However, it's still important to know the basics––those cornerstone beverages called upon by the people of your grandparents' generation when they wanted to get sloshed. In that spirit, I present to you...
Get It Right: The Manhattan.
There is much to be said about the history and cultural significance of The Manhattan. Just think, every one of these men has had the beverage you're about to craft.
(One of these guys is my Dad.)
I like to keep the (If I may borrow the nomenclature from The Great Alton Himself) hardware and software on hand at all times, which isn't a chore considering their multitudinous applications in the kitchen. I've tried a number of different recipes for this drink, none that fit the taste of a manhattan I remember from my recent visit to New York, so I've pieced this together mostly from trial and error.
YOU WILL REQUIRE:
A large vessel in which to stir the beverage.
A bar spoon.
A strainer.
A stemmed glass.
Ice (functioning more as hardware than software here).
IT CONTAINS:
2 oz. Rye Whiskey.
½ oz. Sweet Red Vermooth.
Angostura bitters.
Sugar Cube.
IN DETAIL:
1. I use a sugar cube for this instead of simple syrup because the vermouth provides a lot of sweetness on its own; The sugar won't fully dissolve in cold water so the flavor it imparts is subtle. Saturate a single sugar cube with Angostura. Here is the technique I submit to you, after having seen it performed by an expert bartender named Mark on the island for which this beverage was named...
Angostura bottles have a little rim on the spout, perhaps designed with this technique in mind? Place your sugar cube atop the spout and invert the bottle until the sugar is totally saturated––Careful not to crush it in the process.
Place the saturated cube into your vessel. Depending on your tastes, you may choose to add more bitters. I feel that this is enough, but you could add anywhere from 3-7 more dashes. Keep in mind that more bitters in this drink, the less you'll be able to taste the rye. That can be good or bad depending on the individual, but that's a topic for another post. Mash the cube now with your bar spoon or muddler if you have it.
2.Next, the vermouth. I use Noilly Prat at home, but the best manhattans I've ever had were made with one called Antica––so fine that you could drink it by itself and have no complaints.
3. 2 oz Rye Whiskey. Some recipes call for Canadian Whiskey in a manhattan. Use rye. Old Overholt is fine (~$16), but you could do better if you want to spend the money.
4. Now, crack the ice--A lot of ice, and crack it well. This is a stirred beverage and ice with more surface area will make for better chilling. A good handfull will do. Place the ice in the vessel and stir vigorously. Stirred drinks require quite a lot more time to cool than shaken drinks, and since this one includes sugar in a solid form, you'll need to stir it for about as long as it takes you to sing the first verse and chorus of The Battle Hymn of the Republic. Go ahead and do that while you stir. Any water that comes off the ice will help the other ingredients fuse together. If the ice melts entirely, add more and continue.
5. When you conclude the last throaty bars, strain the drink into a chilled up glass. Garnish. Always garnish. Traditionally, the recipe calls for a maraschino cherry. The real ones are nice, but the ones you get at the grocery store are execrable. The only recommendation about them I can make is that you stay away. Since it's more likely that you'll have citrus fruit lying around than a 20 dollar bottle of cherries, garnish with a strip of lemon or orange zest––I know I do. If you wish to impress the end-user of this beverage, go ahead and ignite the oil in the rind with a match, but make sure you do it in front of them because it's almost pointless unless they get to see the flames.
There. Now drink this drink and remember that your great-grandad used to work backbreaking job, 12 hours a day, to raise a family on a salary that's less that what you spend a month on your cell phone bill. If you were to meet him today, however, he wouldn't be ashamed at your baby-soft hands or poor work ethic. No sir, because you'd make him one of these suckers and impress upon him that his descendant knows a thing or two. He'd tell you that you got it right.
(My actual great-grandad. For the record, though, I'm sure he would have tanned my hide if he knew I wasted a whole match on making a got-damn cocktail.)
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