David Wondrich, cocktail historian and Jerry Thomas expert, says the Manhattan “…Probably dates to the Manhattan Club, which was a social club for rich Democrats at Fifth Avenue and 15th Street in the 1870s.” Accustomed to the maraschino cherry standards of a modern-day Manhattan, I was pleasantly surprised when I was recently served a variation from Wondrich’s book Imbibe! Remarkably smooth and even a touch sweet, this has been my favorite drink I’ve quaffed in a long time.
***
The Manhattan
From Imbibe! By David Wondrich, 2007.
Based on a recipe by Jerry Thomas.
1. Fill a tumbler with ice; add all ingredients and stir until the outside of the glass is cold.
2. Strain into a martini (cocktail) glass, and garnish with a cherry or a twist of lemon peel.
***
Ready for another variation of this classic drink? Try Madame X‘s Dirty Cherry Manhattan. The second stop on the 19th C. Pub Crawl, Madam X serves up a Manhattan made with Basil Hayden’s 8-year-old bourbon, sour cherry syrup and sweet vermouth. For a full list of Madame X’s cocktails, go here.
When Absinthe became legal in the states, the first drink cocktail enthusiasts began mixing up was the Sazerac. Invented in New Orleans circa 1870, it’s based on an even older Cognas drink invented by Antoine Amédée Peychaud; his bitters are indispensable in creating this cocktail.
four dashes absinthe
2 ounces rye whiskey
3 dashed Peychaud bitters
1 teaspoon simple syrup
Mint
1. Pour absinthe into a rocks glass, and swirl it around until the bottom and the sides of the glass are coated. Pour out absinthe.
2. Add ice, then whiskey, bitters, and simple syrup. Still until the outside of the glass is cold. Garnish with a sprig of mint and enjoy.
***
For an updated version of this recipe, order the 17th Street Sazerac at Rye House, the first stop on the 19th Century Pub Crawl on Saturday. Metromix New York, who inspired this post, had this to say about the modernized cocktail: “Made from Rittenhouse Rye, Hine Cognac, demerara syrup, Peychaud and Angostura bitters and Marteau Absinthe, the drink has all the anise zip of the original, but a deeper tone as well. Not a traditional 1835 pour by any means.”
Sounds ok to me, but I may be more tempted by the Rye House Punch, a combination of chai infused Rittenhouse rye, Batavia Arrack, lemon, grapefruit, Angostura bitters, and soda. Not only do I love a good chai tea, but I am fascinated with Batavia Arrack, a popular 19th century spirit only recently re-introduced to the market. I’m going to pick up a bottle to experiment with some 19th-century recipes, but I can’t wait to try it in a Victorian-inspired cocktail on Saturday.
When the weather gets all warm and luscious like this, all I want to do is drink. I want to sit under a tree and sip a frosty cocktail. So, to lead up to Saturday’s 19th C. Pub Crawl, I’m declaring it Cocktail Week. Everyday, I’ll be posting the recipe for an iconic 19th-century cocktail and featuring a pub crawl bar that serves up their own version of a classic concoction.
Today is a very special HDM, because I am collaborating with the lovely Susan LaRosa of a Cake Bakes in Brookyln. Susan focuses on early 20thcentury cakes and she plans to make several hundred of them from handwritten recipes reclaimed from flea markets in Ohio.
I love the way Susan brings these recipes to life. Because they are handwritten, each recipe has its own individual character. They seem to speak about the woman who sat down and penned them 75 years ago or more.
Susan and I decided to trade, and bake cakes from each other’s collections. I loaned her a cookbook published in the 1880s which has pages of handwritten cake recipes attached in the back (like “Altogether Cake“). Susan gave me a stack of her own materials to pick from, but I knew right away which one I wanted: Mrs. Osborn’s Cakes of Quality.
The book is brittle and crumbling; the pages within are individually typed and simply bound. The book was sent to housewives across the country who wrote in and requested Mrs. Osborn’s advice. Who was she? We don’t really know. Her writing seems to indicate she was a woman left without means who turned to baking to support herself. Susan calls her the “Patron Saint of Cakes,” and wrote this post about what she knows about Mrs. O and what she’s trying to find out about this mystery woman.
The introduction to Mrs. O’s book declares: “If you follow my directions, you simply cannot fail. You’ll earn the admiration–perhaps the envy, in some cases–of your neighbors. None of them will be able to make cake which will equal yours.” Her writing has an air of letting you in on a great secret–and Mrs. Osborn’s cake making techniques are wildly different. She has you put the cake into a cold oven– a cold oven!! Mrs. Osborn suggests: “Try Puff Cake first. This is a fine cake and very easy to make. This will acquaint you with my system and then you will be ready to make Angel, Klondike, and the others.” Who was I to disagree? Puff Cake it is.
***
Puff Cake
From Mrs. Osborne’s Cakes of Quality, by Mrs. Grace Osborne, 1919.
I have a confession: despite my mother constantly admonishing my sloppy measurements as a child, I’ve grown into a sloppy baker. Baking does take a certain understanding of chemistry, yes; but not until watching Top Chef did I realize outsiders saw it as a secret alchemical art form. I find baking as easy as cooking: it allows for some improvisation and (thankfully) there is some margin for mistakes.
But Mrs. Osborn threatened me to “…Do exactly as I tell you,” and I did. I sifted and sifted and leveled my measuring cup with a knife—a practice I’ve not kept up since leaving the watching eye of my mother. The cake mixed well, but I was nervous about trying Mrs. O’s baking techniques. I have no idea how she monitored her baking temperature so exactly– even using a thermometer. It seems like it would be an hour and a quarter of constant fussing to get the temperature just right. I decided to bump my temperature up at the end of each 15 minutes and see what happened.
I ended up pulling the cake out of the oven fifteen minutes early. After it cooled, I cut it and saw it had gotten a little dark on the bottom–not burned, just browned. My roommate and I tried a slice: “Tastes like cake,” he said. It was exactly what I had been thinking.
The cake was very fluffy from the beaten egg whites and had a butteryness that angel food cakes lack. The browned bottom tasted oddly like a pretzel at first; then, the next day, it tasted downright bitter. The cake will be disposed of.
Although I’ve had a bit of a disaster with Mrs. O’s baking methods, I’m still tempted to try another cake from her book. But at the moment, I’m not inspiring any cake-envy.
It is the KENTUCKY DERBY today, and you know what that means!! Mint Julep season is kicking off, and in my mind, that means summer has arrived! Oh, how I love a mint julep!!
The below quotation is from a Captain Marryatt, a “gallant” English seaman with a penchant for the “nectareous drink” we Americans call a julep. The Captain’s adulation of this cocktail was reprinted inHow to Mix Drinks by Jerry Thomas (1862),
“I must descant a little upon the mint julep, as it is with the thermometer at 100 one of the most delightful and insinuating potations that ever was invented and may be drunk with equal satisfaction when the thermometer is as low as 70… I learned how to make them and succeeded pretty well: Put into a tumbler about a dozen sprigs of the tender shoots of mint upon them put a spoonful of white sugar and equal proportions of peach and common brandy so as to fill it up one third or perhaps a little less. Then take rasped or pounded ice and fill up the tumbler… As the ice melts, you drink. I once overheard two ladies talking in the next room to me, and one of them said ‘Well if I have a weakness for any one thing it is for a mint julep!’– a very amiable weakness and proving her good sense and good taste. They are in fact, like the American ladies, irresistible “
***
Captain Marryatt’s American Mint Julep
Adapted from How to Mix Drinks by Jerry Thomas (1862)
1 heaping teaspoon superfine sugar
1 teaspoon water
5-6 sprigs of mint
1.5 ounces Cognac (whiskey can be substituted here with equally pleasing results)
1.5 ounces Peach Brandy
Place mint, sugar and water in the bottom of a julep cup or rocks glass. Muddle until the flavor of the mint has been released. Fill up glass with crushed or shaved ice, then add alcohol. Stir vigorously until the outside of the glass is foggy with condensation and cold to the touch. Enjoy.
This julep is my Derby standby. Allow yourself the pleasure of the addition of Peach Brandy (or a teaspoon of peach bitters) to your everyday Julep routine. You won’t regret it.
This is Thomas’s rather decadent first entry in the “Julep” chapter of his book.
1 heaping teaspoon superfine sugar
1 teaspoon water
10-12 sprigs of mint
1 ounce Cognac
1/5 ounce Dark Rum
Orange slices and berries
Place half the mint mint, sugar and water in the bottom of a julep cup or rocks glass. Muddle until the flavor of the mint has been released. Fill up glass with crushed or shaved ice, then add Cognac. Stir vigorously until the outside of the glass is foggy with condensation and cold to the touch. Use you stir or spoon to pull out the mint springs; insert fresh sprigs into the ice with their stems downward. Arrange berries and orange slices within this mint bouquet, pour the rum over top, and sprinkle with sugar.
***
This was the first time I’ve tried Thomas’s julep recipe: Drunk through a straw, the cocktail is actually pretty amazing, albeit a little over the top. The straw is necessary, so you don’t whack yourself in the face with mint every time you take a sip. The liquor is sweet and very, very minty. I think I’ve been skimping on the mint in my juleps: one should pack that glass full for the best flavor. The fruit on top, drizzled in rum and sprinkled with sugar, is also special treat.
But one needn’t be so extravagant in their julep enjoyment. Don’t just savor a Julep this Saturday, but sip them all season long. Remember: the Mint Julep is the drink of the summer!
***
A Very Fine Charlotte Russe
From The Lady’s Receipt Book by Eliza Leslie, 1847
***
I’m not going to provide you with a modern version of this recipe, because I discourage you from making it. It didn’t taste bad, but the effort just wasn’t worth it. However, I will walk you through the steps I took to recreate this “elegant” dessert.
First, I baked a cake. I googled around for an almong sponge cake recipe (thank you, Martha Stewart). I baked the cake in a glass bowl, so that it would begin to take the shape of a domed mold. When it came out of the oven, I hollowed out the middle and saved the resulting cake scraps. While still warm, I pressed the cake into a smaller bowl to create a deep well to recieve to all the very fine custard I was about to make.
I boiled one cup of whole milk with a vanilla bean and a few blades of mace. After about ten minutes, I removed the milk from the heat and plucked out the bean and mace, and whisked in one cup of heavy whipping cream. I set this mixture aside to cool. In the meantime, I beat three large eggs in an electric mixer until aerated and light in color. When the milk mixture was room temperature, I added the eggs in a slow drizzle, whisking constantly. I returned it to a medium heat on my stove top and cooked it for about ten minutes, stirring constantly. The resulting custard went into the refrigerator to cool.
In the meantime, I busted out my Isinglass, and dissolved it in a cup of boiling water. Here’s where things went a little wrong: I think the isinglass needed to be boiled in the water for a longer time. After it cooled, and I mixed it with my custard, it left tapioca-like beads in the pudding. It was an unpleasant texture that I think could have been avoided. Lesson leaned: cook that isinglass long and hard.
I added four tablespoons of sugar to the custard and isinglass mixture, and set it aside. I measured out a cup of white sugar into a bowl, and rubbed it on the skins of two lemons. This is a trick also used in punch making; it releases the flavorful oils contained in the lemon’s skin. I juiced the lemons and added the juice to the sugar, then added one cup sherry and half a cup brandy. I stirred the mixture until the sugar was dissolved. I added four cups of heavy whipping cream, and again used my mixer to beat the heck out of it. The resulting boozey whipped cream was folded into the custard, and this mixture went straight into my almond-cake-mold. I covered the bottom with the cake scraps I had set aside. I put it in the refrigerator to set.
An “icing made in the usual manner” meant a royal icing: a basic recipe of egg whites, powdered sugar, and egg whites. After about half an hour, the almond cake and custard was set. I flipped it out of the mold, iced it, and decorated it with fresh raspberries.
Jebus. This is a fussy recipe to say the least. The luxury of an electric mixer was an incredible time saver; note that to prepare this recipe in 1847 you had to make two meringues and one whipped cream BY HAND. Not to mention I had the modern conveince of a refrigerator to set the custard. The entire process still took me well over an hour to complete. The end result? Underwhelming. Edible, sweet, and boozy; but somehow not worth all the effort that went into it.
I think the point of this recipe was not the taste; but rather all the work that went into it. I find it hard to believe that the average housewife was preparing a Very Fine Charlotte Russe, even for the most special occasions. However, most middle and upper class households had servants. Time consuming and labor intensive, the job of the cook was the first to be relinquished by the lady of the house to hired help.
After the turn of the 20th century, when the servant trade began to fade, the lady of the house instead turned to new convenience foods. Canned, pre-packaged, and easy to prepare, she would use these products to cut down on cooking time, so she could use her day for other pursuits (and when I say she, I mean you and me).
So I believe a Very Fine Charlotte Russe was a recipe desgined to show off the skill of one’s servants and the wealth of one’s household. At any rate, stay away from it, unless you’ve got a few servants of your own.
A Gentleman strolls through Boston on the 19th Century Pub Crawl.
Over the weekend, the 19th Century Pub Crawl went on the road for one wild night in Boston, home to some of America’s oldest bars and most notorious dens of vice.
The crawl met at Eastern Standard, a new bar that focuses on the revival of classic cocktails. The capable bartenders put together a custom drink list featuring authentic 19th century imbibements. I had myself the “19th Century,” a drink previously known as the Old-Fashioned, and originally known at the Cock-tail. A mix of rye, bitters, and a twist of lemon, this delightful and refreshing drink was the first cocktail, and is the origin point from whence all other cocktails were birthed. I also had the Japanese Cocktail, invented by Jerry Thomas–surprisingly delicious, and perhaps my favorite drink of the evening.
The custom 19th Century cocktail list at Eastern Standard.
If you are ever in Boston, I highly recommend dinner and a drink at Eastern Standard; their hospitality was touching, their bar-craft unparalleled.
The “19th Century” at Eastern Standard.
The crawl participants met and mingled; and, lubricated with a few fine cocktails, became fast friends. By the time we left Eastern Standard, we had 40 crawlers in tow.
An admittedly blurry photo of the crawl making its way to the Red Hat.
We traveled via subway to the Red Hat, a bar founded in 1906 in Boston’s old Theater district (later a neighborhood known for its burlesque shows). We settled in upstairs, next to the antique bar, and surrounded by a charming mural of old Boston. The ambiance was lovely.
I was won over by a small advertisement on my table and ordered a Kraken and Coke. Kraken is a new brand of “Black Spiced Rum,” which comes in an amazing jug-like bottle adorned with an angry sea monster. Ever since spotting it at Astor Wine & Spirits last month, I’ve been meaning to try it out. I was very pleasantly surprised–Kraken is sweet and spicy, and an incredibly pleasant companion to Coke. I recommend it.
Kraken & Coke. Release the Kraken!
Next, we trotted down the street to Union Bar at the Union Oyster House. The UOH is the oldest continually operating restaurant in the U.S., having been founded in 1826. It was the first bar to pass out wooden toothpicks in the 1860s. Despite my track record at previous pub crawls, I did not slurp up any oysters. Instead, I was bought a whiskey on the rocks by a woman in a dashing hat. Perfect.
We ended up skipping the Bell in Hand Tavern after sizing up the line in front of the door that extended around the block, and discovering there was a $10 cover. Boo. The next time I’m in Boston, I’m going to stop in for a burger and a beer; it is one of the oldest bars in America, after all.
Left: The discreet, nondescript hallway that leads to Drink.
Instead, we headed across the river to Drink, another new establishment known for exploring the history of cocktails. After six hours of drinking, I still had a party of twelve ready for more. When we got to Drink’s front stair, we were met by the doorman who (to quote a fellow pub crawler) had “the most amazing Chester A. Arthur mutton chops.” He sized us up, nodded and said: “I heard you guys might be headed our way. Let me see what I can do.” He disappeared inside, and I addressed my loyal troupe of 19th century gentleman and ladies: “He says there’s at least a 45 minutes wait; last call is in 90 minutes. I’m read to wait them out; who’s with me?” Everyone agreed we were in it to win it.
Ten minutes later, the door opened. Chester A. smiled: “Welcome to Drink,” and he swept us inside.
Drink is a magical place; if you can get in, go. There is no menu, which at first strikes you as annoying. But in fact, it allows you the opportunity to chat with your adorable server/bartender who will say things like “I’ve got the perfect drink for you!” He started me off with another Cock-Tail, then an updated old-fashioned. Some of my companions asked for egg drinks, which are unrivaled at Drink. I think that’s what opened the gates for what happened next.
We were suddenly presented with a “special cocktail,” I didn’t catch it’s name. It has specific instructions for consumption: first, you smelled it. A big long whiff. Second, you sipped off the meringue-like egg white that sat on the drink’s surface. Last, you threw the drink back like a shot, imbibing the alcohol and the egg yolk which sits at the bottom of the glass. The egg yolk bursts in your mouth. As mine ruptured, I thought to myself: did I really just eat that raw egg?
Althought we all commented how sober we were on the walk to Drink, by the time we piled in cabs around 1:30 am, we were 3-5 sheets to the wind. Total Eclipse of the Heart came on the radio, and I sang it all the way back to my brother’s apartment in Cambridge, where I met a few friends for just one more drink.
They’re pointing to the “Gentlemen’s Room.”
I’m now safely entrenched back in New York city, still basking from the warm glow of a night of fine drinks, and even finer friends. I met such lovely people. And if you missed the Boston 19th Century Pub Crawl this year, worry not. There’s already plans for a repeat performance next spring. And for those of you in New York, and those of you willing to hop a Fung Wah to get here, the New York 19th Century Pub Crawl is right around the corner on May 15th. Check out our proposed route, and I hope to see you there!
Port Wine Jelly
From Directions For Cookery, In Its Various Branches. By Miss Leslie, 1840
1 cup of water
1 oz isinglass
1 oz gum arabic
2 cups port wine
2 ounces rock candy, or 3 tablespoons sugar
½ nutmeg, grated
1. In a medium saucepan, heat water and isinglass, stirring constantly until isinglass has dissolved. The resulting liquid with be thick and tapioca like
2. Add wine, gum Arabic, sugar and nutmeg. Bring to a boil, and boil for ten minutes. Stir constantly, because things get stuck to the bottom, boil over, or burn.
3. Strain through a cloth, like muslin or several layers of cheesecloth. Pour into a mold (I used four ramekins). Set aside until it comes to room temperature, then refrigerate overnight.
***
When I was cooking the isinglass, it had a distinct ocean smell. Like salty sea air. I guess that’s because it comes from inside a fish. The gum arabic also had a distinct smell–like an old jewelry box. When I cooked everything together, it had the consistency of simple syrup.
After I poured the concoction in a mold and let it set, I popped it out of the ramekins and cut a slice to sample. I was already surprised– the texture was not at all how I thought it would be. I was expecting something like a jello; in reality it was more like fruit leather or Turkish delight. Very dense.
It didn’t taste very good—it made me make an unhappy face. The flavor of the chemical ingredients was stronger than that of the port wine. It might have been enjoyable if consumed in a time when their weren’t a lot of sweets available, like in the early 19th century, but in the 21st century it’s really pretty blah.
BUT–I was thrilled that it came together chemically. I mixed together strange bags of suspicious looking substances, and the final product set just how it should. Who figured this stuff out in the first place? Like “Let’s make a fancy dessert out of these crispy strings I found in a sturgeon!”
It makes me brave to try my next isinglass experiment, a “Very Fine Charlotte Russe.”
Hey, Bostonites! (Bostonians?) Come join us for a night of nineteenth-century debauchery at Boston’s oldest bars and most notorious dens of vice!
We will meet promptly at 5:30 PM at Eastern Standard (528 Commonwealth Avenue) for classic cocktails and complimentary appetizers. We will then proceed to Red Hat Café; Union Oyster House; Bell in Hand Tavern; and, should we still possess the fortitude and sobriety, Drink.
The crawl is FREE to join. Appropriate nineteenth century attire is encouraged, but by no means required.
This post is belated, but I wanted to share the results of the Sugar Sweets Festival last weekend.
I made about 300 cookies, wrapped in snazzy packages of three, and 90% of them sold! I was thrilled, not only to make a little money for the Reliquary, but because I was afraid the recipes I selected would be too strange for the modern pallet. On the contrary, they were a big hit.
I worked on a simple, professional package design.
I made four kinds in total. The Cayenne Gingerbread was the best seller. In Mrs. Beeton’s Book Of Household Management, she says: “…a great
authority in culinary matters suggests the addition of a little cayenne pepper in gingerbread. Whether it be advisable to use this latter ingredient or not, we leave to our readers to decide.” I say YES, Mrs. Beeton! The gingerbread cookies I baked from her recipe were familiar, yet spicy and complex, with a little kick to the aftertaste. They received rave reviews at the bake sale.
I also baked up a batch of Jumbles, a mid-19th century butter cookie, that are rolled in a loop and sprinkled with powdered sugar. The recipe comes in endless variations; I decided upon a batch flavored with lemon and mace.
I attempted a few dozen Almond-Rosewater Macaroons as well. Although I thought they were the tastiest, the cookie was too delicate to survive transport to the bake sale. Most of them crumbled upon arrival, and did not look as fetching as they could have. The recipe needs work, but I think it still has potential.
The most pleasant surprise of the day was finding out the my Chocolet Puffs, an 18th century meringue cookie, won Best in Show in the baking contest!
Yay!
My prize was a $25 gift certificate to Whisk, a cooking supply store in Brooklyn. I think I might use it to invest in a pair of cookie sheets; I’ve been baking on borrowed sheets!
I was delighted to be a part of the Sugar Sweets Festival. It allowed me to work the kinks out of my recipes and to develop sensible packaging for my product. Most importantly, I discovered that people actually liked these cookies and were interested in their story. I don’t know where these lessons will take me next, but I’m willing to keep going.
Next: The story behind my award-winning Chocolet Puffs.
, 1926
I love the way Susan brings these recipes to life. Because they are handwritten, each recipe has its own individual character. They seem to speak about the woman who sat down and penned them 75 years ago or more.
1. In a medium saucepan, heat water and isinglass, stirring constantly until isinglass has dissolved. The resulting liquid with be thick and tapioca like
