I am not claiming to be the Sentimental Gentleman. Not even a little. I am merely saying that I am a sentimental gentleman. I’m sentimental about it.
Let’s back up: The Sentimental Gentleman is a cocktail. It’s a terrific cocktail actually, a robust and resonant little autumnal sipper, composed of scotch whisky, the herbal French liqueur Bénédictine, and a (traditionally) Italian liqueur of green walnuts called nocino (“no-chee-no”). It was invented in 2012 by a bartender named Misty Kalkofen, at a bar called Brick & Mortar, in the Cambridge, Mass. neighborhood of Central Square.
All of this seems fairly straightforward, because it very much is straightforward. The only thing I have to add here is that I’m shocked to the point of embarrassment that I hadn’t heard of this cocktail before recently. It’s not just that it’s dead simple. It’s not just that is recruits that most admirable hard type of creativity, using ingredients that most bars already have lying around, nor merely that it is resolutely delicious, and the absolute perfect flavors for this time of year (malt, spice, roasted nuts) in the absolute perfect vehicle for this time of year (boozy, contemplative whisky drink). It’s that I used to live in Central Square. Misty Kalkofen was my cocktail hero. She made me the first proper drink of my life.
I’ve told this story before and I won’t belabor it here, but suffice to say that Misty, when I met her in 2007, wasn’t yet famous, but was sufficiently inspirational in her talent and intelligence and mastery of the craft that she showed me, then fresh out of college, that tending bar could be a career. I assume I would’ve gotten there eventually, but you never forget your first… so you might understand my surprise, then, when a guest at my restaurant a few months ago asks me for a Sentimental Gentleman cocktail, and, having never heard of it, I look it up and find that it is a Misty original, and a simple and world-class delicious one at that. It’s like finding out that Nirvana had a fourth studio album that you’d somehow never heard of. How on earth did this escape me?
In any case, if you, too, have never heard of the Sentimental Gentleman, now is the time to consider it. It is, as mentioned, scotch whiskey, walnut liqueur, and Bénédictine—the tasting experience starts low, with scotch’s deep malty base, and the walnut has a depth that somehow reads as a high note, a maple-like sweetness that arcs over the palate. As for the honeyed, spiced complexity of Bénédictine, it’s the emulsifier for the flavors, bringing them together into a single unified experience. The Sentimental Gentleman is deep and expressive, with a lovely autumnal sweetness that is kept in check by the cocktail’s considerable strength. It’s the ideal drink for one of those fall nights where you can feel the chill through the window pane—make one for yourself and sip it slowly while looking out into the darkness, and linger with sentimentality on the forces in your past that have helped to form you along the way.
Sentimental Gentleman
Add ingredients to a mixing glass with ice. Stir for about 10 seconds (if using small ice) or 20 seconds (if using big ice), and strain, either up into a coupe, or “down” into a chilled rocks glass without ice.
NOTES ON INGREDIENTS
Scotch: At Brick & Mortar they used a blended scotch called Douglas XO, which by reported accounts is sherry aged and has a subtle smoke on the finish. If you’re aiming to recreate this combination, I’d recommend one of the incredible single malts from Highland Park—the 18 year old is perhaps the best whiskey a person can buy for less than $200 and would be extraordinary here, but for cocktail work the 12-year works similarly well.
Personally, I found that smoke, while original, wasn’t necessary, or even recommended. You definitely don’t want too much of it—I made this with 2 oz. of Laphroig on a lark, and it went as poorly as you can imagine—but even a subtle smoke doesn’t improve the overall palate as much as you’d think. In other words, it doesn’t integrate, just a small smolder on the finish, so if you like that smoky exhale, feel free to chase it. It’s just not necessary. A solid, unsmoked blended malt like Monkey Shoulder or Compass Box Artists Blend is great. I also found that a robust Irish whiskey, like the pot still examples from Red Breast and the malt bottlings from Bushmills, worked great as well.
Just keep an eye on the strength of the whisky: Bénédictine is 80 proof and Nocino tends to be between 60-80 proof, so stay away from scotches over 46 percent alcohol, and even that might be too high. This is a serious little drink.
Bénédictine: Accept no substitutes. I’ll only add that Bénédictine and B&B look very similar, the former being the liqueur, and the latter being a pre-mix of the liqueur and brandy that the company started bottling in the 1930s. You want the classic Bénédictine.
Nocino: Nocino is minorly esoteric, but most well-stocked liquor stores and cocktail bars have a bottle tucked away somewhere. It’s made from green walnuts that are soaked in alcohol, sweetened, and (occasionally) spiced. Standout brands that I’ve worked with are Nux Alpina, Vicario, and Charbay (whose small batch bottling is, fittingly, called “Nostalgie”). All of them work.
Final note: You can make a delicious cocktail with just the scotch, Bénédictine, and black walnut bitters, but it’s not the same. The particular maple-like sweetness of the Nocino is integral to the profile, and bitters just don’t have it—they make a drink closer to a modified Rusty Nail, which has charms all its own, but a Sentimental Gentleman it ain’t.
Garnish: An orange peel works well here, but it was originally made without garnish, and that’s how I recommend it. An orange makes it friendlier, more charming, and if that’s your instinct feel free to give it a shot. It just feels less right to me. Sentimentality, to me, is shaded by a slightly bitter edge. It’s a part of it, and in this drink (and perhaps in life generally), it’s sometimes better to just embrace it.
Authors
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Jason O’Bryan