Jeffrey Morgenthaler

I have a confession for you: I can’t remember how to make a Mai Tai. I’m serious, I can’t. I mean, I know what goes in one, I know the legend of the drink, the names of the supposed creators, and the importance of the Mai Tai in modern cocktail culture. I can even conjure up the flavor and texture of the three most perfect Mai Tais I’ve ever had as if they were sitting in front of me.

But for the life of me I can never remember if it’s a half ounce of orgeat and a quarter ounce of simple syrup, or a quarter ounce of orgeat and a half ounce of simple syrup. Honestly, I probably get about five Mai Tai orders a year at my bar, so there’s a lot of time to forget exactly how to make one.

So, rather than just guess at it and risk screwing up my guest’s drink order, I simply swallow my pride and reach for a book that I’ve kept in my back pocket for the past six years: a Moleskine Address Book that contains every drink recipe I deem worthwhile.

It’s the most important tool I own, and I never set foot behind a bar without my book. The alphabetical tabs make it quick and easy to look up a recipe, and inside I’ve got years worth of classic cocktails, house recipes, syrup and mixer recipes for prep or to share with guests, variations, and layer upon layer of correction fluid and margin notes. It’s absolutely indispensable to me.

I also keep a second copy behind the bar, with every house recipe and house version of classic cocktails for my bar staff to consult when a menu drink from two years ago comes across the bar. Additionally, I present each new bartender with their own blank recipe book on their first day behind the bar, and we’ve all spent many late nights sharing with each other and transcribing the recipes we’ve discovered during our travels.

It’s the first thing I mention when aspiring bartenders ask me what my ideal tool kit would be. With a good book, the rest of what we do can be improvised. Pick one up for yourself here.

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.

The list of increduble experiences I had last fall while attending (and speaking at) the Bar Convent Berlin is a mile long, but up near the top of the list is the afternoon chat I had with Andreas Redlefsen, owner of St. Lucia’s Elements Eight rums.

Elements Eight is virtually unknown in this country, but occasionally you will hear of it whispered in hushed tones between rum aficionados as the brand has acquired a sort of mythical status. Fortunately there was plenty on hand to taste in Europe, and I had the man himself to tell me all about it.

Elements Eight begins with molasses made from Guyanese cane (cane production is no longer commercially viable in St. Lucia). The distillers then take that molasses and ferment it in three separate batches with three different yeast strains from the island. The resulting ‘beers’ are then distilled in three different stills, which results in nine unique rums.

The first is a traditional John Dore copper pot still, the ‘Rolls Royce’ of pot stills – creating a rum that is heavy bodied, pungent and full of flavor. This rum will gain complexity as it is aged and will impart a lot of depth and complexity into the final blend. Still Two is a Vendome pot still – originally constructed for American whiskey production. The end result is a lighter rum than that produced in the John Dore. Aaaaand, still number three is a column still. Very light rum.

Anyway, all of these different rums are hand-blended and aged in used Buffalo Trace bourbon barrels in St. Lucia, which provides a unique microclimate between the Caribbean Sea and the Atlantic ocean. The warm Caribbean climate helps expand the rum into the barrel, and the chilly Atlantic evenings contract the liquid and help wash that flavor from the wood.

Both rums are aged, the gold for a minimum of 6 years, the platinum for a minimum of 4 years. Yes, the platinum rum is then charcoal-filtered in order to remove the color before it is packaged and shipped.

And what about the flavor? Both are light, clean, buttery, sophisticated and delicate, with the gold providing a touch more richness and caramel than the crisper platinum. Sippable neat, but perfect for mixing in cocktails. I’ve made crisp mojitos, smooth, buttery rum old-fashioneds, light daiquiris and Mai Tais that defy the laws of gravity.

Already available in Europe, Elements Eight is slated for release in the States late this year or early 2010.

Things are really starting to ramp up for the 75th anniversary of the Repeal of Prohibition on December 5th! Today I received a package from the folks at Old Forester bourbon, who are showing their support of my favorite day by releasing a limited edition Repeal Day bottling of their whiskey.

From the press release:

“Repeal Bourbon is bottled from a special selection of Old Forester barrels that exhibited a more robust character that is similar to the Old Forester that was bottled during Prohibition,” added Chris Morris, Master Distiller for Old Forester. “The flavor, presented at Prohibition’s required 100 proof, is a full, deep, charred oak character that will appeal to bourbon-lovers everywhere.”

Old Forester has long been one of my go-to bourbons, as it explores the savory side of whiskey without an overload of sweetness. I love using it in a Manhattan as it sets off the orange and caramel of a good sweet vermouth while providing a solid, spicy backbone.

Check out more information about the bottling (due sometime in late November or early December) here, and as always, visit the home of Repeal Day here.

I see a fair amount of liquor in my average day. I work in a bar and am surrounded by 200+ bottles of the stuff for ten hours a day. Liquor reps drop by the bar and leave me samples of new products on a regular basis. I get press releases, forwarded emails, RSS feeds, swag, and sometimes full-bottle liquor samples in the mail. And it seems to me that everyone wants to talk about the versatility of their product.

“Try this new absinthe! It’s $80 a bottle and doesn’t taste like anything. It’s very versatile, great in cocktails.”

“This vodka is different than all the others. It retails for $49.95, it’s distilled eight times from fresh organic kiwifruit. It’s very versatile.”

“The latest berry liqueur! It’s made from six types of berry and was developed by three out-of-work cocaine addicts. And it’s only $14.99 a bottle! It’s super versatile!”

Let me tell you something about a truly versatile liquor, the kind you reach for every day. The real beauty doesn’t come from the fact that it’s cheap. It isn’t brilliant because it mixes well with every kind of fruit juice you can throw at it. Versatility doesn’t happen when a liquor doesn’t taste like anything.

The greatest, most versatile products out there find themselves in my hands more often than not because they’re simply perfect and are priced with a tag we all can afford.

When I received this bottle of Matusalem Gran Reserva, I was naturally skeptical. But after blowing through an entire fifth of the stuff over the course of the past week, I can honestly recommend it – not just because it tastes great, and not because the price point is exactly where it should be, but because it is truly a versatile rum.

I poured it straight, I poured it on the rocks with a dash of orange bitters. I made mai tais, I made daiquiris, I mixed it with cane-sugar Coca-Cola from Mexico and fresh key limes. It was sensational in a Beauty Beneath, and it shined in a rum old-fashioned. It took everything I threw at it and asked for more. It’s got butter and vanilla up front, an understated mid-palate without a lot of heaviness, and a nice, quiet finish that begs for another sip.

I’m lucky: I get to buy bottles every week with someone else’s money. But I have this thing, this horrible, horrible thing that kicks in when I feel like I’m ripping someone off. And it won’t let me sell you a $10 shot that’s only worth $3, I just can’t do it. So finding new products in this sea of PR is kind of a nightmare for me.

And that’s why this rum is so versatile: it’s 35 bucks! You can buy it, you can use it, and you can pick up another bottle when you’re done. You don’t have to horde it, you don’t have to keep in hidden in the back of the liquor cabinet. It’s a truly versatile rum because you can actually use it.

And that’s my review. Thanks for reading.

I own a small library of books on the subject of bartending. Some of these books are geared toward the professional bartender, while others are written for the home mixologist. But regardless of the intended audience, almost every book I own heartily recommends that we use paring knives for cutting fruits and garnishes. The Art of the Bar, The Joy of Mixology, The Craft of the Cocktail, Larousse Cocktails, The Bartender’s Black Book, they all say the same thing: that a 4-inch paring knife is the right tool for the job.

But for my money (and the safety of my hands), there’s no better knife than a nine-inch, serrated, offset-handled sandwich sword.

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I don’t drink vodka. Most of you know that by now. I don’t care for spirits that strive to taste more like nothing than their competitors. I don’t care for drinks made with vodka, which taste merely like alcoholic versions of whatever fruit juice has been added to the glass. It’s boring liquor for boring people.

That said, I get a lot of companies wanting to send me vodka samples to review on my site. And I get a lot of them, from flavored vodka (the only thing worse than unflavored vodka), to vodka distilled from weird ingredients (as if that matters a whole hell of a lot) to vodka that’s been distilled twelve times (to provide, it seems, a unique flavorless experience).

So when I received the following email from Paul McCann at Cirrus Vodka:

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If you’ve been reading this website for a while, you probably know that I spout the virtues of fresh ingredients and encourage people to eschew the use of pre-made drink mixes.

So, I was a little taken aback when I received a package containing two bottles of Dirty Sue Dirty Martini Mix in the mail this week.

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