Written and published by Albert Stevens Crockett, historian of the Waldorf-Astoria in 1935
III. Baptismal
The visitor to a speakeasy, during the recent Period of Stress, may have lacked nothing in abundance of supply; but he was confronted by decided circumscription in variety. Had one who knew breathed to dispensers of dreadful drinks that masked under names once guarantees of superior content, and harmless, if potent, accelerators of appetite and good feeling – taken in moderation – some figures as well as facts about the quality and variety of alcoholic dispensation at the Old Waldorf in its real prime, he would probably have been greeted by a scouting or scornful, “Aw, what are ya givin’ me?” Indeed, had you told almost anyhody who hadn’t the facts before him the number of kinds of francy drinks Old Waldorf barmen knew hot to concoct, and did concoct, they would have put you down as a liar and probably said it aloud.
Those three hundred or so varieties of what was once the great American drink, one which carried the name of our people all over the world; those over four hundred more varieties of picklers that the most ambitious American pickler of his age was ever able to advertise – and which pickled a whole lot more people – deserve, with their formulas, to live in history. Their nomenclature belongs to it, not only as part of our national chronicles, but as an index to certain social, industrial and artistic achievements of an age….
And when these are named, one has not really begun on the list of appetizers available to those who resorted at regular times to what was long the most famous expositor of the American School of Drinking. As I have said, their nomenclature deserves to live in history, of which it is a part. More, if only to clarify that portion of history with data furnishing contributory evidence – if further proof is impossible – their compassion is important to the historian, and some day will so prove to the antiquarian, who will no doubt find material for study and zealous contemplation, if not amazement, in the fact that men once were able, year after year, to get outside so many kinds of more or less ardent spirit, and in such quantity, and still survive.
Well, they didn’t all survive. They made patients for the specialists in Carlsbad and other European cure resorts, and in many cases quit this sphere when still in their prime. But when all is said, the searcher for prehistoric man, for ancestors of much greater stature, may halt when he reads of the exploits of the exponents of the old American School of Drinking, point to the record, scratch his head, and say, “There were giants in those days.” And others, of course, will draw a moral.
General Direction: The best method of making most cocktails is to put the ingredients into a shaker in the order named in the recipe; then add cracked ice; then shake vigorously and long; then strain the contents into the cocktail glass and serve promptly. (ed. a good approach for the following recipe)
Clover Club
Juice one-half Lemon
One-half spoon Sugar
One-half pony Raspberry Syrup
One-fourth pony White of Egg
One jigger Gin (star glass)
A Philadelphia importation, originated in the bar of the old Bellevue-Stratford, where the Clover Club, composed of literary, legal, financial and business lights of the Quaker City, often dined and wined, and wined again.
(Read by Dean Temple on the September 15, 2005 podcast)