This. If I want to drink sweet I’ll break open a port. Not that much a fan of Calvados, but I love me some high-end Grand Marnier.
Funny thing…years ago we traveled through southern Spain, and I learned to love sherry — especially the dry Finos and Manzanillas, which are drunk chilled with tapas and can even accompany seafood appetizers like grilled shrimp with garlic. I even enjoyed the heavier Amontillados (“For the love of God, Montresor!”). I continue to buy dry sherries frequently and order them in restaurants when special ones are available.
A few years later when we visited Portugal, I rubbed my hands with glee at the thought of gaining a similar education in port. I drank white ports, ruby ports, tawny ports, with food and alone. They were perfectly acceptable (in Portugal) but I’ve never bothered with it back in the States. Like when I drank Scotch whisky all through Scotland but still stick to bourbon and rye at home. Just a matter of taste, I suppose.
Damn your eyes, I thought I’d finished my bucket list… I mean, come on, I skritched manatees and played tag with dolphins, rappelled off Billy’s Buttress and hang glided at Kitty Hawk… but nooooo, now I have to find the perfect Old Fashioned in Wisconsin, single malts in Scotland, amontillados in Andalucía, and looks like I have to run off to Madeira as well*!*
Sounds like you’re in for some fun. Need a traveling valet to lay out your suits?
If I find a white dinner jacket or a banjolele in your trunk, you will be severely punished. Like having to give out the school awards at Market Snodsbury.
That would be wonderful… ah, but you’d need a propah London accent, and be a VAL’ette (as opposed to a val-AY’).
Oh, and you would of course be willing to aid and abet as I nick cow creamers and constables’ helmets. And you’d join the Junior Ganymede Club “for the gentleman’s gentleman”… and have access to The Book.
Thought of this thread today as I sat at a bar (digging into eggs’n’hash as I watched two UWs win). I told the bartender about you folks as he fussed over Old Fashioneds with a wooden muddler.
You both made me laugh so hard the cat got up and left me. Thanks a lot!
What?!? That was a key ingredient in my contest-winning s’mores cocktail! I actually don’t remember all the ingredients; the important parts were dipping the rim of the mug in melted chocolate and then crushed Graham crackers, then throwing in a marshmallow on top of the drink and some Bacardi 151 and setting it on fire. A large group of people in the process of becoming highly educated individuals found this to be a worthy concotion.
Oh, well, fine; I guess I’ll have to pick up one of those once I use up the last of the Bacardi 151 I bought in 2012.
Seriously, though, as a former bartender myself I’m not a fan of the attitude that people who order cocktails with more than two ingredients are jerks. A big part of what bars offer is an experience you can’t get at home (where you could probably enjoy an entire six-pack of that same beer for about what you’re paying for a single pint, factoring in tax and tip). A monkey could mix his own rum and coke. Yes, you’re busy, but you’re also making really good money. Get over yourself and make that lady an appletini.
This afternoon was the first time I made Manhattans with Wild Turkey Rye. A dangerous choice. This sumbitch I’m sipping is wicked smooth. Made 4 to 1 with Dolin sweet vermouth, dash of Angostura bitters and a spoonful of the juice from the cherry jar. Luxardo, of course.
My usual ryes for cocktails are Pikesville, Sazerac and Crown Royal Northern Harvest. All the same and yet all so different. Now Wild Turkey rye goes into the mix.
Oh, and the ideal Manhattan also has to have a random cat hair or 3 land in it before you can finish it. Try to get that level of service at a bar!
Sazerac Rye is made by the Heaven Hill distillery, which makes my favorite bourbon. I tried the rye and did not like it at all — sipped some on the rocks and just said “…that ain’t right.”
I’ve gone back to Old Overholt (aka “Old Overcoat”), which was the one rye available before rye started to come back into fashion about ten years ago.
Tell me, Dear Abby, am I a lost cause?
Old Overcoat?
Son, I’ve got some bad news…
Their Cajun Chicken Alfredo is pretty good, too.
Hi, sorry to trouble you … but I think we were served each other’s drinks by mistake. 
You good by me. (There were two others available in the early 2000s before the whole rye-going-big thing; I know, because I was interested in ryes at that time and had a hell of a time finding 'em: Jim Beam rye in the yellow label and Wild Turkey rye, along with Old Overholt. They were all really decent whiskeys for the price. About $12-$15/fifth in 2003 for any of those three. Far better than the bourbons in the same price range, IMHO. I still love the Old Overcoat.)
ETA: Oh, and I seem to recall Rittenhouse Rye also being available around the same time, a little pricier in the high teens or low 20s c. 2004/5. But, yeah, it was tough to find anything else.
I don’t know… college students are notoriously vocal yet ignorant about beer. When I was in college, the local Texas beers were revered way above what you’d have thought beers of that caliber would be. I mean, Lone Star is as generic of a light American lager as they come, and Shiner Bock is basically the same thing with a touch of dark malt to give it color. It’s not a bock, it’s not more alcoholic, and while it’s not bad, per-se, it’s not terribly good either.
Yet you’d have thought it was brewed on Mt. Olympus by Dionysus himself (with help from Silenus), and then brought to earth by Zeus in a golden barrel for the mortals lucky enough to live in Texas to quaff. And people I know STILL opt for it when there’s loads of better beer out there these days.
Old Overholt is my go to rye. It’s pretty mild for rye, but the price cannot be argued with. I also like the Wild Turkey rye as well as Dickel for less expensive options. All three are unique flavor profiles and all work well straight or in a Manhattan. And Dolin is our favorite line of vermouths. We like the sweet red for Manhattans, the dry white for martinis and the sweet white for summer vodka martinis (add a bit of citrus bitters or orange twist).
Edited to add: Wouldn’t ask for any of these drinks at the Red Lobster. Now the room is spinning round like the blades of a helicopter.
In the early 2000s, my father gave my wife and I gift cards that were good at the local mall. The two of us and a friend went shopping to redeem them. We all came to the realization that this mall no longer catered to our age bracket, so we went to a Red Robin in the mall to redeem our gift cards for cocktails. I had never been to a Red Robin before (or since), but it is a fairly typical Bennigan’s, TGI Friday, Chili’s type mall restaurant chain. My wife and friend ordered what ever silly oversized cocktails that were pictured on the menu. I could see the bar back from my seat, and saw they had Bushmills (my go to whiskey at the time).
Me: “I’ll have a Bushmills and soda.”
Waiter: “Bush milk?”
Me: “No, Bushmills. It’s whiskey. I can see the bottle. Bushmills and soda.”
Waiter: “Oh, OK.” He starts to walk away, “What kind of soda?”
Me (flabbergasted by the question): “Soda, soda, plain soda.”
My Wife: “Club Soda.”
Me: “Club Soda.”
Waiter: “Oh, OK.” He starts to walk away, “Do you want them in the same glass?”
Me: “I want a whiskey and soda. It’s a regular drink. Bushmills is the kind of whiskey I want. Bushmills and soda.”
The waiter leaves, we all say how weird that was, a few minutes later he comes back with our drinks. My friends get neon colored fishbowls, I get a rocks glass with no ice, and flat soda.
Me: “I have never done this before. This is not the drink I ordered. I just want a whiskey and soda. It has three ingredients. Two are in the name of the drink.”
Waiter: “What’s the other ingredient?”
Me: “Ice.”
Waiter: “Sorry, new bartender.”
I watch as the bartender makes my drink. She takes a lowball glass, adds soda from the gun (they are clearly out of CO2), tops it off with Bushmills, adds ice spilling the drink all over the bar, hands it to waiter.
Waiter: “Here you go.”
Me: “It’s one of the simplest drinks in the world. Put ice in a glass, add a measure of whiskey, top off with soda. Why do you even carry whiskey? Just get me a Bushmills, on the rocks. OK?”
Waiter: “OK.”
Me (as he starts to walk away): “Rocks means ‘Ice’.”
Can there be a simpler drink to make?! A glass of good gin, so little vermouth that it actually measures out as 1 bottle cap’s worth, and an olive or two does the trick.
A BOTTLE CAP’s worth of vermouth? Are you INSANE?
I think I just threw up a little in my mouth…
While we’re at it, how much olive juice does everyone here put in a dirty martini? I like it used sparingly, like vermouth should be, but apparently some bartenders don’t like how that leaves these crazy huge appletini glasses looking half-empty, so they pour the rest of the jar in there. Hork.
Agree with your hork.
For vermouth, I was always a proponent of the 5-1 ratio.
For a dirty martini, I always added a teaspoonful, unless specifically directed otherwise by the customer.