Category: Drink

We had just come home from a long trip, and I’ll admit that I was a little out of it. Jet lag and a week of over-indulgence had definitely taken a toll on me. And yet I made a surprisingly good decision — there was still time to go to my usual exercise class at the gym and try to clear some of the fog from my brain.

A less good decision was eating two bowls of coleslaw before I left the house.

An hour later found me tripping over my feet and frustrating one of my workout friends.“You are really out of it tonight,” he said, not unkindly. “What’s the problem?”

“Six time zones and a bellyful of coleslaw,” I told him, which stopped us both in our tracks, because that is probably the best title for a blues album ever: Six Time Zones and a Belly Full of Coleslaw

Our theme this week is the blues.

Blueberry Syrup

• 1¾ cups (250 grams) frozen wild blueberries, the kind you have in your freezer to use for smoothies.
• 1¾ cups (250 grams) sugar
• Juice of half a lemon

In a small saucepan, heat the blueberries and sugar over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until the mixture comes to a boil. Let it boil for a few seconds, to make sure that the sugar has thoroughly dissolved. Because the blueberries started out frozen — Well, they didn’t start out that way. They were young once, and had hope and joy in their hearts, napping in the dappled sunshine, listening to birdsong. — At any rate, because the wild blueberries started today frozen, their cell walls have been pierced by large ice crystals, and they will give up a surprising amount of juice. During this syrup-making process, if you wanted to help things along with a potato masher, who could blame you?

Remove the blueberry pot from the heat, and place a fine-meshed strainer on top of it. Squeeze half a lemon into the mixture. You could use a hand-held, nut-cracker-looking juicer, or one of those reamers that look like a primitive medical device, or even the ends of some kitchen tongs to get all the juice out of the lemon. Because you remembered to put a strainer on top of the pot, you don’t have to worry about getting seeds or pulp into your blueberry mixture. Stir the lemon juice into the blueberry sauce.

Use your strainer to separate the cooked berries from the syrup. Squash the pile of berries with the back of a spoon — a little, a lot — it’s up to you. (Don’t throw them out, though. You have just made very nice blueberry compote to have on toast or stirred into yogurt.) After 15 minutes or so, transfer the syrup to a bottle. It will keep in your refrigerator for several weeks.

Blueberry Margarita

• 2 ounces blanco tequila – I’ve become very fond of Siete Miserios, lately.
• 1 ounce blueberry syrup – see above
• ¾ ounce fresh squeezed lime juice

Combine all three ingredients over ice in a cocktail shaker, then shake until very cold. At this time of year, it will be ready when a thin layer of frost forms on the shaker.

Strain into a cocktail or margarita glass. If you wanted even more ice, the Margarita Police would not stop you.

Sip, sitting in your garden or on your deck (or surreptitiously on a bench in the park), listening to Carlos Santana, who, unlike Life, never disappoints.

Unless you’re a purist, this is everything you want in a margarita at this time of year. It is sweet and sour and slightly smoky and utterly refreshing. Blueberries play extremely well with sour citrus fruit. We tend to pair them with lemons, but they are more than happy to dance with limes. Tequila too, has an affinity for citrus. Even the concept of this drink is refreshing.

Salud.

Featured photo: Blueberry Margarita. Photo by John Fladd.

Ingredients:

• 3 ounces cold-brew coffee concentrate – Trader Joe’s makes a very good one.
• 6 ounces half & half
• 1 ounce simple syrup
• frozen coffee (see below)
• dark chocolate, frozen (optional)

Coffee Ice

The secret to truly excellent ice coffee is coffee ice.

We’ve all been there, really, truly enjoying a cup of iced coffee on a bone-deep level. Not guzzling it — we’ve been around the block a few times, and we know that an ice cream headache is a real danger in situations like this, but we’ve also learned the hard way that we don’t make great decisions after ingesting an injudiciously large caffeine bolus.

So we nurse our iced coffee.

The first sip is transcendent.

The second one, 10 minutes later, is still pretty good.

After half an hour, we ask ourselves if it was really that good to begin with. Right now, it’s only so-so.

It eventually sinks in that the enemy here is the ice, gradually, subtly diluting the iced coffee, like an unwanted watery chaperone.

The secret is to make your ice out of coffee. Pieces of coffee ice will melt, but when they do, do you know what they add to your iced coffee? More coffee!

Use leftover coffee to make ice cubes, or make some with cold-brew concentrate.

But it isn’t the 1970s. What if you don’t have an ice cube tray?

Do you have a cake pan? Or a large zip-lock bag? Use one of those to make a block of ice, then chop it up with an ice pick.

But this isn’t a suspense movie; what if you don’t have an ice pick?

Wrap the ice in a tea towel, and swing it over your head, smashing it into the kitchen counter. Do this three or four times and you will have your choice of smashed ice — from coffee snow, to jagged coffee-sicles, to chunks of frozen coffee that will take up half your glass. Use what you want, then put the rest in a Tupperware container in the freezer for your next, inevitable iced coffee.

The actual iced coffee

The question here is how much restraint do you want to show with your iced coffee? The amounts here will make a very respectable 16-ounce serving. Maybe you only need a little pick-me-up. Maybe you have guests. Maybe you have in-laws staying with you. There are any number of reasons why you might want to drink a reasonable, temperate amount of iced coffee.

But maybe you are alone, or Having. A. Day. Maybe the kids or your boss are making extremely unreasonable demands. Maybe you need to drink enough iced coffee to stun a water buffalo. I’m not here to judge you.

The important thing to keep in mind here is the proportions. A one-quart glass jar would work just as well as a juice glass for this.

Pick a glass, then fill it halfway with coffee ice.

Add the half & half and cold-brew concentrate in a 2:1 ratio.

Add enough simple syrup to sweeten to taste.

Stir.

Using a microplane grater, or the tiniest holes on your box grater, grate frozen dark chocolate on top of your coffee, as garnish.

If you think you don’t like iced coffee, you might want to try this. It is creamy and slightly sweet. It isn’t a takeout milkshake pretending to be iced coffee. It’s the real thing. It’s delicately sweet, without much of the bitterness that mass-produced ice coffee tends to have. It starts out pretty innocent, whistling and looking up at the ceiling, but over the course of an hour it becomes more and more grown-up coffee.

Featured photo: Iced Coffee. Photo by John Fladd.

You know how you can be in a large crowd, almost overwhelmed by the dozens of conversations going on around you, but if someone 30 feet away says your name, it grabs your attention immediately? I have the same reaction if someone is discussing pizza or tells a knock-knock joke.

Knock-knock.

Who’s there?

From.

From who?

From “WHOM”! Jeesh, I can’t take you anywhere.

Have you ever wondered why that never happens when you’re watching a crowd scene in a movie? It’s because the background extras have been instructed to say a particular word to each other, over and over — one that is unlikely to grab anyone’s attention. If they just said, “blah, blah,” it wouldn’t sound right, but if they said actual sentences, it would run the risk of distracting from the lead actors’ lines.

The industry term for this is rhubarbing, because the mantra-like word they are instructed to say is often “rhubarb.”

So now you know that.

Strawberry rhubarb collins

• 2 ounces vodka – I’ve been using Tito’s lately, and I’ve been pretty pleased with it.
• 2 frozen strawberries (about 1 ounce)
• ½ ounce orange curaçao
• ¾ ounce fresh squeezed lemon juice
• ¾ ounce rhubarb syrup (see below)
• 4 to 5 ounces tonic water

Blend the frozen strawberries and vodka thoroughly. If you have a miniature blender for making smoothies, this is an ideal use for it. Otherwise, mash the berries up with the vodka in the bottom of a glass with a pestle or a wooden spoon.

Strain the berry vodka through a fine-meshed strainer, into the bottom of an ice-filled Collins glass. Add the curaçao, lemon juice, and rhubarb syrup. Stir thoroughly.

Top with tonic water, then stir again. Add a straw, and drink somewhere relaxing.

Obviously, strawberries and rhubarb are a natural combination; the sweetness of the berries plays off the tartness of the rhubarb. Once in a while you will find a strawberry pie in the wild, or possibly a rhubarb pie, but strawberry-rhubarb is a reliable standby. They work well in this drink but get a little more backbone from the citrusy curaçao. The lemon juice keeps everything from getting too sweet, and the slight bitterness of the tonic levels everything out while bringing fizziness to the table.

Early summer brings a lot of rites of passage — weddings, graduations, anniversaries. This is a good drink to sit and think. Not to brood — this isn’t Irish whiskey — but to take a minute and think about where your life is headed. It is an optimistic drink.

Rhubarb syrup

Clean several stalks of rhubarb, then chop it into smallish pieces, about 1-inch dice.

Freeze the chopped rhubarb for several hours, maybe overnight. This will allow large ice crystals to perforate all the cells and allow a lot of weeping (on the part of the rhubarb, hopefully not yours) when you cook it.

Combine the frozen rhubarb and an equal amount of sugar (by weight) in a small saucepan.

Cook over medium heat. As the rhubarb melts, the sugar will draw out its juice. You will be surprised at how much juice there is. About halfway through the cooking process you might want to help the process along with a potato masher or the bottom of a beer bottle.

When the rhubarb juice comes to a boil, stir it for a few seconds to make sure all the sugar has dissolved. Remove from the heat, and squeeze a small amount of lemon juice into it. Let it cool, then strain it and store the syrup in a bottle. It will keep for a month or more in your refrigerator.

Save the rhubarb pulp. It looks like it has come out on the losing end of a fight, but it is actually a super-delicious compote that is excellent on toast or ice cream.

Featured photo: Photo by John Fladd.

On a good day, a cucumber is 96 percent water. That hydrocentic (a word I just made up and am very pleased with) nature of a cucumber lends itself really well to cocktails. If you can extract the water? It’s bonded with cucumber flavor. That makes for a very good syrup. If you chop a cucumber up and soak it in alcohol, the volatile enzymes that give the cucumber its flavor are happy to jump ship and bond with the alcohol instead of the water. The more finely you chop it, the more surface area you provide for this reaction to play out. Let’s do this.

Cucumber syrup

(Trust me; it’s delicious.) Wash an English cucumber — one of the long, plastic-wrapped, ridgey ones — and chop it into medium (1/2-inch) dice. You don’t have to peel it or even remove the stem.

Put the cucumber pieces into a bowl, and put the bowl in your freezer. You can use any kind of container you like, but an open-top bowl will make your freezer smell like cucumbers. Which is nice.

Inside the cells of the cucumber, ice crystals will start to form. It will probably take an hour or two for the cucumber chunks to freeze up completely.

Using a kitchen scale, weigh the cucumber pieces in a small saucepan, and add an equal amount of sugar by weight. If you don’t have a kitchen scale, a typical English cucumber will probably give you around three cups of diced up chunks. This will probably weigh around the same as 1¾ cups of white sugar.

Cook on medium heat, stirring occasionally. The first time you do this, you will be shocked at how much liquid comes out of the cucumbers. (It’s around 96 percent water, remember?)

At some point, crush the soggy cucumber pieces with a potato masher to coax even more liquid out.

Bring the mixture to a boil. Stir it for a few seconds, to make sure that all the sugar has dissolved. Remove from heat and let it sit for half an hour or so, then, using a fine-meshed strainer and a funnel, pour it into an empty bottle. In my experience, it will last about a month in your refrigerator. You will probably end up with about two cups of syrup.

Cucumber gin

(This is even more straightforward.) Wash, but don’t peel, some cucumbers.

Put the cucumbers and an equal amount of gin, by weight (see above) in your blender. Because your goal is to overwhelm the gin with cucumber flavor, you can get away with using a fairly non-fancy gin (I like Gordon’s). Blend at the lowest speed for about a minute. The goal here is to chop the cucumbers up pretty finely, to give them more surface area exposed to the alcohol. You’re not actually trying to puree it or anything.

At this point, you will have a bright green mixture that looks like hot dog relish. Pour it into a wide-mouthed jar, label it, and store it somewhere cool and dark for seven days, shaking it two or three times per day.

Strain and bottle it. If you let it set for another day or so, some of the tiny cucumber particles will sink to the bottom of the bottle, and you can strain it again with a coffee filter to make it prettier. Either way, it will be delicious.

Cucumber fizz

(Finally!)

• 2 ounces cucumber gin (see above)
• ½ ounces cucumber syrup (see above)
• 3 to 5 mint leaves
• 5 ounces plain seltzer
• lemon wedge for garnish

Muddle the mint at the bottom of a tall glass. Add ice.

Add the syrup, the gin, and then the seltzer. Squeeze the lemon wedge, then drop it into the pool. Stir.

Cucumber and mint are a classic combination. Gin loves being carbonated. The lemon gives a hint of acid that keeps the cucumber from tasting flat. This is light and fizzy and reminds you that, against all expectations, a cucumber is a fruit. It is the cocktail friend you never knew you wanted to be friends with.

I like to think that it is happy to make the sacrifice for you.

Featured photo: Cucumber Fizz. Photo by John Fladd.

I know I’m not the first person to point this out, but the original versions of a lot of nursery rhymes and fairytales were pretty brutal. In the original version of Little Red Riding Hood, the story ends with the wolf eating her. Ring Around the Rosie is about the Black Death. In The Old Woman Who Lived in Her Shoe, the shoe is less an actual shoe and more a family-planning metaphor. An old version of Snow White was known in Switzerland as The Death of Seven Dwarfs.

Few of them though, are as hard-core as Rapunzel:

“The prince was overcome with grief, and in his despair, he threw himself from the tower. He escaped with his life, but the thorns into which he fell poked out his eyes. Blind, he wandered about in the forest, eating nothing but grass and roots, and doing nothing but weeping and wailing over the loss of his beloved wife. Thus, he wandered about miserably for some years, finally happening into the wilderness where Rapunzel lived miserably with the twins that she had given to.” — Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm, Rapunzel

Never mind Rapunzel’s mother selling her into captivity to a witch in exchange for a head of lettuce at the beginning of the story. These four sentences alone would make an eight-episode Netflix series. Also, wife? Twins?

“That’s both fascinating, and disturbing,” you say, “but how does it relate to cocktails?” I’m glad you asked.

In my relative youth, a combination of poor decision-making skills and the callous forces of Capitalism left me living in a forest cottage for a summer, with literally no money, existing largely on birdseed and the berries that I could forage in a nearby clearing. I can attest to the flesh-slashing properties of blackberry thorns.

I call today’s cocktail“Too Many Thorns.” The prince from Rapunzel would agree with me.

Too many thorns

• 2 ounces gin – this week, I’m using Engine Organic Gin, which comes in an oil can, because why not?
• ½ ounce blackberry syrup (see below)
• 1 ounce fresh squeezed lemon juice
• ½ ounce blackberry brandy
• 1 egg white

Add all ingredients to a cocktail shaker, and dry-shake it (without ice) for 30 seconds. It is important to do this, because if you add an egg white directly to ice it will seize up in an extremely unappetizing way.

Add ice, and shake for another 30 seconds.

Strain into a cocktail or coupé glass. Your drink should have a foamy head on it.

Raise a toast to our unnamed, bethorned prince wandering blindly through the wilderness, eating grass and roots, and eat some pâté on a cracker.

So, what’s with the egg white?

Two things: First, it adds a foamy, velvety quality to a cocktail. Additionally, egg whites are slightly alkaline, which levels out the acidity from the lemon juice and blackberries. Lemon is a classic combination with blackberries, and the bite from the gin cuts through the sweetness of the drink and reminds you that there is an adult in the room. Hopefully you.

Though it’s usually grown-ups who climb towers and get their eyes gouged.

Blackberry syrup

Combine one bag of frozen blackberries with an equal amount (by weight) of sugar in a small saucepan. Cook on medium heat. As the berries thaw, the sugar will draw the juice out from them. Because they’ve been frozen, all the cells in the berries have been stabbed by ice crystals and are more than willing to cry about it. Cook slowly, until the mixture comes to a boil. Somewhere in this process, mash everything with a potato masher. Let the mixture boil for 10 to 15 seconds, to make sure that all the sugar has dissolved.

Remove from the heat, then strain it to remove seeds and berry guck. This will keep for several weeks in your refrigerator.

Featured photo: Blackberry without the thorns. Photo by John Fladd.

In my youth, in the late 18th century, I watched a television show about stunt performers. One of the things that stuck with me was a stunt man getting ready to be thrown off a roof, and after going over all his safety protocols, the last thing he did before the fall was to make sure he had his “buddy” with him — in this case, a tiny, dog’s squeaky toy. Apparently, many stunt people have a superstition about carrying a small toy with them during a stunt, so they have a friend with them and don’t have to go through something harrowing alone.

Most driving is somewhat harrowing for me, so for many years I’ve carried a “buddy” with me. In my case he is a 2-inch-high figurine of a musketeer, holding a sword in his right hand and a dagger in his left. Having him with me has always made me feel slightly cooler. I like to imagine myself raising an eyebrow, twirling my mustache with one hand and nonchalantly placing my other on the hilt of my sword. In my daydream, an alley full of street toughs — or, more likely, a clerk at the DMV — would scuttle away, completely intimidated.

Apparently I’m not the only one to feel that way. For three cars and several mechanics, I’ve dropped my car off to be serviced, only to find my musketeer on the dashboard waiting for me, obviously placed there when the mechanic was done playing with him.

Last week, my teenager asked me to drive them to school. It was the morning of the AP Literature Exam, and the apprehension was palpable. When I pulled into the parking lot of the school, we just sat in silence for a moment or two. Eventually, lacking any practical advice, I pulled my musketeer from his spot under my dashboard and held him out.

“Would you like to take The Musketeer with you?”

A moment’s silence.

“Yes, please.”

I’ve been facing down a few challenges lately, and I for one, could stand a little more insouciance in my life, right now.

The Musketeer

This is a riff on a cocktail called The Aramis, after one of the title characters in The Three Musketeers. Apparently there already is a drink called The Three Musketeers, but it is a sweet, ice creamy, after-dinner affair named after the candy bar. That’s not really what I’m going for here, so I’ve adapted something a bit more specific.

• 2 ounces very cold gin — I put mine in the freezer for several hours
• 1 ounce fresh squeezed lime juice
• ¼ ounce simple syrup
• ½ ounce blue Curaçao

Combine the gin, lime juice and simple syrup over ice, in a cocktail shaker. Shake until the shaker starts to frost over.

Pour into a cocktail glass.

Using a spoon, touching the inside of the glass, slowly pour the blue Curaçao down the side of the glass. Because it is denser than the rest of the cocktail, it should sink to a puddle in the bottom.

Ask your digital assistant to play the William Tell Overture at volume 9. Sip your drink like a boss.

In theory, blue Curaçao is orange-flavored. The reality is that it just tastes blue. The gin and lime juice are pretty bracing, but the hint of syrup and the Curaçao round it out. It will help you feel like a musketeer named after a Greek philosopher.

Featured photo: The Musketeer. Photo by John Fladd.