Okay chums, I realize that Saint Patrick’s Day is just around the corner (Monday, I believe), and so many are looking for drinks specifically to celebrate it this weekend and the days around the day. Which is dandy! Though, I am very much of the opinion that you shouldn’t restrict your drinking of Irish-inspired tipples to this time of the year, as there are so many delicious products made there, and so many delicious drinks using said liquid delights. Take the Tipperary, for example. It’s a lesser-known (but should be better known) classic from the 1930s, which combines a nice helping of Irish whisky with two herbally heroes, the sometimes-hard-to-track-down-but-worth-the-tracking Green Chartreuse, along with Punt e’ Mes sweet vermouth (you could sub in another, but the slightly drier Punt e’ Mes goes perfectly here).
Speaking of subbing, you could go subbing in a range of Irish whisky in here, but I’m going with McConnell’s Irish Whisky, which delivers an amiable taste, with vanilla, nutmeg, spice, and a little smokiness. Blended and aged five years in American oak, it plays well with our other bottled partners, and has quite a history, as McConnell’s began whisky making in 1776, before a fire destroyed 500,000 gallons of whisky and a chunk of the distillery itself, not long after which U.S. prohibition came and finished the job. But like a tipsy phoenix, the distillery rose again and began sending out whisky around the world not too many years ago, whisky to be enjoyed any day, and in cocktails like this one.
Not but weeks ago (a short time in the grand scheme of time, which is quite a scheme indeed, and when you think about it, sort-of a mug’s game in a way, but one we can’t get out of, outside of one ending way, much is the pity) I had a variation on The Bobby Burns called The Midshipman Burns. And now, already, I have here another sort-of variation on the theme – but it’s a mighty good theme! This variation takes us a little farther afield, but also, not so far afield. Man, I’m musing today! Which is what happens when you drink a drink as flavortastic as this one, but also one that has a decent-sized wallop of Scotch as the base (going Speyburn single-malt 10 year, which is tasty, and also mixes well while maintaining its Scotch-ness). Makes the mind move, as Mr. Robert Burns himself would agree with. And then our other ingredients, legendary French herbal monk-a-rific liqueur Bénédictine, itself a wonder of time, and spicy, rich, smokey wonder Ancho Reyes chili liqueur, another wondrous number, are such intriguing players on this particular cocktail stage, which bring a very individual nature to this drink, a nature given another highlight via our last ingredient, earthy Peychaud’s bitters. Altogether, they won’t stop time, but they sure will make it more fun to follow.
I was sipping on a Martini with orange bitters added (a classic style of martini-ing) the other night, and while sipping was wracking my brain because I knew I’d read a quote in a classic pulpy book where a couple characters did just that, and it took for until the second cocktail to remember that it was Red Harvest! By legendary Dashiell Hammett! And the Continental Op (one of Hammett’s mainstay detectives) was one of the characters doing said sipping! It’s a grand book, one that any lover of last-century detective-etc. fiction should read, probably while drinking one of these. And while I’ve had the below quote on the Spiked Punch before, well, after the above moments, I decided it should be on here again.
When I came back she was mixing gin, vermouth and orange bitters in a quart shaker, not leaving a lot of space for them to move around in.
“Did you see anything?” she asked.
I sneered at her in a friendly way. We carried the cocktails into the dining room and played bottoms-up while the meal cooked. The drinks cheered her a lot. By the time we sat down to the food she had almost forgotten her fright. She wasn’t a very good cook, but we ate as if she were.
We put a couple of gin-gingerales in on top of the dinner.
Before jumping to the below Cocktail Talk quote, be sure to peep your peepers on the Skuldoggery Part I Cocktail Talk, to learn more about the mostly satiric, jolly, book itself, and also the author, Fletcher Flora (for that matter, and to see some more serious stuff from the normally noir-ish writer, check out all the past Fletcher Flora Cocktail Talks). Then come back for more from Uncle Homer in the below quote, where he’s dealing with his “grief” Martini-style.
“As his only surviving son,” Uncle Hester said, “I am in no position to deny it. What I am in a position to do, however, is to offer everyone a nice Martini. Father, as you know, was drier than Woodrow Wilson, but I took the opportunity, immediately after his sad departure, to lay in a small stock of gin and vermouth. Just to see me through the difficult days of final arrangements, you understand. It’s in the kitchen and so I’ll just go and mix up a pitcher.”
We’ve had a fair amount of Fletcher Flora Cocktail Talks, he being one of the pulp mag pulpsters I enjoy, and also being one who lived in Kansas, the state I grew up in (though he lived in Leavenworth, which is sorta fitting for someone who wrote a lot about crime), so, you know, connections. Like many who wrote for the mags and pocket-sized books, Mr. Flora’s oeuvre (so to speak) covers a fairly wide spectrum, though I tend to think of him of a slight tad more literary-minded than some, a bit off the beaten track in some of his subjects and narrators and such. But normally, those books of his I’ve read, slot nicely into a wider noir-crime area. Until Skuldoggery! While there may be light crimes committed (against good taste if nothing else), it’s way more a kind of comedic farce, with nearly all of the characters being, to be kind, idiots. There is a death of a patriarch, from natural causes, a rich one naturally. But one who leaves all his money to the care of his dog. A sentiment I can get on board with! But one which his descendants and relatives, a rum lot, aren’t as happy about. Which leads to Cocktail Talk moments, especially from Uncle Homer, who liked his gin even before the death of his father, and who, below, dreams a dream I’ve dreamt before.
Of all the mourners, though, the most impeccably impressive by far was Hester. Throughout the brief ceremony, her eyes were lifted to a cotton cloud drifting slowly across a pale blue sky as if Grandfather were riding it bareback into heaven and her face was so serene and lovely that Uncle Homer, observing it, felt a faint twinge in his leathery heart and was diverted for a few seconds from his dream of a five-to-one Martini.
Well, it’s January, and I know these days a few fair amount of folks take part in dry January, or Dryuary (I made that last name up right now), both cause of knowing folks that do it and cause of the many (or some) notes from PR folks I receive asking if I’m doing any dry January stories. I’m not! But not because I’m opposed to the idea – what works for some works for them and I’m certainly not looking down on it. And I can see the rationale, especially after the holiday season with its parties and mistletoe and chilly days for many. If you’re flirting with the drying out, but maybe just want to go part way, into the lower ABV realm, then here’s a nice choice for you: The Trocadero. With a combination of dry and sweet vermouth as its base, it delivers a lot of flavor with less alcohol umph, while not removing said booze entirely. Actually, no matter the month in question, it makes a swell aperitif cocktail, as well as just a tasty number for anytime you want to go a little less ka-pow (brunching? It’s dandy. First dates? Ideal! See, anytime). Give it a whirl, but follow my lead and make your own grenadine. Adds more pizzazz, and is easy (and so much of the store-bought grenadine is lame. And you don’t want to start the year on a lame note).
Here’s a swell fall number (weirdly, no-one thinks, or rarely thinks, about fall flings, or winter, perhaps, but fall gets especially short shrift on the romance side). It also is good in winter! And spring, honestly. And even summer, if not too hot, or when you’re feeling daffy (as flings can make one feel). It’s also a near relation to a few better-known drinks that share not only qualities but ingredients, specifically the rocking Rob Roy (which has Angostura bitters instead of orange bitters, and a slightly different vermouth to Scotch ratio), and then pushing it out somewhat, the beautiful Bobby Burns. The Highland Fling is slightly sweeter and with a different bitter-y hint, not better than its cousins, but wonderful none-the-less. Oh, I found it in a sweet bound book called A Guide to Pink Elephants, Volume II (Richards Rosen Associates, 1957), sized to fit in a decently-large pocket.
The Highland Fling
2 ounces Scotch (I’d suggest a nice blended number, but you be you)
1 ounces sweet vermouth
2 dashes orange bitters
1. Fill a cocktail shaker halfway full with cracked ice. Add the Scotch, sweet vermouth, and bitters. Stir well.
Our last (for now, at least) Cocktail Talk from Craig Rice’s rollicking The Wrong Murder is a short one, but I loved the sentiment contained within it. Who doesn’t need a Martini to chase straight gin? Don’t get so liquored up that you miss The Wrong Murder Cocktail Talk Part I or Part II, to learn more about the book and the amazing author (for that matter, read past Craig Rice Cocktail Talks for even more), as I’m keeping this intro short as a shot.
On the step just below them was a bottle of gin, a shakerful of Martinis, and a few extra glasses, thoughtfully brought along in case of breakage. The Martinis, Helene’s father had explained, were there to be used as a chaser for the gin.
