morsels & sauces

I like a shrub.  Mostly because I like sour things. Well, I also like salty things. And sweet things. And hot things. Okay, okay, I just like things. Especially if those things have strong flavors.  But this lovely cocktail is subtle, sweet, piney, citrusy, and spicy. It's the perfect holiday drink. And it packs a punch. A one-two punch. So plan to sip slowly. To make this shrub, simply grate up some apples and crush some cardamom pods. Then you let them soak in some apple cider vinegar mixed with a lot  of sugar. Let a little fermentation happen. Strain. Bottle. Serve. Pucker up.   To learn more about a shrub, see   here . To drink more shrub, see below for a fabulous recipe.  Once you have the shrub hanging out in your kitchen, you're officially qualified to dig your own shallow grave. Aghem, I mean make your own shallow grave. This one calls for gin, Pimms cup, and lemon. Yes, yes, Pimms is usually associated with the summer and...

Ah, bitterness. The anger that forgot where it came from, or  so says  Alain de Botton . However, you will embrace this bitterness, know only marginally where it comes from, and dismiss anger. For you, my friends, are about to embark on a journey into the bitter and bittersweet world of amari with me. Amari (the plural of amaro , the Italian word for bitter ) are all the rage right now. And there are rules that go along with amari, most notably to be called such, these lovely little liqueurs must originate in Italy (or so  some sticklers say) .  You can be all snobby about them if you would like (and there are plenty who are decidedly snobby about their amari), but I prefer a more adventurist view.  Brad Thomas Parsons, who wrote my most recent libation guidebook Amaro and may just be the US's leading expert on amari, is of the same inclusive mindset. He invites Gammel Dansk from Denmark and Unicum from Hungary an...

If a sorority could have a drink, they would be wise to choose this one. Sweet, hyper pink, and packing a punch, this little concoction is a fine addition to anyone's backyard barbecue or next sorority rush party (for those of legal age, of course). It's rhubarb season, and it's time to start trotting this perennial rhizome out for all of your treacly desserts. Often paired with strawberries (which I will do soon in a dessert, I promise you), this hearty vegetable has a strong, tart, and distinctive taste that makes your mouth pucker and becomes the perfect pairing for sweet prosecco and earthy gin. In Tara O'Brady' s twist on the classic gimlet, that gin and rose's lime juice concoction from the 1950s, one can be sweetly pleased while sipping on some rhubarb in the backyard.  Curious about the origin of the gimlet?  Apparently it comes from The Long Goodbye from Raymond Chandler: We sat in a corner of the bar at Victor's and dran...

As a child, at the toe-end of my stocking, I always found one apple and one orange--holdovers from my mother's childhood, when her own mother would stuff an orange in the toes, a twenty-year tradition from the Great Depression . Does your family still do this? Stuff an orange into the bottom of the stocking? Stuff these globes of bounty, of sunshine, of California or Florida, of a warmer and gentler clime? Even some 80 years since the Great Depression? And citrus fruits, while available year round, take center stage in the winter, when we're all convinced there are no fresh fruits to be found. This sweet and juicy cookbook by Valerie Alkman-Smith and Victoria Pearson trots out a healthy dose of citrus-inspired recipes. Sometimes the tangerines or lemons or limes take center stage (as in the recipes for Handmade Lemon Pappardelle, Cara Cara and Blood Orange Salad with Ricotta Salata, or Lemon G â te au). Other times the citrus takes a supporting role (think Bluebe...

It appears that our outdoor table is not on level ground. A toast! A toast, my friends!  As I mentioned last post , I am in the mood to toast all the glory that is summer. And there is no better way than to do so than with a funny little drink which requires a special trip to the liquor store. Either for his birthday or Christmas, I cannot remember which, I bought this curious book, The Drunken Botanist , for the husband, in part because one rainy day last fall, the husband found a window seat in our favorite coast-side bookstore ( Gallery Bookshop in Mendocino ) and was leafing through it for a good 30 minutes. I filed that information quick, and I knew he would need to be the proud owner of this book in the future. And it's right up his scientist's heart's alley. Channeling your inner geek, you can explore the plants that are often turned into alcohol. From agave to wheat or monkey puzzle trees to nutmeg, this book gives an exhaustive look at how people ...