learn that these drinks - the Screwdriver, the Cape Codder, and the like - are not ones that I ordinarily order or make. It’s not that they don’t taste good, necessarily. They can and often do! But they’re usually simple and not terribly spirit-forward, two things I don’t look for in an adult beverage.

In any case, a number of them will be included in the book, and this is another category that makes for a pretty perfect twofer post: I’d love to get feedback on the recipes, and I can virtually guarantee that every single one of you will be able to make at least one of these at home.

After a lot of research and contemplation, I determined that I wanted to use the same proportions for these across the board. I don’t want drinkers to have wildly uneven experiences if they’re making all of these at home based on my book, and I do think it makes sense to think of these drinks as having parallel structures until proven otherwise. My working proportions are 1 1/2 oz. of spirit to 4 oz. of juice, which with an eighty-proof spirit gives a mixed drink about 11% alcohol by volume, or something in the ballpark of a glass of wine.

Juice-forward drinks are often elaborations on one of three classics: the Greyhound, the Screwdriver, and the Cape Codder. Here are my takes on a bunch of them. Today’s Question for Tasters: Which drink(s) did you try, and were you satisfied with these proportions? If you weren’t, what would you change (or did you change) to bring the recipe more in line with your tastes?

Note that almost all of these are vodka drinks. In case you don’t have vodka, I note common substitutions in a couple of cases; other substitutions won’t help me much, but you’re welcome to try them recreationally.

Greyhound
1 1/2 oz. Vodka
4 oz. Grapefruit Juice
Combine ingredients in a tall glass with ice and stir.

Salty Dog (Elaboration on the Greyhound)
Prepare in all respects like the Greyhound, but rim the glass with salt before making the drink. (For guidance on salting the rims of glasses, see the previous post.) The Salty Dog may also be made with gin in place of the vodka.

Cape Codder
1 1/2 oz. Vodka
4 oz. Cranberry Juice
Wedge of Lime
Combine liquid ingredients in a tall glass with ice and stir. Garnish with the lime (it is expected that the end user will squeeze the lime into their drink to their personal taste; the lime juice is actually essential to this drink).

Sea Breeze (Elaboration on the Cape Codder)

1 1/2 oz. Vodka
3 oz. Cranberry Juice
1 oz. Grapefruit Juice
Wedge of Lime
Combine liquid ingredients in a tall glass with ice and stir. Garnish with the lime, as in the Cape Codder.

Bay Breeze (Elaboration on the Cape Codder)
1 1/2 oz. Vodka
3 oz. Cranberry Juice
1 oz. Pineapple Juice
Wedge of Lime
Combine liquid ingredients in a tall glass with ice and stir. Garnish with the lime, as in the Cape Codder.

Screwdriver
1 1/2 oz. Vodka
4 oz. Orange Juice
Combine ingredients in a tall glass with ice and stir.

Harvey Wallbanger (Elaboration on the Screwdriver)
1 1/2 oz. Vodka
1/2 oz. Galliano
4 oz. Orange Juice
Combine vodka and orange juice in a tall glass with ice and stir. Float Galliano on top (i.e., pour it gently down the back of a spoon so it forms a layer above the rest; this is traditional for the Harvey Wallbanger, although why it became traditional to float a liqueur on top of a drink that’s nearly the same color, I do not know).

Further Elaborations on the Screwdriver
Back in the Disco Days, many drinks with “clever” and “risqué” names were created as riffs on the Screwdriver, in which some characteristic of the added or substituted ingredients became a descriptor for what kind of “Screw” the person wanted. I may or may not bother to share this information in Classic Cocktails, but if you’re bored at home, here are some Screw variations to play around with. Note that these are stackable - one can have, e.g., a Slow, Comfortable Screw Against the Wall, etc. - and that the Slow Screw is usually the base upon which the others are built:

Comfortable Screw - Add 1/2 oz. of Southern Comfort
Fuzzy Screw - Add 1/2 oz. of peach schnapps
Hard Screw - Add 1/4 oz. of overproof rum
Slow Screw - Add 1/2 oz. of Sloe Gin
Screw Against the Wall - Add 1/2 oz. of Galliano*
Screw on the Beach – Add 1/2 oz. of peach schnapps and replace half the OJ with cranberry juice
Screw with a Bang - (Same as Hard Screw)
Screw with a Kiss - Add 1/2 oz. of Amaretto
Screw with Satin Pillows - Add 1/2 oz. of Frangelico
Left-Handed Screw - Replace the vodka with gin
Mexican Screw – Replace the vodka with tequila (sometimes called “Screw, Mexican Style”)
Wild Screw - Replace the vodka with bourbon
Screw Between the Sheets - Replace the vodka with equal parts brandy and filtered aged rum†
Screw in the Dark - Replace the vodka with an aged or black rum†
Cold Screw - (Sometimes tacked on, referring to the ice)
Elderly Screw - Add 1/2 oz. of elderflower liqueur‡

Notes
(*) Generally if Galliano is the only thing added to the drink, it’s still called a Harvey Wallbanger. The “Against the Wall” moniker is deployed only when more than one Screw variation is employed simultaneously.

(†) For rum categorization reference, see the previous post about the Daiquiri. The aged and filtered style of rum common to Cuba and Puerto Rico and generally labeled as “white” seems like the most appropriate one for the Screw Between the Sheets, though if you don’t have that, choose a lighter-bodied “amber” rum aged 1-4 years should work. For the Screw in the Dark, I recommend an aged “amber” rum rather than a sweetened black rum, because the drink is already going to be fairly sugary; but this is a matter of personal taste.

(‡) St. Germain, the first elderflower liqueur, wasn’t released until 2007, long after the heyday of these Screwdriver elaborations. But it’s tasty, you can make a pun out of it at least as readily as you can with with the rest of these liqueurs, and these days it’s likelier to be in most homes than most of them are. So feel free to give it a try as an update to this tradition.

The Daiquiri, Three Ways

(This post is part of a series that I’m using to help write my next book, the new edition of 100 Classic Cocktails, and provide inspiration for home bartenders in these times of social distancing. Some of the recipes are ones I’m trying to workshop, and I’m asking my readers to test the recipes at home if able and send me their thoughts on the questions I have. Others are ones I think I’ve nailed that can be easily made with common household ingredients, and I’m sharing them to help my readers keep their spirits up while spending a lot more time at home than usual. I’ll always specify which is which. For more background on all of this, including the book, you can check out the first post in the series here. All posts will be tagged “(100) Classic Cocktails”.)

The Daiquiri is an unambiguous classic: it’s simple, it’s elegant, and it’s delicious. It’s also the archetype of drinks that are easy to make and hard to master, so much so that it’s often held up as a particularly good test to administer to a bartender to see if they know their stuff.

We’re going to do things a little differently today and lead off with a recipe. The Daiquiri is one I’d love to get feedback on and you probably have everything you need for it if you’ve been following along at home. So consider it today’s Question/Quarantine Cocktail:

Still Life of a Daiquiri, No. 67.

Daiquiri
2 oz. White Rum
3/4 oz. Fresh Lime Juice
3/4 oz. 1:1 Simple Syrup

Shake. Strain into a chilled cocktail or coupe glass.

That’s the recipe I’m expecting to print in the new edition of Classic Cocktails. But on the night that I tested the Daiquiri, here’s what I actually made:

No Lie, The Best Daiquiri I’ve Ever Made
2 oz. Unaged Rum (House Blend)
3/4 oz. Fresh Lime Juice
1/2 oz. 1:1 Simple Syrup
1 tsp. 2:1 Demerara Simple Syrup

Shake about 1.5x longer than you otherwise would. Strain into a chilled coupe glass.

Let’s review the differences and get to my questions for home tasters from there.

First, I hadn’t meant to use a house blend of rums for the base, but I had (I’d guess) about 1 3/4 oz. of the Wiggly Bridge rum left, so I topped the jigger up with Privateer. Honestly, I think that was a good move, but it’s not necessary to have a house rum blend to make a good Daiquiri.

But let’s investigate our rum terminology a bit. “White,” “silver,” and “light” as rum descriptors are extraordinarily common and basically useless. And so, I’m afraid, are “amber,” “gold,” and “dark.” All of these terms describe the color of the rum, but rum is unusual among spirits in that the color has relatively little to do with the flavor.

One would expect a clear rum to be unaged, but it’s actually very common for them to be aged for 2-3 years* in oak barrels and then filtered before bottling. This is a part of the tradition especially among Hispanophone rum-producing countries - even the lauded white rums of Cuba are generally aged and filtered - and if done well, the filtering process takes the color without stripping away interesting flavor. But that just means the rums will play differently in cocktails than unaged rums would, acting at least somewhat more like lightly-aged rums.

Speaking of which, color is also pretty meaningless in gauging the flavor of brown rums, because color is frequently added. For the most part, this is again done in a way that is supposed to be flavor-neutral: just enough caramel coloring to make a straw-colored aged rum look “amber,” but not enough to be perceptible (caramel coloring has a bitter taste, so the producers really don’t want you to be able to pick it out). But there are instances of unaged rums being colored in the same way, and of course there are many producers throughout the world whose rums are actually, y’know, colored by their aging process and nothing else.

“Dark” rums have the starkest intra-category contrast. Some pretty dark rums get that way from extended wood exposure. But even if a very dark rum has spent a long time in barrels, chances are it gets its hue primarily from added coloring. Often this comes in the form of a big dollop of added molasses, which does change the rum’s flavor, as well as its viscosity. I follow the brilliant recommendation of Martin Cate in Smuggler’s Cove (if you like rum, tiki, cocktail history, or good drinks, pick up a copy to devour while self-isolating) in describing this last group as “black rums,” because they actually are defined by their color. In recipes, you’ll sometimes want to specify a rum with that consistency and profile, but the existing terms are unhelpful. “Dark” can also mean aged and unsweetened/uncolored rums, while the term “blackstrap rum” that has gained some currency is equally useless, because basically all rum that is distilled from molasses is distilled from blackstrap molasses, whether or not more is added for color after distillation.

In Classic Cocktails, I plan to dispense with this nonsense and call specifically for unaged, aged, or black rum, with further precision by island or style as necessary - e.g., “unaged Martinique rhum agricole.”

So, why in the above Daiquiri recipe did I say ‘white rum’? Because consumers mostly don’t know that these color terms are meaningless yet. I have every expectation that some of them will use aged and filtered ‘white’ rums in making the unaged rum recipes. And so, to the…

First Question for Home Testers: I’d like you to try this Daiquiri with whatever sort of white rum you currently have in your house. If you do this, contact me and let me know how you liked the recipe, and whether your white rum is actually unaged or aged and filtered (or you’re unable to determine, in which case please also share the brand name). I believe the recipe will hold up fine regardless.

“But,” I hear you cry, “the title of this post implies three versions of the Daiquiri. What was that about?” I’m glad you asked!

The other big change I made to the Daiquiri recipe for my own preparation, which I think was probably the biggest game-changer in terms of flavor, was to incorporate a teaspoon of 2:1 Demerara simple syrup in addition to the regular 1:1 stuff made with white sugar. It was a stunningly good flavor choice. It also feels kind of fastidious to publish a recipe for a fairly common cocktail that calls for two different kinds of homemade sugar syrup.

So, I’d like you guys to try some variations. The one I led off with, with 3/4 oz. of 1:1 simple syrup, should get you to a similar place in terms of overall sweetness as 1/2 oz. 1:1 simple syrup plus 1 tsp. 2:1 Demerara. I know the second one is really good. I invite you to make it if you have or can easily prepare both kinds of simple syrup. But I need feedback more on the first one, because that’s the one I expect most of the book’s readers will actually end up making.

Additionally, if you’re feeling particularly helpful and/or experimental, I’d like you to try version number three:

The Reverse-Simó-Sidecar Daiquiri
2 oz. White Rum
3/4 oz. Fresh Lime Juice
1/2 oz. 1:1 Simple Syrup

Shake. Strain into a chilled cocktail or coupe glass rimmed with sugar.

See, Joaquin Simó advises adding a barspoon of rich Demerara simple syrup to the Sidecar to get it to balance properly - a problem so famously tricky that many contemporary bartenders have written off the Sidecar entirely. Meanwhile Jason Kosmas and Dushan Zaric, in the Employees Only cocktail book Speakeasy (the first good cocktail guide I ever owned, and another excellent read if you’re stuck at home) come out in favor of the semi-traditional sugar rim on the Sidecar for the same reason: it needs that extra touch of sweetness.

In testing the recipes for the new edition of Classic Cocktails, I learned that the Beachcomber also semi-traditionally has a sugared rim, and discovered that a bit of added sugar really does improve the drink. So while it’s not particularly traditional in the Daiquiri, I’d like you to help me test my theory that we can reverse-engineer the effects of the teaspoon of 2:1 Demerara syrup by sugaring the rim of the glass. Which brings us to the…

Second Question for Home Testers: If you can try the first Daiquiri (with 3/4 oz. 1:1 simple syrup), I’d love for you to also try the third (with 1/2 oz. 1:1 simple syrup) and let me know how they compare. Feedback on either independent of the other is of course still welcome.

Never rimmed a glass before? It’s easy. You want to moisten the lip of the glass first, which is best accomplished by getting it nice and cold and using condensation to your advantage. You can put it in the freezer for a little bit or fill it up with ice and wait. If you’re feeling impatient, you can also run an ice cube or a wedge of lime around the edge until it’s sufficiently wet (though note that using the lime will affect the flavor). Then, pour some plain white sugar into a dish. If the dish is large enough, simply overturn the glass into the sugar, press down, and give it a spin or two. Sugar should cling to the glass when you pick it back up. If you have a smaller dish, press one side of the glass into the sugar instead and give it a few gentle spins until the rim is coated. That’s it! You can also use this technique with salt for a Margarita.

Notes

(*) 2-3 years is common, but there are other options, too: Bacardi Superior is aged for a minimum of 1 year and then filtered, while Flor de Caña’s white rum is aged for 4 - and they also have an amber rum with the same age statement.

The Manhattan and Margarita

(This post is part of a series that I’m using to help write my next book, the new edition of 100 Classic Cocktails, and provide inspiration for home bartenders in these times of social distancing. Some of the recipes are ones I’m trying to workshop, and I’m asking my readers to test the recipes at home if able and send me their thoughts on the questions I have. Others are ones I think I’ve nailed that can be easily made with common household ingredients, and I’m sharing them to help my readers keep their spirits up while spending a lot more time at home than usual. I’ll always specify which is which. For more background on all of this, including the book, you can check out the first post in the series here. All posts will be tagged “(100) Classic Cocktails”.)

I had planned to write most of these up as single-drink posts, but I’m doing at least this one more as a twofer, if only for the chance to make a punning allusion to a classic of Russian literature.

And guess what? This one’s actually short!

Pay no attention to the Cognac behind the curtain.

[The] Manhattan
1 3/4 oz. 100º Rye or 2 oz. 80º Rye
1 oz. Sweet Vermouth
2 ds. Angostura Bitters

Combine ingredients in a mixing glass and stir with ice. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with a brandied or maraschino cherry.

The Mahnattan is today’s Quarantine Cocktail, and was the first beneficiary of the conclusion I described in the math section of yesterday’s post, that if you want to substitute a roughly 100º whiskey for a roughly 80º whiskey, you should reduce your pour by a quarter of an ounce in order for the recipe to hold. My higher-proof rye was leaving my Manhattans a bit too hot at a fairly standard 2:1 ratio, so I did some calculations and came up with this substitution. It’s proving to be a godsend for a man in a house full of high-proof liquor.

That brings us to today’s Question Cocktail:

[and] Margarita
2 oz. Blanco Tequila OR 1 1/2 oz. Blanco Tequila
1/2 oz. Orange Liqueur*
1/2 oz. Lime Juice

Shake with ice. Double-strain into a chilled (and, optionally, salted) cocktail or Margarita glass.

Though easy to learn and an unimpeachable classic, the Margarita is hard to master. Not only does tequila vary widely, but your choice of orange liqueur has more of an impact on the end result than is the case with many other drinks. And as I learned the other day while working on the Jasmine, my bottle not be the most representative example.

I was actually able to get this one tested with a group of people before the coronavirus outbreak, but it resulted in a split decision: some felt it was balanced better with 1 1/2 oz. of tequila, and others felt it was better with 2.

So today’s assignment, at least for those who are able to make the Margarita, is to try it once with 2 oz. of tequila, once with 1 1/2 oz. of tequila, and send me your findings, along with the names of the tequila and liqueur brands you’re using. For the rest of you, stay healthy, and remember that many of your local liquor stores are still delivering through Drizly!

(See? I told you it was short!)

Notes

(*) While there are technically distinctions to be drawn between triple sec, curaçao, and the like (and there certainly were historically), contemporary product labelling is a jumbled mess. Don’t confuse yourself needlessly. When a recipe calls for anything like this, “orange liqueur” is what is meant in practice. Any sweetened distillate flavored with oranges and bottled at 40% alcohol by volume or less can be used. Whether a given such distillate should be used, or how the recipe should be altered to accommodate its employment, are questions that only experience or experimentation can answer.

The Hot Toddy, the Queens, and Substituting Spirits by Strength

(This post is part of a series that I’m using to help write my next book, the new edition of 100 Classic Cocktails, and provide inspiration for home bartenders in these times of social distancing. Some of the recipes are ones I’m trying to workshop, and I’m asking my readers to test the recipes at home if able and send me their thoughts on the questions I have. Others are ones I think I’ve nailed that can be easily made with common household ingredients, and I’m sharing them to help my readers keep their spirits up while spending a lot more time at home than usual. I’ll always specify which is which. For more background on all of this, including the book, you can check out the first post in the series here. All posts will be tagged “(100) Classic Cocktails”.)

Without going into too much detail (I want to keep this round shorter than the last one, after all), I’d like to take a few minutes to discuss spirit strength, and the many ways it can affect one’s process.

Any distilled spirit will include ethanol and water in some proportion, as well as a variety of other substances that contribute flavor and texture. As a general rule of thumb, ethanol will be a better carrier for most of these other flavor chemicals than water will. It is thus often (if not necessarily) the case that stronger spirits will be able to deliver more flavor than weaker ones. At least, up to a point, after which the increase in the proportion of ethanol can overwhelm the palate and render any further increase in soluble flavors irrelevant.

Unless labelled as ‘cask strength’ or something similar, most distilled spirits - gin, whiskey, rum, etc. - are sold at a proof that is at most in the ballpark of 100º, which is to say 50% ethanol by volume and 50% water, the flavor chemicals being dissolved and making up a negligible percentage of the total volume. In the U.S. at least, they are also sold at at least 80º, which is to say 40% ethanol by volume and 60% water.*

A plurality of distilled spirits on the market are sold at exactly 80º, and the most common proof after that is almost certainly 100º, which is also the proof at which bonded spirits are sold.† In general, spirits also tend to cluster in strength around 80º and 100º even if they’re off by a few points, which makes these reasonable benchmarks for what a person is likely to have in their house. A 102º whiskey is probably a fair substitute for a 100º whiskey in a cocktail, and so on. (There is another, smaller cluster around 90º, which I’m not addressing for the time being.)

It will probably not surprise you to learn that my personal bar skews disproportionately towards higher-strength spirits, in part because I appreciate the flavor they can deliver, in part because I like how well they stand up in cocktails, and in part because the local and small-batch distillers that I tend to favor often make stronger spirits, in order to better showcase the quality of their work to audiences who don’t know them yet. This is perfectly fine for making cocktails at home, because high-proof spirits tend to hold up quite well against mixing, and using them allows you to match stronger flavors against them. But for testing cocktail recipes that are meant to be as universal as possible, having mostly high-proof spirits poses a problem.

Just to keep things clear, for the rest of this post, if I describe spirits as “high[er]-proof” or “high[er]-strength”, I mean they’re roughly 100º, and if I say “standard-proof” or “standard-strength”, I mean they’re about 80º.

Consider two ounces of 100º whiskey. In that, you have one ounce each of ethanol and water, as well as the flavors carried (mostly) by the ethanol. In two ounces of 80º whiskey, you have 4/5ths of an ounce of ethanol and associated carried flavors, and 1 1/5ths ounces of water. These will play differently in a cocktail - not necessarily enough to be noticed by every person or in every recipe, but enough that we can’t automatically assume that you can substitute one for the other in equal proportions. Both the respective total amounts of ethanol and water and the ratio between the two are different.

Now, given 1 3/4 oz. of high-proof whiskey, you end up with 7/8 oz. of ethanol instead. Let me switch to decimals to make this clearer: that works out to .875 oz. of ethanol, compared to .80 oz of ethanol in a 2 oz. pour of standard-proof whiskey and 1.00 oz. of ethanol in the same pour of 100º-whiskey.

In other words, 1 3/4 oz. of high-proof whiskey gives you an amount of ethanol (and ethanol-delivered flavor) that is closer to what you’d get from 2 oz. of standard-proof whiskey that 2 oz. of high-proof whiskey would supply. So much closer, in fact, that the difference between them is less than 1/13th of an ounce of ethanol, and appreciably less than the change you’d get from adjusting the total amount of either whiskey by a quarter of an ounce (which ranges from 1/10 oz. of ethanol to 1/8 oz. of ethanol in the 80º-100º spirit strength range).

My goal with this book is to compile benchmark recipes. I’m not a world-class cocktail bar trying to help you replicate their careful compositions exactly at home: I’m trying to give readers a good starting point that they can adapt to their own tastes and bar selections as needed. I want these recipes to be as good right out of the box as they can be, subject to reasonable expectations and constraints, but I’ve never seen a jigger that got down below the quarter-ounce range, and I don’t want to assume that my readers will have access to tools that even I don’t. All of which is to say, I’ve concluded that 1 3/4 oz. of high-proof whiskey and 2 oz. of standard-strength whiskey are going to be reasonably interchangeable to the standards I’m observing.

That said, they still aren’t perfect substitutes (and I haven’t really touched their different water contributions, either), and so it will be useful to check that assumption against some hard evidence from my *ahem* research team.

Onward to cocktails!

You’re getting a twofer again today. Our Quarantine Cocktail is the Hot Toddy, made yesterday because it was snowing here in Cambridge and there’s nothing better for winter weather. When making Hot Toddies or any other hot drinks, remember that you don’t want to heat the liquor directly. Ethanol is more volatile than water, so if you put into the pot for your toddy or hot apple cider, you’re just going to boil it off. Heat the non-alcoholic ingredients separately, then mix them with room-temperature alcohol.

Mug with moustache guard courtesy of the inimitable gift-giver Tristyn Wade.

Hot Toddy
~4 oz. Boiling Water
1 1/2 oz. Standard-Proof Whiskey OR 1 1/4 oz. High-Proof Whiskey
1 tsp. Sugar or Honey
Lemon Wheel
Cinnamon Stick

Heat water in a pot. Put sugar or honey in a mug with lemon wheel and cinnamon stick. When the water comes to a boil, remove it from heat and pour it into the mug. Stir until the sweetener is dissolved (the cinnamon stick is great for this). Add whiskey and serve.

The Hot Toddy is less a drink than a style of drink. You can substitute any spirit for whiskey here - though I’d recommend limiting yourself to aged ones - and you can used ground cinnamon instead of a stick, or substitute cloves or nutmeg to taste. Honey is a pretty traditional sweetener here, but I’m fond of using a sugar cube, which is simple, aesthetically pleasing, and conveniently about a teaspoon by volume.‡

Speaking of aesthetics: to make a lemon wheel, cut a lemon in half, then take one of those halves and slice off the now-exposed flat surface. It’s possibly the easiest garnish there is, and you still have a nearly complete lemon to use for juice if you wish. Lemon wheels float in water and look very pretty.

I’d be interested to hear how you liked the Hot Toddy with these proportions, and particularly which strength of whiskey you were using, once the weather gets cold enough to make these again.

- - - - -

Our next drink, the one I have more substantive questions about, is the Queens. The name refers to the borough of New York City rather than a collection of sovereigns, and it is in fact one of four boroughs that have classic drinks named after them. (Staten Island, you may be unsurprised to learn, does not.)

The Queens, alas, is the least classic of the bunch. Much like the stirred and fortified wine-d Brooklyn is the offbeat Luigi to the Manhattan’s mainstream Mario, the Queens feels at times like the weird sidekick to the Bronx - which is itself a weird drink, a perfect Martini with added orange juice. The Queens follows the same principle, but with pineapple replacing the orange.

Here’s the thing: It isn’t bad! It’s just very tricky to balance. This may in fact account for its low popularity, coming decidedly fourth on the list of borough-named cocktails in frequency of consumption. I’ve probably made more of them while testing this recipe than anyone else has in a single twenty-four hour period in the last hundred years.

And yet, I feel compelled to include it. First, the last edition of 100 Classic Cocktails has a subtle New York theme in the list of included drinks. Things that might not have made the cut in another book - the Bronx among them - were included if they tied into the Big Apple in some way. I consider that part of the book’s internal tradition, and want to take at least some of my cues from that. And second, the Queens itself is already in the book! Or at least a version of it is, going by the equally New York moniker of the Park Avenue.

So in it goes! After extended trials, I think I may have this recipe about right - but if I do, it’s a drink that requires a standard-strength gin, and I simply don’t have any left. Thus, for today’s Question Cocktail, I present to you the:

What a meteorological difference a day makes.

Queens Cocktail
1 1/2 oz. 80º Gin
1/2 oz. Dry Vermouth
1/2 oz. Sweet Vermouth
1/2 oz. Pineapple Juice

Shake with ice. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

I have been experimenting with giving this a dry shake and a wet shake as well, like I did with the Bee’s Knees. The pineapple gives off a nice little bit of foam when I do that, but I’m not convinced it does nearly as much as it did for the honey last time, and consequently I’m not considering that part of the recipe just yet. For extra credit, feel free to try a dry shake and let me know how it changes your opinion of the drink.

But the No. 1 question I have for those who are able to make this drink is is: do you like this balance with 1 1/2 oz. of standard-proof gin? Because what I have in my house is just a bit too strong to be sure.

As a final note, canned or bottled pineapple juice is generally fine (and even assumed) in cocktails, in contrast to many other fruits. Pineapples are harder to break down and juice than, say, lemons are, and the canned juice really isn’t bad. But if you’re feeling like a socially distant pineapple juicing session, please don’t let me stop you!

Notes

(*) Proof is a measurement that corresponds to twice the percentage of ethanol in a spirit and is indicated using the degree sign (º). Thus, a whiskey that contained 45% ethanol and 55% water could be described as ninety proof or 90º, both vocalized the same way.

(†) Bottled-in-bond is a U.S. government designation that’s been around for a very long time. Bonded spirits are, among other things, certified to be the product of a single distillery in a single distilling season (i.e., half a year), to be aged for four years, and to be bottled at exactly 100º. The consumer thus knows with certainty who made it, when, and where, and how strong the product is - all of which where much more commonly cast into doubt by unscrupulous spirits peddlers when the act was passed than is the case today. Spirits being bottle in bond is nowadays more often taken as an indication of quality or of confidence on the part of the distiller; as a guarantor of authenticity, it’s been largely superseded by other federal statutes.

(‡) This is, incidentally, one of two reasons I’m open to using teaspoons (1/6 oz.) but not any other measurements below a quarter of an ounce. The other is that most people have spoons in their house that, whether or not they’re meant to measure things, do in fact hold about a teaspoon.

Book No. 2, the Bee’s Knees, and the Jasmine Cocktail

(This is a fairly long post! The first big chunk is about a new book I’m writing called Classic Cocktails and the accompanying post series I’m launching today, but if you want to get straight to the drinks, skip down to the bold heading that says, “Enough Context, Time for Cocktails.” Today we’re doing the the Bee’s Knees and the Jasmine, because apparently I have a thing for rose-colored cocktails on Laetare Sunday.)

This post begins a new series, which I’ve been planning for several weeks, in celebration of the fact that I’m writing a second book, and this one is actually about cocktails.

In one sense, the timing of this really couldn’t be worse (my plans for it have changed multiple times over the course of the last few weeks, obviously). People aren’t feeling celebratory right now. No one’s top priority is a new cocktail book, nor should it be.

But on the other hand, a lot of people are going to be spending a lot more time at home than usual. If I do my job with this series, I may help some folks who are cooped up to experience some of the artistry of cocktails they might otherwise be missing out on, using ingredients they have on hand. I may also be able to crowdsource help with my writing process, which would otherwise be kind of hitting a wall.

Let me back up a bit and explain. Abbeville Press, the publisher of Distilled Knowledge, also published a book in the late nineties called 100 Classic Cocktails. Earlier this year, they reached out to me and asked if I’d be interested in writing a new edition of the book for them. I’ve wanted the chance to write a cocktail book for a long time now, and I feel like I’m finally capable of doing so after all these years. I agreed, enthusiastically.

For 1998, the original book was excellent. Half a dozen egg drinks, at least four with Campari, and even one with Kümmel - there were of course bartenders working with these things in the nineties, but 100 Classic Cocktails was a mainstream guide, 4”x4” and sold in gift shops. The work of revival and innovation in cocktails hadn’t filtered through to popular consciousness in the way it has today, and even so, Barry Shelby was able to reflect that ongoing progress in what he wrote.

That said, things have evolved a lot in the last twenty-two years. The original edition lacks some old drinks that have been reestablished as classics under the reign of the Cocktail Renaissance, the Aviation, the Boulevardier, and the Corpse Reviver #2 among them. It also predates the establishment of various contemporary drinks as classics - and even their invention in many cases, being some seven years older than the Penicillin, which has since circumnavigated the globe. Likewise, there are drinks in there that may have been hot in the nineties but never got established as enduring classics (Midori and Galliano being common indicators thereof).

All told, there’s plenty of revising to do. The title of the book is being changed to Classic Cocktails for the new edition, so we’re not married to having exactly one hundred recipes, and I have the publisher’s authorization to make reasonable additions and deletions. I share all of this in part because I find it exciting and invigorating personally, and in part to provide context for what follows.

I have also made a commitment to test every single recipe that will go into the book. Nothing will be printed that I cannot seriously recommend. That includes recipes for drinks I would be unlikely to order myself, like the Black Russian (conveniently, Mr. Shelby hit that one square on the head).

But testing variations on dozens and dozens of cocktails, many of which I may have had but not made myself before, is a dauntingly large task. I’m also wary of my own tastes biasing the results too much - this is meant to be a mainstream guide, after all, and fond as I am of my own palate, I don’t trust it to be representative. I had initially addressed this by beta-testing recipes with groups of friends and neighbors, in person. Real-time feedback and adjustments, and a broad, randomized range of taste preferences. It seemed foolproof.

In fact, it was nearly foolproof, and I got a lot of work done that way, but it wasn’t pandemic-proof. Gathering a dozen people in a small room and having them share multiple cocktails is not what you’d call responsible social distancing.

Which, at long last, brings me to this blog series. I am still testing recipes, because the book is still meant to be finished this spring and published this fall. And I’m hoping you’ll test them along with me.

For as long as I’m *ahem* working from home, I’ll post recipes every couple of days. Some of them will be recipes I want help with - maybe there’s something about the balance that doesn’t seem right to me, maybe I’m worried I’ve made them too much to my tastes and not enough to the world’s tastes, maybe I’m limited in the ingredients I have on hand and want to be sure the recipe works with an arbitrary gin, triple sec, etc. Send any feedback you have on those cocktails to me at brian@herzogcocktailschool.com, and you’ll get an acknowledgement by name in the book when it’s published.

I’ll also periodically post recipes I don’t need help with, which I just happen to think are good quarantine cocktails: easy to make with things you may have on hand already, and more than the sum of their parts. And because you’ve just read through a truly massive block of text, today I’m giving you one of each.

Enough Context, Time for Cocktails

Today’s quarantine cocktail is the Bee’s Knees, and today’s question cocktail is the Jasmine. Let’s begin with the former.

The Bee’s Knees occupies an odd position in the canon. Basically everybody who is serious about cocktails has heard of it. It’s been around for a century. Two of the iconic drinks invented at Milk and Honey are riffs on it,* and the that bar’s most famous export (the above-mentioned Penicillin) is a riff on one of those. There can really be no doubt about its influence or venerability.

But when is the last time you actually had one? How often do you see it on cocktail menus? It seems to be a classic that everyone knows and nobody drinks.

I think part of the issue is the honey. Post-renaissance cocktailiery† has established as gospel that you don’t use honey in drinks, you use a honey syrup instead, because it flows better and is easier to work with. The Milk and Honey recipe is pretty commonly used: 1 cup of honey, plus 1/3 cup of water, warmed and stirred until fully mixed, then bottled and refrigerated until you’re ready to use it. It’s perfectly easy to make, but it’s an extra step to make it, and that tends not to make sense for either a home or a retail bar unless you’re making a lot of honey cocktails.

Here’s the thing, though: making a honey syrup is also entirely unnecessary.

The goal of making the honey into a syrup is to make it easier to mix into cocktails. Honey is thick, and it doesn’t flow or dissolve so well, even when shaken - so goes the logic. Never mind for the moment that different kinds of honey have different viscosities,‡ let’s just focus on the expected properties of ordinary store-bought honey, which tends to be thicker than, say, simple syrup.

Even then, the viscosity is temperature-dependent: warm or room-temperature honey will flow and dissolve better than cold honey will. When you put honey into a cocktail shaker, you’re cooling it down at the same time that you’re trying to get it to dissolve. Of course that goes badly.

You may already see where I’m going with this. See, it occurred to me yesterday that honey gets noticeably foamy when shaken, much like egg whites do (although not to the same degree), and that it’s actually kind of odd that we only use the dry shake technique for eggs and not for other ingredients that respond texturally to temperature (particularly foamy ones). What, I wondered, would happen if we dry-shook the Bee’s Knees?

Behold:

Bee’s Knees
2 oz. Gin
1 oz. Fresh Lemon Juice
1/2 oz. Honey
Combine all ingredients in a shaker without ice and shake until honey is dissolved. Add ice and shake again. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass and serve.

Not only is it possible with very little additional effort, but this was easily the most delicious Bee’s Knees I’d ever had. I used Back River Gin from Maine, which is reminiscent of Plymouth Gin in its sort of mineral sweetness but with some savory notes that pop in cocktail use. I used it because I had it on hand, but any medium-bodied gin with a reasonably traditional profile will work for this drink. The honey was regular store-brand clover honey from the local supermarket. The lemon juice was from a lemon. Simple pieces, spectacular result.

I suspect that the dry shaking process also affected the flavor, perhaps releasing more of the honey’s aromatics (also a temperature-dependent process) and trapping some of them in the air bubbles in the foam. But honestly, I’m not sure! And in the course of an admittedly cursory look through Google and the usual cocktail suspects, I was unable to find any other reference to dry-shaking honey drinks. This one might be a true original, kids.

All that being said, if you’d rather make the honey syrup than shake the drink twice - perfectly sensible if you’re going to be making a lot of these - you’ll want to substitute 3/4 oz. of syrup for 1/2 oz. of honey.

For best results with the dry shake technique, you’ll want to start with honey at room temperature. If you want to add a splash of warm water to the jigger to get the last bit of honey out of it, go for it (I did!). Just keep it under a teaspoon so you don’t over-dilute the cocktail by accident.

~~~~~

And now, on to today’s question cocktail. Let’s talk a bit about the Jasmine and why it is that we’re talking about the Jasmine.

A veritable contemporary classic, the Jasmine was invented in the early nineties by a Very Big Deal cocktail renaissance figure named Paul Harrington. It was created on the fly for a friend and patron whose surname was Jasmin, but Harrington didn’t discover that error until some time after the drink had achieved popularity (possibly after it was included in his own book, which was coincidentally also published in 1998). It turns on Campari, which was gaining steam in the nineties bar community but hadn’t been used in an influential and novel way during that period before Harrington came along. It also tastes strongly of grapefruit despite containing none. It’s famous, it’s simple, and it proves that it’s still possible to invent successful drinks in the classical style. It is absolutely going in the book.

The only problem is, it didn’t taste quite right when I tested it. To my own surprise, I felt that it needed something: a dash of Regan’s orange bitters, which vastly improved the result.

Here’s the thing: This isn’t really a drink that’s up for debate. Far from there being disagreement about what goes into it, nearly every published recipe for the Jasmine gives the same proportions for the same list of four ingredients, orange bitters not among them. And unlike many older classics I might want to tweak, the creator of this drink is still alive (and almost certainly still way better than this than I am),

All of which inclines me to look first for what I might have done wrong, rather than for issues with the recipe. My hunch is that the trouble is my triple sec. It’s very tasty, and locally made at Short Path Distillery, but I think it has less of a pronounced bitter-orange note than others I’ve had, and some of its non-citrus botanical flavors fill that gap. If I’m right about this, adding that dash of Regan’s may have had a similar effect to swapping my triple sec out for a different one with a more conventional profile. And if that’s the case, the recipe is right as it is.

My request for today: Try this drink with these proportions and whichever ingredients you have on hand. Let me know how you like the balance. Tell me about any flavors that you felt were strongly represented (for better or for worse), or else that were weak or missing in your view. Let me know which brands you used. And if you feel moved to do so, add a dash of orange bitters and tell me how it changed the drink - and whether you liked it more or less.

Jasmine
1 1/2 oz. Gin
3/4 oz. Lemon Juice
1/4 oz. Campari
1/4 oz. Triple Sec
Shake. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. If desired, garnish with a lemon twist.

Happy drinking!

Notes:

(*) Those would be The Business, which is a Bee’s Knees with lime juice instead of lemon (say the names out loud and you’ll get the joke), and the Gold Rush, which is a Bee’s Knees with bourbon instead of gin.

(†) I coined the term “Cocktail Baroque Period” back in 2016 or so, and it seems to have since begun to seep into the vernacular. Though I do worry that the coronavirus-induced shutdowns may bring a premature end to the contemporary baroque artistry in cocktails.

(‡) Honey comes in a variety of textures depending on its origins. There is a honeymonger here in Cambridge called Follow the Honey, which often sells Atchafalaya honey from Louisiana. That particular honey is about the consistency of simple syrup or Grade A maple syrup right out of the jar, and makes lovely cocktails. If you want to get into honey, there’s a lot more out there than you might expect!