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.

+++

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.

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. 

I really wanted to do a special Christmassey cocktail for you all but in the end I couldn’t really get my mental mojo into it– sorry, folks. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always enjoyed the special feeling the season invokes despite being an avowed atheist. I think I’m like most people in that sense, who don’t get too caught up in the religiosity of the season yet are no less inclined to act on the natural urge to revel in the jolliness it invokes.

But when it comes to my drinking habits so far this season, my lips have yet to greet some egg nog. Maybe it has to do with not being invited to many holiday parties this year (what’s up with that?), or maybe I just haven’t had the urge, who knows. What I do know is that although this week’s cocktail may not invoke Christ’s spirit, it’s still perfect for the season, and if I do say so myself, it’s a damn good cocktail.

Cielo de Jalisco
2 oz añejo tequila
3/4 oz sweet vermouth (Vya is luscious and full-bodied and wonderful in this drink)
1 barspoon ginger syrup (there’s a recipe for it in this post)
1 dash Bitter Truth Xocolatl Mole Bitters
orange twist for garnish

Tools: barspoon, mixing glass, strainer
Glass: coupe or cocktail glass, pre-chilled

Fill a mixing glass with cracked ice and stir the ingredients until well chilled (at least 50 times if you have good ice). Strain into a cocktail glass and twist the orange peel over the drink to release its oils, then garnish it on the drink.

This is a cocktail I came up with last week as I was casually playing around, having been inspired by our editor’s Oaxacan adventures. The name translates to the “sky over Jalisco,” and it’s a rare example of what I call a “one hitter quitter,” when I create a cocktail and get the recipe exactly right on the first try.

The sweet vermouth and Xocolatl Mole Bitters play really well together and provide lots of depth; the ginger adds a nice touch of spice; while the anejo tequila provides a slightly woodsy yet pineappley and vegetal backdrop for what I think is a thoroughly enjoyable autumn/winter cocktail. If you have a penchant for the smoky, you can add a barspoon of good mezcal to the mix, cuz a lil’ mezcal ain’t hurt nobody!

Cheers and happy holidays!

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

“… just as there is no such thing as a 1/2-good girl there is no such animal as a 1/2-good drink.  A mixed drink is either made correctly out of correct stuff: good; or it’s La Bebida Piojosa (lousy drink). Even a homely gal can, with cunningly-employed paint, powder, patches, rouge-pots, whale-bone and falsies, fool part of the people part of the time; but a poorly-built drink betrays itself with the first sip. The only person our lazy drink-mixer is fooling is himself; he is a traitor to his art and there is no health in him.”
- Charles H. Baker

Amen. Charles Baker, who lived through Prohibition and wrote about his travels across the globe enjoying cocktails where it was still legal, lived long enough to see the slow erosion and near death of the cocktail culture he so colorfully celebrated in his writings. When he died in 1987 at the ripe age of 92, cocktail culture was in full cardiac arrest. Though he couldn’t have predicted its revival just over a decade later, his work was without a doubt instrumental to it. Having experienced American cocktail culture prior to, during, and after Prohibition, his writing is a rare glimpse into our lost identity.

In addition to contributing to Gourmet and Esquire, he published various books including The Gentleman’s Companion, a seminal piece in which he recounted his bibulous adventures around the world, complete with unique cocktail recipes and even more unique stories about them.

This week we celebrate one of those cocktails, Remember the Maine, one of my favorite wintertime potions. In terms of ingredients, it is a clear variation of the classic Manhattan, but Baker’s description of the cocktail takes us to an entirely different island (all emphasis is Baker’s own):

“REMEMBER the MAINE, a Hazy Memory of a Night in Havana during the Unpleasantnesses of 1933, when Each Swallow Was Punctuated with Bombs Going off on the Prado, or the Sound of 3″ Shells Being Fired at the Hotel NACIONAL, then Haven for Certain Anti-Revolutionary Officers.”

REMEMBER THE MAINE
2 oz. rye whiskey (Old Overholt’s the way to go)
3/4 oz. sweet vermouth
2 barspoons Cherry Heering
1/2 barspoon absinthe (its prominent aroma of fennel, anise, and mint make Vieux Carre a great choice if you can get it)
Brandied cherry as garnish

Tools: mixing glass, barspoon, strainer
Glass: chilled cocktail or coupe glass

Place ingredients in a mixing glass with plenty of cracked ice. Stir until well-chilled. Strain into glass and garnish with the brandied cherry.

If you recall from high school history class, “Remember the Maine!” was the  rallying cry of jingoistic Americans seeking to provoke war with the Spanish by falsely accusing them of blowing up the USS Maine. But Baker, rather than boring us with a history that we should already be familiar with (especially during his time), instead paints for us the scene of his own enjoyment of the cocktail. And he does this throughout the book. He brings the reader as close as possible to enjoying the cocktail without ever setting lips to glass. To Charles Baker, the cocktail was always an experience of the present, not the past.

How ironically fitting then that through the unearthing of his prose we learn to live as we should have all along. 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.

“Slash sat me down at his house and said, You’ve got to clean up your act. You know you’ve gone too far when Slash is saying, ‘Look, you’ve got to get into rehab.”
- Charlie Sheen

What do you do when you have trouble coming up with a name for a cocktail you’ve created? Well, in these situations it pays to recall the solid gold advice of Dionne Warwick who noted, “that’s what friends are for.” So I decided to summon the help of a friend who has no trouble coming up with creative cocktail names, fellow cocktail wizard and NYC bartender Hal Wolin (who also publishes the spirits and cocktails blog A Muddled Thought).  Before I even got a chance to tell him the ingredients in the drink, he quipped, “call it the Charlie Sheen!”

“Why Charlie Sheen? Don’t you wanna hear what’s in it first?”

“Nope, you should call it the Charlie Sheen.”

I liked the suggestion a lot, but I knew I needed to step up the cocktail to match the winningness of the name. The drink was pretty good as it stood but it needed something more. Unfortunately I didn’t have any tiger blood on hand (the Bronx Zoo was all out) so I thought of the next best thing, a product which has been the delight of many a mad genius throughout history, widely regarded for its ability to induce superhuman abilities but also feared for its potential to arouse madness–absinthe!

The Charlie Sheen
2 oz gin (I used Bluecoat)
3/4 oz mandarin juice
3/4 oz lime juice
2 tsp cinnamon syrup (Trader Tiki is a good brand)
2 tsp pineapple gomme syrup (Small Hand Foods makes an excellent product)
1 tsp agave nectar
1/2 tsp absinthe (I used Vieux Carre)
5 dashes Bitter Truth Grapefruit Bitters (you can substitute Fee Bros.)
Seltzer to top

Tools: shaker, strainer

Glass: collins, highball, or other tall glass

Fill your glass with ice. Place everything but the seltzer in a shaker and shake until well chilled. Strain into glass, top with seltzer, and give a light stir. Serve with a straw. I used a large 10 oz collins glass so adjust your proportions accordingly if using a smaller sized glass.

This drinks goes great with a line of coke, and you can put the straw to double duty in that case. It’s also the perfect highball to pair with your speedball.

Now go out there and win!

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

Thanksgiving has long been the source of mixed emotions for me. On one hand it’s a day when I can unleash my monster appetite without abandon. I love to eat, and I love to eat well. Yet on the other hand I consider myself a person of conscience, and Thanksgiving is a yearly reminder of how much a particular group of people have sacrificed, usually by force (I’m speaking of Native Americans here), so that another group could thrive (I am, of course, referring to the European immigrants). In my younger years I felt a sense of guilt when celebrating the holiday, as if somehow I was compromising my principles.

Later in life I realized I wasn’t ever really compromising anything (other than my caloric intake limit) because I was never really celebrating Thanksgiving. Nobody in my family did. It’s not like we ever prayed or performed any pre-meal ritual to honor the day. That wasn’t ever my family’s style, and that’s something I’ve always been thankful for. Of course we served turkey along with many of the other obligatory Thanksgiving items, but even then it was usually a mashup with dishes found on a traditional Persian table. Rather than traditional stuffing for example, our turkey was stuffed with saffron-scented Persian rice and barberries.

Eventually I concluded that in my family Thanksgiving was simply an excuse for everyone to get together over great food, and I suspect that’s the case for many other families as well, especially families like mine whose members are predominantly first generation immigrants.

The immigrant perspective as it relates to Thanksgiving is an interesting one too because it’s the perspective that tells us everything we know about that so-called first Thanksgiving gathering at Plymouth. As the story goes, the Pilgrim immigrants were set to freeze their asses if not for the generosity of their native hosts who shared with them their bountiful harvest. And per that old axiom, the natives not only provided fish, but also taught the visitors how to fish so they could survive in this strange new world.

So at its most basic, the story of Thanksgiving is a lesson on how to be a great and generous host. And whether we’re talking about a bunch of family members coming over to your house or a bunch of poor families coming over to this country, the same lesson applies. Just be a good fucking host and stop whining about how somebody broke the gravy dish or drank too much wine.

So does all this have anything to do with cocktails? Well, a little. The stuff above is what’s been on my mind all week, so I channeled it into this week’s creation which I call Dolores’ Huerto, made with tequila, Chartreuse, lemon, ginger, and apple butter.

The name of this drink is a play on the name Dolores Huerta, a woman that’s been on the forefront of immigrant rights for over four decades. Along with Cesar Chavez she founded the United Farm Workers in the 1960s which helped propel the Chicano movement. The drink’s name literally translates to “Dolores’ Orchard,” (the word ‘huerto’ means orchard in Spanish) which is both a reference to the fruit fields where she led numerous strikes and the apple flavor found in the drink.

When I was coming up with this drink it was clear that tequila should be the base, because it represents the farm workers and immigrants who were the base of the UFW. But just as symbolically important as which ingredients I included is also which ingredient I didn’t include, grapes. “No uvas” or “no grapes” was the chief rallying cry of the great Delano grape strike and boycott of the late 1960s that first put the UFW on the map and helped the struggle of the farm workers gain national attention, and eventually won over Bobby Kennedy as their champion in Washington. For that reason I made sure there was nothing in the recipe related to grapes.

Dolores’ Huerto
1 1/2 oz tequila blanco
1/2 oz Green Chartreuse
1/2 oz fresh lemon juice
1/4 oz ginger syrup (see recipe near bottom of this post)
2 barspoons apple butter (about 2 tsp)
Apple slices for garnish (optional)

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

Shake all ingredients fervently as if you’re shaking your fist at the man. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Here’s to being a great host. 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.

I recently read an article by Gary Regan about a couple of modern cocktails he predicts will eventually become classics, and it made me think about exactly what makes a cocktail a classic. The answer may seem fairly obvious in that it just needs to taste awesome, but I’ve had many newly created cocktails that were quite awesome tasting and yet I wouldn’t even think to categorize them as classics.

So it begs the question, when does a great cocktail become considered a classic? Or better yet, when does a modern cocktail gain such immortal status? What does it take for the cocktail cognoscenti to confer the crown on a particular drink created within our generation? Of course there is no particular rule, nor even a definitive list of classic cocktails, but the query’s still an intriguing one.

I don’t feign to know the answer, but I presume it has something to do with achieving the critical mass of consensus that flings certain cocktails into the stars to live forever and leaves others to wither on the bar (or blog page). So often at some of the city’s top craft cocktail bars we see complicated drinks involving a dizzying array of ingredients. Perhaps this is a natural byproduct of constantly pushing the envelope, because you certainly won’t see any creativity at your average shot-and-beer bar. Yet while we might be awestruck by the creativity employed in some of these enevelope-pushing potions–and they may even taste amazing–we don’t really see these ultra-complex cocktails achieve the status of the two modern classics Regan discusses in his article, the Gin Gin Mule and the Cable Car.

Of these two modern creations, the Gin Gin Mule created by Audrey Saunders of NY’s Pegu Club is one that figures most prominent in a discussion of modern classics. Created about a decade ago, this clever yet simple combination of gin, ginger beer, lime, sugar, and mint has rightfully achieved such an exalted status among cocktailians that most of the top craft cocktail joints in the world will be able to make you one if you ask. Now that’s bragging rights, to say the least.

What’s really interesting is that both of the cocktails that Regan mentions are riffs on other classics, which speaks volumes about the importance of keeping it simple. The Gin Gin Mule is basically a cross between a Moscow Mule and a Gin Gin Cocktail, with the addition of mint. So maybe that’s the primary lesson here, that a drink can’t have a shot at staying power if the person who created it is the only one that can execute it, either because of esoteric ingredients, technical difficulty, or some combination of both.

So with that idea in mind I played around with the Gin Gin Mule and came up with the Gin Gin Sour. Now let me first state my intention is to showcase the virtues of simplicity, and not to create a potential classic cocktail. All I did was take a “long” drink (the technical term for highballs and such because you can take a longer time drinking them since there’s ice in the glass to keep things cold) and make it a “short” drink (the technical term for cocktails served up, because you ought not take too long to drink them, for they’ve no ice to maintain the chill). The point is to illustrate how creating a delicious and refreshing cocktail doesn’t always require egg whites, wine reductions, and amazonian tree bark tinctures.

Gin Gin Sour
2 oz gin (recommend G’vine Floraison here)
3/4 oz ginger syrup (recipe below)
3/4 oz fresh lime juice
Lemon or orange twist for garnish

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

Combine everything except garnish in cocktail shaker filled with ice. Shake until well chilled and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Twist the lemon or orange peel over the drink to release its oils and place as garnish.

Ginger Syrup (makes about 4 cups)
2 cups chopped ginger
2 cups sugar (I like using demerara aka raw sugar)
2 cups water

Place everything in a pot and bring to a boil, stirring constantly to dissolve the sugar. Reduce to a slow simmer and once the sugar has completely dissolved, turn off the heat and let it sit for at least a half hour, both to cool the mixture and to allow the ginger flavor to fully infuse. Strain out the ginger pieces through a cheese cloth or fine sieve into a jar or bottle. Add about an ounce of 80 proof spirit (Vodka if you don’t want to alter the flavor) which will help keep it longer, and store in the fridge. Remember that like garlic, the intensity of flavor that ginger gives off depends on the size of the cut pieces–the smaller the pieces, the more flavor it gives off. So if you like more intense ginger flavor in your syrup, place it in the food processor, or for seriously intense flavor juice it or grate it and add the juice and ginger pieces to the pot. Conversely if you like a less intense flavor, slice the ginger into larger pieces.

In this cocktail you can use any type of gin you prefer, though the varying botanicals in various gins will result in subtle differences of flavor. I particularly like the G’vine Floraison in this particular cocktail because of the noticeable hint of ginger on the palate of the gin itself, which gives the cocktail a bit more depth of flavor and rounds out the sharp edge of the ginger in the syrup.

The more you try different spirits the more you’ll begin to see how they work to produce different outcomes in cocktails depending on the other ingredients the spirit will be interacting with. Naturally this can mean endless tooling and tinkering, which for someone like myself is where most of the fun is. And of course sometimes we can let our creativity carry us away, but if the example of the Gin Gin Mule teaches us anything, it’s the power of less quite often being more.

Keep it simple, 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.