Sadly, spring break is over and all the students are back on campus. There’s nothing as pretty as a college campus devoid of sorority girls tanning their already leathery skins on the quad in swimsuits, though the nearest beach is hundreds of miles away. The sudden drop in annoyances coincided with a sudden drop in my booze intake (and, thus, wordy output), as the need to numb the pain of my daily existence lessened, but, luckily for all of us, things have picked up, and every time a guy wearing flip-flops and talking on his cellphone (to his bra?) walks in front of me on the bike path without even looking, I think about a new cocktail.
In a desperate attempt to return to a more civilized time, I’ve been indulging in a lot of old movies (also, the library is a lot cheaper than Netflix, which’ll go a little way towards that bottle of Maple Hill 23-year that I dream of). Sure, Rick Blaine and Ilsa Bund may not have amounted to a hill of beans in this crazy world, but at least when they ordered French 75s the bartender didn’t blink. Most recently, I finished watching Grand Hotel, and Mr. Kringelein, the creepiest sympathetic character ever, continually name-checked the Louisian Flip, a drink which is described in the movie only as “something sweet and cold”. Obviously this is a drink worth drinking!
Actually, I only became interested in it once I learned that there is practically nothing on the interwebs (at least, on those parts of the interwebs catalogued by 5 minutes on Google) about it. A forgotten classic, or forgotten for a reason?
There are two main recipes I found for the drink, the more common of which features white rum, orange juice, grenadine, triple sec, and an egg (it is a flip, after all). The other recipe I found at the Wormwood Society, and features absinthe (to my complete surprise, obviously). Since the latter recipe only appears (again, as far as a minimal amount of research tells me) in one place, stipulates a drink that is at least half egg and all sweet, and features absinthe as a main ingredient, I decided to try the first recipe. I have clementines, rather than oranges, but as the oranges usually available in my local Dismal Midwest Supermarket™ taste like nothing, I thought the substitution might fly.
The Louisiana Flip
- 2 oz white rum (Rhum Neisson blanc)
- 1/2 oz Cointreau
- 1/2 oz orange juice (clementine juice!)
- 2 barspoons grenadine (raspberry syrup)
- 1 egg
Place all ingredients into a mixing glass. Shake vigorously without ice for 15-30 seconds, until foamy. Add ice and shake for a further 30-60 seconds, until very cold and foamy.
Like any drink that includes a full egg, the Louisiana Flip is very smooth, with almost all of the alcohol taste concealed by the luscious mouthfeel. The first impression that I got after “smooth” was the grassiness of the rhum agricole, tempered by a bit (but only a bit) of the citrus from the Cointreau. The rhum agricole and the egg worked together to bring out a little bit of what I can’t help but call ‘egginess’ – a kind of mild sulfur character that was a bit unpleasant on the nose, although it didn’t affect the retronasal impression (orthonasal is what you smell, retronasal is what you taste, more or less). The clementine juice and raspberry syrup really weren’t that evident.
I can’t decide if this drink would be better with a traditional white rum. I don’t drink much white rum, and the bottle of rhum agricole I keep around is usually meant for ‘ti punches, so I am not the best judge. I think this may have ended up forgotten for a reason (what I get for trying to be Ted Haigh), but it was fun for an afternoon spent satisfying a classic movie curiosity.