You might think that I’m in error here, in my typing, or that I’ve gone off the rails into some other universe, or parallel time range, or some other high-brow theoretical bar or lounge where the Sazerac, one of the world’s most well-known and beloved drinks, has a different spelling. But, nope! This is a separate drink entirely, been around for a bit, though not so well-known, and not ordered much if at all. Which is a shame, as it’s fairly tasty, though containing a passel of ingredients: two base spirits (rye and rum), two bitters (Angostura and Orange, Scrappy’s Orange here), other items of note (anisette and absinthe to be specific). It’s probably that ingredient list which has scared off drinkers and drink makers, but they somehow go together. Perhaps not with that beautiful simplicity the Sazarac is known for (though they do share absinthe in their lists), but delivering a layered flavor that’s memorable in its own right. Give it a whirl – though don’t give up Sazaracs if you fall in love with this here drink. There’s room for both.
Here’s a swell quote from a swell old pocket book called Suddenly A Corpse, by the legal thriller/crime/pulp master Harold Q. Masur, or Hal Masur, or just old HQM, as his pals used to call him (I hope). It stars his regular, lawyer Scott Jordan, and is well worth tracking down. I could tell you more, but I’m not gonna. Cause I want to get to the quote, which I find is ideal for this time of year, the Thanksgiving time, the time when all of those who don’t have some sort of insane ability to skip seconds, end up being overfull. Or, because their stomachs, as below, were installed by . . . well, just go on reading.
She had another pull of rye that would have knocked me kicking. She might have been drinking water for all the effect it had. Her stomach, I thought, must have been installed by the Bethlehem Steel Company.
For a moment there I was busier than a drunk on a tightrope.
The Wrong Murder is the third book in Craig Rice’s John J. Malone series, with Eight Faces at Three being the first and The Corpse Steps Out being the second. I have a couple Eight Faces at Three Cocktail Talks, which I highly suggest you read so you can learn more about the amazing and intriguing Craig Rice (short version: born in 1908, first book 1939, lived an incredible tipsy life, married much – including to a beat poet – was the first crime writer on the cover of Time magazine, was said by a friend to be able to crochet, play chess, read a book, and compose music at the same time all while holding a highball, was very popular, then faded, and now hopefully is making a tiny comeback). But I, for some reason, though I’ve read it, did not have any Cocktail Talks from the second book. Not sure what rock fell on my head! Because I know the main characters were tippling throughout. The main characters being (as in the first book, and the third) press agent Jake Justus, his love, heiress Helen Brand, and defense council John J. Malone. The third book actually starts with the first two getting married, at which celebration a guest bets Jake they can commit a murder without him being able to solve it – the bet prize being a bar the guest owns, which is catnip to Jake, currently out of a job. There’s lots of madcap highjinks, lots of near-death driving by Helen, lots of missed honeymoon plane reservations, lots of Malone bemoaning it all, and lots of drinking. They still love the rye, as in the first two books, and as the below demonstrates.
She frowned. “I need a drink to help me think clearly.”
“Follow me,” Jake said. “I’m a St. Bernard.”
The walked through the softly falling snow down Madison Street to the corner of Wacker Drive, turned south for half a block, and entered a pleasantly noisy, though far from ornate, saloon.
Jake waved Helen to a secluded corner and called, “Two double ryes, quick.”
“Poor Malone,” she said softly, peeling off her gloves. The rye brought a little color back to her cheeks.
Fletcher Flora is a last-century pulp/pocket book/noir/mystery/etc. writer who perhaps in my humble opinion (or imho, as they say) hasn’t always gotten his due as being in the upper echelon of such writers. He has, in his best work, an individual style (I have a hard time pinning it down in words. I read it called “off-beat” and that’s not a bad description, character-forward, wry in a way, you just have to read them), and he’s from KS, as I was, both of which drew me to him. Until recently, there weren’t a lot of reprints of his novels, and the stories were – like so many stories pubbed in the pulps – entirely impossible to get unless you were lucky enough to inherit a stack of said mags or the money to track them down. However! As with Day Keene and a few others, more recent years have provided a boon to those of us who enjoy a good yarn in the genres, as reprinting tech has been made easier, making it possible to rediscover more of the words written by worthy authors like Flora and Keene (very different writers in style, by the way). We’ve had a few Fletcher Flora Cocktail Talks in the past as I’ve managed to score more books, and then recently I found on the Amazon a wonderful collection called The Second Fletcher Flora Mystery Megapack – funny enough, the First Fletcher Flora Mystery Megapack wasn’t available when I was shopping, so I started with the second, though I’ll remedy that asap. The megapack (from Wildside Press – thanks by the way Wildside) has an assortment of stories from Mr. Flora, ranging in length, and while all slide into the crime and mystery shelf, the set-ups and characters and driving forces change enough to make it a swell read. They aren’t all of the same high quality as his best – he had to make a living and the pulps didn’t pay phenomenally well, so quantity mattered, too – but they’re all close enough that I was amazingly happy to get the collection, and to round out my Flora-fiction. I can’t wait to read more in the first megapack, if I can wrangle it! With all that preamble, I should say that there was lots of Cocktail Talking in the stories, so expect to hear more in the coming weeks. To start, a quote from a story called “Hell Hath No Fury.” In it, we step into a little dive bar, which Mr. Flora describes perfectly in a few short sentences, and then heads for the rye.
On Fifteenth, just off Wamego, The Peanut was a dismal, little bar which, like all bars in the morning, somehow gave the impression of having a hangover. In the shadowy interior, behind the peanut bowls, a bartender looked at me as if he wished he didn’t have to. Opposite the bar lining the wall, there was a string of booths, each with its own peanut bowl, and private remote-control box for the juke box in the rear. In the last booth, where the shadows were deepest, I caught a glimmer of platinum, the white movement of a lifted hand.
I told the bartender to bring me a shot of rye and went back to the booth and sat down.
When the weather is cold and getting colder (as it is for us here in the northwest), it’s best to look towards those creatures who might be more used to the chillier temperatures than us puny humans. Take the Walrus, for instance. Large-tusked, able to navigate icy waters as if they were a warm bath, singing Walrus songs the whole time, and willing to shake up this warming cocktail between dips. You may not have known that not only does the Walrus provide the title here, but in addition created the delicious rye, sweet vermouth (Punt e’ Mes is my choice), Cointreau, simple, orange bitters (I used Scrappy’s, naturally), combo. I may, between us, be making that up. Not the delicious part, but the walrus creation part. But how cool if I’m not! Either way, this’ll keep you warm while you ponder the idea.
I feel pretty awful that I’m not 100% sure I have actually ever known a Mabel, and so have never actually been up in Mabel’s room, which seems a mysterious, wonderful, alluring place, one where rye flows like water in a waterfall of grapefruit juice and simple syrup, one where the foxtrot trots, and laughter reigns, where no-one frowns and no-one is divisive, and all drink (and eat – cheese, lots, in Mabel’s room, and pastries I’m guessing) and are merry. My kinda place. Now, I just need to know a Mabel.
You might guess, after looking at the title here, that this drink is named after a particularly feisty pup of some sort, or one who swears like a doggy sailor, and knowing how much (as you know me so well) I love dogs, it’d be a good guess! But, sadly, a wrong one. Really, I just fancied up a name (as I am fancy) for a whiskey and ginger-y combo I made recently (Whiskey And Ginger – WAG! Hilarious, right?). Not whiskey and ginger ale, which is a wonderful classic combo especially in spring and early summer, and not the Whisky Mac, which is a Scottish classic combo of whisky and ginger wine that I like to have when visiting the UK. Instead, this whiskey ginger mélange utilizes Portland Syrups Ginger Syrup, a bottle of which I was lucky enough to receive not many moons ago (along with a few more delicious Portland Syrups)!
This Ginger Syrup has a very fresh, strong ginger flavor, one accented by the addition of Japanese chilies, which gives a nice bit of heat mingling with the ginger spice on the tongue at the end of a sip. It’s not overly sweet, either, but well-balanced. It’s also brewed by hand in Oregon (as the name might have you guessing), which is just south of me, so neighbors really. I’m excited to try it just with soda as well as with classic ginger-y mixes like a Moscow Mule, but for the maiden voyage wanted to keep things simple, so just mixed it with Seattle Distilling Brockway Hill whiskey, a yummy whiskey made from Washington-grown rye, and one with an amiable-but-strong-in-personality rye spice flavor. This was, I am sad to admit, a small batch whiskey release, so might not be easy to find – sub in your fav rye, or bourbon, and I’ll bet you’ll still end up with a spiced boozy treat you’ll want to have twice!
1. Fill a mixing glass or cocktail shaker halfway full with cracked ice. Add the whisky and syrup. Stir well.
2. Add a big ice cube to an Old Fashioned or comparable glass. Strain the WAG over the ice cube and into the glass. Enjoy!
A Note: This is syrup in here, so I could see some shaking this. I just wasn’t feeling it. Really, you could even skip the ice while stirring if you aren’t sitting in front of a heater.
A Second Note: You could go down to 1/2 an ounce here, too, but I was feeling the ginger buzz and felt I’d better ride it!
One of the invaders (in the best way) of summer into our yard is mighty fine mint. We have mint that’s been planted by us, years past, but either it’s spread or we’ve also had wild mint find it’s way into the yard. Though I wouldn’t be sad to be responsible for a mint invasion, I think I’d like it even better if there was wild mint propagating hither and thither randomly. But back to the point I’m meandering my way into making: we have a lot of mint! Not a problem to induce tears falling in any manner, but one that does mean searching for drinks that make fine use of mint, and eventually finding my way back to this particular potion: Iollas’ Itch, which I hadn’t made in a number of years. Not because it’s not delicious (it is), but because, well, there are loads of delicious drinks in the world and sometimes one forgets one or two. Anywho, this cocktail, though rye-based (yum), and with heady sweet vermouth (yum), I believe still beckons during the hotter months due to the addition of apricot liqueur, whose sweet fruitiness is very much sunshine-y (and, yum), and naturally that summer favorite that brought this paragraph on pointe: mint.