photos/The Fuge

 
June sparks the rebellious side of my liver’s personality, prompting him to cry out for rum. And for good reason: The Portland Rum Riot of 1855.

Neal Dow, the fervent prohibitionist who became Mayor of Portland in 1851, pushed what became known as “the Maine Law,” an act outlawing the manufacture and sale of alcohol in the state. Then, in 1855, eyeing a spot on the Republican Party ticket as a vice presidential candidate, Dow got an “intensified” version of the Maine Law passed. This stricter law allowed for, among other things, the interception of liquor in transit, as well as fines and prison time for first offenders. The requirements needed to get a search warrant when someone was suspected of possessing illegal hooch were also relaxed.

The Maine Law provided exceptions for alcohol used medicinally or in manufacturing, but the intensified version specified that such liquor had to be sold by an authorized agent of the municipality. In May of 1855, Dow was chairman of the committee formed to set up the agency store in City Hall, and for some inexplicable reason, he ordered $1,600 worth of booze for the agency under his own name. Once the agency was duly appointed, it was assumed Dow would transfer title for the alcohol from himself to the agent, but this sort of transfer was illegal under the intensified Maine Law, making the liquor subject to seizure and destruction. Dow’s personal risk was only a $20 fine and 30 days in jail, but the political damage resulting from $1,600 worth of booze getting poured down the city’s gutters could have flushed his future plans.

Boozers we may be, but these are the kinds of inconsistencies our fermented minds latch on to, and our brethren in ’55 were no different. So on Sat., June 2, Portland’s last distiller and two other anti-Dowists swore out a writ claiming Dow possessed liquor for the purpose of an illegal sale. Bound by the intensified Maine Law, the judge duly issued the search and seizure warrant and a deputy marshal was dispatched. 

A restless crowd gathered near City Hall, hoping to witness the seizure and destruction of Dow’s booze. By nightfall, some of the rowdier denizens of Portland headed to where the liquor was stored, shouting and cursing Dow’s name, pelting the building with rocks, and ignoring the Sheriff’s reading of the Riot Act. By 10 p.m., upwards of a thousand spectators or more had gathered at the scene.

Dow fortified the few cops on hand with a couple dozen militiamen. As the mob was about to breach the doors, he gave the order to fire, and three volleys tore through the crowd. Seven lay wounded, and John Robbins, a fisherman from Deer Isle, died. The rest of the crowd was dispersed at bayonet point.

While we’re no longer liable to get shot on the mayor’s orders, Dow’s ghost still haunts Old Portland Town. Case in point: Prior to the photo shoot for this feature, Bollard editor Chris Busby and I had a couple beers during dinner at Gritty’s. Art director Sean Wilkinson then drove us to Hannaford to pick up the alcohol and accoutrements, but the cashier, smelling beer on Busby’s breath, summoned the front-end manager, who informed us the store would not sell us the liquor because we’d “already been drinking.”

“Should I go ahead and ring up the lemons and limes?” the manager then asked. 

Another suggestion came to mind, but I kept it to myself.

Philadelphia Fish House Punch

In the good old days of the Colonial era, any group of 20 or 30 or 50 likeminded fellows would form a club for the express purpose of heavy and ceremonial drinking. The Anacreontic Society, for example, lives on in the minds of trivia buffs as that gang of revelers whose theme song provided the melody for “The Star Spangled Banner.” Another club, the Schuylkill Fishing Company, gave us this delicious punch.

Philadelphia Fish House Punch

1/3pint lemon juice (we only use fresh-squeezed
lemon juice, kids!)
3/4 pound white sugar
2 1/2 pints cold water
1 ounce sweet peach brandy (e.g. Peachtree Schnapps)
9 ounces brandy
6 ounces rum (a medium-dark Jamaican rum, like Appleton)

Prior to juicing the lemons, use a vegetable peeler and skin three of them. Mash the peels and sugar in your punch bowl until it’s pungent. Heat half of the water to a boil and add it to the punch bowl. This will dissolve the sugar and get more lemon oil out of the peels. Add the rest of the ingredients, stir, and park it in the refrigerator for a couple hours. Add a big block of ice before serving.

Planter's Punch

The Myrtle Bank Hotel in Kingston, Jamaica, was one of the grand retreats for the rich, famous and powerful in the first half of the last century, particularly during Dow’s Revenge — a.k.a. Prohibition. A good Planter’s Punch is a lot simpler than the version you’re apt to find in most places that proffer one — there are no orange or red juices or syrups, and no need for a plastic dangling monkey or silly umbrella. This version is based on the recipe of the Myrtle Bank’s
legendary bartender, a fellow known
as Slippery.

Planter’s Punch a la Slippery

2 ounces white rum
1 ounce fresh lime juice
1 1/2 ounces simple syrup (1 cup sugar, 1 cup hot
water, stirred until clear)
2-4 dashes Angostura Bitters
Nutmeg
Smoked paprika

Shake the rum, lime juice and simple syrup with ice and strain into an ice-filled Old Fashioned glass. Grate a little nutmeg over the top and sprinkle a small pinch of the paprika.

Mai Tai

Partisans go back and forth over who invented the most famous Tiki drink of all time, the Mai Tai. Was it Don the Beachcomber or Trader Vic? It’s hard to argue with Vic’s position: “I originated the Mai-Tai. Anybody who says I didn’t create this drink is a stinker.” But Vic was more of an impresario than Donn, and there’s no doubt he re-styled his original restaurant, called Hinky Dink’s, into Trader Vic’s after seeing what Donn was doing with Polynesian flair. Who am I to say? 

In any case, the same caveat applies here as with Planter’s Punch — no silliness required. What is required, however, is Orgeat (pronounced or-zhat), a syrup made from almonds with a hint of orange-flower water. A pretty good one can be found at Micucci’s for just a couple bucks.

Mai Tai

1 ounce good Jamaican rum
1 ounce medium-bodied rum
3/4 ounce Cointreau or Triple Sec
3/4 ounce lime juice
1/2 ounce Orgeat

Shake with ice and strain into an Old Fashioned glass filled with crushed ice.

Lastly, we have the Mojito. I know what you’re thinking: the Mojito is obnoxiously ubiquitous. It’s even available pre-mixed, so it can’t possibly be a forgotten cocktail.

And you’re right — for its sheer quantity, the Mojito doesn’t belong on the endangered cocktail list. But when was the last time you had a good one — I mean a really, really good one?

What’s been forgotten here is technique and a simple understanding of mint. Here’s the deal: the flavor of mint lies not in the leaves, but on the leaves. Mint carries her identity in little oil sacks on the leaf’s surface, not in the cellulose structure of the leaf itself. Bludgeoning her into a kind of pesto releases the bitter, grassy and vegetal flavors that are the hallmarks of the well meaning, but bad, Mojito.

She benefits from a bath, too. Try this: Next time you buy some mint, give the bunch a whiff. You’ll find it a bit funky and earthy and not very “minty” at all. Now put it in a bowl in the sink and let some cold water run over it for a minute or two, then smell. Eureka!

Mojito

Put 3/4 – 1 ounce of simple syrup in a Collins glass with a fairly big helping of mint. With your muddler, gently stir the mint with the syrup, applying a little pressure against the sides of the glass (not downward!). Use the muddler to “paint” the inside walls of the glass as high as you can go.
Add 1 ounce fresh lime juice and 1 ounce of good white rum. Give this a good stir.
Fill with ice, top with soda, and garnish with a sprig of mint.

— John Myers