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.
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.
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
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.
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