All Life Is An Experiment – Start with your next beer!

Have you ever thought about a random topic and wondered how far back you have had connections with, or memories related to said item?

Dusting off the cobwebs in the back of my mind, I have memories regarding beer going back to about 10 years old.  No, I didn't drink it then. My father made an attempt at home brew.  My memory is of beer running on the laundry room floor after bottles, stacked in cases, seemed to have burst in sympathetic detonation.  That was the end of home brew in our house.

Later, in the early 1960’s when I was 16, I bussed tables in a regimental beer hall in Camp Drum, New York (now Fort Drum.)  My father, HQ S-3,  arranged for my under-age hiring. The building was a long, low clap-board affair dating to the Second World War.  The beer hall was only open in the summer months, catering to the reservists coming to train at the camp's extensive ranges.  There was row after row of tables, usually piled high with beer cans. I would sweep the beer cans, and plastic cups, many of which still contained beer, into a large, plastic bag lined, steel trash can.  When the bag was full, I would take it from the can and throw it over-hand into a huge dumpster that was taller than I, resulting in my being constantly showered with stale beer.

Two summers later, I worked as a truckers helper for a Falstaff distributor in Leavenworth, Kansas.  That job was pretty cushy. A goodly part of the workday was spent traveling to rural taverns and bars scattered over a wide area.  Falstaff is an old American beer that I doubt many people miss today.

As a college student, in El Paso, Texas, my friends and I would drink Carte Blanca and Dos Equis in Juarez, and have kegs of Bud or Coors at "beer busts" on the banks of the Rio Grande.  When we wanted something "classy" at our favorite pizza restaurant, the Village Inn, we would have a Lowenbraü. At that time, we also thought Lancers and Mateuse Rose were great wines, evidence our youthful tastes were very unsophisticated.

Al, Ft. Riley Kansas 1951

My father in law, Al, bought whatever was cheap at the package store on post. I shared many an Old Milwaukee or Meisterbrau with him until, in his 60's a meddling Veterans Administration physician convinced him that his daily beer was bad for him.

Beer, in my past seemed to have been just plain beer.  Lagers, ales, pilsners, 3.2 "near beer", wheat beers, or stouts, good or bad it was just "beer flavored" beer. 

Today, with the world getting smaller, we are blessed in having easy access to beers of all types, both foreign and  domestic. For this reason, my taste for "American lawn cutting beer," as I once heard a German braumeister describe it, has plummeted over the last 30 years. 

Today, there is an interesting trend in American beer that would have probably failed in the not too distant past. It seems there is a rush to see what flavors can be added to beer. We have  lemon, lime, apricot, pumpkin, peach, clamato, chocolate, raspberry, grapefruit, and green chile beer—just to name a few.

If I may draw a conclusion based on the stores I frequent, this is an almost wholly American phenomena.  I have tried all of those mentioned once.  I did not find any that were good enough to buy a second time.

Beer-based drinks have long existed in England and Germany. While there are a few seen in the US today, for example the Michelada and Red Beer (both of which are excellent if you make your own), one wonders if the trend here for fairly tasteless, pre-packaged flavored beers, is because people are too lazy to "roll their own". While a number of the beers produced are OK, there are several that are poor imitations of flavored sparkling water.  Thinking of big “B” now.

With the increasing popularity of "flavored" beers, I thought I would offer up some of my favorite beer-based recipes, or what the Germans call “biermischungen.”  Taking time to make your beverage is a sure way to increase your pleasure as you savor your efforts. Making your own also let's you titrate the mix to your own taste.

First, the Dog's Nose,  is simply a glass of ale with a dash of gin.  This drink dates to the early 1800’s. According to various texts, it was favored by British sailors and coachmen. This is also an easy drink to enjoy at your favorite watering hole.  I order a glass of ale with a shot of gin on the side and build it myself.

Shandygaff, another English potable is 1/2 ale or lager and 1/2 ginger beer or ginger ale.  A recipe from the 1880’s specifies “One pint of bitter beer, and a bottle of old fashioned ginger beer mixed together and only imbibed on the hottest summer days after rowing.” A nice, light summer cooler.  It dates as far back as the 1600’s.  Served in venues as dissimilar as inns and tea gardens, it was often paired with cheese and biscuit and considered a refreshing drink for walkers and bicyclists.

The Maulesel (Mule) is Germany's answer to the Dog's Nose. Like the others listed here, it is a quick recipe. Add about 1 oz gin and 1 oz. lemon juice (juice of 1/2 a lemon) to a beer glass and fill with beer. I have no idea how old this is, but it is great with bratwurst and sauerkraut.

A Berlinerweisse is a “biermichunge” that is definitely on the fruity side.  Add about 1 oz. raspberry syrup to a beer glass and fill with hefeweizen. I prefer Monin raspberry syrup.  If you use Steinhager instead of raspberry syrup, you have a Berlinerweisse mit Strippe (with stripper.)  If  beer with fruit overtones appeals to you, try a bit of any of the Monin syrups, but go lightly.  You will get some interesting results.  If you do not want to buy, or use, an expensive German hefewiesen, you can substitute Blue Moon with decent results.

The Radler (Bicyclist) seems to be a 1950’s or 60’s innovation.  One story says that  a group of bicyclists stopped at a gasthaus and the owner, not having enough beer, mixed it with lemonade.  The Radler is 50/50 mix of beer and lemonade. Best with a marzenbier or lager. I use San Pelligrino Limonata or Aranciata, as the lemonade, since they are not too sweet and lend a nice citrus tang.

Ralph Waldo Emerson said: “All life is an experiment.  The more experiments you make the better.”  In addition to buying some of the “flavored” concoctions coming from the brewers, try your own. You might be surprised.

Yes Virginia, There Are Italian Bar Books

Two years ago, several members of my family had the opportunity to return to Italy, visit family, and do the obligatory tourist rounds.  I asked my brother George to see if he could find me a vintage, or any, Italian bar book. After much searching, and asking around, he reported that he had been told there were none and that, in Italy, drinks were not measured.  Neither sounded likely.  To make any drink, as in preparing food, a basic recipe is needed.  The ingredients need to be added in appropriate amounts and mixed in an appropriate manner. While a skilled bartender may not use an actual measuring device, he/she can make an accurate pour through practice.  Since mankind (and womankind) have a compulsion to chronicle any topic of interest, from ardvaarks to zydeco, where were those elusive Italian mixology texts?

Being told there were none, like being told something cannot be done (or shouldn’t be done), is a challenge too good to pass on.  I set out to find a trophy for my collection and, in twenty-four hours, there were two being shipped from Italy despite outrageous shipping charges.

Those of you who grew up post-internet do not fully realize how easy life has become. Back in the 60's, when I was studying geology,  doing research meant spending endless hours in a dull  library, without coffee or beer, poring over index card files.  Then, with a fistful of notes,  roaming the stacks looking for texts that were often not there, or did not have the hoped for information.  After exhausting the local university library, you would travel to another seeking the elusive grains of gold for your research paper. Today, you can sit with your electronic device of choice, in your skivvies with a cup of joe, browse the contents of libraries around the world, then request the titles at your local library. Damn young whipper-snappers just don't know when they have it good!

Trying the easy way first, searching eBay, over my morning coffee, was a bust.   There were several rather dull looking Italian pieces from the 1980's or newer, nothing I felt worth the effort to order or work with.  Not all was lost though.  I found a bargain priced, odd little 70’s drink book from Venezuela entitled Tragos Magicos.

Deciding the bigger gun of a serious resource was in order, I went to my favorite online used bookseller, AbeBooks, and the hunt was on.  Hunting a book online when you do not have a title, author or publisher, is a matter of utilizing key words.  What key words would you use in searching for a mixology text in a foreign language? Think about it.

 I once worked with a physician who was an excellent diagnostician.  Like

Dr. House of TV fame, he could diagnose unusual illnesses with minimal information, later to be proven correct in testing. A favorite saying of his was "Common things are common."  In other words, you need to rule out the ordinary before you move to the exotic. 

While there are many words related to imbibing, sometimes the obvious are the best. The word I use is "cocktail" in its various translations.  Though the term limits you to books from the late 1800's forward and will totally miss specialty books dedicated to punches or other esoterica (for example, the German text Bowlen und Punche), it is a great starting point.  The down-side to key word searches is that you may end up with hundreds of titles to peruse, many of which are totally unrelated to what you seek.  Italian drink books of quality do seem to be as scarce as hens teeth.  I successfully located two, i cocktails and Il Barman e i Suoi Cocktails. Both are well worth having and the former is todays topic.

When it comes to enjoyable books, some are a pleasure to read, others a pleasure to look at.  i cocktails is a blend of both.  Written by Luigi Veronelli, published in 1963, i cocktails is a hefty 365 pages including the index. The recipes include the old, as the Bee's Knees, and the obscure like the Zakusky and Monachino.  Perusing the index of recipes, one is led to believe that i cocktail is an amalgam of drinks from around the world. If you enjoy gin as I do, there are over 200 recipes calling for it.

For the visual individual, the book is a cornucopia of liqour labels. These labels are not the usual color photos as found in so many publications. In i cocktails there is page after page of heavy paper with individual labels neatly mounted, usually two to the page.  The lables represent products from around the world.  Very Old Fitzgerald - Barrelled in 1955 bottled in 1963, Cederlund Schwedenpunsch, Drioli Marachino and Tequila Sauza are but a few.  I am inclined to think the labels genuine since the Sauza label has printing on the back that would only be seen from the opposite side of the bottle.

The author uses  a pictorial key with each recipe that indicates the number of servings (usually two), the type of  glass in which to serve, how to mix (mixing glass or shaker), and if the drink is short, long, or hot.  

Units of  measure are always a challenge to translate.  Sure, a gocce (drop) in Italy, is susceptible to the same laws of physics as a  drop in the New Mexico desert, but when we get to bicchiere and bicchierino, glass and small glass, we have work to do.

In a recipe where all the units of measure for liquor are identical, all bicchiere or all bicchierino, the recipe is easily converted into a ratio.  When we combine dis-similar units, we need to know what each unit’s volume is. The chart below will help in translating volumes of measure in Italian cocktail books. Unfortunately, Italian measures seem to have as many differences in definition as Italy has had governments since World War II, so the selection shown is the product of multiple sources.

Having completed the laborious task of converting measures, we may now attempt the pleasurable task of  mixing a unique drink from an allegedly non-existent book.

Being an enthusiast of both gin and Campari, I was pleased to find yet another  cocktail using both. If you enjoy an occasional Americano or Negroni, you will probably enjoy the "Gin On Top" cocktail.  Served in a chilled cocktail glass it is an excellent aperitif.  Having the peculiar moniker of "Gin On Top" would lead you to believe it is a layered drink, but this is not so.  It is a conventionally prepared, stirred not shaken, cocktail.  In real life, I prefer shaken cocktails as I like mine colder  than the proverbial witches' breast in a brass brassiere.  The introduction of air causing a cloudy  drink, and hence "bruising" it, is of little importance to me. For me, there is no discernible difference in taste. Neanderthal that I am, I also do not raise my pinkie when I drink tea, or other beverages,  unlike a well-bred  Canadian I once worked with in Etobicoke (who disliked me for being "loud", and I him for being prissy) -- but that is another story.

Without further adieu, here is the Gin On Top:

This drink is distinctly on the bitter side. I find it best served with cheeses, crackers, or other hors d ovres  of your choosing. This recipe for two, would work well in three smaller, old school cocktail glasses.

Gin On Top (for two)

150 ml dry gin

25 ml Campari

25 ml lemon juice (1/2 lemon) filtered to remove pulp

2 wild strawberries

Ice cubes.

Place ice in mixing glass. Pour in the lemon juice, dry gin and Campari. Stir briskly with bar spoon, leave one or two seconds, then stir again slowly. Serve immediately in chilled cocktail glass garnished with a wild strawberry (in the New Mexico desert, you will get powerful thirsty looking for a wild strawberry)

The Good, the Bad, and the Simply Awful

I was lying in bed at 0300 wondering what my next blog would be.  I have several topics in mind, but none fully developed. When fighting insomnia, my mind often drifts back to past careers, usually nursing. This free thought in the wee hours led to today's blog on taste and potables.

When thinking of "nursing" and "drink," simultaneously, the obvious link is abuse of alcohol rather than the occasional cocktail or glass of wine.  Truly, I can tell horror stories about the excessive intake of intoxicants but preferring to preach moderation in all things, today's blog is less about drink, than taste.

As an RN on a  pediatrics floor, I adopted the practice of tasting the oral medications that I administered to my patients. This helped me anticipate problems and come up with creative ways to mask the taste of most, but not all, unpleasant drugs.  The worst, and least palatable, was prednisolone liquid. It taints everything that you put it in or on, leaving you with a greater volume of yuck for the patient to deal with. In one study, close to 20% of the kids taking it vomited; not from allergy, or adverse reaction, but rather from perceived nastiness of taste and mouth-feel. I can vouch for this from personal experience and, I would like to state for the record, that there is a world of difference between having a child upchuck on you, and having an adult who has been intemperate do so.

As a side note, there are many medical studies in the literature that do relative taste comparisons of drugs within a class, many of which are practically interchangeable, however physicians seldom seem to read those articles and have an instinctive knack for selecting medications most foul.

When it comes to drink, whether we are talking soft drinks, beer, wine, small batch gin, single malt scotch, or mixed drinks, taste is an interesting topic. We enjoy sharing descriptions, both verbal and photographic, of savory repasts, of tasty drinks and memorable spirits. There are many sites like TripAdvisor that let us share on a grand scale.

As with religion, many people espouse their personal taste as the only true taste and display a marked superiority and intolerance for others whose taste is different.

Hard-core scotch worshippers are a good example, with all their talk of single malts, whether taken neat or with a splash of water.  Personally, while I think Laphroaig Cairdeas is about as good a scotch as any I have tasted, I prefer scotch in mixed drinks – Oh heresy of heresies!  I would rather have a "Mamie Taylor" or a "Cameron's Kick Cocktail" than a pour of any fine scotch. As an added incentive, any scotch-based mixed drink does as well using a cheap scotch like Clan McGregor as it does with its pricey upscale cousins.

Recently, seeking new "old" drinks to try, I have made several that  range from "I don't care for this" to "This is pretty awful" and would like to share one from each end of the spectrum.

The first, an “I don’t care for this,” is from a classic text, The Flowing Bowl - What and When to Drink, by Willie Schmidt. Published in 1892, it is a great collection of recipes as served in the "Gay 90's" (a moniker originating when gay still meant light-hearted, not an orientation). While I found most recipes in the book decent or better, the "Gin Puff" is one to have had for the sake of having.  Having had two, it is hard to imagine desiring a third. The first was made using small batch Hendrick's, a dry gin, the second with Hayman's Old Tom.  The Old Tom preparation was slightly better but fell a long ways from good. 

 My best guess is that the Gin Puff was one of those "hair of the dog" concoctions designed to clear a “morning after” fog, rather than a drink to be had while the senses are still acute.

The all-time winner of the "drink so bad you wouldn't serve it to your mother-in-law" award has to be the "St. Barbara."  Saint Barbara is the patron saint of almost all occupations involving fire or explosives.  While it appears in one of my German cocktail books from the early 1900's, the choice of ingredients would suggest that this drink is English in origin, containing scotch, absinthe and Worcestershire in equal parts. One may surmise that the St. Barbara may have been the regimental toast of the Queens Own Cannon-Cockers or the "dare you to drink this" initiation beverage for the Grand Order of Powder Monkeys.

One rule of making mixed drinks is to only use quality ingredients. To every rule there is an exception and the St. Barbara is one. Using quality ingredients is pointless. Being out of Clan McGregor scotch, I substituted 12 year Glenlivet. That did not help. The concoction tastes like anise flavored Worcestershire.

Paired with a nice meat loaf, or lamb and leek pie at your favorite English pub, the St. Barbara might work in tiny sips with a mouthful of food. I have no desire to test it further.

Despite the number of questionable liquids that I have consumed (including gasoline while siphoning), or mixed, including those above, I have yet to find any as vile in taste as that prednisolone of bygone days.

What’s In A Name - Or, why I think you should add 3 Bottle Bar to your collection

In my last blog, I mentioned a book by H.i. Williams, 3 Bottle Bar.

Let me begin by saying that I have always had a fascination with oddities in names - quirks in the spelling, why people have the names they have, or where names originated.

Thirty years ago, I met a woman, now long passed, named Voltarine. She spelled her name as I have written it.  Not having encountered that name previously, I asked her if the name had a family history.  Those of you well read, and interested in feminist studies, are probably thinking “She must have been named after Voltairine de Cleyre, feminist writer and orator, and her parents misspelled her name.”  Not so.  Voltarine explained that her parents were enthusiasts of Voltaire and thought that Voltarine would be the feminine derivative of his name.

I am terrible with names, even those of people I know well.  At the store a few weeks ago I ran into a nurse that I had recently worked with for five years. I repeatedly called her “Kathy” (the name of an RN I hadn’t worked with in 15 years) instead of Marianne. She did not correct me and it didn’t dawn on me until I had gotten home. I still remember Voltarine Williams’ full name, because of her little story, though we met but twice.

On another occasion, when employed as lead nurse in a pediatric clinic, I was attending to a mother whose sons were named Donatello, Michelangelo, Leonardo and Raphael. When I asked if she liked Italian art, she gave me a puzzled look.  I then explained that I was curious about the names of her sons.  As you have probably guessed, she had named them after the Ninja Turtles.

In the hospital, and clinics, where a large part of the patient population spoke only Spanish, I made my name a private pun.  Some Spanish speakers have difficulty with the name “Charles.”  Knowing this, and since I conversed with these patients in passable medical Spanish, I would introduce myself as Carlos Madera – a literal translation of my given name.  For a time, it caused some confusion among co-workers when I was asked for by that name.

Back to the book and the name of interest.  The first thing I noticed about 3 Bottle Bar was the curious spelling of the authors name on the fly leaf.  Initials capital “H.” lower case “i.” Surely there had to be a story.  I was correct.  H.i. Williams was born Harney Isham Williams in Ladoga, Indiana, 1886.  In his youth, his friends took to calling him “Hi.”  This name stuck and he used it throughout his life in both a personal, and professional, capacity.  “Hi” is certainly an easier handle to remember than “Harney” or “Isham” and conveys a friendly nature.

His book, 3 Bottle Bar - Hospitality Poured From 3 Bottles, published in 1943, is a rather thin book on mixology. A mere 64 pages, with 26 personally created recipes. You might overlook it as a potential addition to your collection.  The drinks aren’t bad and it is an easy to find out-of-print book, on eBay or Amazon, for less than $15 in hardback.

In 3 Bottle Bar, Hi talks about only needing three bottles of liquor to make most drinks requested by guests - whiskey, gin, and dry white wine (which he substitutes for vermouth). In the section entitled Afterthoughts, he relents and says that it would be OK to expand to a 5 bottle bar, adding rum and scotch if desired.  In the course of his book, like most other authors of the genre, he offers suggestions on how to best prepare a drink, requirements for a bar, and related trivia.  I like his less than elitist attitude regarding liquors.  Discussing “whiskey,” he does not mean bourbon or rye. He suggests using whichever whiskey you enjoy.

You may be thinking, “Meh, doesn’t sound like much to bother with.”  There is more. 

A large part of the pleasure of using a vintage drink book, or a favorite cookbook, is that the handful of paper is a tangible link in a chain to the the past.  A link not only to those who used that book, but to the author who wrote it.  While H.i. Williams appears to be merely the writer of a mildly entertaining bar book, he was so much more. To quote the foreward to 3 Bottle Bar:

In earlier years, he relied on drawing as his medium, and he did well with it; painting followed, and he did well with it, too. Currently photography is his choice, and his colorful compositions, which are reproduced in millions of magazines each month, have identified H.i. Williams as one of the foremost photographers in America.

H.i. Williams career spanned 50 years.  He was renown for his contribution to the “food as fashion” movement of the 1930’s. This influenced advertising art as we know it today. He was much sought after for his ability to create engaging, brightly colored commercial photographs of food.

A graduate of the Cincinnati Academy of Art, he earned reputation as a sculptor and artist.  In 1919, he moved on to New York and became a commercial photograper in the 1920s.  Williams shot iconic compositions for many companies including Fiestaware and Fleishmanns Yeast. Pillsbury used his images in their advertising and on cake mix boxes. Examples of his work are in many homes today.  If you look, you may have some, too.

  

Prior to the 1930s, images in cookbooks were hand drawn, sometimes hand colored, but more often, lifeless black and white photos.

Do you remember your mothers, or grandmothers, cookbooks of the 1930s, 40s and 50s?  Sprinkled with pages of brightly colored, full bleed images, of food perfectly prepared, appearing as it should when served at the family table?  These were added to give the cookbooks a bit of dash and appeal to homemakers.  Much of that color imagery was provided by “H.i.” or his disciples.

Williams was a perfectionist. He had a test kitchen with a staff that included professional cooks and bakers. Meats and fish were professionally cut so that the end product would look flawless. One anecdote alleges he would have his staff go through 20 boxes of crackers to find those that were “pristine.”

Creating his compositions was time consuming.  He would first meticulously arrange the layout, when it was completed to his satisfaction, he would discard and replace anything that was damaged or had lost its’ look of freshness.  Only then would he photograph the result.

I have a friend, Mark, who likes to say, regarding selling, that “it is the sizzle that sells the bacon.”  Well, H.i. Williams put the sizzle in food advertising and cookbooks. For this, he was recognized world-wide, and virtually every professional photography magazine of the 1940’s and 1950’s featured interviews as well as articles about his work and techniques.

The photographic process Williams favored to make food appear life-like is known as the trichrome carbro.  Carbro is short for carbon and bromide. The trichrome carbro is very time intensive. Taking 80, or more, steps, it is said that a person working a 40 hour week could complete about twelve of these photographs.

The trichrome carbro process requires three negatives taken utilizing red, green, and blue filters.  These negatives are then transferred to pigmented gelatin sheets which when developed, are then layered. Registration has to be perfect to achieve the final color image.  While this is a very quick and dirty explanation, the results are impressive. There are many articles online that explain the process more completely.

3 Bottle Bar, is a book by a creative genius of the advertising age whose influence is wide spread. As a link to a bit of modern history, the text is an item of drink related arcana worthy of your attention.

From 3 Bottle Bar, the drink of the day is the Carbro. A drink by  H.i. Williams, with a name of his choosing that we can now understand and appreciate.

The Jeep

It recently came to my attention that this is 73^rd anniversary of the US Army’s issuance of a request for proposals that culminated in the manufacture of the venerable jeep.  This brought back personal memories, as well as an opportunity to mention a forgotten cocktail that did not achieve the fame of its namesake.

As a young man, I passed through a stage of life in which I was enamored of 4 wheel drive vehicles, particularly “jeeps”. 

I had always liked old pick-up trucks.  My first love was a green, two-wheel drive, 1951 Dodge truck, fresh from a farm. This truck came complete with “three on the tree,” half-moon hubcaps, bald snow tires, a rotted out wood bed and rust in the running boards and fenders.  It did have a working radio and heater.  What could be better than that?  Only something as reliable, as sexy as a sow, and with 4 wheel drive – obviously a Jeep!

The military variants of the jeep are no more closely related to the modern civilian toys than the Wright brothers Flyer 1 is to a Boeing 777.  The basic construction, power train, and hardware were incredibly simple and lent themselves to easy maintenance and field expedient repairs. 

On one occasion, when the fuel pump failed on an M38A1, I rode 20 miles on a dirt road in the Gila Wilderness, sitting on the cowl, while pouring gas into the carburetor.  After removing the windshield, a friend drove while I poured the gas from a canteen cup, into an improvised aluminum foil funnel that was wrapped around a piece of rubber tubing.  The tubing was jammed onto the carburetor fuel line, which we had bent upward.  The other passenger refilled my canteen cup from a 5 gallon jerry can sans spout. Gasoline was splashed everywhere.  When we finally got to civilization, I had a pretty good chemical dermatitis on my hands and torso, and smelled like a refinery.  I don’t recommend trying this at home, as it was clearly a case of God protecting “fools, lovers and drunkards.” Unfortunately, we were the former rather than the latter.

My unrequited lust for a 4WD vehicle was turned into reality by my father-in-law, Al.  When I told Al that I would like to buy a jeep from a surplus yard in El Paso, but was short the money and mechanical talent to restore it, he offered up the needed funds and the mechanical know-how.  Al was a retired Army mechanic who had been raised on a poor farm in Michigan.   Though a functional illiterate, he could fabricate, restore, or otherwise return to life damn near anything.  While a difficult person, his “can do” belief that everything broken could be fixed, and that everything needed can be made or found, augmented by a staunch refusal to accept otherwise, is still a wonder.  This life lesson has stood me well, and I have tried to pass it on to my children.

The first jeep we rebuilt was a 1955 Willys M170 Frontline Ambulance.  

It had a Hurricane F-head engine with an accursed Carter YF carburetor, a T-90 3-speed transmission (which I had to tear down and rebuild a second time after finding an omitted synchronizer ring in a rag), Dana transfer case and axles, and a super heavy duty suspension since the jeep was designed to handle a driver, passenger, and three litters.  Best of all, it had features that would make any vehicle a dream.  Ample storage compartments in both wheel wells and under the passenger jump seat, canvas covered wheel well bench cushions, which along with the front seats that were resistant to foul weather. The passenger jump seat could be hung from a bar on the dash to make room for a third stretcher – or camping gear, and the spare tire was carried vertically in a wheel well next to the passenger.  All this, plus it still had the original military paint and insignia. It was as if all my adolescent dreams had come true.

Recollections of the M170 are bittersweet.  

It was rebuilt the year we were married, and I spent more time with my father-in-law building the jeep, than with my wife—something she has reminded me many times over the last four decades.  I was oblivious to everything except the jeep project.

From the first, the M170 was so much more useful than the 1964 VW that it had replaced.  Once, parked in a dirt lot, I returned from class and found my “jeep” hemmed in on all sides.  No problem!  I engaged the 4 wheel drive and pushed the car in front of me out of the way so that I could leave. 

Yes, I was a jerk. 

The following year I went into the Army and the M170 stayed with us. We struggled through a blizzard in Raton Pass to get to my first duty station, Fitzsimmons Army Hospital, Denver Colorado.  Later, it easily, albeit slowly climbed the mostly dirt and gravel road up Pikes Peak, while newer automobiles sat overheated at the side of the road.  I fondly recall watching my very pregnant wife, in the short dresses of the early 70’s, stepping high over the spare tire to get to the jump seat and, on a later trip, complaining about oil dripping from the oil pressure sending unit onto her stockings (imagine a time when women wore stockings everywhere, even in a jeep!).  I told her, quite seriously, that it was “clean oil.”  A very poorly received comment. Young men can be such boors.

Serving in the military, vehicle parts were amazingly easy for an enterprising soldier to acquire – Korean War vintage run-flat tires from Rocky Mountain Arsenal, fuel, oil and water pumps from sundry Army Reserve units, assorted parts as needed from military cannibalization points, and litters from the hospital (the litters were also our first bed, until we could afford used furniture, at my next duty station).  It was a first rate vehicle, fit to pass any inspection. When it broke down, it was usually a minor problem that, with what I had learned from Al, was repairable with basic tools and bruised knuckles.  The most persistent, and annoying, problems were vapor lock and a sticking carburetor float.

The last trip we made in the M170 was truly epic.  Keep in mind this was our family car, not a beater used for hunting and fishing.  In 1973, on a two week leave, we travelled from San Antonio, Texas to New York City, by way of Jacksonville, Florida, then back.  We started with $50 cash and a gas credit card.  This would be a journey of over 3800 miles.  I planned to drive long days and minimize expenses by staying with relatives along the way.

Now, for those of you driving those pimp-mobiles that pass for a modern Jeep, the drive may sound a little long, but not particularly difficult.  Try it in hot weather, without air conditioning but with engine heat radiating through the firewall, an incredibly stiff suspension - not so wonderful now, run-flat tires so hard you felt every pebble in the asphalt, a top speed of 55 mph – the very definition of “getting nowhere fast”, hard rubberized horse hair seats which, by the end of the day,  felt like sitting on sandbags, a 6 month old child in a bassinet, and a German wife ready to point out any shortcomings I might have missed. Also, there was no radio to break the monotony or drown out heat and fatigue inspired tirades.  Trip safety planning meant taking my 9mm FN Hi-power, a fire extinguisher, an extra fuel pump, water pump, and oil pump, and a few hand tools.  Seat belts and air bags were not part of the picture. Thinking about it still makes me tired.

The trip was a series of minor adventures. Somewhere outside Houma, Louisiana we broke down.  It was a simple problem, once found.  A loose distributor ground, repaired with a minimum of snarling.  My main memory of Houma is the suffocating heat.  It was hotter than the hinges of Hades and the humidity had to be 110%. In Tuscaloosa, Alabama, we were rear ended by a lady driving an Olds 88, slightly damaging our left rear quarter panel.  We ran out of gas in Quincy, Florida late at night. I hitched a ride to a gas station, with some teenagers, while my wife and child stayed in the car.  My spouse remembers that night slightly differently. She recalls being alone and afraid, in the dark, with the baby.  Days later, safely arriving in New York, we were just in time for rush hour traffic. My wife was incredibly tense and annoying as a “backseat driver.” I felt great driving the only cool vehicle on the road in New York City.  No lack of hubris in that other me of long ago.

Ultimately, this trip was the death knell of the M170.  Getting home, we were all tired and sore.  I could barely tolerate having to use the jeep to go to work at Brooke Army Medical Center.  Within weeks of returning, I sold the M170 to a fellow sergeant for $400, along with plenty of spare parts and GI manuals so generously provided by Uncle Sam.  Sadly, when sold, I told him that I thought the oil pump was failing and to install one of the spares.  Lazier than even I, he failed to do so and, ignoring the oil pressure gauge, seized up the engine two weeks later. While the M170 was followed by a Jeep Commando and two M38A1’s, none were so loved, nor so traveled, but all have their stories.

The drink I choose to pair with this blog, is called “The Jeep.” It comes from the 3 Bottle Bar by H.i. Williams, 1943. No, the little “i” in the second initial is not a typo. Born Harney Isham Williams, he went by “H.i.” in credits, or when he signed his name.

The drink, the author says, is “Designed for rough sledding, the Jeep has a three power drive with a pick up robust enough to pull even the weariest wayfarer out of the deepest rut.”

My wife and I find the drink quite tasty. 

In older bar books, when gin was not otherwise specified as "dry," "Plymouth" or "Holland," an Old Tom was the choice inferred.  Old Tom gins, sweeter and generally milder tasting, are harder to find now, but very pleasant to the palate in a mixed drink or cocktail.  I used Brothers Old Tom Gin, made here in New Mexico by the Left Turn Distillery of Albuquerque. For “whiskey”, I used Old Overholt rye, an American classic, as I personally find rye whiskey more pleasant and less “boozey” in mixed drinks.  The wine was a nice, inexpensive, California Beringer Chenin Blanc. The juice came from two tiny Cutie oranges. Cheers!

Belly Up to the Bar

Thanks to eBay, Amazon, AbeBooks, and COAS - my local used bookstore, I have a collection of 90+ books related to Drink, ranging from Willie Schmidts' 1892 treatise The Flowing Bowl to recent works such as To Have And Have Another by Phillip Greene.

Here in southern New Mexico, drinking is largely Bud, in its various forms, and margaritas. Hardly more interesting, probably less so, than in the 60's when I frequented the Kentucky Club and Freds' Rainbow Bar in Juarez, Mexico. At least the drinks were cheap, the Mexican beer good, and the 50 cent sandwiches at Freds' took care of the munchies. The pursuit of engaging bar books, and mixing mostly forgotten drinks from the past, is a nice way to add something special to an ordinary day and an opportunity to share thoughts, and drinks with you.

Several of my books are German, dating from 1905 to 1920. A favorite is the Lexikon Der Getranke (Encyclopedia of Drinks)1913, by Leybold & Schönfeld, fellows of the Internationalen Barkeepers-Union, Cöln.  The Lexikon is a 296 page compendium  of  drinks and vintage advertisements for booze, bars, and purveyors to the trade.  The recipes include American, German, and European mixed drinks.

Of special interest, is the section labeled “Regiment-Mischungen” (Regimental Mixtures).  Comprised of  23 pages listing regimental “mixtures,” there are 181 drinks alone for infantry regiments.  Every possible organization seems to be mentioned. Do you fancy yourself in a tchapka sipping the traditional drink of the 3^rd Prussian Uhlans, or have just finished your model railroad layout and want to celebrate your success with the drink the Eisenbahner (railway men) toasted with?  Lexikon Der Getranke has the answer.

While, in my opinion, a great book, there are a couple of burrs under the saddle. The units of measure can be odd, and some of the ingredients have disappeared or are difficult to obtain.

The measures in this book may drive you to drink, or perhaps to a modern English cocktail book that will not have you grinding your teeth. The recipes vary from the simple ratio measurements still used today, to the more esoteric measures of an era long past.  Like many vintage tomes dedicated to mixology, German books seem to be notoriously poor in defining the unit volume of a measure. When asked to add a Likörglas, or Portweinglas, how much liquor do you use? Today, you cannot even get oenophiles to agree on the size, or shape, of a port glass. 

Apparently, these measures were once more precise than simply grabbing a small, or not so small, glass.  In the Handbuch Der Krankenphlege (Handbook for the Sickroom), 1904,  and other references, I have found some measures used in cocktail books of the day, along with their corresponding volumes. The measures below may be helpful to those of us easily confused and confounded.

  

Vintage German-English Measurement Equivalents
Measure	Volume		Measure	Volume
Likörglas (liqueur glass)	30ml		Limonadenglas (Lemonade glass)	220ml
Portweinglas (Port wine glass)	40ml		Flasche (bottle or flask)	30ml – 1 L. Content dependent
Moccatasse (Demitasse cup)	50ml		schuß	a splash, or dash
Weinglas (Wine glass)	125ml		Essloeffel or Eβlöffel or EL	15ml (about 1 level Tbsp)
mittlere Tasse  (Medium cup)	150ml		Kinderlöffel (Childs spoon)	10ml
gewöhnliche Tasse (Ordinary cup)	200ml		Teelöffel or Teeloeffel or Teel. or T	5ml (about 1 level tsp)
Wasserglas (Water glass)	0.4l		Messerspitze (Knife tip)	1/8 tsp or 1 pinch
Portionstasse (Serving cup)	0.3l

Many, if not all, of the liquors and other ingredients are still available, or have modern analogs, that will make a passable drink.  The problem lies in figuring out what the odd ingredient is so that you can make an appropriate substitute. Fortunately, we have the internet and appreciate the fact that all, that is truthful and worth knowing, is there. 

Need to top a glass with Sauerbrunn? Easy.  Sauerbrunn is a naturally carbonated mineral water from the Tyrol.  Do you live somewhere, as I do, where choice of mineral water is bottled tap water or Perrier & S. Pelligrino?  Quietly slip in your favorite carbonated mineral water.  The bubbles don’t care how they got there and you can choose the one most agreeable to your palate. 

Stuck on Stoughton’s?  Those bitters have been off the market since Hector was a pup.  San Francisco Bitters makes something that is alledgely close.  There are all sorts of recipes for Stoughton’s out there purporting to be correct, some in books of the time, though nobody living is old enough to remember the original.  The quick solution is to simply grab your Angostura or Peychaud’s.  You will have just brought a dusty antique to the 21^st century.  These suggestions are heresy to some cocktail cognecenti but, as a layman of potable potions and a back-sliding Baptist, I have done far worse.

Having made it this far, it would be abject cruelty to close this blog without offering a tasty drink. Being summer, a "cooler" seems most appropriate. From Lexikon, the Luftshiff, or Airship.

Luftshiff

In a lemonade (8oz.) glass, add some fresh peppermint leaves, the juice of 1/4 lemon,    and 1 1/2 oz. Rye whiskey. Add ice to half full and fill with ginger ale.  Garnish with fruit and peppermint leaves. Note: I find the drink improved if, after adding lemon and rye, you muddle the mint leaves. The first drink goes down quickly, plan on a second. Sehr gut!