Fourteen man-hours of labor to get this. Sigh.

The Bronx Cocktail

Overview:
I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.  When most of us think of the Bronx, we think of horrible nasty things, such as the Bronx Cheer, the film Fort Apache: The Bronx (well, actually the film itself is pretty kickass; it's just the setting of the movie), and of course, the embodiment of all that is foul and evil in the world, the Bronx Bombers. 

Jonas Bronck's farmland near the Harlem River in the northeastern part of New York City was probably a pretty nice place once, but the last time I rode a train through there ten years ago they'd gotten over it.  It's as if the whole New York Makeover done by Rudy Giuliani never make it north of there.  And this is right and proper, and just so, because, as all people know, New York City is really Manhattan.

Having pissed off everyone in the room, I must say that I was surprised to discover the existence of a Bronx Cocktail, or at least I was surprised that Lincoln discovered it.

"Says here in Wikipedia that it was one of the top ten cocktails in 1934," he said, "just behind the Martini and the Manhattan."

Well, I'm a big fan of those first two, so off we went to the liquor cart.


Booze Requirements:
I first got the feeling that something was amiss when Lincoln started reading out the official IBA recipe.  Two types of vermouth?  Orange juice?  Gin?  Plus, there was a bunch of stuff out about how only certain types of gin should be used and so forth. 

Hell with that, I say; the only sort of gin that should never be used is cheap gin.  We keep at least three gins in the pad, as per SOP: Hendrick's; Rangpur; and a rotating review gin, currently a very fine product from the Rogue Distilleries in Oregon.  (They do a lovely rum as well.)  If you can't make a gin drink with one of these it probably doesn't deserve to be made.

You also need both sweet and dry vermouths, which we also keep in stock at all times.  Martinis and Manhattans, don'cherknow.

Mixers:
Orange juice and ice.  That's it.

Accoutrements:
You'll need a drinks shaker, and some sort of measuring device, as this is a fiddly little bit of business.  I've got a shot glass with measurements marked off on the sides, and we should probably get about five more of those.

Preparation:
Now, this might sound weird coming so close on the heels of my explanation of how to make an Old Fashioned, but this drink just seems like a whole lot of bother to make.  There just seems to be an awful lot of fussy measuring and so forth, and it kind of gets on my nerves.

First, put the ice in the cocktail shaker.
Now add:
-six parts gin;
-three parts sweet vermouth;
-two parts dry vermouth; and
-three parts orange juice.
Put in the shaker and whale on it for a bit.
Pour into a cocktail glass and serve.

It seems like fewer steps and processes than the Old Fashioned, but I swear it's a pain.  Maybe it's all the bottles you have to cork and uncork and unscrew and so forth.  Maybe it's the constant eyeballing of everything into the measuring glass.  Bitch bitch bitch.

I think what it really boils down to is that one of my rules is this: I should be able to make a fifth cocktail as well as I did the first, after consuming those other four.  I can pretty much make a martini in my sleep.  I know for a painful fact that I can make several Old Fashioneds in a row.  I can even put together a sticky goo-bomb like a Harvey Wallbanger after having four or five. 

But this, not so much.

Assessment:
Lincoln and I each had two, and we were both left with such an overwhelming sense of Meh that we stopped after that.  It's not a bad drink, as such, and it doesn't taste bad, although we both agreed that perhaps a garnish of fresh-ground cinnamon over the top might add a little bite to it. 

The drink just doesn't really... do anything.  It just sort of lies there.

I don't know.  Try it for yourself and see.

Of course, it was one of the top ten drinks in 1934, but what the hell did they know?  They had a Depression going on.