The Drunken Botanist: The Plants that Create the World's Great Drinks (2 page)

And so on. Around the world, it seems, there is not a tree or shrub or delicate wildflower that has not been harvested, brewed, and bottled. Every advance in botanical exploration or horticultural science brought with it a corresponding uptick in the quality of our spirituous liquors. Drunken botanists? Given the role they play in creating the world's great drinks, it's a wonder there are any sober botanists at all.

With this book, I hope to offer a plant's-eye perspective on booze and to supply a little history, a little horticulture, and even some agricultural advice for those of you who want to grow your own. I
begin with the plants we actually turn into alcohol, such as grapes and apples, barley and rice, sugarcane and corn. Any of them can, with the help of yeast, be transformed into molecules of intoxicating ethyl alcohol. But that's only the beginning. A great gin or a fine French liqueur is flavored with innumerable herbs, seeds, and fruit, some of them added during distillation and some just before bottling. And once a bottle gets to the bar, a third round of plants are called into service: mixers like mint, lemon, and—if the party's at my house—fresh jalapeño. I structured the book around this journey from mash tub and still, to bottle, to glass. Within each section, the plants are arranged in alphabetical order by their common name.

It would be impossible to describe every plant that has ever flavored an alcoholic beverage. I am certain that at this very moment, a craft distiller in Brooklyn is plucking a weed from a crack in the sidewalk and wondering if it would make a good flavoring for a new line of bitters. Marc Wucher, an Alsatian eau-de-vie maker, once told a reporter, “We distill everything except our mothers-in-law,” and if you've ever been to Alsace, you know he wasn't exaggerating.

So I was forced to pick and choose from the world's botanical bounty. Although I tried to cover some of the more obscure, exotic, and forgotten plants we imbibe, and to tell of some strange brews you'd have to travel the globe to sample, most of the plants you'll meet in this book will be familiar to American and European drinkers. I covered 160 in all and could have easily explored a few hundred more. Many of them have botanical, medicinal, and culinary histories so vast that a few pages can't do them justice—and in fact, some of them, such as quinine, sugarcane, apples, grapes, and corn have already received the book-length treatment they deserve. What I hope to do here is to give you just a taste of the dazzlingly rich, complex, and delicious lives of the plants that go into all those bottles behind the bar.

 

Before we proceed, a few disclaimers are in order. The history of drinking is riddled with legends, distortions, half-truths, and outright lies. I didn't think any field of study could be more prone to myths and misstatements than botany, but that was before I started
researching cocktails. Facts tend to get bent out of shape over a round of drinks, and liquor companies aren't obligated to stick to the truth at all: their secret formulas can remain a secret, and the burlap bags of herbs placed about the distillery might be there only for ambience or even for misdirection. If I state plainly that a liqueur contains a particular herb, that's because the manufacturer or someone else with direct, firsthand knowledge of the process, said it did. Sometimes one can only guess at secret ingredients, so I've tried to make it clear when I'm guessing as well. And if the story of a beverage's origin seems dubious or cannot be verified from anything other than a single, yellowing newspaper clipping, I'll let you know that, too.

To those of you with more than a passing interest in distillation or mixology, I urge you to be wary of experimenting with unknown plants. As the author of a book on poisonous plants, I can tell you that dropping the wrong herb into a still or a bottle for the purpose of extracting its active ingredients might be your last act of creativity. I've included some warnings about deadly look-alikes and dangerous botanical relatives. Do remember that plants employ powerful chemicals as defenses against the very thing you want to do to them, which is to pluck them from the ground and devour them. Before you go foraging, get a reputable field guide and follow it closely.

It is also important to note that distillers can use sophisticated equipment to extract flavorings from a plant and leave the more harmful molecules behind, but an amateur soaking a handful of leaves in vodka has no such control. Some of the plants described in this book are poisonous, illegal, or tightly regulated. Just because a distiller can work with them safely doesn't mean you can, too. Some things are best left to the experts.

Finally, a word of caution about medicinal plants. The history of many of the herbs, spices, and fruits in this book is the very history of medicine. Many of them were traditionally used, and are still being used, to treat a range of ailments. I find that history fascinating and I've shared some of it here, but none of it is intended as medical advice. An Italian digestif can be surprisingly soothing to a troubled stomach or a troubled mind; beyond that, I'm unwilling to speculate.

 

Every great drink starts with a plant. If you're a gardener, I hope this book inspires a cocktail party. If you're a bartender, I hope you're persuaded to put up a greenhouse or at least plant a window box. I want everyone who walks through a botanical garden or hikes a mountain ridge to see not just greenery but the very elixir of life—the aqua vitae—that the plant world has given us. I've always found horticulture to be an agreeably intoxicating subject; I hope you will, too.
Cheers!

 

These are simple, classic recipes that best express the way a particular plant can be put to use in liquor. There are several original recipes, but even they are variations on the classics. If you're new to mixing drinks, here are a few hints.

Serving size:
A cocktail is not supposed to be an enormous drink. The modern martini glass is a monstrosity; filled to the rim, it holds eight ounces of liquid. That's four to five drinks, more than anyone should choke down in a single sitting. (If nothing else, the liquor gets warm before you finish it.)

A serving of straight liquor is one and a half ounces, which is, conveniently, the larger end of a jigger. (The smaller side, called a pony, is three-quarters of an ounce.) Add liqueur or vermouth, and a not-too-excessive drink might contain the equivalent of two ounces of hard alcohol.

The recipes in this book conform to that standard. A nicely proportioned drink, sipped while it's still cold, is a lovely thing. Have a second one if you want, but do get in the habit of mixing one small, civilized drink at a time. To facilitate this, measure all your pours, and please get rid of your jumbo-sized cocktail glasses (or reserve them for drinks that are mostly fruit juice), and invest in a set of more modestly proportioned stemware. Oh, and speaking of glasses, for the recipes in this book, you can get by with Champagne flutes, wine glasses, and the following:

•
Old-Fashioned glasses
—Short, wide six-to eight-ounce tumblers.

•
Highball glasses
—Taller glasses that hold around twelve ounces. A standard sixteen-ounce drinking glass, or, for that matter, a Mason jar, will do.

•
Cocktail glasses
—Conical or bowl-shaped glasses with a stem; the basic martini glass.

A few other terms, ingredients, and ideas that might need further explanation:

Ice:
Do not be timid about adding ice or a splash of water to a drink. It does not water down the drink; it improves it. Water actually loosens the hold that alcohol has on aromatic molecules, which heightens rather than dilutes the flavor.

Muddling:
To muddle is to mash herbs or fruit in the bottom of a cocktail shaker, often with a blunt wooden implement called a muddler. If you don't have one of those, use a wooden spoon. Cocktails made with muddled ingredients are strained so that crushed plant matter doesn't end up in the glass.

Simple syrup:
Simple syrup is a mixture of equal parts water and sugar, heated to a boil to dissolve the sugar, then allowed to cool. Sugar water will attract bacteria, so don't bother mixing up a large batch—it won't keep long. Just mix a little when you need it. If time is short, a microwave and a freezer can speed up the boiling and subsequent cooling considerably.

Standard-issue egg white warning:
Some of the recipes call for raw egg whites. If you are concerned about the possible health consequences of consuming raw eggs, please skip those.

Tonic water:
Don't ruin high-quality liquor with terrible tonic. Look for premium brands like Fever-Tree or Q Tonic, which are made with real ingredients, not artificial flavors and high-fructose corn syrup.

 

Visit
drunkenbotanist.com
for more recipes and techniques.

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