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. 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.