The pousse-café. No bartender ever enjoys making it, and inevitably some smartass - followed by several of his friends - will order it.
This showy drink has been despised by mixologists for years. Although the name means "a drink to go with coffee," the pousse-café has long been diverted from its original coffee-pushing intent. As Charles H. Baker points out in his Gentleman's Companion of 1939, How could anyone imagine following a good demitasse of strong black mocha with half a dozen sweet cordials roosting on the yolk of an egg? Of course, the pousse-café isn't ordered to be drunk; it's ordered for show, and despite Esquire calling it a "pansy" in 1934, this drink, sadly, hasn't fallen out of favor with those who enjoy making life difficult for others.
No definitive recipe exists, but a
strategy for making pousse-café does. These
drinks should be sweet and layered - nothing like a
cocktail.
Tradition dictates that they're served with three,
five, or seven different-colored layers of liqueur.
Forget the quality of the potion and feel no guilt.
Concern yourself only with the density of each
liqueur, because the imbiber isn't interested in
taste, but requests this ridiculous concoction only
to test your patience for pouring multiple layers of
liquids. On the few evenings I've refused a request
for a pousse-café, the offender has then opted
for an Amstel Lite or a Shirley Temple.
Knowing how to make a pousse-café can be rewarding, though. After you concoct it, you get to watch the smartass try to drink it. Although the first few layers might taste fine, the last few are always reminiscent of a melted Gopher Pop, and whether it's the first or last drink of the evening, he'll surely wake with one heck of a hangover the next morning.
Besides, if you enjoyed making layered Jell-O
creations as a kid, you'll love this slightly more
grown-up version of the same thing - just practice in
the privacy of your own home, and vow never to order
a pousse-café in a bar. In classier times,
popular pousse-cafés had names like the
Parisian, the Waldorf, and the Golden Slippers, and
were afternoon and evening favorites at swank hotels.
But today, layered drinks often have names like
"B-52," "Mudslide," or "Shit on the Grass," and are
swallowed one after another during happy
hour.
Because the pousse-café relies solely on its appearance, always use its namesake glass. Tall and slender, a pousse-café glass should be slightly larger at the opening than at the base. The glass must be spotless for the layers to appear correctly (even a single water spot can disrupt the meniscus between the layers).
The layering effect of a pousse-café results from the different densities of the various liqueurs or syrups in the drink. No matter what the recipe, and whatever liquids it calls for, experiment with all liqueurs involved. Different brands of the same liqueur can vary in density. Also, the densities of liqueurs and syrups aren't printed on their labels, so you'll want to remember the general rule that the higher the alcohol content, the lower the density of the liquid will be.
If you want a large number of layers, start with alcohol-free liquids like grenadine or raspberry syrup, and finish with sweet cream. As you pour each ingredient, be careful not to touch the inside of the glass with any liquid. This will dilute or smudge the layering between ingredients of similar densities, and you'll end up with a drink that looks more like Aunt Edna's cherished lava lamp than a pousse-café.
Below is a list of cordials and their colors, arranged from heaviest to lightest, which is the proper progression for pouring them.
Grenadine Blue and/or red curaçao Bailey's Irish Cream Peach schnapps Blackberry liqueur Yellow chartreuse Goldwasser Green chartreuse |
light cherry red deep purple clear or chocolate brown coffee electric blue or red light chocolate milk clear clear or green clear clear dark purple yellow clear with gold flecks clear clear light brown medium brown, orange green brown clear |
As you add the second and subsequent liquids on top of those that precede them, break the fall of the liquid. If you don't, you could pierce the layer below, ruining the drink's appearance.
The most common way to break a liquid's fall is to use the back of a long-handled, narrow spoon. Turn the spoon upside down and lower it into the glass until it touches the liquid. Pour the liquid slowly over the convex side of the spoon and let the liquid gently fall into the glass. Pour each liquid until there's a layer about 1/4-inch to 1/2-inch deep. Make sure you wipe the spoon clean between layers.
A maraschino
cherry with a long stem can be used instead of a
spoon. Lower the cherry in the same manner as the
spoon and pour the liquid slowly over the fruit.
Again, the liqueur will gently rest on the previous
layer. If you enjoy eating these garnishes, I suggest
using a new one for each layer.
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