Years ago, in a galaxy so far away that I still had brown hair and hope for the world, I was visiting Seattle. It was around this time of year – mid to late March – and the weather was as schizophrenic then and there as it is here and now. Any three-hour section of the day could pair sun, rain, storm, hail, freezing cold, and warm in the sun, frigid in the shade.
By late afternoon, the cold and rain had won the battle and was accompanied by a deep fog that rolled in and brought a Castle Dracula comfort to things. We holed up at a café-bar on Puget Sound to warm up. The waiter asked for my order.
“Irish Coffee,” I said.
Irish Coffee was made for this weather. And I was right, but I did not know how right.
It seems that the very same conditions created the Irish Coffee back in 1943. This took place at Foynes Airport in County Limerick, Ireland, a hub of transatlantic flight during the war. It seems that flying boats were the thing back then, because if a flight wasn’t going well or the weather was too bad, the plane could land in the water and sail the rest of the way to America. Frankly, I don’t see why we don’t still do that.
Anyway, the story goes that one of these Pan Am boat flights out of Foynes Airport had to return due to bad weather. (I guess it was too rough for even the boat part of the plane.) And so, a group of probably grumpy and definitely wet American travellers filed back into the airport from their boat-plane. To scare away the singular misery that can only be born of failing to cross a large body of water in both a plane and a boat, Joe Sheridan – the chef at the coffeeshop in the Foynes terminal – made them Irish Coffees. When one of the passengers asked if the coffee was Brazilian, Sheridan said ‘no it’s Irish Coffee.’
If you’re familiar with any of the things in that story – travelling in miserable weather, flying, boat-planes, Irish whiskey, or coffee – then you feel that story’s satisfaction in your bones. For what could possibly be more joyous than getting off a bouncing boat-plane only to be treated to a drink with coffee, cream, sugar, and Irish whiskey?
Nothing.
The ‘creation’ of a cocktail is sort of like the ‘discovery’ of a lake or a mountain. It must be taken with a grain of ‘who first…’ salt. Henry Hudson and Jacques Marquette are credited with discovering Hudson Bay and the Mississippi, but it’s unlikely the people who had lived near those bodies of water for eons had failed to notice them before the 17th century.
Such could be argued about coffee and whiskey. Not to mention rum and coke and vodka and the nearest juice. Sure, Sheridan made a hell of a concoction. But was he the first person in Ireland to add whiskey and cream to coffee? Anyone who has endured a cold rain on a July afternoon in Cork knows there’s a solid chance someone had put the two together before 1943.
In fact, all over Northern Europe, where the cold and wet are part of life, fortifying coffee with booze has (and had) been a thing for a couple hundred years at least. Pharisäer in Germany’s North Frisia is almost a twin of Irish Coffee. Kaffekask in Sweden had been around before Irish Coffee. Also, in Russia, dumping a shot of vodka in a coffee had been practiced since both existed. Where there was wet and cold, there were hot boozy drinks. It’s pretty much the best part of living in the cold places.
Which is why it’s not hard to understand that, when Irish Coffee did make it across the pond, it wound up in San Francisco. It was brought to the Buena Vista Club near Fisherman’s Wharf by travel journalist Stanton Delaplane who had had the concoction in Ireland in 1950. By 1954, sales of Irish Whiskey were up 40% because of the Irish Coffee craze.
By this time, Joe Sheridan had also made his way to the US, but was working as chef at Chicago Airport. (The man had a niche, I suppose.) But as this was a dry airport, Chef Sheridan was not able to make his delectable treat for people who almost certainly needed one in the chilly, windy Midwest. He would go on to quit drinking a few years later, noting that whiskey didn’t agree with him whether in coffee or not. This lends a little mermaid irony to our story. But, alas, we have our drink. Today, we celebrate this blustery, stormy, gusty March with an Irish Coffee.
Ingredients
– Coffee
– Irish whiskey
– Cream
– Brown sugar
Instructions
Start out by pouring hot water into a mug Irish Coffee. Once it’s warmed, dump it out. Water has no place in that mug. Add an ounce and a half (about 40 ml) of Irish whiskey. At this point, I always take a pull or two on the bottle to make sure no nearby messiahs did a switcheroo on me. Then add 1–2 teaspoons of brown sugar. Pour in 120–150 ml of freshly brewed hot coffee and stir until the sugar is fully dissolved, which should create a hot, smooth base. Lightly whip some heavy cream so it thickens but still pours, then gently float it over the back of a spoon so it sits on top of the coffee. Do not mix the cream in. Drink it through the cream without stirring, so each sip possesses a bit of velvety whiskey, hot coffee, and cool cream. Drink to March weather, drink to the travel writer who brought Irish Coffee to the states, and drink to Joe Sheridan who hopefully lived out his life knowing that he made cold wet evenings a little more pleasurable.
