tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71713723163440746962024-03-18T11:05:14.323-07:00The Institute for Alcoholic ExperimentationObservations from the New Sheridan Club's disreputable Martini LabClayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.comBlogger334125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171372316344074696.post-2137490690314008612024-02-01T13:22:00.000-08:002024-02-16T07:53:08.052-08:00Ancient Egyptian Cocktails at the Bloomsbury Club<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD1xjr5aAMJGfNRPrSaBFluJTIlQ1kKAy8iNPn9IO0sk3zMnPACuJbVG_nHkC2jIpUI8PpE3_6tpEg-nF0S2JAsKStZPClVsHtYw_E8DPdVbSW1qw6Rs1rYOqq9Ni-YRjq8BVXC9EXyrLNsfiBZOD_cD0ZpJQrHfdoa94X6oEckmMb_caR_otwOeoDmvQ/s4032/IMG_3817.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="693" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD1xjr5aAMJGfNRPrSaBFluJTIlQ1kKAy8iNPn9IO0sk3zMnPACuJbVG_nHkC2jIpUI8PpE3_6tpEg-nF0S2JAsKStZPClVsHtYw_E8DPdVbSW1qw6Rs1rYOqq9Ni-YRjq8BVXC9EXyrLNsfiBZOD_cD0ZpJQrHfdoa94X6oEckmMb_caR_otwOeoDmvQ/w480-h640/IMG_3817.jpeg" width="520" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Let the mystical pyramid choose your cocktail</td></tr></tbody></table><p>To Bloomsbury, for the launch of a new cocktail menu at the <a href="https://thebloomsburyclub.com/" target="_blank">Bloomsbury Club</a>, in the bowels of the Bloomsbury Hotel—thanks to Megan and Katie from <a href="https://www.cru-comms.com/" target="_blank">Cru</a> for the invite. We struggled to find the place at first, not realising that the hotel had two cocktail bars, the other being the scintillating <a href="https://www.thecoralroom.co.uk/," target="_blank">Coral Room</a>, to which we’d been before. Such extravagance.</p><p>I’ve come across some pretty elaborate cocktails before—such as ones that are served under a glass dome filled with smoke, or one that came in a flask inside a hollowed-out Bible—but this whole menu is pretty high-concept even by these standards. It’s based around Ancient Egypt, on the grounds of the connection between the Bloomsbury Group of artists and the 1922 discovery by Howard Carter of Tutankhamun’s tomb. If you look it up, the connection is actually pretty tenuous, but it was all going on at around the same time. </p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVP97Ot-j6mikCOnaWukWC0U5NrfMCNBPW64bZlG5NgLVDTBVWq46RsQzQ_xwoR8X_aQEjVHqAuBHTmFJRpoOpKWsdpQRK59mGTW7x_N3gEuO0IxYEOxN7sbOXXcvlBLvmAKt7J3I2Wb_YgtkNvi5-gIUcol7mIAs9d-C0QlFuGNH2VeJsGrESHo3_SFU/s4032/IMG_3819.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVP97Ot-j6mikCOnaWukWC0U5NrfMCNBPW64bZlG5NgLVDTBVWq46RsQzQ_xwoR8X_aQEjVHqAuBHTmFJRpoOpKWsdpQRK59mGTW7x_N3gEuO0IxYEOxN7sbOXXcvlBLvmAKt7J3I2Wb_YgtkNvi5-gIUcol7mIAs9d-C0QlFuGNH2VeJsGrESHo3_SFU/w300-h400/IMG_3819.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What greets you under the pyramid's lid</td></tr></tbody></table>Each cocktail is named after an Egyptian hieroglyph. Which sounds like a good idea, until you trying asking for them by name in a noisy bar environment. Bellow at the waiter that you’d like a <i>Hu</i>, an <i>Ib</i> and a <i>Ka</i>, and you can’t help feeling that you sound like you’ve already had too many. According to the menu (a detailed booklet that is apparently available for sale, and which naturally I stole), each cocktail actually tries to embody the essence of the hieroglyph in its flavours. I told you it was high-concept.<p></p><p><br />It gets better. The menu insists that, inspired by the symbols inscribed on sarcophagi, the Bloomsbury Group adopted Ancient Egyptian mystical philosophies, in an attempt to glean universal human truths and come to know The Self. One part of this is the act of divination: although the menu doesn’t go so far as to say the Bloomsbury Group partook of this, the bar does give you, the customer, a chance to have a go. At the beginning of your evening you are presented with a pyramid (mixed media, mostly printed cardboard). Lift the lid and you find a central chamber containing a pendulum. You then allow the pendulum to swing over the top and slowly lower it until it touches one of the “tombs” surrounding the chamber. Lift the lid of this sarcophagus and your family will be cursed for a thousand generations. Only joking. What you actually find under the lid is the name of the cocktail you should order.</p><p>In the menu, there is a paragraph under each cocktail telling you what your cocktail choice reveals. Given that your “choice” has been made for you, at random, I guess it’s not revealing what it means that you chose it, but what it means that the gods chose it for you. For example, if you end up with the cocktail named after the god Nefertum, it means the god is calling you to “cast off your neuroses and find wonder in innocent things” (which enough of pretty much any kind of alcohol will do, I guess). If it is divined that you should chug a <i>Meri</i>, it means that “you have been too wrapped up in yourself lately. Meri is here to drag you outside and connect you with the wider world.” (So it’s Meri dragging you outside, not the bouncer—remember that.) “Plant flowers, savour the seasons, get muddy. Breathe energy into your relationships, particularly family. Discover unity everywhere.” (Slurring, “You’re my best mate, you are,” is a start, I presume.) So for an average price of £17, you’re getting therapy as well as a glass of booze, which is pretty good value for London.</p><p>I’ll be honest that after the first drink we fell to making our own choices, based on the ingredients listed in the menu. But here we realised that the process was not much different from allowing a pendulum to choose your drink for you, as the description is not much of a guide to what you get. For example, the Scotch-based <i>Kheper</i> includes double cream, yet it is completely clear. We mentioned to the waitress that it looked as if they’d forgotten to include the cream, but she explained it was “clarified cream”. (Can you clarify double cream?) Likewise the <i>Meri</i> contains “honey lassi”—yoghurt, right?—yet is not only clear but colourless too, which is weird as it has Eagle Rare 10-year-old bourbon in it. The <i>Ib</i> contains “saffron custard”, which makes you think it’s going to be like a Snowball, yet it too is clear. (We struggled to detect either custard or saffron.) Meanwhile, the Champagne-based <i>Manu</i> really does taste like a classy Snowball, dominated by vanilla. (The ingredient is “vanilla salep”—I looked it up and a salep is an Ottoman drink made with flour from the orchid bulb.)</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqn4Q5_UmlLSI4lc7iJAp0IeZ8gEm9Vuz9jm2mN_I8ySgqEcfBQROzHg1b5bMWXSHTahTdfSbQZa0YZNxzuCbDTFER9M-IAVh7P85Imp4UE4QXrMeUyAQcw4SXZvJi3yqq_pC5iqj93une2jy8PT7X2_Trp9SK1CO_0y0IMplzMSVXT0s0b8LuaNdZ_KM/s4032/IMG_3830.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqn4Q5_UmlLSI4lc7iJAp0IeZ8gEm9Vuz9jm2mN_I8ySgqEcfBQROzHg1b5bMWXSHTahTdfSbQZa0YZNxzuCbDTFER9M-IAVh7P85Imp4UE4QXrMeUyAQcw4SXZvJi3yqq_pC5iqj93une2jy8PT7X2_Trp9SK1CO_0y0IMplzMSVXT0s0b8LuaNdZ_KM/w300-h400/IMG_3830.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A <i>Manu</i> in the tall glass and a <i>Se Shen</i> with the rose petal</td></tr></tbody></table>So the cocktail descriptions keep you guessing. But are they nice? Our group of four managed to taste all 12 cocktails on the menu, and in the first instance I would say that it helps if you have a sweet tooth. The Pyramid of Mars declared that Mrs H. should have the <i>Kheper</i>, but even for her it was too sickly to finish, dominated by golden syrup, though not without interest from the Drambuie, carraway, cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg also included (the carraway being the most noticeable for me). The gods assigned me the <i>Nefertum</i>, which was sweet too, presumably from the orgeat almond syrup, but balanced by acidity from persimmon, physalis and grapefruit. The base was 11-year-old Santiago de Cuba rum, which came through nicely.<p></p><p>The <i>Meri</i>, with its bourbon joined by cacao, crème de menthe, Branca Menta and honey lassi, sounds like it’s going to be a chocolately Old Fashioned, but, in addition to being colourless, it’s dominated by the mint (crème de menthe mint, not fresh mint), and the bourbon is reduced to a subtle woody ambience. Meanwhile the <i>Ib</i>, made with Chardonnay grape skin vodka, crème de peche, Galliano, saffron custard and peach and jasmine soda—which the menu itself describes as rich and creamy—turns out to be long, floral and refreshing, and was a firm favourite in our group. The Champagne in the <i>Manu</i> (which is slightly more expensive at £25) is clearly present, being the first thing that hits your nose, and its dryness offsets the sweeter elements. But, as I say, it’s vanilla that dominates, and one struggles to detect the tantalising “fig Sauternes” listed in the menu.</p><p>But the drinks are by no means all cloying. The <i>Ir Ma’at</i>, made from vodka, Italicus Rosalino di Bergamotto, dry vermouth and yuzu sake, is sharply bitter and aromatic. My two favourites were both pretty punchy: the <i>Ka</i> contains mezcal, green coffee beans, pineapple, lime and “coconut and rosemary agave”, and I would not have guessed that coffee and rosemary would go together so well. And the text for the <i>Wadget</i> warns that “A powerful force is about to surge up in you,” and they are not wrong about this spicy combination of tequila, rosé vermouth, strawberry, cacao, thyme and chilli salt.</p><p>Overall, a hell of lot of effort and thought has gone into this menu. Perhaps they’ve overthought it with the mystical pyramids, but they certainly don’t do any harm—and, as I say, the randomness of the drink selection isn’t much different from the surprise you might get if you try and choose a drink based on the way it reads on the page. If your ideal cocktail is a Dry Martini, then you may find some of these too sugary by three-quarters, but overall the menu has bitter and aromatic concoctions too. It’s just a question of guessing which ones they might be.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh87eNo4PQfCBh9nMleDHOkyBfoNwLNmP00ERSpxgWxw6AmFKgFOu9g5epR-cxJ_PR-_1JzueM7KabRHADbvo4QHBAZWUDO_6R9gxyc32fxDPR7izrJMxUlOJlRLVEeQtzVtFu9tEeSwmky-5BeJmmb_mWacsF6QTSkr1QlpD5omG9VeZ0T1C9CCb8Ncbg/s2000/CHARLIEMCKAY_CHARLIEMCKAY-0630-CROP-MED.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1586" data-original-width="2000" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh87eNo4PQfCBh9nMleDHOkyBfoNwLNmP00ERSpxgWxw6AmFKgFOu9g5epR-cxJ_PR-_1JzueM7KabRHADbvo4QHBAZWUDO_6R9gxyc32fxDPR7izrJMxUlOJlRLVEeQtzVtFu9tEeSwmky-5BeJmmb_mWacsF6QTSkr1QlpD5omG9VeZ0T1C9CCb8Ncbg/w640-h508/CHARLIEMCKAY_CHARLIEMCKAY-0630-CROP-MED.jpg" width="520" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div><br /></div>Clayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171372316344074696.post-51991909317773978952023-10-17T10:53:00.000-07:002023-10-17T10:53:23.998-07:00Vintage Pimm's No.5 and No.6—unopened bottles<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzvYuZGmG7vuBXVIlLdHOFGK5TFtU4u9Q_kUKsySBVDnRaO8B3yw6_CZ6MY1mSv0N2oCUhxM4NYmlBuFFyYismVZFGT4FzdK7WEOQmymGeghYEDG6rUTWolHPn4Kq9FL0KxCh7SipUBG6YfLJRKJ1WcjPW8xk-VSeDt9SaKdYZl1fcKyhKFVoEOGiNAzo/s3167/633A4758-2.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3167" data-original-width="2240" height="736" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzvYuZGmG7vuBXVIlLdHOFGK5TFtU4u9Q_kUKsySBVDnRaO8B3yw6_CZ6MY1mSv0N2oCUhxM4NYmlBuFFyYismVZFGT4FzdK7WEOQmymGeghYEDG6rUTWolHPn4Kq9FL0KxCh7SipUBG6YfLJRKJ1WcjPW8xk-VSeDt9SaKdYZl1fcKyhKFVoEOGiNAzo/w452-h640/633A4758-2.jpg" width="520" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My two 1960s bottles. Note that I'd already opened them by the time of the photograph</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p>I’ve known for a long while that the fruit-infused summer classic, “Pimm’s No.1 Cup”, was actually just one of, at one time, seven different cups, each with a different spirit base. The gin-based No.1 was the original, created by James Pimm in 1840 as a tonic, sold by the tankard in his oyster bar. It contained a secret blend of fruit, liqueurs and spices. Scotch-based No.2 Cup and brandy-based No.3 were introduced in 1851 (though I’m not clear at what point these were bottled commercially). The 1930s saw the addition of dark-rum-based No.4 and rye-based No.5, while the 1960s added vodka-based No.6 and tequila-based No.7. All but No.1 were discontinued in the 1970s, although No.6 was brought back by popular demand between 2004 and 2021.*</p><p>So I was intrigued when a friend produced two battered bottles of No.5 and No.6, part of a dusty lot he’d bought at auction. (He does this quite a bit, and every time we meet he has some new curio to sample.) The labels are pretty ragged, but on one you can still see that the ABV is given as 55° proof (28.9 %), which would date them most likely to the 1960s. (They were originally 60° proof, lowered to 55° in the 1960s, and today Pimm’s is 25% ABV.)</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib6LVbeW-AeZ0v8IPxVnCLwWOb225TbyBvmUU36w1hHFV3pRC6_8pbiwWQrDB95a1h-1EwdFd669mV7z7IjpAauhHXtZi6mfdRO3q7TyMa4AHTFkmOn2Bejg4B-Cjq_QJyz1XN41OOQCdYdK3OYFiLRjPfE9jH214xXg6G9Xzoag_VeA-PGoVX0EV4Gc8/s2363/2365x2365.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2363" data-original-width="897" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib6LVbeW-AeZ0v8IPxVnCLwWOb225TbyBvmUU36w1hHFV3pRC6_8pbiwWQrDB95a1h-1EwdFd669mV7z7IjpAauhHXtZi6mfdRO3q7TyMa4AHTFkmOn2Bejg4B-Cjq_QJyz1XN41OOQCdYdK3OYFiLRjPfE9jH214xXg6G9Xzoag_VeA-PGoVX0EV4Gc8/w242-h640/2365x2365.jpg" width="242" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pimm's modern plumage</td></tr></tbody></table>Modern bottles still say “The original No.1 Cup”, though I note that there is no mention of gin (it’s simply described as “Pimm’s spirit drink”), and to taste it you aren’t immediately put in mind of gin. No ingredients are given, but then it is a secret recipe. My vintage bottles are actually blazoned “The original rye sling” and “The original vodka sling”.<p></p><p>I crack open the No.5 and the first thing that hits you from the nose is that it is very clearly made from rye, plus subtle fruit elements—not the sort bubblegum synthetic fruit flavour you find in some modern products, but hints of actual strawberry, orange and peach. On the palate it is rye-forward, plus a sweetness and those gentle fruit elements, then a striking chocolate finish. This is quite a departure from modern Pimm’s where the spirit base is not something you’re really aware of.</p><p>I open a bottle of the modern stuff that I have in a cupboard (so not the freshest, in fairness). It actually has the same sort of dry, subtle fruitiness on the nose as the No.5, but without the whiskey. On the palate it has a sweetish attack, a thick mouthfeel, but a slightly hollow body, and a faint finish of caramel. It’s a flavour <i>sui generis</i>, something we all recognise, though I would say it is greatly less redolent of fruit than the No.5. It’s true it’s an oldish bottle, that was first opened some time ago—but not nearly as old as my bottle of No.5! The No.5 is about the same sweetness, with a bitter element from the wood in the rye, but a much more vibrant fruit character. It’s actually quite exciting to taste this and get a glimpse of what Pimm’s is capable of being.</p><p>Perhaps I should have approached the vodka-based No.6 first, given that vodka is going to be a less powerfully flavoured sip than rye. But I’m surprised again that even here you can clearly taste that the base is vodka, quite a punchy vodka at that. And again the fruit elements are more freshly fruity than with my modern bottle. Whereas the modern No.1 is alcoholic, but doesn’t taste of a base spirit, just the other elements, the vintage No.5 and No.6 are very much a recognisable spirit, blended with other fruity elements. It actually makes me want to drink them neat (though this is clearly not how they were ever meant to be served) which is not something I would say about the modern No.1. Given that you’d expect the fruit elements to fade with time, I am amazed at how lively these 60-year-old drinks still are. (We’ve all found a bottle of some fruit-based liqueur at the back of a cupboard and discovered that it now has a dusty, funky off-ness that destines it for the sink.)</p><p>The vintage blends are clearly sweetened, though they seem less so than the modern blend. However, both have a bitter note (perhaps from the base spirit, although I’ve read that James Pimm’s original blend included quinine), so perhaps it is this that makes them seem less sweet.</p><p>The classic way to drink Pimm’s is with lemonade, so I pick up a bottle. Perhaps unwisely, I choose a trendy cloudy style, rather than the clear, sweet, fizzy “R. White’s” beverage of my youth. I say “unwisely” because this was probably not what was meant by lemonade in the 1960s, and probably has more actual lemon juice, but what the hell. Using three parts lemonade to one part Pimm’s, I compare my three samples. </p><p>With the modern No.1, I wouldn’t want much more Pimm’s in the blend: its flavour comes through strongly enough, and I wouldn’t want any more sweetness. Mixed with the lemonade, all three samples have a hint of caramel on the nose, but with the No.1 there is something else too, something synthetic, like vinyl matting. The vintage No.6 is subtle in this mix, and works better if you shift the balance to 2:1, though even then the Pimm’s flavour is more restrained than with the No.1. I prefer it, however, as it is a more refined flavour, though this is possibly because it is less sweet overall. </p><p>I came to the No.5 expecting to like it, because I was so taken by it neat, but my immediate impression is that it quarrels with the lemonade. (I appreciate that there is no logic here, as a Whiskey Sour is a classic.) You get used to it, however, and returning to it later I warm to it. There is a buttery note that I come to like.</p><p>Later I acquire some more traditional clear lemonade (Fever Tree Light) and try the comparison again. With the modern No.1 a 2:1 ratio feels about right; it’s a familiar combo, though when you think about it, it is, again, not terribly reminiscent of fruit. With the vintage No.6 2:1 actually seems a bit strong, so I switch back to 3:1, which is in fairness the ratio suggested on the label. Wow! Even at 3:1 you can clearly taste the vodka base but the drink is also far more of a <i>fruit</i> cup than with the modern No.1, which tastes a bit flat and sour by comparison. This tastes more vivid, with layers of high and low notes emerging in what is a very balanced drink. With the No.5 2:1 is, unsurprisingly, too strong, so I switch to 3:1. After the vodka drink, you have to reset your tastebuds for the strong wood notes. This works a lot better than with the cloudy lemonade, though personally I think the vodka base is more successful.</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmccDHZbONP02nr9nBfFxJtqWxdpDVopoVgFoyHbkpbgqWtcWFCUTRSaD7OEtd1PegCGMynQVPpx5xEouIHGQcr3bU4k96yyVC8U3irGec700gpOT1_JLCO9w9UFg0uCNZoAHCZfg3kGruKg5v7kYDnRCBDS5TrAWzwX-QVzUo8cKtjZbkdphEPTHQd-s/s2707/633A5683-3.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: auto; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2707" data-original-width="1805" height="570" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmccDHZbONP02nr9nBfFxJtqWxdpDVopoVgFoyHbkpbgqWtcWFCUTRSaD7OEtd1PegCGMynQVPpx5xEouIHGQcr3bU4k96yyVC8U3irGec700gpOT1_JLCO9w9UFg0uCNZoAHCZfg3kGruKg5v7kYDnRCBDS5TrAWzwX-QVzUo8cKtjZbkdphEPTHQd-s/w426-h640/633A5683-3.jpg" width="380" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A No.5 Cup with ginger ale, featuring the label’s prescribed garnish of <br />“a slice of lemon and a sliver of cucumber rind”</td></tr></tbody></table>The other mixer I wanted to try was ginger ale, which apparently is also traditional with Pimm’s, and I particularly wanted to see how it went with the rye. Using Fever Tree Light again, at 2:1 the modern No.1 at first seems to get a bit lost, though you can certainly tell it is there, both on the nose and the tongue. Once you get used to it it’s not bad. With the vintage No.6 2:1 feels a bit too strong, though at 3:1 it is also starting to get a bit lost, with the ginger dominating. I try nudging the proportions back in favour of the Pimm’s but then it seems too strong again. Overall this combination is not nearly as happy as with the lemonade; in fact I’d say the modern No.1 goes better with ginger ale, its low-mid character harmonising more with the ginger.<p></p><p>Mixing the vintage No.5 with ginger ale at 2:1 is again a bit strong, but at 3:1 it really comes into its own. Whiskey and ginger ale is a classic combination, and it is this marriage that underpins the drink, though the fruit element definitely contributes too. The perfect summer drink for whiskey-lovers, and even though it’s October as I’m drinking it, I am hugely taken by this concoction.</p><p>Another popular serve is the Pimm’s Royale, where Champagne is used instead of lemonade, here in a 2:1 ratio. This is obviously a drier drink, though this doesn’t seem to be an issue with the No.1, where the combination has a sort of toasty quality. </p><p>With the No.6 I’m rather taken, though Mrs H feels it lacks something—that something perhaps being sugar. At 2:1 I feel that this blend is fruitier than when made with modern No.1, but then I did feel that the vintage samples had more vibrant fruit qualities to it. I quickly decide that this is an excellent drink.</p><p>With the No.5, Mrs H. pulls a face, though I rather like it. It reminds me of a Seelbach Cocktail (see footnote 2 <a href="https://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2010/10/on-use-of-champagne-in-cocktails.html">here</a>), combining the woodiness of whiskey, sweet fruit and dry Champagne. I have to admit that for modern palates, the Royale made with the vintage samples would probably benefit from some sweet element to balance them.</p><p>Of course all of these observations will probably be of little use to you, unless you too come across some vintage Pimm’s bottles. But if you do, be sure to snap them up. I’m told that from time to time a complete set of all seven cups comes up for sale at auction, but they tend to go for silly money.**</p><p><span style="font-size: xx-small;">* I’ve read that Pimm’s bar had different sized flagons and the “No.1 cup” was a reference to the size of vessel. Which makes sense: why would he call the actual drink “No.1” years before Nos 2 and 3 were introduced?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: xx-small;">** At the time of writing there is a single bottle of 1960s No.3 cup <a href="https://www.thewhiskyexchange.com/p/13144/pimms-no3-cup-brandy-sling-bot1960s" target="_blank">for sale on the Whiskey Exchange website</a> for £199.</span></p><div><br /></div><p></p>Clayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171372316344074696.post-22376826140393104042023-06-12T13:42:00.001-07:002023-06-12T13:43:14.704-07:00 Gimme that gomme! Making your own gomme syrup<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs4zuyPz494vX5jKquy6gb9dzors9_lHtEJf5mDlvZI6bSuDQ7cjlQItkA1sKg9P3Sx5ky90quAKdm06d4_m0CE_11X6pfEs9HZ0YlGiNfoGMUMqOihPoMpO2J_KspvaFQ6n-YBYX1ysB75qM4N1buz2tvCvWYZjjlf0jlPEqG3MZInADHguGItGne/s3116/633A2152-2.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3116" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs4zuyPz494vX5jKquy6gb9dzors9_lHtEJf5mDlvZI6bSuDQ7cjlQItkA1sKg9P3Sx5ky90quAKdm06d4_m0CE_11X6pfEs9HZ0YlGiNfoGMUMqOihPoMpO2J_KspvaFQ6n-YBYX1ysB75qM4N1buz2tvCvWYZjjlf0jlPEqG3MZInADHguGItGne/w640-h410/633A2152-2.jpg" width="520" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The gum Arabic powder as it comes (against white paper for colour comparison)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p>If you’re in the habit of perusing vintage cocktail books (of course you are) you may well have encountered references to “gomme syrup”. The purpose of this was to make cocktails sweeter, without adding any other flavours—as opposed to flavoured syrups such as grenadine (flavoured with pomegranate) or orgeat (almond-flavoured).</p><p>Indeed the term is often used just to refer to a simple syrup of sugar and water, and you certainly need to have a sugar syrup to hand to make many classic cocktails. Some people mix sugar and water 1:1 but I prefer 2:1 sugar to water. You can heat it up in a pan, but Ed McAvoy once showed me that you can make it quickly by filling an empty wine or spirit bottle two-thirds full with dry granulated sugar, then carefully topping it up with just-boiled water, and shaking it vigorously until all the sugar is dissolved. </p><p>However, real gomme syrup also contains gum Arabic (hence the name, gomme), which comes from the sap of acacia trees and serves as a thickener. Nowadays you can buy commercial gomme syrup (though I think that when I first started taking an interest in these things about 15 years ago, you possibly could not). I’m not sure I’ve ever knowingly tasted any, so I decided to make my own.</p><p>Fortunately you can buy gum Arabic easily enough. I bought some from a health-food outlet on Etsy. Some examples I’ve seen come as brown crystals, buy mine arrived as a plastic bag of off-white powder. Searching online for recipes, I found they all tend to have the same proportions, though they vary in method. In the first instance you need to blend the gum powder with a little water—some say boiling water, some say room temperature. Beating or whisking out the lumps takes about 5–10 minutes. After this some people have you move straight on to the next stage, others say you must leave it for 48 hours. I went with another recipe that said to leave it for three hours, and it all seemed to work OK.</p><p><b>Gomme Syrup</b><br />1 oz or 4 tbs gum Arabic<br />1 cup granulated sugar<br />¾ cup water</p><p>Boil the water and add ¼ cup of it to the gum powder. Whisk until all the lumps have gone, then set aside for three hours. Put the remaining water and the sugar in a pan over heat, add the gum mixture and stir until all the sugar crystals have dissolved. Leave to cool, then bottle.</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-wwkXG_w43bxARnwVCzgqnIE-lpneOAWs-AGITUSVnKxnrtB3gTJ-OoxJYTKvxW-gMAp0eC3L1Z8o1X0kfXWHS9u7wPO7UujFIDlx3hLxfuRqSV8FHo3WfM371Jdca_jcr-zGhXapRKD5GUakT-eJHrqz5WtRqzPTjaPL4KfxUjQn6uj_BMvVTRCU/s2704/633A2143-2.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1803" data-original-width="2704" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-wwkXG_w43bxARnwVCzgqnIE-lpneOAWs-AGITUSVnKxnrtB3gTJ-OoxJYTKvxW-gMAp0eC3L1Z8o1X0kfXWHS9u7wPO7UujFIDlx3hLxfuRqSV8FHo3WfM371Jdca_jcr-zGhXapRKD5GUakT-eJHrqz5WtRqzPTjaPL4KfxUjQn6uj_BMvVTRCU/w640-h426/633A2143-2.jpg" width="520" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What the gum looks like after whisking with a little water</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p>To establish what, if anything, the gum added, I simultaneously made a sugar syrup using the same proportions of sugar and water (so a bit more water than I would normally use for syrup), so I could compare the two. To look at, my gomme had a tawny tinge to it, while the plain syrup has no colour (see the photo below).</p><p>I should not have been sceptical, because the effect of the gum, while not dramatic, is quite noticeable. I made two Daiquiris (rum, syrup and lime juice), identical except one used the simple sugar syrup and the other used the gomme syrup. In the mix, with the colour of the lime juice present, the two cocktails were indistinguishable to look at, but the gomme clearly added a richer mouthfeel. </p><p>This texture is something that other recipes (such as the White Lady) pursue by adding egg white; and indeed pineapple juice—when shaken vigorously—also produces a thick, creamy texture. But having tried it, I would say that gomme syrup has the advantage that, once made, it will keep, while egg white and fruit juice will not. (Also, if you have to crack an egg, then you’re left with the question of what to do with the yolk. Here in the UK you can buy pint cartons of pre-separated egg white in the chilled section of supermarkets, which is convenient if you need to make 50 White Ladies in a hurry, though a bit of a waste if you only want one.) Gomme also has the advantage over pineapple juice that it won’t make everything taste of pineapple.</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioA596OUxoHGYrSLpOk16vE4G0MHSGm-MHfDnIeClWjF11QekmkxWXq5PmcnlnebkYUllfNCUn5QEpvSiBXpUfBufi_MT5s_v4i7pr1USYRCU0bJ5MSSwzqV3wem083q3kGgkbba6nkBfVN0xCl_EwBOjHGrcM-NisEAl5aELZHT5zkV7WqtVqYwTc/s2434/633A2685-2.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1623" data-original-width="2434" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioA596OUxoHGYrSLpOk16vE4G0MHSGm-MHfDnIeClWjF11QekmkxWXq5PmcnlnebkYUllfNCUn5QEpvSiBXpUfBufi_MT5s_v4i7pr1USYRCU0bJ5MSSwzqV3wem083q3kGgkbba6nkBfVN0xCl_EwBOjHGrcM-NisEAl5aELZHT5zkV7WqtVqYwTc/w640-h426/633A2685-2.jpg" width="520" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ordinary simple syrup on the left, gomme syrup on the right</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><br /></p><p>Some sources say your gomme syrup will keep in the fridge for six months, others say just one month. A couple of people claim that adding a tablespoon of vodka will add another month of fridge-life, though I find it hard to believe that the resulting ABV of about 3% is going to have much of a preservative effect, compared to the high concentration of sugar. I’m also not clear what happens to the syrup after this: perhaps it’s just likely to go mouldy, which I have seen happen to syrups in the past.</p><p>I would certainly recommend giving gomme a go. While it’s a bit of a faff compared to regular syrup, once it’s done it’ll probably keep you going for quite a while, and my packet of gum powder, priced at £3.95, is enough to make four batches like this.</p>Clayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171372316344074696.post-70204651637168536182023-05-28T12:33:00.000-07:002023-05-28T12:33:17.080-07:00Is this the Martini-lover's bible?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg3KclHi3Y3aHrLqKWjQ4XF1g05-B-NDVF_x8DDyoTSly9dyP5XOyjC7-0WE6vSThFMWINpar6oEsZzO3Dtwb5uqacjRi_TysuRSAIOq04sOxVapVWGBQL7HRPlzoei26skcBYdIWIFu6B7rFD8rypAjMgiMuo7LoOlGmFVQdomg5glVoJRbq6cnM9/s2792/633A2163-2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2792" data-original-width="2240" height="647" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg3KclHi3Y3aHrLqKWjQ4XF1g05-B-NDVF_x8DDyoTSly9dyP5XOyjC7-0WE6vSThFMWINpar6oEsZzO3Dtwb5uqacjRi_TysuRSAIOq04sOxVapVWGBQL7HRPlzoei26skcBYdIWIFu6B7rFD8rypAjMgiMuo7LoOlGmFVQdomg5glVoJRbq6cnM9/w514-h640/633A2163-2.jpg" width="520" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Hot on the heels of his book <i><a href="https://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2021/03/negroni-safari.html">Negroni</a></i> (OK, a bit over two years later) m’colleague David Smith has published his new work, <i><a href="https://rylandpeters.com/products/martini" target="_blank">Martini</a></i>, again written in conjunction with Keli Rivers. As its name suggests, it is an exploration of variations of this classic cocktail.</p><p>In its purest sense a Martini is a mixture of gin and vermouth. The iconic Dry Martini uses dry white vermouth in a ratio that greatly favours the gin. (In the early to mid-20th century there seemed to be a cult of minimising the vermouth presence, by delivering it with a pipette, atomiser or even a “<a href="https://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2010/11/martini-gadgets-of-yesteryear.html">Martini stone</a>”—a stone that was kept in a vessel of vermouth. One added the stone to the glass, trusting that what vermouth clung to it would be sufficient.) The traditional garnish is either an olive or a twist of lemon peel. A Perfect Martini uses a half-and-half mix of dry white and sweet red vermouth. You don’t encounter Sweet Martinis much, though the <i>Savoy Cocktail Book</i> (1930) does have one that uses “Italian” (i.e. sweet red) vermouth, rather than bianco (sweet white) vermouth as you might expect.</p><p>There was as time in the 1990s and beyond when it was fashionable for any cocktail to be dubbed a “[Something] Martini”, even if its ingredients had nothing in common with those of a Martini, simply by virtue of serving it in a v-shaped “Martini glass”. To his credit, Mr Smith does tend to stick to recipes with some relation to the basic idea of a Martini, with a base spirit (usually gin or vodka, though occasionally straying into tequila or rum territory) augmented with a smaller amount of vermouth or something standing in for vermouth, such as sherry, amaro, liqueur, etc., and sometimes also small amounts of citrus juice and/or syrup. We do get a Dry Manhattan, which would seem to be a whole different ballpark, but whereas a Manhattan more often uses sweet red vermouth, here it uses dry white, so I guess it’s a sort of Martini/Manhattan hybrid. Perhaps inevitably we encounter the Espresso Martini (see my previous post) and the Porn Star Martini but, being vodka based, they are at least slightly related to a real Martini. (The Porn Star Martini features passion fruit purée and/or liqueur, lime juice and an element of vanilla, either from vanilla syrup, vanilla vodka or vanilla liqueur, such as Galliano.)</p><p>We encounter classics such as the Dirty Martini, which includes brine from the olive jar, or the Gibson, which is a Dry Martini garnished with a cocktail onion. (No mention of the Murphy, however, where the garnish is a radish. Though, <a href="https://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2011/01/murphy-cocktail.html">as I discovered</a>, there is a good reason for this—it adds nothing.) We get the related classic the Gimlet, gin and lime cordial, along with its modern version made with fresh lime juice and syrup. Another classic is the Pink Gin, just gin and Angostura bitters, sometimes with water, but here we instead get the Pink Gin Up, with added dry vermouth, so a cross between the Pink Gin and the Martini. We get the modern classic the Vesper, created by Ian Fleming for his 1953 James Bond novel <i>Casino Royale</i>, which blends gin and vodka and uses Kina Lillet instead of vermouth. (Kina Lillet hasn’t been made since the 1980s; Cocchi Americano is a useful alternative, though here David suggests a 50:50 mix of Lillet Blanc and China Martini.) </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEislriqH9mpG0f4JRVTvRkycIjoTGPXX3b9qUL4F20C3x0gW8dHFmJw6zx_75W8MzlSKFZGIv_H0qZZ3-EFuHpoCoQMhuMod57YMaIDSeYmDQibwE4Qh7SdC0AY2h6UpjFGwLTUaz_vKj6Hx5S0h_bGXqSNWpgquVmRqF7Q-G5S53mpeiOUNBWiuvok/s2240/633A2121-3.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2240" data-original-width="1927" height="605" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEislriqH9mpG0f4JRVTvRkycIjoTGPXX3b9qUL4F20C3x0gW8dHFmJw6zx_75W8MzlSKFZGIv_H0qZZ3-EFuHpoCoQMhuMod57YMaIDSeYmDQibwE4Qh7SdC0AY2h6UpjFGwLTUaz_vKj6Hx5S0h_bGXqSNWpgquVmRqF7Q-G5S53mpeiOUNBWiuvok/w550-h640/633A2121-3.jpg" width="520" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An Improved Appletini, a 2:1 mix of gin and Calvados with a little curaçao</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p>Red vermouth is also represented, in the form of the classic Gin and It, where the “It” is short for Italian (sweet red) vermouth, as well as the Martinez: here it is also gin and red vermouth, though using Old Tom gin (usually sweeter than London Dry) and splashes of maraschino and bitters. (It’s an old recipe, possibly even older than the Martini, and other recipes feature curaçao or both dry and red vermouths.)</p><p>We get two versions of the Cosmopolitan, the original 1930s recipe of gin, curaçao, lemon juice and raspberry syrup, and the 1980s reinvention of vodka, curaçao, lime juice and cranberry juice. We’re also treated to some modern twists, such as the Leggero Martini, essentially a Martini spliced with a G&T, or the GT Turbo, which is in a way the opposite—a GT concentrated into a Martini glass, using a “tonic syrup”. There have been commercially available tonic syrups, but David suggests making one by heating tonic water in a saucepan until reduced to a syrup.</p><p>We get the historical curiosity which is The Saint, inspired by an incident from the 1930s when the bar on the airship the Hindenburg ran out of gin, so Pauline Charteris, wife of the novelist Leslie Charteris, suggested using kirschwasser instead. And the book finishes with some seasonal ideas, such as a Halloween-appropriate version of tequila, sherry and blood orange, garnished with “fangs” of grapefruit peel, or, for New Year’s Eve, the Millionaire’s Martini, with a splash of Champagne.</p><p><i>Martini</i> is a slim volume of just 64 pages, but it contains much useful, well-curated material, offering both a grounding in the essence of the Martini, as well some variations, from the traditional to the exotic (fancy a Breakfast Martini, made with a spoonful of marmalade?). There is no jokey filler here:* the recipes are actually things you might want to drink. In each case specific gins and vermouths are suggested, but the recipes are not dependent on having those to hand, and hints are offered as to what kind of flavour profile would make a suitable gin for that recipe.</p><p><a href="https://rylandpeters.com/products/martini" target="_blank">Martini</a><i> was published by Ryland Peters & Small on 9th May, priced at £8.99</i></p><p><span style="font-size: xx-small;">* Even the Mr Blue Sky, which has blue curaçao for colour and is garnished by a “cloud” of white candy floss</span></p>Clayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171372316344074696.post-19524967210372498802023-05-23T07:51:00.003-07:002023-05-23T07:51:26.482-07:00Luxardo Espresso Liqueur<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv3x9q0BD-s_jQQdRcLmTXcASUXTppBtCyMpHbMzBPvxi_QPyW9FMz2_YK2w24fv9lBN-ZFju2e5boBpX-5OwRULvcV9tl7gGwnoAIH2gdZZi-LdbzvDMzjK4D39gmt9IULpqQu2RWXdW0ve8FnzkqP9O30_EP_HUUQU9cGInUdXq_Vfa-D2IfmeRY/s2885/633A1667-2CROP.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2885" data-original-width="1226" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv3x9q0BD-s_jQQdRcLmTXcASUXTppBtCyMpHbMzBPvxi_QPyW9FMz2_YK2w24fv9lBN-ZFju2e5boBpX-5OwRULvcV9tl7gGwnoAIH2gdZZi-LdbzvDMzjK4D39gmt9IULpqQu2RWXdW0ve8FnzkqP9O30_EP_HUUQU9cGInUdXq_Vfa-D2IfmeRY/w272-h640/633A1667-2CROP.jpg" width="272" /></a></div>Luxardo kindly sent me a sample of their new Espresso liqueur. They describe it as “a traditional Italian liqueur obtained from a thirty-days infusion of a selected variety of fine coffees (Brazil, Columbia, Kenya), with the Arabica type predominating”. It certainly tastes very coffee-ish: I’m assuming it contains water, neutral spirit (it’s bottled at 27% ABV), sugar and coffee.</div><br />The obvious thing to compare it with is </span><a href="https://www.kahlua.com/en-us/" target="_blank">Kahlúa</a><span>. The first thing to note is that the Luxardo product is quite a bit less sweet, which would certainly make it more flexible—after all, you can always add more sugar, but you can’t really take it out. Secondly, while the Kahlúa does taste convincingly of coffee, the Luxardo liqueur tastes specifically of espresso coffee, that earthy, bitter, high-roast flavour, with hint of berry fruit (and a touch of rubber). In fact there is more to it than that: Kahlúa is made from a rum base, and the nose has rum and vanilla notes as well as coffee, whereas the Luxardo liqueur has a simpler nose, really just of coffee and sugar. The Kahlúa’s palate has distinct rum elements, whereas the Luxardo does not have any noticeable contribution from the spirit base; and Kahlúa’s coffee note is less profound, whereas the coffee flavour of the Luxardo has considerable depth to it (more than most cups of coffee I’ve had). <br /></span><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe8Y-C9jjUU9aUnARqmGNusX687QBFvKI_DWjzbRTY61xrodpXc7FlzFPzpeNM8qBEcmgC5bILW_ckiY1kUXFcYDZ6hbjjqmTNJKFv07n34l0YF6IbA0EXOTQ-RJEz9vO6p3MOGc_JBslByHvdpXWk9ZLH_xjJxum6u86BvAm9lqrXwB_hppwVNNT9/s2549/633A2172-2.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2549" data-original-width="1879" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe8Y-C9jjUU9aUnARqmGNusX687QBFvKI_DWjzbRTY61xrodpXc7FlzFPzpeNM8qBEcmgC5bILW_ckiY1kUXFcYDZ6hbjjqmTNJKFv07n34l0YF6IbA0EXOTQ-RJEz9vO6p3MOGc_JBslByHvdpXWk9ZLH_xjJxum6u86BvAm9lqrXwB_hppwVNNT9/s320/633A2172-2.jpg" width="236" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Espresso Martini</td></tr></tbody></table>Luxardo suggest drinking the espresso liqueur neat, chilled or on the rocks, though I don’t know how many people will do that. I get the impression that it’s all about the Espresso Martini, a cocktail created by Dick Bradsell in the early 1980s, originally served on the rocks, but converted to straight-up in a cocktail glass in the 1990s—a decade when every cocktail seemed to be served this way and named a “[Something] Martini”, even if its ingredients bore no resemblance to a Martini. This is typically made from vodka, freshly made espresso, coffee liqueur and sugar syrup. (Perversely, Simon Difford, <a href="https://www.diffordsguide.com/cocktails/recipe/725/espresso-martini" target="_blank">on his website</a>, omits the syrup but adds a couple of drops of saline solution, and adds that he likes to squeeze a lemon peel over the top. However, in my copy of <i>Difford’s Cocktails #8</i>, from 2009, the recipe just has vodka, espresso and sugar, so he’s obviously changed his mind since then. On the website he gives Bradsell’s recipe from the 1990s and it includes a blend of Kahlúa and Tia Maria.)</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />On this occasion I use the recipe from m’colleague David Smith’s new book <i>Martini</i> (Ryland Peters & Small):</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><b>Espresso Martini</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">45ml vodka (he suggests Beluga, but I’m using my new favourite, <a href="https://jj-whitley.com/vodkas/artisanal-vodka" target="_blank">J.J. Whitley Artisanal Vodka</a>)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">15ml coffee liqueur (he uses Conker, but obviously I’m using Luxardo)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">30ml espresso coffee</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">10ml simple syrup</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="white-space: normal;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Shake hard with ice and serve in a cocktail glass: it should have an appealing layer of foam on the top (what I believe coffee nerds call a <i>crema</i>). Garnish with coffee beans.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Reflecting on Difford’s original recipe, is this cocktail essentially vodka and coffee with a bit of sugar? (Apparently Bradsell’s original was just this, created at the request of a model who asked for something that would wake her up, then f**k her up.) Given that the liqueur has sugar in it anyway, you could just mix vodka and the liqueur—interestingly, another of the three cocktail recipes on Luxardo’s webpage for the liqueur is a Black Russian, which is precisely this, vodka and coffee liqueur. It’s a viable drink, particularly if you don’t want anything too sweet. Compared to the Martini, it’s obviously more about the alcohol, whereas the Martini is quite different, from having actual espresso in it. Which is interesting, given that the liqueur is made from coffee beans. But there is something earthy about the flavour and also the texture, which I guess comes from the suspension of coffee particles. To be honest the Espresso Martini from this recipe is too sweet for me, though Mrs H. is drinking it happily.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJqINwWhaLrdqGMSxFg0KjUG58YwmMEbbr_A_qz_YJ58v5P1lWbrOrf2zNRluEqwDNAbdv62TX3-ZCmSW6a9g43GS1PNdC2UXpEGGGZnNMjHu-x2n2O33FxUDH4LVu1ZtYuedjfEQEqVh8n09OT7ZaBb0NvGuW-k35N8Bdh4EeQ615oKnB-al9Dx09/s1960/633A2694-2.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1960" data-original-width="1307" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJqINwWhaLrdqGMSxFg0KjUG58YwmMEbbr_A_qz_YJ58v5P1lWbrOrf2zNRluEqwDNAbdv62TX3-ZCmSW6a9g43GS1PNdC2UXpEGGGZnNMjHu-x2n2O33FxUDH4LVu1ZtYuedjfEQEqVh8n09OT7ZaBb0NvGuW-k35N8Bdh4EeQ615oKnB-al9Dx09/w266-h400/633A2694-2.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coffee Old Fashioned</td></tr></tbody></table>The Luxardo webpage gives only one other cocktail suggestion, a blend of 45ml coffee liqueur with 5ml sambuca, which they call an “Espresso, What Else!” I don’t have any sambuca to hand, though I’m guessing this is a riff on the tradition of serving sambuca on fire with a few coffee beans floating on the top.<br /><br />Instead, it occurs to me that the coffee flavour should pair well with bourbon, and indeed it does. I offer it to Mrs H. and she said it needed chocolate. I do actually have some chocolate bitters from Mozart, and I can confirm that 3 or 4 dashes of this does go very well, making a sort of Coffee Old Fashioned. Needless to say, I’m not the first person to have this idea, and if you Google “Coffee Old Fashioned” you’ll find a few iterations, several of which use orange bitters. In fact I find it works well with chocolate bitters, orange bitters or regular Angostura bitters.<br /><br /><b>Coffee Old Fashioned<br /></b>50–60ml bourbon (rye would doubtless work too)<br />15ml coffee liqueur<br />3-4 dashes of Angostura, orange or chocolate bitters (or a perhaps a combination)<br /><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Build in a tumbler with ice.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt3MRgg1EUnvRR4sG3CILCvd7U5AjXD8l3M1-A_OSzrNVEA5CDPe6LGYv0bEDr2w6XVSXyTKiKNeDKJ4Z179Pjkn4sPxO2QpIBgfbmrDdoXsqY-OkAfU-rytIIJT5ufIPitVPeZJ27AQvFPTpkm3NVY9hkhla-jHLf-_2U8clwyn6rr6mAALHIIll8/s2953/633A2714-2FIXED.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1969" data-original-width="2953" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt3MRgg1EUnvRR4sG3CILCvd7U5AjXD8l3M1-A_OSzrNVEA5CDPe6LGYv0bEDr2w6XVSXyTKiKNeDKJ4Z179Pjkn4sPxO2QpIBgfbmrDdoXsqY-OkAfU-rytIIJT5ufIPitVPeZJ27AQvFPTpkm3NVY9hkhla-jHLf-_2U8clwyn6rr6mAALHIIll8/w640-h426/633A2714-2FIXED.jpg" width="520" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div></div><br /> <p></p>Clayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171372316344074696.post-13353807834153215392023-03-17T07:58:00.007-07:002023-03-17T08:02:17.646-07:00Goodwood and Porthleven gins<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLkJoGahUBzJGGXDEmBv0vv6P_GvIDmyLV2UgxR2KN9iecywx4wqnTbtgBfEExO1q-UuoYMxrdy4j8Q_Y9nmAoGIcckCjiO75kmqHAYIcupIpNR-RJCbFqiet8wd_4aou9J31uyVX9vTzzxsxcQnhRjIgQwQ3jPj3pAkO1GSrSH-nfbRNdWhwJUVmY/s3360/633A7075-3.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3360" data-original-width="1789" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLkJoGahUBzJGGXDEmBv0vv6P_GvIDmyLV2UgxR2KN9iecywx4wqnTbtgBfEExO1q-UuoYMxrdy4j8Q_Y9nmAoGIcckCjiO75kmqHAYIcupIpNR-RJCbFqiet8wd_4aou9J31uyVX9vTzzxsxcQnhRjIgQwQ3jPj3pAkO1GSrSH-nfbRNdWhwJUVmY/w340-h640/633A7075-3.jpg" width="340" /></a></div>A couple of new gins have come on to my radar in recent months. Of course, this is nothing but a teardrop in the ocean of gins that are constantly erupting on to the market, but one does what one can.<p></p><p>Goodwood is a place I associate these days with the <a href="https://www.goodwood.com/motorsport/festival-of-speed/" target="_blank">Festival of Speed</a> motorcar spree and the <a href="https://www.goodwood.com/motorsport/goodwood-revival/" target="_blank">Goodwood Revival</a>, which focuses specifically on vintage vehicles, and to which many of my chums in the vintage fraternity often go. <a href="https://www.goodwood.com/visit-eat-stay/home-farm-shop/goodwood-gin/" target="_blank">Levin Down Goodwood Gin</a> is produced for the estate and does include some botanicals sourced locally. I confess I was actually sent a sample last year, and it has taken me a while to get round to commenting on it. The bottle is notable in that the stopper is made entirely of glass, with a only a plastic grommet to give an airtight seal. The label features a drawing of a top-hatted rider in mid-air, apparently celebrating the days when Levin Down, a local hill, was popular for fox hunting—being too steep for farming—and the occasion when the third Duke of Devonshire galloped his horse down the hill so quickly that he flew over a gate at the bottom, inadvertantly inventing the hunt tradition of fence jumping. </p><p>The label admits to local juniper, coriander, gorse and mint (plus presumably some other, non-local, botanicals). On the nose you get juniper plus orange and lime citrus notes, but also something distinctly savoury and vegetal. When I first opened the bottle this element, like nettles or sage, was rather dominating and frankly off-putting. After the bottle had been open a while it seemed to soften and the whole thing came a bit more into balance. I’ve never noticed this with a spirit before.</p><p>Now, some months later, I would say that, nosed neat, orange and lime lead the profile, but that other element is still there. I’m guessing it’s the mint. But the warm citrus dominates now, making for an inviting nose.</p><p>For the palate, I’ve written several adjectives: “pointy”, “toasty”, “waxy”. I’m not getting gorse, which I associate with a sort of coconut smell, but the mint is definitely there. My first reaction was that it was slightly curried, perhaps from the coriander, but that impression is quickly lost. There’s even a hint of banana, and the mint flavour is not so much fresh mint, but more like cooked mint—as in the mint sauce that in Britain is traditional with roast lamb.</p><p>I try a Dry Martini, using <a href="https://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2015/08/belsazar-vermouth-with-teutonic-twist.html" target="_blank">Belsazar</a> vermouth, and that savoury element continues to dominate, but now with an unexpected note of caramel. In fact I would characterise this cocktail by flavours of mint and caramel. I try the gin with tonic water and, at my standard test ratio of 2:1, the gin is hard to pick out at all. I add a bit more to the mix, and a sort of rubbery note emerges. I’m beginning to get the impression that this gin does not mix well: with other ingredients it goes to pieces, becoming soggy and cloying.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilKaebTQ0igpSsbor6VhgxSaMMx6JZp5RWLLSiSl9q9LFwspvvlzg9e5ObppdVDg8OJXMtmmgwkDSyH3HP8uunFT1KOYJDugygzqLcbhG6mn6Jxgwqsr3MGsmmW5oxWMGXeAJq3U9RLkBZUMi_iJw-z2xUVbk4j1_IG37BvhJ-oCG_JTU3BznFY9Sb/s2323/633A6128-2.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2323" data-original-width="1549" height="564" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilKaebTQ0igpSsbor6VhgxSaMMx6JZp5RWLLSiSl9q9LFwspvvlzg9e5ObppdVDg8OJXMtmmgwkDSyH3HP8uunFT1KOYJDugygzqLcbhG6mn6Jxgwqsr3MGsmmW5oxWMGXeAJq3U9RLkBZUMi_iJw-z2xUVbk4j1_IG37BvhJ-oCG_JTU3BznFY9Sb/w376-h564/633A6128-2.jpg" width="376" /></a></div>My other new gin is one that I encountered late last summer on holiday in Porthleven, Cornwall. I feel it’s hard to keep up with Cornish gins, though this may be more a reflection on the amount of time I spend in Cornwall than on the greater concentration of gins there—nowadays every town, institution or stately home in the British Isles seems to have to have its own gin. <a href="https://pengellyscornishspirits.co.uk/" target="_blank">Porthleven Gin</a> is made by Serena Pengelly, who actually runs the excellent Ship Inn on the harbourside. Porthleven actually already had a gin distillery, Curio, whose gin <a href="https://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2018/02/when-is-gin-cornish.html" target="_blank">I reported on a few years ago</a>. Initially Serena’s gin was made by them, but then she switched to the <a href="https://www.rockgincornish.com" target="_blank">Rock Distillery</a>. <p></p><p>Compared to Goodwood, Porthleven gin is more exuberant and forthcoming on the nose, with a cool, juicy, slightly blackcurranty nose. On the palate, however, it is not fruity as I was expecting, but characterised by strong dry spice high notes, perhaps from the coriander, and possibly the celery seeds, listed among the botanicals. (It also contains orange, juniper, angelica and orris roots, and pink peppercorns.) I try a Porthleven Martini alongside the Goodwood one, and it is effortlessly superior, with that dry spice squaring up to the vermouth to make a dry, contemplative, grown-up aperitif. In a G&T—in the same 2:1 proportions that defeated the Goodwood—that same coriander thrust cuts through, with peppercorn notes swirling in its wake, to make a dry, crisp drink. Whereas Goodwood gin rather falls apart when you mix it, Porthleven gin almost gets better, which must surely be a hallmark of a good, practical gin.</p><p>While sipping the Goodwood neat I tried to think of other flavours that it might work well with. Perhaps sharp lemon juice might balance the slightly wallowing character? So I tried both gins in a White Lady: two parts gin to one part lemon juice and one part triple sec (I omitted the egg white on this occasion, out of pure laziness). </p><p>Again, in these standard proportions the Goodwood gin was hard to detect at all. I raised the proportion to 2½ parts and it began to emerge as a dark, low-note presence (again with a hint of banana). Not unpleasant, but not very ginlike. It’s odd, because, neat, the gin seemed to have a pronounced citrus character, which you’d think would go with orange and lemon, but as soon as you mix it, it seems to collapse into a soggy gloop.</p><p>By contrast, a Porthleven Gin White Lady is an instant triumph, with the bright, dry coriander notes rising up—though you can feel the other elements too, such as a welcome suggestion of violets (which might be from the orris)—all slotting into place with the cocktail’s other ingredients.</p><p>While I’ve been writing this I’ve been sipping on a generous Porthleven G&T, from a bottle that is now nearly empty, which tells you all you need to know. Not sure what I’m going to do with the rest of the Goodwood, though…</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Clayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171372316344074696.post-50781756025943532522023-01-29T13:25:00.014-08:002023-01-29T13:27:12.480-08:00 The Mexican Blackbird<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_lP-aITX02mdF0l8ZLG8NmOyZnJfWr5A_g8KzVKVFzd2zFvzVyykKZfWh6PQ_M9DYbWjauBb_d90YpDi1ioStGKFijEgeEL1JpCVhD2zZ_AXemyUXArLoV7PGpOfr-zUlJEzezZJZU50tc_IMGR7bXrxKqeJn4b7bOY0DMGQDz8lSA4GhuwakiEo6/s2624/633A9085-2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2624" data-original-width="1749" height="781" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_lP-aITX02mdF0l8ZLG8NmOyZnJfWr5A_g8KzVKVFzd2zFvzVyykKZfWh6PQ_M9DYbWjauBb_d90YpDi1ioStGKFijEgeEL1JpCVhD2zZ_AXemyUXArLoV7PGpOfr-zUlJEzezZJZU50tc_IMGR7bXrxKqeJn4b7bOY0DMGQDz8lSA4GhuwakiEo6/w579-h870/633A9085-2.jpg" width="520" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>During lockdown the <a href="https://www.newsheridanclub.co.uk/" target="_blank">New Sheridan Club</a> started entertaining the troops with a weekly virtual pub quiz, delivered via Zoom. This has continued post-Covid as a monthly treat, and a couple of months back one of the questions was actually a task—to create a cocktail in ten minutes using whatever ingredients were to hand, which the quizmistress then judged conceptually rather than by actually tasting it, obviously. One contestant let himself down by putting lighter fluid in his concoction (or so he claimed), whereas my invention was more conventional.</p><p>I had some crème de cassis which I’d bought for some other project, and I was reminded of the <a href="https://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2013/07/some-tequila-cocktails.html" target="_blank">El Diablo cocktail</a> from the 1940s, which combines this with tequila. I think I’d also recently restocked with Cocchi Americano, which I use as a substitute for Kina Lillet in vintage recipes. It’s bitter-sweet and I always feel it has an element of ginger to it, and I also think that tequila goes well with that flavour too (in fact the El Diablo is lengthened with ginger ale). So my cocktail was slightly inspired by the classic Corpse Reviver No. 2, which is equal parts gin, lemon juice, Kina Lillet (or Cocchi Americano) and triple sec, with a dash of absinthe. In this case I actually used two parts tequila to one part each of lemon juice, Cocchi Americano and crème de cassis. To make it more visually fun, I added the cassis last, pouring it through a funnel that I put into the drink, against the bottom of the glass, so that the liqueur formed a lower layer.</p><p>When it comes actually to drinking the cocktail, I would recommend mixing it all together: even if you have a sweet tooth and fancy the neat cassis, the rest of the drink is a bit tart without it. For me, I found I actually preferred it with only half a measure of cassis, as the Cocchi adds some sweetness too.</p><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Mexican Blackbird</b>*<br />2 shots tequila</div><div style="text-align: left;">1 shot Cocchi Americano<br />1 shot lemon juice<br />½ shot crème de cassis</div><p>I heartily recommend this cocktail. As you raise the glass you are first hit by the petrolly herbaceous note of the tequila. Then on the tongue is the unmistakeable blackcurrant unctuousness of the cassis, but any possibility of cloying sweetness is immediately scooped out by the tartness of the lemon juice and the bitterness of the Cocchi—making for a distinctly grown-up cocktail. You can taste all the elements and they riff off each other in a way that encourages contemplation.</p><p><span style="font-size: xx-small;">*<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YqwpLVrmokY" target="_blank">A song by the immortal ZZ Top</a></span></p><br /><p></p>Clayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171372316344074696.post-71605107521439277162022-10-19T05:35:00.008-07:002022-10-19T05:35:51.810-07:00Maverick spirits from Brewdog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB35KUmtgBVHMVnSB7doFX8RwI-hYA5u32sBeMhK37lcRG6jCp8osDeVjjx-1C8bDGyaMWwOkmq4TMSoZzSjCQ-TtfohSG3yHppRlEH1bUrgnaFHwCCSGuJ7yFCR1ncv_1dHQgXY7hxXrfL3qteZ6xcgHH7033N-iX4QGJoyjI5LbwnXeaMZBYAv4U/s3241/633A5346-2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3241" data-original-width="2161" height="780" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB35KUmtgBVHMVnSB7doFX8RwI-hYA5u32sBeMhK37lcRG6jCp8osDeVjjx-1C8bDGyaMWwOkmq4TMSoZzSjCQ-TtfohSG3yHppRlEH1bUrgnaFHwCCSGuJ7yFCR1ncv_1dHQgXY7hxXrfL3qteZ6xcgHH7033N-iX4QGJoyjI5LbwnXeaMZBYAv4U/s16000/633A5346-2.jpg" width="520" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I was intrigued to notice on the supermarket shelves two spirits made by <a href="https://www.brewdog.com/" target="_blank">Brewdog</a>—<a href="https://www.brewdog.com/uk/lonewolf-original-gin-700ml" target="_blank">Lone Wolf Gin</a> and <a href="https://www.brewdog.com/uk/seven-day-original-vodka-700ml" target="_blank">Seven Day Vodka</a>. </div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Brewdog, as their name suggests, are best known for brewing beer, and have established their brand mainly through controversy. They have repeatedly produced what they claim is the world’s strongest beer: Tactical Nuclear Penguin was an alleged 32% ABV and, when a German brewer trumped them with a 40% beer, Brewdog came back with the tastelessly named Sink the Bismarck at 41%, followed by The End of History at 55% (a record that has since been claimed by Snake Venom from fellow Scottish brewery <a href="https://www.brewmeister.co.uk/" target="_blank">Brewmeister</a>, alleging an ABV of 67.5%). Brewdog are forever being censured by the UK’s Portman Group, a drinks industry self-regulation body, and are also litigious themselves, having threatened legal action against a pub called Lone Wolf and another called Draft Punk, which they considered an infringement of their Punk IPA brand.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The super-strength beer was achieved through freeze-distillation, chilling it to a temperature low enough for water to freeze but not alcohol, allowing the ice to be removed leaving a more alcoholic liquid behind, but Lone Wolf and Seven Day Vodka seem to have been distilled in the normal way. The distillery boasts a “triple bubble” still, with three bubble-shaped swellings in the neck rising out of it. A traditional pot still is not that efficient at separating out the elements in the fermented mash, producing a distillate that retains more of the flavour but usually means the process has to be performed two or three times. The triple bubble still, which seems to be a sort of pot/column still hybrid, can effectively perform these multiple distillations in one pass, with an emphasis on purity rather than retaining flavour from the mash. Head distiller Steven Kersley also says the design allows plenty of copper contact—copper is the material of choice for stills as certain undesirable elements in the vapour stick to it, drawing it out of the final distillate.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6f0DcRP7JQ9MJ4IM1CZakG8AVpDQ6s8Fcdu4l64RsItN5oi-cTnxm-F7T9qP0RqpUBgHRkeprTyUJnMMDEF7nRxPwVmrn_8j2rEkk4JFMaO2yRU0yJZJJDdxyWJ3MREjdZDFrArNh6-d4ja913d2uElt77arjrlPlClIqmobw5Be0RTxVPcph2b09/s1120/1512485570LWSmallBatch_1.LEAD.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="746" data-original-width="1120" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6f0DcRP7JQ9MJ4IM1CZakG8AVpDQ6s8Fcdu4l64RsItN5oi-cTnxm-F7T9qP0RqpUBgHRkeprTyUJnMMDEF7nRxPwVmrn_8j2rEkk4JFMaO2yRU0yJZJJDdxyWJ3MREjdZDFrArNh6-d4ja913d2uElt77arjrlPlClIqmobw5Be0RTxVPcph2b09/w640-h426/1512485570LWSmallBatch_1.LEAD.jpg" width="520" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">The distillery’s line-up of stills, with the triple bubble job on the left. Last year they moved operation to a new facility in Ellon, which (judging from photos) lacks the huge mural of a wolf.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Vodka brands tend to bang on about purity rather than flavour. Maybe they just decided that this is a better marketing ploy, since most people probably think vodka doesn’t taste of much anyway. In reality, if you sit down and taste several vodkas side by side you quickly realise how much variety there is, at least if you’re tasting neat. If you want purity you can, of course, just buy 96% pure neutral spirit and add water. In reality the various filtration processes that vodka is subjected to are more about imparting a desired flavour.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Seven Day Vodka is so called because they say it takes seven days to make, three of which are in the triple bubble still, starting from a wheat and barley base. It has a nose of vanilla and icing sugar, with a hint of red berries and cocoa nib. On the tongue it is smoothish, though with a bitter, slightly sharp top note—a tad sour with a ghost of vegetation—that overbalances the palate, with too little coming from the chocolately body.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Vodka cocktails tend to smother the taste of the vodka itself, though I find that a vodka Gimlet (vodka and lime cordial) can retain the character of a characterful vodka. Sadly this is not a very characterful vodka and I find myself repeatedly adding more vodka to the mix in the hope of striking a harmonious balance.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Interestingly, this is one of the few vodkas that benefits from being served from the freezer. Although it’s a hip way to drink vodka, all too often I find this just kills the flavour, and it’s disastrous for subtle and sophisticated products like <a href="https://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2019/07/haku-vodka.html">Haku</a>. Perhaps Seven Day Vodka just doesn’t have many subtleties to kill, but in all honesty it is highly approachable served this way, with an impression of gentle sweetness, the cocoa character coming to the fore and with a slight, odd, hint of ginger on the finish. This is certainly how I will deploy the rest of this bottle.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Lone Wolf Gin takes its name from the original name of the distillery, intended to be a battle-cry for turning your back on convention and doing things your own way, though (after a physical move) the place is now just the Brewdog Distillery. Unlike the vodka, this gin is not short on flavour, though perhaps again lacking in subtlety. Regular readers will know I like a gin that tastes of gin, and this one is certainly juniper-led, with a fierce resinous waft of it on the nose, joined by lemon and lime citrus, a warm caress of lavender and some earthy notes. On the palate the juniper continues to dominate, an evergreen pine thrust, accompanied by a lightly chocolate low-mid and a slightly bitter finish.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">A Dry Martini is usually a good showcase for a gin’s nuances and its interplay with dry vermouth, but a Lone Wolf Martini is crude and frankly a bit silly, with that pine-resin character completely dominating. In a Negroni (gin, Campari and sweet red vermouth) it makes a bit more sense: this cocktail is a complex blend of powerful flavours with strong sweet and bitter elements, and the gin easily makes its presence felt. But that presence is a sinus-scouring resinous one, so that has to be something you want. Perhaps the best serve is a simple gin and tonic, where even quite a modest proportion of gin will be clearly detectable.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Brewdog don’t list all the botanicals on their website, but it turns out that in addition to Tuscan juniper they do use Scots pine as well, which explains a lot. Elsewhere online I’ve found references to grapefruit peel, pink peppercorns, Angelica and orris roots, Kaffir lime, mace, lemongrass and, indeed, some lavender. Going back to it I’d agree there is aromatic pink peppercorn on the nose.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSsjiFTQv2SvjBDkH5HXeQXMfMD8CkBsird94vq_8jXEMcKyCr6yeGxsCgDTgUBOcjyYppibjU06X_THjaTT51Rkeg7HSerJC2gDOCmVRaDcH3O_sXsGazilJlJbrc-c6RfXtOMmUuDoJcj6dorTkMvdmu1T9e9qtu45H_Pe-9oDm21gaJEcE7diyg/s2198/633A7110-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2198" data-original-width="1702" height="659" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSsjiFTQv2SvjBDkH5HXeQXMfMD8CkBsird94vq_8jXEMcKyCr6yeGxsCgDTgUBOcjyYppibjU06X_THjaTT51Rkeg7HSerJC2gDOCmVRaDcH3O_sXsGazilJlJbrc-c6RfXtOMmUuDoJcj6dorTkMvdmu1T9e9qtu45H_Pe-9oDm21gaJEcE7diyg/w511-h659/633A7110-4.jpg" width="511" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Brewdog Vesper</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Given that I have both a gin and a vodka from the same distillery and—for want of a better word—the same philosophy, it makes sense to make a Vesper. This cocktail, described in the James Bond novel <i>Casino Royale</i>, requires three parts gin to one part vodka to half a part Kina Lillet, well shaken, and garnished with a large strip of lemon peel. (Kina Lillet hasn’t been made since the Eighties and <a href="https://www.cocchi.it/en/wines/americano/" target="_blank">Cocchi Americano</a> seems to be the closest analogue.) On the face of it you’d think the proportions would render the vodka irrelevant, but I found with <a href="https://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2018/11/six-of-best-from-suntorys-painstaking.html" target="_blank">Roku</a> gin and <a href="https://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2019/07/haku-vodka.html" target="_blank">Haku</a> vodka, from Suntory, something interesting happened. And here I can confirm the same: despite the high concentration of gin, this drink presents a subtler and softer offering than a Lone Wolf Martini, doubtless partly because the Cocchi is bitter-sweet, but I sense that that the vodka is also lending a sweetening, mellowing effect. Make no mistake, that pine juniper character is not to be denied, but if you have these products then this is a good way to deploy them.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">As you can tell, I’m not vastly impressed by either of these spirits, but I should point out one thing they have in their favour: they are relatively cheap. The vodka is just £20 for a 70cl bottle and the gin £25 (though I think I bought mine marked down to £21). Both are 40% ABV. By comparison, most “craft” gin seems to be around £35–37. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">On the other hand, however, Tanqueray, Bombay Sapphire and Sipsmith are all cheaper than Lone Wolf and I’d sooner drink those.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Brewdog also make three “flavoured” gins (I mean, it’s not as if the regular gin is short of flavour)—peach and passionfruit, cactus and lime and cloudy lemon—a navy strength Gunpowder Gin (featuring additional Szechuan and black peppercorns, bitter orange and star anise), plus three flavoured vodkas: raspberry and lime, passionfruit and vanilla, and rhubarb and lemon. I haven’t had the opportunity to taste any of these, but I tend to take a pretty dim view of this sort of thing.</div></div></div>Clayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171372316344074696.post-51757528833638363192022-08-11T18:04:00.001-07:002022-08-11T18:04:12.771-07:00Red vermouth title fight<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivDigdIDEZwpHVwjIy8bFjeWVSguKkQWqjQ6cChVvxi-uD-UCfc6An6Ei9d5YbDUu6oriBDJMOtDWQq37_iYaJPZAXBFZjoHgBirrkgoqZQm4OuntBZJURE_FKWHGVLI2HqXxbnI7Rb9eCNLKFvjO_BbWIcMogzxFRd-tayRPU-5OqAua913WGfM52/s3010/633A5298-2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3010" data-original-width="2007" height="781" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivDigdIDEZwpHVwjIy8bFjeWVSguKkQWqjQ6cChVvxi-uD-UCfc6An6Ei9d5YbDUu6oriBDJMOtDWQq37_iYaJPZAXBFZjoHgBirrkgoqZQm4OuntBZJURE_FKWHGVLI2HqXxbnI7Rb9eCNLKFvjO_BbWIcMogzxFRd-tayRPU-5OqAua913WGfM52/w426-h640/633A5298-2.jpg" width="520" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Like many people, I have <a href="https://www.carpano.com/en/prodotto/antica-formula-2/" target="_blank">Antica Formula</a> to thank for the revelation that red vermouth could mean more than just Martini Rosso. Since then, the Second Golden Age of Cocktails has brought us many new vermouth brands, but for a while now my go-to has been <a href="https://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2015/08/belsazar-vermouth-with-teutonic-twist.html" target="_blank">Belsazar</a> (both their red and their dry white). </p><p>Recently Mrs H. and I were having lunch at the National Gallery’s new <a href="https://www.ochre.london/" target="_blank">Ochre restaurant</a>. We had a couple of exquisite cocktails before eating and I (unsurprisingly) got talking to the gentleman who would probably nowadays be called the Beverage Director. I was asking about the ingredients in my drink and he was keen to show me the red vermouth he had used, and even gave me a taste of it. It was made by Cocchi and I was intrigued. (I later discovered that Cocchi actually make two, their <a href="https://www.cocchi.it/vini/storico-vermouth-di-torino/" target="_blank">Cocchi Storico Vermouth di Torino</a> plus their fancy <a href="https://www.cocchi.it/vini/dopo-teatro-vermouth-amaro/" target="_blank">Dopo Teatro Vermouth Amaro</a> with a dose of quinated Barolo in it,* but I <i>think</i> it was the former he showed me.) So I decided to get myself some to try at home.</p><p>A week or two earlier I had been drifting through Waitrose in Romsey and spotted a <a href="https://lustau.es/en/shop/sherry-vermuoth-en/red-vermouth/" target="_blank">red vermouth from the sherry house Lustau</a>, made from a blend of dry Amontillado and sweet Pedro Ximenez sherries, and was intrigued enough to scoop up a bottle of that. I’d been happily using that to make Manhattans, but now I decided it was time to put these three vermouths up alongside each other to see how they varied and whether I still felt that Belsazar should be my house pour.</p><p>I’d mentioned Belsazar to the Beverage Director and he agreed it was nice, but said that it had too much sediment in it to be of use in a professional cocktail environment, where appearances are important to the experience. He has a point. Belsazar red is seldom less than hazy, and towards the end of the bottle you do get a visible sediment slithering at the bottom of the neck as your pour. I have sometimes wondered whether it would be a good idea just to pour each new bottle in its entirety through a coffee filter before rebottling it, but so far I have not got round to trying this out.</p><p>Sampled neat, Belsazar has a sharp, rhubarb nose, with clear notes of orange and an earthy undertone. On the palate it immediately strikes me as having a good sweet/bitter balance—assuming you like a bit of bitterness. I’m also getting some fresh mint, and cinnamon on the finish. The base wines are from the Baden region of Germany, the sweetness from grape must and the fortification from fruit brandy; I can’t find any information about the precise botanicals.</p><p>The Lustau has a similar earthy aroma, again with clear orange citrus, but somehow both sweeter and meatier on the nose. The sharpness is more delicate, like rosehip rather than rhubarb. On the tongue there is an unavoidable sherry flavour, with less botanical intensity than the Belsazar, but it still has a deft sweet/bitter/sour balance, with a gentle drying tannin on the tongue (perhaps from the wood that the sherry has been aged in) and, oddly, a hint of spicy heat. The label admits to wormwood, gentian, coriander and orange as botanicals.</p><p>The Cocchi Storico is new to me, and quite different. It is not so predominantly sharp on the nose, more sweet, with strong notes of coffee and vanilla. On the palate it does immediately seem softer and sweeter than the others, but there is a bitterness that builds. There is coffee again and strong notes of orange peel. (The label admits to cocoa, citrus and rhubarb in the mix, and the website adds cinchona, star anise, achillea, rose petals, juniper, quassia wood, mace and coriander.)</p><p>Tasting these three neat, the Belsazar is clearly the least sweet and the most rooty and earthy; it seems muscular and rustic compared to the relatively urbane Lustau and Cocchi. Not, of course, that I do tend to drink vermouth neat—though if I were to, I think the Lustau would be my choice out of these, and in fact this is a recommend serve. The Cocchi is probably too sweet for me to want to drink much on its own.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjejwxFd5jBUaR4eX2ICTYoKgS_s4eYMGmTdgmP9_arbr4uBAXZvkY6DxE3iakscTUi1y6m3pUhnsf46Ho0Ic97YSCvkD43xMuku2ffZsPdSMwbYZQZS5VsNdK7zefejb0lPVEvAyMkixQDZmRWl12GiNUz7_V311ewOZDUzXuxD1OpmAk-z7toKGhu/s2599/633A5353-2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1231" data-original-width="2599" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjejwxFd5jBUaR4eX2ICTYoKgS_s4eYMGmTdgmP9_arbr4uBAXZvkY6DxE3iakscTUi1y6m3pUhnsf46Ho0Ic97YSCvkD43xMuku2ffZsPdSMwbYZQZS5VsNdK7zefejb0lPVEvAyMkixQDZmRWl12GiNUz7_V311ewOZDUzXuxD1OpmAk-z7toKGhu/w640-h304/633A5353-2.jpg" width="520" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><b>Manhattan</b></p><p>For most of us, cocktails are the way we consume vermouths. So my next step is to make a Manhattan. In fact it’s a simplified Manhattan, in a ratio of two parts rye whiskey to one part vermouth (I normally might use more whiskey than this, say 2½ parts, plus bitters, of course, and usually a dash of maraschino). </p><p>The Belsazar is immediately noticeable on the nose in this cocktail. On the tongue the bitterness is clear and the mint element meshes happily with the mintiness of the spirit.** This is a punchy Manhattan, a solid pre-dinner cocktail to whet the appetite, with lots of rough, bitter herbs to partner the sawmill wood of the spirit.</p><p>The Lustau, on the other hand, is a subtle presence. At 2:1 you’re just getting sweetness and some sherry ghost notes. If you increase the proportion of vermouth you can bring up the sweetness and the languorous sherry character, like shafts of afternoon sunlight on a leather armchair, making for a pleasant, Old World sort of Manhattan. It makes me realise how well whiskey and sherry can go together. But even at these enhanced proportions the spice and herbs keep a low profile.</p><p>With the Cocchi vermouth the coffee/chocolate strand is dominant. Even though the bitterness is certainly clear too, this vermouth makes a sweet, smooth, after-dinner sort of Manhattan, with a candied fruit finish.</p><p><b>Negroni</b></p><p>I think it’s safe to say that, after the Manhattan, the other classic red vermouth cocktail is the Negroni—equal parts gin, red vermouth and Campari—so I try this with my three vermouths. The Belsazar elbows its way in first, vigorous fruit and sharp rhubarb on the nose, and pepper and ginger on the palate. This is a Negroni to blow away the cobwebs and sharpen your palate for dinner. Or more cocktails.</p><p>The Lustau Negroni is dominated by the Campari on the nose, but there is still a sweetness and a silky strand of honeyed wood on the tastebuds. It is quiet and subtle, with just a genteel sherry rasp. A refined example of the cocktail.</p><p>The Cocchi Negroni has that signature mocha note, and is strikingly sweet compared to the other two. Maybe a bit too sweet and chocolatey for this cocktail—these qualities come to dominate and rob the drink of its <i>aperitivo</i> sparkle.</p><p>So what have I concluded? I’ll probably stick with Belsazar for these cocktails, though I might experiment with the Lustau more, even just on the rocks. It comes in a bottle that is only 50cl, rather than the normal 70cl, but at the moment this is just £10 in Waitrose, which is pretty good value compared to the others.</p><p>As for the Cocchi, even though I found it intriguing and beguiling when I first tasted it at Ochre, I have to admit that I struggled to find a purpose for it, seeming as it does less satisfactory in these two classic cocktails. Feeling that the coffee/chocolate note worked better with rye than with gin, I wondered if the addition of Campari to counter the sweetness might make everything come together in a Boulevardier (whiskey, red vermouth and Campari). I tried this—but up alongside a Boulevardier made with Belsazar too, to compare. If you fiddle around with the proportions with Cocchi (i.e. get the whiskey and Campari levels up enough to counter the sweetness) you actually get a balanced, nutty version of the cocktail. But is it better than the bitter, fruity sucker-punch version with Belsazar? Hmm…</p><p><span style="font-size: x-small;">* I encountered this first at a trade show, during a demonstration of things to drink with chocolate, and I can confirm that </span><a href="https://www.cocchi.it/en/wines/barolo-chinato/" style="font-size: x-small;" target="_blank">Barolo Chinato</a><span style="font-size: x-small;"> is a fascinatingly good candidate for this notoriously difficult match.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: xx-small;">** Am I the only person who thinks that American whiskey often has a minty flavour to it?</span></p>Clayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171372316344074696.post-14316841444560224592022-07-14T11:57:00.000-07:002022-07-14T11:57:09.339-07:00Taste the rainbow<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUDdPw7Y7BKLBWOwlIMTGIasdtLFi4o8__49i0QZTXhtn3Mv1VgofKGw5FacqJna2CE5JoV8tMcjx3_uH4S6NWY7Ka_MHfGIsDI9dIMqdEjW4QLWzgugNJf78hjo7mbnQMgiDhGWT1TLj-JOlx9T4bfRmwRyfUcEZxdAC20GQ9dzVh-ONlOuK2T9IW/s2008/633A5284-3.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2008" data-original-width="1339" height="517" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUDdPw7Y7BKLBWOwlIMTGIasdtLFi4o8__49i0QZTXhtn3Mv1VgofKGw5FacqJna2CE5JoV8tMcjx3_uH4S6NWY7Ka_MHfGIsDI9dIMqdEjW4QLWzgugNJf78hjo7mbnQMgiDhGWT1TLj-JOlx9T4bfRmwRyfUcEZxdAC20GQ9dzVh-ONlOuK2T9IW/w344-h517/633A5284-3.jpg" width="344" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>One of the minis of gin I was sent</i></td></tr></tbody></table>I was contacted out of the blue by Jane Oake from a gin that was new to me, <a href="https://www.rainbowgin.co.uk/" target="_blank">Rainbow Gin</a>. She was actually hoping to get us to stock it at the <a href="https://www.thecandlelightclub.com/" target="_blank">Candlelight Club</a>, but as a pop-up we can’t have a huge back bar, just a few key flavours. However, I’m always interested in new products, and I asked her what the distinguishing features of the gin were.<p></p><p>“Our USP is our Rainbow Branding,” she replied. “We set out to create a vibrant, colourful brand which would stand out on the shelf. We wanted a gin with a glamorous, celebratory feel.” I’m sure no one can attempt to market a gin, or anything else, without giving plenty of thought to branding but it’s interesting to encounter a gin that is presented primarily in terms of its branding. I mean, you can’t actually taste a rainbow, so it’s not rainbow-flavoured gin.</p><p>In fairness, Jane did then add, “In addition to this we have the gin itself! It is not only delicious, it is incredibly smooth with a creamy finish.”</p><p>Given the name, I asked if there was an LGBT connection. No, there isn’t, but “we want to celebrate all things Rainbow with our brand. We are donating £1 per bottle to charities with a Rainbow connection.” I didn’t probe as to what a “rainbow connection” might be, but I’m assuming we’re talking about charities with the word in their name, rather than charities that create rainbows or hunt for crocks of gold at the end of them. I also wondered if there was an interesting origin story behind how and why the creators decided to make their own gin; I asked Jane what her background was before this, but she just said that her background was “very varied” and left it at that. You could be forgiven for thinking that the whole exercise has been generated by an experimental marketing bot.</p><p>When I read some of the literature I discovered there was more: the name also refers to their botanicals “reflecting the colours of the rainbow”, and Jane confirmed that, having established the branding, they then asked their Master Distiller to come up with a botanical bill that did this. These botanicals are red grapefruit, orange, lemon, (green) bay, (blue) gentian, juniper (which I guess is ticking the “indigo” box) and violet. Citrus peel and juniper are obviously fairly standard gin botanicals, but I’m not sure I’ve encountered bay before, so that’s intriguing. I know of at least one gin that uses violets (<a href="https://www.tarquinsgin.com/" target="_blank">Tarquin’s Cornish Gin</a>, which deploys violets from Tarquin’s own garden), but it’s still quite a rare botanical. </p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxAyOwsbqI4YWZpxAXFjPQsords0ieKyoHpYkcBi10gPeLRIQoquqvhDyIsB08SjUw_f7KtMarsKHnAXieivcQnG5h1pnDOhEu168vUCojcpspLCJrQlkpan4qYwrQKoSaYeFFDHg_a9eKpWtX7QWOYTrCy3CmSlP_MofbTx1p2absnbS_RRKv7J2q/s744/Rainbow_Gin_Bottle.png" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="215" height="903" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxAyOwsbqI4YWZpxAXFjPQsords0ieKyoHpYkcBi10gPeLRIQoquqvhDyIsB08SjUw_f7KtMarsKHnAXieivcQnG5h1pnDOhEu168vUCojcpspLCJrQlkpan4qYwrQKoSaYeFFDHg_a9eKpWtX7QWOYTrCy3CmSlP_MofbTx1p2absnbS_RRKv7J2q/w258-h903/Rainbow_Gin_Bottle.png" width="258" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A full-size bottle</i></td></tr></tbody></table>As for gentian, it’s usually used for its bitterness—however, none other than <a href="https://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2010/09/absinthe-to-make-heart-grow-fonder.html" target="_blank">Ted Breaux</a> himself told me that it’s pretty hard for bitterness to pass through the distillation process, as the molecules responsible for that flavour are heavy and tend to get left behind.* I mentioned this to Jane, who spoke to their Master Distiller (who is not named anywhere), who insisted that the gentian does lend bitterness, so who knows? But remember that Jane herself gave the gin’s smoothness as a key characteristic, so I’m not sure why you’d actually want a bittering agent. A cynic might suggest that they wanted something blue and perhaps gentian has the advantage that it is certainly that, while not having any real effect on the flavour.<p></p><p>Anyway, what’s it actually like? On the nose there is a strong citrus element that hits me first, almost candied, before any juniper, plus something more flatly herbal and savoury. This could be the bay—certainly once I’d noticed this on the botanical list I could convince myself I could detect it. As time passes it’s this herbaceous note that comes to dominate. I don’t get any violets. On the tongue it is indeed smooth (though it’s not an especially high ABV). My first impression is that it is very savoury, almost salty, though I’m wondering if the strong notes of orange on the nose trick you into subconsciously expecting it to be sweet, exaggerating the absence of sweetness.</p><p>I only had a couple of miniatures to play with so I couldn’t do endless experiments, but I tried making a Martini using Rainbow Gin and Belsazar vermouth. On the nose the gin melds fairly effortlessly with the herbal character of the vermouth, and now I do get a hint of violet—perhaps it takes a bit of dilution to reveal itself. Likewise, on the palate this serve is more complex and interesting that the gin on its own (OK, so I guess that’s the whole point of cocktails, but I mean that I’m getting more from the gin this way than I do neat). It’s sort of sweet and salty. I even get a whiff of cinnamon, which is strange as there is none in the gin. But am I getting a rainbow of flavours? No. A <i>tricolor</i> at best.</p><p>Finally, I try a gin and tonic, using Fever Tree Light in a 2:1 ratio. Comparing it directly with G&Ts made with Beefeater and Tanqueray, which I happen to have to hand, the Rainbow produces a dark and savoury element like cumin that floats up (again, though there’s no cumin mentioned in the botanical bill). And despite the citric nature of both the tonic and this gin, in combination the gin actually seems to smooth away the tonic’s sharp citric edge, even though, deep down, there is still a lime Opal Fruit note. ** Overall it makes a smooth and mellow G&T. With no hint of gentian bitterness.</p><p><span style="font-size: xx-small;">* Ian Hart of Sacred Gin once gave me a couple of infusions of wormwood and hops to taste—and both were very bitter. Then he gave me distillates made from those same infusions, and there was no bitterness whatsoever. (I think the wormwood had a soft earthiness to it; I can’t quite remember about the hops.)</span></p><p><span style="font-size: xx-small;">** Starburst to you youngsters.</span></p><div><br /></div>Clayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171372316344074696.post-55489952414284112552022-03-07T11:53:00.008-08:002022-06-23T08:24:11.026-07:00Instant Mint Julep<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhsd_Zq0t0G9ez9f9-aFnrayN9cMUW_huXbjx3bvpkvZCLgSvjd98inXDae-QmHX9ndvOjVUSCB9BT5HPN9008uz_-jCtn45dgDkPgkU8EP6pV5mTVuoWOGGARbcJPzZ13FBiVKMQC45dMiG4frQwkIrimv_k0F4xm6eUAHmkhgk1dYb-apcy6erLc7=s2694" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1950" data-original-width="2694" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhsd_Zq0t0G9ez9f9-aFnrayN9cMUW_huXbjx3bvpkvZCLgSvjd98inXDae-QmHX9ndvOjVUSCB9BT5HPN9008uz_-jCtn45dgDkPgkU8EP6pV5mTVuoWOGGARbcJPzZ13FBiVKMQC45dMiG4frQwkIrimv_k0F4xm6eUAHmkhgk1dYb-apcy6erLc7=w387-h280" width="387" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what the syrup looks like neat</td></tr></tbody></table>I found myself with a glut of fresh mint after one of the <a href="https://www.thecandlelightclub.com" target="_blank">Candlelight Club</a> events. I don’t like to see food go to waste, so I’ll usually round up all the left-over ingredients and cart them home. (After Halloween, in addition to the flesh cut from the giant jack-o-lanterns, I also brought home half a dozen squashes of various kinds, which had been bought for decoration—and I’m pleased to say we made our way through all of them.)</div><p></p><p>Obviously fresh herbs won’t keep for that long, and there is only so much tabbouleh a man can eat, so I hit upon the idea of making a mint-flavoured syrup.</p><p>The Mint Julep is a classic—nay, <i>the</i> classic—drink of the American South, but I’ve always struggled to make satisfactory examples at home. The general idea is that you mash fresh mint at the bottom of a glass with sugar or sugar syrup before adding whiskey and lots of ice; but I always find the mint flavour elusive and the mangled shrubbery in the glass a bit unsightly.</p><p>So for this experiment I infused the mint into the syrup ahead of time, kept it in the fridge and just added it to bourbon on the rocks to make the drink. And it worked extremely well.</p><p>I did this a few months ago, so I’m a bit hazy on the proportions but I think I measured about 400 ml of granulated sugar and 200 ml or water and heated them in a pan till all the sugar was dissolved. I added two rough handfuls of mint and left it on a low simmer. I can’t quite remember exactly how long I left it—certainly no more than 30 minutes, and to be honest by the end I was sure I wouldn’t want to leave it any longer, as the mint was just starting to take on a cooked flavour. I strained and bottled it. And the result was a julep with a clearer mint flavour and no bits of greenery floating around.</p><p>To be honest, I have heard that at the Kentucky Derby—of which the Mint Julep is the official drink—they use a mint syrup, perhaps just for speed and efficiency, though I don’t know if any fresh mint is involved with that or just a commercial essence.</p><p>One caveat is that although it keeps quite well without the flavour changing, it won’t last forever. After a few months the flavour is somehow not as fresh and, like all syrups, it is at risk of mould.* And to be honest I don’t drink juleps that often, so it does tend to hang around here. But if you do have a julep habit, then you should consider making a batch of this stuff at the beginning of the summer.</p><p>———</p><p>UPDATE 23rd June 2022: I later made a second batch and this time I muddled the fresh mint continuously for five minutes in the simmering syrup, then strained it immediately. I think this is a better bet, as the flavour was no less strong, but you avoid any hint of a “cooked” mint taste.</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1xjC0KRhr4gSOsXL3LqwdpYtfexFxp31dMFUdBrFHKiOGJdV6yE1AvdGRRPz_Ot3teG_QQ-MHIX764bdU3uLutJtdpwGTX5NfwxKPkrN3Zrg9duMPmby0MmeAM-cF_OmmlM4_ApMAS2squ3bxaROfRjgsLUF7SiT5dw3-gdI38ArSTjXiPX5QukQf=s3360" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2240" data-original-width="3360" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1xjC0KRhr4gSOsXL3LqwdpYtfexFxp31dMFUdBrFHKiOGJdV6yE1AvdGRRPz_Ot3teG_QQ-MHIX764bdU3uLutJtdpwGTX5NfwxKPkrN3Zrg9duMPmby0MmeAM-cF_OmmlM4_ApMAS2squ3bxaROfRjgsLUF7SiT5dw3-gdI38ArSTjXiPX5QukQf=w640-h426" width="520" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A julep made with the mint syrup (in the jug to the right). It should really be crushed ice.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: xx-small;">* The hardiest syrup I make is <a href="https://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2013/03/one-small-dinger-for-mankind.html">grenadine</a>. This is traditionally made from pomegranate juice, but I was surprised to see that commercial grenadine today is mostly made from red berries. Since you can buy 100% fresh pomegranate juice in the supermarket (ever since the pomegranate was declared a super-food), it was easy enough to experiment with. For simple syrup I normally blend two-thirds sugar with one-third water, but I found that using the same ratio with pomegranate juice actually produced something that set solid at room temperature—perhaps there is pectin or something in the juice. However, at 1:1 it words a treat. The resulting syrup has a certain tannic tartness that balances the sweetness and makes it a very useful cocktail ingredient if you don’t have a massively sweet tooth. And, kept in the fridge, it seems to last an extremely long time.</span></p><br /><p></p>Clayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171372316344074696.post-70779121693189230782021-09-04T15:52:00.001-07:002021-10-24T02:41:38.373-07:00Harris's patented* pick-me-up bitters<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXS5E_RISpQjzX5P163xs8mJDvW92OgFr7t0OjTg-ntiyGD9DmeIZPgSGYEmJYV8H6TLW8wxtm-7ezE7w9kQtBmrAWHwr5-ILHiSfd5JEC8efEbNznUUGLsnoDkq5z_ysZA2nSkUwCl_I/s2048/633A2735-2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1366" height="532" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXS5E_RISpQjzX5P163xs8mJDvW92OgFr7t0OjTg-ntiyGD9DmeIZPgSGYEmJYV8H6TLW8wxtm-7ezE7w9kQtBmrAWHwr5-ILHiSfd5JEC8efEbNznUUGLsnoDkq5z_ysZA2nSkUwCl_I/w354-h532/633A2735-2.jpg" width="354" /></a></div>D.R. Harris is an ancient pharmacy in St James’s, the heart of London’s “Clubland” (that’s “club” in the sense of gentleman’s club full of leather armchairs, not in the Ibiza sense of the word). It’s been there since 1790. Not the bright strip-lights and melamine shelves of Boots or Superdrug, but rather a carpeted gloomth and mahogany shelving displaying tastefully modest quantities of their soaps, fragrances, shaving products—I’m sure the discreetly scarce volume of product on display is somehow designed to create a sense of scarcity that will justify the high prices. There is even an elegant pedestal wash basin in one corner: I’m not sure if this is so you can actually try stuff out, or whether it’s designed to show you how great their products will look in your bathroom.<p></p><p>Back in the 19th century the shop was famed for it’s “pick-me-up” tonic, available either as a ready-to-drink draught over the counter for those with an immediate need, or in concentrated form for home use. As might be appropriate in Clubland, it was much prized as a hangover cure. It was on sale from the 1860s but at some point in the early 2000s they discontinued it; there is a suggestion that it didn’t really taste very nice, though the main ingredients were cardamom, clove and gentian which (aside from the bitterness of the gentian) don’t sound too bad.**</p><p>So I was intrigued to hear that they have now brought it back in the form of a cocktail bitters, reimagined with the help of Bob Petrie from <a href="https://www.bobsbitters.com" target="_blank">Bob’s Bitters</a>. Interestingly, the <a href="https://originalpickmeup.co.uk/#revival" target="_blank">blurb on the website</a> still looks at the concoction as a restorative, listing the beneficial effects of the ingredients on the digestion, liver, mood, etc, but at the same time offers cocktail recipes. I guess it saves time if you can take your hangover cure at the same time as the drink that gives you the hangover in the first place.</p><p>Although there have been many bitters entering the market in recent years, I decided to do my analysis alongside <a href="https://angosturabitters.com/portfolio/aromatic-bitters/" target="_blank">Angostura bitters</a>, without doubt the most well known, and probably the only bitters that most people in the UK have heard of—here even <a href="https://www.sazerac.com/our-brands/sazerac-brands/peychauds.html" target="_blank">Peychaud’s</a> is not known outside the realm of the enthusiast. </p><p>Open the cap and sniff the Angostura bottle and you get a powerful smell, an earthy base with bitter menthol or mint top notes. For me there is a strong element of cinnamon or cassia, with clove and a bit of chocolate too. Taste it neat and again there is heavy cinnamon, with bright, brittle mentholic fumes rising up. They don’t give much away about what is in it, other than gentian plus various vegetable extracts.</p><p>The Harris bitters has an immediately similar nose (but then gentian and clove are key ingredients), but at the same time fruitier and less woody. I get lime—in fact this is not given as an ingredient though there is lemon peel and bergamot. Pour some out and you’re immediately struck by the pale, straw-like colour compared to the dark red-brown of Angostura. Tasted neat it again shows less of the woodiness of cinnamon but it does have a fruitiness like jam or marmalade. I would say that the two bitters clearly have similar building blocks, with woody, earthy base notes and bitter, aromatic top notes, but the Harris offering does seem more sophisticated; you find yourself probing its complexity as tendrils of vanilla, chocolate and even chilli emerge (the fiery hint may come from ginger). </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7zbfnGrLRYRdMUGqQnAiKPr8MxvKnLb-FPqu2uv9MRXqMtccziRurA9o5_KBCRj9cISMjpCMjMQ9Bpg6XWiBBAk6j7mley_4ncHuujSGdeZ5uKumiOYSZ2xh6pOezXF01TPVDHm_M6zw/s2048/633A2719-2.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7zbfnGrLRYRdMUGqQnAiKPr8MxvKnLb-FPqu2uv9MRXqMtccziRurA9o5_KBCRj9cISMjpCMjMQ9Bpg6XWiBBAk6j7mley_4ncHuujSGdeZ5uKumiOYSZ2xh6pOezXF01TPVDHm_M6zw/w655-h436/633A2719-2.jpg" width="520" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The two bitters with water, Angostura on the left and Harris on the right</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Compared to the Harris, the Angostura does seem rather crude now. But of course neither of these concoctions is intended to be consumed neat. The original Harris pick-me-up was simply added to water, so I tried adding five good dashes to a shot of water. The Angostura retained its essential character strongly at this dilution—cloves, cinnamon and gentian bitterness. The Harris was again lighter and more complex. I’m convinced you can smell the honey, but on the tongue I’d say it was actually less sweet than the Angostura. (Note that the Angostura bottle releases liquid much more readily that the Harris bottle, so it is hard to be scientifically precise about the quantities involved.) Overall the Harris is lighter, brighter and with a more pronounced high bitter finish.</p><p>Next I tried a Pink Gin, the classic bitters-forward blend of just gin and bitters, usually with water. This was a favourite of my father-in-law, who took it unchilled, which I believe is traditional. I blended 15ml gin with 10ml water and three dashes of bitters. In these proportions the Angostura bitters certainly make their presence felt and do sit well with the botanicals of the gin (I was using Tanqueray, which famously employs just four, juniper, coriander, angelica and liquorice). With the Harris bitters, of course, your Pink Gin isn’t pink. It also has a subtler nose with honey and ginger coming up. On the tongue I would say it was actually more harmonious with the gin than Angostura, but again with a more bitter finish. Intriguingly, it also seemed to evolve and “open up” in the glass, becoming more characterful as time goes by.</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJBGL6h0Tjnp_-pzc7TJpPsPHH47rztWJjcznEK8aEEGD1FArF3pQJ4yLdrsnky4NsapYsuoEw375_NhvIoE3etpnaUJGS7VE_I9hTZ7qAjOP29ffZEJcz8SgXDcMpKh4DaMBfZ1S2Do0/s2048/633A2751-2.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJBGL6h0Tjnp_-pzc7TJpPsPHH47rztWJjcznEK8aEEGD1FArF3pQJ4yLdrsnky4NsapYsuoEw375_NhvIoE3etpnaUJGS7VE_I9hTZ7qAjOP29ffZEJcz8SgXDcMpKh4DaMBfZ1S2Do0/w667-h444/633A2751-2.jpg" width="520" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Martinez with Harris bitters, made using the recipe on the site. Very good it is</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Finally, I try a Manhattan, mixing 15ml of Bulleit bourbon with 5ml of Belsazar Red vermouth and a good dash of bitters. Even in this reduced quantity compared to the previous test, and against some powerfully flavoured other ingredients, there is a difference between the two bitters: the Angostura makes for a heavier, jammier cocktail, while the Harris bitters made a lighter, more approachable drink, with a pronounced bright bitterness. It does come across as more sophisticated, less heavy and somehow more thoughtful—if that is something you look for in a cocktail.<p></p><p>So overall I am impressed. The Harris bitters are not cheap: 100ml is £20, though you can buy a 10ml taster for £6.50. But by comparison Angostura is £10 for 200ml, so a quarter of the price. (Angostura is more alcoholic too—44.7% compared to Harris’s 34%—but in the quantities in which it is consumed this is not really relevant.) But certainly the Harris Pick-Me-Up bitters are worth it, given that 100ml will last you a while. A note of warning, however: you had better like bitter flavours. I gave both versions with gin to Mrs H. to taste and she made that scrunched-up “this tastes like poison!” face that even hoppy ale produces in her. But if you are at ease with bitterness you will also find much more to this complex blend.</p><p><i>D.R. Harris’s Pick-Me-Up bitters can be ordered from <a href="https://www.drharris.co.uk/product/the-original-pick-me-up" target="_blank">the company’s website</a> or if you have access to the capital you can saunter into their shop and buy it over the counter.</i></p><p><span style="font-size: xx-small;">* I’ve no idea if it is patented.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: xx-small;">** Elsewhere I’ve seen a suggestion that it was only in the early 2000s that they realised they would need an alcohol licence to sell it, which they clearly had never had, though I guess they must have an off-licence now.</span></p><br /><p></p>Clayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171372316344074696.post-81097758755625156922021-07-24T03:26:00.006-07:002021-07-24T03:26:54.324-07:00Happy birthday, Luxardo!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIpwxh5ndExTZdgFnY-dR94pao_F5MruRhn2hiXiMZ3IVWoFaeiDC0W5eB9Ch86h4QCEuhWWmAylWzUJ35N9W4EU5PCdmJ2Ju85hJtxpZxzzVBRfEHm0l4PPBpX86At_cizO7A1n3Myf4/s2048/633A1628-2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIpwxh5ndExTZdgFnY-dR94pao_F5MruRhn2hiXiMZ3IVWoFaeiDC0W5eB9Ch86h4QCEuhWWmAylWzUJ35N9W4EU5PCdmJ2Ju85hJtxpZxzzVBRfEHm0l4PPBpX86At_cizO7A1n3Myf4/w640-h426/633A1628-2.jpg" width="520" /></a></div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix8K6sQdsfr_j2K4ASxoMUFXZY7FYfxuIuRDKY0Ho3WE5HKqMcvLkJgv60EplIBvYDcfvhlpzJVnFgX3tWElLKXl8-pZIO_X7t2q_2ASJJvcPrmEIbcctMz49uTn_MTh0bPdveavlFuLE/s2048/633A1699-2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix8K6sQdsfr_j2K4ASxoMUFXZY7FYfxuIuRDKY0Ho3WE5HKqMcvLkJgv60EplIBvYDcfvhlpzJVnFgX3tWElLKXl8-pZIO_X7t2q_2ASJJvcPrmEIbcctMz49uTn_MTh0bPdveavlFuLE/w309-h464/633A1699-2.jpg" width="309" /></a></div>It was nice to be invited out on "Freedom Day"—last Monday, the day that Covid-related social restrictions were lifted here in the UK (though for how long, who knows?). In this case it was to a celebration of 200 years of Luxardo, most famous for their maraschino liqueur—see <a href="http://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2018/04/maraschino-is-wood-good.html" target="_blank">my previous analysis</a> of the singular way they make it. It was a small gathering of only a dozen or so: previous plans for a big party had had to be abandoned, what with the plague and everything. Incidentally, the event falling on Freedom Day was a coincidence: the real reason they chose 19th July was that this is the 200th day of the year.<p></p><p>The venue was a "secret piazza" created for the summer at Hush Mayfair in London. Turn off Brook Street down Lancashire Court and you'll find an open courtyard with outdoor tables and a cocktail menu featuring Luxardo products. I'm not sure how Italian it really feels but being outside is a boon during Covid times. Here we sampled the new Antico vermouth-style aperitivo—not technically a vermouth because it is made from fermented cherry juice rather than grape wine, but it tastes very similar to red vermouth, with a hint of cherry at the end. I liked what I tasted and would be keen to try Manhattans and Negronis made with it.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjljOQFi4TUQo3jAVpcgr7XeFzIRIHjo2B8LYq7_0XYqaTLU5HU9Cx8t1X3tn9WwcRLERWrYCUNzo8CLkXzmgVXYzC1e_1TS_p7CRloPRT_V_vXt83CPDnUDpjnaBqoiLk_lMOmkIA5zdA/s2048/633A1641-2.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="461" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjljOQFi4TUQo3jAVpcgr7XeFzIRIHjo2B8LYq7_0XYqaTLU5HU9Cx8t1X3tn9WwcRLERWrYCUNzo8CLkXzmgVXYzC1e_1TS_p7CRloPRT_V_vXt83CPDnUDpjnaBqoiLk_lMOmkIA5zdA/w307-h461/633A1641-2.jpg" width="307" /></a></div>We tasted the Antico neat, in a Spritz and also in a <i>sgroppino</i>, a traditional Venetian combination of lemon sorbet, vodka and Prosecco, in this case with added Antico. It's kind of a cross between a drink and a dessert and was probably the highlight of what we sampled on the day. The red powder sprinkled on the base of the glass was apparently dried raspberry, though I couldn't find a practical way of verifying this…<p></p><p>We were also honoured to get a taste of the Perla Dry Riserva Bicentenario, made from 50-year-old cherry distillate. It has less sugar than regular Luxardo maraschino; in fact it has a nose a bit like fino sherry and tastes a lot like grappa with notes of almond and chocolate. But don't expect to spend the summer swigging the stuff, as only 12 bottles are destined for this country (one of which I assume is the one I photographed here), at a price of £120 each. </p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxuTR3A5aHQVkwrtmtPzA4FpZNNgLkLriPLxwKgwhsphKc_woPDj4NFkQpgHtlWyIgjikGWuihSMz4PoeRUfEoATfYe4GM7ntnUowdmj2cZOg3W-dqNQJypym3g2x-Iw_bK0Mdhf4o6vs/s2048/633A1654-2.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxuTR3A5aHQVkwrtmtPzA4FpZNNgLkLriPLxwKgwhsphKc_woPDj4NFkQpgHtlWyIgjikGWuihSMz4PoeRUfEoATfYe4GM7ntnUowdmj2cZOg3W-dqNQJypym3g2x-Iw_bK0Mdhf4o6vs/w640-h426/633A1654-2.jpg" width="520" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"G" Franklin, Luxardo's Global Brand Ambassador introduces the Perla Dry</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiC8X3mSI5k6mP0E6kDzH12d4NAiqj1R6uEeOWpOFuD9weCCutI7i1k8fZPTsmCGqXsr0wrzDUGctdLBBHFkbQJ2gZc1W3My3qx0FuUi27qx5pzJ7zFZkwtivbesEYtB7Y1q_IpIdUbS8/s2048/633A1679-2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiC8X3mSI5k6mP0E6kDzH12d4NAiqj1R6uEeOWpOFuD9weCCutI7i1k8fZPTsmCGqXsr0wrzDUGctdLBBHFkbQJ2gZc1W3My3qx0FuUi27qx5pzJ7zFZkwtivbesEYtB7Y1q_IpIdUbS8/w640-h426/633A1679-2.jpg" width="520" /></a></div><br />Thanks to David T. Smith of <a href="https://summerfruitcup.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Summer Fruit Cup</a> for swinging me the invitation. The Luxardo Secret Piazza will be at <a href="https://www.hush.co.uk/" target="_blank">Hush Mayfair</a> until 30th September.<p></p><p><i>Luxardo Antico aperitivo, 16.5% ABV is £20 for 70cl. Luxardo Perla Dry Riserva Bicentario, 40% ABV, is £120 for 70cl.</i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji2K48_bDBzKt9x_7vXqcYpn_leXQ4DOgxL0VGfy1m-n-f3HhArpltScR805fpn-f8x2oTlkm5XzlCITyBF_ULXJNEDE1uaPpOklWPcfw58mL9VvmBtV9otKiKBZiPFMM6RdQmhAKGBXM/s2048/633A1691-2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji2K48_bDBzKt9x_7vXqcYpn_leXQ4DOgxL0VGfy1m-n-f3HhArpltScR805fpn-f8x2oTlkm5XzlCITyBF_ULXJNEDE1uaPpOklWPcfw58mL9VvmBtV9otKiKBZiPFMM6RdQmhAKGBXM/w640-h426/633A1691-2.jpg" width="520" /></a></div><br /><i><br /></i><p></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVp0PmDQC6T1M_182mdim0DkUapkHeF9OdehZXVo_IxL4w5OxVwwlg7UVURc8anIlXHo_iPbSmNwzVW9bDWNgGzV7ODvhlat2JfLJhSq0R0K5EHmrYA06AXTBaqWebZci12rhqobzEo24/s2048/633A1646-2.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1366" data-original-width="2048" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVp0PmDQC6T1M_182mdim0DkUapkHeF9OdehZXVo_IxL4w5OxVwwlg7UVURc8anIlXHo_iPbSmNwzVW9bDWNgGzV7ODvhlat2JfLJhSq0R0K5EHmrYA06AXTBaqWebZci12rhqobzEo24/w640-h426/633A1646-2.jpg" width="520" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Left to right: the Antico, the Antico with soda, the sgroppino and Luxardo's luminous orange regular Aperitivo, which is a bit sweet for me</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><i><br /></i><p></p>Clayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171372316344074696.post-87938391783176595082021-06-10T13:40:00.007-07:002021-06-10T13:44:56.826-07:00Pickering's Gin, 1947 Gin and Navy Strength Gin<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXhGZ3d5bay4xOzA6-r1NV6FM6GDVgBx1t9X2FHuXWo4e5ah7AhfuXKey_Z0iwXqR6o6NQzLFSf2gq36IKvxKpmLhudFihj_5vbCARsaY4koq3haVxLUXchkwIv31uUUD0f1emEqKzcEs/s2048/633A9756-3.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1598" data-original-width="2048" height="405" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXhGZ3d5bay4xOzA6-r1NV6FM6GDVgBx1t9X2FHuXWo4e5ah7AhfuXKey_Z0iwXqR6o6NQzLFSf2gq36IKvxKpmLhudFihj_5vbCARsaY4koq3haVxLUXchkwIv31uUUD0f1emEqKzcEs/w640-h500/633A9756-3.jpg" width="520" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Back in December I <a href="https://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2020/12/brussels-sprout-gin.html" target="_blank">reviewed the Brussels Sprout gin</a> made by Pickering’s of Summerhall in Edinburgh. We’d stumbled across it while visiting friends during festival season, spending our days in damp basements that had become “venues” for three weeks. Although I ultimately can’t recommend the sproutwater, the basic Pickering’s gin was very agreeable.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I noted that in addition to their main gin they also did a “1947” edition, and now they have a navy strength too. So I decided to do a “horizontal flight” comparison.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The story goes that Marcus Pickering and Matt Gammell decided to start a distillery and make gin after Marcus inherited a gin recipe from a friend of his late father. Like many new gin-makers they had no experience of distilling, but unlike many they actually built theirs. They mention that their various previous business ventures together have revolved around, among other things, engineering, and the pair clearly love to make eye-catching promotional things. Things such as a pop-up tasting bar that folds out of a vintage trunk, a modified Japanese airport fire engine that dispenses cocktails from tanks through hoses, and a mechanical Martini mixer adapted from a wind-up gramophone and some 1960s chemistry equipment (which, as far as I can tell, can still play 78s). So far so Steampunk—Hendrick’s had better watch out. (Although one could observe that the Pickering’s creations are all actually functional, rather than just visual whimsy. In the words of Sir Reginald Pikedevant, “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TFCuE5rHbPA" target="_blank">Just glue some gears on it and call it Steampunk</a>”…) </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCMnWDJdMZEng7cr9Dm4glU3H0chW1ql8SnQhiDkrbX8hwv6CvIiN6WciemVMkjUsIw1SxgkiGFmfx31WbtyXbKg1AD6-l5ZRadyKdPvke92y_rHPYlkiJeMvThMvFFQS27uimDvv2roE/s794/Martini+mixer.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="537" data-original-width="794" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCMnWDJdMZEng7cr9Dm4glU3H0chW1ql8SnQhiDkrbX8hwv6CvIiN6WciemVMkjUsIw1SxgkiGFmfx31WbtyXbKg1AD6-l5ZRadyKdPvke92y_rHPYlkiJeMvThMvFFQS27uimDvv2roE/w640-h432/Martini+mixer.jpeg" width="520" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Pickering's mechanical Martini mixer</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>The actual recipe, allegedly from a document handwritten in Bombay in 1947, was “full of fragrant spices and fresh citrus fruits”, evidently quite punchy, while the 21st-century Pickering’s people decided modern punters wanted something softer and smoother, so they tweaked the recipe. They also use a <i>bain marie</i> heating system for the still (rather than direct heat) which they feel coaxes out the soft, subtle flavours. The botanicals in the main gin are juniper, coriander, cardamom, angelica, fennel, anise, lemon, lime and cloves. The 1947 edition, which, as its name suggests, is “made precisely to the original recipe”, adds cinnamon. Pickering’s Navy Strength Gin is, as far as I can tell, the same as the main recipe but bottled at 57.1% ABV. You also can’t help but notice that it proudly sports a military bearskin, to mark its becoming the official gin of the Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now I’ll be honest that I was surprised to read that the basic Pickering’s gin actually has no cinnamon in it. Tasting it again for this comparison, I opened the bottle and got a pleasing spike of juniper, followed by a creamy orange citrus character plus sharp lime and lemon notes, something floral and a warm, middly, woody note that I might have guessed was from cinnamon. Apparently not. Swirling it in a glass I get some caramel and mint too—though I suspect that herbal impression may be from the fennel. All of the above appear on the palate, making an immediately balanced impression. It is smooth and almost chocolatey, but still with the juniper backbone. But I could swear I’m getting cinnamon too. While it is the juniper that greets you, I would characterise this gin as being warm, smooth and spicy, rather than lean, fresh, crisp and dry.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In a Martini it retains this character, rich, smooth and perfumed. In fact if you like your Martini stern, airy and crystalline, you may consider this gin a bit wallowy. Oddly, in a Negroni the juniper comes out more. It’s a punchy but balanced example of the cocktail, bitter-sweet but smooth.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Given that the basic Pickering’s struck me as warmly spiced, I did laugh a bit when I first opened the 1947. It just seemed a bit bonkers to make another gin that was even more dominated by these elements. To me it is less well balanced, without the juniper structure that I personally require in a gin and more of those herbal notes, in addition to cinnamon. On the palate you can find juniper but it is sort of lurking in the background.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Given that I thought the normal gin made a warm, dark Martini, you won’t be surprised to hear that a 1947 Martini is rather on the muddy side. In a Negroni you still get a warm, spicy, bitter-sweet drink, and in fact you can find the juniper if you dig, but it doesn’t rise up to offer the effortless but complex triumvirate of a classic Negroni.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The fact that the 1947 formula seemed to play up the herbal elements (which I first interpreted as mint but which in fact must be fennel) reminded me of absinthe and made me wonder if this gin might work best in drinks that included absinthe. The Corpse Reviver No.2* sprang to mind and I have to say that it’s actually rather an intriguing triumph in itself, with the fennel and anise obviously sitting comfortably alongside the absinthe and the lemon and lime flavours marrying with the lemon juice and triple sec. But of course, lacking juniper, it’s not your classic Corpse Reviver.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If there were any doubt which version of the gin goes to make the Navy Strength it would be dispelled with one whiff of the majestic juniper fumes that come from the open bottle. It’s an immensely appealing aroma (if you like gin, and ginny gin at that). It’s remarkably smooth and drinkable despite its high strength. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="10" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ew2toH8bRtO2WrP0WvmbnjKv8W-nNafhUrx-yvwFznql1BruS-HS5ZoXUGrhxIHtMLBJ6UBR_dyRhGUvfvDGet9iBe3BbhPHJO3X_UivMwGrx-uNCs7jq2zMu3WqfzjculvTji3RoaM/s2048/633A0327-3.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="519" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ew2toH8bRtO2WrP0WvmbnjKv8W-nNafhUrx-yvwFznql1BruS-HS5ZoXUGrhxIHtMLBJ6UBR_dyRhGUvfvDGet9iBe3BbhPHJO3X_UivMwGrx-uNCs7jq2zMu3WqfzjculvTji3RoaM/w346-h519/633A0327-3.jpg" width="346" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Gimlet made with Pickering's</td></tr></tbody></table>For scientific purposes I made a Negroni with it, and unsurprisingly it tastes like a Negroni made with the normal Pickering’s gin but on steroids. Using the standard equal proportions it’s a bit unbalanced, to be honest; you could just use less of the gin, but you might as well just use the regular-strength gin. In a Martini, this gin comes into its own, creating a powerful concoction, clearly a classic, juniper-driven Martini, but complex and evolving on the tongue. I was using Belsazar Dry vermouth, and its herbal strands intertwined voluptuously with those fennel and anise notes in the gin. Needless to say, a normal-sized Martini made with the navy strength will tend to make you squiffy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Thinking about the citrus elements, I also tried a Gimlet. Classically this is a blend of gin and lime cordial,** though some prefer to make it with fresh lime juice and sugar syrup, which is nice but not the same. (Others suggest making a lime syrup by adding lime juice and zest while making sugar syrup, though I have not tried this.) I’m pleased to report it works very well. Again, the softness of the gin combined with the sugar in the cordial makes for a smooth, approachable drink. As before, I prefer the more prominent juniper from the regular Pickering’s but if you’re not that keen on that element then a Gimlet made with the 1947 gin will make a rich, complex, spicy, citrussy glass of happiness.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Pickering’s gins can be had for about £26 a bottle from various outlets, but if you buy <a href="https://pickeringsgin.com/collections/shop-all" target="_blank">direct from Pickering’s themselves</a> you can currently buy a full litre for £28.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">* Equal parts gin, lemon juice, triple sec and originally Kina Lillet—Cocchi Americano is a good modern-day substitute—plus a smidgeon of absinthe.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">** The proportions are moot. Some say equal parts, but I think that makes for a cloying and tooth-curling sweetness. Perhaps start at 2:1 or 3:1 and see what you think. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div>Clayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171372316344074696.post-14345492547269463122021-03-22T13:53:00.004-07:002021-09-05T02:30:32.235-07:00Apples but not pears: the London Vermouth Company<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV0rpjm5Qi29rJcFs8XWBZrgzIKFZvczNfIK8DDXRTDQFKH685JblCfsUU6DjowlaeMl8Bp0IKkEQIdzeRuQ9_QcXmO3WWraGonk5w9HdfrF11lqqBPEy5t8kCdEbo_Cy1ldQAYL5VTbg/s2048/633A9890-1.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1362" height="781" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV0rpjm5Qi29rJcFs8XWBZrgzIKFZvczNfIK8DDXRTDQFKH685JblCfsUU6DjowlaeMl8Bp0IKkEQIdzeRuQ9_QcXmO3WWraGonk5w9HdfrF11lqqBPEy5t8kCdEbo_Cy1ldQAYL5VTbg/w668-h1004/633A9890-1.jpg" width="520" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I suppose no one should have been surprised that, hot on the heels of the recent gin boom, where half a dozen new gins seem to be released each week and every town or visitor attraction has its own brand, there should then be a vermouth boom. Well, maybe not a boom exactly, but certainly when I was a youth you basically had Martini and Cinzano, plus some dodgy supermarket clones. If you were a bit classy there was Noilly Prat and bar-trade insiders might favour Dolin. But now new brands are springing up all over the world, including <a href="https://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2014/10/regal-rogue-aussie-vermouth-fit-for-king.html" target="_blank">Regal Rogue</a> from Australia and my current favourite <a href="https://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2015/08/belsazar-vermouth-with-teutonic-twist.html" target="_blank">Belsazar</a> from Germany. Often the USP will be the use of local wines as a base. </p><p>The latest aromatised infusions to tickle my jaded palate come from much closer to home—London (specifically Queen’s Park, which is the other side of the city from my manor, Greenwich). A friend emailed with a mysterious request for my mailing address—he said a friend of his had something to send me. In due course three bottles arrived from the <a href="https://www.londonvermouthcompany.com" target="_blank">London Vermouth Company</a>. </p><p>Set up by Ben Leask, Andrew Wealls and Guy Abrahams, three friends with diverse backgrounds but a shared interest in food and drink, the LVC, as its name suggests, focuses on the local sourcing. Mind you, it’s a bit of a fudge, as not a lot is grown in London itself. But the S.E. Dry vermouth uses Bacchus wine from the South Downs, gooseberries from Essex and Bramley apples from Kent, so near London if not actually in it. (It does contain London honey, though, from Dulwich, not far from me.) The Amber Limon uses Kentish rhubarb, but I’m assuming the blood oranges are not from anywhere very nearby. And Camille’s Red uses dry wines from Kent and Surrey, but also ruby port. </p><p>The Amber and the Red also feature largely unnamed botanicals (numbering 21 and 23 respectively), although the website does mention that Indian cardamom features in Amber Limon and S.E. Dry, orange flowers from Marrakesh in Amber Limon and Camille’s Red, and Indonesian cloves and black pepper in the red as well. But they were at least able to find local bay leaves, grown in Guy's back garden.</p><p>In each case the founders asked a specialist to concoct the recipe: the amber and red vermouths were crafted by drinks expert Camille Hobby Limon, of The Bar With No Name and Zetter Townhouse, while the S.E. Dry was created by chef Steven Edwards, winner of <i>MasterChef: The Professionals</i> in 2013. Neither had made a vermouth before, but the chaps behind LVC specifically wanted to see what happens when someone who is a genius in one field takes on a challenge in a different one.</p><p><b>S.E. Dry</b></p><p>Uncorking the bottle releases rather a complex and intriguing aroma—honeysuckle sweetness, nettles, elderflower, raspberries, meringue and candied fruit and angelica. All rather tantalising and exciting. But when you slosh some of the liquid into a glass the bouquet suddenly changes and becomes more overwhelming and actually less appealing, with a heavy layer of flowers that have “gone over”. There is still a bright orange/grapefruit citrus character, but now with the burdensome confectionary miasma of hard-boiled sweets, along with something pungently herbaceous.</p><p>On the palate there is a strong, sharp vegetable note of rhubarb, with roiling meadow flowers and stalks. It’s a bit cloying, though the balance is medium sweet overall. I try some Belsazar Dry alongside for comparative purposes. I always think of this as quite savoury, with almost a saline note, but I’m surprised to find it is actually no less sweet than the S.E. Dry; however the flavour is sharper, more about tart berries than mulching flowers.</p><p>I try the obvious and make a Dry Martini with it. This actually works better than I expected. It’s not much like Belsazar; it’s more floral and has an overriding aroma of elderflower and gooseberries floating above it. I don’t think it’s likely to become my new favourite vermouth but, especially when partnered with a stern, savoury gin, it can make for a soft, summery Martini that balances the hard juniper edges of the spirit.</p><p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig950Ho1pV_ypXXuDo0PKtzZljSJybxP8d4LRjtXE5pREQbFxLfPxE0QlEun2yAFp_vtT33WUbiDwbMtziClNxh9mVdys3-h-4aya91qPGpYlBWiNTeKOnfY3ahqVU1Le2-JJUjBXk7rk/s2048/633A9882-2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1268" height="553" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig950Ho1pV_ypXXuDo0PKtzZljSJybxP8d4LRjtXE5pREQbFxLfPxE0QlEun2yAFp_vtT33WUbiDwbMtziClNxh9mVdys3-h-4aya91qPGpYlBWiNTeKOnfY3ahqVU1Le2-JJUjBXk7rk/w342-h553/633A9882-2.jpg" width="342" /></a></b></div><b>Amber Limon</b><p></p><p>As mentioned, this stars rhubarb and blood orange, and is indeed amber in colour. Sniffing the open bottle yields a smell not dissimilar to the Dry but tighter, more citric, toasty and perfumed. Like hip marmalade. But once again, in the glass the aroma gets overwhelmed by heavy floral overtones, but this time I can’t help being reminded of synthetically-fragranced paper hand towels.</p><p>On the tongue there is a totally unexpected resinous spice like frankincense, along with floral and herbal weight. It’s a bit like wandering into a patchouli-doused head shop. There’s a bit of violet and strawberry in there too, citrus tartness and rhubarb bitterness, plus a lemon balm note that runs through both vermouths. But that patchouli note dominates. </p><p>There aren’t really any classic amber vermouth recipes so I try making a Negroni using this one. For me this is dominated, as soon as you smell it, by a note that reminds me of creosote though Mrs H. gets mainly boiled sweets again. I eventually managed to balance it up a bit by adding more Campari and gin, but it really is a bit pointless using this vermouth in the first place.</p><p>I do a search for <i>bianco</i> vermouth cocktails and discover that Simon Difford thinks the <a href="https://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2013/06/introducing-sloppy-giuseppe-cocktail.html" target="_blank">El Presidente</a>—Cuba’s Martini, made with rum and vermouth—it best made with <i>bianco</i>. A 2:1 blend of white rum and the Amber Limon certainly doesn’t clash, though it isn’t transformative either. You still have to like the vermouth’s cloying pungency. Another Difford suggestion is <i>bianco</i> vermouth with tequila, and this turns out to be more successful. The herbaceous prickle of the tequila locks horns with the heavy floral and resinous notes of the vermouth; with Olmeca Altos Plata I find that at 2:1 the vermouth is actually rather swamped and you need 1:1 proportions to get a good balance between the two. Difford’s recipe includes a bit of maraschino—thought I don’t think it needs sweetening—plus lavender bitters; I have none to try, but I can imagine the result would be a very complex cocktail, full of fleshy vegetable layers and late-summer floral tendrils.</p><p>One other thing Difford suggests is an Algonquin cocktail, which uses rye whiskey, vermouth and pineapple juice. I don’t have any of the latter, but a mix of rye-high <a href="https://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2015/06/four-roses-rises.html" target="_blank">Four Roses Small Batch bourbon</a> and the Amber Limon is also very interesting, the spirit’s woody rasp more than a match for the vermouth.</p><p><b>Camille’s Red</b></p><p>In addition to the two English wines, ruby port and those spices, this apparently includes bonfire toffee—toffee made with black treacle (molasses). A sniff of the bottle offers a promising dark scent of orange and woody cinnamon, a bit of clove, plus that candied layer all these vermouths seem to have. In the glass it is less cloying than the other two; there is rhubarb, something floral, coffee, toffee and ruby port notes.</p><p>For my taste, the balance of sweet and bitter on the palate here is the most successful out of the three, with herbal, rooty and candied elements. Out of the three this is probably the only one I could drink neat—despite the dominating “potpourri” note that they all have—though in comparison Belsazar Red is tighter, leaner and certainly more bitter.</p><p>I try a Manhattan using this vermouth; it’s certainly distinctive, with strong wafts of citrus and rhubarb on the nose, but on the palate it lacks something in the middle. Oddly, it has a cough-mixture quality but seems kind of dry too. Adding a dash of maraschino helps, but again you’d be better off just using a different vermouth.</p><p>In a Negroni things start to look up. Straightaway the blend has what I can only described as an openness or transparency. I think the rhubarb and grapefruit elements sit comfortably with the citric bitterness of the Campari and the heady thrust of the juniper in a vivid harmony. There is also an intriguing perfumed aftertaste. The vermouth really comes into its own here, but you’d better be OK with bitterness. I tried it with several different gins and it is a solid winner.</p><p>The stated aim here, to make specifically London vermouths, is a bit hit and miss—not only do so many of the ingredients come from other countries, but the whole <i>idea</i> of vermouth has nothing to do with British food and drink traditions (other than our willingness to drink the stuff, though that applies to most boozes). But have they created something that <i>tastes</i> particularly Londonish? Rhubarb is a strong presence, which is fair play, though if you wanted a bittering agent then hops would also have been authentic for the region. And if the smell of over-mellow honeysuckle and elderflower makes you think of England then that is a thread that runs through these offerings. It’s a smell I get from gins sometimes and it usually makes my nose wrinkle and my lip curl, but to each his own. </p><p>As I say, Camille’s Red makes a bright, open, vivid Negroni and the Dry makes a blossomy, summery Martini. The Amber is the most challenging for me, but initial experiments suggest it’s best matched with the powerful savoury flavours of tequila and American whiskey.</p><p><i>No.1 Amber Limon and No.3 S.E. Dry are £24 for 50 ml, and No.2 Camille’s Red £26 for 50 ml, all from the <a href="https://www.londonvermouthcompany.com/where-to-buy-vermouth" target="_blank">London Vermouth Company online shop</a> </i></p><div><br /></div>Clayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171372316344074696.post-10234056008844958442021-03-02T06:39:00.001-08:002021-03-02T06:39:52.398-08:00Negroni Safari<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLoQxJCC6IZOSo7rGSb9pTIyc413SY8z0bNoI7A6vbCMpqRvEIBPBBB6JDve6hsuoow1nwRE_eHPLAfHNdJ85NPwAg7kIDbM1FYPq4K14h3D73aUN7aI2sXmp2U4QaFUvmUA79Xu7kYgQ/s1013/633A9850-cutout5.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1013" data-original-width="700" height="752" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLoQxJCC6IZOSo7rGSb9pTIyc413SY8z0bNoI7A6vbCMpqRvEIBPBBB6JDve6hsuoow1nwRE_eHPLAfHNdJ85NPwAg7kIDbM1FYPq4K14h3D73aUN7aI2sXmp2U4QaFUvmUA79Xu7kYgQ/w617-h893/633A9850-cutout5.png" width="520" /></a></div><div>David T. Smith, drinks writer and sometime contributor to this blog, has just published a new book on the Negroni cocktail. You may wonder how one can fill a book on the subject of one cocktail, but this volume is essentially a collection of variations, from subtle tweaks on the classic form to seasonal variants and radical reinterpretations.</div><div><br /></div><div>In its basic form the cocktail is a blend of equal parts gin, Campari and red vermouth, and it has enjoyed quite a renaissance over the last decade or so. Generally speaking I take a dim view of people who peddle so-called variations of a drink which in reality are just borrowing a name that people will recognise and perhaps trust—the world is full of “<i>[insert word]</i> Martinis” which in fact contain none of the ingredients of a Martini but are simply served in what is often called a “Martini glass” (more properly a “cocktail glass”). Yet the Negroni is more open to legitimate variation than a Martini because it has more ingredients and each has many varieties—there are legion gins out there, plenty of red vermouths, and even Campari is part of an Italian tradition of bitter, herbal <i>amari</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>I developed a taste for Campari while honeymooning in Venice in 2000. A huge Campari sign loomed over the Lido (now gone, I think) and the locals’ aperitif of choice was the “Spritz”, a mixture of Campari, white wine (sometimes sparkling) and fizzy water. The Austrians who ruled the place in the early 19th century started all this, using seltzer water to thin the strong local wine. Nowadays Aperol (sweeter, fruiter, less bitter) has taken over from Campari in the Spritz—Venice is filled with tables of bright orange drinks where they used to be red—and you have to ask specifically for a Campari version, although in fairness it was always acceptable to make it with either, as well as Select Pilla or Cynar, an <i>amaro</i> flavoured with artichoke.</div><div><br /></div><div>A bright red, bitter drink that's bottled at 25% ABV, Campari was invented in Turin by Gaspare Campari in the early 1800s and his son was responsible for the iconic advertising images that helped promote it through the 19th century and beyond. The recipe is allegedly a closely guarded secret but is said to involve some 60 ingredients. In flavour it comes across as herbal and citric with a bitter finish. Its colour traditionally comes from cochineal, a cactus-boring insect from South America, though in 2007 they replaced this with an artificial colouring.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Negroni owes its existence to another cocktail, the Americano. By 1862 Gaspare had his own bar, Caffè Campari, in Milan, where he devised a blend of Campari, sweet red vermouth and soda water, calling it a Milano-Torino, after its origins. It later became known as an Americano because of its popularity with tourists. Legend has it that, in 1919, one Count Camillo Negroni went into the Caffè Casoni in Florence and asked the barman, Fosco Scarselli, to beef up his Americano with gin. (Whether at this stage the gin actually replaced the soda, I’m not clear.) This became Negroni’s favourite drink and it took his name. (To give you an idea of the cultural significance of the drink, there is actually an ongoing spat about who invented it, with the contemporary Negroni family insisting that their ancestor Count Pascal Olivier Negroni is the real creator. They even claim that Camillo never existed, though it’s fairly certain he did; the truth about his alleged careers as a cowboy and riverboat gambler are another matter. See <a href="http://www.drinkingcup.net/the-real-count-camillo-negroni">www.drinkingcup.net/the-real-count-camillo-negroni</a> for a taste of the vehemence.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Mr Smith’s book, written with Keli Rivers, includes a range of variants where the role of the Campari is played by other bitter drinks, as well as some long-established concoctions which are essentially Negronis with the gin replaced by another spirit: the Boulevardier, first published in 1927, uses bourbon and the Old Pal, from the same era, uses rye whiskey. <a href="http://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2015/07/some-negroni-variants.html" target="_blank">I myself have previously experimented</a> and found that it works with tequila, Cognac, rum or Scotch, and similar variants appear here. </div><div><br /></div><div>Other versions focus on the fruitiness of Campari and the fact that a Negroni is traditionally served with an orange slice garnish, and add orange, grapefruit or pineapple juices. David also suggests pre-mixing a batch of Negroni and letting it “age”, or trying one of several types of White Negroni, using white vermouth and something like Suze to create an almost colourless version (see also <a href="http://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2018/05/pale-fire-perfect-aperitif-for-summers.html" target="_blank">this delightful version</a> made with Luxardo Bitter Bianco).</div><div><br /></div><div>Inevitably there is a “Royale” version with Champagne (although a Negroni Sbagliato, using Prosecco instead of gin, has been an Italian tradition since the 1980s), a Christmas-oriented Snowball version with Advocaat, even a “float” version with ice cream. But perhaps the strangest is the “clarified” version, where a convention Negroni is mixed with lemon juice and milk—the acid curdles the milk which draws the colour from the drink, so that when you strain it through a cheesecloth or coffee filter you get something that tastes like a Negroni but is a pale straw colour. Whether this is worth the effort only you, gentle reader, can decide.</div><div><br /></div><div>Negroni <i>will be published by Ryland Peters & Small on 9th March, RRP £7.99</i></div><div><br /></div>Clayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171372316344074696.post-51458587486934926492021-02-01T05:24:00.002-08:002021-02-02T17:38:05.678-08:00Squid's in. In the gin.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOzWPYt3I0DttPBNRPp0f-nLH5wav7PapHKevnHOcH8DBDewpW3xtaG5BLUBzeejZzo5cruxBWNynrD6TtAyKhyphenhyphenIZEWk4_NEDsDbUInvjt3C2zzgTzhHc7sf8VErtq07sLM8wOgMHh2mg/s2048/633A9725-3.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1366" height="782" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOzWPYt3I0DttPBNRPp0f-nLH5wav7PapHKevnHOcH8DBDewpW3xtaG5BLUBzeejZzo5cruxBWNynrD6TtAyKhyphenhyphenIZEWk4_NEDsDbUInvjt3C2zzgTzhHc7sf8VErtq07sLM8wOgMHh2mg/w659-h990/633A9725-3.jpg" width="520" /></a></div><p>If you think <a href="https://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2020/12/brussels-sprout-gin.html" target="_blank">Brussels sprout gin</a> is wilfully strange, check this out. You may remember how taken I was by both the regular <a href="https://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2020/03/cornish-gin-update-20.html" target="_blank">Caspyn Gin and the Midsummer gin</a> from the Pocketful of Stones distillery: I noticed recently that they have now added a squid ink gin to the range. </p><p>You read that right. Apparently they’ve been trying to make Dr Squid Gin work since 2018, and the final recipe uses, they admit, only a very small amount of squid ink. The website doesn’t say if it uses their regular gin as a base (as the Midsummer gin does), only that this version also features vanilla and sea buckthorn. Before you even clap eyes on the gin itself you are struck by the other departure with this product—instead of a bottle it comes in a rectangular copper flask. I’m wondering if this was a practical necessity—for example, if it turned out that the colour of the gin was unstable if kept in a transparent bottle—or if they just wanted find a way to add to the “special edition” vibe. If you look at comments and reviews, customers have certainly had problems pouring from the flask without spilling gin all over the place, and my example actually came with a speed pourer to jam into the neck to create a reliable spout, so clearly they have conceded that there is a bit of a design flaw here. Other comments suggest that some customers detected a metallic taint in the gin or allegedly found bits of copper swarf in the liquid.</p><p>The flask is certainly a handsome object, however. Let's pause for some packaging porn:</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZPB1oNtnlP_Em3QA9h_exEVL_B5K_pp2JRY7_WGXiMa_Ua9SApbw3ntI_8LTrk3lo1yLto5GuR9h5vZ5s6nq44HcBWGXky3CyhEW0nNsuFUrNmlFjaLOdPWj8Ht-2yk4sBfu6S6hcNn8/s2048/633A9354-3.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1366" height="781" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZPB1oNtnlP_Em3QA9h_exEVL_B5K_pp2JRY7_WGXiMa_Ua9SApbw3ntI_8LTrk3lo1yLto5GuR9h5vZ5s6nq44HcBWGXky3CyhEW0nNsuFUrNmlFjaLOdPWj8Ht-2yk4sBfu6S6hcNn8/w576-h865/633A9354-3.jpg" width="520" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE8_gyAxh4rerLKH69fQyS9YJs1L0PFl_fxTSUfQATGTHNG44Rkp72mMYJLiT3O2YI_vMnlpEMTI-l4PiNX9y4NQfJe5MN8DLorAylaRR_c5bXZjEVj8PeuMyLJ4CxRiKllVDtjWccMyE/s2048/633A9369-3.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1366" height="781" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE8_gyAxh4rerLKH69fQyS9YJs1L0PFl_fxTSUfQATGTHNG44Rkp72mMYJLiT3O2YI_vMnlpEMTI-l4PiNX9y4NQfJe5MN8DLorAylaRR_c5bXZjEVj8PeuMyLJ4CxRiKllVDtjWccMyE/w560-h841/633A9369-3.jpg" width="520" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMjwL6Zslds-RA7d9iNihkyF-lAugOYIQfAIYbhkCcB5vISyO07AIMResa_YKrMSYkPUyPivePYotomhJIL-LRmc3VtCAzDSXkK-JE2O1kGmZUGgzZSo1jRTSp7UdIk67R2mu7iQ2lD1U/s2048/633A9348-3.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="518" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMjwL6Zslds-RA7d9iNihkyF-lAugOYIQfAIYbhkCcB5vISyO07AIMResa_YKrMSYkPUyPivePYotomhJIL-LRmc3VtCAzDSXkK-JE2O1kGmZUGgzZSo1jRTSp7UdIk67R2mu7iQ2lD1U/w345-h518/633A9348-3.jpg" width="345" /></a></div>As you can see, the exterior is etched with Cornish scenes: on one side are sea creatures (shark, whale, turtle, penguin, some fish and an evil-looking squid), a surfer and a galleon, while on the other we find birds and land creatures, including a fox, a badger and a hedgehog, plus a standing stone with a hole through it (Mên-an-Tol, I assume). On the spine, uniting the land and sea, are a mermaid, a chest of pirate treasure, some decorative skulls and what I think is St Michael’s Mount. Technical problems notwithstanding, this flask is clearly not cheap to make, which goes some way to explaining the hefty price tag of £50 for 70cl.<p></p><p>There is no explanation given as to why it’s “Dr Squid” Gin. Who is Dr Squid? The stick-on label features a top-hatted Edwardian gentleman whose lower half is a squid, so I guess it’s him. But it’s a bit odd, having a tin that is all about the Cornish identity of the gin, then a label and title that goes off on Hendrick’s-esque self-consciously-eccentric diversion.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2B_VxoZgDnO4dm6deIJ-_mNUauFGWNxEPbzel-B1FAofvpZJ8BICzZSrmfmiS0oV1yE7WGjojgoNrpxPeDipOPYsilO46j9dI2xqCkDJmPsXUJvUjpJm_jhiAOQ0nnb9Rr1vHM74ct_M/s2048/633A9711-3.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2B_VxoZgDnO4dm6deIJ-_mNUauFGWNxEPbzel-B1FAofvpZJ8BICzZSrmfmiS0oV1yE7WGjojgoNrpxPeDipOPYsilO46j9dI2xqCkDJmPsXUJvUjpJm_jhiAOQ0nnb9Rr1vHM74ct_M/w309-h464/633A9711-3.jpg" width="309" /></a></div>Part of the USP of this gin is it’s colour—squid ink black as it comes from the can, but miraculously turning pink when you add tonic. How does that happen? Well, as you can see from the photos, it isn’t really black at all, but dark purple; so it’s no surprise that this purple becomes pink as you dilute it. From my experiences of cooking with and eating squid ink in Italian cuisine, I don’t remember it being this colour, but according to Wikipedia, while octopus ink is black, squid ink is indeed “blue-black”.<p></p><p>Some reviewers have complained that the gin consequently has a fishy smell, but I must say that I cannot detect anything of that nature. Sniffing the open flask, I get a hit of bold juniper plus warm orange and lemon citrus notes. In the glass I also get a strong coriander element, plus something floral like violets (and I don’t think that is just suggested by the colour!). There’s also a strong herbaceous element—the first thing that springs to mind is parsley, perhaps blended with watercress and a smidgeon of pungent sage.</p><p>On the palate it is immediately sweet and smooth (perhaps from the vanilla, though I don’t obviously get vanilla as such), with flinty juniper, prominent coriander seed and a dry finish. It’s a powerfully flavoured gin—you can’t help wondering if this is done deliberately to mask the taste/smell of the squid ink! There’s something in the herbal/mentholic notes that make me wonder if they have included rock samphire in the botanical mix, which would be a consciously Cornish thing to do.*</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="10" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha2XFNmJIpXkvw9rns5qTXF5VrzKKsZeb4xJtAav-mD3TMrgNPO4GXM1Xp9aoyvQrF2351YgAzE7LA2BWrla6W4kN1pe-nyGTzuKALBR0AUqsZTO6FhRhgBok0v1GkrbE-mTCgoO_x9y0/s2048/633A9731-3.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha2XFNmJIpXkvw9rns5qTXF5VrzKKsZeb4xJtAav-mD3TMrgNPO4GXM1Xp9aoyvQrF2351YgAzE7LA2BWrla6W4kN1pe-nyGTzuKALBR0AUqsZTO6FhRhgBok0v1GkrbE-mTCgoO_x9y0/w318-h478/633A9731-3.jpg" width="318" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A daunting-looking Dr Squid Martini</td></tr></tbody></table>That colour creates some odd effects in cocktails—a simple Martini is a terrifying murky presentation. At first I try a largely undiluted version, and the herbal notes are unsurprisingly brought out, the juniper and coriander; I’m also getting a sort of sweet/pungent effect that concentrates on the tongue like anise (which, oddly, I didn’t notice when tasting the gin neat). I try a heavily shaken version to dilute it, but the only thing that changes is a slight cellulose note. I have to say that I do not think this gin makes a terribly good Martini. A few days later I try a Martini again and this time it’s really that mentholic-pungent character that strikes me, somewhere between sage and anise.<p></p><p>Another cocktail I often use to put a gin through its paces is the Corpse Reviver No.2—equal parts gin, lemon juice, triple sec and Cocchi Americano (standing in for Kina Lillet, which is no longer made), plus a dash of absinthe. It’s a powerful combo and some gins get smothered by it. Made with Dr Squid, it’s certainly a nice, complex drink, with sweet, sour, bitter and herbal elements—but then it always is. The coriander comes out noticeably and one thing I notice for the first time with this gin is a saline element, which I don’t recall being a characteristic of this cocktail. Of course the colour is weird, with the purple gin meeting the yellow of the lemon juice to produce a not-unattractive pinky colour. But from a flavour point of view, the cocktail is certainly a success. It makes me think that I should try more combinations of Dr Squid and absinthe.</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMpbuc7JouFxtvcEuiX69MlCRfcYtIiYFRGF98VhMd0kepXzk34Z4UbKccPhqeXa_rDC6Tn7CQfGAZAO9o2rWPJlgcGiJxekjgvcEFSdUsPQTX1KCUAjzMe9Y6FLRAnOK90hyphenhyphenSGh2MyHo/s2048/633A9745-3.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1366" height="499" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMpbuc7JouFxtvcEuiX69MlCRfcYtIiYFRGF98VhMd0kepXzk34Z4UbKccPhqeXa_rDC6Tn7CQfGAZAO9o2rWPJlgcGiJxekjgvcEFSdUsPQTX1KCUAjzMe9Y6FLRAnOK90hyphenhyphenSGh2MyHo/w332-h499/633A9745-3.jpg" width="332" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The pinkish colour of a Dr Squid Corpse Reviver No.2</td></tr></tbody></table>On <a href="https://www.pocketfulofstones.co.uk/our-range/dr-squid-gin/" target="_blank">the website</a> they mention that it works well in a Gin Mule, i.e. served with ginger beer. I try this, using Fentiman’s ginger beer: it’s nice enough, the juniper adding a sort of backbone to balance the sweetness of the mixer. Mrs H. is not keen, claiming she gets a “TCP” note—I don’t know how widely available TCP is, but if you don’t know it it’s a household antiseptic with a strong phenolic smell. Which brings us back to that pungent aromatic element.<p></p><p>Shaun Bebington, the man behind the distillery, was helpful last time so I drop him a line and he comes back with some interesting answers. He confirms that Dr Squid does not use their existing gin as a base. “It is a new recipe we developed to compliment the main ingredient, squid ink,” he explains. “Botanicals included in this recipe are coriander, lemon peel, sea buckthorn, cinnamon, vanilla, hibiscus, black mallow and blue pea flower. The phenolic taste you're getting is a direct result of the squid ink being used.”</p><p>He also reveals the truth about the tin: “It was envisioned for the whisky we are planning to release later this year but was too good a combination not to run with it for Dr Squid—the fact that it stops UV is an added bonus. Saying that though, any floral infusion post distillation will suffer from oxidation resulting in a loss of colour anyway.” </p><p>So does this mean that the colour of Dr Squid will actually fade with time? “Yes the liquid will fade,” Shaun confirms. “Even out of the light. All liquid will have diluted oxygen in it as well as the oxygen in the space in the bottle. So unless the liquid is vacuum packed and has less than 1.8 parts per million of diluted oxygen it will oxidise and fade over time. Our sister distillery in South Africa, <a href="http://www.wcdistiller.com">www.wcdistiller.com</a>, is working on this at the minute with their Night Shade Gin.”</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfFXGn3GJXgnkD2Zuqcp3rmClJLtvGGVWQLnRSksQ4kNb2UD-fEN1VYwA6yQ-8Z8Vl6fjrmt00cJAqoP_Ks6abAr2UpOewSHQ7V5ztixR-_4xlnFDfxoiPqQtr7YU1a7PxKh9VYt0izW4/s2048/633A9794-4.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="481" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfFXGn3GJXgnkD2Zuqcp3rmClJLtvGGVWQLnRSksQ4kNb2UD-fEN1VYwA6yQ-8Z8Vl6fjrmt00cJAqoP_Ks6abAr2UpOewSHQ7V5ztixR-_4xlnFDfxoiPqQtr7YU1a7PxKh9VYt0izW4/w320-h481/633A9794-4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Dr Squid Tuxedo</td></tr></tbody></table>Thinking about the success of the Corpse Reviver No.2 and the way that phenolic element in the gin reminds me of anise, fennel, sage and parsley, etc, I poke around for more cocktails that combine gin and absinthe and come across the Tuxedo. Invented at the Tuxedo Club in upstate New York some time in the late 19th century (the earliest printed record is in Harry Johnson’s <i>Bartenders’ Manual</i> from 1900), it was originally equal parts Old Tom gin and dry white vermouth with variously 1–3 dashes each of maraschino and absinthe. Later versions play around with the proportions, use dry gin and sweet vermouth, or add a spoonful of sherry as well. It’s essentially a variant of the Martini, which evolved around the same time. Simon Difford has assessed the various iterations and <a href="https://www.diffordsguide.com/cocktails/recipe/4606/tuxedo-cocktail-diffords-recipe" target="_blank">his own version</a>, which I try with Dr Squid, uses a 50:50 blend of sweet and dry vermouths. <p></p><p>It’s actually a very interesting cocktail: I was afraid that the high proportion of vermouth to gin might make it seem watery, but with the hits of orange, absinthe and aromatic spices from the Angostura it’s complex and reasonably balanced. For me it’s a bit on the sweet side (and I was actually using dry gin rather than the Old Tom prescribed). I think it needs some sweetness—although the Tuxedo Cocktail No.1 from the 1930 <i>Savoy Cocktail Book</i> is simply equal parts dry gin and dry vermouth with two dashes of absinthe and a strip of lemon peel, so much drier—and I later try it with just dry vermouth, controlling the sweetness using the maraschino, and then again using a 3:1 ratio of dry to sweet vermouth, but it didn’t seem to recapture what seemed to make it all pull together the first time. </p><p>Would I recommend Dr Squid Gin? You can tell that a lot of effort and polish has gone into it; it’s certainly interesting, and tasted neat it reveals intriguing strands of flavour. But in most cocktails (and even in a G&T) I confess that the drink actually tastes nicer with a different gin. If you particularly like that phenolic thrust it might be to your taste, and it does seem to work best in strongly flavoured cocktails that have absinthe in them. But then there’s the price: unless you particularly want one of these copper flasks then it is hard to justify.</p><p><span style="font-size: xx-small;">* You may have encountered marsh samphire in fishmongers or delicatessens: it’s a salty crunchy thing that is in season in the UK for a few weeks in June, growing in marshy areas by the sea. Rock samphire, or sea fennel, is not actually related (it’s part of the carrot/deadly nightshade family) and grows on cliffs in Cornwall. While holidaying there I did harvest what I’m <i>fairly</i> sure was rock samphire and tried eating it—it had a powerful phenolic taste and aroma (“fumes” would be a better word). Apparently it’s considered a delicacy, and is a good source of vitamin C, but I wasn’t convinced. It’s traditionally pickled, so maybe I should try preparing it that way next time I’m in the area.</span></p><div><br /></div>Clayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171372316344074696.post-28772283571398607672021-01-08T07:51:00.001-08:002021-01-18T07:12:10.233-08:00Spiced rum death-match<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF25YVVSQQomEQca59VnO1-0yA_vw2yLvxUKJqnk0q2dj9yhjPqV_6Oph_PJCEPad8cGg3xANCf_6XhbJKNr6eDlhaW5eiKA7egn-mkFccdziAs21itSPnKcG0dlC85j6oO_HDK8-TDr0/s2048/633A9267-3.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1528" data-original-width="2048" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF25YVVSQQomEQca59VnO1-0yA_vw2yLvxUKJqnk0q2dj9yhjPqV_6Oph_PJCEPad8cGg3xANCf_6XhbJKNr6eDlhaW5eiKA7egn-mkFccdziAs21itSPnKcG0dlC85j6oO_HDK8-TDr0/w640-h478/633A9267-3.jpg" width="520" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I asked David, who runs the food and drink side of the <a href="https://www.thecandlelightclub.com/" target="_blank">Candlelight Club</a>, if there was one of our previous Christmas cocktails that we could offer people to make at home, as a sort of vicarious seasonal experience. The cocktail in question was the Spiced Clementine Daiquiri (see below). The base spirit is spiced rum, which got me pondering.</p><p>At some point in the past I acquired a bottle of Sailor Jerry’s spiced rum and I found it repellently sickly. I’ve rather avoided spiced rum ever since. But I also remember, at the launch of the <a href="https://chairmansreserverum.com/" target="_blank">Chairman’s Reserve Rum</a> range, that they had an incarnation that I thought was actually not bad. So I did a bit of online research to collate as many “top spiced rums” lists as I could find and, based on these recommendations, ended up with a short list of four. So, in the spirit of scientific rigour for which the Institute for Alcoholic Experimentation is renowned, I bought all four.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBg5k6IqGNtwi8UjJ2terPruZemEDSm3-xu_ISPHR2Q48llsfUWOgGm-SH8w_TVyT11lGl0b_IYX7Ywum93PK9lnIqfbGHVxZ3XkbDutW5TWkX74xYvUYTKfDsE5enKCFNt__EGblEaqw/s2048/633A9310-2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="342" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBg5k6IqGNtwi8UjJ2terPruZemEDSm3-xu_ISPHR2Q48llsfUWOgGm-SH8w_TVyT11lGl0b_IYX7Ywum93PK9lnIqfbGHVxZ3XkbDutW5TWkX74xYvUYTKfDsE5enKCFNt__EGblEaqw/w228-h342/633A9310-2.jpg" width="228" /></a></div>The cheapest on the list is <a href="https://www.redlegrum.com/" target="_blank">Red Leg</a>, which is common in supermarkets and can be had for £15 a bottle. It’s made from “Caribbean” rum, aged in barrels for an unspecified time before being infused with vanilla and ginger. It is named after the Red Legged Hermit Crab native to the Caribbean. It’s a golden colour, with a nose that is a strong, rather cloying, blast of vanilla and caramel or butterscotch. On the palate it is pretty sweet with a flavour of brown sugar and vanilla, with some heat: it’s only 37.5% ABV, so I’m guessing this might be from the ginger, although aside from this the flavour of ginger is not hugely apparent. It’s quite one-dimensional, all about the sugar/vanilla thing.<p></p><p>Next up is <a href="https://www.deadmansfingers.com/" target="_blank">Dead Man’s Fingers</a>, created at the Rum and Crab Shack in St Ives, Cornwall. These crazy cats wanted to add some unexpected flavours (I mean, does rum and crab even go together?), citing Cornish saffron cakes, spiced fruit and an ice cream they serve made with sweet, concentrated Pedro Ximenez sherry, plus “nutmeg, vanilla and a hint of orange”. It’s a darker colour than the Red Leg and has a powerful nose with a noticeable ginger element, plus what smells to me like lime. There is also a rather savoury mid-note, almost like onion, and I can get saffron too. After it opens up in the glass a smoky element emerges. On the palate it is less sweet than the Red Leg. There is definitely vanilla (which seems to be the main defining flavour in spiced rum), but a prominent flavour of fresh ginger, giving it a fiery kick, like ginger beer, and a slightly bitter finish. It leaves an aftertaste of Turkish delight, the kind that comes dusted in icing sugar.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMo9QeO1IzxAYSCkE9BNlA0O51uju6-uVgeWg9tEExgB5L73iDUu1GEDh1iMORyVxO5k8n_swYupImOQAO7e4tOPCXxcMVea6VxjZm3-mxNNtrMj5AlIfHmNecMwjDh4P9wc1PQkKxlj4/s2048/633A9314-2.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1366" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMo9QeO1IzxAYSCkE9BNlA0O51uju6-uVgeWg9tEExgB5L73iDUu1GEDh1iMORyVxO5k8n_swYupImOQAO7e4tOPCXxcMVea6VxjZm3-mxNNtrMj5AlIfHmNecMwjDh4P9wc1PQkKxlj4/w244-h366/633A9314-2.jpg" width="244" /></a></div>Despite the skull on the bottle, Dead Man’s Fingers is not named after anything piratical, but after the local nickname for a crab’s gills (a bit of the crab that is discarded, as it doesn’t taste very nice). So that’s two rums named after crabs. The next up is <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Foursquare-Rum-Distillery-Barbados-184502984933535/" target="_blank">Foursquare Spiced Rum</a> which, by contrast, is named after the sugar estate, apparently one of the oldest in Barbados, where they’ve been making rum since 1640. The bottle gives nothing much away about its contents, only that the blending recipe is a secret known only to generations of the Seale family. It is very lightly flavoured compared to the others, paler than Dead Man’s Fingers and not really sweetened at all. Many reviewers talk about a primary flavour of cinnamon, but for me the most noticeable element is coconut, with a hint of sherry, which gives it a refined edge, and maybe a whiff of oatmeal. (I don’t know if there is any coconut in it, though I detect a hint of a similar aroma on the next rum and I wonder if it’s an impression created by clove in combination with something else.) On the tongue it is also mostly coconut that I get, plus the dry barkiness of cinnamon. Mind you, perhaps I’m doing it a disservice by tasting it after the gutsy punch of Dead Man’s Fingers, but I’m not really getting much at all from this rum. I try it again the next day, and I would say that it does have a quiet, genteel polish to it, but compared to the others there is not a lot going on.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX4fGbjlMfkdVijKEO0MYsBDASgNk8AKHcf_-UKQGYwzV3LXpWOFY9IHG_MKntvAM43zmBQiFCYNenWH-dXEki8ktMTjJa5qbmWxp9OMIwSSZFzRDzuJGa5qfnOeDbWJ3c7KSjQAd0Eas/s2048/633A9284-2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1166" height="421" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX4fGbjlMfkdVijKEO0MYsBDASgNk8AKHcf_-UKQGYwzV3LXpWOFY9IHG_MKntvAM43zmBQiFCYNenWH-dXEki8ktMTjJa5qbmWxp9OMIwSSZFzRDzuJGa5qfnOeDbWJ3c7KSjQAd0Eas/w239-h421/633A9284-2.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>The Foursquare is about £26 a bottle, and my final sample creeps up to £32—the Chairman’s Spiced Rum. It’s also 40% ABV, while all the others are just 37.5%. The label admits to “Caribbean fruits, bark and spice”, naming cinnamon, vanilla, nutmeg, clove and bitter orange specifically. The nose is buttery, with a strong waft of orange peel and some cocoa. It’s a bit like smelling a Terry’s Chocolate Orange. There is also a strong note of raisins, plus cinnamon and clove. The palate is led by the orange note again. They talk about “bitter” orange, but the result is rich and smooth, a bit like eating a liqueur-filled chocolate—though not particularly sweet as such.* This rum is the one that I would choose to drink neat, smooth but not too sweet, rich but subtle, detailed and not overblown. As you dig in new flavours emerge, all deftly blended. Going back to the Foursquare, the latter is certainly cultured enough to drink on its own, but it does seem thin and dry by comparison with the Chairman’s.<p></p><p>But let’s not forget that the starting point for all of this was a cocktail. How do these rums perform when mixed? Here is the recipe:</p><p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvvOa-v6EaYpbmLb2mdKDviswZbRI5j6f5lcVohIt9nKDfvVRgMtqzPr0BwZdlviKQ4uwFd8QwxDRRAVyx7nBs9hmg6gautg4F2RsXDjKbJ4hegX4Jy5AlMFZ7hbdzE3VZeppTmvaeHc8/s2048/633A9298-2.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1304" height="370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvvOa-v6EaYpbmLb2mdKDviswZbRI5j6f5lcVohIt9nKDfvVRgMtqzPr0BwZdlviKQ4uwFd8QwxDRRAVyx7nBs9hmg6gautg4F2RsXDjKbJ4hegX4Jy5AlMFZ7hbdzE3VZeppTmvaeHc8/w236-h370/633A9298-2.jpg" width="236" /></a></b></div><b>Spiced Rum Daiquiri<br /></b>50 ml spiced rum<br />75 ml clementine juice<br />10 ml vanilla syrup<br />10 ml lime juice (optional)<br />3 good dashes of Angostura bitters<p></p><p><br />Shake all the ingredients together with ice in a cocktail shaker and strain into a (largish) cocktail glass. Garnish with a strip of clementine or satsuma zest.</p><p>Clementine juice is something that most supermarkets seem to sell at Christmas, though perhaps not at other times. It’s actually strikingly different from orange juice, sharper with more or a rindy pep, almost as if it already has a little lime in it. In any case, for my palate the added lime juice is needed to balance the syrup, but if you have a sweet tooth you may wish to leave it out. With spiced rum’s typical flavours of vanilla, ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg, orange peel and clove, plus the clementine juice (and Angostura has quite a cinnamon stripe to it) you've basically got Christmas in a glass. (I also tried it with a bitters that David had made a previous Christmas, which is heavy on clove, and this really boosted the Christmasy combination.)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtOEUphGy-sU6rj33shBoWDUAyxRNX3Q3KNr1cDYvHgQc99MaVhy827N0WVQ8SpFKGVkAd82_ju-x1PFMpoXlPg7vhIrkjHBJwtAqNFyZXaGlB36IMDq6kgYixp2RY0l_UmhyphenhyphenM_7qgdcM/s2048/633A9382-4.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1667" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtOEUphGy-sU6rj33shBoWDUAyxRNX3Q3KNr1cDYvHgQc99MaVhy827N0WVQ8SpFKGVkAd82_ju-x1PFMpoXlPg7vhIrkjHBJwtAqNFyZXaGlB36IMDq6kgYixp2RY0l_UmhyphenhyphenM_7qgdcM/w520-h640/633A9382-4.jpg" width="520" /></a></div><p></p><p>Although I found the Red Leg rum a bit sickly on its own, it works fine in this cocktail, and it was Mrs H.’s favourite out of the lot, though she has a sweeter tooth than me. Dead Man’s Fingers benefits from its strong flavouring and punchy profile, easily making its presence felt against the other ingredients. For me this was probably the best choice for the drink, though Mrs H. didn’t like it so much—I think the edge of bitterness it brought wasn’t to her taste. The Foursquare was the least successful here: it’s too delicate to make much of an impression, and if you try to adjust this by adding more of the rum, it just unbalances the cocktail. Finally, the Chairman’s Spiced Rum certainly does work well in this drink, though I would argue that its leading flavour of orange might get a bit lost against the other citrus in the drink—and to be honest I’d rather save it to drink neat.</p><p>I also tried these rums with <a href="https://www.fentimans.com/drinks/soft-drinks/ginger-beer" target="_blank">Fentiman’s ginger beer</a>, with and without a squeeze of lime (so a Dark and Stormy cocktail). For me the Red Leg is just too sweet without a hefty dose of lime juice, and again the Foursquare got lost, but the other two worked well. You might think that the Dead Man’s Fingers with its strong peppery ginger character would be overkill with the ginger in the mixer, but it seemed to work OK. Again, I think the vividness of this rum makes it good with mixers in general.</p><p>But for me the star of the show was the Chairman’s Spiced Rum. It’s the only one I would choose to drink neat, and that is indeed what I was doing with it over Christmas. In a way it’s the first spiced rum I’ve tasted that, for me, justifies the existence of spiced rum as a concept—they are generally too sweet, crude and overblown for me, but this example is complex and poised. Whether you’d want to mix with it, given the price, is another question. If you specifically want a spiced rum for mixing, at £18 the Dead Man’s Fingers is a good bet.**</p><p><span style="font-size: xx-small;">* I have a distant recollection that the Greek spiced fortified wine <a href="https://www.metaxa.com" target="_blank">Metaxa</a> tastes a bit like this, with an orange thrust. I’ve got some Metaxa in the cellar so I go and check: the dusty bottle is 95% empty, so probably not at its best, but in fact it has a floral nose and a muscaty taste, so nothing like the rum at all. Forget I ever mentioned it. And I can report that the Chairman’s Spiced Rum is a far superior drink in any case.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: xx-small;">** The Kraken is another popular spiced rum, but I didn’t include it in this experiment as it didn’t really feature in my initial trawl of other people’s top-spiced-rum lists, but I have tried it at a trade show once and I don’t recall being terribly impressed. I think was was probably too sweet, and the underlying rum a bit rough.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih5Fy_j54X8zfLAPWMzn6wAl91wRbKaYjlo7-lYOf-4o7_SxVzz0aMSOR47okKZkidNEtvJECeJwhazd_2DbCQD1bR22tVUiFuXGdHZ4XxpkMjOCp-YJ6i_9a2mrTrt98KeWs4-S7cS-w/s2048/633A9291-4.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1836" data-original-width="2048" height="465" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih5Fy_j54X8zfLAPWMzn6wAl91wRbKaYjlo7-lYOf-4o7_SxVzz0aMSOR47okKZkidNEtvJECeJwhazd_2DbCQD1bR22tVUiFuXGdHZ4XxpkMjOCp-YJ6i_9a2mrTrt98KeWs4-S7cS-w/w640-h574/633A9291-4.jpg" width="520" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div><br /></div><p></p>Clayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171372316344074696.post-522040655626953112020-12-23T02:13:00.002-08:002020-12-23T09:13:40.418-08:00Brussels sprout gin?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiItv05NiM5dS5NqSBT-Cle6HRGtHJMzIK70qSvzafAYs3HprsKgaV82FEFT7vZflRP4wzdnSVwT_mdGHFBF3qH9pmMWKTHhmr171-FcQlfacXLx-ZXJwnUSvs533HW1S4D4RYtPnRG9uw/s2048/633A9340-3.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="781" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiItv05NiM5dS5NqSBT-Cle6HRGtHJMzIK70qSvzafAYs3HprsKgaV82FEFT7vZflRP4wzdnSVwT_mdGHFBF3qH9pmMWKTHhmr171-FcQlfacXLx-ZXJwnUSvs533HW1S4D4RYtPnRG9uw/w659-h990/633A9340-3.jpg" width="520" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>A couple of summers ago we were visiting friends in Edinburgh and they suggested we stopped in at Summerhall where they made their own gin. This turned out to be <a href="https://pickeringsgin.com/">Pickering’s Gin</a>, and very nice it was too. The backstory is of a recipe dating from 1947 in Bombay, kept a family secret until they decided to start distilling at Summerhall. (There’s always a story like that, isn’t there?) The botanical bill for their main gin includes juniper, coriander, cardamom, angelica, fennel, anise, lemon, lime and cloves. They also make a “1947 edition” which adds cinnamon. It’s a fairly modern style of gin with an emphasis on smoothness. Their suggested serves and cocktails often have an emphasis on citrus.</p><p>So I was interested to see that they have produced, for the festive season, a Brussels sprout gin. You read that right. The famously divisive pellet of pungent-bitter cabbage-iness. Moreover, this is apparently the third year they have produced it, such is its popularity. How could I resist? OK, I was suspicious enough to order only a 20cl bottle, so I needed to be careful how I deployed my limited supply.</p><p>The first thing you notice is that it is green. I have no doubt, however, that the colour is artificial, added for gimmickry—it’s a rather bluish green which, in the world of absinthe, is a sure-fire sign of artificial colouring. The colour from naturally green absinthe tends to a more olive shade, and it is rather unstable, particularly when exposed to light; hence such absinthes tend to be sold in very dark bottles. So the hue of this gin in its clear glass bottle is presumably fake.</p><p>Upon uncorking the bottle I actually laughed out loud. Sure enough, there was that sharp, sour, sulphurous note that some reviewers describe as “cabbage water”. But it quickly resolves itself into something like turmeric—Mrs H. commented that it had a curry smell. There is an element of rubber too. All very savoury. On the palate this continues, though clear juniper comes in too, with a slightly bitter, peppery finish. It’s quite “dark”, with caramel notes (without being sweet), but altogether less pungent than you might expect.</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="10" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLdwMklpuIuFk6xzKqNrsD0BUqZDjxDvVGxR4-amuOcShKwJ51Nvq0C8Tqppsjn8rhvWdiLelj4nIsOTs7yHhfFy1qrE1XcPmKGj8JIsvZQU1AYVoQv6OtkEEbCEwZXYajR8Ju6JzoYLI/s2048/633A9578-2.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="520" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLdwMklpuIuFk6xzKqNrsD0BUqZDjxDvVGxR4-amuOcShKwJ51Nvq0C8Tqppsjn8rhvWdiLelj4nIsOTs7yHhfFy1qrE1XcPmKGj8JIsvZQU1AYVoQv6OtkEEbCEwZXYajR8Ju6JzoYLI/w346-h520/633A9578-2.jpg" width="346" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A muddy-looking Brussels sprout Aviation</td></tr></tbody></table>I try a Martini using Belsazar Dry vermouth. Adding the vermouth seems to release a new waft of that initial cabbage aroma, though on the palate the savoury character of the gin seems to go quite well with the herbal elements of the vermouth. Well, they don’t clash, which is perhaps not quite the same thing. Is it nice? I’m quite a fan of savoury, herbal gins, but I have to say—no. “Not as horrible as I was expecting,” was Mrs H.’s verdict on the Martini, which is about right. But the truth is that there is little joy to be had from this drink.<p></p><p>I couldn’t resist trying an Aviation (gin, maraschino, lemon juice and crème de violette), partly because it is one of my go-to cocktails for testing gins, but also, I admit, because I wanted to see what colour it would be. As you can see, between the green of the gin and the violet of the violette, it’s a rather muddy colour. Taste-wise, it is not a success, a constant argy-bargy between the delicate juniper-fruit-floral axis of the cocktail and the sulphur-savoury thrust of the gin, which elbows its way through now and then. It is not a harmonious combination; it’s a cocktail that exists in spite of its ingredients rather than because of them.</p><p>Given the vegetal nature of this drink I wondered how it would work in a Red Snapper (a gin-based Bloody Mary), and I see on their website this is indeed a recommended serve. I also wondered how it would work in a Last Word (gin, lime juice, maraschino and green Chartreuse). But by now I’d used up about half of my 20cl so I had to choose my experiments carefully. I made up a scaled-down Last Word and I do think that it is a place where this gin can feel accepted, its savoury intensity standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the herbal intensity of the green Chartreuse. With both the Chartreuse and the maraschino it is potentially quite a sweet cocktail, but the gin keeps making savoury, almost salty, sallies on to your tongue. Having said that, Mrs H. still made a face like Beelzebub had just tried to steal her tongue. She is not a fan.</p><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCKerKp5lAMhOVdcBsyEQ2qmv3KVEfhKHUkeEiRWOQIZT_JZuG9J_wfFHt1i6hWZbxlRaPGw0iNTPlCbSHMws6caqUMcf7PLQmPhdglMRoma5T3ih3qqxnCMa2MGNcgnU58DDtQ6zXnFc/s2048/633A9614-3.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1366" height="781" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCKerKp5lAMhOVdcBsyEQ2qmv3KVEfhKHUkeEiRWOQIZT_JZuG9J_wfFHt1i6hWZbxlRaPGw0iNTPlCbSHMws6caqUMcf7PLQmPhdglMRoma5T3ih3qqxnCMa2MGNcgnU58DDtQ6zXnFc/w666-h1001/633A9614-3.jpg" width="520" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A G&T made with the sprout gin</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p>It seemed sensible to try this gin in a straightforward G&T. From my earlier experiences I guessed that adding the tonic would stir up a hornets’ nest of sulphurous swamp tones, but in fact it worked better than I expected; there’s a mysterious synergy between the tonic and the gin. The recommended garnish is a strip of cucumber; in fact cucumber and elderflower crop up as key ingredients in a number of the showcase drinks, which gives you some idea of exactly how the sproutiness translates into a gin flavour. As you can see, I bowed to that suggestion and garnished my drink with a long strip of cucumber peel and a single, noble sprout. You can, of course, immediately pick up the sprout-note on the nose, though I must concede that there is something in common between the sprouts and the cucumber. However, after much consideration I would have to say that the cucumber does not emerge well from the association; while we tend to think of cucumber as fresh and herbal in a zingy way, this drink, while not repulsive, does seem to emphasise less pleasant botanical associations. It’s as if the cucumber has fallen in with a bad crowd, that brings out its less pleasant side.</p><p>Would I recommend Pickering’s Brussel sprout gin? No. Although it has some polish, you ultimately find yourself longing for the underlying gin without the sprouts in it. If you fall into the camp of those who actively like sprouts (and I do), and you like herbal, savoury gins, you might want to try this one. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPWQjKYPBcp7DQfRNFjIG2_SsXZmzNsolbDwntfeE4QMF0RyjjJ_ryglQhVJURgrOODbm8n8dX5p3eRxZrJ4h0tN44nWzZNJRt2MA3iaGvSBXxYO6UnbL1PNRrtNooLd024v_mXNwOuSQ/s2048/633A9336-3.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="781" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPWQjKYPBcp7DQfRNFjIG2_SsXZmzNsolbDwntfeE4QMF0RyjjJ_ryglQhVJURgrOODbm8n8dX5p3eRxZrJ4h0tN44nWzZNJRt2MA3iaGvSBXxYO6UnbL1PNRrtNooLd024v_mXNwOuSQ/w655-h984/633A9336-3.jpg" width="520" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Clayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171372316344074696.post-3979562557914512512020-09-28T07:56:00.010-07:002020-09-28T08:20:35.352-07:00A cocktail in a can—without the cocktail<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEjPXe8UDaHQPng1B47vb_SxNL7bBKVr2QhdwEIQfjpRyFGuOFRaRrxCT_U4udzj08gSRzr0Jbn9WrdXtl7c8FVUkpzRg13857PKdpu-NOgmttVoZSgBs8Gd4xOY1CF3WOjivR5vBx-fE/s2048/633A8670-6.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1581" height="661" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEjPXe8UDaHQPng1B47vb_SxNL7bBKVr2QhdwEIQfjpRyFGuOFRaRrxCT_U4udzj08gSRzr0Jbn9WrdXtl7c8FVUkpzRg13857PKdpu-NOgmttVoZSgBs8Gd4xOY1CF3WOjivR5vBx-fE/w510-h661/633A8670-6.jpg" width="510" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Champagne Cocktail made with items from the kit<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Despairing of face-to-face get-togethers for the time being, a friend held a virtual birthday party last night. While Zoom may be efficient for business meetings, it’s hard to use it for general socialising, and she enhanced the organisational side of things by laying on live entertainment. She also sent everyone packages of strange costume items plus some sparkling wine, accompanied by a “cocktail kit”.</p><p>Given that the kit itself didn’t actually include any booze, it was enterprising of the manufacturers (<a href="https://thecocktailboxco.com" target="_blank">The Cocktail Box Company</a>) to find anything to put in it at all, but their efforts were endearing. It was for a Champagne Cocktail, and the pleasantly Olde World tin contained three cocktail picks for “your desired garnish” (not included), some sort of coke spoon, some instructions, a smaller tin neatly holding six cane sugar cubes, and the star of the show—three bottles of bitters. There is even a burlap coaster.* The instructions tell you so soak the sugar cube with bitters in the glass and top up with Champagne: they don’t actually mention the Cognac that traditionally goes in before the Champagne, yet they earnest have you use the tiny spoon to stir five times clockwise then five times anticlockwise. Given that the sugar is left intact to dissolve gradually, I’m not sure what we’re actually stirring together here, but if you decide to add brandy as well then I guess the spoon will prove useful. The packaging advertises that it serves six, though of course there are only three picks, so I guess it’s designed for tag-team drinking (and you’ll all have to squabble over the coke spoon).</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1boIPNCVECh5KVJ-oi0-_mgKlsydl4TWuOC7zSTmaf9ivbkVED8A3THtBLl2oN9MGanqMOy0umvx6nxMGjeE2v0pSu1mJW8bSymbknxMZa1KP0QTLPX0DWIAiNCqMbqu7tiy9ZNhEDWw/s2048/633A8593-2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2007" height="520" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1boIPNCVECh5KVJ-oi0-_mgKlsydl4TWuOC7zSTmaf9ivbkVED8A3THtBLl2oN9MGanqMOy0umvx6nxMGjeE2v0pSu1mJW8bSymbknxMZa1KP0QTLPX0DWIAiNCqMbqu7tiy9ZNhEDWw/w510-h520/633A8593-2.jpg" width="510" /></a></div><br />I’ve not tried <a href="http://scrappysbitters.com" target="_blank">Scrappy’s Bitters</a> before, and in this cocktail the the Aromatic Bitters struck me as classic, Angostura-style, but warmer and more complex—vividly fruity and smoky, with notes of orange peel, cardamom and cinnamon to the fore, though the tiny 5ml bottle is too small to list any ingredients and <a href="http://scrappysbitters.com/product/aromatic-bitters" target="_blank">Scrappy’s website</a> doesn’t give anything away. This was complemented by two smaller 2ml bottles, one of lavender bitters and one of “black lemon” bitters. The lavender made rather an intriguing variation on the cocktail, with a strong lavender note that tricked me into thinking that there was honey in there too—and I guess you could make the cocktail with honey rather than sugar. The lemon bitters made less of an impression, though perhaps you need to be more generous with that one. The bottle smells of lemon, perhaps preserved lemon, if you’ve ever tried making that, though <a href="http://scrappysbitters.com/product/black-lemon-bitters" target="_blank">the website explains</a> that a “black lemon” is actually a kind of dehydrated lime used in Middle Eastern cooking, which they describe as earthy and smoky. Confusingly, the bitters does not actually have any black lemon in it, just attempts to evoke those aromas and flavours.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVqLq-7tXemjIN_alZWV1qv06rOt3Ed4jIGyi3X1fwBbrSj9bZS_UdqQnYvpRJI9ioqTBMtKywTUVQUBWKSS7XgATzv6_0V8kp2l35QdkKy5uiNA0_s4VhPV147PvfYUwVCC_l8qKmwj4/s812/61cdIWQ3a7L._AC_SL1280_.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="812" data-original-width="755" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVqLq-7tXemjIN_alZWV1qv06rOt3Ed4jIGyi3X1fwBbrSj9bZS_UdqQnYvpRJI9ioqTBMtKywTUVQUBWKSS7XgATzv6_0V8kp2l35QdkKy5uiNA0_s4VhPV147PvfYUwVCC_l8qKmwj4/s320/61cdIWQ3a7L._AC_SL1280_.jpg" /></a></div><br />The Cocktail Box Company range also includes an Old Fashioned—the delightful packaging of which looks just like a Penguin Classic paperback (see picture): the others in the range keep the styling but vary the main colour—containing sugar and three types of bitters; a Moscow Mule, with grapefruit and lemon bitters, plus sachets of ginger syrup and lime juice; a Margarita, with orange bitters plus sachets of “margarita syrup” (orange flavoured?) and lime juice; a Mai Tai, again with lime juice and orange bitters, along with “Mai Tai syrup”, which I assume is coconut-flavoured. Finally there is a Gin and Tonic kit. Some will argue that a G&T isn’t really a cocktail as such, but the big question is what such a kit could contain, given that it has neither gin nor tonic in it. The answer is orange and lavender bitters (not lemon, surprisingly) plus lime juice and tonic syrup.<p></p><p>So the idea is that you are using your kit somewhere where there is booze, plus access to soda water, but not to any other mixers—such as tonic water for the G&T or ginger beer for the Moscow Mule. I’d be curious to know if this came about from experience, and the feeling that this was a real need to be answered, or whether the idea of the kit came first, followed by some head-scratching about what could possibly be included. Tonic syrup is not a new thing, and a combination of soda and, say, the <a href="https://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2010/11/tonic-for-troops.html" target="_blank">Battersea Quinine Cordial</a>, produces a result not really like commercial tonic water. You can also use the syrup neat, without soda, plus gin and lime juice to create a short “GT Turbo” cocktail—I wonder if that is what the Cocktail Box people had in mind with this kit, as you wouldn’t normally put lime juice in a G&T (although you might well garnish it with a slice of lime). I haven’t had a chance to try any of the other kits, so I don’t know what these syrups are like, nor how the lime juice is preserved (and how that might affect its flavour).</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheB_VsQ3eMXAMccXbrkpqDDiNZjwFFO4UvQd6ppCKu2DdpmdLK87_MTnVmQ9Vxi-F0GZnTZEMHKSxD8TOo6umsczPLiR4T9fAsEIOv_-8lOEB5-2kVMmZdrHFqHdu5jiis330dchjtATc/s2048/633A8599-3.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1692" data-original-width="2048" height="415" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheB_VsQ3eMXAMccXbrkpqDDiNZjwFFO4UvQd6ppCKu2DdpmdLK87_MTnVmQ9Vxi-F0GZnTZEMHKSxD8TOo6umsczPLiR4T9fAsEIOv_-8lOEB5-2kVMmZdrHFqHdu5jiis330dchjtATc/w503-h415/633A8599-3.jpg" width="503" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The three bitters in the Champagne Cocktail set, plus the three cocktail picks<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />You get the idea that these kits are intended to appeal to business travellers who always want to have the wherewithal to make the perfect cocktail as they sit in their lonely hotel room with only a bottle of spirits for company—you can even buy replacement lime juice and syrup sachets. But I wonder whether the main market isn’t people looking to give cute gifts to other people who like cocktails.<p></p><p>Would I recommend the cocktail box? If you’re looking for a cute gift for a cocktail-lover then I think the attention to detail will please. At £18 the kit is not cheap, but you’d pay £20 to £25 for a full 150ml bottle of the bitters, so it’s a handy way to try out three from the range.</p><p><span style="font-size: xx-small;">* The coaster sadly has a logo sewn on, made from some shiny, plasticky material that actually causes it to stick to the bottom of your glass when you lift it up, but once this label has been removed it is absorbent enough to work well.</span></p>Clayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171372316344074696.post-10122590457010287062020-09-23T06:41:00.000-07:002020-09-23T06:41:07.288-07:00Test Valley Gin<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZRejytYAC7cNWqC3Tfasd37wzlK7JUu5lHYQpjJaiVCtYmZ3z0WWPvpGkae5WCKnYvbEBAos4JAkzMKIcG75OPt5eUxb3XHRC-R49Le4SW8DnummL77XZ3sZV50IN8Qe9sQugGikVc8A/s2048/633A7364-4.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="788" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZRejytYAC7cNWqC3Tfasd37wzlK7JUu5lHYQpjJaiVCtYmZ3z0WWPvpGkae5WCKnYvbEBAos4JAkzMKIcG75OPt5eUxb3XHRC-R49Le4SW8DnummL77XZ3sZV50IN8Qe9sQugGikVc8A/w525-h788/633A7364-4.jpg" width="525" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>In the Hampshire market town of Romsey to visit my elderly mother-in-law a few weeks ago, we were hunting for lunch among the tentatively opening shops (it’s a place with an ageing population, so I guess they have to be careful in COVID times). In a deli that I’d not set foot in before I noticed a display of local gins (inevitably these days, I suppose). One that caught my eye was <a href="https://www.testvalleygin.co.uk" target="_blank">Test Valley Gin</a>, from <a href="https://www.wessexspirits.co.uk/" target="_blank">Wessex Spirits</a>.</p><p>They don’t give much away on the label other than that the botanicals include fresh herbs—I wondered if these were infused post-distillation, as the gin has a pale yellow hue. The <a href="https://www.testvalleygin.co.uk" target="_blank">gin’s website</a> doesn’t elaborate much more, other than to mention fresh basil and thyme specifically (and they do indeed use the word “infused”).</p><p>Uncork the bottle and you are not overwhelmed by aroma—maybe a hint of orange. In the glass the bouquet is herbaceous with a sweet and aromatic angle. Knowing that there is thyme involved I can believe that this is the source, and perhaps the basil contributes to the sweet fragrance. I happen to have a sprig of fresh thyme to hand from the garden, and the fragrance is not the same, but related. There is a savoury woodiness too, and something vaguely salty like olives—in this respect the gin reminds me somewhat of <a href="https://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2011/09/gin-mare-gin-you-cant-refuse.html" target="_blank">Gin Mare</a>. And as it opens up in the glass I’m sure I’m getting off wafts of something low and honky like bananas.</p><p>So a pretty complex nose. On the tongue it is immediately soft and sweet, with a delicate sappy herbal note, lingering pungently like watercress, and a sugary weight. Despite being diluted to a bottling strength of just 37.5% ABV (the minimum permissible for a gin, so I guess done to keep the duty as low as possible) it has a respectably long finish.</p><p>I try Test Valley in a Martini with <a href="https://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2015/08/belsazar-vermouth-with-teutonic-twist.html" target="_blank">Belsazar Dry</a> vermouth: straightaway there seems to be a natural harmony between the herbaceous character of the gin and the botanicals in the vermouth, with the two ingredients forming a continuum, a wide vegetal vista on the tongue, plus a sweet, buttery mouthfeel. I initially mixed and tasted it without chilling, and I would say that any application of ice—whether shaken or stirred—has the disadvantage of of diluting what is already a fairly dilute gin, washing away some of the flavour. (Some stronger gins actually benefit from a bit of dilution and only really come into their own with a bit of ice, but not this one.) A solution might be what DTS calls the Diamond Method, keeping the gin in the freezer, but at 37.5% ABV I think that Test Valley Gin would start to freeze, unless you are able to have a dedicated booze freezer set to an ideal temperature.*</p><p>I also try a Negroni, though the results are less exciting. The gin certainly harmonises with the vermouth and Campari, but at equal parts it gets a bit lost, and even at 1½ parts gin it’s still hard to pick out.</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXXfI4tR4VgWcB2KAKXyA6aDbpC49d01fo_6WLaPvWjuI2g4kCPZvfcoadonnEtWQbKVDdnLzEjDFbxJfnDoUILX76RjELDihBuiIcFwmRYXeaD2A4DNTYkKbr8y6jpTTYfk4w4nFbvYE/s2048/633A8610-2.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="790" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXXfI4tR4VgWcB2KAKXyA6aDbpC49d01fo_6WLaPvWjuI2g4kCPZvfcoadonnEtWQbKVDdnLzEjDFbxJfnDoUILX76RjELDihBuiIcFwmRYXeaD2A4DNTYkKbr8y6jpTTYfk4w4nFbvYE/w526-h790/633A8610-2.jpg" width="526" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Test Valley G&T with prescribed thyme garnish<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p>Although Test Valley do suggest a Martini as a suitable serve, their first choice is a G&T, garnished with a spring of thyme. It certain works, with that herbal character sitting comfortably with the tonic (<a href="https://fever-tree.com/en_GB/products/refreshingly-light-indian-tonic-water" target="_blank">Fevertree Light </a>is my go-to). But I do find you have to add quite a bit of gin before the distinct flavour comes through—again this is probably a reflection of the niggardly ABV. So in my opinion a Martini is probably the best platform for this gin, making an intriguing and savoury beverage.</p><p><span style="font-size: xx-small;">* Of course this is something you can turn to your advantage. I first discovered this issue with <a href="https://www.bombaysapphire.com/products/bombay-dry-gin/" target="_blank">Bombay Dry/Bombay Original</a>, which I prefer to Bombay Sapphire. In the past it was hard to come by in the UK, but when you found it it was a respectable ABV; now it has been relaunched here as the brand’s entry product they have reduced the strength to 37.5% to keep the price down. In order to avoid further dilution from ice, I tried keeping it in the freezer and found that it does indeed start to form ice crystal inside the bottle. However, I realised that if I quickly emptied the liquid contents into a jug, warmed the bottle to melt the ice left inside, poured the meltwater away, then decanted the gin back into the bottle, I had simply removed some of the water, leaving a higher ABV gin behind. Sure enough, after doing this a couple of times the problem goes away, as the residual liquid is presumably now alcoholic enough to resist freezing—and you end up with a more concentrated flavour.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: xx-small;">However, I don’t know if some flavour component might be lost with the ice. So it occurs to me now that, instead of melting the ice then just pouring it away, you could actually use that meltwater to make ice cubes that you could then use to make your Martinis! Crikey, sometimes my genius astounds me.</span></p>Clayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171372316344074696.post-18685966400048512572020-09-20T04:14:00.006-07:002020-09-21T01:12:00.761-07:00Drinking off the land<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHv_EL0QChHhJzbCTMRm5jYM0K_VoOav1-eTzUsOdb0fhyphenhyphen3ag6b0ONWhMZp8aNV9-KiRzyx1QzjrUZVc5nEqbX3XWY2tpS5bff9F-l3lmmrd2kRnz1TIXLCHhjKHvMR4HcJw1fIrnTQHY/s2048/633A8549-2.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="794" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHv_EL0QChHhJzbCTMRm5jYM0K_VoOav1-eTzUsOdb0fhyphenhyphen3ag6b0ONWhMZp8aNV9-KiRzyx1QzjrUZVc5nEqbX3XWY2tpS5bff9F-l3lmmrd2kRnz1TIXLCHhjKHvMR4HcJw1fIrnTQHY/w529-h794/633A8549-2.jpg" width="529" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The final version<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p>Of course foraging is a bit of a Thing these days (doubtless part of the whole trend for “artisan” everything, slow living, etc). But I still find it rather uplifting to be able to cook with and eat something I have just found growing wild. It doesn’t come up much here in London, but often on holiday in more rural bits of Britain I’ll be able to gather wild garlic or marsh samphire (and, on one occasion, rock samphire—though I wouldn’t recommend that). This time round, while stomping around Cornwall’s Penwith peninsula (the most westerly part of mainland Britain) we were surrounded by blackberry bushes—every country path was bordered by them and they are equally happy popping up at the edge of a car park or road. These wild ones were not generally as sweet as the huge commercial ones you can buy in supermarkets, but it did seem a waste not to do something with them.</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwPwnMQShWdCcRe4lClvGgBCTyn3lhjj3onX4WJ7Bx5lnD6R-JE2TRMI4Pp2ehQIWY2wzlkQFeVhHFozuQcfkA3bCaDx76q7BPWxSq_bdtl1lcRl-Fq6rPY6CZ2vW3AyWzKvb1URM0sRI/s2048/633A8108-3.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="451" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwPwnMQShWdCcRe4lClvGgBCTyn3lhjj3onX4WJ7Bx5lnD6R-JE2TRMI4Pp2ehQIWY2wzlkQFeVhHFozuQcfkA3bCaDx76q7BPWxSq_bdtl1lcRl-Fq6rPY6CZ2vW3AyWzKvb1URM0sRI/w300-h451/633A8108-3.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Mk I with berries but no mint<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>So I made myself a sort of Bramble cocktail. This Dick Bradsell creation is normally made with gin, lemon juice, sugar syrup and crème de mure, but I used fresh blackberry juice instead of the liqueur. It worked pretty well, though I think you have to get the balance between gin and fruit right, to keep the juniper in its place. (I was using Tanqueray.)</p><p>But we also found fresh water mint growing by a stream near to where we were staying: it was rather tasty, with a zippy, almost mentholic mint flavour. So my next experiment was a sort of Southside Fizz—gin, lime juice and sugar syrup as before, but this time with about a heaped teaspoon of mint, chopped then muddled with the lime and syrup, before adding the gin, ice and—in the absence of soda water—a little tonic. (Without the mixer it is just a Southside.) This was actually more successful, with the mint flavour clear and refreshing.</p><p>But the best was yet to come. For my final experiment I combined both of these ideas into one cocktail—to great effect, I felt, as the blackberries and the mint have a natural harmony. (I also felt the that the blackberries sat more comfortably with the gin, which may just mean I got the proportions right: sadly I had no measuring equipment with me, so the proportions here are an estimate.)</p><p><b></b></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoR38wcV5b1LkaMy_-IJdsn_BZ_617gLVzHmchwyKJQjeN9tlygEhBErQjKxego5cGUvE9_45bipSKagfJi0P4RN-b-o1GtKt85BnZK-eoscoCwJ-Au4B87H31Kne6j2c0acNM5SqjR_Y/s2048/633A8221-3.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1643" height="423" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoR38wcV5b1LkaMy_-IJdsn_BZ_617gLVzHmchwyKJQjeN9tlygEhBErQjKxego5cGUvE9_45bipSKagfJi0P4RN-b-o1GtKt85BnZK-eoscoCwJ-Au4B87H31Kne6j2c0acNM5SqjR_Y/w340-h423/633A8221-3.jpg" width="340" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Mk II, Southside Fizz<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><b><br />Forager Cocktail</b><br />45ml gin<br />Juice of half a lime<br />About 1–1½ tsp sugar syrup<br />1 heaped tsp chopped water mint (although I’m sure it would work with other kinds of mint)<br />About 30 wild blackberries (fewer if using larger commercial berries)<p></p><p>Add the mint to a glass with the syrup and lime juice and muddle to extract the flavour. Add the berries and muddle until reduced to a pulp. Strain (rubbing through the strainer if necessary, to release all the juice) into another glass, filled with ice, or into a shaker and shake with ice then pour into a cocktail glass. Garnish with mint, a lime wedge, or a blackberry. I was constructing this in the kitchen of a rented cottage, so I had no shaker or special equipment, but I imagine you could use a food processor to purée the berries, but they will still need straining, as they contain a lot of seeds.</p><div><br /></div>Clayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171372316344074696.post-83061417732477168432020-06-27T13:33:00.002-07:002020-06-27T13:33:49.180-07:00A cocktail fit for a Queen<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0OnWWPSTMgQWuiXfjrWJGwec_Dkj3diUaa7W-pWkEWLkIH3WcI4thnehRaLaZFRrT3Mt0bPTVJJlZz83LoX7RtmIyqQvcwf-ra4hsJc7aOUNc6Wls3L21P3lhpJgFip9NhYuM3X78oH8/s1600/633A7286-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="781" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0OnWWPSTMgQWuiXfjrWJGwec_Dkj3diUaa7W-pWkEWLkIH3WcI4thnehRaLaZFRrT3Mt0bPTVJJlZz83LoX7RtmIyqQvcwf-ra4hsJc7aOUNc6Wls3L21P3lhpJgFip9NhYuM3X78oH8/s1600/633A7286-2.jpg" width="520" /></a></div>
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Recycling again. I liked this <a href="https://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2019/10/merser-rum-reviving-london-tradition.html">Charles Merser & Co. Rum</a> bottle so much I hung on to it after I drank its contents, and I’ve now had the perfect opportunity to find a use for it: for my sister’s 50th birthday I knocked up a batch of this regal-looking cocktail.<br />
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(The name I’ve given the cocktail is a reference to Queenie in the TV sitcom <i>Blackadder II</i>—she’s a capricious Queen Elizabeth I with the soul of a toddler, whose response whenever someone suggests she can’t or shouldn’t do something is, “Who’s Queen?” This phrase became associated with my sister so long ago I can’t remember why…)<br />
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Although eminently suited to a golden jubilee, the concoction itself is actually based on a cocktail invented in 1935 for George V’s silver jubilee, called a Jubileesha. The original contains ⅔ gin and ⅓ “Lillet”, plus three dashes of orange bitters. At the time “Lillet” would have been Kina Lillet, an aromatised wine with quinine in it, so notably bitter. Kina Lillet was a popular cocktail ingredient back in the day but in the 1980s Lillet discontinued it and replaced it with the <a href="https://www.lillet.com/intl-en/">current Lillet range</a>—it’s generally agreed that Lillet Blanc (sweet and orangey) isn’t the same thing. Even if you’ve never tasted Kina Lillet—which I haven’t, but many scholars have—you can tell from making vintage cocktails that Lillet Blanc doesn’t work in those recipes. There are various theories about what currently-available product is closest to Kina Lillet, and I feel that <a href="https://www.cocchi.it/en/wines/americano/">Cocchi Americano</a> does seem to fill the gap—in the sense that, used in the same proportions in these vintage recipes, it creates balanced cocktails.<br />
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I actually <a href="https://instituteforalcoholicexperimentation.blogspot.com/2012/06/vintage-jubilee-cocktails.html">wrote about this cocktail before</a>, back in 2012 when we had a <a href="https://www.thecandlelightclub.com/">Candlelight Club</a> event themed around the Queen’s jubilee that year. But I didn’t simply replace the Kina Lillet with Cocchi Americano—I actually used a half and half mix of Cocchi and Lillet Blanc. I can’t remember why I decided that a Lillet Blanc/Cocchi Americano blend worked better than just the Cocchi on its own—it’s quite exposed in this recipe, so maybe I decided that this blend dialled down the bitterness and added some needed sweet and fruity elements. I certainly feel that it works, though. As for the gin, this time round I actually tried four different gins that I had to hand, and concluded that <a href="https://brokersgin.com/">Broker’s gin</a> worked best. It’s a gin I intend to explore in greater depth.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFL5Wd8SiTkbYAsFdihi_RAztpVvdbXzfJnErQ9LuAGFCPZUMuAcNvFucAHEZn4VnNC-lDkQy7fwtvVm_nWXKTbzaICWyE6Ee_o1LCHB-A0Lc-50fQYj7_i_aq8TmUm0pevcWGB4lBN68/s1600/633A7324-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1381" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFL5Wd8SiTkbYAsFdihi_RAztpVvdbXzfJnErQ9LuAGFCPZUMuAcNvFucAHEZn4VnNC-lDkQy7fwtvVm_nWXKTbzaICWyE6Ee_o1LCHB-A0Lc-50fQYj7_i_aq8TmUm0pevcWGB4lBN68/s400/633A7324-3.jpg" width="345" /></a>So the recipe this time is:<br />
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<b>Who’s Queen?</b><br />
50 ml gin<br />
12.5 ml Cocchi Americano<br />
12.5 ml Lillet Blanc<br />
3 dashes orange bitters<br />
1 dash grapefruit bitters<br />
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Shake all ingredients with ice and strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with strips of lemon and orange peel.<br />
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As you can see, for this bottled version we upped the ante by adding edible gold leaf, which creates a regal snow-globe effect when you shake the bottle. To serve this version you would shake the bottle to distribute the leaf, then pour out the desired quantity into a shaker, shake with ice and pour out—this time without fine-straining. Interestingly the gold leaf doesn’t seem to get stuck in the shaker as long as you pour it out vigorously.<br />
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Clayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171372316344074696.post-6013439700065668102020-05-30T18:09:00.000-07:002020-05-30T18:13:58.852-07:00Hernö Pink BTL gin<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrSzRdp8VMjObcPK-8_4vGmHIe8O7MbvDJv8odo88PUo3pgWmomD3ra9b6dFtuoqYUdh6c4-yxCUG7Z2eaTUIeP530vmlznduLmmA36Feek9igDw12iscM5LE-ZTzLWX8XxY_jbwKqFBI/s1600/633A6385-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="968" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrSzRdp8VMjObcPK-8_4vGmHIe8O7MbvDJv8odo88PUo3pgWmomD3ra9b6dFtuoqYUdh6c4-yxCUG7Z2eaTUIeP530vmlznduLmmA36Feek9igDw12iscM5LE-ZTzLWX8XxY_jbwKqFBI/s640/633A6385-3.jpg" width="386" /></a></div>
Just as the lockdown was taking effect I had an email from Jon Hillgren of <a href="https://hernogin.com/">Hernö</a>. I’m a big fan of their gin, which is classic in its profile but somehow manages to be more vivid and 3D than most. Jon announced he had “a bottle” he wanted to send me. When it arrived it turned out to be the new Pink BTL gin.<br />
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Pink BTL comes across as a gin with issues. You’ll notice that it is emphatically the bottle (or more specifically the label) that is pink, not the gin. Jon would have no truck with giving gin a silly colour. In fact the accompanying letter begins with the sentence “This is a no-bullshit gin” in large type, a phrase that is repeated on the label. I’m not sure if having the word “bullshit” on you label might offend some potential stockists or customers, but you have to admire Jon’s conviction. The label also states: “This is not a cocktail. Pink Gin is a cocktail. This is a pink bottle of gin.”<br />
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The letter goes on to bemoan that many producers are jumping on the gin bandwagon but offering products that aren’t really gin. So Pink BTL is an attempt to be creative with gin, offering the fruity, floral profile “that so many are asking for”, while emphatically staying true to the juniper-driven essence of what makes gin gin. In fact we are told that Pink BTL actually uses more juniper than the regular Hernö gin.<br />
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The letter explains that neutral grain spirit is infused with juniper, coriander and strawberries, heated to 60 degrees C and left for 18 hours. Then rose petals, cassia, black pepper, lemon peel and vanilla are added and the liquid resdistilled, one-shot, then diluted to bottling strength (42%) using water from Hernö’s own well.<br />
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On the nose resinous pine and lemon peel are up front, but lurking behind is a sweet strawberry fruit. It really is quite subtle—as if Jon was terrified of its becoming cloying. You almost feel as if Jon has approached this whole project against his will. But it’s a point worth making that if you buy this gin because you want a sweet, fruity drink—and perhaps you don’t really like gin—then you will be disappointed. In fact, to you, it will simply taste of gin.<br />
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On the palate it has a smooth, polished mouthfeel. The juniper is strong but not fierce, and behind there is gentle strawberry and black pepper on the finish.<br />
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I try a fairly Dry Martini, made with Belsazar Dry, in what looked like 10:1 proportions, though it could have been wetter. Juniper is still up front, but the vermouth adds an exotic saline finish, joining that black pepper again. The nose has a definitely creamy note—we’re looking at strawberries and cream! It’s a clever balancing act between the stern juniper rod of classic gin and a soft, flighty summer fruit angle from the strawberry and rose.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRGkMXshmf2HbG65iJTr80MVjq7AJgKOnZmx8XWU2q-tNqANeAl6Jjp0pLoYt9za8NRDbAFuNN0efCou7HirftVFNN1wh8TgLsTFUPOxlZwarcc6IAXG7AcWljh7CpW6diMfcmL-zjxrg/s1600/633A7163-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="876" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRGkMXshmf2HbG65iJTr80MVjq7AJgKOnZmx8XWU2q-tNqANeAl6Jjp0pLoYt9za8NRDbAFuNN0efCou7HirftVFNN1wh8TgLsTFUPOxlZwarcc6IAXG7AcWljh7CpW6diMfcmL-zjxrg/s640/633A7163-7.jpg" width="350" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 10.56px;">An Aviation made with Hernö Pink BTL</span></td></tr>
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I wondered how the light florality would work in an Aviation (50ml gin, 12.5ml lemon juice, 12.5ml maraschino and about a teaspoon of crème de violette). As it turned out there was no risk of it becoming cloying in combination with the cherry and violet elements. In fact it makes a very grown-up cocktail, with a complex interplay of savoury and soft flavours. The dry steeliness of the juniper still underpins, with the black pepper helping to keep the drink’s feet on the ground, but the faint strawberry fruit floats behind that, interweaving with the rose and violet. This cocktail is a good one for assessing gins, not least because the sweet and sour elements (maraschino and lemon juice) are present in quite small quantities.<br />
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I’m interested to see what elements come out when served just with tonic water. It certainly makes a nice enough drink, though in fact the dilution is not especially transformative. It’s still reassuringly juniper-dominated, though you do sense the rose now.<br />
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I also try Pink BTL in a Corpse Reviver No.2 (gin, curaçao, lemon juice, Cocchi Americano and a dash of absinthe). It’s a tough gig for a gin, as it’s up against some powerful sweet, sour, bitter and pungent flavours. This one turns out to be a nice example of its kind, and the strong juniper backbone of the gin can be relied upon to keep any classic gin cocktail on the straight and narrow, but I wouldn’t say that Pink BTL shone in this combination.<br />
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Ultimately, although Pink BTL has a strong presence, the things that make it different are those fairly subtle notes of strawberry, rose and black pepper. As a final experiment I make a White Lady, skipping the egg white and reducing the quantities of curaçao and lemon juice by half—normally you’re looking at about 50ml gin and 25ml each of the other two, but I cut these to 12.5ml, along the same lines as the Aviation. Sure enough, this works. It’s not a classic White Lady but you can appreciate the character of the gin.<br />
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And it’s a character worth appreciating. In the right sort of cocktail, in the right proportions, it creates harmonies with thought-provoking subtleties. Out of the ones I tried, a straight Martini probably works best, but in the Aviation—or other cocktails constructed with similar proportions—it has a lot to give, and makes for an adult drink with summery echoes.Clayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171372316344074696.post-5486476385882872412020-04-16T13:05:00.000-07:002020-05-06T10:27:06.816-07:00Coke Signature Mixers: even better than the Real Thing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlQmGqft6muMEU7TnAyC7vgaU0m8eugEE3y2WWBDKMcBEvtw4YcJzX7_nNbtDCKv95wDClNtIbZaXzu2amgZT2NJ6r1iTHFtCsAtkLLYvbKXQZ946o5kKJj2nCyIK1ivFXZoc4-B5MIbI/s1600/633A5524.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlQmGqft6muMEU7TnAyC7vgaU0m8eugEE3y2WWBDKMcBEvtw4YcJzX7_nNbtDCKv95wDClNtIbZaXzu2amgZT2NJ6r1iTHFtCsAtkLLYvbKXQZ946o5kKJj2nCyIK1ivFXZoc4-B5MIbI/s640/633A5524.jpg" width="520" /></a></div>
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Trolling through the aisles in Sainsbury’s my eye was caught by these, and I remembered reading about the project. Coca-Cola have produced a range of four “<a href="https://www.cocacola.co.uk/signaturemixers/en/home/">Signature Mixers</a>”, designed specifically to be mixed with dark spirits, created in association with mixologists. No.1 Smoky was created with Max Venning of Three Sheets in London. No.2 Spicy was created with Adriana Chia from La Antigua Compania de las India in Barcelona and Pippa Guy, head bartender of the American Bar in the Savoy. No.3 Herbal was created with Antonio Naranjo of Dr Stravinsky in Barcelona. No.4 Woody was created with Alex Lawrence of Dandelyan Bar in London. (Not sure why they are all from either London or Barcelona, but there you go.)<br />
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So I thought I’d give them a try. Having trooped out to buy all the recommended garnishes, I then got distracted for a few days before realising that these fresh ingredients weren’t going to last forever. Since the basil was looking a bit wilty, rather than going in numerical order, I started with…<br />
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No.3 HERBAL<br />
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With these drinks I was expecting subtle variations on the conventional Coke flavour, so I was surprised when this hit me on the nose with a pungent peppermint or spearmint thrust, with elements of fennel and dill. On the tongue there is more of the Coke taste, but still with a strong character of spearmint chews from the 1970s. (Mrs H. reminds me they were called Pacers. Gosh, that takes me back.) In fact there is no mint in it: it apparently has hops, dill seed, tagetes (a marigold native to Mexico) and lemongrass.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzu-wv7qUOXrHBMC10Kaukrc4yr_u1YOEijWmdk22-pAWcK3FCLfh_MlhoapsUbTNuk-_M59gla2kidL0LCGsBCr2bqCiuZmq2xWeCA_yQDbHgHMO2wSMFPbt7SZYOU4idrzqm_0UYyyg/s1600/633A5578.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1222" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzu-wv7qUOXrHBMC10Kaukrc4yr_u1YOEijWmdk22-pAWcK3FCLfh_MlhoapsUbTNuk-_M59gla2kidL0LCGsBCr2bqCiuZmq2xWeCA_yQDbHgHMO2wSMFPbt7SZYOU4idrzqm_0UYyyg/s400/633A5578.jpg" width="305" /></a>The prescription says to mix it with Cognac or Scotch and use a basil garnish. With Cognac it doesn’t quarrel but I don’t entirely get it. I can taste the two different things but they don’t seem to be on speaking terms. The basil leaf seems lost in all the spearmint woosh. Almost as an afterthought I try it with Scotch (Queen Margot 8-year-old, the multiple-award-winning juice from budget supermarket Lidl), and it goes surprisingly well. The malty rasp of the Scotch and the pungent herbs of the Coke make natural drinking buddies. Mrs H. isn’t so impressed, but in fact I actually find this combination rather exciting, as it’s not often I think that Scotch really works in mixed drinks.<br />
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No. 2 SPICY<br />
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This one smells more obviously like Coke, perhaps with a hint of chilli. It does have jalapeño, plus lime, ginger, rosemary and jasmine. If you focus you can pick up a floral hint from the jasmine. On the palate I’m struck by the sweetness. It tastes of classic Coke plus chilli and something like root beer. You can certainly find lime and ginger, though the latter does not seem prominent to me (but then the recommended garnish is root ginger, so you can dial it up that way). The recommended combinations are with golden tequila and Scotch. With the latter, I don’t really get it—it’s hard to strike a balance. I’m using Queen Margot 8-year-old again and apart from the smoke the rest of it gets a bit lost.<br />
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With tequila it’s a different kettle of fish. I would not normally think of mixing Coke and tequila, so I don’t immediately have anything to compare this to, but here the earthy agave notes mesh very neatly with the mixer. (I’m using Casamigos Anejo, as it’s the only aged tequila to hand.) Oddly at this point the chilli suddenly comes out, along with a note of orange, for some reason. This is a genuinely interesting combination, with new flavours continually emerging.<br />
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No.4 WOODY<br />
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Again the nose is primarily Coke, but this time with a hint of sandalwood. The label says it has balsam and patchouli and on the palate I can agree those are there, but I don’t immediately get basil or yuzu, which are also listed. And as for what vetiver tastes like, I really don’t know what I’m looking for. However, after a while, once it’s opened up in the glass a bit, I <i>do</i> get basil—aromatic notes that seem to reinforce the resinousness of the wood, which is not how I would have thought of basil before.<br />
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The recommended pairings are with rum or bourbon. Rum and Coke is a fairly classic combo, but with Havana Club 7-year-old it’s a bit ho-hum. No exciting synergy, just dark sugar elements against the intrinsically sugary Coke backdrop. With bourbon, however, it is a different story. Bourbon and Coke, or at least Jack Daniels and Coke (and JD is actually a Tennessee Whiskey) is again a recognised Thing, but it’s not something I drink so again it is hard to say whether this Woody incarnation goes better than regular Coke. But when I mix it with Buffalo Trace there is an immediate harmony between the woodiness of the bourbon and that of the mixer.<br />
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No.1 SMOKY<br />
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This one has ylang-ylang, ambrette seed, Peru balsam, oak extract and guaiacwood, whatever that is. And this time as soon as you lever off the cap and put your nose to the bottle neck you can tell it is not normal Coke. It <i>is</i> smoky, in a BBQ sauce kind of way, but there is also something heavy and floral—perhaps the ylang ylang. This is dominant on the palate too, sweetly floral but with a spicy mid-range to it, plus a balsamic weight on the tongue. I have to say that it reminds me of some sort of fragranced fabric softener or cleaning fluid. In fact it smells like the inside of a chest of drawers at an elderly aunt’s house, perhaps because the dense floral smell is combined with the woodiness.<br />
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With dark rum it goes OK, the dark sugar sitting quite happily with the sweet fragrance, though I would say the two elements tolerate each other rather than being greater than the sum of their parts. The other recommended mix is with bourbon. This is pretty successful, with the wood and caramel notes of the whiskey happily at ease with the wood and sweet aromas of the Coke. Oddly this combo brings out a note of orange which for me now comes to the fore. Interestingly the prescribed garnish is indeed orange peel, though when I try adding this I feel it is now too much.<br />
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I think both of these mixes work well enough, though I can’t really get excited by either of them. Perhaps I’m just put off by the cloying nature of the Coke itself. Even Mrs H. couldn’t finish the centimetre that I left in the bottle for her to try.<br />
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There is one question, however, that I still have to answer. As I say, I almost never drink Coke, either as a soft drink or a mixer, so I need to establish if these fancy Cokes actually go any better with spirits than the regular version. Sure bourbon and regular Coke is not a million miles away from the bespoke Woody version, but Mrs H. and I both agree that the latter is preferable, if only because there is more going on, more nuances and harmonies. Mrs H. feels the regular Coke has a bitter finish by comparison and it does seem to be a bit of a dead hand on the drink compared to the Signature version.<br />
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Tequila and Coke is definitely not something I would think to drink normally, but for the sake of scientific enquiry I compare normal Coke with the No.2 Spicy version. I’ve run out of the Casamigos Anejo so I have to make do with a blanco. Again the version with regular Coke is not vile, but the blend with the Signature is more interesting, and bearing in mind that all these mixer Cokes are specifically designed to go with aged spirits we can safely assume that with aged tequila the match would be even neater.<br />
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With Scotch and No.3 the difference was most pronounced, not least because the spearmint flavour of the Coke is so distinctive. In this case the regular Coke comes across with a flavour of burned sugar with a bitter aftertaste. Odd as this mixer is, I would definitely say it blends better with Scotch whisky.<br />
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The project has clearly been a success for the Coco-Cola Corporation, because I gather that the mixologists who worked on these four products are now helping the company find the next generation of bartenders to collaborate on a second series of mixers.<br />
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While we’re on the subject of Coke, I was also given a sample of <a href="https://fever-tree.com/en_GB/products/madagascan-cola">Fever Tree’s Madagascan Cola</a>. This too is specifically intended as a mixer for dark spirits, rather than to be drunk on its own. They describe it as having a “delicate sweetness”, and it does come across as sweet, an impression enhanced by the prevalence of vanilla in its profile. With bourbon, up against bourbon with regular Coke, the latter seems to have more of an edge, a more noticeable lime note, again with a slight bitterness to the finish; the Fever Tree’s vanilla blended more easily with the wood flavours of the whiskey, and Mrs H. preferred it, though I’m not sure whether I wouldn’t find it a bit cloying after a while. With Wood’s Old Navy Rum I felt that with regular Coke you were more immediately aware of the rum, perhaps because with Fever Tree the two drinks blended together more easily, but you can definitely taste the rum there too. I think that rum and Coke is a more effective combo than bourbon and Coke anyway, so I felt that here it was more a question of taste, the high vanilla presence in the Fever Tree pushing it more in the direction of spiced rum.<br />
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Clayton Hartleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14216238797201636919noreply@blogger.com0