Taming Kummel: Angel's Tears and Army of Shadows

For years Kummel represented one of the larger gaps in my knowledge. On that day when I finally tasted it, I knew that I needed to learn more, but finding one proved difficult. Kummel in general is rare, and those that were available weren't all that impressive. Even here in Seattle, where the Kummel classics the Allies Cocktail and the Epicurean are pretty popular didn't help to solve this problem. Privatization helped the bars gain access to obscure products, while the consumer continues to struggle.

A strange ingredient, Kummel is simultaneously savory and sweet and usually features such complex flavors as anise and caraway. Not all kummels are the same, however. Gilka is more understated and caraway dominant, while the Combier kummel is bursting with cumin. Yes, I said cumin. But it is that cumin that makes it strange and challenging. Caraway and anise are not all that uncommon in the spirit world: Brennivin and all manner of aquavits contain some manner of both. But cumin is another story altogether.

The question quickly changed from where can I get it to how do I use it? Once I bought some, it just sat in my bar cabinet waiting to be opened. The months passed and nothing happened. But I have never let a bottle of booze get the best of me, so I started asking around. And I discovered there is nothing to fear. In some ways, it is best to think of it as yet another savory strongly flavored element that should be used with care, but used nonetheless.

Sweet Vermouth/Quinquina
It seems that sweet vermouth and other quinquinas are a good solution for the problems stronger flavors create. From celery bitters to absinthe, sweet vermouth and its cousins have continued to surprise me with their ability to tame the beasty ingredients. Here is just one example I came across:

Angel's Tears (recipe by Connor O'Brien)

2 ounces rum
1/2 ounce Byrrh
1 tsp Kummel
1 dash Angostura bitters

Stir ingredients with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Note on Ingrediets: Connor's recipe calls for Byrrh and El Dorado 15. I was out of Byrrh so I substituted Punt e Mes. I also used Combier Kummel.

Citrus
Ctirus has always been a perfect vehicle for strong flavors. With just one look at the daquiri, it becomes apparent. Add a dash of celery bitters--refreshing and delicious. Add a dash of absinthe, a delightful variation. Even a dash of savory kummel works just fine. Lime juice has the incredible power to mitigate other strong elements and even more than one at a time. Maybe it's because lime is just so tough to begin with. Ben Perri's Army of Shadows definitely shows how citrus can harness the more extreme side of Kummel and allow it to play nice with others.

Army of Shadows (recipe by Ben Perri)

1 1/2 ounces aquavit
1/2 ounce lime juice
1/2 ounce Kummel
1/4 ounce orgeat
1/4 ounce Islay scotch

Shake ingredients with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Note on Ingredients: I used Arbeg scotch, Small Hands Food orgeat, Linie aquavit and Krogstad aquavit, and Combier Kummel.

Untraditional Bitters Part Two: Smoky Vesper and Dunbar

Choosing between the different flavor profiles of bitters wasn't the only option available for early bartenders seeking to differentiate their own creations. The evolution of the Cocktail into the wide array of drink families and styles of today began with the addition of all sorts of untraditional ingredients that were used like bitters--in mere dashes. The Fancy Cocktail was one of the earliest, incorporated as it was into the first edition of Jerry Thomas's cocktail tome. It was simply an Old Fashioned served up with a dash of orange liqueur and a lemon twist. Then, as absinthe and other liqueurs became popular and easier to come by, the Improved Cocktail was created--an Old Fashioned served up with a dash of absinthe and maraschino liqueur. But for the most part, these drinks were all made in the same way--shaken or stirred with ice--with the newest ingredient just added to the mix. As far as availble techniques, bartenders did not have a vast amount of options. Sure, muddling happened, as well as layering. And there was the always popular pouring flaming hot liquid from two tankards method. But perhaps the most interesting innovation in technique was introduced in New Orleans with the adaptation of the Sazerac: the rinse.

You see, it's all about the rinse. Now, this technique didn't change the way drinks were made at the time, and it certainly have a resounding impact on the ways drinks were constructed over the years. The rinse was still used here and there--sometimes to good effect and sometimes to none at all. Steadily, it plodded along with the Cocktail, though it wasn't until much later that it would garner  attention as one of the important tools in the bartender's bag of tricks. But back in the beginning, the absinthe rinse was even not part of the original Sazerac. This was only added later, most likely when the popularity of absinthe began to soar in the late nineteenth century. The small amount is easily understood--even a quarter ounce of absinthe can overpower many ingredients. But why use a rinse? Why not just add the absinthe, as a dash, to the chilled mixture? Perhaps the easiest hypothesis is that the absinthe was an add-on--some bit of flair to finish things off. But just maybe those bartenders were using a rinse to incorporate the powerful anise aroma as an additional garnish. Unfortunately, the intentions of the nineteenth century bartender will always be a mystery.

Temperature plays a most important factor in the succesful use of a rinse. The ingredients in the mixing glass, for example the bitters, syrup and rye of the Sazerac, will be thoroughly chilled. If you pre-chill your glass, the absinthe rinse will only be partially chilled, otherwise it will be room temperature.  This absinthe will have a stronger aroma than the bitters-syrup-rye mixture. Along with chilling and diluting, the ice also constricts aroma. By combining a chilled mixture with a warmer rinse, the aroma of the rinse will be more pronounced on that intial sip, and perhaps even subsequent sips. If you use a glass that is slightly larger than the volume of the cocktail, the rinse will have an even more profound effect. The extra space, layered with the more aromatic rinse, makes it less likely that the rinse will be incorporated into the cocktail, meaning that the intense aroma will be stronger for longer. After a few sips, however, the two elements will mingle and the drink's flavors will approach equilibrium.

For years I took this small detail for granted with the Sazerac. I just always assumed it was a way to incorporate a strongly flavored ingredient without allowing it to take over the cocktail. I never really thought about the fact that just by adding a dash to the mixing glass would accomplish this all on its own. It was only recently that I began thinking about the mechanics of the rinse and how it is an integral part of using strongly flavored ingredients as bitters. The rinse has become one of the most popular ways of incorporating such untraditional bitters. It just makes sense that ingredients that have whopping flavors also have strong aromas. Whether a bartender is adding smoke, as in the Dunbar (Laphroaig rinse), herbaceousness as in the Man with No Name (green chartreuse rinse), bitter orange in New Orleans Is Drowning (from 2008, Campari rinse), dry almond-cherry notes in the Cuzco (kirsh rinse), or fruitiness in the entire class of Bell-Ringers (apricot brandy rinses), these cocktails were counting on a particular aroma to finish the cocktail, sort of like twisting a citrus peel over a finished cocktail. Not all of these drinks are new, but it seemed that as soon as I was actively looking for rinsed cocktails, everywhere I looked a glass was being drizzled with something.

Dunbar (recipe from cocktailvirgin.blogspot.com, created by California Gold of Drink in Boston)

1 3/4 oz scotch
1 oz amontillado sherry
1/4 oz Benedictine
1 dash aromatic bitters
1 dash orange bitters

Stir with ice and strain into a glass pre-rinsed with Laphroaig Scotch. Twist an orange peel over the top.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Famous Grouse, Lustau amontillado sherry, and Angostura orange and aromatic bitters. Instead of Laphroaig, I used Arbeg.   

Of all of the rinsed cocktails that I have tried though, the most successful in my mind is probably the simplest: the Smoky Vesper. It is exactly what it sounds like, a Vesper with a rinse of Islay scotch. Specificity isn't needed, though each scotch will bring its own qualities to the fore. When you dip your nose into the glass, the smell of the peat smoke mingles with the brightness of the lemon oils glistening on the surface. Of course the gin is there as well, and all of the herbal notes together create a kind of symphony. It isn't magical--it tastes like scotch added to a Vesper. But it is the interaction that, at least for me, pushes the boundaries and elevates the experience.

Smoky Vesper

1 1/2 ounces gin
1/2 ounce vodka
1/4 ounce Lillet

Stir ingredients in an ice-filled mixing glass. Strain into a scotch-rinsed cocktail glass. Garnish with a lemon twist.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Martin Miller gin, Chopin vodka, Ardbeg, and Cocchi Americano in the place of Lillet.

Untraditional Bitters Part One: Meat Hook

Cocktail history unofficially began when someone somewhere added bitters to his (or her, though unlikely) morning dram. But what exactly are bitters? We know the names. The ubiquitous Angostura. The classics, Regan's and Peychaud's. Brands such as the Bitter Truth, Bittermens, Scrappys and a host of others anchor the newer, more modern entries into the bitters catalogue. But what are they really, I mean, besides bitter? Usually, they consist of complex, unabashedly intense combinations of flavor where at least one element is just plain God-damned bitter--thus, the bittering agent. Quassia, Gentian, and Calamus are all examples of the extreme versions, though many other herbs are available that have varying strengths. Layered on top of these potent, sometimes even eye-watering flavors are the tasty elements one might actually like to encounter: grapefruit, orange, cloves, cinnamon, rhubarb, lavender, the list goes on and on and is expanded by the day. By combining a bittering agent with these more palatable flavors, you get bitters. And once you have tasted them straight, usually as a single drop or three, it is easy to understand why they are only used in dashes.

For a cocktail, bitters are transformative. In an Old Fashioned, the bitters add embellishment to slightly sweetened straight spirits. But over time as cocktails became more complicated, and a whole slew of ingredients were introduced to the barman's milieu, the role of bitters grew. No longer did bitters just add that zip of flavor to invigorate a glass of spirits and balance the sweetness. Indeed, they became the glue that pulled a drink together. One tiny dash could connect the dots among disparate ingredients and contribute a certain amount of depth. To boil it all down, bitters keep your taste buds in the game by keeping the whole experience interesting from first chilled sip to the last swig.

Somewhere along the line, though, bitters changed. Not by name or definition, but instead by what could be used as bitters. Dashes of other stongly flavored ingredients were soon finding their way into cocktails to "finish" them and ensure balance. Absinthe is probably the most widely acknowledged classic ingredient to be used this way, though it is not the only one. Considering absinthe's high proof--most of them historically clock in at around 130 proof--it is not surprising that both the strength and intense bitter wormwood flavor allowed absinthe to be used in dashes to excellent effect, just like bitters. Even in small amounts, it has enough flavor to stand out and compliment all sorts of unruly cocktail ingredients.

But absinthe isn't the only strong flavor that can be used this way. Green chartreuse, scotch, mezcal, and even Fernet Branca have all taken their turn as bitters. Whether these untraditional ingredients are added in dashes to the shaker or employed as aromatic rinses, contemporary bartenders have experimented with these flavors to add an extra dimension to an original cocktail or twist a classic.

For a long time I overlooked this phenomenon. Even as I read Gary Regan's article in the San Francisco Chronicle touting smoky scotch's new role, I barely batted an eyelash. But this was all pre-Meat Hook. While visiting Vancouver, Canada earlier this year that I was lucky enough to try this delicious play on the Red Hook at L'Abbatoir. It took an Ardbeg-laced Manhattan variation to really make me sit up and pay attention to the possibilities. By practicing restraint with such a bold flavor, a new experience is uncovered. It was amazing. Thankfully, the recipe was easy to find thanks to a Drinker's Peace, a Vancouver drinks blog.

Meat Hook (adapted from A Drinker's Peace, original created by Shaun Layton)

1 1/2 ounces rye
3/4 ounce Punt e Mes
1/3 ounce Islay scotch
1 teaspoon maraschino liqueur

Stir ingredients in an ice-filled mixing glass. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with a brandied cherry.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Rittenhouse 100 proof, Ardbeg, and Maraska maraschino.

Now, it is true that the amount of scotch in the Meat Hook is certainly more than a dash. But this doesn't seem to buck any modern trends--it's become common for cocktails to call for more bitters. Where once 2 dashes was considered a hefty dose of those potent flavors, today's bartenders utilize ever greater amounts. Cocktails that call for 4 or even 5 dashes are full of flavor and ruffle no feathers. Of course, we shouldn't forget those cocktails that are based on bitters. But that is another story altogether.

Athol Brose, or Fun with Scotch and Cream

When I first came across the Athol Brose in the Gentleman's Companion, I was hesitant--and yes this does seem to be an ongoing theme. With scotch, honey, and cream, I wasn't sure how this story was going to end. After doing a bit of research, I realized that perhaps I had dodged a bullet, in the form of oatmeal water, which is made by soaking oatmeal in water and then straining out the oatmeal. Charles Baker provides three recipes for Athol Brose. Each is fundamentally the same except in terms of proportions and preparation. Thankfully, the dreaded oatmeal water is nowhere to be found. But given its long history, variations are not really that surprising.

According to Scottish legend, Athol Brose was created by the first Earl of Athol when he needed to waylay a fleeing enemy while awaiting reinforcements. After locating the rebel faction's hidden hideout, the Earl (or Duke in some accounts) sent some men to fill their well with oatmeal, whisky and honey. Instead of fleeing the men became thoroughly inebriated and were thus easily captured. Can't say that I believe an group of armed, drunk soldiers would be harmless, especially in the age of hand-to-hand combat, but then again what do I know of military strategy. No one really knows how long this mixture, traditionally consisting of oatmeal water, honey, scotch, and sometimes Drambuie, has been consumed in Scotland, but the earliest recorded recipe dates from 1475. Even today Athol Brose is still traditionally served on New Year's Eve in many Scottish homes.

My first attempt at making Athol Brose was not successful. I initially chose Baker's second listed recipe, which included heating up milk, adding it to a mixture of Scotch and honey, and then chilling it before consuming. After overheating the milk (oops) and watching it curdle in the whisky (double oops), I knew something was wrong. Even after straining it twice, little bits of curdled milk dotted the surface of my swamp water-colored drink. The texture was very thin, but the taste wasn't unpleasant. But good god was it ugly. So I decided to do some research and try again later. Much later.

Weeks passed and finally I found the courage to delve back into Athol Brose territory. After some exhaustive research, I was ready for the challenge. Recipe interpretation seemed to have been at the heart of my earlier mistakes: where I read "warm" to mean actually heat up on the stove, others read it to mean "dry shake." Ah. Also, I discovered, via Darcy O'Neil of artofdrink.com, that when dealing with dairy, cream is a bartender's best friend and so it should be mine as well. These insights definitely pointed me toward attempting the first recipe instead of trying to rectify my mistakes with the second.

Athol Brose (recipe #1)

Really old Liqueur Scotch whisky, 1 part (1 1/2 ounces)
Clear strained honey, 1 part (1 ounce honey syrup)
Cream, 1 part (1 ounce)

Shake ingredients in a shaker without ice first, and then again, hard, with ice. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Notes on Ingredients: I used a 1:1 honey syrup and Famous Grouse for the scotch.

Wow. Actually let me rephrase that, WOW. Who knew that cream, scotch and honey would taste so delicious. It reminded me of a scotch-flavored egg nog, though without nutmeg. Underneath the thick foam, the texture was velvety and smooth. The more floral flavors of the scotch stood out first, but they were followed and complimented by the honey kicking in its own floral complexities. I noticed the smokier notes of the scotch more on the swallow. I have to be honest though, this drink was a bit sweet. Balanced and with a certain dryness from the scotch, but still a bit sweet. But sweet in the same way that egg nog is sweet, or a brandy alexander. In fact, it seems to me that most cream drinks are a bit sweet. Of course the proportions could be played with further, either by decreasing the honey syrup or increasing the scotch portion. I am not a fan of sweet drinks, but I liked it so much that I was staring at an empty glass in something like five minutes. Given how surprisingly good this drink was, maybe my initial reaction about the oatmeal water was hasty. Only time will tell.