Champs-Elysees + L’Emitage Saint Valbert.

Champin’ at the bit.

Champs-Élysées + L’Emitage Saint Valbert.

Despite my optimism that the Chartreuse Crisis would gradually resolve itself (after the hoarders had hoarded enough) it regrettably appears to have endured and become permanent. Despite living in one of the alleged “core markets” I can barely ever find a bottle and even when I do I am loathe to shell out the new asking prices of €70-90 knowing a few years ago it was a “mere” €35 for a bottle of the green stuff. Almost three years ago I posted a synopsis of the crisis with some possible solutions, none of them 100% satisfactory but more recently I espied something I thought worthy of investigation. L’Emitage Saint Valbert seems to have come from nowhere yet claims to have been in monky production in France since 1864. It weighs in at the same 55% as the “real” juice which is certainly encouraging as is that it costs much the same as pre-crisis green Chartreuse did. On the flip-side it does not look to be widely distributed outside of Europe apart from some East Asian airport shops. Also on the negative side of the ledger, a careful reading (between the lines) of the “history” on the back of the bottle suggests to me that this is a modern creation designed specifically to capitalise on the current crisis and that has been “history-washed” – a not uncommon practice in the world of booze. But is it any good? Sipped side to side with my dwindled remains of green Chartreuse I found the new contender to pretty similar but less intense. The Chartreuse has a wonderful rounded herbal flavour and pleasant mouth-feel whereas L’Ermitage feels a touch less integrated, a little more watery and has a slightly bitter finish that the Chartreuse lacks. But to be fair the differences are slight and when mixed with other ingredients as in a cocktail fade away almost entirely. Those who like to sip upon their Chartreuse might be disappointed but the mixin’ masses are served well enough by this “newcomer” – if it is available in their area.

But all of this is just an excuse to mix us up a classic French prohibition era cocktail called the Champs-Élysées which as surely everyone knows is the wide boulevard that runs from L’Arc de Triomphe down to Place de la Concorde in Paris. Emerging somewhat vaguely in the 1920s the Champs* got its big break by being included in Harry Craddock’s Savoy cocktail book of 1930. Harry gave a recipe to make enough for a small group and most recipes since have been based on a reduction of that leading to a consensus on the ingredients but not so much on the proportions. The version I give below is my preferred recipe but feel free to tinker away yourselves. I do however insist on using real French cognac and not some random “brandy” with my preference for a mixing cognac being Courvoisier VS which punches well above its moderate-ish price. It’s a classy drink and as such demands quality ingredients yet in the current situation L’Ermitage Saint Valbert is just good enough. It also requires attention to detail: The chilled glass, double straining, care of measurement, a neatly trimmed garnish.


Champs-Élysées.

1.5oz / 45ml cognac.

0.5oz / 15ml green Chartreuse or substitute.

0.75oz / 22ml fresh lemon juice.

0.25oz / 7.5ml simple syrup

2 dashes of Angostura bitters

Shake with ice and double strain into a chilled Champagne coupe.

Garnish with lemon twist.

Toast France’s most famous street.


*I avoid using the full name as adding all those weird-ass French letters is a pain in WordPress.

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Thoughts on the Old Fashioned + J.P Wiser’s 10 year old review.

None the Wiser…

 

Thoughts on the Old Fashioned

+ J.P Wiser’s 10 year old review.

I don’t have an Old Fashioned very often but every time I do I think, “I need to have an Old Fashioned more often”. Made well, there is perhaps no better cocktail. Given that the OF is pretty much the first cocktail, some unknown protococktailian got it right. First. Damn. Time. Respect – whoever you are. “Are” not “were” because that bastard is probably also immortal. If you, like me, are an all too infrequent imbiber of this hallowed original cocktail then I beg of you – listen to me just this once and listen thee well. If there is a time for an Old Fashioned it is this accursed month of January. That useless dead month of darkness, weariness and dread. A social wasteland of enui, mundanity and self loathing. 31 days of listlessness, boredom and bleakiosity. Yeah, it’s a bit shit. But there is an antidote and, trust me, it’s not dry. For the Month of Doom is best mollified by the daily ingestion (at precisely 19:30) of a single, perfectly made Old Fashioned cocktail. The precise construction of which is intensely, intensely personal but for the sake of having something to fucking write about I shall give you my personal variation which is not particularly controversial. The basic concept of the OF, as I am sure most of you already know, is to take your favourite spirit and stir it with ice, bitters and something sweet to create a sympathetic and slightly diluted version of something you love. A variation that adds colour and depth to the already endeared. Fuck, yeh. Be your love mezcal, rum, whisky, arak, brandy, gin or tequlia* there is an Old Fashioned version of that spirit that is right for you. That said, if there is a problem with the OG OF that is that it is frequently made too sweet. I’ve seen American bartenders insist that half an ounce of sugar syrup and a dash of bitters goes into their standard OF. I know a lot of Americans have a sweet tooth but HFMoG it is not meant to be a sweet drink. While personal preferences must be sometimes (grudgingly) respected the starting point should be two ounces (60ml) of whisky, a teaspoon of syrup (I suggest Demerara), at least two dashes of bitters and a modestly sized citrus garnish. Balance, as always, is the key to a perfect cocktail. Otherwise you have only succeeded in making sweet whisky**. Bleugh. My ramblings concluded for now I shall proceed with the next step in my quest to find a pleasing alternative to US whisky with another dig into the Canadian offerings.

J.P Wiser’s 10 year old triple barrel

Canadian whisky.

As you may have noticed, I have for a time been in search of viable bourbon and US rye whisky replacements for reasons most Trumpian***. The rye issue was solved by Lot 40 but I was still short a simple and inexpensive substitute for the former. Enter Wiser’s 10 year old triple wood whisky from the same stable as good ‘ol Lot 40. Wiser’s comes in a simple square section clear glass bottle with a metal screw cap and stings my wallet oh so lightly at just over €20. The label is kind of ordinary looking and lacking much designyness although looking at their website there seems be a new and equally uninspiring label since I bought my bottle. So far, so dull. However we also have the 10 years triple wood statement that makes us go, “Hmmmmmm”. There are a few Canadian whiskies that claim long ageing yet are quite inexpensive compared to almost any other aged spirit and I’m not entirely sure how they can do this. Sure, spirit ageing progresses at a more leisurely pace in colder climes (Windsor, Ontario in this case which is counter-intuitively just south of Detroit) but surely the warehousing and barrel switching costs remain similar? If anyone has an answer to this puzzle please feel free to inform us in the comments. The three woods are used bourbon barrels, new oak and used Canadian whisky barrels which sounds like a mix that could serve us well – although the actual times spent in each of the different woods remain a mystery. A strength of just 40% is uninspiring but probably also unsurprising at this price yet J.P Wiser’s certainly stimulates my curiosity and the best way to continue is, I eventually decide, to open the bottle. The light copperiness in the glass could be a result of 10 years in wood or added caramel leaving us none the wiser (no pun intended) but is attractive enough anyway. The nose is quite subtle but hints of toffee, grain and vanilla poke through but it really doesn’t smell very woody so far. The first sip from a relatively full bottle is a little disappointing being quite harsh and astringent but the finish delivers more being relatively long with a lingering bittersweet baking spice vibe. This is all fine for the modest price but I really can’t see this as a sipping whisky. But that’s not why we’re here is it? Used in an Old Fashioned and some other simple cocktails that normally feature bourbon Wiser’s holds its own pretty well with its safe middlegroundy flavour leaning in a sufficiently Bourbony direction that, for example, a Scotch could never pull off. As long as we don’t ask too much of it this Canadian whisky performs well enough and doesn’t carry those peculiar flavours that similarly priced US whiskies starting with Jim (peanut butter) and Jack (bananas) bring to the game. I think, at least for now, I have found what I was looking for – an affordable sub for an everyday mixing bourbon. Given the very fair price and flexibility I’m gonna give J.P Wiser’s 10 year old triple wood whisky a possibly over-generous mark with the understanding that it is valid only in this specific context:

B.


*Vodka can just fuck right off.

**Or, of course, some other spirit.

***Especially as of this very morning (3.1.26).

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The Humanist.

…Don’t put the blame on me.

The Humanist.

At this time of year I always think to myself, “Better come up with something a bit festive”. And sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t. This year a different thought popped into my empty head. With all this Christmas and Hanukkah malarky bouncing around how about we honour those of us who follow no religion aside from the belief in humanity itself? Fuck, yeah. Don’t get me wrong; I’m at the front of the line when there’s turkey and presents* being handed out but the “holiday” season arrives with remarkable frequency, promising peace on Earth and goodwill to all men before disappearing in a puff of tinsel, cinnamon and torn wrapping paper with all such promises in similar tatters. I’d better stop before I incur the wrath of the masses and get accused of Scrooginess by my family (yet again) and proceed directly to my recipe.

My paean to the religiously non-aligned is based upon a wonderfully simple cocktail which gets along fine without any fancy bells, whistles or flourishes. With just gin, lime and sugar the Gimlet is a classic that lends itself to some gentle tweaking – and tweaked it I have – while keeping it easy on the cocktailista. I mean who needs any extra hassle at this time of year, right? All I’ve touched is the sweet component subbing in some ginger syrup and berry liqueur. It sounds like a strange combination but you need to trust me on this. I used a blackberry liqueur (crème de mûre) but you could go with other flavours such as raspberry, blackcurrent or cherry. I tried many different ones and found that blackberry worked best but that could just be a matter of personal taste. Just remember to adjust for sweetness as all liqueurs are not created equal. The Humanist is a simple year-round cocktail that that is popular and accessible to all. If you really want to Christmasify it you could try using cinnamon syrup instead of the ginger syrup. I didn’t. Obviously.

Best wishes to all humans and a better New Year!


The Humanist.

2oz / 60ml dry gin of choice.

1oz / 30ml fresh lime juice.

3/8oz** / 11ml ginger syrup.

3/8oz** / 11ml berry liqueur (pref. crème de mûre – see text).

Shake with ice and double strain into a chilled coupé glass. No garnish but if you happen to have a fresh berry that matches your choice of liqueur you could certainly drop one in the glass.

Toast Humanists.


*Now would be a great time to make a little donation to a little cocktail website what with it being the season of giving and with the annual web-hosting bill arriving imminently. Feel free to hit the yellow donate button and wallow in my appreciation kind reader.

**This sounds like a finicky amount but what we are really calling for here is 0.75oz / 22ml of sweet component equally split between the syrup and liqueur.

 

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The Last Train.

Woo woo.

 

The Last Train.

A while back I was making myself a pre-dinner Negroni as I am wont to do and I had a “let’s mix this up a bit” moment (as I am also wont to do) which took me to a strange place. A Negroni is such a classic drink that I long assumed all vaguely logical variations had been tried and codified: the Boulevardier, the Kingston Negroni, the White Negroni etc. Mais, non. Having let my bottle of Amaro Montenegro languish at the back of the cocktail cabinet a little too long I have spent much of this year rediscovering its manifold joys – as you may have noticed from recent articles. Knowing that it has a particular affinity with mezcal I did what seemed incredibly obvious and used it in place of Campari in a Mezcal Negroni for an equal parts combo of mezcal, Montenegro and Italian vermouth (which IMHO simply must be Punt e Mes in a Negroni). A slice of grapefruit peel completed the picture. And? Well, it was damn tasty if I do say so myself. So tasty that my first thought was that this must be a well known variation that I’ve simple never come across. I Startpaged it (I don’t Gxxgle anymore) and while there are a few things that come vaguely close, to my shock this simple and elegant combination appears unrecorded in the cocktail canon. I immediately decided this should be called a Montenegroni but sadly that perfect name had already been snagged by Montenegro for a slightly tweaked Negroni using their own amaro in place of Campari. Ah, well, you can’t win ‘em all. I guess I’ll just have to dig into my little notebook of obscure cocktail name ideas. An important observation is that with Montenegro being a tad sweeter than Campari you really neeeed to be using Punt e Mes as your vermouth as it is slightly bittered itself. I you can’t get any I suggest adding a dash or two of aromatic (eg. Angostura) bitters to a more normal Italian vermouth. When cutting your garnish don’t be afraid to go a bit deeper than normal as a little bitterness from the pith will do no harm in this case.

I did my due diligence and tested my recipe on a couple of pretty hard-core Negroni-heads and it got their stamp of approval so here for your sipping pleasure I present:


The Last Train.

1.5oz / 45ml* Mezcal of decent quality.

1.5oz / 45ml* Amaro Montenegro.

1.5oz / 45ml* Punt e Mes.

Stir with ice and strain over a big clear ice cube (or ball) and garnish with a slice of grapefruit peel. No grapefruit? OK orange will suffice.

Toast Swervedriver , especially this song from their excellent 1993 album Mezcal Head.


*This makes for a largish drink but you can easily scale it back, given its equal parts construction, should you prefer.

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Japanese Highball + Improved Highball.

Say “hai” to the Highball.

Japanese Highball + Improved Highball.

I am recently returned from a trip to the land of the rising sun and it would be remiss of me not report on Japanese drinking culture. It’s not, at least in the mainstream, a very cocktaily culture but aside from the sake and beer staples there is a mixed drink that merits some discussion: the Japanese Highball. This simple drink is just a Scotch (or sometimes Japanese whisky) and soda and is served in literally every bar and restaurant as well as the ubiquitous Seven Eleven store in a can. Unsurprisingly this just tastes like watered down, fizzy cheap scotch which may sound a bit uninspiring but in the heat of late summer/early autumn was pretty welcome when served ice cold with plenty of clear ice*. In the years following the Second World War Japan was occupied by American forces and certain small chunks of American culture became popular with some of the youth. Denim jeans, Rock ‘n’ Roll, beer and whisky being perhaps the most notable. The thing with whisky was that during the war America largely ceased production leaving barely enough Bourbon and rye for the home market. Winston Churchill on the other hand allowed the distillation of Scottish whisky to continue. Some say as a way to lift morale but more likely because he was drinking a sizeable slice of the production himself. Thus the occupiers of Japan were awash with Scotch and over time the locals also found a taste for it too eventually deciding they could probably make it just as well as the Scots. They were not far wrong. At this time Americans often called a long mixed drink a “highball”, a phrase which dropped out of favour in the US but stuck in Japan coming to mean specifically a Scotch and soda.

Improvey time!

But I think we can take the Japanese Highball and elevate it somewhat. I’ll take my inspiration from the fact that there is sometimes a variation on offer where ginger ale is subbed for the fizzy water (which 100+ years ago would have been called a Mamie Taylor in the west but let’s not worry about that). I wondered about splitting the difference and adding a bit of garnish flavour and came up with this tweaked Highball which I quite like. The first step was to upgrade the whisky from a base level blended scotch to a base level single malt. I picked some Glen Moray which in Scotland we might call a “supermarket malt” which is not super exciting but for just a few more currency units provides a little more smoothness and sophistication which I think is important here given the nakedity of this mixed drink. Of course you can use any damned whisky you like in your Highball and definitely should. A very small amount of ginger syrup takes the edge off that raw scotch flavour as does a swathe of nice fresh lemon zest and a a slice of fresh ginger. While the changes are minor I found the taste more approachable whilst staying fairly true to the original recipe. Kampai!


Improved Highball.

1.75oz / 50ml Japanese or Scottish whisky (see text).

0.25oz/ 7.5 ml ginger syrup

Pour into a well iced Collins glass.

Top up with good quality sparkling water and stir gently.

Garnish with a slice of fresh ginger and a swathe of lemon peel.

Toast the films of Akira Kurosawa (1910-1998).


*Japan has no truck with cloudy ice and nice clear cubes fresh out of the Hoshizaki are found everywhere.

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Valkyrie.

Do, do, do, dooooo, do, doooo…

Valkyrie.

This quick. Busy month. Holidays! Last month Montenegro. Montenegro good! This month more Montenegro! Own recipe. Gin, Montenegro, lemon juice, ginger syrup, bitters. Shake. Up. Yum! See you next month!


Valkyrie.

1.5oz / 45ml Gin of choice (but not flavoured!)

0.75oz / 22ml Amaro Montenegro.

1oz / 30ml fresh lemon juice.

0.5oz / 15ml ginger syrup.

2 dashes orange bitters.

Shake and strain into a chilled champagne coupe. No garnish.

Toast flying Scandi chicks.


 

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Honey Thief.

Bzzzzzzzz.

Honey Thief.

Last month we talked about what makes the perfect summer drink and used the Daisy de Santiago as an example. This time I present my own take on the warm weather drink in the form of the Honey Thief. If you recall our requirements for such a drink are coldness, hydration, simplicity and light floral and herbal flavours. I wanted to use an amaro in this and one of the lightest, summeriest amari is Montenegro; replete with citrus, herbs and spices yet still balanced and easy-going. I combined it with a slightly larger quantity of gin to create a split base for our summery concoction. The choice of gin is yours to make as long as you steer clear of any of the sweeter and/or flavoured varieties. No need to go too pricey either as those subtleties might be lost against the herbal punch of the Montenegro. The latter, I feel I should point out is actually an Italian product and was (re)named to honour Princess Elena of Montenegro who married some Italian dude in 1896. Anyway, base: check. It’s summer so we want some citrus in there and I’m going for lime even though lemon juice would work just as well. Before squeezing cut a nice long strip of the peel off to use as our garnish. We have some sweetness in our base from the Montenegro already so we’ll boost that with some honey syrup. In all my recipes I use a ratio of three parts runny honey to one part very hot water stirred to combine. Not difficult, even on holiday. Now here have some choices depending on whether we are at home or on vacation without access to all our tools. In the former case let’s shake with ice and strain into an iced glass for maximum chillage otherwise feel free to just build in the glass with plenty of ice. The last little trick is one I borrowed from my own Tijuana Tonic and that is to lengthen our drink with Indian tonic instead of soda, the bitterness of which brings us into perfect bitter/sour/sweet balance while adding a little quinine bite. All to be stirred gently together in a tall glass and garnished with our left-over citrus peel.

Imbibe, enjoy and chillax!


Honey Thief.

1.25oz / 37ml gin of choice (see text).

0.75oz / 22ml Amaro Montenegro.

1oz / 30ml fresh lime juice.

0.75oz / 22ml honey syrup (see text).

Shake with ice, strain into an ice filled Collins glass and top up with 2-3oz / 60-90ml tonic water. Stir gently and garnish with a lime twist.

Can also be built in the glass.

Toast 80s Scottish white-boy soulsters, Hipsway.


 

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Daisy de Santiago.

I’m half crazy (from this heat).

 

Daisy de Santiago.

With high summer approaching it is good to have a cracking summer cooler to hand. But what makes one? A good hot weather drink starts cold and stays cold and that that happens at its most chilly when you shake with cubed ice then strain over crushed ice. Your cooler shouldn’t be too strong – although plenty of Tiki ones are – especially if it is for day-time consumption. Hydration being important we want a decent water content but all that ice and relatively light touch on the alcohol are already leaning into that. A nice cooler has light and refreshing ingredients so we should leave our long aged and deeply flavoured spirits and liqueurs on the shelf and reach for light rums, gins and the more fruity/floral/herbal liqueurs. It should also be fairly easy to make, especially as you might be on holiday without fancy tools or a blender. That’s a lot to consider but fear not for I have the perfect summer elixir in hand which comes from Charles H. Baker in 1939 via Martin Cate to our frosty glass.

Charles H. Baker was a globetrotting food and drink writer with a flowery, verbose, conversational style that seemed at least a generation past its sell-by date. Yet there is much to be gleaned from his books (and gleaned we have) at least one of which is handily back in print. In The Gentleman’s Companion: Being an Exotic Drinking Book or Around the World with Jigger, Beaker and Flask gushes about the Daisy de Santiago served to him at Bacardi HQ in Havana, Cuba. Times have changed since then. Let’s break down our summer cooler’s simple name. A daisy is a drink from the sour family of cocktails that is sweetened not with a syrup but with a liqueur. Santiago de Cuba is Cuba’s second city on the south coast and the location of Bacardi’s erstwhile distillery. The Daisy de Santiago doesn’t show up much after WWII and I think we need to credit Martin Cate for its resurrection in his superb 2016 Tiki cocktail book Smuggler’s Cove. Martin adds a little soda water to the shaker while Baker adds it later which is a cunning upgrade in my opinion. What this does is effectively a substitution for blending as the soda provides both the extra aeration and dilution blending provides for the poor blenderless. And as you have no doubt notices that extra dilution and simplicity of construction are two of our key asks in a summer cooler. For those worried about shaking with soda water be assured it is possible with a small amount just be sure to seal and hold the shaker tightly as the effervescence somewhat counteracts the vacuum effect that normally keeps a shaker sealed. He also puts the Chartreuse in the shaker rather than floating it and adds the teaspoon-and-a-half of sugar syrup that Baker calls “optional” but I reckon modern tastes are aligned to that*. You can reduce or skip it if you like things very tart. So far so good. All nicely streamlined and simplified. But then Catey messes with the rum and boy do things get controversial when Martin talks rum, having himself developed a whole new categorisation of rum that some think genius yet others can’t quite get behind. I fall in the latter camp while admiring the effort on an eternally thorny problem**. Cate calls for a “blended lightly aged” rum (type number 2 in his book) which would be anything from Appleton Signature or Mount Gay Eclipse to El Dorado 3 or Diplomatico Blanco. Uh, uh. This needs to be Cuban rum and there is no Cuban rum in Smuggler’s Coves rum categories! Now I understand he is located in the USA where Cuban rum is under stupid embargo but if you are trying to recategorise all the world’s rum you can’t just ignore the existence of one of the very biggest producers that is extremely available worldwide. Bacardi is, incidentally, now a Puerto Rican rum and largely uninteresting (as is their US “Havana Club” FYI). Of course I tried it Cate’s way with some Appleton Signature but to me the best results were with bona fide Cuban rum like Havana Club 3 Anos/Original or, if you are feeling a bit spendier Havana Club 7. For those of you *sigh* without access to real Cuban rum try some Plantation 3 stars or El Dorado 3 but not US “Havana Club”. For the “daisy” component Yellow Chartreuse is called upon and that I fear means it is time for update for the ongoing Chartreuse Crisis. I wrote a couple of years ago that I hoped the shortage would blow over but even here in the “core markets” it is still difficult to find and to boot the price has pretty much doubled. Yikes. On the plus side some alternatives to the real monky spirit have hit the market (as well as the ones I discussed in ‘23) and I’ll likely try some when current stocks are used up. I’ll be sure to let you know what I make of them.

‘Nuff said. Recipe:


Daisy de Santiago.

1.5oz / 45ml Cuban rum (see text).

0.5oz / 15ml Yellow Chartreuse (or alternative).

1.5 tsp Demerarra syrup to taste.

1oz / 30ml fresh lime juice.

1oz / 30ml Soda water.

Shake carefully (with a firm grip) with ice and strain into a double Old Fashioned glass packed full of crushed ice. Garnish with a sprig of mint.

Toast the summertime


*There are also reasons to believe that limes were smaller 80+ years ago and recipes of the time called for “the juice of one lime.” Even today the amount of juice a single lime gives up is quite variable leaving us the need to rebalance older recipes and, indeed, adjust to taste.

**One I largely avoid by recommending specific rums and figuring my readers are smart enough to find similar alternatives as necessary.

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Three American whisky substitutes.

The real great replacement.

Three American whisky substitutes.

Trumpo the Clown is at it again, threatening 50% tariffs on products from the EU. Looks like it’s time we got serious about replacing our American whisky (as discussed recently) with products from friendlier countries. I got off to a bit of a faltering start when one of the promising bottles of Canadian whisky I bought turned out to be bottled and owned by a US company, proving that you need to do your research in advance. I try to pick spirits that are likely to be fairly available to my readers and in this case that’s a wee bit tricky but I reckon at least one of these should be available in your neck of the woods. Without further ado let’s look at this trio of post-American whiskies which, as an added bonus, all hail from countries which are in the upper tier for their respect for international law and human rights.

Jameson Black Barrel.

Let’s get straight out of the gate with my “almost everyone can get their hands on this” pick. And it might be a bit surprising. It certainly surprised me. My first thought for a bourbon replacement was to go Canadian but we run immediately into a couple of problems. As I alluded to above, a disappointing number of Canadian whiskies are US owned so, to save you the research, Seagram’s, Canadian Club and Black Velvet are out. Where I’m at those are by far the three most prevalent north-of-the-border options. Bugger. I plan to dip a bit further into Canada in due course but in the meantime I got a tip-off that there was a bourbon alternative close to home. From Ireland. I was suspicious but gave it a go. Jameson Black Barrel is named for its use of re-charred ex-bourbon barrels and thus closely mimics the bourbon ageing process despite the use of a different mix of grains (aka the “mash bill”). In the US various mixes of corn, wheat and rye are the raw materials whereas Ireland (and Scotland) stick pretty religiously to malted barley. This does not immediately sound ideal but we shall proceed undeterred. We observe a fairly standard looking Jameson bottle but with a nice wood topped cork which is certainly an  upgrade from their entry level whiskies. The black label looks nice and marks it as a part of their “reserve series” (whatever that means) as well as reflecting the use of those charred barrels. A mention of those barrels is found on the back label but there is scant other information besides the frankly disappointing “40% vol”. Meh. For the price, which we’ll get to in a bit, I expect it not to be watered down to the legal minimum. Just sayin’. I turn to the internet in search of more information but find out little more other than that it is a blend of pot still and grain whiskies with no age statement forthcoming. It’s not exactly encouraging, yet things improve considerably once we stop faffing about and actually open the bottle. While there isn’t a great deal happening on the nose it does indeed smell more like a bourbon than your typical Irish whisky (yes, I’m just going to continue to spell it the Scottish and Canadian way) which is good news for our intended use here. The gold colour suggests some age but for all we know it might also be caramel boosted. Talk to us Jameson. Talk. To. Us. When tasted I find it quite pleasant. Rounded and warming with flavours that bounce back and forth across the Atlantic from Cork*** to Kentucky. We have the familiar vanilla and caramel notes of bourbon but there is still a slight yet persistent Irish whiskey (oh, all right, just this once) flavour that I feel must be the barley calling. You know, this might just work. Tried in a few bourbon cocktails the Irishness fades back a little further and the cocktails drink just like they were bourbon based. Does it work as a bourbon sub? Yes, for sure. Is it a superb mixing whisky? Not particularly. It is also on the pricey side for a mixer – which to be fair was likely never Jameson’s intention – at about €37 for 700ml. However it is very widely available and might be the only game in town in some regions. It is also quite enjoyable to drink on it’s own so we certainly get some double duty out of it. So for some it can be a baseline US bourbon replacement. But some of us can – and will – do better.

Millstone rye 92.

Produced by Zuidam distillery which is (barely) in The Netherlands, Millstone Rye is our outlier in this group as it is not widely available. If you are not a BeNeLuxer you could skip this one but I think it gives an insight into what other ryes are out there. Unlike bourbon, rye whisky is free from geographical restrictions and as such there are a few ryes that are made in European countries. I think it is fair to say that Zuidam are a distillery that mainly focusses on jenever and liqueurs but they do like to dabble in a few other spirits. I am a big fan of their rye (rogge in Dutch) jenever so this was a logical place for me to turn to in my rye whisky quest. Production of their rye whisky appears to be tiny as evidenced by the label information. Each bottle is marked with a distillation date and a bottling date the gap between varying from 4 to 9 years from the bottles I’ve seen (my bottle was over 7 years between). This means we are looking at not even a “small batch” but “single barrel” product. And we pay accordingly, for this is not a cheap whisky coming in at about €40 for the 92 proof (46% abv) offering and €60 for the 100 proof (50%) version. Expensive but not outrageous considering the batch sizes and ageing. It comes in a traditional looking clear glass bottle with a perfectly fitting wood and synthetic cork. The label isn’t very sophisticated but is striking enough with the black, red and gold touches. I did prefer their older bottle which was more “modern” with a label that had more information on it* but I have gleaned that data from pictures of the older bottles online. There’s those specific distillation and bottling dates (happily still present on the newer labels) and mentions of the 100% locally produced rye mash bill milled by Dutch windmills, small copper pot still distillation and maturation in new American** oak. Let’s crack it! In the glass we observe a rich coppery-edging-into-bronze spirit which releases a massive spicy hit of rye when sniffed. The rye-forward punch carries through in the flavour. Intensely, intensely ryey but because of that other notes are somewhat subdued. This is very different from the American ryes we are familiar with and takes some getting used to. Considering the seven years in oak it feels less rounded and even a little thinner than I expected and while I enjoyed it well enough I felt it lacked complexity as a sipping whisky. But we are talking about a spirit from single barrel and must treat it as such. Without blending from multiple barrels we are getting a whisky that will inevitably have some variation between bottlings. However, we are here to evaluate its suitability as a mixing rye and this is where things get very interesting. Millstone’s rye flavours shoulder their way to the front in the classic cocktails I tried (Manhattan and Boulevardier) in the most delightful way. They were simply transformed into delicious rye delivery devices. In that sense we are getting our value for money here that we are not as a sipping whisky in my opinion. Clearly it is not for everyone but if, like me, you are a lover of such classics grab yourself a bottle of Millstone Rye 92 if you have the chance. In terms of the wider world of ryes I think this proves there are exciting European alternatives to be discovered.

Lot 40 Canadian Rye.

I few weeks ago I used some Lot 40 – a properly Canadian rye – in my Fermi Paradox and while at the time I said I’d not review it I’ve decided to include it here as it seems to be a little more widely available than I first thought. Lot 40 is Canadian made whisky with majority French owners (Pernod-Ricard) so we are on safe ground with this one. It’s a stable-mate of the J.P Wiser brand of Canadian whiskies which we might get to in future. I love the bottle; tall, straight sided with a old line diagram of a still screen printed directly on the bottle and a diagonal paper label pasted on top. Classy. We have parts of that label in dark green which in the US has become pretty much the standard colour code for rye whisky. It is a clear bottle which I like because you can see the colour of the contents before you buy it. All three of our bottles here are clear and I applaud each of those the distilleries on their transparency. Again there is a nice wood topped cork that fits well. We see that it is small batch copper pot distilled from 100% rye and aged in new oak barrels for an indeterminate time (although I’ve read rumours of 6-8 years) before being bottled at an acceptable, if a touch light, 43%. In the glass we note a bright coppery hue that would be consistent with the rumoured age. The smell is much more reminiscent of a typical American rye (George Dickel for example) than I expected and indeed if I did not know better I might think this to be an American rye. The flavour continues in that vein too. Spicy, rounded, hints of wood and honey and a nice lingering finish. It is well balanced being dry but not bitter and I find myself really enjoying this delightful rye. It’s very familiar to the rye drinker and not the slap in the chops that our Dutch rye delivered. I’d be happy to sip on this of an evening but that is not why we are here is it? The cocktails! And, yes, and as by now you might have guessed it does the job very well indeed. Exactly what you’d expect from an American mixing rye without the punch through that Millstone delivers. Given that, it also has a second string to its bow. For I am of the opinion that almost any cocktail which uses bourbon as a base is even better with rye. If you agree with that then Lot 40 can be a bourbon replacement too in which case it certainly surpasses Jameson Black barrel for potentially a few less non-dollars. Ka-ching. The price and availability are variable but I was able to find a few online sources with prices broadly in line with comparable American ryes (I paid €36 for 700ml). As such it is pretty tempting to call “mission accomplished” but we’d better leave such thoughts to the:

Conclusion.

So we’ve tried our trio and found some interesting options which I hope might help the like-minded amongst you. I shall further pursue the quest whilst current chaotic conditions continue and post my findings as and when. In the interim I have predictably stocked up on the Lot 40 and keep a beady eye open for Millstone ryes on discount. The Jameson is there as a backup for those short of options. It would be nice to think some non-US distillers might consider creating new whiskies to fill this void but with 4+ years lead times we cannot hope to see anything very soon but of course we can hope that the situation in the USA might not last that long.

Note to my American readers.

I very much hope you understand that my reasons for my avoidance of US products come not from any hatred of you or your country. Quite the opposite in fact, as I myself am “half Americian” by marriage, have family there and have enjoyed more trips to the USA than I can count. On the other hand it should be understood that people in other countries dislike being threatened, lied about and disrespected by the current administration just as much as Americans do. A majority of those I talk with in the Netherlands have been actively avoiding US products in the last few months – and without any encouragement from me! If America puts its house in order and fully respects other nations and its own residents I will be first in line to buy a bottle of Wild Turkey 101, Peychaud’s bitters or George Dickel rye. Until then, as you can see, there are plenty of other options to plug the gap. I doubt those who find my stance objectionable are very numerous within my readership but if you find yourself offended please comfort yourself with the knowledge that I am simply exercising my free speech and freedom of choice as a consumer – values which I know are very important to you. Thank you for your attention on this matter.


*Having gone from describing production details to tasting notes. Which is disappointing as I can taste the contents by simply opening the bottle!

**Yeah, not much we can do about that as it happened years ago!

***It is distilled in their Midleton distillery rather than Dublin.

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Too Soon/Not Too Soon.

Not too soon at all.

Too Soon/Not Too Soon.

Last month we looked at a creation of mine called The Fermi Paradox which used Cynar as its main bitter component. I’d like to think you might already have been in possession of this lovely Italian ingredient or are considering buying some. In either case, perhaps you are wondering what else you can do with it? One of the very best uses of Cynar is in Sam Ross’s strangely named Too Soon which first appeared in Sasha Petraske’s posthumous Regarding Cocktails in 2016 (an absolutely indispensable cocktail book in my opinion). It is an example of what I call a “hybrid” cocktail having elements of both the sour and aromatic styles although you could also argue that it is simply a sour with a split base of gin and Cynar. Whatevers. The interesting aspect of the Too Soon is the somewhat unusual technique of shaking with thin slices of fruit in the shaker. This has the effect of adding a little bit of juice as well as some oil from the peel into the drink which in turn brighten the whole affair. Subtle but essential. It is an absolutely sublime drink in my view but the down-side is that makes an unholy mess in your shaker. But it’s worth it. Sam used two thin slices of orange to mess up his shaker but, as tasty as that is, I decided to defile mine with blood orange slices because a) they are in season and b) I reckon it’s even tastier with their inclusion. The change is far too slight to warrant a completely new name but I chucked a “not” on the front to acknowledge my tweak and to allow me to post a toastlink to one of my favourite songs. I’ve included both recipes below despite the small difference but I urge you to use the blood orange version while those wonderful russet dusted orbs of deliciosity are still in season. Yum.


Too Soon.

1oz / 30ml gin (nothing fancy required).

1oz / 30ml Cynar (accept no substitutes).

0.75oz / 22ml fresh lemon juice.

0.5oz / 15ml simple syrup.

2 thin slices of orange (from the widest part of the fruit).

Shake well with ice and double strain into a chilled Champagne coupé.


Not Too Soon.

1oz / 30ml gin (nothing fancy required).

1oz / 30ml Cynar (accept no substitutes).

0.75oz / 22ml fresh lemon juice.

0.5oz / 15ml simple syrup.

2 thin slices of blood orange (from the widest part of the fruit).

Shake well with ice and double strain into a chilled Champagne coupé.

Toast Throwing Muses.


 

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