Category: Drink

“Hey, Susan.”

“Evenin’, Alice. The usual?”

“Please. Busy night?”

“Well, you know how it goes; everyone’s busy — kinda part of the job description — but they’re not busy here at the moment. What about you? Looks like you’ve had a rough one.”

“Ugh. You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had. You know Sylvia? The worker on Level Three? Yeah, anyway, she came in with a story about a case of strawberries that fell off the back of a truck and got smashed all over the highway. It sounded like a sweet gig — all the sugar, half the flying — so I shot out of here and went to find it.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Yeah, but I’m such a freakin’ genius that I didn’t wait around and watch her whole dance. It turns out she’s got a bit of an accent on account of she’s missing part of her left foreleg and I got the directions muddled. I ended up downtown at a dumpster behind a burger joint.”

“Oof! Sorry.”

“Well, it wasn’t so bad. It turns out there was a library about a block away with a window box full of geraniums, so I ended up meeting my quota.”

“That’s our girl! You always come through for us in the clutch.”

“Yeah, thanks, but it’s not getting any easier. I’m not two weeks old anymore.”

“Her Imperial Majesty should be pleased.”

“The Queen? Yeah, I hope so. You know, I met her once.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, she’s really nice. Turns out her name is Betty. She likes showtunes.”

“Really? I’d’ve figured her for classical.”

“Nah! Our Betty’s real down-to-earth.”

“She’d kinda have to be, though; she doesn’t fly anymore — not since her mating flight. Wow! That was somethin’, huh?”

“I’ll have to take your word for it; a bit before my time, I’m afraid. Hey, set me up with another one, would ya, please?”

The Bee’s Knees

This is a classic cocktail from the 1920s. “The bee’s knees” was a catchy slang term of the time, describing something that was truly excellent, like “the cat’s pajamas” or “the elephant’s instep.” Not surprisingly, this is honey-based.

This is a type of drink I call a Basic Utility Cocktail. Margaritas, gimlets and classic daiquiris all follow a very similar recipe: roughly two ounces of a basic alcohol (blanco tequila, rum, gin, vodka, etc.), an ounce or so of syrup or sweet liqueur (this is where the triple sec or Grand Marnier would come into play in a margarita), and an ounce or so of a sour fruit juice (usually lemon or lime juice, but I’ve used cranberry juice, too). If you find yourself with too much fruit, it’s really easy to make it into a syrup to use in a seasonal drink. (Cucumbers work surprisingly well.)

Ingredients:

• 2 ounces very cold gin – depending on what type of honey you use, you might want to use something a little bracing and not too expensive. I’ve been enjoying Wiggly Bridge lately.
• ¾ ounce honey syrup (see below)
• ¾ ounce fresh squeezed lemon juice

Combine all ingredients over ice in a shaker.

Shake ever so hard, long enough for your hands to start hurting from the cold.

Strain into a small, stemmed glass — a coupé glass, maybe.

This is a seductive cocktail. The sweetness of the honey syrup contrasts with the acidity of the lemon juice. The gin adds a slight harshness to the background that keeps this drink from becoming frivolous. It is absolutely delicious, and the colder it is the more you find yourself wondering where your drink went, then making another. Appropriately for a bee-themed drink, this is a social cocktail; it facilitates conversation.

Honey Syrup

Bring equal parts honey and water to a boil over medium heat.

Let the mixture boil for a few seconds, to make sure that the honey is completely dissolved.

Cool and bottle. Store indefinitely in your refrigerator.

Featured photo. Courtesy photo.

Uncommon whites to go with your summer eats

It is summer and we remain in an extended heat wave. This is the season of “summer whites”— those lightweight clothes of whiter-than-white to reflect the heat of the summer sun. It is also the season of light meals — salads, sandwiches, cool entrées and desserts! And it is the season to pair light, white wines, the color of a sun-shading straw hat, with those meals.

We are always looking for something off the beaten track, wines other than chardonnays and sauvignon blancs, so we headed to the Loire Valley in France and, surprisingly, Napa Valley, to try a few whites made with other varietals.

Our first wine, the Domaine Bourillon Dorleans Premium Vouvray Brut (available at the New Hampshire Liquor & Wine Outlets, priced at $64.99, reduced to $23.99), is a delightful take on a crémant, which is sparkling wine not produced in Champagne and sometimes made with grapes other than chardonnay and pinot noir. It has a pale gold color; the bubbles are tiny and persistent. To the nose, there are citric notes with just a touch of yeast. To the tongue this bubbly is ripe with apple and honey while remaining crisp with acidity. The wine is made from 100 percent chenin blanc grapes from 30-year-old vines. It is made by the method Champenoise, with sur lie for 16 months, before being disgorged and re-corked. While crisp, this wine has a very subtle creaminess to it. Chilled, it is a perfect wine to be sipped, or joined to soft cheeses or a light meal.

Our second wine, the 2021 Pine Ridge Chenin Blanc + Viognier (priced at $17.99 but reduced to $15.99 at the New Hampshire Liquor & Wine Outlets), is a blend of 80 percent chenin blanc and 20 percent viognier. This wine is interesting in that I tend to think of chenin blanc as coming from the Loire Valley, which has a climate decidedly cooler than that of California. Because of the terroir and heat of the Valley, this wine is more expressive with notes of rich honeysuckle, orange blossoms and citric. These carry through to the tongue. In the glass, the wine has the palest of a light straw, almost silver, color. The inherent creaminess of the chenin blanc is emboldened in this wine, making it a great accompaniment to a frittata or a seafood tostada. It is indeed interesting seeing this wine come from a winery such as Pine Ridge, located in Stag’s Leap, Napa Valley, producing iconic cabernet sauvignons. This is a blend one would never see in France. The grapes for this wine come from the Sacramento River Delta, where 90-degree days are met with cool nights, producing a wine with lush flavors.

Our third wine, the 2019 Domaine Long-Depaquit Chablis (priced at $29.99, reduced to $27.99 and available at the New Hampshire Liquor & Wine Outlets), is a Burgundian chardonnay. This is a perfect wine to pair with grilled pork, salmon or tuna, shellfish, or mild cheeses if you cannot stand the prospect of cooking anything. The color is a pale greenish yellow. To the nose and tongue we find green apples, along with citric notes of lemon and lime with a slight trace of almonds, and that flinty earthiness that permeates the wines of Chablis. Chablis is the northernmost wine-growing region in Burgundy. The ancient soils of this region give its wines a distinctive minerality. This is a crisp, light wine that can make the summer heat tolerable.

Our fourth wine, a 2020 Joseph Drouhin Pouilly-Fuissé (priced at $31.99, reduced to $29.99 at the New Hampshire Liquor & Wine Outlets), is another chardonnay, but coming from vineyards in the villages of Pouilly and Fuissé, in the Mâconnaise subregion of Bourgogne, where the only grape variety grown is chardonnay. This wine is different from the others in that there is some barrel aging, six to eight months in the case of this wine, giving the wine a more “full-mouth-feel.” The color is golden, along with a slight green tinge. To the nose, green grapes and almonds abound; this is then carried through to the tongue. These are pleasant notes, not to be considered heavy, but instead ethereal, and with a long finish.

These are four wines that can satisfy every palate and yet are decidedly different from the mainstream everyday whites of chardonnay or pinot grigio. So, live dangerously! Try one of these alternative whites to pair with your summer evening meal. You will welcome the adventure!

Featured photo. Courtesy photo.

I’ve never been very good at meditating.

I had an instructor tell me once that it’s important to listen to your heartbeat or think very hard about your breathing. The way he put it, your brain is like a monkey that is always looking for something to do, so you need to distract it with counting and stuff.

“That makes sense,” I thought to myself. “Because, when you think about it, monkeys are pretty mystical creatures. It’s weird how wizards and witches have familiars and patronuses like cats or elk, because it would be really something to meditate and manifest a pack of angry mandrills. And actually, Angry Mandrill would be a really good name for a high-proof, banana-flavored rum. Maybe with chilies in it….”

And I missed another opportunity for self-enlightenment.

The only time I actually ever succeeded at meditating, it happened — as so many important things in life do — when I wasn’t trying to.

At one point in my youth, I found myself broke on the streets of Mombasa, on the East Coast of Africa. Well, not broke-broke — not George Orwell broke — but not in a position to be picky about my hotel accommodations. Somehow, I found myself surprised at how hot and humid it was. This should not have been much of a shock, as I was on the Equator, about a mile from the Indian Ocean, but The Obvious has always been a bit of a blind spot for me.

I needed someplace to stay, and I followed a couple of German backpackers to a not-quite-scary, kind-of-OK-if-you-squinted-at-it-hard-enough hotel. I managed to score a room for a couple of dollars a night.

(As it turned out, the reason the cheapest room was so cheap was that its window was right next to the loudspeaker of the mosque next door that called worshipers to prayer at five each morning. But that’s another story.)

Obviously, my room didn’t have anything like air conditioning — though there was a large ceiling fan over my bed — and I didn’t have any money to go out at night, but that was OK, because the sheer, overwhelming heat and humidity sucked away any enthusiasm I might have had to do anything anyway.

For two nights, I lay on my bed all night, under the fan sweating.

I kept two or three liters of water by the bed and I would alternate sweating and drinking, drinking and sweating. Taking in water, and feeling it seep back out of me. Over and over again.

It was the single most meditative experience of my life.

So, as I look at the weather forecast for the next week, with temperatures and humidity predicted to be in the 90s, I find myself somewhat uncharacteristically nostalgic for Mombasa.

Mombasa Michelada

A michelada is a Mexican beer cocktail. Many people make theirs very much like a bloody mary, with tomato or even clam juice, spices and sometimes an extra shot of tequila. I like mine a little on the lighter side to facilitate the whole meditative sweating thing.

1 lime wedge and some chili-lime spice to rim the edge of your glass or mug. I like Tajin.

2 oz. passion fruit cocktail – you can find this on the top shelf in the juice aisle at your supermarket

• ½ teaspoon hot sauce – I like Cholula
• ½ teaspoon miso paste
• A pinch of celery salt
• A pinch of black pepper
• A handful of torn and mangled cilantro leaves
• A bottle of Pilsner or lager beer – you can’t go wrong with something Mexican like Modelo

Rub the rim of your glass with your lime wedge, then set it aside for your garnish. Sprinkle some of your chili-lime powder on a plate and touch the rim of your glass down in it to rim the edge of the glass.

Chop or tear your cilantro and put it in the bottom of your glass. This is optional, if you are one of those people who think it tastes like soap, but it is highly recommended.

Fill the glass halfway with ice. This is somewhat heretical; you have been warned.

In a separate dish or cup, mix the hot sauce, miso, celery salt and pepper into a paste. Slowly mix in the passion fruit juice, until it is all smoothly mixed. Pour the mixture into your glass.

Fill the glass with beer and garnish with your lime wedge. Stir gently.

Beer, spice and acidity are excellent playmates. This is a surprisingly meditative drink.

Hmm. Delicious, but maybe a bit strong — add more beer.

Oh, that’s good! But now the cilantro is taking over a little — add a little more juice.

Repeat.

I’m not saying that this experience will be the same as lying under a fan on the equator, counting the cracks in the ceiling, but I recommend it anyway.

Featured photo. Mombasa Michelada. Photo by John Fladd.

Think pink to pair with summer meals

It’s summer and it’s hot! Summer arrived on June 21, and except for just a couple of days when we experienced some relief, it’s been hot. Summer is the season when we move outdoors. We mow the lawn, clean out the planting beds, fire up the barbecue and spend as much time as we can outdoors.

We are blessed to be in New England where we can enjoy the change of seasons. Fall brings along its cooler temperatures, where cabernets are brought to the table to pair with steaks or pasta. Winter has us playing in the snow or on the ice, to be followed by robust food paired to deep, heavy reds. Summer is the time to enjoy the abundance of the ocean with fish, seafood and farm-fresh vegetables paired to white wines — or, better, rosés!

For this column I decided to try rosés sourced from three different locations: Italy, France, and two from California. The differences were amazing.

Our first, a 2020 Pasqua Y By 11 Minutes Rosé,available at the New Hampshire Liquor & Wine Outlets, originally priced at $34.99, reduced to $16.99, heralds from Verona, Italy, the land of Romeo and Juliet. Starting in 1925 as négociants, or traders of wines, the Pasqua brothers shortly became vineyard owners. Three generations later the company has entered the international market, selling wines in 50 countries. A blend of corvina, which offers hints of cherry and herbs, trebbiano, which brings elegance and a long finish, syrah, which brings intense fruit and spice, and carmenere, which brings the wine structure and stability, this is a wine with an intense and complex bouquet. The name 11 Minutes refers to the duration of the skin contact with the juice, then pressed softly prior to fermentation. The Pasqua family believes this is the optimal length of time to extract the best qualities of the grapes and obtain the slightly rosy shade of this wine. The must is then cooled and transferred to a steel tank, where it remains for 11 hours for the solids to settle out, then is inoculated with yeast for fermentation to begin. After 3 to 4 months on lees, the wine is filtered, bottled and ready at the first of the year.

Our second wine, a 2020 Thierry Delauney Le Manoir Rosé, alsoavailable at the New Hampshire Liquor & Wine Outlets, originally priced at $39.99, reduced to $10.99, comes from the Loire River Valley. The wineries are located on hilltops, high above the north bank of the river. Composed of 70 percent gamay and 30 percent pineau d’Aunis, also known as chenin noir, this is a wine that is delicate, creamy, with notes of red currant and raspberry. The Thierry Delaunay vineyards have been cultivated for five generations of the same family, but only since the 1970s has the family also bottled the wine extracted from these vineyards, which has become highly rated.

We don’t often think of it, but California produces some pretty good rosés. Our 2019 La Crema Monterey County Pinot Noir Rosé, originally priced at $24.99, reduced to $11.99, and our 2020 Longford Estate Pinot Noir Rosé, originally priced at $12.00, reduced to $6.99, both from the New Hampshire Liquor & Wine Outlets, are outstanding examples of light, bright rosés at exceptional values. The La Crema rosé has aromas of mandarin oranges that carry through to the tongue. The Longford rosé has notes of watermelon and strawberries and is pretty good slightly, but not overly chilled. Perfect for the patio table.

These are all light, dry wines that pair well with soft cheeses and seafood, or can just be enjoyed with a summer green salad. Give them a try and compare the different blends by their color, their aromas, and the subtleties in taste, because as we have noted in the past, the grapes and the places of their origin contribute to a wealth of nuances. Not all rosés are created equal. And that’s great news!

Featured photo. Courtesy photo.

Because I am a humble man, I don’t often bring this up, but it has bearing on today’s topic, so I’ll say it now and get it out of the way, so we can move on.

I make the World’s Best Breakfast Sandwich.

I know; it seems unlikely. You’d expect the inventor of such an important — dare I say, landmark? — development to be a tall, handsome, strapping man of great intelligence and taste. You’d be disappointed.

And, of course, you’ve got the lunch-counter lawyers who will want to get into the whole, “How can you quantify matters of personal preference?” Some people might even argue, “How do you even define the word ‘sandwich’, anyway?” — you know, the same people who like to start the argument about whether a hot dog is a sandwich or whether breakfast cereal is soup. Those jerks. [Editor’s note: Hippo totally and with troublemaker intent stirred this pot in our Best of 2022. Hippo readers pretty definitively said 76 to 24 percent that a hot dog is not a sandwich.]

But the fact remains that there is one clear best breakfast sandwich, and I’m the guy who invented it. I am so confident of this that I have it on my resumé, which has provoked several extended discussions during job interviews. I haven’t always gotten those jobs, but by the time I left, the various hiring committees knew what to make for breakfast the next morning.

Here is how you make it:

Toast one slice of plain, ordinary, white sandwich bread. If you try to use a snobbier, artisanal bread, this whole dish will collapse philosophically.

Spread the bread with a confident layer of peanut butter — natural, processed, it doesn’t matter. It has to be actual peanut butter, though. Almond butter, sunflower butter, tahini, these are all fine, admirable ingredients but this is not the job for them.

On top of the peanut butter, arrange a layer of pickled jalapeños — not fresh ones, not a splash of hot sauce. Pickled. Jalapeños.

Top the jalapeños with a fluffy scrambled egg. Not egg whites. Not whipped tofu.

Scrambled. Egg.

“Yeah, but I like a fried egg, and I don’t really see why—”

Shhhh.

One. Scrambled. Egg.

Season with a pinch of coarse salt and fresh ground pepper.

You and I both know how this is going to go down:

You’re going to try to prove how open-minded you are and you’ll make this — well, a version of it, anyway. You’ll substitute a self-respecting slice of sourdough for the sandwich bread, or you’ll use some fresh chiles you’ve got growing in your garden. You’ll make it, and eat it, and shrug your shoulders and say, “It’s OK, but I’m not sure what he’s making such a big deal about.” And you’ll move on with your life, burdened with just a little less respect for me than you had before.

And then, one day, when you need it most — when it is freezing rain outside, and the character you love the most on that show you like has gotten herself killed by a radioactive wombat, and work is terrible, and you just had a big fight, and you hate the world — on that day, you will make this sandwich the way it was meant to be eaten and you will feel the fragments of your broken heart start to slip back into place.

“OK,” I hear you say. “This is all certainly very … colorful and all, but what — if anything — does this have to do with cocktails?”

Oh, right.

I’m sure you already know this, but this Friday is the 94th anniversary of the first commercially sliced bread, which is, of course, one of the key developments that make this sandwich possible. And as long as we’re talking, in a roundabout sort of way, about bread that doesn’t get enough respect, let’s make a cocktail that honors another forgotten hero of the bread world: pumpernickel.

Pumpernickel Manhattan

Ingredients

• 1 Tablespoon caraway seeds
• 1 Tablespoon cocoa nibs
• 1½ ounces rye whiskey – I like Maker’s Mark
• 1½ ounces red vermouth
• 10 drops cardamom bitters
• 10 drops orange bitters

Thoroughly muddle the caraway seeds and cocoa nibs in the bottom of a cocktail shaker. (You could also use a mortar and pestle for this.) Add the rye, and swirl to combine.

Leave the whiskey, caraway and cocoa nibs for at least an hour, to get to know each other better.

Using a fine-meshed strainer, strain the rye over ice, in a mixing glass. Add the vermouth and bitters, then stir gently.

Pour into a rocks glass, and sip slowly.

Pumpernickel — the bread — is a close cousin of rye bread; that’s why we’re using rye for this Manhattan, rather than the more traditional bourbon. Its dark color comes from cocoa powder, and like all self-respecting ryes, it has caraway seeds to give it some [vague, punching motion]. As with any self-respecting Manhattan, the predominant flavor here comes from the whiskey — this is why we’ve used a fairly upscale rye — but the caraway and cocoa linger and remind you who you are dealing with. They are subtle about it — it doesn’t shout, “CARAWAY! WE’VE GOT CARAWAY, HERE!” but they leave you thinking about the finer points of pumpernickel bread.

As you should.

Featured photo. Pumpernickel Manhattan. Photo by John Fladd.

All-American craft beer

There was always something about cracking a Budweiser on the Fourth of July. Don’t deny it, it felt good to grab “the King of Beers” as you celebrated our country’s independence. You could basically hear the chorus, “I’m proud to be an American,” in the background the second you took a sip.

I made that last part up, of course, but obviously Budweiser was effective for years in marketing its beer as the most American beer you could drink. I’m not really sure the beer changed but the whole thing where it’s owned by a company based in Belgium now does take away some of that ’Merica feeling when you drink one.

Budweiser is crisp and refreshing — it tastes like a beer — and especially when you’re enjoying a Fourth of July cookout, I think we all just want a beer that tastes like a beer.

There are countless craft breweries cranking out all-American lighter brews to whet your whistle on the Fourth of July and really all summer long.

Might I also add that while the price of IPAs and other craft brews has continued to climb to unprecedented highs, lighter styles, like Pilsners and kolsch, have remained closer to what I would call reasonable, when it comes to price.

Lighter brews in the mold of Budweiser, if I’m allowed to say that, are also lower in calories and in alcohol, making them more sessionable than a double IPA. Plus, on a screaming hot summer day at the beach, beside the pool or in the backyard, light and refreshing is the name of the game.

Here are three New Hampshire craft brews you can proudly crack on the Fourth of July as you watch the fireworks or listen to “I’m Proud to be American.”

Dad Reflex American Lager by Portsmouth Brewery (Portsmouth)

This “is a macro-style American Lager brewed in honor of the superhero dads out there who deserve a cold one after a long day of saving lives without trying, or mowing the lawn,” according to the brewery website, and while I haven’t actually had this, that description spoke to me as a dad. I keep reminding my wife I’m basically a superhero but I do think the third-party validation here might have more of an impact. Cold and refreshing, that’s what beer is about on the Fourth of July.

Beer Hall Lager by 603 Brewery (Londonderry)

Get out the frosted glass; this features your classic straw-yellow pour. The brew is light, crisp and flavorful with some lightly sweet fruity notes, balanced by subtle breadiness. Picture yourself with a hot dog in one hand and this brew in the other — it’s a good picture, aside from the mustard on your cheek. This one goes down very, very easily.

Lady of the Lake New England Lager by Able Ebenezer Brewing Co. (Merrimack)

Celebrating “the 150th anniversary of the M/S Mount Washington, and the history of New Hampshire’s Lakes Region,” according to the brewery, this brew stands out for its simplicity. You just don’t have to think about it. It has a touch of citrus and fruit but it’s really all about being crisp, bright, refreshing and, well, pleasing. I think it would be best enjoyed lakeside, of course, and it would be a perfect accompaniment to a fireworks show.

What’s in My Fridge
Santilli American IPA by Night Shift Brewing Co. (Everett, Mass.)
The brewery’s flagship American IPA, Santilli combines bright citrus, including grapefruit, and pronounced notes of pine. Every time I have one I wonder why I don’t keep this in my fridge at all times. I still don’t have an answer to that question. It’s just a terrific all-around IPA that you can drink anytime. Particularly with the prevalence of hazy, juicy New England IPAs, this is a refreshing change of pace when you want the hops but would like to hold the orange juice. Cheers.

Featured photo. Lady of the Lake New England Lager by Able Ebenezer Brewing Company. Courtesy photo.