Well, here’s a jolly good mystery read, if I do say so myself (hehe). In The American Who Watched British Mysteries, by the book police Detective Marlowe is investigating the strangulation death of Lucy Dixon, beginning the case by interviewing recent widower John Arthur, who, with his brindled bouncy dog Ainsley (what a wonderful name for a dog!), found the body early on a Saturday morning next to a tree-filled community center. Mysterious, right? The detective soon discovers that John is a massive fan of British mystery television series (hey, I am too), to the point that he keeps going on tangents about the two Detective Barnabys from Midsomer and quoting French – or is it Belgian? – private investigators. As Marlowe and his team begin to dig into the case, John keeps showing up. He knew the victim, calls the neighborhood a village, and arrives at the station with a map of the block she lived on, detailing everyone who was at the party attended the night before her murder. As the officers investigate, John’s TV-driven insights and attention to detail become surprisingly helpful. But Marlowe’s eyebrows keep raising as he wonders if the man, who he starts to think of as a friend, is a curious and lonely television obsessive, or could he actually be involved with the murder? And is it, as John brings up, a one-murder show, a two-murder show, or an even-more-murders show?
It sorta hits all my boxes: British TV mysteries, British mysteries in general, cozy mystery books, good characters, neat references, there’s a dog, it breezes along while still having a good mystery going, and, perhaps most of all, there’s a very good bar featured, Gary’s, with an English bartender named Gary! And, as you might expect from a book here on the ol’ Spiked Punch, there is lots of Cocktail Talking, lots around Italian drinks. Including the below quote.
Marlowe had fallen for the Italian Negroni way back when introduced to it on his first visit to the country, loving the ideal balance between gin, sweet vermouth, and Campari—bitter and sweet and herbal mingling. When he’d first ordered one back home after that long-past Italian trip, the bartender he’d ordered from had no idea what he was talking about. He’d had to walk him through the drink construction step by step. Now, Gary had told him that there’s a whole Negroni week bars around the country take part in. The world, it had gotten smaller.
Before his musing got any further down the global gully, Gary set the drink in front of him with a minor flourish. “Ta-da. One country-trotting Negroni, made with Italian Campari, Spanish vermouth, and British gin. And an orange twist from Florida, I surmise. And local water in the form of ice. Cheers.”
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.
This jewel of a favorite of mine and many was (at least the stories tell us this) originally created by the legendary Harry Johnson in the late 1800s, featuring the recipe in his New and Improved Bartender Manual from 1900. It’s a flavorful gem of a drink, balancing herbal notes from a trio of ingredients nicely. Here and there you see it made differently, with another ingredient added or otherwise. I find the three below the most artistic rendering, and goes with I believe the original idea, aligning three ingredients with three gems (Bijou the word having jewel as one definition): gin and diamond, sweet vermouth and ruby, and green Chartreuse and emeralds.
The Bijou
Cracked ice
1 -1/2 ounces gin
3/4 ounce green Chartreuse
3/4 ounce sweet vermouth
Lemon twist, for garnish (sometimes this is skipped, and if you skip it I won’t fuss, but I feel it’s not a bad adornment)
1. Fill a cocktail shaker or mixing glass halfway full with cracked ice. Add the gin, Chartreuse, and vermouth. Stir well.
2. Strain the mixture into a cocktail glass. Twist the twist over the glass and drop it in.
What the saying – it’s always 6 o’clock somewhere (well, maybe that’s an hour off the saying, but it is none-the-less true)? With that, I believe that this beauty should be the cocktail du jour pretty much all the time somewhere in the world. Sadly, it’s fallen from knowledge in the main, if it ever was in the main. I found it, mostly recently, in a little pamphlet called Come for Cocktails. Published by The Taylor Wine Company in 1958, I’m guessing at 6 o’clock on a Friday in anticipation of everyone drinking this mix of both sweet and dry vermouth, dry sherry, and a lemon twist. It has that swell vermouth heavier and lighter balance, with a knock of sherry nuttiness (I suggest a fine fino if you find it), and a twinkle of citrus. The lack of a higher abv base spirit means it’s a nice one if you’ve been (gasp!) dry January-ing as well, and want to ease back into the cocktails at a more measured pace. Not a bad idea for anyone if starting at 6, really!
The 6 O’clock Cocktail
Cracked ice
1 ounce dry vermouth
1 ounce sweet vermouth
1 ounce sherry
Lemon twist, for garnish
1. Fill a mixing glass or cocktail shaker halfway full with cracked ice. Add our trio of liquids. Stir well.
2. Strain into a cocktail glass, and garnish with the lemon twist.
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.
As October is fall in all ways here in the northwest of the US, it may seem strange, even foolhardy, to have a drink named after shining shores. Wouldn’t “grey and gloominess along the shore” have been more apt (I can hear you asking all the way from here)? Well, potentially, yes, but see, this is a drink I already know, and often during fall and winter I like to muse about spring and summer, not that I don’t appreciate the glories of each specific season, but if well-made drinks can’t transport us, then, well, they can, so no need to wonder about if they couldn’t. And, this particular drink, while having a sunshine-y name and a base of dark rum, sits comfortably in multiple temperate times, as that rum does have a kick, and the amaretto and sweet vermouth add some lingering layers of flavor, herbal, nutty, along with a little sweetness (to get you through the colder nights). All of which is why I’m drinking it today, and why you should, too.
Shine Along the Shore
Cracked ice
1-1/2 ounces dark rum
1 ounce amaretto
1/2 ounce sweet vermouth
Wide orange twist, for garnish
1. Fill a cocktail shaker or mixing glass halfway full with cracked ice. Add the rum, amaretto, and vermouth. Stir well.
2. Strain into a cocktail glass. Twist the twist over the glass and drop it in.
You know (cause you’re you) that I’m a big fan by a country mile (as the saying says) of coming up with a new original amazing (or at least new) name when you concoct a new drink, even if said drink only changes one ingredient from an existing drink. That’s the way our bartending foremothers and forefathers did it back in the cocktail day (in this instance, meaning late 1800s, early 1900s) I believe, and if it was good enough for them, it’s good enough for me. However! Sometimes, when the drink is really close, even I am tempted to just add an “ini” on the end or “insert word here + existing drink name” as the name and call it good. But I, even when lazy (which is most of the time) try to resist! Here, for example, I almost just said “Cherry Negroni” but then decided (still, lazily) to call it instead, The Ciliegia, which is Italian for cherry! But really, it’s mostly a Negroni (slightly different portions) with delightful Washington distillery Oomrang’s (in your mind, insert umlauts over the Os) delightful Cherry eau de vie in place of gin.
If you haven’t had it (you should!) Oomrang Cherry eau di vie, or fruit brandy, is made from natural Washington black cherries, picked at the peak of ripeness, at which time the finest of the fine have the stems removed, as well as any leafage, and then they’re rapidly turned into brandy via the joys and wonders of distillation. Fruit brandies (the real ones, not the fake ones – of which there are a lot, especially I think a lot of “cherry brandies” which are really just cherries muddled with vodka or another neutral spirit and a lot of sugaring agent, ending up oversweet and yucky) if you haven’t delved in are straight spirits, which – as demonstrated in this very drink – boast clear, crisp, flavors that catch the essence of a fruit in a way that’s wholly unique, and tasty. Here, the cherry notes mix a treat with the herbal sweetness of the sweet vermouth, and the bittery beauty of the Campari, without sacrificing the gin’s umph, as this real cherry brandy has the same ABV as the average gin. Heck, it’s a good enough combo that I’d drink it even if you did call it just a Cherry Negroni.
