Would you believe me if I told you it’s been 10 years since I last had a holiday (or “vacation” for all of you on the other side of the Atlantic)? I don’t get to travel much, mostly because finding pet care is kind of expensive. I’m not about to let a little thing like that prevent me from exploring the world though, not when I can re-create the food of the world in my own kitchen. To that end, I have decided to defy the technocrats of the world and reclaim the internet for the purpose for which it was intended — to expand access to information and culture, and thus, to bring the world closer together. It has long been said that nothing brings people together more than food. With that aim in mind, I’m starting something new: I’m making it my mission to re-create a baking recipe from as many cultures as I can, with the aim of travelling around the world through my baking — cheaper, and more environmentally sustainable than travelling by plane.

For my first excursion, we’re heading to the Caucasus in Eastern Europe, to the beautiful country of Georgia, formerly part of the USSR. Their national dish is Khachapuri, a leavened bread stuffed with cheese.

A Slice Of History

Khachapuri has a very long history, dating to at least the 11th Century, and possibly even further back than that. One school of thought is that Khachapuri is actually a precursor to pizza and arrived in Georgia via the Byzantine empire. There are no significant historical events tied directly to the origins of Khachapuri, however, its reputed 11th century origin coincides with the Georgian Renaissance, a period of cultural prosperity which predated the European Renaissance by around 300 years. There is just something perfect about the idea that a cultural Renaissance coincided with eating hot cheese stuffed bread, it’s just so incredibly ... human. One of the central figures of the Georgian Renaissance is Tamar the Great, who ruled as Georgia’s first female monarch from 1184 to 1213, overseeing a period of military, cultural, and economic growth which led to the saying that in Georgia the peasants lived like nobles, the nobles lived like princes, and the princes lived like kings.

Tamar is a fascinating figure, having overcome the resistance of the Georgian nobility to the idea of a female ruler to eventually become one of the most successful monarchs the country had ever seen. Tamar’s position as ruler was secured in part through the pragmatic actions of her father, George III, who made her co-ruler during the later years of his reign to secure the succession after dealing with a rebellion of the nobility and an attempt to replace him as king with his fraternal nephew, Demna. George’s way of dealing with this attempted coup was gruesome and effective; the noble who led the coup, Ivane Orbeli, was executed, and then George had Demna castrated and blinded to extinguish his line and prevent future insurrection attempts. Demna did not survive this mutilation, dying in prison soon after it was carried out.

There are many varieties of Khachapuri as each region of Georgia has its own variety. For this recipe, I’ll be making the most widespread version, Imeruli Khachapuri, a fairly simple variety from the Imereti region of western Georgia. Making the traditional version of this recipe requires access to two varieties of Georgian cheese which are almost impossible to find outside of Georgia, however the cheeses in question (Imeruli cheese, and Sulguni) can be approximated by combining Mozzarella and Feta. This combination creates an almost cottage cheese-like texture, if this is not a texture you find palatable, I’d suggest using just Mozzarella for the filling.

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For fellow members of the Dead Pancreas Society, your total carbohydrates for this recipe are 166.5g for the whole recipe, it will comfortable serve 4 at 41.6g of carbohydrates per portion.

Your Equipment

Digital kitchen scales

Large mixing bowl or stand mixer with dough hooks

Medium mixing bowl

Baking tray

Cheese grater

Your Ingredients

200 g All-purpose flour

100 ml Milk (lukewarm)

1 tsp / 4 g Salt

1 tsp / 4 g Fast-acting yeast

Up to 50 ml water (lukewarm)

2 tsp Oil (vegetable or sunflower oil is ideal)

150 g Mozzarella (not pre-grated)

50 g Feta

20g Butter

1 Egg

Melted butter to brush over the finished Khachapuri

The Important Bit

Combine the dry ingredients of the bread dough (200 g flour, 1 tsp salt, 1 tsp yeast) in your mixing bowl or stand mixer, then add the milk (100 ml). Bring together using your hands, or with the dough hooks on a low speed, then slowly add water until the dough comes together (how much water you need will depend on the flour you are using, it is unlikely you’ll need the full 50 ml).

Knead your dough on a lightly floured surface for at least 5 minutes, or until the dough is smooth and elastic. The easiest way to do this is to stretch out the dough by using the heel of your hand to push down into the centre of the dough and push it away from you, then fold it back onto itself, turn the dough 90 degrees and repeat. Alternatively, using the stand mixer and dough hooks on a low speed (1 or 2 is perfect) for around 7 or 8 minutes will achieve the correct consistency.

Lightly grease the dough with your oil, place in the mixing bowl, cover and leave to rise for at least an hour. Ideally, the dough should double in size.

Once your dough has finished rising, grate your cheese (150g mozzarella and 50g feta or 200g mozzarella) and butter (30g), place in the medium mixing bowl and combine them with the egg.

Roll out your bread dough into a circle with a diameter of roughly 20cm (just under eight inches). Roll the edge to form a lip.

Form the cheese, butter and egg mixture into a ball using your hands and place it in the centre of your circle of dough and fold the dough over until it fully encases the cheese. Dust your baking tray lightly with a little flour. Now turn over the dough encased cheese, very carefully as you don’t want to tear the dough, place it in the centre of the baking tray and gently roll it out until it is a disc, roughly 1.5 to inches thick. Leave to rest for 10 minutes. Alternatively, divide both the dough and the cheese mixture into 4 and make individual Khachapuri.

Preheat your oven to 390F / 200C. Place the Khachapuri into the oven and bake for 15 minutes.

Remove the Khachapuri from the oven and brush the top with melted butter. Leave to cool for 10 minutes before serving.

This Georgian delicacy makes a great light lunch, just pair it with a vegetable salad. Alternatively, just enjoy it as a delicious, hot snack — exactly as it is served in Georgia.

I’ll be back next month, when, by special request of Mr Cakes, I’ll be taking a trip to Italy and making Cannoli.

Until then...

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Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. My wife’s away for work on weekends this fall, which gives me a chance to go out and hit some bars on my “to-visit” list. Last weekend I swung by Happy Dog, “a neighborhood corner bar in the best sense of the term,” and had one of the great cocktails a place like this deserves. Belly up to the bar, folks. Let’s have a boilermaker or two. Here’s what to order (“recipe” is too fancy a word):

Boilermaker

12 oz Miller High Life (1 can)

2 oz Jim Beam (1 shot)

Drink the beer. Drink a little more. Drink the Jim Beam all in one go. Drink the rest of the beer.

Let’s get one thing out of the way first: Happy Dog isn’t a dive bar. It’s got all the decor and charm of a dive, but the food is much too good for it to be called a “dive.” Dive bars don’t do food. Dive bars toss mysterious things into the fryer and hand them to you in a basket lined with waxed paper. (Ghost Bar in New Orleans? Total dive, great place, try the chicken cracklings.) Happy Dogs has hot dogs and tots, but the toppings … well, they run the gamut from gourmet to lowbrow. If you ever wanted to have Froot Loops on top of your hot dog, here’s the place. I had some tater tots with black truffle honey mustard dipping sauce. I had no idea truffles and cheap beer were so good together.

But let’s talk drinks for a moment. The boilermaker — a shot and a beer — has been around for a very long time. For most of that time, it didn’t have a name; it was just “a shot and a beer.” Somewhere around the 1800s, the combo picked up the name “boilermaker.” Rumor has it that it came from railroad workers who put away a few of these after a hard day’s work. There are some more extravagant stories of exploding trains and drunk engineers, but I’m pretty sure that the name just sprouted up organically over time. At a “real” dive bar, calling it a boilermaker would be fairly pretentious. “Shot and a beer” is just fine.

The drink itself is evergreen, but how you drink a boilermaker has changed over time. Before the turn of the century, you’d chug the beer, down the shot, and order another one. But as boilermakers have found their way onto craft cocktail menus, things have gotten a little more refined. These days, you sip on the beer, sip on the booze, and let the flavors of both interplay with one another. Cobra’s menu lists a carefully curated selection of boilermakers. (Cobra is another amazing corner bar in Columbus, recently voted one of the best bars in America.) The offerings run from a can of Hamm’s and a shot of Fernet, to a Mexican lager paired with Patron, to a Taiwan beer and a very pricey shot of sake — $42 for that one.

Amazingly, boilermakers really do work as a genteel, culinary drink. The whole is more than the sum of its parts. The hearty maltiness of American lager mellows out with a shot of sweet, thick bourbon. It’s like butter on toast — simple, but satisfying.

There is so much that’s so satisfying about going to a corner bar like this. Especially on nights when there’s live music. There’s something magical about sitting in the corner of a tatty old bar, listening to a screaming vocalist, shredding guitars, and a drummer trying his best to keep up. The music isn’t good, but it’s loud, and it’s real. Nothing around you is digitized; phones fall away. The news stops mattering. You’re headbanging in unison with the rest of the crowd. Everything is analog. Welcome back to the real world. It’s been a long time.

Let’s talk ingredients — more specifically, how to order a solid boilermaker at the bar:

Beer: If you’re new to the game, start simple. Miller High Life, Coors Banquet, or Budweiser are all excellent starting points. Hamm’s or PBR are also solid choices. DO NOT ORDER AN IPA. Likewise, pumpkin spice beers are right out. Think regional — if you’re at a cheap Mexican joint, a Modelo and a shot of tequila will get a thumbs-up from behind the stick. Snooty beers are worthy of scorn if you’re pairing them with a shot.

Shot: Don’t get fancy. Stay true to the blue-collar roots of the boilermaker. Cheap bourbon is a solid option. Jim Beam is a great starting point. Jack Daniel’s is a classic, but I’m not a fan (sorry, Lemmy). A shot of Jameson paired with Guinness is an instant classic. Tequila and Mexican beer are great together. And, of course, everything goes with Fernet-Branca.

OPEN THREAD!

Friends. Wonketeers. Countrymen. This week was a rough one, with the loss of Dolly Parton, Tim Curry, and now Gloria. There was another piece of bad news here in Cleveland that cut the craft cocktail community to the quick as well. LBM, one of the most badass cocktail bars in the area, announced it would be closing in the first week of October. Let’s mourn the end of an era with this absolute dumpster fire of a cocktail. LBM deserves no less. Here’s the recipe.

We just got the details on what killed LBM today: The insurance costs were through the roof. LBM’s gone through five different insurance providers through three brokers in the past nine years. It’s a damn shame. Eric Ho and his friends literally built LBM with their bare hands. They remodeled the space from scratch and bet that, somehow, a Viking-themed craft cocktail bar would make it in the suburbs of Cleveland. And it really, really worked. LBM hung in there for almost a decade, which is a really good run for a craft bar. I suspect Eric will have another bar in him, once he and the staff have had some time to mourn.

FirstEnergy, the local power company, also bears some of the blame. There were repeated power outages in Lakewood over the summer. When you run a restaurant and the power goes out for several days, it’s a huge loss. Not only do you lose business, but everything rots in your coolers. You have to file an insurance claim to survive. FirstEnergy is on the hook for millions in fines, but I suspect they’ll never pay a dime. They’re a ridiculously corrupt corporation that was front and center of a huge bribery scandal last year.

The most notorious cocktail on LBM’s menu is the Dumpster Fire!!, a cocktail served in a dumpster-shaped tiki mug and showered with flaming overproof rum. (According to rumor, one of the reasons the insurance company upped LBM’s rates was because of this monster.) I wanted to honor their work with an in-your-face version of my least favorite cocktail of all time, the Long Island Iced Tea. A standard LIIT is a hot mess — four different boozes in a glass, none of which particularly like each other, topped off with some lemon juice and cola. For those of you who don’t know, the Long Island Iced Tea has no tea in it. The meager amount of cola in the drink gives the cocktail it’s “iced tea” color.

My dumpster-fire drink uses two different pairings of spirits, instead of disparate liquors, to build a riot of a cocktail. Cynar and whiskey are a natural pairing. Ginger and rum love each other as well. The end result isn’t precisely harmonious, but it’s intriguing, bold, and outside the box — a solid cocktail to send off one hell of a bar.

As for the cocktail name? Well, raccoons and dumpsters always go together. This is a small, cute version of the legendary LBM Dumpster Fire, so why not? And I’ve been dying to make the pun into a cocktail name. You’re welcome.

Let’s talk ingredients:

Sazerac Rye: My rye of choice. Not too dark and heavy, but crisp and peppery in a way that bourbon can’t match.

Cynar: The artichoke-based amaro tastes nothing like artichokes. It’s bitter and herbaceous. Somehow, it pairs with whisky beautifully — the herbal notes lengthen and complement the natural pepper of rye, making them greater than the sum of their parts.

Planteray OTFD: A dark, flavorful overproof rum. My “secret sauce” in some of my tiki drinks; the extra boost of dark, rich rum notes takes any drink over the top, this one included.

Ginger Liquor: I considered using something spiced, like allspice dram, to complement the rum. Unfortunately, the allspice dram clashed with the Cynar in a way that muted both liquors. A sweet and spicy ginger liquor proved to be the better option.

Lemon Juice: You are absolutely not using bottled juice in this drink after we tossed four liquors into the glass. You will use fresh juice. Don’t make me come over there.

Cola: Whatever’s on the soda gun; I’m not too picky. I’ll be shocked if you can taste any cola flavor in this glass. The pop’s here for bubbles and color.

OPEN THREAD!

Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. I’m pretty good at this bartending stuff. I write some pretty decent cocktails. But there’s one aspect of bartending that I genuinely suck at. And it’s time to admit my flaws and talk about the one bartending style I absolutely do not do well. Let’s talk about shots. Here’s some recipes:

For the record, the B-52 is named after the World’s Greatest Party Band, not the WWII airplane. The origin of the cocktail is murky; the best guess is that it was created by Peter Finch, the head bartender at the Banff Springs Hotel in Alberta, Canada. Peter, like many bartenders, liked to name drinks after rock-and-roll bands and songs. (I’m guilty of this as well. I poured a cherry-flavored cocktail for a young woman last week; I called it “Hello World I’m Your Wild Girl.”)

I love balance in cocktails. Finding the elegant sweet spot between sweet and sour, bitter and smooth, salt and sugar fuels my soul. So when I pour sugar, on top of sugar, on top of sugar, and serve it to a guest, a part of my soul shudders. Mind you, it’s a tour de force of a drink. The specific gravity of each layer is obvious. You can see that the coffee liquor is denser and heavier than the Irish coffee, which is heavier than the Grand Marnier. It’s a fairly easy version of the pousse café, a seven-layer monstrosity that would drive me insane if I attempted to make one. But the B-52 tastes like syrup. I’d never drink one willingly.

Here’s another example of a shot that drives me nuts:

Blessedly, we make our own grenadine from scratch at Hemingway’s. (And you should too; Rose’s Grenadine is corn syrup, red food coloring, and sadness.) But the sweetness of the sugary vanilla vodka combined with literal syrup in a glass … I’m sorry. Ick. I’ll drink one for a safety meeting at work, when a quick jolt of calories helps me finish the night. But this is no way to start an evening. (For the uninitiated: “Safety meeting = A round of shots in the kitchen near the end of a rough shift.” Generally speaking, around 10 on a Friday, I’m feeling very unsafe. I can still remember one night where our new bar back — a charming young man who strongly resembles Scooter the Muppet in human form — downed his shot, looked around, and earnestly asked, “So what’s the safety issue?”)

I prefer a shot of something straight from the bottle. Something bitter and strong, like my battered soul. Yes, I’ll do a Malort shot, but I consider that a professional hazard instead of recreation. When a table’s on the fence about doing Malort shots, I’ll offer “double or nothing” — buy me a shot, buy yourself a shot, we’ll see who breaks first. Inevitably I “lose,” add an extra $7 to their check, and everyone’s happy. (One table paid to watch me take a shot, but refused to down one themselves. They were not my friends.)

Here’s my shot of choice:

I got hooked on Fernet-Branca years ago at Spotted Owl, when I was finding my footing as a craft bartender. The bitter, herbal liquor isn’t for everyone. Most of the staff shudders when they drink it. I do, too. But this little glass of mentholated evil kicks me in the pants and keeps me moving when the chips are down behind the bar. If you want something sweet and pretty to finish your night, that’s on you. Give me something complex, strong, and bitter to make my night happen. I don’t want a shot that pats me on the head and tells me things are OK. I need something to slap me in the face and get me moving. Maybe we all do, at this point.

OPEN THREAD!

Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. We’ve just flipped the menu at Hemingway’s, and there are some banging savory cocktails on the menu for fall. I had a chance to taste some of the other bartenders’ work, and I have to brag about Kiki Kunarac’s new cocktail. Kiki’s been a part of Hemingway’s as long as I have, and her sense of taste and proportion always impress me. Let’s talk about her Black Garlic cocktail. I love this drink. Here’s the recipe.

Black Garlic Cocktail

(Kristen Kunarac, Author)

2 oz black pepper-infused vodka

1 oz Hayman’s Old Tom Gin

½ oz dry vermouth

Pinch smoked sea salt

1 garlic clove

Add all ingredients to a cocktail shaker. Muddle the garlic clove. Double-strain into a chilled martini glass. Garnish with drops of extra virgin olive oil and a grind of fresh black pepper.

Black Pepper Infused Vodka

3 tablespoons cracked coarse black pepper

750 ml Luksusowa vodka

Add pepper to vodka and let sit 24 hours. Strain into a clean bottle before service.

I should note that this isn’t a “black garlic” cocktail per se. Black garlic is made of carefully fermented garlic cloves; it’s a sticky, molasses-like form of garlic. This cocktail uses black pepper and raw garlic cloves. It’s a “Black” and “Garlic” cocktail, not a “Black Garlic” cocktail, if that makes any sense.

With that out of the way, this cocktail is going to be an amazing food pairing. Black pepper is good with everything. Garlic is great with everything. This drink is going to be killer with beef, or lamb, or … well, just about everything on our menu. It’s such a beautiful piece of work; Kiki deserves to be proud.

What I love about this cocktail is how it uses the Old Tom gin and dry vermouth to announce, loudly, that this drink is a martini before getting down to business. I love classic martinis. I’ve come to the conclusion that juniper in a classic dry gin is there to wake up your palate and announce that you’re about to taste a really good drink. Old Tom gins are similar to classic gins like Beefeater and Bombay, but better balanced and more definitive in flavor. Hayman’s Old Tom gin really does hit the mark here. It’s crisp and herbaceous without tasting like Pine-Sol. I am shamelessly stealing this approach the next time I write a martini.

The change in Hemingway’s menu is a bit startling. We’ve gone from 60+ cocktails to just 20, and the focus in our menu is impressive. Three of the cocktails on the current menu are savory — this black garlic cocktail, the Filthiest Martini Ever, and a blue cheese cocktail that I’m dying to share with you later this fall. For the first time ever, Hemingway’s has no Malort cocktails listed. It’s a more mature cocktail list, less edgy, more formal. I’m a little sad about that, but I’m convinced it’s the right choice. Our audience skews older. We’re meeting them where they live. And a new hotel is opening up across the street, with a steakhouse on the first floor. This menu will be perfect for that sort of clientele.

Not that we’re throwing out any cocktails, mind you. As I’ve told guests before, “We’ve got a database, and we aren’t afraid to use it.” We’ve got all our old recipes on file, and every one of our bartenders is good enough to write a drink on the fly for a picky customer. The Regrettable Tattoo is not going away. Neither is Malort. You’ll just have to know what to ask for, who to trust, and what to expect when you leave the printed menu behind. Exactly what you want from a classic speakeasy.

Let’s talk ingredients:

Black Pepper Vodka: A neutral potato vodka like Luksusowa is a must here. Tito’s would be far too sweet and mellow to serve as a base for a black pepper spirit. If you love black pepper as I do, this little treat will find all sorts of uses in your liquor cabinet. We were drinking it neat at Hemingway’s for “quality control” before making the first cocktail.

Hayman’s Old Tom Gin: Feel free to use Bombay or Beefeater here, but the impact of that first note of the cocktail will be muddled. Do not use Hendrick’s. Black pepper, rose, and cucumber are not friends.

Dry Vermouth: Always keep your vermouth in the fridge. It’s white wine, not liquor. Leave it out too long, and it gets nasty. We use Dolin, but I’m not too picky about the brand here.

Smoked Sea Salt: A simple saline solution works just fine here. I like smoked sea salt because it plays well with the black pepper and garlic.

Garnish: The oil mellows some of the garlic's harshness, and the grind of pepper adds a spicy aroma to the drink. These garnishes make it very clear that you’re drinking a savory, culinary cocktail tonight.

OPEN THREAD!

How do you take something good and make it great? We’re condensing Hemingway’s menu to 20 cocktails; it was close to 65 last winter. My drinks are well represented on that list of 20. I need to make sure each of my drinks earns its place on the menu every day. That means tearing the drink apart, re-examining every choice that made it succeed, and seeing if it can be improved. This week, I worked on The Filthiest Martini Ever. It’s become a lot more sophisticated. Does that make it … Soiled? I’m not sure. In any case, here’s the latest recipe for a very popular, very successful drink:

I taught a class on this cocktail at the end of May, and realistically, not much has changed about the drink. It was already a successful cocktail. Every bar in town has a dirty martini. Ours had to be unmistakably better than every other glass in 50 miles. Muddled olives made it murky; salt made it brinier; olive oil made it sweeter. It was a hit.

But now that it’s one of only 20 featured cocktails, “better” isn’t good enough. This drink’s been put on a pedestal. It’s become a genuine piece of art, and every choice I made about the cocktail deserves to be re-examined. There was a joke we made back in college:

Q: How many theatre students does it take to change a lightbulb?

A: Why does it need to be a lightbulb?

I’m asking, “Why does it need to be a lightbulb?” about every part of this drink. Why is this ingredient there? What purpose does it serve? Does it contribute to the cocktail’s core mission? This cocktail is meant to be cold, briny, rich, and olive forward. Does everything in the glass serve that purpose?

Some of the changes I made were just best practices I’d been ignoring. Chilling the glass keeps the cocktail at the ideal temperature longer. Using smaller, more precise drops of olive oil means we don’t need as much oil behind the bar; we can also rotate it more frequently and keep it in the fridge so it doesn’t develop off-flavors. As for the rest… well, let’s walk through the ingredients and see what can work better.

Chopin vodka: We’ve been using an inexpensive potato vodka in the drink to date. Previous experience taught me that a light, sweet vodka, like Tito’s, undercut the core flavors of the cocktail. This drink needs to be earthy, briny, and rich. We also needed to manage a bitter vegetal flavor in the front of the cocktail.

So how about gin? Nope. The juniper didn’t hit the palate at the same time as the bitterness, creating a confusing drink, alternating between bitter and sweet in all the wrong places. Bisongrass vodka? Yuck. Bisongrass vodka has some rich coconut notes. Coconut and olives don't taste good together.

A premium potato vodka — Chopin — proved to be the answer. The bitter note died down to a whisper with a better quality base spirit. Using a better vodka means raising the drink’s price by a few bucks, but the cocktail’s quality justifies the premium.

Olive brine: Does making our own brine from scratch make sense? Maybe. Do we have the kitchen space, storage space, and time to make it? Regrettably, no. We’ll re-examine this issue later; for now, commercial brine is good enough.

Muddled olives: Our menu is Greek. We’re already using some terrific olives for muddling. I’ve been using two olives, which made the drink murky. Three olives make the drink opaque. Now that, neighbors, is filthy.

Smoked sea salt: The salt’s smokiness adds another dimension to the cocktail. Plain sea salt would make a cleaner-tasting drink, but, well, it’s a filthy martini. What about a little MSG instead of salt? I tried it once, and the MSG’s flavor was too strong. I’ll try a weaker solution and see what happens. We’ve already got smoked sea salt in the kitchen. We might be able to improve this, but it’ll take experimentation.

Three stuffed olives: I’ve been using only one olive in the cocktail to date, out of frugality. Three olives stay balanced on the cocktail rim better and convey the sense of luxury the drink deserves. They also provide a big olive scent when the customer first brings the cocktail to their lips. A drink that smells good, tastes great.

Extra virgin olive oil: The EVOO provides a long, fruity richness at the end of the sip that can’t be matched. If the cocktail is as cold as possible, the oil will congeal slightly at the edges, preventing the oil droplets from coalescing into a large pool in the middle of the glass. A cocktail that’s shaken firmly for 13 seconds is as cold as it can possibly get. (Yes, we’ve done the science.)

The Filthiest Martini Ever? Certainly. The Best Filthiest Martini Ever? Possibly. It’s always a process. The work deserves no less.

My home bar is Hemingway’s Underground, the hottest cocktail bar in pretty little Medina, Ohio. I’m behind the stick Wednesday-Saturday, 4-10. Last call’s at midnight. Swing on by, and I’ll make a drink for you … or anything else from our little Happy Hour here at Wonkette. We’ll make it through this together.

OPEN THREAD!

Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. On Monday, I had the singular experience of competing in a cocktail competition at the Green Dragon Inn, here in Akron, Ohio. That was the good news. The bad news: it was a Malört competition. Nine other bartenders and I duked it out for the chance to win bragging rights and a trophy shaped like a toilet bowl. It was … an experience. Here’s the recipe I went to war with:

Fight Your Trinidad

1 ½ oz Malört

1 oz orgeat

1 oz fresh lime juice

1 oz cinnamon syrup

½ oz Angostura bitters

½ oz pomegranate molasses

Shake all ingredients and strain into an iced tiki mug. Garnish with a paper umbrella. Set the umbrella on fire before service.

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I thought this cocktail was over the top. I thought it was extreme. I took a Trinidad Sour — a cocktail notorious for using a full ounce of Angostura bitters, the mixologist’s equivalent of the notorious TikTok cinnamon challenge — and added a full ounce and a half of Malört to this beast. This was going to be an infamous, exciting drink. I truly believed that.

Then we had the pre-competition meeting.

“One of the judges is a vegetarian,” the tournament organizer announced. “Do any of your cocktails incorporate meat? Raise your hand if your cocktail uses meat.”

Four competitors raised their hands.

At that point, I knew I was playing a whole different ball game. I showed up ready to throw some fast pitches; the rest of the field was ready for Calvinball. Some truly bizarre cocktails were coming our way. I no longer expected to win. But I expected a wild ride.

I shouldn’t have been that surprised. Malört has won the hearts of bartenders across the Midwest. The advertising slogans are legend: “Malört: Tonight’s The Night You Fight Your Dad.” “Malört: When You Need To Unfriend Someone In Person.” The long, lingering, vile aftertaste is the perfect shot to pour for guests you don’t really like. Bartenders have been creating gross infusions of the spirit for years now. (I’m no exception.) I should have known that the big guns would be rolling out.

Sure enough, the first competitor offered four tapas and a Malört cocktail influenced by miso and green tea. I saw a literal dumpster fire of a cocktail with a firework perched on it. I saw a Malört Blue Hawaiian. The winning cocktail was a Skyline Chili-infused Malört drink.

No, I didn’t taste it. The option did not present itself, and if it did … well, I love Yr Editrix with all my heart, but no one could pay me enough to taste that. I have a few remaining standards. Skyline Chili-flavored alcohol would be one of them.

One of my competitors mentioned after the brouhaha that Malört was an astonishingly versatile spirit. After reviewing the carnage of that contest, it’s hard to disagree. Malört has a very, very long and very, very horrid aftertaste. But the space before that nastiness is pretty empty. Malört doesn’t taste or smell like much until it punches you in your face while your back is turned. I follow an account on Instagram titled “Cursed Malört,” where every week a man who’s given up on life infuses Malört with something — chicken-flavored ramen, sardines, Doritos — and tests them for our viewing pleasure. The visceral sadism is pleasant, but the shenanigans also demonstrate that Malört readily takes on a variety of flavors. Someday, somehow, I might make a bottle of Malört that tastes good. A man can dream.

Let’s talk ingredients:

Malört: The Chicago legend. If you don’t know what Malört is … well. Start here. And then don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Orgeat: This almond-flavored syrup is the most sane ingredient in the glass.

Lime juice: Fresh. Please. There are enough horrid things going on in this drink.

Cinnamon syrup: The Angostura bitters have a clove flavor so intense it’ll burn out your taste buds. The extra syrup helps to even them out, and the cinnamon complements the clove nicely.

Angostura bitters: Angostura bitters are usually added by the drop to a cocktail. Half an ounce would be excessive in any glass other than this. Here? It’s fine. Knock yourself out.

Pomegranate molasses: I use this thick, rich syrup as a hardcore version of grenadine in punk-rock drinks. It barely makes a dent in this one.

My home bar is Hemingway’s Underground, the hottest cocktail bar in pretty little Medina, Ohio. I’m behind the stick Wednesday-Saturday, 4-10. Last call’s at midnight. Swing on by, and I’ll make this drink for you… or anything else from our little Happy Hour here at Wonkette. We’ll make it through this together.

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Here in the United Kingdom, we continue to melt in a heatwave which has lasted for well over a month. It’s the kind of weather that means baking is the last thing you want to be doing, and crawling inside the freezer for a brief reprieve is starting to seem like a very good idea. This kind of weather is when light, creamy, fruity desserts really come into their own, and today’s recipe, the Fool is a brilliant example of this kind of dessert which traces its origin back to at least the 16^th Century, with some variations possibly being even older than that. There is some debate as to where the name of this dish originates from, with some claiming it comes from the French word, ‘fouler’, meaning “to crush” or “to press” due to the fruit compote element associated with many variations of the Fool. Another possibility is that the name comes from the simplicity and unpretentiousness of the dish, perhaps linking it to the profession of Fool and the jesters of Royal courts who entertained Kings and Courtiers with agility and humour whilst maintaining the ability to disappear into the background when their services were not required.

A Little Slice Of History

The earliest recorded recipe for a Fool or Foole dates from 1655, when it appeared in a collection of English Royal recipes titled The Compleat Cook, although an Italian dish described as “like a foole” is mentioned in the Italian – English dictionary, A Worlde of Words, which was written by John Florio and published in 1598. This would suggest that the history of the Fruit Fool precedes the written record by a considerable time period. An alternative name for a Fool during the 16^th and 17^th Century was Trifle, although the modern Trifle has evolved to include a cake element and sometimes a fruit jelly (Jello in the United States). “Trifle” is also used to describe something which is small and unpretentious; a gift might be described as “just a trifle” in order to downplay its significance. Originally, both Fool and Trifle described a simple dish of cream and crushed and boiled fruit. It was actually considered the safest way to eat fruit during the 15^th Century as there were concerns that raw fruit was unhealthy – a quick look at the Republican Party will show that some haven’t moved on from these crazy medieval ideas about health.

Literature has a long existing trope of the “wise fool”, frequently a seemingly insignificant character who hides intelligence behind a facade of simplicity or humour, or reveals deep wisdom through clumsy or unintelligent antics. This trope has existed at least since Ancient Greece, and spans every culture and religion, from Diogenes, the Cynic philosopher who carried a lamp during the day in a quest to find an “honest man” and mock what he considered false wisdom of elite society, to the Islamic tales of Mullah Nasreddin, who’s naïve and often absurd antics were used to moral and philosophical lessons. William Shakespeare perfected this trope with various characters in his plays such as Touchstone in As You Like It, Feste in Twelfth Night, or the Fool in King Lear.

As many of you are aware, Wonkette has recently lost a beloved friend in Gav Ashdown, also known as FukuiSanYesOta. I was trying desperately to think of a way to honour him in this recipe blog, and I came to the realisation that Gav was a man who faced the world with humour and just a little madness, yet behind that humorous antics was a kind and generous individual who was frequently among the smartest people in the room. Truly an example of the Wise Fool. And I think he’d probably have a good laugh over that.

The Fruit Fool is a light, refreshing summer dessert, perfect for dining al Fresco on a summer evening, and although a little bit of work over a hot stove is needed, the result is worth the effort. Just about any fruit will work for this recipe, but it is absolutely ideal for using up summer berries such as strawberries, blueberries and raspberries. Fresh or frozen doesn’t really matter either, so it is great for using up whatever you have in the fridge or freezer. If you want to make a vegan version of this dessert then I would suggest keeping your eyes open for Birds Custard Powder in the UK section of larger grocery stores, this is an egg-free custard mix which can be made of the stove or in the microwave and simply requires the addition of milk (use coconut milk) and sugar. Combining this with some coconut cream will give you a fully vegan version of this recipe.

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This recipe will comfortably serve 3, you could probably stretch it to 4. For fellow members of the Dead Pancreas Society, that means your carbohydrates will be 121.4g for the fool, or between 30 and 40g per portion, to this you would need to add your fruit, and anything else you wished to serve with it. For the cornflake granola, that would be around 6g per 2 tablespoons, for the shortbread, this would be 17.5g per biscuit.

Your Equipment

For the Fool:

Digital kitchen scales

Saucepan

Mixing bowl (large)

Whisk (electric or hand powered)

For the Granola:

Digital scales

Rolling pin

Baking tray

For the Shortbread:

Digital scales

Food processor or mixing bowl

Rolling pin

Baking tray

Baking parchment

Sharp knife

Serving dishes or wine glasses

Your Ingredients

For the Fool:

3 Egg yolks

65 g Sugar (superfine/caster sugar is best, but regular sugar will work)

20 g Cornstarch (Corn flour in the UK)

20 g All purpose flour

300 ml full fat milk

1 tsp Vanilla essence

250 ml heavy cream

Alternatively, use approximately ¾ pint of custard made using Birds Custard Powder, or a tin of Ambrosia Devon Custard and ½ pint of heavy whipping cream0 coconut cream.

For the Fruit Compote:

150 g Blue berries, raspberries, or soft fruit of your choice

1 tbsp Sugar

2 tbsp Water

Alternatively, use around 150 g of raspberries or strawberries, 1 tbsp of raspberry or strawberry jam, and 1 tbsp of hot water.

For the Granola:

30 g Rolled oats

30 g Pecan nuts

4 Digestive biscuits or around 60g of Graham crackers

20 g Cornflakes

20 g Raisins, sultanas, or mixed fruit (optional)

40 g Runny honey

For the Shortbread:

125 g Butter

55 g Sugar

180 g All purpose flour

The Important Bit

The fool will need to be prepared a few hours in advance as it needs to chill in the refridgerator for at least 2 hours before you serve it. Start by whisking your egg yolks (3), flour (20g), cornstarch (20g) and sugar (65g) in large mixing bowl. Whisk it until the egg yolks are thick and pale.

In your saucepan, heat the milk (300 ml) and vanilla essence (1 tsp) until it boils, then remove it from the heat immediately.

Add your hot milk into your egg yolk very slowly (around 1 tbsp at a time), whisk the egg yolk mix constantly while you do this to avoid scrambling the eggs. Once the milk mix has been added into the yolk mixture, transfer it back to the saucepan and simmer on a low heat for 4 to 5 minutes, or until the custard mix is smooth and thick. Give your mixing bowl a quick wash and then place the custard into the mixing bowl to cool for around 30 minutes.

Use this time to prepare your granola. Firstly, heat your oven to 360F/180C. Use the rolling pin to smash up the pecans (30g) and Digestive biscuits or Graham crackers (4 biscuits/60g), place these on a baking tray along with the cornflakes (20g), the rolled oats (30g), and the raisins or sultanas (20g) if using. Mix well and spread across the baking tray and then drizzle with runny honey (40g). Bake the granola for 15 minutes, or until golden brown. Remove from the oven and allow to cool, store in an airtight container until needed.

Take your cooled custard and fold in your heavy whipping cream (250 ml). Place this mixture into the fridge to chill for a few hours until you’re ready to serve it.

This is the perfect time to prepare your shortbread. Preheat your oven to 360F/180C and mix your flour (180g) and sugar (55g) in a mixing bowl or food processor. Cut your butter (125g) into cubes and add to the dry ingredients. Use your fingers to rub the burrer into the flour mixture until it forms a breadcrumb-like texture, then knead until it comes together to form a thick dough. Alternatively, use the pulse function on your food processor until the mixture forms a thick dough.

Line your baking tray with baking parchment and roll out your shortbread until it forms a rectangle of approximately 12 by 8 inches. Place the shortbread onto the baking tray and use a knife to score it into 12 portions (cut it into ½ lengthways, then divide each half into 6 fingers measuring 1 by 4 inches). Gently score the top of the shortbread fingers using the knife, then sprinkle with the remaining sugar (10g).

Bake in the oven for around 15-20 minutes, or until the shortbread is a pale golden brown. Set aside to cool.

The final step is to make your fruit compote. Take your saucepan and fruit (150g raspberries, blueberries or strawberries), add 2 tbsp of water and 1 tbsp of sugar. Cook the fruit on a medium heat until boiling, then turn down the heat and simmer for around 5 minutes whilst gently crushing the berries with a spoon. Once the compote has thickened enough to coat the back of the spoon, remove from the heat and allow to cool until you are ready to assemble your Fools.

Take your dessert dish or wine glass and place a spoonful of fruit compote at the bottom. Top with 1-2 spoons full of the custard mixture, then another spoonful of compote. Continue alternating layers of compote and custard mixture until you have filled the dessert dish or wine glass. Top with 2 tbsp of the granola mixture, and/or a shortbread biscuit. Serve immediately.

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Join me next month when I’ll be taking a trip to Georgia (the country, not the state) and making a return to bread making with a recipe for Imeruli Khachapuri, a popular, cheese-stuffed bread which would make a lovely lunch served with a vibrant, leafy salad, or just a delicious, fun snack.

Until then…

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Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. It’s garage sale season here in Ohio. Every weekend, our neighbors spill the contents of their garages/basements/attics onto the front yard and hope you’ll pay them for the pleasure of hauling their junk away. At Hemingway’s, we’re doing something similar — we’re planning the fall menu, which entails using up bottles of stuff we don’t want taking up shelf space. In that spirit, let’s rummage through my liquor cabinet and cobble together a cocktail from bottles I need to use up. Let’s make a Garage Sale. Here’s the recipe.

First things first: I do not, in any way, shape, or form, advocate making this particular cocktail. If you comment on this post with, “I’d make this, but I don’t have the ingredients!” I will reach through the Internet and gently smack you on the wrist with two fingers. I mean, if you wanted to go pick up a bottle of Another Hendrick’s just on principle, I wouldn’t say no. It’s really good gin. But that’s not the point of this exercise.

This is a fridge-cleaning cocktail, a rummage through my (admittedly eclectic) liquor cabinet in an attempt to find ingredients that love each other enough to make a cocktail. The orange blossom and cocoa nibs Hendricks has been staring at me for weeks. It’s delicious. But you can’t make a G&T with it, and diluting it with soda water felt like a crime. Aperol is a kissing cousin to Campari — another bright red bitter Italian amaro. I infused this Aperol with orange for a cocktail competition months ago. Gin plus Campari is two-thirds of a Negroni. Orange in the gin, orange in the Aperol … we’ve got some synergy here. Do we have sweet vermouth to finish the drink? Yes, we do, and that vermouth is close to expiring. Bingo.

Pulling this stunt off requires some cocktail knowledge. As a professional, I’ve memorized most of the basic recipes, and it’s easy for me to take those templates and swap in some ingredients to make something good. But you can perform this trick with very simple recipes. Do you love Mount Gay rum and cola? What if you cook down that bottle of yesterday’s flat soda into a syrup, stick it in the fridge, and splash a little into tomorrow’s cocktail? What if you add two lime wedges instead of one? How about a pinch of salt over the rum before you add the pop? A basic drink, like a gin and tonic, can be that much better if you think a bit about how to use your leftovers.

Look at your liquor cabinet. Think about what tastes good with other things. Are you a vodka fan? Good news. Vodka goes with everything. Pick bold flavors, things that taste good together. Don’t be afraid to try something that isn’t ordinary, but uses stuff you have already. Be brave. Try something you haven’t tried yet. Raid the fridge — if I didn’t have a bag of fresh limes in the citrus drawer, I would be utterly lost at the end of the shift. You already bought the bottles of booze. Be bold.

Let’s talk ingredients:

Another Hendricks: This is an amazing gin. But if you’re building a cocktail using the Negroni as your base recipe, non-amazing gin is fine. Beefeater works. So does Citadelle Jardin d’ete, if you want a cheap citrus gin. So does vodka, if you want something that isn’t as intensely flavored. If you use bourbon, you’ve made a Boulevardier, a perfectly respectable cocktail. Tequila? Rum? Why not? Put things into a glass that taste good. There are no rules.

Orange-Infused Aperol: If you’re following the Negroni as a base recipe, this is where the rubber hits the road. I am of the opinion that you should stick a bitter Italian amaro in your liquor cabinet on principle. A flavor bomb that isn’t laden with sugar is always going to be useful. Aperol is the default — Aperol spritzes will never go out of style. But if you fall in love with Cynar or Fernet Branca, who am I to say no?

Sweet Vermouth: Use dry vermouth if you have that. Use leftover wine if you have that. Put whatever you think is tasty into the glass. Experiment. Be bold. Your favorite cocktail is waiting for you. You just have to try.

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The very first thing I do when I arrive in New Orleans is walk to Jean Lafitte’s Olde Absinthe House and order a Sazerac. And the very last thing I do when I leave New Orleans is to drink one last Sazerac at the Absinthe House. I spent all week in the city of my dreams, making friends and learning my craft at Tales of the Cocktail. I drank a lot of Sazeracs while I was there. But it’s the first, and the last, that matter the most. Here’s the recipe.

Sazerac

2 oz. Sazerac rye whiskey

½ oz. absinthe

½ oz. simple syrup

4-5 dashes Peychaud’s bitters

Fill a small rocks glass with ice. Add absinthe and swirl until the glass is cold. Dump out the glass. Add syrup, rye, and bitters to the empty glass. Swirl again. Garnish with a lemon twist.

This is a perfect dive bar Sazerac, simply for the economy of effort. At Hemingway’s, I’ll use a stirring vessel to get my Sazerac perfectly mixed and chilled. Behind the stick at Jean Lafitte’s, you’ve got one tiny dishwasher and a surly barback. No stirring vessels, no spoons, no wasted effort - just grab and go. The perfect drink for its place and time.

A perfect Mai Tai in a fancy tiki bar, an ice-cold beer in a backwater dive bar, an elegant French 75 in a bar where the writers wear white tuxedo jackets - each is the perfect drink, because they are a part of the place you drink, and sights and sounds and scents flavor every cocktail when you taste them. Taste is memory, and we are making memories with every breath we take. I love making cocktails with long, intriguing, expressive flavor profiles, because the process of tasting and making memories stretches out and gains intensity. A cold Bud in a dive bar is a power chord. A beautiful cocktail in an elegant speakeasy is a song.

We talked a lot about ideas like this at Tales of the Cocktail. I had the distinct pleasure of hanging out with thousands of the best bartenders in the world, making friends, learning, and getting shitfaced drunk together. And boy howdy, did we drink. There were dozens of tasting rooms set up all week, filled with distillers and distributors begging you to taste their booze. A 21-year-old bourbon? Don’t mind if I do. A brand new citrus gin from one of your favorite brands? Certainly. An Islay scotch finished in sherry casks? Absolutely. A gentian-flavored spirit from a brand you’ve never heard of? Why not? I didn’t spend one full hour sober on my first day at Tales. That’s nowhere near as much fun as you’d think.

As the days went on, I focused less on the booze and more on the people and the classes. I met bartenders who traveled all the way from Hawaii for a seminar. I met more rum and pirate fanatics. I met Midwestern bartenders from bars I’ve never heard of. (I now have a “to-drink” list for when I get out of town.) I took classes on making your own booze. (I made Malort! Deliberately!) I took classes on taste, and sense, and place. I took a class on how to start writing the book.

But I didn’t go to many parties at night. As big as Tales of the Cocktails was, the city was bigger. I sauntered through the Quarter in my straw fedora, nursing my bad knee with an elegant walking cane, drinking in the sights and scents and feelings of this old, elegant, battered town. I sat down in white-glove restaurants for supper. I ate chicken cracklings in skeevy dive bars on the Quarter’s edge. I made friends at the Old Absinthe House. As much as four short days would let me, I became a part of this town.

It’s not always a pretty place. Madmen argue with themselves on street corners. The pavement’s been ripped away in the name of progress. The roadside puddles... well, the locals call them “street gravy” for a reason. But this city will love you if you let it. There’s no place like it in the whole world. I’ve only begun to explore this beautiful town, and it’s gotten deep under my skin. I can’t wait to go back and have another Sazerac. That drink, that bar, that place, that time will always call me back.

Let’s talk ingredients:

Sazerac Rye Whiskey: I’m pretty sure that the Absinthe House uses a cheaper rye. But I’m snob enough to use this balanced, peppery rye that’s native to New Orleans. Visit the Sazerac House when you’re in New Orleans; the museum is elegant, polished, and more fun than a bourbon museum ought to be.

Absinthe: The Old Absinthe House is undoubtedly a dive bar. Hundreds of cards are stapled to the walls. Old sports jerseys hang from the rafters. And yet, they have one of the largest selections of absinthe in America. When you go, ask for an absinthe flight. You’ll be amazed. The House has a rail absinthe; I have no idea what it is. I was too drunk to care. Use your favorite.

Simple syrup: 1:1 sugar and water. Stir it and let it sit in the fridge until it’s dissolved.

Peychaud’s Bitters: Be generous. This brightly colored bitters has a strong anise component that reinforces the absinthe flavors and gives the cocktail its color.

I’ve got the day off from Hemingway’s; Courtney and Zane sensibly decided that my feet and liver needed a day to recover. Ask me anything in the comments. I’ll be here all night to talk about the trip.

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Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. I’m in the process of packing for and panicking about Tales of the Cocktail, a national bartender’s convention held in New Orleans every year. (So. Many. Parties.) I expect to have many, many things to tell you. This trip wouldn’t be possible without the help of Yr Editrix, so if you aren’t a subscriber to Wonkette, please join in, or at least toss some money into the kitty to help out. Seriously. I couldn’t have done this without her.

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Before I go, I wanted to bring you a very, very upscale version of a cheap cocktail served on Bourbon Street. Here’s my culinary take on a classic — the Strawberry Daiquiri. Here’s the recipe.

This recipe was inspired by a bottle of rhubarb syrup my wife found at a local farmer’s market a few Saturdays ago. Strawberry and rhubarb are a classic flavor pairing, and one I’ve never had time to explore in a cocktail. I’ve muddled strawberries into tequila for a strawberry margarita before. Muddling provided a light, subtle strawberry flavor in the margarita, which was perfect in that application. This time, I wanted a big strawberry bomb in a glass. I decided to use two different techniques to hammer the strawberry flavors home — raw muddled berries and a cooked syrup

I knew in theory that cooked strawberries and raw strawberries provided different flavors. But having the two side by side in the same glass was a revelation. Raw strawberries are tart and vegetal; cooked strawberries are sweet, unctuous, and barely acidic. I can understand why cooked rhubarb and strawberries are natural companions; the rhubarb’s tartness balances the sweetness of cooked strawberries, bringing the fruit back into harmony.

The tartness of the muddled fresh berries made the drink too sour on first taste. I didn’t want to use a sugar syrup when fresh ingredients were on hand; there’s nothing wrong with sugar, but it seemed like a missed opportunity to add more flavor to the drink. Local honey syrup rebalanced the cocktail while keeping us on point with flavors. Berries and honey love each other.

There’s already a lot going on in this glass, but the basil adds an herbaceous finish that just screams summer.

Let’s talk ingredients:

Planteray Three Star Rum: This rum is dry and refreshing, with a slight funky Jamaican undertone. It’s a “clear” rum, but it’s made very differently than Bacardi. I’m not a fan of Bacardi overall, but it’s a solid daiquiri ingredient, so use that if you can’t find this gem from Planteray.

Rhubarb Syrup: I bought this ingredient from Sage Lane Syrups, a local business out of Canton, Ohio. Please shop local — order from them or a farmer’s market local to you.

Honey syrup: 1:1 honey to water, heated and stirred until combined. If you add pure honey to a cocktail, it’ll harden up and turn into taffy.

Lime juice: Always fresh.

Strawberry Syrup: This is a thin, simple, homemade strawberry jam; if you wanted to save some for your morning toast after making cocktails, I wouldn’t blame you.

Fresh strawberries and basil: So produce is a little … iffy in America these days. I used strawberries from a market I trust and basil from a plant growing in my backyard. Use caution and good sense. I can’t promise the rum will kill any wigglies.

Rhubarb Bitters: A great addition if you have them — they smooth out the drink wonderfully. Orange bitters will do in a pinch.

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Sometimes, you write a cocktail because you’re trying to find a vehicle for a clever flavor combination that you’ve just discovered. Sometimes you want to try a recipe you’ve read on social media and end up riffing on it to create a brand-new cocktail. Sometimes you write a crowd-pleaser to welcome the start of a new season.

And sometimes you write a cocktail because one of the owners of Hemingway’s drops a bottle of carrot juice in front of you at the beginning of a shift and says, “Make a cocktail out of this.”

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Well, like they say, necessity is a mother. Let’s make a Silly Wabbit. Here’s the recipe.

I don’t hate carrot juice. I can’t recall ever having tasted it on its own before this; most of the time I’ve had it in a nine-ingredient juice cocktail from a “healthy” smoothie bar. That’s pretty much consistent with its history. Carrot juice was first promoted as a health food by Norman Walker in 1936 at the dawn of the fresh juice movement. Ever since, carrot juice has been recommended as a natural, healthy beverage that promotes well-being. No one has ever claimed that it’s tasty.

It’s not bad. Honest. Sweet, a little creamy, vegetal, but not “green” tasting. My first impulse was to lean into the vegetable flavors and make something with a mezcal base. A little genepy, some lemon, and some other odds and ends, and I had … something. I offered it to the hostess and owner for tasting. They nodded, smiled, and said it tasted “nice.” Not what I was hoping for.

I called my wife and asked her to pull one of my reference books off the shelves — The Flavor Bible (Wonkette cut link) by Karen Page and Andrew Dornenburg. This book is worth its weight in gold when dealing with a new ingredient. It’s a “cookbook” with no recipes; just a list of what flavors go well with specific ingredients, an endless list of flavor pairings and inspiration. According to Karen and Andrew, carrots have a cooling flavor that pairs well with soft, round flavors like butter and cream. Lemon was a solid pick. So was maple. I kept looking.

I stumbled across a recipe from Robbie Dow from Bespoke in Wilmington, North Carolina. He’d written a version of the Surfer on Acid — a banging ‘90s cocktail featuring Jaegermeister, rum, and pineapple — and elevated it using some broad rum choices and lime juice to balance things. A splash of coconut rum intrigued me. Carrot and coconut had great potential. The idea of building a shell of a tiki drink, with multiple rums, pineapple, and citrus, to surround and elevate a problematic ingredient had potential. Could I use the core of this drink to make something special?

The answer was a resounding “yes.” When I offered a “carrot and coconut” drink to my audience, there were a lot of oohs and ahs over the notion. The final flavor profile was rich, smooth, comforting, and funky all at once. A parsley garnish for brightness and color completed the drink. Who says carrots have to be good for you?

Let’s talk ingredients:

Planteray 3 Star: This clear rum doesn’t taste a thing like Bacardi. Not all clear rums taste the same, or are made the same. Bacardi is an aged rum; it’s filtered for clarity, sort of like cristallino tequila. Planteray 3 Star is an unaged rum with mildly funky Jamaican notes. Find this rum and try it. It’s a real eye-opener.

Pineapple Juice: Pineapple and rum provide a stable base for this drink, a platform to tame and smooth out unfamiliar flavors. It worked for Jaegermeister in the original Surfer on Acid, and it works here. I use canned pineapple juice; fresh pineapple is too acidic.

Carrot Juice: All-natural, obviously. If you can juice your own, more power to you.

Maple Syurp: Carrot and maple play together wonderfully. I tried a turmeric syrup out of curiosity, but it didn’t add much to the cocktail.

Lemon Juice: Some acid to brighten the drink. Always use fresh.

Planteray Cut and Dried Coconut Rum: One of the advantages of working in a craft bar is that I’ve got access to wonderful, pricey ingredients like this. It’s an indulgence. Use coconut syrup at home; be ready to add more lemon juice to balance the cocktail.

Leblon Cachaca: Wray and Nephew would be even better here, if you’ve got some lying around.

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If there’s one thing everyone knows about Great Britain, it’s that we still have a Royal Family, and even though their role in these modern days is purely ceremonial, they’re still very involved in public life. The Royal family have also had a considerable influence on British food, with dishes such as Coronation Chicken invented for special events such as the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II in 1953, or the granting of Royal warrants to popular UK food production companies, such as Kellogg’s UK, or Walkers Shortbread. The Royal family have become intrinsically linked to certain foods throughout history, from the Victoria sponge cake to the crustless cucumber sandwiches associated with the garden parties of Queen Elizabeth II.

The dish I am providing for you today was reputed to be a favourite of Queen Victoria, from whom it gets its modern name. It’s a pretty simple dish using bread, custard, jam, and meringue to make an easy to eat dessert that is surprisingly filling; it’s also delicious served with cream or ice cream. This dish is known as Queen of Puddings. It is considered a little old fashioned now, and you won’t find it on the menu in many restaurants, but it’s a creative and tasty way to use up the remains of a loaf of bread and a bit of leftover milk. That’s another thing us Brits are good at — using whatever is lying around the kitchen to make delicious desserts.

A Slice Of History

Queen of Puddings has gone by this name since the late 19th century after Queen Victoria expressed delight when it was served to her during a trip to Manchester. The dish itself predates this Royal encounter by several hundred years, and had previously been known as Manchester Pudding, and Monmouth Pudding. Delighting Queen Victoria in Manchester is not its only link to the Royal family, it is also connected through James Scott, the first Duke of Monmouth, eldest illegitimate son of Charles II. Following the death of Charles II the ascension of his younger brother James II (also known as James VII of Scotland) to the throne of Great Britain caused a few problems. James was a Catholic and refused to renounce his faith, causing unease amongst the Protestant nobility. Onto this stage stepped James Scott, first Duke of Monmouth, freshly returned from exile following his implication in a plot to assassinate his father, Charles II, in order to prevent the ascension of James II to the throne in the first place. Despite strong support from the South West of England and Wales, and fielding a larger military force than James II, the Duke of Monmouth was defeated at the Battle of Sedgemoor on the 6th July 1685, and our friend the Duke was subsequently parted from his head just nine days later. This is where the link to the recipe that became the Queen of Puddings comes in. Apparently, Monmouth pudding became so known because of the red stripe through the centre formed by the layer of jam; forever linked to James Scott, first Duke of Monmouth, and the reported eight blows of the axe which were required to separate his head from his body.

It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows for James II after that though, as he was deposed in 1688 and replaced by another nephew, William of Orange, a Protestant, who was married to James II’s daughter Mary. The British monarchy really did like to keep it in the family.

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The recipe I’m giving you today is the classic one, I have since had an idea for my own variation (see the end of the recipe for details), it consists of a layer of breadcrumbs soaked in custard and baked until set, topped with a generous layer of jam (I’ve opted for strawberry, but choose whatever flavour floats your boat), and a final layer of meringue. The measurements I’m giving you will comfortably serve 4. For fellow members of the Dead Pancreas Society, that’s 50g of carbohydrate per portion, plus whatever you serve it with, or 200g for the whole pudding.

Your Equipment

Digital kitchen scales

Saucepan

Wooden spoon

Mixing bowl

Pie dish

Deep sided baking tray

Electric hand whisk or stand mixer

Piping bag and star shaped nozzle (optional)

Your Ingredients

For the custard layer:

600 ml (1 pint) whole/full fat milk

25 g butter, plus extra to grease the pie dish

zest of ½ lemon

3 egg yolks

50 g sugar

75 g fresh white breadcrumbs

For the jam layer:

6 tbsp of a jam of your choice (I went with strawberry)

For the meringue layer:

2 medium egg whites

137 g sugar

pinch of salt

The Important Bit

The first step is to make your custard. Gently heat your milk (600 ml/1 pint) in the saucepan until almost boiling. Add your butter (25 g), sugar (50 g)and the lemon zest and stir until the butter has melted and the sugar has dissolved.

In your mixing bowl, whisk the 3 egg yolks until they are pale and fluffy. Now take a ladle of the milk mixture and slowly add it to the egg yolks, whisk the egg yolks vigorously while you do this as you don’t want to cook the eggs. Carefully add the egg yolk mixture back into the remaining milk mixture and mix it well.

Grease the pie dish with a little extra butter, then place the breadcrumbs in the pie dish. Pour in the custard mix, and leave it for 15 minutes to allow the breadcrumbs to soak up the custard. This is the perfect time to preheat your oven to 340F / 170C.

Place the pie dish containing your custard mix into your deep sided baking tray, carefully fill the baking tray halfway up with hot water. Now place the baking tray and its contents into the oven and bake for 30 minutes.

Give your mixing bowl and other equipment a wash — it’s important to try to keep a clean and organised workstation.

After 30 minutes, remove the baking tray from the oven and carefully remove the pie dish from the tray and turn the oven down to 270F / 130C.

Spread 6tbsp of your chosen jam across the top of the custard, which should now be perfectly set. The heat from the custard should be enough to soften the jam enough that it is easily spread using the back of a spoon.

Take your 2 medium egg whites and a pinch of salt and whisk them using your electric hand whisk or stand mixer on the highest speed setting until they form stiff peaks. Remember, you know they’re done when you can hold the bowl upside down over your significant other/friend/child’s head and they do not end up wearing an egg white hat and needing a shower.

Add the sugar (87 g) a little at a time, whilst continuing to whisk the egg whites on the highest speed setting. You should end up with a thick, glossy meringue.

Pipe or spoon the meringue over the top of the jam layer, and place the pie dish back into the oven for another 30 minutes, or until the meringue is a very pale golden colour.

Serve your Queen of Puddings immediately with cream or ice cream. It would also go nicely with some shortbread biscuits for an added element of texture.

After making this recipe, I’ve decided an interesting variation would be to remove the breadcrumbs within the custard and add a biscuit or pastry base instead, topped with the custard , jam and meringue. It’s something I intend to explore at a later date.

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For now, I hope you enjoyed your trip through British baking history. Join me next month, when I plan to get Foolish in the summer heat with another classic British recipe. Until then...

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Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. I was recently given an exceptionally good bottle of Puerto Rican rum and asked to make a cocktail out of it. I came up with an extremely minimalist take on a Cuba Libre, or a maximalist take on a ‘Ti Punch. Either way, this rum is an utter delight. Let’s grab a cigarillo, sit outside in the scorching heat, and enjoy a ‘Ti Libre. Here’s the recipe.

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‘Ti Libre

3 oz Ron del Barrilito Three Stars Puerto Rican Rum

1 barspoon cola syrup

Thin lime wedge

Squeeze the lime wedge into a chilled double rocks glass. Add the rum and cola syrup. Swizzle the rum and syrup until the syrup has fully dissolved. Add ice and sip gently.

Cola Syrup

1 cup Boylan Cane Syrup Cola

Pour the cola into a saucepan over low heat. Bring the cola to a low simmer for 30-45 minutes, until it’s reduced by ⅔. Let cool to room temperature. Keeps 1 month in the fridge in a sealed bottle.

I associate Puerto Rican rum with Bacardi simply because of volume and experience. But Ron del Barrilito is the real deal, dating back to 1880. The Bacardi family are relative newcomers to Puerto Rico, abandoning Cuba when Castro had some very bad ideas about who should be in charge of Bacardi. (I absolutely must stop and recommend Bacardi and the Long Fight for Cuba, by Tom Gjelten (Wonkette affiliate link). It’s an astonishing history of rum, Cuba, and modern Caribbean history.)

Ron del Barrilito is a fantastic sipping rum; tasted neat, I find sherry, raisin, oak, toasted molasses, and green banana flavors in the spirit. There’s so much going on in this glass that I hesitated to do much with the liquor. Some bottles are meant to be used in cocktails; some are meant to be curated. This spirit could easily do both.

Initially, I tried making a ‘Ti Punch with the Ron del Barrilito. ‘Ti Punch is a Jamaican classic — cold rum, a pinch of sugar, and the tiniest wedge of lime imaginable, stirred together and drunk neat. The result wasn’t satisfactory. Puerto Rican rum isn’t Jamaican rum; the flavor profiles are very different, and the touch of sugar wasn’t doing the sherry-cask-aged rum any favors. But I loved the minimalism of the ‘Ti Punch recipe. It’s the rum equivalent of the Old Fashioned in some ways — a supremely minimalist cocktail, just a little “salt and pepper on the steak,” a tiny amount of flavor to draw out the best qualities of the core spirit. But the Ron del Barrilito needed something that respected the bottle’s Puerto Rican origins. Plain sugar wasn’t cutting it.

I love Cuba Libres, aka a rum and Coke. I usually pour one for myself after a long shift at the bar. Spanish-style rum and cola are fantastic together; the cola’s subtle bitterness and citrus combine with the rum’s subtle Puerto Rican spices like nothing else in the world. I decided to make a super-minimalist version of a Cuba Libre by reducing my favorite all-natural cola down to a syrup. A whisper of cola, a tiny amount of lime juice, and a beautiful American rum. What could be better on a hot summer day?

Let’s talk ingredients:

Ron del Barrilito Three Stars: I cannot begin to tell you how beautifully this spirit hit when I tried it “in terroir” — on my back porch, in the sweltering heat of July, with good tobacco smoke curling around me. It stops becoming a drink and becomes an experience. Take the time to find this spirit. It’s the best bottle I’ve ever tasted out of Puerto Rico, and well worth your time.

Cola Syrup: Please use an all-natural cola like Boylson’s for this. I don’t know how artificial flavors will react to heat; I’ve got more faith in natural oils. Keep reducing the cola on a low simmer until it starts to bubble.

Thin Lime Wedge: A “true” ‘Ti Punch uses a lime “coin” — a slice of lime from the side of the fruit, more rind than pulp, more lime oil than juice. I wanted a touch more lime juice in this glass to balance the sweetness. Use what you like; there are no wrong choices.

Presentation: A chilled glass is a must. ‘Ti Punch is often served neat, but I like a little dilution with this rum (and in this heat, we need all the chill we can muster).

My home bar is Hemingway’s Underground, the hottest cocktail bar in pretty little Medina, Ohio. I’m behind the stick Wednesday-Saturday, 4-10. Last call’s at midnight. Swing on by, and I’ll make a drink for you… or anything else from our little Happy Hour here at Wonkette. We’ll make it through this together.

OPEN THREAD!

Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. It’s summer. Do you know what I love about summer? Tiki drinks. I haven’t done a tiki drink in ages. And I absolutely love tiki. Let’s talk about this little number I pulled together for Hemingway’s summer menu. I’ve wanted to make a coffee and banana-flavored cocktail for ages, and this one fits the bill wonderfully. Time to make a Gorilla Monsoon. Here’s the recipe:

Gorilla Monsoon

1 ½ oz cold espresso

1 ½ oz Gosling’s Bermuda Rum

1 oz banana liqueur

¾ oz pineapple juice

½ oz lime juice

½ oz coconut syrup

2 dashes tiki bitters

Shake all ingredients and pour into a tiki mug. Garnish with pineapple fronds and dried banana chips.

This is a riff on a cocktail written by Tim Harnett, aka Tonga Tim, one of the mentors at Tiki Underground. Tim will still teach classes about the versatility of the Mai Tai recipe or the evils of vodka. I learned a lot about the balance and joyful excess of tiki drinks from him; I’m hoping to take one of his classes again someday.

The cocktail itself is named after Robert Marella, aka Gorilla Monsoon, “the savage former Asiatic Champion hailing from Manchuria,” terror of sports entertainment. I can remember watching Gorilla Monsoon on Saturday morning wrestling as a kid. He was extremely hairy, extremely scary, and would literally eat the turnbuckle in protracted matches. He was a pretty good mentor in his later years; the producer’s closet just behind the ring at a wrestling match is called the “Gorilla Position” after him.

Coffee is astringent, but it’s not exceptionally acidic; orange juice has higher acid levels. When I first attempted this cocktail, I skipped the pineapple and lime, thinking the coffee would supply enough acid. The result was flat and lifeless — even the coffee flavors were muted. Rebalancing the cocktail with the right tropical flavors boosted every other taste in the glass, including the banana and coffee.

The biggest problem with coffee in cocktails is its volatility. If you’re a fan of a good cup of joe, you know the disappointment that comes from a mug of day-old coffee. Commercially bottled cold-brew coffee is a pretty solid substitute, but it doesn’t behave in a glass like true espresso. The difference between an espresso martini made with espresso and one made with cold brew is profound. Espresso cocktails, when you give them a good, hard shake, produce a frothy head of foam that just can’t be duplicated by cold brew. Use what you have, but espresso is best.

I’ve revised my recipe for this cocktail a few times this month. (I wrote down an earlier version of the drink at 10 PM on a Friday. Or at least, I think I did. Aside from the title, my notes were completely illegible. Too much field research.) The last adjustment I made to this drink was to swap out some coconut rum for coconut syrup. The acidity of the drink was too high with the rum involved; with the syrup, the ratio of sour to sweet was more balanced, and other flavors could express themselves.

Let’s talk ingredients:

Cold Espresso: If you want to make the best version of this drink possible, chill some espresso from a moka pot. We use liters of cold espresso from a local barista. Cold-brew coffee is acceptable but not as good.

Gosling’s Bermuda Rum: This rich caramel and spice rum complements the coffee and banana flavors of the drink beautifully. Bacardi 4-year would also be a great choice in this glass.

Banana Liqueur: Giffard Creme de Banana is best. 99 Bananas will do in a pinch.

Pineapple Juice: Fresh pineapple juice is a little too acidic for most cocktails. I use the little cans from Dole at home.

Lime Juice: Always fresh. One of my fellow bartenders comes into Hemingways on Tuesdays just to squeeze limes for the week. You can make the effort to squeeze a lime at home.

Giffard Coconut Syrup: Giffard is the gold standard, but Torrini will do in a pinch. Don’t use creme de coconut; it’s basically coconut frosting. Canned cream of coconut isn’t sweet enough, and it separates in the can.

Tiki Bitters: I’m currently using this brand of bitters at work. When time permits, I’m going to make up my own batch of pirate bitters and compare it to the commercial stuff.

My home bar is Hemingway’s Underground, the hottest cocktail bar in pretty little Medina, Ohio. I’m behind the stick Wednesday-Saturday, 4-10. Last call’s at midnight. Swing on by, and I’ll make a drink for you… or anything else from our little Happy Hour here at Wonkette. We’ll make it through this together.

OPEN THREAD!

Feeling generous?

Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. And I’ve just come off a double shift with a deadline approaching for this article, so bear with me if we ramble a bit. I’m working on rum, three shots of Fernet, and spite. Fortunately for all of us, I’ve been thinking about this cocktail for a while. Let’s make a Dry Margarita. Here’s the recipe:

Dry Margarita

1 ½ oz Milagro Blanco tequila

1 oz fresh lime juice

1 oz dry curacao

¾ oz honey syrup

¼ oz Del Maguey Clásico mezcal

Pinch smoked sea salt

Shake all ingredients and strain into an iced rocks glass. Garnish with a dehydrated lime.

It’s summer. It’s margarita season. But honestly, when isn’t it margarita season? Margaritas are delicious, easy to make, and incredibly flexible. A margarita, at its core, is tequila, orange liqueur, and lime. That’s tasty on its own, but there’s space in the recipe for more sugar. Tweak the amount of lime juice — or just commit to making a sweet margarita — and you can add all sorts of flavors. Agave syrup is the standard add-in. I prefer honey syrup. But dive bars will go nuts with that extra space. Any sugary fruit-flavored glop can go into that basic margarita recipe, and something pretty drinkable will come out. The Mexican joints here in town have a dozen margaritas on the menu, and they’re all margarita and syrup concoctions. Passion fruit margaritas, blood orange margaritas ... It’s all just different frostings on the same layer cake.

We don’t have a solid margarita on the menu at Hemingway’s right now. I wanted to add a margarita for summer, but I didn’t want to fall into the same “marg and a fruit” trap. Instead, I decided to push the limits of the core recipe and see if I could make a tart, dry margarita that was still recognizable. I started by boosting the lime juice in our drink to a full ounce. Then, I replaced the triple sec in a standard margarita with dry curacao. Triple sec is made with a neutral spirit and a ton of orange flavor. The dirt-cheap triple sec used by the taco joints in town tastes like Orange Crush. Curacao uses brandy as its base. Dry curacao has less sugar than triple sec by a country mile. Everything I thought I knew about balancing a margarita went out the window. Life was good.

Smoky, acrid mezcal made our margarita even drier. Some extra sugar was needed to make the cocktail drinkable. Agave syrup was an easy answer, but I’m really fond of honey in my tequila drinks. Agave syrup and tequila are kissing cousins, but honey and tequila complement each other. Tequila also loves salt. A pinch of smoked Malbon leaned into the mezcal’s smokiness while enhancing the drink’s flavor. The result is a unique margarita that defies convention, tasting unique without leaning on sticky-sweet fruit syrup.

Let’s talk ingredients:

Milagro Blanco Tequila: Milagro is our rail blanco tequila at Hemingway’s. It’s fairly mild as blanco tequilas go. I prefer a big hit of agave flavor at my home bar; El Jimador is still my cheap blanco of choice. Use what you like best. Bear in mind that a subtle, layered blanco tequila is going to get swamped by the other flavors in this drink. Patron might not be the best choice here.

Lime Juice: Fresh. No exceptions. Especially not in this drink. Limes are small and dry this season, but do your best.

Ferrand Dry Curacao: This orange liquor uses the bare minimum of sugar; it’s not dry, exactly, but it is far less sugary than triple sec. It’s really interesting to use this as a substitute for a sugary liquor and see what happens to the balance of a cocktail. I put a lot of thought into the balance of tart, sweet, and bitter when working behind the stick. Challenging my core assumptions about what works in a “normal” drink like the margarita is a lot of fun.

Honey syrup: 1 part honey, 1 part water, heated until the honey dissolves. Undiluted honey is too thick to use in a cocktail. It’s hard to portion and turns into taffy when it hits ice.

Del Maguey Clásico mezcal: Del Maguey is a balanced, earthy mezcal that doesn’t taste too strongly of smoke or iodine. It’s the rail mezcal for summer at the bar. I like something a little rougher, like Peloton de la Muerte, for the home bar. Taste some options and find what you love. Mezcal is much less consistent in flavor than blanco tequila. Finding a good one will be a bit of a project, but it’s nice to have a hobby over the summer.

Smoked sea salt: Use plain sea salt if you can’t get a smoked salt you like. We use Malbon sea salt at the bar because we’re snobs, and it dissolves easily in cocktails.

I’m in shock, folks. You helped raise $1,000 for my trip to Tales of the Cocktail next month. In addition to a generous contribution by Yr Editrix, I’m fully covered for the trip. Thank you. I’m humbled. I’m also thinking very hard about where my journey as an author will go next. Needless to say, there will be stories to share. And they will be epic. You deserve no less.

My home bar is Hemingway’s Underground, the hottest cocktail bar in pretty little Medina, Ohio. I’m behind the stick Wednesday - Saturday, 4 -10. Last call’s at midnight. Swing on by, and I’ll make a drink for you … or anything else from our little Happy Hour here at Wonkette. We’ll make it through this together.

OPEN THREAD!

For the tipping of the keep

Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. Old Fashioneds will always be one of the top-selling cocktails at Hemingways. Many of our regulars are veterans of the Bourbon Trail in Kentucky; we go through a ton of Buffalo Trace behind the bar. But in the depths of summer, Old Fashioneds aren’t quite as appetizing. No worries. With a few tropical ingredients, the Old Fashioned can become a great summer sipper. Let’s make a King Kong. Here’s the recipe.

King Kong

2 oz. Sazerac Rye

½ oz. Appleton Estate

½ oz. Creme De Banane

3-4 dashes tiki bitters

Add all ingredients to a cocktail vessel. Stir with ice until the outside of the vessel is cold. Strain into a rocks glass over a large ice cube. Garnish with an orange twist.

Sam Ross, one of the legendary mixologists of New York, first created the King Kong at Attaboy in 2015. Sam is the genius who gave us the Penicillin and the Paper Plane; when one of his cocktails crosses my feed, I pay attention. Sam’s taken a smidge of my favorite tiki ingredients and slotted them into the classic Old Fashioned formula to create this particular drink. It’s a testament to the versatility of the Old Fashioned that this cocktail works so well.

The Old Fashioned is a “mother sauce” of cocktail recipes. Old Fashioneds aren’t just tasty; they’re foundational, a core blueprint that can be endlessly tweaked, rearranged, and reassembled to create something new. I’ve written scores of Old Fashioneds during my time behind the stick, from the blockbuster Ranger to the classic Maple Bacon Old Fashioned. But an Old Fashioned doesn’t need to be a bourbon drink. Tequila Old Fashioneds are totally a thing. You can go totally off the rails and make a Champagne Cocktail or Sherry Cobbler if you want a low-proof option. Booze+sugar+bitters is an Old Fashioned. The details are irrelevant. Taste is everything. Drink what you like.

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Feed The Kitty

With that injunction in mind, there’s no reason not to unload with some hardcore tropical flavors and tiki ingredients to make this Old Fashioned into a summer cocktail. I originally used Buffalo Trace as the core spirit in this drink, but it was too smooth and mellow to stand up to the other ingredients. Dark, peppery rye provides a much better contrast to the sweeter tropical flavors in the glass. Appleton Estate is a smooth Jamaican rum that’s easy to find at most liquor stores. The Jamaican flavors of ripe tropical fruit nicely support the banana. The crème de banane is present in small enough amounts that it reads as “gently tropical” rather than “this is a banana drink”. The tiki bitters are tricky to acquire for your home bar, but they’re worth ordering. I find that they do all the work of falernum, but in a balanced, concentrated format. They’re turning into a “secret sauce” for a lot of my cocktails. Easily worth the investment.

Let’s talk ingredients:

Sazerac Rye: This cocktail taught me why rye whiskey is used in the Sazerac cocktail. A dark, peppery rye whiskey will provide backbone against sweet, flavorful ingredients. Bourbon just isn’t flavorful enough to make this cocktail work. Rittenhouse Rye is a perfectly acceptable substitute. Old Grand Dad Bottled-in-Bond will also work. Both of those are 100 proof, so don’t mix up this cocktail with substitutions unless you’re done with the weekend.

Appleton Estate: I’m pretty sure Sam Ross had something ferocious like Wray & Nephew in mind when he wrote the original King Kong. Wray & Nephew is 126 proof. It tastes of overripe bananas and feet. I love it in small doses, but it’s overkill in this cocktail. Appleton Estate works fine here. If you have any Smith & Cross lying around the house, use that, and God bless you for having more self-control than me in not consuming it all immediately.

Creme de Banane: Giffard is the gold standard for flavored liqueurs behind the bar. It’s delicious and refined, but a touch pricey. If you want to break down and buy a 50ml mini of 99 Bananas to make this cocktail, I won’t stop you.

Tiki Bitters: Use orange bitters if you want to make this cocktail right now and you don’t have any tiki bitters. But go ahead and order those tiki bitters if you love summer cocktails. You won’t be disappointed.

I’m going on a new adventure! I’m attending Tales of the Cocktail, a national bartender’s convention, from July 19-24. The classes will be amazing. The drinking will be astonishing. The heat will be brutal. The stories will be epic. If you’re willing to chip in to help defray my costs, I’ve got a link set up - check my Substack thread for details.

My home bar is Hemingway’s Underground, the hottest cocktail bar in pretty little Medina, Ohio. I’m behind the stick Wednesday-Saturday, 4-10. Last call’s at midnight. Swing on by, and I’ll make a drink for you… or anything else from our little Happy Hour here at Wonkette. We’ll make it through this together.

OPEN THREAD!

It’s good to be back on my feet again following my fall down the stairs and the resulting injury to my ankle. I’m not yet fully recovered, I still need to wear a support boot for another four weeks and I’m awaiting my first physiotherapy appointment. In the meantime, I’m able to spend a limited amount of time standing in the kitchen, which allows for a partial return to baking. The limits to my ability to stand for prolonged periods have presented the perfect opportunity to provide you all with a couple of simple, speedy recipes which are great for enjoying during the hot months of summer. Think strawberries and cream, with the sweet crunch of meringue, or as the filling for cones of flaky puff pastry. These recipes make extensive use of shortcuts to reduce the effort required on your part, but the results are guaranteed to impress anyone you serve them to. Read on for recipes for Cream Horns and a very British dessert, Eton Mess. These are both classic summer treats over here in the UK, and I hope you will love them as much as I do.

A Little Slice Of History

The origin of Eaton Mess is a tangled web of myth and fact, but what is known for certain is that it is a fairly new creation, first appearing in the 1930s. Eton Mess was first created at Eton College, the prestigious private school which boasts such illustrious former students as most of the male members of the British Royal Family, George Orwell, Hugh Laurie, Tom Hiddleston, Ian Fleming, and former Prime Ministers Boris Johnson and David Cameron. I can almost forgive them for the latter two of these alumni in light of how much joy Eton Mess brings me.

My favourite story concerning the origin of Eton Mess is that it was created by accident as a result of the antics of a labrador retriever who sat on a picnic basket containing a raspberry pavlova at a school cricket match. Legend tells us that after the cricket match had ended and the crushed dessert was discovered, the hungry boys decided that they didn’t care that the dog had ruined dessert and ate it anyway. After which they declared that they preferred the crushed and mangled version over the original pavlova and requested it be added to the school’s regular menu.

Sadly, the picnic story is a complete fabrication and Eton Mess was first created in the kitchens of Eton College by one of the cooks, although another legend tells that this was a result of said cook dropping a raspberry pavlova and deciding they couldn’t be bothered to make a new one and would just serve what remained of the one they dropped. This story cannot be confirmed either, however what is certain is that Eton Mess has been a fixture of the summer menu at the prestigious school ever since its creation.

These days, strawberries tend to be the favoured fruit for inclusion in an Eaton Mess, but any summer berry is acceptable. Regardless of the fruit used, an Eton Mess must always contain whipped cream, and broken pieces of meringue. It is a favourite method for using up leftover meringue (store bought or homemade is fine) and berries in kitchens all over the UK. If you plan to make your own meringue, you’ll have to start early, as it will require at least 3 hours to bake and then needs to cool completely before serving. You may be better making the meringue the day before you intend to serve it.

Recipe 1: Eton Mess

For those of us who are pancreatically challenged, the carbohydrate count for this recipe will vary depending on the fruit used. For the meringue, the carbohydrates are 200g for the entire meringue, or 25g per portion when serving 8 people. A serving of whipped cream and 3 strawberries will add around 3g of carbohydrates to this total.

Your Equipment

Stand mixer with whisk attachment, or an electric hand whisk and mixing bowl

Deep sided baking tray

Baking parchment

Your Ingredients

4 egg whites

200 g sugar (superfine / caster sugar is best, but regular sugar will work)

Approximately 24 strawberries, or 3 per person (or summer berries of your choice)

300 ml heavy cream

The Important Bit

The first thing to do is make your meringue. Ideally, this should be done the day before you intend to serve your Eton Mess, as it requires a long baking time.

Start by preheating your oven to 210 F / 100C.

Using your stand mixer, whip the egg whites until they form stiff peaks. They are done when you can hold the bowl upside down over your spouse, friend or child’s head and they do not have to go and wash their hair.

Take the sugar and add it to the egg whites 1 spoonful at a time, whilst whisking continuously. The resulting mixture should be thick and glossy. If you wish to be a little bit more creative, you could add a little food colouring gel to your meringues at this stage – just whisk a little bit into the meringue mixture.

Line your deep sided baking tray with baking parchment and spread your meringue across the baking parchment in a layer that is around 0.5 inches thick.

Place the meringue into the oven and leave to bake for 3.5 hours.

Remove the meringue from the oven and allow to cool completely before breaking it into pieces and storing in an airtight container until it is needed.

When you are ready to serve your Eton Mess, whip the heavy cream until it forms stiff peaks, then slice your strawberries.

Place the meringue and strawberries into serving bowls, add the whipped cream, and give it a gentle mix to combine the different elements.

Enjoy.

Recipe 2: Cream Horns

A delicious, summertime treat made with puff pastry, strawberry jam (not the smooth kind) and whipped cream. If you’re feeling fancy, consider topping it with a chocolate dipped strawberry. You can buy the puff pastry from the grocery store, I won’t tell a soul. You could even use store bought jam if you don’t want to try making your own.

For my fellow members of the Dead Pancreas Society, this recipe makes 10 Cream Horns with a total of 33g of carbohydrates per portion.

Your Equipment

Stand Mixer with whisk attachment, or electric hand whisk and mixing bowl

Sharp knife

Baking tray

Baking parchment

Pastry brush

Aluminum foil / Tin foil

Bain Marie (or a heat proof bowl, wire rack and a pan of simmering water) / Microwave and microwave safe bowl

Piping bag and piping nozzle (star shaped is perfect)

Your Ingredients

A little cooking oil or spray oil

300g ready rolled puff pastry

1 egg, beaten

3 tbsp brown sugar

300 ml heavy whipping cream

300g strawberry jam

10 strawberries

50g dark chocolate

The Important Bit

Preheat your oven to 420F / 200C. Line your baking tray with baking parchment.

Use your aluminum foil / tin foil to make 10 cones, each roughly 4 inches (10cm) tall. The easiest way to do this is by crumpling up the foil and fashioning a cone shape out of it. Then coat this foil cone with another piece of aluminum foil so that it has a smooth surface. Lightly coat the cones with oil and set aside while you prepare your pastry.

Cut your pastry into 10 equally sized ribbons along the longest side, each ribbon should be a little under an inch wide. Wrap each ribbon of pastry around one of your foil cones , starting from the thick end of the cone and working your way towards the tip. The pastry should just overlap itself as you wrap it around the cone.

Place the wrapped cone on its side on the baking tray. Repeat until you have used all of your pastry ribbons.

Brush each pastry cone with a little of the beaten egg and sprinkle lightly with the brown sugar.

Bake the pastry cones in the oven for 12 -15 minutes, or until the pastry cones are golden brown. You may need to bake the cones in 2 batches, depending on the size of your baking tray.

Remove the cones from the oven and allow to cool completely before gently removing the foil cone from inside the pastry cone, it should slide off fairly easily when gently wiggled.

Melt your dark chocolate in a bain marie, or by microwaving on medium-low in 30 second bursts, stirring after each burst, until the chocolate is fully melted. Dip each strawberry in the chocolate and shake off the excess chocolate. Put aside to allow the chocolate to set.

Using the stand mixer, whip the cream until it forms stiff peaks. You could add a little confectioner’s sugar and vanilla essence to the cream to make Chantilly cream if you wish. Fill a piping bag with the whipped cream.

Place a generous tbsp (30g) of strawberry jam inside each pastry cone, then pipe in the cream.

Top each Cream Horn with a chocolate dipped strawberry. Serve to anyone you wish to impress.

Join me next month for a trip back in time as I bake a truly Royal dessert — the Queen of Puddings.

Until then ...

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Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. A few weeks ago, I had a somewhat confused customer ask for reassurance about her drink. She wanted to make sure there was no cucumber in her pina colada. Rest assured, we do not put any cucumber in our pina coladas. There is no cucumber in our espresso martinis, either. And I will jump out of a window before I put cucumber in eggnog. However, we do put cucumber in a very nice gimlet, and this is the perfect weather for a cooling, refreshing drink. Let’s make a Cucumber Gimlet. Here’s the recipe:

Cucumber Gimlet

2 oz Hendrick’s Gin

1 oz St-Germain Liqueur

1 oz lime juice

Sprinkle of sea salt

2 slices English cucumber

Add all ingredients to a cocktail shaker. Gently muddle the cucumber slices. Shake and double-strain into a Nick and Nora glass. Garnish with a cucumber slice.

“Smell is important to me because it transports me back to a certain place or time. When I smell lavender, I always think of my nana. Smell triggers all sorts of memories and ideas.”

— Lesley Gracie

I have mentioned her in passing before, but I want to take a moment to genuflect at the feet of Ms. Lesley Gracie, the master distiller and driving force behind Hendrick’s Gin. A Yorkshire scientist who was tasked in the 1990s with creating a new gin for the distillery, Ms. Gracie reshaped gin as a category with Hendrick’s. She proved, definitively, that gin did not need to taste like floor cleaner. A whisper of juniper was all that was needed to provide a bright, clean palette for a masterpiece of flavor. The industry hasn’t looked back since.

Ms. Gracie hasn’t looked back either. Her Orbium gin, influenced by the herbal profile of absinthe, was another stunning entry into the gin category. Her Midsummer Solstice gin was created specifically for the brand ambassador’s wedding; she incorporated his fiancée’s favorite flowers into the recipe. While staying with a native tribe in Venezuela to learn about local botanicals, she set up a still to capture the taste of scorpion-tail plants. She continues to toil away at her greenhouses in a remote corner of Scotland, producing magical liquors like Another Hendrick’s, an astonishing orange blossom and cocoa nib creation. The people she works with are convinced she is a witch. They are correct. This woman’s alchemy is utter magic.

There is a special version of Hendrick’s, Sunspell, that is only available at duty-free stores. Ms. Gracie, much like Anthony Bourdain, believes that travel is necessary for becoming a well-rounded person. While I agree in principle, international travel and a life measured in tipped hourly wages don’t mix. If any of you discover this bottle, please contact me. I’d do a great deal to acquire a taste.

To summarize: Ms. Lesley Gracie — I’m a fan.

Adding cucumber to Hendrick’s is a complete no-brainer; reinforcing Ms. Gracie’s work makes sense. St-Germain’s pedigree is significantly less inspiring than Hendrick’s, but the “bartender’s ketchup” fits into this flavor profile beautifully. Cucumber, rose, and elderflower … it sounds like a poem. The lime juice provides the acid needed to balance the cocktail. This is, fundamentally, a daiquiri — one of the core recipes and an absolutely fundamental cocktail worth mastering. There’s no room to hide with a simple drink like this. Ms. Gracie’s masterpiece has all the room it needs to shine. Enjoy it.

Let’s talk ingredients:

Hendrick’s Gin: No, you may not use vodka here. I don’t care if gin made you sick in high school. If I haven’t managed to convince you that Hendrick’s is something special by now, skip this recipe and go get a White Claw.

St-Germain Liqueur: I don’t actually love this spirit, but it does pair up with Hendrick’s extremely well. I might be tempted to try using honey syrup (50/50 honey and water, heated until dissolved) as an alternative. Note that St-Germain and honey syrup are sweet, but less sweet than simple syrup. You’ll want to use more sugar and less acid than your ideal daiquiri.

Lime juice: If you dare use bottled juice in a cocktail this delicate, we will have words.

Cucumber: Use an English cucumber for this drink. Salad cucumbers have too many seeds, and their pulpy core makes for a lousy garnish. Use a light hand when muddling the cocktail. You aren’t making pulp. You only need to break up the slices a little.

Sea Salt: A little salinity to make the sweet less of a shout and more like a conversation in the glass.

My home bar is Hemingway’s Underground, the hottest cocktail bar in pretty little Medina, Ohio. I’m behind the stick Wednesday-Saturday, 4-10. Last call’s at midnight. Swing on by, and I’ll make a drink for you… or anything else from our little Happy Hour here at Wonkette. We’ll make it through this together.

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Greetings, Wonketeers! I’m Hooper, your bartender. I turned 55 on Wednesday. You know how it sucks to work through your birthday? Yeah, that was totally not me this week. I sincerely, absolutely, love my job. And to make it even better, I spent the day teaching tableside classes on The Filthiest Martini Ever, one of the most popular sellers at Hemingway’s. I’m happy to share my class notes with you. Let’s get down and dirty.

Filthiest Martini Ever

2 ½ oz Luksusowa vodka

1 oz olive brine

2 pitted green olives

Pinch smoked sea salt

Extra virgin olive oil

Stuffed olive (for garnish)

Add the vodka and olive brine to a cocktail shaker. Gently muddle the green olives. Add the sea salt. Shake and double-strain into a martini glass. Garnish with a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil and a stuffed olive.

When I started working at Hemingway’s, I deliberately chose to create some cocktails that were familiar, but just a little bit better than anything else in town. The Ranger, my take on the Old Fashioned, was one of those drinks. This was another intentional crowd pleaser. Everyone knows what a dirty martini is, but this version attacks the idea of “dirty” from multiple angles. Olive brine and vodka in a glass weren’t going to cut it if we wanted repeat customers. This iteration on the classic keeps them coming back.

For the class, I used a classic American gin from Towpath Distillery, a sponsor for the event. A classic juniper-forward gin can cut through the brine and olive to bring some crispness to the cocktail. Behind the bar, I use Luksusowa vodka, a potato-based vodka that adds earthiness and body to the drink. Use whatever spirit you like. I have used an extra-virgin olive oil-infused vodka for a version of this drink in the past, but that infusion carries a bitter finish I can’t quite get rid of. I tried the dirty martini at another very respectable local bar before writing this. They used EVOO-infused vodka. They hadn’t figured out how to kill the bitter finish, either. I felt disappointed, but smug.

We use a commercially jarred olive brine for this cocktail. In the earliest days of my bartending career, I had a customer who insisted on a specific brand of brine for his martinis. He was far, far too picky. Most jarred brines are the same. Use what you like.

The original 1901 recipe used muddled olives. John O’Connor is credited with creating the first dirty martini at the Waldorf Astoria in upstate New York. When I took the recipe back to its roots, I discovered that the muddled olives provided a huge boost to the cocktail’s umami flavor. Umami is a slightly mysterious fifth flavor, more of a texture than a taste. Beef broth, soy sauce, and MSG are all rich in umami. I’ve long held that the dirty martini isn’t really about saltiness or olive flavor; it’s the rich mouthfeel that makes this drink a natural with shrimp cocktails or prime rib.

A pinch of smoked sea salt adds some smokiness and extra brininess to the drink. Last, but not least, the extra-virgin olive oil provides sweetness, extra olive flavor, and even more umami. I had a blast talking about the drink all through this week. It was the best birthday present ever.

Let’s talk ingredients:

Vodka: Tito’s is a really popular vodka in the suburbs. (Someone in my Instagram feed described it as “Hennessy for white people.” No comment.) It’s not my vodka of choice in this drink. Tito’s is light and sweet, which runs counter to the rest of the cocktail’s flavor profile. Stick with something a little more grounded.

Olive Brine: Don’t tip the olive jar and use the brine from your olives. Professionally speaking, it’s unsanitary. It also makes for an inconsistent cocktail – the juice from the bottom of the jar will be murkier than the stuff at the top.

Muddled Olives: I’m not picky about the type of olives here. Kalamata would make a weird-looking drink, and probably taste too bitter. But feel free to experiment and report back.

Sea Salt: Use regular sea salt if smoked salt is too pricey. Don’t use Morton’s. This drink doesn’t need the iodine, and neither do you if you’re eating healthy.

Extra Virgin Olive Oil: The nicer the oil, the better the drink. Use what you love.

Stuffed Olive: Traditionally, an olive stuffed with bleu cheese garnishes a dirty martini. At Hemingway’s, I use an olive with feta (we’re Greek at Hemingway’s).

My home bar is Hemingway’s Underground, the hottest cocktail bar in pretty little Medina, Ohio. I’m behind the stick Wednesday-Saturday, 4-10. Last call’s at midnight. Swing on by, and I’ll make a drink for you… or anything else from our little Happy Hour here at Wonkette. We’ll make it through this together.

OPEN THREAD!

Tips for Wonkette!