Southbound Train

Mixology Monday, Local Style

My kitchen is overflowing with vegetables – specifically vegetables of vine growing origin. I suspect that everyone else in Middle Tennessee has piles of squash and cucumbers right now too, because it is August in this fertile land and squash, in particular, seem to grow like weeds. The squash is good steamed, or in pasta, or on pizza, and I have plans to deal with some excess in the form of bread. Breathe a sigh of relief, all around, because I am not making squash into a drink. The cucumbers, on the other hand, have been clustering around the bar, and it seemed unfair to relegate them to only becoming the stir stick of my Pimms Cup.

I’d been reading about a cucumber soup that called for juicing (rather than grating), saw a recipe for cucumber granita, and then, while looking for space to put more Cucumis sativus into the fridge, I bumped into my home cured gravlax. The random inputs assembled themselves into a cool, pale green and refreshing drink, with the added benefit of not having to put the cucumbers away.

I used two Lemon cucumbers, unpeeled, from our CSA basket, with one Garden Sweet Burpless (partially peeled) thrown in for a little more color. The juicer made quick work of those and a whole lemon, rind and all. I tossed in a knob of ginger with the lemon, so coming out of the juicer I had a pale green pitcher of cool and a frothy yellow pitcher of spicy. These two went into an icy shaker and were joined by the gravlax inspired (and all important alcoholic) element of akavit. Poured into cocktail glasses, the resulting drink looked cool and refreshing and lent itself to the absolutely corny moniker of ‘the cool cucumber’ for which I make no apologies.

Even with the heat of the ginger, this was a thin drink – the watery quality of the cucumber and the briskness of the akavit made it taste a little like spiked spa water. On a hot evening following a blazing day this wasn’t a disappointment, but upon review I’d use a lime or two instead of the lemon, which was what I had when inspiration struck. I made a second batch and added a little simple syrup which, while it rounded out the flavors, also dulled the crispness of the akavit that finished the drink; I wouldn’t do that again. I don’t know how many Tennesseans drink akavit, but that cucumber, grown about 15 miles from my house, sure is local.

“the cool cucumber”

1 oz akavit
2 oz cucumber juice, strained
½ oz lemon/ginger juice, strained

Shake, strain into cold cocktail glasses, garnish with (what else?) a cucumber circle.

 

Ohhhh, more hurricanes!!!

Oh yes, Memphis Pat O's

New Orleans, Remembered

(Mixology Monday, first try!)

Landing in New Orleans in a steamy darkness, travelling with friends and intent on some sort of excess and disorderly conduct, what is there to do but go directly and without hesitation to the flaming water hedonistic garden pleasure dome of Pat O’s? It isn’t as though anyone expected refinement; the shocking red hurricanes that littered our table and stained our lips were exactly what we were looking for, and the hilarity at the bottom of those glasses suited everyone just fine.

 

I don’t regret any of the countless hurricanes I’ve drunk in the various flaming gardens of Pat O’s – products, completely, of their place and state of mind, I like them for what they are. In the clean, well lit and relatively sober refuge of my own home however, a shockingly crimson glass of syrup isn’t my first choice … ever. We’ve got rum to drink, though – lots of it – and hurricanes are a natural vehicle, so Mike took a stab at something a bit more refined. The idea, he says, was to take the original Hurricane recipe and “class it up” into a “proper” cocktail. And so:

Les Bontemps Roulez

1 oz White Rum
1 oz Angostura 1919 Gold Rum
1/2 oz lime juice
1/2 oz Passion Fruit Syrup
1/4 oz Maraschino Liqueur
1/4 oz Grenadine
2 dashes Peychaud's Bitters

Start by rinsing the 2 dashes of bitters around the glass.  Mix all other ingredients in shaker, strain and serve.

My first sip was a shock of vanilla from the Angostura rum. The Marachino deepens the flavor, and the grenadine lends an echo of that red syrup sweetness. The bitters, Mike says, are a geographic reminder.

I think the Angostura, though good, might be a little aggressive here, and the heathen in me might have liked a touch more of the sweetness, but all told I did enjoy the rum goodness without the sticky floors.

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

The Sazerac, on the other hand, starts out grown up. We did drink them on that same sticky trip three summers ago, setting out on a hot trek to the Fairmont. We staggered out of the hot and slightly hung over afternoon into the cool hotel and felt a bit wilted in such clean and carpeted surroundings. Low couches in the Sazerac bar proved difficult to get out of after the consumption of not one, but two Sazeracs in all their intense glory. I’ve never been an anise fan but the Sazerac might be the tipping point in convincing me that the balance of goodness might lie (at least for drinks) on the side of the licorice. I’ve always liked tarragon in my chicken salad, though, so Mike’s revisiting of a Sazerac in a stripped down, culinary way was a huge hit:

Sazerac Redux

1 oz Rye
3/4 oz Cognac (nothing fancy)
Tarragon Leaves
1/4 oz simple syrup (4:3)
2 dashes Peychaud's Bitters

Muddle one stem's worth of tarragon leaves with the simple syrup in a rocks glass.  Add alcohol, bitters and ice to mixture and stir 'til frigid.  Garnish with Tarragon leaf (if you're really good, candy the leaf first!)

Like the fussing with the hurricane, the idea here, per Mike, was to return to the basics of the drink, and add a modern twist. I’d love to paraphrase him, but really, I should quote:

“I find that Absinthe or Pastis lend too strong a flavor, even when rinsed around and dumped out of the glass.  The tarragon brings the Anise taste without overpowering the other ingredients.  The drink was originally made with Cognac, but combining it with the Rye gives the best of both worlds.  Sure, it seems like a real sazerac and a mint julep got into a street fight with the herb vendor, but in the end it drinks like a sazerac.”

Clearing the Decks

((I've been documenting what I cook, mostly for my own edification but perhaps to get people to ask to visit, or ask to come to dinner (really! please ask!) here, but every so often I like to spend a few more words on the subject...))

We pick up our weekly CSA vegetables on Wednesdays, and that means that somewhere around Monday I have to critically examine what lurks in the vegetable drawer and find a way to use it. It isn’t that I’m not liking what we get, but it is still leaning a little towards the greens, and those aren’t the easiest to get my cooking head around, at least creatively. This Monday found a particularly large offering; I’m pretty sure I haven’t cooked enough in the face of Arugula’s Star bounty.

A trip to Publix on Sunday evening had turned up Sockeye salmon, fresh and wild and impossibly red. We bought it, remembering a summer in Redwood Shores where the local Nob Hill had it on sale for a week and we ate it exclusively, somehow not tiring of it even after the cat progressed from begging for scraps to refusing bits of actual flesh. It was as good as I remembered, broiled with a little bit of tarragon mustard and local honey, and I missed Martini weaving furrily around my ankles, asking for just a little bit.

I sliced yellow summer squash thinly and put them in a foil packet with a lemony herb so fresh that it bled into spicy, olive oil and a healthy sprinkle of the German herb salad mix I’ve been keeping on the counter. Those went in with the salmon while I tackled three bunches of young fennel, feathery tops and all, in a chef’s pan with olive oil. I wanted to add lemon but Mike had co-opted them for Pisco Sours, so I sliced the rind finely and tossed it into the pan with a spoonful of sugar and kept stirring until the whole mess was wilted together and sporting brownish black edges.

The peaches we’d bought for flavoring vodka demanded attention, too, so I picked out the most ripe candidates, peeled and sliced them and dumped them into a baking dish, topped with a little sweet short dough. I’ve always read that you should make sweet pastry dough by mushing the butter into the flour with your fingers, and this has always seemed a hassle to me that I have avoided with melting butter and stirring and using a mechanical device, but I didn’t want to dirty anything else so I used my fingers. Surprise, surprise, it was easy, quick and resulted in really light short crust dropped over of the peaches.

I made a salad, too, with (what else) CSA greens and radishes, a few dried black currants thrown in for sweetness, but the lettuce was too bitter even for me, and I ended up picking the currants and radishes out and ignoring the lettuce. I’ve been reading about grilled romaine salads recently, and maybe this lettuce has a date with the new grill, but it might be finding its way to the Piggers. They’re certainly asking noisily for fresh greens, and they aren’t picky.

I’m not quite used to cooking in this kitchen yet. I have so much space, but it seems like once I start cooking I’m out of space quickly. I miss being able to chop right on the counter, and I’m never sure if I should be using the island the way I am (facing out) or the other way, making it convenient to the sink. The expanse of counter baffles me, and I feel like things get marooned out on it and make it crowded, so I’m always shoved into little bits and corners. Having worked in a small space for years, I’m still learning how to best make use of this big one. I’ll have plenty of materials to practice with soon enough – CSA pickup is in two hours…

Here’s what we drank – Mike is calling it a Pisco Inferno, and I’m pretty pleased that I spotted the powdered egg whites on the shelf that made it possible!

1 1/2 oz Pisco
1/2 egg white
1 oz lemon juice
1 oz 4:3 Simple Syrup - 1 oz = 1 tsp sugar at this ratio

Combine all ingredients in a shaker and shake more than you think you need to - you are working up a heady foam. Pour into rocks glasses filled with ice.  Garnish with Angostura Bitters. ((He’s just taken delivery of a Misto he plans to load with bitters and flame onto the surface of the drink, per instructions from Jeffrey Morganthaler’s blog, a place I can see is going to lead us to all sorts of fun and trouble. If he (and the house) remain unexploded, it should be fun.))

Taking My Birthday Resolution Seriously

I’m starting to think that we can’t do anything in reasonable measures. We didn’t just take a trip – we travelled for three months. We didn’t just get a new house – we moved to Tennessee. We don’t just buy cars – we pick them up in Europe. I’m sensing a theme … and I fear it begun to color our drinking. It isn’t just the new wine fridge, filled past capacity. Or the hours we spent on Saturday cruising the Nashville wine and liquor shops. Oh, no, it is worse than that. Take a look at my counter:

That’s evolution there, my friends: of Rain into “Georgia peach vodka” and Bombay into “basis of a Bramble blackberry gin.” We already have a bottle of “would you like a stronger tiki drink” (also known as Pineapple Vodka) in the fridge, and I think Mike wants to hurry these two along so he can start on something new.

The LA bar scene has shifted (on the high end, anyway) to classic cocktails done right, and after a few rounds at places like Providence, Gordon Ramsay, Cut and others, we (along with D-squared) have clearly come to embrace the old school cocktail. I went on an odd liquor shopping spree last fall, coming home with a trunk full of esoterica like Heering, Applejack and Parfait Amour. Mike completed my collection at Christmas with a much coveted bottle of Crème de Violette. The volition and the ingredients were there, but the time seemed lacking. Now, with a huge kitchen, spare time a plenty and social engagements looming weeks and months on the horizon rather than days, we’re indulging in this expanded and improved hobby. Inspired by a (I suspect rather expensive, in many ways) night at Absinthe with Daniel, Mike has taken to the shaker with a vengeance. A stop at the Farmer’s Market for peaches also netted us the alluded to blackberries, so Mike set out to make a bramble. Most of the recipes call for crème de mure, but we wanted to go with the fresh. He ended up with the following:

The Blackberry Bramble
Muddle two (large) blackberries with ¾ oz of simple syrup and ¾ oz fresh squeezed lemon juice. It forms a really dark mush at the bottom of the tall glass, to which you add 1 ½ oz Hendricks gin. Fill the glass with crushed ice, then top off with club soda and stir (a step which reminded Mike that we need a cocktail stirrer) so as not to bruise the club soda (?). Garnish with a blackberry.

The nice part about drinking this at home was that when I got to the end I could go to the sink, scoop out the ice and get to the muddled berries at the bottom ... without looking like a five year old digging for the cherry in my Shirley Temple in public.