alcohol
Showing posts with label alcohol. Show all posts

Dress British Drink Yiddish: Mazel Tov Cocktail


This is not ordinarily a topical blog, but last night Donald Trump surrogate Scottie Nell Hughes claimed that a Jay Z video "starts off with a crowd throwing Mazel Tov cocktails at the police," and this is just too delightful to pass up. This is especially thrilling as a Minnesotan, because we have a member of the North Stars Roller Girls who calls herself Mazel Tov Cocktail, who hails from St. Louis Park, where, as I live and breathe, I am currently sitting and writing this.

 So obviously the time of the Mazel Tov cocktail is upon us, and what would it be? 

Firstly, perhaps it need not be stated, but what Hughes meant to say was Molotov cocktail, the improvised explosive device named after Vyacheslav Molotov. He was, if you don't know, the Russian diplomat behind the behind the Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact that guaranteed no Soviet aggression against the Nazis that lasted all of two years, until the Nazis decided to get aggressive against the Soviet Union by attacking Russia.

Molotov started producing propaganda in support of the pact that was widely mocked, especially by Finns, who suffered bombings under the Nazis that Molotov insisted were food runs. So the Finns started calling Nazi bombs "Molotov bread baskets," and when the Finns started throwing bottles filled with petrol at the Nazis, these were, of course, called Molotov cocktails, because why ruin a lovely food metaphor?

There is a bit of Jewish history hidden here, as Molotov replaced Maxim Litvinov as diplomat, and Litvinov was Jewish. Litvinov was replaced, in part, because the Germans refused to have anything to do with him, calling him "Finkelstein-Litvinov." Stalin then ordered Molotov to purge the ministry of Jews. There are longstanding rumors that Litvinov was later murdered by Stalin in a faked auto accident, although Litvinov's widow denied this; nonetheless, his dismissal marked the start of a growing official antisemitism under Stalin.

Even putting that aside, Molotov's pact with the Nazis kept Russia out of the war for two years, until 1941. So, for many reasons, Jews have plenty of cause for mocking Molotov.

But what should the cocktail be? There already is an actual cocktail called the Molotov, but there is nothing to it: It is vodka with high-proof rum floated on top, and the rum is then set on fire. I think we can do better. For one thing, I think the drink must be served in a bottle to preserve the iconic look of the improvised bomb. I would suggest a Mexican Coke bottle or the like, as wine or whiskey bottles will simply be too large for a single cocktail.

I don't mind the suggestion of starting with vodka, and, as this is a Jewish drink, I would suggest starting with rye vodka, which was the sort Jews were associated with manufacturing in Eastern Europe. I strongly think the drink should preserve some of the flavors of Finland, since they named the thing, and the Finns have something called Lonkero, made by mixing gin with grapefruit soda, so we're going to add in some Fresca.

Of course, all we have now is soda and vodka, and a proper cocktail must have three ingredients or it is, as Peggy Olson says, an emergency and not a drink. This would be the moment when we can really make the drink Jewish, as we should. As it turns out, there is a bit of a hidden tradition in grapefruit cocktails of using cherry as a flavoring -- the sweetheart martini, as an example, combines both. So we're going to put some Cherry Heering in, which will make it a drink your bubbe might have loved, assuming she also loved setting fire to things. I suggest not blending the drink, because then we have the thrill of watching the Heering spread through the vodka like blood through water.

Finally, the drink needs a wick, and, believe it or not, people make wicks to put into bottles (here's an example).  I haven't tested this, but the alcohol in the cocktail should be a high enough proof to feed the wick's flame. It is low enough, however, not to be incendiary should the flame touch the drink itself. So just stuff some of these wicks into your bottle and pass them around, still burning. When people are ready to drink, they need merely snuff the wick and down the drink with a hearty "Mazel Tov!"

It's everything I like in a cocktail. It's a novelty, a history lesson, a floor show, and a bottle of booze all in one.

Dress British Drink Yiddish: The SeaPea Fizz Cocktail


Another cocktail created by Jewish mixological giant Frank Meier, the head bartender at the Paris Ritz in the mid-20th century. This is both a tremendously simply drink, and, for some drinkers, utterly terrifying. Two of the ingredients, after all, are absinthe and egg white, and these are the sorts of ingredients that make the timid imbiber swallow hard once and think twice. Let's tackle them one at a time.

People make such a fuss about absinthe, and I can't peer down my nose at them, as much as I would like too, because I once did too. It's a drink that was outlawed in the United States in 1912 and only became legal again in 2007, and absence, in this case, makes the heart grow stranger. All sorts of folktales sprang up about the drink: It was toxic, it was hallucinogenic, it was a drink that produced muse-like visions for the waiting artist.

Never mind that there were already anise liqueurs that were pretty much exactly like absinthe, such as Pernod, which was produced by a former absinthe manufacturer, and Herbsaint, which was used as an absinthe substitute in many classic cocktails that called for absinthe. Both lacked an ingredient -- namely, the bitter wormwood that made absinthe so legendary -- but worked in a pinch, and still work. Quite a few modern absinthes are meant to be drunk straight or with water, and so have an especially potent flavor that risks overpowering a cocktail. I still make my sazaracs with Herbsaint, and prefer them that way. I find it useful to forget all the fairy stories about absinthe and just treat it as another cocktail ingredient, and, sometimes, it's not the best option.

I think it is for this drink, however, because the cocktail is meant to highlight the absinthe flavor. Like a lot of Meier's cocktails, it favors the flavor of lemon, and lemon goes really well with asbinthe, both mellowing the drinks bitterness and making the anise flavor pop. I don't know that it is the best absinthe cocktail I have ever had, but this is the one that best showcases the flavor of the absinthe.

So what about the egg white? Well, the drink is a fizz, which indicates citrus and seltzer, but recalls one specific drink: The Ramos Gin Fizz, where sugar and extreme shaking emulsify the egg white, creating a light, frothy drink with a marvelous head, like an alcoholic cloud. This is that, but with absinthe rather than gin, and is marvelous in the way -- absinthe is the sort of drink that seems like it should be dense, as it is the sort of thing poets contemplating suicide would drink. But this makes the drink light and buoyant, an absinthe for the rest of us who prefer our drinking with a little less brooding.

And that is as it should be, as the drink was named after one of the lightest and most buoyant men of Meier's era: The songwriter Cole Porter, whose initials give the drink its name. Cole Porter, who was not Jewish, but who once explained his approach to songwriting to Richard Rodgers, saying "I’ll write Jewish tunes."

Here is how to make the SeaPea:
  • 3/4 ounce absinthe
  • 3/4 ounce simple syrup (1:1, sugar:water)
  • 3/4 ounce lemon juice
  • 1 egg white
  • soda water
Add all ingredients to a cocktail shaker; Shake without ice. Add ice and shake until well-chilled. Strain into a glass. Top with soda water.


Dress British Drink Yiddish: HE'BREW Beer


I have been focused on liquors, but some of you are beer drinkers, so let's talk about beer. After all, when you go into an Irish pub, you could buy whiskey, if you like, but there is also a selection of Irish beers to choose from, and even a specifically Irish mix of beers, generally Guinness and Harp, where the beers are layered one atop the other. (If I can put on my Irish-American cap for a moment, don't call this a black and tan in an Irish bar, as the Black and Tans were a violent temporary police force established to suppress the Irish War of Independence; call the drink a half and half instead.)

So if we are to have a Jewish bar, even in our own imaginations, we must have beer. Fortunately, not only is there a Jewish beer, but it is a very good one: HE'BREW Beer from the Shmaltz Brewing Company of Clifton Park, New York. The drink originated in 1996, when a group of homebrewers in San Francisco made a pomegranite ale, and, for many years, the beer was contract-brewed at established breweries and hand delivered in the Bay Area. Three years ago the company opened its own brewery, and has expanding its distribution considerably. I don't know if I could get it here in Omaha, but it was easy to locate bottles of their Hop Manna IPA last time I was in Minneapolis.

There are a lot of beer lines out out by HE'BREW, including their original pomegranate ale, and they are generally well-reviewed. Additionally, their names typically reference something explicitly Jewish, such as a double rye IPA called Bittersweet Lenny’s R.I.P.A, named after comedian Lenny Bruce, and a sour brown ale called Funky Jewbelation; some of these are released in limited series, so if you see a HE'BREW beer you haven't seen before, grab it; it may not be around long.

The IPA I bought had a very thick head, the sort of thing where you pour just a little beer and it starts to foam over so you leave it alone for a little while and then come back and pour just a bit more and then the foam rises and threatens to spill and so you go away again for a while. The beer was bitter, as an IPA should be, and citrusy, with a strong malt flavor, and if I try to describe it further I'll just start babbling nonsense: It's musty with an apple finish and the insouciance of an electric candle.

I tossed a shot glass of bourbon into a glass of the IPA to try the stuff as a boilermaker, which is always a bit risky, as whiskey and beers don't always go well together, but this was perfectly pleasant. I suspect the IPA would make an enjoyable shandy mixed with lemonade, but I drink so much lemonade so quickly that's it's never around when I have beer.

Perhaps a better beer cocktail to make with HE'BREW would be something called a Czech Sour, whose roots, like HE'BREWS are both San Francisco and Eastern Europe. The cocktail comes from the Bay Area's Burritt Room and is inspired by Czechoslovakian drinks, and combines Becherovka herbal liqueur with grapefruit bitters, gum arabic, lime, and a pale ale (HE'BREW had a limited pale, but you might have to sub in one of their IPAs), and then topped with cinnamon.

You could probably also layer their nut brown ale with an IPA for a half and half, but I feel like the resulting drink deserves a Jewish name. Um, let's call it the Samuel Goodman, after the Jewish rugby coach who led the American team to gold medals at the 1920 and 1924 Olympics.

Why? Because a traditional rugby ball is black and tan.

Dress British Drink Yiddish: Cel-Ray Soda


I have started to get the feeling most of the world has not heard of Dr. Brown's Cel-Ray soda. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, as it wasn't for sale anywhere in Minneapolis when I was a child, and I would only see it in delicatessens in New York when visiting family there. In fact, it was only available in these delicatessens, for reasons I will detail in a moment. But that still doesn't excuse the general cultural ignorance of the rest of America, as Cel-Ray, often simply called Celery Tonic, has made appearances as a heroic prop in films such as "Serpico," "Funny Lady" (it's all James Caan drinks in the film), "Tootsie," and "A Chorus Line." It's even mentioned in a Seinfeld episode, and if people could learn and remember babka from Sienfeld, they can learn and remember Cel-Ray.

I recently watched "Isn't She Great," the somewhat frantic biopic of "Valley of the Dolls" author Jacqueline Susann. Screenwriter Paul Rudnick includes a scene in which he sends a WASPy editor, played, appropriately, by David Hyde Pierce, to edit Susann's manuscript, but is constantly interrupted by deli-based irritations. These are usually generated by Nathan Lane as Susann's husband Irving Mansfield, and in one scene he walks around bellowing for celery tonic.

So Cel-Ray isn't just a weird soda -- if you haven't had it, it literally tastes exactly like celery. It's a deli soda, and, more than that, it's a Jewish soda; the New York Times wrote about it in 2011, saying that it has been called the "Jewish champagne" since at least the 1930s. There is a long and detailed history of the soda on Serious Eats, but here are the highlights:

It's an old drink, dating back to 1868, and was informed by Eastern European savory and lightly fermented drinks like kvass. Cel-Ray was long marketed as a health drink, thus the reason why it is often called a "tonic" long after the FDA decreed it shoudn't be, which happened a shockingly long time ago: 1900. Even as American tastes started moving toward sweeter sodas, Cel-Ray retained its popularity with Jewish diners, who felt it paired especially well with salty, meaty dishes, and so Dr. Brown's continued producing the stuff and selling it in New York delis, and did not offer it elsewhere.

But the deli has declined and Cel-Ray's customer base has expanded, to the point where it is relatively easy to buy it in New York, and is drunk by a wide variety of New Yorkers who apparently have no idea that the rest of the world doesn't know that this is a thing that is done, and would find anyone who did this to be mad. It has also become almost inconsequentially easy to order the stuff via the Internet, and so, while the traditional deli may be in decline, we are at a strange moment when just about anybody can enjoy something that was once unique to the deli.

And thank goodness, because even if you are unsure about just drinking a celery flavored soda, I can tell you unambiguously that Cel-Ray is a dynamite cocktail ingredient. It can easily be subbed in for any drink that requires seltzer, and generally imparts a slight umami quality without tasting specifically like celery -- especially in drinks that use lemon or lime, Cel-Ray creates a subtly deeper flavor, and a welcome one.

But there is one drink in particular that I have found especially benefits from Cel-Ray: The Bloody Mary. Don't be shy with the stuff either -- add in at least two shots of Cel-Ray per drink, just enough to give the cocktail a light effervescence. As deli patrons long ago discovered, Cel-Ray pairs perfectly with thick, savory flavors, and the Bloody Mary is the thickest, most savory cocktail I know. It's so thick that the celery soda doesn't even thin out the drink appreciably, but instead imparts that recognizable peppery/radishy celery flavor, which many people already associate with the Bloody Mary thanks to the use of celery salt on the glass rim.

In fact, using Cel-Ray in the cocktail frees you up to explore different sorts of salts on the rim. We have used creole seasoning with great success, but that's not an especially Jewish choice. Here's an opportunity for a little mixological innovation. I suspect just about any deli spice would go along with this drink, especially the sort of spice rub that delis use to flavor their meat, which typically includes onion, garlic, pepper, and coriander. Or one might attempt a return to the sorts of Eastern European flavors that originally produced Cel-Ray, including dill, paprika, horseradish (already popular in Bloody Marys), and mustard.

Anyway, obviously this version needs a Jewish name, and I have a suggestion: While there are multiple origin stories for the Bloody Mary, one of them credits the drink to a Harlem-born Jewish New York entertainer who frequented the 21 Club, a claim that is supported by a 1939 article by gourmand and columnist Lucius Beebe. Whether the Bloody Mary was actually invented by this entertainer will forever be in dispute, but let's at least name this version, made with the Jewish champagne, after the man.

Let's call it the Georgie Jessel.

Dress British Drink Yiddish: The Automobile Cocktail


Here we have another cocktail creation by Paris Ritz bartender Frank Meier, this one titled The Automobile. There is something charmingly 1936 about the name -- 1936 was the year Meier published the recipe in his book "The Artistry of Mixing Drinks," and it was a year in which automobiles were still so exciting that their name alone could inspire a drink. It's hard to think of contemporary advances in transportation that might do the same. The Segway Cocktail? The Hoverboard?

Meier's drink is essentially a martini, except made with sweet vermouth and with a large helping of scotch added in. Here is the recipe:

1 oz Scotch Whisky
1 oz Dry Gin
1 oz Sweet Vermouth
1 dash Orange Bitters

Stir well with ice and strain into cocktail stem or rocks glass.

I'll note that there is a school of thought, argued by David Emory in his 1948 book "The Fine Art of Mixing Drink," that believes a well-made cocktail highlights a specific liquor, with additional elements added in in smaller quantities to act as modifying, coloring, and flavoring agents. The Martini is perhaps the purest example of this, consisting almost entirely of gin, with a small amount of vermouth as flavoring agent, and then, classically, with orange bitter and a garnish to top it off.

Just dumping in equal measures of scotch and vermouth is pretty openly defiant of that formula. Perhaps this is why the Martini is still widely served while the Automobile has lapsed into obscurity.

That being said, Meier knew his business. The Automobile is a fine drink -- really fine, dominated by the flavor of the scotch, but smooth and comfortable, like something that should be drunk by a fireplace in an overstuffed leather chair while a dog sleeps at your feet. I always bring my dog along with me when I go drinking, but he's a comically tiny, one-eyed little beast who tends to approach the world with a wild smile and a tongue dangling to one side, looking absolutely mad, so I'll never be able to pass myself off as classy.

No matter. Drinks are often aspirational, rather than reflective: We drink to represent the life we wish we lived, rather than the ones we are living. And there are times I wish I was the sort of guy who could have made it in Paris before World War II, a frequent visitor to one of the finest hotels in the world, sharing drinks and stories in the Cafe Parisian, made by Frank Meier and drunk by Hemingway, who both would have looked at my dog and laughed.

Dress British Drink Yiddish: A Shot Called Rosh Hashanah


This blog focuses on the Yiddish-speaking parts of Europe, which were mostly East, and its influence. I tend not to look overmuch at the parts of Europe that had little to do with Yiddish, which were a lot of Western and Middle Europe. But I am also the creator of the most Jewish alcohol shot in history, and it is thoroughly German in its constituent ingredients.

But then, I suppose Yiddish originated in this part of the world and then moved east, or so most historians of the language believe. (There is a minority opinion that Yiddish is a Slavic language that somehow adopted a massive amount of  Middle High German words; as far as I can tell, that theory is considered fringe by most scholars.) So let's consider this the Yiddish of shots -- it started in the Rhineland, but has been absorbed, modified, and Judaized by an Eastern European Jew, namely me.

There are two constituent liqueurs in this cocktail. The first is one with a delightfully terrifying name: Bärenjäger, which means "bear hunter." It's apparently generally called Bärenfang in Germany, which translates into the slightly less terrifying "bear trap." And what traps bears? Honey, of course.

So this is a vodka-based liqueur flavored with honey, and it's an old drink, dating back to the 15th century, and is often illustrated with a woodcut of a bear trapper.

Our second ingredient is a newer German liqueur called Apfelkorn, which debuted in the 1970s and is an apple flavored liqueur. I mix the two liqueurs in approximately equal measures and call the drink the Rosh Hashanah.

This came about because I am a Minneapolitan, and Minneapolis is a city with a very large German population, so I frequented, and still frequent, German restaurants and bars, which always had these two liqueurs on hand, and I thought I was being funny by combining the two and giving it a Jewish name. That being said, it is an awfully tasty shot -- the mix of apples and honey on Rosh Hashanah has always been my favorite thing about the holiday, and these flavors combine quite well into a shot as well.

It is possible to make an Eastern European variation of this, but it's a little more work. There is a honey liqueur popular in many of the countries in the former Pale of Settlement called, alternately, Krupnik and Krupnikas, which is strongly alcoholic and also strongly herbal, and there is a Russian fermented honey called Medovukha that bears some similarities to mead, and I regret typing "bears." Add to this a fruit brandy from the Carpathian basin called Pálinka (apple Pálinka exists) and you have a variation that seems right for this blog, although I want to know who your liquor dealer is.

This variation deserves its own name. Let's call it epl un honik.
Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)