Category: Drink

I picked up my first wooden cookie mold at a flea market. After a little online research I discovered that in Germany and Scandinavia, and in most of the Middle East, cookies made from hand-carved wooden molds are very traditional. You can find hand-carved wooden cookie molds in specialty shops or online. Etsy is a good resource for finding cool ones. A lot of cookie doughs made for molds need to be thoroughly chilled, but this one works straight out of the mixer.

Cinnamon Butter Cookies

• 1 cup (2 sticks) cold butter
• 1 cup (200 g) granulated sugar
• 1 large egg, cold
• 1 glug (probably 1 to 2 teaspoons) vanilla
• 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 1 teaspoon coarse salt
• 3 cups (400 g) all-purpose flour
• Vegetable oil and powdered sugar to coat the cookie molds

Preheat your oven to 350°F.

Whisk the cinnamon, baking powder and flour together in a medium mixing bowl, and set aside.

In your stand mixer or with a hand-held electric mixer, beat the butter until it is reasonably fluffy. Add the sugar, and beat the mixture until it is even fluffier.

Mix in the egg, then the vanilla.

Turn the mixer down to its slowest speed, then spoon the flour mixture in, a bit at a time, so you don’t get covered with flour.

Use a small paint brush — preferably one you haven’t actually painted with – to completely coat the inside of your wooden cookie mold with oil, then use another brush to cover the inside surface of the mold with powdered sugar. You will not have to re-oil the mold, but you need to powder it Every. Single. Time you use it.

Pinch off a chunk of dough — you’ll have to play around to see how much fills your mold, but start with a piece about the size of a ping-pong ball — and press it into the mold, making sure you get dough into all the corners and crevices.

Turn the mold over and smack it sharply into the heel of your hand, over a silicone or parchment-lined baking sheet. You might have to smack your hand several times before the cookie falls free. The more sore your hand gets, the more diligent you will be about thoroughly powdering the mold.

These cookies won’t spread, so feel free to arrange as many on the baking sheet as you wish. Bake for approximately 10 minutes, then remove from the oven and cool completely on the baking sheet, before removing the cookies to a plate for serving.

With the holidays approaching, these cookies are good ones to start your pre-season cookie training with. They are buttery, almost like shortbread, and mildly cinnamon-y. They are delicious warm with ice cream, or ice cold from the freezer, with a small glass of sherry.

Featured photo: Dehli Cooler. Photo by John Fladd.

• 2 ounces London dry gin
• ¾ ounces pineapple juice
• ¾ ounces fresh squeezed lime juice
• ¾ ounces curry syrup (see below)

Combine all ingredients over ice in a cocktail shaker and shake thoroughly, until the ice starts to break up. Strain over fresh ice in a small Collins glass.

The ingredients in this drink all get along, but they all maintain their own identities. The result is less like the mosh pit at a concert and more like a collegial workplace. Each ingredient stands out. If you concentrate, the lime seems to be the dominant flavor, or the pineapple, or maybe the gin. If you were a little nervous about the curry syrup — and admit it, you probably were — you can relax. The garam masala lends a gentle spiciness to this whole operation, with the tiniest bit of heat on the very tail end of each sip.

Calling this a cooler implies that it would be a good conclusion to a hot, dusty afternoon, but in fact it’s a very good way to embrace a rainy November one.

Curry Syrup

• 1 cup (198 g) granulated sugar
• 1 cup (227 g) water
• 1 Tablespoon ground garam masala — Most whole spices should be replaced once a year, but ground spices and spice mixes go stale much more quickly and are really only good for six months or so. This will be a good excuse for you to buy some fresh curry spices. The pre-ground stuff is fine for this application, but if you decide you want to go a step further, buy a bag of whole garam masala spices, toast them in a dry pan when you want them, and grind them yourself.

Heat all three ingredients in a small saucepan and bring to a boil. Let the mixture boil for 30 seconds or so, to make certain that the sugar has gone completely into solution, then remove from the heat. Let the mixture steep for 20 to 30 minutes, then strain it, and store it in your refrigerator for a couple of weeks.

Some thoughts on straining:

Swirling this syrup around in its pan will show you that the spice mixture has not dissolved into the syrup. It has flavored it, and largely sunk to the bottom of the pan, but has not completely committed to this operation. Letting the syrup sit for an hour or so to let the curry precipitate out will help, but you’ll probably want to filter the syrup even so.

A fine-meshed strainer will not be fine enough to catch the small curry particles. Yes, you can use a coffee filter, but that might be too fine and will clog up easily. A year or two ago I bought some slightly coarser strainers from a science lab supplier, but if you don’t need to strain things like this very often, go ahead and use the strainer and line it with an old T-shirt. Just wash it first.

Featured photo: Dehli Cooler. Photo by John Fladd.

These apple bars might actually be bars. But this might also be a cake. Or it could be a pan of apple blondies. This dessert’s status depends on the belief of an individual snacker.

• 12 ounces (340 g) diced apples, about three fist-sized apples; I like to mix it up and use a couple of different types – Granny Smiths and Braeburns, for instance
• ½ cup (1 stick) butter
• 1½ cups flour (180 g) – I find whole wheat works well for rich, brown baked goods like this, but regular all-purpose flour will work just as well
• 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• ½ teaspoon ground cardamom
• ¾ teaspoon baking powder
• 1½ cups (320 g) brown sugar
• 1 egg plus one or two egg yolks – you probably have some yolks left over from making the pumpkin soufflé (see page 17)
• 1 teaspoon vanilla or dark rum
• pinch of coarse salt

Preheat the oven to 350° F.

Line an 8×8” baking pan with parchment paper. If the parchment seems reluctant to stay in the pan, put a dot of butter between the pan and the paper to hold everything in place.

Melt the butter in a small skillet, then pour almost all of it into a dish to cool off. Fry the apple pieces in the remaining butter until they start to brown slightly, then remove the pan from the heat.

In a mixing bowl whisk together the flour, salt, baking powder and spices. Set the mixture aside to psych itself up for its big moment.

In a second bowl — it could be the bowl to your stand mixer, but it doesn’t have to be — whisk the melted butter and sugar together thoroughly. Whisk in the egg and extra yolk, then the vanilla or dark rum. When the gloppy ingredients are all mixed, stir in the dry ingredients, one half at a time, then stir in the fried apples.

Transfer the apple batter to the parchment-lined baking pan, and bake on the center rack of your oven for 40 minutes or so. You can use a toothpick to judge how done it is, or just pat it gingerly, like you would a lizard. It should be golden brown and not squishy. The apple bars, not a lizard, though he probably shouldn’t be squishy either.

Let the bars — or maybe it’s a cake — cool in the pan. Eat warm with vanilla ice cream, or cool and chewy for breakfast.

Featured photo: Apple bar with ice cream. Photo by John Fladd.

The Home Bartender’s Guide and Song Book was published at the height of Prohibition. I dream of owning an actual hard-copy edition someday, but I’ve been reading a digital version from The Internet Archive with great interest.

Alexander

Someone concocted this camouflaged dynamite years ago. Here’s to him. Smooth as silk, its rich, creamy sweetness made it seem as though you were drinking nothing more than a simple chocolate ice cream soda. —The Home Bartender’s Guide and Song Book (1930)

2 ounces gin – When this recipe was written, the quality of any gin available was extremely variable. The Song Book makes references in places along the lines of, “If you can get your hands on some of the good stuff, do such and such,” implying that many readers would be using some pretty rough stuff. If you want to feel super-authentic, go ahead and buy the absolute cheapest bottom-shelf gin you can find. The rest of us will go ahead with something that won’t make us want to claw our eyes out. I’ve been drinking Hendrick’s Oasium lately and have been very pleased with it in this application.

2 ounces crème de cacao – This is about four times the amount of crème de cacao you’re likely to find in any contemporary cocktail, but go ahead and use the full 2 ounces. That isn’t a typo.

2 ounces half & half – The original recipe calls for heavy cream, but going with something slightly lighter leaves the door open for drinking more than one.

Ask your digital assistant to play “East St. Louis Toodle-Oo” by Duke Ellington. This was a standard of the time, and it stands up extremely well, with a rhythm that lends itself to shaking a cocktail.

Combine all three ingredients over ice in a cocktail shaker and shake vigorously for 30 to 45 seconds. You should hear the sound of the ice breaking into shards.

Strain over fresh ice in a rocks glass, and drink, thinking of youthful indiscretions.

The authors of the Song Book nailed this one. There is definitely a ginny backbone to this drink, but mostly it tastes of slightly sweetened dairy and empty promises.

Baby Fingers

We really don’t know who named this one, or why. But we have a good idea that the name is appropriate enough. And if you think Sloe gin means SLOW, you’re mistaken, lady. Many a stubborn genius, whose forehead caressed a curbstone, changed his mind after several ‘Baby Fingers.’ —The Home Bartender’s Guide and Song Book (1930)

1 ounce gin

2 ounces sloe gin

3 dashes bitters – At times I’ve used cardamom bitters and homemade black pepper bitters, and I’ve been pleased with either.

Ask you-know-who to play you Cab Calloway singing “Minnie the Moocher” from the The Blues Brothers soundtrack. You won’t be sorry.

Combine the gin, sloe gin and bitters over ice in a cocktail shaker and shake thoroughly. Strain into a stemmed glass. This cocktail is at its best when it’s skull-shrinkingly cold, and holding it by the stem of a glass helps keep it colder longer.

If you are the type of purist who keeps their gin in the freezer or uses steel or granite cocktail stones to prevent watering your cocktail down, actually use ice this time. This super-boozy cocktail benefits from the slight dilution that comes with shaking it over ice.

Which is not to say it isn’t good. As the authors of the Song Book indicated, it goes down smoothly and deceptively, and the next thing you know you’ve had three of them and you’ve texted your friend with the Very Bad Ideas. It would be too sweet if not for the bitters. It would be too harsh if not for the ice dilution thing.

Featured photo: Baby Fingers and Alexander. Photo by John Fladd.

• 1 20-ounce can of crushed pineapple, drained.
• Juice of 1 small lemon
• ¾ cup (150 g) sugar
• 2¼ cups (510 g) half & half
• 2 ounces (1/4 of an 8-ounce package) cream cheese
• 1 Tablespoon light corn syrup – you don’t think you have any, but there is almost certainly half a bottle, pushed to the back of the cabinet where you keep your baking stuff.
• 2 Tablespoons elderflower liqueur
• 1 teaspoon vanilla
• ½ teaspoon almond extract
• 1 lb. (450 g) mixed frozen fruit – I like strawberries and dark cherries.
• 1 Tablespoon sugar

Combine all the ingredients for the ice cream base (everything but the frozen fruit and the tablespoon of sugar) in your blender, and blend thoroughly. Strain through a fine-meshed strainer, then chill in your refrigerator for at least an hour or two — preferably overnight. If you don’t have an ice cream maker, double-bag the ice cream base in large zippered plastic bags, and freeze on its side, to make a solid sheet of frozen base.

When your ice cream base is sufficiently chilled or frozen, roughly chop the frozen fruit, then mix with the remaining 1 Tablespoon of sugar, and set it aside. As the fruit thaws, the juice will bleed into the sugar and create a truly remarkable syrup.

If you’re using an ice cream maker, blend the chilled ice cream base briefly, then churn it in your ice cream maker, according to the manufacturer’s instructions.

If you are not using an ice cream maker, break your sheet of frozen base up into chunks and blend on low-to-medium speed in your blender. As the chunks are ground up by the blades of the blender, it will produce just enough heat to mix everything to the consistency of soft-serve ice cream, which is roughly the same texture as an ice cream maker would bring it to.

Spoon the ice cream base and syrupy fruit into whatever container you’re going to use to freeze it, alternating layers. Label the containers, and harden the ice cream in your freezer for at least a couple of hours before serving it. This should make a little more than a quart of finished ice cream.

Tutti Fruiti is a style of ice cream that was at the peak of its popularity in the 1920s and ’30s. It has a fruity — in this case, pineappley — flavor, with bright pops of fruit. For the full effect of eating it, eat it while watching a silent movie. I recommend Easy Street (1917) with Charlie Chaplin, or The Mark of Zorro (1920) with Douglas Fairbanks. This would be an excellent Date Night activity.

Featured photo: Photo by John Fladd.

• 2½ ounces medium-shelf vodka. Once you get to a certain price point with vodkas, it takes a pretty refined palate to distinguish between them. Once you add other, more flavorful ingredients, it becomes virtually impossible. You can tell when you’re dealing with the cheap stuff — it has a chemical taste that is not appealing. When you get to the Absolut/Tito’s/Grey Goose level, you can feel comfortable going with whatever is on sale at the liquor store that week.
• 2 ounces sake — I went with a small bottle called Demon Slayer. I have to admit that the main attraction was a cool label.
• ½ ounce elderflower liqueur. I like St. Germaine.
• 1 ounce fresh squeezed lime juice. If you think of cocktail ingredients as having personalities, lime juice is everyone’s best friend. She gets along with everyone but very seldom brings any drama. She’s the one you could call at 2 in the morning to talk about the weird dream you just had.
• A large sprig or half a handful of fresh mint.

Start by bruising the mint. Squeeze it in your hand, then roll it around like you’re making a Play-Doh snake. Drop it into a martini glass. This drink is at its best when it is very cold, so using a glass with a stem is key; it keeps the warmth of your hands from heating the drink up.

Fill a cocktail shaker about a third of the way up with ice, then add the vodka, the sake, the elderflower liqueur and the lime juice. Shake vigorously, until you hear the ice start to break up in the shaker. (I don’t know about you, but tiny shards of ice floating on the surface of a cocktail are one of my Favorite Things. I do also like brown paper packages tied up with string, though.)

Strain the contents of the shaker over the bruised mint in the martini glass. The mint will act as both an ingredient and a garnish, so you don’t need to spend important Cocktail Time worrying about that.

Sit somewhere comfortable and devote 100 percent of your attention to your drink, which features a quality I don’t create often: subtlety.

Your first impression will be of the lime juice. She’s delicious here, but not as acidic as you might have been expecting. The elderflower liqueur has taken a bit of her edge off. Because she is such a good friend, though, as you sit savoring the first sip of this drink, she will say, “Oh, have you met my friends?” and she will introduce them to you, one-by-one, starting with the mint. There will be depth from the sake, and a very faint, mellow sweetness from the elderflower.

And you will remind yourself that while samurai were renowned as brilliant warriors, they were also expected to excel at something less in-your-face — flower arranging perhaps, or writing poetry.

It’s a good drink.

Featured photo: Photo by John Fladd.