soy sauce?

Ok, savory drinks.  As we are all aware, there are very few savory drinks, and most (the Gibson and Dirty Martini being the only exceptions I can think of) use tomato juice for their umami.  But, as the Roommate was harassing me this weekend to repeat some unfortunate fish-sauce, Thai-themed cocktail experiments, I started thinking about soy sauce.

Good soy sauce is an incredibly complex food product, with a number of odor compounds (furanones, including the caramel-smelling furaneol and the curry-scented sotolon) in common with, among other things, sherry.  Since it mixes those great, burnt-sugar flavors with generous amounts of salt and glutamate (umami), it seems like soy sauce would be the perfect addition to a savory drink.  But, for the life of me, I can’t figure out how to do it.  The obvious thoughts (use instead of olive brine in a D.M., mix into a Bloody Mariko, argh) are boring and don’t actually taste that good (just because they’re obvious doesn’t mean I haven’t tried), and my attempt to make something happen with aquavit, Amontillado sherry, tamari (a Japanese soy sauce), and mole bitters was a disaster.

Can anyone think of something that will work?

while I was out

When I was in college I dreamed about reviewing records, which may have slipped into my article this week for Smile Politely.  But I think the metaphor stands on its own!

I also managed to find time to write about Welsh Rarebit Rabbit and the best way to keep your cheeses alive in my regular cheese column on Serious Eats.

I’m hoping to get some kirsch in next week, at which point I’d like to tackle some classic cocktails, including the Straits Sling.

MxMo XLV: Tea and the Tea Killer Mockingbird

Update: Terrible picture added!

Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time once again for that most hallowed of interweb-based traditions, Mixology Monday!  Our gracious host this month, bellying up to the bar, as it were, after a long holiday’s binge, is Frederic, of the provocatively named Cocktail VirginSlut.  The theme this month is “Tea”, which is pretty self-explanatory, although it does offer the temptation, after so much holiday imbibery, of merely suggesting a cup of chamomile and an early bedtime.  But we here on the frontier of mixology are made of tougher stuff!  Not for us are these “non-alcoholic” beverages, drunk by milksops and kerchief-wringing nincompoops!

As you may be able to imagine, it’s somewhat late, and I’m actually filing this dispatch to the front lines of MxMo after writing an article on margaritas for one site and an article on Welsh Rarebit for another, so I’m a little punchdrunk.  I’m also posting this entry sans pictures until the morning, at which point I will make and probably drink this cocktail at 7 AM, in order to get this entry in under the MxMo wire (haha just kidding mom and dad, please don’t yell at me).  Thanks for encouraging my bad habits, MxMo!  You’re the best.  And also because a post without a picture is pretty damn boring looking.

I decided to punish (get it?!) everyone with the title of my entry.  The Tea Killer Mockingbird is probably the worst-named cocktail ever, but, to be honest, The Tequila Mockingbird is not all that much better.  As there’s no real consistency among the so-called drinks entitled “Tequila Mockingbird” (although the lemon, tequila, and creme de menthe version sounds possible), I’ve decided just to strike out on my own here, and we’ll see how this ends up.

Tea Killer Mockingbird

• 2 oz reposado tequila
• 1/4 oz cinnamon simple syrup
• 1/4 oz chai tea (the leaves, not the brewed product)
• 1-2 dashes Bittermens Xocolatl bitters
  Coat a cocktail glass with the bitters, discarding any extra.  In a shaker, combine remaining ingredients with ice and shake well (yes, shake) for at least 30 seconds.  Strain through a fine mesh into the coated glass, garnish with a flamed orange peel.

Ok, so this is just a variation of a Tea Smash.  But I think the warm spices, especially the cardamom, combined with the bite of the bitters and the smokiness of the tequila give it a special twist.  As Gandhi said, “When East meets West, it’s deadly.”

I’ve now typed “Tea Killer Mockingbird” more times than I am comfortable with (read: even once).  The only consolation I have is that, when Frederic goes to compile the MxMo entries, he’s gonna have to do it at least once.  Point: me.

Pictures in the morning.

never go back to homemade bitters lake

A long time ago, when the interwebs were young (2007), homemade bitters were the thing that the cool kids were all up in.  Fun times were had by all, and then everyone who didn’t work in a bar realized that a single bottle of bitters went a long way if crowds weren’t bellying up for them everynight, and more bottles had to be bought to store them, and, lo, significant others made statements in no uncertain terms about shelf space!  Also, with the advent of Bittermens, the Bitter Truth, and many other small bitters companies, the need just wasn’t as pressing.

So it’s been long enough now that it’s cool again, right?  Like the early nineties?  Because I’ve got some great plaid shirts, and my work boots are pretty sweet.

What I’m trying to say is that, a few weeks ago, I found myself with half a bottle of vodka (left over from making vanilla extract, if you’re curious) with which I refused to take up space on my dangerously overcrowded bar.  I also had been messing about with making my own wholegrain mustard (so easy, but thanks to my iron self-control this isn’t a food blog… yet), and remembered that Jay, from Oh Gosh!, had written about a mustard liqueur.  “Self,” I said, “it’s time to make mustard bitters.  Can you imagine anything better with a Gibson-type thing (the girlfriend has a thing about pickled onions, so we make a lot of Gibsons)?”  I said the parenthetical bit, too.

Into a jar went a whole ton of mustard seeds, a few lemon peels, some black peppercorns, and pinches of quassia, fennel, celery seed, and coriander.  I think I may have already had a couple of drinks when I put this together, since in retrospect it sounds a bit busy.  And, since I was getting back on the bitters train, I made some clove bitters with a little orange peel, cinnamon, black peppercorn, and quassia (and a bundle of cloves).  Both of them went into the back of the bar at the beginning of December, and I forgot about them.

The biggest surprise is that they seem to have turned out well.  The clove bitters are something like a cross between pimento dram (but dry) and Angostura bitters.  Taken straight, they numb your tongue because of the concentrated eugenol.  The mustard bitters are… not good straight.  They are spicy and bitter, and I think I’d leave out the coriander and celery seed, were I to make them again.  But, having tasted the Angostura orange bitters straight (don’t try it at home), I know that bitters often only come into their own in drinks.  And I was right.  In the Gibson they were destined for, these bitters really come alive.  The only problem is that, aside from the spiciness, they’re relatively non-aromatic – I think I should try increasing the lemon peel and fennel if I make them again.  But, with the 6 ounces I netted, I can’t imagine that will be soon.

Gibson House

• 1 1/2 oz dry gin (Plymouth, if you ask me)
• 1/2 oz dry vermouth (I like the revised Noilly Prat)
• 2 dashes mustard bitters
  Stir all ingredients over ice for at least 20 seconds.  Strain into a cocktail glass, garnish with at least one cocktail onion (v. important).

This is fun.  The mustard bitters give it just a little more complexity, and a bit of sinus-clearing ability.

quickly, to the internets!

This week I got lazy, and wrote an article about the Manhattan.  If you’d like a refresher on one of the quintessential classic cocktails, go check it out.

I also started writing about cheese for Serious Eats, and my first post is here.

Dear Ransom Spirits

I just bought your Ransom Old Tom Gin.  I’d love to drink it, but you thought it would be cute and old-timey to put a hard wax seal over the screw top.  Normally, with a bottle of wine, I would put the corkscrew right through the seal, breaking it when I bring up the cork.  You can’t do that with a screw top.  I’ve heard great things about your Old Tom – beautiful malty nose, hint of sweetness, juniper, cardamom, lemon peel – but I can’t drink it.  This is not a good packaging strategy.

Best,
Jake

PS – Yes, I did eventually saw through it with a butter knife, and then soften it enough with boiling water to pry it off.  This does not in any way detract from my original point.  Wax seals are annoying and superfluous unless they are over a bare cork.  Nice gin, though.

ringing in the new year

Once again I have been released from my darkened pit of despair in order to bring wisdom to the interwebs!

The Writer’s Block

Winter break has arrived here at the lovely University of Illinois, meaning that the bars are finally free of undergrads and guaranteeing me easy access to all the Natty Light I can drink.  My cup truly runneth over.  Along with the general absence of students, however, comes the general lack of urgency associated with my boss and labmates all leaving for several weeks.  The instruments are gloriously open for my use, but all I want to do is put off doing anything until I absolutely have to.  Which, unfortunately, appears to include updating this chronicle of libationous exploits.

So, in honor of the occasion, I have developed a cocktail, thus killing two birds (three, if you include sobriety) with one stone.

The Writer’s Block

• 2 oz rye whiskey
• 1 oz dry vermouth
• 1/2 oz pineapple juice
• 1/2 oz tamarind juice
• 1-2 dashes Angostura bitters
  Combine all ingredients in a shaker with ice.  Shake well and strain into a cocktail glass.

To be fair, this is a revision of the Arawak Cocktail, a Gary Regan creation that in turn was a variation of the venerable Algonquin Cocktail.  His main innovation is to add the tamarind juice, which he claims “can overpower the drink”, and so recommends only a dash.  Maybe my palate has been damaged by years of spicy food and Warheads (very probably), or maybe he is in fact using instead some kind of concentrate, rather than the ubiquitous Goya brand, but I couldn’t taste a single dash of tamarind juice when put up against that much whiskey (he also recommended bourbon, but I decided arbitrarily to take the cocktail back to its roots).  I also returned the drink to its original 2:1:1 ratio of base spirit to vermouth and juice, because I felt that his suffered from faddish over-dryness.

Interestingly, there are a number of other Arawak Cocktails, all dissimilar.  The term Arawak was used for a number of related Caribbean peoples encountered by the Spanish in the West Indies.  Never having thought I’d need to bring the whole peoples-used-as-mascots debate into cocktail making (luckily for us “Tiki” is a made-up word), I’m glad to opportunistically rename my preferred version of this drink the Writer’s Block.  And, as writers from time immemorial have known, it’s active ingredients are the perfect cure to the affliction it’s named after (although I can’t guarantee it won’t have a detrimental effect on quality).

once again, out in the series of tubes…

They still let me write things over there, for some reason.

MxMo XLIV: Money Drinks and The Widow’s Kiss

After an unreasonably long period of not being that time, it is in fact time for the interweb’s most delayed cocktail event: Mixology Monday, hosted this round by the blog with the admirably dipsomaniacal title: Beers in the Shower.  The theme this month is Money Drinks, which is, well, let’s let Kevin explain it:

I feel a “Money” drink is something you can put in front of anyone, regardless of tastes or distastes about the spirits involved. Come up with a drink or a list based on spirits about drinks that would appeal to anyone. example: turning someone onto a Corpse Reviver #2 when they like lemon drops.

For those of us with access to top shelf spirits, Make an upscale twist on a classic [link added because awesome].

So yeah.  I admit my entry this month is maybe not the strongest, because I’m feeling ill and groggy, and so I’m going to reuse a classic that I’m sure most cocktailians have tried at least once (although I do get to take credit for getting it onto the permanent drink menu at a local restaurant).  I’d like to bring to the table tonight the Widow’s Kiss.

The Widow’s Kiss

• 1 1/2 oz Calvados (Ted Haigh says only Calvados, not applejack or apple brandy)
• 3/4 oz Chartreuse (Green is original, but Yellow is gentler; to fulfill the second “money drink” requirement, use VEP Chartreuse)
• 3/4 oz Benedictine (this is a drink where, surprisingly, B&B (blech) is an acceptable substitute)
• 2 dashes Angostura bitters
  Stir all ingredients with ice.  Strain into a cocktail glass and garnish with a brandied cherry.

Both Benedictine and Chartreuse are what I would call “problem” ingredients.  Tasted by themselves they are overwhelming, especially Chartreuse.  Not what you want to spring on someone, unawares.  I would argue that the Widow’s Kiss is a “money drink” if there ever were one, for wrapping these difficult ingredients into a drink that somehow tastes mostly of spiced honey and the warm, slightly stuffy attic of some archetypal grandmother, comfortable and headachey, with surprises hidden around every corner.

Again, I apologize for the barebones and lazy entry.  But the Widow’s Kiss is really remarkable, and worth a try for anyone who suspects they might not like any of its components.  And all of its ingredients are upwards of $30 so, c’mon, give me a little slack here.