Punch (20 page)
Authors: David Wondrich
SOURCE: Letter from Charles Dickens to “Mrs. F.” (Amelia Austin Filloneau), January 18, 1847
SUGGESTED PROCEDUREUse an enameled cast-iron pot for the “common basin,” or at least something heatproof. Six ounces of demerara sugar should do—particularly if you can get the sort that comes in rough cubes. Use 20 ounces of rum and 6 of Courvoisier VSOP cognac (the brand Dickens kept in his cellar) to be authentic, or 16 ounces of rum and 10 of cognac if you don’t want the brandy to get completely lost in the mix; for that rum, I find a sixty-forty mix of Pirate Juice and Planter’s Best styles works well here, although you can also go all out and deploy something in the Reverend Stiggins’s Delight line. Indeed, Dickens’s cellar also held a number of bottles of “fine old pine-apple rum” (the good reverend’s favorite), which may be approximated by combining 12 ounces Smith & Cross Jamaican rum and 20 ounces Angostura 1919 rum in a sealable jug along with an eighth of a pineapple, sliced, for a week; strain, let the solids settle, siphon off the clear rum and bottle.
Whatever you do in the way of rum, the fire will melt the sugar and extract the oil from the lemon peel. Dickens’s advice about lighting the spirits from a spoon is extremely sound: always bring the fire to the alcohol, not the alcohol to the fire. (And a stainless steel spoon is fine—anything but pewter or, God forbid, wood or plastic.) The rest of his advice is also sound, as befits a man who was an acknowledged master of the art. The water should probably be an imperial quart, or 40 ounces.
YIELD: 8 cups (more than “three pints,” but who’s counting?).
There are those in this topsy-turvy world of ours who insist that a Margarita—essentially, nothing more than a glass of strong Tequila Punch—is greatly improved by having a portion of Budweiser or other vaguely beerish beverage incorporated into its fabric. That technique, smacking as it does of frat-house experimentation, is nothing new. And I don’t just say that because Chita Rivera was already teaching the bartender at Sardi’s how to make ’em like that in 1985. It’s a good deal older than that: in his 1807 exegesis of Glasgow Punch, John Sinclair noted that some believed “half a pint of old strong beer, in a moderate bowl of punch, will mellow the fire of the spirit considerably.” He took no position on the practice, but there were plenty of skilled nineteenth-century Punch-makers who considered it another
tour de maitre
. One of them I have already quoted in Book II, on the impossibility of making good Punch unless one is convinced that “no man breathing can make better.”
tour de maitre
. One of them I have already quoted in Book II, on the impossibility of making good Punch unless one is convinced that “no man breathing can make better.”
Henry Porter and George E. Roberts, who recorded this gentleman’s opinion in their 1863
Cups and Their Customs
, identified him as “the illustrious Billy Dawson (more properly Bully Dawson, spoken of by Charles Lamb in his ‘Popular Fallacies’), whose illustricity consisted in being the only man who could brew punch.” They do not strike me as unserious men: Porter was a doctor and Roberts a geologist. And yet, to identify the gentleman in question as Bully Dawson they must have been so deeply in their cups to have altogether abandoned sense and reason.
Cups and Their Customs
, identified him as “the illustrious Billy Dawson (more properly Bully Dawson, spoken of by Charles Lamb in his ‘Popular Fallacies’), whose illustricity consisted in being the only man who could brew punch.” They do not strike me as unserious men: Porter was a doctor and Roberts a geologist. And yet, to identify the gentleman in question as Bully Dawson they must have been so deeply in their cups to have altogether abandoned sense and reason.
Bully Dawson, you see, was a Restoration-era thug-about-town, famous for brawling and punking and roistering and, of course, bullying his way through the lower reaches of coffeehouse society. Indeed, his reputation was sufficient to earn him a place, after he had dodged his last bailiff, in the
Letters from the Dead to the Living
by Tom Brown, whom we last encountered in Book I, riffing on the hardships of the rural life. Considered as language, Brown’s impersonation of Dawson, writing to his fellow bully from the shades below to castigate him for his laziness, is one of the virtuoso pieces of the English sporting vernacular. But nowhere does it, or any of the other scanty notices of Dawson’s life, have him introducing London to Punch.
as
And even if Bully Dawson had been the only Londoner to know how to make Punch, he wouldn’t have made it the way it is detailed here, and he couldn’t have uttered the exclamation “kangaroos”: that word only entered the language with the voyage of Captain Cook, in 1770. Whoever Porter and Roberts’s Billy Dawson was (all we can say is that he must have been a Londoner, as Mutton Hill was near Clerkenwell), he knew how to make Punch: his method makes for a peerlessly smooth, integrated bowl with a great depth of flavor. Kangaroos indeed.
Letters from the Dead to the Living
by Tom Brown, whom we last encountered in Book I, riffing on the hardships of the rural life. Considered as language, Brown’s impersonation of Dawson, writing to his fellow bully from the shades below to castigate him for his laziness, is one of the virtuoso pieces of the English sporting vernacular. But nowhere does it, or any of the other scanty notices of Dawson’s life, have him introducing London to Punch.
as
And even if Bully Dawson had been the only Londoner to know how to make Punch, he wouldn’t have made it the way it is detailed here, and he couldn’t have uttered the exclamation “kangaroos”: that word only entered the language with the voyage of Captain Cook, in 1770. Whoever Porter and Roberts’s Billy Dawson was (all we can say is that he must have been a Londoner, as Mutton Hill was near Clerkenwell), he knew how to make Punch: his method makes for a peerlessly smooth, integrated bowl with a great depth of flavor. Kangaroos indeed.
The man who sees, does, or thinks of anything [else] while he is making Punch, may as well look for the North-west Passage on Mutton Hill. . . . I can and do make good Punch, because I do nothing else; and this is my way of doing it. I retire to a solitary corner, with my ingredients ready sorted; they are as follows; and I mix them in the order they are here written. Sugar, twelve tolerable lumps; hot water, one pint; lemons, two, the juice and peel; old Jamaica rum, two gills; brandy, one gill; porter or stout, half a gill; arrack, a slight dash. I allow myself five minutes to make a bowl on the foregoing proportions, carefully stirring the mixture as I furnish the ingredients until it actually foams; and then, Kangaroos! how beautiful it is!!
SOURCE: Henry Porter and George E. Roberts,
Cups and Their Customs
, 1863
SUGGESTED PROCEDURECups and Their Customs
, 1863
In a stout earthenware bowl that holds at least a quart and a half, muddle the peel of two lemons with 4 ounces demerara sugar. Add 8 ounces boiling water and stir until sugar has dissolved. Add 3 ounces lemon juice, 10 ounces Jamaican rum, 5 ounces VSOP cognac, 1 ounce Batavia arrack and 3 ounces good porter or Guinness stout, stirring all along. Finish by slowly stirring in 12 ounces boiling water. Grate nutmeg over the top and serve.
NOTES
This is another case where I like the rum to be a mixture of equal parts Pirate Juice, for funk, and Planter’s Best, for mellowness. When using porter in Punch, the proportion used here—roughly one part to twelve or thirteen of everything else—shouldn’t be exceeded. You don’t want to taste it so much as feel it. If this is to be made in advance and let cool, put all the hot water in before the lemon and spirits and add a block of ice at the end.
YIELD: 5 cups.
XI
PUNCH ROYAL
It’s a natural human impulse, I suppose. Thing
a
is good and thing
b
is good, but
b
is defined as being “not
a
.” Therefore, being who we are, we must somehow find a way to have both
a
and
b
. Hence Tofurkey, Tex-Mex food and reality television. Hegel had a law about it as it applies to history, and I suppose mixology must have one, too, considering the number of
a
+
b
drinks in existence. Things such as the Bronx Cocktail, which reconciled the Cocktail and the drink it replaced, Punch, in one glass. Or, God help us, the Apple Martini, in which we catch the staid old 1950s-style Martini in flagrante delicto with a barely postpubescent fruity schnapps. Or Punch Royal.
a
is good and thing
b
is good, but
b
is defined as being “not
a
.” Therefore, being who we are, we must somehow find a way to have both
a
and
b
. Hence Tofurkey, Tex-Mex food and reality television. Hegel had a law about it as it applies to history, and I suppose mixology must have one, too, considering the number of
a
+
b
drinks in existence. Things such as the Bronx Cocktail, which reconciled the Cocktail and the drink it replaced, Punch, in one glass. Or, God help us, the Apple Martini, in which we catch the staid old 1950s-style Martini in flagrante delicto with a barely postpubescent fruity schnapps. Or Punch Royal.
In seventeenth-century England, a mixed drink often came in two grades. There was the normal, you-an’-me-an’-Joe version, based on beer or ale. Then there was the so-called royal version. That was the same thing, but based on wine. Thus, “purl” was beer with wormwood and other herbs steeped in it, and “purl royal” was the same, but with Canary wine. Hence, when, impressively soon after it reached English shores, some unknown tinkerer took Punch and the drink it was meant to replace, wine, and mixed them together, Punch Royal was born.
Not everybody called it that—then, as now, most of the tippling public ignored the technical language of mixology. In fact, its earliest appearance, which also happens to be the first honest-to-God recipe for Punch, omits the “royal.” But this recipe, from Hannah Wooley’s 1670
Queen-Like Closet
, calls for “one Quart of Claret wine, half a Pint of Brandy, and a little Nutmeg grated, a little Sugar, and the Juice of a Limon” and is therefore Punch Royal all right. And a hell of a drink it is, what with the only nonalcoholic liquid in it being the juice of one little lemon.
at
Made thus, Punch Royal is a hot-rails-to-hell spree drink, not unlike the Prohibition-era French 75, which combined bathtub gin with a little lemon and sugar and a healthy glass of Champagne, or whatever was passing for it. In 1736, when John Richardson, ship’s carpenter of the pink—a type of smallish, shallow-bottomed cargo vessel—
St. John
, after hitting his captain on the head with an ax and throwing him into the Mediterranean, saw to it that one of the ship’s apprentices “went down into the Cabbin, and brought up 2 Case Bottles—a Bottle of Brandy, and a Bottle of Rack—and they propos’d to make Punch Royal, that is, with Wine in it,” we can be pretty sure that time Punch Royal didn’t have any water in it at all.
Queen-Like Closet
, calls for “one Quart of Claret wine, half a Pint of Brandy, and a little Nutmeg grated, a little Sugar, and the Juice of a Limon” and is therefore Punch Royal all right. And a hell of a drink it is, what with the only nonalcoholic liquid in it being the juice of one little lemon.
at
Made thus, Punch Royal is a hot-rails-to-hell spree drink, not unlike the Prohibition-era French 75, which combined bathtub gin with a little lemon and sugar and a healthy glass of Champagne, or whatever was passing for it. In 1736, when John Richardson, ship’s carpenter of the pink—a type of smallish, shallow-bottomed cargo vessel—
St. John
, after hitting his captain on the head with an ax and throwing him into the Mediterranean, saw to it that one of the ship’s apprentices “went down into the Cabbin, and brought up 2 Case Bottles—a Bottle of Brandy, and a Bottle of Rack—and they propos’d to make Punch Royal, that is, with Wine in it,” we can be pretty sure that time Punch Royal didn’t have any water in it at all.
Over time, Punch Royal would gain some dilution and finesse. It would also gain a reputation for causing vicious hangovers; George Roberts, forced to drink it by pirates, tried in vain to beg off by pleading, “it is in a Manner Poyson to me, because I never drank any of this Liquor . . . but it made me sick two or three Days at least after it.” He was not alone. But when the wine is used not as a substitute for the water but as a supplement to it, a sort of bridge between the aqueous and the spirituous elements in the formula, it makes for some of the most insinuating Punches known to the art. Here are five of them.
CAPTAIN RADCLIFFE’S PUNCHWith this 1680 paean to Punch, Captain Radcliffe earned himself a minor reputation as a poet and, if Jonathan Swift is to be believed, a major one as a mixologist—Swift was still referring to him as the author of the “true original institution of making punch” more than fifty years after his recipe saw the light of day. Perhaps that’s as it should be; the twenty-eight couplets of Anacreontic tetrameter (no simple iambs for Radcliffe) that make up the “Bacchinalia Coelestia,” or, roughly, “Heavenly Cocktail Party,” are court poetry at best: light, forgettable and, as the most successful examples of the genre are, irreverent without being in any way dangerous.
The same could not be said about the Punch whose recipe the poem lays out—it’s as polite and pleasant to your face as any courtier, sure, but what it’s doing behind your back is a different matter.
SOURCE: Alexander Radcliffe, “Bacchinalia Coelestia, or A Poem in Praise of Punch,” 1680
THE ORIGINAL FORMULABacchinalia Coelestia
A Poem in Praise of Punch
Compos’d by the Gods and Goddesses in Cabal.
The
Gods
and the
Goddesses
lately did feast,
Where
Ambrosia
with exquisite
sawces
was drest.
The
Edibles
did with their Qualities suit,
But what they
did drink
, did occasion dispute.
’Twas time that
Old Nectar
should grow out of fashion,
A Liquor they drank long before the Creation.
When the Sky-coloured Cloth was drawn from the Board,
For the
Chrystalline Bowl
Great
Jove
gave the Word.
This was a
Bowl
of most heavenly size,
In which Infant Gods they did use to baptize.
Gods
and the
Goddesses
lately did feast,
Where
Ambrosia
with exquisite
sawces
was drest.
The
Edibles
did with their Qualities suit,
But what they
did drink
, did occasion dispute.
’Twas time that
Old Nectar
should grow out of fashion,
A Liquor they drank long before the Creation.
When the Sky-coloured Cloth was drawn from the Board,
For the
Chrystalline Bowl
Great
Jove
gave the Word.
This was a
Bowl
of most heavenly size,
In which Infant Gods they did use to baptize.
Quoth
JOVE,
We’re inform’d they drink
Punch
upon Earth,
By which mortal Wights outdo us in mirth.
Therefore our
Godheads
together let’s lay,
And endeavour to make it much stronger than they.
’Twas spoke like a
God
, Fill the Bowl to the top,
He’s
cashier’d
from the Sky that leaves but a Drop.
JOVE,
We’re inform’d they drink
Punch
upon Earth,
By which mortal Wights outdo us in mirth.
Therefore our
Godheads
together let’s lay,
And endeavour to make it much stronger than they.
’Twas spoke like a
God
, Fill the Bowl to the top,
He’s
cashier’d
from the Sky that leaves but a Drop.
APOLLO
dispatch’d away one of his
Lasses
,
Who filled us a
Pitcher
from th’ Well of
Parnassus
.
To Poets new born, this Water is brought,
And this they suck in for their Mornings draught.
dispatch’d away one of his
Lasses
,
Who filled us a
Pitcher
from th’ Well of
Parnassus
.
To Poets new born, this Water is brought,
And this they suck in for their Mornings draught.
JUNO
for
Lemons
sent into her Closet;
Which when she was sick she infus’d into
Posset
:
For
Goddesses
may be as qualmish as
Gipsies
;
The Sun and the Moon we find have Eclipses;
Those
Lemons
were call’d the
Hesperian
Fruit,
When vigilant Dragon was set to look to’t.
Three dozen
*
of these were squeez’d into Water;
The rest of the Ingredients in order came after.
for
Lemons
sent into her Closet;
Which when she was sick she infus’d into
Posset
:
For
Goddesses
may be as qualmish as
Gipsies
;
The Sun and the Moon we find have Eclipses;
Those
Lemons
were call’d the
Hesperian
Fruit,
When vigilant Dragon was set to look to’t.
Three dozen
*
of these were squeez’d into Water;
The rest of the Ingredients in order came after.
VENUS,
the Admirer of things that are sweet;
And without her Infusion there had been no Treat;
Commanded her
†
Sugar-loaves, white as her
Doves
;
Supported to th’ Table by a Brace of young Loves.
So wonderful curious these Deities were,
The
Sugar
they strain’d through a Sieve of thin Air.
the Admirer of things that are sweet;
And without her Infusion there had been no Treat;
Commanded her
†
Sugar-loaves, white as her
Doves
;
Supported to th’ Table by a Brace of young Loves.
So wonderful curious these Deities were,
The
Sugar
they strain’d through a Sieve of thin Air.
BACHHUS
gave notice by dangling a Bunch,
That without his Assistance there could be no
Punch
.
What was meant by his signs was very well known,
For they threw in a Gallon
‡
of trusty
Langoon
.
gave notice by dangling a Bunch,
That without his Assistance there could be no
Punch
.
What was meant by his signs was very well known,
For they threw in a Gallon
‡
of trusty
Langoon
.
MARS
, a blunt God, though chief of the
Briskers
,
Was seated at Table, still twirling his Whiskers;
Quoth he, fellow-
Gods
and
Coelestial Gallants
;
I’d not give a Fart for your Punch without
Nants
:
Therefore Boy
Ganimede
I do command ye,
To put in at least
two Gallons
§
of
Brandy
.
, a blunt God, though chief of the
Briskers
,
Was seated at Table, still twirling his Whiskers;
Quoth he, fellow-
Gods
and
Coelestial Gallants
;
I’d not give a Fart for your Punch without
Nants
:
Therefore Boy
Ganimede
I do command ye,
To put in at least
two Gallons
§
of
Brandy
.
SATURN
, of all the
Gods
was the oldest,
And we may imagine his stomach was coldest,
Did out of his Pouch three
Nutmegs
produce,
Which when they were grated, were put to the Juyce.
, of all the
Gods
was the oldest,
And we may imagine his stomach was coldest,
Did out of his Pouch three
Nutmegs
produce,
Which when they were grated, were put to the Juyce.
NEPTUNE
this Ocean of
Liquor
did crown
With a hard
Sea-Bisket
well bak’d in the Sun.
This Bowl being finish’d, a Health was began;
Quoth
Jove
, Let it be to our Creature call’d
Man
,
this Ocean of
Liquor
did crown
With a hard
Sea-Bisket
well bak’d in the Sun.
This Bowl being finish’d, a Health was began;
Quoth
Jove
, Let it be to our Creature call’d
Man
,
’Tis to him alone these Pleasures we owe,
For Heaven was never true Heav’n till now.
For Heaven was never true Heav’n till now.
Since the Gods and poor Mortals thus do agree,
Here’s a Health unto
CHARLES
His Majesty.
Here’s a Health unto
CHARLES
His Majesty.
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