Photo by Camilo Rios, Kanon Vodka

The ladies of the Drink Me staff are big Man Repeller fans, so it’s only natural that we’re going to feature a cocktail inspired by the woman herself.

Just like the sartorial meaning of ‘man repellant,’ this one’s a big, pink, fruity, stylish doozy. Please note: you must wear an arm party and/or a mullet dress in order to do it right.

1.5 oz Kanon Organic Vodka
1/2 oz Triple Sec
1/2 oz of freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 oz fresh pear juice
1 oz fresh cranberry juice

Combine ingredients in a shaker filled with ice. Shake and strain into a chilled martini glass. Garnish with a lemon twist and cherry.

On the surface, the impact of terroir on whiskey appears to be more than a drinker’s whiskey-addled epiphany.  The traditional segregation of Scotch into distinct whiskey-producing regions screams of terroir.  Each region is distinguished from the other by unique flavor profiles, not just geographic location. The Lowlands are famous for their light and floral flavors while Campbeltown whiskies are known for their ruddy, big bodied flavors. Highland whiskies are fruity and fresh and Speyside whiskies are appreciated for their dark fruit and spice notes.  Island whiskies that are associated with salty ocean air have wisps of smoke, and finally, Islay whiskies are exalted for their bold peaty and smoky flavors.

Seems straightforward, however, the concept of terroir, as limited to its original winemaking etymology, does not quite fit the modern mold of whiskey making.  Whereas a classic winery will produce wine from local grapes, a distillery does not necessarily use locally grown grains.  So often the grain and soil have little relationship to a distillery’s locale. As such, the fundamental component of whiskey, malted barley, is a free agent owing little loyalty (or flavor) to a particular distillery.  Rare is the distillery that sources their barley locally, let alone grows it.  The vast majority of the barley used in Scotch is imported from outside of Scotland.  So for many whiskies, the flavors that are imparted by barley have little to do with terroir.

In times past, one could certainly rely on the peating of whiskies as an example of their terroir pedigree.  The burning of decomposed vegetation – peat – to dry malted barley was more of a necessity than an additive to impart smoky flavor.  Alas, while peat certainly accounts for the ‘terra’ (“earth” in Latin) in terroir, it is no longer the signature flavor of distilleries that happen to be situated near a one-time peat bog.  It’s not uncommon for distillers to peat whiskies with soil from distinctly different regions.  Even more perverse is the fact that peat is no longer the exclusive dominion of Islay Scotch.  Highland, Speyside, and even Japanese distilleries now offer an array of peated whiskies.  At a risk of making it more confusing, there are also non-peated whiskies from distilleries that traditionally use a heavy peat hand.  Peating whiskey is now a deliberate choice (a very trendy one) that is decidedly not a happenstance of the environment.

Then there is the barrel – the foreign mercenary that is brought in as a major influencer of any whiskey’s flavor profile.  Needless to say, the Spanish sherry butts (used wooden casks), the American bourbon barrels, and the port pipes have no relation to the terroir of a whiskey no matter how broadly one applies the term.  While it is still possible to find Scotch aged in Scottish oak, and bourbon in American oak, these are the exceptions to the rule.  But in all fairness, terroir in the classical sense is a statement of the local environs’ influence and not of the nature of the barrel used.  As such, it is fair to reason that terroir, even when used in whiskey circles, refers to non-barrel elements.

One would think that the door was shut on the terroir concept as applied to whiskey.  But alas, there are still the water and air elements of the whiskey-making process.  Many distilleries are vocal about the virtues of their local water and the characters it gives their whiskies.  As any local water source draws its balance and mineral content from the nearby soil and rock, it is well within the traditional bounds of terroir and its application to whiskey.  In fact, a test by Mike Miyamoto, Master Distiller at Suntory’s Yamazaki distillery in Japan, proved the importance of water’s affect on whiskey. Suntory has two malt whiskey distilleries:  Yamazaki and Hakushu.  Each distillery produces a distinctly different whiskey in different regions of Japan.  Water was taken from the Yamazaki distillery and transported several hundred miles away to the Hakushu distillery where it was used to produce whiskey.  The resulting whiskey actually took on the flavor profile of Yamazaki even though it was distilled at Hakushu.  A reverse experiment was also performed and again, the flavors of the whiskies aligned with their respective water source.

Perhaps even more important is the climate and related geography of a distillery.  As whiskies mature in their barrels, the alcohol slowly evaporates as the angels take their share and the depleted whiskey is naturally replaced by local air.  Thus, coastal distilleries are likely to have the local atmosphere impart a salty, sometimes briny characteristic in their whiskey.  In the same vain, you are much less likely to get a salty profile from a Highland whiskey, aged in airs far from the sea.  It’s fair to say that whiskey profiling is not entirely void of a traditional sense of terroir. Perhaps a more accurate term (lacking the winemaking baggage and ire) could be employed but we’ll leave that to Scottish linguists.

If you find yourself drinking in circles frequented by pedantic purists who wince while you take a few liberties with language and appropriate the word “terroir,” perhaps it’s time to drink a little more and care a little less.

By Chris Jew And Nate Nicoll from WhiskyWall

The first sip shuttled me back to childhood, when I would come home from school and my mom would pour mugi-cha (cold, unsweetened barley tea) out of her retro Tupperware pitcher into matching Tupperware cups. The second sip revealed shochu’s earthy aroma colliding with the sweetness of the oolong tea — this was an iced tea for adults. And the third sip made me a die-hard oolong-hi fan.

I soon discovered that canned oolong-hi’s were available in every combini (convenient stores) and izakayas across Japan were mixing shochu with all types of teas including oolong, green and even earl grey. I knew I loved this mixed drink called “oolong-hi” but I became more and more curious about its main ingredient: shochu. How come I had never heard of it before? Wasn’t sake the drink of Japan? Why were so many people abandoning their tokkuris (sake flasks) for the sound of ice crackling to the pouring of shochu?

Two years after my trip to Kyoto, I moved from California to Tokyo and I clearly landed in a country that was in the midst of a drinking trend. All of my Japanese friends were drinking shochu and when I would walk home from work every night, I would see peoples’ recycling crates filled to the brim with shochu bottles and beer cans. The diet-conscious nation was thrilled by shochu’s low-calorie content. And shochu’s agreeable nature could also place it beside virtually any dish — steak, smoked cheese, grilled chicken, etc.— dishes which typically do not pair well with sake.

Japan was experiencing a shochu craze during the 2000s. Nearly 10 years after the shochu boom in Japan, shochu is hardly known in the U.S. and is still most often mistaken for Korea’s distilled beverage, soju. So what is shochu?

Simply put, shochu is a distilled beverage native to Japan. Scotland has its Scotch, Russia has its vodka, Mexico has its tequila, and Japan has Shochu.

Shochu has always been consumed regularly in southern Japan. Since shochu’s birth in the 1500s, the default drink choice for men and women in Kyushu and Okinawa has been shochu over sake. It wasn’t until the 2000s (roughly 500 years later) when the rest of Japan caught onto shochu. Today, it is the most popular drink in terms of sales, leaving sake and beer in the dust since 2003.

Shochu is one of the few distilled drinks that is made from a wide variety of raw ingredients. The most common ingredients are barley (mugi), sweet potato (imo), short grain rice (kome) and long grain rice (awamori). The list goes on to include Kagoshima brown sugar (kokuto), carrot, buckwheat, sesame, chesnut and others. First-time drinkers are often surprised by the earthy aroma of shochu that is sometimes described as wild or rooty. The typical alcohol percentage of shochu is 20-25% which puts it well below your usual gin or other hard alcohol.

All shochu can be grouped into two categories: honkaku and kourui. Honkaku shochus in Japan are enjoyed in a fashion similar to a premium whisky. Honkaku shochus are single distilled and are considered to be premium shochus.  Just like a good whisky or mezcal, the most common way to drink honkaku shochu is neat or with a water element. The Japanese drink their honkaku shochu with ice, cold water or hot water. On a humid, hot summer day, salarymen unwind to shochu over blocks of ice. During the cold winter months, it is common to see the young and old curling up to a mug of imo shochu diluted with hot water. Oolong tea is also used as a mixer during the warmer seasons to create an oolong-hi (shochu iced tea).

Kourui shochus are multiply distilled and due to the less characteristic nature of kourui, they work well with sugary mixers. The well-like use of kourui extends to the ubiquitous canned chu-hi available in convenience stores and all-you-can-drink karaoke boxes across Japan. Chu-hi cocktails consist of one part shochu, two parts soda water and a splash of juice. Chu-his are reminiscent of a vodka press or greyhound.

Think of kourui shochu as the shochu you would find in the well, whereas honkaku would be considered “top shelf”.

Side bar? I don’t know how you want to incorporate this information. There is a lot of information here that distinguishes the different variations from each other so I think that a lot of it is important. If you want to integrate it into the head of the piece, please feel free. Shiso is not a variation of a shochu. I mentioned a cocktail using shiso in it. Hope that’s what you were asking about (added info about that in the Awamori section). Shochu can be infused with shiso but I have never tried that before.

Mugi (Barley)

Perhaps because we are used to other drinks that are made from barley, mugi (barley) shochu is in most cases the easiest entry way for people who want to explore the world of shochu. Mugi shochu echos the mild sweetness of whisky and is considered to have a less earthy aroma than imo (sweet potato). Mugi shochu is clear in color, except for the aged varieties which are a light brown. Mugi shochu can be described as having a chocolatey, round aroma and can be enjoyed on the rocks or neat.

Imo (Sweet Potato)

Imo shochu spearheaded the shochu boom of the early 2000s in Japan. It smells like baked sweet potato which distinguishes itself from other variations of shochu. Imo shochu lovers enhance the aroma by adding hot water to fully enjoy the characteristics of the drink. Imo shochu is clear in color in most cases and is often described as sweet, but full of character. Imo shochu is a fitting recommendation for alcohol enthusiasts, adventurous eaters and seasoned shochu drinkers.

Kome (Short Grain Rice)

The obvious parallel to mention here is that kome shochu shares the same main ingredient as sake (nihonshu), so it is no coincidence that it exhibits the same sweet and light aroma of sake. But the comparison ends here as the process of distilling greatly deviates kome shochu from the taste of sake. Kome is lighter and crisper than barley and imo shochus making it easy to pair with virtually any type of food–raw or cooked.

Awamori

Made from long grain rice, awamori is a shochu variation exclusively produced in Okinawa, due to a koji mold spore native to the Okinawa islands. With an average ABV of 30%, awamori is considered to be much stronger than other variations of shochus which hover around 20-25%. Awamori is categorized into two groups; shinshu (new) and koshu (aged). Shinshu awamori is clear in color and has a more pronounced boldness than koshu. Koshu awamori is aged for at least three years and is smoother than shinshu awamori. People in northern parts of Japan, including Tokyo, consider awamori to be a festive drink and enjoy awamori in times of celebration or when they eat Okinawan cuisine. Due to its high alcohol content, grassy brightness and birthplace in a warm climate, blanco tequila-lovers may find an interest in shinshu awamori.

A curious cocktail I’ve had with awamori looks like a mojito, but is actually awamori on the rocks with a dab of freshly grated wasabi and minced shiso leaves. The shiso, like mint in a mojito, provides a refreshing kick to the grassy awamori and the wasabi lends an element of sweetness.

To truly understand how shochu has become a staple in Japan’s drinking culture, one only needs to peer inside an izakaya and see a wall of bottles with tags hanging off of them. These tags have names of regular customers and wait patiently for their owners every day. This practice is called “bottle keep”ing in Japan.

My husband and I always “bottle keep” Kurokirishima (imo) at our favorite izakaya in Shimokitazawa. Like a mirage in the middle of the desert, the image of our very own bottle kept me going during those stressful days at work, providing a sense of home admidst the busy streets of Tokyo.

 by Yoko Kumano with Washi Washino

It’s true, when you think about it. Everyone has a hazy memory of sucking down flaming shots of one kind or another and feeling a bit dangerous. For me, it was ouzo. Some like to set absinthe on fire as part of the elaborate drinking ritual; this practice was developed in order to make Czech absinthe palatable, but most distillers I’ve met frown on having their product cooked. I once watched author Wayne Curtis use a charcoal starter to ignite overproof rum-soaked gunpowder – WHOOSH! – to demonstrate how alcoholic content was tested prior to the invention of the hydrometer (check it out here). A glass container used to measure the specific gravity of a liquid, the hydrometer is certainly a safer and more accurate means of alcohol testing, but not nearly as fun.

And just as some have made a career of setting booze on fire, others have seen their careers nearly go up in flames as a result. Consider, for example, New York bar impresario Albert Trummer, who pled guilty earlier this year to disorderly conduct following charges that he drizzled various alcoholic beverages along the bartop at Apothéke and ignited them, producing a trail of flame six feet wide and three feet tall.

Of course, flames aren’t only for show — fire has distinct utility in cocktails. As demonstrated by the bartender with the orange peel, flaming citrus can add a pleasant caramelized flavor. Fire is also useful in warming drinks for consumption. In fact, hot drinks are among the most historic — and some would say, among the most beloved, especially this frosty time of year.

And why not? They warm us, body and soul…and give us an excuse to play with red-hot pokers and blowtorches.

Here are three hot drinks through history, and some modern incarnations.

The Hot Buttered Rum

THEN:  This may be the oldest of all the hot winter drinks, with antecedents in drinks from the English Middle Ages, such as Posset, Syllabub and Caudle — drinks that featured hot beer, eggs, cream, spices and, occasionally, butter, in various combinations.

NOW:  These days, one need not butter rum – bartenders are also buttering up brandy, mezcal, aged tequila, and all manner of whiskeys.

Although simplified recipes are increasingly common, in which warmed drinks are ‘finished’ with unsalted butter, most Hot Buttered Rum recipes call for concocting an elaborate batter, mixing butter, spices, and sugar. A dollop of this batter then is administered to boiling water and spirits.

The Flip

THEN:  Like Buttered Rum, the Flip likely shares DNA with some Middle Ages drinks as well. Syllabub, for example, made with rum, warm milk and spices, is just steps removed from both the Hot Buttered Rum and the Flip.

In his book “And A Bottle of Rum,” author Wayne Curtis offers this reconstructed 18^th century recipe: “Mix one cup of beer [a stout like Guinness works best], two tablespoons of molasses, and one ounce Jamaican-style rum into mug or tankard. Heat loggerhead to red hot in an open fire [a fireplace poker knocked clean of ashes will do], then thrust into drink. Keep loggerhead in place until foaming and sputtering ceases. Drink hot.”

The flip’s popularity “bordered on a mania,” Curtis says, even though plunging a red-hot poker into this beer-rum-and-molasses concoction created “an alcoholic porridge,” with a “bitter, slightly burned taste.” But the New England colonists loved it, and it provided sustenance as well as warmth. There were as many variations on the flip as there were taverns. One in particular stands out: adding beaten eggs to the poker-stirred potion changed the name to “Yard of Flannel,” referring to the wooly, rough texture of cooked eggs. Appetizing, no?

 NOW:  The flip still exists, and still includes an egg, but now it’s served icy cold. For those with access to a fireplace, I dare you to try reviving the poker-cooked version.

The Blue Blazer

THEN:  Of all the hot drinks, the Blue Blazer is the pyromaniac’s dream. It’s also the signature cocktail of Jerry Thomas, the mid-1800s “father of American mixology.” Essentially, it’s a toddy set ablaze:  cask-strength Scotch with raw sugar and lemon peel, set on fire and sifted between two metal pint mugs. With each pour, the distance between the two mugs grows wider and wider – eventually creating a long, thin blue streak of flame that is “tossed” between the two mugs.

NOW:  The Professor’s drink has enjoyed a comeback among bartenders given to both classic cocktails and dramatic showmanship. In 2007, the drink was showcased at a “Blue Blazer Mix-Off” at New York’s Pegu Club. Pastry chef Johnny Iuzzini and molecular gastronomy whiz Dave Arnold even used a blowtorch to aid their entry.

A Great hot drink to enjoy now: Texas Tequila Toddy

In Texas, tequila is the tipple of choice. If you’ve only ever had tequila in a Margarita, you’re in for a treat:  here, Austin’s Bill Norris showcases the rich honey-caramel tones of añejo (aged) tequila in a most warming way.

• 1 cardamom pod, cracked
• 1 1/2 ounces añejo tequila (Norris suggests 7 Leguas)
• 1 ounce fresh key lime juice
• 1/2 ounce agave nectar
• 6 ounces boiling water
• Pinch fresh grated Mexican cinnamon
• 1 whole vanilla bean (or cinnamon stick) for garnish

Crack cardamom pod with the flat side of a knife. Place in heat safe mug. Add tequila, lime and agave nectar. Fill with hot water. Grate cinnamon over glass and gently stir. Slit a vanilla bean lengthwise and use as stir stick in glass.

By Kara Newman

Kara Newman is the author of Spice & Ice:  60 tongue-tingling cocktails.

Across New York, a state known during the twenties for its gin-soaked speakeasies and gangster bootleggers, a new boutique distilling license is making it cheaper and easier for the latest generation of tipplers to make and sell their own liquor. Distillers such as Finger Lakes, Kings County, Tuthilltown Spirits, and Breuckelen are re-engaging in the state’s historical tradition by producing artisanal whiskeys, gins and vodkas that are as bold and flavorful as they are potent. The result is so good you’d think they’d been distilling the stuff for years.

These little-guy operations out of New York’s Hudson Valley, Ithaca, and even Brooklyn are starting to give Kentucky’s Bourbon Trail a run for its money. New York was once home to over a thousand distillers, but they were all forced out of business during prohibition. When alcohol returned to the up-and-up with the passage of the 21st Amendment, only the larger distilleries with expensive, industrial-class licenses could afford to resume operation. Until about ten years ago it cost $50,000 for a license to distill spirits in New York, whether you were a large industrial operation or a dinky hooch house.

A boom in craft distilling began on the West Coast about twenty years ago, spurring operations such as Leopold Bros. in Denver (makers of Silver Tree Vodka and Leopold’s Gin) and Clear Creek Distillery in Portland (McCarthy’s Oregon Single Malt Whiskey and Williams Pear Brandy), but more restrictive regulations prevented the trend from spreading to the East Coast. In most states, a distilled spirits license is still at least double the cost of a winery or brewery license. In 2002, New York State answered the call of the sustainable sipper by introducing the new class A-1 distiller’s license for small producers, enabling distillers to produce up to 35,000 gallons a year of any inebriant for just $1,450 in regulatory fees, unleashing a rising swell of liquor production in the state.

For Ralph Erenzo of Tuthilltown Spirits, New York’s first legal craft distiller since prohibition, the A-1 license made distillation of his bourbons, single malt whiskeys, and apple vodkas feasible.

“Before this license, people who had a real love for making spirits couldn’t do it,” said Erenzo, who lobbied New York State Senators John Bonacic and Bill Larkin to pass two amendments to this new class of license shortly after obtaining his own. The bills, passed in 2003 and 2004, allowed small distilleries to share premises and equipment with larger distilleries in order to ease the financial burden of starting a small business. These bills also allowed small producers to bypass distributors and sell their own products onsite. The 2003 amendment has helped Brooklyn Brewery co-founder Tom Potter move on to the hard stuff, piggybacking on Warwick Valley Winery & Distillery’s upstate premises to develop his first gins until his own
New York Distilling Company facility in Williamsburg is ready for business.

More moves were made in 2007, when Eliot Spitzer signed the Farm Distillery Law, which allowed New York’s microdistillers (primarily using New York farm products) to act much like small wineries, producing spirits, conducting tastings and selling their own products on-site. Small farms like Bill Martin’s Montezuma Winery and Hidden Marsh Distillery (formerly Martin’s Honey Farm and Meadery, which produces a triple-distilled vodka from its New York State honey) got the benefit of a new way to profit from their goods by being allowed to control their own destinies, and the state got a new revenue stream out of the deal in the form of taxes on an industry that had been dormant for over ninety years. State organizations such as the Hudson Valley Agri-Business Development Corporation expressed their support of the legislation, which promoted a mutually beneficial relationship between agriculture and spirits production in New York.

This piece of legislation helps save family farms like the one run by third-generation apple farmer Derek Grout, who in 2007 founded Harvest Spirits, the first microdistillery in the state to sell direct from the distillery he built on his Hudson Valley farm. Harvest’s thrice-distilled Core vodka is made from the surplus of Fuji apples from Grout’s orchards, which gives Harvest cachet among farm-to-table food advocates (though it is available for purchase nationwide). Locavores can come to Grout’s Golden Harvest Farm, tour the apple orchards and the distillery, then taste and purchase products such as the aromatic brandy he makes by fermenting crushed whole Barlett pears… all in one visit.

Since passage of these pieces of legislation (which made start-up and fixed overhead costs more manageable), the number of micro-distillers in New York State producing vodka from farm-fresh fruit and bourbon from local corn has exploded in response to the cocktail craze sweeping the nation. According to the American Distillers Institute, New York now has the highest number of craft distilleries — 32 and counting — of any state on the East
Coast, as compared to California’s 160.

But the nascent craft distilling movement hasn’t been without hurdles. Farmers like Grout joined distillers like Erenzo to form the New York Craft Distillers Guild in 2009, in order to cross-market, share information, and develop a unified voice when it came to legislative affairs.

Both Grout and Estabrooke have complained of the length of time it takes to obtain licenses, due to the state’s byzantine regulatory system. In order to start a distillery, you need to be an optimist, says Estabrooke, who has a hand in every step of the process, from grinding and milling the wheat he sources from an organic farm upstate, to fermenting, distilling, and bottling his product for market. Starting Breuckelen has taken twice as much effort and money as he’d originally expected.

But that doesn’t mean progress isn’t in the works: Erenzo helped draft a bill currently being considered in Congress known as the Small Spirits Makers’
Equal Tax Act, or H.R.777. If passed, this bill will provide federal tax cuts to small distilleries, making it easier for them to compete in the market, buy local materials, and grow their businesses. Decades ago, a similar bill provided breaks to craft brewers and helped spur the microbrewery revolution. Erenzo is hopeful, saying that with the right work, he expects the act to be signed into law within the next year. It’s worth making the trip to the Hudson Valley to cheer Erenzo’s movement around Christmastime, when you can snag a bottle of the limited run dark rum he’s aging in used bourbon barrels, with sugar cane imported from Mexico.

The more the law is updated to match the modern market, the more high-quality booze customers will have access to. We vote Aye!

by Allegra Ben-Amotz

Dr. Valentin Magnan conducted a study on the mysterious spirit in the 19th century and found it to cause seizures and hallucinations. It was later proven that high levels of thujone (a byproduct of wormwood), a chemical present in early absinthe recipes, caused the seizures. The alleged hallucinations were just his way of trying to make the imbibers seem unstable, to prove that alcohol was “degenerating” the French. It was said by one temperance movement critic that “Absinthe makes you crazy and criminal, provokes epilepsy and tuberculosis, and has killed thousands of French people. It makes a ferocious beast of man, a martyr of woman, and a degenerate of the infant, it disorganizes and ruins the family and menaces the future of the country.”

Modern studies failed to link thujone with the cannabinoid receptors in the brain, which would biochemically liken it to marijuana. One thing is for sure, though, and it’s that absinthe is its own genre: it has always appealed greatly to creative types, and it definitely packs a unique punch. With all that hype, it’s no wonder so many have longed to get their hands on the stuff and fuel its enigmatic reputation.

Absinthe is typically an eau de vie, or white grape spirit, infused with the infamous wormwood, green anise, Florence fennel, and various other herbs. The trademark green color of absinthe verte is caused by active chlorophyll from the herbs used, similar to tannins in wine. Some absinthes are clear until mixed with water, which turns them a milky white, but the verte turns a bright, cloudy chartreuse green. This process is called louching, and is absolutely magical to watch. The difference between the two styles of absinthe is more or less personal preference, but the green is perhaps a more authentic experience – it is called the green fairy after all.

Wormwood has been used for medicinal purposes since ancient Egypt, but the modern day green anise-flavored spirit reared its ethereal head sometime in the 1800s. Although the Swiss are the first known producers, the French made it the enigmatic juggernaut that it was to become. French troops were given absinthe as a malaria treatment in the mid 1800s, and they developed quite a taste for it. By the 1860s it was so popular that 5:00pm was known as l’heure verte, or the green hour.

By 1910 the French were drinking about 36 million liters a year, and their love for it certainly hadn’t gone unnoticed by the rest of the world. Cult status was born. Not surprisingly, considering it’s French history and culture, the epicenter of American consumption was New Orleans. The Old Absinthe House on Bourbon Street was opened in 1847 as the Absinthe Room, and was popular with many famous people, including Wilde and Crowley, Mark Twain, and even Franklin D. Roosevelt. Café Slavia in Prague has long been known as another historically famous place to imbibe absinthe, especially in the European artistic community. When absinthe was banned, it only served to heighten intrigue, desire, and demand. It was the choice of drink for many, and for many years, until its detractors gained favor and the ban spread.

Absinthe was banned here in the U.S. in 1915 because of its tarnished (albeit unfounded) reputation as a highly addictive psychoactive drug. Unfortunately, the hallucinogenic myth has lingered. Many European countries followed suit, and until the nineties absinthe went the way of moonshine during prohibition, with only Spain and Portugal continuing production unimpeded.

The official lifting of the absinthe ban in the U.S. was in 1993, but few took notice. In 2000 La Fee was the first absinthe produced in France since their own ban in 1914, and is now one of more than fifty being produced there. Kubler is a modern distillation from the Swiss region of Val-de-Travers, where the first known absinthe was born. In 2007, Lucid was the first modern wormwood infused absinthe to be imported into America since the ban was lifted and St. George Spirits of Alameda, California was the first to produce it in America (their Absinthe Verte is not to be missed).

Americans are still getting used to the idea of absinthe, outside of its use as a rinse for Sazeracs. Most don’t know about the lifting of the ban, and those who are aware are skeptical of the authenticity of the spirit. The problem with this is that true absinthe, which is widely available here in the States, doesn’t achieve the results everyone has heard so much about. You won’t see little green fairies floating around the room, and because of that many drinkers are left disappointed.

Speaking of preparation: Absinthe has a very specific and time honored preparation that not only calms the wild nature of the spirit, but also makes drinking it more of an experience than any other straight liquor. First, put the desired amount of absinthe in a glass. Then, rest a slotted absinthe spoon over the glass. Any slotted spoon will do, but the specific ones made just for absinthe are works of art. Rest a sugar cube atop the spoon, and drizzle cold water (from an absinthe fountain if you REALLY want to do it right) onto the sugar cube. This dissolves the sugar and dilutes the absinthe at the same time, and as this is happening the juice in the glass will slowly turn from crystal clear to a cloudy, otherworldly opaque color. It’s an experience like no other. It sucks you in, making you a part of the process, the chemistry, and the allure. It also makes it much easier to drink. Maybe too easy, so be careful. We don’t need anymore one-eared raving maniacs roaming around, getting this beautiful beast banned again.

In 1953, Casino Royale was written by Ian Fleming and the Vesper was born.  It consists of 3 parts Gin, one part Vodka and half Kina Lillet.  Kina Lillet isn’t made anymore (it will be soon!) so you can always substitute Cocchi Americano or even the original Lillet depending on how you’re feeling that day.

Originally the drink was shaken, but I like to stir mine to keep that crystal clear, bright and beautiful texture.

3 oz Gin (A British Style to keep up with originality)

1 oz Vodka

1/2 oz Kina Lillet (Cocchi Americano works well)

Stir or Shake (cringe!) and strain into a Martini glass or goblet.

Garnish with a lemon twist

Prohibition and the three-tier system. Prior to prohibition, the alcohol industry was very loosely regulated, and dominated by a few very large producers. Anti-competition practices abounded: if a brewery or distillery didn’t have its own bar, it ‘invested’ in bars by giving loans or furniture and, in exchange, demanded that no other brands be sold on the premises. These big, bad breweries also required increasing sales, so the bars forced drinks upon the innocent public. Thus the 18th Amendment was passed, and prohibition saved the righteous American families from the evil alcohol producers.

Without getting into the nitty gritty, prohibition didn’t work and along came the 21st Amendment. But the 21st Amendment made a decisive change in the way that alcohol laws were handled with Section 2: “The transportation or importation into any State, Territory, or possession of the United States for delivery or use therein of intoxicating liquors, in violation of the laws thereof, is hereby prohibited.”

Basically, the power to erect alcohol laws now lived on the state level.  Remembering the gross exercise of power by producers prior to prohibition, most of the states erected the three-tier system. All accounts (retail, restaurant, bar, etc) had to buy from a distributor, and all distributors bought from a producer. In most states, producers could only name one distributor to avoid unnecessary competition, and they had to find a different distributor in each state. This provided transparency for taxation’s sake, the power of the producers was limited, and the distributors were advocates for social responsibility. Everyone lived happily ever after!

Not so fast. With fifty different bodies erecting their own alcohol laws, there were bound to be some exceptions. Enter Alcoholic Beverage Control States, which take on the roll of distributor (and even store, in some cases). Called ‘Monopoly States’ by detractors, these eighteen states completely control the distribution of alcohol within their borders; that means they also control the products that are available, and all pricing. These states come in many flavors, from Utah who says their control is a means “not to promote the sale of liquor,” to Pennsylvania whose running of both distribution and stores is a nightmare for producers and consumers alike, to Vermont who allows private liquor stores to sell but collects a commission (which one can only imagine is somehow passed along to the consumer).

For some producers, this works very well. As the number of distributors has dwindled due to a rash of mergers and acquisitions, the number of channels through which a producer can move their product has also decreased. A distributor is going to ‘push’ what is easy to sell: big brands that can cut discounts, give large volumes, and have huge advertising budgets. On the flip side, it is very easy for small brands to get lost. Put yourself in the shoes of a sales rep for a distributor: you need to make your quota for the month. Do you try to sell something like Kendall-Jackson Chardonnay, or a tiny artisan gem no one has heard of?

“But I bought this biodynamic Sauvignon Blanc straight from the winery!” you say. And there, you hit upon the most interesting issue that has sprung up since the 21st Amendment.  Prior to prohibition, the wine industry was very small, and hardly artisan. It wasn’t until the sixties and seventies that the movement really took hold in places such as California and New York, and the states took notice of these new potential tax revenues. They could collect the sales tax, and the producers would be able to get their full retail margins.  State laws were changed to allow in-state wineries (and breweries in some places) to sell directly to consumers, but in an effort to protect the in-state producers, out-of-state producers still had to go through the three-tier system.  In 2005, it was ruled in Granholm vs. Heald that such laws ran afoul of the the Commerce Clause, and states could no longer discriminate against out-of-state producers.

As one can imagine, this opened the floodgates, as far as legislation is concerned, for Direct To Consumer (DTC) shipping. An offshoot of three-tier laws, state DTC laws are even more varied and confusing, and are in a constant state of flux. Each state has different requirements that can include any or all of the following: licenses for the producer, licenses for each label, a fee for each producer and label, special shipping stickers, monthly sales reports, monthly tax payments, age verification, and bonds. It’s a lot of work, but again, totally manageable for the big brand who can hire a team of compliance specialists. For your favorite tiny winery with a team of six? This becomes quite a burden.

As with any large collection of legislation in the United States, the three-tier system is a largely partisan one (though the red states tend to want more alcohol regulation than the blue states, for what it’s worth). Wholesalers staunchly proclaim that they are keeping alcohol sales transparent, championing the producers, and protecting society.  Producers proclaim they are being squashed by big brands and pinched by shrinking margins. Consumers just want to drink what they want to drink, when and where they want to drink it.  For more information on both sides of the coin, I’d urge you to take a look at www.nbwa.org and www.freethegrapes.org.

Join us for the Drink Me’s Grand Tasting Party – filled with spirits, beer, wine and fun hats.  There is NO better party going on next friday.

WHERE: 111 Minna // WHEN: Friday, November 4th // HOW: www.DrinkMeGrandTasting.Eventbrite.com

• ¼ Orange Juice
• ¼ Scotch Whisky
• ¼ Cherry Brandy (Cherry Herring)
• ¼ Italian Vermouth

Combine all ingredients in a cocktail shaker, pour in cracked ice and shake.  I like to double strain this cocktail into a coupe glass since the traditional garnish is a flamed orange peel.  If there’s bit of cracked ice floating on top of the cocktail, the essential oils from the orange peel won’t rest on top and you may lose some aromatics.

In regards to Scotch Whisky, blended is usually used, but you can use a single malt to try and add your own twist.  If you want to be bold try a peated Islay Scotch or a more mellow, grassy Lowland.  Remember experimenting with cocktails at home is fun!