In the past week there’s been a lot of buzz in cocktail circles regarding the outcome of a legal dispute between Pusser’s rum and Painkiller, a tiki bar in the Lower East Side of Manhattan. It’s a story that’s led to a lot of anger among us folks in the cocktail biz, as it touches on a number of issues we consider important, so I figured I’d touch on it here. And because the dispute involves the confounding and often contradictory legal concept of intellectual property, there’s been some confusion that I think needs to be cleared up as well–and who better than a lawyer to do so?

Photo copyright www.thelodownny.com. They were the first to break the story about the Pusser’s drama. Read the original post here.

At the heart of the dispute is a classic tiki drink called the Painkiller. It’s a drink I wrote about a couple years ago (photographed above; updated post here), and it’s one I still enjoy on a hot summer day. It also happens to be the name of a tiki bar in Manhattan which opened just a year ago. The bar’s name, obviously, is a tribute to the drink and by extension, its creators. The name Painkiller also happens to be trademarked, and that trademark happens to be owned by the rum company Pusser’s. Painkiller (the bar), as you might imagine, also happened to feature the Painkiller (the drink) on their menu, and not necessarily with Pusser’s rum in it.

So when Painkiller (the bar) opened its doors a year ago, Pusser’s became pissed off about it and demanded that the bar cease and desist the use of their trademarked term as their name, and that they cease selling drinks called Painkiller unless it featured Pusser’s rum. When the owners of Painkiller refused, the rum company decided to sue the bar in federal court (because the trademark is filed with the federal government), claiming “irreparable harm to its brand, unfair competition and unfair business practices.” Rather than duke it out in court (which may seem like the honorable thing, but remember honor can also be very expensive) the owners of Painkiller decided to settle out of court. Accordingly, the owners have now changed the name of their bar (it’s now officially called PKNY), surrendered their domain name, and removed any references to the Painkiller drink.

When word spread last week, the cocktail community was ablaze with fury over the issue. People soon took to social media outlets like Twitter and various blogs to sound off against Pusser’s. Many called for a boycott of the rum brand, and a Facebook page was started called Bartenders Against Trademarking of Cocktails, which garnered hundreds of members in a matter of hours. Jackson Cannon, bar manager of Eastern Standard in Boston decided to take it a step ballsier by changing the cocktail menu to feature the Painkiller “proudly made without Pusser’s rum,” and posting a picture of the new menu along with his business card on Twitter, proclaiming “This is my menu… This is my card… You know where to find me!”

Photo by Jackson Cannon.

So who’s really at fault here? To wrap our head around the issue (and various sub-issues), I figured it best to divide the analysis into three parts: the legal, the ethical, and the practical considerations.

LEGAL CONSIDERATIONS

Any legal analysis of this issue must begin by clarifying the differences between a patent, a copyright, and a trademark, the three main areas that comprise what is collectively referred to as intellectual property.

Patent

First let’s get patent out of the way because it doesn’t really apply in this case, though it’s still useful to understand the basic concept. When someone seeks a patent, they’re seeking a property right for an original invention or process they’ve come up. Having a patent allows the patent holders to exclude others from manufacturing or selling that invention or process.

So what can and can’t be patented? A robot that has human emotions? Hell yes, and pretty cool at that. How about if someone invents a procedure from which to turn water into wine? Yes, that process can be patented, and would also be damn cool. But how about a recipe, because that’s a process, right? Well, the answer is, sometimes. Technically recipes can be patented, but only if they present some new or inventive method of preparing said recipe. So to get more specific, a mere listing of ingredients and preparation instructions is not sufficient to receive a patent. Even a unique combination of ingredients is not enough. The process itself must be novel. So as it relates to cocktails, the simple answer is that cocktail recipes can not be patented. So even if you use your special homemade yak testicle bitters in an original cocktail creation, at the end of the day it’s just a stirred cocktail that’s no different from a Manhattan with regard to how it’s prepared and the types of ingredients used (base spirit, a presumed modifier, and bitters).

Copyright

A copyright provides protection to “original works of authorship.” This includes anything artistic, literary, musical, intellectual, etc. Owning a copyright gives you exclusive the right to do what you want with your creation. You can sell it, reproduce it, license others to reproduce it, display it for free, or perform it as the case may be, and prevent others from doing the same with your work. The reason behind the principle of copyright is to promote creativity by protecting it, with the rationale being that if creative works can be stolen, then creative people have less incentive to do creative things, and society would be presumably worse off.

It’s important to note that a copyright protects the form or method of expression, and not the subject matter itself. So let’s say for example that someone writes a book about the history of the Painkiller cocktail. The writer can copyright his original work of authorship so that someone else can’t just publish his specific writings in whole or in part without his permission. But it doesn’t prevent someone else from writing a different book on the history of the Painkiller cocktail because the subject matter itself is not protected. Otherwise there would only be one book published per subject.

So can recipes be copyrighted? The answer is no. A mere listing of ingredients is not protected under copyright law because it’s not deemed to be a “substantial literary expression.” What could be potentially protected is an accompanying “description, explanation, or illustration.” Thus a cookbook can be protected, but the mere listing of the ingredients for a particular recipe within the cookbook can not be protected.

If that’s the case, then what’s the basis for Pusser’s claim? Read on.

Trademark

A trademark is a word, symbol, or name that is used to distinguish a product of one company from the same product from another company. For example, Coca-Cola is a trademark. The company that owns that trademark, in this case Coca-Cola, has the right to sue another company if that company uses Coca-Cola’s trademark on their products.

The principle behind trademark law is that it encourages honest competition between companies, and enables the consumer to distinguish between competing products. Unlike copyright law which is intended to limit competition, trademark law works to foster competition–or at least that’s what it’s supposed to do. You can see how it would be disadvantageous to consumers if someone were to be able to use the name Coca-Cola or a confusingly similar name to promote their own independent soda product. Even if that product were to be of higher quality than the real Coca-Cola, it would amount to consumer fraud, and we surely wouldn’t want to allow that. When you buy a can of Coke, you expect it to be a can of Coke.

This principle is at the heart of Pusser’s claim, which is that when a customer orders a Painkiller, they expect it to have Pusser’s rum in it because they’re expecting that unique taste. They have two trademarks on the name Painkiller: one for “alcoholic fruit drinks with fruit juices and cream of coconut and coconut juice,” with the claim that the alcohol in the drink is Pusser’s rum; and one for “non-alcoholic mixed fruit juices,” because they also sell a product called “Pusser’s Painkiller Cocktail Mix.” The former trademark enables them to force a bar to either remove the Painkiller drink from its menu or use Pusser’s in the drink. The latter would appear to apply to the issue of preventing a bar from taking on the name Painkiller, since they have a product on the market with that name.

Note that there’s no specific recipe being protected here. Their claim is not based on the precise measurements of particular ingredients to be used in a Painkiller, but rather that any drink called a Painkiller must include Pusser’s rum in addition to “fruit juices and cream of coconut and coconut juice.”

Legal Conclusion

It’s important to remember that the case settled before actually going to trial, so no legal precedent has been set in favor of Pusser’s. Whether or not they would have prevailed is something we’ll never know, but presumably the attorneys for the defendant believed Pusser’s had a good chance of prevailing and thus advised their client to settle; or that even if they believed they could successfully fend off the suit, the cost to do so simply wasn’t worth it.

That said, the fact that Pusser’s owns the trademark is not in dispute, and therefore the legal analysis seems to point in their favor. So why are people still upset then? People are upset, and I believe rightfully so, because this is a case where a colorable and convincing argument can be made that the law as applied has consequences that conflict with the spirit of the law as conceived.

For one, this seems to suppress competition, not enhance it the way trademark law is intended to do. Requiring Pusser’s to be used in any drink called a Painkiller seems no different in principle than requiring only one brand of tequila to be used in a Margarita, or even one brand of pasta to be used in a Fettucine Alfredo. The only difference is that in the case of Pusser’s they happen to have a trademark on that name. The current bartending culture thrives on cooperation and sharing of ideas, and the fact that a bartender could be restricted from using a different rum in a drink recipe just seems plain odd and out of line with plain common sense.

Furthermore, Pusser’s trademark is certainly not akin to that of Coca-Cola, which involves a product with a secret recipe. The recipe for a Painkiller is not only public knowledge, but it was not even created by the Pusser’s. Nor did Pusser’s come up with the name. Worse yet, the Painkiller recipe predates the existence of the company by a decade, and the filing of the trademark by nearly two decades (I’ll elaborate on that later).

This doesn’t seem fair at all, and the entire concept of intellectual property is built on the notion of fairness. It’s therefore too simplistic to say that Pusser’s had a right and they were merely exercising that right. In fact, the more involved legal analysis reveals a reasonable argument that a trademark should have never been issued to Pusser’s in the first place, or in the alternative, that trademark law needs to be changed to reflect a fair outcome in these types of cases.

ETHICAL CONSIDERATIONS

All the analysis about legal issues and rights doesn’t change the fact that for many people, something just didn’t smell right. Pusser’s claim that Painkiller’s use of their trademark caused “irreparable harm to its brand, unfair competition and unfair business practices” seemed to many like old-fashioned legal speak drummed up by smart corporate attorneys. Fuel to the fire of that suspicion was added when a few facts came to light that didn’t put Pusser’s in the most honest ethical light.

The first of those issues I mentioned above, that Pusser’s did not even create the recipe for the Painkiller, nor did they come up with the name. Robert Simonson reported on his blog that tiki historian Jeff “Beachbum” Berry researched the history of the Painkiller and noted that it was created in 1971 by the owners of the Soggy Dollar Bar in the British Virgin Islands. He further notes that the original Painkiller was made with Mount Gay and Cruzan dark rums, not Pusser’s. And as mentioned above, Pusser’s didn’t even exist as a company until a decade after the drink’s creation. This is not in dispute, as it is corroborated by Pusser’s rum founder Charles Tobias in a recently released statement on the company’s website.

This was something I only recently realized. Up until a week ago I believed Pusser’s was the original rum in a Painkiller, and that’s what I wrote two years ago when I first wrote about the Painkiller recipe, and I’ve since had to go back and correct the record. As Simonson noted in his piece, even Jeff Berry, with his immense knowledge of tiki drinks was fooled, and admitted that Pusser’s litigation lead him to believe they actually created the drink. I suspect others with an even more modest knowledge of tiki history were also fooled by Pusser’s claim.

And that’s not the only issue. Besides not being the creators of the drink they’ve trademarked and now aggressively enforce, it appears they’re guilty of the same practices they accuse others of. A crafty member of the bartender community dug up a tweet by @pussers_bvi (the company’s Twitter account) dating back to May 2010 which encouraged consumers to use Pusser’s rum when making a Dark & Stormy. The significance of this is that a Dark & Stormy is the name of a cocktail created and trademarked by Gosling’s rum; it is a trademark that Gosling’s vigorously seeks to enforce in the same manner as Pusser’s. In the legal field, the term for such behavior on the part of Pusser’s is “unclean hands.”

Ethical Conclusion

That many in the cocktail community are up in arms over the actions of Pusser’s is not merely an irrational, uninformed, or visceral reaction as some have stated. There are bona fide issues of moral duplicity on the part of Pusser’s which are difficult to avoid, and have not yet been responded to by the folks at Pusser’s. Moreover, most people aren’t well-versed in the legal intricacies involved, so these issues strike a bigger chord than claims of legal right. To most people learning of the issue, Pusser’s actions simply don’t pass the smell test.

PRACTICAL CONSIDERATIONS

In addition to the various legal and ethical issues here, a number of people have brought up certain points that are simply common sense considerations, irrespective of the technicalities of the law or otherwise. Below is a summary of some of the most notable ones.

First, and in defense of Pusser’s, they rightly claim that not enforcing their trademark in instances of potential infringement leaves them vulnerable for when they do decide to enforce. Essentially the claim is that you risk losing a right you don’t take care to defend. True as that may be, it’s still a tough sell when you weren’t the creator of the trademark.

Others have noted that claims of legal right aside, suing a well respected bar as Painkiller, with owners as highly regarded in the cocktail community as Richard Boccato and Giuseppe Gonzalez, is asking for a major PR headache. As it is Pusser’s doesn’t have a huge presence in the U.S. market, and pissing off bartenders who are the gatekeepers of consumer awareness and consumption is not a bright way to increase market share.

Furthermore, it’s likely that in its one year of existence, the bar Painkiller has done more to promote the drink–and indirectly Pusser’s as a brand–than all of Pusser’s marketing efforts in the last decade. So rather than seeing the Painkiller the bar as hurting the Pusser’s brand, one could argue the bar has helped shine a positive light on their rum that they didn’t previously enjoy; that with a little creative thinking on Pusser’s part they could have created some mutually beneficial collaborative opportunities.

Lastly, if you’re going to claim that you have a product so unique and amazing as to make it indispensable in a recipe, you had better be able to back it up. As noted above, Pusser’s can’t be that indispensable to a recipe if it wasn’t even called for, nor even existed, when the recipe was created. But even putting that issue aside, perhaps they could claim that the Painkiller recipe is better with Pusser’s than it ever was.

Of course this can’t be proven or disproven because it’s a subjective claim, but one would think that if it makes such a great Painkiller, then tiki bars would use the brand more often in the recipe–at least the bars that fashion themselves as using the highest grade ingredients. But that fact simply doesn’t bare out. Painkiller and other high quality establishments that serve Painkillers often use other rums besides Pusser’s.

Why is that? Contrary to their ridiculously sounding claim on the Pusser’s website that their product is “The Single Malt of Rum,” the truth is that many bartenders and rum experts will tell you is that it flat out sucks. For starters, it’s outright puffery to claim that a rum can even be a single malt (it is impossible, since rum is distilled from sugar, not malted barley). But even if we take the phrase in a looser sense, it doesn’t jive with reality. Paul Pacult, who is a highly respected spirits critic, published a review of Pusser’s rum in his 2008 book Kindred Spirits 2. It may be enlightening to read what he had to say about the highly self-touted rum. Here’s the review in its entirety:

“The brilliant copper penny color is pretty, but displays minor sediment beneath the examination lamp. The opening nose detects peculiar smells of olive brine, seaweed, wood polish, and shellfish; extra air contact does nothing to enhance the briny/solvent-like and weird aroma. Better in the mouth than in the nasal cavity; the palate entry is piney, cedar-like, and astringent; at midpalate there are flashes of molasses, coffee, and tobacco that aren’t significant enough to drag this oddball rum up into recommended territory. Ends up poorly as highly astringent and manufactured tastes dominate the exit. This was originally labeled as “Admiral’s Reserve” in 1993 and 1996. That designation no longer appears on the label, though the abv strength is the same. The detergent-like, cleaning liquid finish brings the rating back down to one star. A waste of a good glass bottle. No wonder the British Navy fell into disrepair. Rating: 1 star/Not Recommended”

One star is the absolute lowest rating that Paul Pacult gives a spirit. In other words, their rum just sucks. Of course that’s only one critic’s review–one notable and highly respected critic–and ultimately you should decide for yourself. Nonetheless it doesn’t help Pusser’s claims that it is the one and only rum that must be used in a Painkiller.

Perhaps then, in the utmost consideration of practicality, some of Pusser’s legal budget ought to be redirected toward product development.

Just a thought.

*Got a cocktail question? Hit me on twitter @paystyle, email me at payman(at)lifesacocktail(dot)com, or simply drop me a comment below.

Like a whirlwind, the Manhattan Cocktail Classic came and went in a flash, leaving a trail of devastation and destruction in its wake. Except in this case the damage wasn’t in the form of homes and property, but rather brain cells and livers. After many many jamba juices and wheatgrass shots, full recovery was finally attained, and I’ve gathered the requisite photos and videos to give you a proper recap, along with a little peek at some of the action behind the scenes in the Astor Center kitchen.

This year I was fortunate enough to be selected along with a handful of other talented and accomplished bartenders from around the world for the inaugural MCC Bar Fellowship program. From Amsterdam to Aspen and lands in between, nineteen total Bar Fellows were selected to participate in this first ever program. You can view the complete list of Bar Fellows here, and I strongly suggest you keep it as reference the next time you’re in of their cities and you’re in need of an awesomely crafted cocktail. Now you know where to get a great cocktail in St. Louis.

Upon our shoulders was placed the task of turning out the hundreds of cocktails served during all the seminars held at the Astor Center over the course of the week, as well as many of the cocktails served at the opening night Gala. Each seminar presenter provided their recipes, and we got to the task of making them and serving them at the designated time. Most seminars had about 4-5 cocktails, and there were anywhere between 40-80 people in attendance for each seminar. Um, that’s a lot of cocktails.

The daily call time was 9am at the Astor Center kitchen, and most days we didn’t get out until around 8 or 9pm. But of course our work didn’t stop then, because as soon as we were done at the Astor Center we had to motivate to whichever party(ies) were lined up for that evening, with nary a moment to shower.

To kick everything off was the opening night Gala. The NY Public Library building. Hundreds of full-sized, well-crafted cocktails by some of the country’s best. Thousands of dappered out guests. The markings of an epic night, and even more epic hangover.

Nick Van Tiel mixing Plymouth gin cocktails.

Chris Patino, an awesome bartender in both black and white and color!

Looks like they were expecting me.

The gorgeous photographer of Happy Hour.

For all you foodies.

Iron bartender Tony Abou-Ganim (L) and Jim Meehan of PDT (R).

Below, the mad scientist of food and drink, Dave Arnold of the French Culinary Institute, dressed like rocket man with his CO2 backpack tanks was walking around the Gala slinging carbonated Negronis and other fizzy goods.

Myself along with Ted Haigh aka Dr. Cocktail, author of Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails, a book you ought pick up immediately if you don’t have it in your bookshelf.

The inimitable Jim Kearns, one of NY’s top bartenders, and a really nice guy.

Since I was in the kitchen all day I didn’t have the opportunity to sit in any of the seminars. But truth be told I didn’t mind it one bit, because the kitchen was where all the action was at. And despite the painstaking labor and long hours on my feet, I felt a real sense of privilege to be around the other team members. By the second day I felt a palpable sense of comradery that was unlike anything I had experienced before. Team leaders were pretty much self-appointed, as were most of our tasks, and it was amazing to see how little ego there was in the kitchen, especially considering how accomplished many of the Bar Fellows were.

At certain moments it was pure magic watching everyone work together. Together we comprised a supremely well-oiled machine as we manned our various stations and turned out cocktails en masse for seminar-goers. We established an assembly-line that was simultaneously chaotic and symphonic, as cocktails were shaken by one group, then passed to another group to pour while someone applied the garnishes, then the shakers were passed back to someone in charge of refilling them with ice and passing them back to be filled with more batched cocktails to be shaken, and the cycle continued this way until that particular set of drinks were completed and taken out by the wait staff.

It comes as no surprise that my most memorable moments of the MCC occurred right in the Astor Center kitchen, and not at events or seminars as one might expect.

One of those moments was when myself and teammate Timo Janse (Door 74, Amsterdam) were charged the dubious task of drizzling lines of honey inside champagne flutes. Because it was such a time consuming task, it needed to be done well in advance of the fire time for that particular cocktail. Problem was, the honey would simply flow down to the bottom of the glass if we did it too far in advance. So in order to avoid finding ourselves in the weeds, we found ourselves seated in the walk-in refrigerator with the crates of champagne glasses, drizzling honey into each and every one. From time to time someone would drop by to grab something from the walk-in, and they were greeted with a rather gay looking scene of two guys sitting across each other, drizzling honey into champagne glasses. All we needed was some candles and the scene would be complete.

Another memorable moment involved crushed ice, of all things. At various moments we had to make cocktails which required crushed ice, which as it turned out the Astor Center did not have such a machine so we had to do it by hand. Not a problem, as that’s the old school way of doing it anyway, except that we lacked a properly solid surface to do the crushing. The standard metal-top tables which you find in most professional kitchens were what we had, but they’re not sufficiently hard enough to absorb the blows required to produce the finely crushed ice called for–not to mention it would be way too noisy of an affair and would disrupt the seminars.

So myself and my partner-in-crime Michael McSorley (Tavern Law, Needle and Thread, Tini Bigs, Seattle) devised a plan to crush the ice out back in the delivery bay where we’d not only have noise insulation but a flat, hard surface to beat the living shit out of the ice. So we laid out some trash bags to cover the floor, grabbed some rolling pins and tablecloths to wrap the ice in, and commenced to lay a hurtin’ on that ice. To the unassuming passerby, it looked like a scene straight out of a mafia flick–two guys beating the crap out of some poor schmuck wrapped in a black body bag. We made sure that ice wouldn’t steal from us again. The video below says it all.

As hard as we all worked, towards the end we began to get a bit loopy, and found unique ways to squeeze fun into the workday. We even devised a game whereby you toss a ring on a table full of liquor bottles, and the bottle it lands on is the one you have to take a shot of. Even Gary Regan got in on the fun.

No workday is complete without a little Soul Train style dance off.

The final event of the MCC was the anti-gala, serving nothing but beer and shots. 

By that time I was pretty cocktailed out, so shitty beer and shots is exactly what I was looking for.

Finally, I leave you with one of the lasting memories that was burned in all our minds (for better or worse), a little something from fellow Bar Fellow Jake Sher, which we dubbed “Jaker Faces.”

Until next May…

*Got a cocktail question? Hit me on twitter @paystyle, email me at payman(at)lifesacocktail(dot)com, or simply drop me a comment below.

It feels good to return to normalcy (read proper hydration) now that the Manhattan Cocktail Classic (read Manhattan Hangover Classic) has concluded. For myself and the other Bar Fellows of this year’s cocktail classic, normalcy took a bit longer to reach, as we were in the Astor Center Kitchen 12 hours a day prepping and batching the cocktails served at all the seminars. My initial plan for this week was to write a recap of our experience at the MCC, but since I haven’t finished compiling all the photos and video, I’ll try to post that next week. Like I said, normalcy took a bit longer for some of us.

So instead for this week I’ll going to share a new cocktail recipe, but will also be asking for your help. The drink I created is called the Rainforest Cobbler. It features Veev Acai spirit as its base, and I’ve submitted it to the Veev Garden-to-Glass Cocktail Challenge. At stake for the winner is three nights of paid hotel in New Orleans for the annual Tales of the Cocktail, the premier mixology convention/drinking fète. If making cocktails is your business, then your business is to be down in NoLa for Tales in July.

Unfortunately mixology is not always as lucrative as say, being an oil magnate, so we have to resort to such tactics as winning cocktail competitions to subsidize our trips. In fact, I was able to attend Tales for the first time last year precisely because I was a finalist in a cocktail competition. And because I haven’t discovered any oil this year, I’m going to try to win this competition (and a few others) to help get my ass down to NoLa.

The way you can help me win is very simple. Simply click on this link and vote for my drink. You can vote once every day until June 4, and you can tell all your friends to do the same. So check the recipe below, mix some Rainforest Cobbler for yourself and your friends, and cast your votes!

Rainforest Cobbler
1  1/2 oz Veev Acai spirit
3/4 oz Vermouth Perucchi Blanco
1/2 oz simple syrup (1:1 sugar to water)
2 strawberries, quartered
1/2 lime, quartered
7 basil leaves

Garnish: sliced strawberries, plus one whole strawberry, leaves removed and replaced with basil sprig as pictured.
Glass: Collins

Place cut strawberries, lime, and basil leaves in shaker and muddle well. Add the remaining ingredients along with ice and shake well and hard. Strain into an empty collins glass. Pack the glass with crushed ice and garnish with sliced strawberry pieces inside glass. Place the whole strawberry with attached basil sprig on rim of glass as garnish and serve.

Note: if you can’t find Vermouth Perucchi Blanco, substitute another blanc/blanco/bianco vermouth such as Dolin Blanc or Martini Bianco. Keep in mind that this is not the same as white vermouth, aka dry vermouth. The color is white but it is not dry. It is distinctly sweet, similar to Lillet Blanc in flavor, which you can also substitute in a pinch. If you do substitute another vermouth keep in mind that you may have to adjust the simple syrup as the various brands do vary in sweetness.

It’s a refreshing drink that’s fairly easy to make and is awesome in the sweltering summer heat. Here in Happy Hour HQ, it’s the type of drink we refer to as a patio pounder. Cheers, and don’t forget to vote!

*Got a cocktail question? Hit me on twitter @paystyle, email me at payman(at)lifesacocktail(dot)com, or simply drop me a comment below.

Tomorrow is Cinco de Mayo, and many of you will be sloshing down the compulsory Margaritas and tequila shots, which in no way would I want to stand in the way of. But if you’re an adventurous drinker like I am and want to try something new (but no less fitting of the festivities), you might be interested in the cocktail that follows.

The common misconception is that Cinco de Mayo is Mexican Independence Day–it is not. It’s a commemoration of the Mexican army’s defeat of Napoleon’s French forces in the Battle of Puebla on May 5, 1862. Cinco de Mayo is not widely celebrated throughout Mexico, except in the city of Puebla where the victorious battle took place. In the U.S., however, Cinco de Mayo parallels St. Patrick’s Day as a national excuse to get drunk, although in California and some of the Southwest states it has also become a celebration of Mexican heritage–in addition to an excuse to get drunk.

This week’s cocktail, the General Ignacio, is one I recently created. The name is significant for a couple reasons. First, it’s a small present for one of my dearest friends, Ignacio, who’s birthday is actually tomorrow. Tom Cruise may be born on the 4th of July, but that doesn’t top a Mexican born on Cinco de Mayo!

Secondly, the name is significant to Cinco de Mayo itself, because it was under the leadership of General Ignacio Zaragoza Seguin that the Mexican army defeated the French.

The ingredients in the cocktail are also inspired by the spirit of Cinco de Mayo. Chartreuse, an herbal liqueur made in France, and June, a liqueur made from grape vine flowers, also from France, join forces to topple the smoky full-flavored Mezcal. But despite being outnumbered by a half ounce, the Mexican spirit holds its own against the French liqueurs by enlisting the help of its reliable old pal from the citrus family. And although it might first appear that there’s a real battle taking place in the cocktail shaker, the ice convinces everyone to chill out, producing a surprisingly harmonious outcome despite seemingly competing elements.

General Ignacio
1 oz Del Maguey Mezcal Vida (hands down the best value in Mezcal)
3/4 oz Chartreuse
3/4 oz June Liqueur
3/4 oz fresh lemon juice
lemon peel

Tools: shaker, strainer
Glass: chilled coupe or cocktail glass

Place everything besides the lemon peel in a cocktail shaker with plenty of ice; shake hard until well-chilled; strain into a chilled cocktail glass; twist lemon peel over drink to release its oils then discard.

Happy Cinco de Mayo, and may fortune be with you in the Battle of the Hangover.

*Got a cocktail question? Hit me on twitter @paystyle, email me at payman(at)lifesacocktail(dot)com, or simply drop me a comment below.

Being out of the country for nearly a month has a tendency to adjust a person’s perspective of “home.” Home has had various meanings and geographical locations in various moments in my life. Conceptually, it means numerous–and sometimes conflicting–things at one time, and all this really came to light on my recent trip to Iran. Depending on how the question is asked, for me home can either mean Iran (where I was born), Los Angeles (where I grew up), or New York City (where I now live).

In the final days of my trip, it was the lattermost of the three homes that was most on my mind. I once heard someone refer to NYC as the great Roman Carnival, a place where the spectacle is ordinary, and even if the spectacle is unsightly, it’s one you can’t walk away from. The rat on the subway track may as well be the city’s mascot, because it so neatly encapsulates the love-hate relationship many residents feel toward this city: that even those disgusted by it are unable to turn their eyes from it. Those who live, or have ever lived, in this city for a significant amount of time might understand what I’m referring to.

On my flight home I felt as if all that I loved and hated about NYC was rolled up in one great tangled ball of string. Below is my attempt at untangling that ball.

Good Morning Heartache
1 1/2 oz Gin (Beefeater 24 is ideal because of its tea botanicals)
3/4 oz fresh tangerine juice (I used honey tangerines)
1/2 oz fresh lemon juice
1/2 oz lapsang-honey syrup (see recipe below)
1/2 oz egg white (organic farm fresh eggs)
6 dashes Bar Keep Baked Apple Bitters

Garnish: small pinch lapsang souchong tea leaves, heated 20 seconds in microwave
Tools: shaker, strainer
Glass: chilled coupe or cocktail glass

Add the gin, egg white, and honey syrup to a cocktail shaker and dry shake (without ice) vigorously for 15 seconds to emulsify and froth the egg. Add the remaining ingredients along with lots of cracked ice and shake again until the drink is well mixed and chilled, about 10 seconds or so. Strain into your glass and garnish by adding atop the drink a pinch of dried lapsang souchong tea leaves that have been heated in the microwave for 20 seconds.

Lapsang-Honey Syrup
In a small pot bring one cup water to a boil. After water boils, turn off heat and add five teaspoons lapsang souchong tea leaves and allow the tea to steep for five minutes. Make sure tea leaves are submerged in the water and stir every minute or so to ensure teas give off maximum flavor. After five minutes strain out the tea leaves and discard. To the remaining tea add an equal amount of honey and stir to fully dissolve. You now have a smoky, sweet syrup that’s ready to use in the cocktail.

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Good Morning Heartache is my ode to all that is New York City–it’s good, bad, pretty, and ugly. Now judging by the way this cocktail looks and tastes, it’s clear I have more love than hate for this city. That’s because to me, even the ugly in this city is pretty, if not altogether more beautiful than the pretty itself. When I went about creating the recipe I wanted to represent that, and I tried to create something that engaged multiple senses.

This cocktail is inspired by couple of things that are unique to this city. First, it is an homage to old New York, the city we think of when we describe the great Harlem Renaissance and the Jazz Age. Those of you familiar with that era will instantly recognize that the name of the cocktail comes from a classic Billy Holiday song.

There are few people I can think of who better represent that era than Lady Day, as she lived and breathed the city in so much of her music. Although I’ve never heard the song Good Morning Heartache officially interpreted in this way, I’ve always thought it was an extended metaphor for New York City; that the lover she’s singing to in the morning, the one that she can’t stand to be apart from despite the grief he’s caused her, is the city itself. And in that sense the song was the perfect name for this drink.

I also wanted to invoke this theme by engaging the senses, and I did so via the various ingredients I used, such as the lapsang-honey syrup. Imagine if you will the sweet voice of Billie Holiday in a smoke-filled Harlem nightclub in the 1930s—that was a big inspiration for combining the smoky lapsang tea with the honey, and also why I use the heated dried tea leaves as a garnish atop the drink. Not only do you get a sweet smoky sensation on the palate, but also on the nose as the aroma wafts above the drink.

Secondly, this cocktail is inspired by a classic New York tradition, brunch. Sure other cities have brunch, but in New York brunch is a religion.  It is the city that turned the word brunch into a verb. The cocktail not only represents that in its name, but also in its ingredients. Tea, honey, tangerine juice, and egg, are all items you’d find at a traditional brunch table. This cocktail, as the sum of those parts, is also intended to be right at home on the brunch table.

Here’s to the beautiful decay that is home.

*Got a cocktail question? Hit me on twitter @paystyle, email me at payman(at)lifesacocktail(dot)com, or simply drop me a comment below.

The Prohibition Era figures prominently in the collective imagination of the cocktail world. The aura and mystique surrounding that era still wields great influence on popular culture. The popularity of HBO’s Boardwalk Empire is a perfect example of our still not fully reconciled fascination with that period, as is the proliferation of modern “speakeasies” in New York and across the country. Yet despite this nostalgic intrigue, most of us have no idea what it’s like to live under prohibition.

Recently I had the opportunity to have such an experience, as I traveled to Iran for a cousin’s wedding. As many of you know, alcohol is prohibited in Iran, but that doesn’t mean people don’t find a way to get their drink on, as we sure enough did.

Breakfast of champions: grilled lamb chops, liver, heart, and lung on the roof of my cousin’s house.

A street food vendor fanning the grill, atop which sits skewers of lamb liver. Street food in the U.S. rarely gets this good.

The wedding was in a city called Saravan, a very rural city in the southeastern region of Iran known as Baluchistan. The name Baluchistan means “land of the Baluch people,” the ethnic minority who have inhabited the area for hundreds of years.

The Baluchistan region spans across southeastern Iran, northwestern Pakistan, and southern Afghanistan.

Regional map, with Baluchistan in Pink

The area is also a veritable desert, though dates grow abound from the many palm trees dotting the region. In fact, some of the best, juiciest dates in the world come from this region.

Since my cousin was marrying a Baluchi girl, he was having a traditional Baluchi wedding, the traditions of which were unfamiliar to myself and other members of my family (who are of Persian, not Baluchi ethnicity). My cousin, however is half Baluchi, so this was no sweat for him. As a matter of fact his grandfather was the Baluchi king of the region in his day, with grand castle and all.

The view of the town below from one of the rooms midway up the castle. The castle itself is at least 500 years old and is now a national historic site.

Henna tattoos are a common tradition at weddings in this region.

So this wedding was a big deal for a lot of people in the area–and by a lot, practically everyone. In its entirety, the wedding was a three day affair, with extravagant lunches and dinners offered on each day. To give you a sense of how extravagant, on one evening 20 goats were freshly slaughtered and smoked as part of the main dinner offering. Every day it seemed the entire town had gathered to be fed.

In America, the open bar is at least half the motivation for attending a wedding. Obviously expectations are not the same in a country like Iran where liquor is prohibited. Going dry for one wedding is bad enough, let alone a three day wedding.

A three day wedding with no bar? Ok, I can adjust my expectations and make the best of it, I figured. What I didn’t anticipate, however, was that for almost every aspect of three day affair, including the lunches, dinners, tea, and dancing portions, the men and women would be in separate areas.

So traditional was this wedding that the men (including the groom, I believe) didn’t get to see the bride until the morning after the third day. The picture of the bride below was taken by my mom, because the guys weren’t even privy to this.

No alcohol, no problem, but kickin’ it sober with a bunch of dudes? Oh man, this situation needed some amelioration.

Fortunately one of my cousins (I have too many to count, but suffice it to say it wasn’t the one getting married–thankfully, because that would be a disaster in waiting) felt the same way as I did, and even more fortunate was the fact that he knew a thing or two about amelioration, if you know what I mean. So he decides to score some liquor before the wedding, and asked if I wanted to come along. Naturally, I did.

We went to the local bazaar, where he knew a guy who sells textiles and cloth by the meter, but also comes across some hooch from time to time. After several minutes of shooting the obligatory shit, we end up with a packaged pouch of liquid that read “Scotch Whiskey.” I was instantly skeptical, but it wasn’t as if I was going to call the Better Business Bureau, so we had to take what we could get.

When we got back to his kitchen I busted it open and confirmed what I already knew, that it wasn’t Scotch, and it most certainly wasn’t whiskey. It was nothing more than clear, high proof bootleg alcohol. Thus my cousin received his first lesson in spirits: it ain’t whiskey unless it’s brown.

We needed to figure out a way to make this drink go down, so we began looking for mixing ingredients, and thus began my cousin’s second lesson: how to make a balanced cocktail… in any circumstance.

We found sour cherry juice, lemons, and honey, and with a little tinkering I came up with something that was not only palatable, but actually tasted good. We found a mason jar with a lid and turned it into a makeshift shaker. I then proceeded to give them the cocktail of their lives (they’d never had a cocktail before so this was easy)–call me the Mcgyver of mixology.

I call this drink The Desert Ain’t That Dry, an actual prohibition-era cocktail you could say!

The Desert Ain’t That Dry
2 oz Junior Johnson’s Midnight Moon
1 1/4 oz sour cherry juice
1/2 oz fresh lemon juice
1/4 oz honey

Shake ingredients with ice and strain into a glass. No garnish necessary. We don’t bother with garnishes during prohibition.

In the spirit of bootlegging I used a marketed moonshine such as Junior Johnson’s, made by Piedmont Distillers in North Carolina. But you can certainly use any other brand of corn or grain alcohol, including vodka. However if you are going to use vodka I recommend using one that still has some character and flavor retained in the distillate, such as Purity from Sweden.

As for the sour cherry juice, be aware that you may have to adjust the amount of honey from the recipe depending on how sweet the juice is. Some brands are pure sour cherry juice (more tart) and some are marketed as “nectars,” which means they have added sugar and possibly water to tone down the tartness, and are thus sweeter. In Iran I used a rather tart variety with little sweetness, but here all I could find was the nectar variety with added sugar, so I had to tone down the honey significantly.

Speaking of honey, you can either use straight honey, or to make it more easily dilutable, you can make honey syrup by mixing equal parts honey and warm water until fully dissolved. The recipe above is for straight undiluted honey, so double it if using honey syrup.

Here’s to repeal!

*I’d like to express an immense amount of heartfelt gratitude to Fredo Ceraso of the lifestyle blog Loungerati for tending bar for the past several weeks while I was away.

**Got a cocktail question? Reach me on twitter @Paystyle, email me at info(at)lifesacocktail(dot)com, or simply drop me a comment below!

“Just a moment. Three measures of Gordon’s, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shake it very well until it’s ice-cold, then add a large thin slice of lemon peel. Got it?”

“Certainly, monsieur.” The barman seemed pleased with the idea.

“Gosh, that’s certainly a drink,” said Leiter.

Bond laughed. “When I’m…er…concentrating,” he explained, “I never have more than one drink before dinner. But I do like that one to be large and very strong and very cold and very well-made. I hate small portions of anything, particularly when they taste bad. This drink’s my own invention. I’m going to patent it when I can think of a good name.”

—Ian Fleming, Casino Royale

James Bond could do many things exceptionally–and simultaneously–well. His ability to disarm a nuclear weapon while driving a stickshift Aston Martin down a narrow cliffside road at 100 mph while dodging machine gun fire from enemies in an approaching helicopter while simultaneously pleasuring a Bond girl in the passenger seat, all with nary a millimeter’s shift in the fold of his always crisp-white pocket square, has helped forge Bond’s image as the epitome of the fictionalized ideal man. If you’re an American male college grad looking to upgrade your game by learning the gentlemanly arts, chances are you’ve taken a few pointers from 007, be it his personal style, flair with the ladies, or cool temperament in sticky situations.

But of all the things Bond is emulated for, there’s one which leaves much to be desired: the way he took his cocktails. Sure, the man is to be commended for his willingness to consume high alcohol spirits while on a risky assignment. Hell, most people won’t even have a beer during lunch. And he’s also to be commended for being mindful about the types of drinks he enjoys depending on the occasion, time of day, etc. But his choice of cocktails, and particularly his preferred method of preparation, need not be emulated.

Take the ultra-dry, “shaken, not stirred” vodka Martini. Many serious cocktail drinkers (men and women) consider this a drink for pussies (in a previous post I mentioned how Bond’s preferred Martini has become the false standard bearer for Martini preparation). I mean, if you’re going to drink a Martini, then have a real one, with gin. When I’m behind the stick, not a night passes without at least one guy ordering an “ultra-dry, ice-cold vodka Martini, shaken,” in the most hyper-masculine voice he can muster. Unfortunately what he doesn’t realize–what they never realize–is that he’s basically asking for a flavorless, massively watered down beverage. I mean, do you really think your 10oz. steakhouse Martini glass is all liquor?

Now it’s been pointed out to me by my friend, style maven, cocktailian extroardinaire, blogger, and all around swell guy Fredo Ceraso of Loungerati that Bond’s drinking decisions were an elaborate part of his cover, and enabled him to blend in the scene while remaining alert enough to execute the mission. Most guys, however, are on a mission to get laid, and not commit espionage, so ordering Martinis a la Bond is just a foolish display of faux grown-upness, like the little girl who dresses in her mother’s oversized clothing and imagines herself as a grown woman in front of the mirror.

So you might be asking why I’m featuring one of Bond’s cocktails if I find them so disagreeable? The answer is that in the world of cocktails, minor adjustments can be the difference between the sublime and the second-rate, and that’s what I intend to show here.

007 eventually settled on the name Vesper for the cocktail he described, naming it after Bond girl Vesper Lynd. As it stands, it’s a recipe for a very dry and flat tasting drink. Sure you get flavor from gin, but the Lillet (which is not the same as the Kina Lillet asked for; Kina Lillet’s not been available for quite some time) is hardly noticeable. And then it’s shaken, which further waters down the drink and destroys the last thing the drink had going for it, it’s mouthfeel (texture).

Vesper
3 oz gin
1 oz vodka
1/2 oz Lillet Blonde (Kina Lillet’s no longer available; Cocchi Americano even better choice if you can get it)
lemon peel for garnish

Shake ingredients with ice and strain into a cocktail coupe or Martini glass and twist lemon peel over and into drink.

Now let’s set upon improving this drink. You could certainly start by stirring it instead of shaking, but we would still need to go further. David Wondrich, of Esquire magazine, recommends flipping the gin and vodka proportions, so that it’s 3 oz vodka to 1 oz gin. At first glance this seems counter-intuitive since we’re trying to bump up the character of this drink, not make it more bland by increasing the proportion of the most tame ingredient, the vodka. But Wondrich reasons that the gin tramples the Lillet, so switching the gin and vodka proportions allows the Lillet some room on stage to play out its role. After having tried this version, I still think it could be elevated a touch more by adding a few dashes of orange bitters. The bitters add much needed depth as they play up the gin and Lillet and give some backbone to the vodka.

Improved Vesper
3 oz vodka (I recommend Purity, a Swedish vodka made from winter wheat and barley)
1 oz gin (I recommend Beefeater Winter if you can get it)
1/2 oz Lillet Blanc (Cocchi Americano would be an even better option if available)
4 dashes Bitter Truth Orange Bitters
lemon peel for garnish

Stir! Stir! Stir ingredients in a mixing glass filled with cracked ice. Strain into a chilled cocktail coupe or Martini glass and twist lemon peel over and into drink.

It helps to use a vodka with some character, which is why I chose Purity. Karlsson’s is also a good choice but it’s potato-based, and Bond was actually onto something when he mentioned that a grain-based vodka would be slightly better in this cocktail. I also really like the unique botanicals in the new Beefeater Winter gin offering (cinnamon, nutmeg, pine, in addition to traditional juniper), which stands up excellently in this cocktail despite the single ounce portion.

Mais n’enculons pas des mouches.

*Got a cocktail question? Hit me on twitter @paystyle, email me at payman(at)lifesacocktail(dot)com, or simply drop me a comment below.

Before we had bars, we had places called taverns and saloons. And before we had Manhattans, Martinis, and other fancified cocktails, there was a drink which people simply referred to as a ‘whiskey cocktail.’

It was the early 19th century, and the term ‘cocktail’ referenced a simple drink composed of a spirit along with a bit of sugar, water, and bitters added to it; and all you had to do was specify your spirit of choice (assuming the establishment fancied such things as “choice”). So if you were a whiskey drinker you’d ask for a ‘whiskey cocktail,’ and you’d get a drink with a hefty dose of whiskey, a small cube of sugar to tame out its rough edges, just enough water to dilute the sugar, and a few dashes of bitters to bind everything together and remind you of the benefits of civil society. If ice was available, it was added to the mix for its well-known cooling effect.

Being the only game in town–at least as far as cocktails were concerned–it caught on like hotcakes and soon finer establishments like hotel bars began serving it. Since these places had access to exotic ingredients like citrus fruit, someone eventually got the bright idea of adding a twist of orange or lemon peel to it, which really elevated the drink with its aromatic oils.

Eventually the Industrial Revolution rolled in and brought with it advancements like refrigeration, which made ice available like it had never been before. Another thing that happened was we began getting all sorts of new ingredients over from Europe–things like Italian vermouth and Chartreuse–which opened the door for cocktail creativity like never before.

These conditions were like coal to a steam engine, kicking the cocktail craze into high gear as inventive barkeeps competed to concoct potions that would entice their customers and possibly get their names in the paper. This was the late 19th century, and it was the Golden Era of cocktails where men like “Professor” Jerry Thomas became veritable stars from behind the bar.

With the plethora of drinks now available, ‘whiskey cocktail’ was no longer a sufficient descriptor. To indicate you wanted an old fashioned whiskey cocktail, well, you now had to ask for an ‘old fashioned whiskey cocktail,’ and that’s how the Old Fashioned got its name. Change can surely be beneficial, and becoming officially canonized the Old Fashioned well.

Not all change was beneficial however. The Golden Era came to a crashing end in 1920 as Prohibition became the law of the land. If you were a bartender you were faced with the choice of changing careers or changing landscape. Those who had the talent fled to legally ply their trade in Cuba, Europe, or anywhere else that advertised itself as an ‘American style bar.’ Many others simply changed careers.

Secret speakeasies opened up across the land serving cheap rotgut liquor. But unlike the romantic lore of the seductive speakeasy, these places were not in business to serve you a fine cocktail. There was neither the ingredients nor the talent for such feats. The bartenders (if you could call them that) were really nothing more than low-level mob guys looking to move their way up the totem pole.

The problem was the swill they were serving was often too harsh to cram down ones throat, so talented or not, you needed to concoct something that helps get the stuff down. So they started mixing the liquor with all manner of juices and sugar and anything else they could do to tamp down the flavor of the turpentine-like fluid.

The Old Fashioned suffered perhaps the worst of these indignities, as people began muddling oranges and maraschino cherries into the drink and loading it up with club soda, turning it into a sickish sweet mush. Somehow even despite the end of Prohibition in 1933, this sacrilege version of an Old Fashioned has survived to become the version most people know to this day. Some of you may be reading this and thinking, “wait a minute, my grandfather drinks Old Fashioneds with the muddled fruit and he swears by them!” Well I hate to inform you pal, but your grandpa is a biotch.

Thankfully what was once a lost and forgotten cocktail has resurfaced over the last decade, as bars in big cities and bloggers have taken up the task of reintroducing this drink to the public. Here’s the original recipe:

Old Fashioned
2 oz whiskey (preferably rye but you can use bourbon)
1 sugar cube or tsp simple syrup
2-3 dashes Angostura bitters
orange, lemon, or grapefruit peel

Tools: muddler (if using sugar cube)
Glass: Old Fashioned glass (duh)

Place sugar or syrup in Old Fashioned glass and add the bitters. If using a sugar cube add a teaspoon of water and muddle it until partially dissolved. Add the whiskey along with ice (big solid chunks work better) and stir. Twist the citrus peel over the drink to release its oils and garnish it.

It doesn’t get any simpler than that, and once you’ll taste a properly made Old Fashioned you’ll hopefully never give another thought to muddling your fruit in it. Originally rye was used but you can use any whiskey you like, and truth be told you can even use rum, applejack, or any brown (oak-aged) spirit you like. Lastly, the citrus twist is not a mere garnish. It adds much to the drink and shouldn’t be neglected; you can use orange, lemon, grapefruit, or any combination thereof, as long as the peel is ripe with oils.

Now go make one for your grandpa!

*Got a cocktail question? Hit me on twitter @paystyle, email me at payman(at)lifesacocktail(dot)com, or simply drop me a comment below.

Back in September of last year I wrote about some of the various bar implements that a devoted cocktail geek would own. Looking back I realize it deserves a follow-up piece devoted solely to the various mixing vessels used in cocktail-making. There are shakers and there are mixing glasses, and within each category there are various types. I’ll sort through the most common ones and help you figure out which is best for you based on your skill level (or the skill level you’d like to acquire).

COBBLER SHAKER

The cobbler is what most of us think of when we think of a cocktail shaker. Created in the late 19th century, the cobbler shaker is the type found in most home bars, and this near-ubiquity has made it an iconic piece of home entertaining. They come in a variety of sizes, materials, and range from the simple to the ornate. Yet most cobbler shakers are comprised the same way, made of three detachable pieces: the base cup which holds the ice and drink ingredients, a lid with built-in strainer, and a cap that fits over the strainer for when you’re shaking.

To make stirred cocktails you detach the top, stir the ingredients in the base, then replace the top to strain. It’s not the most ideal for stirred drinks but it gets the job done. (Read here if you need to brush up on what gets stirred and what get’s shaken.)

It’s the most simple to use with no learning curve, which is why it’s ideal for the basic novice cocktailian who wants to make a few classic drinks without giving up anything in the style department.

BOSTON SHAKER

The Boston shaker was the first shaker ever created, predating the cobbler by decades. It’s the most utilitarian, and its design has remained virtually unchanged in nearly 200 years. Although not so common in home use, the Boston is far and away the top choice of the professional bartender.

It’s comprised of two pieces: a mixing tin (like the base of a cobbler) and a slightly smaller sized glass (same as a beer pint glass). The ingredients are placed in the smaller glass (ingredients are ALWAYS placed in the smaller of the two, so there’s no risk of overfilling the shaker). The tin is then placed upside-down over the glass with the ingredients and given a light tap which creates an airtight seal (if done right) allowing the cocktail to be shaken without making a mess. After the cocktail is shaken, it’s placed with the tin side down this time, and another quick tap releases the seal. Unlike the cobbler, the Boston requires a separate Hawthorne strainer, which is placed over the tin and the drink is strained from there.

Adding to the Boston shaker’s utility is the ability to use the pint glass for stirred cocktails. Stirred drinks are traditionally strained using a julep strainer, though you can certainly let your Hawthorne do double duty. You may see some bartenders stir cocktails in the metal tin, but that’s just because nobody taught them correctly. The sound of a metal spoon scraping against a metal tin is not pleasant.

Not all Boston shakers are made of the glass/tin combo however. You now see Boston shakers in which both pieces are made of tin. Many professionals, myself included, prefer this type. It is used in exactly the same way as the glass/tin combo, except the tin/tin version has a couple of advantages. Two tins are not only lighter than a tin/glass combo, but they conduct temperature much better since the whole thing is metal, resulting in a colder drink. When using the double tins however, it’s appropriate to use a separate mixing glass for making stirred cocktails (more on that later).

Also unlike the cobbler shaker, the Boston does have a slight learning curve. It requires you to trust that you created a proper seal before shaking, and you’ll surely screw up once or twice in the middle of shaking where the pieces will come flying apart–it even happens to professionals from time to time–but you can eventually master it with a bit of practice.

If you consider yourself more than a novice–or would like to be considered that way–then Boston will be your next stop.

MIXING GLASS

Traditionally when one referred to a mixing glass, it usually meant the pint glass of the Boston shaker. For many years this was the vessel of choice for making a stirred cocktail and it’s still the most popular choice in American bars. Recently, however, a product from Japan has floated to our shores that’s gotten all the cocktail geeks hot and bothered. It’s a mixing glass made with a traditional Japanese “Yarai” weave pattern, and it’s head and shoulders above the traditional pint glass for stirring drinks.

The Yarai mixing glass is not only visually stunning, its design also improves functionality beyond the traditional pint glass. First, unlike the pint glass of the Boston, the Yarai has a wide base which allows for fast stirring of a cocktail without fear of tipping over. Second, it has a wider mouth, which means less stuff splashes out of the glass when pouring liquids into it. This is especially helpful when pouring liquids over the ice. Third, the Yarai has a useful lip that makes pouring from it a lot easier. Finally, it’s slightly larger than the pint glass in size (by about 30 ml), which means you can incorporate a little more ice, which means a colder cocktail quicker.

If your goal is to get to the summit of cocktail geekery, then you’ll find the road passes through Mt. Yarai. Plus it just looks fuckin’ cool.

Cheers!

*Got a cocktail question? Hit me on twitter @paystyle, email me at payman(at)lifesacocktail(dot)com, or simply drop me a comment below.

**Buy a Yarai mixing glass, or the seamless version, and various other barware over at the Umamimart Shop. 

Last week I wrote about the Hot Buttered Rum, and how it’s a winter drink for when you’re feeling festive (and when you’ve planned far enough ahead of time and made the essential spiced rum batter). Now that we’re nearing the dead of winter, you may be interested in something more simple– a drink that doesn’t require much advanced preparation. For these moments, the Hot Toddy shines (and warms) like no other.

Technically speaking, a toddy is a category of drinks rather than a specific recipe and the Hot Toddy is simply, well, the hot version of a regular toddy. In the old days a tavern keeper would heat the drink by taking a hot metal poker from the fire and plunge it into the pot that contained the mixture. So yes, originally, in less frigid times toddies were served at room temperature except for the very rare instance when ice was handy (we’re talking about 18th century and prior).

The name of the drink comes from the term ‘toddy stick,’ which was the big wooden baton-like tool the barkeep would use to break up sugar, as well as muddle any spice and everything nice, and even crack ice, when it became a commonly used item. Sugar of course had to be broken up because during colonial times it came in hard loaves that needed to be chipped into smaller usable pieces. The luxury of nicely granulated sugar that we find in the stores today was not to be had back then.

Understanding the toddy as a category, or better yet a concept, will enable you to use its template as a base for creating something uniquely your own, simplifying (or complicating) it as you see fit. There is no universally recognized toddy recipe, yet all good toddies will have the same components: a base spirit (traditionally whiskey but any brown–i.e. oak-aged–spirit will do, with genever being the allowable exception); a sweetening agent (sugar, honey, whatever); a diluting agent (hot water, tea, cider); and lemon juice for a necessary acidic bump to bring all the flavors in balance. Beyond that you can muddle lemon or other citrus peels, add cinnamon sticks, cloves, nutmeg, black pepper, oregano– ok maybe we’re getting carried away now.

Below are two recipes that exemplify this approach. The first is a basic toddy that any tavern with the ability to boil water should be able to turn out, and the other is a Jasmine Toddy (pictured above) that’s a touch more complex but well worth it for the final product it yields.

Hot Toddy
1 oz whiskey
1 oz honey syrup (equal parts honey and water pre-diluted for easy mixing)
1/2 oz fresh lemon juice
boiling water (about 3-4 oz depending on glass size)

Pour the honey syrup, lemon juice, and whiskey in a heated hot toddy glass or mug and stir to dissolve. Top with boiling water and enjoy. If you choose to use straight undiluted honey, only use half the suggested amount.

Just as it’s important to pre-chill a glass when making a cold drink, it ‘s a good idea to pre-heat your glass when making  a hot one. You can do this by simply pouring boiling water in your glass and letting it sit until you get the rest of your ingredients together, then pouring it out once you’re ready to assemble the drink. And because the water (or other diluting agent) is the only hot element of this drink, I make sure it’s boiling (as opposed to just being hot) when I add it, otherwise the rest of the ingredients will quickly bring down the temperature, which would yield a Tepid Toddy, not a Hot Toddy.

Jasmine Toddy
1/2 oz Yamazaki 12 Yr
1/2 oz Rhum Barbancourt 4 Yr (or other lightly aged rhum agricole)
1 oz honey syrup
1/2 oz variegated pink lemon juice (just use regular lemon juice; I’m being fancy-schmancy cuz that’s what was in my CSA this week)
Fresh brewed jasmine green tea (approx 3-4 oz; Ahmad Tea makes a pretty good one)
half lemon wheel studded with 3 cloves

Pour the honey syrup, lemon juice, and spirits in a heated glass and stir to dissolve. Add the clove-studded lemon. Pour in the jasmine green tea and enjoy.

The floral nose and mildly sweet palate of the Yamazaki Japanese whisky makes it a great pairing with the lightly oaked yet still grassy undertone of the Haitian rum, and together provide a nice base of complexity and body despite the relatively low amount of liquor in the drink.

I used variegated pink lemons simply because I had them on hand, and aside from the aesthetically pleasing aspect of the pink lemons, they’re also a bit more tart and have a stronger flavor than their yellow cousins. But if I didn’t have them I’d just use regular lemons because there’s no sense in venturing back into the cold to track them down. That would certainly defeat the entire purpose of this enterprise.

You’ll notice that both toddy recipes adhere to a similar formula, and both check off the necessary components, yet they vary widely in flavor profile. That’s the beauty of a good hot toddy, because it’s made of stuff almost everyone either has in stock or can easily attain. If you don’t have whiskey you can use aged rum; if you don’t have honey you can use sugar; if you don’t have… you get the point.

Winter ain’t got nothin’ on you now kid!

*Got a cocktail question? Hit me on twitter @paystyle, email me at payman(at)lifesacocktail(dot)com, or simply drop me a comment below!