The Brandy Alexander is possibly the most insidious mixture in the cocktail kingdom. Like a delicately bronzed débutante hiding brass knuckles beneath creamy white cotillion gloves, it packs a surprising punch if handled without sufficient care.
Just ask the former First Lady of the American Theatre, Helen Hayes. A famous teetotaler, Hayes consumed three at a party before realizing there was hooch in them. She had to be carried home.
I was first introduced to the drink by Anthony Blanche, an effete provocateur with a mild stammer and varnish on his toenails in the 1981 Granada Television production of Brideshead Revisited. As four glasses of nutty-brown liquid are placed on the bar between himself and his drinking companion, Charles Ryder, Blanche delivers a few simple lines that have stayed with me since my early adolescence:
“Two for you and two for me. Yum. Yum.” When Blanche interprets Ryder’s question “What is it?” as disapproval, he drinks them all in quick succession.
“One. Two. Three. Four. Down the little red lane they go. How the students stare!”
In my early twenties at a bar in Venice, California, I ordered four Brandy Alexanders from a rough looking bartender who, stymied by my request, turned his back to discreetly consult his cocktail manual. I’d intended to reenact the scene for a friend, because I wanted to seem louche and dangerous, like Mr. Blanche, and I needed convincing props. I did the entire schtick with the occasional rolled “r”, shotgunning all four in rapid succession, which resulted in my audience-of-one being not only confused, but annoyed that I had just bought several cocktails for myself and none for him.
I remember neither that friend’s name nor how I managed to get home that night, for reasons that should be obvious, if you’ve been paying attention.
Several years later in San Francisco, I was having drinks with another friend, and the topic of the Brandy Alexander arose once again. Probably by me.
“Hey, isn’t it a Brandy Alexander that turns Lee Remick into a raging alcoholic in Days of Wine and Roses?” he asked. He is also mildly obsessed with old movies.
He was also correct. In an early scene from the film, Jack Lemmon orders Remick a Brandy Alexander because she hates the taste of alcohol, but is “practically nutty” about chocolate and it was all downhill and an Oscar nomination from there.
Not long after that conversation, another friend had just finished working on a production of John Patrick Shanley’s play Savage in Limbo and told me one of the play’s characters says of the Brandy Alexander: “My mother drank four of those one Christmas, and she died. She drank four of ‘em and then she started breathin’ out. Ssss. And she never breathed in again. She exhaled and expired.”
Even the great Canadian philosopher Feist has been telling anyone who will listen that Brandy Alexanders always get her into trouble.
There is so much truth in art.
I’m not certain what it is about my personality that causes people to share Brandy Alexander-related scenes from film and theater with me, but I’m fine with it. In fact, I’m rather glad of it.
These tragic illustrations serve as reminder to never drink Brandy Alexanders because things will not end well. Or almost never drink them. I had to make two batches in order to write this essay and was compelled to consume them because, let’s face it, I’m more than a thousand paid subscribers away from marginal self-sufficiency and I can’t afford to waste good liquor.
Brandy Alexander
There is talk in certain circles that this particular cocktail was created in honor of the marriage between Mary, Princess Royal and Viscount Lascalles in 1922. Although Mary may have been in dire need of alcohol to cope with a loveless match, naming cocktails in honor of the royal weddings has always been frowned upon by the Saxe-Coburg-Gotha Windsor family. Remind me to describe the Fergie Fizz to you some time.
Personally, I prefer the unsubstantiated claim that the Brandy Alexander was named for Alexander Woolcott, a man very fond of said cocktail who-- as the inspiration for Sheridan Whiteside in The Man Who Came To Dinner-- would have driven anyone within his general vicinity to drink.
Makes one cocktail. For multiple Brandy Alexanders , please study this chart.
Ingredients:
• 1 ounce brandy (for a drink in which you can actually taste the alcohol and therefore better pace yourself, use 2 ounces)
• 1 ounce dark Crème de Cacao (pronounced "ko-ko", so I recently learned)
• 1 ounce heavy cream
• Ice cubes
• Freshly grated nutmeg for garnish
Preparation:
Place ice into the tumbler of a cocktail shaker. Pour all three liquids over the ice, close the lid tightly, and shake vigorously.
Pour your now-frothy drink into a chilled (small) martini glass or dainty coupe, garnish with a pinch of nutmeg, and prepare to meet your own doom. Or at least get into a little Feisty trouble.
Bottoms up and keep your powder dry,
Michael
Also, I knew of a girl in school named Brandy Alexander. Not sure if she kept her powders or her bottom dry.
OMG. Really. I haven't thought about this in YEARS. But somewhere there are pictures of me on top of a bar in a pink striped shirtwaist dress....Brandy Alexander was my drink of choice until I ended up in a strange city with, well never mind, you know...I had to switch to straight shots of Wild Turkey. It was safer.