I tend not to be a big fan of sugar, salt, spice, etc. on the rim of a cocktail glass when I’m drinking a cocktail. I don’t get all upset about it if I have such, cause drinking oughta be fun, not upsetting, but it’s not my favorite, cause really, I wanna taste the drink and its ingredients and not be overwhelmed by whatnots on the glass. I realize others take a different take on this, and that’s just okay with me! Again, drinking oughta be fun! However, there is one (maybe more, but that wouldn’t make such a good transition) drink I am okay with a sugared rim on, and that’s Mrs. Solomon Wears Slacks. Because it’s from Crosby Gaige’s Cocktail Guide and Ladies Companion, published in 1941, and I don’t want the ghost of bon vivant Gaige haunting me. Unless ghosts are all-of-a-sudden able to become corporeal enough to shake cocktails; if that’s the case, haunt away Mr. Gaige! And start the haunting by serving up this amazingly-named drink.
Mrs. Solomon Wears Slacks
Ice cubes
Super-fine sugar
2 ounces brandy
1/2 ounce orange curaçao
3 dashes Angostura bitters
Lemon twist
1. Put a good helping of sugar on a saucer. Wet the outside rim of a Champagne flute (I used a lemon slice, but you could also rotate it through water on a saucer–just don’t get any water in the glass). Carefully rotate the outside rim of the glass through the sugar–but you don’t want to get any sugar on the inside.
2. Fill a cocktail shaker or mixing glass halfway full with cracked ice. Add the brandy, curaçao, and bitters. Stir well.
3. Strain the mix into the flute. Garnish with the lemon twist. Now, dance!
It’s April, you old so-and-so! That means summer (or Mr. Sunny Suntimes, as it’s called by some) isn’t too far around the corner, what with its rum drinks and poolside parties and pirates. With that, I suggest you start practicing your summer drinks now, so you can be known as Drinkmaster HW (for hot weather) when it gets here. And here’s one to start practicing with, not a known drink worldwide yet (though known enough to carrying its own second moniker, “rum-daddy”), but a darn good one, featuring a hearty base (or spirit-kick, as they say) of Flor de Caña rum shimmying close with Brovo’s delightful Lucky (it already has a nickname in its name!) Falernum, Pierre Ferrand’s now classic orange curaçao, Scrappy’s dancing on the tongue Orleans bitters (did you know Scrappy was a nickname of a real person? It is!), and a touch of lemon and simple. The very latter I like, as it seemed to smooth the edges (or tan lines, if you will), but if it’s too sweet for your taste, drop it like a name you’re not fond of.
Recently, I was talking about bottles to buy dad for Father’s Day on the mighty and mighty fun New Day Northwest. It was great, as I got to highlight some fantastic spirits and liqueurs made right here in way-out Washington state. And, I also got to make a special cocktail for dad using a number of those bottles. But here’s the thing – the drink, which is called Thy Noble Father (from Hamlet, you know), is a dandy one for any time of year, any day, with Woodinville Whiskey straight bourbon, Brovo Spirits Orange Curacao, Seattle Distilling Company brandy, and Scrappy’s Black Lemon bitters. I’m not sure I can conjure many better quartets than that for you, if you’re the type of person who like cocktails layered with flavor, underlined by two base spirits, cocktails with lots of earthy and celestial citrus, along with spice notes, and a little friendly sweetness that isn’t overly sweet, just an echo. And, you can make it for dad whenever you want – it’s not like he doesn’t deserve a good drink multiple times a year, right?
I’m not usually a sugar-on-the-rim guy, or a salt, or any of that jazz. Unless it’s done really well. Which it sometimes is! So now I’m contradicting myself. But also sometimes it’s done poorly, with the spice in question all on the inside of the glass and overwhelming the drink’s flavors, instead of complementing them. But once in a while, I do go that route, especially when I’m making a drink that suggests it where the drink is also from Crosby Gaige’s Cocktail Guide and Ladies Companion, my favorite book published in 1941. And if that wasn’t enough, this has a fantastic name. If you can name a drink this swell-ly, then let me know about it, and I will make one of these for you. Really!
1. Put a good helping of sugar (but not a mound or anything) on a saucer. Wet the outside rim of a Champagne flute (I used a lemon slice, but you could also rotate it through water on a saucer–just don’t get any water in the glass). Carefully rotate the outside rim of the glass through the sugar–but you don’t want to get any sugar on the inside. No, no, not a grain. So, be careful.
2. Fill a cocktail shaker or mixing glass halfway full with cracked ice. Add the brandy, curaçao, and bitters. Stir well.
It may surprise no one to know that I’ve tried a fair number of the spirits and liqueurs and such that are available around the world. But still, there are many, many imbibables that I’ve yet to sample (so please, send me any you think I haven’t had. Hah!). Example A until recently was palinca, or pálinka, the fruit brandy made in the Carpathian Basin and thereabouts. I hadn’t even heard about it until my Romanian pal George (who I work with remotely at a giant video game company, but don’t hold that against us) was visiting Seattle and brought a bottle. It wasn’t earmarked for me, at first, but I quickly convinced him that I should go home with it, and he eventually agreed – he also told it was very dangerous stuff and super strong.
After tasting it, I certainly agree with the latter, but not the former. The version he gave me, Palinca de Maramures, or palinca made from plums or prunes, has a kick, no doubt, but also a nice fruit undertone, with a tiny hint of nuts. He also told me that I could never come up with a cocktail using it – this, of course, was a challenge I couldn’t back down from. So, I invented The Ivanel, named after George. I mellowed out the umph of the palinca and added some layers of flavor with a little Cocchi di Torino (a lovely sweet vermouth) and the unbeatable Pierre Ferrand orange curaçao. The end result was good enough that I expect George to come back soon to try it.
The Ivanel
Ice cubes
1-1/2 ounces Palinca de Maramures
1 ounce Cocchi di Torino vermouth
1/2 ounce Pierre Ferrand orange curaçao
Wide orange twist, for garnish
1. Fill a cocktail shaker or mixing glass halfway full with ice cubes. Add everything but the twist. Stir well.
2. Strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with the wide orange twist and a salute to Romania.
It’s July, so I’m not going to lie (really, I just wanted to make that rhyme. No, wait, really, I’m not lying. Really)—I have a strong affection for not only the Oriental Cocktail (a beaut of an unburied treasure utilizing a party power pack: rye, sweet vermouth, orange curaçao, and lime juice) but for pretty much all cocktails that come with a good story. Want to learn more? Check out this short-but-swell article on the Oriental Cocktail I wrote that was recently in a special summer cocktail e-issue of the Good Life Report (the article does have the full recipe, too—if you’re thirsty). If you don’t know about the Good Life Report, and yet feel you are someone who does, indeed, want a good life, then, well, sign up for gosh sakes.
PS: I almost forgot–that article also talks about Mark Butler’s genius drink the Occidental, too! How can you miss it?
I was looking through my library (which isn’t like the booze Library of Alexandria or something, but which is an agreeable little stack of books about drinks, drinking, and more drinking) the other night for recipes for the Betsy Ross, because my pal Andrew had asked about it (for his new bar, which I talked about below. Really, this is turning into the Andrew Bohrer admiration society). Anywho, the flag-making patriot-in-liquid form as far as I found goes back to 1941 (and by the way, history buffs, I’m not saying I made a complete search of every known record and microfilm and microfiche, but just that I looked through the books in the above mentioned library), to a recipe in one of my favorites, the jolly Crosby Gaige’s Cocktail Guide and Ladies Companion. Which was published in 1941, as you might have surmised. Now, this is a winding road way of getting here, but while tracking down the info, I re-noticed another drink, across the page from Betsy Ross, a drink with the enticing and intriguing name, “Mrs. Solomon Wears Slacks.” Which is one of the top twenty-five drink names. Or, at least, that’s what I’m saying today. In honor of Mr. Gaige’s (or whomever’s) naming prowess, I made the mix, a brandy-based affair, and it was pretty swell. I even sugared the Champagne flute’s rim, as suggested, getting sweetly jiggy with it. I mussed around with the Slacks some (gawd, that’s fun to say), but the basic ingredients stayed the same (I went a snitch higher on curaçao and bitters, and brandy for that matter). I suggest serving it up at those affairs where slacks are worn, or anytime you want to be a bit daring (which slacks were in 1941. And that’s how I’m wearing it).
Ice cubes
Super-fine sugar
2 ounces brandy
1/2 ounce orange curaçao
3 dashes Angostura bitters
Lemon twist
1. Put a good helping of sugar (but not a mound or anything) on a saucer. Wet the outside rim of a Champagne flute (I used a lemon slice, but you could also rotate it through water on a saucer–just don’t get any water in the glass). Carefully rotate the outside rim of the glass through the sugar–but you don’t want to get any sugar on the inside. No, no, not a grain. So, be careful.
2. Fill a cocktail shaker or mixing glass halfway full with ice cubes. Add the brandy, curaçao, and bitters. Stir well.
3. Strain the mix into the flute. Garnish with the lemon twist (making sure now, that you get that swoosh of lemon oils from the twist into the drink and not into the atmosphere at large). Now, dance!
