French 75

If I haven't already made it clear, I love sparkling wine cocktails. Love them. I love champagne on its own, and once you start adding spirits and mixers it only makes a good thing better. Plus, a little bit of bubbly adds an instant element of class to anything.

The French 75 is probably the most famous champagne cocktail outside of the Mimosa and maybe the Bellini, neither of which involve any hard liquor. Interestingly, there are two versions of the French 75 floating around, which can be confusing. There's a gin version that I've made before, but there's also a Cognac version. So of course I made both for this post. GarnishGuy and I agreed: we liked the Cognac better. The flavor was richer. The gin version is still very good, particularly if gin is your favorite spirit. It's lighter and more herbal.

Whichever version you choose, be careful; this drink is named after heavy artillery. It's got quite a kick. David Wondrich says of the French 75: "Two of these and you'd fight to defend Madonna's honor... hell, there's enough alcohol in it to give even Hemingway a buzz."

Quite a claim given Hemingway's drinking habits.

History: I've been trying to write this post for some time now, but the history of the French 75 is more convoluted than any I've encountered. It's a popular drink, and there are two main variations and dozens of origin stories floating around. I'm still not sure I've got the whole story, but I hope I've at least got the basics down accurately.

The cocktail on which the French 75 is based was called simply a "75" and it was quite a different beast: Absinthe, Calvados, and gin. The recipe appears in the 1922 Harry's ABC of Mixing Cocktails by Harry MacElhone of the famous Harry's New York Bar in Paris. He writes that the recipe comes from 1915. Most folks think it was invented by - or at least popular among - WWII airmen who named it for the French 75 mm field gun.

For some reason bartenders found this particular cocktail just begging for some tweaks, and various changes were made. The first printed recipe for a "French 75" (possibly renamed to clarify its country of origin, although the gun for which it was named was also called a French 75) is in a 1927 booklet called Here's How. It's not an easy piece of literature to get your hands on, but this site has some of the recipes it contained, including the French 75: "Gordon water" (gin), lemon juice, powdered sugar, and champagne.

I wish that the connection between these two recipes was a bit clearer; most folks seem to accept that they're the same cocktail at different stages of its evolution, but they are awfully different. And where did the Cognac version come from? Does it represent a separate evolutionary trajectory from that original with Calvados, or is it a variation on the gin and champagne version? The gin recipe is repeated in the Savoy Cocktail Book in 1930, but then Cognac recipes also start to pop up. In 1939, Charles Baker included a Cognac French 75 under the name "Maharaja's Burra-Peg" in the Gentleman's Companion Volume II: Around the World with Jigger, Beaker, and Flask. This is a variation on a Cognac and champagne cocktail called a King's Peg, and suggests that the Cognac French 75 may have sprung from the King's Peg and converged on a similar recipe. Or it may have a couple of different origins; in New Orleans, the French 75 is made with Cognac, and has been served there almost as long as the drink has been around.

There's probably a lot more to this story, but I think it's time for a drink.

French 75

2 oz. gin or Cognac (I prefer Cognac)
1/2 oz. lemon juice
1 tsp. simple syrup
Champagne

Combine gin or Cognac, lemon juice, and simple syrup in a shaker with ice and shake until chilled. Strain into a champagne flute. Top with champagne and garnish with a lemon twist.

Recipe adapted from Liquor.com.

Singapore Sling

As I assembled the laundry list of ingredients to make the Singapore Sling on my counter, I realized that I've been preparing you for this cocktail. I've written about gin, introduced Cherry Heering and Benedictine, and told you how to make real grenadine. Add some pineapple juice, lime, and bitters, and you have a Singapore Sling.

Since I'm making this cocktail for the first time, I chose to go with the recipe served at the cocktail's birthplace, the Raffles Hotel. As you'll find out below, the Raffles recipe is almost certainly not the original, which probably didn't contain pineapple juice. I think nixing the pineapple would make for a much better cocktail, but you could argue that today such a drink wouldn't be considered a Singapore Sling anymore.

In its current form, the Singapore Sling is a tropical drink through and through. It's the sort of thing you'd feel much better sipping on a beach than in your own home. I don't really see myself fixing one on a regular basis. I prefer my drinks, even my tiki drinks, a bit more spirit-forward. But it was really fun to make, and I'm glad it's now in my repertoire. I might experiment with a more classic gin sling recipe that doesn't use the pineapple. But this recipe would be a fun option for a party, and would be easy to make big batches of.

History: Classically, it's believed that the Singapore Sling was invented in (you guessed it) Singapore, at the Long Bar of the Raffles Hotel, by bartender Ngiam Tong Boon sometime around 1915. But, as usual, this is probably not true.

The first mention of a "sling" in Singapore comes from 1897, and people were already drinking cocktails that were very similar to the Singapore Sling between then and the date of its supposed invention in 1915. They were usually just called gin slings. Travelers wrote about drinking gin slings at the Raffles post-1915, but those who included a recipe make no mention of pineapple juice, which makes up most of the drink today. For example, in his 1922 Cocktails and How to Mix Them, Robert Vermiere provides what is considered the earliest recipe for a Singapore Sling (called a Straits Sling), and it's only gin, Benedictine, cherry brandy, lemon, bitters, and club soda.  So where did the story - and all that pineapple juice - come from?

The Raffles Hotel

Well, the Raffles wasn't doing well in the 1970's, and its new manager decided to try and harken back to its glory days by reviving its colonial-era feel. Part of this was resurrecting the Singapore Sling. The original recipe had been lost, but something close was supposedly pieced together from old menus, the memories of the bartenders, and a recipe scrawled on the back of a receipt from 1936 that may or may not exist. That something is the recipe below. Cocktail historians agree that it sounds much more like a recipe from the 1970's invented to sell cocktails than a classic sipped by Joseph Conrad and Rudyard Kipling the 1910's.

In the midst of this cocktail resurrection, one of the bartenders, Ngiam Dee Suan, claimed that it had been his uncle Ngiam Tong Boon who had invented the Singapore Sling. This is the first mention of Ngian Tong Boon in connection to the drink, so there's not really any hard evidence that he invented it, especially given the popularity of gin slings in Singapore before 1915. But the Raffles jumped on the possibility, and now claims that they have Ngiam Tong Boon's recipe books and his original Singapore Sling recipe locked away in their safe, quite an impressive bluff.

For more details on the Singapore Sling, check out these pieces by David Wondrich, Worldfoodist, and George Sinclair.

Our Raffles postcard, currently part of a gallery wall in our apartment.

GarnishGuy and I went to Singapore in 2008 and got to wander around the Raffles a bit. It was absolutely gorgeous. It's impossible not to be enchanted by the sparkling white architecture, lush gardens, and Sikh doormen in impeccable uniforms. The hotel opened in 1887, and is named for Sir Thomas Stamford Raffles, who negotiated the founding of the first British trade post on Singapore.

Knowing that the Raffles was the birthplace of the Singapore Sling, I really wanted to try one there, but they're about $28. Today it doesn't seem like much for the experience, but back then it seemed crazy. In the more expensive countries we visited (Singapore included), we were staying in hostels and living off spaghetti. We'd also just come from Malaysian Borneo, where you could get a huge plate of mee goreng for next to nothing, so we weren't about to shell out $60 on cocktails. We bought a postcard instead.

Singapore Sling

1 oz. gin
1/2 oz. Cherry Heering
1/4 oz. Benedictine
1/4 oz. Cointreau
4 oz. pineapple juice
1/2 oz. lime juice
1/3 oz. grenadine
1 dash Angostura bitters

Combine all ingredients in a shaker with ice. Shake well; you want a nice froth on the top from the pineapple juice. Strain into a tall glass filled with ice. Garnish with a pineapple slice and a cherry.

Recipe from the Raffles Long Bar via Viet World Kitchen.

Mint Julep

The Mint Julep is, of course, the iconic drink of the Kentucky Derby. I had never watched the Kentucky Derby until this year - a great choice, since American Pharoah went on to win the Triple Crown. I didn't realize how short the actual derby is! A derby party involves an awful lot of pre-gaming. Not that I'm complaining. It explains why drinking lots of Mint Juleps is such a big part of the day.

To be honest, this sweet, strong cocktail isn't one of my all-time favorites. I'd prefer some citrus to balance it out, so I'd go for a Whiskey Smash instead. But the Mint Julep is definitely a good one to have in your repertoire. It's a situational sort of drink; when the occasion is just right, it's delicious.

I got this recipe from a friend from Kentucky, who says it's the recipe from the Seelbach Bar in Louisville. He made them during the derby this year. I reduced the amount of simple syrup because I found it too sweet when I made it myself. I also eliminated a splash of water, since the ice seems to melt fast enough (especially when you're trying to take pictures).

History: The word "julep" comes from the Persian word gulab, julab in Arabic, referring to a sweetened rose-water that was believed to be medicinal. As the drink spread to the Mediterranean, mint was added. From here, things get a little fuzzy. The drink made its way through Europe, and at some unknown point, alcohol was added.

In 1783, the first volume of Medical Communications published in London by the Society for Promoting Medical Knowledge mentions the julep several times as a remedy prescribed to patients. One such unfortunate soul was Mrs. P of Orange Street, a 52-year-old woman suffering from stomach pains. Her physician, Dr. Maxwell Garthshore, writes: "I was first consulted, and found her much emaciated, and complaining of indigestion, acidity, and sickness at the stomach, with frequent retching, and, at times, a difficulty swallowing. I then prescribed her an emetic, some opening powders, and a mint julep. The symptoms were alleviated, and she seemed better for a few days."

Unfortunately, Mrs. P's symptoms returned, and when a second julep did not help, Dr. Garthshore turned to other measures. After five months of alarmingly detailed and disgusting ailments, she died. Garthshore was not the only one to prescribe juleps; in this volume alone, it is mentioned five more times.

The julep also made its way to the newly-independent United States, either via Europe or the Caribbean. Mint Juleps became exceptionally popular in the south, particularly Virginia and Kentucky. Drinking them in the morning, booze and all, was considered healthful. In 1787, the magazine American Museum wrote: "An Ordinary Virginian rises about six o'clock. He then drinks a julep made of rum, and sugar but very strong." Early juleps were probably made with a variety of spirits including rum and Cognac. In the 19th century, bourbon became the most common and affordable spirit in the U.S., and it became used instead.

In the early 1800's, Kentucky Senator and Secretary of State Henry Clay supposedly brought the cocktail to Washington D.C., where he would drink them with his colleagues at the Willard Hotel's Round Robin Bar. Its rising popularity there had an important consequence: the invention of the paper drinking straw. A fellow named Marvin C. Stone was drinking a Mint Julep in D.C. through the typical straw of the time: a literal piece of straw, made from rye grass. He thought the taste of the rye was ruining the flavor of his julep and decided to do something about it. He wrapped some paper around a pencil, glued the ends together, slid it off, and the paper straw was born. He later began coating the paper in wax to make it more waterproof and protect the glue from dissolving. He patented his invention in 1888.

A figure from Martin C. Stone's drinking straw patent.

But what about the julep cup? A Mint Julep is properly served in a sterling silver tumbler. This cup is meant to be held from the top or the bottom, so that the crushed ice in the drink can make the outside frost over. These cups were awarded as prizes at country fairs pretty early on, and there's an oft-quoted mention in an 1816 issue of the Kentucky Gazette of them being given as prizes for horse races. Why they are so specifically used for Mint Juleps, I'm not sure.

The final piece of the Mint Julep's history is its association with the Kentucky Derby. Mint Juleps were served at Churchill Downs during the derby as they were at many racetracks, but the introduction of souvenir julep cups in 1938, sold for 75 cents, is probably what cemented the Mint Julep's starring role on Derby Day.

Mint Julep

2 oz. bourbon
3/4 oz. mint simple syrup*
Crushed ice

Combine bourbon and simple syrup in a rocks glass or fancy-shmancy julep cup. Fill with crushed ice and garnish with a sprig of mint.

*Mint simple syrup: Combine equal parts sugar and water in a saucepan and simmer until sugar is dissolved. Add a generous handful of mint and stir. Let steep for 15 minutes. Strain and chill in the refrigerator until cool (about 3 hours).

Mojito

Is there any cocktail as positively refreshing as a Mojito? It's so perfect for a hot summer afternoon. Of course, after I made these, the sky darkened like the apocalypse was beginning and golfball-sized hail began to fall from the sky. I was luckily dry and safe inside, but the Mojito felt a bit incongruous. At least if I had run out of ice, there was plenty collecting on my balcony.

I really developed a taste for Mojitos when some friends of mine made it a tradition to serve them whenever they had a party. They'd either mix up a big batch or just leave the tools and ingredients out along with their recipe. I liked that because I got to find out just how they made them, and I've used their recipe ever since. I've got tons of mint growing on my balcony, and Mojitos seem like a great way to make use of it. Especially when hailstones are pre-muddling it for me.

History: The Mojito was born in Cuba. As with many classic cocktails, there are many possible stories to explain its origin, and the best one is probably not true, but it involves pirates and dysentery, so I have to tell it anyway. In 1586, during the Anglo-Spanish War, Sir Francis Drake captured the Spanish city of Cartagena de Indias in present-day Colombia for the English. His men occupied the city for two months before sailing on towards Havana. On the way, they were stricken with dysentery and scurvy. They had heard that the indigenous tribes of the region had remedies for such sicknesses, so some of the crew went ashore on Cuba to ask the local people for help. They returned with, well, Mojitos: lime, sugarcane juice, mint, and a spirit made from sugarcane called aguardiente de cana. And, sure enough, it helped. It was probably just the lime juice that really did anything, but the rest of the cocktail couldn't have hurt. The drink spread throughout Cuba and beyond, known as El Draque after Drake. Interestingly, Drake is referred to as a pirate by the Spanish and a knight by the English - at first I thought I was confusing two different men.

Another version of this story claims that after Drake's invasion of Havana failed, the El Draque was invented in his honor by one of his crew members, Richard Drake. Richard was a former member of Parliament and possibly a distant relative of Francis. I feel like this version of the story needs more details; I just imagine Francis moping in his cabin, staring at a crumpled map of Cuba, when Richard bursts in and brightly exclaims "I made cocktails!"

         "Bummer about Havana. Wanna go invade Florida?"                                      "Not now, dude, I just made Mojitos."

Whether or not Francis and Richard actually got their drink on in Havana, Cubans probably were making something similar to a Mojito around this time, particularly workers and farmers. Early rum didn't taste all that good, and mint, lime, and sugarcane juice were amply available mixers to improve its flavor. The aguardiente de cana was replaced by Bacardi rum in the 1800's, and somebody threw some seltzer in there as well. But it was probably around the time of Prohibition that the Mojito left the realm of rural moonshine and entered the bars and restaurants of Havana. The first reference to the entire recipe comes from a pamphlet of cocktail recipes from Sloppy Joe's Bar in Havana from 1931.

As for the name "Mojito," no one is certain when it got changed or even what it means. It may refer to mojo, a lime seasoning used in Cuba, or it may be a diminutization of the word mojado, meaning wet. I've also heard that it comes from an African word, mojo, meaning "to place a little spell," but that doesn't seem very well supported. Which is a shame, because that's just what a Mojito does.

Mojito

2 oz. white rum
1 half lime, quartered
8-10 mint leaves
3/4 oz. simple syrup or 1 1/2 tbsp. sugar
1/3 cup club soda (2.5-3 oz.)

Put lime quarters, mint leaves, and simple syrup in the bottom of a rocks glass. Muddle well, until mint is bruised and limes are juiced. Add rum. Fill glass with ice and top with club soda. Stir briefly. Garnish with a sprig of mint.

Bloody Mary

For some cocktails, I believe in sticking to the real tried-and-true recipe. As close to the original as possible. You can alter some proportions to suit your taste, but too many tweaks and it's not the same drink anymore.

The Bloody Mary is not one of those cocktails. The Bloody Mary is a do-it-yourself, be-as-creative-as-possible sort of cocktail. There's a basic formula, of course: vodka, tomato juice, horseradish, hot sauce, celery salt, and pepper. But from there, anything goes. Pickle juice? Sure! Smoked paprika? Yum. Cajun seasoning? Absolutely. Swap the vodka for tequila. Heck, I'm not even sure tomato juice is absolutely necessary. Even there you can use V-8 or Clamato for a different taste, or blended tomatillos for a Verde Mary (arguably a different cocktail, but let's not get too technical; that's not what the Bloody Mary is about).

And don't even get me started on garnishes. The Bloody Mary has brought garnishes to a whole new level. Bars use everything from a lone celery stick to an entire five-course meal (I'm not even kidding). It's a great cocktail to just have fun with. Bloody Mary bars where guests can build their own just the way they want are perfect for brunches.

I actually thought I didn't really like Bloody Marys, but then I realized it was because I'd never had a really good one, or at least one made to my taste. They've all been too one-note (tomato juice + booze) or way too spicy. But I thought the ones I made at home were fabulous. Knowing what I like, I stuck to lots of flavor and not too much spice. It was like a delicious, alcoholic meal in a glass.

I kept to the standard formula for the most part. Lacking celery salt, I used ground celery seed. I also added Tony Chachere's, because everything is better with some Tony's. For garnishes, I used to celery, a cucumber spear (I would have preferred a pickle, but I didn't have any), olives, lemon, and a couple of sprigs of cilantro. But I have nothing against an elaborate Bloody Mary garnish. Ideally I'd add a shrimp or two - yum. Now that I know it's a cocktail I like, I look forward to trying a lot of different things. I recommend this post at FoodieCrush for some suggestions, and a great guide for making a Bloody Mary bar for guests.

History: The most commonly told story of the Bloody Mary's origin is that it was invented by Fernand "Pete" Petiot at Harry's New York Bar in Paris in 1921. After Prohibition ended, Petiot moved to New York to run the King Cole Bar at the St. Regis Hotel, where he added more ingredients to the cocktail and re-christened it the Red Snapper.

But, as I've found with many cocktails, the most popular story is not quite correct. If you're really interested, this four-part article by Jack McGarry picks apart every aspect of the Bloody Mary's history. To quickly summarize, McGarry believes that it was not Petiot who invented the cocktail, but a Vaudeville star named George Jessel. In his autobiography, Jessel claims to have been in Palm Beach nursing a hangover when a bartender gave him his first taste of vodka. "I looked at it, sniffed it," he writes. "It was pretty pungent and smelled like rotten potatoes. 'Hell, what do we have to lose? Get me some Worcestershire sauce, tomato juice, and lemon; that ought to kill the smell,' I commanded Charlie."

Jessel and his friends found that the concoction settled their stomachs. When a Philadelphia socialite named Mary Brown Warburton entered the bar, still in her white evening gown from the night before, they offered her a sip. She spilled some on the front of her dress and said "Now you can call me Bloody Mary!"

The drink spread from there, and is mentioned in a number of publications, but often as half tomato juice, half vodka, with no mention of the other ingredients. Pete Petiot was the one who really started embellishing it at the King Cole Bar (where you can still order a Red Snapper today). Petiot even said in an interview that Jessel may have come up with the idea of tomato juice and vodka, but he was the one who turned it into the cocktail it is today.

And will it actually cure a hangover? Maybe along with a few ibuprofen and a lot of water. I'll have to try it to find out.

Bloody Mary

1 1/2 oz. vodka
6 oz. tomato juice
5 drops Tabasco
3 drops Worcestershire sauce
1 pinch horseradish
1 pinch celery salt or ground celery seed
1 pinch Tony Chachere's Creole Seasoning
1 pinch ground black pepper
1 dash lemon juice

Combine all ingredients in a tall glass and stir well. Add ice. Garnish with celery, olives, lemon, pickles... whatever.

Recipe adapted from Liquor.com.

Sidecar

Let me preface this by saying that I don't know a thing about Cognac. I only recently learned that it is essentially the same thing as brandy, the same way champagne is the same thing as sparkling wine; Cognac is brandy that is made in Cognac, France. So the two are essentially interchangeable in cocktail recipes. Before I found this out, I knew I needed some Cognac to make a Sidecar, but I must have gone to the wrong liquor store; they only had a few bottles, and my eyes bulged at the prices. I ended up buying an itty bitty bottle of Hennessey just to try in a few cocktails. Once I found out that brandy could be substituted, I did what any good grad student would do and went to Trader Joe's and bought a bottle of the second-cheapest brandy they had.

Since it's our first time using brandy, we should talk about what exactly it is. I once had a friend at a party drunkenly insist that brandy was just "burnt wine," a notion that I scoffed at, but he wasn't entirely off base. Brandy is distilled wine, usually aged in oak casks. It is popularly served by itself as an after-dinner drink. Cognac, as I said above, is brandy made in the Cognac region of France. A similar type you may have come across is Armagnac, from (can you guess?) the Armagnac region of France.

If you buy brandy or Cognac, you may notice some letters on the label. Brandy is traditionally graded on a standard system to say how long it has been aged (though by law, only Cognac and Armagnac have to abide by these rules):

V.S. (Very Special): the youngest brandy in the blend was aged for at least two years.

V.S.O.P. (Very Superior Old Pale): the youngest brandy in the blend was aged for at least four years.

X.O. (Extra Old) or Napoleon: the youngest brandy in the blend was aged for at least six years.

My very fine Trader Joe's brandy is Pierre Duchene V.S.O.P. Tasting it next to the V.S. Hennessy, there was a clear winner. The Hennessy is smoother and a little sweeter, while I honestly thought the brandy had a faintly unpleasant, musty taste in comparison. In cocktails, the difference is far more subtle, but not long after this experiment I finally splurged on a bottle of Pierre Ferrand Cognac. A Sidecar will be the very first drink I make with it.

The Sidecar is a really nice cocktail. It's classic, classy, and oh-so-drinkable. I'd dare you to find me someone who doesn't like it. Yet it was never on my cocktail radar before. Like the Gimlet, I thought of the Sidecar as a recipe from a bygone day. Which is interesting, given that they've been the two most pleasant surprises I've come across so far. They're also both made from very simple ingredients, so it would be a safe bet to order them at any bar. And I intend to.

History: Here's another drink with a few different possible origins. Let's get the "but we thought of it first" out of the way: the Sidecar is very similar to both the Brandy Crusta and the Brandy Daisy, and could have evolved from either one. But while these are both American cocktails, most accounts suggest that the Sidecar originated on the other side of the pond around World War I. The Ritz Hotel in Paris claims credit for its invention, but there's not much of a story to go along with their claim. Harry MacElhone of Harry's New York Bar in Paris was the first to publish a recipe. In his 1922 book Harry's ABC of Mixing Cocktails, MacElhone credits a London bartender named Pat MacGarry with the drink, but omits this is in later additions. The more popular tale is that an American army captain came to Harry's and developed the drink, named for the fact that he rode to and from the bar in a motorcycle sidecar.

There is a division of opinion when it comes to the exact proportions of ingredients in a Sidecar. The "French school" argues for equal parts Cognac, Cointreau, and lemon juice, while the "English school" likes 2:1:1. I followed The PDT Cocktail Book, which takes the Sidecar even farther from the French version with less than one part Cointreau and lemon juice.

Sidecar

2 oz. Cognac
3/4 oz. Cointreau or triple sec
3/4 oz. lemon juice
1/4 oz. simple syrup

Combine all ingredients in a shaker. Add ice and shake until chilled. Strain into a coupe glass with a half-sugared rim.

Recipe from The PDT Cocktail Book.

Tom Collins

I don't make a Tom Collins nearly often enough. It's such a simple cocktail, and so much milder in flavor than a Gin and Tonic or Gimlet. But writing this post resurrected my love for this fizzy, refreshing gin concoction. I think part of what did it was following the instruction to garnish the drink with a cherry and an orange slice. If there's one thing I've learned from making all these cocktails by-the-book, it's not to underestimate the importance of a garnish. Just the aroma of herbs or citrus can really do something for a cocktail.

If you've never had a Tom Collins, or haven't made one in a while, now's the time. It's a perfect drink for spring and summer.

History: A drink called the John Collins with a recipe identical to that of the Tom Collins first appears in 1869 in Haney's Steward and Barkeeper's Manual. It may have been named after the head waiter of a popular London coffee house, Limmer's Old House. This possibility comes from a very obscure text from 1830 called Lyrical Musings by Frank and Charles Sheridan, in which a poem mentions Collins and his gin punch. To be honest, I can't really find much evidence that this book exists outside of some blog entries about the Tom Collins. If anyone knows more, I'd love to hear it.

The 1869 recipe specifically calls for Old Tom gin (see here for more on Old Tom), which may have been the catalyst for the name change. But there's another possibility. In 1874, a practical joke spread throughout the United States with a speed and tenacity today reserved for YouTube videos of cats riding Roombas. The joke was to ask someone "Have you seen Tom Collins?" When the person, bewildered, replied that they had not, the joker would insist that Tom, a boisterous drinker and gossip, was sitting in a nearby bar, spreading rumors about them. From the Gettysburg Compiler in 1874:

"He is talking about you in a very rough manner - calling you hard names, and altogether saying things about you that are rather calculated to induce people to believe there is nothing you wouldn't steal short of a red-hot stove."

The object was to coerce the person being questioned to storm into the bar and demand to see Tom Collins, while the questioner presumably had a good laugh in the background. (This is, no doubt, a "you had to be there" joke, "there" being 1874.) But enterprising bartenders decided to serve the victims of the joke a fizzy gin cocktail - the "Tom Collins" the patron was looking for.

Tom Collins

1 1/2 oz. gin
3/4 oz. lemon juice
3/4 oz. simple syrup
Club soda

Combine gin, lemon juice, and simple syrup in a shaker with ice. Shake until chilled and strain into an ice-filled Collins glass. Top with soda. And don't forget the garnish!

Recipe adapted (per GarnishGirl's First Rule of Mixology) from Vintage Cocktails.

Margarita

A real margarita is a lot simpler than I thought. I knew that the frozen concoctions I've ordered at Mexican restaurants were not exactly authentic (though boy are they good), but I had no idea just how bare-bones the original cocktail was. Tequila, lime, triple sec. That's it. Add some simple syrup if it's too sour for you, salt the rim if you want. But a margarita is pretty basic. And delicious. Like its cousins, the Gimlet and the Daiquiri, the Margarita is a great way to enjoy its spotlight spirit, tequila. It's also like a blank canvas - thus the many variations you see. I can't wait to try a few.

History: If you begin to research the history of the Margarita, the first thing that becomes abundantly clear is that no one knows the history of the Margarita. Like other cocktails that follow the formula of alcohol + lime juice + sweetener, it may have been thought up a number of times. But here are the many possibilities for the recipe we now all know and love:

1. The Texas Socialite. The first mention of the Margarita in print was in 1953 in Esquire magazine. The magazine credits Margaret "Margarita" Sames, a Dallas socialite, with inventing the cocktail for a party in 1948 that was attended by a number of influential hoteliers and restraunteurs. But most cocktail historians seem to think it originates much earlier, most prominently because of a Jose Cuervo ad in 1945 that mentioned the drink.

2. The Allergic Actress. A fellow named Carlos "Danny" Herrera claimed credit for inventing the cocktail at his restaurant outside of Tijuana, Rancho la Gloria, in 1938. He whipped it up it for a dancer and aspiring actress named Marjorie King who wanted a cocktail but was allergic to all types of alcohol other than tequila (if your bullshit radar is going off, it probably should be). Regardless of what Miss King's allergies were, Herrera is enough of a contender that his 1992 obituary claimed he invented the drink.

3. The Ambassador's Daughter. A bartender named Don Carlos Orozco was working at Hussong's Cantina in Esenada, Mexico in 1941 when the daughter of the German ambassador, Margarita Henkel, came in to ask for a cocktail. Don Carlos had been experimenting with some recipes, and when she enjoyed his concoction, he named it "Margarita" after her.

4. The Mexican Milkman. Mexican bartender Francisco "Pancho" Morales may have invented the Margarita in Juarez at Tommy's Place Bar in 1942. Morales later immigrated to the United States, where he worked as a milkman for 25 years.

5. Rita Hayworth at the Race Track. Two different possibilities trace the Margarita back to Danny Negrete, who worked at the Agua Caliente Race Track in Tijuana. He may have invented the Margarita in 1936 as a wedding present for his new sister-in-law, whose name was (can you guess?) Margarita. Or he may have named it for Rita Hayworth (Rita being short for Margarita), who performed at the track in the 1930's.

6. The Absentminded Irishman. There appears to be an entire category of cocktails that I need to get to know: a "Daisy" is essentially a spirit + citrus + sweetener + club soda. Back in the 30's, they were made with gin, rum, brandy, basically anything - except tequila. The story goes that a new cocktail was invented when an Iowa newspaper editor, James Graham, and his wife went to Tijuana on vacation. They were in a bar run by an Irishman named Madden who was known for serving Daisies. The word "tequila" is unfortunately never mentioned in the story, but it is Mexico, and Madden confessed to Graham that he invented the drink in question when he grabbed the wrong bottle off the shelf. If you stretch your imagination to believe the wrong bottle was tequila, then the Tequila Daisy becomes the predecessor of the Margarita - margarita is the Spanish word for "daisy." It's surprising to me that the Graham's hometown of Moville, Iowa could possibly be the Margarita's gateway to America, but this one comes from David Wondrich, so I'm inclined to believe. In 1936, the Syracuse Herald ran a recipe for a Tequila Daisy, and the evolution of the Margarita may have proceeded from there, whether or not Madden was involved.

There you have it; the many origin stories of the Margarita. And that's still not all; I haven't even investigated where the idea of salting the rim of the glass came from, or the what is the origin of the iconic, upside-down sombrero-shaped margarita glass. Questions for another time. But now when someone asks you where the Margarita came from, you can say - with certainty - "I have no idea."

Margarita

2 oz. tequila
1 oz. Cointreau or triple sec
3/4 oz. lime juice
1/2 oz. simple syrup, if desired.

Combine ingredients in a shaker. Add ice and shake until chilled. Strain into a rocks glass filled with ice, a cocktail glass, or a margarita glass. If salt is desired, first rub the edge of the glass with a wedge of lime and invert it into a plate of coarse salt to coat the rim. Garnish with a wedge of lime. Toast to Margarita, whoever she is.

Recipe adapted from Vintage Cocktails.

Negroni

Every now and then in the course of my cocktail explorations, I come across something that I just really don't like, much as I want to. The Negroni is one of those things.

Sure, it's a classic cocktail. It evokes summer evenings in Italy, sipping this blend of gin, Campari, and vermouth on the terrace of your villa. And maybe if I made one under those circumstances, I'd come around. But something about this particular combination of the bitter Campari with the sweet vermouth just does not work for me. Apparently I'm not entirely alone; bartender and blogger Naren Young said of the drink, "There are very few cocktails where the words 'acquired taste' are more appropriate than with the Negroni." I guess I'll just have to keep going to Italy and ordering them until I like them.

But don't let my distaste steer you away from trying this recipe. Many cocktail connoisseurs insist that it is their favorite drink. Maybe it will be yours too.

History: The Negroni was named after its creator, an Italian Count named Camillo Negroni. He was the sort of guy you'd really enjoy swapping tales with over a drink - he'd probably tell you about the time he spent in America gambling and working as a rodeo cowboy. After he returned to Florence, his birthplace, he became friends with the bartender of Caffe Casoni, Fosco Scarselli. One day in 1919 he went to the bar for a drink and asked for the popular Americano cocktail (Campari, sweet vermouth, and soda water) - but, as a cowboy does, he ordered it with gin instead of soda. The rest, as they say, is history; soon all of Florence was ordering their Americanos "the Negroni way."

This story was considered little more than a fable until an Italian bartender named Lucca Picchi researched the tale in depth. His book, Sulle Tracce del Conte: La Vera Storia del Cocktail Negroni ("On the Trail of the Count: The True Story of the Negroni Cocktail") is currently only available in Italian, but it supports the popular story and fleshes out its history. (It's also a great example of just how much history a single cocktail can have; I feel like I could write a pretty entertaining book on any of these.)

In an article for SFGate, Gaz Regan traces the history of the Negroni several cocktails back to its spritous ancestors. The Negroni, as I just explained, was a modification of the Americano. The Americano, in turn, was a "long drink" or "tall drink" version of the Milano-Torino, which was equal parts Campari and sweet vermouth. And this drink was based on the Torino-Milano, which was a mix of Campari and another type of Italian bitters called Amano Cora. When you considering that there are multiple cocktails based on the Negroni (the Old Pal and Boulevardier, for example), you start to see a lineage much like a family tree.

Incidentally, Caffe Casoni is now owned by Roberto Cavalli, and has been renamed Caffe Giacosa. But you can still get a Negroni there.

Negroni

1 oz. gin
1 oz. Campari
1 oz. sweet vermouth

Combine all ingredients in a mixing glass with ice and stir. Strain into a cocktail glass or into a rocks glass filled with ice. Garnish with an orange slice.

Daiquiri

Having grown up in Louisiana, I think of a "Daiquiri" as a bright red concoction served frozen in a giant styrofoam cup, possibly from a drive-thru window. But this bears little resemblance to the actual cocktail, except perhaps for the inclusion of rum. A real Daiquiri is a simple mix of rum, lime juice, and sugar. It's similar to the Gimlet and the Margarita, which replace the rum with gin and tequila, respectively. While it's a far cry from a flashy craft cocktail, this simple mixture is classic, refreshing, and very drinkable. It also provides a blank canvas for all sorts of variations that I look forward to trying in the future.

History: Most historians agree that, given its common ingredients, the Daiquiri was probably invented multiple times. Rum was a widely available spirit in the Caribbean, and sailors drank lime juice to prevent scurvy. Mixing the two together with some sugar is just good sense. But the Daiquiri that rose to widespread popularity hails from Cuba, and gets its name from an iron mine outside of Santiago. I've found several versions of the story of its creation that at first seem like disparate accounts, but after some digging I think I've figured out how they all fit together - take it with a grain of salt. Jennings Cox, an American mining engineer, was working at the Daiquiri mine when he received a visit from F. D. Pagliuchi, another engineer of unclear nationality. Pagliuchi was interested in reviving some abandoned mines in the area. Cox couldn't get his hands on any gin (the fashionable spirit of the time), and he was worried about serving Pagliuchi the local rum. So he mixed up a cocktail with lime and sugar to class it up. They named the concoction after the mine.

The Daiquiri was brought to the United States in 1902 by Congressman William A. Chanler. He had just gone to Cuba to check on his new investment, the El Cobre copper mine. Intrigued, I tried to find out more about the mine and came across some old documents that list Pagliuchi as involved in its purchase and restoration. So it's possible that Chanler was introduced to the Daiquiri by one of its creators. He brought the drink back to the best clubs in New York, where it became a classic cocktail.

Daiquiri

2 oz. white rum
3/4 oz. simple syrup
3/4 oz. lime juice

Combine all ingredients in a shaker over ice and shake until chilled. Strain into a cocktail glass and garnish with a wedge of lime.

Recipe from Vintage Cocktails.

Gimlet

I think of the Gimlet as a decidedly old-fashioned drink. I know it's a classic cocktail, but I can't remember ever seeing it on a bar menu. I know Betty Draper ordered one in the second episode of Mad Men, but that doesn't do much to convince me of its moderninity.

But I do love gin, and I wanted to cover the classics here. So I made a Gimlet. And wow. I really enjoyed it. It's a simple cocktail - just simple syrup, lime juice, and gin - but it's a perfect gin cocktail. The flavor of the gin is highlighted without being too spirit-forward. It's frightfully easy to drink.

The recipe I used called for 1 oz. of simple syrup and 3/4 oz. lime juice, which seemed like it would be too sweet. In fact, I think I'm going to declare GarnishGirl's First Rule of Mixology: the amount of sweetener in a cocktail should never exceed the amount of citrus juice. I find that a 1:1 ratio of lemon or lime to simple syrup is usually appropriate, and sure enough, that's what I preferred here.

History: Like many of the oldest cocktails, the Gimlet's origin is elusive. My favorite version is that it was invented by Sir Thomas Gimlette, a surgeon in the British Royal Navy, to coerce sailors to consume lime to prevent scurvy. Although another fascinating fact is that a mixture of gin, lime juice, sugar, and water taken every four hours was prescribed as a remedy for cholera patients in Calcutta by one Dr. Soorjo Coomar Goodeve Chuckerbutty in 1861. It remains unclear how that particular concoction would have made it into the 20th century American bartender's recipe book. A gimlet is also a tool used for boring holes, so the cocktail may have been named for its "penetrating" effects on the drinker.

The Gimlet was made famous by Raymond Chandler in his novel The Long Goodbye. His protagonist, the bourbon-swilling detective Philip Marlowe, befriends a fellow drinker named Terry Lennox who declares that "A real gimlet is half gin and half Rose's Lime Juice and nothing else. It beats martinis hollow."

If you've ever used Rose's Lime Juice, you probably cringed a bit (as I did) while reading that passage. But the Rose's Lime Juice of 1953 was a different formulation from the high-fructose-corn-syrup-dyed-green that it is today, invented as a way to preserve lime for sailors at sea. Using fresh lime juice and simple syrup probably yields a more authentic version of the cocktail.

A vodka Gimlet uses vodka instead of gin. Replace the gin with rum, and you've got a traditional Daiquiri.

Gimlet

2 oz. gin
3/4 oz. lime juice
3/4 oz. simple syrup

Combine ingredients in a shaker. Add ice and shake until well chilled. Strain into a cocktail glass or coupe and garnish with a slice of lime.

Recipe adapted from Vintage Cocktails.

Classic Martini

I have always thought the Martini was just so utterly cool. Martini drinkers know what they want. Dry or dirty, gin or vodka, olive or twist. They order their drink while their friends are still ruminating over the cocktail list. I wanted to be a Martini drinker.

So imagine my disappointment the first time I tasted one and really didn't like it. The second time, too. This potent mixture of gin or vodka and vermouth is definitely an acquired taste. But once you acquire it, you'll realize that sometimes nothing hits the spot quite like a Martini. Without a hint of sweetness, it's an excellent aperitif.

The Martini many variations. It can be made with gin or vodka, and garnished with olives or a lemon twist. A "dirty Martini" has some olive juice added to the mix. The higher the ratio of gin or vodka to vermouth, the "drier" the Martini will be. Early versions of the cocktail had a very high proportion of gin to vermouth, as much as 1:1, but modern Martinis have much less vermouth (Noel Coward famously said that "A perfect Martini should be made by filling a glass with gin, then waving it in the general direction of Italy.") Personally, I like a 5:1 ratio of gin to vermouth and lots of olives.

History: The exact origin of this cocktail is delightfully murky. Not only are there multiple stories to explain its invention, but you'll find them told differently depending on where you look. The Martini may trace its roots back to the Martinez, a mixture of gin, sweet vermouth, and maraschino liqueur, which was supposedly invented by a bartender in California for a gold miner who had just struck it rich. Either the bar was in Martinez, or the gold miner was headed to Martinez. Or the cocktail may have been invented at the Occidental Hotel in San Francisco and sold to commuters on their way to Martinez by ferry. Or the incident with the miner may have occurred at the Occidental Hotel. Or the Martini may have nothing to do with the Martinez, taking its name instead from Martini and Rossi vermouth. Or it may have been invented at the Knickerbocker Hotel in New York, and named after one of their bartenders.

Classic Martini

2 1/2 oz. gin or vodka
1/2 oz. vermouth
olives or a lemon twist

Combine ingredients in a mixing glass. Fill with ice and stir. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass and garnish with olives or a lemon twist. Congratulations - you're a Martini drinker.

Manhattan

People can be particular about their cocktails. But when it comes to certain drinks, some people become militantly so. Take David Wondrich's Esquire article on the Manhattan, for example. He says to stir your Manhattan, but if you prefer to shake it, "There's nothing wrong with that, really.... If you like your Manhattan cloudy and topped with an algae-like foam, shake away." Message received. He is similarly firm on the topic of bourbon vs. rye in a Manhattan: "For a real Manhattan, you need rye whiskey. No amount of fiddling with the vermouth and bitters can save this drink if you've got bourbon in the foundations; it's just too sticky-sweet."

So imagine my distress when I go to make my Manhattan for this post and remember that I've run out of rye. I consider moving on to the next drink on my list, but the thought was a bit disappointing; I was looking forward to the Manhattan. I eye the bottle of Four Roses Bourbon on the bar. I glance around. No one is watching. Certainly not David Wondrich. Quietly, I reach for it.

In all seriousness, I don't think most people would fault you for making a bourbon Manhattan. While trying to decide whether to pair my shameful bourbon with Punt e Mes or another sweet vermouth, I came across this post at Cocktail Buzz that compares rye vs. bourbon and Punt e Mes vs. Carpano Antica Formula (aka everybody's-favorite-sweet-vermouth-that-I-have-yet-to-try) in a Manhattan. I was pleased to hear that they liked all of the combinations. They did advise that Punt e Mes would give a spicier, less sweet cocktail than the Carpano Antico, so I used that in my bourbon Manhattan to avoid the "sticky-sweet" flavor that Wondrich warned against. Was it a really, truly good Manhattan? I thought so, and that's all that matters.

Still, I look forward to the day when I'm enough of a cocktail snob to be that opinionated. It's what I aspire to.

History: The traditional story of the Manhattan's creation is that it was developed at the Manhattan Club in New York in 1874 for a party thrown by Jennie Jerome Churchill, the wife of Randolph Churchill and mother of Winston Churchill, to celebrate the election of New York governor Samuel J. Tilden. (Tilden would later go on to win the popular vote in the 1876 presidential election, but lose to Rutherford B. Hayes in the electoral college, a situation much like what happened in the 2000 elections.) However, this story cannot be accurate, as Lady Churchill was in England at this time, giving birth to Winston. There were still two banquets held at the Manhattan Club for Tilden, and I'm not sure why no one seems to think the cocktail might still have originated at one of them even if Jennie wasn't present.

The other main contender is a man we only know as Black. Bartender William F. Mulhall, who worked at New York's Hoffman House, claimed that Black had invented the drink in the 1860's. He said only that Black "kept a place ten doors below Houston Street on Broadway." The story was printed in a 1923 issue of Valentine's Manual of New York.

Either way, the Manhattan was popular enough by 1882 that the first known mention of it was made in print. In a short feature about mixed drinks, The Democrat of Olean, New York printed:

"It is but a short time ago that a mixture of whiskey, vermouth and bitters came into vogue. It went under various names - the Manhattan cocktail, Turf Club cocktail, and Jockey Club cocktail. Bartenders at first were sorely puzzled what was wanted when it was demanded. But now they are fully cognizant of its various aliases and no difficulty is encountered."

Mahattan

2 oz. rye whiskey (or bourbon, if you dare)
1 oz. sweet vermouth
1-2 dashes Angostura bitters

Combine all ingredients in a mixing glass. Add ice and stir until chilled. Don't shake unless you like algae-like foam. Strain into a cocktail glass or coupe, or serve on the rocks. Garnish with a maraschino or brandied cherry (or three).

Recipe from Esquire.

Old Fashioned

Everyone should know how to make an Old Fashioned. It's easy, it's classic, and it's a crowd pleaser because it can be tailored to a variety of tastes. There's no one perfect recipe. If I'm serving a friend who doesn't usually drink spirit-forward cocktails, I'll muddle up the orange and cherries and add some extra simple syrup. If I have a guest who is a big whiskey drinker, I'll go easier on the sweetness. And if someone doesn't like their cocktails too strong, I'll even add some club soda (while silently judging them).

The Old Fashioned is traditionally made with rye, though you can substitute bourbon or whiskey. I recommend Old Overholt--it's really cheap ($18) but lots of people swear by it for the price. I've heard a good upgrade is Rittenhouse Rye ($24). With the money you save, go out and buy a jar of Luxardo maraschino cherries. You'll never touch the bright neon red ones again.

History: The Old Fashioned is the original "cocktail." The first known definition of this term appeared in an 1806 issue of a New York newspaper called The Balance and Columbian Repository as "a stimulating liquor, composed of spirits of any kind, sugar, water and bitters." As cocktail recipes became more elaborate, this original cocktail was referred to as an "old fashioned." It gained significant popularity in the 2000's as Don Draper's signature drink on Mad Men.

The recipe below is the one I've settled on to suit my taste; play around with it and find your own.

Old Fashioned

2.5 oz. rye
2 dashes Angostura bitters
1/2 tsp. simple syrup
1/2 tsp. cherry juice from the jar
1 orange slice
3 Luxardo maraschino cherries

Add the orange slice, simple syrup, and cherry juice to an old fashioned glass and muddle just a little. Top with the rye and bitters. Add ice and stir. Garnish with the cherries.