Monthly Archives: October 2009
Gourmet Underground Detroit's content archives are organized by date and catalog the aggregated content of our Features pages as well as our blog.
2004 Domaine de la Louvetrie Muscadet Sèvre et Maine “Le Fief du Breil”
My favorite Muscadet wines all seem to share a similar aroma that is difficult to describe, something like clean, white cotton sheets in a spring breeze, like laundry detergent makers want you to think their product smells like. Or it could be the smell of rain, a few, fat drops that fall on sun-baked concrete and immediately vaporize. It’s not exactly that either. It’s more like the core of the fruit, it’s essence, the smell of it and all the Melon de Bourgogne grapes before it. Or it could just be the result of aging on the lees. Whatever it is, all my favorite Muscadet wines have it.
Jo Landron’s 2004 Domaine de la Louvetrie Muscadet Sèvre et Maine “Le Fief du Breil” has it. That and crusty bread and lemon peel and the most distant note of fruit trees in bloom. A mouthful is marked with a bracing acidity that brings with it more citrus and eventually levels out across the taste buds to finish crisp. Our friends at Gang of Pour will vouch. Good luck finding a $14 bottle of white wine better than this one.
She’s a Fiiish… Hooouse
Drinks generally share the same type of genesis as food: Culture, weather, geography, and available resources conspire to force food and drink in a direction. Rice and fish in Japan. Smoking tough cuts of meat in historically poorer areas. Mussels off the coast of Belgium. Leveraging every last part of highland animals to create haggis in Scotland. And so on.
Beer and wine, of course, fit that mold. Low alcohol, lighter, drier beers or whites in fish-friendly regions. Big wines in regions with spice. Family-brewed beers that fit farming lifestyles or pubs for high-density cities. But I hadn’t really thought much about spirits in that context until this weekend when I brought some Fish House Punch to my co-blogger’s house for a Saturday evening party.
Ted Haigh, aka Dr. Cocktail, writes about the punch:
In 1732, fully 104 years before Texas declared itself a Republic, Schuylkill (pronounced “SKOO-kull”), home of Fish House Punch, was its own colony, and later its own sovereign state. It must’ve been quite a place, too. It had a Navy (well, two boats). It had an army (OK, a cannon). At its core it was a club: The Schuylkill Fishing Company… A recipe as old as Fish House Punch, fervently slurped by the Father of Our Country, has inevitably gone through many fanciful formulations. Jerry Thomas related a simple (and probably accurate) recipe using lemon juice, sugar, water, peach brandy, Cognac and rum in 1862. Another was contributed by Mrs. Goodfellow’s Cooking School in 1907 that added oranges, strawberries or pineapple but called the addition of green tea “an abomination.”
The variations are interesting, and I can’t help but think these variations were spurred on by available ingredients. And more to the point, why rum and brandy? The answer, I suspect, is because of the importance of rum to the early colonies and which would have easily made its way into the areas near Philadelphia, a wealthy city in those days. Not surprisingly, the colonies and territories that would go on to form middle America seemed to acquire a fondness for bourbon, and while they had their own punches and juleps, Fish House Punch was created in a time and place that almost required its invention. Rum was available, and over time, those with access to strawberries or different types of teas or brandies would have altered the recipe to suit their needs, of course. Family recipes would have emerged all around three common ingredients: rum, brandy, and a need to make them easily quaffable.
The recipe I used was based on Haigh’s, with a substitution of some pretty piss poor apricot brandy for his suggested top-shelf peach brandy — in and of itself a choice made because Detroit doesn’t see a big selection of peach brandies.
Fish House Punch
- 2 quarts Jamaica rum (I used Mount Gay silver)
- 1 quart brandy (I used Hennessey and some from another bottle)
- 1/2 pint peach brandy
- 1/2 pint Maraschino liqueur
- 1 quart fresh-brewed green tea
- 1 pint fresh lemon juice
- 1 pound sugar
I’d like to try to make this in the future with some variations: black tea for green tea, slightly more lemon juice, replacing some or all of the sugar with some sort of homemade spicy sugar syrup, et cetera. Regardless, this is a great party punch that represents the fine human tradition of creating something amazing out of whatever ingredients are available. Enjoy it as a powerful social lubricant at your next gathering.
Dry Sherry Amor
“Enough,” he said; “the cough is a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough.”
“True — true,” I replied; “and, indeed, I had no intention of alarming you unnecessarily — but you should use all proper caution. A draught of this Medoc will defend us from the damps.”
Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew from a long row of its fellows that lay upon the mould.
“Drink,” I said, presenting him the wine.
He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused and nodded to me familiarly, while his bells jingled.
“I drink,” he said, “to the buried that repose around us.”
“And I to your long life.”
Until a few years ago my sole exposure to sherry came via the pages of an Edgar Allan Poe short story wherein Montresor lures his fellow noblemen Fortunato into the catacombs of his palazzo with the promise of sampling from a rare cask of Amontillado. It’s a story of revenge, memorable for a tight, driven plot and insights into character rarely found in the short fiction genre. Though I have always wondered what that cask might have contained.
It was at lakeside gathering of friends that I had my first taste. Putnam Weekley passed around appetizers of sardines and almonds to pair with tastes of Tio Pepe Fino. He offered it again once at his house. I admit I wasn’t impressed. It tasted narrow and odd but not forgettable.
Months later it came to me suddenly. At Michael Symon’s Roast Restaurant in downtown Detroit where the clouds parted and heavenly light shone on a post-meal Palo Cortado. The seal was broken. I purchased several bottles of Tio Pepe in the summer months with a newfound appreciation and subsequently pushed full glasses towards my closest friends. I’ve heard that Fino is an even better match for raw oysters than Muscadet. I look forward to testing this for myself.
As the days shorten I’ve turned to bottles of Lustau Los Arcos dry Amontillado. I buy this brand mainly because the wine stores I frequent don’t offer much else in the way of sherry. The others are either cheap swill for $5.99, or semi-dry, or both. I’m not complaining. Lustau is a fine drink of sherry. With a nose of raisins and dried leaves and a rich, nutty flavor tempered by a bracing acidity it pairs well with everything from nuts and cheese to root vegetable stew. It is a most food-friendly wine. I could drink a bottle in a sitting though 17%ABV tends to make me feel a little funny. But I generally throw the bottle in the refrigerator, where it keeps, opened, for weeks. I occasionally take a nip while cooking dinner. Plus, it makes a fantastic pan sauce and works well in Asian stir-fry gravies and various soups beyond the classic French onion.
Evidently, there’s a marketing plan in the works to get folks drinking sherry again. But as Dr. Vino describes, considering its reputation and the sort of intense flavors that are alien to most wine drinkers, it’ll be an uphill push. It is said that it takes a full ten tries before one acquires a taste for olives. Yet you’ll find that just about every decent market now offers a self-serve olive bar with several varieties these days. If my own experience is any measure, it should only take a few drinks in the right setting to grow a sherry drinker.
My own humble palace has no catacombs nor a rare cask of Amontillado, and I don’t want to kill you (probably). But follow me inside anyway, there might be a glass of sherry waiting for you.
Chateau la Grolet
Last year, around this time, I was drinking the 2002 vintage of Chateau la Grolet (the chateau is pictured at right) testing it out for Christmas dinner with part of my family in Baltimore. While that particular wine started with ragged edges and a lot of extracted fruit flavor, it opened up to become a truly gorgeous drink.
Tonight, moved perhaps by the crisp fall air and some primeval need for fatty richness, I decided to take advantage of a big hunk of beef that had been lingering in my freezer, throwing together some veggies and this grilled steak with a bernaise sauce. The night thus seemed appropriate for a revisiting of Grolet, which might cut through all that nicely.
The 2004 starts closer to that “gorgeous” state than its elder counterpart, with a more rounded texture and some elegant tobacco flavors. Some blackberry up front, though it’s much more natural tasting than most bordeaux with blackberry. Not nearly the obnoxious, contemporary expression of Merlot that I’ve come to loathe, there’s lots of black currant that carries through in the form of acidity in the finish. It’s pretty and feminine to the nose; and it’s full and flavorful on the palate. Though this could certainly last for several years to come, there’s no way I’ll be able to wait on my other bottle.
With a case discount, I paid less than $15 for this, plus shipping, which was probably around $2/bottle. I doubt anyone will confuse this Cotes de Bourg for a stellar classed-growth wine, but then, no one will confuse it with other wines at its price point. It truly stands apart as a value.
Name: Tete de Cuvee
Vintage: 2004
Procuder: Catherine & Jean-Luc Hubert of Chateau la Grolet
Location: Bordeaux (France)
Grape(s): Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon
Alcohol: 13.0%
Swan Cuvee du Trois
American wines don’t have a significant presence in my little basement collection of vino. But I have close to two cases of wines from Joseph Swan. A few bottles of Swan’s pinot noir from Trenton Estate, which I believe is the original Swan vineyard, made its way into Michigan a few years ago, and I was stunned to learn that it was an American wine. It didn’t reek of “grand cru” burgundy, but it certainly had an elegance that hid its true origin. Later, a friend exposed me to some of their zinfandels as well, which showed the same restraint as the pinot. As a bonus, I’ve been to the winery twice and gotten to meet and chat with the folks there: Rod (the winemaker) and his colleagues are exceptionally cool people. On my most recent visit, I walked in to him lamenting over-priced, over-hyped California wines and winemakers’ driving Mercedes-Benz automobiles. I later read that he actually loses money on his “top” pinot noir, the same one that I’d had in Michigan that started me down this path. And Karen, who manages his tasting room and handles most of the logistical details, is from Michigan and went to high school a few miles from my house. Small world.
A Bronx Tale
I don’t know what Chazz Palminteri drinks, but tonight, I drank three variations on the same drink: The Bronx cocktail. Before I get ahead of myself, here’s the basic recipe:
The Bronx Cocktail
- 2 oz dry gin
- .75 oz sweet vermouth
- .75 oz dry vermouth
- .75 oz orange juice
The first of the evening was courtesy of The Forest Grill in Birmingham, Michigan. Served to me on the rocks with an orange wedge, it was, in a word, weak. I don’t know if the juice was simply out of a fountain spray nozzle, if it was from watery oranges, and/or if he used too much OJ, but the ice didn’t really help matters as it melted. Anxious to save the fleeting flavor from its ostensibly inevitable watery grave, I consumed the rest in short order.
Arriving home a few hours later, I decided to make one myself, using the recipe above. But as I opened my fridge to fetch the vermouth, I realized I had both Stock and Carpano Antica on hand. Generally, Carpano Antica makes any drink better — but I thought it wouldn’t really be fair to compare a restaurant drink using well vermouth to something more precious than an autographed nude photo of Natalie Portman. So I constructed one drink using Stock and one with the Antica.
And to be honest, I’m not sure which I preferred. Initially, the sweet, somewhat flabbby orange juice seemed to clash with the herbs in the Antica, whereas the similar sweet, somewhat flabby Stock just melded nicely with the rest of the drink. But 20 minutes into the Carpano-laced drink, I noticed that I rather enjoyed the herbs and orange together. Perhaps the drift toward room temperature had an effect. Perhaps I just got used to it. Perhaps it doesn’t matter.
Regardless, the homemade Bronx proved to be what it always ought to be: a fairly sweet but never cloying orange cocktail that puts many others to shame. Do yourself a favor: Put away the vodka and peach schnapps. Forget that Fuzzy Navel or Screwdriver or Hairy Fuzzy Navel or whatever the kids call it these days. Make yourself a Bronx instead.
A Jewel and a Jasmine
Several days ago, I had a discussion about a recipe for the “classic” sweet martini made with gin, sweet vermouth, and orange bitters. A friend had a poor experience with the cocktail, and I asked what gin and vermouth he used. In that case, all that was available was Tanqueray and Stock, both fine products that I use regularly — but never together. The gin has too much juniper and not enough nuance in the vermouth to stand up to it.
- 1.5 oz dry gin
- .75 oz lemon juice
- .5 oz Campari
- .5 oz Cointreau
- Garnish with a tightly wound lemon twist
- Shake and pour into a cocktail glass
The Bijou
- 1 oz dry gin
- 1 oz greeen chartreuse
- 1 oz sweet vermouth (I used Carpano Antica)
- 2 dashes orange bitters
- Garnish with a long lemon twist wound around a cherry
- Stir and pour into a cocktail glass
A Splendid Pint: Hand-pulled Two Hearted Ale
So it is by providence that my daughter began taking violin lessons at McCourt Music in Berkley. Each Thursday at seven I now have half-an-hour to kill in downtown Berkley and it so happens that McCourts is a mere two doors down from the Berkley Front. I have mixed emotions about The Front, as the locals call it. It’s dingy and stinky and the crow who runs the place once called me stupid for attempting to ask her questions for a review I was writing. But I choose not to allow a personal grudge to keep me from patronizing a bar that offers several dozen taps of fermented wet goods, the better portion of which dispense American craft brew or hard to find imports. Being the bigger man, so to speak, is effortless when it works to your favor.
One Bourbon, One Beer
I’m currently drinking through a bottle of Russell’s Reserve 10-year-old small batch bourbon. It’s made by the master distiller at Wild Turkey. Not having a shelf full of bourbon to do comparison tastings I’m uncertain whether it is overly vanilla-y or I’m just tiring of the vanilla character of bourbon. I have a feeling it might be the latter as I have lately been drinking more Scotch and Irish whiskey. At any rate, I doubt I will buy this particular brand of bourbon again. I’ll try and grab a bottle of my standby Evan Williams single barrel (purely for scientific purposes, of course) before Russell’s is gone.
Audra is taking violin lessons at McCourt’s in Berkeley. Since I am the most musically knowledgeable parent in the household it became my responsibility to chauffer her to the lessons and talk with the teacher about her progress, etc… It happens that McCourt’s is two doors down from Berkeley Front. That’s where you’ll find me every Thursday between 7 and 7:30, plenty of time for a couple of pints. Last week it was Weihenstephaner Festbier on tap, a gorgeous, malty lager that ranks right up there with the best of them.
