Bubbles: The Mimosa

Last week was New Year's. All the holiday festivities got me thinking about champagne, that most famous of sparkling wines. While a good bottle to share with friends and family can be nice on its own, the unique, complex flavor and distinct texture of champagne makes it an ideal candidate for a number of interesting mixed drinks. By simply using champagne in places where you would use another spirit, say vodka, you can make a cocktail that is at once light and stimulating. That's why today, I'm going to delve into the deceptively intricate beauty of champagne's most famous mixed iteration. The Mimosa This is the simplest of all champagne cocktails. Just mix three parts champagne and two parts orange juice (fresh, if you've got it). Now, some recipes call for pouring the orange juice first. I think this is a mistake. Whenever mixing two liquids together for a cocktail, you want to add the heavier of the two liquids to the lighter of the two. It's simple physics. If you pour your champagne into your orange juice, what you'll have is a short glass of champagne floating on top of a slightly fizzy glass of orange juice. The suggestion to pour the champagne second comes from the concern that the carbonation in the champagne will exit the drink when it foams during the pour. This is silly for two reasons. The first we'll get into in a moment. The second is that all it takes is a careful pour. Tilt your flute like you're pouring a beer and you'll suffer minimal fizz-loss. Now, when it comes to cocktails, a good origin story is often half the fun. That's what I like about the Mimosa. It may seem like a silly waste to pop open a bottle of expensive champagne just for a brunch drink. Frankly, I think it is, too. But that's not where the Mimosa comes from. Just imagine you've had a wedding reception. There's a ton of half-finished bottles of champagne sitting the fridge. Morning comes around and your guests are hungry, maybe even a little hung-over. Well, there's no need to waste. Just mix some of last night's champagne with a refreshing, energizing shot of OJ and you've fixed a multitude of problems in one bout of preservationist kitchen ingenuity. This is what I was talking about earlier when I mentioned that carbonation really shouldn't be a concern for the Mimosa. The original version of the drink more than likely used champagne that had lost its zip hours before it came into contact with the orange juice. Many Mimosa makers don't bother with a garnish, as pretty much everything served in a fluted glass comes without a garnish anyway. I think that's a wasted opportunity. But don't go the vodka route here and garnish with a slice of orange. Garnishes exist to augment flavors, not as redundant bits of decoration. That's why you should consider bringing a slice of strawberry to the party. Strawberries are already known to go well with champagne, but the sweet, tangy fruit will also serve to build a nice bridge between the two liquid ingredients as well. The Mimosa is an elegant solution to a common party host's dilemma, and a mighty tasty one at that. While I still can't get behind opening a fresh bottle of champagne just to make a few, there's no harm in using the leftovers to make brunch more interesting. If nothing else, it lends a nice sense of continuity to a weekend of festivities.

Dirty Sue

Dirty Sue is the very definition of a product fit to a niche market. At first it may seem like a frivolous bar accessory meant to collect dust next to the specialty glasses designed for the drink-of-the-week. Speaking as a former bartender and a frequent appreciator of the Dirty Martini, I can say that Dirty Sue is a welcome addition to any bar. Dirty Sue is high-quality olive brine bottled for improved taste and convenience. For any bar that makes a high volume of Dirty Martinis, or for the people who drink them regularly, it’s a messy and often wasteful process to build the drink. In any jar of Spanish olives, the ratio of olives to brine makes it so just a few Dirty Martinis will leave the olives on the top without any brine in which to soak. Life outside of the brine isn’t kind. Nobody likes the look, let alone the taste, of a dry, shriveled olive. Busy bars often end up losing the majority of a given jar this way. Those olives that don't dry out get ruined when the shriveled olives start to grow mold. But when it comes to what goes into our favorite drinks, convenience is only a minor consideration next to taste. This is why Dirty Sue is so surprising. Unlike most bottled flavors at the bar, Dirty Sue is superior to the traditional source. The experience starts off sharp and distinct, then finishes more like a fresh olive and less like nondescript pickling brine. The product is so potent, in fact, that it would better serve the recipe to tweak the proportions to avoid overwhelming the drink. My recommendation is to use no more than half an ounce of Dirty Sue when building a martini, but everyone's tastes are different and it's worth playing around with the proportions to get it exactly how you like it. Dirty Sue plays it smart and allows the olive juice to retain its natural color instead of leaning on the neon palette so common in many mixers and liqueurs. In regard to presentation, there is no difference between an old-style Dirty Martini and one using Dirty Sue. Dirty Sue is available in two bottle sizes. Ideal for the bars and restaurants is the 750 ml bottle, while the 375 ml bottle better suits the at-home wet bar. At $6.00 a bottle, it’s well worth it. The smaller bottle has enough in it for 25 Dirty Martinis, as opposed to the rough handful available in a normal retail jar of olives. For an excellent Dirty Sue Martini, follow this recipe: In a tin shaker half-full with ice, add one quarter to one half ounce of dry vermouth. Jostle the ice to allow the vermouth to coat each cube. If you like your martinis extra-dry, dump out the remaining vermouth that has collected at the bottom. Next, add two and half ounces of your preferred vodka or gin, followed by a half ounce of Dirty Sue. Make sure to shake the bottle of Dirty Sue before pouring. Shake the cocktail well and strain it into a chilled martini glass garnished with three olives. All that's left is to drink it and enjoy the fact that your hands aren't covered in olive brine.

Christmas Drinks

Merry Christmas, everybody. I hope you're all having a relaxing holiday and enjoying some of your favorite treats, liquid and otherwise. The holiday season is a time when people are willing to step away from their simple stand-by drinks and make room for something with a little more pizazz. Now, I generally advise people away from complicated drinks for a number of reasons. Alcohol doesn't usually play well with others when too many ingredients show up to the party, especially when those ingredients are powerful spices and sweet things. These holiday drinks are the exceptions to that rule. That doesn't mean I'm lifting my recommendation that you approach them with moderation in mind, both for the sake of your stomach and to keep that holiday cheer at a reasonable level. Traditional Egg Nog We've gotta start with the most iconic of Christmas drinks. It's complex, it's strange and it's definitely an acquired taste. For those who love it, egg nog is Christmas in a cup. Sure, you could buy the stuff in the carton, but why go for the fast option when you've got the time to do it right? To serve you and the whole family, start by cracking 12 fresh eggs and separating the whites from the yolks. To save your arm, put those yolks into an electric mixer on a low setting. Slowly add one and a half cups of sugar to the yolks. Don't dump it all in together or you'll make a mess, not to mention some crunchy yolks. Let that mix for ten minutes until it's firm and looks like butter. Now, little by little, add a cup of brandy (good but not too good) and two cups of bourbon. i recommend Maker's Mark. It's smooth and sweet, but not too harsh. Once all your alcohol is in the mix, cover your bowl with plastic wrap and give it a nice rest in the fridge for at least six hours. This will give the sugar time to break down and the whole mixture to really marinate. When your yolks have rested, stir them with a teaspoon of fresh ground nutmeg, more if you'd like. In a separate bowl, use your mixer to beat two cups of heavy cream until you get peaks. Do the same, again in another bowl, with your egg whites. Then, fold your cream and egg whites together. Again, don't do it all at once. Add a third of the egg whites to the whipped cream until it's all mixed, then add the next third. Do the same with the cream/whites in the yolk mixture until the whole thing is uniform. Now all that's left to do is ladle a cup of your nog for a taste test. Don't forget to garnish with a little sprinkle of nutmeg. Jelly Donut We can't leave out a good Chanukah drink. One of the traditional foods enjoyed during the Festival of Lights is the jelly doughnut. This drink is designed to taste just like one. In a large mixing tin half full with ice, add three ounces of white rum, an ounce and a half of Chambord, four ounces of strawberry juice (store bought is fine) and one ounce of half-and-half or cream. Shake the whole mixture so it comes together completely and serve it in a highball glass. If you're feeling fancy, garnish it was a slice of strawberry on the edge of the glass. Happy Holidays, everybody. Drink responsibly.

Madeira: A History of Abuse

Portugal is home to some of the most interesting wines in the world. It lends its name to the most popular of fortified wines, Port, but there's another star among its products that deserves as much attention. Whether it's in the distinct flavor, the unique method of crafting, or its special tie to American history, Madeira is a drink not to be missed. One of the things that sets Madeira apart from other fortified wines is its resilience. Granted, fortified wines are crafted to last much longer than regular vino, but Madeira beats them all. It is because of the strength of the grapes used to make it that Madeira is even around today, though the medical history of Madeira is a rocky one. The story starts in the mid-1500's when Portugal, like many European countries, was in the middle of a booming maritime exploration period. Long trade voyages to Asia, Africa and the New World made keeping wine on ships next to impossible. It was in this period that fortified wines became the standard. Wine makers found that adding a neutral cane sugar distillate to wines gave them a much longer shelf-life, especially on hot sea vessels. Today, wines are fortified with brandy, but that practice didn't come into wine making until the 19th century when Madeira was already falling out of vogue. At the time, the fortified wines from the island of Madeira were just called Port like everything else. The production of Madeira is inherently tied to sea travel in more ways than one. Some of the earliest batches were made using salty water-logged casks and exposed to extreme heat on the voyages to Asia. Where these elements would normally destroy a wine, they somehow improved Madeira. So much so, in fact, that producers began heating their casks on the island before even shipping them out. Still today, producers of Madeira use heat to create that distinct flavor, sometimes going as high 140 degrees Fahrenheit. Those modern batches artificially heated using steel casks and electric coils tend to produce imbalanced, unsubtle wines. Vintage Madeira, on the other hand, is much richer and more complex, made by aging the wine in wooden casks using nothing more than sunlight. This process can take decades. Madeira played an interesting role in American history as well. As anyone familiar with viticulture knows, wine grapes are picky about where they'll grow. In the 18th century, New England was one of the last places those warm-weather vines would take hold. As a result the colonies were big importers of fortified wines, making Madeira especially popular for its ability to survive the grueling journey across the Atlantic. When a sailor named John Hancock had a duties dispute concerning his most recent shipment of Madeira, the ship was seized and a riot broke out in Boston. In addition, many early American governmental conventions served Madeira to their delegates. Since then, Madeira has survived a world-wide vine plague that threatened to wipe out the vineyards of many famous grape varieties, an unfortunate fashion trend away from "island" wines like Port and Marsala, and the troubled early years of wine production in the American west. Today, Madeira isn't quite as popular as it was in the 18th century, but it's still well worth the adventure. Be it a strong, dry Sercial or a sweet, dark Malmsey, you've got to love the spirit of this spirit. The more you abuse it, the better it tastes. It truly is the drink of sailors and revolutionaries.

Macallan and the 12-Year Argument

Macallan is one of the finest, most consistent go-to single malts for serious scotch drinkers. Since 1824, the various owners of the Macallan distillery in the Scottish highlands near the river Spey have been making what is, in my opinion, the epitome of what scotch should be. At least at the 12-year standard. Like a lot of scotch makers, Macallan generally markets to those who have the mind and the money to drink fermented prestige. That would explain the variety of rare and exceedingly old batches they've been trotting out over the past few years. They tout what they're calling "Macallan Fine and Rare", which is essentially a line of 30 to 70-year-old batches. In addition, there are now a variety of younger (8 to 30-year-old) scotches from the company that experiment with different varieties of barrel. Some are worthwhile, like the Fine Oak batches that take advantage of the mild but complex flavors lent to scotch by classic European wood. Others, like the 18-year Sherry Oak aren't really worth the price tag. 18-year-old scotches are in that odd middle period when they begin to become bold but haven't yet mellowed with age. The continental flavors lended to the spirit by the Sherry Oak only compound that problem. The consequence is a scotch that tastes too much like strong bourbon. While I love a good bourbon, I don't need to go looking for it in something that had to cross the ocean to land in my glass. The oldest, rarest and most expensive Macallan scotches are being released as part of their Lalique line, the first of which will be a dark 50-year. However impressive, a brand shouldn't be judged on its will and ability to sell a single malt in a crystal decanter that's older than most of the people who'll drink it. Rather, the baseline product, the one that the majority of their customers drink, should be the standard against which a scotch maker should be measured. I don't say this out of a populist petulance. Like in all things culinary, if the simplest, most common aspects of scotch aren't fundamentally good, the rest can't be either. This is why I humbly propose that, on all counts, the true elegance of scotch resides primarily in the younger iterations of a particular batch. At ages beyond 12, scotch takes on strong, prominent flavors. At 12, every element is equal. It is a time when it becomes possible to tell if the smokiness will blossom into a pleasant haze or something more reminiscent of cheap cigars. At 12, the hue leans either toward piss or gold, the body to balance or inappropriate sting. So, it is in full sincerity that I recommend Macallan's 12-year scotch as the premium brand of choice. Whether you're first learning how to drink it or have been a scotch enthusiast for years, skip the square bottle for a night and give Macallan a shot. Hell, they're not even paying me to say that, though I wouldn't turn down an endorsement deal paid in a case or two of their product.

3 Drinks to Warm Up Your Winter

Welcome, everyone to Liquid Sexy. My name is Michael and I'll be your bartender twice a week. In this blog, we'll be sampling all there is to love and appreciate about drinks with spirit. There will be reviews of particular brands, recommendations, step-by-step instructions on how to build the perfect cocktail and more. Tonight, I can't help but notice a nip in the air, which makes me want to take a nip of my favorite wintry drinks. If you'd care to join me, I can make a few suggestions. Frangelico and Coffee Frangelico, for those of you not fortunate enough to have tasted it, is hazelnut liqueur. It's sweet, has a lovely golden-brown hue and tastes exactly like what it's made from, which is more than we can say for other nut-based spirits. It is this superb nuttiness that makes Frangelico such a great fit for a variety of desserts and after-dinner drinks. Try it on top of a good Turkish almond pudding, it's worth running through traffic to get a spoonful. The recipe for a good Frangelico and Coffee is simple. Mix one ounce of liqueur for every six to eight ounces of hot coffee, add cream if you desire, drink, repeat. As for why I've decided to promote the Frangelico and Coffee instead of the old standby, Irish Coffee, it's really just a matter of excellence. I like Irish Coffee, don't get me wrong. On the right night, it can be heaven. But the Frangelico and Coffee is superior because the flavors fit so well together. Coffee benefits from nutty tones, thanks to a mutual history of roasting. Also, the Irish Coffee runs the risk of bearing some over-complications like whipped cream and mint liqueur. Remember this rule of cocktails: If it seems unnecessary, it probably is. Brandy Alexander My appreciation for the Brandy Alexander comes from the same place as my love of old theaters. This is a cocktail right out of the book of classics, so much so that it uses ingredients rarely found in modern bars. Most people will only ever consume one cream drink in their entire lives, and that's the White Russian. That's fine, but I'd take a Brandy Alexander over a Caucasian any day, especially on one as cold as today. Take one and a half ounces of good (but not too good) brandy and one ounce of dark creme de cacao, stick them in a tin shaker with a handful of ice and introduce them to a good ounce of cream. Now, give the mixture eight to twelve good shakes, strain into your favorite glass and garnish with a dash of fresh nutmeg. Real Hot Chocolate and Creme de Menthe Let's talk about doing it right. Hot chocolate, real hot chocolate does not come dried in a little package. In fact, it doesn't take much longer to make the real stuff. Just an ounce and a half of bittersweet chocolate, chopped and thrown into a cup of simmering whole milk in a saucepan will get you something worlds better than the store-bought stuff, double that if you put a few drops of vanilla extract in the mix. Leave some room on top for a half ounce of creme de menthe and you have everything tasty about winter in a single mug. Until next time, stay warm and tip generously.

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