Drink Recipes, Podcast
Podcast Summary:
“Anyway, I’ll Drink to That” is a Boozn Sam’s production, exploring the fun, quirky, and fascinating tales of drinks (French 75 in this episode) that define culture, history and the world. Every drink has a story to tell, and I’m going to tell it…as true as I can. Hosted by Sam, from Boozn Sam’s. Saddle up with a good cocktail and give me a few minutes of your time for a mystery surrounding a drink that changed the world.
TLDR; – French 75 Recipe
- 1 oz of gin
- 3 oz champagne/prosecco
- 1/2 oz fresh lemon juice
- 1/2 oz simple sugar
Combine gin and juice and sugar. No ice. Top with champagne and add a lemon as a garnish.
Episode 3 Details:
A Big Gun, Old Tom, and a 700 Year Old Struggle
On June 15, 1389 the Ottoman Empire’s army decimated Serbian forces. The Serbian loss would go down in hisotyr as a national holiday. A celebration of Serbian culture and freedom. 525 years later to the day, Serbians would kill a famous Austrian and drag the entire world into a war. A war where a famous canon would kill tens of thousands of people… and then be used for the name of a sophisticated drink that has nothing to do with death and everything to do with life.
Transcript of Podcast:
*This is the entire podcast episode in written form. Do not read if you want the audio version to be spoiled.
On June 15,1389, under the command of Sultan Murad an invading Ottoman Empire Army faced off against a defending Serbian Army led by Prince Lazar. The battle was fought in a field, in land ruled by the Serbians, in a spot about 3 miles Northwest of what is today Pristina, in Kosovo.
The Serbian army was a mix of Serbians, Bosnians, and a European Christian coalition. Prince Lazar could assemble such an army. After all he was the most powerful of the Serbian lords. What he said, went.
Now this was a long time before reliable methods of record keeping existed, so we don’t know exactly what happened that day on June 15. But, we do know that both armies were decimated. Wiped out. Prince Lazar? Dead. Sultan Murad? Adios. Which was the only time, actually that an Ottoman Sultan was ever killed in battle.
But, what matters more about this encounter was the depleted Serbians, who simply couldn’t muster any more strength to stave off future invading Ottoman armies. And a national and religious holiday that survives still today, (Vee – Doughv – Dahn) Vidovdan, which commemorates the Kosovo Myth, as it came to be known.
The myth turned into Serbian folklore and rose to a position of Serbian Nationalism, of a courageous army fighting for freedom from a much more power invading army. That holiday, (Vee – Doughv – Dahn) Vidovdan, is celebrated in June every year still today.
Yet, one of the most remarkable things is the course that battle set, back in 1389 when two armies decided to poke each other to literal death, that unveiled a long and bloody line of events, pain, and death, which created a drink that holds none of that pain, and all of the elegance we’d prefer to remember about humanity.
Move forward 525 years to the day, to the year 1914, in June, on that special, national Serbian Holiday, when a few more Serbians and Bosnians made history once more. It was Danilo, a prior school teacher, I’m sure he would have never expected the cataclysmic landslide of events that unveiled from his plan, a plan masterfully laid out and blundered at every turn.
Perhaps, if him and his conspirators had known that their plan to take one man’s life in honor of, once more, Serbian Nationalism, would actually take the lives of 9 million people and injure another 23 million, they would have reconsidered. Perhaps, if they had, had a bit more time to sit down, and sip this cocktail which lay at the end of the deadliest war ever in human history, there would be no deaths, there would be no power struggles, there would be no cocktail.
Of course, that’s all foolish thinking. For humans will always fight and struggle and kill for their identities. Without an identity, who are we, after all? So, Danilo did what he had to do.
He coordinated his assassins along the route that the 1911 Graef and Swift Double Phaeton would take. And with a bit of luck and good timing, Serbia would fight back in bold fashion against those seeking to take its land. You see, during this time there was a man named Franz, a very important Austrian man named Franz, who believed that he could move from his control of Bosnia on to his control of Serbia and the land that had been fought over 500 years ago was at risk once more.
So, the 6 automobiles, carrying police officers, special security officers, the mayor, the chief of police, high ranking military officials and Franz himself, set out on a predetermined and announced route, not knowing that 6 assassins were planted along that route.
As the motorcars crawled down the streets of Sarajevo heading closer and closer to their first bomber, Franz and his beautiful wife Sophie, let their hair blow in the wind with the top down on the sports car. You see, Archduke Franz Ferdinand wasn’t worried. Not with all the protection around him. And so when they passed the first bomber on that day…nothing happened.
The first assassin failed to act.
Next to this first assassin was another assassin. This one was armed with a bomb and a pistol. He too failed to act.
So, the sports car roared on by oblivious to the danger facing it. Until it met the third bomber. And this one acted by throwing a well timed bomb at Franz Ferdinand’s sports car. The bomb bounced off the convertible cover and into the street, where it detonated and blew up the car behind it, wounding 20 people.
Now aware of their immediate danger the motorcade took off as fast as it could to town hall. They made it safely, where Franz proceeded to give a scheduled speech using the wet, blood covered prepared text, which had been removed from the bombed vehicle and brought to him.
Now it’s about this time that the nerves of Franz were shot. With his wife, the love of his life, on the run in a foreign country and attacked, yet forced to pretend, as the Serbians were, that all was okay. Now was a moment, if there ever was one, for a few sips of the strong clear drink which could steady the nerves, and would steady the nerves of so many in the following years.
Yet Franz, ever concerned about the victims of the tragic bombing incident decided to, after delivering his speech, to head to the hospital to visit the wounded. Even this would have been okay. But it was a blunder, a simple mistake that even the most experienced driver makes now and again. A jammed clutch. Which stalled the vehicle on the way there. Which left the Archduke exposed and the fourth assassin, with a handgun pointed right at him.
This assassin took his shot, a shot that sent a bullet through the jugular of Franz. And a second shot, aimed at the governor but missing and hitting Franz’s wife in the abdominal. Franz’s finals words before he sputtered to death were “Sophie, Sophie! Don’t Die! Live for our Children!” Followed by uttering several times, “It is nothing,” in response to those asking about his injury.
Yet it was something. It became everything. And over the course of the next few years more would die and hope they were living for their children. Their wives. Their parents. But, 9 million of them wouldn’t.
For after the death of Franz and Austria’s declaration of war on Serbia, Russia joined in on Serbia’s side, and Germany, France, and Britain were also drawn in via alliances until the sides were drawn – the allies and the axis powers – World War I – The Great War.
And the Allied forces mingled their troops, sending them all over the European war fronts to defend Axis power invasions. The US, why, they stayed on the sideline for as long as they could, not wanting to upset either side. After all, the US was a relatively new power. Were they even a power yet? By the end of it all, when the rest of the countries had carved themselves apart, they would be.
But, back in 1914, after a group of assassins, 525 years after a mythical battle, started a cascade of dominoes that left English Soldiers on foreign soil witnessing the horrors of war. And to cope, some turned to drink. One drink in particular that possessed a potent kick as fierce as the shells it was drank out of. This drink tasted sweet, but not too sweet, knocked down a bit by the added citrus.
They drank this mixture out of used shells, a very unfitting start for a very classy drink. When it made its way to the United States a year later in 1915 it had gentrified. But, perhaps it had already been there under a different name, served in Boston in the late 1860s by Charles Dickens himself at parties.
Either way, blood and war and gunpowder wasn’t good for civilized society even if it could be good for selling drinks. So the drink grew up. It changed through the years until it ended up in a tall glass, which it’s famously known for today.
But, back then, you could make the drink with applejack, or sometimes even cognac. Both of those check out considering where in the world this drink came from. In fact, soldiers would drink whatever they could get their shaking hands on, just to steady their hands.
The unsteady origin of this drink has other stories though too.
Several years after the soldiers drank it a wartime reporter allegedly brought it back to the US and shared it there.
Years later, after dirt covered the atrocities men will bring on another for that same dirt, the drink was also popularized in Europe by a famous bartender named Henry, at a well known bar which took his name, in Paris.
Henry would remain in obscurity with this drink. His neighbor Harry would claim the credit. Harry also ran a bar, named Harry’s bar. It was not too different from Henry and Henry’s bar. They were also right next door to each other.
To the victor goes the spoils. And the history.
History remembers the standing hero, or the one who cowered long enough to still be standing when the rest of the heroes had shot each other to death with cannons, after sipping cocktails out of used shells.
Harry was that hero. He wrote the recipe down in his book “The ABC of Mixing Drink,” a famous cocktail book. Harry claimed a barkeep in London had modeled the drink after a Tom Collins but used gin and one other important ingredient.
In the end, who really knows where the drink came from. It did rise to prominence during a time of great chaos, and chaos brings with it a loss of details. A forgetting of the facts. So, I like to think that the true story, the real history of this drink, was one of liquid courage to the soldiers that were asked to do unspeakable things to their fellow humans at the beckoning of a few others wearing suits.
And even today, that drinking this drink is a reminder of how horrible humans can be to one another. The ways we can inhibit and stunt others out of pride. And also the way that courage can break those barriers and set us all free, so we can stand together, sipping out of shells.
And that’s why it became the drink of choice in Europe for English Soldiers on the French Front lines as they shot the (Soy – Santo – Qween – Say) Soixante Quinze and drank a bit of gin, with some lemon, sugar, and champagne out of the empty cannon shells, from the cannon that could lay you flat with alarming precision, like this drink.
Named after the shell.
Shot from the cannon.
In the war that took millions of lives.
And created a myth,
Not unlike the myth from a war,
Started exactly 525 years before
for the same reason – One country trying to control another
The cannon simply referred to as (Soy – Santo – Queen – Say) Soixante Quinze by those that fired it, for the deadly accurate 75 millimeter bore that gave it, it’s name.
And the drink better known today not by the French name of the cannon, but the English translation – French 75 –
a light drink, made with champagne, that makes you wonder how anyone could not only operate a cannon after such a strong drink, but want to after finding so much beautiful peace within it’s flavors. Another mystery of humans better left unsolved.
Anyway…I’ll drink to that.
Podcast
Podcast Summary:
“Anyway, I’ll Drink to That” is a Boozn Sam’s production, exploring the fun, quirky, and fascinating tales of drinks (Maria Callas in this episode) that define culture, history and the world. Every drink has a story to tell, and I’m going to tell it…as true as I can. Hosted by Sam, from Boozn Sam’s. Saddle up with a good cocktail and give me a few minutes of your time for a mystery surrounding a drink that changed the world.
Episode 2 Details:
A Prima Donna, Love, Abuse, Drugs, and a Famous Drink
Maria looked out into the bright lights, which highlighted all of her heavy set, 5’ 8 1/2” tall, 200 plus pound frame, and sang in a way that surprised everyone. No one expected anything from her. They never had. they expected all of the rest. The love affair with Aristotle. The family that abused and used her. The unexpected death.
Transcript of Podcast:
*This is the entire podcast episode in written form. Do not read if you want the audio version to be spoiled.
Maria looked out into the bright lights, which highlighted all of her heavy set, 5’ 8 1/2” tall, 200 plus pound frame, and sang in a way that surprised everyone. No one expected anything from her. They never had. That was one of the best things she had going for her. The element of surprise. The underdog card. Until she didn’t.
The year was 1959. The city Venice. And beneath the lights, on stage tonight, was a woman, Maria, who took on the unthinkable – to fill the role of Elvira in a dramatic soprano tone and stretch herself to the vocal limits. Now, that might not make much sense to you. I’m going to be honest. I had no idea what that meant at first either.
So, for context. Maria, while also in the middle of training her voice for an entirely different octave range and singing style, with six days notice, was able to adapt her voice to a completely different type of performance. Critics called her attempt, just the fact that she would attempt such a thing as the “grandest folly.”
Yet, when the performance of The Puritan ended, and the last notes fell upon a stunned and silent crowd, no critic could do anything but speak in words of praise for her achievement. This young woman, Maria, born in Manhattan to Greek immigrant parents, forced to entertain Italian and German soldiers during World War II at her mother’s behest in order to bring home their daily bread, had come a long way.
Some would consider this the pinnacle of her achievements, but those would not know her other finest achievement. She was a goddess, capable of a new operatic sound, one filled with emotion and an instantly recognizable voice that either thrilled or disgusted all who heard it.
And aside from being “The Bible of Opera,” Maria invented a drink now served in dive bars, fancy establishments, fine dining restaurants, and as a shift drink to bartenders. But, back when she was 13 and starting her singing career both of those accomplishments must have seemed like impossible dreams.
She was daughter to a mother that hated her for not being a man and wouldn’t look at her baby girl for the first 4 days she was alive. Her mother wanted to replace the little boy she’d lost at the age of 2 from sickness. Instead she got an ugly duckling. Fat. Clumsy. Unpopular. Not at all like her beautiful, slim sister. So, Maria grew up feeling ugly and unwanted, devoid of a childhood and forced to work a young age on to support the family. Then everything changed once more.
Her father’s wandering eye, and groin, finally became too much for mom, not to mention his lack of ambition and desire, and she up and took her two daughters back home to Athens.
Maria was 14 at the time. Ripped out of her house. Moved across the world. And settled in a country that was home, but entirely foreign and not at all feeling like home, right before the start of World War 2.
The warring years were hard on Maria, and caused more strain with her mother. Time magazine wrote about it, fascinated with the hatred that seethed within Maria for her mom. Understandably so, though. For what could be worse than being unloved by the ones you expect unconditional love from?
This absence eventually drove her into a marriage of convenience and, at the age of 26 she married Giovanni, who was 53 at the time. Giovanni had what she needed, in the things that mattered to her at that time. No, he didn’t have much hair. Wrinkles covered his round face and were punctuated by a pointed, long nose. But, he had money. And to a girl forced to earning her bread with soldiers, this was something.
As it turns out. It was a lot, as Giovanni’s money helped her pursue her ambition of singing. And Giovanni, the ever supportive, and wealthy industrialist and husband, fed her ambition. Which eventually brought her to the stage in Venice in 1949, to a performance she was not prepared for six days ago, but, with a sipper offstage of a now famous drink, a sigh, and a head lifted courageously, stunned the audience.
From there Maria would go on to perform throughout all of Italy, including making her home at Italy’s most famous opera house in Milan. From there she went to South America and, eventually to the United States.
With her, every step of the way, was this drink in a green bottom, cloying and strong tasting, but softened with a leaf that would eventually usher in an entirely new beverage and product line for this Italian company.
A shot before she went on stage. Washed down with a refreshing hint of something extra. A routine. Performed time and time again, on stages throughout Europe, South America and the United States. And then she sang in that velvet, rich voice as strong and unique as the drink she consumed before hand.
During the 1950s she evolved not only as a singer but as a person. She lost 80 lbs within a year and became every part the Prima Donna, complete with ferocious anger, graceful beauty, and stunning voice, that has become synonymous with the term today. But, this weight loss and the gorgeous new figure she cut on stage came at a cost, and her voice started to fail her. Her body simply couldn’t support the rich tones, the timbers, wobble free high notes and un-bottled quality that would transpire later.
All of this came to a head within the span of a year, and, so typical of most of Maria’s life, she went to opposite extremes in a very short time. In 1957 Maria was the darling of the Milan Opera and by 1958 she was the most hated villain. After a masterful performance, urged on by the special drink that had now become her signature she was lauded. She followed this up with several cancelled performances and then got things back on track.
There she was, on stage in 1958, January 2, Maria started her performance like all the others. A drink backstage, washed down with a refreshing nip of something extra. Then, with the lights on her, all eyes, including the president of Italy and most of Rome’s high society, she simply walked off stage and did not reappear.
Perhaps it was sickness. Or, perhaps, as others claimed, it was just the diva putting on a performance once more, like she always did. But, years later, the truth would be unveiled, and some semblance of restitution would be provided to Maria, if not in this life, at least in the next.
Until that time though, Maria would keep on going, trying her best to persevere and bury all of the sins done to her beneath something so that she could continue living. And living she did. In explosive fashion.
As it was also around this time that she carried on an affair with the powerful, handsome and charming, shipping industrialist known as Aristotle. But, this Aristotle was no philosopher. Far from it. He was wealthy, attractive, and a womanizer.
And the torrid affair soon led to the divorce of Maria and her husband Giovanni. Talk of children and a family filled the newspapers. After all, Giovanni was an old man by now, too old to have children. But, Aristotle, now he was a stud.
Until he abruptly left her and married Jacqueline Kennedy that same year. In this way, the tragic story of Maria Callas, who is considered one of the most influential and important opera singers still today, but better known through obscurity for the drink she invented and never profited from, started it’s end.
Maria’s career had ended by now. No more sips of that herbal alcoholic drink infused with mint before performances. Now there was the coping of a life of being Maria Callas.
Her mother blackmailed her. Her former husband, Giovanni, stole from her and Aristotle drugged and assaulted her. Yet, such is the way of some of the rich and powerful. The lure of money blinds them from the things that matter. Such as a good drink with a loved one. The sound of a voice that deserves to be enjoyed and shared with the world for the emotion it creates within you.
But, Giovanni Meneghini choose instead to wield his gift of Maria’s love with manipulation for the fortune he wanted. And Aristotle Onassis, already being the richest man in the world at the time, cared only to conquer her, to know that he could.
And they, and Maria’s mother, left behind a broken woman who hated being Maria Callas, not for the fame it brought, but for the suffering the name carried, which no one knew about.
Perhaps the real story, the one that everyone missed, was of a young woman who held so much promise in her breast but was thwarted at every turn by a world filled with a few despicable men and power and hatred directed toward her.
A woman that found solace in the sweet concoction of a drink that tastes like black licorice and mint at the same time, a drink that the Fratelli Branca Distillerie produced in the 1960’s, after Maria Callas had made it famous and tied it to her opera career and dramatic life. This drink, which is still cited today as being the creation of Maria Callas, is still, no doubt, not attributed in any way monetarily to her estate. But, that doesn’t matter at this point either.
Maria’s estate, after her premature death was greedily grabbed by Maria’s mother, before it was stolen by her ex-husband, and finally carved in half by the two rivalry parties that cared only for what Maria could produce, and not who she was.
And in death, when her ashes were stolen and finally recovered, was Maria Callas able to find peace scattered among the Aegean Sea, as the sharks of her life still nibbled at the bits of her wealth, and consumed every ounce of her spirit they could. But, you see, they left something behind that holds the spirit and frightful streak of raw beauty that is Maria and her voice.
Branca Mente.
Not finding a drink to her preference, she made one. A drink of Fernet Branca with a few mint leaves to create the unique herbal, mint, black licorice tastes that is now a cult classic throughout America.
A drink created out of a tragic life looking to cope and find the courage to step on to the stage once more and bare her soul to an audience, in the hopes that her unexplainable gift, her voice, could lighten the hearts, if even only for a time, of those who heard her sing.
Anyway, I’ll drink to that.
Podcast
Podcast Summary:
“Anyway, I’ll Drink to That” is a Boozn Sam’s production, exploring the fun, quirky, and fascinating tales of drinks (An Old Fashioned in this episode) that define culture, history and the world. Every drink has a story to tell, and I’m going to tell it…as true as I can. Hosted by Sam, from Boozn Sam’s. Saddle up with a good cocktail and give me a few minutes of your time for a mystery surrounding a drink that changed the world.
Episode 1 Details:
A House and The Man That Never Existed
There was a man in a house. The house existed, the man did not. But, this invisible man left behind the noble Old Fashioned. A classic cocktail. And the house…well, that’s no longer here either. But, the drink. Now THAT legacy will last forever.
Transcript of Podcast:
*This is the entire podcast episode in written form. Do not read if you want the audio version to be spoiled.
The building stood ten stories tall, and graced 250 prominent feet of the legendary Fifth Avenue in Manhattan. Fifth Avenue is the long time home to some of the most famous and high end restaurants, shops, and hotels in early New York. Today, it’s one of the most expensive shopping districts in the world.
But, back then, in the late 1890s, you could find a good part of Fifth Avenue taken up by a recently opened, but instantly famous hotel. Carefully modeled after another famous house by the same name in London, interest at opening was immediate and overwhelming. The wealthy came. The money flowed in. The papers around the world “oohed” and “awed” at this place of luxury and comfort.
Featuring limestone mined from Indiana in 100 x 150 foot blocks, and transported over 750 miles by bumpy, jostling, railroad cars through the heartland of America to the financial center of America.
Indiana Limestone has been used in famous buildings throughout all of the United States, including the Empire State Building, The Pentagon, The Biltmore Hotel, and the original Rockefeller Center. And it was used on one in particular, on fifth avenue that contains a bar with a very famous barkeep.
But, the Holland House, as you might have once heard it called, also contains many other famous oddities. A London Magazine called it’s main staircase, which was carved in Siena Marble and Bronze, “the handsomest staircase of its kind in America.” Not to be outdone, the hotel office was modeled in Italian Renaissance style and also encased in Siena Marble.
On the main floor, a cafe with glass screen, gray marble and yellow bronze oozed with wealth and luxury. Next to that was the 300 person restaurant, which kept the occupants of the 350 room hotel well fed and, most importantly, drunk. The entire experience at the Holland House had been crafted to create memories and experiences for those with enough money to pay for them.
And in early New York, there was money of all sorts. And people, like now, looking for good conversations, friends, laughter, and to say, “now that was a good night.”
The latter in particular was due to one very obscure, yet at the same time, very famous barkeep who gave us some of the most delicious and well known drinks today.
George, as others referred to him, wasn’t likely even his real name. So, we have no idea if people called him George. Tom. Chuck. Or Harry. It’s highly likely that we don’t even know what his name was. And we certainly don’t know very much about him besides that the sensible and well balanced drink recipes he left behind “are especially intended for use in first-class Hotels, Clubs, Buffets, and Barrooms, where, if adopted and concocted according to directions given, they will be entirely satisfactory to the caterer and pleasing to the consumer.”
George, or whoever represents the pseudonym of George, was not wrong. For he, or they, spent all day and night slinging delectable, delicious drinks with ingredients and liquors from all over the world to the wealthy individuals that strolled through the doors of the Holland House in New York seeking comfort, an escape, and a cocktail made to perfection.
After all, a place with as much flair as this, with its marble and limestone and Louis XV style rooms, needed good cocktails. It needed a place for people to feel at home. Comfortable. Make memories and have great experiences.
One such cocktail was first documented by George and has become iterated on time and time again through the decades. This drink, which can be made strong with whiskey that bites your throat, or pleasing and sensual with flavored liquors, has reached a near famous status today. Every good cocktail bar has one, well, at least one, on the menu.
Served smoky, served sweet, served red or served as dark as fresh dug dirt, barkeeps everywhere have flexed their creative muscles to stir up fresh takes on this very old drink.
Back in George’s day, he saw no need to overcomplicate things. And in fact, this drink let the alcohol speak for itself, at least until you had two or three and couldn’t speak clearly anymore.
The secret in this cocktail lies in a bitters that put Johann on the map. Springing to life in 1824 in Trinidad and Tobago, what could serve as a greater sign of wealth and power than importing flavors of the world to the Holland House for the mere disposable, sipping pleasure of the rich?
The drink itself was relatively new to market and hadn’t started being sold abroad until almost 1860. By the late 1890’s, when George was slinging out this famous drink, he, among many other barkeeps throughout the American East had helped this bitters rise out of obscurity and take a permanent seat at the table of essential cocktail cabinet drinks.
What started as a tonic, a digestive aid, if you will, became the perfect post dinner drink. And what could be better than adding a few dashes of this bitters into a crystal cocktail glass, tossing in a couple rocks, and a few other simple ingredients to make a truly unique post dinner aperitif perfect for conversation, company, and good times.
All this. The rise of a once famous hotel – The Holland House – on a still famous street – Fifth Avenue – helping to bring a small bitters company out of obscurity, and usher along a new, old, drink too. From a few simple ingredients and simple directions, in one of the most famous and well respected cocktail bartender guides of all time, George Kappeler brought laugher and joy to many.
“Dissolve a small lump of sugar with a little water in a whiskey-glass;
add two dashes Angostura bitters,
a small piece ice,
a piece lemon-peel,
one jigger whiskey.
Mix with small bar-spoon and serve, leaving spoon in the glass.”
The drink has many variations today, songs have been sung about it, cultural references in movies made, and you’ve likely heard its name echoed through the dark corners of a cocktail bar at least once.
“Barkeep, I’ll take an old fashioned, please.”
A simple drink with a history that is anything but old fashioned.
Anyway, I’ll drink to that.