More New Year’s Mixology – The Gin and Fresca Cocktail

At the risk of convincing you that I’ve reverted to a diet of smart, sophisticated cocktails, I simply couldn’t let the old year pass away without a sip of the Gin and Fresca Cocktail. You didn’t think I would forget this one, did you, Lydia?

It all began with a bit of a challenge, or perhaps a campaign, to secure the rightful place of Fresca in Lydia’s Perfect Pantry. Fresca clearly has shelf space in the legendary Rhode Island pantry, as Lydia is a longtime fan of the singular grapefruit soda. But, “official designation” in the Perfect Pantry requires that the item be used as an ingredient in at least three recipes (this rule, if enforced in my home, would do a lot to clear out my refrigerator and pantry …), and Lydia felt that Fresca was perhaps just not versatile enough.

Well, I love a challenge and served up three recipes, including Fresca Cake (a classic soda pop confection), Fresca Jell-O Salad (suburban cookery magic) and The Gin and Fresca Cocktail. The result was a full post devoted to Fresca, written in Lydia’s incomparable style, and numerous Fresca fans clamoring for the beverage’s full membership in the Perfect Pantry. While I’m not positive if the official proclamation has been delivered, there was clearly effervescent support throughout the blogosphere.

Lydia gamely whipped up a new take on the archetypal Fresca Cake, which is particularly significant because she claims not to have “the baking gene.” Then, Kalyn got into the act, and declared the Gin and Fresca Cocktail as somewhat of a mixology miracle. Says Kalyn, “The two flavors go together in a combo that’s more than the sum of its parts.”

Who could resist? (I did have to make a trip to the grocery store, since I rarely keep carbonated beverages in house. But, I had to pick up some staples, like milk, eggs and Marshmallow Fluff.) The recipe is simple. Equal parts of gin and Fresca mixed over ice and strained into a glass. The cocktail has a cool and stylish, wintry appearance. The taste is tart, clean, crisp and woodsy, with just a hint of juniper.

Of course, now I have an entire two-liter bottle of Fresca to consume, and unless I want to imbibe Gin and Fresca Cocktails from now until August, I’ll need an alternative plan. Could the Fresca Jello Salad be far behind?

©2009 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Happy New Year and Cheers – I’ll Take Manhattan!

My friend “Lee Sloan” is a Grand Dame of food and wine. She recently shared this story of a conversation in a fashionable New York City restaurant:

“I asked a waiter at A Voce the other night if the restaurant was experiencing a downturn in customers as a result of the downturn in the economy. He said the customers were still coming but they were eating less and drinking more. God Bless America!”

With that thought in mind, it’s time to raise a toast to all the potential on tap for 2009. Today’s celebratory drink is “The Manhattan” my father’s cocktail of choice. Perhaps it’s hereditary, because Nana, too, was a Manhattan aficionado.

After decades of watching the senior members of the Barritt family (and a few of my brothers) enjoys the classic Manhattan Cocktail, I decide to try it myself, but of course, I’ve got to get the back story, as well. Who knew the Manhattan had such a celebrated history? First thought to have been concocted in the 1870s at the famous Manhattan Club in New York’s Theater District, this smooth and seductive blend of rye whiskey and vermouth was said to be a favorite of power broker J.P. Morgan.

Well, times are tough and we can’t all be captains of industry, but we can certainly welcome 2009 like a tycoon. There are numerous variations on the Manhattan and in recent years, my Dad has experimented with Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey, which results in a slightly sweeter cocktail. Here’s his formula. After all the precise baking measurements of the past month, the relative ease assembly something to be appreciated:

The Manhattan Cocktail

2 ounces Jim Beam Bourbon Whiskey
1 ounce French Sweet Vermouth

Pour whiskey and vermouth over ice in a glass and stir. Garnish with a maraschino cherry.

All serious students of the Manhattan believe the maraschino cherry is a key ingredient. Let’s hope 2009 is topped with a maraschino cherry, too!

©2009 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

The World of Coca-Cola

Here’s my first disclaimer: there’s not a lot of culinary insight in this post.

Here’s my second disclaimer: I am not a big consumer of soft drinks. Long ago I decided I wanted to stick to completely natural beverages. That means, water, orange juice, coffee and red wine. The closest I come to drinking carbonated beverages is Veuve Cliquot.

But, I am a fan of food and beverage history – and particularly enamored of iconic products and their strange, hypnotic ability to permeate our society. That’s probably why I find myself compelled to visit the newly-opened World of Coca-Cola, a glistening shrine to soda pop in the heart of the Deep South.

Maybe it’s my recent journey through the land of the soft-drink cake gateau and my dalliance with the classic Coca-Cola Cake. Maybe it’s because I’m spending a couple of days in Atlanta, the ancestral home of Coke. The advertising is everywhere. The whole Coca-Cola thing becomes subliminal after a point. I even put on a bright red polo shirt this morning. The Real Thing is even more real in Atlanta. The bubbles – even the subliminal bubbles – are just intoxicating.

I am already dripping with sweat as I approach the glossy big-box World of Coca-Cola at Pemberton Place in downtown Atlanta. The 90 foot tower that holds a giant Coca-Cola Bottle catches my eye.

People move slower in Atlanta. Maybe it’s the perennial steam bath that cloaks the city. They’re also excessively friendly. As I stand in the entrance hall of this temple of the magic of effervescent marketing, surrounded by soft drink memorabilia, the archivist for Coca-Cola says “Have a peachy day!”

Peachy.

It reminds me of a visit to the World’s Fair or Epcot Center. I am bombarded with the international relevance of the most popular soft drink on the planet. Who would have thought that a little caramel-colored liquid could have such global impact?

We are greeted in the hub of the pavilion by a bubbly Coca-Cola “ambassador” who explains the layout of the exhibits. The minute the ambassador concludes her speech, two thirds of the crowd make a mad dash for the “Taste It” room which features floor-to-ceiling dispensers for each continent offering nearly 70 different varieties of soft drinks. I quickly edge my way in, as I fear the rampaging crowd will suck the place dry. It’s free pop after all. It is interesting to note the flavor profiles for different countries. The soft drinks range from spicy in Asia to excessively sweet in North America. The Europe spigot features a brand called “Beverly” from Italy, which tastes like Red Hot candies. The Africa spigot offers sodas flavored with pineapple and kiwi. There is bubbly black currant and “Sunfill Mint” from Africa which tastes a little like carbonated Scope Mouthwash. Yet, it is not unappealing.

In the “Milestones of Refreshment” Hall, ten galleries are crowded with Coke artifacts. There’s a bronze statue of John Pemberton, the man who created Coca-Cola in 1886, an old fashioned soda fountain, similar to Jacobs Pharmacy where Coke was first introduced in Atlanta, and a variety of red and white Coke dispensers. In the “Pop Culture” Gallery, there are Andy Warhol prints and even the classic holiday advertising that featured Jolly Old Saint Nicholas and redefined our world view of Christmas and Santa Claus.

I stroll through “Bottle Works,” the smallest Coca-Cola Bottling plant in the world. As one ambassador tells me, it’s the real thing, “but condensed.” The plant produces 20 bottles a minute. I learn that water is the main ingredient and C02 makes the bubbles, but the secret formula for the syrup remains closely guarded to this day.

I pass by bottles of every shape and advertising in every language of the world. It’s all starting to feel more important than the daily proceedings at the United Nations, so I head for the Coca-Cola store. This is about capitalism, after all.

One tee-shirt later, and with my just-capped souvenir bottle of Coke straight from the bottling line in hand, I am ready to go out and teach the world to sing in perfect harmony.

I exit the complex feeling just a little bit brainwashed and slightly over-carbonated, imagining a destination called “The World of Hostess Twinkies,” where international visitors are greeted by life-sized versions of Twinkie the Kid and burrow through an endless tunnel of frothy vanilla whipped cream.

I'd buy a ticket in a heartbeat.

©2007 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Et tu Caesar?




One if the menu items mentioned by Jill for our American-Canadian Cooking Project is a curious concoction. She suggests that I quench the thirst of my March 18 guests with a Caesar. What can she mean? Is this a Shakespearean reference? A tragic cocktail? What is the connection between the biggest emperor of them all and a Canadian beverage?

I delve into Internet research that’s as wide and deep as the Seven Seas – or just about. All evidence seems to point to a drink called “Clamato.” I contact Jill to find out if I’m on the right track, or following a red herring. She writes:

Yes, you’re on the right track. Caesar is the Clamato drink – not a red herring, although red and a bit fishy-tasting!

What is Clamato? It’s a spicy tomato-based drink invented in 1969 in California by the Duffy Mott Company. The marketers of the world say it’s a leader in the “Seafood Blend” category of beverages, because as you might suspect, the secret ingredient is clam juice.

Clamato is a key ingredient in a cocktail called the “Bloody Caesar” which is considered by many to be the national drink of Canada, and the country’s number one selling cocktail. More than 250 million Caesars are sold every year.

It all starts to come back to me. The memories of my car trips across the Prairie Provinces, the roadside hotels and many a Caesar consumed in a dark hotel cocktail lounge. The Caesar is a relatively new invention, credited to a bar tender named Walter Chell. Chell invented the drink in 1969 when he worked for the Westin Hotel in Calgary, Alberta. He was looking to create a cocktail for the opening of a new restaurant and developed a drink that was a mixture of mashed clams, tomato juice, vodka, Worcestershire sauce, salt and pepper. Adding a celery stalk for garnish, Chell dubbed the drink a Bloody Caesar. Chell’s invention is held in such regard that he even gets a mention on the website devoted to “Famous, Should Be Famous and Infamous Canadians.”

Later, the Mott Company developed its Clamato Juice and after an initial dispute, hired Chell as a consultant to promote the drink.

Here’s the classic recipe for a Caesar:

1 ounce Vodka
Clamato Juice
1 dash Worcestershire sauce
1 dash Tabasco sauce
Salt
Pepper
Celery salt
Celery stick

Rim a tall glass with celery salt and fill with ice. Add vodka, fill glass with Clamato juice and add Worcestershire sauce, Tabasco, salt and pepper. Garnish with a celery stick and enjoy.

Now, all I need is a proper Canadian toast!

©2007 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

It’s Not Easy Being Green:

The bottle of emerald liquid sits on the table at the front of the room. On its label, a single eye stares back at the audience. It’s giving me the once over, daring me to take just a little taste.

I’m attending the monthly program of the Culinary Historians of New York to hear the dark and sordid history of Absinthe, a liqueur credited with everything from instigating murder to causing fatal brain degradation. The crowd is standing room only. Everybody loves a good villain.

I wasn’t familiar with this jaded cocktail, but the very name “Absinthe” was enough to send a young colleague fleeing from the room screaming something about hallucinations.

It looks a bit unearthly. Like something the Wizard of Oz or Puff the Magic Dragon might serve as a cordial. Make that something Kermit the Frog might drink on a bender. The contents are far from magical according to lore. In fact, the stuff was banned in most countries at the turn of the last century.

What is this controversial brew? Absinthe is actually distilled from herbs in the thyme family (hence the green color) and was first used as a medicinal drink. In plain terms, it was a vermicide, and was great for ridding the digestive system of parasites. French soldiers used it during the Algerian campaigns to purify water and later drank it as an aperitif. The key ingredient is wormwood, a bitter compound that can be toxic in large doses. Sounds like fun, huh? Well, the café culture in France loved it. They would drink it with sugar cubes and ignite tablespoons dipped in Absinthe.

Yet, despite being banned, Absinthe seems to be enjoying a renaissance. Just last week, Harold McGee explored the drink in the New York Times and our speaker, Professor David Weir of Cooper Union, seems intent on rescuing Absinthe’s tattered reputation. He is wearing a Kelly green handkerchief in his breast pocket. He reads a quote from a late 19th century author who describes Absinthe as “a nectar like the last kiss on the lips of a discarded mistress.”

The story of Absinthe is really about a clash of cultures. It was a working class drink. Weir shows us slides of famous Impressionist art depicting the iconoclastic members of the French café culture, each enjoying a bright green glass of Absinthe. As the years progress, and the reported effects of Absinthe spread, the pictures get uglier. The upper class blamed it for all kinds of distasteful, common behaviors. It was said that it only took six glasses before you would start hallucinating.

I’m about to get my first taste.

Glasses are passed through the audience containing one part Absinthe and five parts water. When combined with water, it takes on a milky, chartreuse color, and looks a bit like fresh squeezed lemon juice. I smell the astringent aroma of caraway and herbs. I take a sip and detect anise and licorice. There is a bitter, chemical aftertaste on the tongue and a strong aroma of insecticide or cleaning solution. This stuff is potent, with a capital P. Forget about hallucinating. Six glasses would probably kill me.

Professor Weir says the appeal of Absinthe was in its forbidden qualities. After two sips, I decide I’ll stick with approved beverages like Green Apple Martinis or Green Tea.

Besides, my taste buds are in shock, and I need to save them for next month’s program – an historic overview of love and chocolate.

© 2007 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved