The Black Rose

...or, more accurately, Schwarze Rose Cocktailbar. This is a bar right around the corner from the hotel we stay at in Essen every year. It's got the vibe of a neighborhood bar - live music, a basic floor layout that puts the bar in the center of everything, and a small garden area in front to accomodate the overflow crowd (or the people who just want to drink in the absence of the live music).

They also have an amazing drink menu. Sorted by strength of drink (beware too many drinks off of the "Taxi" page), they have a nice variety of classic drinks, revised fan favorites, and a few homegrown libations. And every drink comes out of the back with a presentation that looks like a fruit truck collided with a candy shop. Seriously.

It would be easy enough to dismiss it as a bit of bar theater, unnecessary to the drink, but for me it goes to something deeper. When I visit Germany, one of the things I look forward to most is an ice cream sundae. And not just any ice cream sundae, but one with liqueurs, and nuts and sprinkles, and fresh-made whipped heavy cream, and streamers, and party favors, and a pony. Okay, not a pony, but an ice cream sundae, from ice cream parlors from Munich to Frankfurt to Essen, all seem to be built around not only amazing ingredients, but a sense of presentation.

No one needs an ice cream sundae, in the same way that no one needs a drink. Which is to say, of course, that we have both because we ideally are choosing to take a flight of fancy and whimsy - to have something that we choose to want. And, for things like these that have at least a kernel of frivolousness at their core, bringing a sense of theater and presentation to the experience seems natural upon reflection. I've had amazing drinks around the world, and many of them have been served with care, and craftsmanship, and an attention to detail that was stunning. And the process of creating a perfectly-proportioned drink in a basic rocks glass can be as much theater as a tiki drink magically appearing from a back room with a shaved ice scoop and half of Samoa's vegetation thrusting out of the top of the mug. Making a commitment to the experience of a drink, whether it be "tableside mixology" or lavish presentation, all contribute to the emotions of pleasure and exploration a voluntary experience should be.

It's easy and uncomplicated to make a drink for myself at home, and perhaps a hour or two of mise en place for an audience of one is unnecessary. But things like a Spanish coffee at La Dolce Vita, or a Zombie at the Mai Kai, or even watching the bartenders put together the Tuesday punch at the Alley Bar, all provide entertainment as well as a tasty glass. Places that understand the value of theater as part of a quality evening out, and exemplify it in every glass, or bowl, or plate that is produced, should be celebrated when it accomplishes its mission.

But I still give away my gummi rings on my Schwarze Rose drinks. Someone else is welcome to that little bit of drama.

German Shopping

So, I'm back from Germany; this is our annual trip to the Essen Spiel Fest, where over 45,000 people play board and card games, and I'm there to wallow in game culture for a week (with a bit of sightseeing on the back end). And, annually, I get to visit one of my favorite liquor stores: the Banneke Feinkost Flüssig in the shopping district off of the main train station. There's always stress in deciding what goes into the luggage going home, always mindful of the duty-free limit of one liter of spirits per person (and willing to pay the $3 for each liter over if it's something I can't get at home).

In an earlier post, I mused about bringing home a bottle of Bacardi Black, just 'cuz; I passed on that. Similarly, I scoured Schipol airport's duty-free shops for the limited edition Corenwyn that Bols just released with no success. I ended up with four bottles, one of which is a Big Deal. Here's what I found:

• In my continuing quest for a julischka recipe for domestic consumption, I bought a bottle of what passes as the commercial stuff in Germany. If I had never tasted the Waldhaus-Resse Steakhaus julischka, I'd probably be quite happy with this. As I HAVE had the privilege, this is too thin, less sweet, and not as lingering on the palate as what we are accustomed to. This all plays into my working theory that of the two basic ingredients (slivovitz and kruskovec), the kruskovec is the central taste (and, for that matter, consistency) driver, with slivovitz the restrictor plate on the viscosity and sweetness. I could probably tweak this and make it better, but I'm still looking for the right kruskovec. However...

• While wandering the streets of Aachen, I ran across a small liquor/cigar store that may have given me another ingredient for tweaking my julischka recipe. Previously, we revealed the secret ingredient in the reference julischka as hruska, a green apple extract. I purchased a small bottle of Gravenstein apple liqueur, and we're going to see if this can't act as a substitute. It's definitely tart, with a bit of apple-sweet peeking out from below, but not something I'd be eager to drink alone. We'll see how it goes with our next batch of test julischka.

• Nuremberg has lebkuchen as its signature cookie, Köln has its Dom-Spekulatius (a thin butter cookie-crisp), and Aachen has printen - a ginger cookie, glazed, with a thin, crisp exterior and a soft-but-toothsome interior. And, with the cookies, there's a liqueur that's based on the cookie. It's a very light, sweet liqueur; not as gingerbready as I would have hoped for, but pleasant. I might try tarting it up to punch up the cookie's characteristics, but it's a nice, different liqueur option.

• The star of the show, though, is The King's Ginger. It hasn't been available in the U.S. before this year, and despite its royal heritage and century of existence, it has only had a standardized recipe for the last few years. This tastes just like ginger heaven, with a taste that delivers even more than the aroma of the liqueur promises. It's base is actually a single malt (from The Glenrothes, if my reading is to be believed), and the lemon notes add a high tremulo to a warm, lingering, clean but not cloying taste of ginger in your mouth. I'll be trying this with cider, rum punch, and anything else I can get my hands on. I'm firing Canton as far as I'm concerned; this stuff is unbelieveable.

We actually brought back one more bottle: champagne that my wife received as a gift from the proprietor of the Waldhaus-Resse Steakhaus. We're always so thankful for our friends and partners-in-crime while we're over there, and the bottle will have an honored spot at our New Year's celebration this year. And, we're not done talking about our Germany adventures quite yet; stay tuned for our next episode...

Back in the Day

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

So, I'm wandering the streets of Bisbee, Arizona. (Don't worry, I'm home now, you're all safe.) Myself and a few friends duck into an antique shop, and start rummaging around the well-kept piles of aged folderol. I have two targets in the typical antique store: board games and books. (Barware is coming on strong as a third category, but unless I have a good way of getting it home, I mostly just look at it and whimper.)

My find for the evening is a well-kept 1956 copy of the Esquire Drink Book. This is, to my knowledge, not a particularly valuable or important tome, but it does fit nicely into my enjoyment of watching recipes change over time. This applies equally to food and drink - my go-to cookbook is the mid-1960's Culinary Arts Institute cookbook with the orange cover that my parents had, and that I now have a new copy of thanks to my local used bookstore. Sometimes, you do need to know how to use animal fats and cook game in the way that was ubiquitous back in the day, and you fancy-schmancy lowfat modern cookbook is not gonna have a clue.

In reading through my little window on 1957, I'm struck by the things that are to be casual knowledge to reader. There's delightful anecdotes about the various alcohols common to the Mad Men bar era, but you're also expected to be able to casually divide by 17 in your head (the "basic 17" being the number of jiggers - 1.5 ounce pours - in a standard fifth of alcohol). So if you're mixing for 20 people, you're to use 3 drinks a person, for 60 drinks, meaning four bottles of any alcohol being used in your drinks at a 1-part ratio. Fortunately for you, there should be 9 or so drinks left over at the end of it after having done all that math.

There's a much stronger focus on certain alcohols of the time: rye whiskey definitely gets its due, and applejack and gin, though certainly not uncommon today, rate page after page of recipes, with tequila ranking a miserable three recipes total. And, of course, there are several pages of celebrity-endorsed cocktail recipes. Many are notable for their lack of effort (Bob Hope's Rye Lemonade has two ingredients, left as an exercise to the reader), some are more hyperbole than substance (the Ernest Hemingway's Death in the Afternoon is absinthe and champagne - replacing the tradition water drop with the bubbly - and the admonition to "drink 3 to 5 of these slowly") and some are, well, impractical (the Erskine Caldwell's Tobacco Road Cocktail starts with step one: "Select in May six of your finest McIntosh trees and place a hive of bees under each tree in ensure the setting of the blossoms."). However, some recipes were perky enough to take notice of, and so we have arrived at Bing Crosby's Kailua Cocktail.

There's no story or information given as to the endorsement; there's a line in a Bing Crosby song named "You Took Advantage of Me" that goes:

But horses are frequently silly-
Mine ran from the beach of Kailua And left me alone for a filly,So I-a picked you-a.

Hey, they can't all be winners.

The obvious "Blue Hawaii" and "Mele Kalikimaka" aside, this may have simply been Esquire looking around and saying "hey, this Polynesian thing has some legs, let's The Bing in for a spread and ply him with drinks," which, truth be told, would actually be a pretty cool way to get an endorsement of your drink. In any event, his cocktail is a nice little tiki-ish drink that's a bit on the sweet side (thank you pineapple), and if it doesn't in any particularly new directions, it at least gives me an another reason to admire my book purchase. Certainly more than the "365 Excuses for a Party" (November 28: Anniversary of peace between U.S. and Tunis)...

Bing Crosby's Kailua Cocktail (from the Esquire Drink Book, 1957 printing)

2.25 oz. Puerto Rican dark rum (I used Bacardi Gold, spiked with a bit of Myer's*)
.75 oz. pineapple juice
.5 oz fresh lemon juice
.5 oz pomegranate syrup

Add to a shaker with ice; shake to blend. Pour into punch or tall glass with ice.

*Interestingly, when working on this, it appears that the dark rum I drank for years, Bacardi Black, is no longer available in the US (or at least in Michigan). I know that Select is also a 4-year age, the same as Black, but it's definitely not the same visual as the dark rum of my misspent youth. I obviously haven't missed it, what with my Myer's and my Cruzan Blackstrap and my Kraken and so on, but it does give me a bit of pause (and perhaps incentive to pick up a bottle at the Schipol duty-free on my way through Amsterdam next month, for nostalgia's sake...)

The Doctor is Funk

We're going into the realm of Beachbum Berry, and his excellent book Beachbum Berry Remixed. The book abounds with stories and recipes from the original king of tiki, Donn Beach. One of the most important things to remember when reading page after page of his creations is that, by and large, Donn was making this stuff up from whole cloth - certainly he knew the ingredients and flavor set of the Polynesian paradise his establishments evoked, but this was far more about his vision and his bartending skills than any wholesale lifting of native drinks.

One notable exception that proves the point, perhaps, is the Doctor Funk. This was a very real drink from Samoa, from a very real person named Dr. Bernhard Funk. A native of Germany, born in 1844, he migrated to Samoa around 1881 as reputedly the first medical practitioner in Apia (the capital city of Samoa). He was friends with Robert Louis Stevenson, and was his bedside doctor when the author died in 1894 in Samoa.

There are several references to his medical skills in works (including Fanny Stevenson's collection of letters from his husband), but he seems to also have had some impressive cocktail skills. The Doctor Funk was a notorious drink spreading out across the region, and his signature recipe had people waxing prosaic about the drink. My favorite was the quote attributed to Paul Gauguin by a skipper: "'E said Dr. Funk was a bloomin' ass for inventin' a drink that spoiled good Pernod with water." Other contemporaries were far more complimentary of the concoction.

Dr. Funk had a rich life, and even went native enough to marry the daughter of a Samoan chief. He was interested in meteorology, wrote a Samoan-English-German dictionary and medical handbooks, and constructed a recreation center at Lake Lanoto'o. Unfortunately, his deteriorating health drove him back to Germany, where he died in 1911. Friends carried out his last wish: he had a granite stone transported back to Samoa and placed on the shore of Lake Lanoto'o with a memorial service on his behalf. I recommend this thread at Tiki Central for much more (and there is much more) about the good Doctor.

All of this brings us back to the drink that is credited to him (and Donn Beach, in its modern version). The recipes can vary greatly (absinthe vs. pernod, different rums, and so on), but we'll take the advice and recipe as set out by the good Beachbum in the aforementioned book. It's a drink that comes to a remarkably happy balance based on the ingredients; the Pernod offers a distraction from the lime, the pomegranate syrup adds just enough sweet to balance the forward flavors, and the rum...well, you'd never know it was in there. A delightful riff on the usual lime-and-rum tiki flavor set that is a worthy tribute to a very interesting man.

Doctor Funk (from Beachbum Berry Remixed, 2010)

.75 oz. fresh lime juice
.5 oz. pomegranate syrup
1 tsp. Pernod
1.5 oz. light Puerto Rican rum (I use Bacardi white)
1 oz. club soda

Add the first four ingredients to a shaker with plenty of ice. Shake vigorously (a bit of water does this drink no harm). Add the club soda directly to the shaker and then pour the shaker unstrained into a glass.

Blackbeard's Revenge

This drink has not only a location and a story, but even has a date: March 31, 2010. On this day we're in the middle of our Caribbean cruise, stopping off at St. Thomas for the day. We've chosen a walking tour for our activity, starting at Blackbeard's Castle and wandering down the hill. The end point of the trip is the Amber Museum (meh) and Hotel 1829.

The view from the bar. Hotel 1829, St. Thomas

We've been walking a chunk of the day, it's warm but not unpleasant, and all of the house tours along the way take advantage of the temperate breezes for cooling (read: no air conditioning). We're warm but not uncomfortable, but ready for a break from walking downhill for a couple of hours. The hotel has a small bar attached that looks out over the bay (the bar is the former kitchen of the house, from when it was built in 1829), and we pull up a couple of chairs in the small, empty bar and survey the scene.

There's a sign attached to the woodwork touting the bar's signature drink: the Blackbeard's Revenge. We are not predisposed to turn down something new, so Julie and I each order one.

The bartender ignores the variety of glasses surrounding him and drops two translucent plastic beer glasses filled with ice on the counter. I was in college for 7 1/2 years, so this is not unfamiliar territory, even if a seems a bit odd to skip straight to the plasticware.

Next, he grabs four different bottles of Cruzan flavored rum. There's a little part of me that sighs; Cruzan's the $10 rum back home, so I'm apparently getting the cheap stuff in this drink. He gives each glass a shot from each bottle, and returns the bottles to the bar.

A dose of orange juice is next, followed by a grenadine sink to the bottom of the glass. My pancreas is now setting up protest signs for what, to my mind, has to be a syrupy-sweet tourist trap of a drink.

Then, he grabs one more bottle: Cruzan Blackstrap rum. Now THIS gets my attention. I've not had the blackstrap rum before, and I'm now much more interested in seeing what the drink will shake out like. The bartender floats a scant shot over the top.

The final drink has a pretty red base, the light orange torso, and a roiling black top, all masked and softened by the translucence of the cup. We're handed the drinks, we hand over some cash (less than I expected, as I recall), and took a sip. Fruity, clean, certainly sweet but with the blackstrap rum holding it just in check, cold, full of alcohol but not strong to the taste. The glass is even a welcome touch, giving the layers of the drink soft edges without hiding the dramatic shifts in color. At the moment we had our first sip, it was the perfect drink for the place and time: a cold, fruity rum drink in a old, wooden shady bar on a warm day overlooking paradise.

I've come to appreciate the Cruzan rums as light additions to drinks; not something I would often go to, but they have the ability to unobtrusively add delicate rum flavor to drinks that concentrate their flavors on the surface. I'm a biiiig fan of the Cruzan Blackstrap, and have found several common uses for it. In replicating this drink, the only deliberate change I've made is to reduce slightly the amount of coconut rum in the mix; it seems to take over the drink if you're not careful, and I prefer it to be more balanced in the drink. And, I totally recommend a glass with a bit of frost to it; it really does make the effect of the drink more dramatic.

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

Blackbeard's Revenge (from Hotel 1829, St. Thomas USVI)

1 oz. Cruzan Pineapple Rum

.75 oz. Cruzan Coconut Rum

1 oz. Cruzan Mango Rum

1 oz. Cruzan Citrus Rum

1.5 oz. orange juice

.5 oz. grenadine (pomegranate syrup; I use Monin)

.75 oz. Cruzan Blackstrap Rum

Add the four flavored rums and the orange to a glass filled with ice; stir. Sink the grenadine to the bottom by tilting the glass slightly, then pouring the grenadine slowly so that it runs down the side of the glass to the bottom without mixing. Float the blackstrap rum on top (pour the rum over a spoon, bottom side up, positioned close to the top of the drink so that the blackstrap floats on top of the drink).
Stir before drinking.

Sangria

Well, take a month off, and coast in with an easy one, shall we?...

Sangria is a summer staple around our house, and our "adult fruit punch" is the only way Julie will drink the robust red wines that I'll occasionally sneak a taste of. There are a tremendous number of variants that we've had over the years, but we've had enough to know when a restaurant has let their fruit sit too long, or aren't balancing their flavors, or wasted time chopping up fruit salad and dumping it into our glass to somehow prove that there's fruit flavors in their sangria.

This Polka Dot Stemless Martini

glass (13.5 oz), is available on the 

Contemporary Complements

website.

Our first real flirtations with sangria came with the 1998 recipe from Cook's Illustrated (of which I am proud to be a charter subscriber to). The recipe is deceptively simple: 2 oranges, 1 lemon, sugar and triple sec for each bottle of full-bodied red wine you use. There's a bit more to it than that: Juice one of the oranges,  cut the other orange and the lime in reasonably thin slices ( a quarter-inch or so), add the quarter-cup sugar and muddle the fruit until everything looks a bit soggy, then add one juiced orange, a generous quarter-cup of triple sec and the wine, then throw the whole thing in the refrigerator. Next morning, strain the liquid from the fruit, and you're ready to go.

And, as usual, there's even still a few more details to mention. We add one lime per bottle of wine for our default recipe. Make sure, of course, to wash your fruit and pick fruit that has a good-looking skin; you're going to be drinking whatever's on the outside, remember. Places that put little chunks of fruit in your glass are doing it for garnish; all your flavor comes from the fruit soak that you do. And, critically, do NOT let your soak go longer than 8 hours. You need a few hours to get everything to start releasing, but after the 8-hour mark, the rind begins to make its presence known, and your sangria will become increasingly bitter the longer you let it soak. Six hours seems to be the sweet spot; overnight and drained around the 8-hour mark is also fine.

For the triple sec, don't go super high-end for a couple of reasons. First off, Cointreau, Citronage or Grand Marnier will either add flavor notes that detract from the base flavors, and/or will introduce a much higher proof alcohol to the mix than the other ingredients. For this, stick to a basic triple sec, and we use either the 30- or 42-proof Bols triple sec as our preferred ingredient.

We have two go-to wines for our sangria. The René Barbier Mediterranean Red (available widely, including Cost Plus World Market) has been the wine of choice for years, but we've recently started using a local winery's goods: if you're near Michigan, the St. Julian's Simply Red is a bit more robust, and stands up to the citrus without overpowering it. In both cases, you'll find these wines available for under $7 a bottle (considerably less by the case, as we tend to use a bunch of it in the summertime).

This recipe makes for a slightly sweeter sangria than some might prefer; each to their own, but given that you're going to be using ice in the drink, then going outside and letting it melt down a bit, I prefer erring on the sweet side once diluted a bit. If you choose to experiment with other fruits, do so in moderation, and do single batches (although my wife, who is the sangria master of the house, has had considerable success with a half of a pear per bottle of wine). In any event, enjoy sangria while the summer sun shines!

Sangria (after the Cook's Illustrated recipe)

1 750 ml bottle of red wine (medium body, strong fruit notes, NOT sweet)
1 orange, juiced
1 orange, cut into 1/4 in. slices
1 lemon, cut into 1/4 in. slices
1 lime, cut into 1/4 in. slices
1/4 c. white granulated sugar
1/4 c. triple sec (cheat it up to taste)


Put sliced fruit into a large container (we recommend an iced tea pitcher), layering fruit and sugar. Take a ladle or wooden spoon and gently press the fruit against the bottom (you're trying to release some juice without shredding the fruit). Continue until the sugar has incorporated into the liquid.

Add in orange juice and triple sec, and then the wine. Stir, and then place in the refrigerator for 4-8 hours (6 is best; do not allow to go past 8 hours).

Strain the sangria using a large mesh strainer to remove the large pieces of fruit; then pour it back through a fine mesh strainer to remove small pieces. Keep refrigerated until used; add ice to individual glasses to serve. Sangria theoretically should last a week or so before the notes start to change, but who would let a batch go that long?...

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!

Taking the Pisco

Sabor Latino is a Latin restaurant in Ann Arbor that's successfully served food for over a decade, but I hadn't stopped in for a few years. I had great experiences with the restaurant early on, but Julie has the occasional allergic reaction to one or more ingredients in Mexican/Latin cooking, so we don't often stay from the proven restaurants (avocado was recently outed as one of the culprits). However, I was recently on a fish taco bender, and it brought me back to Sabor, where I was pleased enough with the results that I dragged Julie along one evening (with the promise of a quick trip home and Benadryl if things went south).

The star of the evening was their Media Noche. It's not the Cuban sandwich that the name is most associated with, but a drink featuring three ingredients per the menu: pineapple juice, pomegranate-blueberry juice and pisco (garnished with blueberries). It's a surprisingly smooth grape brandy in the same neck of the woods as slivovitz–an understated, distinct flavor riding the alcohol burn (pisco can range from 60-100 proof).

I don't have a lot of experience with pisco (certainly not enough to have a set opinion on the Peru vs. Chile battle for the appellation), but for this recipe, I put two different piscos head-to-head: Capel vs Pisco Patron. Tasting each separately, my clear choice was the Patron from Peru; the flavor was somewhat deeper and more forward than the Capel.

Recreating the drink (or at least getting in the neighborhood of the drink) was a straightforward process. The drink is summery–goes down easy, a touch sweet but not overtly so, and served over lots of ice to mask the alcohol. The pineapple juice is the source of whatever sweet there is and since it's not lemonade-sweet, it's going to be the short stack in our recipe. So, the only real experiment is how much pomegranate-blueberry is necessary to fill out the middle of the flavor profile, cut both the alcohol and the sweetness, and produce the correct color in the glass over ice. A few steps later, I had a basic 2-3-1 ratio set that seems to work well. be careful on the pineapple juice–an extra splash will add noticeable sweetness to the recipe (and you might even want to knock a tiny bit off the pineapple juice if you want to tweak the sweet down a notch.

I used both piscos in the recipe, and the clear winner was...Capel. The Patron did nothing for this drink; the flavors were subsumed by the juice without masking the alcohol one bit. The Capel produced a much smoother, balanced taste, and is the clear favorite for this drink (I'll have no problem drinking the Patron straight, and I'm saving a bit for a future pisco sour episode.)

Media Noche (Evening Alchemist version, after Sabor Latino)

1 oz. pisco
1.5 oz. pomegranate-blueberry juice (100% juice)
.5 oz. unsweetened pineapple juice

Shake with ice and serve over ice; garnish with blueberries.

Under Yeager's Law (ingredients I have trump ingredients I don't), I did try the drink first with a cranberry-blueberry juice blend I had laying about. It worked well–you might want to edge down the pineapple juice a bit to compensate for the apple/etc. in the juice cocktail, but it's not unacceptable.

A Tale of Two Tikis (and My Dad)

In Phoenix AZ there's a place called Hula's Modern Tiki. It's a big contemporary building, with a full menu. The seafood (ceviche to fish tacos) is great, and the bar offers a wonderful set of tiki drinks. Their Mai Tai is somewhat non-traditional, but it's a wonderful swirl of citrus and orgeat, happily strong and delicious. The Dr. Funk could have been a sweet mess, but lets the sweetness shine lightly through a coconut-banana base that's terrific. And, if there's a sauce offered with your appetizer or entree, accept it without question.



In Las Vegas NV there's a place called Frankie's Tiki Room. It's a little hole in the wall, well off the Strip, built by a Vegas bar developer who wanted a "locals" place modeled after the tiki bars of the past. It has that slightly-sordid exotic edge you want in a bar, there's no food (check the food cart out front), and some of the best tiki drinks you will ever encounter. Their Mai Tai is the Mai Tai (lucky) people have been drinking for decades; their drink feature homemade mixers (get anything with falernum), original tiki mugs to take home, and a bartender (we've had the same one every year for the past four years) who makes everything perfectly and with a smile.

My father, who passed this week, was a schoolteacher for 26 years, mostly in middle school social studies. He used a grading scale I've never seen before or since:
70-79 = D
80-89 = C
90-99 = B
100+ = A

If you did everything, perfectly, that you were asked to do, you'd squeak by with a A. Miss one question anywhere, and you would need to do extra credit in order to get your A. And, my dad would accept almost anything as extra credit: reports, field trips with parents, anything remotely relevant to social studies. The meta-lesson: if you want to to get top marks, you have to do something extra–you have to find something special to earn your A.

I have no recipe this week; I'm not home to finalize one, and we're letting others do the heavy lifting this week. That said, I hold up these restaurants as two very different examples of the same concept, one that my father passed on to me as part of his legacy many years ago: if you want to be the best, you must go beyond what is expected and provide something extra–even if it is completely different from someone else's attempt to be the best. Hula's and Frankie's are both places that do very different things under the tiki umbrella, but end up being shining examples of exceeding the goals set out by their respective visions. It's a reminder that I do this not to simply drink great drinks (a happy coincidence, to be sure), but to seek out experiences that are beyond the ordinary, and strive for greatness in my own quiet little way.

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.

The Nutty Irishman - Jello Shot

Jello shots were never on my radar through my college years; I wasn't much on Jello, and it always seemed like too much trouble to make when the alcohol you were going to use was already ready to use, and measuring cups make good glasses in a pinch. That said, my wife started playing with Jello shots as part of our annual New Year's celebrations, and quickly became very good at both the preparation and the flavor mixing of Jello shots. (As a note: yes, I know I'm throwing around a brand name casually again-without the hyphen, even. I'm in Vegas, and you're lucky I can still string sentences together. Also, find me something better than Jello or Knox gelatin, and we'll consider revising.)

All of the above is simply to say that when it comes to Jello shots, I'm an enthusiastic proponent, but I leave the preparation to the experts. So, without further ado, here's Julie. I love you, and I promise that Vegas has been an appropriate amount of fun....

On that note... he may not be a fan of Jello but he has been a great addition to the Jello shot quality control department (taste tester) as I've tried new combinations over the years.  Thanks dear!

I too was never into the whole Jello shot thing in college.  It wasn't until about 10 year ago that I ventured into the world of mixing Jello with the 'alcohol of choice."  Because it was all new, the best delivery system was also trial and error.  The first year I actually used glass shot glasses and we quickly discovered they were too deep to effectively get all of the jello out of the glass.  Then I tried ice cube trays... not the best shape.  Next were the JELL-O Bean molds... those were too small but very fun and colorful when mixed in a big bowl (great for parties).  I also tried the Jell-O egg molds but those were too large and not easy for consumption.  So, within the past 5 years we've gone to using the .75oz condiment cups and lids from Gordon Food Service - (the 1oz cups are too deep).  These cups work the best!!  They're easy to stack and store in the fridge while they are setting up, they make for easy travel and they make for easy clean-up.  As most of my friends & family will tell you I'm pretty 'green' and try to always take into account the environmental impact of my purchasing... but the use of the disposable plastic cups is one exception I make.

Most of my Jello shots have been made using flavored JELL-O and then adding alcohol to compliment and/or improve that flavor.  I know the typical addition is vodka because it has a higher alcohol content - but I'm of the theory that if I'm going to eat it - I want to enjoy it.  So, I've tried many combinations over the years but have a few tried and trues that are always on the list when I ask for special requests.

Those include:

Peach Jello w/ DuKuyper Peachtree Schnapps

Berry Blue Jello w/ DuKuyper Blue Curacao

Grape Jello w/ DuKuyper Grape Pucker or Creme de Cassis

Lime Jello w/ Amaretto Di Saronno

Orange Jello w/ Pinnacle Whipped Vodka

Black Cherry Jello w/ Absolut Watkins Vodka (almond & coffee flavor)

Note: There is a Jello Shot note on my Contemporary Complements Facebook page with more fun combinations.

All of these combinations are great but last fall, as were planning for the New Year's party, I started looking for something more... adventurous.  That's when I started searching the web and ran across the Jelly Shot Test Kitchen blog and book.  They have put together a great collection of recipes and presentation ideas.  That being said I've now been experimenting with Knox unflavored gelatin a bit more.  It's been a lot of fun and it's what led me to my first layered Jello shot and this weeks "Drink" of the Week in observance of St. Patrick's Day - enjoy!

This Jello shot is pictured in the

Shamrock Shot Glass, available on the 

Contemporary Complements website.

The Nutty Irishman Jello Shot

This jello shot has been adapted from the ever popular drink and created into a layered jello shot that will make any St. Patrick's Day celebration (or any party for that matter) complete.

Preparation can be done in a variety of containers including standard shot glasses, a loaf pan and then cut into squares or .75oz condiment cups.

Kahlua Layer:

1/2 cup brewed coffee or espresso

1 envelope Knox gelatin

1/2 cup Kahlua coffee liqueur

Pour the coffee into a small saucepan and sprinkle with the gelatin - allowing to soak 1-2 minutes and then heating over low heat, stirring regularly, until gelatin is fully dissolved.  Remove from heat and stir in the Kahlua.  Pour mixture in container of choice and chill until fully set (approx. 1 hr.).

Frangelico Layer

1 cup Frangelico

1 envelope Knox gelatin

Pour the Frangelico into a small saucepan and sprinkle with the gelatin - allowing to soak 1-2 minutes and then heating over low heat, stirring regularly, until gelatin is fully dissolved.  Remove from heat and allow to cool slightly.  Remove the chilled Kahlua layer from the refrigerator and carefully pour the Frangelico mixture over the top.  Return to the fridge and chill until fully set (approx. 1 hr.).

Bailey's Layer

1/2 cup water

1 envelope Knox gelatin

1/2 cup Bailey's Irish Cream liqueur

Pour the water into a small saucepan and sprinkle with the gelatin - allowing to soak 1-2 minutes and then heating over low heat, stirring regularly, until gelatin is fully dissolved.  Remove from heat, stir in the Irish Cream and allow to cool slightly.  Remove the chilled Kahlua/Frangelico layers from the refrigerator and carefully pour the Bailey's mixture over the top.  Return to the fridge and chill until fully set - overnight recommended.

Old Faithful

This drink is pictured in the

Wave Polka Dot  11.5  oz. Pub Glass, 

available on the 

Contemporary Complements website.

Aaaah, the rum and Coke. Steady, omnipresent, always available, and still manages a variety of flavors (and quality) based on the rum used. This and the Long Island Iced Tea are the two drinks I have probably consumed the most over the years, and it's almost a default drink when I'm out and don't know whether to trust the bar service yet.

Let's start by defining some parameters. I set the Cuba Libre aside as separate for the moment. This drink is a very specific thing: Bacardi Gold, Coca-Cola, and fresh lime juice (supplied by the obligatory wedge). It's a wonderful drink, and each ingredient serves the drink well: the Coke adds the cola flavor and the sweetness; the Bacardi modifies the sweet into richness by adding the familiar Bacardi bite with the molasses undertones that the gold rum provides; the lime adds a splash of citrusy freshness, masks a bit of the carbonic acid, and blends the two strong flavors together. This, however, is not about the Cuba Libre, as most places are going to use either fountain Coke, crap rum, dried-up old lime wedges, or some combination of the three.

No, we are going to focus on the two-ingredient version of this drink: Coca-Cola and rum. There's no point arguing the first ingredient–no Coca-Cola, no drink. Pepsi fouls up the drink into a syrupy mess, and although other colas bring interesting flavors to the story, when an ingredient is as readily available as Coke is, and produces such marvelous results as it does, that we shouldn't just accept it and move on. (Note that I'm not going down the road of so-called "Mexican Coke", Kosher-for-Passover Coke or the Coke I get in Europe, but suffice it to say that if I can get the nonstandard stuff, I get it.)

So, we are left with the rum to discuss. I defaulted to Bacardi Gold for years, and won't argue with it today. I went through several other phases (Gosling's, Navy and Myer's rums notably), and while I'm overseas I'm a Havana Club maniac, but I've recently settled on a relative newcomer to the game: The Kraken Rum. It's a 94 proof black rum, with a bit of spice thrown into the mix. It has a bit sweeter of a taste profile than I might usually consider, but the extra proof offsets it in a rum and Coke. The spice set complements the cola profile nicely; basically, it's everything I want in a rum and Coke.

What ratio to use? Well, if you're making it easy on yourself and simply emptying a 12 ounce can into a glass, there's a pretty tight borderline I'd suggest. You might not think a half-ounce of alcohol would make a difference in 14 or 15 ounces of drink, but there's a really bright line change in the taste of the drink between 2.5 and 3 ounces of Kraken in your can of Coke. At 2.5 oz. of rum, the Coke continues to maintain its last shred of sweetness, pleading that it's still a soda with stuff in it; at 3 ounces of rum, it's all collapsed into itself and you're left with the cola and the rum coexisting on equal terms. If you want that little bit of sweetness to remain, simply cut it back to 2.5 oz. of rum.

If you're using one of those cute 7.5 oz. serving cans that Coke makes, you'll cheat the rum down a touch from two ounces; if you're splitting a 16.9 ounce glass bottle into two drinks, use two ounces per half and you're golden. Otherwise, to use the basic can of Coke and the bottle of Kraken rum you'll be obtaining in the future, I give you my recipe for rum and Coke goodness.

Rum and Coke

12 oz. Coca-Cola
3 oz. Kraken rum

Add a third of the Coke to a tall glass with ice, then add rum. Pour remaining Coke into glass.