A hot drink for the holidays
I’ve got a rule of thumb that makes a deceptive amount of sense.
When you’re looking at used copies of cookbooks, buy the one that is in the worst shape. If it’s badly stained and has torn pages, a broken spine and mysterious burn marks, that’s the one that has seen some action. Somebody was loyal enough to the recipes in it to take it into the belly of the beast. It must have something to recommend it.
Anyone I’ve ever given that advice to has nodded and agreed that this seems really reasonable.
The deception comes into play over time. Over the years, I’ve adopted an alarming number of these battle-scarred books, most of which have gone relatively unused.
A case in point is 1969’s Esquire Drink Book. I don’t remember how it ended up in my cocktail bookcase, but it is a perfect time capsule of Swinging ’60s bachelor drinks.
For example, the Bee-Bee.
Even by the standards of the time, the description of the Bee-Bee is a little tone-deaf, sexism and other isms-wise.
“This will bring on leprechauns and williwaws after the third cup,” he says.
Given that 3 cups of bourbon is 24 ounces of 100-proof alcohol, I suspect that it would be more likely to bring on paramedics and divorce attorneys, and yet—
Classic Bee-Bee
Ingredients
- Zest of one lime – one of the really dark, leathery-looking ones
- Zest of one orange – just a regular, undemanding orange
- 1 Tablespoon honey
- 1 cup bourbon – given how much you are going to adulterate it, probably not your best stuff.
Also, have an instant-read thermometer.
Heat all ingredients to a boil in a small saucepan, over medium-low heat. (The lower temperature will give the alcohol time to strip some of the flavorful oils from the citrus rinds.) Bring to a temperature of about 170º. Alcohol boils off at a lower temperature than water, so bringing this to a full boil will strip off most of the bourbon. (I flamed off all the alcohol from some rum once and “disappointing” does not begin to describe the results.)
Rest for three minutes. This will give the bourbon a little more time to wash the citrus zest. Yes, it will cool somewhat, but you do the exact same thing when you make a good cup of tea. Think of this as extremely dodgy tea.
Strain through a fine-mesh strainer into an Irish coffee glass. To be clear, this is 8 ounces of bourbon and, at 170, the alcohol doesn’t cook off. You’ll want to share this one with a few fellow revelers to stay upright.
Shockingly, this is very good. Dangerously good. The bourbon is mellowed out by the honey and citrus. It tastes comforting. It has subtle butterscotch notes that suggest that maybe things aren’t that bad. That maybe you’ll get through all this. That maybe you should make another cup—
So I guess the question is this: Is there a way of lightening the Bee-Bee up so you don’t end up making a pass at a hat rack, and yet that doesn’t strip it completely of its dangerously seductive nature?
Maybe.
Modified Bee-Bee
Ingredients
- Zest of 1 lime – dark and leathery
- Zest of 1 orange – calm and demure
- 3 ounces ginger brandy – I like Jacquin’s
- 1 ounce Irish whiskey – I like Paddy’s for this. It brings a lot of flavor, without taking itself too seriously.
- 1 Tablespoon hot honey
- ½ cup boiling water
And that same thermometer, which has probably been surprised and delighted to find itself in an adult beverage today instead of a pork chop.
Again, heat all the ingredients except the water in a small saucepan, over medium-low heat, bringing the mix to 170º.
Again, rest for three minutes.
Strain into an Irish coffee glass, stir in the hot water.
This version of the Bee-Bee doesn’t taste the same as the original, but it has the same “Hey, buddy, I don’t know if anyone has told you lately, but you are very attractive and have a really great sense of style” quality of debauched, contented comfort to it. (Keep in mind that while only half as dangerous as its big brother, this drink still has 4 ounces of alcohol in it. For either drink, sharing is strongly recommended.) The ginger plays well with the spice of the hot honey. The alcohol is still there and lets you know that it is still there, but it plays so well with the citrus that you hardly notice the number of ill-advised ideas you come up with over the next half hour.
Featured photo: The Bee-Bee. Photo by John Fladd.