Moving Sale

Moving Sale Ver 2Proposed By: David

Enacted By: David and Jonathan

Maybe the expression, “Necessity is the mother of invention” shouldn’t apply to cocktails. Putting aside the troublesome aspects of drinking being a “necessity,” mixology seems a more deliberate science involving arduous research and development, subtle variation and adjustment, measurement and refinement. The ingredients are too precious after all, and no one wants a bartender who presents some sloppy, improvised “invention.” And yet…

We’re moving this week, and, for the past week or so, I’ve been roaming my house sorting through our possessions, boxing some and giving or throwing the rest away. Anyone who’s transplanted recently knows that moment when you realize these things possess you and not the other way around and decide you really should have hired a hot-air balloon for your move instead of a truck.

As fun as it is being a not-so-savvy cocktailian, my liquor shelf feels especially burdensome, with all those bottles I’d opened for a few ounces and the others I’ve used nearly to the bottom. Well, the luridly colored Crème de Menthe, Crème de Violette, and Blue Curacao will have to come with us, and—who knows?—someday I may have a serious hankering for Kahlua or Tuaca (because stranger things have happened), but surely I can do something about those dregs.

Anyway, that’s the thinking behind this week’s cocktail challenge. I wanted to invent a drink called The Moving Sale to consume those spirits and other ingredients near exhaustion. On my mythical moving company hot-air balloon, every ounce is precious, so I gathered some candidates for casting off and set out to experiment.

Had my standards been lower, I could have chosen a number of bottles, but I ended up with just those pictured above, each with an ounce or two of liquid remaining, plus some stuff in the refrigerator like coconut cream and homemade grenadine that simply had to go. I even included my Pechaud and Orange Bitters, though it might take another year or so to spend the last couple of ounces of those.

Here are the two drinks I invented (followed by a brief appraisal):

Moving Sale Drink 1Moving Sale 1:

1 oz. Frangelico

2 oz. Aquavit

2 oz. Grenadine

1 oz. Lemon Juice

Fill a shaker with ice and all the ingredients, shake, and serve.

The Frangelico stands up remarkably well against the Aquavit, and, because it’s on the sweet side with the addition of grenadine, it needs the lemon and bitters to balance it.

Moving Sale 2:

2.5 oz. Tequila Blanco

2 oz. coconut cream

Macerated Mint Leaves

2 dashes orange bitters

Fill a shaker with ice and all the ingredients, shake, and serve.

This one seemed a little odd to me. For one, coconut cream must work better with rum and, for another, mint and coconut? Still, as strange as it seems, this version had a nice botanical gravity.

Here’s Jonathan’s version:

This week’s drink proposal, concept really, was birthed from David’s need to purge before a move. Every time David mentions relocating I think back to when he and my sister-in-law, Beth, left Louisville. He is anything but a sentimentalist when it comes to things, at least ordinary things, and he claimed that each time during that move there was a disagreement about whether to move something or chunk it he slipped a note in the box. That note said something to the effect that if it had not been discovered before the next move the item or items had to be abandoned.

With that memory in mind, I have been imagining Beth paying him back. I see her dropping tiny waterproof capsules into the odd bottle of spirit. Each capsule in this scenario contains an even tinier note that tells the discoverer the liquor must be dumped if the note has not been read by a set date. Of course, I haven’t told my wife about this strange fantasy for fear that I will someday wonder what is floating in those bottles of crème de menthe, blue curacao, and crème de violette.

The real idea for this week was to take three items that were in short supply and exhaust them in a simple mixed drink. It could also have meant that I was supposed to make up my own drink, but during the week I rediscovered the Preakness cocktail. Devoted readers and followers of all things horse racing know that the official drink of The Preakness is now the Black Eyed Susan (a new sponsored version), but at one time it was a Manhattan variation. It is a mix of 2 ounces rye whiskey, 1 ounce red vermouth, ½ teaspoon of Benedictine and two dashes of Angostura bitters. All of that is stirred with ice, strained into a coupe and garnished with lemon peel.

If the true intent was to empty bottles it was a smashing success. First, I had an old bottle of vermouth that had long ago gone bad in the fridge and it was emptied and recycled without using any of it. The next dead soldier was a bottle of rye. In fact, I thought I had two of those, but the other must have gone away long ago so we worked on finishing a wheat whiskey that may never be gone. The bonus was that we had relatives over and a dwindling bourbon bottle breathed its last vanilla and oak scented breaths. We’re not moving so I can’t wait to see what takes their place.

Jonathan’s take: I like this idea. Wonder what crème de violette, crème de menthe and blue curacao mixed together would taste like?

David’s take: Maybe both of my drinks should be called accident, but—if so—they were happy accidents.

Next week (Proposed by Jonathan):

I knew there had to be a classic that we have missed, and there was. Since David will still be in the process of moving, I am suggesting a whiskey sour. Surely in a big city like Chicago, David can find that and a few dozen variations too no doubt.

 

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The Painkiller

painkjbmProposed by: Jonathan

Reviewed by: David

The warm sun, cool blue water and light breeze all had to come from my imagination, but the painkiller still did its job invoking that setting. This is a relatively young drink created in the British Virgin Islands and The Soggy Dollar Bar of Jost Van Dyke. Daphne Henderson the owner of that bar gets credit for that creation. The story told on the Pussers Rum site, however, is that while Daphne may have made the first, it took some modification by the Pussers founder, Charles Tobias to perfect it. No matter how it came to be, here’s how you make your own concoction of this lovely tropical mix:

4 ounces pineapple juice
1 ounce orange juice
1 ounce Coco Lopez (cream of coconut)
2 ounces Navy Rum

Combine all ingredients, shake well and serve over ice.

The type of rum may be one of the more interesting parts of this drink both for its style and the many drinking words associated with it. The name itself comes from the British Navy practice of providing a blended rum, or some derivative, to its sailors from the 1600’s up until 1970. Among those drinks was grog, named for Admiral Edward Vernon and his grogram (a type of fabric) coats. It was a mix of rum and lime, all the better to make the sailor happy and fend off scurvy.

The straight provision of rum was given in servings called tots which in turn is associated with the common spirit term of proof. It is said that sailors would mix the rum with gunpowder to see if that powder would still light and prove the rum had not been watered down. That meant that the alcohol content needed to be at least 57.5% which ultimately equated to 100 proof. Of course in the US, it is far more common to see actual alcohol percentage, but where proof is used it is twice the percentage of alcohol. Based on that 80 proof means 40% alcohol and that the gunpowder won’t light of course.

Another association with naval rum is one of the more interesting euphemisms. We have all heard classic expressions for drinking like bending your elbow, having a snort, or wetting one’s whistle. Perhaps a little more odd is washing the dust from your throat, and particularly odd is eating the pudding bag. I have no idea what the latter means, but you know I am going to use it.

The expression tied to serving rum on ships is splicing the mainbrace. It is associated with this rum and is used to signify either the regular time for tots or a special time to stop and have a drink. And probably something sailing related too, but as I said before this isn’t a sailing blog.

Here’s David’s Review:

painkillahIt felt odd to be drinking a Tiki drink as the sky grayed in anticipation of precipitation.

Chicago’s winter has been mild, as Chicago winters go, with some above-freezing days interspersed with vortex-induced single digits. We’re had little snow, so far, just forecasts featuring those two most loathed words, “Wintery Mix.” Chicagoans know not to crow over good fortune though—the next Lake Shore Drive closing snowpocalypse could be just around the corner, but this winter hasn’t called for any sort of painkiller… so far.

And it was no hardship to drink the Painkiller cocktail. This drink reminded me of a piña colada (with more pineapple and added orange juice to the coconut) and I’ve been a secret fancier of piña coladas for a while. Yet I confess I’m too embarrassed to order one outside of tropical climates. I define manhood liberally and think most men could use less bro-hood prohibitions and embrace all the feminine things they deny, but somehow I’m still squeamish about some snarky barkeep snorting over my ordering a piña colada. Maybe I could keep by Y-chromosome cred with a Painkiller.

Certainly ordering the drink out would be considerably easier than making the drink. Taking Jonathan’s advice from last week, I was determined to juice the fruit, which was easy enough for the orange, but not the pineapple. I couldn’t find any fresh pineapple juice in the frou frou grocery that usually supplies me with exotic ingredients, and getting the juice from the pineapple I purchased was laborious to say the least. Then there’s the cream of coconut, which was easy to find in two varieties—Thai Kitchen Coconut Cream without sugar and the Goya version with—but each can contained a substratum of waxy coconut oil. We blended the two types of cream of coconut together to reintegrate the fat.

By the time I’d combined all the parts in the glass though, I was already thinking, “This had better be good.” And it was. Refreshing and not as heavy as a piña colada, the painkiller is so fruity it balances the rum effectively without diminishing its spirit. Rum isn’t sweet, of course, but the dark version called for in this recipe (but not in a piña colada) imparts a caramel flavor that complements this collection of flavors especially well.

My only warning would be about the coconut. I don’t advise relying on the Goya cream of coconut because that’s dessert. If you have the time and energy to combine sweetened and unsweetened as we did, it’s worth it. If you don’t have time, use the Thai cream of coconut—the juices are plenty sweet—and consider tossing some of the coconut oil/wax. The drink will be lighter for it.

I felt like turning the heat up a little after downing such an icy concoction, but the drink is a healthy reminder that winter, even in Chicago, is finite.

David’s Take: As a harbinger of summer, this drink was out of place, but it was fresh, fruity, and welcome.

Jonathan’s Take: Winter got you down? Splice the mainbrace and have a painkiller and it will all get better.

Next Week (Proposed by David):

One of the regular features of The Chicago Tribune is a short column titled “Drink This” that describes a restaurant’s most notable cocktail. In early December the drink offered was A Chai Town, served at The Revival Social Club. The ingredients are intriguing—chai tea, vodka, ginger liqueur, honey, and nutmeg. However there’s one cagey element of this column. It never actually tells you how much of anything is needed. Nonetheless, I’m going to give this cocktail a try by coming up with my own damn proportions… and invite Jonathan to do the same.

The Batida de Coca

20131004_170208-2Proposed by: Jonathan

Reviewed by: David

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This week is our first foray into Rum as the primary spirit. Well technically, it is our first time using Cachaca which is a Brazilian Rum. The drink is the batida de coco and the recipe is

2 ounces Cachaca
3 ounces coconut milk
2 tsps. simple syrup
1 ounce sweetened condensed milk

Mix all of the above (vigorously since it has condensed milk), and serve over ice. Almost any fruit juice can be used in this drink and I read other recipes that blended it with ice to make a frozen drink.

My oldest son, David, had suggested a cocktail using Cachaca. The standard drink using this Rum is the Caipirinha (the national drink of Brazil) but it was too close to last week’s Gimlet. I also was planning on going to the South Carolina coast and with an odd October weekend with highs in the mid 80’s the Pina Colada type drink was appealing. It is a little unfair that my brother would be experiencing much less hospitable weather in Chicago, but I was hoping that he could still find a beach where he could enjoy the drink. We actually violated the virtual cocktail set up and talked by phone and since Chicago had a spate of thunderstorms going through, I gave him a pass on the beach.

There is a mistaken impression that Rum is all distilled from fermented sugarcane juice. That is true for Cachaca and Rhum agricole, but the majority of Rum is made from distilled molasses which is the thick syrup left over after sugarcane juice is filtered and heated to crystalize the sugar. I used Leblon Cachaca which is a beautiful pale grass green and probably too fine of a spirit to adulterate with condensed milk.

The versions we made included the straight coconut, guava and then coconut/pineapple. One of the suggestions in recipes is to add nutmeg or cardamom (either would be good in the simple syrup) to cut the sweetness. That sounds a lot like a Painkiller and seems like a good excuse to go back to the beach the next time the weather is this beautiful.

Here’s David’s Review:20131004_170519

If you can judge a cocktail by your appreciation of its ingredients, this drink was a winner from the start. I love coconut milk (in curries), sweetened condensed milk (in fudge), and simple syrup (anywhere). Though I’ve never tried cachaça, what’s not to like?—A “rum” made with fresh cane syrup, Brazilian, in a tall elegant bottle, all good. Sometimes the sum is less than the whole and sometimes greater. I enjoyed Batida de Coco immensely. Though it was certainly sweeter than I’m used to in a pre-dinner drink—it was as sweet as dessert—this cocktail evoked a sunny beach, an afternoon free of anything like work.

Cachaça is often called Brazilian rum, but it doesn’t taste at all like rum to me, having a much more direct flavor—more like vodka—with an almost tequila-like complexity. The combination of this spirit with so many sweet ingredients doesn’t erase its immediacy, and the clean taste of cachaça does much to balance the weight of ingredients like sweetened condensed milk. Looking at a mixed drink resembling milk is a little disconcerting, I admit. A drink so white promises little complexity. Jonathan advised adding a little nutmeg or cardamom to cut the drink’s sugary heaviness, and that was good advice. It dressed up its appearance as well as moderating its taste. The little spiciness added a great deal. It made me wonder what coffee or some other bitter note might add as well. I may try that later.

I’m not sure I could drink a Batida de Coca every cocktail hour or even once a week—it seems made for moments you see the promise of total relaxation—but as a step out of the usual it seemed especially enjoyable. Sweet without being cloying, dense without being heavy, smooth without being thick, it seemed the perfect escape, a brief trip to Brazil or, at least, to somewhere much warmer and more tranquil than Chicago in October.

David’s take: A fun drink, worth reserving for those times when fun is not only possible but the top priority of the occasion.

Jonathan’s take: This drink is too decadently sweet and rich to drink more than one, but I have to admit that one was delicious.

Next Week (Proposed by David):

I’ve been wanting to return to Rye for a while, and I found a drink that combines many of the ingredients we’ve gathered over the last few weeks, the De La Louisiane. This drink is a combination of Rye, Sweet Vermouth, Absinthe, and Peychaud Bitters. I’m a little worried about finding the three brandied cherries required, but what’s life without a few challenges?