‘A bicyclette, that’s what we’ll drink,’ I said with unreserved confidence.
‘A what?’ asked my brother.
‘A bicyclette,’ I repeated with similar bravado.
Memory can be a strange thing. I’d called to mind a simple cocktail from Fergus Henderson’s ‘Nose to Tail Eating’. It had Fernet Branca, an Italian bitter of some alcoholic fortitude, as its main constituent.
Sitting in the courtyard of an Umbrian farmhouse and gazing out over the patchwork hills, it seemed the perfect opportunity to try this potent little number.
‘Are you sure that’s the right recipe?’ said my brother as he watched me splash equal parts of medicinally coloured Fernet Branca and lurid Campari over ice.
‘Yup, positive,’ I replied.
Although I didn’t have the book with me, I was sure this was how to make a bicyclette.
The drink is so-called because after two or three you are unable to ride home in a straight line on your bicycle. When the mixer weighs in at a hefty 20% alcohol you know you are dicing with forces more powerful than your average aperitivo. This was no regular stomach-readier.
The first sip offered surprise: a distinct alcoholic bitterness. But a cooling sweetness swiftly followed by the Campari. It was dangerously drinkable and over the following week it led to a number of dinners being eaten considerably later than planned.
When we returned home I consulted the book to check I’d got the recipe right.
I hadn’t. What I had done was combine the only two drink recipes in Henderson’s two books: Campari and white wine (the famed bicyclette) and Fernet Branca and Crème de Menthe (a Dr Henderson)
What could have emerged was a terrifying hybrid monster. Thankfully it didn’t and the slightly skewed memory served only to create something new, something tasty, something to ready yourself for a night of gastronomic indulgence.
I shall name it a Centaur – it approaches like a gentleman but has the kick of a stallion.
Centaur – an aperitif for the brave
One part Fernet Branca
One Part Campari
Sugar syrup, to taste
Lemon juice, to taste
Pour the booze over ice, stir. Have a little sip. If the taste make you pull a face like a baby eating marmite, it’s probably a little bitter. Add sugar syrup and lemon juice until you reach a pleasant combination.
Two of these will give you the appetite of a king but render you unable to cook at your best. Take precautions.
Showing posts with label cocktails. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cocktails. Show all posts
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Vodka Tonic
This is the ultimate drink.
The gratification that this simple concoction offers is near instantaneous. It is refreshing, gentle enough to drink more than three (unlike Martinis) yet in possession of an allure that belies its simplistic nature.
By definition, vodka is the purest spirit. I often find gin too perfumed, too aromatic. This may be part of its attraction. But not for me.
Usually all that goes into the glass is a squeeze of lime, a squeeze of lemon, plenty of ice, 50ml of vodka and a generous fizz of tonic water.
Like many people, I still remember my first time. Vividly. I was sixteen, wide-eyed and working in Toronto for my cousin’s magazine. We were in the Rivoli Bar, just off Queen St.
‘What can I get you?’ he asked
‘Erm, I don’t know. What are you having?’
‘I’ll get you a vodka tonic,’ he replied knowingly.
Every one takes me back:
The effervescence on the nose. The sweet bitterness of the quinine. The sour citrus hit. And the warming glow of the vodka. They still taste of dwindling innocence and suppressed excitement.
[Caution: Retro 80s style photography alert]
Often necessity is the mother of invention. We were out of lemons and limes but it had been one of those days. A real stinker. The cucumber looked slightly sad but strangely expectant.
And it really worked. Perhaps not quite as refreshing as the sharpness of citric acid but it added something else. Something worth repeating.
Yup, I'm on Twitter
The gratification that this simple concoction offers is near instantaneous. It is refreshing, gentle enough to drink more than three (unlike Martinis) yet in possession of an allure that belies its simplistic nature.
By definition, vodka is the purest spirit. I often find gin too perfumed, too aromatic. This may be part of its attraction. But not for me.
Usually all that goes into the glass is a squeeze of lime, a squeeze of lemon, plenty of ice, 50ml of vodka and a generous fizz of tonic water.
Like many people, I still remember my first time. Vividly. I was sixteen, wide-eyed and working in Toronto for my cousin’s magazine. We were in the Rivoli Bar, just off Queen St.
‘What can I get you?’ he asked
‘Erm, I don’t know. What are you having?’
‘I’ll get you a vodka tonic,’ he replied knowingly.
Every one takes me back:
The effervescence on the nose. The sweet bitterness of the quinine. The sour citrus hit. And the warming glow of the vodka. They still taste of dwindling innocence and suppressed excitement.
[Caution: Retro 80s style photography alert]
Often necessity is the mother of invention. We were out of lemons and limes but it had been one of those days. A real stinker. The cucumber looked slightly sad but strangely expectant.
And it really worked. Perhaps not quite as refreshing as the sharpness of citric acid but it added something else. Something worth repeating.
Yup, I'm on Twitter
Friday, February 27, 2009
Friday Nibbles - Lemons
For the first time in months it was possible to go outside in short sleeves without breathing in and holding your arms close to your chest this afternoon. The sun was out and there was a faint, but noticeable, whiff of spring in the air.
Perhaps it is something to do with the weather or the crocuses and evocative daffodils that are bursting through the earth that was frozen just two short weeks ago, but when I saw these lemons in the fridge, I felt that they needed to be celebrated.
Along with limes, oranges and grapefruits, lemons belong to the genus Citrus. They grow in temperate climes throughout the world and are characterised by their sharp flavour, one of the reasons they’ve become so useful to chefs from many culinary backgrounds.
Little is known of the exact etymology of the lemon but it is likely that it was first domesticated on the Indian sub-continent. It was probably introduced to Europe through Italy, from the Middle East. Arabic influence during the 11th and 12th centuries CE further spread the use of the lemon throughout the Mediterranean and by the 15th century it was being widely cultivated in Italy and southern Europe.
Once the Americas were being colonised, the warm climates of the South East and the western seaboard were found to be ideal for the cultivation of citrus fruits – something that continues to this day.
The lemon forms a central part in much Middle Eastern and North African cooking – preserved and pickled lemons are used throughout the region to add flavour and acidity to a wide range of dishes.
Lemon has long been served with fish – the acid helps to bring out the flavours and cut through the richness of some fish, like salmon. They can also be excellent squeezed over grilled meats: Greek lamb kebabs can really be pepped up with a hint of lemon juice.
The classic Italian recipe, steak Florentine also calls for lemon juice. Simply rub your steaks with a little garlic, season with salt and pepper and fry them in a little olive oil and butter over a high heat until they are done to your taste (screaming rare, please).
Remove them to a warm plate, squeeze over the juice of half a lemon and let them rest for five minutes. Slice and serve with salad and boiled potatoes drizzled with the resting juices from the meat.
They may be a great culinary ingredient but, much like last week, it is in the drinks region when lemons really shine.
A gin & tonic would be unthinkable without a generous wedge of lemon floating amidst the ice cubes and many a cocktail would look naked without a round disc of lemon adoring the glass like a tiny sun.
My absolute favourite us of lemon, however, is in a whisky sour.
This is a cocktail that tastes great as an aperitif and just as good, if not better, at ‘round midnight. You can make this as sweet or as sour as you like. Personally, I like it best when it’s sharper than a samurai’s sword and makes you purse your lips until they disappear.
Shake two parts whisky (the cheap stuff is fine. Don’t go using the finest single malt here) with an equal amount of freshly squeezed lemon juice and one part sugar syrup. Don’t forget the ice. Strain into a short glass (ice optional here but not recommended) and garnish with a maraschino cherry. This is what Elysium tastes like.
Just some quick pointers to remember when you’re buying lemons – don’t get them waxed, or else you won’t be able to use the zest. They shouldn’t be shiny, round and perfect. They should be large, uneven and nobbly. You want a lemon that’s seen some action and some sun. Finally, before squeezing, ten seconds in the microwave should help you extract as much juice as possible.
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Perhaps it is something to do with the weather or the crocuses and evocative daffodils that are bursting through the earth that was frozen just two short weeks ago, but when I saw these lemons in the fridge, I felt that they needed to be celebrated.
Along with limes, oranges and grapefruits, lemons belong to the genus Citrus. They grow in temperate climes throughout the world and are characterised by their sharp flavour, one of the reasons they’ve become so useful to chefs from many culinary backgrounds.
Little is known of the exact etymology of the lemon but it is likely that it was first domesticated on the Indian sub-continent. It was probably introduced to Europe through Italy, from the Middle East. Arabic influence during the 11th and 12th centuries CE further spread the use of the lemon throughout the Mediterranean and by the 15th century it was being widely cultivated in Italy and southern Europe.
Once the Americas were being colonised, the warm climates of the South East and the western seaboard were found to be ideal for the cultivation of citrus fruits – something that continues to this day.
The lemon forms a central part in much Middle Eastern and North African cooking – preserved and pickled lemons are used throughout the region to add flavour and acidity to a wide range of dishes.
Lemon has long been served with fish – the acid helps to bring out the flavours and cut through the richness of some fish, like salmon. They can also be excellent squeezed over grilled meats: Greek lamb kebabs can really be pepped up with a hint of lemon juice.
The classic Italian recipe, steak Florentine also calls for lemon juice. Simply rub your steaks with a little garlic, season with salt and pepper and fry them in a little olive oil and butter over a high heat until they are done to your taste (screaming rare, please).
Remove them to a warm plate, squeeze over the juice of half a lemon and let them rest for five minutes. Slice and serve with salad and boiled potatoes drizzled with the resting juices from the meat.
They may be a great culinary ingredient but, much like last week, it is in the drinks region when lemons really shine.
A gin & tonic would be unthinkable without a generous wedge of lemon floating amidst the ice cubes and many a cocktail would look naked without a round disc of lemon adoring the glass like a tiny sun.
My absolute favourite us of lemon, however, is in a whisky sour.
This is a cocktail that tastes great as an aperitif and just as good, if not better, at ‘round midnight. You can make this as sweet or as sour as you like. Personally, I like it best when it’s sharper than a samurai’s sword and makes you purse your lips until they disappear.
Shake two parts whisky (the cheap stuff is fine. Don’t go using the finest single malt here) with an equal amount of freshly squeezed lemon juice and one part sugar syrup. Don’t forget the ice. Strain into a short glass (ice optional here but not recommended) and garnish with a maraschino cherry. This is what Elysium tastes like.
Just some quick pointers to remember when you’re buying lemons – don’t get them waxed, or else you won’t be able to use the zest. They shouldn’t be shiny, round and perfect. They should be large, uneven and nobbly. You want a lemon that’s seen some action and some sun. Finally, before squeezing, ten seconds in the microwave should help you extract as much juice as possible.
Hungry for more? Follow me on Twitter
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