Tuesday, 25 January 2011

Update from the Lab #5 "Cask-Ageing Gin"


With the news that the Juniper Society's late-January session will feature the French Gin Citadelle, I got thinking about their two products—Citadelle Standard (1) and Citadelle Reserve. It is the latter that interests me most, as it is "refined" in oak casks. (2) This results in an altered taste and a liquid that is straw yellow. The flavour is quite mellow although there is some warmth after and there is some subtle flavour of vanilla, something which don't recall from the Standard Citadelle. (3) This is small batch gin and the bottle I was recently given (from 2008) suggested that only 21 "small" (4) casks of the gin will be released that year. The bottle is numbered. (5)

So that got me thinking about oak-aging (or refining) my own spirits. I know that there are folk experimenting with ageing cocktails. Mr Hartley and I had the pleasure of trying an aged Manhattan at 69 Colebrook Row—definitely worth trying.

Most folk who do this, though, use whole casks. The issue with this is the expense, (6) a space to store it in (with the right conditions) and the fact that even the "small" casks take several litres of alcohol to fill, quite an investment.

But how about using whisky barrel chippings? I managed to find some which were billed as "BBQ chips" (7) and I figured that these might well do the trick. In fact I did wonder whether they might even be better, or work faster, given that, when they are suspended in the liquid, they have a greater surface area for contact with the spirit. (8)

I filled a clean, empty jam jar with some chips and then added some gin. I used a good but inexpensive gin from Aldi. The picture here shows the results after just 12 hours in the jar. Sampling after 24 hours I found that some of the flavours were starting to change (easy to spot with a side-by-side analysis). After 36 hours the flavours are even more pronounced—very interesting. I've also got a vodka on the go for comparison and fancy trying even some Campari. (9) Cocktails would also be an interesting experiment—an "aged" Gimlet, or Old Fashioned, Martinez or Negroni (10), although I think I'll leave off the Alexanders and I fear a Gin & Tonic just wouldn't work. (11)

For those interested in coming along to the Juniper Society on January 31st there is a brief introduction to Gin starting at 19:00 and the show really kicks off at 19:30. For further details and to reserve your place (the event itself is free) call
Graphic Bar on: 020 7287 9241

I will keep you updated on the aged gin. (12)

Footnotes:
(1) Citadelle contains 19 botanicals, a huge number beaten only by The Botanist with 31.
(2) I imagine there is some technical reason why it can't be considered "aging".
(3) I wondered if anyone has ever used vanilla as a botanical—it appears that the answer is yes: Tru2
(4) You can get at least 45 bottles out of a cask so I wonder how "small" it actually is. I suppose it's all relative.
(5)  If you're interested mine was Cask 9 of 21 and Bottle No.45
(6)  Particularly when you consider shipping
(7)  For fancy chips the 'Trose (Waitrose for the uninitiated) sell Jack Daniels ones (£8)
(8)  "To increase the surface area" was a standard responses in my Biology exams and it's that phrase that got me my O Level.
(9)  This has just come to me and seems insane as I detest this bitter liquid of sadness.
(10)  Again with the Campari!
(11)  No reason not to try though!
(12)  Some readers may be wondering why their are so many footnotes in this post, well it a nod to Sir Richard Francis Burton, the explorer who's work is noted for (among other things) his frequent use of footnotes. On some occasions there is more text in the footnotes than books main body.

Sunday, 23 January 2011

The Murphy cocktail

A vodka Murphy with a peeled radish

Martin Price, the man behind SW4 gin, also has a vodka which is provisionally branded “Radost”. There’s a story behind this—I think it means “joy” in Czech—but I’m always teasing him that it is radish vodka.

So I was interested to come across the Murphy cocktail, which deploys a radish.

I’ve long been partial to a Gibson, which is a Martini garnished with a cocktail onion—I always look forward to crunching up the onion at the end, so I suspect it just reflects my interest in food (which may explain my fascination with savoury gins like Aviation). The story goes that illustrator Charles Dana Gibson, used to join his chums for Martini sessions at New York actors’ hang-out the Player’s Club in the 1890s. In order to keep a clear head to carry on working afterwards, he developed a ruse with the bartender Charlie Connolly: Gibson’s drinks were just water, and Charlie marked these by using an onion rather than an olive. But the rest of the gang took a shine to the garnish and started ordering their Martinis that way, naming the variation after Gibson.

According to Shaken NOT Stirred (1997) by Anastatia Miller and Jared Brown, one Player’s Club guest “Cyril Cusick” (Cusack?) took the idea with him to Murphy’s Bar in Dublin. One day, out of onions, the barman used a radish instead, and the Murphy was born.

I’m quite partial to a radish, so I decided to give it a go. I doubted the average radish would radiate that much flavour so, to give it a chance, I peeled it and made the drink with vodka.

The result? Zilch, I’m afraid. The radish added no flavour to the Martini and, when I ate it at the end, had acquired no discernible influence from the Martini. Onwards and upwards.

Monday, 10 January 2011

The Twelve Beers of Christmas

Sitting around the Christmas tree en famille I was intrigued to be handed a present from my sister with a good heft and a familiar clink. Indeed it contained two pint-bottles of beer. Then I opened another package to find two more, then two more. In total there were a dozen. These were, she in formed me, the Twelve Beers of Christmas, as suggested by online retailers Realale.com, and offering a mix of regular and special Christmas brews.

Although I don’t know much about real ale it is, in fact, my drink of choice in a pub environment. Perhaps this just says something about the alternatives, but a decent pint of bitter is a joyous thing (and a million miles from flat, flavourless keg offerings such as John Smiths). However, I’ve repeatedly had the experience of sampling some delectable local ale somewhere in the provinces, then later spotting it in a London pub—only to discover that it tasted very different. I assume it’s a combination of bar staff who don’t know how to care for cask ale plus low sales meaning the beer sits around until it goes off. (I used to drink with colleagues at The Grapes in Shepherd Market: among its many charms it often had an impressively broad range of ales, but these were frequently way past their best, sometimes tending towards cider vinegar. On the other hand there was a pub* near where I lived that usually had a guest ale—and whatever it was, it was always excellent, almost suggesting that the skills of the publican make more difference than how the beer is made in the first place!

So is the solution bottle-conditioned ale? CAMRA approve, describing this as “the next best thing” to a pint of draught ale in the pub. Unpasteurised beer is bottled while the yeast is still alive, which not only allows subtle flavours to develop but apparently also has a natural preservative effect. It leaves a sediment of dead yeast so you have to pour carefully. There are some 500 bottled ales made in the UK, often hand-crafted in tiny batches by gnarled madmen. I almost never drink beer at home, so I braced myself for a voyage of discovery. Starting on Christmas day, I drank a ale a day till Twelfth Night…

Reindeer’s Delight (Oakleaf Brewing Company, 4.5% ABV)
A sweet, floral nose and a light and fresh palate, with a prominent hoppy bitterness. But there are fruit and nut elements too which are brought out by well matched food. The handy crib sheet that comes with the case gives confident suggested food pairings and advises cheese with this one. So I rustle up a cheese platter—and they’re right. The beer goes particularly well with vignotte, the cheese’s lemony freshness fencing with the tongue-tickling bitterness of the hops.

Admiral’s Ale (St Austell Brewery, 5% ABV)
Created to celebrate the 200th anniversary of Trafalgar (the messenger carrying the news of victory stopped first at the Blue Anchor Inn, a St Austell Brewery pub, so there’s nothing tenuous about the connection whatsoever), this ale doesn’t avow a Christmas connection but it has a powerful aroma of boozy fruitcake. It’s actually more noticeable from the neck of the bottle than the glass (thus opening up the whole question of the correct glass from which to drink different drinks). Later I get hits of marzipan too. It’s richer and meatier than yesterday’s ale, with a toasty maltiness. It’s darker and sweeter too—though a long way from the treacly opacity of some “winter” ales—but with plenty of bitter hop action and tart acidity too.

Bad Elf (Ridgway Brewing, Oxfordshire, 6% ABV)
Made by the former head brewer of the defunct Brakspear. Oddly the brew’s label proclaims that it is brewed in the UK for the US market. Apart from the Surgeon General’s warning we get a warning that huge amounts of hops go into the beer—is this because the US market is not used to the spiky hoppiness of bitter? Bad Elf is a light, pale amber colour with a fresh flavour and not much of a nose. The head is loose and open and dissipates in a couple of minutes. It is hoppy, but no more so than Reindeer’s Delight, it seems to me. The chief characteristic is a tangy, orangey citrus note; which is quite Christmasy in its way. Refreshing and quite quaffable as ales go, though I guess that if you’re used to lager this will have a strikingly full mouthfeel.

Colomb-O (Otley Brewing Company, 4% ABV)
Nose is immediately toasty but somehow juicy at the same time. Palate is sweetish, hints of heather and honey. The hops are there at the back but this is a soft, approachable ale. No head; almost still, in fact. Subtle. Perhaps the lower ABV and less hoppiness allow you to think about the other flavours, the subtle fruit and savoury notes that make it feel less of a stylistic showcase and more like food, a staple, like a part of an ancient landscape. It makes me think of rain-soaked leafy hillsides, for some reason. Very easy to drink.

Pickled Santa (Hop Back Brewery, 6% ABV)
Apparently made with spices—cinnamon, nutmeg and coriander—so you expect it to smell like mulled wine but in fact it has a very yeasty aroma. There are perfumed spicy notes there but it’s not what hits you first. Its colour is dark and it has a robust flavour with a heavy, hoppy, toasty, almost sour weight on the tongue. They suggest it would go well with a beef stew and I can see that it would stand up to the metallic meatiness of beef. But oddly, I don’t think it needs food—its complexity grows on you, with hints of chocolate and smoke arising. Very interesting.

Sharp’s Single Brew Reserve 2009 (Sharp’s Brewery, 4.5% ABV)
From the makers of the suddenly ubiquitous Doom Bar, the coppery yeast aroma of this one hits you from a distance as you pour it. It’s a mid-dark colour with an excitable fizz and a big initial head. There is also something floral about the nose and the most striking thing when you taste it is the rich, velvety mouthfeel. The name somehow suggests it’s been aged but I gather it just reflects that fact that the head brewer personally made just one batch of this, last month. I expected an intense wall of flavour but in fact it’s very approachable and balanced. Quaffable but with that intriguing texture and floral perfumed note.

Good King Senseless (Vale Brewery, 5.2% ABV)
The aroma is sweet, perfumed and somehow fresh, though the colour is very dark. It initially seems heavy on the palate with a bitter/sour taste, but in fact it’s more complex than that. There is an earthiness, with strata of walnuts and coal tar or creosote, but then wafts of violets arise too.

Funnel Blower (Box Steam Brewery, 4.5% ABV)
A very yeasty, toasty nose. In fact it smells of caramelised oats. It is black and treacly and, despite the bitter hops, on the tongue it is predominantly smooth and sweetish. They apparently use vanilla to make it, and you pick that up, but for me the most striking note is chocolate. Hints of violets too. Moreish, like ice cream.

Festive Totty (Cheddar Ales, 4.7% ABV)
Maybe it’s the brewery’s name but when I stick my nose to the bottle I’m sure I can smell cheese on toast. In fact this Christmas porter, dark as a winter sky at night with a sepia head, is based on their normal Totty Pot but with added port. They say this adds notes of chocolate and fruit—and it does, though it’s more fruitcake than fresh fruit, and I would still say that Funnel Blower has a more striking chocolate note. But the flavour evolves in the glass: the bitterness is like espresso coffee but then you get elements of red berries too (perhaps from the port?). An intriguing draught: as you keep sipping to pin down the flavour you suddenly find you’ve nearly finished it… somehow both hefty and gluggable.

Old Timer (Wadworth, 5.8% ABV)
A sour, metallic nose, preceding a heavy, yeasty flavour. It’s soupy, almost like Bovril in some ways. On its own it seems unbalanced, with the sour/bitter elements dominating. So I try it with food: they suggest it goes well with cheddar. I don’t have any to hand but try it with Red Leicester and Wensleydale; with the latter in particular it is an excellent match, the cheese somehow absorbing the sharp aspect of the beer, leaving the drink’s subtler fruity notes to emerge.

Chimera Dark Delight (Downton Brewery, 6% ABV)
What a monster head—the only beer in this collection that really has a head to speak of. You could shave with it. A dark porter style, this beer is rich and mysterious, and the most mysterious thing about it for me is that it smells and tastes of coffee. There are fruit elements there too, and the Realale.com people suggest liquorice, smoke and salt, but for me it’s mostly coffee. Plenty of hoppy bitterness, which just serves to remind me of espresso.

Hoppy Christmas (Conwy Brewery, 4.3% ABV)
A fresh fruity nose—it makes me think of strawberry and raspberry syrups. Pale in colour, almost like lager, though I see it is officially categorised as a “golden ale”, and it’s actually got more depth and a broader range of flavours than lager. I get hints of honey and cloves and something aromatic, like lavender. Perfectly drinkable on its own, though they suggest partnering it with smoked salmon and canapés—a strange image—but alas I have none to hand.

Well, Christmas is over and so is my ale case. Considering that all these beers essentially contain just water, yeast, hops and malted grain (usually barley) the range of flavours is extraordinary. And I would never have thought about matching beers with food in such an exact and satisfying way; as with wine, some of these ales are definitely better with food. And although there aren’t many cocktails that involve beer, the variety of taste here suggests all kinds of possibilities.

Highlights for me include the Funnel Blower, for it’s unexpected chocolately moreishness, and, at the other end of the scale, the light but complex Colomb-O. It’s nuanced rather than grandstanding, making you think that ales like this have been quietly doing their job for centuries. Should I ever find myself having to till a field, I like to imagine this is what I would quench my thirst with at midday. (Better not say that too loud in case Mrs H. hands me some sort of implement and directs me to the garden…)

* I think it was the Duke of York on Roger Street, Bloomsbury, but this was in the 1990s so it may have changed.

Saturday, 8 January 2011

Cream of the crop

Left to right: Alexander's Sister, Dairy Fairy, Alexander, Quark-Gluon Plasma

If you grew up in the same era as me you’ll know the Brandy Alexander as a classic, classy, creamy, after-dinner sort of cocktail: equal parts brandy, crème de cacao and cream, sometimes served with a garnish of nutmeg or grated chocolate flake on the top. But it never occurred to me at the time that the reason it was called a “Brandy Alexander” was because a conventional Alexander was made with gin.

Visiting my parents-in-law recently I submitted to my usual duties as barman. My father-in-law has one of those wonderful freestanding bars on casters that probably haven’t been made since the 1970s. (He is an ancient mariner so his has a ship’s wheel on the front and I have visions of him tacking lazily across the living room floor after a few pink gins.) I found a glass cocktail shaker that, judging by the graphics printed on it, must date from the 1950s. It’s the kind that has measurements up the side for various traditional combinations, and I noticed the “Alexander”. This got me thinking about the cocktail. We don’t often have cream sitting around in the house but after a spaghetti carbonara fest we had a bit left over so as a nightcap on I cooked up a classic Alexander.

And I was blown away. Why have I not met this cocktail before? I would not have guessed that gin and chocolate would go together at all but it’s an awesome combination. I suppose chocolate and fruit (orange, blackcurrant) are often paired, so it’s not so strange.

The earliest printed recipe for an Alexander is in Hugo Ensslin’s 1915 Recipes for Mixed Drinks and the story goes that it was invented by Troy Alexander who worked at a New York lobster restaurant named Rector’s. A party was being held for Phoebe Snow—a fictional character who advertised the Delaware, Lackawanna and Western Railroad. Phoebe always wore a white dress to emphasise the fact that DL&W trains were cleaner because they burned anthracite rather than normal coal. Focusing on this pure white concept Troy came up with:

⅓ El Bart gin
⅓ crème de cacao
⅓ sweet cream
Shake well in a mixing glass with cracked ice, strain and serve.

This was white crème de cacao rather than the brown version more common now. (Depending on the brand it may or may not taste the same: if you’re a member of the New Sheridan Club, have a look at the article on pages 22–23 of the latest Newsletter, where m’colleague Mr Bridgman-Smith presents a table analysing the effects on this drink of different colours of Giffard crème de cacao and different base spirits.)

A lot of modern recipes call for double cream, but I think single cream makes the point perfectly well and is less likely to make you throw up if you drink too many. I also agree with later writers, including Peter Benchley, writing in 1940, and Harry Craddock in his Savoy Cocktail Book (1930), that a better ratio is 2 parts gin to 1 part each of the other ingredients, though David Embury (who was clearly fundamentally suspicious of the drink), in the The Fine Art of Mixing Drinks (1948), suggested boosting the gin to 6 parts to try and create a pre-dinner version that wouldn’t ruin your appetite.

Judging by DBS’s lab results I’d be inclined to stick with the more cocoa-flavoured brown version of the liqueur. I was also using SW4 gin, an ebullient juniper-heavy brand that stands up well to the richness of the other ingredients.

While we’re on the subject of creamy gin-based cocktails, what else can we try? There’s the Alexander’s Sister—equal parts gin, cream and crème de menthe—about which Craddock rather strangely comments, “Ladies are advised to avoid this Cocktail as often as possible.” Even if we ignore the odd wording* it makes you wonder why—is it because they will find it horrid, or because they’ll like it so much they’ll become hopelessly addicted (lacking the willpower of a man, perhaps?), or that it might have some deleterious effect on their complexion? I have no idea.

Anyway, it’s quite a tasty beverage, though the balance seems out to me: it is improved by again raising the gin to 2 parts and further by adding half a measure of brown crème de cacao (taking it in the direction of the Grasshopper, which is equal parts crème de menthe, crème de cacao, cream and milk).

I also tried making a cocktail of gin, cream and absinthe (because I’m like that) and it was remarkably good. If you just don’t like anise (Mrs H. included) don’t bother, but I found it did a good job of bringing out some of the secondary flavours in the absinthe—which is a pretty complex drink if you give it a chance. I used some Doubs absinthe I had knocking around.**

Dairy Fairy
2 parts gin
1 part absinthe
1 part single cream
1 part sugar syrup
Shake with ice.

Finally there is another of my own inventions, coined on the spur of the moment in November to celebrate the success of our plucky boffins working on the Large Hadron Collider who smashed some lead ions together and created a “mini-Big Bang”***. This happened at a temperature a million times hotter than the core of the sun. “At these temperatures,” said a boffin, “even protons and neutrons, which make up the nuclei of atoms, melt, resulting in a hot, dense soup of quarks and gluons known as a quark-gluon plasma.” I suppose I should have served the drink mulled but it’s nice chilled too. I think the combination of triple sec and crème de violette is actually rather interesting

Quark-Gluon Plasma
2 parts gin
1 part triple sec
1 part crème de violette
1 part single cream
(Optional: ¾ –1 part sugar syrup)
Shake over ice. Or leave in the centre of the Sun to warm gently.

* Saying “as often as possible”, rather than “as much as possible”, opens the philosophical question of exactly how you measure how many times you have not done something.
** I think there is a new Doubs (named after the river) that is a proper distilled absinthe, but this one, which is quite a few years old, is probably a cold-infused faux absinthe, judging by the rather unnatural colour. I would certainly like to try this cocktail with a decent modern absinthe, such as Butterfly or one of Ted Breaux’s Jade range. Or indeed a bleu such as Clandestine or La Maison Fontaine, in which case it might not need the syrup.
*** Surely a contradiction in terms: does it not just cancel out and become a Medium Bang?



Friday, 7 January 2011

Astringent Cocktail



Astringent Cocktail

Whilst researching Ginger Ale I stumbled across this recipe in Jack's Manual from 1910:


I used Croft Indulgence Port and Martell and some ginger water as my Jamaica ginger.
The Taste: Quite repulsive! spoils the Port, Brandy, Ginger Water and even the Angostura Bitters. Such a waste! The final tingle of ginger was the only upside.


On the other-side Mrs. Godfrey loved it's profile of warmth and thought it rather tasty and smooth. Well they do say opposites attract and this was one cocktail she was welcome to finish!

Wednesday, 5 January 2011

Lab Update #4—Apple Gin Recipe


Lab Update #4—Home-made Apple Gin Recipe

Whilst investigating potential ingredients for an upcoming article "Raiders of the Lost Cocktail Cabinet" I came across a long-lost ingredient, apple gin. Made in the UK this was sweetened apple-infused gin, though sadly it has been unavailable for a long time.

A form of apple gin is available in the USA, made by Seagram's (the second biggest gin producer in the world). It's part of their "twisted" range and, along with their Purple Grape variety, it sadly isn't up to much. It certainly doesn't match the above description. So in the spirit of The Institute I decided to make my own.

Recipes for apple gin or apple vodka are a bit thin on the ground—many of them also contain pears, so not much luck there. One useful tidbit I did find was that red apples were consistently recommended for the best results.

The apples were peeled and cored and then added to some gin (I used Tesco's Distiller's Reserve—perfectly good in its own right, of course) I added a little lemon to bring out the flavour. I didn't sweeten it at this point as I wanted to see how the flavour would turn out first.

It took about two weeks to get a decent amount of flavour out of the apples, I then sweetened it with some sugar syrup, at about one part syrup to four parts gin.

The result: a light straw-coloured liquid smelling of cut apples, a little vanilla and a slightly bitter note. A good amount of the gin comes through with apple in the middle and towards the and. The finish is juniper. One thing that is clear is that this is certainly apple gin, my only criticism being that I should probably have added a little more sugar.*

I then tried it in a cocktail:

Coronation:
3/6 Apple Gin
1/6 Orgeat (Almond) Syrup
1/6 Lemon Juice
1/6 Kirsch

This was pretty tasty and lack of sweetness in the apple gin was compensated by the orgeat, the overall impression was apple marzipan, with the lemon juice and kirsch there to balance out the sweetness. Not a bad first cocktail to try this with.

* Adding a little sugar syrup to a glass does improve things.

Thursday, 30 December 2010

How we like to take our medicine

Some bitters are now sold with one specific benefit in mind

Given that alcohol is, most of the time, fundamentally bad for you, it’s interesting how often we as a species turn to it in the hope that it will improve our health. I suppose there is the idea that anything that makes you feel good must be doing you good, plus the known preservative capabilities: in fact in many cases the alcohol may simply be a vehicle for the cure. But there is an interesting cycle of medicine and recreation. Gin started life probably as a tincture of health-giving juniper berries; by the time Englishmen in far-flung malarial parts of the Empire were looking for something to wash down their medicinal quinine the gin to which they turned was fully recreational. And it was not long before the quinine tonic was being consumed for fun too.

Dr Leizaola explains the medicinal/recreational interface to DBS
Visual Anthropologist Dr Ricardo Leizaola recently put on a modest exhibition (now sadly closed) at Goldsmiths College, in New Cross, south London, on just such alcohol-based healing. Originally intended simply as a compendium of remedies, the display became more complex, illustrating “the intersections between and among nominally different ways of thinking” as Dr Leizaola discovered a vast range of tinctures from different cultures—all for sale in multicultural London.

Here among things we recognise, such as Angostura, Peychaud’s and the offerings of the Bitters Truth, we see Yoyo, Taabea, Adutwumwai and Dr Aladdin’s The 7 Keys. Dr Laizaola makes a good point by showing how one can buy Dandelion and Burdock Bitters marketed as a cocktail ingredient at the same time that you can buy it as a health-giving tonic—ironically even as a “detox” tincture (and this is something that is 45% alcohol). It’s easy to forget how herbal snifters such as Jägermeister, Becherovka and Chartreuse were originally medicinal.

"Gin bitters"—apparently rather tasty
Dr Leizaola himself remembers how, growing up in Venezuela, it was common to stuff a handful of watercress into a bottle of rum to make a tonic. “Watercress is used more as medicine than as salad green in Venezuela,” he says. “It is boiled in milk and given to those with chest-related problems and colds. It is macerated in rum for the same problems but also used for recreational purposes. It is actually
one of the most popular bitters, with a peppery flavor and clear colour. Radishes are also macerated in rum or vodka as a warmer and appetizer—it tastes quite good despite the funny smell!” I think we’re going to have to get busy in the Institute’s lab…

Other products, once sold as a cure-all, are now marketed in some parts of the world entirely as enhancers of male sexual potency—a video screen shows a TV commercial for Mamajuana Kalembu, from the Dominican Republic, in which a young buck eyes a nymph emerging from the sea towards him…then straight past him into the arms of a goofy nerd. His secret? You guessed it. Meanwhile one Caribbean product seems to rely solely on its name—“Bedroom Bully”—to make the point, while Mighty Power and Resurrection Formula don’t leave too much to the imagination either.

Even today restorative/detoxifying tinctures are sold as a conceptual
opposite of booze, yet containing as much alcohol by volume as whisky
The actual content of these tinctures varies enormously: in London markets you can buy dry herb/spice/bark mixes so you can knock up you own mamajuana and Dr Leizaola bought a few examples, clearly containing different ingredients, despite claiming to be the same thing. Perhaps it’s all a testament to our universal need to believe we can change our health and fortunes by eating strange, rare things.

In parts of Africa there is a tradition of “gin bitters”. English colonists brought with them their own traditional infusions—gin and tonic—and the name stuck. (I had guessed that the oddly-named King George Bitters—“God’s Blessing”—which claims to cure at least seven different ailments, hailed from some ex-colony, as I know that Trinidad’s Angostura* was an official supplier of bitters to George V, but Dr Leizaola tells me it actually comes from this country.)

Now Ghanian Herb Afrik Gin Bitters is sold** for recreational consumption too—and is actually Dr Leizaola’s top tip for tastiness, along with Alomo Bitters from the Kasapreko company, also in Ghana. Expect some cocktail recipes on this blog soon.

More photos from the exhibition may be found at our Flickr page.

Dr Leizaola’s tip for buying many of these products is Kumasi Market in Granville Arcade, Brixton, London.


* Actually invented by a German doctor in Venezuala, as a cure for stomach upset and fever.
** By GIHOC Distilleries—who also produce a couple of "gins" based on molasses spirit, which sound intriguing.