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The Martinez

(Photo by Kristin Unger)

The Martinez is more than a little puzzling.

It's a silky twist of gin, vermouth, maraschino and bitters that tastes clean and crisp when it hits your lips. And then the flavor washes over you like a crescendo. It's so damn good and simple, you figure this drink should be in the cocktail pantheon among the greats.

But the Martinez, old as it is, was never as famous as its cousins the Manhattan and the Martini; in fact, until the last few years, it was impossible to even make one. That's because Old Tom Gin was one of the tragic casualties of Prohibition, banished from the market and never revived. Only recently did enthusiastic cocktailians resurrect recipes for Old Tom and get it back into production, making cocktails like the Martinez possible.

(Photo by Seth Putnam)

If the Manhattan (whiskey + sweet vermouth), is based around the idea of vermouth as a civilizing ingredient for spirits, the Martinez could be considered a new civilizing of that civilizing, with a softer and subtler gin replacing the brash whiskey. We like the addition of dry vermouth in our version, a nod to the dry martini, a drink that would fully emerge a few decades after the Martinez. And the orange peel also gives it a wonderful brightness, a nod to some versions of the drink that use orange liqueur in place of maraschino. But we're probably most smitten with Ransom's barrel-aged Old Tom gin, one of the most elegant spirits on the market, which will coincidentally make a gin and tonic that will ruin you for all others.

(Photo by Emily Fiffer)

A brisk November night was the backdrop for the Overserved Society's fifth edition, a cavorting soirée at Red And White Wines in Chicago's Bucktown neighborhood. We were again joined by foodies Tasting Table and Daily Candy, who provided food to pair, from mushroom-and-herb empanadas to walnut spice cake, and kept our ruffians well sated. Surrounded by fine booze, food, and laughter, there was an unquenchable alegría de vida hanging in the air.

(Photo by Blake Royer)

The Recipe

1.5 oz Ransom Old Tom gin

.75 oz Dolin sweet vermouth

.75 oz Dolin dry vermouth

1 barspoon Luxardo maraschino liqueur

1 swath of an orange peel

(Photo by Shani Silver)

Technique

Stir with ice for 35 revolutions. Strain. Pinch an orange peel over the drink, letting the spritz of oil cascade down and splash onto the surface. Then, rub the peel around the rim of the glass. Garnish and serve.

(Photo by Heather Sperling)

#Martinez #Black Book

The official "Honey, Make Me A Manhattan" playlist, as put together by Heather Sperling. Some tunes to get you in the mood.

The Manhattan

This post appears in the monthly guide at Birchbox Man, who we're very pleased to call a partner.

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It’s hard to write about the Manhattan. Its lore is buried, like so many classic cocktails, in a haze of history. One of the better origin tales goes that Winston Churchill's mother threw a party for the newly elected governor of New York at the Manhattan Club and the honorary beverage that night was the Manhattan. This story is apocryphal, however, as it has been shown that on this particular night Mama Churchill was in England—giving birth to Winston.

But here’s what we do know: it’s a New York drink. And it solved one of mixology’s early problems, which is that occasionally whiskey could be just too damn strong on its own.

In Roughing It, Mark Twain wrote about the profession of whiskey-slinging in the west: "For a time, the lawyer, the editor, the banker, the chief desperado, the chief gambler, and the saloon-keeper occupied the same level in society, and it was the highest…To be a saloon-keeper and kill a man was to be illustrious." Whiskey was a powerful commodity out West, uncivilized and dangerous.

Around this time, someone back East figured out it would be wise to smooth it out with sweet vermouth. The resulting drink is both potent and mesmerizing. It’s brash and yet still elegant: like New York herself. It is a whiskey drink civilized for the golden lights and bright skylines of the city, a touch sweet, yet still commanding respect.

September saw us back in action with our boozy union in Chicago serving up our own perfect Manhattan. We've been throwing these parties on Fridays, and with good reason: they're the perfect send-off for five days of hard work, and they grease the skids for a relaxing weekend. This month, we partnered with Knob Creek to showcase their new rye whiskey, and enlisted the help of two Chicago food editors (Daily Candy and Tasting Table) to offer some ‘50s-inspired comestibles.

Our environs, Gaslight Coffee Roasters' new shop in Logan Square, cast a warm glow over the evening with a zinc bar and rough-hewn interior. It only seemed right to raise a glass in salute to Twain, good whiskey, and the civilizing influence of a well-made cocktail.

The Overserved Society's Manhattan

Friday, 21 September, 2012, 7:30 p.m.

Ingredients:

1.5 oz Knob Creek rye whiskey

.75 oz Dolin sweet vermouth

2 dashes Fee Brothers cherry bitters

1 dash Angostura bitters

1 Luxardo maraschino cherry (not the neon red kind—that goes on your ice cream.)

Technique: Stir with ice for 50 revolutions. Strain. Garnish with cherry. Serve. (Note: That many revolutions may seem like a lot of stirring, but we find it provides an amount of dilution that hits us just right.)

The extra 20 percent: Two dashes of cherry bitters gives the drink just a hint of fruitiness without any sweetness. You can go without—and it’s more traditional to do so—but we found it gave the drink extra something special.

#Manhattan #Black Book

farthestsouth

overservedsociety

A toast: "To drinking without the vaudeville."

Photo by Michael Kiser.

unconsumption

overservedsociety

Not sure it's the most efficient, but boy does it look great. Card catalogue repurposed as a liquor cabinet.

The Hemingway Daiquiri

As we've been researching old drinks, a theme has emerged from cocktail to cocktail: they used to be good, and now they’re not. Take the oldest cocktail in existence, the Old Fashioned. It should be a mixture of good whiskey, sugar, bitters, and a little citrus. Order it in a bar and what do you get? Something full of muddled maraschino cherries and seltzer water.

Perhaps no cocktail has fallen further than the daiquiri. Today it’s known as an alcoholic slushie, but it was originally a bracing drink of rum, sugar, and lime juice—the inevitable result of three ingredients in close geographic proximity. These days, it’s packed with strawberries and mangoes. What gives?

Ernest Hemingway spent his share of time marinating in Cuba. It’s likely you’ve heard of his prodigious thirst. The daiquiri was his drink, and it was mixed his way. Legend has it that he ambled into Havana's La Floridita, discovered a tray of foaming daiquiris and after swiping one, declared: "Another of these, no sugar, and double the rum." The man had a staunch palate.

The classic “Papa Doble” incorporates rum, grapefruit juice, lime juice, and maraschino liqueur in place of the sugar. We found, however, that just an extra dash of sweet makes for a more satisfied audience. On a mild August evening, our guests found their way to an unmarked red door in Chicago's West Loop neighborhood. Once inside, they discovered our host's immaculate loft space—complete with exposed brick and industrial fixtures—and made their way up a spiral staircase to find our rooftop bar.

We gathered with frothing drinks in hand and listened while our friend Max Wastler read aloud from a Wall Street Journal article on the potion: "Hemingway himself described a properly beaten Daiquiri as looking 'like the sea where the wave falls away from the bow of a ship when she is doing thirty knots.'"

Photo by Max Wastler, allplaidout.com.

Friday, 10 August, 2012, 7:30 p.m.

The Overserved Society's Hemingway Daiquiri:

1.5 oz light rum (we used Flor de Caña) 0.75 oz lime juice 0.75 oz grapefruit juice 0.5 oz Luxardo maraschino liqueur 0.5 oz simple syrup

Technique:

Combine all ingredients in the shaker, heap on the ice, and shake until the tin is frosty. Strain and serve.

#Black Book #Hemingway Daiquiri

Probably ought to stop quoting when you drink.

What Blake and Seth will look like squeezing 76 limes and 10 grapefruits to Cuban music before the party tonight.

When you arrive: You'll see a red door. Please go through it and up the stairs. An associate will be waiting to shake your hand and direct you to the roof, and the evening will begin.

Preview: The Hemingway Daiquiri.

Our roving cocktail party is almost here again, this time with some rum, sugar, and a splash of lime. It's true. We're resurrecting another drink that has fallen from grace. As my mom asked, "You know the daiquiri is kind of...feminine, right?"

Would you call Ernest Hemingway feminine? Nope. Get ready.

Photo via @sethjputnam.

HuffPo is asking whether there's a new trend in town in the form of taps...for cocktails. Haven't experienced this yet myself, but it seems like you'd have to pick a beverage that you could produce easily in bulk without diluting over time.

We'll hold off judgment until we've tried it, but we've always been diehard proponents of made-to-order libations instead of mass-produced mixes. It's the personal attention and care that makes the drink.

Several weeks ago, we cracked open a bottle of barrel-aged gin from Few Spirits for a new Martinez recipe we're working on with sweet vermouth, marachino, and orange bitters. We decided to hold it for fall (in favor of some other summer drinks), but we can't wait to unleash its sweet, spicy goodness when the weather turns cool.

Photo via @blakeroyer.

Some of Jacques Straub's city concoctions, as reproduced by Chicago Magazine.

Out-of-context excerpt: "...or whatever it is we're calling it these days when someone with a liberal-arts degree mixes you an $18 drink." — Elizabeth Gunnison introducing an interview with Jim Meehan for Esquire (7/5/12)

Blake Royer killing it.

Photo by Max Wastler, All Plaidout.

#Whiskey Smash

The Great Unifier: Notes on the Whiskey Smash

Photo by Rob Culpepper.

On Friday, we set up a rooftop speakeasy at the home of our magnanimous friend Kelsey Kreiling. She and her co-conspirator David Fingerman are behind the new Internet sensation, Bourbon ‘n’ Cake. They were the definition of gracious hosts.

Notes on the Whiskey Smash:

In the early 2000s, the patrons of New York’s premier cocktail dens seemed to have something against whiskey. So the bartenders got them to drink it by mixing up the Smash. But that was just a resurrection of an old classic: recipes exist as early as Jerry Thomas’ 1862 version. It could also be called the Great Unifier: sweet and smooth enough for the casual drinker—but with enough booze and bite to satisfy those with stauncher tastes. And best of all, it’s simple to make.

When you’ve grown tired of mojitos and gin-and-tonics, and want a little more substance in your summer, the Smash is your friend. The base is made up of mint, lemon, bitters and simple syrup (muddling them all together releases flavorful citrus and mint oils into the syrup). Some make this drink with bourbon, but we find that the aggressiveness of rye plays perfectly with the sweetness and acidity of the other ingredients. We like to pour the shaken drink over fresh crushed ice (taking a cue from the Mint Julep, a close cousin). This technique makes the drink supremely cold and refreshing, but it also risks diluting it. Conveniently, it’s important to guzzle this one quickly.

The extra 20 percent—a few words on technique:

If you muddle the mint too hard, it gets stringy and bitter as it releases the chlorophyl, so bruise it lightly instead. Shaking it with ice will do the rest.

#20 percent #Whiskey Smash

Supplies.

Photo by Seth Putnam.

#Whiskey Smash

Your bartenders for the evening: Blake Royer and Seth Putnam.

Photo by John Stoffer.

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