Stinger

Créme de Menthe.  It's a problem.  At best, it is like liquid chewing gum and at worst, a syrupy mouthwash sold to an unsuspecting public as a beverage.  Sadly, good crème de menthe is so hard to find that the words "good"and "crème de menthe" all together have become a kind of oxymoron.   Mostly it's just the budget mixer brands that make anything with that name and, sadly, it bears little resemblance to the aperitif of years gone past which makes hopeless the act of recreating the few drinks that employed it.

Get 27 in Europe is highly regarded but hard to come by in the U.S. Recently, a manufacturer with offices in both France and the Napa valley in northern California called Tempus Fugit has taken it upon themselves to give new life to such forgotten and maligned victims of cocktail fashion as crème de menthe, crème de cacao and, yes, that elixir that makes a vesper, well, a Vesper; a proper kina in their Kina lÁvion d'Or; based on an ancient recipe (or so we would believe).

Taking the road less traveled from most commercial créme de menthes, the Tempus Fugit product (Créme de Menthe Glacial) tastes more like fresh mint with a hint of menthol and other compatible herbaceous flavors than any product currently on the market. More potent in terms of flavor than simply muddling your own mint but stopping just this side of cloying or overly potent, Tempus Fugit Crème de Menthe Glacial is a syrupy mix but one borne of the Earth, not of the factory. With a vegetal nature that shines through the sweetness of the beverage, it tastes rich, deep (in that you'll likely not decipher its secrets in one sitting) and authentic.  This writer is, perhaps, too old (older than 12!) to enjoy this liqueur straight but I have tasted it in the hands of master mixologists and found it more than compelling (and, to be fair, I don't drink any liqueur straight).

Of course, the reason behind this diatribe is that the Stinger Cocktail, which Bond enjoys twice in the novels, is traditionally made with cognac and créme de menthe.

While it dates back to the final days of the pre-prohibition era, the Stinger is possibly the quintessential high society drink for the prohibition era; it is short, fast, potent (hence its name) and easy to make, providing you could get your hands on a decent brandy. When Bond drinks them at all, it is for dessert in posh establishments such as Club 21 in New York and the Nassau Casino which Fleming describes as "a well-run, elegant place that deserves its profit."  This is traditional but, as with many of Bond's tastes and attitudes, a little out of step with the time as Reginald Vanderbilt (father of Gloria and grandfather of CNN anchor Anderson Cooper) had, in the 1920's, popularized the Stinger as a less of a digestif and more of a cocktail; which is to say: a drink decent folks could drink at any time of day, morning, noon or night and not just after a good meal.

 As an after dinner drink, the Stinger is certainly adequate and, if we're honest, we'd rather read about 007 downing a few cocktails for dessert than visualize him tucking into a bowl of ice cream or munching a rice crispy treat like the rest of us. Not only does the choice of a Stinger tell us about Bond's class consciousness but the fact that he has it for dessert tells us a little about his slightly old fashioned tastes and sense of propriety.  Bond does not drink Stingers interchangeably with martinis or with old fashioned cocktails. They have their place and their place is after dinner. And, in this, he is correct.  As a digestif or after dinner drink, the Stinger is thick, sweet and refreshing and it serves to communicate to ones possibly over-worked palette that the meal has come to a close.

The best recipe I could find for the Stinger was in David Wondrich's book Imbibe!:

• 2.25 oz. cognac (I used Remy Martin cognac V.S.O.P.)
• .75 oz. créme de menthe

Shaken, not stirred. I know, it's a spirits-forward cocktail and should, as such be stirred but the crème de menthe is so viscous that it requires a bit of shaking and the resulting dilution from the shaking process is a kindness, particularly when you consider this drink is supposed to be served up in a cocktail glass.

The problem for me is that as a cocktail or stand-alone libation, it doesn't quite work. Too much liqueur makes the drink too sweet, too little makes it harsh, off balance and no careful balancing of the two ingredients gives it the depth of flavor I feel it needs. After experimenting with different proportions and even with different base spirits, substituting brandy for rye and going back again, I decided the best option was to err on the side of too much sweetness and try augmenting it with another element.  After all, Reginald Vanderbilt, the most famous proponent of the drink as more than just a dessert tipple, liked a dash of absinthe in his and, to my tastes, this adds just the depth the stinger needs to stand on it's own as a cocktail.  Jason Wilson, author of Boozehound, calls this a Stinger Royale. I believe James Bond would have raised his eyebrow at that and then ordered two or three doubles in a row before playing a few rounds of Chemin de Fer.

The Stinger Royale a'la Legendre Thirst:

• 2.25 oz. cognac
• .5 oz. to .75 oz. (to taste) Tempus Fugit Crème de Menthe Glacial (if you're in Europe, you might pick up a bottle of Get 27 brand Crème de Menthe)
• 1 dash absinthe (or, if you have them, Cocktail Kingdom Wormwood Bitters are good too)
• Lemon Twist

Shaken and served on the rocks

The sweetness of the drink makes it immediately accessible, even to those to typically prefer juice-based drinks while the brandy gives the drink a satisfying body in the finish which is graced every so elegantly by the absinthe.

The Stinger Royale is still very much at its best as an after dinner drink, owing to the sweetness and the mint but a good friend (and experienced cocktail enthusiast) says she might be just as likely to enjoy her stinger before a robust meal.  Or after a robust meal.  Or in the middle of the day whilst considering a robust meal. Or with coffee to get her constitution ready for breakfast.  Or after breakfast.

Use quality ingredients with the above percentages and I couldn't really see how you could go wrong with that plan.

Tempus Fugit is on Facebook, Twitter (@TFSpirits), on the web and their products are carried by quality craft spirits retailers. I do not have an affiliation with them, only an appreciation of their products.

Sazerac

Technically, the Sazerac isn't so much a Bond cocktail as it is a Leiter cocktail since it's Felix Leiter who orders them while the pair investigate a lead at the Fillet of Soul bar in Harlem in the film version of Live and Let Die. And, sadly, Bond never actually gets to try one because his table sinks into the floor and he is captured by the film's super groovy villain, Mr. Big.

Which is a shame because James Bond would have loved the Sazerac and it might have given a little spice and flavor to this otherwise rather drab entry in the series. It is straight forward, butch and incredibly sensual which is remarkable given how few ingredients are in it.

Sazerac cocktail with absurdly long lemon twist.

This is probably the point where I should come clean and admit that the Sazerac is one of my all-time favorite cocktails. I won't even pretend to be a little objective about this cocktail. It is magnificent. If I were sent to a desert isle with only the makings of one cocktail, I'd likely choose the Sazerac (although I would dearly miss my martini).  I am not a huge fan of anise-flavored spirits but the rinse of absinthe interacts with the rye that brings out the oak, vanilla, tobacco and other notes not usually as present in the whiskey. And it does it in a way that isn't cloying or harsh. Whoever it was coined the phrase "more than a sum of it's parts" was talking about the Sazerac cocktail (not really) or should have been. The flavor of the rye and the flavor of the absinthe almost cancel each other out and become something new entirely with only the best qualities of each remaining.

Initially made with cognac until the phylloxera epidemic of the 1880's and has since been made with rye whiskey, probably because it was easily obtainable and popular in the region. And because it is so old, there is a correct way to make a Sazerac and many incorrect ways; most of which will yield the same drink*. Yes, making a Sazerac is as much respecting mythology as it is mixology.

Strip all the lore away and this is really just a brilliant riff on the Old Fashioned cocktail. It's spirits, sugar, bitters and one extra ingredient, in this case, absinthe. Add a twist of lemon instead of the controversial and entirely unnecessary maraschino cherry and you have an amazing cocktail that only superficially resembles its predecessor.

The "correct" way to make a Sazerac (more or less):

1. Fill a rocks glass with ice (and perhaps cold water) and put to the side to cool.
2. Put a single sugar cube (or more, if you don't like your pride too much) in a second rocks glass
3. Add .5 oz. water to disolve the sugar, and drench the sugar cube in Peychaud's bitters until it's completely red.
4. Muddle the sugar cube until it's mostly dissolved in the water and bitters mixture.
5. Add 2 oz. rye whiskey and stir.
6. Pour ice water out of glass #1 but keep the ice in. Add the whiskey, bitters and sugar from glass #2 and stir for 20 seconds or so.
7. In glass #2, pour in roughly a teaspoon of absinthe, swirl it around to coat the inside of the glass and discard it.
8. Strain the cocktail from glass #1 to glass #2 and then twist a bit of lemon peel (having removed the pith) over the top, run the zest across the top of the glass and either discard or drop the garnish in according to taste (I'd like mine in, please).
9. Kneel in the direction of New Orleans and pay your respects to Tom Handy, ex-manager of the Sazerac Bar

Okay, I made up that last step. But still, if 8 steps sounds like a lot of work for a cocktail with only 4 ingredients, that's because it is.

Here's how I make mine:

1. Put the following into a cocktail shaker or, failing that, pint glass:

• 2 oz. rye whiskey
• 2 dashes Peychaud's bitters (I use 1 goodly dash for each ounce of whiskey. Making a 3 oz. Sazerac? Use 3 dashes)
• 1 to 2 tsp. simple syrup (Or, better yet, gum syrup. For people new to the Sazerac or spirits-forward drinks, I often start with 2 tsp. to ease them into it)

2. Stir with ice for at least 20 seconds. More if your rye is overproof (higher than 80 proof)

3. Rinse a pre-chilled rocks glass with absinthe (if you make a lot of these, it's worth it to use a spray mister to minimize waste of the absinthe)

4. Strain cocktail into the absinthe coated glass

5. Twist lemon peel over the top so the oils from the zest coat the surface of the drink and drop in. Unlike the Old Fashioned, the garnish in this case is not optional. The lemon twist is a key part of the flavor profile.

Dilution is powerful magic. Over dilute and you have weak drink. Don't dilute enough and you have fire water burning a hole in your mouth before you can even get to the flavor. This is cool if you want to show how tough you are but not so cool if you want to make drinks both you and your guests will love.

Another point: Sugar, like salt, is a flavor carrier. It doesn't just make drinks sweeter, it does a lot to open up the complex flavors in spirits.  And, in rye and absithe, there are a lot of flavors just waiting for you to unlock them. If you're used to sweeter drinks, go ahead and use more sugar than the recipe calls for; chances are, you'll end up dialing it back over time to the single teaspoon (aka sugar cube) specified in the recipe.

About the ingredients: Use something decent. The rye has nothing to hide behind so if you go with a cheap brand, you're going to get a cheap tasting result. I like Bulleit and Sazerac as good standard rye whiskeys for this drink. There are others but don't skimp if you can help it.  I like St. George Spirits' absinthe but Kubler or Lucid will do. Stay away from anything died green (Le Torment, aptly named) or, oddly, red.

Also, since this cocktail was originally made with brandy, try a cognac in place of the rye. Or, since they compliment each other so well (cognac adding body to the spicey, sometimes strident rye), try a half rye/half cognac Sazerac for a wonderfully rich alternative.

Cheers!



*I say "most" because once I was served what the bartender insisted was a Sazerac with lemon juice in it. We went back and forth and she instisted that, because she was standing behind the bar slinging drinks, I must have been mistaken. I have only found one book that listed this variation and listed it as a variation, not the original. Still, if your Sazerac has juice of any kind in it, send it back. And tell that bartender that vermouth doesn't belong in an Old Fashioned either and she should really take up another line of work.

 •••