Splificator

It wouldn't have occurred to me, either, until I came across it enough times to realize that a) it wasn't a typo b) it wasn't a joke and c) I should try it. There are a couple of rum/gin combos in the "Jamaican Jollifiers" section of the Old Waldorf-Astoria Bar Book that, it turns out, work pretty nicely. Did the subway token make it into your final product, Sam? Without it, though, yours definitely sounds like one of the Old Waldorf drinks, which ain't a bad thing. And slivovitz? Why not? I should be a mensch and go out and buy some. --DW

Okay, so after some lab work I've come up with my contender. Before I get into it, though, here are the criteria I was working with: 1) It should have five ingredients (for the Boroughs, natch) 2) It should reflect both New York's rich past and its dazzling future 3) It should reflect New York's ethnic and cultural diversity 4) It shouldn't be a minor variation of a pre-existing cocktail 5) You should be able to assemble it in a New York minute 6) It should taste good So... The Subway Combine in cocktail shaker: 2 oz Plymouth gin 1/2 oz aged Dominican or Puerto Rican rum (for the Express) or dry sherry (for the Local) 1/2 oz unsweetened coconut water Shake well with cracked ice and strain into chilled cocktail glass that has been rinsed with Punt e Mes; position a mint leaf on top, as it it were Central Park. The gin is for history: it reflects the city's Dutch/English past and it used to be popular with the African American community. The Asian/Caribbean/tropical coconut water is for the future. The rum and sherry are Hispanic and the Punt e Mes is Italian. That leaves the emerald-green mint leaf for the Irish and, I'm afraid, nothing for the Jews, unless we can agree to consider the mint a bitter herb. As for criterion 6, others will have to judge. When's the shake-off? --DW P.S. You can get the coconut water in Hispanic or Asian groceries, or there's a new, high-end brand that's starting to show up in health-food stores and the like. The rum I used was Brugal anejo. Edited to remedy crappy proofreading.

I assume that it would. But here we must ask ourselves: do we want a slight coppery flavor? Ladies and gentlemen of good will may be permitted to differ.

Won't the drink take care of all of that?

I hope you're not suggesting: 1 oz genever gin 1 oz London dry gin 1 oz Irish whiskey 1 oz tamarind juice 1/2 oz Falernum 2 dashes Strega Shake well with cracked ice, strain into chilled large cocktail glass, float 1/2 oz of pisco on top and garnish with slice of rum-pickled ginger? (On the other hand, I've probably had worse. Those Brass Monkeys, for one.) I'm not convinced that an adaptation of the Manhattan and/or the Brooklyn would be the best way to go, if only because that's so often the way things end up in New York: Manhattan and, to a lesser extent, Brooklyn claim they're speaking for everyone, while Queens, the Bronx and Staten Island don't have any actual say in the matter. The apple-infused rum sounds like a better idea, although if it's gonna be a Subway cocktail you've got to be able to catch it in a hurry. --DW

Oh yeah, and on second thought, the applejack? Since its other name is "Jersey Lightning" and it is, or was anyway, the state spirit of New Jersey, I think it must be disqualified from the competition. Strictly for "farmers," as New Yorkers used to call everyone from the Garden State, no matter what their employment. (Not that I harbor these attitudes myself, mind you, but one must take history into account.)

The first thing I ever drank on the subway was a Heublein "Brass Monkey"--a really very nasty bottled cocktail (do they still make them?)--that a group of city teens was drinking from styrofoam cups and thoughtfully offered to share with me and my girlfriend, who were in from the 'burbs looking for fun. We found it. For me, anyway, the Brass Monkey will always have a claim to the Subway Cocktail title, as will the tallboy in the brown paper bag, the ass-pocket bottle of Jack Daniels (also from high school) and the blunt. But such things aside, I like the rye/applejack/lemon combination, but that does seem like an awful lot of Chartreuse, as much as I like Chartreuse. Another New York spirit is genever gin (what with Manhattan being Dutch and all). Perhaps something with genever, tamarind (which brings in both Asia and the Caribbean) and sherry (Latin America)? If I didn't still have an afternoon's worth of writing to do I'd start mixing some drinks. We may have to have an in-person shake-off to decide things.

Today is the 100th anniversary of the mighty New York City subway system. Oddly enough, with all the drinks that are named after parts of New York City and its institutions--the New York, the New Yorker, the Manhattan (and the Manhattan Jr., and the Mr. Manhattan), the Bronx, the Bronx Terrace, the Brooklyn, the Queens, the Croton (named after the city's first aqueduct), the Fifth Avenue, et al.--there has never, as far as I can tell, been one dedicated to the subway. The closest mixology has come to it is the three versions (at least) of the "Third Rail," the earliest of which must've been inspired by the subway. Still, no Subway Cocktail. This absence, while deplorable, is also an opportunity. Any suggestions? --DW

Very good point. There are some cases where you might not want every last flavor molecule.

It's not that they're putting less alcohol in, it's that they're putting more water in. In other words, while you're getting a lower proof, you're also getting less of the various compounds that give the whiskey its flavor. This really makes a difference when you're mixing drinks, where you need every last flavor molecule to stand up to the mixers and the ice. There isn't a hell of a lot of difference in the amount of alcohol in a Manhattan made with 80 proof whiskey and one made with 100 proof--a matter of less than a teaspoon in an average drink made with 2 oz of whiskey--but there's a hell of a difference in how they taste. --DW

That may not help--more and more I've been finding stores only carrying the pink kind. Could the sour grapefruit be an endangered species? --DW

Hey Doc-- Just reading through your bit on the Aviation, which I found amusing both because it is amusing and because of your preference for the Blue Moon, an Aviation made with Creme Yvette (flavored with violets) rather than maraschino (flavored with the fruit, pits, stems and leaves of the maraska cherry). Why is this amusing? I append the following quote from Hugo R. Ensslin's Recipes for Mixed Drinks, from 1916--the last New York bartender's guide published before Prohibition (Ensslin was the head bartender at New York's Hotel Wallick, which was on 43rd St next door to the notorious Hotel Metropole): "Aviation 1/3 Lemon Juice 2/3 El Bart Gin [Doc--you've probably got that, no?] 2 Dashes Maraschino 2 Dashes Creme de Violette Shake well in a mixing glass with cracked ice, strain and serve." So you CAN have your cake and eat it too. In any case, the creme de violette turns the drink a lovely, pale, pale blue, like a New England sky in late summer. (This recipe, and almost every other in Ensslin's book, was plundered by Patrich Gavin Duffy; if you eliminate the drinks from Ensslin and from the Savoy book from Duffy's, there are very few left indeed.) A toute a l'heure, --DW

Ugh! A lesson learned the hard way! ← I wish I could say that all it takes is once to learn that one. --DW

Sound advice, that. --DW

On the other hand, see Rule #738: If all it takes is a little paper umbrella to challenge your masculinity... ;-) --DW

Please don't beat me up. The Splificator. Place 2 or 3 large ice cubes in a tall glass. Pour straight rye whiskey over them (NOT Canadian whiskey). Add Apolinaris water or any other bubbly water to taste. Some of the older members may recognize this beverage under another name. "Splificator" comes from Chris Lawlor's 1895 The Mixicologist [sic]; "splificated" was Irish slang for "drunk," something I have never been. --DW

Hear, hear! This book is a must-have for the dedicated cocktail fiend (and who among us isn't one of those). A wonderful selection of cocktails, most of which are pretty durn rare and all of which beat the hell out of at least 90% of the new, artificially-flavored vodka-and-fruit juice-and-fruity-liqueur concoctions that are being pushed on us these days. Lots of cocktail history to wallow in and almost an overabundance of photos from Doc's massive collection of old booze and booze-related paraphernalia. Jokes, too. Reasonable adults might want to differ on a couple of the precise formulae, but that's what discussion groups are for. --DW

I'm with trillium: there's nothing wrong with cocktails in a festive situation like this, but they should be small and there shouldn't be too many of them. 3-4 ounces is plenty big (that includes the 25% water that shaking/stirring adds), and there's something about breaking out the shaker, ceremonially measuring out the ingredients, waltzing the ice around (or foxtrotting it, if you prefer) and passing around the stemmed, v-shaped glass that brings everyone together. Port, sherry, madeira, champagne are all wonderful, but they do lack that aspect of ritual. Like any ritual, though, this one loses impact the more its repeated. A single round of, say, Suburban Cocktails (1 1/2 oz straight rye, 1/2 oz port, 1/2 oz Gosling's or Myers's rum, dash Peychaud's bitters, dash orange bitters), and everyone's still alert and ready for action; 7 rounds of them, and not so much. --DW P.S. As for the port in the St. Charles Punch (or "Brandied Port," or "Sensation"), I generally use a ruby.

Boy, I wish I had had eGullet around when I did the original rules (In truth, I inherited many of the ones on the website from the wise heads at Esquire, who know a thing or two about bending the elbow; all the ones in the book are, alas, my own). Agree wholeheartedly with every one so far. Many thanks for Mr. Kinsey for the kind words about Esquire Drinks; much appreciated. I'll contribute one new rule of my own here (with a big nod to Ms. Audrey Saunders): Rule #163: Three ingredients are enough. Usually. --DW

Traditional in our household at Thanksgiving is a version of the venerable St. Charles Punch, aka "Brandied Port": 2 oz port 1 oz decent-quality Spanish brandy Squeeze of orange juice Shake well with ice and strain into small wineglass; twist orange peel over the top. This is a wonderfully full, rich holiday-time drink. It engenders a mellow gloww in all who partake of its communion. One or two should do it, though. For an orthodox St. Charles Punch, drop the orange, add 1/4 oz lemon juice, and serve over crushed ice in a tall glass with raspberries on top. More of a summer drink, this one (it hails from New Orleans's St. Charles Hotel, some time before 1862).

George-- You're right, of course. I'm so sick of bullshit cocktail history at this point that I'm hypersensitive to it, and am liable to go off on a historical rant at the drop of a coquetier. Robert-- No ice? That's a very old cocktail indeed. Trillium-- Agreed about the Van Winkle; it makes the best Sazeracs I've ever had. I do like the Wild Turkey, though. And if you can get your mitts on a bottle of the bonded Rittenhouse Rye, it makes the most wonderful cocktails. P.S. Here's how I make a Sazerac, FWIW. This is pretty much the turn-of-the-last-century way. Place an Old-Fashioned glass in the freezer, or fill it with ice and set it to chill. In a standard mixing glass, combine: --1 teaspoon simple syrup (I use a rich syrup made with 2 parts demerara sugar to 1 part water) --2-3 dashes Peychaud's bitters --2 oz Van Winkle Family Reserve Straight Rye Whiskey --A lot of cracked ice Stir vigorously for 15 seconds or so, remove the glass from the freezer, swirl a splash of absinthe (no substitute) around the inside of the glass--you can do this by tossing the glass up in the air with a little English on it; I saw a guy at Tujague's do that a couple of times and it's the best bit of flair I know--and pour it out. Strain the cocktail into the glass and twist a long swatch of thin-cut lemon peel over the top. Heaven. --DW P.P.S. You can alsi use Peychaud's to make a Metropole, named after the NY Gambler's hotel of the 1900s and 1910s: Stir well with cracked ice: 1 1/2 oz cognac 1 1/2 oz Noilly Prat dry vermouth 2 dashes orange bitters 1 dash Peychaud's bitters Strain into chilled cocktail glass and add maraschino cherry

I must jump in to point out that this is the Sazerac Company's official history, and like most such things is to be taken with a grain of salt. A very large grain of salt. The first mention of the "Cocktail" comes in 1806 (32 years before Peychaud's supposed invention), in a newspaper in Hudson, New York, which indicates that it's a mixture of liquor, bitters, sugar and water; by the 1820s, it's being listed as one of the most popular drinks in New York City. (There's other evidence I won't get into that points to a Hudson Valley origin.) That's not even the real beginning of the story, though--the mixture of bitters and liquor was a popular one from the mid-the 18th century on, both in England and the Colonies. In 1745, when Simon Fraser, Lord Lovat, went to the chopping block for his part in the Jacobite Rebellion, he fortified himself with a shot of "burnt brandy" and "Stoughton bitters" (Stoughton's Elixir was the first patent bitters; Richard Stoughton registered the brand in England in 1712)--not far from a cocktail, if a very dry one (unless that burnt brandy was sweetened, as it often was). Equally popular were the mixture of liquor and sugar and water, and sugar and bitters--and here we're talking the drinkable kind of bitters, not the super-concentrated kind we're used to today. I've got no idea when all this came together in one glass, but I'm sure it was before 1806, and it was definitely before 1838. As for the Sazerac itself--the funny thing about it is that it's nothing but a "Whiskey Cocktail" as it was made in the mid-19th century all over America and in "American Bars" all over the world: simple or "gum/gomme" syrup, bitters--Peychaud's were a popular brand--and rye whiskey, stirred with ice (which replaced the water in Cocktails by the late 1830s) and finished with a twist of lemon peel. Even the absinthe was a popular addition, and not just in New Orleans: it was a very trendy ingredient in the 1870s, and many "Sports" took their Cocktails, whatever kind they preferred, with a dash of absinthe. (Swirling it around the glass might be a bit of original New Orleans flair, though). For me, the cool thing about the Sazerac is that New Orleans has kept this Victorian survivor current, where everybody else in America has forgotten it. You gotta love that.

I'm sorry I missed this debate when it was raging--hoo-wee! There's some historical stuff that might clear up a little, but by no means all, of the confusion, but before I pitch in with what I know of it I'd better state my principles (and thereby immediately cause half the people in this scrap to recognize me as the no-taste philistine that I am): I like Rose's lime juice. Now for the furious backpedaling: I fully agree that it's nothing like real, fresh lime juice; I fully agree that the formula now used is nothing like the original one, since HFCS invariably and utterly corrupts anything it touches; I wouldn't use Rose's in any other drink than a Gimlet. But for me, it's just not a Gimlet without the stuff. There are plenty of other drinks out there which combine gin and fresh lime juice, many of them better than the Gimlet (I'm particularly partial to the Gin Rickey; see below). But for an according-to-Hoyle Gimlet, it's gotta have that odd...preserved flavor that only Rose's contributes. (Has anyone ever had loomi, the Middle-Eastern drink made from dried lemons/limes? It's got that same flavor to it, which suggests that Rose's owes its peculiar flavor to something other than preservatives.) Historically, there are two schools of Gimlet-making: the British, and the American; with Rose's, and with fresh lime juice. Which is the "real" one? Going by date alone, the American school seems to get the nod: as far as I can tell, it was the first to see print, with the following formula from Tom Bullock's 1917 Ideal Bartender: "Use a large Mixing glass; fill with Lump Ice. Juice 1/2 Lime. 1 1/2 jiggers Burnette's Old Tom Gin. 1/2 teaspoonful Bar Sugar. Stir well and strain into Cocktail glass." There's only one problem with this: Bullock calls this the "Gillette" cocktail (and adds that it's "Chicago Style"; why, he does not explain). But names for new or obscure cocktails tend to vary quite a bit, and this is the recipe that Mr. Boston picked up and printed in its influential 1935 bar guide as a "Gimlet." The British school gets into print 5 years after Bullock (at least, that's the earliest mention I've been able to find), in Harry MacElhone's ABC of Mixing Cocktails (the Savoy Cocktail Book borrows from this shamelessly), which gives the following recipe: "Gimlet. 1/2 Coates' Plymouth Gin 1/2 Rose's Lime Juice Cordial Stir, and serve in same glass. Can be iced if desired. A very popular beverage in the Navy." There are a couple of things about this which suggest strongly that, date notwithstanding, this is the "authentic" recipe, and that it did indeed originate in the Royal Navy. --The Navy had a huge base in Plymouth, and Plymouth Gin had a long history of popularity among its officers (the ratings had their rum ration, which forced the officers to drink something else in order to maintain the class distinction). --Rose's, as has been observed, was standard naval issue. The lack of ice and the proportions of the drink indicate a naval origin as well. --Ice was scarce or unavailable on ships (when the US invaded Cuba in 1898, the only ice available was on William Randolph Hearst's yacht, which he brought down there to observe his war). --The proportions, disgustingly sweet by our standards, make more sense when one considers that the spirits the Navy carried were either at "proof" (50% alcohol by weight, or about 114-116 proof by our system) or 4.5 degrees under proof (our 109 proof). If you're mixing overproof gin with no ice, you're going to need a lot more Rose's to make it palatable than if you're shaking normal-proof gin with ice. (BTW--Plymouth has reintroduced a Navy-strength rum, at 114 proof, but it's not yet available here in the US). To me, the American school is most likely an attempt to recreate the old naval Gimlet in the absence of Rose's Lime Juice. I don't know when Rose's was first introduced to the American market, but it rarely if ever turns up as a cocktail ingredient before the 1930s. Authentic or not, I like lots of ice in my Gimlet, and a proportion of 4 parts gin to 1 of Rose's. As for the Rickey: This drink dates from the 1880s. Originally, as dictated by "Colonel" Joe Rickey, the Missouri-bred Democratic lobbyist who perhaps invented and certainly popularized it, it was made thus: “The juice of a lime is squeezed into a goblet, which is then filled with crushed ice. The a portion of whiskey or gin, in quantity to suit the taste, is poured in. The glass is then filled up with club soda or carbonic water.” --(Brooklyn Daily Eagle, August 7, 1892) There was some debate about the exact technique--in 1890, the Washington Post said only half a lime was required, and that the squeezed out shell should go in the glass--but one thing everybody agreed on: absolutely no sugar goes into a Rickey. "This drink...is claimed by its inventor [i.e., Rickey] to be an ideal hot weather beverage. Any drink with sugar in it, he says, heats the blood, while the 'Rickey,' with its blood-cooling lime juice, is highly beneficial" (Daily Eagle). Rickey was right. --DW Edited--half-assedly--for clarity.

I've been away from the computer for a few weeks, said time spent cloistered in a walk-in preparing my body's core temperature for the experience of New Orleans in the middle of August. I think I'm just about ready. Fatdeko--very much looking forward to meeting you, chez Arnaud. I don't want to spoil the surprise and tell you what the cocktails will be, but I will say it's the usual mixture of historical obscurities and obscure historicities, with nothing older than 1850 or younger than 1920. Beans--will you be attending? I hope so. Audrey, Robert--see you there. --D

The one with more whiskey in it is of course the correct one. The version of the recipe with less whiskey in it was for an event sponsored by the Distilled Spirits Council, who point out that an ounce and a half of liquor, a glass of wine and a mug of beer have the same amount of alcohol, and insist that their drinks be sized more or less accordingly (although in the case of the Weeski that works out to having a beer with a half-jigger of Lillet poured into it--not that there's anything wrong with that).