Cocktailians

Bury the Lede

One of my favorite public figures working these days is Dessa. I describe her as a "public figure" because she's such an interesting polymath: she's an amazing musician (singer and rapper), a soulful, funny writer and poet, a thoughtful (and thought-provoking) podcast host, an engaging speaker, a riveting performer, even an impressive baker! (I bet she's double-jointed and makes great soup and is an excellent bowler as well.) She describes herself as having "quick wit, sharp pen, soft heart," and I think she's endlessly fascinating and just the bee's knees.

But why am I writing about her here? Because a couple of days ago, she published "Bury the Lede: A Cocktail Book" (Doomtree Press, $19.95). The title is drawn from her most recent album, Bury the Lede. In the book, she combines essays about songcraft with a drink recipe themed to each of the album's tracks. It's a really interesting approach. For the drinks, she worked with Marco Zappia, the Twin Cities barman (described herein as "beverage maverick") behind Colita and Martina—who makes "the most fun cocktails in America" according to Esquire—to develop and refine the recipes. The book is a gorgeous object as well, a slim hardback volume with stunning photography by Bill Phelps. 

Aside from the wide-ranging drinks and other nuggets of lore and information sprinkled throughout the book (we'll get to those), one of my favorite parts of the book is the authorial voice; Dessa's tone is always conversational, direct, wry, and self-aware; she's knowledgeable, shares credit easily, and isn't afraid of being goofy. She begins with a paean to amateurism and its freedoms: "You get to learn only what delights you and leave the rest to the pros." In a great interview with the Minnesota Star-Tribune, she expands on this idea: "Anytime I see someone who’s excellent with what they do, I wonder if there’s any way we can work together. I’m an eager collaborator who’s most graceful when I’m collaborating with people whose skill sets are different from mine because I don’t get a chance to get territorial." Her past collaborations have led her to neuroscientists, ice cream makers, and the Minnesota Orchestra (and she's no stranger to the booze business as well, working with RockFilter Distillery on Dessa's Time and Distance organic bourbon and Dessa's Hand Shadow organic rye.) 

The essays on craft provide a glimpse of how these songs and tracks come together, and tie in nicely with the drinks. For example, "Hurricane Party," the first track on Bury the Lede, was inspired by the actual hurricane parties people throw in New Orleans, hunkering down together to weather the storm:

I wrote Bury the Lede when it seemed like all the news was bad. The pandemic was tapering but still scary; the tenor of TV news felt apocalyptic; and it seemed everywhere an urgent need was going unmet. The hurricane party metaphor felt particularly apt. . .I think decency asks us to share some resources when we’ve got ’em. But also, flex and revel while you can. Being alive is a temporary state of affairs, so maybe grab a drink with bubbles in it.

As Zappia tells it, the song's opening lines, "Fill the kiddie pool/Up with prosecco" immediately suggested a sparkling drink à la the French 75, but the mention of "hurricane" and the nod to NOLA took him to the famously potent Pat O'Brien's drink. The "Hurricane Party" drink combines the two, and in a nifty little lagniappe, matches the seafoam green of the Bury the Lede cover art.

Each drink's essay and recipe are followed by another short, informative "Cocktail Crash Course" essay explaining one of the finer points of bartending. In "Hurricane Party"'s, Dessa passes on a brief description of why you shake cocktails (cooling, dilution, mixing), adds the pro tip that you can hear when you've shaken a drink long enough, and notes that drinks that will be diluted further only require a "short shake." 

(Can I also add that it's so refreshing to read a drinks book that doesn't have the exact same introductory chapter on equipment and basic technique that is seemingly in almost every other cocktail book out there? They're ubiquitous, seemingly identical, and dullsville.) I also like that this book is written from the perspective of an amateur enthusiast—working along a professional drinkmaker, to be sure—but that it drops some really wide-ranging knowledge on how good drinks are made and served.

For a book that contains twelve main recipes, they cover a lot of ground and go to some interesting places. "Chopper" is a bittersweet pop song, so the drink is a pink bittersweet spritz. Pictured on the book cover, it's a variation on a Negroni Sbagliato, but adds a cucumber oleo saccharum and is garnished (if you really wanna wow your guests) with a bitters-sprayed bouquet of dried flowers. Impressive. "Tell Me Again" incorporates vodka, Calpico, nocino (and they provide a recipe for DIY nocino as well!), sake, and a sea salt rim. "I Already Like You" is a chocolate-hazelnut egg cream, which arrives with the excellent, excellent suggestion that you spike it with Amaro Montenegro. Gin Martinis make a couple appearances: batched in the freezer in "Crash," and as deconstructed jello shots in "What If I'm Not Ready." There's a coquito variation and a milk-washed tea-infused whiskey sour. 

I like what they did for the "Twelve to One":

The cocktail—using the term loosely here— for this song is drawn verbatim from the second verse, so Marco cannot be held liable for its lack of sophistication.

Oreos and bourbon / I rent a movie and I watch it in bed / That’s a B+ Thursday / and the past stays asleep in my head. . .

Any of [the Oreo] varieties pairs respectably with bourbon, though I’d offer that Double Stuf evokes an air of sleepover indulgence that’s well suited to a self-administered weeknight remedy.

And the drink is simply that: a slug of bourbon and a Double Stuf Oreo. But they also drop a recipe for the "B+ Old-Fashioned," which includes Dessa's Oreo bitters and is garnished with an Oreo. These bitters are great and I'm looking forward to trying them in some other drinks, but this was a fine Old-Fashioned:

B+ Old-Fashioned

• 1¾ oz. bourbon (Dessa digs Belle Meade, RockFilter, Dickel, and High West; I used Four Roses Small Batch Select)
• 1 tsp Demerara syrup (Dessa specifies 1:1; I only had rich Demerara on hand and used that)
• 2 dashes Dessa's Oreo bitters (blend an Oreo cookie with 1½ oz. Angostura bitters, let sit for an hour, strain)
• 1 Oreo (preferably Double Stuf)

Stir all the ingredients with ice, then strain into a double Old-Fashioned glass over one large ice cube. Garnish with the Oreo.

The Strib asked Dessa and Zappia what the surprise hit was for them, and their answer was one of the most intriguing ones for me as well:

MZ: I would marry the Martini. My mistress would be the Negroni. But the “Rothko” is so much fun and surprising. That drink is coffee and Campari. You wouldn’t think those two things would be a good combo, but it’s loud and loud, and the dilution of it is super fun.

D: It’s so clever. I’m most excited for people to see the Rothko because it’s so stunning and it’s a flex – here’s two flavors that are really difficult in your imagination to combine well and in a glass are surprisingly alchemic.

Stylistically, Bury the Lede goes in many different directions: rap bangers, pop songs, playful disco-ish beats, and mood pieces. "Rothko," the album closer, starts out as a sad, disconnected song with a spare, dark groove, before dissolving into an unusual, powerful coda with layered vocal harmonies. From the book:

“There is only one thing I fear in life, my friend: One day the black will swallow the red.” That’s a quote often attributed to the painter Mark Rothko. I don’t think he actually said it, though; near as I can tell, it was written as a line for a play that chronicled his life. All the same, it knocks me out. That fear of the vital thing being snuffed out—well, it’s a reasonable one for mortals like us. . .

The pigment cadmium red, mentioned at the end of the song, is an artists’ favorite for its brilliance. But it’s also toxic—good for the painting, tough on the painter. To design the Rothko cocktail, Marco cued into the colors of the song and developed an ambitious concept of his own: a drink that changes colors as it develops. As the coffee ice melts into the crimson-colored bitter aperitivo (a dynamite flavor pairing), black finally swallows the red.

My photo is nowhere near Bill Phelps' amazing Rothkoesque depiction of the drink, but I really enjoyed this Americano variation.

Rothko

• 3 cubes coffee ice (To make coffee ice, freeze leftover brewed coffee or cold brew in ice cube trays. I used decaf.)
• 1 oz. red bitter aperitivo (we dig Campari, Aperol, or Cappelletti; I used Campari)
• 1 oz. sweet vermouth (we dig Cocchi Vermouth di Torino or Punt e Mes; I used Dolin)
• 2 oz. cold seltzer

In a Collins glass, add the coffee ice cubes, then top with regular ice cubes. Add the red bitter and the sweet vermouth. Top with seltzer and stir briefly.

Raise A Glass

The hottest ticket in town right now is "Hamilton", of course, the musical about the life of the nation's first Treasury Secretary and ten-dollar founding father.

Photo by Helen Kennedy

If you go to the show, as my pal Helen did, you're confronted with this list of official cocktails. Clearly, the Founder's Fizz is the best option, but the list is kind of uninspiring. (Sierra Mist? Sour apple liqueur? Jack Daniel's for a Manhattan?) You can do better, even if you don't tip as well as Amy Schumer.

This got me thinking about Revolutionary-era drinks, and what kinds of things Alexander Hamilton himself and his cohorts may have enjoyed. And drink they did: in 1790, the average American drank about thirty-four gallons of beer or cider, a gallon of wine, and five gallons of distilled spirits. By 1830, average annual alcohol consumption in America for every man, woman, and child over the age of 15 was about seven gallons of pure alcohol – the equivalent of ninety bottles of 80-proof liquor, or about four shots per person per day – more triple the current rate of alcohol consumption. (Dodgy water supplies often meant that beer or other alcoholic beverages were safer to drink.) Everyone in colonial America was likely at the very least slightly buzzed, all of the time.

After Thomas Jefferson came home from France, he imported over 20,000 bottles of wine. (He also grew hemp, staying mellow along with whatever the hell he did at Monticello.)

John Hancock made most of his fortune by importing smuggling molasses, rum, tea, tobacco, and Madeira to the colonies. In June 1768, British customs officials seized his sloop Liberty because he paid duty on 25 casks of Madeira, while the ship could hold four times as many. The Sons of Liberty incited an angry mob which rioted in Boston, burned a customs official's boat, and called for a boycott of British products. Hancock was fined £9000 (or more than $1.9 million today) and had to forfeit his ship, but he retained John Adams as counsel and the charges were eventually dropped for lack of evidence.

Yes, that John Adams. He drank hard cider before breakfast and three glasses of Madeira every night before bed. In the difficult summer of 1777 (so difficult that he noted that punch was up to twenty shillings a bowl), he wrote to Abigail that "whiskey is used here instead of rum, and I don't see but it is just as good."

George Washington was partial to Madeira, and drank a lot of it. In 1797, two years before his death, he built a distillery at Mount Vernon (which was itself named after his half-brother's commanding officer, Admiral Edward Vernon of the Royal Navy, who ordered in 1740 that rum rations be cut with lime juice, water, and sugar), and by 1799 it produced 11,000 gallons of whiskey. (The distillery has since been reconstructed by the Distilled Spirits Council, and they make small quantities of pretty good rye whiskey and excellent peach brandy, among other things.)

Martha Washington, who was regarded as the consummate hostess, traveled to be with George at each of the Continental Army's winter encampments, including the one at Morristown, NJ during the harsh winter of 1779-80. The officers held fancy-dress dances on February 23, March 1 and April 24, 1780. Washington and 34 other officers ponied up $400 each for these parties, and of course our hero A. Ham met Elizabeth Schuyler that winter. (those letters!) Martha Washington records a good recipe for rum punch in her diaries, though we don't know if it was served during these parties.

I couldn't dig up any hard information on Hamilton's drinking activities, and I don't get the sense he was much of a drinker. Indeed, in Federalist No. 12, he advocated a tax on spirits, and said that if that tax "should tend to diminish the consumption of it, such an effect would be equally favorable to the agriculture, to the economy, to the morals, and to the health of the society. There is, perhaps, nothing so much a subject of national extravagance as these spirits." This proposed tax was enacted as the Distilled Spirits Tax of 1791, which sparked the Whiskey Rebellion of 1794.

And yes, the word "cocktail" was famously defined in print in May 1806, almost two years after Hamilton's death, in a Hudson, New York newspaper called The Balance, and Columbian Repository. But did you realize that that well-worn citation includes a deliciously gratuitous swipe at the Democratic-Republicans from the paper's pro-Federalist editor? Apparently there had been a recent election in the nearby village of Claverack (in whose courthouse one Alexander Hamilton likely appeared, representing his inlaws), and the paper published a mock balance sheet for the Democratic-Republican loser of the election:

"Rum! Rum! Rum!

It is conjectured, that the price of this precious liquor will soon rise at Claverack, since a certain candidate has placed in his account of Loss and Gain, the following items", then going on to list "720 rum grogs, 17 brandy ditto, 32 gin-slings, 411 glasses bitters, 25 glasses cock-tail," and "My Election" under the "Loss" column, with "NOTHING" under "Gain." Ouch. All that booze spent in electioneering, and the poor Democratic-Republican candidate couldn't win. 

Not content to just rub it in once, the next issue of The Balance featured a letter to the editor (well, at least a letter. I wonder if Harry Croswell, the editor, wrote it himself, given the tone. It feels like Croswell's showing off, or asking himself a question so he could publish the answer) asking what in the world was meant by "cocktail":

Sir,
    I observe in your paper of the 6th instant, in the account of a democratic candidate for a seat in the legislature, marked under the head of Loss, 25 do. cock-tail. Will you be so obliging as to inform me what is meant by this species of refreshment? Though a stranger to you, I believe, from your general character, you will not suppose this request to be impertinent.
    I have heard of a jorum, of phlegm-cutter and fog driver, of wetting the whistle, of moistening the clay, of a fillip, a spur in the head, quenching a spark in the throat, of flip &c, but never in my life, though I have lived a good many years, did I hear of cock tail before. Is it peculiar to a part of this country? Or is it a late invention? Is the name expressive of the effect which the drink has on a particular part of the body? Or does it signify that the democrats who take the potion are turned topsyturvy, and have their heads where their tails should be? I should think the latter to be the real solution; but am unwilling to determine finally until I receive all the information in my power.
    At the beginning of the revolution, a physician publicly recommended the moss which grew on a tree as a substitute for tea. He found on experiment, that it had more of a stimulating quality than he approved; and therefore, he afterwards as publicly denounced it. Whatever cock tail is, it may be properly administered only at certain times and to certain constitutions. A few years ago, when the democrats were bawling for Jefferson and Clinton, one of the polls was held in the city of New York at a place where ice-cream was sold. Their temperament then was remarkably adust and bilious. Something was necessary to cool them. Now when they are sunk into rigidity, it might be equally necessary, by cock-tail to warm and rouse them.
    I hope you will construe nothing that I have said as disrespectful. I read your paper with great pleasure and wish it the most extensive circulation. Whether you answer my inquiry or not, I shall still remain,
    Yours,
        A SUBSCRIBER

Did you catch the gibes aimed at "democrats" and at Jefferson and [DeWitt] Clinton? The editor, Harry Croswell, responded immediately below this letter: 

[As I make it a point, never to publish anything (under my editorial head) but which I can explain, I shall not hesitate to gratify the curiosity of my inquisitive correspondent:– Cock tail, then, is a stimulating liquor, composed of Spirits of any kind, sugar, water and bitters–it is vulgarly called bittered sling, and is supposed to be an excellent electioneering potion inasmuch as it renders the heart stout and bold, at the same time that it fuddles the head. It is said also, to be of great use to a democratic candidate: because, a person having swallowed a glass of it, is ready to swallow any thing else.
        Edit. Bal.]

Wow. So not only does the editor neatly define the word we're most interested in here, he manages to smack around his political opponents with some style at the same time.

Another fun tidbit or three: Harry Croswell was a staunch Federalist who started editing the Balance in 1801 when he moved to Hudson. When rival editor and Jeffersonian Charles Holt started up the fiercely Democratic-Republican Hudson Bee the next year (Jefferson was a paying subscriber), Croswell responded by starting a small paper ("printed in the Garret of The Balance") called "The Wasp", "because a wasp often stings a bee." The September 9, 1802 issue of the Wasp got Croswell in some trouble, after he reported a charge from the New York Post (don't forget who founded that paper) that Jefferson had paid fellow Virginian and scandalmonger James Thompson Callender -- a nasty character who had earlier leaked the story of Hamilton's affair with Maria Reynolds -- to attack the Adams Administration and impugn the late George Washington. The New York attorney general, who Croswell also attacked in the same issue of the Wasp, prosecuted him on libel and sedition charges, and Croswell was convicted of publishing the statements. (Croswell was represented pro bono by, among others, William P. Van Ness...who would later serve as Burr's second for his duel with Hamilton.) For his appeal, Croswell was represented by none but our hero A. Ham, who delivered such a powerful exhortation that truth was an absolute defense to a libel claim that the principle was written into New York state law and the New York Constitution, and remains a bedrock principle of First Amendment law.)

History is so cool.

But how best to commemorate his life in liquid form? Especially if you don't want to serve up Brandy Alexander Hamiltons? I really liked the sound of the "My Shot" cocktail from Good Food Stories. It sounds wonderful, and it's made up of spirits that were popular during his era: applejack (which one of Washington's New Jersey-based soldiers Robert Laird distilled, and whose ancestors still make Laird's Applejack), pimento dram, whiskey, rum, and cider (from the Aaron Burr Cidery.) Mmmmm. Good Food Stories also posted a Schuyler Sisters cocktail, with ingredients chosen to reflect the personalities of the three sisters depicted in the show. (!) You could even drink them out of dueling shot glasses.

For the release yesterday of the #Hamiltome (aka Lin-Manuel Miranda's new book "Hamilton: The Revolution"), the good people at my excellent local independent bookstore, the Astoria Bookshop, asked me to come up with an appropriate and historically accurate tipple for their party. After some research, I came up with "Whiskey Rebellion Punch", an update of Jerry Thomas's "Canadian Punch" from the 1862 edition of "How To Mix Drinks", the first bartending book published in the United States. As always with old recipes, and especially pre-Prohibition ones, and even more so with Punch, I let David Wondrich's sagacity and advice be my guide.

Whiskey Rebellion Punch

• 3 bottles 100-proof rye whiskey (I used Rittenhouse. If you have cask-strength whiskey, go with the proportions of whiskey and water given above.)
• 16 oz. Jamaica rum (I used the nicely funky 114-proof Smith & Cross)
• 8 lemons (Wondrich suggests upping the amount of lemons to 8, following the suggestion of the 1869 Haney's Steward and Barkeeper's Manual)
• 1 pineapple
• 3 liters seltzer
• 12 oz. white granulated or superfine sugar

Slice the pineapple and the lemons thinly, and place them in a pot with the spirits. Cover and let infuse overnight (without squeezing the fruit.) Make a simple syrup with 12 oz. sugar and 12 oz. water (which will result in about 20 oz. of the 1:1 syrup) and set aside. (If you need to transport it, take the fruit out with a slotted spoon and put it in a quart-size food storage bag, and bottle the infused spirits in the bottles you emptied.) To serve, mix the fruit, the infused spirits, the simple syrup, and the seltzer together, and slip in a large ice block. Garnish each serving with a piece of the pineapple and a slice of lemon, and do not throw away your shot.

Photo by Joanna Scutts

"The Old-Fashioned", by Robert Simonson

I used to never order an Old-Fashioned when going out to a bar, because I never knew what I'd get -- an inch-thick paste of smashed fruit goo at the bottom? A glass brimming with seltzer? (or worse, Sprite?) -- and that was kind of like the Bad Old Days of drinks literature, when you had to sift through umpteen badly-edited lists of crummy recipes to find one or two books that rose above the Mr. Boston standard. Nowadays, of course, with the explosion of quality bars and general heightened interest in all things cocktailian these days, there are plenty of places where I feel comfortable walking in and confidently ordering an Old-Fashioned, knowing that I'll get a well-made, tasty drink. Similarly, there's a myriad of interesting cocktail books around, and it's been fascinating to watch them go from catchall collections of recipes to reprints of classics to more intensely specialized books narrowly focusing on a particular historical period, a bar, a locale, a category of drinks, or even a particular drink itself.

Robert Simonson's "The Old-Fashioned: The Story of the World's First Classic Cocktail, with Recipes & Lore" (Ten Speed, $18.99), is one of the latter, of course. It delves deeply into the history of the titular drink, and presents dozens of variations. Simonson's writing is precise and poetic: "When properly made according to its original specifications, the Old-Fashioned's amber glow is no longer obscured by phosphorescent refugees from the produce department." The first section of the book is a well-observed history of how the drink we know as the Old-Fashioned evolved. That was one of my first surprises, as I'd always thought the Old-Fashioned was a relic from the nineteenth century (Simonson describes it as "the primordial cocktail"), unchanged since the days of Jerry Thomas. Rather, it evolved, slowly and incrementally, into what we expect today. Did you know that the original garnish for the drink was a miniature spoon, or that it was originally consumed as a fast morning pick-me-up? 

Simonson writes for the New York Times, which has dubbed him "Our Man in the Liquor-Soaked Trenches." In the book, he loads us up with colorful stories and quotes from tons of sources to spin his yarns, including some now-forgotten bar guides and old newspapers from Brooklyn, Chicago, Wisconsin, and Pennsylvania, and one admirably cranky letter to the Times in 1936. He considers various claims to the title of the drink's inventor, and dismisses Col. Jim Gray's (who added nutmeg, didn't have bitters, and shook the drink) and the Pendennis Club's (which is thinly sourced and historically problematic.) And he takes us through the Fruit Wars -- the rise and fall of the orange wheel/cherries/pineapple (!) garnish and what various bartenders did with them. (A few years ago, I ordered an Old-Fashioned before dinner at Mandina's. The waiter immediately asked me the question "With or without the garbage?") In sidebars, Simonson also addresses the Mad Men effect (I don't love how Don Draper mixes his drink) and the pecularity that is the Wisconsin-style Brandy Old-Fashioned, which as a Wisconsinite himself he's eminently qualified to do.

A brief note on gear and technique follows, and then we're on to the recipes. After the standard and historical recipes which were described in the first section, we move on to the many creative variations on the drink. Simonson observes that the Old-Fashioned lends itself especially well to tinkering, especially with all the kinds of sweeteners, flavored syrups, and bitters available these days. Don Lee's groundbreaking bacon-infused Benton's Old-Fashioned from PDT is included, as is Phil Ward's magical Oaxaca Old-Fashioned from Death & Co. (And I can't wait to try the Clint Eastwood by Mike Ryan from Chicago's Violet Hour, Chris Hannah's Rebennack from the French 75 in New Orleans, or the New Ceremony from Tonia Guffey at Dram in Brooklyn; they all look fantastic.) Simonson even offers up a couple recipes of his own devising, including a bourbon-and-Perique Old-Fashioned that is yet another reason I want to get my hands on a couple bottles of that stuff.

The book is well-designed, too, with many pages of absolutely gorgeous photography (by Daniel Krieger) of the drinks, equipment, and bartenders, taken in bars around New York. I've been carrying around the book for the past couple of days while I write this review, and the cover shot makes my mouth water. I also like the comfortable dimensions (8" x 5 1/2") and jacketless hardback approach. There's a good and useful index, the endpapers are marbled, and the whole package just feels solid, attractive, and well thought out. I found a couple copy-editing nitpicks (and the page for the Rum Old-Fashioned specifies English Harbour rum and a lime twist, while the photo depicts El Dorado 12 and an orange), but they're exceedingly minor and don't detract from the book. 

All in all, this is a great look at "the grandfather of them all." The Old-Fashioned is definitely worthy of a high-quality book exploring its history, continuing significance, and future, and that book has arrived. 

(Thanks to Ten Speed Press and Robert Simonson for sending me a review copy.)

"Handcrafted Cocktails", by Molly Wellmann

I picked up "Handcrafted Cocktails: The Mixologist's Guide to Classic Drinks for Morning, Noon & Night" by Molly Wellmann (Betterway Home, $24.99) when it came out a little while back. My friend Tizzie (of bourbon slush fame) put her on my radar and got to go to the book's launch party, and was kind enough to ship me a signed copy. Molly Wellmann is the co-owner of the highly-regarded Japp's Since 1879, Japp's Annex, and Neons Unplugged in Cincinnati and the Old Kentucky Bourbon Bar just across the river in Covington, KY, and she'll be opening a punch house in Cincinnati next year too -- whenever does she sleep, I wonder?

Slumber's loss is mixology's gain, though, as "Handcrafted Cocktails" is an engaging, breezy, and deeply knowledgeable look into classically-inspired craft cocktailing for the home bar enthusiast. Her aim was to put her bar Japp's between the covers of a book, and if she got close at all, I sure want to go visit the next time I'm in town. It's full of information, but the knowledge is worn lightly and it feels like she's dropping great lore from across the bar as she expertly stirs up you something good. The introduction has a brief history of distilling, and Wellmann explains her approach to mixological history and recipes. She even mentions an old cocktail book out of Cincinnati that I hadn't been aware of, "The Mixicologist" by Christopher F. Lawlor, published in 1895. (and reissued, with an introduction by Ted "Dr. Cocktail" Haigh, by Cocktail Kingdom.) Wellmann's Cincinnati pride is evident, as the book features occasional nuggets of information about the city's history, and she's proud as well to have written the second cocktail book to come out of the Queen City.

Like most cocktail books, it starts with some basic instructional chapters on techniques and ingredients. Chapter 2 is especially useful, as it features recipes for many homemade ingredients: lime cordial, falernum, and several flavored simple syrups and bitters. (It's a pity that she reserves the recipe for her intriguing-sounding tobacco bitters as a house secret; I'd like to try those!) The drinks in the books are arranged by daypart -- morning, afternoon, happy hour, drinks with dinner, after-dinner -- and then sorted in each section by base spirit. I hadn't seen this approach before, and matching drinks to the time of day helps encourage the conversational tone. The section on morning drinks is introduced, for instance, with an anecdote about her great-grandfather and his habit of starting the day with a shot of whiskey. (Must've worked well, as he lived to 90.) Some of the classifications seem a bit arbitrary -- why is a Ramos Gin Fizz an afternoon drink and not a morning one? -- but I realize that you have to draw lines, and time of day is as good as any other approach. (I also quibble with her use of "flip" to describe any cocktail with egg in it; I tend to think of flips as richer drinks with a whole egg in them, and not necessarily sours or fizzes with an egg white added for texture. I wouldn't necessarily think of a Pisco Sour or a Clover Club as a flip.) The drinks are a good mix of classics and originals, though I wish Wellman's originals were highlighted or set apart somehow -- she should take more credit for her creativity, as they're all mixologically sound and seem tasty. I also really like the historical asides and cocktail lore she dispenses alongside some drinks. Lots of these stories are familiar, but she tells them well, explaining ingredients and recounting history including theories of drinks' origins.

The book looks fantastic, with lots of really well-executed photography throughout. There are more and better pictures here than in most cocktail books (those coffee-table cocktail books that have huge pictures and very little text are often useless when it actually comes to making drinks), and they make me wish I was atop a Japp's barstool, having one of these lovely creations. I also liked the use of smaller historical photographs to illustrate people and ideas: for instance, the entry for the Bee's Knees goes into the name's origins in flapper slang, accompanied by a shot of Charleston dancers near the U.S. Capitol circa 1929. And the spread pictured above tells the story of Kitty Burke, a baseball-loving burlesque dancer from Cincinnati who was the first female batter in major-league history (even if unofficially), complete with a picture of her, a nice writeup, and the recipe for Wellmann's original drink paying tribute.

Some minor nitpicks: while the photography is great, it's a little strange that some of the shots repeat: for instance, the section on Happy Hour Drinks starts with a picture of the delectable-looking Hot Tijuana Nights cocktail, a grapefruit-and-lime tequila sour with jalapeno simple syrup. But, then you see the exact same shot a few pages later at the drink's own entry. I might have, had I designed the book, used another gorgeous picture of multiple cocktails, or bottles, or action shots of drinkmaking at the top of each chapter. And, the book's index is good but not great: I like that it arranges drinks by base spirit and other ingredients, but the drinks aren't in there under their own names, so if you're looking for the Kitty Burke, you have to know that it contains gin in order to find it in the index. The book seems lightly edited, in that the tone is very chatty and conversational, but the copy-editing is a little loose: the Clover Club and Aviation cocktails are capitalized, but the Manhattan and Algonquin aren't.

This is a fun, basic book, perhaps an ideal choice (or gift) for someone just getting into cocktail appreciation, setting up their first home bar, or wanting to know more about the stories behind some interesting drinks. The classics and originals are well-chosen, and I really like the emphasis on fresh and homemade ingredients. A world of great drinks awaits!

Clay Risen's Whiskey Guide

(Housekeeping note: I have a bunch of interesting books that have come my way over the past few months, and I'm hoping to get as many as possible reviewed before the end of the year.)

One of the neat books that's arrived lately is "American Whiskey, Bourbon & Rye: A Guide to the Nation's Favorite Spirit", by Clay Risen (Sterling Epicure, $24.95.) Risen writes the very good "Mash Notes" blog when he's not editing or writing for the New York Times or the Atlantic, among other outlets. 

I have a lot of whiskey at home, but there are thousands of expressions I haven't tried. And, while my girlfriend is a very understanding sort, I have neither the physical space nor the funds to acquire every bottle I want. So I, like most everyone, have to restrict myself to getting the stuff that's likely to be good and interesting. Even if you're fairly well up on the offerings, perusing the shelves can be difficult. (Wait, is Old Fitzgerald the wheater, or is that Old Forester? I haven't heard of that small distillery. Do they source their whiskey from elsewhere or make it themselves? Is this bottle overpriced?) Which is where a good guidebook would be mighty useful...and we have an excellent guidebook to American whiskeys here.

The excellence starts with an exhaustive (76-page!) introduction that covers all sorts of bases. There's an introduction to what whiskey is, a discussion of terms including an uncommonly lucid presentation of the federal laws defining various types of whiskey, a look at the distillation, aging, and blending processes, a good history of American whiskey, and a detailed look at the state of the American whiskey business today. This last part encompasses everything from rye's renaissance and non-distiller producers (or "Potemkin distilleries" as Chuck Cowdery calls them) to craft distilling, small-barrel aging, and even the fads for flavored and white whiskeys. Risen includes well-observed guides on how to taste whiskey, some typical flavor and aroma notes you may notice, and a very good section on what information you can glean from a whiskey label. I particularly liked that Risen explicitly lays out what you will -- and won't -- find in his book, making no apologies for the decisions he made to wind up with a manageable book that still covers a lot of ground. (If you're looking for reviews of ultra-rare whiskeys, white dogs, very small producers, or flavored whiskeys, Risen points out that "boundaries have to be drawn somewhere" and that you won't find them in this book.)

The lion's share (not the angel's share) of the book is made up of the "Whiskey Accounts": thumbnail descriptions and reviews of over 200 whiskeys, arranged alphabetically by brand name. There's tons of good information here: each producer/brand gets a solid paragraph or two -- or way more, for the majors -- of brand and distillery history and description of any notable processes or approaches. Each entry also includes a list of the producer's brands, and Risen provides comprehensive contact information for both the brand and the distiller, if known, for non-distilling producers. Then it's on to a picture of the bottle and a thumbnail review of each expression, which covers color, body, proof, age if known, a notation of the bottle or lot number if it's available, price (one to four dollar signs, denoting $20 increments from <$20 to $61+), a rating (from Not Recommended to four stars), straightforward descriptions of the nose and palate, and some general, subjective notes about the whiskey. 

The book winds up with a well-chosen list of other books, websites and blogs for further reading, as well as a glossary which recaps material from the introduction, a checklist of the whiskeys listed, and a detailed, useful index. (Can I register a complaint here that too many non-fiction books either don't have indexes or don't have good ones? This is one of the good ones.) A streamlined "quick index" inside the back cover lets you get to the producers even faster, which is another nice touch in what is overall a very well-thought-out book. While I might quibble with some of the design choices, it's clear that they were made for a reason: there's a lot of white space on some pages, but it's also nice to have each whiskey brand start on a fresh page. The margins are huge in the long introductory section, but they do get filled up with informative sidebars and bottle shots here and there -- I just wish there were more of them, as the narrow columns of unbroken sans-serif type in a fairly small font can be a little fatiguing. The book's a handsome package of a pleasing size and weight (though probably a little too big to tote along to the liquor store for quick reference while browsing -- it'd be an awesome app if it could be sufficiently monetized), and even the endpapers have a nice overlapping design of bottle outlines. 

Risen's writing is conversational and straightforward throughout, candid and informed, like an ideal drinking companion. Descriptions of noses and palates are solid and well-observed, and the more subjective general notes on each whiskey strike me as considered and particularly useful judgments, such as exactly where a spirit falls short of the goal, if it's good value for money, or if it's more of a sipping or mixing whiskey. This guidebook really fills a niche well, and I'd recommend it to anyone interested in the subject matter. I'll keep this as a ready and oft-thumbed reference; it's great to have all this information in one place, and so well-presented to boot. I hope there are successive and regular editions keeping us all informed of the American whiskey landscape.

  (Thanks to Sterling Epicure for sending me a review copy on my request.)