Classic Rye Cocktails, #13: The Blinker

A new (classic) drink for a new year.

This one was revived in the early 2000s by Ted Haigh in his famous Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails (2004), now newly revised and reissued (2009). Originally featured in Patrick Duffy's The Official Mixer's Manual (1934), the drink takes advantage of a dry, tart citrus taste and the rich sweetness of a fruit-based syrup, all balanced by the spicy rye. It's origins are otherwise murky, but one can guess it emerged either toward the end of Prohibition or with the first bloom of joy that met Prohibition's repeal.

The other crucial thing about this drink is its simplicity. Rye, something dry (grapefruit juice), and something sweet (grenadine, like the original--or, even better, a homemade or store-bought raspberry syrup). Simple proportions, simple ingredients. No sugared rims, no obscure ingredients, no bartender contortions. And yet one taste suggests real complexity. In many ways, this drink embodies the genius of American cocktail culture. A little really does add up to a lot.

When one considers the ingredients--rye, grapefruit juice, and grenadine (or raspberry syrup), it seems too much. Too sweet. Too juvenile. Not patriotic. But instead, it's clean, fresh, and bracing--just like the January air here in the Upper Midwest. Because it's winter time, I strongly encourage you to take advantage of fresh grapefruit juice here. You won't be sorry.

2 0z rye whiskey (Old Overholt or other 80-proof rye preferred)
1 oz grapefruit juice (fresh-squeezed preferred, store bought not-from-concentrate works fine)
2 dashes of grenadine or, 1.5 teaspoons of raspberry syrup (try Smuckers if you're fresh out of raspberries and sugar)

Mix ingredients in a shaker, add ice, shake, strain into small martini glass. Garnish with a lemon twist (though this is completely optional with this drink).

Even people who don't care for grapefruit juice will like this one.

Classic Rye Cocktails, #12: The Scofflaw

If, like me, you've been drinking whiskey smashes all summer, you may be wondering what the arrival of autumn portends. Across much of the northern United States, backyard mint plants will not provide their copious bounty during the long, cold, winter.

It's time for another drink. One that reminds the rye patriot of summer, but looks forward to changing leaves and the fresh, crisp air of fall.

That drink is the Scofflaw. The cocktail renaissance has brought this drink back in a big way. Ironically, it belongs to the temperance movement. That's right. Anti-saloon forces gave birth to this drink back in the early 1920s. Apparently, it wasn't enough to outlaw the manufacture, sale, and transportation of liquors. Temperance leaders, seeing that the consumption of alcohol continued unabated--in some quarters, at least--decided that drinkers needed to be defined more sharply as lawbreakers.

In late 1923, a leading prohibitionist announced a contest to create, according to the January 16, 1924 New York Times, "the best word to stigmatize those who scoff at the prohibition law." The requirements? The new word need to start start with an "s," be no more than two syllables, focus on the lawbreaker--not the drinking, apply to all those who broke the law, and finally, fulfill Warren G. Harding's sentiment that "lawless drinking is a menace to the Republic itself." The winner? Kate L. Butler's (of Dorchester, MA) suggestion of "scofflaw." She won $200 for her trouble.

Alone among Americans, the "wets" had a sense of humor. And they proved it by immediately coming up with this concoction. Thanks to the efforts of rye-drinking expats at Harry's Bar in Paris, within three days, this term for an illegal drinker soon became a moniker for a tasty cocktail.

This one balances sweet, sour, and spicy sharpness. It's a winner.

1 oz rye whiskey (100 proof Rittenhouse works best)
1 oz dry vermouth
3/4 oz grenadine (Stirring's brand preferred) or, alternately, green Chartreuse
3/4 oz lemon juice
2-3 dashes orange bitters

For the sake of historical accuracy, it's important to note that the original recipe called for grenadine instead of green Chartreuse, but Washington Post spirits columnists Jason Wilson adeptly suggests the replacement. One likes to think that in the absence of good whiskey (the stocks of rye in Paris surely must have been depleted four years after passage of the Volstead Act), the turn to grenadine by our Prohibition-era foremothers and forefathers was one of necessity, not joy. Nonetheless, if you're in the mood for something sweeter, be my guest.

Classic Rye Cocktails, #11: The Whiskey Smash

The official cocktail of summer 2009...is the Whiskey Smash. Among America's most ancient of mixed drinks, the Whiskey Smash offers up the democratic refreshment our foremothers and forefathers yearned for in the days before air-conditioning.

Back in the 40s, 50s, 60s--and here I mean the 1840s, 1850s, and 1860s--the Smash, according to David Wondrich in Imbibe, was one of the most popular concoctions in the land. And like so many antebellum drinks (including the Sazerac), the Smash (or Smasher or even Smash-Up) was first made with brandy. Later on, rye was more often joined to the refreshing combination of mint and lemon wedges for this summertime pick-me-up. The whiskey variant--according to A New Dictionary of Americanisms; being a glossary of words supposed to be peculiar to the United States and the Dominion of Canada (1875)--was known in some circles as a "whiskey skin" (though this more often referred to a warm version of this drink made with Scotch or Irish whiskey, there was some overlap).

How common was this drink (and its many variants) in the nineteenth century? As late as 1900, a fixture at New York City's horse race tracks was named "Brandy Smash."

Given our full-blown cocktail renaissance, this drink is regaining its popularity quickly as bartenders restore the full glory of our American heritage to the bar-going public. You might be able to find this at an upscale establishment with an excellent bartender near you (such as New York City's Pegu Club, Chicago's Violet Hour, or Boston's Drink). But, just in case, here's how to make your own, in a short glass:

1 oz simple syrup (sugar water)
1 oz lemon juice (fresh-squeezed preferred)
2 mint sprigs
2 to 2.5 oz rye whiskey (Rittenhouse or Wild Turkey preferred because the higher proof liquor cuts through the sweet citrus flavors more effectively).

Muddle the lemon juice, simple syrup, and one of the mint sprigs. Add the whiskey and fill the glass with crushed ice. Place the remaining sprig at the top of the glass in order to enjoy the aroma, which adds considerable depth to this drink.

Then sit back (preferably outside) in a lounge chair and enjoy.

Classic Rye Cocktails, #10: The Suburban

This little-known cocktail deserves a much wider audience.

No, it's not a large sport-utility vehicle built by Chevrolet. No, it's not a reference to decentralized, automobile-dependent, sprawling built landscapes encountered across North America. No, it's not a reference to the 1950s. It's a drink. A damn good one. I've been drinking them for about a month now, and telling everyone I know that they've got to try one.

Various sources suggest that this cocktail was first made in New York City in the 1880s. Named after the Suburban Handicap thoroughbred horse race (the last of the three races that together comprise the New York Handicap Triple) which began in 1884 in Long Island, it apparently reflects the influence of an upscale saloon culture of New York City in the late 19th century.

Saloons were known as male spaces, where the only women present fit into un"lady"-like categories. Working-class men, in particular, depended on saloons for sociability and sport. Because temperance advocates imagined (in some cases, correctly) that the many vices destroying American society stemmed from the saloons, middle and upper-class men turned to hotel restaurants and private clubs and enjoyed consuming alcohol in the esteemed circumstances of socially exclusive venues. Avoiding saloons, they also turned away from beer, cider, and straight liquors and supported a burgeoning (and more respectable) cocktail culture.

Bartenders at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in Manhattan (built in 1893) included this drink in their recipe book, repeating the story that it was created in honor of James R. Keene. As a famous horse owner, horse racer, and Gilded Age bigshot, Keene apparently gained enough noteriety to have this drink invented by some unknown bartender for him.

It's dry, much more than you'd think. The evil tendency of rum--sickly sweetness--is mitigated by the rye. Port mingles the flavors of the two New World liquors. The bitters bring complexity to the richness of the drink, making it more than merely palatable.

To be sure, it's chock full of alcohol. David Wondrich, the drinks columnist at Esquire, calls this a winter drink. And he's right. Thank god winter will last a few more weeks here in the Upper Midwest:

3 oz rye whiskey
1 oz port wine
1 0z dark rum
3 dashes orange bitters
3 dashes Angostura bitters

Pour the ingredients into a shaker, add ice, and shake vigorously. Pour into a martini glass.

NOTE: Be careful. This one sneaks up on you.

Classic Rye Cocktails #9: The Brainstorm

It's been a long time. Too long.

The 1950s were a time when giants roamed the earth. The three-martini lunch (gin martinis, of course--vodka is an abomination and back then many people knew that) defined the businessman's day. The amount of alcohol consumed on the job (at least in middle-class, middle-management corporate workplaces) would shock today's cubicle-prone worker bees who live at the gym and drink mineral water from small Pacific islands.

The rye fire, first lit by patriots in the 1790s, was damaged by Prohibition but not yet done in. Clearly, the emergence of a cocktail-besotted culture in the 1950s kept some classics alive. Even the cocktail guru David Wondrich admits that the origins of this drink are obscure. But that it was included in Esquire: Handbook for Hosts, first published by the men's magazine in 1949, tells us enough. The drink is straightforward, direct, and tasty. The simplicity suggests pre-Prohibition origins.

As a potent mix of dry vermouth, Benedictine liqueur, and rye, it has few equals. You might raise an eyebrow at the inclusion of France's oldest continuously made liqueur (since 1510), but remember that the first patriots called on the French in a time of great need--and they delivered. The least we can do is again mix the traditions of two great powers and forces for liberty in the world, if only in honor of Lafayette, Rochambeau, deGrasse, and those forgotten French soldiers who died on American soil.

Here's what it takes to honor America's first foreign friend:

1/2 oz dry vermouth
1/2 oz Benedictine liqueur
2 oz rye whiskey

Mix ingredients, shake well over ice, serve in a martini glass. Add an orange peel garnish (if you wish).

Though there are lots of variants out there--including versions made with Scotch (how dare they bring Great Britain into this), bourbon (not ideal, but will do in a pinch), and even Irish whiskey (does green food coloring come with that?)--don't get this wrong. Use rye. Before you sip, be sure to raise the glass to the brave patriot and French armies that defeated the royal menace at Yorktown, VA, in 1781.

Classic Rye Cocktails #8: McKinley's Delight

This one's not just for politicians.

As a clear reference to William McKinley, this drink was supposedly created in 1896, when the Ohioan was nominated by the Republican Party to take on William Jennings Bryan, the Democratic and Populist candidate for the presidency. Bryan, too, had a drink associated with his platform--the Free Silver Fizz (gin, lime juice, and carbonated water, over ice).

The connection between cocktails and politics was well established. In fact, the first reference we have to the term "cocktail" comes from 1806, in a newspaper article describing how a Federalist defeated a Democratic-Republican candidate in New York's Hudson River Valley despite the latter's attempt to secure votes by handing out almost 300 mixed drinks.

Some early references to this cocktail suggest a rather different composition than what you see below. The Nebraska Pioneer Cookbook, for instance, a 1974 compilation of late nineteenth-century recipes, suggests that a McKinley's Delight consisted of three dashes of gum syrup, two dashes of Maraschino, lemon juice, two dashes of Angostura bitters, and a jigger of gin--all stirred over iced and strained into a sugar-encrusted glass. This drink simply boggles the mind. No rye drinker would be caught dead with such a weak, syrupy concoction in hand. No wonder Jim Crow and imperial ambition dominated daily life.

While most rye drinkers (especially rural westerners) likely voted for Bryan, McKinley, of course, won the election. He catapulted the nation into a thinly-veiled war for empire, abandoned any pretense of the Republican Party's historic role as a party for progressive politics (especially on race), and cemented the power of large corporations in American life. Sound familiar?

Anyways...

Though it retains a moniker that many might shy from, after World War II the drink was transformed into something palatable and patriotic. The Esquire Handbook for Hosts, first published in 1949, lists the drink in its cocktails section, suggesting it could be made with either bourbon or rye. Predictably, the latter makes for better quaffing. Much of the sweetness was gone in this incarnation, with only sweet vermouth and cherry liquor in place to balance the whiskey.

Interestingly, at least one source suggests that as early as 1939, this same drink was known as a "Remember the Maine."

What can we say? Some things will always remain a mystery. What's important is that rye transformed this cocktail from slops into a classic. And that's good enough for me.

Here's the recipe:

2 oz rye whiskey
1 oz sweet vermouth
2 dashes cherry brandy
1 dash absinthe (or absinthe substitute)

Mix in a shaker, over ice. Strain into either a lowball glass or a martini glass. There's no garnish.

At the end of the day, this is essentially a variation on a Manhattan (though one with less rye than the recommended dosage for that drink). Nonetheless, it's a good variation, one worth keeping in your repertoire for those evenings when something snazzier than a Manhattan is required.

Classic Rye Cocktails #7: Algonquin

The murky origins of this drink leave us patriots with nothing but questions. Named for the Algonquin Hotel in New York City--where the hotel bar shut down two years before Prohibition became the law of the land--the date of its invention remains unclear.

It's got cache, though. Literary lights hung out at the Algonquin in later (and, I might add, wetter) years, including the poet and short story writer Dorothy Parker, The New Yorker founder Harold Ross, playwright George S. Kaufman, and Broadway critic Alexander Woollcott. They, of course, became famous for quaffing gin martinis (a cocktail, which, as a significant contribution of the United States to the world--alongside rye whiskey--damns no souls).

With a handful of others, they made up the so-called Algonquin Round Table. In the 1920s, it garnered international fame and came to embody erudition as the preeminent cultural symbol of a flowering in American letters. The Round Table attracted celebrities such as Harpo Marx and Tallulah Bankhead to it's lunch-time meetings and night-time poker games. The New Yorker was founded on the second floor of the hotel. George S. Kaufman would go on to win the Pulitzer Prize.

As a historian, however, I'm sorry to report that our best guessing points towards this cocktail emerging after World War II. But it has the feel of a classic, it's named for a classic place, and it conjures up memories of a classic moment when intellectuals reigned as celebrities.

2 oz rye whiskey
1 oz dry vermouth (Noilly Prat is preferred)
1 oz pineapple juice

Shake with ice, and strain into a glass.

Spicy, clean, and dry, not too sweet. Just the way a cocktail should be.

Maybe if they had the chance to do it over again, the various members of the Round Table would order this one up on a daily basis. This patriot likes to think so.

Classic Rye Cocktails, #5: The Prince of Wales

This one is so old it's new.

The Prince of Wales. A cocktail fit for royalty.

What, you say? Rye for royalty? Why that destroys the whole thing! Rye is for democracy, rye is for the people, rye is for patriots. Ethan Allen was no king! George Washington insisted on not being treated as royalty! The "regulators" in western Pennsylvania who protected the flickering light of liberty drank rye everyday in the 1780s and 1790s surely saw royalty of any sort as the enemy!

Well, since the second Gilded Age seems to have come to a screeching halt in the last couple of weeks, it makes sense to send it out with a bang. This drink is from the 1880s--the first Gilded Age. And though it was named for the son of Queen Victoria, one senses that moniker stuck because this drink gilds the lily. A few histories even suggest that the Prince himself came up with the recipe during one of the many weeks he spent in the midst of dissolute debauchery in New York City, watching the impending collapse of the British Empire.

This rye drinker likes that. The power of rye is untold. Is it possible that this rye drink helped bring the British Empire to its knees (both literally and figuratively)?

What you need:

2 oz rye whiskey
a dash of Angostura bitters
a few drops of cherry liqueur (I use Cheery Heering)
1 tsp of sugar
a few drops of water
a chunk of pineapple (fresh or frozen--as long as its thawed--will do)
1.5 oz of champagne

That's right. Champagne.

Here's how you make it:

Drop the sugar in the shaker with a few drops of water. Stir until the sugar is dissolved. Add the cherry liquor, the bitters, and the rye. Drop the pineapple chunk in. Add ice. Shake until cold. Make sure that the pineapple chunk is bruised. Strain into a glass. Add the cold champagne.

Think about it. This drink helped destroy an empire. That's rye for you. Always looking out for the people.

Classic Rye Cocktails, #4: The Stone Fence

It’s finally here. Autumn. My favorite season. I love the crisp nights, the sunny days, the colorful leaves.

I also love this seasonal drink, one of the oldest of the rye-based cocktails.

In 1775, while preparing for their nighttime assault on Fort Ticonderoga from British forces, Ethan Allen and his Green Mountain Boys quaffed a combination of rum and hard apple cider. They, like other New Englanders, called it a Stone Fence.

It was pretty strong stuff. But that’s what liberty demanded. If the British held on to Fort Ticonderoga, they’d control the Lake Champlain region—the crucial strategic avenue between Canada and the revolting colonies. Meantime, the fort’s artillery could be used to trap the British forces in Boston. The concoction conjured up the necessary courage. And the patriots took the fort.

The potent mixture was enjoyed throughout the Northeast during the Revolution. But by the early 1800s, rye had replaced rum—much harder to get in the post-Revolutionary period—in the drink. The inevitable presence of both apple trees and alcoholic cider across the Northeast and the Midwest kept the drink accessible and popular. By the 1860s, the temperance movement had insisted on a non-alcoholic alternative to hard cider. Sweet cider became the mixer of choice for the whiskey. And the modern Stone Fence was born.

It remained beloved through the end of the nineteenth century and into the early twentieth. One of the most famous Stone Fence aficionados was William F. “Buffalo Bill” Cody (he preferred it with a twist of lemon).

Today, the Stone Fence is perfect for those early evening fall sunsets or for relaxing after a leaf-viewing excursion.

Here’s how to make your own bit of history:

2 oz rye whiskey
8-10 oz of fresh pressed sweet apple cider

Use a tall glass, and throw a couple of ice cubes in there when you’re done. The drink depends on the quality of the cider you use. Avoid store-bought apple juice like the plague. Instead, turn to a local orchard (or, barring that, health food store or food co-op) and get something with more complex flavors (a mixture of sweet and tart is best). Unpasteurized sweet apple cider is even better, but can be hard to find.

And don’t forget to toast the Green Mountain Boys.

Classic Rye Cocktails, #3: Rye and Ginger

Maybe you think that a drink with vermouth is too fussy. Perhaps you believe that putting absinthe into a cocktail turns it into an antique.

Then this is the rye whiskey cocktail for you.

Rye and ginger. It's easy. It's clean and crisp. It's tasty. It's a classic.

As the dark shadow of Prohibition settled over the land, Americans turned to new cocktails that took into account the difficulty of finding good whiskey. They needed to keep things simple, lest the police knock down the door while you were stirring a fancy concoction in a pitcher. Noisy ice crashing around in a cocktail shaker might attract undue attention. Andrew Volstead, a St. Olaf College graduate and congressman from Minnesota who led the fight to make alcoholic beverages illegal (along with the real author of the related legislation, Wayne Wheeler of the Anti-Saloon League) had ruined things for everyone.

But though the forces of temperance tried to stifle democracy, true patriots adapted. They started making their own. They imported inferior whiskeys. They labeled their existing stores of rye as "for medicinal purpose only."

But within a year, none of these options seemed to work. It became impossible to get "the good stuff." Rye and water, rye on the rocks, rye served neat--all these classics became unpalatable.

Desperate times called for desperate measures. And rye drinkers turned to ginger ales and ginger beers. The soft drink industry was taking off. Ginger ale was cheap. The dry ginger taste worked well with the spicy rye. In Straight Up or On the Rocks: The Story of the American Cocktail, William Grimes claims that "'rye and ginger' became so popular in the 1920s and 1930s that sales of ginger ale nearly doubled." The fact that bars and speakeasies could stay in business by serving soft drinks to mix with the illicit alcohol brought by their patrons didn't hurt.

You can still tell if a bar in urban America primarily serves working-class customers by the bartender's reaction when you order a rye and ginger. If they start making the drink without batting an eye, you're home. Take up a bar stool, and toast your peers, many of whom will be drinking mass-produced beer. Tell them they can do better than that swill. This is the rye cocktail for the average American, the hard working backbone of our nation.

On the other hand, if the bartender hesitates or asks for further information, get thee to a different bar. If necessary, head back to your house or apartment and whip one up for yourself.

The recipe is as follows:

2 oz rye whiskey
6-8 oz ginger ale or ginger beer
ice

Pour the whiskey in a tall glass. Fill about 3/4 full with the ginger ale or beer. Add ice. Enjoy.

NOTE: Use a boutique ginger beer or a strong ginger ale like Vernors (available across the Midwest--one of the oldest soft drinks in America). Experiment with different ginger ales and find one that you like.

NOTE: This is a good rye cocktail for those who are wary. If your friend asks for a "7 and 7" or "Jack and Coke" or one of the other sweet whiskey cocktails that are best avoided, serve them this instead. They'll thank you later.

Classic Rye Cocktails, #2: The Manhattan

It’s a favorite, a well-known classic. And it tastes even better in the early evening light of a Wednesday cocktail hour.

I know the Manhattan, you might say. Maybe your grandfather drank them. Or your father. (People rarely, it seems, associate women with Manhattan-drinking). You probably didn’t like them.

Why? Well, if you ever had a sip, it was probably boozy and bland. Furthermore, it’s the drink of rich people, fat cats, and robber barons, right? No wonder you didn’t like it. Chances are your immediate ancestors drank their Manhattans as a mixture of bourbon, sweet vermouth, and maraschino cherry juice. Bourbon, made by the barons of the Kentucky bluegrass, tends towards the anti-democratic.

It is true that the Manhattan was born (probably in New York State) in the late 1870s, just as the Gilded Age was gaining steam. In fact, the Manhattan could be found in bars across America by the late 1880s. David Wondrich, author of Imbibe, tells us that the first mention of the Manhattan in print came in the Olean (New York) Democrat in 1882. But smooth, insipid, buttery-finished bourbon didn’t find its way into the drink until the 1920s.

Served in many variations, the Manhattan grew out of the general trend in the late 1870s and early 1880s to mix vermouth (sweet or dry) with gin, brandy, or whiskey. By the late 1880s, rye was preferred in Manhattans. Throughout the late 19th century and early 20th century, bitters or even absinthe found their way into the drink. Not until Prohibition did bourbon become a fixture in this cocktail. By the 1940s, a Manhattan served anywhere was almost always made with bourbon.

Is it any wonder that our nation almost simultaneously began its long, slow, steady decline towards empire?

Rye imparts a spicier, livelier taste to this drink than bourbon, making this dusty old classic come alive. Here’s how to make one for yourself—the historically appropriate way—with rye:

3 oz. rye whiskey
1 oz sweet vermouth
two dashes of Angostura bitters (readily available in your local grocery or liquor store)

Mix these ingredients in a cocktail shaker. Add as much ice as you can fit into the shaker. Securing the top, shake vigorously until the outside of the shaker becomes too cold to touch. Count to five. Stop shaking. Pour the mixture into martini glasses immediately.

NOTE: Many prefer their Manhattans stirred rather than shaken. It’s a question of personal taste.

Garnish the drink with a preserved cherry.

NOTE: You can use a store-bought maraschino cherry (a faint, industrialized relic of the real thing) to garnish. But a real, homemade maraschino or brandied cherry tastes even better. It also connects us back to a time when bartenders had to make their own garnishes.

Experiment with this basic recipe. Try it with a dash of absinthe rather than bitters. Substitute .5 oz of sweet vermouth and .5 oz of dry vermouth rather than 1 oz of the former. If you like it sweeter, add a touch of simple syrup. Use a bit of lemon peel as a garnish instead of a cherry.

That’s the beauty of a rye-based cocktail. Even a classic can be personalized in a variety of permutations.

Classic Rye Cocktails, #1: The Sazerac

So it's Wednesday night. The middle of the work week. You check your watch and see it's almost 6PM--the cocktail hour.

You've got that bottle of rye in your liquor cabinet now, and you've had a couple of glasses of rye with a little water or on the rocks. You think it's good, but you're not sure what the fuss is about.

This, my friends, is a good time to start making rye whiskey cocktails. The first one to learn is perhaps the best-known rye-based cocktail, and also one of the oldest.

Long before New Orleans became well-known for that despicable rum-and fruit-juice based concoction called a Hurricane, the Sazerac was king in the Crescent City.

Born in New Orleans in the 1880s, and elevated to classic status in the early 1900s, the Sazerac is a good first rye cocktail. It's easy to make, and it tastes good. Here's what you'll need:

1 sugar cube, rye whiskey, absinthe (or an absinthe substitute, such as Herbsaint), Peychaud's bitters (other bitters will not work well as a substitute--if you can't find Peychaud's where you live, buy some via mail order here), an old fashioned glass, and a mixing glass or shaker.

To make the drink:

1) drop the sugar cube in the mixing glass, along with a tiny bit of water. Muddle.
2) add 2 oz. of rye to the mixing glass
3) add 2-3 dashes of Peychaud's bitters
4) pour .25 oz of absinthe into the old fashioned glass, rotating the glass to coat the inside. Pour out the excess absinthe.
5) add ice to the mixing glass (chipped, preferably...you can use a high quality blender with an ice crushing blade to achieve the same effect with ice from trays).
6) stir the mixture in the mixing glass or shaker for about 20 seconds.
7) strain off the liquid into the absinthe-coated glass.
8) add a twist of lemon

Our foremothers and forefathers were hale and hearty and you will learn why. Sit back and enjoy some American history.