The Greasy Spoon

The Savoy Cocktail Book

When I was eighteen, my father was extremely generous about all that "rites of passage" stuff. This included a pint of warm bitter at our local pub in Buckinghamshire, The White Hart, where by chance, a troupe of retired civil servants from Slough, masquerading as bearded Morris Men in skin tight breeches, pranced around to the strains of "zummer-is-a-cummin-in".

More promising, was my first visit to the Savoy Hotel, where my father introduced me to the now legendary Peter Dorelli, the head barman at The American Bar. We had Dry Martinis- of course we did. And Dry Martinis, mixed properly; none of that bizarre Fleming "shaken not stirred" rubbish. Instead, the iced gin was poured into a pitcher with ice, stirred around with a few drops of Noilly Pratt, and then strained out into a small iced tumbler, with a twist of lemon. If you want to learn more, the bible of choice is: Stirred not Shaken, the History of the Dry Martini, written by my father's old colleague, John Doxat, with an introduction by none other than Kingsley Amies.

If you're fascinated by cocktails, the best book on the subject is The Savoy Cocktail Book. This was first published in 1930, with recipes compiled by Harry Craddock, and the "decorations" by Gilbert Rumbold. The first edition's got a fabulous Art Deco cover, and, for antiquarian book nuts, is eminently collectable. The 1999 revised edition has a number of new cocktails by Peter Dorelli. If you come across a first edition in a second hand book shop, buy it immediately, as the grander rare book dealers sell it for big bucks. Over and Out.

The Mysterious Ginger Beer Plant

Summer has finally arrived in London. And with the recent hot weather, there's nothing better than a cold ginger beer. If you're buying it ready made, I would recommend Fentiman's botanically brewed traditional ginger beer. It's made in the old fashioned way, is strong on the ginger, and easy on the sugar; and is sold in attractive bottles.

If you want to make ginger beer yourself (and I hope that you will), there's much more to it than initially meets the eye. While researching this post, I discovered a whole sub-culture of ginger beer freaks on the net. Their obsession revolves around the mysterious "ginger beer plant". This is essentially, a living "culture", which in some cases, gets passed down from generation to generation. You need to feed it, and it grows- it's alive!

First, here's a way to make the "ginger beer plant": In a jam jar mix together: half an ounce of brewer's yeast, a teaspoon of sugar, a teaspoon of ground ginger, and a cup of cold water. Feed it for seven days, giving it a teaspoon of ginger, and a teaspoon of sugar every day.

Once you've got your ginger beer plant up and running, you're ready to make ginger beer. Pour the juice of four lemons into a large bowl, and add three cupfuls of sugar. Stir. Add five cups of boiling water, and stir until the sugar has dissolved. Next, pour in twelve cups of cold water, and stir again. Strain the juice of the "ginger beer plant" through some muslin into the bowl.

After two hours, you can start to bottle up the ginger beer. Fill them up to about three quarters high. You will need bottles with corks, as screw-top bottles might explode. Make sure the corks are not too tight, otherwise the ginger beer won't ferment. Store in a cool place, but don't keep the ginger beer on a cold floor.

Mint Julep

The famous Kentucky Derby is held on the first Saturday of May. Since 1938, the drink of choice to accompany the festivities has been the Mint Julep. I'm a huge fan of Mint Juleps, which also make an appearance in chapter seven of The Great Gatsby. Bourbon gives them a wonderful smokey taste, which works beautifully with the flavours of fresh mint. If you've never made one before, here's how I do it:

First, mix up a simple syrup. Combine sugar with water (ideally spring water), and add bruised mint. Add a decent shot of this syrup to the bottom of the glass (or silver julep cup- but more of that later). Fill the glass with crushed ice, and top it up with a good Kentucky straight bourbon, such as Old Grand-dad, or Wild Turkey. Rub the edge of the glass with a mint leaf, and garnish the cocktail with a further sprig of mint.

Traditionally, mint juleps are served in silver or pewter mint julep cups. It's a bit like Guinness served from a silver tankard, I'm convinced that this makes it taste better. Anyhow, they're hard to get in dear ol' Blighty, but I've seen a few on e-bay, at not unreasonable prices, and I'm tempted to splash out on one if I can get my act together.

Champagne Cocktail

I adore Christmas, believe me. But, Jiminy Cricket, I'm glad when it's all over. I sympathise with a friend who used to hang a banner up in his Drawing Room declaring "Christmas Must Go!". That's why I like New Year's Eve (or Hogmany as it's called in Scotland), even if this means that you might get a dark, hairy stranger in a kilt turning up on your doorstep at midnight with a lump of coal.

And what to drink, apart from the obvious and excellent choice of Champagne? How about mixing up a chic Champagne Cocktail this evening? Here's a classic 1930's Champagne Cocktail from the Metropolitan Hotel, New York.

First you need to soak a sugar cube with a dash of Angoustura Bitters. Put it in the bottom of a champagne flute.

While I'm about it: a quick word on champagne glasses. I use the classic flute shape. You can also use the rather kitsch shallow glass version- which, apparently, was fashioned from Marie Antoinette's left tit. They're fun- but I've been told on good authority that they're not good for the champagne bubbles, and make them go flat rather quickly.

But on with the cocktail: Fill up the glass with a decent Champagne. Laurent Perrier is delicious, and relatively affordable. Finish it off with a twist of lemon.

Champagne afficinados will probably sneer at anyone who tries to make a champagne cocktail, but I like this recipe for its simplicity, and classic origins. I'm off to a New Year's Eve party in Buckinghamshire tonight, but if I'm still alive by tomorrow morning, plan to write about things Bavarian.

I would like to thank everyone and anyone who has bothered to read The Greasy Spoon over the last few months, and I wish you all a happy and peaceful 2008. Happy New Year!

Absinthe

As I'm in a rather decadant, fin de siecle sort of mood, I've decided this morning to write about absinthe. Recently, I asked a friend if they would like a glass of "the green fairy". My generous offer was rejected with a look of horror, fear, and pity. Yes, absinthe still has a more than sinister reputation, and most people out there are vaguely aware that the stuff used to be illegal.

What exactly is absinthe? Absinthe is a distilled, anise-flavored spirit derived from herbs including the flowers and leaves of the medicinal plant Artemisia absinthium, also called Grand Wormwood or Absinthe Wormwood. The wormwood contains small quantities of thujone. It's also highly alchoholic. The stuff I drink, La Fee, is a staggering 68% proof (that's almost double the strength of Gordon's Gin)- and some brands are even stronger.

But there are so many half truths in the absinthe legend. You don't drink the absinthe neat, you dilute it with water; and this involves a curious ritual. Ideally you need a proper absinthe glass, which has a small reservoir at the bottom. Into the glass goes the neat absinthe. Next, you place the pierced absinthe spoon over the top of the glass, on to which goes a lump of sugar. Iced water is poured over the sugar, through the spoon, and down into the glass. The water turns the absinthe opaque (this is called the "louche"), and the flavours, herbals and aromatics are released.

Absinthe was originally invented in Switzerland, but became hugely popular in France, especially at the end of the nineteenth century. During the 1880's and 1890's the wine trade suffered badly, and absinthe drinking became widespread, especially amongst Parisian artists, intellectuals and the Bohemian set. So widespread in fact, that it became a social problem; but more from the amount of absinthe consumed, than the scientific properties of the drink itself. After a series of rather grisly murders (blamed on absinthe), the drink was banned by the French government in 1915, and then by other countries around the world, apart from Great Britain, Spain, and Portugal.

It's still quasi-illegal in the United States, because of the thujone content, which can supposedly give you hallucinations if taken in high quantities. But then so can oil of bergamot (used to flavour Earl Grey tea)! Modern absinthes have significantly small, and I stress, non-harmful levels of thujone. Absinthe is safe. Trust me!

So there it is. The story of absinthe. I had a glass last night, and it was good. Extremely good. And less bitter than you would think, helped along by the iced water and the sugar cube. They say it leaves you with a clear head, and helps to concentrate your thinking. And I think it does, as I leapt out of bed this morning full of joie de vivre. Allez l'absinthe!

Margarita

I picked up a taste for the Margarita Cocktail when I was in California. I would argue that it is one of the three greatest cocktails of all time alongside the Dry Martini, and the Bloody Mary. There are various theories as to when and how the Margarita was first born. Carlos "Danny" Herrera is said to have first mixed a concoction of white tequila, lemon juice, and Triple Sec in 1938. He was the barman at the Rancho La Gloria in Tijuana, the Mexican border town where the Caesar Salad had been invented by Caesar Cardini.

Essentially, the Margarita is a mix of Tequila (Silver or Blanco tequilas are preferable to the gold), Triple Sec (ie Cointreau), and Lime Juice (or possibly Lemon Juice). The rim of the glass is moistened with lime juice, and then dipped into salt. Some Margarita afficinados claim that salt was only used to hide the taste of a low-budget tequila, but I have to put up my hand and say that I like the contrast between the salt and the sweetness of the tequila and the Triple Sec.

I trawled the net for authentic Margarita recipes and found this one from "Drink of the Month" in the December 1953 issue of Esquire Magazine:

1 ounce tequila
Dash of Triple Sec
Juice of 1/2 lime or lemon
Pour over crushed ice, stir. Rub the rim of a stem glass with rind of lemon or lime, spin in salt—pour, and sip.

Again, simplicity rules ok? Nothing frozen. No cocktail umbrellas. No extra ingredients. A Margarita is a Margarita. Got it?

Devils on Horseback

I'm back in the Big Smoke. You may remember that I was planning to write about whitebait. I cooked some on Saturday. They were delicious (deep fried in Cayenne pepper, and coated with a dusting of seasoned flour) but the photography wasn't that hot; so as Hallowe'en is almost upon us, I'm going to concentrate on some classic Hallowe'en dishes over the next few days instead.

Hallowe'en is interesting. When I was about so-and-so high, it was barely celebrated in Britain; all the emphasis was on Bonfire Night a few days later. In those far off days, Trick or Treating was just not the done thing in Jolly Old. I suspect that Hallowe'en was originally brought to the United States by Scottish or Dutch settlers in the nineteenth century, became a big deal over there (Hallowe'en post cards were huge in America before the First World War) and then in the last few years with the Americanisation of Europe, came back over here.

Not that I'm complaining. It's a bit like Chop Suey, which apparently was re-invented by Chinese immigrants in San Francisco; the European Coffee House in Seattle (er- Starbucks), or the deep-pan "Italian" pizza re-gurgitated in Chicago from the classic Neopolitan street recipe. Old World classics go to America, are re-invented, and then make their way back here with a bit of North American perzazz thrown in for good measure.

Here's a good 'un for the Night of the Living Dead. It's called Devils on Horseback. You get hold of some rashers of streaky bacon. Half-cook them under your grill. The night before, you've soaked some dried prunes in water and Lea & Perrin's Worcestershire Sauce. Now wrap each bacon rasher around a prune, and fasten with a wooden cocktail stick. You are going to re-grill them, so it's a good idea to soak the cocktail sticks in cold water first- to stop them burning.

Bung them back under the grill, until they are cooked through. Take them out. Season with salt and pepper, and if you're up for it, a further dash of Lea & Perrins. Serve with hot toast and a watercress garnish.

Tomorrow, it has to be about pumpkins- and as I hate the taste of pumpkin, I'm going to have to come up with some palatable ideas fast. Very fast. If anyone out there in cyberspace (especially the dear old U S of A) wants to email me with pumpkin-fest ideas, please do, and if you can persuade me, I'll get your ideas up on the site to share with the rest of the world...

Sloe Gin

It's that time of the year to make Sloe Gin again. Almost. Sloe Gin is a liqueur made from the sloe berries of the Hawthorne bush, which grows in the hedgerows of the English countryside. By ancient lore, they are picked at the end of October, supposedly just after the first frost; but with global warming, I can't quite work out if you should pick them earlier, or pick them later. Anyway, they're quite easy to spot- medium sized purplish coloured berries with a slight dusty bloom. I get mine from a spot I know in Oxfordshire- that is if the good burghers of Wallingford haven't got there first.

Sloe gin is easy to make at home. You need to pick a decent amount of ripe sloe berries. If you live in the city, you can buy sloe berries on ebay. I think it's probably a good idea to freeze the berries first to simulate the effects of a first frost. The freezing process will help to break down the berries, and extract the juices.

Next you need to prick each berry, so that the juices can be released. Traditionally this was done with a silver fork. I'm not exactly sure why, but it adds to the mystique. Next, you need to get hold of some gin. I use Plymouth Gin, the tipple of the Royal Navy. One year as an experiment, and in a misguided attempt to be trendy, I made a batch from vodka; it was okay, but I missed out on the junipery flavours that gin gives you. It's easiest to make your sloe gin in the gin bottle itself, but if you're really keen you can use one of those large demi-john glass jars used for home brewing.

Using a funnel, pour your pricked berries into the gin bottle, so that they come up to between a third and a half way. Drink the surplus gin. Next add some sugar. About a third of the gin bottle is probably right. So you will now have a bottle of gin, with the berries coming up to about half-way, and sugar up to about a third of the way. I hope that's clear. To give my Sloe Gin extra flavour, I add a teaspoon of almond essence,, two cloves, and a stick of cinnamon, for added spice. Screw the cap back on tightly, and shake the bottle like crazy. The gin will start to turn a pink colour. Store away in a dark cupboard, shaking daily for two weeks, and then once a week thereafter.

Over the next few weeks, your sloe gin will start to take on a darker, rich-ruby red colour, and will begin to thicken up. In theory, it will be ready to drink after about three months, but I find the longer you keep it, the better it gets. I had some in my cupboard for years- and kept on improving with age. When it's ready, you will obviously need to get rid of the berries, and strain it several times over. Sloe Gin has a rich, spicy, woody, plum-like flavour, which is perfect as a winter tot, or as a traditional Hunting stirrup cup.

Clamato

I've always assumed for years, wrongly, that Mott's Clamato was Canadian. It's not. It's originally American. The drink was invented in 1966 by the Duffy-Mott company of New York. If you don't know it (and there may be many in Britain who don't), it's a blend of tomato juice and clam juice, with a few extra spices thrown in.

The Canadian connexion comes from the Bloody Caesar, Canada's favourite cocktail. In 1969, Walter Chell was challenged to create a new cocktail to celebrate the opening of a new restaurant, Marco's, in Calgary. He came up with a variation on the Bloody Mary, but decided to add clam juice to the tomato juice instead.

Today, Mott's Clamato is owned by Cadbury-Schweppes, and is popular throughout North and South America. The photograph shows the picante version- which is slightly milder in taste. It's estimated that approximately 70% of Clamato sold in the United States is bought by Hispanics. The Mexicans mix it with Budweiser beer to make the Chavela cocktail. I think I'll stick with the Ceasar for the time being.

Black Velvet

The Black Velvet cocktail is a manly, old fashioned drink; there's no doubt about that; the antithesis of sweet pina colada, or fruit-based cocktails with swizzle sticks and miniature umbrellas. It was invented at Brooks' Club, St James's Street, London, in 1861- to mourn the sudden death of Prince Albert, the consort of Queen Victoria. In Germany, it's also known as the Bismarck, as the Iron Chancellor apparently quaffed it by the gallon, no doubt as he plotted the invasion of Austria.

What is Black Velvet? It's a striking combination of champagne, and stout. But it's not a simple matter of just plonking the stout into the champagne and stirring it together. Oh, no. You need to make sure that the two drinks remain separate, so that the different densities form one layer on top of the other.

I like to make mine in a glass jug. First, pour in your champagne (I had a bottle of Justerini & Brook's 1999 anniversary champagne lying around), or a good sparkling white wine. Fill the jug up to the middle. Next, pour in your stout (I use Guinness Draught) very slowly over the back of a spoon. This will help the stout to settle gently on top of the champagne, and should, in theory, keep the two layers separate.

Serve in a chilled pint glass, or a champagne flute. I've also had it with ice- and that worked quite well. What does it taste like? Some of you out there will probably loathe it. I happen to like it. It's a stimulating combination of the smooth and the bitter, with a lovely frothy head. So the next time you need refreshment at the gaming tables, call for a Black Velvet, and raise a glass or two to the memory of the Prince Consort.

Dry Martini

I'm sorry, but dear old Mister Bond got it wrong. Very wrong. A Dry Martini should be stirred and not shaken. There's been a tendency recently for all sorts of sinister deviations to creep in, warping the original concept. I remember trying an Apple Martini at the Biltmore hotel in Los Angeles. Okay, it was good, sort of, but not a patch on the original thing. The best Dry Martini I've ever been lucky enough to have was at Harry's Bar in Venice. Little frosted tumblers straight from the 'fridge, gin on ice, a slither of lemon peel. Simple, very simple- and unpretentious (unlike this article, which is rapidly becoming a catalogue of expensive places I've been to over the years).

Anyway, here's how you make a genuine, classic, original Dry Martini cocktail. In a Martini Pitcher (you can buy these on ebay), drop in a decent amount of ice. Pour in a few drops of a dry white Vermouth. Noilly Prat (to rhyme with hat) is ideal. Stir the ice around, so that the vermouth clings to the ice. Next, add your iced gin (or if you really must, vodka). 94.6% proof Tanquery is my current no. 1 choice. Stir. Do not shake. Stir. Strain the liquor into a chilled cocktail glass, or even better, a small tumbler. Finish off with a slither of twisted lemon peel- or perhaps a green olive- but that, officially, changes the thing and makes it into a Gibson.

If you want to read up on the history of the Dry Martini, the bible of choice is John Doxat's Stirred Not Shaken- the History of the Dry Martini. Remember, the secret is to get everything as cold as you possibly can. Warm gin- it ain't good.

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Gin

I've really been looking forward to writing about gin. I suspect among the younger hip crowd, gin is considered slightly old-fashioned and fogeyish; and there's now a general gravitation towards vodka in cocktail bars and night-clubs: how many times have I heard some blade, or party girl for that matter, ask for a Vodka and Cranberry Juice? Anyway, back in the good old days of wife-swapping, bridge parties, and twiglets, gin was the tipple of choice, and, of course the basis of, perhaps, the greatest of all cocktails, The Dry Martini. But more about that in a later post.

Gin was invented in the Netherlands in the 17th century, and was distilled from barley. London Dry Gin is different. It's made from a neutral grain spirit, and then re-distilled after botanicals have been added; and the most important botanical, which it gives it that particular taste, is juniper.

What's fascinating about gin is how the different brands vary in taste. This is because of the wide range of botanicals that can be used, ranging from lemon peel, anise, angelica root, coriander, cinnamon, to cassia bark. For a standard gin and tonic, I happen to like the 40% proof Beefeater; 94.6% proof Tanqueray for a Dry Martini, and Plymouth Gin (the sailor's choice) for Sloe Gin- if and when I ever get around to making it. It may surprise you to know that Bombay Sapphire- that's the gin in the lovely blue coloured bottles with Queen Victoria on the front, is a fairly recent new-comer to the market. It's slightly sweeter, highly flavoured with lots of botanicals, and deservedly successful.

In the eighteenth century, the government allowed gin to be distilled without licence, and, as a result, the ale-houses and taverns were flooded with cheap gin, which was, in effect, fire-water. Underneath you will see a picture of "Gin Lane' by William Hogarth. Actually, if you know the Leicester Square area of London, I'm not sure that a great deal has changed since then, except it's now beer and bizarre cocktails mixed with Red Bull which is causing all the excitement.

London History cocktails the greasy spoon

Bloody Mary

For some reason, the Bloody Mary cocktail always makes me think of Connecticut gymkhanas, tailgate picnics, Mock Tudor woodies, and hearty Nantucket sailing types. Especially if it's served from the old family tartan thermos flask. There's a theory that the Bloody Mary was invented in 1921 by Fernand "Pete" Petiot, the barman at Harry's Bar in Paris (Sank Roo Doe Noo), which was a hang-out for American ex-pats such as Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald.

I'm glad to report that I've sunk a great many Bloody Marys in my time, but so far, not that many have lived up to scratch. After years of experimentation, I've finally cracked the secret, and you're in luck, because, against my better judgement, I'm about to reveal all.

Crush some ice and drop it into a cocktail shaker. Pour in some good tomato juice, vodka ( I prefer Stolichnaya ), a few drops of Lea & Perrins, a few drops of tabasco, a modest sprinkling of celery salt, and some cayenne pepper. And now for a tip that sorts the men from the boys.

Add a generous dash of dry sherry (Tio Pepe is ideal), and some lemon juice. I picked up this idea from the excellent Grenadier Pub in Wilton Row, which is packed on a Sunday morning with high-budget American tourists, and braying Guards Officers. It's supposed to be a secret, but I sort of looked over the pewter bar counter, and saw what they were up to when the bar-girl wasn't looking. Shake it all around. Strain it into a chilled highball glass. That's it.

If you really must, you can add some celery as a garnish. Some people add horseradish, but I'm not that keen, because it curdles, and your cocktail ends up looking a mess. I've also had one recently at a gastro pub down in Dorset, which had large chunks of black pepper floating around in it, and that wasn't that great either, unless of course you're addicted to raw pepper.

bloody mary cocktails vodka tomato juice the greasy spoon