cocktail review no. 64 - Agwa Bomb

Cripes!!!

The last time I did a cocktail review was October 28, 2011??

That's too long. I need to re-drunkify this blog.

The trouble is, I haven't gotten the bar up and running yet. I had hoped to lay in a stock of liquor and mixers within a few weeks of moving into my apartment, but various emergencies (and fripperies) have kept my booze-budget a trifle low.

Fortunately, there's a plethora of bars in Bucheon, and they come in all shapes and sizes: dim, smoky, expat watering holes; the ubiquitous hof-and-soju joints; a smattering of hostess clubs; and even a Japanese beer bar. It was at one of the expatriate hang-outs that I had occasion to sample an Agwa bomb.

First I should explain what Agwa is, though.

Agwa de Bolivia is an herbal liqueur made from—if you can believe it—coca leaves. (It's got 30-odd other ingredients in it, ginseng and green tea among them, but those take a backseat to the main ingredient.) Yes, coca leaves—the same stuff they make cocaine and Coca-Cola out of. The cocaine alkaloids are removed during production, however, so wipe the drool off your lips. This stuff won't get you high. It's street-legal. Nonetheless, the manufacturers make a huge deal out of the coca-leaf content, hoping to fool the unaware into thinking they're drinking their way to a high. (They do the same thing with absinthe.) 

Unsurprisingly, this stuff is manufactured and bottled in Amsterdam...

Anyway, here's the recipe for an Agwa bomb:

• 1 ounce Agwa coca leaf liqueur
• 1 can Red Bull energy drink

Pour a can of Red Bull into a tall glass (or, if you can find it, one of those hourglass-shaped Agwa bomb glasses) and stir in the Agwa.

I had the shot-sized version. I'm quite glad I did, for this meant that I had only one vile ounce of the stuff to drink instead of a glassful. It was abhorrent. I have never been a fan of Red Bull (if I had known that RB was a component of this drink, I never would have ordered it). And, after several terrifying encounters with Jägermeister at college, I have learned to steer clear of so-called "herbal liqueurs." They're uniformly disgusting—like cough syrup or bitter vegetable mash. Combining Red Bull and an herbal liqueur is a monumentally stupid idea, probably conceived by some tattooed bartender in an L.A. nightclub. This concoction should be outlawed by international treaties. Fizzy anise-flavored piss-water, that's what it amounts to. I gulped down in one go and vowed never to touch the stuff again.

Before I sign off, I'd like to add that Agwa represents a disturbing trend in the alcohol world: fruit-flavored vodkas and liqueurs made from strange plants. They're utter crap. They don't mix well with anything, and taste gross when taken straight. But they're taking over, slowly but surely. At best, they're little more than bottled marketing gimmicks; at worst, they are liquid crutches for the trend-setting club-hopping crowd, made to conceal the taste of any real liquor in their drinks. Perish the thought.

Rant over. Postie out. Steer clear of Agwa.

cocktail review no. 55 - Absinthe Special

Only a select few may imbibe this, the rarest of beverages, the absinthe cocktail. Only the Alcoholic Elect, the Quintessential Boozehound, the Kings of Lushes may sample its forbidden delights.

I'm going out on a limb here, I know. But at the end of the limb there's absinthe, so at least I know that if I fall and hurt myself, I won't feel it.

The Absinthe Drinkers by Jean-François Raffaëlli

I got this recipe from the Old Mr. Boston De Luxe Official Bartender's Guide, copyright 1935. It is the last word in cocktails and mixology. These drinks have been around for ages, and only the best made it into the book. If you want a classic tipple, the likes of which everyone from Wiley Post to Clark Gable to Indiana Jones may well have sipped on, turn to Old Mr. Boston. He won't let you down.

I wasn't kidding about the "Alcoholic Elect," though. This drink takes special qualifications to enjoy. If you don't like licorice, you have no business drinking absinthe. (That's if you can even afford it: one bottle of Mata Hari Bohemian cost me $84.99.)

I'm not the biggest fan of the stuff, but I can put up with it when the situation calls for it. Especially if the situation calls for me getting my money's worth out of the deal. But be warned: if you try the absinthe special, you're going to get the full effect. Your mileage may vary, but absinthe I used is sixty percent alcohol. In 1935, absinthe was actually illegal. All the absinthe cocktails in the De Luxe Guide call for an "absinthe substitute," with a wink and a grin. The stuff's 120 proof. That's not far below Bacardi 151, folks. Prepare yourselves.

• 1½ ounces absinthe substitute
• 1 ounce water
• ¼ teaspoon powdered sugar
• 1 dash orange bitters

Shake well with cracked ice and strain into a 3 oz. cocktail glass.

The result, thankfully, does not resemble anything that came out of the southbound end of a northbound cow. Ma actually compared its appearance to "pure pineapple juice." It actually looks more like lemonade to me. But wow, it sure doesn't taste like it.

The first thing you notice is, of course, the absinthe. A powerful wave of anise sweeps over your taste buds and fills your nose with a licorice bouquet. Again, I emphasize: you no likee licorice, you no wantee absinthe. It comes on strong in this libation. After you swish the drink around your mouth a little and knock it back, you finally begin to notice the other flavors. The effect is cumulative. The water dulls the green stuff just enough so the welcome bitterness counterpoints what would otherwise be overwhelming sweetness. The sugar helps balance the bitters, though, and takes away some of the absinthe's punch. And finally, that little hint of orange is the coup de grâce.

This drink is all about the aftertaste. If you want licorice, you can just pour some absinthe over a sugar cube and call it even. If you want flavor, try this cocktail instead. Water, sugar and orange bitters back the absinthe with authority and flair.

Please binge responsibly.

cocktail review no. 46 - Sazerac

Now here's an interesting one.

Miss H and I were wandering around Victoria Gardens the other day. (It's this marvelous outdoor shopping mall down in Rancho Cucamonga.) Over on the southwest side we noticed a shop we hadn't seen before, called Anthropologie. We wandered in. Lots of scuffed wood, dry grass, pottery, and other nature-inspired décor; we assumed it was one of those places whose clothing line was designed to make everyone believe the wearer to be a famous explorer on safari in East Africa or Australia, but instead reveal on closer inspection that he or she is in fact dressed in designer labels for an afternoon out.

Nonetheless we felt the place worth checking out. Full-length linen dresses in blue or beige, trimmed in beads...straw sun hats, pre-weathered...a wicker deck chair, couch-size, with silhouetted antelopes growing out the back...blue china plates with a stylized octopus...

Ah. Here we go. This is more like it.

I found a book propped on a nicked coffee table called Vintage Cocktails.

I opened it up and found the table of contents. There were a few dozen familiar names, listed side-by-side with libations I'd never heard of in any bar, club or mixology handbook: things like "Pimm's Cup," "French 75," "Mary Pickford," and "Agave Gingerita."

Author Brian Van Flandern and photographer Laziz Hamani have, apparently, created a rough-and-ready go-to guide for all the classic highballs and mixers that ever got wildly popular or well-known at some point in American history. There was a picture in the front of the book depicting Clark Gable, Jimmy Stewart and some other heavy hitters standing at the bar, knocking back a few examples. Some concoction among these might have been the preferred tipple of Dean Martin or Frank Sinatra.

I was intrigued, let me tell you.
So I started leafing through it. Laziz Hamani should be put up in bronze, along with whoever mixed the drinks he shot (so to speak). Each full-page photo was jaw-dropping and mouth-watering; each cocktail looked good enough to dive into. The recipe (on the opposite page from the accompanying photo) was uniquely laid out too. Rather than a dull typeset font or a trite quotation or a humdrum backstory, the ingredient list and step-by-step preparation were laid out with a minimum of fuss, in giant letters, apparently written with the nearest box of crayons.

Many of them I was familiar with, due to prior interest in the pantheon of time-honored cocktails: the Bloody Mary, Cape Codder, Brandy Crusta, Between the Sheets, Moscow Mule...

And then I saw it.

Sazerac.

Now, I'd seen that name many a time in The Bartender's Bible. It was hidden up near the front of the book, at the tail end of the chapter on bourbon. Odd name. As you may have guessed, it's French. The Sazerac was first mixed around 1850 at the Merchant's Exchange bar in New Orleans, mostly likely by owner Aaron Bird, using a brand of cognac (also called Sazerac) imported by the Exchange's previous owner, Sewell T. Taylor. The original recipe called for one and a half ounces of Sazerac cognac, a quarter-ounce of Herbsaint, one cube of sugar, three dashes of bitters and a lemon peel. (Legend has it that a local druggist down the block, Antoine Amedie Peychaud, mixed up the bitters; on occasion Peychaud himself is credited with the invention of the Sazerac.) Later, due to an epidemic that devastated France's grapes, rye whiskey was substituted for cognac. In one old-fashioned glass, ice was packed; in a second glass the sugar and bitters were muddled, and the whiskey was added. The ice was then discarded from the first glass and the Herbsaint was poured in and swirled to coat the interior; then the excess was discarded. The rye/sugar/bitters mixture was then added to the coated glass (along with ice, if desired) and garnished with the lemon peel.

It's a tricky drink to compile, as you can tell. (Herbsaint?) In The Bartender's Bible,  orange peel, Ricard (anise-flavored liqueur) and Peychaud's bitters are listed among the ingredients. Vintage Cocktails, however, had it differently. Peychaud's bitters was still a factor, but absinthe could be used rather than Picard or Herbsaint. In fact, certain research suggests that the Sazerac was originally made with absinthe; Herbsaint was substituted when absinthe was outlawed in the United States some years ago.

Absinthe, eh?

I just happened to have a bottle of Czech-made absinthe sitting in my liquor cabinet at home.

This was getting more and more interesting all the time. A whiskey cocktail with absinthe, bitters, sugar, and an orange-peel garnish! I could only imagine what it tasted like. I had to admit to myself that I'd begun the long slide into jaded indifference in the realm of cocktail-drinking. I've mixed so many and sampled so much that many libations are beginning to taste the same to me. There's a great deal of variation on a select theme in the world of hooch. These days it's hard to come by a drink that tastes nothing like anything you've ever had before.

Well, this was it. Here, then, culled from the best bits of The Bartender's Bible and Vintage Cocktails, is the Sazerac I've thrown together.

• 1 teaspoon absinthe
• ½ teaspoon superfine sugar
• 1 teaspoon water
• 2 dashes Peychaud's bitters
• 2 ounces bourbon
• 1 orange peel

Pour the absinthe into an old-fashioned glass and swirl to coat the insides of the glass. Discard any excess. Add the sugar, water, and bitters, and muddle with the back of a teaspoon. Fill the glass halfway with ice and add the whiskey. Garnish with the orange peel.

That there may be no speculation, I used regular ol' Angostura bitters; Mata Hari Bohemian Absinthe; Old Crow bourbon (my favorite); and some simple syrup I'd prepared beforehand. It made the muddling rather pointless but I did it anyway. I'd still recommend Peychaud's bitters above all else; it has a lighter, fruitier element to it, more suitable for our purposes.

Oh, and one other thing: I didn't discard the "excess."

Heh heh. Life's too short to skimp on stuff like that. I figured since there'd be a whopping four ounces of bourbon in, I'd better keep what absinthe I had and liven things up a little, right?

I knew I was going to wind up with something different, but the reality of it took me by surprise. Having nearly despaired of the cough-syrup redolence of the bourbon/bitters combo, I was pleasantly surprised at the way it meshed with the rest of the conspiring flavors in this beverage. While the sugar keeps the mixture from being too bitter (for after all, Old Crow and Angostura form a powerful team), the bourbon still has its full sway, providing the nose and the bouquet and (partially) the finishing sting.

The aftertaste is what this drink's all about. I'm glad I left the absinthe in. The anise flavor comes on strong just after the bourbon passes over the taste buds, allying itself with the sugar to lend a sweet licorice undertone to the Sazerac. You mightn't think licorice would mix well with bourbon, but it does. To whatever extent the absinthe is not disguised by the bourbon overture, it melds seamlessly with the whiskey and then adds its own kick at the end. The sugar and bitters create a delicate balance and the orange peel rounds the experience off with a citrus interlude that complements the anise rather well. All in all, it's a smooth and flavorful cocktail with a sumptuous bouquet and a sweet-spicy kick at the end. 

Try it, and raise a glass to Jimmy Stewart or Dino. And buy Vintage Cocktails. Right now. Go do it. You won't regret it. It's as much art as a recipe book.

fameless shalsity

Well, I think it's about time I dropped the other shoe and clued you all in about the fibs I told before. Capische? Congratulations to all who were brave enough to take a stab at the truth. None of you succeeded.

1. FALSE. I have never read the Harry Potter series cover-to-cover without stopping. I imagine it would take me a lot longer than 27 hours if I tried (although I'm a fast reader). In college, my buddies and I did watch all six Star Wars movies back-to-back, however. It took us 17 hours. We started at noon and finished up at five in the morning the next day. And indeed, we had pizza, and had to take breaks to go run around the building. We watched 'em in chronological order: new trilogy first (bleh) and then the original (WAHOO!).
2. FALSE. I did not see Dick Cheney speak live at my college. I saw the man himself, George W. Bush. Dubya came to my college and spoke live. And I told you the truth: I was impressed by how natural he was, how poised, how sure of himself. He didn't give a speech, he made no prepared statements. And he never stuttered once. He talked firmly, loudly, and professionally. He was funny. He gibed at the Illinois professor so much that he got us all laughing. I wasn't too sure where my Social Security money was going to end up by the time Bush had finished talking, but that didn't matter. In my mind, this incident cemented the belief that poor ol' George has been unfairly and unpardonably treated by the liberal media regarding his "speech impediments" and poor public speaking skills, which, as it turned out, were nothing more than stage-fright. Give the man a break, I say. Not every president is a natural-born Abe Lincoln or an FDR. Talk to him in person before you judge what you see on the news.
3. FALSE. It wasn't Montgomery, Alabama. It was Atlanta, Georgia. Thought you wouldn't get that one.
4. FALSE. I'm hands-down-triple-Z-abso-freakin'-lutely awful at riddles. I couldn't solve a riddle to save my soul. I always wind up thinking too hard, over-complicating things, overshooting the simpler answer...or worse, not thinking far enough outside the box. You could dangle a ten-billion-dollar bill in front of my face and say, "I build up castles. I tear down mountains. I make some men blind, help others to see. What am I?" I would walk away none the richer. The only time I ever solved a riddle was a month ago; I can only attribute that to a flash of genius borrowed from another dimension. My friend J.H. called me up and asked me "What gets bigger the more you take away from it?" Lucky for him I'd just finished planting a tree. "A hole in the ground," I said, and I was right.
5. TRUE. I've been in only one real car accident. The rest have all been minor things, like backing into stationary objects. The car I wrecked was a 1986 Chrysler LeBaron, dark red finish, leather interior, low mileage. Sweet gangsta Grandma-car. It was bequeathed to me by my grandfather, who was managing my late great-uncle's estate. And I wrecked it a mere three months and 1,000 miles after getting it for free. Nice one, Postman.
6. FALSE. I can't play the Jew's harp. I don't understand the concept behind it at all.
7. FALSE. There was absinthe at my last cocktail party, purchased and served with my own hands...but I didn't taste it. I was working the next morning and didn't want to take a chance on something 120-proof. Maybe next time. I'll let you know how it goes.

You probably think I made these too difficult. Well, you're right. I'm a hard master when it comes to tests and quizzes.

I'm going to go laugh myself silly with sadistic joy now. Try to have a good rest of your day, now that I've shattered all of your illusions of being on Jeopardy!

And by the way, the answer is "sand." 

cocktail review no. 34 - Cherry Chocolate Swirl

TA-DA!

This one's another of my very own inventions. I make no claims as to its originality. The odds are that there's a drink out there exactly like it, which someone else invented, and called by a different name. Who cares? This is my version. And it was a hit, let me tell you. There was this cute little blond at my cocktail party the other Friday who absolutely loved it...

• 1 ounce cherry brandy
• 1 ounce Bailey's
• ½ ounce crème de cacao

In a shaker half-filled with ice cubes, combine the cherry brandy and Bailey's. Shake well. Strain into a cocktail glass. Pour the crème de cacao into the center of the drink and swirl the glass around a little before serving.

I didn't get a chance to taste it myself. (I couldn't drink that night, not even a drop; I had work in the morning. That's also the reason I haven't yet had a nip of the fancy absinthe John and I bought. I might cry.) However, the drink received rave reviews—particularly from that blond.

What's not to like? It's cherry brandy, Irish cream and chocolate liqueur, the best combination of cherry, chocolate and coffee-cream overtones. It'd be like a cherry Fudgsicle, only in liquid form. And with booze. Give it a shot, ladies. It's worth your while.

cocktail review no. 33 - Prince Charles Coffee

Ladies and gentlemen, it is with the greatest pleasure that we announce the winner of the hot-drink category.

It's nice and simple, too, so listen up.

• 4 ounces hot coffee
• 2 ounces Drambuie
• 2 ounces heavy cream

Pour the hot coffee into an Irish coffee glass. Add the Drambuie and stir. Pour the cream carefully over the back of a teaspoon so it floats on top of the drink.
Bar none, this is the best hot drink I've ever made. When I took that first sip, I knew I was in love. You have the hot coffee providing a strong undercurrent of basic café flavor, with the spice and sweetness of the Drambuie (all of its strong points, in other words) riding shotgun. And for a binding agent, a rich overtone and a smooth finish, we have the heavy cream.
In The Bartender's Bible, Gary Regan gives this caution concerning hot drinks:

"Don't skimp."

Example: don't use whipped cream instead of heavy cream.

As someone who has (foolishly, superficially, wantonly) substituted one for the other, I can see where Regan is coming from. The PCC was the first hot drink I've made using real heavy cream...and let me tell you, it makes all the difference. The cream floats on top of the drink like an iceberg; you have to swim under it to get to the coffee/Drambuie goodness. It's a delicious submarine adventure. You can't avoid sipping a bit of the cream with the coffee and liqueur. Taken all together, these three ingredients form a heavenly triumvirate, a powerhouse of flavor and mellow smoothness, a comforting draught of the highest measure.

Seriously, Ben & Jerry's should make this drink into one of their ice cream flavors.
In summary, the PCC is a good one, folks. Forget the prince, it's fit for a king.

Now, I have three little notices to give out once you're finished drooling. At least two are alcohol-related.

Number one, I'm hosting a cocktail party tomorrow night, the first in some months. I'm even more well-stocked than I was before, what with the Bailey's and the crème de menthe I've acquired.

But I got my hands on something else. Something really special.

Absinthe.

Oh-ho-HO yes. The good stuff, too. Mata Hari, genuine Bohemian spirit, fresh out of the Czech Republic. The licorice flavor has been toned down to allow this particular brand to be smoothly mixed; Paradise for an aspiring barkeep like me.

Many thanks to my friend John for kicking through with the requisite $85. This proves that the Beatles were correct when they concluded "I get high with a little help from my friends."

Number two, using the impending party as an excuse, I finally managed to get my hands on some Irish whiskey. Bushmills. Gonna have me some Irish coffee...

And number three, I have a job. Yes. I do. Finally. Don't know how much I'm allowed to say about it here, though, so I'll content you with the knowledge that it's full-time, pays well, comes with benefits, gives me some free time to pursue journalism on the side, and best of all—involves flying.

No, I'm not smuggling drugs up from Mexico.

Don't act like you're not disappointed.