When I could first afford to drink properly, the Manhattan was the cocktail to which I first took. It has been called a drinking man's cocktail — strong, urbane, and simple. It has also been called the “king of cocktails”. Please, go on…
Around two thirds American whiskey (bourbon or rye, I don’t care), a third sweet vermouth, dash of angostura. Like the martini, it must be stirred not shaken. I prefer with an orange or lemon twist in lieu of the perhaps more conventional maraschino cherry (too sweet).
Drinkers, seemingly, are unreliable historians. Again like the martini, the origins of the drink are shrouded in ethanol-addled vagaries. My favourite is this: the drink is said to have been invented at the Manhattan Club for a party thrown by Lady Randolph Churchill (Sir Winston’s mother) in December 1874 for presidential candidate Samuel J. Tilden. Please ignore the fact that Lady Churchill was not in the US in December 1874, having just given birth to the future cigar chomper at Blenheim.
I have no time for Dry Manhattans (dry vermouth) or “Perfect” ones (50:50 dry and sweet vermouth). I will entertain a Rob Roy now and then, when all that’s left in the cupboard is blended scotch whisky (but they’ll rightly ban you from Scotland if you use a single malt).
I am delighted to discover the good taste in evidence on the small North Frisian island of Föhr where, I am given to understand, the Manhattan is a standard drink at almost every cafe, restaurant and social gathering. The story goes that many of the people of Föhr emigrated to Manhattan during deep sea fishing trips, took a liking to the drink, and brought it back to Föhr with them. What might the longboatmen have thought?
Manhattans. I love Manhattans.