Tag: summer drinks

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Food & Wine Food & Drink

Old Tom Collins: A Sippable Summer Cocktail

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At some moment during my teen years, I read a book or watched a movie that included a scene extolling the virtue of a Tom Collins. I’ve tried, desperately, to remember the reference, but no luck — it might’ve been Lisa Birnbach’s The Official Preppy Handbook or Little Darlings or, somewhat randomly, the obscure 1958 melodrama Marjorie Morningstar, which starred Natalie Wood as a love-struck camp counselor.

What I do recall is the sage advice that a girl on a date with a guy she didn’t know so well should stick to drinking Tom Collinses, because the drinks were tall, sippable, and full of soda water. It was highly unlikely that a “nice” girl would get schnockered drinking Tom Collins.

However it was delivered, that kernel of wisdom was permanently lodged into my brain, and for years, I longed for that moment when I, too, could demurely sip on the lemony gin drink. Unfortunately for me, my dating experiences once I reached legal age consisted of nights spent at Midtown hotspots like the Lamplighter and the Antenna Club, where beer was the only alcoholic beverage on the menu. And even today, although I’ve stepped up my game on the local bar scene, the Tom Collins is seldom featured on area cocktail menus.

That doesn’t mean that your favorite Memphis bartender won’t make one for you — or that you can’t mix up your own at home this summer.

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First, the history of this cocktail: The Tom Collins first appeared in bartender literature in 1876 as a kissing cousin to the John Collins, a British drink that was made from either bourbon or gin, lemon juice, sugar, and soda water. It’s likely that the drink was popularized two years earlier, when a practical joke later dubbed “the Tom Collins Hoax of 1874” swept across the United States. Everything’s a bit vague, though — as “the sage of Baltimore” H.L. Mencken once wrote, “The origins of the Tom-Collins remains to be established; the historians of alcoholism, like the philologists, have neglected them.” Nevertheless, by 1878, the cocktail was a mainstay on bar menus. It was — and still is — served in a Collins glass, a tumbler that’s a few inches taller than a highball glass.

Now, how to make it: Start with Hayman’s Old Tom Gin, a sweet, botanic variety that was stocked in every bar in Victorian-era England. Today, you can find it at area liquor stores with a wide variety; I’ve seen it around town for under $26 for a large bottle. An aside here: Old Tom is a sweet and higher ABV strain of gin that, in recent years, is enjoying a resurgence. In addition to Hayman’s version, Tanqueray bottles a limited edition Old Tom variety. At Buster’s Liquors, I’ve also found an American Old Tom gin that’s bottled by the Louisville craft distillery Copper & Kings. All told, there are approximately two dozen variations of Old Tom on the market, although few have made their way to Memphis shelves.

If you don’t have Old Tom on hand, go dry or go botanical. Cook up a batch of simple syrup and let it cool. Squeeze fresh lemon juice. Pack one-and-a-half cups of ice into a Collins glass, and put it in the freezer. Combine two ounces of gin, three-quarters ounce lemon juice, and a half ounce simple syrup in a cocktail shaker. Add ice, cover, and shake until chilled. Strain the concoction into your ice-filled and pre-chilled Collins glass, and top with club soda. Garnish it with a lemon wedge and, if you’d like, a few maraschino cherries.

That’s the easy way. Years ago, Tom Collinses were actually mixed in the glasses they’re served in. To go old-school, just add two ounces gin, the juice of a lemon, and one teaspoon of superfine sugar to a Collins glass. (If you want, chill the glass, filled with ice, in the freezer first, then dump the ice before adding ingredients.) Stir with a tall spoon until the sugar has dissolved, fill the glass with ice, and then top it off with chilled club soda.

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Food & Wine Food & Drink

Mint for Summer: Juleps Aren’t Just for Horse Racing

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A few weeks ago, I spent a Saturday afternoon perched on a stool at the long wooden bar at Café 1912. Friends and I watched the parade of thoroughbred horses lining up to run the 2018 Kentucky Derby, sipping on mint juleps that ace bartender Tyler Morgan prepared for us. Morgan plucked mint from a fresh, aromatic bouquet perched on the bar in honor of the occasion. He also made certain to use Woodford Reserve, the small-batch Kentucky bourbon brand that, these days, sponsors the $2 million-purse horse race won this year by a chestnut colt named Justify.

When I threw back my drink, the rich, syrupy flavor instantly reminded me of the very first time I tasted a mint julep. It must’ve been 25 years ago — sometime in the early-to-mid 1990s. The year might be hazy, but I remember exactly where I was when I tried it. Well, maybe not exactly — I was in a shotgun house that belonged to friends-of-friends in the Bywater neighborhood of New Orleans. We’d spent the evening at the Hi-Ho Lounge, then, when the bar closed, headed there instead of returning to my friends’ place in Gentilly. Someone had suggested juleps, and it seemed like a perfectly Southern thing to do. We had bourbon and sugar. Some of us wandered up the street to clip mint from a neighbor’s herb garden. Another of us mournfully noted the scant handful of ice cubes languishing in the freezer, and headed to the corner store for a fresh bag of ice. Our hostess stood at the stove, making simple syrup which had to chill before we could mix our drinks.

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I was tired, and the wait seemed interminable. I think the sun was coming up by the time we were finally able to toast each other with cups filled with macerated mint, simple syrup, bourbon, and crushed ice. It was worth the wait — and the cocktail’s loose affiliation with the sport of kings brought me luck the next afternoon, when, at the fairgrounds, I won nearly $100 on a $2 trifecta.

Mint juleps have been around since the mid-18th century, when they were prescribed as a remedy for stomach ailments, although the drink’s origins harken all the way back to the Middle East, where thirsty Arabs would order a julab, or rose-water drink.

The lions of the Southern literary canon — William Faulkner, Tennessee Williams, and Truman Capote — all wrote of their fondness for mint juleps. In Capote’s short story “The Bargain,” written in 1950, lost, and finally published in 2004, a character reminiscing about her ex-husband recalls how “we used to go down to the brook and pick mint and make mint juleps, huge ones in fruit jars.” Elsewhere, Capote wrote that “there is nothing better than a mint julep to bring relief from the pressures and pains of summertime.”

Mint juleps aren’t just for horse races. The drinks are as de rigueur as the Stella “shouting contest” at New Orleans’ annual Tennessee Williams Festival, held annually in late March. And at Rowan Oak, Faulkner’s Oxford, Mississippi, home, visitors can glimpse his battered metal julep cup, which is displayed in a glass case alongside an empty bottle of Four Roses bourbon. Yet the best — and most frequently cited — literature on the mint julep belongs to a Kentucky colonel-turned-newsman named Joshua Soule Smith, who penned an ode to the cocktail in 1890. In it, he described the bourbon and mint as “lovers” and declared reverently of the julep that “even the nectar of the Gods is tame beside it.”

With global climate change bringing sultry temperatures and stifling humidity levels to Memphis earlier every year, I’m tempted to escape into a mint julep fog by the end of May and not emerge again until mid-October. Served in a regular highball glass, the cocktail is coolly refreshing. Better yet, pour it into a traditional metal julep cup — I like the charm of used sterling silver cups found on ebay or at an antiques store, although you can easily purchase brand-new cups at Williams-Sonoma, Pottery Barn, or Crate and Barrel. Stick in the freezer for a bit after mixing your drink, so that the cup frosts and the bourbon blend turns into an icy slush. Give it at least 20 minutes — make dinner or take the dog for a walk in the interim.

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Food & Wine Food & Drink

Summer is Cappelletti Season

Last month, I wrote about the enduring appeal and easy sophistication of Campari and soda — and then I walked into my favorite liquor store for a bottle of Campari and walked out with something I love even better: Cappelletti. Billed as a vino apertivo, Cappelletti is, like Campari, a bitter, herbaceous mixer with a touch of citrus.

Both Campari and Cappelletti boast that gorgeous red color. Unlike Campari, Cappelletti is wine based rather than alcohol based, and, as a result, its finish is a bit smoother. Adding to its attraction, a bottle of Cappelletti costs much less than its legendary cousin. The bottle, too, is shaped uniquely — like a WWI-era morphine bottle, according to my savvy salesman. I’m not sure if it’s true, but it makes for a good story.

Since my indoctrination into the world of Cappelletti, I’ve noticed it on bar shelves across Memphis. At home, I prefer to drink it the easy way: over ice with soda, tonic, or Prosecco. At Acre in East Memphis, they up the ante by adding Cathead Vodka and tangerine to Cappelletti and sparkling wine for a cocktail called the End of the Line. Alchemy, at the north end of Cooper-Young, chose Cappelletti for its namesake cocktail, the Alchemist, which combines high-end bourbon, vermouth, and Peychaud’s Bitters with the aperitif. Cafe 1912, a few blocks up Cooper from Alchemy, has the familiar-shaped bottle on the liquor shelf behind the bar, where they’re happy to concoct a Cappelletti-based cocktail of your choice.

Now that the heat is here and farmers markets are in full swing, I’ve moved on to mixing Cappelletti with gin and basil, using a Tom Collins-esque cocktail I found on Food & Wine‘s website. Simple to make, the drink has high flavor rewards. Combine an ounce of gin, an ounce of Cappelletti, a half-ounce of lemon juice, a quarter-ounce of simple syrup, and three basil leaves in a cocktail shaker with ice. Do your thing for a few moments, then double-strain into a tall glass with ice. Garnish with extra basil leaves and lemon slices, and voila! Summer drinking at its finest.

Dinah Sanders’ acclaimed cocktail book The Art of the Shim recommends a drink called the Teresa, which combines two ounces of Cappelletti, an ounce of lime juice, and three-quarters ounce of crème de cassis. Shake until well-chilled, letting some of the ice in the cocktail shaker dilute the alcohol, then enjoy.

Another great cocktail for your repertoire: the Ruby Diamond, which I found on Epicurious. This elegant drink combines gin, mescal, Cappelletti, lemon juice, and orange juice. The ingredients are shaken with ice, strained, and served in a chilled Champagne coupe.

You can’t go wrong with Cappelletti — unless, like me, you decide to share your favorite new liqueur on social media. I Instagrammed a few cocktails — the bottle and its vibrant label in the picture — and the next time I needed a bottle, the liquor store was out of stock.