Once while sipping Manhattans in the Zane Gray Ballroom in Flagstaff, Ariz., my drinking buddy offered a challenge. Bill, who had recently become an aficionado of small-batch bourbons, suggested we pit these Manhattans made to my specifications with Maker’s Mark bourbon against a fleet of rivals concocted from the bottles crowding his liquor cabinet.
Now I’m generally a sucker for any contest involving feats of strength and skill, especially when the consumption of vast quantities of adult beverages is involved. But I told my disappointed friend in this case I had to refuse.
I explained to Bill that I had recently realized that the drink we were sipping was The Perfect Cocktail. I’d reached this conclusion weighing a number of factors, including taste, appearance, and the hipness factor when ordering the drink, a process that for me includes a set of precise instructions. But one other factor outweighed the rest when it comes to Manhattans: Maker’s is one of my favorite culinary discoveries.
If you’re questioning my choice of the word discovery, as after all, Maker’s had been around for decades before I even reached legal drinking age, let me explain. By discovery I mean this is one of those ingredients I found all by myself, without the aid of the ubiquitous food porn now readily available on television, the Internet and for you old timers out there, in print.
It wasn’t a tip from Bobby Flay that led me to my favorite burbon. Instead, it was a moment of revelation while standing in a liquor store looking for something different. This was a couple of decades ago, before the small-batch revolution had gained traction. I was then a semi-famous amateur mixologist known for my martinis — gin of course, with the vermouth bottle never allowed within a one-meter radius of my cocktail shaker — and on-the-rocks margaritas made with fresh squeezed lime juice. I’d been listening to a lot of Sinatra at the time and was in the mood for something old school. I noticed a bottle of Maker’s, fondled the red-waxy plastic that sealed the neck, and began my own personal journey of Manhattan discovery.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but this is a spirit of historic importance as it was one of the pioneers in what is now a full-blown renaissance of small-batch bourbon distillery in America. With its roots in the hills of eastern Kentucky, bourbon is the quintessential American spirit. Maker’s is to American distillery what Anchor Steam beer is to brewing. It was small and cool before small was cool. And pleasantly, the bourbon is smooth and earthy, with a nice vanilla finish. In a Manhattan those qualities play well with the sweet vermouth to form a stout, yet velvety cocktail.
Upon hearing my story Bill gallantly rescinded his challenge by offering to put away Phaedrus’ knife (we’d been discussing “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” earlier as sometimes happens in the latter rounds of barroom conversations). Though one evening years later Bill offered me a blind challenge with some of his favorite bourbons (Knob Creek and a few others I can’t remember) the Manhattan taste test never took place. When you’ve got perfect — a delicious cocktail that includes its own backstory complete with a dictum about not fearing the new — nothing good can come from blindfolded quests for the truth.
One final thought: to shake or stir. Like all cocktails made from clear ingredients, the classic mixing method is stirring. In fact, the whole shaken-martini thing has more to do with a fictional British secret agent than mixology. But this is an instance where I put tradition aside and stick with a shaker. A shaken cocktail results in a colder drink when poured into the glass. Too cold actually. But once released into even a chilled cocktail glass your shaken Manhattan begins to slowly warm, moving into the ideal temperature range and lingering there, allowing you to sip at a more relaxed pace. Stirred cocktails are poured at probably the ideal temperature, but warm so quickly I end up rushing through the tepid dregs after the first few sips.
You can mix your Manhattan anyway you choose, but this is how I taught my daughters to make them for Father’s Day.
• Fill a cocktail shaker with crushed ice rather than cubed as the finer pieces will form a nice, frozen skim on the freshly poured drink.
• Add three ounces of Maker’s Mark, one ounce of sweet red vermouth and a dash of Angostura bitters.
• Cap the shaker, lift over your shoulder and, while holding the device perpendicular to the ground, agitate vigorously for about half a minute.
• Allow the cocktail to rest, hit play on “The Best is Yet to Come” and sing along while tantalizing beads of sweat form on the shaker. When Frankie belts out “You think you’ve flown before but baby you ain’t left the ground” pick the shaker up and give it another brief agitation before pouring some magic into a chilled cocktail glass.
• Drop in a maraschino cherry.
• If at home, drink and repeat. If at the Zane Gray Ballroom, make sure you’ve got a taxi service on speed dial.
Cheers!