Who knew that Grand Marnier oranges came from Haiti? I sometimes worry about my level of obscure booze related knowledge, but until I visited Cap-Haitien I had no idea Haiti was the leading source of fine orange flavors in French liqueurs. Grand Marnier, Cointreau and Marie Brizard all rely on Haiti for their bitter orange needs.

I learned this startling fact while lounging around on Labadie Beach outside Cap-Haitien. I had tagged along to the beach with a group of guests from my hotel. There was an Alabaman sexologist who had set up a remote village school, her daughter, and a Christian film crew shooting a documentary about the school. Collectively the Christian film crew looked something like the Village People, so that is what I will call them. A diverse cluster of mustached young men, they lacked an Indian chief, but had military man and leather man well covered. I never saw them shooting, but I can imagine that when they did so a construction worker appeared to do various manly things. The piece de resistance though was somewhere the original Village People never dared to go, a Jesus look-alike, his flowing beard and hair offset in true ’70s style by a thin sweat-band and oversized reflective shades.

The Village People looked far too dangerous to share a body of water with, so I left them to frolic in the waves and settled myself under a palm tree. Before long a Haitian guy joined me, helped himself to my rum, and launched into a discussion of how the CIA had assassinated Bob Marley. His favorite rum was Meyers from Jamaica. You cannot buy Meyers in Haiti, but he said the cruise ships that visited Labadie sometimes brought it in with them. He did not care for my Barbancourt White, but luckily had no problems slumming it. Later the sexologist joined me and the Haitian guy disappeared. I am not quite sure how it happened, but somehow the topic of conversation drifted from her telling me all about sanky-pankies (on which she had written a learned thesis), to her telling me that Grand Marnier was “made in Haiti” by the man who owned the beach we were lounging around on. The sanky-pankies were far from normal, but this last revelation was just bizarre!

I could not believe that Grand Marnier was really made in Haiti, but was sure there would be some truth in what she was saying. She was adamant that Grand Marnier had some kind of factory in Cap-Haitien that processed oranges. When I thought about it, Grand Marnier was strangely popular in Cap-Haitien. I had seen it everywhere.

Online research back at the hotel confirmed that Grand Marnier and Cointreau really did source bitter oranges from Haiti. Both companies owned large orange plantations a couple of hours drive from Cap-Haitien. A few years earlier the two liqueur houses had become embroiled in a bitter labor dispute, and most of the online material I dug up dealt with the plight of their workers. It seems that picking, peeling and grating oranges from dawn till dusk pays extremely badly, irritates the skin and lungs, and occasionally results in lost fingers. Ouch!

Given the distance to the plantations and the likelihood that their labor issues made them sensitive to visitors, I decided to ask Madame Joelle (the hotel manageress) if she knew anything about a Grand Marnier orange processing facility in Cap-Haitien. Madame Joelle was busy having coffee with someone so I went and sat by the pool with a book. Once Madame Joelle was free I asked my question. Unbelievably, she told me she had just been having coffee with the man I should be speaking to (I think she said he was Daniel Zephir). Unfortunately he had left to the airport on his way to France.

Missing out on meeting Haiti’s Grand Marnier Orange King by just a few minutes was disappointing, but I managed a consolation prize. Madame Joelle arranged an appointment for me to see Nonce Zephir at Establishment Novella, a Cap-Haitien agricultural products export company that has been supplying oranges to Grand Marnier for many years. Establishment Novella was what the Alabaman sexologist had grandly labeled a “Grand Marnier factory”. Of course Establishment Novella did not produce Grand Marnier at all, simply being an orange peel trader that supplied Grand Marnier.

Establishment Novella lay behind a nondescript iron gate on a quiet street in the foothills at the south end of Cap-Haitien. There was no obvious sign indicating its presence. My moto-taxi driver made a couple of unsuccessful sweeps up and down the street and had to stop and ask before he found the address.

Beyond the gate was a courtyard thickly matted in coffee beans spread out to dry in the sun. I picked my way over the slippery beans and headed towards the main building. Nonce Zephir, an elderly French Haitian, saw me coming and was at the door to meet me. In between ushering me into the small office he dabbed a tissue at something stuck in his eye. He was not having a good day, but livened up once we got talking.

We sat down and chatted about Grand Marnier, oranges, and Haiti. Mr. Zephir said that Establishment Novella was purely a processor and exporter of dried orange peels (along with coffee and cacao), and knew none of the secrets of Grand Marnier’s production. Grand Marnier was a key customer though, and they had been supplying oranges to Grand Marnier for at least three generations. He could not tell me exactly how far back the relationship stretched, or how it had begun, just that his grandfather had already been supplying Grand Marnier with orange peels. Though I never thought about it before, the close links between French liqueur houses and Cap-Haitien orange suppliers should come as no surprise. Before the Haitian slaves rebelled and won independence Cap-Haitien was the center of French wealth in the Caribbean, and after the fighting died down French economic interests remained almost as entrenched as ever.

Establishment Novella says it is merely a buyer of orange peels, and is not involved in the orange plantation business. That may not be completely accurate. Articles on the labor disputes of a few years ago indicate that Daniel Zephir and Establishment Novella assist Grand Marnier in managing its orange plantations. Without technically owning orange plantations Establishment Novella may still be involved in that side of the business. Of course it could also be a case of disgruntled orange workers venting their anger at the wrong target. Anyhow, Nonce Zephir maintained that the main focus of Establishment Novella was purchasing, drying, cleaning, grading and exporting bitter orange peels.

The oranges are a small, green skinned, pale fleshed orange known as Citrus Bigardia. You often hear that this orange variety is bitter to the point of being inedible and used only for its fragrant skin. In fact, these little green oranges can be purchased in every fruit market in Haiti, and are widely consumed for their flesh and juice. The taste is light and sour, with a bitter grapefruit-like edge, and a hint of the fragrant quality you get from a lime. They may be best known for their skins, but they also make a good juice that is refreshing without being either sugar-laden or excessively sour.

The peels of the fruit are removed in quarters, pith and all, then dried, cleaned and graded. Mr. Zephir took me to see a warehouse where bag upon bag of dried orange peels sat waiting for cleaning and grading. Grabbing a peel, he absent mindedly scratched his neck with it while showing me around. He was a little cagey about photography, not wanting the sacks of dirty peels to be photographed. In fact they were just a little dusty and did not look too bad.

While Grand Marnier is one of Establishment Novella’s biggest customers, the firm also supplies Marie Brizard and other liqueur manufacturers. Haitian orange peels are popular owing to being organic (so the locals say anyway), hand processed, and economically priced. Of course not all the peels go into liqueurs. Many of the peels, and I’m hoping it is the lower grade ones, go into products like marmalade and perfume.

Mr. Zephir told me that Grand Marnier actually sources two products from Haiti. The primary product is dried bitter orange peels, but a secondary product is orange essential oil. This essential oil is produced on the Grand Marnier orange plantation by further refining dried peels through grating, mixing with water, and centrifuging. Precisely how the dried peels and oil are incorporated into the final product is of course a secret.  I don’t think Grand Marnier mention the use of orange essential oil though.

Despite being the largest supplier of bitter orange peels to the French liqueur industry, Haiti has little cachet as a brand. Instead of proudly advertising that their use of Haitian oranges, Grand Marnier, Cointreau and others make vague references to bitter oranges from “the West Indies”. Haiti needs to get organized, fix its horrible international image, and do a little brand building. I wonder which European liqueur house will be first to put the words ‘Haitian bitter oranges’ on a label?

In any case, when reaching for the Grand Marnier, Cointreau or Marie Brizard Triple Sec, spare a thought for Haiti, its famous oranges, and especially its hard-working, low-paid orange workers.

I have been traveling around too much to be in Mixology Monday mode recently.  Unfortunately I missed the last one on 19th Century cocktails.  How did I manage to miss that?  It sounded great.  Ahh. . .the travails of travel.

Anyway, this time round the theme is Guilty Pleasures, hosted by Two at the Most.  The main idea behind the theme seems to be ‘comfort cocktails’, similar to ‘comfort food’. There is also a suggestion that it could include drinks that appeal a poorly educated palate.  Hmm. . .

Forgive me if I randomly muse rather than picking a single drink.

OK, what I’m really going to do is smack you in the face with a Bunnyhug.  However, I’ll soften the blow by first musing on cream, creme de menthe, and other inoffensive things.

The White Russian immediately came to mind when I thought about ‘comfort cocktails’, but I see Dr. Bamboo has already covered it.  There is nothing too special about a White Russian though.  When you are in the mood for a White Russian just about any sweet and creamy drink might do equally well.  Perhaps the ideal time for these drinks is when watching a DVD at home on a winter evening.  A Brandy Alexander is great, and so is the original Alexander Cocktail (simply substitute gin for the brandy).  Tossing aside any pretense of sophistication, I also have to admit possessing a soft spot for a Grasshopper (creme de cacao, creme de menthe and cream).  My incredibly discerning palate means I find a mixture of two liqueurs and cream slightly sweet.  This is where vodka becomes my friend.  A slosh of vodka cuts the sweetness and boosts the octane.  The ideal proportions for these drinks depend on how you are feeling and how heavy your cream is, but equal parts is a good place to start.

I have a weakness for creme de menthe.  The taste might be sweet and one dimensional, but there is a pleasant simplicity about it, plus a gratifyingly lurid greenness.  Creme de menthe harks back to a simpler age.  Just possibly the whole concept also worked better pre-toothpaste.  Part of the appeal for me is probably that creme de menthe was the first liqueur I was ever properly served (stealing a bottle of Chartreuse as a toddler doesn’t count since I forgot to nick glassware).  I was maybe seven or eight years old or so at the time, and watching Murder on the Orient Express on television.  Hercule Poirot was sitting in the train dining car drinking a glass of green stuff.  Clearly this was something I needed to do myself at some stage.  I asked my father what the famous Belgian detective was drinking and within seconds I had a matching drink, right down to the glass.  I have trouble thinking of a really great cocktail that requires creme de menthe, but how can a bar be complete without a bottle of the green stuff?  It has to be there, even if you just pick it up and admire the color occasionally.

Anyway, before I got sidetracked by creme de menthe I was going to give a shout for the Bunnyhug.  For some reason everybody hates this drink.  I admit the Bunnyhug has a rough edge or two, and perhaps my palate could be more refined, but really, for pure abrasive flavorsomeness the Bunnyhug has few equals.  Another drink that comes close is the Asylum Cocktail.

I no longer drink the Bunnyhug often, but I think both it and the Asylum have a place.  The Bunnyhug is more of a flavorsome pick-me-up, an ill-advised strategy for grappling with a major life crisis, or something to order in a bar that can’t mix drinks.  I am less sure about the Asylum.  Given the visual effect I guess you could consider it an alcoholic’s Tequila Sunrise, save it as  shock therapy for a friend whose addiction to colorful umbrella drinks is annoying you, or treat it as an entry level Bunnyhug.

Mixology Monday (hosted at Scofflaw’s Den) has suddenly sprung on me, bringing the theme of bourbon. I feel a bit inadequate about my effort this time round. Recently I have hardly been drinking bourbon. Mostly it has all been gin, with occasional detours to explore French aperitifs. This state of affairs is a bit odd now I come to think about it. When I first got into cocktails I drank plenty of bourbon drinks (mostly Manhattans and Old Fashioneds), with rum thrown in for variety. Things seem to have changed, and consequently I am low on creative ideas for bourbon. Mind you, when it comes to bourbon I sometimes wonder how creative you need to be. Isn’t an Old Fashioned about as good as it gets? Posting about the Old Fashioned seems redundant though, so I am going to throw together a new (to me) bourbon cocktail from Ted Haigh’s Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails.

My original plan had been to do something out of Charles H. Baker’s “Jigger, Beaker and Glass: Drinking Around the World”. Amazon delivered a copy a couple of days ago and I had thought I would take a leisurely flick through and select whatever unusual and tasty bourbon concoction happened to catch my eye. Alas my plan was torpedoed by the near absence of bourbon drinks from Baker’s wonderful book. Why couldn’t the theme this month have been rum or gin? Or maybe even kummel? Baker seems to be heavily in to that sort of thing. Oh well, never mind.

So off to pick up Ted Haigh’s book it is. I have had this book for about a year but for some reason I have never got around to making the Derby. On paper it looks a perfectly fine drink. Somehow though it has never excited me enough to get shaking. I blame the absence of exotic ingredients.

The Derby

1 oz bourbon (Bulleit)

1/2 oz sweet vermouth (Martini & Rossi)

1/2 oz orange curacao (Marie Brizard)

3/4 oz lime juice

Shake over ice and strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with a mint leaf.

A tasty concoction, even if it does not quite blow me away. Being a cross between a Manhattan and a whiskey sour, the vermouth provides the interest. I think I remember complaining that vermouth does not always mix well with sour things. It works fine here.

Using a more robust or higher proof bourbon might help the bourbon assert itself a little more. The other solution could be to increase the quantity a notch. That said, it is pretty tasty as is.

I won’t be rushing to make this one again. But if anyone was offering I wouldn’t say no.

To assist my anticipatory salivation ahead of Anistatia Miller and Jared Brown’s Tales of the Cocktail presentation on “The Cafes of Paris”, I have been taking a look at a few lesser known French aperitifs. Several weeks ago I took a look at Pineau des Charentes. Today I focus on a pair of fruit quinquinas.

Quinquina is vermouth’s neglected cousin. Vermouth is well recognized, if widely feared and misunderstood. Martini drinkers fall into two camps: those who really want vermouth in their drink, and those who merely wish to ritualistically conjure up its spirit. However, while vermouth provokes fierce debate and elaborate juju, the mention of quinquina elicits little more than a blank stare. This is a shame because quinquina is an interesting category. To fix those blank stares, perhaps a little explanation is in order.

Both quinquina and vermouth are aromatized wines (i.e. wines flavored with herbs and spices). Quinquinas distinguish themselves from vermouths in using quinine as a key flavoring. As in tonic water, the quinine originally served a medicinal purpose – warding off malaria and all that. Vermouth and quinquina are not mutually exclusive categories. Some vermouth producers sell ‘quinquina’ versions alongside their regular vermouths: for example Martini & Rossi release their sweet vermouth in both ‘quniquina’ and standard versions. However, despite some overlap there are marked differences, with quinquinas tending to emphasize spice while vermouths are more herbal.

Similar to vermouths, which can be broadly classified into sweet and dry styles, quinquinas largely fall into rouge and blanc styles. The rouge style is rich, spicy and based on red wine – Dubonnet Rouge is the classic example. The blanc style is light, citrus accented, and based on white wine – Lillet Blanc is the iconic product.

For some reason neither of these mainstream styles of quinquina ever challenged vermouth to become a ubiquitous cocktail ingredient. Cocktail recipes never casually call for a generic rouge or blanc quinquina. Quinquina is called for only occasionally, and always by brand. Even luminaries like Charles H. Baker considered Dubonnet to be “only needed in the more elaborate establishments”, and I do not recall him mentioning Lillet at all. Considering that Baker saw orgeat, kummel and six types of bitters as more or less essential bar supplies, this adds up to a bit of a slap in the face for the quinquina category.

If mainstream quinquinas like Dubonnet and Lillet are fairly obscure, fruit flavored quinquina are even more so. These fruity quinquina do not fall within either the rouge or blanc styles, with heavy fruit macerations completely masking the base wine. They deserve a look from cocktailians though, offering a great source of fruit flavors and complexity, yet one with minimal sweetness. Two products are introduced below: RinQuinQuin and Orange Colombo.

RinQuinQuin (15% alcohol by volume) is a peach flavored quinquina. It is produced in Provence by the same firm that makes Henri Bardouin pastis. The name means something like an invigorating drink or a pick-me-up in French. The production process involves maceration, distillation, blending and several months of aging. Both distilled alcohol and wine are infused with quinine, other herbs and spices, and peaches. The peaches are what distinguish the product, and are added not as fruit, but rather as leaves, skins and kernels. This makes for a very complex flavor. The product is lightly sweetened. The result is a fruity but refreshingly dry aperitif wine with a distinctly bitter edge.

Orange Colombo (15% alcohol by volume) is an orange flavored quinquina along the same lines as RinQuinQuin. Based on its complex taste I am guessing it is flavored with more than just orange skins. As in RinQuinQuin, leaves, blossoms or other material may also be used.

These fruit quinquina are traditionally consumed either chilled or over ice, perhaps garnished with a twist of lemon. However, there is no reason they cannot be used in cocktails. Bear in mind that their mild fruitiness makes them poor vermouth substitutes, while their lack of sugar and their herbal complexity prevent them from standing in for fruit liqueurs. A bit of a fresh approach is in order.

Here are a few ideas. . .

Peach Martinez

1 oz Genever (Bols Oude)

1 oz Italian vermouth (Martini Rossi)

1 oz RinQuinQuin

2 dashes Fees Whiskey Barrel Aged Bitters

1 tsp maraschino

Stir over ice and strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with a lemon twist.

A nice take on the Martinez. Cutting the vermouth with RinQuinQuin makes for a lighter and more interesting drink. The Genever provides a mellow but solid base, neither fading into obscurity nor dominating. The complex peach notes mingle nicely with the cherry. Increase the Genever a little if you find it lacks kick.

When playing around with RinQuinQuin to create variations on existing recipes you will probably find that cutting vermouth half-and-half with RinQuinQuin works better than a straight substitution. RinQuinQuin is more of a one note product than vermouth, albeit a complex note.

RinQuinQuin Vesper

3 oz gin (Tanqueray)

1 oz vodka (Stolichnaya)

¼ oz Lillet Blanc

¼ oz RinQuinQuin

Shake over ice, strain into a chilled cocktail glass, and garnish with a large lemon twist.

This is just brilliant. By upping the bitterness the RinQuinQuin addresses the problem of Lillet having been reformulated and lightened since the Vesper was originally invented. The RinQuinQuin also adds a peach layer to the citrus in the Lillet.

Orange Colombo can be used to create another nice Vesper variation. Both products can also be used in regular Martinis, where they work especially well with delicate gins like Tanqueray 10 that stand up poorly to vermouth. I would be inclined to split the quinquina 50/50 with vermouth.

Orange Colombo Pisco Sour

2 oz pisco

½ oz Orange Columbo (or cut back to 1/4 oz)

¾ oz lime juice

1/3 oz simple syrup

1 egg white (half an egg white per drink is sufficient if making multiple drinks)

Dash or two of Fees Whiskey Barrel Aged Bitters

Put everything except the bitters in a mixing glass. Shake long and hard over ice until the drink becomes foamy. Double strain into a sour glass. Finish the drink by garnishing the foam with a few drops of bitters – you can use a toothpick to draw a pattern on the foam. A sour glass, champagne flute or wine glass is preferable for this drink. The garnish of bitters on egg-white foam is intended to provide aroma. A sour glass concentrates the aromas, while the smaller surface area means that the foam, and the aromas, last longer.

The Orange Columbo adds both a subtle orange note and a light bite, making a pleasant variation that jazzes up the original. Perhaps I am not using the right pisco, but I find pisco sours tend to be a little too plain and smooth. Orange Columbo livens things up without creating an unseemly ruckus. You can also try a splash of Orange Colombo in a Margarita – obviously you will still need the orange liqueur, but possibly it could be scaled back a notch.

There is tons of potential for using these obscure fruit quinquina in cocktails. If you see a bottle you should grab it and have a play around. Currently these products are underutilized, leaving the field wide open to experimentation.

Improved Gin Cocktail

The Improved Gin Cocktail is probably the best place to start appreciating the flavor of Genever in cocktails. The basic Gin Cocktail is gin, sugar and bitters. Garnish that with a citrus twist and you have a Fancy Gin Cocktail. Splash some liqueur into that and you have yourself an Improved Gin Cocktail. The Improved Gin Cocktail is the best of the bunch taste-wise, though very intense and heavy genevers (I am thinking Korenwijn style products) might be better appreciated in the more minimalist Fancy Gin Cocktail. Forget about the basic Gin Cocktail unless you find yourself with Genever on hand but no citrus.

Recipe:

2 oz Genever (Bols Oude – use an Oude if at all possible)

1 tsp gomme syrup (try and use real gomme syrup – instructions on making it here)

1-2 tsp liqueur (triple sec, curacao, maraschino or absinthe are all traditional choices)

a couple of dashes of bitters (Fees Whiskey Barrel Aged, Peychaud’s and Angostura are all worthy choices)

Build over ice in a rocks glass, or serve it up if you like. Garnish by squeezing the oils from a citrus twist over the drink, then drop the twist in.

There is huge potential for experimentation with the liqueurs and bitters. While not traditional, Drambuie is an interesting choice that brings out the malt character of the gin. Drambuie probably works best in partnership with another liqueur though, perhaps triple sec. Absinthe also works nicely, as do the anise notes of Peychaud’s. The version pictured above contains Drambuie, Peychaud’s Bitters and a little Absinthe Bitters (a sort of concentrated Absinthe made by the people who make Henri Bardouin pastis).

Martinez

The next drink is not strictly speaking a Genever drink. The Martinez was first mixed with Old Tom (a sort of hybrid gin sitting somewhere between Genever and London Dry). However, in the absence of Old Tom, Genever probably makes a more authentic substitute than London dry. The drink is said to be the ancestor of the modern Martini, and the design is something like a sweetened and reversed Martini – with sweet vermouth rather than dry, and more vermouth than spirit.

Recipe:

2 oz Italian vermouth

1 oz Genever (either Oude or Jonge should do)

1 tsp maraschino

1-2 dashes aromatic bitters (the cinnamon accented Fees Brothers Whiskey Barrel Aged is a good choice)

Stir over ice and strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with a lemon twist.

The recipe looks a bit odd, but the result is a meditative drink, suitable for winter evenings. Nineteenth Century drinkers obviously were not afraid of vermouth.

Gin Daisy

These days a Tom Collins is made with London Dry Gin. However, in the 19^th Century the drink was made with Old Tom or Genever. Making a Genever-based Tom Collins is a simple matter that hardly requires any advice – just change the base spirit and you’re done. However, the Nineteenth Century also saw Genever used in other highball type drinks. The Gin Daisy is an interesting example. There is something almost Tiki-esque about the old fashioned flavorings.

Recipe:

2 oz Genever

2 tsp orgeat (Monin)

2 tsp Maraschino (Maraska)

½ oz lemon juice (juice of ½ a lemon)

Shake over ice, strain into a glass (I used a small old fashioned glass), and top up with soda water. For some reason I went very easy on the soda in this one, not wanting to dilute drink too much.

This is vaguely reminiscent of a Singapore Sling. The maraschino obviously supplies the cherry, while the soft and malty Genever boosts the fruity feel, and the orgeat adds a hint of Tiki. Tasty and very different. I like orgeat in cocktails.

Gin Fix

Drinkers in the UK will no doubt know the Bramble. In fact the Bramble is simply an updated Gin Fix. The original Gin Fix was concocted with Genever as described below.

2 oz Genever (Bols Oude)

¼ oz lemon juice (juice of ¼ lemon)

1 tsp simple syrup (or gomme syrup if available)

1 tsp raspberry syrup

Fill a glass with shaved ice – I substituted crushed ice. Build the drink over ice and stir thoroughly. Top up with more ice and garnish with seasonal berries – raspberries being the obvious choice. Raspberries being out of season meant I had to slum it with strawberries.

The raspberry syrup and Genever combination is most pleasant. The malty notes of the Genever add complexity and depth to a simple drink. It is worth a look if you want a summery take on Genever. The use of crushed ice means you should end up with a pleasantly frosted glass, adding to the summery feel. Obviously there is lots of potential for playing with different syrups, or substituting a berry liqueur as is done in the modern Bramble. You could even muddle some fruit into the drink, which would pretty much give you a Genever Bramble.

Gin and Milk

I posted on this one earlier – link here.  However, back in those days I did not have Genever.  Gin and Milk is MUCH better with an Oude Genever than with London Dry.  The character changes completely.  Rather than an oddball combination it becomes an intuitive one, with the maltiness of the Genever giving something of a ‘malted milk’ effect. There is no doubt that Gin and Milk was first made with Genever, so make the effort and try it the way it was intended to be.

In my original post on this drink I suggested a dash of orgeat.   When using Genever (especially an Oude) I am not so sure this is a good idea.  There is plenty of flavor happening already and little need to round things out with extras.  Of course if you like the orgeat then go ahead.  The bitters are still a nice touch.

Cynar has has one of the coolest label designs out there

La Cosa Nostra

2 oz Cynar

1 oz Kola Tonic* (Roses)

½ oz grappa (Carpene Malvolti)

¼ oz lemon juice

¼ oz coffee liqueur (Tia Maria)

A dash of Angostura Bitters (optional)

Build in an old fashioned glass over a couple of large ice cubes.

There are rich aromas from the grappa, an interesting interplay between the grappa and coffee (these two are always a nice match), and of course the mysterious bitterness of the Cynar. The Kola Tonic works as a pleasant sort of glue, taking the edges of the various elements and holding them all together.

The name is a bit weak. But hey, what’s in a name? I’d drink this again. It is an interesting sweetish aperitif that makes a change from the regular stuff.

Robert Simpson at Off the Presses just posted another Cynar drink. My post had been sitting around waiting to go up on the site for a few weeks, so I figured I would throw it up and declare today International Cynar Day. It may be a few years before this one becomes a statutory holiday, but get the ball rolling now by checking Robert’s drink out. It looks pretty cool. I am just going have to salivate since we don’t have Carpano Antica here in New Zealand.

UPDATE:  Sloshed just contributed this Cynar based Negroni variation.  Cynar seems to suddenly be flavor of the month.

* Kola tonic is basically cola syrup. Besides Roses (popular in South Africa), you might also find Claytons (popular in Barbados). I can’t comment on Claytons, but Roses seems a little more bitter than regular coke, and the syrup is not that concentrated (i.e. it does not require too much dilution, and pours and mixes very easily). You could probably try reducing regular Coke in a saucepan to get an approximation of kola tonic. I never tried this myself, so don’t blame me if you end up with a gruesome and unappetizing mess.

In some ways this would be good drink for introducing people to Campari. OK, the dose of Campari is kind of heavy for that purpose. Still, the classic Campari drinks (i.e. the Negroni and the Americano) are complicated by the inclusion of vermouth – another problem ingredient for many people. This drink is free of vermouth, Grand Marnier increases the sweetness, and fruit juice lightens things a little. In fact the drink is purely about rich and bitter sweet citrus. The taste is intense but free of surprises. While quite bitter, this drink reflects the current fashion for drinks that are light on spirits and heavy on juices and liqueurs.

Romanza

1 3/4 oz Campari

1 1/4 oz Grand Marnier

1 oz grapefruit juice

Shake over ice and strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with an orange twist.

Anyway it is very pleasant – rich sweet orange with an intense bitterness that keeps things interesting. Also, unlike a lot of what I have been posting recently, this recipe requires no hard to find ingredients. Yes, my friends in Shanghai will not need to cry upon reading this. Instead they can march to the booze cabinet and throw one together.

Consider this cocktail a goodwill gesture in the lead up to the Beijing Olympics. Besides tasting good, it proves this blog is not part of a decedent western plot to contain China’s peaceful rise through a series of alluring but impossible to replicate cocktail recipes, each one scoring a deep gash in the morale of the Chinese people. Nope, no such nefarious scheme is being attempted. I guess that is just as well too, since such a scheme would certainly be doomed to ignominious failure, with its perpetrators being ground to a kind of messy paste and smeared across the less interesting pages of history.

Pineau Experiment No. 6 was perhaps the best of the bunch. . .

The next step was to try mixing some drinks of my own using Pineau des Charentes.

Pineau turned out to slightly awkward stuff to mix with, probably on account of it having such a mild taste. My natural inclination was try substituting pineau in recipes that traditionally call for other aperitif wines (i.e. following well worn patterns like Manhattans and Martinis). This approach did not work well.

While I did not come up with anything truly exceptional, several experiments yielded one or two promising results.

Not following any particular plan, I tried the following.

Experiment #1

2 oz bourbon (Bulleit)

1 oz pineau

½ oz suze

1 tsp lemon added afterwards.

This was not a success. First, there was way too much bourbon. Second, I do not think bourbon and pineau are a good match. A spicier bourbon might be an improvement, but rye would be better still, and definitely in a smaller quantity. Calvados might also be interesting. Again a teaspoon of lemon juice proved an easy way of brightening it up a little. The Suze added a little interest but also did not really fit.

Experiment #2

1 ½ oz pineau

1 ½ oz pisco

½ oz lemon juice

¼ oz Cynar

I figured I would try something using pisco, loosely based on the rhum agricole Pompadour, with the addition of ¼ oz of Cynar to give a bitter and complex finish. While I enjoyed this it did not compare with the Pompadour. The Cynar could be toned down and still do its thing. A teaspoon may be adequate.

Experiment #3

2 oz Pineau des Charentes

1 oz pisco (or calvados)

1 oz fresh pineapple juice

2 dashes peach bitters

Shake over ice and strain into a cocktail glass.

On first taste this seemed almost too smooth and refreshing – like one of those vodka cocktails. I was not sure it worked. Despite an interesting list of ingredients it tasted boring. I made it again using Calvados instead of pisco, hoping for a better result. The Calvados version did not really work either.

Experiment #4

1 oz pineau

1 oz Cruzan Estate Light Rum

1 drop (not dash) Angostura

½ tsp Kummel

This was good, making a very smooth rum drink that reminded me a little of the El Presidente on account of its soft profile fringed with herbal flavors. It needs to be reworked, but is a decent start. This one deserves repeating.

Experiment #5

1 oz pineau

1 oz rye (Pikesville)

1 drop angostura

2 drops peychauds

This drink pretty much built on my experiences from Experiment #1. It is tasty enough but perhaps a bit mild and uninteresting. A bigger, spicier rye might have helped it.

Experiment #6

2 oz pineau

1 oz dry apricot brandy (i.e. a eau de vie, not a liqueur)

½ oz lemon juice

1 tsp crème de framboise

Tasty. . . The honey taste in the pineau plays nicely with the apricots. The lemon juice and eau de vie keep things dry. The crème de framboise adds some sugar to round things out, plus an extra layer of fruit flavor that contributes to an overall impression of fruity complexity.

Experiment #7

2 oz pisco

1 oz Pineau des Charentes

Dash of Orange Bitters

This was pleasant but unexciting.

I was probably expecting better results from messing around with Pineau. The first drink I tried with the stuff, the Pompadour, set the bar quite high. None of my own efforts came close.

Still, I think experiments 4 and 6 have potential. Experiment #6 was quite good, and Experiment #4 hints at a whole world of possibilities using pineau with rum and small doses of liqueurs or bitters. In general, Pineau seems to work well in drinks that are light on the spirits. Small touches of liqueurs also work nicely.

I would like to do more experimenting using Pineau and rums. There seems to be lots of potential there. It might also be interesting to mix Pineau with aromatized aperitif wines, something I did not try.

So that is it. While my experiments were not completely successful I think I showed there are promising possibilities for using Pineau in cocktails. Pineau des Charentes might not be as versatile as vermouth but it is still underrated as a cocktail ingredient. Used in the right way Pineau can make good drinks.

It looked better full. . .

Pineau des Charentes is an interesting aperitif from France that I have only recently tried. It seems to be relatively unknown outside of France. Pineau des Charentes is generally drunk straight rather than being used used in cocktails. However, since I am interested in aperitif wines as cocktail ingredients I picked a bottle up to try it out.

Pineau des Charentes (also known simply as pineau) is said to have originated in the 16^th Century when wine must (i.e. unfermented grape juice) was accidentally poured into a cask containing cognac eau de vie. The cognac prevented the must from fermenting and the barrel was set aside as an unfortunate mistake. However, it was found that extended maturation saw the flavors of the wine must and cognac blend to produce a fine drink. Pineau has been a specialty of the Charentes region ever since. The Charentes region seems to be sub-region within Cognac by the way.

The regulations governing production of Pineau des Charentes are quite strict. For a start the product must come from the Charentes region. The grapes used for the must should be Ugni Blanc, Folle Blanche, Colombard, Sémillon, Sauvignon or Montils. Pressing must be light to ensure the pressed juice is of high quality. The cognac used for blending must be a minimum of one year old, 60% or higher alcohol by volume, and from the same vineyard as the must. According to the Comité National du Pineau des Charentes the finished product must be matured in oak barrels for a minimum of 18 months. Other sources mention minimum maturation of 8 months for red pineau and 12 months for white, so there seems to be some ambiguity on this point. Old pineau can be aged for 10 years or longer. The alcoholic strength by volume must be in the range 16-22%. Most pineau is a blend of roughly one quarter cognac to three quarters wine must, with an alcoholic strength of around 17%.

The vast majority of pineau is either consumed within France or exported to Francophone markets. Less than 25% of pineau production is exported, and over 90% of exports go to Belgium and Canada. In practice France and Belgium together consume almost all pineau production. Canada follows a very distant third, but still consumes several times more than the next largest pineau drinking nation. I am guessing Quebec is the center of Canadian pineau consumption. The French are keeping this one very much to themselves. So enough of facts and figures! It is time to open that bottle and see what the French are hiding. . .

The taste is mild but interesting, and unusual compared to other aperitif wines. No herbal flavors, bitterness or spice leap out at you. There is also little of the matured complexity of aperitif wines like port or sherry. This stuff is simply sweet, full bodied, and extremely ‘fresh’. It tastes like a very fruity wine, but also reminds me strongly of mead (honey wine). It is hard to believe it contains no honey since the honey taste is so strong. There is also some apple aroma, though again no apples were harmed in its manufacture. It has an unusual ‘primeval’ character, reminding me of the opening titles in Werner Herzog’s ‘Fitzcarraldo’, which describe the Amazon is described as a place where God never finished his creation. Yep, it tastes ‘unfinished’, in a good way. Pineau seems slightly rough-and-ready, with a plethora of interesting aromas that threaten to erupt all over the place and are disinclined to sit still. This stuff should have potential as a cocktail ingredient. I wonder why it isn’t used more?

In terms of mixing I would tend to think (roughly in order of potential) along the lines of cognac (the obvious choice), calvados, rhum agricole, pisco, Cuban rum, and whiskey. Pineapple juice also springs to mind, and perhaps Cynar could be another idea. This is not experience talking. I am just making some guesses as to what might work. I should also note that I did not dream up the rhum agricole angle. I bought a bottle of pineau partly so I could make a rhum agricole drink, the Pompadour, from the Esquire Drinks Database. Lets start with the Pompadour then. . .

The Pompadour
1 ½ oz rhum agricole vieux (I used St. James Ambre)

1 ½ oz pineau

½ oz lemon juice

This shows off the characteristics of both the rhum and the pineau. It is weird and unlike anything you are likely to have drunk. It is also fantastic. There is a full on aroma symphony, with the fresh and aromatic characters of both ingredients getting a chance to shine. You should seek out Pineau des Charentes for this drink alone.

Next up are a couple more pineau cocktail recipes I found online. I will include some experimental recipes of my own in a subsequent post. This next recipe is from the website site of a producer of Pineau des Charentes.

Charentais

2 1/2 oz pineau

½ oz cognac

¼ oz crème de framboise

1 tsp lemon juice

This smooth and tasty refresher is just lightly spiked pineau. The source of this recipe was unclear on whether a liqueur or eau de vie framboise was called for (mentioning both in different places). I did not have an appropriate eau de vie so I went for a liqueur. The lemon juice was added by me as an afterthought to give it some zing since it tasted a bit flat.

The next was something not unlike the above, but with the addition of a dash of pineapple juice and the whole then being brought to life with champagne. Again the recipe was from the website of a pineau producer.

Reaulais

2 oz pineau

½ oz cognac

½ oz pineapple juice

1 dash grenadine

2 oz champagne or sparkling wine

Shake everything except the champagne over ice. Strain into a glass and top with champagne.

A very rich yet slightly lively drink. There are no real surprises but it is most pleasant.

The next recipe was from a French language website – hence a little ambiguity over what liqueur is meant.

Ambassade

1 ½ oz pineau

½ oz gin

½ oz ‘orange liqueur’ (I used Grand Marnier)

Stir over ice and strain into a cocktail glass.

Another “take Pineau des Charentes and spike it with a little hooch” type of drink. It tastes good though. French style cocktails, by which I mean drinks that are heavy on aperitif wines and light on spirits, are tasty. Made with Grand Marnier the drink is rich and smooth. With Cointreau or some other triple sec it would probably be more fresh and fragrant.

I love the way the French can’t help adding London Dry Gin to things. It has to hurt them, right? Something like an “every time you spike your drink with gin, somewhere in the world a DGSE operative in scuba gear dies” kind of thing.

Sorry, I’m unrelenting about the Rainbow Warrior Affair aren’t I? The French are a fine race, and have punched well above their weight in terms of inventing delicious aperitifs. I’ve had better cocktails than this one, but I’ve also had much worse.

In my next post on Pineau des Charentes I will experiment with some recipes of my own.

I am not certain about the origins of this drink. I suspect it is originally Japanese. The balancing of a bitter element (grapefruit) against a sweet element (lychee) seems Japanese to me. The name ‘China Blue’ applied to an exotic blue drink also only makes sense if the drink originates outside of China. Japan is perhaps the only Asian country to have a developed cocktail culture. Finally, the drink seems relatively unknown in the west but common in Asia, which would suggest an Asian (likely Japanese?) origin. Of course I may be completely wrong. Taiwanese have told me this drink is named after the Taiwanese band of the same name – led by the famous Taiwanese rocker Wu Bai (伍佰). At any rate this is a popular drink in Taiwan (in so much as any cocktail is popular there), and a staple of Japanese bars in both Taiwan and China.

China Blue

2 oz lychee liqueur

Grapefruit juice

1 teaspoon Blue Curacao

Build on rocks in a highball glass. Drop the curacao into the drink to create a blue cloud effect . Pouring the curacao down the side of a straw, spoon, chopstick, or similar will help it travel directly to the bottom of the drink. You can also draw the liqueur out of the bottle by capping your finger over the end of a straw and drop it directly into the bottom of the drink. Pale colored grapefruit juice is best to maximize the blue cloud effect. My photo did not come out very well. I swear the drink was bluer than it appears

If you want a less sweet drink you can also make this with 1 oz lychee liqueur and 1 oz vodka – or 3 parts lychee to 1 part vodka. I tend to go down the latter route myself.

This one is not going to set the cocktail world on fire, but then again it is not bad. The grapefruit stops it tasting like too much of a sugar bomb; there is plenty of sugar but the overall impression is still bitter sweet rather than sweet. The lychee contributes a strong scent that is interesting and refreshing. The curacao makes it fun to throw together and admire.

Drinks like this have a place. There is a certain type of girl who will feel extremely short changed if she gets invited out for a cocktail and doesn’t receive a blue drink. Having got the blue drink out of the way she might feel included to venture further and try something else – perhaps a faintly violet Aviation. Hell, plenty of guys feel the same about blue drinks. Blue drinks are simply exotic and cool, even if they do not always taste very good. The China Blue is a good choice for those occasions when only blue will do. It is suitably exotic looking, easy to drink, and has enough challenging bitterness to make a good stepping stone to something more complex – and a good fall back if that more ‘sophisticated’ drink doesn’t work out.

Incidentally, the illustrious London chef Alexis Soyer marketed a blue soft drink in the mid 19th century. The drink, called Soyer’s Nectar, was hugely popular. The fact that soft drinks were considered de facto health drinks at the time helped its popularity further. Soyer’s Nectar even saw use as a cocktail ingredient during the Great Exhibition of 1851. The Soyer’s Nectar Cobbler was rather popular, being simultaneously nutritious, boozy, and blue. If blue drinks were good enough for Alexis Soyer then critics of the genre, before expressing their views, should consider whether they are willing to enter a toe to toe culinary debate with an impassioned Frenchman. Personally I’d just enjoy the blue drink.