cocktail review no. 51 - Old Groaner

(I've decided that I'm going to start posting these reviews on Thursdays, now, so you slobs have time to go out and buy ingredients before Friday night hits, if you so desire.)

One of the main reasons I love The Bartender's Bible above all other drinkin' books is: it concerns itself with recipes rather than methods. Gary Regan merely delineates a few basic bar-keeping tips and lists some equipment a home bartender might need, and then gets straight to the point. One-thousand and one cocktails make their home within the Bible's leaves, and you can still stow the volume in your pocket if needs be.

The recipes are stratified by liquor rather than being arranged alphabetically. There's a chapter on tequila, a chapter on rum, etc., etc. This means, then, that regardless of whatever particular tipple you might be in the mood for (brandy, bourbon, Scotch, tropical drinks, hot drinks, beer and wine concoctions, whatever), you can simply turn to that section of the book and pick a likely candidate.

All manner of hidden gems are concealed within the pages of The Bartender's Bible. The Old Groaner is one of them. For months, nay, eons I've wanted to mix and sample this one, but have not, due to a conspicuous lack of amaretto. "Old Groaner" is a strange name, and like most of the cocktails I've run across, no explanation for it seems to be forthcoming. For some reason the phrase immediately reminded me of the image above, which is actually the album cover for Led Zeppelin IV. The painting on the album cover has no name as far as I'm aware; it is merely a 19th-century oil painting purchased from an antique shop in Reading, Berkshire, England, by Zep's lead singer Robert Plant. It was affixed to the wall of a decaying urban house and then photographed for the cover of the band's fourth studio album. Zep had decided beforehand that there'd be no name, title, or any information whatsoever on that cover. They were so fed up with all the flak they'd caught for Led Zeppelin III that they decided to do something almost totally anonymous. Guitarist Jimmy Page came up with an esoteric symbol to represent his name and affixed it to the inner sleeve and record label of the vinyl album. He asked his fellows to do the same. Thus the symbolic and renowned codename of Led Zeppelin was born:

But I didn't come here to tell you that.

Let's hear about the Old Groaner:

• 2 ounces Canadian whisky
• ½ amaretto

Pour both ingredients into an old-fashioned glass half-filled with ice cubes. Stir well.

Now, I wonder: how do you, dear reader, believe a cocktail composed of Canadian whisky and Italian almond-flavored liqueur would taste?

Like whiskey and almond.

Seriously. That's it.

But that's all it needs to be. Two ingredients doesn't lend itself to gustatory variety, I know. Often, however, some species of synergy evolves from a simple blend of two or three ingredients in a cocktail glass. Nobody would expect a whiskey sour to be merely base liquor, lemon juice, sugar, and garnish. It tastes like Mount Olympus put to music.

So does the Old Groaner. There's a strong almond nose and the flavor is a moderate nutty kick, moderated by the burnished peat in the whiskey. The aftertaste is spicy and hot, all Black Velvet smoothness. The effect is intoxicating (so to speak): an amalgamation of the best that the aqua vita can offer, combined with a delicious overtone of sweet almond. 

Simple? Yes. Unoriginal? No way. Tasty? Quite. Unique? Very. Exceptional? That's up to you. The Old Groaner gets a 7 for flavor, a 10 for simplicity and maybe a 3 or 4 for inspiration; but an 11 for enjoyment. I'd thought that amaretto and whiskey weren't meant to mix; but first impressions can be dangerous. (So it's best to sample a drink once or twice or even three times, you know; it took me two or three sips to really make up my mind.) You could also try it with vodka or rum; something sweet would let the amaretto really kick through.

But who am I to judge? 

[gulp]