The original Absinthe Frappé emerged in the later nineteenth century and was one of the first drinks to put absinthe in a starring role. Taking the traditional concept of chilling and diluting absinthe to bring out its flavors and make it palatable, this elegant cocktail is shaken with ice and served over crushed ice. Though anisette is the traditional liqueur in the spec, I found the combination of crème de menthe and fresh mint to be ideal here.

A sour that was popular at the Ritz Bar in Paris in the 1920s, the Sidecar traveled across the Atlantic and became a favorite drink in the U.S. during Prohibition. I took the spec developed by Ned King (get it? roi!) at Gigantic, which uses honey syrup in addition to orange liqueur; I decided to embrace the traditional sugar rim garnish, giving it dimension by adding chamomile.

The French 75 is traditionally made with Cognac or gin, lemon, sugar, and Champagne. I favor the Cognac version–which lives on as a New Orleans classic. I thought it would be fun to make a version inspired by Normandy, using Calvados in place of Cognac and, mirroring the grapes-on-grapes dynamic of the original, to pair the French apple brandy with dry cider in place of Champagne.

The Jack Rose wasn’t invented in Paris, but it made a name for itself in the French capital’s expat scene. Though several versions exist, at times including orange juice, liqueurs, or vermouth, the version from Hugo Ensslin’s 1917 Recipes for Mixed Drinks is elemental and delicious. Our version calls on two French brandies–the Calvados as a nod to the American apple brandy of the original, and Cognac–along with a little absinthe for dimension.

This honeyed apple brandy Sour is a combination of a Dizzy Sour and a New York Sour. The New York Sour, as you likely know, is a rye whiskey Sour with a dry red wine float on top. The Dizzy Sour is far more obscure; it debuted in The Hoffman House Bartender’s Guide and consists of rye, Bénédictine, sugar, and lemon, with a rum float, when combined with the New York Sour, subbing in apple brandy and adding a touch of fig syrup, the result is a honeyed, tannic drink with citrus and dried fruit notes.

The Widow’s Kiss was first published in 1895’s Modern American Drinks by George Kappeler. The original recipe calls for apple brandy with equal measures of Bénédictine and yellow Chartreuse, plus Angostura bitters. Our take is dry and spirit-forward and switches out the Chartreuse in favor of Alpine amaro, which nods to the Alpine origins of Chartreuse and also does the work of the bitters. It’s got a Rusty Nail vibe that I really love.

A stirred drink from The Hoffman House Bartender’s Guide (1905), the Automobile Cocktail consists of equal parts Scotch, Old Tom gin, and Italian vermouth, plus a little gum syrup and orange bitters. I took this template and subbed in apple brandy for the Scotch, using alpine amaro in place of bitters, and sweetening with fig syrup. It’s Martinez-esque, but feels perfect for November with apple and pronounced piney notes. “Motor wagon” was a term used by some early car makers.

The Brainstorm Cocktail was one of several Irish whiskey classics to come out of the early twentieth century. The original recipe combines the Hibernian spirit with dry vermouth and Bénédictine in a template resembling an Improved Cocktail. Our version ditches the boozy herbal liqueur for in favor of crème de banane, and borrows the absinthe spritz and frozen glass presentation from the Sazerac.

There are several pre-Prohibition era drinks that bear the name “Blackthorn,” “Black Thorn” or “Blackthorne,” hence the numeral after the title. This version takes some of the ingredients from the English (gin and/or sloe gin) and Irish (Irish whiskey) versions and applies an equal parts structure. An optional barspoon of peaty Scotch makes this Manhattan cousin slightly smoky, if that’s your thing.

Around 1900, a new style of Martini emerged that featured a drier form of gin (specifically Plymouth) and dry vermouth. One example of this style is a variation called the Marguerite. Its ratio is 1:1 in some recipes and 2:1 (gin:vermouth) in others. Orange bitters and anisette also made their way into these specs. This version is a synthesis of extant recipes, with the pleasant addition of blanc vermouth.

This is the “root cocktail” for this month’s programming, i.e. the drink that determined the core of our supply list. I came up with the original Tyrolean Negroni at Gigantic a couple years ago: super piney gin, Carpano Antica and a split measure of Braulio and Sfumato. This updated version comes together beautifully and does a great job of showcasing the blanc vermouth.

The Manhattan was a disparate, but powerful, force for the first thirty or so years of its existence. In the years just before Prohibition, and through the ‘30s, the recipe begins to solidify its 2:1 ratio, the bitters overwhelmingly Angostura, and the garnish is usually a cherry.

The original Brooklyn Cocktail first appeared in print in 1908 as a mixture of rye, dry vermouth, Maraschino and French bitter liqueur Amer Picon. Fast forward 100 years to the heyday of the Cocktail Renaissance, where forgotten classics, European bitters, and añejo tequila all landed on the scene with a splash.

I have been playing around with a tequila-based version of Philadelphia’s own Clover Club for over a year now and finally landed on this beauty. An unusual sort-of reverse dry shake technique makes the use of jam and desire for perfect egg white texture achievable.

While looking for a way to use this month’s amaro in a shaken drink with roots in the early 20th century, I happened upon Hugo Ensslin’s “Hugo Bracer” from 1917. Originally a mix of apple brandy, lime, Amer Picon and grenadine served in a goblet, ours goes in a yet-more-tropical direction, expressing what I’d call a proto-“tiki” aesthetic.

This is an ode to the imaginary point in time, in this month’s period of interest (1900- 1919) when the prevailing Martini ratio was 2:1. Bright, briny fino or Manzanilla sherry works in perfect harmony with the blanco tequila, all of which is enhanced by a little salinity and citrus.

Tom Bullock features quite a few fizzy cocktails in his book, but I particularly love the Twilight Cocktail, which is an unsweetened mixture of Bourbon, Italian vermouth, lime and seltzer. I take the edge off the sour notes with our cordial, sink the vermouth to the bottom, and insist on Club soda over seltzer here—the hint of salt is just what this drink needs.

Tom Bullock’s Martinez-like Horse Thief Cocktail is perfect as is. What I decided on was to make this a batched version of his original spec, frozen until very cold, and served in frozen, absinthe-spritzed glasses à la Sazerac. I find the result is exceedingly elegant.

An egg-and-cream-laced sour that hews pretty closely to Tom Bullock’s Dream. We’ve swapped in absinthe for the crème de menthe and, with the addition of our cordial, we’ve given the whole thing a Creamsicle, nay Dreamsicle flavor profile.

When I was a young art history student, I ran into a lot of works marked “in the style of” or “a painting after” so and so. Bullock was one of the great figures of the pre- Prohibition era and I felt this naming trope appropriate. He typically served cocktails like this up, a refined presentation we honor here.