ALSO BY ROBERT SIMONSON
The Old-Fashioned: The World’s First Classic Cocktail, with Recipes and Lore
A Proper Drink: How a Band of Bartenders Saved the Civilized Drinking World
Copyright © 2017 by Robert Simonson
Photographs copyright © 2017 by Colin Price
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ten Speed Press, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
www.crownpublishing.com
www.tenspeed.com
Ten Speed Press and the Ten Speed Press colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Portions of the section on the Gibson first appeared, in slightly different form, in Grub Street.
Portions of the sections on the Mint Julep and Sidecar first appeared, in slightly different form, in Punch.
Portions of the section on the Daiquiri first appeared, in slightly different form, in Saveur.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the publisher.
Hardcover ISBN 9780399578540
Ebook ISBN 9780399578557
Cover design by George Carpenter
Cover illustration by Matthew Allen
Drink styling by Emily Caneer
Prop styling by Glenn Jenkins
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Contents
Introduction
Old-Fashioned Cocktails
Improved Cocktails
Sours
Highballs
Other Cocktails
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Index
Drinks
OLD-FASHIONED COCKTAILS
Old-Fashioned Whiskey Cocktail
Trinidad Old-Fashioned
Eau Claire Old-Fashioned
IMPROVED COCKTAILS
Martini
Obituary Cocktail
Vesper
Japanese Cocktail
Hanky Panky
Alaska
Kangaroo
Meaghan Dorman’s Gibson
Chrysanthemum
Manhattan
Red Hook
Star
Little Italy
Palmetto
Rob Roy
Nick Strangeway’s Rob Roy
Bobby Burns
Revolver
Fair Harvard
Negroni
White Negroni
Cynar Negroni
Boulevardier
Old Pal
Old Gal
Remember the Alimony
La Perla
Black Rock Chiller
SOURS
Tom Collins
Gin Fizz
Bee’s Knees
The Business
Cosmonaut
Whiskey Sour
Gold Rush
Brown Derby
Blinker
Daiquiri
Ti’ Punch
Sidecar
Joaquín Simó’s Sidecar
Margarita
Tommy’s Margarita
Brandy Fix
Caipirinha
Jackson Cannon’s Jack Rose
HIGHBALLS
Gin and Tonic
Cuba Libre
Fumata Bianca
Dark ’n’ Stormy
Moscow Mule
Mamie Taylor
Harvey Wallbanger
OTHER COCKTAILS
Mint Julep
Grasshopper
Champagne Cocktail
Brandy Alexander
White Russian
Introduction
You need three ingredients for a cocktail. Vodka and Mountain Dew is an emergency.
—PEGGY OLSON, Mad Men
Three—it’s a magic number.
We see in three dimensions. Three strikes, you’re out. Three-pointers are the highlight of any basketball game. Baby makes three. Reading, writing, and ’rithmatic makes an education. Three is a hat trick. Three’s a charm. Ready, set, go. One, two, three: take the picture. Nobody counts to two. Nobody counts to four. Three makes magic.
The triangle is the most stable of shapes, so it comes as no surprise, then, that the three-ingredient cocktail is the most sturdy and lasting of cocktail constructions. One ingredient, you’ve got a nice dram. Two, you’ve got a highball. Get three things to marry together, you’ve likely got a cocktail on your hands. More than three and you’ve got a more complicated cocktail, not necessarily a better one.
Since the cocktail renaissance began around the turn of the twenty-first century, detractors have been complaining that too many of the new drinks being turned out by mixologists contain a surfeit of ingredients. “So what?” I often thought. If it leads to deliciousness, who cares if they threw in the kitchen sink and a pair of cufflinks?
Except, those detractors had a point. Complexity may lead to the flattery of the senses, but not to imitation. If the Manhattan had eight ingredients, nobody would be making it today—at least, not at home and probably not at many bars. There is practicality in the three-ingredient cocktail. Because you don’t need a grocery cart when shopping for its fixin’s at the liquor store, if it’s tasty, it will catch on. Whiskey, vermouth, bitters? You got this.
There’s also honesty in the three-ingredient cocktail. When you get past five ingredients in a drink, the further additives are often there, not to add to what’s already present in the glass, but to correct what’s still lacking in the mixture. If you spot a drink on a menu that has seven or eight things in it, chances are two of those are Band-Aids, attempting to mend a broken cocktail. That’s not possible with a trio. There are no obfuscating ingredients the purpose of which might be to cloud the drinker’s mind and mask some innate unsoundness of the drink. You can clearly taste and adjudge every component. Every player must be strong. As bartender Audrey Saunders once said, “The three-ingredient cocktail doesn’t lie.”
Finally, the three-ingredient cocktail has history on its side. Every time the cocktail world has stirred up dust within the great culture, it’s because some three-legged liquid creature has ventured, all big-footed, onto the world’s Main Street: the Whiskey Cocktail, Mint Julep, Manhattan, Martini, Tom Collins, Whiskey Sour, Daiquiri, Margarita, Moscow Mule, Negroni, and Harvey Wallbanger—all three-ingredient game-changers. Triumphal triptych cocktails don’t provoke arguments about whether they’re good or not; they start arguments about the best way to make them well. It’s taken as an article of faith that they’re good.
This is all a lot of words to justify something that doesn’t really need justifying. Most everyone agrees there is some innate virtue in simplicity, whatever field of endeavor you’re talking about. If you don’t even agree to that, that’s fine—contrary away. I’m the first to admit, in terms of cocktails, that it’s possible to make a fairly solid argument for any style or method you choose to get behind. Think more is more? A lot of tiki drink aficionados would agree with you. Think that sous vide method brings out the flavor more strongly? Science has a case to make. I grant you all your points.
But this remains: these drinks are easy to make (point one), while none of them read on the tongue as simple-minded creations (point two), and they all taste good (point three). Give me an argument against that.
People often ask me what cocktails I make when I drink at home. The answer is, by and large, the ones included in these pages, the classics: Old-Fashioned, Manhattan, Daiquiri, Negroni, and so on. I turn to them regularly because they are delicious, dependable, and easy to prepare, and I almost always have the ingredients on hand. And if that is the situation for me, there’s no reason it can’t be the same with anyone readin
g this sentence. That was one reason for my writing this book. Another is that many of the cocktail books that have come out in recent years have been a little, well, fussy. Those volumes, put out by estimable bars and bartenders, all have something to offer. But perhaps this book can serve as an alternative.
While most of the cocktails that follow are well established and were invented decades ago, there are a number of new drinks. Finding those was more difficult, simply because hitting upon a solid, three-ingredient cocktail today is a tall order; most of the obvious formulae were laid down long ago. Still, I found a few worthy specimens of recent vintage.
Enough preamble—let’s move on to the drinks—with some history and opinion woven through.
A Note on the Recipes
Most three-ingredient drinks can be divided into two camps: (1) spirit, sweetener, bitters; and (2) spirit, sweetener, citrus—better known as “sours.” The former are, generally speaking, the stiff customers; the latter, the piquant refreshers.
For the purposes of this book, we’ve divided the recipes into five sections: Old-Fashioned Cocktails, based on the ur-cocktail formula from the nineteenth century of spirit, bitters, and sugar; “Improved Cocktails,” an old term from the 1800s that refers to drinks that have been enhanced in one way or another by additional ingredients; Sours (see above); Highballs, for drinks that are served long and light; and Other Cocktails, a catchall category for all drinks that don’t fit under the other four headings. Peppered throughout are short essays on drinks old and august enough to merit the essay treatment.
Keep in mind that when I say “sweetener,” I’m not always talking sugar. It could be anything from sweet vermouth to liqueurs like Curaçao to syrups like grenadine to various types of soda. The “bitters,” meanwhile, could be the kind dashed out of little bottles (as in the Angostura bitters in a Manhattan) or the bracing kinds made in Italy and found in big bottles (the Campari needed for a Negroni).
There are exceptions, of course. The Martini—spirit, modifier, bitters—is rather in a category all its own. All three ingredients combined produce something as dry as the Sahara. The Champagne Cocktail, meanwhile, has bitters and sugar, but calls for sparkling wine instead of a spirit, the modification bringing about the sort of swellegant change in personality you might expect.
Sticklers will point out that, for all the cocktails mentioned above, there is a phantom fourth ingredient: water. Just as you can’t cook a steak without heat, you can’t make a cocktail without water (first introduced in its frozen state but, through stirring and shaking, quickly insinuating itself into the recipe in liquid form). However, in this book, we’re taking water for granted and focusing on beverage alcohol, sweeteners, juices, sodas, and bitters when we’re counting up to three.
Similarly, garnishes don’t count in my calculations. That is not to say they are not important; they are, in fact, critical to the finishing of many drinks. Want a Manhattan without a cherry? An Old-Fashioned without a twist? I didn’t think so. But we’re talking the solids and nonsolids that are in the glass before the creation gets crowned by a twist, an onion, an olive, a pineapple spear, or what have you. The suit; not the hat.
Equipment and Syrups
Though the recipes that follow are all simple, you need a fair-sized armory of bar equipment to make them. A run-down of the needed tools follows.
EQUIPMENT
A Boston shaker. This two-piece shaker, composed of a standard mixing glass and a metal mixing tin, is suitable for stirred drinks (for which you only need the mixing glass) and shaken drinks (for which you require both parts).
A bar spoon. A long bar spoon (approximately 11 inches) is needed for all stirred drinks.
A jigger. Most jiggers are stainless steel and have a dual-measure design. The most common ones have a 1-ounce capacity on one end and a ½-ounce capacity on the other; or a 1½-, ¾-ounce setup. It’s good to have one of each to ensure accurate measurements.
Strainers. You need a julep strainer (which has a perforated bowl shape) for stirred drinks and a Hawthorne strainer (which has a metal coil wrapped around its bowl to keep out citrus pulp) for shaken drinks. The Hawthorne can do double duty if need be.
A muddler. You need a muddler for certain drinks that require you to mash up fruits, herbs, or sugar cubes at the bottom of a mixing glass or serving glass. Old-fashioned wooden specimens work best.
Large-scale ice trays. A large ice cube makes a big difference, both aesthetically and tastewise, in some stirred, sipping drinks, like the Old-Fashioned. Molds for these sorts of cubes, typically 2 by 2 inches in size, are now very easy to find.
SYRUPS
Many drinks call for simple syrup, which is nothing more than sugar water. The main difference between syrups is the proportion of sugar to water. Higher ratios of sugar make for a richer syrup, which leads to a richer mouthfeel for the cocktail. Following are the syrup recipes you need for the drinks in this book.
Simple Syrup (1:1)
MAKES 1 CUP
1 cup sugar
1 cup water
Heat the sugar and water in a saucepan over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until the sugar has dissolved. Remove from the heat, let cool, and then refrigerate. Stored in a tightly sealed container, the syrup keeps for a week.
Rich Simple Syrup (2:1)
MAKES ½ CUP
1 cup sugar
½ cup water
Heat the sugar and water in a saucepan over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until the sugar has dissolved. Remove from the heat, let cool, and then refrigerate. Stored in a tightly sealed container, the syrup keeps for a week.
Honey Syrup (1:1)
MAKES 1 CUP
1 cup honey
1 cup water
Heat the honey and water in a saucepan over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until the ingredients have integrated. Remove from the heat, let cool, and then refrigerate. Stored in a tightly sealed container, the syrup keeps for a week.
Rich Honey Syrup (3:1)
MAKES ⅓ CUP
1 cup honey
⅓ cup water
Heat the honey and water in a saucepan over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until the ingredients have integrated. Remove from the heat, let cool, and then refrigerate. Stored in a tightly sealed container, the syrup keeps for a week.
Grenadine
MAKES 2 CUPS
2 cups POM pomegranate juice
1 cup sugar
2 dashes orange flower water
Combine the juice and sugar in a saucepan and place over medium-high heat. Stir frequently and bring to just under a boil. Reduce the heat to just under a simmer and cook for 20 to 30 minutes. When the syrup has darkened and is thick enough to coat the back of a metal spoon, it’s ready. Remove from the heat and let cool. Add the orange blossom water and stir. Label, date, and refrigerate. It keeps for 4 weeks.
Old-Fashioned Cocktails
By the reasoning of this book, the term “Old-Fashioned cocktail” means drinks that adhere to the original definition of a cocktail as a simple libation that includes spirit, sugar, and bitters. And, yes, that definition does include the Old-Fashioned.
THE OLD-FASHIONED
If I had wanted to, I could have filled out the recipe portion of this book solely with spins on the Old-Fashioned. The original Old-Fashioned—spirits, bitters, and sugar—is the three-ingredient granddaddy of the cocktail world. And since bartenders rediscovered the true nature of the drink in the early years of this century (that is, sans seltzer, soda pop, or extraneous fruit), they have been churning out variations on the theme on a daily basis until there are now as many three-ingredient Old-Fashioned twists as there are postal codes. More, probably.
I covered a good many of these new drinks in my 2014 book, The Old-Fashioned: The World’s First Classic Cocktail, with Recipes and Lore. Here I include a few more.
The Old-Fashioned began its long and tangled journey through American bars as the Whiskey Cocktail, an early-nineteenth-ce
ntury mix of whiskey, bitters, and sugar that was served in a footed wine glass and often downed as a morning drink. The drink picked up in popularity as the century crawled on. It acquired its current name sometime in the late 1800s, as drinkers, alarmed by all the new-fangled add-ons barkeeps were throwing into drinks (such as maraschino liqueur, absinthe, Curaçao, and Chartreuse), began to ask for an “Old-Fashioned Whiskey Cocktail.” “Old-Fashioned” became the shorthand term for the drink over time.
The cocktail survived Prohibition but emerged at the other end in a fruitier fashion. A muddled orange slice and cherry, topped with whiskey, bitters, and sometimes soda water, became the common bar treatment and preferred patron style. That construct held for a good long time until modern mixologists brought the drink back to its “garbage-free,” pre-Prohibition model. The new-old Old-Fashioned was all about simplicity: delicious whiskey, beautiful ice (often a single large cube), and an orange or lemon twist—a cocktail as imagined by abstract expressionist Mark Rothko: solid, simple, significant.
The world has gone even more Old-Fashioned crazy since my book was published. The inimitable flavor combination has leapt out of the glass and been applied to candles, cheeses, candies, beer, and desserts. It’s flattering to the old drink, I’m sure, that it has inspired such imitation, but also a bit undignified and diluting. When you’ve reached a place where cocktail menus have an Old-Fashioned section, with several selections, you’re getting very close to the place where the Martini and its many derivative “’tinis” tumbled into the abyss back in the 1990s.
Thankfully, of all the different versions out there, the classic whiskey one is the standard that prevails in popularity by a wide margin. (I’ve included a couple worthy post-2012 riffs here as well, for good measure.)
3-Ingredient Cocktails Page 1
