The Drunken Botanist: The Plants that Create the World's Great Drinks (55 page)

Santalum acuminatum

santalaceae (sandalwood family)

T
his Australian native is a hemiparasite, which means that it gets some, but not all, of its nutrition by robbing other plants. It thrives in poor soil, where its roots reach out to any nearby trees or shrubs, piercing their root systems and taking water, nitrogen, and other nutrients from them. It does produce its own sugars, but that's not enough to let it stand on its own. Quandong cannot grow unless other plants are nearby, making it difficult to cultivate.

The small red fruit is a uniquely Australian treat. Imagine a tart version of a peach, apricot, or guava. It's an aboriginal delicacy that has been made into jams, syrups, and pie fillings. The nuts were used as a traditional medicine; because they are encased in a hard shell, they would pass unmolested through the digestive tracts of emus and could be gathered from emu droppings.

But there's no need to go digging through emu droppings to enjoy a quandong cocktail. The fruits are being used by inventive Australian distillers eager to celebrate indigenous plants. Tamborine Mountain Distillery makes a quandong and gentian bitter liqueur; these and other products are helping to put quandong on fine cocktail menus around Australia.

ROWAN BERRY

Sorbus aucuparia

rosaceae (rose family)

A
lso called the European mountain ash, this flowering tree is not related to ash trees at all but is instead a relative of roses and blackberries. It thrives in hedgerows and wild areas throughout England and much of Europe, where the small, orange-red berries are prized for their high vitamin C content. They are used in homemade country wines, and to flavor traditional ales and liqueurs. An Austrian eau-de-vie called Vogelbeer, distilled from rowan berries, is an excellent example of an entire class of rowan berry spirits called
Vogelbeerschnaps.
Alsatian distillers, not to be outdone by the Austrians, make a lovely version of their own called
eau-de-vie de sorbier.

SLOE BERRY

Prunus spinosa

rosaceae (rose family)

I
t took a renewed interest in wild, local, seasonal fruit to bring the sloe back from obscurity. Sloe gin, called snag gin in the nineteenth century, is nothing more than gin infused with sugar, perhaps some spices, and the small, astringent fruit of the thorny blackthorn shrub. It is a sweet red liqueur, much like damson gin, that people once made at home from fruit gathered in the countryside. Syrupy, artificially flavored versions gave it a bad reputation in the twentieth century, but fresh ingredients and authentic recipes have returned. The makers of Plymouth Gin have come to the rescue, distributing their sloe gin internationally, and craft distillers are undoubtedly experimenting with sloes at this very moment.

The blackthorn is a close relative to the plum and cherry, but unlike those lovely trees, the blackthorn is not usually cultivated in orchards or gardens. It takes the form of a massive, fifteen foot-tall shrub covered in thorns and stiff branches. While it makes an excellent thicket or hedgerow, its messy habit and small, sour fruit make it the sort of plant that is best left in the countryside. It grows throughout England and most of Europe but is only cultivated in North America by the most dedicated growers of obscure fruit.

Its starry white flowers are among the first to appear in the spring, followed in fall by blackish purple fruits that can be harvested through the first frost. They are not sweet enough to be eaten on their own, so sloes are made into jams and pies—but their highest and best use is sloe gin. The fruit is picked, washed, scored with a knife to break the skin, and soaked in gin or neutral grain spirits, along with sugar, for up to a year. The liqueur can be sipped neat—it's a nice winter pick-me-up—or mixed into a classic cocktail like the sloe gin fizz.

In the Basque region of Spain and southwestern France, a liqueur called
pacharán
or
patxaran
is made by macerating sloes in anisette, or a neutral spirit mixed with aniseed, and perhaps a few other spices such as vanilla and coffee beans. While it is commercially produced—Zoco is one such brand—families often make it themselves, and homemade versions are still served in small restaurants. Similar drinks include Germany's
Schlehenfeuer
and Italy's
bargnolino
or
prugnolino,
which combines sloes with a high-proof spirit, sugar, and either red or white wine. An
eau-de-vie de prunelle sauvage
is made in France's Alsace region.

Before sloe gin was adulterated with artificial flavors, it was itself an adulterant: added to bad wine, it passed for port in cheap wine shops. In their 1895 book
The New Forest: Its Traditions, Inhabitants and Customs,
authors Rose Champion De Crespigny and Horace Hutchinson noted that “when port wine went out of fashion we were told that it was made of log-wood and old boots. Since it has returned to fashion the demand for sloes has increased proportionately, affording strong grounds for inference that other things besides the log-wood and the boots are of its composition.”

SLOES

Sloes are common hedgerow plants in England; in North America, they are difficult (but not impossible) to find at specialty fruit tree nurseries. These tough, hardy shrubs can form an impenetrable thicket given the opportunity. Expect them to reach fifteen feet and spread to at least five feet, but they can be pruned and kept small.

Plant sloes in full sun or light shade in moist, well-drained soil, preferably out of high-traffic areas as the thorns can be a nuisance. The shrubs are deciduous, meaning that they drop their leaves in winter, and will bloom in early spring and produce fruit in fall. Sloes are hardy to about –20 degrees Fahrenheit.

 

shade/sun

regular water

hardy to -20f/-29c

Leaving fruit on the branch until the first frost makes them a little sweeter, but the tart flavor is what makes them so good in sloe gin.

SLOE GIN FIZZ

2 ounces sloe gin

½ ounce lemon juice (the juice of roughly half a lemon)

1 teaspoon simple syrup or sugar

1 fresh egg white

Club soda

Pour all the ingredients except club soda into a cocktail shaker without ice. Shake vigorously for at least 15 seconds. (This “dry shake” helps the egg white get frothy in the shaker; you can skip it if you'd rather not include egg whites.) Then add ice and shake for at least 10 to 15 seconds more. Pour into a highball glass filled with ice and top with club soda. Some people replace half the sloe gin with dry gin to make it less sweet, but try it this way first—you'll be surprised by how refreshingly tart it is.

CITRUS

 

Citrus
: The botanical genus that includes lemon, orange, lime, citron, shaddock, and other varieties and cultivars. Because it is segmented into sections, citrus fruit is classified as a hesperidium, or a berry with a thick, leathery rind.

CITRUS: THE BARTENDER'S ORANGERIE

Citrus
spp.
rutaceae (rue family)

Imagine how difficult a bartender's job would be if every recipe involving citrus was taken away. Mojitos? Fresh lime is a requirement. Margaritas? They call for lime and triple sec, an orange liqueur. Martinis? Gin is flavored with citrus peels. Citrus adds a certain brightness, a certain sparkle, to most drinks. It boosts the top notes, those ephemeral floral and herbal flavors that might otherwise be lost in a complex distillation process. And remarkably, some of the most sour, inedible citrus make some of the best liqueurs.

Today's citrus varieties are the result of centuries of experimentation and hybridizing, making their exact lineage difficult to trace. All citrus trees we know today, including lemons and limes, probably originated from three unlikely candidates: the pomelo, a large, thick-skinned fruit like a grapefruit; the citron, with its formidable peel and distasteful fruit; and the sweet, thin-skinned mandarin. Some botanists believe that there were a couple other ancestors to modern citrus, which are now extinct.

Early records of citrus come from China, where four-thousand-year-old writings described people carrying bundles of small oranges and pomelos. Two thousand years later, the citron was moving across Europe. As impossible as it may be to imagine the Mediterranean and north Africa without its citrus trees, Arab traders brought the sour orange, the lime, and the pomelo to the region only eight hundred to a thousand years ago. The sweet orange came only four hundred years ago, when Portuguese traders carried it back from China. By this time, citrus was moving all over the world—sometimes with strange and unintended consequences.

On Columbus's second voyage to the Americas, in 1493, he brought sweet oranges with him and made some attempts to establish them in the Caribbean. Just a few decades later, the first orange trees showed up in Florida. But something surprising happened when explorers, familiar only with growing conditions in their Mediterranean climate back home, planted citrus in the hot, tropical Caribbean region.

First, many of the trees refused to produce orange fruit. In the hottest weather, citrus can remain stubbornly green. It turns out that the most vivid color develops only when the night air takes on a slight chill, as it does in California or, for that matter, in Spain or Italy. Cooler temperatures break down the chlorophyll in the rind, letting the orange pigments show through. In hot climates, the fruit might taste sweet, but the rind remains tinged in green and yellow.

The other surprise? Some trees became mutant freaks after being planted on tropical islands, producing bitter, pithy fruit with thick rinds that seemed to have no culinary value. But colonists, desperate to make use of the crops they'd worked so hard to plant, discovered that drowning them in hard liquor improved them considerably.

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