Stinger

This post-prandial cocktail was once the oft-ordered "stengah" of turn-of-the-century watering holes. Let common sense explain how the Stinger got its name, but be advised that a poorly made one will leave a mark far worse than a sting.

Always a bit leery of drinks made with crème de menthe, we had let this one pass us by for years. Perhaps the aversion came from the Life Savers candy of the same flavor: We tried it once, and fed the dog the offending menthe Life Saver from every multiflavored roll we ate after that. But one evening, not long ago - perhaps in perverse nostalgia for that now-extinct candy flavor - we ordered a Stinger, whose 1/4-ounce white crème de menthe was well tempered by 1 1/2 ounces of brandy. We felt a sapid gust of mint wrapped in the smoothness of good brandy.

It was a serendipitous discovery. There was a time when even Somerset Maugham, who was typically busy promoting only gin drinks, occasionally ordered this classic cocktail. Evelyn Waugh, the eccentric writer who palled around with Ian Fleming, claimed it as his signature drink.

We think of Mr. Waugh whenever we order this drink, knowing we'll need pluck to face down the snickers bound to follow our request. When legendary explorer and infamous English grouch Wilfred Thesiger heard of Mr. Waugh's favored drink, he sniffed, "Just the sort of affectation he would have."

When challenged, we quote the great no-frills bartender of the '20s and '30s, Patrick Gavin Duffy, who included the Stinger in his tome, The Official Mixer's Manual. Having "rejected all those [recipes] not in the best tradition," Mr. Duffy included only those "wholesome and well concocted," not "the follies which the enactment of the 18th Amendment produced. The youth and many adults ... took to the 'speakeasy,' and the gilded cabarets and the orgies which followed became more and more wild until finally those well-meaning persons who brought Prohibition on became alarmed and sought Repeal as eagerly as they had, two decades before, clamored for the 'Dry Law.' "

If we spy a bartender grab a bottle of the green crème de menthe instead of the clear, we put a stop to our order right away. Using the garish green cordial for a Stinger can mean only one thing: The bartender's never rightly made it - or any drink like it - before. So we insist that bottle rests until Saint Paddy's Day, when we're sure the mixer will find plenty of unsavory uses for it.

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