Shake the first five ingredients together with ice, strain into a cocktail glass, then add the sparkling wine. Add a lime leaf on top (you can fish one out of the shaker).
I was browsing Mastodon the other day, when I spotted an interesting post on the #cocktails tag. This post featured someone having a French 75 (which I've tried before) along with something called an Old Cuban, which I'd never heard of before! Of course, I had to try it.
The art of cocktail design is the art of swapping ingredients out for each other. There are really very few cocktail "structures", and the more recipes you see the more similarities you notice. French 75 and Old Cuban are the same style: a short sour cocktail topped up with champagne. French 75 uses gin and lemon, while Old Cuban uses rum and lime. Same principle, different base. See also the barracuda.
The other real difference is garnish. French 75 wants a twist of lemon zest, but Old Cuban calls for mint instead. And this is where I went off-piste a bit. Not having mint, I scoured the freezer for some other fresh-tasting herb, and found only lime leaves, that staple of Thai cooking that lends a bright zing to anything it turns up in. Without further ado, I threw them in the shaker and went for it.
The result is superb! A great combination of flavours, with strong, sweet, sour, fragrant and fizzy all balanced nicely. The lime leaves really came out, and I think justified a change of name: not an Old Cuban, but a Bangkok Cuban.
I may try the original sometime when I have mint in. I always have some over the summer during Pimm's season, so watch this space!
Pour the amaro and vermouth into an old-fashioned glass and put it into the freezer for an hour, until just frozen. Add the soda water, stir, and add a thick
half-slice of orange.
Amaro is a category of liqueurs, usually Italian, with a bitter or bittersweet taste, based on wine or spirits infused with botanicals. Famous amaros include Campari, Cynar and Jägermeister, all of which I've had at some point, and some of which have appeared on this blog. Now an excellent friend of mine has given me a bottle of Amaro Montenegro, and after a few tastes I was keen to try it in a cocktail.
I've previously enjoyed Campari in an americano) and loved it, so this seemed a good place to start. I followed the usual recipe for an americano, but using this new amaro instead of Campari. Montenegro is much sweeter than Campari, so I was looking forward to something easier to drink.
Here's where things got interesting, because I'd run out of ice. Necessity is the mother of invention, so I decided just to chill the glass and ingredients in the freezer for a while, minus the soda which would go flat. I went ahead and, predictably, forgot about it for an hour so came back to two red ice cubes.
I was contemplating thawing it in the microwave, but then remembered that, of course, many people like frozen cocktails. How bad could it be, I thought, as I added the soda water.
I was lucky! The mix of drinks hadn't frozen solid, but made a sort of snow that stirred easily into liquid, and produced a very nicely textured slush drink. I added the orange as planned, and sipped.
Superb! There are so many flavours in the amaro, with such complexity, yet enough bitterness to make a really well balanced cocktail. And the frozen texture was delightful, with a smooth chill, and none of the crunch of a slush puppy or frozen margarita. Probably getting it to only-just-freezing helps a lot. I'll be experimenting more with frozen drinks in future.
This spring, for the first time, I've taken an active interest in wildflowers in
St Andrews, and although we're only in March, it's already brought me a lot of
joy. In the past I've always enjoyed seeing flowers begin to come out: the
transition from snowdrops to crocuses to daffodils to bluebells is a nice
pattern to watch, and a happy sign that winter won't last forever. But this
year I've paid more attention, and I've been delighted by how many interesting
plants are right at my feet when I actually stop to look.
When I go out walking, I've been stopping when I see a flower I don't recognise,
and doing my best to identify it. I've been taking Collins British Common Wild
Flower Guide out with me, and I can usually get a positive identification,
perhaps with some help from Google Lens. I've even kept a little diary of what
I've seen on which dates, and seeing new plants spring up each time I go out has
been very satisfying.
Lade Braes is a particularly beautiful area, where we are treated each year to
carpets of wild spring bulbs, each in their season, all the way along the
Kinnessburn from Cockshaugh park westwards. It's my favourite place in St
Andrews to walk, and it's where today's story begins.
At the start of March, I noticed these pretty blue flowers appearing all along
Lade Braes:
I'd seen them in previous years, and so I looked for them in the Wild Flower
Guide, but there was nothing that seemed to match them. I tried Google Lens,
and I couldn't settle on an exact species, but it seemed likely that these were
squills: six-petalled perennials of the genus Scilla, which my guide
didn't have much on. I decided to take a few photos and investigate further
later on. There were plenty of these things all the way along the path, so I
got plenty of photos.
When I got home and looked more closely at the photos, I was surprised to see that
these plants were not actually all identical. The flowers' shapes and colours,
the positions of the stamens and the way they were grouped on the stem, made it
clear that I had found at least three different species, none of which were in
my book, and none of which I could find much reliable information for online. I
went back a few days later to get more photos, and I noticed even more variation
than the first time.
Finally I snapped and went to Topping and Co., the booksellers on Greyfriars. I
flicked through all the wild flower guides I could find and was still
disappointed, until I discovered New Flora of the British Isles, by Clive
Stace, a 1200-page tome filled with dense technical descriptions of just about
every plant in these isles, including a good section on squills. I bought it
(an investment) and took it home to study.
I'm delighted to say that, of the 12 species of Scilla described in Stace's
book, we have at least 5 growing here in St Andrews. Hold on tight.
First, the easiest one to spot:
Glory-of-the-snow (Scilla forbesii), the most abundant squill on Lade
Braes. Note the long "neck" of the flower, as well as the white-to-blue
gradient on its petals, and its stamens gathered in the middle.
Glory-of-the-snow used to be considered a separate genus, Chionodoxa, but
sometime in the 1970s its close relation to the squills was noted and it was
reclassified as a subgenus of Scilla. Also in the Chionodoxa subgenus is
the following:
Lesser glory-of-the-snow (Scilla sardensis), smaller than S. forbesii and
only a single colour. I could only find a few of these on Lade Braes, but
I've since found some in my garden!
Third is a more classic squill, although still not one that appears in common
wildflower books:
Alpine squill (Scilla bifolia), spotted on the path around Cockshaugh park.
No "neck", and with stamens that stick out in six different directions. Many
flowers bunched up together on each plant.
The fourth and final species gets more abundant as you travel west along Lade
Braes, forming nice "carpets" up the bank between the two paths above the burn:
Siberian squill (Scilla siberica), just west of Cockshaugh park.
Flower hangs down, with distinctive petal shape and a yellow ovary tucked
between the prominent stamens. Note that "Siberian" is a misnomer: it's
native to southwestern Russia, the Caucasus, and Turkey.
I also found one more squill, which I had trouble identifying. The key in New
Flora didn't quite work, with some features matching the alpine squill and
others matching glory-of-the-snow. I was baffled, until I spotted a note in the
book mentioning hybrids, and things started to make sense.
For anyone who doesn't know, in biology, a hybrid is an organism resulting
from two different species cross-breeding, and will generally have some
characteristics of each of the parent species. Some well-known plants and
animals are hybrids – for example, a mule being a cross between a horse and a
donkey – and some are even fertile enough to establish stable populations.
The book mentioned one notable hybrid squill: a cross between the alpine squill
and glory-of-the-snow, the exact two I was torn between. I looked it up online
and found this RHS entry, which
confirmed it. I give you the hybrid squill!
Hybrid squill (Scilla × allenii), a cross between S. bifolia and
S. forbesii, found occasionally on Lade Braes near both parent species.
Note the prominent stamens like S. bifolia, but with petals longer and
joining together in a "neck" like S. forbesii.
This hybrid is fertile and popular in gardens, so it may have escaped or been
planted deliberately as-is. However, both parent species are present nearby,
and according to Wikipedia this
hybridisation has been seen to occur independently in multiple places. So I
wonder if the plants have just hybridised naturally right here in St Andrews!
So there we are: at least 5 different squills growing happily together in our
town. I have no idea whether these are truly wild or were planted by the
council or volunteers; I do know that several of them are widespread in many
nearby gardens, so they do at least seem to spread easily.
If anyone knows anything more about these plants, or can spot any mistakes I've
made in my identification, I'd love to learn more. I'm not a botanist, and I
had to learn a lot to manage the identifications above.
In the meantime, I believe these should be flowering until April, so you should
still have time to go and see them if you're nearby. Treat yourself!
Shake the first three ingredients with ice, then strain into a
cocktail glass. Add the sparkling white wine and an apricot.
This drink came from The Good
Mixer,
a section of The Guardian's website. I've had trouble with that
section before, because it tends to feature outrageously obscure
cocktail ingredients like shiso
leaves,
tukmaria
and vanilla
bitters.
This week I happened to get lucky: I've got just the end of a bottle
of lychee liqueur that I got as a present a year or two ago (it's
delicious). It's supposed to be pomegranate syrup instead of
cranberry syrup, and the garnish should really be dried cranberries
instead of an apricot, but I figured I was close enough.
The result was delightful, a nice approach to the Christmas period.
The drink is sweet, but the cranberry adds some much-needed tartness
and dryness, and makes it taste complex and grown-up.
Shake the first four ingredients together with ice, strain into a
cocktail glass, then add the bitters on top. Add a twist of orange zest.
I got a bottle of orgeat syrup a while ago for tiki cocktails (see the
Mai Tai)
and I was impressed with its complexity and aromas. It’s not just almond
syrup, it has orange flowers and other stuff too! So I thought I’d see
what else I can make.
This is perhaps the most obvious choice: a classic sour cocktail based
on gin and lemon, but with orgeat instead of plain old sugar syrup. I
might have come up with this myself, but apparently it already has a
name: an Army & Navy. It's described in David A. Embury’s influential
The Fine Art of Mixing Drinks (1948) where he complains (as usual)
about the ratios used, and demands something far sourer than I'd have
liked. He also suggests the bitters and water, which are just what it
needed. I've adjusted the ratios to my taste.
Overall, it's very nice! You really get the flavours of the orgeat, but
it's not sickly. If I was going to adjust it, I'd raise the gin, since
it's a little overpowered.
I can't figure out the origin of the name, but it might be that it
originated in the "Army and Navy Club" in New York.
Shake together with lots of ice, and strain into a cocktail glass. Cut a
thin slice of lemon peel, and fold it once, zest outward, over the
glass, then drop it in.
You might have seen, and ignored, bison grass vodka in supermarkets and
pubs. Apparently Polish people love it, and some of them drink it with apple
juice. I've had a bottle for a year or so and haven't done much with it – a shot
once or twice. I figured it might go well in a cocktail, so I finally used it to
make the classic Vodka Martini which I thought
would bring out its best without disguising any of its flavours.
I absolutely love it! The aromas are so fresh and dry, and the lemon
zest complements them perfectly. Every sip is so full of flavour, and
that drop of vermouth seems to add the needed sweetness or something,
making it so much richer than a simple shot. It's easily as interesting
as any gin martini, and is a hundred times more interesting than plain
vodka.
I thought it would just be something nice to try, but I think this is a
contender for new favourite drink. I'll be having more in the future!
Shake the whiskey, lemon juice and syrup together with ice and strain
into a rocks glass filled with fresh ice. Pour the wine over a teaspoon
on the top of the drink so that it floats on top. Add a twist of lemon
zest.
Excellent fun to look at, and a more interesting drink to taste than the
simpler whiskey sour, which had never done much for me.
The chilled red wine is very drinkable, and since you drink most of it
first it acts as a nice build-up to the stronger, spirit-based main
course below.
Could probably be improved by adding bitters at the whiskey stage. This
might help add complexity, which is lacking.
Cut a thin slice out of the centre of a nice sweet apple, admire the
5-pointed rotational symmetry, and put it in a cocktail glass. Shake
the brandy, lemon juice and syrup with ice and strain into the glass.
Add a couple of drops of bitters.
I made this up the other night when I wanted to try something
different. I stuck to the usual 3:1:1 sour cocktail formula I love,
and added a little bitters ("the salt and pepper of cocktails") just
to add depth.
The result was beautiful: intensely sharp but just sweet enough that
it was a delight to drink. Apple works well as a garnish, and this
was much less sickly than my various attempts at a
mapletini.
Shake with ice and strain into a cocktail glass. Add a twist of lemon
zest.
I was out in an Italian restaurant in St Andrews on Thursday, and I
was delighted by the cocktails that were offered. After a strong
recommendation, I tried the "limoncello martini" in lieu of pudding,
and was impressed enough that I decided to make one myself.
The taste is all about the limoncello. On its own it's a lovely
liqueur, but it's very strongly flavoured and in larger quantities
it's quite overpowering. Here, it plays the role of "sweet" in a
classic sour cocktail, and the other ingredients provide a stage for
it to shine magnificently -- the vodka gives a strong boozy hit with
utterly neutral flavour, and the lemon juice offsets the sweet and
bitter zesty tastes of the limoncello in a very natural way. If you
like limoncello, you'll like this.
I object to the slapping of the label "martini" on anything that
comes in a cocktail glass -- see for example the espresso
martini,
the French
martini
and the pornstar
martini,
none of which have actual Italian vermouth anywhere near them. It
seems to be a lazy naming scheme originating from patronising
marketing people who think that the public won't buy anything they
haven't heard of. Many of these names are now established, but since
this one's new, I'm going to refer to this as what it really is: a
limoncello sour.
