Notes on the Manhattan in Spring

Now that spring seems finally to have found its way to New York (following a brief preview of the hellish summer to come), our affections turn from triple stouts and neat scotch to more vernal drinks. Not ready quite yet for the full-blown summer power of margaritas or mojitos, we're left to look for a transitional comfort to bridge the seasons.

Dating at least as far back as the 1870s, the Manhattan is one of America's oldest and best-known cocktails. A sort of dark twin to the martini, the essence of a Manhattan is whiskey and sweet vermouth, shaken with ice and strained into a cocktail glass. Now, as the days get warmer and the evenings longer, drinking the Manhattan over ice to give it at once a colder chill and a longer glow seems only fitting.

Many modern recipes suggest a 4:1 ratio of whiskey to vermouth, but we prefer ours slightly drier at 6:1. (Truth be told, we prefer them drier still, pouring something closer to 3/8 ounce of vermouth—but ratios are in this season.) Aromatic bitters and a maraschino cherry are standard additions, and we generally include them. Omit either or both if herbal tinctures or florescent fruit aren't to your liking.

Manhattan
3 ounces bourbon
1/2 ounce sweet vermouth
3 shakes bitters
1 maraschino cherry

Shake the liquids together in a mixing tin and strain into an Old Fashioned glass filled with ice. Drop in the cherry.

If you're drinking one in the afternoon—and why not?—you might consider changing the method. Put the whiskey, vermouth, bitters, and cherry directly into the Old Fashioned glass and stir. Fill the glass with as much ice as will fit and stir again. Drink. Purists will complain that this method dilutes the drink—so don't tell them. On a warm afternoon, that's the point. By skipping the initial chilling of the ingredients in the mixing tin, you allow the ice to relax into the drink quicker. Whiskey, unlike gin, doesn't beg to be drunk as cold as possible, and slightly more water in the mix can be refreshing when hours of daylight still lie ahead. It's important in this method to mix everything in the glass before adding the ice; if the warm ingredients are added with the ice already in place, the bitters and juice clinging to the cherry have a tendency to freeze directly onto the cubes, creating strange and unpleasant pockets of unblended flavor in your drink.

For the record, our standard brands here are unremarkable but always reliable: Jim Beam, Martini & Rossi, and Angostura, respectively. (No brand loyalty on the cherry, though the store-brand cherries we once tried from C-Town were rather unpleasant.) Rye is a perfectly good substitute for the bourbon, though most ryes will deliver a drier, hotter result than most bourbons; if you're looking to draw out the sweetness, pour the vermouth a bit heavier or drop in a few drops of cherry juice. American or Canadian blended whiskey won't be objectionable, but only because they won't really be anything at all. Substituting Scotch gives you a Rob Roy, about which said, the less, the better.

The structure is simple, so experiment—but don't lose your mind. The venerable Old Waldorf Astoria Bar Book gives a recipe of equal parts sweet vermouth and rye, plus a bit of orange bitters added. Rather heavy on the vermouth, we think, though we've seen worse. Sometime after college, we accompanied a friend to a gathering of her extended family. A middle-aged relative insisted on mixing what might be called inverted Manhattans—two parts vermouth to one part bourbon. Polite guests that we are, we had two in quick succession before excusing ourselves in the direction of the wine bar. This variation, needless to say, is not recommended.