The poor, misunderstood, little-referred-to cousin of the popular, always-invited-to-the-dance, Sazerac, the Zazarac rarely rears its head on party menus these days (alas, poor drink). But it’s worthy of taking out for a drive (and now I’ve managed a whole host of messy metaphors—in just two sentences!), even if it has a bit of kitchen-sink-ness to it thanks to its full ingredient list. It has somewhat of a kick, mind you, so watch your wobbliness when consuming it. It isn’t, honestly, good to take for a drive, for instance. Unless you have one of those beds shaped like a car.
Ice cubes
1-1/2 ounces rye
3/4 ounce white rum
3/4 ounce anisette
3/4 ounce Simple Syrup
1/2 ounce absinthe
1 dash Angostura bitters
1 dash orange bitters
Lemon twist, for garnish
1. Fill a cocktail shaker halfway full with ice cubes. Add the rye, rum, anisette, syrup, absinthe, and both bitters. Shake well (it’s okay to be aggressive about it, the cocktail likes it).
2. Strain into a large cocktail glass. Garnish with that orange twist.
A Note: This was originally made with gum, or gomme, syrup. Intrigued? See the recipe for the King Cole in Dark Spirits (where the above Zazarac recipe is also from) and learn more about this gum syrup. Or just buy David Wondrich’s Imbibe for gosh sakes.
Promised Bonus Quote (which goes so well with the Zazarac I think):
One minute she’s a blackmailer, cagey as Kruschev, and the next she wants to gambol half-naked on a pile of sawdust like a babe on an absinthe jag.
The ol’ Seattle weather recently hasn’t been what you’d (you or anyone, really, unless that other person is someone who revels in dreary wetness) call awesome lately (and by lately, I mean, to all reports, since last August). You might think this rain-cloud-rain pattern would drive me to drink only straight shots of rot-gut (or at least straight shots of almost-rot-gut). But no, fair friend, no. When the weather trots out its worst repeatedly during a time when the very month name should signal clear skies and sunshine (like May, for instance) I go for summertime mixes. A: I’m not going to let that weather tell me who the boss is. I know who the boss is (Tony Danza. And then me). B: I figure if I drink like there’s sun in the sky then maybe, just maybe, I’ll influence said weather to follow my lead. Here’s hoping, at least. Which is why I’m sipping the summertime queen of the jungle, the Ognam (which is straight of out Dark Spirits, don’t you know. Wait, you don’t? Well go buy the book and find out). It was created by wife Nat and has a tropical refreshing vibe (sure, I said vibe, what of it?), and can, if anything can, change the weather:
Ice cubes
1 1/2 ounces brandy
2 1/2 ounces mango juice
1/2 ounce Aperol
Chilled club soda
Lemon slice for garnish
1. Fill a highball or comparable glass with ice cubes. Add the brandy, mango juice, and Aperol. Stir well.
2. Fill the glass almost to the tippy top (Ognam insists on words like tippy top. Don’t infuriate Ognam.) with club soda. Stir again, well. Squeeze the lemon slice over the glass and drop it in.
I like (as maybe detailed before on this blog) Mr. Raymond Chandler, though some noir revisionists aren’t as high on him as, say, Dashiell Hamnett. I say pooey on them—why not read both authors, as well as the many others writing in the pulpy pulp era (at least the other good ones, of which there are many). I’ll admit there are one or two Raymond Chandlers that don’t rise as high as, say, The High Window, but I’ve gotten at least a kick and usually more from every book of his, which is why I was jazz’d recently to find, in Italy of all places, a copy of a Chandler book called Pearls Are A Nuisance, which collects three short stories of his that I hadn’t read (at the time this paperback was published, the book was only available in this British version). In honor of the find, and of Mr. Chandler’s usually hard-drinking leading men, I’m going to have three Cocktail Talks with quotes from the book, one day for each story in the book. These first two are from the title story, with one being the beginning of a drinking bout (around the narrator getting his, um, tail kicked), and the next a charming description of the after-effects.
A wet towel began to slap at my face. I opened my eyes.
‘Listen, kid. You got two strikes and no balls on you. Maybe you ought to try a lighter bat.’
‘Brandy,’ I croaked.
‘You’ll take rye.’ He pressed a glass against my lips and I drank thirstily. Then I climbed to my feet again.
At five o’clock that afternoon I awoke from slumber and found that I was lying on my bed in my apartment in the Chateau Moraine, on Franklin Avenue near Ivar Street, in Hollywood. I turned my head, which ached, and saw that Henry Eichelberger was lying beside me in his undershirt and trousers. I perceived that I was also as lightly attired. On the table near by there stood an almost full bottle of Old Plantation rye whisky, the full quart size, and on the floor lay an entirely empty bottle of the same excellent brand. A cigarette had burned a hole in the brocaded arm of one of my easy chairs.
As our producer and director owns stock in the BBC, our “season” lasts a mere six episodes (much like the Snuff Box). Which means (grab those hankies now) this is the last episode in this new season. And, if I can preen the feathers a bit, it’s a humdinger. In this finale, I’ll not only sing and dance (really!), I’ll also teach you to make the somewhat sultry Bedroom Eyes, a fine number that puts I think I delicious cocktail capper on another season of the show about cocktails and drinking and good times, the Good Spirits Cocktail to Cocktail Hour. But wait! Before clicking on the “play” button and icing up the shaker though, I must take another moment to thank our sponsors in writing (it’s a contractual thing—hey, every little helps). So, raise your glasses in a cheer for Holt’s Hangover Helpers, Fuller’s Homemade Liqueurs, Cash and Harley’s Fund for Young Bartenders, Butler’s House of Garnishes. And of course, raise another glass in a cheer for yourself, our viewers. Without you, well, we’d have to drink more ourselves.
To begin the New Year, the new season of the Good Spirit Cocktail to Cocktail Hour has an extra-fantastic episode, just for you. It boasts an extra-fantastic special guest: home entertainer deluxe, musical madman, media master, really, he’s a genre spanner, Mr. Mark Butler. Mark traveled all the way to the Cocktail to Cocktail studios just to teach us, and you, how to make the mysterious (Midwestern mysterious, that is) Occidental cocktail—the ideal treat for 2011 (even if it was featured in Dark Spirits a few years back). Put it on your menus people, and enjoy.
In Their Cups week continues here at Spiked Punch, with another poem from the raddest collection of drinking and drinkers poems I’ve ever been associated with up to date (if you missed it, it’s a week celebrating In Their Cups because of a certain reading this Sunday). For today’s pick, I’m going with a poem celebrating one of my favorite drinks, and the drink to have the first Saturday in May–the Mint Julep of course. This poem about the legendary birth of the Mint Julep is by Charles Fenno Hoffmann, who was a New York writer, editor, and critic in the 1800s. If you’ve ever had a truly well-made Mint Julep (on May 1st or any other day), you’ll understand why he’d write such a ringing and singing and immortalizing number about the drink (and if you haven’t had a Mint Julep that matches the below, maybe we need to get you a better recipe or point you to a different watering hole).
The Mint Julep
‘Tis said that the gods on Olympus of old
(And who the bright legend profanes with a doubt?)
One night, ’mid their revels, by Bacchus were told
That his last butt of nectar had somehow run out!
But determined to send round the goblet once more,
They sued to the fairer immortals for aid
In composing a draught which, till drinking were o’er,
Should cast every wine ever drank in the shade.
Grave Ceres herself blithely yielded her corn,
And the spirit that lives in each amber-hued grain,
And which first had its birth from the dew of the morn,
Was taught to steal out in bright dewdrops again.
Pomona, whose choicest of fruits on the board
Were scattered profusely in every one’s reach,
When called on a tribute to cull from the hoard,
Expressed the mild juice of the delicate peach.
The liquids were mingled while Venus looked on
With glances so fraught with sweet magical power,
That the honey of Hybla, e’en when they were gone,
Has never been missed in the draught from that hour
Flora, then, from her bosom of fragrancy, shook,
And with roseate fingers pressed down in the bowl,
All dripping and fresh as it came from the brook,
The herb whose aroma should flavor the whole.
The draught was delicious, and loud the acclaim,
Though something seemed wanting for all to bewail,
Summer has finally it seems found its way to Seattle, and as hemlines go up with the increase in temperature, the amount of tall bubbly refreshing drink consumption also needs to go up. Sadly, I’m just looking out the window dreaming of the above right now (and while I meant dreaming of refreshing drinks, you can dream about them with rising hemlines if you want. I’m sure not gonna tell you not to), but when I move from dream to reality, I’m starting with a Foppa (the below recipe is from Dark Spirits, proving that the darker base spirits can be as useful in summer as in winter).
I found the Foppa in an Italian book called Cocktails: Classici & Esotici (Demetra, 2002) and love how it mingles ingredients from all over the globe: Scotch whisky, amaretto, dry vermouth (sometimes known as French vermouth), and ginger ale combine to become a lovely world tour of refreshment in a glass. Use it to break the heat and, after a couple, as a spur to taking those hemlines even higher. I mean, it is hot outside.
Ice cubes
1 1/2 ounces Scotch
1/2 ounce amaretto
1/2 ounce dry vermouth
Chilled ginger ale
1. Fill a highball glass three-quarters full with ice cubes. Add the Scotch, amaretto, and vermouth. Stir with a long spoon.
2. Top the glass off with ginger ale. Stir again.
A Note: The original recipe here suggests single-malt Scotch, but I like using a nice blended version, which I think works well with the other ingredients (something like Dewar’s is a dandy choice). They also suggest using Di Saronno Amaretto, which traces its secret recipe back to 1525. A good suggestion, I think.
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.)
