Another infusion, a few more steps than the sake, and a little more time, but man does it look awesome and taste great. The strawberry vodka will become strawberry liqueur by adding simple syrup to the vodka after infusing and letting the whole deal mellow out for a bit.
The last two infusions I’ve done haven’t been measured in any way, and I’ve been judging them by color and flavor as they progress. When you’re infusing a great flavor like strawberry into plain old vodka, it doesn’t seem there’s much you can do wrong in the process.
Method:
First off, cut up strawberries and drop them into infusing vessel. Fill to cover with vodka.
The interesting thing about this infusion is that you can actually see the strawberries lose their color and the vodka gain the color. At first your strawberries will remain bright and red. Within a few days they’ll begin to expand, look almost fuzzy, and the color will leech out of them.
When the strawberries are very light pink you’re good to go — they’ll end up being even lighter than you see above.
Strain the vodka and measure it out. Now add half again as much simple syrup. So if you yield 1 cup of strawberry-infused vodka, you’ll add 1/2 cup simple syrup. Depending on how sweet you want your liqueur, adding less simple isn’t a bad idea.
Here is also where you can get a bit creative: try something like ginger simple syrup, or maybe an herb-infused simple syrup. I think a ginger-strawberry liqueur would be outstanding.
Finally, take the liqueur and let it sit for a few weeks. This is the hardest part, but the longer it sits the more the vodka mellows out. It’s nice for sipping chilled as a desert drink, and has some great mixing applications.
A fast, easy infusion: dried Thai red-eye chilis and cheap sake. This one exists mostly for the fun of having people try it, a purely spice-flavored drink that can really catch you off guard. Sake’s just mellow enough to soften up the edges.
The best use I’ve found for it exists during the winter months: high quality hot chocolate, about an ounce of the fire sake, and a dash of cinammon. Sort of a spicy Thai Mexican hot chocolate. I think it may also work well in place of vermouth in a vodka martini; it won’t disrupt the clean flavor of vodka but adds some interesting spice on the back end.
Method:
This really is very easy, and very fast. All you need is a bag of dried chilis, some sake, and vessel for the infusion.
Because the sake’s such a soft flavor, and the chilis are so spicy, rather than measuring proportions I monitored the infusion by color and flavor. A large handful of chilis soaking in the sake can create a full strength infusion in a matter of hours, and the color change is rapid and striking.
The last step is to strain the sake when it reaches desired spiciness. I poured mine back into an empty Scotch bottle and dropped two dried peppers in to mark the fire sake, and those two peppers ended up greatly darkening the sake and increasing the spiciness over a week or so. If you’re going to drop any more in after the infusion, be careful!
When Richard Chen’s was up and running, one of the best changes made to the cocktail program was the introduction of a personal favorite cocktail: the Sazerac.
Sazerac by Kenn Wilson (kchrist on flickr)
The Sazerac really is a classic cocktail in the truest sense, its creation in New Orleans dating back to when the inclusion of bitters was necessary for a drink to be called a cocktail. From all of my research in cocktail books, respectable cocktail bloggers and a few other bartenders, a Sazerac is loosely made as follows:
ingredients:
1 cube sugar, splash water
-or-
1/4-1/2 oz. simple syrup
3-5 dashes Peychaud’s Bitters
0-2 dashes Angostura Bitters
2 oz. rye whiskey (originally made w/ Cognac) method:
add ice, stir (there exists a small population of Sazerac-shakers out there, though)
strain into an old fashioned glass rinsed with Absinthe/Herbsaint (wormwood-free absinthe substitute and anagram)/Pernod
garnish with lemon twist (express twist oils, sometimes drop it in)
Even though it’s a classic it’s pretty difficult to really nail down the “best” way to craft a Sazerac. I’m finding that most vary to a wide degree on the recipe, as evidenced by the possible variation above. At the bar I was instructed to send out Sazeracs on the rocks along with the twist. This is in part because my manager found the classic Sazerac presentation a bit unappealing–2 1/2 oz. of red-ish spirits strained into an old-fashioned glass–and also because he believed our Pittsburgh clientele would expect a expect a rocks cocktail if they’ve never encountered the drink before. I personally think that the drink’s complexity grows as it warms, and prefer to serve it neat in an old-fashioned glass, but if one is willing to deviate from the cocktail’s classic roots it also makes for a great up drink.
Dave’s Sazerac:
ingredients:
1/4 oz. simple syrup
5 dashes Peychaud’s Bitters
2 dashes Angostura Bitters
2 oz. rye whiskey (the Buffalo Trace Sazerac 6 Year works great) method:
chill an old-fashioned glass with ice
in a separate mixing glass, combine all ingredients and stir
dump ice out of old-fashioned glass, and rinse with Pernod
strain cocktail into chilled, rinsed glass
garnish with lemon twist (express twist oils and drop it in)
If I had the choice, I’d probably use a real absinthe like Lucid for the rinse, but I’m not in a position to throw down $60 for a bottle whose purpose is coating a glass and dumping the excess. That being said, a real absinthe’s complex and interesting flavors would surely wonders for the cocktail.
There’s only one thing I can think of that sticks with me from the way-back-when of high school AP Literature class, and that was my teacher’s insistence on the importance of “interacting” with text. When critically evaluating various works, not only did he encourage us to annotate our books, he forced us to do it. At various periods throughout the semester he’d collect our books with the purpose of grading our scribblings in the margins. I was more convinced it was so that he could ensure we were reading the text by forcing us to give him a way to quantatively grade our reading progress, but I’ve come around to appreciate his wisdom for what it really was, and recognize that there’s value in writing in books.
I doubt that I’ll ever again critically consume literature with the level of scrutiny required by AP Lit, most of the time when I read fiction I’m just along for a good ride. Hopefully a great story is bolstered by interesting language, and in the case of my Tom Robbins kick, absurd but accurate metaphor, humorous insight on the world, and a stoner-spiritual attitude espoused by some of his major players that doesn’t fail to crack me up. But the non-fiction’s a different story.
A couple times in the past few weeks I’ve kicked myself for not writing in the various books I’ve read. A lot of those are loosely related in some way; besides the wine & spirits books, they usually slant towards sociology, mythology, psychology or technology. It’s been aggravating to come across a topic I know I’ve read something interesting about, only to go back to a previous book and flip through never finding that one key paragraph where the text provides more insight on the topic at hand. I’ll have remembered enough to know that a previous author made a worthwhile point on the topic, but rarely be able to find it. Besides being able to more easily remember the important points I’ve read because I’ve underlined or commented, it draws attention to the key stuff that I’ll probably want to find again later. I think it’s edifying to actively compare multiple views on a topic, especially so if the respective authors are writing on it from differing disciplines.
Preferring to buy my books so that they’re on hand if I ever to want to refer back to them (versus library checkout), it would only support my cause to pick up the pen and violate the sanctity of the author’s printed word with my own chicken scratch.
Well, guess it’s about time to break the blog drought, especially with T-bone crushing it on the blogging scene. I blame most of the radio silence on my lack of computer, unfortunately my lack of computer is due to yours truly being a dummy. For the first time ever, I purchased a prebuilt desktop, rather than ordering parts and building myself. My logic seemed great at the time: if anything breaks, I’ve got two years of full warranty coverage, I won’t need to pay for new parts and they’ll take care of everything for me! I didn’t count on the manufacturer trying to snake its way out of warranty service and the difficult correspondence with customer service. Somewhere, my computer is in limbo between here and California, perhaps still restarting itself as it pleases. But anyway…
Up until now I’d taken care to keep any direct reference to Richard Chen Pittsburgh vague — “the restaurant” and “the bar” were the best I had to offer in my infrequent posts about RCPgh; no need to jeopardize my job or offend anyone by calling out names and places. Now, however, post-Chenspocaclypse, perhaps I need not tread so cautiously.
Unbeknownst to me, April 27, 2009 was my last shift at… the bar. That was a Monday, and not a particularly busy one, given the whopping zero reservations on the books. The next night, Richard Chen himself called the restaurant and made it known that this would be the last service. I woke up on Wednesday to have Andy ask me if I’d heard the news: “no more Chen’s,” as he so eloquently put it. As of yet, I hadn’t, although that certainly put a kink into the works as far as summer plans go.
My stint in the service industry included the opening, closing, wine training, service training, bar training, and occasional stage back of house at a James Beard Best New Restaurant Nominee. Looking back, the service industry really is a demanding lifestyle, one I’m unsure if I’ll ever take back up now that the degree-related job hunt is in full force. I certainly enjoyed my time as a bartender though, especially when there were actually patrons at the bar (zing). I’ve picked up some good people skills along the way, having to deal with various characters in their sundry states of drunkenness and sobriety. At first it was stressful, but it became second nature to pick up on someone’s personality and body language and adjust my interaction with them accordingly. Misqueues on that front were not so rare initially and led to some seriously awkward situations.
Since then, Uncle Sam has provided me with the personal bailout plan known as Unemployment Compensation. As of 5/03, I become one of the ever-growing masses applying for unemployment. It’s not a particularly pleasant situation, nor do I make near as much as the restaurant paychecks, but man, does it open up a lot of free time. I can focus on the one remaining class, the full-time job search (interview in D.C. upcoming!), and split the rest of my time on Pittsburgh Ultimate summer league, training Jiu-Jitsu with Andy, and reading all of the books I’ve got on hand but haven’t been able to work through. After just finishing up another Tom Robins novel, Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates (rockin’), I’ve started to get back to some wine literature, delve into some French poetry by way of Rimbaud and Beaudelaire (3 years of French in High School is proving semi-useful, but mostly it’s the English en face, hah), think about the networks governing so many aspects of life in Linked (so far it’s intriguing and well written, but lacking depth, I think that’s the price the author pays for accessibility), and get backaround to a few plays recommended to me by a former Chen’s coworker.
Only rarely do I get annoyed by customers at the restaurant. Sure, customers can be a hassle from time to time, but it’s nothing to get terribly worked up over (sometimes people do ask for weird stuff though). A few nights ago I was helping another server bus a big table, the usual–grabbing up empty plates, seeing if people with food left wanted it to go. One lady had about half of her food left over, a duck dish, and one of my favorites.
“Miss, would you like me to wrap that to go for you?”
“Uhhmm… I don’t knooow… Can dogs eat duck? Do you think that’s safe?”
Ho-ly crap. Had I been willing to sacrifice my current source of income [by getting fired on the spot] for the chance at one of the best comebacks I’ve ever delivered, I would’ve responded promptly: “Well, it looks like you’ve managed to choke some down.” Hey-o! But of course, I am your gracious server, and I “don’t know much about canine dietary restrictions.”
I take pride in the food that we serve, and I know there’s serious work going in to prepping and making any dish, especially this one. I was outright offended. I can’t imagine any reasonable person coming to my house for dinner, and when I ask if they want to take some leftovers home they indicate that a) they won’t be wanting it for themselves, but b) they plan on feeding it to their dog, however c) they’re not quite sure if the food is fit for their dog! And that’s exactly what she was doing.
The worst part? This is apparently a common occurrence in the biz. I was putting the rest of a ribeye in a to-go box one night and Chef looked over:
Before being derailed into a login screen rant, I was unsure as to how to express my disdain for Pizza Hut’s latest tack in marketing (below).
Of course you’re going to say you enjoy whatever is in front of you when the supposed chef is leaning directly over your shoulder. And if, upon learning that it’s Pizza Hut, you want to express your original opinion (this tastes like I could get 3lbs of it for $11.99, eck), you’re going to look like a flip-floppin’ fool on national TV. If they are low-down dirty enough to trick real people on hidden camera invited to a pizza tasting, who knows how far they will go to prove their worth? I tried my hand at drawing out the answer to this very question, failed a bit at cars, but posted the results anyway.
Let’s be honest, there’s only one person who’s really going to enjoy the Tuscani Pastas, pictured in the bottom right of Frame 4.
As I attempted to log in to the blog to drop a line about Pizza Hut marketing (post possibly forthcoming, I’m wasting most of my time on this one), I was struck with a momentary lapse of memory and couldn’t quite get my password right. I have an individual user account on my blog, and a separate main Wordpress account, so sometimes I get the two confused or just mistype. That in and of itself is not the problem, the Wordpress login screen, on the other hand, was.
I’m a firm believer in quick, easy, and please-please-please-don’t-make-me-switch-back-and-forth-from-mouse-to-keyboard login screens; any screen with a checkbox has the potential to get on my bad side. Wordpress is one such culprit:
After entering credentials, checking the “Remember Me” box, and unsuccessfully attempting to login, I am greeted with the above screen. I’ve already told you once I want to be remembered, so, dear Wordpress, why can’t you just leave that box checked, perhaps keep my info intact, and let me try again? Instead, I need to re-enter all of my information, and then (this is the worst part) switch to mouse, click remember me, and then re-attempt to log in. It’s not a particularly time-consuming process, but my goal is to get to the blog quickly, make fun of Pizza Hut, and get on with my homework. It’s an annoying process when it takes 3 or 4 login attempts; if the checkbox were to remain clicked, I could be logged in by the time it takes one re-attempt.
On the other hand, there is a subtle joy to be had from a properly crafted log in form. If, for example, I want to see what’s in my queue on Hulu, I’m more than happy to get my password wrong, because it’s just so easy to deal with the login process: no page refresh, no additional mouse use after a failed attempt, it’s great.
(retype password, repeat 3 & 4 until …)
I could get my password wrong all day with Hulu and still be happy.
I’m coming to find that select days are dreaded by the service industry, traditionally days of celebration that everyone else is excited about. Valentine’s day is one of those days.
This will be my first service on Valentine’s, and my more experienced compadres at the restaurant are already getting in the right mindset for next Saturday. And it seems that at our restaurant and all other rockin’ Valentine’s destinations, the mindset is as follows:
Saturday is going to suck. Prepare yourself, because this is going to be horrible. We are going to do the best we can, and work the hardest we’ve worked in a long time, and it’s still going to suck. Oh boy is it going to suck.
You see, not only are we completely booked during normal hours, and now taking reservations at or past 10:30pm, all of our covers are primarily deuces (2 tops). A regular Saturday may see a server take a couple deuces, mostly four-tops, and maybe even a party of 6 or 8. As tough as it can be for a server to manage a big party table, once you actually get an order in it’s relatively smooth sailing; I find the most crucial and time-consuming part of service is getting a feel for the personality of the table, and guiding them through the menu to make sure they’re really going to enjoy a meal. On V-day though, servers are going to be inundated with just so many tables that getting to each one, and then having enough time to even get things started is going to be a serious challenge. Man, Saturday is gonna suck.
I ended up pulling my 2nd cardamom white pepper infusion a on the 11th of December, straining it into a new vodka bottle. Upon tasting alone, it is a sharp and spicy concoction, I don’t plan on drinking it any time soon. For sure, the #1 takeaway lesson here is, if using peppercorns, keep them whole. Also, it’s very apparent that spices can easily over-infuse. I had been under the impression that it’s particularly hard to really get a nice depth of flavor when infusing spirits, but it seems that I should have been more concerned about over-infusing.
A prime example of the ease of getting flavor into spirits is fat washed bacon bourbon. Fat washing is a technique I first came across when a few months ago, but it’s been done much earlier than that and various bacon-bourbon creations are floating around now, from a simple manhattan or old-fashioned to bacon bourbon brownies. The heart of this “technique” is simply pouring bacon fat into bourbon–I go overboard and render a pound of bacon for a fifth bourbon–allowing the fat and bourbon to mix, then straining out the chilled and solidified fat for a bacon-flavored end product. And you have bacon to eat, or in some cases, Joe, bacon for your friends to come over and steal. So, for Fat Washed Bacon Bourbon:
Ingredients:
-1 lb bacon
-1 fifth bourbon of choice
Procedure:
Cook bacon, in batches or one go depending on pan size, reserving fat. Allow bacon fat to cool slightly to avoid hissing and bubbling when adding to bourbon.
Pour bacon fat into bourbon in a wide mouth container (don’t try to pour the fat into the bottle! you won’t be able to get it out), allow to sit and mix for a few hours, put in fridge to chill.
When bacon fat is solid, remove as much from the top of the container as possible, and strain remaining bourbon through a sieve first, then re-filter with a coffee-filter lined sieve. This process may take a bit as fat particles in the bourbon really seem to clog up the filters, so change coffee filters if necessary. Return bourbon to bottle, et voila! Bacon-infused bourbon.
Of course, once you have created your bacon bourbon, the only thing left to do is drink it (and eat the bacon). My preferred method of consumption for bacon bourbon–
Maple Bacon Manhattan
The maple syrup instead of sweet vermouth adds a confusing and pleasantly sweet element to this already interesting drink.
- 2 oz bacon infused bourbon
- 1/2 (or less) pure maple syrup
- dash Angostura bitters
Combine in a mixing glass filled with ice, shake, and strain up or on the rocks. I think there’s no better garnish than a piece of bacon (not pictured) or perhaps a candied piece of bacon.
You’ll note that this drink is shaken — if not for the maple syrup I’d prefer it stirred, and if you’re really going to do it right, shake, strain and also strain through a tea strainer.
Who'd You Kill Now? by Frightened Rabbit