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This month's Mixology Monday, hosted by Brown, Bitter and Stirred, requires a visit to an old frenemy of mine, Fernet Branca:
A FEW DAYS AGO, I noticed a foul odor in my kitchen. My first thought was that it was emanating from the refrigerator, from one of my partner Leah’s lacto-fermentation projects, which can thrive happily and stink up the fridge for months. But when I washed my hands in the kitchen sink, a dead cabbage smell wafted up to my nose, and I realized that something was rotting in the drain.
I hoped the stank in the sink would be easy to extinguish, but Leah’s efforts proved futile. Throughout the day, she poured various substances down the drain: boiling water, dish soap, baking soda, vinegar, bleach. As a last resort, she tossed in a splash of Fernet Branca. If that didn’t improve the bouquet, she said, then she’d take apart the pipes tomorrow.
Since I wrote about Fernet Branca in an earlier column, I’ve been surprised to find how many people enjoy drinking this medicinal, menthol liqueur; One friend fondly reminisced how his great-aunt used to give him a spoonful for tummy aches when he was a child, his introduction to the healing power of liquor. Many people were shocked to hear that I, a lover of all booze, was not in love with this particular amaro.
My distaste for Fernet Branca comes from a bias: I am not a fan of cooling herbs. Perhaps it’s from having Vicks VapoRub shoved up my nostrils on a tissue torpedo when I had a cold as a child. Or maybe I used too much Ben Gay on torn ligaments when I was a cheerleader, when the coach insisted we do full splits at tournaments even when our bodies insisted we couldn’t. (It’s true. I cheered, complete with feathered hair, fringy pom poms and a short-short black and gold skirt. You can stop laughing now). Mint ice cream and mint juleps are on my most-hated list. Even toothpaste challenges me. Right after I brush my teeth, I can’t drink a glass of water without gagging. The only exception to my mint aversion is mojitos, which I can easily consume in large amounts. The muddled limes seem to castrate the mint and leave it powerless to offend me.
Which got me thinking: Maybe I’d be able to tolerate Fernet Branca in a cocktail with lime.
When I mentioned this idea to Leah, she suggested I start with a base alcohol that could compete with the menthol, like a peaty scotch. For this drink, I chose cognac. I added lime juice and sugar, and topped it with a splash of club soda, because, gosh darn it, bubbles are fun, and the Fernet needed something on its side.
The resulting cocktail was palatable and refreshing. The lime did the trick, and I felt relieved to tell my friends that I, too, had found a way to appreciate the highly regarded Fernet Branca. I don’t love it, but like any alcohol, it’s all in how you mix it.
And miraculously, when mixed with boiling water, dish soap, baking soda, vinegar, and bleach, Fernet Branca cured the drain of its malodorous ailment.
Pipe Cleaner
1 ½ ounces cognac
¼ ounce Fernet Branca
¼ ounce lime juice
1 teaspoon sugar
club soda
lime wheel
Fill a shaker with ice. Add cognac, Fernet Branca, lime juice and sugar. Shake. Strain into a double rocks glass filled with ice. Top with club soda. Garnish with a lime wheel.
Be sure to visit Brown, Bitter, and Stirred for a wrap-up of other recipes that are brown, bitter, and stirred, which probably taste better than mine.
About a year ago, the booze marketers found us, which meant we found lots of booze on our doorstep. When the FTC law passed last fall commanding that bloggers disclose freebies, the liquid gifts stopped.
Bring it on, booze handlers. I was already telling everyone that you sent me free booze anyway because I thought I'd seem cooler to potential new friends. Besides, drunk though I may be, I'm always polite. No negative reviews on this blog; I only review products that we like. If your product is monstrously crappy, mum's the word.
That said, when New Amsterdam gin magically showed up on our porch after a dry spring and summer, we were pleased.
For the price, New Amsterdam gin is awesome. To our palates, it is smoother than Beefeater, Tanqueray and Bombay. And it's only $17 for a one-liter bottle. Heck, we can buy that with the nickels and dimes we saved up in our great horned owl bank. (It's a decoy AND a bank. Who knew? Not even the people who sold it to us).
If you've got the money for a bottle of Hendricks gin and you're trying to get laid, for god's sake buy the Hendricks. Otherwise, I'd suggest you give New Amsterdam a try.
You without a cocktail in your hand on a Friday night is like a fish out of vodka.
Felicia's will be slinging cocktails at the Lounge to the jazzy tunes of Wingnut this Friday, July 16 5:30pm-8:30pm, AND Felicia's will be making drinks at the Museum of the Earth for their "Mastodons and Martinis" reception 6pm-9pm.
The Museum's current temporary exhibit, One Fish, Two Fish, Old Fish, New Fish: Exploring the Evolution of Biodiversity, will attract visitors throughout the summer and early fall, and “Mastodons and Martinis” creates an innovative way to discover the Museum in an adult social setting this Friday night.
Have a “Coelophysis Cocktail” or a “Mastodon Martini” while wandering the Museum exhibits and snacking on tasty snacky snacks from our favorite food caterer, Serendipity. Cost of attendance for this exciting event is a $25 social membership fee per person. The membership fee covers entrance to the event, your first cocktail of the evening, hors d’oeuvres and advanced notice of other social membership events to be hosted by the Museum. For more information or to purchase your social membership visit the Museum of the Earth online at www.museumoftheearth.org, or by phone at 607-273-6623 x11.
The Wingnut show at the Lounge is a free alternative, but no mastodons or coelophysis will be in attendance.
This month’s Mixology Monday is weird, and I’ve got a weird tale to comply with the weird task.
Andrew at Caskstrength instructs us:
Let the bawdy, lovely, peculiar and obvious late nightlife inspire you to tell a favorite drinking tale while listening to, or being inspired by Tom Waits.
Summer in Ithaca is like a fairytale when you are twenty-two years old and recently set free from dungeons of the University. The hot sun combined with red wine, late nights and skinny dipping in waterfalls makes you think you can do anything.
I had found myself a damp, basement apartment on the hill, across from my favorite pub (for drinking what at the time was housebrewed porter), The Chapter House.
My best friend Antigone lived at a nearby anarchist vegetarian coop. It was Antigone who introduced me to Boones Farm and to the boy. Skinny and effeminate, with long golden curls, he looked like a prince in tan corduroys. He drove a taxi by day, a pursuit I found so romantic that I called the taxi company and got hired on the night shift.
Late one evening not long after I met him, the boy pulled out a guitar and started playing Tom Waits’ songs.
I don’t remember his name, if I kissed him, or what songs he played. I only remember how odd it was to hear gravelly growling and choking sounds coming out of his heart-shaped pink lips which had seconds before been graced by his girlish voice.
In that moment, I knew we would never be lovers.
I quit the taxi company before my first shift, and Antigone and I spent the rest of the summer drinking Boones Farm by the waterfalls.
The hazy memories are revived only by the sound of Tom Waits’ voice, a stranger’s request for late night drinking tales, and the occasional passing of a taxi.
“And please bring Rose’s lime juice. The father of the groom likes gimlets.”
This request came in an email I got about a wedding the Lounge is catering this summer. My answer is NO. Absolutely not. We will NOT bring Rose’s lime juice.
First, let’s take look at the ingredients in Rose’s: water, high fructose corn syrup, concentrated lime juice, sodium metabisulfite, Blue No. 1.
Rose’s doesn’t really taste like lime juice, and sodium metabisulfite makes my eyes swell shut. I’m not exaggerating.
Now let’s take a look at what’s in Felicia’s housemade sweetened lime juice: lime juice, sugar, water.
Which would you prefer?
To empower you to have a choice (at least at home), I’m giving you our recipe. Stop drinking crap, please. I expend way too much energy feeling sorry for you and I would much prefer to celebrate your enjoyment of quality cocktails. And take note: if you are allergic to preservatives like me, ReaLime and ReaLemon 100% juice concentrates contain sodium benzoate in addition to a couple of -ites. Squeeze juice from fresh limes (we found a great juicer at an antique market and it looks hip on the kitchen counter), or check the frozen section of your natural grocery for a preservative-free alternative.
Sweetened Lime Juice
2 cups lime juice
¾ cup sugar
½ cup water
Heat water in the microwave or on the stove until almost boiling. Remove from heat. Add sugar and stir until dissolved. (You just made simple syrup.) Let cool. Mix with lime juice. Your sweetened lime juice will keep a couple of weeks in the fridge.
For future reference, or if you want to make a smaller amount, the ratio of sugar to water in simple syrup is 3:2. In sweetened lime juice, the ratio of lime juice to simple syrup is 2:1.
Same goes for making your own sour mix. Don’t use that nasty stuff that comes pre-made in bottles unless you want to glow in the dark. Substitute lemon juice for lime juice and you’ve got homemade sour mix. It’s that easy.
Again, NO, I will not bring Rose's lime juice to your special event. I've got something much, much better for that gimlet.
by Amelia Sauter
Photo by Ed Dittenhoefer / FreeAirPhoto
EVERY TIME I visit Finger Lakes Distilling in Burdett, New York, I find master distiller Thomas McKenzie hard at work downstairs. Today, in the shadow of the towering, twenty-foot tall copper still and surrounded by dozens of barrels that line the walls, Thomas is coercing the juice from blueberries with a hand-cranked wooden barrel press. His hands are stained a murderous blood red, and indigo streaks mark his face and shirt. He spies the photographer with me. “Don’t shoot my britches,” says Thomas with a southern accent that curls like molasses, “cuz I got blueberry juice all over ‘em.”
The air in the building is heavy with the lingering scent of fermenting corn mash. The pervasive, permeating presence of the aroma is much like a grandmother’s house that has a distinctive, comforting smell even when nothing is in the oven. I’m particularly excited about my visit today; I don’t know if Thomas and president Brian McKenzie (who has the same last name as Thomas, but is no relation) will agree, but for me their announcement this week is one of the most exciting since I first heard the rumors of the opening last July: They finally have a date for their bourbon release.
Finger Lakes Distilling renders me giddy. It’s not just the excellent liquor, made with local berries, corn and grapes. It’s the idea of a distillery in my own neighborhood. Though they are legally producing liquor, the thought of a still near the edge of the Hector National Forest feels thrilling and naughty, like smoking in the girls’ bathroom or, I imagine, growing marijuana hidden between tomato plants in your garden.
Though Finger Lakes Distilling is a classy venture, with architecture and tasting room décor inspired by the distilleries of Scotland, I can’t stop myself from calling their product “hooch.” Their business is the first of its kind in the Finger Lakes region to focus solely on liquor. Recently relaxed restrictions on farm distilleries, which allow farms to have tasting rooms, combined with the rising popularity of craft spirits have led to a growing trend in New York State: this summer, three more distilleries are slated to open in Brooklyn alone.
As the story goes, Thomas and Brian met three years ago at a distilling conference in Louisville, Kentucky. Thomas comes from a long line of distillers, but he’s the first to legally take on the task. His thick Alabama accent conjures up visions of a dilapidated backyard shed that houses a ramshackle still. You can almost taste Thomas’ family heritage in all of the liquors here, brought to life by Brian’s entrepreneurial energy.
Initially, the distillery released vodka and gin, both made from local grapes, and both of which won Best in Class at the 2009 New York Spirits Awards. The gin, which boasts complex anise and citrus notes, has been a big hit with the public. The wild berry vodka is a perfect addition to a glass of lemonade. They produced sweet liqueurs next (I recommend cassis and raspberry), followed by rye and then grappa. Most recently, the distillery released an exquisite cherry liqueur that tastes like the juice of fresh-picked sour cherries. In my house, we went through three bottles in two weeks (for educational purposes, honest), and I’ll be taking another half case home with me today.
What I’ve been waiting for, though, is Finger Lakes Distilling’s bourbon. Like Thomas, I, too, have a history in the world of booze: I come from a long line of devoted whiskey-drinkers. My partner Leah and I have followed the progress of the bourbon with regular visits to the Distillery, as it aged in new charred oak barrels and then moved to second-hand chardonnay barrels from Lamoreaux Landing Wine Cellars. Our faithful visits have been rewarded with sneak-peek tastings, or perhaps I should call them teasings, since they have only served to feed our impatience. When we had our first nip eighteen months ago, the bourbon was so brilliant, smooth and rich that I asked then why they were waiting to release it. “It needs to a-yage,” Thomas answered in his drawl, speaking the word “age” with two syllables. “It’s gonna get even better.”
And it most certainly has. Sitting with Brian and Thomas on barrels that house aging spirits, I get to taste the bourbon a few weeks before its release. It’s more mellow now, rounded, with hints of butterscotch, toasted caramel and rye. This bottle will easily sit on the top shelf with Booker’s and Basil Hayden. I ask Thomas how he would describe it. “It tastes like bourbon,” he says and we all laugh. Then he elaborates. “It tastes like old-time bourbon.”
Thomas explains that in the last fifteen or twenty years, liquor has typically been distilled and aged at higher proofs than it was previously, which allowed producers to fit more in a barrel, in turn reducing storage costs. Instead of aging their bourbon at 115 or 120 proof, Finger Lakes Distilling chose to age it at 100 proof. Brian believes the way the spirit interacts with the wooden barrels is affected by the lower proof, thus resulting in a different flavor.
Thomas disappears for a minute and comes back with a tiny bottle. “Try this,” he says, pouring me a splash of the brown liquor. It tastes amazing, different than any whiskey I’ve had before, though I lack the words to describe how. “Wild Turkey,” he says. “Distilled in 1971, bottled in 1978.” I wouldn’t turn twenty-one for another thirteen years.
Finger Lakes Distilling bourbon is made with 70% corn, 20% rye and 10% malted barley. The corn is not a hybrid, nor is it genetically modified. It is local, open-pollinated corn, and organic, too, which Brian says results in a superior fermentation. Less than 300 bottles will be available, and they suspect it will sell out quickly.
I pose one more question to the guys before I leave. What, I ask, is the essence that haunts every spirit from Finger Lakes Distilling, whether the grape-based vodka and gin, the corn liquor, the rye or the bourbon? It’s a mystery, they tell me. Brian thinks it may be a flavor imparted from their still. “Terroir,” says Thomas and I make him repeat it and spell it. A term frequently used in winemaking, terroir (pronounced te-wa) is loosely translated from French as “sense of place.”
“It’s the flavor of the land,” says Thomas. I agree. Tastes like the Finger Lakes to me.
On May 1, the Distillery will release the eagerly-awaited bourbon. A 750ml bottle will cost $45. Live music will be provided by Long John and the Tights in the afternoon, and you get a free tasting if you wear a derby hat. Those who arrive unadorned can pay $2 for a tasting, which is credited back if they make a purchase. And if that’s not enough to bring you out that day, Thomas adds, “You get to talk with me.”
The tasting room at Finger Lakes Distilling is open daily from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. More information can be found at www.fingerlakesdistilling.com.
