Loyal reader Jerry G posted a message to this blog, insisting that I “have to get back on that Green Chartreuse Horse!” And he helpfully provided a recipe for a cocktail called a Green Ghost.
Now, leaving aside the wisdom of risking the horrible hangover I experienced from the Herman and the Lily, I was intrigued by the recipe Jerry sent. For starters, it’s incredibly easy to make, and I already have the three simple ingredients. Second, the recipe is in video form, and I have a man-crush on the giant Aussie teddy bear who’s making it. And finally, I think enough time has passed since my unfortunate Chartreuse incident, and it’d be interesting to see if that spirit is as foul and dangerous as I remember it. So, throwing caution to the wind, I figured I’d make me a Green Ghost.
The Recipe: Here’s the video. It’s only 4 minutes and well worth watching:
So, to summarize: Mix 1 oz of London dry gin, 1/2 oz Green Chartreuse, and 1/2 oz lime juice in a cocktail shaker. Strain it into a glass, and garnish with a lime wheel. Done!
The Ratings: This is a nice-looking, respectable drink. It looks like lemonade, a little opaque with a slight fizz. It’s elegant and fresh and bright–everything you wouldn’t want in a Halloween cocktail. Accordingly, I have to give it no points for appearance.
Not your typical Halloween drink.
The taste starts out citrus-forward, brisk, and tart. But each successive sip tastes more and more bitter. The citrus quickly falls away, and you’re left with the volatile organic bite of cheap paint thinner. There’s nothing to attenuate the sharp, acrid sear of the Chartreuse. Suddenly, my earlier misadventures with Chartreuse come crashing back, and I’m ready to pour it down the drain. But first I offer a sip to my wife, because (1) maybe it’s just my PTSD that’s preventing me from ever enjoying Chartreuse again, and (2) it’s fun to watch her face when she drinks something she hates. Reason #2 was operative this time, and Karen gave a nauseated expression and asked “Why would you want to torture your tastebuds?” I poured the rest down the drain. No points for taste. I just can’t get on the Chartreuse Train. Sorry, Jerry!
But I have to admit that “Green Ghost” is a good name for a Halloween cocktail. It has alliteration, it invokes eerie images, and it actually has a link to the ghostly green of the drink. It also reminds me of the first “Alfred Hitchcock and the Three Investigators” book I bought as a kid. (Eventually I collected the whole series of these Hardy Boys knockoffs.)
And it also reminds me of a board game that was popular in the 1960s.
For all these reasons, I’ll give the name the full 2 points.
But that only gives it a grand total of 2 points (0+0+2=2). We have a new record for low score.
One drink that shows up on a couple of Halloween cocktail lists is absinthe–not as a mere ingredient, but rather as the whole drink. The unearthly green color is in the Frankenstein vein, but more to the point, it has a mysterious and Byzantine history that involves hallucinogenics, evil spirits, and the likes of Edgar Allan Poe. Let’s review:
Color me absinthe
Absinthe is a high-alcohol spirit made from wormwood, anise, fennel, and various other exotic and ordinary ingredients. It tastes strongly of anise, and has been compared (usually favorably) to Jagermeister. Absinthe has a distinct green color which, in the more authentic (and expensive) versions occurs naturally from the ingredients. In the 19th Century absinthe became a popular drink among the Bohemian set, who would gather in cafes and drink the stuff all evening. They called the drink “The Green Fairy” for its supposed magical effects.
Tinkerbell she’s not.
Conservatives railed against absinthe as a hallucinogenic spirit that was wreaking havoc with young people. Those claims were overblown, although absinthe does include trace amounts of thujone. As is often the case, the moral outrage from conservatives made absinthe all the more popular among the hipsters. Notable absinthe drinkers (addicts?) included Edgar Allan Poe, Oscar Wilde, and Lord Byron, which would be enough to solidify its Bohemian street cred.
Rhapsodic Bohemian (“He’s just a Poe boy from a Poe family…)
For most of the 20th century absinthe was banned in the US and most of Europe. It wasn’t until 2007 that America’s ban was lifted. Because we’re fortunate enough to be living in the post-absinthe Prohibition era, we’re able to add this drink to our October list. So what are we waiting for?
The recipe: With its high alcohol content (the stuff I used is 100 proof), absinthe is traditionally diluted with water. Also, as absinthe contains no sugar (and thus it is not classified as a liqueur), the drink is normally prepared with the addition of a sugar cube. Now, there are two ways to do this preparation: the French method and the Bohemian method. Guess which one I used?
There is a distinct ritual to all this. First you need to get yourself an absinthe glass, whose shape makes it easy to measure the exact amount of absinthe to pour from the bottle. Then you need to get a slotted absinthe spoon. (All this stuff is available on Amazon.) Rest the spoon on top of the glass, and place a sugar cube on the spoon. (I had to go out to the barn and steal a sugar cube from the horses’ treat stash.) Now, pour a little more absinthe over the sugar cube to soak it with alcohol. Then light it on fire. I’m not making this up.
Horse treats burn, evidently.
Now, dump the flaming sugar cube into the absinthe, setting it ablaze.
Trouble and toil indeed!
And finally douse the flames with a shot glass full of water. Everything mixes together, with some of the ingredients dissolving and some coming out of solution, resulting in a cloudy liquid called louche. Drink up and meet the Green Fairy!
I didn’t get much of a louche. I’m told that’s because I used a cheap absinthe.
The Ratings: I’m going to consider all the ritual to be part of the “appearance,” and for that I’m awarding fullpoints. The whole process is quite Steampunk, and all the flames and color changes remind one of a mad scientist’s laboratory. The final product looks suitably Gothic in its fussy stemware. 4 points.
But how did it taste? The resulting drink felt more watery than I expected it would be. I used 1 oz of absinthe and 3 parts of water, while Wikipedia says one typically uses between 5 and 7 parts water! So, I guess this preparation is supposed to be watery. The water of course dilutes the alcohol content, which would allow you to spend all day drinking the stuff in a Parisian cafe. Still, even though I thought it watery, it wasn’t unpleasantly so. The taste stands up to the water, with the botanicals fighting each other on your tongue, and there’s a sweet, medicinal bite that hangs on the finish. Clearly this is for sipping rather than quaffing. I can see how you could get used to this. The taste pairs really well with a standard Bohemian lifestyle, but for drinking under more prosaic circumstances, it’s really not appropriate “cocktail” fare. Therefore I’ll rate the taste in the middle at 2.
I’m not sure about how to rate the name. The simple name of the spirit doesn’t exactly evoke Halloween, but absinthe’s close association with insanity, hallucinations, and moral degradation surely helps nudge up the rating. And of course the nickname–Green Fairy–is a worthy Halloween name. So I’ll give it 2 points.
Grand Total: 8 points
MixologyMailbag–
Acclaimed mixologist and family friend Erin R informs me that my misadventures with Chartreuse were my own damn fault. Apparently the amount of Chartreuse I was using in those drinks was absurd. She writes: “The internet is full of bad information and I blame that [the online recipe] for Steve’s mishaps here. Chartreuse should be used sparingly, most recipes use a quarter to half ounce. There are people who take shots of it, but that’s insane and very expensive!”
Erin also offers a superior Corpse Reviver recipe, which I may try before this month is out. Plus, I’m trying to commission her to design her own Halloween drink. Stay tuned.
When we left off yesterday, I had made two Munsters-themed drinks (The Herman [or, as Grandpa calls it, The Hoiman] and The Lily). The drinks were a huge disappointment, and I traced most of the problem to a foul spirit called Chartreuse. (Foul Spirits would be an excellent name for a rock band, by the way.) Now, before I tell you what happened next, let me reiterate that Chartreuse is 110 proof (i.e., 55 percent ABV). And I ended up consuming one Herman and one Lily and then another Herman (as I tried omitting the lemon juice from the second one, hoping I could make the thing drinkable). Now for a little math: I drank 1.75 oz plus 1.5 oz plus 1.75 oz of Chartreuse, for a total of 5 oz of the foul stuff. And that equates to 5 x 55% = 2.75 ounces of pure alcohol. Now, maybe that doesn’t sound like a lot to you young ones, but at my advanced age that’s enough to do some damage. Or think of it this way: I drank the alcohol equivalent of 4.58 cans of that Budweiser swill you drink.
Then I went to bed.
I awoke around 2 pm with a pounding headache; I felt feverish; and my body felt like Indiana Jones’ after he’d been dragged behind a truck. (The wife says it would be worth it if I at least looked like Harrison Ford.)
I spent the next six hours in a feverish hell, weighing the pros and cons of ending it all right now. It might sound like I’m exaggerating, but I’m not. I don’t think it was purely the fault of the alcohol content. For it seems to me that one or more of the 130 herbs in that malignant, green swill destroy a person at a cellular level. Finally, around dawn, I was able to get a little sleep, and then a shower, and my condition had improved by 75 percent. In other words, I was now only feeling ghastly. Halloween theme indeed.
Now, as luck would have it, loyal reader Chris had sent me some recipes for various types of a drink called a “Corpse Reviver.” This sounded perfect. It had a suitably Halloween vibe, and also because my corpse needed reanimating. The Corpse Reviver is billed as a kind of hangover cure. What have I got to lose?
The Recipe: There are many different versions of this drink. Here’s the one I tried: Add 25 ml each (I just round it to an ounce) of London Dry Gin, sweet vermouth, triple sec, and lemon juice to a shaker. Add 1tsp abscinthe and 1-2 tsp simple syrup. Add ice and shake and pour.
The Ratings: Careful readers will note that I’m trying to counteract last night’s kitchen-sink drink that included a fussy green liqueur by drinking a different kitchen-sink drink that included a fussy green liqueur. (Today’s green spirit is absinthe. If you hate Jagermeister, you’ll detest absinthe.) Now, the Corpse Reviver only uses one teaspoon of the stuff, but somehow it dominates the drink. All you can really taste is the absinthe and the lemon juice. Which are two flavors that don’t belong on the same counter, let alone in the same drink. One sip was enough. I’m going to cure my hangover the old fashioned way: by eating a pint of ice cream in front of the TV in my underwear. No points for taste.
The appearance is unappealing. It resembles a cross between dishwater and a urine sample. But maybe that’s just because I’m still feeling a little green around the gills. No points.
Photo stolen from the Internet. Somehow, in my delirious state, I failed to take a picture of my version.
The name is worthy. I’ll give it two points.
Grand Total: 2 points.
Dark N’ Stormy Update:
In my spare time I’ve been experimenting with variations on the Dark N’ Stormy. I tried adding a spoonful of molasses in order to make it darker and give it a thicker profile. But the molasses congealed as soon as it encountered the cold drink. I tried shaking it up, which resulted in little shards of molasses drops swimming around the drink like dead, brown guppies. But even overlooking the appearance, the flavor was horrible. Surprisingly, molasses isn’t sweet enough for this drink. It lends a distinct tang and an odd taste of corn. Back to the drawing board…
In the mid-1960s–at almost the same moment that the movie The Agony and the Ecstasy was released–a somewhat different motion picture came to the silver screen. The movie I’m talking about did not star Charleston Heston or Rex Harrison (as The Agony and the Ecstasy did), but instead it starred a lanky actor by the name of Fred Gwynne. Yes, I’m talking about Munster Go Home.
Munster Go Home capitalized on the popularity of the sitcom, The Munsters. Gwynne played a lovable Frankenstein’s Monster who headed a household of monsters that considered itself to be the typical mid-century American family. The TV show got pretty good ratings, and was even nominated for a Golden Globe(!) It was pretty saccharine, but what sitcom wasn’t in those days? True story: In grammar school, the teacher asked me and my classmates to name our favorite shows. I said “The Monsters,” because I naturally assumed that the TV advertisements were mispronouncing the name. I was laughed out of the room.
Anyway, I tell you all this because in my ongoing quest to find interesting Halloween libations for this month’s project, I happened across two Munsters-themed drinks: The Herman (named after Herman Munster, obviously) and The Lily (named after Herman’s vampire wife).
So what are we waiting for? Let’s get to it!
The recipe: Both the Herman and the Lily are heavily based on Chartreuse–a potent liqueur that clocks in at 110 proof. The color of Chartreuse is….hmmmm, I’m trying to think of just the right descriptive word for it. I’m sure it will come to me.
Meanwhile, the recipes are as follows:
The Herman
Add 1.75 ounces Green Chartreuse, 1.25 ounce Creme de Cocoa, 1 ounce fresh lemon juice (strained), and 1 egg white (strained) into an empty cocktail shaker and use the “dry shake” method (without ice) to emulsify the egg white. Add ice and shake until the sides of the shaker form frost. Dip one side of a chilled glass in lemon juice and roll in cocoa powder. Use a Hawthorne strainer to pour the drink over a mesh sieve, and into the chilled glass.
OK–that’s pretty fussy. The Lily is similar but even a bit more fussy:
Combine 1.5 ounces Green Chartreuse, 1 ounce Creme de Cocoa, 0.75 ounce fresh lemon juice (strained), 0.75 ounce raspberry puree (strained), and 1 egg white (strained) into an empty cocktail shaker and “dry shake.” Add ice and shake until the sides of the shaker form frost. Pour it into the same cocoa-powered glass as with the Herman.
What could go wrong?
The Ratings: Here’s where the Agony and the Ecstasy reference surfaces. The Ecstasy is my joy in finding such a cool pair of drinks, based on a campy, cult television show, that remind me of my childhood and look really cool. I mean, look at the pictures from the online recipe!
Herman on the right, Lily on the left.
The agony is how they turned out in reality. I made the Herman first, and its appearance is, frank(enstein)ly, nothing like the recipe picture. The green of the chartreuse was completely obliterated by the creme de cacao, and perhaps also by the lemon juice and egg.
As green as the Mojave in August.
Now, the whole point of this drink is a rich, thick, green appearance, kind of like a Shamrock Shake. As you can see from the photo, my version is the color of turkey gravy.
Now, the only source of the supposed green appearance is the Chartreuse, which doesn’t look up to the task. Here’s a pic of my bottle:
Not exactly up to Fred Gwynne’s standards.
As you can see, the liqueur is too yellowish, and is easily overwhelmed by the other ingredients. The result is an unappealing drink distinguished only by its ugly color. So, I can’t give the appearance of this drink anything more than one point. It’s not appetizing, it doesn’t evoke Herman Munster, and it’s kind of watery.
Now, if you thought the appearance was bad, let me tell you about the taste. It’s true I’ll drink anything (especially when I’ve invested $33 for a small bottle of Chartreuse), but I immediately regretted that action. (My wife literally spit out her sip into her hand–I’m not making this up.) This drink tasted foul. I should emphasize that I faithfully followed the recipe, with its “dry shaking” and straining and chilled glass and whatnot. I was expecting something rich and creamy and sweet, given the presence of creme de cacao and egg white. But the lemon juice (one full ounce of it!) dominated the drink. The Herman has a distinctly sour taste, which fights against the cocoa on the side of the glass. It reminds me of a granite counter cleaner that’s been churched up with yak’s spit.
Just for yuks (literally), I tried making it again without the lemon juice. Sadly, this was no better. Trying to isolate the issue, I tried a small sip of the key ingredient (Chartreuse) by itself. Ah, this was the problem. I’d never tried Chartreuse before, and I never plan to have it again. Now, I’m told that Chartreuse is made up of 130 different herbs and other plants (cinnamon, mace, hyssop, peppermint…), that the recipe goes back to the 17th century, that it’s produced by French monks, etc, etc. And maybe all that’s true. But it doesn’t change the fact that it tastes like Altoids dissolved in mid-grade gasoline.
Anyway, the taste of this drink scores a solid zero points.
As for the name: I guess “Herman” is kind of cute. I’ll give it the two points. Whatever.
Grand Total: 3 points.
By the way: I did try making the Lily, and it was slightly better. The raspberries improved the flavor and the appearance. I’ll give the Lily a grand total of 5 points.
My version of the Lily. Nothing to write home about, but at least it’s not the Herman.
Chasing Phantoms 