How About a Nice Swedish Punsch?

Whenever importer Eric Seed hits town, you can pretty much bet he has something new and great up his sleeve. Recently, it was the first commercially sold Swedish Punsch to see these shores in half a century. Here's the item I wrote about it for the Times:

How About a Nice Swedish Punsch?

By Robert Simonson

The passion for resurrecting pre-Prohibition cocktails has helped fetch out of history’s dustbin several forgotten elixirs, including Crème Yvette, allspice dram, orange bitters and, most famously, absinthe. The latest one to be rehabilitated is Swedish punsch. Beginning this summer, the sweet liqueur will return to liquor stores courtesy of Eric Seed, the owner of Haus Alpenz, a Minnesota-based importing company that specializes in unique and arcane liquors.

Mr. Seed was the logical candidate for the job. The base spirit of Swedish punsch is Batavia arrack, the southeastern Asian liquor derived from sugar cane and red rice. This, too, was lost to Americans, until Mr. Seed began importing it a few years ago.

“We knew Swedish punsch would eventually come back as long as Batavia Arrack existed,” said Ted Haigh, a noted cocktail historian. (Mr. Haigh likes Swedish punsch so much his nickname is “Dr. Cocktail,” the name of the best known punsch concoction.)

The liqueur — which also contains rum, sugar and spices — dates from Sweden’s exploring days. “The tradition goes back to the Swedish East India Company,” Mr. Seed said. “To mollify the sailors on board the ships, they let them dive into the Batavia arrack that they brought back from the East Indies. They would mix that with sugar and maybe a touch of the spice, and that grog they called their punch.”

Sometime in the 19th century, Swedish punsch was bottled. “Swedish tradition is to warm it up and enjoy it with pea soup,” told Mr. Seed. “It was a Thursday night tradition.”

By the turn of the 20th century, the liqueur had gained a foothold in America as a cocktail ingredient. But when Prohibition hit, momentum slowed. Punsch went out of fashion and then disappeared altogether.

Mr. Seed teamed with the Swedish-born, America-dwelling oenologist Henrik Facile to come up with a new Swedish punsch recipe. The new product has been labeled Kronan. Unlike many other punsch brands, it will actually be made by Swedes in Sweden — just out Stockholm. Kronan will be sold in both Sweden and America for $30.

“It’s traditional applications are for very simple drinks,” Mr. Seed said. “The Swedes have it straight or straight warmed up.”

Maybe Americans can start a new tradition of punsch and pea soup Thursdays.

What I Saw at the Manhattan Cocktail Classic

Whoopie Pies filled with Patron.

A white-haired woman whose dress upheld dozens of cans of "hangover cure."

Talking Absinthe With Ted Breaux

Because who else would you talk about absinthe with? I mean, if you had the choice.

The green-hued fairy has lost some of its bloom a bit since the heady days when it returned to the market in 2007, after a century-long absence. But Breaux remains a true believer. The man who made Lucid—still the most ubiquitous brand of absinthe—is not retreating, as many absinthe producers have, but has brought out three new artisanal bottlings, all based on ancient recipes.

Here's my Wine Enthusiast interview with Breaux:

Booming Breaux

BY ROBERT SIMONSON

Ted Breaux has already made his mark in the absinthe world. An early expert on, and advocate of, the green elixir—one of the world's most popular and fabled liqueurs before disappearing for much of the 20th century—his Lucid was the first absinthe to hit the U.S. market when all legal barriers to the product fell in early 2007. Four years later, as absinthe's fortunes have boomed and then somewhat cratered, the world's foremost absinthe evangelist is back with three new products—Jade C. F. Berger, Jade Esprit Edouard and Jade 1901—all replications of original 19th century brands, and all priced over $100.

Wine Enthusiast: Why, after creating Lucid, was it important to you to bring three more absinthes to the U.S.?

Ted Breaux: Because Lucid is a solid upper-mid-market product. It is a product we intend for people to use to make classic absinthe cocktails. It satisfies that need very well. But we felt there would be a growing group who would appreciate the upper premium. These new ones appeal to a niche crowd of, basically, absinthe snobs.

WE: These are all recreations of Belle Epoque absinthes. How did you piece together the recipes?

TB: I owned several bottles of each and analyzed their make-up with the 130-year-old equipment at the Combier Distillery [in the Loire Valley]. Each one is an accurate reproduction of an original brand that existed in the 19th century. This was made possible by my analytical efforts, which started 11 years ago.

WE: If you had to give thumbnail sketches of the three absinthes, how would you describe them?

TB: It's like the difference between Pinot Noir, Cabernet and Malbec. They’re all instantly recognizable as absinthe. The difference is in the nuances in the spirits, in the herb bill, the distillation and the finishes. Even with an amateur palate, you can discern the differences.

WE: OK, say I'm a Pinot Noir man. Which absinthe would you recommend?

TB: I'd say my Espita Eduoard. Despite that it's 144 proof, it's round in the mouth, with a forward herb bill and nice round herbal finish. It's punchy, but elegant.

WE: Absinthe hit the U.S. market with a big splash, but then retreated some after it was seen that demand wasn't as high as expected. How to you view absinthe's future in the U.S.?

TB: We knew before 2007 that, upon getting absinthe re-legalized in the U.S; there would be two phases. In the first phase, availability outpaced education. People rushed out and bought it, just because they could, even though they didn't know what to do with it. I don't care how big a wine or whiskey snob you are, when it comes to absinthe you're an amatuer. This is where phase two starts. Basically we train bartenders and mixologists and journalists and industry people in classic absinthe cocktails and the strategy and purpose of those cocktails. This is what I do every day.

Garnished With History

The first seminar I attended at this year's Manhattan Cocktail Classic was a lively one about a timely topic—when does excessive historicism and general cocktail geekdom get in the way of a customer's simply enjoying his cocktail. Historian David Wondrich asked this question of panelists Chad Solomon, Philip Duff and St. John Frizell, and the audience, which, in this case, had a lot to say on the matter.

One question that was asked by Wondrich, but not adequately answered by the panel or audience, was why is tracking a drink's history so much more an obsession and practice in the cocktail world than it is in the food world. I have a theory about this. Culinary tradition in cooking is, I believe, more of a continuum. Chefs aren't ignoring history. They've just absorbed the work of their antecedents and express those influences in their food and techniques, without drawing particular notice to it. Restaurants never suffered anything like Prohibition, which closed down regular bars, and interrupted drinking traditions for more than a decade. When it was repealed, the historical timeline was lost, as were various products, practitioners and books. The industry had to piece everything together again. That is why I think cocktail people are so interested in their work's history—it was taken away from them. The excessive notations of today's cocktail menus are a way of making sure that never happens again.

Here's my write-up for the Times:

Do You Have to Think When You Drink?

By Robert Simonson

Pick up a drink menu these days and it’s not unusual to find a citation for each cocktail detailing its inventor, its place of origin and year of creation. There might even be a few lines of colorful back story. This can charm and inform, or in the wrong hands, it can be very annoying.

So on Saturday four cocktail historians and mixologists gathered at Astor Center to discuss whether this historicism has gone too far.

David Wondrich, author of a recent historical study of punch, presided over the event, titled “History: What Is It Good For?” part of this year’s Manhattan Cocktail Classic convention.

A little knowledge can be a dangerous thing, said the writer, cocktail consultant and bar owner Philip Duff. The road of half-baked “research,’’ he said, “leads to the palace of arrogance.”

But St. John Frizell, a writer and owner of Fort Defiance in Brooklyn, said there was a value to knowing about a cocktail’s provenance.

“Knowing where the cocktail comes from makes it taste better,” Mr. Frizell contended. “You never drink in a vacuum.” He suggested that sketching in the historical framework of a classic drink can help to “provide an extra level of enjoyment.”

Chad Solomon, a founder of the consultancy and catering group Cuffs and Buttons, added that, at this point in the cocktail revolution, bartenders have little choice but to stow a little history up their gartered sleeve. “People want context,” he said. “People expect it.”

The challenge, it seems, is to deliver that context so that it’s received as a pleasurable accompaniment to drinking, and not, as Mr. Wondrich put it, “a club we beat people with.” One audience member wondered how most bartenders would answer the question, “Am I doing this for my guest, or for myself?”

Mr. Duff suggested the problem of preachiness may rest largely with the more ego-centric male members of the profession. “You know that drink recipe you’ve never heard of in the book that’s out of print?” he said, imitating a certain grandstanding type of bartender., Mr. Duff, however, believed a bar’s advertisement of historical fealty to old drinks telegraphed a useful message to the consumer: “These drinks are taken care of.”

Misty Kalkofen, a mixologist at Drink , in Boston, who was in the audience, said that knowing the story behind an old drink is a great hospitality tool. “If a story connects us with the guest, that’s great,” she said.

Still, Mr. Solomon said he thought it was perhaps time to move on from history-happy cocktail bars. “I think we’ve plateaued with the use of history,” he said. “The history is stifling the recreational aspect of the bar.”

Cachaça Sorbet to Start Your Day?

This is the first sight that greeted me at this year's Manhattan Cocktail Classic convention. A bright lime-green Leblon Cachaça truck. In a city gone truck-food mad, why not?

At first, I thought they were passing out Caipirinhas. But that might actually be illegal or something. Not sure. Anyway they weren't. They were giving out something better: Cachaça sorbets.

And just to show Leblon has not given up on its quixotic fight with the U.S. Government's labeling of Cachaça:

A Chat With Murray Stenson

I have still yet to have the pleasure of meeting Murray Stenson, Seattle bartender of legend. But this Wine Enthusiast assignment gave me the chance to chat with him on the phone.

Mixologist of the Month: Murray Stenson

By Robert Simonson

Star bartenders of the 19th century, like Jerry Thomas, became famous by hop-skipping the nation, setting up short-lived grog shops in San Francisco, New York, New Orleans and Chicago. Murray Stenson is a more efficient worker. He became a modern-day legend by working a couple of bars along a two-block stretch in Seattle.

Last July, Stenson, 61, was named the best bartender in America at the 2010 Tales of the Cocktail convention in New Orleans. Stenson, who doesn’t think much of awards, did not attend, instead putting in his usual shifts at the Zig Zag Café, Seattle’s best-loved classic cocktail bar. Murray’s been senior bartender there for a decade, ever since he abruptly quit his job at Il Bistro, an Italian restaurant down the street. Stenson considers his education in craft cocktails to have begun at Il Bistro. But he is as loyal to his customers as they are to him, and he saw red one Valentine’s Day when the owners favored lovey-dovey diners over regulars. “I saw them turning away people who had been coming for a year and half. I just turned in my keys at the end of the night.” The Zig Zag lost little time capitalizing on Il Bistro’s loss; the bar hired Stenson that night.

Unlike today’s career mixologists, Stenson fell into bartending the old-fashioned way. “I was drifting, trying to figure out what I was going to do when I grew up.” His first job was at Benjamin’s, in the Seattle suburb of Bellevue. He worked the service bar, dealing only with waiters. That suited him fine. “At that time I could not talk to people at all. I had the biggest inferiority complex.” His next gig, at Henry’s Off Broadway, cured him of his shyness. “It was one of the most popular bars in the city. I was forced to talk to people.”

Stenson figures he has 10 more years of drink-slinging left in him. His model is a bartender at Maneki, a Japanese hole in the wall that is the oldest restaurant in Seattle. “She’s tended bar for 50 years. She is 80 and still going strong.”

Rum Via Cognac

I wrote this little item about the lovely Banks 5 Island Rum for Wine Enthusiast:

Banks 5 Island Rum

By Robert Simonson

Rums wear their places of origin like badges of honor. A Jamaican rum maker would bristle if his product were mistaken for one from Barbados, and vice versa. And the distillers of Martinique—producing several rums that boast a rare AOC designation—would raise a cri de coeur if their rums were lumped in with the rest of their Caribbean brethren. So Banks 5 Island Rum—a blend of white rums from a quintet of different nations: rinidad, Jamaica, Barbados, Java and Guyana—is born of a new and unorthodox notion. The motivations behind its creation become clearer when one discovers that Arnaud de Trabuc is the brand’s master distiller. Formerly the president of Thomas Hine & Co., de Trabuc has a long history of working with Cognac, where blending is the name of the game. He considered rum’s prevailing commercial model—where islands work only with home-grown liquor—to be shortsighted. “I thought since we were going to do a new rum, we had to do something a little bit different,” said de Trabuc. He spent 18 months toying with the blend for Banks (which is named after explorer Sir Joseph Banks), finally settling on a cocktail of 21 diffrent rums anchored by a Trinidadian distillate. Not surprisingly, the result tates like nothing else in the rum world, viscous and pungent, with unexpected notes of green pepper, coconut and ripe tropical fruit. The only gripe with the result: 5 Island is a bit of a misnomer, since Guyana isn’t an island.