Recently in Libations Category

Ever since I fell in love with gin, vodka has fallen far by the wayside. When I taste it, my tongue expects the bite of juniper, the perfume of citrus and spice. The straightforward alcohol hit of vodka just isn't the same. Luckily, that blank flavor makes an excellent solvent for a variety of fruits and vegetables. Unluckily, when fruit meets cocktail, all too often the results have more in common with a sugary punch than a dry martini, hardly an acceptable solution for a gin devotee.

When I've infused vodka in the past, I've stuck to pineapple, but lately I've been playing with making some more complicated infusions that don't taste like Hawaiian Punch. My first endeavor combined sweet strawberries with orange zest and basil for fragrance and depth.

The tricky part with these mixed ingredient formulas is the flavor ratio and deciding how long to infuse. Soft fruits and herbs obviously need less time, woodier fruits or vegetables, chilies, and dry spices take longer. I've given pineapple as long as three weeks and mint as little as a few days. It's important to taste every couple of days, just to see how things are coming along. If you use ripe fruit and rich, fragrant aromatics, you shouldn't need to add sugar. The final product should still be dry and refreshing, not syrupy.

I used eight ounces of sliced strawberries, the zest of one orange peeled off in strips, and two leafy sprigs of basil submerged in about three cups of vodka. Within a few hours, the vodka began to leach the color out of the strawberries, turning a deep pink. When I took off the lid for a taste after five days, the smell of the basil hit first, and I worried the final product might be excessively grassy.

After eight days, it seemed the strawberries had given their all, so I strained and tasted again. I mixed it with tonic water and wedges of lime and was entirely pleased. Tejal and Glyn stopped by before we all went to Aziza (which I swear I will eventually write about), and we all had a strawberry orange basil vodka and tonic, to general praise. The strawberry flavor was predominant, but the orange and basil gave a summery freshness. Next up is cherry and star anise, per Glyn's suggestion that the spice might be the ideal addition to those particular fruits. I can't wait to taste it with a splash of ginger ale.

In the film adaptation of Emma starring a very young Kate Beckinsale, there is a scene where everyone goes on a marvelously indulgent picnic. They pile into carriages and tromp into a fine, sundrenched field accompanied by footmen and linens and roasted joints of meat. Every time Stephen and I tromp to the beach or the park with a quilt and a chunk of cheese, I can't help but think of myself in this context.

Even if I had access to be-wigged footmen (or could convince my Dear Boy to don a powdered hairpiece for my amusement), this isn't the type of picnic I'd enjoy. Still, there is something about nibbling out in the fresh air and sunshine that makes me think about history, both literary and factual. I wonder how many leisure activities have remained pleasurable through the centuries as well as picnicing. The unremarkable act of eating transforms into a nearly Dionysian, indulgent pastime when performed while lounging on the grass. If Manet is to be believed, this has long been so.

However, just because I'm in the mood for a picnic doesn't necessarily mean I'm in the mood to plan an elegant yet casual meal suitable for packing and transportation. Hardly anything makes a girl feel less like a relaxed Elizabeth Bennet than rearranging plastic containers of salami and olives to make them fit better in the backpack.

Last weekend, Stephen came home from the grocery store with a six-pack (yes, quite literally six bottles in a little cardboard holder) of wines of such questionable provenance and low cost as to elicit shame in even the most value-conscious drinker. It contained two bottles each merlot, cabernet sauvignon, and sauvignon blanc labeled with no region more specific than "California" and with no date whatsoever, all for the price of $10.00.

I must admit, for wine that cost around $1.67 a bottle, it wasn't bad. For a rainy weekend spent primarily curled up under the duvet, watching endless DVDs of Inspector Lynley and Midsomer Murders, it was a perfect match. Honesty, I'd say the reds were not as tannic as I'd feared and the white not as sour; they were worth $3.00 a bottle, easy.

However, some wines deserve an accompaniment more refined that delivery pizza, good company, and BBC mysteries.

As an addendum to yesterday's love poem to gin, some practical information.

From The Food Lover's Companion:
Gin [JIHN] An unaged liquor made by distilling grains such as barley, corn or rye with juniper berries. London dry gin is any colorless gin, the majority of which is made in England and America. Hollands gin, also known as genever or jenever gin , is a Dutch product that tastes very different from other gins because it's made with a large proportion of barley malt. The first Dutch gin was used as medicine.

In addition to the dominate flavor of juniper, gin is flavored with different blends of other botanical flavors including lemon or bitter orange peel, anise, angelica and orris root, almonds, liquorice, cinnamon, coriander, and cassia. There are a few different styles. No matter how different they taste, nearly all the common gins are slight variations on London dry style. Dutch gin is the original gin. It has a rounder, sweeter taste, thus the designation of "dry" in London dry gin. Old Tom gin is all that remains of lightly sweetened style that was wildly popular in the 18th century; the use of Old Tom gave the Tom Collins cocktail it's name. Finally, Plymouth gin, a favorite of mine, also used to be a style and is now just a brand. Plymouth originated in, hold on to your glasses, the port city of Plymouth, England. It is very smooth and very fragrant. Lots of excellent information at Tastings and Wikipedia

Some of my favorite gins:
Bombay Sapphire-- My preferred everyday gin. A lovely scent and super smooth. It's tasty in mixed drinks and martinis, although I like a Sapphire martini a little wetter than with some higher end gins.

Tanquerary and regular Bombay are other nice, versatile gins that aren't so expensive you have to drink gin to forget how much you paid.

I am also greatly devoted to some of the higher end, boutique gins.
Hendrick's-- Beautifully perfumed with rose, coriander, and cucumber; I could splash it on after a bath. Marvelous in a g&t, marvelous in a quite dry martini, generally just marvelous.

Junipero-- This stuff is strong in every way. Made by the same people who brew Anchor Steam beer, it's bracingly junipery and rather high in alcohol, yet it retains balance. I like it in a wetter martini.

Magellan-- It's infused with a lovely blue color from irises. And it tastes good too. It's much too pretty for anything other than a martini.

And finally, a few of my favorite recipes using this fine elixir:

My Martini
Start with 3oz of your gin of choice. You must add vermouth. Call me a traditionalist, but without vermouth it isn't a cocktail, just gin in a glass. Depending on the gin, I like anywhere from a teaspoon to an ounce. My general rule is that the smoother and more perfumed a gin is, the less vermouth it needs. Thus, Hendrick's gets a teaspoon, Sapphire gets a tablespoon, Junipero and Tanquery get about 3/4oz.

Now, add ice and stir for all your worth with a long bar spoon, or even the handle of a wooden spoon, just something to keep your fingers out. Stir quickly to aerate the gin a little and get it as cold as possible with a minimum of ice melting. When the shaker feels cold, you're done. Traditionally, you stir drinks made of all alcohol and shake those with mixers like juice. I think this is a good rule. I don't exactly understand how it is possible to "bruise" gin, but I do think stirring prevents ice crystals clouding the drink and interfering with the texture, and it waters down the gin less.

Strain into a chilled martini glass. If you've got enormous, modern martini glasses, you may find it doesn't fill the glass up very far. Don't be tempted to add more. You can't make it through eight full ounces of gin before it gets warm anyway. Now, take a long lemon twist, or even a wide swath of peel removed with a vegetable peeler (this isn't as pretty but is easier to get oil from). Crush it over the glass until you see the oils spritz out and float on top of the drink. Rub the peel around the rim of the glass and drop it in.

Stephen's gin and tonic
1 1/2 oz of gin plus 4 1/2 oz tonic (basically, a 1:3 ratio) over plenty of ice. Squeeze in a sizeable wedge of lime.

Pink Spank (My favorite variation on a g&t.)
1 1/2 oz gin plus 1oz campari over ice. Squeeze in a lime and orange wedge; fill with tonic.

The Jasmine (Where I first discovered how good gin and campari are together. I understand that it was invented in Oakland.)
Shake vigorously over ice: 1/4 ounce of Cointreau, the juice of half a lemon, 1 1/2 ounces of gin, a dash of Campari.

The El Splendido (This was the drink Dave at the B-Side served to me that initiated me into the ways of gin. It was invented by the Millionaire from the band Combustible Edison.)
1 1/2 oz. gin, 3/4 oz. Chambord, 3/4 oz. fresh lime juice. Shake rather hard over ice. The texture of fresh lime pulp and ice crystals is nice.

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Last night, during a phone call with our sometime guest blogger Whitney, I learned that she has taken to drinking gin, and I'm largely responsible. No, I haven't said hurtful things or betrayed her and driven her to the bottle, I just provided the necessary final push to make her a fan when she visited over Thanksgiving. I have that effect on people.

I am devoted to gin. It has just about ruined me for fruity cocktails forever, but I love it just the same. Perhaps it's that gin reminds me of myself. We are complicated, nuanced, and refreshing. Gin and I are perhaps not immediately approachable and we can be potentially abrasive, but we inspire enthusiasm in those who get to know us. If you don't treat us with respect, both gin and I can burn you.

I think I should begin at the beginning; my love of gin started at a bar called the B-Side with a bartender named Dave. If you're ever in Cambridge, Massachusetts, you should stop by the B-Side Lounge. The food is great, the atmosphere cool but relaxed. The cocktails are serious. There are no flavored vodkas or fluorescent Puckers at the B-Side, just an extensive list of seriously retro drinks and sophisticated original cocktails served up with just the right amount of ceremony. One evening, while I sat at the bar having an early dinner, Dave and I started chatting about food and drink. He seemed like a nice guy with a good sense of taste, so I asked him for a recommendation. He served me a drink that he said was his girlfriend's favorite, a brisk mix of gin, Chambord, and fresh lime. I was hooked.

Before that day, I thought gin was loathsome. My early college forays with the liquor convinced me that it smelled like pine trees, burned like acid and elicited an instant gag reflex. I hadn't tasted it in years, but I guess my tongue was ready that day. Primed by a love of full-bodied wines and rich, dark beers I could finally appreciate the gin's unique flavor and perfume. In time, Dave, with his black dress shirt, skinny white tie and tattooed forearms, taught me to love martinis as well.

The B-Side's signature martini was made with super-smooth Plymouth gin, vermouth, and orange bitters vigorously stirred over ice. Dave twisted lemon rind over the glass and rubbed the oils around the rim before dropping it in. It was heaven. I came to understand that the pine tree taste was actually juniper. I began to discern the balance of bitter and sweet, the citrus and spice, the refreshing crispness and the bracing bite. Vodka, I thought, was for teenagers. Nothing but a bland burn, it presented little challenge and thus little reward. Just as I'd moved past Bud Light and White Zinfandel, I was ready for a woman's liquor. It was time for gin.

Since then, my cocktail times have been populated with many martinis and gin and tonics. I mix it with juices and herbs; I stir and shake it. And, it seems, I convert others. Stephen now regularly asks to me greeted at the door with a frosty gin and tonic on a Friday night, an unexpected request from a man who is himself devoted to Manhattans, also courtesy of Dave. Now I've brought Whitney into the juniper-scented fold. She called me Janie Ginnyseed. A fine, dry nickname. I like it.

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(Schug Winery, Sonoma California)

My Dear Boy's parents left yesterday after a number of days of utterly gratuitious eating and drinking. We ate in Sonoma at The Girl and the Fig, in Napa at Terra and the Culinary Institute of America at Graystone, in San Francisco at the Ferry Building (crabcake sandwiches, Cowgirl Creamery cheese, Acme bread, Ciao Bella gelato, Scharffen Berger chocolate. . . bliss), Chez Marthe (a.k.a. my house) and Plouf.

And we went to numerous wineries and tasted and tasted and tasted. Swirl, sniff, sip. . . however, I personally never spit. I don't care if the wine tastes like bat urine, I drink it. The pleasant buzz that lasts all day is part of the appeal of tasting, an activity I very much enjoy. It's such a perfectly useless way to pass the time; it exists only for its own sake and is thus very relaxing. We've decided we like Sonoma better than Napa. Everything is more easy-going, less self-important and 15% cheaper. Plus, there's just more wineries making more interesting wine there. Napa sometimes seem like Disneyland Wine Country, big, flashier, but not necessarily better.

I was very excited to have Stephen's parents for dinner here. I cooked for them loads of times, but never in my home, so it wasn't quite official. I planned pretty well, so most of what I cooked was done all or partially in advance. This let me be relaxed, chat and actually enjoy the act of entertaining instead of running around sauteeing and sweating, a somewhat novel concept. My menu:

With apertifs,
White Bean Puree with Basil with bread and crudite
Sugar and Spiced Nuts

For dinner,
Curried Butternut Squash Soup with Shrimp and Goat Cheese Ravioli
Proscuitto-Wrapped Snaper with Braised Fennel and Heirloom Tomato Sauce
Creme Fraiche Panna Cotta with Roasted Nectarines and Figs

Everything worked quite well, but the panna cotta was the real homerun of the evening. It was based on a recipe from a recent issue of Bon Appetit. Super easy and just unusual enough to be really impressive. It looks to become a part of my repetoire.

I think Stephen is a little bummed that he won't see his parents for a while, but they had a really good time, so I suspect they'll be back sooner rather than later. My mom is coming October 6th to for futher eating and drinking to celebrate the day of my birth. So more love and more full tummies coming up.

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