and for dessert...

It came to my attention that Mr. Blood and Sand and Mr. Gin had a bit of a Sauternes party last night, which made me insanely jealous (more for the steak and company than the wine, since we have plenty of it here). It also reminded me that I missed an excellent blogging opportunity last week.

Sauternes is a sweet white dessert wine from the Graves area of Bordeaux, and one of the few white wines I truly enjoy.* In my humble opinion, it is the ne plus ultra of dessert wines. Part of my love for it comes from the peculiarities of its creation. The short version is as follows: the region lies at the intersection of the Garonne River and its tributary, the Ciron. One is cold and one is warm, and when they cross you get a lovely mist which encourages the growth of rot that sucks all the water out of the grapes. These extra sweet grapes then make extra sweet wine. These grapes are extra delicate and need to be picked by hand. Plus, because of the dual combination of weather dependency and grapes with less water content, you don't get Sauternes every year. (You can get all the science-y details here.) They are mind-blowingly good with Roquefort (I like the sucré/salé combo). A nice foie gras is the classic companion.

So, last week, a French friend stopped by for drinks, and being a polite Frenchwoman, brought a bottle to share. This time it happened to be a lovely, sweet white Bordeaux. It was decidedly less sweet than the Sauternes I've had in the past, and lacked the intense dehydrated urine color and syrupy mouth feel. I'm a big fan of the turning it up to 11 effect Sauternes has on your tongue, and this was the perfect toned-down version of that: refreshing and sweet, perfect to share with friends over conversation. And, because the sugar content is not so intense, you can enjoy a second glass without disastrous effects the next day.

I stupidly forgot to write the name down or take a picture of the bottle (although, based on descriptions, I have a feeling it may have from from the Premières Côtes de Bordeaux appellation), but it's encouraged me to explore different Vins d'Or (or as the have rebranded themselves "Sweet Bordeaux") while I'm here.

Bisous,

Plenty

*I'm not a white wine fan due to the use of a really bad chardonnay as the weekly communion wine at my childhood church. I know you're asking yourself "white wine? for the blood of christ?" I don't understand either. But it's put me off anything oaky.

Fire goddess, walk with me

Our next battle is Tiki drinks, on Thursday. I was skeptical at first, but this one has lit my curiosity like Lucca (Willo) lights a flare. What constitutes a Tiki drink? I don't really know. I sure hope it isn't blended cloying horror, because I just don't do that. It definitely seems that rum is a nearly-sufficient ingredient, as is fruit juice of some sort. I mean, everyone knows that the ancient gods of long-displaced indigenous peoples liked their beverages light and refreshing, right? Of course not, that's stupid, and I say it only to waste words. Nevertheless, making pulque would probably not be appreciated.

It's kind of easy to forget the variety that exists in rum. Just in my cabinet, I have Barbancourt five star, from Haiti, which is light, smooth, dry, and volatile, as well as Pyrat, which is heavier and sweet with notes of orange. There is, of course, also Bacardi, which tastes mostly like vomit, and a good standby, Cruzan, which tastes okay and is pretty cheap. I believe that there is only one rum commercially produced in the continental US, which is Old New Orleans, and is a quite-good basic rum that isn't too expensive. Buying it also lets us feel good about our shame with regards to that city. Anyone I've known for very long at all has probably heard me talk of Tanduay rhum, from the Philippines and cost $0.50 for a bottle last I was there. It is superb. I refuse to buy anything called Captain Morgan's for reasons that should be obvious. Similarly, I've heard that some Spanish rum is really quite good, but the advertising on the internet annoyed me so much that I will not speak it's name. Harder to find in Michigan are some unique rums like Metusalem, which is a "cuban style" that is very rich in rum flavor, but still light in body, and the stuff from Bermuda that trademarked the name "Dark & Stormy." In addition to things actually called rum (for instance 10 Cane) there are things that are effectively the same thing but have a different name for reasons I can only ascribe to ancient politics (like Cachaca, most of which sucks). Some is made from molasses. Some is made from a different kind of molasses. Some is made from cane juice. Throw in the light-medium-dark and possibly blackstrap variation from each label, and potentially different levels of aging, and suddenly rum is looking like the most variety-filled base liquor of them all.

Have you ever had it straight? You should. Wait for a hot, hot, hot, humid night, sit outside, and pour some Barbancourt 5 star into a tumbler. No ice. Don't be shy. Sip it. Then drink it faster. Then pour some more. It burns like nothing else. It has a darkness that demands a particular mood, which it then twists and makes its own. It drives you crazy, but keeps you safe. Truly, to experience rum on its own terms is special. Pretty hard to do in Michigan, though. So go someplace hot, festering, stagnant, and do it right.

In which an apple competition becomes an applejack competition

Calvados tastes like apples. I think we can all agree on this. Also, it is delicious. And then there is its backwoods cousin, the one that watches NASCAR for the crashes and doesn't care for booklearnin', applejack. I am perhaps being cruel, since there is really only one company, Laird's, that makes applejack and they make only three products that I can find here. One they call applejack, one they call straight apple brandy (it doesn't have the neutral spirits that their applejack does), and one they call old apple brandy.

Of course, there's no intrinsic reason that Laird's wouldn't be as good and full of apple flavor as a calvados, but the fact of the matter is that it isn't. The apple is there, sure, but the barrel flavor competes with it instead of supports it. The trick to using the straight apple brandy, as I see it, is to fill in the bright apple notes that aren't present and to change the finish to something nicer than what is kindly supplied by the brandy.

Applejack comes up in plenty enough classic cocktails that it wasn't hard to find tasty-looking drinks. What became hard was finding drinks that I could make without going shopping. I eventually settled on a classic preparation called a Star Cocktail and adapted it slightly:

Star Cocktail

• 1 oz. Apple brandy (Laird's bonded)
• 1 oz. Sweet vermouth (Martini and Rossi)
• 2 dashes Peychaud's bitters

Stir with ice.

It's not something I'd pull out often, but it's actually not a shabby drink. That initial winey flavor in the vermouth sets a nice stage for the applejack and the finish is made markedly better by the Peychaud's. I'll be curious to do this again once I get a new bottle of Cinzano, since I think the vanilla in that will play even better with the apple.

My original drink went in a really different direction. For some reason, my thoughts immediately went to smoky flavors. I also expected that pomegranate and apple would go well together, so I had made some grenadine earlier in the week based on recipes seen online. I couldn't help but go with a not-terribly-original and far too cutesy name. Apologies.

Pomme-pom

• 1 oz. Applejack (Laird's straight apple brandy)
• 0.5-1 oz. Anejo tequila (Don Eduardo)
• 1/4 oz. Lemon juice
• 1/4 oz. Benedictine
• 3/4 oz. Grenadine (Put 1 c. pomegranate juice in a saucepan and reduce by half. Mix with 1 c. pomegranate juice and 1/2 c. sugar)

I actually recommend shaking this one instead of stirring, since I think the extra water helps the drink and the color is nicer when opaque.

The version of this guy that I first served was with only 0.5 oz. tequila. That drink had a bit more apple flavor, but I got some suggestions to bump up the tequila side of it. I went back and poured a bit more Don Eduardo in and came up with an arguably better drink. It may also want a dash more benedictine than I note here.

How 'bout dem apples?

This past Saturday we held our Apple Battle, with thunderous results. Were apples kicked across the room? Yes. Were said apples then split in half by Dances with Gin's trusty Bar Katana? Indeed. Did I prepare apple juice by headbutting a raw apple against a table? Perhaps.

My traditional cocktail this week is built on Applejack, specifically Laird's "Bottled in Bond 100 Proof" Applejack. My understanding was that this was a good choice, because it would be pure apple distillate, unadulterated by grain alcohol. This may or may not be true, but the bottom line is that it has, in this Dragon's opinion, a cough syrupy aftertaste. Not my fave. I wish I had sprung for the aged applejack, or just bought a better apple brandy.

Anyway, back to the cocktail, which this week is Fallen Leaves, not to be confused with Falling Leaves. The recipe is simple, and seems to be universally agreed upon:

Fallen Leaves

• 3/4 oz Apple Brandy
• 3/4 oz Sweet Vermouth
• 1/4 oz Dry Vermouth
• Dash of Brandy

Although Mrs. Dragon and I are not quite poor, we are cheap, and I wanted to play with applejack, so my version is slightly modified:

Fallen Leaves (a la Dragon)

• 3/4 oz Applejack
• 3/4 oz Sweet Vermouth
• 1/4 oz Dry Vermouth
• Dash of Slivovice

Brandy might be nice here, but the plum flavor from the slivovice very nicely complements the apple. For awhile I also thought I was out of dry vermouth, so I tried replacing it with equal parts Zubrowka and seltzer. I found some dry vermouth, and I think it worked better.

I'm not sure that what I added was Slivovice, actually. It's plummy, and Czech. The ingredient list includes water, alcohol, "Slivovice Distillate", and "Plum Macerate." The name on the bottle is "Chalupařska", which translates as "Cottage." Fortunately, it does not taste like a cottage.

Anyway, if you don't have time to run out to Olomouc to pick some up, maybe try Jelinek? I can't vouch for it either way. But the plum is nice.

For my modern cocktail, I put together two variations on a French 75. The idea was that if you take any cocktail with champagne, then replace the champagne with a decent hard cider, you'll probably get a tasty cocktail. For the French 75 at least, this is true. Of course, the devil hides in the word "decent" -- I tried a few ciders, and the only usable one I found was Scrumpy's, which has a lot of apple flavor without being too too sweet. It's a bit like the Dragon's Milk that I used when making the Black Velvet, in that it's a bit dull on its own (though still better than the other ciders I tried), but makes a truly awesome cocktail.

I actually came out with two tasty variations on the French 75.

French 69

• 2 oz Gin (Hendrick's)
• 1 oz Lemon Juice
• 1/2 oz Simple Syrup
• 3-5 oz of Hard Cider (Scrumpy's)

American 75

• 2 oz Rye (Rittenhouse 100 proof)
• 1 oz Lemon Juice
• 1/2 oz Simple Syrup
• 3-5 oz of Hard Cider (Scrumpy's)
• Maraschin-faux Cherry

I'm a bit embarrassed to admit that I added one dash of Angostura bitters to one or both of these, but I can't remember which. At this point I think of Angostura as a bit like pepper, so let me suggest that you add it to taste.

I was surprised to find that cider and gin worked together. I think with a non-Hendrick's gin one would have to be careful, since a sharper juniper flavor might clash with the cider. Dances with Gin pointed out that the American 75 is also closely related to a Manhattan, and he's absolutely right -- apparently hard cider ~ sweet vermouth, as well as champagne*. Truly it is a marvelous beverage!

*Perhaps we'll see if transitivity works for cocktail substitutions at a later date!

What if we all got jobs and got to bed before dawn?

Then we couldn't keep experimenting with the themes we like. I have been experimenting with the Picon Biere (a smashing success wrought by O'Booze & Gin). How on Earth? It's not like I have the stuff. I mean, I have the Amer Picon replica I made, but that stuff is hell of hard to come by to use it by the ounce in beer experiments. My substitute is still not easy to source in Michigan, but a whole lot easier than real Picon. Basically, I take beer, add a bit of Amaro Ramazzotti, a bit of Stirrings blood orange bitters, and a couple dashes of Fee Brothers orange bitters.

This is GOOD.

It works with most beers, but I find it is best with a good, balanced light-colored beer. The best one I have tried is Asahi. That is right: I HAVE FOUND A USE FOR ASAHI. You didn't think it existed. Much like the only market or Foster's being clever fools looking for the authentic Outback Steakhouse dining experince, I thought the only market for Asahi was people looking for strangely shaped cans with truncal adiposity, and possibly accidental purchases. It turns out that a benevolent force has kept it on shelves all this time that I might discover it makes a fine, fine Picon Biere with two readily available ingredients, and one that can be picked up without too much difficulty from the New York market.

Try it.

Gilding the Lily

There are a few things I love; here are some pertinent examples.

Good apples

Good calvados

Good fresh cider

If you mix the second two, an unsurprisingly good thing comes out of it: The cider cocktail. Also, linear algebra, but that is a story for another day. Add the first as a garnish and you've made it pretty. Rim the glass with cinnamon and sugar (sometimes called cinny in my house), serve it in Chimayo, NM, and you've got a Chimayo cocktail. Sometimes this is exactly what one wants. It happens to be one of those drinks where better ingredients = better drink. Linear algebra again, damn. So using peak-of-the-season cider and Germain-Robin apple brandy make a wonderful but horribly expensive drink. Taking this, using slightly less-good ingredients, and taking the New Mexico theme a bit further, I wound up with the following:

Chimayo II

1 oz. Laird's 7.5 year apple brandy

2 oz. Michigan apple cider

dash angostura bitters

1 teaspoon vodka infused with ginger (take vodka, chop up ginger and soak for a few weeks)

1 teaspoon vodka infused with medium hot pepper (take vodka, cut pepper into rings and soak for a few hours)

1 glass rimmed with cinny+ (couple tablespoons sugar, couple teaspoons cinnamon, fat pinch Chimayo chili powder, fat pinch table salt)

This is totally drinkable. Pretty good, even. I'm pretty happy with it. The ginger gets buried and just makes everything else shine a bit brighter. The cinny+ is pretty great, I might use it in other things. The pepper rings soaked in vodka are a great garnish, and add a crisp, wild spiciness that is quite suitable. The problem here is with gilding the lily. This is a lot of work, and the end result is but a pale shadow of any of my great loves. It's really quite poetic. What's my name? Oh yeah.

The second drink I made was even more work, and produced the most egregiously baroque lily I've ever seen. I put the recipe here only for academic purposes.

Appletini:

1.5 oz apple infused genever gin (chop up apples, soak in genever)

dash dry vermouth

dash apple brandy

dash ginger infused vodka

garnish with grape tomatoes soaked in vodka

This is drinkable, it just isn't anything good. The tomato garnish, on the other hand, is super-duper good, and I recommend making tomatoes like that and using them in everything.

You may ask, what the hell was I thinking? Well, here was the idea. I wanted something crisp and authentic to the experience of biting into a raw apple. The gin martini thing seemed ike a good starting point. What I really wanted was something to act like apple aromatic bitters would. Something to add a slash of apple smell and taste to an otherwise balanced, clean drink. The infusion, though, doesn't give this effect. The taste is muddy, and while it is possible to balance the drink overall, it doesn't really taste like anything. Interestingly, it doesn't even taste like gin, anymore. Who knows why that is.

Time to regroup, have some calvados, and stoke the competitive fires for next time.

A new dawn, a new battle

And as I prepare to enter tomorrow's guerre de pommes, I want to be aware of all the scars of battles past. There is a saying in kendo, Japanese fencing, along the lines of "There are three outcomes of any duel: you die, your opponent dies, or you both die. In two of the three, you die, so fight as if it were your last act." While the reasoning does not stand up to scrutiny and cocktail battles pretty much just end with everyone happily tipsy, the conviction is nonetheless a worthy approach.

As such, I want to get the synesthesia recipes out into the world, as they are some of my favorite original drinks. The theme — originally posed as creating the cocktail representation of favorite songs — was a tricky one, and more subjective than I realized at first glance. In fact, my two drinks interpret the theme quite differently. One is a punning exploration of a snapshot in time well framed by a particular song, the other is closer to the synesthesiac ideal originally intended.

Let's Make Out

This was a collaborative effort for Plenty and me, referencing a late night drunken subway station last summer. This was a time characterized by bitterness and whiskey, but it was also the turning point into something pretty damn good. It's a variant on an Old Fashioned, trying to use as many bitters as possible, but ending with a little love — Parfait amour, an orange liqueur with some floral notes to it.

• 2 oz. bourbon (Buffalo Trace)
• 1/8 T. Campari
• 1/2 T. Marie Brizard Parfait Amour
• 2 dashes Fee Brothers whiskey aged bitters
• 2 dashes Angostura bitters
• 2 dashes Regan's orange bitters

Brother Sport

The songs on Merriweather Post Pavilion have a tendency to somehow float lightly above one's consciousness, never staying in one place long enough to be pinned down. It's a bit sweet and the Creme de Violette makes the color a horrid gray, but the mix of flowers and vanilla held together by gin is a fine, fine drink.

• 3 parts gin (Boodles)
• 2 parts lemon (I used one lemon for 3 oz gin)
• 2 parts Lillet Blanc
• 1 part Creme de Violette (Lavender would be fascinating here or as an addition, I think)
• 1 part Elderflower Syrup (Perhaps St. Germain liqueur would work here, but I used an old bottle from a trip to Austria)
• The slightest dash vanilla extract

The last ingredient is totally the secret that brings it all together. While Animal Collective's music is bright and elusive, it is also rich. The vanilla cuts through the dancing flavors that come before it and pulls them along into a cohesive drink.