Splificator

It should be borne in mind in all this that nothing was so common, in the 1870s and 1880s, as a dash of absinthe in a Cocktail (it went into plain Cocktails, Manhattan Cocktails, whatever). See, for example, this bit from the Brooklyn Eagle in 1884: I think it was the general trendiness of the ingredient, rather than anything peculiar to New orleans, that made the Sazerac start putting absinthe in their Cocktails.

I'm afraid I've got no earthly idea what it would taste like or how it would be different, but different it would be. There's only one way to find out, isn't there....

Precisely. Going by the figures, they were evidently making a very, very conservative cut--letting the heads, the first, funky and semi-toxic stuff come off the still and also a good amount of the heart before drawing off what they wanted, and then they'd take very little and leave the rest of the heart in with the feints. In other words, they were letting a lot of good alcohol go unused. And, 31kt, extinct is my guess, too. If I had a large still I'd be tempted to give it a try, particularly with the milk and the eccentric small grains. Edited because "milk" is not the same as "mild"

Hmmm. Allow me to quote from William Pokhlebkin's excellent A History of Vodka (New York: Verso, 1992): Pokhlebkin goes on to give some figures as an example, which show that initilally a good deal less than 45 percent of the wort was drawn off (which makes me think there may have been some problems witht he translation of the above). Start with: "1200 litres of mash, containing 340 litres of grain and rye malt and 12 litres of beer yeast." Draw off: 3.5 buckets, or 42 litres, of "simple wine." Redistill this, with the "then obligatory addition of about a bucket [12 litres] of milk." Draw off: "15 litres of good, pure grain spirit." Add: "the traditional third part of water" Final yield: "20-litres of top-quality vodka." So. Rye, with "small but vital quantities of barley, buckwheat, oat flakes, wheat bran and cracked wheat," with rye malt and yeast to start fermentation, made with soft, untreated (and clean) river-water, distilled with a very strict cut, redistilled with milk with another strict cut, diluted with that same river water and filtered through beech charcoal (the most expensive and the best). That's your Tsar-style vodka.

I don't think there is all that much more to say about this. From what I can tell, until the very end of the nineteenth century, when the Russian government stepped in and subsidized a lot of techological improvement in vodka-making, the distillate would have been richer but less clean than what came later; until the switch to wheat began in the 1870s, rye was the dominant grain, but small amounts of buckwheat, oats, wheat, and barley were used in the mash. Nonetheless, the use of heavy charcoal filtration would have meant that the spirit was still relatively neutral in flavor, but it would have retained a nice, fat texture.

The lead-pipe cinch giveaway here is the Zaza: the French play of that name opened in Paris in 1898; David Belasco's Broadway version, after which the cocktail was assuredly named, opened in January, 1899. Edited for wieldiness.

Evander Berry Wall was the "King of the Dudes," a ridiculously overdressed New York dandy who was a member of the original Turf Club (q.v.) and knew everybody. He lived to a ripe old age, and published a chatty, utterly charming autobiography, Neither Puritain Nor Pest, in the 1930s. From the teens on, he lived in France. He rocked.

Damn it, George, you keep finding all my good "discoveries." Keep it up and there will be no point in me publishing a book on this stuff. :-). Paul/limewine is right on this one--there's no connection. For what it's worth, there seem to have been at least three gents at the time calling theselves "Jack Rose." And yes, as far as I can tell the drink was a popular one around town. It's not so strange, is it, that there would be a bunch of grenadine sours appearing on the scene at the same time? Look at all the pomegranate Cosmos/Margaritas/Daiquiris/Martinis etc. you see now. Grenadine was, over here, anyway, a hot new ingredient.

See, this is the harm that excessive self-promotion causes. Harry Johnson was definitely a skilled and experienced bartender. His stint at the Little Jumbo was remembered fondly in later years by many a Bowery sport, and he even was hired by millionaires to teach their valets how to compound cocktails. If he had been content to list his very real accomplishments, without all the bombast and pugnaciousness, there would be no questions raised. "Keep it low to the ground," as Judge Hay used to tell the performer on the Grand Old Opry. Good advice.

That lady does do her research, so I am sure it is reliable. Plus, I am sure I saw a Gary Regan reference to Harry Johnson being in Nawleans. Theodora is definitely a reliable source; I shall have to ask her. Johnson himself claims that he won a bartending prize in New Orleans in 1869 against the best bartenders in America. (Has any other reference to this famous contest ever been found? Let's just say that not even the Police Gazette, which invariably covered such doings, mentions it. In any case, the Turf Club cocktail in the G. Winter guide is far more likely to be from New York than from anywhere else, seeing as the company is from new york and the recipe appears right next to the Manhattan. Also, that 1882 newspaper article which mentions the whiskey-and-vermouth Turf Club cocktail is about doings in New York (note also that a drink made with sweet vermouth and a young whiskey and one made with sweet vermouth and Old Tom gin will not necessarily be easy to tell apart once you've added bitters, dashes of curacao, etc.). Christ, he'd have been a bloody nightmare! He once had the gall to claim that they didn't drink cocktails in New York until he introduced them in the 1870s. Right.

Since Punch was the laboratory where all the basic principles of mixology with spirits were developed, and labs are all about trying things out, there's no one answer to this question. For Regent's Punch, the two most authoritative early recipes call for green tea. But black tea was frequently used in Punch, and no tea at all even more frequently. Punch had a 200+ year history as the dominant social beverage with spirits, and a lot can change in that many years. All I can suggest is trying things out. Over the past six or seven years, I must have made at least 100 bowls of Punch according to old (i.e., 17th-19th century)recipes, and I have yet to have one turn out badly. Some are better than others; indeed, some are positively ambrosial. But even the worst ones are still fully palatable.

Wait a minute. Isn't that the site of the building that A Voce is in? I've frequently ordered Manhattans at the bar there -- without having the slightest idea that I was at the site where that cocktail was invented! ← If A Voce is in that steel-and-glass monstrosity squatting at the southeast corner of Madison and 26th, indeed it is. But when the Manhattan was invented, the Manhattan Club was at 5th Ave and 15th Street--it didn't move into the Jerome mansion until the late 1890s, after a stint in the A.T. Stewart mansion on 34th, across from what is now the Empire State Building.

Huh. He can't have stayed there long. Here's what he says about his life: That hostelry was most likely the popular Little Jumbo on the Bowery, while the business of his own was probably his bartending school (I don't think he had ownership of the Little Jumbo, since it carried on without him just fine after he left in 1887. But I'd be curious to see more on this New Orleans sojourn. The fact that he didn't mention it in his autobiographical notes suggests that its results were not all that he wished.

The Turf Club, aka the "Tough Club," was a rather louche gambling club for New York blueblods that occupied the Jerome mansion, occupied much later by the Manhattan Club. ← Why would Harry Johnson make a cocktail, while working in New Orleans, for a Club in New York? Wouldn't he have been making a Turf Club cocktail for the Turf Club in New Orleans? if NOLA had a Turf Club. And by Turf I would assume it meant something to do with Horses and Jockeys. ← Harry Johnson was in New York from soon after the Chicago fire in the 1870s until he retired to Germany around 1901 or 1902. If he was in New Orleans, it was very early on.

The thing about Punch, back in its heyday, was that gentlemen frequently mixed their own; it wasn't something to entrust to an underling. Dickens had a whole Punch ritual;, and there's a great anecdote about Coleridge mixing up a bowl and then breaking things. Fun for all. I should warn you, once you get your social circle habituated to real, old-school Punch, they will ask for more. And more. Eventually, you will be feeding them things like Regent's Punch: Regent's Punch (This is my recipe for George IV's favorite tipple, triangulated from two different recipes of the period.) Using a vegetable peeler, peel two lemons, two small oranges and, if possible, one Seville orange (these are difficult to find and their season is extremely short; try www.citrusranch.com), avoiding as much as possible of the white pith. Juice the lemons and the oranges, straining out the pulp. In a large, sturdy bowl, muddle the peels with four ounces Demerara sugar until the sugar becomes impregnated with the citrus oils. Make a pint of green tea (using two tea-bags or two teaspoons of loose tea). While this is still hot, pour it into the bowl with the peels, first removing the tea bags or straining out the loose tea. Add the citrus juices, along with eight ounces VSOP cognac, two ounces dark, heavy rum (I like Inner Circle, Coruba or Gosling’s), and—here’s the problem—two ounces Batavia arrack.* Then add two ounces of pineapple syrup, which you have cleverly prepared the day before by cubing a ripe pineapple and soaking it overnight in a simple syrup which you made by bringing two parts Demerara or turbinado sugar and one part water to a simmer, stirring constantly, and letting it cool (use just enough to cover the pineapple and strain it through a fine sieve when you’re done; it’ll keep for a few days in the refrigerator). Now add a large block of ice; you can order these from your local ice company, or make it yourself (follow eje's instructions, above). Finally, after everything has sat for long enough to catch a chill, gently stir in one bottle of brut champagne or, if you’re feeling flush, two. Your punch is completed. It should serve about eight people. *For the arrack: www.macha-rum.de has worked in the past. Otherwise, a mix of two parts Wray & Nephew white overproof and one part Neisson amber rhum will work reasonably well, although by no means perfectly.

Erik-- As a confirmed and inveterate Punch-maker, I can only say Bravo! One note: I usually handle the lemon-peel question by peeling lemons with a swivel-bladed peeler, trying to keep the peels as whole as possible (easier to remove) and muddling them with demerara sugar, to which I will add the hot tea (if I'm using tea), which dissolves the lemon-impregnated sugar.

The earliest Turf Club recipe I know is from the G. Winter Brewing Company's cocktail book from 1884; it calls for Old Tom gin and Italian vermouth (but then again, there's a rather confused 1882 newspaper article that says the drink is made with whiskey and vermouth). The Turf Club, aka the "Tough Club," was a rather louche gambling club for New York blueblods that occupied the Jerome mansion, occupied much later by the Manhattan Club.

Wild Turkey 101 Rittenhouse Bonded Old Forester Bonded Booker's Ancient Ancient Age Sorry...couldn't resist the drive-by snark. And the Luksusowa is quite good, in my opinion.

The "75" Cocktail appears in the original, 1922 Harry's ABC's, written when he was still at Ciro's in London. (Recipe is essentially as in the later Harry's book). He only says that "This cocktail was very popular in France during the war, and named after the French light field gun)." Henry's on Rue Volney was the bar for American expats to drink at before Harry's; it opened some time in the 1890s and ran until Henry's suicide in, I believe, 1918. It was famous for its bartenders and its cocktails. It was right around the corner from the bar that would become Harry's. But enough trivia.

That should read "soixante quinze" and "gloom raiser." What I've always find most interesting in that dayotherwise-tantalizing little article is that it closes by stating that "Inside half an hour the other day Frank purveyed 40 of these [Monkey Glands], to the exclusion of manhattans and martinis." If he made all of those personally, awesome bartending chops, no?

I went on Sunday (the 30th). A quick pros & cons: Pros: Pleasant, friendly service. Tasty pulled pork. Excellent sides (the mac & cheese in particular). Beer (nice, small selection). Cons: Beef ribs could have used longer in the oven--but then again, we sjhowed up right when they opened. You don't want to show up too late, though, as they've been selling out of food well before closing (and the beef ribs were fantastic the next day after we put 'em in the oven for awhile longer).

Yep--here's how he introduces it: "As a grand finale to cocktails based on rum, I give you one of my favorites which I have named after my favorite community." (1948 edition) Liz-- As far as I know, David Embury was Westchester's second most famous mixologist; his book, however, is hardly bursting with liquid tributes to the county, this being the only one. The county's most famous mixologist was Jerry Thomas, but he only lived there briefly in the 1880s and never commemorated it with a drink, that we know of. Oh, well. And yes, George, this is very like the Floridita's Golden Glove. Personally, I prefer my Daiquiris nekkid.

Cease racking your brain. What you're looking for, I believe, is the "Larchmont,' created by David Embury and named after the New York City suburb in which he lived. Here's his formula: "1/2 part Sugar Syrup 2 Parts Lime Juice 2 Parts Grand Marnier 6 Parts White Cuban Rum Shake vigorously with crushed or cracked ice and strain into chilled and frosted cocktail glasses. A twist of orange peel may be dropped into each drink for decoration if desired."

Let's just say I advised them on it.

I.B.F. #1 was indeed McIntyre--good guess! McElhone was #2 and Petiot was #3. Petiot could have worked there longer--the bar was open before 1923, it was just in other hands--but two years is plenty. Back to the Salty Dog--Norris Anderson was covering the Marines in China (he went on to edit the USMC newspaper during the war and was with Ernie Pyle on the day he was killed), and, according to E. B. Sledge's powerful and thoughtful memoir, With the Old Breed, "salty" was an epithet attached to Marines who had been long in the service, particularly in Asia. Hmmmm. The earliest reference in my files for the drink, from the Santa Fe New Mexican, June 1951, makes it with gin. Jessel uses vodka. Not sure which came first. (There's also a tequila version--the forerunner of the Paloma--from the late '50s.)