The Rob Roi

I never much cared for Rob Roys. It's a decent enough drink, but if I have my druthers, I'm always going to go for the rye-based (or bourbon, if you must) Manhattan than the Scotch-based Rob Roy. It's the same basic recipe and, to my tastes, the rye just marries better with the sweet vermouth than does the Scotch.

I began to change my mind a bit, however, last fall during a trip to London. Restaurateur and mixologist Nick Strangeway introduced me to a Rob Roy made not with sweet vermouth, but with Noilly Prat "Ambre" vermouth. The Ambre, which take a bit of dry and a bit of sweet to create a flavor profile all its own, made a perfect partner to the Scotch. Its recipe includes more spices than that of the dry or sweet vermouths. Among them are orange, cinnamon and vanilla, which really come out when you sip it alone on the rocks.

After I mentioned this on Off the Presses last fall, British cocktail blogger Jay Hepburn offered to bring me some Noilly Prat Ambre upon his next trip to New York. He was as good as his word, delivering the bottle last week. Without much delay, I whipped up a Rob Roy using the stuff and Cragganmore single malt. It was as good as I remember, and I dare say, I will with henceforth find it difficult to interest myself in a Roy Roy made with sweet vermouth. First of all, there's the color. The golden color of the scotch teamed with the equally golden color of the vermouth make for a glass of almost unparalleled beauty. As for the taste, there is a similar purity there. There is a brightness and wonderful simplicity to the cocktail.

Of course, strictly speaking, this is not a Rob Roy. It's a different recipe, using a different vermouth. So it deserves a different name. Nick did not mention giving the drink a name, so I am taking it upon myself to do so. And I have hit upon one that is perfect, if I do say so myself. Roy Roi. As in king. Picture the monarch with a golden crown, sitting on a golden throne. Say it with a French accent.

Roy Roi

2 1/2 oz. scotch
3/4 oz. Noilly Prat Ambre vermouth
A dash Angostura bitters

Stir over ice. Strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with lemon twist.

Of course, I know most of you out there don't have the Ambre. Sorry. Start petitioning the French.

A Golden Rob Roy

Go to a foreign country and you're confronted with liquors and wines you've never tried before. Pimm's "Winter" No. 3; Havana Club Barrel Proof rum; Beefeater Crown Jewel.

During my recent trip to London to sample the new Beefeater gin called "24," I had dinner at Hawksmoor, Nick Strangeway's splendid restaurant at Shoreditch, very near where Jack the Ripper did his handiwork a century or so ago. Strangeway is a friendly, beguiling guy who smokes a great many cigarettes through a long, scraggly beard that twists as it heads toward the floor. His wardrobe has a hectic set of rules all its own; he wore a bright gold sportsjacket at the 24 launch party.

Strangeway has a admirably well-stocked bar at Hawksmoor. One thing that caught my eye in particular was a unfamiliar bottle of Noilly Prat vermouth called "Ambre." What the hell? And it was not on a shelf, but out on the bar, so it was being well-used. I asked Nick about it and he bubbled with enthusiasm. It's a newish product from Noilly, sitting somewhere between the dry and sweet vermouths in taste. According to the Noilly website, Ambre is made from even more herbs and spices than are found in the dry and rouge, including orange, cinnamon and vanilla. "It makes beautiful Rob Roys," he said.

That sounded like an invitation. Sure enough, soon he was making me a Noilly Prat Ambre Rob Roy. It was a beautiful thing. Visually, first of all, it was a glass of gleaming ore. The taste, too, was golden. If a cocktail could ever taste like a color, this was it. A great Rob Roy, no question.

There's a picture of the stuff above, to the left of a gravity-driven, ice-mold contraption that Nick had which was spellbinding all around, including the Pegu Club's Audrey Saunders. (It presses ice into a perfect snowball-shaped ice cube. Nice parlor trick.)

For those out there who are now saying, "I got to get me some of that Noilly Ambre," get ready to grit your teeth. It's only available for sale at the Noilly plant in Marseillan, France. Nick only has some because he has "a friend." Let the obsessing begin.