Whiskey

Robert Krueger, our bar manager, discovered the New Yorker in a vintage copy of Booth’s cocktail book from the late 1930s. It is an offshoot of the New York Sour, with the addition of club soda. Think of it as a rye Collins with a float of red wine. The New Yorker is tall and fizzy, great for a hot day, and certainly stunning to look at. This cocktail is also a great culinary example of how substituting or adding one ingredient can drastically change the style and feel of a cocktail. The club soda changes the character from a simple sour into a long drink, which changes the perception of consumption by reducing the acidity and intensity in each sip. Whereas a Whiskey Sour is more a late-evening and cold-weather drink, the New Yorker tends to be more of a lazy-afternoon and summertime treat.

The Whiskey Sour is the pinnacle of the sour cocktail family and unarguably its most famous member. In Harry Johnson’s Bartenders’ Manual, the preferred method is to stir together sugar, water, and lemon juice before shaking with whiskey. During the dark ages of the cocktail in the 1970s and ’80s, it was turned into a two-ingredient drink in which cheap blended whiskey was poured over ice with sweet-and-sour mix from a soda gun. However, the real Whiskey Sour has been resurrected and can be made in its pure form almost anywhere that has a decent cocktail menu, even by aspiring actors working as bartenders. It is a very straightforward cocktail with a strong base of whiskey mixed with simple syrup and sour, freshly squeezed lemon juice. To bring together the body, add a splash of orange juice—just realize that with more than a splash, this drink becomes a Stone Sour. It is a fairly easy drink that can help you master the balance between sweet and sour to spirit. Make sure you shake it enough so that a thin foam rests on the surface—that is the hallmark for Whiskey Sour fans.

We will not simply turn a blind eye to the contemporary version of the Old Fashioned—it was the first cocktail we were taught that used bitters. Somewhere between the 1890s and 1930s, what probably started out as an ornamental garnish of orange and cherry fell into the mixing glass and got muddled with sugar and bitters. We see evidence of this drink in Burke’s Complete Cocktail and Drinking Recipes from 1936, in which the fruit is muddled, whereas during the same period Old Mr. Boston Bartender’s Guide continued to add the fruit after making the drink. More than likely it was a trick used during Prohibition to mask poor-quality booze that stuck with many and was passed down over the generations. Today, many look down on this version of the cocktail, mostly because of the use of commercial, artificial maraschino cherries. Many young cocktail enthusiasts may not have enjoyed this cocktail in its original form, so we offer this restoration for them.

We discovered the New York Sour in the summer of 2003 while we were researching cocktails to put on the opening drink list for Keith McNally’s Schiller’s Liquor Bar on the Lower East Side. Visually inviting, this sour is deep yellow with a crimson band of red wine floating on top. The origin of the cocktail is shrouded in mystery, but it is certain that it was served at several New York City speakeasies in the late 1920s. It was no surprise to discover that this cocktail was New York’s Prohibition-era favorite, probably because the lemon juice, sugar, and wine camouflaged and successfully balanced the bad watered-down whiskey common in those days. It was the cool drink to have, and people who ordered it were “in the know.” Think of it as the Prohibition-era Cosmo—or any other status-symbol cocktail that clearly advertises itself in appearance. Made with better ingredients, the cocktail became a masterpiece of complex flavors and mouthfeel. A chef friend of ours once remarked that this drink is like sangria à la minute—and one of the few cocktails that can be successfully paired with a main course.

The name “Old Fashioned” here refers to what was once known as the Whiskey Cocktail. It is a cocktail in the simplest terms: spirit, water, bitters, and sugar. Sometime in the late 1800s, the use of the word “cocktail” broadened far beyond its original definition, so it was necessary to come up with a new moniker to distinguish the older cousin. Many self-described purists will argue that there is only one way to make this drink properly. We disagree. So if you decide to order a whiskey cocktail as an Old Fashioned, be precise about what you want. Intentionally being ambiguous about your order is just a nice way of being obnoxious.

Stunning to look at, the Greenwich Sour is rich and frothy, with a band of red wine floating on top. It is a variation of a Prohibition classic, the New York Sour. The key difference between the two is that we have add an egg white in our take, a practice common throughout the history of making sours. Many people today are wary about consuming raw eggs for fear of salmonella. The risk of contamination is actually quite low and ca be reduced even more by using eggs from free-range chickens; add high-proof spirit to that, and the chances of getting sick are reduced to almost nothing. The egg white adds texture to the cocktail by trapping air and requires a very long hard shake to create the necessary consistency. Many bartenders will shake the egg white on its own first to begin this process. To give the Greenwich Sour its necessary backbone, it is important to use high-proof whiskey to cut through the sour body. The wine’s tannins add depth to the cocktail and complete its finish.

According to David Wondrich, the Whiskey Smash comes from the Baroque Age (see opposite page) of the cocktail. Obviously, it served as inspiration for our seasonal Ginger Smash cocktails, but it is in all its features a julep—the only difference being that the Smash has some ornamental fruits for garnish and is always shaken so that the mint is “smashed”—hence the name. From all the smashes in the Baroque Age, it appears that the Brandy Smash was the most popular (same drink, different base spirit—try it out for yourself), but somehow the whiskey version stuck with us. Maybe sampling Dale DeGroff’s rocking peach whiskey smash sealed the deal for us, or maybe it was just that we loved the term “smashed.” In any case, this is a very simple drink to make, and we suggest that you use our homemade Mint Syrup in place of simple syrup for a far more dimensional cocktail experience. This cocktail is one of the very few that contains no juice but nevertheless should be shaken and smashed.

This Mint Julep is the quintessential American cocktail, so regal that it sits at the summit of cocktail Olympus next to classics like the Martini, the Manhattan, and the Sazerac. It hails from Kentucky and Virginia and is enjoyed throughout the South. We know for sure it was consumed as early as 1790, particularly in the summertime. A particular type of spearmint, Kentucky Colonel, is best suited for the preparation of this cocktail, commonly served in a silver or pewter cup to keep it chilled longer. Since 1938, it has been the official drink of the Kentucky Derby, where up to 120,000 mint juleps are served over the period of two days. There are many historical and regional versions: some use bourbon, others brandy; some only tap the mint, others pulverize it into a paste. We favor a bourbon recipe in which fresh spearmint is bruised with a ladle, then sugar, bitters, and bourbon are added; the mixture is chilled overnight so the mint releases all the flavors and essential oils into the whiskey, then strained the following day for final julep preparation. To simplify this process so the julep can be made to order, we use our own homemade Mint Syrup.

The Millionaire Cocktail is not as romanticized as the South Side or as revered as a Whiskey Sour. Little is known about this Prohibition-era cocktail except that it was a popular name for cocktails of that time. We have found five different cocktails carrying the moniker, with recipes varying from whiskey to rum to gin. Even Harry Craddock, author of The Savoy Cocktail Book, listed two completely unrelated recipes as Millionaire Cocktail No. 1 and Millionaire Cocktail No. 2. The first consists of Jamaican rum, apricot brandy, sloe gin, lime juice, and grenadine; the second has anisette, egg white, gin, and absinthe. We have provided the Millionaire recipe from The How and When cocktail book by Hyman Gale and Gerald F. Marco, first printed in 1938. Although it inspired the name for our Billionaire Cocktail (page 64), we have made some slight adjustments to the proportions and added lemon juice for balance.

This cocktail was created in a flash of inspiration to showcase overproof whiskey by offsetting it with wonderfully lush and flavorful ingredients. Strong Baker’s 107-proof bourbon serves as the backbone to the cocktail, providing vigor and heat. This is balanced with our rich homemade grenadine and fresh lemon juice to give a delightful sweet-and-sour balance. The Absinthe Bitters’ anise essence rounds out the cocktail, giving it a classic feel and third dimension. After conceiving the recipe, we were stumped for a name until we realized it was quite similar to a version of the Prohibition classic Millionaire Cocktail (page 66). Because of inflation and the fact that ours is a “richer” cocktail, we named it the Billionaire Cocktail.

The Sazerac was invented by pharmacist Antoine Amedee Peychaud in New Orleans sometime in the early 1800s. In his French Quarter drugstore, M. Peychaud served his concoction of Sazerac cognac, absinthe, sugar, and his homemade bitters in the large end of an egg cup—what the French call a coquetier. (There had been speculation that the word cocktail comes from the mispronunciation of coquetier, but this myth has been disproven.) Later, rye whiskey replaced Sazerac cognac because it was more readily available, but the name stayed. The traditional making of a Sazerac is a ritual still practiced in New Orleans. It begins with the bartender pouring Herbsaint into a rocks glass, then tossing the glass in the air while yelling “Sazerac!” Coating the inside of a glass with liquor is referred to as “seasoning” the glass. The glass is then chilled as the cocktail is made. At Employees Only, we make Sazeracs by seasoning the glass with our Absinthe Bitters, and we use Angostura bitters in addition to Peychaud’s.

Pêche bourbon is simply the French way of saying “peach bourbon.” These two items are as compatible a pairing as strawberries and vanilla. We wanted to showcase our peach-infused bourbon without overshadowing any of its subtle beauty. We blended it in the most straightforward way, with sugar and Peychaud’s bitters, then followed the ritual used to make the classic Sazerac cocktail (opposite): we first “season” the serving glass with French peach cordial. The ingredients swirl together in a slow dance, exciting the palate, then leaving it longing for more. This is a very delicate yet powerful cocktail. It is a great aperitif; it pairs well with grilled meats and seafood; and it is sublime as an after-dinner drink with a fruit tart or cake.

Most people today understand a Manhattan to be bourbon whiskey with a dash of vermouth, shaken or stirred—little more than a nice way to order a big shot of whiskey. Only recently have people once again acknowledged the necessity of bitters in the recipe. What happened? Prohibition all but annihilated rye whiskey production in this country; by the end of World War II, America had embraced Canadian whiskies as rye, even though most are made of a blend of grains. When we first began bartending, it was common for Manhattans to be made with Seagram’s VO or Crown Royal. But in the early 1990s, bartenders making Manhattans gravitated toward newly released single-barrel and small-batch bourbons to meet the expectations of the luxury crowd. As with Martinis, these customers demanded only a whisper of vermouth so as not to destroy the precious whiskey. Our recipe is an excellent expression of a Manhattan made with soft-natured bourbon. Rye whiskey makes a sharp, racy alternative. As for cherries, keep clear of the big artificial ones floating in eerie red dye. Pit fresh cherries and soak them for a few days in amaretto or cherry liqueur instead.

The Manhattan cocktail we serve is not to be confused with the contemporary Manhattan. This recipe first appeared in the latter part of the nineteenth century and is referenced in later editions of How to Mix Drinks or the Bon Vivant’s Companion as well as Harry Johnson’s 1882 Bartenders’ Manual. This forgotten formula has a higher ratio of sweet vermouth to rye whiskey, with an accent of orange Curaçao and Boker’s bitters, served straight up with a lemon twist. Cherries in Manhattans came later as the mixture evolved into a different cocktail. The subtle mingling of flavors in this version illustrates an older style of drink making. Of course, as with any epic cocktail, there are several conflicting stories about its origins. Our favorite version has Winston Churchill’s mother, Jennie, ordering its creation for the celebration of Samuel Tilden’s election as governor of New York at the Manhattan Club. As exciting as this may sound, it seems that little Winston had more to do with disproving the theory. At the time of the election, Lady Churchill was in England giving birth to Winston, and the only noted celebration for Tilden actually coincided with the day of Winston Churchill’s christening.

The Beauty of the Manhattan is its smooth simplicity. That’s why it’s so important to use the best ingredients available. For the vermouth, I prefer Antica Formula Carpano, which has a fresh and complex herbaceousness. Near my country house is the Tuthilltown Spirits whiskey distillery, and their New York Whiskey tastes great in this drink. To embellish on the original, I add just a touch of brandied sour cherries and their juices. You can buy them at a specialty foods store.

Try this with Chocolate-Pecan-Bourbon Pie (page 83).

This is not only our signature pie but, more than that, I consider it my “lucky” pie. In addition to its being our first National Pie Championships winner, our customers voted it into Good Morning America’s “Best Slice Challenge” contest. The segment aired just a few days before my first Thanksgiving in the shop, making it nearly impossible to keep this pie stocked for the holidays. To really blow your guests away, I recommend serving this pie warm with a drizzle of Bourbon Sauce (page 190) or a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top.

Bourbon whiskey, a uniquely American spirit, can be used in cooking the same way wine often is in French recipes, as a splash that lends a subtle, aromatic presence and a bit of moisture. A whiskey sausage, with its breath of musty sage, makes a perfect grilling patty for sandwiching in a bun smeared with tomato chutney. Or, you can roll the sausage into small balls and serve them with the chutney as a dipping sauce. Two things distinguish this speedy chutney from bona fide tomato ketchup: its consistency is a little looser and less dense, and it is made in little more than half an hour. It will keep in the refrigerator for up to 2 months before its savor diminishes. Use it also to accompany pork chops or grilled chicken or game.

Stack the deck in your favor by baking these unbeatable treats for your next get-together. Bourbon lends a pleasant bite that counteracts the sweet flavor of the currants. Other whiskeys can be substituted, if desired.

Porterhouse is a great cut of beef. You get a piece of the rib eye, a piece of the tenderloin, and (my personal favorite) a piece of the fatty tail. Grilled and soused with Molasses-Bourbon Steak Sauce, it’s a beautiful thing.