The Birth of the Sazerac, Piece by Piece
As they say in New Orleans, “Let the good times roll!” And one of the ways to live that expression is to sample some of the Big Easy’s iconic watering holes and famous cocktails. You might listen to dueling pianos at Pat O’Brien’s with a bright red Hurricane in your hand. Or, you might sip a Vieux Carré as you ride the Carousel Bar at the Hotel Monteleone. Or, you might wander into the Old Absinthe House to enjoy a refreshing Absinthe House Frappé. However, there is only one New Orleans drink decreed by the Louisiana legislature as the city’s official cocktail. The Sazerac is New Orleans through and through. The story of the modern Sazerac is one with its beginnings entrenched in Creole New Orleans, and one that has undergone significant evolution. Let’s look at this classic cocktail piece by piece and then explore how the pieces came together to produce mixology magic.
Piece 1: Brandy/Cognac
Distillation of a base wine generally produces a Brandy. Technically, Brandy may be made from the distilled fermented juice of any fruit, but it is then labeled with that fruit’s name, Peach Brandy, for example. When the beverage is labeled simply Brandy, it is always made from grape derived wine. Cognac is a type of Brandy that is made in and around Cognac, France under strict regulations. The origin of Brandy is inextricably linked to Dutch traders of the 16th century; a bit of history that can only be imaginatively told by another chapter of the Chronicles of Cocktail Connections…
The Dutch merchant ship, Zeelandia, slipped smoothly and silently into its mooring in the Port of Amsterdam. The year was 1583, and Shipmaster Joost Van Ankeren had just completed another successful trading voyage. He and his crew had unloaded a cargo of Baltic grain in Bordeaux, and then returned to Amsterdam with a ship full of French wine. He had made this journey before, but this time the cargo was a little different.
Joost had started to experiment with rudimentary heat distillation of wine to remove water and reduce its volume. His reason was twofold…better preservation of the wine during the journey, and volume reduction to decrease wine tax imposed by harbor authorities. For this trip, he had arranged for a new double distillation reduction in Bordeaux, and planned to add water to restore its volume before selling it back in Amsterdam.
Over the next hour, the crew worked hard to unload all the heavy wooden wine casks. Now, after sending the crew off for the evening, Joost and his first mate, Berend de Vries, sat on casks as they patiently waited for the Port Master to release his shipment for transport elsewhere.
“Well, Joost,” Berend sighed, “we would be better off in a warm Dutch tavern hoisting a few good beers in celebration of our success.”
Joost laughed heartily. “That would be preferable to this long wait in the cold. But we are sitting on a huge amount of wine. What do you say we tap one of these casks?”
“Were that possible, I could drink an entire cask. But, Joost, you know we still need to return this liquid to normal wine by the addition of measured amounts of good water.”
“I know…I know. However, we beggars can’t be choosers. It may taste bad, but it surely will bring us warmth. Go get two mugs from the ship’s cabin and I will tap one of these casks.”
The mugs retrieved and the cask tapped, the two men soon held a flagon of distillate in their hands. “It seems to have changed its color somewhat during the journey, Joost,” Berend observed. “Could the wood of the casks have imparted some darkening?”
“I think that may be possible,” Joost agreed. “And use your nose before your mouth. It has a strong, but pleasant aroma of nuts and vanilla.”
Having used their senses of sight and smell, it was time for taste. “To the success of our latest voyage,” toasted Berend.
“And to many more to come,” Joost echoed. And they each downed a goodly gulp. Then they looked at each other in amazement.
“Do not add water to this elixir!” exclaimed Berend
Joost smiled and said quietly, “I have unwittingly created a brandewijn that all of Europe will clamor for.”
Joost’s Dutch word brandewijn meant ‘burned wine,’ which eventually became Brandy, When the French jumped on the Brandy bandwagon, Cognac and other wonderful Brandies were the result. In the 1630s, the Sazerac family established a vineyard and distillery in the Cognac region of France. But, it wasn’t until 1782 that Bernard Sazerac began making the Sazerac de Forge et Fils. Joost’s foretelling came to be, as the love of making and enjoying Brandy spread throughout Europe and beyond. And soon, the Sazerac Brandy made it all the way to New Orleans.
Piece 2: Bitters
The first definition of a cocktail that appeared in 1806 described it as “a stimulating liquor, composed of spirits of any kind, sugar, water, and bitters.” Spirits, sugar, and water are all straightforward components, but those bitters…where did they come from?
Many brands of bitters began as medicinal tonics, generally with rather questionable reputations. But, soon people began began using them in cocktails as concentrated flavor stimulants. The bitters added a nice twist to the mix even though they were only used in small amounts. Their often secret formulas include a variety of barks, herbs, fruits, peels, seeds, flowers, spices, and roots distilled in a base alcohol. The craft cocktail boom has brought with it a resurgence in bitters development. However, among the bitter makers, there has always been two at the top, Angostura and Peychaud’s.
In 1824, Johann Seigert, a doctor in Simon Bolivar’s Venezuelan army, began making his number 1-selling Angostura Bitters as a stimulant for troops to help them with malaria and keep them on their feet. Angostura is dark, bitter and spicy, with a cinnamon and tamarind flavor.
However, the focus of this tale is the Sazerac cocktail, and for that, one needs the second most popular bitters. About the same time as Angostura, a Haitian apothecary by the name of Peychaud was developing his own medicinal bitters. Turn to Peychaud in Volume P of The Chronicles of Cocktail Connections and the pages materialize in a mix of history and imagination to reveal a scene in 19th century Nouvelle Orléans…
It was a rainy April afternoon in 1830 New Orleans. The rain had transformed the normally busy Royal Street in the French Quarter to a quiet thoroughfare. Antoine Peychaud was taking advantage of the lack of customers to place several small bottles of a reddish liquid on one of the shelves of his pharmacie.
Roland Philippe, Antoine’s assistant, looked up from his work and asked, “Did we receive a new shipment of tonics today, Antoine?”
Antoine turned, and with a look of pride replied, “No, Roland. This is a medicinal of my own doing…based on an old Peychaud family recipe.” Antoine had been raised in Saint Domingue (Haiti), but his family had fled the island to New Orleans amid the plantation slave revolution.
Roland was intrigued. “Please tell me more about your curious concoction, Antoine.”
The Pharmacie Peychaud was still empty of customers, so Antoine pulled up a chair next to Roland. “As you will recall, when I came here in 1813 with my family, I was a young boy of 10. Some 15 years later, I met and married my beautiful Célestine, and as one of my wedding presents, my father gave me the bitters recipe that came with the Peychauds when they left Northern France generations ago. Using my pharmaceutical training, I have, off and on, worked many years to perfect that recipe to this point. I am proud to say, it is now ready for the public. I have found it helpful for all manner of digestive ailments from dyspepsia to constipation. Would you like to taste a little sample?”
“I most definitely would. Thank you,” said Roland eagerly, as he accepted a small sampling poured from one of the bottles on the shelf. Placing the crimson liquid to his lips, he took a small sip. The initial bitterness caused his face to slightly contort, but he was pleasantly surprised at the licorice root and clove after-flavors that danced on his tongue. “Mon Dieu, Antoine, what have you put in this pleasantly perplexing potion?”
“Well, Roland,” he said with a sly chuckle, “if I told you, you know I would have to kill you!”
And so today, as with most other bitters, the ingredients of Peychaud’s remain a carefully kept secret. It is known only to be a blend of gentian root and other herbs. Compared to Angostura, Peychaud’s is sweeter and lighter, with anise, cherry, nutmeg and clove flavors.
Piece 3: Absinthe
Absinthe originated in the late 18th century. According to liqueur legend, it began as a patented medicinal cure-all created by Dr. Pierre Ordinaire, a French doctor living in Switzerland around 1792. The bitter-tasting herb, Artemisia Absinthium or Wormwood, originally was a key ingredient of absinthe. Wormwood is referred to as the “sagebrush of the glaciers” because it is plentiful in the icy regions of Dr. Ordinaire’s Switzerland.
Absinthe rose to great popularity as an alcoholic drink in 19th- and early 20th-century France, particularly among Parisian artists and writers. It was so popular that, in Parisian Cafes, 5 o’clock pm was known as “the Green Hour.” Some believe that absinthe-induced hallucinations partly inspired some of the greatest works of Van Gogh and Picasso. It made their minds wander, which they equated with expanding consciousness and inspiring creativity. This led to absinthe often being called the Green Muse or Green Fairy. However, although Absinthe has been frequently and improperly described even in modern times as being hallucinogenic, no scientific study has demonstrated absinthe to possess any of those properties. Consumption of absinthe was subsequently opposed by social conservatives and prohibitionists, partly due to its association with bohemian culture.
Absinthe also became popular in the United States. With its French connections, it naturally made its way to Antoine Peychaud’s New Orleans in the early 1800’s. It became a part of the New Orleans culture, and one urban legend tells of its connection to the city’s French Quarter and the War of 1812. The tale suggests that Major General Andrew Jackson met with Jean Lafitte, a privateer pirate operating in the Gulf of Mexico, on the second floor of a coffeehouse (alias for bar) that later became known as the Old Absinthe House. The possibilities of imagination conjure up ghosts from history to reveal another scene from the Chronicles of Cocktail Connections…
Having made his way through the evening haze darkening the backstreets of New Orleans, General Andrew “Old Hickory” Jackson had come to Jean Lafitte’s stomping grounds. He planned to meet with Lafitte and hopefully convince him to agree to align forces to repel the invading British. Lafitte and his men were excellent artillery gunners and knew the terrain around New Orleans better than anyone.
Lafitte had chosen the location for the meeting well; an upstairs room of a French Quarter Import business and Coffee House Saloon with a secret passage of escape should he need it. As Jackson entered the room, he was surprised to see a man who looked and acted as a gentleman rather than a brash unrefined pirate.
“Captain Lafitte, I presume,” Jackson said stiffly.
“Yes,” Lafitte replied. “And you need no introduction, General.”
They sent their aides away so they might discuss the issues one on one. The two were from starkly different backgrounds, but took a liking to each other almost immediately. Before long, they had ironed out an agreement. In exchange for pardons for their pirating crimes, Lafitte’s men would come to the aid of Jackson’s forces on land and sea.
As they concluded their negotiations, their men returned bearing appropriate refreshments, a large pitcher of rum punch, and a rare bottle of French Absinthe. As he raised a flagon of punch, Andrew Jackson exclaimed, “Let us toast our agreement, Jean! Here’s to victory! And I would like you to serve as my second in command during the coming battle.”
Savoring the remains of his rum punch and pouring two shot glasses of the green potion, Lafitte replied, “I accept, and pledge to do so with honor, General. May our army be as strong as the pungent flavors of this emerald elixir Absinthe.”
Whatever the scenario, there was a deal. And, the combined forces of Lafitte and Jackson repelled the British fleet in the Battle of New Orleans. It was a decisive victory at the end of the War and made Jean Lafitte an American hero. Lafitte received a pardon from President James Madison for his service. However, the sea beckoned, and he later returned to his career as a pirate.
But the Absinthe/New Orleans connection has continued even to today. A few decades after the fateful meeting of Jackson and Lafitte, that coffeehouse became the Old Absinthe House, famous for serving French Absinthes. In 1874, the bar’s mixologist, Cayetano Ferrer, created the Old Absinthe House Frappe. Both the bar and the Frappe became reknowned throughout the country. Oscar Wilde, Mark Twain and General Robert E. Lee are among the many famous customers said to have enjoyed an Absinthe Frappe within its walls.
And, the bar has been open almost continually ever since. Only Prohibition shut it down. But even then, its actual bar was secretly moved and used in a speakeasy operation down the street. Many decades after repeal of Prohibition, the original bar from the Old Absinthe House was returned to its home and now resides in the adjacent, speakeasy-style cocktail bar, Belle Époque. Today, you can sit at the bar of Belle Époque, and with the centuries of imbibing that have taken place in that historic building on Bourbon Street, feel the spirits of all the poets, pirates, artists, and outlaws join you as you sip on a tasty absinthe cocktail.
The Pieces Come Together
The pieces of the Sazerac began to come together with that pharmacy owner, Antoine Peychaud. In Peychaud Part 1 above, he produced his famous bitters. Now, the mists of imagination are once again swirling through the streets of New Orleans in 1838 to bring us Peychaud Part 2, Beyond the Bitters…
Antoine Peychaud was preparing for the evening. He had closed up his pharmacie at 437 Royal Street a little early, because he would be entertaining some of his fellow French Quarter merchants and Freemasons of the Etoile Polaire Chapter. Peychaud had invited them to his store after hours, to share with them his latest creative use of his medicinal Peychaud’s bitters.
One recent night, as his mind wandered in pre-sleep thoughts, he had had a brainstorm. “What if I mixed my bitters with a good French cognac and a little sugar,” he had thought. “The bitters might bring a spiciness to the cognac and the sugar would improve the medicinal flavors.” When he had tasted the mixture, he found it very enjoyable. He had spent time perfecting the portions of the three components and made it his nightly routine refreshment.
Hearing a knock at the door, Antoine called out, “Entrez! Come in gentlemen.”
“Bonjour, Antoine. Thank you for your somewhat cryptic invitation,” said Rene Toutant, owner of the Royale Coffee House, as he entered.
Entering with him were Andre Delacroix, owner of the cotton press along the river, Henri Leblanc, the local wine merchant, and Gabriel Mercier, printer and bookstore owner. “Yes, Antoine,” said Gabriel, “why all the mystery?”
Peychaud answered, “Patience, patience. Get comfortable. Have a seat, my good friends.” When they were all seated, he continued, “I have invited you four here tonight to begin what I hope will be a weekly affair to relax, discuss our businesses, and toast our success with an enjoyment of spirits.”
“Ah, the enjoyment of spirits…quelle bonne ideé!” said Leblanc. “As a wine importer, I can’t help but wonder if you might be serving us a little nectar of the grape.”
“Yes and no, Henri. No wine, but I am serving a drink that uses the spirit of the grape, cognac. Sazerac de Forge et Fils Cognac to be exact.”
Antoine, I am truly intrigued,” said Gabriel Mercier. “Whatever is this creation you speak of?”
Peychaud produced a tray of egg cups or coquetiers that he had decided to use as small serving glasses. “You all have tasted my medicinal bitters in the past, but I have now found them to be an interesting way of spicing up my Sazerac Cognac.” He presented each of his friends with a coquetier filled to the brim with his perfected blend of Sazerac, Peychaud bitters, and a bit of sugar.
The five men raised the small cups high in a toast, and sampled one of the earliest of cocktails. “Mon Dieu, Antoine!” exclaimed Rene. “We will definitely take you up on your offer of weekly gatherings, if you continue to serve these delicious coquetiers!”
Peychaud continued to sell his bitters and his drink caught on in New Orleans. The mix he served in his coquetiers was the ancestor of the modern Sazerac. And obviously, the classic cocktail eventually derived its name from that brand of cognac he used.
In 1852, the Sazerac House saloon opened in New Orleans, and served drinks with Peychaud’s bitters and his brandy of choice. However, a Phylloxera insect infestation destroyed much of the European vineyards in the 1860’s, and made imported French Cognac scarce. New Orleans bartenders searching for a cognac replacement had to look no further than certain barrels being shipped down the Mississippi River.
When Scotch-Irish immigrants settled in Maryland and Pennsylvania, their traditional barley did not adapt well to the North American climate. Rye did, however, and that is what they used to make their whiskies. In the 1800’s Pennsylvania was producing quantities of rye whiskey that dwarfed the bourbon output of Kentucky. And, where did a lot of that go? It went down the Ohio/Mississippi waterways to New Orleans and the Gulf of Mexico. So, it was natural that rye replaced the cognac in the New Orleans cocktails.
The next step in the evolution of this cocktail came in 1873. An inventive bartender at the Sazerac House had an idea to add a touch of absinthe to the Peychaud-rye cocktail and name it the Sazerac. And so, the recipe remained for another 40 years. But in 1912, the US and other countries banned absinthe. Unfounded claims that the wormwood in absinthe made people crazy and criminal kept the liqueur off the shelves for almost 100 years. During that time, other anise flavored liqueurs such as Pastis, Pernod, Ricard, and Herbsaint replaced the absinthe. Herbsaint, produced by the Sazerac Company, has actually replaced absinthe in their official Sazerac cocktail recipe.
The Sazerac Cocktail has become so associated with New Orleans culture that it now has its own museum, The Sazerac House, located not far from its 19th century saloon namesake. The extraordinary story surrounding this iconic drink was the inspiration for development of a three-story experience of the Big Easy’s association with things drinkable. History and interactive exhibits come together over cocktails. Make mine a Sazerac, please.
