Fall may bring out all the Oktoberfest beers, but for me, these cooling days and lengthening evenings are best thought of as Manhattan season. How to make them?
William Powell had it wrong in The Thin Man when he lectured a bevy of bartenders on how to shake up a Manhattan. “The important thing is the rhythm,” he says, working a cocktail shaker like it’s a güira and he’s one of the guys in a blousy-sleeved rumba shirt keeping time behind Xavier Cugat. Actually, Powell is impeccably tailored in a double-breasted suit, but he’s working the shaker vigorously nonetheless. “Always have rhythm in your shaking,” Powell tells the earnest men of the bar. And right he is. But then, he goes on, “Now, a Manhattan you shake to fox trot time.” And that’s where he gets it wrong.
Wrong, because you don’t want to shake a Manhattan at all. Shake a drink made with sweet vermouth, and you get a frothy cocktail. And not a nice thick gin fizz kind of froth, but a thin film of scummy bubbles. By all means, be rhythmic in your preparation of a Manhattan, but please don’t shake it. Stir it with plenty of ice and take your time.
But what’s in the drink? Go back to the 1860s and the Manhattan cocktail was a relatively elaborate concoction: two parts rye whiskey to one part sweet vermouth, with three dashes of Boker’s bitters (in those days a brand competing with Angostura), and a couple of dashes of either curaçao or maraschino, a dry Italian liqueur made from marasca cherries — not the red-dyed syrup from a jar of processed cherries. Speaking of which, it would take a while for cherries to become the standard Manhattan garnish: The mid-19th century recipe calls for the drink to be served in a claret glass with a slice of lemon.
By the halfway mark of the 20th century, that wise (and somewhat crotchety) scholar of adult beverages, David Embury, ranked the Manhattan second only to the martini in his pantheon of the “six basic cocktails.” Some 70 years later, his recipe will be immediately recognizable as the standard Manhattan — three parts bourbon or rye, one part Italian vermouth, and a dash of Angostura bitters.
What kind of vermouth?
I often hear customers at a bar get very specific about the whiskey they want in a Manhattan, only to be completely blasé about whatever generic rail vermouth gets poured in their cocktail. They say good pitching beats good hitting. Well, lousy vermouth defeats good whiskey.
The gold standard for vermouth in a refined Manhattan is the Antica Formula made by Carpano.
Carpano also makes a robust, aromatized wine that is more bitter than one expects from vermouth. Punt-e-Mes, as it’s called, makes for a bold, brilliant Manhattan.
Which leads us to a secret for making Manhattan variations that sing. Italy produces a raft of distinctive aperitif wines that are sophisticated variations on the vermouth theme. Cocchi, a venerable Italian vermouth-maker, is now producing a wine that, in the spirit of Punt-e-Mes, combines vermouth and amaro. They call it Dopo Teatro, and if you’re lucky enough to find a bottle, buy it. Buy a couple of extras while you’re at it.
Easier to find, but just as delicious is Barolo Chinato, a rich and elegant style of aromatized wine. The Nebbiolo grapes with which it’s made are a match for the strong dose of quinine that is the wine’s signature bitter element. Splurge for a bottle of chinato (prepare yourself for sticker shock, as the stuff can easily cost four or five times a typical vermouth), and you’re in for a revelation. It makes for a complex and sophisticated Manhattan worth every penny.
One last point on the making of a Manhattan: Please don’t sully it with an industrially produced, chemically colored cherry-like garnish. Luxardo marasca cherries are becoming widely available and are the worthy finish to a worthy cocktail.
Eric Felten is the James Beard Award-winning author of How’s Your Drink?
