Ron el Mal: A Cuba Libre Revision

I rarely dance with dark rum. My aversion to sweetness, warm weather, and coconut bras generally keeps me at bay. I have a soft spot for Hunter S. Thompson though, and watching his character consume rum by the truckload in The Rum Dairy on Friday inspired me to give it another chance. I struck out to make a palatable concoction from what I had in the liquor pantry, and the result was the reinvention of the Cuba Libre. The flavor profile of original coca-cola apparently shared the attributes of Amaro (a bitter-sweet Italian liqueur) and Angostura bitters, so with a little sugar and a splash of club soda, I had all the makings of an edgier cocktail. Its contents are deceptively higher in alcohol than the traditional recipe, so I've entitled it ron el mar - the evil rum.

Ron el Mal

• 3oz dark rum
• 1.5oz Amaro (such as Amaro Montenegro)
• 3 dashes Angostura bitters
• 1 sugar cube (or a teaspoon of simple syrup)
• club soda
• lemon peel

Place the sugar cube at the bottom of a rocks glass and douse it with two to three healthy dashes of bitters. Muddle the bitter sugar and then add a splash of club soda to help it dissolve. Fill the glass with ice, rum, and Amaro. Stir and garnish with a hearty rind of lemon.

Whiskey Thanksgiving

This year marked our first Thanksgiving entirely on our own. We moved south, and being this close to Tennessee and Kentucky it's only natural to make this a Whiskey Winter (which is really no different than our previous winters). Inspired by the warm rum, cider, and cinnamon my dad made on Thanksgiving mornings, I turned to whiskey to warm up our morning. (Meghan's way of warming up the morning was to bake miniature pies in muffin tins).  The Hot Toddy is a classic cocktail that has ties to medicinal remedies and the Scottish country-side. One sip will leave you longing to be inside by the fire on a cold, rainy night. The honey always feels like it might get too sweet, while the lemon always threatens to get to acrid, but neither happens.  The balance of this adult tea is great, and it makes for a lovely way to start your holiday morning.  As the day winds on and you need something stiffer to distract you from an overdose of fam and lack of famine, check out De La Louisiane, a warped cousin of the Manhattan.

Hot Toddy

• 1oz Honey
• 1.5oz Bourbon
• 0.3oz lemon juice
• 3oz water

Warm the water and honey until it dissolves, and then add the lemon juice and whiskey and serve warm.  Lie down with a book, and promptly take a nap.

De La Louisiane

• 1.5oz Rye
• 1.5oz Sweet Vermouth
• 1.5oz Benedictine (or a sweet French/Italian liquor like Lillet Blanc or Pineau)
• 3 dash Peychaud's bitters
• 3 dash absinthe

Stir with ice and strain or serve on the rocks.  Garnish with a cherry.  Hallucinate.  

Guadalajara Sour and a Rosé

Guadalajara Sour. Sounds sexy, right? For me, it conjures up images of beaches and surfing and tanned women in flowy skirts. All of which is entirely inaccurate, since both Guadalajara in Mexico and Guadalajara in Spain are entirely landlocked. Beautiful, culturally rich, but nowhere near a beach. Whether your images are geographically appropriate or not, however, you can't deny that a Guadalajara Sour sounds like something you might want to have in your hand for any number of summertime activities.

Plus, it's hard not to show a little love for a drink that combines tequila and rosé. It seems like such an unlikely combination, but then tequila always surprises me with its ability to play nicely with others. This drink is no exception; it is surprisingly soft and sophisticated. And dangerously refreshing. Also, unlike many sours, you can drink more than one without feeling like the lemon and simple syrup are at war in your belly. Remember how Doug fell in love with Negronis back in April? I've found my cocktail true match. Who would've guessed he'd be enamored of the Italian aperitif and I'd be banging down the door for some more tequila.

The character of your particular Guadalajara Sour is bound to be determined by your choice of rosé. The one we selected was not very dramatic in color, but more than made up for it with its crisp, faintly herbal (lavender!) taste. I love rosé in the warm weather, and I know you aren't supposed to take it too seriously, but I appreciated that this version had a little more substance than some. If you like rosé, you won't be disappointed. 

France and Mexico in the same glass. Who knew.

Guadalajara Sour

New York Times (6/21/2011)

• 1 3/4 oz. blanco tequila
• 3/4 oz. lemon juice
• 3/4 oz. simple syrup
• 3/4 oz. chilled rosé

Combine the tequila, lemon juice, and simple syrup in a cocktail shaker with ice. Shake vigorously and strain into a rocks glass over fresh ice. Hold a spoon with its back side facing up on the surface of the drink and slowly pour the rosé over it. 

Domaine St. Lucie Cotes de Provence Rosé
MiP (2009)
$16

P.S. We grilled some awesome pizza to accompany the cocktails and wine. Griggstown chicken sausage, caramelized zucchini and onion, basil from our  very own garden (read: two potted herbs), and...wait for it...feta. That's right, I've fallen for feta. It only took six years of lobbying on Doug's part. I'm a slow learner, clearly.

Gin: A Love Affair

It's well documented that I'm a lover of all things gin (here, here, here, and here).  Gin is herbal and dry and light, yet beastly.  It helps ease seasickness when drank with bitters (not really) and cures malaria when drank with tonic (definitely not).  Gin martinis were drank by Ernest Hemingway, Humphrey Bogart, and Winston Churchill, though they mostly preferred their cocktail to be a whole lot of gin and nothing else.

And, although this breaks my wife's heart, gin knows no seasonal boundaries.  Mix it with fresh basil and lime juice in the summer for a new take on a gin gimlet. Add a few dashes of deep red Angostura bitters to a few ounces of gin in the spring for a flowery little bizarro martini called Pink Gin. Dig deep into the winter solstice with  Hemingway's martini of choice, the Montgomery: 15 parts gin to 1 part dry vermouth.  Or, welcome in autumn with my most recent gin love, the dramatically bitter Negroni.

There is even a blossoming world of craft, artisan gins made in small batches and aged in oak barrels. These result in a complex spirit, similar to a Jenever, with an added sweetness and hint of oaky char. We enjoyed Ransom Spirits Old Tom Gin in a Martinez, a concoction of gin, sweet vermouth, bitters, and maraschino cherry liqueur. This historic gin cocktail was the precursor to the most ubiquitous cocktail of all - the martini. The Martinez uses a balance of Angostura bitters and sweet vermouth to bring out the floral nature of the Old Tom Gin. A mellow pine and juniper flavor lingers on the tail end of this smooth, slow-your-roll drink. The complexity of this cocktail reminds me of those deep, robust bottles of red wine that seem to take hours to reveal themselves.

Basil Gimlet
The New York Times

• 1.5 oz gin
• 0.75 oz lime juice
• 0.5 oz simple syrup (equal parts sugar in water, heat until it dissolves)
• 5 fresh basil leaves, muddled

Shake over ice and serve up with a basil leaf garnish.

Pink Gin

• 2 oz gin
• 2-4 dashes of Angostura bitters

Serve on the rocks.

Martinez

• 1.75 oz Old Tom gin
• 1 oz sweet vermouth
• splash of maraschino liqueur (the liquid from maraschino cherries works too)
• 1 dash of Angostura bitters

Stir over ice and serve straight up, garnished with a cherry.

Campari Cocktails: The Negroni

Unless you're below the Mason-Dixon line, spring has yet to arrive. I do my part to encourage the season's arrival by shifting my drink repertoire from wintery whiskeys to lighter and crisper fares. Since mint, the star of spring's best cocktails, is just barely poking its head through the ground we have to find another way to shift the drink spectrum. When I'm in need of some cocktail inspiration I always turn to the Washington Post's eminent cocktail columnist, Jason Wilson. Wilson is an avid fan of the bitter aperitif Campari, a cordial Meghan has mixed with club soda from time-to-time. The recipe for Campari is as secretive as the drink is bitter. The Italian liqueur is as odd and unique as any drink you will ever find, as noted by Deirdre Heekin in her collection of essays and wanderings in the world of wine and spirits:

Perhaps every Campari is a first Campari and each time you drink it the taste surprises you and marks the experience that much more clearly, while at the same time bringing on a flood of all the past Campari.  -Deirdre Heekin: Libation, A Bitter Alchemy

If you've been around grit and grapes for a while you'll know that we have a preference for all things bitter (see: Victory IPA and the Gin & Grapefruit). Inspired by Wilson's search for the perfect summer cocktail, we embarked on a Campari voyage. We began with the Negroni and dabbled in the Boulevardier, and these drinks have without a doubt turned our cocktail world upside down. They're bitter yet crisp, refreshing yet odd, and wildly drinkable. Cut to three bottles of Campari later. These cocktails have made many appearances on the rocks or straight up in our martini glasses and there's no end in site. Buy a bottle of Campari for $20 and don't look back.

Negroni

On the rocks or shook over ice and served straight up

• 1 part Gin
• 1 part Campari
• 1 part sweet Vermouth

Boulevardier

On the rocks or shook over ice and served straight up

• 1 part Bourbon
• 1 part Campari
• 1 part sweet Vermouth

Limoncello Martini

We have a bottle of limoncello that has been languishing in the back of our liquor cabinet for almost a year. My parents brought it back from a trip to Italy they took about this time last year when spring was threatening, but hadn't quite arrived.* They visited the Amalfi Coast, where limoncello is traditionally made. Tell me you wouldn't rather be there right now. 

I've been bringing this bottle around to family celebrations, hoping we might all enjoy it together in the traditional way - as a digestivo. But in my family, a sweet after-dinner drink cannot compete with rich chocolate desserts and sambuca and so the bottle stayed on the shelf, waiting to remind me of sunnier places where fresh citrus fruit grows by the sea. And, it turns out that is exactly what I need in early March.

So, I searched for some drinks featuring limoncello. I came across a recipe for Limoncello Champagne cocktails and you better believe I'm making these the next time I get together with my girlfriends (when Prosecco always seems to be in abundant supply). With my more limited bar options at home, I settled on an amped-up Lemon Drop martini. I almost never drink vodka or sweet drinks, but I planned to be watching the Oscars and pretty yellow martinis seemed appropriate for the occasion. The result was sweet and tart and filled with lemony goodness. It isn't the burliest drink in the book, but it is charming in an innocent, girly sort-of way. And sometimes, that's just right.

(About the "his and hers" limoncello cocktails in the picture above.... As it turns out, a weekend in which you've already subjected your husband to discussions about best dressed leading ladies might not be the perfect time to serve up a sweet concoction. I'm not giving up on the idea of limoncello and gin - it could be a nice accompaniment to a summer grilling session - but I think I misplayed my hand this time around.)

Limoncello Martini

You might wonder why the lemon juice is necessary here. I found it made the drink frothy (and therefore much more appealing) and added a subtle tartness.

1.5 oz vodka

1 oz limoncello

1/2 oz orange liqueur (triple sec, cointreau) 

1/2 oz lemon juice

Rim glass with lemon twist and lemon sugar. (We used Lime Tree Cove's pretty neat Barmaid - it rims your glass with all kinds of sugary and salty delights. Check it out if you, like me, are always forgetting to add the glass topping before you pour the drink.) Add ingredients to a shaker; shake vigorously. Pour into a chilled martini glass and enjoy.

*You can also purchase limoncello at most liquor stores. Look for it with the cordials and liqueurs. Or, if you are adventurous in the kitchen, you can make your own.

Apple Smash & Other Holiday Cocktails

The New York Times recently published a list of holiday cocktail recipes, each one designed for a particular situation or drinking preference. In our house, the gin and tonic is the standard-bearer and while it rarely misses the mark, these drinks are festive and seemed to be the perfect accompaniment to tree trimming and overeating.

First up: the Apple Smash, which the Times declares "in honor of country cousins and obscure in-laws." It's perfect for us, too, as it requires no fancy or expensive ingredients - the biggest obstacle to drinking more cocktails at home. The Apple Smash is pleasant, reminiscent of the flavors of my favorite rum toddy, but with a bracing tang from the lemon juice. The cinnamon feels warm, slightly exotic and celebratory, and I liked watching the cinnamon granules swirl around in my glass, getting caught on the crushed pieces of ice. (I may have added a few extra dashes of cinnamon to prolong this fun.) Also, I think I would now like to always eat my apple slices pre-soaked in rum. Those two are a match made in heaven.

Gin and Grapefruit Juice

Two summers ago, our good friend Mark introduced us to the ultimate summertime drink - gin and grapefruit juice. He'd make a few rounds and we'd play cards or admire the garden or maybe head down to the river for a dip - all good, classic summertime activities. The cocktail was the perfect accompaniment - simple, refreshing, light. In the glass, the grapefruit and gin act suprisingly mellow, neither one as tart or strong as when on its own. In fact, the drink tastes damn near healthy, and is a pretty light pink, and for all these reasons, I think it'd give any mimosa a run for its money on the brunch table.

The drink became popular enough that it made an appearance on the cocktail menu at the local coffee shop as the "Midnight Hixon," in honor of Mark.  Doug and Mark often said that gin and grapefruit was the IPA drinker's cocktail - bitter, crisp, and slightly floral...and without the heaviness of too many beers. I was convinced it was an Amherst original until this July, when browsing through a recent issue of Bon Appetit, I found our cocktail re-imagined with a salted rim and the name "Salty Dog." I was thrilled, as I typically like all things salted (and also because I felt like we were in the know). But in this particular instance, the salt only detracted from the tart deliciousness of the drink I was familiar with.

A few weeks ago, we had a spate of late October mugginess that reminded me of the sweltering Jersey summer. I found a grapefruit languishing in the crisper and we toasted the official end of summer (and fall, really) with some gin and juice. 

  

Gin and Grapefruit Juice

• 1.5 oz gin
• 3 oz grapefruit juice, freshly squeezed

If you like a sweeter drink, you can add a splash of grenadine or simple syrup to cut the tartness. Otherwise, just stir and serve on the rocks (with a salt-rimmed glass, if you like that kind of thing). 

Pisco Margarita

Two factors forced me to rethink my margarita recipe: 1.) Meghan claimed a margarita I made her over the summer was boring.  This is like telling me that I'm mishandling the charcoal grill or my martini's not dry enough.  These things should not happen and a small piece of me dies on the inside if and when they do.  2.) We have a big bottle of Chilean Pisco and Meghan claims to not like raw egg in her cocktails.  I know, can you believe the hand I've been dealt?

First, the Pisco.  The dramatic rescue of thirty-three Chilean miners trapped for over two months began this evening as the first of the men has been lifted out of the collapsed mine.  It seems fitting to raise a glass in toast to everyone involved in this miraculous rescue, and what better way to do that than with a classic cocktail adapted with a Chilean specialty.  Last summer I spent a week in Santiago, Chile while visiting a colleague and interviewing for a postdoctoral position.  During that week I drank somewhere between ten and fifty-seven Pisco Sours. Some with hot peppers (Aji Sour), some with ginger (Sour de Campo), and all with raw egg whites.  Pisco is a liquor distilled from grapes (in Chile, that's typically Muscat) originally developed by Spanish "settlers" in Peru.  The drink consists of pisco, lime, simple syrup, egg white, and bitters.  When made right (enter my downfall), it is light, crisp, refreshing, and unlike most cocktails you'll try.