They’re too specific to be prescribed for every moment-their best incarnation leans a touch strong, and a touch tart-but take a sip of a proper Sidecar at the beginning of a fancy night out, or just out of work on a Friday, and tell me it doesn’t taste like true love. It’s electric and demands attention, with each sip refreshing but still capable of putting you on your heels. A well-made Sidecar is a high-stakes game, all the features of a classic sour but even more so: The acidity is racier, the sweetness more voluptuous, the spirit not just good but seductive, and the balance bracing. Yes, I may have unwittingly dedicated my early bartending career to exploring all the many ways to make a Sidecar poorly, but I have since learned. I have come to see: The Sidecar can be sublime. There’s a reason it’s lasted 100 years, a reason why experts from the ‘40s all the way to the modern era list the Sidecar among the half dozen most important drinks in existence, and a reason why you can find bars from New York to New Delhi naming themselves after it. A sour balanced with orange liqueur can be challenging, but once you spend some time with it, ensure quality ingredients and perfect the balance, you begin to understand. It defines a whole category of drinks, one that represents not only esoteric favorites like the White Lady but undefeated people’s choice champions like the Margarita. While not simple, what the Sidecar is is foundational. More alcohol demands more sweetness, but in this case, the sweetness itself brings alcohol. What’s more, one of the hidden requirements about making a Sidecar worth drinking is that you absolutely must use a top-quality orange liqueur, all of which are full 80 proof, so now our once-easy balance becomes a three-dimensional target: We always have to make sure our drinks are neither too sweet nor too tart, but now also not too strong. Orange liqueur is not only less sweet than sugar, but it also contains alcohol. This may seem like a simple substitution, but it’s not. Those others use sugar as a sweetener-the citrus’s sour balances the sugar’s sweet, and the spirit sits on top-while in a classic Sidecar, the sole sweetener is orange liqueur. Admittedly, at only three ingredients there aren’t a ton of moving parts, and on first blush it looks like a basic sour, just like the Daiquiri or Tom Collins or any of the other dead-easy drinks out there, but the Sidecar has a twist. In recipes and write-ups, you’ll hear it frequently referred to as simple, which is almost true. What gives?Īs it turns out, the Sidecar is a tricky drink. Tom Macy says, “it’s in my pantheon of all-time favorites.” Jeffrey Morgenthaler calls the Sidecar “the first cocktail I would eventually fall deeply in love with.” Well hey, falling in love sounds pretty great, but here I am, microwaving dinner for one. Here’s David Wondrich, in his 2007 Imbibe, asserting that “life without Sidecars would be very dreary indeed.” Dave Arnold calls it “a fantastic drink.” It goes on and on like this.
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