It seems that all the major literary circles of the early 20th century were awash with cocktails. There were little cliques of writers, journalists and entertainers that would haunt the same clubs, hotels and restaurants, putting back a never-ending string of drinks between deadlines. And like Hollywood and Broadway before it, many figures from this milieu lent their name to a cocktail or two. But in some cases, multiple names were attached to the same mixture. So was the case with the Frank Sullivan and the Odd McIntyre.
Both were cultural figures of the day—Sullivan was a humorist who wrote for The New Yorker and was a secondary member of the Algonquin Round Table, while McIntyre was a member of the International Bar Flies and a newspaperman who wrote a syndicated column called New York Day by Day. In The Savoy Cocktail Book, their names are lent to the same exact recipe, on two separate pages. The Frank Sullivan (or the Odd McIntyre, depending on which recipe you’re looking at) takes the famous equal-parts structure of the Corpse Reviver No. 2 (gin, Lillet Blanc, lemon juice and Cointreau), but swaps out the gin in favor of brandy. It must have been quite a popular thing, this brandy Corpse Reviver, because it also appears in a third entry in the book with yet another title: the “Hoop La!”
At Dario in Minneapolis, Stephen Rowe is reviving the obscure Savoy drink. He originally discovered it under its Frank Sullivan moniker while working at Marvel Bar, also in Minneapolis, where the recipe book, from the bar at London’s Savoy hotel, was an important primary source. “I remember a lot of slow Sundays and Mondays going through [it],” he says, “just making things that we thought would be either repugnant or really good.”
At Dario, Rowe’s version is a zippier drink. “It just feels a little more alive, a little bit fresher,” he says. “It’s just got a little more electricity to it.”
For the brandy, Rowe likes a classic VSOP Cognac, such as Renault, which is presumably similar to what The Savoy would have used; it contributes oaky notes and nuttiness. Those “hefty flavors” provide a counterweight to the lighter, fruity acidity in the drink.
In a move that subtly recalls the brandy-and-rum punches of yore, Rowe reached for a Creole-style shrubb to play the role of the orange liqueur in the drink. Shrubb is a traditional Caribbean liqueur made with rum, spices and bitter orange peels; Rowe’s choice, Hamilton’s Petite Shrubb, specifically uses a rhum agricole base that amps up the oakiness of the Cognac. To counteract the shrubb’s richness and bitterness, Rowe added a blanc vermouth, specifically Comoz’s, and the whole thing just clicked.
Because he’s so close to brandy country (Wisconsin, of course) and serves a multigenerational clientele, Rowe and his staff at Dario encounter various conceptions of brandy and of classic cocktails. But one comparison that seems to work on a variety of guests is placing the drink in the Sidecar family because of its combination of brandy, orange liqueur and lemon. “I’ll say, this is like a Sidecar, but it runs a little lighter and it has a more defined citrus feel to it,” says Rowe. And with that, “they’re happy.”
