America (or in this case 'Murican) and the 4th of July; I'm riding shotgun, driving is noted Campari enthusiast Steve Bowman who co-owns the forthcoming Fairsted Kitchen, opening Fall 2013 in Brookline’s Washington Square. Take it away Steve:

The ‘Murican: A Bitter Pedigree by Steve Bowman

Summer is the season of the aperitif. As the dog days swelter and the lithium rises, it’s time shelve the weighty, spirit laden refuges of winter and look for something new. Something light, something cool, something refreshing. Something you can quaff all day on decks and patios and still make it to dinner. Something like Campari.
Look around your favorite watering holes this summer and you’ll see its brilliant red hue shining like a beacon from within glasses and tumblers of imbibers in the know. Not only is the bright and bitter Italian infusion of herbs, fruits, spices, and barks a perfect on its own with nothing more than a little ice and a twist of citrus, but Campari is the proud papa of a whole family of thirst quenching aperitifs.

It all starts with in Gaspere Campari’s little cafe in Northern Italy in the mid 1800’s where he crafts his soon to be famous eponymous liqueur. There he serves a simple mixture of Campari and sweet vermouth called the Milano-Torino. The Campari is from Milan, the vermouth, either Martini & Rossi or Carpano, is from Turin. Soon enough, an enterprising bartender adds a top of soda water and serves his creation long in a highball. He names it after the American tourists that flood Italy after the first world war and the Americano is born.

But it takes a true rogue, a member of what cocktail historian David Wondrich calls the “Sporting Fraternity” to create a classic both modern and timeless. Florentine gentleman Count Camillo Negroni, aristocrat, rodeo cowboy, gambler, and barfly extraordinaire, is no stranger to the Americano. But one day between 1919 and 1920, Count Negroni finds himself craving something a little stronger. He stops in at his local, the Cafe Casoni, and directs the barmen to replace the soda water in his Americano with a little gin. Soon enough, locals start requesting their Americano in the “Negroni way”. That recipe of equal parts gin, sweet vermouth, and Campari, has stood the test of time to become a standard of the cocktail craft.

But history doesn’t stop there. From the hands of adventurous barkeeps you can now enjoy a Negroni Sbagliato, a “wrong” negroni replacing the gin with prosecco. Or Negroni riffs based on genever, whiskey, or tequila. I’ve even seen a Negroni sorbet. Inspired by the traditions of Gaspare Campari and Camillo Negroni, I present my answer to summer's oppressive heat: The ‘Murican. Find the biggest glass you have, add equal parts Campari and sweet vermouth and fill with lots of ice. Top with America’s finest champagne of beers, Miller High Life, and garnish with freedom. Or a slice of orange. Whatever you have on hand.

The Algonquin Hotel in New York City was built in 1902, and although technically dry in the early years, held court to a group of poets, editors, actors, playwrights and humorists; most notably Dorothy Parker and Robert Benchley during the 1920s (they were called the Vicious Circle). One of Ms. Parker's most famous quotes "I like to have a martini, two at the very most, after three I'm under the table, after four I'm under the host" leads me to believe that's what they were drinking, not the hotel's namesake cocktail. Of course no one may have been allowed to drink in the hotel during prohibition at all- but I think they probably were, right?

So, anyway, it's uncertain (and unlikely) if any of them drank Algonquin cocktails in the Algonquin. But I do know that Algonquin peak is the second tallest mountain (5,115 ft) in the Adriondack High Peaks of upstate New York, just below its neighbor Mt. Marcy. That's where I was over Memorial Day weekend, so we had to make the cocktail- why not drink an Algonquin looking at Algonquin? As the lovely and talented bartender Emma Hollander would say: "I mean, obvi."

Algonquin Cocktail
1.5 oz Rittenhouse Rye
.75 oz Dolin Dry Vermouth
.75 oz Pineapple juice
Lemon peel garnish if desired.

The drink is pretty easy quaffing, maybe not as complex as the Vicious Circle, but probably goes down a whole lot easier.

Gaspare Campari (yes that Campari) invented the famous bitters in his bar sometime in the 1860s. The herbal liqueur was most famously mixed with vermouth and soda, called the Milano-Torino. (Campari is made in Milan and Cinzano Vermouth hails from Turin). Somewhere around 1910, American tourists seemed to have an insatiable thirst for the drink and it became better known as the Americano. Was this an homage to Americans or perhaps that Americans couldn't pronounce Milano-Torino?

The drink continued it's transformation in the 1920s when in his local in Florence, Count Camilo Negroni asked for his favorite drink to be fortified even more by adding gin instead of soda water and an orange peel rather than lemon to visually distinguish the two. Boom, cocktail.

So famous the drink that Imbibe Magazine is encouraging National Negroni Week this week, so let's follow suit and order one out! While I don't know of any bars specifically celebrating, I roped social media guru and bon vivant Rebecca Jane Millette to sample a few and send me photos back (pictured below).

Negroni 1 oz Gin, 1 oz Sweet Vermouth, 1 oz Campari, straight up/rocks, orange garnish.

I imagine Cuba of another era, heightened by imagery I've seen from black and white sepia toned photographs; and I'm sipping daiquiris at the famous La Floridita in Havana. The namesake cocktail is a slight variation on the classic- it adds wonderful depth with the addition of Maraschino liqueur.

Daiquiri La Floridita
2 oz White Rum (try the local Privateer)
.75 lime
.5 simple syrup
.25 Luxardo Maraschino liqueur

Hemingway himself varied it further, added grapefruit, removed the simple syrup. Rumor has it he would order a double which got the name Papa Doble. Order either version (or make it on your patio) as the warm weather hits and you don't have to pretend, you'll be sipping a taste from another time that holds up just as well today.

1955 Ernest Hemingway Collection, JFK Library, Boston, permission by public domain

Amaro, Italian for "bitter,” refers to an herbal liqueur category, usually consumed as an after-dinner digestif. With an alcohol content between 16% and 43%, they are bitter-sweet and range in syrupy viscosity. Similar products are available throughout Europe, but tradition and focus here in Boston, Italy sets the standard, and that brings us to
Fernet Branca.

When you see a group of bartenders, with the bar customers six deep, stop everything their doing at 11:00pm on a Friday night, and do a shot, I’ll bet 5 to 1 it’s Fernet- although it’s really meant to be a stomach ailment panacea. It has developed far beyond an industry cult following, can be seen everywhere, locally behind every cocktail bar. On the higher end of the alcohol spectrum, it clocks in at 43%, is bracingly bitter, mint and licorice flavors dominating. Italians really only take it as a sip or two after dinner; I remember being in Rome a few years ago and doing a shot at a cafe in the afternoon to stares that said "that American is crazy."

The history of Fernet Branca revolution in Boston can be pretty much traced to two men. Before the tremendous success of Eastern Standard, ICOB, The Hawthorne and soon to be Row 34, Garrett Harker worked in San Francisco, where he and fellow restaurant workers maybe took sips of Fernet out of espresso cups before service. Traditions tend to follow us, some more than others, and while at No. 9 Park he and Tom Mastricola, then bartender, would come visit me on a nightly basis (we were all a lot younger then). "Josh, could you get us a bottle of Fernet? We'll drink it." I had no idea what they were talking about, but of course ordered a single bottle the next day. A single bottle. In 1998, we were pouring a case a week (12 bottles), and while that didn't touch the present volume of ES, Citizen (Joy has it on tap) or even JM Curley down the street, the fire had been started.

What makes this business rewarding is what comes around goes around, and Kitty Amann, our local Fernet rep to the stars, brought Count Eduardo Branca down for an event at Silvertone this week. What an honor to have the sixth generation of the famous family in the room, I just hoped I wouldn't get in the way. Tremendously gracious and unassuming, he also showcased their other brands, the spectacular Carpano Antica and Punt e Mes vermouths. Time to make some cocktails.

John Nugent (Silvertone, Citizen, Brick & Mortar, Franklin) poured his crowd pleasing Home Wrecker cocktail: 1.5 oz Rye, .5 oz Punt e Mes, .5 oz St. Germain, .5 oz lemon. The drink is delicious, spicy from the rye and vermouth, lechee sweetness from St. Germain, and finishes with the bright lemon and orange flavors. Vermouth works surprisingly well with citrus, so with that in mind comes my version of a classic. My daughters call me Papa, so obviously I poured Papa's Americano, 1 oz Carpano Antica, 1 oz Aperol, .5 oz lime, soda. Perfect for a sunny patio, or at least I think so.

Legendary musician, dj, bartender Brother Cleve pulled an on-the-fly recipe from 1909 out of his vast repertoire, the Fernet Cocktail. 2 oz Carpano Antica, 1 oz Fernet, bar spoon Orange Curacao, orange oil. A full bodied precursor to the Americano, maybe its grandfather.

As we toasted with Fernet Branca to Fernet and the Branca family, things had indeed come full circle. Garrett Harker raised his glass in the center of the room with Eduardo, just as he had showed me the way 16 years earlier.

You can find Lou Saban behind Oak Long Bar at the Copley Plaza Hotel. Lucky for all of us recently he found himself abroad, and penned the following piece.

By Lou Saban:

Bartending is a real mixed bag.
When all is said and done, it’s pretty nice holding the keys to the stuff that most adults use to make themselves feel better about their spot on the planet. Unfortunately, for every generous tip or compliment on a well-balanced cocktail, sometimes you also have to answer the question, “So, what’s your real job?” In my head I respond, "when I am not doing this, I’m the CEO of a non-profit organization that provides neurosurgery for puppies."
Still, it’s a gig with a lot of cool benefits. In my mind, the greatest perk is the sense of community with your fellow barkeeps. If you do this job long enough, you start to recognize the people who also make their living pouring things into glasses. You always love to see these people sitting at your barstool because they tip well, are low maintenance, and can always relate to the condescending sneers that you may have received that day. Camaraderie is a beautiful thing.
What’s even better is that this bond doesn’t just stop at the nation’s borders. I am lucky enough to work for a hotel chain that has many locations around the world. When I noticed that there was one in London, I was interested. When I noticed that it was
The Savoy, I was elated.

Most bars worth their salt will have an old copy of the Savoy Cocktail Book somewhere on their shelf. It was written in 1930 by an American named Harry Craddock. Craddock flew the coop from the prohibition-afflicted United States in 1920, and became the head bartender at the American Bar at The Savoy in London. He spread the joys of the American cocktail to Europe and used his cocktail book to preserve recipes that may have otherwise been lost to antiquity. Despite a few renovations, the American Bar is still there, and it is really something.

When you first walk in, you notice the beautiful black and white sign that looks like it could have been there in 1920 as Craddock walked in for the first time. Immediately to your left, there is a small museum (you heard me right, this bar is so cool it has its own museum) full of old placards and menus from its many decades of existence. There are also telegraphs for Charlie Chaplin and Georges Clemenceau, bills for Sir Lawrence Olivier, and countless pictures of Vivien Leigh, John Wayne, Winston Churchill, and essentially anyone who was anyone in the last century.

All of that is well and good, but the real stunner is the case of vintage booze. Inside this treasure chest contains Gordon’s Gin, Pernod, Luxardo, and Carpano Antica from the 1950s; Van der Hum from the 1940’s; and a Jourd Cordial-Medoc from 1933. The crown jewel of the whole collection is this: a bottle of Sazerac de Forge Cognac from 1858. I wasn’t even aware that something like this existed, but there it was right before my very eyes. This bottle is pre-Civil War. Its nine years older than Canada! More notably, it’s a time capsule of what French grapes tasted like before they were nearly destroyed by the Phylloxera parasite in the late 19th century. It’s so beautiful that it even makes even its neighboring bottle of Moet Chandon from 1884 pale in comparison.

Once your head stops spinning, you proceed into the bar for a dozen or so of London’s finest cocktails. The bar consists mostly of a large lounge with a piano player to your immediate right. The bar itself is very small; only four seats with no standing room allowed. There is one man on service bar, and the friendly and knowledgeable Tom Walker for the rail. The small setting ensures that the drinks are made at a deliberate pace to ensure that nary a step is missed in both the creation of the drink and the presentation. The result is a simply wonderful libation.

The menu is a mixture of Savoy originals from the White Lady, to contemporaries such as the Green Park, to the totally outrageous. Remember that cognac that I mentioned earlier? They use it to make an original Sazerac cocktail along with the Pernod from the 1950s and Peychaud’s Bitters from the early 1900s. Its 5,000 GBP. Depending on the exchange rate, that’s about $8000 USD. For one cocktail. Once I picked myself up off the floor, I decided this cocktail was only for people who have absolutely no idea what to do with their money. In the words of Kurt Vonnegut, “It takes all kinds of people to fill up a world.”

All in all, it was a privilege to sit at this piece of living history and share a few drinks with Tom Walker and his more than capable colleagues. The international brotherhood of bartenders may not be out there splitting atoms or making contributions to string theory (or puppy neurosurgery), but we know how to take care of the people who do. More importantly, we know how to take care of each other, which makes it all worth it. And yes, this is my only job. Cut me a break, will ya?

A sure indication of a cocktail's fame is a international day of celebration. The first Saturday in February (this year Saturday the 2nd) is officially International Pisco Sour Day, perhaps the most famous drink in South America- maybe all the Americas.
Victor Vaughn Morris, an ex-patriot invented the drink in his Lima bar sometime before 1920, using Pisco (a grape spirit from the Peruvian town of the same name), sugar, lime juice- a take on the classic sour- Pisco for Whiskey, lime for lemon. However it wasn't until a few years later (middle 1920s) that Mario Bruiget, working in Morris' Bar, perfected the recipe by adding egg white and bitters, the version that continues to be popular today.
Like any great drink, controversy swirls, and many Chileans site evidence that, in fact they can claim its origins. Countries battling aside, historians seem to lean toward Peru, and as far as I can tell so do all bartenders that I know.

Where better to have a Pisco Sour than at the source, or at least as close as we can get in town? I headed over to the terrific Peruvian restaurant in Somerville's Union Square, Restaurante Turistico Machupicchu, a completely authentic, family operation owned by Rosy and Hugo Cerna. Between shifts can often be a pleasant down time for restaurant employees, I most likely would be the last person anyone would care to see. However, Carlos Yamo, from the western coastal town of Chiclayo, about 450 miles north of Lima, greeted me as warmly as an old friend. He poured the traditional version, adding some customers do like it sweeter and cinnamon can be added instead of bittters- which he gladly will accommodate. He made me a delicious version with Pisco Portón- the category equivalent quality of a fine single malt scotch. What a treat to have a traditional cocktail in a space where Boston seemingly drifted away- with a soccer match on in the background, a wonderful lighted picture box of Machu Picchu behind the bar and gracious, friendly service.
If you can't stop by this weekend, do so soon for live music, ceviche and of course a Pisco Sour. Salud!

Pisco Sour 2 oz Portón Pisco, .5 oz lime juice, .5 oz simple syrup, 1 egg white, Angostura bitters. A limeade for grownups!

Pisco Portón is a called a mosto verde pisco- distilled from partially fermented grape juice. Because of an incomplete fermentation, slightly higher sugar content remains. The resulting distillation creates a smooth, elegant, full bodied character. What this really means it's delicious straight too! Rich and malty, with tropical fruit flavors, 43% ABV, about $40.

Robert "Rabbie" Burns (1759-1797) was a Scottish poet considered a pioneer in the Romantic movement and perhaps the most famous Scot. To this day, his birthday is cause for celebration worldwide, not just in his native Scotland- and it's this Friday, January 25th. While almost a month too late to sing his 'Auld Lang Syne,' have a Scotch or Bobby Burns cocktail this weekend and toast the old country and its Ploughman Poet:
"Nae man can tether time or tide."
"O thou, my muse! guid (good) auld Scotch drink!"

The Bobby Burns cocktail may have originated at the Waldorf Bar in the early 1930s as a take on the Rob Roy; Scotch, sweet vermouth with the addition of Absinthe and orange bitters. I personally am a fan of present cocktail guru Dale Degroff's version: 2 oz Highland Scotch, .75 oz sweet vermouth, .5 oz Benedictine (slightly sweet herbal liqueur), shortbread cookie on the side as garnish.

Slàinte mhath!

94 years ago, January 15, 1919, was a tragic day in the North End.
Back then, the area was heavily industrialized- packed with people and a 2.3 million gallon cast-iron tank fifty feet above street level was not out of place. The tank was full of molasses, often used as a sweetener, but in this case (and applicable to this blog), it had been slated by the United States Industrial Alcohol Company for rum production.
Unseasonably warm weather that day after near zero temperatures days before may have contributed to the disaster; just after lunch time the tank ruptured spilling the entire deadly, sticky stuff onto Commercial Street in a 30 foot wave- 21 people were killed, 150 injured.

We tend not to forget in Boston; some say on warm days in the North End you can still smell molasses.

The Hawthorne, first, is the epitome of elegant design. I always feel a little like a friend and I have snuck into the family's modern, chic Park Avenue apartment and his parents are out of town. I love it here- friendly customer service, impeccable drinks, an oasis from the hustle of urban life and an answer for winter blues.
I stopped by to visit Dan Lynch the other night, and probably against his better judgement (honestly- what do I know?), he let me direct my first cocktail- the Old Pal. The drink originally appeared in Harry MacElhone's 1922 ABC of Mixing Cocktails- invented by an editor at The New York Herald in Paris. Much like a Negroni, just substituting Canadian whiskey for gin, and dry vermouth for sweet. 1 part rye, 1 part dry vermouth, 1 part Campari.
My version, via Dan, subs Aperol for Campari, making the drink lighter and less bitter (not that bitter is bad, of course!).
Old Pal variation: 1.5oz Rittenhouse rye, .75 Dolin dry Vermouth, .75 Aperol.

Dan graciously roped me into one more drink before I had to leave, aptly suggesting a second version from Harry's famous bar in Paris- the Boulevardier cocktail. By 1927, Mr. MacElhone no longer included the Old Pal; his book Barflies and Cocktails varies the drink yet again, this time Bourbon for rye, and sweet vermouth for dry. A simple drink, yet a lot for me to keep straight.

Boulevardier: 1.5 oz Elijah Craig 12 year Bourbon, .75 oz Carpano Antica sweet vermouth, .75 oz Campari. Rich, spicy vanilla from the aged whiskey, caramel and bitter orange from the vermouth and Campari- leaving me ready to brave the cold outside.

Dan's shift drink after dealing with me?
A bottle of High & Mighty's Beer of the Gods and a shot of Siete Leguas reposado Tequila. Now that sounds elegant, fitting and well deserved. Cheers my friend.