I always like to include a beer cocktail when we travel to this time and place because they were so incredibly common, it’s almost lying not to have one! Beers brewed with a pumpkin base (once known as pompion ales) originated in the years before the Revolutionary War and pumpkin ales line shelves every fall to this day. This autumnal beer cocktail is named for the original town center in Conway, Massachusetts, which is also the name of this month's theme. This drink is, then, sort of like a title track!

With roots in the nineteenth century, the Spritz was originally a combination of wine and carbonated water. By the 1920s and ‘30s, the classic Italian refresher solidified as a combination of bitter aperitivo liqueur, wine (or vermouth, see: Americano & Negroni Sbagliato), and soda. In the 1990s, prosecco became an essential ingredient in the Spritz.

The Americano mightn’t be just a lengthened Mi-To as previously assumed, but rather a genre of drink that combined vermouth with various liqueurs, especially aperitivo and amaro. Fernet-Branca was a popular option, but Campari won out by the ‘30s.

Sbagliato means “mistaken” or “bungled” in Italian. That’s a reference to the apocryphal tale told about why the Negroni Sbagliato features prosecco—and no gin. The resulting beverage is a delightful cross between the Americano and the Spritz.

There was a period of time in the life of the Spritz, where the bubbly and wine elements were still kept separate, i.e. still wine and soda were used in concert to create a similar effect. Both of the lesser-known spritzes we’re highlighting this week are built this way. The Bicicletta combines white wine, Campari, and soda, and dates from around the 1930s.

The Giostra d’Alcol (“carousel of alcohol”) is from the same period, invented by futurist Enrico Prampolini. It combines red wine, Campari, and cedrata (a citron soda); its original recipe calls for a garnish of cheese and chocolate on a cocktail pick.

This is a little-known Mojito riff dating from the early 1930s at Sloppy Joe’s. It has everything you’d expect from a Mojito–rum, lime, sugar, mint, and soda–but adds a little bit of “French vermouth,” which I interpret here as blanc (or bianco if it’s an Italian producer). This small change adds a slightly floral note and bolsters the lime’s acidity. I like the channel-knife lime peel garnish here along with a big bouquet of mint, of course.

As you know, my historically-driven palate favors the spirits that were popular in 19th-century juleps, i.e. rye, Cognac, and rum. For my own julep recipe, I wanted to combine these three in equal parts with a favorite amaro (Braulio or dell’erborista are particularly good here, but there are many that would work!). I also decided to make the garnish do a little aromatic work, hence the nutmeg and shaved coffee bean, which hit the nose along with the mint upon first sip. The sherry float also contributes a nice aroma if desired!

This is probably the drink that first comes to mind when you think of juleps (unless your brain is stuck in the 19th century like me)! The bourbon-based julep is the one that has survived into the modern age, thanks in no small part to its connection with the Kentucky Derby. For this recipe, I wanted it to be exceedingly elemental. Since we’ve combined the sugar and mint in our mint syrup already, this julep requires but two ingredients (plus a big bouquet of mint, of course). It is simplicity at its finest!

This recipe, based on one from the 1850s, gives a window into what pre-Civil War juleps looked like after ice had established itself as an essential part of the drink. The mixture of Cognac and rye and the slight presence of Jamaican rum illustrate the julep’s former life as a rum drink and the preference for a brandy base during this period while also foreshadowing the rise of rye juleps that would come after the Civil War (see Dabney Julep from our Pre-Civil War Black Tavern-keepers theme). NB: crushed ice is preferred over pebble here.

One of many ale-based proto-cocktails popular in eighteenth-century American taverns, I like to think of the Calibogus as the piney cousin of the Rattle-skull. The original Calibogus would have been a simple mixture of rum and spruce ale (a popular antiscorbutic for sailors), possibly flavored with lime juice and a sweetener like molasses. I decided to adapt this recipe by using ubiquitous, hoppy IPA for the ale component and an apple brandy base because it marries nicely with the ale and citrus.

This drink is another that was emblematic of American culture in the days of the early Republic but has since been forgotten. Popular in winter, as they were traditionally served hot, Apple Toddy recipes, including the one in Jerry Thomas’s 1862 book, typically call for mixing apple brandy with hot water and baked apple, and topped with nutmeg. Our version is a little more complex, with notes of cranberry, vanilla, spices, and ginger.

Though the Sour template predates the Fix slightly, the latter–a Sour served over crushed ice–was an incredibly popular member of the family in the mid-nineteenth century. Our recipe is diluted with a measure of water, just like the earliest extant Fix and Sour recipes–a nod to their evolution as a single-serving punch.

There are two schools on the history of the Hail-storm and my suspicion is that they have both been true and different points in history. One is that “Hail-storm” is just another term for a Mint Julep, and the other is that the drink was sweetened brandy served over ice. I opted to explore the latter here, making it a nice chilled capital-C Cocktail–a drink that otherwise remained room temp for much longer than contemporaries like the Cobbler, Fix, etc.

John Dabney was so famous for his Mint Juleps that his obituary claimed that he “concocted more mint juleps than any man in the country.” His were rye-based, piled high with crushed ice and garnished with abandon. One description of a Dabney Julep listed mint, a strawberry, cherry, a slice of pineapple, and a pink rose as garnishes.

I got the idea for this odd-but-delightful deconstructed drink from “Cocktail Bill” Boothby’s 1890s book, American Bar-Tender. Though this source comes over forty years after the gold rush began, it’s a testament to how San Francisco remained a locus of cocktail culture and has remained so, though not necessarily continually, to this day. I based this on Boothby’s Dude Cocktail, which is a simple sweet soda or lemon soda laced with lime juice and crème de vanille.

The California gold rush created an incredible demand for all kinds of goods that the Bay area didn’t yet have the infrastructure and stock to provide. Coffee was one such commodity and its price skyrocketed as coffee merchants sought to make big profits off the miners’ newfound wealth. I imagine that the miners would have spiked their expensive coffee with a bit of whiskey and sweetened it with pricey sugar and vanilla, too.

Paul Girault’s original Colombe cocktail, served at Café de La Paix, was a modified Champagne cocktail fortified with Cognac and cherry and orange liqueurs. I’ve adapted it to suit our supply list this month, keeping the Cognac and orange liqueur, using grenadine to hint at the conflation of grenadine and cherry syrup, and “improving” the mixture with absinthe and Angostura bitters. The snifter is a nod to the Cognac base.

Hot Buttered Rum is a drink that has, blessedly, survived into the twenty-first century thanks in large part to its popularity around the holidays. At its most elemental, it’s just rum, sugar, spices, butter, and hot water. I didn’t want to make this variation too overly complicated, but the walnut liqueur, as well as the pumpkin and miso flavors in the syrup, amp up all the best parts of this simple classic while giving it a bit more dimension.

I see our Club Pimm’s as a pre-batched cocktail, apéritif, and digestif all in one. It occurred to me that, served in the style of amaro caldo, it would make an excellent, warming beverage for a chilly evening or a rainy Sunday afternoon–both common in April where I live. Adjust the recipe below to suit the size of your serving vessel.