Jake Patrick takes a deep dive into an enduring classic, the elements that drive its success – and the approaches that do it no favours.
Let’s talk about the Old Fashioned. No other drink has done more towards a universal definition of the word cocktail. Equally, no other drink has been as thoroughly bastardised. The history is suitably foggy but its progenitor is most likely the English Bitter Sling, which travelled through cultural osmosis and realised its full potential in America, like common law and inbreeding.
The Old Fashioned’s ubiquity comes down to its simplicity. Functionally, it is spirit, sweetener, bitters and dilution which ultimately translate to preference. One other factor, often overlooked, is that the Old Fashioned is timelessly cool. Let’s break it down to see why it works.
Sweetener
Oft overlooked and maligned. Let me just pause for a personal gripe - 1:1 sugar syrup is the refuge of the feckless and the cowardly. It belongs in an Old Fashioned as much diazepam belongs in baby formula. Your sweetener is the fulcrum by which everything else triumphs. No drink illustrated this more clearly to me than the Terroir Old Fashioned from Overstory in NYC. The modifiers – vin jaune, Yellow Chartreuse and agave caramel – created a triptych of sweeteners that pulled against each other to introduce oxidative qualities, tannic astringency and maillard roastiness. It’s excellent and it’s hinged entirely on that relationship between sweet and strong. Don’t sleep on the sweet.
Spirit
Historically, the scales dip towards dark spirits. I prefer American whiskey. Though for posterity, I’d advise you to try Rico Dynan’s unconventional vodka-based Absolut Gangster. There’s an impulse to reach for top shelf merch – ignore it. Personally, a good OF falls within a strict bell curve, plateauing around Rittenhouse rye and its contemporaries. In my mind a classic Old Fashioned is an elaboration on the base spirit. It’s best when there are big, communicable primary flavours at play. The preparation and format of the OF rounds off edges, mollifies and develops. Not always, but often enough, the pricey gear tends to wobble under that kind of interrogation. Surely we’ve gotten past jamming Johnnie Blue Label into classics and saying it’s better by virtue of cost?
Bitters
People who talk about bitters are boring. They’re the Warcraft players of the bartending world. I am boring, I play Warcraft, I like talking about bitters. Angostura, where would we be without you? Bitters are a zip, an aromatic uplift, a hypeman for the drink. Somewhere in the timeline of my career it became the universal norm to use both traditional bitters as a centre forward and orange bitters as a kind of inverted fullback. I miss Trent Alexander-Arnold… I like this, it’s a small but considered addition that makes an Old Fashioned better. Angostura Orange on the other hand? An unmitigated mess, as bad of a sequel to a beloved IP as Grease 2. Regan’s No6 and nothing else please.
Dilution & citrus
Lads, cut your citrus zest fresh please! I don’t care if you crimp it, I don’t care if you coin it, I don’t care if you carve a fresco of the Disputation of the Holy Sacrament into it, just make it fresh. Flaccid little shavings done at some indeterminate point in the past are an affront to all of the hard work. You’ve executed a perfect Arabian Double Front only to fuck the landing, and, subsequently, shit your pants.
Lastly, I prefer an underdilute Old Fashioned. I think it’s going to be with me for a little longer than most other drinks. The intrigue is in how it’ll develop over time; under dilution gives it a chance to express itself.