Resurrecting Historic Cocktails

Using a chunk of the money my grandma gave me for Christmas, I attended a classic cocktail class taught by cocktail historian David Wondrich at Astor Center back on April 9. Only now have I dusted my notes to write this belated entry.

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The word “resurrecting” might be inaccurate, admitted David Wondrich as he served a Russian Cocktail made from a lost century-old recipe—possibly the first on record for a vodka-based mixed drink. No, tonight, we’d dabble in necrology, blowing the dust from brittle bartending guides and back issues of long-folded New York dailies. We’d attempt to reassemble the tipples via modern methods and ingredients, Meddling With Powers We Couldn’t Possibly Comprehend. We’d become mixology acolytes. We’d get toasty in the process.

But one must begin with a clear head. Back in the day, cocktails were more complex. Measurements and techniques were written in a shorthand that no longer exists. Some ingredients are gone and can’t even be Googled. (Well, now they can—it’s gotten challenging to unearth drinks that haven’t been rediscovered by some hip bar or rival cocktail historian.)

For example, the ruhinoy in the Russian Cocktail: what is that? The original recipe, which offhandedly notes the drink has been “much appreciated in the Northern part of Europe” and is now appreciated by connoisseurs at the St. Charles Hotel in New Orleans, doesn’t say. At first Wondrich thought it could have been a corruption of ryabinovaya (rowanberry liqueur), then learned it’s an extinct Russian cordial made of cherry stones. Cherry Heering mixed with a splash of Kirschwasser served as a substitute. The funky, nutty flavor of the Kirschwasser, a light and sweet brandy distilled from whole cherries (including their pits), lends a lightness not present in the sweet, dark Heering liqueur but found in contemporary Russian cordials.

Wondrich had perfected the Russian Cocktail adaptation beforehand but he hadn’t touched any of the next four on the syllabus, all recipes likely unmade by anyone living today. It was also the first time, he said, that he’d used his two-liter cocktail shaker (allegedly purchased in a classic metric-system conversion error), in order to make drinks for the class at once.

He made for the class a dry martini using maybe the first recipe (1891), with modern equivalents of Plymouth gin and splashes of Grand Marnier, orange bitters and Noilly Prat vermouth, with a twist of lemon peel. Exactitude in small amounts hadn’t a chance—Wondrich defined “a drop” as “whatever spilled off my barspoon there.” He deemed the finished product light, brisk and bracing.

As an aside to break up these woozy blocks of text, here’s a photo of my class workstation, complete with barware, glassware, copious notes and an egg.

Cocktails simplify over time, shedding frills and minor flavors to satisfy hurried barkeeps.¹ The Jack Rose is a great example of this. Here are the contents of a modern Jack Rose: applejack, lime juice (or lemon; each citrus has its camp) and grenadine. Wondrich found a recipe (again: possibly the first!) from the very-rare 1910 edition of Jacks’s Manual and it has more than twice the number of ingredients, yet retains a certain Jack Rose-ness.

I don’t think the drink was named after him but the Jack of the Manual was one Jack Grohusko, bartender at an Italian restaurant on William Street in Manhattan. Things were different then. He would have been familiar with the Wall Street Jigger, for instance. Back then a normal jigger was two ounces but the Wall Street variety was 1.5 ounces for the traders who nipped in for a quick midday drink and couldn’t afford to leave completely drunk. This adaptation uses the classic bonus ingredients but returns the jigger of ’jack to post-5:00 p.m. proportions.

I picked up some handy tips making this one. Sugar doesn’t dissolve well in spirits so always mix a cocktail’s nonalcoholic ingredients first. For the raspberry syrup, Wondrich alluded to its long-ago popularity by noting it “was the St. Germain of the 1910s.” (He used a brand called Marco Polo.) He also pointed out that he prefers to use applejack, a blend of brandy and grain alcohol, instead of Laird’s traditional bonded apple brandy, which is straight 100-proof craziness and often too harsh for cocktails.

Next, the class crafted a drink from the same manual as the Russian Cocktail. It was a disaster. The Venus combined an egg yolk with dry gin, creme Yvette, lime juice and muddled mint. “This hasn’t been made in 99 years!” said Wondrich, by way of a toast. The group sipped and there was a round of silent frowns. He added, charitably: “This needs to be made with cognac, not gin.” One thing I did learn from this exercise was to not overshake a cocktail with mint—for this one, we treated the mint tenderly, muddling it with the Yvette, then discarding it.

We closed class with a Rag Time Cooler from 1912. My notes get sparse at this point for a variety of reasons but this obscure mingling of spirits was made with two teaspoons lemon juice and one teaspoon sugar, stirred with 1/3 jigger each of dry catawba (a semi-dry white wine not included in Astor’s robust inventory but made in Northern Ohio—we substituted German Riesling), cognac and arrack (for a “funky edge”). We then topped it with seltzer, stirred and strained it into a Collins glass and added a pineapple-slice garnish. Refreshing!

That was the official end of the semester and more than 3/4 of the class left. But I lingered because I figured any outing involving a renowned barkeep/drinker would sport some afterhours action. Sure enough, Wondrich said, what the heck, shame to let these leftover ingredients go to waste. He called the remaining 10 or so of us down from our seats to gather ’round and make a Silver Fizz, a restorative concoction about which he’s written, “Before Alka-Seltzer, there was the Silver Fizz. Damn you, progress!” I toasted Wondrich with this one. Good show!

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¹ Yet, note that the converse of this is true among the Tiki species of cocktail. The original Trader Vic and Donn Beach recipes are much more simple than the juiced-up, fruit-festooned versions often seen today. [back]