This is the “root drink” for this month’s recipes. It was one of those cocktails that I thought up, tried, and loved right away! This spirit-forward, bittersweet drink is adjacent to two well-known agave-based Negroni riffs: the Rosita (tequila, sweet vermouth, dry vermouth, aperitivo liqueur) and the Oaxacan Negroni (mezcal, sweet vermouth, Campari). For a little extra bitterness, opt for a grapefruit twist; orange works great here, too.

This is an exceedingly refreshing beer cocktail that’s absolutely perfect for summer. I took inspiration from several templates: the Paloma (tequila, lime, grapefruit, sugar, soda), Radlers (beer, grapefruit), the Spaghett (domestic lager, Aperol, lemon), and the Michelada (Mexican lager, salt, lime, spice sometimes tomato juice, Clamato and other ingredients).

This year, my brilliant friend and colleague Kris Kirkland came up with a drink called the Rhinestone Cowboy for the Gigantic spring menu. It consists of mezcal, reposado tequila, Cocchi Rosa, peach liqueur, grapefruit, lime, frozen peach chunks, agave, and basil. I wanted to do something similar with strawberry, so I cut out the mezcal’s smokiness in favor of more vanilla flavor from the tequila and aperitivo liqueur. The results are delicious!

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.

What’s a julep before it becomes an iced drink? Why, a Mint Sling, of course! During the eighteenth century the eastern seaboard was awash with minty, rum-based slings that also traveled under the name julep. Because we are used to chilled beverages (especially with juleps on the mind), I decided to give this tavern drink the batch-n-freeze treatment; the result is a very pleasing pour that tastes like an aged rum mojito sans ice and soda.

There’s such a vast range of bitterness within the broader category of amaro and the bottles in this chapter feature a mini range on the bitter end of the spectrum. Most amari get their bitterness from gentian, cinchona bark, wormwood, and quassia, though there are other outliers that are less commonly used (like the tree sap in the Elisir Novasalus, below). Super-bitter amari have more potent digestive properties, making them even better suited than their milder cousins for making one feel better after a big meal.

This is another “in Al’s brain” subcategory. Similarly to the the spiced amari from Chapter 5, the ones in this group bring a very common amaro ingredient–in this case, bitter orange–into the spotlight. They harken back to classic after dinner flavors, too, like mint and chocolate; it brings to mind the “dessert” sections on nineteenth-century restaurant menus, full of oranges and other fruits (fresh and dried) and nuts. I almost called this group “after-dinner digestivo” but that felt a bit too redundant!

Leave it to the Italians to use vegetables as a base for amaro–and this chapter is all about amari made from members of the thistle family. Carciofo is the specific name for amari made from artichokes, but cardoon (aka artichoke thistle) and blessed thistle are both used in various amari as well. Amari featuring these ingredients often read as vegetal and earthy; their other botanicals, as well as the base (spirit vs. wine), differentiate the members of this family from one another.

Many amari feature spice notes–like baking spices and vanilla–as supporting characters, but there are some that feature spices as their primary flavors. This is another one of those subcategories that isn’t formally defined (it just exists in my head) and these three bottles came to mind immediately as perfect examples to illustrate what I mean.

Many people don’t know that fernet isn’t a product made by a single producer–Fratelli Branca–but a subcategory of amaro. It should be said, though, that its categorization as an amaro is sometimes disputed because many fernets are technically not liqueurs (contain no sugar except to color the spirit).

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.