Sangria

Well, take a month off, and coast in with an easy one, shall we?...

Sangria is a summer staple around our house, and our "adult fruit punch" is the only way Julie will drink the robust red wines that I'll occasionally sneak a taste of. There are a tremendous number of variants that we've had over the years, but we've had enough to know when a restaurant has let their fruit sit too long, or aren't balancing their flavors, or wasted time chopping up fruit salad and dumping it into our glass to somehow prove that there's fruit flavors in their sangria.

This Polka Dot Stemless Martini

glass (13.5 oz), is available on the 

Contemporary Complements

website.

Our first real flirtations with sangria came with the 1998 recipe from Cook's Illustrated (of which I am proud to be a charter subscriber to). The recipe is deceptively simple: 2 oranges, 1 lemon, sugar and triple sec for each bottle of full-bodied red wine you use. There's a bit more to it than that: Juice one of the oranges,  cut the other orange and the lime in reasonably thin slices ( a quarter-inch or so), add the quarter-cup sugar and muddle the fruit until everything looks a bit soggy, then add one juiced orange, a generous quarter-cup of triple sec and the wine, then throw the whole thing in the refrigerator. Next morning, strain the liquid from the fruit, and you're ready to go.

And, as usual, there's even still a few more details to mention. We add one lime per bottle of wine for our default recipe. Make sure, of course, to wash your fruit and pick fruit that has a good-looking skin; you're going to be drinking whatever's on the outside, remember. Places that put little chunks of fruit in your glass are doing it for garnish; all your flavor comes from the fruit soak that you do. And, critically, do NOT let your soak go longer than 8 hours. You need a few hours to get everything to start releasing, but after the 8-hour mark, the rind begins to make its presence known, and your sangria will become increasingly bitter the longer you let it soak. Six hours seems to be the sweet spot; overnight and drained around the 8-hour mark is also fine.

For the triple sec, don't go super high-end for a couple of reasons. First off, Cointreau, Citronage or Grand Marnier will either add flavor notes that detract from the base flavors, and/or will introduce a much higher proof alcohol to the mix than the other ingredients. For this, stick to a basic triple sec, and we use either the 30- or 42-proof Bols triple sec as our preferred ingredient.

We have two go-to wines for our sangria. The René Barbier Mediterranean Red (available widely, including Cost Plus World Market) has been the wine of choice for years, but we've recently started using a local winery's goods: if you're near Michigan, the St. Julian's Simply Red is a bit more robust, and stands up to the citrus without overpowering it. In both cases, you'll find these wines available for under $7 a bottle (considerably less by the case, as we tend to use a bunch of it in the summertime).

This recipe makes for a slightly sweeter sangria than some might prefer; each to their own, but given that you're going to be using ice in the drink, then going outside and letting it melt down a bit, I prefer erring on the sweet side once diluted a bit. If you choose to experiment with other fruits, do so in moderation, and do single batches (although my wife, who is the sangria master of the house, has had considerable success with a half of a pear per bottle of wine). In any event, enjoy sangria while the summer sun shines!

Sangria (after the Cook's Illustrated recipe)

1 750 ml bottle of red wine (medium body, strong fruit notes, NOT sweet)
1 orange, juiced
1 orange, cut into 1/4 in. slices
1 lemon, cut into 1/4 in. slices
1 lime, cut into 1/4 in. slices
1/4 c. white granulated sugar
1/4 c. triple sec (cheat it up to taste)


Put sliced fruit into a large container (we recommend an iced tea pitcher), layering fruit and sugar. Take a ladle or wooden spoon and gently press the fruit against the bottom (you're trying to release some juice without shredding the fruit). Continue until the sugar has incorporated into the liquid.

Add in orange juice and triple sec, and then the wine. Stir, and then place in the refrigerator for 4-8 hours (6 is best; do not allow to go past 8 hours).

Strain the sangria using a large mesh strainer to remove the large pieces of fruit; then pour it back through a fine mesh strainer to remove small pieces. Keep refrigerated until used; add ice to individual glasses to serve. Sangria theoretically should last a week or so before the notes start to change, but who would let a batch go that long?...

Walking in the Woods

"No," Joop said. "I gave you your change."

At that moment, I could feel the temperature in the bar get colder around me. With it came the sudden, terrifying realization that the next words out of my mouth should be carefully chosen.

Let's backtrack a bit. I'm in Amsterdam, and the goal of the night is to audition a couple of bars. I like having favorite haunts wherever I go, and it's time that I had a few in Amsterdam. Since I have zero interest in the coffeeshops (except for The Coffee Company, which is a shop that sells actual coffee), bars would seem to be the next logical choice. And, I've got one that's at the top of my list to visit: De Drie Fleschjes, a small place just off the Dam in the center of the city. I'd walked by it on my last trip, but it officially got onto my radar courtesy of Anthony Bourdain. (Check out The Layover series; the bar is featured in the Amsterdam show. But why, oh why, Anthony, did you spend most of the show telling me how much you didn't smoke pot, and instead tell me where to find the GOOD street food?...)

When you walk into De Drie Fleschjes, you're going to immediately feel like you've stepped back in time a few years (understandable, as the bar dates to 1650). To your right are rows of small barrels, private casks for companies and frequent guests. To your left is a bar, with a few hunks of cured meat hanging out by the register and chalkboards near the ceiling with the drink specialties. It's small, there's no seating, but it feels cozy - the kind of place where you really can escape the bustle of the city.

When I arrived, there were four others in the place, some twenty-somethings getting their drink on for a night out. They were charming and welcoming to me, including me in a round of drinks (more on that in a bit). They left, and then it was time for the reason for the visit - genever.

I'll save the details for later (since it should be an entry on its own), but suffice it to say that it's a gin precursor that has a unique enough profile to have an enthusiastic slot in my bar. Joop, the proprietor (or "Uitbater" as his card reads) walked me through the differences between oude and jonge genever (not aging, but old-style and new-style), and the different ages of genever (his tip: 6-year oude is the best balance of age and price, which is why I have a bottle of it). I even asked to buy one of the small glasses that the genever is served in, and it was handed to me gratis. I handed over my tab money, admiring my new glassware and basking in the warm glow of several glasses of genever and other house specialties. Joop began to wash glasses behind the bar, as it's just about closing time for them (this is not a late-night bar on weekdays, take note). I waited for a moment, then breezily commented "I'll just get my change, and be on my way."

Joop continued to wash glasses. "I paid you."

Still distracted, I continue. "I gave you a ten, so I just need the change."

"No," Joop said. "I gave you your change."

So, we're now back to that cold wash of adrenaline that we began this entry with. If I say one more word that implies that I did not get change, I will have officially accused my host - the man who has been generous with his time, knowledge and glassware - of being a thief. As comfortable as I might be traveling around, I still am sensitive to the fact that I am not as familiar with foreign customs, body language, and understood societal norms as I would prefer to be, and the fact that this conversation is being held in English as a courtesy to me does not make it any less forgiving if I misspeak right now.

Inside, I'm beginning to feel panic bubble up, and trying very hard to calm myself but quickly react, I assess the situation. My wallet is out, and I can see that the front bill is a five. I'm pretty sure that I came in with a ten in front, so that five might very well be the change of which he speaks. I'll admit that the glass was distracting me, and I'm the one that's had four drinks here, not him...

And then, in a moment of perfect clarity, I realize that I am wrong. This is not some weighing of the facts and deciding that the majority of the evidence points to his assertion (which it does); this is the sudden glorious acceptance that Joop is correct and I am wrong. I have trouble imagining what it would be like to run a bar in a city that caters to vices the way Amsterdam does, and to do so in a way that is respectful to the centuries that De Drie Fleschjes has existed and reflects, I am sure, the personality of Joop himself. This is a classic bar, that serves classic drinks, in a setting that's not flashy or sterile, but offers a top-notch bar experience at a fair price. Joop has been the consummate bartender: attentive, aware of all of his guests while keeping up with the never-ending tasks that a bar generates, and letting his generosity be displayed not through some faux charm or forced friendliness, but in his actions and his service. In this moment, I believed - and still believe - that Joop told me that he gave me my change because, well, he gave me my change. There was no doubt in the way he said it, and the trust that I placed in him all evening had no reason to end now.

This week's glass
is from De Drie Fleschjes,
and is not for sale.

I don't remember the specifics afterwards; I was still a bit jittery from the moment, and I desperately wanted to get everything else right so that I could come back again and pick up where I left off (and not be that American guy that tried to cheat him out of a five-spot). This week's drink is the first drink I had in De Drie Fleschjes, and as much as the reason for the visit was the genever, I've chosen A Walk in the Woods, a drink that the bar uses as a signature shot, as my drink this week to say thank you to Joop for taking care of me. Next time, I'll do better.

A Walk in the Woods (Boswandeling)

3/4 oz. vodka (this week, from Watershed Distillery)

1/4 oz. triple sec (Bols 42-proof)

Dash bitters (Angostura for the moment, though I'm open to forests elsewhere...)

Serve chilled.

The Long Island Iced Tea (v. 2012a)

The drink is pictured in the
Etched Squiggle 16 oz pint glass
and is available for purchase
on the Contemporary Complements website.

We’re starting with the drink that I’ve spent the most time playing with – the Long Island Iced Tea. I’ve had more than my share of these, across a couple of continents and about any bar I’ve spent any amount of time in. Why the fascination? Well, it’s a drink with simple components – four (yes, I said four) basic alcohols, sour mix and Coca-Cola, and it’s amazing the variety of outcomes that these ingredients can yield, for good or ill.

This is the first iteration of the recipe for 2012, hence the version number above. I expect to revisit this at least annually, if not any time I make a change for the better. At the end of the article, I’ll let you know what’s next on the testing list for improvement, if you’d like to play along. You’ll note I haven’t strayed too far from the basic formula you’ll find elsewhere; I’m not out to reinvent the drink, but simply to get it as close to ideal as I can for my palate (and my wife’s palate, more importantly).

I’m going to use a musical metaphor for this drink – it’s the device I use for this drink to think about how each component works to make the drink work, and it’s a way of thinking about how I would change aspects of the drink. Whether it comes off as pretentious is your call, but it’s my way, and I’m sticking to it.

Gin: The percussive notes of the drink, adding the counterpoint to the sweet and sparking notes the other alcohols bring to the party. My wife does not like gin as a rule, but I’ve gradually demonstrated to her that the drink suffers without gin contributing its fair share to the mix.

Vodka: The bass line, all thrummy and low. As is the case with all of the specific alcohols here, I believe that a good brand will provide excellent results, results not significantly improved by doubling or tripling the price or the alcohol used. But, vodka is the one I’d be willing to stretch the rule a bit on, since if you experience headaches after a night of Long Islands, you were probably drinking crap vodka.

Triple Sec: My rhythm guitar, always grinding away underneath the flavors from beginning to end. You’ll find I cheat this up a bit, both because my wife prefers it that way, and once you start playing with the sour mix, this is a way to add not only sweet but citrus to the flavor profile. This has been my most recent significant change to the recipe (changing over to Bols 42-proof), but it’s probably the most heretical part of my recipe. That said, it works for me.

Rum: my lead guitar, my soloist, my melody that I hum along with. Rum adds sweet, it adds a touch of bite, and some low feedback notes that poke out every so often. I’m a rum guy by nature, and so I’m always looking for the rum in anything I drink, and this drink in particular.

Sour mix: I consider this the producer of the piece, providing the blending package to smooth out the rough bits, fill in the gaps, and help to keep the drink stable over time. I say “sour mix”, but you’ll be making it yourself – the only premixed sour mix allowed is premixing simple syrup with the insides of a couple dozen lemons before the party.

Coke: The packaging, art for the single, and the marketing needed to get a little attention and love for the drink. That splash of Coke is what’s needed to give it the visual appeal that the name invokes.

There’s no tequila in my Long Island, because I am not a college student looking to puke on my roommate’s bed. Tequila is an instant DNQ for me if it’s offered in a Long Island.

So, here we are, at the recipe itself:

1 oz. rum (I use Bacardi Gold) – literally dozens of rums that I have to choose from at home, and this is still my go-to for this recipe.

1.25 oz. triple sec (I use Bols 42-proof) – I prefer it to others in the price range, and haven’t found jumping up to Cointreau or Grand Marnier to give me enough results to justify it)

1 oz. gin (I use Tanquery, but have no problem with Beefeater) – Dutch-style gins are disqualified here

1 oz. vodka (I use Absolut by default, but have been known to slip Ketel One in at home for myself) – any reasonably neutral mid-value vodka should do, and I’ve used half a dozen or so successfully

2 oz. sour mix – I use an equal mix of freshly squeezed lemon juice and 1:1 cold simple syrup. Take a jar, add a half-cup of sugar and a half-cup of water; shake. That’s 7-8 oz. of simple syrup; your average good lemon should give you 1.5-2 oz. of juice, so 5-6 or so lemons should do. Don’t short the lemon juice!

.5 oz. Coke – I use...uuh, yeah.

Combine; pour over ice with a lemon wedge garnish.

Current paths of investigation:

Sour mix: I’ve rejected 2:1 simple syrup for my sour mix, demarara/turbinado sugar (I use basic organic white sugar), and most other citruses beyond lemon for this drink. That said, I want to explore some of the side ingredients that are designed to thicken or froth homemade sour mix. If it affects the mouth feel of the drink positively, I’m in.

Rum: There’s always another rum, and always another excuse to find another. Demararas and darks overpower the drink for me, but white rums cause the drink to lose a touch of dimensionality. So, a gold rum, with a bit of Puerto Rico bitter, but with that hint of molasses sugar, would be the flavor profile I’m looking to meet or beat.