The Sazerac - The Spirit of New Orleans
A narrative of survival and the history of an iconic drink
The afternoon light filtered through the crimson curtains of the Kenmore Brothel, casting the parlor in a ruddy glow that made twelve-year-old Adeline Harrington squint as she concentrated on the ritual before her. With practiced precision, she swirled a small amount of absinthe in a glass, coating its interior before discarding the excess. Her small fingers worked with surprising dexterity as she placed a sugar cube on a slotted spoon and dripped three precise drops of Peychaud's bitters onto it.
"Not so heavy-handed with the bitters this time," came her mother's voice from the velvet settee. Marie Harrington, once the most sought-after woman in Storyville and now the establishment's madam, reclined with an arm draped dramatically across her forehead. "The last one gave me a frightful headache."
Adeline nodded, her auburn hair falling across her face as she carefully dissolved the sugar in a measure of rye whiskey. "Yes, Mama," she replied, her steel-blue eyes focused on her task.
The clock on the mantel read half-past four, still hours before the first clients would arrive, but Marie had already begun her daily descent. It had been this way since Adeline's father vanished two years ago.
"Perfect timing," came a booming voice from the doorway. Alderman Thomas Bouchard filled the frame, his substantial girth straining the buttons of his waistcoat. "I see Marie's teaching you the family business early."
Marie straightened immediately, her demeanor shifting from languid despair to practiced charm with unsettling ease. "Thomas, darling. You're early today."
Adeline handed her mother the finished Sazerac, the amber liquid glinting in the glass. Marie's fingers brushed against hers, cold despite the humid heat that permeated the brothel.
"Run along and finish your arithmetic, chérie," Marie instructed, though her gaze never left the Alderman. "Monsieur Bouchard and I have business matters to discuss."
But Adeline lingered by the door, pretending to gather her school things while straining to hear their conversation.
"That Basin Street expansion is moving forward," Bouchard said, lowering his voice. "Your little operation here might need to find new accommodations in a year or two."
"Nonsense," Marie replied, her Louisiana drawl thickening as it always did when she was negotiating. "Storyville isn't going anywhere. The good men of this city depend on our services too much to let that happen."
"The reformers are gaining ground, Marie," Bouchard warned. "Times are changing."
Adeline slipped away, climbing the back stairs to the small room she shared with her mother on the third floor. It was separated from the "working" rooms, a concession Marie had insisted upon when she returned to the Kenmore. The room was sparsely furnished but clean, with faded floral wallpaper and a small desk where Adeline completed her lessons.
From her window, she could see across Basin Street to where men in suits conducted their business in broad daylight. They were no different from the men who visited the brothel after dark—same suits, same self-important expressions—just pretending to be respectable during the day.
Later that evening, as piano music drifted up from the parlor and the brothel came alive with laughter and murmured conversations, Adeline sat cross-legged on her bed, a book of adventure stories open before her. Her father had given her the volume before his disappearance, and she'd read it so many times the spine had cracked in multiple places.
A soft knock at the door preceded the entrance of Constance, one of the younger women who worked at the Kenmore. Unlike most of the others, Constance always acknowledged Adeline's presence, treating her as more than just Marie's unfortunate circumstance.
"Your mama's asking for you, petit," Constance said gently. "She's entertaining Judge Williamson and the Police Commissioner tonight."
Adeline sighed, marking her place in the book. "More drinks?"
Constance nodded, her expression sympathetic. "Two, actually. She said to make them strong."
Downstairs, the brothel's parlor had transformed into a smoky salon. Crystal chandeliers cast a flattering light over the assembled men and women. Marie held court near the fireplace, her auburn hair piled elegantly atop her head, her green dress cut low to display the creamy expanse of her shoulders. Despite starting early, Marie's eyes remained sharp, calculating.
Beside her sat Judge Elias Williamson, his gray muttonchops meticulously groomed, and Police Commissioner Dawson, a man whose perpetually damp upper lip betrayed his nervousness despite his position of authority.
"Ah, there's my clever girl," Marie called out, gesturing for Adeline to approach. "Gentlemen, this is my daughter, Adeline. She makes the finest Sazerac in all of New Orleans."
"A bit young for bartending, isn't she?" the Commissioner observed, though he accepted the drink Adeline offered without hesitation.
"Nonsense," Marie replied, her words only slightly slurred. "In New Orleans, mixing drinks is part of a proper education, like learning French or playing the piano."
The men laughed, a sound that made Adeline's skin crawl. As she turned to leave, Judge Williamson caught her arm, his grip firmer than necessary.
"Those eyes," he said, his own gaze unnervingly direct. "Not like your mother's at all. Reminds me of someone, though I can't quite place who."
"Thank you, sir," Adeline replied automatically, though she felt a chill at his words.
"Let the child go, Elias," Marie interjected, her tone light but her eyes flashing a warning. "She has lessons to complete before bed."
As Adeline retreated, she heard the Commissioner lower his voice. "You really should consider sending her to that boarding school in Baton Rouge, Marie. This is no place for a child."
"She stays with me," Marie replied, a rare note of steel in her voice. "I've lost enough already."
Later that night, long after the last guest had departed and the house had fallen quiet, Adeline was awakened by the sound of breaking glass. She found her mother in the parlor, slumped in a chair, surrounded by the shattered remains of a glass. Marie's makeup had smeared, black rivulets of mascara trailing down her cheeks.
"Mama?" Adeline ventured cautiously.
Marie looked up, her eyes unfocused. "There you are, my beautiful girl," she slurred. "Come here."
Adeline approached hesitantly, avoiding the glass shards that glittered on the carpet. Marie pulled her close, enveloping her in the mingled scents of jasmine perfume, cigarette smoke, and rye whiskey.
"You're too smart for this place," Marie murmured, stroking Adeline's hair. "Like him. Too smart by half."
"Do you think he's still alive?" Adeline asked, the question she'd been holding back for two years finally escaping.
Marie laughed, a sound devoid of humor. "Who knows? But gone is gone, chérie. And this—" she gestured vaguely at their surroundings, "—this is what I know. What I'm good at."
"You could stop drinking," Adeline suggested quietly.
Marie stiffened, then sighed, her arms tightening around her daughter. "It helps me forget, just for a little while. When I drink, I can pretend I'm still the belle of Basin Street, not a woman alone with a child to raise and a man who vanished into thin air."
"I could help more," Adeline offered. "I hear things. I notice things."
Marie pulled back, studying her daughter's face with sudden clarity. "That's what I'm afraid of," she whispered. "You see too much already. The Commissioner's right—this is no place for a child."
"But you said I stay with you," Adeline reminded her.
"And you will," Marie affirmed, brushing a strand of hair from Adeline's face. "But perhaps... perhaps there's a middle path."
The following week, Marie introduced Adeline to Mr. Edward Thorne, a tall, thin man with wire-rimmed spectacles and meticulously combed silver-streaked hair. His clothes were of good quality but slightly worn at the cuffs and collar, suggesting former prosperity now faded. He carried himself with the rigid posture of someone accustomed to commanding respect, yet something in his careful movements spoke of a man walking on thin ice.
"Mr. Thorne was once the headmaster at the Belleville Academy for Young Ladies," Marie explained to Adeline, her tone carrying an unusual mix of deference and wariness. "He's agreed to provide you with proper instruction."
Thorne's pale gray eyes assessed Adeline with an unsettling thoroughness. "Your mother tells me you have an aptitude for your studies," he said, his voice cultured and precise. "Unusual in one so young, particularly given your... circumstances."
Marie's smile tightened at the edges. "Mr. Thorne understands the value of discretion," she said, a strange undercurrent in her voice. "And the importance of second chances."
The Sazerac stands as a testament to New Orleans' storied drinking culture and the city's unique ability to transform adversity into artistry. Born in the French Quarter's atmospheric haunts, this sophisticated blend of rye whiskey, Peychaud's bitters, and absinthe tells a tale of immigration, adaptation, and the enduring spirit of the Crescent City.
The story begins in 1793 when Antoine Amédée Peychaud, fleeing the Haitian Revolution, arrived in New Orleans with little more than his family's secret bitters recipe. By 1838, he had established an apothecary on Royal Street where he would dispense his aromatic bitters as a cure-all, mixed with brandy and served in the traditional French egg cup known as a coquetier -- which some claim incorrectly, is the origin of the word "cocktail."
The drink's evolution is inextricably linked to the Sazerac Coffee House, established in 1850 by Sewell Taylor on Exchange Alley. Taylor had the exclusive rights to import a cognac called Sazerac-de-Forge et Fils, which became the base spirit for what would eventually be known as the Sazerac cocktail. When Thomas Handy took over the establishment in 1870, he not only standardized the recipe but made a crucial modification in response to a crisis that would reshape the drink forever.
In the 1870s, the European wine industry was devastated by phylloxera, a microscopic pest that ravaged grape vines across the continent. As cognac became scarce and expensive, Handy made the pivotal decision to replace the French brandy with American rye whiskey -- a change that would define the Sazerac as we know it today.
The drink's other signature ingredient, absinthe, adds another layer to its colorful history. When absinthe was banned in 1912, the Sazerac adapted once again, embracing Herbsaint, a New Orleans-made anise liqueur, as its replacement. This local substitute helped maintain the drink's distinctive character through America's various waves of prohibition and regulation.
While the cocktail's history stretches back to the mid-19th century, the Sazerac Bar itself has its own storied evolution. The original Sazerac Coffee House on Exchange Alley was more than just a bar—it was a gathering place for businessmen, politicians, and the social elite of New Orleans. When Thomas Handy acquired it in 1870, he moved the establishment to the corner of Royal and Customhouse (now Iberville) streets, where its reputation continued to grow.
The true predecessor to today's Sazerac Bar was established in 1938 when Seymour Weiss, owner of the Roosevelt Hotel (then called The Fairmont), opened a new bar and named it after the famous cocktail. Located just off the hotel's opulent lobby, the art deco masterpiece featured African walnut paneling, Paul Ninas murals, and a long, curved bar that became the centerpiece of New Orleans social life.
During this golden age, the Sazerac Bar became known not just for its signature cocktail but for its historical significance in breaking down social barriers. In September 1949, a group of women staged what became known as the "Storming of the Sazerac," demanding service at what had been a male-only establishment. This bold move, coming decades before the civil rights movement gained national momentum, marked a significant moment in the city's social history and is commemorated annually at the bar with a parade. Check it out in the link below.
The Prohibition era posed challenges for the Sazerac tradition, though resourceful bartenders continued to craft the cocktail behind closed doors. When Prohibition ended in 1933, the Roosevelt Hotel was perfectly positioned to legitimize and elevate the Sazerac once again.
Hurricane Katrina in 2005 forced the Roosevelt Hotel to close, and with it, the Sazerac Bar. However, in a testament to New Orleans' resilience that mirrors the cocktail's own history of adaptation, the hotel reopened in 2009 after a $145 million restoration by the Waldorf Astoria Hotels & Resorts. The Sazerac Bar was meticulously restored to its former glory, with the original long bar, the Ninas murals, and the classic walnut paneling all returned to their art deco splendor.
Today's Sazerac Bar at the Roosevelt honors its heritage. The bartenders, many of whom represent generations of New Orleans cocktail tradition, wear white jackets as they did in the bar's heyday and maintain the ritual preparation of the Sazerac with reverent precision.
The Ritual of Preparation
The Sazerac's preparation is a carefully choreographed ritual. Two old-fashioned glasses are required -- one to be chilled with ice, the other to be coated with absinthe (or Herbsaint). The spiritual heart of the drink, Peychaud's bitters, is stirred with rye whiskey and sugar over ice. The chilled glass is emptied, coated with absinthe, and the excess is discarded. Finally, the whiskey mixture is strained into the absinthe-rinsed glass, and a lemon peel is twisted over the surface, releasing its oils.
The relationship between New Orleans and absinthe runs deeper than just the Sazerac. The city was one of America's primary ports of entry for the spirit during the 19th century, with French Quarter bars like the Old Absinthe House becoming legendary destinations. The ritual of the absinthe drip became a daily ceremony in New Orleans, with ornate fountains and spoons adorning bar tops across the city. Even during the nationwide ban, New Orleans' close ties to France and its tradition of gentle rebellion meant that absinthe, or close approximations, never entirely disappeared from the city's bars.
The lifting of the absinthe ban in 2007 sparked a renaissance for the Sazerac, allowing bartenders to return to the drink's original specifications. Today, craft distillers are producing American absinthes that would have been unimaginable a generation ago, while historic French and Swiss producers have returned to the U.S. market, giving bartenders an unprecedented palette of options for this crucial component.
In 2008, the Louisiana legislature named the Sazerac the official cocktail of New Orleans -- the first and only city in America to claim an official cocktail. This recognition acknowledges not just a drink, but a vital piece of New Orleans culture, one that has survived wars, prohibitions, natural disasters, and changing tastes. The Sazerac is one of only four cocktails that have a patent with the US patent office. (Click here to read about another one of the four, the Dark ‘n Stormy.)
The modern craft cocktail movement has embraced the Sazerac as a template for innovation while respecting its historic foundations. Some bartenders experiment with different whiskey expressions -- high-proof rye, bourbon, or even cognac-rye blends that nod to the drink's dual heritage. Others play with the bitters component, supplementing Peychaud's with aromatic or chocolate bitters. The sugar cube has given way in some venues to alternatives like cane syrup or local honey, reflecting both efficiency and regional character.
Today, the Sazerac Bar at the Roosevelt Hotel stands as the quintessential place to experience this historic cocktail. The bar serves approximately 20,000 Sazeracs each year, maintaining exacting standards while educating visitors about the drink's rich history. The bar's ambiance—with its rich wood paneling, comfortable leather chairs, and the famous murals depicting life in 1930s New Orleans—transports visitors to an earlier era of sophistication and conviviality.
The bar has become a required pilgrimage for cocktail enthusiasts from around the world, who come to experience the Sazerac in its spiritual home.
The Classic Recipes
The Modern Classic Recipe:
2 oz rye whiskey (traditionally Sazerac Rye)
1 sugar cube (or ¼ oz simple syrup)
4-5 dashes Peychaud's bitters
Absinthe or Herbsaint rinse
Lemon peel
The Original Recipe (circa 1850):
2 oz cognac (Sazerac-de-Forge et Fils)
1 sugar cube
3-4 dashes Peychaud's bitters
Absinthe rinse
Lemon peel
The Sazerac Bar's Preparation Method:
Rinse a chilled old-fashioned glass with absinthe, discard excess, ( or present it on the side in a shot glass )
In a mixing glass, muddle the sugar cube with Peychaud's bitters and a few drops of water
Add rye whiskey and ice, stir well
Strain into the prepared glass
Twist lemon peel over the drink, then discard
As cocktail culture continues to evolve, the Sazerac remains steadfast -- a liquid time capsule that captures the essence of New Orleans in every sip. The Sazerac Bar stands as the custodian of this tradition, a place where history is preserved and presented with each meticulously crafted experience.
Nice job on the research!