Sipping good time with the cocktail aristocrats

Press, 29 June 1985, Page 19

Sipping good time with the cocktail aristocrats

By

GARRY ARTHUR

Last Sunday afternoon I had 12 Brandy Alexanders, each one followed by a newly invented cocktail of colourful appearance, tantalising flavour, ana a kick like the proverbial mule. But I was neither shaken nor stirred by the experience. As one of five judges of the New Zealand Bartenders’ Guild’s first national cocktail competition, I was permitted only one polite sip of each cocktail through a little straw before passing the glass on to Robin Harrison of 3ZB on my left. Nothing so uncouth, fortunately, as the professional wine-tasters’ squirt into the silver bucket. We were allowed to swallow.

By the end of the afternoon we had each had 24 sips of alcoholic cocktail — about the equivalent of two complete cocktails in a fourhour period, in case the Ministry of Transport is counting. Even these were diluted by sips of 12 nonalcoholic concoctions, some of which were even more memorable than the boozy ones. Twelve of New Zealand’s top professional cocktail mixers were showing their paces in an effort to carry off the huge trophy, shaped like a loving cup, plus a prize of $5OO. Each one had to make a compulsory cocktail, for which we had the recipe but which they were meant to have looked up in the cocktail barman’s bible. That was the Brandy Alexander, most famous of all the cream cocktails, and supposedly named after Alexander the Great.

Recipes in the myriad of cocktail books available vary surprisingly, but the competition recipe called for two nips of brandy, one of brown cacao, and two of cream, shaken with ice, and strained into a champagne “saucer.” The crowning touch, which many contestants forgot and which none of the other cocktail books mention, is to shake the final coating of cinnamon over crossed straws to leave the pattern of a cross. But they were working under

difficulties. The competition bar at the Russley Hotel on this gloomy winter afternoon was large, empty, and cold enough to induce hibernation in even the most dedicated lounge lizard. There was none of your typical cocktail bar atmosphere — no

welcoming warmth, no hum of brittle chatter from the bright set, no Scott Joplin entertaining in the background, no smoky haze from black Russian Sobranies in elegant mother-of-pearl cigarette holders. To top it all, the contestants had to find their way around the

shelves, freezers, and equipment of an unfamiliar bar — quite a handicap for specialists who all seemed to have their own favourite items of bar equipment and ways of doing things. The cocktail barman is the aristocrat of the profession. His — or, in many cases today, her — role is to know the recipes and mixing techniques for dozens of standard cocktails, and to be able to find or improvise on any others that the customers may demand. Not only that, the cocktail barperson is also expected to be a welcoming host, an entertaining conversationalist, and occasionally even a sympathetic shoulder to cry on. The 1920 s and 1930 s were the Cocktail Age, but the name goes back much further. It was first used in print in 1806 when an American journal called “The Balance” described it as “a stimulating liquor, composed of spirits of any sort, sugar, water and bitters.” As for the derivation, there are several competing theories. One is that the word was borrowed from the “cock-ale” which was fed to fighting cocks in training in the eighteenth century, and which was used to drink the health of the bird with the most feathers left in his tail after a fight. The one favoured by the United Kingdom Bartenders Guild in its “International Guide to Drinks” comes from South America. “Long ago,” says one account, “at the port of Campeche on the Gulf of Mexico, English sailors discovered the virtues of a local speciality in mixed drinks whose ingredients were traditionally stirred with a wooden spoon. However, one popular bar-keeper used for this purpose a small natural root known from its shape as cola de gallo. When the visitors asked what the odd instrument was, its name was translated as ‘cock’s

tail,’ and this was transferred to the drink itself.” The Prohibition era in the United State was, ironically enough, the heyday of the cocktail age. One expert says that the need to mask the flavours of bath-tub gin gave great impetus to the invention ol new cocktails, and literally thousands were conceived. Chief among them, and never surpassed in popularity, was the classic dry Martini, invented by a barman named Martini, or maybe Martinez, at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York. Argument has raged among devotees ever since over the exact proportions of gin to dry vermouth in the perfect dry Martini. The choices range from 3:1 to the barman who just let the shadow of the vermouth bottle fall across the gin. Another renowned cocktail barman merely stirred the gin and ice and bowed in the direction of France. The stirring is important, in spite of what James Bond demanded, because Martini lovers believe that vigorous shaking “bruises the gin.” John Doxat, author of Booth’s “Handbook of Cocktails and Mixed Drinks,” says the perfect dry Martini comprises 11 parts of gin and one of dry vermouth. He says the proportion should never be less than seven to one. Very few of the cocktails invented by the 12 finalists in Sunday’s contest were gin-based. Most were made with liqueurs and shaken up with a nip or two of fresh cream, which is the popular thing in cocktails these days. But they let their imaginations go with names and special ingredients. The winner, Michelle Laming of the Clarendon Hotel, Christchurch, warned that the Galliano in her “Southern Gentleman” came from the boot-shaped country of Italy, so it had a kick to it. The

name came from the Southern Comfort liqueur she used. David Armitage from the Law Courts, Dunedin, used New Zealand ingrediants for his “Woodland Paradise” — four parts of Barker’s strawberry wine and two of Barkers Creme de Framboise, plus an

egg yolk, bitters, and soda water. A very convincing nautical effect was achieved by Clive McNally of the Vacation Hotel, Christchurch, for his “Ocean Romance,” by draping a long narrow strip of orange peel “seaweed” in and around the glass. The drink was blue, thanks

to the blue curacao which he mixed with galliano, lime juice, and soda water. He took the bold step of basing his non-alcoholic cocktail on rosemary tea, to which he added equal parts of lemonade and orange juice, garnishing the result with mint. Kiwifruit liqueur, brandy, and New Zealand champagne were used by Edward Zieleman of the Hyatt Kingsgate, Auckland, to produce “Tuatara Fizz” which he served in a tall glass frosted with pink sugar. Many of the contestants came prepared with favourite cocktail bar paraphernalia and garnishings. John Higgins, from the Rotorua Travelodge, brought some of the marshmallows, winegums, and jubes that he keeps behind his bar to decorate exotic drinks like his “Coral’s Delight,” as well as some extraordinary high-tech swizzlesticks. Tony Hannah of the Chancery Tavern, Christchurch, nonchalantly plucked a pink carnation from his lapel as the final decorative touch for his “Saltini” cocktail, made from dry vermouth, lemon juice, lemonade, and a pinch of salt. From Central Otago, Kathleen Love of the DB Golden Central, Alexandra, came equipped with local apricot puree and a sprinkle of bits of her home-made apricot “leather” for her “Central Nectar” cocktail. Two of the best names, we agreed, were chosen by Barry Williams of the THC Waitangi, but formerly of the Hermitage, Mount Cook, who called his alcoholic cocktail “Cliff Hanger,” and his non-alcoholic one “Ice Fall,” after the Hochstetter icefall at Mount Cook. Another chilly name was devised by Jennifer Beveridge of the T.H.C. Rotorua, for the drink she shook up from Galliano, Tia Maria, Pernod, Grenadine, and Triple Sec. She called it “Snow Tiger” because “it’s served on ice and it has a tendency to bite.” She was right.