After the infamy and fall-out from my last absinthe post vitriolic screed, I’ve taken a bit of a hiatus. I’ve been preparing to attend the American Distilling Institute’s Brandy Conference in early April (which I will be covering here), getting the Cocktail and Spirits Online Writers Guild’s Group’s web site set up and preparing for its conference in July, and generally preparing for Mixoloseum awesomeness such as this week’s Beefeater-sponsored Thursday Drink Night. And, my oldest daughter’s birthday is this month, so, I’ve been a busy monkey. As you can see above, I’ve collected a few absinthes and have been putting them through their paces the past few months. My evaluation process is outlined in the original post in the series, but suffice it to say that I’m allowing the absinthe to express its character in a very specific way – by mixing it with sugar and water in various forms¹ . This, to me, is slightly more reliable than drinking it neat (though I’ve been known to do that) and a better measure of it’s quality than dousing it in something like a Corpse Reviver or Monkey Gland.

This line-up includes Kübler, St. George, and Marteau; three very different absinthes that unapologetically commit themselves to the flavor profile and style in which they are made.

Kübler is a traditional swiss absinthe that comes in a very untraditionally-sized 1L bottle. The swiss “blanche” style deviates from the more common verte style in two ways: 1. there is no additional infusion of herbs after the initial distillation2 and 2: it usually features a lower alcohol content. A lack of herbal infusion in the finishing stage doesn’t necessarily mean an absinthe blanche will be less complex than a verte, but in Kubler’s case, it tends that direction. However, we’ll see that that isn’t completely unwelcome. Drip: Kübler louches quickly with a beautiful pearlescent blue-tinged colour3 that isn’t found in the verte styles. As an absinthe drip, Kubler is solidly two-note. There is a prevalent high note in the Star Anise area, with some fennel tones, and a low note squarely reminiscent of cocoa. In other words, there’s not much going on here except those two things and there’s far less herbaceous quality to it than just about any other absinthe on my shelf. Kübler recommends using a 5:1 water-to-absinthe ratio in a drip and I have to disagree. A 3:1 ratio is the highest you should reach for to get the intensity to make Kübler properly sing. Frappe: I enjoy Kübler in a frappe as it is simple, laid-back, and friendly. Unlike absinthes that try to do too much, Kübler kicks back and asks only that you keep your feet off its furniture and the music turned to a nice playful jazz station. Again, it’s not the most complex absinthe by a damned sight but, sometimes, that’s a deficit – as we’ll see with St. George. Kübler is an absinthe I turn to in a frappe when I want to introduce someone else to absinthe and its general charms or I don’t feel like being challenged and want to enjoy the sparest of them all. Kübler is a wonderful product with which to introduce yourself to absinthe’s core characteristics and work your way outwards to more challenging and complex products. And, at $50/L, it’s one of the best buys available on the store shelf. I also find Kübler my absinthe-of-choice when developing mixed drinks. It represents the base nature of absinthe very clearly and others might muddle the profiles of other ingredients in my experiments. Plus, if when my drink ends up sucking, I haven’t wasted $1-3 in the .5oz I’ve used. Kübler has been, and will remain, a staple on my shelf for its dependability, simplicity, and sheer enjoyability.

St. George was one of the first U.S. absinthes on the market and I’d been wanting to try it since its release. Thanks to a good samaritan who knew of this series, and happened to live in San Francisco, I received a bottle. An arresting bottle and label, a gorgeous olive-green hue, and an appreciation of Hangar One and, by proxy, St. George Spirits, I was anxious to open and get to know this distinctive green fellow. Distinctive turned out to be the operative word. Drip: This is the first absinthe I’ve encountered where I would highly recommend using a 4:1 or 5:1 ratio in a drip. St. George absinthe presents an anise flavor in the front, subduing you with an, “Oh!, this is tasty,” lull of satisfaction, and everything that comes after is an assault of the senses and your better nature. From rosemary, to pepper, to camphor, St. George never settles and blends into anything coalescent…or completely pleasant in a Drip. There’s a lot going on, which I appreciate, but I prefer it have a central and consistent anchor around which everything else can orbit. Frappe: St. George performs much better in a frappe but still suffers from the lack of focus and a general busyness that fatigues the palate. The half-teaspoon of anisette serves to balance the frappe out a bit and, seemingly, help the absinthe stretch-out and relax without being so earnest in delivering its multitudes of flavors. It almost reads as an attempt to do Absinthe PLUS! and it just falls short of something glorious. The finish is still long, but not as excruciatingly so as in the drip. St. George famously slew the dragon and, in that vein, this absinthe is aptly-named. It is not for the weak, the timid, nor those for whom this would be their first absinthe. This is also the only absinthe I’ve seen, in my collection, to undergo the “feuille mort” transformation where it takes on the brownish hues of fallen leaves, likely indicating the quality and volume natural elements in the product, which should be applauded.

Marteau absinthe is produced by Gwydion Stone, a founder of the The Wormwood Society whose mission it is to provide consumer advocacy and, perhaps more important, historically accurate information and education regarding absinthe. Marteau de la Belle Epoque attempts to recreate a historically accurate portrayal of the absinthes tasted by our forebears. And, if this is what it was, it’s no wonder it became as popular as it did. Drip: Firstly, I’ve tried all of my absinthes neat. Marteau is the first I’ve come back to time-and-time again to do so. Sometimes it seems almost a shame to pollute it with other lesser elements, but only almost. Marteau louches almost instantly in a drip and I found a 3:1 ratio to be just about perfect and the sugar, in this one, is completely optional. The first thing I noticed about Marteau is its heavy committment to fennel for its anise character. This allows the anisette character to come through without the cheap candy-like tackiness that can sometimes occur when star anise is leaned on too heavily to provide the base flavor profile. Its emphasis on fennel and use of a Spanish aniseed allows an herbal quality to join in that isn’t harsh but still balances against the more bitter wormwood elements. There was also a relatively unusual floral character contrubiting to the balance that I later discovered to be Iris4 . Frappe: The frappe using Marteau was the best I’ve had. Joana, after being handed Kubler (“Nice, fun!”) and St. George (“Gods in Hell, I can’t feel my mouth!”) upon being handed the Marteau version said simply, “Oh, that’s delicious,” and then refused to give it back. This presents with a clean and clearly-focused front of licorice and then finishes with a disinct bitter and herbal quality that still carries the initial sweet anise-character along for the ride. It is nearly perfectly balanced throughout and, at the traditional 136-proof, is simply dangerous in how pleasing it is. While I’m certainly not qualified to judge Marteau against the classic and lost styles from the 19th century, I can confidently say it’s the best in class of those I have at my disposal. My only complaints with Marteau are its availability5 and its price point. And not because the price point seems out-of-whack with the quality of the product or artificially inflated for marketing purposes (hello there, vodka) but because it will keep people from experiencing a genuine absinthe that presents exactly what a buyer deserves: no gimmicks, no artificiality, and no short-cuts that I can see. This is what a person should be confronted with when experiencing absinthe for the first time, and it’s a shame so many won’t.

St. George Absinthe Rating: 2 out of 5 stars

Marteau Absinthe Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars

Absinthe Event Announcement

Please join us on April 17th at 7:00pm in the Mixoloseum Bar for a chat with eminent cocktail writer and absinthe enthusiast Paul Clarke, Wormwood Society Founder and absinthe producer Gwydion Stone, and Wormwood Society Editor and Media Contact Brian Robinson will join us to discuss the history and tradition of absinthe and answer questions about present day absinthe production, tastes, and challenges.
Place and Time:

• When: April 14th, 7:00pm⁶
• Where: The Mixoloseum Bar
• Bring: Questions, insights, and an open and inquisitive mind. And, hell, bring a bottle of absinthe along with you.

Absinthe, Absinthe every where… (Part III) is a post from: cocktailnerd

1. in other words, an absinthe drip and an absinthe frappe
2. hence its blanche vs. verte color quality
3. that’s for you, jay
4. which I disdain in Magellan Gin but its touch is lovely here
5. an issue I know takes time and Gwydion is working on
6. this is corrected, the post originally referred to April 7th, which is wrong…dead wrong.

As you may have seen in my last post in this series of absinthe reviews, I’ve collected a few absinthes and will be giving them my due consideration over the next few months. You can read more about my tasting process in that post but suffice it to say that I’m allowing the absinthe to express its character in a very specific way, by mixing it with sugar and water in various forms¹ . This, to me, is slightly more reliable than drinking it neat (though I’ve been known to do that) and a better measure of it’s quality than dousing it in something like a Corpse Reviver or Monkey Gland.

But, in this post, I’ll be doing something a bit different with one of them. You see, something has caught my attention, and my ire. Allow me my traditional reviews of Obsello and Pernod and then indulge me in a trip to cocktail-blogger-hell where we’ll discuss Le Tourment Vert and all its ignominious and ignoble qualities.

Obsello has only very recently come to the U.S. and was the first Spanish absinthe to visit our shores. Spanish absinthe originated after many distillers moved from France to Spain in the early 20th-century and is typically considered a sweeter form. The bottle is reminiscent of a champagne bottle and is mercifully free of anything mentioning artificial coloring, a common problem among many of these. It also comes with a harrying and large wax seal around the cap. Several crow-bars, near misses with knives, and chipped chisels later, I was ready to try it. Drip: Obsello recommends a 3:1 ratio of water-to-absinthe. I don’t. Back this down to 1.5-2oz water to an ounce of absinthe to make it really sing and have the “oomph” it deserves. This has a very strong anise front that, thankfully, dissipates quickly. It settles quickly into a woodsy and wormwood bitterness and slight vanilla hints with a long long finish. There’s still a bit of heat throughout the ordeal. Frappe: This is lovely in a frappe. The thinness it struggles with in the drip is completely gone and the concentration of the Obsello comes through in a fine way. The initial bite of anise in the drip is tamped-down but lingers longer and a new cocoa flavor comes along for the ride as it finishes. There’s less bitterness and, all in all, it makes for a more pleasant drink than the drip. This is a very nice traditional absinthe that, if you can find it for around $60, I highly recommend. It pours a beautiful, and natural-looking, pale green color and louches quickly and in fantastic fashion. This isn’t the most deep or complex absinthe in the group, but it’s very respectable and you could do worse. Much worse.

Pernod, of course, is known as the “original” absinthe having started production in the late 1700s. It’s only recently reached Oklahoma and I was glad to add it to the mix. It pours a slightly yellowish-green, belying its FD&C Yellow No. 5 roots, but isn’t horribly artificial in its appearance, unlike some. Drip: This takes longer to louche than the Obsello but, once it does, appears creamy and lush. Pernod stands up in a drip better than the Obsello and asserts itself nicely with a more dry and herbal profile. The anise flavors are present, but ultimately it rounds itself into more gentian/herbal tones with a lighter hint of wormwood than most. The anise is also more of the “star anise” quality than fennel which leads to a little less complexity than I’d like. Frappe: Surprisingly, this dries out even further in a frappe. It made me realize that the sweetness I experienced in the Obsello may be mostly due to its creamier feel, as the Pernod runs quickly across the tongue. The Obsello’s frappe beats this hands down in terms of both pleasantness and richness. Unfortunately, I would look to Pernod Absinthe for dry and minor complexity as an absinthe for use in mixed drinks rather than featuring it on its own. It’s not a depressingly horrid product but as I drank it in these two drinks and let it sit on the palate it devolved into a sort of chemical artificiality that was wholly unwelcome. On its own, it leaves something to be desired.

I’m going to save you $60. Right now. Call your dad. Don’t worry, he’ll take your call2 . Ask your dad for two things, his Aqua Velva (Old Spice will do in a pinch) and a bottle of cheap tequila. If he doesn’t have tequila then Everclear will do. Or, barring that, a gun. Once acquired, set them side-by-side. Pour 1oz of your father’s aftershave of preference in a glass…down it. There, you’ve now tasted Le Tourment Vert at 1/30th the price. Your problem now? How to forget. You have two options, down the tequila or Everclear in one great Herculean swig and hope that the resulting brain damage erases the memory of having tasted Le Tourment3 . Or, you can make damned sure you forget with a bullet. Whatever’s on the other side is preferable, I assure you. Unnaturally blue, uninspiringly flaccid, astoundingly nasty, unfathomably thin, unsparingly acrid, and unrepentently synthetic it’s everything bad sex is, and more, and is probably the second-worst booze I’ve ever tasted. Thanks, Le Tourment, the torment is all mine. To add insult to injury? They’re fucking spammers. And I have something I’d like to say about that, meet me under the fold, please.

Pernod Absinthe Rating: 2.5 out of 5 stars

Le Tourment Vert Rating: 0.5 out of 5 stars⁴

Spam This, Bitches:

It’s not enough that your product is despairingly bad, Le Tourment, and that people everywhere have to pay for the privilege of such bottled evil before realizing it. It’s not enough that you’ve put a sub-standard product on the market that is riding the coattails of ever-growing absinthe appreciation and enthusiasm and on the backs of quality brands such as Marteau, Obsello, St. George, and others. It’s not enough that your product barely resembles anything remotely related to absinthe much less something potable. No, you have to spam my comments and burn 10-15 minutes of each of my days for the past few weeks filtering it out. Shame on you, on both counts.

As a cocktail blogger and writer I can tell you that some PR firms “get” it. They understand that to gain our attention requires time, respect, and communication. You know, like any other human with self-respect. Sure, blogging is a labor of love, first and foremost, but it also requires time and effort and attention and a good many of us also write in some professional capacity. That you would think, essentially, taking a dump on our doorstep every day⁵ and making us clean it up would engender some sort of good will, admiration, or desire to promote your product only illustrates your ignorance, disregard, and, I suspect, your secretly-held disdain for bloggers in general. After all, if I shit on *your* doorstep every day, you might take it that I don’t like you either.

Let me provide this illustration by example. You know those folks going door-to-door trying to get you to attend their church, subscribe to The Watchtower, or generally asking you personal questions about your relationship with God which is none of their damned business? Off-putting at best, and insulting at worst. Now, take that example, have them arrive every day for the past 3-4 weeks and then add a kicker. Not only do they make daily visits, they also have an associate that writes “Jesus is the awesomezt, have you tried him?,” or, “I’ve heard Shiva is nice, but have you tried Jesus? Americans are crazy for him!” on your front door in dry-erase marker. Every…single…fucking….day. Some days two or three times. Yes, easy enough to clean off. Yes, it’s not really *hurting* anyone. But, what does it say about how they feel about you, your home⁶ , and your time? It says, to me, “Fuck you, our message is more important than you and you’re not deserving of the respect or time it would require to actually key your interest in our message, product, or business.” And, what does it make you think of that church, religion, or publication? Nothing good, I assure you. So, thanks Le Tourment. I didn’t like your product in the first place but was willing to equivocate a bit. Then you had to spam me. All your PR firm has done is prove that it has no respect for me, and, I would venture, no faith in your product.

Now, don’t get me wrong, there are firms that do this right. I’ve had great experiences with Brand Action Team, The Baddish Group, and Brown-Forman and would put them in front of anyone looking for best practices on how to work with the cocktail blogging community to build influence and exposure for a product⁷ . Each of them, in different ways, has taken our influence seriously, taken their time to speak with us personally and inquire after their product(s) after sending it to us, and sought our feedback and insights on those products. I’m willing to listen carefully to them about their products, share my issues, and take their feedback into account when they disagree with my assessment. I would think this should be any firm’s goal.

Spamming my comments⁸ , sending me unsolicited emails asking me to feature a crappy batch of recipes that I can tell by looking at them didn’t have mixological principles in mind, just the heavy use of XYZ product for its own sake, or emailing me a lamely-worded press release in-toto and asking me to run it on my site is telling me that you either don’t know me, don’t read my site, or, if you do, don’t take me seriously. I can live with that. But, please, do me the favor and be honest in your not respecting me and my ilk. In other words, leave me the fuck alone. Pretend I don’t exist, and I’ll pretend you don’t either.

Because, when you act like I exist, here’s what I get:^{9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25}

And this is only what I can dredge up from my history in the past week or so. Sad, alarming, and completely unnecessary. I hope any brands reading this know that I’ll be happy to give your product a fair shake and its due. I just hope you’ve selected a PR firm that can treat us with respect, forthrightness, and dignity. As for you, Cashmere, the IP addresses from which the above come²⁶ have been permanently banned. Well done for you, and well done for your client.

Darcy at The Art of Drink

Jon at DrinkPlanner

SeanMike at Scofflaw’s Den

Marleigh at SLOSHED!

Blair at Trader Tiki’s Booze Blog

Chris at An Exercise in Hospitality

Stevi at Two at the Most

Tiare at A Mountain of Crushed Ice

Paul at the Cocktail Chronicles

Chuck at Looka!

Matt at A Jigger of Blog

Absinthe, Absinthe every where… (Part II w/ Special Feature!) is a post from: cocktailnerd

1. in other words, an absinthe drip and an absinthe frappe
2. as long as you didn’t give him Le Tourment Vert for Christmas
3. but please, go all “Memento” and leave notes to yourself all over the joint saying “Don’t trust the Blue Reaper” or something along those lines
4. it will keep you alive when the zombies come, so it gets 1/2 star for caloric value
5. granted, you’ve been nice enough to mold the fecal material into the shape of your brand name, thanks for that – at least I know who to blame
6. and believe me, this is my “home”
7. there are others, mind you, these just come to mind first
8. I’m sorry, “virally-seeding message board discussions” is the euphemism of choice, right?
9. “I keep hearing about his bohemian absinthe. The only brand i have tried is LE TOURMENT VERT. It was really good too! I suggest it to all absinthe lovers!”
10. “I might have to try this”
11. “Is this drink in the states yet?”
12. “Verte is the best one to me! Le tourment vert is so good and is really taking Americans by storm”
13. “Can’t wait to start trying absinthe!”
14. “That looks like fun…I’m gonna have to attend!”
15. “absinthe nice. my new favorite drink.”
16. “gonna try the financial district tonight”
17. “Not a big fan of vermouth but that drink sounds good!”
18. “what is this guy talking about?”
19. “since it has the word “ginger” in it, it should be pretty healthy, right? that’s what i’ll tell anyone who asks.”
20. “What are some great new cocktails?”
21. “Your description makes my mouth water. “Almond and lemon lingers after swallowing, with a modest alcohol burn.” Sounds incredible.”
22. “Yaw silly….. what yaw drinking on?”
23. “this looks delicious!”
24. “i’ve never been a fan of mixed drinks until i came into the poison apple martini

    POISON APPLE MARTINI
    Easily batched for the mini carafe bottles
    1oz Le Tourment Absinthe
    1/2oz Apple Pucker
    1/2oz Sweet Sour
    Splash Cranberry Juice
    - Shake well and strain into rocks glass
    “

25. “I’m starting to grow on absinthe.”
26. of which there are only 2
27. albeit much more judiciously than myself, I’m sure

Slowly, but surely, I’ve been collecting absinthes. Not always the most obscure of brands¹ or styles² , but certainly a fair representation of what’s found it’s way on the market since early last year when it became legal it was realized the 10ppm thujone restriction actually allowed for sale of many European products in the US. Contrary to popular belief, it was never specifically banned. But, I come here to praise absinthe, not to bury educate on it. If you have questions on absinthe’s production³ , hallucinogenic qualities⁴ , or deleterious effects⁵ I highly recommend the Wormwood Society’s FAQ section and forums, but watch your step in there, the world can be a harsh place.

The only things I really want to touch on, since most of these things are covered exhaustively elsewhere, are the traditional styles of absinthe and what I’ll be looking for in them in going through the tasting process. There are three primary styles of absinthe; blanche (white), verte (da green), and Czech.⁶ There is only one Czech-style absinthe that will be covered in this series, Mata Hari. The remainder will fall squarely in the blanche or verte categories with the primary difference being that a verte-style absinthe has an additional step after its distillation (when it’s a blanche) whereby an additional set of herbs are infused and, usually, end up being the source of coloration (i.e. green). This typically leads blanche absinthes to be more whole-heartedly committed to anise/wormwood flavor profiles and the vertes to have more herbaceous and “woodsy” elements vying for attention. These, of course, are broad generalizations that have, for the most part, held true in my tastings thus far. For more information on styles you can visit Chuck Taggart’s background piece on absinthe and New Orleans, this WIRED article on Absinthe’s resurgence, or this look at basic absinthe production at the Wormwood Society. Then, read on.

Tasting Process: I will be evaluating each of the absinthes in two ways, by making a traditional absinthe drip (3:1) and frappe’.

The Absinthe Drip gives the absinthe a way of explaining itself and revealing its inner nature. The absinthe drip, for me, is the therapist’s couch of drinks for absinthe whereby it reveals its deepest secrets and tells me what’s on its ever-cantankerous mind.

Absinthe Drip

• 1oz absinthe⁷
• 1 lump of sugar
• 2-3oz chilled water

Place the absinthe in an old-fashioned or absinthe drip glass and a tea strainer or absinthe spoon on top of the glass. Place the sugar cube on the spoon or in the strainer and slowly drip 2-3oz of water over the cube and into the absinthe until, hopefully, most of the sugar is dissolved.

The Absinthe Frappe, on the other hand, occludes the absinthe’s inner child and looks to find out how well it plays with others. Yes, its constiuent parts are nearly identical to the Drip but the Anisette and shaking cause the absinthe to behave much differently and, essentially, reveal its mixability and complexity. Or, in the case of some, it’s insipidity⁸ .

Absinthe Frappe⁹

• 1.5oz absinthe
• .5oz simple syrup
• 1t anisette

Place all ingredients in a mixing glass and shake heartily for 15 seconds. Pour all ingredients into an old-fashioned glass. I skip the water many recipes call for.

Now, what you likely came here for. Our first looks will be at La Fee Parisienne, Lucid, and Apsinthion, a Polish absinthe of neon sex.

La Fee Parisienne is one of the two neon-green absinthes in this round-up that hearken to when not-so-savory producers were putting out product that seemed to exist for the sole purpose of contributing to absinthe’s illicit appeal and the ill-founded prospect of its hallucinogenic qualities. Fortunately, despite this artificial coloring, La Fee does much better than all that. Drip: In an Absinthe Drip this comes across with much less anise than most and presents a lot of herbaceous qualities and, of the three, comes across more complex. This is certainly the most vegetal and “woodsy” of the three and is pleasantly sippable. It louches very nicely and at 136-proof has a very light body. With this one, I definitely think upping the ratio of water-to-absinthe couldn’t hurt. Frappe: Somehow, in the frappe, the herbal qualities are amplified (the word “nettles” kept coming to mind) but are still not as complex or playful as the Lucid. In both, La Fee comes across as fairly dry but not so much that the sugar or anisette need to be bumped up in any way. Ultimately, I have to recommend this as a sipping absinthe that performs best when left to its own devices. The bitterness of the wormwood comes through and, for mixing, makes it limited in its application. It’s a pleasant surprise in a drip and a bit of an underperformer in the frappe. The labeling is lovely but, at the end of the day, it is not the best bargain for its quality. It’s not abysmal, by any means, but it’s also not bowl-me-over-wonderful.

Apsinthion is one of those neon beasts that promotes itself as a high-thujone absinthe and seems to start at the point of wanting to attract exactly the wrong sort of drinker. It’s produced in Poland and there’s some dispute as to whether it’s actually distilled or an amalgamation of oils, neutral spirit, and other chemicals. Either way, I was curious how it would perform against the new vanguard of European absinthe products making their way into the U.S. market. Drip: There is a lot of heat in a drip made with Apsinthion and it has a strong Good n’ Plenty character. This, essentially, is not a good thing. It’s mint-heavy, wormwood-weak, and overly-simple. It seems sugared and has an undefinable saccharin character that makes one want to move on, and quickly. Frappe: In a frappe, the Apsinthion just makes you appreciate how much a quality absinthe brings tot he table. Apsinthion comes across as dry, unmelded, and with a certain uncomplicated toothpaste quality. If you accidentally stumble on this product, skip it entirely. If you’re striving for a simple licorice flavor with little complexity, look for a pastis such as Pernod or Ricard and you’ll be much happier for it. If you’re looking for a simpler absinthe, well, you could still do better.

Lucid, as you probably know, was one of the first true absinthes to bring absinthe back-to-market in the U.S. in 2008. It’s eye-catching bottle (har har) has turned some off as it doesn’t speak to the quality of the product or its origins. However, Lucid is distilled in France and seemingly tries to capture the traditional style of an absinthe verte. How well it actually performs, though, is another matter. Drip: The first thing I notice about Lucid is how easily it louches and the oils precipitate once water is added. It has a lovely milky, almost violet, color that is mesmerizing and a joy to watch. However, once hitting the palate it has a heavily-bodied coating effect that produces a sort of numbing quality. This leaves the impression that the only thing Lucid has to offer is a black licorice character that leaves you wanting more…of….something more. Frappe: However, in a frappe, Lucid practically sings. It was nearly impossible for me to pick apart all of the flavors dancing around but nearly all of them were pleasant. Joana and I both described this as “playful” with thoughts of tinkling piano keys invading our thoughts. The flavors that came to bear had more ruddish complexity than what it presented in the Drip, a most welcome development. I highly recommend this as an absinthe to be used for mixing. it relies heavily on an broad anise flavor but still has something to bring to the party with a nice balance of dry and sweet. However, at the price, Kubler may be a better option if you’re buying an absinthe almost strictly for mixing. However, you could do far worse either way, just ask the Poles.

Lucid Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars

Absinthe, Absinthe, every where… is a post from: cocktailnerd

1. interesting for the bottles and rarity alone
2. just fucking shoot me in my face
3. difficult
4. a pack of hooey and lies
5. much like zubrowka and the ban on coumarin, the thujone restriction is more about its damage to organs and tissue in high concentrations, like stupid-high concentrations
6. there is also Hausgemacht – homemade – but we won’t be going there in this series for obvious reasons
7. maybe a bit more if it’s a low-proof absinthe, i.e. less than 60% ABV
8. yeah, there, I said it, “insipidity”…now get over it
9. adapted from Paul Clarke’s recipe in seriouseats.com

My wife became interested in limoncello after seeing it featured on one of Giada’s shows on Food Network and decided to whip up a batch…boom, 1.5L of limoncello hanging around the house. Then, to compare the homemade to a manufactured brand we purchased another bottle and taste-tested them for comparison. And purchased one once again, after Danny DeVito’s infamous appearance on The View where he was fairly visibly intoxicated after a night out with George Clooney due to his, “…last seven limoncellos…” I found it amusing and then some months later unexpectedly running into a bottle at a liquor store here in Tulsa went ahead and picked it up. Why not, right? (Let’s just hope Avril Lavigne doesn’t take it on herself to develop her own line of limoncello as well). So, wham, I then have approximately 3L of limoncello cluttering my bar. Urg. And finally, a marketing firm saw fit to send a bottle of limoncello to me without warning and, great gobs of goosefat!² , I have nearly 4L of the stuff sitting around the house. What to do? Oh, yeah, write a damned post, that’s what.

Limoncello is a very simple liqueur that depends heavily on the type of lemon and grain alcohol used for its make up and flavor. It has four constituent parts; lemon zest/rind, alcohol, water and sugar. That’s it. The Italians keep it simple when it comes to creating their lemon liqueur and, it would seem, rightfully so. It’s primarily produced in Southern Italy but with its growing popularity and wider distribution is making its way into more continental mires³ . Typically neutral spirits are used in its production, and almost entirely in what you’ll find in the U.S., but it can be made with various and sundry darker and/or more flavorful spirits as one will, but I haven’t, and probably won’t.

There are three brands and one homemade concoction we’ll be working with here; Danny DeVito’s Premium Limoncello, Gioia Luisa Lemoncello, Stock Limonce Limoncello, and Marquette-Szaszko Bond in Bottle (BIB) Limoncello⁴ . Two are similar, one is “ass-nasty”⁵ , and the other distinctive but not without its charms.

All in all, and as you’ll see, you can do far worse than this. It behaved very well in the Starfish Cooler and I think it captures the heart of what limoncello should be; plenty of lemon zest and sweet flavor with a bit of that rind bitterness that came through on the finish. I think I will turn to this as my ‘mixing’ limoncello as I think it will hold up well against other ingredients and not get lost nor add distasteful elements to a cocktail. One person mentioned that it would make a fantastic flavor to strive for in lemon squares. I could see that, if I liked lemon squares.

This does manage to be sweet and present a much less caustic flavor profile than its nose, but its interminably long, bitter, and relentless finish⁷ reminds you why all those arguments against God are gaining such traction in the first place. Stay far far away from this. This isn’t your, “Yeah, but it’s like half the price of the good stuff, you’ve got to cut corners now and again,” option like Gordon’s is to Hendrick’s. This is your, “I hate people and I’m having guests over by some accident,” option. Especially when, traditionally, you’re going to be driking this fairly much on its own and you’ll be stuck with it in your maw, which I assume you’d like to keep as a friend. Misanthropes, meet your brew. Everyone else, nihilists excepted, walk on by.

Limoncello by Giada De Laurentiis

• 10 lemons
• 750ml Vodka
• 3 1/2 cups water
• 2 1/2 cups sugar

Zest the lemons using a citrus zester or microplane avoiding the white pith. Put the lemon zest and vodka in a covered container and let soak for 4 days.

Once the lemon zest has steeped for 4 days then combine the sugar and water in a saucepan over medium heat until the sugar is fully dissolved. Let the syrup cool and then add it to the lemon/vodka mixture and let sit for 24 hours. Strain the mixture into bottles and discard the zest. Refrigerate and serve cold.

First, a couple of notes on this recipe. In The Joy of Mixology Gary Regan proposes using grain alcohol instead of vodka and cuts the cups of sugar and water to two. This will yield a more zesty and vibrant limoncello as the higher proof alcohol will extract more oil from the lemon zest and it will be less diluted by simple syrup. Also, he recommends letting it sit at least a week before serving to help ‘mellow’ the flavor and I find this to be a very good practice with the syrups or liqueurs I make at home such as falernum, pimento dram (a month), and amer picon (even longer).

All that being said, this is by far the smoothest of the bunch and has a very sweet and mild lemon character. There is a bit of the Pledge/hardwood floor cleaner effect in the smell but the taste comes across as the most natural, if not particularly strong. It’s not quite as sweet as even the Gioia Luisa was which was suprising. One of us had the idea to tart it up with a squeeze of half a lemon and it instantly came to life and was the crowd pleaser of the evening with requests for refills ensuing (good, I have loads of this stuff on my hands). In the form it’s currently in though, I can’t recommend it for mixing in cocktails calling for limoncello as it won’t stand up and as a straight drink it needs a little kick like the squeeze of lemon provided. I think Regan’s proposed adjustments may take care of both of those things and, for the price, it comes out smelling sweet indeed.

Danny DeVito’s Limoncello:

God bless Danny DeVito for making limoncello when life gave him lemons. It represents almost everything good about the American spirit when you can make Barbara Walters scowl intensely at your antics for 7 minutes and then launch a successful line of booze from it. Well done, sir, well done. As Eric Felten notes in his WSJ article on limoncello one has to wonder at the opportunism an importer, Harbrew in this case, exhibits by creating a celebrity brand after something like this. However, this isn’t half bad⁸ .

It came across as the most balanced of the bunch with a good blend of sweet and tart. It’s very similar to the Stock Limonce and it made me wonder at the possible “repackaging” of an existing brand and manufacturer under the ‘DeVito’ name. Nonetheless this is a decent-to-good product with a little extra zest and kick than the Stock brand and much more than the homemade. The only complaint made about this was the “new plastic bin” aroma that came from it in the glass when served neat. None of that was present in the flavor however. One could use this or the Stock in a cocktail and be confident that it will bring the desired flavors and depth to the party. I would tend towards the Stock though, if pressed.

Stock Lemonce Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars
Gioia Luisa Rating: 1 out of 5 stars
Homemade Rating: 3 out of 5 stars (4/5 with the squeeze of lemon-that was damned tasty)
Danny DeVito’s Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars

Lemon ain't easy, but it sure is fun is a post from: cocktailnerd

1. I apologize mightily for the joke, but I couldn’t resist; it got stuck in my head the instant I thought of it
2. a favorite expression of my 2nd grade teacher, Mrs. Adams
3. ok, so technically North America isn’t wholly a bog, but I like the way the word sounded. Sue me–no, actually, please don’t
4. aka homemade, yo
5. a term I coined as it threatened my gullet with nefarious claims of destruction and avarice
6. in critical-thinking school I learned to consider that that broad a statement may be true but true because of its distribution channels and it may not be the best-selling in Italy or “best-selling” due to its quality
7. seriously, we were trying to move on to other brands/retasting and this wouldn’t release our tastebuds. We all had to go get water and kill 5-10 minutes cleansing our palates before we could proceed
8. actual quote from my tasting notes

So, all that being said and now that you and I understand one another, when a marketing firm, distributor, or producer contacts me with a request to try a sample, and it’s vodka, I usually decline. However, with ‘Pinky’ vodka, that it’s infused with roses and violets along with other botanicals caught my attention, especially given my pursuit, capture, and subsequent love of Creme de Violette anything with violet overtones was welcome.

As with most tasting features here, I’ll break it into three parts; nose, neat tasting, and mixing:

Nose/Aroma: Pinky vodka comes across as very aromatic and floral. The concentration I found to be mainly in the violet/general flowery area more than specifically rose and it’s very pleasant if not particularly deep or complex. There’s a heavy and sweet quality to the smell and it’s certainly has far more character than most vodkas and seems it’s not afraid of making itself known in a drink.

Neat Tasting: This is much more dry than I expected from its smell. I was taken aback by how subtle, but lasting, the flavor of the floral bouquet was. It’s very clean and the floral tones hang around a long time, dominated by rose and then a general floral taste on the verbenia side of the spectrum. Very nice, but it made me realize that Pinky vodka won’t muscle itself over any cocktail it’s used in. Unlike G’Vine gin, which uses grape flowers to create a very heavy floral tone and overpowers most drinks in which it’s used, Pinky vodka is more like a vodka that will bring its character to a cocktail in much more accented ways. So, it’s a vodka that will blend nicely, but could also be easily overpowered. And, with that consideration I started experimenting³ .

Mixing: Joana and I discussed the flavors typically used with rose in cooking and generally associated with rose petals and rose hips and struck upon light fruitiness, chocolate (it was Valentine’s Day after all) and nuts. And, given the name ‘Pinky Vodka’, my mind immediately went to Pink Gin and replacing the Angostura bitters with Peach Bitters (Fee Brothers).

Pinky and Peach

• 2 oz Pinky Vodka
• 2-3 dashes peach bitters (used Fee Brothers)

Fill an old fashioned/rocks/lowball glass with ice and build the drink in the order given.

Yeah, ummmmm, this is drinkable but only just. Yeah, the peach and rose come together very very nicely but it’s just too damned dry and thin in flavor to go anywhere. A start, certainly, but a bad one. It was pretty though!

So, onto better things, thinking we might need to take a different tack after that peach-laden disaster. Ok then, let’s go the nutty route. There’s a recipe in The Joy of Mixology called the ‘Russian Walnut Martini’ that consists of vodka, walnut liqueur (which i seldom get to use), and dark creme de cacao which would incorporate the nut and chocolate pairing we thought the floral of Pinky vodka might accent wonderfully.

Russian Walnut Martini

• 2 oz vodka⁴
• 1 oz Nocello walnut liqueur
• 1/2 oz dark creme de cacao

Stir and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Now, don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a bad drink, and I’d like to see how it goes off in the original non-Pinky version, but at least with Pinky I can say that it never quite melds and comes together the way you’d like it to. The Cacao and Nocello are a very tight squeeze but with their richness against the Pinky vodka’s light, but distinctive, tones they sort of just sit and mock the vodka like it’s trying to get into the car and they’re the asshole buddies who keep scooting it forward as it reaches for the handle; the liqueurs just don’t play nice in this one.

So, back to the drawing board and, incidentally, back to the peach concept; it had enough potential for me to want to give it another go, but this time with a more cocktail-based approach in ratios. This one came off very well.

Peachy Keen

• 3 oz Pinky Vodka
• 1 oz Peach Schnapps⁵
• 2-3 dashes peach bitters (use Peychaud’s if Peach is unavailable)
• Champagne (preferably in the Brut-to-Extra Dry family)

Shake all ingredients, except champagne, and strain into a cocktail glass. Top wth champagne and garnish with a sugar or cinnamon-sugar rim or a peach/cherry flag.

The first iteration of this was missing something and adding the final touch of champagne really pulled it together and added effervesence along with a dry edge that it needed. Everything blended very well with the floral and peach combining to create a very spring-like touch to the whole arrangement. Nothing got lost and the bitters and Pinky Vodka add a complexity that’s necessary to keep this from being a chain restaurant’s ‘Peach-a-tini’ exercise in annoyance.

Pinky Vodka impressed me with its ability to ride the edge of being a vodka that’s easily mixed with many other ingredients versus being simply an infused clash of sweet, citrus, and cheap into a drink. It’s subtle but flavorful and could easily be featured in many different drinks to add additional character and complexity: just not the Russian Walnut Martini. For those of you reading in Oklahoma it’s supposed to arrive here eventually so keep an eye out for it; you’re sure to notice it as the packaging and bottle are striking in their classy and retro feel (it looks like Trump Vodka’s well-bred, far less gauche, and highly embarrassed sister – man that Trump bottle is horrible).

Now I’m off to shave with the straight razor Joana bought me for Valentine’s Day along with a life insurance policy. Wish me luck!

Pinky and Peach Rating: 1.5 out of 5 stars
Russian Walnut Martini (modified) Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
Peachy Keen Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

Roses are Pink, Vodka is Too is a post from: cocktailnerd

1. yes, I know it’s a Padawan hair braid people – please don’t write me concerning this
2. ok, maybe I shouldn’t go to THAT extreme
3. sure, I could just try a couple of recipes from the packaging, but where’s the fun in that?!
4. calls for Stolichnaya in the original
5. creme de peche would be too sweet in this application

A post on Cachaca may seem untimely, or worse, unseasonable, but hey, it’s Summer somewhere, no? So, friends south of the equator, this one’s for you. Plus, I’m feeling a need for a break from the cold. There has been much written about Cachaca in the past year (see links at end of post) and its growing prominence on bar shelves everywhere, and even much bally-hoo around whether the Caipirinha, the primary and traditional drink using Cachaca, is the next… Mojito!¹ *gasp* Regardless of the Caipirinha’s status as the next bane of bartenders’ existences everywhere, the fact remains that it is an excellent and simple drink that, so far, I’ve found only really shines when true Brazilian Cachaca is used. And, as it’s one of my mother’s favorite drinks and I’d picked up several cachacas not available here, we had ourselves a tasting, and threw in a cousin to Cachaca, Rhum Agricole, for kicks.

Cachaca, in a nutshell, is a neighbor to Rum in the spirits world with the primary difference being that while Rum is usually distilled from molasses or the byproduct of sugar production, Cachaca is distilled directly from the sugar cane itself. So, again, neighbors, but the difference creates a very different character in the two. The primary distinction I find is that Rum (especially Light Rum) is more refined and light in body than Cachaca where Cachaca has a heavier quality and an almost earthy and musty flavor profile that distinguishes it from traditional Rum and lends itself to Tequila comparisons. Who were the contenders for my affections you ask? Well then…

The three Cachacas in the mix were Pitu, a very bright and rough Cachaca and the only available here in Tulsa; Rum Toucano (by Ypioca), an aged cachaca that is dark caramel in color and apparently has something to do with birds in the rainforest; Leblon, a ‘luxury’ brand cachaca that is a lighter and smoother version of Pitu (unless your bartender leaves the lime and sugar out of the Caipirinha you order – this happened; I’ve never forgiven the bastard), and Depaz Rhum Agricole, a blue sugar cane Agricole from the highest most virginestest peaks of Martinique, jewel of the West Indies *ahem*. More about Rhum Agricole and its relationship to Cachaca below.

Alas, there was another Cachaca invited to the party, but due to a restraining order placed on me after I threatened a lawsuit against the producers when it seared the tastebuds from two of my family members into a realm known only to Cthulu and its mystic minions so that the only thing they can ever taste again is this, and aspirin, it shall remain nameless.²

My Caipirinha process is a variation on the one served up by Gary Regan in ‘The Joy of Mixology’:

The Caipirinha³

• 2 double old-fashioned glasses
• 1 lime
• 3 oz Cachaca
• 1 tbs. fine sugar (approx. and to taste)

Get yourself two double old-fashioned glasses, fill one generously with ice. Cut the ends off the lime and cut it in half and cut each half into quarters. Put 6-7 of those quarters into the glass without ice (until the lime quarters are reaching about halfway when loosely stacked). Pour the sugar on top of the limes; muddle like mad. Pour the Cachaca on top of the muddled mixture and strain into the ice-filled glass⁴ .

It makes a pleasant, tart, and flavorful cooler. But does the Cachaca matter so much with all that lime juice and sugar vying for attention? Well, with 3 ounces of it it sure as shit does.

I should note that these taste testings were blind and given that Pitu is the only brand available in Tulsa, it was easy for me to pick it out of the pack. However, the other 3 guests were not experienced with it and, given its being the least expensive of the bunch, it exceeded expectations with how well it did.

The first thing you notice about Pitu is how striking and strongly-flavored it seems it will be when you smell it. It’s very fragrant and almost fruity with a deep mustiness that, if you ever stuck your head in a bag of organic brown sugar and inhaled deeply for a minute or so, you’ll recognize (hey, I don’t judge you, k?). This Cachaca doesn’t get overpowered by the heavy tart and sweet combination in this simple drink and balances it with a deep rich flavor extremely well. One person mentioned it was the most flavorful and complex of the whole group and that it had an almost savory quality. At the end of the night, this was the one everyone wanted seconds of. Best in this class, and, for the price, a fantastic bargain.

This Cachaca is the only one in the bunch that is aged. Like Rum, Cachaca can be aged in wooden barrels for a number of years prior to being bottled and it lends a gold-to-deep brown color to the liquor. As you would expect, the Toucano (which bills itself as a ‘Brazilian Rum made from the first pure crush of freshly-harvested and unprocessed sugar cane’…a.k.a. freaking Cachaca) is aged two years in, in this case, oak barrels.

It’s a very different beast and, as you would expect, the first noticeable difference is in the heaviness of the aroma and the oaky flavor it gives and the deep caramel color it carries. This makes an alright Caipirinha, but truth be told, it’s much more dry than the white (unaged) Cachacas and what additional complexity it may have gets lost in the highly tart/sweet profile of the drink. It didn’t stand out, though it seemed more smooth than the Pitu, and my feeling is that this is probably meant more for sipping on-the-rocks versus putting in a mixed drink. I haven’t tried this, so I could be wrong, but it just never came together for me the way I expected and its unaged brethren came out the better. Plus, with the slightly higher price than the Pitu, if you’re making Caipirinhas there’s not much point in it. I would like to try this against the Pitu Gold Cachaca that just recently became available here as I’m curious in how two aged Cachacas would compare.

Leblon is a more luxury brand of Cachaca that espouses its ‘Kiss of France’ where Cognac casks and “French cellar master techniques” are used to finish the blending of the distillates. Ummmm, whatev⁵ .

This is much closer to the Pitu than the Toucano or Depaz, as you would expect. However, throughout its aroma, neat tasting, and use in a Caipirinha it definitely comes across as more refined, lighter, and less bold than the Pitu. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. In combination, though, this light body and more refined quality leads to a Caipirinha where the Cachaca is no longer the featured player, but rather a drummer using those wire brush thingies to lay down a very subtle backbeat to the bright lime and sugar combo. I guess I’d say it this way; if i were to place the Caipirinha on a bar menu, where patrons not familiar with more flavorful spirits were likely to order and might find anything with actual bold and, sometimes, harsh flavors, then I would look to a Cachaca like Leblon where the patron would more likely taste it and say something like, ‘Hmmmmm, lime and sugar I recognize…tasty. And hey, look!, an exotic new flavor on the back end of it I, nor any of my less cosmopolitan friends, have ever tasted. Look how brave I am!’, preferably to themselves⁶ . This is a good spirit; it’s just not my favorite in a Caipirinha, and maybe it would outperform Pitu in other Cachaca cocktails and mixed drinks.

The differences between Rhum Agricole (agricultural rum) and Cachaca are technical and lie primarily in the techniques and regulations regarding their distillation and the rules regarding their classification. I’ve included it here because both are distilled from fresh sugar cane juice (one point of difference being extraction method) versus molasses and the flavor profiles are very similar. Rhum Agricole, technically, should come from the island of Martinique and be processed, distilled, and aged according to standards rigorously set by the AOC of the French government⁷ . The vast majority of Rhum Agricole you’ll find is aged in oak barrels (Cognac barrels again) and has a more smoky flavor because of it.

I must say that, like the Toucano, this doesn’t make for a good Caipirinha and, honestly, I felt that the Depaz was a little thinner than the price it bears warrants. it does, however, have a very nice and long smoky finish and is smoother than all of the Cachacas. Again, it’s probably meant more as a sipping experience and/or to be used lightly in Tiki recipes for accent, and it’s probably a great fit for that. However, in this ungrand experiment, it disappointed a little. Mind you, I’ve only had this one Rhum Agricole for comparison.

For great in-depth information on Rhum Agricole and its differences from Cachaca look here:

Caribbean Spirits’ Rhum Agricole Article

Drinkboy Forum Discussion

All in all this was highly enjoyable and informative, but I think the Rhum Agricole is a bit of a non-starter as Caipirinha fodder and is probably unfairly judged in this round-up. For Caipirinha purposes, you can do no better than Pitu though Leblon makes a very refined drink. And, trust me, not any Cachaca will do – the one I’ve left out of this piece was horrifying, and not cheap. Which is why, perhaps, with a drink that is so closely associated with the working class of Brazil, the Pitu has my heart. I would like to try, and will be picking up at some point, Cachaca 51, Agua Luca, Pitu Gold, and Ypioca to see if any measure up.

There are also some great write ups on Cachaca in these fine locales:

Scottes’ Rum Review

Camper’s Rundown of Cachacas and San Fransisco locales

Robert Hess’s take on Cachaca

Fight Night!: 3 Brazilians and Their French Cousin is a post from: cocktailnerd

1. whatever that means. but it still means muddling your ass off, sorry barkeeps everywhere
2. and this AFTER I tried one of the recommended recipes in the marketing materials – it just made it worse, those sadistic bastards
3. CN-style, yo
4. I used to build them and put the ice on top of the muddled mass, which is more traditional, but the wife like them strained and it does make for an easier-to-drink libation
5. when i see falutin’ marketing language such as this I generally tune out and curse them for justifying the higher price of the spirit for it, sheesh
6. yes, I pretty much hold the rest of the world of my imagination in this much disdain… Again, I don’t judge you, k?
7. of course

In honor of Jay I considered featuring gins exclusively from the U.K. but since I’ve covered many fine samples already I found myself staring at three bottles from the United States’ West Coast. The two from Oregon include Desert Juniper Gin from Bend Distillery in Bend, Oregon and Rogue Spruce Gin from the Rogue Distillery in the coastal area of Newport, Oregon. I also invited a guest from the south (San Francisco, California) in the guise of No. 209 Gin, the sole product of 209 Distillery (so far as I can tell). In these gins we’ll see how gins influenced by readily-available ingredients in the US compare to more traditional London Dry gins and/or bring their own character to the game. Not surprisingly, I’m consistently finding that there is a higher degree of variation between American hand-crafted gins than between London Dry-style gins from overseas, even when an ‘innovative’ product such as Tanqueray Rangpur is introduced it has more similarity to competing London gins than these American small-batch gins to which I’ve recently exposed myself (not like that, you pervs).

I decided to follow the same review, tasting, and testing process I did in Vol. II, evaluating the gins based on ‘cupping’, a neat tasting, and a mixed drink. The mixed drink we used was, once again, the Gin & Tonic with White Rock tonic water (fairly high on quinine and low on the sugar, giving it a more tart and bitter character than most grocery store tonics). I’ve kept with the G&T because I’ve been drinking the hell out of them recently and so I’m very familiar with how different gins affect the character of it as 1: I always make them myself and I always measure, 2: I’ve rotated about 4-5 gins on a regular basis, even within the same night, and 3: I know I’ll be able to finish whatever I mix. All three of these gins are high-quality and you can tell they’re trying to justify their price tag, but one falls just short of being worthy of regularly stocking on my shelf. Let’s find out which, and why…

When it came choosing time, I had to decide between the Desert Juniper or Cascade Mountain style of gin from Bend Distillery. I decided on the Desert Juniper because it was lower proof and it seem to emphasize the natural and juniper-heavy components of its make-up. There’s no longer much information to be found on the Bend Distillery website re: Desert Juniper Gin, but from its label it makes a point of its using wild hand-picked juniper berries, 100% natural grains, and fresh Northwest botanicals as well as the water used to dilute the gin being filtered through volcanic lava rock. Well, ok then, you’ve convinced me.

Cupping/Bouquet: This comes across with a good deal of citrus and then a floral/perfume smell that edges on the side of tropical flower (think hibiscus) without it being overpowering. Very smooth and nice nose to it.

‘Neat’ Tasting: First of all, extremely smooth and this, like Old Raj, has a nice and unusual yellow hue to it. The smoothest of the three in this group of gins and one of the smoothest I’ve ever tasted. The florals from the cupping aren’t as prevalent but there’s still some complexity withut it being up in your face about it. This is the antithesis of Bombay Sapphire where, yeah, there’s a lot going on but who cares because it’s changing shape faster than Britney Spears’ lips (and it’s about as in-your-face about it). My concern at this point was the consistent ‘light’ness of this gin and its lack of body.

Cocktail Tasting: Unfortunately, even in something as simple as a Gin & Tonic, Desert Juniper Gin got lost. As I suspected from the neat tasting, it doesn’t hold its own in a mixed drink. It mellowed the bitterness of the tonic a bit and there was a slight juniper/floral addition but instead of melding and getting the balance you seek out of a refreshing G&T, this gin just got beat into submission. Hell, even the lime had more to say. If you’re looking for a gin for vodka-drinkers this, moreso even than G’Vine, is the one to go with. It’s subtle (too subtle for my taste) but still has the traditional gin flavor profile though it’s a pushover.

Cupping/Bouquet: This has a lot of juniper up front and then recedes into conifer and cucumber notes. Not quite as ‘pine tree’ as I was expecting and seems more confidently structured than the Desert Juniper.

‘Neat’ Tasting: First off, this has a very heavy body texture-wise. Almost to the point of feeling slightly (but not unpleasantly) oily. There’s a lot of ‘bite’ when it hits the tongue and you get flavors very close to the bouquet; juniper, cucumber, and conifer. But not in that order, and not always at the same time. It stays on the tongue forever though without going into a dry ‘give me water to get this infernal liquid out of my mouth’ area, very pleasant.

Cocktail Tasting: The structure of this gin stays very consistent from nose to mouth to glass. It maintained its character and provides a welcome crispy tang to the G&T with a lot of juniper notes. In fact, this reminds of Leopold’s strength but where Leopold’s overpowered the G&T the Rogue Spruce does just enough to make itself known without being a bully or leaving a person wondering, ‘What the hell can I use this in?’. Again, just enough character to make it very distinctive but still plays well with others, sort of the Winston Churchill of this group (thought I’d toss you a referential bone there, Jay).

Cupping/Bouquet: Of the three, this gin is the one most dominated by citrus. It’s very crisp and towards the end stails off into astringent territory. It reminds me of Van Gogh gin especially.

‘Neat’ Tasting: This has a lighter body than the other and hits the palate hard with a lot of pepper/spice with a slight licorice tone. The juniper is a medium presence throughout. The finish is very long, but unlike the Rogue Spruce which seemed to gain its length from its heavy body and texture, the 209 seems to rely on its complexity to keep the tastebuds working it long after its left the palate. Crisp and clean as well.

Cocktail Tasting: This makes a very nice Gin & Tonic. The complexity really comes through in the front without dominating the drink but you can tell it accentuates the bitterness of the tonic as well. Of the three gins, this seems to have the most character. It’s hard to pin down any one overarching quality of the gin but it never falls apart into a muddled quagmire of a land invasion anywhere in Asia cheaper compound gins. Of the three, this would get me the most excited if I were a bartender looking for a gin to create featured drinks from, but for my personal tastes the Rogue Spruce comes slightly ahead because of its focus on juniper.

Desert Juniper Gin: Rating: 2 out of 5 stars

Rogue Spruce Gin: Rating: 2.5 out of 5 stars

No. 209 Gin: Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

MxMo XXI: Fight Night!: Premium Gins – Vol. III (WC Division) is a post from: cocktailnerd

Vermouth is, obviously, best known for its role in the quintessential cocktail, the Martini. However, as I explored classic cocktails and discovered what a prevalent role vermouth plays in so many vintage drinks I became more curious about what other charms this enigmatic liquid held. I also saw a very interesting piece on the Fine Living network (shut up, my wife has to have the TV on to go to sleep) where Cinzano Rosso vermouth was featured and how vermouth is appreciated as an apertif was heavily covered. Hmmmmm, while I’ve always been a, ‘as long as I have a white and a red, I’m good, right?’, kind of guy, this intrigued me. This interest led me to purchase a good number of apertifs and vermouths on my last outing to Denver liquor stores, but let’s get to what sweet vermouth entails and what qualifies an aromatized or “fortified” wine as vermouth first.

Antonio Benedetto Carpano developed the first vermouth in 1786 and named it vermouth in honor of a German wine using wormwood (‘Wermut’ am Deutsch) as a primary herbal. Initially, vermouth was developed as a means of flavoring wines of poor quality while also lending them a dubiously ascribed ‘medicinal effect’. As vermouth came into its own, both as an apertif and as a cocktail mixer, higher-quality vermouths were produced in all variations of dryness, sweetness, and character. In brief, though, white (or bianco) vermouth is called ‘French’ style vermouth and red (or rosso) vermouth is called ‘Italian’ style. As you would expect, both styles, red and white, are produced in both areas with little regard for consistency in herbs used, alcohol content, or character of dry and sweet between manufacturers.

It’s important to acknowledge vermouth vermouth as an aromatized, versus strictly fortified, wine product. Fortified wines, such as brandy or port, typically have alcohol added to increase their potency whereas an aromatized wine has often as many as 40 or so botanicals and herbals infused into the wine itself. The types of grapes used in the initial wine distillation also has a significant effect on the vermouth’s final flavor profile. In France, the primary grapes used in vermouth production are Picpoul and Clairette grapes varietals and in Italy the Trebbiano (Italy) and Parellada (Spain) grape varietals are frequently used. While nearly all vermouths begin their life as a white wine, sweet vermouths are sweetened with sugar and given their ruddish coloring through the addition of caramelized sugars.

In this tasting I’m looking at four vermouths; Noilly Prat Sweet Vermouth, a French version of sweet vermouth; Martini & Rossi Rosso (which also produces the Noilly Prat product), Cinzano Rosso, Carpano Punt e Mes (a drier product), and Carpano Antica. I tried each in the apertif style versus a cocktail to be sure I was getting the purist flavors from each product possible. Each was served in a highball glass full of ice with a lemon twist and a single stirring straw. This one was fun, folks.

For the past 6 months or so Noilly Prat has been my sweet vermouth mixer of choice (and Martini & Rossi my dry) though I’d never tried it on-the-rocks as an apertif. Noilly Prat is a French product that is produced by the Martini & Rossi company (which is in-turn owned by Bacardi) which bills itself as ‘Original French Sweet’. I didn’t expect much out of this, to be honest, but it turned out to be quite nice and hold its own against the competition. It starts out very sweet with a gentle herbal backbone that doesn’t ever push itself to sickly-sweet territory and avoids that tongue-smacking quality of overly sweet products. It finished cleaner than I expected, and while not best-in-class, it surprises in all the right ways and is a good value at the price. You could do worse, much worse, as we’ll see.

This stuff is crap. And it means I’m going to have to change the dry vermouth I use in cocktails because I don’t trust a Martini & Rossi product to serve in drinks any longer. This starts out with a front-end of sickly-sweet sugary and one-dimensional flavoring and then proceeds to turn in a brackish mire of bad aftertaste. I was surprised at just how much this distinguished itself from the others in the group. I mean, yeah; it’s cheap, but does it have to show it off so poorly? Considering the price difference between Noilly Prat and Martini & Rossi is so marginal and that your getting at least a 4x higher-quality product in the Noilly Prat I’m surprised it remains a successful product. Remember that part earlier where vermouth was a method of taking poor quality wine and improving it? Martini & Rossi, keep working on it…seriously – this is shameful.

This, like the Noilly Prat, is a pleasant surprise. It’s a notch more dry than the Noilly Prat and provides a rich but not overwhelming flavor. For me, this is just about the perfect everyday sweet vermouth for mixing. It’s not something I’d go to for a straight apertif, primarily because I have other options, but if I were stuck with only readily available vermouths to choose from to do so, this would be it. This is an affordable and widely available option that gets best in class in that category¹ . The Carpano products, as you’ll see, are superior, but aren’t had as easily. I appreciate Cinzano’s body, fullness of flavor, and balance, especially compared to Martini & Rossi.

Punt e Mes has right around the same level of sweetness and body as the Cinzano Rosso with a slightly more woody taste and a blast more bitterness as it finishes. I’ve called this a ‘gateway Campari’ in the past for a reason. If you manage to slug this and avoid having it lie on your tongue overly long, you’ll have a tough time telling it apart from a simple sweet vermouth, aside from its slightly more woody nature (wormwood is prevalent in this). However, the longer it sits in the mouth and swills about the more pronounced the bitter tone becomes and it builds in complexity over time. Very good stuff and I think it makes a nice Campari replacement in a Negroni for those of us who have friends who won’t go within 20 yards of a Campari bottle.

Carpano Antica is purportedly the ‘original’ Italian sweet vermouth as created by Anthony himself² . Whether or not it’s the original recipe or not, this is not your Uncle Rico’s sweet vermouth, folks; this shit has a cork, a box, metal seal, the works. A lot of hoopla for an apertif that’s fairly difficult to find but not outrageously expensive. But how does it taste, you ask? It’s terribly good, and I use it strictly as an apertif. I’ve heard rumors of heathens mixing it in Negronis as the sweet vermouth component but I wouldn’t dare. It’s more dry than these other contenders but also more rich and flavorful. This pours an almost chocolate color and has the body of Guinness in its thickness and mouthfeel. Best of all, and the reason I find it such a fantastic apertif, it finishes clean as a whistle. All of the others leave some sort of finish lingering behind, from herbally sweet in the Cinzano to brackish horror in the Martini & Rossi, but the Antica just leaves the palate wanting more…of anything, just as an apertif should. If you can find this, grab a bottle, be sure to use a good stopper to recork it, and enjoy. And I’m sure I’ll break down and pour some of this heaven into a mixed drink, but not quite yet.

Some of you eagle-eyed viewers will notice a lack of Vya products here, which I understand to be fantastic. If you know of a distributor or agency through which I can acquire these, I’d love to have them to compare. Otherwise, I’m SOL in OK. Though if you’ve tried them I’d like to just hear your impressions as well.

For additional information and takes on Sweet Vermouth, visit these and other fine locations:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vermouth
http://thespiritworld.net/2007/06/04/vermouth/
http://forums.egullet.org/index.php?showtopic=79770
http://marriedwithdinner.com/index.php?s=carpano

Fight Night!: Sweet and Rosso Vermouths is a post from: cocktailnerd

1. though I’ve not tried Stock’s or Kedem products
2. we’re on ‘buddy name’ terms like that, you see

I decided to follow the same review, tasting, and testing process I did in Vol. I, evaluating the gins based on ‘cupping’, a neat tasting, and a mixed drink. The wife and I did try the one-to-one water tasting in place of the neat, as Michael Dietsch outlines here, and just found it, well, put simply, watered down. The one-to-one (water:gin) tasting does cut down on the alcohol burn one gets in drinking most gins straight but, for us, at the expense of the brightness of flavor and character a room temperature neat tasting provides. Plus, I sort of want to know how smooth or rough a spirit’s character is on its own. The other thing we changed was the drink in which we tested the gins. In Vol. I we went with a Gin Gin Highball, which was a fine choice, but in this case we went with a classic gin & tonic (2:1 tonic to gin and a hearty squeeze of lime wedge) and a non-premium tonic water that’s a tad drier than most tonics available in your grocery store. Part of the reason for this was that the G&T is a drier drink than the Gin Gin Highball and we thought it would pare down the drink to show off the gins’ essences more. I think we made the right choice, but at least one of these gins doesn’t belong in a Gin and Tonic. Like to know which one? Read on…

Old Raj comes in two labels, red and blue. The blue is bottled at 55% ABV and the red at 46%; the blue is what I found and purchased. Old Raj uses a traditional London Dry method of distillation and infusion but with the addition of saffron, a pricey spice produced from the Crocus flower. This gives it a distinctive yellow color and, supposedly, a distinctive flavor.

This is the most expensive gin in the group, and besides that, the most expensive gin I’ve run across. So, it’s bound to be held to a slightly different standard than your other premium gins. Let’s see how it does.

Cupping/Bouquet: As you might expect with a 110 proof spirit, the alcohol (isopropyly smell, heh) comes blazing through. Behind that, there is a rich floral and spicy scent but it’s heavily covered by the alcohol.

‘Neat’ Tasting: Once you get past the alcohol, and believe me, it takes a moment, there is a very full-bodied experience here. Its texture is heavier than I expected with such a high alcohol content and the flavors are predominantly ‘brown spice’, if that makes sense. I don’t really capture the saffron from this, which was surprising, but it is heavy on body and light on character. I expected the opposite though the sheer quality of the product does come through.

Cocktail Tasting: Old Raj is a more timid fellow than you’d think. The alcohol burn is completely missing when it’s mixed which is very nice. This gin sort of sat back and let the tonic and lime play the melody while it hummed along nicely adding a note here and there in harmony when it willed. When it did so will it, what came through was a surprising bitterness and almost aspirin flavor that had a long and tart finish. Once again, it added more body than character to a drink; not necessarily a bad thing but not as distinctive as one would think.

This is a pricey gin that has received a lot of accolades from people I respect, so I’m more than willing to give it a shot…or three. Ok, Hendrick’s, I know if it’s not Scottish, it’s crap!, but just how uncrappy are you?

Cupping/Bouquet: This has bite of alcohol at first and then develops into a nice juniper/floral blend. This is crisp, slightly perfumey, and as Joana says, ‘Springtime!’. I pretty much agree, it’s very nice.

‘Neat’ Tasting: This comes across with heavy floral tones that are very pleasant and smooth; crisp and spicy and bright all at once. I’m pretty darn impressed with its complexity while it remains smooth. Joana mentions it has something going on she can only describe as ‘powder’.

Cocktail Tasting: Of the three gins, this one does the best job of melding all the flavors together. Where the Old Raj hung back and mucked about with its yellow self, this one demands an equal, while mild, presence. It has a sweet but full-bodied character so it’s no wimp, but it doesn’t dominate the drink like the Leopold’s will come to. This is a great mixing gin; I’m very pleased with it. As is Joana, because she won’t let go of it at this point. She claims she’s got to ‘figure out what this taste is I’m getting…’ Uh huh.

Cupping/Bouquet: This is strongly dominated by, are you ready for this?…dill. It’s smooth, but almost entirely, dill. As Joana said, ‘It makes you want potatoes…’ Indeed.

‘Neat’ Tasting: Leopold’s is much lighter in body than either the Hendrick’s or the Old Raj. The front is strongly flavored with, you guessed it, dill, but as it settles in the back of the tongue and throat and finished the traditional citrus and juniper notes you expect in gin start to come through.

Cocktail Tasting: As with G’Vine, this gin completely changes the character of the drink. Where the Old Raj sat back and was a polite English gentleman and the Hendrick’s made with the Scottish party-making, this is a good old American individualistic show-off. The dill flavor comes crashing through the party and tells the lime and tonic to get the hell outta the way. It’s smooth and not altogether unpleasant, but it makes for an odd G&T. It’s lighter and sweeter than the others and if you have a cheap tonic you want to mask, this isn’t a bad choice. As a side note, this made a tremendous dirty martini. With the brine and the vermouth this added an extra savory note to the drink that complemented the brine perfectly. Other than that, we’ve not found a good drink for it. It’s not bad, it’s just so different as to make you want to be careful is switching it out with more predictable products. Plus, there’s the added fun of not knowing if I bought another bottle from a different batch whether it would behave the same.

Fight Night!: Premium Gins – Vol. II is a post from: cocktailnerd

Hence I found my father-in-law asking me if I wanted to do a ‘Cheap Vodka Night’ along with my non-imported Russian brand. Naturally, I said, ‘Sure!’. His contributions to the dubious experiment were Moskovskaya (i.e. ‘Muscovite’) and Volganaya, an Estonian vodka. Mine was the middle bottle there, which you can tell from the label alone is a Stolichnaya vodka. However, it is a regionally produced version of Stoli, versus the mass-imported which is pretty much unrelated to the locally-produced versions. In this case, the bottle comes from Ulyanovsk (the top lettering there) a.k.a. Simbirsk (the bottom lettering), a city on the Volga river which was the birthplace of both Vladimir Lenin and Alexander Kerensky. Quite the pedigree, that one. The tasting process will be very similar to my gin experience except that instead of using the Gin Gin Highball as the testing mixed drink, we used a simple vodka tonic as the control drink (2:1 tonic to vodka ratio using Stirrings Tonic Water – which is excellent btw). Let’s see how these burned our freaking taste buds to a crisp pleased the palate.

There’s little available in the way of information on this vodka, however, as you would expect it is made from grain neutral spirits and is 40% ABV (or 80 proof). You’ll notice that the label prominently displays medals and has a similar layout and design scheme as the classic import Stolichnaya bottle. The term ‘Osobaya’ indicates ‘Special’ much like we would use the term ‘Premium’ to market our products. Let’s see just how special it is…

Nose/Bouquet: Alcohol alcohol, and more alcohol dominate this bouquet. There is a slight hint of pepper and herbals in the background but it’s completely overwhelmed by the, well, alcohol. Clear out the sinuses this one will.

‘Neat’ Tasting:  Harsh with stronger pepper notes than the nose gave, and, pleasingly and mercifully, it has a clean finish. It hits the palate with a hammer and leaves with velvet; very nice towards the end. I would like to see how it performs chilled.

Cocktail Tasting:  This vodka really shines through in the drink. It has just enough character to make itself known and enough courtesy to play nicely. I was very surprised at how well it performed. There’s some astringency, but in the vodka tonic it wasn’t unwelcome and there was a tad more citrus then I got from the neat tasting, but that might have been the lime squeeze more than the vodka. A nice surprise.
 

Nose/Bouquet: This comes across much more smooth than both the Moskovskaya and Volganaya. There is still an isopropyl feel to it but there’s a lot more going on. Heavy on the herbal and citrus with a muted quality to everything.

‘Neat’ Tasting:  As with the nose, much more smooth than the other two. It lacked complexity but reminded me much more of what we expect from a Russian vodka in the West. If I had to guess I would say this had more filtration involved than the other two, whether that’s a good or bad thing we shall see. This is nice on its own though.

Cocktail Tasting:  This vodka gets lost even in a simple vodka tonic. All that was there was the sweet/bitter of the tonic and the citrus of the squeeze of lime. Just insipid and flat; the only one that Joana screwed up her face to and quickly passed along. My mother-in-law managed to put it out of its misery, somehow. Does not play well with others, check.

Nose/Bouquet: Not quite as alcohol-laden as the Moskovskaya it still has a harsh nose with a little more tendency towards herbs and grass than the Moskovskaya had. Not much else to report here.

‘Neat’ Tasting:  More enjoyable than the Moskovskaya, the Volganaya still lacks depth and character. The finish is incredibly long, however. I was well into opening the next bottle and still had the aftertaste of this lingering. Unfortunately, the aftertaste wasn’t altogether pleasant (sort of brackish) and it didn’t change or evolve in the way a high-quality spirit’s finish will.

Cocktail Tasting:  This isn’t bad at all as a mixer. It brought its own character to the mix (made the vodka tonic a bit more bitter actually) without getting lost or overwhelming the drink. I don’t put it on the same level as the Moskovskaya for quality as a mixer, but it’s not a bad choice and doesn’t add the burn like a Tvarscki or McCormick’s vodka will.

Fight Night!: Russian Vodkas (mostly) is a post from: cocktailnerd