You have to try new things or your life goes stale. That’s why I bought the bottle of Rhum J.M. I
knew it could be a mistake, but it was made in Martinique, which is actually a
Department of France, where they make Cognac, Champagne and paté de foie gras,
so why, on a Caribbean island, wouldn’t the French make wonderful rum?
I squeezed a lime, measured out the Rhum J.M., got the
simple syrup and, ice, and shook up a couple of daiquiris. I tasted mine and
said, “This is terrible!” and Annette said, “You’re right.” We needed an able
mixologist, so the next evening we invited our friend John Sgammato to come to
the rescue. You can always depend on John to help a friend in need. When he arrived, I made a daiquiri to
demonstrate the problem.
At this point I must become a little nonlinear in my story and take you
several years back and a lot of miles away to the island of Bermuda. Annette and I were staying in a hotel called
Silver Sands. It was run by a family of
white Bermudians, and their idea of food was so English and so bloody awful it
could almost be called quaint. I’ll give you one example from which you may
extrapolate their entire cuisine. There
was an appetizer on the menu called cold ravioli. Being a man of daring palate, I like to try peculiar-sounding
foods, so I ordered it. I was solemnly
presented a plate bearing a lettuce leaf upon which there was a single patty of
Chef Boyardee ravioli right out of the can.
The hotel was not without a redeeming factor. The bartender
was a black Bermudian named Wellington. I asked him if he had a special drink all his
own, and he did. The concoction was
delicious. I asked for the recipe, but
he gave me his genial smile and told me he didn’t reveal his secrets. But of course he worked right in front of me,
so the next evening, sly of intent and sharp of eye, I ordered it again. Wellington was deft with the bottles and fast
with his pours, but the problem was he didn’t make the same drink. He kept
changing his specialty every night we were there. He admitted he was doing it,
but his tropical libations were so delightful, I had no cause to complain.
I never discovered Wellington’s secret recipe, but I learned
his technique. His drinks had a base of
rum, a mixture of fruit juices, and a flavoring of a fruit-based brandy. Two that I noticed he used were apricot
brandy and crème de banana.
To return to the present and the problem of the horrible
daiquiri, John and I were in my kitchen trying to mend the sample drink. I added an ounce of apricot brandy. It was no better. I colored it red with a drop of grenadine
syrup – no improvement. Together we agreed
upon a drop of coconut syrup. Annette
thought we might be getting somewhere, but it needed something more. Wellington’s fruit juice had been poured from
an unmarked bottle, so I never discovered what he used, but I’ve been
experimenting for a long time. I find
pineapple juice makes a good base, but I didn’t have any. I squeezed an orange and added the juice to
the failed daiquiri. Bingo!
Ruhm J.M is 100 proof and stands up well to the fruit juice
base of a tropical drink. Recipes abound, but I prefer to create my own. There’s much to be done, and already the
level of Rhum J.M. is beginning to dwindle.
I’m going to call my masterpiece a Wellington, and the distinguishing
factor will be that the drink will never be made the same way twice.
I had my inspiration, and John set off on a different
tack. He asked if I had any crème de
cacao. I didn’t, but I had Kahlua. He
mixed some with the rum. The flavor was
promising. He added some Godiva
chocolate liqueur. Annette sipped it
and thought of a brandy Alexander. “There’s
some cream in the door of the refrigerator,” she told him. He shook the mixture with ice, poured it into
a martini glass, and the Annette cocktail was born. I suggested the next time it might be nice to
rim the glass with cocoa powder.
These are the discoveries of an evening of creativity punctuated
with stories, laughter, and happy sipping. We’re delighted to share them, but
we recommend you have your own sessions of invention from time to time. Any
sort will do, but if you come up with cocktails, your mind will be freed from
inhibitions, and gaiety will ensue.
Annette Cocktail
1 oz. 100 proof rum1 oz. Kahlua
1 oz. Godiva chocolate liqueur
½ oz. Light cream
Shake with ice, and pour into a cocktail glass rimmed with
cocoa powder.
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