Hurricane

If you've visited New Orleans, you're probably familiar with a cocktail called the Hurricane. Famously served at Pat O'Brien's in the French Quarter, the drink is recognizable by its distinctive glass and technicolor shade of bright red. As a tourist, you might be tempted to lump the it with the other not-so-great cocktails that are readily poured into plastic go-cups for consumption on Bourbon Street. But the Hurricane has a far more respectable history than a Hand Grenade or frozen Daiquiri. And, made correctly, it tastes much better as well. Since Mardi Gras is this week, I thought it was the perfect time to introduce this classic New Orleans drink.

A mixture of rum (a lot of rum), syrup, and fruit juice, the Hurricane is sometimes included in the category of Tiki cocktails. This isn't technically accurate, as Tiki is a very specific movement inspired by Polynesia, and the Hurricane has its roots firmly in New Orleans. But it's definitely an example of convergent evolution in the cocktail world, and you very well might find the Hurricane on a Tiki menu. It fits right in.

So why aren't my Hurricanes that recognizable shade of bright red? Well, not to knock Pat O's - which is totally worth a visit if you're in town - but the Hurricanes served there today are made from an artificial, sugary mix. Which I guess is good news if you want to make yourself a genuine Pat O'Brien's Hurricane at home. But if you're less interested in the nostalgia of your trip to New Orleans and more interested in having a tasty rum cocktail, then you should make your Hurricane from scratch. If you do that, the only bright red ingredient that might be going in is grenadine, and probably just a dash. Your Hurricane should come out closer to the pale orange pictured here.

The original Hurricane was made with three ingredients: gold rum, lemon juice, and a fruit syrup called Fassionola. Since Fassionola hasn't been available for years, most recipes substitute passionfruit syrup. But a bit more goes into Fassionola than just passionfruit: it's a complicated mix of seven tropical juices, dried hibiscus, citric acid, and sugar. Recently Cocktail & Sons came out with a bottled version so you can finally make a genuine Hurricane again. You can also try making your own if you're up for it. I, personally, was not, and Cocktail & Sons is currently sold out, so I used homemade passionfruit syrup.

Perhaps the Fassionola would have given these cocktails the extra bit of complexity they needed, but I wasn't happy with my three-ingredient Hurricanes - I found them a little too tart, a little too simple, and not very reminiscent of the "real thing" from Pat O's. So I started hunting for alternative recipes. There are a lot of them out there. I settled on a variation of Liquor.com's version, which has a little orange juice and grenadine, and uses lime instead of lemon. Perhaps this isn't the "original" Hurricane, but it's the one I like best. Happy Mardi Gras!

History: Pat O'Brien's began its life as a speakeasy during Prohibition. (Supposedly the password to get in was "storm's brewin'.") Once Prohibition ended in December of 1933, it opened legally as Mr. O'Brien's Club Tipperary on the corner of Royal and St. Peter Streets in the French Quarter. In 1942 it moved to its current location on St. Peter.

During World War II, it was difficult for bar owners to get their hands on whiskey, which is what people wanted to drink. Distributors started requiring bars to purchase a certain amount of abundant, easily-obtainable rum for every bottle of whiskey. So Mr. O'Brien found himself with a lot of extra rum lying around and needed a way to convince people to drink it. Thus the Hurricane was born. The actual recipe may have been created by the head bartender at Pat O's, Louis Culligan. The signature glass the drink was served in, shaped like the glass of a hurricane lantern, helped to increase its popularity.

The original hurricane recipe, published by Culligan in Cabaret magazine in 1956, is a simple one: 4 oz. gold rum, 2 oz. lemon juice, and 2 oz. Fassionola.

Pat O'Brien's in New Orleans

Hurricane

2 oz. aged rum
2 oz. white rum
1 oz. lime juice
1 oz. orange juice
1 oz. passionfruit syrup*
1 tsp. grenadine

Shake with ice until chilled and strain into a Hurricane glass filled with ice. Garnish with an orange slice and a maraschino cherry.

*I used the recipe for passionfruit syrup from Smuggler's Cove. First make a 2:1 simple syrup by mixing 2 parts sugar with 1 part water in a saucepan and simmering it until the sugar is dissolved. Let cool completely. Then combine equal parts syrup and passionfruit puree. The best place to find this is your grocery's freezer aisle. Hispanic food stores are also more likely to carry it.

Recipe adapted from Liquor.com. History from Distiller Blog and Wikipedia.

Chingon

I am on a bit of a roll with the tequila cocktails lately. That's kind of how it goes - I tend to forget how much I like tequila, and then one really good drink reminds me and before I know it I've torn through the tequila section of all of my cocktail recipe books. I've been particularly impressed with the agave section of Death & Co's book, because I expected most of my favorite recipes from the book to be made with gin or whiskey, not tequila and mezcal. But I've found a ton of agave cocktails I love in there. The Almond Brother from two weeks ago was one; the Chingon is another.

It's funny how you actually don't see orange juice in craft cocktails very often. Orange peels, orange bitters, and orange liqueurs regularly find their way into my drinks, but the Mimosa and the Ward 8 are probably the only recipes I've posted with orange juice. The Chingon, however, uses it with pride, along with reposado tequila, Benedictine, lime, and orgeat. I'd say the orgeat is the best part of this drink. The tart and citrusy flavors are rounded out by its sweet nuttiness. The Benedictine is also a wonderful and unexpected touch.

History: Brian Miller created this drink at Death & Company in New York in honor of their barbacks. The name is Mexican slang meaning "badass."

Chingon

2 oz. reposado tequila
1/4 oz. Benedictine
1/2 oz. orange juice
1/2 oz. lime juice
1/2 oz. orgeat

Combine all ingredients in a shaker with ice and shake until chilled. Strain into a coupe and garnish with an orange twist.

Recipe from Death & Co: Modern Classic Cocktails.

Icky-Poo Tonic

I thought about re-naming this cocktail. I really did. I'm sure I could come up with a much fancier, catchier medicinal name. But I just couldn't do it. Because in our house, it is known as Icky-Poo Tonic.

The name should really be self-explanatory. This is a curative cocktail for when you are feeling, well, icky-poo. Achy and sniffly and downright bad. The recipe comes from the incomparable Joy the Baker, and she neglected to name it, leaving it wide open for my ridiculous interpretation. So Icky-Poo Tonic it is.

I usually don't go anywhere near alcohol when I'm sick. My body is already working hard to fend off an infection, I figure, and is too busy to also be filtering alcohol out of my blood stream. But right around this time of year, as Boston begins to yield its warm summer to the frigid claws of fall and winter, I almost always get a bad cold. And it turns out that a nice warm cup of honey and vitamin C with a few glugs of bourbon is exactly what the doctor ordered. It warms you up through-and-through. It won't cure you, but I have yet to find anything that makes you feel quite so good when you're sick.

Icky-Poo Tonic

3 oz. boiling water
3 oz. orange juice
1/4-1/2 oz. honey
1/2-1 oz. bourbon or other whiskey

Pour orange juice into a mug and add boiling water. If this isn't quite hot enough for you, warm it in a saucepan or in the microwave for a few seconds. Add honey and stir well to dissolve. Add bourbon and stir. Feel better.

Recipe adapted from Joy the Baker.

Mimosa

The Mimosa is such a simple cocktail that at first it almost seems excessive to give it its own post. But it absolutely deserves it. It still requires a recipe, after all (how much orange juice to how much champagne?), it has a venerable yet somewhat disputed history, and it is perfect with brunch, which is arguably the best meal there is. It's delicious, it's classy, and you're allowed to drink it in the morning without getting funny looks. I am 100% on board with the Mimosa.

Flowers of the Mimosa, Acacia dealbata.

History: The Mimosa was invented at the Ritz in Paris sometime in the 1920's. It was named after an Australian Acacia tree that was popular with French gardeners at the time; the drink's bright yellow color looked just like the color of the tree's flowers.

However, either the bartender at the Ritz stole the recipe from a club in London, or he invented the same drink right around the same time. Buck's Club served a cocktail called a "Buck's Fizz" consisting of, you guessed it, orange juice and champagne. Apparently Mimosas are still referred to by this name in the UK.

The French version calls for two parts orange juice to one part champagne, while the English version uses the opposite. It's very much a matter of taste; half and half is another option. Personally, I like the English way.

Though most Mimosas are just champagne and orange juice, the original also had a teaspoon of Grand Marnier, an orange liqueur. Buck's Fizz had a half teaspoon of grenadine. David Wondrich recommends trying a dash or two of orange bitters in your Mimosa.

Mimosa

2 oz. orange juice
4 oz. Brut champagne

Pour orange juice into a champagne flute and top with champagne. Optinally, add a teaspoon of Grand Marnier, a half teaspoon of grenadine, or a couple of dashes of orange bitters. Cheers to brunch.

Recipe from Esquire.

Ward Eight

Before we get to the Ward Eight, check out the Mixology Monday roundup over at Putney Farm. It was fun to see what everyone made with their "hometown hooch." Boston was well-represented. Fred Yarm of Cocktail Virgin Slut made use of Bully Boy's Hub Punch, a fruit and rum concoction based on a historical recipe, for the Hubba Hubba. And Drink Something Completely Different went for Bully Boy Boston Rum and St. Elder in the Old Boys' Club, which sounds right up my alley. It's high time I sprang for a bottle of Green Chartreuse.

Since we're talking about Boston booze, it's appropriate that today's cocktail is the Ward Eight, as you'll soon see.

The Ward Eight may be pink, but it doesn't taste like it. As I was making it, I realized that this recipe is really just a riff on an Old Fashioned. Rye, bitters, sugar, orange. Using a half ounce of orange juice instead of just lightly muddling an orange slice amps up the orange flavor, and replacing simple syrup with grenadine adds a tartness that is enhanced by the addition of the unexpected ingredient, lemon juice. The lemon juice really makes it more of an Old Fashioned-Whiskey Sour hybrid. It's sweet and tart but still spirit-forward. Definitely one of my favorite drinks containing grenadine.

History: This is the first classic cocktail I've featured that has its origins in Boston. In his book Imbibe!, David Wondrich introduces it as follows:

The Ward Eight looms large in the mythical history of mixology, wherein it is the Champion of the Hub, proving to one and all that when Boston was called on to contribute a Cocktail to the great pageant of American intoxication, it did not say "I shall not serve."

Okay, so maybe it's the only classic cocktail that has its origins in Boston. The Ward Eight was invented at Locke-Ober, which was located just off Winter Street in Downtown Crossing. This beautiful restaurant was the third-oldest in the city before it closed in 2012. I feel fortunate that I got to attend a dinner there before it shut down. It was a lovely building of dark wood paneling, rich carpets, and red leather chairs and sofas. I'm not surprised it was the birthplace of a classic cocktail.

Martin Lomasney

The subject of our story is Massachusetts politician Martin Lomasney. He had been on the Boston City Council and was considered the "ward boss" of Ward Eight, Boston's West End. This meant he carried some serious political clout in the district. The title is often used in conjunction with political corruption and organized crime, but that wasn't Lomasney. Though he occasionally bent the rules, he fought against corruption in Boston, so fervently that he was even shot by a contractor he had gotten fired for cheating the city. In the hospital, he commented, "People might not like their Aldermen, but they don't think we should be shot without a fair trial."

Lomasney shunned the term "ward boss," as well as "czar," which the media tried to christen him. The nickname he finally accepted was Mahatma, upon hearing that it implied more of a spiritual leadership.

In 1898, Lomasney was running for a seat in the state House of Representatives. He and his supporters were at Locke-Ober celebrating his victory... the night before the election. (And we think politics are bad these days.) They asked the bartender to invent a cocktail in Lomasney's honor, and the Ward Eight was born.



Of course, there is contention surrounding this story. Most sources say the bartender's name was Tom Hussion, but Imbibe claims Hussion didn't start working at the restaurant until 1900; the other name floating around is Billy Kane. Unless, of course, the party wasn't at Locke-Ober at all, and the drink was invented by Charlie Carter in 1903. David Wondrich says the election in question wasn't until 1905 anyway, but I'm not sure; it appears Lomasney did serve in the state legislature in 1899. And Wondrich also says that Ward Eight was what is now Roxbury and the South End, which is incorrect. (He adds "Where, it's safe to say, one of these hasn't been poured in fifty years." ARE YOU KNOCKING THE SOUTH END, DAVID WONDRICH?)

Anyway, the whole thing is a bit ironic since Lomasney didn't drink. But thank goodness his supporters did, so that Boston does not have to shoulder the shame of not contributing to "the great pageant of American intoxication."

Check out this piece for more on Lomasney. I'll leave you with his most famous quote: "Never write if you can speak, never speak if you can nod, never nod if you can wink."

Ward Eight

2 oz. rye whiskey
1/2 oz. lemon juice
1/2 oz. orange juice
1/4 oz. grenadine
2 dashes Angostura bitters

Combine all ingredients in a shaker. Add ice and shake until well chilled. Strain into a cocktail glass or coupe, and garnish with a cherry, a slice of orange, or both. Toast the Mahatma of Ward Eight.

Recipe from The Kitchn's 9-Bottle Bar.