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.

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.

It's Real

Ladies and gentlemen, I can confirm that the book has taken physical form: my copy of Distilled Knowledge arrived this weekend!

I spent months trying to imagine what this moment would feel like. I gave up (often), because I really had no parallel for it. I would often joke that seeing my name on the cover would make me certain that someone had made a mistake, that my name had gotten slapped onto somebody else’s book somehow. I say, “joke,” even though some part of me probably thought that might happen. I really, really had no idea what to expect.

I’m very happy to report that the feeling I actually experienced when I opened the box and saw my copy of my book was absolute, unbridled joy. Have you ever hugged a book? Literally hugged it. Squeezed it into your chest like it would dissolve into your body. I have. Books are harder than people, but it still works.

I could ramble on about this forever, but I won't. Instead I'll answer some of your possibly-burning questions, after which I'll give you the recipe for the cocktail I devised the night I found out my copy of Distilled Knowledge was in the country and on its way to me.

Does this mean I can get a copy now, too?
Not yet! Unless you're reviewing Distilled Knowledge for a publication or something like that. This is a small initial order for reviewers and people who worked on the book.

OK, so when and how do I get a copy?
October 4th is still the landfall date. If you want to pick up a copy at your local bookstore, it should be available from then on.

If you want to order a copy online, you can do that now, although it still won't arrive before 10/4. Distilled Knowledge is available for pre-order through Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

What if I want a signed copy? Where can I order that?
You can't order a signed copy per se. If you order a regular copy or buy one at your local bookstore, I'll be happy to sign it whenever you, I, and it are all in the same room.

You can also come to a book signing, and either buy a book there or bring one for me to sign! Our schedule of promotional events isn't out just yet, but I can say we're planning to focus on Boston and New York, where we'll be doing a bunch of events from October until the last drop of interest has been squeezed from those cities' populations. Other events throughout the Northeast are reasonably likely but have yet to be scheduled.

If you live in other parts of the country (or in other countries), I hope we'll be able to do events near you, but it will depend to some degree on how well the book is doing, and I don't expect we'd be there before 2017.

How do I know when promotional events are happening, and where, and whether they're signings or cocktail lessons or something else entirely?
Sign up for the Herzog Cocktail School Mailing list! That is, by far, the surest way to get information about upcoming events. You can even choose to just receive information about Distilled Knowledge.

Sign up here: http://www.herzogcocktailschool.com/contact/

Is there, like, a one-stop shop where I can get any Distilled Knowledge information I could possibly need at once? That will be regularly updated as new information comes in?
You bet! It's right here: http://www.herzogcocktailschool.com/distilled-knowledge/

You said something about a cocktail?
Frequently, yes!

Here you go:

Publication Cocktail
1 1/2 oz. Rittenhouse 100º Rye
1 oz. Angostura Amaro
1/4 oz. Maple Syrup
2 Dashes Crude "Sycophant" (Orange & Fig) Bitters
Shake with ice. Strain into a chilled coupé glass.

Note: This drink is definitely inspired by Angostura's Waffle Shots, which I encountered at Tales of the Cocktail last summer (and which are the primary reason I own Angostura Amaro in the first place). Waffle Shots consist of Angostura Rum, Angostura Amaro, and maple syrup, mixed together in a wide-mouth cup, with a quarter of a waffle dusted in powdered sugar and dunked into it. I can think of no better breakfast item for a tailgate, ever.

The Waffle Shot is a richer, heavier drink than the Publication, which ends up being very whiskey-forward thanks to the Rittenhouse and gets a nice bit of brightness from the bitters. The drinks are also distinguished by the presence or absence of waffles.

Camberville

Camberville

3 oz. Harpoon Summer
2 oz. Privateer True American Rum
1 oz. St. Elder liqueur

Serve with ice.

We have a good local distillery scene in New England, but the brewery world is a force to be reckoned with. That meant I played with beer and cider cocktails quite a lot during my local-ingredients challenge.

Harpoon's summer ale was nice and refreshing on its own. Add rum for body and elderflower liqueur for complexity (and, admittedly, a bit of sugar), and you've got a relaxing long drink for mid-July.

St. Elder is produced in Somerville, Mass., which is what inspired the name. "Camberville" is the nickname for the area along the Cambridge-Somerville border - which, as any map will tell you, is about as arbitrary a line as you can get.

St. Elder, while we're on the topic, is of comparable quality with the better-known St. Germain, but retails for half the price. I think it actually pairs better with aged spirits than its pricier cousin does. If they sell it in your area, I highly recommend getting a bottle.

Pusser’s Painkiller #2

Pusser’s Painkiller #2

2 parts Pusser’s rum
3 parts pineapple juice
1 part orange juice
1 part cream of coconut
Rim glass with nutmeg

Did you know Tommy Bahama has a restaurant as well as a clothing line? Neither did we. And it really isn’t bad. This Painkiller #2 came from their establishment in Wailea, Maui.

Unlike other numbered cocktails, all versions of the Painkiller have the same list of ingredients. The number tells you how many parts rum to use - the standard Painkillers being Nos. 2, 3, and 4, according to Pusser’s website:
http://www.pussers.com/t-painkiller.aspx

If you followed that link, you’ll notice we used a different recipe. The drink at Tommy’s was less sweet than you’d expect with four parts pineapple juice. Three seems more probable. Our version of the recipe comes from Art of Drink:
http://www.artofdrink.com/drinks/cocktails/pussers-painkiller-cocktail/

The post on the other side of that link gives a good run-down of the recipe’s history, too. If you’re going to make this drink, take Darcy’s advice and don’t skimp on the nutmeg. A little dash of Yankee winter flavor really brings out the tropics in this one.