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Hey, bourbon face! Are you as cray-cray in love with bourbon as this
blotto besotted bourbonperson is? Do you eat, drink dream drink and sleep drink bourbon? Have you considered naming a pet and/or child Bourbon?
Then have I got a cocktail for you! Like me, you’re probably always on the hunt for yet another way to enjoy your bourbon. After all, just because you can’t spell “Manhattans” without “man” doesn’t mean man should live on Manhattans alone! So here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna add pineapple juice to your Manhattan.
I’ll wait a moment for you to finish going pppppppppppffffffffttttttttttttttttt… wuhhhhhh?
Many Royale customers, I’m sure, assume that the Mr. Smith cocktail is named after Royale proprietor Steven Smith — or at least his father, who’s also a part owner of the business and, truth be told, whose first name I can’t remember because “Mr. Smith” was all I ever called him.
But none of that has anything to do with the Mr. Smith. The Mr. Smith is named after Jeff Smith, who might also be addressed as The Former Honorable Jeff Smith, Ph.D. Jeff was the subject of a documentary, Can Mr. Smith Get to Washington Anymore?, about the time he popped his campaign cherry running for the congressional seat vacated by veteran Rep. Dick Gephardt, and how he narrowly lost the Democratic primary to Russ Carnahan, son of a famous Missouri politician, and how he was a short, Jewish, basketball-loving UNC grad.
As both a maker of cocktails and a plier of the written word, I am wholly offended by garish concoctions (cocktastrophes, perhaps?) that look like this and, insult on top of insult, co-opt the nomenclature of “daquiri”:
And so, welcome to reason #I-lost-track of why I so thoroughly enjoyed pitching drinks at The Royale, where the Holly Hills daquiri looks like this:
Guest post by St. Louis-based attorney and old friend of mine Tim O’Connell, who worked at daily newspapers, and a few taverns, before being admitted to the bar.
Blogtender’s Note: Those readers who’ve been to The Royale (psst, it’s Royale Week here at the blog) know that if there’s one thing people like about The Royale (and there isn’t; there are always several things people like about it) it’s the Subcontinental, sometimes ordered as “that cucumber cocktail you guys make?” But it’s got lots more depth — in flavor complexities and, as you’ll read here in a guest post by its inventor, in mixological history — than that.
It began with tzatziki. I’d peeled, seeded, and grated the cucumbers and had dutifully squeezed the shreds with cheesecloth in preparation for adding them to some drained yogurt. It was a hot day. The cucumbers were cold, as was the green essence that collected in the bowl under the cheesecloth. The juice’s clean scent filled the room, and it was incredibly refreshing. It tasted of greenness and health.
There are two ways I feel like starting today’s post:
Way #1: Hey, gang! Guess what? It’s Royale Week at the blog! That means lots of tall tales, behind-the-bar secrets, and in-depth analysis of the cherished St. Louis public house that made me everything I am, bartender-wise, today. Oh, the places we’ll go! The potions we’ll get to know!
Way #2: Hey, guys. I am frigging beat right now. Yesterday I had a 12-hour drive from my college reunion in North Carolina to my parents’ house in Fake Retirement Town, Florida (aka Cocoon-meets-The Truman Show-meets-Edward Scissorhands-Ville). I’m going on like three-and-a-half hours’ sleep, and as much as I’d like to gin up my own enthusiasm for your reading pleasure (see: Way #1), it’s like I’m too mentally stunted to even type good. I mean, well.
Luckily, what these two ways have in common is, the first installment of Royale Week is an easy-peasy, get-in-get-out, dos-ingredientos mixer that’s curious and cute.