I'm not sure whether it was excess imbibery pent up by an ice jam of "recession" hysteria, or maybe just a fluke of ol' Pope Gregory's calendar, hell, maybe Cupid got laid off and Bacchus took his shifts, who knows? Whatever the reason, Valentines night was re-god-damn-diculous this year.
People came out in droves and, for once, they all seemed to want cocktails. Pisco sours in particular were flowing freely across the wood, with my usual encouragement, but I was pleased as punch (I know I know, obvious boozy cliche, but hey, it's appropriate in this case) to see all of the new cocktail list represented on the stack of chits that came in.
Eventually one pisco-fuelled gent requested a change of pace, his only guidance being his next drink be "sour and fuzzy". Sour I can do, but "fuzzy" required a minute of brow wrinkling, until my trusty (and dusty) little bottle of orange flower water caught my eye and inspiration struck. If ever there was a "fuzzy" drink, it would have to be Ramos' Gin Fizz.
Now I was psyched! First of all I could delay my first botox session a little longer as my forehead uncreased, and, as you will soon see, I was about to get a SWEET bicep workout in.
Also known as the New Orleans fizz, this most famous progeny of the Silver Fizz was fathered by Henry Charles Ramos, sometime around 1887 in his saloon at the corner of Gravier and Carondelet Streets in New Orleans. It was so popular in the Crescent City that at it's peak Ramos assigned each of his bartenders a "shaker boy" to shake the living daylights out of his fizzes, so as not to wear out the talent mid shift.
It was in that grand old city at last years Tales of the Cocktail that I learned how to shortcut around some of the brute force required for the RGF by 'dry shaking' cocktails that require a frothy consistency. Basically you shake the mixers without ice to hasten the frothing of the emulsifiable ingredients. Still, it was quite a production, and not the most elegant one, to see me wincing as the lactic acid, which could arguably be included in the recipe built up in my inglorious biceps. Thankfully the GF sends me off to the barber more regularly now so at least there was no lame Whitesnake head banger effect going on, but still, it became a bit undignified. The things we do for good hooch.
Anyway, the result is a glass of frothy, silky nostalgia, that reminds me -- in no specific way -- of childhood. No, I did not drink a lot of gin cocktails as a toddler, just try one, you'll see.
Ramos' Gin Fizz
1.5 oz Gin (Plymouth)
1/2 lemon
1/2 lime
1oz simple syrup
1oz half and half cream
1 egg white
3-4 drops orange flower water (seriously, a little goes a long way) Shot of soda Fresh grated netmeg
Dry Shake lemon, lime, cream, egg and sugar HARD for as long as you or your guests thirst can tolerate, add gin and ice, shake again, assertively, for a long, long, long...long...time. Strain into acollins aor better yet milkshakey type glass, charge with soda and grate fresh nutmeg on top. Now take your big-boy milkshake out to the hot tub and take a soak, you've earned it.
Drink delivered, I headed to the back room for some A535 on the ol' pythons and a shot of my inhaler -wheeze- and strutted over to the table to see how my efforts were going over, "Pretty good" the 19 year old (hopefully) who looked like he was psyched to be downtown without the parental units said, pretty good indeed, young man, pretty good indeed.
