(Jeffrey Morgenthaler's) Amaretto Sour
- 1½ oz Amaretto
- ¾ oz Cask-proof bourbon
- 1 oz Lemon juice
- 1 tsp Simple syrup
- ½ oz Egg white or Vegg White vegan egg white alternative
- Dry shake all ingredients (without ice) for 20 seconds. Add ice and shake again for 20-30 seconds. Strain over a large rock of ice into an Old Fashioned glass.
- Garnish with a lemon peel and brandied cherries.
Happy Friday, friends!
In this final Flavor Note before Christmas, I’m making good on a promise: gifting you one of my favorite cocktails. Much like the Christmas Eve tradition where kids get to open one present early—new pajamas were always the rule in my house—this week you get to “open” a gift of your own: Jeffrey Morgenthaler’s reinvention of the Amaretto Sour.
I’ve mentioned Jeffrey Morgenthaler here before with his Flannel Shirt. After running the bar programs at Clyde Common and Pépé Le Moko for nearly a decade, he now co-owns Pacific Standard, which opened in 2022. During his tenure at Pépé Le Moko, he set a simple but provocative mission for the menu: “There are no bad drinks, only bad bartenders.”
That philosophy led to the thoughtful rehabilitation of several cocktails long dismissed as relics of the 1980s—Long Island Iced Teas, Alabama Slammers, Fuzzy Navels.
(Remind me to tell you someday what I did with my Long Island Iced Tea on my 21st birthday in Santa Cruz.)
Among all those revisions, none became more famous than his take on the Amaretto Sour.
Sour cocktails, which gained popularity in the 1960s and ’70s, were meant to be simple: take a base spirit, add citrus and sugar, and call it a day. But sours are deceptively delicate. Without careful balance between bitter citrus and sweetness, they quickly fall flat—or worse, cloying.
In 1974, Disaronno (then Amaretto di Saronno) published a recipe for the Amaretto Sour that aimed to simplify things even further. The amaretto would serve as both base and sweetener, balanced by lemon juice. And just like that, the drink was born.
But as Morgenthaler rightly observed, the classic Amaretto Sour was thin and fragile. Without a true base spirit, it lacked structure—no backbone to hold everything together.
His solution was elegant: add cask-strength bourbon.
The bourbon provides a foundation without overpowering the drink. Its caramel sweetness, baking spice, and barrel notes layer seamlessly with the almond character of the amaretto, while also counterbalancing the sharp brightness of fresh lemon juice. With that added depth, the drink needs far less simple syrup—another subtle improvement.
On the palate, the egg white (or vegan alternative) makes the first impression, offering a soft, creamy frame for the bright citrus that follows. The almond notes of the amaretto emerge next, bringing hints of vanilla, caramel, and stone fruit. Beneath it all, the bourbon quietly asserts itself—adding warmth, structure, and a gentle sting from its higher proof.
Each ingredient plays a precise role, transforming a once-maligned classic into something balanced, modern, and deeply satisfying.
So this Christmas Eve, treat yourself to a new-and-improved Amaretto Sour. It fits the season as comfortably as the coziest pair of pajamas you ever unwrapped the night before Christmas.
Thinking ahead to next week—and to the Amaretto Sours I’ll be making for myself and my family—I’m reminded of the Christmas movies we return to every year. My wife and I have already started with our essentials: Love Actually and Elf.
In the case of Love Actually, it was the last movie we saw in a theater in November 2002 before our daughter was born. My mother-in-law had already arrived to help during those early days, which made certain scenes—particularly the workplace romance on the adult film set—more than a little awkward to watch together.
Elf, on the other hand, came out the following year, when our daughter was one—too young to enjoy it at the time. But within a few years, it became a permanent fixture in our holiday rotation.
At its heart, Elf is a proof-of-concept story—SaaS terminology sneaking into Christmas cinema—that Santa exists and keeps meticulous records. Buddy’s half-brother proves it by reading a reporter’s Christmas wish straight from Santa’s book:
“Charlotte Denon wants a Tiffany engagement ring and for her boyfriend to stop dragging his feet and commit already.”
By the mid-1970s, department stores leaned hard into that idea. Sears famously mailed out its massive Christmas “Wish Book,” an inch-thick catalogue that landed in mailboxes across the U.S. In Canada, families received catalogues from Sears (formerly Simpson-Sears) and Eaton’s—though Sears’ enthusiasm for excess often dwarfed the Eaton’s edition.
As a kid in the ’70s, I pored over those pages, inch by inch, assembling a wishlist my parents kindly offered to mail to Santa on my behalf. And come Christmas morning, some of those wishes came true—proving Santa’s existence beyond reasonable doubt. One year, it was the Evel Knievel Stunt Cycle, which spent months flying down my driveway.
Today, the catalogues are gone. So are many of the department stores—J.C. Penney, Lord & Taylor, Montgomery Ward, Mervyn’s in the U.S., and more recently, The Bay here in Canada.
As adults, our Christmas wishes tend to shift. Peace where there is war. Support for families in need through food and toy drives. Building community and friendships through efforts like the Kelowna Newcomers Club.
Closer to home, I’d be grateful for one wish in particular: approval of my Permanent Residency through my wife’s spousal sponsorship application on my behalf, submitted in September. It would mean the ability to work locally, contribute fully, access healthcare—and most importantly, remain securely here with my family.
So as I sit with these Christmas wishes, I raise a glass to the dreaming that Santa Claus represents—for children and adults alike—and to the hope that sometimes, despite our best efforts, a little Christmas miracle helps carry things over the finish line.
May your days be merry and bright. Cheers. 🧑🎄🎄🎁🥃
