My First Cocktail

No, this isn’t going to be about a story about how as a youth I was a habitual beer drinker until one night at the bar a wizened old geezer leaned over, handing me a Martini and said ‘Try a real drink, Sonny’.

No, this is about my first ‘real’ cocktails, which I tried last week. That is to say, my experiments with the drink, also known in its infancy as the Bittered Sling, which became known as ‘Cocktail’.

The name has come to mean many other things, usually (but not always) being a mix of some kind of alcohol and something else.

Cocktails weren’t the first mixed drinks, of course. Their predecessors included punches, fixes, highballs, sours, bucks, fizzes, collinses, rickeys, toddies, slings, juleps, smashes, and daisies. All very popular in their day. Most of these drinks were different permutations or embellishments of a simple formula: Spirits, water, sugar, and sometimes citrus.

Compare this to the first ever definition of ‘cocktail’:

Cock-tail is a stimulating liquor, composed of spirits of any kind, sugar, water, and bitters—it is vulgarly called bittered sling

The definition was given to explain the use of the word in an earlier newspaper article about a Democratic electioneer plying voters with various drinks, including ‘cock-tail’.

Like previous popular mixed drinks, the cocktail was spirits, sugar and water, and the special new ingredient was bitters. Bitters had been around for a long time already. They were basically one-size-fits-all medicinal potions. Tasting vile on their own they had also been mixed with other drinks, including, naturally, liquor. But it was their addition in small quantities to the basic ‘sling’ that saw the real birth of  the cocktail.

I particularly like the definition supplied by the 19th century celebrity bartender Jerry Thomas. In his 1862 book ‘How to Mix Drinks: The Bon-Vivant’s Companion’  (free download), the first ever collection of recipes for mixed drinks, he includes a few recipes for the new ‘cocktail’, commenting thus:

Jerry Thomas making his signature drink the Blue Blazer

The ‘Cocktail’ is a modern invention, and is generally used on fishing and other sporting parties, although some patients insist that it is good in the morning as a tonic.

I laughed when I first heard the Chinese word for ‘cocktail’. ‘Jiweijiu’ literally means ‘chicken tail wine’. No, I thought, ‘cocktail’ doesn’t literally mean a cock’s tail. Or does it? I scurried off to Google and discovered that this is one of the most often occurring and most controversial questions in the burgeoning field of cocktail archaeology. Whatever the original etymology was, it was quickly lost, and people were soon inventing spurious explanations of the term. One book collects over 40 stories. Two of the more common and ridiculous are that a patriotic revolutionary barmaid plucked the feathers from redcoats’ caps and displayed them in her bar, and  that ‘Xochitl’ an Aztec princess, served them to her bloodthirsty father. Here are the two I like the most:

Cocktail Etymology #1: In old New Orleans Atoine Peychaud, a creole who had fled the Haitian Slave Revolt, started serving from his apocathery shots of brandy in French ‘coquetier’  egg cups. The name of the popular drink became corrupted to ‘cocktail’ by English speakers. This story is now largely discredited but endures thanks to its connections with the rich cocktail history of New Orleans, where the official drink is the Sazerac, one of only two ‘cocktails’ still being served which adhere to the original formula of spirit, sugar, water and bitters. It doesn’t hurt that Peychaud’s own bitters are still being sold today.

Cocktail Etymology #2: In the 19th century draught horses had their tails cut short to stop them getting caught up in the harnesses. This made them stick up like cock-tails. These horses were not thoroughbreds of course, and the sporting fraternity of the day began calling mix-breeds on the track ‘cock-tails’. The term then began being used for the new popular ‘mix-breed’ drink the bittered sling. Not as interesting as Peychaud’s story, but I like this one the most.

Back to the recipes. So it’s spirits, sugar, water and bitters. What spirits? Well the usual ones back then were whiskey, gin and brandy. The whiskey was generally rye (but later Bourbon), the gin was the Dutch Genever, and the brandy was Cognac. Other spirits work well too, apparently. The sugar can be gum syrup, simple syrup, lump sugar or powdered sugar. About 1/2 tsp to 1 tsp with an equal amount of water does the trick. For the bitters, a brand called Broker’s was the choice of the day, but anything like Angostura or Peychaud’s works well.

David Wondrich, author of ‘Imbibe’, a great history of Jerry Thomas, the cocktail and its predecessors, outlines how the cocktail evolved into ‘fancy’ and ‘improved’ versions (and then many later permutations). The use of the terminology varied incredibly, but Wondrich orders and simplifies it by calling a ‘Fancy Cocktail’ one with a dash of orange curaçao (such as Grand Marnier) and an ‘Improved Cocktail’ one with both a dash of maraschino liqueur and a dash of absinthe.

I decided to try both the plain and fancy version of the ‘cocktail’ with rye whiskey, genever and cognac. Sadly, I don’t yet have the ingredients for the improved version.  The Cocktail (Plain and Fancy)2 oz spirits1 tsp simple syrup2 dashes bitters1 dash orange curaçao (for the fancy version)lemon twist  Stir well with ice in a shaker or mixing glass. Strain into a cocktail glass. Rub lemon peel around the rim of the glass, twist over the drink, and drop it in. I made up some syrup on the spot by dissolving powdered sugar in an equal part of hot water and measuring it out. I used Grand Marnier for the  curaçao (available in Taiwan as is the alternative, Marie Brizzard Orange Curaçao, or even Cointreau or Triple Sec), measuring a little more than 1/4 tsp for my ‘dash’.

The Brandy CocktailI made this with Courvoisier VSOP Cognac (cheap, as far as cognacs go, plentiful in Taiwan, and delicious in a mixed drink), and Peychaud’s bitters. I thought I wasn’t going to like this much, as I didn’t much enjoy sipping the Courvosier straight, and have never been a huge cognac fan. Wrong! This was delicious, smooth, well-rounded, eminently sippable, and quite possibly my favourite of the three cocktails. I really recommend it for an elegant smooth drink.The ‘Fancy’ was probably even better. There was only the faintest hint of the curaçao, but it definitely added a citrus tinge.  As I was making my cocktail, there was a localised power cut, and I had to finish mixing by torch-light (to any American readers, a ‘torch’ is a ‘flashlight’, I didn’t brandish a piece of burning timber as I stirred my drink). Distracted, I went and shook the first drink instead of stirring. This is very clear in the photo of the drink on the left. Shaking adds tiny flecks of ice, and aerates the liquid. This causes the white foam. It’s preferable in some drinks, and generally essential in ones containing citrus or egg. But stirring is better for creating a ‘silkier’ texture. My mistake was a perfect test of this theorem for me, and I have to agree with it.  Power being out, I couldn’t watch a DVD or surf the net, so I was forced to browse a cocktail book by candle light, and then mix up my next cocktail.

The Whiskey Cocktail

I used Angostura Bitters this time and the Rittenhouse Bonded Rye that I had bought in New Zealand. It is sadly not available in Taiwan (nor is any other rye whiskey), but good Bourbon is a standard alternative. This was my first real taste of this spirit aside from a little sip, and I loved it. As expected, it made for a very different drink. The rye is much stronger and heavier, with a great spicy taste that dances around the mouth for a good while after sipping. Delicious and quite possibly my favourite of the three cocktails.  I’ve never drunk rye before, and haven’t even tried Bourbon for years. I can see myself getting into it. (OK, admission, it’s now been a week since I made these cocktails, and my bottle of Rittenhouse is getting close to the halfway mark. I just had the terrible realisation that if it’s all gone soon it may be many many months until I can replace it. Shock, horror.) The ‘Fancy’ was great too, but this time I preferred the more straight up variety.

Gin Cocktail

I used the Dutch Bokma Oude Genever, the ‘Holland Gin’ common in the US at the time the cocktail was born, which, as mentioned in a previous post, is not really gin as we know it today at all. It tastes malty, earthy and, er, whiskey-ey. And then there’s the juniper gin taste. Perhaps a whiskey drinker’s gin, or in my case a gin for a gin drinker who’s becoming interested in whiskey. The complex, fascinating taste of this spirit made it quite possibly my favourite of the three cocktails. Again the fancy version was also great. I think I liked them equally.

The Old Fashioned

After the ‘fancy’ and improved’ versions, the cocktail evolved further, being dressed up with various liqueurs, syrups and fruits. What was an old-timer to do but ask for a cocktail mixed the ‘old-fashioned’ way. And thus was born one of the only two surviving drinks to adhere to the original cocktail formula – the ‘Old Fashioned’.

Seeing as I was doing the ‘old-fashioned’ cocktails, I saw it only fit that I should try an Old Fashioned cocktail. Bourbon is standard in the Old Fashioned most places these days, but I understand that Rye is making a big comeback, and that’s the way I tried it: with a minimalist take on the muddling and garnishing of fruit.

2 oz bourbon (or rye) whiskey

1 sugar cube

1/2 tsp water

2 dashes Angostura Bitters

1 large piece of citrus rind (lemon for rye, orange for bourbon)

Place the sugar cube in an Old Fashioned glass, and saturate with bitters and water. Muddle to dissolve the sugar. Muddle in a large piece of citrus rind (1 inch by 2 with pith removed is good). Add whiskey and one to three ice cubes (depending on size). Stir gently. Remove old rind and garnish with a fresh piece if you want to get really fancy.

I didn’t have sugar cubes handy, so made do with powdered sugar, which I’m sure is fine. That Rittenhouse Rye sure is good. I made this drink four or five times over the last week to make sure that I was doing it properly. By the taste of it, I was making it right each time.

This guy, Chris Macmillian, is a very knowledgeable bartender and spirits historian. I love his series of YouTube videos. Here’s how he makes his Old Fashioned:

B & B and a Little BS

It got pretty cold the week before last so I turned to a great winter warmer – B & B, or Bénédictine and Brandy.

It’s a stunningly simple drink to make (equal parts brandy and Bénédictine) but exceedingly delicious.

I’d been meaning to make this for a long time – since hearing about it on QI actually – but ran out of brandy about two days before I bought Bénédictine.

You see QI ran an interesting story about Bénédictine. Apparently the Burnley Miner’s Club in Lancashire is the biggest seller of the liqueur in the world. They all drink B & B’s and Benny and ‘Ot (equal parts Bénédictine and hot water) instead of the more expected pints of lager. Lancashire regiments were based near the abbey where Bénédictine is made in World War One. The troops aquired a taste for it, brought it back with them, and kept drinking it right up until the pleasant day.

Bullshit, I’m afraid. A little further digging finds that this account is largely unsubstantiated. Lancastrians might enjoy Bénédictine, but this tale, since reported very often, dates back to a single, dubious 1994 newspaper report. Oh well, nice story.

Bénédictine itself has been made by Benedictine monks in the Fecamp Abbey in France for 500 years now. The recipe was invented by a monk called Dom Bernardo Vincelli from 27 herbs and spices, and made  by the monks until it was lost in the French Revolution. Upon presenting the fruits of his labour to the abbot, Dom Bernado received the reply “Deo Optimo Maximo (Oh God, most good, most great)”, which is why the Bénédictine bottle still prominently features the letters D.O.M. After the recipe was lost in the French Revolution, it was unearthed in the 1860s by wine merchant Alexandre Le Grand. He found it in an ancient grimoire in his family library. He revived the lost liquid, and never looked back.

Bullshit, but incredibly good marketing. It seems that Le Grand made up the recipe himself, with the help of a chemist and that Dom Bernardo Vincelli never existed. Oh well, nice story.

B & B

1 1/2 oz Cognac

1 1/2 oz Bénédictine

Stir lightly in an old-fashioned glass with a few ice cubes.

Some recipes call for this drink to be served warm. I’ve tried it, and think that ice is better, even on a cold day. Sometimes a coupe or martini glass is called for. The rocks glass feels better to me. I’ve seen a recipe saying to float the brandy on top. This isn’t a good idea. It tastes much better mixed. Bénédictine even sells a pre-mixed version in some parts apparently.

The drink is great. Bénédictine is sweet without being cloying, and deliciously herbal with nice grassy tastes and spices. It goes together beautifully with VSOP Cognac (I used Courvoisier; a bottle I’m really starting to like). I also tried it with a dash of St Germaine Elderflower. That was delicious too, adding a floral quality to the herbal. Really, this is a hard drink to cock up. It’s certainly a new favourite.

In Taiwan Cognac is dead easy to find, and despite Courvoisier being one of the cheapest VSOP offerings, it works great in cocktails. You can find it at Carrefour, RT Mart etc for about 1000NT. Bénédictine is a little harder to find, but I’m fairly sure they have it at Breeze Supermarket, and I’ve seen it at a few liquor stores, such as Cape Wine and Spirits (Drinks don’t carry it).

Ti’ Punch and Two Rums

I was going to post about this in a day or two when I’d done some more research, but I’m literally finishing off a taste comparison as I type, and, 4 ounces of very heavy liquor in, I feel compelled to record my findings while the memories are still fresh.

A couple of months ago, shortly before my trip to New Zealand, I was very low on stocks for many basic spirits, but had plenty of Rhum Agricole and was really getting into a drink called the Ti’ Punch. I’ve just tried it again and it’s a winner.

Ti’  is pronounced like ‘tea’ but doesn’t have any in it. Neither is it a boozed up fruity drink (punch). The Ti’ is creole-speak for ‘petit’, but it actually packs quite  a wallop. But the ‘punch’ might not mean a blow to the head either. There’s a tradition in parts of Europe that when you’re having a big meal, you have a little (but strong) drink between courses, to ‘punch’ a hole through and open up some space for more food (or something). Man those French take their eating seriously. (I can’t actually find my source for this, so maybe it does just mean a little smack to the head – the forerunner to the ‘shot’ – but in my blog, the best story is the one I’m running with, ‘truth’ be damned).

The Ti’ Punch is a very simple mix of just three ingredients – rum, lime and sugar (astute readers might note that these are the same ingredients as in the original Daiquiri – it’s a great mix), but the rum of choice is not your usual stuff, but a variation known as Rhum Agricole (‘rhum’ is French rum, and ‘ron’ is Spanish).

Agricole differs from most rum in that rather than being distilled from molasses, it is made from straight cane juice. The story goes that when Europe got into sugar from sugar-beets the previously sky-high cane sugar prices plummeted. Molasses is a by-product of the sugar refining process. Rum was always a sideline to the main product. But now, in the French Carribean, planters found it more profitable to turn more of their product straight into rum, and it was less wasteful to do this by using the sugarcane juice itself. Thus Rhum Agricole was born (this story doesn’t quite explain why this didn’t happen in non-French parts of the Carribbean). It is a product mostly made on a few formerly French islands, but particularly on Martinique (which has its own AOC Appellation).

Those of us living in Taiwan are surprisingly blessed to have access to one of the most lauded of all Rhum Agricoles – Neisson Rhum Blanc. You can get this at Carrefour (although my local is out of stock at the moment). We’re even luckier that we get the 55% bottling rather than the 50% Americans get. Rums are meant to be nice and high in their alcohol content. Now this is a rum that (love it or hate it) will blow your socks off. When I unstoppered this and took a whiff I was so overpowered that I thought it might have gone off or something. The fruity ‘vegetal’ smells are so strong that my wife could smell this downstairs as I was mixing it tonight. The taste is similarly powerful. It makes me think of raw, green, grassy sugarcane been toiled over by slaves in the hot sun (no, really, it does). Factor in this strong flavour and the high alcohol content, and you’d have to be made of some pretty strong metal to drink this stuff straight. Funny thing is, add just a little lime and sugar and the thing becomes marvellously drinkable.

On the other end of the scale to the Neissons is another rum you can get at Carrefour. It’s called Ron Matusalem Platino and is not an Agricole (but why not try it in a Ti’ Punch anyway). It’s a Cuban style rum (‘The Spirit of Cuba’, in fact) now made in the Dominican Republic. (Matusalem was the biggest rum producer in Cuba. Since they fled the revolution, their plant has been used to produce Ron Santiago).  In contrast to the aggressive taste of the Neissons, Matusalem has been very successful in its goal of being a very smooth, easy-drinking rum. The thinking here is probably that smooth vodkas whose taste can be completely lost in a cocktail are very popular, so why not do the same thing with rum? In fact, critics of this rum usually say that its taste is too easily lost in a drink. Personally, I quite like it. I taste sweet chocolate and vanilla. It is smooth, but not tasteless. Anyway, Cuban rums are supposed to be smooth, apparently.

The conclusion of this little comparison is that in Taiwan, with a trip to one supermarket, you can actually get two very good rums from quite different ends of the taste spectrum (and for only about 1000NT for the both of them). If you like white rum at all, you’re almost certain to like at least one of these.

Now for these two to go head-to-head in Ti’ Punch:

Ti’ Punch

2 oz white Rum Agricole

1 tsp of sugar (or sugarcane syrup if you can get it)

1/2 oz of lime juice

3 ice cubes

In an old-fashioned glass dissolve sugar in lime juice by stirring well. Add rum and ice. Stir lightly. Sip (or traditionally, but less pleasantly, scull).  Smile.

Now I need to stress that these measures are very variable. This is how I made it tonight and it was great for me, with my limes. But limes differ, as does personal taste and I’ve made much poorer versions of this drink on recommendations varying from the juice of a whole lime to a squeeze from a slice off the side, or from a dash of sugarcane syrup to a tablespoon (sugarcane is traditional, but I can’t find it in Taiwan, and find that powdered sugar, stirred well to dissolve in the lime juice before adding booze or ice, works well). In fact, it seems that traditionally this drink is served by placing the ingredients in front of the customer and allowing her to mix to her own taste.

So how did the rums compare? Well the results were not unexpected. The Matusalem was a very nice drink. Better than expected really. I have to try this in a Daiquiri (and a Mojito when I get some mint); I’m starting to like it more. But the Neissons was the hands-down winner. Wow, the flavours are superb and so nicely accented with the little bit of lime and sugar. I could drink five or six of these in a row except for the fact that after the third or fourth I’d probably be unable to get down the stairs to the kitchen anymore.

Note on the picture: This photo isn’t tonight’s mix. I tried this last week in these cute little over-sized shot glasses I’d just bought, with the lime wedge thrown in. I like it better in a rocks glass sans lime shell.

Note on limes: Yes, you can get these in Taiwan, but only just. The Lime Shop (that’s its name) is on Jinhua Street, Taipei. They don’t look like limes as we know them, but they’re the real deal, and they work great. The Ti’ Punch will work with concentrate (or better seedless Taiwan lemons mixed 50-50 with concentrate) but much better with real fresh juice.

Cynar for my Valentine!

It’s Valentine’s Day so I need to make something romantic, and nothing says Valentine’s Day like artichoke hearts.

Er, let’s that again. Nothing says Valentine’s Day like an obscure, bitter, mud-brown, digestive aid.

Um, Nothing says Valentine’s Day like a fine Italian liqueur. Oh, and hearts equals Valentine’s, right?

It’s Cynar! It’s pronounced ‘chee-NARR’. I tried some in the weekend with tonic (pictured above), and loved it. The author of my ‘Encyclopedia of Wine, Beer and Spirits’ describes it as a ‘drink for the brave’ and one of the low points of his visit to Venice. In Boozehound, even Jason Wilson, who loves this stuff, calls this bitter drink an acquired taste which takes a little getting used to. Well, with that kind of publicity, I just had to try it, and a friend was good enough to bring some back for me after a trip to LA.

Naturally I approached it with some trepidation. The first sip, from the bottle didn’t leave much of an impression, except that I was surprised by its lack of bitter awfulness. Later I mixed it up with some tonic (Schweppes), crushed ice and a lemon wedge. It was wonderful! Bitter, yes, and I like that, but also sweet. And then there’s the artichokes. I don’t know what artichokes taste like, but I bet it’s not this. Cynar is very round, and fruity tasting, with a not unpleasant bitter aftertaste. The taste is deep and flavourful.

Cynar is quite low-proof, at 16.5% ABV. It is made in Italy where it is drunk both as an aperitif, and a digestif, usually on the rocks, or with soda. I read that in some parts it is drunk with orange, so I tried that too. Also very nice, but I like the tonic better. For mixing, it has recently been used as a substitute for Campari or other Aperol (Italian bitter liqueurs) in drinks like the Negroni. I have yet to try that, but am very keen.

So tonight, for Valentine’s Day (well nominally so), I mixed it with some fancy Italian lemonade. I’d been looking for this bitter Italian soda called Chinotto, which is made by San Pellegrino who make the well-known mineral water. I didn’t find it, but picked up a couple of cans of their Limonata at Jason’s. It’s a dry, sour, very delicious lemonade, and it mixed very well with the Cynar. I thought it at least the equal of tonic as a mixer, and perhaps more refreshing (but just maybe the tonic brought out the flavour a little more). My wife, on the other hand, had an expression which changed rapidly from intrigue to revulsion. Oops. But on reflection (and after mixing it up a little more) she said it was fairly good, but the unexpected bitterness reminded her of Chinese medicine and a Chinese medicine drink you get in night markets.

I, however, am hooked on this stuff and recommend it very strongly. Their advertising from the 60s is pretty cool too:

Gin Variations Four: The Pink Gin (and Orange Buffalo, Xocolatl Rum)

Barring the ‘wave the Vermouth around’ style of ultra-dry Martini, the Pink Gin is the straightest way to drink gin as a ‘mixed’ drink. Gin and a few drops of bitters. That’s it. As it’s traditionally made with Plymouth Gin, which I recently acquired, and also as I’ve long thought it sounded cool, I gave it a try.

The Pink Gin was invented in the British Navy in the mid-19th century. Angostura Bitters had been found to be good for seasickness and to make it more palatable officers added gin to it (they were pretty hard those days). This was similar to the adding of gin to tonic water for the medicinal properties of the quinine. In fact, the gentian in Angostura Bitters was something of a forerunner to quinine. The Navy’s gin of choice was Plymouth, which is sweeter than modern London Dry Gin.

The variations of Pink Gin are minor. You can have more or less bitters, and you can drink it warm (traditional) or cold with ice in or out. Some use an old fashioned glass, but I thought a coupe glass seemed better. Some leave the bitters in, some dash it out, having it just coat the glass. I found that with just six drops, even a rather snappy discard leaves most of it in. I compromised on the ice issue, going for cooling the gin in the freezer for a couple of hours first, but skipping the ice. I tried it warm too, but preferred the cold version.

Pink Gin

2 oz Plymouth Gin

6 drops Angostura Bitters

Coat a cocktail glass well with the bitters and dash out the excess. Add ice-cold gin.

It’s an incredibly simple drink, but very good. Interestingly, the colour was more orange than pink, but the bitters added a definite tinge to the gin. It’s a very drinkable form of almost-straight gin. I’m really not one for enjoying straight spirits, but I had no problems with this whatsoever.

Then, having just purchased five different kinds of bitters in the Bitter Truth Travel Pack, I wondered what other drinks might be made this way. It was a light-hearted thought, but I gave it a whirl anyway, and the results weren’t half bad.

First up was vodka. Yes, vodka. It’s not very hip of me, as Vodka is the demon of the new craft cocktail movement. My favourite spirits writer, Jason Wilson rants against the over 500 different kinds of flavoured vodka on the market (including pink lemonade vodka, sweet tea vodka, cola vodka, root beer vodka, sake vodka, protein powder vodka, Dutch caramel vodka, espresso vodka, double espresso vodka, triple espresso vodka, mojito mint vodka and bubble gum vodka) and apparently the ultra-hip craft cocktail bars in the US don’t even serve it. Not even the plain kind.

But I heard an argument that gin is just juniper flavoured vodka anyway, really. It has to contain juniper to be called gin (legally, in the US). If you left it out, it would be flavoured vodka. Conversely, if you added juniper to your vodka flavourings, it would become gin. Or am I missing something? So the anti-vodka thing seems a bit overdone to me. I guess the cocktail geeks were a cause without something to rebel against, and vodka became it. (And vodka is too popular to be cool).

That said, I’ve never really been a vodka fan. I even got to try a couple of very expensive, supposedly ultra-premium brands at a gourmet supermarket. They didn’t taste as good as plain old Stoli. But there is one vodka I like, and its light botanical flavourings remind me a little of gin, which has been my round-about way of saying that I decided to try a Pink Gin variation with Żubrówka. This Polish vodka is flavoured with bison grass, and every bottle contains a blade. I like it with lime and soda and a lot of crushed ice in summer.

And orange goes with vodka right, so why not orange bitters? I wanted to try those out.

Orange Buffalo

2 oz Żubrówka vodka

6 drops Orange Bitters

Coat a cocktail glass well with the bitters and dash out the excess. Add ice-cold vodka.

That wasn’t bad at all. Much less harsh than a straight shot of the stuff. But still, if I want a drink like this, I’ll go for the gin.

Finally, getting sillier, I wanted something to go with the Bitter Truth’s Xocolatl Mole (chocolate)  bitters. I’d just bought a bottle of Ron Matusalem Platino from Carrefour – a smooth Cuban white rum with vanilla chocolatey buttery flavours – and thought that the chocolate bitters would match the sweet chocolatey tastes.

Xocolatl Rum

2 oz Ron Matusalem Platino rum

6 drops Chocolate Bitters

Coat a cocktail glass well with the bitters and dash out the excess. Add ice-cold rum.

That was really nice! The two do go together well, and I thought I’d been just messing around. I could sip away at this one all day. It’d go well with dessert, too. But I think it’s time to stop before I go for chilli bitters and blanco tequila.

Gin Variations 3: Gin (and Tonic) Tasting

Last weekend was hot and sunny (in the middle of winter) – the perfect time for Gin and Tonics! I’d just bought three different styles of gin on my recent trip to New Zealand, and a bottle of Tanqueray from Carrefour. I was planning some taste comparisons anyway, and when my wife expressed interest it was all go.

Methodology

We poured an ounce of the gins into small glasses, sniffed, sipped and compared. Then we added a little water to what was left in each glass to dilute a little, possibly bring out some flavour, and so as to able to discern the differences a little more clearly without being distracted by high alcohol contents.

Next we made mini-G’nT’s with an ounce of each of the gins, crushed ice, 2 ounces of Schweppes tonic, and half a lemon wheel squeezed and thrown in. We then took turns blind tasting these.

Notes

These four gins are not just different brands; they are different classes altogether (something like Scotch, Irish, Bourbon and Rye Whisk(e)ys). So it wasn’t anything like a quality test. I was rather comparing the different styles and learning to identify them.

Disclaimer: I am a shit taste tester. It’s true. I’m just not very good at identifying tastes, and even worse at describing them (dancing about architecture and all that). Whilst I never expect to be great at tasting, I do hope to improve, and any feedback on this process is much appreciated.

Gin Number One: Tanqueray (47%)

This was my first time trying Tanqueray and I loved it. Tanqueray, like the vast majority of gins sold these days, is ‘London Dry’ style. Apparently the predominant flavours are juniper, coriander and angelica root. I couldn’t identify these either by smell or taste, but the presence of botanicals was very clear (and I later figured out how to identify the juniper).

My wife and I both really liked this, and the G’n’T was (I thought) clearly the best of the lot. It was exactly what the ideal of a Gin and Tonic is for me.

(I mentioned the 47% ABV as it is bottled at quite a lower percentage in some markets (tax reasons), although serious gin drinkers always recommend the higher level).

Gin Number Two: Plymouth Gin (41.2%)

Plymouth Gin is both a style and a brand. EU regulations say that only gins produced in the Plymouth region can call themselves ‘Plymouth’ and there is only one distillery in the region, and that is exactly what it calls itself (but it also known as Black Friars after the monastery that used to stand on the site, where, apparently some of the ‘pilgrims’ stayed before setting sail for America. Perhaps this accounts for the Mayflower on the (new) bottle). Plymouth was the big port for the British Empire, of course, and while it was decided that sailors should drink rum, the officers were to drink gin. I guess this led to the upper-crust image that Gin and Tonics have had. Naturally, as the navy sailed the tropics, they had to ward off malaria, and the quinine-heavy tonic water was added to the gin, making what is probably the greatest liquid invention of mankind (or of the British Empire, at least). Plymouth was also the favoured gin of Winston Churchill.

The style of Plymouth Gin is supposed to be a bit less dry than London Dry and people usually find it smoother. The first impression was that the spiciness of the botanicals was much more restrained than in the Tanqueray. Having learnt to identify the taste of juniper, I can clearly detect it in the Plymouth, but it’s a lot more subtle. In fact, that’s it in a nutshell. Overall this has all the complexity of the Tanqueray, but is a lot more subtle (and thus, I guess, smoother).

This was my wife’s favourite of all four gins. It made a decent G’n’T too, but I thought the Tanqueray was way ahead on this score.

Gin Number Three: Hayman’s Old Tom Gin (40%)

Old Tom gin is pretty special in cocktail circles these days, as (along with Genever) it was the style of gin called for in nearly all pre-prohibition mixed drinks. The difficulty was that until about five years ago, it hadn’t been available for several decades. Hayman’s are one of a few distilleries to revive this style based on old recipes. They are also the most readily available and versatile of the modern Old Tom gins. The story of Old Tom goes that after being brought into disrepute as the swill of the working classes (thanks to the elimination of taxes by William of Orange who wanted more trade with his native Netherlands where gin came from), gin was made illegal in many areas of England. One or more sly bartenders erected wooden ‘Old Tom’ signs outside their houses in the shape of black cats, with hidden pipes inside. In one of the earliest examples of the vending machine, sneaky customers would insert a penny in a hole on the sign, put their mouths to the cat’s paw, and receive a shot of gin poured by the bartender inside.

Old Tom is a clearly sweeter stlye of gin than London Dry. Early British gin was generally of pretty low quality, and sweetened to mask this. The habit of sweetening persisted even after the gin got better, and thus, the Old Tom style. This gin tasted quite similar to the Plymouth Gin, but with a clear extra sweetness which was pleasant and certainly not overdone or at all cloying. In fact we both thought it was an excellent drink. The G’n’T was fine, but like the Plymouth, I found it quite bland compared to the Tanqueray. The Tom Collins is probably the better relatively straight-up alternative for Old Tom.

Gin Number 4: Bokma Oude Genever (40%)

Genever (aka Jenever, Dutch Gin, Holland Gin) isn’t really gin, at least not as we know it today, but its ancestor, so it’s markedly different from the other gins we tried. Genever is distilled from a ‘malt wine’ made from grain mash, so it takes on woody, smokey, and malty tastes similar to whiskey.

The difference from the other gins was clear right from the first smell. The malty, whiskey taste comes through clearly, but it also tastes gin-like (the juniper is also fairly clear) making for a very interesting, and rather tasty earthy gin. That was what I thought, anyway. My wife, on the other hand, really didn’t like stuff, but she basically doesn’t like any dark spirits that remind her of medicinal tastes.

Genever wasn’t really made for a Gin and Tonic. The Dutch usually drink it ice-cold and straight. That said, the G’n’T was an interesting drink, that I quite enjoyed. I later tried the Bokma in a classic ‘Gin Cocktail’ and it was great.

Oh, as a side note, while in New Zealand I heard Genever referred to as ‘Square Gin’ a couple of times. I wonder if this is due to the shape of the Bokma bottle, and whether it is called this elsewhere.

The Gin and Tonic Tasting

As a fun exercise, having tasted the gins straight, and diluted with a little water, we made them all into little Gin and Tonics (with 1 oz gin, 2 oz Schweppes, crushed ice and half a lemon wheel squeezed and added). Using different coloured straws, we took turns mixing them up and have the other identify the drinks. It was a little harder than I thought, but given the very different styles of gin, still rather easy. I got them all right pretty quickly, and my wife just mixed up the Plymouth and the Old Tom. She then took these as her favourites to finish off, leaving me with my favourite – the Tanqueray – and the most interesting – the Bokma.

They were all nice drinks, no doubt, but the Tanqueray Gin and Tonic was easily the best of the lot – close to the perfect drink for me, yet one of the easiest (and cheapest) to make.

Conclusions

Tanqueray is my new favourite gin and THE choice for a G’n’T. Plymouth can be lauded for its subtlety, but I preferred the upfront nature of the dry. I’ll keep Plymouth for Pink Gins. I really liked the added sweetness of the Old Tom and look forward to trying it in more classic cocktails that call for it. The Bokma was a really interesting spirit, and I also look forward to getting acquainted with it, probably mostly in very simple ‘almost straight’ recipes. Overall, I find all four of these essential to my drinks collection, and am extremely pleased that I chose them.

Gin Variations 2: The Gin Fizz

There’s not a lot of difference between the Gin Fizz and the Tom Collins, and a lot of confusion over what the difference is. They have the same ingredients, for sure; gin, lemon juice, sugar (or syrup) and soda water. The Fizz does often have egg white though, but this is properly called a silver fizz, and I’m guessing that as the egg makes it foam, or ‘fizz’, that is why some seize on this as a distinction.

David Wondrich’s conclusion is that basically the Collins was a tall drink with ice for drinking slowly and the Fizz was strained for knocking off rather quickly. This rings true with what else I have read. I like the Fizz, but I think I liked the Collins better. It’s a good drink, but don’t have too many. One 1890s Brooklynite apparently killed himself on Gin Fizzes. He did eat the glass as well though (for a bet), and that’s probably what did him in. It might sound like a stupid thing to do, but his judgement might have been somewhat impaired, as he had a reputation for drinking 40 Gin Fizzes a day. So go easy on them.

To get more of a different drink than the Collins, I tried the Silver Fizz.

Silver Fizz

2 oz Old Tom gin

1 oz lemon juice

1 1/2 tsp of powdered sugar

1 small egg white

soda water

lemon wedge

Dissolve half the sugar in lemon juice in the bottom of a Tom Collins glass. Add the egg white and gin. Shake well without ice (egg doesn’t mix well with ice) and hold on to the shaker tight as the egg tries to push it open. Add ice and shake again for a good 30 seconds. Strain into a narrow 6-8 ounce glass without ice. Top up with soda water. To get a little extra fizz going, add the rest of the sugar and stir again vigourously. Garnish with lemon wedge.

Gin Variations 1: The Tom Collins

This is the start of a little beginner cocktail blog for my fellow cocktail geeks and for my own record as I start exploring the world of cocktails.

I live in Taiwan, so there’ll be an emphasis on things available in this country and where to find ingredients locally.

So in New Zealand I bought 3 different kinds of gin to add to the standard London Dry. The slightly less dry and smoother Plymouth Gin, sweeter still Old Tom Gin (Hayman’s) and the ancestor of British gin, Genever (Bokma Oude) aka Holland Gin. Now to start experimenting with them.

Last night was the Tom Collins. I’d made this before, and was unimpressed. My biggest mistake (made of necessity) was using London Dry Gin, which is what nearly all gin is these days, and is the only kind available in Taiwan. The second part of the mistake was that in the 90s I was totally sucked into believing that Bombay Sapphire was the ultimate in premium gin, thanks to their ever-so-slick marketing (well word of mouth really – all my mates said it was the best – makes me wonder if I ever really enjoyed those extra-dry martinis, or just pretended too). My recent reading on the subject seems to suggest that serious spirit aficionados scoff at Bombay Sapphire. Tanqueray is said to be by far the better common alternative (but get the 47% variant if you can) and even old Beefeater a close second.

So what is a Tom Collins? Basically a variant on the ‘fizz’, a successor to punch and predecessor of the cocktail – gin, lemon juice, sugar and soda. According to cocktail historian extraordinaire Dave Wondrich, an old bartender in the early 19th century used to make an iceless gin-based short punch that was very popular. It moved to the US, got ice, got bigger and got its own glass. Oh, and due to an hilarious mix-up it changed names.

Cocktail history is full of interesting stories and anecdotes about how drinks were invented and got their names. This is one of the stupidest. Around about the 1860s those fun-loving ‘sportsmen’ who liked  to hang around bars talking about and betting on horses and fights (yes, cocktails are the preserve of sophisticated gentlemen) started a joke which spread through American bars like wildfire. The hoax was to turn to one of your drinking buddies and tell him how that fellow Tom Collins had been dissing him royally. Upon being asked the location of said cad, you would direct your fellow to another nearby bar, barbershop, street corner, etc. When arriving at the new location, another clued-in member of the sporting fraternity would inform your friend that Tom Collins had called his mother a crack-whore and was right now headed to the racetrack. Your drinking buddy would be led a merry chase around town in search of someone who – here’s the punchline – didn’t exist! This was surely a height of humour not to be reached again until modern day wits started losing ‘The Game’ on the World Wide Web.

Oh yeah, back to the drink. Thanks to the prank to end all pranks, cocktail sophisticates of the day found Tom Collins easier to remember than John Collins and the name stuck. It was almost identical to the gin fizz, but should be built in a tall ‘Tom Collins’ glass full of ice cubes rather than shaken and strained into a smaller glass.

Tom Collins

2 oz Old Tom gin

1 oz lemon juice

1 1/2 tsp of powdered sugar

soda water

lemon wedge

Dissolve half the sugar in lemon juice in the bottom of a Tom Collins glass. Fill with ice cubes. Add gin. Stir. Top up with soda water. To get a little fizz going, add the rest of the sugar and stir again vigourously. Garnish with lemon wedge.

I made this with Taiwan lemons which are sourer and tarter, so used a little more sugar, and I’m not sure the fizzing really worked. Worth a shot though. It was still a little sour, but I like it that way. I think I’ll try with yellow lemons next time though. The Old Tom gin was a definite improvement on the Bombay Sapphire. This was a really nice drink and would be even nicer as a summer cooler. I still prefer a gin and tonic, but this is a great alternative.