I have a theory, or at least a suspicion, that the first true cocktail book, famously penned by celebrity bartender “Professor” Jerry Thomas in 1862, wasn’t written by Thomas at all.
My lack of faith in Thomas is an offense of such gravity, an insult of such enormity to the memory of the great man, that I will surely be required to hand in my Drinks Writers’ Club membership card. But before I am cast into the wilderness, denied $19 craft cocktails, and reduced to Long Island iced teas and Natural Light beer, let me explain myself.
When I say that Thomas didn’t write How to Mix Drinks, or the Bon-Vivant’s Companion, I don’t mean that the content wasn’t his, just that he didn’t put his words on paper. The Professor, according to my theory, dictated the whole thing. I rest my assertion on a small error involving a small ingredient: bitters.
Bitters are highly flavored herbal tinctures meant to cure what ails you. Back in the great patent medicine free-for-all, before the feds took all the fun and half the quackery out of seeing the doctor, one might buy bitters for one’s digestion or buy bitters to buck you up. Angostura advertised that it cured “Dyspepsia, Diarrhea, Fever and Ague.” And at the same time, “a few drops” would “impart a delicious flavor to a glass of champagne.” Just think! Doing something about that dysentery while improving the taste of one’s favorite bubbly. Angostura: It’s a floor wax! It’s a dessert topping!
But here’s the odd thing: Thomas’s book calls multiple times for a bitters called “Bogart’s.” Odd because there doesn’t appear to ever have been a Bogart’s brand of bitters. Search 19th-century newspapers and one finds thousands of advertisements for Boker’s Bitters, but none for anything called Bogart’s. In context, there are clues to the quandary: Everywhere that Thomas specifies “Bogart’s” it is in a drink that common practice of the day called for the use of Boker’s. But how could the greatest bartender of his time make such a mistake?
I suggest it was an error by whoever was taking dictation. Thomas would say “Boker’s Bitters,” and the nice teetotaling young lady from the steno pool heard “Bogart’s Bitters.” It was a mistake corrected in the many editions that were to follow. I like to think that Thomas made the drinks while calling out the recipes, using the muscle memory of mixing to make sure he had the recipes right. Which might have made it hard to hear clearly, what with all the ice shaking in metal cups.
There are some benefits from the “Bogart’s” error. For one, it exposes those mixological fakers and frauds who copied Thomas’s recipes and tried to sell them as their own. Consider the 1873 book Van Cleve’s Receipts that promises “Secret Knowledge Disclosed” pointing to a “Plain Way to Wealth.” Every recipe that in Thomas’s first edition used the elusive “Bogart’s,” Van Cleve also takes the trouble to specify Bogart’s. Van Cleve, in other words, is bogus.
I don’t know what to make of a fancy brand of bitters that came out a couple of years ago claiming to be reverse-engineered from a vintage bottle of Boker’s/Bogart’s. How can that be if there was no original Bogart’s? The promotional type suggests that “Bogart’s was a kind of misspelling of Boker’s.” In other words, there never was any “Bogart’s Bitters,” just “Boker’s.”
The stuff being called Bogart’s is good, but it is much too strong. If it were ever used in Thomas’s cocktails, it would have to have been significantly weaker than the pungent liquid being presented now.
Take Thomas’s recipe for Brandy Champerelle, a third each of brandy, orange curacao, and “Bogart’s Bitters.” It is perfectly dreadful. Until we change the proportions, that is. Make the drink with 2 oz brandy, 1 oz curacao, and a stingy splash of the bitters being sold as Bogart’s; shake with ice until very, very cold, and strain into a cocktail glass; garnish with lemon peel. Delicious!
Eric Felten is the James Beard Award-winning author of How’s Your Drink?
