Prairie Oyster (1879)

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   The latest volume of DARE has 1890 for the "prairie oyster" cocktail, and
1941 for the "prairie oyster"="mountain oyster."


   10 January 1879, DAILY CONSTITUTION (Atlanta, Georgia), pg. 2, col. 5:
   "American drinks" known at Paris: Blue Blazes, Fairy's Kiss, Flash of
Lightning, Heap of Comfort, Boston Float, Dog's Nose, Rattlesnake, Arctic Region,
Corpse Reviver, Colleen Bawn, Maiden's Blush, Morality Punch, Spelling Bee,
and Prairie Oyster.

    30 March 1882, BURLINGTON HAWK EYE (Burlington, Iowa), pg. 2, col. 2:
      _THE AMERICAN BAR._
_The List of Drinks Offered to a Thirsty_
      _Traveler in London._
   London Correspondence Boston Herald.
   "There's an American bar up here somewhere," said Tompkins.  "Let's go and
see it.  My eyes ache for something American, and I don't care what it is.  I
would give $40 for the smell of New York gutter."
   We went to the American bar.  But Mr. Tompkins was not soothed by what
transpired there.  We passed through the end of a British bar in getting to the
American establishment.  The British bar was fully one hundred feet long, and
presided over by very pretty girls.  The space in front of this counter was
packed with men three or four rows deep, all struggling to get in a word with the
barmaids.  Such a spectacle would make a sensation in America.  Here it is a
common thing.  Spiers & Pond have these establishments all over England.  They
have a restaurant and bar at every important railway station in the kingdom,
and employ a fabulous number of girls.  If the English bar is a curiousity to
an American, the American bar is still more so.  It was also crowded when we
went in, and seemed to justify Mr. Tompkins' theory that the entire population
of London was striving to get itself drunk, so as to drown its misery.  Not
being able to reach the bar, we called aq waiter.  Mr Tompkins said: "At last,
we'll have something American.  Give me some bourbon whisky."
   "We 'aven't any barrb'n, sir," replied the waiter.
   "Then bring some rye."
   "But we 'aven't anythink in the way of American whisky, sir."
   Mr. Tompkins' face fell.  "The deuce you say," he exclaimed, as the bitter
truth began to dawn upon him.  "Then what in blazes have you got."
   The waiter laid a bill of fare before Mr. Tompkins, who look it over,
glanced at me, then looked up at the ceiling, and said: "If this thing goes much
further, I shall be a raving maniac.  Just listen to this, for a list of
American drinks: 'Short drinks, square-meal, prairie-oyster, corpse-reviver, our
swizzle, bosom-caresser, flash-of-lightning, a-la-bazam, flip-flap,
heap-of-comfort, rattle-snake, sherry-blush, fairies'-kiss, ladies'-blush, colleen-bawn,
pick-me-up, saddle-rock, knickebein.'  What do you think of that?"
   I thought Mr. Tompkins was gently "guying" me, and I looked over the list
myself.  But he wasn't.  There they were in cold type, looking me unblushing
in the face.  As we strolled out into the street again, Mr. Tompkins said:
"Wasn't I right when I said London was a glittering fraud?  Isn't it a daisy?
Don't she beat any swindle you ever ran against?  Ain't she a regular brace game
from the word go?"
   But Mr. Tompkins was becoming incoherent.  I took him home and put him to
bed.