Imbibe!
Page 25
These, then, are the two mixological theories on the origin of the Manhattan and, by extension, the Martini. The earliest recipes provide support for both. However spirits and vermouth first came together, once joined they quickly demonstrated that drinks as complex and subtle in flavor as the most baroque Regency-era Punches could be turned out over the bar as quickly as Stone Fences or Black Strap. The author of the anonymous 1898 Cocktails: How to Make Them nailed it when he wrote, “The addition of Vermouth was the first move toward the blending of cocktails.” The Martini would ultimately be this new movement’s standard bearer, but it was the Manhattan that was the first out of the trenches.
The Manhattan Cocktail is a New York native. That much everybody agrees on. Things begin to come apart a bit in the details, though—specifically, in the universally repeated story that it was invented for a banquet hosted by Jennie Jerome, Winston Churchill’s mother, at New York’s Manhattan Club to celebrate Samuel J. Tilden’s election as governor. This story, one of the most widely propagated of all drink myths, could hold up, except for the fact that the inaugural celebrations happened to coincide with Lady Winston’s delivery and christening of baby Winston—in Oxfordshire. And no, he wasn’t christened with Manhattan Cocktails.
Having sloughed off Mr. Tilden and Ms. Jerome,7 must we also slough off the Manhattan Club itself? According to William F. Mulhall, bartender at the Hoffman House from 1882 until it closed in 1915, we must: “The Manhattan cocktail was invented by a man named Black, who kept a place ten doors below Houston Street on Broadway in the sixties.” There may be some truth in this: City directories from the 1870s do show one William Black operating a saloon on Bowery, although above Houston, not below. On the other hand, there’s significant evidence for the Manhattan Club’s ownership of the drink as well. For one thing, there’s the Boston bartender who stated that “the Manhattan cocktail originated in the mind of the drink mixer at the Manhattan Club’s rooms in New York.” He was interviewed in 1889, thirty-three years before Mulhall’s recollections saw print. This theory was seconded in the pages of the New York Times in 1902 when “Bobbie,” who wrote the “With the Clubmen” column, tossed off as a passing remark that “legend” had it “the Manhattan Club . . . first gave birth to the Manhattan Cocktail.”
The club’s 1915 official history confirms this, stating simply that “The celebrated Manhattan cocktail was inaugurated at the club.” Unfortunately, none of the multitudinous pre-Prohibition references to the Manhattan that I’ve examined indicate what circumstances attended its inauguration. There is, however, the rumor Carol Truax printed in the April 1963 issue of Gourmet, to the effect that the drink was invented by “some anonymous genius” during August Belmont’s presidency of the club, which ran from 1874 to 1879. Since her father had been president of the club himself, in the 1890s, this may have some weight. But it may have even predated Belmont’s presidency. Consider this little item from the Galveston Daily News:
The New York Club has a peculiar cocktail. It is made of the best brandy and several different kinds of bitters, and they always want it shaken in ice, not stirred. The Amaranth Club has a cocktail made with seltzer, and the Manhattan Club has invented another.
That was published in September 1873. Now, there’s no guarantee that this Manhattan Club invention is the drink we all know and love, but there’s nothing here to say it isn’t. If so, it’s extraordinarily early for a Cocktail mixed with vermouth; it would be almost a decade before such things reached general acceptance.
By the mid-1880s, anyway, the Manhattan was common property. Some indications of its progress: On September 5, 1882, the Manhattan made its first appearance in print, in the pages of the Olean (NY) Democrat: “It is but a short time ago that a mixture of whiskey, vermouth and bitters came into vogue,” notes the paper’s “New York Letter.” “It went under various names—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.” By 1884, the Manhattan had made its way into the bartender’s guides. In 1885, the New Orleans Times-Democrat pronounced it “a juicy and delicious compound” while the Brooklyn Eagle had a “solitary, discontented and rocky specimen” of the New York bachelor walking into a swank Broadway restaurant at breakfast time and addressing the waiter with considerable irritation: “Stand still, can’t you? You make a man’s head swim bobbing around so. What I want is a Manhattan cocktail with absinthe, frozen [i.e., with shaved ice in the glass].” The Ranch saloon in Albuquerque was proudly offering it to all and sundry in 1886, with a splash of Mumm’s champagne to boot. The first recipe for a Dry Manhattan turned up in 1891, in the second edition of O. H. Byron’s Modern Bartender’s Guide. The Cleveland Leader dubbed it the “seductive and unconquerable Manhattan Cocktail” in 1892. In the 1894 obituary of Gen. Jubal Early, the most unreconstructed of Confederate generals, it was noted that in recent years “his headquarters for ordinary friends were at the Norvall-Arlington saloon at Lynchburg [Virginia], where his favorite tipple was a Manhattan Cocktail.” Since that’s like Pat Robertson listening to Boy George, it’s a good place to leave things.
Rather than provide a single recipe, I’ve provided three, each illustrating a different school of Manhattanistics.
FORMULA #1 (OLD STANDARD)
These proportions, the same used at the Manhattan Club, were by far the most popular for the first twenty years or so of the drink’s existence. They yield what is essentially a Whiskey Cocktail lightened with vermouth.
(USE LARGE BAR-GLASS.)
TWO OR THREE DASHES OF PERUVIAN BITTERS
ONE TO TWO DASHES [½ TSP] OF GUM SYRUP
ONE-HALF WINE GLASS [1½ OZ] OF WHISKEY
ONE-HALF WINE GLASS [1½ OZ] OF VERMOUTH
Fill glass three-quarters full of fine shaved ice, mix well with a spoon, strain in fancy cocktail glass and serve.
SOURCE: HOW TO MIX DRINKS—BAR KEEPER’S HANDBOOK, 1884
NOTES ON INGREDIENTS: Peruvian bitters were an advertiser in the little bar manual put out by New York’s G. Winter Brewing Co., from which this recipe hails, and must be evaluated as such. Angostura bitters, Abbott’s bitters, and Peychaud’s bitters appear in other early Manhattan recipes, though according to its official history the Manhattan Club made them with orange bitters, which are a nice touch (and endorsed by Harry Johnson, whose opinion is not to be taken lightly). The gum can be dispensed with, without affecting the drink’s allure in any way.
The Manhattan has been enshrined in tradition as a rye drink, but this recipe isn’t alone in calling for plain “whiskey,” which could mean rye, but also bourbon or even a blended whiskey. Out of twenty-odd pre-Prohibition recipes consulted, only four specified which kind of whiskey should be used, and two of those went with bourbon. In the northeast, anyway, that generic “whiskey” would generally be taken as rye, but not always. As much of a rye partisan as I am, I’ve nonetheless found that the choice of rye or bourbon is less important than the choice of 80- or 100-proof whiskey. All things being equal, a 100-proof rye will make the best Manhattan, but a 100-proof bourbon will make a more incisive and balanced drink than an 80-proof rye. This holds particularly true when mixing them fifty-fifty, like this version calls for.
The earliest recipes mention no garnish for this drink—no cherry, no twist. Before long, both found their way in there. Personally, I prefer the twist.
FORMULA #2 (REVERSE)
The one-to-two “reverse” ratio here—essentially, a Vermouth Cocktail with a stick—makes for a light and aromatic drink, if somewhat deficient in Manhattanness (to coin a word). In any case, it was copied a few times by plagiaristic mixographers but had no legs in the marketplace.
(USE SMALL BAR-GLASS.)
TAKE 2 [1 TSP] DASHES OF CURAÇOA OR MARASCHINO
1 PONY [1 OZ] OF RYE WHISKEY
1 WINE-GLASS [2 OZ] OF VERMOUTH
3 DA
SHES OF BOKER’S BITTERS
2 SMALL LUMPS OF ICE
Shake up well, and strain into a claret glass. Put a quarter of a slice of lemon in the glass and serve. If the customer prefers it very sweet use also two dashes [1 tsp] of gum syrup.
SOURCE: JERRY THOMAS’S BAR-TENDER’S GUIDE, 1887
NOTES ON INGREDIENTS: The maraschino makes for a more interesting drink. This is the earliest Manhattan recipe to specify rye, which should again be 100-proof. In place of Boker’s, Fee’s Aromatic bitters work well in this one. The small amount of ice here is a holdover from the Vermouth Cocktail, and indicates a desire to avoid overdilution. A century and a quarter of experience with vermouth in Cocktails has taught us that this need not be a concern, so feel free to ice con brio.
NOTES ON EXECUTION: Some mixologists are just shaker-happy, and the guy who revised Jerry Thomas’s book is one of them. Stir. The claret glass is specified because at 3 ounces before shaking, this drink is bigger than the standard Cocktail glass of the day would safely accommodate; our Cocktail glasses are bigger, so use one. For what to do with the lemon, see the Fancy Vermouth Cocktail (page 236).
FORMULA #3 (NEW STANDARD)
By adjusting the whiskey so that it outweighs the vermouth, this version turns a pleasant, avuncular drink into an incisive, modern one. Kudos to the Only William.
HALF A TUMBLERFUL OF CRACKED ICE
2 DASHES [½ TSP] OF GUM
2 DASHES OF BITTERS
1 DASH OF ABSINTHE
2/3 DRINK [2 OZ] OF WHISKEY
1/3 DRINK [1 OZ] OF VINO VERMOUTH
(A LITTLE [1/4 TSP] MARASCHINO MAY BE ADDED.)
Stir this well, strain and serve.
SOURCE: WILLIAM “THE ONLY WILLIAM” SCHMIDT, THE FLOWING BOWL, 1892
NOTES ON INGREDIENTS: Be sure to use the right whiskey, as specified above. The gum is eminently dispensable. As for the bitters: Angostura is the modern choice, and has always worked fabulously well in this drink. In the Manhattan’s youth, many of its communicants liked the dash of absinthe in theirs, and it does make for a fragrant drink. In fact, if you follow the skilled, creative, and popular bartender William Schmidt’s formula to a T, maraschino and all, you’ve got a drink that is a perfect metaphor for the 1890s, a decade of top hats and electric lights, automobiles and buggy whips. A final twist of lemon peel will do the drink, or you, no harm.
MARTINI COCKTAIL
Whiskey and vermouth having proved itself to be a successful combination, it didn’t take long for the bartenders to fall back on standard procedure and try the red stuff out with brandy (see the Metropole, page 249) and gin—indeed, one or both of these combinations may even have come first. It really doesn’t matter—the way mixology was practiced in the Gilded Age, to try one combination was to try them all. The whiskey version was merely the most successful—at first, anyway: While the brandy one never amounted to much
The Martine, Martinez, Martini or Turf Club, as Mixed (left) and Served (right). From Harry Johnson’s New and Improved Illustrated Bartender’s Manual, 1888. (Courtesy Gary Regan)
with the general tippling public, the gin one, after some tinkering to be sure, would eventually eclipse them all.
The Origin of the Martini is one of those topics that is too large for a headnote; you’ll find my thoughts on it in Appendix III. Suffice it to say that it appears close on the heels of the Manhattan, in the same precincts. Here, I’ll confine my remarks to matters mixological. The early recipes for the Martini (or Martinez, or Martine, or Turf Club) all called for sweet vermouth and Old Tom gin, which was lighter and more mixable than the old-school Hollands that worked so well in the Gin Cocktail. (Hollands combines poorly with vermouth, as the bartenders discovered for themselves—their unanimity in avoiding it in the Martini was no doubt born of experience.) As with the Manhattan, I’ve given three recipes, a Turf Club from 1884, to show the drink in its infancy; a Martinez from 1887, to show the reverse option; and a Fourth Degree, from the old Waldorf-Astoria’s bar book (so circa 1915), to show it in its maturity. (“Origin somewhat mixed,” says the Waldorf-Astoria’s chronicler about the last, “but traceable to patrons of the bar who belonged to some secret society or other.”) I can vouch for the extraordinary palatability of all three.
FORMULA #1 (TURF CLUB)
TWO OR THREE DASHES OF PERUVIAN BITTERS
ONE-HALF WINE GLASS [1½ OZ] OF TOM GIN
ONE-HALF WINE GLASS [1½ OZ] OF ITALIAN VERMOUTH
Fill glass three quarters full of fine ice, stir well with spoon and strain in fancy cocktail glass, then serve.
SOURCE: HOW TO MIX DRINKS—BAR-KEEPER’S HANDBOOK, 1884
NOTES ON INGREDIENTS: For the bitters, see Manhattan Formula #1 (page 240); although for something a bit more integrated in flavor, use Angostura. The loss of Old Tom gin is irreparable, although if you can get your hands on a bottle of the discontinued Tanqueray Malacca you’ll come pretty close. Otherwise, Damrak or Junipero are good, thicker-bodied gins to try. If you want maximum authenticity, add a dash—say, ¼ teaspoon—of gum. As with the early Manhattan recipes, this one specifies no garnish. A twist of lemon peel is always welcome, though. Most early recipes for the Martini /Martinez include a couple of dashes of gum on top of the (sweet) Tom gin and the (sweet) Vermouth. For the modern palate, this is entirely unnecessary—and not just the modern palate: As “Cocktail” Boothby noted in 1891, “The Old Tom Cordial gin and Italian vermouth of which the [Martini] are composed are both sweet enough.”
FORMULA #2: MARTINEZ COCKTAIL
(USE SMALL BAR-GLASS.)
TAKE 1 DASH OF BOKER’S BITTERS
2 DASHES [1 TSP] OF MARASCHINO
1 PONY [1 OZ] OF OLD TOM GIN
1 WINE-GLASS [2 OZ] OF VERMOUTH
2 SMALL LUMPS OF ICE
Shake up thoroughly, and strain into a large cocktail glass. Put a quarter of a slice of lemon in the glass, and serve. If the guest prefers it very sweet, add two dashes [½ tsp] of gum syrup.
SOURCE: JERRY THOMAS’S BAR-TENDERS’ GUIDE, 1887
NOTES ON INGREDIENTS: For the bitters and gin, see Formula #1 (page 244). Maraschino and gin have a particular affinity for each other, and even though the gin is the junior partner in this reverse-proportion Martini, the pairing shines through. For the ice, see Manhattan Formula #2 (page 241).
NOTES ON EXECUTION: Don’t shake, stir!
FORMULA #3: FOURTH DEGREE
ONE-THIRD [1 OZ] ITALIAN VERMOUTH
TWO-THIRDS [2 OZ] PLYMOUTH GIN
DASH OF ABSINTHE
SOURCE: ALBERT STEVENS CROCKETT, OLD WALDORF BAR DAYS (1931)
NOTES ON INGREDIENTS: Self-explanatory. A very simple drink. For an old-school drink, use 1½ ounces of gin to ¾ ounce of vermouth. For a more modern one, go with what’s sugested. As always with a vermouth drink, lemon peel is nice.
NOTES ON EXECUTION: Stir with plenty of cracked ice and strain.
DRY MARTINI COCKTAIL
The Martini, when it hit its stride in the late 1880s, brought a new interest to gin drinks. At the same time, there were new gins coming into the market. Dry, unsweetened gins. In fact, the whole tenor of the age was dry (ironically, since in a few years it would be Dry)—dry champagne, dry gin, dry Cocktails. When, in 1897, the New York Herald asked “the proprietor of a fashionable drinking place” about this, he gave vent to the following:
When a customer comes in and orders a sweet drink, . . . I know at once that he’s from the country. In all my acquaintance with city men, I know not more than half a dozen who can stand drinking sweet things. It is only the young fellows from the farm, with their rosy cheeks and sound stomachs, who can stand a course of sugary drinks. The reason for this is obvious. The more sugar a man takes into his stomach the less he can stand of liquors. A year ago I used a quart a day of ‘gum,’ which is the general term applied to all the syrups used to sweeten whiskies and mixtures. Today I use barely a whisky glass of gum, and my business has increased, too. People are beginning to realize that
their stomachs are not of cast iron. They want everything dry, the drier the better.
We don’t know who poured the very first true Dry Martini—that is, Plymouth or London dry gin mixed with French vermouth and no syrup—but clearly it was in the air. The Herald piece, anyway, gives three separate versions of the drink, under different names. Here’s the one from the Hoffman House; head bartender Charlie Mahoney called it the “Mahoney Cocktail,” but it’s really just a standard, turn-of-the-last-century Dry Martini.