- Mixology -

There are two bottles in my cabinet that, despite my high hopes for them upon purchase, have been virtually untouched beyond my first just-home experiments. They are the relatively-new-to-market, once-mixologist-trendy, now-somewhat-estranged, elderflower liqueur from France, St. Germain; and the relatively-new-to-our-market, more traditional, bitters-style aperitif from Italy, Aperol.

The former is of amazing quality and promise, yet has mostly led to cloying cocktails with flavor profiles amounting to, "Tee hee, elderflower liqueur!" Its difficult mixing properties have, it seems, been noted by the mixologist community: after an initial flurry of excited reports and attempts, near release, it's been almost ignored. The latter has been around a while, though is somewhat new to the US. It's billed by many as a lighter, more accessible Campari, and has been used to varying success mostly as a substitute for its older brother by those of delicate constitution. In my own estimation, there is a strange artificiality to its flavor profile when tasted neat, almost reminiscent of orange Kool-Aid, that was off-putting enough for me to dismiss.

I found it rather shocking, then, that the potential of both was illustrated to me for the first (and, so far, only) time together in a single cocktail. The surprise is mitigated by its esteemed author, Paul Clarke. Unfortunately, he's yet to name the cocktail. I got permission to post it with a temporary name, derived from his original blog post, and will update my references once he names it officially. He hinted that he may address the cocktail, and its name, more fully at the upcoming Tales of the Cocktail event, in New Orleans.

The Done Yet

• 1½ oz Gin
• ½ oz St. Germain
• ½ oz Aperol
• ½ oz Lemon juice

Shake with ice, strain into cocktail glass, garnish with nothing.

The gin, lemon, and Aperol battle against the intrusive power of the St. Germain, to the result of a pleasant truce of flavors. This cocktail is light, balanced, and terribly easy to sip, or even to gulp. I would classify this as neither an aperitif nor a digestif, but rather a tea-time drink: refreshing and best enjoyed on its own rather than in anticipation of, or recovery from, a meal.

Paul Clarke has my compliments for devising, in my opinion, the as-yet only cocktail to make excellent use of these two tricksters.

I was conflicted on entering this round of MxMo in two ways. First, I am in the midst of a cross-country move, and arguably could use my time more wisely. Second, the cocktail I wish to enter could, also arguably, be disqualified on a technicality. The first argument lost strength in the wake of the thoughtful, nourishing glass of wine (or two) that accompanied dinner. The second, well, while Anna requires cocktails mixed with "a sweet alcoholic beverage infused with fruits or fruit flavours," which rules out kirsch, my entrant's star player (it's completely dry), she later lists kirsch as an example of such, which rules it right back in, even if she maybe meant maraschino. In short: count me in.

This cocktail is the result of several evenings of intense mixological experimentation, over the course of the past month. I bought a premium kirsch for my last entrant, the Singapore Strait Jacket, and was so impressed with its potential that I sought out more kirsch-based cocktails to sample. The pickin's, as they say in my soon-to-be home state of KY, were slim. This led to my aforementioned experimentation and, ultimately, to this delightful, roguishly dry cocktail.

The Black Forest Epistle

• 1½ oz Gin
• 1 oz Kirsch
• 1 tsp Frangelico
• ¼ tsp Absinthe

Stir with ice, strain into cocktail glass, garnish with nothing.

I initially arrived at the above sans absinthe (which you can substitute with pastis, if you must), and it was very promising, but needed flavor marriage. I turned to the traditional tool for the job, bitters, but none gave the cocktail that perfect balance found in all the greats. Then, on a lark, I tried a dash of absinthe, and, in green fairy style, magic ensued.

I am prepared to claim this as a great cocktail. Also, fairly unique for its focus on kirsch. I fervently hope you'll give it a try and post your feedback! Don't do it for me; do it for yourself.

I recently -- and, yes, as a serious cocktail hobbyist it's past due -- received the lauded new book, by David Wondrich, Imbibe!, plus a ridiculously long subtitle, of course. The book is equal parts a biography of that treasured, historical, and seminal bartending figure, Jerry Thomas, and the wonderful annotations and essay-like opinions of the estimable David Wondrich himself. It's quite possibly the most important book on cocktail history since, well, since Jerry Thomas' own book, written in 1862.

The book is wonderful, and certainly a must-read for anyone interested in classic cocktails and their history. The recipes it contains are mainly known, although never in so clear and organized a format, and never with the helpful comments and exhaustive research of David Wondrich. However, towards the end, it includes a small collection of original, modern cocktails contributed in Jerry Thomas' honor by a handful of prominent mixologists. I was immediately drawn to try the contribution by Robert Hess. His writing (mostly here) was the first to inspire me in this hobby, and the other creation of his I've tried, the Black Feather, is a masterpiece of balance and sophistication.

The Rochester

• 2 oz Rye
• 1 oz Dubonnet Rouge
• ½ oz Licor 43
• ¼ oz Absinthe
• 2 dashes Angostura bitters

Stir with ice, strain into cocktail glass, garnish with a lemon twist.

This cocktail immediately reminded me of a far-better-balanced version of the Waldorf, and, indeed, the recipes are quite similar. Dubonnet is basically a vermouth, and thus the main difference is a smaller amount of absinthe balanced by the mellow tones of Licor 43. The result is still, as expected, an absinthe cocktail, but it's far more balanced than the Waldorf, which is a bit of a slap in the face -- not unpleasant if you're in need of one! Any case, the Rochester is my new go-to cocktail, for absinthe. The Waldorf has met its match.

I can't actually offer any insight into the name or motivation, except its being a tribute to Jerry Thomas. Aside from its publication in Imbibe!, Robert Hess hasn't written about it, nor anyone else blogged about it, as far as I could discover. I hope to hear more of it soon. It's certainly a new regular in my rotation!

This is my first time participating in Mixology Monday, the once-a-month activity that brings all the cocktail blogs together to focus on a single topic. The new topic is "Limit One," thanks to our host this month, Rick, at Kaiser Penguin. I was pleased not only to dig up an interesting and eligible cocktail but, in fact, to have discovered a new entry in my top five cocktails. What a wonderful surprise!

My selection is actually just a footnote to a different cocktail, in Ted Haigh's Vintage Spirits & Forgotten Cocktails. I was reading over The Straits Sling, and liked it up until the soda water. I don't usually stock soda water, and don't typically enjoy cocktails with it present. An aside at the bottom of the page caught my eye: "By the way, if you leave out the soda water and strain the drink into a cocktail glass, it makes a wonderful cocktail -- one that I call the Singapore Strait Jacket." Now we're talking cocktails!

I've been interested in exploring the cherry eau de vie, kirsch, recently, and so the deal was cinched. My first attempt, pictured below, used the kirsch I had on hand: Maraska. The cocktail was excellent, but I noticed this on the bottle:



I think Maraska forgot to look up the definition of an "eau de vie," before producing their version. I went out in search of a true kirsch, and was extremely pleased to find Etter, which is simply amazing.

The Singapore Strait Jacket

• 2 oz Gin
• ½ oz Kirsch
• ½ oz Benedictine
• ½ oz Lemon juice
• 2 dashes Angostura bitters
• 2 dashes Orange bitters

Shake with ice, strain into cocktail glass, garnish with a lemon twist.

Please ignore the bottle of Maraska, in the photo. This should be made with as good a kirsch as you can find, as it makes a huge difference. These tasting notes were made while sipping the cocktail as made with the Etter, which I can't recommend highly enough.

The dry, black cherry notes hit first, and quickly deepen into dark fruits and herbs. The finish begins with a surprising hint of banana and then lingers with the bitters' pleasant balance and authority. I've never had a cocktail with such defined, distinct phases or perfectly-balanced flavors and aromas. This is an instant favorite and needs way more attention from the community.

This has inspired me to try more kirsch-inclusive cocktails, so if you know any good ones, please leave a comment!

I began the evening with a desire to post a more obscure cocktail, perhaps something not yet covered by other mixology blogs. And so I turned to Charles Baker's classic, Jigger, Beaker, & Glass, originally published in 1939 and more elegantly titled The Gentleman's Companion, Vol. 2. This book lists so many old, unique, wonderful-sounding cocktails, each accompanied by a whimsical, Wodehouse-esque relation of its discovery by the aristocratic CB who, indeed, comes across as a well-traveled and American version of Bertie Wooster. Alas, the cocktails are much better to read then to sample. I've mixed a solid ten which seemed promising and have each time been disappointed by the unbalanced, unappealing flavors that resulted. I repeated this futility tonight, dumped the offending cocktail down the drain, and turned to the more rewarding pages of Vintage Spirits & Forgotten Cocktails.

Having been so impressed by the Twentieth Century, which was the brainchild of the United Kingdom Bartender's Guild, I turned to another of their cocktails: the Avenue. This cocktail, like the Twentieth Century, was first published by them in 1937, in The Cafe Royal Cocktail Book, now sadly out of print.

The Avenue

• 1 oz Bourbon
• 1 oz Calvados
• 1 oz Passion fruit nectar
• 1 dash Grenadine (real)
• 1 dash Orange flower water

Shake with ice, strain into cocktail glass, garnish with a carnation.

Upon first sip, this cocktail does not have the masterful balance of the Twentieth Century. I am going to need to update this post later with a second attempt, however, as I think it has the potential with a few tweaks. The flavors strive for balance but fall just short.

First, it's just slightly too sweet; I intend to reduce the amount of nectar to ¾ oz, or even ½ oz. Second, the orange flower water, an aspect I was anxious to experience, is not present; I'll up the amount to two dashes. Third, the grenadine does not add much to the recipe and was, I suspect, included for coloration; I'll eliminate it to bring down the sweetness. I'll also make the garnish a lemon twist, both for the zing and because I don't stock carnations.

Keep an eye on this post for the update, probably tomorrow evening.

Update

I've tried to tweak unsuccessful (as perceived by me) recipes before, mainly those scrounged from the above-mentioned Jigger, Beaker, & Glass, and have never managed their redemption. I am thrilled to report myself a cocktail messiah, at last, if only for tonight! My final tweaks to the Avenue elevate it to a balanced, interesting cocktail, at least to my palate.

This is excellent. I used George T. Stagg for the bourbon, and I think the cocktail would lose some of its character and depth with anything else. An easier-to-get substitute might be Eagle Rare, which touches less powerfully on some of the same notes. You may note I wound up leaving the grenadine in: I tried it both ways, and found that it does add a subtle, stewed-fruit flavor that plays well with the brighter passion fruit. Also, despite increasing it to two dashes, the orange flower water is difficult or impossible to taste, although it's present in the nose. It could be safely left out if unavailable.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, the lemon twist garnish adds a lot to this cocktail. The technique and importance is well-known to the community, but just in case: be sure to cut the twist above the finished cocktail, so that the sprayed essential oils fall onto the surface of the cocktail. Like in so many other cocktails, it makes a huge difference here. Leave the carnation in your buttonhole!

After many months of periodic searching, I've finally found the new Rothman & Winter Creme de Violette, here in San Diego. Creme de violette, another of those old, once-lost-now-found liqueurs, has been unavailable to American mixologists for over a decade. Unlike absinthe, it's even difficult to find a way to import it online, leaving serious mixologists with many old cocktails that simply couldn't be made authentically. At least one cocktail, however, maintained some popularity sans violette: the Aviation. Yet, according to the initiated, an Aviation without violette is a whole other, inferior cocktail. Even the name Aviation is surmised to come from the properly-mixed cocktail's subtle, cloudy-blue, sky-like coloring.

Just recently, Haus Alpenz has begun importing a reportedly-excellent creme de violette from Austria, made by Rothman & Winter. I've been searching for it in vain, in San Diego and online, for the past year. At last, I have my very own bottle. I can finally begin to explore the violette cocktails, and I can finally mix a true Aviation. However, Gabriel Szaszko, of cocktailnerd.com, has introduced a new controversy to the Aviation! He's challenged the commonly-accepted notion that Luxardo, rather than Stock, is the most suited maraschino liqueur to the cocktail. I think this is because he favors Gary Regan's recipe, with its 1:½:½ ratio, which is far heavier on the maraschino than the traditional recipe, below. This recipe is from the earliest known record of the Aviation, as reported by the Robert Hess.

The Aviation

• 2 oz Gin
• ½ oz Lemon Juice
• 2 tsp Maraschino
• 1 tsp Creme de Violette

Shake with ice, strain into cocktail glass, garnish with cherry.

Mmmm, but was it worth the hunt, really? Yes, yes, undoubtedly! I enjoyed the Aviation sans violette, but always felt it was a maraschino showcase -- a little one-dimensional, a little funky. The violette adds the third dimension. This cocktail, the true Aviation, achieves that fine, thought-provoking balance of flavors that marks the culinary cocktail. I had stopped mixing Aviations sans violette once the novelty of the maraschino wore off. Now, the Aviation is back on the menu.

Jamie Boudreau, over at Spirits and Cocktails, recently posted his experiments with the Waldorf, specifically testing the new-to-market absinthe, Taboo. His review of Taboo was interesting, but I was more interested in a cocktail that uses a full ounce of absinthe!

For those who don't know, absinthe is quickly regaining use amongst mixologists, and is even legally back on the market in many countries, including the US. The only absinthe legend that remains true is that it's a quality and complex spirit. It's a bulldog, though -- easily the most strongly-flavored spirit on anyone's shelf -- and is usually only used in dashes. Even in dashes, it tends to dominate a cocktail over ounces of other spirits. To see an ounce listed in a cocktail is akin to seeing "pour yourself a shot of absinthe and cancel your appointments for the evening."

Much to my surprise, this cocktail manages the absinthe better than expected. I've never tried Taboo, so perhaps, with it, Jamie's proportions are balanced. To my taste, the absinthe is still too dominant. I decided to try different proportions, and was pleased with the result.

Waldorf

• 1½ oz Bourbon
• ½ oz Absinthe
• 1 oz Sweet Vermouth
• 3 dashes Angostura Bitters

Stir with ice, strain into cocktail glass.

This is a bit more balanced while maintaining a strong absinthe focus. Even so, with a less powerful bourbon than Stagg, which I used, I might consider tapering off even more on the absinthe. This might also be due to the strong, traditional absinthe I use, Jade 1901. A lighter absinthe might well work better with Jamie's proportions, I don't know. I do know this is the perfect cocktail for someone who loves absinthe.

Ted Haigh's novelty-sized book, Vintage Spirits & Forgotten Cocktails, is required reading for any mixologist. Although many of its cocktails aren't quite forgotten to the hobbyist, his writeups are informative and his tweaks to the recipes are balanced. I've mixed about half the cocktails, so far, and have found none so exciting as the Twentieth Century. This cocktail balances its far-disparate flavors almost by magic.

Twentieth Century

• 1½ oz Gin
• ¾ oz Lillet Blanc
• ¾ oz Creme de Cacao (white)
• ¾ oz Lemon Juice

Shake with ice, strain into cocktail glass, garnish with lemon twist.

This cocktail was invented and named back when the twentieth century was something to boast about. Actually, it was named after that marvel of engineering, the Twentieth Century Limited. Ted Haigh says this cocktail tastes like Art Deco. I agree. My favorite cocktails are time machines to the past. This cocktail is a steam-powered time machine with gentle curves.

The creme de cacoa is what interested me, upon first reading the recipe. I can count the number of good cocktails using cacoa on one hand. I can count the number of great cocktails using cacoa on one finger: this cocktail. The chocolate is just a subtle afterthought. It tastes like opening your grandmother's spice cupboard and getting a whiff of her baking chocolate amongst the other smells.

On that note, I mixed my latest Twentieth Century using Aviation gin. Aviation is a quality gin, but its flavor profile is difficult to mix with. Its coriander and cardamom notes are almost overpowering in many cocktails, including gin's signature Martini. Aviation works beautifully in this cocktail, however. My only regret is having to use Hiram Walker creme de cacoa. It's deuced hard to find good creme-style mixers, in the US. Please let me know if you have any tips.

Another year, another Lunar Policy. Except this time it was two years. This one, however, is inspired not just by the desire to fiddle with a new web design, but by a seemingly-enduring new hobby of mine: mixology. The problem with past Lunar Policies was their subject matter: me, personally. I'd usually rather type that stuff up to amuse a friend in an email than post it depersonalized. For that reason, while there will be some, you won't see a lot of personal posts on this Lunar Policy. You'll see mixology.

What's mixology? Mixology is the art and history of the culinary cocktail. You see, cocktails used to be an artform on par with the culinary. These days, they're junkfood-inspired, one-dimensional, and sickly-sweet. They're candy for adults who never matured. A sophisticated adult prefers a cocktail with a subtle, often difficult, but always balanced flavor profile. These are what mixologists pursue through the rediscovery and application of past techniques. To do so, they must collect or concoct many old and uncommon spirits, liqueurs, and bitters. The hobby, then, is a pleasant mixture of research, collection, experimentation, and, of course, the enjoyment of a well-mixed cocktail. Cheers!