The Dead Rabbit in Old New York

There is a bar near Battery Park in lower Manhattan that is a cross between the kind of saloon with sawdust on the floor and a spot where you can order a cocktail with bitters and not get the stink eye.  Inside is a patchwork of black and white photos hanging from the ceiling and some sort of ceramic rabbit wearing a shamrock bib and Mardi Gras beads sitting amid the booze bottles. The place is called The Dead Rabbit.

All of this should help set the stage.

If you are going to name your place after a deceased furry mammal, you are probably not a sentimentalist in the traditional sense.  What they are sentimental about, however, is cocktails. The co-founder, Jack McGarry, tested scores of recipes from the mid-nineteenth century to create his historically-rooted bar with an Old New York meets Irish-American feel.

Brett and I stumbled in on a Saturday at approximately 11 am, found the two best bar stools in the joint, and did not leave for the next three hours.  We drank a number of cocktails that day. If asked to recall them, I probably would not get much further than a sweeping implication of gin and beer, forced into a number of wonderfully barbaric midafternoon combinations.

But right before we were about to settle up, our bartender —who had a Southern drawl and was not particularly attentive that day—set down an Irish coffee.  Which I suspect was meant as a peace offering for spotty service.

We were drunk on booze and charm by this point.  But she did not know that. One sip and another was promptly ordered.  The drink became legendary thereafter. And thanks to The New York Times, we were able to uncover its secrets.

As is the case with Irish coffees, a fresh pot is brewed and whiskey is righteously employed.  The cocktail is delicately sweetened with a demerara simple syrup that plays to the barrel-aged vanilla notes of the liquor. Perhaps the piece here, however, that truly sets the cocktail apart is that the heavy cream is left unsweetened and whipped only until “ropy.” It looks like a cumulus cloud, spreading to fill the glass and floating delicately on top, graced with nutmeg in its final moments.

The whole thing ends in a pretty harmonious, self-congratulatory clink of glasses. Brett and I have become sort of crazy for them.  Also as unlikely sentimentalists in the traditional sense, we have fondly named them Dead Rabbits.

It is at once a classic and romantic cocktail.  Not too sweet, to be sure.  And with the guts that any drink from a good Irish bar would have.

It is only a slight coincidence that this information comes to you a few days prior to St. Patrick’s Day.  In the event that a superlative Irish coffee is needed this weekend, you’ll know how to drink the rabbit dead.

The Dead Rabbit

Adapted from The New York Times, courtesy of Jack McGarry from The Dead Rabbit Grocery and Grog

Ingredients:

1 tbsp Demerara syrup (see below)

about 3 to 4 tbsp whipped cream (see below)

3 tbsp (1½ ounces) Irish whiskey (Jameson works in a pinch)

4 ounces hot fresh coffee

dash of freshly ground nutmeg

demerara syrup

1 cup Demerara sugar

½ cup of water

whipped cream

1 cup heavy cream

Instructions:

for the Demerara syrup

In a medium saucepan, combine the sugar and water over low heat. Stir occasionally until the sugar dissolves; set aside.

for the cocktail

Brew a pot of coffee. Meanwhile, warm a coffee mug with hot water (slightly below boiling works well).

In a medium bowl, whip the cream until it achieves a ropy consistency; it should be firm but still loose.  Place in the refrigerator until needed. 

Pour out the water from the warmed glass.  Add the syrup and whiskey.  Pour in the coffee; stir to combine.  Gently spoon the whipped cream on top. It should float if properly whipped.  The amount used will vary slightly depending on the size of your glass, but you’ll want it about ¾ inch thick and covering the liquid.

Grate nutmeg over the top.

Makes 1 cocktail

Notes:

-It’s easier to make some of the components in bulk.  The whipped cream makes enough for 3 to 4 cocktails.  You’ll have extra syrup beyond that, too. (Store the syrup in the fridge.)

-It just so happens The Dead Rabbit has won a number of awards, including Best Bar in North America last year. They do not mess around.

Irish Soda Bread Go Bragh

I admit it. I arose this morning slightly pickled from wine. Friday night started off innocently enough with a glass of vouvray, progressing to a sparkling grüner veltliner or two and ending with a glass of … umm … red? That, and polishing off an entire dessert plate of cookies from Scampo.

Despite last night’s shenanigans, I promised myself I was going to make Irish soda bread and so I headed to the kitchen—because a promise is a promise no matter how many glasses you’ve downed or cookies you’ve eaten—and got to work. Well, first I made butter because I needed the buttermilk for the soda bread. Then I got to work.

Butter making aside, this is a shamefully simple bread. And is hard to mess up, even if your sobriety is in question (which I suppose is fitting given said recipe and the reputation of the Irish, in general). Also appropriate, arguably non-negotiable even, is the crucial step of plumping the currants in some whiskey. Which provided a visual for how my little shrived up liver was likely feeling, as well.

In under an hour, I was enjoying the sweet, crunchy crust and tender crumbs of my labor, and rapidly becoming a soda bread enthusiast. While soda bread has a sinister reputation for being dry, I assure you this one is not. Nor is it boring with its boozy currants and hint of anise, which I admit is not Irish, but what can I say: I’m Italian.

Should you not want to make your own—or perhaps have had a night similar to mine and don’t feel up to “morning after” soda bread baking—I suggest you head to the newly opened Wholy Grain bakery in the South End. They have a nutty oatmeal soda bread that is to die for. And they sell it by the loaf. Their recipe is from the owner’s brother’s bakery in Ireland and was the inspiration for the soda bread pledge I made with myself.

Soda bread is still regularly found on dinner tables in Ireland and is worth including on yours, especially given our proximity to St. Patrick’s Day. But you don’t need the luck of the Irish, nor do you really need to have all your wits about you to make this recipe. You just need a plan, a pan, and some whiskey. Which might actually make for a pretty good life slogan, as well. I’ll ponder that one as I eat my next slice …

Irish Soda Bread with Whiskey Currants

3/4 cup currants

~1/4 cup whiskey of your choice (I like bourbon), enough to plump the currants

1 cup flour

3/4 cup spelt flour

1/4 cup bran

5 tbsp sugar, divided

1-1/2 tsp baking powder

1 tsp kosher salt

3/4 tsp baking soda

3 tbsp cold butter, cut into cubes, plus extra for greasing

1 cup buttermilk

1/2 tsp anise seeds

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Put currants in a small bowl and pour whiskey over them; set aside. Grease a 9 inch loaf pan with butter. Combine flours, bran, 4 tablespoons of sugar, baking powder, salt and baking soda in a large bowl. Add butter and use your fingers or a pastry cutter to mix in butter until it crumbles. Make a well in the center of your bowl and add in buttermilk; mix until just combined. Drain currants and add them to the mixture, along with the anise seeds. Pour batter into greased loaf pan and sprinkle with remaining tablespoon of sugar. Bake for about 40 minutes, or until an inserted toothpick comes out clean.

Makes 1 loaf

Notes:

-Caraway seeds would be splendid, and very appropriate, in this recipe.

-If you don't have spelt flour (and why would you, really?) you could easily substitute whole wheat or just use 2 cups all purpose flour instead. I recently bought spelt flour because I've been seeing it in a lot of dessert recipes lately and figured spelt was as good a reason as any to justify dessert.

-I make butter by whipping cream and then often save the "buttermilk" that remains for baking. I suspect it's a little richer than the buttermilk you find in grocery stores.