Ghoulish Stories, Requiems, Corpse Revivers, and Zombies, Oh My!

With Halloween creeping upon us and with ghoulish movies and TV shows coming to the fore, I thought I would start with some real-life stories and finish with aptly named drinks.

Looking at the not so horrifying “horror” stories from my life, there were several candidates, and all appear wanting for various reasons.  I imagine that many of you, upon reflection, could do as well or better.

War stories were the low hanging fruit.  My father, a combat veteran of WWII and Vietnam, told many tales.  Once he spoke of being in charge of a detail in the Philippines, during the closing days of WWII, whose duty was to exhume soldiers, recently and hastily buried, for return to their families.  A grisly task.  Protective equipment consisted of gas masks – his worst wartime experience and too grim to expand upon.

Next I considered sharing something "scary" of my own – like a failed attempt at first aid at the scene of a stabbing - steak knife through the carotid, definitely DRT "Dead Right There" (not to be confused with CTD "Circling the Drain") – again too grim. 

Seeking a lighter side, I trod the murky corners of my brain for other experiences.

I once worked as a night security guard in a medical complex in San Antonio, Texas.  At twilight, in a dark and deserted medical building, I was checking locks on doors. Finding one unlocked, I entered to check the office.  Immediately in front of me was a skeleton.  I will admit to being briefly startled – story too short and too dull.

Then there are the cemeteries I have visited, a must wherever I travel.  I have always said that cemeteries are people at their best – everyone getting along without regard for race, color, creed, or politics.  There are great cemeteries, large and small, all over the north and south.  In the southwest, many appear a

bit plain, but often have a stark beauty of their own.  At one clinic, in a dusty, dreary community, I would occasionally go to the nearby cemetery and eat lunch under the trees.  Very peaceful and the permanent residents were excellent luncheon companions.  No ghosts, noises or other signs of haunting – so a poor story.

Alternatively, while employed in a hospital, I became adept at placing the deceased into body bags by myself.  If that sounds easy, try it with a large individual, whose body is all "loosey-goosey," not stiff as a post, laying on a stretcher.  After "bagging and tagging," I would take them to the "green room," our morgue, which was actually painted blue.  To move the body through the hospital without disturbing the sensibilities of patients and visitors, we had a special gurney.  It had a metal lower shelf to place the body upon and an upper frame that was flat.  A large white, form-fitted drape was put over the top, giving the gurney the appearance of a rolling banquet table.  While prepping the body, bagging, and transporting to the morgue, I kept up a monologue with the deceased.  I spoke of events precipitating demise, visitors if any, where we were going and how we would get there.  After placing the departed upon a shelf, with others, I extended my best wishes and left.  None of my charges ever replied, or called upon me later – so that is a story of that takes the "long way around the barn" to be mundane.

Then there was the Halloween party with the theme "come as your favorite doctor or patient."  The most memorable costume was that of a nurse who came dressed in a body bag as one of our "frequent flyers" who finally managed to buy the proverbial farm.  Stories like that are too tasteless for lay people, and unless you have worked in an ER, law enforcement, or similar field, you will not understand the need to laugh at otherwise grim affairs.

Having established that "real-life" death is unfit for human consumption (but O.K. for zombies?); let us have some fun with drinks with death themes.

The first drink is "The Requiem."  Now for you non-Catholics out there, a Requiem or Requiem Mass, is a prayer service for the dead.  Its name comes from the opening line of the mass “Requiem aeternam dona eis" or "grant them rest forever..."  From the Requiem we also get "Requiescant in pace,"  “May they rest in peace” – the familiar R.I.P. on tombstones. The Requiem we are interested in is from The Flowing Bowl, 1898, by Willie Schmidt. It is a tasty mixed drink, rather like eggnog. The only addition to the recipe that I would recommend is a dash of nutmeg on top.

Following the Requiem, it is only natural to use a "Corpse Reviver" to get those synapses firing and animate our burned out, lifeless bodies.

By 1861, the Corpse Reviver was deemed "a celebrated drink."  A creation of the London Haymarket district, it was billed as an American drink.  In fact, about 1878 the famous bartender/author Jerry Thomas mocked the purveyors of liquor around Charing Cross for selling English drinks as American drinks.  He went on to say that he was about to open an American bar in London "and show the Britishers what's what. Then there'll be no need to brew bogus Yankee drinks!"

Recipes courtesy Boothby's World Drinks, 1934

Now that we have had our Requiem, and our Corpse Reviver, it seems appropriate to follow with the “Zombie.”  I have no interest in the flesh-eating ghouls of modern television and cinema.  Everyone growing up in the 1950's knows that a "real" zombie is merely a person, living or dead, under the control of a voodoo priest or priestess.  No flesh eating, no rotting body parts, pretty much a boring minion of the possessor. 

My preferred zombie, that of the "classic" black and white movies of the 1930’s, is indeed the only genuine zombie, so a pox on the rest of you.  As proof, I offer a Life magazine article.  We are cognizant that anything printed in a major periodical by reputable authors must be true – why else would anyone read the Sun or the Mirror?  In December of 1937, Life magazine did an article entitled "Black Haiti: Where Old Africa and the New World Meet."  Included is a photo by to "Zora Neale Hurston, Negro author with a Guggenheim scholarship…" and described as "the only zombie ever photographed." According to the author, the person/zombie died (or was drugged into a coma) and buried in 1907, returning "naked and demented" to her fathers farm in 1916. From the photo, she is clearly not decomposing or shedding body parts.  Indeed, with her unkempt appearance and her blank stare, she looks like the zombies in those classic movies.  Prima facie evidence that the old zombies my generation knew are the only genuine zombies.

As to the drink, the “Zombie” was the invention of Donn "the Beachcomber" Beach, who created it in the 1930's. Originally, it was sold no more than two to a customer.  Its claim to fame lies in its potency.  I can testify to this.  In my youth, when so many of us have manure for brains, I ill advisedly downed a dozen in a chug-a-lug contest in Juarez, Mexico, after an evening of drinking.  Fortunately, I did not drive nor ended up in a hospital.  After trying to pick a fight with a group of soldiers, it was the sickest night of my life (the cabrito burritos probably did not help) and I gave up any sort of drinking for almost five years.

The "Zombie," like so many drinks, has metastasized into many versions over the years.  I have chosen a version "from the land down under" – Australia, courtesy of The Australian Bartender's Guide, Stebben & Corsar, 1990. While not the most elaborate of Zombies, it is one easily made in the home bar and I would suggest no more than one to a customer.  In addition, the Juarez Zombies were blue, so if you want a 1960’s South of the Border version, substitute blue curacao.

Enjoy your Halloween celebrations and, please, remember "If you drink, don't drive."

Cheesecake and Cocktails

One of the more interesting cocktail books in my library is Bottom's Up, compiled and edited by Ted Saucier.

Ted Saucier had a successful career as a "flack," or publicist for the Waldorf-Astoria hotel.  From the late 1930's through 1950's he was frequently mentioned in Billboard magazine for his publicity prowess in promoting entertainment at the Waldorf.  He also served as the technical advisor for hotel operations in the 1945 movie "Weekend at the Waldorf."

Published in 1951 and pre-dating Playboy magazine by two years, it seems Saucier used the passion for pin-up girls and cheesecake, that blossomed in World War II, as a marketing hook to set his book of drink recipes apart from other others of the period.

In the early 1900’s, “cheesecake” was news photographer slang for a photo whose chief merit was a view of a woman's "gams" or legs. By the 1940's it had become synonymous with images characteristic of famous "pin-up girls" like Betty Grable and Jane Russell. A 1951 ad for a program on improving business  marketing, featured a segment entitled "How the Magic of Cheesecake Builds the Gross." 

In the description of the book, Bottom's Up, much is made of the illustrations having been done by "distinguished artists." This seems to echo the old joke about buying Playboy for its articles.  Not that the articles are without merit, just that they are incidental to the intent of the magazine. 

The background of the artists contributing “cheesecake” to Bottom's Up supports the claim.  Al Dorne, provider of the cover/title art, had done considerable advertising art as diverse as Lifebuoy soap and the U.S. Coast Guard.  Born "in  the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge," leaving school at 13, he eventually became the president of the Society of Illustrators and founder of Famous Artists Art School - whose ads were featured in comic books and magazines in the 1950-60's.

The twelve full page, glossy, provocative images "by twelve of America's  most distinguished artists" in a style we see show up in Playboy by artists like Vargas, is not the only similarity to Playboy magazine.  

Patterson's margin sprite

Nieman's "femlin"

Bottom's Up margins feature decorative sprites, done by Russell Patterson. Leroy Neiman's "femlin" in Playboy appears to have been inspired by Patterson's work in Bottom's Up.  Patterson really was a distinguished artist.  He created seminal images of the "flappers" of the 1920's and influenced the artwork of others, around the world, with his "Patterson Girl,” a much sought after image in advertising and magazine covers.  The Patterson Girl was as well known to Americans of the time, as were the Ziegfeld Girls.  In 1931 he was described as an "illustrator, cartoonist, and protege of William Randolph Hearst," continuing in the same vein into the 1950's.

Amongst the other illustrators, we indeed have a distinguished cast. James Montgomery Flagg was the creator of the WWI poster of Uncle Sugar saying he wants you for the U.S. Army.  Arthur William Brown was known for pencil and ink illustrations in magazines such as Colliers, the Saturday Evening Post and for books.  Ben Stahl, in addition to being an illustrator, was also the author of Blackbeard’s Ghost, which became a Disney movie.  James Falter was an illustrator for the Saturday Evening Post and prolific creator or WWII posters – particularly for the WAVES.  

"Picadilly Circus" by Bundy
in Bottom's Up

The story of Gilbert Bundy who, after a brilliant career as an artist/illustrator, went to the Pacific theatre, with the Marines, as a combat artist for Hearst newspapers is perhaps the most poignant--particularly today when PTSD is so often in the news. Trapped for several hours under enemy fire in the wreckage of a landing craft on Tarawa, beneath the bodies of dead Marines, he escaped by swimming away at night.  He survived the ordeal only to take his own life on the five-year anniversary of the event.

For those that are fans of illustrators, others contributing to Bottom’s Up are John La Gatta, Phil Dormont, Earl Cordrey, Bradshaw Crandall, and Robert Bushnell.  Works, as well as biographies, of all of the artists are viewable online and quite interesting.

Bottom's Up does not need the risque artwork to justify its space in a collection of cocktail books.  It contains 780 recipes; many are signature drinks from high society hotels, individuals, and watering holes, and are not to be found elsewhere.  The credited drinks reflect an array of people and businesses with whom a “flack,” for a hotel as prominent as the Waldorf, would have had contact.

Two drinks excerpted from Bottom’s Up that I particularly enjoyed are featured below.

Enric Madriguera, to whom this drink is credited, is unknowingly familiar to many of you. While his specialty was music with a Latin tempo, his rendition of “Let’s Have Another Cup of Coffee” is featured on the soundtrack of the movie “Paper Moon.”

Recipe & Artwork courtesy Bottom's Up

 Another, is one of the “railroad” drinks in Bottom's Up served on the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe.  I did not have the pleasure of trying this drink as a passenger, but I had the opportunity to ride the Super Chief from Kansas City to Albuquerque in the 1960’s.

Recipe & Artwork courtesy Bottom's Up

Of Ratsch-Bum and Whizz Bangs

Last week was the anniversary of the start of Loos Offensive of  World War I. Notable for the death of Rudyard Kipling’s only son - one of the many casualties on that field of battle, and the extensive use of shrapnel across the Loos valley, particularly on crossroads and communications trenches to prevent enemy movement.  On a lighter note, Kaiser Bill was also captured. Unfortunately, this was not Queen Victoria's malignant, moustachioed, grandson Willy, but rather a forlorn German army mule.

Hearing about the anniversary of Loos, renewed an old interest in artillery.

A gun of B Btry, 65th AAA Bn,1958

When I was young, my fathers' first command after OCS was a battery of 120mm anti-aircraft guns.  The battery was just outside a Marine base, near Naha, on Okinawa.  The 120's were the penultimate development in anti-aircraft artillery, soon to be made obsolete by missiles. The gun tube was about 24 feet long and capable of firing a shell at 3100 ft/sec to an altitude of 60,000 feet.

On firing, the guns report was a deafening CRACK!!! that hurt the ears and sounded like a monstrous high velocity rifle. The firing of the battery frequently shattered windows on the Marine base.  On one occasion when Dad took me out to watch his battery fire, he gave me the opportunity to fire a Quad-50 machine gun, two of which were part of the battery.

Back to the shrapnel shell - The Germans can rightfully claim invention and first use of the shrapnel shell.  In the 17th century, they developed a projectile called the Hagelkugel, or "hail shell".  It was a lead cylinder with a fuse and bursting charge at one end, the other end was sealed.  Behind the bursting charge was the "hail" - metal fragments, bullets, or pebbles. When loaded into the cannon, the fused end of the projectile faced the cannons charge.  On firing, the bursting charge of the Hagelkugel released the "hail" at about 100 yards from the gun.

The Hagelkugel was used during the 1641 siege of Gennep, in the Netherlands.  Unfortunately for German bragging rights, artillery was an art and early artllerists were extremely secretive.  This caused the Hagelkugel to sink into obscurity, allowing an Englishman to claim invention and have his name forever linked to the Shrapnel Shell.

Henry Shrapnel developed his version of the Hagelkugel around 1784.  Originally known as “spherical iron cased shot,” it used a primitive wooden fuse - a wood plug through which a gunpowder fuse ran.  The interior of the iron case was filled with black powder and lead balls.  On bursting, the shrapnel was projected across an area of about 150 yards. The advantage of the shrapnel shell over grape or canister is that instead of being a short-range antipersonnel projectile, it could be fired at longer distances as determined by the fuse and bursting charge. 

It was first employed in 1804 against settlers in Dutch Guiana, now Suriname. Officially adopted by the English in 1808, the Duke of Wellesley wrote that he considered it an important invention and that it should be kept secret.  Despite being widely available to British gunners during the Napoleonic Wars, correct use of the shrapnel shell was poorly understood and it was thought generally unreliable, largely due to its quirky fuse and the risk of premature explosion.

While modern writers seem fond of stating the Iron Duke thought it decisive at Waterloo, I find no credible evidence of that and believe it apocryphal or politically  motivated since the government officially adopted the round.  Accounts at the time describe it bursting short amongst friendly troops, others described it as being indifferent or ineffective.  A Lt. Col. Frith of the Madras Artillery wrote in 1818 that he had seen it fired into "large bodies of horse, among whom they were seen to burst, but cannot call to mind a single man killed by them." While there were battles, like the battle of Vimiero where the English claimed shrapnel shells contributed to the victory, reports from the receiving side were mixed ranging from their effect being terrible to no worse than that of round shot.  Others said the effect varied from round to round.  The truth probably lies in some middle ground.

Despite slow acceptance (according to books of the early-mid 1800's,) Henry Shrapnel received a stipend for his invention when it was officially adopted and the British government made Shrapnel Shell the official name of the "spherical cased shot" projectile in 1854 after his family petitioned for the name change to honor the inventor.

Improvements in the fuse, particularly by Col. E.M. Boxer, and case design continued.

According to Bormann in "The Shrapnel Shell in England and in Belgium," 1862, the most notable use of the shrapnel shell to date was during the Crimean War on the last day of the siege of Sebastopol, 8 September 1855.  Officers in a gun position manned by men of the Royal Naval Brigade, decided to utilize shrapnel shells found in the battery stores.   Eyewitness accounts reported these 8-inch shells "mowed down...whole lines of Russian troops as they sprang to the breast works."

A mere 60 years passed from the siege of Sebastopol to the start of the Loos offensive.  During this period much effort was put forth to improve the shrapnel shell. Fuses were vastly improved.  The cases for shrapnel projectiles were designed, refined, redesigned and further refined making the shrapnel delivery pattern increasingly effective.

While originally an anti-personnel weapon, usage changed during the Great War. The shrapnel shell was found useful in barrages for cutting barbed wire prior to assaults, and as an early anti-aircraft shell. Shrapnel shells spurred the development and use of modern helmets and aircraft armor.

Typically delivered by high velocity guns like the British 18 pounder, the French 75mm, and the German 10cm, the shells would give little notice of their arrival. There would be a quick "whizzzz" followed by a sharp "bang!" The German slang for these rounds was "Ratsch-bum," the Brits called them "Whizz-bangs."

Fortunately, for my blog, someone around the time of the War to End All Wars was kind enough to invent a cocktail named for that high velocity shrapnel shell---the "Whizz Bang." Sadly, since the winners write the histories, there is no Hagelkugel or Ratsch-bum to savor, though the Germans paid homage indirectly to old Henry by creating a "Schrapnel-Aufschlag" or "Shrapnel Charge." As the Hagelkugel predated the Shrapnel Shell, the Schrapnel-Aufschlag predates the Whizz Bang by several years. 

Unfortunately, the Schrapnel-Aufschlag is not nearly as good a drink as the Whizz Bang and, like the Hagelkugel, condemned to oblivion.

What’s In A Name – The Florodora

I have missed two blogs since my last due to familial obligations and found myself today casting about for a theme to get me back on track.  Since I have an interest in the origin of drinks, and their names, I thought I would borrow from a previous effort and use the title “What’s In A Name” with the related drink(s) appended.  If this works, I may do more in the future.

In the early 1900's, preceded by the operettas of the 1880's, the American public became enamored with musical comedy.  The play Floradora receives much of the credit for this craze.  A popular play in England in 1899, Florodora opened in the Casino Theater of New York in 1900.  

The play involves the imaginary island of Florodora on which a perfume of the same name is made.  Said island was stolen from its rightful owner whose daughter still works in a factory on the island.  The rest of the plot is convoluted to the extreme but the cast, chorus line, and music seem to have compensated successfully.  A feature of the theater was a manikin in the lobby spraying “La Flor de Florodora” on the theatergoers.

After a slow initial start, publicists started promoting the play in a manner seen repeated by the movie studios in their heyday.  TV news coverage of the Kardashians pales to that given the Florodora troupe.  Newspapers featured daily stories about the cast members, their personal lives, how well they regarded one another and worked together, their romances and marriage prospects, and of the huge sums of money that the chorus girls were making by speculating on Wall Street.  To the latter, one has to wonder if their fiduciary success was due more to the stage door sugar daddies than Wall Street, but maybe I have seen too many old movies.  Ultimately, Florodora exceeded 500 performances.

Florodora was the first  musical comedy to use the device of “stunning” fashionable evening gowns, worn by attractive women, to create a memorable high point in a performance, a trend continued in the Follies of the 1920’s and 30’s.  Women would go to see the latest fashions, men to see attractively dressed women. 

At the time, the music was considered “bewitching,” and people were often heard humming or whistling the tunes.  Leslie Stuart, the composer, said his formula for writing the music of Florodora was to:

“…take one memory of Christy Minstrels, let it simmer in the brain for twenty years.  Add slowly for the music an organist’s practice in arranging Gregorian chants for the Roman Catholic Church.  Mix well and serve with a half dozen pretty girls and an equal number of well-dressed men.”

The original “Florodora sextette” or the “big six,” none over 5’4”, was so popular with the American public that chorus girls for years afterwards, claimed to have been part of the original sextette. Francis Belmont, an original “sextetter,” in true movie showgirl fashion, managed to marry an English duke.

Florodora, its music, and its stars were immensely popular in the early 1900's.  Like movie related marketing today, the musical comedy became linked to a variety of products.  A soft drink in Cuba, race horses and pedigreed dogs, assorted food products, china, dolls, cigars (“three for 10 cents”) and a hybrid long staple cotton named Florodora were but a few.  Having a fondness for ice cream, one of my favorites is the “Florodora Sundae” – 1 banana, strawberry ice cream, strawberry fruit, nuts, and whipped cream.

In 1920, there was a revival of Florodora, with more chorus girls, and more lavish costumes and staging.  It was so popular that Fannie Brice was inspired to do a parody in the Follies.

Riding its second wave of popularity, it once again gave advertisers a useful marketing hook.  Florodora actresses modeled veils in Cosmopolitan magazine.  A massage vibrator was advertised to help women achieve “Florodora” beauty and sponsored a Florodora beauty contest.  Use of “Florodora” in marketing persisted into the 1930’s, as both a product name, and as a derogatory expression for something passé from a previous era.  There was also a movie entitled “The Florodora Girl.”

In my books, there are at least three "Florodora" related recipes.  The first two, the Florodora cocktail and the Florodora Fizz, from a 1913 text, are the earliest recipes I have found.  The Florodora Fizz definitely predates the book. 

A 1902 advertising magazine, The Advisor, states “The Florodora Fizz has replaced the Ping Pong Punch as the fashionable drink of the season.”  

The Florodora Cooler, easiest for the home bar, is from a publication of the 1930’s.  It is probably a Prohibition era drink being gin based, its other ingredients doing well to make the “bathtub” gins of the Roaring Twenties more palatable.

My Imaginary Packard

As mentioned in a previous blog, in 1965 my father bought me a 1951 Dodge "B" series pickup truck.  It was a well-used farm vehicle and I was kept busy looking for used parts, nominally better than its existing components.  This necessitated outings to junkyards filled with interesting vehicles of all description, as well as farm and industrial machinery.  Expeditions to these emporiums of cast-offs were as enjoyable as any amusement park.  I was able to find and remove the parts desired, and had the opportunity to “salvage” fair bit of pocket change.  While scavenging parts, I would run my hand through the space between the seat back and bottom of the old bench seats and usually come up with a bit of coin---not to mention the odd bit of filth.

While my friends were interested cars like the '57 Chevy, the Mustang, and even the Corvair, I had a penchant for anything odd, massive, and quirky.  For that matter, I still do.

In one salvage yard near Carthage, NY, there was a smallish 1920's fire engine that the owner said he would sell for $300.  The red paint and gold lettering were still shiny, the chrome bright, and it was replete with a bell and a chrome radiator cap with a glass thermometer.  The only thing it lacked was ladders.  Unfortunately, $300 was no more easily available than $3000.  Sometimes one has to be content to admire from afar.

My old Dodge was reliable.  It ran as well at 15 below zero as it did at 85F.  Most problems were not difficult to resolve and it would run fine with the cheapest grade of gasoline available, which was sometimes as low as 74 octane.  The truck was meant for work, not for youthful bravado.  It wouldn’t "burn rubber"---except in reverse.  Never the less, it was all mine and just the ticket for fishing or rabbit hunting.

The single most annoying problem was the gearshift.  The "three on the tree" had an "L"-shaped crank at the bottom that operated the shift linkage to the transmission.  The serrated hole in the crank, that secured it to the shift column, was stripped and it would slip, no matter how tightly I torqued the nut, leaving me stuck in, or out, of gear.

Having saved up some money, working as a stock clerk in the Camp Drum Post Exchange, I finally decided to have it repaired.  The nearest garage was in the village of Black River.

Smelling of dust and petroleum products, with an exposed wood beamed ceiling, decorated with the usual "cheese cake" calendars put out by auto parts companies, and with well used tools hanging on the walls, it looked like a movie set for the St. Valentine's Day Massacre.  My kind of place.

At the time, the owner/mechanic seemed old, though in hindsight he was probably in his 50's.  He was also friendly, helpful, and cheap.  After explaining that the part was no longer available, he said to give him a day and he would see what he could do.  When I returned, he explained that he had braised over the stripped out serrations in the crank and hand-filed new ones, charging me less than $25.  The repair worked fine.  Twenty years later, I benefitted from his explaining this field-expedient repair, using it to fix a similar problem on an arbor press.

While my Dodge, the mechanic, and the garage are all history, they are not the reason I recall the visit.  In the dim, back corner of that old garage, against the right wall, there was a hulking form covered by a dusty tarpaulin.  When I asked what was under the canvas, the mechanic took me over and removed the tarp.  It was a 1936 Packard sedan with a "straight eight."  The car was big, black, dusty, and had the ominous grace of a dreadnought.  That behemoth sparked my imagination.  I asked how much he wanted for it, laughable today since I had no  prospects of having funds and there is no way my father could have been talked into being involved in such a bit of whimsy.  The shop owner said it was not for sale and that it had a cracked block anyway.  The End.

Well, not quite the end.  From that time forward, I have had a nagging desire for a 1936 Packard sedan.  Marriage, children, jobs, age, and a singular lack of ability to focus on anything for any length of time, have all conspired to move me from "cool" and "fun" vehicles (in my eye, not necessarily that of others) to more reliable, and less interesting transportation.  I drive a Toyota Tundra, my spouse a Buick Enclave.  Both are good, solid transportation and more reliable than anything made in the 20th century.  Still, while our cars are good, I would not use "great" in any sense of the word.  That "great" Packard only exists when I daydream about what I would do, or could have done, if I were single and fancy free---about as likely as flying pigs.

There are two vintage cocktails, the Twin Six and the Packard Twins (yep, an engine not a pair of porn stars,) named for another masterpiece of Packard engineering, the "Twin Six," a V-12 engine which was to be later replaced in popularity by the “Single Eight”.  First produced for the 1916 model year, there were 24,000 vehicles with Twin Six Engines manufactured by 1920.  In that same year, Packard announced that they would double production of the Twin Six.  True to Robert Burns comment on the plans of mice and men, sales of the Twin plummeted between 1920 and 1924 with sales of about only 11,000 Twin Six equipped vehicles during that time.

So, let us raise a toast to Packard for giving us the stuff of dreams.

Fancy Drinks and How to Make Them, 1935

The Savoy Cocktail Book, 1930

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)