Swigs

On Ingenuity

2009-11-06T10:23:00.006-05:00

Drinks make us smarter. Despite the liquified livers, massive hangovers, and annhiliated brain cells, drinks have inspired epic societal changes throughout time. Civilized settlements. Debate. Storage techniques. Biology. Agriculture. And so on. We're radically changed by the drinks we create. So says Tom Standage, and so say I.

But in day to day life, it's nonetheless pretty rare to see anything as ingenious as these two fellows who are as determined to open a wine bottle as anyone I've ever seen. Learn from them, and learn from that drink sitting in front of you.

(You really only need to watch the first 15 and last 15 seconds of this second video to get the idea. It's a bit long.)

Baudelaire Eyo

2009-11-05T13:27:00.006-05:00

My co-blogger and venerable restaurant reviewer Todd will soon have published a column about Jolly Pumpkin's new storefront brewpub in Ann Arbor. In anticipation of his moutherwatering wordsmithing, I thought it appropriate to post a few notes about a unique beer being served up at that location.

Brewmaster Ron Jefferies has apparently been trying out some new recipes under assorted pseudo-brands that are as whimsical as his recipes. Among them is cleverly titled Baudelaire Eyo, a saison brewed with hisbiscus, rose, and other herbs and flowers. I've read a review or two online where the reviewer's bottle arrived with its contents flat and uninspired, but I'm pleased to say that mine was quite effervescent, exceptionally well-balanced, and very drinkable. It pours with a dark, amber-ish tone highlighted by pink-ish hues when struck by the window light. Aromatically, it's aggressively funky but almost sweet, surely a sign of its herbal heritage. Predominantly funky on the palate, the flavor is in lock-step with the nose, showing a bit of sweet, floral nuance in the mid-palate and finishing dry.

Jolly Pumpkin is, as a farmhouse brewery, known for some bottle variation, a notion with which I have no qualms. But if most bottles I had going forward were to drink like this, I'd say Eyo ranks with Bam Biere, Perseguidor, Oro de Calabaza, and Luciernaga as one of the epic classics among the growing number of American farmhouse ales, competitive even with its French and Belgian counterparts. It's my sincere hope he bottles this magic elixir and gets it on store shelves in the future.

A Mighty Fail

2009-11-02T09:52:00.006-05:00

It seemed for a while that bagged tea was becoming passably drinkable. Restaurants were carrying Jasmine Oolong and White Tea in little silk bags with extra room to allow the broken leaves the chance to expand a bit and reveal their true flavors and aromas. For sure, no bagged tea will ever replicate the flavors or aromas of "real" leaf tea, but much like well-made boxed wine, it has its place in the market and, in a pinch, it was finally starting to serve me well.

Then tea got trendy.

* * *

Florida isn't a place I generally like to spend my time, and it's the last place I think of when I imagine sipping on a hot, fresh cup of tea. But when work took me to Orlando, away from my sizeable office stash of loose leaf, I needed a delicious cup despite the heat. The hotel, better than most, stocked Mighty Leaf-brand tea in pounches. Earl Grey, English Breakfast, Mint Verbena, and Orchid Oolong, among others.

Described on the box as being sweet and floral and presented in one of those pretty, roomy silken bags, the tea nearly moved me to sue for false advertising since it tasted more like Australian Shiraz than tea. Oolongs dried with blossoms still retain true tea flavor and usually have a light, natural sweetness and autumn leaf aroma from the flowers. Actual steeped flowers or sweet herbs can have sweetness, but again, there's an inherent natural depth. But this Orchid "Oolong" reeked of bubble gum and tasted like tropical fruit, suntan lotion, and pina colada.

Why ruin a good thing? Keep the silken bags, the overpriced boxes, the fancy packaging, the cheesy name, and the consultant-driven marketing plan. No problem. But why concentrate some quasi-natural orchid flavor and soak an oolong tea in it to the point it's more reminiscent of fruit punch than a quality cup?

The straight black and green teas weren't bad, but whether I'm in a steamy southern state or staying warm in Detroit, I'll be avoiding the Orchid Oolong in the future.

A Weekend in Chippewa County

2009-11-01T18:35:00.001-05:00

There’s a marked change in atmosphere where I-75 narrows somewhere north of Bay City. Farmland gives way to mixed hardwood and evergreen, M-23 separates off to the east taking a good portion of RV traffic with it, and gone are the concrete walls that divide road from country.

You’re up north.

Last spring a fire raged across the jack pine forest near Grayling, the sole habitat of the endangered Kirtland’s Warbler. The jack pine is a pioneer species, its small, hard cones opening only when exposed to the heat of flames, thus renewing a matured forest no longer useful to the birds. This is the natural order of things, though a few area homeowners no doubt complained of the nuisance. Today, blackened trunks of the dead stands of trees are still visible from the highway even at dusk while racing north at 75 mph. But it’s no more a graveyard than the rows of brown and dry corn stalks found further south that will be turned back into the soil. The earth eventually swallows itself one way or another.

Farther up flows the Indian River, part of the inland waterway that connects Lake Michigan to Lake Huron and also the range boundary of a small elk herd that still manages to roam the northern Lower Peninsula despite an abundance of predators gamboling about on four-wheelers. Beyond the river, forest, beyond the forest, the Mackinac Bridge, lights strung high along the topmost suspension cable a signpost for sailors traveling the straights both east and westbound.

Crossing the straights of Mackinac by bridge can either be a leisurely coast during mild weather or, when the wind is blowing across the span, a white-knuckled fright fest with every gust. In any case, I never fail to think about the unfortunate fate of Leslie Anne Pluhar and how her memory will forever be tied to a 1987 Yugo that was blown like a leaf to the depths below. It is said that divers searching for Leslie’s body found a junkyard’s worth of vehicles resting on the lakebed. Meanwhile, area Ford dealerships had a run on the new Explorer SUV.

The first thing my seven-year-old daughter, Audra, bid farewell to upon leaving for home after a long weekend in the UP were the dirt roads. I learned the hard way a few years back after a vacation near Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore that a low-slung family wagon was not the most appropriate vehicle for the area. It took three days to lose a piece of the nose and the entire undercarriage engine guard. I drive slower now and avoid the larger stones. If it weren’t for dirt roads there wouldn’t be anywhere to go. We stayed at a house on Piatt Lake, miles and miles of dirt roads back from M-123. Two-tracks and logging trails branch off in all directions. These are fun to explore though treacherous for owners of low-slung family wagons. Naturally, cell towers are not priority in a county with a population lower than the average inner-ring Detroit suburb.

Getting around late at night in the UP requires a different set of navigation skills. Driving directions may include mileage between dirt roads and spotting landmarks like a Smokey Bear sign or the little house with the candle in the window. When you eventually reach your destination it’s handy to have a bottle of whisky nearby. The glass to pour it in is optional.

We awoke Friday morning to a frigid wind blowing hard from the northeast and whipping up a small froth on Piatt Lake. Eager to begin our exploration we made a pot of coffee and a large breakfast of sausage gravy, scrambled eggs and fried potatoes. Soon after breakfast we headed north toward Whitefish Point.

Essentially fictional, the village of Whitefish Point is nevertheless known as the cranberry capital of Michigan. Presumably due to the one, century old cranberry bog two miles down Cemetery Road. The point itself is a compound of museum buildings commemorating the hundreds of ships Lake Superior has swallowed over the years. The main building houses artifacts recovered from wrecks near the point. There are photos and paintings and plaques detailing the last minutes of sailor’s lives. Gordon Lightfoot’s Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald is piped into the room. It’s all very reverent and sad. There’s a boathouse, the lighthouse keeper’s quarters, the lighthouse, a snack shop, and a gift shop with all the requisite mementos that people require when they travel to see far away things of interest.

A platform leads over the dunes and onto a coast where time falls away into the surf. Whole trunks of cedar, red pine and birch lay bleached and gray, some with their roots still intact, some forty feet in length, swept in from the Canadian shore and strewn about as if they were twigs. The northeast wind howls here, forcing white-capped rollers five and six feet high to break over flat stone disks of blue and orange that line the margin. Further in, sand the color of the stones drifts against the bones of trees making patterns only nature can. I stand and look where I’ve been as waves of sand obliterate my footprints in minutes as if I were never there.

Three fingers Riley roams these shores. Once a sailor on a doomed freighter heading east with a load of ore, Riley's body washed ashore near the point and soon froze in the surf ice. A young Coast Guard Petty Officer on duty after the wreck was charged with exhuming poor Riley from his wintry tomb. While chopping through the ice with an ax he unintentionally removed a finger. Nowadays, in the half-light of dusk, Riley searches on.

We escaped the ghosts of the point and headed into Paradise for a whitefish dinner. The wind had eased and a cold rain began to fall. We stopped at the IGA and picked up six packs of Bell's Two Hearted Ale and Wisconsin's Stevens Point Brewery Belgian White Ale. One advantage of vacationing in the Eastern UP near where the Two Hearted River flows into Lake Superior is that just about every convenience store and gas station has a six pack of Bell's for sale. Back at the house I donned my rain gear and roamed the woods with my Labrador, Ginger, until dark, and then relaxed fireside with a few bottles of beer.

A steady rain continued through the morning and eventually eased into sporadic drizzle. After a couple of hours of tossing Ginger's ball into the lake we drove to the lower falls of the Tahquamenon River. Tannins leached from the cedar and hemlock swamps that drain into the Tahquamenon River color the water amber. Besides being the second largest waterfall east of the Mississippi, the river is perhaps best known from the epic poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, The Song of Hiawatha.

And thus sailed my Hiawatha
Down the rushing Taquamenaw,
Sailed through all its bends and windings,
Sailed through all its deeps and shallows,
While his friend, the strong man, Kwasind,
Swam the deeps, the shallows waded.

Up and down the river went they,
In and out among its islands,
Cleared its bed of root and sand-bar,
Dragged the dead trees from its channel,
Made its passage safe and certain,
Made a pathway for the people,
From its springs among the mountains,
To the waters of Pauwating,
To the bay of Taquamenaw.

A boardwalk and a couple of overlooks allow access to two of the five lower falls. From here you can hike a moderately challenging four miles to the upper falls (we conquered this several years ago). There's also a loop that runs to the campground and along the entry road back to the gift shop. As we studied the trail map Audra went exploring a small stream that coursed down the high banks and under the boardwalk. Out of the corner of my eye I watched her foot slip into the ankle deep water getting a good soaker. She looked around to see if anyone noticed and casually shook the water off her foot and began leading the short but rigorous trail, skirting deep ravines, marching steadily forth beneath the trees.

The trails at the upper falls are paved and terminate at stairs that lead down to two outlooks, one at the brink of the falls, the other downriver. Signs indicate there are about 200 steps between both outlooks. We lost track before those counts could be verified. We suspect the signs are short by a step or two dozen. At any rate, climbing all those stairs made us thirsty. Fortunately for us, rebuilt on the site that was once logging camp #33, and adjacent to the upper falls parking lot, is a log complex containing a souvenir shop and Tahquamenon Falls Brewery & Pub. We settled in for a couple pints of balanced and tasty Falls Tannin Red Ale and whitefish sandwiches to refuel for one last hike.

Just north of the Tahquamenon lies a vast stretch of peat bog. A trailhead two miles down a rutted two track near the lower falls allows access to a network of hiking trails traversing this strange and beautiful ecology. This is moose country. Always the adventurer, Audra discovered a small foot trail that led to a narrow boardwalk over a quaking bog. A quaking bog is formed by a layer of peat about 18 inches thick that rests on top of water. It feels something like a water bed. Growing over this layer of peat are lichens, bright green and blood red mosses, and hundreds of pitcher plants. Another half mile stroll took us to Clark Lake. In the quiet of early evening we felt as if we were the only humans on earth. Not one of us wished to leave this place of peaceful beauty.

Our last night on Piatt Lake I stayed up late hanging around the fire and drinking from a growler of Falls Tannin Red Ale. Unseen animals rummaged in the brush. I wanted to get drunk by roasting the heart of my enemy on a stick and howling into the night but since I had no heart to roast I simply finished the growler and the rest of the Two Hearted besides. In a dim way I felt the sap running through the trees and the pull of the moon on my blood. Here I stood on a piece of country that can change a person, the details of which become a part of him and endure through all the small tragedies of routine. This is the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.

The next morning we headed south toward home. Obligatory smoked whitefish was procured from a tiny smokehouse in St. Ignace. I splurged on a bag of beef jerky that Ginger promptly crawled into the front seat and ate while we ordered coffee and other goods at the fudgemaker's in Mackinaw City. After one last stop at Mackinaw Pastie and Cookie Company for a half-dozen frozen pasties the north was behind us but in no way forgotten.

Enjoying the apple harvest

2009-11-01T17:21:00.000-05:00

Apple harvest is our favorite time of year. Not only do we ferment several gallons of unpasteurized apple juice from local orchards into cider to drink in the winter, there are all sorts of deals on bulk apples at Detroit’s Eastern Market. This Saturday we purchased a mixed bushel of Granny Smith and Northern Spy for $5 and got the dehydrator cranking.

Wash them good. We like tart apples for drying.

Slice them thick and sprinkle with a little ground cinnamon.

Store them with the rest of your Michigan harvest. They make a fantastic and healthy snack.

2004 Domaine de la Louvetrie Muscadet Sèvre et Maine "Le Fief du Breil"

2009-10-30T22:42:00.000-04:00

My favorite Muscadet wines all seem to share a similar aroma that is difficult to describe, something like clean, white cotton sheets in a spring breeze, like laundry detergent makers want you to think their product smells like. Or it could be the smell of rain, a few, fat drops that fall on sun-baked concrete and immediately vaporize. It’s not exactly that either. It’s more like the core of the fruit, it’s essence, the smell of it and all the Melon de Bourgogne grapes before it. Or it could just be the result of aging on the lees. Whatever it is, all my favorite Muscadet wines have it.

Jo Landron’s 2004 Domaine de la Louvetrie Muscadet Sèvre et Maine "Le Fief du Breil" has it. That and crusty bread and lemon peel and the most distant note of fruit trees in bloom. A mouthful is marked with a bracing acidity that brings with it more citrus and eventually levels out across the taste buds to finish crisp. Our friends at Gang of Pour will vouch. Good luck finding a $14 bottle of white wine better than this one.

She's a Fiiish... Hooouse

2009-10-26T18:46:00.004-04:00

Drinks generally share the same type of genesis as food: Culture, weather, geography, and available resources conspire to force food and drink in a direction. Rice and fish in Japan. Smoking tough cuts of meat in historically poorer areas. Mussels off the coast of Belgium. Leveraging every last part of highland animals to create haggis in Scotland. And so on.

Beer and wine, of course, fit that mold. Low alcohol, lighter, drier beers or whites in fish-friendly regions. Big wines in regions with spice. Family-brewed beers that fit farming lifestyles or pubs for high-density cities. But I hadn't really thought much about spirits in that context until this weekend when I brought some Fish House Punch to my co-blogger's house for a Saturday evening party.

Ted Haigh, aka Dr. Cocktail, writes about the punch:

In 1732, fully 104 years before Texas declared itself a Republic, Schuylkill (pronounced “SKOO-kull”), home of Fish House Punch, was its own colony, and later its own sovereign state. It must’ve been quite a place, too. It had a Navy (well, two boats). It had an army (OK, a cannon). At its core it was a club: The Schuylkill Fishing Company... A recipe as old as Fish House Punch, fervently slurped by the Father of Our Country, has inevitably gone through many fanciful formulations. Jerry Thomas related a simple (and probably accurate) recipe using lemon juice, sugar, water, peach brandy, Cognac and rum in 1862. Another was contributed by Mrs. Goodfellow’s Cooking School in 1907 that added oranges, strawberries or pineapple but called the addition of green tea “an abomination.”

The variations are interesting, and I can't help but think these variations were spurred on by available ingredients. And more to the point, why rum and brandy? The answer, I suspect, is because of the importance of rum to the early colonies and which would have easily made its way into the areas near Philadelphia, a wealthy city in those days. Not surprisingly, the colonies and territories that would go on to form middle America seemed to acquire a fondness for bourbon, and while they had their own punches and juleps, Fish House Punch was created in a time and place that almost required its invention. Rum was available, and over time, those with access to strawberries or different types of teas or brandies would have altered the recipe to suit their needs, of course. Family recipes would have emerged all around three common ingredients: rum, brandy, and a need to make them easily quaffable.

The recipe I used was based on Haigh's, with a substitution of some pretty piss poor apricot brandy for his suggested top-shelf peach brandy -- in and of itself a choice made because Detroit doesn't see a big selection of peach brandies.

Fish House Punch

2 quarts Jamaica rum (I used Mount Gay silver)
1 quart brandy (I used Hennessey and some from another bottle)
1/2 pint peach brandy
1/2 pint Maraschino liqueur
1 quart fresh-brewed green tea
1 pint fresh lemon juice
1 pound sugar

I'd like to try to make this in the future with some variations: black tea for green tea, slightly more lemon juice, replacing some or all of the sugar with some sort of homemade spicy sugar syrup, et cetera. Regardless, this is a great party punch that represents the fine human tradition of creating something amazing out of whatever ingredients are available. Enjoy it as a powerful social lubricant at your next gathering.

Dry Sherry Amor

2009-10-26T10:31:00.010-04:00

"Enough," he said; "the cough is a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough."

"True -- true," I replied; "and, indeed, I had no intention of alarming you unnecessarily -- but you should use all proper caution. A draught of this Medoc will defend us from the damps."

Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew from a long row of its fellows that lay upon the mould.

"Drink," I said, presenting him the wine.

He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused and nodded to me familiarly, while his bells jingled.

"I drink," he said, "to the buried that repose around us."

"And I to your long life."

Until a few years ago my sole exposure to sherry came via the pages of an Edgar Allan Poe short story wherein Montresor lures his fellow noblemen Fortunato into the catacombs of his palazzo with the promise of sampling from a rare cask of Amontillado. It's a story of revenge, memorable for a tight, driven plot and insights into character rarely found in the short fiction genre. Though I have always wondered what that cask might have contained.

It was at lakeside gathering of friends that I had my first taste. Putnam Weekley passed around appetizers of sardines and almonds to pair with tastes of Tio Pepe Fino. He offered it again once at his house. I admit I wasn't impressed. It tasted narrow and odd but not forgettable.

Months later it came to me suddenly. At Michael Symon's Roast Restaurant in downtown Detroit where the clouds parted and heavenly light shone on a post-meal Palo Cortado. The seal was broken. I purchased several bottles of Tio Pepe in the summer months with a newfound appreciation and subsequently pushed full glasses towards my closest friends. I've heard that Fino is an even better match for raw oysters than Muscadet. I look forward to testing this for myself.

As the days shorten I've turned to bottles of Lustau Los Arcos dry Amontillado. I buy this brand mainly because the wine stores I frequent don't offer much else in the way of sherry. The others are either cheap swill for $5.99, or semi-dry, or both. I'm not complaining. Lustau is a fine drink of sherry. With a nose of raisins and dried leaves and a rich, nutty flavor tempered by a bracing acidity it pairs well with everything from nuts and cheese to root vegetable stew. It is a most food-friendly wine. I could drink a bottle in a sitting though 17%ABV tends to make me feel a little funny. But I generally throw the bottle in the refrigerator, where it keeps, opened, for weeks. I occasionally take a nip while cooking dinner. Plus, it makes a fantastic pan sauce and works well in Asian stir-fry gravies and various soups beyond the classic French onion.

Evidently, there's a marketing plan in the works to get folks drinking sherry again. But as Dr. Vino describes, considering its reputation and the sort of intense flavors that are alien to most wine drinkers, it'll be an uphill push. It is said that it takes a full ten tries before one acquires a taste for olives. Yet you'll find that just about every decent market now offers a self-serve olive bar with several varieties these days. If my own experience is any measure, it should only take a few drinks in the right setting to grow a sherry drinker.

My own humble palace has no catacombs nor a rare cask of Amontillado, and I don't want to kill you (probably). But follow me inside anyway, there might be a glass of sherry waiting for you.

Chateau la Grolet

2009-10-18T18:49:00.007-04:00

Last year, around this time, I was drinking the 2002 vintage of Chateau la Grolet (the chateau is pictured at right) testing it out for Christmas dinner with part of my family in Baltimore. While that particular wine started with ragged edges and a lot of extracted fruit flavor, it opened up to become a truly gorgeous drink.

Tonight, moved perhaps by the crisp fall air and some primeval need for fatty richness, I decided to take advantage of a big hunk of beef that had been lingering in my freezer, throwing together some veggies and this grilled steak with a bernaise sauce. The night thus seemed appropriate for a revisiting of Grolet, which might cut through all that nicely.

The 2004 starts closer to that "gorgeous" state than its elder counterpart, with a more rounded texture and some elegant tobacco flavors. Some blackberry up front, though it's much more natural tasting than most bordeaux with blackberry. Not nearly the obnoxious, contemporary expression of Merlot that I've come to loathe, there's lots of black currant that carries through in the form of acidity in the finish. It's pretty and feminine to the nose; and it's full and flavorful on the palate. Though this could certainly last for several years to come, there's no way I'll be able to wait on my other bottle.

With a case discount, I paid less than $15 for this, plus shipping, which was probably around $2/bottle. I doubt anyone will confuse this Cotes de Bourg for a stellar classed-growth wine, but then, no one will confuse it with other wines at its price point. It truly stands apart as a value.

Name: Tete de Cuvee
Vintage: 2004
Procuder: Catherine & Jean-Luc Hubert of Chateau la Grolet
Location: Bordeaux (France)
Grape(s): Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon
Alcohol: 13.0%

Swan Cuvee du Trois

2009-10-14T23:12:00.009-04:00

American wines don't have a significant presence in my little basement collection of vino. But I have close to two cases of wines from Joseph Swan. A few bottles of Swan's pinot noir from Trenton Estate, which I believe is the original Swan vineyard, made its way into Michigan a few years ago, and I was stunned to learn that it was an American wine. It didn't reek of "grand cru" burgundy, but it certainly had an elegance that hid its true origin. Later, a friend exposed me to some of their zinfandels as well, which showed the same restraint as the pinot. As a bonus, I've been to the winery twice and gotten to meet and chat with the folks there: Rod (the winemaker) and his colleagues are exceptionally cool people. On my most recent visit, I walked in to him lamenting over-priced, over-hyped California wines and winemakers' driving Mercedes-Benz automobiles. I later read that he actually loses money on his "top" pinot noir, the same one that I'd had in Michigan that started me down this path. And Karen, who manages his tasting room and handles most of the logistical details, is from Michigan and went to high school a few miles from my house. Small world.

Anyhow, the Cuvee de Trois is their baseline pinot, and I'm drinking my way through a bottle tonight. The 2006 I've just uncorked is the fourth bottle of this Cuvee I've had, spread across two vintages, and all of them show a soft acidity on the nose. The aromatics drift between tart cherry and a lively strawberry. Similar berry flavors emerge on the palate, but unlike most California pinot noir I've tasted over the past few years -- from Siduri to cheaper plonk -- it has an almost cutting tartness. It lacks the rugged, earthy qualities of the single vineyard wines, which I prefer, but this is a light, fresh, delightful drink of booze.

The Details

Name: Cuvee de Trois

Vintage: 2006

Producer: Joseph Swan

Location: Sonoma, California, USA

Grape: Pinot Noir

Alcohol: 14.1%

A Bronx Tale

2009-10-13T22:26:00.005-04:00

I don't know what Chazz Palminteri drinks, but tonight, I drank three variations on the same drink: The Bronx cocktail. Before I get ahead of myself, here's the basic recipe:

The Bronx Cocktail

2 oz dry gin
.75 oz sweet vermouth
.75 oz dry vermouth
.75 oz orange juice

The first of the evening was courtesy of The Forest Grill in Birmingham, Michigan. Served to me on the rocks with an orange wedge, it was, in a word, weak. I don't know if the juice was simply out of a fountain spray nozzle, if it was from watery oranges, and/or if he used too much OJ, but the ice didn't really help matters as it melted. Anxious to save the fleeting flavor from its ostensibly inevitable watery grave, I consumed the rest in short order.

Arriving home a few hours later, I decided to make one myself, using the recipe above. But as I opened my fridge to fetch the vermouth, I realized I had both Stock and Carpano Antica on hand. Generally, Carpano Antica makes any drink better -- but I thought it wouldn't really be fair to compare a restaurant drink using well vermouth to something more precious than an autographed nude photo of Natalie Portman. So I constructed one drink using Stock and one with the Antica.

And to be honest, I'm not sure which I preferred. Initially, the sweet, somewhat flabbby orange juice seemed to clash with the herbs in the Antica, whereas the similar sweet, somewhat flabby Stock just melded nicely with the rest of the drink. But 20 minutes into the Carpano-laced drink, I noticed that I rather enjoyed the herbs and orange together. Perhaps the drift toward room temperature had an effect. Perhaps I just got used to it. Perhaps it doesn't matter.

Regardless, the homemade Bronx proved to be what it always ought to be: a fairly sweet but never cloying orange cocktail that puts many others to shame. Do yourself a favor: Put away the vodka and peach schnapps. Forget that Fuzzy Navel or Screwdriver or Hairy Fuzzy Navel or whatever the kids call it these days. Make yourself a Bronx instead.

Tasty Wine in Ferndale and Royal Oak

2009-10-12T15:56:00.002-04:00

The mirthful folks at Gang of Pour recently wrote up a few wines from establishments that we frequent. (Okay, so we haven't actually bought any wine from Costco in years but we did go through several bottles of Louis Jadot Beaujolais Villages back in the day when it was a mere $7/bottle, not including membership dues.)

At any rate, we've tasted most of the wines from Western Market and Cloverleaf that they've reviewed here and strongly recommend you give this a read. There's some tasty fermented grape juice for sale these days in Ferndale and Royal Oak.

A Jewel and a Jasmine

2009-10-10T21:47:00.007-04:00

Several days ago, I had a discussion about a recipe for the "classic" sweet martini made with gin, sweet vermouth, and orange bitters. A friend had a poor experience with the cocktail, and I asked what gin and vermouth he used. In that case, all that was available was Tanqueray and Stock, both fine products that I use regularly -- but never together. The gin has too much juniper and not enough nuance in the vermouth to stand up to it.

I thought a bit about that as I made a pair of gin-based cocktails tonight. Gin gets a bad rap, I think, due to mismade martinis and bitter gin and tonics prepared by legions of young bartenders recently promoted from positions as waitstaff. But it's amazing stuff. When mixed into a drink appropriately, gin can seem at first sip as transparent as vodka, letting other ingredients strut their stuff. The depth that it adds goes largely unnoticed until you try a poor gin or use vodka instead. But it's also surprisingly delicate, and because of the added botanicals, it has the power to ruin a drink.

That's certainly what happened to my friend's sweet martini.

Anyhow, I set about making a Jasmine cocktail for my wife and a Bijou (French for "jewel") for myself. Both rely heavily on other ingredients, so the gin is not as aggressive a contributor -- but an overly strong juniper flavor or sweetness would ruin them. So I grabbed my bottle of Bombay Dry Gin and went to work. The recipes, as I made them are:

The Jasmine

1.5 oz dry gin
.75 oz lemon juice
.5 oz Campari
.5 oz Cointreau
Garnish with a tightly wound lemon twist
Shake and pour into a cocktail glass

The Bijou

1 oz dry gin
1 oz greeen chartreuse
1 oz sweet vermouth (I used Carpano Antica)
2 dashes orange bitters
Garnish with a long lemon twist wound around a cherry
Stir and pour into a cocktail glass

Imagined by cocktail guru Paul Harrington with slightly different proportions, the Jasmine is bright, neon pink, garnished with a lemon peel. I enjoy mine with enough Campari and lemon juice to lend a grapefruit flavor using the Cointreau only to keep it balanced. Tonight, a sweet-ish lemon made the drink seem a bit sweet, but it was nonetheless a pleasant diversion from the cold weather and a touchdown the Iowa Hawkeyes put up on my Michigan Wolverines.

The Bijou, according to Imbibe magazine and other contemporary cocktail writers, it orginated in the late 19th century, first seeing publication in Harry Johnson's Bartender's Manual (which I have wanted to buy from Cocktail Kingdom for some time). Allegedly, the gin, vermouth, and chartreuse represent the three colors of classic valuable jewels, the diamond, the ruby, and the emerald. It can be made in layers, but my laziness could fetch me a ribbon at the county fair. Whatever the legend and whatever the method of construction, it's delicious -- thick, big, and intensely herbal. I add an extra dash of bitters -- most recipes call for one -- but other than that, the recipe listed above is the same as Johnson's over 100 years ago. I've seen a number of recipes cutting the chartreuse and vermouth to more contemporary tastes. I love herbal flavors, so I couldn't imagine drinking it any other way. It seems so appropriate on a cold fall evening when there's a sweet, almost herbal note to the air each day.

A Splendid Pint: Hand-pulled Two Hearted Ale

2009-10-09T12:09:00.004-04:00

Bell's Two Hearted Ale is my go-to American-style India Pale Ale (AIPA) for multiple reasons. 1. It's a Michigan product and I live in Michigan. Apart from brewpubs, this relationship is about the closest to old-world village drinking one can get in the era of homogenization. Figure in shipping distances, local economies and you recognize that I'm more or less saving the world by drinking beer. 2. While not lacking a generous proportion of hops, I find Two Hearted's hop profile to be fruitier than the generic AIPA. A spirit of mushy ripe peaches and apricots help to balance out the long, bitter finish. 3. A healthy 7% alcohol by volume provides just the right warmth for a beefy guy like me. 4. It's available in just about every corner store in the state, from Hancock to Luna Pier.

So it is by providence that my daughter began taking violin lessons at McCourt Music in Berkley. Each Thursday at seven I now have half-an-hour to kill in downtown Berkley and it so happens that McCourts is a mere two doors down from the Berkley Front. I have mixed emotions about The Front, as the locals call it. It's dingy and stinky and the crow who runs the place once called me stupid for attempting to ask her questions for a review I was writing. But I choose not to allow a personal grudge to keep me from patronizing a bar that offers several dozen taps of fermented wet goods, the better portion of which dispense American craft brew or hard to find imports. Being the bigger man, so to speak, is effortless when it works to your favor.

I say providence because by no other means would I find myself bellying up to The Front's bar last night and spying a small note on their large white board beer menu promoting Two Hearted Ale from a hand pull. Hand pulled beer comes from a manually pumped “beer engine” (a lovely name by any account). It is characterized by less carbonation and is served warmer than a standard pressurized tap. Beer poured using this method has become known to the British as “real ale”. The effect this has on Two Hearted Ale is nothing short of magical. The warmth and subtle carbonation allow the maltiness of the beer to show a depth not realized in the bottled or even straight tap version. I suspect there was also a dry-hopping done to the cask that results in a floral aroma akin to standing within a hedge of privet in full bloom. It was as satisfying a beer as I've had in my lifetime. As an occasional home brewer I often find myself grousing at a $5 pint. Not this time. Not this beer.

Cantillon’s Classic Gueuze

2009-10-07T11:42:00.005-04:00

Like olives and French New Wave cinema, authentic Belgian lambic beer is an acquired taste. Start the acquisition with Cantillon’s classic gueuze -- a blend of progressively sour one, two and three-year-old lambics. Though aromas of cheese rinds, straw, wet wool and meadow flowers and flavors of dry, tart, green apples might initially freak you out, it won’t be long before these same qualities haunt your very thoughts. It’s a beer that can age and improve for decades.

First published in the Metro Times

One Bourbon, One Beer

2009-10-07T11:35:00.005-04:00

I’m currently drinking through a bottle of Russell’s Reserve 10-year-old small batch bourbon. It’s made by the master distiller at Wild Turkey. Not having a shelf full of bourbon to do comparison tastings I’m uncertain whether it is overly vanilla-y or I’m just tiring of the vanilla character of bourbon. I have a feeling it might be the latter as I have lately been drinking more Scotch and Irish whiskey. At any rate, I doubt I will buy this particular brand of bourbon again. I’ll try and grab a bottle of my standby Evan Williams single barrel (purely for scientific purposes, of course) before Russell’s is gone.

Audra is taking violin lessons at McCourt’s in Berkeley. Since I am the most musically knowledgeable parent in the household it became my responsibility to chauffer her to the lessons and talk with the teacher about her progress, etc… It happens that McCourt’s is two doors down from Berkeley Front. That’s where you’ll find me every Thursday between 7 and 7:30, plenty of time for a couple of pints. Last week it was Weihenstephaner Festbier on tap, a gorgeous, malty lager that ranks right up there with the best of them.

A Week in Leelanau

2009-05-19T10:39:00.006-04:00

Books in hand, Leelanau Brewing Company founder Charles Psenka and I queue up at MSU’s Pasant Theatre. Authors Richard Ford, Tom McGuane and Jim Harrison had just finished speaking in commemoration of the Great Michigan Read. We both had first editions to be signed and Charles has been trying to send Jim Harrison bottles of his beer for months now, always prevented by Harrison’s resolute personal assistant, Joyce. He was determined to hand the beer over tonight.

Charles assertively shakes Harrison’s hand. Harrison doesn’t give the impression of appreciating crowds or assertive handshakes. “I need a drink,” Harrison says. It’s Charles’ cue to set down bottles of Whaleback White and Good Harbor Golden on the signing table. Joyce immediately recognizes the labels and wags a long finger. Charles had finally found a way.

It’s my turn. I tell Harrison that I’m an aspiring wine newsletter writer and that his work with Kermit Lynch is inspirational. “I get nine cases for that piece,” he says. We both chuckle. I believe I’ve formed a bond with a foremost man of American letters but it could be I’m slightly drunk from the glasses of Irish whiskey I had for dinner. There’s some talk of cinema with Tom McGuane and more book signing before we speed out of East Lansing by the light of fireflies.

That was a fitting eve of a recent family vacation to the Leelanau peninsula, Michigan’s pinky finger and Jim Harrison’s home for decades before he moved to mountains west. Leelanau is wine country but we’ve already done the tours. The plan was to generally avoid tasting rooms and haul a box of new and favorite wine from our favorite downstate wine merchants.

Our place was a little studio apartment above a garage on 21 acres of mature beech-maple forest a mile south of the historic Grand Traverse Lighthouse and open freshwater sea. It had a large deck and comfortable Adirondack chairs. Upon arrival we swiftly unpacked and poured healthy glasses of 2004 Clos Roche Blanche Cuvée Pif. We inhaled the candy blossom aromas and sat and watched as two deer scavenged the forest before us.

You might call Pif our house wine. We adore the tart red fruit flavor and how it takes a slight chill well and how it seems to always offer something new. It’s not bad with burgers and even better as a cocktail on a deck in the woods. The two deer stuck around until the coyotes began to howl. It’s somehow comforting to realize first-hand that a natural food chain still exists.

Sunrise and then I’m behind my puppy, Ginger, as we explore the trail network of Leelanau State Park. A brisk walk through old-growth forests of more beech and maple then white cedar and eventually sand dunes makes an animal hungry. Ginger for liver sausage, me for a bottle of 2006 Domaine Du Vieux Chêne from the southern Rhone VDP region of Vaucluse. It’s an equal blend of grenache and syrah with a nose of cherries, ripe black olives, purple wildflowers and their stems, and finally the rain-steam off of hot concrete. A sip is bright fruit tempered by mild tannins and some chewy twig. I believe this falls into the category of value wine. I hope there is enough to go around.

Leelanau is abundant with fruit orchards. We were eating a quart a day of dark, sweet cherries and also making the most of the fresh whitefish catch available for purchase in Leland’s historic Fishtown. One cool evening the whitefish was grilled with salt and pepper and simply adorned with a lemon-butter sauce. It drew out the grapefruity flavors of a crisp, dry 2006 Thomas Labaille Chavignol Sancerre. Above the wine were intoxicating scents of preserved lemon, marsh grass, sun-dried cotton and broad garden leaves. We spent the remainder of the evening in a canoe among the Eastern Kingbirds and Northern Flickers of Kehl Lake.

It seems everything I do on vacation makes me thirsty, even drinking. Aperitifs of Bell’s Two Hearted Ale inevitably led to a bottle of wine. A swim-tired dog gazing absently beyond the wood led to a bottle of wine. Leftover fried clam strips from the tavern down Manitou Trail led to a bottle of wine – 2005 Cascina Degli Ulivi Gavi Filagnotti to be precise. This scandalously floral Italian white has been a favorite since discovery. Replete with salty lemon cream and a muscular spine of minerality it commonly causes things around me to glow. As I finished off the bottle a tiny Ruby-throated hummingbird buzzed down to hover gracefully mere feet from my face. It was decidedly unlike looking into a mirror.

Chippewa legend speaks of a great fire on the western shore of Lake Michigan that drove a mother bear and her two cubs into the water. Nowhere to go, the bears were determined to make the far, opposite shore but after many miles of swimming only the mother bear was able to achieve it. Exhausted, she climbed a high bluff of the Leelanau Peninsula and curled to sleep and wait for her cubs. The cubs never made it—where they drowned the Great Spirit created the North and South Manitou Islands. The mother lies there still, the monument of Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore.

Besides miles of hiking trails, dunes and glacier cut hills, Sleeping Bear is blessed with a multitude of lakes and rivers. The geography of Glen Arbor is such that I was able to drop our canoe at Glen Lake and leave the car in town at the Crystal River take-out only a mile away. Possibly influenced by reading too much Hemingway in my youth I devised a plan to tie off a bottle of 2007 Bargemone Rosé to the thwart of the canoe and let it cool in the clear water, where the soft green hair of weeds cover anxious yellow perch.

It quickly became obvious that the water wasn’t nearly cold enough to chill pink wine, so I reluctantly popped the bottle into ice and found a swimming hole. It was a short wait. At drinking temperature the rosé easily slid down the throat in waves of light, bright fruit with a steady dried-herb finish. Out of our plastic boating cups rose aromas of strawberry, melon, wintergreen, cucumber and possibly a hint of juniper, although that aroma could have been from white cedar that lined the banks of the river.

And of course there are miles upon miles of Lake Michigan beach in the Sleeping Bear. Where Shalda Creek empties into big water we spent an afternoon at play, a fragrant beach fire providing the base for our activities. On the way out we spied Great Blue Heron fishing under verdant cover. On the way in we heard a loon’s doleful song. On the drive back to shelter our bellies rang with hunger.

Whitefish is wonderful but after so many goings-on one occasionally desires a piece of fat-marbled protein, particularly when a bottle of 2004 Ulive Mounbé Barbera waits in sight of the grill. With a striking nose of asphalt, plums, red cedar and arugula this was the most memorable wine of our vacation. It is nectar wrung from the petals of dark purple flowers, a blackberry reduction, a glass of warm tannin and tingling acidity. This rousing meal was accompanied by a simple dish of sautéed summer squash in butter and wild leeks (ramps) that grew abundant in the woods around us. We took our last sips as the orange twilight turned into moon and stars.

If natural beauty, fruit and fish aren’t enough, Leelanau Peninsula also offers several charming harbor villages for dining and shopping. It seems every other storefront is an art gallery, many filled with bleary, severely-colored paintings of Lake Michigan’s sand dunes and sunsets. But Sutton’s Bay Galleries is not the standard “vacation art” store. Browsing rare lithographs of Russell Chatham’s extraordinary paintings is a half hour well spent.

There is no shortage of book stores, either. Most of them with several shelves devoted to Jim Harrison and other Michigan authors. At The Cottage Book Shop in Glen Arbor I found a signed first edition of Dan Gerber’s book of new and selected poems, A Last Bridge Home. Russell Chatham’s paintings have appeared on the covers of both Jim Harrison’s and Dan Gerber’s work. For years Dan Gerber and Jim Harrison were co-editors of Sumac Press. Connections linger around every corner for the alert.

We celebrated the book discovery with a bottle of Francois Chidaine Montlouis Brut and its fine aromas of thick-cut marmalade on wheat toast. Drinking dry and minerally like licking lemon rocks along a dusty riverbed it finished complex yet refreshing and paired brilliantly with a snack of smoked whitefish pate.

This bubbly has occasionally been known to arrest the souls of wine drinkers at every level, invoking a fever-dream of caresses falling from velvet sky. At any rate, it seemed an apt wine to sip as our vacation came to a close. Soon we would be belted into a full car, heading south on concrete ways, a combined total of seventy-one mosquito bites and twice as many memories.

Halloween Drinking

2008-11-10T07:53:00.000-05:00

We start with a couple 750ml bottles of 2008 Spruce Campbell, a homebrew based on Bell’s Best Brown ale and flavored only with the spring growth harvested from my backyard spruce tree -- no hops. It’s named after ‘B’ horror movie icon Bruce Campbell of Evil Dead and Bubba Ho-tep fame simply because we drank it at my annual Halloween party the previous Saturday and Bruce is a funny dude. It’s tart and fruity with a suggestion of citrus. Most folks wouldn’t know it was spruce unless you told them. Chicks dig it.

Halloween night in suburban Detroit is mild. Orange leaves tumble down the street in front of a light, steady wind. My six-year-old daughter, dressed as queen, hands out Blow Pops in a most royal fashion while her mother chides the children that seek treats sans costume. There were none as bold as last year’s morbidly obese teenager in her sweat suit that couldn’t bother to stop talking on her cell phone as she thrust her open candy bag in our general direction, pointlessly collecting.

There are a few envious comments about the porch sill lined with bottles of wine from passers-by. I would be jealous too if I was dry and spotted a group drinking the brisk and spicy floral 2006 You Are So Beautiful from Domaine le Briseau. Light, yet a satisfying combination of tart fruit and mild powders, I would happily have this wine as a canoeing partner in the dead of summer. It seems I would prefer drinking it in the sunlight. It is not a vampire wine.

There is less luck with a 2002 Brun l'Ancien Terres Dorees. Though the balanced and structured twiggy red berry fruit body is all there it clearly smells of pooh -- pooh being connotative of a tolerable stench as opposed to the other descriptions one might imagine. It was certainly drinkable but disappointing after the recent two or three bottles that were well singing.

Bound tightly in its own skin is 2006 Foillard Morgon. All the elements are there: low growing berries and wiry tannins. But they’re quiet and shy allowing a fullish, almost sweet fruit presence occupy much of the stage. The consensus is to let it sit while praying it evolves into something like a 2001.

Following is a firm bottle of 2007 Franck Peillot Vin du Bugey Pinot Noir. It is angles and muscle covered by felt. Less profound than the mondeuse from the same producer, it in fact drinks similarly with lean fruit and an impression of mustard greens or some zesty herb that grew from rich soil. I feel we should have some sliders to marry up to this one. It is a skeleton wine albeit only on this one night of the year.

Coming full circle, we open a 2007 Tue-Boeuf Vin de Table Français Rouillon Frileuse that obviously shares some breeding with the Briseau. A slight tinge of sulfur quickly blows off and underneath is a pretty expression of pointed and delicious strawberry vine juice balanced by its acidity that many wine lovers might possibly despise. Nevertheless, the wine is drinkable beyond belief on this night and shows particularly well for its $11 sticker.

Romero’s Land of the Dead sits in the DVD player but it’s late, very late. I try to watch anyway but I’m out before the first head explodes, leaving three-quarters of a can of poorly considered Elephant malt liquor on the side table. I unfortunately sleep without dreams.

Halloween and Vin de Savoie

2008-10-15T10:30:00.001-04:00

When a friend informed me he had just received Rob Zombie’s 2006 remake of Halloween in the mail I figured what the hell. I grabbed a bottle of the most unsuitable horror film watching wine I had, Quénard 2006 Vin de Savoie Chignin Jacquere VV, and walked over for an evening viewing.

As the wine chilled Michael Meyer’s newly conceived redneck childhood unfolded. A more profound study of the possible causes of his psychopathic behavior in this version was diluted by second-rate acting and Malcom McDowell looking like a tall leprechaun with an impossibly red face and white hair.

We opened the wine just before the cinematic blood spilling began in earnest. From a glass wafted delicate aromas of tiny white flowers, windswept meadows and a touch of tangy, unripe pear. I soon realized the carving of wanton teenagers doesn’t frighten me as it once did and began wondering what the menu of Roast (celebrity chef Michael Symon’s meat restaurant opening in the newly restored Westin Book Cadillac Hotel downtown) was going to look like. One should not be thinking about a nice carpaccio during a slasher film, generally.

Quite in line with a better Muscadet the Savoie wine has a nice texture, bright without being sharp, with a bit of stone running through it. Compared to the Boniface Apremont I can get locally it is more intricate and balanced and has more flesh. Writing this tasting note a few days later I look to see who this Quenard person is and discover there’s a dozen Quenards making wine in the Savoie. I suppose if enough of them were shipped over you might get by memorizing the labels. This bottle happened to be imported by Dressner and sold through Chambers Street. I pray they won’t run out before my next order.

It’s pointless to expound on the movie any further. My friend and I had a short discussion on the state of horror films at present and decided the genre as we know it has been stale for years and won’t be revived by any amount of jittery camera work. Perhaps my next bottle will be better consumed watching something like Teeth or a good existential zombie flick. But I would gladly take suggestions.

2007 Domaine de la Louvetrie Amphibolite Nature

2008-07-10T14:04:00.001-04:00

Wine of the summer (so far)

I have spent the past couple months slowly depleting my local market's shelves of Joseph Landron's muscadet ($15 Detroit dollars). I find this wine inevitably drinkable in all situations. Most recently with an uncomplicated sandwich of lightly breaded, sweet fried lake perch on a Kaiser roll.

Amphibolite Nature is all green mango and dusty stones above a tart drink of sun, allegedly the expression of near-coastal France. So why is it a drink conjures the purple clouds on the horizon of Lake St. Clair after an evening of trolling for walleye, a languid stroll through the summer orchard, every thing green, soft curls of water caressing a sandy shore?

Yes, it is good with clams and broth. It is perhaps at its finest while reading poetry by candlelight on the front porch, marveling at the sadness of a train's whistle. I fear this wine has rooted itself into my being and my being will not be satisfied until the very last bottle is dry. How does this happen?

Les Vins Contés 2007 Le P’tit Rouquin

2008-04-28T13:08:00.001-04:00

The sun was shining in Detroit yesterday. At the zoo, polar bears slept in their meadow and peacocks brazenly displayed for peahens. Small children roared at lions and attempted to jump as far as a kangaroo. The breeze was cool enough to wear sleeves.

After an early supper of Delmonico grilled over hardwood and a brisk salad composed mostly of dandelion greens I motored down Interstate 75 past sports arenas and casinos to Mexicantown where most of a bottle of Les Vins Contés 2007 Le P’tit Rouquin Vin de Pays du Loir-et-Cher waited for me.

Slanderous accusations were aimed at the aromas radiating from misty red wineglasses of this old-vines gamay. I did not understand. There was chalkboard (my old friend), berry-fruit salad, laughter and cinnamon red-hots. The floor appropriately thumped as I drained glass after glass and downstairs Steve Jarosz prepared for his weekly gig with Grupo Escobar at Sangria in downtown Royal Oak.

This is the kind of exceptionally drinkable red I want access to all summer -- to pull from the cooler after a long day canoeing when the sun goes orange behind the trees of the northwoods or to splash into friend's glasses on the front porch. In ways it reminds me of Emmanuel Houillon Poulsard, not necessarily in flavor, but disposition. I want a case of cases.

2006 Château la Carizière Muscadet

2008-04-21T21:23:00.001-04:00

The inner-ring suburban Detroit neighborhood where I live is full of commotion. Robins struggle for territory. Children play ball on the sidewalks even as Tigers battle Indians on living room televisions. Crocus and daffodil blossoms do their finest impersonations of the sun. It is an epic scene.

This is a neighborhood dominated by 20s era foursquares and bungalows. A neighborhood of porches and young couples sipping drinks in spring’s evening glow. Drinks like Joseph Landron’s organic 2006 Château la Carizière Muscadet.

A pale yellow glassful sits on the ledge next to my crossed feet and mere yards from the traffic of historic Woodward Avenue. A deep whiff carries the scents of white flowers, apple, lemon and polished river stones. A sip is all tart, yellow fruit, slightly briny, and finishing with the drawn taste of flaky rocks. Impossibly loud birdsong fills the sky. Trees blush red and green. Muscadet drinks like spring air.

Evan Williams Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey

2008-04-10T21:32:00.003-04:00

100 proof. Bottled in bond. Directly from the bottle it is initially hot. It tears a path up the sides and back of your throat and makes you salivate from the jaws slightly before blooming large in your upper chest. Behind is scorched sugar and some terrible feeling of apprehension and flashes of a girl with cigarette breath and a small black lace bra in the back seat of a primered Plymouth with an exhaust leak. I like it.

A couple Michigan hard ciders

2008-04-08T09:28:00.004-04:00

Sutton’s Bay, MI, Black Star Farms cider is a tart and dry and balanced drink of fermented apple juice. The mild carbonation lifts any sense of sweetness off your tongue and into the back of your throat. Drink with a mild Gruyere grilled sandwich on the porch when the sun is out and the birds are singing.

J.K. Scrumpy’s Orchard Gate Gold farmhouse organic is like a bite of every apple you’ve ever eaten. It’s soft and crisp and juicy with rotten spots and bitter seeds and after a long sip feels like it’s running down your chin even though the back of your hand turns out dry. It comes from a Flushing, MI, orchard that has been making hard cider for 150 years.

Anatomy of a Pisco Sour

2008-04-01T13:28:00.002-04:00

The Brazilian Caipirinha and Cuban Mojito are the darlings of today’s cocktail scene. We like them both, particularly now that our side of the Earth is tilting closer to the sun. But the Mojito can be a chore to make and the Caipirinha’s simplicity tends to grow tedious. That’s when we turn to a Pisco Sour. With straightforward preparation and intensity from ingredients a little more exotic than usual, it’s bound to be the next big thing. Here’s how we make one:

• 2 ounces Pisco

Pisco is a brandy distilled from grapes grown in wine producing regions of Chile and Peru. In fact, both Chile and Peru claim it as their national drink. We don’t bother taking a side in the debate as long as the booze keeps flowing.

Chilean Pisco Capel is our brand of choice for the Pisco Sour. As cocktail base liquor it is remarkably smooth and the degree of alcohol is just apparent. Also Chilean, Alto del Carmen is slightly more refined and good for straight sipping if you sometimes take your drinks that way. Both are marked by pleasing aromas of gently caramelized sugars, tropical fruits and wetland vegetation.

• 1 ounce lemon/lime juice

Ignore juice sold inside plastic fruit reproductions. There is no substitute for fresh squeezed – period. We have found recipes that call for lemons as the citrus component of a Pisco Sour and at least as many prescribing limes. Our compromise is to use both. Since we almost always mix for two it’s our luck that one average lemon and one average lime usually produce around two ounces. Don’t sweat it if you’re off a quarter ounce either way. This is not science. It’s alchemy.

• ½ ounce simple syrup

To ensure granulated sugar is integrated into your cocktail make it into simple syrup. Put one cup water and one cup sugar into a saucepan over flame. When the sugar is dissolved and the liquid just begins to bubble around the edges take off the heat and let cool. That’s simple syrup. Store what you don’t use in a jar in the fridge. In theory it keeps for a week. In practice it keeps for two or more.

• Dash Angostura bitters

Like all the best herbal tonics and mixes Angostura bitters began life as a snake oil treatment for fatigue and stomach ailments. Created in Venezuela it is made from a proprietary blend of tropical herbs, plant extracts and spices and adds zing to Pisco Sours, Pink Gins and Manhattans. Technically, Amargo bitters should be added, but since they are nearly impossible to find in the United States, Angostura offers a reasonable substitute. Bakers and chemists will want to know a dash is equivalent to ¼ teaspoon. Strict adherence to the measure is pointless when you’re pouring from a dasher bottle. Trust your taste.

• Dollop egg white

No kidding. Enthusiastically shaken egg white will develop a lovely froth on top of the cocktail adding another dimension of elegance. Ask anyone that spent their youth sipping an Orange Julius while loitering in the local shopping mall. Again, since we mix for two, one whole egg white does the trick. You’ll find egg white in most cocktails with names ending in Fizz. Tip for drunken foodies: Plan to make some custards if you get into Pisco sours. It's a shame to waste all those egg yolks.

• Shake with cracked ice

You should combine all ingredients in a separate container before adding them to ice to minimize ice melt. You want maximum liquid to ice contact in this part of the process. If your kitchen isn’t equipped with the modern technology to crack ice just put your cubes into the shaker and go psychotic on them with an ice pick or steak knife. One Pisco Sour is rarely enough and as tempting as it might be you should never reuse ice. Used ice is wet and not as cold and is the principal reason for watered down cocktails.

When everything is together in your shaker – we like the stainless steel three piece number consisting of a sixteen ounce tumbler, a strainer, and a strainer cap that conveniently holds exactly one ounce of liquid – shake vigorously until the cold of the tumbler hurts your hand. This is no time for theatrics. Casual fish-wristed wobbling will leave you with a patchy drink.

• Strain into chilled champagne flute or small 6-8 ounce wine tasting glass.

Don’t waste all your energy cracking ice if you’re going to pour your drink into a warm glass. Part of the vibe of a tasty cocktail is its many levels of chill. Five to ten minutes rest in the freezer is sufficient to cool a glass so it won’t alter the temperature of the icy cold liquid. When pouring for two it’s considered bad form to have glasses of grossly lopsided volume and even worse pouring from an already full glass into another. It’s best to bring the full one down to level the easy way by drinking it when no one is looking. At least until you get the hang of it. Don’t worry. Considering the pace at which Pisco Sours are typically consumed this skill is mastered in no time.