Category Archives: Cocktails

My dear friend JoAnn just celebrated her birthday, and for the occasion I threw a gathering in Boston for her chosen Cape Crew. The guest list was all girls (as per request) but I’ve never shied away from female company. I’ve known most of these lovely ladies for years, so in some respects it felt like a reunion of sorts, and a very happy one at that. There’s a long history there, and I felt honored to be a small part of it.

There was a slight daisy theme running through the proceedings, in honor of one of JoAnn’s favorite flowers. A lemongrass ginger cocktail was on hand, because a single cocktail is easier than setting up a full bar. This particular cocktail is as easy as they come: 2 parts vodka or gin, ½ part lemongrass-ginger simple syrup, then top with seltzer to your liking. Garnish with a stick of lemongrass. (I saved a bunch from last season’s garden, frozen in a zip-lock freezer bag.)

As already explained, the wardrobe was a simple one, and the only fanciness was to be found in this selection of whimsical straws.

Kira had arrived the evening before to help put things in order, and we toasted our friends en route.

It was, as always, the people who made the party, and JoAnn has a great group of friends in her life. She’s always been good at that. People grow and leave, lives change, and sometimes you have to let go whether you want to or not, but that’s the ebb and flow of life and friendship. Such fluidity keeps things interesting.

Sarah made this amazing cake – a carrot cake with extra pizzazz, and I mean it: this thing was packed with moist, rich flavor and a cream cheese frosting to-die-for. (I’m not ashamed to say I had some for breakfast the next day.)

In the end, it was the guests that mattered, and the fun that transpired whenever JoAnn’s friends get together. Let’s do it again!

A cocktail fit for an Easter Sunday – or any Sunday for that matter – as there’s an egg white in it, this is the Ramos Gin Fizz. Some shy away from raw egg whites, but I love what they do for a drink. (Prairie oysters, anyone?) Protein and froth and tiny bubbles – perfect for a brunch treat. This one also packs a deceptively strong gin kick, while the addition of orange flower water sends it into another stratosphere of perfumed glory.

The Ramos Gin Fizz was invented in the 1880’s by Henry C. Ramos, and remains one of New Orleans‘ most famous drinks. I’ve had a love-affair with New Orleans ever since I lost my gay virginity on the banks of the Mississippi River, but that’s another story somewhere else on this blog. (This is not a cock tale.)

History has it that Louisiana governor Huey Long brought Mr. Ramos to New York’s Roosevelt Hotel to have him train the bartenders there how to make the Ramos Gin Fizz the right way. Further proof that knowledge is power.

INGREDIENTS:

• 2 ounces gin
• ½ ounce lemon juice
• ½ ounce lime juice
• 1 ounce simple syrup
• 3 small dashes orange flower water
• 1 ounce cream
• 1 egg white
• Soda water

METHOD:

Shake all ingredients except the soda water without ice very vigorously for at least one minute, more if possible (you should shake until your arms give out). Then add ice and shake for 1-2 minutes until extremely cold and frothy. Strain into a Collins glass, or a large old fashioned glass, and top with soda water. Stir gently.

The only word of warning I have to give is on the orange blossom water. It’s potent stuff, and its fragrance is so lovely that you’ll be tempted to use a lot more than the prescribed three dashes. Be strong and resist the urge, as a little of it goes a long way. You don’t really want to taste it as much as smell it vaguely on the surface. I also didn’t bother straining anything, as I enjoy a frothy mix, and a few bits of lemon and lime never bothered anyone who had their priorities correct. All in all, this will be a great early summer cocktail, and the perfect pairing with Tom Ford’s Neroli Portofino. (Yes, I match my cocktails to my cologne. What kind of heathen doesn’t?)

This Paloma Cooler has been done a couple of times, but it’s a good winter treat, especially when citrus is in season. The key ingredient here (aside from the tequila) is a grapefruit soda – but a healthier option might be fresh grapefruit juice and seltzer. You’d lose a lot of sweetness, but that’s the small price one has to pay for healthy drinking.

It’s all about the salt rim and floating lime tequila shot anyway. The rest is just gravy. Grapefruit gravy. Citrus spritz. It’s Saturday, and it’s all good.

Though Andy favors Fresh Market for grocery shopping, I like Whole Foods a little bit more – they’ve got more interesting items, even if both places cost as much as a black-market baby (which I’m told is illegal anyway). Sometimes, as in the case of a bottle of rose water, I’ll buy something without a clear idea of how to use it, then keep it secreted in an out-of-reach cupboard until the proper moment presents itself. That’s what happened here, so when we were having guests over and the summer night called for an indulgent cocktail, I looked up this rose concoction and modified it a bit for what I had on hand.

It’s a bit sweeter than I normally prefer, but most people don’t like things as dry as I do, so it went over well. The fresh lemon cuts it a bit; thank goodness for tart citrus.

Ingredients

• 2 oz. vodka
• 1 oz. elderflower liqueur
• 1 oz. simple rose syrup
• Strained juice of ½ small lemon (modify to taste)
• Dash of rose water
• 1 rose petal for garnish

To make the simple rose syrup, I boiled two cups of sugar with one cup water, with a tablespoon or two of rose water. It fills the kitchen with the essence of rose, so get ready for a happy olfactory experience that reeks of early summer.

Shake ingredients with ice, let sit for a bit (for once, a bit of melted ice is a good thing, blunting both the sharper and sweeter edges) then strain into a martini glass. Garnish with a rose petal. That may seem a bit precious, but it makes all the damn difference. Trust.

I’m not the biggest sangria fan (I abhor a muddled mess, and that’s what always ends up happening at the bottom of a glass of sangria). Yet other people love it to death, so I’ll sacrifice my own taste for the enjoyment of others. In this case, a simple summer recipe of white wine, some peach schnapps, and fresh fruit – allowed to marinate for at least several hours – results in a lighter sangria (much safer for cream-colored carpets and white linen tablecloths). I also find it a better fit for these summer days, when a heavier red wine can only be lightened so much with the addition of fruit and other nonsense. Anyway, we’ll let the photos speak for the recipe – modify amounts per personal preference. Sangria isn’t anything close to a science, and I don’t have much patience for such unfussiness.

This lemongrass/ginger spritzer came to mind as I planted a batch of lemongrass in the garden this week. We still have a few bags of frozen lemongrass stalks from last year – fears of running out through the winter proved unfounded, as I only used a few. Of course, it’s probably not the winter that needed getting through, but the spring – in this period of growth before I can harvest anything from the newly-planted. If you have a spot for lemongrass, I highly recommend it. Like most grasses, it grows big and beautiful, and a small clump in the spring can turn into an enormous mound by the fall.

For this alcohol-free mocktail, I boiled a cup of sugar with a cup of water, along with a few slices of fresh ginger and about four stalks of lemongrass, roughly chopped into one-inch pieces (and slightly macerated.) After about fifteen minutes, I strained the mix and poured it into a container for the fridge. It’s possible to leave the ginger and lemongrass in the water for longer – the longer you leave it, the stronger the tincture becomes.

Once cool, add a small amount (maybe ¼ cup) to a glass filled with ice. (A little of this simple syrup goes a long way.) Top with a generous pour of club soda, and garnish with a frozen lemongrass stalk (it need not be frozen, mine just happened to be.) A perfect accompaniment for the sunny days to come.

In honor of the newly-fallen star (and one of the rare child actors who made her life into something great) I made a Shirley Temple the other evening. A simple glass of ginger ale with a splash of grenadine, and an obnoxious Maraschino cherry – as unnaturally fire-engine red as possible – it was certainly on the sweet side of things, but the ginger cuts it just enough to make it tolerable.

Once again, the first time I had a Shirley Temple was with Suzie, at a Friendly’s as a teenager. Apparently by that point we’d outgrown Mary Poppins, but not Friendly’s or its Fribble. She was astounded that I’d never had the pink non-cocktail, so I ordered one and embarrassed myself in front of a server for about the cabillionth time.

Until recently, I’ve mistakenly never given much thought or consideration to vermouth. As long as the gin or whiskey was decent and the garnish right, the rest seemed beside the point. Only when I switched out the standard sweet vermouth for this bottle of Antonio Carpano’s Antica Formula did my foolish perceptions change – and none too soon.

The layers of complexity, the sudden richness, the full-bodied substance of a Negroni or a Manhattan immediately flowered anew before me. It was like someone switched on the most glorious light to reveal gorgeous vistas of amber waves of joyous grain. How could I have been so stupid? It’s nice to have these moments of evolution and improvement. There is no shame in admitting mistakes or ignorance. The only shame is in not improving when it’s an option – and there is always a way to make things better. Don’t ever settle.

This is one of my favorite cocktails, and it’s a classic stand-by that goes well with the new season. There’s no real reason for the negroni to be considered a fall cocktail, other than my own personal memories of the drink, a trio of times that started in the fall and ended before spring. The first was simply a fall afternoon in a New York hotel bar, high above the annoyance of Times Square, waiting for Suzie to arrive. The sun came in through the blinds and it must have been October or early November. In that pocket of time, sipping the first cocktail of the evening, I loved being in New York. The distinctive edge of Campari sharpened the appetite, while the gin and sweet vermouth grounded it with shades of a sweeter martini. We were headed to a burger joint prior to a Madonna concert – the usual routine.

The second time I distinctly recall sipping a negroni was around the holidays at the now-shuttered Brown Derby in downtown Albany. An Anthony Perkins film was on the television in the background. Shadows of California palm trees, echoed by the palms in the entryway, made an incongruous backdrop for my holiday cocktail, garnished with a proper orange twist. Citrus has always reminded me of Christmas – maybe because of the crates of oranges or grapefruits that we used to get in the mail, or a home-made clove-studded orange ornament that shrank as it hung on the Christmas tree. The orange twist is an integral part of the negroni, supplying the essential refreshing scent – and so much of eating and drinking depends on smell.

The third memory was of a homemade version I poured for myself in January, while visiting my brother at my parents’ home. The cold blue evening, and the expansive blanket of snow leading behind the house, framed the table on which the cocktail stood. Bathed in the amber light from an old brass-bottomed lamp, it glowed warmly in flaming hues of red and orange. I sat there, in the living room, trying to recall how exactly fall turned into winter, when the decaying leaves floated away, why the spring took so long to come.

The Negroni

1 part gin

1 part Campari

1 part Sweet vermouth

 

Garnish with an orange twist (not negotiable)

After a season of strong growth, particularly in this hot and humid year, our stand of lemongrass is lush and full, three feet tall and just as wide. There would be no way for me to use all the stalks, so when a friend suggested infusing vodka, well, that seemed the best way to keep it going through the fall and winter. I will freeze a lot of the stalks too, as lemongrass is not always readily found at the next door Price Chopper (like most things that people want).

I’ve done several vodka infusions, but this lemongrass is one of the better ones. (Fruits should only be done in short periods of time – try a few raspberries and watch how quickly the color drains from them into the alcohol.) Lemongrass holds its color and form for far longer, the stalwart stalks holding on for weeks, making for a gloriously-slow burn, and a delicious lemon-tinged taste. I like the stems as both stirrers and garnishes. This simple cocktail was just some ice-cold lemongrass-infused vodka (steeped for at least two weeks) and a bit of bubbly ginger soda (NOT ginger ale, ginger soda). It’s both refreshing and bracing, perfect for the warm days and cool nights we’ve had of late.

The Chinese dogwood is a small tree known mainly for its white flowers (bracts, actually) that show up, perfectly-timed, just after the American dogwood finishes blooming. It’s on the late side of the spring bloomers, lingering into June and holding up well even in that first flush of hot days. It also makes an excellent cut flower – a branch or two can make a sculptural arrangement with the slightest effort.

Less-known is the charm of the fruits that eventually follow the flowers of the dogwood. They start out small and green, before maturing into a strawberry-looking fruit that marks a second, if less-showy, period of interest. This fruit has been reaching its peak over the last week or so, and the tree is once again a show-piece of the garden. Given that this was a banner year for dogwood blooms, the fruit was also excessive, so I did a little research to determine if something could be made with them.

For the cocktail, I kept things exceedingly basic, choosing a base of Bulldog gin – a birthday gift from my boss – and just the slightest bit of dogwood syrup, strained through a paper towel to keep things clean. (I’m still reluctant to embrace the heavily-colloidal suspension so many muddled drinks result in.)

Garnished with one of the fruit pieces, it looks slightly better than it tastes. Don’t get me wrong, in desperate times or for something different to try just to say you’ve tried it, this is a neat thing. And any time you can make something with ingredients from the front yard it’s worth an attempt. Once, though, was enough. And vodka may have been the better choice in the end. (To be honest, I had the most fun picking the berries off the tree than any of the other steps – including drinking it – and that’s rare.)

Since I previously expounded upon the virtues of the vesper, there would appear to be little else to recommend that fine cocktail to you if you’re not a convert by now. However, once in a while a little tweak or twist can change one’s whole take on a drink, and in this case I have to suggest a little tampering with the tried and true, particularly if you like grapefruit as much as I do. I’m not one of those libation purists who can’t bend the rules for a new take on an old classic, so if someone wants to switch out the traditional lemon twist for an orange twist, I’m open to that. And if you’re going to lend a grapefruit slant to something that seems an unlikely match (i.e. the Last Word I had in Portland that was so gorgeously shaded with pamplemousse) I’ll give it a whirl.

Lately I’ve been obsessed with the vesper (recipe here). It’s the perfect cocktail for transitioning from summer to fall, turning as it does on the small but integral splash of Lillet that gives it its distinctive slant. Traditionally, it is served with a lemon twist, as seen here, but a friend of mine turned me onto using an orange twist as well, which is just as good.

The latter actually works better, especially when you add a few drops of orange bitters into the mix, as I am wont to do. Everything’s better with bitters.

This is a clean, elegant, sophisticated drink – not for the faint of heart, as there is no silly non-alcoholic filler or fruit juice. The gin and vodka pack a potent one-two punch, but you’d be surprised how much edge a twist can take off.

In this pocket of time when we’ve passed the moment for a gin and tonic, but haven’t quite reached the point of a negroni, the vesper is the perfect antidote for whatever ails you.

Most of us have one or two liquors that we can’t – or won’t – touch again. Whether it was vodka from one too many Jello shots in college, or gin from a martini binge, or, in my case, tequila from a bottle of the cheap stuff while visiting friends at Cornell, we tend to veer away from those drinks that aren’t remembered all too fondly. In my case, that one bad tequila night (when someone wisely drew a skull-and-cross-bones on the bottle so it wouldn’t happen again) didn’t totally temper my time with the agave-based alcohol. It did take me a few years before trying it outside of anything other than a margarita, but eventually I came around, and I currently enjoy its distinctive bite.

A platinum tequila formed the base of this Paloma Cooler, but for an easier to assemble pitcher fit for a group, I recently tried a Tequila Cranberry Cooler, which uses a silver tequila. I’m neither knowledgeable nor experienced enough with it to know which is better, or the major distinctions between the varying metallic degrees, but I think I do prefer a silver to a gold, especially when we’re not talking margaritas.

It’s on the sweet side for my taste, but if you kick up the tequila a bit it balances out. The Campari also works to counteract the sweetness, as does the lime juice (the final integral turn of the tart screw). It ends up this lovely shade of red, a fiery indication of its potency (for it does pack a punch if done correctly).

And in a pinch, Jim Beam simply will not do. At least not for this drink. The cocktail was the Ginger Bourbon Fizz. It sounded like a lovely summer drink – something a bit different from the mint juleps and mojitos and G&T’s that dominate the season. Give me some fresh ginger and I can usually be appeased – add some bourbon to it and I’m happy as a clam. Except in this case. On paper, it sounded thrilling – bourbon, and a simple syrup that had been steeped with fresh ginger coins and peppercorns. Just enough to balance the sweetness – then topped by club soda to add the fizz. But not all bourbons are equal, and I should have known not to skimp on the key ingredient.

Maker’s Mark is my preferred way to go, but the liquor store next door was out of it (such is the sorry state of affairs in my neighborhood). They were also out of Knob Creek, which a friend had suggested as a decent substitute. Not knowing much beyond that (my preference has always been for the clear stuff, especially in summer) I pulled out the bottle of Jim Beam and hoped for the best. It was just so-so, and soon enough the Ginger Bourbon Fizz had fizzled out, so much so that I could only stomach one. (That almost never happens.) I may try it again with a proper bourbon, but for now the fizz is flat, and I don’t feel like wasting a cocktail hour on this until the fall.