Not in a "don't bogart that can, man" way. Just that if I'm going to go to all the trouble of stoking a hardwood lump charcoal fire, obsessively monitoring its low-'n-slow-ness for a goodly chunk of the day, feeding its greedy gut with beer-soaked mesquite and hickory chunks at half-hour intervals all for the sake of an albeit fabulous brisket or pork shoulder, I'm gonna want a bit more return on the investment.
Here's where foil pans of salt, cherries and lemons come in.
Alabama-born LeNell Smothers defines herself first and foremost as a bartender, but she's been called many things, most recently the owner of LeNell's liquor store. She's owned her own whiskey label called Red Hook Rye and been recognized by her home state as an honorary Colonel. Other interests include gin, sin and men.
You survived the Derby Day parties, and your annual mint julep tickled everyone's fancies quite nicely. Now you are wondering what to do with that leftover bottle of bourbon.
How dare you have a leftover bottle of bourbon, first of all! But if you do, here's an easy way to get rid of it.
Alabama-born LeNell Smothers defines herself first and foremost as a bartender, but she's been called many things -- most recently, the proprietress of LeNell's liquor store. She's owned her own whiskey label called Red Hook Rye and been recognized by her home state as an honorary Colonel. Other interests include gin, sin and men.
Rock and Rye is an American classic. Rye whiskey sweetened with rock candy and flavored with pieces of fruit and sometimes horehound was among the remedies used to treat colds in the early part of the 20th century. As we roll into June, most of us have avoided swine flu but not "the crud," a seasonal-change head cold or some other lurgy.
We're laying 2:1 odds that some pal of yours has been champing at the bit to trot out that chestnut ever since Big Brown galloped toward destiny last Derby Day. And sure, you hooted, hollered, maybe even donned a big, fancy hat and welled up a little but honestly, did you watch even one other horse race in '08? Chances are, you were there for the mint juleps.
If you are there -- as in Churchill Downs -- for the juleps, you'll be in the hands of of the track's Executive Chef Joseph "Jo-Jo" Doyle, and that ain't a bad place to be at all. The 34-year-old chef isn't a Kentuckian by birth, but tells Slashfood that the cuisine of his Mobile, AL and New Orleans upbringing prepped him for making traditional Bluegrass fare.
Hear more from Chef Doyle and get traditional Kentucky Benedictine and Bourbon Slush recipes after the jump.
With Derby Day racing round the bend and summer hot on its tail, it's mint julep time. Considering the current rage for infusing one's booze, it's only natural to combine bourbon with mint before the two even hit a glass.
Some folks just toss the two together, steeping a few handfuls of leaves in a glass jar. Here's a slightly more precise recipe: Combine about 2 cups loosely packed mint leaves with 3 cups of bourbon, cap tightly and let sit for 4 to 5 days. If short on time, steep overnight (though another cupful of leaves will be necessary -- perhaps more if a very minty taste is desired). Once the liquor is infused, it's a quick jump to mint julep time: Just mix with simple syrup and pour over crushed ice, no messy muddling required. Some prefer to combine liquor, mint and sugar for an all-in-one infusion, but this mint-only rendition allows more flexibility for various levels of sweet tooths. The concoction also makes for a fine Jack n' Ginger (be wary of bourbon purists!), or an excellent Manhattan.
OK, OK, so we're a littleobsessed with bourbon right now. But Derby Day is just around the corner, the sun is starting to make a cameo and, well, bourbon is absurdly delicious.
While at a whiskey-and-barbecue eatery the other night, the bartender stopped short when he heard me order Woodford Reserve, mistaking me for some high-rolling aficionado (I'm new to the cult and have never even tried Pappy Van Winkle). "You like bourbon?" he asked, smiling. With a flourish, he produced this bottle of Vintage 17-year-old bourbon. I laughed when I saw it. Look at that photo! It was like someone saying, "You know what's a high-quality nail polish?" and dramatically presenting you with an old bottle of cherry-red Wet & Wild with its insanely '80s script. How could this be tasty stuff?
One sip shut me straight up. My companion crowed, "It's incredible! It coats the palate with caramel!" All I could muster after a long day writing about food was a sober, "Yeah," and a deep sigh -- the sigh of a woman who had just acquired a very expensive new habit.
Do not come between a Southern gent and his bourbon.
We learned this lesson at a recent NYC party when we observed a Mississippi native seize a bottle of Knob Creek, shake its last drops angrily into a cup and grab a bottle of pricey, small-batch Woodford Reserve only to be outraged to find this also nearly gone. "I knew I should have hidden the good stuff from these people!" he shouted, shaking his fist at the guests he'd invited to his home.
The cause of this maniacal outburst from a mild-mannered gent? Bourbon, and the thought of mixing it with store-bought gingerale. A wide-eyed belle from Jersey had ordered up a whiskey-and-ginger. Since only his finest was left, he delivered the bourbon abomination with a sigh, grumbling about "corn syrup on beautiful whiskey" in a thick accent en route.
Making a whiskey-n-ginger with the best bourbon in the house is where we -- who have certainly enjoyed a Jameson 'n ginger or (hic!) three -- would draw the line. But what does Chris Morris, master distiller at Woodford Reserve (the official whiskey of Derby Day) think?
Slashfood: "A party guest wants to combine supermarket gingerale with your excellent bourbon. Do you flip out?
Morris: "To be quite honest, I think whisky and gingerale is a great drink. Woodford Reserve has hints of ginger and a nice little citrus note and goes well with gingerale, a classic highball. Our response to anybody who thinks it's an insult is the question, 'Well, do you enjoy it?' If the answer is 'yes,' it's perfectly all right. We want make a great first impression, so if that person is a gingerale highball drinker, what better way than with Woodford Reserve in place of your regular bourbon?"
The Luxury Institute has released its annual Luxury Brand Status Index (did you know that even luxury brands have their own status index?) for the wine and spirits category. The index is based on surveys of the wealthy, sampling more than 1,200 American consumers with an average weighted income of $342,000 and an average weighted net worth of $2.9 million. Here are the top-rated brands in each category:
Champagne and sparkling wine: Dom Perignon Cognac: Courvoisier Gin: Hendricks Liqueur: Grand Marnier Rum: 10 Cane Scotch: Macallan Table wine: Opus One Tequila: Patron Vodka: Grey Goose Whiskey: Woodford Reserve
I've already expressed my unyielding love for the mint julep here on Slashfood. So I'm happy to announce that this years Tales of the Cocktail competition is based on none other than my beloved julep.
What's in it for you, bartenders? How about cash money and the honor of having your julep selected as the official cocktail of the 2009 Tales Of The Cocktail festival and published in the official recipe book by Mud Puddle books.
According to noted cocktail historian and one of the judges of the this competition, David Wondrich, bartenders should consider these definitions when creating their juleps:
- A Julep can be based on spirits, wine (or fortified wine) or a combination of the two. - It must be made in a tall (10-14 oz) glass with cracked or shaved ice. - It may contain citrus or other fruit juice, but only in a proportion not to exceed 1/8 of the total volume of liquid (not including ice). - It must include fresh mint. - It must contain sugar or some other sweetener.
For full rules and guidlines plus the entry form, follow this link to Cocktailtimes.com.
Oh, and if you haven't circled your calenders yet, this years Tales Of The Cocktail will be July 8 - 12th
When I signed up for the Burns' Night dinner at St. Andrews Restaurant, I was pretty excited. Not only would I be able to enjoy haggis and other Scottish specialties, but I would also have a great post for Slashfood. Unfortunately, Monika Bartyzel got here ahead of me and did a pretty damned good job of talking up the wonders of the "Great chieftain o' the pudding race." Still, having spent an evening eating offal, sipping scotch, and listening to highland poetry, I'm not quite ready to give up...
My introduction to haggis came on a family trip to Scotland. My mother, who was Jewish and had never quite understood my father's extreme dislike of spices, bought A Feast of Scotland by Janet Warren. As we drove around the countryside, she tore through the tome, alternately giggling, gagging, and exclaiming "You're FREAKING joking!" At the end of all of this, she gazed upon my father and told him that she finally understood his problem. The cookbook featured exactly two spices: salt and pepper, and occasionally exhorted its readers to "add suet to taste." While there is a lot to be said for environment, it was clear that heredity had had at least some effect on my dad's palate.
Sure, many folks go to an Alice B. Toklas place when creative brownie making is mentioned, but for a goody two-shoes like me (with a cop pal as my afternoon's company to boot!), there's much swoony satisfaction in a recipe that highlights some of my favorite legal vices. I'm hardly the first to alight at bacon brownies, but I decided to borrow a step from the bourbon balls I'm often rolling up 'round this time of year for holiday party purposes. A double-soak -- once pre and once mid-toasting of a half cup of pecans in bourbon, and a swap-in of the nut-infused bourbon for the traditional vanilla brings a slightly tipsy edge to a deeply fudgy brownie. A grind of fresh black pepper (inspired by a Chanterelle Staff Meals brownie recipe, which credited the technique to Maida Heatter) strums the palate to life; a subtle note of smoked salt lets the bolder bacon sing.
Had there not been half a foot of snow atop my grill cover, I'd have seen what came of an attempt to tobacco-smoke the pecans and chocolate, but for now, these are more than sufficiently wicked.
There's a stigma attached to those who extol the virtues of proper glassware. But the fact is -- they're right. The vessel used for your drink will affect not only the liquid that's poured inside, but also the way it hits your tongue, and the flavor your taste buds register.
I used to blow this off as overly fastidious, fancy schmancy posturing. I hated getting pints of beer or glasses of soda because it always tasted flat to me. I preferred that crisp bite out of the bottle -- glass be damned!
But then I experienced the differences for myself. While visiting a winery a number of years ago, my friends and I sat in on a glassware class. A myriad of shapes and sizes were placed in front of us, and we tried white, red, and sparkling wine in the different glasses. Each tasted different as it was moved from the standard white glass, to the wider red, to the narrow flute. We were shocked, and we vowed to always try to have the right glass for the right wine, because what's the point of paying more for a good wine, if you can't experience its full flavor?
But it's not just a matter of wine. Recently, I was making dinner and decided to open a bottle of craft beer that I had loved at my favorite pub a few months prior. I popped off the cap, took a drink, and curled my lip -- it not only tasted nothing like I remembered, but I hated it. I thought back and remembered that I drank the beer at the end of the night. Did I have bad, delusional drunken taste buds? I read the side of the bottle, which suggested a specific stemmed glass. I found something close, poured it in, and it became the beer I remembered -- rich, full, and wonderful. Me, the bottle lover, had found a beverage that tasted much, much better out of the bottle.
Now this doesn't mean that you need to have a specific glass for every different type of beer or booze. Get the right glasses, or something very close, for your favorite beverages, and stick to standards for the rest.
Think about it -- why splurge on a great scotch, wine, beer, or other beverage if you're just going to throw it into any old glass?
Read on to see a rundown of the glasses that make each beverage pop, and consider this not only a great guide for your own collection, but an excellent gift for the liquor, wine, or beer fiend on your gift list.
When I was a kid, my family went on a trip to Scotland. Given my mother's deep appreciation for single malt scotch, a fair amount of my time in Edinburgh was spent wandering around with my sisters while my parents tried out some of the local tipples. Years later, when I went back on my own, my shallow financial resources kept me from following in my parents' footsteps, but I was able to try out some of the blended scotches. In addition to helping me make friends, the experience gave me a deep respect for Bell's blended scotch; unfortunately, I've never seen it for sale in the states.
Over the years, however, I've drank more than my share of single malt scotch and have found a few favorites and a few that I despise. Glen Garioch, for example, is so awful that I wouldn't even use it to clean out a wound.
While blended scotches generally are reasonably priced, I've found that, by and large, they are a little too harsh for my taste. Moreover, by the time you get up into the blends that don't taste like paint thinner, you're probably paying more than you would for a decent single malt. A fine case in point is Johnny Walker Blue, which is outrageous at $175 for a fifth.
Laphroaig is a fairly reasonable single malt. At $30 for a fifth, it is on the low end of the scale, yet still offers a delicious Islay flavor. On a particularly cool note, Laphroaig also has the "Friends of Laphroaig" society; to become a member, one need only send in a piece of the metal foil that surrounds the top of a bottle. In return, one gets a "lease" of one square foot of the island of Islay, rent for which is a dram of scotch, payable if you come to the distillery. Even if you don't show up, they send you a certificate and Christmas cards.
On a cheaper scale, Bowmore is an Islay single malt that costs a mere $17 a bottle. Similarly, Auchentoshan is a lowland single malt that also costs $17. Both are decent, tasty tipples that are almost ridiculously underpriced. Auchentoshan has a mellower, softer flavor, while Bowmore is a little peatier and more intense.
Finally, for those whose tastes tend more toward the Irish end of things, Powers Irish whiskey is nicely priced in the $20 range. It is a smooth, flavorful spirit that makes an outstanding Irish coffee. Of course, Jameson's or Bushmill's addicts will find this a tough sell, but it is definitely worth a try!
American whiskey has been around as long as there has been an America. In fact, the decision to tax whiskey led to the famous Whiskey Rebellion, one of the first violent protests that followed the American Revolution. However, while numerous whiskies were once part of America's distilling heritage, corn whiskey (aka bourbon) has long since become America's more or less official alcohol.
Fair or not, in recent years, America's love affair with bourbon has led to a massive amount of sour-mash snobbery. Craft-style, small-batch, and limited edition bourbons have driven up the prestige (and price) of what once was the most proletarian of whiskeys. This is particularly ironic, given the fact that bourbon was, in many ways, the traditional whiskey of America's most rough-and-tumble element.
This is not to say, however, that good, old-fashioned, cheap American whiskey hasn't survived. Some of America's oldest and most respected brands are still around and are still reasonably priced.For example, Old Grand-dad is a lesser-known, but well-established bourbon. It is comparatively inexpensive and makes a great mixer. Similarly, Old Crow offers incredible value ($17 for a 1.75 Liter bottle) and a good, solid flavor. Best of all, it has an outstanding pedigree: if anybody casts aspersions on it, you can note that it is America's first sour-mash whiskey, was the preferred drink of Senator Henry Clay and President Ulysses S. Grant, and was one of Mark Twain and Hunter Thompson's favorite tipples.
Mmm, seasonal punch, fall cider, apple-related-alcohol, whatever you want to call it, it's good. Warm or cold, alcoholic or non, even spicy or streudelly, there are a number of ways to enjoy a good autumnal apple drink. Here are links to eight delicious recipes!
We can change the way we make eggs -- scrambled, poached, fried -- but what about changing the eggs themselves? Mix up your scrambling routine with quail eggs.
Alabama-born 
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There's a stigma attached to those who extol the virtues of proper glassware. But the fact is -- they're right. The vessel used for your drink will affect not only the liquid that's poured inside, but also the way it hits your tongue, and the flavor your taste buds register.
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American whiskey has been around as long as there has been an America. In fact, the decision to tax whiskey led to the famous 
Mmm, seasonal punch, fall cider, apple-related-alcohol, whatever you want to call it, it's good. Warm or cold, alcoholic or non, even spicy or streudelly, there are a number of ways to enjoy a good autumnal apple drink. Here are links to eight delicious recipes!
Second Helping of Slashfood - June 19
Competitive-Eating Contest to Pit Humans Against Elephants
The Backyard Boom - The Hungry Bride
