A little serious (with the seriousness of gin), but with enough fruity overtones to ensure no one gets ponderous in conversation or step, the Après Coup is easy enough to make on a whim but layered enough in flavor to support a whole party. As long as the partiers weren’t opposed to staying up late. Cause you know a drink with Maraschino is going to have you up past midnight, right? I mean, the Maraschino (and I go Luxardo, because that’s the way I roll) is all about living after midnight. So much so that Rob Halford used to carry a whole crate of bottles of tour with him. Think I’m fibbing?

Cracked ice

1-1/2 ounces gin

1 ounce Chambord

1/4 ounce Maraschino liqueur

1 dash Peychaud bitters

1. Fill a cocktail shaker or mixing glass three-quarters full with cracked ice. Add the gin, Chambord, Maraschino, and bitters. Stir well.

2. Strain into a cocktail glass (or, if there aren’t any clean ones left, any old glass that isn’t tattooed with lipstick or halfway full with an old drink works).

It’s August, and gardens are seriously in overdrive, and flowers are still showing their faces, and skirts and shorts seem to be getting even shorter. It’s enough to make one blush, all this blooming. But I suggest, all my little summertime Romeos and Juliets, that you remember what the word “accismus” means: showing no interest in something while secretly wanting it. Or, to say it another way, don’t forget to keep your cool in the face of all this sultry floral-ness. To help out, here’s a delish little floral drink. It’s a tad sweet, but sweetness will balance out the saltiness from any late-summer sweat.

Cracked ice

1-1/2 ounce Hangar One Mandarin Blossom vodka

1 ounce Crème de Violette

1/2 ounce Aperol

1 dash Fee Brothers peach bitters

Edible flowers for garnish

1. Fill a cocktail shaker halfway full with cracked ice. Add the vodka, crème de violette, Aperol, and bitters. Stir well.

2. Strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with a few edible flowers.

A Note: The new Crème Yvette can be subbed in for the Crème di Violette with no ill effects.

Okay, right up at the front of the stage, before the curtains go up, let me tell those readers who don’t know, what MxMo is (or at least give out what I know, which isn’t a whole barrelful of knowledge, since I’ve never had the pleasure of taking part before). Basically, it’s a bunch of bar-booze-drunken bloggers making up or bringing out a drink under a particular theme, on a Monday. So, mixology Monday I suppose. A different blog hosts every one (one a month, I believe), and they round up links to the posts about the theme on the day on their site, and send readers out and about and around the interweb to see those other posts about the theme. From what I’ve read when going boozing on the web on Mondays, the themes tend to be a particular spirit, liquor, or ingredient. However, when the really wacky bar blogger hosts, the theme may just be more, let’s say esoteric. Which is the case this month, as drink-slinger Andrew Bohrer who blogs at Cask Strength is hosting the MxMo, and he chose Tom Waits.

Which actually makes fantastically fantastic sense, as Andrew talks about in his top MxMo post (right here), in story fashion, which Waits himself would enjoy, I think. See, at heart, going around the rumbling voice and the at times otherworldly instrumentation and the harlots and hard heads, Waits is a storyteller, a boozy troubadour, a chronicler of the forgotten nights and the railroad yards, of trombone funerals and waking up wearing bruises and regret in a hotel next to the railroad tracks, of lost and long- elapsed love, and of gospel music sung under a blistering sun when all you want is a glass of whiskey and s single ice cube and the time to drink the world down.

Of course, as the above going on and on probably demonstrates, and since I’ve mentioned him in cocktail recipe intros in pretty much every book I’ve written, I’m a Tom Waits fan. I have most CDs, and listen to him on a regular basis, and have sat up singing Tom Waits with pals and bourbon and brandy until 4 am multiple times, have sat in a parked car half drunk singing Tom Waits while the thunder hit the hood like a million fists, and have put Tom Waits songs on jukeboxes with a glass of gin in one hand in more bars, lounges, dives, and hole-in-the-walls then I can remember. But as I haven’t gotten to my drink yet, I’m gonna put a leash on my Waitsean ramblings and start pouring.

Oh, wait, give me another sec, to give a drink backstory. Though I enjoy all the Waits CDs I have (including those Andrew mentions, Closing Time, Small Change, and the rollicking live Nighthawks at the Diner), the one I go back to the most is Rain Dogs. From the opening “We sail tonight for Singapore” to the New Orleans horns playing the funeral out at the record’s end, Rain Dogs matches more moods and moodiness and must-have-a-drink-while-listening-to tracks to me than any other. And while I don’t have a “favorite” song on Rain Dogs (this makes a type of sense, since they go together like egg drinks and mornings), “Tango Till They’re Sore” is the song (don’t take this morbidly, by the way) I want played at my funeral. I just want folks there to have good music, to drink well, and to toast me relentlessly, and this song, which starts “Well ya play that Tarantela and the hounds they start to roar” does just that. Not to mention that the chorus goes:

Let me fall out the window
With confetti in my hair
Deal out jacks or better
On a blanket by the stairs
I’ll tell you all my secrets
But I lie about my past
So send me off to bed forever more.

Rain Dogs also has a dandy song called “Jockey Full of Bourbon” (which has the classic line, a line I can sympathize with, “I’m full of bourbon, I can’t stand up”), so I wanted my drink to have a bourbon base, and bourbon is also mentioned multiple times within the record. The only other spirit dropped in the album is brandy (in “Union Square”), so I decided to double up on base spirits a bit, and then I wanted to bring in some bitters, in honor of the line in “9th & Hennepin” that says “till you’re full of rag water, bitters, and blue ruin.” So, that got me to three, a magic number, but because Tom Waits is also an original, I wanted to bring another ingredient into the drink that isn’t mentioned in one of his songs (four can be a magic number too y’all), but that has at least a tangential connection, and so I went with St. Elizabeth’s Allspice Dram. For one, it tastes great. For two, St. Elizabeth’s could be an insane asylum. For three, it’s based on an older ingredient called “Pimento Dram” which I could see Waits-style sailors drinking on a leaking dingy. When mixed in the following way, these ingredients in honor of Tom Waits and Andrew Bohrer make The Hounds They Start to Roar:

2 ounces bourbon (I used Blanton’s)

¾ ounce St. Elizabeth’s Allspice Dram

½ ounce brandy (I used Grand Duke d’Alba cause I’m walking Spanish down the hall)

2 dashes Peychaud’s Bitters

1. Fill a cocktail shaker, mixing glass, dented top hat, or ladies leather boot halfway full with cracked ice. Add the whole bunch of ingredients. Stir well.

2. Strain into a cocktail glass or goblet. Garnish with a sad song.

PS: Feel this needs a garnish? I suggest an ice pick, a dented fender from a ‘54 Ford, or a tattooed tear.

Okay, I’m just thirsty. So thirsty I don’t have the energy to write the full-on over-the-top legendary journey of cocktails blog post I want to write about the weekend before last, a weekend of amazing cocktails that would leave every other blog post in the dusty dust, that would make you want to stroll in my shoes (or at least borrow my throat and tastebuds for awhile), a blog post that would involve at least 74.5% of the top cocktail creators in Seattle, and me tasting their drinks, a blog that would make you drool like George the Animal Steel before a cage match, a blog that might just have you (if you don’t live in Seattle already) running screaming to your suitcase, packing said suitcase, and getting a ticket here poste haste, a blog that if you already lived in Seattle would make you instantly descend to the floor crying tears of joy in front of your liquor cabinet, shelf, or box, happy that you could follow my footsteps in cocktails, a blog that might just cause the whole internet to go silent as a lonely ice cube due to everyone shaking off the electronic shackles to go on a drinks quest, the blog I want to write but just am too thirsty to write (but write it, someday, I will), so instead I’m just writing this post about how much I’d like to be drinking an Athenian at Cicchetti, a drink made with Metaxa, Martini and Rossi Bianco vermouth, and Scrappy’s grapefruit bitters, the very drink pictured below. Look at it, friends, and dream along with me (and if you’re not on the Scrappy’s bitters wagon, then get on it.)

Okay, full disclosure straight up: the bar manager at the new (as opposed to the older version from a few years ago) Mistral Kitchen in Seattle is a pal of mine. A good pal, even. His name’s Andrew Bohrer, and I’ve blogged about him before, cause he makes damn good drinks, and isn’t all snooty about it (and his blog Cask Strength is full of booze and cursing, which is nice). Heck, I’ve heard him praise PBR as casually as Pappy’s 15-Year bourbon. Here he is, getting busy with pouring:

This all means that when wife Nat and I went to Mistral recently (during the “soft opening” phase) we were probably going to be pretty forgiving, if needed. But to get around the whole “of course you’ll say nice things, you know them” I’m going to keep commentary at a minimum, and go the photogenic route (which is great for me, cause I’m, well, hot and so inclined to like the photogenic route). The quick summary, though, before the photos (did you think I’d back out of editorializing completely?): the savory food was still being worked out, but solid ingredient choices, if pretty straightforward preparations (this on the veggie side); the dessert-y food was interesting and delicious and architectural and a step above the savory right now; the cocktail food was, well, great. Now, onward. We had some roasted veggies, but they weren’t as good as the wood-roasted mushrooms:

And we had a vinaigrette’d green salad (good, but pretty spare), which wasn’t as good as the cheese plate:

With the meal, Nat had an Aviation cocktail (we both went classically at first, picking off the old-school short bar menu), which was dreamy and cloudy like a cloudy dream:

I had the Mint Julep, which was made just right, with the right crackity-cracked ice, the right metal julep cup, and the right healthy amount of bourbon. Pretty, even:

For dessert, we had the Ultra Brownie, and it was ultra creamy chocolate goodness, but topped, I felt, by the Walnut Honey Cake (the desserts, made by chef Neil Robertson, both kicked sugary ass though), which came with rich figs and homemade (natch) chestnut ice cream:

With desserts, Nat had a fresh cocktail that Andrew had recently been working on (as an aside: isn’t it always swell to be able to be one of the first to taste a new drink? I think it’s swell), which mixed 1 ounce gin, 1/2 ounce kirsch, 1 ounce blanc (not dry) vermouth, and 1/2 ounce orgeat. It was really jumping (or frolicking) with the balance of dry to sweet right on. And, he called it the Tauntaun. Geeks, rejoice:

For my last drink, I had a Fernet Old Fashioned, which Andrew had been telling me about, and about who originally created it, but now I can’t find the email. Maybe he’ll be so kind as to leave the info and the instructions in the comments. Though he is busy. But not that busy (so get to it, Andrew). Anywho, before starting an online booze war, let me say that I dig Fernet, and this drink was the tops. I love the phat orange rind, and the ice ball, and the bitter-after-dinner experience that is summed up in this glass:

That’s the Mistral Kitchen kids, well worth a visit, especially if you belly up to the bar and let the cocktails roll. Just be sure to order a drink with an orange peel:

I (along with wife Nat) got the nicest batch of ginger snaps recently from pal Jill M (her husband, pal Ed, has a book just out called Mister Skylight that you should buy, by the way). The snaps were a bit more cookie-y than many ginger snaps (so, not crisp like some traditional ginger biscuits, and nowhere near ginger nuts, or, for that matter ginger balls. And yes, I just said ginger balls. But now my traffic skyrockets), but with goodly ginger flavor and a little bit of chewiness. I liked them lots, and ate lots of them. But then I started thinking: there is a baker’s dozen of them, maybe I should make a drink using them as a garnish? This is the way my mind works. And, I was also thinking (I have up to three trains of thought at once: right now, they consist of writing this post, thinking about a post on the comics blog Progressive Ruin that combines Adam West Batman with Dark Night Batman, and musing about how the leaning tower of Pisa doesn’t fall over) that with the holiday season you might want to know about a drink that uses ginger snaps as a garnish. Cause the snaps tend to show up this time of year.

So, I wanted a ginger-y drink, but one also with some other funtastic flavors. Which led to me playing around with this VeeV Acai (it’s a super fruit!) Spirit I’d had sent to me recently and Domaine de Canton ginger liqueur. The Veev is pretty sprightly with some tropical hints, the DdeC is very gingery and touch sweet, and at first the playing around wasn’t coming out quite right–until I added ol’ reliable, sweet vermouth. Its bit of holy herbal-ness completely rounded out the edges of the other two, and all-of-sudden I was in ginger-island-holiday-paradise. I suggest you stock up on all of the ingredients so you can get to this paradise, too (and because you may just need a drink before the month’s out. The holidays aren’t all sunshine).

Ice cubes

1-1/2 ounces VeeV Acai spirit

1 ounce Domaine de Canton ginger liqueur

1/2 ounce sweet vermouth

Ginger snap or cookie, for garnish

1. Fill a cocktail shaker halfway full with ice cubes. Add everything except the cookie. Shake well.

2. Strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with that cookie (I had to notch it just a bit for proper rim balancing. But after that, I did a lot of dunking with it).

Hopefully you read the below post about saving up cranberry sauce. If not, well, you’re crying now. And since we’re communicating via the interweb, I can’t hand you a tissue. But I can show you a lovely picture of my lovely Gizmo, which I made with Bluecoat gin (I love the Aviation which was pictured below, but at the last minute I switched, because the Bluecoat seemed to tie in well not only flavorly, but also thematically, which is important, right?), my sister’s homemade cranberry sauce, and simple syrup, following up the mastermind Jeremy Holt’s recipe as detailed below. And yes, I’ve linked to the below post three times. Now, one more note: this doesn’t have to be just for Thanksgiving. Give the cranberry sauce love room to breathe at other times, too–but just remember, save some for your Gizmo.

Don’t get me wrong now (at least not this time), I love the Gibson. Slightly tougher somehow to me than the Martini (its sibling), with a little edge and longshoreman’s attitude brought in by that right cocktail onion mixing it up with gin and dry vermouth. Yeah, I can drink a Gibson and smile–if it’s the right cocktail onion. Recently, I got a bottle of Saucy Mama cocktail onions, and liked them lots in my Gibson (or, Gibsons, to be accurate). They’ve got good onion flavor without getting any sour, a touch of saltiness and tang, and when mixed with 2-1/2 ounces of Voyager gin (which has that classic London gin attitude that makes a Gibson hum) and 1/2 ounce of dry vermouth magic of the right sort blooms (sure, that’s flowery, but there’s no need to shy away from the flowery side here and there). The only problem is, even with my Gibson love, I’m not sure I’ll use up the whole bottle of onions anytime soon. I could have a Gibson party (that might be fun), but I thought it’d also be fun to ask out there if anyone, anywhere, knows another delicious cocktail that features the cocktail onion? I have to imagine there are some–so let me know what they are. Or make one up. You’re creative, right? For inspiration, just gaze longingly at the below picture of my Gibson. Mmmm, cold gin, vermouth, and onions.

Hah, today’s weather report underlines a point I sometimes forget: Mother Nature is the boss. Last week I got all pining for the end of summer (with my reverie to the Champagne of Beers) and talking about how last Friday was the last day of summer, and how we should enjoy it, and sing Hüsker Dü’s Celebrated Summer (gawd, how I loved singing that at the end of every summer in my teenage years. Here’s a freakin’ quick toast to Grant, Bob, and Greg), etc, etc, and now this Friday is even nicer, and more summer-y (at least here in W-A). Well, she showed me. To get over this in-your-face from Mother Nature, I’m going to have to drink a tall Mike Collins. A lesser consumed cousin of the Tom Collins, the Mike Collins is ideal for a day like today, with one foot in summer and at least three toes in fall, because it’s refreshing but still has that underlying umph from a delish dollop of the Irish. Why not pour yourself one, and see if I know what I’m talking about? If you want to have a little guitar ice cube like in the fantabulousy photo, a photo by the best-cocktail-photographer-in-the-world Melissa Punch, than I say: rock out! Oh, both the photo and this recipe are from the almost available Dark Spirits by the way (more on that soon–consider this a teaser.)

Mike Collins

Ice cubes

2 ounces Irish whiskey

1/2 ounce freshly squeezed lemon juice

1/4 ounce simple syrup

Chilled club soda

Lemon slice for garnish

1. Fill a cocktail shaker halfway full with ice cubes. Add the whiskey, juice, and simple syrup. Shake well, in celebration of all Mikes.

2. Fill a Collins glass three-quarters full with ice cubes. Strain the mix over the ice. Fill almost to the top with chilly club soda. Garnish with the lemon slice (stirring briefly if you want Mike mixed more).

It could be said that this is the last day of summer (the Friday before Labor Day and all), the last day when, at least out here in Seattle W-A, the sun is still shining brightly and the backyard is still calling out to be sat within and relaxed within and shirtsleeves are still just dandy as attire (with pants, or without, your call), and while there might be a small bit of chill in the air, it’s possible in that summertime way to ignore it (cause really, isn’t summer about ignoring responsibility? Being more grasshopper than ant?). That’s today folks, and on a day like today, though I might sing the praises of high-falooting cocktails, and might even have one later, what I really feel like on a day like today is a cold bottle of Miller High Life. Probably I feel that way cause my old pal and serious bartending angel Joel Meister and I used to drink them like water throughout the summertime months when we were a bit younger–heck, we never had a fridge from late May through August that didn’t contain at least two bottles in it no matter the hour of the day for emergencies–and those were good, memorable months that embodied that whole recklessly lovely tipsy-ness that is summer. What’s all this shake up to? Me giving out a toast to everyone celebrating that last day of summer, a toast in the form of the one and only Champagne of Beers, a toast to you. Drink up pals, and hold on to that summer sun as long as possible.