drinkboston.com

Max Toste, bartender and co-partner of the Allston beer and cocktail bar Deep Ellum, is quite pleased when he tells me that he sells more sweet vermouth than Absolut, and more rye whiskey than Jack Daniels, as if all is going according to plan. Well, it is. When you put four different Manhattans on your cocktail menu, you’re going to go through some rye and vermouth. Here are the historically correct options under Deep Ellum’s “Manhattan 4 Ways”:

All of the below are 2 parts whiskey to 1 part sweet vermouth, except for the New School.

1930s - Rye (my fave)
Sugar cube muddled with 2 dashes Peychaud’s, 1 dash Angostura; twist
Stirred, straight-up

1950s - Bourbon (Deep Ellum uses W.L. Weller)
Angostura, bourbon-and-vermouth-soaked cherry
Stirred, straight-up

1970s - Canadian Club (Max’s grandfather’s recipe)
Angostura, twist
On the rocks

New School - Maker’s Mark
2 1/2 oz Maker’s Mark, 1/2 oz sweet vermouth; Angostura, cherry
Stirred, straight-up

And congrats to Max! He recently welcomed a baby daughter into the world.

Yeah, it’s summertime, but that doesn’t mean you have to fight for sidewalk seating at a trendy Boylston Street restaurant and drink mango margaritas. Just find a dark, cool bar that stocks Fernet Branca and crushed ice and order a Fanciulli. This is the perfect drink to have when you quietly slip out of work at 2:30 on a sweltering afternoon to assume the role of an anonymous barfly in a film noir.

Fanciulli

1/2 bourbon
1/4 sweet vermouth
1/4 Fernet Branca

Frappé. (In other words, mix the ingredients together in a shaker and pour over crushed ice.) Tip: last Christmas, I received a Groggy ice crusher from Ikea; it’s a perfect home bar tool for frappé cocktails.

I found the recipe for this bracingly refreshing drink in that good, old yardsale paperback The Art of Mixing Drinks, based on the Esquire Drink Book, where I also found the Marconi Wireless.

Coming up … a back-of-the-napkin account of our recent trip to L.A.

LUPEC invaded my home last night — and it was good. The Boston chapter of Ladies United for the Preservation of Endangered Cocktails launched a few months ago and has already created cocktails for and otherwise helped promote several local benefits, like the Operation Frontline Dinner at Tremont 647 and the Taste of the South End. Every month, the Ladies get together for a cocktail party celebrating a theme of the hostess’ choosing. Last night’s theme was Drinkin’ Dames in Classic Cinema, and several attendees dressed for the occasion in polka-dot blouses, pillbox hats, fishnet stockings and Mary Jane pumps. I am proud to say that these discerning tipplers approved of the five dame-influenced cocktails I served.

Ginger Rogers

• 1 oz dry gin
• 1 oz dry vermouth
• 1 oz apricot brandy
• 4 dashes lemon juice

Shake well over ice and strain into chilled cocktail glass. The liquid equivalent of Ginger floating elegantly in a feathered gown.

Barbara West

• 2 oz dry gin
• 1 oz dry sherry (Amontillado works well)
• 1/2 oz lemon juice
• 1 dash Angostura bitters

Shake well over ice and strain into chilled cocktail glass. Lemon twist. Thanks to Ted Haigh for resurrecting this excellent aperitif cocktail. (Who the hell was Barbara West? No one knows. When serving this drink, make up your own story about her.)

Roman Holiday

• 1 1/2 oz vodka
• 1/2 oz Punt e Mes
• 1/2 oz sweet vermouth
• splash of fresh orange juice

Shake well over ice and strain into chilled cocktail glass. Thin orange slice. Refreshing!

Ann Sheridan

• 1 1/2 oz Myers dark rum (recipe called for Bacardi dark rum; other recipes call for Bacardi light rum)
• 1/2 oz orange curacao
• 1/2 oz lime juice

Shake well over ice and strain into chilled cocktail glass.

Marlene Dietrich

• 2 oz rye whiskey
• 1/2 oz orange curacao
• 2 dashes Angostura bitters

Shake well over ice and strain into chilled cocktail glass. Lemon twist and flamed orange peel. (OK, I took liberties with the original recipe, which called for 3/4 wineglass (!) of rye and only two dashes of curacao. A lightly adulterated glass of rye was probably just right for Marlene, but I wanted a little more balance.)

When Esquire drinks writer David Wondrich made a guest appearance behind the bar at Eastern Standard a couple of weeks ago, he mixed a drink I’d never had before: the Saratoga. Equal parts cognac, rye and sweet vermouth, the Saratoga is one of those cocktails that flies in the face of the number-one rule you were taught during your formative drinking years: do not mix your spirits. Cognac and rye? Mixed together in the same glass? Run and hide!

No, don’t. Try it. It’s one of those drinks whose seemingly simple ingredients and proportions form something eye-openingly new. Here’s the recipe, along with the brands of liquor Wondrich used that evening. Note: he colored outside the lines with the bitters he used — a Peruvian brand that Eastern Standard happened to have lying around. They were a bit funky.

Saratoga Cocktail
1 oz cognac (Hine)
1 oz rye (Rittenhouse 100-Proof)
1 oz sweet vermouth (Martini & Rossi)
2 dashes Angostura bitters or other aromatic bitters, such as Fee’s Old-Fashioned
Stir well with ice. Strain into chilled cocktail glass and twist a lemon peel over the top.

If you order this in a bar, be sure to specify that it’s the above version you want. There are several other cocktails named Saratoga, and they tend to involve maraschino liqueur and/or pineapple syrup.

By Scott N. Howe

It’s not quite Coke, it’s not quite root beer, and it’s not quite good. “It” is Moxie, and if you grew up in New England, you’ve no doubt sampled this dark, bitter, medicinal soda — and you probably didn’t like it. To be sure, Moxie is an acquired taste, but a few more folks may acquire it thanks to a new cocktail at Allston’s Deep Ellum. Last night, barman Max Toste turned me on to the Black Water, a new Moxie-based concoction they’ve added to their interesting and ample cocktail menu. (”Moxie,” Max explained, is a Native American word for “black water.” I took his word for it.) The drink is simple: Moxie on the rocks, mixed with rye and garnished with a lemon slice. What you get is, depending on your perspective, a loving update of New England traditions or a Jack and Coke for the highly ironic. Either way, it’s damn tasty, and, at $6 a pop, it’s priced to make even the thriftiest New Englander smile.

A couple of months ago, a guy named Goran Berntsson emailed me and asked, “Would you kindly answer my question on Sidecars? I wonder about the word ‘Boston’ in ‘Boston Sidecar.’ Does it just mean the drink is shaken in a Boston shaker or is there anything more, something historical, behind ‘Boston’ in this connection? I do think there should be, but if so: What?”

I had no idea. How embarrassing — drinkboston.com had never heard of a Boston Sidecar. I found the recipe in the Old Mr. Boston De Luxe Official Bartender’s Guide (1961 edition) I received for Christmas: 3/4 oz brandy, 3/4 oz rum, 3/4 oz triple sec, and the juice of half a lime shaken on ice and strained. But I didn’t know why it was called the Boston Sidecar. I asked around, but none of my bartender pals had any answers about the drink’s origins. I was only able to tell Goran that the Boston shaker likely had nothing to do with the drink’s name, since most cocktails are mixed in this apparatus. I noticed that Goran asked the same question on squidoo.com but didn’t get an answer there either.

Which brings me to the fact that I still have no background on this drink, but that this site ought to at least compile a list of drinks either with “Boston” in their name or that originated here. Here are a few:

• Boston Sidecar (recipe above)
• Boston Cocktail (from Michael Jackson’s Bar & Cocktail Companion: 1.5 oz dry gin, 1 oz apricot brandy, 1 tsp lemon juice, dash of grenadine)
• Ward Eight (probably the most famous forgotten Boston cocktail. From CocktailDB: 1.5 oz bourbon or rye, 1 oz lemon juice, 1 tsp sugar, 1/4 oz grenadine)

Of course, it being the Old Mr. Boston guide, that book has recipes for the Boston Collins and the Boston Sour, but those appear to be simply variations on the Rum Collins and the Whiskey Sour. I’ll do some cross-referencing and start a page of Boston cocktails whose recipes come from more than one source. In the meantime, if anyone knows how the Boston Sidecar, or the Boston Cocktail for the matter, got its name, chime in under Comments, will you?

Oh no. Smell that? It’s the latest liquor trend: top-shelf rye whiskey. We’re talking $50, $100 bottles of the stuff that, if you ordered it in a bar a few years ago, you were probably an 80-year-old man drinking Canadian Club. In the average American bar, Canadian whiskey is what you get when you order rye, because U.S. rye distilleries dwindled and nearly died out in the decades following Prohibition.

“Now, though, in a turnabout, the prospects for rye have brightened considerably,” wrote the New York Times’ Eric Asimov late last month (All but Lost, Rye Is Revived As the Next Boutique Find). The article reviewed several ryes, at least half of which were between $65 and $140. “Fueled by the same sense of curiosity and geeky connoisseurship that gave birth to the microbrew industry, the single-malt avalanche and myriad small-batch bourbons, rye has been resurrected by whiskey lovers who want to preserve its singular, almost exotic essence.”

Oh crap.

Look, I’m one of those geeky connoisseurs. I used to be in the microbrew industry. I have six different kinds of bourbon in my house right now. And I admit my life changed a little the first time I tasted Van Winkle Family Reserve 13-year rye. That’s why I now have four different kinds of rye in my house, mingling with the bourbon bottles. But articles like this give me a sinking feeling. I mean, $140 rye? Who’s drinking this stuff? Maybe a handful of geeky connoisseurs, but mostly New York Times tasting panels and free-spending poseurs. And the worst thing is that prices are only going to skyrocket, because the good stuff is scarce.

Which brings me to Rittenhouse Straight 100-proof and Andy Kilgore. Rittenhouse Straight 100-proof (which actually made the NYT panel’s top 10) is a rye that can be purchased for under $20. Andy Kilgore is a bartender at Chez Henri who understands that rye is a traditionally rough spirit that resourceful bartenders of yore molded into cultured cocktails like the Algonquin and the Old-Fashioned. He demonstrated this to me and a few friends recently. First, he gave us a taste of Rittenhouse neat. Whoa! It made me want to pull out my six-shooter and walk 10 paces. Then he used it to mix “old-fashioned” Old-Fashioneds. Forget about the muddled maraschino cherry and orange slice, the big blast of soda water and the bourbon, he said. In a heavy rocks glass, he muddled Angostura and orange bitters with sugar and a bit of water, then added chilled Rittenhouse and finished the drink with flamed lemon peel. Oh my god, what a good drink. It was like the rye had donned a tuxedo and combed its hair. Isn’t it always the grizzled tough guy who looks hottest in a new suit, anyway?

Are you whiskey-curious? Want to experiment with the amber liquor but aren’t ready to bear the full brunt of its kick? Try a Frisco: 1 1/2 oz rye, 3/4 oz Benedictine and 3/4 oz lemon juice shaken over ice and strained into a stemmed glass. Its prominent citrus and herbal flavors tame the rye into submission, making the Frisco the perfect drink for preliminary explorations. Indeed, this golden cocktail was my first love, a tasty gateway to subsequent adventures with Manhattans, Red Hooks, and Sazeracs. I still love the Frisco and regularly recommend it to all whiskey-curious people I meet. Since the drink has long been on the B-Side Lounge’s comprehensive cocktail menu, and since many bartenders in Boston and Cambridge have completed a stint there at some point in their careers, finding this drink in a local bar isn’t as far-fetched as you’d think.

Note: As is the case with many cocktails, the recipe above (which is the one B-Side uses) is one of many that list varying proportions of rye, lemon juice and Benedictine. Early recipes appear to have only called for a lemon twist. In any case, the recipe here is damn tasty and probably the most user-friendly for the beginner.

Here are the recipes for the drinks featured at drinkboston.com’s launch party, along with highly condensed versions of each bartender’s remarks about his/her drink. In order they were:

The Jack Rose (mixed by Jackson Cannon)
Some recipes call for lemon, some for lime. Applejack, a nearly forgotten spirit, is the base. Do not attempt to mix this drink without real pomegranate grenadine.
2 oz Laird’s Applejack
3/4 oz handmade grenadine (see recipe below)
1/2 oz fresh-squeezed lemon juice
one dash Peychaud’s Bitters

Shake over ice and strain, garnish with a lemon twist.

Grenadine: 2 parts pomegranate juice, 1 part cane sugar. Bring to boil, reduce heat and simmer to thicken slightly. Remove from heat and finish with a touch of orange flower water. Let chill, store in refrigerator.

The Sazerac (mixed by John Gertsen)
Born of the mishmash of New Orleans culture in the early to mid-1800s and believed by many to be the first cocktail. Antoine Peychaud was an apothecary whose proprietary blend of medicinal bitters was mixed with cognac before rye became the preference (rye was America’s whiskey before bourbon became more popular).
1 sugar cube (4-7 grams)
7 dashes Peychaud’s Bitters
1 oz water
3 oz Sazerac rye whiskey
A few drops of Herbsaint (pastis)

Muddle first three ingredients in mixing glass. “Rinse” a pre-chilled, old-fashioned glass with Herbsaint (pour drops of Herbsaint into glass, swirl and discard). Add rye to mixing glass and fill with ice. Stir well for 30 seconds and strain into Herbsaint-rinsed glass. Squeeze lemon twist over glass and rub around rim. Discard peel.

The Widow’s Kiss (mixed by Misty Kalkofen)
Drinks like this fell out of favor as people’s tastes moved to fruit-flavored liqueurs rather than “scary” herbal liqueurs like Chartreuse and Benedictine. There’s no real story behind this drink (it probably originated in 1895). Let’s make one up!
1 & 1/2 oz Calvados
3/4 oz Benedictine
3/4 oz yellow Chartreuse
2 dashes Angostura Bitters
Stir. Strain. Garnish with a cherry.

The Millionaire Cocktail (mixed by Brother Cleve)
This is but one of several widely varying drink recipes that go by the name “Millionaire.” It appears in Vintage Spirits & Forgotten Cocktails, by Ted Haigh (aka Dr. Cocktail).
1 & 1/2 oz Myer’s Original Dark Rum
3/4 oz apricot brandy
3/4 oz sloe gin
juice of one fresh lime (about 1 oz)

Shake well in an iced shaker. Strain into cocktail glass. Garnish with lime.

If you’re planning on turning to alcohol to help decision-making in the voting booth this Election Day, go out and order yourself a cocktail that was invented in Boston for just that reason: the Ward Eight (whiskey, lemon juice and a bit of sugar and grenadine). If you want to be really authentic, you can order this cocktail at Locke-Ober (3 Winter Place near Downtown Crossing), where it was invented circa 1898. According to cocktail historians Gary and Mardee Regan, the Ward Eight was created the day, ahem, before the election to celebrate the apparently forgone victory of influential Boston pol Martin M. Lomasney, aka “the Czar of Ward Eight,” in the race for the state legislature. The earliest recipe for the drink calls for a splash of OJ, but most cocktail enthusiasts think that’s a bad idea and stick to the less sweet, simpler version. Anthony Giglio wrote an intriguing Boston Magazine article earlier this year about the “great Ward Eight debate” that a group of local bartenders and cocktail aficionados had about the origins of the drink.

The Ward Eight is extra tasty with real grenadine syrup (made from pomegranate juice, sugar and a dash of orange flower water), which you can find at some of Boston’s best bars, including B-Side Lounge, Eastern Standard, Green Street and No. 9 Park.