Need more whiskey

Xavier R. Dean

This is how the west was won. Hell. It’s how all the rest was won too.

You can trace the lineage of that most ancient of American cocktails, the Old Fashioned, directly back to Rock and Rye. Traditionally a mixture of fine rye whiskey combined with hints of citrus, the drink would be served to patrons leaving the amount of rock candy they wished to introduce to their drinks in their hands, a truly democratic and self-reliant cocktail recipe if ever there was one. First conceived and popularized in the saloons of the 19th century, it defined the era of America when men and women were kept busy laying the foundation for all the glories that would follow in the coming decades. Celebrated as a medicinal cure-all for everything from the common cold to asthma, it was also known as a refreshing tincture, and a license to unleash all manner of raucous hellfire if symptoms called for such a form of extreme therapy. As much as any of this nation’s great resources that were harvested and exalted, Rock and Rye was the fuel for America all those years ago.

Laying the cornerstone for the nation that would come to define the next 100 years–some call it the 20th century, while others know it as the American Century–that was hard work. And hard work’s reward is revelry and relaxation. And strong drink is a fine companion for both. The first Americans to regularly imbibe Rock and Rye earned their daily recompense. Covered in the mud of the earth and the spray of the sea, calloused hands motioned to barkeeps from the Atlantic to the Pacific to pour the rye and to keep it coming. These valiant workers could handle the rock candy themselves.

When the time came for America to get busy crushing fascism and inventing rock ‘n’ roll, Rock and Rye stood idle, corked up for a spell. It would have been a f ine compliment to Kerouac and Cassady as they gobbled up asphalt, forever pushing their luck, balling the jack, pedal to the floor, living life on the road. America is the nation of Davy Crockett, Horatio Alger, and Jimi Hendrix. This is Thomas Edison’s turf. Centuries since old Chris Columbus stumbled on shore looking for tea and spice or anything nice, America has been a land of promise. It still is today. And in the 1800s when these United States really started to pick up steam, to give form and function to this American Dream, it was Rock and Rye that was there day in and day out as a reward for an honest day’s work. And today, Rock and Rye is back and better than ever, the perfect libation for a new generation making its own rules, pushing the envelope in every way possible, down in the muck, crazed and driven, rowdy and hell-bent, unbowed, untouchable, unbreakable. A collection of Great Americans boldly putting their mark on this fresh new era.

So when some jabbering assneck cuts you off making you miss the exit that would have spit you out of the interminable clutches of the Santa Ana Freeway to eventually allow you passage onto the sweet open blacktop of Route 66, don’t sweat it. You’ve got nothing to occupy your brain for the next 3000 miles but those beautiful spacious skies and the guarantee of getting your hands on some sweet young prize that is draped in nothing but a gilded checkered f lag f luttering in a welcome breeze coming in off the East River.

There’s a u-turn somewhere not too far ahead and we all know that for well over a century there’s been a simple solution to anything that ails you, me and any other of our other afflicted American brethren. Just take it easy and enjoy the ride. As the sun heads due west saying aloha with a purple handed wave, turn in at the f irst sight of flickering neon, park where you want and stroll in through the front. There’s a familiar friend just behind the bar.

Hunker down and let the bartender know your need for that time-tested panacea that powered those who made this great land something to write home about.