Padre Serra

Sipping Junipero Gin martini in backyard, which I frosted and placed on the Cortez Lopez Beverage Holder (®) , I think, mmmm, nicely dry, botanicals adequate, a little on the hot side...then I notice label: 98.6 proof. Another drinkable weapons-grade gin, like Broker's, that tastes acceptable, even better than acceptable, no, very well, more than well enough. I once mentioned Junipero in a poem, maybe even my best known poem, such as that category might be--that's how good I found my first encounter...today, my second, still feeling the full flush of it. You may also like to read my old closed caption on Broker's Gin from Old Merry, which includes the obiter dictum on nine-tenths of the gin experience.  Junipero has both a little more juniper (it better, with that name) and a little breath more of sweetness than Broker's.  A dream would be to taste them both the same hour.  Sorry about the stray weeds at the bottom, I'll get to them later this week.

The Drunken Botanist

This could be a vurrry important book, this book by one Amy Stewart of Eureka.  I don't know, I haven't read it.  But the press surrounding it is both dutifully reported and marvelously miniscule, a promising sign.  From the Eureka Times-Standard:

"The book [The Drunken Botanist] begins with plants that are actually used to make alcohol, including apples, grapes, sugar cane and barley, and then explores the many spices, herbs and fruits that flavor gin, liqueurs and other libations. The last section of the book is devoted to plants that a gardener might grow to mix, muddle and infuse into their own cocktails. Kirkus Reviews called it 'A rich compendium of botanical lore for cocktail lovers.'” 

Well, Kirkus Reviews are bought reviews, but so much the better in this day and age. But I do like the spirit of this spirits guide and hope the author comes to LA.  I'll offer her a tour of the cocktail botanicals I maintain in my own garden.

Like bikes after Xmas

Noted: sales on Irish whiskeys after St. Pats have now joined sales on champagne after New Year's and tequila after Cinco de Mayo.  I'm not supposed to say where, but wander into any local-to-LA supermarket and you'll find favorable prices on Bushmills, Jameson, and Origen Irish Whiskey.

And of course always remember to include the "e" when writing of any Irish whiskey.  You know the rule of thumb, don't you? If the nation has an "e", then so does the whisk(e)y.

Hot Toddy recovery

Something is going around Los Angeles that is somewhere between cold and flu, between sinusitis and bronchitis, between middle-age torture and the torture of the Middle Ages.

In your moments of wheeze and pain, consider the Hot Toddy.

Type in “toddy” and there are no less than twenty-two toddies listed at our favored cocktail database. Among our favorites:

Apple Toddy (applejack based)
Hot Brandy Toddy
Hot Buttered Toddy (with floating butter pat)
Hot Rum Toddy (very similar to an American Grogg) (rum based)
Hot Whiskey Lemonade

If you simply must have a coffee-based drink and you want a toddy too, you’re in trouble. But consider adding a cinnamon stick and floating some nutmeg on a drink invented by our editor, El Americano Tranquilo. Make it with a shot of espresso, instead of a coffee top-off, and fill the rest with hot water. What you’ll get is the engagingly spurious Espresso Tranquilo, which beats the hell out of your mocha frappucino every day.

Try one. Fire up the Schubert, or maybe Das Lied von Der Erde, sit back, and let nature and antibiotics take their inevitable course.

Mimosas formidable.

Plus formidable.

Last year I reminded you about the virtues of french 75's in a new year. This new year, the topic is mimosas.

But before I get to mimosas, I'll tell you: french 75's made our past year---our past year, which was awful---a little happier.

So now the mimosa, a far gentler subject for the usual post new year's surfeit of champagne.

There are two basic recipes, and one is far more basic than the other:

The one you've probably already had:

1 1/4 oz orange juice (3.5 cl, 5/16 gills)

Fill with Champagne, ice

Serve in a cocktail glass (4.5 oz)

The one you're about to try:

1/2 ounce triple sec (1.5 cl, 1/8 gills)

1 1/2 ounces fresh orange juice (4.5 cl, 3/8 gills)

3 1/2 ounces chilled Champagne (10.5 cl, 7/8 gills)

1 orange slice for garnish (1/2 oz, 1.5 cl, 1/8 gills)

Build in the order given in a Champagne flute. Add the garnish.

Serve in a champagne flute (6.0 oz)

Yes. Triple sec. Surprised? That recipe is from Gary Regan's The Joy of Mixology, a book which is more about process and theory than recipe. Gary Regan is certainly accomplished, and also is a bit of an Internet-as-cottage-industry phenomenon. But so is About.com, and take a look at this awful recipe for the same drink; or maybe you too measure orange juice by the carton. So let's put it to the fire: does Gary know something so many others don't? Why would you add triple sec to something like orange juice, which is so sweet to start? (BTW, Rachel wants you to add triple sec too, but at the end, rather than at the beginning---I guess she wants you to light fire to it too, or something.)

Give up? Well, I'll tell you. It's about alcohol.

Adding triple sec is like infusing what would otherwise be a very fluffy Mother's Day drink with something more formidable. You're bumping your mimosa to actual cocktail level.

Triple sec is made from oranges, so it doesn't rustle your orange juice's feathers, and shouldn't overlay your natural oj sweetness too much---especially if it's high-proof triple sec. Triple sec runs up to 60 proof, and you shouldn't waste time with much less than that. If you're going to put it in a mimosa, putting something that's about 30 proof is not really adding much of anything.

It seems intuitive, and likely need not be said, to not use your favorite champagne for a mimosa. If you're drinking your favorite champagne, drink your favorite champagne---don't sugar coat it. Of course. You're insulted I even mentioned anything. Well, it must be said. It must be said because there are sites that say, "a bottle of favorite champagne" and where orange juice from a carton suffices. I will be very goodly god-damned if I am going to slop a bottle of Bollinger Grand Année into any kind of juice, let alone juice from a carton. In fact, I don't think I've had orange juice from a carton in the new millennium. Or maybe since the Ford administration.

You need a tasty champagne, to be sure, but you can do with an easily acquired one. Prosecco is popular right now and prosecco is excellent for mimosas, in my opinion.

As for glassware---you know, it's really shouldn't be fetishized for this particular drink. You're not going to be noting the size of the bubbles. I like even serving them in tumblers, as demonstrated above, for the guests get more at a time.

Rocks with champagne? If you're using a tumbler, why not? You put champagne in punch, don't you? And what is a cocktail, if not a punch for one?

The mimosa is one rare drink that you can enlarge a bit with considerable impunity. But if you must, the champagne flute makes for handsome presentation. The only problem is, with the flute, you'll be refilling them every seven minutes. Me, I'd look for some good Italian tumblers and clink.

Umbrella season

Summer. Time for the best and worst part of it; the blazing days of August. An article from 1999 notes that the cocktail umbrella actually has a function: to shade a drink from the sun.

"What better way to prevent the ice cubes in a poolside mai tai from melting? What better way to keep that blended chi chi refreshingly slushy? Just as a good Panama hat, which is nothing but intelligently woven straw, can make the hottest tropical day seem pleasant, the cocktail umbrella, a little bit of split bamboo and pretty Japanese-print paper, can fight off solar radiation for a time, ensuring that the icy integrity of a good mixologist's creation remains intact. And look: it actually opens and closes like a real umbrella!--a transcendental feat which places the cocktail umbrella beyond the realm of mere appropriate technology (however brilliant) and into the realm of art alongside Frank Lloyd Wright's louvered window panels."

Which may be why they've seemed so kitsch when presented indoors.

By the way, that particular mai tai in the photo is at Kimo's in Maui. If you want to call it the best mai tai in the world, you'd be in good company, as many others have. But I don't lavish lavish praise so lavishly. Nonetheless, I'm going to admit--that's a boat drink and a half.

Ulanda and me

Are you seeing a whiff of the green fairy in it? Good, because that's how I made mine.  A Ulanda cocktail is two parts gin, one part triple sec, and a good splash of anis, or, as I used here, absinthe.  The book is Pritchett, my favorite short story author, vurrry late.  The drink is close to a Vesper but the offsetting of bitter and sweeter is even sharper.  I guess you could call it also a Sicilian Vesper, and I'm not going to help you out of that one.  Ulanda is good enough for me, and I dare you to walk into a bar and order one--it is, in fact, one of the best-known drinks among mixologists, but not taught much in either bartending schools or on the job.  Try to change that, will you?  In thirty-two years, I want to be where Pritchett was when he wrote this--ungainly paisley and hounds' tooth, some kind of wool pants you can only wear after a lifetime of contrarian living, the bottom half of a mohair suit, really.