rye whiskey Archives - cultured nyc

Friday at five: Rye and Ginger

“Give me a whisky, ginger ale on the side. And don’t be stingy, baby!”

And with that drink order, Greta Garbo spoke her first ever line in a talkie, 1930’s Anna Christie. “Garbo Talks!” screamed the ads! It was a big deal. So we also see that whisky and ginger ale is a classic combination. And with good reason: the burn of the ginger acts as a counter-irritant (as William Powell’s Godfrey would say) to the burn of the booze, and the sweetness of the mixer gives the whole drink a nice lift.

My own connection with the drink is, however, much more personal: it was my Dad’s drink. He would have them when company was over, but I think his favorite time to have them was on the weekend, watching hockey games on TV. I was a precocious kid, and I learned at an early age, probably nine or ten, how to make them for him. My parents had these fancy tumblers with gold trim; there was a ring around each glass near the bottom, which I figured was the right fill line for the whisky. I’d then fill it up with Canada Dry ginger ale, no ice. I remember the first time I made him one, he approached the drink with caution, took a sip and then with a somewhat surprised expression, proclaimed it good. After that, for the next few years anyway, I would mix him the odd one while he watched those hockey games. Now I know that there will be people who are perhaps appalled at the thought of a young child mixing drinks for their father. That’s fine, but I really don’t care. It’s but one of many nostalgic memories I have of my father, who left this Earth in 2002.

In Canada, up through the 90s at least, which is when I left Ontario for NYC, Rye and Ginger is a popular drink. And ‘Rye’, in that context refers to Canadian whisky, which is very different from an American straight rye. My Dad didn’t really have a preference, I remember seeing Crown Royal (with the cool bag), Canadian Club, Seagram’s VO, and Seagram’s Five Star (with the cool plastic “sheriff’s badge”). I suspect that in the years since I left, Rye and Ginger may have become somewhat of an old man drink.

For my own version today, I’m going to skip the Canadian whisky and opt instead for an excellent NY state rye, Breuckelen Distilling bottled in bond small batch. And I’m also subbing in my own house-made fermented ginger beer– recipe to follow soon! My current batch of ginger beer isn’t super carbonated yet (it’s only been going for two days), but it has a lovely yeasty, slightly funky, honey and spice flavor profile. If I were served this blind, I would not guess in a million years that this is a two-ingredient drink.

Ingredients

A shot of rye whiskey
Ginger beer
Serve in a tumbler, on the rocks, or neat like my Dad liked

Ginger bug in a Le Parfait jar. — Ginger bug, like a sourdough starter for ginger beer.

Variations

For a classic Rye and Ginger, use Canadian whisky and commercial ginger ale. To make a Horse’s Neck, substitute brandy (classic) or bourbon (another variation), serve on the rocks and garnish with a long lemon twist, extending outside the rim of the glass.

Here’s to you, Dad!

Ginger bug and fermenting ginger beer
A classy riff on Rye and Ginger.

Friday at five: Old Pal

A guy walks into a bar:
Bartender: “What’s yours?”
Guy: “Old Pal.”
Bartender: “Listen buddy, I don’t know you from Adam. So I’ll ask you again, what’ll it be?”
Guy: “I’d like an Old Pal, please.”
Bartender: “What in hell is that?”
–end scene

Some version of this scene has been playing over and again for me, minus the Capra-esque patter, for many months now. I’ve been conducting a bit of an experiment, and have found that hardly anyone, bartenders included, knows how to make an Old Pal. I think the bartender at Elixir, a truly excellent bar in San Francisco, may have been the only one who remembered it. And that’s a shame, because it’s a great drink.

I’m a big fan of Negronis–they’re my go-to when I’m looking for a gin cocktail that’s as bracing as a slap across the face. A few years ago, I fell in love with Boulevardiers, which swap out the gin for bourbon. I was in Louisville for two weeks this summer, and had one of those pretty much everywhere I went. But Nora and I both have a preference for rye whiskey over bourbon, at least in cocktails, and that’s where the Old Pal comes in. If you swap out the bourbon in a Boulevardier for rye, and also swap out the sweet vermouth for dry vermouth, now you have an Old Pal. This is exactly how I explain the drink to a bartender who doesn’t know what an Old Pal is. If they also don’t know how to make a Boulevardier, I’ll order a whiskey on the rocks.

The drink was created by Harry MacElhone, of Harry’s New York Bar in Paris, in honor of his friend and frequent customer, William “Sparrow” Robertson, a sports writer for the New York Herald. Robertson would call everyone his “old pal,” and the drink was named. The associations with Harry’s and Paris in the ’20s complete the allure of the drink for me.

Ingredients

1 oz Rye Whiskey
1 oz Campari
1 oz Dry Vermouth
Lemon twist

Old Pal ingredients.
Old Pal versus Boulevardier.

Method

Build in a tumbler filled with ice. Serve with a lemon twist for garnish.

Given the similarities between the Old Pal and the Boulevardier, I thought it would be instructive to mix up one of each and do a side-by-side comparison. I was expecting the Old Pal to be crisper and the Boulevardier to be sweeter, and I was blown away by how much that turned out to be the case. The Boulevardier was tasting almost like sweet cough syrup in comparison to the sleeker, racier Old Pal. I think I will keep ordering them!

And speaking of old pals, our friend Kara Newman has a great book, “Shake. Stir. Sip.” which features the Old Pal, and about 50 other equal parts cocktails. It’s worth checking out, as are all her books!

Kara Newman's book Shake Stir Sip, and the Old Pal cocktail. — Kara Newman’s great book, *Shake. Stir. Sip.* features equal parts cocktails.

Friday at five: Sazerac

Few drinks are as evocative of a place and time as the Sazerac. The place is New Orleans, and the time is mid-century. Mid-19^th-century that is, near the beginning of the cocktail story. Apothecarist Emile Amedée Peychaud was selling his namesake bitters, mixed with brandy. John Schiller was the New Orleans agent for Sazerac de Forge et Fils Cognac. In 1859, he opened his bar and dubbed it the Sazerac Coffee House. Schiller gave the Sazerac cocktail, made with Peychaud’s bitters and Sazerac cognac, its name. Later on, in 1870, the preferred base changed from brandy to rye whiskey. This much is established. Claims that the Sazerac was the first cocktail, and claims around the origins of the term ‘cocktail’ itself are probably apocryphal (or is that apotheracril?) These details aside, our credo is that New Orleans gave America two of its greatest inventions: cocktails and jazz.

The best Sazerac I ever had was years ago during Tales of the Cocktail in New Orleans. Nora was at an event for the afternoon, so I was free to while away a few hours in the Napoleon House. It was a beautiful day and the way the sunlight was playing inside the bar is impossible to describe or forget. While we all enjoyed Sazeracs, I chatted for over two hours with a couple from Baton Rouge. I have no idea what we talked about, and I suspect the only thing we had in common is that we all appreciated the beauty of that moment.

Ingredients

Generous 2 oz pour of whiskey
1 lump of sugar
Several dashes of Peychaud’s bitters
Several dashes of absinthe
Lemon twist

Notes on Ingredients

For the whiskey, we used Breukelen Distilling’s 77 Whiskey Bottled in Bond. We picked this up during New York Rye Week at the Union Square Greenmarket and have been enjoying it neat, in cocktails and on the rocks. For the Absinthe, we used St. George Spirits Absinthe Verte. There is no substitute for the Peychaud’s bitters, although some reputable establishments, including the Napoleon House, use a mix of Peychaud’s and Angostura bitters.

Method

Gather two tumblers. (We are using Duralex Picardie tumblers that we just found at Housing Works for a dollar a piece!) Fill one tumbler with ice and chill. In the second tumbler, add the lump of sugar. Add dashes of Peychaud’s bitters to cover the sugar. Muddle the sugar and bitters with the back of a spoon. Add the whiskey and stir. Add ice to fill the glass. Prepare the second tumbler: discard the ice. Rinse the glass with the absinthe, and discard the absinthe. Using a Hawthorne strainer, strain the drink from the build tumbler into the chilled tumbler. Garnish with a lemon twist and serve.

Suggested film pairing: this one is a no-brainer, as featured in Nora’s Classic Cocktails, Classic Film series, it’s Live and Let Die from 1973.

Friday at five: Rye Manhattan

Welcome to the inaugural post in cultured nyc’s weekly cocktail column, Friday at five. It’s autumn in New York–our favorite time of the year. Even though we haven’t had much sweater weather yet, it’s time to start thinking about warming up with some whiskey. Not only that, but today is Rye Day at the Union Square Greenmarket. Frye-day, if you will, kicking off a week-long celebration of New York state rye. We had the chance to sample rye whiskeys from Breukelen Distilling, Nahmias et Fils, and New York Distilling Company. We were taken with all of these, and will be featuring these whiskies in coming weeks.

For today, we will showcase New York Distilling Company’s Ragtime Rye American Straight Whiskey. This is a classic rye; 100% New York rye, aged for three years and bottled at 90.4 proof. On its own, it’s spicy, clean, well integrated. I had a feeling it would do well in a cocktail too.

The cultured nyc reference library has a pretty deep cocktail section, so where to turn for our first post? How about Dave Wondrich’s Imbibe? We’re starting off old school here, and this book is all about the old school. The Manhattan Formula #3 (New Standard) comes courtesy of William “The Only William” Schmidt in The Flowing Bowl, 1892.

Half a tumblerful of cracked ice
2 dashes (1/2 Tsp) of gum
2 dashes of absinthe
2/3 drink (2 oz) of whiskey
1/3 drink (1 oz) of vino vermouth
(a little maraschino may be added)

This is close to the Manhattan we always make here at cultured nyc, maybe a touch sweeter on the vermouth. Per Dave’s recommendation, we left out the simple syrup. We also left out the maraschino, but did add one of Nora’s very fine house-made maraschino cherries. I was, however, very curious about the absinthe. A tiny bit of absinthe can completely transform a drink. I was worried that this would turn into some sort of weird Sazerac. But it didn’t! Not quite anyway; it added a green ‘undertaste’. I don’t think I’ll turn this into my new standard, but I certainly enjoyed it.