A decent respect for my editors and publishers requires that I mention that I will be making an appearance tonight at 7:00 p.m. at the Rittenhouse Square Barnes & Noble. Along with other comix creators, of course. All in support of the Once Upon a Time Machine: Greek Gods & Legends anthology.
If you're in the area, why not drop by?
And last night in LIttle Narnia . . .
The American Martini Institute is often thought of as being solely about the Martini. It's the name, I suppose. But in fact, that august organization actively researches all manner of cocktails. In fact, the AMI met in solemn convocation last night for a taste-testing of Canadian Club's 100% Rye Whiskey. If one is to appreciate what American rye whiskey was and has become, this is , ironically enough, the place to start.
Why ironically? Because Canadian Rye Whisky and American Rye Whiskey are two different, though related cats -- and not just because the American version has an extra 'e' in its name. American rye, by law, just contain at least 51% rye in its mash, while the Canadian version only has to taste the way Canadians think a proper rye whisky should.
There was a time in the United States when 'whiskey' meant rye whiskey. Remember the Whiskey Rebellion? It was all about the rye. Pennsylvania and Maryland were the primary producers of rye whiskey, leaving bourbon, with its corn mash, for the Southern states -- Kentucky in particular. Allegheny County in Pennsylvania became the center for distilling Monongahela Rye. More on that in a later post.
But a funny thing happened. Rye fell out of flavor. The chief culprit was Prohibition, the mad experiment in social control which sent a generation of Americans to their bathtubs to concoct a witch's brew of alcoholic beverages that no civilized human being should have to imbibe.
During this nightmarish period, the best smuggled alcohol came from Canada -- and Canadians, as a whole, like their whisky smooth. By the time American drinkers emerged from the Age of Savagery, they had no choice but to acknowledge the superior sophistication of our brothers to the north.
Rye whiskey went into eclipse. And what could be bought pretty much uniformly hugged that 51% legal minimum. Even rye drinkers liked the flavor mellowed out with corn and malted barley in the mash.
Old Overholt, one of the most prominent of the Monongahela Ryes, was sold and reformulated. Now it's a high-corn whiskey made the Jim Beam distilleries in Kentucky.
But the winds of fashion are fickle things. Today, rye is back in favor again. Boutique distilleries are popping up everywhere. And Canadian Club, bless 'em, has put out an affordable single-rye whisky.
Now, as to the tasting...
The color is lovely, a rich amber. The nose and flavor both are strongly caramel with strong spice and notes of not English Walnut but, appropriately enough, American Black Walnut. The flavor is emphatic and, it has to be said, to the modern palate might seem just a touch harsh. This is not a sipping whisky. The caramel does tend to dominate.
But the proof of a good rye lies in how well it goes in a Manhattan. So Manhattans were made:
3 parts rye
1 part sweet vermouth
2 dashes cherry bitters
shake over ice
serve in a cocktail glass with spiced cherries
(Marianne spices our cherries in Maraschino liqueur, so as to avoid the horror of candied cherries.)
And the result?
It has to be said, this is a magnificent Manhattan. The rye's flavor is strong and emphatic -- in, I hasten to add, the very best way. The subtleties of the whisky come through. And the vermouth, bitters, and cherry tame the more rambunctious qualities of the naked whisky.
More research will be published here in future postings.