Ken Burns’ ‘Prohibition’

I guess technically, it’s already been here. (photo via Huffington Post)
Last night I watched the first part of Ken Burns’ documentary about Prohibiton called, yes, “Prohibition.” For right now, all I can really say is: whoa.
It is already amazing and it has just barely got to the actual law going into effect! I want to watch all 5+ hours of it right now with a barrel of gin. But, technically it’s fall now so I’ve put the gin away. And, because I would probably get some wide-eyed looks from The Beau if I just sat in front of the TV with a barrel of booze.
But last night I did enjoy some Glenfiddich with graham crackers as I watched. It wasn’t gross, but I suppose I could have eaten something that wood have added to the flavors of the scotch. But then the skies parted and I remembered that Esquire, in their infinite wisdom, tweeted about a recipe to mix up in honor of the documentary: The Ward Eight.
The Ward Eight

Ingredients

  • 2 ounces rye whisky
  • 3/4 ounce lemon juice
  • 3/4 ounce orange juice
  • 1 teaspoon grenadine

Glass Type: cocktail glass

InstructionsShake the whiskey,* fresh-squeezed juices, and a scant teaspoon of grenadine well with cracked ice, then strain into a chilled cocktail glass. This one also makes a fine cooler: Simply strain into a Collins glass half-full of cracked ice and top to taste with club soda or seltzer.

* You can also use Canadian Club, a ryelike concoction acceptable in cocktails.

And a little backstory (from the above-linked article):

Yet one thing is certain: to make a proper Ward Eight, you need rye and orange juice. (If made with bourbon and only the lemon juice, as many suggest, it’s just a whiskey sour with grenadine: a decent drink, but no Ward Eight.) Y’see, the sharp tang of the rye blends just so with the bite of the lemon and the rounded sweetness of the orange, leaving absolutely no taste of liquor. In short, this drink lies like a politician.

Which brings us to the name: They say this old smoothie was inaugurated at the victory supper (the night before the election, naturally) for Martin “The Mahatma” Lomasney, running for something or other from Boston’s Ward Eight — now Roxbury and the South End. Where, it’s safe to say, one of these hasn’t been poured in fifty years.

If you’re slightly interested in watching the film, I suggest it. If you’re still not sure, see how this snaps your garters:

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