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"There is a man in the United States who knows everything about cocktails." David Wondrich (left) and one of our Dutch hosts. (C. Fernsebner)
Bostonist was unfashionably early for Bols Genever’s Boston launch party, but we were handed John Collinses the moment we stepped in from the late August heat. Two Dutchmen thanked us for our punctuality, and the Collinses were tall, cold, fizzing, and, we were informed, Original. Esteemed cocktail historian David Wondrich was on hand to explain that, at the dawn of mixology, genever wasn’t just “Holland gin,” un-dried and un-Londoned, but simply “gin.” Its resurgence is, thus, a boon to the cocktail history nerd, the moustache-rocking bartender, and the lay drinker who enjoys the fruits of the former’s labors.
Genever (pronounced jen-EE-ver-the British had a hard time with this, we’re guessing) should not be confused with gin as it’s commonly understood today. While gin is linearly related to genever, they are otherwise about as similar as, well, Dutch and English.
In a frantic attempt to recreate the malty and juniper-infused elixir called genever, the English inadvertently created London dry gin and the devastating craze that followed. It’s been called, retrospectively, the “Crack of the Eighteenth Century”—a tidbit that Wondrich possibly omitted from his history of genever to preserve Bols' secret plan of world domination through the reintroduction of the original “blue ruin.”
Now that we’ve got our xenophobic paranoia out of the way--Genever is officially recognized as a distinct and legally protected category of spirit, whose production is limited to traditional methods and traditional areas of production.
Figurative Appellation d'Origine Contrôlée in hand, Bols doesn’t mention “gin” anywhere on their svelte, smoky bottles, which tout the genever’s 50% maltwine content. It’s this malty base that distinguishes it from its grain neutral British descendents—in Wondrich’s shorthand, you can think of gin as “flavored vodka” and genever as “flavored whiskey.”
On the nose there is very little alcohol heat, with a distinct malty aroma with whispers of botanicals lurking in the background—think Jason Newsted’s bass lines on …And Justice For All. Malt is strong on the tongue with juniper just creeping in but promptly balanced by citrus and herbal notes and finishing quite smooth with low heat on the finish. We can only attempt to describe the flavor of the malt as a barely sweet breadiness or yeastiness. There is something quite rustic and funky about it.
Bols master distiller Piet van Leijenhorst, brandishing an ancient recipe book in his gloved hands, recited a litany of botanicals, including juniper berry, licorice, hops, angelica, "and an ingredient which I won't tell you, which is my secret." This last mystery is responsible for a slight tingling on the tongue.
Those who are scared of gin will find little to fear in this product. Yes, there is juniper in it, but this note does not dominate as in London dry. Genever uses the botanicals to highlight and complement the unique base spirit; the botanicals are not The Flavor as such.
Bols’ isn’t the only Holland gin available locally: Bostonist has been finding Anchor Distilling’s domestic “Genever-style gin,” Genevieve in Boston liquor stores since last year. It’s heavier on the juniper, though, and when used in something like the Holland House Cocktail, it lends a sharper, Pinesol-ier finish.
This pre-prohibition drink is like the Aviation’s butch cousin, and Bostonist has continued researching it at home. For readers who wish to reproduce the results of our rigorously scientific taste tests, the recipe* is as follows:
The Holland House
1 3/4 oz. genever
3/4 oz. dry vermouth (we’ve been using Dolin, but Noilly Prat works just fine)
1/2 oz. lemon juice (the kind that comes out of a lemon, rather than a bottle, because you’ll need the stuff on the outside of the lemon, too)
1/4 oz. maraschino liqueur (Luxardo)
Shake and strain into a chilled, ornate cocktail glass. Squeeze a piece of lemon peel over the surface of the beverage, so that it’s sprayed with the delicious oil that lives in the rind, and then rub it along the rim of the glass. (Seriously, do that: it’s a different drink without this step, and it makes the differences between the Bols and Anchor spirits more dramatic.)
*The version in the Savoy Cocktail Book called for a slice of pineapple. It's just dandy without.
J.D. McLawyerpants (née McLawschoolpants) contributed substantially to this post.
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