Jeffrey Morgenthaler

Ah, Tales of The Cocktail. The greatest yearly gathering on earth for cocktail enthusiasts, bartenders, students of mixology and aficionados of fine liquors. Also, a logistical nightmare for those who have to plan the hundreds of events spread over those five days in New Orleans.

Shortly after to agreeing to sit on Paul Clarke’s panel, “Using Blogs and Online Tools to Raise the Profile of Your Bar, Brand or Career” I noticed that I was double-booked for a very important Boca Loca Cachaça luncheon - one at which I was the hired bartender on duty.

So I called Paul, and after his initial swearing and foot-stomping he agreed to let me off the hook - and instead found a much more suitable replacement: Bobby Heugel of the brilliant blog Drink Dogma and co-owner of Houston’s newest and greatest cocktail bar Anvil.

Bobby’s years of writing and bartending make him the perfect fit for the panel, which includes the effervescent, salty Paul Clarke and marketing guru Steve Raye of Brand Action Team.

My sincere apologies to the one person who foolishly booked a ticket expecting to hear my drivel, and I assure you (whoever in the heck you are) that Paul Clarke has done his duty by filling my head with disgusting imagery and lewd commends. That man is an animal.

See you at Tales.

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I absolutely hate it when someone sends me a box full of sex toys in the mail. Sure, it might sound like fun to some of you (you know who you are), but receiving a big box of free sex is much more trouble than it’s worth. Believe me. So I get a little guarded when unannounced packages arrive because, you know, I’m worried that they’re going to be full of sex stuff.

Just a couple of months ago, such a suspicious package arrived and I opened it to find - much to my delight - not a box full of sex toys but rather a new pear liqueur called Xanté. That’s fine, I thought to myself, at least it’s just a harmless pear liqueur and not something more salacious. So I opened the envelope, and there was the standard non-sexy note from the liquor company:

“Xanté is an intimate love affair, a passionate encounter, a lifetime commitment, a ménage à trois between virgin pears, the finest French cognacs, and soft caresses of vanilla from French Limousine Oak.”

Huh, okay, an intimate, passionate ménage à trois with soft caresses from virgins or whatever, nothing terribly naughty about that. Guess I’ll open the box.

Xanté comes in a sleek black box, carefully secured with a long, silken gold ribbon. It is my understanding that this ribbon is not meant to be used as a blindfold, gag, or method of restraint, but rather a simple and affordable alternative to, say, a piece of tape to keep the box closed. The box is emblazoned with the G-rated slogan “Unimaginable Pleasure”.

Inside is a little booklet full of stories about pleasure and very tasteful photo essays of women in the sporting life, surrounded by young shirtless boys and quotes comparing non-sexual leisure activities to the enjoyment of pear liqueur:

“Any croquet player of distinction knows it’s crucial to always keep her eyes on the balls and peg, regardless of how distracting the surroundings may be. Sight is an equally important part of the Xanté experience; its rich amber colour makes it apparent to anyone that looks do matter.”

…and:

“Just like a day at the croquet grounds, stroking coloured wooden balls across manicured lawns, Xanté is uncompromisingly unpredictable.”

Apparently all of this ball-stroking can whip up an insatiable thirst for the consumer, so I guess the next thing to do would be to open up the bottle. Nestled in a non-suggestive coffin of black satin sheets is the bottle, standing proudly and erect in its velveteen hole.

The opening nose is reminiscent of pears poached in cinnamon and wine. The first sip reveals a moderate amount of heat, which dissipates quickly leaving behind an extended finish of basic sugars, pear, light caramel, vanilla, cinnamon, nutmeg and banana. Or, in the words of the company:

“…with its touch of vanilla, the perfect penetration of pear, and the slow, tender mating process which seals the great conception delivering a flavour and taste beyond all known experience.”

I don’t know, maybe it does sound kind of dirty after all.

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“Here, see if you can make me something with this”, the liquor rep taunted as he dropped a bottle of aquavit on the bar. If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I don’t really work that well under pressure. I try, but it literally takes me weeks to come up with a new drink that I’m happy with. Maybe I’m slow, maybe I’m a perfectionist, doesn’t matter: I hate it when I have to work under pressure.

So I was especially vexed when this particular wiseass handed me a bottle of aquavit. For those of you who don’t know, is a traditional Scandinavian liquor flavored with caraway and - typically - other herbs such as fennel and anise. It’s delicious, but it’s unique and isn’t known for its superb mixability.

However, I knew the liquor boob was insinuating that I might not be able to rise to the challenge, so I whipped this up (after about three false starts). A small handful of visitors to the bar at Clyde Common have suggested that it might be one of the best drinks I’ve come up with so far, but I’ll let you be the judge of that. I just think it tastes delicious.

1 oz aquavit
1 oz applejack
¾ oz sweet vermouth
¼ oz yellow Chartreuse
1 dash Angostura bitters

Stir ingredients with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail coupe. Garnish with a large twist of lemon peel and serve.

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Hey folks, if you’re reading this post, then you’re officially a reader of this website. And that means that I could really use your help. In order to lure potential advertisers over to the dark side that is my, uh, sidebar, I need to prove to them that my website is mainly frequented by consenting adults.

So, whether or not you’re of legal drinking age, would you mind doing me a favor and filling out this quick survey? I’m not going to even ask for your name or email address, so rest assured that it’s completely confidential. Because more advertising means more money, more money means more liquor, and more liquor means more late-night booze-fueled ramblings both here and on my regularly-updated Twitter feed.

Thanks, folks. Stay tuned for more drinks and stories.

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Just when I think I’ve run out of things to say, my friends over at Imbibe Magazine drop me a note telling me that there’s a new video up, and it’s almost like the content writes itself.

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It’s been busy times here in Portland, but I thought I’d take a break from all the hot bar-managin’ action to post a aggregated update of what’s been happening in my world lately - loose ends, mostly:

Last week I attended the Grand Marnier/Navan Mixology Summit in Vail Colorado. One hundred bartenders from around the country were chosen from over 800 applicants to prepare original cocktails, attend seminars, and to learn from each other and the AKA Wine Geek team. I was there with my good friends from around the country, enjoying lavish meals, incredible Grand Marnier, Cuvées du Centenaire and Cent Cinquantenaire and Navan cocktails, and - of course - skiing and enjoying gorgeous Vail.

If you happen to be a Twitter user, please feel free to follow along with me for a more detailed account of what’s happening day to day. I always try to provide a running commentary when I’m on these booze excursions and Twitter can be a great way to peek in on the action.

I’ve got another video up at Imbibe Magazine’s website, which is also viewable on YouTube and subscribeable as a podcast via the iTunes Store. In this second video, I show you how to make an Old Fashioned the way I like to drink them - as a simple drink with a surprising amount of flavor, considering the very limited ingredient list.

My last video for Imbibe turned out to be much less of a disaster than everyone anticipated, so with any luck Episode Two will be remembered as my Attack of the Clones.

I believe that is all. Please go back to what you were doing and stay tuned for another drink recipe sometime this week.

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Hey Bartender

My South Side Irish Chicago Dad always told me that Jameson was the Catholic whisky and that Bushmills was the whiskey made by “the damn Protestants”. Now this character I met at the bar is trying to tell me it’s the other way around. Help! Who do I believe, the man who raised me, or some drunk I met in a bar? You can see why I am confused.

School Marm

Hey Marm

I was wondering when someone would ask this question. The truth of the matter is, the age-old faux-pas of ordering Bushmills for fear of supporting English aggression and offending the Republic of Ireland is about as Irish as corned beef - which is to say, not very Irish at all but rather Irish-American (Sorry, kids, corned beef is a Jewish invention).

Anyway, both of your sources are wrong, but at least your father got the order right. The widely-accepted Irish-American version is that Jameson is Catholic whiskey and Bushmills is Protestant whiskey. But that’s merely based on geography: Bushmills is from Northern Ireland (a predominantly Protestant region) and Jameson is from Cork - Catholic country.

Jameson was pretty much founded in 1780 when John Jameson - a Scottish guy - purchased the Bow Street Distillery, which at the time was one of the biggest distilleries in Ireland. Now, it’s important to note that the Scottish Reformation occurred in 1560, so odds are in favor of the founder of the Jameson distillery, being Scottish, was a damn Protestant.

Bushmills, on the other hand, was officially licensed in 1608 by King James I (of Bible fame) and despite of its location deep in the heart of Protestant country (and this next bit is straight from my local Bushmills rep, so take it or leave it) has a Catholic as a master distiller.

According to everyone I’ve spoken with on the subject, you only really find this debate in the States, where Irish-American support of the Republic can sometimes be blind and often fueled by the very product we’re speaking of. But none of it means much, anyway: both distilleries are owned by huge international entities: Jameson by French liquor conglomerate Pernod-Ricard, and Bushmills by the English firm Diageo.

As for my preference, I tend to like the lighter Bushmills as it’s the first Irish whiskey I discovered years ago, and I’ve certainly enjoyed my share of Jameson from time to time. But my personal preference is Redbreast, a twelve-year pot still Irish whiskey produced at the Old Midleton Distillery and a real delight to sip while enjoying a late-night Irish breakfast of sausage, egg, pudding and soda bread. Yum.

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Hey, here’s a fun way to illustrate karma. If you’ve, say, built a large web presence upon a not-so-generous string of public criticisms of bar-related web videos [1, 2, 3, 4], then one day somebody will ask you to appear in a series of videos yourself.

That’s what happened last month when Imbibe Magazine called me up and stuck it to me by asking that I appear in some instructional videos for their new website. And like a rabbit to a carrot I leapt at the big, bright, orange opportunity called fame.

So grab yourself a scorecard and sit back, relax, and count the screw-ups as I try to demonstrate the difference between shaking and stirring a cocktail:

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