The Bramble.

Bramblin’ man.

The Bramble.

One of a tiny number of classic drinks to come out of The Dark Ages, the Bramble was created in the mid 1980s by legendary British bartender Dick Bradsell. Sadly we lost Dick to cancer last year but his spirit will live on in the many drinks he created such as the Espresso Martini, The Treacle and this his most famous creation. The Bramble is quite a simple drink but a little attention to detail makes it seem quite special. The heart of the Bramble is a humble gin sour which is augmented with some crushed ice, a berry liqueur float and a garnish of brambles (otherwise known as blackberries). The correct float is crème de mûre, a French blackberry liqueur but you could certainly use other berry based liqueurs if you wished. For example I’m quite happy using bramen jenever, crème de cassis or even Chambord. Ideally you should match the garnish to the liqueur. The trick to the Bramble is to fill a glass past the brim with finely crushed ice. Shake your simple gin sour with cubed ice and strain into the glass and then carefully drizzle the berry liqueur over the top whence it will bleed down through the crushed ice rather beautifully. Pop your fresh berry or berries on top and add a couple of sipping straws to complete. Tasty, easy but visually impressive; what’s not to like?


The Bramble.

First fill tulip or DOF glass with as much crushed ice as you can cram in.

Then shake with cubed ice:

2oz / 60ml London dry gin

0.75oz / 22.5ml fresh lemon juice

0.5oz / 15ml syrup simple (1:1). A touch more if you prefer.

Strain into the prepared glass.

Drizzle 0.75oz / 22.5ml of crème de mûre (or other berry liqueur) over the top in a circular motion.

Serve with a short straw and garnish with appropriate berries.

Toast Dick Bradsell (1959 – 2016).


 

 

 

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Bitters: down the rabbit-hole?

This bitter be good…

Bitters.

Look, we need to talk. It’s a difficult conversation I’ve been putting off for too long but I think we both know it’s time to get it out in the open. Yep, it’s time to talk about bitters. When it comes to bitters it’s all to easy to go down the rabbit-hole but hopefully we can have an adult conversation here without that happening so let’s give it a go…

What are bitters?

These little bottles show up relatively often in cocktail recipes. Why? What do they do and where did they come from? It might seem strange to put something bitter in a drink but it’s important to remember that, as always in cocktails, it’s part of a balancing act. Bitter combined with sweet play a similar trick on us to the more common sweet/sour combination of, say, a Daiquiri – the balance is pleasing to our palate. Think of chocolate; cocoa on its own is very bitter but with the addition of sugar – well I needn’t go on right? But I will anyway. We use them in tiny amounts which we call dashes. The term dash is a bit vague – a solid flick of the wrist is considered a “dash” – and it’s tempting for manufacturers to enlarge the hole in the cap (hello Angostura and Bitter Truth!) so care needs to be taken. A dash is about six drops or just short of 1ml. If you want to test your dashing skills you should fill a teaspoon in about six or seven dashes. If you feel you need more consistency you can invest in a dasher bottle (as seen at either end of the picture above) or use an eye-dropper or pipette.

Like so much in the world of alcoholic drinks, bitters started out as medicine. Or at least an attempt at medicine. It seems that in the past stomach complaints were rife – my theory being that a lack of knowledge of hygiene and refrigeration might have been a major factor. Soaking various dried roots, barks, herbs and spices in alcohol to extract their stomach settling properties was one attempt at a cure that accidentally resulted in the creation of many of the staples of cocktail assembly today. While amari and liqueurs mitigated the inherent bitterness of all those botanicals with the addition of sugar and a little extra dilution, cocktail bitters remained in their original concentrated form making them more stable and portable but also rather unpalatable on their own. As a result bitters would be mixed with some brandy, whisky or rum, a spoonful of sugar and a little water or ice. Hang on – isn’t that the recipe for an Old Fashioned? Bingo! Pretty soon people were taking their medicine recreationally and the rest is history.

In the golden age of cocktails (1865 – 1920) there appear to have been a wide range of aromatic bitters to choose from with Abbot’s and Boker’s (aka Bogart’s) being most popular judging by old recipe books. American prohibition killed the vast majority of those off and the remainder of the 20th century was something of a bitters wilderness with little more than Angostura and Peychaud’s being widely available. Orange bitters, once called for in a wide range of cocktails were practically impossible to find. I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that just twenty years ago you could only get your hands on two or three different bitters without major difficulty but now you can find upwards of 200. So what happened? Well the internet, the cocktail renaissance and hipsters all happened – more or less in that order. While it’s great that bitters are easily available again it’s not all good news. The problem with bitters is that they’ve become something of a monster. They’re too often used to exclusivise recipes taking them out of reach of the home mixer. Or they’re used to tart up a cocktail menu. Or they’re just used to show off. Don’t fall into – or for – these traps and use bitters only as needed as an integral part of the drink. Think of them as your salt and pepper, fine tuning the balance of a drink or perhaps adding an extra dimension. If you invent a recipe try it with and without bitters. Ask yourself; are the bitters really adding anything material? If not, leave them out. Whatever you do, please don’t turn into a bitters bullshitter.

While I try to keep the recipes on this site from including exotic bitters I also happen to enjoy tinkering with flavours and making my own bitters and tinctures. If that sounds like that might be your thing too you can take the red pill and I’ll take you there in a future article but for the rest of you who just want to make some good drinks, take the blue pill and proceed as follows:

Angostura bitters. The one and only (well actually that’s not quite true) Angostura are the by far the most successful example of what we call “aromatic bitters”. The first bitters you should buy and the only bitters you should never be without. Deep, powerful, spicy, bitter and with the most ridiculous label ever, Ango rule the roost. You should be able to get them at any booze shop and, in some countries, in your supermarket. Anywhere a dash of bitters is called for without specifying which you can be assured Angostura is the right choice. You should be aware that Angostura made the hole in the top a bit bigger about 10 years back (it boosted sales by 30%) so older recipes may require a lighter touch. Anything that calls itself “aromatic bitters” will to some extent be interchangeable with Angostura. Bartenders still shudder in horror at the memory of the 2009 Angostura shortage, also known as the Angopocalypse.

Orange bitters. Happily available again, orange bitters should be your second purchase. There is no definitive choice with many bars using a mixture of two brands and the arguments about which brand or mix is best will continue but handily enough Angostura orange bitters are pretty good if a bit sweet. They have a bit more spice to them than more conventional orange bitters such as Fee’s or Bitter Truth. However Regan’s orange bitters are, in my view, the best all-rounder.

Peychaud’s bitters. Aniseedy, floral and bright red, you’ll need these peculiar fellows if you want to make a Sazerac – and who wouldn’t? They’re not used in too much else but they can put a bit of life in an otherwise bland drink. If you’re really not a Sazeracker you can probably skip these.

Finally, it would be remiss of me not to point out that The Bitter Truth – a relatively new bitters superpower from Germany – make a great sampler pack of their range which gives the beginner a great introduction to cocktail bitters. They also make great bitters in general, although I find their orange bitters a bit dull and I’d rather have seen their superb lemon bitters in the kit instead. You get aromatic, orange, celery, creole (think Peychaud’s) and Jerry Thomas’ own decanter bitters (which I think is an attempt to recreate Boker’s and is pretty damn good). In other words your bitters needs are pretty much covered in one purchase.

One of these would be a great place to start.

 

 

 

 

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Powder Monkey + tea infused rum.

Monkey magic!

Powder Monkey + tea rum.

In the days of sail it was quickly discovered that storing large quantities of gunpowder next to the guns on the upper decks of your warship was a bad idea (hint: ka-boom!). A much better idea was to store the gunpowder below the waterline out of reach (mostly) of enemy fire next to the rum and other valuables. In a battle this necessitated the fetching of smaller quantities of powder to the guns in a sort of early just-in-time system. This fetcher needed to be small (ships were pretty cramped) and fast. Yep, you needed a child. And this poor child was called a powder monkey. Which is, of course, an excellent name for a cocktail. Often I start with the name and kind of work backwards from there and this is one of those cases. My next thought was to infuse some rum (well, duh) with some of that super smoky gunpowder tea. This was going great until I discovered that I had my teas all mixed up. The smoky tea I had been thinking of was actually lapsang souchong so it was back to the tea shop for me. Now Lapsang Souchong Monkey didn’t have quite the same ring to it so I stuck with plan A and hoped no-one would notice. Luckily my mistake worked out for the best. While the gunpowder infused rum was quite pleasant and the lapsang souchong rum was very tasty, if a bit over the top, a combination of the two was right in the Goldilocks zone. Lapsang souchong has the lovely smokiness I was after but it lacks the bitterness of other teas and the gunpowder tea restored the balance beautifully. Huzzah! Given how good this was already I didn’t see much point in drowning it in other ingredients so the Old Fashioned treatment seemed to be in order. With appropriate twists of course. But first, the tea infused rum. Throw a small pinch of really good lapsang souchong leaf tea and the same of gunpowder tea* into two ounces (60ml) of rum and let it sit for more than an hour but less than two. Stir it once or twice for good measure and then strain it through a fine mesh strainer. I’ve not fully scaled it up yet but I’d estimate this to be about five level teaspoons of tea (2.5 of each type) per 700ml bottle of rum if you want to make it in bulk. Again, remember that tea infuses much more quickly than other substances so about 90 minutes is long enough. Use a good rum but nothing too high end. I’ve found Havana Club 7 year old to be quite receptive. A navy style rum is tempting here but might well be a little too sweet. For the same reason we’ll go easy on the sugar syrup – just shy of a teaspoon of 1:1 syrup (I like a demerara syrup here). I used a homemade pimento (aka allspice) bitters but you could use Dale DeGroff’s pimento bitters or try something more standard such as good old Angostura. A good swathe of orange peel and the Old Fashioned treatment is all that is required to set your Powder Monkey off.

I wonder if this would work with some tea infused Monkey Shoulder whisky or Monkey 47 gin instead of rum? Watch this space…


Powder Monkey.

2 oz / 60ml lapsang souchong and gunpowder infused rum – see text*.

1 scant teaspoon (3.5-4ml) of simple syrup (1:1)

1 dash pimento bitters (or another aromatic bitters such as Angostura).

Stir with ice and strain into a DOF glass containing a large block of clear ice.

Add a good long orange twist (don’t be tempted to skip this as it makes a big difference).

Toast powder monkeys – and I thought delivering newspapers in the rain was a shitty job.


* As usual I urge you to experiment with other teas. Please feel free to report back in the comments if you discover any other killer combos.

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Honi Honi.

Honi Honi – how you thrill me, a-ha.

Honi Honi.

The Honi Honi is the forgotten little brother of the Mai Tai that uses bourbon instead of rum. Trader Vic was probably just catering to dyed-in-the-wool bourbon drinkers when he came up with the Honi Honi (which apparently means “kiss kiss”) but it doesn’t seem to be a drink that really caught on. I can see why not. It just doesn’t sound like a great idea – but bear with me here. In recent years there has been much renewed interest in the original Mai Tai with a great deal of discussion on which rums to use to get either the most authentic – or just the tastiest – result. You know, at this point you might want to re-read my Mai Tai article… …OK, welcome back. Anyway, the largely forgotten Honi Honi never had the luxury of the same treatment. That seems wrong. Recently I’ve been thinking that it’s strange that we think nothing of blending a number of different rums in a Tiki drink to get exactly the balance of flavours we want but we never think to do the same with, say, whisky. You can see where I’m going with this, right? All the Honi Honi recipes simply call for two ounces of “bourbon”. That sounds a bit vague to me so I ran a few experiments using different bourbons. I soon discovered here was little benefit in using similar bourbons but I hit pay dirt combining the super smooth Gentleman Jack with the powerful and spicy Wild Turkey 101. With an ounce each of these two the Honi Honi just snaps right into focus – but as with the Mai Tai I do encourage further experimentation. With the right attention to detail the Honi Honi need no longer be the poor sibling of the Mai Tai.


Honi Honi.

1oz / 30ml Wild Turkey 101*.

1oz / 30ml Gentleman Jack*.

1oz / 30ml fresh lime juice.

1oz / 30ml Mai Tai mix. (2:1:1 mix of curacao: rich simple syrup: orgeat).

Shake hard with about half a shaker of crushed ice. Pour, unstrained, into a DOF glass.

The usual Mai Tai garnish of a lime shell and mint sprig is a bit more optional in this version.

Toast The Trader – yet again.


*Feel free to try other bourbons and ryes but I suggest similar spicy/smooth combinations at least as a starting point.

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Americano / Milano-Torino.

The right Americano.

Americano / Milano-Torino.

Not to be confused with the warm drink (a perfectly good espresso completely ruined by the addition of hot water*), the Americano is a mixed drink that has a difficult time of things. Like its namesake it’s all too easy to see as a watered down Negroni and its spiritlessness can have the effect of leaving it out of much cocktail discourse. But, make no mistake, the Americano is a really rather superb drink. We don’t doubt that Count Negroni’s substitution of gin for soda water was a genius move but there are times when a Negroni is simply too much. The Negroni is a drink that repairs the world after a difficult day and sets one up for a relaxing evening or a good meal but the Americano – despite the similar formula – is almost the opposite: The Americano will pick you up and put a spring in your stride making it the perfect drink for when you still have things you need to do. As such it makes the ideal lunch drink being refreshing, appetizing and relatively light in alcohol. Indeed, that is precisely its role in Italian culture.

Originally created at Gaspare Campari’s cafe in the 1860s, the Americano is almost as old as its key ingredient although the name itself is not. For the first half of its life it was known simply as the Milano-Torino after the cities of origin of the ingredients. Legend has it that it was renamed during prohibition to reflect its popularity with thirsty American tourists. While I’m no linguist, I suspect there is also a bit of a play on words going on there too with amer/amaro being French/Italian for “bitter”.

The Americano should be served in a tall glass for two reasons: To preserve the fizz and to avoid the assumption that it is just a Negroni Lite™. There is some variation in Americano recipes, perhaps unsurprising for such an ancient drink, but the general consensus is for equal proportions of Campari, Italian vermouth and soda water – and how we love equal proportions, right? This being established the next question is exactly how much of those ingredients to pour. To me that depends on the time of day. For lunch an ounce and a half of each is plenty, with perhaps a little extra soda water. In the evening a strict 2/2/2 pour is de rigeur or should that be di rigore? Either way the Americano is simplicity itself to prepare requiring just a tall glass full of ice, a slice of orange, three commonplace ingredients and the gentlest of stirs. The Americano opens up the flavours in the Campari and vermouth in a way that the gin-soaked Negroni simply can’t. And, thinking about it, that makes perfect sense. We add add a little water to whisky or even gin to “open it up” and taste the flavours more fully and exactly the same principle applies here: We experience the full complexity of the Campari; bitter orange, rhubarb, gentian and the mild sweetness and botanicals of the vermouth. Magnifico!


Americano.

2oz / 60ml Campari.

2oz / 60ml Italian vermouth (I like to use an ounce each of Punt e Mes and Dolin).

2oz / 60ml soda water.

Pour into a Collins glass filled with ice and stir very gently to combine. Add a slice or twist of orange. I serve without a straw or stick to prevent the drinker bludgeoning the fizz out of it.

Toast Gaspare Campari, creator of both Campari and the Milano-Torino/Americano.


Note: For a lunch Americano I suggest 1.5oz / 45ml each of Campari and vermouth and 2-3oz / 60-90ml of soda.

*I’m a coffee snob as well as a cocktail snob.

 

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Batavia Swizzle + arak

Swizzlin’ time again.

Batavia Swizzle.

It’s swizzling time again folks but this time we’re transplanting this Caribbean classic all the way across the world to make an “East Indies” version. Yes, today our base spirit will be Batavia Arak [sound of needle scratching across record]. OK then, let’s back up a little bit. Arrack/arak/arac is a bit of a minefield. First there is a Middle Eastern spirit called arak or araq that is an anise based drink and thus related to raki, ouzo, sambuca and pastis. But we’re not interested in that one right now. There are also other araks scattered across the Indian Ocean area that are completely different from the Middle Eastern variety – and each other. The spellings are all over the place and don’t really help us much either. Before we get totally tied in knots let’s just focus on the one we need: Batavia Arak from Indonesia (Batavia being the old colonial name for Jakarta). Batavia Arak is more of a rum cousin than any of the above, being made from molasses, but with a fermented red rice starter. It’s tasty stuff with a kind of beguiling funky sweetness. Although it can be hard to find it’s well worth seeking out. The one I can find is the superbly mixable Arac Java Baru imported to Amsterdam by A. van Wees – them wot make the Best Bitters in the World. Since we find ourselves out East we should test the “what grows together goes together” mantra that so rarely lets us down. Cinnamon, lime and the wonderfully aromatic kaffir lime leaves would be a good start. Maybe a little ginger? And some Peruvian bitters. Hey, rules are made to be broken, right? At the core we’re just using the basic 2 strong, 1 sour, 1 sweet formula here but adding in some extra flavours along the way, but no so much as to overpower the personality of the arac. This one is a great summer drink and I’m breaking it out now in a desperate effort to bring about an (East) Indian summer. No luck with that so far…


Batavia Swizzle.

2oz / 60ml Indonesian arak/arac (I used Arac Java Baru).

1oz / 30ml fresh lime juice.

1oz / 30ml cinnamon syrup†.

2 dashes Amargo Chuncho* (or another aromatic) bitters.

2 or 3 kaffir lime leaves (from a Thai or Chinese grocery).

Swizzle with crushed ice and garnish with a piece of ginger and a kaffir lime leaf.

Toast the arak distillers of Indonesia. Nice work guys!


† or just under if using my cinnamon syrup recipe.

*I like to float a couple more dashes of Chuncho on top as it is quite a mild bitter.

Note: Outside of the Netherlands you might find the stronger Van Oosten Batavia-Arrack easier to find.

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Goodnight Vienna.

It means nothing to me.

Goodnight Vienna.

Does there always have to be a story? Nah. Here’s a tasty cocktail that I named Goodnight Vienna. It’s a sort of stirred sister to the Solipsist. End of.


Goodnight Vienna.

1.25oz / 37.5ml mezcal (of good quality – no worm).

0.75oz / 22.5ml Grand Marnier (use lesser orange liqueurs at your peril in this one).

0.5oz / 15ml Punt e Mes.

0.25oz / 7.5ml Amaro Ramazzotti (Averna would also work well).

Stir with ice and strain into a chilled champagne coupé.

Garnish with an orange twist.

Toast Ultravox.


 

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Fake Empire.

Half awake.

Fake Empire.

My favourite band – The National – release their new album Sleep Well Beast today and I thought I’d mark the occasion the only way I know how to: by creating a cocktail. I took my inspiration from the first verse of Fake Empire, opening track of their (superb) 2007 album Boxer.

Stay out super late tonight

picking apples, making pies.

Put a little something in our lemonade

and take it with us.

So I’m thinking apples, lemons, cinnamon and, of course, the national drink* of the USA, bourbon. Those are flavours that really love each other so our task is actually pretty easy. For bonus points let’s double down on the apples and use some apple brandy too. Now if you’re in the US that means applejack but if you’re in Europe calvados will be far more available. In either case use a decent aged variety. The apple juice should be the unfiltered cloudy type – known as apple cider in the US. We’ll need some sweetness to counter the lemon juice so let’s use a cinnamon syrup and kill two birds with one stone. Just in case it wasn’t clear, the cinnamon is there to represent the “pies”.


Fake Empire.

1.5oz / 45ml bourbon of choice.

1oz / 30ml apple brandy such as applejack or calvados.

1oz / 30ml fresh lemon juice.

1oz / 30ml cloudy apple juice.

0.75oz / 22.5ml cinnamon syrup.

Shake with ice and strain into a DOF glass containing a diamond slipper, erm, I mean a big block of clear ice.

Toast The National.


*See what I did there?

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The Revolver + flamed orange peel.

You say you want a revolution…

The Revolver.

Created by Joe Santer of Bourbon and Branch, the Revolver is a rather interesting drink. On paper it hardly looks revolutionary – just a coffee tweaked Old Fashioned. However made properly, the Revolver is a revelation. One of those rare drinks that is much more than the sum of its parts, the Revolver is deep, rich, spicy and intense. It really doesn’t taste like a coffee flavoured bourbon at all. Thank goodness. The fact that you can get such complexity from three basic ingredients is really rather surprising. I can’t quite ascertain whether the Revolver is considered a modern classic or not (I suspect not) but it certainly should be. It also proves that there are still new discoveries to be made and they need not be overly complicated. We talked recently about creating infinity bottles and I can think of few better uses of a carefully balanced home blended bourbon than this. Otherwise a rye-forward spicy bourbon works best – although I see no reason not to use a rye whisky if you have any.

Flamed orange peel.

The Revolver is a cocktail that benefits from a flamed orange peel garnish. Actually it’s more of a bar trick that also works as a garnish. It looks impressive but is extremely simple to do (and extremely difficult to photograph as Mrs Proof and I found out to our amusement). Cut a small disc from the edge of a fresh orange with a sharp knife. Make sure not to cut it too thin – well into the pith but not into the flesh itself. Hold said disc between thumb and forefinger over the prepared cocktail. Hold a lit match (or lighter) to the centre of the disc and squeeze sharply. Oils from the orange peel will be squirted through the flame and will ignite briefly (but impressively) before landing on the drink. The peel can then be wiped along the rim of the glass and discarded, dropped into the glass, or both. Please practice this  few times before trying it in front of guests and do so with due care and attention. I’m not much of a video guy so here’s a quick demo from someone who is.


The Revolver.

2oz / 60ml high rye bourbon (eg. Wild Turkey 101, Bulleit bourbon or Four Roses Single Barrel).

0.5oz / 15ml coffee liqueur (I used Kahlua).

2 dashes orange bitters (I used Regans).

Stir with ice and strain into a chilled champagne coupé.

Garnish with a flamed orange peel (see above).

Toast Joe Santer, creator of The Revolver.


 

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The Solipsist

Going solo.

The Solipsist.

When mixing with wonderful, wonderful mezcal we need to tread carefully. It’s a spirit that can take over a drink and it pays to use a little less of it than you would of a milder spirit. I’ve found that there is something of a synergy between mezcal and Grand Marnier and given that the latter weighs in at 40% ABV I thought it might take up the slack. So if we consider the mixture of 3 parts mezcal to 1 part Grand Marnier our “base” what shall we make? A sour, a sour! I hear your cry. Very well dear friends, a sour it shall be. Lime juice then? Perhaps, if a little too obvious, but lemon juice goes particularly well with Grand Marnier. So, what about the sweet component? Yes, that’s right; we already have some sweetness from the Grand Marnier. Just a little then, but what? Honey goes so well with lemon we’ll need to give that first refusal. Of course we shake a sour but are we going to serve this one up or on the rocks? I have the sense that this one wants to be served up so let’s go with that. Looks like we got us a drink:


The Solipsist.

1.5oz / 45ml mezcal (good quality, no worm).

0.5oz / 15ml Grand Marnier.

1oz / 30ml fresh lemon juice.

0.5oz / 15ml rich honey syrup (3:1).

Shake with ice and strain into a chilled champagne coupé.

Lemon garnish (optional).

Toast George Berkeley (1685 – 1753).


 

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