 
 "Eating, drinking and carrying on..." -- Adelaide Brennan
Feliz Día de los Muertos! Well, actually it's tomorrow, but the festival is usually three days, held to celebrate and honor the lives of the dearly departed in Mexican and many other Latin cultures. The big Los Angeles festival, held at Hollywood Forever Cemetery, was last Saturday and is always a blast (and, with many of the altars and memorials, frequently quite moving.) I managed to squeak in some photos from last weekend's festivities in time for Hallowe'en. Here are a few; the full set of 49 photos is here.
Happy Hallowe'en, and Feliz Día de los Muertos! [ Link to today's entries ]
Hennessy Art of Mixing Academy. The producers of one of the oldest brands of Cognac are on tour. They're in the middle of a massive promotion, involving multi-city world tours with various musicians, but have also been conducting seminars for bartenders. Calling it "The Art of Mixing Academy," they made their way to Los Angeles last night and put on a very fine event at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel. I managed to snag an invitation thanks to my pal Marcos Tello, one of the great keepers of the bar at Seven Grand, who was hosting the event for Hennessy. I was very glad to be there, because I found myself in a room full of the best bartenders in the city, and some of the best in the country as well -- the seminar and demonstration portion of the evening was conducted by Chad Solomon and Christy Pope, bartenders extraordinaire of places like the Pegu Club, Milk and Honey and the Flatiron Lounge, as well as their own cocktail catering and consulting outfit Cuff and Buttons. We were in very good hands. There was about an hour or so given to tippling and scmoozing beforehand, so I got to mingle and talk to bartenders (who are, of coures, some of my favorite people in the world). Damian, Patrick, Dan and Brian from Seven Grand were there, and I got to meet the bartenders from Sona (which I love, and whose relatively new cocktail program didn't really exist last time we dined there), Comme Ça (Sona chef David Myers' new French bistro, with a cocktail program and menu developed by Sammy Ross of Milk & Honey, and which sounds amazing), Osteria Mozza (my top dining destination in town, if I can ever get there) and Charcoal among others -- all great folks, and I look forward to quaffing (and dining) at those establishments. Nice big drinks were served, one of which was a long drink of Hennessy VS, lime juice, simple syrup, soda and a bit of Ricard (refreshing), and very excellent Sazeracs, made with Cognac as they were originally (which I don't do nearly often enough, and should do more). I also met Caroline, who's got a spiff locally-oriented blog and who took a bunch of terrific pictures of the event, some of which depict a shady-looking character who bears an uncanny resemblance to yours truly. After we were herded back inside Chad and Christy went to town, making it very clear that this wasn't just a flashy marketing gimmick on Hennessy's part to increase brandy sales. Brandy is a truly, exceptionally mixable spirit, and it seems that a number of people don't realize that. Brandy was, in fact, one of the first spirits to be mixed into cocktails, and all the other categories of drinks developed in the 19th Century, but many factors, from the phylloxera epidemic to Prohibition and the later popularity of vodka marked the decline of Cognac brandy as a mixed spirit. People tended to think it's something older people drink out of a snifter; in recent years other demographics have popped up, everyone from James Bond to rappers. Hennessey (and really, any good mixologist as well) want to remind bartenders as well as the general public of this history of Cognac in cocktails and mixed drinks, and encourage them to create more new ones. The drinkable history lesson stretched back to the emergence and earliest mentions of a "cocktail," which first appeared in print in a Hudson, N.Y. newspaper on May 13, 1806 described as "a stimulating liquor composed of spirits of any kind, water, sugar and bitters; it is vulgarly called a 'bittered sling.'" (Oh my, how vulgar ... I'm so appalled by the vulgarity of that appellation that I may have to find myself a fainting couch! Ahem.) At the time, a drink called a "sling" was merely spirits, sugar and water, and the addition of bitters to it made it something special. One of the first cocktails to emerge, of course, was New Orleans' own Sazerac, and this was the first cocktail demonstrated and presented to everyone, in lovely little taster glasses, by Christy and Chad. Surely you know the recipe by now, but I'll give it to you again, especially because I was pleased to see that Christy and Chad make theirs almost exactly the same way we make them at home, proportions-wise; the only difference was a dash of Angostura, which they emphasized was widespread but not traditional, and I got the impression that most of the time they leave that out. (My philosophy: while Angostura is a stupendously fabulous product and one of the great anchors of the bar, its ubiquity calls for it to be omitted here so that Peychaud's bitters, used originally and solely in the Sazerac at its creation and through its development and cementation of popularity, can shine as is truly deserves). Of course, most of the time the Sazerac is made with rye whiskey these days, but this is the Original Sazerac, and if you haven't tried it this way, you should.
Next we moved on to another historical cocktail, when things started to get a bit more complex in the mixing glass. Another category of drinks to emerge in the early to mid-19th Century was the Smash, referred to by the Father of All Bartenders, "Professor" Jerry Thomas, as "a julep on a small plan." It had some similar ingredients to the well-loved julep -- spirits, sugar and mint -- but rather than being slowly sipped through a straw in a silver cup packed with shaved ice, the smash was strained off the ice, more bracing and meant to be consumed quickly. The classic Smash was usually made with brandy, whiskey or gin (most likely Dutch gin rather than the London dry we're used to today), shaken with fine cracked or shaved ice and a couple of nice sprigs of mint, then served over fresh cracked/shaved ice and garnished with mint and orange slices. In more recent years, Dale DeGroff, King of Cocktails, adapted the Smash to more modern tastes with the addition of a bit of citrus to it, which makes it a much more pleasant drink. The addition of about half a medium lemon, cut into quarters and muddled in the mixing glass with the mint, does more than add a bit of juice -- this way, you get lemon oil from the peel, and that makes a huge flavor difference. Sounds simple, but you'll be surprised how wonderful this drink is, and while you're at it you're drinking history.
Then we moved on in our cocktail history to a drink called the Daisy, which contined spirits, sugar and water (or simple syrup), citrus and a bit of orange Curaçao. From this basic recipe you could vary the spirits as with many of these historic drinks -- brandy, whiskey, rum and gin were frequently used to make Daisies -- but you could vary the liqueur as well. For a classic daisy the best orange Curaçao is recommended -- Senior and Marie Brizard make good ones, but the best of all is the classic Grand Marnier, richly flavored with its brandy base. Chad and Christy demonstrated a variation/evolution from the classic Daisy formula with this drink, in which the Curaçao is replaced by yellow Chartreuse, in a slightly higher proportion to the lemon juice to give it a nice balance. Green Chartreuse is typically specified, which you certainly can use, but the yellow has a slightly softer, sweeter profile that works really well in this combination; I love the way yellow Chartreuse plays with lemon juice.
We moved on to the development of cocktails in Europe. While the cocktail can be called America's first great contribution to the culinary arts, the Europeans finally started to catch up in the early 20th Century. One classic that emerged from that period, and is perhaps the best-known brandy cocktail today, despite its relative obscurity with the general drinking public, is the Sidecar, which emerged around the end of World War I. As with many cocktails there are myriad stories as to its origin; Harry MacElhone, in his classic work Harry's ABC of Mixing Cocktails, cites a bartender from London by the name of Pat MacGarry. David Embury, author of The Fine Art of Mixing Drinks, gives credit to an American officer in Paris who asked a bartender for a kind of brandy sour and named it after the side car of his motorcycle. Whoever did it ... well, thanks. We like it. And whoever did it ... it's not an entirely original concept, having descended from the Crusta, and being in a category of drinks Gary Regan calls "New Orleans Sours;" i.e., spirit, orange liqueur, citrus. The original proportion, as it was made in France during its beginnings, were equal proportions of brandy, triple sec and lemon juice. Perhaps it's just that tastes have changed, but in this proportion I place this into a category of drinks I call "Not Very Good." Not bad, just undistinguished. Later on the proportions evolved to 2 parts brandy and 1 each of the other two ingredients, and then for a while I started making them in the "classic" proportion of 4:2:1 (which is incidentally a good starting-off point if you're trying to create a new drink with spirit, liqueur and citrus; you can vary from there as you need, and add seasoning via dashes of this and that). However, Christy and Chad -- as well as Patrick and some of the other bartenders present -- favor a 3:2:1 proportion, which oddly enough is the proportion I use for my Margaritas but not my Sidecars. I will now. It was goo-ooo-ood.
Next came another classic cocktail called the East India Cocktail, which was quite obscure until it was inadvertently resurrected by Dale DeGroff. Back at the turn of the century Dale was commissioned by Courvoisier to create a new cocktail featuring their Millennium Cognac bottling, which he then called the Millennium Cocktail. He later figured he needed to change the name, as he was very happy with the way the cocktail turned out and he'd hate to see it relegated to the trash heap of millennial merchandise. Later on, he discovered that an out-of-print book called The Roving Bartender, written by Bill Kelly in 1946, had a cocktail called the East India Cocktail that contained the same basic ingredients albeit in greatly different proportions. Dale's version has some subtle but important differences that make for a wonderful flavor, and as far as I can tell, he's still calling it the Millennium (he was the night he gave me one, at least). It was absolutely lovely. The original East India recipe called for Cognac with just a couple dashes each of orange Curaçao, pineapple juice and bitters. Dale's Millennium had equal parts brandy and pineapple. This version of the East India that Chad and Christy made for us splits the difference, and retains the finishing touches on Dale's drink, one of which was to be a huge influence on my own signature cocktail.
The final cocktail we were served was an example of the very kind of thing Hennessy and the gathered bartenders want to have happen -- the creation of new brandy-based cocktails. Working with Audrey Saunders at the Pegu inspired them to do more experimentation with the infusion of teas into spirits, which has tremendously exciting flavor potential. Audrey's Earl Grey Marteani, which is insanely good, begins with a bottle of Tanqueray gin that has been infused with loose leaf Earl Grey tea. Infusing tea is easy but you have to watch it. The general rule of thumb is 1 tablespoon of tea leaves per 8 ounces of spirits, so you'll need about 4 tablespoons for a liter, 3 for a 750ml. The infusion time is two hours -- no more, no less, especially not more. Any longer than that will mean more and more of the tannins will be extracted from the tea leaves, making the spirit overly tannic. "Even two hours and twenty minutes can kill the whole thing," Chad said. They experimented with the infusion of spiced Indian chai into Cognac, thought of making it creamy without making it too heavy and settled on a vanilla-flavored almond milk (easily obtainable at Whole Foods and similar markets); this way you get the creaminess without the weight. They had tried soy milk and found it completely unsuitable (unsurprising, as I find soy milk to be completely unpalatable), but the almond milk had just the right touch. I tasted some by itself, which I'd never done, and it's wonderful stuff -- I'm going to lay in a supply for myself now. A nice, silky body and creamy, foamy head came from the addition of egg white. This is a really, reall good drink, perfect for dessert or even for breakfast or brunch.
After Chad and Christy's presentation, the bartenders present were invited to go behind the fairly well-stocked bar and play; i.e., create! Marcos and Patrick and Damien and a bunch of other guys got back there and made some very tasty stuff (none of which I remember because I didn't write any of it down). There was one guy who was into the whole "flair" thing, juggling bottles and glasses and shakers over his head and behind his back and, in the process, dribbling spirit and mixer all over the floor. I am really not into that kind of thing; it adds nothing to the flavor of the drink and arguably takes away from it because he is not using jiggers to measure his ingredients. I'm also opposed to freepouring in general, as in many recipes a difference of even 1/4 ounce being out of proportion can completely kill a drink. (It takes almost no time to use a jigger to measure, folks ... use 'em!) If my bartender is a talented juggler, fine -- I'd rather see him juggle rubber balls or flaming bowling pins in between drinks than juggle my liquor. I got behind the bar after a while and knocked something off which wasn't bad. I had never mixed brandy with St. Germain Elderflower Liqueur before, and there was a nice big pretty bottle of it (so hush). I gave it a semi-classic proportion, upped the level of the St. Germain due to its being less sweet than most liqueurs, and tossed in a couple of dashes of fruit bitters to make it a bit more complex and interesting. Several people tasted it and thought it pretty good; my favorite reaction was from Judd, one of the bartenders I'd been talking to, who took one sip and made a big puckery Mr. Yuck face. I cracked up. "Wow, that good, huh?!" He, as it turns out, prefers sweeter drinks (which I do not), and this was was to his palate a bit tart. I gave him a minute to recover and prepare, and had him taste it again. Still not to his own taste, but he did appreciate the flavors and balance. I thought about naming it after Wesly, since he wasn't feeling well and couldn't make it to the event, but I don't think either of us are egomaniacal enough to name drinks after ourselves or each other. I thought of something somewhat close, though, and named it after one of my favorite character actresses whose name at least contains his in its first syllable. The tartness and pleasantly bitter edge of the cocktail suited her most famous character too, I think. ("Oh, do be quiet, Durwood.")
My last Cognac offering is one I came up with several years ago, inspired by an old recipe I found in a book about vintage barware, of all things. I haven't mentioned it in about four years or so, so it's time for a refresher. It's pretty good, I think; folks who've come to the house like it. I do hope to be able to serve it to its namesake one day. One of my oldest friends was a camera operator on "I Heart Huckabees," and was kind enough to present the recipe to her and tell her how I had come up with it and named it after her. She was "fascinated," and honored, but apparently declined to issue the invitation to the set for me to make her one that I was hoping for. Oh well.
The whole event was a blast. Thanks to Marcos for inviting me, to Christy and Chad for their great presentation, to Hennessy for putting it on, and to all the bartenders I met that night -- I look forward to warming some barstools in your places soon. Thanks again to Caroline for all the great pictures; she covered the event quite nicely in her blog. [ Link to today's entries ]
Tonight. We'll have dinner with a goodly segment of The Fat Pack tonight, chowing down on Hungarian food at Duna-Csárda, formerly Csardas, in Hollywood. I love Hungarian food, although if authentically prepared it'll make you feel like you need to have your arteries scraped out. That tends to only kick in after four days or so, so I'm hoping we'll be fine tonight. It's apparently changed hands since the Csardas days, and I hope it's still as good as it once was. We'll see. Anyway, I hope to have Magyar food porn by next week. Then we're headed to Theatre Asylum in Hollywood to see a grand stage production in which the movie "Showgirls" is re-enacted by sock puppets. I'm not kidding. It's entitled "Sock Puppet Showgirls," and it's just what you might be thinking it is -- Paul Verhoeven and Joe Eszterhas' unintentional camp classic (and truly one of the most painfully bad movies ever, described by that great cineaste and critic Joe Bob Briggs as "the only movie ever made where every single character is hated by the audience"), satirized as it's performed by the very non-Lamb Chop-like cast. Between Csardas and Eszterhas we're keeping up the Hungarian theme for the evening as well. Egészségedre! (Make sure you pronounce this toast properly, because if you leave out that final "r" you're not saying "To your health!" but instead "Up your arse!") Perique Liqueur de Tabac. Many of you are, I'm sure, aware of this liqueur. In case you aren't ... 
Master absinthe-maker Ted Breaux was approached by someone at the distillery in France where he makes his magnificent absinthes with a sample of a Japanese product, an attempt at a tobacco-based liqueur. This particular product was ... not good. He was intrigued by the idea, though, and was encouraged by the distiller to see if he could come up with something better. Ted, being a Louisiana native, thought of the extremely rare, powerful, fruity Perique tobacco. Perique is, in fact, grown only in St. James Parish, Louisiana, and for the most part only on two family farms, for a total of about 16 acres' worth. A year and a half later, Perique Liqueur de Tabac was born. I'd been hearing about this, and when we ordered our last batch of absinthe from Liqueurs de France I added a bottle of Perique to the order. I was excited about this, and not because I'm a smoker. I'm not. In fact, I'm one of those pain-in-the-ass non-smokers that people like Anthony Bourdain really hate. (Too feckin' bad. I don't spit my alcohol habit in your face. But we're not going to fight about this, are we?) What I do love is the smell of tobacco before you set it on fire, and I always have since I was a kid. Too bad it gets ruined when you ignite it. Perique is 31% alcohol (62 proof), made entirely from the distillation of the rare tobacco in a wine-based spirit plus sugar, and interestingly the process leaves the resulting spirit completely free of nicotine (which would have been a headache for this product on a number of levels). We followed Ted's advice to enjoy Perique as one would enjoy a fine Cognac, and sipped it neat from our best Cognac glasses. It's wonderful stuff -- smooth, complex, fruity, spicy, not too sweet, not cloying at all, with elements of wood and leather, more like one of the more complex whisky-based / spice liqueurs only drier. Unless you were familiar with the type of tobacco it's made from you'd almost never know it was made from tobacco at all. I almost hate to mix this stuff, but I can't help but wonder what a half-ounce of this would taste like in certain cocktails. I think I'm going to order another couple of bottles of Perique and find out. We broke out the bottle at our absinthe tasting last Sunday, and I passed around a sample. Everyone loved it, and noted flavors ranging from pear to allspice. Everyone was pleasantly surprised when it was revealed it was a tobacco liqueur. Perique may not be for everyone, but I can't recommend it more wholeheartedly. I'll even let you drink it in the house. Eggs and bacon for breakfast. (Or, Cocktail of the day.) As you may have noticed, I've really been getting into flips lately. It doesn't hurt that Mary gave us some fresh eggs, fresh out of her friend's chickens. (These are much, much better than factory-farmed supermarket eggs.) Last June I linked to an L.A. Times article about Mexican liqueurs (which has now unfortunately fallen into the catacombs of their paid archive), and recently picked up another one they wrote about: D'Aristi Xtabentun (pronounced "shtah-behn-toon"), Mayan liqueur of the Yucatán, made from fermented honey and aniseed in a rum base (described in the article as "Pernod for honey lovers," although I myself would be more likely to say "Herbsaint for honey lovers"). It's lovely, and I understand it's terrific in coffee (can't wait to try that!). We decided to take Murray Stenson's advice, though, after he left a comment on that post which included this recipe, encouraging us to try it for breakfast. "Mmmm, breakfast." I, being no stranger to breakfast cocktails, wholeheartedly embraced this idea. 
Yay, eggs for breakfast! But, you know ... I like bacon with my eggs. Unfortunately a bit earlier that morning I discovered a mishap with our second refrigerator out in the garage -- the freezer door had come open and had been that way for at least a day, ruining lots of frozen crawfish tails, boudin, duck sausage, black pudding, passion fruit purée and a gorgonzola and walnut frozen pizza from Roma Deli. Sigh. Not only that, but the three remaining packs of Allan Benton's Hickory Smoked Country Bacon, one of the best I've ever had and one of my running favorites, had been at room temperature for too long and smelled just a little too funky when I opened them. DAMMIT!! I looked in the inside fridge to see if there was anything else, and ... ta-daaa! Kolozsvári to the rescue! 
Not the first cocktail with which I've served bacon as an accompaniment, but maybe the best so far. I think the combo might work a little better with a more simply flavored flip or milk punch ("It's really different," said Wesly, who added that he'd drink this one but wasn't sure he'd ask for another one). I rather enjoyed it, and look forward to more experimentation with Xtabentun. "Down Home" fundraising wrap-up. It was a bit of a slow night -- I was up against the World Series (some baseball thing, apparently popular). We did manage to pull in about $800 in pledges, which should get kicked up a bit when website pledges and matching funds come in. Thanks to those of you who did pledge, and of course ... it's not too late! Support KCSN, the best and most truly eclectic mix of music in Los Angeles radio -- go to our website at kcsn.org and click to pledge. Miss Willie Mae an' Miss Leah in da Noo Yawk papuh! A New York Times reporter visits Willie Mae's Scotch House and Dooky Chase's in New Orleans, and orders fried chicken. With video! Music video of the day. Damien Dempsey, one of my very favorite Irish singers these days, performing his song "It's All Good" from TG4, the Irish-language TV network. Editorial cartoon of the day. They're only skeet to these people. 
I love Pat Oliphant. (Thanks, LeeAnn!) [ Link to today's entries ]
KCSN Pledge Drive! It's been going on since last Friday, but tonight's my turn to raise money for the radio station and for my program "Down Home". You can call in to pledge the old-fashioned way at (800) 795-KCSN (5276) between the hours of 7:00 and 9:00pm PDT (10pm-midnight Eastern, 0300-0500 GMT), or do it the newfangled modren way! Visit our website at kcsn.org anytime, and just tell 'em you like "Down Home." If you're a listener to the station (and specificalaly to my program), we ask you to give a little back, particularly now that "Down Home" is offered as a weekly archive, which you can stream at your leisure! We have lots of thank-you gifts in return for your pledge, starting with the Down Home CD 5-Pack, which includes:
Plus my 4-CD New Orleans box set Doctors, Professors, Kings & Queens: The Big Ol' Box of New Orleans, and if this wasn't enticement enough ... everyone who pledges will be eligible to win a 7-day cruise to the Mexican Riviera -- enjoy the sun-swept beaches of Mazatlan, take in the sights of Puerto Vallarta and Cabo San Lucas. Your odds are going to be a damn sight better than most contests, especially the Lotto, so pledge and (I hope) win! [ Link to today's entries ]
Frank J. Mannino, "Frankie Mann," 1926-2007. I was very sad to hear that my music teacher and band director from eighth grade and high school passed away last weekend, of Lou Gehrig's Disease. (I didn't know he was suffering from that, how awful.) 
We called him "Prof," and outside of school he was a professional jazz musician and bandleader known as "Frankie Mann," nephew of Santo Pecora, one of New Orleans' early jazz greats. He was a tremendous jazz educator, and a wonderful music teacher overall. By time time I was a freshman he had me playing as well as the first-chair seniors I sat next to in the band. During the summer between 8th grade and freshman year he taught me to play the saxophone (and very well, except for my lack of aptitude for jazz imporvisation, his specialty) in less than three months. He led our band to numerous awards and me and many of my classmates to superior-rated solo performances. My all-encompassing interest in music and my professional dabbling therein (albeit not as a performer) is traceable back to those days. He was a gentleman who called his students "gents," a patient but demanding teacher, and insisted on discipline and decorum from his students. So of course, we gave him a hard time. We were a bunch of 15-year-olds who thought they knew everything and that adults were stupid, and I'm afraid I gave Prof far more agita than he deserved. I regret not having the opportunity to tell him what a great teacher he was, to apologize for the often rotten behavior of myself and many of my classmates, and to let him know that despite what an unappreciative little shit I could be at 15 and 16, that I grew up all right. My sincerest and heartfelt condolences go out to his family, friends, and everyone who was fortunate enough to be educated by him. Thanks for everything, Prof. Southern Californians, it's time to flee. F-L-E-A, flee. The wildfires are a huge disaster, 1500+ homes have been destroyed, and it's long from over. As if that wasn't bad enough, who is now apparently coming to our rescue? Flee. (More from The Rude Pundit.) Absinthe tasting. We had several friends over last Sunday and broke out our five different absinthes (excluding the French Versinthe Blanche and two inferior Spanish absentas), plus two that Gregg and Mike brought, set out a nice spread and officially inaugurated our relatively new absinthe fountain. And a splendid time was had by all. The spread included prosciutto and perfumey Tuscan-style cantaloupe, several different kinds of olives, marinated roasted red peppers, cornichons, several cheeses (Parmigiano-Reggiano, Stilton, Carrigaline Irish farmhouse cheese, Roquefort, a wonderful musky goat blue cheese, membrillo, Italian white anchovies, crusty bread and some Italian fig cookies with chocolate chips. All of which went very well with The Green Fairy (which in some cases was white). Here are the brands we tried:
It was a party, and not entirely a party of hardcore absintheurs, so we didn't do detailed tasting notes, but we did have favorites and not-so-favorites. We'd make and share either 1 or 2 servings of each, dripped with chilled water from the fountain at roughly a 4:1 or 5:1 proportoin as per the traditional method, albeit none with sugar cubes because, um ... I forgot to get sugar cubes. However, while being a fun part of the ritual with the absinthe spoon and the dripping of the water over and through the sugar, sugar is not necessary to enjoy these spirits. As Ted told us during his excellent seminar at Tales of the Cocktail, the reason for the sugar was not to counteract any horrid bitterness, but because "the French had a sweet tooth ... and still do." The detectable bitterness in the various products is actually quite pleasant, and nothing hard to handle for anyone who quaffs Campari and Italian amari as much as I do. (Just wait until I finally get a bottle of pelinkovac, preferably the Serbian Gorki List brand rather than the Croatian Maraska, which is reportedly less bitter that its Serbian counterpart.)
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