Plymouth Gin and the Vesper Martini

I have been by no means a connoisseur of martinis, and it's not the gin.  A gin and tonics was my very, very first mixed drink I had ever had, when I had just turned 21 down in Champaign-Urbana and was hanging out with Toby, Richard and Jacqueline, transfer students from the University of Sheffield, England, who accurately (to my limited palate at the time) described a gin and tonic as described as "drinking Christmas".  So I was pretty well used to the unusual juniper quality of gin pretty early in my "career".  I also learned pretty quickly that every gin is a little different, and that, for my taste, I preferred, for instance, Tanqueray to Bombay and the like in a gin and tonic.  The G&T remained my "go-to" cocktail for a number of years, but, to be honest, even despite becoming increasingly interested in expanding my palate for cocktails, the venerable martini never really piqued my interest.

I can't say I'm more or less likely to try more of them now, but having developed a serious taste for vintage cocktails lately, I was delighted when Kelly returned from a trip to Binny's with some St. Germain, Pimm's No. 1, and a bottle of Plymouth Gin.  Having never tried Plymouth, I decided the best way would be to throw myself into the deep end -- mixing it into a martini.  But not just any martini; I also wanted to try my hand at making perhaps one of the most famous martinis, the Vesper.

The Vesper

• To ice in shaker, add
• 3 oz. gin (I used Plymouth Gin),
• 1 oz. vodka (I used Smirnoff 80),
• ½ oz. Lillet Blanc,
• Shake until cold and strain into chilled cocktail glass,
• Express with lemon peel, and garnish.

This is a classic James Bond martini, first ordered by the main character in the Ian Fleming classic Casino Royale but with different, now unattainable ingredients.  You can't get, for instance, real Kina Lillet anymore.  (Kina, derived from the French word for "quinine", I suppose used to be quite substantially bitter than our Lillet Blanc, which is still a concoction of French wines and citrus liqueurs which has made its way into a surprising number of my recipes lately, but which lacks the quinine which might have given Mr. Bond's drink a bit more complexity than mine.)  Gordon's, the brand of gin specified by Mr. Bond, is actually a top shelf distillate in Great Britain but is a much maligned facsimile here, more on par with "rail" gin.  So in order to make a Vesper, one has to be forgiving of oneself, while attempting to pay homage to the spirit of the cocktail. 

And what a cocktail it is.  As my introduction into Plymouth Gin, I am impressed.  It is certainly the cleanest and simplest gin I think I've had, unencumbered as seems to be with a large number of citrus botanicals that seem to be in vogue at present.  It's hard to tell where the gin stops and the vodka begins, it's so smooth.  That's not to say it has no flavor, though; juniper is present, as is a very gentle citrusy character.  When combined with the Lillet and the lemon, the hints of citrus and dryness are peeled back and there's a really subtle but identifiable peppery finish right at the tip of the tongue.  

I don't know if the Vesper converted me to martinis, but I know that Plymouth is going to remain in my stable for a long time.

Adventures in Whiskey Drinks

Saturday, Kelly and I were doing some experimenting in obscure whiskey drinks.  My friend Wyl has recently decided to give whiskey another go, so I wanted to see if a number of distinguishably different  whiskies could be used in ways that would nuance and understate, rather than amplify and highlight, those highly distinguishable profiles.  The results are below:

The Leatherneck

• Ice in shaker,
• 2 oz. blended Canadian whisky (I used Canadian Club),
• ¾ oz. blue Curaçao (I used DeKuyper's),
• ½ oz. freshly squeezed lime juice,
• Shake into chilled cocktail glass,
• Garnish with lime wheel.

The photo doesn't even do this drink justice.  The Leatherneck is a gorgeous teal color, and tasted surprisingly light.  (Probably was the use of blended Canadian whiskey, which I find to be not as complex as American rye whiskeys or even Bourbons.)

The Fred Collins

• Ice in shaker,
• 2 oz. Bourbon whiskey (I used Four Roses "yellow label"),
• ½ oz. simple syrup (I had to make this.  I put about a shots-worth of water in the microwave for two minutes, then added several heaping tablespoons of sugar to the mixture and stirred until it dissolved.  I don't know if this is necessary, to be honest.)
• Juice of one lemon, freshly squeezed, 
• One splash Cointreau
• 6 oz. lemonade (re: the simple syrup above.  See what I mean?)

This recipe made way, way too much for even two drinks, but, once again, for a whiskey drink, it was surprisingly tart and refreshing.  The Bourbon's oakiness shined through, though, lending a complexity to this drink that would have been altogether different, if not lost entirely, if a fruity or citrusy gin (or, goodness forbid, vodka) had been used.

The Scofflaw

• Ice in shaker,
• 1½ oz. rye whiskey (I used Bulleit rye),
• 1 oz. dry vermouth (I used Martini & Rossi Extra Dry Vermouth),
• ¾ oz. freshly squeezed lemon juice,
• ¾ oz. pomegranate grenadine (I didn't have this, so i used Rose's "nuclear red" grenadine.  This may have been a mistake),
• Shake into iced cocktail glass.

A great drink with a great name, I decided to really punch it up to the max with Bulleit, my spiciest rye, but it remained refreshing and tasty without it becoming overpowering.

All in all, before Saturday I thought whiskeys should be constrained to cocktails where their most potent flavor profiles would be on display (old fashioneds, Manhattans, Sazeracs, and the like).  But as these experiments show, whiskeys can stand up on their own in a number of fashions, lending their characteristics in a number of ways that don't need to be on display to be delicious.  I'm impressed.