Bourbon, a teaspoon of bitter Seville marmalade in place of the sugar cube, three dashes of Angostura, stirred over ice, expressed orange peel. The Old Fashioned variant nobody talks about, which is exactly why you should pour one.
Why you are pouring this tonight
The Marmalade Old Fashioned is the cocktail I learnt about from a Sydney bartender in 2018 at a small bar in Surry Hills whose name has been redacted from this article on the grounds that it is busy enough already. He poured me one without asking what I wanted, said “trust me on this one,” and proceeded to make the best Old Fashioned I had drunk in a decade. The substitution is simple. Instead of muddling a sugar cube with bitters and a splash of water, you stir a teaspoon of bitter Seville marmalade directly into the bourbon. The marmalade dissolves into the spirit, contributes its own bitter-orange register, and turns the drink into something denser, slightly more complex, and meaningfully more interesting than the orange-peel-and-sugar standard.
The marmalade does three things at once: it sweetens (replacing the sugar cube), it bitters (replacing some of what the Angostura was carrying), and it adds a fruit note that the standard Old Fashioned lacks. The result is a drink that tastes like an Old Fashioned that has been to a dinner party and had an opinion about the cheese course. It is the right drink for a Saturday at 5.30pm when the day is winding down and you have the next two hours to yourself. It is also the right drink for the start of a Sunday roast lunch, because the bitter-orange profile pairs with anything with rich meat or caramelised onion in it.
Use a quality bourbon with a high-rye mash bill. The rye gives the drink the spicy backbone that holds up against the marmalade’s sweetness. Wild Turkey 101 at $55 from Dan Murphy’s is the everyday pour. Knob Creek 12 Year at $90 is the upgrade. Bulleit Bourbon at $58 (which is mostly rye) is the alternative if you want a drier finish. Avoid soft, sweet bourbons (Maker’s Mark, Jim Beam White); they collapse under the marmalade and you end up with something that tastes more like a syrup than a cocktail.
The marmalade has to be a real bitter Seville marmalade. Mr Mason’s Seville at $11 from a deli, Beerenberg Bitter Seville at $9 from a Coles or a Woolies, or a homemade Seville from a friend who owns a backyard tree (every Australian inner-suburbs neighbourhood has at least one). The bright sweet supermarket marmalades are not a substitute; they have no bitterness left to contribute and the drink goes flat. If you have a chunky-cut marmalade, strain a teaspoon of the syrup off the top of the jar and use only the syrup; the rind in the marmalade clouds the drink.
What to pour it alongside
Before dinner with a wedge of aged cheddar or a piece of chocolate-covered candied orange. After dinner as a digestif with a small piece of dark chocolate. Also pairs well next to anything roast and savoury (a slow-cooked lamb shoulder, a marmalade-glazed chicken, a piece of duck). The drink’s bitter-orange register does double duty: it cleans the palate and echoes any citrus on the plate. One per person before sitting down. Two only if you have decided to sit at the bar.
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Notes from the kitchen
Stir the marmalade into the bourbon in the mixing glass before adding ice. The marmalade is more solid than a sugar cube; if you add ice first, the cold makes the marmalade clump up at the bottom of the glass instead of dissolving. Pour 60ml of bourbon, drop in the heaped teaspoon of marmalade, stir vigorously with a long bar spoon for 30 seconds until the marmalade is fully dissolved into the bourbon (you should be unable to see streaks; the bourbon should be a uniform amber). Now add the ice and the bitters.
Stir for 25 seconds with cold ice. The dilution is what turns a strong shot of marmaladed bourbon into a drink. The temperature is what makes it sip rather than gulp. The mixing glass should frost on the outside; the spoon should slide silently against the ice. A noisy stir means you are bashing the ice and over-diluting; gentle is the right pace.
Strain over a single large clear ice rock in a chilled rocks glass. Express a wide strip of orange peel over the surface (pinch coloured-side-down, holding the peel 5cm above the drink to release the citrus oils), then perch the peel on the rim. The garnish is the final flavour layer; without it the drink reads heavier and less aromatic. A single Luxardo cherry on a pick tucked behind the peel is the optional flourish.
Two things that go wrong
Drink has cloudy specks of orange rind floating in it
Your marmalade was chunky and you used the rind. Strain the marmalade through a fine sieve before measuring; use only the syrup, not the chunks. Or buy a smooth-cut marmalade. The drink should be crystal-clear amber, not a flecked slurry.
Drink tastes flat and the marmalade has not come through
You did not stir the marmalade into the bourbon hard enough before adding ice, or your marmalade was too sweet. The marmalade should infuse the entire drink with bitter-orange depth. Stir vigorously for 30 seconds before the ice goes in; if your marmalade is too sweet, switch to a Seville (Mr Mason’s, Beerenberg Bitter Seville).
Variations worth knowing
Whisky marmalade Old Fashioned
Replace the bourbon with a blended Scotch (Monkey Shoulder at $55) or a young single malt (Glenmorangie 10 at $90). The drink becomes drier and slightly smoky; the marmalade balances the smoke with the same bitter-orange depth that works for bourbon.
Marmalade smash (the lighter one)
Add 22.5ml of fresh lemon juice and a few muddled mint leaves. Shake instead of stir. Strain into a chilled coupe. The drink becomes a lemonade-leaning cousin, brighter, more brunch-friendly. The version for a Sunday morning.
Marmalade Negroni
Drop the bourbon. Add 22.5ml gin, 22.5ml Campari, 22.5ml sweet vermouth, plus a teaspoon of marmalade stirred into the spirits before icing. The drink becomes a Negroni with an extra orange register, slightly less bitter, more fruit-forward. The aperitivo crossover.
Leftovers and make ahead
There are no leftovers. The drink is built fresh, served immediately. The marmalade settles within fifteen minutes if left to stand, and the drink loses its balance. The bourbon and the marmalade both keep on the bar (bourbon indefinitely on the shelf; marmalade up to a year unopened, six months opened in the fridge). One jar of marmalade gets you forty Old Fashioneds.
Leftover marmalade goes back to its day job: on toast in the morning, glazed onto a chicken thigh that night (see the marmalade-glazed chicken thighs recipe), folded into a quick vinaigrette for a salad of bitter leaves and goat’s cheese. The jar earns its place on the shelf many times over.
The recipe
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