![]() Of the latter establishment, Hemingway would comment that “The only thing worth drinking is a Sidecar”. Hemingway was naturally one of the more dedicated acolytes, regularly dispatching Sidecars from his favourite Parisian haunts, the Ritz and Harry’s New York Bar. The disillusioned young American writers who frequented Paris in the 1920s adopted the drink, most notably Ernest Hemingway, F. Perhaps the Sidecar is so named because it takes the drinker for quite a ride? No question that somebody has been taken for a ride over this one.įorgetting its origins, the heyday of the Sidecar coincided with the Jazz Age and Prohibition. Both Harry’s New York Bar and Le Petit Bar at the Ritz (now called the Hemingway Bar) in Paris claim the invention of the Sidecar, as did several famous bartenders of the 1920s. The roar of the engine faded, the rider vanished into the fog of war, and only controversy remained. Truth be told, all that is known for certain is that on finishing his drink, the anonymous officer smacked his lips, buttoned his trench coat, and drove off in his sidecar. But the barman obliged with an improvised aperitif based on cognac, Cointreau and lemon juice The American soldiers had the most uncultured tastes cognac was traditionally an after-dinner drink. The café hit on the idea of using this novel concoction to pacify rowdy American soldiers while divesting them of their pay. Not much caring for the cognac, but not wanting to waste his drink, the officer impulsively took his dish of crepes and poured a little of the tangy orange liqueur sauce into his glass. Years of war had ravaged cognac stocks and the best on offer was decidedly inferior. Some eyewitnesses report that the officer actually sauntered into a café and ordered a leisurely meal followed by Crepes Suzette and cognac. War is a confusing business even when sober, and it should come as no surprise that the above is but one version of events. The American was delighted, the barman smugly satisfied, the drink a winner. But the barman obliged with an improvised aperitif based on cognac, Cointreau and lemon juice. These were peculiar times for bar owners. Seeking relief from the tension engulfing the city, an American officer ducked into a bar and requested an aperitif containing cognac for warmth and lemon for his dreadful head cold. Could disaster be averted? And whichever way the winds of war blew, how long would the cognac last? ![]() While the French fled, American soldiers streamed in to muster a last ditch defence. Surrender looked inevitable, but perhaps there was faint hope in America’s late entry to the war. ![]() Shells thudded incongruously into genteel boutiques as the German super-guns found range. World War One’s Spring Offensive of 1918 had broken the French lines and the Kaiser’s troops were reportedly mere hours away. Seamus Harris reports a wartime whimsy from the jazz age that became the basis for a whole family of drinks.
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