Welcome to cocktail week on One Kitchen Knife! Every day for the next week, I’ll be posting a new cocktail.
It is finally, blissfully, spring here in DC. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom, Dan finished his senior thesis, and we’ve just moved into an enormous (multi-room) apartment. Farmers markets are becoming tempting again (ramps, people!) and one of these days Whole Foods might reluctantly admit to the change in season by carrying some rhubarb.
I am unapologetically fond of winter – don’t even get me started on snow – but even Christmastime’s got nothing on the joy of spring. New parents air their babies, cats curl up on sunny window ledges, and students spend long, lazy Sundays studying on the grass. The courtyard of our apartment complex stays busy late into the evening. Neighbors linger outside, letting their dogs play in the long grass while they catch up. Summertime in DC is different—too hot and humid to linger outside any longer than necessary, neighbors exchange no more than a nod before plunging back into air-conditioning. Spring is our lazy.
After four months of hurrying to catch the bus, head down against the wind, I’ve been luxuriating in my morning commute. The trees in northern Virginia are almost obscene – flowers cascading down, silently suggesting I take the morning off to play hooky (grass soft and warm under my feet, 50 pages until Grant finds the murderer). I haven’t given into the trees’ subversive recommendations yet, but we’ve been celebrating the season in other ways: radishes with exorbitantly expensive Irish butter at least twice a week, a spring frittata with more than a cup of cheese, a bottle of absinthe for Sazeracs. Cocktail week.
Maudlin as it may sound (forgive me, I grew up with Irish ballads in my blood), we each only get so many Springs. It’s worth it, I think, to give in to the joy, the Fragonard-esque silliness, of the season. And so, to cocktail week.
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Monday: The Sazerac
Every field has its Connoisseur’s Choice. For British Invasion bands, it’s the Kinks. For sunglasses, it’s Ray-Ban Wayfarers. For Renaissance epic poetry, it’s Ludovico Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso. And so on . . . In the world of mixed drinks, this role is performed by the Sazerac, a venerable New Orleans specialty that possesses three things near and dear to the cocktail geek’s heart: It uses rare, strongly flavored ingredients (including an obscure brand of bitters and absinthe); there’s a special, unique procedure involved in making it (see recipe); and it’s got a cool history.
– David Wondrich, The Sazerac, Esquire
Ingredients
2 old-fashioned glasses, 1 placed in the freezer for at least 15 minutes
2.5 ou rye whisky
Peychaud’s bitters
Angostura bitters
Absinthe
1 sugar cube
Lemon
Water
1. Muddle your sugar cube with about 3 drops of water in the first (room-temperature) old-fashioned glass.
2. Add 2 dashes of Peychaud’s bitters, 1 dash of Angostura bitters, and 2.5 ounces of rye whisky to the glass. Throw in a few smallish ice cubes. Stir thoroughly.
3. Peel a nice long strip of lemon peel. Smack it, to release its lemony essence, and twist it, to make it look pretty.
4. Working quickly now: remove your second, well-chilled, old-fashioned glass from the freezer. Pour in a small splash of absinthe, and rotate the glass to coat its sides. Discard any extra.
5. Strain the rye mixture into the cold, absinthe-coated glass. Garnish with the lemon peel.
Please come back tomorrow for day two of cocktail week!