As we pulled up to the sidewalk and stretched our legs after 5 hours on the road an affable tall man in a white coat helped us with our bags before taking the keys in exchange for a valet ticket. Approaching the check-in desk through the marbled opulence of the lobby we knew this would be a stay in New Orleans like no other. 

“Just take the Royal Elevators up. Right over there.” Finding our room we could feel history emanating from the walls. The joi de vivre of a century’s worth of guests. The Royal Salon room we splurged on was amazing and many nights after consuming as much music, food, drinks, and culture we could imbibe were spent in the deep marble tub with only our heads and a wine glass floating in the steam. 

On our first day, though, we freshened up, changed clothes, and made our way back downstairs to find two fortuitous seats waiting for us at The Carousel Bar. We stayed for one full rotation around the circular spinning bar taking in the ornate carved reliefs, carnival lighting, and circus themed art. We sipped our first drink slowly under the canopy of colorful pomp and circumstance. The second cocktail disappeared a bit quicker. 

I had done some research on the special places I wanted to visit, choosing Hotel Monteleone partly because it housed this famous lounge, but I didn’t realize at the time the New Orleans original drink we were so excited to order in the city it was invented was actually first mixed up right there where we were sitting. This is gonna be a big episode so put some Professor Longhair on the radio, keep the gumbo on the stove - don’t forget the filé seasoning, and settle in for a spell as we explore the life and times of the Vieux Carré. 

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Tony and this is Pod Tiki.   

One can’t really call New Orleans diverse because all the unique facets have amalgamated into a monolith of culture all its own. From Mardi Gras Indians, all the different definitions of Creole, African slaves, French colonial, pirates, VooDoo, LGBTQ, and of course drinking. Whether you’re in an opulent hotel or ambling along Bourbon Street no one can deny the crescent city’s contribution to cocktail culture and I can’t think of any other place that so well exemplifies its culture in its drinks. French Cognacs, American whiskeys, Caribbean rums, and throw in some absinthe for good measure. But, before we build today’s cocktail we have to build the place where today's cocktail was invented. 

Antonio Monteleone emigrated from Sicily to New Orleans, Louisiana in 1880. A cobbler by trade, he did well for himself with a little shop on Royal Street. Cobblerin’ must’ve been good money back then because when the Commercial Hotel came up for sale down the street from his shop, well, he dove into the hotelier business. 

Upon entering the 20th century Antonio expanded the hotel fashioning it into a New Orleans experience par excellence. One that by 1908 was worthy of his family name. Thus, Hotel Monteleone was born. Before researching this before my stay I had no idea there was such a large Italian community in New Orleans. The muffaletta makes more sense now. 

By the time Antonio died in 1913, passing the hotel to his son, Frank, the Monteleone had become a prestigious gathering place for locals and celebrities alike. 

Frank took the Monteleone head first into the roaring twenties leaning heavily into the jazz craze that set the backdrop for a nation’s frivolity. Frank’s leadership is credited for surviving Hotel Monteleone through the Great Depression. The late 20’s and early 30’s saw more rounds of expansion and added the Swan Room, a bar and lounge that boasted Liberace as their first performance. Entertainers took to hanging out in the lounge after shows which quickly solidified the bar as the place to be. 

Emerging once again from the fogs of vicissitude the hotel underwent another huge expansion after WW2. In times of economic turmoil and geopolitical upheaval there are some who still stand to profit. It seems some things never change. 

It was during these additions in 1949 when the Swan Room became the Carousel Bar. The circular bar topped with a red and white striped circus tent top surrounded by stationary stools used a system of chains and rollers beneath the floor to the rotate the entire bar. Making a full revolution every 25 minutes patrons perched atop their seats like so many carnival horses would presumably find it hard to discern when they’d had too many as the room was literally spinning. 

Over the next half century the Carousel Bar continued the legacy of being a gathering place for socialites. To borrow a line from Taylor Swift, “The who’s who of who’s that.” This is when the hotel garnered its reputation for a hub of literary culture with such infamous guests as Tennessee Williams, William Faulkner, and Ernest Hemingway whose eponymous suite resides just beside the rooftop pool where my wife and I would take our afternoons sipping Pimm’s Spritz in the bayou sun. 

In 1992 the Carousel Bar was upgraded from a basic carnival tent design to a full on circus carousel theme complete with the aforementioned carvings of jester faces and cherubs, linear bulb lights, and new seats with high backs painted in animal and circus act murals. If you follow the Pod Tiki Instagram @pod_tiki I believe there are pictures of us there. My first drink was a Sazerac, the best I’d ever had, and my second was the Vieux Carre, which they serve on the rocks. Because they were our first drinks after a 5 hour drive I couldn’t tell if it was the room or my head spinning but I was able to notice that the bar was an unbroken circle with a column shelf in the middle storing bottles. When I asked the bartender how they got in and out he answered with a tacit arching arm motion that said “over the top!” 

The Carousel Bar was one of the places on my list of why I wanted to visit New Orleans. We went a few times during our stay and it did not disappoint. Evenings found the room packed and spilling over into the adjoining lounge where a jazz band still played like the twenties. Partakers sipped whiskey and Cognac drinks while drifting from conversations with friend and stranger alike and sharing the bar with the ghosts of how many bibulous souls. 

That the bar still spins on those original two thousand ball bearings is a testament to how culture continues to spin through time. There is no replacement for face to face social interaction. 

Hotel Monteleone and the Carousel Bar are magnificent works of opulent engineering, but I contend it’s the people who visit that earned the hotel in 2007 its ranking among the Historic Hotels of America. And, considering how the lights above the jacuzzi in our room would cut out every night only to work perfectly the next morning, it seems some souls loved it so much they never checked out. Like the watchful portrait of Antonio Monteloene who still looks over the lobby with pride. 

A pride shared by Walter Bergeron, no relation to Vic as far as I can tell, who was the head bartender of Carousel Bar in 1938 when it’s purported he stirred up the first Vieux Carre. Vieux carre translates to “old square”, and is named after an old term for the French Quarter. The drink shares some similarities with the Sazerac. But where sazerac separates the American whiskey and French Cognac versions, Walter embodied the true melting pot nature of the French Quarter by slamming the two styles of drinking together. 

With a split base of Cognac and rye whiskey, Peychaud’s and Angostura bitters, sweet Vermouth, and throw some Benedictine in there, it covers the eclectic blend of French, American, Italian, and spiritual that made up historical New Orleans culture. It’s jazz in a glass. 

Come to think of it, Don the Beachcomber hailed from New Orleans. One wonders if some of his wild creativity about mixing different cultures in the glass were inspired by the Big Easy. Speaking of Don Beach, who opened his first location the day after prohibition was repealed, you might be wondering how the Monteleone managed to stay such a hot spot during prohibition. The answer is, well, New Orleans never really acknowledged it. It sounds crazy but it seems even though the Volstead Act was in effect on paper New Orleans was historically such a port of call for rumrunners, bootleggers, and, well, the French, that lawmen turned a blind eye. Some even adopted an, “if you can’t beat’em, join’em” approach. 

The Vieux Carre is a pretty beloved cocktail, and it is a true cocktail by definition, so there’s no real controversy to speak over preparation of ingredients. In fact, even that there’s two ways of serving it seems to be ok with people. Carousel Bar, where the drink was invented, serves it on the rocks. As do most establishments. But it’s perfectly acceptable to request it straight up in a cocktail glass. That is how my wife and I prefer them and, even though the Carousel Bar is legendary, my favorite Vieux Carre I had in New Orleans was from Napoleon House. Maybe it was because the bartender making them there had a creole accent. 

In the place that gave us the Hurricane and the Sazerac, Vieux Carre is like a step up to a finer, epicurean, experience. It’s also a big boy drink as far as alcohol content. It’s the who’s booze of New Orleans drinking. Notwithstanding the city’s reputation for indulgence the other side of that is an experienced moderate enjoyment. Sure, one can party all day and get drunk. And by one, I mean me and the thousands of people who alighted on Bourbon street for the annual Red Dress Run, which took place while we were there. But, there are other times that a drink here or there between sightseeing or listening to some street jazz suits the occasion just right. The locals are very attuned to the notion of responsible drinking and it wears off on you when you’re there. You don’t want to be perceived as another drunken tourist invader. That’s how we differ here in Nashville where we are right there getting drunk alongside our invaders. 

There’s a level of enjoyment that comes from savoring a Vieux Carre after a meal of seafood gumbo or accompanying the sounds of jazz piano on Frenchmen Street.  I can wax rhapsodic about Vieux Carres all day. But, you know what’s better than talking about them? Drinking them. Let’s make a drink!  

The ingredients and measurements are straightforward and agreed upon across all my usual sources and the International Bartender’s Association. A seldom virtue among often convoluted cocktail history. We’re gonna start with rye whiskey. My choice here is Rittenhouse Rye. We go into detail regarding the Rittenhouse brand and the history of Bottled in Bond whiskies in our Sazerac episode available in the archive on PodTiki.com or streaming on Spotify, Apple podcasts, or iHeart radio. If you want to keep the drink more pure in New Orleans you can still purchase bottles of Sazerac Rye Whiskey from the Sazerac House which I believe is distilled there. If you’re getting it anywhere else it comes from the Buffalo Trace distillery in Kentucky. In which case I personally believe Rittenhouse is a better product for a better price. Coming in under $40 per bottle I repeatedly searched for other option thinking more expensive meant better only to return to the house of Ritten. 

Then we’ll need Cognac. In the past you may’ve heard me tout Pierre Ferand, which is a very fine Cognac. But, as my tastes mellow with age I find it to be a bit hot on the palate. These days I’ve been liking Martell, a very nice Cognac with more body and sweetness versus alcohol bite. Both of these work wonderfully in cocktails of this nature so, which you choose depends on what you prefer to sip on neat. Full transparency, that factors heavily into my spirit choice. Unless the recipe calls for a specific brand I usually pick what I like neat so the bottle doesn’t sit there taking up space in my bar. 

When it comes to Italian rosso vermouth I absolutely have a preference. Carpano Antica Sweet Vermouth is an amazing product that compliments, if not defines, such classics like the Manhattan and Negroni, as well as being a fine cordial. This runs $20 for a 375ml bottle which is all you need seeing as how, being a wine product, vermouth starts going bad once you open it. If you choose to go with a more cost approbative option just make sure that it’s a fresh bottle and not that one that’s been hiding in the refrigerator door since you went through that Negroni phase during covid. 

The final main ingredient is Benedictine. If you’re making the drinks along with us you probably have some left over from the Singapore Sling episode. We did a deep dive in that episode but Benedictine is a herbal liqueur that is, yes, made by benedictine monks in Fecamp, France. There are some cool stories there so fo back and listen to that episode if you haven’t. Or, if you had it on in the background and weren’t listening. Hey, I get it. I listen to so many podcasts passing the time at work that I barely recall what I learned this morning. 

Lastly, we’ll need Peychaud’s and Angostura Bitters. In the Sazerac episode we also heavily discussed Antoine Peychaud and his part in the invention of the cocktail as we know it. Good stuff. 

And the recipe is:

¾ oz Rye Whiskey

¾ oz Cognac

½ oz Vermouth

¼ oz Benedictine

2 dashes Angostura Bitters 

2 dashes Peychaud’s Bitters

Stir everything with plenty of ice and strain into a cocktail glass or small rocks glass. You may’ve noticed the ½ oz amount of vermouth when every recipe out there calls for ¾. Much like the city of New Orleans itself the Vieux Carre cocktail requires a precariously delicate balance to keep it copacetic. Otherwise, it can devolve rapidly into chaos. Crafting the perfect version necessitates the experience and expertise of a weathered mixologist. I’m not saying I am that, but I do have a decent palate. I found that going a little light on vermouth rendered a drink more akin to what I tasted in New Orleans. 

Another congruent between the city and the drink is the explosion of flavor. The first sip of a Vieux Carre is just as pleasantly in your face as a walk down Bourbon Street on Saturday night or a bowl of filé gumbo. It’s an omnipotent experience. All the notes are exaggerated but harmonious. The texture silky, the rye bite, the rich sweetness even though there’s no added sugar, all come together in a distinct slice of Americana. Because all those nationalities in one drink combined to create something new and greater than the sum of its parts is indeed a microcosm of America. 

If I’m attempting to break down the profile I would say the whiskey bite is sweetened and softened by cognac and vermouth, the latter adding a patina of regal whimsy to the otherwise full bodied libation. The bitters are definitely necessary and the Peychaud’s gives an essence of anise even though there’s none in there. Basically it’s bold and rich. I can understand why some folks prefer it over ice. 

Another distinguishing characteristic is how boozy it is. I actually had to split my tasting up into two days, because after two Vieux Carres I was too tipsy to properly taste anything. And that’s coming from a Tiki guy. The problem is they’re actually pretty delicious and, much like the city of New Orleans, the indulgence seems acceptable.  

Not since Havana has my heart been penetrated so deeply by a place. There is something special about New Orleans. It’s in the music, the history, the way locals speak about their home. It’s in the food and the heavy air. It emanates through cracks in jagged sidewalks. It’s in the artwork on the walls of Tremé, the statues in Armstrong Park, and spills out from bars on Bourbon street. It spins around the Carousel Bar, rests in the hallowed halls of Monteleone, and it’s in the French Quarter, the Old Square, the Vieux Carre. 

Ladies and gentleman, my name is Tony, and this has been Pod Tiki. 

Sources: liquor.com, diffordsguide.com, imbibe.com, Wikipedia, gardenandgun.com Spin Through Seventy-Five Years of Carousel Bar History  By Jenny Adams, historichotels.org

Most of all thank you for listening and Keepi Tiki!