Liquor in My Last Post: This Rum Is Distilled At the Bottom of a Volcano

I know next to nothing about rum. My knowledge-base is far more aligned with the whiskey, which honestly is a miss on my part. It’s not as though I don’t enjoy rum; I love rum. So when Flor de Caña rum reached out to me and said hey hey, we’ve got rum that’s distilled at the base of an active volcano and we can tell you about science, I was like SCIENCE AND LIQUOR IS A PERFECT CONFLUENCE OF MY INTERESTS AND ALSO THIS FIXES A BLIND SPOT I HAVE. So I spoke to brand ambassador Ashela Richardson, who also happens to be an environmental scientist. And I asked her a TON about what goes into distilling rum! Here’s a lil’ bit of those answers, followed by a recipe, and then finally a little note from me. Because this is my last post as Staff at Autostraddle.

What does the distillation process for rum look like? 

Rum can be distilled in a variety of ways; traditional pot stills, column, hybrid, or continuous column stills from a mash of either molasses or cane juice.

Sugarcane is the base ingredient of all rum and is biologically classified in the grass family.  Thus, the cane juice tends to be grassy in nature producing more vegetal congeners (flavors) in the rum.  Molasses, on the other hand, is a co-product of the processing of sugarcane into granulated sugar and has a caramel-like quality to it.

There are many unique flavors to explore in aged rums from heavier pot-distilled rums to lighter column distillations. Pot distilled rums tend to have a much more rich palate and oily mouthfeel compared to lighter more rectified column distilled rums. Both types of distillation produce premium rums that are then aged for varying amounts of time in wooden casks.

So I’m looking at the Flor de Caña website and I’m reading this: “The fertility of its soil, the enriched water and the volcanic climate to which the barrels are exposed during the aging process contribute in creating a singularly smooth and deliciously balanced rum.” Science me! What about these conditions make for a unique rum?

Nicaragua is one of the most seismically active places in the world, with 19 active volcanoes along the Pacific coast! The San Cristobol volcano is near the Flor de Caña distillery and erupts on a small scale frequently. All of our rum is aged a minimum of 4 years before being blended with other higher age statements and bottled. The heat in this volcanic area warms our Rickhouses and casks of rum. The American Oak ex-bourbon barrels have beautiful congeners (flavors) that impart on the rum over time and the hot environment catalyzes the process.

The oak maturation process is very complex, with many reactions happening simultaneously. Alcohol reacts with organic acids in the wood that produce new esters (aromas, flavors) in the liquid. The warm barrels release more of the embedded bourbon flavors out of the wood, adding more flavors to the rum. Also, as liquid vapors escape from the porous wood of the cask, the headspace of oxygen in the barrel increases and that oxygen slowly dissolves into the liquid, oxidizing certain compounds, softening the palate. Some of the vapors that escape are thought to be pungent, unwanted Sulphur compounds. It’s really a combination of our perfected process and 126+ years of family tradition combined with the unique volcanic ecosystem that makes the aging process so impactful on Flor de Caña. All of our barrels are kept as a single age statement until blended with other age statements for balance and flavor. This means that we have great control over the flavor profile of each bottling.

What are the hallmarks of a good “sipping rum?” I’m quite into whiskeys, and I know a lot about what sort of notes I’m tasting in those—but I don’t have the same knowledge-base for rum.

Put simply, a good sipping rum has been aged in oak casks for long enough that a bouquet of oak, vanilla, baking spices, roasted nuts, dried and tropical fruits, orange peel and maybe some tobacco or cacao are present, but not in a way that anyone aroma or flavor dominates the liquid. You should also be able to perceive the base ingredient of the distillate, whether it was molasses or cane juice. Molasses-based rums tend to have a more caramelized array of flavors, whereas cane juice rums are much more floral and vegetal.

How does one go about tasting rum and talking about rum, in your opinion? What are some good rum words to know and use?

I think it is important to understand the differences in styles of rum. Most importantly molasses or cane juice. The flavor of molasses is caramelized; brown sugar to resin depending on how much sugar is extracted. The flavor of cane juice is green and vegetal, like the grassy nature of the sugarcane plant.

Know the difference between flavoured, spiced, unaged and aged rum. Rum has very few rules of production, resulting in a category filled with different styles to try.  Also, note the origin of the rum to develop a deeper knowledge of the variety of flavor profiles (like the flavor of Jamaican rum vs. Nicaraguan vs. Barbados)

Tasting rum is the same as getting to know any other spirit. Go slowly, nosing as much as you can, try to perceive the flavors first on the nose. Banana, roasted nuts, dried red fruits, orange peel, baking spices, oak, caramel, molasses maybe?

Third Rail Recipe

This recipe is called a Third Rail and I got it from the book And a Bottle of Rum: A History of the New World in Ten Cocktails. Basically it’s a Bronx cocktail, but with rum!

You will need: 

• 2 oz of medium body rum, I’m specifically using Flor de Caña 7 year

• 0.5 oz of orange juice (I’m using store-bought instead of fresh squeezed because I just came from the gym and I actually hurt too much to juice an orange, please don’t make fun of me I’m made of spaghetti)

• 0.25 oz sweet vermouth

• 0.25 oz dry vermouth

This is a shaker drink, because any time there’s juice, you wanna shake. So fill your shaker halfway with ice and dump basically all of this in. Give it a shake shake shake, making sure no one is standing behind you and no antique vases are in your vicinity because that’s asking for misfortune.

Strain it into a tumbler with some fancy fancy ice and serrrrrve. Or, if you’re me, serve it to yourself and cry a bunch while you write a farewell paragraph.

Well y’all. Well. I’ve been here almost six years. This is the longest running job I’ve had, and the longest time I’ve called a community home. I still hope that second thing will be true as I leave to get deeper into my Professorial duties! I’m going to miss all of y’all terribly, but I’ll still be at A-Camp and you can certainly still find me on Twitter, Instagram and my own damn website. See you all on the internet. I love you dearly.

Liquor In The Lemons: A Rye Sour

If you are paying attention to the phytoplankton in New York City, you might notice that, deep under the water, we’re seeing the first signs of Spring. Or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself. Then again, I just took a walk in the park and it was 19 degrees Fahrenheit, so what the fuck do I know. Ah, February. The month of bitter cold and occasional snow—and Valentine’s Day, but I am absolutely not making you a red drink, I just won’t do it. I’d rather focus on the phytoplankton and give you something that combines my favorite winter liquor (whiskey) with my favorite warm weather citrus (lemons). Enter the Whisky Sour.

Now keep in mind, a Sour is simply a cocktail that combines sour citrus (lemon or lime) with some sort of sugary-sweet thing (in this case, simple syrup). It’s one of those three-ingredient cocktails and it requires no bitters whatsoever, so this is a perfect one to memorize and have on hand. Near about every bar can make it and serving sours to folks who come to your home is easy-peasy. It’s basically the bread and butter of cocktails. You can have any kind of sour you like, so feel free to mix it up. Prefer Gin? Rum? Just sub the whiskey out. Prefer limes? Rock on with your bad self. OR! Go truly nutter butters and use BOTH lemons and limes. AT THE SAME GODDAMN TIME! Mellower sweet? Maple syrup instead of simple syrup. Crazier drink? Whip up a flavored simple syrup. Basically what I’m saying is know your basics, like a solid three-ingredient-sour, and then you can improvise right on top of that! Ready?

What You’ll Need

• some kinda whiskey. I’m using Rittenhouse Rye. It’s more traditional to make a whiskey sour with bourbon, but you guys, I just really like rye.

• a lemon! You’re gonna juice it AND ALSO use it for garnish

• simple syrup. Yo, lookit the cute little salad dressing container I keep my simple syrup in (detail shot below)! I love cute bar ish.

• a shaker! Whenever fruit juice is involved, that means shaken, not stirred. Also a strainer, but probably that goes without saying by now, you cocktail experts, you!

• a rocks glass

First, if you don’t happen to have simple syrup sitting on your bar, it’s very easy to whip some up! It’s a 1-to-1 ratio of sugar to water. Put that water in a pot and bring it to a simmer. Dump the sugar in and keep it simmering until all the sugar is dissolved. If you’re using white sugar, it’ll go much faster and be clear. If you’re using demerara sugar, I find it to require a bit of stirring and time—also your syrup will come out a gorgeous rich brown, a little like maple syrup. Let that cool a hot minute.

In the meantime, juice your lemon! Now normally, I would say cut your lemon length-wise to maximize juice. But! We’re gonna cut it width-wise, across it’s little lemon belly, because we’re also going to cut a coin out of it for garnish. You’ll need about 1 oz. of lemon juice.

Fill your shaker half full with ice and throw 3 oz. rye whiskey into it. Follow it up with your 1 oz. of lemon juice and 0.25 oz of the simple syrup (I know, you made a whole batch for 0.25 oz., but that’s why store the rest of the simple syrup for later!).

Shake your concoction vigorously, making sure nothing important is behind you, like priceless art or human people. Never forget the time that I sprayed my whole entire self with grednadine while doing the whisky workshop at A-Camp. Learn. From. My. Mistakes.

Strain the drink into a rocks glass. Cut a coin from the half of the lemon you didn’t use and garnish it. Place in front of a David Bowie Cat print by Danielle V. Green, photograph it and then drink it.

Just kidding, you don’t have to photograph your drink. But if you do, share the insta please, we can all be sour together!

Things to Bring Your Friends for Their Bars (That Won’t Break the Bank)

This whole post got borne out of a question I got asked through the A+ inbox and we all felt like it could use a little elaboration: what do you bring your alcohol-enthusiast friend when bringing them alcohol just isn’t in the budget? You know that friend, we all either have that friend or are that friend — the one with the bar in their house, or the dedicated cabinet or the one who spends, like, six minutes per glass on garnish alone. That friend is a good friend to have. They often open their homes to help make up for some of the dedicated spaces closing; and having a cocktail in a living room is always a more monetarily sustainable option than going out. Plus, if you don’t drink, your alcohol-enthusiast friend will almost always have the ingredients to whip up a fancy soda with limes and syrups and such. Thank the alcohol-enthusiast friend. Be kind to the alcohol-enthusiast friend. Give back to the alcohol-enthusiast friend when you can. Here are a few ways to do so without breaking the bank.

Bar Supplies

You’d be surprised at the amount of bar supplies that are wee tiny additions and people don’t effing buy them for themselves because it’s not a priority. But a few well-placed, eight- to fifteen- dollar accessories make for a smoother home bar process, and if you choose something that’s not consumable, your friend will think of you every time they use it. I didn’t buy an atomizer ($7.90) for literal years, and it’s a game changer whenever a recipe calls for a rinse. A bag of pour spouts ($8.99 for 12) is just as good as bringing a bottle of wine and it lasts longer.  I literally also have never bought myself a receptacle for my own simple syrup ($12.88 for two) and other longer-lasting homemade ingredients, and let me tell you, I kick myself EVERY cocktail hour I throw. And if you’re okay bringing something consumable with alcohol in it, your friend might not pick the weird bitters up in favor of old standards that they use a lot—pick the strange bitters ($11.38 for Fee Brothers’ Rhubarb) for them so they can experiment with new flavors!

Books and Paper Goods

Alcohol nerds love a good read. The Savoy Cocktail Book ($9.99-$19.95) is an amazing resource full of classic recipes from the ’30s. Grabbing up The Drunken Botanist ($9.15-$11.99) ain’t a bad call, either. Alcohol nerds also love a good notebook, so get them one specifically for tastings for their fave kind of alcohol (whiskey tasting notebook from 33 Books, $5 for one, or $12 for three). Recipe cards ($10 for 12) are also PERFECT for the queer who’s making up their own shit—keeping track is often hard among all the experimentation.

Make a Syrup

Budget even tighter? A home-made simple syrup with an ingredient you already have lying around in your kitchen might be just the thing! The basic proportion for simple syrup is equal parts sugar and water, simmer until all the sugar dissolves. Just a quick search through Saveur provides a ton of recipes and inspiration to take it further with stuff you likely already have on hand: mint, rosemary-clove,  black pepper, cardamom or cinnamon. Just make sure you’ve got a jar to give the gift in and you’re golden!

Favorite Recipes

Listen, if the budget is even tighter, for the price of a cool index card and the ink in your pen, you can give your bar friend your very favorite cocktail recipe, be it one you made up yourself, one you chatted the bartender into giving to you or one that your family is known for. If you don’t drink, I guarantee your friend would LOVE to hear about your favorite non-alcoholic mixed drink or scrumptious soda concoction; and hey, that makes it even more likely that their next party features your fave as an option. My favorite thing to receive as both an alcohol and a baking enthusiast is a recipe I would not have otherwise gotten a chance to try (if anyone has a good recipe for Icelandic Kleina, please send it to me!). You don’t have to break the bank to add to the bar—your knowledge is priceless.

Liquor In The Winter: A Cardamom-Orange Martini

It is fifteen goddamn degrees outside. Fifteen degrees Fahrenheit! Fifteen. Degrees. Going out with friends or my wife or just, like, leaving my apartment at all? Out of the question! Nope nope nope! This month, folks came to me instead of freezing our butts off in a cold bar somewhere and I made them Cardamom-Orange Martinis. Which seems like a weird choice, but I promise it’s not.

I will tell you, though, that I’ve used two pretty special ingredients for this one, ones that you might not already have lying around your kitchen. Here they are—

Virginia Woolf candle not required, I am who I am.

The first is gin from Standard Wormwood Distillery in Brooklyn. My wife and I ran into them in December at the Bust Craftacular and as soon as we sampled their wares, I had the idea for this cocktail. This particular distillery uses wormwood in most (all?) of their products — and before you think this drink is gonna make you see some green fairies, I’d like to give you one of my most popular fun facts! Though maligned and banned in this country for a good long while, wormwood (one of the herbal tastes in absinthe) is not and has never been hallucinogenic. The wine industry just did not like how popular absinthe was getting, so they spread some rumors mean-girls-style. If you drink and you enjoy alcohol, alcohol with wormwood listed as an ingredient isn’t going to behave much differently than what you’re used to. Anyhow, what I’m saying is you COULD make this drink with your favorite gin. But I made this cocktail SPECIFICALLY for this gin. So if you have the means, I highly recommend giving this one a try. It’s gentle, herbaceous and tastes like someone’s witch-aesthetic Tumblr distilled (I mean that extremely positively).

The second is Scrappy’s Bitters in Cardamom. Our own Dr. Lizz got these for us (thank you Lizz!). They don’t come out super frequently, but when I have a drink that calls for them (like this one!) there’s no substitute. They taste like warmth, even when you’re using them in a drink with ice. Perfect for January.

So now for the complete list. You will need:

• 3 oz gin (Standard Wormwood or your fave)

• 1 oz dry Vermouth

• 1 dash orange bitters

• 1 dash cardamom bitters

• orange peel for garnish

• rosemary sprig for garnish

• a big ole ice cube because heck, it’s 15 degrees outside, why not put a giant ice cube in your drink TO MATCH YOUR SOUL

• depending on your glassware, you’ll need a mixing glass. For instance, if you’re using a martini glass like I have pictured, you’ll need something else to mix in. But if you’re building in a tumbler or a red wine glass (both acceptable and both of which I’ve done! Just be fancy so you feel nice!), there’s no pesky glass shape to hinder you; feel free to build that sucker right in the glass.

See, we dried a bunch of citruses to make garlands and it was entirely too much citrus, like we just didn’t need that much garland, but now I just have a really pretty butcher block? Oh, no, drying citrus has nothing to do with this recipe but gosh darn, doesn’t that make a pretty photo.

In your mixing glass, dump the gin and the Vermouth over ice. Add a dash of the orange bitters and the cardamom bitters. Stir quickly, putting your bar spoon between the ice and the glass and trying not to knock it around too much. You may notice that I have no photos of the middle bit this time — turns out when your drink is clear and your light is low, mixing this looks like nothing on camera.

See what I mean? Clear drinks are super hard to photograph. Tastes real good, though!

Strain into a martini glass with a big ole ice cube in it. Peel a bit of the orange peel and spritz into the drink with it. Rub it against the edges of the glass and throw it right on in there. Grab a sprig of rosemary and chuck that on in there too. LOOK HOW MUCH YOU DON’T HATE WINTER! IT’S AESTHETIC! YOU CAN PRETEND THE TREES AREN’T STICKS AND YOUR EYES AREN’T FREEZING TO THE INSIDE OF YOUR EYELIDS!

I Almost Set Myself on Fire for this Maple Rye Old Fashioned

Friends, I was in a liquor store with a friend buying a completely unrelated bottle of something or other when I saw it. Hudson Whiskey puts out a maple rye that I previously knew nothing about.

via Tuthilltown Spirits

If you’ve ever had a drink with me, you know that I have strong, positive feelings about rye whiskey. It’s often a little spicier, a little sassier than bourbon. And if given the choice of American whiskeys, I will choose rye literally every time. I have been made fun of for this before—rye has not necessarily been in vogue, and has, in the past, been considered a drink for old curmudgeonly men. But hot damn, I love, love, love it. It’s complex and gorgeous and delicious. I feel the same exact way about real, honest-to-goodness maple syrup — one of the great treasures of breakfast food. I look for excuses to put that shit in everything. So imagine my utter fucking delight to head back to the liquor store and purchase a bottle of Hudson’s Maple Cask Rye. Wherein Hudson Whiskey sends barrels to a Vermont maple syrup producer, who ages and seasons in the whiskey barrels, and then sends them BACK TO THE DISTILLERY wherein Hudson Whiskey ages a rye in them.

First I tried to make my standard Manhattan with it, and while it was good, it didn’t really allow the chance for the maple to sing. I blame sweet vermouth for this. So back to the drawing board—what would showcase this beautiful new creature with which I was mixing? Enter the Old Fashioned—a drink so deceptively simple and so uproariously tasty that it should be a standard for your average queer cocktail enthusiast. It generally consists of only three ingredients: rye, sugar and bitters. That’s all, folks! It’s even built in the glass for minimal cleanup. But given that I wanted to create this drink as a ring box for my new rye, I figured we could fancy it up a little.

Enter the idea to set an orange on fire without the proper tools at my disposal.

You will need:

• Hudson Whiskey Maple Cask Rye
• Sugar and water OR a premade simple syrup
• Angostura bitters
• an orange
• better matches than I had OR an unscented tea light WE WILL GET TO THAT IN JUST A HOT MINUTE
• the will and/or stupidity to light those matches extremely close to alcohol
• a bar spoon

First, if you don’t have simple syrup already made, go ahead and throw half a cup of water and half a cup of sugar into a pot and bring it to a simmer on medium heat until the sugar is completely dissolved. Stir occasionally for faster results. You will know when you are finished when your liquid is clear-ish with a slightly sweet brown tint to it. Set it aside to cool.

Once your syrup is reasonably room temperature, grab two large ice cubes and stick them in a tumbler. Measure out two ounces of whiskey and add that to the glass. Throw in a quarter-ounce of simple syrup and two dashes of angostura bitters.

Slip your spoon between the ice and the edge of the glass and stir whilst trying not to make a really ugly clinking noise. Depending on how many drinks you have had previously this evening, you may have little success. Just try not to crack the ice.

If this were a standard Old Fashioned, you’d serve it up exactly like this or you’d spear a cherry for garnish. BUT WE ARE FANCY FOLKS. We’re going to play with flames.

Cut a coin out of your orange such that you’ve got peel and pith, but not actual orange meats. It’ll look like this:

Light a match and warm up the orange coin. Realize that your only matches are made for lighting cigarettes and that they are way too small to move to the next step. Burn your finger. Accidentally char an orange coin. Throw the match away, realize you have forgotten to run it under water, consider pouring water into your trash can. Contemplate your failure to properly prepare. Wonder if meditation is teaching you anything about being more present in the moment.

Cut another orange coin and thank the universe that you read your tarot cards every morning and have literally one hundred unscented tea lights in your linen closet. Procure said tealight. Use the insufficient matches to light the tea light. Warm up the new orange coin and marvel at how you can see the light through it and wow, isn’t that pretty? Then hold the tealight close to the rim of the glass and squeeze. Watch as the flame flares up. Feel like one of the witches in Practical Magic. Realize that there’s a new one of those books out and it focuses on the aunts, who are clearly the best part. Rub the orange coin around the rim of the glass so the flamey oils get all over it, then drop it into the drink unceremoniously. Photograph your triumph on the queerest bookshelf you own and serve your Old Fashioned.

If you don’t have Maple Cask Rye, just sub out the simple syrup for maple syrup and HOT DAMN THERE YOU GO.

Let’s Decant With This Decanter, It’ll Be So Fancy

I have been blessed with a collection of decanters in all shapes and sizes, and all for different purposes. My aunt gave me a couple, my friends have given me a couple here and there as well. The result is an impressive amount of glass in a small New York City apartment, and a very impressive-seeming home bar to boot. Sure, some of those decanters are made for wine, but a lot of them are made for liquor. Specifically for brandy, whisky or cognac. It’s that second category I’d like to talk about today, the day that I’m going to clean and fill a decanter and show you how to do that. And why to do that.

Why Use a Decanter?

When you’re decanting wine, the answer is obvious: some red wines change significantly when you let them breathe outside the bottle and their taste changes for the better, and any sediment present during the bottling process is left in the bottle. Those decanters are the big-bellied sort. The decanters made for liquor generally make me feel like I’m in a Jane Austen novel and look somewhere in the family of this:

That’s the one I’m going to clean and fill today, in fact. Why decant whisky? Well, the truth is, if you put a twelve-year bottle of whisky into this decanter and let it breathe for an hour, a day, a month…it’s still going to taste like a twelve-year bottle of whisky. Once whisky’s out of the barrel, it doesn’t change. So why do it?

Well, I can tell you why they used to. It was vulgar to pour directly out of the bottle. Totes “lower class” (vom). Or! If you really wanna get classist about it, a tantalus, the device shown below, was apparently used to keep “servants and younger sons” out of the fine whisky. It locks so only the person with the key can flip the front and open the decanters.

But I can tell you why I do it: Using a decanter feels like tucking my favorite distillations into a fine bed. It makes my bar look awesome. Decanters are not just for Don Draper and fictional TV presidents! We can treat ourselves sometimes. We can have a gorgeous decanter that makes us feel nice and put our favorite whisky in it and share it with our friends.

How To Clean a Decanter!

It looks more intimidating to clean a decanter than it actually is! Because decanters are a) thin-necked and b) often delicate, much ado is made of getting them to sparkle from the inside out. But I am here to tell you that you need only two things and a sink. And those two things are:

Salt and vinegar, like potato chips. Rinse the decanter first to get any remaining liquid out, then pour a teaspoon of white vinegar in. Fill the rest with water and let it sit for a hot minute. Then pour it out, and fill the bottom of the decanter with salt. Then VERY VERY CAREFULLY shake the decanter. That’s right. Shake it. The salt is abrasive enough that it’ll residue out of nooks and crannies, but not abrasive enough to scratch your decanter. When you’re finished, pour a little more vinegar in and fill the decanter with water. Dump it all out and rinse a few times. This will result in a squeaky clean decanter, ready for filling.

In this case, I’m going to fill with:

Actually one of my campers is visiting my city right now and brought me this whisky (HI ABBY THANK YOU!). I figure I’ll give it a nice, nice home in my decanter.

Beware of Leaded Crystal!

But wait, why aren’t I filling that tantalus? Hold your horses, folks. When you’ve got antique crystal, likely you’ve got the one thing that you shouldn’t store alcohol in: lead. Not all crystal contains lead, but most of the older stuff does. You can tell you have crystal if, when you hold the decanter up to the light, the patterns cut in it create a prism effect. The decanter I filled with The Irishman is glass; the two in the tantalus are crystal. You can test for lead a couple of different ways, with a surface test or a water-leach test.

In conclusion: give yourself a fancy time, don’t give yourself lead poisoning.

6 Mocktails for When You Can’t or Shouldn’t Drink

Friends, life has been kicking my ass a fair amount as of late. And one of the ways it’s been kicking my ass is with antibiotics. First things first, I’m fine. But I have to take a course of antibiotics for 28 FUCKING DAYS. And that means NO DAIRY OR ALCOHOL FOR 28 WHOLE GODDANG DAYS. It means feeling mildly crappy for 28 goddang days and I can’t even have a nice dram of whiskey and put my feet up after a long, hard week. A week that involved moving apartments. Friends melting down. A lot of bodily discomfort. What’s a queer to do?

In a word, mocktails. When you need to treat yourself but you can’t or shouldn’t drink alcohol, you can still take part in the ritual of making something special to sit and sip. Just mix the drink, save the alcohol. And honestly, I’d mix and photograph one of these, but I also hurt my back this week (because of course, I did), and I can’t move! Huzzah! Here are ten mocktails, does someone want to come over and make me one whilst I hobble about?

Slow Cooker Apple Cider

From Gimme Oven. A nonalcoholic substitute for this lovely spiked cider recipe.

Cinnamon Water

From the Kitchn.

Crockpot Hot Toddy

From Elana’s Pantry. A great substitute for this hot toddy recipe.

Hot Chocolate

From Martha Stewart. When it doubt, cocoa out! A great substitute for the rum hot chocolate or the red wine hot chocolate. And if you’re ready to really rock on in this vein, here are literally 20 more hot chocolate recipes for you to choose from.

Lavender Lemon Fizz

From The Merrythought. Honestly, lavender and lemon is one of my favorite flavor combos and I’m kinda shocked I don’t do more with it, tbh.

Ginger Clementine Spritzers

From In Sonnet’s Kitchen. Side note, this cocktail is called virgin something or other, and I just really don’t like it when we call drinks without alcohol in them virgin? Like for a lot of reasons. The concept of virginity isn’t my fave concept in the world. And also what, are we despoiling drinks with alcohol? Should stuff without alcohol in it be viewed as less experienced? I’m just not sure what we’re trying to say about virginity, alcohol or sobriety when we mash those concepts together.

And that’s all I’ve got that’s seasonally appropriate, friends! When you can’t or shouldn’t drink (or if you don’t drink! That’s rad too!), what are your killer recipes for nonalcoholic beverages? Please share. 28 days is a long time.

Liquor On Vacation: Where the Whiskey Comes From

Usually, this is a recipe column — one drink a month. But I spent three weeks in August traveling Iceland and Scotland, so to quote Monty Python’s Flying Circus: now for something completely different.

Photography © jmberman1 2009

No, whiskey kitten, that’s not actually where the whiskey comes from. Whiskey can come from a lot of places around the world, each with their own particular practice and flavor and soul (and opinion on whether or not it’s spelled with an “e”). Scotland, you may already know, is one of those places. Those places from which the whisky flows. Specifically Scotch whisky—often characterized by a smokey flavor that comes from malting barley over burning peat. What you may not know is that each region in Scotland actually has a different character and that each distillery within each region is different still. The peaty quality? Well. I visited a region in Scotland well-known for being extra special peaty, given that it was the only fuel source for a while there. And that region is an island in the Hebrides called Islay (pronounced EYE-luh).

To get to Islay, you take the rental car that’s backward from what you’re used to and isn’t causing you any anxiety at all, and you park that rental car on a ferry while seafaring Scottish folks laugh at you. Then you take a two-and-a-half-hour ferry ride to an island that looks and feels like heaven. Maybe it was just in my head, but the second I disembarked, I could smell whiskey on the wind; on this small island, there are eight Scotch whisky distilleries. I visited three of them, all within a couple miles of each other: Ardbeg, Lagavulin and Laphroaig (whose 2015 200th Anniversary Cairdeas we tasted at an A-Camp whiskey tasting). Here’s what I learned.

Stills Look Like Butt Plugs

I’ve visited a lot of breweries and one cidery, but actually never a whisky distillery of any kind. I sure picked a hell of a way to start. That up there is a still at Ardbeg Distillery. All the stills sort of have this vague butt-plug shape, but of the three distilleries I visited, Laphroaig’s had the most butt-plug-esque shape:

Now that I have that out of the way—

Process Is Queen…

It isn’t just recipe. Whiskey is really only made of three things: barley, yeast, and water. The steps were identical at every distillery. First, you malt the barley, then you crush the barley, and you put it and yeast together with some water. You let the yeast do its yeasty thang and you get something called wash, which I tasted everywhere. It’s basically a beer, but like a warm yeasty beer that very few folks would want to drink much of. Here is what I look like tasting wash at Laphroaig:

also this is what I look like having started drinking whiskey at nine in the goddamn morning also having been super duper rained on by the authentic Scottish weather lalalala

Then from there, it’s drained and the spent barley is fed to cows. The liquid bits are distilled the first time into something called low wines. You wouldn’t want to drink this either; it’s not refined yet. When it gets distilled a second time, that’s when it starts to be called whiskey. But truly, you wouldn’t want to drink that yet either, because it really gets to be whiskey when it’s aged in barrels. A popular barrel on the island seemed to be American bourbon barrels from Kentucky, actually, but I saw a lot of sherry casks as well. Those barrels then chill there for at least eight years. And THEN you’ve got whiskey. That’s it. That’s literally it.

But it’s far more than the sum of its parts. There’s an alchemy of each individual distillery’s attitude about things, and the workers who’ve been there 40 years with their hands steering the wheel. As you can see in the last section, the above stills are really only slightly different from each other. But it’s these subtle differences that make each of the distilleries so vastly different from each other. Ardbeg uses a purifier on their stills; Lagavulin wants as little contact wth the copper on the still as possible; Laphroaig wants as much contact with the copper on the still as possible. Of the three, Laphroaig is the only distillery that floor malts a portion of their barley (10-20% of it), and the other two use Port Ellen Maltings. Floor malting looks really cool, by the way. Here’s a bunch of barley germinating before it’s ready to get smoked dry:

And if you think that borders on strange spell-casting—

…And Place, Even Moreso

Ardbeg stores their entire inventory on site at their distillery while it ages. There are barrels everywhere. Laphroaig stores most of theirs as well. In fact, I did a really long, four-and-a-half hour tour at Laphroaig where I got to taste straight from three different casks.

This is Laphroaig’s warehouse.

Our guide, James, basically said that if there’s one thing he could impress upon us in an afternoon, it’s the importance of place in taste. So when I tasted out of the casks, he made sure to describe the warehouses in which they were stored — whether or not they got wind off the sea, things like that. If you think about it, that barley gets turned for days while it germinates and it’s exposed to the open air. All sorts of wild yeast, pollen and such — it all must be in it by the time it’s smoked. The barrels carry with them the taste of the last thing in it, but also the rainwater from whence it came; there’s no way to sterilize wood. Yeasts and pollens will be in the barrel as well. You can’t get those sorts of things except by being there. There’s a magic to roots, I think.

Cutting Peat is Hard

On the left, me putting every ounce of weight and muscle into cutting peat. On the right, James the Guide coming over to rescue the peat when it fell into the chasm because cutting peat is FUCKING HARD, Y’ALL.

Seriously. Laphroaig uses hand-cut peat in their own maltings because it’s more sustainable and it’s also smokier (handcut retains moisture better). Two people just go out there and cut it. I watched our guide James cut it. And then I tried to do it and I’ve never felt more like a donkey doing the Macarena. When I think about the price of whisky having seen how fucking difficult everything is to do, I’m basically like HERE YES TAKE MY MONEY.

More Folks Who Aren’t Cis Dudes Need to Work in This Industry I Think?

This isn’t to erase the plenty of women working in the industry who I’ve met and spoke to. On this trip specifically, I had a fabulous tour guide at Lagavulin named Karen! But I didn’t meet a single person who used pronouns outside the binary and, on the Ardbeg tour, our guide kept using the word “men” to describe all the workers because that was true. I think this industry would be perfect for the queers I know and love. As queer folks, we often get shafted on a lot of tradition. It’s either directly oppressive or it’s just plain inaccessible to us. The tradition of distilling feels like a blanket on me, friends, it does. It’s a process, a meditation, a way to connect with what’s been done for hundreds of years in a place. I love whiskey! And if I had another life to live, I’d be running away to Islay right now to turn barley over in the middle of the night.

Liquor In The Coffee: From The Frozen Depths

I want, nay, NEED to redeem myself from the last frozen cocktail recipe, the making of which resulted in the summoning of a Cthulhu blender monster. Luckily, an A+ member had a request for me that would allow me to try my hand once again at a smoothie-type drink. Something along the lines of an iced coffee cocktail. Well then! I can easily stick that in a blender and prove that I do, in fact, know how to use one. And could it be vegan? Well darn tootin’, it could!

I looked up a few coffee cocktail recipes and my heart wasn’t in them, so instead, I decided to whip up something I’d want to drink right this very second. I already associate the blender with monsters from the ocean coming up to get us (for no reason, obviously), so I decided that the way to go in this case would be the Kraken. I’m calling this drink From the Frozen Depths.

You will need: 

+ 4 oz. cold brew coffee concentrate

+ coconut milk creamer in the hazelnut flavor

+ another sort of nondairy milk-esque situation (I’m using vanilla almond milk)

+ 3 oz. Kraken dark spiced rum

+ 1 cup ice

+ a blender

Using a liquid measuring cup, measure out approximately one cup of ice. Dump that into the blender and set it aside. You are now on a timer. Move quickly enough that your ice doesn’t melt!

Mix up the coffee concentrate. In this case, I’m using Muddy Waters and the instructions say four ounces per serving. So I’ll use my jigger to measure four ounces out, and then I’ll pour it into that same liquid measuring cup. If your cold brew coffee concentrate has a different serving size than this, that’s totally cool. Measure out that serving size into a liquid measuring cup. The important part is that it finishes in a liquid measuring cup.

Dump the 3 oz. of Kraken in there next. Give a little splash of the coconut milk creamer, but don’t fill it all the way to the cup mark or it’ll be too hazelnutty. Grab your other nondairy milk-esque situation and fill it to the cup mark to cut that sweetness. Once you’ve got all that going on, dump it into the blender over top the ice.

Put the lid on your blender and affix that sucker to the base. Do a couple ice-crushing pulses, then set it to purée. This is purely a texture thing, so judge by sight whether or not the smoothie is done. Pour the drink into a poolside margarita glass or a nice, clear coffee cup. There should be enough here for two folks to drink. Enjoy!

Don’t have a blender? This would work great as an iced coffee drink as well. I just like the way it foams up at the top when you blend it and also I DIDN’T SUMMON BLENDER TENTACLES go me.

Liquor In The Blender: Frosé for the Family

“Have you heard of this frosé thing?”

My mother-in-law is constantly tipping me off to things we have to try, stuff I should mix or bake or what not. I must admit, I had not heard of this frosé thing before she said it. But hey, I’m defo into mixing drinks that have a millennial pink hue. I thought, why not. Even if it’s undrinkable, it’ll be good fun. It’s apparently trendy, with several bars and cafés serving it this summer. And the fourth of July was fast approaching, which meant basically a weekend-long barbecue filled with extended family. What better time to attempt a blender drink?

I started researching frosé and half the recipes made my screw my face up in a terrible wince. Vodka? Strawberry simple syrup? Could you even taste the rosé in the end? I decided to riff on a recipe that would cut the sweet down a bit — and for that, I involved Aperol. Aperol, if you’ve never had it, is in the same family as Campari. It’s an Italian apéritif that, instead of the distinct grapefruit taste, has a bitter orange taste. It’s perfect if you have any members of your family don’t care for the amount of bitter that is Campari, but still want a light, refreshing taste to cut the sweet.

You will need:

+ An entire bottle of rosé, something on the darker side but not more expensive than $12 a bottle.

+ 2 oz. Aperol

+ The juice of four lemons (about 2 oz)

+ 1/3 cup sugar

+ 1/3 cup water

+ 3 trays of ice

+ the ability to learn from one of my giant mistakes

We’re going to start by making up a simple syrup. Put the 1/3 cup of water in a pot on your stove and bring it to simmering. Then dump the 1/3 cup of sugar in. Keep it simmering and stir it until all the sugar is dissolved and it looks like you have water, but actually what you have is sugar water. Hey, remember that Men In Black villain? Edgar?

Anyhow. Set the simple syrup aside to cool. Now go ahead and juice your lemons. I used four, and as per ushe, I cut them lengthways because I believe you get more juice that way. Combine the lemon juice, 2 oz. Aperol and the 1/3 cup simple syrup and set it aside.

Now reckon with your blender.

This step, for me, is where it all went to Hades. As I made this drink in my in-laws’ kitchen, I had access to a crazy margarita machine owned by my father-in-law, Richard (not to be confused with my father who is also called Richard). What it does is it shaves ice and then blends that ice with whatever you stick in the blender, making the perfect consistency of frozen booze treat. I could’ve just used a blender, we have one, but no. I had to try this f*cking contraption.

Nervously, Richard offered to run the margarita machine. “Oh, you don’t have to do that!” I exclaimed. “Just show me how to do it.” Richard wasn’t drinking the frosé because he had little faith in the experiment, and I felt bad making him work for a drink he wasn’t going to have. I turned to other family members, waiting behind me for their frosé. “It’s basically just a blender, after all.” Those were what one might call “famous last words.” I combined the entire bottle of wine with the pre-combined Aperol, lemon juice and simple syrup in the blender. It did not fill past the line that Richard had pointed out to me just 30 seconds earlier. Then I dumped three trays of ice into the ice-doodad on this marg spaceship. And I turned it on.

You may notice that there are but a few photos of this particular drink-making process. That is because, when I flipped this switch, this drink rose up from the depths of the blender like Cthulu from the deep. One might even say it “rosé” up. My dog started barking, my family started screaming, and I, covered in frosé, attempted to turn the machine off.

Queermos. It. Would. Not. Turn. Off. Nothing I did to this machine made it stop. Finally, I leaned over the sopping mess and pulled the plug out of the wall. I was a little embarrassed until everyone in the kitchen started laughing and laughing and laughing.

Here is what I’m saying. What I’m saying is, DIVIDE THE MIXTURE INTO TWO PORTIONS AND BLEND EACH PORTION SEPARATELY. DO NOT BE A HERO.

Pour your frosé into margarita glasses, martini glasses or similar. Something large and in charge with a stem—you don’t want your hot hands to melt your frosé faster. Miraculously, I still had enough for five full glasses and one smaller glass.

Take a strawberry for each glass and slice it with a knife. Slide it onto the lip of your glass. Clean up the remnants of the frosé monster before your dog gets drunk. And enjoy with a family that now thinks tremendously less of you than they did before.

Liquor In The Horse Show: a Make-And-Take Lady Shirley

“Are there alcoholic beverages allowed at a horse show?”

“Yeah. [name redacted] always wanders around with his coffee mug, filled with what we call an ‘adult beverage.'”

And then I discovered we were bringing other adult beverages too. I don’t generally go to horse shows—I only went to a handful when I rode horses as a child, even. But I’m staying with a family for the summer, and here, when the family runs a horse farm, we go to a horse show every once in a while. I figured I might make a portable cocktail to bring along with us. I’m not particularly into horse shows, after all, but I am into mixing drinks, so this should be a fun challenge for me! Especially since my bar is still mostly in boxes! I went to the easiest-to-reach box and pulled out…grenadine. Uh. Okay. There’s some, uh…bourbon. Oh, and I remember packing my soda siphon up yesterday, so that’s in the fridge…

Oh! Adult beverage! How about we make a grown-up Shirley Temple? After a little bit of googling, I discovered that this does, in fact, exist. It’s called a Lady Shirley. Here’s how you make it ahead and transport it to your alcohol-allowed outdoor event.

What you need:

6 oz. bourbon (I’m using Bulleit)

6 oz. lemon juice

4 oz. grenadine

a handful of maraschino cherries, preferably with the stems still on

a bottle of seltzer or a full siphon, to be transported separately

a large Nalgene bottle

venue-appropriate cups

First juice up your lemons by cutting them lengthwise. Wait, no, scratch that. First, take advantage of the beautiful day by taking all your drink-making supplies outside. THEN juice up your lemons by cutting them lengthwise.

Dump your Bourbon, lemon juice and grenadine into the nalgene bottle. Screw the top on and shake it up. We’re not putting ice in because we don’t need this drink chilled, not yet. I made this about three hours before we’d actually drink it.

After you shake it up, stick a handful of maraschino cherries to get all boozy in there while it sits. Because now it’s going to sit. It’s going to sit in the fridge until you leave for wherever it is that you’re taking this. Make sure you’re chilling your seltzer at the same time. Pack the nalgene and the seltzer separately and, when you get there, pour the cocktail into your venue-appropriate cups.

A word about the cups—usually I prioritize glass-wear and the experience of drinking and garnish and making it look pretty. Usually, I make my drinks look as cute as I can. But y’all, sometimes venues don’t allow glass even when they do allow alcohol. And here’s how I feel about that—this drink isn’t near as pretty as other drinks I make, it’s true. See, it’s in a wax cup. But, if you think about it, the same thing is being prioritized here: the experience of drinking. The good part of this drink isn’t how good it looks, but rather the experience of having your cocktail in a picnic environment.

May your outdoor fun be blessed with good cocktails and, a word of warning, this one tastes like childhood drinks BUT IT STILL HAS ALCOHOL IN IT REMEMBER THAT AND DON’T HAVE A WHOLE BUNCH AT ONCE PLEASE.

Liquor In the Moving Boxes: A Monkey Wrench While I Pack My Bar

Ugh. I’m moving at the end of this month. I’ve been in the same apartment for three years, which is a record in my adult life and I DO NOT WANT TO GO ANYWHERE. Alas, I live in University housing and must move. Right after this Liquor In The _____, I’ll be packing up my bar and sending it to a faraway farm, where we’ll be spending the summer before jumping back into city living in the Fall.

Packing up brings back memories of moving in. Of me putting my IKEA desk together and then crying when I realized I put the back of it on wrong and I’d already been assembling furniture for two days. To quote Doctor Who, I don’t want to go. But that’s not the only reason I picked the Monkey Wrench, the loose association with building IKEA — someone in the comments last month wanted something grapefruity that DIDN’T have gin in it. Ask and ye shall receive.

You will need: 

• 2 oz light Rum (I’m using Brugal)
• 4 oz grapefruit juice.
• 2 dashes Angostura Bitters
• grapefruit twist to garnish. I’m using a cocktail sword to make it pretty.

First, juice your grapefruit. A couple people came through with science last time and busted my slice-the-citrus-lengthwise trick wide open. Now I’m usually all for science, but you have to slice it anyhow, so may as well slice it lengthwise and reap the benefit of one more ounce of juice.

Fill your shaker halfway with ice and add the liquor, the grapefruit juice and the two dashes Angostura bitters. Some people put orange bitters in this drink, but I sometimes don’t care for the way orange bitters taste in grapefruit juice, so Angostura it is. It gives the drink a little depth as well—not all sweetness. Remember, we’re using a shaker because there’s fruit juice involved.

A brief pause to advocate for bottle pourers as a thing you might want if you’re regularly making drinks at home. On the days where I say, fuck it, I don’t want to make extra dishes, and I DON’T use a spout, I wind up having to clean my bar and my dining room table. So yes—use a bottle pourer, friends. You’ll be glad you did.

Shake your drink for 20 seconds or until your shaker cap is nice and frosty. Pour into a tumbler over ice. I’m using an ice sphere again because I’m obsessed with how they look.

For the garnish, peel a large piece off the grapefruit. Hold it over the glass and roll it up so that the oils get all over the rim. Then, once it’s rolled, use a toothpick or a cocktail sword to skewer it so it looks a little like a rose or rolled ice cream.

LOOK AT MY TOTALLY EMPTY MANTLE IT USED TO BE FULL OF BOOKS GOSH THIS MAKES ME SO SAD also the drink is pretty whatever

Liquor in the Grapefruit: A New Twist on an Old Greyhound

If you’ve been following me on Instagram, you’ll know my wife and I became dog owners last November, shortly after an election stole our post-wedding joy. The one on the couch is our baby, Edith, and on the floor is her best friend, Murphy:

https://www.instagram.com/p/BSW5rPFBTTo/?taken-by=aeosworth

But while this is my first time at the puppy rodeo, this isn’t my first time at the dog rodeo. I grew up adopting retired racing greyhounds. They’re exceptionally good dogs, retired racing greyhounds, if a little lost at how to dog sometimes. I insisted on our first one after I fell in love at a community fair, but my parents continued adopting long after I was out the of the house, sometimes having three retired racers at a time. They still have one, now living alongside a retired fox hunting hound. I named him Chaucer a while back. He is very old and fat and farty. He’s a good boy.

Because our lives are really busy right now, we are unable to make the ten-hour trek to South Carolina to visit my family and the dogs (though I’m sure my parents’ old puppers are pretty happy not to have Edith pulling at their faces). We probably won’t be able to do it this summer either. That’s why, when I was flipping through the internet for cocktail inspiration, I was taken with the Greyhound, a miraculously simple cocktail consisting of only gin and grapefruit juice. Something ripe for riffing on. Plus it’s Officially Springtime, and some fresh grapefruit juice certainly wouldn’t go amiss.

You will need: 

1.5 oz gin

1 oz Saint Germain

2 oz grapefruit juice (I’m squeezing fresh!)

seltzer to top

a shaker, a strainer and some ice

First, squeeze them grapefruits. Remember to cut it lengthwise, like when you juice any citrus, because that’ll get you more juice.

Fill your shaker halfway with ice. Add the gin, Saint Germain and grapefruit juice. A pause, here, to talk about Saint Germain. One of my fave drinks to make for anyone is the Saint Germain gin and tonic. Smashing the Greyhound and that particular gin and tonic together is how I got the idea for this. But notice I’m not using tonic—grapefruit is a really complex flavor, and I use a really botanic gin, so the seltzer will add bubbles without adding a whole other flavor to this sucker. Oh, PS, DON’T ADD THE SELTZER YET. You’re about to shake this thing.

Shake until the shaker is nice and frosty. Strain into a glass. If you don’t like pulp, you can fine strain the drink by using a Hawthorne strainer AND pouring it trough a tea strainer. Then top with seltzer to taste. I was going to garnish with a grapefruit, but I used a giant ice sphere, and the color looked so elegant in this glass that I didn’t want to pester it with more? If you choose to garnish, I’m thinking either a grapefruit twist or a sprig of thyme.

Did I accidentally make a paint color? Is this drink “millennial pink”????

Liquor in the Mint: A Classic Mojito

Once I was at a restaurant eating lunch and our waiter asked what I did for a living. I told him all the jobs I was doing, and this one came up. “A liquor column, huh? I bartend here too, actually,” he said, and I held my breath because it was that tone. The tone that let me know I was about to be mansplained to. “When you make a mojito, how do you do it?”

“Uh. With mint and rum? I don’t know what answer you’re looking for here.”

“Like, with what sort of mint? How do you do the mint?”

I raised my eyebrow. “I use mint from my own mint plant that I grow myself.”

“Wow… that’s hardcore.”

I came to learn that the litmus test for whether or not I was legit enough in his eyes was how I combined the sugar and the mint. Whether I used simple syrup (the wrong answer) or I used sugar to cut the mint during muddling (the right answer). So now you know! When bartenders are trying to ascertain whether you’re “knowledgeable enough” (ugh), this is what they want you to say. And though my cats killed my chocolate mint plant long ago and I’m totally using store bought, don’t worry. It’s still legit.

You will need:

2 oz. white rum

1 demarrera sugar cube

2 mint leaves

0.5 oz lime juice

seltzer to top

First juice your lime. If you read this column regularly, you know to cut the lime length-wise to maximize juicing.

In a tall glass (I’m using a canning jar because dammit, it’s cute), muddle the sugar cube and two of the mint leaves together.

Now this is the “legit” step because the sugar crystals are going to help cut the mint apart. Then toss the lime juice in there and give it a further muddle. That’ll help dissolve the sugar.

You may notice that we’re not shaking this EVEN THOUGH we’re using a fruit juice. That’s because the fruit juice is doing a different job. This job. The sugar dissolving job.

When you’ve got a liquidy paste situation, add your ice. I’m using two big ice balls because they melt slower (more surface area = slower melt and lower temperature), and this is a strong drink, so I’m gonna take my time drinking it. Throw the 2 oz. of white rum in there and then top with your seltzer.

I like to stir a bit as well. Remember, we threw entire sugar cubes in there — if we don’t agitate this sucker a little bit, that sugar is gonna chill on the bottom. Grab a bar spoon and stir, trying not to crack your spoon against your ice. Garnish with half that juiced lime and a straw. Bam. Easy, classic, build-in-the-glass mojito. Now I’m going to pair this drink with prepping for my D&D game this weekend. Who’s with me?

Liquor in the Oh Shit Someone Needs a Cocktail ASAP: Jane Rose

You’re right, my title isn’t a real sentence! Y’all know what’s been happening in the world. It pretty much feels like it’s burning, which means sometimes you have an emergency drop-by person who needs a fucking drink. Sometimes that person is you. But most times that person is both of you. Because you’ve been to two rallies in seven days and your friend’s gotten into a Twitter fight with someone whose handle is ManFeelings90210. When that time comes, the best cocktails fit two criteria: 1) they should require nearly no effort to produce and 2) they should taste like a candy necklace. Because fuck it! Fuck elegance and effort, sometimes you just want to hunker down and watch Crazy Ex-Girlfriend with a sugar drink.

Enter the Jack Rose. Which I straight up renamed a Jane Rose without changing a damn thing about the recipe. Because Jack Rose sounds like a senator I have to call to take to task over passing through too many Tr*mp nominees and Jane Rose sounds like a senator I call to thank for passing through almost no nominees because a woman’s place is in the resistance. It still looks pretty (a nice deep red), but it definitely tastes like Smarties.

What you’ll need:

2 oz gin

0.5 oz grenadine

0.5 oz fresh lime juice

lime peel to garnish

a shaker

a strainer

and a glass to put it in and that is literally it

First, juice your lime. Cut it long ways because that’ll get you more juice, and then you’ll definitely have enough for you and your friend or girlfriend or wife or cutie pie person. For some reason, you always gets more juice that way.

Then fill your shaker halfway with ice. Dump in the gin, lime juice and grenadine. A tiny bit about shaken drinks—whenever you have fruit juice of any kind, you’re going to want to shake and not stir. Shaking is also for making the drink cold as much as it is for actually mixing the drink. So shake until the outside of your shaker is frosty.

You bet that’s a congrats card from President Obama and Michelle Obama! Did you know you could do that? Send an invitation to the White House and get a congratulations card back?

Strain that sucker into a martini glass. Cut a little bit of the lime peel to garnish. And that’s it. That’s literally all you have to do. It’s so easy and it’s sweet and it’s perfect for an evening where you sign off Facebook so you can come back swinging another day.

Here is Bertie. She was convinced she was being pretty helpful.

I gotchu all. Don’t be afraid to have a self-care evening with a friend. And tell me what very funny TV shows and movies you’re watching with your drink.

Liquor On The Farm: A Classic Margarita

My wife and I usually spend holidays and some of January at our respective parents’ farms — hers in Pennsylvania and mine in South Carolina — because I’m an academic and the rest of my jobs can be done anywhere, which is just how I like it. However, this is probably the last year we’ll be able to travel like this; my wife is graduating this Spring, so the academic calendar will no longer be our rhythm. Plus, of course, the prevalence of newly-empowered, newly-out-in-public, unabashed white nationalists* in both of these places might deter us from visiting and spending our hard-earned liberal money in these states. That too.

But in what might be our last hurrah, it’s been fun — we had discussions about whether my wife’s family’s farm should get a cow just so they could teach it to jump like a horse. And we visited this Mexican restaurant we like in South Carolina. We love that place not for the food (though it’s also good), but for the extensive tequila library and amazing margaritas. Ugh. Abby and I spent the 15 minutes before we left for said restaurant doing the margarita happy dance. It’s like the twist, but with the promise of margaritas.

I know it’s not a traditional winter drink, but in honor of what might be the last time for a while that both my wife and I get to have these excellent margaritas at the same time, here’s how to make a classic margarita. Not the frozen kind. The real kind.

You will need:

2 oz Tequila

1 oz triple sec

1 oz lime juice (I’m using fresh!)

a shaker (remember, fruit juice means shaken!)

salt for the rim of your glass

a lime wedge, also to rim your glass

a lime coin to garnish

Remember last month when we learned to rim a glass? Well we’re gonna do it again! Grab the lime wedge and moisten the lip of your glass with it. Pour some salt onto a plate and, holding the glass at a 45-degree angle, turn the glass so the salt sticks to the rim. Set the glass aside. The reason we do it this way and not just by sticking the glass in a pile of salt is so that we don’t accidentally turn the margarita into salt water by letting the salt get on the inside of the glass and then slowly dissolve while we’re drinking it.

Grab your shaker and fill it halfway with ice. Combine the tequila, triple sec and lime juice. Then shake shake shake it up — remember, shaking isn’t just for mixing. The outside of your shaker should be all frosty. That’s how you know it’s cold enough as well.

Strain the margarita into your pre-rimmed glass. Perch the lime coin on the rim and enjoy!

* let me be clear: there were always white nationalists. I’m not one of those people who think that all of a sudden there they are after this election. It’s just that, now that they’re in power, they feel emboldened to be EVEN SHITTIER in public.

Liquor In The Tough Times: The Fortitude Martini

I’ve had a hard time writing about anything other than Donald Trump’s ascent as president-elect. Jeff “Too Racist To Be a Judge” Sessions as Attorney General. Steve “White Nationalists Call Me a White Nationalist” Bannon as Chief Strategy Advisor. Death Eaters in all these cabinet positions and not one of them with the relevant experience to actually hold said positions. Lordie Lou with a cherry on top, it’s all so bad. And I can’t look away. I’ve been donating money where I can (though I work three jobs and wife is still a law student, so it’s not much). I’ve been filling out petitions. Protesting where and when I can. Hell, my wife and I panic adopted a dog and named her Edith Windsor. But I have not yet written successfully, I don’t think, about anything other than this nightmare timeline we seem to have dropped into. I can’t even dream about anything else. Last night I even had a D&D-inspired dream wherein my gaming group physically battled a giant sea squid who was our real-life President-Elect Tom Riddle. I don’t know if we won or not, I woke myself up just as I cast chain lightning.

In short, it’s been really hard to write a liquor column. I’ve had to sit down and think about why this matters. Why should I still give you a recipe for December when I can barely get out of bed and do my three jobs? I can only assume you’re having the same difficulties. And then I thought back to the day Hillary conceded. A group of us, dissatisfied with a protest option that blamed the Democratic party for this country’s hate of women, gays and anyone who’s not white, gathered in my apartment to console each other and to make plans. Plans to attend other protests, plans to donate money, plans to take care of each other. My wife made them soup. I baked a cake. People brought wine and beer and whatever they could and we just sat at my dining room table and made sure we were okay as we planned the next phase of our life, a phase many of us hadn’t ever considered.

What I should have done that night is mixed a drink. Made a punch. Something. Something that both honored the great history of queers partying loud and proud through the bad times and that nodded to the way I feel about drinking as a queer person. Mixing drinks, tasting liquor: these are the ways I perform luxury in a society that tells me I must be my most marginalized self at all times, that tells me at all turns that I don’t deserve or will never have a little luxury. It’s certainly not the only way to do it; I’m not at all saying that, and there are plenty of sober queers who make their own way. But this is my way. The way I perform luxury and the way I give it to the people who enter my house, sit at my table. And because we’re about to have a Vice President who thinks that if you shock me enough, I’ll turn straight and that that’s the most desirable outcome, bring on the luxury. Bring on the dignity of the apartment cocktail party. I’ll be a classy, dandy, HAPPY queer. Bring on my community, coming through my doors, and as long as I have the resources to do it, I will serve them.

One of the things we talked about that night was which of us could successfully run for office. I think I write too much about vaginas on the internet to successfully mount a campaign, but I’ve DEFINITELY had a few drinks and pestered Carmen about it. For that is what I do when I have two glasses of wine as of late: I fill out the She Should Run form the same way people tipsy text their friends to tell them how much they’re loved. I love government. Like I love government a Leslie Knope amount. But I think the best I can do is support Emily’s List and light a fire in your belly. Have you thought about running for office? It’s okay if it’s not in the cards, but next time you have your queer collective over to make sure everyone has what they need before Tom Riddle’s inauguration, may this light the sort of fire you need. Whatever it may be.

The Fortitude Martini

Perfect for queers running for office, planning protests, getting their names changed and making sure their passport is up-to-date.

What you need:

3 oz. gin (I’m using The Botanist)

1 oz. dry vermouth

2 dashes hellfire bitters

salt and pepper to rim

one spicy pickle to garnish (I’m using habanera dill pickles sold by the wonderful Amish man at our farmers’ market, which I also like to eat out of the jar with a fork NO BIG DEAL)

a mixing glass or the bottom half of a shaker

a bar spoon

a Hawthorne strainer

a martini glass or similar

two small plates or saucers

You may be wondering why there isn’t a photo of me actually rimming the glass with salt and pepper! That is because I need two hands to do it. But this is an illustration of the angle I’m talking. And you can’t see it, but I’m using water and pickle juice. It’s on this plate. I promise.

First we’re going to start with the rim on the martini glass! Grab two saucers or salad plates or what have you. Fill one with water (and if you’re feeling adventurous, a dash of spicy pickle juice) and one with salt and a bit of pepper. Tilt the martini glass at a 45 degree-ish angle to the water, place the rim of the glass juuuussssst in that water and turn the glass gently to moisten the rim. Now tilt the glass the same way to the salt and pepper and repeat. You’ll see the glass pick up the salt and pepper on the outside of the rim only—that’s why we do it this way, instead of dunking the rim of the glass in liquid and then dunking it in salt. If you get salt on the inside of the glass, it’ll dissolve into the drink and throw the balance off. The nice part about this is it’s the first step—if you’re not happy with the rim, you can wash the glass, dry it, and begin again. Nothing is melting or getting warm or waiting for you. Take your time. Channel your anger into rimming a glass.

Once it’s ready, fill a mixing glass halfway with ice. Dump in the gin, the vermouth and the hellfire bitters. Give the martini a stir, trying not to bang the ice around. Try to insert your spoon between the ice and the glass and get a fast-but-quiet whirlwind going, much like the surge of women running for office in the next four years.

Oh who am I kidding, I hope our lady candidates are much louder than your mixing is going to be.

Strain your Fortitude Martini into your rimmed glass.

Spear a pickle slice with a toothpick and pop it on in there.

Rachel Maddow says to never eat the garnish, but we are hungry. Oh, we. Are. Hungry.

I leant my copy of Dykes To Watch Out For to one of my friends HI ELLIOT I hope you like it also I almost posted this photo upside down because I am ENJOYING THIS MARTINI while I insert photos I hope you do too the end

Liquor In The Autumn Evening: Spiked Mulled Cider for Two

As I’ve said one million times on this and every website, I just got married. I say this because I married a brilliant Ravenclaw genius who looks like a supermodel and I’m still in shock at my own good fortune, so Imma shout this shit from the rooftop. As the weather grows cold — actually, here in New York City, we pretty much skipped Fall and went straight to winter, so as the weather is instantly cold, I’m using a spiked mulled cider to warm us up and bask in my own incredulity. There are two of us, so this recipe is for two! Here’s hoping you use this for your own cozy dates this month. And I hope Fall didn’t skip where you live if it normally exists there!

What you’ll need:

Four cups of your most local apple cider
Half an orange
Five whole allspice berries
Eight cloves
A pinch of cardamom
Two cinnamon sticks
2 oz. bourbon per mug/glass (I’m using Bulleit)
Cloved orange slices for garnish

Slice up your orange rather thin. You’re not juicing this time, so you don’t have to cut long ways. Cut midway, the pretty way. Measure out your four cups of local apple cider and pour it into a medium-sized pot. Float those orange slices on top.

Add your spices and turn your stove on to medium-high heat, then put a lid on that pot. Bring the cider just to a boil, and then turn it down to simmer for ten minutes.

Grab your heat-proof beverage glasses. We use Irish Coffee glasses for most of our warm cocktails, but your fave coffee mugs will also do just fine. Pour 2 oz. of bourbon in each mug. You may be wondering why I don’t mull the cider with the bourbon in it — that’s to make sure the alcohol doesn’t boil off. Grab a ladle and pour the cider through a strainer over the bourbon. If you get lazy and pour from the pot like me, you will pour it all over the counter! Don’t do that! Use the ladle!

Garnish with the orange wedge that looks a little like a dinosaur and enjoy in your bathrobe with your favorite slippers on.

So what are you drinking in the cold weather?

Liquor in the Campari AGAIN: A Boulevardier As The Weather Cools

I’m wearing my slippers and yesterday our heater came on. IT IS TIME, Y’ALL. Fall is my favorite season, but alas, the heater isn’t on today. Fall is still sputtering on like a half-burnt lightbulb. So it’s not hot cocktail time yet (I’m hoping it’ll finally be time next month).

I’ve returned to my love of Campari, specifically to a cocktail that I don’t think gets nearly enough love: the Boulevardier. I looked up some history of the Boulevardier and apparently it actually predates the Negroni by a good twenty years, so calling it a Negroni with bourbon in place of gin is false. The ratio is also off — it’s not equal parts. But it is equally delicious. Here’s how you make it.

What you need:

1.5 oz bourbon

1 oz Campari

1 oz sweet vermouth

a lemon to garnish

A note on the garnish first, actually — there are several totally valid ways to garnish a Boulevardier. Lemon, orange and cherry are all good choices. I like lemon because it gives you just a hint of zing, and because finding the right cherries (my real fave) is hard sometimes. I don’t just get any ole cherries.

You might also notice a new accessory I’m using — my fiancée got me vintage cocktail sabres a couple months back because I loved the ones that Stef shared with us way back in 2014. I put them away and my last few cocktails wouldn’t have called for them. But this one, this one can! Return of ga-ARRRR-nish!

I suggest preparing the garnish first, actually, because it’s the most time-consuming step in this very easy drink. Slice your lemon ’round the middle and cut a coin out. Then cut the coin into four quarters and spear them on the sword. This lets SOME of the delicious lemon juice run into your cocktail, but not enough that it dominates. Balance is key, and using something as a wash or garnish is one way to achieve that balance.

Anyhow, once you’ve got your garnish ready to go, ice your glass. Now some might say to build this drink in a mixing glass and strain it so your ice doesn’t water it down. But that’s now how I usually make it for some reason, even though that’s probably the more technically correct way. I just build it in a glass with the ice in it — so throw your bourbon, Campari and sweet vermouth all in there. It makes this three-ingredient wonder even easier to throw together for unexpected company or much-needed relaxation time.

Give it a stir and add your garnish. Then parade it around your house to photograph it. Oh wait, no, that’s just me.

Another thing of note — a Boulevardier is a good cocktail to barrel age, and the holidays are coming up. This is true because the bourbon really picks up the oak flavor if you’re using a kit with a stave or a small barrel, and the sharpness of the Campari really calms down and melds with the rest of the ingredients. Definitely recommend giving it a try.

Liquor In The Expectations: This Is What a Daiquiri Looks Like

Okay, I know, I know, it’s September. But global climate change has all but ensured that we will have the hottest September on record. Aside from actively changing everything about our personal lifestyles and the way we conceptualize food systems and cities and industry (all of which we should absolutely do), the only other thing to do is drink daiquiris. Daiquiris? Yes! I don’t think that word means what you think it means. Most people, when I say daiquiri, are going to picture the following cruise ship monstrosity:

I say nay. Nay to that. It is a drink, but it is not a daiquiri. First off, a daiquiri need not be frozen. It’s like a margarita that way — sometimes they’re frozen, sometimes they’re not. But it also need not be this complicated, nor is it basically a dessert. A daiquiri in its purest, simplest form out in the wild has only three ingredients: white rum, fresh lime juice and simple syrup. And it utilizes my favorite, easy-to-remember ratio (1.5:1:0.5) Here’s how you make it.

Jeeves halped me research.

Make your simple syrup — equal parts sugar and water. I’m doing 1/2 cup water, 1/2 cup sugar because I don’t need more than half a cup of simple syrup at a time. Put the sugar and water in a medium saucepan and bring the mixture to a boil. Stir until all the sugar has dissolved, then take the pan off the heat and let it cool. I keep simple syrup in a jam jar in the fridge for surprise visitors that require surprise daiquiris.

Bertie is halping.

Chill your glass using ice before you begin. I’m using a martini glass, but a coup would also do really nicely.

Fill your shaker half with ice. Dump 1.5 oz of white rum in there. I’m using Brugal.

Cut limes lengthwise!

Juice one lime if you’re mixing just one — you might need more if you’re mixing for a group. Remember to cut the lime lengthwise to get the most juice possible out of it. Add 1 oz lime juice.

Time to get that simple syrup back out. Add 0.5 oz of simple syrup to your shaker. Shake until it’s good and cold — that’ll be in the realm of 20 or 30 seconds. Remember, whenever you shake, make sure no one and nothing that you love is behind you. Shit happens.

Dump the ice out of the martini glass and strain the daiquiri in. Grab another lime and cut a coin to garnish. Enjoy while making a plan to solve climate change.

That’s a card from my sister next to my daiquiri!