I’m attempting to liveblog some of the events I’m attending, and my colleagues are doing the same. I will, of course, be posting lots of photos and sharing some of the better stories once the trip is over.

My day started with an internal miscommunication about the actual date of my departure (that’s what I get for booking the trip three months in advance and not checking my itinerary) - and this was after a full night behind the bar at Bel Ami.

After 10 hours of travel time, I was safely on my way to the hotel, sharing a cab with Chuck and Wes and longing for a lap or two around the Carousel Bar. And as much as I wanted to offend the room with my travel scent, I used my better judgement and cleaned up as well as I could before heading down to the bar.

There I spent some quality cocktail time with my old pals Natalie “The Liquid Muse” Bovis-Nelsen, Jenny Adams, and the Vieux Carré cocktail. It was an explosion of blogger-types as we rode the bar around the room in three complete cycles.

Then, the bloggers split off in search of jambalaya and gumbo at Coop’s (mmmm, rabbit, sausage, shrimp, oh my!). By this time I was feeling the effects of several cocktails, sleep deprivation and a full belly. Time for an iced coffee at Café du Monde! (Note to Café du Monde enthusiasts, they’ve got nothing on Pacific Northwest java. Seriously.)

The rag-tag group of enthusiasts then made its way down Bourbon Street (at Paul Clarke’s doing - thanks, Paul) to the French 75 bar next to Arnaud’s. We shared a round of 75s made with cognac and - I believe - orange liqueur (not my preferred recipe) and chatted with Jim Meehan.

I’d had my arm twisted into attending a tasting of La Fée Parisienne absinthe at the Old Absinthe House by Natalie (where were you?) and ran into some old friends from Las Vegas last year.

Anyway, it’s 11PM, I’ve been awake since I-don’t-know-when, and now I’m contemplating flipping a coin and braving the Carousel Bar once more before bed. This is going to be a good week.

To Tales of the Cocktail, that is. You see, after last year’s debacle there was no way I was going to miss this one. In fact, I was so excited about going that I somehow showed up to the airport a day early, embarrassed as heck and thanking the nice young lady up and down for rescheduling my flights. (If Beaumont were there he totally would have made fun of me until I peed my pants.)

Anyway, no harm done, as I’m currently at the Portland Airport waiting for my connection to Dallas, and then off to New Orleans. I’ll be posting updates via Twitter, here on my site, and most importantly on the ginormous collaborative cocktail blog that we’ve set up to provide more Tales coverage than you’ll be able to shake a swizzle stick at.

More to come soon, I’ve got to get ready for my flight!

Thanks to the recommendation of some good friends this weekend, I’ve added Twitter to my list of preferred web applications.

Their sage advice couldn’t have come at a better time: I’ve been busy readying myself for Tales of the Cocktail in New Orleans next week, and have been concerned about how I’ll connect with everyone I want to meet while I’m down there.

In addition to blogging the event both here and on the Tales Blog, I will be posting regular Tweets from my cell phone for those who are following my feed via Twitter or Facebook.

For all you Twitter users out there who would like to follow me around Tales, the address of my Twitter profile is here:

http://twitter.com/jeffmorgen

Here’s to hopefully seeing some of you in New Orleans!

“Try this.” The wine rep looked determined. The wine salespeople in town usually know better than to waste their time with me, as I have little-to-no influence on the wine list. If it’s a distilled product you’re trying to push - and if it’s not vodka - then I’m the man behind the bar to talk to. Otherwise, you’ll probably want to save your breath.

“It’s an Italian aperitivo and I think you’ll really like it.” She was aware of my fondness for Negronis and such and was certain I’d take a liking to the bottle of Vergano Americano she was presenting to me. Reminiscent of the drink of the same name, this Americano was a special type of Italian aperitif referred to as a chinato.

Chinati are Italian fortified wines, similar to vermouth. Originally solely flavored with quinine, they took on a life of their own sometime around the late 19th century and came to be infused with various herbs and other flavors. There is most certainly orange peel and possibly caramelized sugar in this product.

I had to have this bottle, but living in a small town sometimes means that the more esoteric liquors on the shelf don’t move as quickly as I’d like them to. Since I was afraid to buy a case and have it sit behind the bar waiting for me to hand-sell each individual glass, I figured it was time for a cocktail.

After several rounds of base liquors and bitters selections, it was time to try it out on the unsuspecting. “It’s quite strong, but really pretty right below the surface,” was the first comment I received.

So, voila: The Beauty Beneath.

2 oz Appleton Estate V/X rum
1 oz Vergano ‘Americano’ chinato
½ oz Cointreau
1 dash Fee Brothers’ Old-Fashioned bitters

Stir ingredients with cracked ice until combined and cold. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Express the oils from an orange twist over the surface of the drink and drop the spent twist into the drink.

If you can find the Fee Brothers’ Whiskey Barrel Aged bitters, grab ‘em. Unfortunately, my only bottle was in service when I stopped by the bar to pick up supplies for the photoshoot.

Not to be confused with the Spanish wine-and-fruit-based alcoholic beverage sangria, sangrita (meaning “little blood”) is a traditional accompaniment to a tequila served completo; a non-alcoholic sipper that cleanses the palate between fiery doses of agave.

Years ago I was taught that sangrita is a blend of tomato and orange juices, with the addition of something spicy (hot sauce, typically) for a little kick. But further research has convinced me that this American sangrita recipe, while still enjoyable and certainly prevalent, is not altogether authentic.

Real sangrita from the Lake Chapala region of Jalisco is made with Seville orange and pomegranate juices, with powdered chiles added for heat. Taking into account that even the most cocktailian bartender (professional or otherwise) doesn’t typically stock sour oranges or pomegranate juice behind the bar, I’ve worked up a recipe that should approximate the flavor of this spicy little sour orange and pomegranate chaser while still providing an authentic experience.

1 oz orange juice (freshly-squeezed)
¾ oz - 1 oz lime juice (depending on the sweetness of your oranges)
½ oz real pomegranate grenadine
3 dashes hot sauce or ¼ tsp chile powder

Mix ingredients, chill, and serve.

This is far from the final word on sangrita. I’ll still continue to enjoy the tomato varieties (1,2,3), but I think you’ll find a brightness and depth of flavor from this version that plays better with a wider variety of mezcals and tequilas than its heavier gringo cousin.

What’s your experience with sangrita? Chime in with your stories and recipes in the comments section.

I just looked at the calendar and realized that today is a crucial halfway-point in the year - and that I only have six months to prepare myself for my favorite American holiday: Repeal Day!

Last year was a big year for Repeal Day. We saw the launch of RepealDay.org, the official home of Repeal Day on the web and a source of information for an astounding 50,000 visitors in the month of December alone. Repeal Day parties sprang up everywhere across the country, and the good people at Dewar’s Scotch generously brought me out to New York to help them celebrate Repeal Day, of which they’ve been proud supporters since the beginning.

But as monumental last year’s Repeal Day celebration was, it should look like nothing at all when compared to this year: The Seventy-Fifth Anniversary of the Repeal of Prohibition. I’ll be updating not only this website but also expanding the valuable information at RepealDay.org and reporting on what Dewar’s has got in store for all of us this year. Stay tuned!

PS - If you’re new to the site, please take a minute and read my thoughts as to why I feel Repeal Day is so important. As always, thanks for reading.

This subject has been covered many times before, but after numerous requests and some positive encouragement from a good friend this weekend I have decided to post my version of homemade tonic water.

The base for this recipe came from my friend Kevin Ludwig, who pioneered craft tonic water in Portland. His recipe can be found on page 76 of the March/April 2007 issue of Imbibe Magazine. This version is all mine.

My problem with homemade tonic water has always been a flavor profile that was too esoteric for the general audience. This recipe takes some of the positive qualities people have come to understand from commercial tonic water and updated them with fresh ingredients.

4 cups water
1 cup chopped lemongrass (roughly one large stalk)
¼ cup powdered cinchona bark
zest and juice of 1 orange
zest and juice of 1 lemon
zest and juice of 1 lime
1 tsp whole allspice berries
¼ cup citric acid
¼ tsp Kosher salt

Combine ingredients in a medium saucepan and bring to a boil over high heat. Once mixture starts to boil, reduce heat to low, cover and simmer for 20 minutes.

Remove from heat and strain out solids using a strainer or chinois. You’ll need to fine-strain the mixture, as it still contains quite a bit of the cinchona bark. You can use a coffee filter and wait for an hour or more, or do as I do and run the whole mixture through a French coffee press.

Once you’re satisfied with the clarity of your mix, heat it back up on the stovetop or microwave, and then add ¾ cup of agave syrup to each cup of your hot mix. Stir until combined, and store in the attractive bottle of your choice.

You now have a syrup that you can carbonate with seltzer water; I use my iSi soda siphon for some nicely-textured bubbles. To assemble a gin and tonic, use ¾ ounce of syrup, 1½ ounces of gin and 2 ounces of soda water over ice.

Once you’ve mastered your own tonic recipe, you can begin to experiment with different spices and fruit flavors to pair with specific gins. For instance, I’ve found that beefing up the orange peel results in a tonic that pairs nicely with Hendrick’s, but try playing off the coriander or cardamom in other gins and see what happens.

I love to cook, but sometimes after a long weekend it can feel like work to me. After a begrudged visit to the grocery store last night, I came home with a beautiful head of butter lettuce, some Oregon gorgonzola cheese, locally-grown Evonuk hazelnuts and two Tombo tuna steaks. I knew what would put a smile back on my face: a nice dinner and a glass of absinthe.

Tonight’s Menu:
Pan-Seared Tombo Tuna with Wasabi Cream
Butterleaf Salad with Oregonzola Dressing and Roasted Hazelnuts
Lucid Absinthe in the Traditional Preparation

Absinthe has a nice way of pairing well with a wide variety of foods. It has enough acidity to cut through the fats in my dressing, yet it provides a nice, clean palate on which to balance a piece of tuna crusted in black peppercorns. All this magic in one glass, yet in order to make absinthe truly sing, you need to pay attention to preparation.

Properly-prepared absinthe is cold, a little sweet, and bitter enough to stand up to some hearty flavors. It is never consumed straight, and there is never a burning cube of molten sugar involved. So I set about filling a small pitcher with ice water, and let it rest to ensure it was nice and cold. Next I poured an ounce of absinthe into a glass, and capped the mouth of the glass with a slotted spoon upon which rested a single cube of sugar.

Patience is key here, but I knew that the payoff would be worth my time as I slowly, s-l-o-w-l-y, dripped ice cold water over the sugar cube and into the waiting shot of absinthe. The liquid gradually formed an opalescent louche (the milkiness that is the hallmark of proper absinthe) and once the glass was half-full I knew I was ready.

The tanginess of the vinegar and Gorgonzola flirted with sweetness of the drink, and the cold from the ice water tamed the heat rising from the black peppercorn crust. Wormwood’s bitterness teased the wasabi into revealing its sweeter side, and the lush savory aromas of fennel mingled with the roasted hazelnuts for a flavor that lingered well after it was gone.

I’ve tried pairing absinthe with everything from rare hamburgers to grilled pizzettas with caramelized onions and smoked trout, and I’m constantly amazed at how well it works with the curve-balls I throw at it. What foods have you tried with absinthe? Fresh country-style pork ribs, anyone?

Photos and text by Jeffrey Morgenthaler. Thanks for reading.

Before you apply heat to your liquid, dip the end of a wooden spoon into the pot and let it sit there for a few seconds. You know, so that it soaks into the wood a little bit.

Then, using your fingernail or a table knife, make a mark where the liquid level was on the wooden spoon.

Make another mark halfway between your nail mark and the end of the spoon. Now you have a gauge that will tell you when you’re done. When the liquid in the pot is the same height as your halfway mark, you’ve reduced that liquid by half.

A couple of notes:

This is only mildly accurate with straight-sided, flat-bottomed saucepots. Anything with curved or beveled edges won’t quite have the same effect.

This technique works equally well for recipes that call for a liquid to be reduced by two-thirds, or a fourth, or what-have-you. Fingernail your spoon accordingly.

For the benefit of the newcomers, I feel I should explain how things work around here. A few years ago, this guy named Paul Clarke had a great idea: let’s get all of the cocktail bloggers out there to get together and write about the same thing for a day. So one website becomes designated as the “host” and chooses a theme that everyone adopts and writes about, and then the host donates a summary of all the day’s events. (I even tried to host last December, but decided to blow the whole thing off and fly to New York to celebrate Repeal Day with my friends from Dewar’s scotch instead.)

So here I am on Sunday, having my whole day off ruined yet again as I wrack my brain trying to think of something to write about, and honestly getting quite frustrated. So, a solution: I’m going to make something using only the ingredients in my liquor cabinet and try a previously untested recipe from one of my many books on the subject of cocktails.

When I think about rum, I think about Trader Vic. And when I think about Trader Vic, I think about dusting off my 1947 edition of Trader Vic’s Bar-Tender’s Guide and looking for a recipe I’ve never tried. So that’s exactly what I did. On page 209, he gives us the recipe for a Beachcomber Cocktail, calling for light rum, lime, Cointreau, maraschino liqueur and a Waring blender - all of which can be found at my house on a standard Sunday in May.

At first glance, this looks suspiciously like the poorly-translated recipe for the La Florida Daiquiri #4 found on page 215, with the substitution of Cointreau for sugar. But cocktailian tradition dictates that by changing one or more ingredients in a cocktail, we’ve created a new drink altogether, so let’s forge ahead:

Beachcomber Cocktail (Trader Vic’s Version)

2 oz light rum
½ oz Cointreau
Juice ½ lime
2 dashes maraschino liqueur

Mix in Waring mixer with shaved ice; pour unstrained into chilled champagne glass.

The verdict? It’s gross. First of all, we’ve got two ounces of light rum, which is a big speed bump of alcohol to try to climb over. Next, the drink is blended, which to me always calls for some big, bold flavors since things tend to get lost among all of that blended ice and water. A scant tablespoon each of lime and orange liqueur, spiked with maraschino liqueur doesn’t strike me as bold, so I’m going to recommend bumping up the proportions and selecting some brands.

Right off the bat I’m going to suggest using something other than the Myers’s Platinum I used at home. Try a Puerto Rican like Bacardi, 10 Cane from Trinidad or St. Croix’s Cruzan Estate Light, which is aged for two years. Each of these rums is going to provide a slightly sweeter base with less of the acids that I find to be the hallmark of Jamaican rum.

Next, let’s use ¾ ounce each of lime and Cointreau - enough already with this “juice of ½ a lime” business. As for the maraschino, let’s try a half teaspoon if using a sweeter liqueur like Maraska, and a quarter teaspoon each of simple syrup and maraschino if using a heavier version such as Luxardo.

Beachcomber Cocktail (Adjusted)

2 oz light rum
¾ oz Cointreau
¾ oz lime juice
¼-½ tsp maraschino liqueur
¼ tsp simple syrup (optional)

Blend well with ice and pour into a chilled champagne coupe.

This seemed to work better with my palate, but I tend to like drinks that taste delicious. To read about a whole bunch of other tasty beverages, head over to my friend Trader Tiki’s website for the complete wrap-up of this month’s Mixology Monday, along with more rum and Tiki information than you can shake a swizzle-stick at.

Neat

The first - and simplest - term we’re going to examine is “neat“. “Neat” - as applied to drinks served in bars - refers to a shot of liquor poured directly from the bottle and into a glass. There is no chilling involved with a “neat” drink. There is never an additional ingredient in a drink served “neat”. You can not have a Screwdriver served “neat”. That’s not how we use the word.

Up

If you walk into a bar and order a Dry Martini, “neat”, you might be served a tepid shot of Martini and Rossi Dry Vermouth in a room-temperature glass. That’s how the term “neat” is used. Although you know how much I love vermouth, nothing about that order sounds appetizing. What you were probably looking for was a Dry Martini, served “up. “Up” implies that there was some preparation involved, and that there is no ice in the final product. You can have a Manhattan on the rocks, or I can give it to you “up”.

Straight Up

Where the real confusion lies is with the term “straight up”. Although I don’t know where the choaos began, these days there is a bit of conversation required when that phrase is used.

Let’s say you order a Wild Turkey, “straight up”. Your bartender should assume you mean that you want your bourbon “neat”, and serve it as so. However, if you were looking for a chilled shot of whiskey in a cocktail glass, you probably should have dropped the “straight” and asked for your drink “up”. And if, as a bartender, you’ve received an order for a Ketel One “straight up”, you should probably check with your customer to make sure they’re looking for chilled vodka and vermouth, and not a glass of warm vodka.

Twist

The third term that causes some confusion on both sides of the bar is the word “twist”. I’ve ordered a gin martini with a twist (my preferred garnish) and received a big wedge of lemon on the side of the glass. I’ve taken an order for a gin and tonic with a twist, and had the drink sent back because I garnished with a thin strip of citrus peel. A delicate blend of gin and vermouth, the Martini is ruined by a big squeeze of lemon juice. Conversely, the bold flavors of a gin and tonic need more than a light spritzing of lemon or lime oils on the surface of the drink.

To recap:

Neat: Right out of the bottle.
Up: Chilled, and served in a cocktail glass.
Straight Up: Usually means “neat”, but check first.
Twist: A thin strip of citrus peel. Default is lemon.

The mint julep is another of those drinks shrouded in mystery, so in an effort to clear up some of the confusion (and possibly contribute to it) I’m going to offer up some of my ideas about what makes a spectacular drink, based on my knowledge and my palate. Feel free to take or leave the following advice as you will.

Okay. Some people are going to tell you to infuse either simple syrup or bourbon with mint. Most arguments are for ease-of-use, and that’s certainly going to be the case when you’re making 500 of them. But if you’re making a mint julep at home or for a single customer, there’s really nothing easier than measuring out a little simple syrup and quickly pressing a few sprigs of fresh mint. It’s fast, it’s the freshest method possible, and next weekend you’ll be able to make yourself a whiskey sour that doesn’t taste like old mint.

You’ll hear that the perfect mint julep is straight bourbon on the rocks, garnished with a sprig of mint. You’ll also hear that the perfect martini is merely cold gin garnished with olives. Let’s discard both of these ideas, as neither is a proper cocktail but rather cold alcohol with garnish.

What we’re looking for in a mint julep, as in any cocktail, is the perfect balance of several flavors. In an ideal mint julep, the alcoholic punch and rich caramel notes of bourbon should be set against the delicate bitterness and spicy herbal aromas of fresh mint. There’s your base. To carry these flavors further down the palate (and open up a few undiscovered notes), we’re going to add a touch of sugar. And to present this in a palatable fashion, we’re going to cool the whole mixture with crushed ice. The crushed ice is going to bring more water to the fire than cubes will, and you’ll cool some of that heat from the bourbon and the mint.

To help strengthen my point of view, I offer three very different videos. First, this one from the Small Screen Network illustrates how to put together a mint julep with Robert Hess’ usual technical precision.

Second, Chris McMillian waxes poetic about this great American gift to the world of cocktails and builds the drink with the elegance and sophistication that are his hallmarks:

Finally, for those of you who haven’t participated in this thread, here’s a brilliant rendition of everything you shouldn’t do when making a mint julep (save for adding the Woodford Reserve):

Yeah, I thought that was pretty funny, too.

Anyway, to wrap things up, a friend was asking where she could find some mint julep cups. I looked around and found these silver cups by Vera Wang that look great for $50, or these stainless steel jobbies that look like they’ll get the job done for $12.

Happy Derby Day, everyone.

In the bottom of a 10-12 oz glass (or a silver julep cup, if you’ve got one on hand) gently muddle together:

12 mint leaves
¼-½ oz simple syrup

Add to this mixture:

2 oz bourbon

Stir to combine ingredients, and fill glass with finely crushed ice. Garnish with the prettiest mint sprig you have, and serve.

I’d fill a tall glass with ice and a generous dose of Gosling’s Black Seal rum from Bermuda, then reach into a wooden crate and withdraw a chilly little bottle of homemade ginger beer. I’d sip the cloudy mixture of liquid sunshine and sweet, dark nectar while I mindlessly squeezed a fresh lime into the glass. Feet: Up.

The problem with living in Oregon when this mood strikes is the absence of little wooden shacks that sell cases of fresh ginger beer stacked on back porches. But with some readily-available ingredients, a recipe I’ve been revising for several years - and a few free minutes - I can easily transport myself to that little fishing boat on the sea.

You’re going to need a little bit of equipment to make ginger beer. It’s nothing too tricky (save for one tool) and most of it will last you a lifetime. So follow along, and remember: I promise you that this will be easy.

You have two options for carbonating your ginger beer: you can ferment it in the bottle, or you can carbonate on-the-fly with an iSi soda siphon. While the soda siphon is easier to use, for the sake of authenticity you might want your ginger beer fermented in the bottle.

If you’re going to go the iSi route, pick up a soda siphon and meet me at the next step. The rest of you, follow me.

The first thing on your list if you’re going to be brewing in the bottle is any number of 16-ounce “EZ” flip-top bottles. You can find these on the internet, at a craft store, or at any homebrewing supply place. Pick up a few to start.

Next, find some wine yeast. I use Red Star Premier Cuvee champagne yeast. It’s sturdy, it hasn’t failed me yet, and it’s inexpensive. I pay about a buck for a packet that will make five gallons of this stuff.

Okay, on to making the actual ginger beer.

The only tricky piece of equipment I’m going to suggest is a Juiceman Juice Extractor. Sure, you can use a grater, but you’re going to need to fine-strain your grated ginger to avoid any chunks in the final product. For the occasional home user, a Microplaner and some cheesecloth will be fine. But when making this by the case at Bel Ami, I always turn to my juice extractor. The $60 is worth it if you want to make a lot of this stuff.

Peel and juice your ginger. I find that 1½ ounces of fresh ginger tends to work out to roughly an ounce of ginger juice.

This base recipe will make one 16-ounce bottle of ginger beer, so multiply the proportions by the number of bottles you will be using. If you’re going the siphon route, note that the canister will hold 32 ounces of ginger beer. So double the batch, duh.

1 ounce ginger juice
2 ounces fresh lemon juice, finely strained
3 ounces simple syrup
10 ounces warm water (cold if using the soda siphon)

Mix ingredients together. If using a soda siphon, pour ingredients into canister, screw on lid, charge with CO2, shake once, and refrigerate. You’re done.

If you’re using bottles, fill each bottle with 16 ounces of your mixture and add roughly 25 granules of champagne yeast. Seal the cap securely, shake well, and store for 48 hours - no more, no less - in a warm, dark place. After 48 hours have passed, refrigerate immediately to halt the process.

After your bottled ginger beer is well chilled, mix up a Dark and Stormy, sit back, and imagine you’re drifting along with me on that creaky little boat.

Cheers, friends. Have a beautiful weekend.

An authentic Dark and Stormy made with Gosling’s rum and homemade ginger beer is the ideal prelude to summer, when the spring months are arriving like lions and one’s mind turns to thoughts of lambs.

The national drink of Bermuda, a true Dark and Stormy is never made with Jamaican ginger brew or weak ginger ale. Only the real stuff made in small batches will do, so try this recipe at home or seek out a case of Barritt’s or Blenheim if you can.

In a collins glass filled with ice, add:

2 oz Gosling’s Black Seal rum
5 oz ginger beer

Garnish with lime and serve immediately.

First up, I was quoted in a Wired piece about laptop etiquette in bars. Wired is one of my favorite magazines, so my inner nerd is beaming with pride that I was asked to contribute my thoughts. I also blushed every time one of my mouth-breathing Trekkie friends called or emailed to congratulate me. It’s good to be accepted by one’s peers.

Next, Playboy Magazine selected the Bourbon Renewal as their Drink of The Month for May. As it’s every heterosexual man’s dream to be flown down to the Playboy Mansion to make drinks for Hef and his fabulous friends, I feel that I’m at least one step closer to getting that invite… right? Also, I was able to justify a purchase of this fine publication by explaining, “I’m just reading it for the article about me.”

And finally, the Food and Wine Cocktails 2008 has arrived on bookshelves everywhere, and they’ve chosen the Batida Rosa to help represent cachaça. I’m proud to be presented alongside my friends Jimmy Patrick, Charlie Hodge at Clyde Common, Jamie Boudreau, Kevin Ludwig, Daniel and Ted at the Teardrop Lounge, and Greg at Andina Restaurant in Portland.

Stay tuned for more fun, including a great tutorial on making one of my favorite cocktail mixers at home. It’s so easy, you’ll be cleaning up exploding glass bottles in no time!

I own a small library of books on the subject of bartending. Some of these books are geared toward the professional bartender, while others are written for the home mixologist. But regardless of the intended audience, almost every book I own heartily recommends that we use paring knives for cutting fruits and garnishes. The Art of the Bar, The Joy of Mixology, The Craft of the Cocktail, Larousse Cocktails, The Bartender’s Black Book, they all say the same thing: that a 4-inch paring knife is the right tool for the job.

But for my money (and the safety of my hands), there’s no better knife than a nine-inch, serrated, offset-handled sandwich sword.

Forever used in sandwich shops and delis, the sandwich sword is the neophyte’s knife that can turn on a dime in the right hands with just a little practice.

See, I don’t trust small knives. They’re vertically-challenged, which means that the height of their blades is short, so cutting requires razor-sharp precision. And that’s something I don’t always have during the middle of a busy Friday night, if ever. Let’s face it, wet hands and a sharp knife are kind of a scary combo. And the offset silicone handle is easy on the the hands and knuckles.

Another reason I prefer my knife to theirs it that a four-inch blade doesn’t work well with larger items like pineapples and grapefruits, so those fruits end up coming out looking butchered. And for the few that have ever worked with me, you know how particular I am about my garnishes. Sloppy angles, dented fruit and torn peels are a thing of the past with the old sandwich sword. My garnish trays are always full of fresh fruit with crisp, clean edges.

Citrus peels are often thick and sometimes full of grit, which will dull a blade quickly. But my sandwich sword is serrated, so it keeps a usable edge for longer. I can still straighten the edge with a steel I keep behind the bar, but once it’s passed a certain point I don’t mind throwing it out and getting a fresh one. They’re only ten bucks.

Am I the only one out there who uses a monster like this? Let me know in the comments.

Just to warn you before you invest too much personal (or work, heh) time, there are no fruit liqueurs used anywhere in this post.

There is a liqueur made from flowers, which eventually turn into berries. But flowers aren’t a fruit. There is wine, which I guess comes from fruit. But I boil the booze out of it and add a bunch of sugar, so it’s not really a liqueur, it’s a fruit syrup. Sorta.

But I really, really wanted to share this drink with you, because it tastes incredible and it embodies the sort of building-layers-of-flavor thing I’ve been working on lately.

When I found my first bottle of St. Germain elderflower liqueur last year, I was - like many of you - inspired by its unique flavor and wanted to use it in a cocktail. I mixed it with vodka, I mixed it with gin, I mixed it with lemon juice, and I sweetened it with simple syrup. And everything I came up with ended up being remarkably similar to this drink, which - while delicious - lacked the complexity I was looking for in a drink to put on my cocktail menu.

Enter Sweet Cheeks Winery. Their 2006 Estate Pinot Gris has something you won’t find in too many Oregon wines: big, ripe, juicy white peaches on the palate. And when I tasted it, I knew I had to find a way to work this baby into a cocktail.

East of Eden

1½ oz Bombay gin
1 oz fresh lemon juice
¾ oz pinot gris syrup*
½ oz St. Germain elderflower liqueur

Shake ingredients over cracked ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. No garnish is necessary, as it will just get in the way of the luscious aromas rising from the glass.

*To make pinot gris syrup, simmer one bottle pinot gris (or try experimenting with other local white wines - this is one drink that can evoke a sense of place) over medium heat until reduced by half. Add 12 ounces sugar and stir until clear. Bottle and chill until ready for use.

The Sazerac has been making a big comeback over the past year. It’s popping up on cocktails menus, bartenders are recommending them to their customers, and it’s even being suggested as an official state drink.

But after being served a warm shot of rye with a drop of Peychaud’s last week at a restaurant here in Eugene, and watching as Paul choked down what looked like a foamy rye Cosmopolitan this weekend, I figured that some pointers might be helpful.

The Sazerac is one of the oldest cocktails in the modern repertoire, but don’t let its unassuming presentation fool you: it is a complex drink that requires attention to detail, proper technique and the right proportions to fully reveal its brilliance.

Do use a single dash of Angostura bitters in your Sazeracs. You’ll be surprised how much this opens up the flavors. While it may enrage some purists, you can always counter with, “If it was good enough for Thomas Handy, it’s good enough for me.”

Do not use orange bitters in a Sazerac. I’ve seen this done and I can’t possibly understand the rationale.

Do stir the drink gently with ice.

Do not shake your Sazerac. Remember, shaking a clear drink is like shaking a baby: first there’s going to be a lot of foam, and then you’ll be staring death in the face.

Do not serve a Sazerac on the rocks.

Do not serve a Sazerac in a cocktail glass.

Do serve your Sazerac neat, in a rocks glass that is large enough to accommodate some breathing room. Your drink will thank you as you swirl it in the glass.

Do not drink your Sazerac in one gulp. It might look like a shot, but someone hopefully put a lot of work into that drink. Sip it, you monkey.

Do not use bourbon in a Sazerac. Only the spiciness of a good rye whiskey will do. Cognac is also acceptable if you’re trying to be historically accurate.

Do use this recipe to make your Sazeracs.

Do squeeze a nice, wide lemon peel over the drink. The oils from the lemon are a crucial component to the cocktail.

Do not drop the lemon peel in the drink. Throw it away after you’ve expressed all the oil.

Do watch this video of Chris McMillian making what looks to me like the perfect Sazerac. Repeat as necessary:

Do not use Pernod to rinse the glass, if you can avoid it. Pernod’s sweetness is going to compete with the sugar in the drink.

Do use Herbsaint, if you can find it, or - even better - a proper absinthe. The higher proof and dryness will make perfect sense to you once you try it.

Do muddle a sugar cube soaked in bitters and a splash of water to sweeten the drink.

Do not let anyone give you grief for using simple syrup in its place. There is no difference between a fully-dissolved sugar cube and simple syrup.

Do send an email to Senator Edwin Murray at murraye [at] legis.state.la.us asking him to approve Senate Bill No. 6, which will designate the Sazerac as the official state cocktail of Louisiana.

Please.

I like to use Buffalo Trace’s Sazerac 6-Year rye in my Sazeracs. The nose is sweet and fruity, but the palate is nice and dry with a lot of spice - a perfect choice for the Sazerac experience.

Fill an Old-Fashioned glass with ice and water, and set aside to chill. Once cold, drain ice water and rinse with Herbsaint.

In a 16-oz mixing glass, combine:

1 sugar cube
-or-
¼ oz simple syrup

4 dashes Peychaud’s bitters
1 dash Angostura bitters

Small splash water

Muddle together until sugar cube is dissolved (skip this step if using simple syrup, obviously)

Add:

2 oz rye

Fill mixing glass with ice and stir contents until well-chilled. Strain into Herbsaint-rinsed Old Fashioned glass. Twist lemon peel over drink to express oils, and discard peel. Serve!

And for more fun with Sazeracs, be sure to check out this discussion on proper Sazerac technique.

One interesting fact about nature is that there are hundreds of near-Earth asteroids hurtling through space right now as we sit here and play on our computers. What is of particular concern, though, is that if one of those asteroids had landed on the Teardrop Lounge on Saturday, Murray Stenson would have had to teach the entire Pacific Northwest how to tend bar again.

On Saturday, the Oregon Bartenders Guild presented A Tribute to Jerry Thomas at the Teardrop Lounge in Portland, featuring David Wondrich, author of Imbibe! and contributing editor for Esquire Magazine.

And for four hours, one room contained some of the greatest minds and hands in Pacific Northwest bartending, mixology and cocktail writing: Paul Clarke (Cocktail Chronicles), Jamie Boudreau (Vessel, Spirits and Cocktails), Daniel Shoemaker and Ted Charak (Teardrop Lounge), Kevin Ludwig (Beaker and Flask), Lance Mayhew (OBG President), Charles and Ted Munat (Le Mixeur), Craig Hermann (Northwest Tiki), Blair Reynolds (Trader Tiki), Charlie Hodge (Clyde Common), Matt Mount (House Spirits), Neil Kopplin (Carlyle), and David Shenaut and Alyson Dykes (Teardrop Lounge).

I was there too, representing Southern Oregon, making drinks, taking notes, and filling my camera with photos.

Our guests arrived at noon and were greeted with a Rocky Mountain Punch, a light, zesty concoction of Jamaican rum, champagne, maraschino liqueur, sugar and lemons. While the ingredient list might seem bizarre considering the era and originating locale, Wondrich assured the crowd that saloon supplies were a priority well above schools and healthcare in the great American frontier. I think the crowd came to understand their appreciation for this decadent, yet perfectly-balanced drink.

Daniel Shoemaker and I originally bonded over two things: our interest in making rare and lost ingredients, and our adoration the Japanese Cocktail. So we collaborated on just that for the first official cocktail of the event. David spoke about the fact that the Japanese is probably one of the few drinks in Jerry Thomas’ Bartender’s Guide that he actually invented, possibly as a tribute to the Japanese delegation’s visit to New York in June of 1860. I’ve had many Japanese Cocktails in the past, but was looking forward to trying one with such exquisite ingredients as we had on hand.

Daniel was able to procure two bottles of Dudognon, a beautiful and rare 15 year-old Grande Champagne cognac, and he provided a house-made orgeat made from blanched almonds touched with sugar and orange blossom water.

I spent the two weeks leading up to the event recreating Boker’s Bitters based on a recipe by Ted “Dr. Cocktail” Haigh. Boker’s was used extensively in cocktails during Jerry Thomas’ era, but sadly hasn’t been made since then. Thanks to the good research and estimations and approximations by others, we now have a recipe that we believe comes close. I used a base of Wild Turkey 101-proof rye, and added quassia chips, cardamom, orange peel, black catechu and malva flowers (for color) and steeped the mixture for ten days before filtering it and watering it down for use as decanter-style bitters.

The result was a Japanese with a depth and sophistication that I’d never been able to experience with my Monin or Torani orgeats and two dashes of Angostura. The touch of orange blossom in the orgeat, the distinct lack of sweetness in the Boker’s, I think I - finally - fully understand this drink.

Next, David talked about one of his personal favorites, the Improved Whiskey Cocktail. Made with Buffalo Trace bourbon, absinthe, simple syrup, maraschino and bitters, I didn’t get a chance to listen to his entire speech for the sound of my shaker rustling ice cubes in my ear. However, the nose, texture and palate of this drink as it stands up next to, say, a proper Old-Fashioned is sublime.

After a well-earned break, Lance Mayhew came in and knocked us out with a Stone Fence, made sissy-style with non-alcoholic cider in place of hard cider. While the mixture wasn’t about to inspire the crowd to, say, storm Fort Ticonderoga, I was confronted every couple of minutes by a guest examining their drink with a look of genuine surprise. “This is so much more than the sum of its parts!” was the most astute comment I received, and I was in complete agreement.

Alyson Dykes was greeted by the well-lubricated crowd with the enthusiasm of a prison work crew that hadn’t seen a female in months, but she quickly tamed them with the Buck and Breck, a brilliant selection and a wonderful drink comprised of Remy-Martin VSOP cognac, a dash of absinthe, two dashes Angostura and a top-up of Oregon’s own Argyle brut sparkling wine, all together in a sugar-frosted champagne coupe. Genius.

Kevin Ludwig came in and presented the penultimate drink of the day, the Coffee Cocktail, which Wondrich surmises came from New Orleans (I’ll buy that). Despite its name, the Coffee Cocktail contains no bitters and no coffee, but rather a bizarre blend of cognac, port wine, sugar, and a whole egg. And despite the recipe, Kevin’s version contained no port, but instead a wonderful Rancho de Philo California “triple cream” sherry that stood in perfectly for the port. Once again, Kevin flipped a traditional recipe on its head (pun intended) and came out not looking like an idiot. Damn you, Ludwig.

Mr. Wondrich closed the event with a demonstration of the Blue Blazer, and as everyone piled into the darkened hallway to watch, I found myself not thinking about the flammability of the curtains or wondering if David had consumed as many drinks as I had, but rather thinking about Jerry Thomas and imagining that this little group of Pacific Northwest cocktail enthusiasts, his stalwart followers, would make the old man proud.

Later that evening, there was much jocularity and celebration of the day’s event as Lance gave some of us out-of-towners a tour of Portland’s night spots. And as we crossed from place to place, I realized that while in the thick of things I had forgotten to give thanks for being given the opportunity to help execute - and consume - some of the best drinks made in Portland that day.

And as much as I enjoyed the look of horror on Paul Clarke’s face after being served a Sazerac, shaken and strained into a warm cocktail glass, pale orange with a single drop of Peychaud’s and garnished with a limp, dribbly lemon peel, I came to understand the power of the event we had just come from and had the unnerving realization that not everyone was familiar with Jerry Thomas or David Wondrich. It was enough to make me exclaim, “Hey, Paul, you’re not going to actually drink that, are you!?”

David told the crowd on Saturday that his goal when embarking on this path of his was to be able to walk into any bar in America and be able, once again, to get a good drink. And after hopping around a mid-sized American city on a Saturday night, it looks like we’ve only just begun.

Hey Bartender

I have a question for you, do spirits (rums, bourbons, whiskies, gin, etc.) improve with age in glass bottles? Is it possible for the spirit’s taste to change over time after being bottled? Or, is it the case that after being taken from the wooden barrels that, that is it, the spirit won’t then change in its taste or won’t improve.

Kind Regards,

Brendan

Hey Brendan

You hit the nail on the head at the end there. Sprits do not age once they’ve been bottled. Sorry to break it to you, but that 12-year old Scotch you’ve been saving for twenty years is not now effectively 32 years old. It shouldn’t really taste any different than it did on the day it was packaged.

To recap, here’s the recipe:

1. Chill an 8-ounce cocktail glass.
2. Pick your nose, and wipe the resulting findings on the back of your hand.
3. In a mixing glass, add one ounce of Bacardi rum.

Note: rum is a liquor that comes in many different colors.

4. Add two ounces of sweet-and-sour mix.
5. Wipe nose on back of hand for four full seconds.
6. Shake drink gently.
7. Talk about difference between fresh lime juice and sour mix while drink melts in shaker.

Note: fresh limes are no longer used.

8. Strain drink into chilled glass.
9. Dump any excess in sink.
10. Enjoy!

Bartenders are a surprisingly rare breed in this little cocktail blogger community of ours, so he and I are often awash in a sea of pundits. Sometimes I need to write to Jimmy and ask, “How are we supposed to make 100 of those on a Friday night?”, or “What the heck are they talking about?” when something is too difficult for me to grasp either technically or intellectually. Jimmy also took over my duties when Dewar’s scotch called on my Mixology Monday and told me to pack my bags for a 10 AM flight to Manhattan the next morning. I love Jimmy Patrick.

But I’m especially enthusiastic this month because Jimmy has chosen the theme of variations for his Mixology Monday. The idea really spoke to me, because it sums up exactly what I’ve been obsessing over for the past four weeks at my new job: the makeover of Bel Ami’s cocktail menu.

Taking over an existing drink menu is a bit of a balancing act. While we didn’t want to alienate our customers and servers by jettisoning drinks that had been a part of their experience for many years, we felt that the cocktails needed a facelift. So in the end, we came up with variations of some of the house drinks as a way of introducing a bar program that focused on fresh ingredients, culinary technique, and classic proportions. I’ll illustrate this today with three cocktail case studies.