Underused Ingredients: Aquavit

My first introduction to aquavit came a couple of years ago at House Spirits Distillery in Portland. And while it was their Aviation gin that inspired the visit, it was their caraway-flavored spirit with the heavy notes of anise that really caught my attention. Of course, I went home with a bottle. At the time, I didn't have a lot of experience with aquavit, and it sat in my liquor cabinet for quite some time untouched. But thankfully all that has changed, and aquavit, with its complicated flavors, is one of my favorite things.

Aquavit, like gin, gives distillers the freedom to express their creativity and thus formulate a signature flavor. Fortunately, the boundaries are only limited by each distiller's imagination. Caraway is usually the dominant flavor, but other flavors like fennel, coriander, citrus peels and anise commonly round out the blend. Strangely, many of these ingredients are also used in gin recipes. But the presence of the caraway, as well as other more savory ingredients like cumin, dill or even amber (tree resin is used in the production of Aalborg), give aquavit a flavor profile all its own.

The only unfortunate thing about aquavit is its availability. Considering that more and more bartenders are becoming interested in experimenting with its notoriously savory flavors, historically only three brands have been imported: Aalborg (Denmark), Linie (Norway), and O.P. Andersson (Sweden). This is just a tiny fraction of the aquavit produced worldwide. The arrival of a new aquavit on the scene, Aquavit New York (Sweden, only imported to New York), may represent a much needed shift.

On the flip side, a few American craft distillers have recently become infatuated with the challenges and intricacies of aquavit. Who can blame them? These American aquavits have helped bolster the popularity of the spirit, making it a more common sight on back bars. Like many craft-distilled gins, American craft aquavits can often be characterized by their big, bold flavors. Krogstad Aquavit, from House Spirits, is unlike Scandinavian aquavits in that it has a whopping dose of anise in addition to the caraway. These bold flavors make a dram of this spirit a wonderfully intense experience. These powerful flavors make Krogstad especially well-suited for cocktails, because it can stand up to other bold flavors.

While aquavit's presence on cocktail menus has certainly grown, there is still plenty of room for improvement. But the caraway flavor can provide quite a challenge. Use too little, and you don't know it's there, too much and the results can be overly medicinal, at best. And like gin, even picking the best aquavit for a cocktail can prove problematic. American aquavits can easily overpower other delicate ingredients, and the Scandinavian aquavits can play the wallflower. All of these issues together have kept aquavit from receiving its moment in the sun. Hopefully this is about to change. Here are some of my more recent aquavit cocktail discoveries.  

Nordic Reviver (created by Evan Martin, Ba Bar)

3/4 ounce aquavit
3/4 ounce lemon juice
3/4 ounce Cointreau
3/4 ounce Swedish punsch

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

Notes on Ingredients: I halved the aquavit between Krogstad and Linie and used homemade Swedish punsch.

Because of its herbal characteristics, aquavit can often often be substituted for gin, especially when the cocktail also includes fresh juices. In fact, like gin, aquavit can be easily be inserted in most vodka drinks to embolden the flavors.

This is one of my favorite Ccrpse revivers variations, though to be perfectly correct it is a variation of the Corpse Reviver 2a. In the original cocktail, Evan used Aalborg. I decided to blend a Norwegian aquavit, Linie, with an American one Krogstad, to bump up the flavors just a bit. The Linie differs from most of the other available aquavits as it has been mellowed for four and a half months in used Oloroso sherry casks. In the Nordic Reviver, the anise notes of the absinthe work exceptionally well with the caraway of the Linie, and the Swedish punsch adds a nice tannic, spice layer. I would think that the Krogstad would work equally well in this cocktail, though the absinthe rinse may not be needed.

[Unnamed Work in Progress] (created by Ben Philip Perri, Zig Zag Cafe)

1 1/2 ounces aquavit
1/2 ounce rye
1/2 ounce Punt e Mes
1/4 ounce maraschino liqueur
1 dash mescal


Combine ingredients in an ice-filled mixing glass. Stir and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Linie aquavit, Rittenhouse bonded rye, and Maraska maraschino. I chose the del Maguey Minero for the mescal.

Aquavit also pairs exceptionally well with rye. The Old Bay Ridge, David Wondrich's aquavit-rye old fashioned, showcases just how well this works in the simplest terms; it is a traditional old fashioned but with the spirit allotment split in half between the rye and aquavit. In cocktails with herbal vermouths, aquavit's affinity for rye becomes incredibly important--just a bit of rye mellows out the aquavit's herbaceousness and makes blending two very different herbal ingredients that much easier. While this cocktail is a loose variation on the Red Hook, it highlights what can happen when caraway intersects with rye. I find that the dash of mescal provides that extra level of oomph that really pushes this drink for good to great. Substituting a peaty scotch for the mescal would probably work as well, though it would still be quite different.

From Norway to Sicily


1 ounce aquavit
3/4 ounce Averna
1/2 ounce rye
1/8 ounce (bar spoon) Benedictine
2 dashes aromatic bitters


Combine ingredients in an ice-filled mixing glass. Stir and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Linie aquavit, Sazerac rye, and Angostura bitters.

Lately I have been kind of obsessed with adding amari to almost everything. So when I started thinking about aquavit, I thought, why not? Initially I was inspired to use Averna with its mild bitterness to match up with the mild Linie. Sweet vermouth was an option that I passed on. I really wanted to explore the intersection of the aquavit and the amaro. Using vermouth would have added a different feel, though it would have made the entire endeavour easier. Suffice it to say, the early attempts were ugly. Marley Tomic Beard of Sexton gave me some advice that led me to a perfect solution. Like in the above cocktail, the addition of rye really fixed this drink. Then the rest just fell into place. I am sure that further experimentation with aquavit and different amari would also yield really some really memorable drinks.

Some Thoughts on the Bittersweet: Berlioni

Lately, my thoughts have been lingering on the idea of bittersweet. Essentially composed of two opposing adjectives mashed together, its origins are not surprisingly connected to food. In the fourteenth century, this word gained recognition in association with a specific type of apples that still carry the same moniker today. Bittersweet apples are commonly used in English style ciders on account of their complex flavors. But it wasn't only medieval tastes that appreciated the bittersweet. Modern tastes have fully embraced the joys as well--just think about the popularity of bittersweet chocolate. Could it be that we secretly yearn for the inherent complexity, and will gladly risk bitter aftertaste. But taste is so easy, so present tense, so experiential.

Over time, of course, language shifted the adjective away from the concrete and into the abstract. By the sixteenth century, bittersweet was used differently, associated more with simultaneous feelings of pleasure and suffering or even pain. Here too its usage has become widespread. Perhaps we have even cut to the quick of the contemporary human condition. After we bundled together to form cities and flirted with the fleeting idea of civilization, only then did we learn to savor the double-edged sword that is the bittersweet. Though some of us may have just fallen under the spell of the falling snow.

In the context of cocktails, the word "bittersweet" generally reverts to its less abstract meaning, where there are entire categories of drinks dedicated to it. Negronis and all of its endless variations epitomize the boozy bittersweet. There, bitter and sweet are so intricately laced together, differentiating where one sensation begins and the other ends is futile. But as I waded through my nostalgic pangs, it was the Berlioni, a Negroni variation first created by Gonçalo De Sousa Monteiro in Berlin, that suited my mood. Though I had initially discovered it on the cocktail blog, Oh Gosh, my experience with the Berlioni began on a cold late November evening over a year ago. A mild snow was in the air, but that didn't stop me from wandering down to the Zig Zag. The bar was mostly empty except for the few willing to foolishly find warmth in the bottom of a glass and wait for the traffic to die down. With the sky full of flakes, there was a sense of thinly veiled mystery in the air--some sort of intangible feeling that something is different, that the world could be turned upside down in a matter of moments.

Bittersweet moments are ephemeral--it is almost how we can recognize them. Certain circumstances align, and we are given a glimpse of something sensational, otherworldly, and then before you can even blink, it's gone. How could you not feel a lingering malaise, which is so like a bitter aftertaste? And if you try to re-create the experience, you just end up rediscovering what you've lost. For me this drink is intertwined with the bittersweet. Perhaps it is unfair that such a delightful beverage has become mired in the melancholy. Undoubtedly, I ordered it on a whim, but the association has become too strong. But sometimes I sit down with a Berlioni, and remember a time when what is possible wasn't so limited and relive the bittersweet in my mind, just because I can.

Berlioni

1 ounce gin
2/3 ounce Cynar
1/2 ounce dry vermouth

Stir with ice in a mixing glass. Strain into a chilled whiskey glass or other smallish glass. Garnish with an orange twist.

Notes on Ingredients: I used Plymouth gin and Dolin dry vermouth.

When I think of the word "bittersweet," examples easily come to mind that convey more than just regret or suffering in the face of happiness, more than unexpected complexity. But no one is safe from its call, so intertwined it is with the drama of living. Perhaps, though we don't like to admit it, the bittersweet is prized like nutmeg in the early days of the American colonies. Draped around one's neck, whether exposed like a status symbol, or hidden beneath layers of cloth and held, it is something we need to keep close. Perhaps not so much a sign of cosmopolitanism, but of the pitfalls of living life fully--a mantel of pride nonetheless.