Entry tags:
Falernum at last!
I've ranted about the absence of falernum in Montréal shops once or twice already. Finally, I did something about it. Last night, I plonked 40 cloves, the zests of 9 limes, 1.5 oz. of shredded ginger root, and 1 oz. of toasted slivered almonds into 6.5 oz. of rhum agricole blanc to macerate. Other than 40 minutes of zesting limes, which inevitably makes my hands itch, this part was simple.
I knew that I would need simple syrup when I assembled the recipe today, so I also made a batch of cold-process syrup. This is interesting in its own right. I've made plenty of syrup, but always via the hot process (heating sugar with water). I was told that the cold process (shaking two parts sugar with one part cold water and leaving it to turn to syrup) is better for falernum and other bar syrups, so that's what I decided to try. I figured that in the worst case where it didn't work, I could make hot-process syrup today. But it worked, and yielded a beautiful, clear syrup with good density, like so:

I suppose that it's bizarre to be fascinated with syrup, of all things, but we all know how hard it is to dissolve sugar in cold water. It's amazing that the grainy white suspension I had at 7 p.m. last night turned into a clear, colorless syrup with no residue by 12 noon today! Needless to say, I'm going to be a cold-process boy from now on.
It was a nice day today -- clear blue skies, gentle breeze, cool but hardly cold -- so we headed out for a long walk into town (which ended up taking about three hours). I bought some cheesecloth for filtering the extract, Bonnie picked up a veil and a coin belt she needed for baladi, and we headed home. On the way back, we scored some fresh manaish with za'tar, garnished with piles of veggies, for a walking lunch. Awesome!
On returning home, I juiced some limes to get 4.5 oz. of fresh lime juice, which I strained through cheesecloth to remove all the pulp. I then filtered the extract I made last night through another bit of cheesecloth, and carefully squeezed the tasty goodness out of the solids. Into this went 1/4 tsp. of almond extract, 14 oz. of my syrup, and the lime juice. A vigorous shake later and it was good to go. The yield was 1.5 16-oz. bottles of falernum with a nifty pale-green color (the photo doesn't quite do it justice):
The smell? Mildly spicy -- not clove-dominated, as I had feared -- with a really nice citrus-peel twang. Somewhere between "essence of lime" and "concentrate of mulled wine," but without any sharpness or burn. And the taste? Very much like it smelled, with a wonderful balance between acid and sugar. All in all, something exotic and just about nothing like any of the pre-made bar syrups I keep around.
The final test, of course, was in a mixed drink. I tossed the magic proportions of white and dark rum, lime juice, curaçao, grenadine, orgeat, and falernum into the shaker with a metric boatload of ice and whipped up some mai tais. A little crushed ice and a fruit garnish later, it was tasting time.
Well, damn! That's a good mai tai. You only use 1/4 oz. of falernum per drink. (Yes, that 24 oz. I made would do me for 96 mai tais, in theory -- if, say, I didn't keep tasting it.) However, it makes itself heard. It adds a soft spiciness that makes the mai tai an utterly different drink from the cheap imitations that just toss in grenadine and call it a day.
And there you go.
I knew that I would need simple syrup when I assembled the recipe today, so I also made a batch of cold-process syrup. This is interesting in its own right. I've made plenty of syrup, but always via the hot process (heating sugar with water). I was told that the cold process (shaking two parts sugar with one part cold water and leaving it to turn to syrup) is better for falernum and other bar syrups, so that's what I decided to try. I figured that in the worst case where it didn't work, I could make hot-process syrup today. But it worked, and yielded a beautiful, clear syrup with good density, like so:
I suppose that it's bizarre to be fascinated with syrup, of all things, but we all know how hard it is to dissolve sugar in cold water. It's amazing that the grainy white suspension I had at 7 p.m. last night turned into a clear, colorless syrup with no residue by 12 noon today! Needless to say, I'm going to be a cold-process boy from now on.
It was a nice day today -- clear blue skies, gentle breeze, cool but hardly cold -- so we headed out for a long walk into town (which ended up taking about three hours). I bought some cheesecloth for filtering the extract, Bonnie picked up a veil and a coin belt she needed for baladi, and we headed home. On the way back, we scored some fresh manaish with za'tar, garnished with piles of veggies, for a walking lunch. Awesome!
On returning home, I juiced some limes to get 4.5 oz. of fresh lime juice, which I strained through cheesecloth to remove all the pulp. I then filtered the extract I made last night through another bit of cheesecloth, and carefully squeezed the tasty goodness out of the solids. Into this went 1/4 tsp. of almond extract, 14 oz. of my syrup, and the lime juice. A vigorous shake later and it was good to go. The yield was 1.5 16-oz. bottles of falernum with a nifty pale-green color (the photo doesn't quite do it justice):
The smell? Mildly spicy -- not clove-dominated, as I had feared -- with a really nice citrus-peel twang. Somewhere between "essence of lime" and "concentrate of mulled wine," but without any sharpness or burn. And the taste? Very much like it smelled, with a wonderful balance between acid and sugar. All in all, something exotic and just about nothing like any of the pre-made bar syrups I keep around.
The final test, of course, was in a mixed drink. I tossed the magic proportions of white and dark rum, lime juice, curaçao, grenadine, orgeat, and falernum into the shaker with a metric boatload of ice and whipped up some mai tais. A little crushed ice and a fruit garnish later, it was tasting time.
Well, damn! That's a good mai tai. You only use 1/4 oz. of falernum per drink. (Yes, that 24 oz. I made would do me for 96 mai tais, in theory -- if, say, I didn't keep tasting it.) However, it makes itself heard. It adds a soft spiciness that makes the mai tai an utterly different drink from the cheap imitations that just toss in grenadine and call it a day.
And there you go.