Sake is Good for the Skin and other joys of Japanese Cocktails

If cocktail bloggers were to emulate Julie Powell and her famous online journey through Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking, they could do much worse than working their way through Yuri Kato'sJapanese Cocktails. Although there is not a year's worth of drink recipes here, by the end of the experiment, there is much more gained than dozens of techno-colored beverages in Hello Kitty hues on the resume. A culture is glimpsed through a very particular microscope, much like Ms. Powell's experience of Paris through that great cookbook.

Japan may not be well-known for its cocktail culture, at least in the tuxedoed Jay Gatsby, flapper, speakeasy connotation that frames most current expectations for old-school mixology. But that is changing, says Ms. Kato. Japan has much to offer to modern mixology.

It is no heihatsu that I received a review copy of Japanese Cocktails in the mail on the same day that I had one of the best Bloody Marys of my drinking life — a Bloody Mary made with sake at the Popover Cafe on the Upper West Side. A popover specialty restaurant may not be the obvious choice for cocktails, and sake may not be an obvious choice for a cocktail base, but the coincidence illustrates some ways that Japanese mixology can influence the present American cocktail.

Sake makes for a great base in mixing because of its lower alcohol content. About the same as a strong wine, the alcohol level is significantly less than vodka or gin — what is normally found in the pre-happy hour Bloody Mary. For someone is hunkering down to a long, luxurious brunch, less alcohol in the same number of drinks may make for a more pleasurable Sunday.

A bonus, adds Ms. Kato, is that sake is good for the skin!

Japanese Cocktails is beautifully illustrated: the reproduction of retro posters from cocktail cultures past, e.g. Suntory ads from the 1950s, are especially vivid, but Ms. Kato's anecdotes from her own experiences growing up in Japan are what's most delightful about her book. She has been the publisher of CocktailTimes.com for more than a decade, and she has obvious expertise in mixology, but as in any good conversation at the bar, it's not what you know, it's what you'll share: "My mother used to send my older sister and me to buy beer or sake from nearby vending machines for my father's dinner guests."

The book offers a history of Japan's unique spirit industry with sidebars that cover everything from cherry blossom season to the Harajuku girls. In trying out some of the recipes in Ms. Kato's book, I started out with the bright green ones first because I'm drawn to bright and shiny objects. If there is a cocktail that is the equivalent of Hello Kitty, it is Midori, Japan's famous melon liqueur.

In true kawaii fashion, two basic recipes for Midori are the Pine Soda:

1 oz. Midori
4 oz. pineapple juice
1/2 oz. club soda,

and the Melon Cream Soda, named for a favorite non-alcoholic drink served in Japanese kissaten cafes. It is very much a summer drink.

1 oz. of Midori melon liqueur
1 1/2 oz. citrus-flavored vodka
3 oz. club soda
1 scoop vanilla ice cream

Mix all liquid in a cocktail shaker with ice. Pour into tall glass. Top with vanilla ice cream. Garnish with melon slice.

One of my favorite drinks, and stories, from the book (and isn't that the balance to which we all aspire) is the Black Ship and its fascinating tale. The Kurofune Matsuri is a festival in Shimoda Port commemorating the arrival of Commodore Perry's ship. Every year, a communal toast signifies the end of Japanese isolationism. Opening up Japan had been tried before, but some think it was the arrival of the whiskey on Perry' boat that truly opened up the country.

The Black Ship

1 1/2 oz of blended whiskey
1 oz. pomegranate juice
1/4 oz of port
1 tp. lemon juice
lemon peel for garnish

Mix all ingredients except lemon peel in a cocktail shaker with ice.

Strain into a chilled martini glass, garnish with lemon peel, and serve.

The book is a slim volume; a few additions would have been welcome. As Ms. Kato says, it is not a Japanese custom to drink without eating; Japan's cocktail culture is intrinsically connected with its cuisine. It might have been an interesting inclusion to the book to note how certain cocktails might pair with some of Japan's more famous dishes. It is hard to imagine just how the Melon Cream Soda would fit in with any dish except as dessert, but I would have loved to hear more.

Another area needed more explanation for a Western readership — just where to find some of these exotic ingredients. I am lucky enough to have a Japanese grocery in the neighborhood, but others are not. Ms. Kato suggests ordering online, but some prioritizing would be useful. Perhaps a listing of what might be essential and what might be fanciful could save time and money. And as I found out, even with a Japanese grocery at hand, it's not always easy to find an ingredient.

Armed with the book, I ventured out to find yuzu juice for a Tokyo Sidecar. Soon I realized that knowing I needed yuzu juice is not quite enough. I needed to know what the Japanese character is for the yuzu juice. Once again, I found myself depending on the kindness of strangers who found the bottle on the shelf for me. Yuzu, it turns out, is a citrus in the family of lemon and lime, and the brand I ended up with was akin to Rose's Lime Juice.

The Tokyo Sidecar:

2 oz. whiskey
1 oz. Cointreau
1/4 tsp. yuzu juice

Mix all ingredients in a cocktail shaker with ice. Strain into a chilled martini glass and serve.

The Sidecar usually calls for a lemon twist. I did not opt for it, fearing to overpower the yuzu juice. I did load up on the sugared rim, although it was not called for. Hello Kitty would approve.

And speaking of sweet teeth, there is lovely chocolate in Japanese groceries — a whole new country of candy to explore. Domo arigato!

The Fish House Punch: A Relative Elixir or How to Muddle Through Somehow

There's a little place just out of town,
Where, if you go to lunch,
They'll make you forget your mother-in-law
With a drink called Fish-House Punch.

-- The Cook (1885)

In our Christmas trip down distillery lane, let's stop first at

the greatest of all American Punches. It deserves to be protected by law, taught in the schools, and made a mandatory part of every Fourth of July celebration, with dilute portions given to those not yet of legal age, so that they may be accustomed to the taste.

This glorious review is for the Fish House Punch as described by David Wondrich, cocktail historian, in his book Imbibe. Christmas gift suggestion there — please don't say I never gave you anything.

Wondrich has no faint praise, but this punch is not limited to the Fourth of July barbecue. Actually, the beverage is an important part of the Christmas celebrations at one of the original Old Boys Networks, the Schuylkill Fishing Club in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The 1905 New York Timescalled it the oldest dining club in the world, older than the "famous Beefsteak Club of London — founded in 1739." In the mid-19th century, the club opened its Christmas parties to women. The ladies were served this punch in an effort to liven things up, not that a exclusive men's club would necessarily need to liven things up.

Established by 27 Quakers, two of whom came to Philadelphia with William Penn, the Schuylkill Fishing Club was what it claimed to be — all about fishing, with some incidental eating. The organization built its clubhouse , called the Castle, on the banks of the Schuylkill River with permission of the local Leni Lenapes tribe.

One of the most unique aspects of the club, pointed out in the 1905 Times article, is the obligation of each member to take his turn in preparing the annual dinner:

In this he may have as assistants two or three apprentices who are awaiting to be admitted to full membership. No servants are employed. The apprentices — not infrequently men past middle age — wear white aprons and white straw hats and must comport themselves respectfully and obediently, in helping to cook the dinner and in serving it.

More to the point, the punch:

The standard beverage is Fish House punch, mixed in a huge punch bowl by three citizens, solemnly elected for that office. The exact ingredients and their proportions is the secret of the 'State' in Schuylkill and has been handed down from generation to generation. The recipe for the blending never has been revealed although so-called Fish House punch has been served for years at dinners in different parts of the country. All these are imitations — some of them very good, but not one the real thing.

One "imitation" I lifted recently is from the 1951 Gourmet magazine (now defunct, but with recipes still on their website for an undetermined length of time — gather ye concoctions while ye may ).

From the days when the individual cocktail was unheard of and everything was designed for large amounts of friends and guests — the Fish House Punch.

1 cup of sugar
3 1/2 cups water
1 1/2 cups fresh lemon juice (6-8 lemons)
1 (750 ml) bottle amber rum
12 oz. cognac
2 oz. peach brandy (1/4 cup)

Dissolve the sugar in the water. Then add rest of the ingredients. Chill before serving for at least three hours.

Traditionally the punch is served over an ice block. This can be made with a cardboard orange juice container with the spout cut off. Fill with water and freeze. If you would like a clear block of ice, boil the water first, then cool. I used a silicone bundt pan for the ice block and floated some lemon wheels in the water before freezing. It looked lovely, if I say so myself.

If you are having trouble finding peach brandy and would like to use peach schnapps, be my guest, says my local liquor store proprietor (who is, by now, becoming curiouser and curiouser about my recent purchases). The brandy has peaches distilled in the original process while the schnapps has peach flavoring added after the fact. In a pinch, the schnapps will do. Besides, when you are pouring in a bottle of rum and a half bottle of cognac into a punch, how could a 1/4 cup of peach brandy or schnapps matter one bit? And with that kind of attitude, you can see why I mix cocktails, not bake cakes.

This punch is very easy to make, and it was a hit at a recent Christmas party I attended, lugging a punch bowl with me. Right before serving, I added some club soda to give it some energy. Some recipes call for champagne, but I opted for a non-alcoholic mixer. It is a strong punch — Christmas caution is advised. One added benefit — with all the citrus in this drink, scurvy will not be on your 2010 calendar.

W. C. Fields is incorrectly credited with saying, "rather here than Philadelphia." We know that's not true. Everyone wants to be in Philadelphia when the Schuylkill Fishing Club's Fish House Punch is ready.

Then, the party is over. You put your feet up. You move slowly from the mass to the me. Make yourself that elusive individual cocktail. Use some of that leftover cognac from the punch.

After a very successful Christmas evening, make yourself a sidecar. Not just any sidecar — a Ritz sidecar, so named because you are using cognac instead of brandy. Actually, cognac is a brandy, but it is a brandy made exclusively in the Cognac area of France under strict regulation. This relationship of cognac to brandy is analogous to Champagne and sparkling wine — Champagne is sparkling wine made in the Champagne area of France, using the méthode champenoise.

The Ritz Sidecar from Ted Haigh's excellent Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails:

5 parts cognac (the older the better)
3 parts Cointreau
2 parts fresh lemon juice

Shake in an iced cocktail shaker. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass rimmed with superfine sugar, and have a Merry Christmas!

The Side Car: A Drink That Tastes Much Better than It Sounds

I have been thinking about Sidecars a lot lately. Hasn't everyone?

Well, apparently yes, they have. In yesterday's mail, amidst all the Christmas catalogs, there arrived fashion designer Trina Turk's new advertising flyer. Trina is recommending the Sidecar for holiday entertaining. I say, "Sure! Let's! I was just thinking the same thing!"

The Sidecar came up frequently during my research into the Whiskey Sour. The Sidecar is a cousin, or at least it's in the same family--the Family Sour: a liquor base with a balance of sweet and sour.

The Sidecar is a Whiskey Sour relation: the relation with the much more intriguing name. Why a sidecar? What does this cocktail have to do with an extra seat attached to a motorcycle?

Perhaps the answer lies in the beginnings of the drink, which were at the end of World War One. It originated maybe in Paris, maybe in London, maybe on a motorcycle. Who knows?

A bartender needed to make an emergency cocktail while commuting. His only transportation--a motorcycle. Hilarity ensued.

One of the first mentions of the Sidecar is in Robert Vermeire's 1922 Cocktails: How To Mix Them,for those of you keeping score at home. The drink was supposedly invented by legendary bartender MacGarry of London's Buck Club, a true visionary not only of mixology but of the need to have only one name as a celebrity.

Here is the trusted recipe:

The Sidecar:
2 oz. of brandy or cognac
3/4 oz. of Cointreau or triple sec
3/4 oz. of fresh lemon juice
lemon wedge

With the lemon wedge, moisten rim of a coupe glass (it looks like an old-style champagne glass). A martini glass will do just as well. Sprinkle wet rim with superfine sugar. A true bartender will only coat half a glass with sugar to give the customer the option - to sugar or not to sugar.

Place the first three ingredients into a cocktail shaker full of ice. Shake well until a frost forms on the shaker. Strain into glass. Start your engines.

I recently visited the Chelsea area of New York City. At the always funHalf-King, a necessary stop on anyone's literary pub crawl since it is partially owned by Sebastian Junger of The Perfect Storm fame, I had the brainstorm to order a Chelsea Sidecar, a variation on our theme that calls for gin rather than brandy. I was confident that the bar would stretch to the occasion, not only because of geography but also because the Sidecar was on their drinks menu.

What resulted was a rather unpleasant gin gimlet. Lime juice and too much of it. There's nothing wrong with a gimlet, but that's for another column.

Moving onto Astoria, Queens, I tried again. That could have been a mistake too. Astoria has its own cocktail, basically a very wet martini with orange bitters. The neighborhood might not have been welcome to the idea of a Sidecar on 31st Avenue and 33rd Street, or 31st Street and 33rd Avenue, or 31st Road and 33rd Street. Astoria can be confusing. You don't want to have too many Sidecars, or you won't find your way out.

We visited the Brick Cafe, a charming little rustic chic Euro restaurant. Far from being defensive about the Astoria Cocktail, the waiter at the cafe was undaunted by the order of the Sidecar. And after the drink arrived, I could see why. It was excellent. So much so that visions of award ceremonies danced in my head. The Speakeasy's Award for most Unfazed Waiter, and maybe even The Speakeasy Award for Best Cocktail. Awards ceremony season is rapidly approaching. I'd better get to work on that. Just one more cocktail. I'll make it a stylish one on Trina Turk's good advice.