A holiday pageant in three acts
By Mark Criden

Act I: Margaritaville
You’re on a tropical island, lying on a soft chaise lounge, gazing out at the Caribbean. Warm breezes waft through the branches of stately palm trees. The beach waiter approaches. Is there something in the bottle he carries? Is it a worm?

He shows you the bottle. “No, sir, not a worm. Tequila never has a worm,” he laughs softly.

You squint. You could swear you saw a worm. The waiter pours you a shot of the limpid gold liquid. “Mezcal, sir, has a worm, but Mezcal can be made from many different types of the agave plant. Tequila, sir, can only be made from the blue agave.”

You knock back the shot. Delicioso. Tequila, you think. My favorite holiday spirit. I wonder if they did shooters back in the day, in the little town of Bethlehem.

The waiter shakes his head. “No, sir, they did not. You are probably thinking of the Aztecs, who partied two thousand years ago with their own version of blue agave juice which they called pulque.

Puke?

“Pulque, sir. Fermented blue agave juice. It was the Spanish conquistadors who thought to put the pulque through the distillation process in the mid-1650s, producing the first tequila.”

Wonderful fellows, those Spanish conquistadors.

“The Aztecs may not think so, sir.”

You lean back, savoring the heady spirit. The waiter mixes you a margarita.

Margarita
Salt, for rimming the glass
1 1/2 ounces tequila
1 ounce freshly squeezed lime juice
1/2 ounce Cointreau

Place salt in a shallow dish. Moisten the rim of a glass with lime, then dip in salt.

Fill glass with ice; add tequila, lime juice, and Cointreau; and stir. Serve immediately.

“What makes this margarita especially delicious, sir, is the tequila I am using—the truly wonderful Excellia Reposado, a tequila which has been aged in casks that formerly held cognac and sauternes.”

This is terrific, complex tequila, with an intense floral aroma of vanilla, raisins, and tropical fruit, velvety, round, and vibrant with a long, spicy finish.

“At $65, it’s pricey, sir, but it’s tequila with terrific balance and poise. It is fantastic straight up, and makes a killer margarita. Maybe you would like a Tequila Sunrise before I go?”

Tequila Sunrise
2 ounces tequila
4 ounce freshly squeezed orange juice
1 ounce Grenadine

Pour tequila in a highball glass with ice, and top with orange juice. Stir. Add the grenadine, which will sink to the bottom and rise up slowly through the drink. Garnish with lime or orange wedge.

Orange juice. You think you’re more in the mood for pineapple juice.

“I will make you a Piña, sir.”

Piña
1-1/2 ounces tequila
3 ounces pineapple juice
1 ounce lime juice
Sugar to taste

Shake all ingredients together. Serve on the rocks in a tall glass.

You polish off the margarita, reach for the Piña, and, as your eyes close, wonder if the waiter is right about the worm …

Act II: Bialystok
...in the bottle. Your eyes open. There is something in the bottle after all, but it’s green. It’s … “Grass, mister. I was saying it’s Bison Grass.”

You are now sitting fireside in a lodge on a snowy lot in Poland, staring at a bottle with a blade of grass inside it. “This is Zu Vodka ($30), our beloved 80-proof Bison Grass Vodka, mister, first bottled around here in the fourteenth century. Bison grass is an aromatic European botanical which, as Polish nobility once believed, provides virility, stamina, and power when infused in vodka.”

An aphrodisiac? “Yes, mister. Bison grass has a strong influence on affairs of the heart.”

Well, so does all alcohol, you think. He hands you a glass. You’ve never tasted vodka that was so redolent of vanilla and cinnamon before, or one that was pale-gold in color.

“It’s the Bison grass.” He hands you another glass filled with a cloudy, golden liquid.

Tatanka orszarlotka, or the Polish Kiss
1 part Bison Grass vodka
1 part apple juice

Serve long over ice, garnished with fresh lime.

You take a swig. Pretty good. You could use more kisses like this. Would probably be good with cherry juice or ginger ale, too. Time for another cocktail.

Polish Strike
1-1/2 ounces Zu Vodka Bison Grass Vodka
1/2 oz apple schnapps
1/2 oz. lime Juice
3 oz. apple Juice
2 dashes of vanilla syrup
5 white grapes

Muddle grapes and shake with all the ingredients over ice cubes. Garnish with chopped apple.

You nod to another vodka nearby. The bottle says Exclusiv Vodca. The waiter looks stricken. “Mister, that is Russian Vodka.” Hey, you think, don’t blame me for Yalta. You grab the Exclusiv anyhow and pour a shot.

The Zu Vodka was nuttier, with almond and coconut scents, while the Exclusiv is creamy and sweet. The Exclusiv was clearly meant to be the base for your Bloody Mary, screwdriver, or White Russian. It’s a good value in top-shelf vodka, though not as distinctive as the ubrówka.

Too much vodka. You close your eyes, and the last thing you remember seeing is that slender blade of grass. It must be hours before you wake up in …

Act III: A London Pub
… where gin, named for the French word for juniper berries, is king.

“You know what’s ironic, mate? England began mass production of gin as a grudge against the French, and now we’re drinkin’ French friggin’ gin.”

The barmaid is aquiver with anger at the thought of her martini or G&T being made with French gin. But, as they often do, the French have regained supremacy in matters of alcohol. G’Vine has created two ultra-premium gins from France. The first, Floraison, is a modern-style gin wildly infused with vine flowers and nine different botanicals.

“It’s a frigging riot of flavors, is that Floraison, mate.”

And then there is the more lightly flavored Nouaison, more of a traditional London-dry style of gin, positively ideal for martinis and the like. The Florasion goes for $30; the Nouaison, $35. The Nouaison makes a fabulous martini, and you especially like it in a gin and tonic.

But perhaps your favorite use for the Nouaison is to recreate a lost cocktail, the gin buck, a forgotten favorite from the years between the first and second world wars.

Gin Buck
1 1/2 ounces Nouaison
4 ounces of ginger ale
1/2 lime wedge

Mix gin, ginger ale, and juice of half a lime over ice in a highball glass. Rim the glass with the lime.

With the Nouaison it’s the perfect cocktail—cool, citrusy, tart, a bit of spice. It has three ingredients and numerous variations. You can try substituting lemon for the lime, which gives the drink a mellow lemon flavor. Either way, it’s fizzier than a gimlet, and sweeter that a straight gin and tonic.

A perfect way to ring in the holidays, wherever you are.

Other Lost Cocktails

Cocktails go in and out of fashion, sometimes disappearing for decades, then reappearing without warning, ripe for new audiences. Some hundred-year-old drinks have been uncovered thanks to our renewed interest in cocktail culture, while other recipes remain in hiding, waiting for the night Paris Hilton or Lindsay Lohan discover them.

Take the Mamie Taylor, named after an opera prima donna. It’s the same as a gin buck, but for gin you substitute scotch, which has sharp flavors ameliorated by the lime and ginger. The Mamie Taylor can actually be traced to a bar in Rochester, where it was invented in 1899. Substitute rye for scotch and you’ll have a rye and ginger.

The gin buck and the Mamie Taylor are of historic importance because they are the ancestors of the Moscow Mule—vodka, ginger ale, and lime juice—the cocktail that single-handedly introduced vodka to America in the 1950s. The rest is history.

Mamie Taylor (aka Mamie Gilroy)
2 ounces scotch
4 ounces of ginger ale
Half a lime wedge
Mix gin, ginger ale, and juice of half a lime over ice in a highball glass. Rim the glass with the lime.

Moscow Mule
1 ounce Exclusiv vodka
3 ounces of ginger ale
I ounce lime juice
Mix Exclusiv, ginger ale, and lime over ice in a highball glass. Garnish with lime. Add a dash of angostura bitters if desired.

Mark Criden is a nonprofit executive and the former chair of the Buffalo Branch of the International Wine & Food Society.


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