If you’ve paid attention to anything I’ve ever said about amaro, you’ll know that Amaro Braulio is my favorite–it has been for the past ten years. And, as a result, I see it as typical of the alpine category, but that isn’t strictly correct! “Alpine” just denotes the region of origin and the Italian Alps span several regions, from Lombardy, Valle d’Aosta, and Piedmont in the east to Friuli-Venezia Giulia and Trentino-Alto Adige in the west.

Rabarbaro is a subcategory of amaro wherein Chinese rhubarb root is a main botanical. This ingredient is naturally smoky, which is a throughline flavor in the category, as is earthiness (roots will do that!). Producers can distinguish themselves through their choices of other botanicals.

This is a catch-all term for a group of amaro that is grouped in my mind! They all feature an unchallenging bittersweet profile and have these soda fountain-esque flavors that reflect their long-ago past as patent medicines. I have chosen three examples that are easy to find and make for good starter amari.

This obscure gem from the Savoy Cocktail Book (1930) illustrates the power of absinthe as the sole base for a sour. Because of the strength of the base spirit, the ratios of this drink are all topsy-turvy in a most intriguing way–two parts lemon to one part each absinthe and simple syrup; a touch of saline is advised. It sits on the edge of being too tart, but this sour’s complex herbaceous undertones keep you coming back for another sip until, suddenly, you’ve finished it.

This drink name has encompassed a wide range of specs since the turn of the twentieth century, but once it settled in New Orleans, it became the drink that’s still made there today. The now-classic version has aspects of other New Orleans classics, like the Grasshopper and the Ramos Gin Fizz, and its unique combination of ingredients make it sort of like a minty eggnog. The dessert-like drink is said to be the ideal way to begin your Mardi Gras morning.

Ernest Hemingway is associated with a fair few drinks, but this is one that he invented, or at least was the first to publish a recipe for. The simple mix of absinthe and Champagne was featured in a 1935 book of writers’ favorite cocktails called So Red the Nose, or, Breath in the Afternoon. Many modern variations add a little simple syrup, which I like for texture here; bitters and a lemon twist push it pleasantly into Champagne Cocktail territory.

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.

Syllabub is a wine- or cider-based, cream- and egg white-laced drink dating to the Elizabethan period. I added gin for a little Christmas pine flavor and opted for honey over sugar, which has a beautiful conversation with the rose, lemon, and cinnamon. Syllabub, and with its cousin posset, are often cited as predecessors to flip, eggnog, and Tom & Jerry. Over time, syllabub became more and more solid, morphing into an alcohol-laced dessert rather than a drink.

Also known as flap-dragon, this Elizabethan game involves trying to pick dried fruit and nuts out of a bowl of flaming brandy. Yes, it’s dangerous and, yes, it was played by children (as well as adults) from the sixteenth century through the Victorian period. It’s closely associated with the Christmas season and, in the United States, it also became a common amusement on All Hallows’ Eve.

‘Wassail’ comes from the Middle English wæs hæil, and from the Old Norse before that ves heill meaning something akin to “be you in good health.” This classic medieval beverage, typically made from a combination of cider, ale and, later, fortified wine, has great significance in English drinking history and was popular during the Tudor period. ‘Tis truly supreme with the eggs, but if you must omit them for dietary reasons, ‘twill be delicious all the same.

Back in 2020, I developed a series of three drinks for my Lords of Misrule series, including this recipe, which was originally a single-serving punch. Its ingredients tell the story of the late Tudor (i.e. Elizabethan) period, when the English became the dastardly colonizers we now know them to be. In this large-format version, brandy (either Spanish or French) comes together with funky Batavia arrack (the original punch base!), oxidized sherry, Swedish Punsch (a punch within a punch), allspice dram, tea, and sugar for a punch with notes of dried fig, tropical fruit, nuts and spices, and a hint of smokiness.

As I was developing this month’s recipes (originating with the Isle of Skye and Cameron’s Kick), I saw the potential for a Rusty Nail-Godfather “mash-up” that would please any fan of stirred, spirit-forward drinks. The resulting cocktail is the best of both worlds–heather and honey from the Drambuie and nutty almond flavor and texture from the orgeat. Though both are associated with the postwar “bachelor drinks” boom, the Rusty Nail dates to the 1930s, far before the birth of the disco-era Godfather.

I wanted to do a fizz for this month (I do so love a fizz!), but all the combos I tried fell flat! Instead, I decided to eliminate the soda element and incorporate a whole egg instead of just egg white, making it a classic nineteenth-century flip. The resulting cocktail, with smoky, spiced, and tropical flavors is an excellent dessert drink befitting any cold-weather gathering.

I developed this drink for Gigantic’s Fall 2023 menu; the original recipe called for genever but, as I’ve often likened the Dutch spirit’s gentle maltiness to that of Irish whiskey, this month’s supply list set the stage for an easy substitution. This sour’s blend of citrus, banana, spices, and honey bolstering the malty and peaty spirits makes for a delightful ode to the birthplace of Drambuie.

The Cameron’s Kick is a 1920s London classic invented by Harry MacElhone at Ciro’s. He brought it to Paris a couple years later, when he bought the bar at “sank-roo-doe-noo” (5 Rue Daunou) aka Harry’s New-York Bar. The spec published here is how we make it at Gigantic, with a split base of blended Scotch and Irish whiskey with the drink’s classic one-two punch of lemon and orgeat plus Angostura bitters and a float of peaty single malt.

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.

Shrubs were a popular method of preserving fruit in New England during the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Though almost all apple cider in those days was fermented, I saw an opportunity here to build a non-alcoholic drink reflecting this month’s historical milieu with sweet, non-alcoholic cider, cranberry shrub, and our ginger-molasses syrup, with lemon juice to bolster the acid and salt and cayenne to liven things up.

Sometimes called Black Stripe, this drink is a toddy-like mixture of rum, molasses, and hot or cold water that comes from the same seafaring roots at Calibogus (and, indeed, early versions at sea contained spruce ale). Blackstrap was one of the most popular tavern drinks of the late eighteenth through mid-nineteenth centuries in rural New England. Our version uses nineteenth-century techniques to revive this forgotten Rum Old-Fashioned ancestor.

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.

The Whiskey Sour was one of the vestiges of nineteenth-century mixology to survive Prohibition and experience broad popularity during the postwar period. This is my take on what a really good bourbon-based sour reflective of that period should be with the iconic orange-and-cherry garnish. If you make it with vanilla syrup, it’s got a really nice, subtle creamsicle flavor; egg white advised.