The Black Manhattan
A quick search of cocktail recipes will find a class of drinks called “the Black Manhattan.” Many substitute Irish Whiskey for Bourbon (or Rye). Others substitute an amaro for the sweet vermouth.
Basically, these all drinks are extensions of the classic Manhattan recipe (3 parts Rye or Bourbon, 1 part sweet vermouth, bitters), shaded towards the bitter side.
Here’s my current favorite:
Black Manhattan
a darker, more bitter version of the original3 ounces Russell’s Rye
3/4 ounce Cynar
dash Fee Brother’s Orange Bittersstir briskly, serve up with a cherry
The original Manhattan can seem too sweet to some. Not this one.
The best sazerac in New Orleans
It was still early on a Friday night. I had just lost all the money I was willing to part with at the tables of Harrah’s Casino in New Orleans. I had played “Let It Ride” for more than five hours, holding my own most of the time. I had hoped for a big pay-off eventually, but my $300 ran out first.
I started walking out of the casino, towards the Poydras street exit right where John Besh’s steak house is. There I saw a little bar with plenty of traffic. Upscale compared to most casino bars, this one actually charged for drinks.
I sat in one of the lonely bar stools. I had an hour or so to kill before my wife ran through the rest of her cash at the nickle slots.
“If I asked you to make me a Sazerac, would you know how?” I asked the barman.
Foolish me.
Behind the bar was Mark Quigley. I came to find out that he’s been behind some bar somewhere in New Orleans for more than thirty years.
“Oh, yeah,” Mr. Quigley replied. “I know how.” (I use the term “Mr. Quigley” to express my utmost respect.)
Now a Sazerac isn’t a complicated drink, at least not in the number of ingredients required to get it into a glass. In a Sazerac, the complications come from the exact measurement of the ingredients and precise application of the techniques used to prepare it.
“OK, make me a Sazerac,” I said in cautious anticipation.
Now I’m no Sazerac virgin.
I’ve had Sazeracs made by the best: Marvin Allen at the Hotel Monteleone’s Carousel bar, Chris Hannah at Arnaud’s French 75 and Chris McMillian at the Ritz’s Library Bar (back before its recent disappointing transformation into a place to be avoided at all costs).
Mr. Quigley set a short rocks glass on the bar and filled it with ice. In a second glass, he muddled a sugar cube with a dash of Peychaud’s bitters and then added a three-ounce pour of baby Sazerac rye whiskey, topping the entire mixture with perfectly clear ice cubes. With his bar spoon, Mr. Quigley expertly stirred the precious drink to its ideal temperature and dilution.
As that second glass sat on the bar, Mr. Quigley emptied the ice from the first glass. In true New Orleans fashion, he then poured a small amount of Herbsaint into the chilled glass and tossed the glass into the air, spinning it quite naturally to distribute a fine sheen of flavor around the inside of the glass. A few quick shakes removed the last drops of liquid left in the bottom. Into this glass, he strained the contents of the other glass.
As a finale to the ritual, right in front of me he twists a lemon peel over the drink, and then slides the perfect Sazerac towards me, the glass sitting perfectly centered on a Harrah’s cocktail napkin.
No doubt at all: Mark Quigley makes the best Sazerac in New Orleans.
Sazerac
The classic New Orleans cocktail3 ounces rye whiskey (Sazerac is best)
1/2 simple syrup (or to taste)
dash Peychaud’s bitters (accept no substitute)stir with ice, pour into a glass rinsed with Herbsaint liqueur (absinthe works great, too). Garnish with a lemon twist.
The McGlinchey and the Swizzle Stick Bar
“Hi, my name’s John. What’s yours?”
“Kevin,” said the young bartender who looks too young to be able to answer my next question. He’s Kevin Moreau and I’m in the famous Swizzle Stick Bar at the Loews Hotel in New Orleans.
“I’m on a mission and I have a deadline.” I’m almost afraid to tell Kevin why I’m really there. I need to finish designing two different signature drinks for a cocktail reception and a dinner tomorrow night. I’ve been mixing and sampling on-and-off for a month, but now the time is getting close and I’m not ready yet.
“Can you help me conjure up a signature cocktail?” I anxiously ask Kevin. “The law firm I work with is holding its annual meeting here and I’d like to serve a signature drink upstairs in the hotel tomorrow night.”
Café Adelaide / the Swizzle Stick Bar
300 Poydras Street
New Orleans LA 70130
(504) 595-3305
www.cafeadelaide.com
In front of me is a yellow sheet of legal paper with the outline of a drink I’m calling the “McGlinchey.” That’s the same name as the law firm. The drink is a whiskey sour of sorts, except more complex and hopefully a tad more drinkable.
“Sure, I’ll do my best. Is that where you’re starting?” Kevin glances down at the sheet of paper I’m writing on. Like any bartender or accountant, Kevin is an expert at reading upside down.
“Yup,” I say. “The drink starts with Irish whiskey to celebrate the heritage of the McGlinchey name. Then there’s Southern Comfort to honor the New Orleans roots of the firm. There’s some lime juice, fresh of course, to give it a slight sour edge and some pineapple juice to blend the lime with the peach notes of the SOCO. Can you mix one over ice so we can find out what it tastes like?”
Kevin glances at the recipe’s outline, turns away and moves to his mixing station. In a minute or so he returns with a short drink in a rocks glass. He places the drink in front of me. Using a bar straw, he pipettes a little of the mixture and tastes it himself for the first time.
“Too sour,” he says. It takes me barely a sip to agree.
“We should add a little simple syrup,” Kevin says, knowing I’m ready to agree.
I’m wearing a friendly smile of appreciation: “Sometimes I underestimate just how sour fresh lime juice can be,” I nod.
Kevin brings over a shot glass with just a spot of simple syrup. I pour the syrup into the glass and mix the drink with a swizzle stick.
“Much better! I think we’ve got it. Mission accomplished.”
McGlinchey
With just a taste of old New Orleans
1 1/2 ounce Irish whiskey
1/2 ounce Southern Comfort
1/4 ounce fresh lime juice
1/4 ounce fresh pineapple juice
1/4 ounce simple syrup
dash Peychaud’s bittersServe over ice in a rocks glass.
Garnish with a cherry and a pineapple cube.
“Now, one more thing, Kevin,” my earlier apprehension mostly gone. “I need another drink for a smaller group of the firm’s lawyers who practice law around the Class Action Fairness Act of 2005, that’s ‘CAFA’ for short. This drink needs to be stronger and, here’s the hard part: the initials of the ingredients need to spell out CAFA.”
A rainy night at Hugo’s
The hostess walks me over to the bar and hands me the over-sized, leather covered menu. I park myself on a rather uncomfortable bar stool and glance up at a muted TV tuned to the Weather Channel.
It’s a cold and rainy night in Houston. Houston streets are infamous for flooding; I’ve heard that they’re actually designed to flood. In fact, there are some intersections that flood when the humidity reaches 95%.
Long ago I adopted a policy of “alcohol is better than water:” if it’s raining too hard I stop and get a drink while everyone else nervously drives to wherever they need to be so quickly. I take time to relax and only surface again when the weather clears.
“What would you like?” asks my bartender/waiter, Carlos. It’s only expected, I guess, that my server at Hugo’s Mexican Restaurant would be named Carlos.
I’ve been paging through the thick menu. I move past the extensive and impressive wine list. I’ve been a Houston Wine Geek twice this week already, I’m more of a Drinking Out Club kinda guy tonight.
“How about a paloma? Are they any good?”
“The classic paloma is best, it’s authentic,” says Carlos.
Authentic? Would he know? Carlos has that urban chic kind of look and not a hint of an accent. I’m guessing he’s never set foot in Mexico. Besides, the menu says it’s made with Corralejo Blanco tequila and Hansen’s soda. I doubt there’s much Hansen’s sold in Mexico.
The authentic paloma is Mexico’s rum and Coke. Mix tequila and grapefruit soda in just about any proportion, with a splash of lime to balance it out. Skip the lime of you want.
Paloma
2 ounces blanco tequila
6 ounces grapefruit soda
1/2 ounce lime juiceshake tequila and lime, pour over ice in a salt-rimmed tall glass, top with soda
“Sure, I’ll try one. And bring me the ceviche appetizer. Sounds like they’ll go great together.”
Carlos punches in my order and walks to the other end of the bar. He pours a few ingredients into his mixing glass along with some ice and shakes it casually for a short while. With his back to me, he fills my glass. I’m the only guy in the bar and I’m missing the show.
Carlos brings me my drink. In a few minutes my appetizer arrives, delivered by another server.
This bar food combination is outstanding. The Hansen’s-based paloma is, if not authentic, well-balanced and flavorful. The ceviche’s red snapper is perfectly marinated with lime and paired with just the right amount of avocado. There’s no tomato salsa, thank goodness, but a pleasing blend of not-too-spicy pico de gallo. Salty, freshly-made tortilla chips round out the meal.
It’s still raining. Looks like I’ll be here awhile.
Hugo’s
1602 Westheimer Road at Mandell
Houston TX 77006
(713) 524-7744
www.hugosrestaurant.net
