Preservationists and Historians Rally to Save 19th Century Bar Tujague's

Tujague's is one of the most authentic, unspoiled examples 
of a nineteenth-century bar left in America. 
To lose it would be to not only lose an important link 
with the history of New Orleans 
(a city whose reputation as a place to visit was largely built
 on the character of its old bars and restaurants) 
but with America's history as well. 
I know that with a little patience this historic place 
can be saved, and I pray that that patience is found.

~ David Wondrich
cocktail historian

It's hard to spend much time in New Orleans without, at some point, ending up at Tujague's. The restaurant, built on the site of an old Spanish armory in 1827, is just around the corner from Jackson Square and, although I've never ended a night there, I have begun quite a few days in the cool embrace of its bar. Nursed along several afternoons as well with a Sazerac or a Angostura phosphate in hand. I don't know how old the long cypress bar itself is, but the mirror behind it came from Paris in the decade before Lincoln was elected president. The bar is far older than I and — or so I thought until this week — was destined to survive me.

That prospect is now in doubt.

Errol Laborde, editor of New Orleans magazine, writes about troubling rumors concerning the historic restaurant after its long-time owner, Steven Latter, recently died:

According to the rumors, the building on Decatur Street that houses the last of the original Creole Restaurants and the second oldest (after Antoine’s) restaurant in the city will be sold to businessman Mike Motwani who is known for converting businesses into tacky, touristy T-shirt and gift shops. Motwani supposedly will do the same, though the front part of the building, according to my source, might be used to serve fried chicken.

Laborde pulls no punches. "Preservationists and those who care about urban style and character," he explains, "have long despised Motwani’s businesses." He goes on with a plea to Mr Latter's surviving brother, Stanford, who owns the building itself: "Please Mr. Latter, keep the legacy of your brother’s restaurant alive. At the very least, don't let the builiding fall into the hands of those who don't give a damn about the character of the city."

Ann Tuennerman, founder of Tales of the Cocktail, wrote an open letter to Stanford Latter bemoaning the potential dismantling of such an historical New Orleans restaurant where, it's asserted, the grasshopper cocktail was invented. She writes:

Dear Mr. Latter, 

Let me start by saying how sorry I am about the recent loss of your brother, Steve. In the time I got to know him through my work with Tales of the Cocktail and the New Orleans Cocktail Tour two things always stood out-- his dry wit and his love for New Orleans. He clearly had a deep respect for the history and culture of our great city with the way he ran Tujague’s for more than 30 years 

Now, I don’t claim to be a real estate expert so I can’t speak to getting the most out of your investment. But as the founder of New Orleans Culinary and Cocktail Preservation Society, I do know about our city’s rich history of dining and drinks. Tujaque’s is the place that continued the legacy of Madame Begue’s legendary brunches and where the Grasshopper cocktail was invented. It’s the home of brisket and horseradish and the beautiful long standup bar that takes you back in time when you order a drink. It breaks my heart to picture the doorway of this landmark littered with Drunk 1 and Drunk 2 t-shirts. 

This city is in the midst of a renaissance — one that’s met with both excitement and fear. Every day brings progress that New Orleans hasn’t seen in decades. But the great fear, one that’s generations old, is that with progress comes a cleansing of the culture that makes this place not a just a great place to visit but, more importantly, a great place to live. Culture doesn’t just disappear in a day. Here one day, gone tomorrow. It erodes slowly as people put the bottom line ahead of everything else. But it doesn’t have to be that way. With what you choose to do with the Tujague’s building, you can stand for the peaceful coexistence between progress and culture. 

I know business is business. But sometimes selling to the highest bidder comes with costs that can’t be counted in dollars and cents. Like losing yet another of our beloved restaurants and a piece of the living history that makes New Orleans so special. If you sell the Tujague’s building to the wrong person, the rest of us will be the ones paying for it. So please, Mr. Latter, respect our history, respect our culture and respect the legacy your brother worked his life to build. 

Sincerely,
Ann Tuennerman, Founder of Tales of the Cocktail 

Thank you in advance.

Allow me to add my voice to those who decry the potential loss of such an historic place. If a restaurant must fail, then fail it must. But to sell the building to a businessman who has shown time and again his disdain for the culture and history of one of America's most treasured cities is a gut-wrenching prospect.

New Orleans needs another t-shirt tourist trap like it needs another hurricane.

Goes well with:

• Laborde's piece Save Tujague's — Please is here. 
• A visit to Tujague's while you still can.
• My review of Sara Roahen's Gumbo Tales. In 2008, I wrote "Those of us interested in the drinking and food cultures of New Orleans savor classic cookbooks such as Lafcadio Hearn’s 1885 La Cuisine Creole for shedding light on the origins of creole cooking. Others help explain the growth of both creole and Cajun cookery, such as Paul Prudhomme’s 1984 Chef Paul Prudhomme’s Louisiana Kitchen or John Folse’s recent encyclopedic tomes on South Louisiana cookery (all of which, by the way, contain an abundance of recipes for alcoholic beverages, sips, and nips from absinthe drips to brandy milk punches)." Roahen's book belongs on that same shelf.
• Another rumor circulating is that New Orleans chef John Besh is interested in purchasing the building. For what it's worth, I'm interested in purchasing the building. I'm interested in a lot of things I can't do. If you can't make it to Tujague's for a drink, grab a copy of Besh's 2010 cookbook, My New Orleans. Click for my review.

American Apple Spirits

In the airless, nearly gluey July night, black-suited pallbearers hoist aloft a plain wooden coffin and begin their walk. In their wake, solemn mourners march slowly, thick humidity muffling their every footstep. Musicians follow, their low, brassy dirge echoing off damp stones as they move toward the Vieux Carré. The somber mood doesn’t last; this is, after all, New Orleans, where funerals are as much a cause for celebration as they are for sadness. Within blocks, the band strikes up a familiar Dixieland tune. Smiles and whoops break out as the celebrants form a dancing, singing, handkerchief-waving “second line.” Hallelujah! The saints, those reliable old saints, go marching in once again. Once it reaches the French Quarter, the line spills into a Decatur Street café where liquor flows freely and the party begins in earnest. No one — not a soul — sheds a tear for the deceased.

How could they? It was the Appletini.

* * *

My piece on American apple spirits runs in the Summer 2012 Distiller magazine  — part thumbnail history of apple distillates, part overview of some of today's producers. The bit above is the original intro. Fun to write, but it took too long to get to the point, so I cut it. Ah, well. What's the point of having a blog if I can't occasionally post sweepings from the cutting room floor?

Some of the distilleries covered are Laird & Company, Germain-Robin, Osocalis, Harvest Spirits, Clear Creek Distillery, San Juan Island Distillery, and more. Applejack and apple brandy are the same thing (except, obviously, when they're not), but they're hardly the only apple spirits available. As much as we adore Laird's apple brandy — and make no mistake: we sincerely do — it's not the only option for those who hanker for a bit of the old apple palsy.

Here's a PDF of the piece from Distiller with interviews, historic and modern cocktail recipes, and a look at some of what's available for American consumers.

Getting the Apple out of Apple Whiskey, 19th Century-Style

Among the papers of John Ewing held by the Historical Society of Pennsylvania lies an undated manuscript from about 1810. It describes a process for making a variety of ersatz liquors from a base of apple brandy, often called in early American idiom, apple “whiskey.” Once treated with charcoal and redistilled, such local orchard brandy could be made to seem like French brandy, Jamaican rum, Holland gin, etc. Emulating more expensive imported liquors using local goods was common throughout the colonial era, through the early Republic, and into the twentieth century. Time and time again, I come across recipes for faking one kind of spirit with another in household account books and recipe manuscripts. Though it’s less common these days, one still finds recipes to make, for instance, homemade gin from store-bought vodka.

From an unknown 19th century distiller, here’s

 To make gin out of apple whiskey

Fill hogshead of 100 or 120 gs. [gallons] with apple whiskey, into which pour a bushel of charcoal—stir the charcoal every hour for two days—stirring so often may not be necessary—then draw off whiskey and put it in a still—distill it and it will be found perfectly clear of the apple—In this state if mixed with French brandy, jamaica spirit or holland gin in the proportion of about one third whiskey to 2/3 of foreign liquors it will impart to the liquor any unusual taste or flavor. 

If in the distillation you add 15 or 20 lbs of juniper berries to the hogshead, it will make good gin. 

Before the still is filled 15 or 20 gallons of Water must be put in the still. 

 A 60 gallon still may be run out twice in the day—Charcoal must be made out of maple, chestnut or light wood—must never be wet—When taken out of the coal pit they should be put out by throwing dirt over it—burnt perfectly well—out at the top so as to let the smoke out—to be ground fine.

The manuscript goes on to calculate that the profit on 100 gallons of apple whiskey converted to gin is $16.30, or about $225 in today’s money. Not enormous profit, but if it were steady, one eventually could buy a house.
 
Me? I think it would be a shame to strip the apples from apple brandy, especially when so many good ones are coming back on the market. If you're curious about American non-grape brandies and happen to be in New Orleans next month, check out Paul Clarke's session Fruit of the Still at Tales of the Cocktail. 

Getting a Grip on Smoke: an Idea from Chip Flanagan

Chip Flanagan is on my mind today. Flanagan is executive chef at Ralph's on the Park, a mid-city restaurant directly across the street from City Park in New Orleans. Catching a breeze on the upper story's wraparound porch after a meal is a thoroughly civilized — and mighty enjoyable — way to keep cool on sultry Summer evenings. Helps to have some whiskey in hand (which the bartenders downstairs will happily supply).

But it's the not drinks, the view, or the architecture that's got me thinking of Ralph's; it's what Flanagan has been doing with smoke that's got me mulling options for our new place in San Diego.

Smoked pork belly at Ralph's

Back in December, we bought a 1914 Craftsman house. The sellers had hidden the pad for the original garage out back under a layer of new mulch next to loquat and lilly pilly trees. It was well disguised and we took nearly a week to discover the deception.

The options, as I see them, are two; (1) keep it or (2) get rid of it. The area gets a lot of sun. If we rip it up, I can plant avocado or citrus trees in the 180 square feet. If we keep it...what to do?

And then I remembered Chip Flanagan: I could turn the pad into the foundation for an outdoor kitchen, starting with a smoker. From little more than an old proofing box and a couple of hot plates, the chef has rigged a respectable smoker that he showed me when I was visiting. At the time, a few pork bellies hung within, each slowly acquiring a mahogany mantel. Not long afterwards, I greedily tucked into some of that unctuous, soft, sticky swine.

A flare up in the smoker

Yeah. That's what I want.

Smoked meat is the birthright of every Kansas City native and ever since I was a kid growing up in that town, I've wanted a smoker of my own. When we lived in places a smoker was either impractical or illegal, visions of home-smoked hams, sausages, bacon, chickens, and more have kept me up at night — but the obsession over smoked meats didn't abate. Now that I own the ground under my feet, it's time to decide not whether to build one, but what kind to build. Flanagan's steel box is a compelling design — it's simply a bakery proofing cabinet with the electrics removed and it's on wheels already, so it's mobile(ish). Flanagan uses old skillets with wood chips heated on portable hot plates and for the smoke. The thing would have to have vents to control the flow of air. Add a few cross bars for hanging meats, maybe a wire shelf for smoking cheeses or salt, and we're on to something.

That's it.

With such a simple box, the chef makes great stuff for the restaurant. There's the smoked belly, of course, but also cauliflower, which he uses in soups, salads, and custards. Right now, he's got an oak-smoked pork chop on the menu and he also sometimes cold-smokes tuna with hickory.

Tonight, I'm picking up a little bullet-shaped smoker from a guy who's never used it. That will hold me until I figure out whether I take the Flanagan route or take the plunge and build something more substantial.

But mark this: come Monday, we'll have smoked chicken gumbo for the first time in many years.

Ralph's on the Park
900 City Park Avenue
New Orleans, LA 70119
(504) 488-1000
www.ralphsonthepark.com

Tales of the Cocktail Update. I'm Out; Rupf and Heugel Are In

Missing a Tales of the Cocktail weekend is not something I do lightly. Yet for the first time in years, I'm out. Whether I'm at the podium or in the audience, the annual fête in New Orleans has been one of my must-do events for almost a decade. If you look at the schedule for this year's sessions, you will find me listed once again as a presenter, this time with Paul Clarke of Imbibe magazine and the Cocktail Chronicles.

Well, grab onto your seats, kids — the lineup just changed. The session on American non-grape brandies is still on, but if you've already bought a ticket with hopes of seeing me in New Orleans, you just got an upgrade; Paul will be joined by not one but two others on the mic.

Bobby Heugel of Anvil

First up is Houston bartender Bobby Heugel, co-owner of Anvil Bar & Refuge. Bobby will be on hand to offer the thirsty crowd brandy-based libations and a bar owner's perspective on using these American fruit spirits. We've mentioned him before for his rum, Averna, buttermilk (yeah, buttermilk), and Chartreuse cocktail, the Vanderbilt Fugitive.

Jorg Rupf and Lance Winters next to an Arnold Holstein

Paul and Bobby will be joined by pioneer California distiller Jorg Rupf. Rupf founded St. George Spirits in Emeryville, California in 1982, twenty-five years before most of today's distilleries even existed. His masterful eaux de vie are exemplars of the craft and have racked up award after award. Twenty years after the founding of the distillery, he and distiller Lance Winters blended American wheat and viognier grapes to create a new vodka they dubbed Hangar One.

You may have heard of it.

Rupf is now officially retired. But some people just can't leave work behind when they call it quits; we are pleased that he still has some skin in the game and will be sharing over three decades of distilling knowledge.

Regrettably, a conflict has arisen that precludes my joining this august triumvirate in New Orleans. A shame. It sounds fantastic.

Rowley & Clarke on American Brandy at Tales of the Cocktail 2012

Last July, Dan Farber objected — politely, gentlemanly, pointedly — to the tight focus of Paul Clarke's session on applejack at Tales of the Cocktail. Clarke, an avuncular editor of Imbibe magazine and a frequent speaker at Tales, stayed on topic. Where are the European-style eaux de vie in this conversation? the California distiller wanted to know. Where are the other orchard spirits that American distillers have been making?

Farber's challenges sounded an awful like like an invitation. Even at the time, I recall, Clarke beamed and responded with something like "You're absolutely right. That's a great idea for a session next year." I had already wrapped up my own standing room only session with Max Watman on new American distilleries and could only smile as Clarke and I exchanged glances. You see, I dote on bourbon, I drink an awful lot of rum, but brandy? Good brandy makes me go weak at the knees.

In the intervening seven months, the two of us kicked around the possibilities for a session on American brandies. Not the whole time, mind you, but enough to agree on a pitch. Word came from New Orleans yesterday: we're on.

Plenty of details to be ironed out in the next few months, but here's the session in broad strokes:

For much of the nation’s history, applejack, peach brandy and other fruit spirits were key characters in the realm of American drinks. Today, bartenders and craft distillers are rediscovering the appeal of fruit spirits, and this is the most dynamic era in generations for the production and use of these brandies.

This session will cover some of the background of spirits made from apples, peaches, pears and other fruits, and the ways these spirits were historically made and consumed. The session will also explore today’s realm of American-distilled fruit spirits, from the rich character of aged apple and peach brandies to ethereal eau de vie, with an emphasis on the ways these spirits are produced and a look at some of today’s most distinctive distillers of fruit spirits. Panelists will also discuss the use of fruit spirits in cocktails, from classic drinks made with aged apple and peach brandies to special considerations that should be taken when mixing with eau de vie.

Location, date, time, etc. to come in early March. All I know for now is that I'll be back in New Orleans' French Quarter this July 25th-29th.

[edit: The brandy session is still on, but there's been a change in the lineup. See here to see who's on deck.]

Goes well with:

• Tales of the Cocktail is a nonprofit based in New Orleans dedicated — in its own words — to the advancement of the craft of the cocktail through education, networking and promotion. Check out its website and Twitter feed. Its name is also dropped occasionally as Shit Bartenders Say.
• Dan Farber makes brandy in California, including a lovely French-style brandy made from California apples that's been sleeping in barrels since Roseanne last aired. Check out his distillery at Osocalis.com.
• As @cocktailchron, Paul Clarke is also on Twitter. Paul's not only a friend of mine, but one of the first journalists who actually got the story right of what modern the American moonshine scene looks like in a 2009 issue of Imbibe. For that alone, a gold star always appears next to his name in my book.

Drink What You Like (Regardless of the Mixologists' Sniffy Disdain)

if i was bartending with anyone

who said shit like that

i would pull his underwear over his head

and throw his ass

out the front door

~ bigjmurf

Over the holidays, one of the local markets slashed prices on liquor. Cointreau, in particular, was nearly half price, so I bought several months' worth. As I was checking out, the clerk read the neck tag's recipe for a margarita and, sounding genuinely sad, said "Damn, I've been making this wrong for years." I asked him "Well, do you like your margaritas?" His face brightened immediately. "Oh, yeah. They're great!""Then what do you care what someone else says you should be drinking? Make them the way you like them."

Now, I like well-crafted, classic drinks as much as the next guy and hold bartenders who purport to make them to certain standards — I'll send back a Manhattan that's been shaken, for instance — but the thing about drinking is: drink what you like. Listen to what seasoned boozers have to say, but don't be intimidated by them. Do you like, for instance, your red wine chilled...or with fish? Well, cork dorks may disapprove, but drink your red wine chilled and with fish. Is what you want right now — for whatever mysterious reasons — a Long Island iced tea? Well, then, order one.

But not from this incompetent pretender:



Thanks to John T. Edge from Oxford, Mississippi who sent me this gem this morning. You'll find this guy in the video everywhere. Portland, Kansas City, Philadelphia, Chicago, New Orleans (well, during Tales of the Cocktail, anyway), San Francisco, Los Angeles...and probably your home town.

You know...wait. Hang on. On second thought, DO order that Long Island ice tea from the mustachioed, waistcoat-wearing, bitters-making douchebag. The theatrics alone may well be worth the price of the drink. Who knows?  He might just make you the best Long Island you've ever had.

Goes well with:

• Victoria Moore's How to Drink.  She writes: “It’s often said that life’s too short to drink bad wine, but I’d go further. Life’s also too short to drink good wine, or anything else for that matter, if it’s not what you feel like at the time. There’s no point in popping the cork on a bottle of vintage champagne if you really hanker after a squat tumbler of rough red wine.”
• Brad Thomas Parsons' book Bitters. It's a good read for regular folks wanting to know more about the history and use of cocktail bitters, but beware that it's also kindling for the fevered prejudices of guys like the ridiculous fool in Shit Bartenders Say above.

Who Makes Popcorn Sutton's Tennessee White Whiskey? And Why Call it "Wild?"

As I recall, a bumper sticker on Popcorn Sutton's truck read Never let the truth get in the way of a good story. Keep that in mind when talking about one of American moonshine's most prolific self-promoters.

Here's the deal with moonshine stories; there are more lies, falsehoods, deceptions, poorly understood half-truths, bluster, bravado, misquotes, and corrupted second-hand information than at a West Virginia Liars Contest. Many of these untruths are willful misdirection, but most — maybe even the majority— of them are simple misunderstandings, innocent of malice.

I think that's what landed on my desk yesterday morning.

Ever since the Discovery Channel began broadcasting its new series Moonshiners last month, the Whiskey Forge would get frequent spikes for searches about late moonshiner Marvin "Popcorn" Sutton. Even before that, he often showed up in the site traffic reports, but this was more than the usual pings here and there. Yesterday, surfers from across the US and Canada were digging into earlier stories about Sutton.

What gives? He's been dead for some time now. Why the sudden interest? Turns out Huffington Post ran a story about him and the new 93-proof white whiskey crafted on his persona and the moonshine he made. Also turns out that Huffington Post doesn't have an ear for Southern accents. The article includes a video in which Sutton's widow Pam talks a bit about the whiskey. It quotes her as saying:

“We have a distillery set up in Nashville, Tennessee. We can’t legally call it moonshine. We have to call it Tennessee Wild Whiskey, and also Popcorn’s liquor is the first white whiskey that the federal government has approved.”

Well, a few clarifications are in order. Mrs. Sutton doesn't call it "Tennessee Wild Whiskey" in the video. What she says is "Tennessee White Whiskey." If you hear talk or read of a new "wild" whiskey, double check that source.

Sutton's white whiskey, however, it not the first approved by the federal government. Just last Fall, Whiskey Advocate magazine ran Lew Bryson's reviews of more than a dozen unaged or minimally aged white whiskeys. There are plenty of such spirits out there and plenty more on the way.

The brand's website is here, but as of today, it's just a parking page. The distillery Pam Sutton mentions isn't one of Popcorn's old rigs in which he cranked out thousands upon thousands of gallons of untaxed liquor. "Nashville" was the giveaway. Popcorn operated in and around Maggie Valley, North Carolina, about midpoint between Asheville and Gatlinburg. No, Nashville and commercial white whiskey mean one thing to me and one thing only: this particular grain spirit got its (legal) start at DSP TN-15006, our good friends at Corsair Artisan Distillery, makers of some really lovely spirits.

Darek Bell of Corsair tells me Jamey Grosser originally used Corsair stills to make Sutton's whiskey, but just secured his own Distilled Spirits Plant permit. The TTB confirms it: Popcorn Sutton Distilling, LLC of Nashville, Tennessee has its DSP*. The day to day operations guy is distiller Travis Hixon, formerly brewer at Nashville's Blackstone Brewery.

Congratulations, boys, on getting your own place set up. Any chance we'll be seeing some legal versions of Popcorn's brandies?

*Edit 1/10/12 I had originally written that DSP TN-S-15009 was assigned to Popcorn Sutton Distilling, LLC, but Christian Grantham of Short Mountain Distillery corrected the record: HIS Tennessee distillery is TN-S-15009. I can only sympathize with distillers and the endless reams of paperwork they have to endure to get a legal distillery up and running. 

Goes well with:

• Legal Moonshine? You've Been Conned, a bit I wrote this summer about the flawed concept of so-called "legal moonshine."
• One of Corsair's standout whiskeys is the triple smoke American single malt. Attendees of last year's Tales of the Cocktail session on New American distilleries got to sample some, but if you missed out on that, do try tracking some down. 
• Moonshiners runs on the Discovery Channel on Wednesdays. Last week's marathon of it is what made me late for a New Year's Eve party. I happen to like the show, even if—as are all "reality" shows—it is so clearly a product of artifice. Viz Popcorn's bumper sticker supra.
• The West Virginia Liars Contest has been going on for decades. I've never been, but would love to make it one day. 

A Whiskey Forge/Tales of the Cocktail Giveaway

Click to enlarge

Keeping an extensive culinary library in the house means that even when the power dies, I can still work on food and drink projects. The flip side is that paper takes up enormous amounts of space. There comes a point — for me, it's this week — when one needs to weigh wants against needs. See, I'm shifting in fits and starts to electronic versions of some of the library materials and I'm culling printed matter in advance of an upcoming move.

I need the material for work. I merely want it in physical form. But thousands of books, bits of ephemera, and vertical files just take up so much room, so after some judicious scanning, I'm giving some of it away.

The first thing I'm giving away — right here on this site — is a set of 4" x 6" recipe cards from 2008's Tales of the Cocktail.  To the best of my knowledge, it's a complete set of recipes for all the cocktails served over the five days of sessions, workshops, and panel discussions from that year. Almost 300 recipes. Among the cards are Martin Cate's rum-and-port concoction, the Dead Reckoning. From Pegu Club's Kenta Goto, there's a lovely Plymouth Gin-based La Fleur de Paradis (but note that the recipe calls for ½ ounce of Plymouth, not 12 — an issue we've seen before with genever) and an individual portion of Phil Ward's Mother's Ruin Punch in case you want to ruin any mothers this holiday season. 

This stack of recipe cards wasn't available to general attendees, but to presenters and media types. Even if you bought tickets to attend Tales sessions, chances are that you didn't end up with this particular bit of swag.

So how can you score this piece of cocktail history for yourself? Easy:

1. Leave a comment below letting us know your favorite thing to drink. It can be booze-free or laced with alcohol — but it's got to be potable. Could be a cocktail, a homemade cordial, local beers, homemade bitters, whatever. Try to include a recipe; it's ok if you don't, but I like to know what you all are drinking. Include your Twitter account name so I can find you.
2. Follow me on Twitter

What's the Catch?
There is no catch. Just follow me on Twitter and let us know about your favorite drinks. You don't have to tweet or re-tweet anything. There's no Official Entry Form, you don't have to do anything about me on Facebook, and you don't have to buy my book. This is just us getting to know each other better.

On November 30th, my lovely assistant will pick a winner at random. Because the person to whom I'm giving this set of cards is following my Twitter account, I'll send a message there for a shipping address. If I hear nothing in two days, it goes to the next random commenter. And so on until we have a winner.

"But, Rowley," you may worry. "I'm in Australia. Are you seriously telling me you'll ship it all the way here if I win?" Hell, yes, mate. None of this offer-only-good-in-the-lower-48-states nonsense. I have a few thousand regular Aussie readers — why would I exclude any of you? Same goes for readers in Germany, France, Holland, Thailand, Brazil, Canada, Morocco, or even far away and fabled Kansas. Anywhere. Now, if alcohol is taboo where you live or censors frown on foreign media, the package may never make it past customs agents. That I can't do anything about. In that case, it's just lost.

America's New Distilleries: A Bonus

Everyone seems to understand that there are more distilleries in the United States than there were ten years ago. But just how many more, where they are, and how to distinguish one from the other is not at all clear. And I say this as someone who studies these things, counts distillers among my friends, and sometimes travels solely to visit places that turn grains into something you'd want to drink.

Though I composed this post last week, I am at this very moment in front of an audience of distillers, bartenders, writers, and cocktail enthusiasts in New Orleans with Chasing the White Dog author Max Watman in a sold-out, SRO session called America's New Distilleries. We're about fifteen or twenty minutes into it and I am probably blathering on about the geographical distribution of DSPs and membership in the American Distilling Institute as indicators of distillery density in the US.

Those of you in the audience will understand these maps; they are here for your reference when the talk moves on. If you use them (and be my guest for online use), please link back to this post. If you want to print them, get in touch and tell me what you have in mind. Once this Tales of the Cocktail session is over, and I'm back safe and sound in San Diego, I will post a follow-up to this with a little more narrative and context.

For now? This is a bonus for coming to see us in person. Click each image to enlarge.

 

 

Ah, New Orleans. I'd say this is where I make a pig of myself, except that would imply that I do not also do so in other towns and, as those of you who know me may attest, that's just not true. We landed Tuesday for the annual Tales of the Cocktail ho-down and it's been non-stop go-go-go.

Friday morning, I'll share the podium with Max Watman for a sold-out session called America's New Distilleries. Because so many of today's distilleries are small businesses, it seemed more fitting to gather together a group of them to sponsor the session rather than one of the larger distillery groups that produce millions of cases a year.

Those who abed this day will miss a chance to sample products from nine separate new American distilleries. Spirits will range from aged peach brandy (which readers of David Wondrich's excellent book, Imbibe, may think is extinct) and triple-smoke whiskey to sarsaparilla-tinged gin, 100-proof cherry hooch, and a chai liqueur that just grows on me more and more.

If you're not in the room drinking learning with us, here are links to their sites;

• American Fruits Distillery
• Artesian Distillers
• Corsair Artisan Distillery
• Dancing Pines Distillery
• Death’s Door Distillery
• House Spirits
• Peach Street Distillers
• Piedmont Distillers
• Tuthilltown Spirits 

Bookshelf: America Walks into a Bar

Years ago, during one of my extended stints in New Orleans, the city was struck by a tropical depression. Wave after wave of winds and driving rain buffeted us and water began rising ominously. This was before Katrina and, while everyone was monitoring the situation, few seemed concerned that the weather would actually turn dangerous. Many did, however, rule that things had become entirely too treacherous to stay at work or at home.

The books and papers in my cloth satchel were bound to be ruined by the torrents of rain, so I quickly ducked into the Bourbon Pub, an old gay bar at the corner of Bourbon and St. Ann. Taking refuge in a neighborhood bar, I realized, wasn’t my solitary genius idea. The place soon filled with locals. As much time as I have spent in New Orleans, I had never — to that point — been to a hurricane party. Everyone in the bar knew the weather was bound to get bad before it got better. Clearly, these locals felt, no work could be done while the storm raged and the rain blew nearly sideways. So, what better way for the community to come together then within the bowels of an old brick building where video poker, indoor smoking, and a seemingly endless supply of liquor that fueled a convivial — yes, even party — atmosphere?

Face it, when the power fails, the phones go down, and the streets are filling with water, where would you rather be: your office or a bar?

We may have no hurricane parties in San Diego, but gathering in bars and taverns in times of turmoil is nothing unique to New Orleans or, indeed, new. In her new book, America Walks into a Bar, Christine Sismondo places the bar squarely at the heart of American social life. Call it the tavern, a pub, a saloon, or any other style of watering hole, the bar has for centuries been where Americans gather to share news, hatch plots, settle wagers, and predetermine the outcome of political races.

The book covers political intrigue, secret societies, court officers, and unionists all brought together in front of the brass rail. Sismondo also writes about marginalized populations who have assembled and amassed in bars for most of the last three centuries. The Molly Maguires are there, as are feminists, African-Americans, and gays. One hears about New York’s famous Stonewall Inn and how a police raid there resulted in riots that helped launch the modern gay rights movement. What we hear less about is what the place was actually like. Sismondo digs up historical references that make the mob-run bar sound every bit as dangerous and squalid as a Luc Sante opium den.

Ms Sismondo would like her drink refreshed

Inadvertently, perhaps, Sismondo drops one of the most useful bar tips I have ever heard. Over the last decade, I’ve noticed an increasing number of thirtysomething hipster parents bringing their young children with them to bars and gastropubs. Now, I’m not one of those crusty old curmudgeons who hates children in every setting. I adore some babies and don’t even mind kids in bars. However, when the place gets a reputation among young parents as child-friendly, it’s only a matter of time before strollers, booster seats, escaped Cheerios, and the stomach-churning smell of vaguely sour milk comes to define a place. That’s fine. I just don’t want that place to be my neighborhood bar. Sismondo, writing about the “nonbreeding” parents of Park Slope, opines that, faced with a similar choice, such “residents seemingly have no choice but to retreat into upstairs spaces that can’t be accessed…”

I enjoyed the book's breezy, almost conversational tone, its historical anecdotes, and its look into how America’s bars have long stood as a vital “third space” in our communities, but that bit about retreating into upstairs spaces is one I’m going to put to use. I’ve always quite liked second-story bars for the views they offered of the surrounding neighborhoods, but I realize now something else has always nestled in the back of my brain: not many parents will schlep a stroller up a flight of stairs.

Christine Sismondo (2011)
America Walks into a Bar: A Spirited History of Taverns and Saloons, Speakeasies and Grog Shops
314 pages (hardback)
Oxford University Press
ISBN: 019973495X
$24.95

For those of you attending Tales of the Cocktail in New Orleans, Christine Sismondo will be speaking next Thursday, July 21 on The Bad Bad Boys of Saloons and signing books at the popup bookstore in the lobby of the Hotel Monteleone. See www.talesofthecocktail.com for details.

America's New Distilleries

In a mere two weeks, I'll be back in New Orleans for Tales of the Cocktail. On Friday, July 22, Max Watman and I will be giving the talk about the burgeoning trade in spirits from new domestic distilleries. It's no surprise to drinkers that there are a lot more distilleries than there were just a few short years ago.  But just how many more, where are they, and what are they making?

Max and I will be tackling these questions and more — all the while sampling with our audience a range of whiskeys, Pacific Northwest gin, aged peach brandy, cordials, and some enhooched cherries that might just backhand you right off the front porch.

Unfortunately, if you don't already have a ticket, you're out of luck. The event has been sold out since last month. Not to fret, however. Once we're done with New Orleans, and I have recovered from Tales, I'll post some of those findings right here on the Whiskey Forge.

If you absolutely insist that no trip to New Orleans is complete without saying hello to me, drop by the lobby of the Hotel Monteleone 12:30-1pm on Friday, July 22. Max and I will both be there signing copies of our books and quite possibly enjoying a cool beverage from the Carousel Bar 40 feet away.

Bookshelf: Tap that CLASS

No other magazine presents such a broad and deep understanding of who and what shapes modern tastes in spirits than CLASS Magazine. Malt Advocate focuses on whiskey (an admirable concentration). Wine & Spirits covers, well, at least one subject other than spirits. Imbibe addresses drinks more broadly and so includes tea, coffee, soda, water, and others. I like them all. But CLASS is spirits all the way. Oh, and the occasional beer, aperitif, and dash of bitters. Geared toward professional and avocational liquor enthusiasts, it includes product reviews, bar and bartender profiles, in-depth historical research, distillery and distiller profiles — and lush, gorgeous photography.

CLASS (yes, it is an acronym capitalized like that, leading some wags to dub it CRASS) is the brainchild of Simon Difford. Founded in 1997, Difford’s magazine quickly became an authoritative voice on the London bar scene, but its audience since has grown beyond the boundaries of the City. The lean is slightly European and heavily "cocktailian." Having once sold the rights to the magazine, Mr. Difford reacquired them in 2009 and has been publishing it since then.

I’ve a stack of these things at home. Heavy, thick, black tomes that dominate the shelf. Articles of the past few years have explored online merchant The Whiskey Exchange, Galliano cocktails, Scottish and Caribbean distilleries, the origins of the old fashioned cocktail, bartender kits, drinking guides to cities around the world, and hundreds of recipes. Particularly bad products get pilloried on a page of their own.

Generally, I'll tear out relevant articles from journals or magazines rather than keep the whole thing, then file them away in appropriate cabinets and folders in my research library — foie gras harvesting in here, citrus genetics over there, corn whiskey and reprints on pepperpot in another area entirely. I've never cut apart an issue of CLASS; each has been so engaging that I've kept it in its entirety.

I offer only one minor caveat; the copy is prone to typos. It's an annoyance to read an engaging, well-researched, beautifully photographed piece and smack into yet another cognitive pothole of the wrong word (guilt, for instance, rather than gilt). But, then, if I had a dollar for every typo I've ever published here, I could easily buy that Munktiki mug I've had my eye on. A two-year subscription to CLASS  runs £70 runs £70. £45 gets you one year. If neither of those options suits you, an online version recently launched here.

Mr. Difford will sit on a panel next month at Tales of the Cocktail. Joined by globetrotting bartender Nicolas de Soto and cocktail guru Jonathan Pogash, the three will present The European Bartending Perspective. Details here.

America's New Distilleries at Tales of the Cocktail

This summer, Max Watman and I will be joining boozy forces in New Orleans for the annual Tales of the Cocktail celebration. Max is the author of Chasing the White Dog and me — well, I wrote a book called Moonshine that advocates an America where craft distilleries are as commonplace as craft breweries.

Watman

Our topic? What else might it be? An overview, analysis, and samplings from America's new distilleries. All across the United States, new distilleries are cropping up. Some enjoy international success while others merely dream of such distribution. We'll take a look at who's who, where they are, what they're making — and where it's all going.

And we're trying to do something new: throw open an unusual sponsorship opportunity for those same distillers who usually wouldn't be able to sponsor a seminar. Each year, sponsorships for sessions at Tales are snapped up by large liquor companies to showcase their portfolios. That's great. I love those sessions. Learn about the history of Cointreau? Sure, I totally want to. Sample unusual whiskeys from Heaven Hill before they're rolled out to the public? I'd be a fool to pass up the chance.

Rowley

But smaller distilleries typically couldn't afford to be single sponsor. Unless, that is, a small band of them joined to form a consortium or a, hell, let's call it a syndicate where each contributed a smaller portion. If ten distillers got together and split the cost, each could come to Tales and help get their stories and their products in front of an audience thirsty for information on spirits.

I posted a more detailed discussion about this on the forums of the American Distilling Institute. If you're interested, check it out here.

America's New Distilleries (abstract):
In the last ten years the number of American distilleries has grown from a few dozen to over 200. All around America, people are re-inventing gin, delivering exciting new brandies, expanding the spectrum of American whiskey. At the same time, the industry is full of paper tigers, false starts, and vanity projects. We’ll separate the wheat from the chaff in the current scene, and look out in to the future. Big spirits companies have started buying the little guys: what will that do?

New Orleans Water Meter Coasters

Spend any time at all in New Orleans and you’ll encounter the city’s water meter covers. Not quite as common as Tabasco, slightly less popular than crawfish, the round iron covers themselves may be a bit scarce these days if you don't know where to look. Their image, however, is everywhere — on floor mats, as jewelry, garden flags, t-shirts, prints, cuff links, and postcards. Hell, you can even get shoes emblazoned with their 1920's crescent moon-and-stars design. Though I haven't seen any (yet), I'd lay money on odds that water meter tattoos are out there.

If your passions for New Orleans don't include ink, you can hit up funky t-shirt designers Dirty Coast and score a set of neoprene coasters with Edwin Ford’s nearly century-old design. Dirty Coast also sells Save the Sazerac t-shirts, water meter floor mats (it’s where I got mine), and a load of other great shirts that are so local, they're almost in-jokes. If you missed Tales of the Cocktail this year, these coasters will hold you over until next.

Neoprene water meter coasters. $20 for a set of four at Dirty Coast. They’ll ship.

Dirty Coast
5704 Magazine Street
New Orleans, LA 70115
(504) 324-3745

Coming to Tales? Stock up on Books

Like salmon swimming instinctively upstream to their ancestral homes (or, perhaps, elephants to their fabled graveyards), the world's alcoholists have begun descending on New Orleans for the city's annual Tales of the Cocktail celebration.

From Tuesday through Sunday, thousands of bartenders, liquor writers, distillers, beverage managers, culinary historians, tiki fanatics, absinthe enthusiasts, and drinks aficionados will be hunkering down to sessions and seminars about the spirits we drink, where they come from, and how they're used both now and over the last few hundred years.

It's pretty much awesome.

But in the lobby of Hotel Monteleone (host venue and ground zero for all these shenanigans), there's a little room just to the left as you come through the main entrance off Royal Street. For the next week, it will be a bookstore featuring the texts, tomes, rants, and recipes of the speakers and presenters at Tales. It's operated by Octavia Books, an independent local bookstore — certainly worth the trip uptown if you have the time to get away from Tales. If you can't, they'll have on site (unless they sell out) titles such as:

• Ted Munat and Michael Lazar's new Left Coast Libations
• Phillip Collier's Mixing New Orleans
• Difford's Encyclopedia of Cocktails
• Tony Abou-Ganim's The Modern Mixologist
• Sara Rohen's Gumbo Tales
• and loads more

For a more complete list, click here. Or, grab a cab with a buddy and to to their store for an even wider selection of great books, local authors, and New Orleans titles. Check the posted schedule in the lobby for which authors are autographing books when at the Monteleone.

Octavia Books
513 Octavia Street  (at the corner of Laurel)
New Orleans, Louisiana
504.899.7323
www.octaviabooks.com

Sweet New Orleans: Calas

If we don’t eat them, how are we going to save them?

~ Poppy Tooker

Sure, surviving New Orleans’ annual Tales of the Cocktail takes a defiant liver, iron kidneys, and a healthy dose of prudence. But the Crescent City’s liquid offerings aren’t all that require heroic constitutions — its pervasive sweets are anything but trifling.

Since Katrina, the obscure little fried cakes known as calas have undergone a revival. Definitely a fritter, arguably a donut, and with a lineage that reaches back to Africa, calas are little wads of rice held together in a custard-like batter, deep fried, and — more often than not — dusted in confectioners’ sugar.

A street food, calas were sold by women of African descent, but by World War II, they had become less common. Enter food preservationist Poppy Tooker who, as head of Slow Food New Orleans, championed the little fritters and who continues to make them in cooking classes and demonstrations. Savory versions do pop up on local menus and in Louisiana cookbooks now and again; the WPA-era Gumbo Ya-Ya listed calas made of cow-peas and modern chef Donald Link makes a version with corn. But hot, sweet calas are what you’ll most likely find.

This is a very flexible recipe. Once you bite into a cala, you realize that it’s not unlike deep-fried rice pudding. Then, suddenly, you understand that it practically begs to be tinkered with. Cook the rice in water? Yeah, you could do that. You could also cook it in milk. Or coconut milk. Lighten the batter with yeast, give it an overnight ferment, or use the more modern baking powder. Season with vanilla and nutmeg? Why not? But…what about cinnamon? Soak currants in Old New Orleans Rum, and fold them into the batter. Make the batter, chill it, cut it into cubes, and then fry? Sure. The end result won’t necessarily be 100% authentic, but it might be pretty damn tasty.

Here's Tooker talking about calas (recipe below the video)


Here’s a version I put together that combines recipes from Tooker and historian Jessica Harris. It yields about 18-20 calas.

Calas

3 cups/480g cooled cooked rice
9 Tbl/90g flour
4.5 Tbl/60 sugar
1 Tbl/10 baking powder
.5 tsp/5g salt
Nutmeg — a few scrapes
3 eggs, beaten
.5 tsp/2.5ml vanilla extract
Canola oil for frying (lard if you've got it)

Combine the rice through nutmeg in a large bowl. Add the beaten eggs and vanilla and gently mix into a homogeneous mass.

Heat oil to 360-375°F. Working with two large spoons, make loose balls of batter from heaped tablespoons (about the size of a ping-pong ball). Drop each one as it’s made into the hot oil, being careful not to splash. Fry until golden brown (or darker, for a more pronounced crackle). Drain on paper towels and dust them with confectioners’ sugar like you're trying to hide a crime. 

Eat them as soon as you can stand the heat.

Goes well with:

• Poppy Tooker's site
• The full text of the 1945 classic on Louisiana folkways, Gumbo Ya-Ya
• An earlier post bringing together Jessica Harris and my homemade watermelon pickles

I am a Meat Wagon

Eugene O’Neill’s line about the shackles of history runs through my mind — There is no present or future, only the past, happening over and over again, now. Circumstances are different, but I know what’s coming.

Because of what I’m about to do, the security line at the Baton Rouge airport will grind to a halt. After all, this has happened before. And will happen again.

I tried to look natural, relaxed, as I slipped off my shoes into a grey plastic bin. It’ll be fine, I thought. Out came the laptop. They won’t stop me, not here. Off with the jacket. Though in New Orleans I was stopped with a payload smaller than this. There isn’t a piece of steel or iron on me, not one coin of copper or nickel. Last time, when the agent finally saw my package, she had said she wanted to come home with me. As I breeze through the metal detector, the TSA agent guarding it is already looking at the passenger behind me. I’m through. No incident.

Then the conveyor belt lurches to a stop.

“WHOSE is this?!” Today’s agent, a local boy, had seen through my façade. He’s pointing to my overnight bag and now knows as well as I what it holds: forearm-sized sticks of andouille sausage, several pounds of smoked beef sausages, packets of little pork sausages no bigger than my ring finger, smoked turkey legs, hot pork sausages, and—why not?— more sausage from a different producer about 200 feet down from the first. I have been to LaPlace, Louisiana, andouille capital of, if not the world, then of my heart.

“We might have to keep this bag,” he tells me. Then, breaking into a smile, he indicates my Timbuk2 laptop bag, just out of reach. It's bearing a similar carnal load: “And that one, too.”

LaPlace andouille is powerful stuff, but it’s no match for X-ray technology. Clearly, I'm not the first sausage smuggling bandit to come through security.

I am, it's been said, a meat wagon and my Baton Rouge experience is not untypical when I travel. In addition to my well-known affection for spirits, I am a fiend for cured and smoked meats. Whenever I travel, I try to make time to investigate not just bars and distilleries, but smokehouses, butchers, charcutiers, delis, carnicerias, cheese shops, wurstmachers, and any other place that might have some local meaty specialty.

Sopressata, sobrasada, chorizo, chaurice, speck, rookvlees, jerky, carne seca, horka, finocchiona, pfefferwurst, bacons, hams, smoked hocks, tasso, burnt ends, the assflesh Saucisson d'Arles—there’s no end to the sausage and cured meats I’ve schlepped across state and national boundaries. I even pack throwaway clothes as a sort of sartorial ballast so that, once ditched, I have have more room for meat on the return trip.

This morning, I made about a two-hour round trip drive just for the smoked treats—notably andouille sausage—from two shops in LaPlace, Louisiana. The LaPlace andouille is thick as my wrist and longer than a bottle of rum, each like a rolling pin of seasoned and smoked pork. That ersatz andouille I get in my local place is fine for what it is, but this stuff is transcendental. The sheer awesome deliciousness of proper Cajun andouille is unparalleled. Each batch of gumbo I make with it is stellar, filled with smoky goodness.

For my colleagues headed to Tales of the Cocktail this summer, LaPlace is a bit of a hike outside New Orleans. But just a bit. My suggestion for scoring the thicker, heavily smoked andouille typical of the town? Drive the half-hour west or pool your cash and send an emissary who will maybe skim, as courier fee, only a stick or two. If your plans don’t take you to LaPlace, stop by Cochon Butcher in the warehouse district. They’ve often got the same style of fat “sticks” in the deli case.

LaPlace

Bailey’s World Famous Andouille
513 West Airline Hwy
LaPlace, LA 70068
985.652.9090

Jacob’s World Famous Andouille
505 West Airline Hwy
LaPlace, LA 70068
985.652.9080

Wayne Jacob’s Smokehouse
769 W 5th St
La Place, LA 70068.
985.652.9990

New Orleans

Cochon Butcher
930 Tchoupitoulas
New Orleans LA 70130
504.588.PORK

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Royal Blend, a Coffee Shop Refuge from the Mandess of Tales

When the mad hubbub of Tales of the Cocktail gets a little…much, I sometimes walk four blocks down Royal Street to Royal Blend. Tucked away in one of the French Quarter’s quiet, hidden courtyards, the coffee shop caters mostly to locals and tourists in the know rather than, say, the frozen daiquiri and hurricane crowd. And by "locals," I mean French Quarter locals, not just New Orleans locals.

The shop is easy to miss. But keep an eye out for the long, unlit archway in the 600 block of Royal. At the end, a sunlight-filled flagstone and brick courtyard opens to the sky. With fountains and lush greenery, it's a quiet place to take stock of what the day holds. Were I a horticulturalist, I could name those plants. Ferns, I suppose. That one seems to be a saw palmetto. And…ermm…ivy. We’ll just call them “plants.”

Head straight to the back of the courtyard, order at the counter, and grab a seat inside or among the metal chairs outdoors. Two big table umbrellas ward off the worst of rain and sun. The patrons are friendly and often chatty. Over the years, I’ve met other writers, filmmakers, cooks, journalists, photographers, artists, and tourists from all over. In the evenings, French Quarter ghost and cemetery/voodoo tour groups meet there in the courtyard. The ghost thing's not my bag, but knock yourself out if you’re into it. They meet nightly at 8:15. The cemetery/voodoo group gathers at 10:30pm on Sundays, but 1:15pm Monday-Saturday.

Of course, there’s lots of coffee—hot, iced, or all kinds of beans to go—but iced teas and frozen mocha slushies help keep the heat at bay just as well. For the peckish, there is an array of bagels, pastries, and light sandwiches. It’s my quiet place when I need to retreat, regroup, write, or just cool my boots.

Royal Blend
621 Royal St
New Orleans, LA 70130-2115
(504) 523-2716
www.royalblendcoffee.com