The French Jewel

Everybody, meet Tamara.

She's a bartender on the Carnival Liberty, six weeks into a six-month stint onboard (many of the workers do six months on, two months off). This is her first bartending gig for the Carnival line, and she's still learning her way around her job. Her bartending requirements are no different than many others who work the job in a high-traffic situation–she's responsible for much of the bar service during the dinner seating, and interacts with waitstaff who employ a variety of ways to get her to work on their drinks first. Otherwise, she's assigned as needed to bar locations: I got my first drink of the cruise from here in one of the center interior bars (a great place to work: high traffic, people wants their first drink as quickly as possible, and everyone's in a good mood). Later in the week, she worked one of the back bars: busy during the dinner hours, and then very quiet thereafter. As there's a guaranteed tip assigned to each drink served, there is a definite advantage to having people ordering drinks from you.

I was on board for my job, if you can believe that. I was part of a team from our company running a Settlers of Catan tournament on the ship. Every night, we also participated in an open gaming session, where we could play whatever we felt like, and feel better about having a drink during working hours. (Justifying a drink is a very slippery slope on board a cruise vessel.) So, on this particular night, I'm playing a game, drink in hand, when Kim, our travel agent, bursts into the room. She grabs my hand.


"Come. With. Me."

Okay, another brief aside. Think about the limitations of tending bar on board a ship at sea. Space is precious, and the alcohols that you have on board are selected for maximum familiarity, variety of uses and ease of replacement. The craft cocktail craze has largely bypassed Carnival (they had one bar, The Alchemy Bar, that was exploring some less-traveled ingredients), but they sure do know their way around a fruity rum drink. As a vacation thing, it's easy enough to simply rationalize in your head that for the next seven days, your lot in life will be a parade of tropical flavors and a lot of hurricane glasses.

Okay, back to the distraught travel agent. I have no idea what she wants, but I gather there's some expediency in the matter, so I follow her out of the room and down the hallway to the bar. Tamara is behind the counter, and she has seven or eight patrons merrily keeping her company. Kim sits at the bar, and points to a pink drink in a martini glass on the counter. "Drink. That."

I'm beginning to suspect that the issue at hand is not so much a matter of urgency, but more a matter of "I've just had some drinks, and you need to do so as well." Tamara sees me smell the drink first, and smiles. "Are you a bartender?" I laugh a bit. The more I'm around working bartenders, the less I'm willing to claim the title.

The drink is comfortably in the wheelhouse of the tropical drinks on the boat, but not as sweet, and certainly a bit more subtle than most of what I've consumed on the trip so far. Another of the patrons wanders up to me. "I told her to make me a drink, and that's the best drink I've had onboard. I went to the Alchemy Bar, told them to make me a drink, and then I told them that there was a Czech bartender downstairs who was kicking their ass!"

"Would you be willing to tell me what's in the drink?" I ask Tamara.

She smiled. "Last day of the cruise."

For each of the next three nights, I came back to the bar and had a drink. One of the barstaff managers took an interest in her drink. Each night, a group of people joined me in searching her out and getting her to make us her drink. She was clumsily hit on, the target of the occasional sexist comment, constantly having to shift gears between her customers and the demands of the dining room waitstaff. And each night, her group of fans grew. As bartenders go, she did her job, and did it well, and my cruise was better for it.

Courtesy of Tamara, enjoy her drink and know that somewhere out in the Caribbean, there's a Czech bartender, new at her job but getting better at it every day, who has knowledge, a personality, a smile and a drink that's all worth spending some time with.

French Jewel (courtesy of Tamara, Carnival Liberty)

2 oz. vodka (Tamara uses Grey Goose)
1 oz. Malibu rum
.5 oz. pineapple juice
.5 oz. mango puree

Shake together with ice; serve in a martini glass with a sugar rim.

The Pomegranate Martini, Part 2

So, this week it's the vodka martini version of the pomegranate martini. In the hope that I could make one drink and call it a day, I started with the recipe from last week, and simply swapped out the gin for vodka. Hey, maybe I get lucky and we all go home early!

Yeah, not so much. As expected, when you're trying to be noticed over the top of gin, you have to be much more shouty with your flavors. With vodka, there's a whole midrange of flavors that disappear, and suddenly you're shouting in an empty room with no good effect. For the vodka version, we need to tone down the flavors to a more subtle level to be appreciated.

There's a variety of recipes on the Internet, and all of them have the basic three ingredients: vodka, pomegranate juice, and orange of some kind. We fiddled a bit with options, but settled with Patrón Citrónge as a starting orange flavor source, and my faithful standby of Watershed Distillery for the vodka (though any good, neutral vodka would work). Our first step was to determine where the ratio of Citrónge to vodka would give us a subtle layer of orange without being too sweet. Two parts vodka to 1 part triple sec worked to give a balance between the two I liked. (Note that Citrónge is 80 proof, so simply swapping in triple sec for it is going to change things radically. Ditto for Grand Marnier, as the base alcohol is so different. Cointreau is probably a reasonable swap, but keep reading.)

This Wave Polka Dot Martini

glass (7.5oz), is available on the 

Contemporary Complements

website.

Next was ratio of alcohol to pomegranate juice; recipes ranged from 2 parts vodka, 3 parts pomegranate juice all the way up to 3:1. The vodka/Citrónge mix to pomegranate juice at 1:1 tasted good, and with a splash of lemon from a wedge, it gave the drink a nice, balanced taste that everyone involved liked.

But, I wasn't quite convinced we were there. One of the liqueur options we have here at Chez Yeager is Pama pomegranate liqueur, and I wondered whether the clear, concentrated flavor of the Pama might give a cleaner taste to the drink than the juice. So, we went back to the drawing board for a balance of vodka to Pama. The Pama website starts with 2 parts Pama to 1 part vodka; this might help them sell more Pama, but it was not a ration I could live with. Splitting the difference between the folks involved with the tasting, we came up with a 2:3 ration of Pama to vodka. With two alcohols already going in, I wondered if I could get rid of the third, so we bid a reluctant farewell to the Citrónge (actually, the Citrónge flat-out overpowered the drink in testing) and went to the fresh orange juice of last week's drink. A squeeze of lemon later, and we were at a happy place for all involved. Preferred above the pomegranate juice version, the Pama version allows a clear, clean pomegranate note to sing through, with the citrus gently singing harmony underneath.

Pomegranate Martini (vodka version)

1.5 oz. vodka (Watershed, or any other neutral vodka)
1 oz. Pama pomegranate liqueur
.5 oz. orange juice (fresh, unsweetened)
Juice from a small wedge of lemon

Combine ingredients. Shake briefly with ice and strain into a martini glass.

Pomegranate Martinis, Take One

So, my wife has been encouraging me to take on the pomegranate martini. I can't say as I've been necessarily resistant, but there's been one roadblock to this process: gin.

If you say "martini" to me, I will automatically start at the traditional gin-and-vermouth cocktail. Vodka martinis are excellent at best, but a cocktail that, however good it may be, is not part of the storied tradition of a martini. I don't want to come across as a martini snob: I've ordered very good vodka martinis, and don't even twitch if Julie wants to order a "chocotini" or whatever we're calling a vodka milkshake nowadays. Okay, maybe a bit of a snob, but I like words and terms to have definition, as well as definitions.

So, before I get to her martini next week, I'm doing one this week with gin. The usual bit of research came up with a wide variety of vodka recipes, but one basic recipe with gin, from Bobby Flay via the Food Network. It was as good a starting point as any, so we started by using his recipe and determined that it was tasty (more in a bit). The recipe calls for Tanqueray No. Ten, so the first step was to check the gin choice against a few of the usual suspects. None made for a bad drink; Beefeater was my least favorite of my tested options (slightly jarring in the mix). New Amsterdam, a popular and inexpensive gin option getting traction for a variety of uses, made for a very mellow blend of flavors, and I decided to use it for the balance of the testing. I also used my 6-year oude genever, because I had it and I could; it was very good, but impractical for recipes outside the Netherlands, so we set it aside reluctantly and pressed on.

As I said, the drink is tasty; to use the music metaphor I so enjoy, this recipe is a jazz trio - gin providing our percussive and bass notes as usual; the orange and lemon juice the hot saxophone line across the top of the piece, and the pomegranate syrup acting as a centering piano line. The problem to my palate with the drink as written is that the drink is one long saxophone solo. Consider: the basic recipe as given by Mr. Flay is 1.5 oz. of gin, 2 oz. of lemon/orange juice (and that's skimping the orange down a bit), and a half-ounce of pomegranate syrup (years of tiki drinks requires me to keep Monin pomegranate syrup handy).The drink ends up being something very vodka martini-ish, with the forward citrus flavors stomping around, barely letting the pomegranate - the namesake of the drink, you'll recall - any kind of space to be heard.

This Polka Dot Mini Z-Stem Martini
glass (5oz), is available on the 

Contemporary Complements

website.

So, our first task was to cut the citrus. Orange is a common ingredient in the variety of vodka martini recipes you will encounter, and for good reason. Orange juice adds sweetness and a familiar citrus buzz to the midrange wall of sound that pomegranate represents. So, we cut the orange juice back to a half-ounce, and dropped the lemon entirely. Unfortunately, we quickly discovered why the lemon is there: to mask the alcohol heat from the gin and add the high notes that orange just can't reach. But, a hit from a lemon wedge provides just enough flavor to take the edge off the gin, brighten the sound and let the pomegranate shine. Shaking it with ice cools it down (a good thing) and adds a little bit of water to activate the flavors (also a good thing). I knew I got it right when Julie tried it and said, "I'd drink that." From someone who does not like gin, I considered it high praise indeed.

Finally, to complete the circle, I used my recipe with the Tanqueray No. Ten from the original recipe, and I have to admit that I prefer it to the New Amsterdam in the drink. If you keep No. Ten around, I'd recommend it, but otherwise I'm very happy with the results that New Amsterdam will give you in this drink. Either way, the pomegranate gets a chance to shine at the front of the drink.

Pomegranate Martini (gin version)
1.5 oz. gin (New Amsterdam, or Tanqueray No. Ten)
.5 oz. orange juice (fresh, unsweetened)
.5 oz. pomegranate syrup
Juice from a small wedge of lemon

Combine ingredients (pomegranate last). Shake briefly with ice and strain into a martini glass.

Postscript: this subject may be the tipping point I needed to make my own pomegranate syrup and grenadine (trust me, Rose's is not used in my bar). I'm collecting recipes now, but if you'd like to weigh in (especially on hot-process vs. cold-process), I'd be eager to hear about it!

Good Drinking Through Bad Planning

This week's drink begins with bad preparation on my part.

I'm at home, and my thought is to have a drink. This is a thought that I am adequately prepared for, so I consider my options. Orange juice sounds good, so perhaps a simple screwdriver would work. I snag a glass, pour a shot of vodka, and head upstairs to the refrigerator.

Well, the reason orange juice sounds so good is that we don't have any. So I now have an ounce of vodka in my glass, and it's not going to drink itself, so I rummage through the fridge for mixers. And, towards the back of the fridge, I find an unopened bottle of apple cider.

Now, for those of you not within the Apple Belt, this is not the season for cider. Any cider that I find has been in the fridge for some time, and may be dangerously close to being a bottle of science project rather than juice. So, we follow the Three Scientific Steps of Refrigerator Food Validation:
- Visual inspection: Okay, nothing growing and the bottle has not become an inflated balloon...
- Sniff test: Smells like cider...
- Taste it: No tingling on the tongue, and I'm not dead after a minute. Hooray!

Now, this little project has taken me away from my primary project, which was Get Alex a Drink. I still have my shot of warm vodka, and now a desire to have a bit of cider. So, why not?–I pour a glass of cider on top of my vodka.

This Painted Daisy

Goblet (16oz), is 

available on the 

Contemporary Complements

website.

Unfortunately, I'm now in mixing mode, which means I can't just enjoy my vodka and cider, but need to evaluate the rest of the cabinet and see if anything else catches my eye. So, I wander back downstairs to the bar (making a note to buy orange juice so I don't have to go through this much work next time), and dig around the collection.

And lo and behold, I have something that intrigues me. SNAP is a spirit made by Art in the Age, as an homage to the flavor set found in lebkuchen (a German ginger cookie). Molasses, nutmeg, cloves, ginger and other spices makes SNAP spicy, but not sweet. It's not a sipping drink, as the lack of sugar means the alcohol bite shines through more than I would like, but it makes for a great mixer in other drinks. So, in goes some SNAP, and both Julie and I are pretty happy with the result.

The drink starts with the great sweet-tart profile that a good cider should have, and the SNAP gives us the complexity of spices bubbling around inside. The vodka serves two purposes: it shaves some of the sweet off of the cider, and, somewhat paradoxically, takes some of the alcohol bite away from the drink. (I note that while trying to recreate the drink for this blog, I tried to use a midrange vodka, with less good results. You're going to need a very good, neutral vodka for the proper profile on this one.)

In addition to validating the ratios, in the name of due diligence I also tried the drink hot instead of cold. Doesn't work; all it does is let the alcohol become the dominant taste in the drink. This is a cold drink, either shaken with ice and poured, or over ice (but melted ice does the drink no favors).

Cidersnap

6 oz. fresh apple cider
1 oz. vodka (Watershed Distillery was the go-to here)
1 oz. SNAP

Serve chilled.

The Best Vodka That Wasn't

In 1999, the Leopold brothers (Scott and Todd) opened a brewery in Ann Arbor, MI, named, appropriately enough, Leopold Brothers. It was founded with the goal of minimizing the environmental impact of the brewing process, which by default creates a lot of by-product. The goal was certainly noble, and the brewpub itself was marvelous--long wooden tables in the public house tradition, and an open, inviting atmosphere. Unfortunately, to my palate, their beer was always inconsistent--I never was able to settle on a beer to call my own, and there were significant variances when I would try a beer over multiple sessions. The bar did very well, so take my observations with a grain of salt, but I was an infrequent visitor due to the other, better beer options in town (but always willing to go with others for a beer, if for no other reason then to support their goals).

This Bullseye Etched 

Flare Shooter (2oz), is 

available on the 

Contemporary Complements
website.

Fast forward a few years, and it comes to my attention that they are now doing microdistilling--and my friend is gushing about their vodka. Always one for an exploration, I dutifully took the walk over to the brewpub and asked for a glass.

And it was good. VERY good. You let it sit in your mouth and envelop your tongue in a cold, clean, clear blanket. Smooth, a hint of a flavor note but a very neutral palate overall, and great viscosity. This was a microdistillery that Had Arrived. Delighted, I ordered a bottle. Delivered to me, I read the label: Silver Tree...Orange Brandy?

I looked up. The bartender shrugged her shoulders and managed a half-smile. "Michigan liquor laws."

Apparently, the liquor laws are so draconian and convoluted in Michigan that in order to sell their vodka, they had to package it as orange brandy (by, I don't know, waving an orange in the direction of their still or something). Eventually, it became so ridiculous to maintain the charade that they moved up and out of Ann Arbor and found their way to Denver, Colorado, where they remain a happily successful operation distilling vodka, absinthe, gin, rum and pisco. I continue to work down my stockpiled supply of Leopold Brothers Orange Brandy, but for those of you who are beneficiaries of our loss, I recommend a look at our
displaced entrepreneurs and their excellent spirits.

Walking in the Woods

"No," Joop said. "I gave you your change."

At that moment, I could feel the temperature in the bar get colder around me. With it came the sudden, terrifying realization that the next words out of my mouth should be carefully chosen.

Let's backtrack a bit. I'm in Amsterdam, and the goal of the night is to audition a couple of bars. I like having favorite haunts wherever I go, and it's time that I had a few in Amsterdam. Since I have zero interest in the coffeeshops (except for The Coffee Company, which is a shop that sells actual coffee), bars would seem to be the next logical choice. And, I've got one that's at the top of my list to visit: De Drie Fleschjes, a small place just off the Dam in the center of the city. I'd walked by it on my last trip, but it officially got onto my radar courtesy of Anthony Bourdain. (Check out The Layover series; the bar is featured in the Amsterdam show. But why, oh why, Anthony, did you spend most of the show telling me how much you didn't smoke pot, and instead tell me where to find the GOOD street food?...)

When you walk into De Drie Fleschjes, you're going to immediately feel like you've stepped back in time a few years (understandable, as the bar dates to 1650). To your right are rows of small barrels, private casks for companies and frequent guests. To your left is a bar, with a few hunks of cured meat hanging out by the register and chalkboards near the ceiling with the drink specialties. It's small, there's no seating, but it feels cozy - the kind of place where you really can escape the bustle of the city.

When I arrived, there were four others in the place, some twenty-somethings getting their drink on for a night out. They were charming and welcoming to me, including me in a round of drinks (more on that in a bit). They left, and then it was time for the reason for the visit - genever.

I'll save the details for later (since it should be an entry on its own), but suffice it to say that it's a gin precursor that has a unique enough profile to have an enthusiastic slot in my bar. Joop, the proprietor (or "Uitbater" as his card reads) walked me through the differences between oude and jonge genever (not aging, but old-style and new-style), and the different ages of genever (his tip: 6-year oude is the best balance of age and price, which is why I have a bottle of it). I even asked to buy one of the small glasses that the genever is served in, and it was handed to me gratis. I handed over my tab money, admiring my new glassware and basking in the warm glow of several glasses of genever and other house specialties. Joop began to wash glasses behind the bar, as it's just about closing time for them (this is not a late-night bar on weekdays, take note). I waited for a moment, then breezily commented "I'll just get my change, and be on my way."

Joop continued to wash glasses. "I paid you."

Still distracted, I continue. "I gave you a ten, so I just need the change."

"No," Joop said. "I gave you your change."

So, we're now back to that cold wash of adrenaline that we began this entry with. If I say one more word that implies that I did not get change, I will have officially accused my host - the man who has been generous with his time, knowledge and glassware - of being a thief. As comfortable as I might be traveling around, I still am sensitive to the fact that I am not as familiar with foreign customs, body language, and understood societal norms as I would prefer to be, and the fact that this conversation is being held in English as a courtesy to me does not make it any less forgiving if I misspeak right now.

Inside, I'm beginning to feel panic bubble up, and trying very hard to calm myself but quickly react, I assess the situation. My wallet is out, and I can see that the front bill is a five. I'm pretty sure that I came in with a ten in front, so that five might very well be the change of which he speaks. I'll admit that the glass was distracting me, and I'm the one that's had four drinks here, not him...

And then, in a moment of perfect clarity, I realize that I am wrong. This is not some weighing of the facts and deciding that the majority of the evidence points to his assertion (which it does); this is the sudden glorious acceptance that Joop is correct and I am wrong. I have trouble imagining what it would be like to run a bar in a city that caters to vices the way Amsterdam does, and to do so in a way that is respectful to the centuries that De Drie Fleschjes has existed and reflects, I am sure, the personality of Joop himself. This is a classic bar, that serves classic drinks, in a setting that's not flashy or sterile, but offers a top-notch bar experience at a fair price. Joop has been the consummate bartender: attentive, aware of all of his guests while keeping up with the never-ending tasks that a bar generates, and letting his generosity be displayed not through some faux charm or forced friendliness, but in his actions and his service. In this moment, I believed - and still believe - that Joop told me that he gave me my change because, well, he gave me my change. There was no doubt in the way he said it, and the trust that I placed in him all evening had no reason to end now.

This week's glass
is from De Drie Fleschjes,
and is not for sale.

I don't remember the specifics afterwards; I was still a bit jittery from the moment, and I desperately wanted to get everything else right so that I could come back again and pick up where I left off (and not be that American guy that tried to cheat him out of a five-spot). This week's drink is the first drink I had in De Drie Fleschjes, and as much as the reason for the visit was the genever, I've chosen A Walk in the Woods, a drink that the bar uses as a signature shot, as my drink this week to say thank you to Joop for taking care of me. Next time, I'll do better.

A Walk in the Woods (Boswandeling)

3/4 oz. vodka (this week, from Watershed Distillery)

1/4 oz. triple sec (Bols 42-proof)

Dash bitters (Angostura for the moment, though I'm open to forests elsewhere...)

Serve chilled.

Tiki Love

Let us talk of the tiki.

I've already documented my tiki-flavored introduction to my fascination with alcohol in an earlier blog entry, but the fantasy-Polynesian world perpetuated by those who adhere to the theme remains a delight of mine. I will once again push off the story of the Zombie, but I will hint at one theme that story will expound upon: the origin of these drinks, the early 1930's post-Prohibition versions of the classic tiki drinks, were designed to be beverages for adults, not candy liquid.

This drink is pictured in the

Black & Silver Polka Dot 

Cosmo Pilsner (16.5oz), 

available on the 

Contemporary Complements website. 

The black tiki mug is from 

Frankie's Tiki Room 

in Las Vegas.

That said whenever I try a new recipe, I must always bear in mind that my wife likes drinks to be a bit on the sweet side. Where many of the classics of the genre are tart combination of lime or grapefruit juice, I always need to have a bit of pineapple juice handy to bring the sweetness up to my wife's preferences. It's not a big deal to spike her drink after decanting my own, but it does illustrate a guiding principle in my mixology missions: it don't matter what you did to it, if they ain't gonna drink it. If I can bring up the sweetness a bit (using appropriate and moderated means, of course) in order to make my primary audience more enthusiastic about the drink, then bring on the grenadine and pineapple.

Today's drink does not suffer from said lack of sweet. The Blue Hawaii has a creator (Harry K. Yee of the Hawaiian Village Hotel, circa 1957), a mission (help Bols sell blue curacao), and a profile that definitely settles it on the sweet end of the spectrum. It has a seafoam green-blue color that's almost a shame to hide in a tiki glass, but it's very much the kind of drink that won't surprise you coming out of said glass. As always, make your own sour mix (see the Long Island Iced Tea recipe for my sour mix notes) to take out might be a bit too much sweet, but otherwise this is a drink that's very easy, uses basic alcohols, and is as tiki as a Hawaiian lei.

Blue Hawaii

3 oz. fresh pineapple juice
.5 oz. blue curacao (I use Bols)
.75 oz. rum (I use Bacardi white)
.75 oz. vodka (any midrange will do, such as Absolut)
1 oz. sour mix

Shake vigorously with ice, pour into tiki mug or tall glass.

This recipe appears in Beachbum Berry's Sippin' Safari, and is also available on his app, Beachbum Berry's Tiki +, for the iPhone or iPad.

OYO Stone Fruit Vodka

This drink is pictured in the 13.5 oz
Polka Dot Zombie Glass, available on the
Contemporary Complements website.

“Buying Local” doesn’t necessarily mean buying local to YOU. What it does mean is that when you travel, whether it be down to your local farmer’s market or four states over, you take a moment to look around and see what the locals do well. In 2011, our annual game convention in Columbus, Ohio brought me in contact with the folks (or, more accurately, the output from the folks) at Middle West Spirits. At the time, they had two spirits released: a whiskey and a vodka under their OYO brand.

Later in the year, a friend of mine brought a bottle of their latest effort up to my place: their OYO Stone Fruit Vodka. I found it to be a nice, summery vodka, improved when served chilled (I love the concept of fresh summer fruit flavors in alcohol; I made a rumtopf for the first time this year), but also found that a bit of this in lemonade will transport me to our back porch on a summer evening, watching the chickadees make their last runs of the evening at the feeder as the fireflies begin to light up the backyard. I expect my first bottle of this will not be my last.

1 oz. OYO Stone Fruit vodka

2 oz. lemonade

Serve over ice and enjoy!

The Long Island Iced Tea (v. 2012a)

The drink is pictured in the
Etched Squiggle 16 oz pint glass
and is available for purchase
on the Contemporary Complements website.

We’re starting with the drink that I’ve spent the most time playing with – the Long Island Iced Tea. I’ve had more than my share of these, across a couple of continents and about any bar I’ve spent any amount of time in. Why the fascination? Well, it’s a drink with simple components – four (yes, I said four) basic alcohols, sour mix and Coca-Cola, and it’s amazing the variety of outcomes that these ingredients can yield, for good or ill.

This is the first iteration of the recipe for 2012, hence the version number above. I expect to revisit this at least annually, if not any time I make a change for the better. At the end of the article, I’ll let you know what’s next on the testing list for improvement, if you’d like to play along. You’ll note I haven’t strayed too far from the basic formula you’ll find elsewhere; I’m not out to reinvent the drink, but simply to get it as close to ideal as I can for my palate (and my wife’s palate, more importantly).

I’m going to use a musical metaphor for this drink – it’s the device I use for this drink to think about how each component works to make the drink work, and it’s a way of thinking about how I would change aspects of the drink. Whether it comes off as pretentious is your call, but it’s my way, and I’m sticking to it.

Gin: The percussive notes of the drink, adding the counterpoint to the sweet and sparking notes the other alcohols bring to the party. My wife does not like gin as a rule, but I’ve gradually demonstrated to her that the drink suffers without gin contributing its fair share to the mix.

Vodka: The bass line, all thrummy and low. As is the case with all of the specific alcohols here, I believe that a good brand will provide excellent results, results not significantly improved by doubling or tripling the price or the alcohol used. But, vodka is the one I’d be willing to stretch the rule a bit on, since if you experience headaches after a night of Long Islands, you were probably drinking crap vodka.

Triple Sec: My rhythm guitar, always grinding away underneath the flavors from beginning to end. You’ll find I cheat this up a bit, both because my wife prefers it that way, and once you start playing with the sour mix, this is a way to add not only sweet but citrus to the flavor profile. This has been my most recent significant change to the recipe (changing over to Bols 42-proof), but it’s probably the most heretical part of my recipe. That said, it works for me.

Rum: my lead guitar, my soloist, my melody that I hum along with. Rum adds sweet, it adds a touch of bite, and some low feedback notes that poke out every so often. I’m a rum guy by nature, and so I’m always looking for the rum in anything I drink, and this drink in particular.

Sour mix: I consider this the producer of the piece, providing the blending package to smooth out the rough bits, fill in the gaps, and help to keep the drink stable over time. I say “sour mix”, but you’ll be making it yourself – the only premixed sour mix allowed is premixing simple syrup with the insides of a couple dozen lemons before the party.

Coke: The packaging, art for the single, and the marketing needed to get a little attention and love for the drink. That splash of Coke is what’s needed to give it the visual appeal that the name invokes.

There’s no tequila in my Long Island, because I am not a college student looking to puke on my roommate’s bed. Tequila is an instant DNQ for me if it’s offered in a Long Island.

So, here we are, at the recipe itself:

1 oz. rum (I use Bacardi Gold) – literally dozens of rums that I have to choose from at home, and this is still my go-to for this recipe.

1.25 oz. triple sec (I use Bols 42-proof) – I prefer it to others in the price range, and haven’t found jumping up to Cointreau or Grand Marnier to give me enough results to justify it)

1 oz. gin (I use Tanquery, but have no problem with Beefeater) – Dutch-style gins are disqualified here

1 oz. vodka (I use Absolut by default, but have been known to slip Ketel One in at home for myself) – any reasonably neutral mid-value vodka should do, and I’ve used half a dozen or so successfully

2 oz. sour mix – I use an equal mix of freshly squeezed lemon juice and 1:1 cold simple syrup. Take a jar, add a half-cup of sugar and a half-cup of water; shake. That’s 7-8 oz. of simple syrup; your average good lemon should give you 1.5-2 oz. of juice, so 5-6 or so lemons should do. Don’t short the lemon juice!

.5 oz. Coke – I use...uuh, yeah.

Combine; pour over ice with a lemon wedge garnish.

Current paths of investigation:

Sour mix: I’ve rejected 2:1 simple syrup for my sour mix, demarara/turbinado sugar (I use basic organic white sugar), and most other citruses beyond lemon for this drink. That said, I want to explore some of the side ingredients that are designed to thicken or froth homemade sour mix. If it affects the mouth feel of the drink positively, I’m in.

Rum: There’s always another rum, and always another excuse to find another. Demararas and darks overpower the drink for me, but white rums cause the drink to lose a touch of dimensionality. So, a gold rum, with a bit of Puerto Rico bitter, but with that hint of molasses sugar, would be the flavor profile I’m looking to meet or beat.