The Bon Vivant’s Companion

There is something iconic and beautiful about a single shot of Whiskey.  It’s the drink of choice for cinematic tough guys who sidle up to bars and drink from dirty glasses before demanding the bottle.  The drink of writer’s and poets on their road to self-destruction, and of Chris, my best friend from college, who slugged whiskey from the bottle (and then chased it with Coke from a Big Gulp).  Personally, the Big Gulp ruined the aesthetics for me, so when we drank together, I’d belt my whiskey unflinchingly straight, no chaser.  Grrrrr.  When you’re really badass, no mixers or glassware required.

Years have passed, Chris has turned to German beer, and I’ve learned to use a rocks glass (and when really being fancy, rocks).  Whiskey is still my drink of choice, and occasionally, when the situation calls for it, I embrace the simplicity of the single shot.

Like when I couldn’t move, a shot of bourbon got me into the car for my grandfather’s funeral.  After a harrowing week on the road, it helped me celebrate my move across the country, and when my college diploma arrived in the mail, after a decade of being held hostage, Jack Daniels and I met it at the door.

This year, while visiting family for Christmas, a single shot of whiskey eased me into my holiday.  For some reason, it was a long road back to Chicago, and it’s negative five-degree weather.  I was alone, didn’t want to be, and while the evening before had been perfect, everything went wrong the day of my flight.  I’d broken the mirror off of my car while parking, forgotten my winter gloves, smashed my cell phone’s headset, and when I checked into the newly built hotel, depressingly located in a suburban shopping mall, record snow was falling.  I watched it come down as I tracked my lost luggage on a website that barely worked.

Starving, and too late for room service, I raided the mini fridge looking for jellybeans.  That’s where I found him.  Jack, wearing a teeny, tiny airport bottle.  After some quick hellos, I powered down my computer, took a long, warm shower, and from the comfort of my “heavenly bed”, sipped a pure shot of whiskey.  I sipped it slowly, and unflinchingly, from the bottle.  No glassware required.

For the rest of the week I enjoyed juices, punches, and the odd Christmas margarita, but that single shot had set the tone.  No matter how cold, or far away from home, I was a badass, and was going to be fine.

The Manhattan is a sexy supper club cocktail. I always imagine it being served in low-lit, wood paneled bars behind heavy, green velvet curtains. The kind of place where poets and debutants sip chilled cocktails straight up while a heartbreaking jazz singer croons on stage alone.

The Manhattan was created in the 1870’s at the request of Lady Randolph Churchill (Winston’s mom). Apparently, she needed a new libation for a very fancy shindig. As the legend goes, guests enjoyed it so much they took to ordering it around town by name dubbing it the Manhattan, in honor of the nightclub in which it was born.

Recently, I came across Hudson Manhattan Rye Whiskey. Produced by Tuthilltown Spirits, it’s specifically tailored for use in (surprise, surprise) a Manhattan cocktail. Hudson is the first whiskey (legally) distilled in New York’s Hudson Valley since prohibition. Their whiskey is pot-distilled in small batches (which means heat is applied directly to the still’s pot to warm the mash), and each beautifully rounded bottle is hand marked with a year, batch, and bottle number.

Thought a romantic cocktail, the Manhattan is a pretty stiff drink. Using Tuthilltowns’s warm and flavorful new Manhattan rye, I worked on a version for those who might be intimidated by a big glass of whiskey. Keeping my recipe as succinct as the original, I replaced the vermouth’s sweetness with St. Germaine’s Elderflower liqueur, matched the brightness of the whiskey with orange bitters, and garnished the finished cocktail with a maraschino cherry.  (Because some things are sacred.)

I call my version “The Manhattanite”.  A cocktail that resides on the Upper East Side, but buys all of its shoes in Paris.

Here’s the recipe:

The Manhattanite

2 oz American whiskey, such as Hudson Manhattan Rye

¼ oz Orange Bitters

1 oz St. Germaine Elderflower liqueur

Pour all the ingredients in a Boston shaker. Add ice, and shake until cold. Strain into a chilled martini glass, or pour entire contents of shaker into a rocks glass. Garnish with a maraschino cherry.