Frosé the Day

I am freshly back from a vacation in the Adirondack mountains.  It is the kind of place where you have to drive “into town” to get two-bar cellular service.  It is also about an hour away from anything beyond what you might find at a general store.  Normally, I consider these attributes charming and arrive back to the city feeling refreshed and appreciative that there is still a place with crystal clear lake water and actual video rentals you can hold in your hand.

Unfortunately, a few weeks prior I wound up in the emergency department on a Saturday evening with a posited fish and/or shellfish allergy and an allergist appointment conveniently scheduled for the end of July.  The only thing worse than a definitive allergy is a probable one, especially for someone who is already prone to panic attacks and a tendency to possess anxieties that many others do not.

The trip was particularly challenging as my family had planned a festive Fourth of July menu that included a mutiny of sea creatures, featuring live lobsters plus pounds of shrimp, U-10 scallops, and cherrystone clams.  Then someone forgot to pack the deli turkey that I had planned to use to make a sad sandwich for dinner. Leftovers of lobster bisque with scallops as big as cue balls and cocktail hour poached shrimp continued for days.

Events like this can make it feel like your family is subconsciously trying to kill you.  And this is an unpleasant feeling, particularly when the nearest hospital is at least one House of Cards episode away and the ocean-laced refrigerator looks like Donald J. Trump himself organized it.

Too bad! 

After a spread of mostly cheese, pretzels, plus a coconut cream pie found in a seafood-free Frigidaire at a local beer house, I succumbed to the realization that I was going to eat mostly garbage and an occasional prophylactic Benadryl on my vacation.

So after taking some sedatives and having a brief nap on the bow of a boat, I made some frosé. For those who have not yet had the pleasure, frosé is a delicious lipstick-colored frozen cocktail that combines the powers of rosé with that of a blender. 

It is not as sweet as other similarly vacation-prone drinks tend to be.  It is also quite refreshing thanks to the inclusion of lemon juice and a fresh strawberry syrup. You will want a deeply flavored wine, so avoid using any ballet slipper pink varieties or most bottles originating from Provence. They are too delicate. I have found the Mittelbach rosé from Austria, made from Zweigelt grapes, fills this role well.

Depending on the store you frequent, I recommend neglecting to mention that you are planning to freeze your wine into a semi-gentrified slushy.  The owner of my local wine shop tried to offer suggestions as I attempted to covertly pick out bottles for this task.  I said I did not want to reveal my intentions for fear of scorn.  To which the owner replied that he was already judging me.  I felt at home enough to laugh and then self-consciously wonder if he had somehow conspired with my siblings.

Anyway, the point of this story is that frosé is good and most people do, in fact, generally enjoy it—even a homicidal family with a penchant for fruits of the sea.  It is also a potential source of nourishment when other available food is slim. Plus after the second or third drink you might care a little less about everything. And that’s pretty much the whole idea behind both vacations and frosé anyway.

Frosé

Adapted from bon appétit

Ingredients:

• 2 bottles (750 ml each) of deeply colored rosé
• 1 cup sugar
• 1 pound of strawberries, hulled and quartered
• 5 ounces of fresh lemon juice
• 2 cups of crushed ice

Instructions:

In a shallow metal roasting pan (or baking dish capable of fitting 50 ounces of wine), pour in the wine.  Place in the freezer for at least 6 hours (it will become solid but will not completely freeze).  You can do this the night before if you like.

About an hour and a half before you plan to serve the beverage, bring the sugar and one cup of water to boil in a medium saucepan.  Stir occasionally until the sugar dissolves (this should only take a couple of minutes). 

Add in the strawberries and remove the pan from the heat. Let sit for 30 minutes to infuse the liquid.  The syrup will become bright pink. 

Strain it through a fine mesh sieve into a large measuring cup.  (Reserve the strawberries for another use.) Chill the syrup for 30 minutes or until cold.  Add in the lemon juice.

Scrape about half the rosé into a blender, along with half of the strawberry lemon syrup and one cup of the ice. Puree until well blended.  

Place the blender jar and liquid into the freezer for another 30 minutes.  This will help ensure the drink is nice and icy.  (If you happen to have two blenders now is the time to use them both so you can serve all the drinks at once.  Alternatively, you can place the first batch into a pitcher and then blend the remaining ingredients and chill both at once.)

Blend each batch again briefly to ensure the liquid is slushy before serving.

If you only have one blender, repeat with the remaining ingredients, allowing for another 30 minutes in the freezer for the second batch.

Makes eight to ten servings

Notes:

1. The original recipe made enough for four or five drinks, but I never seem to be in a place and time where that amount is all that is required, so I double the recipe and recommend you do too. 

A Picante Margarita

There is a single road in Tulum that segments about 10 kilometers of beach from the jungle.  The road is shared by tourists, taxis, cavalier bikers, and mosquitos with questionable ties to Zika. Along most of the pavement there is no sidewalk, and thus no mercy for those on foot.  Not from anything with wheels or wings.  You can walk along with the current of the road or get out of the way.

This is the mantra of Tulum, Mexico, a stunning land curated for tourists, hacked out of the wild, where the juxtaposition of grandeur and dust is both jarring and beautiful. A paradise that defies taming, despite the decoration of antique-style Marconi light bulbs and leather purses made by Mexican designers that outline the palm trees and jungle leaves.

Most of our days were spent under tiki-style straw huts, soaking in white sand and turquoise waves, which would occasionally drag a novice kite surfer down the beach and threaten to take out any surrounding bystanders.

While we were there, Brett and I went to the famed Hartwood, only to be driven out after our chaya salad with mango, smoked fish, and hibiscus-stained eggs by a very bad case of Montezuma’s you-know-what, leaving behind plumes of insect repellent and drunk bodies dressed in fedoras yelling for tequila shots and waving cigarettes.  Despite the charm of a wood-fired restaurant carved out of the jungle with a star canopy for a ceiling, lit by lanterns and flames, I fell for another restaurant.

 is situated near a part of the beach segmented by a cluster of jagged rocks decorated with sunning birds.  The waves and sand are easily visible from your table and the ocean breeze wafts in through the restaurant’s windowless windows and open-air entrance.  The interior features sanded wood in muted beach blues and greens and is decorated, somewhat ironically, with old doors and window frames, used for style instead of structure.  It too has its share of bobbing hipster hats, but it also has one of the best margaritas I have had.

A few things about Posada Margherita.  They are an Italian restaurant.  They make rich homemade pasta to order and feature shrimp—with their heads still attached—that are the size of small lobsters.  The also serve a generous helping of olive oil focaccia alongside a few cubes of parmesan and a curious jar of pickled cauliflower that goes largely untouched by most patrons.

They also have a very strong cocktail garnish program.  (I am not even sure this is a thing.) I could have watched the drink parade all day.  One cocktail had a dusting of citrus zest shavings that looked like a girandola firework.  Another contained a bushy sprig of rosemary alongside a fuchsia-colored flower.

But the best garnish was so simple and beautiful that it is hard to believe I had not seen it before.  A single dried lemon slice sat surrounded by a perimeter of salt submerged with the rocks of a classic margarita.  The cocktail itself could be sucked down in a couple thirst quenching swigs, I think by design, to help hydrate thirsty beachgoers without turning them into drunkards.

It was a quirky place filled with a peculiar grouping of people and an unusual cluster of cuisine set on the beach in the Yucatán.  It was very inspiring.

So when Brett and I got back, we got to work drying lemons and squeezing citrus. We tested, and retested, and ended up with a small collection of tequila-soiled scratch notes decorated with arrows, stars, checkmarks, and dashes and somehow, miraculously, avoided hangovers.

The result is a mutant margarita born on its fifth iteration, with borrowed inspiration from the famedgrapefruit habanero version at Hartwood—that I have heard plenty about but did not get to try—and the Golden Posada margarita that we sampled a half dozen of.

It is bright and refreshing without being a pushover, and spicy without being abrasive. I am always a big proponent of a salted rim, particularly in this case as it reminds me of the beach, so that comes highly recommended.  As does the garnish, because it looks cool and smells good.

So is seven ingredients, plus water, a lot for a margarita?  Maybe. But it also creates space for a little retreat at home.

“Mille grazie,” said the Mexican waiter, as he dropped the check at Posada Margherita.  Many thanks to you, Mexico.

Habanero Grapefruit Margarita with a Dried Lemon Slice 

(Inspired by Posada Margherita and Hartwood)

Ingredients:

• 1 lemon (organic if possible, since you will be using the rind)
• 8 ounces white tequila (blanco), divided
• 1 habanero, quartered with the seeds intact
• 10 ounces fresh grapefruit juice (you’ll likely need more than one grapefruit)
• 2 ounces fresh lime juice (roughly 2 limes) (see note)
• 2 ounces demerara simple syrup (recipe follows)
• Fleur de sel or fine sea salt, for the rims

Instructions:

This is a cocktail that requires some advance planning.  You will probably want to make the lemon slices and demerara syrup ahead of time (the day before will help divide up the prep). Both can be made in advance and stored until needed—the slices in an airtight container at room temperate and the syrup in the fridge.

You will also need to be around at least an hour in advance to steep the habanero for the tequila.

for the demerara simple syrup

In a small saucepan, stir together 2 cups of demerara sugar and 1 cup of water.  Cook on medium heat, swirling occasionally, until the sugar dissolves.  (This will happen before the liquid boils.) Let cool; store in fridge for cocktails (you will have extra). (Sugar in the raw would be a substitute if you cannot find demerara.)

for the dried lemon slices

Set the oven to 170 degrees. Thinly slice your lemon into rounds as close to an eighth of an inch as you can get. Set a metal cooking rack over a sheet pan and place the slices on the rack.  (This will aid in the drying process.) 

Dry in the oven for 60 minutes.  Rotate the pan and place back in the oven for another 60 minutes, or until the slices are completely dry to the touch.  (This may take anywhere from 90 to 150 minutes depending on slight variances in oven temperature and slice thickness, so you may want to start checking occasionally after the first hour and a half to prevent over caramelization.)

for the habanero tequila and remaining prep

In a small container, place 6 ounces of tequila and the quartered habanero.  Cover and let the mixture steep for 1 to 2 hours.  (If you like things on the milder side, steep for closer to 1 hour but keep in mind this is still a habanero margarita and it will be spicy.)

While the tequila is steeping, juice your citrus and place in separate containers.  Take out 2 small plates.  On one plate, place a small amount of citrus juice, lime, grapefruit, etc. (a few teaspoons).  On a second plate place a couple tablespoons of salt.  (Better to err on the side of too much than too little.)

Set the rim of your cocktail glass into the juice and twist so that the entire rim is moistened.  Place the wet rim into the salt and rotate the glass, tipping it slightly as you go around, until evenly covered.  Repeat. (Doing this a little ahead of time will help set the salt, so it doesn’t easily slough off.)

When the tequila is spiced to your liking, strain out the habanero and set aside (it can be added to dinner or discarded).  You should be left with a peppery clear liquid.

for the cocktail (per drink)

In a cocktail shaker, place 3 or 4 ice cubes.  Place another 2 or 3 ice cubes into a glass with a salted rim.  To the shaker add 1½ ounces of habanero tequila, ½ ounce white tequila, 2½ ounces grapefruit juice, ½ ounce lime juice, and ½ ounce demerara simple syrup.  Shake vigorously and then strain into your prepared glass. Top with a dried lemon slice. Repeat with remaining cocktails.

Makes 4 cocktails (plus extra garnishes)

Notes:

1. Brett and I went through 5 different versions of this cocktail before settling on one—more or less.  In the end, I preferred the slightly more lime-forward version with ½ ounce of juice per drink.  Brett preferred the more grapefruit-forward (less “typical” margarita) version with ¼ ounce of lime juice per cocktail.  They both are good.
2. We ended up cutting the habanero tequila with a little of standard variety because the original 2 ounce version of habanero tequila made tasting the more subtle grapefruit nearly impossible.  It was still good, mind you. It was just harder to tell there was grapefruit in there.
3. We also tried pink and white grapefruit and both seemed to work fairly interchangeably.
4. Why the lemon slice?  In the end, it was prettier, bigger, and had better flavor than the dried lime slices.  If storing longer than a few days you may want to keep them in the fridge—it doesn’t affect the quality and will prolong their lifespan. Halved grapefruit slices might be cool too, but I haven’t attempted to dry them.

The Dead Rabbit in Old New York

There is a bar near Battery Park in lower Manhattan that is a cross between the kind of saloon with sawdust on the floor and a spot where you can order a cocktail with bitters and not get the stink eye.  Inside is a patchwork of black and white photos hanging from the ceiling and some sort of ceramic rabbit wearing a shamrock bib and Mardi Gras beads sitting amid the booze bottles. The place is called The Dead Rabbit.

All of this should help set the stage.

If you are going to name your place after a deceased furry mammal, you are probably not a sentimentalist in the traditional sense.  What they are sentimental about, however, is cocktails. The co-founder, Jack McGarry, tested scores of recipes from the mid-nineteenth century to create his historically-rooted bar with an Old New York meets Irish-American feel.

Brett and I stumbled in on a Saturday at approximately 11 am, found the two best bar stools in the joint, and did not leave for the next three hours.  We drank a number of cocktails that day. If asked to recall them, I probably would not get much further than a sweeping implication of gin and beer, forced into a number of wonderfully barbaric midafternoon combinations.

But right before we were about to settle up, our bartender —who had a Southern drawl and was not particularly attentive that day—set down an Irish coffee.  Which I suspect was meant as a peace offering for spotty service.

We were drunk on booze and charm by this point.  But she did not know that. One sip and another was promptly ordered.  The drink became legendary thereafter. And thanks to The New York Times, we were able to uncover its secrets.

As is the case with Irish coffees, a fresh pot is brewed and whiskey is righteously employed.  The cocktail is delicately sweetened with a demerara simple syrup that plays to the barrel-aged vanilla notes of the liquor. Perhaps the piece here, however, that truly sets the cocktail apart is that the heavy cream is left unsweetened and whipped only until “ropy.” It looks like a cumulus cloud, spreading to fill the glass and floating delicately on top, graced with nutmeg in its final moments.

The whole thing ends in a pretty harmonious, self-congratulatory clink of glasses. Brett and I have become sort of crazy for them.  Also as unlikely sentimentalists in the traditional sense, we have fondly named them Dead Rabbits.

It is at once a classic and romantic cocktail.  Not too sweet, to be sure.  And with the guts that any drink from a good Irish bar would have.

It is only a slight coincidence that this information comes to you a few days prior to St. Patrick’s Day.  In the event that a superlative Irish coffee is needed this weekend, you’ll know how to drink the rabbit dead.

The Dead Rabbit

Adapted from The New York Times, courtesy of Jack McGarry from The Dead Rabbit Grocery and Grog

Ingredients:

• 1 tbsp Demerara syrup (see below)

• about 3 to 4 tbsp whipped cream (see below)

• 3 tbsp (1½ ounces) Irish whiskey (Jameson works in a pinch)

• 4 ounces hot fresh coffee

• dash of freshly ground nutmeg

         demerara syrup

• 1 cup Demerara sugar

• ½ cup of water

  whipped cream

• 1 cup heavy cream

Instructions:

for the Demerara syrup

In a medium saucepan, combine the sugar and water over low heat. Stir occasionally until the sugar dissolves; set aside.
for the cocktail

Brew a pot of coffee. Meanwhile, warm a coffee mug with hot water (slightly below boiling works well).

In a medium bowl, whip the cream until it achieves a ropy consistency; it should be firm but still loose.  Place in the refrigerator until needed. 

Pour out the water from the warmed glass.  Add the syrup and whiskey.  Pour in the coffee; stir to combine. Gently spoon the whipped cream on top. It should float if properly whipped.  The amount used will vary slightly depending on the size of your glass, but you’ll want it about ¾ inch thick and covering the liquid.

Grate nutmeg over the top.

Makes 1 cocktail

Notes:

1. It is easier to make some of the components in bulk. The whipped cream makes enough for 3 to 4 cocktails. You’ll have extra syrup beyond that, too. (Store the syrup in the fridge.)

2. It just so happens The Dead Rabbit has won a number of awards, including Best Bar in North America last year. They do not mess around.