cocktail review no. 63 - Planter's Punch

Tropical drinks are a rum do.

A wealth of visual imagery and context and light and sound and feeling and fury lie bound up in those two words.

Most people immediately think of tiki bars, and rum bars, and tropical bars, and beach bars, and barbecues and summer nights and sambas and limbos and rumbas and tangos and lambadas when you say "tropical drink."

They think of tattooed women caked with makeup, drinking way too much and wearing way too little, easy prey. "Oh, I can't taste the alcohol, it's fair game for me!"

They think of paper umbrellas, and friends staggering on the street, and loud clubs, and garnishes almost too gaudy to be edible, pineapples and cherries and pomegranates and God knows what else. "For Christ's sake, where's the booze? This tastes like fruit juice!"

They think of outlandish names, monikers fit for the Sheriff of Nottingham, Vlad the Impaler, Robespierre, Ceauşescu, Shiro Ishii: the Zombie, the Scorpion, the Tidal Wave, the Green-Tailed Dragon of the Maroon Morning.

Maybe that last one's a stretch, but it's imposing regardless.

There are a few hardy folks, however, who don't subscribe to the trendy, hip, club-going, bar-hopping, street-puking, alley-humping "in-crowd." Some of us out here in the ether still dream of seaplanes, hammocks, palm fronds, zebra stripes, native girls, ukeleles, volcanoes, howdahs, bungalows and sprawling plantations while we sip tropical drinks.

I do, anyway.

And this drink, Planter's Punch, made every daydream I'd ever had about a voyage to the South Seas or a passage to India or a beach house in Cuba come galloping to the forefront.

• 1 ounce dark rum
• 1 ounce light rum
• ½ ounce orange Curaçao 
• 2 ounces fresh orange juice
• 2 ounces pineapple juice
• ¼ ounce fresh lime juice
• ½ ounce simple syrup
• dash of grenadine
• dash of Angostura bitters

Shake all ingredients well with ice and strain into a glass. Garnish with an orange slice and a cherry. Top with club soda.

I need to tell you about a little book I found at Anthropologie.

The book, the acquisition of which cost me fifty-three U.S. dollars, is the jewel of my bartender's collection.

It's called Vintage Cocktails.

Part of Assouline's line on travel and culture and fine dining, the book features photography by Laziz Hamani, who is better known for his pictures of Louis Vuitton handbags than alcoholic drinks.

That should give you some idea about how lush the photography is.

As Brian Van Flandern explains in the introduction:

"The word vintage often implies antique, a relic from the past that has come back into vogue. Not to be confused with the classic cocktail, the vintage cocktail conjures images of specific places in time when a particular cocktail gained global popularity. Many of the recipes featured in [Vintage Cocktails] survived the devastating years of Prohibition (1920-1933) while others, like the Brandy Crusta (created in New Orleans in 1852), boast legacies of over a century."

What we have in this book is a collection of cocktails that are very old, mostly unheard of these days, known to only a few old-fashioned drink-meisters, mentioned frequently in black-and-white films, sometimes seen on those giant prints that Red Robin loves to put up on its walls. Nobody drinks this stuff anymore, but once you taste it, you may never go back to your Scooby Snacks and Blow Jobs. These names conjure up images of dimly-lit mahogany bars, and brightly lit ballrooms, and yachts, and verandas, and red carpet and movie stars and black-tie affairs.

The Sidecar.

The Brandy Flip.

The Gin Mule.

The Dry Martini.

The French 75.

The Sazerac.

The Irish Coffee.

The Stinger.

The Sloe Gin Fizz.

The Pousse-Café.

The Hemingway Daiquiri.

The White Russian.

Between the Sheets.

Pimm's Cup.

And all the rest of it. You can just see a bunch of Hollywood's greats lounging around in tuxedos, sipping on these masterpieces. (And indeed, there is a picture in the front pages of Vintage Cocktails showing Clark Gable, Van Heflin, Gary Cooper and James Stewart, tuxedo-clad, enjoying a "drink and a joke" at a New Year's Eve party in Beverly Hills.

Wowzer.

So these drinks (with a few exceptions) have a long, epic history, steeped in tradition and class, endowed with unimpeachable reputations, crafted from the finest ingredients, and savored by some rather legendary human beings.

One of these is—you guessed it—Planter's Punch.

And it has earned its place on the list of vintage (and classic) cocktails.

I've had tropical drinks before. Lots. I like 'em. Makes me feel a little closer to my idols (Ernest Hemingway and Bartholomew Roberts come to mind). But I've never had one like Planter's Punch. It is a doozy. For once, the pineapple juice does not overpower or undermine. It smoothly backs up the orange juice and complements the sour kick of the lime, while its best qualities are brought out by the simple syrup. The simple mix of light and dark rum creates both a smoky undertone and a sweetly alcoholic finish which entrances nostrils and taste buds alike. (Some recipes for Planter's Punch include three or four kinds of rum; this is, I believe, an unnecessary and wasteful practice.) The bitters balance out what would otherwise be overwhelming sweetness. The grenadine provides both a textural solidarity and a slight cherry undertone that creates, in my opinion, the perfect tropical flavor. Many tropical drinks taste foully or overwhelmingly of pineapple; some are sickly sweet; others dilute the booze to fantastic degrees. The Planter's Punch does none of this. The addition of orange juice and orange Curaçao provides just the right amount of orange overtone (supplemented by the lime) without submitting to or adulterating the other sensations.

Sorry, I'm gushing.

Putting it bluntly, I think I've found my favorite tropical cocktail.

But, as always, don't take my word for it.

cocktail review no. 54 - Tidal Wave

If the Zombie made you feel like one of the undead, this drink will make you feel like you've been hit by a—

Well, figure it out for yourself.

Spring is here, and summer's right around the corner. It's finally getting warm here in the desert (seriously, I thought it'd be cool and windy forever). In light of this fact, I reckon I'll start reviewing more tropical drinks. Something for you schmucks to sip while you sit on your back porches (or in your Sky Bus, if you're the Pollinatrix).

• 1 ounce light rum
• ½ ounce dark rum
• ½ ounce gin
• ½ ounce vodka
• ½ ounce tequila 
• 2 ounces pineapple juice
• 1 ounce orange juice
• 1 teaspoon grenadine
• 1 cup crushed ice

Pour all of the ingredients into a blender. Blend well and pour into a collins glass. (The Bartender's Bible adds "Stand well away from drinker!")

How's that recipe shake up your spinal column?

Of course, me being the adventurous lush I am, I doubled the recipe. I'm not content to sip out of a collins glass; I filled up a tumbler with this concoction, six ounces of hard liquor in total. And man, I started feeling it on the third sip. It's a power-pack, and it kept me happy the rest of the evening. The taste was redolent of the Zombie, only with less fruit juice and more booze. The orange juice was well backed by the sweetness of the pineapple, with just a hint of syrupy cherry supplied by the grenadine. The vodka and gin took on these fruity flavors, with the rum providing some sugary spice and the tequila a bit of fire. The result is a fruity drink which any red-blooded American man might not consider too feminine for his tastes.

You might need a glass of water afterward, though. Or possibly a tidal wave.

cocktail review no. 42 - Scofflaw

It's about dang time we got back into whiskey cocktails. It's cold and we've gotta keep warm somehow.

Before I begin, I'd like to give you a little lesson in etymology. Why? Because I'm an English minor. And I enjoy expanding my vocabulary. And I think everybody ought to enjoy expanding their vocabulary. And I have a blog, which means I can get my perverse, power-mad, diction-crazed jollies out and you all have to sit there and take it.

"Scofflaw" is an archaic and nearly extinct word denoting a person who routinely flouts the rules, especially where paying debts and answering summonses are concerned. Got a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Sounds like a word you'd find in one of those charming old British children's books with talking animals in it, like The Wind in the Willows or something.

"It seems Toad has wrecked another motorcar," Mole said sadly, shaking his head, "and the magistrate increased his sentence after he gave the policemen some rather bad cheek."
"That dratted Toady!" Rat exclaimed. "He wouldn't have half the troubles he does if he wasn't such a scofflaw."

Anyway, I'm afraid I have no clue about why the term "scofflaw" was applied to this cocktail. I didn't even get the recipe out of The Bartender's Bible (for once). It seems Mum was poking around the Net and came across a list of rare and antiquated cocktails: the scofflaw, the monkey gland, and the aviation cocktail being some of the most prominent. She printed it out and showed it to me, and expressed her interest in sampling them. I would have whipped one up for her right then and there, but each of the drinks required an oddball ingredient. Aviation cocktails must have maraschino liqueur (the rarity of this beverage almost spelled doom for the drink); monkey glands take Pernod or Bénédictine (in some versions, it's absinthe); and a proper scofflaw needs a dash of orange bitters. An orange bitters differs from ordinary bitters in that, yes, as the name suggests, it's been infused with orange flavoring (usually the peels of Seville oranges).

It's extremely rare stuff, orange bitters. It was hard to find in the U.S. for quite some time. It's not something you can just walk into a liquor store and pick up, usually. But I got my chance on December 11, when Mom, Dad and I went down to Ontario Airport to pick up my brother H, back from college for Christmas. His flight was delayed, so we stopped off at BevMo. For the uninitiated, BevMo is similar to Sam's Club or Costco...only it sells booze, booze, and nothing but booze. Their wine selection would put the Count of Monte Cristo to shame. They have enough craft beers to choke a horse. And their spirit repertoire is second to none, and at pretty decent prices, too. Dad picked up a few bottles of his favorite gin (Broker's), as well as some 12-year-old Glenlivet; and I spotted a bottle of Cutty Sark for an unbelievably low $16.99 (speaking of Scotland). But the golden horn came when I perused the mixer section. There it was, a bottle of orange bitters, bottled by Gary Regan (the author of The Bartender's Bible) no less. Six dollars and forty-nine cents. I'd made some pretty decent tips that weekend at the café, so I jumped on it.

And last night, I went ahead and mixed up a scofflaw.

This concludes the etymology lesson.

• 1¼ ounces rye whiskey
• ¾ ounce dry vermouth
• ½ ounce lemon juice
• ½ ounce grenadine
• 1 dash orange bitters
• 1 lemon twist

In a cocktail shaker half-filled with ice cubes, combine the whiskey, vermouth, lemon juice, grenadine, and bitters. Shake and strain into a cocktail glass. Squeeze the lemon twist over the drink.

I didn't have rye whiskey, but I've been told that stuff ain't much different than other grain whiskies. So I just substituted some Black Velvet instead. And I'll tell you, for having a long list of disparate ingredients, this drink came out very well. Not even the dreaded whiskey-bitters combination (which usually produces cough syrup) could mar the flavor. This drink tastes almost like cherry lemonade, people. The juices and syrups are up top, providing an inviting nose and a less-than-subtle bouquet. The tang and bite of the bitters and whiskey (respectively) supplement this first impression, and yet also provide a dynamic counterpoint, creating a suitably hard-bitten undertone to please those who prefer a robust libation. In a nutshell, this is a pleasant cocktail with a unique flavor...and a bit of a kick. I'd recommend it to anyone, young or old, male or female, Kramer or Newman.

cocktail review no. 40 - Tequila Sunrise

Jeez, I haven't done a cocktail review since before I left for England! It's about time I got this column back up and running.

I'll make it easy on you folks who are just joining us, and some of you who might have been away for a while. This isn't some über-complex tropical drink with fifteen ingredients; an apéritif with a name longer than your arm; or any obscure cordial. This is just a nice, simple, easy, and aesthetic cocktail.

And a damn good Eagles tune, too.

• 1½ ounces tequila
• 4 ounces orange juice
• 2 teaspoons grenadine

In a mixing glass half-filled with ice cubes, add the tequila and orange juice. Drop the grenadine into the center of the drink.

In essence, you're taking advantage of a very simple property of liquids: density. Because grenadine is more dense than orange juice, it settles down and lays on the bottom of the glass, forming a thin red layer below the yellowish-orange of the orange juice. The result, if you're not a total klutz, exactly resembles the hues of a typical Southwest sunrise.

Pretty neat, huh?

The libation itself is a timeless classic. The orange juice perfectly offsets the tang of tequila, without obscuring it completely; while the grenadine adds subtle berry overtones and a sweeter finish. It's a spicy-sweet kick, especially on a hot summer's day (though maybe not at sunrise).

Unlike most of the other cocktails I've posted up here, I've heard vague rumors of the tequila sunrise's origin. Apparently there was this bartender somewhere in Arizona who stayed up drinking with his customers all night. The bar owner came in at dawn and demanded to know what in hell the bartender thought he was doing. The bartender, though thoroughly drunk, snatched up some ingredients, poured them, and told his boss he was busy working on a new drink. The owner tried it and was so impressed that the bartender kept his job, and the drink became a legend.

Variants include the Tequila Sunset (where blackberry brandy is substituted for the grenadine, lending purplish evening tones to the beverage); and the Tequila Moonrise, one sweet mother of a cocktail (containing a whopping seven ounces of alcohol) with tequila, light rum, dark rum, lime juice, lemon juice, sugar, and ale. I used to serve those up as the starting round at my cocktail parties in South Korea. That got us in the mood right quick.

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. 23 - Double Standard Sour

And so, as the Eve of the New Year approacheth, I shall bestow upon thee the benediction of delicious cocktails. Let there be booze! Like gin and whiskey but don't want to limit yourself to one or the other? There's a cocktail for that.

• 1 ounce blended whiskey
• 1 ounce gin
• 1 ounce lemon juice
• ½ teaspoon superfine sugar
• ½ teaspoon grenadine
• 1 maraschino cherry
• 1 orange slice

In a shaker half-filled with ice cubes, combine the whiskey, gin, lemon juice, sugar, and grenadine. Shake well and strain into a sour glass. Garnish with the cherry and the orange slice. This seems a good candidate for New Year's Eve because it's really like two drinks in one. It's a mildly evil combination of a whiskey daisy and a martini. You can taste the gin and the whiskey both. This is a sweet and sour cocktail, like the whiskey sour, but with the gin sting to remind one of the martini, and some grenadine to add some bizarre cherry flavor out of left field. Just be warned: thanks to the grenadine, this drink is pink. (And slightly cherry-tasting.) Guys: if you're comfortable enough in your masculinity to not care if you're drinking a pink drink, try this cocktail. Ladies: go for it. You might like it.

cocktail review no. 7 - Barkis is Willing

I've bloviated frequently about cocktails which, in my opinion, have too many mixers in them, which obscure the flavor of the liquor upon which they are based. I believe I have now found a cocktail which has made me recant that view, or at the very least given me reason not to regret said obscuration.

1½ ounces light rum

1 ounce lime juice

1 teaspoon grenadine

½ teaspoon superfine sugar

2 ounces club soda

2 ounces ginger ale

1 orange slice

First, mix the rum, lime juice, grenadine and sugar in a shaker half-filled with ice cubes. Strain the results into a collins glass almost filled with ice cubes, top with the club soda and ginger ale, and garnish with the orange slice. (As always, all my recipes for drinks and cocktails come from Gary Regan's excellent reference book, The Bartender's Bible.) This is excellent stuff. It's fruity, yes, but it's damn tasty. The ginger ale, lemon juice, grenadine and sugar combine to form a singular flavor that create an overture for the rum's subtle undertones (even despite the fact that the rum itself can hardly be tasted in its own right). Thanks to the combined efforts of the ginger ale and club soda, the drink is pleasantly fizzy in addition to being flavorful. The orange slice provides just the right touch of extra sweetness. In all, it's an exceedingly pleasant experience, perfect for a warm summer evening...and people of all tastes in drinks.

cocktail review no. 3 - New York Cocktail

Third time's lucky, they say. The last two cocktails I've reviewed haven't gone over so well. The Gates of Hell was a complete flop; Viva Villa sustained my interest for a time, but was ultimately a letdown. So, without further ado, let's hear about the New York Cocktail. Honestly, where do they get these names? I've had the Nevada Cocktail, the Havana Cocktail, even the Kangaroo Cocktail, and there's nothing in any of those monikers that gives a clue to the contents of the drink. Let me therefore alleviate the suspense:

• 2 ounces blended whiskey
• 1 ounce lemon juice
• ½ teaspoon superfine sugar
• ½ teaspoon grenadine
• 1 lemon twist

In a shaker half filled with ice cubes, combine the whiskey, lemon juice, sugar and grenadine. Shake well, then strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with the lemon twist.

It came out pink. That unnerved me. I've had some bad experiences with pink drinks, particularly the Jillionaire. However, my fears were (for once) unfounded. This drink is mild but tasty. That whiskey-lemon juice combo is hard to beat. The grenadine isn't overwhelming and the sugar provides a nice back beat. This one's a keeper. Just don't judge it by its cover...rather like you wouldn't judge the Big Apple now, right?

from frontpagemag.com