The Montgomery Block one month after the Earthquake and Fire of 1906.

The Bank Exchange sits behind locked iron doors at the corner. A.P. Giannini's Bank of Italy, which was to change its name to the Bank of America and eventually become the world's largest, then occupied offices to the right.

The following comes to us from the Transamerica Corporation and the California Historical Society, from a booklet originally entitled
"Secrets of Pisco Punch Revealed: Being a true account of the recovery of San Francisco's Long Lost Favorite of Favorites," by William Bronson.

In the post Gold Rush days, a bar was a very important place. 

And the Bank Exchange was one of the most important drinking  establishments in San Francisco. Located in the Montgomery and Washington Streets corner of the famed Montgomery Block, the Bank Exchange was the place leading bankers met to transact business in the absence of an official stock exchange. Its proximity to the waterfront attracted the leaders of commerce, and from the first day the Bank Exchange’s swinging doors opened in 1853, the leading sea captains, miners, lawyers and politicians came to discuss affairs of the day, while partaking of liquid refreshments. 

No history of the social life of San Francisco would be complete without mention of the Bank Exchange, a barroom that opened in 1854, survived the Earthquake and Fire of 1906, and continued to thrive with everwidening fame until its doors were closed forever by Prohibition. 

The principal foundation for its renown was Pisco Punch, a mixture  which, it was said, went down like nectar and came back with the kick of a Missouri mule. Another description is credited to Oliver Perry Stidger who for many years managed the affairs of the Montgomery Block, that fabled building in which the Bank Exchange was located. He likened Pisco Punch to the scimitar of Harroun whose edge was so fine that after a slash a man walked on unaware that his head had been severed from his body until his knees gave way and he fell to the ground dead. 

Everything in the Bank Exchange came “around the Horn”- its marble-tile floor, the Wedgewood porcelain beer pumps, the solid mahogany bar and an array of oil paintings valued at over $IOO,OOO. The Bank Exchange, particularly under the long proprietorship of Duncan Nicol, was one of the best of San Francisco traditions. Given this rich heritage, it was fitting that Transamerica chose to recreate the Bank Exchange in the Pyramid which now rises above the site of the old Montgomery Block. The modern day Bank Exchange will be located at the east end of the Pyramid. The interior of the bar will be as it was in Nicol’s days. 

With the assistance of William Bronson and the California Historical Society, the recipe for the celebrated and long-vanished Pisco Punch has been unearthed and will again be served. While Duncan Nicol, with his pince nez hooked over one ear, will be gone from behind the long mahogany bar, his presence will be felt everywhere. 

Duncan Nicol, Proprietor of the Bank Exchange

Duncan Nicol’s staff at the time of America’s entry into World War I. Nicol, third from left, habitually carried his 1 pince-nez glosses looped over his right ear.

Because of the punch, the bar, which was also nicknamed “Pisco John’s” in honor of an early owner, achieved an international notoriety  recounted by Robert O’Brien in his book, This Was San Francisco:  Visitors to the Bank Exchange returned to their homes in New York, London and Berlin and restlessly pined for another sip of the potent ambrosia they had tasted in the old gaslit bar on Montgomery Street. To one impressed reporter of the clay, the invention of the Pisco Punch did more to advance civilization than the driving of the Golden Spike.

“Step,” he wrote, “into the foyer of the Hotel Cecil in London and inquire in a loud voice the location of ‘Pisco John’s’ and from a dozen throats will come the reply: ‘Southeast corner of Montgomery and Washington Streets, San Francisco, America!’ “ Such was the adulation enjoyed by the Bank Exchange as long as it lasted.

The Bank Exchange also served steam beer, another San Francisco invention, although not exclusive to the Exchange

But in the intervening years since, the loss of the recipe has eclipsed memories of the bar and the drink itself in the mystique of Pisco Punch. The recipe for the punch was by all accounts carried to his grave by Duncan Nicol, the Scottish immigrant who presided over the establishment from the late 1870’s until its closing. The precious formula had been given to him by the previous owners, Orrin Dorman and John Torrence, and Nicol maintained the tradition of secrecy they had established to the end of his days. 

San Francisco is rich in stories of the loss and the historians’ words  ring with an authoritative finality. O’Brien, for example, tells of a press interview held at the time of the Bank Exchange’s closing: . . . What was the something added? What made it so terrific? . . . Reporters baclgered him for the answer. What difference did it make now? they demanded. But Nicol stood his ground. “Even Mr. Volstead,” he replied firmly, “can’t take the secret from me.”

When he died in San Francisco in 1926 at the age of seventy-two, with him went the mysterious recipe of Pisco Punch. 

Three of Sun Francisco’s finest lift their cups in cheer to Nicol,  center, in the fading days before Prohibition closed the Bank Exchange.

Idwal Jones, author of Ark of Empire, the colorful history of the  Montgomery Block, wrote that the recipe was “. . . as much lost as  Tyrian purple and the art of tempering copper.” And Richard Dillon, writing in the Eighth Brand Book, states that . . . the recipe eventually died out with the passing of Nicol, though there have been various Houses of Pisco since his time, with pseudo Pisco Punches. Pisco Punch, though its formula has vanished, will long live in memory as a great San Francisco gustatorial invention, like Crab Louie or Hangtown Fry.” 

Clearly, belief in the loss of the recipe has been an article of faith  that no one should attempt to disturb without convincing evidence to the contrary. But having found that evidence, I have no trepidation about revealing it, defending it, and drinking it when the occasion arises.

Pisco Punch lives! 

In 1964, I was asked by the late A. Crawford Greene, for decades senior partner in the McCutcheon law firm in San Francisco, to assist him in drawing up and publishing a small volume of memoirs for his family and close friends. I took on the project and began by reading the correspondence which filled dozens of his file drawers. The work was not entirely necessary, because Mr. Greene finally wound up writing the book, East and West, by himself-as I urged him to do at the outset. 

However, had I not done the reading, the secret of Pisco Punch might still lie undiscovered in the Bancroft Library where his papers are now held. For in his personal file, I found the two letters which appear in facsimile on the following pages. At least two other letters are missing from the exchange, but the nature and likely content of Mr. Corbett’s original inquiry and Mr. Greene’s calculated response can be inferred from the letters that have survived. 

CORBETT INVESTMENT Co. 
CORBETT BUILDING 
PORTLAND, OREGON 

April 28, 1941 

Personal 
Mr. A. Crawford Greene,Balfour Building
San Francisco, Cal. 

Dear Crawford, 

Thanks for your letter of April 24 in re Pisco punch. What the devil does your man think I am going to do? Does he think I want to start manufacturing Pisco punch as a commercial enterprise? Tell him I have two bottles of Pisco brandy that I bought before Duncan Nichol died and I am tired of having them in the cellar and want to drink them up. 

I can’t drink them up unless I know the recipe and so I am trying to get the recipe and may even go to the extent of letting him try his own “poison” if he sends me the recipe and then comes to Portland. 

Yours very truly, 

Henry L. Corbett HLC S 
(C Gr Personal)  

---

 

May 1, 1941 

Henry L. Corbett, Esq.
Corbett Building, 
Portland, Oregon. 

Dear Harry: 

I had my tongue in my cheek when I wrote you on April 24th but I thought you would understand the type of man I was talking to and the obvious jealousy he showed of his “prescription.” Because of the fact that what he considers unscrupulous competition has arisen only in Portland, he was extremely suspicious that any inquiry of this character emanated from his Portland competitor.

I could not shake him, and I thought you would rather write the kind of letter you have than not get the recipe. It is enclosed herewith. The man I refer to is John Lannes. My partner Farnham Griffiths advises me that he would not use any ready-bottled Pisco Punch regardless who put it up, because any cocktail with fruit juice in it does not last well.

He also tells me that he has had dinners cooked by Lannes himself at which the punch was served, and states that when the recipe is followed the result tastes exactly as it did in the days of the old Bank Exchange. 

I hope after all this fuss you feel that the result merits the trouble. 

Yours very sincerely, 

[A. Crawford Greene] 

Enclosure.

LANNES’ PlSCO PUNCH RECIPE 

1. Take a fresh pineapple. Cut it in squares about 1 by 1.5 inches. Put these squares of fresh pineapple in a bowl of gum syrup to soak overnight. That serves the double purpose of flavoring the gum syrup with the pineapple and soaking the pineapple, both of which are used afterwards in the Pisco Punch, 

2. In the morning mix in a big bowl the following: l/2 PINT (8 OZ.) OF THE GUM SYRUP, PINEAPPLE FLAVORED AS ABOVE 1 PINT (16 OZ.) DISTILLED WATER 3h PINT (10 OZ.) LEMON JUICE 1 BOTTLE (24 OZ.) PERUVIAN PISCO BRANDY 

Serve very cold but be careful not to keep the ice in too long because of dilution. Use 3 or 4 oz. punch glasses. Put one of the above squares of pineapple in each glass. Lemon juice or gum syrup may be added to taste. 

How can we be sure that Lannes’ recipe is the real article? Well, first, there is the convincing internal evidence of the letters themselves and the integrity and experience of Greene and his partner Griffiths.  Second, almost everything that has been written on the composition of Pisco Punch supports the Lannes recipe.

In fact, every ingredient in it, including distilled water, fresh pineapple, and fresh lemon juice is called for in one description or another, with the single exception of gum syrup. The only recipe claiming to be the original which I have seen that was completely off the mark is one published in the September, 1957, issue of Gourmet in an article by the late Lucius Beebe: Jack Koeppler of the Buena Vista in San Francisco . . . who first launched Irish Coffee on the American market . . . prevailed upon a fellow San Franciscan, Kenneth Prosser, for what purports to be the recipe of the True Elixir. Mr. Prosser  swears that the following recipe was recorded in his late father’s own handwriting and may be taken as Revelation. It comprises 2 jiggers of Pisco, 2 jiggers of white grape juice, i teaspoonful of -Pineapple juice, and i teaspoonful of Absinthe, Pernod, or Herbsaint.  

The call for “Absinthe, Pernod, or Herbsaint” alone betrays it. Each of these has a strong licorice flavor which would have been easily detected  and duly noted by any discriminating reporter. (Real absinthe, which I recently had the opportunity to sample, is the strongest, harshest drink I have ever consumed.)

The absinthe myth, which circulated long before the Bank Exchange closed, grew from speculation as to what made the drink so lethal. In truth, it wasn’t absinthe, or “hasheesh” as others suggested, but simply the grain alcohol and traces of fusil oil found in Pisco brandy.

The brandy, incidentally, is a rough, distinctively flavored drink all of its own with no more taste resemblance to cognac than kirschwasser or tequila. Finally there is the question of John Lannes. Who was he and how could he have come into possession of Nicol’s recipe? It is known that he marketed a bottled version after Prohibition ended, but this is no proof.

Many counterfeit Pisco Punches and Pisco Punch mixes have been sold over the years. In an attempt to learn a little more about the man, CHS Librarian Peter Evans kindly went through the Society’s dusty city directories at my request and traced Lannes (who in early issues is listed alternately as John and Jean) from 1890 to 1951. In the 1890’s he worked as a laundryman, but from the turn of the century until 1920 his occupation was listed as “liquors” and “bartndr,” when he was listed at all. 

Nicol stands before the Class A double iron doors which kept the Bank Exchange secure for 66 years. It took the Volstead Act to close them forever.

Then, in the 1920 directory, which would have been compiled during the previous year, he is listed as “mgr Bank Ex”! One can only speculate on how the recipe came into his hands, but two ways seem plausible. One is that Nicol, with the specter of Prohibition around the corner, entrusted the formula to Lannes in the twilight days of the Bank Exchange, and the other is that Lannes indulged in what we today call industrial spying.

While it’s unlikely that Nicol had the recipe written down anywhere, it is not unlikely that Lannes had access to the mixing room where Nicol put the punch together and that he was in charge of receiving supplies.

Support for the latter possibility was carried in a story published in the June 28, 1952, issue of the San Francisco News. Another ex-employee of Nicol’s, Alfredo Micheli, known to all as Mike, told of how he came by the recipe for Pisco Punch he was then serving at the newly-opened Paoli’s on Montgomery Street: “I used to snoop around down [in the] cellar where he mixed the ingredients for Pisco Punch,” the plump, elderly Mike confessed today. “Nicol always worked behind a locked grating, but I sort of watched the bottles he took in there. And finally  I worked out my own Pisco Punch-just call it Pisco Mike’s Punch. . . . “

Ross D. Pelton, attorney of 315 Montgomery-st, who probated the will of  Duncan Nicol, as well as that of his widow, pronounced Pisco Mike’s Punch as "near the original Pisco Punch as any he ever has tasted.”  Mabel Greene, the reporter, described Mike’s product as “fragrant,  extremely seductive, and with a delicate fruity taste.”

One clear discrepancy between Lannes’ instructions and accounts of how the drink was served by Nicol can be easily explained. Nicol always made the punch one cup at a time, first putting in the pineapple and liquor, and then filling the cup with a liquid from an unmarked bottle. Lannes’ recipe called for making it in a punchbowl.

The reason Nicol made them one at a time was to maintain complete control of freshness and to minimize waste. Lannes would naturally have made it all at once, since it would be consumed in a matter of a couple of hours at any party where it was served. 

Now to the matter of gum syrup. One might reasonably ask why it has taken so long to publish this story. To begin with, it took me several  years to find the Pisco brandy, and it wasn’t easy. The importers  couldn’t steer me to any retail outlets in San Francisco, and so I asked  my friend Jerry Hanson, a purveyor of spirits, to get his distributor to  ship some up from Peru where it is made.

Months passed without delivery of the precious brandy, and we finally learned that the vessel carrying the cargo had gone down in heavy seas. Then, by chance, I came across a couple of bottles in a Berkeley liquor store.

The only unknown remaining was the gum syrup. I phoned a number of liquor stores and bar supply houses, but no one knew quite what it was or where I might find it. By sheer chance again, I found a dusty bottle  labeled “Gum Syrup” in another Berkeley store. It was nothing but a very heavy sugar solution, but I had no way of knowing it was not the  ingredient called for in the Lannes recipe. 

With what I thought were all the ingredients in hand, my wife and I invited several couples to dinner, and I made the punch, scrupulously adhering to the recipe. It was good, but it wasn’t quite as smooth as I  had expected. Even adding a little extra distilled water didn’t help  much. 

Several years had passed when in 1972, John Chase of Transamerica Corporation called to ask if I would consult on some of the historic  aspects of the restaurant and bar they were planning for the Transamerica Pyramid, which as all students of local history know is located at the “Southeast corner of Montgomery and Washington Streets, San Francisco, America!” (It should be mentioned in fairness to Transamerica, that the company was not responsible for destruction of the Montgomery Block. The evil deed was done by a previous owner.) 

Through a mutual acquaintance, John knew I had the recipe, and as our discussions progressed, I agreed to prepare this article in behalf of  the society and present to the public the long-lost secret. But what does all of this have to do with gum syrup? To make sure that the punch was worth all the trouble, John Chase hired the Hayward Catering Company to mix up a batch for a private tasting.

Albert Bosanach, manager of the catering company, found an old recipe for real gum syrup, which contains gum arabic, and the last piece fell into place. We gathered in my office in the Columbus Tower-just a block  from Washington and Montgomery-and partook of what was probably the first serving of authentic Pisco Punch since John Lannes last poured it before he died in the early 1950’s. 

It was smooth and good. It was fragrant, seductive and delicate. My wife has asked me not to drink it again.

The difference between what I tasted when I first made it and what was served that day was not a difference in flavor, but in texture and bite. I am convinced that the mystery ingredient in Pisco Punch is nothing more than gum arabic, and that it works in some way to take all the rough edges off the Peruvian brandy and perhaps alter the rate of absorbtion or metabolism of the alcohol in it.

This is the recipe for gum syrup: Crush one pound- of gum arabic (if not already in crystal form), and soak for 24 hours in a pint of distilled water. (Gum arabic can be purchased at some confectionery supply houses and health food stores.) Add the gum arabic solution to a syrup made of four pounds of sugar and one quart of water boiled to 220 degrees Farenheit. As the mixture continues to boil, skim off impurities and then let it cool to room temperature. Filter through cheese cloth and store in bottles. 

So let’s get to work on the secrets of Tyrian purple and the art of tempering copper. While Lannes’ recipe for Pisco Punch could be off in some small degree, I’m convinced that it is as close to Nicol’s nectar as mortals will ever know.  

I should mention that William Bronson was my father. I should also add that a year prior to the publication of the booklet in 1975, I asked him for the recipe, so that I could serve it at a party at my home, known across Berkeley, as Ashby House. He asked me why I wanted the recipe. I told him. He flat-out refused, informing me I would unleash forces heretofore unknown in my short life were I to serve the elixir at a party of ex-hippie now glitter sprouts who had just sprinted into drinking age.

I had the occasion several years later to try Pisco Punch at the Bank Exchange simulacrum in the TransAmerica Pyramid. It was early evening when we had the first one. It was delicious, sweet, but not too sweet, delicate, and enticing as described herein. We had another. Where the night took us after that remains to this day a mystery.)

Comments (1)

You can make it the easy way
written by Ivette, April 10, 2009

Pisco Punch has been recreated in a 100 % all natural no aditives and no preservatives mix, with the freeze dried process which allows it to mantain the fresh flavor and aromas.
Do not go into macerating for hours and play around with gum arabic. This Pisco Punch has all of it and taste great, check it at www.perucooking.com
and let me know what do you think.
Also pisco is now a very velvety aromatic clear spirit from Peru that can be found in SF and many other cities in the USA these days, like Inca Gold Pisco, acholado type.
thanks, corially

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