Category: Drink

Crepes

• 1¼ cup (285 g) whole milk
• 2 eggs
• 3 Tablespoons butter, browned
• ½ cup + 2 Tablespoons (80 g) flour
• ½ + 2 Tablespoons (100 g) cornmeal
• 1 teaspoon coarse sea salt
• 1 teaspoon vanilla

Mascarpone filling

• 2 cups (1 16-oz container) mascarpone cheese
• 4 Tablespoons sugar
• Large pinch of fresh-grated nutmeg
• Strawberry preserves, homemade or jarred
• Finely minced basil for garnish

In your blender, mix the milk and eggs together. Add the browned butter and mix again. Add the dry ingredients — the flour, cornmeal and salt — and blend yet again. Add the vanilla and blend one last time. (Making crepe batter in a blender makes things go extremely smoothly — if you put the ingredients in in the right order. If you were to put the dry ingredients in first, with the wet ingredients on top, there is a good chance that the batter wouldn’t mix properly, and a gelatinized blob of flour would sit at the bottom of your blender jar, mocking you.)

Put your blender jar in the refrigerator and chill the batter for at least half an hour.

If you have a small, non-stick skillet, this is its big moment. Place it over medium heat, and melt a lump of butter in it.

Take your crepe batter from the refrigerator and give it another spin in the blender to make certain that everything is well mixed. Because the cornmeal is heavy and is prone to sinking to the bottom of the batter, you might want to reblend the batter after every two crepes.

Pour about a quarter of a cup into the hot melted butter, and swirl the pan around to spread the batter over the entire bottom of the pan. Return the pan to heat, and cook your crepe until the top surface isn’t shiny anymore and the edges start to brown just a tiny bit. Then lift a corner of the crepe with a spatula, and flip it over with your fingers. Cook the B-side of the crepe for another minute or so, then transfer it to a plate.

If you are using a non-stick pan, you will not have to rebutter it. If you are using a different species of frying pan, you will probably want to regrease it between crepes. Cook crepes until you have used up all your batter.

Separately, mash the mascarpone, sugar and nutmeg together, and stir until they combine into a very stiff mixture.

Now you have a choice. If you want sweet dessert crepes, fill them with strawberry preserves and top with the mascarpone topping. If you want a less sweet, slightly savory crepe, fill it with the mascarpone and top it with strawberry preserves. Either way, garnish with minced basil.

Serve with ice-cold milk or sparkling wine.

Featured photo: Cornmeal crepes. Photo by John Fladd.

It is said that the three hardest things for a man to say are “I was wrong,” “I need help,” and “Worcestershire sauce.”

From time to time recipes will call for Worcestershire sauce, and it’s one of those ingredients that we shrug and add without a lot of thought. The other ingredients in a bloody mary — or, in this case, her alcohol-free-but-still-a-party-girl sister, a virgin mary — are all pretty self-explanatory:

The tomato juice is there to provide an acidic, savory base for the other ingredients. It stands up well to strong flavors and doesn’t taste washed-out as the ice melts and it gets diluted a bit. The lime juice is also acidic and is there to give extra zing to the tomato juice. The various spices and flavorings are there to give layers of flavor to the tomato base, which really is very good at carrying complex flavors.

But the Worcestershire sauce is a bit of an enigma. It is there, it turns out, to add umami, a savory quality. Yes, technically tomato juice is a fruit juice, but it is at its best when it leans into savoriness, not sweetness. And Worcestershire sauce, which is made largely of anchovies, adds another layer of salinity and savoriness to the production. (Yes, I know you could have happily gone the rest of your life without knowing about the anchovies. Sorry.)

A 5.5-ounce can of tomato juice

1 Tablespoon pickled pepper brine – I like the liquid in a jar of pickled banana peppers or pepperoncini

1 Tablespoon fresh squeezed lime juice – about a quarter of a lime

1 teaspoon ginger paste – I use pre-pulverized, jarred ginger paste. If buying an entire jar of ginger paste seems like too ambitious a purchase for you, peel a knob of fresh ginger root, and chop it finer and finer, until it collapses on itself and turns into paste.

1½ teaspoon Worcestershire sauce

1/8 teaspoon onion powder

1/8 teaspoon garlic powder

1/8 teaspoon celery salt

Chili/lime powder for the rim of the glass

Garnish – This is where many restaurants lose their minds. Do an internet search for “bloody mary garnish” and brace yourself; some bloody marys have more garnish than actual bloody mary. Since we’re skipping the alcohol this time around, wowing your guests with garnish might be the way to go. This time, I’ve skewered a half-sour pickle, a large olive, a lime wedge and a chicken nugget.

Sprinkle some chili/lime powder onto a plate. Wipe the rim of your glass with a lime wedge to moisten it, then turn the glass upside-down and swirl it around in the powder, to coat the rim.

Add all the remaining ingredients and ice to a cocktail shaker. Shake to combine and chill.

Strain over fresh ice into the prepared glass, and garnish to whatever degree you can justify.

If you wanted to have a bloody/virgin mary party, you could easily make a large batch of this, and lay out garnish stations.

Featured photo: Virgin Mary. Photo by John Fladd.

So you find yourself with half a dozen fresh pears on your hands. What does one do with Too Many Pears?

Pear Crisp

Filling

• 6 ripe medium-to-large pears, peeled, cored and chopped
• ½ cup (107 g) brown sugar
• 1 Tablespoon corn starch – This filling will be very liquidy, particularly if your pears are super-ripe and/or juicy. A full tablespoon of starch will help everything pull together as it bakes.
• ¾ teaspoon ground cinnamon
• ¼ teaspoon coarse sea salt
• 2 teaspoons bourbon – optional
• Zest of 1 orange – This too, is optional. Bourbon and orange both get along extremely well with pears, but a love triangle of all three is a bit chaotic. You should probably pick one and give the other a lovely parting gift.

Crust

• ¾ cup (67 g) rolled oats – not instant or steel-cut oats
• ¾ cup (90 g) all-purpose flour
• 1⁄3 cup (71 g) brown sugar
• ½ cup (65 g) chopped nuts – Walnuts or pecans are traditional, but if you wanted to use hazelnuts, or even pistachios, who could argue with you? “Why, yes, Helen, I did use hazelnuts in the crust. **steely gaze** Thank you so much for asking.”
• ½ cup (1 stick) butter, melted (about 1 minute in your microwave)

Preheat your oven to 350°F. Grease an 8”x8” baking pan liberally with butter. I like to smear a full tablespoonful around with my fingers. You know, for thoroughness.

Combine all the filling ingredients. Stir and set aside.

In a separate bowl, combine all the crust ingredients except for the melted butter. Add the butter, and stir the mixture with a fork, until it all pulls together into a lumpy, streusel-y texture.

Pour the pear mixture into the buttery baking pan, then top with the crust mixture. Place the baking pan on a lined baking sheet, in case of a bubble-over situation, then bake for 30 to 35 minutes.

Remove the pear crisp from your oven when it looks golden-brown and gloppy. Let it cool for 10 minutes or so; at 350°F, the brown sugar/pear syrup is dangerously hot. Aim for “warm and comforting” rather than “hot from the oven.” Top with vanilla ice cream, or serve with a milkshake. You won’t be sorry.

Featured photo: Pear Crisp. Photo by John Fladd.

1 glass whole milk. Or almond milk. Or some other type of milk; your milk is your own business.

2 ounces very dark rum. I like black rum for this, but your mileage may vary.

(Actually, you know what? Classically, this is made with rum, but there is not any reason, no reason whatsoever, that you couldn’t make this with brandy, or bourbon, or Irish whiskey. Any dark spirit will serve you well here. You probably wouldn’t be happy with a Tequila Milk Punch, but on the other hand, who am I to say?)

¾ ounces simple syrup. Could you make this with another type of syrup? I’m pretty sure maple syrup would be very nice here.

Fresh-grated nutmeg. This is the one ingredient that is non-negotiable. If you’ve never grated your own nutmeg, you’ve been living a life of relative deprivation.

Add ice, milk, liquor and syrup to a cocktail shaker.

Ask your digital assistant to play “Christmas” by Darlene Love. (Is this the best Christmas song ever recorded? Possibly. There’s also “Sleigh Ride” by the Ronnettes.)

Shake the cocktail shaker like it’s been very, very naughty.

Strain it over fresh ice in a tall glass, then grate fresh nutmeg over it.

This is a creamy, foamy, not-too-sweet, boozy interpretation of a glass of milk that goes as well with French fries as cookies.

Featured photo: Milk punch Photo by John Fladd.

I put it to you that your house might be infested with elves. Think tiny, mischievous, Iron Age creatures with a dancing fetish. My theory is this:

The whole Elf On a Shelf thing is a clever ploy on the part of those other elves. With a creepy elf grinning at you maniacally from the mantel, you won’t notice the tiny elves going about their elvish business, sneaking cookies, changing your music settings and raiding the liquor cabinet while you’re at work.

You come downstairs one morning with your heart set on eating the last blondie from the weekend for your breakfast, only to find that half of it is gone, leaving just enough to be frustrating.

“Honey! Did you eat half that blondie?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Then you turn around to see the elf sitting on the counter, next to the toaster, just grinning at you.

“You!” you accuse it, so focused on its smile — which has to be sarcastic, by the way — that you fail to hear the faint giggles coming from the philodendron in the next room.

• 1 1/3 ounces blanco tequila
• ½ ounce dry sherry
• ½ ounce elderflower liqueur
• ¼ ounce orange liqueur – I use a dry orange curaçao
• ½ teaspoon grenadine or cranberry syrup

Fill a coupé or Nick-and-Nora glass with ice to chill it.

In a mixing glass, pour tequila, sherry, elderflower liqueur and orange liqueur over ice. Stir for about a minute to chill it completely.

Dispose of the ice in the chilled glass. Strain the cocktail into the now cold glass.

Pour the half teaspoon of grenadine or cranberry syrup in the center of the drink. Because the syrup is heavier than the alcohol it will sink to the bottom, creating an absolute painting of a cocktail. Hold it up to the light, then sip it appreciatively.

There are several competing flavors in this cocktail, originated by Difford’s Guide (diffordsguide.com). Surprisingly, the one that stands out the most is the sherry. It is very good, but is definitely a sipping drink. I recommend leaving one out overnight to see if it’s still there in the morning.

Featured photo: An Elf on the Shelf, for grownups. Photo by John Fladd.

By John Fladd
jfladd@hippopress.com

From my cranberry extravaganza in last week’s cover story, here’s one more cranberry recipe.

One of the most popular cocktails of the early 1900s was something called a Jack Rose. There are all kinds of theories as to who Jack Rose actually was, but the most likely explanation for the cocktail’s name is that it is made with apple brandy — apple JACK — and it is a rosy pink color.

There is an alternate theory that it is named after a mob enforcer from the 1880s named Jack Rose. Unlikely as it is, I like this theory, because I can just see a florid giant of a man in a bowler hat and with a nose that had been broken too many times, sitting in a dimly lit tavern with sawdust on the floor. The place is hot, smoky and crowded, but there is about five feet of empty space around this lug in every direction. He holds a tiny cocktail glass in his ham-like fist and lifts it up to the light to admire its delicate pink color before taking a sip and sighing with pleasure.

Traditionally this drink gets its color from a few dashes of grenadine. If you made the cranberry syrup from the Nov. 21 cover story (you can find that in the digital library at hippopress.com), you can use that instead.

1½ ounces apple brandy

1 ounce fresh squeezed lime juice

1 teaspoon cranberry syrup or grenadine

Combine the brandy, juice and syrup over ice in a cocktail shaker, then shake thoroughly. Pour into a Champagne flute or the smallest cocktail glass you own. I have one that I rescued from a thrift shop. I suspect it might have actually been a candlestick originally and the whole cocktail situation must confuse it.

Be that as it may, this is an extremely tasty Tiny Drink. Lime juice, as always, goes well with everything and provides an elegant link between the apple brandy and the cranberry. Ask your digital assistant to play some ragtime music during cocktail hour and serve several of these on a tray.

“At five o’clock I was in the Hotel Crillon, waiting for Brett. She was not there, so I sat down and wrote some letters…. I went down to the bar and had a Jack Rose with George the barman.” — Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises.

Featured photo: Jack Rose. Photo by John Fladd.