cocktail review no. 71 - Hotaru

Today's a red-letter day, folks: I'm reviewing one of my own creations. Not since the Potion F have I created a cocktail, much less posted a semi-objective review on this here blog. Feel privileged.

To my knowledge, nobody has (officially) crafted anything like this before, nor named it what I've named it. Don't fret, I'll explain the title presently. But before we do anything else, let's have the recipe:

• 1.5 ounces soju
• 1 ounce triple sec
• 1 ounce lime juice
• 1 lime wedge

Pour the soju, the triple sec and the lime juice into a cocktail shaker half-filled with ice cubes. Shake well and strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with the lime wedge.

Does this sound familiar? It should. It's practically identical to a kamikaze. The only difference is that soju stands in for the vodka in the original.

The taste, if I may be so bold, is marvelous. The soju performs the same function as the vodka would, soaking up the flavors of the orange liqueur and the lime juice. However, it is milder and sweeter than vodka, so even great prominence is given to the citrus flavors. And yet, the soju adds just a hint of the exotic to the mélange. You know, right away, that this isn't a vodka drink. The overall flavor was akin to a glass of orange limeade, with a mild kick afforded by the base liquor. It was infinitely refreshing and delightfully tangy. And as always, it's customizable. If you like sweet more than sour, just minimize the lime juice and add more triple sec. If you wanna pucker up, just do the reverse.

The inclusion of soju in this cocktail had a great deal to do with my choice of the name "hotaru." Hotaru is the Japanese word for "firefly." It's also the name of a film about—get this—Korean kamikaze pilots.

Tak Kyung-hyun, a Korean who gave his life as a special attack pilot for the Japanese in WWII.

Yes, they existed. I was shocked, too, believe me. But historical research has shown that a dozen or more ethnic Koreans (taking Japanese names, as per the prewar Soshi-kaimei ordinance which Japan imposed on the Korean peninsula) served as kamikaze pilots in World War II. This news story from 2008 talks about a memorial for one of these fellows, Tak Kyung-hyun, being erected in the city of Sacheon. Naturally, there was quite a bit of controversy. Some Koreans think these dudes were pressured or coerced into flying suicide missions for Japan, and therefore deserve some posthumous sympathy; while others insist that they were collaborators of the worst sort, and their memories should be stricken from the history books.

Anyway, the movie Hotaru, which came out in 2000, is about a Korean kamikaze pilot who dies in combat. His two Japanese buddies survive the war, and one of them winds up marrying his deceased friend's Japanese fiancée, and there's some awkwardness there or something. Sounded like it might be worth checking out.

Anyway, I chose the word hotaru for this beverage because "Korean kamikaze" sounded boring and basic (even if it is alliterative). I wanted something more poetic, and I found it.

Try it, sample it, roll it around your tongue for a while (both the name and the drink) and then tell me what you think. I dare you. Your personal reviews might just save my future bar. Oh, and in case you're wondering, I'm working on a couple of other recipes at the moment. I hope to bring my total of alcoholic creations up to four before the year's out.

Stay put and stay tuned, and you'll get some free samples.

cocktail review no. 65 - Bullfrog

I really need to do these more often. Apparently they're my most popular posts. I pulled off that nifty trick where you make your blog more vulnerable to search engines by labeling your posts with searchable keywords. Worked like a charm. I've had thousands (literally thousands) of hits on some of my travel posts, and hundreds more on the cocktails.

But I've been going out on a limb lately with the latter. I've reviewed lots of weird drinks that ordinary people at home would never be able to make, 'cause they don't have a fully-stocked liquor cabinet like mine. No Drambuie, no Blue Curaçao, no Lillet, no Rose's lime juice, no crème de cacao, nor any of that fancy stuff.

So tonight's recipe is nice and simple.

Behold the bullfrog:

• 2 ounces vodka
• 1 teaspoon Cointreau or triple sec
• 4 ounces lemonade
• 1 lemon wedge

In a highball glass almost filled with ice cubes, combine the vodka, Cointreau and lemonade. Stir well and garnish with the lemon wedge.

Easy, right? (You don't even need a shaker!) And it's not a hideous clash of sensations like so many other drinks I've reviewed. Vodka, the "necklace of negatives," soaks up flavors rather than challenging them, and the mixture of Cointreau (orange liqueur with a hint of pear) and lemonade makes for citrus-based synergy. Thereby the libation winds up flavorful, just a tiny bit sweet, not too sour, and delicious all around. An adult's glass of lemonade, that's what this drink is. It's seen me through many a summer evening, and satisfied many a skeptical girl who thought strawberry daiquiris were the bee's knees.

Try it yourself. If you liked the Moscow Mule, you'll like this.

cocktail review no. 50 - Boston Sidecar

Having delineated the Sidecar, it behooves me to give honorable mention to one of its more popular variants, the Boston Sidecar.

• 1 ounce light rum
• ½ brandy
• ½ Cointreau or triple sec
• ½ lemon juice

In a shaker half-filled with ice cubes, combine all the ingredients. Shake well and strain into a cocktail glass.

This is delicious. Normally it's tough to find a drink variant (a play on the original, often adding or subtracting an ingredient) that's not merely "good" or "interesting" but is actually an improvement upon the original.

In Postie's book, the only "developments upon the original" which I've ever truly liked are (a) the dirty martini, (b) the Colorado bulldog, and (c) the Boston sidecar.

I explained the taste of a regular ol' Sidecar to you in the previous review: sweet with a sourish kick at the end, heightened by the warmth of the brandy. Picture that in your mind, and add another wallop on top of it: a powerful overtone of rum. This changes the game completely. Whereas before the lemon juice and triple sec were the dominant players of the game, here they have been relegated to second fiddle, only not in the exclusive and humiliating way in which most things are relegated to second fiddle. They still harmonize, still play their part, still provide a vital backdrop to the rum's lead role. And the brandy isn't overwhelmed either: it exchanges heating duties for complementing the rum, and does a good job of it.

The cumulative effect of all this is that you get a slightly sweeter, cooler drink, which lends itself less to the after-dinner scene and more towards the back porch on a summer evening. And you get extra booze. What's not to like?

cocktail review no. 49 - Sidecar

Anyone for a brandy?

I'm not sure how much of these cocktail reviews you, dear reader, actually absorb. I'm not sure whether I'm reporting on the right drinks, either. The ones I've put up here are far from popular. They're not even that well-known anymore. Generally I try to go for classic drinks, with a good smattering of the most odd and esoteric cocktails I can find. I think I've accomplished that goal quite well. Of course, if you already know your classic drinks, you're bound to find these reviews sterile and pedestrian. In that case, I suggest you skip 'em and go find the oddball reviews. If, by chance, you don't know what a gimlet or a sidecar or a Moscow mule is, then by all means, pull up a chair, pour yourself a round and have a listen.

This here is another classic. 

• 2 ounces brandy
• ½ ounce Cointreau or triple sec
• 1 ounce lemon juice

Combine all of the ingredients in a shaker half-filled with ice cubes. Shake well and strain into a cocktail glass.

A great many good drinks got their start in the hotel business. A fancy hotel is a veritable spawning ground for high-class libations. (The Moscow Mule, as you'll recall, was first incepted at the Chatham Hotel in New York, depending on who you talk to.)

In this case, the Ritz Hotel in Paris claims authorship of the Sidecar; supposedly they first served it around the end of World War I. (I suppose there must have been a proliferation of motorcycles and sidecars in Paris at that time; although, in hindsight, the drink might just as well have been named the Rusty Tank or the Horse's Ass.) The first Sidecar recipes appeared in 1922, and legend has it that it contained several more ingredients than listed above, at first; but these were "refined away." Experts claim that the Sidecar is simply a Daiquiri with a  brandy base rather than rum, and triple sec in place of sugar syrup; but any fool could tell you that.

It certainly tastes nothing like a Daiquiri. Irrespective of the clam chowder and peanut butter sandwich I was consuming as I sipped on it, the Sidecar has a tart nose and a dry, sweet, fruity sort of flavor that almost reminds one of a reisling or some other dulce vino. The lemon juice and triple sec make a citrus blast which overrides and yet compliments the firm warmth (this is an R-rated cocktail review) of the brandy. And what's better, it's got only three ingredients. This means the libation passes the "Dad test" (Pop doesn't believe any drink with more than three ingredients is worth a tin shit). By proxy, it's also insanely simple to whip up.

Get some quality brandy (I'd recommend cognac, or perhaps something aged a little longer than your standard Christian Brothers) and some Grand Marnier, and you'll have yourself a fine old sip some evening when you're playing bridge with Mr. and Mrs. Kellerman.

cocktail review no. 48 - Cactus Bite

Blast it all, I'm late!

The proof that certain potables garnered their abstruse appellations from their components is seldom obvious.

Translation: It's tough to tell sometimes why a drink got the name it did, going by the drink's ingredients.

Why, for example, would a drink composed of Russian vodka and (often) Rose's lime juice be called by a Japanese name?

Why should a libation comprised of Scotch, lemon juice, triple sec, grenadine and an egg white be labeled "Swirling to the Beat of the Haggis Wings"?

Uh, I dunno...the Scotch in it?

That seems pretty flimsy to me.

The reverse is also the case. On occasion, you'll run across what appears to be a "themed" drink: something tropical, with lots of fruit juices or syrups in it, or perhaps something named after a country, whose ingredients conjure up a consistent, vivid mental image. And, lo and behold, said cocktail will contain an oddball ingredient which seems totally out of place.

The incongruousness of the thing might jar you right out of your seat (if the alcohol you've consumed hasn't done that already).

Take the Cactus Bite, for instance.

What's wrong with this picture?

• 2 ounces tequila
• 2 ounces lemon juice
• 2 teaspoons Cointreau or triple sec
• 2 teaspoons Drambuie
• ½ teaspoon superfine sugar
• 1 dash bitters

In a shaker half-filled with ice cubes, combine all of the ingredients. Shake well and strain into a cocktail glass.

Which doesn't belong here?

If you said "the tequila," please turn off your machine and go jump in a lake. If you said "the Drambuie," congratulations! You win a cookie.

Tequila, as we all know, is made from agave. Agave is not cactus. The two plants aren't even in the same family. But since most desert plants are spiky and the cactus is the most famous of these, the term "cactus juice" has become shorthand for mescal. They have deserts and cactus aplenty in Mexico, and tequila is something Mexico is famous for. So there you go. Obviously this is a Mexican-themed drink. Tequila? Of course. Lemon juice? Yes, you can order a rather nice fillet of tilapia with lemon juice, hecho en Mexico. Triple sec? I don't see why not. They have oranges, too. Sugar and bitters? Not all that conspicuous.

But wait...Drambuie?

Drambuie is aged single-malt whisky, mixed with honey and a blend of spices. It's made in Broxburn, West Lothian, Scotland.

Huh?

What's that doing in a cocktail with a name like "Cactus Bite"?

Where does Drambuie fit into a libation with tequila in it, for crying out loud?

Madre de Dios!

Well, since you asked, I'll tell you. It's doing the same job as wood glue in a rocking chair, or molasses in brickwork. It's not an essential ingredient, but it does help bind everything together. Tequila has its own hot brand of spiciness, to which is added a sour kick (the lemon juice), a sweet citrus undertone (triple sec and sugar), and an aftertaste which is sure to pucker your face inside out (bitters and lemon juice). This would dull the tequila immensely if the Drambuie didn't come winging in from left field during the third inning.

The bases are loaded. Two outs. Drambuie steps up to the plate, poised on the back of your tongue, ready to hit a homer and make it all the way round the bases. He swings and connects. Whack! Whoa! Nobody in the stands saw this coming, folks! Who'd a thunk it? Drambuie comes from nowhere, shoring up Tequila's loss of heat with a little Scotch fire of his own, honey and herbs ensuring that the prior run of Bitters, Sugar and Cointreau didn't go to waste. All four runners make it home, one after the other. The crowd goes wild.

Final score: you have a cocktail which balances spice, sweetness and sourness in equal measure. If you're interested in flavor, but don't want to adulterate the liquors with too many mixers, this may not be the cocktail for you; I'd suggest beefing up the Drambuie and tequila. On the other hand, if you prefer not to taste booze in your drink (shame on you!) simply reduce the ratios and you'll have a sweet-sour summery sort of beverage, fit for sipping on the back porch or kicking your shoes off at the local club.

Oh, the heck with it. What am I saying? You're old enough to judge for yourselves what kind of damn drink you want. I've done my part.

The rest is up to you. Sip a Cactus Bite and enjoy.

cocktail review no. 36 - Swirling to the Beat of the Haggis Wings

As I've previously delineated, the Golden Rule of cocktails is this:

More than three ingredients = massive suckage.

There's a corollary which follows:

More than three words in the name of the drink = you're on your own, buster.

Some drinks out there have feckin' weird names. Like so:

• Much Fuss for the Conquering Hero (sweet vermouth, applejack, apricot brandy, pineapple juice, lemon juice, orange bitters)
• Shooing Away the Tribes of the Night (dry vermouth, brandy, triple sec, Ricard, cherry brandy, bitters, cherry, orange slice)
• Evans Rescues the Damsel of Garstang Tower (sweet vermouth, dry vermouth, gin, strawberry liqueur, orange bitters)
• Strong-Armed Chris Returns to the Den (dry vermouth, sweet vermouth, maraschino liqueur, cherry, white crème de cacao)
• A Night in Old Mandalay (light rum, añejo rum, orange juice, lemon juice, ginger ale, lemon twist)
• The Sacred Mountains of the Pekingese Cloud Gods (dry vermouth, Southern Comfort, orange juice, blue Curaçao)

I have to admit, based on the ingredients, most of these drinks don't tickle my fancy. But every so often, I run into a drink that has such an odd name that I just have to try it. It doesn't even matter what the components are. The drink could be fried horse dung mixed with Komodo dragon spit and I'd still be interested. One evening in Korea, a long, long time ago, I was flipping through The Bartender's Bible on a lonely Friday night, wondering what my evening tipple was going to be. I flipped a page and— SWIRLING TO THE BEAT OF THE HAGGIS WINGS —I knew I'd found my destiny.

• 1½ ounces Scotch
• 1 ounce lemon juice
• ½ ounce triple sec
• 1 teaspoon grenadine
• 1 teaspoon egg white

In a shaker half-filled with ice cubes, combine all the ingredients. Shake well and strain into a cocktail glass.

You remember what I said earlier about egg whites? I was well aware of this cardinal rule before I made this drink. I mixed it up knowing full well what I was about to do to myself. But I didn't care. The phrase "haggis wings" conjured up such a ridiculous and awe-inspiring image in my head that I plunged recklessly forward without any thought to methods or results.

The results wound up being better than expected, but still poor. The mixture of (blended) Scotch and lemon juice is never a bad thing. It's just an unsweetened version of a whiskey sour. The peaty flavor of the whisky and the sourness of the lemon juice are a perfect complement. Triple sec isn't a stretch, either: the semi-sweet orange flavor buoys up the already-considerable citrus presence. Grenadine, however, is pushing it. Now we've got three fruits piling in on each other, and their battle for primacy obscures the Scotch. (I mentioned earlier that three fruit juices was the upper bound, didn't I?) Top this off with the egg white and the drink's transition from a steady glide to a fiery crash is complete. Egg whites make drinks slimy and foamy, ruining consistency. I've never met a drink with an egg in it that I liked. Of all the egg-drinks I have sampled, though, this was the least odious.

Try it if you dare. But don't say you weren't warned.

cocktail review no. 8 - Kamikaze

Dad and I managed to procure a ridiculously inexpensive one-liter bottle of Smirnoff at Albertson's the other day, so now the whole section in the Bartender's Bible concerning vodka drinks is open to me. And here's a particular favorite of mine, and an absolute classic:

• 1½ ounces vodka
• ½ ounces Cointreau or triple sec
• 2 teaspoons Rose's lime juice

Pour the vodka, the triple sec and the lime juice into a mixing glass half-filled with ice cubes. Stir well and serve. This is the more refined recipe. The original called for a shot of Stolichnaya vodka and a bit of lime juice, and was supposed to be gulped in one go. It was designed to get a person drunk but quick. This version turned the Kamikaze into a sipping drink. 'Course, my bottle of Rose's lime juice is probably about 18 months old now, so it's a little past its prime. It's turning yellow and has a slightly fermented flavor. Nonetheless it did the trick. This drink is flavorful, smooth and eminently sippable (is that a word?). The taste is something akin to limeade; subsequently this cocktail makes a great summer drink. A lot of people, including yours truly, complain about vodka as being flavorless and nondescript. As Gary Regan so wisely noted, however, that is part of the real beauty of vodka: it allows you to flavor it to your heart's content.