thirtyoneknots

After nearly four years I worked my last shift at Veritas last night, a great time with good turnout. And while my head this morning is telling me that perhaps I should have skipped a few of those Bourbons afterwards, I definitely don't regret the Sazerac made with some of my precious 06 Handy Rye and Jade Edouard, shared with the other few cocktail enthusiasts in town. Quite memorable, even through the haze.

If you want to introduce someone (or yourself) to the joys of Campari, the Bitter Elder is the place to start. Only the most absolutely bitter-phobic will turn it down.

Just what I needed, one more wonderful drink that uses Campari! I will have to see if they carry it at Costco. Three are the things I shall never attain-- Envy, content and sufficient champagne. -Parker Even more novice friendly than that is the Bitter Elder; 1.5 gin, 3/4 St Germaine, 1/2 Campari, 1/2 lemon. Wish I had a name to credit this one to, I've made hundreds in the past couple of years.

Can you explain what "smoothness" actually means to you, then? I'm intrigued by this concept that any spirit can be graded on its smoothness or lack thereof. Unless we're talking about glycerin content or somesuch... Would you agree that "mouthfeel" or "sharpness" are legitimate gradeable qualities for a spirit? "Smoothness" is similar, I think, though all the words are difficult to describe in other words. Can you describe red? Not in a concrete way...smoothness would be similarly elusive to describe in anything other than abstract terms. The best we can do is list things we consider smooth and any qualifiers on that, though I would propose that perceived smoothness is dependent on the taster's tolerance for alcohol heat. There is a regular couple at work, both physicians; he's from L.A. and she's from Trinidad. Upon tasting Smith & Cross for the first time, he conceded it's high quality but remarked that it was a bit rough around the edges due to the proof. She kept going on about how incredibly smooth it was.

I guess you could say it's fuller but I found the QC not to my liking at all; the woodiness is to me over the top and suppresses the intensity that I seek in Laphroaig. To each his own of course. Favorite Scotch I've tasted this year is the Abelour a'bunadh (potentially horribly misspelled). Leathery, minerally, smoky, pow pow pow wow.

While I understand the need to please your lady friends, wouldn't it also be nice if the two of you could have the same drink? And since you say you like quality drinks, this would implicitly exclude the prototypical "girlie" drinks (I hate the label), which are often sorely lacking in quality or culinary merit. What if, however, there were a drink that was both novice friendly, unique in flavor, and interesting to drink? Think floral ingredients like St. Germaine and Dolin Blanc. Simple gin sours (esp with a citrusy gin like Plymouth) made with St. Germaine are impossible to dislike and since there's no "Elderflower Pucker" (yet) it is likely to be a completely new flavor sensation for her. When making drinks for cocktail novices of either sex I find that this is a safe route to not only show them how different a cocktail can be from anything they've ever had before, but also to introduce them to the idea that flavor is a good thing and they should seek it out in spirit choices. Almost 6 years ago I started exploring cocktail possibilities with a beautiful young lady I'd recently met. In 17 days we'll be wed. She's now a Whiskey Girl at heart though, so don't write off the ladies' tastes in 'real' booze.

I take exception to the charge that a Daiquiri is boring. One of the world's finest drinks, when made right.

I've still got some of the 2006 Handy I reserve for special Sazeracs, though my go-to for 'everyday' purposes is Wild Turkey Rye; next to it Rittenhouse just doesn't seem all that assertive. I generally eschew the Sazerac Rye in Sazerac Cocktails but while in New Orleans last weekend I had one at the Sazerac Bar in the Roosevelt Hotel made thusly, and I don't know if it was the beautiful environs, the great friends, or the air conditioning, but it tickled me in a way that that whiskey has rarely tickled me before.

To continue upon the previous reasoning, which has sort of been my thought on this all along, is any expansion of IP law passed in the US today really likely to protect individual bartenders? Or Big Liquor? Call me a cynic if you must, but first cf extension of copyright law over the last several decades, which I'm given to understand (though please correct me if I'm wrong) has been done largely at the behest of Disney. What we're working with today is hardly pretty, or fair, but any attempt to rectify it is likely to be a disaster.

I've never had a Cassis I thought was dry at all, indeed most of them are quite syrupy (though a superior one will have a degree of acidity as well). They are, however, very potent in flavor, and cutting it with some simple syrup may be required to still taste the applejack. Calvados would be hopelessly lost, I'd think.

I've bought and used Underburg for medicinal purposes before and it occurred to me that it might work well in place of Angostura in some applications but I've never really played around with it. Mea culpa. I did recently score a bottle of the old Zwack Unicum and it is very similar indeed, to my palate (sort of like a mix between Underburg and Fernet, really), so I may eventually come up with something to use it.

Oh and as a bonus offering, I have a drink too: Not sure if it's bitter enough, and I normally build it on the rocks, but its definitely brown. Playing around with Smith & Cross Rum and thinking about my upcoming trip to New Orleans: Lafitte's Pardon (working title) 1 oz Smith & Cross 1 oz Cognac 1 oz Carpano Antica 1 bsp Benedictine 3 dashes Angostura bitters 3 dashes Peychaud's bitters Build on rocks and stir or stir with ice and strain into chilled cocktail glass. Lemon twist is nice either way.

Without going too much into it, the last 4 months have been a whirlwind. My fiancee completed vet school, we bought a house an hour and a half away from the college town we've conducted our entire courtship in (and 2.5 hrs+ away from either family) and now, 33 days away from our imminent nuptuals, I have recently realised that I have sort of been in a rut at work, creatively. I've come up with a few things here and there, tried other old and new drinks, but all the travelling and planning and being apart has really got me destracted. So, in the spirit of not missing out entirely on a MxMo topic that is near and dear to my heart (if not entirely seasonal for the northern hemisphere), I offer the following tale about something brown and bitter. I hope you find it stirring. ***** The man who is about to be my father-in-law is a fascinating person. Reclusive yet charming, full of stories, and several lifetimes worth of interesting experiences. At 74, he's about as old as a man can be with a 25 year old daughter, but it really puts him in a different time-frame than most of our friends' parents. His father rose from an enlisted man in the Texas National Guard to a battlefield commission during WW2, staying on in the regular army at war's end, and thus young Roger spent several key formative years living in Japan during the occupation, while his father was a Major in the HQ of some division or the other. Fast forward a few years and he finds himself in the Army as well, a radio operator for the HQ of one of the armored units tasked with keeping the Soviets from completely overtaking West Germany for 48 hours while NATO regrouped to fight them. They were expected to be essentially annihilated in accomplishing this task, and though 50+ years later the whole thing seems like an abstraction, it was very real to these young men who constantly drilled and never knew when the alarm went off in the middle of the night wether someone would be shooting at them when they rode out into the West German countryside. Naturally, to take their mind of it all, they did a bit of drinking when they could. Normally this would be accomplished by getting a pass to go into Berlin where they were stationed or travel to whatever other city they could get to. Or by smuggling stuff into the barracks. Roger had a different method. At the time, his father, now a Colonel, was the Military Attache to the US embassy in Yugoslavia, at a time when being that person was a very big deal due to the Cold War power plays at hand. He had arranged for his son to come visit him while on leave, and in order to travel efficiently he procured a civilian passport. At the time, for a soldier overseas to possess one of these was essentially contraband, because it allowed you to come and go from the base at will, no questions asked by the nervous sentries who didn't want to offend important diplomats or government contractors. He was of course supposed to surrender the passport when he returned from his trip. Naturally he didn't. So one night he has no extra assignments, no guard duty, nothing to make him accountable to anyone on the post, and no pass to go to the city. No problem. A change of clothes, flash the passport to the sentry, and he's free. Doesn't take him long to get into trouble at a bar, where he somehow offends another American serviceman many times his size. The guy is about to beat him to a pulp when he takes his only chance at getting a lick in, socks the dude right in the face, and down he goes. He's avoided injury, but now its only a matter of time before the MPs show up, and then bad things happen. Suddenly a German woman wearing much jewelry and furs who had been sitting down the bar comes up to him and instructs him to follow her. They go outside where a chauffeured Mercedes awaits and disappear into the night. She speaks very little English, and he even less German, but they hit it off well and are having a grand time, barhopping around Berlin. Eventually they end up meeting some of her friends at a club where they are sitting at a large table and wouldn't you know they picked up an extra as well. Except this guy isn't an American. Or a Brit. Or a Frenchman. He's a Russian. (Keep in mind this was before the wall, and travel between sectors was not uncommon). And as they sit down there is an instinctive mutual dislike that must be settled. The Russian makes the first move with a thumb to his chest. "Russiky" Roger, not to be outdone, motions likewise: "American" The Russian never takes his eyes off of him but motions a waiter over. "Vodka, two." The drinks come, one for each man, and the Cold War Showdown has begun, right there in a bar in Berlin. They go round for round, the glasses pile up, neither man in any shape to be drinking further, neither willing to admit defeat. The stakes are too high. The contest goes round for round as the night wears on. Things are starting to get really hairy when the Russian, in the motion of knocking back his shot, fall off his chair and passes out on the floor. Score one for the good guys. The next thing Roger remembers (or related remembering) was waking up the next morning in the German woman's apartment, feeling as though the siege of Stalingrad was being reenacted in his skull. He is as miserable as a man can be and suddenly realises that the time until he is supposed to be on post at muster is near at hand. The German woman comes in with a small oblong item, about the size of a rifle cartridge, wrapped in paper, and a glass of water. "What is this?" "Underburg, drink" He unwraps the bottle, knocks it back, and downs the water. The taste is unlike anything he's ever experienced. So horriffically bitter his brain feels like it is being turned inside out. Fortunately for him, it was already inside out. The effects, both emetic and restorative, are immidiate. Its a miracle. The same Mercedes delivers him back to base where he is just in time to respond when his name is called at muster. Later that day better judgement prevailed and he managed to destroy the passport. Or so he says. A true American Hero. Saved by the bitters.

I'm sadly unfamiliar with the unique properties of Marteau, but when I have my Jades this way I normally only do 1 oz, given the expense and potency of these absinthes. When using the much more irregularly timed method laid out above, it can take up to half an hour or more to complete a drip, which is just enough time to emjoy an Americano or Vermouth Cassis. Absinthe drip is rarely the first thing I drink in an afternoon; better to set it up and watch it go with another light beverage in hand. I've never really used a fountain before (jealous!) but from my limited observance of their operation I would guess you could probably get something in the 5 minute range. I know the stuff is expensive, but its really pretty hard to mess up, so just try it. If its too stout, add more water. Too weak? Just roll with it as a learning experience, or add a few dashes more of hooch. Slightly over-watered absinthe isn't offensive by any means. Edit: clarify.

Add the desired dose of absinthe to the glass and set it to a very slow drip (I typically accomplish this by adding crushed ice to a funnel over it and sitting outside on a warm day). As the dilution begins to build up, the louche will sink to the bottom and there will be a cloudy layer with a clear layer floating on top. Generally speaking, you want the clear layer to disappear on its own--if the drip is done slowly enough the layers will stay distinct. On something really mild like Lucid you may wish to shoot a little under but I've found that this method is a good place to start. I haven't been drinking enough absinthe lately, no excuse with the 100+ weeks we've been having. ETA: you don't want the glasses full...like wine, there is some pleasure to be had from nosing the stuff, which requires a fair bit of empty space in the glass. Also, large drinks get warm before you can (should?) finish them.

What, by the way, are people doing with grapefruit bitters? I made some I'm rather fond of over a year ago but then I never really did much with them.

I would've never guessed that gluten was volatile enough to pass through a still. Is this true?

Thanks for the tip, I'll start checking in about 8-10 days then.

Followup: I made the stuff today (a 10 lb batch), using half the package and letting it bloom for about 15-20 min. Stuffed in beef middles, smells great so far. The wine turned it kind of dark so the cured color is a little hard to see but fingers are crossed as it incubates overnight. Picture on twitgoo I'll hang them tomorrow and start checking the weight in about two weeks I guess. Thanks for the help, I'll try to remember to report back on the finished product.

Thanks for the information and encouragement, folks. I clearly need lots of hand-holding for this aspect of charcuterie.

Ok so the cultures are in, the other projects are out of the chamber (and are delicious), it's time to proceed with salami. I'm a little confused here though; the instructions with the package say use at least 1/4 of it though it is only 25g in the package. Elsewhere I have seen Mr. Hennes say he has had trouble using only 6g of starter. Ruhlman says use at least 1/4 of the package then mandates 20g of culture in the recipe itself (while saying this is 1/4 cup--highly unlikely). I'm ok with using the entire package if I need to though given the relative expense involved I'd rather use the minimum that is safe. The contradictory information here is pretty frustrating though.

Rinse can be deposited into the mouth as well, or even back into the bottle if you want to be lame.

Do you think this is a function of not being able to take advantage of economies of scale to the same degree or is it something else? I know a lot of small wineries basically set their prices arbitrarily, pricing their stuff as high as they think they can while still selling all of what they make each year; the amount you pay often has little to do with what it takes to produce what is in the bottle. Do small distillers follow a similar pattern? I'd love to be able to support small distillers (there are even a few in TX now making something other than vodka) but the pricing makes that challenging. I consider (perhaps not accurately) St. George in California to be a relatively small distiller, and yet their product lineup tends to be pretty reasonably priced for what it is. Same with Anchor. Compare with Clear Creek, which I imagine to be about the same size; even accounting for the presumably higher cost of making fruit distillates, the disparity in pricing is remarkable. Both great companies making great products but what gives? Another problem is that when small distilleries aren't making stuff for the masses (ie vodka) they are making things with such a limited novelty value (white whiskey, for example) that any given customer is going to take some time to go through the first bottle--very little repeat business so they have to price higher to make more per unit, meaning the bottle is more dear and gets consumed slower. Vicious cycle. Apart from the economy of scale and the startup delay (4 years minimum to age the first batch of "good" whiskey), what keeps the small guys from being able to make something competitive in terms of quality and pricing? Whole thing makes me wonder if perhaps liqueurs aren't a better option for people interested in microdistilling.

Growing up fishing on the Texas coast we often used live shrimp for bait. I was always instructed that the dark spot about the size of a bb right behind the horn was the shrimp's brain, and we always hooked them right behind this spot as putting a hook through it would result in a dead shrimp. Sounds like you have some other part of the anatomy apart from brains here, although repeated reference to brain sucking does make for amusing reading.

It's bad enough cheating to put CAF in a drink, but Red Breast, too? For shame.