cocktail review no. 75 - Black Devil Martini

Happy Halloween!

How fortunate that Samhain falls on a Thursday (my cocktail-reviewing day) this year. And with the time difference, this review'll show up on your computer screen in the morning, and you'll have time to rush out and buy the ingredients before your big evening spooktacular.

Here's the recipe. It's real simple:

• 2 ounces dark rum
• ½ ounce dry vermouth
• 2 black olives
• orange sugar

Stir and strain into a chilled martini glass that has been rimmed with the orange sugar, then garnish with the black olives. 

photo by Steve Murello

Let me be clear: I did NOT get this recipe from The Bartender's Bible. It's from Home & Garden Television, actually. I'm no fan of the idiot box, but if something made HGTV's website, then theoretically it must be good, right? (Or popular at the very least.)

That being said, I wasn't too sure about using dry vermouth in this drink. It's Halloween. Drinks are supposed to be sweet. Rum is sweet. Why sour a drink with dry vermouth when you could add sweet vermouth and have basically a rum Manhattan? With orange sugar 'round the rim of the glass? That sounded mighty nice to me. (I added a photo so you could get the idea.)

But I got my comeuppance. HGTV is on top of things. This is where that orange sugar comes in. That's right, folks: just as the salt around the rim of a good margarita really makes the difference, the sugar in this cocktail isn't just window-dressing. It actually serves a purpose: to temper the dryness of the vermouth with a bit of sweetness. And it works. As long as you take a nip of orange stuff with every sip, you'll be just fine. The smoky dark rum will be rounded out by tannins and botanicals, which are then balanced by the sugar. The olives at the end make the perfect dessert. Using sweet vermouth would be overdoing it.

Try it if you want, though. It's Halloween. Overkill is underrated.  

cocktail review no. 45 - Cajun Martini

Is it humanly possible not to relax, kick back and feel at peace with the world after listening to a good solid round of Jimmy Buffett?

No, it ain't. And if you want the full tropical flavor, as so many parrot-heads do, then you have to have a margarita.

But margaritas aren't the only thing Jimmy drinks. If you listen to his tunes, he mentions other libations in his lesser-known songs. Daiquiris are given a plug in "Cheeseburger in Paradise." Hurricanes are part of the chorus of "It's Five O'Clock Somewhere."

And in a largely unknown tune called "We Are the People Our Parents Warned Us About," a passing reference is made to something called a Cajun martini.

That piqued my interest. I knew Cajuns were renowned for their spicy foods, and I was already a fan of your regular run-of-the-mill dry martini. I'm also developing a fascination with spicy drinks (be they flavored with capsaicin or some other agent like nutmeg).

Donna Hole is going to hate me for this.

What the hey? I asked myself.
What the hey, indeed? I answered myself.
So I decided to go for it.

The recipes I discovered, though as various as a macaw's plumage, all had some common themes: gin (or vodka), vermouth, and jalapeño pepper for garnish. So I just decided to mix up a regular martini and garnish it with pepper slices.

• 1½ ounces gin
• ½ ounce vermouth 
• two or three slices of jalapeño pepper

In a shaker half-filled with ice cubes, combine the gin and vermouth. Strain into a cocktail glass and garnish with the jalapeño.

I wasn't expecting much. I couldn't see how a few puny slices of jalapeño could make much matter in a double martini. Boy, was I wrong. On my first sip I was punched in the face with olfactory and gustatory sensation. It wasn't heat, oh no: the capsaicin was, in my father's estimation, being metabolized by the alcohol in the gin. No, it was pure eau du jalapeño. A whack of peppery flavor hit me in the taste buds and filled my mouth with a fiery, exotic ambience, backed by the tang of the gin-and-vermouth duet. Moreover, the peppery flavor only increased the farther in I plowed. Beginning with a combustive, intense explosion of pepper flavor and finishing with a sort of mellow, inchoate zest, with overtones of coriander and lemon peel and the aromatic herbal redolence of the vermouth...well! I'll tell you what, this drink is like chewing your way through the best bits of your back garden with a hefty gulp of alcohol for a chaser. Sounds like something a hard-bitten Cajun might do anyway.

I can really see why ol' Jimmy likes 'em, Gulf-Coastal boy that he is. It's a cool, summery afternoon sort of a drink, with an extra kick to it, a challenge as well as a refuge. Something for a round of contact golf with the guys, or an opening volley in the evening's first drinking game.

Drink with caution. And have a chaser ready when you reach the bottom (the time's come to eat your garnish!).

And now, a little tune we can all enjoy with our drink, no matter what that drink may be. Bottoms up!

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. 39 - Mardee Mine

I don't know enough about the cocktail world, as each new drink I try readily informs me. Some combinations, like Southern Comfort and bitters, I've learned to steer clear of through painful experience. Tonight I added a new entry to my "avoid like the plague" list.

• 1½ ounces dark rum
• ½ ounce sweet vermouth
• 1 lemon twist

In a mixing glass half-filled with ice cubes, combine the dark rum and the sweet vermouth. Stir well and strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with the lemon twist.

I really thought rum and sweet vermouth would mix better. But no. This drink was too sweet, with the vermouth's bitter undertones providing the ultimate ruination. The overall experience, including bouquet, body and aftertaste, was horrid: sickly sweet and obstructively tart. The lemon didn't even help; it just sort of sat there in the glass, flaccid, like the corpse of a dead sea creature. I sipped on this onerous cocktail as daintily as I could stand, then bolted it at a gulp. It was revolting. It was as if I'd taken a spoonful of old, stale molasses that somebody'd sprayed Lemon Pledge on. Another day, another dollar. If I had to count up all the stinkers I've mixed and poured into myself over the years, I'd need a new set of fingers. It's learning money, like my Canadian friend says. I now never to order this one in a bar. But as always, I invite you to try for yourself. Just don't say you weren't warned.

cocktail review no. 31 - Fifty-Fifty

Whew! I think I need a drink after all this talk about family and ancestors.

I hope everybody had a good Superbowl Sunday. I sure did. It was weird to be home and watching the game with the folks. I haven't done it in two years, you see. I was away in Korea last season, and the Koreans aren't so big on football. (Excuse me, my non-North American readers; I mean gridiron.)

I also followed the season more closely than ever before. I watched as many Chargers games as I could and actually kept track of their wins and losses. And they almost made it, but not quite. Oh well, congrats to New Orleans on the defeat of those dastardly Colts.

To business! In the world of gin, there are martini drinkers, Gibson drinkers, gin and tonic drinkers, gin fizz drinkers, Dubonnet cocktail drinkers... And in the world of martini drinkers, there are straight martini drinkers; double martini drinkers; dirty martini drinkers; dry martini drinkers; extra dry martini drinkers; extra dry double martini drinkers; and even some dry double dirty martini drinkers (like me). There are also vodka martini drinkers, but we won't count them, because

they're dead inside

if brains were bees, there'd be no honey between their ears

they were born without tastebuds, genitals, or any sense of culture or refinement

they have questionable taste. Then there are the fifty-fifty folks. A "dry" martini is one that has a higher ratio of gin to vermouth; a dry martini will have, say, only three-quarters of an ounce of vermouth mixed in with the shot of gin, instead of an ounce. An extra-dry martini will have no vermouth; just gin. (Hardcore gin drinkers only!) The fifty-fifty is the antithesis of the dry martini. It possesses a more equal ratio of gin to vermouth. A fifty-fifty ratio, in fact.

• 1½ ounces gin
• 1½ ounces dry vermouth
• 1 cocktail olive

In a shaker half-filled with ice cubes, combine the gin and vermouth. Shake well. Strain into a cocktail glass and garnish with the olive.

This isn't actually a takeoff on the martini. It's an ancient ancestor, a proto-martini, as it were. Time was, martinis were consumed with an equal ratio of gin to vermouth. Only later did folks reduce the vermouth-gin proportion, creating "dry" and "extra dry" martinis.

The fifty-fifty has now faded into obscurity. Nobody drinks them anymore, so far as I know. I mixed one up once, way back in Wyoming, when I was just starting down the road to bartenderism. At the time, I thought it was awful. I had just begun drinking, though. I didn't like martinis yet, and didn't even know what to expect from vermouth. Needless to say, the fifty-fifty wasn't up my alley.

On a whim, I mixed a second one just the other night. After sitting for Lesson 3 down in Riverside last week, and then taking (and passing) the test on Saturday, I was sick of hearing about martinis and Manhattans and Rob Roys, dry and extra dry. I wanted the antithesis of dry. And suddenly I remembered my old friend the fifty-fifty. MAN, it tasted good. The stellar tang of gin was still there still. But the vermouth finally got its day in court. It layered itself like a silken veil over the gin: a spicy, herbal purdah, easing itself past the tongue to the back of the throat, underscored by the coolness and the body of the gin. It was a precisely equal partnership. The two spirits formed a symbiotic relationship within the confines of the cocktail glass, creating a familiar but now more intense flavor. The drink is easy on the draw, pleasant on the finish, delicious all 'round. I like martinis a lot better these days.

I've fallen in love with gin (good gin, mind you, like Broker's). Still, it doesn't get too much better than the fifty-fifty, folks. Try it and see. 

cocktail review no. 13 - Gibson

There are many fine lines in the world of cocktails. One of them separates this drink from the martini. First, peruse the ingredient list:

• 2½ ounces gin
• 1½ teaspoons vermouth
• 3 cocktail onions

Savvy partakers will observe little difference between this recipe and the martini's. The only difference, in fact (besides a subjective interpretation of the ratio of gin to vermouth), is the garnish. Whereas martinis are typically garnished with a green olive, a Gibson is garnished with three cocktail onions. Does that make a difference? I do believe it does. Just as the gin in a martini imparts flavor to its olive garnish, so does the olive (often marinated in vermouth or brine) impart flavor to the martini. The same is true with the Gibson. And cocktail onions (especially the Mezzetta brand, which I used) are particularly pungent, and strong in flavor. On the surface a Gibson may taste similar or identical to a martini, but trust me: it's all in the finish. Try downing three cocktail onions instead of a single green olive. I guarantee you you're in for a challenge and a treat.