Posted: Mar 30, 2007 1:33pm ETIt was bound to happen. The new cocktail culture has been driven by improving ingredients: better spirits, freshly squeezed fruit juices, etc. Now someone has jumped in with “artisinal mixers.” No more store-brand tonic water or ginger ale for Charles Rolls, the former owner of Plymouth Gin. He went out and formed Fever-Tree to ratchet up the quality of high-ball ingredients. Included in his portfolio are bitter lemon, club soda, ginger ale and tonic water.
Haven’t tried the soda or the ginger ale yet, but the tonic and bitter lemon are winners. Lots of out-front taste notes—quinine, coriander, lime, orange in the tonic, lemon, orange, quinine and other botanicals in the bitter lemon.
The name Fever-Tree comes not from the ‘60s rock group that sang “San Francisco Girls,” but from another name for the cinchona tree, which is the original and best source of quinine. Quinine, of course, has been used since the Roman Empire as a prophylactic treatment for malaria. Apparently Brit colonialists discovered it also went well with gin.
Naturally, this isn’t cheap stuff ($5.99 for a four pack of 200-milliliter—6.76 ounces—bottles), but it’s cool to occasionally take your gin and tonic to the concierge level.
Posted: Mar 28, 2007 6:11pm ETWe were so pleased that Michelob was reverting to something like its classic teardrop bottle that Savona, Mike Marsh and I decided that a taste test was in order after work with cigars.
Time well spent.
We had gone into it agreeing that Michelob’s a solid beer that you tend to ignore in the face of the waterfall of new quaffs that have deluged the market since the brewpub rage. In the old days, Michelob was the go-to beer when you wanted to take it up a floor. And it had that classic bottle. “It looks like a lava lamp,” says Marsh. Savona remembered an old bar game where tearing the paper off successfully guaranteed you success in any amorous endeavors of the evening. Just like “step on a crack, break your mother’s back,” it never worked.
We’re pleased to report the beer in the new old Michelob bottle doesn’t disappoint, and drinking in the office (with cigars) is way better than going to the local watering hole. Furthermore Mich is back to its original recipe: all malt.
It’s rich and bright at the same time. Perfect for those early Spring days when you’re dreaming of the beach. Which we are, a gentle wind wafting cigar smoke across our faces on its way out the window.
Posted: Mar 25, 2007 2:33pm ETHow I got to this state on a Sunday afternoon:
About two weeks ago, arrives on my desk a bottle of St.-Germain, a liqueur made from elderflowers and packaged in an outrageously cool-looking bottle that looks like one of those spaceships rendered in cartoons before they had spaceships. I’ve been dying to try it since.
Today, it’s sitting there on the counter mocking me just as the clock strikes noon. The hour is now! Crack it open and take a whiff. Obviously, very flowery, but also sweet and a bit fruity, but not overpoweringly so—like pears or peaches—with the slightest nuttiness. The scent doesn’t disappoint on the tongue. It’s a classy little product, befitting Rob Cooper, known for Chambord, who developed it using fresh macerated Alpine elderflowers, wine eau de vie and some sugar.
This is made for a cocktail. But which? Go to the web for help. It’s pretty new stuff so I’m not finding a lot of suggestions. Then locate 14 recipes at this address, supplied by a Simon Diffords, who runs a cocktail site called Diffords Guides and is the UK brand manager for St.-Germain.
Scroll through the possibilities, eliminating them as I go along:
The St. Germain Cocktail—contains Sauvignon Blanc wine, out of the question
French 77—unwilling to crack a bottle of Champagne to make one cocktail
Left Bank—don’t have the requisite Plymouth gin
Right Bank—again Sauvignon Blanc
The Stig—calvados AND Sauvignon Blanc
Daisy Cutter Martini—sounds intriguing but contains Green Chartreuse
Saint Germain Sidecar—Almost drawn in, but then find, hidden at the end of the list, this:
Posted: Mar 16, 2007 1:14pm ETTime: March 13, 7 p.m.
Location: Back room of Dos Caminos Mexican restaurant and bar specializing in tequila, between 26th and 27th streets on New York’s Park Avenue.
Atmosphere: Hot, hot appetizers and hot blondes—rock’n’roll-groupie-caliber hot blondes—everywhere.
Enter Sammy Hagar, fresh from his Rock’n’Roll Hall of Fame induction the night before. Most of the Van Halen standouts hadn’t deigned to show, but who cares about those nancies? The Red Rocker, along with bassist Michael Anthony, is here to work the crowd at the unveiling of the extension to his Cabo Wabo tequila line, Cabo Uno. In a candid frame of mind, he offers to someone curious about his legendary 10,000-bottle wine collection that he’ll “say anything, just ask.”
“What about the first time you got drunk on tequila? Will you talk about that”
“What about it?”
“Did they find you face down in a pool of vomit, not your own?”
“No, but I was 15 and you know that cheap tequila that came in the long thin bottle….?
“You ate the worm?”
“I damn near ate the whole bottle.”
OK, that’s a testimonial. But then he’s off. Hagar’s organoleptic standards have clearly changed in the ensuing 45 years. Tonight he’s rubbing elbows with pals Emeril Lagasse and Mario Batali, chef at New York’s Babo Ristorante e Enoteca.
By the time Haggar reaches the back of the room it’s time to introduce the Cabo Uno, an extra anejo tequila, one the category’s newly designated spirits age more than three years. But first Sammy waxes vividly on his long relationship with tequila and—yes—his teenage impropriety and the resulting intimate relationship with a porcelain appliance.
Despite the incident, it seems the Red Rocker was undaunted and made a tequila journey that moved from rot gut to quality blanco tequilas to aged spirits. Along the way, he started Cabo Wabo (named when he witnessed a local in his beloved Cabo San Lucas, Mexico wobbling as he returned from a night of tequila in a cantina. Hagar dubbed it—and his brand—the Cabo Wabo.
Posted: Mar 12, 2007 9:37am ETI’ve recently had an epiphany about a whole class of spirits.
I used to think that flavored vodkas were a scam. At best they were a crutch for people too lazy to squeeze a lemon or an orange into their drink. At worst they were a way to get you to fill your liquor cabinet with a lot of different bottles of essentially the same thing, just different flavors added. Why not just have a big bottle of one of vodka and then add pepper or vanilla or whatever from your cupboard if a cocktail called for it.
Then I tried the Grey Goose La Poire, a pear-flavored vodka. Aside from the fact that I found it delicious, it occurred to me that if I suddenly needed pear flavor for a cocktail I’d be out of luck. Who has essence of pear sitting around his kitchen? I’d be forced buy some pears, and peel, dice and crush them. I’ve have a lot of classic literature i haven't even gotten around to reading, so I’m not very likely to do that. But then here comes Grey Goose with this pear vodka that has this rich essence that you can almost feel on your tongue.
Now I’m thinking, what other great flavored vodkas am I missing out on out of pure prejudice? So I went to visit Claire Smith, who, in from the U.K. recently, is the head mixologist for Moet Hennessy, which owns Belvedere and Chopin Polish vodkas. She poured me a number of cocktails made with the Belvedere flavored vodkas, Pomarancza (mandarin orange) and Cytrus (lemon and lime). One was a Bloody Mary made with fresh cherry tomatoes, a sprig of basil and the Belvedere Cytrus. It blew my mind.
Claire went on to explain to me that the vodkas are so pungent and flavorful because of the care they take in macerating real fruit peels with spirits in a proprietary process, overseen by a flavor artist. I'll buy that. I left her bar converted.
When I got back to the office, what should be awaiting me but a package from Skyy vodka, including their melon, orange and berry vodkas. Coincidence? No, I think kismet.