I return slightly more tan (only on my feet—your guess is as good as mine) and ready to provide you with a refreshing highball for your tippling pleasure. This comes from the pages of Raising the Bar which, if you haven’t already, I urge you to take a peek at. I like to flip through it just for the photos.

A buck is a traditional highball composed of a spirit, lemon juice and ginger ale. Simple and straightforward, it comes in an infinite number of variations; you’ve probably heard of the gin buck or the New Orleans Buck, two of the more famous versions.

In a southwestern spin, Mautone prefaces his take by discussing his on-going quest to find more varied uses for tequila than just a margarita—a fine quest, and one that I have long been interested in. Though ginger and tequila wouldn’t be my first choice for a complementary pairing, this drink pulls it off.

2½ oz reposado tequila
6 oz ginger beer*
1 oz seltzer
1 tsp agave nectar
dash Peychaud’s bitters
quarter of a lemon

Fill a highball glass with ice. Squeeze the lemon over ice and drop the shell into the glass. Add the remaining ingredients and stir. Garnish with an orange or lime peel.

*I keep ginger beer as opposed to ginger ale, so I added a bit of agave nectar to add some sweetness and cut the ginger back slightly with some seltzer water. If you’re using ginger ale, add 7 oz and skip the seltzer and agave.

The spice of the ginger beer complements the more assertive nature of the tequila and makes the drink zing in a very appealing way; Peychaud’s adds a rosy pink hue and ties the lemon to the whole. It’s easy to make and perfect for the warm days and cool nights of spring—chilly and refreshing with a warming bite (well, more like a nibble).

As such, when I found myself once again venturing through one of my favorite off-the-wall shopping destinations and came upon their delightful assortment of old-fashioned sodas, I couldn’t help myself. Charlie Brown Farms is a cultural smörgåsbord that lies along Pearblossom Highway in Littlerock, California. Anyone who has done the drive from LA to Vegas has passed Charlie Brown’s, a ramshackle red farm-style building that only hints at the wonders it contains. Life size dinosaurs, a village of gnomes, room after room of dolls, toys, knick-knacks, lawn ornaments, fruits, nuts, snacks, sodas, pickles… It’s something like how I imagine the Mad Hatter’s cottage, had he the space and inclination to acquire a lifetime of popular American ephemera.

After half an hour of perusing the vast selection of snacks (the reason for our visit), I stumbled upon the sodas secreted behind the lunch counter area. In the end I had to limit my selection to three bottles of ginger beer (and two bottles of root beer) only because I avoid purchasing things that contain HFCS, but these three naturally sweetened choices represented themselves proudly despite their small number.

Buderim Aussie Style Ginger Brew | Queensland, AUS | cane sugar – ginger
Cloudy with a distinctly yellow color, akin to lemonade. Very little carbonation. Strong, earthy fresh ginger flavor with some overt spicy notes. Sweet but not saccharine. Category champion!

Jamaica’s Finest Ginger Beer | Pennsylvania, US | sugar – ginger root oil
Golden color, similar to ginger ale, with moderate carbonation. Very spicy, with a pronounced ginger flavor and hefty bite on the end. Moderate sweetness. Category runner-up—makes an excellent Moscow Mule

Jamaica’s Finest Ginger Beer HOT! HOT! HOT! | Pennsylvania, US | sugar – ginger root oil
Dark golden color, like Grade A maple syrup, with moderate carbonation. Very, very spicy, with a pronounced ginger flavor. Clears your sinuses and warms your stomach.

As such, my drinking has been restricted to those spirits I have in plentiful supply. Though my rum selection is dwindling, I still have more rum than anything else. Returning again to Trader Vic’s Bartender’s Guide, Revised, I hunted through the punches looking for something light and refreshing that would be plentiful enough that one batch would get us through the afternoon (and evening).

I’ve searched as many resources as I could to find the source of the Gun Club Punch (version two), but haven’t been able to turn up any leads. My best guess is that it has some relation to The Gun Club Drink Book by Charles Browne, “sometime Mayor of Princeton; onetime Member of Congress; A. M., M. D., and some other things, but primarily interested in cookery,” which retails for a reasonable $1000. Regardless, this is a much less tropical concoction than version one, which includes pineapple juice and a host of other common tiki ingredients.

1½ oz light Puerto Rican rum
½ oz 151º Demerara rum
dash curaçao
dash simple syrup
1½ oz unsweetened grapefruit juice
juice of 1 lime

Blend with one scoop shaved ice and pour into a glass filled with ice. Decorate with a sprig of mint and a fruit stick.

Trader Vic explicitly calls for this to be served in a big red shot glass, which, not being a collector, is one of the many specialty glasses I do not own. I compromised with the large footed glass I use for most of my tiki cocktails.

This drink, while pleasant and refreshing, isn’t an overwhelming winner. It’s on the dry side, and blending it with shaved ice not only diluted the potency of the 151º, it killed most of the flavor as well. Next time it could use a little oomph—falernum? Pimento dram? Less ice? Back to the drawing board…

This recipe found me through the gorgeously photographed, criminally underutilized (by me, anyway) book Raising the Bar. The drink appealed to me immediately, the word “frappé” aside—it generally reminds me of the sort of hyper-corporate bourgeoisie café outcroppings that try to make iced coffee sound like it’s worth $5 an ounce. Once this frappé had me in its grasp, however, there was no going back. Not even when I discovered that we, in fact, had no limoncello.

Thus began the strange odyssey to find limoncello on the eastern-most edge of Hollywood—on a bike, chancing life and limb on the traffic-clogged streets, through neon supermarkets and dingy liquor stores, The Boyfriend searched but there was not a bottle of limoncello to be found. Oh, the horror! In a last-ditch effort to procure something—anything—that vaguely resembled lemon liqueur, he ducked in to the liquor store downstairs, a place we primarily go when we’re out of beer, and asked the clerk if they carry limoncello. The blank stare was not promising, but the clerk looked around and popped out of the back of the shop with a bottle: “This has a lemon on it. Will it work?”

It figures: find a liquor store in Hollywood with limoncello and what do they carry? Danny DeVito’s Premium Limoncello. The very same limoncello that he so infamously shared with George Clooney, resulting in their subsequent ejection from a bar and DeVito’s colorful appearance on “The View”. Not that I knew any of this before I started drinking, but two glasses of limoncello and down the YouTube rabbit hole I go!

2 oz gin (Hendrick’s)
2 oz limoncello
lemon, cut into quarters
crushed ice
lime zest, for garnish

Fill a wine glass with crushed ice and squeeze in the juice of one quarter of the lemon. Add gin and limoncello and stir; garnish with thin peels of lime zest and serve.

Hyperbole comes naturally to me but I’m fighting the urge to really go crazy with metaphors this time. Suffice it to say that, barring one small bit of tinkering on my part—I added a dash of simple syrup, as my lemons were super acidic—this drink is perfect. It’s a sitting-on-the-lawn-enjoying-a-lazy-Saturday-in-the-shade kind of drink. It’s everything you love about lemonade, plus a hint of cucumber, plus four ounces of liquor. What’s not to love? And, in the name of research, I also tried this with Tanqueray No. 10; while it is still quite good, I really have to urge you to use Hendrick’s here.

As a sidebar, no one is more surprised than I to tell you that Danny DeVito’s limoncello is good. It tastes like real lemons rather than artificial flavoring (it isn’t neon yellow!), and as an added bonus it isn’t too sweet. It’s just the right balance for exactly what limoncello is supposed to be: an digestivo. Granted we threw it all out of whack when we used it in an aperitif, but I live dangerously.

Remember that bottle of créme de violette I mentioned a few posts back? The one that my darling sister bought us as a gift? The bottle I’ve been trying unsuccessfully to find for months now? Well, friends, that lovely, slender, lavender vessel now lives in my bar and it has been calling out for attention. Naturally, wanting to do things right with such an unprecedented newcomer, we gave it a taste before I committed it to the shaker.

As Jamie pointed out, the nose on this isn’t precisely enticing, though I wouldn’t say it’s off-putting, either. It has an earthy, almost dusty sensibility edging around the distinctly flowery essence. The color was much more purple than I expected to find in a small pour, which made me a little bit suspicious about the coloring agents. That footnote aside, the flavor was pretty much what you would expect—violets, similar to the taste of a pastille. Subtly floral and not terribly sweet, it has a very savory character despite the candy-bright color.

I’ve been fortunate enough to taste real Créme Yvette, which is the only other violet liqueur I’ve ever had. Comparatively the violette doesn’t have the rich, complex character of the Yvette, nor the subtle sweetness, but it certainly delivers on the violet flavor—which is the main component of Yvette as well. As such, I decided to try out the violette in a Blue Moon, to see how it held up against the Yvette version.

2 oz gin (Plymouth)
½ oz créme de violette

Stir over ice and strain into a cocktail glass.

While this drink illustrated the limits of violette very well, in some ways it’s disappointing that I have the original Blue Moon to compare it to. This simple little tipple illustrates perfectly how unfortunate the unavailability of Créme Yvette is. Made with violette, this is a nice cocktail—pleasant and earthy with some floral notes flirting around the edges, but even a mild gin like Plymouth runs over the one-dimensional flavor of the liqueur. To make this really sing it’ll need some tinkering and an all together different proportion of the liqueur to approximate the subtle charms of the Yvette cocktail. Ah well, back to the drawing board…

I’ll start with Tales news so that it doesn’t get lost when your mind blanks out in joy at the words “fresh strawberries.” (Whoops, guess I let the cat out of the bag.) Tales of the Cocktail is returning for a fifth fantastic year July 16-20 and I am finally going. Myself and some other like-minded people you might recognize are going to be blogging up to and during the drunken revelry event this year at talesblog.com. Oh, and did I mention that my birthday coincides with the last day? As if Tales itself weren’t reason enough to celebrate…

So now that I’ve wormed out of the shackles at my desk and talked about Tales, on with the cocktail. Though Southern California has many negatives, one of its major positive qualities is the produce. We get fresh produce year-round because of our exceptionally mild climate, which also brings us strawberries in March. I’ve been exercising Herculean restraint by not buying and eating a flat per day—a feat which also led me to consider ways I could consume the berries besides just shoving them in my mouth like a two year-old.

Naturally, this led me to drink. (Much like a two year-old, my reasoning ability is very straightforward.)

I found the recipe for the Fresa-Fresa in Trader Vic’s Bartender’s Guide, Revised. A simple concoction of tequila, fresh strawberries and sugar, it sounded lovely but I just couldn’t resist tinkering with it—not that strawberries need much embellishment, but they play so nicely with others. I rooted around in the fridge and settled on the spice syrup that I concocted for the Tiki Puka Puka as my secret weapon. Some girls have the Miracle Bra, I have simple syrup with allspice and cinnamon. How’s that for priorities?

2 oz reposado tequila
6 fresh strawberries, medium-sized, hulled
1 Tbsp agave nectar
2 tsps spice syrup*

Blend all ingredients together with ice (one scoop shaved or five regular cubes). Pour into a chilled cocktail glass or champagne saucer.

*Using a hammer or other blunt object, break up 3 sticks of cinnamon, 2 whole cloves, ¼ teaspoon cardamom seeds and 2 generous tablespoons allspice berries. Add the broken up (but not completely pulverized) spices to 3 cups of water in a small saucepan. Boil vigorously until reduced by half, then strain out the spices. Return the spiced water to the pan and add 1½ cups of sugar. Simmer over low heat until the sugar is completely dissolved and the mixture has thickened slightly. Cool before using.

I’m not going to say that this drink will change your life or some other hyperbolic nonsense, but it is delicious. Strawberries and tequila go together like strawberries and chocolate, and the sweet spiciness of the syrup works well with the natural bite of tequila. I really like the agave nectar here because it’s not tooth-achingly sweet (as sugar can be if you add too much) and allows you a little bit more license with the syrup if you want to get nuts with the spices.

One upside, though, is that my sister kindly purchased us a bottle of Rothman & Winter Créme de Violette which will soon make an appearance on this very site. Until then, I’ll make do with a photo featuring our new star ingredient.

Cheers!

Unlike last month, I am being a responsible blogger and participating in the newest installment of Mixology Monday. Generally I procrastinate pretty much up to the last minute but, given the creativity of Rick’s “Limit One” theme I had to break some of my bad habits and actually do my homework beforehand. As I have already mentioned here, the weather has been turning toward spring breezes and sunny days—a phenomenon which always brings rum to the forefront of my thoughts. As such (and considering Rick’s love of tiki cocktails), I aimed for tropical themes when searching for an appropriately boozy drink.

I picked up Trader Vic’s Bartender’s Guide, Revised mostly for inspiration. I wasn’t expecting to find the drink in it, but I felt that some of his heartier rum concoctions would help me along the path to enlightenment. Being an orderly sort of person, I went A-Z, marking interesting ideas as I went, until my eye fell upon the Tiki Puka Puka. It appealed to me right away because the name itself is subtly warning you—too many of these and you’ll be praying to the porcelain tiki god.

So it was the Tiki Puka Puka I wanted…except that I didn’t have Navy Grog mix. Damn! I don’t generally keep mixes of any sort on hand, and I find the constant need for Mai Tai mix or Navy Grog mix to be one of the most consistently irritating things about Trader Vic’s recipes. Granted, they do still sell the stuff, but I don’t make enough Mai Tais or Navy Grogs to warrant making space for yet more bottles in my fridge. As such, I hit up the Tiki Central Forums looking for a recipe that remotely resembled Trader Vic’s Navy Grog mix. I hit pay dirt and, per the discussion in the thread, fiddled with things until I came up with the mixture I’ve included below. I can’t vouch for its authenticity (oh, the horror!) but it is tasty, regardless.

1 oz light Puerto Rican rum
1 oz dark Jamaican rum
1 oz 151º Demerara rum
1 oz blood orange juice
3 oz Trader Vic’s Navy Grog mix (see below)
orange flower water

Blend all ingredients except orange flower water with crushed ice for fifteen seconds. Pour over ice cubes in a grapefruit supreme glass (or a brandy snifter). Garnish with a gardenia and sprinkle the orange flower water over the bloom.

Sloshed! Navy Grog Mix
makes enough for two drinks
⅓ cup spice syrup*
⅓ cup lime juice
1½ oz grapefruit juice

Mix all three ingredients together until well blended.

*After reading that Trader Vic most likely came up with the name “grog” through his fondness for glögg, I used a more heavily spiced, Swedish-influenced spice mix to come up with this syrup. Using a hammer or other blunt object, break up 3 sticks of cinnamon, 2 whole cloves, ¼ teaspoon cardamom seeds and 2 generous tablespoons allspice berries. Add the broken up (but not completely pulverized) spices to 3 cups of water in a small saucepan. Boil vigorously until reduced by half, then strain out the spices. Return the spiced water to the pan and add 1½ cups of sugar. Simmer over low heat until the sugar is completely dissolved and the mixture has thickened slightly. Cool before using.

Even though I took quite a few liberties with this drink I maintained the original name—despite completely winging the Navy Grog mix and omitting a dash of grenadine and using blood orange juice in the place of regular to emulate the color—because I think this maintains the spirit of the original. The drink is, in most of its particulars, a Navy Grog with 151º and orange juice. That aside, this reaches a new level of complexity, particularly thanks to the aromatic kick of the orange flower water. It is drier than you might expect from the rich red color, but with lovely spicy notes and the bite of citrus. Oh, and it has the kick of about four shots of 80º liquor. Buckle up, kids!

We’ve had a rash of particularly fine days this week and decided to celebrate by breaking out a little tiki. I combed and combed through my various tiki tomes looking for a bright, cheerful, springtime sort of drink—of course, most of them fit into one of the categories, but I was feeling demanding and wanted all three. When I hit upon the Lei Lani Volcano in Intoxica!, it was the clear winner.

Well, it was until I started to pour the pineapple juice and was confronted with a very strange, crumpled, green-and-white chunk of…something. It smelled like pineapple but looked like a morel mushroom, thus leading me to the conclusion that our pineapple juice had been taken over by an alien being, thus rendering it useless to my plans. Damn! Necessity being the mother of invention, I juiced a blood orange in the hope that its mild tartness could hold up in the place of pineapple and got to shaking.

3 oz guava nectar
¾ oz blood orange juice
¾ oz fresh lime juice
¼ oz rock candy syrup
2½ oz Cruzan coconut rum

Shake all ingredients over ice and pour into a ceramic coconut mug or, failing that, a big glass. Garnish with a cocktail cherry pinned to an orange slice.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I have made the Lei Lani Volcano before and it is fantastic (if you go in for the sweet drinks, which I do enjoy on occasion). Building on that proven base, this variation was great—sweet but full-flavored, tropical without too much Jimmy Buffett and all the colors of a Hawaiian sunset. Hello, springtime!

Since I managed to completely flake on last month’s Mixology Monday, I’m posting a drink that was posted by Jeffrey for the Variations event. I know, I know—another Jeff Morgenthaler post?!?! Don’t I read any other cocktail blogs?

The answer is, of course, yes. If you could see my daily cocktail RSS feeds you would probably goggle a bit. I stopped counting at fifty, so I couldn’t even give you an accurate count of how many blogs I read on any given day. Be that as it may, it is nevertheless a coincidence that I made the Flor de Baya so soon after the Richmond Gimlet. Jeff just happened to post the recipe right after I found both a bag of fresh cranberries in my freezer and a bottle of Sauza lurking in the back of my bar. I chose to take that convergence as a sign…but then again, it doesn’t take much to encourage me to take up the shaker. Or the beaker, as the case may be when making a gastrique.

2 oz Sauza Hornitos tequila
¾ oz fresh lime juice
½ oz simple syrup
2 barspoons cranberry gastrique (recipe follows)

Boil 1½ cups white vinegar with 1½ cups sugar, 10 oz fresh cranberries, the juice and zest of 1 lemon, 1 star anise and 4 cloves for 20 minutes, using a wooden spoon to help break up cranberries. Strain mixture through cheesecloth, bottle and refrigerate.

Shake ingredients over cracked ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with lime.

To be honest, while I was expecting this drink to be high quality, because its genesis was the tequila Cosmo I didn’t have high hopes for it. Fortunately, in the way of many things in my life, in that assumption I was wrong. The body and flavor that are imparted by the gastrique really take this somewhere special. The tartness of the vinegar-cranberry mixture coordinates with the peppery nature of the tequila—quite the opposite of, for example, Cointreau in a margarita—and the sugar mellows out those edges to keep it from being harsh. All in all, it’s a lovely drink that doesn’t hide the natural characteristics of the tequila but harmonizes them instead. I see many of these to come in the summer months.