By George…the Boys from Finger Lakes Distilling Have Done it Again!

 

“Two hundred gallons of Whiskey will be ready this day for your call, and the sooner it is taken the better, as the demand for this article (in these parts) is brisk.”

Letter from George Washington to his nephew, Col. William A. Washington, 1799

I am just about to crack open my last bottle of the McKenzie Rye Whiskey from Finger Lakes Distilling, so that I might have the proper libation while reading about the lad’s latest adventures.  It seems that Brian and Thomas Earl McKenzie recently returned from a week of working their copper pot magic at George Washington’s reconstructed distillery at Mt. Vernon. They were there as part of a team of handpicked  American craft distillers tasked with the recreation of  our first President’s peach brandy. Click here for that grand tale.

While Washington’s main focus was the production of  rye whiskey, he did develop a taste for the fruit brandies early on–and I am proud to say that it was a Scotsman from my home state  that introduced the good General to the virtues of this particular nectar.Robert Laird served with the Continental forces under Washington, and it was  his family that  supplied  the troops with Apple Jack from their distillery in Scobeyville, New Jersey. 

 Unfortunately for me, while I can get plenty of Apple Jack here in New Jersey, the McKenzie Rye is not yet available for distribution in the Garden State, and the word from the distillery is that their cupboards are bare until early 2011. Even If I were to employ the standard Continental Army ration of  1 gill per man, and then limit my consumption to only every other weekend, I would still deplete the McKenzie before Christmas.  

I guess I better find my  recipe for the  Jack Rose cocktail.

Posted by: Chris Poh

One For My Baby…

Bull Shot - P. J. Clarke's

There are just too many days as of  late when I find myself feeling a level of post meridiem melancholy that would normally be  reserved for those wee small hours after midnight. But this extended period of  pensiveness does justify my singing the first few lines of that Mercer/Arlen classic at least twice a day now.

One For My Baby (And One More For The Road)

It’s quarter to three,
There’s no one in the place except you and me
So set ‘em up Joe
I got a little story I think you ought to know

We’re drinking my friend
to the end of a brief episode
So make it one for my baby
And one more for the road…

The talk around Tin Pan Alley was that Johnny Mercer worked out the lyrics to Harold Arlen’s unconventional 48 bar,  key changing melody while sitting at the bar at New York’s P. J. Clarke’s. Another famous patron would  fan the flame of this American torch standard with a version that would ultimately define tears in your beer and late night laments. And this is only fitting, since Frank Sinatra, who is more often associated with Sardi’s and Jilly’s when it comes to prominent city saloons, would always raise his last glass of the evening at P. J. Clarke’s when  socializing in Manhattan.

In the current issue of American Public House Review there is an effective recipe for a Bull Shot which this editor first discovered while sitting at the aforementioned landmark tavern on a similarly cold gray afternoon  many years ago. It occurs to me that there is just enough vodka left to make two.

So I think I’ll throw on a little Sinatra, and have one for my baby… and one more for the road. (Click the last two links to hear Francis Albert Sinatra do it as only he can)

Posted by: Chris Poh

 

The High Ball – Remembrance of a cocktail

My parents entertained frequently as I was growing up in the 60′s. On many a Saturday night, I was put to bed early while my father and mother hosted festive soirées for the gang from The Presentation BVM Parish Society.  These were not the composed and level-headed “cake and coffee” socials of friends well met through their church congregation.  No, these were Roman Catholics who appreciated gospel stories where the operative metaphor was the miraculous transformation of water into wine. These Faithful accepted as Divine Revelation that Jesus himself enjoyed a party, savored the spirit of the grape, and even knew, but did not always hold to, the etiquette of when, during a celebration, to serve the finest vintage. In other words, The Presentation BVM Parish Society partied at my parents’ humble home in Northeast Philadelphia with a generous flow of love in their hearts and the holy distillation of God’s own harvest in their cocktail glasses. For a while, as any kid would, I fussed about my banishment from the living room and our lone TV. But, I soon discovered that from my stealthy, spy perch at the top of the steps I could secretly bask in the adult exultation downstairs. I also learned that the most popular drink by far which was raised in the countless toasts proposed was the Highball .  .  .  at least it was at my parents’ Kennedy-era galas.

A recipe is available for this cocktail which is simple, but not without requisites. Please click:

The High Ball

Posted by: Ed Petersen