“There are no second acts in American life.” –F. Scott Fitzgerald
“Yes there are.” –The Fitzgerald Cocktail
Yes, there are. Of course there are. F. Scott Fitzgerald was never more wrong than in this oft-quoted line from The Last Tycoon, and there’s ample evidence that he actually didn’t believe it, but regardless, my favorite argument against the sentiment is to point to the existence of the author’s namesake cocktail, the Fitzgerald, which is, in and of itself, a second act.
The Fitzgerald was invented by Dale DeGroff. To call DeGroff a “legend” in the cocktail world is still to somehow undersell it: He was resurrecting classics and using fresh ingredients back in the 1980s and ‘90s, nurturing the embers of what would become the global cocktail renaissance. When you trace the origin of a famous bartender—who trained that person, and who trained the person that trained them—if it was in America, it usually points to a single source. All roads lead to Dale DeGroff.
So anyway, DeGroff is working in the Rainbow Room in N.Y.C. in the ‘90s when someone comes in and asks for something more interesting than their standard Gin & Tonic, and DeGroff invents a drink on the spot. He starts with some gin, adds fresh lemon juice and simple syrup, essentially how you’d start a Tom Collins, but instead of soda water, adds a couple dashes of Angostura Bitters. The guest loves it. Someone else tries it. They love it. Everyone loves it. It’s a huge hit. DeGroff calls it the Gin Thing and wants to put it on the menu, but another customer wisely suggests he change the name to something more elegant. The menu already featured a Hemingway Daiquiri, and F. Scott Fitzgerald drank gin, so why not call it the Fitzgerald?
What DeGroff didn’t know—and this being the early 1990s, really couldn’t have known—is that a gin, citrus, and bitters cocktail already existed. It’s called a Bennett, named for a Chilean landowner of the era, and shows up in Robert Vermeire’s Cocktails: How to Mix Them, from 1922. We don’t know how popular it was (cocktail trend reporting is a newish phenomenon) but it was big enough to get swept up and reprinted in the hugely influential Savoy Cocktail Book in 1930. The Fitzgerald itself is the mixture’s second act. “I found out much later that what I had made already existed,” DeGroff wrote in his first book, “Oh, well…great minds, and all that rubbish.”
The Fitzgerald doesn’t get talked about all that much anymore, in part because it’s so basic. We bartenders are a tinkery bunch by nature, and something this foundational really begs to be infused or tinctured or muddled or otherwise festooned with the flavor of the week (Sochu and miso Fitzgeralds, anyone?). But all it takes is a single sip of a classic Fitzgerald to see that its simplicity is its strength: Like the Tom Collins or Daiquiri or Margarita, it has a clarity and an elegance that is difficult to argue against. This is a drink that people tend to love—elementally delicious, and yet with enough going on to keep the front of your brain occupied. DeGroff talks about how great it is for summer but personally I love it in the spring or fall, when the bright exuberance of fresh citrus is shaded in a touch by the textured cinnamon and cardamom of the bitters, but whenever you choose, the Fitzgerald is there, ready to be rediscovered and take the stage, yet again.
Fitzgerald
- 2 oz. gin
- 0.75 oz. lemon juice
- 0.75 oz. simple syrup
- 2 dashes Angostura Bitters
Add all ingredients to a cocktail shaker with ice and shake for eight to 10 seconds. Strain up into a cocktail glass or coupe, and garnish with a lemon peel.
NOTES ON INGREDIENTS
Photo: courtesy Beefeater
Gin: It’s hard to go too wrong here, though I tend to shy away from the gins north of 45 percent alcohol—they certainly can work if they’re charming enough (like Monkey 47), but things like Tanqueray tend to read a little hot. Beyond that, the world is your oyster—Beefeater is a perennial favorite, Aviation is pretty great with the bitters playing up its sarsaparilla note; Hendrick’s, Plymouth, Ford’s, use whatever gin you like.
Simple Syrup: Truly the simplest syrup, you can make syrup faster than you can make toast. Take a half cup of white sugar and a half cup of warm or hot water and combine in a bowl or pot. Stir until the sugar dissolves (about 15 seconds if the water is boiling, about 60 seconds if the water is room temperature), and you have simple syrup. Put it in the fridge and it’ll last a month.
Bitters: I didn’t mess with this variable as much as I could’ve. I suspect any aromatic bitters would work, as well as orange or Peychaud’s or anything else (DeGroff himself makes a pimento a.k.a. allspice bitters), but for all the Fitzgerald’s I’ve made in my life, I’ve only ever used Angostura. One of the reasons Angostura is so ubiquitous is that it has somehow struck the perfect balance and flavor profile to improve most any drink it touches. It’s mysterious, honestly. It’s one of maybe a half dozen bottles (alongside Campari and Benedictine and a couple others) that are absolutely indispensable.
Lime vs. Lemon: The Bennett originally used lime, so you could actually say it’s a different drink. Kinda. Back in 1922 you’d probably just use whatever you had. That said, I personally prefer lemon, but if all you have is lime, you should still make the drink.
