Home Bar Staples: Brandy

Let's talk about brandy.

It's one of the major spirits classes. Major. It should be in your regular rotation if you're serious about making cocktails at home. It's essential for the Sidecar, which David Embury rated as one of the six cocktails everyone should be able to make. It's one of the ingredients that made the grade for chapter one of The Cocktail Seminars and figures in 10% of the recipes (and the same percent in Classic Cocktails!), which is slightly less than rye whiskey and slightly more than bourbon. It's the base spirit in the Japanese, which we're fairly sure was an original recipe by Jerry Thomas, author of the very first bartender's guide; and it's half of the split base in the Vieux Carré, one of the most beloved cocktails to return to prominence in the renaissance period.

It is, however, not at the top of the list for a lot of home bartenders. Some of that is due to our collective failure to properly educate the public about the wonders of brandy cocktails – and, in all fairness, to the very effective public education that's been done by some of the other major categories – but I think another issue is price.

I wasn't shy in The Cocktail Seminars about proposing that one might want to spring for a pricey bottle, even for mixing purposes. I got that suggestion from David Wondrich, who is sound on just about everything. It also wasn’t just brandy getting special treatment: I made an analogous suggestion about Irish whiskey and, for that matter, about Chartreuse.*

When compared with ordering brandy cocktails at a bar, you still come out very far ahead financially when mixing at home with an expensive bottle. But that, of course, is only a persuasive argument if you are already inclined to consume brandy cocktails. Nobody wants to drop ninety bucks on an unfamiliar spirit just so they can a. decide whether they like it, and b. proceed to mix it into a series of drinks to see whether they like them.

That's what workhorse-priced spirits are for. My recommendation has historically been that spirits for the home bar are best priced between $30-$40. Even with recent inflation, that's still mostly true. Some categories (rum, vodka) run a little less expensive for the target quality; some run pricier, like mezcal and brandy.

A quick terminology review: “brandy” is the general term for spirits distilled from fermented fruits, although if the fruit is unspecified, it’s understood to refer to grape brandy specifically. That is, a recipe that wants you to use apple brandy will say “apple brandy,” while a recipe that wants you to use grape brandy will say “brandy.” Cognac and Armagnac are grape brandies made in France in the regions with which they share names according to distinctive local processes; these are not the only French brandies, but they are the best-known of the French brandy subcategories. Spain and California are other major brandy-producing regions. Pisco, produced in Chile and Peru, is also a grape brandy, but the vast majority of it is unaged, whereas the European and American expressions are overwhelmingly aged in oak barrels. Cocktail recipes that call for “brandy” are referring to aged brandy; if pisco is desired, the recipe will always say “pisco” rather than “brandy.”

Got all that? Let’s talk Cognac terminology for a minute, then, because Cognacs have historically been very popular in brandy cocktails. They’re generally full-bodied, but they’re also team players, where (for instance) Armangac can be more pugnacious.

Cognacs are classified by age. A VS Cognac is at least two years old, VSOP at least four, and XO at least ten. Age does not necessarily mean quality when comparing across brands – a better-made VS will taste better than a lower-quality VSOP, etc. – but within a given brand, older Cognacs do tend to be more appealing than younger ones.

A decade ago, you could reliably get Courvoisier VSOP for under $40, and it was 100% my go-to recommendation for mixing brandy cocktails at home. It had the right combination of presence and elegance, of phenols and fruits, to serve as the backbone of a brandy cocktail. These days, it’s hard to find even the younger VS expression of Courvoisier at that price point.

I’ve never found a replacement I was as confident about recommending as the Courvoisier VSOP back then.** This has nagged at me. I have a workhorse spirit brand to recommend in every other major category, and often more than one. Why not brandy?

So, I finally decided to answer this question experimentally. I bought four bottles of brandy that I could get for under $30, tasted them side-by-side, and then mixed them all into Brandy Alexanders, which I tasted fresh and again after sitting out for a little while. My findings are below, but first, let me walk through the brands I chose:

Courvoisier VS Cognac
375ml for $19.49
I trust Courvoisier’s products, based on my previous experience with the VSOP, and a full 750 of the VS can still (sometimes) be found for about $40, which is the upper end of my target price range for workhorse spirits. It seemed worth a shot to give it a try.

Courvoisier VSOP Cognac
375ml for $27.49
This was a control group to some extent, because I already know it’s good. But it’s also the case that if you don’t make brandy cocktails terribly often, a 375 of this isn’t too much of an outlay on a price-per-bottle basis, even if the price per ounce compares unfavorably to the rest of these.

St Remy VSOP Brandy
750ml for $12.99
A recommendation from various corners of the internet for a good quality but inexpensive French brandy. It’s not made in the Cognac region and doesn’t get the Cognac name, so it ends up a lot less expensive than similar-quality Cognacs with the same age statements, which it apparently often outperforms in blind tastings. At thirteen bucks a bottle, I figured it was worth finding out!

E & J Brandy XO
750ml for $11.99
When I first started drinking brandy in college, it was E&J, which is one of the cheapest brandies out there. That’s not as much of a red flag as it may sound like. The floor on brandy’s quality is higher than it is for other spirits categories – bring me the cheapest brandy and the cheapest vodka, rum, or whiskey you can find, and I will drink the brandy 100% of the time – and in any event, I have some fond feelings for the E&J brand. I had never even known they had an XO expression before, never mind tried it; I reckoned it was probably their best product, and I should give it a try if only for old times’ sake.

The words:images ratio in this post is 1150:1 – that’s good, right?

Tasting Notes: Straight

Courvoisier VS
A little hot, woodier than it is raisiny – woodier in fact than the VSOP, which makes me suspect that they're aging it in newer barrels.
Burns the tongue a little, even at only 40%.

Courvoisier VSOP
Slightly hotter than I remembered, actually, but it smooths out on the finish. Richer-tasting than its viscosity or sweetness would suggest. Raisiny.
Easily and by far the most interesting and complex finish of the four. Lingers nicely after the swallow. Finishes hotter and raisinier than the VS. Sensation on the tongue is more of a prickle than a burn.

St. Remy VSOP
Reads too hot for me. Left in too much of the heads in distillation; too terpinaceous. Something almost lemony. But, tasting it again after the Courvoisier VS, it's got more interesting flavor going on, at least.

E&J XO
Tastes almost artificial, somehow. Reminds me of fake grape (a whisper of it) and of liqueurs that come in plastic bottles – think cheap triple sec.
It's the least hot of the four, which is bizarre to me. It makes me wonder about sweeteners and additives; they're all the same damn proof.

Tasting Notes: Brandy Alexander, freshly made

As a reminder, the Brandy Alexander (as I make it, at least) consists of 1 oz. brandy, 1 oz. crème de cacao, and 1½ oz. light cream or half-and-half, shaken with ice and strained into a cocktail glass, with a sprinkle of grated nutmeg on top. All four of these were made the same way.

Courvoisier VS
A damn fine Brandy Alexander; no surprises here, good or bad. Not that far off the mark of the VSOP.

Courvoisier VSOP
Still my gold standard of what this drink should taste like. Well balanced and harmonized; more than the sum of its parts.

St. Remy VSOP
Initial thoughts: Actually pretty good! No issues with that lemony quality I noticed in the straight tasting, which surprises me a bit; I was expecting a very obvious clash between that and the chocolate and cream.
Further thoughts after tasting the other three: This makes a phenomenal Brandy Alexander. It lacks the raisininess of the Courvoisiers – not a bad thing here.

E&J XO
That fake taste punches through. Distinguishable from the others, and not in a good way.

Tasting Notes: Brandy Alexander, after sitting out for a while

Courvoisier VSOP
“That's perfect.”

Courvoisier VS
A little rougher around the edges than the VSOP.

St Remy VSOP
Ditto, but also, “This is a really [expletive]ing stellar Brandy Alexander. I could drink ten of these.”

E&J XO
That artificial note is still there! It tastes like something they would add to dried fruit to keep it tasting “fresh” longer. Don't like it.***

Overall, the Courvoisier VSOP is still *exactly* what I want a Brandy Alexander to be, tastewise, even after half an hour or so. The VS and the St. Remy are also both rock solid, they're just not quite as on point as the VSOP. Still, if you handed me any of these without the other two to try side-by-side, I'm not sure I could tell you which one was which. If anything, the St. Remy version gained on the others the longer I let them sit.

As for the E&J XO: Look, I still don't like it. But if I were served it in a Brandy Alexander at a party, I wouldn't taste it and go, “oh, they used a cheap brandy in this.” I might be able to call out the E&J by taste now, having gone through this exercise, but two days ago I couldn't have done that. I do think I would have switched to a different cocktail for my next round if one were available, but I would have finished the E&J drink (I did this time!), and I wouldn't have refused a second if that was all there was. And it wouldn't have been obvious to me that the unpalatable thing in the mixture was the brandy as opposed to one of the other ingredients.

All this is to say, if you’re just dipping your toe into the waters of mixing brandy cocktails at home, the $20 Courvoisier VS and the $13 St. Remy VSOP both seem like pretty damn good choices. The Courvoisier VSOP is better – and it’s leagues better if you’re drinking it straight – but is it worth the money for the brandy cocktail neophyte? No, probably not. It isn’t four times better than the St. Remy VSOP, even though it’s four times the price; for that matter, the Courvoisier VS isn’t three times better than the St. Remy, despite being thrice as expensive.

If I had to make a call right now, I’d say that Courvoisier VSOP is perfect for someone like me, who loves brandy cocktails, nevertheless isn’t going through the bottle all that quickly (and so can get by with a 375), and can maybe distinguish the VSOP from the VS on a good day. But for everybody else, including me on most days, the Courvoisier VS and the St. Remy VSOP are perfectly solid brandies for mixing cocktails at home, and the St. Remy is easily the best value for the money.

What I would want to do next is taste St. Remy against Courvoisier in a more brandy-forward cocktail, and see if the difference is still so slight. The Sidecar would be the obvious choice, maybe the Champs-Elysees. I am basically certain that a Japanese or a Brandy Flip would be comparably delicious with either – both of those shake the brandy with rich, viscous ingredients with lots of deep phenolic flavors, just like the Brandy Alexander does, and what worked here should work just as well there. Stay tuned for another side-by-side comparison in Part 2!

*My recommendations ran north of $60 a bottle in both of those cases at the time, and recently Chartreuse has gotten much more expensive.

** In my own bar, I’ve most recently used Gensac, which is enjoyable and appropriately priced; but I think it’s only available in Massachusetts, and even here I’ve only ever seen it at one store.

***I was making a big batch of egg nog at approximately the same time that I was doing these side-by-side tests, and I disliked this note so strongly, in fact, that I decided not to mix any of it into the egg nog, not even to use it up. I didn’t want that note anywhere near it.

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.

How to Invent a Cocktail, Part V of VI

(Recently, my friend Luke quietly published a book of poetry. It's called Abacus, and you can buy or download it here. I created a signature cocktail for the launch party, and because I sometimes get asked how I go about inventing a new cocktail, I thought you might like to see my thought process for this one. It's a longish story, so I've broken it up into six pieces, each of which will be a separate post and conclude with a recipe. Last week's chapter, "Taking stock - now what have we got?" can be found here.)

Chapter 5: Trusting your gut, even when your gut gives you every reason not to.
If I've learned anything from creative pursuits - cocktails, writing, or otherwise - it's that you have to listen to your instincts. They'll be wrong occasionally (or often, when you're trying something new), and that's OK. That's how you learn.

Best of all, sometimes your gut will tell you something that sounds bizarre but works on some deeper level. No matter how nicely bitter, herbal flavors contrast with pineapple, the Jungle Bird must still have seemed ridiculous the first time it was tried, because what kind of nut puts Campari in a tiki drink?

You miss opportunities like that if you become dismissive of your own ideas. It's an easy trap to fall into, especially when you know other people have been doing something longer than you, or do it better than you. This is why a lot of authors practice spontaneous writing: if you do it right, you're too busy writing to think about all the ways in which the writing is bad, which frees you to actually write. You can edit later, when you actually have something written.

I've been making cocktails for a long time now, and my instincts are, on the whole, pretty good. That's what I reminded myself when I went back to the drawing board with the following two thoughts:

• Given how poorly this has gone so far, it's weird that I thought it would work at all, let alone through so much tinkering. Maybe I should can the whole thing and look to a different poem for inspiration.
• Wait this drink might actually work with Cognac.

In retrospect, I can tell you exactly why the Cognac worked. The subtle wood and strong fruit flavor (raisin, in this case) complement the plantiness and the cherry of the kirschwasser. There are no distracting savory or evergreen notes. It doesn't have the oiliness of gin, which was causing textural problems I didn't even get into before. And the warm, rich lactones of an aged spirit base gave the cocktail a depth that could support everything else.

But that wasn't a conscious thought process at the time. "Cognac!" popped into my head, and I went with it. I knew that even if my judgment was compromised that day, at least this would turn out badly in a different way, which was enough for me to give my mind's palate the benefit of the doubt.

I want to save the big reveal for next week, but I did promise you a recipe. Since this week brought us back around to Cognac, and we'll spend some of next week on the importance of simple syrup, I'll leave you today with a cocktail that uses both extremely well: Joaquín Simó's Sidecar.

Simó Sidecar
2 oz. Cognac
3/4 oz. Curaçao
3/4 oz. Lemon Juice
1 tsp. 2:1 Demerara Simple Syrup
Shake with ice. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass and garnish with an orange peel (or not at all).

Stay tuned for next week's post, "Chapter 6: Reaching a recipe by technique and tinkering."

Sidecar

Sidecar

4 parts (2 oz.) Courvoisier cognac
1 part (1/2 oz.) Cointreau
1 part (1/2 oz.) fresh-squeezed lemon juice
Sugar rim

This is where that lemon juice I mentioned went. The Sidecar may well be my favorite of the classic recipes. It’s also one of a very small number of drinks I consider to be “solved” - that is, I’ve found a way to make them that I like so much, I see no reason to deviate.

Courvoisier is far and away the best cocktail cognac. Hennessy, its closest cousin in terms of quality, has a harsh bite to it that relegates it to use in brandy/rye and brandy/bourbon cocktails, which are already covering a parallel trait in the whiskey. Courvoisier retails in the low thirties.

Cointreau is an orange liqueur with a neutral base. Most bars use it for their Sidecars. If you have your own orange liqueur, feel free to substitute it. Luxardo’s triple sec, Solerno blood orange liqueur, and the inimitable Grand Marnier all make pleasant Sidecar variations, although you should note that the substitution is not as easy in most drinks, particularly in the case of Grand Marnier. (Thus, “inimitable.”)

With a drink like this, so simple and with so few ingredients, always use fresh lemon juice. I tell people a drink is never better than its worst ingredient. Sometimes you can get away with a weak link, if it’s a bit player in the act. Here you can’t.

I recommend shaking for the Sidecar. It’s advisable for all drinks with fruit juices in them, to be sure everything distributes evenly. The bit of water from the melting ice also opens up the flavor of certain spirits, including brandy. All that said, you can stir this one without too much worry.

The eternal Sidecar question is, “Sugared rim?” The answer may be yes or no. Certainly you shouldn’t be afraid of it. The sugar is there to answer the sour of the fresh lemon. The drink works without it, but sometimes you’re in the right mood. If you’re worried you’ll look girly drinking out of a sugar-rimmed glass, stick to Old Fashioneds until you’re secure in your masculinity. The rest of you, keep reading.

To sugar a glass, pour some powdered or granulated sugar into a small dish or saucer. Please be sure your dish is larger than the glass you intend to coat, and your sugar isn’t in clumps. Chill the glass in the freezer for a few minutes. When you take it out, there will be condensation on it. Overturn the glass into the dish of sugar, and give it a few turns. The sugar will stick to the wet rim of the glass. Something similar may be accomplished by filling the glass temporarily with ice cubes to chill it, or by running a bit of lemon around the rim. So long as it’s wet, the sugar will stick.

This works any time you need to sugar a glass, or salt one, if you’re making Margaritas. Assuming all your dishes and glassware are clean, you can even return the leftover sugar to its container when you’re finished. Or revel in the decadence of pitching it. Up to you.

Martini

Martini

5 parts (1 1/4 oz.) Booths London dry gin
2 parts (1/2 oz.) Noilly Prat dry vermouth
Twist of lemon

Drink No. 2 in the rundown of Embury’s basic/classic cocktails is the Martini. If the Manhattan is the most accessible, the Martini is probably the least. Most people who drink “Martinis” or [word]-tinis would balk at the big glass of gin that is an actual Martini. The Herzog Cocktail School offers counter-instruction.

There are many kinds of gin, with different production processes and resulting flavor palates. For the purposes of cocktail mixing, I find it useful to describe three types: dry, herbal, and neutral. Dryness is a flavor you become accustomed to when you drink a lot of gin. If you haven’t experienced it, “un-sweet” is probably the best footing to put you on. It tends to feel boozy, and heavy, relative to other gins.

Herbal gins are your Botanists and Hendrick’ses. They have a really powerful flavor of herbs and spices. “Botanical” is the more prevalent term among aficionadoes, but calling Botanist gin “botanical” doesn’t seem particularly helpful. Neutral gins don’t jump out either way. They may be slightly citric, a little sweet, or a little more juniper-y. They’re your most versatile base for gin cocktails.

Booths is not a neutral gin. It is a very dry gin, as will be anything labelled “London dry.” In a dry-gin Martini, you want to be very careful there’s enough vermouth to offer a counterpoint. In general, between 3:1 and 7:1 gin:vermouth is a reasonable proportion for the Martini, making our 5:2 a little off the vermouthy side. Trust me when I say the gin needed it. Cocktails are a game of balances.

The classic Martini question is not, in fact, “Vodka or gin?” but, “Olive or twist?” Another way to put this is, “Savory or sour?” Which direction to bring the drink in? The Martini has many cousins which wrestle with the same issue. I opted for the twist of lemon, chiefly because I had lemons but no cocktail olives. Both are valid. The lemon version is a crisper drink, the olive one heavier. Dirty Martinis, which incorporate the olive juice, are heaviest of all.

Incidental note: I haven’t got a citrus zester, unlike our friends at Don’t Blame the Gin. I improvised the twist you see there, by cutting a lemon in half, and shaving off the rind around the edge with the knife, cutting away any fruity bits when I was done. Not too shabby a job, if I say so myself.

What happened to the rest of the lemon, you ask? Check the next update to find out…

Old Fashioned

Old Fashioned

2 oz. Bully Boy American Straight Whiskey
1/2 or so tsp Demerara simple syrup
2 dashes Angostura bitters

The Old Fashioned is the original cocktail. When the word “cocktail” was coined, it referred to a combination of a spirit, sugar, water, and bitters. In the way that Sour, Flip, Fizz, Daisy, Fix, Crusta, and so on are drink categories characterized by particular formulas, so, originally, was Cocktail.

Ordinarily, I encourage the shaking of drinks that feature syrups, but the Old Fashioned has been around longer than cocktail shakers, I say stir. It’s a rough drink, rough in the sense that Teddy Roosevelt was rough. It’s nearly all whiskey. Careful measurements and advanced mixological techniques don’t belong here.

Old Fashioneds historically were made with rye, then with bourbon for many years, and now with rye again. Rye is more complex nine times out of ten, which matters a lot when the flavor palate you’re working with comes 85% or so from the whiskey. I used Bully Boy’s American Straight Whiskey (distilled in Boston!), which is made from a mash halfway between a bourbon and a rye mash. The result is very interesting and very smooth - smoother even than a lot of bourbons, which are allegedly the sweeter American whiskey. Whatever you use to mix these, be sure it’s of decent quality, and you enjoy it. Your particular whiskey selection should be one you would sip on its own.

There is a newer school of Old Fashioneds that involves muddled fruit. These can be enjoyable, but yield a distinctly different drinking experience. I’ll cover them some other time. For now, our foray into Embury’s basic/classic cocktails is concluded. The Daiquiri and the Jack Rose will follow eventually.

Finally, a shout-out to Jon, whose Demerara simple syrup was the sugar I had on hand for this. Demerara has a rich flavor, and makes a syrup that’s almost black. It blends very well with aged liquors.

Manhattan

Manhattan

3 parts (1.5 oz.) Old Overholt rye whiskey
2 parts (1 oz.) Martini & Rossi sweet vermouth
3-4 dashes Angostura aromatic bitters

Yesterday was a snow day for me, so I decided to whip up examples of David Embury’s major classic cocktails. There are six he says everybody ought to be able to make, as a basis for cocktail knowledge, and for further experimentation. I realize I’ve put up plenty of innovations and outlandish drinks, but the really essential standby cocktails haven’t gotten much airtime. That changes now.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t make all of them. A trot out to the corner store (good on them, being open) got me the citrus I needed, but I was still short the Daiquiri’s light rum and applejack for the Jack Rose. The others will show up as I load them in, all tagged appropriately.

I started with the Manhattan, one of the most famous and most accessible classic cocktails. The Manhattan is that rare drink that is not merely more, but something else entirely than the sum of its parts. A well-mixed Manhattan does not taste like whiskey or vermouth. It tastes like a Manhattan.

The recipe you see here is a bit of a poor-man’s Manhattan. Old Overholt is perfectly serviceable, but it is bottom-shelf, by rye standards. Now, fortunately, rye whiskey is like applejack, brandy, gin, and dark rum, in that the cheapest stuff you can possibly find will be miles ahead of the glorified ethanol that comes packaged as bottom-shelf vodka, light rum, or nonspecific “whiskey.” I’ll indicate in later posts on the Manhattan what price point we’re talking about. The Manhattan, like many of the classics, falls into the “easy to learn, hard to master” category. It can be varied greatly.

For now, though, let’s talk about the poor-man’s Manhattan. Old Overholt and Jim Beam are the two cheapest ryes on the market. Expect to pay $15 for a fifth. I’ve seen them anywhere from $11 to $22, but $15 is a good estimate. I happened to have Old Overholt, although I tend to prefer the Jim Beam, which is slightly more complex. A tenth-size bottle of Martini & Rossi will hit around $7 or $8 at the most. It is the cheapest vermouth on the market, but as with rye, cheap vermouth is still plenty drinkable.

Never be stingy with the non-whiskey ingredients in a Manhattan, but especially when you’re using bargain ingredients. I say 3-4 dashes here. The bourgeois Manhattan would call for 2-3. The royal Manhattan uses such good stuff the bitters falls to one dash. The vermouth percentage also falls as the whiskey gets better - but I reiterate, don’t be stingy. If your Manhattan is drier than about a 3:1 whiskey:vermouth ratio, you’d be better off with an Old Fashioned.

The end result is extremely drinkable, and a good example of how to do cocktails on a budget. If you (and your guests) are used to drinking nothing but highballs, the Manhattan is a great transition drink. Just be careful with your vermouth, which will eventually spoil if left out. Keep it in the fridge, and you should be fine.